_Samoa_, [_December_ 1889].
MY DEAR BAXTER,—. . . I cannot return until I have seen either Tonga or
Fiji or both: and I must not leave here till I have finished my
collections on the war—a very interesting bit of history, the truth often
very hard to come at, and the search (for me) much complicated by the
German tongue, from the use of which I have desisted (I suppose) these
fifteen years. The last two days I have been mugging with a dictionary
from five to six hours a day; besides this, I have to call upon, keep
sweet, and judiciously interview all sorts of persons—English, American,
German, and Samoan. It makes a hard life; above all, as after every
interview I have to come and get my notes straight on the nail. I
believe I should have got my facts before the end of January, when I
shall make our Tonga or Fiji. I am down right in the hurricane season;
but they had so bad a one last year, I don’t imagine there will be much
of an edition this. Say that I get to Sydney some time in April, and I
shall have done well, and be in a position to write a very singular and
interesting book, or rather two; for I shall begin, I think, with a
separate opuscule on the Samoan Trouble, about as long as _Kidnapped_,
not very interesting, but valuable—and a thing proper to be done. And
then, hey! for the big South Sea Book: a devil of a big one, and full of
the finest sport.
This morning as I was going along to my breakfast a little before seven,
reading a number of _Blackwood’s Magazine_, I was startled by a soft
_talofa_, _alii_ (note for my mother: they are quite courteous here in
the European style, quite unlike Tahiti), right in my ear: it was Mataafa
coming from early mass in his white coat and white linen kilt, with three
fellows behind him. Mataafa is the nearest thing to a hero in my
history, and really a fine fellow; plenty sense, and the most dignified,
quiet, gentle manners. Talking of _Blackwood_—a file of which I was
lucky enough to find here in the lawyer’s—Mrs. Oliphant seems in a
staggering state: from the _Wrong Box_ to _The Master_ I scarce recognise
either my critic or myself. I gather that _The Master_ should do well,
and at least that notice is agreeable reading. I expect to be home in
June: you will have gathered that I am pretty well. In addition to my
labours, I suppose I walk five or six miles a day, and almost every day I
ride up and see Fanny and Lloyd, who are in a house in the bush with Ah
Fu. I live in Apia for history’s sake with Moors, an American trader.
Day before yesterday I was arrested and fined for riding fast in the
street, which made my blood bitter, as the wife of the manager of the
German Firm has twice almost ridden me down, and there seems none to say
her nay. The Germans have behaved pretty badly here, but not in all ways
so ill as you may have gathered: they were doubtless much provoked; and
if the insane Knappe had not appeared upon the scene, might have got out
of the muddle with dignity. I write along without rhyme or reason, as
things occur to me.
I hope from my outcries about printing you do not think I want you to
keep my news or letters in a Blue Beard closet. I like all friends to
hear of me; they all should if I had ninety hours in the day, and
strength for all of them; but you must have gathered how hard worked I
am, and you will understand I go to bed a pretty tired man.
29_th_ _December_, [1889].
To-morrow (Monday, I won’t swear to my day of the month; this is the
Sunday between Christmas and New Year) I go up the coast with Mr. Clarke,
one of the London Society missionaries, in a boat to examine schools, see
Tamasese, etc. Lloyd comes to photograph. Pray Heaven we have good
weather; this is the rainy season; we shall be gone four or five days;
and if the rain keep off, I shall be glad of the change; if it rain, it
will be beastly. This explains still further how hard pressed I am, as
the mail will be gone ere I return, and I have thus lost the days I meant
to write in. I have a boy, Henry, who interprets and copies for me, and
is a great nuisance. He said he wished to come to me in order to learn
‘long expressions.’ Henry goes up along with us; and as I am not fond of
him, he may before the trip is over hear some ‘strong expressions.’ I am
writing this on the back balcony at Moors’, palms and a hill like the
hill of Kinnoull looking in at me; myself lying on the floor, and (like
the parties in Handel’s song) ‘clad in robes of virgin white’; the ink is
dreadful, the heat delicious, a fine going breeze in the palms, and from
the other side of the house the sudden angry splash and roar of the
Pacific on the reef, where the warships are still piled from last year’s
hurricane, some under water, one high and dry upon her side, the
strangest figure of a ship was ever witnessed; the narrow bay there is
full of ships; the men-of-war covered with sail after the rains, and
(especially the German ship, which is fearfully and awfully top heavy)
rolling almost yards in, in what appears to be calm water.
Samoa, Apia at least, is far less beautiful than the Marquesas or Tahiti:
a more gentle scene, gentler acclivities, a tamer face of nature; and
this much aided, for the wanderer, by the great German plantations with
their countless regular avenues of palms. The island has beautiful
rivers, of about the bigness of our waters in the Lothians, with pleasant
pools and waterfalls and overhanging verdure, and often a great volume of
sound, so that once I thought I was passing near a mill, and it was only
the voice of the river. I am not specially attracted by the people; but
they are courteous; the women very attractive, and dress lovely; the men
purposelike, well set up, tall, lean, and dignified. As I write the
breeze is brisking up, doors are beginning to slam: and shutters; a
strong draught sweeps round the balcony; it looks doubtful for to-morrow.
Here I shut up.—Ever your affectionate,