CHAPTER XI.

CHRISTMAS IN GREAT FIJI—PIG FEASTS—WEDDINGS—FIJIAN NAMES—CANNIBAL DAINTIES—CHRISTMAS CHIMES—SNEEZING—“OUR FATHER” IN FIJIAN.

(From a native Fijian house at Nirukuruku, a moated town on the banks of the Wai Nimala, one of the many heads of the great river Rewa, the richest land in Viti Levu—_i.e._, Great Fiji.)

“And strangely fell our Christmas Eve.”

_Christmas Day, 1875._

DEAR NELL,—Do you remember the Christmas Eve at the Bridge of Allan, when we first quoted that line to one another? when we had seen the last of the dear old home, and the newly fallen snow lay on our father’s grave, and we two looked down past that unfamiliar spire to the cold white world beyond, and wondered what might lie before us in the untried future? I have had some strange Christmases since then, but this is the strangest of all, as you would say could you only suddenly look in upon us....

Though the people are so very friendly, and in many respects very nice, still this is undoubted life among savages; and after a while there is considerable sameness in halting at one village after another, taking up our quarters in its best house, which invariably consists only of one large room, the lower half of which is generally full of natives all day. Most of them clear out at night; but generally at least once a-day—sometimes twice in one day—they bring us a feast, consisting of a pig roasted whole—a sucking-pig, or an old one, as the case may be—wrapped up in large plantain-leaves, many baskets of cooked yams and _taros_, and native puddings tied up in leaves. Boiled vegetables (sometimes fish and crawfish) are brought in and offered again in the evening.

Besides the regular feasts provided by each village, many of the marriage-parties send in offerings of food, as the parson’s share of their feast, so we are in no danger of starving. Yet the people really are very poor, and, except on such festal occasions as these, live only on yams. But wherever we have halted—and sometimes several times in the course of a day—“a feast” has been brought for us,—a procession of women carrying baskets full of cooked vegetables, purple or white yams, _taro_, and sweet potatoes, fowls in cooking-pots, fish, crawfish, prawns, and native puddings made of banana, and grated cocoa-nut sweetened with sugar-cane, and served in a large banana-leaf. At some places large fresh-water mussels, greatly resembling those of our Scotch rivers, have been supplied, and proved excellent. When served at table they resemble poached eggs, and when their thick white skin is cut open they yield a delicacy suggestive rather of a French _cuisine_ than of a Fijian hut. Where these abound they form an important article of food, as is shown by the piles of purple-lined shells which lie thickly strewn round the villages, and which made me wonder whether the pearl-yielding mussel of our Scotch rivers might not be found equally useful as an addition to the limited bill of fare of our own poor.

Beef and mutton are luxuries which have only been introduced by white men for their own use, and are probably not to be found anywhere save in Levuka, the capital of the isles. But pigs were imported at an earlier period, and quickly found such favour with the people that they now roam at large in every village, and a feast of roast pork is to a Fijian the very crown of bliss.

The highest honour, therefore, that can be shown to any guest, is to present him with a pig, sometimes full grown, sometimes an interesting suckling, but in any case roasted whole, which is accomplished by filling him with red-hot stones, and baking him in a hole in the ground, lined with more hot stones and green leaves. Wrapped in this leafy covering, he is next placed on a carved wooden tray, and borne triumphantly to the house where the stranger is lodging, and there deposited, with all the other good things aforesaid, on the mats near the furthest door, which naturally suffer a good deal in consequence.

The feast is then formally presented, and as formally accepted, with set speeches and measured hand-clapping. The pig is then cut up, and the feast duly apportioned among all present, this distribution being also made strictly according to rule; for in Fiji rigid etiquette rules every action of life, and the most trifling mistake in such matters would cause as great dissatisfaction as a breach in the order of precedence at a European ceremonial. To apportion the pig’s head to any save the principal person present would inevitably result in that person leaving the house in high dudgeon; and as chiefs of various villages may have arrived simultaneously to visit the new-comer, it is sometimes an embarrassing question how to satisfy the dignity of all. Happily in our case the feasts are generally divided by Johnny, the head boatman, who, being himself a chief of this district, is well informed on all such matters. We are amusingly reminded of his nobility by hearing the clapping of hands, with which an admiring circle invariably proclaim the close of his meals.

