_Waikiki_, _Honolulu_, _H. 1._
_Oct._ 23rd, 1893.
DEAR COLVIN,—My wife came up on the steamer and we go home together in 2
days. I am practically all right, only sleepy and tired easily, slept
yesterday from 11 to 11.45, from 1 to 2.50, went to bed at 8 P.M., and
with an hour’s interval slept till 6 A.M., close upon 14 hours out of the
24. We sail to-morrow. I am anxious to get home, though this has been
an interesting visit, and politics have been curious indeed to study. We
go to P.P.C. on the ‘Queen’ this morning; poor, recluse lady, _abreuvée
d’injures qu’elle est_. Had a rather annoying lunch on board the
American man-of-war, with a member of the P.G. (provincial government);
and a good deal of anti-royalist talk, which I had to sit out—not only
for my host’s sake, but my fellow guests. At last, I took the lead and
changed the conversation.
R. L. S.
I am being busted here by party named Hutchinson. Seems good.
* * * * *
[_Vailima—November_.]
Home again, and found all well, thank God. I am perfectly well again and
ruddier than the cherry. Please note that 8000 is not bad for a volume
of short stories; the _Merry Men_ did a good deal worse; the short story
never sells. I hope _Catriona_ will do; that is the important. The
reviews seem mixed and perplexed, and one had the peculiar virtue to make
me angry. I am in a fair way to expiscate my family history. Fanny and
I had a lovely voyage down, with our new C. J. and the American Land
Commissioner, and on the whole, and for these disgusting steamers, a
pleasant ship’s company. I cannot understand why you don’t take to the
Hawaii scheme. Do you understand? You cross the Atlantic in six days,
and go from ’Frisco to Honolulu in seven. Thirteen days at sea _in
all_.—I have no wish to publish _The Ebb Tide_ as a book, let it wait.
It will look well in the portfolio. I would like a copy, of course, for
that end; and to ‘look upon’t again’—which I scarce dare.
* * * * *
[_Later_.]
This is disgraceful. I have done nothing; neither work nor letters. On
the Me (May) day, we had a great triumph; our Protestant boys, instead of
going with their own villages and families, went of their own accord in
the Vailima uniform; Belle made coats for them on purpose to complete the
uniform, they having bought the stuff; and they were hailed as they
marched in as the Tama-ona—the rich man’s children. This is really a
score; it means that Vailima is publicly taken as a family. Then we had
my birthday feast a week late, owing to diarrhoea on the proper occasion.
The feast was laid in the Hall, and was a singular mass of food: 15 pigs,
100 lbs. beef, 100 lbs. pork, and the fruit and filigree in a proportion.
We had sixty horse-posts driven in the gate paddock; how many guests I
cannot guess, perhaps 150. They came between three and four and left
about seven. Seumanu gave me one of his names; and when my name was
called at the ava drinking, behold, it was _Au mai taua ma manu-vao_!
You would scarce recognise me, if you heard me thus referred to!
Two days after, we hired a carriage in Apia, Fanny, Belle, Lloyd and I,
and drove in great style, with a native outrider, to the prison; a huge
gift of ava and tobacco under the seats. The prison is now under the
_pule_ of an Austrian, Captain Wurmbrand, a soldier of fortune in Servia
and Turkey, a charming, clever, kindly creature, who is adored by ‘_his_
chiefs’ (as he calls them) meaning _our_ political prisoners. And we
came into the yard, walled about with tinned iron, and drank ava with the
prisoners and the captain. It may amuse you to hear how it is proper to
drink ava. When the cup is handed you, you reach your arm out somewhat
behind you, and slowly pour a libation, saying with somewhat the manner
of prayer, ‘_Ia taumafa e le atua_. _Ua matagofie le fésilafaiga nei_.’
