CHAPTER XVII.
ISLE NGAU—MUD CRABS—ALBINOS—BATHING IN THE TROPICS—AN EARNEST CONGREGATION—A TYPICAL VILLAGE—FIJIAN STUDENTS—THE BURNT WATERS—A NARROW ESCAPE—WRECK OF THE FITZROY.
IN A TEACHER’S HOUSE AT VANUASO, ISLE NGAU, _April 26_.
From Narai we had a fine run over to this isle, which is a land of high hills, deeply scored with valleys, wooded on one side, grassy on the other (at least apparently so, really covered with tall reeds). They look golden green as light misty showers pass over them while the sun shines. A gusty wind sprang up just as we made the passage, and entailed a good deal of beating before we could reach our anchorage off Sawaieke, which is the chief town on this island. We had some difficulty in landing, as the tide was low, leaving a broad expanse of mud; and the shore is fringed with mangrove, which always implies rather a swampy situation. We found cosy quarters in the house of Ratu Hosea, the native minister, a chief by birth, and a fine man (at present suspended from his office because he was so unfortunate as to box the ears of a very aggravating wife, who happened to die soon afterwards; so of course evil tongues gave him credit for having caused her death). In the church at Sawaieke all the beams are covered with _tappa_, with a pattern of large stars—very effective; and I was reminded of the “mortification boards” in Scotch kirks by seeing a regular churchwarden’s record, stating that “the doors and windows of this church cost 3000 yams!”
I greatly enjoyed strolling along the shore here. A lovely path leads under great _eevie_ trees and through groves of cocoa-palms, with young palms growing up so thickly under them as to form a network of fronds, with an undergrowth of tall grasses, casting a light shade, through which the sunlight flickered. All along the shore are little streams with muddy banks, perforated with holes made by tiny crabs, prettier than those we saw at Suva. Besides those with the one large scarlet claw, we saw some with black back, green-spotted, others with scarlet back and black body, some black and green, with all their claws and legs scarlet, and some with bits of blue and white—most fascinating little creatures. We caught some, in spite of the marvellous rapidity with which they vanished.
Starting at early dawn in a big canoe, the men poled us along the coast to the next village, Navukailange, which was less muddy than the last, but the surroundings less pretty. A picturesque crowd had assembled for the school examination; and a multitude of pigs of all colours and ages, with infant broods, pervaded the village, grunting cheerily. The same afternoon we visited two other villages. The tide was too low to allow the canoe to take us, so we walked along the beautiful shore by a good path, through rich wood, till we reached Vione. It was quite dark when we arrived, and we were very weary, but we went straight to the church, and there lay down to rest in peace, and presently the canoe arrived, having poled through the mangrove-swamp. A light was brought us, just a wick in an old sardine-box, and we made a cup of tea, without milk of course, and then the canoe brought us here, where we found good quarters in a teacher’s house, close by the sea, but were kept awake by a poor child coughing violently all night. All the coast hereabouts is covered with mangrove, forming a dense bush, intersected by salt-water creeks or rivers. The villages are built close to the water, and having this dense grove all around them, and no circulation of air, the heat is always very great, and mosquitoes, flies, and sand-flies abound.
On this island we have seen three albinos, which, happily, are very rare objects. Even a sun-browned European face looks pale and lacking colour among these rich sienna and madder hues, but these poor creatures are truly hideous. The first I saw was a boy about eighteen years old; his flesh was pale pink, blotched on the shoulders, and his hair a very pale yellow, and eyes very weak. He was an unwholesome, naked-looking object, suggestive of a poor hermit-crab dragged out of its shell. Poor fellow! he shrank greatly from notice, and had clothed himself in all the fringe garments he could collect, partly because the white skin suffered so severely from exposure to the sun. The next albino I saw was a child, which might almost have been mistaken for a European, but it was purely Fijian. Of course half-castes exist, but they are not very numerous. The third albino was a woman of quite a natural white, with very fair hair, and pale-blue eyes. She was a Kai Tholo, and had blue tattooing round her mouth, but really was not an unpleasant object to look at. She seemed to have a natural attraction to her white sisters, and came about us constantly. She gave me a prettily woven basket, and seemed much gratified when I presented her with some bright green calico, evidently perceiving that it was becoming to her fair colouring. I am told that in one instance albino twins were born—a boy and a girl—much whiter than English children—and both grew up. We occasionally see men suffering from a form of leprosy which blanches the feet and hands. Though by no means “as white as snow,” the contrast with the brown body is very marked and horrible.
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THE TEACHER’S HOUSE AT LAMITI, ISLE NGAU, OR ANGAU, _April 27_.