To-day, in honour of Christmas, this oft-recurring pig festival has been thrice repeated, and you can fancy how saturated with grease are the unfortunate mats near the door! I have induced the owner of the wooden tray which did duty both on this day and on Christmas Eve, to sell it to me, and shall take it away as an interesting memorial of the strangest Christmas dinner which has yet fallen to my share.

We had also a novel Christmas Eve, marked not by the bringing in of a cheery Yule log, but by multitudinous marriages; for one result of the murrain of measles which desolated the isles a few months ago is that a matrimonial fever has set in. The widows and widowers, instructed by their chiefs, have interpreted some expressions of the great white chief as a recommendation to seek mutual consolation, and the infection spreads among all classes of the community, old and young. So it happened that on reaching this place, Nirukuruku, three days ago, we found no less than forty couples, belonging to this and the neighbouring villages, all waiting to be married on the arrival of the missionary, preferring his good offices to those of Aquilla, the native minister, just as a damsel nearer home might deem the knot more satisfactorily tied by her bishop than by the village curate. I cannot say, however, that these weddings gained much in pomp of ceremonial by the arrival of the great man; for, knowing the amount of inquiry involved by each marriage, and how very slow a process this might prove, it was deemed necessary to begin at once, so as to dispose of as many as possible without loss of time.

All belonging to the village were therefore invited to present themselves as soon as possible; so, just as we had finished supper (sitting on our mats, and by the light of one dim candle, in a lantern) all the couples arrived. Being dark, and the call so sudden, few of the women had thought it necessary to put on the short low-bodied article which acts the part of jacket, but were dressed just like the men, with only a short white kilt (_sulu_ they call it); and very difficult it was, in the dim light, to tell which were which, and to get them rightly paired, and arranged along one side of the room; for, as a matter of course, the bashful couple arrive and depart separately, and would rather place themselves beside any one in the room than their own intended! Altogether, it was a very curious scene.

Near us sat the native minister’s wife and family, diligently sewing Christmas raiment, by the light of a wick and oil in an old sardine-box, with the coaxiest of large-eyed brown babies looking on admiringly. Beyond, a group of brown boatmen lay round the fire, which, as usual, blazed in a sunken corner of the floor—no chimney of course. Some houses have several such fireplaces, merely enclosed by logs of cocoa-palm; and it certainly is a marvel that fires are not more frequent, especially as the candles, which are only bits of blazing bamboo, are carried about in the most careless way over the mats; and these are laid over a deep layer of soft dry grass.

When inquiry as to statistics began, it was found that a considerable number of the couples were old hands—that is to say, they were recent converts, who, having renounced polygamy, were about to settle down in sober double harness, instead of the four-in-hand (at the very least) of previous matrimonial arrangements. The age and extreme ugliness of some of these brides suggested great constancy in their lords, and greater attractions in the ladies than mere personal beauty. The discarded wives invariably seem in great demand, as under the old system of polygamy a large proportion of the men were doomed to involuntary celibacy; the emancipated women have therefore no difficulty in selecting new homes, wherein they may hold undivided sway—an honour which may perhaps scarcely prove a source of unmingled satisfaction, considering the amount of hard work which falls to the lot of a Fijian wife, in fishing, and other necessary labour, which the lords of creation prefer generally to do by deputy, though he is accounted a sorry idler who sends his wife to dig in the distant yam-garden. The position of women in these isles has hitherto been as low, and their lot as hard, as in most other uncivilised lands; but Christian teachers are now doing their utmost to raise them in the social scale, and with considerable success—their bright intelligent faces telling, in many instances, how readily they will do their own share in improving their condition when once such a possibility has dawned on their minds.

Some of the brides and bridegrooms retained their old original names, which, literally translated, are characteristic; those of the women being such as Spray of the Coral-reef, Queen of Parrot’s Land, Queen of Strangers, Smooth Water, Wife of the Morning Star, Paradise, Mother of her Grandchildren, Ten Whale’s Teeth (_i.e._, very precious).

