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Swanston Edition Vol. 18 (of 25), by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Title: The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition Vol. 18 (of 25)
Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Other: Andrew Lang
Release Date: March 8, 2010 [EBook #31557]
Language: English
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THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
SWANSTON EDITION
VOLUME XVIII
_Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five
Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies
have been printed, of which only Two Thousand
Copies are for sale._
_This is No._ .......
[Illustration: A MAP TO ILLUSTRATE R. L. STEVENSON'S LIFE IN THE SOUTH
SEAS]
THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON
VOLUME EIGHTEEN
LONDON: PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND
WINDUS: IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL
AND COMPANY LIMITED: WILLIAM
HEINEMANN: AND LONGMANS GREEN
AND COMPANY MDCCCCXII
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
IN THE SOUTH SEAS
PAGE
Editorial Note ix
PART I.--THE MARQUESAS
CHAPTER
I. An Island Landfall 5
II. Making Friends 12
III. The Maroon 21
IV. Death 28
V. Depopulation 36
VI. Chiefs and Tapus 44
VII. Hatiheu 53
VIII. The Port of Entry 61
IX. The House of Temoana 69
X. A Portrait and a Story 77
XI. Long-Pig--a Cannibal High Place 85
XII. The Story of a Plantation 95
XIII. Characters 105
XIV. In a Cannibal Valley 112
XV. The Two Chiefs of Atuona 119
PART II.--THE PAUMOTUS
I. The Dangerous Archipelago--Atolls at a Distance 129
II. Fakarava: an Atoll at Hand 137
III. A House To Let in a Low Island 146
IV. Traits and Sects in the Paumotus 155
V. A Paumotuan Funeral 165
VI. Graveyard Stories 170
PART III.--THE EIGHT ISLANDS
I. The Kona Coast 187
II. A Ride in the Forest 197
III. The City of Refuge 203
IV. Kaahumanu 209
V. The Lepers of Kona 215
PART IV.--THE GILBERTS
I. Butaritari 223
II. The Four Brothers 229
III. Around Our House 237
IV. A Tale of a Tapu 247
V. A Tale of a Tapu (_continued_) 255
VI. The Five Days' Festival 265
VII. Husband and Wife 278
PART V.--THE GILBERTS--APEMAMA
I. The King of Apemama: the Royal Trader 289
II. The King of Apemama: Foundation Of Equator Town 298
III. The King of Apemama: the Palace of Many Women 306
IV. The King of Apemama: Equator Town And the Palace 313
V. King and Commons 321
VI. The King of Apemama: Devil-work 330
VII. The King of Apemama 342
LETTERS FROM SAMOA 351
EDITORIAL NOTE
_The following chapters are selected from a series which was first
published partially in 'Black and White' (February to December 1891),
and fully in the New York 'Sun' during the same period. The voyages
which supplied the occasion and the material for the work were three in
number, viz. one of seven months (June 1888 to January 1889) in the
yacht 'Casco' from San Francisco to the Marquesas, the Paumotus, Tahiti,
and thence northward to Hawaii; a second (June to December 1889) in the
trading schooner 'Equator,' from Honolulu, the Hawaiian capital, where
the author had stayed in the intervening five months, to the Gilberts
and thence to Samoa; and a third (April to September 1890) in the
trading steamer 'Janet Nicoll,' which set out from Sydney and followed a
very devious course, extending as far as Penrhyn in the Eastern to the
Marshall Islands in the Western Pacific._
_Before setting out on the first of these voyages, the author had
contracted to write an account of his adventures in the form of letters
for serial publication. The plan by and by changed in his mind into that
of a book partly of travel and partly of research, which should combine
the results of much careful observation and enquiry upon matters of
island history, custom, belief, and tradition, with some account of his
own experiences and those of his travelling companions. Under the
nominal title of 'Letters' he began to compose the chapters of such a
book on board the 'Janet Nicoll,' and continued the task during the
first ten months of his residence in Samoa (October 1890 to July 1891).
Before the serial publication had gone very far, he realised that the
personal and impersonal elements in his work were not very successfully_
_ combined, nor in proportions that contented his readers. Accordingly
he abandoned for the time being the idea of republishing the chapters in
book form. But when the scheme of the Edinburgh Edition was maturing, he
desired that a selection should be made from them and should form one
volume of that edition. That desire was carried out. The same selection
is here republished, with the addition of a half-section then omitted,
describing a visit to the Kona coast of Hawaii and the lepers' port of
embarkation for Molokai._
_It must be understood that a considerable portion of the author's
voyages above mentioned is not recorded at all in the following pages.
Of one of its most attractive episodes, the visit to Tahiti, no account
was written; while of his experiences in Hawaii only the visit to the
Kona coast is included. Several chapters which did not come out to the
writer's satisfaction have been omitted. Of the five sections here
given, each is complete in itself, with the exception of Part III. The
first deals with the Marquesas, the second with the Paumolus--the former
a volcanic and mountainous group, the latter a low group of atolls or
coral islands, both in the Eastern Pacific and both under the
protectorate of France. The third section is fragmentary, and deals, as
has been said, with only one portion of the writer's experiences in
Hawaii. The last two describe his residence in the Gilberts, a remote
and little-known coral group in the Western Pacific, which at the time
of his visit was under independent native government, but has since been
annexed by Great Britain. This is the part of his work with which the
author himself was best satisfied, and it derives additional interest
from describing a state of manners and government which has now passed
away._
IN THE SOUTH SEAS
BEING AN ACCOUNT OF EXPERIENCES AND OBSERVATIONS IN THE MARQUESAS,
PAUMOTUS AND GILBERT ISLANDS IN THE COURSE OF TWO CRUISES, ON THE
YACHT _CASCO_ (1888) AND THE SCHOONER _EQUATOR_ (1889)
PART I
THE MARQUESAS
IN THE SOUTH SEAS
CHAPTER I
AN ISLAND LANDFALL
For nearly ten years my health had been declining; and for some while
before I set forth upon my voyage, I believed I was come to the
afterpiece of life, and had only the nurse and undertaker to expect. It
was suggested that I should try the South Seas; and I was not unwilling
to visit like a ghost, and be carried like a bale, among scenes that had
attracted me in youth and health. I chartered accordingly Dr. Merrit's
schooner yacht, the _Casco_, seventy-four tons register; sailed from San
Francisco towards the end of June 1888, visited the eastern islands, and
was left early the next year at Honolulu. Hence, lacking courage to
return to my old life of the house and sick-room, I set forth to leeward
in a trading schooner, the _Equator_, of a little over seventy tons,
spent four months among the atolls (low coral islands) of the Gilbert
group, and reached Samoa towards the close of '89. By that time
gratitude and habit were beginning to attach me to the islands; I had
gained a competency of strength; I had made friends; I had learned new
interests; the time of my voyages had passed like days in fairyland; and
I decided to remain. I began to prepare these pages at sea, on a third
cruise, in the trading steamer _Janet Nicoll_. If more days are granted
me, they shall be passed where I have found life most pleasant and man
most interesting; the axes of my black boys are already clearing the
foundations of my future house; and I must learn to address readers from
the uttermost parts of the sea.
That I should thus have reversed the verdict of Lord Tennyson's hero is
less eccentric than appears. Few men who come to the islands leave them;
they grow grey where they alighted; the palm shades and the trade-wind
fans them till they die, perhaps cherishing to the last the fancy of a
visit home, which is rarely made, more rarely enjoyed, and yet more
rarely repeated. No part of the world exerts the same attractive power
upon the visitor, and the task before me is to communicate to fireside
travellers some sense of its seduction, and to describe the life, at sea
and ashore, of many hundred thousand persons, some of our own blood and
language, all our contemporaries, and yet as remote in thought and habit
as Rob Roy or Barbarossa, the Apostles or the Cæsars.
The first experience can never be repeated. The first love, the first
sunrise, the first South Sea island, are memories apart and touched a
virginity of sense. On the 28th of July 1888 the moon was an hour down
by four in the morning. In the east a radiating centre of brightness
told of the day; and beneath, on the skyline, the morning bank was
already building, black as ink. We have all read of the swiftness of the
day's coming and departure in low latitudes; it is a point on which the
scientific and sentimental tourist are at one, and has inspired some
tasteful poetry. The period certainly varies with the season; but here
is one case exactly noted. Although the dawn was thus preparing by four,
the sun was not up till six; and it was half-past five before we could
distinguish our expected islands from the clouds on the horizon. Eight
degrees south, and the day two hours a-coming. The interval was passed
on deck in the silence of expectation, the customary thrill of landfall
heightened by the strangeness of the shores that we were then
approaching. Slowly they took shape in the attenuating darkness.
Ua-huna, piling up to a truncated summit, appeared the first upon the
starboard bow; almost abeam arose our destination, Nuka-hiva, whelmed in
cloud; and betwixt and to the southward, the first rays of the sun
displayed the needles of Ua-pu. These pricked about the line of the
horizon; like the pinnacles of some ornate and monstrous church, they
stood there, in the sparkling brightness of the morning, the fit
signboard of a world of wonders.
Not one soul aboard the _Casco_ had set foot upon the islands, or knew,
except by accident, one word of any of the island tongues; and it was
with something perhaps of the same anxious pleasure as thrilled the
bosom of discoverers that we drew near these problematic shores. The
land heaved up in peaks and rising vales; it fell in cliffs and
buttresses; its colour ran through fifty modulations in a scale of pearl
and rose and olive; and it was crowned above by opalescent clouds. The
suffusion of vague hues deceived the eye; the shadows of clouds were
confounded with the articulations of the mountain; and the isle and its
unsubstantial canopy rose and shimmered before us like a single mass.
There was no beacon, no smoke of towns to be expected, no plying pilot.
Somewhere, in that pale phantasmagoria of cliff and cloud, our haven lay
concealed; and somewhere to the east of it--the only sea-mark given--a
certain headland, known indifferently as Cape Adam and Eve, or Cape Jack
and Jane, and distinguished by two colossal figures, the gross statuary
of nature. These we were to find; for these we craned and stared,
focussed glasses, and wrangled over charts; and the sun was overhead and
the land close ahead before we found them. To a ship approaching, like
the _Casco_, from the north, they proved indeed the least conspicuous
features of a striking coast; the surf flying high above its base;
strange, austere, and feathered mountains rising behind; and Jack and
Jane, or Adam and Eve, impending like a pair of warts above the
breakers.
Thence we bore away along shore. On our port beam we might hear the
explosions of the surf; a few birds flew fishing under the prow; there
was no other sound or mark of life, whether of man or beast, in all that
quarter of the island. Winged by her own impetus and the dying breeze,
the _Casco_ skimmed under cliffs, opened out a cove, showed us a beach
and some green trees, and flitted by again, bowing to the swell. The
trees, from our distance, might have been hazel; the beach might have
been in Europe; the mountain forms behind modelled in little from the
Alps, and the forest which clustered on their ramparts a growth no more
considerable than our Scottish heath. Again the cliff yawned, but now
with a deeper entry; and the _Casco_, hauling her wind, began to slide
into the bay of Anaho. The coco-palm, that giraffe of vegetables, so
graceful, so ungainly, to the European eye so foreign, was to be seen
crowding on the beach, and climbing and fringing the steep sides of
mountains. Rude and bare hills embraced the inlet upon either hand; it
was enclosed to the landward by a bulk of shattered mountains. In every
crevice of that barrier the forest harboured, roosting and nesting there
like birds about a ruin; and far above, it greened and roughened the
razor edges of the summit.
Under the eastern shore, our schooner, now bereft of any breeze,
continued to creep in: the smart creature, when once under way,
appearing motive in herself. From close aboard arose the bleating of
young lambs; a bird sang in the hillside; the scent of the land and of a
hundred fruits or flowers flowed forth to meet us; and, presently, a
house or two appeared, standing high upon the ankles of the hills, and
one of these surrounded with what seemed a garden. These conspicuous
habitations, that patch of culture, had we but known it, were a mark of
the passage of whites; and we might have approached a hundred islands
and not found their parallel. It was longer ere we spied the native
village, standing (in the universal fashion) close upon a curve of
beach, close under a grove of palms; the sea in front growling and
whitening on a concave arc of reef. For the coco-tree and the island man
are both lovers and neighbours of the surf. "The coral waxes, the palm
grows, but man departs," says the sad Tahitian proverb; but they are all
three, so long as they endure, co-haunters of the beach. The mark of
anchorage was a blow-hole in the rocks, near the south-easterly corner
of the bay. Punctually to our use, the blow-hole spouted; the schooner
turned upon her heel; the anchor plunged. It was a small sound, a great
event; my soul went down with these moorings whence no windlass may
extract nor any diver fish it up; and I, and some part of my ship's
company, were from that hour the bondslaves of the isles of Vivien.
Before yet the anchor plunged a canoe was already paddling from the
hamlet. It contained two men: one white, one brown and tattooed across
the face with bands of blue, both in immaculate white European clothes:
the resident trader, Mr. Regler, and the native chief, Taipi-kikino.
"Captain, is it permitted to come on board?" were the first words we
heard among the islands. Canoe followed canoe, till the ship swarmed
with stalwart, six-foot men in every stage of undress; some in a shirt,
some in a loin-cloth, one in a handkerchief imperfectly adjusted; some,
and these the more considerable, tattooed from head to foot in awful
patterns; some barbarous and knived; one, who sticks in my memory as
something bestial, squatting on his hams in a canoe, sucking an orange
and spitting it out again to alternate sides with ape-like vivacity--all
talking, and we could not understand one word; all trying to trade with
us who had no thought of trading, or offering us island curios at prices
palpably absurd. There was no word of welcome; no show of civility; no
hand extended save that of the chief and Mr. Regler. As we still
continued to refuse the proffered articles, complaint ran high and rude;
and one, the jester of the party, railed upon our meanness amid jeering
laughter. Amongst other angry pleasantries--"Here is a mighty fine
ship," said he, "to have no money on board!" I own I was inspired with
sensible repugnance; even with alarm. The ship was manifestly in their
power; we had women on board; I knew nothing of my guests beyond the
fact that they were cannibals; the Directory (my only guide) was full of
timid cautions; and as for the trader, whose presence might else have
reassured me, were not whites in the Pacific the usual instigators and
accomplices of native outrage? When he reads this confession, our kind
friend, Mr. Regler, can afford to smile.
Later in the day, as I sat writing up my journal, the cabin was filled
from end to end with Marquesans: three brown-skinned generations,
squatted cross-legged upon the floor, and regarding me in silence with
embarrassing eyes. The eyes of all Polynesians are large, luminous, and
melting; they are like the eyes of animals and some Italians. A kind of
despair came over me, to sit there helpless under all these staring
orbs, and be thus blocked in a corner of my cabin by this speechless
crowd: and a kind of rage to think they were beyond the reach of
articulate communication, like furred animals, or folk born deaf, or the
dwellers of some alien planet.
To cross the Channel is, for a boy of twelve, to change heavens; to
cross the Atlantic, for a man of twenty-four, is hardly to modify his
diet. But I was now escaped out of the shadow of the Roman empire, under
whose toppling monuments we were all cradled, whose laws and letters are
on every hand of us, constraining and preventing. I was now to see what
men might be whose fathers had never studied Virgil, had never been
conquered by Cæsar, and never been ruled by the wisdom of Gaius or
Papinian. By the same step I had journeyed forth out of that comfortable
zone of kindred languages, where the curse of Babel is so easy to be
remedied; and my new fellow-creatures sat before me dumb like images.
Methought, in my travels, all human relation was to be excluded; and
when I returned home (for in those days I still projected my return) I
should have but dipped into a picture-book without a text. Nay, and I
even questioned if my travels should be much prolonged; perhaps they
were destined to a speedy end; perhaps my subsequent friend, Kauanui,
whom I remarked there, sitting silent with the rest, for a man of some
authority, might leap from his hams with an ear-splitting signal, the
ship be carried at a rush, and the ship's company butchered for the
table.
There could be nothing more natural than these apprehensions, nor
anything more groundless. In my experience of the islands, I had never
again so menacing a reception; were I to meet with such to-day, I should
be more alarmed and tenfold more surprised. The majority of Polynesians
are easy folk to get in touch with, frank, fond of notice, greedy of the
least affection, like amiable, fawning dogs; and even with the
Marquesans, so recently and so imperfectly redeemed from a
blood-boltered barbarism, all were to become our intimates, and one, at
least, was to mourn sincerely our departure.
CHAPTER II
MAKING FRIENDS
The impediment of tongues was one that I particularly over-estimated.
The languages of Polynesia are easy to smatter, though hard to speak
with elegance. And they are extremely similar, so that a person who has
a tincture of one or two may risk, not without hope, an attempt upon the
others.
And again, not only is Polynesian easy to smatter, but interpreters
abound. Missionaries, traders, and broken white folk living on the
bounty of the natives, are to be found in almost every isle and hamlet;
and even where these are unserviceable, the natives themselves have
often scraped up a little English, and in the French zone (though far
less commonly) a little French-English, or an efficient pidgin, what is
called to the westward "Beach-la-Mar," comes easy to the Polynesian; it
is now taught, besides, in the schools of Hawaii; and from the
multiplicity of British ships, and the nearness of the States on the one
hand and the colonies on the other, it may be called, and will almost
certainly become, the tongue of the Pacific.
I will instance a few examples. I met in Majuro a Marshall Island boy
who spoke excellent English; this he had learned in the German firm in
Jaluit, yet did not speak one word of German. I heard from a gendarme
who had taught school in Rapa-iti that while the children had the utmost
difficulty or reluctance to learn French, they picked up English on the
wayside, and as if by accident. On one of the most out-of-the-way atolls
in the Carolines, my friend Mr. Benjamin Hird was amazed to find the
lads playing cricket on the beach and talking English; and it was in
English that the crew of the _Janet Nicoll_, a set of black boys from
different Melanesian islands, communicated with other natives throughout
the cruise, transmitted orders, and sometimes jested together on the
fore-hatch. But what struck me perhaps most of all was a word I heard on
the verandah of the Tribunal at Noumea. A case had just been heard--a
trial for infanticide against an ape-like native woman; and the audience
were smoking cigarettes as they awaited the verdict. An anxious, amiable
French lady, not far from tears, was eager for acquittal, and declared
she would engage the prisoner to be her children's nurse. The bystanders
exclaimed at the proposal; the woman was a savage, said they, and spoke
no language. "_Mais vous savez_," objected the fair sentimentalist;
"_ils apprennent si vite l'anglais_!"
But to be able to speak to people is not all. And in the first stage of
my relations with natives I was helped by two things. To begin with, I
was the showman of the _Casco_. She, her fine lines, tall spars, and
snowy decks, the crimson fittings of the saloon, and the white, the
gilt, and the repeating mirrors of the tiny cabin, brought us a hundred
visitors. The men fathomed out her dimensions with their arms, as their
fathers fathomed out the ships of Cook; the women declared the cabins
more lovely than a church; bouncing Junos were never weary of sitting in
the chairs and contemplating in the glass their own bland images; and I
have seen one lady strip up her dress, and, with cries of wonder and
delight, rub herself bare-breeched upon the velvet cushions.
Biscuit, jam, and syrup was the entertainment; and, as in European
parlours, the photograph album went the round. This sober gallery, their
everyday costumes and physiognomies, had been transformed, in three
weeks' sailing, into things wonderful and rich and foreign; alien faces,
barbaric dresses, they were now beheld and fingered, in the swerving
cabin, with innocent excitement and surprise. Her Majesty was often
recognised, and I have seen French subjects kiss her photograph;
Captain Speedy--in an Abyssinian war-dress, supposed to be the uniform
of the British army--met with much acceptance; and the effigies of Mr.
Andrew Lang were admired in the Marquesas. There is the place for him to
go when he shall be weary of Middlesex and Homer.
It was perhaps yet more important that I had enjoyed in my youth some
knowledge of our Scots folk of the Highlands and the Islands. Not much
beyond a century has passed since these were in the same convulsive and
transitionary state as the Marquesans of to-day. In both cases an alien
authority enforced, the clans disarmed, the chiefs deposed, new customs
introduced, and chiefly that fashion of regarding money as the means and
object of existence. The commercial age, in each, succeeding at a bound
to an age of war abroad and patriarchal communism at home. In one the
cherished practice of tattooing, in the other a cherished costume,
proscribed. In each a main luxury cut off: beef, driven under cloud of
night from Lowland pastures, denied to the meat-loving Highlander;
long-pig, pirated from the next village, to the man-eating Kanaka. The
grumbling, the secret ferment, the fears and resentments, the alarms and
sudden councils of Marquesan chiefs, reminded me continually of the days
of Lovat and Struan. Hospitality, tact, natural fine manners, and a
touchy punctilio, are common to both races: common to both tongues the
trick of dropping medial consonants.
Here is a table of two widespread Polynesian words:--
House. Love.[1]
Tahitian FARE AROHA
New Zealand WHARE
Samoan FALE TALOFA
Manihiki FALE ALOHA
Hawaiian HALE ALOHA
Marquesan HA'E KAOHA
The elision of medial consonants, so marked in these Marquesan
instances, is no less common both in Gaelic and the Lowland Scots.
Stranger still, that prevalent Polynesian sound, the so-called catch,
written with an apostrophe, and often or always the gravestone of a
perished consonant, is to be heard in Scotland to this day. When a Scot
pronounces water, better, or bottle--_wa'er, be'er_, or _bo'le_--the
sound is precisely that of the catch; and I think we may go beyond, and
say, that if such a population could be isolated, and this
mispronunciation should become the rule, it might prove the first stage
of transition from _t_ to _k_, which is the disease of Polynesian
languages. The tendency of the Marquesans, however, is to urge against
consonants, or at least on the very common letter _l_, a war of mere
extermination. A hiatus is agreeable to any Polynesian ear; the ear even
of the stranger soon grows used to these barbaric voids; but only in the
Marquesan will you find such names as _Haaii_ and _Paaaeua_, when each
individual vowel must be separately uttered.
These points of similarity between a South Sea people and some of my own
folk at home ran much in my head in the islands; and not only inclined
me to view my fresh acquaintances with favour, but continually modified
my judgment. A polite Englishman comes to-day to the Marquesans and is
amazed to find the men tattooed; polite Italians came not long ago to
England and found our fathers stained with woad; and when I paid the
return visit as a little boy, I was highly diverted with the
backwardness of Italy: so insecure, so much a matter of the day and
hour, is the pre-eminence of race. It was so that I hit upon a means of
communication which I recommend to travellers. When I desired any detail
of savage custom, or of superstitious belief, I cast back in the story
of my fathers, and fished for what I wanted with some trait of equal
barbarism: Michael Scott, Lord Derwentwater's head, the second-sight,
the Water Kelpie--each of these I have found to be a killing bait; the
black bull's head of Stirling procured me the legend of _Rahero_; and
what I knew of the Cluny Macphersons, or the Appin Stewarts, enabled me
to learn, and helped me to understand, about the _Tevas_ of Tahiti. The
native was no longer ashamed, his sense of kinship grew warmer, and his
lips were opened. It is this sense of kinship that the traveller must
rouse and share; or he had better content himself with travels from the
blue bed to the brown. And the presence of one Cockney titterer will
cause a whole party to walk in clouds of darkness.
The hamlet of Anaho stands on a margin of flat land between the west of
the beach and the spring of the impending mountains. A grove of palms,
perpetually ruffling its green fans, carpets it (as for a triumph) with
fallen branches, and shades it like an arbour. A road runs from end to
end of the covert among beds of flowers, the milliner's shop of the
community; and here and there, in the grateful twilight, in an air
filled with a diversity of scents, and still within hearing of the surf
upon the reef, the native houses stand in scattered neighbourhood. The
same word, as we have seen, represents in many tongues of Polynesia,
with scarce a shade of difference, the abode of man. But although the
word be the same, the structure itself continually varies; and the
Marquesan, among the most backward and barbarous of islanders, is yet
the most commodiously lodged. The grass huts of Hawaii, the birdcage
houses of Tahiti, or the open shed, with the crazy Venetian blinds, of
the polite Samoan--none of these can be compared with the Marquesan
_paepae-hae_, or dwelling platform. The paepae is an oblong terrace
built without cement of black volcanic stone, from twenty to fifty feet
in length, raised from four to eight feet from the earth, and accessible
by a broad stair. Along the back of this, and coming to about half its
width, runs the open front of the house, like a covered gallery: the
interior sometimes neat and almost elegant in its bareness, the sleeping
space divided off by an endlong coaming, some bright raiment perhaps
hanging from a nail, and a lamp and one of White's sewing-machines, the
only marks of civilisation. On the outside, at one end of the terrace,
burns the cooking-fire under a shed; at the other there is perhaps a
pen for pigs; the remainder is the evening lounge and _al fresco_
banquet-hall of the inhabitants. To some houses water is brought down
the mountain in bamboo pipes, perforated for the sake of sweetness. With
the Highland comparison in my mind, I was struck to remember the
sluttish mounds of turf and stone in which I have sat and been
entertained in the Hebrides and the North Islands. Two things, I
suppose, explain the contrast. In Scotland wood is rare, and with
materials so rude as turf and stone the very hope of neatness is
excluded. And in Scotland it is cold. Shelter and a hearth are needs so
pressing that a man looks not beyond; he is out all day after a bare
bellyful, and at night when he saith, "Aha, it is warm!" he has not
appetite for more. Or if for something else, then something higher; a
fine school of poetry and song arose in these rough shelters, and an air
like "Lochaber no more" is an evidence of refinement more convincing, as
well as more imperishable, than a palace.
To one such dwelling platform a considerable troop of relatives and
dependants resort. In the hour of the dusk, when the fire blazes, and
the scent of the cooked breadfruit fills the air, and perhaps the lamp
glints already between the pillars of the house, you shall behold them
silently assemble to this meal, men, women, and children; and the dogs
and pigs frisk together up the terrace stairway, switching rival tails.
The strangers from the ship were soon equally welcome: welcome to dip
their fingers in the wooden dish, to drink cocoa-nuts, to share the
circulating pipe, and to hear and hold high debate about the misdeeds of
the French, the Panama Canal, or the geographical position of San
Francisco and New Yo'ko. In a Highland hamlet, quite out of reach of any
tourist, I have met the same plain and dignified hospitality.
I have mentioned two facts--the distasteful behaviour of our earliest
visitors, and the case of the lady who rubbed herself upon the
cushions--which would give a very false opinion of Marquesan manners.
The great majority of Polynesians are excellently mannered; but the
Marquesan stands apart, annoying and attractive, wild, shy, and refined.
If you make him a present he affects to forget it, and it must be
offered him again at his going: a pretty formality I have found nowhere
else. A hint will get rid of any one or any number; they are so fiercely
proud and modest; while many of the more lovable but blunter islanders
crowd upon a stranger, and can be no more driven off than flies. A
slight or an insult the Marquesan seems never to forget. I was one day
talking by the wayside with my friend Hoka, when I perceived his eyes
suddenly to flash and his stature to swell. A white horseman was coming
down the mountain, and as he passed, and while he paused to exchange
salutations with myself, Hoka was still staring and ruffling like a
gamecock. It was a Corsican who had years before called him _cochon
sauvage_--_coçon chauvage_, as Hoka mispronounced it. With people so
nice and so touchy, it was scarce to be supposed that our company of
greenhorns should not blunder into offences. Hoka, on one of his visits,
fell suddenly in a brooding silence, and presently after left the ship
with cold formality. When he took me back into favour, he adroitly and
pointedly explained the nature of my offence: I had asked him to sell
cocoa-nuts; and in Hoka's view articles of food were things that a
gentleman should give, not sell; or at least that he should not sell to
any friend. On another occasion I gave my boat's crew a luncheon of
chocolate and biscuits. I had sinned, I could never learn how, against
some point of observance; and though I was drily thanked, my offerings
were left upon the beach. But our worst mistake was a slight we put on
Toma, Hoka's adoptive father, and in his own eyes the rightful chief of
Anaho. In the first place, we did not call upon him, as perhaps we
should, in his fine new European house, the only one in the hamlet. In
the second, when we came ashore upon a visit to his rival, Taipi-kikino,
it was Toma whom we saw standing at the head of the beach, a
magnificent figure of a man, magnificently tattooed; and it was of Toma
that we asked our question: "Where is the chief?" "What chief?" cried
Toma, and turned his back on the blasphemers. Nor did he forgive us.
Hoka came and went with us daily; but, alone I believe of all the
countryside, neither Toma nor his wife set foot on board the _Casco_.
The temptation resisted it is hard for a European to compute. The flying
city of Laputa moored for a fortnight in St. James's Park affords but a
pale figure of the _Casco_ anchored before Anaho; for the Londoner has
still his change of pleasures, but the Marquesan passes to his grave
through an unbroken uniformity of days.
On the afternoon before it was intended we should sail, a valedictory
party came on board: nine of our particular friends equipped with gifts
and dressed as for a festival. Hoka, the chief dancer and singer, the
greatest dandy of Anaho, and one of the handsomest young fellows in the
world--sullen, showy, dramatic, light as a feather and strong as an
ox--it would have been hard, on that occasion, to recognise, as he sat
there stooped and silent, his face heavy and grey. It was strange to see
the lad so much affected; stranger still to recognise in his last gift
one of the curios we had refused on the first day, and to know our
friend, so gaily dressed, so plainly moved at our departure, for one of
the half-naked crew that had besieged and insulted us on our arrival:
strangest of all, perhaps, to find, in that carved handle of a fan, the
last of those curiosities of the first day which had now all been given
to us by their possessors--their chief merchandise, for which they had
sought to ransom us as long as we were strangers, which they pressed on
us for nothing as soon as we were friends. The last visit was not long
protracted. One after another they shook hands and got down into their
canoe; when Hoka turned his back immediately upon the ship, so that we
saw his face no more. Taipi, on the other hand, remained standing and
facing us with gracious valedictory gestures; and when Captain Otis
dipped the ensign, the whole party saluted with their hats. This was the
farewell; the episode of our visit to Anaho was held concluded; and
though the _Casco_ remained nearly forty hours at her moorings, not one
returned on board, and I am inclined to think they avoided appearing on
the beach. This reserve and dignity is the finest trait of the
Marquesan.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Where that word is used as a salutation I give that form.
CHAPTER III
THE MAROON
Of the beauties of Anaho books might be written. I remember waking about
three, to find the air temperate and scented. The long swell brimmed
into the bay, and seemed to fill it full and then subside. Gently,
deeply, and silently the _Casco_ rolled; only at times a block piped
like a bird. Oceanward, the heaven was bright with stars and the sea
with their reflections. If I looked to that side, I might have sung with
the Hawaiian poet:
_Ua maomao ka lani, ua kahaea luna_,
_Ua pipi ka maka o ka hoku_.
(The heavens were fair, they stretched above,
Many were the eyes of the stars.)
And then I turned shoreward, and high squalls were overhead; the
mountains loomed up black; and I could have fancied I had slipped ten
thousand miles away and was anchored in a Highland loch; that when the
day came, it would show pine, and heather, and green fern, and roofs of
turf sending up the smoke of peats; and the alien speech that should
next greet my ears must be Gaelic, not Kanaka.
And day, when it came, brought other sights and thoughts. I have watched
the morning break in many quarters of the world--it has been certainly
one of the chief joys of my existence; and the dawn that I saw with most
emotion shone upon the bay of Anaho. The mountains abruptly overhang the
port with every variety of surface and of inclination, lawn, and cliff,
and forest. Not one of these but wore its proper tint of saffron, of
sulphur, of the clove, and of the rose. The lustre was like that of
satin; on the lighter hues there seemed to float an efflorescence; a
solemn bloom appeared on the more dark. The light itself was the
ordinary light of morning, colourless and clean; and on this ground of
jewels, pencilled out the least detail of drawing. Meanwhile, around the
hamlet, under the palms, where the blue shadow lingered, the red coals
of cocoa husk and the light trails of smoke betrayed the awakening
business of the day; along the beach men and women, lads and lasses,
were returning from the bath in bright raiment, red and blue and green,
such as we delighted to see in the coloured little pictures of our
childhood; and presently the sun had cleared the eastern hill, and the
glow of the day was over all.
The glow continued and increased, the business, from the main part,
ceased before it had begun. Twice in the day there was a certain stir of
shepherding along the seaward hills. At times a canoe went out to fish.
At times a woman or two languidly filled a basket in the cotton patch.
At times a pipe would sound out of the shadow of a house, ringing the
changes on its three notes, with an effect like _Que le jour me dure_
repeated endlessly. Or at times, across a corner of the bay, two natives
might communicate in the Marquesan manner with conventional whistlings.
All else was sleep and silence. The surf broke and shone around the
shores; a species of black crane fished in the broken water; the black
pigs were continually galloping by on some affair; but the people might
never have awaked, or they might all be dead.
My favourite haunt was opposite the hamlet, where was a landing in a
cove under a lianaed cliff. The beach was lined with palms and a tree
called the purao, something between the fig and mulberry in growth, and
bearing a flower like a great yellow poppy with a maroon heart. In
places rocks encroached upon the sand; the beach would be all
submerged; and the surf would bubble warmly as high as to my knees, and
play with cocoa-nut husks as our more homely ocean plays with wreck and
wrack and bottles. As the reflux drew down, marvels of colour and design
streamed between my feet; which I would grasp at, miss, or seize: now to
find them what they promised, shells to grace a cabinet or be set in
gold upon a lady's finger; now to catch only _maya_ of coloured sand,
pounded fragments and pebbles, that, as soon as they were dry, became as
dull and homely as the flints upon a garden path. I have toiled at this
childish pleasure for hours in the strong sun, conscious of my incurable
ignorance; but too keenly pleased to be ashamed. Meanwhile, the
blackbird (or his tropical understudy) would be fluting in the thickets
overhead.
A little further, in the turn of the bay, a streamlet trickled in the
bottom of a den, thence spilling down a stair of rock into the sea. The
draught of air drew down under the foliage in the very bottom of the
den, which was a perfect arbour for coolness. In front it stood open on
the blue bay and the _Casco_ lying there under her awning and her
cheerful colours. Overhead was a thatch of puraos, and over these again
palms brandished their bright fans, as I have seen a conjurer make
himself a halo out of naked swords. For in this spot, over a neck of low
land at the foot of the mountains, the trade-wind streams into Anaho Bay
in a flood of almost constant volume and velocity, and of a heavenly
coolness.
It chanced one day that I was ashore in the cove with Mrs. Stevenson and
the ship's cook. Except for the _Casco_ lying outside, and a crane or
two, and the ever-busy wind and sea, the face of the world was of a
prehistoric emptiness; life appeared to stand stock-still, and the sense
of isolation was profound and refreshing. On a sudden, the trade wind,
coming in a gust over the isthmus, struck and scattered the fans of the
palms above the den; and, behold! in two of the tops there sat a native,
motionless as an idol and watching us, you would have said, without a
wink. The next moment the tree closed, and the glimpse was gone. This
discovery of human presences latent overhead in a place where we had
supposed ourselves alone, the immobility of our tree-top spies, and the
thought that perhaps at all hours we were similarly supervised, struck
us with a chill. Talk languished on the beach. As for the cook (whose
conscience was not clear), he never afterwards set foot on shore, and
twice, when the _Casco_ appeared to be driving on the rocks, it was
amusing to observe that man's alacrity; death, he was persuaded,
awaiting him upon the beach. It was more than a year later, in the
Gilberts, that the explanation dawned upon myself. The natives were
drawing palm-tree wine, a thing forbidden by law; and when the wind thus
suddenly revealed them, they were doubtless more troubled than
ourselves.
At the top of the den there dwelt an old, melancholy, grizzled man of
the name of Tari (Charlie) Coffin. He was a native of Oahu, in the
Sandwich Islands; and had gone to sea in his youth in the American
whalers; a circumstance to which he owed his name, his English, his
down-east twang, and the misfortune of his innocent life. For one
captain, sailing out of New Bedford, carried him to Nuka-hiva and
marooned him there among the cannibals. The motive for this act was
inconceivably small; poor Tari's wages, which were thus economised,
would scarce have shook the credit of the New Bedford owners. And the
act itself was simply murder. Tari's life must have hung in the
beginning by a hair. In the grief and terror of that time, it is not
unlikely he went mad, an infirmity to which he was still liable; or
perhaps a child may have taken a fancy to him and ordained him to be
spared. He escaped at least alive, married in the island, and when I
knew him was a widower with a married son and a granddaughter. But the
thought of Oahu haunted him; its praise was for ever on his lips; he
beheld it, looking back, as a place of ceaseless feasting, song, and
dance; and in his dreams I dare say he revisits it with joy. I wonder
what he would think if he could be carried there indeed, and see the
modern town of Honolulu brisk with traffic, and the palace with its
guards, and the great hotel, and Mr. Berger's band with their uniforms
and outlandish instruments; or what he would think to see the brown
faces grown so few and the white so many; and his father's land sold for
planting sugar, and his father's house quite perished, or perhaps the
last of them struck leprous and immured between the surf and the cliffs
on Molokai? So simply, even in South Sea Islands, and so sadly, the
changes come.
Tari was poor, and poorly lodged. His house was a wooden frame, run up
by Europeans; it was indeed his official residence, for Tari was the
shepherd of the promontory sheep. I can give a perfect inventory of its
contents: three kegs, a tin biscuit-box, an iron sauce-pan, several
cocoa-shell cups, a lantern, and three bottles, probably containing oil;
while the clothes of the family and a few mats were thrown across the
open rafters. Upon my first meeting with this exile he had conceived for
me one of the baseless island friendships, had given me nuts to drink,
and carried me up the den "to see my house"--the only entertainment that
he had to offer. He liked the "Amelican," he said, and the "Inglisman,"
but the "Flessman" was his abhorrence; and he was careful to explain
that if he had thought us "Fless," we should have had none of his nuts,
and never a sight of his house. His distaste for the French I can partly
understand, but not at all his toleration of the Anglo-Saxon. The next
day he brought me a pig, and some days later one of our party going
ashore found him in act to bring a second. We were still strange to the
islands; we were pained by the poor man's generosity, which he could ill
afford, and, by a natural enough but quite unpardonable blunder, we
refused the pig. Had Tari been a Marquesan we should have seen him no
more; being what he was, the most mild, long-suffering, melancholy man,
he took a revenge a hundred times more painful. Scarce had the canoe
with the nine villagers put off from their farewell before the _Casco_
was boarded from the other side. It was Tari; coming thus late because
he had no canoe of his own, and had found it hard to borrow one; coming
thus solitary (as indeed we always saw him), because he was a stranger
in the land, and the dreariest of company. The rest of my family basely
fled from the encounter. I must receive our injured friend alone; and
the interview must have lasted hard upon an hour, for he was loath to
tear himself away. "You go 'way. I see you no more--no, sir!" he
lamented; and then, looking about him with rueful admiration, "This
goodee ship--no, sir!--goodee ship!" he would exclaim; the "no, sir,"
thrown out sharply through the nose upon a rising inflection, an echo
from New Bedford and the fallacious whaler. From these expressions of
grief and praise, he would return continually to the case of the
rejected pig. "I like give plesent all 'e same you," he complained;
"only got pig: you no take him!" He was a poor man; he had no choice of
gifts; he had only a pig, he repeated; and I had refused it. I have
rarely been more wretched than to see him sitting there, so old, so
grey, so poor, so hardly fortuned, of so rueful a countenance, and to
appreciate, with growing keenness, the affront which I had so innocently
dealt him; but it was one of those cases in which speech is vain.
Tari's son was smiling and inert; his daughter-in-law, a girl of
sixteen, pretty, gentle, and grave, more intelligent than most
Anaho-women, and with a fair share of French; his grandchild, a mite of
a creature at the breast. I went up the den one day when Tari was from
home, and found the son making a cotton sack, and madame suckling
mademoiselle. When I had sat down with them on the floor, the girl began
to question me about England; which I tried to describe, piling the pan
and the cocoa shells one upon another to represent the houses and
explaining, as best I was able, and by word and gesture, the
over-population, the hunger, and the perpetual toil. "_Pas de cocotiers?
pas de popoi?_" she asked. I told her it was too cold, and went through
an elaborate performance, shutting out draughts, and crouching over an
imaginary fire, to make sure she understood. But she understood right
well; remarked it must be bad for the health, and sat a while gravely
reflecting on that picture of unwonted sorrows. I am sure it roused her
pity, for it struck in her another thought always uppermost in the
Marquesan bosom; and she began with a smiling sadness, and looking on me
out of melancholy eyes, to lament the decease of her own people. "_Ici
pas de Kanaques_," said she; and taking the baby from her breast, she
held it out to me with both her hands. "_Tenez_--a little baby like
this; then dead. All the Kanaques die. Then no more." The smile, and
this instancing by the girl-mother of her own tiny flesh and blood
affected me strangely; they spoke of so tranquil a despair. Meanwhile
the husband smilingly made his sack; and the unconscious babe struggled
to reach a pot of raspberry jam, friendship's offering, which I had just
brought up the den; and in a perspective of centuries I saw their case
as ours, death coming in like a tide, and the day already numbered when
there should be no more Beretani, and no more of any race whatever, and
(what oddly touched me) no more literary works and no more readers.
CHAPTER IV
DEATH
The thought of death, I have said, is uppermost in the mind of the
Marquesan. It would be strange if it were otherwise. The race is perhaps
the handsomest extant. Six feet is about the middle height of males;
they are strongly muscled, free from fat, swift in action, graceful in
repose; and the women, though fatter and duller, are still comely
animals. To judge by the eye, there is no race more viable; and yet
death reaps them with both hands. When Bishop Dordillon first came to
Tai-o-hae, he reckoned the inhabitants at many thousands; he was but
newly dead, and in the same bay Stanislao Moanatini counted on his
fingers eight residual natives. Or take the valley of Hapaa, known to
readers of Herman Melville under the grotesque mis-spelling of Hapar.
There are but two writers who have touched the South Seas with any
genius, both Americans: Melville and Charles Warren Stoddard; and at the
christening of the first and greatest, some influential fairy must have
been neglected: "He shall be able to see," "He shall be able to tell,"
"He shall be able to charm," said the friendly godmothers; "But he shall
not be able to hear," exclaimed the last. The tribe of Hapaa is said to
have numbered some four hundred when the small-pox came and reduced them
by one fourth. Six months later a woman developed tubercular
consumption; the disease spread like a fire about the valley, and in
less than a year two survivors, a man and a woman, fled from that
new-created solitude. A similar Adam and Eve may some day wither among
new races, the tragic residue of Britain. When I first heard this story
the date staggered me; but I am now inclined to think it possible. Early
in the year of my visit, for example, or late the year before, a first
case of phthisis appeared in a household of seventeen persons, and by
the month of August, when the tale was told me, one soul survived, and
that was a boy who had been absent at his schooling. And depopulation
works both ways, the doors of death being set wide open, and the door of
birth almost closed. Thus, in the half-year ending July 1888 there were
twelve deaths and but one birth in the district of the Hatiheu. Seven or
eight more deaths were to be looked for in the ordinary course; and M.
Aussel, the observant gendarme, knew of but one likely birth. At this
rate it is no matter of surprise if the population in that part should
have declined in forty years from six thousand to less than four
hundred; which are, once more on the authority of M. Aussel, the
estimated figures. And the rate of decline must have even accelerated
towards the end.
A good way to appreciate the depopulation is to go by land from Anaho to
Hatiheu on the adjacent bay. The road is good travelling, but cruelly
steep. We seemed scarce to have passed the deserted house which stands
highest in Anaho before we were looking dizzily down upon its roof; the
_Casco_ well out in the bay, and rolling for a wager, shrank visibly;
and presently through the gap of Tari's isthmus, Ua-huna was seen to
hang cloudlike on the horizon. Over the summit, where the wind blew
really chill, and whistled in the reed-like grass, and tossed the grassy
fell of the pandanus, we stepped suddenly, as through a door, into the
next vale and bay of Hatiheu. A bowl of mountains encloses it upon three
sides. On the fourth this rampart has been bombarded into ruins, runs
down to seaward in imminent and shattered crags, and presents the one
practicable breach of the blue bay. The interior of this vessel is
crowded with lovely and valuable trees,--orange, breadfruit,
mummy-apple, coco, the island chestnut, and for weeds, the pine and the
banana. Four perennial streams water and keep it green; and along the
dell, first of one, then of another, of these, the road, for a
considerable distance, descends into this fortunate valley. The song of
the waters and the familiar disarray of boulders gave us a strong sense
of home, which the exotic foliage, the daft-like growth of the pandanus,
the buttressed trunk of the banyan, the black pigs galloping in the
bush, and the architecture of the native houses dissipated ere it could
be enjoyed.
The houses on the Hatiheu side begin high up; higher yet, the more
melancholy spectacle of empty paepaes. When a native habitation is
deserted, the superstructure--pandanus thatch, wattle, unstable tropical
timber--speedily rots, and is speedily scattered by the wind. Only the
stones of the terrace endure; nor can any ruin, cairn, or standing
stone, or vitrified fort present a more stern appearance of antiquity.
We must have passed from six to eight of these now houseless platforms.
On the main road of the island, where it crosses the valley of Taipi,
Mr. Osbourne tells me they are to be reckoned by the dozen; and as the
roads have been made long posterior to their erection, perhaps to their
desertion, and must simply be regarded as lines drawn at random through
the bush, the forest on either hand must be equally filled with these
survivals: the grave-stones of whole families. Such ruins are tapu[2] in
the strictest sense; no native must approach them; they have become
outposts of the kingdom of the grave. It might appear a natural and
pious custom in the hundreds who are left, the rearguard of perished
thousands, that their feet should leave untrod these hearthstones of
their fathers. I believe, in fact, the custom rests on different and
more grim conceptions. But the house, the grave, and even the body of
the dead, have been always particularly honoured by Marquesans. Until
recently the corpse was sometimes kept in the family and daily oiled
and sunned, until, by gradual and revolting stages, it dried into a kind
of mummy. Offerings are still laid upon the grave. In Traitor's Bay, Mr.
Osbourne saw a man buy a looking-glass to lay upon his son's. And the
sentiment against the desecration of tombs, thoughtlessly ruffled in the
laying down of the new roads, is a chief ingredient in the native hatred
for the French.
The Marquesan beholds with dismay the approaching extinction of his
race. The thought of death sits down with him to meat, and rises with
him from his bed; he lives and breathes under a shadow of mortality
awful to support; and he is so inured to the apprehension that he greets
the reality with relief. He does not even seek to support a
disappointment; at an affront, at a breach of one of his fleeting and
communistic love-affairs, he seeks an instant refuge in the grave.
Hanging is now the fashion. I heard of three who had hanged themselves
in the west end of Hiva-oa during the first half of 1888; but though
this be a common form of suicide in other parts of the South Seas, I
cannot think it will continue popular in the Marquesas. Far more
suitable to Marquesan sentiment is the old form of poisoning with the
fruit of the eva, which offers to the native suicide a cruel but
deliberate death, and gives time for those decencies of the last hour,
to which he attaches such remarkable importance. The coffin can thus be
at hand, the pigs killed, the cry of the mourners sounding already
through the house; and then it is, and not before, that the Marquesan is
conscious of achievement, his life all rounded in, his robes (like
Cæsar's) adjusted for the final act. Praise not any man till he is dead,
said the ancients; envy not any man till you hear the mourners, might be
the Marquesan parody. The coffin, though of late introduction, strangely
engages their attention. It is to the mature Marquesan what a watch is
to the European schoolboy. For ten years Queen Vaekehu had dunned the
fathers; at last, but the other day, they let her have her will, gave
her her coffin, and the woman's soul is at rest. I was told a droll
instance of the force of this preoccupation. The Polynesians are subject
to a disease seemingly rather of the will than of the body. I was told
the Tahitians have a word for it, _erimatua_, but cannot find it in my
dictionary. A gendarme, M. Nouveau, has seen men beginning to succumb to
this insubstantial malady, has routed them from their houses, turned
them on to do their trick upon the roads, and in two days has seen them
cured. But this other remedy is more original: a Marquesan, dying of
this discouragement--perhaps I should rather say this acquiescence--has
been known, at the fulfilment of his crowning wish, on the mere sight of
that desired hermitage, his coffin--to revive, recover, shake off the
hand of death, and be restored for years to his occupations--carving
tikis (idols), let us say, or braiding old men's beards. From all this
it may be conceived how easily they meet death when it approaches
naturally. I heard one example, grim and picturesque. In the time of the
small-pox in Hapaa, an old man was seized with the disease; he had no
thought of recovery; had his grave dug by a wayside, and lived in it for
near a fortnight, eating, drinking, and smoking with the passers-by,
talking mostly of his end, and equally unconcerned for himself and
careless of the friends whom he infected.
