IN PAGO PAGO BAY
In the settlement of the Samoan imbroglio in the late nineties by the
partition of the group between Germany and the United States--Great
Britain, the third party to the controversy having been granted
compensatory rights in the Tongas and Solomons--America, for all
practical purposes, had much the best of the bargain. Germany entered
into actual possession of the two largest islands of the group, Upolou
and Savaii, leaving the United States to do the same with Tutuila and
the Manuas. The American government, however, contented itself with
a naval station at Pago Pago, Tutuila, and the exercise of a mild
protectorate over the natives of the rest of that island. Germany's
rich and beautiful islands, after proving little more than a costly
colonial experiment, passed out of her hands forever at the end of the
late war. The establishment of a naval station at Pago Pago has placed
the United States, strategically, in the strongest position in western
Polynesia.
The bay of Pago Pago is unquestionably the finest harbour in the whole
of the Pacific. In form it is not unlike a fat letter "L," of which the
shorter line is the entrance and the longer, inclining slightly inward,
the bay proper. Ages ago what is now the harbour was undoubtedly a huge
crater occupying the centre of the island of Tutuila. One day the water
must have broken through into the lava, causing an explosion which, in
addition to settling the island a thousand feet or so, blew out a slice of
the crater's rim and dropped it out of sight somewhere in the deep sea.
The place where the slice blew out is the present entrance to the
harbour, and it is wide and deep enough to hold the Capitol at
Washington without seriously interfering with navigation.
So completely landlocked is the harbour, and so smooth are its waters
in all weathers, that from anywhere in the inner bay--except for the
tropical vegetation which clothes the mountain sides--it might pass for
a Swiss lake. The high walls of the ancient crater cut off the rays of
the morning and evening sun, and the velvety green of the wonderful
tropic tapestry which covers them, reflecting scarcely any light and
heat, makes the harbour several degrees cooler than any other Pacific
island of similar latitude, either north or south of the equator. At
noon of the warmest day of the month which the _Lurline_ remained in
the harbour the temperature was 79°, Fahrenheit. The coolest day was
74° at noon and 72° at midnight, while the water held around an even
80° all of the time.
The naval reservation, with its dock, coal pile, ice plant and
warehouses, occupies the only extensive piece of level land on the bay.
Above, on a jutting promontory which commands the entrance and every
foot of the harbour line, is the residence of the commander of the
station and the governor of the island, occupied at the time of our
visit by Captain E. B. Underwood, U.S.N. At the end of the bay, half
submerged in a forest of coconuts, bread-fruit, bananas and mangoes, is
the Samoan village of Pago Pago, the most important native settlement
on the island. Several other small villages form breaks in the solid
colour of the verdant rondure with occasional isolated circular roofs
of brown thatch dotting the grey ribbon of the trail which binds them
together.
Ever a splendid physical specimen and ever possessed of the kindliest
and happiest of dispositions, the Samoan has undergone less change
in his contact with the white man than any other native of the South
Pacific. This is particularly true of those of Tutuila, for the mailed
fist of the German War Lord had rested heavily on Upolou and Savaii
for over a decade at the time of our visit, and one detected traces of
sullenness and discontent among their peoples which he would search
for in vain among the care-free natives of the American island. In
many ways, in fact, Tutuila is deserving of being called a model
tropical colony. The government, except for a gently exercised judicial
supervision, is practically autonomous, and the natives, left to the
enjoyment of the customs and institutions of their fathers, have
retained a self-respect, dignity and amiability without parallel in
any of the other island groups of Polynesia. The American protectorate
over Tutuila is proving a happy medium between the paternalism of
the British and the repressiveness of the Germans and French, the
result being an island where intercourse with the natives is unmixedly
edifying and pleasant.
The Samoan islands are rightly called the Navigator Group, for both
in their achievements of the past along that line, as well as in
the seamanship they display today, their natives are in a class by
themselves. The superiority of line of a Samoan "out-rigger" canoe
over that of those of any other South Pacific group is apparent to the
veriest novice, as is also the ability with which it is handled. The
following description of a Samoan "out-rigger," which was written by
an expert, will convey to the initiated an idea of the technical
construction of this remarkable little craft.
