LIFE ON VITI LEVU—SUVA—A FLORAL CLOCK—THE REWA RIVER—OBSOLETE
CUSTOMS—FIRST NIGHT IN A NATIVE HOUSE.
SUVA, IN VITI LEVU (GREAT FIJI), _December 10th_.
DEAR EISA,—I find there is a chance of a mail to England, so, though I
am dead beat, I send just a line to say I am flourishing and in lovely
scenery, with many kind folk. Perhaps by the time this reaches you, you
will have seen my last to Nelly, written just as we started on this
cruise. The children wanted change, so Sir Arthur rented this big house,
which was formerly a hotel, and brought us all here in the Government
steamer. The house would all go into one average room at home, but by
means of partitions half-way to the ceiling, the upper floor is divided
into a sitting-room and six stalls for sleeping in. Of course it is
practically all one room.
There is only one other house here, the home of Mr Joski, a
sugar-planter. His family are very kind, and do all in their power to
make us comfortable. There is a large sugar-mill here, and the near
hills are covered with cane; but this is, unfortunately, one of the
districts where sugar has failed, and the planters are hopelessly ruined.
It is so sad to see the deserted sugar-mill, and the fields of cane that
are not considered worth cutting. It was absurd folly ever to plant cane
at this place, the soil being scanty and utterly unsuitable. But this is
one of the sites which runs the best chance of being chosen as the new
capital (of the pauper colony), in which case the landowners will some
day be rich.
This harbour is simply lovely. From the flat (which is the site of the
town in the air) we look across to hills in form like those of Torridon
in Ross-shire, but covered with densest tropical vegetation, and watered
by many rivers, each lovelier than the last. There are four of these
quite near together, and every afternoon we explore one or other in the
Governor’s charming boat, rowed by half-a-dozen brown beings with great
fuzzy heads, and wearing a becoming dress of white, trimmed with crimson.
This morning I had a good walk in the early morning to get a sketch
from a lovely site. Then after breakfast we rowed up one of the rivers,
and lunched on a grassy bank under a shady citron-tree, as far up as we
could take the boat. The vegetation was too exquisite. We found several
orchids new to us, and a lovely pink-and-white wax-like creeper. I never
saw such wealth of ferns of every sort and kind, specially hundreds of
tall tree-ferns, with stems about thirty feet, and masses of one like a
gigantic Osmunda. I never can find seeds of the grandest, but I send you
such as I have.
We had an amusing expedition yesterday. I started early with Miss Joski,
and our route lay along the top of the ridge, tall reeds far over our
heads. Before we were aware of its approach, a tropical shower came on,
and we were drenched (of course my dear shiny waterproof kept me dry, but
my companion was soaked), so we made for a house where a good old Irish
couple lived, with a troop of babies. They were just getting up. But in
we marched, and prayed for dry clothes; and the good woman clothed Miss
Joski from head to foot, and supplied me with dry stockings and boots.
Then we joined our picnic breakfast to theirs. They insisted on killing
a chicken in our honour; and our mutton sandwiches were a rare prize in
a district where butcher-meat is unattainable. By this time the day was
glorious, and we sketched till afternoon.
Such a view, and such a flight of stairs down to the sea—a quarter of a
mile, and almost perpendicular!
To-morrow early we all start for the Rewa, another district, where there
is a great native gathering to meet the Governor. Half of the charm of
wandering in these mountains is the knowledge that two years ago we
should certainly have been eaten!
An express arrived yesterday from Levuka with English mails, and brought
me a letter from Janie. Tell her I nearly lost my rings last Monday. We
had been lunching up the inner harbour; the gentlemen had all gone off
expeditionising, and Lady Gordon and I were sitting by the river with
only Jack and Nevil, when a native woman came and crouched beside us. We
gave her cakes and biscuits to encourage her, as we could not exchange
words. Then she pointed admiringly to our rings, wishing to try them on;
so I put mine on her hand, little dreaming that Fiji custom sanctions
asking for anything you happen to fancy, and that it is an unheard-of
breach of manners not to give it. So a moment later I looked up from my
drawing just in time to see the proud woman disappearing in the bush with
her prize! Of course I rescued my treasures, but fear she will think we
were very ill bred!
