UPPER REWA—SUNDAY AMONG THE CONVERTS—SCHOOL EXAMINATIONS—A
“MISSIONARY MEETING”—SAVAGE ORNAMENTS—RED TAPE—_MÉKÉS_—EVENING
PRAYER—MARRIAGES.
NIRUKURUKU, ON THE UPPER REWA RIVER, _December 23d_.
MY DEAR ALEXA,—I have not written to you since I started on this trip,
but of course you have heard all my news from the others. We came here
yesterday in the canoe, as the rapids are so strong that the boat could
not face them, and the men, strong as they are, had to call others to
their aid, and even then had hard work to pull us up stream. But the
scenery is most lovely, though we rarely leave the water-level, and the
glimpses we do get of the grand mountains make us long to penetrate right
up to them. But this would involve far too much walking for either Mrs
Langham or myself, and there is no other means of locomotion. Oh, what
I would give to have my dear Himalayan _dandie_ here, with a team of
strong Paharis (hill-men) to carry me! The Highlanders here (the Kai
Colos, men of the mountains) are just as strong, but the idea of carrying
a lady has not yet occurred to them; indeed we are the first specimens of
the race whom they have seen!
This is the furthest point to which we can go, and here we are to spend
Christmas, as Mr Langham is anxious to hold service himself on that day,
and the people will assemble from far and near.
I think it might well startle some of our sleepy congregations to find
themselves in a Fijian church (of which there are 900 in these isles, for
every village which becomes Christian begins by building a church and a
teacher’s house, and undertakes to feed and clothe the latter, besides
giving him small payment in kind for individual schooling).
To say nothing of largely attended week-day evening services, there
are on Sundays three regular services, beginning with a prayer-meeting
at 6 A.M. Each of these is crowded, and a large number also attend
Sunday-school in the afternoon; and many prove how attentively they have
listened to the teacher by repeating on Monday the whole substance of the
sermons preached the previous day.
The form of service is much the same as in a Presbyterian church, with
the addition of the Te Deum and Apostles’ Creed, which are chanted in the
native fashion, the missionaries having wisely made use of native customs
when practicable. The purely national tunes, if such I may call them,
have a certain attraction in their drone-like monotony; those borrowed
from us are generally discordant, but certainly heartily rendered; and
the apparent earnestness in prayer of all present is most striking. Every
one, without exception, kneels on the matted floor (of course there are
no seats), and lies doubled up, with head resting on the earth, touching
the bare feet of the kneeler in front of him. Here and there a tiny brown
child stands beside its mother, the only creature not prostrate. You can
look at this scene as long as you please, certain that no one will look
up and catch you staring, for never a head is raised. So you overlook
a closely packed mosaic of tawny frizzled heads, bare brown backs, and
white _sulus_ (kilts).
Nor is there the slightest reason for thinking that this is merely
an outward show of devotion. Everything in daily life tends to prove
its reality. The first sound that greets your ear in the morning, and
the last at night, is the sound of family worship in every house in
the village. I am positively assured that the presence of the white
missionary makes no appreciable difference in the congregations, and
that the churches are just as crowded when there is only the native
teacher to lead the simple worship.
One thing which strikes us forcibly in all our dealings with these people
is their exceeding honesty. Day after day our goods are exposed in the
freest manner, more especially on Sundays, when for several hours not a
creature remains in the house where we happen to be staying, which is
left with every door wide open, and all our things lying about. Boxes
and bags which are known to contain knives and cloth and all manner
of tempting treasures, stand unlocked, and yet, though the village is
invariably within a stone’s-throw, we have never lost the value of a
pin’s head. I confess, however, it was some time before I could stifle
all qualms of misgiving on seeing a crowd of what some people might call
savages swoop down on our property and carry it off piecemeal to the
boat or village, as the case might be; but when day after day passed and
nothing was ever missing, I gradually acquired the implicit trust which
has proved so well founded.
Poor as these people are, their generosity is most remarkable, and they
give freely of such things as they have, both to those among themselves
who may be in need, and also for the spread of the Christian cause.
