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STEVENSON'S SHRINE
[Illustration: _The Grave._]
STEVENSON'S SHRINE
THE RECORD OF A PILGRIMAGE
By LAURA STUBBS
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
INCORPORATED
1903
Contents
PAGE
CHAPTER I. The Voyage--Auckland to Tonga 5
CHAPTER II. " " Vavau to Samoa 15
CHAPTER III. " " Vailima and the SHRINE 26
CHAPTER IV. The Aftermath--Fiji to Sydney 53
List of Plates
THE GRAVE _Frontispiece_
A CORAL GARDEN _To face page_ 6
TONGA VILLAGE " 8
TRILITHON IN TONGA " 13
HARBOUR OF VAVAU " 15
KAVA-MAKING " 18
TOWN OF APIA " 23
"ROAD OF THE LOVING HEART" " 27
KAVA FEAST " 29
THE HOUSE AT VAILIMA (FRONT VIEW) " 31
THE HALL AT VAILIMA " 32
VIEW OF VAILIMA FROM THE GRAVE " 39
THE STAIRCASE AT VAILIMA " 41
THE HOUSE AT VAILIMA (END VIEW) " 42
NATIVE FEAST AT VAILIMA " 44
ONE OF THE FIVE RIVERS AT VAILIMA " 46
ANOTHER OF THE FIVE RIVERS " 48
DANCE OF SAMOAN NATIVES " 50
VIEW IN FIJI " 53
FIJIAN BOAT " 56
[Illustration: MAP OF A PORTION OF THE SOUTH PACIFIC SHOWING SAMOA AND
SOCIETY ISLANDS]
CHAPTER I
"The first love, the first sunrise, the first South Sea Island, are
memories apart and touch a virginity of sense."
"My soul went down with these moorings whence no windlass may extract
nor any diver fish it up."
_Robert Louis Stevenson._
I, a lover of the man, personally unknown to me, save through the potency
of his pen, journeyed across the world in order to visit his grave, and to
get into direct touch with his surroundings.
The voyage to the Antipodes does not come within the compass of this
little book; enough that in September, 1892, I left Auckland (New Zealand)
in the Union Company's Steamship Manipouri, for a cruise among the South
Sea Islands, and that our first port of call was Nukualofa, one of the
Tongan group.
Here I stood on a little grass-covered wharf, and, looking down through
the translucent water, made my first acquaintance with a coral garden. Oh!
that wonderful water world with its wealth of sprays, flowers, and
madrepores, amongst which the tiny rainbow-coloured fishes darted in and
out like submarine humming-birds--wingless, but brilliant--living flecks
of colour, flashing through a fairy region. The unreality of the scene
took hold of me. If this were real I must be enchanted, looking downwards
with enchanted eyes.
As one who dreams I walked inland, following a most fascinating green turf
path soft as velvet to the tread. There are no roads in Nukualofa, green
turf paths serve instead; indeed the whole of the little island, with its
long stately avenues of coconut palms, its sheltering bowers of banyan
trees, its groups of bananas, and groves of orange and other tropical
trees too numerous and too varied to describe, seems one beautiful and
universal park. Every few minutes I came across a vivid patch of scarlet,
yellow, or white hibiscus; great trailing lengths of blue convolvulus,
many tendrilled and giant blossomed, garlanded the trees, and not
unfrequently flung an almost impenetrable barrier across the path. These
paths are separated from the universal park by--a fencing of barbed
wire! But the little tram line, which terminates at the wharf, was
bordered with turf of a moss-like softness, and even between its rails the
grass grew thickly.[1]
[Illustration: A CORAL GARDEN
_To face page 6_]]
The whole island was encircled by a giant fringe of coral, white and
glistening, at one side of which was a natural opening leading to the
little harbour. The light at sunset upon this reef was like the refraction
of some hidden prism, shimmering opalescent, a suffusion of vague and
unspeakably lovely hues.