Some were cruelly ill named from their birth. To any one who has suffered from the sting of a Fijian nettle such a name as Lady Nettle seems rather a cruel one to bestow on a little innocent. Nor can Waning Moon, Drinker of Blood, or Mother of Cockroaches be considered flattering, though Mother of Pigeons sounds more kindly. Earthen Vessel is more complimentary than might at first sight appear, when we consider the preciousness of the water therein stored; while Waited for, Smooth Water, Sacred Cavern, One who Quiets, are all more or less pleasant.

The men’s names are equally fanciful. Such are The Stone God, Great Shark, Bad Earth, Bad Stranger, New Child, More Dead Man’s Flesh, Abode of Treachery, Not Quite Cooked, Die out of Doors, Empty, Fire in the Bush, Spark of Fire, Day, Night, The Great Fowl, Quick as Lightning, Laggard, Imp, Eats like a God, King of Gluttony, Ill Cooked, Dead Man, Revenge, Carpenter,—and so _ad infinitum_.

Where Christian names have been adopted at baptism they are almost invariably Scriptural names Fijianised, I had almost said Italianised. Such are _Taivita_ for David, Lydiana or Litia for Lydia, Mirama for Miriam, Nabooco for Nebuchadnezzar, Setavenie for Stephen, Zacheusa, Bartolomeo, Luki, Joeli, Amosi, Clementi, Solomoni, Jacopi, Josephi, Isaia, and Epeli, the latter representing Abel. In short, in any large assemblage you could scarcely fail to find namesakes of all the patriarchs, prophets, and apostles, with their mothers and wives, the Scriptures having been ransacked from beginning to end to afford sufficient variety. Some few modern names are heard, such as Alisi and Arietta, and occasionally the surname of some revered white man has been adopted, the prefix of Mr being especially insisted on!

The preliminary inquiries respecting the happy couples, and the difficulty of ascertaining whether parents and guardians had, in some cases, given the necessary consent, took up so much time, that at last, wearied with the day’s journey, I could stand it no longer, but crept inside my tent (the old green plaid which has been the faithful companion of so many wanderings), and fell asleep to the sound of the old story, “Till death us do part,” oft repeated in Fijian tongue.

The giving of a ring forms no part of the wedding service—indeed in this land of few personal ornaments even a tortoise-shell ring is a rare treasure. Plain circles cut out of pearly shell form bracelets for men, and equally common is a circle cut from a cocoa-nut and polished. The men also have a monopoly of the necklaces made of large whale’s teeth, and handsome breast-plates of pearl-shell and ivory, beautifully inlaid and polished; also of the large curly boar’s tusks, which form so becoming a neck-ornament.

The feminine jewel-case is far more limited. It probably consists of one pink shell, tied on with a plait of sinnet, and English beads (only very tiny beads, which can be plaited into the finest patterns, find favour here). Sometimes a piece of carved whale’s tooth is worn as an ear-ring, or a string of dog’s teeth as a necklace,—and this pretty nearly exhausts the catalogue.

Nor was the amount of raiment worn in heathen days oppressive. A thick fringe of coloured grass, or hybiscus fibre, from three to four inches in length, was the full dress of a young lady in the mountains,—indeed is so to this day among the tribes who have not yet adopted Christianity, or who, since the scourge of measles, have returned to heathenism. Most Christians, men and women alike, now wear a cloth reaching from the waist to the knee, and over this such decoration as fancy prompts—whether gay fringe of coloured grass, delicate creeping ferns, or bright golden croton-leaves, cunningly fastened so as to overlap one another, and form a close short petticoat,—and a very becoming dress it is, especially when worn by a group of pretty girls, perhaps standing beneath the shadow of a plantain-tree, or holding one of its broad leaves above their heads, to shield them from the burning rays of the sun, the rich tones of their brown figures standing out in strong relief against the vivid blue of the sky.