This proneness to suicide, and loose seat in life, is not peculiar to
the Marquesan. What is peculiar is the widespread depression and
acceptance of the national end. Pleasures are neglected, the dance
languishes, the songs are forgotten. It is true that some, and perhaps
too many, of them are proscribed; but many remain, if there were spirit
to support or to revive them. At the last feast of the Bastille,
Stanislao Moanatini shed tears when he beheld the inanimate performance
of the dancers. When the people sang for us in Anaho, they must
apologise for the smallness of their repertory. They were only young
folk present, they said, and it was only the old that knew the songs.
The whole body of Marquesan poetry and music was being suffered to die
out with a single dispirited generation. The full import is apparent
only to one acquainted with other Polynesian races; who knows how the
Samoan coins a fresh song for every trifling incident, or who has heard
(on Penrhyn, for instance) a band of little stripling maids from eight
to twelve keep up their minstrelsy for hours upon a stretch, one song
following another without pause. In like manner, the Marquesan, never
industrious, begins now to cease altogether from production. The exports
of the group decline out of all proportion even with the death-rate of
the islanders. "The coral waxes, the palm grows, and man departs," says
the Marquesan; and he folds his hands. And surely this is nature. Fond
as it may appear, we labour and refrain, not for the reward of any
single life, but with a timid eye upon the lives and memories of our
successors; and where no one is to succeed, of his own family, or his
own tongue, I doubt whether Rothschilds would make money or Cato
practise virtue. It is natural, also, that a temporary stimulus should
sometimes rouse the Marquesan from his lethargy. Over all the landward
shore of Anaho cotton runs like a wild weed; man or woman, whoever comes
to pick it, may earn a dollar in the day; yet when we arrived, the
trader's store-house was entirely empty; and before we left it was
nearly full. So long as the circus was there, so long as the _Casco_ was
yet anchored in the bay, it behoved every one to make his visit; and to
this end every woman must have a new dress, and every man a shirt and
trousers. Never before, in Mr. Regler's experience, had they displayed
so much activity.
In their despondency there is an element of dread. The fear of ghosts
and of the dark is very deeply written in the mind of the Polynesian;
not least of the Marquesan. Poor Taipi, the chief of Anaho, was
condemned to ride to Hatiheu on a moonless night. He borrowed a lantern,
sat a long while nerving himself for the adventure, and when he at last
departed, wrung the _Cascos_ by the hand as for a final separation.
Certain presences, called Vehinehae, frequent and make terrible the
nocturnal roadside; I was told by one they were like so much mist, and
as the traveller walked into them dispersed and dissipated; another
described them as being shaped like men and having eyes like cats; from
none could I obtain the smallest clearness as to what they did, or
wherefore they were dreaded. We may be sure at least they represent the
dead; for the dead, in the minds of the islanders, are all-pervasive.
"When a native says that he is a man," writes Dr. Codrington, "he means
that he is a man and not a ghost; not that he is a man and not a beast.
The intelligent agents of this world are to his mind the men who are
alive, and the ghosts the men who are dead." Dr. Codrington speaks of
Melanesia; from what I have learned his words are equally true of the
Polynesian. And yet more. Among cannibal Polynesians a dreadful
suspicion rests generally on the dead; and the Marquesans, the greatest
cannibals of all, are scarce likely to be free from similar beliefs. I
hazard the guess that the Vehinehae are the hungry spirits of the dead,
continuing their life's business of the cannibal ambuscade, and lying
everywhere unseen, and eager to devour the living. Another superstition
I picked up through the troubled medium of Tari Coffin's English. The
dead, he told me, came and danced by night around the paepae of their
former family; the family were thereupon overcome by some emotion (but
whether of pious sorrow or of fear I could not gather), and must "make a
feast," of which fish, pig, and popoi were indispensable ingredients. So
far this is clear enough. But here Tari went on to instance the new
house of Toma and the house-warming feast which was just then in
preparation as instances in point. Dare we indeed string them together,
and add the case of the deserted ruin, as though the dead continually
besieged the paepaes of the living; were kept at arm's-length, even from
the first foundation, only by propitiatory feasts, and, so soon as the
fire of life went out upon the hearth, swarmed back into possession of
their ancient seat?
I speak by guess of these Marquesan superstitions. On the cannibal ghost
I shall return elsewhere with certainty. And it is enough, for the
present purpose, to remark that the men of the Marquesas, from whatever
reason, fear and shrink from the presence of ghosts. Conceive how this
must tell upon the nerves in islands where the number of the dead
already so far exceeds that of the living, and the dead multiply and the
living dwindle at so swift a rate. Conceive how the remnant huddles
about the embers of the fire of life; even as old Red Indians, deserted
on the march and in the snow, the kindly tribe all gone, the last flame
expiring, and the night around populous with wolves.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] In English usually written "taboo": "tapu" is the correct Tahitian
form.--[ED.]
CHAPTER V
DEPOPULATION
Over the whole extent of the South Seas, from one tropic to another, we
find traces of a bygone state of over-population, when the resources of
even a tropical soil were taxed, and even the improvident Polynesian
trembled for the future. We may accept some of the ideas of Mr. Darwin's
theory of coral islands, and suppose a rise of the sea, or the
subsidence of some former continental area, to have driven into the tops
of the mountains multitudes of refugees. Or we may suppose, more
soberly, a people of sea-rovers, emigrants from a crowded country, to
strike upon and settle island after island, and as time went on to
multiply exceedingly in their new seats. In either case the end must be
the same; soon or late it must grow apparent that the crew are too
numerous, and that famine is at hand. The Polynesians met this emergent
danger with various expedients of activity and prevention. A way was
found to preserve breadfruit by packing it in artificial pits; pits
forty feet in depth and of proportionate bore are still to be seen, I am
told, in the Marquesas; and yet even these were insufficient for the
teeming people, and the annals of the past are gloomy with famine and
cannibalism. Among the Hawaiians--a hardier people, in a more exacting
climate--agriculture was carried far; the land was irrigated with
canals; and the fish-ponds of Molokai prove the number and diligence of
the old inhabitants. Meanwhile, over all the island world, abortion and
infanticide prevailed. On coral atolls, where the danger was most
plainly obvious, these were enforced by law and sanctioned by
punishment. On Vaitupu, in the Ellices, only two children were allowed
to a couple; on Nukufetau, but one. On the latter the punishment was by
fine; and it is related that the fine was sometimes paid, and the child
spared.
This is characteristic. For no people in the world are so fond or so
long-suffering with children--children make the mirth and the adornment
of their homes, serving them for playthings and for picture-galleries.
"Happy is the man that has his quiver full of them." The stray bastard
is contended for by rival families; and the natural and the adopted
children play and grow up together undistinguished. The spoiling, and I
may almost say the deification, of the child, is nowhere carried so far
as in the eastern islands; and furthest, according to my opportunities
of observation, in the Paumotu group, the so-called Low or Dangerous
Archipelago. I have seen a Paumotuan native turn from me with
embarrassment and disaffection because I suggested that a brat would be
the better for a beating. It is a daily matter in some eastern islands
to see a child strike or even stone its mother, and the mother, so far
from punishing, scarce ventures to resist. In some, when his child was
born, a chief was superseded and resigned his name; as though, like a
drone, he had then fulfilled the occasion of his being. And in some the
lightest words of children had the weight of oracles. Only the other
day, in the Marquesas, if a child conceived a distaste to any stranger,
I am assured the stranger would be slain. And I shall have to tell in
another place an instance of the opposite: how a child in Manihiki
having taken a fancy to myself, her adoptive parents at once accepted
the situation and loaded me with gifts.
With such sentiments the necessity for child destruction would not fail
to clash, and I believe we find the trace of divided feeling in the
Tahitian brotherhood of Oro. At a certain date a new god was added to
the Society-Island Olympus, or an old one refurbished and made popular.
Oro was his name, and he may be compared with the Bacchus of the
ancients. His zealots sailed from bay to bay, and from island to
island; they were everywhere received with feasting; wore fine clothes,
sang, danced, acted; gave exhibitions of dexterity and strength; and
were the artists, the acrobats, the bards, and the harlots of the group.
Their life was public and epicurean; their initiation a mystery; and the
highest in the land aspired to join the brotherhood. If a couple stood
next in line to a high-chieftaincy, they were suffered, on grounds of
policy, to spare one child; all other children, who had a father or a
mother in the company of Oro, stood condemned from the moment of
conception. A freemasonry, an agnostic sect, a company of artists, its
members all under oath to spread unchastity, and all forbidden to leave
offspring--I do not know how it may appear to others, but to me the
design seems obvious. Famine menacing the islands, and the needful
remedy repulsive, it was recommended to the native mind by these
trappings of mystery, pleasure, and parade. This is the more probable,
and the secret, serious purpose of the institution appears the more
plainly, if it be true, that after a certain period of life, the
obligation of the votary was changed; at first, bound to be profligate;
afterwards, expected to be chaste.
Here, then, we have one side of the case. Man-eating among kindly men,
child-murder among child-lovers, industry in a race the most idle,
invention in a race the least progressive, this grim, pagan
salvation-army of the brotherhood of Oro, the report of early voyagers,
the widespread vestiges of former habitation, and the universal
tradition of the islands, all point to the same fact of former crowding
and alarm. And to-day we are face to face with the reverse. To-day in
the Marquesas, in the Eight Islands of Hawaii, in Mangareva, in Easter
Island, we find the same race perishing like flies. Why this change? Or,
grant that the coming of the whites, the change of habits, and the
introduction of new maladies and vices, fully explain the depopulation,
why is that depopulation not universal? The population of Tahiti, after
a period of alarming decrease, has again become stationary. I hear of a
similar result among some Maori tribes; in many of the Paumotus a slight
increase is to be observed; and the Samoans are to-day as healthy and at
least as fruitful as before the change. Grant that the Tahitians, the
Maoris, and the Paumotuans have become inured to the new conditions; and
what are we to make of the Samoans, who have never suffered?
Those who are acquainted only with a single group are apt to be ready
with solutions. Thus I have heard the mortality of the Maoris attributed
to their change of residence--from fortified hill-tops to the low,
marshy vicinity of their plantations. How plausible! And yet the
Marquesans are dying out in the same houses where their fathers
multiplied. Or take opium. The Marquesas and Hawaii are the two groups
the most infected with this vice; the population of the one is the most
civilised, that of the other by far the most barbarous, of Polynesians;
and they are two of those that perish the most rapidly. Here is a strong
case against opium. But let us take unchastity, and we shall find the
Marquesas and Hawaii figuring again upon another count. Thus, Samoans
are the most chaste of Polynesians, and they are to this day entirely
fertile; Marquesans are the most debauched: we have seen how they are
perishing; Hawaiians are notoriously lax, and they begin to be dotted
among deserts. So here is a case stronger still against chastity; and
here also we have a correction to apply. Whatever the virtues of the
Tahitian, neither friend nor enemy dares call him chaste; and yet he
seems to have outlived the time of danger. One last example: syphilis
has been plausibly credited with much of the sterility. But the Samoans
are, by all accounts, as fruitful as at first; by some accounts more so;
and it is not seriously to be argued that the Samoans have escaped
syphilis.
These examples show how dangerous it is to reason from any particular
cause, or even from many in a single group. I have in my eye an able
and amiable pamphlet by the Rev. S.E. Bishop: "Why are the Hawaiians
Dying Out?" Any one interested in the subject ought to read this tract,
which contains real information; and yet Mr. Bishop's views would have
been changed by an acquaintance with other groups. Samoa is, for the
moment, the main and the most instructive exception to the rule. The
people are the most chaste, and one of the most temperate of island
peoples. They have never been tried and depressed with any grave
pestilence. Their clothing has scarce been tampered with; at the simple
and becoming tabard of the girls, Tartuffe, in many another island,
would have cried out; for the cool, healthy, and modest lavalava or
kilt, Tartuffe has managed in many another island to substitute stifling
and inconvenient trousers. Lastly, and perhaps chiefly, so far from
their amusements having been curtailed, I think they have been, upon the
whole, extended. The Polynesian falls easily into despondency:
bereavement, disappointment, the fear of novel visitations, the decay or
proscription of ancient pleasures, easily incline him to be sad; and
sadness detaches him from life. The melancholy of the Hawaiian and the
emptiness of his new life are striking; and the remark is yet more
apposite to the Marquesas. In Samoa, on the other hand, perpetual song
and dance, perpetual games, journeys, and pleasures, make an animated
and a smiling picture of the island life. And the Samoans are to-day the
gayest and the best entertained inhabitants of our planet. The
importance of this can scarcely be exaggerated. In a climate and upon a
soil where a livelihood can be had for the stooping, entertainment is a
prime necessity. It is otherwise with us, where life presents us with a
daily problem, and there is a serious interest, and some of the heat of
conflict, in the mere continuing to be. So, in certain atolls, where
there is no great gaiety, but man must bestir himself with some vigour
for his daily bread, public health and the population are maintained;
but in the lotos islands, with the decay of pleasures, life itself
decays. It is from this point of view that we may instance, among other
causes of depression, the decay of war. We have been so long used in
Europe to that dreary business of war on the great scale, trailing
epidemics and leaving pestilential corpses in its train, that we have
almost forgotten its original, the most healthful, if not the most
humane, of all field sports--hedge-warfare. From this, as well as from
the rest of his amusements and interests, the islander, upon a hundred
islands, has been recently cut off. And to this, as well as to so many
others, the Samoan still makes good a special title.
Upon the whole, the problem seems to me to stand thus:--Where there have
been fewest changes, important or unimportant, salutary or hurtful,
there the race survives. Where there have been most, important or
unimportant, salutary or hurtful, there it perishes. Each change,
however small, augments the sum of new conditions to which the race has
to become inured. There may seem, _a priori_, no comparison between the
change from "sour toddy" to bad gin, and that from the island kilt to a
pair of European trousers. Yet I am far from persuaded that the one is
any more hurtful than the other; and the unaccustomed race will
sometimes die of pin-pricks. We are here face to face with one of the
difficulties of the missionary. In Polynesian islands he easily obtains
pre-eminent authority; the king becomes his _maire du palais_; he can
proscribe, he can command; and the temptation is ever towards too much.
Thus (by all accounts) the Catholics in Mangareva, and thus (to my own
knowledge) the Protestants in Hawaii, have rendered life in a more or
less degree unliveable to their converts. And the mild, uncomplaining
creatures (like children in a prison) yawn and await death. It is easy
to blame the missionary. But it is his business to make changes. It is
surely his business, for example, to prevent war; and yet I have
instanced war itself as one of the elements of health. On the other
hand, it were perhaps, easy for the missionary to proceed more gently,
and to regard every change as an affair of weight. I take the average
missionary; I am sure I do him no more than justice when I suppose that
he would hesitate to bombard a village, even in order to convert an
archipelago. Experience begins to show us (at least in Polynesian
islands) that change of habit is bloodier than a bombardment.
There is one point, ere I have done, where I may go to meet criticism. I
have said nothing of faulty hygiene, bathing during fevers, mistaken
treatment of children, native doctoring, or abortion--all causes
frequently adduced. And I have said nothing of them because they are
conditions common to both epochs, and even more efficient in the past
than in the present. Was it not the same with unchastity, it may be
asked? Was not the Polynesian always unchaste? Doubtless he was so
always: doubtless he is more so since the coming of his remarkably
chaste visitors from Europe. Take the Hawaiian account of Cook: I have
no doubt it is entirely fair. Take Krusenstern's candid, almost
innocent, description of a Russian man-of-war at the Marquesas; consider
the disgraceful history of missions in Hawaii itself, where (in the war
of lust) the American missionaries were once shelled by an English
adventurer, and once raided and mishandled by the crew of an American
warship; add the practice of whaling fleets to call at the Marquesas,
and carry off a complement of women for the cruise; consider, besides,
how the whites were at first regarded in the light of demi-gods, as
appears plainly in the reception of Cook upon Hawaii; and again, in the
story of the discovery of Tutuila, when the really decent women of Samoa
prostituted themselves in public to the French; and bear in mind how it
was the custom of the adventurers, and we may almost say the business of
the missionaries, to deride and infract even the most salutary tapus.
Here we see every engine of dissolution directed at once against a
virtue never and nowhere very strong or popular; and the result, even
in the most degraded islands, has been further degradation. Mr. Lawes,
the missionary of Savage Island, told me the standard of female chastity
had declined there since the coming of the whites. In heathen time, if a
girl gave birth to a bastard, her father or brother would dash the
infant down the cliffs; and to-day the scandal would be small. Or take
the Marquesas. Stanislao Moanatini told me that in his own recollection
the young were strictly guarded; they were not suffered so much as to
look upon one another in the street, but passed (so my informant put it)
like dogs; and the other day the whole school-children of Nuka-hiva and
Ua-pu escaped in a body to the woods, and lived there for a fortnight in
promiscuous liberty. Readers of travels may perhaps exclaim at my
authority, and declare themselves better informed. I should prefer the
statement of an intelligent native like Stanislao (even if it stood
alone, which it is far from doing) to the report of the most honest
traveller. A ship of war comes to a haven, anchors, lands a party,
receives and returns a visit, and the captain writes a chapter on the
manners of the island. It is not considered what class is mostly seen.
Yet we should not be pleased if a Lascar foremast hand were to judge
England by the ladies who parade Ratcliffe Highway, and the gentlemen
who share with them their hire. Stanislao's opinion of a decay of virtue
even in these unvirtuous islands has been supported to me by others; his
very example, the progress of dissolution amongst the young, is adduced
by Mr. Bishop in Hawaii. And so far as Marquesans are concerned, we
might have hazarded a guess of some decline in manners. I do not think
that any race could ever have prospered or multiplied with such as now
obtain; I am sure they would have been never at the pains to count
paternal kinship. It is not possible to give details; suffice it that
their manners appear to be imitated from the dreams of ignorant and
vicious children, and their debauches persevered in until energy,
reason, and almost life itself are in abeyance.
CHAPTER VI
CHIEFS AND TAPUS
We used to admire exceedingly the bland and gallant manners of the chief
called Taipi-Kikino. An elegant guest at table, skilled in the use of
knife and fork, a brave figure when he shouldered a gun and started for
the woods after wild chickens, always serviceable, always ingratiating
and gay, I would sometimes wonder where he found his cheerfulness. He
had enough to sober him, I thought, in his official budget. His
expenses--for he was always seen attired in virgin white--must have by
far exceeded his income of six dollars in the year, or say two shillings
a month. And he was himself a man of no substance; his house the poorest
in the village. It was currently supposed that his elder brother,
Kauanui, must have helped him out. But how comes it that the elder
brother should succeed to the family estate, and be a wealthy commoner,
and the younger be a poor man, and yet rule as chief in Anaho? That the
one should be wealthy and the other almost indigent is probably to be
explained by some adoption; for comparatively few children are brought
up in the house or succeed to the estates of their natural begetters.
That the one should be chief instead of the other must be explained (in
a very Irish fashion) on the ground that neither of them is a chief at
all.
Since the return and the wars of the French, many chiefs have been
deposed, and many so-called chiefs appointed. We have seen, in the same
house, one such upstart drinking in the company of two such extruded
island Bourbons, men, whose word a few years ago was life and death,
now sunk to be peasants like their neighbours. So when the French
overthrew hereditary tyrants, dubbed the commons of the Marquesas
freeborn citizens of the republic, and endowed them with a vote for a
_conseiller-général_ at Tahiti, they probably conceived themselves upon
the path to popularity; and so far from that, they were revolting public
sentiment. The deposition of the chiefs was perhaps sometimes needful;
the appointment of others may have been needful also; it was at least a
delicate business. The Government of George II. exiled many Highland
magnates. It never occurred to them to manufacture substitutes; and if
the French have been more bold, we have yet to see with what success.
Our chief at Anaho was always called, he always called himself,
Taipi-Kikino; and yet that was not his name, but only the wand of his
false position. As soon as he was appointed chief, his name--which
signified, if I remember exactly, _Prince born among flowers_--fell in
abeyance, and he was dubbed instead by the expressive byword,
Taipi-Kikino--_Highwater man-of-no-account_--or, Englishing more boldly,
_Beggar on horseback_--a witty and a wicked cut. A nickname in Polynesia
destroys almost the memory of the original name. To-day, if we were
Polynesians, Gladstone would be no more heard of. We should speak of and
address our Nestor as the Grand Old Man, and it is so that himself would
sign his correspondence. Not the prevalence, then, but the significancy
of the nickname is to be noted here. The new authority began with small
prestige. Taipi has now been some time in office; from all I saw he
seemed a person very fit. He is not the least unpopular, and yet his
power is nothing. He is a chief to the French, and goes to breakfast
with the Resident; but for any practical end of chieftaincy a rag doll
were equally efficient.
We had been but three days in Anaho when we received the visit of the
chief of Hatiheu, a man of weight and fame, late leader of a war upon
the French, late prisoner in Tahiti, and the last eater of long-pig in
Nuka-hiva. Not many years have elapsed since he was seen striding on the
beach of Anaho, a dead man's arm across his shoulder. "So does Kooamua
to his enemies!" he roared to the passers-by, and took a bite from the
raw flesh. And now behold this gentleman, very wisely replaced in office
by the French, paying us a morning visit in European clothes. He was the
man of the most character we had yet seen: his manners genial and
decisive, his person tall, his face rugged, astute, formidable, and with
a certain similarity to Mr. Gladstone's only for the brownness of the
skin, and the high-chief's tattooing, all one side and much of the other
being of an even blue. Further acquaintance increased our opinion of his
sense. He viewed the _Casco_ in a manner then quite new to us, examining
her lines and the running of the gear; to a piece of knitting on which
one of the party was engaged, he must have devoted ten minutes' patient
study; nor did he desist before he had divined the principles; and he
was interested even to excitement by a type-writer, which he learned to
work. When he departed he carried away with him a list of his family,
with his own name printed by his own hand at the bottom. I should add
that he was plainly much of a humorist, and not a little of a humbug. He
told us, for instance, that he was a person of exact sobriety; such
being the obligation of his high estate: the commons might be sots, but
the chief could not stoop so low. And not many days after he was to be
observed in a state of smiling and lop-sided imbecility, the _Casco_
ribbon upside down on his dishonoured hat.
But his business that morning in Anaho is what concerns us here. The
devil-fish, it seems, were growing scarce upon the reef; it was judged
fit to interpose what we should call a close season; for that end, in
Polynesia, a tapu (vulgarly spelt "taboo") has to be declared, and who
was to declare it? Taipi might; he ought; it was a chief part of his
duty; but would any one regard the inhibition of a Beggar on Horseback?
He might plant palm branches: it did not in the least follow that the
spot was sacred. He might recite the spell: it was shrewdly supposed the
spirits would not hearken. And so the old, legitimate cannibal must ride
over the mountains to do it for him; and the respectable official in
white clothes could but look on and envy. At about the same time, though
in a different manner, Kooamua established a forest law. It was observed
the coco-palms were suffering, for the plucking of green nuts
impoverishes and at last endangers the tree. Now Kooamua could tapu the
reef, which was public property, but he could not tapu other people's
palms; and the expedient adopted was interesting. He tapu'd his own
trees, and his example was imitated over all Hatiueu and Anaho. I fear
Taipi might have tapu'd all that he possessed and found none to follow
him. So much for the esteem in which the dignity of an appointed chief
is held by others; a single circumstance will show what he thinks of it
himself. I never met one, but he took an early opportunity to explain
his situation. True, he was only an appointed chief when I beheld him;
but somewhere else, perhaps upon some other isle, he was a chieftain by
descent: upon which ground, he asked me (so to say it) to excuse his
mushroom honours.
It will be observed with surprise that both these tapus are for
thoroughly sensible ends. With surprise, I say, because the nature of
that institution is much misunderstood in Europe. It is taken usually in
the sense of a meaningless or wanton prohibition, such as that which
to-day prevents women in some countries from smoking, or yesterday
prevented any one in Scotland from taking a walk on Sunday. The error is
no less natural than it is unjust. The Polynesians have not been trained
in the bracing, practical thought of ancient Rome; with them the idea of
law has not been disengaged from that of morals or propriety; so that
tapu has to cover the whole field, and implies indifferently that an act
is criminal, immoral, against sound public policy, unbecoming or (as we
say) "not in good form." Many tapus were in consequence absurd enough,
such as those which deleted words out of the language, and particularly
those which related to women, Tapu encircled women upon all hands. Many
things were forbidden to men; to women we may say that few were
permitted. They must not sit on the paepae; they must not go up to it by
the stair; they must not eat pork; they must not approach a boat; they
must not cook at a fire which any male had kindled. The other day, after
the roads were made, it was observed the women plunged along the margin
through the bush, and when they came to a bridge waded through the
water: roads and bridges were the work of men's hands, and tapu for the
foot of women. Even a man's saddle, if the man be native, is a thing no
self-respecting lady dares to use. Thus on the Anaho side of the island,
only two white men, Mr. Regler and the gendarme, M. Aussel, possess
saddles: and when a woman has a journey to make she must borrow from one
or other. It will be noticed that these prohibitions tend, most of them,
to an increased reserve between the sexes. Regard for female chastity is
the usual excuse for these disabilities that men delight to lay upon
their wives and mothers. Here the regard is absent; and behold the women
still bound hand and foot with meaningless proprieties! The women
themselves, who are survivors of the old regimen, admit that in those
days life was not worth living. And yet even then there were exceptions.
There were female chiefs and (I am assured) priestesses besides; nice
customs curtseyed to great dames, and in the most sacred enclosure of a
High Place, Father Siméon Delmar was shown a stone, and told it was the
throne of some well-descended lady. How exactly parallel is this with
European practice, when princesses were suffered to penetrate the
strictest cloister, and women could rule over a land in which they were
denied the control of their own children.
But the tapu is more often the instrument of wise and needful
restrictions. We have seen it as the organ of paternal government. It
serves besides to enforce, in the rare case of some one wishing to
enforce them, rights of private property. Thus a man, weary of the
coming and going of Marquesan visitors, tapu's his door; and to this day
you may see the palm-branch signal, even as our great-grandfathers saw
the peeled wand before a Highland inn. Or take another case. Anaho is
known as "the country without popoi." The word popoi serves in different
islands to indicate the main food of the people; thus, in Hawaii, it
implies a preparation of taro; in the Marquesas, of breadfruit. And a
Marquesan does not readily conceive life possible without his favourite
diet. A few years ago a drought killed the breadfruit trees and the
bananas in the district of Anaho; and from this calamity, and the
open-handed customs of the island, a singular state of things arose.
Well-watered Hatiheu had escaped the drought; every householder of Anaho
accordingly crossed the pass, chose some one in Hatiheu, "gave him his
name"--an onerous gift, but one not to be rejected--and from this
improvised relative proceeded to draw his supplies, for all the world as
though he had paid for them. Hence a continued traffic on the road. Some
stalwart fellow, in a loin-cloth, and glistening with sweat, may be seen
at all hours of the day, a stick across his bare shoulders, tripping
nervously under a double burthen of green fruits. And on the far side of
the gap a dozen stone posts on the wayside in the shadow of a grove mark
the breathing-place of the popoi-carriers. A little back from the
breach, and not half a mile from Anaho, I was the more amazed to find a
cluster of well-doing breadfruits heavy with their harvest. "Why do you
not take these?" I asked. "Tapu," said Hoka; and I thought to myself
(after the manner of dull travellers) what children and fools these
people were to toil over the mountain and despoil innocent neighbours
when the staff of life was thus growing at their door. I was the more in
error. In the general destruction these surviving trees were enough only
for the family of the proprietor, and by the simple expedient of
declaring a tapu he enforced his right.
The sanction of the tapu is superstitious; and the punishment of
infraction either a wasting or a deadly sickness. A slow disease follows
on the eating of tapu fish, and can only be cured with the bones of the
same fish burned with the due mysteries. The cocoa-nut and breadfruit
tapu works more swiftly. Suppose you have eaten tapu fruit at the
evening meal, at night your sleep will be uneasy; in the morning,
swelling and a dark discoloration will have attacked your neck, whence
they spread upward to the face; and in two days, unless the cure be
interjected, you must die. This cure is prepared from the rubbed leaves
of the tree from which the patient stole; so that he cannot be saved
without confessing to the Tahuku the person whom he wronged. In the
experience of my informant, almost no tapu had been put in use, except
the two described: he had thus no opportunity to learn the nature and
operation of the others; and, as the art of making them was jealously
guarded amongst the old men, he believed the mystery would soon die out.
I should add that he was no Marquesan, but a Chinaman, a resident in the
group from boyhood, and a reverent believer in the spells which he
described. White men, amongst whom Ah Fu included himself, were exempt;
but he had a tale of a Tahitian woman, who had come to the Marquesas,
eaten tapu fish, and, although uninformed of her offence and danger, had
been afflicted and cured exactly like a native.
Doubtless the belief is strong; doubtless, with this weakly and fanciful
race, it is in many cases strong enough to kill; it should be strong
indeed in those who tapu their trees secretly, so that they may detect a
depredator by his sickness. Or, perhaps, we should understand the idea
of the hidden tapu otherwise, as a politic device to spread uneasiness
and extort confessions: so that, when a man is ailing, he shall ransack
his brain for any possible offence, and send at once for any proprietor
whose rights he has invaded. "Had you hidden a tapu?" we may conceive
him asking: and I cannot imagine the proprietor gainsaying it; and that
is perhaps the strangest feature of the system--that it should be
regarded from without with such a mental and implicit awe, and, when
examined from within, should present so many apparent evidences of
design.
We read in Dr. Campbell's "Poenamo" of a New Zealand girl, who was
foolishly told that she had eaten a tapu yam, and who instantly
sickened, and died in the two days of simple terror. The period is the
same as in the Marquesas; doubtless the symptoms were so too. How
singular to consider that a superstition of such sway is possibly a
manufactured article; and that, even if it were not originally invented,
its details have plainly been arranged by the authorities of some
Polynesian Scotland Yard. Fitly enough, the belief is to-day--and was
probably always--far from universal. Hell at home is a strong deterrent
with some; a passing thought with others; with others, again, a theme of
public mockery, not always well assured; and so in the Marquesas with
the tapu. Mr. Regler has seen the two extremes of scepticism and
implicit fear. In the tapu grove he found one fellow stealing
breadfruit, cheerful and impudent as a street arab; and it was only on a
menace of exposure that he showed himself the least discountenanced. The
other case was opposed in every point. Mr. Regler asked a native to
accompany him upon a voyage; the man went gladly enough, but suddenly
perceiving a dead tapu fish in the bottom of the boat, leaped back with
a scream; nor could the promise of a dollar prevail upon him to advance.
The Marquesan, it will be observed, adheres to the old idea of the local
circumscription of beliefs and duties. Not only are the whites exempt
from consequences; but their transgressions seem to be viewed without
horror. It was Mr. Regler who had killed the fish; yet the devout native
was not shocked at Mr. Regler--only refused to join him in his boat. A
white is a white: the servant (so to speak) of other and more liberal
gods; and not to be blamed if he profit by his liberty. The Jews were
perhaps the first to interrupt this ancient comity of faiths; and the
Jewish virus is still strong in Christianity. All the world must respect
our tapus, or we gnash our teeth.
CHAPTER VII
HATIHEU
The bays of Anaho and Hatiheu are divided at their roots by the
knife-edge of a single hill--the pass so often mentioned; but this
isthmus expands to the seaward in a considerable peninsula: very bare
and grassy; haunted by sheep, and, at night and morning, by the piercing
cries of the shepherds; wandered over by a few wild goats; and on its
sea-front indented with long, clamorous caves, and faced with cliffs of
the colour and ruinous outline of an old peat-stack. In one of these
echoing and sunless gullies we saw, clustered like sea-birds on a
splashing ledge, shrill as sea-birds in their salutation to the passing
boat, a group of fisherwomen, stripped to their gaudy underclothes. (The
clash of the surf and the thin female voices echo in my memory.) We had
that day a native crew and steersman, Kauanui; it was our first
experience of Polynesian seamanship, which consists in hugging every
point of land. There is no thought in this of saving time, for they will
pull a long way in to skirt a point that is embayed. It seems that, as
they can never get their houses near enough the surf upon the one side,
so they can never get their boats near enough upon the other. The
practice in bold water is not so dangerous as it looks--the reflex from
the rocks sending the boat off. Near beaches with a heavy run of sea, I
continue to think it very hazardous, and find the composure of the
natives annoying to behold. We took unmingled pleasure, on the way out,
to see so near at hand the beach and the wonderful colours of the surf.
On the way back, when the sea had risen and was running strong against
us, the fineness of the steersman's aim grew more embarrassing. As we
came abreast of the sea-front, where the surf broke highest, Kauanui
embraced the occasion to light his pipe, which then made the circuit of
the boat--each man taking a whiff or two, and, ere he passed it on,
filling his lungs and cheeks with smoke. Their faces were all puffed out
like apples as we came abreast of the cliff foot, and the bursting surge
fell back into the boat in showers. At the next point "cocanetti" was
the word, and the stroke borrowed my knife, and desisted from his
labours to open nuts. These untimely indulgences may be compared to the
tot of grog served out before a ship goes into action.
My purpose in this visit led me first to the boys' school, for Hatiheu
is the university of the north islands. The hum of the lesson came out
to meet us. Close by the door, where the draught blew coolest, sat the
lay brother; around him, in a packed half-circle, some sixty
high-coloured faces set with staring eyes; and in the background of the
barn-like room benches were to be seen, and blackboards with sums on
them in chalk. The brother rose to greet us, sensibly humble. Thirty
years he had been there, he said, and fingered his white locks as a
bashful child pulls out his pinafore. "_Et point de résultats, monsieur,
presque pas de résultats._" He pointed to the scholars: "You see, sir,
all the youth of Nuka-hiva and Ua-pu. Between the ages of six and
fifteen this is all that remains; and it is but a few years since we had
a hundred and twenty from Nuka-hiva alone. _Oui, monsieur, cela se
dépérit._" Prayers, and reading and writing, prayers again and
arithmetic, and more prayers to conclude: such appeared to be the dreary
nature of the course. For arithmetic all island people have a natural
taste. In Hawaii they make good progress in mathematics. In one of the
villages on Majuro, and generally in the Marshall group, the whole
population sit about the trader when he is weighing copra, and each on
his own slate takes down the figures and computes the total. The
trader, finding them so apt, introduced fractions, for which they had
been taught no rule. At first they were quite gravelled, but ultimately,
by sheer hard thinking, reasoned out the result, and came one after
another to assure the trader he was right. Not many people in Europe
could have done the like. The course at Hatiheu is therefore less
dispiriting to Polynesians than a stranger might have guessed; and yet
how bald it is at best! I asked the brother if he did not tell them
stories, and he stared at me; if he did not teach them history, and he
said, "O yes, they had a little Scripture history--from the New
Testament"; and repeated his lamentations over the lack of results. I
had not the heart to put more questions; I could but say it must be very
discouraging, and resist the impulse to add that it seemed also very
natural. He looked up--"My days are far spent," he said; "heaven awaits
me." May that heaven forgive me, but I was angry with the old man and
his simple consolation. For think of his opportunity! The youth, from
six to fifteen, are taken from their homes by Government, centralised at
Hatiheu, where they are supported by a weekly tax of food; and, with the
exception of one month in every year, surrendered wholly to the
direction of the priests. Since the escapade already mentioned the
holiday occurs at a different period for the girls and for the boys; so
that a Marquesan brother and sister meet again, after their education is
complete, a pair of strangers. It is a harsh law, and highly unpopular;
but what a power it places in the hands of the instructors, and how
languidly and dully is that power employed by the mission! Too much
concern to make the natives pious, a design in which they all confess
defeat, is, I suppose, the explanation of their miserable system. But
they might see in the girls' school at Tai-o-hae, under the brisk,
housewifely sisters, a different picture of efficiency, and a scene of
neatness, airiness, and spirited and mirthful occupation that should
shame them into cheerier methods. The sisters themselves lament their
failure. They complain the annual holiday undoes the whole year's work;
they complain particularly of the heartless indifference of the girls.
Out of so many pretty and apparently affectionate pupils whom they have
taught and reared, only two have ever returned to pay a visit of
remembrance to their teachers. These, indeed, come regularly, but the
rest, so soon as their school-days are over, disappear into the woods
like captive insects. It is hard to imagine anything more discouraging;
and yet I do not believe these ladies need despair. For a certain
interval they keep the girls alive and innocently busy; and if it be at
all possible to save the race, this would be the means. No such praise
can be given to the boys' school at Hatiheu. The day is numbered already
for them all; alike for the teacher and the scholars death is girt; he
is afoot upon the march; and in the frequent interval they sit and yawn.
But in life there seems a thread of purpose through the least
significant; the drowsiest endeavour is not lost, and even the school at
Hatiheu may be more useful than it seems.
Hatiheu is a place of some pretensions. The end of the bay towards Anaho
may be called the civil compound, for it boasts the house of Kooamua,
and close on the beach, under a great tree, that of the gendarme, M.
Armand Aussel, with his garden, his pictures, his books, and his
excellent table, to which strangers are made welcome. No more singular
contrast is possible than between the gendarmerie and the priesthood,
who are besides in smouldering opposition and full of mutual complaints.
A priest's kitchen in the eastern islands is a depressing spot to see;
and many, or most of them, make no attempt to keep a garden, sparsely
subsisting on their rations. But you will never dine with a gendarme
without smacking your lips; and M. Aussel's home-made sausage and the
salad from his garden are unforgotten delicacies. Pierre Loti may like
to know that he is M. Aussel's favourite author, and that his books are
read in the fit scenery of Hatiheu Bay.
The other end is all religious. It is here that an overhanging and
tip-tilted horn, a good sea-mark for Hatiheu, bursts naked from the
verdure of the climbing forest, and breaks down shoreward in steep
taluses and cliffs. From the edge of one of the highest, perhaps seven
hundred or a thousand feet above the beach, a Virgin looks
insignificantly down, like a poor lost doll, forgotten there by a giant
child. This laborious symbol of the Catholics is always strange to
Protestants; we conceive with wonder that men should think it worth
while to toil so many days, and clamber so much about the face of
precipices, for an end that makes us smile; and yet I believe it was the
wise Bishop Dordillon who chose the place, and I know that those who had
a hand in the enterprise look back with pride upon its vanquished
dangers. The boys' school is a recent importation; it was at first in
Tai-o-hae, beside the girls'; and it was only of late, after their joint
escapade, that the width of the island was interposed between the sexes.
But Hatiheu must have been a place of missionary importance from before.
About midway of the beach no less than three churches stand grouped in a
patch of bananas, intermingled with some pine-apples. Two are of wood:
the original church, now in disuse; and a second that, for some
mysterious reason, has never been used. The new church is of stone, with
twin towers, walls flangeing into buttresses, and sculptured front. The
design itself is good, simple, and shapely; but the character is all in
the detail, where the architect has bloomed into the sculptor. It is
impossible to tell in words of the angels (although they are more like
winged archbishops) that stand guard upon the door, of the cherubs in
the corners, of the scapegoat gargoyles, or the quaint and spirited
relief, where St. Michael (the artist's patron) makes short work of a
protesting Lucifer. We were never weary of viewing the imagery, so
innocent, sometimes so funny, and yet in the best sense--in the sense of
inventive gusto and expression--so artistic. I know not whether it was
more strange to find a building of such merit in a corner of a
barbarous isle, or to see a building so antique still bright with
novelty. The architect, a French lay brother, still alive and well, and
meditating fresh foundations, must have surely drawn his descent from a
master-builder in the age of the cathedrals; and it was in looking on
the church of Hatiheu that I seemed to perceive the secret charm of
mediæval sculpture; that combination of the childish courage of the
amateur, attempting all things, like the schoolboy on his slate, with
the manly perseverance of the artist who does not know when he is
conquered.
I had always afterwards a strong wish to meet the architect, Brother
Michel; and one day, when I was talking with the Resident in Tai-o-hae
(the chief port of the island), there were shown in to us an old, worn,
purblind, ascetic-looking priest, and a lay brother, a type of all that
is most sound in France, with a broad, clever, honest, humorous
countenance, an eye very large and bright, and a strong and healthy body
inclining to obesity. But that his blouse was black and his face shaven
clean, you might pick such a man to-day, toiling cheerfully in his own
patch of vines, from half a dozen provinces of France; and yet he had
always for me a haunting resemblance to an old kind friend of my
boyhood, whom I name in case any of my readers should share with me that
memory--Dr. Paul, of the West Kirk. Almost at the first word I was sure
it was my architect, and in a moment we were deep in a discussion of
Hatiheu church. Brother Michel spoke always of his labours with a
twinkle of humour, underlying which it was possible to spy a serious
pride, and the change from one to another was often very human and
diverting. "_Et vos gargouilles moyen-âge_," cried I; "_comme elles sont
originales!_" "_N'est-ce pas? Elles sont bien drôles!_" he said, smiling
broadly; and the next moment, with a sudden gravity: "_Cependant il y en
a une qui a une patte de cassé; il faut que je voie cela_." I asked if
he had any model--a point we much discussed. "_Non_," said he simply;
"_c'est une église idéale_." The relievo was his favourite performance,
and very justly so. The angels at the door, he owned, he would like to
destroy and replace. "_Ils n'ont pas de vie, ils manquent de vie. Vous
devriez voir mon église à la Dominique; j'ai là une Vierge qui est
vraiment gentille_." "Ah," I cried, "they told me you had said you would
never build another church, and I wrote in my journal I could not
believe it." "_Oui, j'aimerais bien en faire une autre,_" he confessed,
and smiled at the confession. An artist will understand how much I was
attracted by this conversation. There is no bond so near as a community
in that unaffected interest and slightly shamefaced pride which mark the
intelligent man enamoured of an art. He sees the limitations of his aim,
the defects of his practice; he smiles to be so employed upon the shores
of death, yet sees in his own devotion something worthy. Artists, if
they had the same sense of humour with the Augurs, would smile like them
on meeting, but the smile would not be scornful.
I had occasion to see much of this excellent man. He sailed with us from
Tai-o-hae to Hiva-oa, a dead beat of ninety miles against a heavy sea.
It was what is called a good passage, and a feather in the _Casco's_
cap; but among the most miserable forty hours that any one of us had
ever passed. We were swung and tossed together all that time like shot
in a stage thunder-box. The mate was thrown down and had his head cut
open; the captain was sick on deck; the cook sick in the galley. Of all
our party only two sat down to dinner. I was one. I own that I felt
wretchedly; and I can only say of the other, who professed to feel quite
well, that she fled at an early moment from the table. It was in these
circumstances that we skirted the windward shore of that indescribable
island of Ua-pu; viewing with dizzy eyes the coves, the capes, the
breakers, the climbing forests, and the inaccessible stone needles that
surmount the mountains. The place persists, in a dark corner of our
memories, like a piece of the scenery of nightmares. The end of this
distressful passage, where we were to land our passengers, was in a
similar vein of roughness. The surf ran high on the beach at Taahauku;
the boat broached-to and capsized; and all hands were submerged. Only
the brother himself, who was well used to the experience, skipped
ashore, by some miracle of agility, with scarce a sprinkling.
Thenceforward, during our stay at Hiva-oa, he was our cicerone and
patron; introducing us, taking us excursions, serving us in every way,
and making himself daily more beloved.
Michel Blanc had been a carpenter by trade; had made money and retired,
supposing his active days quite over: and it was only when he found
idleness dangerous that he placed his capital and acquirements at the
service of the mission. He became their carpenter, mason, architect, and
engineer; added sculpture to his accomplishments, and was famous for his
skill in gardening. He wore an enviable air of having found a port from
life's contentions and lying there strongly anchored; went about his
business with a jolly simplicity; complained of no lack of
results--perhaps shyly thinking his own statuary result enough; and was
altogether a pattern of the missionary layman.
CHAPTER VIII
THE PORT OF ENTRY
The port--the mart, the civil and religious capital of these rude
Islands--is called Tai-o-hae, and lies strung along the beach of a
precipitous green bay in Nuka-hiva. It was midwinter when we came
thither, and the weather was sultry, boisterous, and inconstant. Now the
wind blew squally from the land down gaps of splintered precipice; now,
between the sentinel islets of the entry, it came in gusts from seaward.
Heavy and dark clouds impended on the summits; the rain roared and
ceased; the scuppers of the mountain gushed; and the next day we would
see the sides of the amphitheatre bearded with white falls. Along the
beach the town shows a thin file of houses, mostly white, and all
ensconced in the foliage of an avenue of green puraos; a pier gives
access from the sea across the belt of breakers; to the eastward there
stands, on a projecting bushy hill, the old fort which is now the
calaboose, or prison; eastward still, alone in a garden, the Residency
flies the colours of France. Just off Calaboose Hill, the tiny
Government schooner rides almost permanently at anchor, marks eight
bells in the morning (there or thereabout) with the unfurling of her
flag, and salutes the setting sun with the report of a musket.
Here dwell together, and share the comforts of a club (which may be
enumerated as a billiard-board, absinthe, a map of the world on
Mercator's projection, and one of the most agreeable verandahs in the
tropics), a handful of whites of varying nationality, mostly French
officials, German and Scottish merchant clerks, and the agents of the
opium monopoly. There are besides three tavern-keepers, the shrewd Scot
who runs the cotton gin-mill, two white ladies, and a sprinkling of
people "on the beach"--a South Sea expression for which there is no
exact equivalent. It is a pleasant society, and a hospitable. But one
man, who was often to be seen seated on the logs at the pier-head,
merits a word for the singularity of his history and appearance. Long
ago, it seems, he fell in love with a native lady, a High Chiefess in
Ua-pu. She, on being approached, declared she could never marry a man
who was untattooed; it looked so naked; whereupon, with some greatness
of soul, our hero put himself in the hands of the Tahukus, and, with
still greater, persevered until the process was complete. He had
certainly to bear a great expense, for the Tahuku will not work without
reward; and certainly exquisite pain. Kooamua, high chief as he was, and
one of the old school, was only part tattooed; he could not, he told us
with lively pantomime, endure the torture to an end. Our enamoured
countryman was more resolved; he was tattooed from head to foot in the
most approved methods of the art: and at last presented himself before
his mistress a new man. The fickle fair one could never behold him from
that day except with laughter. For my part, I could never see the man
without a kind of admiration; of him it might be said, if ever of any,
that he had loved not wisely, but too well.
The Residency stands by itself, Calaboose Hill screening it from the
fringe of town along the further bay. The house is commodious, with wide
verandahs; all day it stands open, back and front, and the trade blows
copiously over its bare floors. On a week-day the garden offers a scene
of most untropical animation, half a dozen convicts toiling there
cheerfully with spade and barrow, and touching hats and smiling to the
visitor like old attached family servants. On Sunday these are gone, and
nothing to be seen but dogs of all ranks and sizes peacefully slumbering
in the shady grounds; for the dogs of Tai-o-hae are very
courtly-minded, and make the seat of Government their promenade and
place of siesta. In front and beyond, a strip of green down loses itself
in a low wood of many species of acacia; and deep in the wood a ruinous
wall encloses the cemetery of the Europeans. English and Scottish sleep
there, and Scandinavians, and French _maîtres de manoeuvres_ and
_maîtres ouvriers;_ mingling alien dust. Back in the woods perhaps, the
blackbird, or (as they call him there) the island nightingale, will be
singing home strains; and the ceaseless requiem of the surf hangs on the
ear. I have never seen a resting-place more quiet; but it was a long
thought how far these sleepers had all travelled, and from what diverse
homes they had set forth, to lie here in the end together.
On the summit of its promontory hill, the calaboose stands all day with
doors and window shutters open to the trade. On my first visit a dog was
the only guardian visible. He, indeed, rose with an attitude so menacing
that I was glad to lay hands on an old barrel-hoop; and I think the
weapon must have been familiar, for the champion instantly retreated,
and as I wandered round the court and through the building, I could see
him, with a couple of companions, humbly dodging me about the corners.