After walking for some time I suddenly came within sight of a palm-fringed
lagoon. Upon its unruffled blue surface two native girls were paddling a
small canoe. Their attire was slight, and their polished skins, gleaming
with coconut oil, shone like mahogany. They stared for a moment at the new
arrival with all the _naivete_ of children, then with a rippling laugh
they paddled to the bank and began to talk. As I listened to the unknown
accents of their musical tongue I was filled with bitterness to think
that though so near, we were nevertheless so far apart. A smile however is
always current coin, and before we parted many a one had been exchanged.
In slight relief, amid the brilliant-hued orange-trees, the tall
feathery-topped coconut palms, the dark green spreading bread-fruit trees,
and the broad-leaved _pandanus_ or screw-pines, the brown huts of the
natives showed up at intervals. Flung down at random on the verdant
carpet, which flourished up to their very doors, thatched with long
screw-pine leaves and lashed together with coconut fibre, with never an
angle between them, I have been assured, by more than one resident of
authority, that they stand the brunt of a hurricane better than the best
houses built by Europeans. Outside these huts, sitting or standing, or
lounging about in indolent inaction, were native men, women, and
children--dear little brown-skinned babies, innocent of any attire save
their original "birthday suit," rolled and tumbled on the grass. As I
passed on my way the women and girls nodded and smiled, and gave me their
musical greeting of "Mehola lelai," and before I was out of sight called
after me "Nofa, Nofa"--the native "Good-bye," which means literally "Stay,
stay." And everywhere could be heard the tap tap of the kava stones, and
the rhythmic beating out of the "tapa."
[Illustration: TONGA VILLAGE, WITH ROUND HOUSES
_To face page 8_]]
This "Tapa" (or "Ngata") cloth is very pretty. It is made from the
bleached and beaten out bark of a tree, and is decorated with rude designs
which the natives trace with a piece of charred stick, and which represent
squares, circles, angles, stars, even at times the outline of the flying
fox. The colouring matter used to complete the patterns is of a black or
brown tint, and is made from a decoction of bark; a piece of cloth, or
hibiscus fibre is employed as a brush, and when the work is finished the
effect is charming.
I tasted a green coconut plucked direct from the palm by a native, who,
bribed by a shilling, scaled the long, straight stem at my request. The
milk contained in the shell (though perhaps a trifle sickly) was
deliciously cool, and on a hot day most refreshing.
The attire of the natives of the Tongan group is extremely picturesque and
harmonises admirably with their surroundings. Holy Tonga and indeed all
the islands of this group are subject to a curious law which enacts that
all classes of natives, whether male or female, must wear an upper as well
as a lower garment. Both men and women adorn themselves with flowers,
garlands about their necks, wreaths of flowers in their hair. The air was
heavy with the scent of orange blossom, cape jasmine, and frangipani.
I sat on the trunk of a fallen tree and watched the little sheeny
blue-tailed lizards flicker to and fro, and indeed it was delicious to
feel no fear of poisonous reptiles, for in these delectable isles there
are none, no snakes--save the beautiful and harmless water snakes--no
scorpions, no centipedes, not even the death-dealing spider of New
Zealand.
Our steamer left Nukualofa that evening, and we took on board a number of
natives bound for Samoa. The entire population of the island seemed to
have gathered together in a picturesque group on the shore to bid them
farewell; and this group formed a brilliant foreground to our parting view
of Tonga, with its green esplanade, its villa palace, its church and its
white Government Offices, the latter of which stood boldly out against the
groves of bananas and long feathery vistas of coconut palms.[2]
We steamed out of the harbour of Nukualofa by a different passage to that
by which we had entered, and before we passed the reef we had to make our
way through a perfect network of little islands, all alike, palm-fringed
and scattered about at random like flowers in a meadow.
