CHAPTER XXII.

THE POTTERY DISTRICTS OF VITI LEVU—A CANNIBAL’S REGISTER—A NIGHT IN A CORN-SHED—FUNERAL OF RATU TAIVITA.

RATU PHILIMONE’S HOUSE, NA VATU (THE ROCK), RAKI RAKI, _October 10_.

The difficulties have been overcome, and here I am on the mainland of beautiful Viti Levu. This is a delightful place to which Mr Leefe brought me about a week ago. Mrs Leefe provided us with a large basketful of provisions—newly-baked bread, and other good things; and on arriving here, we were most hospitably welcomed by the kindly native minister, Ratu Philimone, and his handsome pleasant wife Henrietta. The title Ratu marks the man who bears it as being of good birth; and this couple and their pretty children are of a very superior sort. Their house has quite a nice inner room, which they insisted on giving up to me, so I am really most comfortable here.

Mr Leefe was only able to stay one whole day, long enough to take me over a good deal of the neighbourhood. Then as its rare beauty proved more and more fascinating on further acquaintance, he left me here in the hospitable care of Ratu Philimone, not, however, till he had also placed me in the charge of the police! in the person of Mr Jones, the officer of this district, who is most kind, and does his utmost to further all my wishes. So also does his friend and neighbour Mr Shinnock, who sends me a bottle of milk every morning, and one day a little pig’s leg: and now I hear that he has killed a kid for my especial benefit. He has also lent me his horse Sweep, a steady old fellow, and able to canter, though not much used to carrying a lady. I find I have left the girths of my side-saddle at Nasova, but Mr Jones most kindly lends me his, which are of leather, and he himself now uses a rope. He has a wooden saddle with goat-skin-cover. Truly did Captain Martin, our worthy skipper, remark that this is the country for makeshifts!

This place is well described by its name. It is really Na Vatu (The Rock), being a huge rock-mass, quite detached from the great Kauvandra range of mountains, and standing alone on a level shore. The village in which I am living is on the sea-level, but a steep path up the beautiful crag leads to a lovely village, called Nai Songoliko, which consists of a number of small houses perched wherever they can find room all over the cliff, almost hidden by bread-fruit and other bowering trees, which cling to the rock as if by magic. From this point a narrow spur runs inland, and the view from there is quite beautiful—the bluest sea, dotted with isles and tinted by patches of coral-reef, lying outspread to right and left of the cliff. Each of these villages has a tidy well-built church. I think I have explored every corner of the great rock, and many of the tiny homes which lie so quaintly niched among the rocky boulders. Some of the people produced hidden treasures, which they offered me for sale; and I have bought several good things, including some stone axes. I think I must have mentioned to you that these are only just now passing out of common use here: they are brought to us tied with native string to a piece of wood shaped like a bent knee. Sometimes I see instances of the actual transition from the stone to the iron age, when some lucky man, having got a Birmingham adze, rejects his old stone celt and ties his new acquisition on to the same wooden handle.

In one house I found a pretty young woman with a baby a fortnight old. Both were covered from head to foot with turmeric, with which their clothes were also smeared. I believe this is a precaution against the devices of certain evil spirits, of whom many of the people still stand in as great awe as many a devout old Highlander does of the bogies and warlocks of our own mountains. Those dark ranges of the Kauvandra are the especial haunts of various fairies and brownies, and we have heard legends enough to make us wish that some competent person would set about collecting them ere the old lore dies away.

All over this crag and the neighbourhood there are luxuriant masses of the intensely blue clitoria, as also of a bean which is good for food, and bears white blossoms. The effect of the white and blue is so charming that I have proclaimed a general offer of fish-hooks, needles, and thread to all children who will collect seeds for me. So every evening a little troop of traders await my return; and I have now amassed a quantity of seed, which I intend to sow broadcast all over the hill behind Nasova.

One of the chief places of interest in this neighbourhood is the town of Na Sava, which is peopled by the former inhabitants of the isle of Malaki, from which they were driven out by the whites as an act of vengeance for the murder of a white man whose boat touched on their inhospitable shore. That, at least, is one version of the story. Malaki lies just off this coast, and Mr Leefe took me to see it. It is a pleasant spot, grassy and wooded, but now left desolate. To its people is attributed the honour of having been the first in these isles to invent pottery, an art which is here carried to a perfection far surpassing anything found in other groups of the Pacific. I believe that pottery of some sort is found in all parts of Melanesia—the best specimens having been brought from New Guinea, and some also from the Admiralty Isles, New Britain, New Ireland, the Solomon Isles, New Hebrides, and New Caledonia. But these are all exceedingly coarse, and devoid of all artistic pretension. In Polynesia, on the other hand, the manufacture of pottery is apparently totally unknown.