The prisoners' dormitory was a spacious, airy room, devoid of any
furniture; its whitewashed walls covered with inscriptions in Marquesan
and rude drawings: one of the pier, not badly done; one of a murder;
several of French soldiers in uniform. There was one legend in French:
"_Je n'est_" (sic) "_pas le sou_." From this noontide quietude it must
not be supposed the prison was untenanted; the calaboose at Tai-o-hae
does a good business. But some of its occupants were gardening at the
Residency, and the rest were probably at work upon the streets, as free
as our scavengers at home, although not so industrious. On the approach
of evening they would be called in like children from play; and the
harbour-master (who is also the gaoler) would go through the form of
locking them up until six the next morning. Should a prisoner have any
call in town, whether of pleasure or affairs, he has but to unhook the
window-shutter; and if he is back again, and the shutter decently
replaced, by the hour of call on the morrow, he may have met the
harbour-master in the avenue, and there will be no complaint, far less
any punishment. But this is not all. The charming French Resident, M.
Delaruelle, carried me one day to the calaboose on an official visit. In
the green court, a very ragged gentleman, his legs deformed with the
island elephantiasis, saluted us smiling. "One of our political
prisoners--an insurgent from Raiatea," said the Resident; and then to
the gaoler: "I thought I had ordered him a new pair of trousers."
Meanwhile no other convict was to be seen--"_Eh bien,_" said the
Resident, "_où sont vos prisonniers?_" "_Monsieur le Résident,_" replied
the gaoler, saluting with soldierly formality, "_comme c'est jour de
fête, je les ai laissé aller à la chasse._" They were all upon the
mountains hunting goats! Presently we came to the quarters of the women,
likewise deserted--"_Où sont vos bonnes femmes?_" asked the Resident;
and the gaoler cheerfully responded: "_Je crois, Monsieur le Résident,
qu'elles sont allées quelquepart faire une visite._" It had been the
design of M. Delaruelle, who was much in love with the whimsicalities of
his small realm, to elicit something comical; but not even he expected
anything so perfect as the last. To complete the picture of convict life
in Tai-o-hae, it remains to be added that these criminals draw a salary
as regularly as the President of the Republic. Ten sous a day is their
hire. Thus they have money, food, shelter, clothing, and, I was about to
write, their liberty. The French are certainly a good-natured people,
and make easy masters. They are besides inclined to view the Marquesans
with an eye of humorous indulgence. "They are dying, poor devils!" said
M. Delaruelle: "the main thing is to let them die in peace." And it was
not only well said, but I believe expressed the general thought. Yet
there is another element to be considered; for these convicts are not
merely useful, they are almost essential to the French existence. With a
people incurably idle, dispirited by what can only be called endemic
pestilence, and inflamed with ill-feeling against their new masters,
crime and convict labour are a godsend to the Government.
Theft is practically the sole crime. Originally petty pilferers, the men
of Tai-o-hae now begin to force locks and attack strong-boxes. Hundreds
of dollars have been taken at a time; though, with that redeeming
moderation so common in Polynesian theft, the Marquesan burglar will
always take a part and leave a part, sharing (so to speak) with the
proprietor. If it be Chilian coin--the island currency--he will escape;
if the sum is in gold, French silver, or bank-notes, the police wait
until the money begins to come in circulation, and then easily pick out
their man. And now comes the shameful part. In plain English, the
prisoner is tortured until he confesses and (if that be possible)
restores the money. To keep him alone, day and night, in the black hole,
is to inflict on the Marquesan torture inexpressible. Even his robberies
are carried on in the plain daylight, under the open sky, with the
stimulus of enterprise, and the countenance of an accomplice; his terror
of the dark is still insurmountable; conceive, then, what he endures in
his solitary dungeon; conceive how he longs to confess, become a
full-fledged convict, and be allowed to sleep beside his comrades. While
we were in Tai-o-hae a thief was under prevention. He had entered a
house about eight in the morning, forced a trunk, and stolen eleven
hundred francs; and now, under the horrors of darkness, solitude, and a
bedevilled cannibal imagination, he was reluctantly confessing and
giving up his spoil. From one cache, which he had already pointed out,
three hundred francs had been recovered, and it was expected that he
would presently disgorge the rest. This would be ugly enough if it were
all; but I am bound to say, because it is a matter the French should set
at rest, that worse is continually hinted. I heard that one man was
kept six days with his arms bound backward round a barrel; and it is the
universal report that every gendarme in the South Seas is equipped with
something in the nature of a thumb-screw. I do not know this. I never
had the face to ask any of the gendarmes--pleasant, intelligent, and
kindly fellows--with whom I have been intimate, and whose hospitality I
have enjoyed; and perhaps the tale reposes (as I hope it does) on a
misconstruction of that ingenious cat's-cradle with which the French
agent of police so readily secures a prisoner. But whether physical or
moral, torture is certainly employed; and by a barbarous injustice, the
state of accusation (in which a man may very well be innocently placed)
is positively painful; the state of conviction (in which all are
supposed guilty) is comparatively free, and positively pleasant. Perhaps
worse still,--not only the accused, but sometimes his wife, his
mistress, or his friend, is subjected to the same hardships. I was
admiring, in the tapu system, the ingenuity of native methods of
detection; there is not much to admire in those of the French, and to
lock up a timid child in a dark room, and, if he prove obstinate, lock
up his sister in the next, is neither novel nor humane.
The main occasion of these thefts is the new vice of opium-eating. "Here
nobody ever works, and all eat opium," said a gendarme; and Ah Fu knew a
woman who ate a dollar's worth in a day. The successful thief will give
a handful of money to each of his friends, a dress to a woman, pass an
evening in one of the taverns of Tai-o-hae, during which he treats all
comers, produce a big lump of opium, and retire to the bush to eat and
sleep it off. A trader, who did not sell opium, confessed to me that he
was at his wit's end. "I do not sell it, but others do," said he. "The
natives only work to buy it; if they walk over to me to sell their
cotton, they have just to walk over to some one else to buy their opium
with my money. And why should they be at the bother of two walks? There
is no use talking," he added--"opium is the currency of this country."
The man under prevention during my stay at Tai-o-hae lost patience while
the Chinese opium-seller was being examined in his presence. "Of course
he sold me opium!" he broke out; "all the Chinese here sell opium. It
was only to buy opium that I stole; it is only to buy opium that anybody
steals. And what you ought to do is to let no opium come here, and no
Chinamen." This is precisely what is done in Samoa by a native
Government; but the French have bound their own hands, and for forty
thousand francs sold native subjects to crime and death. This horrid
traffic may be said to have sprung up by accident. It was Captain Hart
who had the misfortune to be the means of beginning it, at a time when
his plantations flourished in the Marquesas, and he found a difficulty
in keeping Chinese coolies. To-day the plantations are practically
deserted and the Chinese gone; but in the meanwhile the natives have
learned the vice, the patent brings in a round sum, and the needy
Government at Papeete shut their eyes and open their pockets. Of course
the patentee is supposed to sell to Chinamen alone; equally of course,
no one could afford to pay forty thousand francs for the privilege of
supplying a scattered handful of Chinese; and every one knows the truth,
and all are ashamed of it. French officials shake their heads when opium
is mentioned; and the agents of the farmer blush for their employment.
Those that live in glass houses should not throw stones; as a subject of
the British crown, I am an unwilling shareholder in the largest opium
business under heaven. But the British case is highly complicated; it
implies the livelihood of millions; and must be reformed, when it can be
reformed at all, with prudence. This French business, on the other hand,
is a nostrum and a mere excrescence. No native industry was to be
encouraged: the poison is solemnly imported. No native habit was to be
considered: the vice has been gratuitously introduced. And no creature
profits, save the Government at Papeete--the not very enviable gentlemen
who pay them, and the Chinese underlings who do the dirty work.
CHAPTER IX
THE HOUSE OF TEMOANA
The history of the Marquesas is, of late years, much confused by the
coming and going of the French. At least twice they have seized the
archipelago, at least once deserted it; and in the meanwhile the natives
pursued almost without interruption their desultory cannibal wars.
Through these events and changing dynasties, a single considerable
figure may be seen to move: that of the high chief, a king, Temoana.
Odds and ends of his history came to my ears: how he was at first a
convert of the Protestant mission; how he was kidnapped or exiled from
his native land, served as cook aboard a whaler, and was shown, for
small charge, in English seaports; how he returned at last to the
Marquesas, fell under the strong and benign influence of the late
bishop, extended his influence in the group, was for a while joint ruler
with the prelate, and died at last the chief supporter of Catholicism
and the French. His widow remains in receipt of two pounds a month from
the French Government. Queen she is usually called, but in the official
almanac she figures as "_Madame Vaekehu, Grande Chefesse_." His son
(natural or adoptive, I know not which), Stanislao Moanatini, chief of
Akaui, serves in Tai-o-hae as a kind of Minister of Public Works; and
the daughter of Stanislao is High Chiefess of the southern island of
Tauata. These, then, are the greatest folk of the archipelago; we
thought them also the most estimable. This is the rule in Polynesia,
with few exceptions; the higher the family, the better the man--better
in sense, better in manners, and usually taller and stronger in body. A
stranger advances blindfold. He scrapes acquaintance as he can. Save the
tattoo in the Marquesas, nothing indicates the difference of rank; and
yet almost invariably we found, after we had made them, that our friends
were persons of station. I have said "usually taller and stronger." I
might have been more absolute,--over all Polynesia, and a part of
Micronesia, the rule holds good; the great ones of the isle, and even of
the village, are greater of bone and muscle, and often heavier of flesh,
than any commoner. The usual explanation--that the high-born child is
more industriously shampooed--is probably the true one. In New
Caledonia, at least, where the difference does not exist, or has never
been remarked, the practice of shampooing seems to be itself unknown.
Doctors would be well employed in a study of the point.
Vaekehu lives at the other end of the town from the Residency, beyond
the buildings of the mission. Her house is on the European plan: a table
in the midst of the chief room: photographs and religious pictures on
the wall. It commands to either hand a charming vista: through the front
door, a peep of green lawn, scurrying pigs, the pendent fans of the
coco-palm and the splendour of the bursting surf: through the back,
mounting forest glades and coronals of precipice. Here, in the strong
thorough-draught, Her Majesty received us in a simple gown of print, and
with no mark of royalty but the exquisite finish of her tattooed
mittens, the elaboration of her manners, and the gentle falsetto in
which all the highly refined among Marquesan ladies (and Vaekehu above
all others) delight to sing their language. An adopted daughter
interpreted, while we gave the news, and rehearsed by name our friends
of Anaho. As we talked, we could see, through the landward door, another
lady of the household at her toilet under the green trees; who,
presently, when her hair was arranged, and her hat wreathed with
flowers, appeared upon the back verandah with gracious salutations.
Vaekehu is very deaf; _"merci"_ is her only word of French; and I do not
know that she seemed clever. An exquisite, kind refinement, with a shade
of quietism, gathered perhaps from the nuns, was what chiefly struck us.
Or rather, upon that first occasion, we were conscious of a sense as of
district-visiting on our part, and reduced evangelical gentility on the
part of our hostess. The other impression followed after she was more at
ease, and came with Stanislao and his little girl to dine on board the
Casco. She had dressed for the occasion: wore white, which very well
became her strong brown face; and sat among us, eating or smoking her
cigarette, quite cut off from all society, or only now and then included
through the intermediary of her son. It was a position that might have
been ridiculous, and she made it ornamental; making believe to hear and
to be entertained; her face, whenever she met our eyes, lighting with
the smile of good society; her contributions to the talk, when she made
any, and that was seldom, always complimentary and pleasing. No
attention was paid to the child, for instance, but what she remarked and
thanked us for. Her parting with each, when she came to leave, was
gracious and pretty, as had been every step of her behaviour. When Mrs.
Stevenson held out her hand to say good-bye, Vaekehu took it, held it,
and a moment smiled upon her; dropped it, and then, as upon a kindly
afterthought, and with a sort of warmth of condescension, held out both
hands and kissed my wife upon both cheeks. Given the same relation of
years and of rank, the thing would have been so done on the boards of
the Comédie Française; just so might Madame Brohan have warmed and
condescended to Madame Broisat in the _Marquis de Villemer_. It was my
part to accompany our guests ashore: when I kissed the little girl
good-bye at the pier steps, Vaekehu gave a cry of gratification--reached
down her hand into the boat, took mine, and pressed it with that
flattering softness which seems the coquetry of the old lady in every
quarter of the earth. The next moment she had taken Stanislao's arm,
and they moved off along the pier in the moonlight, leaving me
bewildered. This was a queen of cannibals; she was tattooed from hand to
foot, and perhaps the greatest masterpiece of that art now extant, so
that a while ago, before she was grown prim, her leg was one of the
sights of Tai-o-hae; she had been passed from chief to chief; she had
been fought for and taken in war; perhaps, being so great a lady, she
had sat on the high place, and throned it there, alone of her sex, while
the drums were going twenty strong and the priests carried up the
blood-stained baskets of long-pig. And now behold her, out of that past
of violence and sickening feasts, step forth, in her age, a quiet,
smooth, elaborate old lady, such as you might find at home (mittened
also, but not often so well-mannered) in a score of country houses. Only
Vaekehu's mittens were of dye, not of silk; and they had been paid for,
not in money, but the cooked flesh of men. It came in my mind with a
clap, what she could think of it herself, and whether at heart, perhaps,
she might not regret and aspire after the barbarous and stirring past.
But when I asked Stanislao--"Ah!" said he, "she is content; she is
religious, she passes all her days with the sisters."
Stanislao (Stanislaos, with the final consonant evaded after the
Polynesian habit) was sent by Bishop Dordillon to South America, and
there educated by the fathers. His French is fluent, his talk sensible
and spirited, and in his capacity of ganger-in-chief, he is of excellent
service to the French. With the prestige of his name and family, and
with the stick when needful, he keeps the natives working and the roads
passable. Without Stanislao and the convicts, I am in doubt what would
become of the present regimen in Nuka-hiva; whether the highways might
not be suffered to close up, the pier to wash away, and the Residency to
fall piecemeal about the ears of impotent officials. And yet, though the
hereditary favourer, and one of the chief props of French authority, he
has always an eye upon the past. He showed me where the old public
place had stood, still to be traced by random piles of stone; told me
how great and fine it was, and surrounded on all sides by populous
houses, whence, at the beating of the drums, the folk crowded to make
holiday. The drumbeat of the Polynesian has a strange and gloomy
stimulation for the nerves of all. White persons feel it--at these
precipitate sounds their hearts beat faster; and, according to old
residents, its effect on the natives was extreme. Bishop Dordillon might
entreat; Temoana himself command and threaten; at the note of the drum
wild instincts triumphed. And now it might beat upon these ruins, and
who should assemble? The houses are down, the people dead, their lineage
extinct; and the sweepings and fugitives of distant bays and islands
encamp upon their graves. The decline of the dance Stanislao especially
laments. "_Chaque pays a ses coutumes_," said he; but in the report of
any gendarme, perhaps corruptly eager to increase the number of délits
and the instruments of his own power, custom after custom is placed on
the expurgatorial index. "_Tenez, une danse qui n'est pas permise_,"
said Stanislao: "_je ne sais pas pourquoi, elle est très jolie, elle va
comme ça_," and sticking his umbrella upright in the road, he sketched
the steps and gestures. All his criticisms of the present, all his
regrets for the past, struck me as temperate and sensible. The short
term of office of the Resident he thought the chief defect of the
administration; that officer having scarce begun to be efficient ere he
was recalled. I thought I gathered, too, that he regarded with some fear
the coming change from a naval to a civil governor. I am sure at least
that I regard it so myself; for the civil servants of France have never
appeared to any foreigner as at all the flower of their country, while
her naval officers may challenge competition with the world. In all his
talk, Stanislao was particular to speak of his own country as a land of
savages; and when he stated an opinion of his own, it was with some
apologetic preface, alleging that he was "a savage who had travelled."
There was a deal, in this elaborate modesty, of honest pride. Yet there
was something in the precaution that saddened me; and I could not but
fear he was only forestalling a taunt that he had heard too often.
I recall with interest two interviews with Stanislao. The first was a
certain afternoon of tropic rain, which we passed together in the
verandah of the club; talking at times with heightened voices as the
showers redoubled overhead, passing at times into the billiard-room, to
consult, in the dim, cloudy daylight, that map of the world which forms
its chief adornment. He was naturally ignorant of English history, so
that I had much of news to communicate. The story of Gordon I told him
in full, and many episodes of the Indian Mutiny, Lucknow, the second
battle of Cawnpore, the relief of Arrah, the death of poor Spottiswoode,
and Sir Hugh Rose's hotspur, midland campaign. He was intent to hear;
his brown face, strongly marked with small-pox, kindled and changed with
each vicissitude. His eyes glowed with the reflected light of battle;
his questions were many and intelligent, and it was chiefly these that
sent us so often to the map. But it is of our parting that I keep the
strongest sense. We were to sail on the morrow, and the night had
fallen, dark, gusty, and rainy, when we stumbled up the hill to bid
farewell to Stanislao. He had already loaded us with gifts; but more
were waiting. We sat about the table over cigars and green cocoa-nuts;
claps of wind blew through the house and extinguished the lamp, which
was always instantly relighted with a single match; and these recurrent
intervals of darkness were felt as a relief. For there was something
painful and embarrassing in the kindness of that separation. "_Ah, vous
devriez rester ici, mon cher ami!_" cried Stanislao. "_Vous êtes les
gens qu'il faut pour les Kanaques; vous êtes doux, vous et votre
famille; vous seriez obéis dans toutes les îles._" We had been civil;
not always that, my conscience told me, and never anything beyond; and
all this to-do is a measure, not of our considerateness, but of the
want of it in others. The rest of the evening, on to Vaekehu's and back
as far as to the pier, Stanislao walked with my arm and sheltered me
with his umbrella; and after the boat had put off, we could still
distinguish, in the murky darkness, his gestures of farewell. His words,
if there were any, were drowned by the rain and the loud surf.
I have mentioned presents, a vexed question in the South Seas; and one
which well illustrates the common, ignorant habit of regarding races in
a lump. In many quarters the Polynesian gives only to receive. I have
visited islands where the population mobbed me for all the world like
dogs after the waggon of cat's-meat; and where the frequent proposition,
"You my pleni (friend)," or (with more of pathos) "You all 'e same my
father," must be received with hearty laughter and a shout. And perhaps
everywhere, among the greedy and rapacious, a gift is regarded as a
sprat to catch a whale. It is the habit to give gifts and to receive
returns, and such characters, complying with the custom, will look to it
nearly that they do not lose. But for persons of a different stamp the
statement must be reversed. The shabby Polynesian is anxious till he has
received the return gift; the generous is uneasy until he has made it.
The first is disappointed if you have not given more than he; the second
is miserable if he thinks he has given less than you. This is my
experience; if it clash with that of others, I pity their fortune, and
praise mine: the circumstance cannot change what I have seen, nor lessen
what I have received. And indeed I find that those who oppose me often
argue from a ground of singular presumptions; comparing Polynesians with
an ideal person, compact of generosity and gratitude, whom I never had
the pleasure of encountering; and forgetting that what is almost poverty
to us is wealth almost unthinkable to them. I will give one instance: I
chanced to speak with consideration of these gifts of Stanislao's with a
certain clever man, a great hater and contemner of Kanakas. "Well! what
were they!" he cried. "A pack of old men's beards. Trash!" And the same
gentleman, some half an hour later, being upon a different train of
thought, dwelt at length on the esteem in which the Marquesans held that
sort of property, how they preferred it to all others except land, and
what fancy prices it would fetch. Using his own figures, I computed
that, in this commodity alone, the gifts of Vaekehu and Stanislao
represented between two and three hundred dollars; and the queen's
official salary is of two hundred and forty in the year.
But generosity on the one hand, and conspicuous meanness on the other,
are in the South Seas, as at home, the exception. It is neither with any
hope of gain, nor with any lively wish to please, that the ordinary
Polynesian chooses and presents his gifts. A plain social duty lies
before him, which he performs correctly, but without the least
enthusiasm. And we shall best understand his attitude of mind, if we
examine our own to the cognate absurdity of marriage presents. There we
give without any special thought of a return; yet if the circumstance
arise, and the return be withheld, we shall judge ourselves insulted. We
give them usually without affection, and almost never with a genuine
desire to please; and our gift is rather a mark of our own status than a
measure of our love to the recipients. So in a great measure and with
the common run of the Polynesians: their gifts are formal; they imply no
more than social recognition; and they are made and reciprocated, as we
pay and return our morning visits. And the practice of marking and
measuring events and sentiments by presents is universal in the island
world. A gift plays with them the part of stamp and seal; and has
entered profoundly into the mind of islanders. Peace and war, marriage,
adoption and naturalisation are celebrated or declared by the acceptance
or the refusal of gifts; and it is as natural for the islander to bring
a gift as for us to carry a card-case.
CHAPTER X
A PORTRAIT AND A STORY
I have had occasion several times to name the late bishop, Father
Dordillon, "Monseigneur," as he is still almost universally called,
Vicar-Apostolic of the Marquesas and Bishop of Cambysopolis _in
partibus_. Everywhere in the islands, among all classes and races, this
fine, old, kindly, cheerful fellow is remembered with affection and
respect. His influence with the natives was paramount. They reckoned him
the highest of men--higher than an admiral; brought him their money to
keep; took his advice upon their purchases; nor would they plant trees
upon their own land till they had the approval of the father of the
islands. During the time of the French exodus he singly represented
Europe, living in the Residency, and ruling by the hand of Temoana. The
first roads were made under his auspices and by his persuasion. The old
road between Hatiheu and Anaho was got under way from either side on the
ground that it would be pleasant for an evening promenade, and brought
to completion by working on the rivalry of the two villages. The priest
would boast in Hatiheu of the progress made in Anaho, and he would tell
the folk of Anaho, "If you don't take care, your neighbours will be over
the hill before you are at the top." It could not be so done to-day; it
could then; death, opium, and depopulation had not gone so far; and the
people of Hatiheu, I was told, still vied with each other in fine
attire, and used to go out by families, in the cool of the evening,
boat-sailing and racing in the bay. There seems some truth at least in
the common view, that this joint reign of Temoana and the bishop was
the last and brief golden age of the Marquesas. But the civil power
returned, the mission was packed out of the Residency at twenty-four
hours' notice, new methods supervened, and the golden age (whatever it
quite was) came to an end. It is the strongest proof of Father
Dordillon's prestige that it survived, seemingly without loss, this
hasty deposition.
His method with the natives was extremely mild. Among these barbarous
children he still played the part of the smiling father; and he was
careful to observe, in all indifferent matters, the Marquesan etiquette.
Thus, in the singular system of artificial kinship, the bishop had been
adopted by Vaekehu as a grandson; Miss Fisher, of Hatiheu, as a
daughter. From that day, Monseigneur never addressed the young lady
except as his mother, and closed his letters with the formalities of a
dutiful son. With Europeans he could be strict, even to the extent of
harshness. He made no distinction against heretics, with whom he was on
friendly terms; but the rules of his own Church he would see observed;
and once at least he had a white man clapped in gaol for the desecration
of a saint's day. But even this rigour, so intolerable to laymen, so
irritating to Protestants, could not shake his popularity. We shall best
conceive him by examples nearer home; we may all have known some divine
of the old school in Scotland, a literal Sabbatarian, a stickler for the
letter of the law, who was yet in private modest, innocent, genial, and
mirthful. Much such a man, it seems, was Father Dordillon. And his
popularity bore a test yet stronger. He had the name, and probably
deserved it, of a shrewd man in business and one that made the mission
pay. Nothing so much stirs up resentment as the inmixture in commerce of
religious bodies; but even rival traders spoke well of Monseigneur.
His character is best portrayed in the story of the days of his decline.
A time came when, from the failure of sight, he must desist from his
literary labours: his Marquesan hymns, grammars, and dictionaries; his
scientific papers, lives of saints, and devotional poetry. He cast about
for a new interest: pitched on gardening, and was to be seen all day,
with spade and water-pot, in his childlike eagerness, actually running
between the borders. Another step of decay and he must leave his garden
also. Instantly a new occupation was devised, and he sat in the mission
cutting paper flowers and wreaths. His diocese was not great enough for
his activity; the churches of the Marquesas were papered with his
handiwork, and still he must be making more. "Ah," said he, smiling,
"when I am dead what a fine time you will have clearing out my trash!"
He had been dead about six months; but I was pleased to see some of his
trophies still exposed, and looked upon them with a smile: the tribute
(if I have read this cheerful character aright) which he would have
preferred to any useless tears. Disease continued progressively to
disable him; he who had clambered so stalwartly over the rude rocks of
the Marquesas, bringing peace to warfaring clans, was for some time
carried in a chair between the mission and the church, and at last
confined to bed, impotent with dropsy, and tormented with bed-sores and
sciatica. Here he lay two months without complaint; and on the 11th
January 1888, in the seventy-ninth year of his life, and the
thirty-fourth of his labours in the Marquesas, passed away.
Those who have a taste for hearing missions, Protestant or Catholic,
decried, must seek their pleasure elsewhere than in my pages. Whether
Catholic or Protestant, with all their gross blots, with all their
deficiency of candour, of humour, and of common sense, the missionaries
are the best and the most useful whites in the Pacific. This is a
subject which will follow us throughout; but there is one part of it
that may conveniently be treated here. The married and the celibate
missionary, each has his particular advantage and defect. The married
missionary, taking him at the best, may offer to the native what he is
much in want of--a higher picture of domestic life; but the woman at
his elbow tends to keep him in touch with Europe and out of touch with
Polynesia, and to perpetuate, and even to ingrain, parochial decencies
far best forgotten. The mind of the female missionary tends, for
instance, to be continually busied about dress. She can be taught with
extreme difficulty to think any costume decent but that to which she
grew accustomed on Clapham Common; and to gratify this prejudice, the
native is put to useless expense, his mind is tainted with the
morbidities of Europe, and his health is set in danger. The celibate
missionary, on the other hand, and whether at best or worst, falls
readily into native ways of life; to which he adds too commonly what is
either a mark of celibate man at large, or an inheritance from mediæval
saints--I mean slovenly habits and an unclean person. There are, of
course, degrees in this; and the sister (of course, and all honour to
her) is as fresh as a lady at a ball. For the diet there is nothing to
be said--it must amaze and shock the Polynesian--but for the adoption of
native habits there is much. "_Chaque pays a ses coutumes_," said
Stanislao; these it is the missionary's delicate task to modify; and the
more he can do so from within, and from a native standpoint, the better
he will do his work; and here I think the Catholics have sometimes the
advantage; in the Vicariate of Dordillon, I am sure they had it. I have
heard the bishop blamed for his indulgence to the natives, and above all
because he did not rage with sufficient energy against cannibalism. It
was a part of his policy to live among the natives like an elder
brother; to follow where he could; to lead where it was necessary; never
to drive; and to encourage the growth of new habits, instead of
violently rooting up the old. And it might be better, in the long-run,
if this policy were always followed.
It might be supposed that native missionaries would prove more
indulgent, but the reverse is found to be the case. The new broom sweeps
clean; and the white missionary of to-day is often embarrassed by the
bigotry of his native coadjutor. What else should we expect? On some
islands, sorcery, polygamy, human sacrifice, and tobacco-smoking have
been prohibited, the dress of the native has been modified, and himself
warned in strong terms against rival sects of Christianity; all by the
same man, at the same period of time, and with the like authority. By
what criterion is the convert to distinguish the essential from the
unessential? He swallows the nostrum whole; there has been no play of
mind, no instruction, and, except for some brute utility in the
prohibitions, no advance. To call things by their proper names, this is
teaching superstition. It is unfortunate to use the word; so few people
have read history, and so many have dipped into little atheistic
manuals, that the majority will rush to a conclusion, and suppose the
labour lost. And far from that: These semi-spontaneous superstitions,
varying with the sect of the original evangelist and the customs of the
island, are found in practice to be highly fructifying; and in
particular those who have learned and who go forth again to teach them
offer an example to the world. The best specimen of the Christian hero
that I ever met was one of these native missionaries. He had saved two
lives at the risk of his own; like Nathan, he had bearded a tyrant in
his hour of blood; when a whole white population fled, he alone stood to
his duty; and his behaviour under domestic sorrow with which the public
has no concern filled the beholder with sympathy and admiration. A poor
little smiling laborious man he looked; and you would have thought he
had nothing in him but that of which indeed he had too much--facile
good-nature.[3]
It chances that the only rivals of Monseigneur and his mission in the
Marquesas were certain of these brown-skinned evangelists, natives from
Hawaii. I know not what they thought of Father Dordillon: they are the
only class I did not question; but I suspect the prelate to have
regarded them askance, for he was eminently human. During my stay at
Tai-o-hae, the time of the yearly holiday came round at the girls'
school; and a whole fleet of whale-boats came from Ua-pu to take the
daughters of that island home. On board of these was Kauwealoha, one of
the pastors, a fine, rugged old gentleman, of that leonine type so
common in Hawaii. He paid me a visit in the _Casco_, and there
entertained me with a tale of one of his colleagues, Kekela, a
missionary in the great cannibal isle of Hiva-oa. It appears that
shortly after a kidnapping visit from a Peruvian slaver, the boats of an
American whaler put into a bay upon that island, were attacked, and made
their escape with difficulty, leaving their mate, a Mr. Whalon, in the
hands of the natives. The captive, with his arms bound behind his back,
was cast into a house; and the chief announced the capture to Kekela.
And here I begin to follow the version of Kauwealoha; it is a good
specimen of Kanaka English; and the reader is to conceive it delivered
with violent emphasis and speaking pantomime.
"'I got 'Melican mate,' the chief he say. 'What you go do 'Melican
mate?' Kekela he say.' I go make fire, I go kill, I go eat him,' he say;
'you come to-mollow eat piece.' 'I no _want_ eat 'Melican mate!' Kekela
he say; 'why you want?' 'This bad shippee, this slave shippee,' the
chief he say. 'One time a shippee he come from Pelu, he take away plenty
Kanaka, he take away my son. 'Melican mate he bad man. I go eat him; you
eat piece.' 'I no _want_ eat 'Melican mate!' Kekela he say; and he
_cly_--all night he cly! To-mollow Kekela he get up, he put on blackee
coat, he go see chief; he see Missa Whela, him hand tie' like this.
(_Pantomime_). Kekela he cly. He say chief:--'Chief, you like things of
mine? you like whaleboat?' 'Yes,' he say. 'You like file-a'm?'
(fire-arms). 'Yes,' he say. 'You like blackee coat?' 'Yes,' he say.
Kekela he take Missa Whela by he shoul'a' (shoulder), he take him light
out house; he give chief he whaleboat, he file-a'm, he blackee coat. He
take Missa Whela he house, make him sit down with he wife and chil'en.
Missa Whela all-the-same pelison (prison); he wife, he chil'en in
America; he cly--O, he cly. Kekela he solly. One day Kekela he see ship.
(_Pantomime._) He say Missa Whela, 'Ma' Whala?' Missa Whela he say,
'Yes.' Kanaka they begin go down beach. Kekela he get eleven Kanaka, get
oa' (oars), get evely thing. He say Missa Whela, 'Now, you go quick.'
They jump in whale-boat. 'Now you low!' Kekela he say: 'you low quick,
quick!' (_Violent pantomime, and a change indicating that the narrator
has left the boat and returned to the beach._) All the Kanaka they say,
'How! 'Melican mate he go away?'--jump in boat; low afta. (_Violent
pantomime and change again to boat._) Kekela he say, 'Low quick!'"
Here I think Kauwealoha's pantomime had confused me; I have no more of
his _ipsissima verba_; and can but add, in my own less spirited manner,
that the ship was reached, Mr. Whalon taken aboard, and Kekela returned
to his charge among the cannibals. But how unjust it is to repeat the
stumblings of a foreigner in a language only partly acquired! A
thoughtless reader might conceive Kauwealoha and his colleague to be a
species of amicable baboon; but I have here the antidote. In return for
his act of gallant charity, Kekela was presented by the American
Government with a sum of money, and by President Lincoln personally with
a gold watch. From his letter of thanks, written in his own tongue, I
give the following extract. I do not envy the man who can read it
without emotion.
"When I saw one of your countrymen, a citizen of your great nation,
ill-treated, and about to be baked and eaten, as a pig is eaten, I ran
to save him, full of pity and grief at the evil deed of these
benighted people. I gave my boat for the stranger's life This boat
came from James Hunnewell, a gift of friendship. It became the ransom
of this countryman of yours, that he might not be eaten by the savages
who knew not Jehovah. This was Mr. Whalon, and the date, Jan. 14,
1864.
"As to this friendly deed of mine in saving Mr. Whalon, its seed came
from your great land, and was brought by certain of your countrymen,
who had received the love of God. It was planted in Hawaii, and I
brought it to plant in this land and in these dark regions, that they
might receive the root of all that is good and true, which is _love_.
"1. Love to Jehovah.
"2. Love to self.
"3. Love to our neighbour.
"If a man have a sufficiency of these three, he is good and holy, like
his God, Jehovah, in His triune character (Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost), one-three, three-one. If he have two and wants one, it is not
well; and if he have one and wants two, this, indeed, is not well; but
if he cherishes all three, then is he holy, indeed, after the manner
of the Bible.
"This is a great thing for your great nation to boast of before all
the nations of the earth. From your great land a most precious seed
was brought to the land of darkness. It was planted here, not by means
of guns and men-of-war and threatenings. It was planted by means of
the ignorant, the neglected, the despised. Such was the introduction
of the word of the Almighty God into this group of Nuuhiwa. Great is
my debt to Americans, who have taught me all things pertaining to this
life and to that which is to come.
"How shall I repay your great kindness to me? Thus David asked of
Jehovah, and thus I ask of you, the President of the United States.
This is my only payment--that which I have received of the Lord,
love--(aloha)."
FOOTNOTE:
[3] The reference is to Maka, the Hawaiian missionary, at Butaritari,
in the Gilberts.
CHAPTER XI
LONG-PIG--A CANNIBAL HIGH PLACE
Nothing more strongly arouses our disgust than cannibalism, nothing so
surely unmortars a society; nothing, we might plausibly argue, will so
harden and degrade the minds of those that practise it. And yet we
ourselves make much the same appearance in the eyes of the Buddhist and
the vegetarian. We consume the carcases of creatures of like appetites,
passions, and organs with ourselves; we feed on babes, though not our
own; and the slaughter-house resounds daily with screams of pain and
fear. We distinguish, indeed; but the unwillingness of many nations to
eat the dog, an animal with whom we live on terms of the next intimacy,
shows how precariously the distinction is grounded. The pig is the main
element of animal food among the islands; and I had many occasions, my
mind being quickened by my cannibal surroundings, to observe his
character and the manner of his death. Many islanders live with their
pigs as we do with our dogs; both crowd around the hearth with equal
freedom; and the island pig is a fellow of activity, enterprise, and
sense. He husks his own cocoa-nuts, and (I am told) rolls them into the
sun to burst; he is the terror of the shepherd. Mrs. Stevenson, senior,
has seen one fleeing to the woods with a lamb in his mouth; and I saw
another come rapidly (and erroneously) to the conclusion that the
_Casco_ was going down, and swim through the flush water to the rail in
search of an escape. It was told us in childhood that pigs cannot swim;
I have known one to leap overboard, swim five hundred yards to shore,
and return to the house of his original owner. I was once, at Tautira,
a pig-master on a considerable scale; at first, in my pen, the utmost
good feeling prevailed; a little sow with a belly-ache came and appealed
to us for help in the manner of a child; and there was one shapely black
boar, whom we called Catholicus, for he was a particular present from
the Catholics of the village, and who early displayed the marks of
courage and friendliness; no other animal, whether dog or pig, was
suffered to approach him at his food, and for human beings he showed a
full measure of that toadying fondness, so common in the lower animals,
and possibly their chief title to the name. One day, on visiting my
piggery, I was amazed to see Catholicus draw back from my approach with
cries of terror; and if I was amazed at the change, I was truly
embarrassed when I learnt its reason. One of the pigs had been that
morning killed; Catholicus had seen the murder, he had discovered he was
dwelling in the shambles, and from that time his confidence and his
delight in life were ended. We still reserved him a long while, but he
could not endure the sight of any two-legged creature, nor could we,
under the circumstances, encounter his eye without confusion. I have
assisted besides, by the ear, at the act of butchery itself; the
victim's cries of pain I think I could have borne, but the execution was
mismanaged, and his expression of terror was contagious: that small
heart moved to the same tune with ours. Upon such "dread foundations"
the life of the European reposes, and yet the European is among the less
cruel of races. The paraphernalia of murder, the preparatory brutalities
of his existence, are all hid away; an extreme sensibility reigns upon
the surface; and ladies will faint at the recital of one tithe of what
they daily expect of their butchers. Some will be even crying out upon
me in their hearts for the coarseness of this paragraph. And so with the
island cannibals. They were not cruel; apart from this custom, they are
a race of the most kindly; rightly speaking, to cut a man's flesh after
he is dead is far less hateful than to oppress him whilst he lives; and
even the victims of their appetite were gently used in life and suddenly
and painlessly despatched at last. In island circles of refinement it
was doubtless thought bad taste to expatiate on what was ugly in the
practice.
Cannibalism is traced from end to end of the Pacific, from the Marquesas
to New Guinea, from New Zealand to Hawaii, here in the lively haunt of
its exercise, there by scanty but significant survivals. Hawaii is the
most doubtful. We find cannibalism chronicled in Hawaii, only in the
history of a single war, where it seems to have been thought
exceptional, as in the case of mountain outlaws, such as fell by the
hand of Theseus. In Tahiti, a single circumstance survived, but that
appears conclusive. In historic times, when human oblation was made in
the marae, the eyes of the victim were formally offered to the chief: a
delicacy to the leading guest. All Melanesia appears tainted. In
Micronesia, in the Marshalls, with which my acquaintance is no more than
that of a tourist, I could find no trace at all; and even in the Gilbert
zone I long looked and asked in vain. I was told tales indeed of men who
had been eaten in a famine; but these were nothing to my purpose, for
the same thing is done under the same stress by all kindreds and
generations of men. At last, in some manuscript notes of Dr. Turner's,
which I was allowed to consult at Malua, I came on one damning evidence:
on the island of Onoatoa the punishment for theft was to be killed and
eaten. How shall we account for the universality of the practice over so
vast an area, among people of such varying civilisation, and, with
whatever intermixture, of such different blood? What circumstance is
common to them all, but that they lived on islands destitute, or very
nearly so, of animal food? I can never find it in my appetite that man
was meant to live on vegetables only. When our stores ran low among the
islands, I grew to weary for the recurrent day when economy allowed us
to open another tin of miserable mutton. And in at least one ocean
language, a particular word denotes that a man is "hungry for fish,"
having reached that stage when vegetables can no longer satisfy, and his
soul, like those of the Hebrews in the desert, begins to lust after
flesh-pots. Add to this the evidences of over-population and imminent
famine already adduced, and I think we see some ground of indulgence for
the island cannibal.
It is right to look at both sides of any question; but I am far from
making the apology of this worse than bestial vice. The higher
Polynesian races, such as the Tahitians, Hawaiians, and Samoans, had one
and all outgrown, and some of them had in part forgot, the practice,
before Cook or Bougainville had shown a topsail in their waters. It
lingered only in some low islands where life was difficult to maintain,
and among inveterate savages like the New Zealanders or the Marquesans.
The Marquesans intertwined man-eating with the whole texture of their
lives; long-pig was in a sense their currency and sacrament; it formed
the hire of the artist, illustrated public events, and was the occasion
and attraction of a feast. To-day they are paying the penalty of this
bloody commixture. The civil power, in its crusade against man-eating,
has had to examine one after another all Marquesan arts and pleasures,
has found them one after another tainted with a cannibal element, and
one after another has placed them on the proscript list. Their art of
tattooing stood by itself, the execution exquisite, the designs most
beautiful and intricate; nothing more handsomely sets off a handsome
man; it may cost some pain in the beginning, but I doubt if it be near
so painful in the long-run, and I am sure it is far more becoming than
the ignoble European practice of tight-lacing among women. And now it
has been found needful to forbid the art. Their songs and dances were
numerous (and the law has had to abolish them by the dozen). They now
face empty-handed the tedium of their uneventful days; and who shall
pity them? The least rigorous will say that they were justly served.
Death alone could not satisfy Marquesan vengeance; the flesh must be
eaten. The chief who seized Mr. Whalon preferred to eat him; and he
thought he had justified the wish when he explained it was a vengeance.
Two or three years ago, the people of a valley seized and slew a wretch
who had offended them. His offence, it is to be supposed, was dire; they
could not bear to leave their vengeance incomplete, and, under the eyes
of the French, they did not dare to hold a public festival. The body was
accordingly divided; and every man retired to his own house to
consummate the rite in secret, carrying his proportion of the dreadful
meat in a Swedish match-box. The barbarous substance of the drama and
the European properties employed offer a seizing contrast to the
imagination. Yet more striking is another incident of the very year when
I was there myself, 1888. In the spring, a man and woman skulked about
the school-house in Hiva-oa till they found a particular child alone.
Him they approached with honeyed words and carneying manners--"You are
So-and-so, son of So-and-so?" they asked; and caressed and beguiled him
deeper in the woods. Some instinct woke in the child's bosom, or some
look betrayed the horrid purpose of his deceivers. He sought to break
from them; he screamed; and they, casting off the mask, seized him the
more strongly and began to run. His cries were heard; his schoolmates,
playing not far off, came running to the rescue; and the sinister couple
fled and vanished in the woods. They were never identified; no
prosecution followed; but it was currently supposed they had some grudge
against the boy's father, and designed to eat him in revenge. All over
the islands, as at home among our own ancestors, it will be observed
that the avenger takes no particular heed to strike an individual. A
family, a class, a village, a whole valley or island, a whole race of
mankind, share equally the guilt of any member. So, in the above story,
the son was to pay the penalty for his father; so Mr. Whalon, the mate
of an American whaler, was to bleed and be eaten for the misdeeds of a
Peruvian slaver. I am reminded of an incident in Jaluit in the Marshall
group, which was told me by an eye-witness, and which I tell here again
for the strangeness of the scene. Two men had awakened the animosity of
the Jaluit chiefs; and it was their wives who were selected to be
punished. A single native served as executioner. Early in the morning,
in the face of a large concourse of spectators, he waded out upon the
reef between his victims. These neither complained nor resisted;
accompanied their destroyer patiently; stooped down, when they had waded
deep enough, at his command; and he (laying one hand upon the shoulders
of each) held them under water till they drowned. Doubtless, although my
informant did not tell me so, their families would be lamenting aloud
upon the beach.
It was from Hatiheu that I paid my first visit to a cannibal high place.
The day was sultry and clouded. Drenching tropical showers succeeded
bursts of sweltering sunshine. The green pathway of the road wound
steeply upward. As we went, our little schoolboy guide a little ahead of
us, Father Simeon had his portfolio in his hand, and named the trees for
me, and read aloud from his notes the abstract of their virtues.
Presently the road, mounting, showed us the vale of Hatiheu on a larger
scale; and the priest, with occasional reference to our guide, pointed
out the boundaries and told me the names of the larger tribes that lived
at perpetual war in the old days: one on the north-east, one along the
beach, one behind upon the mountain. With a survivor of this latter clan
Father Simeon had spoken; until the pacification he had never been to
the sea's edge, nor, if I remember exactly, eaten of sea-fish. Each in
its own district, the septs lived cantoned and beleaguered. One step
without the boundaries was to affront death. If famine came, the men
must out to the woods to gather chestnuts and small fruits; even as to
this day, if the parents are backward in their weekly doles, school must
be broken up and the scholars sent foraging. But in the old days, when
there was trouble in one clan, there would be activity in all its
neighbours; the woods would be laid full of ambushes; and he who went
after vegetables for himself might remain to be a joint for his
hereditary foes. Nor was the pointed occasion needful. A dozen different
natural signs and social junctures called this people to the war-path
and the cannibal hunt. Let one of chiefly rank have finished his
tattooing, the wife of one be near upon her time, two of the debouching
streams have deviated nearer on the beach of Hatiheu, a certain bird
have been heard to sing, a certain ominous formation of cloud observed
above the northern sea; and instantly the arms were oiled, and the
man-hunters swarmed into the wood to lay their fratricidal ambuscades.
It appears besides that occasionally, perhaps in famine, the priest
would shut himself in his house, where he lay for a stated period like a
person dead. When he came forth it was to run for three days through the
territory of the clan, naked and starving, and to sleep at night alone
in the high place. It was now the turn of the others to keep the house,
for to encounter the priest upon his rounds was death. On the eve of the
fourth day the time of the running was over; the priest returned to his
roof, the laymen came forth, and in the morning the number of the
victims was announced. I have this tale of the priest on one
authority--I think a good one,--but I set it down with diffidence. The
particulars are so striking that, had they been true, I almost think I
must have heard them oftener referred to. Upon one point there seems to
be no question: that the feast was sometimes furnished from within the
clan. In times of scarcity, all who were not protected by their family
connections--in the Highland expression, all the commons of the
clan--had cause to tremble. It was vain to resist, it was useless to
flee. They were begirt upon all hands by cannibals; and the oven was
ready to smoke for them abroad in the country of their foes, or at home
in the valley of their fathers.
At a certain corner of the road our scholar-guide struck off to his left
into the twilight of the forest. We were now on one of the ancient
native roads, plunged in a high vault of wood, and clambering, it
seemed, at random over boulders and dead trees; but the lad wound in and
out and up and down without a check, for these paths are to the natives
as marked as the king's highway is to us; insomuch that, in the days of
the man-hunt, it was their labour rather to block and deface than to
improve them. In the crypt of the wood the air was clammy and hot and
cold; overhead, upon the leaves, the tropical rain uproariously poured,
but only here and there, as through holes in a leaky roof, a single drop
would fall, and make a spot upon my mackintosh. Presently the huge trunk
of a banyan hove in sight, standing upon what seemed the ruins of an
ancient fort; and our guide, halting and holding forth his arm,
announced that we had reached the _paepae tapu_.
_Paepae_ signifies a floor or platform such as a native house is built
on; and even such a paepae--a paepae hae--may be called a paepae tapu in
a lesser sense when it is deserted and becomes the haunt of spirits; but
the public high place, such as I was now treading, was a thing on a
great scale. As far as my eyes could pierce through the dark
undergrowth, the floor of the forest was all paved. Three tiers of
terrace ran on the slope of the hill; in front, a crumbling parapet
contained the main arena; and the pavement of that was pierced and
parcelled out with several wells and small enclosures. No trace remained
of any superstructure, and the scheme of the amphitheatre was difficult
to seize. I visited another in Hiva-oa, smaller but more perfect, where
it was easy to follow rows of benches, and to distinguish isolated seats
of honour for eminent persons; and where, on the upper platform, a
single joist of the temple or dead-house still remained, its uprights
richly carved. In the old days the high place was sedulously tended. No
tree except the sacred banyan was suffered to encroach upon its grades,
no dead leaf to rot upon the pavement. The stones were smoothly set,
and I am told they were kept bright with oil. On all sides the guardians
lay encamped in their subsidiary huts to watch and cleanse it. No other
foot of man was suffered to draw near; only the priest, in the days of
his running, came there to sleep--perhaps to dream of his ungodly
errand; but in the time of the feast, the clan trooped to the high place
in a body, and each had his appointed seat. There were places for the
chiefs, the drummers, the dancers, the women, and the priests. The
drums--perhaps twenty strong, and some of them twelve feet
high--continuously throbbed in time. In time the singers kept up their
long-drawn, lugubrious, ululating song; in time, too, the dancers,
tricked out in singular finery, stepped, leaped, swayed, and
gesticulated--their plumed fingers fluttering in the air like
butterflies. The sense of time, in all these ocean races, is extremely
perfect; and I conceive in such a festival that almost every sound and
movement fell in one. So much the more unanimously must have grown the
agitation of the feasters; so much the more wild must have been the
scene to any European who could have beheld them there, in the strong
sun and the strong shadow of the banyan, rubbed with saffron to throw in
a more high relief the arabesque of the tattoo; the women bleached by
days of confinement to a complexion almost European; the chiefs crowned
with silver plumes of old men's beards and girt with kirtles of the hair
of dead women. All manner of island food was meanwhile spread for the
women and the commons; and, for those who were privileged to eat of it,
there were carried up to the dead-house the baskets of long-pig. It is
told that the feasts were long kept up; the people came from them
brutishly exhausted with debauchery, and the chiefs heavy with their
beastly food. There are certain sentiments which we call emphatically
human--denying the honour of that name to those who lack them. In such
feasts--particularly where the victim had been slain at home, and men
banqueting on the poor clay of a comrade with whom they played in
infancy, or a woman whose favours they had shared--the whole body of
these sentiments is outraged. To consider it too closely is to
understand, if not to excuse, these fervours of self-righteous old
ship-captains, who would man their guns, and open fire in passing, on a
cannibal island.
