ISLE NGAU—MUD CRABS—ALBINOS—BATHING IN THE TROPICS—AN EARNEST
CONGREGATION—A TYPICAL VILLAGE—FIJIAN STUDENTS—THE BURNT
WATERS—A NARROW ESCAPE—WRECK OF THE FITZROY.
IN A TEACHER’S HOUSE AT VANUASO, ISLE NGAU, _April 26_.
From Narai we had a fine run over to this isle, which is a land of high
hills, deeply scored with valleys, wooded on one side, grassy on the
other (at least apparently so, really covered with tall reeds). They look
golden green as light misty showers pass over them while the sun shines.
A gusty wind sprang up just as we made the passage, and entailed a good
deal of beating before we could reach our anchorage off Sawaieke, which
is the chief town on this island. We had some difficulty in landing,
as the tide was low, leaving a broad expanse of mud; and the shore is
fringed with mangrove, which always implies rather a swampy situation.
We found cosy quarters in the house of Ratu Hosea, the native minister,
a chief by birth, and a fine man (at present suspended from his office
because he was so unfortunate as to box the ears of a very aggravating
wife, who happened to die soon afterwards; so of course evil tongues gave
him credit for having caused her death). In the church at Sawaieke all
the beams are covered with _tappa_, with a pattern of large stars—very
effective; and I was reminded of the “mortification boards” in Scotch
kirks by seeing a regular churchwarden’s record, stating that “the doors
and windows of this church cost 3000 yams!”
I greatly enjoyed strolling along the shore here. A lovely path leads
under great _eevie_ trees and through groves of cocoa-palms, with young
palms growing up so thickly under them as to form a network of fronds,
with an undergrowth of tall grasses, casting a light shade, through
which the sunlight flickered. All along the shore are little streams with
muddy banks, perforated with holes made by tiny crabs, prettier than
those we saw at Suva. Besides those with the one large scarlet claw, we
saw some with black back, green-spotted, others with scarlet back and
black body, some black and green, with all their claws and legs scarlet,
and some with bits of blue and white—most fascinating little creatures.
We caught some, in spite of the marvellous rapidity with which they
vanished.
Starting at early dawn in a big canoe, the men poled us along the coast
to the next village, Navukailange, which was less muddy than the last,
but the surroundings less pretty. A picturesque crowd had assembled for
the school examination; and a multitude of pigs of all colours and ages,
with infant broods, pervaded the village, grunting cheerily. The same
afternoon we visited two other villages. The tide was too low to allow
the canoe to take us, so we walked along the beautiful shore by a good
path, through rich wood, till we reached Vione. It was quite dark when
we arrived, and we were very weary, but we went straight to the church,
and there lay down to rest in peace, and presently the canoe arrived,
having poled through the mangrove-swamp. A light was brought us, just a
wick in an old sardine-box, and we made a cup of tea, without milk of
course, and then the canoe brought us here, where we found good quarters
in a teacher’s house, close by the sea, but were kept awake by a poor
child coughing violently all night. All the coast hereabouts is covered
with mangrove, forming a dense bush, intersected by salt-water creeks or
rivers. The villages are built close to the water, and having this dense
grove all around them, and no circulation of air, the heat is always very
great, and mosquitoes, flies, and sand-flies abound.
On this island we have seen three albinos, which, happily, are very rare
objects. Even a sun-browned European face looks pale and lacking colour
among these rich sienna and madder hues, but these poor creatures are
truly hideous. The first I saw was a boy about eighteen years old; his
flesh was pale pink, blotched on the shoulders, and his hair a very pale
yellow, and eyes very weak. He was an unwholesome, naked-looking object,
suggestive of a poor hermit-crab dragged out of its shell. Poor fellow!
he shrank greatly from notice, and had clothed himself in all the fringe
garments he could collect, partly because the white skin suffered so
severely from exposure to the sun. The next albino I saw was a child,
which might almost have been mistaken for a European, but it was purely
Fijian. Of course half-castes exist, but they are not very numerous.
The third albino was a woman of quite a natural white, with very fair
hair, and pale-blue eyes. She was a Kai Tholo, and had blue tattooing
round her mouth, but really was not an unpleasant object to look at.
She seemed to have a natural attraction to her white sisters, and came
about us constantly. She gave me a prettily woven basket, and seemed much
gratified when I presented her with some bright green calico, evidently
perceiving that it was becoming to her fair colouring. I am told that in
one instance albino twins were born—a boy and a girl—much whiter than
English children—and both grew up. We occasionally see men suffering from
a form of leprosy which blanches the feet and hands. Though by no means
“as white as snow,” the contrast with the brown body is very marked and
horrible.
* * * * *
THE TEACHER’S HOUSE AT LAMITI, ISLE NGAU, OR ANGAU, _April 27_.