I am writing this letter in fragments,—just a few lines at a time—while waiting for our starts; and as we depend wholly on the tide, these are sometimes most inconvenient. Thus at the present moment, 8 P.M., we would fain be rigging up our mosquito-curtains in the large clean house which has been our home for the day. But, alas! Mr Langham has accumulated such a pile of work—church service, teachers’ meeting, school examinations, marriages, and baptisms,—to get through to-morrow at the next large town, that, to my unspeakable disgust, he cannot venture on waiting for the morning tide, so we have to do about fourteen miles’ poling in a canoe to-night, in total darkness, along a coast which by daylight is quite lovely. Besides, we are pretty well tired to begin with, having been up long before sunrise, and finished breakfast by 7 A.M., to catch this morning’s tide; and having got here before 9 A.M. have ever since been hanging about, looking at the village, the shore, schools, and quaint scholars (from tiny toddles to grown-up men and women), all more or less picturesquely dressed up, some with gauze-like _tappa_ worn over Turkey-red, with tufts of crimson or blue dyed fibre in the hair.
While the Langhams were at a long church service, I stole off for a bathe, but to-day was eminently unsuccessful in my quest, from foolishly taking the advice of some Fijian women, whose ideas of bliss in this respect are not ours, publicity being no drawback. You really can hardly realise what an enchanting feature in our travels is our daily bath. No humdrum tub, filled by a commonplace housemaid, but a quiet pool on some exquisite stream, sometimes a clear babbling brook, just deep enough to lie down full length, beneath an overarching bower of great tree-ferns and young palm-fronds, all tangled with trailing creepers, and just leaving openings through which you see peeps of the bluest of skies, and tall palms far overhead. And sometimes the stream widens into a broad deep pool without a ripple, lying in the cool shade of a group of _eevie_ trees, which are the commonest foliage here, like grand old walnut-trees. Conceive the delight of coming on such a stream after a couple of days on board ship, or after escaping from a dark Fijian house crammed with people, who, having presented various trays of steaming food, vegetables, fish, &c. (yesterday we had four pigs roasted whole, and two turtle, the latter invariably nasty), deem themselves rewarded by sitting down deliberately to enjoy a long fixed stare at the white pigs eating! Imagine, I say, escaping from this stew—and getting hotter still by a scramble in the grilling sun—and then following up the stream till you find a pool perfect in all respects, especially one with a waterfall just big enough to sit under, and therein plunging and rejoicing as you only can in water so warm as this! Of course, we are not always burdened with bathing-gowns, but a bathing-towel and a large white umbrella form an excellent substitute; and Mrs Langham has a Fijian girl whom we generally set to watch just in case of any chance wanderer, and then we each choose a bath after our own heart. But sometimes I come on such irresistible pools when I am scrambling about alone, where the tall reedy grasses are matted with large-leaved convolvuli, and not a sound is heard save the ripple of the stream over the stones, or the rustle of the leaves in the faint breeze, that I just slip in and revel, and go on my way rejoicing. I need scarcely say that our toilet on these expeditions is not very elaborate. Will you be shocked if I add, that having two or three ripe oranges, just gathered from the tree, greatly enhances the delight of the situation?
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_Saturday Night, April 29._
Well, we did start soon after eight, and passed five miles of coast, with just enough glimmer of light to see that it was unusually lovely; and even the boatmen (half-a-dozen fine stalwart fellows), mostly teachers, who volunteered to pole the canoe, told me how beautiful it was. But it was very dangerous coasting, with the reef close inshore, and large breakers just beyond us. The canoe rolled so that we had to hold on by both hands; and I confess to a malicious feeling of delight when the men owned they did not like it, and said they would rather wait for daylight. So we landed close to a tiny village, and made our way by the light of a lantern to the first house, where we found women, and a fire, and a welcome, but it was so small that we were glad indeed to find a tiny church close by. Here we had a cup of tea, with old cocoa-nut grated and squeezed instead of cream, and then rigged up mosquito-curtains. It was so tiny, that my green plaid hung across the middle just divided it into two wee rooms; and the doors were so low that we had to stoop double to crawl in.
I woke in time to see a rosy sunrise over the sea, and walked alone along the coast till I found a delicious stream and a real “green-room” of leaves to dress in. Then we had breakfast on the shore (under palm-trees and broad-leaved plantains for a canopy), with the addition of yams and a fowl, brought by an admiring circle of villagers. And afterwards, according to invariable custom, “family” prayers before starting, as we also have at night, wherever we are,—sometimes on the deck, becalmed, in perfect moonlight, sometimes on the shore, oftenest in the house where we sleep; but in any case it is always interesting, were it only as a sight, when you see these very devout people, and remember how recently they were all cannibals. Even now we have adult baptisms at almost every island we come to. For though the people abjured heathenism _en masse_, and placed themselves under instruction, they are only baptised after careful individual training; in some cases not till they have been under tuition for four or five years.