Not only does each village support its own teacher, but considerable
offerings for a general fund are made at the annual school examinations
and “missionary meetings.” Nothing could be more distressing than to have
nothing to give on such a day, so those who have no money will walk miles
across the hills, bringing some treasured bowl or spear for sale; and
great is the anxiety to receive payment in numerous small coins, that no
member of the family may appear empty-handed on the great feast-day. Very
often, however, it is to obtain a copy of the precious Fijian Testament
that the household treasure is thus offered for sale; for already an
immense number can read, and are as well instructed in Bible history and
precepts as any Scotch peasant of the good old school.
What a very tame scene a school examination at home will seem after those
we have here witnessed, with the multitude of brown scholars, all so very
attentive! Certainly we have no cause to complain of over-dressing or use
of artificial flowers; but the usual wreaths of green, lilac, or yellow
leaves, hanging in long fringes from waist and shoulders, figure largely,
also those made of long narrow leaves of the screw-pine, gaily dyed red
and yellow.
At one place we found the scholars, old and young, of eight villages
assembled to receive us. They began, as usual, by coming up in
procession, and each depositing an offering at the feet of the
missionary. This generally consists of one root of yam or _taro_, a
bunch of tobacco-leaves, a sugar-cane, or a yangona root; but on this
occasion some discriminating scholars brought old war-clubs and bowls, to
say nothing of a pile of the fringe dresses aforesaid! Then followed a
_méké_, which is a quaint national dance with accompaniment of singing.
Some of the old _mékés_ are not considered desirable, as, for example,
that dance of death which accompanied the carrying of dead bodies to
the temple, preparatory to cooking them, and others of heathen or
immoral association. The schools are therefore encouraged to select new
subjects. So they gave us a dance and pantomime all about the capture
of Jerusalem, and very curious it was. Then they went through very
creditable Scriptural examination and recitation, with some reading and
writing, and finished off with a most extraordinary method of spelling
and doing mental arithmetic. I cannot attempt to describe it, further
than to say that though all the scholars as usual sat on the ground, the
whole body was in perpetual motion, swaying from side to side, each row
in opposite directions. There was incessant clapping of hands, now on one
side, now on the other, now on the ground, now in mid-air, and all in
measured time; while the calculations were shouted aloud, and apparently
produced a correct result. The action gone through for the spelling and
arithmetic lesson was quite different, though wholly indescribable. In
all these movements the most accurate time is marked. In some schools
geography is also taught, the lesson being a series of chanted questions
and answers, which, however musical, can scarcely be expected to convey
much meaning to the mind of the Fijian, who assuredly believes his own
isles to be the greatest and most important in the world. At the close
of the proceedings, each scholar approached in turn, and stripping off
his or her green wreaths, laid them in a heap at our feet, whence they
were removed by the boatmen for their own adornment. Such is a school
examination in Fiji.
As for the missionary meetings, they by no means resemble those held in
Exeter Hall! They are simply great days of native merry-making, when the
missionaries very wisely encourage the people to keep up the most popular
and innocent of their national games and dances, and when all who attend
bring offerings according to their ability and inclination.
The first meeting of this sort at which I was present was held at the
junction of two heads of the great Rewa river, the Wai Nimbooco and the
Wai Nimala. On the first day, the people of seventeen towns (or villages)
assembled, and the crowd must have numbered fully 2000. On the following
day about ten more towns arrived, and, with slight variations, the
programme was repeated. We sat under trees on the river-bank, facing the
village green, and each town came up in turn in procession, all quaintly
dressed up as if for a fancy ball, and marched slowly past us, every one
carrying his offering in his mouth for greater security—a purse at once
novel and self-acting; for, as both hands were often busy with spear and
fan, it was a saving of trouble, and by no means disrespectful, just to
spit out the coin on the mat spread to receive offerings. Some had quite
a mouthful to give—three or four shillings. The latter was a sum much
aimed at, as the donors of such large contributions had the pride of
knowing that their names would appear in a printed list! an honour not
wholly without attraction even in Fiji.
The town then divided into two companies. One acted as orchestra, sitting
on the ground,—some clapping hands, sometimes with the palms flat,
sometimes hollowed, to produce diversity of tone—some striking the ground
with short, resonant bamboos, held vertically, which produce a strange
booming sound—all singing old words, the meaning of which they have in
many cases forgotten. The chant is invariably commenced by one voice, and
the chorus takes it up after a few notes. The other company danced,—the
quaintest, wildest dances you can conceive, with much pantomime and most
graceful action. Every action and posture one sees in a good ballet are
found here; and such pretty grouping with fans, spears, or clubs. Many
of the figures are very intricate, and the rapidity of movement and
flexibility of the whole body are something marvellous,— it seems as if
every muscle was in action, and all the postures are graceful. The dance
gets wilder and more excited as it goes on, generally ending with an
unearthly yell, in which all the spectators join.
