raised Bau to the mastery of the surrounding tribes; he could determine
the future policy of the Bau chiefs; he had food, and man-servants,
and women as many as his soul could desire. Yet there was one thing
the lack of which poisoned all his existence. He had neither liquor
nor tobacco; and what earthly paradise could be complete to a sailor
of those days unless he had the power of getting drunk? It was this
want, together with the necessity of maintaining his influence by the
possession of the tools and muskets so eagerly coveted by the natives,
that led him to take his last journey from Bau. In May 1813 news
reached Bau that a large ship was anchored on the Bua coast, ninety
miles distant, to load sandal-wood. From the description of the vessel
the whites knew her to be the East Indian ship Hunter, for which some
of them had worked during the preceding year. It was arranged with
the chiefs that in three months an expedition should be despatched
to Bua to bring them back, so that they might not be left among the
treacherous natives of that coast. Taking their wives with them, they
reached the ship without accident, and were employed to pull the boats
at the usual wage.
Maraia, Savage’s daughter, remembered his last night in Bau, though she
was then but four years old. She was alone in the house when her father
came in and opened the sea-chest, which he always kept locked. From
this he took a string of bright objects that glittered and flashed in
the light from the door. Her exclamation startled him, for he thought
that he was alone. He told her that he was going away for a long time,
and that he must therefore hide his property in a place of safety. Then
he kissed her and went out, taking a canoe to the mainland. She was
asleep when he returned, and the canoe sailed for Bua before she awoke.
She never saw him again. Perhaps his treasure was a string of silver
dollars that still lies buried somewhere on the land opposite Bau.
The second mate of this ship was Peter Dillon, the lively Irishman
who was afterwards made a Chevalier of the Legion d’Honneur for his
services in finding the remains of De la Pérouse’s expedition. His
story of the death of Savage and of his own escape has become, as it
deserves, a classic in Polynesian literature. The sandal-wood had been
coming in too slowly to suit the captain of the Hunter, and a bargain
was at last struck between Captain Robson and the chief of Wailea, that
if he would help them against their enemies they for their part would
fill the ship within two months. On April 4 the crew, in three armed
boats, accompanied by about 4000 of the natives, laid siege to the town
of Nabakavu and took it, killing eleven of the enemy and destroying
several villages. The bodies were there and then jointed, cleaned,
baked in stone ovens, and eaten by the victorious natives, after which
the boats returned to the ship. Four months passed away and two-thirds
of the cargo were still wanting, when the chiefs sent a message to say
that they could get no more sandal-wood. Nor would they come near the
ship for fear of being taken as hostages. The captain now resolved to
punish his old allies. Accordingly he attacked a fleet of their canoes
and captured fourteen of them with a loss to the natives of one man.
At this juncture two canoes arrived from Bau with a force of about 220
men under the command of Tabakaucoro and Matavutuvutua, the brothers
of the Vunivalu, and Namosimalua, the chief of Viwa, afterwards one of
the first Christian converts. Their ostensible object was to escort
the white men and their wives back to Bau, but they did not intend to
return with empty hands. The captain now determined to capture and
destroy the canoes that were left to the people of Wailea, lest they
might annoy him during the repairing of his tender. On September 6,
1813, the crew of the ship and about a hundred of the Bau warriors
landed armed near the village, and proceeded towards it without any
attempt to maintain order. They did not know that the few natives
who were retiring before them, using the most taunting and insulting
gestures, were “the bait for the net,” and a certain indication that
they were walking into an ambush. They reached a small village and set
it on fire, and as the flames shot up they heard a horrible uproar
from the path they had just traversed. The Bau chiefs knew the cries
for the _vakacaucau_ or death-cry of the Wailea, signifying that they
had killed an enemy. The ambush had fallen upon the straggling party
in the rear. Dillon and his companions now tried to fight their way
back to the boats; but after emptying their muskets into the crowd of
infuriated savages, they were driven to take refuge on the crest of
a little hill. Only six of them reached it: the Bau chiefs and two
of the white men from Bau were clubbed in the plain below. The party
on the hill were Dillon, Savage, Buschart, Luis, a Chinaman who was
wrecked with Savage in the Eliza, and two sailors from the Hunter. It