How well this system works you might infer could you see the crowd of earnest thoughtful-looking men and women who assemble at Holy Communion. Last Sunday the morning congregation was about 600, of whom 250 were communicants; and in the afternoon the service was repeated at a village three miles off, where there were about 100 more communicants. According to native custom, all the women sit on one side and the men on the other. The service is almost a literal translation from the English Prayer-Book (it is all Wesleyan here). The elements used are Fijian bread, generally of arrowroot and cocoa-nut, and for wine, the very weakest claret and water, it being illegal to give a drop of wine or spirits to any native—and the penalty is severe. It is a marvel whereat I never cease to wonder, to know what this whole race was, less than twenty years ago, and now to see what a fine race of kindly helpful people they are. I often think of this, when perhaps a dozen of them volunteer to escort me on any walk or scramble I plan, and of their own accord cut or trample my path through the tall reeds up the steepest hillside, and carefully help me over the innumerable streams, which are generally bridged by one slippery cocoa-nut stem. Of course my being with the missionary party accounts for their being all on the alert to be useful. Here, for instance, all the twenty native teachers of the island (we are now on Ngau), and as many more stewards, and a number of lay-preachers and female class-leaders, have assembled for their quarterly meeting, and the place is full of them. The result is an unusual crowd in the house, and a hideous amount of eating of yams and pig, in honour of this great occasion. It is all in the way of work, however; and, of course, to the people of these isles (where there is not one white resident) the mere pleasure of sitting staring at us, watching us eat and so forth, is a never-ending amusement.
Naturally we sometimes get very much bored by it; and it is a triumphant moment when we contrive to give them the slip, and get away to some quiet stream for our bathe, as aforesaid. Sometimes two or three really pretty girls come with us to show us the way, and help us to scramble over the boulders, and then to keep watch that no one else may come near. I daresay they themselves manage to get a peep at the strange white creatures; but we watch them in their turn, and the gain is, I fear, undoubtedly on their side. Many of them would delight an artist, being really pretty, with lovely figures, only veiled by a short kilt of creamy white native cloth, and perhaps over that a fringe and necklace of green leaves, thrown over one shoulder and under the other. Perhaps they carry a large fern or plantain-leaf as umbrella, and as they skip over the grey boulders every attitude is a picture. To-night I wish them all safe at home.
We are now at a village called Nougouloa—_i.e._, Black Sand. It is a very pretty tiny town, circular, with double ramparts and double moats, which in these peaceful days are used as _taro_ beds. A very large number of the inhabitants died in the measles—in some instances whole families; and they were buried where they lay, on the foundation of their houses, which were pulled down: and now patches of crimson-leaved dracæna, growing on the raised terraces, mark these “graves of a household.” Most of the little burial-grounds are pretty and well cared for: they are generally shaded by the _noko-noko_[33]—a dark, drooping foliage, which just now is covered with dainty little pink tassels, like our own larch tree. The great screw-pines, with the odd white pillared roots, are also now in blossom, and bear a tuft of very fragrant flowers in a case of white leaves.
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_Wednesday, May 3._
We are back at Sawaieke, and to-morrow morning return on board the Jubilee, taking away several lads as students. All their friends have come to see them off; and at the present moment no less than fourteen visitors of all ages and sexes are lying on the mats like herrings in a barrel, and have been gazing at us so steadily that at last they are fairly mesmerised, and have all fallen asleep, and of course will not stir till morning; so we shall have a chorus of grunting and coughing all night. The coughs are really dreadful; Mr Langham has to doctor the people right and left,—rather expensive work, and each missionary is only allowed 30s. a-year for medical stores!
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NASOVA, _May 20_.
I wrote so far before leaving Ngau. We got on board early, and a very unpleasant morning it was—raining steadily.
All the relations came to the shore to weep over the emigrants starting for the Bau Training Institution—a very short day’s sail by canoe. They all blubbered freely (great big men), and smelt one another all over! Up to this time we had been coasting all about the isles of Koro, Ngau, Nairai, and Batique—the two former large and very beautiful, reminding me much of Ceylon. The mission ship, the Jubilee, took us from isle to isle, and then we coasted round from village to village in a canoe. As I have previously told you, each island is surrounded by an outer ring of coral-reef, so there is invariably smooth water right round the island where you can row or sail in perfect comfort. Of course it is very dangerous for the boats, as coral crops up in all manner of unexpected patches; and at low tide it is impossible in some places to get along. But at high tide you can always do so; and right round the coast there are picturesque villages at intervals of four or five miles, so we halted perhaps two nights at all the chief points—having previously sent word to the three or four nearest towns to assemble there for church service, school examinations, marriages, and baptisms. Of course there is apt to be a certain sameness in these; but as I was not bound to attend them, I often took advantage of the people being all occupied to go off for a quiet bathe or sketch. Many of the open-air services were most picturesque, being held under the great trees—sometimes by torchlight; and the school-gatherings are very pretty sights—the dresses being so fanciful. A large proportion of the scholars read and write well, and are getting on wonderfully with arithmetic,—especially in one village, where a poor leper, who in early life was trained at the Mission Institute, now employs himself as amateur assistant to the teacher. I have bought two very nice pieces of native cloth, which acted as christening-robes to two juveniles; the font was a cocoa-nut shell.