The Fijians are, as you know, a mixed race—partly Polynesian, partly Melanesian. Whether they derived their first idea of pottery from their Melanesian ancestors, and then greatly improved upon it; or whether, as they themselves say, their master in the art was the mason-bee, it is impossible to determine. Certain it is that the form of the cooking and water vessels in use in every Fijian home greatly resembles that of the little clay nests which this busy creature builds in every convenient corner. On our glass windows, in the doorways, or under the eaves where the swallows of our own land are wont to place theirs, we find these little earthen homes, globular or oblong, with an opening at one side, terminating in a narrow neck or passage with turned-back lip.

I have often succeeded in detaching these unbroken, and they are perfect miniatures of the ordinary Fijian pots. They are made of the same blue clay, which the potter has learned to mix with sand. Once the idea was started, other objects in nature soon suggested variety of form, such as the shell of the turtle and the form of various fruits. Considering the coarseness of the clay used, and the rude manner in which the pots are fashioned, wholly by hand and by rule of thumb, and considering, also, that the manufacturers are people whom the civilised world are wont to regard as utter savages, I think that when you see my collection you will be greatly impressed by the artistic beauty and immense variety of form thus produced. Naturally what are made for ordinary domestic purposes—_i.e._, cooking and water pots—adhere pretty much to one type; but in the patterns with which these are decorated, and the manufacture of what we may call fancy articles, every potter follows her own taste, and the same exact form is very rarely reproduced. We have occasionally tried to get duplicates made to order, but the result has almost invariably been most unsatisfactory; and in no case will the potters of one district attempt to copy a piece which has been brought from some other island or district.

It is for this reason that I have, as I mentioned to you, taken so much trouble to paint careful studies of many of the principal pieces which have passed through our hands, to whichever collectors they have belonged. I suppose I have fully sixty such studies, several of which include two or three pieces. The objects vary in size, from small bowls or water-jars, six or eight inches in height, to great cooking-pots, three feet deep; and the colours range from richest golden to a deep red, running into green, the colour being chiefly due to the glaze. That which is commonly used is the heated resin of the _ndakua_ pine, almost identical with the _kaurie_ pine of New Zealand, which yields the beautiful amber-like gum.

There are certain forms which find general favour, and are very commonly made. Such are, clusters of four or six globes, the size of an orange, all connected one with another, and each having a hollow tube leading from one aperture at the top, by which all the globes are filled. On the same principle are rude imitations of canoes, joined together by one handle; also turtles, single or in pairs. These are of a very conventional type.

When I was staying at Bau (which, tiny as it is, is divided into six towns), I was greatly interested in watching the potters of So So at work. So So is the fisher town, and the potters are generally wives of the fishermen. There I spent some hours in the picturesque hut of an old crone, trying to persuade her to model her turtles from a living one which was walking about on the mats; but she preferred her own monstrous ideal, and chuckled with delight every time the fins and feet of mine fell off.

There, and I think also at Rewa, the women just beat out a flat piece of clay on their hand, and then gradually mould it into a cup-like form, with the help of a smooth stone held inside, and a wooden spatula with which to beat the outer surface. When their modelling is finished, the pieces are left to dry in a house for six or eight days, and are then taken to a quiet sheltered nook betwixt the sea and a great rock. Here a pile of light wood and small sticks is built, and on this the pots are laid. Dry grass is lightly piled over them, and small twigs over all. This pile is set on fire, and kept burning for about half an hour. Then, while still hot, the cooking-pots are well rubbed with an infusion of _tiri_—_i. e._, mangrove-bark—which is a dark-red dye, and gives the pots both colour and a slight glaze. Ornamental pots, and those for water, are kept in the house from four to eight days. They are first baked with a light grass-fire, afterwards with wood, and while still hot are glazed with the _ndakua_ resin I mentioned previously.