They are all sitting round in every available corner, generally spreading
a bit of plantain-leaf on the ground to keep their dress clean: for, of
course, every one is attired in his very best—perhaps a kilt of English
long-cloth (or, far more attractive in our eyes, native cloth of rich
brown pattern). White native cloth is worn as a girdle, and hangs behind
in large folds; wreaths of long hanging grass are worn round the arms and
legs, as well as on the body. Some even powder their hair black, or else
wear huge wigs of heathen days, and crowns of scarlet parrots’ feathers.
Most have their faces painted with every variety of colour, in stripes,
circles, and spots. Some are all scarlet, with black spectacles, or _vice
versâ_; some, of a very gaudy turn of mind, half blue and half scarlet.
Some are painted half plain and half spotted, or striped like clowns. In
short, fancy has free scope in devising grotesque patterns of every sort.
Many are entirely blackened down to the waist, or perhaps have one side
of the face and one shoulder dyed dark-red; but the commonest and ugliest
freak of all is to paint only the nose bright scarlet, and the rest of
the face dead black, and very hideous is the result.
The paint-box on these occasions is simple: red ochre supplies one shade,
and the seeds of the vermilion-tree, so dull in the pod, but so brilliant
when crushed, supply another. The nearest wood-fire yields black in
abundance; while a dark-brown fungus is found on the bark of certain
trees, and finds immense favour with many who cannot understand how
infinitely more beautiful is the rich brown of their own silky skin, with
its gloss of cocoa-nut oil. The gaudy blue is a recent addition to their
stock—from English laundries; and an unusually vivid scarlet likewise
tells occasionally of dealings with British traders.[23]
On great festivals the family jewels are all displayed. They consist of
necklaces of whales’ teeth rudely fastened together with sinnet, or else
most carefully cut into long curved strips like miniature tusks, highly
polished, and strung together in the form of a great collar, which is
worn with the curved points turning outwards like a frill. The average
length of each tooth is about six inches; but some necklaces, which are
treasured as heirlooms, are nearly double this size, and all the teeth
are beautifully regular. Their effect when worn by a chief in full dress
is singularly picturesque, though scarcely so becoming as the large
curved boar’s tooth, which sometimes forms an almost double circle, and
is worn suspended from the neck, the white ivory gleaming against the
rich brown skin.
The most artistic and uncommon ornament of a Fijian chief is a
breast-plate from six to ten inches in diameter, made of polished whale’s
tooth, sliced and inlaid with pearly shell, all most beautifully joined
together. These, like all native work, whether wood-carving or ivory, not
only claim admiration, but fill me with wonder at the patient ingenuity
which could possibly produce such results with the tools hitherto
possessed by these people, to whom metals were unknown, whose axes
and hatchets were made of smooth and beautifully polished green-stone
(precisely similar to the celts of our forefathers, and how they made
these is to me incomprehensible). I have bought several tied with coarse
sinnet to a rude handle of wood cut in the form of a bent knee. When the
stone axe had accomplished the first rough shaping of the form required,
a skilfully used fire-stick next came into use, and then a lump of
mushroom coral, or a piece of the rough skin of the sting-ray, stretched
on wood, acted as a rasp or file. A fine polish was attained by patient
friction with pumice-stone and cocoa-nut oil. The only other tools of the
Fijian workman consisted of broken shells, the teeth of rats and fishes,
or the sharp spines of the echini, set in hard wood. Yet with these rude
implements these untutored savages (if so we should call them) produced
forms so artistic, and carving so elaborate and graceful, as must excite
the keen admiration of all lovers of art.
But alas for the vulgarising influence of contact with white men! Already
the majority of the islanders have sold their own admirable ornaments,
and wear instead trashy English necklaces, with perhaps a circular tin
looking-glass attached, or an old cotton-reel in the ear instead of a
rudely carved ear-ring. In the more frequented districts this lamentable
change thrusts itself more forcibly on the attention, as almost all
the fine old clubs and beautifully carved spears have been bought up,
and miserable sticks and nondescript articles—including old European
battle-axes—take their place.
