A STRANGE VOLCANIC ISLE—JOELI MBULU, A TONGAN APOSTLE—THE
CONVERSION OF THE PEOPLE OF ONO—THAKOMBAU’S CANOE—A ROYAL
GARDENER—A SMALL HURRICANE—EARLY PRAYERS—BREAKFAST ON
THANGALEI—BETWEEN THE BREAKERS—AT HOME AT NASOVA.
NASOVA, _January 14, 1876_.
DEAREST NELL,—You see I have got safely home from my travels in the
wilds, and I am bound to confess that there is a good deal to be said
in favour of the comforts of civilisation, however strongly my gipsy
instincts do at times assert themselves! I must tell you, however, of
several delightful expeditions we made from Mrs Langham’s charming home
at Bau. The first was to the neighbouring isle of Viwa, which was one of
the early mission stations, and is now the home of Mr Lindsay, who has
charge of a large district, extending to the mountains of Viti Levu. It
was a pretty picture to see his two very fair delicate little girls in
charge of a little Fijian maiden scarcely bigger than themselves. After a
very pleasant afternoon we returned home by clear moonlight—a lovely walk
through the forest was followed by a calm row across the bay. But a very
common difficulty awaited us on reaching the shore. The tide was low; the
boat lay far out, I think nearly a quarter of a mile, and the accepted
way to reach it was to submit to be carried like monstrous dolls by one,
sometimes by two, strong natives. However, nothing seems strange when you
are used to it. It is only one’s first experience of anything which is
startling.
The two families agreed to devote the next day to exploring two small
islands, visible from both homes, but which, being uninhabited, had never
yet invited nearer inspection. You know I always say it is my mission in
life to stir up my friends in all corners of the globe to take me to see
places of interest close to their own homes, but never before visited by
themselves. So next morning we all met at the small isle of Tomberrua,
which is an ancient place of burial. Many old chiefs lie beneath the
cocoa-palms, but their graves are all uncared for and overgrown. The
lovely white sand tempted us to bathe in the warm sunny sea—a rare
pleasure, for there are so few places tolerably safe from sharks.
We then rowed to the other isle, Manbualau, which proved to be the most
extraordinary specimen of volcanic formation I have ever seen; all one
vast honeycomb of hard cutting rock, with deep fissures intervening
between ridges so close together that you can step from one to the other.
The rock is veiled with rank vegetation, which adds to the danger and
difficulty of the scramble; and innumerable bats haunt the great Mbaka
trees (a sort of Fijian banyan), which overshadow the whole, their
countless interlacing stems finding a holding-ground in every crevice of
the rock. It is an exceedingly curious place, utterly unlike anything I
know elsewhere.
I walked across the isle to the other side with the gentlemen but it
was difficult to make our way, and the smell of bats was positively
sickening; so we were glad to hurry back and join the rest of the party,
who had kindled a fire and prepared a cheerful tea in our absence.
The next few days slipped pleasantly by. I sketched various points of
interest, such as the great Mbaka trees near the old king’s house, the
foundations of the great temple, and the stone on which the victims’
heads were dashed (which is a basaltic pillar from Khandavu).
I went several times with Mrs Langham to see the noble old Tongan
minister, Joeli Mbulu, whose wife, Echesa, is very unwell; such a
nice, lady-like old woman, so kindly and so sensible. They belong to
that fine race of Tongans who were, in fact, the earliest missionaries
in these isles; for so soon as they themselves had embraced the new
faith (as preached by the Wesleyan teachers in the Friendly Isles)
they endeavoured to spread it wherever they journeyed; and as they had
frequent intercourse with some parts of Fiji, it was not long before the
Tongan sailors taught all they had learned to such of their own kinsmen
as had already colonised here, and to such Fijians as could be induced to
hear them. It was the moving tale of awful horrors told by these men, and
the encouragement afforded by the sowing of that first seed, that induced
the Rev. W. Cross and the Rev. David Cargill to leave the comparative
comfort of their homes in Tonga to come and establish the mission in
Fiji, where they landed in October 1835, at Lakemba, the principal island
in a group at least 200 miles from here, where a considerable number of
Tongans had already settled. These men proved invaluable helpers. Better
pioneers could not have been desired. Men of strong energetic character
and determination, keenly intelligent, physically superior to the average
Fijian, and therefore commanding their respect, they had always taken
the lead wherever they went; and as in their heathen days they had been
foremost in reckless evil, they now threw their whole influence into
the scale of good. Having an independent position of their own, and
considerable power, they were able at once to establish all outward
observances of religion, without fear of hindrance from the chiefs. And
so something of the nature of Christianity was made, known more rapidly
and more widely than it could have been by any other means. Of course
this is not literally true of all the Tongans in the colony. There were
many who, although they professed the new faith, continued as proud and
haughty as ever, making themselves hated and feared as of yore; but
the majority proved themselves truly in earnest, and many became most
devoted teachers, ready to go forth to any distant point where there
might be a chance of doing good.
