CHAPTER XIII.

A STRANGE VOLCANIC ISLE—JOELI MBULU, A TONGAN APOSTLE—THE CONVERSION OF THE PEOPLE OF ONO—THAKOMBAU’S CANOE—A ROYAL GARDENER—A SMALL HURRICANE—EARLY PRAYERS—BREAKFAST ON THANGALEI—BETWEEN THE BREAKERS—AT HOME AT NASOVA.

NASOVA, _January 14, 1876_.

DEAREST NELL,—You see I have got safely home from my travels in the wilds, and I am bound to confess that there is a good deal to be said in favour of the comforts of civilisation, however strongly my gipsy instincts do at times assert themselves! I must tell you, however, of several delightful expeditions we made from Mrs Langham’s charming home at Bau. The first was to the neighbouring isle of Viwa, which was one of the early mission stations, and is now the home of Mr Lindsay, who has charge of a large district, extending to the mountains of Viti Levu. It was a pretty picture to see his two very fair delicate little girls in charge of a little Fijian maiden scarcely bigger than themselves. After a very pleasant afternoon we returned home by clear moonlight—a lovely walk through the forest was followed by a calm row across the bay. But a very common difficulty awaited us on reaching the shore. The tide was low; the boat lay far out, I think nearly a quarter of a mile, and the accepted way to reach it was to submit to be carried like monstrous dolls by one, sometimes by two, strong natives. However, nothing seems strange when you are used to it. It is only one’s first experience of anything which is startling.

The two families agreed to devote the next day to exploring two small islands, visible from both homes, but which, being uninhabited, had never yet invited nearer inspection. You know I always say it is my mission in life to stir up my friends in all corners of the globe to take me to see places of interest close to their own homes, but never before visited by themselves. So next morning we all met at the small isle of Tomberrua, which is an ancient place of burial. Many old chiefs lie beneath the cocoa-palms, but their graves are all uncared for and overgrown. The lovely white sand tempted us to bathe in the warm sunny sea—a rare pleasure, for there are so few places tolerably safe from sharks.

We then rowed to the other isle, Manbualau, which proved to be the most extraordinary specimen of volcanic formation I have ever seen; all one vast honeycomb of hard cutting rock, with deep fissures intervening between ridges so close together that you can step from one to the other. The rock is veiled with rank vegetation, which adds to the danger and difficulty of the scramble; and innumerable bats haunt the great Mbaka trees (a sort of Fijian banyan), which overshadow the whole, their countless interlacing stems finding a holding-ground in every crevice of the rock. It is an exceedingly curious place, utterly unlike anything I know elsewhere.

I walked across the isle to the other side with the gentlemen but it was difficult to make our way, and the smell of bats was positively sickening; so we were glad to hurry back and join the rest of the party, who had kindled a fire and prepared a cheerful tea in our absence.

The next few days slipped pleasantly by. I sketched various points of interest, such as the great Mbaka trees near the old king’s house, the foundations of the great temple, and the stone on which the victims’ heads were dashed (which is a basaltic pillar from Khandavu).

I went several times with Mrs Langham to see the noble old Tongan minister, Joeli Mbulu, whose wife, Echesa, is very unwell; such a nice, lady-like old woman, so kindly and so sensible. They belong to that fine race of Tongans who were, in fact, the earliest missionaries in these isles; for so soon as they themselves had embraced the new faith (as preached by the Wesleyan teachers in the Friendly Isles) they endeavoured to spread it wherever they journeyed; and as they had frequent intercourse with some parts of Fiji, it was not long before the Tongan sailors taught all they had learned to such of their own kinsmen as had already colonised here, and to such Fijians as could be induced to hear them. It was the moving tale of awful horrors told by these men, and the encouragement afforded by the sowing of that first seed, that induced the Rev. W. Cross and the Rev. David Cargill to leave the comparative comfort of their homes in Tonga to come and establish the mission in Fiji, where they landed in October 1835, at Lakemba, the principal island in a group at least 200 miles from here, where a considerable number of Tongans had already settled. These men proved invaluable helpers. Better pioneers could not have been desired. Men of strong energetic character and determination, keenly intelligent, physically superior to the average Fijian, and therefore commanding their respect, they had always taken the lead wherever they went; and as in their heathen days they had been foremost in reckless evil, they now threw their whole influence into the scale of good. Having an independent position of their own, and considerable power, they were able at once to establish all outward observances of religion, without fear of hindrance from the chiefs. And so something of the nature of Christianity was made, known more rapidly and more widely than it could have been by any other means. Of course this is not literally true of all the Tongans in the colony. There were many who, although they professed the new faith, continued as proud and haughty as ever, making themselves hated and feared as of yore; but the majority proved themselves truly in earnest, and many became most devoted teachers, ready to go forth to any distant point where there might be a chance of doing good.