There is generally a lovely path running right round every island, close to the sea-shore, under shadow of large trees with grand foliage, but of names unknown to you.
We spent May-day at a town called Nawaikama—the Burnt Waters,—because of the hot springs. These are built in artificially, with a low wall, so as to confine them and form a warm pool. A beautiful cool stream divides just above the springs, and flows right round them; so when you have sat in the pool till you are parboiled (and, by the way, it is a very odd sensation to feel the hot water gushing up), you can take a plunge, or at least lie down and cool in the cold fresh stream close by. It is a pleasant bath-room, with tall palms for a canopy.
[Illustration: HOT SPRINGS, ISLE NGAU.
_p. 180._]
The only place where we came in for any interest rather out of the humdrum ordinary of Fijian villages was the little island of Batique, where it had been impossible to send word of the coming of the great ecclesiastical powers; and as there is no anchorage, and dangerous reefs, the vessel had to beat about outside all the time we were there. So we only stayed one night, and on arriving found the whole town in a fever of excitement (a town is a small moated village), because the young women of Levuka had come over by appointment to bring a great present of English cloth to the chief, and to the women of Batique. Of course they expected mats, and painted cloth, and cocoa-nut oil in return; so all the Batique girls had been working for ages. We arrived just as the presentation of goods was about to be made. All the people assembled in the market-place—a square, overshadowed by great trees on raised banks—and then every woman brought the mat she had made, rolled up so as to show its bright edge of worsted (modern substitute for the parrots’ feathers of olden days). There were about 200 mats, and a good deal of fine painted cloth. After whales’ teeth had been duly presented to the chief, the presents were made, and much feasting ensued. It was a singularly inopportune time for the mission work; but as it had to be then or not at all, Mr Langham proceeded to hold service in the big square, and when that was over, had his school examination by moonlight and torchlight. The scene was picturesque, though the scholars had no time to make their usual wreaths and garlands. One pretty feature of such gatherings as these is, that at the close of the ceremony all come and lay their (superfluous) garments of native cloth and necklaces at the feet of the principal persons present. I only mean pretty theoretically—for of course the wearers look stripped and shabby after this, but the followers of the great men assume the garments thus laid down. It was ten o’clock before we left the square and betook us to our quarters in the little church, at either end of which we had hung up our curtains. Then we found there was a marriage to celebrate, so Mr L. went on with that in the middle of the church, while his wife and I slept the sleep of the weary—slept for a little while, soon to be awakened by the shouts and measured hand-clapping (like low thunder) of the crowd, who had again assembled in the market-place for a grand _méké_—dancing and singing—which went on the livelong night. At last it became so boisterous I thought I must go down and see the fun; so crept near under the shadow of the great plantain-leaves—but soon an envious gleam of moonlight revealed my presence, which caused some perturbation. I fancied I was less welcome than usual. The dancing I saw was commonplace, and not pretty, so I soon went back to bed. This was the end of my adventures.
Next day found us at Bau, the native capital, where, you know, I have already stayed with the Langhams; and the following morning a favourable wind brought me here in three hours (last time I was fourteen hours). Everything is fresh and cosy. Already Nasova is like a different place—tidy garden, and pretty things all about, and my own room does look so very nice with all its Fijian decorations. But of the humans, I found only Lady Gordon and the chicks, and Baron von Hügel, the others having gone in three different detachments, with all the native police, to reinforce the camp already established in the great isle; for there has been mischief brewing for long, and at last the wild heathen mountaineers, Kai Tholos, have made a descent on several Christian villages, burnt the houses, and murdered the inhabitants—chiefly old men, women, and children, who had hidden in a cave. The Christians made a good defence, and in one place thoroughly beat the aggressors. It is a nasty business anyhow; but we trust it is nearly over now. However, no one can tell, and of course every one is anxious.
I return to find that a home worry has arisen. The nice Welsh nurse is actually going to marry the Spanish washerman, and as Lady Gordon had not bound her legally to stay, she has no redress! Luckily, Mrs Abbey is willing to undertake the place, in addition to her own already heavy work, though she has two children of her own. Such an accident is really a serious matter in a place like this, where good servants cannot possibly be replaced.
We have just heard of the total wreck of the steamer Egmont, which brought us here from Sydney. You may remember that she was specially chartered to bring the Royal Engineers to this place. Colonel Pratt and almost all his men have gone to Suva to open up a road into the interior of the great isle. There seems a fate, however, about the removal of the capital. Nothing can be done till the best harbours have been surveyed; and the survey was stopped three months ago, in obedience to an imaginary law of hurricanes, and the surveying ship Reynard, Captain Dawson, sent back to the colonies. Now he returns only to have a relapse of severe illness as soon as he enters Fijian waters, and has to go straight away again. But it is time something was done. This place, “in which fever and sunstroke are unknown,” is just a sink of low fever—one case after another. Both Dr Cruikshank[34] and Dr Carew have had it very severely. The latter (attached to the Engineers) has been sent to the colonies to recruit. It is said that till three years ago it really was unknown—now it is making up for lost time.