Foremost amongst these was Joeli Mbulu, a man whose faith is evidently
an intense reality. I have rarely met any man so perfectly simple, or
so unmistakably in earnest. He proved himself so thoroughly worthy of
confidence that in due time he was ordained as a native minister, and
sent to take charge of the remote cluster of isles, of which Ono is the
principal. This little group lies about 150 miles south-east of Lakemba,
to which it was tributary, and is the southernmost part of Fiji. The
story of its early groping from its own deep darkness to the light, is
so strange and touching, that I must tell you something about it. It was
truly the story of
“An infant crying for the light,
And with no language but a cry.”
In the year 1835, just before the first white missionaries came to Fiji,
many events conspired to depress these poor people. An unusual number had
been slain in their incessant wars, when an epidemic disease broke out
which carried off many more. The survivors, much alarmed, thronged the
temples of their gods, bringing large offerings of food, and such things
as they possessed, and all rites of worship were diligently observed, but
to no purpose.
Just then a chief named Wai returned from Lakemba, where he had met a
Fijian chief called Takei, who had been in the Friendly Islands, and had
learnt something about Christianity. It amounted to little more than
that there was but one God, whom all must serve continually, and that
one day in seven was to be devoted to His worship. It was but a faint
glimmer of light, but they determined to act on it. So on the sixth day
they prepared their food for the seventh, on the morning of which they
dressed, as for a festival, and assembled to worship this unknown God.
But here a difficulty arose, as to how to set about it. In their dilemma
they sent for the heathen priest, whose god they were now forsaking,
and requested him to officiate for them. This he did, to the best of
his power, offering a short and simple prayer for the blessing of the
Christian’s God, but intimating that he himself was merely spokesman for
his neighbours, being himself a worshipper of another God!
This was the first act of Christian worship in the far-away isle of
Ono. A great longing now arose for fuller knowledge of the truth; so
when a whaling ship chanced to touch here for provisions on her way to
Tonga, a passage was engaged on board of her for two men who were sent
as messengers to ask for a teacher. But several months elapsed ere an
answer could reach them, and meanwhile Christianity was spreading at
Lakemba, and many Tongan converts (whose chief attraction to Fiji had
been the wildly licentious life which they might there lead without let
or hindrance), now decided to return to their own homes. A canoe-load of
these started from Lakemba in May 1836, but were driven by contrary winds
to the isle of Vatoa (the Turtle), about fifty miles from Ono. Here they
heard of what had happened there, and one of their number (who at his
baptism had taken the name of Josiah, and who had acted as their chaplain
during the voyage), determined to go to Ono and teach the people all he
knew. Great was their joy at his coming, and day by day he thenceforth
led their devotions. Soon they built a chapel, which would hold 100
persons. All this was done ere the messengers from Tonga returned to tell
that white teachers had gone to Lakemba, and that to them they must apply
for help. Another long delay.
But meanwhile the desired teacher was being trained all unknown to them.
One of their own islanders, a wild Ono lad, had contrived to wander all
the way to Tonga, and you can fancy that several hundred miles in an
open canoe is no easy journey, especially when every isle to which you
may unintentionally drift is inhabited by fierce cannibals of unfriendly
tribes. An ordinary canoe is a very unsafe vessel in a storm, and in
heathen days shipwreck invariably meant death; for even should the crew
reach the land in safety, and find themselves on shores which, under
ordinary circumstances, would be friendly, they were declared to have
salt water in their eyes, and were doomed to death and the oven. But the
lad in question reached Tonga in safety, and there he found the people
earnestly conforming to the new faith. He attended their services,
learnt much, and on returning to Lakemba became truly converted, and
for several years lived a consistent Christian life, taking the name of
Isaac Ravuata. He soon learnt to read and write well, and acquired so
much knowledge that he became a useful assistant in the mission. When,
therefore, the message from Ono reached Lakemba, it was evident that he
was the right man for the work; he was accordingly despatched, and gladly
was he welcomed by his countrymen. He found that 120 persons had given up
idolatry, and were thirsting for further knowledge of the Christian faith.