And yet it was strange. There, upon the spot, as I stood under the high,
dripping vault of the forest, with the young priest on the one hand, in
his kilted gown, and the bright-eyed Marquesan schoolboy on the other,
the whole business appeared infinitely distant, and fallen in the cold
perspective and dry light of history. The bearing of the priest,
perhaps, affected me. He smiled; he jested with the boy, the heir both
of these feasters and their meat; he clapped his hands, and gave me a
stave of one of the old, ill-omened choruses. Centuries might have come
and gone since this slimy theatre was last in operation; and I beheld
the place with no more emotion than I might have felt in visiting
Stonehenge. In Hiva-oa, as I began to appreciate that the thing was
still living and latent about my footsteps, and that it was still within
the bounds of possibility that I might hear the cry of the trapped
victim, my historic attitude entirely failed, and I was sensible of some
repugnance for the natives. But here, too, the priests maintained their
jocular attitude: rallying the cannibals as upon an eccentricity rather
absurd than horrible; seeking, I should say, to shame them from the
practice by good-natured ridicule, as we shame a child from stealing
sugar. We may here recognise the temperate and sagacious mind of Bishop
Dordillon.
CHAPTER XII
THE STORY OF A PLANTATION
Taahauku, on the south-westerly coast of the island of Hiva-oa--Tahuku,
say the slovenly whites--may be called the port of Atuona. It is a
narrow and small anchorage, set between low cliffy points, and opening
above upon a woody valley: a little French fort, now disused and
deserted, overhangs the valley and the inlet. Atuona itself, at the head
of the next bay, is framed in a theatre of mountains, which dominate the
more immediate settling of Taahauku and give the salient character of
the scene. They are reckoned at no higher than four thousand feet; but
Tahiti with eight thousand, and Hawaii with fifteen, can offer no such
picture of abrupt, melancholy alps. In the morning, when the sun falls
directly on their front, they stand like a vast wall: green to the
summit, if by any chance the summit should be clear--water-courses here
and there delineated on their face, as narrow as cracks. Towards
afternoon, the light falls more obliquely, and the sculpture of the
range comes in relief, huge gorges sinking into shadow, huge, tortuous
buttresses standing edged with sun. At all hours of the day they strike
the eye with some new beauty, and the mind with the same menacing gloom.
The mountains, dividing and deflecting the endless airy deluge of the
Trade, are doubtless answerable for the climate. A strong draught of
wind blew day and night over the anchorage. Day and night the same
fantastic and attenuated clouds fled across the heavens, the same dusky
cap of rain and vapour fell and rose on the mountain. The land-breezes
came very strong and chill, and the sea, like the air, was in perpetual
bustle. The swell crowded into the narrow anchorage like sheep into a
fold; broke all along both sides, high on the one, low on the other;
kept a certain blowhole sounding and smoking like a cannon; and spent
itself at last upon the beach.
On the side away from Atuona, the sheltering promontory was a nursery of
coco-trees. Some were mere infants, none had attained to any size, none
had yet begun to shoot skyward with that whip-like shaft of the mature
palm. In the young trees the colour alters with the age and growth. Now
all is of a grass-like hue, infinitely dainty; next the rib grows
golden, the fronds remaining green as ferns; and then, as the trunk
continues to mount and to assume its final hue of grey, the fans put on
manlier and more decided depths of verdure, stand out dark upon the
distance, glisten against the sun, and flash like silver fountains in
the assault of the wind. In this young wood of Taahauku all these hues
and combinations were exampled and repeated by the score. The trees grew
pleasantly spaced upon a hilly sward, here and there interspersed with a
rack for drying copra, or a tumble-down hut for storing it. Every here
and there the stroller had a glimpse of the _Casco_ tossing in the
narrow anchorage below; and beyond he had ever before him the dark
amphitheatre of the Atuona mountains and the cliffy bluff that closes it
to seaward. The trade-wind moving in the fans made a ceaseless noise of
summer rain; and from time to time, with the sound of a sudden and
distant drum-beat, the surf would burst in a sea-cave.
At the upper end of the inlet, its low, cliffy lining sinks, at both
sides, into a beach. A copra warehouse stands in the shadow of the
shoreside trees, flitted about for ever by a clan of dwarfish swallows;
and a line of rails on a high wooden staging bends back into the mouth
of the valley. Walking on this, the new-landed traveller becomes aware
of a broad fresh-water lagoon (one arm of which he crosses), and beyond,
of a grove of noble palms, sheltering the house of the trader, Mr.
Keane. Overhead, the cocos join in a continuous and lofty roof;
blackbirds are heard lustily singing; the island cock springs his
jubilant rattle and airs his golden plumage; cow-bells sound far and
near in the grove; and when you sit in the broad verandah, lulled by
this symphony, you may say to yourself, if you are able: "Better fifty
years of Europe..." Farther on, the floor of the valley is flat and
green, and dotted here and there with stripling coco-palms. Through the
midst, with many changes of music, the river trots and brawls; and along
its course, where we should look for willows, puraos grow in clusters,
and make shadowy pools after an angler's heart. A vale more rich and
peaceful, sweeter air, a sweeter voice of rural sounds, I have found
nowhere. One circumstance alone might strike the experienced: here is a
convenient beach, deep soil, good water, and yet nowhere any paepaes,
nowhere any trace of island habitation.
It is but a few years since this valley was a place choked with jungle,
the debatable land and battle-ground of cannibals. Two clans laid claim
to it--neither could substantiate the claim, and the roads lay desert,
or were only visited by men in arms. It is for this very reason that it
wears now so smiling an appearance: cleared, planted, built upon,
supplied with railways, boat-houses, and bath-houses. For, being no
man's land, it was the more readily ceded to a stranger. The stranger
was Captain John Hart: Ima Hati, "Broken-arm," the natives call him,
because when he first visited the islands his arm was in a sling.
Captain Hart, a man of English birth but an American subject, had
conceived the idea of cotton culture in the Marquesas during the
American War, and was at first rewarded with success. His plantation at
Anaho was highly productive; island cotton fetched a high price, and the
natives used to debate which was the stronger power, Ima Hati or the
French: deciding in favour of the captain, because, though the French
had the most ships, he had the more money.
He marked Taahauku for a suitable site, acquired it, and offered the
superintendence to Mr. Robert Stewart, a Fifeshire man, already some
time in the islands, who had just been ruined by a war on Tauata. Mr.
Stewart was somewhat averse to the adventure, having some acquaintance
with Atuona and its notorious chieftain, Moipu. He had once landed
there, he told me, about dusk, and found the remains of a man and woman
partly eaten. On his starting and sickening at the sight, one of Moipu's
young men picked up a human foot, and provocatively staring at the
stranger, grinned and nibbled at the heel. None need be surprised if Mr.
Stewart fled incontinently to the bush, lay there all night in a great
horror of mind, and got off to sea again by daylight on the morrow. "It
was always a bad place, Atuona," commented Mr. Stewart, in his homely
Fifeshire voice. In spite of this dire introduction, he accepted the
captain's offer, was landed at Taahauku with three Chinamen, and
proceeded to clear the jungle.
War was pursued at that time, almost without interval, between the men
of Atuona and the men of Haamau; and one day, from the opposite sides of
the valley, battle--or I should rather say the noise of battle--raged
all the afternoon: the shots and insults of the opposing clans passing
from hill to hill over the heads of Mr. Stewart and his Chinamen. There
was no genuine fighting; it was like a bicker of schoolboys, only some
fool had given the children guns. One man died of his exertions in
running, the only casualty. With night the shots and insults ceased; the
men of Haamau withdrew, and victory, on some occult principle, was
scored to Moipu. Perhaps in consequence, there came a day when Moipu
made a feast, and a party from Haamau came under safe-conduct to eat of
it. These passed early by Taahauku, and some of Moipu's young men were
there to be a guard of honour. They were not long gone before there came
down from Haamau a man, his wife, and a girl of twelve, their daughter,
bringing fungus. Several Atuona lads were hanging round the store; but
the day being one of truce none apprehended danger. The fungus was
weighed and paid for; the man of Haamau proposed he should have his axe
ground in the bargain; and Mr. Stewart demurring at the trouble, some of
the Atuona lads offered to grind it for him, and set it on the wheel.
While the axe was grinding, a friendly native whispered Mr. Stewart to
have a care of himself, for there was trouble in hand; and, all at once,
the man of Haamau was seized, and his head and arm stricken from his
body, the head at one sweep of his own newly sharpened axe. In the first
alert, the girl escaped among the cotton; and Mr. Stewart, having thrust
the wife into the house and locked her in from the outside, supposed the
affair was over. But the business had not passed without noise, and it
reached the ears of an older girl who had loitered by the way, and who
now came hastily down the valley, crying as she came for her father.
Her, too, they seized and beheaded; I know not what they had done with
the axe, it was a blunt knife that served their butcherly turn upon the
girl; and the blood spurted in fountains and painted them from head to
foot. Thus horrible from crime, the party returned to Atuona, carrying
the heads to Moipu. It may be fancied how the feast broke up; but it is
notable that the guests were honourably suffered to retire. These passed
back through Taahauku in extreme disorder; a little after the valley
began to be overrun with shouting and triumphing braves; and a letter of
warning coming at the same time to Mr. Stewart, he and his Chinamen took
refuge with the Protestant missionary in Atuona. That night the store
was gutted, and the bodies cast in a pit and covered with leaves. Three
days later the schooner had come in; and things appearing quieter, Mr.
Stewart and the captain landed in Taahauku to compute the damage and to
view the grave, which was already indicated by the stench. While they
were so employed, a party of Moipu's young men, decked with red flannel
to indicate martial sentiments, came over the hills from Atuona, dug up
the bodies, washed them in the river, and carried them away on sticks.
That night the feast began.
Those who knew Mr. Stewart before this experience declare the man to be
quite altered. He stuck, however, to his post; and somewhat later, when
the plantation was already well established, and gave employment to
sixty Chinamen and seventy natives, he found himself once more in
dangerous times. The men of Haamau, it was reported, had sworn to
plunder and erase the settlement; letters came continually from the
Hawaiian missionary, who acted as intelligence department; and for six
weeks Mr. Stewart and three other whites slept in the cotton-house at
night in a rampart of bales, and (what was their best defence)
ostentatiously practised rifle-shooting by day upon the beach. Natives
were often there to watch them; the practice was excellent; and the
assault was never delivered--if it ever was intended, which I doubt, for
the natives are more famous for false rumours than for deeds of energy.
I was told the late French war was a case in point; the tribes on the
beach accusing those in the mountains of designs which they had never
the hardihood to entertain. And the same testimony to their backwardness
in open battle reached me from all sides. Captain Hart once landed after
an engagement in a certain bay; one man had his hand hurt, an old woman
and two children had been slain; and the captain improved the occasion
by poulticing the hand, and taunting both sides upon so wretched an
affair. It is true these wars were often merely formal--comparable with
duels to the first blood. Captain Hart visited a bay where such a war
was being carried on between two brothers, one of whom had been thought
wanting in civility to the guests of the other. About one-half of the
population served day about upon alternate sides, so as to be well with
each when the inevitable peace should follow. The forts of the
belligerents were over against each other, and close by. Pigs were
cooking. Well-oiled braves, with well-oiled muskets, strutted on the
paepae or sat down to feast. No business, however needful, could be
done, and all thoughts were supposed to be centred in this mockery of
war. A few days later, by a regrettable accident, a man was killed; it
was felt at once the thing had gone too far, and the quarrel was
instantly patched up. But the more serious wars were prosecuted in a
similar spirit; a gift of pigs and a feast made their inevitable end;
the killing of a single man was a great victory, and the murder of
defenceless solitaries counted a heroic deed.
The foot of the cliffs about all these islands is the place of fishing.
Between Taahauku and Atuona we saw men, but chiefly women, some nearly
naked, some in thin white or crimson dresses, perched in little
surf-beat promontories--the brown precipice overhanging them, and the
convolvulus overhanging that, as if to cut them off the more completely
from assistance. There they would angle much of the morning; and as fast
as they caught any fish, eat them, raw and living, where they stood. It
was such helpless ones that the warriors from the opposite island of
Tauata slew, and carried home and ate, and were thereupon accounted
mighty men of valour. Of one such exploit I can give the account of an
eye-witness. "Portuguese Joe," Mr. Keane's cook, was once pulling an oar
in an Atuona boat, when they spied a stranger in a canoe with some fish
and a piece of tapu. The Atuona men cried upon him to draw near and have
a smoke. He complied, because, I suppose, he had no choice; but he knew,
poor devil, what he was coming to, and (as Joe said) "he didn't seem to
care about the smoke." A few questions followed, as to where he came
from, and what was his business. These he must needs answer, as he must
needs draw at the unwelcome pipe, his heart the while drying in his
bosom. And then, of a sudden, a big fellow in Joe's boat leaned over,
plucked the stranger from his canoe, struck him with a knife in the
neck--inward and downward, as Joe showed in pantomime more expressive
than his words--and held him under water, like a fowl, until his
struggles ceased. Whereupon the long-pig was hauled on board, the boat's
head turned about for Atuona, and these Marquesan braves pulled home
rejoicing. Moipu was on the beach and rejoiced with them on their
arrival. Poor Joe toiled at his oar that day with a white face, yet he
had no fear for himself. "They were very good to me--gave me plenty
grub: never wished to eat white man," said he.
If the most horrible experience was Mr. Stewart's, it was Captain Hart
himself who ran the nearest danger. He had bought a piece of land from
Timau, chief of a neighbouring bay, and put some Chinese there to work.
Visiting the station with one of the Godeffroys, he found his Chinamen
trooping to the beach in terror; Timau had driven them out, seized their
effects, and was in war attire with his young men. A boat was despatched
to Taahauku for reinforcement; as they awaited her return, they could
see, from the deck of the schooner, Timau and his young men dancing the
war-dance on the hill-top till past twelve at night; and so soon as the
boat came (bringing three gendarmes, armed with chassepots, two white
men from Taahauku station, and some native warriors) the party set out
to seize the chief before he should awake. Day was not come, and it was
a very bright moonlight morning, when they reached the hill-top where
(in a house of palm-leaves) Timau was sleeping off his debauch. The
assailants were fully exposed, the interior of the hut quite dark; the
position far from sound. The gendarmes knelt with their pieces ready,
and Captain Hart advanced alone. As he drew near the door he heard the
snap of a gun cocking from within, and in sheer self-defence--there
being no other escape--sprang into the house and grappled Timau. "Timau,
come with me!" he cried. But Timau--a great fellow, his eyes blood-red
with the abuse of kava, six foot three in stature--cast him on one side;
and the captain, instantly expecting to be either shot or brained,
discharged his pistol in the dark. When they carried Timau out at the
door into the moonlight, he was already dead, and, upon this
unlooked-for termination of their sally, the whites appeared to have
lost all conduct, and retreated to the boats, fired upon by the natives
as they went. Captain Hart, who almost rivals Bishop Dordillon in
popularity, shared with him the policy of extreme indulgence to the
natives, regarding them as children, making light of their defects, and
constantly in favour of mild measures. The death of Timau has thus
somewhat weighed upon his mind; the more so, as the chieftain's musket
was found in the house unloaded. To a less delicate conscience the
matter will seem light. If a drunken savage elects to cock a fire-arm, a
gentleman advancing towards him in the open cannot wait to make sure if
it be charged.
I have touched on the captain's popularity. It is one of the things that
most strikes a stranger in the Marquesas. He comes instantly on two
names, both new to him, both locally famous, both mentioned by all with
affection and respect--the bishop's and the captain's. It gave me a
strong desire to meet with the survivor, which was subsequently
gratified--to the enrichment of these pages. Long after that again, in
the Place Dolorous--Molokai--I came once more on the traces of that
affectionate popularity. There was a blind white leper there, an old
sailor--an "old tough," he called himself--who had long sailed among the
eastern islands. Him I used to visit, and, being fresh from the scenes
of his activity, gave him the news. This (in the true island style) was
largely a chronicle of wrecks; and it chanced I mentioned the case of
one not very successful captain, and how he had lost a vessel for Mr.
Hart; thereupon the blind leper broke forth in lamentation. "Did he lose
a ship of John Hart's?" he cried; "poor John Hart! Well, I'm sorry it
was Hart's," with needless force of epithet, which I neglect to
reproduce.
Perhaps, if Captain Hart's affairs had continued to prosper, his
popularity might have been different. Success wins glory, but it kills
affection, which misfortune fosters. And the misfortune which overtook
the captain's enterprise was truly singular. He was at the top of his
career. Ile Masse belonged to him, given by the French as an indemnity
for the robberies at Taahauku. But the Ile Masse was only suitable for
cattle; and his two chief stations were Anaho, in Nuka-hiva, facing the
north-east, and Taahauku in Hiva-oa, some hundred miles to the
southward, and facing the south-west. Both these were on the same day
swept by a tidal wave, which was not felt in any other bay or island of
the group. The south coast of Hiva-oa was bestrewn with building timber
and camphor-wood chests, containing goods; which, on the promise of a
reasonable salvage, the natives very honestly brought back, the chests
apparently not opened, and some of the wood after it had been built into
their houses. But the recovery of jetsam could not affect the result. It
was impossible the captain should withstand this partiality of fortune;
and with his fall the prosperity of the Marquesas ended. Anaho is truly
extinct, Taahauku but a shadow of itself; nor has any new plantation
arisen in their stead.
CHAPTER XIII
CHARACTERS
There was a certain traffic in our anchorage at Atuona; different indeed
from the dead inertia and quiescence of the sister-island, Nuka-hiva.
Sails were seen steering from its mouth; now it would be a whale-boat
manned with native rowdies, and heavy with copra for sale; now perhaps a
single canoe come after commodities to buy. The anchorage was besides
frequented by fishers; not only the lone females perched in niches of
the cliff, but whole parties, who would sometimes camp and build a fire
upon the beach, and sometimes lie in their canoes in the midst of the
haven and jump by turns in the water; which they would cast eight or
nine feet high, to drive, as we supposed, the fish into their nets. The
goods the purchasers came to buy were sometimes quaint. I remarked one
outrigger returning with a single ham swung from a pole in the stern.
And one day there came into Mr. Keane's store a charming lad,
excellently mannered, speaking French correctly though with a babyish
accent; very handsome too, and much of a dandy, as was shown not only in
his shining raiment, but by the nature of his purchases. These were five
ship-biscuits, a bottle of scent, and two balls of washing blue. He was
from Tauata, whither he returned the same night in an outrigger, daring
the deep with these young-ladyish treasures. The gross of the native
passengers were more ill-favoured: tall, powerful fellows, well
tattooed, and with disquieting manners. Something coarse and jeering
distinguished them, and I was often reminded of the slums of some great
city. One night, as dusk was falling, a whale-boat put in on that part
of the beach where I chanced to be alone. Six or seven ruffianly fellows
scrambled out; all had enough English to give me "good-bye," which was
the ordinary salutation; or "good-morning," which they seemed to regard
as an intensitive; jests followed, they surrounded me with harsh
laughter and rude looks, and I was glad to move away. I had not yet
encountered Mr. Stewart, or I should have been reminded of his first
landing at Atuona and the humorist who nibbled at the heel. But their
neighbourhood depressed me; and I felt, if I had been there a castaway
and out of reach of help, my heart would have been sick.
Nor was the traffic altogether native. While we lay in the anchorage
there befell a strange coincidence. A schooner was observed at sea and
aiming to enter. We knew all the schooners in the group, but this
appeared larger than any; she was rigged, besides, after the English
manner; and, coming to an anchor some way outside the _Casco_, showed at
last the blue ensign. There were at that time, according to rumour, no
fewer than four yachts in the Pacific; but it was strange that any two
of them should thus lie side by side in that outlandish inlet: stranger
still that in the owner of the _Nyanza_, Captain Dewar, I should find a
man of the same country and the same county with myself, and one whom I
had seen walking as a boy on the shores of the Alpes Maritimes.
We had besides a white visitor from shore who came and departed in a
crowded whale-boat manned by natives; having read of yachts in the
Sunday papers, and being fired with the desire to see one. Captain
Chase, as they called him, an old whaler-man, thickset and
white-bearded, with a strong Indiana drawl; years old in the country, a
good backer in battle, and one of those dead shots whose practice at the
target struck terror in the braves of Haamau. Captain Chase dwelt
farther east in a bay called Hanamate, with a Mr. M'Callum; or rather
they had dwelt together once, and were now amicably separated. The
captain is to be found near one end of the bay, in a wreck of a house,
and waited on by a Chinese. At the point of the opposing corner another
habitation stands on a tall paepae. The surf runs there exceeding heavy,
seas of seven and eight feet high bursting under the walls of the house,
which is thus continually filled with their clamour, and rendered fit
only for solitary, or at least for silent, inmates. Here it is that Mr.
M'Callum, with a Shakespeare and a Burns, enjoys the society of the
breakers. His name and his Burns testify to Scottish blood; but he is an
American born, somewhere far east; followed the trade of a
ship-carpenter; and was long employed, the captain of a hundred Indians,
breaking up wrecks about Cape Flattery. Many of the whites who are to be
found scattered in the South Seas represent the more artistic portion of
their class; and not only enjoy the poetry of that new life, but came
there on purpose to enjoy it. I have been shipmates with a man, no
longer young, who sailed upon that voyage, his first time to sea, for
the mere love of Samoa; and it was a few letters in a newspaper that
sent him on that pilgrimage. Mr. M'Callum was another instance of the
same. He had read of the South Seas; loved to read of them; and let
their image fasten in his heart; till at length he could refrain no
longer--must set forth, a new Rudel, for that unseen homeland--and has
now dwelt for years in Hiva-oa, and will lay his bones there in the end
with full content; having no desire to behold again the places of his
boyhood, only, perhaps--once, before he dies--the rude and wintry
landscape of Cape Flattery. Yet he is an active man, full of schemes;
has bought land of the natives; has planted five thousand coco-palms;
has a desert island in his eye, which he desires to lease, and a
schooner in the stocks, which he has laid and built himself, and even
hopes to finish. Mr. M'Callum and I did not meet, but, like gallant
troubadours, corresponded in verse. I hope he will not consider it a
breach of copyright if I give here a specimen of his muse. He and
Bishop Dordillon are the two European bards of the Marquesas.
"Sail, ho! Ahoy! _Casco_,
First among the pleasure fleet
That came around to greet
These isles from San Francisco.
And first, too; only one
Among the literary men
That this way has ever been--
Welcome, then, to Stevenson.
Please not offended be
At this little notice
Of the _Casco_, Captain Otis
With the novelist's family.
_Avoir une voyage magnifical_
Is our wish sincere,
That you'll have from here
_Allant sur la Grande Pacifical_."
But our chief visitor was one Mapiao, a great Tahuku--which seems to
mean priest, wizard, tattooer, practiser of any art, or, in a word,
esoteric person--and a man famed for his eloquence on public occasions
and witty talk in private. His first appearance was typical of the man.
He came down clamorous to the eastern landing, where the surf was
running very high; scorned all our signals to go round the bay; carried
his point, was brought aboard at some hazard to our skiff, and set down
in one corner of the cockpit to his appointed task. He had been hired,
as one cunning in the art, to make my old men's beards into a wreath:
what a wreath for Celia's arbour! His own beard (which he carried, for
greater safety, in a sailor's knot) was not merely the adornment of his
age, but a substantial piece of property. One hundred dollars was the
estimated value; and as Brother Michel never knew a native to deposit a
greater sum with Bishop Dordillon, our friend was a rich man in virtue
of his chin. He had something of an East Indian cast, but taller and
stronger; his nose hooked, his face narrow, his forehead very high, the
whole elaborately tattooed. I may say I have never entertained a guest
so trying. In the least particular he must be waited on; he would not go
to the scuttle-butt for water; it must be given him in his hand; if aid
were denied him, he would fold his arms, bow his head, and go without;
only the work would suffer. Early the first forenoon he called aloud for
biscuit and salmon; biscuit and ham were brought; he looked on them
inscrutably, and signed they should be set aside. A number of
considerations crowded on my mind; how the sort of work on which he was
engaged was probably tapu in a higher degree; should by rights, perhaps,
be transacted on a tapu platform which no female might approach; and it
was possible that fish might be the essential diet. Some salted fish I
therefore brought him, and along with that a glass of rum: at sight of
which Mapiao displayed extraordinary animation, pointed to the zenith,
made a long speech in which I picked up _umati_--the word for the
sun--and signed to me once more to place these dainties out of reach. At
last I had understood, and every day the programme was the same. At an
early period of the morning his dinner must be set forth on the roof of
the house and at a proper distance, full in view but just out of reach;
and not until the fit hour, which was the point of noon, would the
artificer partake. This solemnity was the cause of an absurd
misadventure. He was seated plaiting, as usual, at the beards, his
dinner arrayed on the roof, and not far off a glass of water standing.
It appears he desired to drink; was of course far too great a gentleman
to rise and get the water for himself; and spying Mrs. Stevenson,
imperiously signed to her to hand it. The signal was misunderstood; Mrs.
Stevenson was, by this time, prepared for any eccentricity on the part
of our guest; and instead of passing him the water, flung his dinner
overboard. I must do Mapiao justice: all laughed, but his laughter rang
the loudest.
These troubles of service were at worst occasional; the embarrassment of
the man's talk incessant. He was plainly a practised conversationalist;
the nicety of his inflections, the elegance of his gestures, and the
fine play of his expression, told us that. We, meanwhile, sat like
aliens in a playhouse; we could see the actors were upon some material
business and performing well, but the plot of the drama remained
undiscoverable. Names of places, the name of Captain Hart, occasional
disconnected words, tantalised without enlightening us; and the less we
understood, the more gallantly, the more copiously, and with still the
more explanatory gestures, Mapiao returned to the assault. We could see
his vanity was on the rack; being come to a place where that fine jewel
of his conversational talent could earn him no respect; and he had times
of despair when he desisted from the endeavour, and instants of
irritation when he regarded us with unconcealed contempt. Yet for me, as
the practitioner of some kindred mystery to his own, he manifested to
the last a measure of respect. As we sat under the awning in opposite
corners of the cockpit, he braiding hairs from dead men's chins, I
forming runes upon a sheet of folio paper, he would nod across to me as
one Tahuku to another, or, crossing the cockpit, study for a while my
shapeless scrawl and encourage me with a heartfelt "_mitai_!--good!" So
might a deaf painter sympathise far off with a musician, as the slave
and master of some uncomprehended and yet kindred art. A silly trade he
doubtless considered it; but a man must make an allowance for
barbarians, _chaque pays a ses coutumes_--and he felt the principle was
there.
The time came at last when his labours, which resembled those rather of
Penelope than Hercules, could be no more spun out, and nothing remained
but to pay him and say farewell. After a long, learned argument in
Marquesan, I gathered that his mind was set on fish-hooks; with three of
which, and a brace of dollars, I thought he was not ill rewarded for
passing his forenoons in our cockpit, eating, drinking, delivering his
opinions, and pressing the ship's company into his menial service. For
all that, he was a man of so high a bearing and so like an uncle of my
own who should have gone mad and got tattooed, that I applied to him,
when we were both on shore, to know if he were satisfied. "_Mitai
ehipe?_" I asked. And he, with rich unction, offering at the same time
his hand--"_Mitai ehipe, mitai kaekae; kaoha nui!_"--or, to translate
freely: "The ship is good, the victuals are up to the mark, and we part
in friendship." Which testimonial uttered, he set off along the beach
with his head bowed and the air of one deeply injured.
I saw him go, on my side, with relief. It would be more interesting to
learn how our relation seemed to Mapiao. His exigence, we may suppose,
was merely loyal. He had been hired by the ignorant to do a piece of
work; and he was bound that he would do it the right way. Countless
obstacles, continual ignorant ridicule, availed not to dissuade him. He
had his dinner laid out; watched it, as was fit, the while he worked;
ate it at the fit hour; was in all things served and waited on; and
could take his hire in the end with a clear conscience, telling himself
the mystery was performed duly, the beards rightfully braided, and we
(in spite of ourselves) correctly served. His view of our stupidity,
even he, the mighty talker, must have lacked language to express. He
never interfered with my Tahuku work; civilly praised it, idle as it
seemed; civilly supposed that I was competent in my own mystery: such
being the attitude of the intelligent and the polite. And we, on the
other hand--who had yet the most to gain or lose, since the product was
to be ours--who had professed our disability by the very act of hiring
him to do it--were never weary of impeding his own more important
labours, and sometimes lacked the sense and the civility to refrain from
laughter.
CHAPTER XIV
IN A CANNIBAL VALLEY
The road from Taahauku to Atuona skirted the north-westerly side of the
anchorage, somewhat high up, edged, and sometimes shaded, by the
splendid flowers of the _flamboyant_--its English name I do not know. At
the turn of the land, Atuona came in view: a long beach, a heavy and
loud breach of surf, a shore-side village scattered among trees, and the
guttered mountains drawing near on both sides above a narrow and rich
ravine. Its infamous repute perhaps affected me; but I thought it the
loveliest, and by far the most ominous and gloomy, spot on earth.
Beautiful it surely was; and even more salubrious. The healthfulness of
the whole group is amazing; that of Atuona almost in the nature of a
miracle. In Atuona, a village planted in a shore-side marsh, the houses
standing everywhere intermingled with the pools of a taro-garden, we
find every condition of tropical danger and discomfort; and yet there
are not even mosquitoes--not even the hateful day-fly of Nuka-hiva--and
fever, and its concomitant, the island fe'efe'e,[4] are unknown.
This is the chief station of the French on the man-eating isle of
Hiva-oa. The sergeant of gendarmerie enjoys the style of the
vice-resident, and hoists the French colours over a quite extensive
compound. A Chinaman, a waif from the plantation, keeps a restaurant in
the rear quarters of the village; and the mission is well represented by
the sisters' school and Brother Michel's church. Father Orens, a
wonderful octogenarian, his frame scarce bowed, the fire of his eye
undimmed, has lived, and trembled, and suffered in this place since
1843. Again and again, when Moipu had made coco-brandy, he has been
driven from his house into the woods. "A mouse that dwelt in a cat's
ear" had a more easy resting-place; and yet I have never seen a man that
bore less mark of years. He must show us the church, still decorated
with the bishop's artless ornaments of paper--the last work of
industrious old hands, and the last earthly amusement of a man that was
much of a hero. In the sacristy we must see his sacred vessels, and, in
particular, a vestment which was a "_vraie curiosité_," because it had
been given by a gendarme. To the Protestant there is always something
embarrassing in the eagerness with which grown and holy men regard these
trifles; but it was touching and pretty to see Orens, his aged eyes
shining in his head, display his sacred treasures.
_August 26._--The vale behind the village, narrowing swiftly to a mere
ravine, was choked with profitable trees. A river gushed in the midst.
Overhead, the tall coco-palms made a primary covering; above that, from
one wall of the mountain to another, the ravine was roofed with cloud;
so that we moved below, amid teeming vegetation, in a covered house of
heat. On either hand, at every hundred yards, instead of the houseless,
disembowelling paepaes of Nuka-hiva, populous houses turned out their
inhabitants to cry "Kaoha!" to the passers-by. The road, too, was busy:
strings of girls, fair and foul, as in less favoured countries; men
bearing breadfruit; the sisters, with a little guard of pupils; a fellow
bestriding a horse--passed and greeted us continually; and now it was a
Chinaman who came to the gate of his flower-yard, and gave us "Good-day"
in excellent English; and a little farther on it would be some natives
who set us down by the wayside, made us a feast of mummy-apple, and
entertained us as we ate with drumming on a tin case. With all this fine
plenty of men and fruit, death is at work here also. The population,
according to the highest estimate, does not exceed six hundred in the
whole vale of Atuona; and yet, when I once chanced to put the question,
Brother Michel counted up ten whom he knew to be sick beyond recovery.
It was here, too, that I could at last gratify my curiosity with the
sight of a native house in the very article of dissolution. It had
fallen flat along the paepae, its poles sprawling ungainly; the rains
and the mites contended against it; what remained seemed sound enough,
but much was gone already; and it was easy to see how the insects
consumed the walls as if they had been bread, and the air and the rain
ate into them like vitriol.
A little ahead of us, a young gentleman, very well tattooed, and dressed
in a pair of white trousers and a flannel shirt, had been marching
unconcernedly. Of a sudden, without apparent cause, he turned back, took
us in possession and led us undissuadably along a by-path to the river's
edge. There, in a nook of the most attractive amenity, he bade us to sit
down: the stream splashing at our elbow, a shock of nondescript greenery
enshrining us from above; and thither, after a brief absence, he brought
us a cocoa-nut, a lump of sandal-wood, and a stick he had begun to
carve: the nut for present refreshment, the sandal-wood for a precious
gift, and the stick--in the simplicity of his vanity--to harvest
premature praise. Only one section was yet carved, although the whole
was pencil-marked in lengths; and when I proposed to buy it, Poni (for
that was the artist's name) recoiled in horror. But I was not to be
moved, and simply refused restitution, for I had long wondered why a
people who displayed, in their tattooing, so great a gift of arabesque
invention, should display it nowhere else. Here, at last, I had found
something of the same talent in another medium; and I held the
incompleteness, in these days of world-wide brummagem, for a happy mark
of authenticity. Neither my reasons nor my purpose had I the means of
making clear to Poni; I could only hold on to the stick, and bid the
artist follow me to the gendarmerie, where I should find interpreters
and money; but we gave him, in the meanwhile, a boat-call in return for
his sandal-wood. As he came behind us down the vale he sounded upon this
continually. And continually, from the wayside houses, there poured
forth little groups of girls in crimson, or of men in white. And to
these must Poni pass the news of who the strangers were, of what they
had been doing, of why it was that Poni had a boat-whistle; and of why
he was now being haled to the vice-residency, uncertain whether to be
punished or rewarded, uncertain whether he had lost a stick or made a
bargain, but hopeful on the whole, and in the meanwhile highly consoled
by the boat-whistle. Whereupon he would tear himself away from this
particular group of inquirers, and once more we would hear the shrill
call in our wake.
_August 27._--I made a more extended circuit in the vale with Brother
Michel. We were mounted on a pair of sober nags, suitable to these rude
paths; the weather was exquisite, and the company in which I found
myself no less agreeable than the scenes through which I passed. We
mounted at first by a steep grade along the summit of one of those
twisted spurs that, from a distance, mark out provinces of sun and shade
upon the mountain-side. The ground fell away on either hand with an
extreme declivity. From either hand, out of profound ravines, mounted
the song of falling water and the smoke of household fires. Here and
there the hills of foliage would divide, and our eye would plunge down
upon one of these deep-nested habitations. And still, high in front,
arose the precipitous barrier of the mountain, greened over where it
seemed that scarce a harebell could find root, barred with the zigzags
of a human road where it seemed that not a goat could scramble. And in
truth, for all the labour that it cost, the road is regarded even by the
Marquesans as impassable; they will not risk a horse on that, ascent;
and those who lie to the westward come and go in their canoes. I never
knew a hill to lose so little on a near approach: a consequence, I must
suppose, of its surprising steepness. When we turned about, I was amazed
to behold so deep a view behind, and so high a shoulder of blue sea,
crowned by the whale-like island of Motane. And yet the wall of mountain
had not visibly dwindled, and I could even have fancied, as I raised my
eyes to measure it, that it loomed higher than before.
We struck now into covert paths, crossed and heard more near at hand the
bickering of the streams, and tasted the coolness of those recesses
where the houses stood. The birds sang about us as we descended. All
along our path my guide was being hailed by voices: "Mikaël--Kaoha,
Mikaël!" From the doorstep, from the cotton-patch, or out of the deep
grove of island-chestnuts, these friendly cries arose, and were cheerily
answered as we passed. In a sharp angle of a glen, on a rushing brook
and under fathoms of cool foliage, we struck a house upon a well-built
paepae, the fire brightly burning under the popoi-shed against the
evening meal; and here the cries became a chorus, and the house folk,
running out, obliged us to dismount and breathe. It seemed a numerous
family: we saw eight at least; and one of these honoured me with a
particular attention. This was the mother, a woman naked to the waist,
of an aged countenance, but with hair still copious and black, and
breasts still erect and youthful. On our arrival I could see she
remarked me, but, instead of offering any greeting, disappeared at once
into the bush. Thence she returned with two crimson flowers. "Good-bye!"
was her salutation, uttered not without coquetry; and as she said it she
pressed the flowers into my hand--"Good-bye! I speak Inglis." It was
from a whaler-man, who (she informed me) was "a plenty good chap," that
she had learned my language; and I could not but think how handsome she
must have been in these times of her youth, and could not but guess that
some memories of the dandy whaler-man prompted her attentions to myself.
Nor could I refrain from wondering what had befallen her lover; in the
rain and mire of what sea-ports he had tramped since then; in what close
and garish drinking-dens had found his pleasure; and in the ward of what
infirmary dreamed his last of the Marquesas. But she, the more
fortunate, lived on in her green island. The talk, in this lost house
upon the mountains, ran chiefly upon Mapiao and his visits to the
_Casco_: the news of which had probably gone abroad by then to all the
island, so that there was no paepae in Hiva-oa where they did not make
the subject of excited comment.
Not much beyond we came upon a high place in the foot of the ravine. Two
roads divided it, and met in the midst. Save for this intersection the
amphitheatre was strangely perfect, and had a certain ruder air of
things Roman. Depths of foliage and the bulk of the mountain kept it in
a grateful shadow. On the benches several young folk sat clustered or
apart. One of these, a girl perhaps fourteen years of age, buxom and
comely, caught the eye of Brother Michel. Why was she not at
school?--she was done with school now. What was she doing here?--she
lived here now. Why so?--no answer but a deepening blush. There was no
severity in Brother Michel's manner; the girl's own confusion told her
story. "_Elle a honte_," was the missionary's comment, as we rode away.
Near by in the stream, a grown girl was bathing naked in a goyle between
two stepping-stones; and it amused me to see with what alacrity and real
alarm she bounded on her many-coloured under-clothes. Even in these
daughters of cannibals shame was eloquent.
It is in Hiva-oa, owing to the inveterate cannibalism of the natives,
that local beliefs have been most rudely trodden underfoot. It was here
that three religious chiefs were set under a bridge, and the women of
the valley made to defile over their heads upon the roadway: the poor,
dishonoured fellows sitting there (all observers agree) with streaming
tears. Not only was one road driven across the high place, but two roads
intersected in its midst. There is no reason to suppose that the last
was done of purpose, and perhaps it was impossible entirely to avoid the
numerous sacred places of the islands. But these things are not done
without result. I have spoken already of the regard of Marquesans for
the dead, making (as it does) so strange a contrast with their unconcern
for death. Early on this day's ride, for instance, we encountered a
petty chief, who inquired (of course) where we were going, and suggested
by way of amendment: "Why do you not rather show him the cemetery?" I
saw it; it was but newly opened, the third within eight years. They are
great builders here in Hiva-oa; I saw in my ride paepaes that no
European dry-stone mason could have equalled, the black volcanic stones
were laid so justly, the corners were so precise, the levels so true;
but the retaining-wall of the new graveyard stood apart, and seemed to
be a work of love. The sentiment of honour for the dead is therefore not
extinct. And yet observe the consequence of violently countering men's
opinions. Of the four prisoners in Atuona gaol, three were of course
thieves; the fourth was there for sacrilege. He had levelled up a piece
of the graveyard--to give a feast upon, as he informed the court--and
declared he had no thought of doing wrong. Why should he? He had been
forced at the point of the bayonet to destroy the sacred places of his
own piety; when he had recoiled from the task, he had been jeered at for
a superstitious fool. And now it is supposed he will respect our
European superstitions as by second nature.
FOOTNOTE:
[4] Elephantiasis.
CHAPTER XV
THE TWO CHIEFS OF ATUONA
It had chanced (as the _Casco_ beat through the Bordelais Straits for
Taahauku) she approached on one board very near the land in the opposite
isle of Tauata, where houses were to be seen in a grove of tall
coco-palms. Brother Michel pointed out the spot. "I am at home now,"
said he. "I believe I have a large share in these cocoa-nuts; and in
that house madame my mother lives with her two husbands!" "With two
husbands?" somebody inquired. "_C'est ma honte_," replied the brother
drily.
A word in passing on the two husbands. I conceive the brother to have
expressed himself loosely. It seems common enough to find a native lady
with two consorts; but these are not two husbands. The first is still
the husband; the wife continues to be referred to by his name; and the
position of the coadjutor, or _pikio_, although quite regular, appears
undoubtedly subordinate. We had opportunities to observe one household
of the sort. The _pikio_ was recognised; appeared openly along with the
husband when the lady was thought to be insulted, and the pair made
common cause like brothers. At home the inequality was more apparent.
The husband sat to receive and entertain visitors; the _pikio_ was
running the while to fetch cocoa-nuts like a hired servant, and I
remarked he was sent on these errands in preference even to the son.
Plainly we have here no second husband; plainly we have the tolerated
lover. Only, in the Marquesas, instead of carrying his lady's fan and
mantle, he must turn his hand to do the husband's housework.
The sight of Brother Michel's family estate led the conversation for
some while upon the method and consequence of artificial kinship. Our
curiosity became extremely whetted; the brother offered to have the
whole of us adopted, and some two days later we became accordingly the
children of Paaaeua, appointed chief of Atuona. I was unable to be
present at the ceremony, which was primitively simple. The two Mrs.
Stevensons and Mr. Osbourne, along with Paaaeua, his wife, and an
adopted child of theirs, son of a shipwrecked Austrian, sat down to an
excellent island meal, of which the principal and the only necessary
dish was pig. A concourse watched them through the apertures of the
house; but none, not even Brother Michel, might partake; for the meal
was sacramental, and either creative or declaratory of the new
relationship. In Tahiti things are not so strictly ordered; when Ori and
I "made brothers," both our families sat with us at table, yet only he
and I, who had eaten with intention, were supposed to be affected by the
ceremony. For the adoption of an infant I believe no formality to be
required; the child is handed over by the natural parents, and grows up
to inherit the estates of the adoptive. Presents are doubtless
exchanged, as at all junctures of island life, social or international;
but I never heard of any banquet--the child's presence at the daily
board perhaps sufficing. We may find the rationale in the ancient
Arabian idea that a common diet makes a common blood, with its
derivative axiom that "he is the father who gives the child its morning
draught." In the Marquesan practice, the sense would thus be evanescent;
from the Tahitian, a mere survival, it will have entirely fled. An
interesting parallel will probably occur to many of my readers.
What is the nature of the obligation assumed at such a festival? It will
vary with the characters of those engaged, and with the circumstances of
the case. Thus it would be absurd to take too seriously our adoption at
Atuona. On the part of Paaaeua it was an affair of social ambition;
when he agreed to receive us in his family the man had not so much as
seen us, and knew only that we were inestimably rich and travelled in a
floating palace. We, upon our side, ate of his baked meats with no true
_animus affiliandi_, but moved by the single sentiment of curiosity. The
affair was formal, and a matter of parade, as when in Europe sovereigns
call each other cousin. Yet, had we stayed at Atuona, Paaaeua would have
held himself bound to establish us upon his land, and to set apart young
men for our service, and trees for our support. I have mentioned the
Austrian. He sailed in one of two sister ships, which left the Clyde in
coal; both rounded the Horn, and both, at several hundred miles of
distance, though close on the same point of time, took fire at sea on
the Pacific. One was destroyed; the derelict iron frame of the second,
after long, aimless cruising, was at length recovered, refitted, and
hails to-day from San Francisco. A boat's crew from one of these
disasters reached, after great hardships, the isle of Hiva-oa. Some of
these men vowed they would never again confront the chances of the sea;
but alone of them all the Austrian has been exactly true to his
engagement, remains where he landed, and designs to die where he has
lived. Now, with such a man, falling and taking root among islanders,
the processes described may be compared to a gardener's graft. He passes
bodily into the native stock; ceases wholly to be alien; has entered the
commune of the blood, shares the prosperity and consideration of his new
family, and is expected to impart with the same generosity the fruits of
his European skill and knowledge. It is this implied engagement that so
frequently offends the ingrafted white. To snatch an immediate
advantage--to get (let us say) a station for his store--he will play
upon the native custom and become a son or a brother for the day,
promising himself to cast down the ladder by which he shall have
ascended, and repudiate the kinship so soon as it shall grow burdensome.
And he finds there are two parties to the bargain. Perhaps his
Polynesian relative is simple, and conceived the blood-bond literally;
perhaps he is shrewd, and himself entered the covenant with a view to
gain. And either way the store is ravaged, the house littered with lazy
natives; and the richer the man grows, the more numerous, the more idle,
and the more affectionate he finds his native relatives. Most men thus
circumstanced contrive to buy or brutally manage to enforce their
independence; but many vegetate without hope, strangled by parasites.
We had no cause to blush with Brother Michel. Our new parents were kind,
gentle, well-mannered, and generous in gifts; the wife was a most
motherly woman, the husband a man who stood justly high with his
employers. Enough has been said to show why Moipu should be deposed; and
in Paaaeua the French had found a reputable substitute. He went always
scrupulously dressed, and looked the picture of propriety, like a dark,
handsome, stupid, and probably religious young man hot from a European
funeral. In character he seemed the ideal of what is known as the good
citizen. He wore gravity like an ornament. None could more nicely
represent the desired character as an appointed chief, the outpost of
civilisation and reform. And yet, were the French to go and native
manners to revive, fancy beholds him crowned with old men's beards and
crowding with the first to a man-eating festival. But I must not seem to
be unjust to Paaaeua. His respectability went deeper than the skin; his
sense of the becoming sometimes nerved him for unexpected rigours.
One evening Captain Otis and Mr. Osbourne were on shore in the village.
All was agog; dancing had begun; it was plain it was to be a night of
festival, and our adventurers were overjoyed at their good fortune. A
strong fall of rain drove them for shelter to the house of Paaaeua,
where they were made welcome, wiled into a chamber, and shut in.
Presently the rain took off, the fun was to begin in earnest, and the
young bloods of Atuona came round the house and called to my
fellow-travellers through the interstices of the wall. Late into the
night the calls were continued and resumed, and sometimes mingled with
taunts; late into the night the prisoners, tantalised by the noises of
the festival, renewed their efforts to escape. But all was vain; right
across the door lay that god-fearing householder, Paaaeua, feigning
sleep; and my friends had to forego their junketing. In this incident,
so delightfully European, we thought we could detect three strands of
sentiment. In the first place, Paaaeua had a charge of souls: these were
young men, and he judged it right to withhold them from the primrose
path. Secondly, he was a public character, and it was not fitting that
his guests should countenance a festival of which he disapproved. So
might some strict clergyman at home address a worldly visitor: "Go to
the theatre if you like, but, by your leave, not from my house!"
Thirdly, Paaaeua was a man jealous and with some cause (as shall be
shown) for jealousy; and the feasters were the satellites of his
immediate rival, Moipu.
For the adoption had caused much excitement in the village; it made the
strangers popular. Paaaeua, in his difficult posture of appointed chief,
drew strength and dignity from their alliance, and only Moipu and his
followers were malcontent. For some reason, nobody (except myself)
appears to dislike Moipu. Captain Hart, who has been robbed and
threatened by him; Father Orens, whom he has fired at, and repeatedly
driven to the woods; my own family, and even the French officials--all
seemed smitten with an irrepressible affection for the man. His fall had
been made soft; his son, upon his death, was to succeed Paaaeua in the
chieftaincy; and he lived, at the time of our visit, in the shoreward
part of the village in a good house, and with a strong following of
young men, his late braves and pot-hunters. In this society, the coming
of the _Casco_, the adoption, the return feast on board, and the
presents exchanged between the whites and their new parents, were
doubtless eagerly and bitterly canvassed. It was felt that a few years
ago the honours would have gone elsewhere. In this unwonted business, in
this reception of some hitherto undreamed-of and outlandish
potentate--some Prester John or old Assaracus--a few years back it would
have been the part of Moipu to play the hero and the host, and his young
men would have accompanied and adorned the various celebrations as the
acknowledged leaders of society. And now, by a malign vicissitude of
fortune, Moipu must sit in his house quite unobserved; and his young men
could but look in at the door while their rivals feasted. Perhaps M.