Here in the mountains each company carried spears, clubs, or fans, all of
which played their part in the various dances—most of which are so old,
that the meaning of the songs and pantomime are alike forgotten by the
actors. In one long piece of by-play all the men of the village appeared
dressed alike, their heads being plastered with lime, looking just like
powdered footmen (only that they were brown and naked to the waist).
It was so very solemn that we thought some terrible tragedy was being
recounted; but we were told it was only a story about an empty basket!
In one very odd dance, a queer, fluttering creature, with a huge fan in
each hand to represent wings, kept dancing round and round a covey of
cowering children, whom he bowled over, two at a time. Then, as they lay
prone, he fanned them to life again, and so drove them along to join the
orchestra. This is supposed to be a bird of prey providing for her young,
and of a species unknown in Fiji!
Somewhat similar is a dance in which half the men are armed with spears,
the other half carry large fans of palm-leaf, or of native cloth
stretched on a wooden frame, and adorned with blue and white streamers.
At the end of each movement every dancer holds his fan high above his
head with simultaneous action, uttering a wild, high-pitched war-cry.
After an intricate dance, in which extraordinary feats of agility are
displayed, these two companies form into separate lines and have a sham
fight. Again and again the whole regiment of spearmen fall flat on the
ground, as if all slain simultaneously, and the others, bending over
them, fan them assiduously till life is restored, and they once more
spring to their feet. This is a particularly pretty dance: no carefully
studied ballet could be more effective.
Another, which is particularly characteristic, is a club-dance, in
which half the men present are armed with war-clubs of very varied and
curious forms, while the others carry long and beautifully carved spears.
Sometimes each man carries a spear in one hand and a club in the other;
and often, I regret to say, a number of common muskets replace the old
clubs, and look strangely out of keeping with the barbaric surroundings.
On festivals such as these, many of the clubs are as carefully decorated
as their owners. Coloured strips of _pandanus_ leaf or fibre-plaiting
are wound around them, adorned with fringe-like tufts; some are rather
coarsely touched up with scarlet or blue paint, which happily soon rubs
off. These war-parties always advance slowly, attitudinising and swinging
from side to side. Gradually they become more animated, brandish their
spears and clubs, go through all manner of evolutions, keeping such
perfect time that each line of warriors seems to move like one man—every
hand and foot moving in unison. The speed and action go on increasing
till each individual dancer seems to be performing the closing movements
of a Highland fling or a sailor’s hornpipe, but with far more varied
postures. At some of the larger gatherings, from two to three hundred
dancers will join in the _méké_, and as they are generally the picked men
of the district, the scene is the more effective. In every dance there is
a leader, who by word and example regulates the time for every change in
the figures. This post of honour is often awarded to a very small boy,
son of the chief; and you cannot think how pretty it is to see all these
splendid fellows moving like clock-work in obedience to the slightest
action of a tiny child, most quaintly dressed, and entering keenly into
his duties. He begins in the most dramatic manner by delivering a shrill
exhortation to his _corps de ballet_, and then leads them with perfect
accuracy through every manœuvre of advance, retreat, &c., &c.
Each district has certain dances peculiar to itself, and the people of
one neither can nor will join in the _méké_ of another. Thus the people
of aristocratic Bau positively sneered when asked whether they could not
perform some of the dances of their neighbours at Rewa, which monopolises
the most graceful _méké_ of all—namely, one which represents the breaking
of the waves on a coral-reef—a poetic idea admirably rendered. Years ago
I remember the delight with which we hailed an exquisite statuette in Sir
Noel Paton’s studio, representing the curling of a wave, by a beautiful
female figure, supposed to be floating thereon; but I never dreamt that
we should find the same idea so perfectly carried out by a race whom we
have been wont to think of only as ruthless savages.
The idea to be conveyed is that of the tide gradually rising on the
reef, till at length there remains only a little coral isle, round
which the angry breakers rage, flinging their white foam on every
side. At first the dancers form in long lines and approach silently,
to represent the quiet advance of the waves. After a while the lines
break up into smaller companies, which advance with outspread hands and
bodies bent forward, to represent rippling wavelets, the tiniest waves
being represented by children. Quicker and quicker they come on, now
advancing, now retreating, yet, like true waves, steadily progressing,
and gradually closing on every side of the imaginary islet, round which
they play or battle, after the manner of breakers, springing high in
mid-air, and flinging their arms far above their heads to represent the
action of spray. As they leap and toss their heads, the soft white _masi_
or native cloth (which for greater effect they wear as a turban with
long streamers, and also wind round the waist, thence it floats in long
scarf-like ends) trembles and flutters in the breeze. The whole effect
is most artistic, and the orchestra do their part by imitating the roar
of the surf on the reef—a sound which to them has been a never-ceasing
lullaby from the hour of their birth.