There are slight variations in the process in different parts of the group, as on the north of Vanua Levu, where all the pottery we procured was unglazed. Several of the finest pieces I have seen were said to come from Na Sava, which is only a few miles from here; and I was the more anxious to see these people at work because of the tradition that their ancestresses first discovered the art. So Mr Jones sent word to the village chief that we proposed visiting his town in the afternoon. We walked up to Mr Shinnock’s house; and he welcomed us to a real planter’s bungalow, and gave us kid, _taro_, and tea, which we consumed in presence of a large circle of Fijian girls, who had assembled from other mountain-towns to see the pale-faced woman. _Na Maramma mbalavu_—the long lady—was the title by which I was invariably described.

The horses having, after much trouble, been caught and saddled, we rode round the back of the rock till we came to Na Sava, which is quite a large village. Here the chief called upon the potters to assemble on the village-green and exhibit their skill. Of course this was taking them rather at a disadvantage, but it enabled us to see a good deal in a short time.

The pottery is made entirely by hand—nothing of the nature of a wheel being known. The clay, having been mixed with fine sand, is rolled into long sausages, and these are coiled, one above the other, in a hollow circle, this forming the base of a round pot. Having partly moulded this into shape, the potter takes a smooth round stone in her left hand, and holds it inside the clay, while with the other hand she beats the exterior with a flat piece of wood like a spoon, and constantly moistens the clay. Fresh sausages are then built up round the top, and gradually narrowed till there only remains room to insert one finger (if for a water-pot), or the food (if for a cooking-pot); and these are, in like manner, beaten to a smooth surface, both inside and out. The rim of the vessel must now be fashioned, and then comes a final wetting and smoothing of the whole, and probably a very elaborate geometrical pattern is, last of all, marked with a small sharp stick. Sometimes a pattern is laid on in raised work, almost like clusters of grapes. The work must be done ere the day wanes, as towards sunset the clay falls, and will not mould obediently to the potter’s hand.

We stayed a couple of hours watching different women at work, and tried hard ourselves to model a peculiar vase with three cups on one stand, of which I had secured one unique specimen, without being able to ascertain where it was made. I am very anxious to procure others of the same pattern, which is singularly graceful; so the women are to try and make several for me.[45]

When the waning sun warned the potters to desist from working (and we found that the clay really did fall as fast as we attempted to model anything), we adjourned to the house of the village teacher to see his wife painting a very large and most beautiful piece of _tappa_. It was a heavy curtain, to which she was just putting the finishing touches. It was most artistic, and I coveted it exceedingly, and tried hard to bribe her to sell it to me. I have no doubt she coveted my dollars as much as I did her handiwork; but she dared not sell it, as it had already been annexed by the omnivorous Tui Mbua: so I had to content myself with watching her at work. She had designed an admirable and most intricate pattern, which she cut out on a heated banana-leaf, laid this on the cloth, and rubbed it over with a scrap of _masi_, dipped either in vegetable charcoal and water, or in red earth, liquefied with the sap of the candle-nut tree—_i.e._, the silvery-leaved croton.

It is simply a form of stencilling, and only requires taste in arranging the patterns and colours, and a neat hand in executing them. But the result is handsome and artistic. And a great curtain of _tappa_ hung across a native house is such a striking and uncommon-looking kind of drapery, that it is certainly a matter of regret to know how surely this art is fated to die out before the influx of common English or American goods. In New Zealand, for instance, where it used to be made, it is now as wholly a thing of the past as the woad of our own ancestors. In Tonga, too, its use is greatly discouraged; and it is to be feared that future generations who visit Fiji may look for it as vainly as we now do for the wonderful hair-dressing which so amazed travellers in the last generation, but which was so intimately associated with ideas of war and cannibalism, that the Christians as a matter of course desisted from it.

Yet it was really carried to such perfection as to rank as a high art. Each great chief had his own hair-dresser, who sometimes devoted several hours a-day to his master’s adornment, and displayed quite as much ingenuity in his designs as the potters or cloth-painters do in their work. The general aim was to produce a spherical mass about three feet in circumference; but a very successful hair-dresser has been known to bring this up to five feet! This mass was composed of twists or curls or tufts—oftenest of thousands of spiral curls, seven or eight inches long, shaped like a cone, with the base turned to the outside, and each individual hair turned inward. Others encouraged a tuft to grow so stiffly as to resemble a plume of feathers. Many had a bunch of “love-locks,” small long curls hanging on one side; others a few long very fine plaits hanging from behind the ear, or from one temple; or half the head was curled and half frizzled: it was also dyed according to taste. And some dandies liked to have their heads party-coloured, black, sienna, and red; in short, there was no limit to the strange varieties thus produced—far more diverse than the most fanciful devices of any fashionable lady in Europe.