Grévy felt a touch of bitterness towards his successor when he beheld
him figure on the broad stage of the centenary of eighty-nine; the visit
of the _Casco_ which Moipu had missed by so few years was a more unusual
occasion in Atuona than a centenary in France; and the dethroned chief
determined to reassert himself in the public eye.
Mr. Osbourne had gone into Atuona photographing; the population of the
village had gathered together for the occasion on the place before the
church, and Paaaeua, highly delighted with this new appearance of his
family, played the master of ceremonies. The church had been taken, with
its jolly architect before the door; the nuns with their pupils; sundry
damsels in the ancient and singularly unbecoming robes of tapa; and
Father Orens in the midst of a group of his parishioners. I know not
what else was in hand, when the photographer became aware of a sensation
in the crowd, and, looking around, beheld a very noble figure of a man
appear upon the margin of a thicket and stroll nonchalantly near. The
nonchalance was visibly affected; it was plain that he came there to
arouse attention, and his success was instant. He was introduced; he was
civil, he was obliging, he was always ineffably superior and certain of
himself; a well-graced actor. It was presently suggested that he should
appear in his war costume; he gracefully consented; and returned in that
strange, inappropriate, and ill-omened array (which very well became
his handsome person) to strut in a circle of admirers, and be
thenceforth the centre of photography. Thus had Moipu effected his
introduction, as by accident, to the white strangers, made it a favour
to display his finery, and reduced his rival to a secondary _rôle_ on
the theatre of the disputed village. Paaaeua felt the blow; and, with a
spirit we never dreamed he could possess, asserted his priority. It was
found impossible that day to get a photograph of Moipu alone; for
whenever he stood up before the camera his successor placed himself
unbidden by his side, and gently but firmly held to his position. The
portraits of the pair, Jacob and Esau, standing shoulder to shoulder,
one in his careful European dress, one in his barbaric trappings, figure
the past and present of their island. A graveyard with its humble
crosses would be the aptest symbol of the future.
We are all impressed with the belief that Moipu had planned his campaign
from the beginning to the end. It is certain that he lost no time in
pushing his advantage. Mr. Osbourne was inveigled to his house; various
gifts were fished out of an old sea-chest; Father Orens was called into
service as interpreter, and Moipu formally proposed to "make brothers"
with Mata-Galahi--Glass-Eyes,--the not very euphonious name under which
Mr. Osbourne passed in the Marquesas. The feast of brotherhood took
place on board the _Casco_. Paaaeua had arrived with his family, like a
plain man; and his presents, which had been numerous, had followed one
another, at intervals through several days. Moipu, as if to mark at
every point the opposition, came with a certain feudal pomp, attended by
retainers bearing gifts of all descriptions, from plumes of old men's
beard to little, pious, Catholic engravings.
I had met the man before this in the village, and detested him on sight;
there was something indescribably raffish in his looks and ways that
raised my gorge; and when man-eating was referred to, and he laughed a
low, cruel laugh, part boastful, part bashful, like one reminded of
some dashing peccadillo, my repugnance was mingled with nausea. This is
no very human attitude, nor one at all becoming in a traveller. And,
seen more privately, the man improved. Something negroid in character
and face was still displeasing; but his ugly mouth became attractive
when he smiled, his figure and bearing were certainly noble, and his
eyes superb. In his appreciation of jams and pickles, in his delight in
the reverberating mirrors of the dining cabin, and consequent endless
repetition of Moipus and Mata-Galahis, he showed himself engagingly a
child. And yet I am not sure; and what seemed childishness may have been
rather courtly art. His manners struck me as beyond the mark; they were
refined and caressing to the point of grossness, and when I think of the
serene absent-mindedness with which he first strolled in upon our party,
and then recall him running on hands and knees along the cabin sofas,
pawing the velvet, dipping into the beds, and bleating commendatory
"_mitais_" with exaggerated emphasis, like some enormous over-mannered
ape, I feel the more sure that both must have been calculated. And I
sometimes wonder next, if Moipu were quite alone in this polite
duplicity, and ask myself whether the _Casco_ were quite so much admired
in the Marquesas as our visitors desired us to suppose.
I will complete this sketch of an incurable cannibal grandee with two
incongruous traits. His favourite morsel was the human hand, of which he
speaks to-day with an ill-favoured lustfulness. And when he said
good-bye to Mrs. Stevenson, holding her hand, viewing her with tearful
eyes, and chanting his farewell improvisation in the falsetto of
Marquesan high society, he wrote upon her mind a sentimental impression
which I try in vain to share.
PART II
THE PAUMOTUS
CHAPTER I
THE DANGEROUS ARCHIPELAGO--ATOLLS AT A DISTANCE
In the early morning of 4th September a whale-boat manned by natives
dragged us down the green lane of the anchorage and round the spouting
promontory. On the shore level it was a hot, breathless, and yet crystal
morning; but high overhead the hills of Atuona were all cowled in cloud,
and the ocean-river of the trades streamed without pause. As we crawled
from under the immediate shelter of the land, we reached at last the
limit of their influence. The wind fell upon our sails in puffs, which
strengthened and grew more continuous; presently the _Casco_ heeled down
to her day's work; the whale-boat, quite outstripped, clung for a noisy
moment to her quarter; the stipulated bread, rum, and tobacco were
passed in; a moment more and the boat was in our wake, and our late
pilots were cheering our departure.
This was the more inspiriting as we were bound for scenes so different,
and though on a brief voyage, yet for a new province of creation. That
wide field of ocean, called loosely the South Seas, extends from tropic
to tropic, and from perhaps 120 degrees W. to 150 degrees E., a
parallelogram of one hundred degrees by forty-seven, where degrees are
the most spacious. Much of it lies vacant, much is closely sown with
isles, and the isles are of two sorts. No distinction is so continually
dwelt upon in South Sea talk as that between the "low" and the "high"
island, and there is none more broadly marked in nature. The Himalayas
are not more different from the Sahara. On the one hand, and chiefly in
groups of from eight to a dozen, volcanic islands rise above the sea;
few reach an altitude of less than 4,000 feet; one exceeds 13,000; their
tops are often obscured in cloud, they are all clothed with various
forests, all abound in food, and are all remarkable for picturesque and
solemn scenery. On the other hand, we have the atoll; a thing of
problematic origin and history, the reputed creature of an insect
apparently unidentified; rudely annular in shape; enclosing a lagoon;
rarely extending beyond a quarter of a mile at its chief width; often
rising at its highest point to less than the stature of a man--man
himself, the rat and the land crab, its chief inhabitants; not more
variously supplied with plants; and offering to the eye, even when
perfect, only a ring of glittering beach and verdant foliage, enclosing
and enclosed by the blue sea.
In no quarter are the atolls so thickly congregated, in none are they so
varied in size from the greatest to the least, and in none is navigation
so beset with perils, as in that archipelago that we were now to thread.
The huge system of the trades is, for some reason, quite confounded by
this multiplicity of reefs; the wind intermits, squalls are frequent
from the west and south-west, hurricanes are known. The currents are,
besides, inextricably intermixed; dead reckoning becomes a farce; the
charts are not to be trusted; and such is the number and similarity of
these islands that, even when you have picked one up, you may be none
the wiser. The reputation of the place is consequently infamous;
insurance offices exclude it from their field, and it was not without
misgiving that my captain risked the _Casco_ in such waters. I believe,
indeed, it is almost understood that yachts are to avoid this baffling
archipelago; and it required all my instances--and all Mr. Otis's
private taste for adventure--to deflect our course across its midst.
For a few days we sailed with a steady trade, and a steady westerly
current setting us to leeward; and toward sundown of the seventh it was
supposed we should have sighted Takaroa, one of Cook's so-called King
George Islands. The sun set; yet a while longer the old
moon--semi-brilliant herself, and with a silver belly, which was her
successor--sailed among gathering clouds; she, too, deserted us; stars
of every degree of sheen, and clouds of every variety of form, disputed
the sub-lustrous night; and still we gazed in vain for Takaroa. The mate
stood on the bowsprit, his tall grey figure slashing up and down against
the stars, and still
"nihil astra præter
Vidit et undas."
The rest of us were grouped at the port anchor davit, staring with no
less assiduity, but with far less hope on the obscure horizon. Islands
we beheld in plenty, but they were of "such stuff as dreams are made
on," and vanished at a wink, only to appear in other places; and by and
by not only islands, but refulgent and revolving lights began to stud
the darkness; light-houses of the mind or of the wearied optic nerve,
solemnly shining and winking as we passed. At length the mate himself
despaired, scrambled on board again from his unrestful perch, and
announced that we had missed our destination. He was the only man of
practice in these waters, our sole pilot, shipped for that end at
Tai-o-hae. If he declared we had missed Takaroa, it was not for us to
quarrel with the fact, but, if we could, to explain it. We had certainly
run down our southing. Our canted wake upon the sea and our somewhat
drunken-looking course upon the chart both testified with no less
certainty to an impetuous westward current. We had no choice but to
conclude we were again set down to leeward; and the best we could do was
to bring the _Casco_ to the wind, keep a good watch, and expect morning.
I slept that night, as was then my somewhat dangerous practice, on deck
upon the cockpit bench. A stir at last awoke me, to see all the eastern
heaven dyed with faint orange, the binnacle lamp already dulled against
the brightness of the day, and the steersman leaning eagerly across the
wheel. "There it is, sir!" he cried, and pointed in the very eyeball of
the dawn. For a while I could see nothing but the bluish ruins of the
morning bank, which lay far along the horizon, like melting icebergs.
Then the sun rose, pierced a gap in these _débris_ of vapours, and
displayed an inconsiderable islet, flat as a plate upon the sea, and
spiked with palms of disproportioned altitude.
So far, so good. Here was certainly an atoll, and we were certainly got
among the archipelago. But which? And where? The isle was too small for
either Takaroa: in all our neighbourhood, indeed, there was none so
inconsiderable, save only Tikei; and Tikei, one of Roggewein's so-called
Pernicious Islands, seemed beside the question. At that rate, instead of
drifting to the west, we must have fetched up thirty miles to windward.
And how about the current? It had been setting us down, by observation,
all these days: by the deflection of our wake, it should be setting us
down that moment. When had it stopped? When had it begun again? and what
kind of torrent was that which had swept us eastward in the interval? To
these questions, so typical of navigation in that range of isles, I have
no answer. Such were at least the facts; Tikei our island turned out to
be; and it was our first experience of the dangerous archipelago, to
make our landfall thirty miles out.
The sight of Tikei, thrown direct against the splendour of the morning,
robbed of all its colour, and deformed with disproportioned trees like
bristles on a broom, had scarce prepared us to be much in love with
atolls. Later the same day we saw under more fit conditions the island
of Taiaro. "Lost in the Sea" is possibly the meaning of the name. And it
was so we saw it; lost in blue sea and sky: a ring of white beach, green
underwood, and tossing palms, gem-like in colour; of a fairy, of a
heavenly prettiness. The surf ran all around it, white as snow, and
broke at one point, far to seaward, on what seemed an uncharted reef.
There was no smoke, no sign of man; indeed, the isle is not inhabited,
only visited at intervals. And yet a trader (Mr. Narii Salmon) was
watching from the shore and wondering at the unexpected ship. I have
spent since then long months upon low islands; I know the tedium of
their undistinguished days; I know the burden of their diet. With
whatever envy we may have looked from the deck on these green coverts,
it was with a tenfold greater that Mr. Salmon and his comrades saw us
steer, in our trim ship, to seaward.
The night fell lovely in the extreme. After the moon went down, the
heaven was a thing to wonder at for stars. And as I lay in the cockpit
and looked upon the steersman I was haunted by Emerson's verses:
"And the lone seaman all the night
Sails astonished among stars."
By this glittering and imperfect brightness, about four bells in the
first watch we made our third atoll, Raraka. The low line of the isle
lay straight along the sky; so that I was at first reminded of a
towpath, and we seemed to be mounting some engineered and navigable
stream. Presently a red star appeared, about the height and brightness
of a danger signal, and with that my simile was changed; we seemed
rather to skirt the embankment of a railway, and the eye began to look
instinctively for the telegraph-posts, and the ear to expect the coming
of a train. Here and there, but rarely, faint tree-tops broke the level.
And the sound of the surf accompanied us, now in a drowsy monotone, now
with a menacing swing.
The isle lay nearly east and west, barring our advance on Fakarava. We
must, therefore, hug the coast until we gained the western end, where,
through a passage eight miles wide, we might sail southward between
Raraka and the next isle, Kauehi. We had the wind free, a lightish air;
but clouds of an inky blackness were beginning to arise, and at times
it lightened--without thunder. Something, I know not what, continually
set us up upon the island. We lay more and more to the nor'ard; and you
would have thought the shore copied our manoeuvre and outsailed us.
Once and twice Raraka headed us again--again, in the sea fashion, the
quite innocent steersman was abused--and again the _Casco_ kept away.
Had I been called on, with no more light than that of our experience, to
draw the configuration of that island, I should have shown a series of
bow-window promontories, each overlapping the other to the nor'ard, and
the trend of the land from the south-east to the north-west, and behold,
on the chart it lay near east and west in a straight line.
We had but just repeated our manoeuvre and kept away--for not more
than five minutes the railway embankment had been lost to view and the
surf to hearing--when I was aware of land again, not only on the weather
bow, but dead ahead. I played the part of the judicious landsman,
holding my peace till the last moment; and presently my mariners
perceived it for themselves.
"Land ahead!" said the steersman.
"By God, it's Kauehi!" cried the mate.
And so it was. And with that I began to be sorry for cartographers. We
were scarce doing three and a half; and they asked me to believe that
(in five minutes) we had dropped an island, passed eight miles of open
water, and run almost high and dry upon the next. But my captain was
more sorry for himself to be afloat in such a labyrinth; laid the
_Casco_ to, with the log line up and down, and sat on the stern rail and
watched it till the morning. He had enough of night in the Paumotus.
By daylight on the 9th we began to skirt Kauehi, and had now an
opportunity to see near at hand the geography of atolls. Here and there,
where it was high, the farther side loomed up; here and there the near
side dipped entirely and showed a broad path of water into the lagoon;
here and there both sides were equally abased, and we could look right
through the discontinuous ring to the sea horizon on the south.
Conceive, on a vast scale, the submerged hoop of the duck-hunter,
trimmed with green rushes to conceal his head--water within, water
without--you have the image of the perfect atoll. Conceive one that has
been partly plucked of its rush fringe; you have the atoll of Kauehi.
And for either shore of it at closer quarters, conceive the line of some
old Roman highway traversing a wet morass, and here sunk out of view and
there re-arising, crowned with a green tuft of thicket; only instead of
the stagnant waters of a marsh, the live ocean now boiled against, now
buried the frail barrier. Last night's impression in the dark was thus
confirmed by day, and not corrected. We sailed indeed by a mere causeway
in the sea, of nature's handiwork, yet of no greater magnitude than many
of the works of man.
The isle was uninhabited; it was all green brush and white sand, set in
transcendently blue water; even the coco-palms were rare, though some of
these completed the bright harmony of colour by hanging out a fan of
golden yellow. For long there was no sign of life beyond the vegetable,
and no sound but the continuous grumble of the surf. In silence and
desertion these fair shores slipped past, and were submerged and rose
again with clumps of thicket from the sea. And then a bird or two
appeared, hovering and crying; swiftly these became more numerous, and
presently, looking ahead, we were aware of a vast effervescence of
winged life. In this place the annular isle was mostly under water,
carrying here and there on its submerged line a wooded islet. Over one
of these the birds hung and flew with an incredible density like that of
gnats or hiving bees; the mass flashed white and black, and heaved and
quivered, and the screaming of the creatures rose over the voice of the
surf in a shrill clattering whirr. As you descend some inland valley, a
not dissimilar sound announces the nearness of a mill and pouring river.
Some stragglers, as I said, came to meet our approach; a few still hung
about the ship as we departed. The crying died away, the last pair of
wings was left behind, and once more the low shores of Kauehi streamed
past our eyes in silence like a picture. I supposed at the time that the
birds lived, like ants or citizens, concentred where we saw them. I have
been told since (I know not if correctly) that the whole isle, or much
of it, is similarly peopled; and that the effervescence at a single spot
would be the mark of a boat's crew of egg-hunters from one of the
neighbouring inhabited atolls. So that here at Kauehi, as the day before
at Taiaro, the _Casco_ sailed by under the fire of unsuspected eyes. And
one thing is surely true, that even on these ribbons of land an army
might lie hid and no passing mariner divine its presence.
CHAPTER II
FAKARAVA: AN ATOLL AT HAND
By a little before noon we were running down the coast of our
destination, Fakarava: the air very light, the sea near smooth; though
still we were accompanied by a continuous murmur from the beach, like
the sound of a distant train. The isle is of a huge longitude, the
enclosed lagoon thirty miles by ten or twelve, and the coral tow-path,
which they call the land, some eighty or ninety miles by (possibly) one
furlong. That part by which we sailed was all raised; the underwood
excellently green, the topping wood of coco-palms continuous--a mark, if
I had known it, of man's intervention. For once more, and once more
unconsciously, we were within hail of fellow-creatures, and that vacant
beach was but a pistol-shot from the capital city of the archipelago.
But the life of an atoll, unless it be enclosed, passes wholly on the
shores of the lagoon; it is there the villages are seated, there the
canoes ply and are drawn up; and the beach of the ocean is a place
accursed and deserted, the fit scene only for wizardry and shipwreck,
and in the native belief a haunting ground of murderous spectres.
By and by we might perceive a breach in the low barrier; the woods
ceased; a glittering point ran into the sea, tipped with an emerald
shoal, the mark of entrance. As we drew near we met a little run of
sea--the private sea of the lagoon having there its origin and end, and
here, in the jaws of the gateway, trying vain conclusions with the more
majestic heave of the Pacific. The _Casco_ scarce avowed a shock; but
there are times and circumstances when these harbour mouths of inland
basins vomit floods, deflecting, burying, and dismasting ships. For,
conceive a lagoon perfectly sealed but in the one point, and that of
merely navigable width; conceive the tide and wind to have heaped for
hours together in that coral fold a superfluity of waters, and the tide
to change and the wind fall--the open sluice of some great reservoirs at
home will give an image of the unstemmable effluxion.
We were scarce well headed for the pass before all heads were craned
over the rail. For the water, shoaling under our board, became changed
in a moment to surprising hues of blue and grey; and in its transparency
the coral branched and blossomed, and the fish of the inland sea cruised
visibly below us, stained and stripped, and even beaked like parrots. I
have paid in my time to view many curiosities; never one so curious as
that first sight over the ship's rail in the lagoon of Fakarava. But let
not the reader be deceived with hope. I have since entered, I suppose,
some dozen atolls in different parts of the Pacific, and the experience
has never been repeated. That exquisite hue and transparency of
submarine day, and these shoals of rainbow fish have not enraptured me
again.
Before we could raise our eyes from that engaging spectacle the schooner
had slipped betwixt the pier-heads of the reef, and was already quite
committed to the sea within. The containing shores are so little
erected, and the lagoon itself is so great, that, for the more part, it
seemed to extend without a check to the horizon. Here and there, indeed,
where the reef carried an inlet, like a signet-ring upon a finger, there
would be a pencilling of palms; here and there, the green wall of wood
ran solid for a length of miles; and on the port hand, under the highest
grove of trees, a few houses sparkled white--Rotoava, the metropolitan
settlement of the Paumotus. Hither we beat in three tacks, and came to
an anchor close in shore, in the first smooth water since we had left
San Francisco, five fathoms deep, where a man might look overboard all
day at the vanishing cable, the coral patches, and the many-coloured
fish.
Fakarava was chosen to be the seat of Government from nautical
considerations only. It is eccentrically situate; the productions, even
for a low island, poor; the population neither many nor--for Low
Islanders--industrious. But the lagoon has two good passages, one to
leeward, one to windward, so that in all states of the wind it can be
left and entered, and this advantage, for a government of scattered
islands, was decisive. A pier of coral, landing-stairs, a harbour light
upon a staff and pillar, and two spacious Government bungalows in a
handsome fence, give to the northern end of Rotoava a great air of
consequence. This is confirmed on the one hand by an empty prison, on
the other by a gendarmerie pasted over with handbills in Tahitian,
land-law notices from Papeete, and republican sentiments from Paris,
signed (a little after date) "Jules Grévy, _Perihidente_." Quite at the
far end a belfried Catholic chapel concludes the town; and between, on a
smooth floor of white coral sand and under the breezy canopy of
coco-palms, the houses of the natives stand irregularly scattered, now
close on the lagoon for the sake of the breeze, now back under the palms
for love of shadow.
Not a soul was to be seen. But for the thunder of the surf on the far
side, it seemed you might have heard a pin drop anywhere about that
capital city. There was something thrilling in the unexpected silence,
something yet more so in the unexpected sound. Here before us a sea
reached to the horizon, rippling like an inland mere; and, behold! close
at our back another sea assaulted with assiduous fury the reverse of the
position. At night the lantern was run up and lit a vacant pier. In one
house lights were seen and voices heard, where the population (I was
told) sat playing cards. A little beyond, from deep in the darkness of
the palm grove, we saw the glow and smelt the aromatic odour of a coal
of cocoa-nut husk, a relic of the evening kitchen. Crickets sang; some
shrill thing whistled in a tuft of weeds; and the mosquito hummed and
stung. There was no other trace that night of man, bird, or insect in
the isle. The moon, now three days old, and as yet but a silver crescent
on a still visible sphere, shone through the palm canopy with vigorous
and scattered lights. The alleys where we walked were smoothed and
weeded like a boulevard; here and there were plants set out; here and
there dusky cottages clustered in the shadow, some with verandahs. A
public garden by night, a rich and fashionable watering-place in a
by-season, offer sights and vistas not dissimilar. And still, on the one
side, stretched the lapping mere, and from the other the deep sea still
growled in the night. But it was most of all on board, in the dead
hours, when I had been better sleeping, that the spell of Fakarava
seized and held me. The moon was down. The harbour lantern and two of
the greater planets drew vari-coloured wakes on the lagoon. From shore
the cheerful watch-cry of cocks rang out at intervals above the
organ-point of surf. And the thought of this depopulated capital, this
protracted thread of annular island with its crest of coco-palms and
fringe of breakers, and that tranquil inland sea that stretched before
me till it touched the stars, ran in my head for hours with delight.
So long as I stayed upon that isle these thoughts were constant. I lay
down to sleep, and woke again with an unblunted sense of my
surroundings. I was never weary of calling up the image of that narrow
causeway, on which I had my dwelling, lying coiled like a serpent, tail
to mouth, in the outrageous ocean, and I was never weary of passing--a
mere quarter-deck parade--from the one side to the other, from the
shady, habitable shores of the lagoon to the blinding desert and
uproarious breakers of the opposite beach. The sense of insecurity in
such a thread of residence is more than fanciful. Hurricanes and tidal
waves over-leap these humble obstacles; Oceanus remembers his strength,
and, where houses stood and palms flourished, shakes his white beard
again over the barren coral. Fakarava itself has suffered; the trees
immediately beyond my house were all of recent replantation; and Anaa is
only now recovered from a heavier stroke. I knew one who was then
dwelling in the isle. He told me that he and two ship captains walked to
the sea beach. There for a while they viewed the on-coming breakers,
till one of the captains clapped suddenly his hand before his eyes and
cried aloud that he could endure no longer to behold them. This was in
the afternoon; in the dark hours of the night the sea burst upon the
island like a flood; the settlement was razed, all but the church and
presbytery; and, when day returned, the survivors saw themselves
clinging in an abattis of uprooted coco-palms and ruined houses.
Danger is but a small consideration. But men are more nicely sensible of
a discomfort; and the atoll is a discomfortable home. There are some,
and these probably ancient, where a deep soil has formed and the most
valuable fruit-trees prosper. I have walked in one, with equal
admiration and surprise, through a forest of huge breadfruits, eating
bananas and stumbling among taro as I went. This was in the atoll of
Namorik in the Marshall group, and stands alone in my experience. To
give the opposite extreme, which is yet far more near the average, I
will describe the soil and productions of Fakarava. The surface of that
narrow strip is for the more part of broken coral limestone, like
volcanic clinkers, and excruciating to the naked foot; in some atolls, I
believe, not in Fakarava, it gives a fine metallic ring when struck.
Here and there you come upon a bank of sand, exceeding fine and white,
and these parts are the least productive. The plants (such as they are)
spring from and love the broken coral, whence they grow with that
wonderful verdancy that makes the beauty of the atoll from the sea. The
coco-palm in particular luxuriates in that stern _solum_, striking down
his roots to the brackish, percolated water, and bearing his green head
in the wind with every evidence of health and pleasure. And yet even
the coco-palm must be helped in infancy with some extraneous nutriment,
and through much of the low archipelago there is planted with each nut a
piece of ship's biscuit and a rusty nail. The pandanus comes next in
importance, being also a food tree; and he, too, does bravely. A green
bush called _miki_ runs everywhere; occasionally a purao is seen; and
there are several useless weeds. According to M. Cuzent, the whole
number of plants on an atoll such as Fakarava will scarce exceed, even
if it reaches to, one score. Not a blade of grass appears; not a grain
of humus, save when a sack or two has been imported to make the
semblance of a garden; such gardens as bloom in cities on the
window-sill. Insect life is sometimes dense; a cloud of mosquitoes, and,
what is far worse, a plague of flies blackening our food, have sometimes
driven us from a meal on Apemama; and even in Fakarava the mosquitoes
were a pest. The land crab may be seen scuttling to his hole, and at
night the rats besiege the houses and the artificial gardens. The crab
is good eating; possibly so is the rat; I have not tried. Pandanus fruit
is made, in the Gilberts, into an agreeable sweetmeat, such as a man may
trifle with at the end of a long dinner; for a substantial meal I have
no use for it. The rest of the food-supply, in a destitute atoll such as
Fakarava, can be summed up in the favourite jest of the
archipelago--cocoa-nut beefsteak. Cocoa-nut green, cocoa-nut ripe,
cocoa-nut germinated; cocoa-nut to eat and cocoa-nut to drink; cocoa-nut
raw and cooked, cocoa-nut hot and cold--such is the bill of fare. And
some of the entrees are no doubt delicious. The germinated nut, cooked
in the shell and eaten with a spoon, forms a good pudding; cocoa-nut
milk--the expressed juice of a ripe nut, not the water of a green
one--goes well in coffee, and is a valuable adjunct in cookery through
the South Seas; and cocoa-nut salad, if you be a millionaire, and can
afford to eat the value of a field of corn for your dessert, is a dish
to be remembered with affection. But when all is done there is a
sameness, and the Israelites of the low islands murmur at their manna.
The reader may think I have forgot the sea. The two beaches do certainly
abound in life, and they are strangely different. In the lagoon the
water shallows slowly on a bottom of fine slimy sand, dotted with clumps
of growing coral. Then comes a strip of tidal beach on which the ripples
lap. In the coral clumps the great holy-water clam (_Tridacna_) grows
plentifully; a little deeper lie the beds of the pearl-oyster and sail
the resplendent fish that charmed us at our entrance; and these are all
more or less vigorously coloured. But the other shells are white like
lime, or faintly tinted with a little pink, the palest possible display;
many of them dead besides, and badly rolled. On the ocean side, on the
mounds of the steep beach, over all the width of the reef right out to
where the surf is bursting, in every cranny, under every scattered
fragment of the coral, an incredible plenty of marine life displays the
most wonderful variety and brilliancy of hues. The reef itself has no
passage of colour but is imitated by some shell. Purple and red and
white, and green and yellow, pied and striped and clouded, the living
shells wear in every combination the livery of the dead reef--if the
reef be dead--so that the eye is continually baffled and the collector
continually deceived. I have taken shells for stones and stones for
shells, the one as often as the other. A prevailing character of the
coral is to be dotted with small spots of red, and it is wonderful how
many varieties of shell have adopted the same fashion and donned the
disguise of the red spot. A shell I had found in plenty in the Marquesas
I found here also unchanged in all things else, but there were the red
spots. A lively little crab wore the same marking. The case of the
hermit or soldier crab was more conclusive, being the result of
conscious choice. This nasty little wrecker, scavenger, and squatter has
learned the value of a spotted house; so it be of the right colour he
will choose the smallest shard, tuck himself in a mere corner of a
broken whorl, and go about the world half naked; but I never found him
in this imperfect armour unless it was marked with the red spot.
Some two hundred yards distant is the beach of the lagoon. Collect the
shells from each, set them side by side, and you would suppose they came
from different hemispheres; the one so pale, the other so brilliant; the
one prevalently white, the other of a score of hues, and infected with
the scarlet spot like a disease. This seems the more strange, since the
hermit crabs pass and repass the island, and I have met them by the
Residency well, which is about central, journeying either way. Without
doubt many of the shells in the lagoon are dead. But why are they dead?
Without doubt the living shells have a very different background set for
imitation. But why are these so different? We are only on the threshold
of the mysteries.
Either beach, I have said, abounds with life. On the sea-side and in
certain atolls this profusion of vitality is even shocking: the rock
under foot is mined with it. I have broken oft--notably in Funafuti and
Arorai[5]--great lumps of ancient weathered rock that rang under my
blows like iron, and the fracture has been full of pendent worms as long
as my hand, as thick as a child's finger, of a slightly pinkish white,
and set as close as three or even four to the square inch. Even in the
lagoon, where certain shell-fish seem to sicken, others (it is
notorious) prosper exceedingly and make the riches of these islands.
Fish, too, abound; the lagoon is a closed fish-pond, such as might
rejoice the fancy of an abbot; sharks swarm there, and chiefly round the
passages, to feast upon this plenty, and you would suppose that man had
only to prepare his angle. Alas! it is not so. Of these painted fish
that came in hordes about the entering _Casco_, some bore poisonous
spines, and others were poisonous if eaten. The stranger must refrain,
or take his chance of painful and dangerous sickness. The native, on his
own isle, is a safe guide; transplant him to the next, and he is as
helpless as yourself. For it is a question both of time and place. A
fish caught in a lagoon may be deadly; the same fish caught the same day
at sea, and only a few hundred yards without the passage, will be
wholesome eating: in a neighbouring isle perhaps the case will be
reversed; and perhaps a fortnight later you shall be able to eat of them
indifferently from within and from without. According to the natives,
these bewildering vicissitudes are ruled by the movement of the heavenly
bodies. The beautiful planet Venus plays a great part in all island
tales and customs; and among other functions, some of them more awful,
she regulates the season of good fish. With Venus in one phase, as we
had her, certain fish were poisonous in the lagoon: with Venus in
another, the same fish was harmless and a valued article of diet. White
men explain these changes by the phases of the coral.
It adds a last touch of horror to the thought of this precarious annular
gangway in the sea, that even what there is of it is not of honest rock,
but organic, part alive, part putrescent; even the clean sea and the
bright fish about it poisoned, the most stubborn boulder burrowed in by
worms, the lightest dust venomous as an apothecary's drugs.
FOOTNOTE:
[5] Arorai is in the Gilberts, Funafuti in the Ellice Islands.--Ed.
CHAPTER III
A HOUSE TO LET IN A LOW ISLAND
Never populous, it was yet by a chapter of accidents that I found the
island so deserted that no sound of human life diversified the hours;
that we walked in the trim public garden of a town, among closed houses,
without even a lodging-bill in a window to prove some tenancy in the
back quarters; and, when we visited the Government bungalow, that Mr.
Donat, acting Vice-Resident, greeted us alone, and entertained us with
cocoa-nut punches in the Sessions Hall and seat of judgment of that
widespread archipelago, our glasses standing arrayed with summonses and
census returns. The unpopularity of the late Vice-Resident had begun the
movement of exodus, his native employés resigning court appointments and
retiring each to his own coco-patch in the remoter districts of the
isle. Upon the back of that, the Governor in Papeete issued a decree:
All land in the Paumotus must be defined and registered by a certain
date. Now, the folk of the archipelago are half nomadic; a man can
scarce be said to belong to a particular atoll; he belongs to several,
perhaps holds a stake and counts cousinship in half a score; and the
inhabitants of Rotoava in particular, man, woman, and child, and from
the gendarme to the Mormon prophet and the schoolmaster, owned--I was
going to say land--owned at least coral blocks and growing coco-palms in
some adjacent isle. Thither--from the gendarme to the babe in arms, the
pastor followed by his flock, the schoolmaster carrying along with him
his scholars, and the scholars with their books and slates--they had
taken ship some two days previous to our arrival, and were all now
engaged disputing boundaries. Fancy overhears the shrillness of their
disputation mingle with the surf and scatter sea-fowl. It was admirable
to observe the completeness of their flight, like that of hibernating
birds; nothing left but empty houses, like old nests to be reoccupied in
spring; and even the harmless necessary dominie borne with them in their
transmigration. Fifty odd set out, and only seven, I was informed,
remained. But when I made a feast on board the _Casco_, more than seven,
and nearer seven times seven, appeared to be my guests. Whence they
appeared, how they were summoned, whither they vanished when the feast
was eaten, I have no guess. In view of low island tales, and that awful
frequentation which makes men avoid the seaward beaches of an atoll,
some two score of those that ate with us may have returned, for the
occasion, from the kingdom of the dead.
It was this solitude that put it in our minds to hire a house, and
become, for the time being, indwellers of the isle--a practice I have
ever since, when it was possible, adhered to. Mr. Donat placed us, with
that intent, under the convoy of one Taniera Mahinui, who combined the
incongruous characters of catechist and convict. The reader may smile,
but I affirm he was well qualified for either part. For that of convict,
first of all, by a good substantial felony, such as in all lands casts
the perpetrator in chains and dungeons. Taniera was a man of birth--the
chief a while ago, as he loved to tell, of a district in Anaa of 800
souls. In an evil hour it occurred to the authorities in Papeete to
charge the chiefs with the collection of the taxes. It is a question if
much were collected; it is certain that nothing was handed on; and
Taniera, who had distinguished himself by a visit to Papeete and some
high living in restaurants, was chosen for the scapegoat. The reader
must understand that not Taniera but the authorities in Papeete were
first in fault. The charge imposed was disproportioned. I have not yet
heard of any Polynesian capable of such a burden; honest and upright
Hawaiians--one in particular, who was admired even by the whites as an
inflexible magistrate--have stumbled in the narrow path of the trustee.
And Taniera, when the pinch came, scorned to denounce accomplices;
others had shared the spoil, he bore the penalty alone. He was condemned
in five years. The period, when I had the pleasure of his friendship,
was not yet expired; he still drew prison rations, the sole and not
unwelcome reminder of his chains, and, I believe, looked forward to the
date of his enfranchisement with mere alarm. For he had no sense of
shame in the position; complained of nothing but the defective table of
his place of exile; regretted nothing but the fowls and eggs and fish of
his own more favoured island. And as for his parishioners, they did not
think one hair the less of him. A schoolboy, mulcted in ten thousand
lines of Greek and dwelling sequestered in the dormitories, enjoys
unabated consideration from his fellows. So with Taniera: a marked man,
not a dishonoured; having fallen under the lash of the unthinkable gods;
a Job, perhaps, or say a Taniera in the den of lions. Songs are likely
made and sung about this saintly Robin Hood. On the other hand, he was
even highly qualified for his office in the Church; being by nature a
grave, considerate, and kindly man; his face rugged and serious, his
smile bright; the master of several trades, a builder both of boats and
houses; endowed with a fine pulpit voice; endowed besides with such a
gift of eloquence that at the grave of the late chief of Fakarava he set
all the assistants weeping. I never met a man of a mind more
ecclesiastical; he loved to dispute and to inform himself of doctrine
and the history of sects; and when I showed him the cuts in a volume of
Chambers's "Encyclopædia"--except for one of an ape--reserved his whole
enthusiasm for cardinals' hats, censers, candlesticks, and cathedrals.
Methought when he looked upon the cardinal's hat a voice said low in his
ear: "Your foot is on the ladder."
Under the guidance of Taniera we were soon installed in what I believe
to have been the best-appointed private house in Fakarava. It stood just
beyond the church in an oblong patch of cultivation. More than three
hundred sacks of soil were imported from Tahiti for the Residency
garden; and this must shortly be renewed, for the earth blows away,
sinks in crevices of the coral, and is sought for at last in vain. I
know not how much earth had gone to the garden of my villa; some at
least, for an alley of prosperous bananas ran to the gate, and over the
rest of the enclosure, which was covered with the usual clinker-like
fragments of smashed coral, not only coco-palms and mikis but also
fig-trees flourished, all of a delicious greenness. Of course there was
no blade of grass. In front a picket fence divided us from the white
road, the palm-fringed margin of the lagoon, and the lagoon itself,
reflecting clouds by day and stars by night. At the back, a bulwark of
uncemented coral enclosed us from the narrow belt of bush and the nigh
ocean beach where the seas thundered, the roar and wash of them still
humming in the chambers of the house.
This itself was of one story, verandahed front and back. It contained
three rooms, three sewing-machines, three sea-chests, chairs, tables, a
pair of beds, a cradle, a double-barrelled gun, a pair of enlarged
coloured photographs, a pair of coloured prints after Wilkie and
Mulready, and a French lithograph with the legend: "_Le brigade du
Général Lepasset brûlant son drapeau devant Metz._" Under the stilts of
the house a stove was rusting, till we drew it forth and put it in
commission. Not far off was the burrow in the coral whence we supplied
ourselves with brackish water. There was live stock, besides, on the
estate--cocks and hens and a brace of ill-regulated cats, whom Taniera
came every morning with the sun to feed on grated cocoa-nut. His voice
was our regular réveille, ringing pleasantly about the garden:
"Pooty--pooty--poo--poo--poo!"
Far as we were from the public offices, the nearness of the chapel made
our situation what is called eligible in advertisements, and gave us a
side look on some native life. Every morning, as soon as he had fed the
fowls, Taniera set the bell agoing in the small belfry; and the
faithful, who were not very numerous, gathered to prayers. I was once
present: it was the Lord's day, and seven females and eight males
composed the congregation. A woman played precentor, starting with a
longish note; the catechist joined in upon the second bar; and then the
faithful in a body. Some had printed hymn-books which they followed;
some of the rest filled up with "eh--eh--eh," the Paumotuan tol-de-rol.
After the hymn, we had an antiphonal prayer or two; and then Taniera
rose from the front bench, where he had been sitting in his catechist's
robes, passed within the altar-rails, opened his Tahitian Bible, and
began to preach from notes. I understood one word--the name of God; but
the preacher managed his voice with taste, used rare and expressive
gestures, and made a strong impression of sincerity. The plain service,
the vernacular Bible, the hymn-tunes mostly on an English pattern--"God
save the Queen," I was informed, a special favourite,--all, save some
paper flowers upon the altar, seemed not merely but austerely
Protestant. It is thus the Catholics have met their low island
proselytes half-way.
Taniera had the keys of our house; it was with him I made my bargain, if
that could be called a bargain in which all was remitted to my
generosity; it was he who fed the cats and poultry, he who came to call
and pick a meal with us like an acknowledged friend; and we long fondly
supposed he was our landlord. This belief was not to bear the test of
experience; and, as my chapter has to relate, no certainty succeeded it.
We passed some days of airless quiet and great heat; shell-gatherers
were warned from the ocean beach, where sunstroke waited them from ten
till four; the highest palm hung motionless, there was no voice audible
but that of the sea on the far side. At last, about four of a certain
afternoon, long cat's-paws flawed the face of the lagoon; and presently
in the tree-tops there awoke the grateful bustle of the trades, and all
the houses and alleys of the island were fanned out. To more than one
enchanted ship, that had lain long becalmed in view of the green shore,
the wind brought deliverance; and by daylight on the morrow a schooner
and two cutters lay moored in the port of Rotoava. Not only in the outer
sea, but in the lagoon itself, a certain traffic woke with the reviving
breeze; and among the rest one François, a half-blood, set sail with the
first light in his own half-decked cutter. He had held before a court
appointment; being, I believe, the Residency sweeper-out. Trouble
arising with the unpopular Vice-Resident, he had thrown his honours
down, and fled to the far parts of the atoll to plant cabbages--or at
least coco-palms. Thence he was now driven by such need as even a
Cincinnatus must acknowledge, and fared for the capital city, the seat
of his late functions, to exchange half a ton of copra for necessary
flour. And here, for a while, the story leaves to tell of his voyaging.
It must tell, instead, of our house, where, toward seven at night, the
catechist came suddenly in with his pleased air of being welcome; armed
besides with a considerable bunch of keys. These he proceeded to try on
the sea-chests, drawing each in turn from its place against the wall.
Heads of strangers appeared in the doorway and volunteered suggestions.
All in vain. Either they were the wrong keys or the wrong boxes, or the
wrong man was trying them. For a little Taniera fumed and fretted; then
had recourse to the more summary method of the hatchet; one of the
chests was broken open, and an armful of clothing, male and female,
baled out and handed to the strangers on the verandah.
These were François, his wife, and their child. About eight A.M., in the
midst of the lagoon, their cutter had capsized in jibbing. They got her
righted, and though she was still full of water put the child on board.
The mainsail had been carried away, but the jib still drew her
sluggishly along, and François and the woman swam astern and worked the
rudder with their hands. The cold was cruel; the fatigue, as time went
on, became excessive; and in that preserve of sharks, fear haunted them.
Again and again, François, the half-breed, would have desisted and gone
down; but the woman, whole blood of an amphibious race, still supported
him with cheerful words. I am reminded of a woman of Hawaii who swam
with her husband, I dare not say how many miles, in a high sea, and came
ashore at last with his dead body in her arms. It was about five in the
evening, after nine hours' swimming, that François and his wife reached
land at Rotoava. The gallant fight was won, and instantly the more
childish side of native character appears. They had supped, and told and
retold their story, dripping as they came; the flesh of the woman, whom
Mrs. Stevenson helped to shift, was cold as stone; and François, having
changed to a dry cotton shirt and trousers, passed the remainder of the
evening on my floor and between open doorways, in a thorough draught.
Yet François, the son of a French father, speaks excellent French
himself and seems intelligent.
It was our first idea that the catechist, true to his evangelical
vocation, was clothing the naked from his superfluity. Then it came out
that François was but dealing with his own. The clothes were his, so was
the chest, so was the house. François was in fact the landlord. Yet you
observe he had hung back on the verandah while Taniera tried his
'prentice hand upon the locks; and even now, when his true character
appeared, the only use he made of the estate was to leave the clothes of
his family drying on the fence. Taniera was still the friend of the
house, still fed the poultry, still came about us on his daily visits;
François, during the remainder of his stay, holding bashfully aloof. And
there was stranger matter. Since François had lost the whole load of his
cutter, the half ton of copra, an axe, bowls, knives, and
clothes--since he had in a manner to begin the world again, and his
necessary flour was not yet bought or paid for--I proposed to advance
him what he needed on the rent. To my enduring amazement he refused, and
the reason he gave--if that can be called a reason which but darkens
counsel--was that Taniera was his friend. His friend, you observe, not
his creditor. I inquired into that, and was assured that Taniera, an
exile in a strange isle, might possibly be in debt himself, but
certainly was no man's creditor.
Very early one morning we were awakened by a bustling presence in the
yard, and found our camp had been surprised by a tall, lean, old native
lady, dressed in what were obviously widow's weeds. You could see at a
glance she was a notable woman, a housewife, sternly practical, alive
with energy, and with fine possibilities of temper. Indeed there was
nothing native about her but the skin; and the type abounds, and is
everywhere respected nearer home. It did us good to see her scour the
grounds, examining the plants and chickens; watering, feeding, trimming
them; taking angry, purpose-like possession. When she neared the house
our sympathy abated; when she came to the broken chest I wished I were
elsewhere. We had scarce a word in common; but her whole lean body spoke
for her with indignant eloquence. "My chest!" it cried, with a stress on
the possessive. "My chest--broken open! This is a fine state of things!"
I hastened to lay the blame where it belonged--on François and his
wife--and found I had made things worse instead of better. She repeated
the names at first with incredulity, then with despair. A while she
seemed stunned, next fell to disembowelling the box, piling the goods on
the floor, and visibly computing the extent of François's ravages; and
presently after she was observed in high speech with Taniera, who seemed
to hang an ear like one reproved.
Here, then, by all known marks, should be my landlady at last; here was
every character of the proprietor fully developed. Should I not
approach her on the still depending question of my rent? I carried the
point to an adviser. "Nonsense!" he cried. "That's the old woman, the
mother. It doesn't belong to her. I believe that's the man the house
belongs to," and he pointed to one of the coloured photographs on the
wall. On this I gave up all desire of understanding; and when the time
came for me to leave, in the judgment-hall of the archipelago, and with
the awful countenance of the acting Governor, I duly paid my rent to
Taniera. He was satisfied, and so was I. But what had he to do with it?
Mr. Donat, acting magistrate and a man of kindred blood, could throw no
light upon the mystery; a plain private person, with a taste for
letters, cannot be expected to do more.
CHAPTER IV
TRAITS AND SECTS IN THE PAUMOTUS
The most careless reader must have remarked a change of air since the
Marquesas. The house, crowded with effects, the bustling housewife
counting her possessions, the serious, indoctrinated island pastor, the
long fight for life in a lagoon: here are traits of a new world. I read
in a pamphlet (I will not give the author's name) that the Marquesan
especially resembles the Paumotuan. I should take the two races, though
so near in neighbourhood, to be extremes of Polynesian diversity. The
Marquesan is certainly the most beautiful of human races, and one of the
tallest--the Paumotuan averaging a good inch shorter, and not even
handsome; the Marquesan open-handed, inert, insensible to religion,
childishly self-indulgent--the Paumotuan greedy, hardy, enterprising, a
religious disputant, and with a trace of the ascetic character.
Yet a few years ago, and the people of the archipelago were crafty
savages. Their isles might be called sirens' isles, not merely from the
attraction they exerted on the passing mariner, but from the perils that
awaited him on shore. Even to this day, in certain outlying islands,
danger lingers: and the civilised Paumotuan dreads to land and hesitates
to accost his backward brother. But, except in these, to-day the peril
is a memory. When our generation were yet in the cradle and playroom it
was still a living fact. Between 1830 and 1840, Hao, for instance, was a
place of the most dangerous approach, where ships were seized and crews
kidnapped. As late as 1856, the schooner _Sarah Ann_ sailed from
Papeete and was seen no more. She had women on board, and children, the
captain's wife, a nursemaid, a baby, and the two young sons of a Captain
Steven on their way to the mainland for schooling. All were supposed to
have perished in a squall. A year later, the captain of the _Julia_,
coasting along the island variously called Bligh, Lagoon, and Tematangi,
saw armed natives follow the course of his schooner, clad in many
coloured stuffs. Suspicion was at once aroused; the mother of the lost
children was profuse of money; and one expedition having found the place
deserted and returned content with firing a few shots, she raised and
herself accompanied another. None appeared to greet or to oppose them;
they roamed a while among abandoned huts and empty thickets; then formed
two parties and set forth to beat, from end to end, the pandanus jungle
of the island. One man remained alone by the landing-place--Teina, a
chief of Anaa, leader of the armed natives who made the strength of the
expedition. Now that his comrades were departed this way and that, on
their laborious exploration, the silence fell profound; and this silence
was the ruin of the islanders. A sound of stones rattling caught the ear
of Teina. He looked, thinking to perceive a crab, and saw instead the
brown hand of a human being issue from a fissure in the ground. A shout
recalled the search parties and announced their doom to the buried
caitiffs. In the cave below, sixteen were found crouching among human
bones and singular and horrid curiosities. One was a head of golden
hair, supposed to be a relic of the captain's wife, another was half of
the body of a European child, sun-dried and stuck upon a stick,
doubtless with some design of wizardry.