Foremost amongst these was Joeli Mbulu, a man whose faith is evidently an intense reality. I have rarely met any man so perfectly simple, or so unmistakably in earnest. He proved himself so thoroughly worthy of confidence that in due time he was ordained as a native minister, and sent to take charge of the remote cluster of isles, of which Ono is the principal. This little group lies about 150 miles south-east of Lakemba, to which it was tributary, and is the southernmost part of Fiji. The story of its early groping from its own deep darkness to the light, is so strange and touching, that I must tell you something about it. It was truly the story of

“An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.”

In the year 1835, just before the first white missionaries came to Fiji, many events conspired to depress these poor people. An unusual number had been slain in their incessant wars, when an epidemic disease broke out which carried off many more. The survivors, much alarmed, thronged the temples of their gods, bringing large offerings of food, and such things as they possessed, and all rites of worship were diligently observed, but to no purpose.

Just then a chief named Wai returned from Lakemba, where he had met a Fijian chief called Takei, who had been in the Friendly Islands, and had learnt something about Christianity. It amounted to little more than that there was but one God, whom all must serve continually, and that one day in seven was to be devoted to His worship. It was but a faint glimmer of light, but they determined to act on it. So on the sixth day they prepared their food for the seventh, on the morning of which they dressed, as for a festival, and assembled to worship this unknown God. But here a difficulty arose, as to how to set about it. In their dilemma they sent for the heathen priest, whose god they were now forsaking, and requested him to officiate for them. This he did, to the best of his power, offering a short and simple prayer for the blessing of the Christian’s God, but intimating that he himself was merely spokesman for his neighbours, being himself a worshipper of another God!

This was the first act of Christian worship in the far-away isle of Ono. A great longing now arose for fuller knowledge of the truth; so when a whaling ship chanced to touch here for provisions on her way to Tonga, a passage was engaged on board of her for two men who were sent as messengers to ask for a teacher. But several months elapsed ere an answer could reach them, and meanwhile Christianity was spreading at Lakemba, and many Tongan converts (whose chief attraction to Fiji had been the wildly licentious life which they might there lead without let or hindrance), now decided to return to their own homes. A canoe-load of these started from Lakemba in May 1836, but were driven by contrary winds to the isle of Vatoa (the Turtle), about fifty miles from Ono. Here they heard of what had happened there, and one of their number (who at his baptism had taken the name of Josiah, and who had acted as their chaplain during the voyage), determined to go to Ono and teach the people all he knew. Great was their joy at his coming, and day by day he thenceforth led their devotions. Soon they built a chapel, which would hold 100 persons. All this was done ere the messengers from Tonga returned to tell that white teachers had gone to Lakemba, and that to them they must apply for help. Another long delay.

But meanwhile the desired teacher was being trained all unknown to them. One of their own islanders, a wild Ono lad, had contrived to wander all the way to Tonga, and you can fancy that several hundred miles in an open canoe is no easy journey, especially when every isle to which you may unintentionally drift is inhabited by fierce cannibals of unfriendly tribes. An ordinary canoe is a very unsafe vessel in a storm, and in heathen days shipwreck invariably meant death; for even should the crew reach the land in safety, and find themselves on shores which, under ordinary circumstances, would be friendly, they were declared to have salt water in their eyes, and were doomed to death and the oven. But the lad in question reached Tonga in safety, and there he found the people earnestly conforming to the new faith. He attended their services, learnt much, and on returning to Lakemba became truly converted, and for several years lived a consistent Christian life, taking the name of Isaac Ravuata. He soon learnt to read and write well, and acquired so much knowledge that he became a useful assistant in the mission. When, therefore, the message from Ono reached Lakemba, it was evident that he was the right man for the work; he was accordingly despatched, and gladly was he welcomed by his countrymen. He found that 120 persons had given up idolatry, and were thirsting for further knowledge of the Christian faith.