Like beasts of prey the white waves leapt against the coral barrier, and
to right and left of us for a brief space showed white gleams of reef, but
a moment later we had left the treacherous surf behind us and were
steaming across a deep purple fathomless ocean. As I stood on the deck
still gazing shoreward, the foam of the waves became azure under my eyes,
whilst delicately-coloured flying-fish, denizens of two elements, skimmed
like gigantic sea-butterflies over the surface of the water, flitting to
and fro in the uncontrolled enjoyment of life and motion.
That night the native passengers, rolled up in Tapa, their heads resting
on hollow wooden pillows, camped on deck; the scent of the coconut oil
with which they anointed their sleek smooth bodies was quite overpowering,
especially when blended with the fragrance of the cissies (or flower
girdles) worn around their waists, and with that of the garlands of
flowers and berries hung so lavishly about their necks.
A tropic night, and the moon at the full! The pure white radiance threw
everything into strong relief. The natives slept at intervals and danced
at intervals, crooning a strange weird chant to the accompaniment of much
beating of hands.
By daylight next morning we anchored in the roadstead of Lefuka, the
principal island in the Haapai group. A long low shore, a foreground of
white sand, a fringe of coconut palms with thicker vegetation beyond,
brown thatched roofs of native houses, and white ones of Europeans! Such
was Pangai town as seen from the deck of our steamer. Seaward, on the
other hand, there was the already familiar line of coral reef and a score
of "Summer isles of Eden lying in dark purple spheres of sea."
[Illustration: HAAMUNGA OR TRILITHON IN TONGA
_To face page 13_]]
The whole of our passengers, just six in number, landed for a tour of
inspection. In front of nearly every native house, a horse was hobbled,
but in spite of the abundance of green pasturage the unfortunate animals
looked half starved, and their thin legs were so weak that I wondered how
they could do any work at all. On quitting the town, however, we left the
houses behind, and strolled away into the bush, where we again had only
the green turf under our feet, and again saw round us an absolutely level
country. Meanwhile, huge fronds of coconut palms did their best to shield
us from the sun, and the broad leaves of the banana cast cool shadows
across our path. Before we had gone far, the most wonderful lean, lank,
long-legged, reddish-brown pigs went scudding across our track, and
disappeared amongst the trees. They were the direct descendants, I was
told, of the pigs left here by Captain Cook. It did not take us more
than an hour to walk right across Lefuka, until we reached its eastern
shore. The tide was dead low, and we could see the outlines of the dry
coral reefs, which connect all these islands as with a chain. On the way,
one of our party related how, not so long ago, the coast was bodily raised
twenty feet higher by an earthquake, and how the earthquake was followed
by a great tidal wave. A halt was called, and while we rested on the coral
beach and ate our fill of "mummy" apples[3]--one of our company amused us
with the account of a wonderful Haamunga or Trilithon in Tonga, which,
alas, we had no chance of visiting. This Trilithon, which is about sixteen
miles inland from Tongatabu, seems to afford evidence of the former
existence, in Tonga, of an ancient civilisation, that of some bygone
people who, in common with the Maories, were possessed of religious
instincts far in advance of the conquering Polynesians, who succeeded
them. It consists of two enormous upright blocks of stone with a massive
slab on the top, the latter being curiously countersunk into the two
uprights. The whole structure is strongly reminiscent of our cromlechs at
Stonehenge and elsewhere, recalling the theory of a universal sun
worship. We talked this subject out as we sat, under the shade of the
palms, on the sun-warmed beach, then we returned to the landing stage by
another route.
On these low-lying islands the coconut palms thrive well and bear
abundantly, for there is nothing to impede the passage of the strong salt
breeze right across the level surface of the Haapaian group, and without
this strong salt air the coconut cannot thrive.
From Lefuka we steamed to Vavau, but as our arrival in Vavau marks the
second stage in my pilgrimage, I will reserve it for a fresh chapter.
Henceforth, we were to be confronted by an entirely new type of landscape;
the reign of the level surface was ended.
[Illustration: HARBOUR OF VAVAU
_To face page 15_]]