Such a sad thing has just happened here. The captain of the new Government steamer Fitzroy had five children whom he adored: three died, and he had to leave his delicate wife and two remaining children in Sydney. News came that the two last children had died, but he had one point of comfort in the coming of his wife. He was to meet her at Khandavu (where the mails stop, a day’s steam from here). Instead of herself, came a letter from the doctor to say she was dying at Sydney. The poor fellow utterly lost his head, left his ship, and went off to Sydney. Luckily a passenger on board had been in the navy, and managed to bring the steamer safely back here, where a new captain has been found. We have just heard that Lady Hackett is very ill with low fever, and are going off to see her. Really there is no end to the amount of sickness here at present.
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FIJI, _May 20, 1876_.
DEAR EISA.—I have just got safe home from my cruise about Koro, Ngau, Nairai, and Batique. I have one new fern—quite new to Mrs Langham and myself, but Baron von Hügel knows it, he thinks, in New Zealand. Most of the others, I think, I have already sent; but I think it well to go on sending seed[35] in case of previous packets having failed, or mildewed. The latter is the curse of this country, and nowhere is it a more cruel foe than in collecting plants. The Baron tells me he has collected in these isles upwards of 2000 specimens of all sorts of things (vegetable), and the mildew has destroyed about four-fifths of the whole!
This comes home to me with especial force, in attempting to do Miss Bird’s behest of collecting ferns for her. In any case the pursuit is to me a novel one, for I have always steadily set my face against all manner of dried plants, and vowed nothing would ever induce me to have anything to do with such. But in obedience to her command, I started the largest portfolio in all Fiji, to enable me to preserve at least small sections of the splendid giants which form the glory of these isles (but which to my utterly ignorant eye appear identical with those of Australia and New Zealand). But after all, what can the biggest portfolio do when you have to deal with fronds eight or ten feet long by four or five feet wide? You can only preserve a fragment, which gives you no notion of the lovely original. This is especially true of what I call the umbrella-fern, one frond of which will quite cover a sleeping man lying down full length. However, I did what I could—lugged about this horrid great portfolio everywhere, full of blotting-paper and drying-paper, and most conscientiously preserved all the loveliest things I could get, I never knew before how long you have to search among the ferns (which as a whole look so beautiful) before you can get one quite perfect, especially one in seed. And I invariably found such when we were on some difficult scramble, with enough to do to get along with hands and feet; or else when we were hurrying on to catch a tide, with the prospect of a long row in either the canoe or a tiny boat, under a grilling sun; and generally, on reaching our destination, found the great portfolio and other superfluities all gone on board the ship, ready for the morrow’s start. Even when it was there all right, and the last hour of daylight devoted to the attempt to save the half-withered treasures of the day, there was invariably the mortification of finding those of the previous days covered with mildew—often the small fronds fairly dropping off. And now that I have got back again, and look at the result, I find nothing but page after page of smelly mould, with shrunken brown corpses of bits of what were once ferns. I only got half-a-dozen sketches on this trip, and they are all mildewed. The scenery, however, is lovely. I had hoped to have found some ferns collected for me here by one or two people whom I had asked to help me, and who had agreed to do so. The majority whom I asked at once refused point-blank; others said, “I go, sir,” and went not. All jeered at me, and congratulated me on my undertaking; some said “they had tried it once.” All agreed that the only chance of success is to change all the papers at least every other day—a pleasant prospect truly! However, the upshot is that no one has as yet brought me one fern; and those I collected with so much care are just a mass of mildew, the very smell of which is sickening. So you must tell Miss Bird, that though for love of her I will stick to the attempt, all I have done so far is utterly worthless.
We have had a son of Mr Veitch, the seedsman, here lately. He worked hard at ferns for some months, and though much disappointed at getting nothing new, contrived with infinite trouble to collect many lovely things, all of which are now at the bottom of the sea, he having got wrecked on one of his expeditions—very trying!
Tell your mother I have never yet had a chance of despatching her pottery, but it is greatly to her advantage, as I have gone on picking up bits here and there, and the case now contains nearly double as many specimens as when I first wrote to her. Mail closing—so good-bye.
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NASOVA, _June 3_.