The following year a Tongan teacher was sent to assist him; by this time three chapels had been built, and so anxious were the converts for instruction, that the Christian crew of the canoe said they had scarcely been allowed needful sleep, so eager were the people to learn all that they possibly could teach them. They found that the little isle of Vatoa had also become _lotu_, and all these people prayed that they might be visited by a white missionary who might administer the sacraments. It seemed hard to refuse such a prayer, but labourers were few and the work was vast. Mr Calvert and his wife were left quite alone at Lakemba, where Tui Nayau, the king, and most of his chiefs and people, continued heathen, and often antagonistic. Fifteen years elapsed before the king determined to accept the _lotu_. As far as possible, Mr Calvert travelled about this group of twenty isles, teaching the people, and now this further claim on time and strength seemed beyond his power. It was a long and dangerous journey to undertake in a frail canoe, and involved an absence certainly of weeks, possibly of months; and the thought of leaving his wife utterly alone in the midst of ferocious cannibals was altogether appalling. At this crisis it was she—a most gentle and loving woman—who came to his help, and urged him to go. Still there was the difficulty of getting a canoe sufficiently seaworthy for such a long and dangerous voyage. However, not long afterwards, a Tongan chief came to Lakemba in a large canoe, and consented to take Mr Calvert to Ono. There he found that a wonderful and cheering work had been accomplished, and that a large proportion of the people were living genuine Christian lives, thoroughly blameless. Of these he baptised upwards of two hundred, and married sixty-six couples, and by his encouragement and presence greatly cheered the little body of converts. It was not to be supposed that this movement had progressed without serious opposition from many of the heathen inhabitants, and many events occurred at this time, stranger than any fiction.

Amongst other incidents, there was the baptism of Tovo, the beautiful daughter of the chief of Ono. She had become a devoted Christian, and delighted in doing all the good in her power, visiting the sick and teaching in the schools. But in infancy she had been betrothed to the old heathen king of Lakemba, who now claimed her to be his thirtieth wife. She resolutely refused to fulfil this heathen betrothal, her father and all the Christian chiefs fully supporting her. On returning to Lakemba, Mr Calvert learnt that the old king had fitted out a fleet of eleven canoes, manned with warriors, and intended going himself to seize his bride. He went to him, bearing the customary whale’s tooth as a peace-offering, and besought him to refrain from this marauding expedition; but finding his words were to no purpose, he solemnly warned him that in fighting against these people, he was fighting against the Almighty, whose care they had invoked. The king, nothing daunted, set sail, and reached the Christian isle of Vatoa, where he cruelly ill-treated the people, wantonly destroying their food and property. There he remained several days, waiting for a fair breeze; but he despatched four canoes with a hundred piratical warriors, to await him at Ono. These canoes were never heard of again. When the fair wind sprang up he started in person, but though he actually sighted Ono, the wind shifted, and he was blown far away to leeward. The breeze freshened; the canoes and all on board were in imminent danger. Almost by miracle they escaped and returned to Lakemba, when the king sent to Mr Calvert the feast which, in his hour of danger, he had vowed to his gods, and prayed that his words of warning might never follow him again. He expressed his willingness to accept the customary gift of property, in lieu of the young woman, that she might be free to marry any other man. However, before it arrived, he had again changed his purpose and kept the offerings, but still demanded the damsel. Nevertheless he did not venture to return to claim her, so she was left in peace and in the enjoyment of single blessedness, as no other suitor dared to come forward, the king not having relinquished his claim.