The following year a Tongan teacher was sent to assist him; by this
time three chapels had been built, and so anxious were the converts for
instruction, that the Christian crew of the canoe said they had scarcely
been allowed needful sleep, so eager were the people to learn all that
they possibly could teach them. They found that the little isle of Vatoa
had also become _lotu_, and all these people prayed that they might be
visited by a white missionary who might administer the sacraments. It
seemed hard to refuse such a prayer, but labourers were few and the work
was vast. Mr Calvert and his wife were left quite alone at Lakemba,
where Tui Nayau, the king, and most of his chiefs and people, continued
heathen, and often antagonistic. Fifteen years elapsed before the king
determined to accept the _lotu_. As far as possible, Mr Calvert travelled
about this group of twenty isles, teaching the people, and now this
further claim on time and strength seemed beyond his power. It was a
long and dangerous journey to undertake in a frail canoe, and involved
an absence certainly of weeks, possibly of months; and the thought of
leaving his wife utterly alone in the midst of ferocious cannibals was
altogether appalling. At this crisis it was she—a most gentle and loving
woman—who came to his help, and urged him to go. Still there was the
difficulty of getting a canoe sufficiently seaworthy for such a long
and dangerous voyage. However, not long afterwards, a Tongan chief came
to Lakemba in a large canoe, and consented to take Mr Calvert to Ono.
There he found that a wonderful and cheering work had been accomplished,
and that a large proportion of the people were living genuine Christian
lives, thoroughly blameless. Of these he baptised upwards of two hundred,
and married sixty-six couples, and by his encouragement and presence
greatly cheered the little body of converts. It was not to be supposed
that this movement had progressed without serious opposition from many of
the heathen inhabitants, and many events occurred at this time, stranger
than any fiction.
Amongst other incidents, there was the baptism of Tovo, the beautiful
daughter of the chief of Ono. She had become a devoted Christian, and
delighted in doing all the good in her power, visiting the sick and
teaching in the schools. But in infancy she had been betrothed to the
old heathen king of Lakemba, who now claimed her to be his thirtieth
wife. She resolutely refused to fulfil this heathen betrothal, her
father and all the Christian chiefs fully supporting her. On returning
to Lakemba, Mr Calvert learnt that the old king had fitted out a fleet
of eleven canoes, manned with warriors, and intended going himself to
seize his bride. He went to him, bearing the customary whale’s tooth
as a peace-offering, and besought him to refrain from this marauding
expedition; but finding his words were to no purpose, he solemnly warned
him that in fighting against these people, he was fighting against
the Almighty, whose care they had invoked. The king, nothing daunted,
set sail, and reached the Christian isle of Vatoa, where he cruelly
ill-treated the people, wantonly destroying their food and property.
There he remained several days, waiting for a fair breeze; but he
despatched four canoes with a hundred piratical warriors, to await him at
Ono. These canoes were never heard of again. When the fair wind sprang
up he started in person, but though he actually sighted Ono, the wind
shifted, and he was blown far away to leeward. The breeze freshened;
the canoes and all on board were in imminent danger. Almost by miracle
they escaped and returned to Lakemba, when the king sent to Mr Calvert
the feast which, in his hour of danger, he had vowed to his gods, and
prayed that his words of warning might never follow him again. He
expressed his willingness to accept the customary gift of property, in
lieu of the young woman, that she might be free to marry any other man.
However, before it arrived, he had again changed his purpose and kept the
offerings, but still demanded the damsel. Nevertheless he did not venture
to return to claim her, so she was left in peace and in the enjoyment of
single blessedness, as no other suitor dared to come forward, the king
not having relinquished his claim.
Meanwhile the heathen people of Ono had done all in their power to
persecute their Christian neighbours, who kept the peace as long as
possible, but finally were driven to fighting. A civil war lasted for
several weeks, which resulted in the complete defeat of the heathen.