If a heavenly climate, with balmy breezes, could make us happy, we are now enjoying these in perfection; but, alas! we are very down-hearted. It seems as if all our friends were forsaking us. We went yesterday to say good-bye to the Layards, he having been appointed Consul in New Caledonia. I shall miss them exceedingly. Their house was always an attractive point for a walk, which was invariably rewarded by seeing some interesting specimen of ornithology, or learning some point in natural history, on which Mr Layard is a first-rate authority. Our last afternoon together was devoted to an awful and solemn experiment. We resolved that we must bring ourselves to taste Bêches-de-mer soup (you know about the horrible-looking black sea-slugs, so precious to the Chinese, and which are so largely exported from here?). Well, Mr Layard commissioned Houng Lee, a Chinaman living in Levuka, to make a large tureen of this soup, and bring it to his house at luncheon-time. Very dubiously did we venture on the first spoonful; on the second still with caution: on the third with avidity. Finally, we forgot all about the hideous slugs, and with one accord returned for a second helping, and agreed that we had thoroughly enjoyed our luncheon. Now, alas! all our pleasant experiments are over—the big tumble-down old house, with the familiar pier, are deserted; and at this very moment the Layards are in the act of sailing out of harbour in H.M.S. Barracouta.
But grievous beyond expression to Lady Gordon and myself is the fact that the Havelocks have decided on returning to England. You, surrounded by friends without number, cannot possibly realise to what an extent we shall miss these, our very greatest friends. There has scarcely been a day of which we have not spent part together—either we have gone up to their pretty cottage on the hill, or they have come to us for a pleasant chat. And Jack and Nevil are devoted to their dear little Rachel. Well, now it is all over. Already they are beginning preparations for selling off their furniture, and their very pretty glass and china,—of course at a heavy loss; and next month they will sail with Sir William and Lady Hackett, and all go home together. Our new Chief-Justice, Mr Gorrie, is expected by next mail. He comes from Mauritius.
Now as concerns news since I last wrote. For a fortnight we continued here alone—Baron von Hügel being our only gentleman. He is “getting up” Fiji, and competes with Sir Arthur and Mr Maudslay for the most thoroughly perfect collection of curiosities. All the others were away in detachments in the mountains of Viti Levu, where the wild tribes are in rebellion. The Governor could not rest so far from the seat of action, so went off with Mr Maudslay. We expected them back about the 16th May, but waited and waited in vain, in much anxiety. At last they steamed quietly in, and came in with the usual calm assumption of nothing of the slightest interest having occurred. I hear, however, that they ran into imminent danger, and escaped by a hair’s-breadth. The Governor insisted on walking across country from Nandi to Nandronga, about forty miles, attended only by Dr Macgregor and about a dozen native police. Nandronga is a town in the disturbed districts, where Arthur Gordon is now staying. Of course it was a long two days’ march; and the first night, the party halted at a village, without in the least realising that they had run straight to one of the scenes of action. In the houses they found only four or five helpless old men, all the rest having gone to fight. A sudden blaze revealed that the enemy had surprised, and were in the act of burning, the next village, two miles off, and of course the villagers immediately expected to share the like fate. Great was the consternation; and a council was held by Sir A. and the doctor whether to retreat at once, and retrace their steps, or advance many miles to the nearest plantation. Happily they decided to stay where they were, the available handful of men standing sentry round the village the whole night, watching for prowlers coming to burn the reed houses. Evidently the enemy were put off by finding them on the alert; for only one prowler came suddenly on a sentry, and instantly vanished in the darkness. Had they realised what a prize lay within their grasp, I think they would not have let that village escape. At dawn the march was continued—in fear and trembling, however; for it is not pleasant to know that these tribes are still cannibals. Sir Arthur also went himself to the camp at Nasauthoko, where Captain Knollys and his native police have their headquarters.
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NASOVA, _June 9_.
We had a very curious ceremony here this afternoon. A large body of our wild allies have arrived here from Bau on their way to Viti Levu, and to-day they came here to report themselves to Sir Arthur, and indulged in a little _bole bole_, which is a form of ceremonial boasting, to describe the great deeds of prowess they purpose to perform in the war. They are a magnificent body of men; and as they advanced, with blackened faces and kilts of long black water-weed like horse-hair, and streamers of white _masi_ floating from their arms and knees, brandishing their old Tower muskets, which replace the club of old days, they certainly did look most alarming. They performed a very striking “devil _méké_,” with wild attitudinising, ending with such unearthly yells as would really have made your blood run cold to hear, and were very suggestive of what these people must have been in old heathen days.
When the wild men had received their gift of whales’ teeth, and had gone off to feast on turtle and pig, we went on board H.M.S. Pearl, which sailed into harbour under full canvas on Monday evening just at sunset. The last time she left this harbour was on the ill-fated expedition to Santa Cruz. It is not yet a year since I left Commodore Goodenough’s hospitable roof, and watched the Pearl sail out of Sydney harbour, bringing Sir Arthur to begin the new life in Fiji. Then came her awful return. Now we hear that she has been the scene of a series of brilliant balls, given by Commodore Hoskyns at Sydney. Verily changes are rapid!