[Illustration: "A NAVAL STATION AT PAGO PAGO HAS
PLACED THE UNITED STATES, STRATEGICALLY, IN THE
STRONGEST POSITION IN WESTERN POLYNESIA"]
[Illustration: "CHIEF TUFELI IN THE UNIFORM OF A
SERGEANT OF _Fita-fitas_"]
"Although the Samoan canoe is a 'dugout,' it is far from being the
clumsy affair that the name indicates. Though the hull is indeed dug
out of a single log, it is none the less moulded along lines of grace
as well as utility. The hull is well sheered and tapered toward the
slightly elevated prow, perpendicular and bladelike in its thinness. It
is moulded with reference to fluid resistance and cut so as to minimize
the drag of the water, and yet gain every advantage from a following
sea. They do not spread or widen the hull amidships, even in the very
small canoes, nor, on the other hand, are the lines of the out-rigger
(left) side at all flattened; the hulls are all symmetrical with
respect to the longitudinal axis."
One used to handling a Peterboro will find a Samoan canoe very cranky
at first, owing to the fact that the outrigger causes a drag which must
be overcome by dipping first on one side and then on the other. The
size of the canoe is limited only by the size of the trunk from which
it is hewn. Occasionally one is seen carrying seven or eight adults,
but the capacity of the ordinary canoe is not over two or three.
In the old days the Samoans, like all the other South Sea islanders,
made their long voyages in big double canoes or catamarans driven by
huge sails of matting. This type, though still common in Fiji, has
practically disappeared from Samoa, its place being taken by the
_malaga_, a modified whaleboat. This stoutly-built double-ender is
generally acknowledged to be the most seaworthy type of open boat known,
and instances are on record of its having ridden out storms in which
sailing vessels, and even steamers, came to grief. The Samoan started
with the orthodox whaleboat and kept building larger and larger until
the limit of practical construction was reached. In fact, construction
went somewhat beyond the limit of practicability, for a huge _malaga_
built ten years ago in Apia--a veritable Roman galley of an affair, with
seats for a hundred rowers--broke its back on its trial trip. Nothing of
so colossal proportions has been tried since, though fifty-oar _malagas_
are occasionally seen conveying all of the able-bodied males of a village
off to a cricket match.
The _malaga_ most in use is but little larger than the regulation
whaleboat. It is stepped for two masts, and, with a big leg-o'-mutton
sail hoisted on each, makes good speed if the wind is anywhere abaft
the beam. Within eight points of the wind, if any sea is running, too
much water comes aboard to make sailing practicable. At such times the
canvas is taken in and the oars resorted to until a shift of wind or a
change of course makes sailing again possible.
The Samoan invariably sings when he rows, and stopping his mouth would
interfere quite as much with the progress of the boat as binding his
arms. They pull one man to the oar and take their stroke from the
rhythm of the song of the leader. Ask your Samoan boatman how far the
next point is, or how long it will take to reach it, and he will tell
you "three songs," or four or five songs, as he happens to judge it. On
a hot day a crew will stop oftener to rest its throats than its backs.
Entering a tortuous, surf-beset passage through a reef, such as leads
into all the bays of Tutuila except Pago Pago, a man takes his station
on the prow of the _malaga_ and, signalling with his hands, now on one
side and now on the other, keeps the helmsman advised of the lay of
the channel.
* * * * *
Captain and Mrs. Underwood came off to the yacht the afternoon
following our arrival at Pago Pago, their call proving most opportune
in chancing to coincide with that of Seuka, the _taupo_ of the village.
The latter, in company with her hand-maidens, a dozen or more in
all, bearing presents of _tapa_ and fruit, came off in the official
_malaga_, and through neglecting to bring an interpreter with her
narrowly missed being taken for a curio vendor and being put off until
another day. The Underwoods came to the rescue, however, and
prolonged their call until everybody was acquainted.