To their utter amazement, and contrary to all Fijian precedent, their
lives were spared, and they were all freely pardoned, a course which
naturally inclined them to respect the religion which taught such mercy.
Consequently when, in 1842, Mr Williams visited Ono, he found that out
of the 500 inhabitants only three persons were still nominally heathen,
and these became Christians ere long. He baptised 200 persons, who had
been waiting and longing for his coming. Portions of the New Testament
and the morning service from the Book of Common Prayer were now printed
in the Ono dialect, and eagerly sought by the people; and three years
later, when Mr Calvert touched at the isle, he found all the population
in a condition of religious fervour which filled him with thankfulness
and amazement: the people were so intensely in earnest, and, on the
whole, so calm and sensible. It was like a story of the early days of the
Church—so wonderful was the flood of light and love that had been poured
on these men and women, in answer to their exceeding longing to know the
way of truth, and their whole-hearted acceptance of it. Some notes of
their prayers and mutual exhortations, as spoken at the “love-feasts,”
have been recorded, and, like many others which have been translated to
me at different places, breathe such intensity of Christian love and
devotion, as we are accustomed to look for only in the lives of great
saints. They so rejoice in the radiance of this newly found Light, that
they suppose it must flood the whole world on which it has once shone;
while we, conscious of the dim grey faith which most prevails beneath our
dim grey skies, are more inclined to echo Keble’s sad words—
“And of our scholars let us learn
Our own forgotten lore!”
Many of the Ono men now desired to be allowed to go as teachers to other
parts of Fiji (of course in peril of their lives). Of these, eight were
selected, and in the simple prayer with which that meeting closed, the
Tongan teacher, Silas Faone, exclaimed—“They go; we stay on this small
isle according to Thy will. _We would all go, Thou knowest_, to make
known the good tidings.” At the close of morning service 300 communicants
knelt together at the Holy Communion; and on the following morning
all the people assembled on the beach, and again knelt in prayer for
blessings on the teaching of the eight first missionaries sent forth by
the little lonely isle to preach the Gospel of Christ to the vicious
cannibal tribes throughout the group.
Urgently did these people desire the presence of a resident clergyman
amongst themselves, and for some time the Society endeavoured so to
arrange their districts as to comply with their wish; but as there were
only six white missionaries to work in the eighty inhabited isles, it
was found impossible to continue this. And thus it was that Joeli Mbulu
came to be sent to Ono as a fully ordained minister; and zealously and
efficiently did he work there, until more urgent need for his presence
elsewhere compelled his removal to another district.
It seems to be one of the most serious difficulties in the organising of
all this great work, that excellent as are many of the native teachers,
so small a number are found fit to undertake the responsibilities of
higher work, such as the arrangement and control of an infant church.
They always require the direct guidance of the missionary, and if this
is long withheld, difficulties almost invariably arise. Such a noble
exception as dear old Joeli is rare indeed.
In the last few days I have also made great friends with the Vuni Valu
and Andi Lytia, and some of her pretty attendants. I fancy the latter
are remarkable pickles, and up to any amount of mischief in a quiet way,
but in awesome terror of the old lady, as also of her daughter. Not that
the morality encouraged by these is altogether in accordance with the
views professed in civilised countries, especially as regards certain
feudal rights of the chiefs; and we occasionally hear of little episodes
in other parts of the group which prove that the old nature is not
wholly eradicated, and that some of these courteous high-born dames are
capable, under the influence of jealousy, of such diabolical actions as I
dare not even hint at. Instances like these are, however, happily rare,
and we must not expect absolute perfection to be a fruit of such very
rapid growth. I am not quite sure that, if our police reports are to be
credited, we have attained to it even in London, after so many centuries
of all civilising and Christianising influences.
Thakombau was in great wrath when we arrived, because a damsel who is
his ward had married the chief of Rewa without his sanction. In old
days there would have been fierce war in consequence. Now, however, he
is gradually subsiding, and is much interested about the Fijian mission
to New Britain. He proposes going himself in his yacht to look up the
teachers, and take them stores of mats and water-jars; and he invites Mr
Langham to accompany him, but of course this will not come off. He told
us of his amazement on beholding so vast a city as Sydney. He said it
gave him some idea of what heaven must be! We said we wished he could see
London and Westminster Abbey. He replied that he could well imagine that
the city of which Sydney was but an offshoot must indeed be of surpassing
grandeur. Would he come to London? No; he feared to die at sea and be
thrown overboard. But we had run that risk to see his isles, and here
we were safe. Oh, it was only his age that deterred him; his son might
perhaps go. While we were sitting with him, his niece arrived in a canoe,
bringing her own mats and several loaves of bread. She sat down silently
in a corner; no greeting passed, but her attendant mentioned the object
of her visit, and the old couple took no further notice of her.
