CHAPTER VII.
A CANOE ADVENTURE—SHARKS—FEVER—THE FEAST OF WORMS—RESULTS OF MISSION WORK—NO MEANS OF LOCOMOTION—GODS ACRE.
LEVUKA, _November 16, 1875_.
The happiest of happy birthdays to you, my dear Nell. I suppose you are not even awake yet, for you know our time is twelve hours ahead of yours. I wish I could look in on you all and have a long, long talk. Certainly it is a weary expanse of sea that separates us at present. I was within an ace of bringing my journeys to an end last Saturday; and as I don’t have many adventures to relate, I may as well tell you about it.
We were going off for one of the Governor’s pleasant little picnics along the coast, but somehow one of the boats was not forthcoming, so, as I had always been anxious to go in a native canoe, it was agreed that I should go with Mr Gordon, Mr Maudslay, and Captain Havelock, and four Fijians, in the canoe which carried the luncheon. A canoe is built on the principle of having an outrigger alongside to balance her. When the big mat-sail is up, she runs like the wind; but, of course, every small ripple that breaks over the bow pours into her hold, so that a man has to stand astern bailing incessantly, which he generally does by kicking out the water with his foot. Some of the large canoes belonging to the chiefs are quite beautiful; but, as luck would have it, the luncheon-boat on this occasion was a very bad one, and unusually small, so that really we perhaps overweighted her. However, what happened was, that, as we were running full speed, a strong puff of wind caught us, twisted the sail, and ran her head under water. Of course she immediately filled, and apparently about thirty seconds might elapse before we foundered. The gentlemen instinctively tightened their girths to be ready for a swim, when happily the presence of mind of the Fijians in jumping overboard, and the sudden righting of the sail, changed the state of affairs, and after a deal of hard bailing our position became somewhat more satisfactory. The men rigged up a humble little sail, with which we sped onward at a much less exciting, but, under the circumstances, a good deal surer rate, and reached our destination in capital time for luncheon.
Our halt this time was under one specially grand old tree close to the shore (white sand and large trees are both sufficiently rare to make them noteworthy on this isle of Ovalau). Of course, in coming home, room was made for me in the big boat, and the gentlemen agreed to walk home—rather a stretch for Mr Gordon, who, as I told you in my last, has had a very sharp attack of fever and neuralgia, and was still rather low when we came out. However, he seemed quite brightened up by the day’s exertions, and has now gone off with Mr Carew to the very wildest mountain district in all Fiji, where the cannibal and disaffected tribes live. Baron A. von Hügel went there some time ago to study the natives in their wild state, and try to buy some good specimens of their work. Of course these districts are the place of all others to collect curiosities. I don’t mean that this is Mr Gordon’s reason for going there. Sir Arthur is going very soon, and it is well to make straight his path.
As concerns the boat incident, you may make your mind quite easy about its not happening again; for all the gentlemen are naturally in mortal fear of swimming in a sea swarming with sharks, and they’ll take good care not to incur such a double risk as having to look after me at the same time![15]
Since I last wrote to you there has been a good deal of sickness going about of an unusual description; its principal feature being, that while your pulse continues quite steady, your temperature runs up to any extent, and you feel good for nothing. I’ve had a sharp touch of it myself, enough to pull me up for boasting about never being ill. I was laid up for a fortnight, which you can imagine rather astonished me. Really it was worth a little touch of illness to see how dear and kind every member of the Fijian family could be. You yourself could not have taken more care of me than did Mrs Havelock; and Lady Gordon, to whom walking is such an exertion in this hot climate, came toiling up the hill every day to see me, and sent me the strongest brown soups and port-wine to take at short intervals. Knowing how unattainable such luxuries are to most people on these isles, I marvel how they contrive to shake off similar attacks. Dr Macgregor, too, has proved himself a most kind friend and skilful doctor. He is such a good fellow. He and his wife both hail from Aberdeen, then went to Mauritius, whence Sir Arthur persuaded them to come here. To them, as also to Colonel Pratt, the ‘Inverness Couriers’ afford unfailing interest.
I find another centre of north-country sympathy in Mrs Havelock’s nurse, a cosy woman who has taken great care of me during my illness. She lived in Scotland for many years, till her husband’s regiment was ordered to Seychelles, where Captain Havelock was then acting Governor. She has a vivid recollection of Roualeyn; so has the carpenter who comes to work here. But so it is wherever I find Scotchmen. As to Dr Macgregor, he has known his book[16] by heart since he was ten years old! Now I really have nothing more to tell you. We are near midsummer, and have cold blustering winds and sharp showers. A fine day is quite exceptional. Good-bye. Love to each and all.