Meanwhile the heathen people of Ono had done all in their power to persecute their Christian neighbours, who kept the peace as long as possible, but finally were driven to fighting. A civil war lasted for several weeks, which resulted in the complete defeat of the heathen. To their utter amazement, and contrary to all Fijian precedent, their lives were spared, and they were all freely pardoned, a course which naturally inclined them to respect the religion which taught such mercy. Consequently when, in 1842, Mr Williams visited Ono, he found that out of the 500 inhabitants only three persons were still nominally heathen, and these became Christians ere long. He baptised 200 persons, who had been waiting and longing for his coming. Portions of the New Testament and the morning service from the Book of Common Prayer were now printed in the Ono dialect, and eagerly sought by the people; and three years later, when Mr Calvert touched at the isle, he found all the population in a condition of religious fervour which filled him with thankfulness and amazement: the people were so intensely in earnest, and, on the whole, so calm and sensible. It was like a story of the early days of the Church—so wonderful was the flood of light and love that had been poured on these men and women, in answer to their exceeding longing to know the way of truth, and their whole-hearted acceptance of it. Some notes of their prayers and mutual exhortations, as spoken at the “love-feasts,” have been recorded, and, like many others which have been translated to me at different places, breathe such intensity of Christian love and devotion, as we are accustomed to look for only in the lives of great saints. They so rejoice in the radiance of this newly found Light, that they suppose it must flood the whole world on which it has once shone; while we, conscious of the dim grey faith which most prevails beneath our dim grey skies, are more inclined to echo Keble’s sad words—

“And of our scholars let us learn Our own forgotten lore!”

Many of the Ono men now desired to be allowed to go as teachers to other parts of Fiji (of course in peril of their lives). Of these, eight were selected, and in the simple prayer with which that meeting closed, the Tongan teacher, Silas Faone, exclaimed—“They go; we stay on this small isle according to Thy will. _We would all go, Thou knowest_, to make known the good tidings.” At the close of morning service 300 communicants knelt together at the Holy Communion; and on the following morning all the people assembled on the beach, and again knelt in prayer for blessings on the teaching of the eight first missionaries sent forth by the little lonely isle to preach the Gospel of Christ to the vicious cannibal tribes throughout the group.

Urgently did these people desire the presence of a resident clergyman amongst themselves, and for some time the Society endeavoured so to arrange their districts as to comply with their wish; but as there were only six white missionaries to work in the eighty inhabited isles, it was found impossible to continue this. And thus it was that Joeli Mbulu came to be sent to Ono as a fully ordained minister; and zealously and efficiently did he work there, until more urgent need for his presence elsewhere compelled his removal to another district.

It seems to be one of the most serious difficulties in the organising of all this great work, that excellent as are many of the native teachers, so small a number are found fit to undertake the responsibilities of higher work, such as the arrangement and control of an infant church. They always require the direct guidance of the missionary, and if this is long withheld, difficulties almost invariably arise. Such a noble exception as dear old Joeli is rare indeed.

In the last few days I have also made great friends with the Vuni Valu and Andi Lytia, and some of her pretty attendants. I fancy the latter are remarkable pickles, and up to any amount of mischief in a quiet way, but in awesome terror of the old lady, as also of her daughter. Not that the morality encouraged by these is altogether in accordance with the views professed in civilised countries, especially as regards certain feudal rights of the chiefs; and we occasionally hear of little episodes in other parts of the group which prove that the old nature is not wholly eradicated, and that some of these courteous high-born dames are capable, under the influence of jealousy, of such diabolical actions as I dare not even hint at. Instances like these are, however, happily rare, and we must not expect absolute perfection to be a fruit of such very rapid growth. I am not quite sure that, if our police reports are to be credited, we have attained to it even in London, after so many centuries of all civilising and Christianising influences.

Thakombau was in great wrath when we arrived, because a damsel who is his ward had married the chief of Rewa without his sanction. In old days there would have been fierce war in consequence. Now, however, he is gradually subsiding, and is much interested about the Fijian mission to New Britain. He proposes going himself in his yacht to look up the teachers, and take them stores of mats and water-jars; and he invites Mr Langham to accompany him, but of course this will not come off. He told us of his amazement on beholding so vast a city as Sydney. He said it gave him some idea of what heaven must be! We said we wished he could see London and Westminster Abbey. He replied that he could well imagine that the city of which Sydney was but an offshoot must indeed be of surpassing grandeur. Would he come to London? No; he feared to die at sea and be thrown overboard. But we had run that risk to see his isles, and here we were safe. Oh, it was only his age that deterred him; his son might perhaps go. While we were sitting with him, his niece arrived in a canoe, bringing her own mats and several loaves of bread. She sat down silently in a corner; no greeting passed, but her attendant mentioned the object of her visit, and the old couple took no further notice of her.