One of the objects of interest in Bau is a very large canoe which
Thakombau is building for himself, and which will carry a hundred
persons, and much baggage. You can imagine that making such a canoe as
this, with such rude tools as these people possessed formerly, was indeed
a triumph of shipbuilding. First, there is the keel, made of several
pieces of timber strongly joined; then the sides have to be built up
without ribs, but they are closely fitted, and caulked with native cloth
and a sort of pitch made from the bread-fruit tree; then the pieces are
strongly sewed together with sinnet (which is string made of cocoa-nut
fibre); a large platform is built over the middle of the canoe, and
on this is a deck-house. The whole is balanced by a heavy log of wood
attached to one side as an outrigger. Some large canoes are double—two
are placed side by side, and the platform connects them. There are holes
in the deck through which the sculling-oars are worked, and the helm is
a great steer-oar about twenty feet long with a blade about eighteen
inches wide. It can be worked from either end of the boat; and the one
great sail is also dragged from end to end with infinite labour, so that
at every tack bow and stern change parts. Such a canoe flying before the
wind, and throwing up a fountain of white foam as it rushes through the
water, is a very beautiful object, and one which I am never weary of
watching. But there are many canoes which dare not approach Bau in this
brave style, but have to lower their sail while yet a great way off, and
scull humbly to the shore. If the canoes come from Somosomo (Taviuni)
the scullers dare not even stand, but must squat in token of lowliest
humility, shouting the _tama_ (obeisance) from time to time.
In olden days the building of such a canoe as this would have entailed a
whole series of cannibal feasts. First, as rejoicing when the keel was
laid down; then feasts for the carpenters as each portion was completed;
then living rollers to facilitate launching the canoe—and these, of
course, were cooked and eaten; next, the deck of the canoe must be washed
with blood; and finally, a great feast must be provided on the occasion
of first taking down the mast. Sometimes as many as fifteen men were
sacrificed for such a banquet. If a new canoe was brought to Bau which
had not received its due baptism of blood, the chiefs would attack a
neighbouring town to secure victims, that its reproach might be taken
away!
No fear of any such horrors now. The building of the great canoe
progresses slowly, for workmen are now scarce; but the old king sits for
hours watching it with pleasure, and then, taking advantage of the low
tide, he tucks up his drapery of _tappa_, and wades almost knee-deep
through the shallow water to the muddy shore of the main island, where he
goes to work with his own hands in his yam-gardens,—chiefly to set a good
example of honest labour to his people.
Last Sunday Mr Langham took me to see another village, where he was
to hold service. The morning was lovely—a dead calm and oppressive
stillness. We had scarcely got home when the sky darkened, and it began
to pour. Rain was much wanted for the yam crop, but this was decidedly
in excess. We were to have started for Levuka at daybreak the following
morning, but deemed it prudent to defer, as it was evident foul weather
was approaching. The students went to the main isle to cut mangroves
with which to bind the thatch, and make such preparations as they could.
Darker and darker grew the sky, heavy grey clouds closed all round the
horizon, hiding even the nearest isles. Then down came the rain—such a
downpour as I have rarely seen, even in the tropics. Soon the wind rose
in fitful gusts, howling and moaning. It increased steadily till it was
actually a small hurricane.[27] Not such an awful one as they sometimes
have even here, and not nearly so bad as a West Indian one, but by
far the worst I have ever seen. It blew furiously all night, and one
marvelled how any trees stood it—the palms were tossed about like mad
things. Of course every blossom in the garden was gone. Even inside the
coral-reef the sea was thundering in great crested waves. In the middle
of the night the roof of my room began to leak so freely, that we thought
the whole thatch would blow off, so Mr Langham rang a great bell, and all
the young men, students at the mission, came up and swarmed over the
roof and bound it with planks and long mangrove wands.