was not yet mid-day; their ammunition was nearly exhausted, and they
were hemmed in by many hundreds of infuriated natives, all sworn not
to let them escape. From the top of the little hill they could see
their boats at anchor, and the ship in the offing. Beneath them in
the plain they saw the enemy carrying the bodies of their comrades,
slung across poles, to the shade of some trees, where they were cut up
and wrapped in green banana-leaves, to be roasted with the taro. But
first they were set in a sitting posture, and insulted with unnameable
indignities, while musket-balls were fired into them. The natives made
several rushes at the hill, and were driven back by the steady fire
of the little party. But the position was so appalling that Savage
proposed an escape into the mangrove at the back of the hill, and was
only prevented from doing so by Dillon’s threat to shoot the first man
that left the hill. Most fortunately for Dillon’s party, there were
eight prisoners on board the Hunter who had been captured by Captain
Robson in his attack upon the canoes a few days before. As soon as the
natives became calm enough to listen to Savage, they were reminded that
these men were still alive, that one of them was the brother of the
priest of Wailea, and that as soon as the news of their death reached
the ship the prisoners would assuredly be sacrificed. The natives had
hitherto supposed these men to have met the usual fate of prisoners of
war. The priest now pressed forward, asking eagerly whether they were
speaking the truth, and Savage (the unblushing Dillon says that it was
he himself, but he also says that he could speak the language perfectly
in four months, and gives some curious specimens of his proficiency)
promised that if one of their number were taken to the ship the
prisoners would be released, and a large ransom be paid for the lives
of himself and his companions. These terms being agreed upon, Dafny,
the wounded sailor, was induced to trust himself to the protection of
the priest, and was seen to embark in a canoe and reach the ship in
safety. Soon after his departure a number of the chiefs came within a
few paces of the crest of the hill and spoke in the most friendly way
to Savage, promising him safe-conduct if he would go down among them.
So convinced was he of their sincerity that he urged Dillon to let him
go down, assuring him that by so doing he could obtain safe-conduct
for all. Having at last won his consent, he left his musket and went
down to a spot about two hundred yards from the base of the hill,
where the chief Vonasa was sitting. For a time they seemed to be on
friendly terms, and the natives tried their utmost to persuade Dillon
to follow Savage’s example, saying, “Come down, Peter, we will not hurt
you; you see we do not hurt Charlie.” At this moment the Chinaman,
Savage’s former shipmate, stole away from behind Dillon to claim the
protection of a chief to whom he had rendered former service in war. He
had scarcely reached the foot of the hill when the natives, seeing that
it was hopeless to persuade Dillon to come down, yelled their war-cry
and rushed up the hill to the attack. Savage was seized suddenly by
the legs and thrown down, and was then held by six men with his head
in a pool of water near to which he had been standing, until he was
suffocated, while at the same moment a powerful native came behind
the Chinaman and smashed his skull with his club. The two bodies were
immediately disembowelled, cut up, and wrapped in leaves to be baked in
the ovens.
Meanwhile the chiefs furiously incited their men to capture the hill
with a rush. There were four muskets between the three defenders.
Wilson, being a bad shot, was kept loading while the other two fired.
Buschart, an old rifleman, shot twenty-seven men with twenty-eight
shots: Dillon seldom missed. In the face of these heavy losses the men
would not respond to their chiefs, but kept off, shouting defiance.
The ovens containing the bodies of the men killed in the morning were
now opened, and the roast joints of human flesh distributed among the
different chiefs, assembled from all parts of the coast, with the same
order and ceremony as is used in the apportionment of feasts on public
occasions. From time to time the chiefs shouted to Peter to come down
before it grew too dark to cook his body properly, and boasted of the
number of white men they each had killed. To his reply, that if they
killed him their countrymen on board the ship would suffer, they cried
that the captain might kill and eat his prisoners if he chose, but that
they meant to kill and eat him (Peter) as soon as it grew dark enough
to approach him without being shot. Dillon’s greatest fear was that
they would be tortured. He had heard from Savage stories of the flaying
and branding of prisoners, of eyelid-cutting and nail-drawing, and he
resolved to use the last cartridges upon himself and his companions.