The Paumotuan is eager to be rich. He saves, grudges, buries money,
fears not work. For a dollar each, two natives passed the hours of
daylight cleaning our ship's copper. It was strange to see them so
indefatigable and so much at ease in the water--working at times with
their pipes lighted, the smoker at times submerged and only the glowing
bowl above the surface; it was stranger still to think they were next
congeners to the incapable Marquesan. But the Paumotuan not only saves,
grudges, and works, he steals besides; or, to be more precise, he
swindles. He will never deny a debt, he only flees his creditor. He is
always keen for an advance; so soon as he has fingered it he disappears.
He knows your ship; so soon as it nears one island, he is off to
another. You may think you know his name; he has already changed it.
Pursuit in that infinity of isles were fruitless. The result can be
given in a nutshell. It has been actually proposed in a Government
report to secure debts by taking a photograph of the debtor; and the
other day in Papeete credits on the Paumotus to the amount of sixteen
thousand pounds were sold for less than forty--_quatre cent mille francs
pour moins de mille francs_. Even so, the purchase was thought
hazardous; and only the man who made it and who had special
opportunities could have dared to give so much.
The Paumotuan is sincerely attached to those of his own blood and
household. A touching affection sometimes unites wife and husband. Their
children, while they are alive, completely rule them; after they are
dead, their bones or their mummies are often jealously preserved and
carried from atoll to atoll in the wanderings of the family. I was told
there were many houses in Fakarava with the mummy of a child locked in a
sea-chest; after I heard it, I would glance a little jealously at those
by my own bed; in that cupboard, also, it was possible there was a tiny
skeleton.
The race seems in a fair way to survive. From fifteen islands, whose
rolls I had occasion to consult, I found a proportion of 59 births to 47
deaths for 1887. Dropping three out of the fifteen, there remained for
the other twelve the comfortable ratio of 50 births to 32 deaths. Long
habits of hardship and activity doubtless explain the contrast with
Marquesan figures. But the Paumotuan displays, besides, a certain
concern for health and the rudiments of a sanitary discipline. Public
talk with these free-spoken people plays the part of the Contagious
Diseases Act; incomers to fresh islands anxiously inquire if all be
well; and syphilis, when contracted, is successfully treated with
indigenous herbs. Like their neighbours of Tahiti, from whom they have
perhaps imbibed the error, they regard leprosy with comparative
indifference, elephantiasis with disproportionate fear. But, unlike
indeed to the Tahitian, their alarm puts on the guise of self-defence.
Any one stricken with this painful and ugly malady is confined to the
ends of villages, denied the use of paths and highways, and condemned to
transport himself between his house and coco-patch by water only, his
very footprint being held infectious. Fe'efe'e, being a creature of
marshes and the sequel of malarial fever, is not original in atolls. On
the single isle of Makatea, where the lagoon is now a marsh, the disease
has made a home. Many suffer: they are excluded (if Mr. Wilmot be right)
from much of the comfort of society; and it is believed they take a
secret vengeance. The dejections of the sick are considered highly
poisonous. Early in the morning, it is narrated, aged and malicious
persons creep into the sleeping village, and stealthily make water at
the doors of the houses of young men. Thus they propagate disease; thus
they breathe on and obliterate comeliness and health, the objects of
their envy. Whether horrid fact or more abominable legend, it equally
depicts that something bitter and energetic which distinguishes
Paumotuan man.
The archipelago is divided between two main religions, Catholic and
Mormon. They front each other proudly with a false air of permanence;
yet are but shapes, their membership in a perpetual flux. The Mormon
attends mass with devotion; the Catholic sits attentive at a Mormon
sermon, and to-morrow each may have transferred allegiance. One man had
been a pillar of the Church of Rome for fifteen years; his wife dying,
he decided that must be a poor religion that could not save a man his
wife, and turned Mormon. According to one informant, Catholicism was
the more fashionable in health, but on the approach of sickness it was
judged prudent to secede. As a Mormon, there were five chances out of
six you might recover; as a Catholic, your hopes were small; and this
opinion is perhaps founded on the comfortable rite of unction.
We all know what Catholics are, whether in the Paumotus or at home. But
the Paumotuan Mormon seemed a phenomenon apart. He marries but the one
wife, uses the Protestant Bible, observes Protestant forms of worship,
forbids the use of liquor and tobacco, practises adult baptism by
immersion, and after every public sin, rechristens the backslider. I
advised with Mahinui, whom I found well informed in the history of the
American Mormons, and he declared against the least connection. "_Pour
moi_," said he, with a fine charity, "_les Mormons ici un petit
Catholiques_." Some months later I had an opportunity to consult an
orthodox fellow-countryman, an old dissenting Highlander, long settled
in Tahiti, but still breathing of the heather of Tiree. "Why do they
call themselves Mormons?" I asked. "My dear, and that is my question!"
he exclaimed. "For by all that I can hear of their doctrine, I have
nothing to say against it, and their life, it is above reproach." And
for all that, Mormons they are, but of the earlier sowing: the so-called
Josephites, the followers of Joseph Smith, the opponents of Brigham
Young.
Grant, then, the Mormons to be Mormons. Fresh points at once arise:
"What are the Israelites? and what the Kanitus?" For a long while back
the sect had been divided into Mormons proper and so-called Israelites,
I never could hear why. A few years since there came a visiting
missionary of the name of Williams, who made an excellent collection,
and retired, leaving fresh disruption imminent. Something irregular (as
I was told) in his way of "opening the service" had raised partisans and
enemies; the church was once more rent asunder; and a new sect, the
Kanitu, issued from the division. Since then Kanitus and Israelites,
like the Cameronians and the United Presbyterians, have made common
cause; and the ecclesiastical history of the Paumotus is, for the
moment, uneventful. There will be more doing before long, and these
isles bid fair to be the Scotland of the South. Two things I could never
learn. The nature of the innovations of the Rev. Mr. Williams none would
tell me, and of the meaning of the name Kanitu none had a guess. It was
not Tahitian, it was not Marquesan; it formed no part of that ancient
speech of the Paumotus, now passing swiftly into obsolescence. One man,
a priest, God bless him! said it was the Latin for a little dog. I have
found it since as the name of a god in New Guinea; it must be a bolder
man than I who should hint at a connection. Here, then, is a singular
thing: a brand-new sect, arising by popular acclamation, and a nonsense
word invented for its name.
The design of mystery seems obvious, and according to a very intelligent
observer, Mr. Magee of Mangareva, this element of the mysterious is a
chief attraction of the Mormon Church. It enjoys some of the status of
Freemasonry at home, and there is for the convert some of the
exhilaration of adventure. Other attractions are certainly conjoined.
Perpetual rebaptism, leading to a succession of baptismal feasts, is
found, both from the social and the spiritual side, a pleasing feature.
More important is the fact that all the faithful enjoy office; perhaps
more important still, the strictness of the discipline. "The veto on
liquor," said Mr. Magee, "brings them plenty members." There is no doubt
these islanders are fond of drink, and no doubt they refrain from the
indulgence; a bout on a feast-day, for instance, may be followed by a
week or a month of rigorous sobriety. Mr. Wilmot attributes this to
Paumotuan frugality and the love of hoarding; it goes far deeper. I have
mentioned that I made a feast on board the _Casco_. To wash down ship's
bread and jam, each guest was given the choice of rum or syrup, and out
of the whole number only one man voted--in a defiant tone, and amid
shouts of mirth--for "Trum"! This was in public. I had the meanness to
repeat the experiment, whenever I had a chance, within the four walls of
my house; and three at least, who had refused at the festival, greedily
drank rum behind a door. But there were others thoroughly consistent. I
said the virtues of the race were bourgeois and puritan; and how
bourgeois is this! how puritanic! how Scottish! and how Yankee!--the
temptation, the resistance, the public hypocritical conformity, the
Pharisees, the Holy Willies, and the true disciples. With such a people
the popularity of an ascetic Church appears legitimate; in these strict
rules, in this perpetual supervision, the weak find their advantage, the
strong a certain pleasure; and the doctrine of rebaptism, a clean bill
and a fresh start, will comfort many staggering professors.
There is yet another sect, or what is called a sect--no doubt
improperly--that of the Whistlers. Duncan Cameron, so clear in favour of
the Mormons, was no less loud in condemnation of the Whistlers. Yet I do
not know; I still fancy there is some connection, perhaps fortuitous,
probably disavowed. Here at least are some doings in the house of an
Israelite clergyman (or prophet) in the island Anaa, of which I am
equally sure that Duncan would disclaim and the Whistlers hail them for
an imitation of their own. My informant, a Tahitian and a Catholic,
occupied one part of the house; the prophet and his family lived in the
other. Night after night the Mormons, in the one end, held their evening
sacrifice of song; night after night, in the other, the wife of the
Tahitian lay awake and listened to their singing with amazement. At
length she could contain herself no longer, woke her husband, and asked
him what he heard. "I hear several persons singing hymns," said he.
"Yes," she returned, "but listen again! Do you not hear something
supernatural?" His attention thus directed, he was aware of a strange
buzzing voice--and yet he declared it was beautiful--which justly
accompanied the singers. The next day he made inquiries. "It is a
spirit," said the prophet, with entire simplicity, "which has lately
made a practice of joining us at family worship." It did not appear the
thing was visible, and, like other spirits raised nearer home in these
degenerate days, it was rudely ignorant, at first could only buzz, and
had only learned of late to bear a part correctly in the music.
The performances of the Whistlers are more business-like. Their meetings
are held publicly with open doors, all being "cordially invited to
attend." The faithful sit about the room--according to one informant,
singing hymns; according to another, now singing and now whistling; the
leader, the wizard--let me rather say, the medium--sits in the midst,
enveloped in a sheet and silent; and presently, from just above his
head, or sometimes from the midst of the roof, an aerial whistling
proceeds, appalling to the inexperienced. This, it appears, is the
language of the dead; its purport is taken down progressively by one of
the expert, writing, I was told, "as fast as a telegraph operator"; and
the communications are at last made public. They are of the baldest
triviality; a schooner is perhaps announced, some idle gossip reported
of a neighbour, or if the spirit shall have been called to consultation
on a case of sickness, a remedy may be suggested. One of these,
immersion in scalding water, not long ago proved fatal to the patient.
The whole business is very dreary, very silly, and very European; it has
none of the picturesque qualities of similar conjurations in New
Zealand; it seems to possess no kernel of possible sense, like some that
I shall describe among the Gilbert islanders. Yet I was told that many
hardy, intelligent natives were inveterate whistlers. "Like Mahinui?" I
asked, willing to have a standard; and I was told "Yes." Why should I
wonder? Men more enlightened than my convict catechist sit down at home
to follies equally sterile and dull.
The medium is sometimes female. It was a woman, for instance, who
introduced these practices on the north coast of Taiarapu, to the
scandal of her own connections, her brother-in-law in particular
declaring she was drunk. But what shocked Tahiti might seem fit enough
in the Paumotus, the more so as certain women there possess, by the gift
of nature, singular and useful powers. They say they are honest,
well-intentioned ladies, some of them embarrassed by their weird
inheritance. And indeed the trouble caused by this endowment is so
great, and the protection afforded so infinitesimally small, that I
hesitate whether to call it a gift or a hereditary curse. You may rob
this lady's coco-patch, steal her canoes, burn down her house, and slay
her family scatheless; but one thing you must not do: you must not lay a
hand upon her sleeping-mat, or your belly will swell, and you can only
be cured by the lady or her husband. Here is the report of an
eyewitness, Tasmanian born, educated, a man who has made
money--certainly no fool. In 1886 he was present in a house on Makatea,
where two lads began to skylark on the mats, and were (I think) ejected.
Instantly after, their bellies began to swell; pains took hold on them;
all manner of island remedies were exhibited in vain, and rubbing only
magnified their sufferings. The man of the house was called, explained
the nature of the visitation, and prepared the cure. A cocoa-nut was
husked, filled with herbs, and with all the ceremonies of a launch, and
the utterance of spells in the Paumotuan language, committed to the sea.
From that moment the pains began to grow more easy and the swelling to
subside. The reader may stare. I can assure him, if he moved much among
old residents of the archipelago, he would be driven to admit one thing
of two--either that there is something in the swollen bellies or nothing
in the evidence of man.
I have not met these gifted ladies; but I had an experience of my own,
for I have played, for one night only, the part of the whistling spirit.
It had been blowing wearily all day, but with the fall of night the wind
abated, and the moon, which was then full, rolled in a clear sky. We
went southward down the island on the side of the lagoon, walking
through long-drawn forest aisles of palm, and on a floor of snowy sand.
No life was abroad, nor sound of life; till in a clear part of the isle
we spied the embers of a fire, and not far off, in a dark house, heard
natives talking softly. To sit without a light, even in company, and
under cover, is for a Paumotuan a somewhat hazardous extreme. The whole
scene--the strong moonlight and crude shadows on the sand, the scattered
coals, the sound of the low voices from the house, and the lap of the
lagoon along the beach--put me (I know not how) on thoughts of
superstition. I was barefoot, I observed my steps were noiseless, and
drawing near to the dark house, but keeping well in shadow, began to
whistle. "The Heaving of the Lead" was my air--no very tragic piece.
With the first note the conversation and all movement ceased; silence
accompanied me while I continued; and when I passed that way on my
return, I found the lamp was lighted in the house, but the tongues were
still mute. All night, as I now think, the wretches shivered and were
silent. For indeed, I had no guess at the time at the nature and
magnitude of the terrors I inflicted, or with what grisly images the
notes of that old song had peopled the dark house.
CHAPTER V
A PAUMOTUAN FUNERAL
No, I had no guess of these men's terrors. Yet I had received ere that a
hint, if I had understood; and the occasion was a funeral.
A little apart in the main avenue of Rotoava, in a low hut of leaves
that opened on a small enclosure, like a pigsty on a pen, an old man
dwelt solitary with his aged wife. Perhaps they were too old to migrate
with the others; perhaps they were too poor, and had no possessions to
dispute. At least they had remained behind; and it thus befell that they
were invited to my feast. I dare say it was quite a piece of politics in
the pigsty whether to come or not to come, and the husband long
swithered between curiosity and age, till curiosity conquered, and they
came, and in the midst of that last merry-making death tapped him on the
shoulder. For some days, when the sky was bright and the wind cool, his
mat would be spread in the main highway of the village, and he was to be
seen lying there inert, a mere handful of man, his wife inertly seated
by his head. They seemed to have outgrown alike our needs and faculties;
they neither spoke nor listened; they suffered us to pass without a
glance; the wife did not fan, she seemed not to attend upon her husband,
and the two poor antiques sat juxtaposed under the high canopy of palms,
the human tragedy reduced to its bare elements, a sight beyond pathos,
stirring a thrill of curiosity. And yet there was one touch of the
pathetic haunted me: that so much youth and expectation should have run
in these starved veins, and the man should have squandered all his lees
of life on a pleasure party.
On the morning of 17th September the sufferer died, and, time pressing,
he was buried the same day at four. The cemetery lies to seaward behind
Government House; broken coral, like so much road-metal, forms the
surface; a few wooden crosses, a few inconsiderable upright stones,
designate graves; a mortared wall, high enough to lean on, rings it
about; a clustering shrub surrounds it with pale leaves. Here was the
grave dug that morning, doubtless by uneasy diggers, to the sound of the
nigh sea and the cries of sea-birds; meanwhile the dead man waited in
his house, and the widow and another aged woman leaned on the fence
before the door, no speech upon their lips, no speculation in their
eyes.
Sharp at the hour the procession was in march, the coffin wrapped in
white and carried by four bearers; mourners behind--not many, for not
many remained in Rotoava, and not many in black, for these were poor;
the men in straw hats, white coats, and blue trousers or the gorgeous
parti-coloured pariu, the Tahitian kilt; the women, with a few
exceptions, brightly habited. Far in the rear came the widow, painfully
carrying the dead man's mat; a creature aged beyond humanity, to the
likeness of some missing link.
The dead man had been a Mormon; but the Mormon clergyman was gone with
the rest to wrangle over boundaries in the adjacent isle, and a layman
took his office. Standing at the head of the open grave, in a white coat
and blue pariu, his Tahitian Bible in his hand and one eye bound with a
red handkerchief, he read solemnly that chapter in Job which has been
read and heard over the bones of so many of our fathers, and with a good
voice offered up two prayers. The wind and the surf bore a burthen. By
the cemetery gate a mother in crimson suckled an infant rolled in blue.
In the midst the widow sat upon the ground and polished one of the
coffin-stretchers with a piece of coral; a little later she had turned
her back to the grave and was playing with a leaf. Did she understand?
God knows. The officiant paused a moment, stooped, and gathered and
threw reverently on the coffin a handful of rattling coral. Dust to
dust: but the grains of this dust were gross like cherries, and the true
dust that was to follow sat near by, still cohering (as by a miracle) in
the tragic resemblance of a female ape.
So far, Mormon or not, it was a Christian funeral. The well-known
passage had been read from Job, the prayers had been rehearsed, the
grave was filled, the mourners straggled homeward. With a little coarser
grain of covering earth, a little nearer outcry of the sea, a stronger
glare of sunlight on the rude enclosure, and some incongruous colours of
attire, the well-remembered form had been observed.
By rights it should have been otherwise. The mat should have been buried
with its owner; but, the family being poor, it was thriftily reserved
for a fresh service. The widow should have flung herself upon the grave
and raised the voice of official grief, the neighbours have chimed in,
and the narrow isle rung for a space with lamentation. But the widow was
old; perhaps she had forgotten, perhaps never understood, and she played
like a child with leaves and coffin-stretchers. In all ways my guest was
buried with maimed rites. Strange to think that his last conscious
pleasure was the _Casco_ and my feast; strange to think that he had
limped there, an old child, looking for some new good. And the good
thing, rest, had been allotted him.
But though the widow had neglected much, there was one part she must not
utterly neglect. She came away with the dispersing funeral; but the dead
man's mat was left behind upon the grave, and I learned that by set of
sun she must return to sleep there. This vigil is imperative. From
sundown till the rising of the morning star the Paumotuan must hold his
watch above the ashes of his kindred. Many friends, if the dead have
been a man of mark, will keep the watchers company; they will be well
supplied with coverings against the weather; I believe they bring food,
and the rite is persevered in for two weeks. Our poor survivor, if,
indeed, she properly survived, had little to cover, and few to sit with
her; on the night of the funeral a strong squall chased her from her
place of watch; for days the weather held uncertain and outrageous; and
ere seven nights were up she had desisted, and returned to sleep in her
low roof. That she should be at the pains of returning for so short a
visit to a solitary house, that this borderer of the grave should fear a
little wind and a wet blanket, filled me at the time with musings. I
could not say she was indifferent; she was so far beyond me in
experience that the court of my criticism waived jurisdiction; but I
forged excuses, telling myself she had perhaps little to lament, perhaps
suffered much, perhaps understood nothing. And lo! in the whole affair
there was no question whether of tenderness or piety, and the sturdy
return of this old remnant was a mark either of uncommon sense or of
uncommon fortitude.
Yet one thing had occurred that partly set me on the trail. I have said
the funeral passed much as at home. But when all was over, when we were
trooping in decent silence from the graveyard gate and down the path to
the settlement, a sudden inbreak of a different spirit startled and
perhaps dismayed us. Two people walked not far apart in our procession:
my friend Mr. Donat--Donat-Rimarau--"Donat the much-handed"--acting
Vice-Resident, present ruler of the archipelago, by far the man of chief
importance on the scene, but known besides for one of an unshakable good
temper; and a certain comely, strapping young Paumotuan woman, the
comeliest on the isle, not (let us hope) the bravest or the most polite.
Of a sudden, ere yet the grave silence of the funeral was broken, she
made a leap at the Resident, with pointed finger shrieked a few words
and fell back again with a laughter, not a natural mirth. "What did she
say to you?" I asked. "She did not speak to _me_," said Donat, a shade
perturbed; "she spoke to the ghost of the dead man." And the purport of
her speech was this: "See there! Donat will be a fine feast for you
to-night."
"M. Donat called it a jest," I wrote at the time in my diary. "It seemed
to me more in the nature of a terrified conjuration, as though she would
divert the ghost's attention from herself. A cannibal race may well have
cannibal phantoms." The guesses of the traveller appear foredoomed to be
erroneous; yet in these I was precisely right. The woman had stood by in
terror at the funeral, being then in a dread spot, the graveyard. She
looked on in terror to the coming night, with that ogre, a new spirit,
loosed upon the isle. And the words she had cried in Donat's face were
indeed a terrified conjuration, basely to shield herself, basely to
dedicate another in her stead. One thing is to be said in her excuse.
Doubtless she partly chose Donat because he was a man of great
good-nature, but partly, too, because he was a man of the half-caste.
For I believe all natives regard white blood as a kind of talisman
against the powers of hell. In no other way can they explain the
unpunished recklessness of Europeans.
CHAPTER VI
GRAVEYARD STORIES
With my superstitious friend, the islander, I fear I am not wholly
frank, often leading the way with stories of my own, and being always a
grave and sometimes an excited hearer. But the deceit is scarce mortal,
since I am as pleased to hear as he to tell, as pleased with the story
as he with the belief; and besides, it is entirely needful. For it is
scarce possible to exaggerate the extent and empire of his
superstitions; they mould his life, they colour his thinking; and when
he does not speak to me of ghosts, and gods, and devils, he is playing
the dissembler and talking only with his lips. With thoughts so
different, one must indulge the other; and I would rather that I should
indulge his superstition than he my incredulity. Of one thing, besides,
I may be sure: Let me indulge it as I please, I shall not hear the
whole; for he is already on his guard with me, and the amount of the
lore is boundless.
I will give but a few instances at random, chiefly from my own doorstep
in Upolu, during the past month (October 1890). One of my workmen was
sent the other day to the banana patch, there to dig; this is a hollow
of the mountain, buried in woods, out of all sight and cry of mankind;
and long before dusk Lafaele was back again beside the cook-house with
embarrassed looks; he dared not longer stay alone, he was afraid of
"spilits in the bush." It seems these are the souls of the unburied
dead, haunting where they fell, and wearing woodland shapes of pig, or
bird, or insect; the bush is full of them, they seem to eat nothing,
slay solitary wanderers apparently in spite, and at times, in human
form, go down the villages and consort with the inhabitants undetected.
So much I learned a day or so after, walking in the bush with a very
intelligent youth, a native. It was a little before noon; a grey day and
squally; and perhaps I had spoken lightly. A dark squall burst on the
side of the mountain; the woods shook and cried; the dead leaves rose
from the ground in clouds, like butterflies; and my companion came
suddenly to a full stop. He was afraid, he said, of the trees falling;
but as soon as I had changed the subject of our talk he proceeded with
alacrity. A day or two before, a messenger came up the mountain from
Apia with a letter; I was in the bush, he must await my return, then
wait till I had answered: and before I was done his voice sounded shrill
with terror of the coming night and the long forest road. These are the
commons. Take the chiefs. There has been a great coming and going of
signs and omens in our group. One river ran down blood; red eels were
captured in another; an unknown fish was thrown upon the coast, an
ominous word found written on its scales. So far we might be reading in
a monkish chronicle; now we come on a fresh note, at once modern and
Polynesian. The gods of Upolu and Savaii, our two chief islands,
contended recently at cricket. Since then they are at war. Sounds of
battle are heard to roll along the coast. A woman saw a man swim from
the high seas and plunge direct into the bush; he was no man of that
neighbourhood; and it was known he was one of the gods, speeding to a
council. Most perspicuous of all, a missionary on Savaii, who is also a
medical man, was disturbed late in the night by knocking; it was no hour
for the dispensary, but at length he woke his servant and sent him to
inquire; the servant, looking from a window, beheld crowds of persons,
all with grievous wounds, lopped limbs, broken heads, and bleeding
bulletholes; but when the door was opened all had disappeared. They were
gods from the field of battle. Now, these reports have certainly
significance; it is not hard to trace them to political grumblers or to
read in them a threat of coming trouble; from that merely human side I
found them ominous myself. But it was the spiritual side of their
significance that was discussed in secret council by my rulers. I shall
best depict this mingled habit of the Polynesian mind by two connected
instances. I once lived in a village, the name of which I do not mean to
tell. The chief and his sister were persons perfectly intelligent:
gentlefolk, apt of speech. The sister was very religious, a great
church-goer, one that used to reprove me if I stayed away; I found
afterwards that she privately worshipped a shark. The chief himself was
somewhat of a freethinker; at the least a latitudinarian: he was a man,
besides, filled with European knowledge and accomplishments; of an
impassive, ironical habit; and I should as soon have expected
superstition in Mr. Herbert Spencer. Hear the sequel. I had discovered
by unmistakable signs that they buried too shallow in the village
graveyard, and I took my friend, as the responsible authority, to task.
"There is something wrong about your graveyard," said I, "which you must
attend to, or it may have very bad results." Something wrong? "What is
it?" he asked, with an emotion that surprised me. "If you care to go
along there any evening about nine o'clock you can see for yourself,"
said I. He stepped backward. "A ghost!" he cried.
In short, in the whole field of the South Seas, there is not one to
blame another. Half blood and whole, pious and debauched, intelligent
and dull, all men believe in ghosts, all men combine with their recent
Christianity fear of and a lingering faith in the old island deities.
So, in Europe, the gods of Olympus slowly dwindled into village bogies;
so to-day, the theological Highlander sneaks from under the eye of the
Free Church divine to lay an offering by a sacred well.
I try to deal with the whole matter here because of a particular quality
in Paumotuan superstitions. It is true I heard them told by a man with a
genius for such narrations. Close about our evening lamp, within sound
of the island surf, we hung on his words, thrilling. The reader, in far
other scenes, must listen close for the faint echo.
This bundle of weird stories sprang from the burial and the woman's
selfish conjuration. I was dissatisfied with what I heard, harped upon
questions, and struck at last this vein of metal. It is from sundown to
about four in the morning that the kinsfolk camp upon the grave; and
these are the hours of the spirits' wanderings. At any time of the
night--it may be earlier, it may be later--a sound is to be heard below,
which is the noise of his liberation; at four sharp, another and louder
marks the instant of the re-imprisonment; between-whiles, he goes his
malignant rounds. "Did you ever see an evil spirit?" was once asked of a
Paumotuan. "Once." "Under what form?" "It was in the form of a crane."
"And how did you know that crane to be a spirit?" was asked. "I will
tell you," he answered; and this was the purport of his inconclusive
narrative. His father had been dead nearly a fortnight; others had
wearied of the watch; and as the sun was setting, he found himself by
the grave alone. It was not yet dark, rather the hour of the afterglow,
when he was aware of a snow-white crane upon the coral mound; presently
more cranes came, some white, some black; then the cranes vanished, and
he saw in their place a white cat, to which there was silently joined a
great company of cats of every hue conceivable; then these also
disappeared, and he was left astonished.
This was an anodyne appearance. Take instead the experience of
Rua-a-mariterangi on the isle of Katiu. He had a need for some pandanus,
and crossed the isle to the sea-beach, where it chiefly flourishes. The
day was still, and Rua was surprised to hear a crashing sound among the
thickets, and then the fall of a considerable tree. Here must be some
one building a canoe; and he entered the margin of the wood to find and
pass the time of day with this chance neighbour. The crashing sounded
more at hand; and then he was aware of something drawing swiftly near
among the tree-tops. It swung by its heels downward, like an ape, so
that its hands were free for murder; it depended safely by the slightest
twigs; the speed of its coming was incredible; and soon Rua recognised
it for a corpse, horrible with age, its bowels hanging as it came.
Prayer was the weapon of Christian in the Valley of the Shadow, and it
is to prayer that Rua-a-mariterangi attributes his escape. No merely
human expedition had availed.
This demon was plainly from the grave; yet you will observe he was
abroad by day. And inconsistent as it may seem with the hours of the
night watch and the many references to the rising of the morning star,
it is no singular exception. I could never find a case of another who
had seen this ghost, diurnal and arboreal in its habits; but others have
heard the fall of the tree, which seems the signal of its coming. Mr.
Donat was once pearling on the uninhabited isle of Haraiki. It was a day
without a breath of wind, such as alternate in the archipelago with days
of contumelious breezes. The divers were in the midst of the lagoon upon
their employment; the cook, a boy of ten, was over his pots in the camp.
Thus were all souls accounted for except a single native who accompanied
Donat into the woods in quest of sea-fowls' eggs. In a moment, out of
the stillness, came the sound of the fall of a great tree. Donat would
have passed on to find the cause. "No," cried his companion, "that was
no tree. It was something _not right_. Let us go back to camp." Next
Sunday the divers were turned on, all that part of the isle was
thoroughly examined, and sure enough no tree had fallen. A little later
Mr. Donat saw one of his divers flee from a similar sound, in similar
unaffected panic, on the same isle. But neither would explain, and it
was not till afterwards, when he met with Rua, that he learned the
occasion of their terrors.
But whether by day or night, the purpose of the dead in these abhorred
activities is still the same. In Samoa, my informant had no idea of the
food of the bush spirits; no such ambiguity would exist in the mind of a
Paumotuan. In that hungry archipelago, living and dead must alike toil
for nutriment; and the race having been cannibal in the past, the
spirits are so still. When the living ate the dead, horrified nocturnal
imagination drew the shocking inference that the dead might eat the
living. Doubtless they slay men, doubtless even mutilate them, in mere
malice. Marquesan spirits sometimes tear out the eyes of travellers; but
even that may be more practical than appears, for the eye is a cannibal
dainty. And certainly the root-idea of the dead, at least in the far
eastern islands, is to prowl for food. It was as a dainty morsel for a
meal that the woman denounced Donat at the funeral. There are spirits
besides who prey in particular not on the bodies but on the souls of the
dead. The point is clearly made in a Tahitian story. A child fell sick,
grew swiftly worse, and at last showed signs of death. The mother
hastened to the house of a sorcerer, who lived hard by. "You are yet in
time," said he; "a spirit has just run past my door carrying the soul of
your child wrapped in the leaf of a purao; but I have a spirit stronger
and swifter who will run him down ere he has time to eat it." Wrapped in
a leaf: like other things edible and corruptible.
Or take an experience of Mr. Donat's on the island of Anaa. It was a
night of a high wind, with violent squalls; his child was very sick, and
the father, though he had gone to bed, lay wakeful, hearkening to the
gale. All at once a fowl was violently dashed on the house wall.
Supposing he had forgot to put it in shelter with the rest, Donat arose,
found the bird (a cock) lying on the verandah, and put it in the
hen-house, the door of which he securely fastened. Fifteen minutes later
the business was repeated, only this time, as it was being dashed
against the wall, the bird crew. Again Donat replaced it, examining the
hen-house thoroughly and finding it quite perfect; as he was so engaged
the wind puffed out his light, and he must grope back to the door a good
deal shaken. Yet a third time the bird was dashed upon the wall; a third
time Donat set it, now near dead, beside its mates; and he was scarce
returned before there came a rush, like that of a furious strong man,
against the door, and a whistle as loud as that of a railway engine rang
about the house. The sceptical reader may here detect the finger of the
tempest; but the women gave up all for lost and clustered on the beds
lamenting. Nothing followed, and I must suppose the gale somewhat
abated, for presently after a chief came visiting. He was a bold man to
be abroad so late, but doubtless carried a bright lantern. And he was
certainly a man of counsel, for as soon as he heard the details of these
disturbances he was in a position to explain their nature. "Your child,"
said he, "must certainly die. This is the evil spirit of our island who
lies in wait to eat the spirits of the newly dead." And then he went on
to expatiate on the strangeness of the spirit's conduct. He was not
usually, he explained, so open of assault, but sat silent on the
house-top, waiting, in the guise of a bird, while within the people
tended the dying and bewailed the dead, and had no thought of peril. But
when the day came and the doors were opened and men began to go abroad,
blood-stains on the wall betrayed the tragedy.
This is the quality I admire in Paumotuan legend. In Tahiti the
spirit-eater is said to assume a vesture which has much more of pomp,
but how much less of horror. It has been seen by all sorts and
conditions, native and foreign; only the last insists it is a meteor. My
authority was not so sure. He was riding with his wife about two in the
morning; both were near asleep, and the horses not much better. It was a
brilliant and still night, and the road wound over a mountain, near by a
deserted marae (old Tahitian temple). All at once the appearance passed
above them: a form of light; the head round and greenish; the body
long, red, and with a focus of yet redder brilliancy about the midst. A
buzzing hoot accompanied its passage; it flew direct out of one marae,
and direct for another down the mountain-side. And this, as my informant
argued, is suggestive. For why should a mere meteor frequent the altars
of abominable gods? The horses, I should say, were equally dismayed with
their riders. Now I am not dismayed at all--not even agreeably. Give me
rather the bird upon the house-top and the morning blood-gouts on the
wall.
But the dead are not exclusive in their diet. They carry with them to
the grave, in particular, the Polynesian taste for fish, and enter at
times with the living into a partnership in fishery. Rua-a-mariterangi
is again my authority; I feel it diminishes the credit of the fact, but
how it builds up the image of this inveterate ghost-seer! He belongs to
the miserably poor island of Taenga, yet his father's house was always
well supplied. As Rua grew up he was called at last to go a-fishing with
this fortunate parent. They rowed into the lagoon at dusk, to an
unlikely place, and the boy lay down in the stern, and the father began
vainly to cast his line over the bows. It is to be supposed that Rua
slept; and when he awoke there was the figure of another beside his
father, and his father was pulling in the fish hand over hand. "Who is
that man, father?" Rua asked. "It is none of your business," said the
father; and Rua supposed the stranger had swum off to them from shore.
Night after night they fared into the lagoon, often to the most unlikely
places; night after night the stranger would suddenly be seen on board,
and as suddenly be missed; and morning after morning the canoe returned
laden with fish. "My father is a very lucky man," thought Rua. At last,
one fine day, there came first one boat party and then another who must
be entertained; father and son put off later than usual into the lagoon;
and before the canoe was landed it was four o'clock, and the morning
star was close on the horizon. Then the stranger appeared seized with
some distress; turned about, showing for the first time his face, which
was that of one long dead, with shining eyes; stared into the east, set
the tips of his fingers to his mouth like one a-cold, uttered a strange,
shuddering sound between a whistle and a moan--a thing to freeze the
blood; and, the daystar just rising from the sea, he suddenly was not.
Then Rua understood why his father prospered, why his fishes rotted
early in the day, and why some were always carried to the cemetery and
laid upon the graves. My informant is a man not certainly averse to
superstition, but he keeps his head, and takes a certain superior
interest, which I may be allowed to call scientific. The last point
reminding him of some parallel practice in Tahiti, he asked Rua if the
fish were left, or carried home again after a formal dedication. It
appears old Mariterangi practised both methods; sometimes treating his
shadowy partner to a mere oblation, sometimes honestly leaving his fish
to rot upon the grave.
It is plain we have in Europe stories of a similar complexion; and the
Polynesian _varua ino_ or _aitu o le vao_ is clearly the near kinsman of
the Transylvanian vampire. Here is a tale in which the kinship appears
broadly marked. On the atoll of Penrhyn, then still partly savage, a
certain chief was long the salutary terror of the natives. He died, he
was buried; and his late neighbours had scarce tasted the delights of
licence ere his ghost appeared about the village. Fear seized upon all;
a council was held of the chief men and sorcerers; and with the approval
of the Rarotongan missionary, who was as frightened as the rest, and in
the presence of several whites--my friend Mr. Ben Hird being one--the
grave was opened, deepened until water came, and the body re-interred
face down. The still recent staking of suicides in England and the
decapitation of vampires in the east of Europe form close parallels.
So in Samoa only the spirits of the unburied awake fear. During the late
war many fell in the bush; their bodies, sometimes headless, were
brought back by native pastors and interred; but this (I know not why)
was insufficient, and the spirit still lingered on the theatre of death.
When peace returned a singular scene was enacted in many places, and
chiefly round the high gorges of Lotoanuu, where the struggle was long
centred and the loss had been severe. Kinswomen of the dead came
carrying a mat or sheet and guided by survivors of the fight. The place
of death was earnestly sought out; the sheet was spread upon the ground;
and the women, moved with pious anxiety, sat about and watched it. If
any living thing alighted it was twice brushed away; upon the third
coming it was known to be the spirit of the dead, was folded in, carried
home and buried beside the body; and the aitu rested. The rite was
practised beyond doubt in simple piety; the repose of the soul was its
object: its motive, reverent affection. The present king disowns indeed
all knowledge of a dangerous aitu; he declares the souls of the unburied
were only wanderers in limbo, lacking an entrance to the proper country
of the dead, unhappy, nowise hurtful. And this severely classic opinion
doubtless represents the views of the enlightened. But the flight of my
Lafaele marks the grosser terrors of the ignorant.
This belief in the exorcising efficacy of funeral rites perhaps explains
a fact, otherwise amazing, that no Polynesian seems at all to share our
European horror of human bones and mummies. Of the first they made their
cherished ornaments; they preserved them in houses or in mortuary caves;
and the watchers of royal sepulchres dwelt with their children among the
bones of generations. The mummy, even in the making, was as little
feared. In the Marquesas, on the extreme coast, it was made by the
household with continual unction and exposure to the sun; in the
Carolines, upon the farthest west, it is still cured in the smoke of the
family hearth. Head-hunting, besides, still lives around my doorstep in
Samoa. And not ten years ago, in the Gilberts, the widow must disinter,
cleanse, polish, and thenceforth carry about her, by day and night, the
head of her dead husband. In all these cases we may suppose the process,
whether of cleansing or drying, to have fully exorcised the aitu.
But the Paumotuan belief is more obscure. Here the man is duly buried,
and he has to be watched. He is duly watched, and the spirit goes abroad
in spite of watches. Indeed, it is not the purpose of the vigils to
prevent these wanderings; only to mollify by polite attention the
inveterate malignity of the dead. Neglect (it is supposed) may irritate
and thus invite his visits, and the aged and weakly sometimes balance
risks and stay at home. Observe, it is the dead man's kindred and next
friends who thus deprecate his fury with nocturnal watchings. Even the
placatory vigil is held perilous, except in company, and a boy was
pointed out to me in Rotoava, because he had watched alone by his own
father. Not the ties of the dead, nor yet their proved character, affect
the issue. A late Resident, who died in Fakarava of sunstroke, was
beloved in life and is still remembered with affection; none the less
his spirit went about the island clothed with terrors, and the
neighbourhood of Government House was still avoided after dark. We may
sum up the cheerful doctrine thus: All men become vampires, and the
vampire spares none. And here we come face to face with a tempting
inconsistency. For the whistling spirits are notoriously clannish; I
understood them to wait upon and to enlighten kinsfolk only, and that
the medium was always of the race of the communicating spirit. Here,
then, we have the bonds of the family, on the one hand, severed at the
hour of death; on the other, helpfully persisting.
The child's soul in the Tahitian tale was wrapped in leaves. It is the
spirits of the newly dead that are the dainty. When they are slain, the
house is stained with blood. Rua's dead fisherman was decomposed;
so--and horribly--was his arboreal demon. The spirit, then, is a thing
material; and it is by the material ensigns of corruption that he is
distinguished from the living man. This opinion is widespread, adds a
gross terror to the more ugly Polynesian tales, and sometimes defaces
the more engaging with a painful and incongruous touch. I will give two
examples sufficiently wide apart, one from Tahiti, one from Samoa.
And first from Tahiti. A man went to visit the husband of his sister,
then some time dead. In her life the sister had been dainty in the
island fashion, and went always adorned with a coronet of flowers. In
the midst of the night the brother awoke and was aware of a heavenly
fragrance going to and fro in the dark house. The lamp I must suppose to
have burned out; no Tahitian would have lain down without one lighted. A
while he lay wondering and delighted; then called upon the rest. "Do
none of you smell flowers?" he asked. "O," said his brother-in-law, "we
are used to that here." The next morning these two men went walking, and
the widower confessed that his dead wife came about the house
continually, and that he had even seen her. She was shaped and dressed
and crowned with flowers as in her lifetime; only she moved a few inches
above the earth with a very easy progress, and flitted dryshod above the
surface of the river. And now comes my point: It was always in a back
view that she appeared; and these brothers-in-law, debating the affair,
agreed that this was to conceal the inroads of corruption.
Now for the Samoan story. I owe it to the kindness of Dr. F. Otto
Sierich, whose collection of folk-tales I expect with a high degree of
interest. A man in Manu'a was married to two wives and had no issue. He
went to Savaii, married there a third, and was more fortunate. When his
wife was near her time he remembered he was in a strange island, like a
poor man; and when his child was born he must be shamed for lack of
gifts. It was in vain his wife dissuaded him. He returned to his father
in Manu'a seeking help; and with what he could get he set off in the
night to re-embark. Now his wives heard of his coming; they were
incensed he did not stay to visit them; and on the beach, by his canoe,
intercepted and slew him. Now the third wife lay asleep in Savaii; her
babe was born and slept by her side; and she was awakened by the spirit
of her husband. "Get up," he said, "my father is sick in Manu'a and we
must go to visit him." "It is well," said she; "take you the child,
while I carry its mats." "I cannot carry the child," said the spirit; "I
am too cold from the sea." When they were got on board the canoe the
wife smelt carrion. "How is this?" she said. "What have you in the canoe
that I should smell carrion?" "It is nothing in the canoe," said the
spirit. "It is the land-wind blowing down the mountains, where some
beast lies dead." It appears it was still night when they reached
Manu'a--the swiftest passage on record--and as they entered the reef the
bale-fires burned in the village. Again she asked him to carry the
child; but now he need no more dissemble. "I cannot carry your child,"
said he, "for I am dead, and the fires you see are burning for my
funeral."
The curious may learn in Dr. Sierich's book the unexpected sequel of the
tale. Here is enough for my purpose. Though the man was but new dead,
the ghost was already putrefied, as though putrefaction were the mark
and of the essence of a spirit. The vigil on the Paumotuan grave does
not extend beyond two weeks, and they told me this period was thought to
coincide with that of the resolution of the body. The ghost always
marked with decay--the danger seemingly ending with the process of
dissolution--here is tempting matter for the theorist. But it will not
do. The lady of the flowers had been long dead, and her spirit was still
supposed to bear the brand of perishability. The Resident had been more
than a fortnight buried, and his vampire was still supposed to go the
rounds.
Of the lost state of the dead, from the lurid Mangaian legend, in which
infernal deities hocus and destroy the souls of all, to the various
submarine and aerial limbos where the dead feast, float idle, or resume
the occupations of their life on earth, it would be wearisome to tell.
One story I give, for it is singular in itself, is well known in Tahiti,
and has this of interest, that it is post-Christian, dating indeed from
but a few years back. A princess of the reigning house died; was
transported to the neighbouring isle of Raiatea; fell there under the
empire of a spirit who condemned her to climb coco-palms all day and
bring him the nuts; was found after some time in this miserable
servitude by a second spirit, one of her own house; and by him, upon her
lamentations, reconveyed to Tahiti, where she found her body still
waked, but already swollen with the approaches of corruption. It is a
lively point in the tale that, on the sight of this dishonoured
tabernacle, the princess prayed she might continue to be numbered with
the dead. But it seems it was too late, her spirit was replaced by the
least dignified of entrances, and her startled family beheld the body
move. The seemingly purgatorial labours, the helpful kindred spirit, and
the horror of the princess at the sight of her tainted body, are all
points to be remarked.
The truth is, the tales are not necessarily consistent in themselves;
and they are further darkened for the stranger by an ambiguity of
language. Ghosts, vampires, spirits, and gods are all confounded. And
yet I seem to perceive that (with exceptions) those whom we would count
gods were less maleficent. Permanent spirits haunt and do murder in
corners of Samoa; but those legitimate gods of Upolu and Savaii, whose
wars and cricketings of late convulsed society, I did not gather to be
dreaded, or not with a like fear. The spirit of Anaa that ate souls is
certainly a fearsome inmate; but the high gods, even of the archipelago,
seem helpful. Mahinui--from whom our convict-catechist had been
named--the spirit of the sea, like a Proteus endowed with endless
avatars, came to the assistance of the shipwrecked and carried them
ashore in the guise of a ray-fish. The same divinity bore priests from
isle to isle about the archipelago, and by his aid, within the century,
persons have been seen to fly. The tutelar deity of each isle is
likewise helpful, and by a particular form of wedge-shaped cloud on the
horizon announces the coming of a ship.
To one who conceives of these atolls, so narrow, so barren, so beset
with sea, here would seem a superfluity of ghostly denizens. And yet
there are more. In the various brackish pools and ponds, beautiful women
with long red hair are seen to rise and bathe; only (timid as mice) on
the first sound of feet upon the coral they dive again for ever. They
are known to be healthy and harmless living people, dwellers of an
underworld; and the same fancy is current in Tahiti, where also they
have the hair red. _Tetea_ is the Tahitian name; the Paumotuan,
_Mokurea_.
PART III
THE EIGHT ISLANDS
CHAPTER I
THE KONA COAST
Of the island of Hawaii, though I have passed days becalmed under its
lee, and spent a week upon its shores, I have never yet beheld the
profile. Dense clouds continued to enshroud it far below its midst; not
only the zone of snow and fire, but a great part of the forest region,
covered or at least veiled by a perpetual rain. And yet even on my first
sight, beholding so little and that through a glass from the deck of the
_Casco_, the rude plutonic structure of the isle was conspicuous. Here
was none of the accustomed glitter of the beach, none of the close
shoreside forests of the typical high island. All seemed black and
barren, and to slope sheer into the sea. Unexpected movements of the
land caught the attention, folds that glittered with a certain
vitreosity; black mouths of caves; ranges of low cliffs, vigorously
designed awhile in sun and shadow, and that sank again into the general
declivity of the island glacis. Under its gigantic cowl of cloud, the
coast frowned upon us with a face of desolation.
On my return I passed from a humming city, with shops and palaces and
busy wharves, plying cabs and tramcars, telephones in operation and a
railway in the building; mounted a strong and comfortable local steamer;
sailed under desolate shores indeed, but guided in the night by sea and
harbour lights; and was set down at last in a village uninhabited by any
white, the creature of pure native taste--of which, what am I to say but
that I know no such village in Europe? A well-to-do western hamlet in
the States would be the closest parallel; and it is a moderate prophecy
to call it so already.
Hookena is its name. It stands on the same coast which I had wondered at
before from the tossing _Casco_; the same coast on which the far voyager
Cook ended a noble career not very nobly. That district of Kona where he
fell is one illustrious in the history of Hawaii. It was at first the
centre of the dominion of the great Kamehameha. There, in an unknown
sepulchre, his bones are still hidden; there, too, his reputed
treasures, spoils of a buccaneer, lie, and are still vainly sought for,
in one of the thousand caverns of the lava. There the tabus were first
broken, there the missionaries first received; and but for the new use
of ships and the new need of harbours, here might be still the chief
city and the organs of the kingdom. Yet a nearer approach confirmed the
impression of the distance. It presents to the seaward one immense
decline. Streams of lava have followed and submerged each other down
this slope, and overflowed into the sea. These cooled and shrank, and
were buried under fresh inundations, or dislocated by fresh tremors of
the mountain. A multiplicity of caves is the result. The mouths of caves
are everywhere; the lava is tunnelled with corridors and halls; under
houses high on the mountain, the sea can be heard throbbing in the
bowels of the land; and there is one gallery of miles, which has been
used by armies as a pass. Streams are thus unknown. The rain falls
continually in the highlands: an isle that rises nearly fourteen
thousand feet sheer from the sea could never fail of rain; but the
treasure is squandered on a sieve; and by sunless conduits returns
unseen into the ocean. Corrugated slopes of lava, bristling lava cliffs,
spouts of metallic clinkers, miles of coast without a well or rivulet;
scarce anywhere a beach, nowhere a harbour: here seems a singular land
to be contended for in battle as a seat for courts and princes. Yet it
possessed in the eyes of the natives one more than countervailing
advantage. The windward shores of the isle are beaten by a monstrous
surf; there are places where goods and passengers must be hauled up and
lowered by a rope, there are coves which even the daring boatmen of
Hamakua dread to enter; and men live isolated in their hamlets or
communicate by giddy footpaths in the cliff. Upon the side of Kona, the
table-like margin of the lava affords almost everywhere a passage by
land; and the waves, reduced by the vast breakwater of the island, allow
an almost continual communication by way of sea.