The _taupo_ or "village maiden" is a functionary as indispensable to
a Samoan village as a chief, or even a missionary. She is, in fact,
usually the daughter of the chief; or, if that dignitary has no girl
in his family, the most attractive maiden chosen from among his near
relations. Her duties are the traditional ones of making the official
_kava_, leading the official dances called _siva-sivas_, and looking
after the entertainment and personal comfort of distinguished visitors.
Formerly she acted as a sort of _vivandiere_ in time of tribal wars,
encouraging her chief's forces by singing in the forefront of the
battle. This latter, strange as it may seem, is not an ancient custom
by any means. The still young and beautiful wife of Judge E. W. Gurr
of Pago Pago, who was _taupo_ of Apia at the time of the now historic
war between Maletoa and Mataafa for supremacy in Samoa, went
through that sanguinary struggle at the side of her adopted father, the
distinguished chief, Seumana-Tafa, and her delightful accounts of her
experiences in those stirring days we were privileged to enjoy on a
number of occasions during our visit.
The _taupo_ lives in a house of her own, attended by eight or ten
handmaidens and a stern--a very stern--duenna. The handmaidens are
the most attractive unmarried girls in the village after the _taupo_,
and are chosen for their faces and figures and their ability to
dance. Beyond following the _taupo_ in the mazes of the _siva-siva_
and accompanying her on official calls, they have no duties to speak
of, but as each one lives in hope of being chosen as a successor when
their leader passes from them by marriage or for any other cause, their
life is largely a schooling toward that felicitous end. The _kava_
and _siva-siva_ ceremonies are so numerous and intricate that nothing
short of many years of instruction and practice can fit a girl properly
to perform them, and in this respect the training of a _taupo_ is not
unlike that of the court _geishas_ of Japan or certain of the temple
_nautch_ girls of India.
The duenna is the guardian of the _taupo's_ morals. To her is delegated
the important duty of seeing that the feet of that often temperamental
and wilful young personage do not stray from the path of rectitude.
Escort, watcher, protector, she is supposed never to let her charge
stray beyond the sweep of her eye by day nor the reach of her arm at
night. In the old days, in the event of a contretemps, the life of the
duenna as well as that of the _taupo_ was forfeit, whether she was
guilty of "contributory negligence" or not. Today, although virginity is
still the _sine qua non_ of a _taupo_, the punishment for obliquities
is somewhat less drastic, both for guard and guarded.
Seuka had come off to the yacht to invite us to a _talolo_ or official
reception to be given in our honour the following evening by Chief
Mauga of Pago Pago. After the _talolo_ she and her girls would dance
the _siva-siva_ for us, and there would also be some dancing by the
men. Of course we accepted the invitation with alacrity.
To this function we went in state, convoyed by a flotilla of canoes
sent down by Mauga, the occupants of which enlivened the progress by
singing swinging choruses extemporized in our praise. The tide was out
when we reached our destination at the end of the bay, as a result
of which our cutter grounded upon the edge of the reef. Instantly
the members of our escort jumped out of their canoes and swarmed
alongside to carry us in across the fifty yards of intervening shallows
to the beach. The Commodore and I saw the Mater and Claribel borne
unresistingly off in the arms of two bronze, flower-crowned giants,
and then, judging it more compatible with our dignity, made the fatal
mistake of electing to take the journey "pick-a-back." Before my
"mount" had splashed a dozen yards I came to a realization of the fact
that it was going to be out of the question to retain my hold on his
coco-oiled shoulders while he traversed the whole distance; so, rather
than prolong the agony, I dropped off into the water and trudged ashore
alone. The air was warm, my ducks were soiled already, and most of the
guests would be barefoot anyway, I told myself philosophically. But the
Commodore, who, as the official head of the party was out in his
nattiest uniform and did not, as he explained later, desire to make his
first appearance before the highest chief on the island of Tutuila
looking like a ship-wrecked sailor, would not give up without a struggle.
Unfortunately for the Commodore's hopes, the vigorous strangle hold
with which he endeavoured to maintain himself on his precarious perch
shut off the wind, and with it the song, of the man who was trying to
carry him; and because a Samoan cannot perform any kind of labour--and
especially a labour of love like the lift in question--without singing,
this one came to a quick stop. The jolt started the Commodore slipping,
and I was just congratulating myself on the probability that he was
going to appear at the party more mussed up than I was, when there
came a quick rush from behind and another of the canoeists scooped
up the suspended bundle of white in his arms and, carrying it as a
mother carries a babe--even as the Mater and Claribel had been borne
off--splashed through to the beach.
