EARLY SOUTH SEA VOYAGES
(1832)
Fifty years ago two English missionaries in the Fijis wrote a book in
which they said that the traffic in sandalwood, tortoise-shell and
beche-de-mer among those islands “has been, and still is chiefly in
the hands of Americans from the port of Salem.” No corner of the Seven
Seas seems to have been too hostile or remote to be overlooked by the
shipmasters of old Salem in their quest for trade. The first vessels
of the East India Company to touch at the Fijis made a beginning of
that commerce a little more than a hundred years ago. No more than four
years after their pioneer voyage, however, Captain William Richardson
in the Salem bark _Active_ was trading with the natives and continuing
his voyage to Canton in 1811. During the next half century the
untutored people of the Fijis pictured the map of America as consisting
mostly of a place called Salem whose ships and sailors were seldom
absent from their palm-fringed beaches.
When Commodore Wilkes sailed on his exploring expedition of the
South Seas in 1840, his pilot and interpreter was Captain Benjamin
Vandeford of Salem. He died on the way home from this famous cruise
and Commodore Wilkes wrote of him: “He had formerly been in command
of various vessels sailing from Salem, and had made many voyages to
the Fiji Islands. During our stay there he was particularly useful in
superintending all trade carried on to supply the ship.” It was another
Salem skipper of renown, Captain John H. Eagleston, who carried one of
Commodore Wilkes’ vessels safely into port in 1840 among the Fijis by
reason of his intimate knowledge of those waters.
South Sea trading in that era was a romance of commerce, crowded with
perilous adventure. The brig _Charles Doggett_ of Salem, commanded
by Captain George Batchelder was lying off Kandora in the Fijis in
1833, when her crew was attacked by natives. Five of the seamen and
the mate were killed and most of the others wounded. On her way to
Manila in the same voyage the brig touched at the Pelew Islands and was
again attacked, in which affray a cabin boy was killed. The _Charles
Doggett_ had previously played a part in one of the most romantic
chapters of ocean history, the mutiny of the _Bounty_. In 1831, Captain
William Driver took the brig to Tahiti whither, a short time before,
the _Bounty_ colony had been transported by the British Government
from its first home on Pitcairn Island. There were eighty-seven of
these descendants of the original mutineers, and they had been taken
to Tahiti at their own request to seek a more fertile and habitable
island. They were an Utopian colony, virtuous, and intensely pious, and
soon disgusted with the voluptuous immoralities of the Tahitians, they
became homesick for the isolated peace of Pitcairn Island, and begged
to be carried back. When Captain Driver found them they besought him to
take them away from Tahiti, and he embarked them for Pitcairn Island,
fourteen hundred miles away. They had been gone only nine months and
they rejoiced with touching eagerness and affection at seeing their old
home again. Captain Driver went on his way in the _Charles Doggett_,
with the satisfaction of having done a kindly deed for one of the most
singularly attractive and picturesque communities known in modern
history.[44]
Another kind of sea-story was woven in the loss of the Salem ship
_Glide_ which was wrecked at Tacanova in 1832, after her company had
been set upon by natives with the loss of two seamen. The South Sea
Islands were very primitive in those days, and the narrative of the
_Glide_ as told by one of her crew portrays customs, conditions and
adventures which have long since vanished. The _Glide_ was owned by the
famous Salem shipping merchant Joseph Peabody, and commanded by Captain
Henry Archer. She sailed for the South Pacific in 1829, with a crew of
young men hailing from her home port. While at New Zealand a journal
kept on board records that “the presence of several English whale ships
helped to relieve the most timid of us from any feeling of insecurity
because of the treachery of the natives. Among the visitors on board
was a chief supposed to have been concerned in the massacre of the ship
_Boyd’s_ crew in the Bay of Islands. Some of the particulars of this
tragedy were related to us by foreigners resident at New Zealand. The
chief was a man of very powerful frame, and of an exceedingly repulsive
appearance. The cook said: ‘There, that fellow looks as though he could
devour any of us without salt.’”
[Illustration: Captain Driver]
[Illustration: Letter to Captain Driver from the “Bounty” Colonists
after he had carried them from Tahiti back to Pitcairn Island. (See
foot note on page 538.)]
A little later in the voyage the _Glide_ hit a reef and her captain
decided that she must be hove down and repaired. How small these
old-time vessels were is shown in this process of heaving them down,
or careening on some sandy beach when their hulls needed cleaning or
repairs. In the Peabody Museum of Salem there is a painting done by
one of the crew, of the Salem brig _Eunice_ which was hauled ashore
on a South Sea island. After stripping, emptying her and caulking her
seams, the crew discovered that it was a task beyond their strength to
launch her again. What did they do but assemble all the spare timber,
cut down trees and hew planks, and after incredible exertion build a
huge cask around the brig’s dismantled hull. It was more of a cylinder
than a cask, however, from which the bow and stern of the craft
extended. Lines were passed to her boats and the windlass called into
action as she lay at anchor close to the beach.
Then with hawsers rigged around the great cask, every possible purchase
was obtained, and slowly the brig began to roll over and over toward
the sea, exactly as a barrel is rolled down the skids into a warehouse.