In the morning the storm partially subsided, and as soon as any one could
stand, the king’s fat handsome daughter came up herself to get some milk
for his breakfast. Her simple attire consisted of a bath-towel worn round
the waist and a pocket-handkerchief tied across the capacious bosom,
below the arms! The king _has_ a cow of his own, but rarely contrives to
get any milk; so he generally sends up to the Langhams for either a jug
of milk or of ready-made tea with bread and butter!
By evening the weather was quite settled, and there was a great calm;
so, as Mr Langham had business to do in Levuka, he decided to start next
morning. He kindly chartered a canoe to carry my precious collection
of clubs, spears, and bowls; it started at midnight, and at 3.30 A.M.
Mrs L. came herself to call me. She gave us a comfortable breakfast by
lamp-light. Then the boatmen, according to invariable custom, came in to
_lotu_ (family prayers), and with the first glimmer of dawn we started
down the green hill, and found dear old Joeli waiting to speed us on our
way. What a contrast to a cheerless start for the train on a January
morning in England!
We sailed before sunrise, and about 9 A.M. reached a pretty small island
called Thangalei, where we breakfasted under the shadow of a magnificent
Mbaka tree, whose many-pillared stem formed a large enclosure, which some
very utilitarian person had converted into a pig-sty!
We started again as soon as possible, but there was no wind all day, and
rowing a heavy boat is slow work, and so it came to pass that we missed
the tide and could not get inside the reef at the passage. We therefore
had to row outside in the open sea, keeping at a safe distance from the
great, grand, awful breakers which fell with such appalling force and
thunderous roar on the massive coral barrier, tossing vast volumes of
white spray high in mid-air, and concealing from us all the land except
the mountain-tops. It was very unpleasant, for though the sea was calm,
it had not quite forgotten its recent battle with the winds, and heaved
in great swelling rollers, which would have swept us on to the reef had
not the men pulled hard. At last we came to a very narrow passage, by
which we entered the calm shallow water; but it was an anxious moment,
for there was only just room for the boat to pass, and as the huge walls
of green water towered up on either side and fell in cataracts of foam,
it seemed as though they must swallow us up. The men pulled steadily
and strong, but it was an intense relief when we glided safely into the
peaceful blue water of that quiet haven, and an hour later reached the
pier at Nasova, where I found all the party reassembled. They had come
back from Suva in H.M.S. Nymphe, with Captain Grant Suttie, just before
the gale on Monday night.
Great was the excitement of unpacking my canoe-load of curiosities; for
we are each trying who can make the very best collection—Sir Arthur, Mr
Gordon, Captain Knollys, Mr Maudslay, Baron von Hügel, and myself. Our
daily delight is to ransack the stores in Levuka, where the natives may
have bartered old things for new, and great is the triumph of whoever
succeeds in capturing some new form of bowl or quaint bit of carving. All
our rooms are like museums, adorned with savage implements, and draped
with native cloth of beautifully rich patterns, all hand-painted. The
house has made great progress in our absence. The large new drawing-room,
built entirely of wood, is really a very fine room, and has two large
bow-windows, besides the usual multitude of glass doors opening on to
the verandah. The garden, too, begins to reward Abbey’s care, and looks
quite bright; and he is diligently striving to make a small lawn, which,
however, is very difficult work. You really would say so if you saw the
labour-boys patiently snipping the grass with old scissors!
I have just been doing a round of visits to my especial friends, Mrs
Havelock, Mrs Macgregor, Mrs D. Ricci, and the Layards. It seems as if I
had been away for months; it is so pleasant coming back to such cordial
welcome from them all. Captain Havelock took me to call on Mr Leefe, who
is in Levuka for surgical treatment, his hand having been lacerated in
a fibre-crushing machine. It was fearful agony, and he must have had a
dreadful journey coming here by himself. It was impossible for his wife
to accompany him, as all their live stock would inevitably have been left
to die of neglect in her absence.
Yesterday another of the Engineers died (his wife and children are on
their way from England). This morning at sunrise the military funeral
marched sadly past this house, with the Union-jack for a pall, and a
party of sailors from H.M.S. Nymphe, with fife and drum. Several men fell
out, overcome by the heat, which is simply grilling.
Some officers from an American man-of-war have just come to call, so I
may as well close this letter.—Your loving sister.