Yet even here the surf of the Pacific appears formidable to the stranger
as he lands, and daily delights him with its beauty as he walks the
shore.
It was on a Saturday afternoon that the steamer _Hall_ conveyed me to
Hookena. She was charged with tourists on their way to the volcano; and
I found it hard to justify my choice of a week in an unheard-of hamlet,
rather than a visit to one of the admitted marvels of the world. I do
not know that I can justify it now and to a larger audience. I should
prefer, indeed, to have seen both; but I was at the time embarrassed
with arrears of work; it was imperative that I should choose; and I
chose one week in a Kona village and another in the lazaretto, and
renounced the craters of Maunaloa and Haleakala. For there are some so
constituted as to find a man or a society more curious than the highest
mountain; some, in whom the lava foreshores of Kona and Kaú will move as
deep a wonder as the fiery vents that made them what they are.
The land and sea breezes alternate on the Kona coast with regularity;
and the veil of rain draws up and down the talus of the mountain, now
retiring to the zone of forests, now descending to the margin of the
sea. It was in one of the latter and rarer moments that I was set on
board a whale boat full of intermingled barrels, passengers, and
oarsmen. The rain fell and blotted the crude and sombre colours of the
scene. The coast rose but a little way; it was then intercepted by the
cloud: and for all that appeared, we might have been landing on an isle
of some two hundred feet of elevation. On the immediate foreshore, under
a low cliff, there stood some score of houses, trellised and
verandahed, set in narrow gardens, and painted gaudily in green and
white; the whole surrounded and shaded by a grove of cocoa-palms and
fruit trees, springing (as by miracle) from the bare lava. In front, the
population of the neighbourhood were gathered for the weekly incident,
the passage of the steamer; sixty to eighty strong, and attended by a
disproportionate allowance of horses, mules, and donkeys; for this land
of rock is, singular to say, a land of breeding. The green trees, the
painted houses, the gay dresses of the women, were everywhere relieved
on the uncompromising blackness of the lava; and the rain, which fell
unheeded by the sightseers, blended and beautified the contrast.
The boat was run in upon a breaker, and we passengers ejected on a flat
rock where the next wave submerged us to the knees. There we continued
to stand, the rain drenching us from above, the sea from below, like
people mesmerised; and as we were all (being travellers) tricked out
with the green garlands of departure, we must have offered somewhat the
same appearance as a shipwrecked picnic.
The purser spied and introduced me to my host, ex-judge Nahinu, who was
then deep in business, despatching and receiving goods. He was dressed
in pearl-grey tweed like any self-respecting Englishman; only the band
of his wide-awake was made of peacock's feather.--"House by and by,"
said he, his English being limited, and carried me to the shelter of a
rather lofty shed. On three sides it was open, on the fourth closed by a
house; it was reached from without by five or six wooden steps; on the
fourth side, a farther flight of ten conducted to the balcony of the
house; a table spread with goods divided it across, so that I knew it
for the village store and (according to the laws that rule in country
life) the village lounging-place. People sat with dangling feet along
the house verandah, they sat on benches on the level of the shed or
among the goods upon the counter; they came and went, they talked and
waited; they opened, skimmed, and pocketed half-read, their letters;
they opened the journal, and found a moment, not for the news, but for
the current number of the story: methought, I might have been in France,
and the paper the _Petit Journal_ instead of the _Nupepa Eleele_. On
other islands I had been the centre of attention; here none observed my
presence. One hundred and ten years before, the ancestors of these
indifferents had looked in the faces of Cook and his seamen with
admiration and alarm, called them gods, called them volcanoes; took
their clothes for a loose skin, confounded their hats and their heads,
and described their pockets as a "treasure door, through which they
plunge their hands into their bodies and bring forth cutlery and
necklaces and cloth and nails," and to-day the coming of the most
attractive stranger failed (it would appear) to divert them from Miss
Porter's _Scottish Chiefs_: for that was the novel of the day.
My host returned, and led me round the shore among the mules and donkeys
to his house. Like all the houses of the hamlet, it was on the European
or, to be more descriptive, on the American plan. The parlour was fitted
with the usual furniture and ornamented with the portraits of Kamehameha
the third, Lunalilo, Kalakaua, the queen consort of the isles, and Queen
Victoria. There was a Bible on the table, other books stood on a shelf.
A comfortable bedroom was placed at my service, the welcome afforded me
was cordial and unembarrassed, the food good and plentiful. My host, my
hostess; his grown daughters, strapping lassies; his young hopefuls,
misbehaving at a meal or perfunctorily employed upon their school-books:
all that I found in that house, beyond the speech and a few exotic
dishes on the table, would have been familiar and exemplary in Europe.
I walked that night beside the sea. The steamer with its lights and
crowd of tourists was gone by; it had left me alone among these aliens,
and I felt no touch of strangeness. The trim, lamp-lit houses shining
quietly, like villas, each in its narrow garden; the gentle sound of
speech from within; the room that awaited my return, with the lamp, and
the books, and the spectacled householder studying his Bible:--there was
nothing changed; it was in such conditions I had myself grown up, and
played, a child, beside the borders of another sea. And some ten miles
from where I walked, Cook was adored as a deity; his bones, when he was
dead, were cleansed for worship; his entrails devoured in a mistake by
rambling children.
A day of session in the Hookena Court-house equally surprised me. The
judge, a very intelligent, serious Hawaiian, sat behind a table, taking
careful notes; two policemen, with their bright metal badges, standing
attention at his back or bustling forth on errands. The plaintiff was a
Portuguese. For years, he had kept store and raised cattle in the
district, without trouble or dispute. His store stood always open, it
was standing so seven miles away at the moment of the case; and when his
cattle strayed, they were duly impounded and restored to him on payment
of one shilling. But recently a gentleman of great acuteness and a
thousand imperfect talents had married into the family of a neighbouring
proprietor; consecutively on which event the store-keeper's cattle began
to be detained and starved, the fine rose to half a dollar, and lastly a
cow had disappeared. The Portuguese may have been right or wrong: he was
convinced the new-comer was the main-spring of the change; called a suit
in consequence against the father-in-law;--and it was the son-in-law who
appeared for the defence. I saw him there, seated at his ease, with
spectacles on brow; still young, much of a gentleman in looks, and
dressed in faultless European clothes; and presently, for my good
fortune, he rose to address the court. It appears he has already stood
for the Hawaiian parliament; but the people (I was told) "did not think
him honest," and he was defeated. Honesty, to our ways of thought,
appears a trifle in a candidate; and I think we have few constituencies
to refuse so great a charmer. I understood but a few dozen words, yet I
heard the man with delight, followed the junctures of his argument, knew
when he was enumerating points in his own favour, when he was admitting
those against him, when he was putting a question _per absurdum_, when
(after the due pause) he smilingly replied to it. There was no haste, no
heat, no prejudice; with a hinted gesture, with a semitone of
intonation, the speaker lightly set forth and underlined the processes
of reason; he could not shift a foot nor touch his spectacles, but what
persuasion radiated in the court--it is impossible to conceive a style
of oratory more rational or civilised. The point to which he spoke was
pretty in itself. The people, as I had been told, did not think the
orator honest; some judge, on a particular occasion, had inclined to the
same view, and the man of talent was disbarred. By a clause in a
statute, a layman or a disbarred lawyer might conduct a case for himself
or for one of "his own family." Is a father-in-law one of a man's own
family? "Yes," argued the orator: "No," with less grace and perspicuity,
Nahinu, retained by the Portuguese. The laws of the tight little kingdom
are conceived in duplicate for the Hawaiian hare and his many white
friends. The native text appearing inconclusive, an appeal was made to
the English, and I (as _amicus curiæ_) was led out, installed upon the
court-house steps, and painfully examined as to its precise
significance. The judge heard the orator; he heard Nahinu; he received
by the mouth of the schoolmaster my report, for which he thanked me with
a bow; and ruled the claimant out. This skirmish decided the fate of the
engagement; fortune was faithful to the Portuguese; and late in the
afternoon, the capable judge rode off homeward with his portfolio under
his arm. No court could have been more equally and decently conducted;
judge, parties, lawyers, and police were all decorous and competent; and
but for the plaintiff, the business was entirely native.
The Portuguese had come seven miles to Hookena, sure of substantial
justice, and he left his store open, fearless of being robbed. Another
white man, of strong sense and much frugality and choler, thus reckoned
up what he had lost by theft in thirty-nine years among the different
islands of Hawaii: a pair of shoes, an umbrella, some feet of hose-pipe,
and one batch of chickens. It is his continual practice to send
Hawaiians by a perilous, solitary path with sums in specie; at any
moment the messenger might slip, the money-bag roll down a thousand feet
of precipice, and lodge in fissures inaccessible to man: and consider
how easy it were to invent such misadventures!--"I should have to know a
white man well before I trusted him," he said; "I trust Hawaiians
without fear. It would be villainous of me to say less." It should be
remembered the Hawaiians of yore were not particular; they were eager to
steal from Cook, whom they believed to be a god, and it was a theft that
led to the tragedy at Kealakekua Bay; and it must not be forgotten that
the Hawaiians of to-day are many of them poor. One residual trait of
savage incompetence I have already referred to; they cannot administer a
trust--I was told there had never yet been a case known. Even a judge,
skilled in the knowledge of the law and upright in its administration,
was found insusceptible of those duties and distinctions which appear so
natural and come so easy to the European. But the disability stands
alone, a single survival in the midst of change; and the faults of the
modern Hawaiian incline to the other side. My orator of Hookena
court-room may be a gentleman much maligned; I may have received his
character from the lips of his political opponents; but the type
described is common. The islands begin to fill with lawyers; many of
whom, justly or unjustly, are disbarred; and to the age of Kamehameha,
the age of Glossin has succeeded. Thus none would rob the store of the
Portuguese, but the law was wrested to oppress him.
It was of old a warlike and industrious race. They were diggers and
builders; the isles are still full of their deserted monuments; the
modern word for law, Kanawai, "water rights," still serves to remind us
of their ancient irrigation. And the island story is compact of battles.
Their courage and goodwill to labour seems now confined to the sea,
where they are active sailors and fearless boatmen, pursue the shark in
his own element, and make a pastime of their incomparable surf. On shore
they flee equally from toil and peril, and are all turned to carpet
occupations and to parlous frauds. Nahinu, an ex-judge, was paid but two
dollars for a hard day in court, and he is paying a dollar a day to the
labourers among his coffee. All Hawaiians envy and are ready to compete
with him for this odd chance of an occasional fee for some hours'
talking; he cannot find one to earn a certain hire under the sun in his
plantation, and the work is all transacted by immigrant Chinese. One
cannot but be reminded of the love of the French middle class for office
work; but in Hawaii, it is the race in bulk that shrinks from manly
occupation. During a late revolution, a lady found a powerful young
Hawaiian crouching among the grass in her garden. "What are you doing
here?" she cried, for she was a strong partisan. "Do you not know they
are murdering your king?" "I know," said the skulker. "Why do you not go
to help him?" she asked. "Aflaid," said the poor craven, and crouched
again among the grass. Here was a strange grandchild for the warriors
that followed or faced Kamehameha. I give the singular instance as the
more explicit; but the whole race must have been stricken at the moment
with a similar weakness. No man dare say of this revolution that it was
unprovoked; but its means were treachery and violence; the numbers and
position of those engaged made the design one of the most insolent in
history; and a mere modicum of native boldness and cohesion must have
brought it to the dust. "My race had one virtue, they were brave," said
a typical Hawaiian: "and now they have taken that away."
I have named a French example: but the thought that haunts the stranger
in Hawaii is that of Italy. The ruggedness of feature which marks out
the race among Polynesians is the Italian ruggedness. Countenances of
the same eloquent harshness, manners of the same vivacious cordiality,
are to be found in Hawaii and amongst Italian fisher-folk or whose
people, in the midst of life, retain more charm. I recall faces, both of
men and women, with a certain leonine stamp, trusty, sagacious, brave,
beautiful in plainness: faces that take the heart captive. The tougher
struggle of the race in these hard isles has written history there;
energy enlivens the Hawaiian strength--or did so once, and the faces are
still eloquent of the lost possession. The stock that has produced a
Cæsar, a Kamehameha, a Káa-humanu, retains their signature.
CHAPTER II
A RIDE IN THE FOREST
By the Hawaiian tongue, the slope of these steep islands is parcelled
out in zones. As we mount from the seaboard, we pass by the region of
Ilima, named for a flowering shrub, and the region of Apaa, named for a
wind, to Mau, the place of mist. This has a secondary name, the Au- or
Wao-Kanaka, "the place of men" by exclusion, man not dwelling higher.
The next, accordingly, is called the Waoakua, region of gods and
goblins; other names, some apparently involving thoughts of solitude and
danger, follow till the top is reached. The mountain itself might be a
god or the seat of a god; it might be a volcano, the home of the dread
Pele; and into desert places few would venture but such as were adroit
to snare the whispering spirits of the dead. To-day, from the Waoakua or
the Waomaukele, the gods have perhaps fled; the descendants of
Vancouver's cattle fill them with less questionable terrors.
As we mounted the glacis of the island, the horses clattering on the
lava, we saw far above us the curtain of the rain exclude the view. The
sky was clear, the sun strong overhead; around us, a thin growth of
bushes and creepers glittered green in their black setting, like plants
upon a ruinous pavement; all else was lava--wastes of lava, some of them
enclosed (it seemed in wantonness) with dry-stone walls. But the bushes,
when the rain descends often enough from its residential altitudes,
flourish extremely; and cattle and asses, walking on these resonant
slabs, collect a livelihood. Here and there, a prickly-pear came to the
bigness of a standard tree and made a space of shade; under one I saw a
donkey--under another no less than three cows huddled from the sun. Thus
we had before our eyes the rationale of two of the native distinctions;
traversed the zone of flowering shrubs; and saw above us the mist hang
perennial in Mau.
As we continued to draw nearer to the rain, trees began to be mingled
with the shrubs; and we came at last to where a house stood in an
orchard of papaias, with their palm-like growth and collar of green
gourds. In an out-house stood the water-barrel, that necessity of Kona
life. For all the water comes from heaven, and must be caught and
stored; and the name of Hookena itself may very well imply a cistern and
a cup of water for the traveller along the coast. The house belonged to
Nahinu, but was in occupation by an American, seeking to make butter
there (if I understood) without success. The butterman was gone, to muse
perhaps on fresh expedients; his house was closed; and I was able to
observe his three chambers only through the windows. In the first were
milk pans and remains of breakfast, in the second a bed; in the third a
scanty wardrobe hung from pegs, and two pirated novels lay on the floor.
One was reversed and could not be identified; the name of the other I
made out. It was _Little Loo_. Happy Mr. Clark Russell, making life
pleasant for the exile in his garden of papaias, high over sea, upon the
forest edge, and where the breeze comes freely.
A little way beyond, we plunged into the forest. It grew at first very
sparse and park-like, the trees of a pale verdure, but healthy, the
parasites, per contra, often dead. Underfoot, the ground was still a
rockery of fractured lava; but now the interstices were filled with
soil. A sedge-like grass (buffalo grass?) grew everywhere, and the
horses munched it by the way with relish. Candle-nut trees with their
white foliage stood in groves. Bread-fruits were here and there, but
never well-to-do; Hawaii is no true mother for the bread-fruit or the
cocoa-palm. Mangoes, on the other hand, attained a splendid bigness,
many of them discoloured on one side with a purplish hue which struck
the note of autumn. The same note was repeated by a certain aerial
creeper, which drops (you might suppose) from heaven like the wreck of
an old kite, and roosts on tree-tops with a pendent raffle of air-roots,
the whole of a colour like a wintry beech's. These are clannish plants;
five or six may be quartered on a single tree, thirty or forty on a
grove; the wood dies under them to skeletons; and they swing there, like
things hung out from washing, over the death they have provoked.
We had now turned southward towards Kaa, following a shapeless
bridle-track which is the high road of Hawaii. The sea was on one hand.
Our way was across--the woods we threaded did but cling upon--the vast
declivity of the island front. For long, as we still skirted the margin
of the forest, we kept an open view of the whole falling seaboard, the
white edge of surf now soundless to our ears, and the high blue sea
marbled by tide rips, and showing under the clouds of an opalescent
milky white. The height, the breeze, the giddy gradient of the isle,
delighted me. I observed a spider plant its abhorred St. Andrew's cross
against the sea and sky, certainly fifty yards from where I rode, and
five feet at least from either tree: so wide was its death-gossamer
spread, so huge the ugly vermin.
Presently the sea was lost, the forest swallowed us. Ferns joined their
fronds above a horseman's head. High over these, the dead and the living
rose and were hung with tattered parasites. The breeze no longer reached
us; it was steaming hot; and the way went up and down so abruptly, that
in one place my saddle-girth was burst and we must halt for repairs. In
the midst of this rough wilderness, I was reminded of the aim of our
excursion. The schoolmaster and certain others of Hookena had recently
bought a tract of land for some four thousand dollars; set out coffee;
and hired a Chinaman to mind it. The thing was notable in itself;
natives selling land is a thing of daily custom; of natives buying, I
have heard no other instance; and it was civil to show interest. "But
when," I asked, "shall we come to your coffee plantation?" "This is it,"
said he, and pointed down. Their bushes grew on the path-side; our
horses breasted them as they went by; and the gray wood on every hand
enclosed and over-arched that thread of cultivation.
A little farther, we strung in single file through the hot crypt, our
horses munching grass, their riders chewing unpalatable gum collected
from a tree. Next the wood opened, and we issued forth again into the
day on the precipitous broadside of the isle. A village was before us: a
Catholic church and perhaps a dozen scattered houses, some of grass in
the old island fashion, others spick-and-span with outside stair and
balcony and trellis, and white paint and green, in the more modern
taste. One arrested my attention; it stood on the immediate verge of a
deep precipice: two stories high, with double balconies, painted white,
and showing by my count fifteen windows. "There is a fine house," said
I. "Outside," returned the schoolmaster drily. "That is the way with
natives; they spend money on the outside. Let us go there: you will find
they live in the verandah and have no furniture." We were made welcome,
sure enough, on the verandah; and in the lower room, which I entered,
there was not a chair or table; only mats on the floor, and photographs
and lithographs upon the wall. The house was an eidolon, designed to
gladden the eye and enlarge the heart of the proprietor returning from
Hookena; and its fifteen windows were only to be numbered from without.
Doubtless that owner had attained his end; for I observed, when we were
home again at Hookena, and Nahinu was describing our itinerary to his
wife, he mentioned we had baited at Ka-hale-nui--"the great house."
The photographs were of the royal family; that goes without saying in
Hawaii; of the two lithographs, made in San Francisco, one I knew at the
first sight for General Garfield: the second tempted and tantalised me;
it could not be, I thought--and yet it must; it was this dubiety which
carried me across the threshold; and behold! It was indeed the Duke of
Thunder, his name printed under his effigies in the Hawaiianised form of
_Nelesona_. I thought it a fine instance of fame that his features and
his empty sleeve should have been drawn on stone in San Fransisco, which
was a lone Mexican mission while he lived; and lettered for a market in
those islands, which were not yet united under Kamehameha when he died.
And then I had a cold fit, and wondered after all if these good folk
knew anything of the man's world-shaking deeds and gunpowder weaknesses,
or if he was to them a "bare appellation" and a face on stone; and
turning to the schoolmaster, I asked of him the question. Yes, the
Hawaiians knew of Nelesona; there had been a story in the papers where
he figured, and the portrait had been given for a supplement. So he was
known as a character of Romance! Brave men since Agamemnon, like the
brave before, must patiently expect the "inspired author." And nowhere
has fiction deeper roots than in the world of Polynesia. They are all
tellers and hearers of tales; and the first requisite of any native
paper is a story from the English or the French. These are of all sorts,
and range from the works of good Miss Porter to _The Lightning
Detective_. Miss Porter, I was told, was "drawing" in Hawaii; and Dumas
and the _Arabian Nights_ were named as having pleased extremely.
Our homeward way was down the hill and by the sea in the black open. We
traversed a waste of shattered lava; spires, ravines, well-holes showing
the entrance to vast subterranean vaults in whose profundities our
horse-hooves doubtless echoed. The whole was clothed with stone
_fiorituri_ fantastically fashioned, like débris from the workshop of
some brutal sculptor: dog's heads, devils, stone trees, and gargoyles
broken in the making. From a distance, so intricate was the detail, the
side of a hummock wore the appearance of some coarse and dingy sort of
coral, or a scorched growth of heather. Amid this jumbled wreck, naked
itself, and the evidence of old disaster, frequent plants found root:
rose-apples bore their rosy flowers; and a bush between a cypress and a
juniper attained at times a height of twenty feet.
The breakneck path had descended almost to the sea, and we were already
within sound of its reverberations, when a cliff hove up suddenly on the
landward hand, very rugged and broken, streaked with white lichen,
laddered with green lianas, and pierced with the apertures of half a
hundred caves. Two of these were piously sealed with doors, the wood
scarce weathered. For the Hawaiian remembers the repository of the bones
of old, and is still jealous of the safety of ancestral relics. Nor
without cause. For the white man comes and goes upon the hunt for
curiosities; and one (it is rumoured) consults soothsayers and explores
the caves of Kona after the fabled treasures of Kamehameha.
CHAPTER III
THE CITY OF REFUGE
Our way was northward on the naked lava of the coast. The schoolmaster
led the march on a trumpeting black stallion; not without anxious
thought, I followed after on a mare. The sun smote us fair and full; the
air streamed from the hot rock, the distant landscape gleamed and
trembled through its vortices. On the left, the coast heaved bodily
upward to Mau, the zone of mists and forests, where it rains all day,
and the clouds creep up and down, and the groves loom and vanish in the
margin.
The land was still a crust of lava, here and there ramparted with
cliffs, and which here and there breaks down and shows the mouths of
branching galleries, mines and tombs of nature's making, endlessly
vaulted, and ramified below our passage. Wherever a house is,
cocoa-palms spring sheer out of the rock; a little shabby in this
northern latitude, not visibly the worse for their inclement rooting.
Hookena had shone out green under the black lip of the overhanging crag,
green as a May orchard; the lava might have been some rich black loam.
Everywhere, in the fissures of the rock, green herbs and flowering
bushes prospered; donkeys and cattle were everywhere; everywhere, too,
their whitened bones, telling of drought. No sound but of the sea
pervades this region; and it smells strong of the open water and of
aromatic plants.
We skirted one cliffy cove, full of bursting surges; and if it had not
been for the palms, and the houses, and the canoes that were putting out
to fish, and the colour of the cliffs and the bright dresses (lilac,
red, and green) of the women that sat about the doors at work, I might
have thought myself in Devonshire. A little further, we passed a garden
enclosed in dry stone walls from the surrounding blackness; it seemed a
wonder of fertility; hard by was the owner, a white man, waiting the
turn of the tide by the margin of his well; so soon as the sea flowed,
he might begin to irrigate with brackish water. The children hailed my
companion from wayside houses. With one little maid, knotting her gown
about her in embarrassment so as to define her little person like a suit
of tights, we held a conversation more prolonged. "Will you be at school
to-morrow?" "Yes, sir." "Do you like school?" "Yes, sir." "Do you like
bathing?" "No, ma'am," with a staggering change of sex. Another maiden,
of more tender growth and wholly naked, fled into the house at our
approach, and appeared again with a corner of a towel. Leaning one hand
on the post, and applying her raiment with the other, she stood in the
door and watched us haughtily. The white flag of a surveyor and a
pound-master's notice on a board told of the reign of law.
At length we turned the corner of a point and debouched on a flat of
lava. On the landward hand, cliffs made a quadrant of an amphitheatre,
melting on either side into the general mountain of the isle. Over
these, rivers of living lava had once flowed, had frozen as they fell,
and now depended like a sculptured drapery. Here and there the mouth of
a cave was seen half blocked, some green lianas beckoning in the
entrance. In front, the fissured pavement of the lava stretched into the
sea and made a surfy point. A scattered village, two white churches, one
Catholic, one Protestant, a grove of tall and scraggy palms, and a long
bulk of ruin, occupy the end. Off the point, not a cable's length beyond
the breaching surf, a schooner rode; come to discharge house-boards, and
presently due at Hookena to load lepers. The village is Honaunau; the
ruin, the Hale Keawe, temple and city of refuge.
The ruin made a massive figure, rising from the flat lava in ramparts
twelve to fifteen feet high, of an equal thickness, and enclosing an
area of several acres. The unmortared stones were justly set; in places,
the bulwark was still true to the plummet, in places ruinous from the
shock of earthquakes. The enclosure was divided in unequal parts--the
greater, the city of refuge; the smaller, the _heiau_, or temple, the
so-called House of Keawe, or reliquary of his royal bones. Not his
alone, but those of many monarchs of Hawaii were treasured here; but
whether as the founder of the shrine, or because he had been more
renowned in life, Keawe was the reigning and the hallowing saint. And
Keawe can produce at least one claim to figure on the canon, for since
his death he has wrought miracles. As late as 1829, Kaahumanu sent
messengers to bring the relics of the kings from their long repose at
Honaunau. First to the keeper's wife, and then to the keeper, the spirit
of Keawe appeared in a dream, bidding them prevent the desecration. Upon
the second summons, they rose trembling; hasted with a torch into the
crypt; exchanged the bones of Keawe with those of some less holy
chieftains; and were back in bed but not yet asleep, and the day had not
yet dawned, before the messengers arrived. So it comes that to this hour
the bones of Keawe, like those of his great descendant, sleep in some
unknown crevice of that caverned isle.
When Ellis passed in 1823, six years before this intervention of the
dead, the temple still preserved some shadow of its ancient credit and
presented much of its original appearance. He has sketched it, rudely in
a drawing, more effectively in words. "Several rudely carved male and
female images of wood were placed on the outside of the enclosure, some
on low pedestals under the shade of an adjacent tree, others on high
posts on the jutting rocks that hung over the edge of the water. A
number stood on the fence at unequal distances all around; but the
principal assemblage of these frightful representatives of their former
deities was at the south-east end of the enclosed space, where, forming
a semi-circle, twelve of them stood in grim array, as if perpetual
guardians of 'the mighty dead' reposing in the house adjoining.... Once
they had evidently been clothed, but now they appeared in the most
indigent nakedness.... The horrid stare of these idols, the tattered
garments upon some of them, and the heaps of rotting offerings before
them, seemed to us no improper emblems of the system they were designed
to support; distinguished alike by its cruelty, folly, and wretchedness.
We endeavoured to gain admission to the inside of the house, but were
told it was strictly prohibited.... However, by pushing one of the
boards across the doorway a little on one side, we looked in and saw
many large images, with distended mouths, large rows of sharks' teeth,
and pearl-shell eyes. We also saw several bundles, apparently of human
bones, cleaned, carefully tied up with sinnet made of cocoa-nut fibre,
and placed in different parts of the house, together with some rich
shawls and other valuable articles, probably worn by those to whom the
bones belonged." Thus the careless eyes of Ellis viewed and passed over
the bones of sacrosanct Keawe, in his house which he had builded.
Cities of refuge are found not only in Hawaii but in the Gilberts: where
their name is now invariably used for a mosquito-net. But the refuge of
the Gilberts was only a house in a village, and only offered, like
European churches, a sanctuary for the time. The hunted man might
harbour there, and live on charity: woe to him if he stepped without.
The City of Refuge of Honaunau possessed a larger efficacy. Its gate
once passed, an appearance made before the priest on duty, a hasty
prayer addressed to the chief idol, and the guilty man was free to go
again, relieved from all the consequences of his crime or his
misfortune. In time of war, its bulwarks were advertised by pennons of
white tapa; and the aged, the children, and the poorer-hearted of the
women of the district awaited there the issue of the battle. But the
true wives followed their lords into the field, and shared with them
their toil and danger.
The city had yet another function. There was in Hawaii a class apart,
comparable to the doomed families of Tahiti, whose special mission was
to supply the altar. It seems the victim fell usually on the holy day,
of which there were four in the month; between these, the man was not
only safe, but enjoyed, in virtue of his destiny, a singular licence of
behaviour. His immunities exceeded those of the mediæval priest and
jester rolled in one; he might have donned the King's girdle (the height
of sacrilege and treason), and gone abroad with it, unpunished and
apparently unblamed; and with a little care and some acquaintance in
priests' families, he might prolong this life of licence to old age. But
the laws of human nature are implacable; their destiny of privilege and
peril turned the men's heads; even at dangerous seasons, they went
recklessly abroad upon their pleasures; were often sighted in the open,
and must run for the City of Refuge with the priestly murderers at their
heels. It is strange to think it was a priest also who stood in the door
to welcome and protect them.
The enclosure of the sanctuary was all paved with the lava; scattered
blocks encumbered it in places; everywhere tall cocoa-palms jutted from
the fissures and drew shadows on the floor; a loud continuous sound of
the near sea burthened the ear. These rude monumental ruins, and the
thought of that life and faith of which they stood memorial, threw me in
a muse. There are times and places where the past becomes more vivid
than the present, and the memory dominates the ear and eye. I have found
it so in the presence of the vestiges of Rome; I found it so again in
the City of Refuge at Honaunau; and the strange, busy, and perilous
existence of the old Hawaiian, the grinning idols of the Heiau, the
priestly murderers and the fleeing victim, rose before and mastered my
imagination.
Some dozen natives of Honaunau followed me about to show the boundaries;
and I was recalled from these scattering thoughts by one of my guides
laying his hand on a big block of lava.
"This stone is called Kaahumanu," said he. "It is here she lay hid with
her dog from Kamehameha."
And he told me an anecdote which would not interest the reader as it
interested me, till he has learned what manner of woman Kaahumanu was.
CHAPTER IV
KAAHUMANU
Kamehameha the first, founder of the realm of the Eight Islands, was a
man properly entitled to the style of great. All chiefs in Polynesia are
tall and portly; and Kamehameha owed his life in the battle with the
Puna fishers to the vigour of his body. He was skilled in single combat;
as a general, he was almost invariably the victor. Yet it is not as a
soldier that he remains fixed upon the memory; rather as a kindly and
wise monarch, full of sense and shrewdness, like an old plain country
farmer. When he had a mind to make a present of fish, he went to the
fishing himself. When famine fell on the land, he remitted the tributes,
cultivated a garden for his own support with his own hands, and set all
his friends to do the like. Their patches of land, each still known by
the name of its high-born gardener, were shown to Ellis on his tour. He
passed laws against cutting down young sandal-wood trees, and against
the killing of the bird from which the feather mantles of the
archipelago were made. The yellow feathers were to be plucked, he
directed, and the bird dismissed again to freedom. His people were
astonished. "You are old," they argued; "soon you will die; what use
will it be to you?" "Let the bird go," said the King. "It will be for my
children afterwards." Alas, that his laws had not prevailed! Sandal-wood
and yellow feathers are now things of yesterday in his dominions.
The attitude of this brave old fellow to the native religion was, for
some while before his death, ambiguous. A white man (tradition says) had
come to Hawaii upon a visit; King Kalakaua assures me he was an
Englishman, and a missionary; if that be so, he should be easy to
identify. It was this missionary's habit to go walking in the morning
ere the sun was up, and before doing so, to kindle a light and make tea.
The King, who rose early himself to watch the behaviour of his people,
observed the light, made inquiries, learned of and grew curious about
these morning walks, threw himself at last in the missionary's path, and
drew him into talk. The meeting was repeated; and the missionary began
to press the King with Christianity. "If you will throw yourself from
that cliff," said Kamehameha, "and come down uninjured, I will accept
your religion: not unless." But the missionary was a man of parts; he
wrote a deep impression on his hearer's mind, and after he had left for
home, Kamehameha called his chief priest, and announced he was about to
break the tabus and to change his faith. The Kahuna replied that he was
the King's servant, but the step was grave, and it would be wiser to
proceed by divination. Kamehameha consented. Each built a new heiau over
against the other's; and when both were finished, a game of what we call
_French and English_ or _The Tug of War_ was played upon the intervening
space. The party of the priest prevailed; the King's men were dragged in
a body into the opposite temple; and the tabus were maintained. None
employed in this momentous foolery were informed of its significance;
the King's misgivings were studiously concealed; but there is little
doubt he continued to cherish them in secret. At his death, he had
another memorable word, testifying to his old preoccupation for his
son's estate: implying besides a weakened confidence in the island
deities. His sickness was heavy upon him; the time had manifestly come
to offer sacrifice; the people had fled already from the then dangerous
vicinity, and lay hid; none but priests and chiefs remained about the
King. "A man to your god!" they urged--"a man to your god, that you may
recover!" "The man is sacred to (my son) the King," replied Kamehameha.
So much appeared in public; but it is believed that he left secret
commands upon the high chief Kalanimoku, and on Kaahumanu, the most
beautiful and energetic of his wives, to do (as soon as he was dead)
that which he had spared to do while living.
No time was lost. The very day of his death, May 8th, 1819, the women of
the court ate of forbidden food, and some of the men sat down with them
to meat. Infidelity must have been deep-seated in the circle of
Kamehameha; for no portent followed this defiance of the gods, and none
of the transgressors died. But the priests were doubtless informed of
what was doing; the blame lay clearly on the shoulders of Kaahumanu, the
most conspicuous person in the land, named by the dying Kamehameha for a
conditional successor: "If Liholiho do amiss, let Kaahumanu take the
kingdom and preserve it." The priests met in council of diviners; and by
a natural retort, it was upon Kaahumanu that they laid the fault of the
King's death. This conspiracy appears to have been quite in vain.
Kaahumanu sat secure. On the day of the coronation, when the young King
came forth from the heiau, clad in a red robe and crowned with his
English diadem, it was almost as an equal that she met and spoke to him.
"(Son of) heaven, I name to you the possessions of your father; here are
the chiefs, there are the people of your father; there are your guns,
here is your land. But let you and me enjoy that land together." He must
have known already she was a free-eater, and there is no doubt he
trembled at the thought of that impiety and of its punishment; yet he
consented to what seems her bold proposal. The same day he met his own
mother, who signed to him privately that he should eat free. But
Liholiho (the poor drunkard who died in London) was incapable of so much
daring: he hung long apart from the court circle with a clique of the
more superstitious; and it was not till five months later, after a
drinking bout in a canoe at sea, that he was decoyed to land by stronger
spirits, and was seen (perhaps scarce conscious of his acts) to eat of
a dog, drink rum, and smoke tobacco, with his servant women. Thus the
food tabu fell finally at court. Ere it could be stamped out upon
Hawaii, a war must be fought; wherein the chief of the old party fell in
battle; his brave wife Manono by his side, mourned even by the
missionary Ellis.
The fall of one tabu involved the fall of others; the land was plunged
in dissolution; morals ceased. When the missionaries came (April 1820),
all the wisdom in the kingdom was prepared to embrace the succour of
some new idea. Kaahumanu early ranged upon that side, perhaps at first
upon a ground of politics. But gradually she fell more and more under
the influence of the new teachers; loved them, served them; valorously
defended them in dangers, which she shared; and put away at their
command her second husband. To the end of a long life, she played an
almost sovereign part, so that in the ephemerides of Hawaii, the
progresses of Kaahumanu are chronicled along with the deaths and the
accessions of kings. For two successive sovereigns and in troublous
periods, she held the reins of regency with a fortitude that has not
been called in question, with a loyalty beyond reproach; and at last, on
5th June 1832, this Duke of Wellington of a woman made the end of a
saint, fifty-seven years after her marriage with the conqueror. The date
of her birth, it seems, is lost; we may call her seventy.
Kaahumanu was a woman of the chiefly stature and of celebrated beauty;
Bingham admits she was "_beautiful for a Polynesian_"; and her husband
cherished her exceedingly. He had the indelicacy to frame and publish an
especial law declaring death against the man who should approach her,
and yet no penalty against herself. And in 1809, after thirty-four years
of marriage, and when she must have been nearing fifty, an island
Chastelard, of the name of Kanihonui, was found to be her lover, and
paid the penalty of life; she cynically surviving. Some twenty years
later, one of the missionaries had written home denouncing the
misconduct of an English whaler. The whaler got word of the denunciation
and, with the complicity of the English consul, sought to make a crime
of it against the mission. Party spirit ran very violent in the islands;
tears were shed, threats flying; and Kaahumanu called a council of the
chiefs. In that day stood forth the native historian, David Malo (though
his name should rather have been Nathan), and pressed the regent with
historic instances. Who was to be punished?--the whaler guilty of the
act, the missionary whose denunciation had provoked the scandal? "O you,
the wife of Kamehameha," said he, "Kanihonui came and slept with you
Luheluhe declared to Kamehameha the sleeping together of you two. I ask
you, which of these two persons was slain by Kamehameha? Was it
Luheluhe?" And she answered: "It was Kanihonui!" Shakespeare never
imagined such a character; and it would require none less than he to
represent her sublimities and contradictions.
After this heroine, the stone in the precinct of Honaunau had been
named. Here is the reason, and the tale completes her portrait.
Kamehameha was, of course, polygamous; the number of his wives rose at
last to twenty-five; and out of these no less than two were the sisters
of Kaahumanu. The favourite was of a jealous habit; and when it came to
a sister for a rival, her jealousy overflowed. She fled by night,
plunged in the sea, came swimming to Honaunau, entered the precinct by
the sea-gate, and hid herself behind the stone. There she lay naked and
refused food. The flight was discovered; as she had come swimming, none
had seen her pass; the priests of the temple were bound, it seems, to
silence; and Kona was filled with the messengers of the dismayed
Kamehameha, vainly seeking the favourite. Now, Kaahumanu had a dog who
was much attached to her, who had accompanied her in her long swim, and
lay by her side behind the stone; and it chanced, as the messengers ran
past the City of Refuge, that the dog (perhaps recognising them) began
to bark. "Ah, there is the dog of Kaahumanu!" said the messengers, and
returned and told the king she was at the Hale O Keawe. Thence
Kamehameha fetched or sent for her, and the breach in their relations
was restored.
A king preferred this woman out of a kingdom; Kanihonui died for her,
when she was fifty; even her dog adored her; even Bingham, who did not
see her until 1820, thought her "_beautiful for a Polynesian_," and
while she was thus in person an emblem of womanly charm, she made her
life illustrious with the manly virtues. There are some who give to Mary
Queen of Scots the place of saint and muse in their historic
meditations; I recommend to them instead the wife and widow of the
island conqueror. The Hawaiian was the nobler woman, with the nobler
story; and no disenchanting portrait will be found to shatter an ideal.
CHAPTER V
THE LEPERS OF KONA
A step beyond Hookena, a wooden house with two doors stands isolated in
a field of broken lava, like ploughed land. I had approached it on the
night of my arrival, and found it black and silent; yet even then it had
inmates. A man and a woman sat there captive, and the man had a knife,
brought to him in secret by his family. Not long, perhaps, after I was
by, the man, silencing by threats his fellow-prisoner, cut through the
floor and escaped to the mountain. It was known he had a comrade there,
hunted on the same account; and their friends kept them supplied with
food and ammunition. Upon the mountains, in most islands of the group,
similar outlaws rove in bands or dwell alone, unsightly hermits; and but
the other day an officer was wounded while attempting an arrest. Some
are desperate fellows; some mournful women--mothers and wives; some
stripling girls. A day or two, for instance, after the man had escaped,
the police got word of another old offender, made a forced march, and
took the quarry sitting: this time with little peril to themselves. For
the outlaw was a girl of nineteen, who had been two years under the
rains in the high forest, with her mother for comrade and accomplice.
How does their own poet sing?
In the land of distress
My dwelling was on the mountain height,
My talking companions were the birds,
The decaying leaves of the Ki my clothing.
It is for no crime this law-abiding race flee to the woods; it is no
fear of the gallows or the dungeon that nerves themselves to resist and
their friends to aid and to applaud them. Their liability is for
disease; they are lepers; and what they combine to combat is not
punishment but segregation. While China, and England, and France, in
their tropical possessions, either attempt nothing or effect little,
Hawaii has honourably faced the problem of this ancient and apparently
reviving malady. Her small extent is an advantage; but the ruggedness of
the physical characters, the desert woods and mountains, and the habit
of the native mind, oppose success. To the native mind, our medical
opinions seem unfounded. We smile to hear of ghosts and gods; they, when
they are told to keep warm in fevers or to avoid contagion. Leprosy in
particular they cannot be persuaded to avoid. But no mere opinion would
exalt them to resist the law and lie in forests did not a question of
the family bond embitter and exasperate the opposition. Their family
affection is strong, but unerect; it is luxuriously self-indulgent,
circumscribed within the passing moment, without providence, without
nobility, incapable of healthful rigour. The presence and the approval
of the loved one, it matters not how purchased, there is the single
demand of the Polynesian. By a natural consequence, when death
intervenes, he is consoled the more easily. Against this undignified
fervour of attachment, marital and parental, the law of segregation
often beats in vain. It is no fear of the lazaretto; they know the
dwellers are well used in Molokai; they receive letters from friends
already there who praise the place; and could the family be taken in a
body, they would go with glee, overjoyed to draw rations from
Government. But all cannot become pensioners at once; a proportion of
rate-payers must be kept; and the leper must go alone or with a single
relative; and the native instinctively resists the separation as a
weasel bites. A similar reluctance can be shown in Molokai itself. By a
recent law, clean children born within the precinct are taken from their
leper parents, sent to an intermediate hospital, and given a chance of
life and health and liberty. I have stood by while Mr. Meyer and Mr.
Hutchinson, the luna and the sub-luna of the lazaretto, opened the
petitions of the settlement. As they sat together on the steps of the
guest-house at Kalawao, letter after letter was passed between them with
a sneer, and flung upon the ground; till I was at last struck with this
cavalier procedure, and inquired the nature of the appeals. They were
all the same; all from leper parents, all pleading to have their clean
children retained in that abode of sorrow, and all alleging the same
reason--_aloha nuinui_--an extreme affection. Such was the extreme
affection of Kaahumanu for Kanihonui; by which she indulged her
wantonness in safety and he died. But love has a countenance more
severe.
The scenes I am about to describe, moving as they were to witness, have
thus an element of something weak and false. Sympathy may flow freely
for the leper girl; it may flow for her mother with reserve; it must not
betray us into a shadow of injustice for the government whose laws they
had attempted to evade. That which is pathetic is not needfully wrong.
I walked in a bright sun, after a grateful rain, upon the shore beyond
Hookena. The breeze was of heavenly freshness, the surf was jubilant in
all the caves; it was a morning to put a man in thought of the
antiquity, the health and cleanness of the earth. And behold! when I
came abreast of the little pest-house on the lava, both the doors were
open. In front, a circle of some half-a-dozen women and children sat
conspicuous in the usual bright raiment; in their midst was a crouching
and bowed figure, swathed in a black shawl and motionless; and as I drew
more near, I was aware of a continuous and high-pitched drone of song.
The figure in the midst was the leper girl; the song was the
improvisation of the mother, pouring out her sorrow in the island way.
"That was not singing," explained the schoolmaster's wife on my return,
"that was crying." And she sketched for me the probable tenor of the
lament: "O my daughter, O my child, now you are going away from me, now
you are taken away from me at last," and so on without end.
The thought of the girl so early separated from her fellows--the look
of her lying there covered from eyesight, like an untimely
birth--perhaps more than all, the penetrating note of the
lament--subdued my courage utterly. With the natural impulse, I began to
seek some outlet for my pain. It occurred to me that, after two years in
the woods, the family affairs might well have suffered, and in view of
the transplantation, clothes, furniture, or money might be needful. I
believe it was not done wisely, since it was gone about in ignorance; I
dare say it flowed from a sentiment no more erect than that of
Polynesians; I am sure there were many in England to whom my superfluity
had proved more useful; but the next morning saw me at the pest-house,
under convoy of the schoolmaster and the policeman.
The doors were again open. A fire was burning and a pot cooking on the
lava, under the supervision of an old woman in a grass-green sacque.
This dame, who seemed more merry than refined, hailed me, seized me, and
tried to seat me in her lap; a jolly and coarse old girl from whom, in
my hour of sentiment, I fled with craven shrinking: to whom, upon a
retrospect, I do more justice. The two lepers (both women) sat in the
midst of their visitors, even the children (to my grief) touching them
freely; the elder chatting at intervals--the girl in the same black weed
and bowed in the same attitude as yesterday. It was painfully plain she
would conceal, if possible, her face. Perhaps she had been beautiful:
certainly, poor soul, she had been vain--a gift of equal value. Some
consultation followed; I was told that nothing was required for outfit,
but a gift in money would be gratefully received; and this (forgetting I
was in the South Seas) I was about to make in silence. The confounded
expression of the schoolmaster reminded me of where I was. We stood up,
accordingly, side by side before the lepers; I made the necessary
speech, which the schoolmaster translated sentence by sentence; the
money (thus hallowed by oratory) was handed over and received; and the
two women each returned a dry "Mahalo," the girl not even then
exhibiting her face.
Between nine and ten of the same morning, the schooner lay-to off
Hookena and a whaleboat came ashore. The village clustered on the rocks
for the farewell: a grief perhaps--a performance certainly. We miss in
our modern life these operatic consolations of the past. The lepers came
singly and unattended; the elder first; the girl a little after, tricked
out in a red dress and with a fine red feather in her hat. In this
bravery, it was the more affecting to see her move apart on the rocks
and crouch in her accustomed attitude. But this time I had seen her
face; it was scarce horribly affected, but had a haunting look of an
unfinished wooden doll, at once expressionless and disproportioned;
doubtless a sore spectacle in the mirror of youth. Next there appeared a
woman of the middle life, of a swaggering gait, a gallant figure, and a
bold, handsome face. She came, swinging her hat, rolling her eyes and
shoulders, visibly working herself up; the crowd stirred and murmured on
her passage; and I knew, without being told, this was the mother and
protagonist. Close by the sea, in the midst of the spectators, she sat
down, and raised immediately the notes of the lament. One after another
of her friends approached her. To one after the other she reached out an
arm, embraced them down, rocked awhile with them embraced, and
passionately kissed them in the island fashion, with the pressed face.
The leper girl at last, as at some signal, rose from her seat apart,
drew near, was inarmed like the rest, and with a small knot (I suppose
of the most intimate) held some while in a general clasp. Through all,
the wail continued, rising into words and a sort of passionate
declamatory recitation as each friend approached, sinking again, as the
pair rocked together, into the tremolo drone. At length the scene was
over; the performers rose; the lepers and the mother were helped in
silence to their places; the whaleboat was urged between the reefs into
a bursting surge, and swung next moment without on the smooth swell.
Almost every countenance about me streamed with tears.
It was odd, but perhaps natural amongst a ceremonious, oratorical race,
that the boat should have waited while a passenger publicly lamented on
the beach. It was more odd still that the mother should have been the
chief, rather the only, actor. She was leaving indeed; she hoped to be
taken as a Kokua, or clean assistant, and thus accompany her daughter to
the settlement; but she was far from sure; and it was highly possible
she might return to Kona in a month. The lepers, on the other hand, took
leave for ever. In so far as regarded their own isle and birthplace, and
for their friends and families, it was their day of death.
The soldier from the war returns,
The sailor from the main:
but not the sick from the gray island. Yet they went unheeded; and the
chief part, and the whole stage and sympathy, was for their travelling
companion.
At the time, I was too deeply moved to criticise; mere sympathy
oppressed my spirit. It had always been a point with me to visit the
station, if I could: on the rocks of Hookena the design was fixed. I had
seen the departure of lepers for the place of exile; I must see their
arrival, and that place itself.[6]
FOOTNOTE:
[6] For an account of the writer's visit to the leper settlement, see
_Letters_, section x.
PART IV
THE GILBERTS
CHAPTER I
BUTARITARI
At Honolulu we had said farewell to the _Casco_ and to Captain Otis, and
our next adventure was made in changed conditions. Passage was taken for
myself, my wife, Mr. Osbourne, and my China boy, Ah Fu, on a pigmy
trading schooner, the _Equator_, Captain Dennis Reid; and on a certain
bright June day in 1889, adorned in the Hawaiian fashion with the
garlands of departure, we drew out of port and bore with a fair wind for
Micronesia.