Late in the afternoon the little party were horrified to see the boat
returning from the ship with all the eight hostages. They believed that
the captain would take the precaution of releasing four only until
they were safe on board, but now they had no longer any lien upon the
mercy of their assailants. As soon as they landed, the hostages were
led unarmed up the hill by the priest, who delivered an imaginary
message from the captain, bidding them hand over the muskets to him
and return to the ship. While he was haranguing Buschart, the idea of
seizing him flashed across Dillon’s mind. It was a desperate expedient,
but they were in a desperate plight. He suddenly presented his musket
at the man’s head, swearing that he would shoot him dead unless he led
him safely to the boat. The priest was the only man among the natives
who possessed sufficient influence to keep the infuriated warriors
in check. He was taken by surprise, and did not attempt to escape.
Shouting to his people to sit down, he led the strange procession down
the hill, through the angry multitude, now silent under protest, and
on to the beach, walking slowly with a musket-muzzle at each ear, and
another between his shoulders. Arrived at the beach, he said that he
would rather be shot than move another step towards the boats. The
whites backed into the water, still covering him with their muskets,
until they reached the boats. Then, as they pushed off, the natives
rushed down and sent a shower of harmless arrows and stones after them.
Six of the crew and eight of the white men from Bau had perished.
On the following morning Dillon made an unsuccessful attempt to
recover the bones of the Europeans. A native flourished the thigh bones
of the first mate, but refused to part with them, saying that they were
to be made into sail-needles.
The canoes had set sail for Bau with some fifty of their company
wounded. They had not communicated with the ship, and had therefore
left behind two Europeans and a number of their women. The ship
sailed the same day, and being unable to land her native passengers
at Bau, carried them on to New South Wales. Buschart and a Lascar
were, however, landed at Tucopia, where they were found thirteen years
afterwards, and were instrumental in the discovery of the remains of De
la Pérouse’s ill-fated expedition.
So gross an insult as the slaughter of two of the Vunivalu’s brothers
could not go unpunished. On the return of the canoes the indignation
in Bau was intense. A strong expedition was at once fitted out, and
before the end of the year Wailea was in ashes, and Vonasa and half his
tribe had followed their victims to Naicobocobo. Many were slain in the
sack of the town, but a few were carried captive to Bau to glut the
vengeance of Vunivalu himself. There, at the mercy of their captors,
they died such a death as amply avenged the chiefs who fell at Wailea.
Thus did Charles Savage, the Swede, meet a death in harmony with his
stormy life, and with the fate that he had brought upon so many others.
His works followed him. Epic poems, now half-forgotten, were composed
in his honour. With the descendants of the people among whom he lived
he has almost attained the dignity of a legendary hero, and but for
their conversion to Christianity he would undoubtedly have been given
a place in their Pantheon. He is remembered while all that is left of
the gigantic and heroic Dillon is the name of the little hill that
saved his life in Wailea Bay. Though the tragedy itself is almost
forgotten, the knoll is still called Koroi-Pita (Peter’s Hill). Through
Savage, Bau rose to a rank among her sister tribes that she never
forfeited. When the growing intercourse with foreigners demanded the
recognition of Fiji as a people obeying acknowledged leaders, Bau fell
naturally into the place of sovereign over all her rival States, and as
possessing power to cede to England the territory of all for the common
good. Therefore in time to come, when some historian, weary of seeking
an untried field for his pen, turns to Fiji, he will, in valuing the
political forces that have led to this end, give a leading place to the
deeds of Charles Savage, the first colonist.
THE END.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.
SELECTED WORKS.
THE RISE OF OUR EAST AFRICAN EMPIRE. EARLY EFFORTS IN NYASALAND
AND UGANDA. By CAPTAIN F. D. LUGARD, D.S.O. With 130 Illustrations
and 14 specially prepared Maps. 2 vols. large demy 8vo, 42s.