Now all this is a forgotten art, and though the gentlemen of our party who have returned from the war, saw a certain number of “big-heads,” as the _tevoro_—_i.e._, “devils,” or rather devil-worshippers—are called, I have seen no trace of it except in a few monstrous wigs, which still occasionally appear in the dances. One of Lady Gordon’s attendants, whose golden-brown hair is as soft and glossy as silk, retains one long tuft, which occasionally floats at liberty, at other times is plaited in a multitude of the finest braids, woven by the deft fingers of his love.

We rode back from Na Sava along the shore, and had to cross a muddy flat part of a mangrove-swamp, on which the horse of our friend slipped and rolled over; but no serious damage was done, and we reached Philimone’s house in safety ere darkness closed in. The great cliff, shrouded in gloom, stood out dark against the golden sky, and cast long reflections on the glassy sea, which at high tide is so lovely, but at the ebb leaves a wide expanse of mud, not altogether unpicturesque, but very aggravating when one has to cross about a quarter of a mile of it to reach one’s boat. We had to do this both going and coming to Malaki, the potter’s old home, and the wretched boatmen had full benefit both of my weight and my companion’s.

* * * * *

BALI BALI POLICE STATION, _October 12_.

You see I really am in charge of the police!

After a very early breakfast this morning, I bade an affectionate farewell to Ratu Philimone and his kind wife Henrietta, and all their nice little brown children—such a pretty, well-behaved family group. Mr Jones brought the horses and saddled them, and then we rode over here, halting on the way to inspect a row of smallish stones, extending about two hundred yards. These were to represent the number of _bokola_ (_i.e._, human bodies) actually eaten by two chiefs, Wanga Levu and Undri Undri—one stone for each body!

Some one once suggested, as the very ideal of a hideous nightmare, that we should find ourselves face to face with a resurrection army, composed of every animal of whose flesh we have ever partaken—from the chicken-broth of our infancy, to the present day—sheep and oxen, calves and kids, red-deer and fallow-deer, rabbits and hares, geese, ducks, fowls, pheasants and partridges, grouse and woodcock, salmon and cod, herrings and trout, crabs and lobsters, and so on _ad infinitum_,—some men’s nightmare including elephants and giraffes, whales and hippopotami, and other zoological curiosities, each rigidly demanding his pound of flesh. But what would such a dream as this be compared with the horror of a similar vision in which the plaintiffs were mighty men of valour, showing the broken skull on which a treacherous club alighted, and claiming, not a pound of flesh only, but their whole bodies!

For there were some of the more inveterate cannibals who allowed no man to share with them, and gloried in the multitude of men whom they had eaten, actually keeping a record of their number by erecting such lines of stones as those we saw here, which even now number 872, though at least 30 have been removed. Another member of the same family had registered 48, when his becoming a Christian compelled him to be satisfied with inferior meat!

These men were such noted cannibals that all _bokola_ reserved for their special use were called by a Fijian word describing captured turtle, about to be deposited in the circular enclosures where they are kept till required—meaning that this capacious monster had room for all that came to him. His cannibal fork had also a distinctive name, descriptive of the enormous work done by so small a thing. In this country, where the precious imported whale’s tooth is the only ivory known, and where formerly there existed no animal to yield bone, human shin-bones were greatly prized to make sail-needles; so this man’s tribe must have been well provided! I do not think I have told you that at every cannibal feast there was served a certain vegetable,[46] which was considered as essential an adjunct to _bokola_ as mint-sauce is to lamb, or sage to goose. Its use, however, was prudential, as human flesh was found to be highly indigestible, and this herb acted as a corrective. It was therefore commonly grown in every village, to be ready when required.

It is a pretty ride all the way from Na Vatu to Bali Bali, and we arrived here in time thoroughly to enjoy a second breakfast. The view from this point is a very unusual one, overlooking the salt-pans, which are artificially constructed shallow pools, in the midst of a wide stretch of dark mangrove-swamp. These are flooded at certain tides, and the evaporation yields a fair supply of salt. Half hidden in the mangrove is Na Vua Vua, the chief town of this district of Raki Raki, and in the distance lie the isles of Malaki and Nananu.