How long the wedding ceremonials were protracted I cannot say, but when I awoke the following morning I learnt that nineteen more couples were waiting their turn; and again the slow process of inquiries had to be gone through, which occupied three hours. At eleven we started in the canoe, and floated down the river to Nivotheene, a very pretty moated village, tastefully laid out, with neat paths. It is a new village built on an old site, the young chief and his people of the Nathau tribe having returned to heathenism during the wars, when their old town was burnt by Thakombau’s people, since which time they have lived twelve miles farther up the river for security. Now they have again embraced the _lotu_, and come down from the mountains. But the tribe with whom we are now staying (at Nirukuruku) were formerly their bitter foes, and the under-current of distrust is still strong; and from various indications, both Mr and Mrs Langham feel so far suspicious of possible danger that they have yielded to the strongly urged advice of the native minister, and have decided to give up our visit to the inland town, as being unsafe. It would be foolish to get clubbed in a savage fray. It was at no great distance from this place that the Rev. Thomas Baker and seven Christian natives were treacherously murdered by the heathen tribe of Na-vosa in the year 1867 (only eight years ago). They were all eaten. It is worthy of note that at least half-a-dozen different villages have pretended to be in possession of Mr Baker’s head—a case of multiplication of relics worthy of medieval days. The moat and ditch which enclose Nivotheene and so many other villages tell of the state of terrible insecurity of life and property in which these tribes have hitherto lived, but which, we would fain hope, has now become a story of the past.

We lunched under a group of lovely trees, veiled with long trails of creepers, falling some thirty feet in wreaths of tender green, through which we looked down on the clear beautiful river, and to the mountains beyond. Afterwards we adjourned to the house of the young chief, and made friends with his pretty wife, whose bright intelligent smile almost made us forget the hideous fact that lines and curves of dark blue tattooing did their utmost to destroy the beauty of her mouth. In some districts this disfiguring honour is the portion of every married woman; in others it is reserved for mothers. There is also some tattooing of the body; but this, even in heathen undress, is invariably covered by the short _liku_, the four-inch deep fringe—and of course Christian usage discourages such painful adornment, which in the Fijian group has been always considered exclusively feminine. In the Tongan group, on the contrary, only the men indulge in it.

As soon as our arrival became known, the villagers crowded in to inspect us, and to exchange sundry necklaces of whales’ teeth and carved wooden bowls for fathoms of cloth and much-coveted big knives. I bought from the villanous-looking old priest a couple of large wooden spoons, or scoops, made purposely for human broth; and we also got sundry cannibal forks, of carved wood, with four long prongs, which were used exclusively for human flesh, this being the only meat which might not be touched with the fingers, because it was supposed to produce a skin disease.

Wishing to ascertain the truth of an assertion sometimes made, to the effect that women were not allowed to share in these cannibal feasts, we asked the young chief whether it was so. He denied it emphatically, adding, “I’d like to see the woman who would not eat her full share!” We then asked whether the manner of preparing human flesh was not different from that in which pork, for instance, was cooked. He misunderstood the question, and answered, “Oh! there’s no comparison between them—human flesh is so much the best!” Doubtless he has had good experience, having from his childhood been engaged in tribal wars, which afforded a rarely failing supply of dead foes. On every side of us fierce battles have been fought; and on a hill at the head of the valley stands Balavu, “the long town,” which, in 1871, was surprised by neighbouring tribes, who therein _slew and ate_ 260 persons! When they had finished eating them all they proceeded to eat the pigs!

No less than three of our boatmen have lost their parents in these wars, and pointed out to us the spots where they had respectively been clubbed; one also pointed out the grave beside which (only two or three years ago) he had watched for ten nights and days, to be sure that his father’s body was not dug up and eaten. Even then it was scarcely secure, as bodies have been dug up after twelve days, at which stage (in the tropics!), as they could not be lifted whole, they were made into puddings! One favourite phase of cold-blooded revenge and insult was to collect the bones of bodies thus eaten and reduce them to powder. Then, when peace was restored, and the tribes next feasted together, this nice ingredient was added to some favourite pudding. Afterwards, should war again break out, it was the height of triumph to taunt the late guests with having eaten the dishonoured bones of their kindred. Yet the people who could plan and execute such deeds as these were so punctilious in some respects that it would have been considered the grossest breach of Fijian etiquette to take an enemy unawares: even in the case of a besieged town, formal notice must be sent to the foe that an assault was about to be made; it might then be delayed for many days, but the intimation must be sent, that the foe might be on their guard. Nevertheless tales of gross treachery prove that this chivalrous law was not always carried out.