On Sunday we walked along the shore, and then by a path through the
abandoned sugar-fields, till we came to the little native church, where,
much to our amusement, the teacher told us that he regulates the hour
of service by the opening of a Bauhinia blossom. He has no clock, but
when the flower opens he beats the wooden _lali_, or drum, and then the
people assemble. We watched this floral timepiece expand its blossoms to
the early light; and then the congregation came trooping in to a quiet,
earnest service, with singing, prayer, and preaching—all very devout. Of
course the words spoken were to me only a sound, but rich and musical,
full of vowels, and very like Italian. There is a great charm in such
a scene; and as we sat on the mats during the sermon, it was pleasant
to look out from the cool shade of the church, through the many open
doors, to the calm blue sea and sky, seen through a frame of golden-green
sugar-canes, the leaves just rustling in the faint breeze. Now I must
stop; so good-bye.
* * * * *
NAVOUNINDRALA,[20] ON THE REWA _Monday, 13th Dec._
DEAREST EISA,—In my last letters home I mentioned that we were just
starting for Rewa, where there is a great meeting of chiefs to welcome
Sir Arthur and Lady Gordon, and it was arranged that I was then to join
the Langhams on a voyage far up the river, where they are going to visit
several new mission stations, among tribes who only a few months ago
determined to become Christian, and requested that teachers might be sent
to them. Native teachers were accordingly sent, and it is partly to judge
of their progress that this expedition was planned.
Starting from Suva in a head wind, about six hours’ hard rowing brought
us to the Rewa, which is certainly a very fine river—the largest of the
main island, Viti Levu, and navigable for fifty miles. It receives the
waters of various mountain-streams (navigable only by canoes), and itself
becomes so large a body of water, that, ere reaching the town of Rewa,
its width is about equal to that of the Thames at London Bridge. Here it
divides into a network of streams, and enters the sea by many mouths, all
bordered with the monotonous green of the mangrove, which overspreads the
dreary swamp with its extraordinary and intricate network of roots. We
passed through some miles of this strange mangrove country, starting an
innumerable number of wild duck, and at last reached Rewa,[21] which is
a large village of the invariable thatched houses. Here we found a great
gathering of the people to receive the Governor, on his first visit to
this town; and as his boat approached, the river-banks were thronged with
native chiefs and their followers, all squatting on the ground, in the
correct attitude of respect—for Fijian etiquette prohibits an inferior
from standing in presence of a superior, as strictly as it forbids him
passing behind him.
So great a concourse of people had rarely, if ever, been seen at Rewa:
it was calculated that nearly 5000 were present, a number the more
remarkable as the ravages of the measles last spring were peculiarly felt
in this district, where it is computed that 8000 perished, including no
less than ninety teachers, all carefully trained men,—a loss which cannot
easily be replaced.
Great were the preparations for the native festivities on the morrow, and
you can imagine my dismay on learning that, owing to the irregularity of
posts, and the day for this ceremony having been repeatedly deferred, Mr
Langham had made all his arrangements for starting from Rewa that very
day. And, in truth, we had not landed five minutes, when the mission boat
arrived from Bau. Complicated arrangements had been made for teachers
and people to come from distant points and meet us at different villages
on each day of the week, so that delay was impossible. Consequently
I was obliged to give up one thing or the other, which was intensely
aggravating; but, on weighing both, the expedition into the interior
was voted the more important; and so, with many regrets, I turned away
from Rewa and its picturesque crowds, merely halting long enough to get
some tea from Mrs Webb at the ever-hospitable Wesleyan mission station.
Then we embarked in the large mission boat,—Mr and Mrs Langham and
myself, rowed by half-a-dozen stalwart young students from the training
institution at Bau.
We had to row six miles up the river against wind and tide, and we were
all very weary, especially the student boatmen, who had rowed nearly all
the way from Bau, and whose time grew slower and slower, till I counted
twelve seconds between each stroke. The sun was setting when we started,
and shed a golden glow over the low flat shores of the river, where we
hailed the sight of many cattle, pastured in real grassy meadows,—the
first we have seen in Fiji. The soil here is richly alluvial, and from
fourteen to fifteen feet in depth. It is expected to yield large returns
to sugar-planters.