In this unique and amazing fashion the stout _Eunice_ was trundled into
deep water. As soon as she was afloat, the planking which encased her
was stripped off and she was found to be uninjured. Then her masts were
stepped and rigged, her ballast, stores and cargo put aboard, and she
sailed away for Salem. The painting of this ingenious incident tells
the story more convincingly than the description.
The account of the heaving down of the _Glide_ is not so unusual as
this but it throws an interesting light upon the problems of these
resourceful mariners of other days. “To heave down the ship was an
undertaking requiring great caution and ability,” the journal relates.
“A large ship to be entirely dismantled; a large part of her cargo
to be conveyed ashore; a floating stage of spars and loose timbers
constructed alongside; ourselves surrounded by cannibals, scores
of which were continually about the vessel and looking as if they
meditated mischief. It was well for the _Glide_ that her captain not
only knew the ropes but had been a ship carpenter and could use an
axe. He had not, like many masters of vessels nowadays, climbed up to
the captain’s berth through the cabin window. He was fully equal to
this emergency.”
The ship, having been hove down without mishap, was made ready for
opening a trade in beche-de-mer, a species of sea slug, which was dried
and carried to China as a delicacy in high repute among the people of
that country. A safe anchorage was found, and the king of the nearest
tribe “made pliable” by numerous gifts after which a contract was made
with him for gathering the cargo. He assembled his people and set them
at work erecting on the beach the row of buildings needed for storing
and curing the sea slugs.
When this was done the warriors of nearby friendly tribes began to
appear in canoes, bringing their wives and children. They built huts
along the beach until an uproarious village had sprung up. Its people
bartered tortoise shell, hogs and vegetables for iron tools, and
whales’ teeth, and helped gather beche-de-mer in the shallow water
along the reefs. Two of the ship’s officers and perhaps a dozen of the
crew lived ashore for the purpose of curing the cargo. Their plant was
rather imposing, consisting of a “Batter House,” a hundred feet long by
thirty wide in which the fish was spread and smoked; the “Trade House”
in which were stored muskets, pistols, cutlasses, cloth, iron-ware,
beads, etc., and the “Pot House” which contained the great kettles
used for boiling the unsavory mess. In putting up these buildings the
king would make a hundred of his islanders toil a week on end for a
musket—and he kept the musket.
“The business aboard, the din of industry ashore, the coming and going
of boats and the plying of hundreds of canoes to and from the sea reef,
gave much animation to things,” writes the chronicler of this voyage of
the _Glide_.
“Indeed I could not but regard the scene, among islands so little
known to the world, as highly creditable to the commercial enterprise
of the merchants engaged in the trade. Where next, thought I, will
Salem vessels sail? North or south, around Good Hope or the Horn, we
find them, officered and manned by Salem men. The _Glide’s_ company
were thirty men, most of whom were young, strong and active, a force
sufficient with our muskets, pistols, cutlasses, etc., to resist any
attack from the natives. Though without a profusion of ornamental work,
the _Glide_ was a beautiful model, as strong as oak and ship carpenters
could make her. At anchor in the harbor of Miambooa, she had a warlike
appearance. Heavy cannon loaded with a cannister and grape shot
projected from the port holes on each side. In each top was a chest
of arms and ammunition. On deck and below, weapons of defense were so
arranged as to be available at short notice. Boarding nettings eight or
ten feet high were triced up around the ship by tackles, and whipping
lines suspended from the ends of the lower yardarms.”
Before the journal deals with the tragedy and loss of the _Glide_, the
author jots down such bits of information as this:
“One of the most powerful chiefs on this island (Overlau) at the time
of our visiting it, was Mr. David Whepley, an American, and, I believe,
a native of New Bedford, whence he had sailed some years before in a
whale ship. For some cause, on the arrival of the vessel here, he took
sudden leave and ultimately became distinguished among the natives. He
was a young man apparently about thirty years of age.”
The career of a trader in the South Seas three-quarters of a century
ago was enlivened by incidents like the following:
“When passing within a few miles of Pennrhyn’s Island, we noticed some
canoes filled with savages coming off to the ship. Wishing to procure
some grass for our live-stock, we hove to and awaited their approach.
Their numbers and strength made it prudent to put ourselves in a
defensive position; each man was armed and our cannon, loaded with
grape-shot, were run out at the port holes.
“Presently there were alongside fifty or sixty of the most repulsive
monsters that I ever beheld; very tall, of complexion unmixed black,
with coarse stiff hair like dog’s bristles, and their language, if
such it was, more resembling dogs barking than articulate speech.
Their whole aspect was truly terrific. They were not permitted to
come on board, but only to clamber up the sides of the vessel. The
ship’s channels fore and aft on both sides were filled with them. The
_Glide’s_ company was armed, yet our situation was very perilous.
“Whilst Captain Archer was selecting some articles of trade, a spear
was hurled at him by a savage standing in the larboard mizzen channels.
I stood within four or five feet of the captain, and saw the savage,
but his movement was so quick that I could not in season give the
alarm. The captain was leaning over the larboard hencoop, his back was
toward the savage, and but for a providential turning of his head, the
spear would have pierced his neck. As it was, it grazed his neck and
inflicted a slight wound.