Another hideous act of revenge—one among many—was perpetrated near this spot. A chief had one daughter, of rare beauty, whom he loved dearly. The foes who could not conquer him in battle contrived to waylay her, as she came down to the river to fish. They carried her back to their village in the mountains, and there made a great feast of her dainty flesh, giving part of it to the pigs, as the grossest insult they could invent. Then her bones were scattered before the doors of the houses, that all comers might constantly walk over them and spit upon them.

Is it not hard to realise that such deeds as these can so recently have been committed by the gentle friendly people among whom we now travel so safely, and whose child-like earnestness and devotion to the new religion of peace and love is so striking?

Nothing is to me more difficult than to reconcile this mixture of utter heartlessness and indifference to the anguish of others, with the high-bred refined courtesy which seems so perfectly natural, not only to the chiefs, but to all these people. I can only account for it by considering how many British children have delighted in pulling off flies’ legs and wings, who, nevertheless, when they attained years of discretion, have turned out excellent members of the Humane Society. But then these people have always hitherto possessed both characteristics simultaneously, and it is only since they have become Christian that they have ceased to be cruel.

Horrible as these stories are, they are mere trifles compared with many which are known to be facts, but which are utterly tales of the past wherever the _lotu_ has spread. I am sure that in all England you have had no congregation more devout than that which assembled here at dawn this morning.

We returned from Nivotheene late yesterday evening in a drizzling rain, and found a great company waiting to present a roast pig in a large wooden dish; and another party had brought us puddings all the way from Nundiokar. So we spent Christmas Eve feasting!

This morning—Christmas Day—the village was early astir, and soon after six the beating of the _lalis_ summoned us to morning service. The _lalis_ are the Fijian substitute for bells: a solid block of wood, six or eight feet in length, is hollowed out, like a canoe, and when struck with two sticks produces a deep reverberating tone, which is heard at an immense distance. Most villages have two of these lying side by side, and when struck by skilful players they are capable of producing an immense variety of notes. So you see we had Christmas chimes even in Fiji.

The church was large, but not large enough for the congregation and the doors were, as usual in this district, so low that I had to stoop double to enter. With no window overhead the atmosphere may be imagined, though something has been done in the way of a simple system of ventilation, by passing a number of hollow bamboos through the roof, of course at such an angle as not to let rain enter. Unfortunately the whole congregation seemed afflicted with severe coughs and colds, and as yet it has not occurred to any charitable people at home to send out a shipload of pocket-handkerchiefs for the poor Fijians. I heartily wished on this occasion that some one had done so.

In these mountain districts the intense heat of the day is often succeeded at night by the rising of a dense mist, which lies in the valleys like a quiet lake, and steals into the houses, chilling the sleepers, few of whom own any warm covering to counteract the sudden change of temperature, which, consequently, is very trying indeed; and coughs and snuffles are almost as common as in a British community.

I observe that the act of sneezing here, as in most other lands, calls forth a kindly greeting. Here the familiar “Viva,” or “Bless you,” takes the form of _Mbula!_ “May you live!” or “Health to you!” to which the sneezer replies, _Mole_, “Thanks;” in former days custom required him to add, “May you club some one!” or “May your wife have twins!”[25]

The ideas of distance, as described in miles, is vague indeed. Hearing of a native service to be held in a neighbouring valley, said to be only about two miles above the village where we had halted on the previous day, Mr Langham started after breakfast, intending to preach there. Knowing the valley to be of exceeding beauty, I purposed accompanying him, but some hints of the difficulty of the path happily made me change my purpose; knowing full well the extreme fatigue of even a short walk on these steep hill-paths, slipping and sliding in deep clay, a task not to be lightly undertaken beneath a burning noonday sun. It was evening ere the walkers returned, having never reached the village at all; for when, after two hours of hard exercise, crossing the stream thirteen times, and following a path so steep that it was suggestive of climbing up and down a well-soaped wall, they were told that they were about half-way, they deemed it well to give up the attempt, and so called a halt, resting awhile at a deserted village ere retracing the difficult way.