"_Lelei!_ Thank you! Good boy!" cried the relieved Commodore heartily
as he found himself set right side up upon the coral clinkers. And
again he cried "_Lelei!_" (the extent of his Samoan at that time)
and "Good Boy!" when the cap which he supposed had fallen off in the
water was set jauntily back upon his head by his dusky preserver.
Another "Good boy!" greeted the discovery of the fact that his feet were
dry, and still another boomed forth when the flickering light of the
torches showed the white uniform to be still immaculate. The last one
was emphasized with a ringing slap of gratitude bestowed upon the
oil-glistening shoulder where his head had lately rested. There came a
ripple of low-silvery laughter, and the Commodore's preserver had
slipped away among the shadows of the coco trees.
The ruddy glow that suffused the sun-tanned face of the Commodore as
I splashed out alongside him was not due entirely to the glare of the
torches.
"Did you hear that? Did you see that?" he gasped excitedly, staring
off into the moon-mottled shadows. "_He_ was a girl! I've been carried
ashore by a girl! You don't suppose that--"
"Don't worry," I said gently; "they were too busy thanking their own
preservers to notice you."
Mauga, the fine old gladiator who was giving the _talolo_, met us at
the door of his huge thatched-roofed "palace" and led us to the "seats"
of honour--stacks of mats upon which we sat cross-legged--between
himself and his handsome chiefess, Faa-oo-pea. After a speech of
welcome by the _tulafale_ or "talking chief," there were two or
three spirited sword and club-juggling exhibitions by a dozen or so
men, magnificent physical specimens who twirled and tossed ancient
Samoan weapons as they reeled and lunged in the sinuous movements
of the strange dances. In the interval of these Claribel was led away
by one of Seuka's handmaidens to have a glimpse of the dressing of
that important young personage for the _siva-siva_ that was shortly
to follow. When, on her return, we asked her what the _taupo_ was
going to wear, she appeared distinctly embarrassed and launched at
once into a detailed description of Seuka's marvellous _tuiga_ or
headdress, which she had witnessed the assembling and adjustment
of. As a matter of fact, as became apparent shortly, that was about all
there was to describe. For that reason, and because it is so
marvellous an affair intrinsically, I have thought it worth while to set
down what the observant Claribel has to say about it in her journal.
"The _taupo's_ badge of office is a three-feet-high headdress called a
_tuiga_. It is a composite affair, part wig, part frontlet of nautilis
shell and part a scaffolding of three flower-decked sticks. It is not
an easy thing to put on, for it must be assembled piece by piece each
time it is wanted. It is producive of constant pain while it is worn
and is taken off with a feeling of relief, yet the custom of wearing
it on official occasions is so old and rigid that the _taupo_ would
scarcely feel properly clad without it. The foundation is a strip of
black cloth which is wound around the head at the roots of the hair,
drawing all of the latter up into a bunch at the crown. Upon this one
stubby lock is tied the wig of natural hair, which is set in a frame of
cloth or fibre netting. When this is attached so securely that there is
no chance of its becoming dislodged, the scaffolding of slender sticks
and a cross piece is tied in front and made fast to the cloth covering
over the forehead. The cross piece is usually ornamented with two or
three round mirrors and some bright feathers, while a band consisting
of several rows of the partition plates of the nautilus shell is often
tied across the forehead. With these decorations the _taupo_ wears a
neck pendant of a curled boar's tusk and a wreath or two of _ula_, a
few of the bright red fruits of the pandanus occasionally appearing
among the latter."