“This seemed to be a signal for attack; the savages became exceedingly
clamorous. The captain commanded ‘Fire.’ It was a fearful order and
fearfully obeyed. Five or six savages, among them the one who had
hurled the spear, were shot and fell back with a death shriek into the
sea. Others were severely wounded by our boarding pikes, and cutlasses.
Two or three of the crew were slightly injured in keeping the natives
from the deck. Had the captain’s orders been a moment delayed, the
savages must have gained the better of us. As soon as the captain’s
order had been given I let go the weather main-brace. A six knot breeze
was blowing and the yards having been quickly rounded, the motion was
soon sufficient to embarrass the savages, and we were enabled to drive
them from the ship.
“As the _Glide_ moved on, we left them astern in the utmost confusion.
Their situation was truly pitiable. The sun had set; there was a heavy
sea, and the wind was freshening. They were five miles from their
island. Some were swimming about hither and thither to recover their
canoes which had been upset by the ship’s progress; some went soon
to the bottom, and others who had gained their canoes sat hideously
bemoaning the desolation around them. Their eyes rolled wildly as they
hurled their spears toward the ship, and they howled and gnashed their
teeth like so many fiends of darkness. We passed within a mile of the
island, and observed numerous fires kindled along the shore, probably
as beacons to guide back the natives who had attacked us.”
Captain Archer’s ship filled her hold with beche-de-mer and took it
to Manila, returning to the Fijis for a second cargo. Arriving once
more at the island of Overlau, the first and third officers with part
of the crew were sent in a boat to Lakamba, an island twenty-five
miles distant to conduct the traffic in beche-de-mer. Because of shoal
water the ship could not follow them and she carried on a trade at
her anchorage in tortoise shell and sandal wood. “Knowing that on
the completion of our second cargo,” reads the journal, “we were to
leave the Fijis, the party at Lakamba worked with zeal. The men aboard
ship were no less industrious. The armorer and his mate manufactured
knives, chisels, and other cutlery for exchange. The carpenter was busy
at his bench. Above some were repairing the rigging; on deck others
were mending sails, and making matting bags to pack beche-de-mer. The
sun shone not on a more faithful crew. The captain traded with the
natives when they came alongside, and directed all matters aboard. Thus
prosperously passed several weeks.
“We were frequently visited by David Whepley, the American chieftain
at Overlau; sometimes accompanied by two or three of his warriors. He
was usually dressed as a sailor and had with him a loaded rifle whose
good qualities were the main topic of his conversation. He also told us
much concerning his singular life, and his adopted people, over whom
he seemed to have great influence owing to his superior wisdom, and
the good terms existing between him and the powerful king of Bou. The
king of Bou sometimes visited us. When this old chief, whose complexion
was darkness visible out of which peered two deep-set glaring eyeballs
with a grizzly beard tapering to a point a foot below his chin, came
alongside in his large double canoe, the spectacle was impressive. This
canoe was of curious and imposing structure, able to hold a hundred or
more persons, with a triangular matting sail as large as the _Glide’s_
maintopsail. He was accompanied by forty or fifty vigorous black
warriors, huge but symmetrical in build, with elegant white turbans on
their heads, and ornaments hanging from their ears. They were girt with
some white tapas, and held massive clubs and spears which they use with
terrible effect.
“One morning about forty of the savages of Overlau brought some
fruit off the ship, ostensibly for trade. Only two or three of them
were allowed to come on board at a time. Nine or ten of the crew
were variously occupied in different parts of the ship. The armorer
and myself were at work together on the forecastle. In a short time
our suspicions were excited by seeing our visitors engaged in close
conversation among themselves, and counting the men, ‘_Rua_, _Tolo_,
_Va_, _Leema_, _Ono_, _Vetu_,’ etc. (one, two, three, four, five, six,
seven, etc.). The armorer was going aft to inform the captain of the
circumstances when our second officer, on looking over the ship’s side,
saw some savages busily passing up weapons to others standing in the
channels. The men aloft, having also perceived this manoeuvre, hurried
down on deck and discharged a volley of musketry over the heads of the
visitors which dispersed them. Some leaped into the sea, others into
their canoes, and swam or paddled ashore in great consternation.”
But the company of the _Glide_ were not to escape scot-free from the
hostility of the Fijians. A few days after the foregoing incident, the
second officer, carpenter, and six of the foremast hands were sent
ashore to cut an anchor-stalk of timber. As usual, the boat was well
supplied with arms and ammunition. A boy of the party was left in
charge of the boat on the beach, and the others went into the nearest
woods. Presently a score of natives appeared and tried to trade, but
the sailors were too busy to deal with them, whereupon they sauntered
off to the beach and began to annoy the lad who had been left behind.
Before long they were stealing articles from the boat and the young
sentinel raised an alarm.
“The men hearing the cry were making for the boat,” relates the diarist
of the _Glide_, “when the savages in a body rushed towards them. Our
sailors, levelling their loaded muskets, retreated backward to the
beach, avoiding with great difficulty the clubs and spears hurled
at them. Thus all but two reached the boat. One of these as he came
down to the water’s edge, imprudently discharged his musket, and was
instantly attacked and overpowered. He succeeded in throwing himself
into the water, and after swimming a few strokes was seen to lift his
head streaming with blood, and with his hand beckon feebly for the boat
which, amidst the excitement, had been shoved off into deep water. He
was followed by the savages, again attacked, dragged ashore and slain.