Happily we had a glorious full moon, which made night clear as day;
but it was past ten ere we reached Navousi, the house of Andi Kuilla,
Thakombau’s favourite daughter, who was absent, and her people did not
expect us till two days later; so her house was shut up, and there was
some delay before a fire was lighted, water brought, tea made, and supper
eaten, and our mosquito-nets hung up, and then family prayers in Fijian.
So it was 12.30 before we turned in. It was my first night in a native
house, which consists only of one large room for everybody. In a very
fine chief’s house, such as this, large curtains of native cloth are
hung up at night to divide the upper end into several snug compartments.
There is no furniture whatever; and a pile of soft mats is the only
bedding required. A Fijian pillow consists of a bamboo, or a bar of
wood, standing on two wooden legs, six inches high, which supports the
neck only (very much like the pillows of the Kaffirs, and on the same
principle as those of Japan). Here it was invented to avoid spoiling
the elaborately dressed hair, which formerly was a most important
consideration. We, being given to luxury, each carry a soft pillow for
our weary heads, and very fine nets to shield us from the attacks, not
only of mosquitoes, but of a vicious, virulent, though scarcely visible,
sand-fly, which infests the mangrove swamp and many parts of the river.
We also carry sheets and a blanket in case of cold nights, and pieces,
three yards long, of strong American cloth, to keep our bedding dry;
also plaids, which we can hang up to build ourselves tiny rooms within
the great public room, where all the boatmen, and sometimes many other
people, will sleep.
I was sorry that Andi Arietta Kuilla was not at home; I have met her
at Nasova, and also seen her fishing with her maidens of noble birth,
all clad in the lightest raiment, consisting chiefly of daintily woven
garlands—for fishing, you must know, means bathing, and fun and frolic,
in the warm bright sea. But here at Navousi she is the dignified widow of
a very high chief of this district, which she rules with masculine vigour
and wisdom.
At daybreak we again embarked and proceeded up the river, frequently
halting to call at the houses of English planters. Everywhere we heard
the same distressing tale of failure and loss: worthless crops, or good
crops lost by untoward delays of one sort or another; falling prices and
ruined markets, and the sickening sinking of spirit by reason of hope
deferred, because annexation had failed to act as a magic wand, at whose
mere approach all grievances would be righted, and each man see his own
heart’s desire fulfilled. At every house where we halted, we profited by
that excellent institution of the colonies, tea at all hours—which we
accepted the more readily knowing that we were bidding a long farewell
to milk. But the tale of poverty was one which needed no telling, for
it was too plainly written on every side, especially in the untidy,
uncared-for homes. Of course there are exceptions, and we called at two
houses whose gardens bright with scarlet hybiscus and other blossoms
were pleasant to behold, and where generous gifts of oranges, from laden
trees, were a welcome addition to our stores.
It was sunset ere we reached our destination, the village of Delandamanu
(_i.e._, the hill on whose top the _damanu_-trees grow), where it was
arranged that we should sleep in the church—somewhat a startling idea at
first, but one which seemed less unnatural from the fact of the church
being just like any other clean, well-matted house; and of course all our
food was brought in ready cooked. So we rigged up our tents as usual,
and, for once, slept in church with full permission from the parson!
In truth we had good reason to rejoice in our position, commanding a
very lovely view of shapely mountain-ranges, and of the river winding
through rich green country. The church stands on the side of a tiny hill,
on the summit of which is the village graveyard. I observe these are
almost invariably on hill-tops, generally very secluded, and in beautiful
situations. They are often tasteful and well cared for, overshadowed by
the mournful casurina or ironwood tree, called in Fijian _noko noko_,
and adorned with tall red-leaved shrubs, dracæna, and others. The graves
themselves are sometimes conical heaps of red earth, with white sand on
the top, sometimes covered with small green pebbles, brought from afar,
and sometimes merely edged with tree-fern wood. This one is peculiar,
inasmuch as, although the dead are buried horizontally, the external
grave slopes with the hill.
Here we lingered long in the clear, beautiful moonlight, and here we
returned with the first ray of dawn. A very old man, a Fijian version
of Old Mortality, lives on the extreme summit of the little hill, and
has charge of the village drums—I mean the wooden _lalis_, which used to
be called _lali mbokolo_ (meaning the drum for the cannibal feast), but
which now send forth their deep booming tones only to call the people
to school or church. I should like to have stayed a good while at this
place to sketch, and Mr Langham promises a longer halt on our return; but
this time we had to hurry on and start at 6 A.M., having previously had
prayers and breakfast.