It was a great pleasure again to meet Captain Hastings and other friends. Dr Messer has been too ill to come ashore, but to-day he showed me some very interesting sketches of the New Hebrides idols, and other things. In the absence of its new occupant, we ventured to enter the cabin in which the sailor-martyr died—holy ground indeed. The Pearl sails again to-morrow.
I have just been to see Mrs Macgregor. Both she and Mrs Garrick are very seriously ill from frightfully ulcerated sore-throat. Captain Stewart, R. E., has a sharp attack of fever; and Mr Lake has just been invalided to New Zealand. Sir William Hackett is quite laid up, and looks very ill indeed; Nevil, too, is very feverish. Altogether we are not in a very flourishing condition.
Nothing amuses me more than the way in which people from opposite ends of the world are for ever meeting in unexpected places. The last instance I have come across was when two days ago I was sketching near Levuka, and took refuge from a shower at a carpenter’s shop. There I found a very old woman from Perthshire, who discoursed at great length on all members of the Breadalbane family, and the Baillies of Jarviswode, as she remembered them thirty-five years ago. It reminds me of my meeting General Troup in India, and his telling me he knew all my family intimately. But when we failed to find our topics of common interest altogether fluent, he added, “Well, it is fifty years since I have seen any of them!”
I have nothing else of special interest to tell you. History repeats itself in so small a community. A considerable number of white men and brown have been dining here. There have been yangona _mékés_ in the moonlight, with wild songs, which are always attractive to me. We had a pretty _méké_, with fanciful dances, in honour of the Queen’s birthday (the Maramma Levu, or Great Lady). Jack, the little sailor, has been in his glory with so many ships in harbour—the Sapphire, the Alacrity, and the Pearl. He has had luncheon and tea on board of them all, and is an immense favourite with the blue-jackets. His naval tailor comes, gravely to measure him for his tiny garments; and his proudest days are those when he is allowed to go on board alone with one of the gentlemen. Mrs Abbey has planted tree-ferns round Mrs de Ricci’s grave; and there are few days when either her children, or Jack and Nevil, do not carry fresh flowers to lay on it. And I have sown scarlet and blue convolvulus, and other vines, all over the little headland. Good-bye.
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NASOVA, _July 22_.
... Our grievous separation is accomplished. The Havelocks and Hacketts started for England on the 6th, and, to know how sorely we miss them, you must needs come and live out here—in this country, to which most people come, only to leave it as soon as possible, and which has been accurately described as one in which every difficulty in the way of progress exists in fullest perfection. Why this should be, I really cannot tell, but it certainly appears to be the case.
The mountain war continues, and Captain Knollys, as generalissimo, is permanently absent; all the other gentlemen come and go incessantly. The new judge, Mr Gorrie, accompanied Sir Arthur on his last trip, just to see something of the mountain tribes before they become civilised, like those of the coast. They returned here on the 3d, bringing Arthur Gordon in the well-earned character of “Conquering Hero,” he having, with a force of 1000 wild men, effectually quelled the disturbance in the district under his charge. Next day the Vuni Valu came here to lunch, and Maafu to dine. Both were anxious to hear all news of the war, but each great chief was happier in the absence of the other.
A few days later a very fine body of picked men arrived here from Taviuni and Thakaundrove on their way to the scene of action. They did a war _méké_ on the green in front of the windows, and repeated the odd ceremony of “boasting,” which I have described in previous letters. On the 10th, the Governor, Mr Gordon, and his reinforcement of wild men, sailed in the Fitzroy to rejoin Captain Knollys, and now we are anxiously waiting for her return to take us across to Suva on a visit to Mrs Joski.
_July 25._—We waited in vain. Yesterday Mr Wilkinson arrived, having travelled five days and nights in an open canoe, to bring a message from Sir Arthur, who is in the camp at Nasauthoko, to the effect that the Fitzroy is a total wreck. She struck on a coral-reef near the Singatoke river, having mistaken the entrance into a passage. It was midnight, and the land clouded by much smoke from burning the reeds for clearings. Captain Coxe and his crew have arrived in the two boats. All hands safe; but he, poor fellow, is sorely down-hearted at this mischance, and it certainly is a serious loss to the colony.
_July 28._—A letter from the Langhams to say the Jubilee will call here to-morrow, and if I like to go in her to Bau, I can join them in a cruise all round Vanua Levu (the Great Land), Taviuni, and other isles. Of course such a chance is not one to be lost, so I am busy getting ready for the expedition. Probably you will not hear from me till my return.
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(Becalmed in mid-ocean—_i.e._, about twenty miles from Taviuni, and the same from Vanua Levu.)