After a short rest we rode up a very beautiful valley to see a hill crowned with a grand mass of rocks—Vatu Damu—which, as we approached, resembled Cyclopean fortifications. We climbed the hill and found a pretty village nestled at the base of the great rocks, and shaddock-trees loaded with blossom, which perfumed the air. Then we rode to another grand rock, Kasia Lili. I made a sketch of each, and then returned here. My host has most kindly given up his house to me, and has found quarters for himself with his “offisas,” as the people call the police.

* * * * *

_October 13._

Another day filled with impressions of beauty. Few bits of Scotland can compare with the mountain scenery of these isles. I only wish it were possible to make expeditions inland, and explore the dark ravines and corries which seam the great mountain-range of the Kauvandra, along the base of which we have been riding all day.

I was out before daybreak, and went down the hill to have a near look at a true Kai Tholo house, which I had detected yesterday. The Kai Tholo, _i.e._, mountain people, build totally different houses from those on the coast: they are like beehives, with a roof so high pitched as to suggest a tiny hive on the top of the first.

After breakfast we rode to the base of another grand rock-mass—Vatu Mami—where a little colony of planters received us most cordially, and welcomed us to a real planter’s dinner, served in rough-and-ready style, but none the less acceptable, especially the invariable hot tea. Then we rode homeward, skirting the dark Kauvandra hills, and passing several villages more or less interesting from their situation. It was quite dark for the last hour, and we had several difficult creeks and gullies to cross, with banks rather like the side of a house; but the horses are so steady, and so perfectly used to this sort of ground, that they scrambled up and down like cats, and I had only to sit still and wonder what was going to happen next.

Finally, we got home all safe, and found that Harry Leefe had arrived to take me back to Nananu. He was feasting on roast goat—one which our friend Mr Shinnock had most kindly brought over and killed during our absence. So we had a capital supper, with true hunger sauce.

And now I may as well say good-night, as we start for Nananu at daybreak.

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NANANU, _October 21_.

DEAR NELL,—You see I am still here, very much at home, and quite happy. I find one becomes greatly enamoured of this sort of life. The weather is perfect, and there is a wonderful charm in the little isles, where the sea meets one at every turn, and from which we see such lovely morning and evening lights. The mainland is just far enough to be glorified; and I delight in the wide horizon which encompasses us. Last Tuesday we were on the highest ground, overlooking isles and coral-reefs, which intersect the blue deep water with lines and patches of vivid green, marking the shallows as clearly as if they were drawn on a map. We made a fire and cooked our tea in a “billy.”[47] Just as we had finished, H.M.S. Beagle hove in sight flying the Governor’s flag; so we hurried back, and arrived in time to welcome him and Captain Knollys. They were on their way to the camp at Nasauthoko, where Mr Le Hunte is now stationed; and they sailed the following morning.

I am delighted to tell you that Mr Leefe is planning another expedition for me to the main isle. It certainly is most kind of him to take so much trouble, for every arrangement here involves many difficulties; and leaving home, even for a day, is very inconvenient. Still I do long to see something of the beautiful coast of which we had such tantalising glimpses on our way here.

The first plan was, that we should go up by a small trading schooner which touched here yesterday, collecting produce; but at the last moment one of the precious Angora nannie-goats was found to be very ill, so Mr Leefe could not leave her. I regret to say she died this morning—a loss of £25, to say nothing of the value of her expected kid. They are such pretty refined creatures, and so tame, that we are all quite sad about this.

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NVUNINDAWA ON VITI LEVU, _October 25_.

Well, we have started on our trip. Mr Eastgate kindly lent us his large police-boat, manned by a sergeant and four constables. It arrived on Monday morning; but the wind was so very stormy that we delayed our start till Tuesday, when, taking advantage of the high tide to clear the reefs, we came to this village, to meet a friend, who arrived so late that we could proceed no further. We found the chief, Ratu Ezikeli, and his wife, Andi Thithilia, in possession of the house of Caleb the teacher, while their own was being rethatched; but they most courteously insisted on giving it up to us.

