THE AFTERMATH
The object of my journey was attained. Samoa, with its mist-swept
mountains, its sun-lit waterfalls, its gleaming "etherial musky
highlands," lay behind me, dim as a dream, a pictured memory of the past;
and yet I had not done with the Islands. At two, if not three, of the
Fijian group, we were to ship copra and sugar; and report had said that
the Fiji Islands were more lovely than the Samoan. So I add a valedictory
chapter--an epilogue in fact--contenting myself with the very briefest of
descriptions, trusting that my illustrations will supply the missing
details.
We were bound for Levuka, and we passed en route the small island of
Apolima, for which Stevenson conceived so great an admiration, although I
fancy he never landed there, but only saw it, as I did, from the deck of a
steamer. Basking in the golden radiance of the evening light, Apolima
looked like the long-lost Island of Avilion,
"Where falls nor rain, nor hail, nor any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly, but it lies
Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns,
And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea."
In the centre of the island is an extinct crater, and this crater is all
one luxuriant tangle of dense bush. Here and there among the trees peeped
out the brown huts of native Chiefs, for Apolima is a sacred island, and
only the high Chiefs are privileged to dwell there. Next day we sighted
Levuka, which looked more like a mountain range than an island.
The coral barrier extends for a mile and a half beyond the shore of
Levuka, the reef showing occasional openings, and within one of these
openings was the harbour.
These openings are like so many gates into fields of calm water, and fatal
indeed would be any attempt to force a passage, for on the treacherous
reef itself there is always to be seen the line of churned-up foam, and
always to be heard, for miles away, the thunder of the surf. Here was the
piteous spectacle of many a wreck, the bare ribs of death showing above
the merciless coral.
At Apia the harbour lights showed through the gaunt skeleton of the
_Adler_, and just outside the roadstead of Levuka my attention was drawn
to all that was left of an East Indiaman.
If the coral could but speak what tales might it not tell of poor,
drenched, fordone humanity, clutching with bleeding hands at what was so
cruel and so inexorable--now sucked back by the indrawn breath of the
waves, and now flung remorselessly forward on to the beautiful, bared
teeth of the reef, until Death, more merciful than Life, put an end to
their sufferings.
As we passed the reef I noticed that the vivid blue _within_ the natural
harbour was separated from the "foamless, long-heaving, violet ocean"
_without_, by a submarine rainbow.
Every colour was here represented and every gradation of colour. It looked
as if the sun were shining below the water through the medium of some
hidden prism.
"Is it always beautiful like this?" I asked one of my friends on board who
had spent many years in these parts, and who with eyes intently gazing
shoreward, stood beside me on the upper deck.
"Always," was the prompt reply, "at least, I have never seen it otherwise.
Looks like a necklace of opals, does it not?"
"What causes the colour?"
"I have been waiting for that question, and it's a difficult one to
answer. I should say it was due to the difference of depth at which the
patches of coral, seaweed, and white sand are to be found, and the effect
of the sunshine on them through the clear, shallow, greenish water that
covers the irregular surface of the reef. The shades of colour vary with
the ebb and flow of the tide. I've seen it through a golden haze, and I've
seen it through a violet haze, but always with these prismatic colours; it
is at its very best at noontide. If you look over the side of the steamer
you will see how the colours lie, not on the surface, but below the
water--the deeper you can see, the more varied and intense the colour."
On landing at Levuka it needed no one to tell us that desolation in the
form of a hurricane had recently swept over the island. The ruined church
confronted us, with ruined houses, and toppled over palms, the entire
beach was strewn with broken shells, rainbow-coloured fragments of
departed loveliness. We landed and took a nearer survey of the disaster.
At the little noisy wharf crowds of natives pressed goods on us for sale,
among them being lovely baskets of coral, conch shells, _sulu's_ and
_tapa_. The Roman Catholic church had escaped, as by a miracle, for all
around it were fallen palms. We entered and admired the inlaid (native)
wood-work, and the beautiful pink shell, on a carved wooden stand, that
served as a font.
[Illustration: FIJIAN BOAT
_To face page 56_]]
We left Levuka in the evening and reached Suva early next morning. I was
awakened by the shrill trumpeting of conch shells, and hurrying on deck I
saw alongside of us a boat full of natives, several of whom held conch
shells to their mouths, and made a truly ear-piercing sound. I attempted
to buy the largest of these shells, but its native owner refused to sell
it.
In some respects Suva was the most picturesque island that we visited. The
outlines were more rugged and varied than those of Samoa, and the growth
of bush was certainly more luxuriant. One curiously rounded mountain peak
went by the name of The Devil's Thumb. We landed at seven o'clock, in the
cool of the morning, and the delicious fragrance of the air left an
abiding impression. After some discussion as to the best manner of
spending our last day ashore, we decided to hire a little steam launch and
go up the River Rewa as far as the sugar factory and plantation. This we
did, and saw amongst other novelties the scarlet and black land crabs that
live in holes along the mud banks on either side, as well as the oysters
clinging to the branching roots of the mangroves.
The sugar plantation was very interesting, as we here saw the natives at
work in the cane-fields, but the factory was hot, sticky, and heavy with
the nauseating smell of brown sugar. We returned at seven o'clock, and
after dinner made a tour of inspection in the town.
Suva, being the capital of the Fiji Islands, is quite an imposing little
place. There are no turf roads here but streets with shops and pavements,
all well lighted, and gay with colour. We bought many curiosities and
returned to the steamer laden with our treasures.
Next morning we left for Sydney, and although we touched at several little
atolls en route, we only landed at two of them, and then only for about an
hour.
So ended my tour. I set out on my pilgrimage with but one end in view,
namely, THE GRAVE. I returned with "rich eyes and poor hands." I had
attained, but my attainment was shadowed by regret, for I had left my
heart behind me, "my soul" had gone "down with these moorings, whence no
windlass might extract nor any diver fish it up."
FINIS.
Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] I have described this island more particularly because it was the
first I visited, and has ever since remained "a memory apart, virginal."
But looking back I realise that Nukualofa is by no means a beautiful type
of coral island, since in common with all the Tongan group it is
absolutely flat, and wholly lacks that diversity of outline (due to
volcanic agency) which is the leading characteristic of the Samoan and
Fijian groups.
[2] His Majesty King George of Tonga being in residence, the villa palace
was inaccessible to visitors.
[3] More correctly mammy apples--the fruit of the "paw-paw" tree.
[4] If the reader wishes to understand the political history of Samoa let
him read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest Stevenson's "_Footnote to
History_."
[5] September, 1894, _Vailima Letters_.
[6] I am told this finger-post is now a thing of the past.
[7] Since reading Mr. Balfour's _Life of Stevenson_, I am led to infer
these last were a sort of fresh-water prawns.
[8] _Vailima Letters_, November, 1890.
[9] I have since I wrote this been informed by a member of the family that
although the hole existed it was not between the library and the bedroom.
[10] Written at the time of his death for distribution among his personal
friends, etc.
[11] Alola--literally, the "loved one."