The other unfortunate man rushed from the woods, hewing his way with
the butt of his musket through the crowd of savages and fell dead on
the beach.
“Whilst the crew on board was busily engaged in washing decks, the
fearful war-cry of the natives fell upon our ears. David Whepley, who
was sitting with some members of his tribe upon the taffrail, cried
out, ‘There is trouble with your shipmates ashore.’ Seeing the flash
and hearing the report of the musket, I ran aft to give the alarm to
Captain Archer who hastened on deck and after scanning the beach with
the glass, ordered a boat away in which Whepley himself went.
“Our feeling may be imagined as we went over the ship’s side and
watched in silence the first boat making towards us, having on
board only six of the eight men who had left the ship. Who had been
left behind we knew not, until on a nearer approach one of the crew
exclaimed: ‘I do not see Derby or Knight.’[45]
“The lifeless bodies of the two men were found by the second boat’s
company lying on the beach stripped of their clothing and dreadfully
mangled. They were wrapped in garments, brought on board and laid out
upon the quarterdeck. About eleven o’clock of the same day they were
committed to the care of David Whepley, who carried them to his end of
the island and buried them. Although no funeral services were formally
held, yet in the hearts of all that looked upon the dead, and walked
the deck in sadness, were solemn thoughts of death and earnest hopes
that this severe and unexpected stroke might influence for good our
after lives.”
Not long after this tragedy the _Glide_ sailed for the island of
Miambooa, which was destined to be the scene of her loss. The story
of the wreck and the experience of the survivors among a tribe of
singularly friendly Fijis seems worthy a place in the history of Salem
seafarers.
“Every boat load of beche-de-mer that came off from the shore (at
Miambooa),” runs the story, “was greeted with joy, for it added
something to the cargo which was fast being completed. Friendly
relations existed between the natives and ourselves, so that the trade
was undisturbed. The ship was in good order and we were almost ready
to leave the islands. At evening the officers walked the quarterdeck
with lighter step, and the crew, well and happy, assembled upon the
forecastle which resounded with their mirth and songs. One of these
songs was ‘Home Sweet Home,’ and under a clear starlit sky, enjoying
after hard work the grateful ocean breeze, the inspiring chorus of this
song burst forth from our hearts, and recalled to memory long past and
distant scenes. Our shipmates ashore also caught our pealing chorus as
it floated over the still water to their ears and they sent it back to
the ship like an echo.
“On March 31, (1831), the sky began to lower, and sudden gusts of wind
blowing violently down the high land which eastward overhangs the town
of Bonne Rarah, caused the ship to careen and gave token of a coming
storm. The signal guns at their usual hour announced ‘all’s well,’ but
in the gloomy light the wind increased to hurricane force and after
making a gallant fight of it the _Glide_ dragged her anchors and was
driven on a reef. The crew got ashore in daylight, but after being
twenty-two months absent from port, was wrecked the _Glide_, one of the
stateliest ships that ever sailed from Salem.”
“Among those who left the ship in the same party with me,” wrote our
survivor, “was a young man who communicated to me some interesting
particulars of his life. His name was William Carey. He had sailed,
some years before, from Nantucket in the whale-ship _Oreno_, which
was wrecked near Turtle Island, one of the Fijis. The officers and
crew escaped from the wreck, but Carey, noticing a disturbance between
his shipmates and the natives, concealed himself, fearing the issue.
He remained in safe seclusion two or three days, not venturing to go
out lest he should suffer what he supposed to be and _what_ was, the
fate of his companions, and he stealthily crept from his concealment
in search of food. He was seen by a native, and, conscious of being
discovered, he seated himself on a rock, and turning his back toward
the savage, awaited the result in powerless despair. The native
approached him, bade him rise and conducted him to the Boore.[46] The
natives held an animated conference at which it was decided to spare
his life, and he was taken by the chief into his family, and ever
afterwards well provided for and kindly treated.
“Several years after the loss of the _Oreno_, the Salem ship _Clay_,
Captain Vandeford, of Salem, arrived at the same island. Carey’s
acquaintance with the language and customs of the natives enabled him
to render important services in the way of trade. After the departure
of the _Clay_ from the islands Carey shipped on board the brig _Quill_,
Captain Kinsman of Salem. With this vessel he remained until her cargo
was completed when he was induced to take a berth in the _Glide_. Thus
was he twice wrecked at the Fijis, and twice subjected to a residence
among the savages without meanwhile visiting home.
“In the course of two or three days after the wreck of the _Glide_, the
king permitted a part of the crew with several natives to go off to
the ship to get the salt provisions and bread. Fifty or sixty savages
were ransacking the wreck in every part, stripping the rigging from the
spars, unhinging the cabin doors, hacking timber to extract nails and
spikes, beating in barrels and hogsheads, dragging up our chests from
the forecastle, jabbering all the while like monkeys yet working with
the steady gravity of old caulkers. The sight was painful, yet their
eagerness to outdo each other in securing booty was amusing.