When we unpacked the box of provisions so kindly prepared by Mrs Leefe, we found she had forgotten the non-essentials,—not one cup or plate, knife, fork, or spoon, was there. All we could muster between us was my pocket-knife and Mr Leefe’s small dirk. We sent a message to the chief to ask if he could lend us any cups. He sent us back the only article of foreign manufacture he possessed—which was the cover of a vegetable-dish! Mr Leefe adopted this as a drinking-vessel; I, being content with a smaller allowance, was provided with a cocoa-nut shell. Some pieces of bamboo supplied spoons and egg-cups; and with ample store of fresh banana-leaves to act as plates, we fared exceedingly well.

Heavy rain came on at night, and our slumbers were much disturbed by the restlessness of the boatmen, who were, by way of sleeping, in the house (which is of the usual pattern, only one room); but Fijians, as a rule, are notoriously restless, and these men have been going in and out all night. Now they are making up for it by a long sleep, which is to us an unattainable boon. The rain is pouring steadily, and I fear we have lost all the fine weather.

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IN THE CHURCH AT NA SAU IN VITI LEVU, _October 26_.

After all, the rain stopped quite suddenly, and we had a most lovely day of bright sunshine and beautiful colouring—every distant isle wonderfully distinct; in short, just that “clear shining after rain” which the old Hebrew poets so fully appreciated.

We sailed at once, and reached Va Via about noon. This is one of the places I most wished to see. It is a lovely village close to the sea, built on white sand, and overshadowed by great _ndelo_ trees, with tufts of rosy tassels constantly dripping showers of pink stamens on all around. High dark cliffs enclose this little bay, casting a cool deep shadow during the morning and evening hours. To appreciate the delight of this, you must realise the heat of a tropical sun. One family there live in a cave with only a front fence of wattle and leaves. We found the house of Phineas, the village teacher, open, though the family was absent; so we ventured to borrow his kettle and were enjoying our tea under the dark trees, when his young wife returned and welcomed us gracefully. Leaving Mr Leefe to do the civilities, I walked up to the ridge which separates beautiful Va Via from this village. From this point the coast-view, looking either way, is simply exquisite—especially as seen in the radiant evening light. I secured one sketch last night, and another this morning; and when you see them, I know you will want to come to these lovely isles.

When Mr Leefe rejoined me, we walked down to this village—the boat having already gone round to announce our approach. We were at once taken to the house of a most horrid-looking old chief. It was so stuffy, and so full of people, that we voted it quite unendurable, and adjourned to the church, too thankful to know that in so doing we shocked no prejudice of the people. It was cool and pleasant, and near the sea; and in its stillness we slept as only the weary can, making up for the previous night’s unrest.

At sunrise I returned to the ridge and worked steadily till 2 P.M.—breakfast being brought to me. When I came down I found Ratu Ezikeli[48] and Mr Jones, who had arrived by canoe. The latter accompanied us on a scramble up the bed of a very rocky stream, which was unusually picturesque, from the fact of a very remarkable series of waterfalls issuing from under huge boulders: it was suggestive of weird German fairy-tales and bottomless caverns. At last we reached a table-land of _taro_ fields on a very high level; there I found a woman bathing in a most delicious pool, so I halted and joined her—the gentlemen finding an equally fascinating bath further on. It was _vinaka sara_—that is to say, “very good,” as you may well understand.

Refreshed and invigorated, we continued our wanderings till we came to a small village perched on the very face of a cliff—a dizzy site. A woman who had carried a heavy burden from the shore up to this point, now turned along the path that led round the cliff to her house,—a track so precipitous, that albeit not troubled with nerves, I did not care to face it. We sat awhile at the village overlooking a sea-view of exceeding beauty. While we lingered there, a native climbed up in hot haste to tell Mr Jones that the large canoe on which he had shipped all his household goods to transfer them to his new quarters, had been swamped on a reef,—a pleasant piece of news, which we thought might safely have been delayed till our descent.

Returning to the village, where the rocky stream widens as it enters the sea, we crossed it in a minute cockle-shell, the smallest boat I ever saw in use. It had recently been washed ashore, and a tiny brown urchin was in possession of it, and ferried us across, one by one. The last thing washed up by the sea was a good waterproof cloak, blown off some vessel.