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_Monday, November 22, 1875._
DEAREST BESSIE,—I suppose Nell told you about my having an attack of fever. I’m all right again now, though not very strong yet. While I remember, I want you to tell the boys about an extraordinary fact in natural history, which, is, I believe, peculiar to these islands. It is called “The Balolo Festival”—in other words, The Feast of Worms—and occurred yesterday. The balolo[17] is a small sea-worm, long and thin as ordinary vermicelli. Some are fully a yard long; others about an inch. It has a jointed body and many legs, and lives in the deep sea.
Only on two days in the whole year do these creatures come to the surface of the water. The first day is in October, which is hence called “Little Balolo,” when only a few appear. The natives know exactly when they are due, and are all on the look-out for them. They make their calculations by the position of certain stars. After this no more are seen till the high tide of the full moon, which occurs between the 20th and 25th of November, which hence takes the name of “Great Balolo,” when they rise to the surface in countless myriads, always before daybreak. In the Samoan Isles the day occurs about a fortnight earlier. At certain well-known points near the reefs, the whole sea, to the depth of several inches, is simply alive with these red, green, and brown creatures, which form one writhing mass, and are pursued by shoals of fish of all sizes, which come to share the feast with the human beings. The latter are in a state of the wildest excitement, for it is the merriest day of the year, and is looked forward to from one November to the next by all the young folk.
About midnight they go out in their canoes, and anxiously await the appearance of the first few worms, and great is the struggle to secure these, which herald the approach of untold myriads. For several hours there is the merriest sport and laughter, every one bailing up the worms and trying who can most quickly fill his canoe, either by fair sport or by stealing from his neighbour. All is noise, scrambling, and excitement, the lads and lasses each carrying wicker-baskets with which they capture the worms without carrying too much salt water on board. As the day dawns, these mysterious creatures with one accord sink once more to their native depths, and by the moment of sunrise not one remains on the surface; nor will another be seen for a twelvemonth, when, true to its festival, the balolo will certainly return. Never has it been known to fail, in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, white or brown. Nor is there any record of any one having seen one rise to the surface on any save the two appointed days, which are known as the “Little Balolo” and “Great Balolo.”
Well do the natives know how needless it would be to look for one after sunrise, so all the canoes then return to land, wrap their balolo in bread-fruit leaves, cook them in ovens dug on the beach, and have a great feast—a regular whitebait dinner, in fact. So now you know the true meaning of the “Diet of Worms.” So great is the quantity taken, that the supply generally lasts for several days, being warmed up when required; and basketfuls are sent to friends at a distance, just as we in Scotland send a box of grouse. Such is our prejudice against all manner of worms, that few Europeans appreciate this dainty, which nevertheless is really not nasty, especially when eaten like potted meat, with bread and butter. It is rather like spinage, with a flavour of the sea,—perhaps I should compare it with the laver of the Scilly Isles. Captain Olive brought us some to taste, which had been given him by some of the Roman Catholic soldiers.
Sad to say, both this year and last year the full moon tide occurred on Sunday morning, notwithstanding which, the irreligious little worms rose to the surface with their wonted punctuality. So rigid is the obedience of all the Wesleyans in the matter of Sabbatical observance, that not one of their canoes went out; whereas their Roman Catholic brethren, to whom more laxity is allowed, went forth rejoicing. The latter, however, are a very small minority, and you can imagine what an act of self-denial it must be to give up this highly-valued harvest of the sea on two following years. So rigid is the adherence to the letter of the old Sabbatical law throughout the group, that not a canoe will put to sea except to carry a teacher to a place of worship; nor will a native climb a tree to fetch a cocoa-nut, even when bribed with much coveted silver; in fact, the offer of silver is considered as a Satanic temptation to trade on _Singha tambu_, the holy day. Of course, to us this seems an overstraining of obedience, but then these people are still like children, for whom a strictly defined law has many advantages; and, moreover, many of them are still in the fervour of their first faith, and they certainly are the most devout race (_for Christians_) that I have ever seen.
Strange indeed is the change that has come over these isles since first Messrs Cargill and Cross, Wesleyan missionaries, landed here, in the year 1835, resolved at the hazard of their lives to bring the light of Christianity to these ferocious cannibals. Imagine the faith and courage of the two white men, without any visible protection, landing in the midst of these bloodthirsty hordes, whose unknown language they had in the first instance to master; and day after day witnessing such scenes as chill one’s blood even to hear about. Many such have been described to me by eyewitnesses.
