_SS._ ‘_Janet Nicoll_,’ _off Upolu_ [_Spring_ 1890].
MY DEAREST COLVIN,—I was sharply ill at Sydney, cut off, right out of
bed, in this steamer on a fresh island cruise, and have already reaped
the benefit. We are excellently found this time, on a spacious vessel,
with an excellent table; the captain, supercargo, our one
fellow-passenger, etc., very nice; and the charterer, Mr. Henderson, the
very man I could have chosen. The truth is, I fear, this life is the
only one that suits me; so long as I cruise in the South Seas, I shall be
well and happy—alas, no, I do not mean that, and _absit omen_!—I mean
that, so soon as I cease from cruising, the nerves are strained, the
decline commences, and I steer slowly but surely back to bedward. We
left Sydney, had a cruel rough passage to Auckland, for the _Janet_ is
the worst roller I was ever aboard of. I was confined to my cabin, ports
closed, self shied out of the berth, stomach (pampered till the day I
left on a diet of perpetual egg-nogg) revolted at ship’s food and ship
eating, in a frowsy bunk, clinging with one hand to the plate, with the
other to the glass, and using the knife and fork (except at intervals)
with the eyelid. No matter: I picked up hand over hand. After a day in
Auckland, we set sail again; were blown up in the main cabin with calcium
fires, as we left the bay. Let no man say I am unscientific: when I ran,
on the alert, out of my stateroom, and found the main cabin incarnadined
with the glow of the last scene of a pantomime, I stopped dead: ‘What is
this?’ said I. ‘This ship is on fire, I see that; but why a pantomime?’
And I stood and reasoned the point, until my head was so muddled with the
fumes that I could not find the companion. A few seconds later, the
captain had to enter crawling on his belly, and took days to recover (if
he has recovered) from the fumes. By singular good fortune, we got the
hose down in time and saved the ship, but Lloyd lost most of his clothes
and a great part of our photographs was destroyed. Fanny saw the native
sailors tossing overboard a blazing trunk; she stopped them in time, and
behold, it contained my manuscripts. Thereafter we had three (or two)
days fine weather: then got into a gale of wind, with rain and a
vexatious sea. As we drew into our anchorage in a bight of Savage
Island, a man ashore told me afterwards the sight of the _Janet Nicoll_
made him sick; and indeed it was rough play, though nothing to the night
before. All through this gale I worked four to six hours per diem,
spearing the ink-bottle like a flying fish, and holding my papers
together as I might. For, of all things, what I was at was history—the
Samoan business—and I had to turn from one to another of these piles of
manuscript notes, and from one page to another in each, until I should
have found employment for the hands of Briareus. All the same, this
history is a godsend for a voyage; I can put in time, getting events
co-ordinated and the narrative distributed, when my much-heaving numskull
would be incapable of finish or fine style. At Savage we met the
missionary barque _John Williams_. I tell you it was a great day for
Savage Island: the path up the cliffs was crowded with gay islandresses
(I like that feminine plural) who wrapped me in their embraces, and
picked my pockets of all my tobacco, with a manner which a touch would
have made revolting, but as it was, was simply charming, like the Golden
Age. One pretty, little, stalwart minx, with a red flower behind her
ear, had searched me with extraordinary zeal; and when, soon after, I
missed my matches, I accused her (she still following us) of being the
thief. After some delay, and with a subtle smile, she produced the box,
gave me _one match_, and put the rest away again. Too tired to add
more.—Your most affectionate,