[Illustration: FAA-OO-PEA, CHIEFTAINESS OF PAGO
PAGO, MAKING _kava_]
[Illustration: SEUKA, _taupo_ OF PAGO PAGO,
ILLUSTRATING A MOVEMENT IN THE _Siva_]
Since Claribel had not seen fit to prepare us for it, the coming of
Seuka wearing, besides her _tuiga_, only a cincture of bright _ti_
leaves on each ankle and an almost negligible bit of ancestral _tappa_
wreathed in a precarious twist about her waist, created something of
a stir in a portion of our party. Was it really the same Seuka, she
of the downcast eye and the blushing cheek and the long, trailing
_holakau_ of the previous afternoon? we asked ourselves. There was
the same liquid eye and the same rounded cheek, but now the one was
flashing and the other flushing with the surging "dance passion,"
and as for the _holakau_, the Commodore avers that his falling out
of sympathy with the missionary--the introducer of that atrocious
hider-of-charms--dates from that moon-lit evening by the bay of Pago
Pago when Seuka danced the _siva_ to the throb of the drum-logs and the
music of the ripple of the wavelets on the beach.
On the Samoan _siva-siva_ and its concomitant, the _kava_ ceremony, I
will write in another chapter; of this particular _siva_--our first
one--I note here only the high lights of the mental picture which
the mention of it always conjures up--the half-lighted interior of
the thatch-roofed, mat-floored _faletele_, with slices of the blue
moonlight diverging to mountain and grove and bay through rifts in the
woven blinds; the lap of the waves on the coral strand and the lisp of
the wind in the bananas running through the boom of the tom-toms and
the guttural chants of the spectators, and, in the flickering light of
the candlenut torches, those glistening limbs of mahogany, rippling,
swaying, flashing, in the infinitely alluring movements of the native
dances.
This dance was one of a dozen or more entertainments arranged by the
hospitable natives during the time the yacht remained in Pago Pago
Bay. One day it was a picnic and swim at a mountain waterfall; again
a canoeing party, and another time an evening of Samoan singing. A
ten-day-long cricket game between the teams of Pago Pago and Fuaga-sa
furnished so much excitement that I am reserving the account of it for
a special chapter. The chiefs of nearly every village on the island
came and paid us visits of ceremony and brought presents, some of them
journeying two days and more by land and water. Our most distinguished
visitor was Chief--formerly King--Tufeli, of Manua, a group of small
islands which is included with Tutuila in the American protectorate.
Tufeli, a man of heroic stature and a most pleasing personality, came
over for the express purpose of buying the yacht and sailing her back
to Manua. He was not a little disappointed to learn that the Commodore
would not find it convenient to turn her over to him in exchange for
his season's copra output, but appeared considerably consoled by the
barrel of salt beef we gave him as a compromise.
Most pleasant, too, were our relations with the officers of the Naval
Station. Shortly after our arrival the _Adams_ came to relieve the
_Wheeling_ and the fortnight during which the two American warships
were in the harbour was a continual round of festivities. The Residency
kept open house, as did also Judge E. W. Gurr, Chief Secretary of
Naval Affairs, in his beautiful half-Samoan, half-foreign home on the
mountainside.
Judge Gurr, whose wife I have mentioned as having been at one time the
_taupo_ of Apia, was for many years Stevenson's attorney and intimate
friend in Upolou, and since taking charge of native affairs in Tutuila
his thorough knowledge of Samoan character and his sympathetic interest
in the welfare of the people have made his services invaluable to the
American government. Judge Gurr arranged a voyage around the island
for the _Lurline_, with visits to the principal villages along the
coast, a fascinating excursion which was finally given up on account
of uncertain harbour facilities. This trip was undertaken, however,
by Judge Gurr and myself in the former's whaleboat, and, thanks to my
sponsor's prestige, turned out most interestingly.
In no one particular does the lightness with which the Samoan has
been touched by outside influence show more clearly than in his
architecture. He builds and lives in the same style of house today
that was used by his ancestor of a hundred--perhaps a thousand--years
ago. Unlike the Hawaiian, Tahitian and Fijian, he has not taken kindly
to sawn timber, galvanized iron, nails and glass, and nowhere is his
conservatism in this respect more in evidence than in the villages of
Tutuila. For this reason a brief description of the construction and
furnishing of a typical Pago Pago dwelling may be of interest, and
for this I am indebted to Claribel, who spent a whole afternoon, with
pencil and notebook, jotting down the details at first hand.