It did feel so odd to be living in a church! Happily it was beautifully
clean. And oh, what a contrast to the house of a family of white planters
where we called that day! The very picture of a poverty-stricken home.
An English cottager would refuse to live in such a house, with its
broken earthen floor. Such a contrast to the comfortable, thick, clean
mats in the native houses we have been in. Yet white men in general
seem to consider that they are bringing their families low indeed when
they adopt a purely native house as home, and mats in lieu of chairs.
Perhaps they are right, though for my own part I think I must confess
to having rather a weakness for Fijian mat life. No doubt it tends to
foster that indolence which is the bane of the islanders; and there is
no denying that when once you have sunk down to rest on these soft,
cool, tempting mats in the semi-darkness of a Fijian house, you do feel
sorely disinclined to rise thence without very good cause. When this
becomes a habit, it is a recognised evil known as mat-fever! Certainly
the hard wooden chairs, or old, broken, worn-out sofas of these poor
white homes, are in no danger of pampering habits of luxury. Yet at this
place there were two bright lasses contriving to grow up somehow, and one
of them reminded me of ‘Cometh up as a Flower,’ with her glorious halo
of tangled yellow hair. This was the furthest point at which we found a
white family. There were other neighbours, but after long battling with
failing crops and ever-deepening poverty, they have all left the country
in despair.
A messenger has just arrived from Rewa bringing us letters. Mine is
another proof of the utter irregularity of posts which depend on vague
sailing-boats. Six weeks ago I accepted an invitation to go to the
Leefes’ at Nananu, only a day’s sail from Levuka. Receiving no further
message, I wrote, a fortnight later, to put off that visit for the
present; and now I have a letter from Mr Leefe, who had come to Levuka
at great inconvenience to fetch me; and though the distance _is_ “only a
day’s sail,” it may involve a detention of many days.
We have been here for four days, as it is a large central district;
and are very cosily housed with “Richard,” the village teacher, a fine
handsome fellow of the upper class, and one who takes pride in having his
house a pattern of neatness and order, greatly to our comfort. Yesterday
being Sunday, our crew dispersed at daybreak to hold services in many
distant villages in remote valleys just emerging from heathenism. I
scarcely recognised them when they all appeared in their clean white
shirts and _sulus_, their ordinary working dress being merely a _sulu_,
with wreaths of green leaves hanging in fringes from the waist and
shoulders. But they are very particular about their Sunday shirts being
well starched and ironed, and Mrs Langham’s nice Fijian girl, who helps
them with their washing, has to bestow greater care on their garments
than on her master’s. I think I told you that they are students from
the Mission Institute—fine young fellows destined to become teachers or
native ministers, according to their capacity, and in the meantime doing
what they can by teaching in the villages through which they pass.
The mission has in each district a certain number of such lads in
training, and these, amongst them, do whatever work is required in the
house and about the premises. Thence the most promising are drafted off
to the college at Navouloa, which lies half-way between Rewa and Bau,
where, after careful training, their ultimate destination is decided.
You can imagine it is by no means an easy matter to keep 1400 schools
supplied with teachers, though the people themselves are quite willing to
support them. At the present moment this difficulty is greatly increased,
owing to the number of teachers who died in the measles. Mr Webb has
lost ninety, and Mr Langham forty; and other districts have suffered in
proportion.