“In my chest was a small package of letters valuable to me alone, which
I was now, in my misfortune, especially desirous to keep. As I went
towards the chest to get them I was repulsed by a savage who raised
his club over my head and bade me begone or he would slay me. ‘_Sah-
lago, sah- senga, ne- lago, sah- moke._’ I desisted from my purpose,
and in a few minutes saw my chest with every token of home in it
tumbled over the ship’s side.
“Our beche-de-mer about half filled the hold and by the bilging of
the ship, had become a putrid mass. At the foot of the mainmast was
a barrel of cast iron axes whose position the natives had somehow
learned. Their desire for this tempting prize overcame their reluctance
to use the only means of securing it, and down they dove into the
loathsome mass at the risk of suffocation, often plunging in vain
several times and crawling back on deck covered with slime. One
native in diving came in contact with some mortar formed by a cask of
lime that was broken by the motion of the ship. Grasping a handful
he returned dripping with beche-de-mer and asked what the strange
substance was. ‘The white man’s bread,’ answered one of the crew. The
native took a large mouthful which well nigh strangled him and spat it
out with many wry faces and ludicrous motions amid the loud laughter of
his friends.
“Soon after the complete plundering of the ship, a council respecting
us was held in the Boore by the king, priests and warriors. It was
told me that on the arrival of the first boat’s company at Bonne
Rarah, the captain was thus questioned by the king. ‘Should Fijians be
cast ashore among your people, how would you treat them?’ ‘Kindly,’
was the reply. ‘Then,’ rejoined the king, ‘I will treat you kindly.
Go with your men to the Boore, and I will protect you.’ Nevertheless
the consultation caused us many misgivings. The king urged that our
services would be very valuable in showing them the use of muskets and
in repairing them, in making bullets, etc. One chief thought that we
should eat too much, and hence prudently suggested our being dispatched
at once. The high priest arose to give his judgment, which was awaited
with great interest. This man was very black, of monstrous size, and
most unpleasant to look at. He recommended that they make hogs of us,
alluding to the practice of killing these animals by blows on the head,
cooking and eating them. This advice was consistent with the reputation
of this priest. It was said that on the morning before the wreck of
the ship, he stood outside his hut yelling and writhing. The natives
declared that he shouted or bewitched the vessel ashore.
“After much discussion the better counsel of the king prevailed. The
decision was made known to us all by natives who ran and embraced us
crying ‘_Sambooloa booloa papalangi_.’ (The white men will not be hurt.)
“Soon after the breaking up of the council the king as a reassurance
of his favor, returned to us a few of our belongings. His method of
distribution showed either his supreme contempt for maritime rank or
a great error in valuation, for whilst to the crew generally he gave
garments or other things very needful and acceptable, upon Captain
Archer he bestowed with the utmost dignity and condescension a wornout
chart and a useless fragment of an old flannel shirt. The interest
of the king in our welfare constantly showed itself during our three
months’ residence at Bonne Rarah. Almost daily he looked in upon us
to learn our wants, and kept in his house for our sole use quantities
of tea, coffee and tobacco, which he distributed to us as need
required. If we met him in our walks about the village the salutations
‘_sah-andra, touronga-lib_,’ (welcome king), ‘_sah-andra papalangi_,’
(welcome white man), were amicably exchanged. There was withal about
him a dignity which well comported with his kingly character, and
showed that any violations of loyalty on the part of the natives or of
due respect on ours would not go unpunished.
“On the 28th of March, Captain Archer, Carey and two or three of our
men sailed in our boat by the king’s consent, to the island of Bou,
the capital of the Fijis. This, our first separation, though on many
accounts painful, was prudently planned, as a vessel was rumored to be
in the vicinity of Bou. After exchanging farewells and cheers of mutual
encouragement they started on their perilous adventure of sailing two
hundred miles in a small boat, exposed to many dangers, and, not the
least, attacks from savages.
“The singular use made of our clothing by the natives was often
ludicrous. Some wore our jackets buttoned down behind, others had on
our trousers wrong side before; one little fellow strutted along in a
ruffled shirt which had belonged to one of the officers, the ruffles
flaring on his back. Amongst the booty from the ship were many casks
of powder, of whose explosive nature the natives had little knowledge.
In one dwelling which we visited were a large number of kegs of powder
promiscuously placed on the floor, in the centre of which a fire was
kindled. The family was cooking their usual food, loose powder was
scattered about, and the proprietor himself, dressed in a sailor’s
jacket and with a Scotch cap on his head, sat on a keg of powder before
the fire, composedly smoking his pipe. We were somewhat amazed at the
sight. Indeed it may be doubted whether Damocles himself (whose famous
sword has become much blunted by its frequent use in illustration) had
more cause to be ill at ease at his feast than we had while paying
our native friend the civilities of the season. Our visit was not
protracted and we took leave before the dinner in preparation was ready
to be eaten.
“Occasionally we invited the king to share our provisions with us.
Whenever he was graciously pleased to accept the invitation he brought
with him a chair, plate, knife and fork (which he had obtained from
the ship), and after seating himself with becoming dignity, grasped
the knife in his left hand at such an angle that as soon as one piece
of food entered his mouth two fell back upon his plate. He also used
his fork as a toothpick, thus confirming the notion that this practice
comports better with the manners of savage than of civilized life.