Another _méké_ peculiar to this district represents a flock of
flying-foxes in act of robbing a garden of ripe bananas. Perhaps a
couple of hundred foxes will assemble, to say nothing of a company of
little foxes. A tree bearing the coveted fruit is fastened to a strong
pole in the centre of the ground—and it says much for the native sense
of humour that, instead of hanging up a bunch of real bananas, they
must needs devise an artificial bunch, with a square gin-bottle filled
with oil hanging from the tip, to represent the great purple blossom.
In the first figure of the dance scouts are sent out to see that the
coast is clear, and they flutter round the imaginary garden with
outstretched arms, imitating the cry of the flying-fox. Soon the whole
flock approach, chattering noisily over the prospects of the feast,
circling and fluttering round and round after the manner of all bats.
Then one proceeds to climb the tree, and hangs himself up by the legs,
head downwards, with outstretched arms, flapping his wings and crying
just like a flying-fox. A second soon follows, and disputes his position.
They squeal, and scratch, and bite one another, and a battle of the bats
ensues, in which the first-comer is routed. After a while some one shoots
the intruder, who falls helplessly from the tree. All this time the
rest of the flock have been dancing and fluttering around, the peculiar
movements of bats being admirably rendered, even to the rushing sound of
wings, which is given by a jerk of the body, which causes all the _liqus_
to swing simultaneously; and these being made of dried leaves of the
_pandanus_ or screw-pine, which are long and narrow as a grass, rustle
on the slightest movement, and their combined noise produces a rushing
sound, greatly resembling that of the black-winged army.
As an illustration of a comic dance, I may mention a pantomime
representing a pig-hunt. He is supposed to be concealed in the long
grass, and the hunters, round whose necks hang large boars’ tusks, very
suggestive of danger from such a hidden foe, advance cautiously in search
of him. At last he is found, captured alive, and dragged in triumph to
the village, amid the acclamations of the spectators.[24]
But on this particular occasion the representations were chiefly of such
real warfare as that in which the dancers had so often been engaged,—the
stealthy advance of scouts—the surprise, skirmish, and victory—dancers
gradually working themselves up to a pitch of wildest excitement, and
breaking forth into ear-piercing yells, in which the spectators did their
part. This, and the painting and blackening of the warriors, produced
an effect so truly diabolic, that it was hard to realise its being only
a game. The _méké_ had gone on for nearly seven hours, when darkness
closing in, compelled the remaining towns to reserve their dances, and
the presentation of their offerings, till the following morning.
It occurred to us that there might very likely be some torchlight dancing
in the village, so after supper we strolled thither, but scarcely saw a
creature out of doors. But from within almost every house we passed came
the voice of most fervent family prayer, telling how the household and
their guests were closing that day of much excitement.
A man has just come up from Nakorovatu with the horrible news that a
boy was killed there this morning by a shark, at the very spot where
we embarked yesterday. The brute caught him by the leg, tore off the
calf, and broke the bone. The shore was lined with spectators, but they
could not help, and by the time that some men contrived to drag away the
poor fellow he was so terribly injured that he died almost immediately.
Several of our men bathed there yesterday, and we also occasionally bathe
in the river when we can find no pleasanter or more secluded stream. But
this really is most alarming, for we certainly thought ourselves safe
from sharks at this distance from the sea—fully thirty miles. Lower down
the river they are a fully recognised danger, and a man was recently
carried off while bathing at Nundiokar, one of the villages where we
halted, a few days ago.
There is a perfect crowd of interesting young couples just coming in
to be married, so I must watch the proceedings. The brides appear shy,
and the bridegrooms bashful. I am sorry to observe that some of the
brides are both ugly and old! They do not wear such quantities of pretty
white and brown cloth as the brides on the coast; in fact, they wear
exceedingly little of anything. Perhaps they were too poor to buy a
_trousseau_. Anyhow, this is rather a dingy lot of weddings. Now good
night—Your loving sister.