One of the constables made a stew of salt goat and _taro_ for our supper, to which the gentlemen added very good scones of flour and sweet-potato. So we fared sumptuously; and now I am going to creep into my tent, which is in a corner of the church, so I hope for a peaceful, undisturbed night.

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KORO TIKO, IN VITI LEVU BAY, _October 27_.

This time we really are gipsying. I must just write a few lines by combined lantern and moonlight.

We left the quiet church of Na Sau very early this morning. A three hours’ sail of dreamlike loveliness brought us to Viti Levu Bay, which is a blue sea lake, embosomed in great hills; its shores are richly wooded in parts, but there is some flat ground where good crops of maize are raised, and here and there, are strangely conical hills and broken crags, on which villages nestle in most inaccessible places.

First I climbed one hill, and secured a careful sketch of the bay and the principal crag, while Mr Leefe went to call on a neighbouring planter, an Ayrshire man, who made some money at the diggings, and then settled here. Afterwards he took me there, and we were cordially welcomed and urged to stay; but I need hardly tell you that in fine weather I prefer any sort of camping out to a semi-European house of this description, surrounded by swarms of foreign labour. So I contented myself with admiring the wealth of golden maize laid out to dry in the open courtyard before the house; and then, having obtained leave to camp in a corn-shed beside the bay, where we had left our boat, we returned here.

I greatly fear that our landlord is rather hurt at my preferring the corn-store beside the sea to his rough bachelor quarters inland, but I must hope he will forgive me. The building in question is the only one in this part of the bay, and is just a rough wooden shed, in which our friend stores his corn ready for shipping. The boatmen soon heaped up these sacks so as to leave us each a clear corner, and one for themselves. In one of these I hung up my tent as usual—_i.e._, my mosquito-net, with a curtain of black waterproof for a door. It is just like the little tents we used to make when we were children, and played at being gipsies.

Having thus prepared our night quarters, we rowed across the bay to Koro Viti Levu (_koro_ means town), and here we found three tiny villages of small houses, quaintly perched in every available crevice of the rock, and on the summit of a great crag. There are always either a few plants of large-leaved banana, tobacco, or sugar-cane—or maybe a flowering shaddock, lemon, or hybiscus, with tufts of scarlet or yellow blossom to lend grace to these rock-nests, to say nothing of the interest of their brown inhabitants, who peep curiously at us as we approach.

I stopped to sketch at the mouth of the Roko Roko river, then we walked to the summit of the crag, and across the promontory till we came to a cave where we found about a dozen very slightly clad women making great cooking-pots, more than two feet deep (some nearer three feet deep), and from twenty to thirty inches in diameter. It was a very striking scene, as we passed from the glare of the sunlight and of the glittering blue sea below us, and turned into this dark workshop. We remained for some time watching the women at work, while they chattered to the boatmen (the constables), doubtless glad of our visit to break the monotony of the day. It was wonderful to see with what skill they modelled such very large pots, simply by eye—attaining perfect symmetry, without a wheel or any other mechanical aid.

In the cool of the evening we rowed back here, and the men prepared our supper, at which the grand centre dish was part of the leg of a young pig, which we found had been sent on board yesterday by a considerate young planter. While they were so occupied, I went along the shore till I found a good bathing-spot, where the roots of a great _mbaku_ tree had fashioned themselves into a screen, making an admirable dressing-room—so I had a delightful bathe by moonlight.

Now the mosquitoes are becoming so troublesome that I shall be happier under my net in the corn-shed, though I quite grudge wasting this soft lovely moonlight. How the boatmen, who of course have no nets, can endure the mosquitoes, is to me a mystery.

* * * * *

NANANU, _Sunday 29_.

We are back once more, you see, and enjoying the peace of a calm, quiet day. The stillness here is wonderful and pleasant. How I do hate all noise!

We found that many fellow-creatures had also arranged to spend the night in the corn-shed. A multitude of rats had been attracted by the maize, and held high revel. Happily, however, they only disported themselves under the raised wattle-floor on which we and the corn-sacks rested; and for my own part, I know I was too weary to mind them, and soon slept in peace.

At sunrise we climbed to the summit of the great crag beneath whose shadow we lay. It was a steep ascent, but a succession of beauties of vegetation and scenery helped us up. Near the top we found two villages, one of which was well fortified, in addition to holding a natural position of great strength. Only three years ago there was severe fighting here between two tribes, which resulted in a massacre of about 450 people, most of whom were eaten! Now the last possibility of disturbance is over, we believe, for ever; and a lady may wander over these hills alone, in perfect security.