The house is at this moment full of people, who have assembled from far
and near to talk to Mr or Mrs Langham—men, women, and children. Naturally
there is a considerable amount of chattering, to me incomprehensible. But
it sounds musical, and rather like Italian, liquid, and full of vowels;
not only simple vowels, but compounds, in which each letter is distinctly
sounded, as _ai_, _au_, _ei_, _eu_, _oi_, _ou_, and _iu_. There are very
few guttural or hissing sounds. You constantly hear names in which every
other letter is a vowel, as, for example, Namosimalua, Natavutololo,
Naivuruvuru, Verata, Verani, Ndrondro-vakawai, Lewe-ni-lovo, Vaka-loloma,
Toa-levu, &c. The first words I learnt were of course the morning and
evening greetings. _Siandra?_ (are you awake?) _Sa mothe?_ (are you
asleep?) to which the people add _na maramma_ (lady), or _na turanga_
(lord), or _saka_ (sir). When they say _Eo saka_ (yes, sir) very fast, it
sounds as if they were saying it in English, which at first, hearing it
from the students, I supposed to be the case. Few and laconic are my own
phrases. _Maroroya_ is a prayer to those around me to be careful; _kusa
kusa_ begs them to make haste; _sara sara_ (to look about one), fully
satisfies any one who might wonder what I was staring at, and comes home
to the Fijian mind as quite a natural condition; _sa legge mothe_, though
no means courteous, advises them to go to sleep and leave me alone. What
chiefly catches my ear are the number of words formed by reduplication,
as _vesi vesi_, a little spear; _vale vale_, a little house; _kende
kende_, a mountain; _noko noko_, ironwood; _vula vula_, white; _dre dre_,
difficult; _mothe mothe_, bed (_mothe_ means sleep); _yau yau_, mist;
_kata kata_, boiling; _lia lia_, silly; _wai wai_, oil; _levu_ is big;
_lei lei_, small; _vulu vulu_, cramfull; _velo velo_, a canoe; _reki
reki_, joy; _vuvu_, jealous; _dronga dronga_, hoarse, &c. And so in the
names of places. I hear of Loma Loma, Somo Somo, Sau Sau, Drua Drua,
Ruku Ruku, Savu Savu, and so on. In case you care to count in Fijian,
here are the numerals. One, two, three, &c. _Dua_, _rua_, _tolu_, _va_,
_lima_, _ono_, _vitu_, _walu_, _ciwa_ (_thiwa_), _tini_. Then come _tine
ka dua_, _tine ka rua_, and so on up to twenty. There are certain nouns
which in themselves express numbers, as: _sasa_, ten mats; _rara_, ten
pigs; _bure_, ten clubs; _bola_, a hundred canoes; _selavo_, a thousand
cocoa-nuts. These are used in combination with ordinary numerals, thus:
_Rua sasa_, twenty mats; _tini selavo_, ten thousand nuts.
I am told that the language is remarkably rich, and expresses minute
shades of ideas. Thus there are three words for the possessive pronouns,
varying with the nature of the noun following, as _my_ food, _my_ drink,
or _my_ canoe. Personal pronouns are equally varied; there are no less
than six words answering to our _we_.
There are seven words to express different conditions of weariness, six
to express seeing, a dozen for dirty, fourteen for to cut, sixteen for
to strike. There are separate expressions for washing clothes, house,
dishes, feet, hands, body, face, or head; also for such varied movement
as that of a caterpillar, a lizard, or a serpent, or for the different
manners in which it is possible to clap hands ceremonially.
So you can understand that it is not only a very rich tongue, but also
an exceedingly troublesome one to learn accurately; and as very slight
mistakes are apt to convey to native ears very different ideas to
those we wish to convey, you can understand that I prefer being very
troublesome to my most patient companions, rather than plunge headlong
into such difficulties.
Of course both Mr and Mrs Langham talk it to perfection, for they have
lived entirely with the people for seventeen years, and know every detail
about all the native tribes and their chiefs, and their quarrels, and
their domestic troubles. Mr Langham was for years going to and fro among
the cannibal tribes, when they were all at war, as mediator and teacher,
urging them to make peace and to abstain from the horrible customs of
heathenism, and accept the loving law of Christ. His way is smooth enough
now, but there was stiff work to do till very recent days; for he has
seen Fiji in all its phases,—all successive varieties of governments or
anarchies. And he and his gentle little wife have lived in the midst of
fightings and wars, in the days when the name of Fiji was synonymous with
cannibalism and cruelties of the most horrible description.
Now I am going out to explore some of the trails which lead to higher
ridges, that I may see the mountains in the interior, some of which
rise to a height of 5000 or 6000 feet, but are hidden from us by nearer
ranges. It makes me laugh now to remember how, the first day I was
walking alone on the hills of Ovalau, I hid myself among the bushes from
a solitary Fijian, the savage of my imagination. Now, in far wilder
country, I walk alone in perfect security wherever fancy leads me.