"Although not a nail or dressed board is used in the Samoan house, the
finished structure is exceedingly strong and especially attractive to
look at. The uprights that support the roofs are the peeled trunks of
young breadfruit trees. They are about six inches in diameter, and are
set something like a yard apart around a raised oval floor-space that is
paved with small smooth stones from the beach. Upon these posts rests
the set of beams that support the rafters. The rafters run from the top
of the posts to the roof-tree, which is supported by four or five
uprights set in the centre of the floor-space. These beams are all
laced together with braided coconut fibre, sometimes gaily coloured.
The neatest joinery is in the roof, the ceiling being the under side
of the thatching, which is laced between small, smoothly dressed
branches. These beams are not long, curved tree-trunks as they appear,
but comparatively short sections of coconut wood, fitted and dressed
and lashed together with fibre so neatly that the joints are not
readily discovered.
"Usually the thatch is of sugar cane leaves, though occasionally coco
fronds or pandanus blades are used. The walls are made by letting down
the 'Venetian blinds' of braided coco palm leaves which hang from the
roof beams about four feet above the ground. Although there is no
indicated door, the customary entrance is through the opening between
the posts to the right of a line drawn through the house between the
centre supports of the roof-tree. This is the 'front door'; the 'back
door' is any opening between the posts behind a line at right angles to
the one just mentioned, and dividing the house between the first two of
the central posts. Before these centre posts the host and hostess sit
when receiving their guests, and here the _taupo_ sits when she makes
the _kava_. It is the seat of honour for the inmates of the house.
[Illustration: A SAMOAN HOUSE IN THE COURSE
OF CONSTRUCTION]
[Illustration: "CHIEF TUFELI CAME OVER FOR THE
EXPRESS PURPOSE OF BUYING THE YACHT"]
"The furniture of the Samoan house consists mainly of mats woven from
coconut and pandanus leaves, some large chests containing the family
wardrobe, dishes, arms and trinkets. Most of the food is served on the
leaves of the bread-fruit tree or the _fau_. The fine mats and tappa,
which constitute the family heirlooms, are kept in rolls upon the
rafters. The beds are piles of mats, six or eight deep, above which are
suspended regulation mosquito nets."
An interesting feature of this description is the extent to which it
shows the coconut as figuring as a building material in the Samoan
house, and now that the utility of that remarkable tree has been
mentioned, this will be an appropriate place to outline a few of
the indispensable functions it fulfils in the life of all South Sea
islanders.
There are several articles of food and general utility, both animal and
vegetable, which are of almost vital importance to the peoples by whom
they are used, and prominent among these may be noted the seal of the
Esquimaux, the salmon of the British Columbian and Alaskan Indians,
and the rice and bamboo of the Japanese, Chinese and East Indians.
Yet none of these to their respective users occupies anything near so
important a place as does the coconut to the South Sea islander. Copra,
the dried kernel of the coconut, is the leading, and almost the only,
article of commerce in every island of the South Pacific, and as such
is the principal contributor to the income of the natives from which
everything else they use is bought. The copra of the South Pacific
islands is incomparably finer than that of the South American, West
Indian or African tropics, and the plantations of Samoa, Fiji and
Tahiti are the largest and most productive in the world. Practically
all of the copra goes to London or San Francisco to be elaborated into
a great variety of products, ranging from railroad grease to high class
toilet soap and confectionery. A large and rapidly increasing trade has
also sprung up in the outer husk of the coconut which is used in the
manufacture of a very durable floor matting.
It is through its direct utility to the South Sea native, however,
rather than for its commercial value, that the coconut attains its
real importance, for it furnishes him with food, drink and shelter,
and figures in some form or other as an almost indispensable adjunct
to every pursuit, occupation and recreation in which he indulges.
Cuts from the long, tough trunk of the tree are used for fence posts
and in bridge construction, while on those islands where no other
suitable trees are found a complete and adequate dwelling may be built
from the coco palm alone. The trunks serve for uprights, rafters and
cross-braces, while the leaves make a durable and waterproof thatch
and a light but strong siding. These may also be woven into a dozen
different kinds of baskets, bags and trays, and, braided end to end,
make an excellent drag-net for catching fish.