I am writing this letter in fragments,—just a few lines at a time—while
waiting for our starts; and as we depend wholly on the tide, these are
sometimes most inconvenient. Thus at the present moment, 8 P.M., we would
fain be rigging up our mosquito-curtains in the large clean house which
has been our home for the day. But, alas! Mr Langham has accumulated such
a pile of work—church service, teachers’ meeting, school examinations,
marriages, and baptisms,—to get through to-morrow at the next large town,
that, to my unspeakable disgust, he cannot venture on waiting for the
morning tide, so we have to do about fourteen miles’ poling in a canoe
to-night, in total darkness, along a coast which by daylight is quite
lovely. Besides, we are pretty well tired to begin with, having been up
long before sunrise, and finished breakfast by 7 A.M., to catch this
morning’s tide; and having got here before 9 A.M. have ever since been
hanging about, looking at the village, the shore, schools, and quaint
scholars (from tiny toddles to grown-up men and women), all more or
less picturesquely dressed up, some with gauze-like _tappa_ worn over
Turkey-red, with tufts of crimson or blue dyed fibre in the hair.
While the Langhams were at a long church service, I stole off for a
bathe, but to-day was eminently unsuccessful in my quest, from foolishly
taking the advice of some Fijian women, whose ideas of bliss in this
respect are not ours, publicity being no drawback. You really can hardly
realise what an enchanting feature in our travels is our daily bath. No
humdrum tub, filled by a commonplace housemaid, but a quiet pool on some
exquisite stream, sometimes a clear babbling brook, just deep enough to
lie down full length, beneath an overarching bower of great tree-ferns
and young palm-fronds, all tangled with trailing creepers, and just
leaving openings through which you see peeps of the bluest of skies, and
tall palms far overhead. And sometimes the stream widens into a broad
deep pool without a ripple, lying in the cool shade of a group of _eevie_
trees, which are the commonest foliage here, like grand old walnut-trees.
Conceive the delight of coming on such a stream after a couple of days
on board ship, or after escaping from a dark Fijian house crammed with
people, who, having presented various trays of steaming food, vegetables,
fish, &c. (yesterday we had four pigs roasted whole, and two turtle,
the latter invariably nasty), deem themselves rewarded by sitting down
deliberately to enjoy a long fixed stare at the white pigs eating!
Imagine, I say, escaping from this stew—and getting hotter still by a
scramble in the grilling sun—and then following up the stream till you
find a pool perfect in all respects, especially one with a waterfall just
big enough to sit under, and therein plunging and rejoicing as you only
can in water so warm as this! Of course, we are not always burdened with
bathing-gowns, but a bathing-towel and a large white umbrella form an
excellent substitute; and Mrs Langham has a Fijian girl whom we generally
set to watch just in case of any chance wanderer, and then we each choose
a bath after our own heart. But sometimes I come on such irresistible
pools when I am scrambling about alone, where the tall reedy grasses are
matted with large-leaved convolvuli, and not a sound is heard save the
ripple of the stream over the stones, or the rustle of the leaves in the
faint breeze, that I just slip in and revel, and go on my way rejoicing.
I need scarcely say that our toilet on these expeditions is not very
elaborate. Will you be shocked if I add, that having two or three ripe
oranges, just gathered from the tree, greatly enhances the delight of the
situation?
* * * * *
_Saturday Night, April 29._
Well, we did start soon after eight, and passed five miles of coast, with
just enough glimmer of light to see that it was unusually lovely; and
even the boatmen (half-a-dozen fine stalwart fellows), mostly teachers,
who volunteered to pole the canoe, told me how beautiful it was. But
it was very dangerous coasting, with the reef close inshore, and large
breakers just beyond us. The canoe rolled so that we had to hold on by
both hands; and I confess to a malicious feeling of delight when the men
owned they did not like it, and said they would rather wait for daylight.
So we landed close to a tiny village, and made our way by the light of
a lantern to the first house, where we found women, and a fire, and a
welcome, but it was so small that we were glad indeed to find a tiny
church close by. Here we had a cup of tea, with old cocoa-nut grated and
squeezed instead of cream, and then rigged up mosquito-curtains. It was
so tiny, that my green plaid hung across the middle just divided it into
two wee rooms; and the doors were so low that we had to stoop double to
crawl in.
I woke in time to see a rosy sunrise over the sea, and walked alone along
the coast till I found a delicious stream and a real “green-room” of
leaves to dress in. Then we had breakfast on the shore (under palm-trees
and broad-leaved plantains for a canopy), with the addition of yams and
a fowl, brought by an admiring circle of villagers. And afterwards,
according to invariable custom, “family” prayers before starting, as we
also have at night, wherever we are,—sometimes on the deck, becalmed, in
perfect moonlight, sometimes on the shore, oftenest in the house where
we sleep; but in any case it is always interesting, were it only as a
sight, when you see these very devout people, and remember how recently
they were all cannibals. Even now we have adult baptisms at almost every
island we come to. For though the people abjured heathenism _en masse_,
and placed themselves under instruction, they are only baptised after
careful individual training; in some cases not till they have been under
tuition for four or five years.
How well this system works you might infer could you see the crowd of
earnest thoughtful-looking men and women who assemble at Holy Communion.
Last Sunday the morning congregation was about 600, of whom 250 were
communicants; and in the afternoon the service was repeated at a village
three miles off, where there were about 100 more communicants. According
to native custom, all the women sit on one side and the men on the other.