“An odd volume of Shakespeare saved from the wreck, moved us to get up
a dramatic entertainment, the subject of which was the voyage of the
_Glide_. The play began with the captain engaged in shipping a crew
at a sailor’s boarding house, and holding forth all those eloquent
attractions usually set off by this class of men. Following this scene
were various mishaps of the voyage. The king and a crowd of natives
were seated before us on mats, and paid wondering attention, at a loss
to understand most of our sayings and doings until in the course of
the play, our arrival at the Fijis was pictured. The trafficking and
haggling with the natives was mimicked by an officer, playing the part
of a Fijian, and a common sailor as the trading master. Our drift was
more clearly comprehended now, and the progress of the action more
eagerly watched. And when the efforts of the natives to cheat us were
baffled, the sense of the whole matter flashed upon the audience, and
the Boore resounded with an uproar of savage delight. Through the
remainder of the play, involving the wreck and our hospitable reception
by the king, to whom and his people many compliments were paid by the
actors, we were followed with intense interest, and at the close by
expressions of royal satisfaction.”
The life of these islanders, as enjoyed by the crew of the _Glide_ was
a kind of tropical idyl, and the white trader had not yet blighted
them with rum and disease. Our sailor narrator wrote of this Eden into
which he was cast by a kindly fate: “One day, I was invited by a chief,
whom I had frequently visited, to accompany him on an excursion to the
interior of the island. We passed through a defile of the mountains,
and then struck into a well-beaten path leading through a rather
uneven region. The beautiful diversity of prospect from the higher
portions of our course, the mild air of the delightful day, birds of
brilliant plumage singing in the trees about us, the ripe and grateful
fruit easily procured, patches of sugar cane here and there pleasant
to see and taste, agreeable conversation, and the kind civilities of
natives whom we met, made our walk the source of intense and various
enjoyment.
“At sunset, we reached our journey’s end, a small village of about
thirty rudely constructed huts, and were heartily welcomed by the chief
of the tribe, who conducted us to his house, and soon set before us
a repast of baked pig, fruit and vegetables. In the evening, about
twenty natives, invited by our host, assembled, among whom were several
that I had seen on board the ship, and who recognized me with apparent
delight. A general conversation was held, relating, beside many other
topics, to the lost ship, the white men and their country, throughout
which it was gratifying to observe mutual kindness and courtesy
prevailed. The social party was highly interesting, occasionally
enlivened with good-humored mirth.
“In the morning we visited the Boore, which was similarly constructed,
though in every respect inferior, to that at Bonne Rarah. In the centre
of the apartment, where we held the religious ceremonies, which were
about to commence when we reached the building, was a very large bowl
of _angona_ or _avaroot_, of which, after being properly prepared, all
the natives assembled repeatedly partook, the intervals between the
potations being occupied by the priest pronouncing certain forms of
speech, to which the audience who were seated around the apartment, now
and then responded. Near the door were arranged in open sight, several
small, round blocks of wood, singularly ornamented with sennit and
carved work, to which the natives, as they came in and retired, made
low obeisance. As usual, no females were present. After the conclusion
of the service, which held an hour, we rambled about the village,
being kindly welcomed wherever we called; and, at length, returned to
the house of the hospitable chief, whence, having partaken of another
ample feast, and thanked our host for his kind attention, we departed
for Bonne Rarah. My excursion surprised both me and my shipmates, to
whom I gave an account of it, for we had previously heard much said of
the ferocity of the inland savages.
“In the latter part of April, a festival which we were kindly invited
to attend, was held at a village about forty miles from Bonne Rarah.
As the place, though on the island of Tacanova, was easiest of access
by sailing, my shipmates, it was determined, should accompany the king
in his double canoe; and I went with the chief with whom I had made
the inland excursion, in his single canoe. My patron I found to be
very loquacious, for, instead of our holding a pleasant conversation
together, he took upon himself to give me a lecture of what was to
be expected at the coming festival, diversifying his discourse with
‘_solib_,’ grand feast; ‘_leebo_, _leebo_,’ great, great; ‘_benacka_,
_benacka_,’ good, good; ‘_mungety-leelo_,’ plenty of provisions;
‘_pookah_,’ pigs; ‘_ouvie_,’ yams; ‘_aooto_,’ bread-fruit; ‘_boondy_,’
plantains, all which expressions, of course, deeply impressed my
imagination. Now and then he asked, whether I comprehended what he
said. Whatever was my response, he was none the less talkative, for
when he questioned me, ‘_sah gala guego_,’ do you understand? if I
answered ‘_sah- senga_,’ no, he labored long and hard to make his
meaning clear to my mind; and, if my reply was ‘_sah gala qu ow_,’ ‘I
do understand,’ he took courage from the honest confession, and at once
proceeded to give me more information.