One of the objects of interest in Bau is a very large canoe which Thakombau is building for himself, and which will carry a hundred persons, and much baggage. You can imagine that making such a canoe as this, with such rude tools as these people possessed formerly, was indeed a triumph of shipbuilding. First, there is the keel, made of several pieces of timber strongly joined; then the sides have to be built up without ribs, but they are closely fitted, and caulked with native cloth and a sort of pitch made from the bread-fruit tree; then the pieces are strongly sewed together with sinnet (which is string made of cocoa-nut fibre); a large platform is built over the middle of the canoe, and on this is a deck-house. The whole is balanced by a heavy log of wood attached to one side as an outrigger. Some large canoes are double—two are placed side by side, and the platform connects them. There are holes in the deck through which the sculling-oars are worked, and the helm is a great steer-oar about twenty feet long with a blade about eighteen inches wide. It can be worked from either end of the boat; and the one great sail is also dragged from end to end with infinite labour, so that at every tack bow and stern change parts. Such a canoe flying before the wind, and throwing up a fountain of white foam as it rushes through the water, is a very beautiful object, and one which I am never weary of watching. But there are many canoes which dare not approach Bau in this brave style, but have to lower their sail while yet a great way off, and scull humbly to the shore. If the canoes come from Somosomo (Taviuni) the scullers dare not even stand, but must squat in token of lowliest humility, shouting the _tama_ (obeisance) from time to time.

In olden days the building of such a canoe as this would have entailed a whole series of cannibal feasts. First, as rejoicing when the keel was laid down; then feasts for the carpenters as each portion was completed; then living rollers to facilitate launching the canoe—and these, of course, were cooked and eaten; next, the deck of the canoe must be washed with blood; and finally, a great feast must be provided on the occasion of first taking down the mast. Sometimes as many as fifteen men were sacrificed for such a banquet. If a new canoe was brought to Bau which had not received its due baptism of blood, the chiefs would attack a neighbouring town to secure victims, that its reproach might be taken away!

No fear of any such horrors now. The building of the great canoe progresses slowly, for workmen are now scarce; but the old king sits for hours watching it with pleasure, and then, taking advantage of the low tide, he tucks up his drapery of _tappa_, and wades almost knee-deep through the shallow water to the muddy shore of the main island, where he goes to work with his own hands in his yam-gardens,—chiefly to set a good example of honest labour to his people.

Last Sunday Mr Langham took me to see another village, where he was to hold service. The morning was lovely—a dead calm and oppressive stillness. We had scarcely got home when the sky darkened, and it began to pour. Rain was much wanted for the yam crop, but this was decidedly in excess. We were to have started for Levuka at daybreak the following morning, but deemed it prudent to defer, as it was evident foul weather was approaching. The students went to the main isle to cut mangroves with which to bind the thatch, and make such preparations as they could. Darker and darker grew the sky, heavy grey clouds closed all round the horizon, hiding even the nearest isles. Then down came the rain—such a downpour as I have rarely seen, even in the tropics. Soon the wind rose in fitful gusts, howling and moaning. It increased steadily till it was actually a small hurricane.[27] Not such an awful one as they sometimes have even here, and not nearly so bad as a West Indian one, but by far the worst I have ever seen. It blew furiously all night, and one marvelled how any trees stood it—the palms were tossed about like mad things. Of course every blossom in the garden was gone. Even inside the coral-reef the sea was thundering in great crested waves. In the middle of the night the roof of my room began to leak so freely, that we thought the whole thatch would blow off, so Mr Langham rang a great bell, and all the young men, students at the mission, came up and swarmed over the roof and bound it with planks and long mangrove wands.