The service is almost a literal translation from the English Prayer-Book
(it is all Wesleyan here). The elements used are Fijian bread, generally
of arrowroot and cocoa-nut, and for wine, the very weakest claret
and water, it being illegal to give a drop of wine or spirits to any
native—and the penalty is severe. It is a marvel whereat I never cease to
wonder, to know what this whole race was, less than twenty years ago, and
now to see what a fine race of kindly helpful people they are. I often
think of this, when perhaps a dozen of them volunteer to escort me on any
walk or scramble I plan, and of their own accord cut or trample my path
through the tall reeds up the steepest hillside, and carefully help me
over the innumerable streams, which are generally bridged by one slippery
cocoa-nut stem. Of course my being with the missionary party accounts for
their being all on the alert to be useful. Here, for instance, all the
twenty native teachers of the island (we are now on Ngau), and as many
more stewards, and a number of lay-preachers and female class-leaders,
have assembled for their quarterly meeting, and the place is full of
them. The result is an unusual crowd in the house, and a hideous amount
of eating of yams and pig, in honour of this great occasion. It is all in
the way of work, however; and, of course, to the people of these isles
(where there is not one white resident) the mere pleasure of sitting
staring at us, watching us eat and so forth, is a never-ending amusement.
Naturally we sometimes get very much bored by it; and it is a triumphant
moment when we contrive to give them the slip, and get away to some
quiet stream for our bathe, as aforesaid. Sometimes two or three really
pretty girls come with us to show us the way, and help us to scramble
over the boulders, and then to keep watch that no one else may come near.
I daresay they themselves manage to get a peep at the strange white
creatures; but we watch them in their turn, and the gain is, I fear,
undoubtedly on their side. Many of them would delight an artist, being
really pretty, with lovely figures, only veiled by a short kilt of creamy
white native cloth, and perhaps over that a fringe and necklace of green
leaves, thrown over one shoulder and under the other. Perhaps they carry
a large fern or plantain-leaf as umbrella, and as they skip over the grey
boulders every attitude is a picture. To-night I wish them all safe at
home.
We are now at a village called Nougouloa—_i.e._, Black Sand. It is a very
pretty tiny town, circular, with double ramparts and double moats, which
in these peaceful days are used as _taro_ beds. A very large number of
the inhabitants died in the measles—in some instances whole families; and
they were buried where they lay, on the foundation of their houses, which
were pulled down: and now patches of crimson-leaved dracæna, growing on
the raised terraces, mark these “graves of a household.” Most of the
little burial-grounds are pretty and well cared for: they are generally
shaded by the _noko-noko_[33]—a dark, drooping foliage, which just now
is covered with dainty little pink tassels, like our own larch tree.
The great screw-pines, with the odd white pillared roots, are also now
in blossom, and bear a tuft of very fragrant flowers in a case of white
leaves.
* * * * *
_Wednesday, May 3._
We are back at Sawaieke, and to-morrow morning return on board the
Jubilee, taking away several lads as students. All their friends have
come to see them off; and at the present moment no less than fourteen
visitors of all ages and sexes are lying on the mats like herrings in
a barrel, and have been gazing at us so steadily that at last they are
fairly mesmerised, and have all fallen asleep, and of course will not
stir till morning; so we shall have a chorus of grunting and coughing
all night. The coughs are really dreadful; Mr Langham has to doctor the
people right and left,—rather expensive work, and each missionary is only
allowed 30s. a-year for medical stores!
* * * * *
NASOVA, _May 20_.
I wrote so far before leaving Ngau. We got on board early, and a very
unpleasant morning it was—raining steadily.
All the relations came to the shore to weep over the emigrants starting
for the Bau Training Institution—a very short day’s sail by canoe. They
all blubbered freely (great big men), and smelt one another all over!
Up to this time we had been coasting all about the isles of Koro, Ngau,
Nairai, and Batique—the two former large and very beautiful, reminding
me much of Ceylon. The mission ship, the Jubilee, took us from isle to
isle, and then we coasted round from village to village in a canoe. As I
have previously told you, each island is surrounded by an outer ring of
coral-reef, so there is invariably smooth water right round the island
where you can row or sail in perfect comfort. Of course it is very
dangerous for the boats, as coral crops up in all manner of unexpected
patches; and at low tide it is impossible in some places to get along.
But at high tide you can always do so; and right round the coast there
are picturesque villages at intervals of four or five miles, so we halted
perhaps two nights at all the chief points—having previously sent word
to the three or four nearest towns to assemble there for church service,
school examinations, marriages, and baptisms. Of course there is apt
to be a certain sameness in these; but as I was not bound to attend
them, I often took advantage of the people being all occupied to go off
for a quiet bathe or sketch. Many of the open-air services were most
picturesque, being held under the great trees—sometimes by torchlight;
and the school-gatherings are very pretty sights—the dresses being so
fanciful. A large proportion of the scholars read and write well, and are
getting on wonderfully with arithmetic,—especially in one village, where
a poor leper, who in early life was trained at the Mission Institute, now
employs himself as amateur assistant to the teacher. I have bought two
very nice pieces of native cloth, which acted as christening-robes to two
juveniles; the font was a cocoa-nut shell.