“Soon after sunset, having landed at a small island midway between
Bonne Rarah and the place to which we were bound, we were well received
by the natives, who conducted us to their Boore, near the top of a
high hill, and presently furnished us with a generous repast. Here,
in less than an hour, the report of our arrival drew together many
savages, from whose evident astonishment, as they gazed upon me, I
conjectured that most of them had never seen a white man. Though we
were kindly invited to spend the night here, yet the curiosity of the
natives made them reluctant to retire from the Boore, and leave us to
sleep. Our singular situation, exposure to attacks from savages, over
whom kindness and ferocity hold rule by turns, and a consciousness
of our almost complete helplessness in such a case, occasioned in me
unquiet feelings, which, in truth, were not allayed by my dear friend,
the cannibal-chief, who frequently started up from his mat in great
excitement, and paced rapidly to and fro, with his war-club at his
side. The chief, at length, explained his singular conduct by telling
me that the savages designed to detain me on their island, and that he
had been anxiously devising some way to defeat their purpose. At his
suggestion, early in the morning, before the natives were stirring,
we silently left the Boore. I placed myself on the chief’s broad
shoulders, and held in one hand his war-club, and in the other his
canoe-paddle. Thus we stole softly down the steep hill, and when we
came to the beach, to our amazement, our canoe was no where to be seen.
The chief in the height of his vexation, brandished his club towards
the Boore, and poured forth a torrent of imprecation. Fearful that
his wild anger would soon arouse the natives, I looked about for the
canoe, and after careful search, found it secreted in a thicket near
the shore. We dragged it with difficulty to the water, hoisted our
three-cornered sail, and unmolested sailed away from the island.
“The sun had just risen, when we reached the landing-place, about a
mile from the spot chosen for the festival. We were among the first
comers. On the glittering waves at some distance, we saw hundreds of
canoes, some boldly advancing on the open sea, others more wary keeping
nearer the shore, and others now and then emerging into sight from
behind points of land and small islands, all bound, with their shouting
crews, for the general feast. They soon drew nearer and companies of
natives from neighboring islands and remote villages of Tacanova,
landed, in quick succession, at the beach, and made the hills echo with
their loud rejoicing.
“The plain selected for the feast was of many acres, covered with
liveliest verdure, surrounded by groves in which were many fruit trees,
and through it coursed brooks of pure water from adjacent highlands.
In its centre was a pyramid, apparently eight feet square at the
base, and tapering fifteen feet to a point of yams; and near it was
a smaller one, of _angona_ root. Hanging from gnarled branches of
ironwood trees, in another part of the field, were large quantities of
plantains, cocoanuts and bread-fruit. At one end were several pens,
filled with swine, of which there were at least a hundred, while the
men, profusely anointed with cocoanut oil, decorated with garlands of
beads and flowers, having on their heads very large white turbans and
around their waists elegant _maros_, were proudly strutting about the
place, displaying their fashionable attire; and the women were meekly
and laboriously cooking food.
“After the completed preparation, the different tribes of the numerous
assemblage arranged themselves on the grass in semicircles, about ten
paces in front of which were seated their respective king, chiefs and
priests, and between these dignitaries and the people were placed
their appointed provisions. The tribes all first drank _angona_, and
then, four or five natives, who attended each tribe as waiters, began
dividing the food, and another taking on a plantain leaf a parcel of
it, advanced to the master of the feast for the division, and asked
‘quotha,’ (for whom), when the name of some one being spoken aloud,
the person thus designated clapped his hands to make known his
position, and, being at once supplied with his portion, began eating it
with strips of bamboo sharpened on one edge and pointed. This ceremony
was repeated until all received their shares, reference being made to
rank in the order of distribution.
“In the afternoon two or three hundred young females, wearing girdles
of variegated grass and leaves, and necklaces of colored beads and
flowers, danced with liveliest and modest mien across the plain, loudly
singing and waving beautiful fans over their heads with easy uniformity
and grace; and then adroitly wheeling about, retraced their way, with
fans flourishing in the air, echoing song and sprightly dance.
“Next came forward a party of men, with hair frizzled in the highest
style of Fijian art, tapering beards, long _tapas_ of snowy native
cloth, contrasting with their own swarthy color and trailing on the
grass, their arms and faces shining with cocoanut oil, carrying
their stout and polished war-clubs; and, having arranged themselves
in two divisions, a pace apart, in open distance, they raised with
united voices a piercing war song, in time with which all made the
same impressive gestures. Now they bent back their bodies, elevating
their war-clubs in the air, in seeming preparation for attack; then,
with faces of determined courage, lifting higher their shrill, fierce
chorus, all leaped as one man onward, as if about to meet a furious
foe; and, at last, as if they had achieved a noble victory changing
to triumphal notes their yell of onset, with fiend-like grimaces they
danced wildly about in a thousand intricate and changeful steps.
“Our company, being requested by several chiefs, on the second day of
the festival, to amuse in our turn the assembled crowds, concluded to
perform a few military manoeuvres. We chose one of us captain, recalled
what we knew of soldiers’ tactics, and keeping time by a whistled
tune, in lack of better accompaniment, advanced in open order, and
charged bayonets; marched with muskets shouldered in lock-step and
solid column; formed a hollow square, and, finally wheeled into line.