Slow and disheartening was their labour for many years, yet so well has that little leaven worked, that, with the exception of the Kai Tholos, the wild highlanders, who still hold out in their mountain fastnesses, the eighty inhabited isles have all abjured cannibalism and other frightful customs, and have _lotued_ (_i.e._, embraced Christianity) in such good earnest as may well put to shame many more civilised nations.
I often wish that some of the cavillers who are for ever sneering at Christian missions could see something of their results in these isles. But first they would have to recall the Fiji of ten years ago, when every man’s hand was against his neighbour, and the land had no rest from barbarous intertribal wars, in which the foe, without respect of age or sex, were looked upon only in the light of so much beef; the prisoners deliberately fattened for the slaughter; dead bodies dug up that had been buried ten or twelve days, and could only be cooked in the form of puddings; limbs cut off from living men and women, and cooked and eaten in presence of the victim, who had previously been compelled to dig the oven, and cut the firewood for the purpose; and this not only in time of war, when such atrocity might be deemed less inexcusable, but in time of peace, to gratify the caprice or appetite of the moment.
Think of the sick buried alive; the array of widows who were deliberately strangled on the death of any great man; the living victims who were buried beside every post of a chief’s new house, and must needs stand clasping it, while the earth was gradually heaped over their devoted heads; or those who were bound hand and foot, and laid on the ground to act as rollers, when a chief launched a new canoe, and thus doomed to a death of excruciating agony;—a time when there was not the slightest security for life or property, and no man knew how quickly his own hour of doom might come; when whole villages were depopulated simply to supply their neighbours with fresh meat!
Just think of all this, and of the change that has been wrought, and then just imagine white men who can sneer at missionary work in the way they do. Now you may pass from isle to isle, certain everywhere to find the same cordial reception by kindly men and women. Every village on the eighty inhabited isles has built for itself a tidy church, and a good house for its teacher or native minister, for whom the village also provides food and clothing _Can you realise that there are nine hundred Wesleyan churches in Fiji_, at every one of which the frequent services are crowded by devout congregations; that the schools are well attended; and that the first sound which greets your ear at dawn, and the last at night, is that of hymn-singing and most fervent worship, rising from each dwelling at the hour of family prayer?
What these people may become after much contact with the common run of white men, we cannot, of course, tell, though we may unhappily guess. At present they are a body of simple and devout Christians, full of deepest reverence for their teachers and the message they bring, and only anxious to yield all obedience.
Of course there are a number of white men here, as in other countries, who (themselves not caring one straw about any religion) declare that Christianity in these isles is merely nominal, adopted as a matter of expediency, and that half the people are still heathen at heart. Even were this true (and all outward signs go to disprove it), I wonder what such cavillers expect! I wonder if they know by what gradual steps our own British ancestors yielded to the Light, and for how many centuries idolatrous customs continued to prevail in our own isles! Yet here all traces of idolatry are utterly swept away.
I wonder, too, if they ever remember that out of the four million inhabitants of London, one million are not recognised as even nominal members of any Christian sect; that of that million an exceedingly small number have, even once or twice in their lives, entered any place of worship; and of the remainder, I think, the largest charity could scarcely recognise many by any mark of special uprightness or devotion! It would be strange indeed, therefore, if these new converts had suddenly acquired a monopoly of Christian virtues.
It is painfully suggestive to know that the thing chiefly deprecated by all who have the welfare of the people at heart, is their acquiring English, or being thrown in the way of foreigners.
I hope you won’t think this a very long-winded letter. It is the last I shall write to you from Mrs Havelock’s pleasant little home, for the workmen have been getting on with the new house at Nasova, and to-day I am going to rejoin Lady Gordon there. Of course we have been meeting almost every day, as this house is on a small hill close by. In fact, this is the better situation of the two, being on a headland which catches every breeze; whereas Nasova is too much sheltered, and actually on the sea-level. There are only a dozen steps from the dining-room to the pier, from which, by the way, the gentlemen bathe every morning, in utter defiance of the sharks, which have been seen quite close to them. It certainly is risky.
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NASOVA, _November 30, 1875_.
MY DEAREST NELL,—Immense excitement prevailed here last night, the Colonial Secretary coming down to rouse up the Governor and staff, just as they had got comfortably to bed after a grand Levuka ball, to announce that, after all our doubts and fears, a large steamer has come with mails from San Francisco. We fear she has only come once in a way, not knowing the cruel decision of the New Zealand Government not to call here. Anyhow she will take our letters this time, so I may as well begin one, especially as it may be some time before I write again; for, two days hence, I am going with the Governor, Lady Gordon, Mr Maudslay, and the children, in the new little Government steamer to Suva, on Viti Levu[18] (Great Fiji). There is a good deal of work going on here, such as pulling down of old native huts, and levelling of earth, and painting the new house; and Dr Macgregor wants to get rid of us all till it is finished, so Sir Arthur has taken the so-called hotel, an empty house, at Suva, the proposed site of the new Capital. It will be very good for the children to have change of air. When they are snugly settled we are to go on to the Rewa, a very fertile district. If we have such lovely weather as this last week has been, it will be pleasant. But last night it poured, and looks as if it meant to do so again, which would spoil everything.
From Rewa I am going on a grand expedition with the Langhams. Mr L. is the head of the Wesleyan Mission here. He and his wife travelled with us from Sydney, and we made great friends, and now they have asked me to go with them on a three weeks’ cruise up the Rewa river. We shall sleep every night in Fijian houses—large reed-huts—so we shall travel really in correct style, and yet quite comfortably. It is a great thing for me to have this chance, as none of our own set (Lady Gordon, Lady Halkett, Mrs de Ricci, Mrs Havelock, or Mrs Macgregor) ever care to leave their own roofs.
Since I last wrote I have moved down from Mrs Havelock’s house to Nasova, where the new house is so far on that the children are sleeping in the large new drawing-room, and I am in possession of their nursery. But my own room is now quite ready; and I was busy yesterday, with the help of an acute darkie (Hindoo), in making it all cosy, putting up shelves, and hooks, and brackets, and pictures; and by the time I come back the garden in front of the windows will be quite in order and full of flowers. They do grow well here when any one takes any trouble; and Sir Arthur’s head man, Abbey, is possessed of an unbounded energy, which delights in organising everything. He works himself, and struggles to make a troop of idle careless Fijians do likewise, so garden, farm, and everything else are taking shape. He goes with us to Suva. Captain Knollys remains here in charge of everything, and to try to get the work done. He has command of a large body of Fijian police, or soldiers, who are always on guard here—picturesque people—who keep the place alive, and are to us a source of endless interest and amusement. There are also a lot of Engineers living in a native house on the green in front, so there is no lack of human beings about the place.
Two days ago a large German man-of-war came in, the Gazelle: her band came and played here, and the Levuka world came to listen. Last night the German residents gave them a ball; but our distance from the scene of action (a long mile of vile footpath, and no alternative but walking) franks us ladies from appearing at any of these festivities.[19] There is literally no means of being carried, such as we are accustomed to find in all Eastern lands. Palanquins, sedan-chairs, dandies, kangos, and all such substitutes for carriages, are alike unknown, and if imported, it would be impossible to induce men to carry them (at least so we are told). So there is nothing for it but to tramp, either in the fierce sun, or, if after sunset, carrying lanterns to enable us to avoid the many snares and pit-falls of the great highroad. Some of the officers of the Gazelle lunched here yesterday, and some more dine to-night. They talk very good English.
The only other events of the week have been two very sad deaths. One was that of the contractor for part of this house, a young man, only married three months ago; the other, a fine boy of twelve, who climbed a _keveeka_-tree, overhanging a rocky burn, to get bunches of red blossoms, and, alas! fell off on to the cruel boulders, fracturing his leg and arm, and doing internal injury besides. For a week they thought he might live, but the lock-jaw set in, as it commonly does in these climates, from very slight wounds (as in the cases of Bishop Patteson and Commodore Goodenough, and their men), and the poor fellow died. He is one of a large family; they are in dire grief, as you can fancy. His little brother was in the tree with him, and says he almost fainted with terror when he saw his brother fall, and can’t think how he got down himself. It made us all think of ‘Misunderstood’! The cemetery lies on a pleasant hill, one mile further along the shore, so we saw both funerals go past. The poor carpenter’s coffin was rowed in a boat, his friends following by the shore. But the boy’s funeral, which was a Roman Catholic one, was more ceremonial, and followed by a great number of children carrying flowers. I think the poor little brothers and sisters go to the grave almost daily.
I don’t think there’s anything else to tell you, and I must get on with my preparations for the trip. I have got your photograph in the white frame, just in front of me, with such a lovely red rose and gardenia, and bit of stag’s-horn moss, beside it.