There is generally a lovely path running right round every island, close
to the sea-shore, under shadow of large trees with grand foliage, but of
names unknown to you.
We spent May-day at a town called Nawaikama—the Burnt Waters,—because of
the hot springs. These are built in artificially, with a low wall, so as
to confine them and form a warm pool. A beautiful cool stream divides
just above the springs, and flows right round them; so when you have sat
in the pool till you are parboiled (and, by the way, it is a very odd
sensation to feel the hot water gushing up), you can take a plunge, or
at least lie down and cool in the cold fresh stream close by. It is a
pleasant bath-room, with tall palms for a canopy.
[Illustration: HOT SPRINGS, ISLE NGAU.
_p. 180._]
The only place where we came in for any interest rather out of the
humdrum ordinary of Fijian villages was the little island of Batique,
where it had been impossible to send word of the coming of the great
ecclesiastical powers; and as there is no anchorage, and dangerous reefs,
the vessel had to beat about outside all the time we were there. So we
only stayed one night, and on arriving found the whole town in a fever of
excitement (a town is a small moated village), because the young women of
Levuka had come over by appointment to bring a great present of English
cloth to the chief, and to the women of Batique. Of course they expected
mats, and painted cloth, and cocoa-nut oil in return; so all the Batique
girls had been working for ages. We arrived just as the presentation
of goods was about to be made. All the people assembled in the
market-place—a square, overshadowed by great trees on raised banks—and
then every woman brought the mat she had made, rolled up so as to show
its bright edge of worsted (modern substitute for the parrots’ feathers
of olden days). There were about 200 mats, and a good deal of fine
painted cloth. After whales’ teeth had been duly presented to the chief,
the presents were made, and much feasting ensued. It was a singularly
inopportune time for the mission work; but as it had to be then or not at
all, Mr Langham proceeded to hold service in the big square, and when
that was over, had his school examination by moonlight and torchlight.
The scene was picturesque, though the scholars had no time to make
their usual wreaths and garlands. One pretty feature of such gatherings
as these is, that at the close of the ceremony all come and lay their
(superfluous) garments of native cloth and necklaces at the feet of the
principal persons present. I only mean pretty theoretically—for of course
the wearers look stripped and shabby after this, but the followers of the
great men assume the garments thus laid down. It was ten o’clock before
we left the square and betook us to our quarters in the little church,
at either end of which we had hung up our curtains. Then we found there
was a marriage to celebrate, so Mr L. went on with that in the middle
of the church, while his wife and I slept the sleep of the weary—slept
for a little while, soon to be awakened by the shouts and measured
hand-clapping (like low thunder) of the crowd, who had again assembled
in the market-place for a grand _méké_—dancing and singing—which went
on the livelong night. At last it became so boisterous I thought I must
go down and see the fun; so crept near under the shadow of the great
plantain-leaves—but soon an envious gleam of moonlight revealed my
presence, which caused some perturbation. I fancied I was less welcome
than usual. The dancing I saw was commonplace, and not pretty, so I soon
went back to bed. This was the end of my adventures.
Next day found us at Bau, the native capital, where, you know, I have
already stayed with the Langhams; and the following morning a favourable
wind brought me here in three hours (last time I was fourteen hours).
Everything is fresh and cosy. Already Nasova is like a different
place—tidy garden, and pretty things all about, and my own room does
look so very nice with all its Fijian decorations. But of the humans,
I found only Lady Gordon and the chicks, and Baron von Hügel, the
others having gone in three different detachments, with all the native
police, to reinforce the camp already established in the great isle; for
there has been mischief brewing for long, and at last the wild heathen
mountaineers, Kai Tholos, have made a descent on several Christian
villages, burnt the houses, and murdered the inhabitants—chiefly old men,
women, and children, who had hidden in a cave. The Christians made a good
defence, and in one place thoroughly beat the aggressors. It is a nasty
business anyhow; but we trust it is nearly over now. However, no one can
tell, and of course every one is anxious.
I return to find that a home worry has arisen. The nice Welsh nurse
is actually going to marry the Spanish washerman, and as Lady Gordon
had not bound her legally to stay, she has no redress! Luckily, Mrs
Abbey is willing to undertake the place, in addition to her own already
heavy work, though she has two children of her own. Such an accident is
really a serious matter in a place like this, where good servants cannot
possibly be replaced.
We have just heard of the total wreck of the steamer Egmont, which
brought us here from Sydney. You may remember that she was specially
chartered to bring the Royal Engineers to this place. Colonel Pratt and
almost all his men have gone to Suva to open up a road into the interior
of the great isle. There seems a fate, however, about the removal of the
capital. Nothing can be done till the best harbours have been surveyed;
and the survey was stopped three months ago, in obedience to an imaginary
law of hurricanes, and the surveying ship Reynard, Captain Dawson, sent
back to the colonies. Now he returns only to have a relapse of severe
illness as soon as he enters Fijian waters, and has to go straight away
again. But it is time something was done. This place, “in which fever
and sunstroke are unknown,” is just a sink of low fever—one case after
another. Both Dr Cruikshank[34] and Dr Carew have had it very severely.