‘Be it (high-chief) partaken of by the God. How (high chief) beautiful
to view is this (high chief) gathering.’ This pagan practice is very
queer. I should say that the prison ava was of that not very welcome
form that we elegantly call spit-ava, but of course there was no escape,
and it had to be drunk. Fanny and I rode home, and I moralised by the
way. Could we ever stand Europe again? did she appreciate that if we
were in London, we should be _actually jostled_ in the street? and there
was nobody in the whole of Britain who knew how to take ava like a
gentleman? ’Tis funny to be thus of two civilisations—or, if you like,
of one civilisation and one barbarism. And, as usual, the barbarism is
the more engaging.
Colvin, you have to come here and see us in our [native / mortal] spot.
I just don’t seem to be able to make up my mind to your not coming. By
this time, you will have seen Graham, I hope, and he will be able to tell
you something about us, and something reliable, I shall feel for the
first time as if you knew a little about Samoa after that. Fanny seems
to be in the right way now. I must say she is very, very well for her,
and complains scarce at all. Yesterday, she went down _sola_ (at least
accompanied by a groom) to pay a visit; Belle, Lloyd and I went a walk up
the mountain road—the great public highway of the island, where you have
to go single file. The object was to show Belle that gaudy valley of the
Vaisigano which the road follows. If the road is to be made and opened,
as our new Chief Justice promises, it will be one of the most beautiful
roads in the world. But the point is this: I forgot I had been three
months in civilisation, wearing shoes and stockings, and I tell you I
suffered on my soft feet; coming home, down hill, on that stairway of
loose stones, I could have cried. O yes, another story, I knew I had.
The house boys had not been behaving well, so the other night I announced
a _fono_, and Lloyd and I went into the boys’ quarters, and I talked to
them I suppose for half an hour, and Talolo translated; Lloyd was there
principally to keep another ear on the interpreter; else there may be
dreadful misconceptions. I rubbed all their ears, except two whom I
particularly praised; and one man’s wages I announced I had cut down by
one half. Imagine his taking this smiling! Ever since, he has been
specially attentive and greets me with a face of really heavenly
brightness. This is another good sign of their really and fairly
accepting me as a chief. When I first came here, if I had fined a man a
sixpence, he would have quit work that hour, and now I remove half his
income, and he is glad to stay on—nay, does not seem to entertain the
possibility of leaving. And this in the face of one particular
difficulty—I mean our house in the bush, and no society, and no women
society within decent reach.
I think I must give you our staff in a tabular form.
HOUSE. KITCHEN OUTSIDE.
+ o _Sosimo_, provost + o _Talolo_, provost + o _Henry Simelé_,
and butler, and my and chief cook. provost and overseas
valet. of outside boys.
+ o _Iopu_, second
o _Misifolo_, who is cook. _Lü_.
Fanny and Belle’s
chamberlain. _Tali_, his wife, no _Tasi Sele_.
wages.
_Maiele_.
_Ti’a_, Samoan cook.
_Pulu_, who is also
_Feiloa’i_, his our talking man and
child, no wages, cries the ava.
likewise no
work—Belle’s pet.
+ o _Leuelu_, Fanny’s
boy, gardener, odd
jobs.
IN APIA.
+ _Eliga_, washman
and daily errand man.
The crosses mark out the really excellent boys. Ti’a is the man who has
just been fined half his wages; he is a beautiful old man, the living
image of ‘Fighting Gladiator,’ my favourite statue—but a dreadful humbug.
I think we keep him on a little on account of his looks. This sign o
marks those who have been two years or upwards in the family. I note all
my old boys have the cross of honour, except Misifolo; well, poor dog, he
does his best, I suppose. You should see him scour. It is a remark that
has often been made by visitors: you never see a Samoan run, except at
Vailima. Do you not suppose that makes me proud?
I am pleased to see what a success _The Wrecker_ was, having already in
little more than a year outstripped _The Master of Ballantrae_.
About _David Balfour_ in two volumes, do see that they make it a
decent-looking book, and tell me, do you think a little historical
appendix would be of service? Lang bleats for one, and I thought I might
address it to him as a kind of open letter.
* * * * *
_Dec._ 4_th_.
No time after all. Good-bye.
R. L S.