The water of the half-ripe nuts is the standard drink of the islands. A
good-sized nut will furnish close to a quart of liquid which, no matter
how high the temperature of the air, is always cool, sweet and slightly
effervescent. The milk of the nut, which is extracted from the kernel
by grating and pressing, is used as a flavouring for various dishes,
and with coffee makes an excellent substitute for cream. Boiled and
pressed, the kernel yields an oil which is of considerable value as a
lubricant, and as a stimulator of the growth of the hair is without a
peer. It is to their free use of coconut oil, in fact, that the
remarkable hirsute growth of the Fijians and other South Sea islanders
is directly attributed. The refuse left after making oil is fed to pigs
and poultry, a purpose to which it is admirably suited. On the delights
of eating coconut-fattened pig, roasted on hot stones and served with
_miti-hari_ sauce--itself a mixture of coco milk and lime juice--I have
rhapsodized in one of the Tahiti chapters.
The husk of the coconut is woven up into cinnet, lines and ropes, and
as such employed in house and boat construction, for fishing, and
for every other purpose in which strands of manila, sisal or cotton
ordinarily serve. The flint-like shell of the coconut makes a useful
grater and scraper, and when heated with the air excluded is reduced to
a splendid quality of charcoal. The shells are also used for drinking
cups, water-bottles, scoops, catch-alls and bailers for canoes. Tapped
at its heart, the trunk yields a liquid which makes an excellent
substitute for yeast, while chunks cut from the same portion of the
tree forms the base of a salad which is the delight of epicures, both
native and white. A still more delectable salad is made from the crisp
meat of the budding nuts.
I pause with the list still incomplete, but enough uses have been
enumerated, I trust, to make it comprehensible that the most drastic
punishment that can be meted out to a South Sea village--one that is
still resorted to in the Solomons and New Hebrides when a missionary
is murdered or a labour schooner "cut out"--is to destroy its coconut
trees.
Our Samoan laundryman was the source of considerable amusement
during our stay in Pago Pago. Several of those indispensable
functionaries came alongside on the day of the yacht's arrival, all
bearing credentials of the highest order. One Maritomi, however, with
a testimonial on the crested note paper of the Earl of Crawford
affirming that the bearer had done the washing for his yacht, _Valhalla_,
during her visit to Pago Pago, and had performed the work with
neatness and dispatch, made the most favourable impression and was
given a trial bundle. Among the things was a number of white duck
uniforms, from the coats of which, in the hurry of arrival, the brass
buttons had not been removed. The coats came back in time, neatly
laundered, but unaccompanied either by the buttons or an explanation.
When Maritomi came round for the washing the following week he at first
denied all knowledge of the missing buttons, asseverating that he was
a "mitinary" boy and therefore could not steal even if he wanted to.
This failing to make an impression, he finally admitted that he had
the buttons, but claimed that buttons were his rightful perquisites,
adding that he had kept the buttons of the Earl of Crawford every wash
and had still been given a good character by His Lordship's steward.
What was more, he said he was going to keep all of our buttons he could
lay his hands on, and was going to feel very hurt if we, too, didn't
give him a good character on our departure. We didn't think we were
better than the Earl of Crawford, did we? That would be too absurd when
the _Valhalla_ was three times as big as the _Lurline_ and had
steam-power besides. Of course there was no upsetting a precedent
established by so illustrious a personage as the Earl of Crawford, and
therefore it was that all that our good laundryman threatened came
to pass.
On the morning of our departure when he came off with farewell
presents of _tappa_ and war clubs, the grateful Maritomi showed his
appreciation of the testimonial we had given him by appearing in one
of the Commodore's white duck uniforms, with _Lurline_ buttons drawing
the jacket together across his brawny chest, while the delivery boy who
accompanied him perspired in the unwonted grip of a dress coat of an
officer of the _Valhalla_. We forgave Maritomi much for the delicacy
of feeling he displayed in putting the _Valhalla_ coat on the delivery
boy.