The latter (attached to the Engineers) has been sent to the colonies to
recruit. It is said that till three years ago it really was unknown—now
it is making up for lost time.
Such a sad thing has just happened here. The captain of the new
Government steamer Fitzroy had five children whom he adored: three
died, and he had to leave his delicate wife and two remaining children
in Sydney. News came that the two last children had died, but he had
one point of comfort in the coming of his wife. He was to meet her at
Khandavu (where the mails stop, a day’s steam from here). Instead of
herself, came a letter from the doctor to say she was dying at Sydney.
The poor fellow utterly lost his head, left his ship, and went off to
Sydney. Luckily a passenger on board had been in the navy, and managed to
bring the steamer safely back here, where a new captain has been found.
We have just heard that Lady Hackett is very ill with low fever, and are
going off to see her. Really there is no end to the amount of sickness
here at present.
* * * * *
FIJI, _May 20, 1876_.
DEAR EISA.—I have just got safe home from my cruise about Koro, Ngau,
Nairai, and Batique. I have one new fern—quite new to Mrs Langham and
myself, but Baron von Hügel knows it, he thinks, in New Zealand. Most of
the others, I think, I have already sent; but I think it well to go on
sending seed[35] in case of previous packets having failed, or mildewed.
The latter is the curse of this country, and nowhere is it a more cruel
foe than in collecting plants. The Baron tells me he has collected in
these isles upwards of 2000 specimens of all sorts of things (vegetable),
and the mildew has destroyed about four-fifths of the whole!
This comes home to me with especial force, in attempting to do Miss
Bird’s behest of collecting ferns for her. In any case the pursuit is
to me a novel one, for I have always steadily set my face against all
manner of dried plants, and vowed nothing would ever induce me to have
anything to do with such. But in obedience to her command, I started the
largest portfolio in all Fiji, to enable me to preserve at least small
sections of the splendid giants which form the glory of these isles
(but which to my utterly ignorant eye appear identical with those of
Australia and New Zealand). But after all, what can the biggest portfolio
do when you have to deal with fronds eight or ten feet long by four or
five feet wide? You can only preserve a fragment, which gives you no
notion of the lovely original. This is especially true of what I call the
umbrella-fern, one frond of which will quite cover a sleeping man lying
down full length. However, I did what I could—lugged about this horrid
great portfolio everywhere, full of blotting-paper and drying-paper, and
most conscientiously preserved all the loveliest things I could get, I
never knew before how long you have to search among the ferns (which
as a whole look so beautiful) before you can get one quite perfect,
especially one in seed. And I invariably found such when we were on some
difficult scramble, with enough to do to get along with hands and feet;
or else when we were hurrying on to catch a tide, with the prospect of a
long row in either the canoe or a tiny boat, under a grilling sun; and
generally, on reaching our destination, found the great portfolio and
other superfluities all gone on board the ship, ready for the morrow’s
start. Even when it was there all right, and the last hour of daylight
devoted to the attempt to save the half-withered treasures of the day,
there was invariably the mortification of finding those of the previous
days covered with mildew—often the small fronds fairly dropping off. And
now that I have got back again, and look at the result, I find nothing
but page after page of smelly mould, with shrunken brown corpses of bits
of what were once ferns. I only got half-a-dozen sketches on this trip,
and they are all mildewed. The scenery, however, is lovely. I had hoped
to have found some ferns collected for me here by one or two people whom
I had asked to help me, and who had agreed to do so. The majority whom
I asked at once refused point-blank; others said, “I go, sir,” and went
not. All jeered at me, and congratulated me on my undertaking; some said
“they had tried it once.” All agreed that the only chance of success is
to change all the papers at least every other day—a pleasant prospect
truly! However, the upshot is that no one has as yet brought me one fern;
and those I collected with so much care are just a mass of mildew, the
very smell of which is sickening. So you must tell Miss Bird, that though
for love of her I will stick to the attempt, all I have done so far is
utterly worthless.
We have had a son of Mr Veitch, the seedsman, here lately. He worked hard
at ferns for some months, and though much disappointed at getting nothing
new, contrived with infinite trouble to collect many lovely things, all
of which are now at the bottom of the sea, he having got wrecked on one
of his expeditions—very trying!
Tell your mother I have never yet had a chance of despatching her
pottery, but it is greatly to her advantage, as I have gone on picking
up bits here and there, and the case now contains nearly double as many
specimens as when I first wrote to her. Mail closing—so good-bye.
* * * * *
NASOVA, _June 3_.
If a heavenly climate, with balmy breezes, could make us happy, we are
now enjoying these in perfection; but, alas! we are very down-hearted.