LIFE AND TIMES OF THE RT. HON. W. H. SMITH, M.P. By SIR HERBERT
MAXWELL, BART., M.P., Author of ‘Passages in the Life of Sir
Lucian Elphin,’ ‘Meridiana,’ &c. With Portraits and numerous
Illustrations by RAILTON, SEYMOUR, and Others. 2 vols. demy 8vo,
25s.
ROUND THE BLACK MAN’S GARDEN. By ZÉLIE COLVILE, F.R.G.S. With 2
Maps and 52 Illustrations from Drawings by the Author and from
Photographs. Demy 8vo, 16s.
A JOURNEY THROUGH THE YEMEN, AND SOME GENERAL REMARKS UPON THAT
COUNTRY. By WALTER B. HARRIS, F.R.G.S., Author Of ‘The Land of an
African Sultan: Travels in Morocco,’ &c. With 3 Maps and numerous
Illustrations. Demy 8vo, 16s.
LIFE IN THE HAREM.
RECOLLECTIONS OF AN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS. BEING A RECORD OF FIVE
YEARS’ RESIDENCE AT THE COURT OF ISMAEL PASHA, KHÉDIVE. BY HER
ENGLISH GOVERNESS (MISS E. CHENNELLS). Second Edition. With 3
Portraits. Post 8vo, 7s. 6d.
ACROSS FRANCE IN A CARAVAN. BEING SOME ACCOUNT OF A JOURNEY FROM
BORDEAUX TO GENOA IN THE “ESCARGOT,” TAKEN IN THE WINTER 1889-90.
By the AUTHOR OF ‘A DAY OF MY LIFE AT ETON.’ With 50 Illustrations
and a Map. Cheap Edition. Demy 8vo, 7s. 6d.
BY “A SON OF THE MARSHES.”
WITH THE WOODLANDERS AND BY THE TIDE. Edited by J. A. OWEN. Second
Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s.
WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. AMONG WILD BIRDS AND THEIR HAUNTS.
Edited by J. A. OWEN. Second Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s.
ON SURREY HILLS. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s.
ANNALS OF A FISHING VILLAGE. Edited by J. A. OWEN. Cheap Edition,
crown 8vo, 5s. With Illustrations, crown 8vo, 6s.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON.
THE STORY OF MARGRÉDEL: BEING A FIRESIDE HISTORY OF A FIFESHIRE
FAMILY. By D. STORRAR MELDRUM. Crown 8vo, 6s.
TIMAR’S TWO WORLDS. By MAURUS JOKAI. Authorised Translation by Mrs
HEGAN KENNARD. New and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s.
THE CITY OF SUNSHINE. By ALEXANDER ALLARDYCE, Author of ‘Balmoral:
A Romance of the Queen’s Country,’ &c. New and Revised Edition.
Crown 8vo, 6s.
ON SOME OF SHAKESPEARE’S FEMALE CHARACTERS. By HELENA FAUCIT, LADY
MARTIN. _Dedicated by permission to Her Most Gracious Majesty the
Queen._ With Portrait by LEHMANN. Fifth Edition. Demy 8vo, 7s. 6d.
MADONNA PIA: A TRAGEDY; AND THREE OTHER DRAMAS. Written and
Translated by SIR THEODORE MARTIN, K.C.B. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d.
POEMS AND BALLADS OF HEINRICH HEINE. DONE INTO ENGLISH VERSE. By
the SAME AUTHOR. Third Edition. Small crown 8vo, 5s.
GEORGE ELIOT’S NOVELS. CHEAP EDITION. With Illustrations. Crown
8vo, in Uniform Binding.
ADAM BEDE, 3s. 6d.
THE MILL ON THE FLOSS, 3s. 6d.
FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL, 3s. 6d.
SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, 3s. 0d.
SILAS MARNER, 2s. 6d.
ROMOLA, 3s. 6d.
DANIEL DERONDA, 7s. 6d.
MIDDLEMARCH, 7s. 6d.
GEORGE ELIOT’S LIFE, 7s. 6d.
WISE, WITTY, AND TENDER SAYINGS, IN PROSE AND VERSE. Selected from
the Works of GEORGE ELIOT. New Edition. Printed on deckle-edged
paper, and attractively bound. Fcap. 8vo, 3s. 6d.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON.