CHAPTER X.

UPPER REWA—SUNDAY AMONG THE CONVERTS—SCHOOL EXAMINATIONS—A “MISSIONARY MEETING”—SAVAGE ORNAMENTS—RED TAPE—_MÉKÉS_—EVENING PRAYER—MARRIAGES.

NIRUKURUKU, ON THE UPPER REWA RIVER, _December 23d_.

MY DEAR ALEXA,—I have not written to you since I started on this trip, but of course you have heard all my news from the others. We came here yesterday in the canoe, as the rapids are so strong that the boat could not face them, and the men, strong as they are, had to call others to their aid, and even then had hard work to pull us up stream. But the scenery is most lovely, though we rarely leave the water-level, and the glimpses we do get of the grand mountains make us long to penetrate right up to them. But this would involve far too much walking for either Mrs Langham or myself, and there is no other means of locomotion. Oh, what I would give to have my dear Himalayan _dandie_ here, with a team of strong Paharis (hill-men) to carry me! The Highlanders here (the Kai Colos, men of the mountains) are just as strong, but the idea of carrying a lady has not yet occurred to them; indeed we are the first specimens of the race whom they have seen!

This is the furthest point to which we can go, and here we are to spend Christmas, as Mr Langham is anxious to hold service himself on that day, and the people will assemble from far and near.

I think it might well startle some of our sleepy congregations to find themselves in a Fijian church (of which there are 900 in these isles, for every village which becomes Christian begins by building a church and a teacher’s house, and undertakes to feed and clothe the latter, besides giving him small payment in kind for individual schooling).

To say nothing of largely attended week-day evening services, there are on Sundays three regular services, beginning with a prayer-meeting at 6 A.M. Each of these is crowded, and a large number also attend Sunday-school in the afternoon; and many prove how attentively they have listened to the teacher by repeating on Monday the whole substance of the sermons preached the previous day.

The form of service is much the same as in a Presbyterian church, with the addition of the Te Deum and Apostles’ Creed, which are chanted in the native fashion, the missionaries having wisely made use of native customs when practicable. The purely national tunes, if such I may call them, have a certain attraction in their drone-like monotony; those borrowed from us are generally discordant, but certainly heartily rendered; and the apparent earnestness in prayer of all present is most striking. Every one, without exception, kneels on the matted floor (of course there are no seats), and lies doubled up, with head resting on the earth, touching the bare feet of the kneeler in front of him. Here and there a tiny brown child stands beside its mother, the only creature not prostrate. You can look at this scene as long as you please, certain that no one will look up and catch you staring, for never a head is raised. So you overlook a closely packed mosaic of tawny frizzled heads, bare brown backs, and white _sulus_ (kilts).

Nor is there the slightest reason for thinking that this is merely an outward show of devotion. Everything in daily life tends to prove its reality. The first sound that greets your ear in the morning, and the last at night, is the sound of family worship in every house in the village. I am positively assured that the presence of the white missionary makes no appreciable difference in the congregations, and that the churches are just as crowded when there is only the native teacher to lead the simple worship.

One thing which strikes us forcibly in all our dealings with these people is their exceeding honesty. Day after day our goods are exposed in the freest manner, more especially on Sundays, when for several hours not a creature remains in the house where we happen to be staying, which is left with every door wide open, and all our things lying about. Boxes and bags which are known to contain knives and cloth and all manner of tempting treasures, stand unlocked, and yet, though the village is invariably within a stone’s-throw, we have never lost the value of a pin’s head. I confess, however, it was some time before I could stifle all qualms of misgiving on seeing a crowd of what some people might call savages swoop down on our property and carry it off piecemeal to the boat or village, as the case might be; but when day after day passed and nothing was ever missing, I gradually acquired the implicit trust which has proved so well founded.

Poor as these people are, their generosity is most remarkable, and they give freely of such things as they have, both to those among themselves who may be in need, and also for the spread of the Christian cause. Not only does each village support its own teacher, but considerable offerings for a general fund are made at the annual school examinations and “missionary meetings.” Nothing could be more distressing than to have nothing to give on such a day, so those who have no money will walk miles across the hills, bringing some treasured bowl or spear for sale; and great is the anxiety to receive payment in numerous small coins, that no member of the family may appear empty-handed on the great feast-day. Very often, however, it is to obtain a copy of the precious Fijian Testament that the household treasure is thus offered for sale; for already an immense number can read, and are as well instructed in Bible history and precepts as any Scotch peasant of the good old school.

What a very tame scene a school examination at home will seem after those we have here witnessed, with the multitude of brown scholars, all so very attentive! Certainly we have no cause to complain of over-dressing or use of artificial flowers; but the usual wreaths of green, lilac, or yellow leaves, hanging in long fringes from waist and shoulders, figure largely, also those made of long narrow leaves of the screw-pine, gaily dyed red and yellow.

At one place we found the scholars, old and young, of eight villages assembled to receive us. They began, as usual, by coming up in procession, and each depositing an offering at the feet of the missionary. This generally consists of one root of yam or _taro_, a bunch of tobacco-leaves, a sugar-cane, or a yangona root; but on this occasion some discriminating scholars brought old war-clubs and bowls, to say nothing of a pile of the fringe dresses aforesaid! Then followed a _méké_, which is a quaint national dance with accompaniment of singing.

Some of the old _mékés_ are not considered desirable, as, for example, that dance of death which accompanied the carrying of dead bodies to the temple, preparatory to cooking them, and others of heathen or immoral association. The schools are therefore encouraged to select new subjects. So they gave us a dance and pantomime all about the capture of Jerusalem, and very curious it was. Then they went through very creditable Scriptural examination and recitation, with some reading and writing, and finished off with a most extraordinary method of spelling and doing mental arithmetic. I cannot attempt to describe it, further than to say that though all the scholars as usual sat on the ground, the whole body was in perpetual motion, swaying from side to side, each row in opposite directions. There was incessant clapping of hands, now on one side, now on the other, now on the ground, now in mid-air, and all in measured time; while the calculations were shouted aloud, and apparently produced a correct result. The action gone through for the spelling and arithmetic lesson was quite different, though wholly indescribable. In all these movements the most accurate time is marked. In some schools geography is also taught, the lesson being a series of chanted questions and answers, which, however musical, can scarcely be expected to convey much meaning to the mind of the Fijian, who assuredly believes his own isles to be the greatest and most important in the world. At the close of the proceedings, each scholar approached in turn, and stripping off his or her green wreaths, laid them in a heap at our feet, whence they were removed by the boatmen for their own adornment. Such is a school examination in Fiji.

As for the missionary meetings, they by no means resemble those held in Exeter Hall! They are simply great days of native merry-making, when the missionaries very wisely encourage the people to keep up the most popular and innocent of their national games and dances, and when all who attend bring offerings according to their ability and inclination.

The first meeting of this sort at which I was present was held at the junction of two heads of the great Rewa river, the Wai Nimbooco and the Wai Nimala. On the first day, the people of seventeen towns (or villages) assembled, and the crowd must have numbered fully 2000. On the following day about ten more towns arrived, and, with slight variations, the programme was repeated. We sat under trees on the river-bank, facing the village green, and each town came up in turn in procession, all quaintly dressed up as if for a fancy ball, and marched slowly past us, every one carrying his offering in his mouth for greater security—a purse at once novel and self-acting; for, as both hands were often busy with spear and fan, it was a saving of trouble, and by no means disrespectful, just to spit out the coin on the mat spread to receive offerings. Some had quite a mouthful to give—three or four shillings. The latter was a sum much aimed at, as the donors of such large contributions had the pride of knowing that their names would appear in a printed list! an honour not wholly without attraction even in Fiji.

The town then divided into two companies. One acted as orchestra, sitting on the ground,—some clapping hands, sometimes with the palms flat, sometimes hollowed, to produce diversity of tone—some striking the ground with short, resonant bamboos, held vertically, which produce a strange booming sound—all singing old words, the meaning of which they have in many cases forgotten. The chant is invariably commenced by one voice, and the chorus takes it up after a few notes. The other company danced,—the quaintest, wildest dances you can conceive, with much pantomime and most graceful action. Every action and posture one sees in a good ballet are found here; and such pretty grouping with fans, spears, or clubs. Many of the figures are very intricate, and the rapidity of movement and flexibility of the whole body are something marvellous,— it seems as if every muscle was in action, and all the postures are graceful. The dance gets wilder and more excited as it goes on, generally ending with an unearthly yell, in which all the spectators join.

They are all sitting round in every available corner, generally spreading a bit of plantain-leaf on the ground to keep their dress clean: for, of course, every one is attired in his very best—perhaps a kilt of English long-cloth (or, far more attractive in our eyes, native cloth of rich brown pattern). White native cloth is worn as a girdle, and hangs behind in large folds; wreaths of long hanging grass are worn round the arms and legs, as well as on the body. Some even powder their hair black, or else wear huge wigs of heathen days, and crowns of scarlet parrots’ feathers.

Most have their faces painted with every variety of colour, in stripes, circles, and spots. Some are all scarlet, with black spectacles, or _vice versâ_; some, of a very gaudy turn of mind, half blue and half scarlet. Some are painted half plain and half spotted, or striped like clowns. In short, fancy has free scope in devising grotesque patterns of every sort. Many are entirely blackened down to the waist, or perhaps have one side of the face and one shoulder dyed dark-red; but the commonest and ugliest freak of all is to paint only the nose bright scarlet, and the rest of the face dead black, and very hideous is the result.

The paint-box on these occasions is simple: red ochre supplies one shade, and the seeds of the vermilion-tree, so dull in the pod, but so brilliant when crushed, supply another. The nearest wood-fire yields black in abundance; while a dark-brown fungus is found on the bark of certain trees, and finds immense favour with many who cannot understand how infinitely more beautiful is the rich brown of their own silky skin, with its gloss of cocoa-nut oil. The gaudy blue is a recent addition to their stock—from English laundries; and an unusually vivid scarlet likewise tells occasionally of dealings with British traders.[23]

On great festivals the family jewels are all displayed. They consist of necklaces of whales’ teeth rudely fastened together with sinnet, or else most carefully cut into long curved strips like miniature tusks, highly polished, and strung together in the form of a great collar, which is worn with the curved points turning outwards like a frill. The average length of each tooth is about six inches; but some necklaces, which are treasured as heirlooms, are nearly double this size, and all the teeth are beautifully regular. Their effect when worn by a chief in full dress is singularly picturesque, though scarcely so becoming as the large curved boar’s tooth, which sometimes forms an almost double circle, and is worn suspended from the neck, the white ivory gleaming against the rich brown skin.

The most artistic and uncommon ornament of a Fijian chief is a breast-plate from six to ten inches in diameter, made of polished whale’s tooth, sliced and inlaid with pearly shell, all most beautifully joined together. These, like all native work, whether wood-carving or ivory, not only claim admiration, but fill me with wonder at the patient ingenuity which could possibly produce such results with the tools hitherto possessed by these people, to whom metals were unknown, whose axes and hatchets were made of smooth and beautifully polished green-stone (precisely similar to the celts of our forefathers, and how they made these is to me incomprehensible). I have bought several tied with coarse sinnet to a rude handle of wood cut in the form of a bent knee. When the stone axe had accomplished the first rough shaping of the form required, a skilfully used fire-stick next came into use, and then a lump of mushroom coral, or a piece of the rough skin of the sting-ray, stretched on wood, acted as a rasp or file. A fine polish was attained by patient friction with pumice-stone and cocoa-nut oil. The only other tools of the Fijian workman consisted of broken shells, the teeth of rats and fishes, or the sharp spines of the echini, set in hard wood. Yet with these rude implements these untutored savages (if so we should call them) produced forms so artistic, and carving so elaborate and graceful, as must excite the keen admiration of all lovers of art.

But alas for the vulgarising influence of contact with white men! Already the majority of the islanders have sold their own admirable ornaments, and wear instead trashy English necklaces, with perhaps a circular tin looking-glass attached, or an old cotton-reel in the ear instead of a rudely carved ear-ring. In the more frequented districts this lamentable change thrusts itself more forcibly on the attention, as almost all the fine old clubs and beautifully carved spears have been bought up, and miserable sticks and nondescript articles—including old European battle-axes—take their place.

Here in the mountains each company carried spears, clubs, or fans, all of which played their part in the various dances—most of which are so old, that the meaning of the songs and pantomime are alike forgotten by the actors. In one long piece of by-play all the men of the village appeared dressed alike, their heads being plastered with lime, looking just like powdered footmen (only that they were brown and naked to the waist). It was so very solemn that we thought some terrible tragedy was being recounted; but we were told it was only a story about an empty basket!

In one very odd dance, a queer, fluttering creature, with a huge fan in each hand to represent wings, kept dancing round and round a covey of cowering children, whom he bowled over, two at a time. Then, as they lay prone, he fanned them to life again, and so drove them along to join the orchestra. This is supposed to be a bird of prey providing for her young, and of a species unknown in Fiji!

Somewhat similar is a dance in which half the men are armed with spears, the other half carry large fans of palm-leaf, or of native cloth stretched on a wooden frame, and adorned with blue and white streamers. At the end of each movement every dancer holds his fan high above his head with simultaneous action, uttering a wild, high-pitched war-cry. After an intricate dance, in which extraordinary feats of agility are displayed, these two companies form into separate lines and have a sham fight. Again and again the whole regiment of spearmen fall flat on the ground, as if all slain simultaneously, and the others, bending over them, fan them assiduously till life is restored, and they once more spring to their feet. This is a particularly pretty dance: no carefully studied ballet could be more effective.

Another, which is particularly characteristic, is a club-dance, in which half the men present are armed with war-clubs of very varied and curious forms, while the others carry long and beautifully carved spears. Sometimes each man carries a spear in one hand and a club in the other; and often, I regret to say, a number of common muskets replace the old clubs, and look strangely out of keeping with the barbaric surroundings. On festivals such as these, many of the clubs are as carefully decorated as their owners. Coloured strips of _pandanus_ leaf or fibre-plaiting are wound around them, adorned with fringe-like tufts; some are rather coarsely touched up with scarlet or blue paint, which happily soon rubs off. These war-parties always advance slowly, attitudinising and swinging from side to side. Gradually they become more animated, brandish their spears and clubs, go through all manner of evolutions, keeping such perfect time that each line of warriors seems to move like one man—every hand and foot moving in unison. The speed and action go on increasing till each individual dancer seems to be performing the closing movements of a Highland fling or a sailor’s hornpipe, but with far more varied postures. At some of the larger gatherings, from two to three hundred dancers will join in the _méké_, and as they are generally the picked men of the district, the scene is the more effective. In every dance there is a leader, who by word and example regulates the time for every change in the figures. This post of honour is often awarded to a very small boy, son of the chief; and you cannot think how pretty it is to see all these splendid fellows moving like clock-work in obedience to the slightest action of a tiny child, most quaintly dressed, and entering keenly into his duties. He begins in the most dramatic manner by delivering a shrill exhortation to his _corps de ballet_, and then leads them with perfect accuracy through every manœuvre of advance, retreat, &c., &c.

Each district has certain dances peculiar to itself, and the people of one neither can nor will join in the _méké_ of another. Thus the people of aristocratic Bau positively sneered when asked whether they could not perform some of the dances of their neighbours at Rewa, which monopolises the most graceful _méké_ of all—namely, one which represents the breaking of the waves on a coral-reef—a poetic idea admirably rendered. Years ago I remember the delight with which we hailed an exquisite statuette in Sir Noel Paton’s studio, representing the curling of a wave, by a beautiful female figure, supposed to be floating thereon; but I never dreamt that we should find the same idea so perfectly carried out by a race whom we have been wont to think of only as ruthless savages.

The idea to be conveyed is that of the tide gradually rising on the reef, till at length there remains only a little coral isle, round which the angry breakers rage, flinging their white foam on every side. At first the dancers form in long lines and approach silently, to represent the quiet advance of the waves. After a while the lines break up into smaller companies, which advance with outspread hands and bodies bent forward, to represent rippling wavelets, the tiniest waves being represented by children. Quicker and quicker they come on, now advancing, now retreating, yet, like true waves, steadily progressing, and gradually closing on every side of the imaginary islet, round which they play or battle, after the manner of breakers, springing high in mid-air, and flinging their arms far above their heads to represent the action of spray. As they leap and toss their heads, the soft white _masi_ or native cloth (which for greater effect they wear as a turban with long streamers, and also wind round the waist, thence it floats in long scarf-like ends) trembles and flutters in the breeze. The whole effect is most artistic, and the orchestra do their part by imitating the roar of the surf on the reef—a sound which to them has been a never-ceasing lullaby from the hour of their birth.

Another _méké_ peculiar to this district represents a flock of flying-foxes in act of robbing a garden of ripe bananas. Perhaps a couple of hundred foxes will assemble, to say nothing of a company of little foxes. A tree bearing the coveted fruit is fastened to a strong pole in the centre of the ground—and it says much for the native sense of humour that, instead of hanging up a bunch of real bananas, they must needs devise an artificial bunch, with a square gin-bottle filled with oil hanging from the tip, to represent the great purple blossom. In the first figure of the dance scouts are sent out to see that the coast is clear, and they flutter round the imaginary garden with outstretched arms, imitating the cry of the flying-fox. Soon the whole flock approach, chattering noisily over the prospects of the feast, circling and fluttering round and round after the manner of all bats. Then one proceeds to climb the tree, and hangs himself up by the legs, head downwards, with outstretched arms, flapping his wings and crying just like a flying-fox. A second soon follows, and disputes his position. They squeal, and scratch, and bite one another, and a battle of the bats ensues, in which the first-comer is routed. After a while some one shoots the intruder, who falls helplessly from the tree. All this time the rest of the flock have been dancing and fluttering around, the peculiar movements of bats being admirably rendered, even to the rushing sound of wings, which is given by a jerk of the body, which causes all the _liqus_ to swing simultaneously; and these being made of dried leaves of the _pandanus_ or screw-pine, which are long and narrow as a grass, rustle on the slightest movement, and their combined noise produces a rushing sound, greatly resembling that of the black-winged army.

As an illustration of a comic dance, I may mention a pantomime representing a pig-hunt. He is supposed to be concealed in the long grass, and the hunters, round whose necks hang large boars’ tusks, very suggestive of danger from such a hidden foe, advance cautiously in search of him. At last he is found, captured alive, and dragged in triumph to the village, amid the acclamations of the spectators.[24]

But on this particular occasion the representations were chiefly of such real warfare as that in which the dancers had so often been engaged,—the stealthy advance of scouts—the surprise, skirmish, and victory—dancers gradually working themselves up to a pitch of wildest excitement, and breaking forth into ear-piercing yells, in which the spectators did their part. This, and the painting and blackening of the warriors, produced an effect so truly diabolic, that it was hard to realise its being only a game. The _méké_ had gone on for nearly seven hours, when darkness closing in, compelled the remaining towns to reserve their dances, and the presentation of their offerings, till the following morning.

It occurred to us that there might very likely be some torchlight dancing in the village, so after supper we strolled thither, but scarcely saw a creature out of doors. But from within almost every house we passed came the voice of most fervent family prayer, telling how the household and their guests were closing that day of much excitement.

A man has just come up from Nakorovatu with the horrible news that a boy was killed there this morning by a shark, at the very spot where we embarked yesterday. The brute caught him by the leg, tore off the calf, and broke the bone. The shore was lined with spectators, but they could not help, and by the time that some men contrived to drag away the poor fellow he was so terribly injured that he died almost immediately. Several of our men bathed there yesterday, and we also occasionally bathe in the river when we can find no pleasanter or more secluded stream. But this really is most alarming, for we certainly thought ourselves safe from sharks at this distance from the sea—fully thirty miles. Lower down the river they are a fully recognised danger, and a man was recently carried off while bathing at Nundiokar, one of the villages where we halted, a few days ago.

There is a perfect crowd of interesting young couples just coming in to be married, so I must watch the proceedings. The brides appear shy, and the bridegrooms bashful. I am sorry to observe that some of the brides are both ugly and old! They do not wear such quantities of pretty white and brown cloth as the brides on the coast; in fact, they wear exceedingly little of anything. Perhaps they were too poor to buy a _trousseau_. Anyhow, this is rather a dingy lot of weddings. Now good night—Your loving sister.