It seems as if all our friends were forsaking us. We went yesterday to
say good-bye to the Layards, he having been appointed Consul in New
Caledonia. I shall miss them exceedingly. Their house was always an
attractive point for a walk, which was invariably rewarded by seeing some
interesting specimen of ornithology, or learning some point in natural
history, on which Mr Layard is a first-rate authority. Our last afternoon
together was devoted to an awful and solemn experiment. We resolved that
we must bring ourselves to taste Bêches-de-mer soup (you know about
the horrible-looking black sea-slugs, so precious to the Chinese, and
which are so largely exported from here?). Well, Mr Layard commissioned
Houng Lee, a Chinaman living in Levuka, to make a large tureen of this
soup, and bring it to his house at luncheon-time. Very dubiously did we
venture on the first spoonful; on the second still with caution: on the
third with avidity. Finally, we forgot all about the hideous slugs, and
with one accord returned for a second helping, and agreed that we had
thoroughly enjoyed our luncheon. Now, alas! all our pleasant experiments
are over—the big tumble-down old house, with the familiar pier, are
deserted; and at this very moment the Layards are in the act of sailing
out of harbour in H.M.S. Barracouta.
But grievous beyond expression to Lady Gordon and myself is the fact
that the Havelocks have decided on returning to England. You, surrounded
by friends without number, cannot possibly realise to what an extent we
shall miss these, our very greatest friends. There has scarcely been a
day of which we have not spent part together—either we have gone up to
their pretty cottage on the hill, or they have come to us for a pleasant
chat. And Jack and Nevil are devoted to their dear little Rachel. Well,
now it is all over. Already they are beginning preparations for selling
off their furniture, and their very pretty glass and china,—of course at
a heavy loss; and next month they will sail with Sir William and Lady
Hackett, and all go home together. Our new Chief-Justice, Mr Gorrie, is
expected by next mail. He comes from Mauritius.
Now as concerns news since I last wrote. For a fortnight we continued
here alone—Baron von Hügel being our only gentleman. He is “getting
up” Fiji, and competes with Sir Arthur and Mr Maudslay for the most
thoroughly perfect collection of curiosities. All the others were away
in detachments in the mountains of Viti Levu, where the wild tribes
are in rebellion. The Governor could not rest so far from the seat of
action, so went off with Mr Maudslay. We expected them back about the
16th May, but waited and waited in vain, in much anxiety. At last they
steamed quietly in, and came in with the usual calm assumption of nothing
of the slightest interest having occurred. I hear, however, that they
ran into imminent danger, and escaped by a hair’s-breadth. The Governor
insisted on walking across country from Nandi to Nandronga, about forty
miles, attended only by Dr Macgregor and about a dozen native police.
Nandronga is a town in the disturbed districts, where Arthur Gordon is
now staying. Of course it was a long two days’ march; and the first
night, the party halted at a village, without in the least realising
that they had run straight to one of the scenes of action. In the houses
they found only four or five helpless old men, all the rest having gone
to fight. A sudden blaze revealed that the enemy had surprised, and were
in the act of burning, the next village, two miles off, and of course
the villagers immediately expected to share the like fate. Great was the
consternation; and a council was held by Sir A. and the doctor whether
to retreat at once, and retrace their steps, or advance many miles to
the nearest plantation. Happily they decided to stay where they were,
the available handful of men standing sentry round the village the whole
night, watching for prowlers coming to burn the reed houses. Evidently
the enemy were put off by finding them on the alert; for only one prowler
came suddenly on a sentry, and instantly vanished in the darkness. Had
they realised what a prize lay within their grasp, I think they would not
have let that village escape. At dawn the march was continued—in fear and
trembling, however; for it is not pleasant to know that these tribes are
still cannibals. Sir Arthur also went himself to the camp at Nasauthoko,
where Captain Knollys and his native police have their headquarters.
* * * * *
NASOVA, _June 9_.
We had a very curious ceremony here this afternoon. A large body of our
wild allies have arrived here from Bau on their way to Viti Levu, and
to-day they came here to report themselves to Sir Arthur, and indulged in
a little _bole bole_, which is a form of ceremonial boasting, to describe
the great deeds of prowess they purpose to perform in the war. They are a
magnificent body of men; and as they advanced, with blackened faces and
kilts of long black water-weed like horse-hair, and streamers of white
_masi_ floating from their arms and knees, brandishing their old Tower
muskets, which replace the club of old days, they certainly did look
most alarming. They performed a very striking “devil _méké_,” with wild
attitudinising, ending with such unearthly yells as would really have
made your blood run cold to hear, and were very suggestive of what these
people must have been in old heathen days.
When the wild men had received their gift of whales’ teeth, and had gone
off to feast on turtle and pig, we went on board H.M.S. Pearl, which
sailed into harbour under full canvas on Monday evening just at sunset.
The last time she left this harbour was on the ill-fated expedition to
Santa Cruz. It is not yet a year since I left Commodore Goodenough’s
hospitable roof, and watched the Pearl sail out of Sydney harbour,
bringing Sir Arthur to begin the new life in Fiji. Then came her awful
return. Now we hear that she has been the scene of a series of brilliant
balls, given by Commodore Hoskyns at Sydney. Verily changes are rapid!
It was a great pleasure again to meet Captain Hastings and other friends.