In the morning the storm partially subsided, and as soon as any one could stand, the king’s fat handsome daughter came up herself to get some milk for his breakfast. Her simple attire consisted of a bath-towel worn round the waist and a pocket-handkerchief tied across the capacious bosom, below the arms! The king _has_ a cow of his own, but rarely contrives to get any milk; so he generally sends up to the Langhams for either a jug of milk or of ready-made tea with bread and butter!

By evening the weather was quite settled, and there was a great calm; so, as Mr Langham had business to do in Levuka, he decided to start next morning. He kindly chartered a canoe to carry my precious collection of clubs, spears, and bowls; it started at midnight, and at 3.30 A.M. Mrs L. came herself to call me. She gave us a comfortable breakfast by lamp-light. Then the boatmen, according to invariable custom, came in to _lotu_ (family prayers), and with the first glimmer of dawn we started down the green hill, and found dear old Joeli waiting to speed us on our way. What a contrast to a cheerless start for the train on a January morning in England!

We sailed before sunrise, and about 9 A.M. reached a pretty small island called Thangalei, where we breakfasted under the shadow of a magnificent Mbaka tree, whose many-pillared stem formed a large enclosure, which some very utilitarian person had converted into a pig-sty!

We started again as soon as possible, but there was no wind all day, and rowing a heavy boat is slow work, and so it came to pass that we missed the tide and could not get inside the reef at the passage. We therefore had to row outside in the open sea, keeping at a safe distance from the great, grand, awful breakers which fell with such appalling force and thunderous roar on the massive coral barrier, tossing vast volumes of white spray high in mid-air, and concealing from us all the land except the mountain-tops. It was very unpleasant, for though the sea was calm, it had not quite forgotten its recent battle with the winds, and heaved in great swelling rollers, which would have swept us on to the reef had not the men pulled hard. At last we came to a very narrow passage, by which we entered the calm shallow water; but it was an anxious moment, for there was only just room for the boat to pass, and as the huge walls of green water towered up on either side and fell in cataracts of foam, it seemed as though they must swallow us up. The men pulled steadily and strong, but it was an intense relief when we glided safely into the peaceful blue water of that quiet haven, and an hour later reached the pier at Nasova, where I found all the party reassembled. They had come back from Suva in H.M.S. Nymphe, with Captain Grant Suttie, just before the gale on Monday night.

Great was the excitement of unpacking my canoe-load of curiosities; for we are each trying who can make the very best collection—Sir Arthur, Mr Gordon, Captain Knollys, Mr Maudslay, Baron von Hügel, and myself. Our daily delight is to ransack the stores in Levuka, where the natives may have bartered old things for new, and great is the triumph of whoever succeeds in capturing some new form of bowl or quaint bit of carving. All our rooms are like museums, adorned with savage implements, and draped with native cloth of beautifully rich patterns, all hand-painted. The house has made great progress in our absence. The large new drawing-room, built entirely of wood, is really a very fine room, and has two large bow-windows, besides the usual multitude of glass doors opening on to the verandah. The garden, too, begins to reward Abbey’s care, and looks quite bright; and he is diligently striving to make a small lawn, which, however, is very difficult work. You really would say so if you saw the labour-boys patiently snipping the grass with old scissors!

I have just been doing a round of visits to my especial friends, Mrs Havelock, Mrs Macgregor, Mrs D. Ricci, and the Layards. It seems as if I had been away for months; it is so pleasant coming back to such cordial welcome from them all. Captain Havelock took me to call on Mr Leefe, who is in Levuka for surgical treatment, his hand having been lacerated in a fibre-crushing machine. It was fearful agony, and he must have had a dreadful journey coming here by himself. It was impossible for his wife to accompany him, as all their live stock would inevitably have been left to die of neglect in her absence.

Yesterday another of the Engineers died (his wife and children are on their way from England). This morning at sunrise the military funeral marched sadly past this house, with the Union-jack for a pall, and a party of sailors from H.M.S. Nymphe, with fife and drum. Several men fell out, overcome by the heat, which is simply grilling.

Some officers from an American man-of-war have just come to call, so I may as well close this letter.—Your loving sister.