At the tiny rock village on the upper crag, the people pointed out a huge grave into which, they said, that last year, in the great sickness (meaning the measles), they began by throwing in their dead uncounted. After a while they did begin to keep count, and from that time till the plague subsided, seventy bodies were laid in that one pit.

We descended the hill by another path, very pretty but overgrown; and we had to force our way through tall reeds, ginger, and turmeric plants, which was hot and exhausting.

In the afternoon we started on our return cruise, and four hours of alternate stiff rowing and sailing brought us back here last night.

* * * * *

_November 1_, Sunrise.

Yesterday evening Sir Arthur arrived here in the sixteen-oar barge on his return from the war district, where he has had final arrangements to make. Now it is to be hoped that the last spark of danger has been stamped out. Mr Le Hunte, having finished his work there, returns with Sir Arthur, leaving Captain Knollys for the present at the camp. They return to Nasova this morning, so I will send my letter to catch the mail. Good-bye.

* * * * *

NASOVA, _November 13_.

About three days after I last wrote to you, the little island-steamboat suddenly arrived, and an hour later I had bidden adieu to Nananu and to the kind friends who call it home. For a few hours we lay off Viti Levu bay to take in those identical corn-sacks with which we had become so intimately acquainted! The following morning I arrived here, found Lady Gordon and the children well, and everything about the place continuing to become cosier and more home-like month by month. How it was improved since we first arrived! The household pets have received several additions—namely, some young Kai Tholos, orphaned by the war.

Yesterday a fine young chief, Ratu Taivita (that is, David), who was with Captain Knollys in the mountains, and has ever since been very ill from the hardships which he there endured, died. He was very popular, and his death is much mourned. It was decided that he should have a military funeral, as he was an officer in the native police, and that his companions in arms should assemble in force to pay him the last tokens of respect. He was buried this morning. I went to the funeral with Captain Olive and the Baron. We assembled at his father’s house; and it was a fine striking and touching picture that we there saw. Taivita was a fine handsome fellow, and he looked grand in death, lying on his mats, with dark native cloth thrown over him, and his mass of tawny silky hair thrown back almost on the lap of his sister, who sat on the mats at his head. The old chief, his father, sat at his feet, as one crushed with sorrow. Thakombau’s sons, Ratu Abel, Timothy, and Joe, with another very high chief, Ratu Johnny, were the pall-bearers; and the old Vuni Valu followed up the steep path which leads to the cemetery, where already so many have found a quiet resting-place beneath the tall palms and waving grasses. The grave was found to be too shallow, and all had to stand for an hour in the burning sun while it was deepened—a trying hour for both the father and the old Vuni Valu.

There is a chance of sending letters to New Zealand, so I may as well despatch this.

* * * * *

NASOVA, _December 22_.

DEAR EISA,—There has been nothing special to tell you for a good while. Our principal events have been attending a concert in Levuka, given in aid of the hospital, and a dance given by the Engineer officers, in the old house formerly occupied by the Layards, and now by themselves. Happily, being on the sea-level, we were able to go and return by boat. Now we are much occupied with our approaching trip to New Zealand. Little Nevil has had a very severe attack of influenza, followed by fever. So Dr Macgregor has positively decided that the children must not spend another hot season here; and we are to start immediately for Khandavu, our outermost isle, which lies far to the south, and where the three Pacific mail-steamers continue to call every month, and tranship their passengers for San Francisco, New Zealand, and Australia, although under protest. So they have kept us on tenter-hooks for a year already, expecting that each month would be their last call—a very inconvenient condition. Even now, though the mail is due on Christmas Day, no one is sure that she will call, in which case we are to go all the way to New Zealand in the very uncomfortable little island-steamer, Star of the South. One thing to which we look forward with positive delight, is the prospect of once more seeing carriages and horses, and being able to enjoy comfortable drives. Do you realise that for more than a year we have not heard the sound of wheels![49] I believe the Engineers have imported a few wheelbarrows, which the Fijians at first carried about with great care. These are the only wheeled vehicles in the group. As to telegraphy, we have a sort of dim recollection that something of the sort exists, but it will be many a long day before its imperative messages reach us here.