Dr Messer has been too ill to come ashore, but to-day he showed me some
very interesting sketches of the New Hebrides idols, and other things.
In the absence of its new occupant, we ventured to enter the cabin in
which the sailor-martyr died—holy ground indeed. The Pearl sails again
to-morrow.
I have just been to see Mrs Macgregor. Both she and Mrs Garrick are very
seriously ill from frightfully ulcerated sore-throat. Captain Stewart,
R. E., has a sharp attack of fever; and Mr Lake has just been invalided
to New Zealand. Sir William Hackett is quite laid up, and looks very ill
indeed; Nevil, too, is very feverish. Altogether we are not in a very
flourishing condition.
Nothing amuses me more than the way in which people from opposite ends of
the world are for ever meeting in unexpected places. The last instance I
have come across was when two days ago I was sketching near Levuka, and
took refuge from a shower at a carpenter’s shop. There I found a very old
woman from Perthshire, who discoursed at great length on all members of
the Breadalbane family, and the Baillies of Jarviswode, as she remembered
them thirty-five years ago. It reminds me of my meeting General Troup in
India, and his telling me he knew all my family intimately. But when we
failed to find our topics of common interest altogether fluent, he added,
“Well, it is fifty years since I have seen any of them!”
I have nothing else of special interest to tell you. History repeats
itself in so small a community. A considerable number of white men and
brown have been dining here. There have been yangona _mékés_ in the
moonlight, with wild songs, which are always attractive to me. We had a
pretty _méké_, with fanciful dances, in honour of the Queen’s birthday
(the Maramma Levu, or Great Lady). Jack, the little sailor, has been in
his glory with so many ships in harbour—the Sapphire, the Alacrity, and
the Pearl. He has had luncheon and tea on board of them all, and is an
immense favourite with the blue-jackets. His naval tailor comes, gravely
to measure him for his tiny garments; and his proudest days are those
when he is allowed to go on board alone with one of the gentlemen. Mrs
Abbey has planted tree-ferns round Mrs de Ricci’s grave; and there are
few days when either her children, or Jack and Nevil, do not carry fresh
flowers to lay on it. And I have sown scarlet and blue convolvulus, and
other vines, all over the little headland. Good-bye.
* * * * *
NASOVA, _July 22_.
... Our grievous separation is accomplished. The Havelocks and Hacketts
started for England on the 6th, and, to know how sorely we miss them, you
must needs come and live out here—in this country, to which most people
come, only to leave it as soon as possible, and which has been accurately
described as one in which every difficulty in the way of progress exists
in fullest perfection. Why this should be, I really cannot tell, but it
certainly appears to be the case.
The mountain war continues, and Captain Knollys, as generalissimo, is
permanently absent; all the other gentlemen come and go incessantly.
The new judge, Mr Gorrie, accompanied Sir Arthur on his last trip, just
to see something of the mountain tribes before they become civilised,
like those of the coast. They returned here on the 3d, bringing Arthur
Gordon in the well-earned character of “Conquering Hero,” he having, with
a force of 1000 wild men, effectually quelled the disturbance in the
district under his charge. Next day the Vuni Valu came here to lunch, and
Maafu to dine. Both were anxious to hear all news of the war, but each
great chief was happier in the absence of the other.
A few days later a very fine body of picked men arrived here from
Taviuni and Thakaundrove on their way to the scene of action. They did
a war _méké_ on the green in front of the windows, and repeated the odd
ceremony of “boasting,” which I have described in previous letters. On
the 10th, the Governor, Mr Gordon, and his reinforcement of wild men,
sailed in the Fitzroy to rejoin Captain Knollys, and now we are anxiously
waiting for her return to take us across to Suva on a visit to Mrs Joski.
_July 25._—We waited in vain. Yesterday Mr Wilkinson arrived, having
travelled five days and nights in an open canoe, to bring a message from
Sir Arthur, who is in the camp at Nasauthoko, to the effect that the
Fitzroy is a total wreck. She struck on a coral-reef near the Singatoke
river, having mistaken the entrance into a passage. It was midnight, and
the land clouded by much smoke from burning the reeds for clearings.
Captain Coxe and his crew have arrived in the two boats. All hands safe;
but he, poor fellow, is sorely down-hearted at this mischance, and it
certainly is a serious loss to the colony.
_July 28._—A letter from the Langhams to say the Jubilee will call here
to-morrow, and if I like to go in her to Bau, I can join them in a cruise
all round Vanua Levu (the Great Land), Taviuni, and other isles. Of
course such a chance is not one to be lost, so I am busy getting ready
for the expedition. Probably you will not hear from me till my return.
* * * * *
(Becalmed in mid-ocean—_i.e._, about twenty miles from Taviuni,
and the same from Vanua Levu.)