_Wednesday, August 2, 1876._
MY DEAR LADY GORDON,—Is not this “riling”? To think that we were due in Taviuni last Friday, and that we were thence to have taken Mr J., the new missionary, to a great meeting with all the teachers, and office-bearers of all sorts, on Vanua Levu (at Nanduri). This meeting is to come off to-day: about 150 teachers, &c., and ever so many friends, are there assembled, wondering what delays the Jubilee; and here we are, doing the Ancient Mariner business to perfection, and apparently likely to lie where we are for an unlimited period. Of course when we do reach Taviuni, we shall not be able to stay there at all,—only just pick up Mr J., and, if possible, row along the coast to Wairiki and Somo Somo to fetch a native minister, while the Jubilee beats round the coast. This row will give us a small glimpse of the coast, and so far, is the one redeeming feature of our cruise. It is aggravating to know that if the captain had not wasted all the early morning, the Langhams were ready on Saturday to row miles to meet the Jubilee, as soon as she appeared, and start at once for Taviuni. As it was, they sighted us so late in the day, that they decided on waiting till Monday morning, by which time the wind had changed, and we had it right in our teeth. Though we were up at 3 A.M., we only made Ovalau that day, and were off Nasova at sunset. I wonder if you saw us! Last night we were off Savu Savu, and would fain have landed to see the hot springs, but had to tack about remorselessly. Then came the calm; and all night long, we rolled and rolled. Now the rolling has ceased, and we are seesawing idiotically. Two consecutive nights have proved to me that the boards of the deck are undoubtedly hard; and till now Mrs Langham, little Annie Lindsay, and the Fijian girl Penina, the great Johnnie, and I myself, have all been horribly sick. Only Mr L. has been well. He is a very kind nurse; and it is quite touching to see how devoted both he and Mrs L. are to little Annie—a bright little five-year-old, full of life and fun, and as fond of them as they are of her. She can talk nothing but Fijian, and is a great pet with the natives,—a most joyous little person, on terms of intimate friendship with all the live-stock at Bau—cats, ducks, geese, fowls, and little pigs. Tell Jack and Nevil the bottles of jujubes and acid drops are a great success, both with big folk and small. As yet the only excitement has been in feeble attempts at cookery. Yesterday, after a thirty-six hours’ course of cold pork and dry bread (not feeling equal to those tins of mutton-broth), I bethought me of that long-treasured roll of Brand’s brown soup, which has never left my travelling-bag, and cut up a couple of inches in thin slices, and boiled them in the tea-kettle. The result was capital. But in spite of all commands to scour the tea-kettle, it was found this morning thickly coated with brown jelly! Well, this morning we tried the first tin of condensed milk. I still think it makes tea nastier than having none, but little Annie and Mr L. like it. Then we thought we would make a mess of it and corn-flour. So Mr L. and I each tried our hand at making a bowl. I made mine like arrowroot, without boiling, and rather liked it; but his brew failed: so at last he found an old black pot belonging to the ship, and boiled it up. It looked rather dingy and odd, but they all avowed it was better than mine; so we were each content. The two big pieces of waterproof were very acceptable for our bedding.
I have no special Bau news to give you. Everything looked as usual—good bloom of roses and jessamine, and fresh sweet air. After morning church, I went to see Andi Kuilla, and gave her your message. She could not wait to talk then, as it seems they always hold a family prayer-meeting immediately after public service (having previously attended early service). I confess I thought that it showed wonderful powers of endurance. In the afternoon we went over to Viwa, where Mr L. held service, the Lindsays having gone to Namena. It is a very pretty place—a lovely walk of about a mile to the church; and beyond that the native graves, on a headland edged with big old trees, whose tangled roots twist right over the cliff down to the sea. Andi Kuilla came to evening tea, and to ask Mr L. for a copy-book, pen, &c., that she might improve her hand before writing you a Fijian letter herself. Ratu Timothy also sent up for lamp-wicks. There is scarcely an hour of the day that some member of the “royal family” does not send up for something or other. I found Mr L. had arranged that one of the native ministers, Ratu Isaiah, is to meet him on the coast of Viti Levu, about twenty miles from Nananu, and is to bring the mail. So I gave him a note to Mr Maudslay, asking him to send my letters also. If I have the luck to be dropped at Nananu, Mr L. will get them sent on. Now I will add no more; for you have no notion how hateful it is to write on your lap, holding a big umbrella with one hand, and sea-sawing all the time. The faintest little breeze is just springing up, and we are beginning to move—almost imperceptibly.
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VUNA POINT (NAVACA MISSION-HOUSE), 3 P.M.
Just arrived, by dint of literally _rowing_ the Jubilee the last few miles,—such heavy mist and quiet rain that we could see nothing of the isle as we approached—only a vision of very high land and coast-line of rich foliage and fields. Instead of beach, coral and black rocks run to the very edge of the land. It seems so strange to see the branches of the trees literally overhanging the coral; and just beyond, the water is quite deep. The Lands Commission are living very near: we see their tents. Probably we shall walk along the coast so far, after tea, to see Colonel Pratt and the others. We sleep here, I am glad to say. No time for more. Much love to the bairns.—Ever yours.