From the hints Mr L. had received from some of the people, he deemed it advisable to carry a good revolver; for he mistrusted the young chief, and was rather startled when the latter was suddenly joined by four men carrying loaded muskets, and one with a heavy club, which seemed an unnecessary adjunct to attending a peaceful Christmas service. Whether there might have been real danger had they proceeded, it is impossible to say. As it was, no harm befell.

In the course of the walk Mr Langham discovered that food was very scarce with these people, and that our friends of yesterday were sorely put to it for a Christmas dinner. Great was their satisfaction on being invited to send a canoe to bring back a share of what had been presented to our party; some of whom, however, could ill conceal their disgust at being called upon to resign so delicious a morsel as roast pig, to these hereditary foes. The practical working of the Christmas message of peace on earth and goodwill towards men, as exemplified by the privilege of feeding a hungering enemy, was one which they could not realise quite so quickly. Thus ends our Christmas Day in the heart of Viti Levu. And now it is high time to creep into my green plaid tent and sleep—so good night, and many a merry Christmas to you all!

This house is beautifully clean, and wonderfully comfortable considering all things. It is the home of Aquilla, the native minister, who has a very nice neat wife, and four pretty little girls, including the nicest baby I have seen in Fiji. This afternoon little Mary was my sole companion on a long walk over steep hills, following a narrow path through the tall reeds, till we came to the place of graves (_ai mbulu mbulu_). We found a flat hill-top cleared, with the graves in the centre, overshadowed by one noble old tree. The view was magnificent. The Fijians invariably select a beautiful spot wherein to lay their dead, and also one difficult of access, and well concealed, pointing to the hideous dangers of cannibal days.

I daresay you wonder if my dreams are not haunted by all the horrible stories I hear of those old days. Happily they are not; indeed the only thought that abides in my mind is of thankful wonder at a change which seems almost miraculous, so gentle and courteous are these people who, the last thing at night, and the first thing in the morning, slip quietly into the house, and kneel reverently while prayers are offered, invariably ending with the familiar blessing, which now falls on my ear as naturally as if uttered in our mother tongue:—

“A loloma ni noda Turaga ko Jisu Karisito, kei na loloma ni Kalou ko Tamada, kei na veilomani ni Yalo Tabu me tiko vei keda kieega ogo ka tawa mudu. Emeni.”

“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all evermore. Amen.”

You must not forget to sound an _n_ before the letters _d_, _g_, and _q_, and an _m_ before _b_—thus: no_n_da—Tura_n_ga—Tama_n_da—Yalo Ta_m_bu—ke_n_da—o_n_go—mu_n_du.

Now once more good night, and peaceful be your slumbers.

_P.S._—In case you wish, to say the Lord’s Prayer in Fijian, here it is:—

“Our Father.

“Tama i keimami mai loma lagi, me vakavokovoko taki na yacamu, me yaco mai na nomu lewa, me caka na nomu veitalia e vura vura me vaka mai loma lagi. Solia mai vei keimami e na siga ogo nakakana e yaga vei keimami.

“Kakua ni cudru vei keimami e na vuku ni neimami vala vala ca me vaka keimami sa sega ni cudru vei ira sa vala vala ca vei keimami.

“Kakua ni kauti keimami ki na vere, ia mai na ca ga mo ni vaka bulai keimami; ni sa nomu na lewa kei na kaukauwa kei na vakarokoroko e sega ni oti. Emeni.”

The foregoing version of the Lord’s Prayer is that in general use. The version used by the Lotu Katolika—_i.e._, the Roman Catholic Church—is as follows:—

“Tama i keimami, ni sa tiko mai loma lagi, me tabu raki na yaca muni; me yaco mai na nomuni lewa; me ia na loma muni e vura vura me vaka mai loma lagi.

“Ni solia mai kivei keimami edai dai na keimani kakana ni vei siga; mo ni vaka le cale cava mai na neimamii vala vala ca me vaka keimami sa vaka le cale cava na nodra ko ira e rai vala vala ei kivei keimami; ni kakua ni laivi keimami e nai vaka caba caba; mo ni vaka bulai keimami mai na ca. Amene.”