_Wednesday, August 2, 1876._
MY DEAR LADY GORDON,—Is not this “riling”? To think that we were due in
Taviuni last Friday, and that we were thence to have taken Mr J., the new
missionary, to a great meeting with all the teachers, and office-bearers
of all sorts, on Vanua Levu (at Nanduri). This meeting is to come off
to-day: about 150 teachers, &c., and ever so many friends, are there
assembled, wondering what delays the Jubilee; and here we are, doing the
Ancient Mariner business to perfection, and apparently likely to lie
where we are for an unlimited period. Of course when we do reach Taviuni,
we shall not be able to stay there at all,—only just pick up Mr J., and,
if possible, row along the coast to Wairiki and Somo Somo to fetch a
native minister, while the Jubilee beats round the coast. This row will
give us a small glimpse of the coast, and so far, is the one redeeming
feature of our cruise. It is aggravating to know that if the captain had
not wasted all the early morning, the Langhams were ready on Saturday
to row miles to meet the Jubilee, as soon as she appeared, and start at
once for Taviuni. As it was, they sighted us so late in the day, that
they decided on waiting till Monday morning, by which time the wind had
changed, and we had it right in our teeth. Though we were up at 3 A.M.,
we only made Ovalau that day, and were off Nasova at sunset. I wonder
if you saw us! Last night we were off Savu Savu, and would fain have
landed to see the hot springs, but had to tack about remorselessly. Then
came the calm; and all night long, we rolled and rolled. Now the rolling
has ceased, and we are seesawing idiotically. Two consecutive nights
have proved to me that the boards of the deck are undoubtedly hard; and
till now Mrs Langham, little Annie Lindsay, and the Fijian girl Penina,
the great Johnnie, and I myself, have all been horribly sick. Only Mr
L. has been well. He is a very kind nurse; and it is quite touching to
see how devoted both he and Mrs L. are to little Annie—a bright little
five-year-old, full of life and fun, and as fond of them as they are
of her. She can talk nothing but Fijian, and is a great pet with the
natives,—a most joyous little person, on terms of intimate friendship
with all the live-stock at Bau—cats, ducks, geese, fowls, and little
pigs. Tell Jack and Nevil the bottles of jujubes and acid drops are a
great success, both with big folk and small. As yet the only excitement
has been in feeble attempts at cookery. Yesterday, after a thirty-six
hours’ course of cold pork and dry bread (not feeling equal to those tins
of mutton-broth), I bethought me of that long-treasured roll of Brand’s
brown soup, which has never left my travelling-bag, and cut up a couple
of inches in thin slices, and boiled them in the tea-kettle. The result
was capital. But in spite of all commands to scour the tea-kettle, it was
found this morning thickly coated with brown jelly! Well, this morning we
tried the first tin of condensed milk. I still think it makes tea nastier
than having none, but little Annie and Mr L. like it. Then we thought we
would make a mess of it and corn-flour. So Mr L. and I each tried our
hand at making a bowl. I made mine like arrowroot, without boiling, and
rather liked it; but his brew failed: so at last he found an old black
pot belonging to the ship, and boiled it up. It looked rather dingy
and odd, but they all avowed it was better than mine; so we were each
content. The two big pieces of waterproof were very acceptable for our
bedding.
I have no special Bau news to give you. Everything looked as usual—good
bloom of roses and jessamine, and fresh sweet air. After morning church,
I went to see Andi Kuilla, and gave her your message. She could not
wait to talk then, as it seems they always hold a family prayer-meeting
immediately after public service (having previously attended early
service). I confess I thought that it showed wonderful powers of
endurance. In the afternoon we went over to Viwa, where Mr L. held
service, the Lindsays having gone to Namena. It is a very pretty place—a
lovely walk of about a mile to the church; and beyond that the native
graves, on a headland edged with big old trees, whose tangled roots twist
right over the cliff down to the sea. Andi Kuilla came to evening tea,
and to ask Mr L. for a copy-book, pen, &c., that she might improve her
hand before writing you a Fijian letter herself. Ratu Timothy also sent
up for lamp-wicks. There is scarcely an hour of the day that some member
of the “royal family” does not send up for something or other. I found
Mr L. had arranged that one of the native ministers, Ratu Isaiah, is to
meet him on the coast of Viti Levu, about twenty miles from Nananu, and
is to bring the mail. So I gave him a note to Mr Maudslay, asking him to
send my letters also. If I have the luck to be dropped at Nananu, Mr L.
will get them sent on. Now I will add no more; for you have no notion how
hateful it is to write on your lap, holding a big umbrella with one hand,
and sea-sawing all the time. The faintest little breeze is just springing
up, and we are beginning to move—almost imperceptibly.
* * * * *
VUNA POINT (NAVACA MISSION-HOUSE), 3 P.M.
Just arrived, by dint of literally _rowing_ the Jubilee the last few
miles,—such heavy mist and quiet rain that we could see nothing of the
isle as we approached—only a vision of very high land and coast-line of
rich foliage and fields. Instead of beach, coral and black rocks run to
the very edge of the land. It seems so strange to see the branches of
the trees literally overhanging the coral; and just beyond, the water
is quite deep. The Lands Commission are living very near: we see their
tents. Probably we shall walk along the coast so far, after tea, to see
Colonel Pratt and the others. We sleep here, I am glad to say. No time
for more. Much love to the bairns.—Ever yours.