All our movements were watched with eager eyes by the natives who
expressed their pleasure by loud plaudits, to which, of course, like
true soldiers, we gave slight heed, but with face unmoved, proceeded
through the manual exercise. When the order came ‘make ready—aim—fire,’
one of our muskets happening to be loaded, discharged its contents over
the heads of scores of seated savages, whose dismay now equalled their
previous approbation. Their earnest inquiries were hardly evaded by
assuring them that the piece was overcharged with powder.
“Towards evening the festival was concluded and the company began to
disperse. Those who had sailed to the place, started to the shore where
the canoes were secured and embarked in their little fleets in various
directions. Our party sailed in pleasant company with others bound for
Bonne Rarah. When we came within a few miles of this town, a burning
object was discovered on the water, which, on a nearer approach, we
found to be our beautiful ship to which fire had been set by the
savages who had remained behind for the sake of her iron work. This
was a sad conclusion to the enjoyment experienced at the festival. The
satisfaction that we had felt in looking out from our lonely abode upon
the hull of the _Glide_ was now taken away, and we felt more than ever
deprived of remembrances of home.
“A few weeks after the departure for Bou of Captain Archer, a large
double canoe arrived at Bonne Rarah, from which we learned that the
captain and his party were safe; that the brig _Niagara_, Capt. Brown,
of Salem, had been wrecked on a reef midway between Overlau and Bou and
that her crew were now staying at this latter island. Thus, the two
only vessels at the Fijis at this time were wrecked on the same day,
and in the same storm; and, very remarkably, no member of either crew
was afterwards slain by the natives.
“A part of the crew, with our second officer and Mr. Carey, left us on
the return of this canoe to Bou, thus reducing our number to sixteen
men. The separation seemed like bidding a mutual farewell for life,
narrowed the circle in which our spirits were chiefly sustained by
common sympathies and hopes, and deepened that feeling of loneliness
which previously parting with others had occasioned. To miss a single
face which we were wont to see, was deeply felt. The officers and
crew of the _Glide_, once held together by duties on shipboard,
and, afterwards by the still stronger community of suffering, were
dispersing in various directions whilst the lot of those who went away,
and of those who staid behind was enshrouded by the same cloud of dark
uncertainty. Some were about to suffer many more trials before reaching
home; and of the return of others to their native land there has yet
been no account.”
Strangely enough the journal of the wreck of the _Glide_ ends in this
abrupt fashion as if it were “to be continued in our next.” Curious
to learn in what manner the crew was rescued from its long exile in
the Fijis a search was begun among the log-books of other Salem ships
trading with those islands in the thirties. It was like hunting a
needle in a haystack, but the mystery was uncovered by the log of the
bark _Peru_ of Salem, Captain John H. Eagleston. Under date of June
7th, 1831, he wrote while among the Fiji Islands:
“Visited by a double canoe with about 50 natives, and a boat from a
town called Lebouka. Got 9 turtle out of the canoe, 3 for a musket. Was
informed by the chiefs in the canoe of Captain Archer of ship _Glide_
being cast away at Muddy-vater and Captain Brown in the _Niagara_ at
Bou, and that they had lost everything belonging to them. Which I had
every reason to believe as the canoe had several trunks and chests in
it. Got up the boarding netting. At 3 A. M. sent the whale boat up to
Bou, with the interpreter and 5 Lebouka men with a large present to
the king and a letter to Captain Brown which was from his wife. People
employed in putting arms in order.
“June 8—at 9 A. M. our boat returned from Bou with 2 boats in company
which belonged to the Brig. Took on board Captain Brown, Captain
Vandeford, officers and crew of the Brig (_Niagara_) and 2 officers and
2 men belonging to the _Glide_. Most of them belonging to Salem and in
all 15. Many of them without shirts to their backs or shoes to their
feet and some with a small part of a pair of trousers. On learning that
Captain Archer had left Bou a few days before for Goro, he being in
distress and suffering, I thought it my duty to send word to him that I
was here.
“June 10th. Archer with 2 of his men came from Bou.”
The whereabouts of the other men of the _Glide_ being discovered in
this way, they were later picked up and brought home, and their story
ended happily, as it should, for they deserved fairer prospects after
the ill-fortune which laid them by the heels in the Fijis as those
islands were in those far away years when the white man had first found
them out.
FOOTNOTES:
[44] The following letter was sent to Capt. Driver and signed by George
H. Nobbs, Teacher, and three of his fellow-voyagers of the company of
the Bounty:
“Pitcairns Island,
Sept. 3rd., 1830.
This is to certify that Captain Driver of the Brig Chas. Doggett of
Salem carried sixty-five of the inhabitants of Pitcairn Island from
Tahiti back to their native land during which passage Capt. Driver
behaved with the greatest kindness and humanity becoming a man and a
Christian, and as we can never remunerate him for the kindness we have
received, we sincerely hope that through the blessing of the Almighty
he will reap that reward which infallibly attends the Christian.”
[45] Joshua Derby and Enoch Knight, both of Salem. By a most
extraordinary coincidence, this Enoch Knight’s brother, who was first
officer of the ship _Friendship_ of Salem, Captain Endicott, was killed
in the same month of the same year by the natives of Qualah Battoo on
the coast of Sumatra when the vessel was captured by Malay savages.
[46] The council-house and temple.