The whole extent of the South Seas is desert of ships, more especially
that part where we were now to sail. No post runs in these islands;
communication is by accident; where you may have designed to go is one
thing, where you shall be able to arrive another. It was my hope, for
instance, to have reached the Carolines, and returned to the light of
day by way of Manila and the China ports; and it was in Samoa that we
were destined to re-appear and be once more refreshed with the sight of
mountains. Since the sunset faded from the peaks of Oahu six months had
intervened, and we had seen no spot of earth so high as an ordinary
cottage. Our path had been still on the flat sea, our dwellings upon
unerected coral, our diet from the pickle-tub or out of tins; I had
learned to welcome shark' flesh for a variety; and a mountain, an onion,
an Irish potato or a beef-steak, had been long lost to sense and dear to
aspiration.
The two chief places of our stay, Butaritari and Apemama, lie near the
line; the latter within thirty miles. Both enjoy a superb ocean climate,
days of blinding sun and bracing wind, nights of a heavenly brightness.
Both are somewhat wider than Fakarava, measuring perhaps (at the widest)
a quarter of a mile from beach to beach. In both, a coarse kind of
_taro_ thrives; its culture is a chief business of the natives, and the
consequent mounds and ditches make miniature scenery and amuse the eye.
In all else they show the customary features of an atoll: the low
horizon, the expanse of the lagoon, the sedge-like rim of palm-tops, the
sameness and smallness of the land, the hugely superior size and
interest of sea and sky. Life on such islands is in many points like
life on shipboard. The atoll, like the ship, is soon taken for granted;
and the islanders, like the ship's crew, become soon the centre of
attention. The isles are populous, independent, seats of kinglets,
recently civilised, little visited. In the last decade many changes have
crept in: women no longer go unclothed till marriage; the widow no
longer sleeps at night and goes abroad by day with the skull of her dead
husband; and, fire-arms being introduced, the spear and the shark-tooth
sword are sold for curiosities. Ten years ago all these things and
practices were to be seen in use; yet ten years more, and the old
society will have entirely vanished. We came in a happy moment to see
its institutions still erect and (in Apemama) scarce decayed.
Populous and independent--warrens of men, ruled over with some rustic
pomp--such was the first and still the recurring impression of these
tiny lands. As we stood across the lagoon for the town of Butaritari, a
stretch of the low shore was seen to be crowded with the brown roofs of
houses; those of the palace and king's summer parlour (which are of
corrugated iron) glittered near one end conspicuously bright; the royal
colours flew hard by on a tall flagstaff; in front, on an artificial
islet, the gaol played the part of a martello. Even upon this first and
distant view, the place had scarce the air of what it truly was, a
village; rather of that which it was also, a petty metropolis, a city
rustic and yet royal.
The lagoon is shoal. The tide being out, we waded for some quarter of a
mile in tepid shallows, and stepped ashore at last into a flagrant
stagnancy of sun and heat. The lee side of a line island after noon is
indeed a breathless place; on the ocean beach the trade will be still
blowing, boisterous and cool; out in the lagoon it will be blowing also,
speeding the canoes; but the screen of bush completely intercepts it
from the shore, and sleep and silence and companies of mosquitoes brood
upon the towns.
We may thus be said to have taken Butaritari by surprise. A few
inhabitants were still abroad in the north end, at which we landed. As
we advanced, we were soon done with encounter, and seemed to explore a
city of the dead. Only, between the posts of open houses, we could see
the townsfolk stretched in the siesta, sometimes a family together
veiled in a mosquito net, sometimes a single sleeper on a platform like
a corpse on a bier.
The houses were of all dimensions, from those of toys to those of
churches. Some might hold a battalion, some were so minute they could
scarce receive a pair of lovers; only in the playroom, when the toys are
mingled, do we meet such incongruities of scale. Many were open sheds;
some took the form of roofed stages; others were walled and the walls
pierced with little windows. A few were perched on piles in the lagoon;
the rest stood at random on a green, through which the roadway made a
ribbon of sand, or along the embankments of a sheet of water like a
shallow dock. One and all were the creatures of a single tree; palm-tree
wood and palm-tree leaf their materials; no nail had been driven, no
hammer sounded, in their building, and they were held together by
lashings of palm-tree sinnet.
In the midst of the thoroughfare, the church stands like an island, a
lofty and dim house with rows of windows; a rich tracery of framing
sustains the roof; and through the door at either end the street shows
in a vista. The proportions of the place, in such surroundings, and
built of such materials, appeared august; and we threaded the nave with
a sentiment befitting visitors in a cathedral. Benches run along either
side. In the midst, on a crazy dais, two chairs stand ready for the king
and queen when they shall choose to worship; over their heads a hoop,
apparently from a hogshead, depends by a strip of red cotton; and the
hoop (which hangs askew) is dressed with streamers of the same material,
red and white.
This was our first advertisement of the royal dignity, and presently we
stood before its seat and centre. The palace is built of imported wood
upon a European plan; the roof of corrugated iron, the yard enclosed
with walls, the gate surmounted by a sort of lych-house. It cannot be
called spacious; a labourer in the States is sometimes more commodiously
lodged; but when we had the chance to see it within, we found it was
enriched (beyond all island expectation) with coloured advertisements
and cuts from the illustrated papers. Even before the gate some of the
treasures of the crown stand public: a bell of a good magnitude, two
pieces of cannon, and a single shell. The bell cannot be rung nor the
guns fired; they are curiosities, proofs of wealth, a part of the parade
of the royalty, and stand to be admired like statues in a square. A
straight gut of water like a canal runs almost to the palace door; the
containing quay-walls excellently built of coral; over against the
mouth, by what seems an effect of landscape art, the martello-like islet
of the gaol breaks the lagoon. Vassal chiefs with tribute, neighbour
monarchs come a-roving, might here sail in, view with surprise these
extensive public works, and be awed by these mouths of silent cannon. It
was impossible to see the place and not to fancy it designed for
pageantry. But the elaborate theatre then stood empty; the royal house
deserted, its doors and windows gaping; the whole quarter of the town
immersed in silence. On the opposite bank of the canal, on a roofed
stage, an ancient gentleman slept publicly, sole visible inhabitant;
and beyond on the lagoon a canoe spread a striped lateen, the sole thing
moving.
The canal is formed on the south by a pier or causeway with a parapet.
At the far end the parapet stops, and the quay expands into an oblong
peninsula in the lagoon, the breathing-place and summer parlour of the
king. The midst is occupied by an open house or permanent
marquee--called here a maniapa, or, as the word is now pronounced, a
maniap'--at the lowest estimation forty feet by sixty. The iron roof,
lofty but exceedingly low-browed, so that a woman must stoop to enter,
is supported externally on pillars of coral, within by a frame of wood.
The floor is of broken coral, divided in aisles by the uprights of the
frame; the house far enough from shore to catch the breeze, which enters
freely and disperses the mosquitoes; and under the low eaves the sun is
seen to glitter and the waves to dance on the lagoon.
It was now some while since we had met any but slumberers; and when we
had wandered down the pier and stumbled at last into this bright shed,
we were surprised to find it occupied by a society of wakeful people,
some twenty souls in all, the court and guardsmen of Butaritari. The
court ladies were busy making mats; the guardsmen yawned and sprawled.
Half a dozen rifles lay on a rock and a cutlass was leaned against a
pillar: the armoury of these drowsy musketeers. At the far end, a little
closed house of wood displayed some tinsel curtains, and proved upon
examination to be a privy on the European model. In front of this, upon
some mats, lolled Teburcimoa, the king; behind him, on the panels of the
house, two crossed rifles represented fasces. He wore pyjamas which
sorrowfully misbecame his bulk; his nose was hooked and cruel, his body
overcome with sodden corpulence, his eye timorous and dull; he seemed at
once oppressed with drowsiness and held awake by apprehension: a pepper
rajah muddled with opium, and listening for the march of the Dutch army,
looks perhaps not otherwise. We were to grow better acquainted, and
first and last I had the same impression; he seemed always drowsy, yet
always to hearken and start; and, whether from remorse or fear, there is
no doubt he seeks a refuge in the abuse of drugs.
The rajah displayed no sign of interest in our coming. But the queen,
who sat beside him in a purple sacque, was more accessible; and there
was present an interpreter so willing that his volubility became at last
the cause of our departure. He had greeted us upon our entrance:--"That
is the honourable King, and I am his interpreter," he had said, with
more stateliness than truth. For he held no appointment in the court,
seemed extremely ill-acquainted with the island language, and was
present, like ourselves, upon a visit of civility. Mr. Williams was his
name: an American darkey, runaway ship's cook, and bar-keeper at "The
Land we Live in" tavern, Butaritari. I never knew a man who had more
words in his command or less truth to communicate; neither the gloom of
the monarch, nor my own efforts to be distant, could in the least abash
him; and when the scene closed, the darkey was left talking.
The town still slumbered, or had but just begun to turn and stretch
itself; it was still plunged in heat and silence. So much the more vivid
was the impression that we carried away of the house upon the islet, the
Micronesian Saul wakeful amid his guards, and his unmelodious David, Mr.
Williams, chattering through the drowsy hours.
CHAPTER II
THE FOUR BROTHERS
The kingdom of Tebureimoa includes two islands, Great and Little Makin;
some two thousand subjects pay him tribute, and two semi-independent
chieftains do him qualified homage. The importance of the office is
measured by the man; he may be a nobody, he may be absolute; and both
extremes have been exemplified within the memory of residents.
On the death of king Tetimararoa, Tebureimoa's father, Nakaeia, the
eldest son, succeeded. He was a fellow of huge physical strength,
masterful, violent, with a certain barbaric thrift and some intelligence
of men and business. Alone in his islands it was he who dealt and
profited; he was the planter and the merchant; and his subjects toiled
for his behoof in servitude. When they wrought long and well their
task-master declared a holiday, and supplied and shared a general
debauch. The scale of his providing was at times magnificent; six
hundred dollars' worth of gin and brandy was set forth at once; the
narrow land resounded with the noise of revelry; and it was a common
thing to see the subjects (staggering themselves) parade their drunken
sovereign on the forehatch of a wrecked vessel, king and commons howling
and singing as they went. At a word from Nakaeia's mouth the revel
ended; Makin became once more an isle of slaves and of teetotalers; and
on the morrow all the population must be on the roads or in the
taro-patches toiling under his bloodshot eye.
The fear of Nakaeia filled the land. No regularity of justice was
affected; there was no trial, there were no officers of the law; it
seems there was but one penalty, the capital; and daylight assault and
midnight murder were the forms of process. The king himself would play
the executioner; and his blows were dealt by stealth, and with the help
and countenance of none but his own wives. These were his oarswomen; one
that caught a crab, he slew incontinently with the tiller; thus
disciplined, they pulled him by night to the scene of his vengeance,
which he would then execute alone and return well pleased with his
connubial crew. The inmates of the harem held a station hard for us to
conceive. Beasts of draught, and driven by the fear of death, they were
yet implicitly trusted with their sovereign's life; they were still
wives and queens, and it was supposed that no man should behold their
faces. They killed by the sight like basilisks; a chance view of one of
those boatwomen was a crime to be wiped out with blood. In the days of
Nakaeia the palace was beset with some tall coco-palms, which commanded
the enclosure. It chanced one evening, while Nakaeia sat below at supper
with his wives, that the owner of the grove was in a tree-top drawing
palm-tree wine; it chanced that he looked down, and the king at the same
moment looking up, their eyes encountered. Instant flight preserved the
involuntary criminal. But during the remainder of that reign he must
lurk and be hid by friends in remote parts of the isle; Nakaeia hunted
him without remission, although still in vain; and the palms,
accessories to the fact, were ruthlessly cut down. Such was the ideal of
wifely purity in an isle where nubile virgins went naked as in paradise.
And yet scandal found its way into Nakaeia's well-guarded harem. He was
at that time the owner of a schooner, which he used for a
pleasure-house, lodging on board as she lay anchored; and thither one
day he summoned a new wife. She was one that had been sealed to him;
that is to say (I presume), that he was married to her sister, for the
husband of an elder sister has the call of the cadets. She would be
arrayed for the occasion; she would come scented, garlanded, decked
with fine mats and family jewels, for marriage, as her friends supposed;
for death, as she well knew. "Tell me the man's name, and I will spare
you," said Nakaeia. But the girl was staunch; she held her peace, saved
her lover; and the queens strangled her between the mats.
Nakaeia was feared; it does not appear that he was hated. Deeds that
smell to us of murder wore to his subjects the reverend face of justice;
his orgies made him popular; natives to this day recall with respect the
firmness of his government; and even the whites, whom he long opposed
and kept at arm's-length, give him the name (in the canonical South Sea
phrase) of "a perfect gentleman when sober."
When he came to lie, without issue, on the bed of death, he summoned his
next brother, Nanteitei, made him a discourse on royal policy, and
warned him he was too weak to reign. The warning was taken to heart, and
for some while the government moved on the model of Nakaeia's. Nanteitei
dispensed with guards, and walked abroad alone with a revolver in a
leather mail-bag. To conceal his weakness he affected a rude silence;
you might talk to him all day; advice, reproof, appeal, and menace alike
remained unanswered. The number of his wives was seventeen, many of them
heiresses; for the royal house is poor, and marriage was in these days a
chief means of buttressing the throne. Nakaeia kept his harem busy for
himself; Nanteitei hired it out to others. In his days, for instance,
Messrs. Wightman built a pier with a verandah at the north end of the
town. The masonry was the work of the seventeen queens, who toiled and
waded there like fisher lasses; but the man who was to do the roofing
durst not begin till they had finished, lest by chance he should look
down and see them.
It was perhaps the last appearance of the harem gang. For some time
already Hawaiian missionaries had been seated at Butaritari--Maka and
Kanoa, two brave child-like men. Nakaeia would none of their doctrine;
he was perhaps jealous of their presence; being human, he had some
affection for their persons. In the house, before the eyes of Kanoa, he
slew with his own hand three sailors of Oahu, crouching on their backs
to knife them, and menacing the missionary if he interfered; yet he not
only spared him at the moment, but recalled him afterwards (when he had
fled) with some expressions of respect. Nanteitei, the weaker man, fell
more completely under the spell. Maka, a light-hearted, lovable, yet in
his own trade very rigorous man, gained and improved an influence on the
king which soon grew paramount. Nanteitei, with the royal house, was
publicly converted; and, with a severity which liberal missionaries
disavow, the harem was at once reduced. It was a compendious act. The
throne was thus impoverished, its influence shaken, the queen's
relatives mortified, and sixteen chief women (some of great possessions)
cast in a body on the market. I have been shipmates with a Hawaiian
sailor who was successively married to two of these _impromptu_ widows,
and successively divorced by both for misconduct. That two great and
rich ladies (for both of these were rich) should have married "a man
from another island" marks the dissolution of society. The laws besides
were wholly remodelled, not always for the better. I love Maka as a man;
as a legislator he has two defects: weak in the punishment of crime,
stern to repress innocent pleasures.
War and revolution are the common successors of reform; yet Nanteitei
died (of an overdose of chloroform), in quiet possession of the throne,
and it was in the reign of the third brother, Nabakatokia, a man brave
in body and feeble of character, that the storm burst. The rule of the
high chiefs and notables seems to have always underlain and perhaps
alternated with monarchy. The Old Men (as they were called) have a right
to sit with the king in the Speak House and debate: and the king's chief
superiority is a form of closure--"The Speaking is over." After the
long monocracy of Nakaeia and the changes of Nanteitei, the Old Men
were doubtless grown impatient of obscurity, and they were beyond
question jealous of the influence of Maka. Calumny, or rather
caricature, was called in use; a spoken cartoon ran round society; Maka
was reported to have said in church that the king was the first man in
the island and himself the second; and, stung by the supposed affront,
the chiefs broke into rebellion and armed gatherings. In the space of
one forenoon the throne of Nakaeia was humbled in the dust. The king sat
in the maniap' before the palace gate expecting his recruits; Maka by
his side, both anxious men; and meanwhile, in the door of a house at the
north entry of the town, a chief had taken post and diverted the
succours as they came. They came singly or in groups, each with his gun
or pistol slung about his neck. "Where are you going?" asked the chief.
"The king called us," they would reply. "Here is your place. Sit down,"
returned the chief. With incredible disloyalty, all obeyed; and
sufficient force being thus got together from both sides, Nabakatokia
was summoned and surrendered. About this period, in almost every part of
the group, the kings were murdered; and on Tapituea, the skeleton of the
last hangs to this day in the chief Speak House of the isle, a menace to
ambition. Nabakatokia was more fortunate; his life and the royal style
were spared to him, but he was stripped of power. The Old Men enjoyed a
festival of public speaking; the laws were continually changed, never
enforced; the commons had an opportunity to regret the merits of
Nakaeia, and the king, denied the resource of rich marriages and the
service of a troop of wives, fell not only in disconsideration but in
debt.
He died some months before my arrival in the islands, and no one
regretted him; rather all looked hopefully to his successor. This was by
repute the hero of the family. Alone of the four brothers, he had issue,
a grown son, Natiata, and a daughter three years old; it was to him, in
the hour of the revolution, that Nabakatokia turned too late for help;
and in earlier days he had been the right hand of the vigorous Nakaeia.
Nantemat', _Mr. Corpse_, was his appalling nickname, and he had earned
it well. Again and again, at the command of Nakaeia, he had surrounded
houses in the dead of night, cut down the mosquito bars and butchered
families. Here was the hand of iron; here was Nakaeia _redux_. He came,
summoned from the tributary rule of Little Makin: he was installed, he
proved a puppet and a trembler, the unwieldy shuttlecock of orators; and
the reader has seen the remains of him in his summer parlour under the
name of Tebureimoa.
The change in the man's character was much commented on in the island,
and variously explained by opium and Christianity. To my eyes, there
seemed no change at all, rather an extreme consistency. Mr. Corpse was
afraid of his brother: King Tebureimoa is afraid of the Old Men. Terror
of the first nerved him for deeds of desperation; fear of the second
disables him for the least act of government. He played his part of
bravo in the past, following the line of least resistance, butchering
others in his own defence: to-day, grown elderly and heavy, a convert, a
reader of the Bible, perhaps a penitent, conscious at least of
accumulated hatreds, and his memory charged with images of violence and
blood, he capitulates to the Old Men, fuddles himself with opium, and
sits among his guards in dreadful expectation. The same cowardice that
put into his hand the knife of the assassin deprives him of the sceptre
of a king.
A tale that I was told, a trifling incident that fell in my observation,
depict him in his two capacities. A chief in Little Makin asked, in an
hour of lightness, "Who is Kaeia?" A bird carried the saying; and
Nakaeia placed the matter in the hands of a committee of three. Mr.
Corpse was chairman; the second commissioner died before my arrival; the
third was yet alive and green, and presented so venerable an appearance
that we gave him the name of Abou ben Adhem. Mr. Corpse was troubled
with a scruple; the man from Little Makin was his adopted brother; in
such a case it was not very delicate to appear at all, to strike the
blow (which it seems was otherwise expected of him) would be worse than
awkward. "I will strike the blow," said the venerable Abou; and Mr.
Corpse (surely with a sigh) accepted the compromise. The quarry was
decoyed into the bush; he was set carrying a log; and while his arms
were raised Abou ripped up his belly at a blow. Justice being thus done,
the commission, in a childish horror, turned to flee. But their victim
recalled them to his side. "You need not run away now," he said. "You
have done this thing to me. Stay." He was some twenty minutes dying, and
his murderers sat with him the while: a scene for Shakespeare. All the
stages of a violent death, the blood, the failing voice, the decomposing
features, the changed hue, are thus present in the memory of Mr. Corpse;
and since he studied them in the brother he betrayed, he has some reason
to reflect on the possibilities of treachery. I was never more sure of
anything than the tragic quality of the king's thoughts; and yet I had
but the one sight of him at unawares. I had once an errand for his ear.
It was once more the hour of the siesta; but there were loiterers
abroad, and these directed us to a closed house on the bank of the canal
where Tebureimoa lay unguarded. We entered without ceremony, being in
some haste. He lay on the floor upon a bed of mats, reading in his
Gilbert Island Bible with compunction. On our sudden entrance the
unwieldy man reared himself half-sitting so that the Bible rolled on the
floor, stared on us a moment with blank eyes, and, having recognised his
visitors, sank again upon the mats. So Eglon looked on Ehud.
The justice of facts is strange, and strangely just: Nakaeia, the author
of these deeds, died at peace discoursing on the craft of kings; his
tool suffers daily death for his enforced complicity. Not the nature,
but the congruity of men's deeds and circumstances damn and save them;
and Tebureimoa from the first has been incongruously placed. At home, in
a quiet by-street of a village, the man had been a worthy carpenter,
and, even bedevilled as he is, he shows some private virtues. He has no
lands, only the use of such as are impignorate for fines; he cannot
enrich himself in the old way by marriages; thrift is the chief pillar
of his future, and he knows and uses it. Eleven foreign traders pay him
a patent of a hundred dollars, some two thousand subjects pay capitation
at the rate of a dollar for a man, half a dollar for a woman, and a
shilling for a child: allowing for the exchange, perhaps a total of
three hundred pounds a year. He had been some nine months on the throne:
had bought his wife a silk dress and hat, figure unknown, and himself a
uniform at three hundred dollars; had sent his brother's photograph to
be enlarged in San Francisco at two hundred and fifty dollars; had
greatly reduced that brother's legacy of debt; and had still sovereigns
in his pocket. An affectionate brother, a good economist; he was besides
a handy carpenter, and cobbled occasionally on the woodwork of the
palace. It is not wonderful that Mr. Corpse has virtues: that Tebureimoa
should have a diversion filled me with surprise.
CHAPTER III
AROUND OUR HOUSE
When we left the palace we were still but seafarers ashore; and within
the hour we had installed our goods in one of the six foreign houses of
Butaritari, namely, that usually occupied by Maka, the Hawaiian
missionary. Two San Francisco firms are here established, Messrs.
Crawford and Messrs. Wightman Brothers; the first hard by the palace of
the mid town, the second at the north entry; each with a store and
bar-room. Our house was in the Wightman compound, betwixt the store and
bar, within a fenced enclosure. Across the road a few native houses
nestled in the margin of the bush, and the green wall of palms rose
solid, shutting out the breeze. A little sandy cove of the lagoon ran in
behind, sheltered by a verandah pier, the labour of queens' hands. Here,
when the tide was high, sailed boats lay to be loaded; when the tide was
low, the boats took ground some half a mile away, and an endless series
of natives descended the pier stair, tailed across the sand in strings
and clusters, waded to the waist with the bags of copra, and loitered
backward to renew their charge. The mystery of the copra trade tormented
me, as I sat and watched the profits drip on the stair and the sands.
In front, from shortly after four in the morning until nine at night,
the folk of the town streamed by us intermittingly along the road:
families going up the island to make copra on their lands; women bound
for the bush to gather flowers against the evening toilet; and, twice a
day, the toddy-cutters, each with his knife and shell. In the first
grey of the morning, and again late in the afternoon, these would
straggle past about their tree-top business, strike off here and there
into the bush, and vanish from the face of the earth. At about the same
hour, if the tide be low in the lagoon, you are likely to be bound
yourself across the island for a bath, and may enter close at their
heels alleys of the palm wood. Right in front, although the sun is not
yet risen, the east is already lighted with preparatory fires, and the
huge accumulations of the trade-wind cloud glow with and heliograph the
coming day. The breeze is in your face; overhead in the tops of the
palms, its playthings, it maintains a lively bustle; look where you
will, above or below, there is no human presence, only the earth and
shaken forest. And right overhead the song of an invisible singer breaks
from the thick leaves; from farther on a second tree-top answers; and
beyond again, in the bosom of the woods, a still more distant minstrel
perches and sways and sings. So, all round the isle, the toddy-cutters
sit on high, and are rocked by the trade, and have a view far to
seaward, where they keep watch for sails and like huge birds utter their
songs in the morning. They sing with a certain lustiness and Bacchic
glee; the volume of sound and the articulate melody fall unexpected from
the tree-top, whence we anticipate the chattering of fowls. And yet in a
sense these songs also are but chatter; the words are ancient, obsolete,
and sacred; few comprehend them, perhaps no one perfectly; but it was
understood the cutters "prayed to have good toddy, and sang of their old
wars." The prayer is at least answered; and when the foaming shell is
brought to your door, you have a beverage well "worthy of a grace." All
forenoon you may return and taste; it only sparkles, and sharpens, and
grows to be a new drink, not less delicious; but with the progress of
the day the fermentation quickens and grows acid; in twelve hours it
will be yeast for bread, in two days more a devilish intoxicant, the
counsellor of crime.
The men are of a marked Arabian cast of features, often bearded and
moustached, often gaily dressed, some with bracelets and anklets, all
stalking hidalgo-like, and accepting salutations with a haughty lip. The
hair (with the dandies of either sex) is worn turban-wise in a frizzled
bush; and like the daggers of the Japanese, a pointed stick (used for a
comb) is thrust gallantly among the curls. The women from this bush of
hair look forth enticingly: the race cannot be compared with the
Tahitian for female beauty; I doubt even if the average be high, but
some of the prettiest girls, and one of the handsomest women I ever saw,
were Gilbertines. Butaritari, being the commercial centre of the group,
is Europeanised; the coloured sacque or the white shift are common wear,
the latter for the evening; the trade hat, loaded with flowers, fruit,
and ribbons, is unfortunately not unknown; and the characteristic female
dress of the Gilberts no longer universal. The _ridi_ is its name: a
cutty petticoat or fringe of the smoked fibre of cocoa-nut leaf, not
unlike tarry string; the lower edge not reaching the mid-thigh, the
upper adjusted so low upon the haunches that it seems to cling by
accident. A sneeze, you think, and the lady must surely be left
destitute. "The perilous, hairbreadth ridi" was our word for it; and in
the conflict that rages over women's dress it has the misfortune to
please neither side, the prudish condemning it as insufficient, the more
frivolous finding it unlovely in itself. Yet if a pretty Gilbertine
would look her best, that must be her costume. In that, and naked
otherwise, she moves with an incomparable liberty and grace and life,
that marks the poetry of Micronesia. Bundle her in a gown, the charm is
fled, and she wriggles like an Englishwoman.
Towards dusk the passers-by became more gorgeous. The men broke out in
all the colours of the rainbow--or at least of the trade-room,--and both
men and women began to be adorned and scented with new flowers. A small
white blossom is the favourite, sometimes sown singly in a woman's hair
like little stars, now composed in a thick wreath. With the night, the
crowd sometimes thickened in the road, and the padding and brushing of
bare feet became continuous; the promenades mostly grave, the silence
only interrupted by some giggling and scampering of girls; even the
children quiet. At nine, bed-time struck on a bell from the cathedral,
and the life of the town ceased. At four the next morning the signal is
repeated in the darkness, and the innocent prisoners set free; but for
seven hours all must lie--I was about to say within doors, of a place
where doors, and even walls, are an exception--housed, at least, under
their airy roofs and clustered in the tents of the mosquito-nets.
Suppose a necessary errand to occur, suppose it imperative to send
abroad, the messenger must then go openly, advertising himself to the
police with a huge brand of cocoa-nut, which flares from house to house
like a moving bonfire. Only the police themselves go darkling, and grope
in the night for misdemeanants. I used to hate their treacherous
presence; their captain in particular, a crafty old man in white, lurked
nightly about my premises till I could have found it in my heart to beat
him. But the rogue was privileged.
Not one of the eleven resident traders came to town, no captain cast
anchor in the lagoon, but we saw him ere the hour was out. This was
owing to our position between the store and the bar--the "Sans Souci,"
as the last was called. Mr. Rick was not only Messrs. Wightman's
manager, but consular agent for the States. Mrs. Rick was the only white
woman on the island, and one of the only two in the archipelago; their
house besides, with its cool verandahs, its bookshelves, its comfortable
furniture, could not be rivalled nearer than Jaluit or Honolulu. Every
one called in consequence, save such as might be prosecuting a South Sea
quarrel, hingeing on the price of copra and the odd cent, or perhaps a
difference about poultry. Even these, if they did not appear upon the
north, would be presently visible to the southward, the "Sans Souci"
drawing them as with cords. In an island with a total population of
twelve white persons, one of the two drinking-shops might seem
superfluous; but every bullet has its billet, and the double
accommodation of Butaritari is found in practice highly convenient by
the captains and the crews of ships: "The Land we Live in" being tacitly
resigned to the forecastle, the "Sans Souci" tacitly reserved for the
afterguard. So aristocratic were my habits, so commanding was my fear of
Mr. Williams, that I have never visited the first; but in the other,
which was the club or rather the casino of the island, I regularly
passed my evenings. It was small, but neatly fitted, and at night (when
the lamp was lit) sparkled with glass and glowed with coloured pictures
like a theatre at Christmas. The pictures were advertisements, the glass
coarse enough, the carpentry amateur; but the effect, in that
incongruous isle, was of unbridled luxury and inestimable expense. Here
songs were sung, tales told, tricks performed, games played. The Ricks,
ourselves, Norwegian Tom the bar-keeper, a captain or two from the
ships, and perhaps three or four traders come down the island in their
boats or by the road on foot, made up the usual company. The traders,
all bred to the sea, take a humorous pride in their new business; "South
Sea Merchants" is the title they prefer. "We are all sailors
here"--"Merchants, if you please"--"_South Sea_ Merchants,"--was a piece
of conversation endlessly repeated, that never seemed to lose in savour.
We found them at all times simple, genial, gay, gallant, and obliging;
and, across some interval of time, recall with pleasure the traders of
Butaritari. There was one black sheep indeed. I tell of him here where
he lived, against my rule; for in this case I have no measure to
preserve, and the man is typical of a class of ruffians that once
disgraced the whole field of the South Seas, and still linger in the
rarely visited isles of Micronesia. He had the name on the beach of "a
perfect gentleman when sober," but I never saw him otherwise than
drunk. The few shocking and savage traits of the Micronesian he has
singled out with the skill of a collector, and planted in the soil of
his original baseness. He has been accused and acquitted of a
treacherous murder; and has since boastfully owned it, which inclines me
to suppose him innocent. His daughter is defaced by his erroneous
cruelty, for it was his wife he had intended to disfigure, and, in the
darkness of the night and the frenzy of coco-brandy, fastened on the
wrong victim. The wife has since fled and harbours in the bush with
natives; and the husband still demands from deaf ears her forcible
restoration. The best of his business is to make natives drink, and then
advance the money for the fine upon a lucrative mortgage. "Respect for
whites" is the man's word: "What is the matter with this island is the
want of respect for whites." On his way to Butaritari, while I was
there, he spied his wife in the bush with certain natives and made a
dash to capture her; whereupon one of her companions drew a knife and
the husband retreated: "Do you call that proper respect for whites?" he
cried. At an early stage of the acquaintance we proved our respect for
his kind of white by forbidding him our enclosure under pain of death.
Thenceforth he lingered often in the neighbourhood with I knew not what
sense of envy or design of mischief; his white, handsome face (which I
beheld with loathing) looked in upon us at all hours across the fence;
and once, from a safe distance, he avenged himself by shouting a
recondite island insult, to us quite inoffensive, on his English lips
incredibly incongruous.
Our enclosure, round which this composite of degradations wandered, was
of some extent. In one corner was a trellis with a long table of rough
boards. Here the Fourth of July feast had been held not long before with
memorable consequences, yet to be set forth; here we took our meals;
here entertained to a dinner the king and notables of Makin. In the
midst was the house, with a verandah front and back, and three rooms
within. In the verandah we slung our man-of-war hammocks, worked there
by day, and slept at night. Within were beds, chairs, a round table, a
fine hanging lamp, and portraits of the royal family of Hawaii. Queen
Victoria proves nothing; Kalakaua and Mrs. Bishop are diagnostic; and
the truth is we were the stealthy tenants of the parsonage. On the day
of our arrival Maka was away; faithless trustees unlocked his doors; and
the dear rigorous man, the sworn foe of liquor and tobacco, returned to
find his verandah littered with cigarettes and his parlour horrible with
bottles. He made but one condition--on the round table, which he used in
the celebration of the sacraments, he begged us to refrain from setting
liquor; in all else he bowed to the accomplished fact, refused rent,
retired across the way into a native house, and, plying in his boat,
beat the remotest quarters of the isle for provender. He found us
pigs--I could not fancy where--no other pigs were visible; he brought us
fowls and taro; when we gave our feast to the monarch and gentry, it was
he who supplied the wherewithal, he who superintended the cooking, he
who asked grace at table, and when the king's health was proposed, he
also started the cheering with an English hip-hip-hip. There was never a
more fortunate conception; the heart of the fatted king exulted in his
bosom at the sound.
Take him for all in all, I have never known a more engaging creature
than this parson of Butaritari: his mirth, his kindness, his noble,
friendly feelings, brimmed from the man in speech and gesture. He loved
to exaggerate, to act and overact the momentary part, to exercise his
lungs and muscles, and to speak and laugh with his whole body. He had
the morning cheerfulness of birds and healthy children; and his humour
was infectious. We were next neighbours and met daily, yet our
salutations lasted minutes at a stretch--shaking hands, slapping
shoulders, capering like a pair of Merry-Andrews, laughing to split our
sides upon some pleasantry that would scarce raise a titter in an
infant school. It might be five in the morning, the toddy-cutters just
gone by, the road empty, the shade of the island lying far on the
lagoon: and the ebullition cheered me for the day.
Yet I always suspected Maka of a secret melancholy; these jubilant
extremes could scarce be constantly maintained. He was besides long, and
lean, and lined, and corded, and a trifle grizzled; and his Sabbath
countenance was even saturnine. On that day we made a procession to the
church, or (as I must always call it) the cathedral: Maka (a blot on the
hot landscape) in tall hat, black frock-coat, black trousers; under his
arm the hymn-book and the Bible; in his face, a reverent
gravity:--beside him Mary his wife, a quiet, wise, and handsome elderly
lady, seriously attired:--myself following with singular and moving
thoughts. Long before, to the sound of bells and streams and birds,
through a green Lothian glen, I had accompanied Sunday by Sunday a
minister in whose house I lodged; and the likeness, and the difference,
and the series of years and deaths, profoundly touched me. In the great,
dusky, palm-tree cathedral the congregation rarely numbered thirty: the
men on one side, the women on the other, myself posted (for a privilege)
amongst the women, and the small missionary contingent gathered close
around the platform, we were lost in that round vault. The lessons were
read antiphonally, the flock was catechised, a blind youth repeated
weekly a long string of psalms, hymns were sung--I never heard worse
singing,--and the sermon followed. To say I understood nothing were
untrue; there were points that I learned to expect with certainty; the
name of Honolulu, that of Kalakaua, the word Cap'n-man-o'-wa', the word
ship, and a description of a storm at sea, infallibly occurred; and I
was not seldom rewarded with the name of my own Sovereign in the
bargain. The rest was but sound to the ears, silence for the mind; a
plain expanse of tedium, rendered unbearable by heat, a hard chair, and
the sight through the wide doors of the more happy heathen on the
green. Sleep breathed on my joints and eyelids, sleep hummed in my ears;
it reigned in the dim cathedral. The congregation stirred and stretched;
they moaned, they groaned aloud; they yawned upon a singing note, as you
may sometimes hear a dog when he has reached the tragic bitterest of
boredom. In vain the preacher thumped the table; in vain he singled and
addressed by name particular hearers. I was myself perhaps a more
effective excitant; and at least to one old gentleman the spectacle of
my successful struggles against sleep--and I hope they were
successful--cheered the flight of time. He, when he was not catching
flies or playing tricks upon his neighbours, gloated with a fixed,
translucent eye upon the stages of my agony; and once when the service
was drawing towards a close he winked at me across the church.
I write of the service with a smile; yet I was always there--always with
respect for Maka, always with admiration for his deep seriousness, his
burning energy, the fire of his roused eye, the sincere and various
accents of his voice. To see him weekly flogging a dead horse and
blowing a cold fire was a lesson in fortitude and constancy. It may be a
question whether if the mission were fully supported, and he was set
free from business avocations, more might not result; I think otherwise
myself; I think not neglect but rigour has reduced his flock, that
rigour which has once provoked a revolution, and which to-day, in a man
so lively and engaging, amazes the beholder. No song, no dance, no
tobacco, no liquor, no alleviative of life--only toil and church-going;
so says a voice from his face; and the face is the face of the
Polynesian Esau, but the voice is the voice of a Jacob from a different
world. And a Polynesian at the best makes a singular missionary in the
Gilberts, coming from a country recklessly unchaste to one conspicuously
strict; from a race hag-ridden with bogies to one comparatively bold
against the terrors of the dark. The thought was stamped one morning in
my mind, when I chanced to be abroad by moonlight, and saw all the town
lightless, but the lamp faithfully burning by the missionary's bed. It
requires no law, no fire, and no scouting police, to withhold Maka and
his countrymen from wandering in the night unlighted.
CHAPTER IV
A TALE OF A TAPU
On the morrow of our arrival (Sunday, 14th July 1889) our photographers
were early stirring. Once more we traversed a silent town; many were yet
abed and asleep; some sat drowsily in their open houses; there was no
sound of intercourse or business. In that hour before the shadows, the
quarter of the palace and canal seemed like a landing-place in the
"Arabian Nights" or from the classic poets; here were the fit
destination of some "faery frigot," here some adventurous prince might
step ashore among new characters and incidents; and the island prison,
where it floated on the luminous face of the lagoon, might have passed
for the repository of the Grail. In such a scene, and at such an hour,
the impression received was not so much of foreign travel--rather of
past ages; it seemed not so much degrees of latitude that we had
crossed, as centuries of time that we had re-ascended; leaving, by the
same steps, home and to-day. A few children followed us, mostly nude,
all silent; in the clear, weedy waters of the canal some silent damsels
waded, baring their brown thighs; and to one of the maniap's before the
palace gate we were attracted by a low but stirring hum of speech.
The oval shed was full of men sitting cross-legged. The king was there
in striped pyjamas, his rear protected by four guards with Winchesters,
his air and bearing marked by unwonted spirit and decision; tumblers and
black bottles went the round; and the talk, throughout loud, was general
and animated. I was inclined at first to view this scene with suspicion.
But the hour appeared unsuitable for a carouse; drink was besides
forbidden equally by the law of the land and the canons of the church;
and while I was yet hesitating, the king's rigorous attitude disposed of
my last doubt. We had come, thinking to photograph him surrounded by his
guards, and at the first word of the design his piety revolted. We were
reminded of the day--the Sabbath, in which thou shalt take no
photographs--and returned with a flea in our ear, bearing the rejected
camera.
At church, a little later, I was struck to find the throne unoccupied.
So nice a Sabbatarian might have found the means to be present; perhaps
my doubts revived; and before I got home they were transformed to
certainties. Tom, the bar-keeper of the "Sans Souci," was in
conversation with two emissaries from the court. The "keen," they said,
wanted "din," failing which "perandi."[7] No din, was Tom's reply, and
no perandi; but "pira" if they pleased. It seems they had no use for
beer, and departed sorrowing.
"Why, what is the meaning of all this?" I asked. "Is the island on the
spree?"
Such was the fact. On the 4th of July a feast had been made, and the
king, at the suggestion of the whites, had raised the tapu against
liquor. There is a proverb about horses; it scarce applies to the
superior animal, of whom it may be rather said, that any one can start
him drinking, not any twenty can prevail on him to stop. The tapu,
raised ten days before, was not yet re-imposed; for ten days the town
had been passing the bottle or lying (as we had seen it the afternoon
before) in hoggish sleep; and the king, moved by the Old Men and his own
appetites, continued to maintain the liberty, to squander his savings on
liquor, and to join in and lead the debauch. The whites were the authors
of this crisis; it was upon their own proposal that the freedom had been
granted at the first; and for a while, in the interests of trade, they
were doubtless pleased it should continue. That pleasure had now
sometime ceased; the bout had been prolonged (it was conceded) unduly;
and it now began to be a question how it might conclude. Hence Tom's
refusal. Yet that refusal was avowedly only for the moment, and it was
avowedly unavailing; the king's foragers, denied by Tom at the "Sans
Souci," would be supplied at "The Land we Live in" by the gobbling Mr.
Williams.
The degree of the peril was not easy to measure at the time, and I am
inclined to think now it was easy to exaggerate. Yet the conduct of
drunkards even at home is always matter for anxiety; and at home our
populations are not armed from the highest to the lowest with revolvers
and repeating rifles, neither do we go on a debauch by the whole
townful--and I might rather say, by the whole polity--king, magistrates,
police, and army joining in one common scene of drunkenness. It must be
thought besides that we were here in barbarous islands, rarely visited,
lately and partly civilised. First and last, a really considerable
number of whites have perished in the Gilberts, chiefly through their
own misconduct; and the natives have displayed in at least one instance
a disposition to conceal an accident under a butchery, and leave nothing
but dumb bones. This last was the chief consideration against a sudden
closing of the bars; the bar-keepers stood in the immediate breach and
dealt direct with madmen; too surly a refusal might at any moment
precipitate a blow, and the blow might prove the signal for a massacre.
_Monday, 15th_.--At the same hour we returned to the same maniap'.
Kümmel (of all drinks) was served in tumblers; in the midst sat the
crown prince, a fatted youth, surrounded by fresh bottles and busily
plying the corkscrew; and king, chief, and commons showed the loose
mouth, the uncertain joints, and the blurred and animated eye of the
early drinker. It was plain we were impatiently expected; the king
retired with alacrity to dress, the guards were despatched after their
uniforms; and we were left to await the issue of these preparations
with a shedful of tipsy natives. The orgie had proceeded further than
on Sunday. The day promised to be of great heat; it was already sultry,
the courtiers were already fuddled; and still the kümmel continued to go
round, and the crown prince to play butler. Flemish freedom followed
upon Flemish excess; and a funny dog, a handsome fellow, gaily dressed,
and with a full turban of frizzed hair, delighted the company with a
humorous courtship of a lady in a manner not to be described. It was our
diversion, in this time of waiting, to observe the gathering of the
guards. They have European arms, European uniforms, and (to their
sorrow) European shoes. We saw one warrior (like Mars) in the article of
being armed; two men and a stalwart woman were scarce strong enough to
boot him; and after a single appearance on parade the army is crippled
for a week.
At last, the gates under the king's house opened; the army issued, one
behind another, with guns and epaulettes; the colours stooped under the
gateway; majesty followed in his uniform bedizened with gold lace;
majesty's wife came next in a hat and feathers, and an ample trained
silk gown; the royal imps succeeded; there stood the pageantry of Makin
marshalled on its chosen theatre. Dickens might have told how serious
they were; how tipsy; how the king melted and streamed under his cocked
hat; how he took station by the larger of his two cannons--austere,
majestic, but not truly vertical; how the troops huddled, and were
straightened out, and clubbed again; how they and their firelocks raked
at various inclinations like the masts of ships; and how an amateur
photographer reviewed, arrayed, and adjusted them, to see his
dispositions change before he reached the camera.
The business was funny to see; I do not know that it is graceful to
laugh at; and our report of these transactions was received on our
return with the shaking of grave heads.
The day had begun ill; eleven hours divided us from sunset; and at any
moment, on the most trifling chance, the trouble might begin. The
Wightman compound was in a military sense untenable, commanded on three
sides by houses and thick bush; the town was computed to contain over a
thousand stand of excellent new arms; and retreat to the ships, in the
case of an alert, was a recourse not to be thought of. Our talk that
morning must have closely reproduced the talk in English garrisons
before the Sepoy mutiny; the sturdy doubt that any mischief was in
prospect, the sure belief that (should any come) there was nothing left
but to go down fighting, the half-amused, half-anxious attitude of mind
in which we were awaiting fresh developments.
The kümmel soon ran out; we were scarce returned before the king had
followed us in quest of more. Mr. Corpse was now divested of his more
awful attitude, the lawless bulk of him again encased in striped
pyjamas; a guardsman brought up the rear with his rifle at the trail;
and his majesty was further accompanied by a Rarotongan whalerman and
the playful courtier with the turban of frizzed hair. There was never a
more lively deputation. The whalerman was gapingly, tearfully tipsy; the
courtier walked on air; the king himself was even sportive. Seated in a
chair in the Ricks' sitting-room, he bore the brunt of our prayers and
menaces unmoved. He was even rated, plied with historic instances,
threatened with the men-of-war, ordered to restore the tapu on the
spot--and nothing in the least affected him. It should be done
to-morrow, he said; to-day it was beyond his power, to-day he durst not.
"Is that royal?" cried indignant Mr. Rick. No, it was not royal; had the
king been of a royal character we should ourselves have held a different
language; and royal or not, he had the best of the dispute. The terms
indeed were hardly equal; for the king was the only man who could
restore the tapu, but the Ricks were not the only people who sold drink.
He had but to hold his ground on the first question, and they were sure
to weaken on the second. A little struggle they still made for the
fashion's sake; and then one exceedingly tipsy deputation departed,
greatly rejoicing, a case of brandy wheeling beside them in a barrow.
The Rarotongan (whom I had never seen before) wrung me by the hand like
a man bound on a far voyage. "My dear frien'!" he cried, "good-bye, my
dear frien'!"--tears of kümmel standing in his eyes; the king lurched as
he went, the courtier ambled--a strange party of intoxicated children to
be entrusted with that barrowful of madness.
You could never say the town was quiet; all morning there was a ferment
in the air, an aimless movement and congregation of natives in the
street. But it was not before half-past one that a sudden hubbub of
voices called us from the house, to find the whole white colony already
gathered on the spot as by concerted signal. The "Sans Souci" was
overrun with rabble, the stair and verandah thronged. From all these
throats an inarticulate babbling cry went up incessantly; it sounded
like the bleating of young lambs, but angrier. In the road his royal
highness (whom I had seen so lately in the part of butler) stood crying
upon Tom; on the top step, tossed in the hurly-burly, Tom was shouting
to the prince. Yet a while the pack swayed about the bar, vociferous.
Then came a brutal impulse; the mob reeled, and returned and was
rejected; the stair showed a stream of heads; and there shot into view,
through the disbanding ranks, three men violently dragging in their
midst a fourth. By his hair and his hands, his head forced as low as his
knees, his face concealed, he was wrenched from the verandah and whisked
along the road into the village, howling as he disappeared. Had his face
been raised, we should have seen it bloodied, and the blood was not his
own. The courtier with the turban of frizzed hair had paid the costs of
this disturbance with the lower part of one ear.
So the brawl passed with no other casualty than might seem comic to the
inhumane. Yet we looked round on serious faces, and--a fact that spoke
volumes--Tom was putting up the shutters on the bar. Custom might go
elsewhither, Mr. Williams might profit as he pleased, but Tom had had
enough of bar-keeping for that day. Indeed, the event had hung on a
hair. A man had sought to draw a revolver--on what quarrel I could never
learn, and perhaps he himself could not have told; one shot, when the
room was so crowded, could scarce have failed to take effect; where many
were armed and all tipsy, it could scarce have failed to draw others;
and the woman who spied the weapon and the man who seized it may very
well have saved the white community.
The mob insensibly melted from the scene; and for the rest of the day
our neighbourhood was left in peace and a good deal in solitude. But the
tranquillity was only local; _din_ and _perandi_ still flowed in other
quarters: and we had one more sight of Gilbert Island violence. In the
church, where we had wandered photographing, we were startled by a
sudden piercing outcry. The scene, looking forth from the doors of that
great hall of shadow, was unforgettable. The palms, the quaint and
scattered houses, the flag of the island streaming from its tall staff,
glowed with intolerable sunshine. In the midst two women rolled fighting
on the grass. The combatants were the more easy to be distinguished,
because the one was stripped to the _ridi_ and the other wore a holoku
(sacque) of some lively colour. The first was uppermost, her teeth
locked in her adversary's face, shaking her like a dog; the other
impotently fought and scratched. So for a moment we saw them wallow and
grapple there like vermin; then the mob closed and shut them in.
It was a serious question that night if we should sleep ashore. But we
were travellers, folk that had come far in quest of the adventurous; on
the first sign of an adventure it would have been a singular
inconsistency to have withdrawn; and we sent on board instead for our
revolvers. Mindful of Taahauku, Mr. Rick, Mr. Osbourne, and Mrs.
Stevenson held an assault of arms on the public highway, and fired at
bottles to the admiration of the natives. Captain Reid, of the
_Equator_, stayed on shore with us to be at hand in case of trouble, and
we retired to bed at the accustomed hour, agreeably excited by the day's
events. The night was exquisite, the silence enchanting; yet as I lay in
my hammock looking on the strong moonshine and the quiescent palms, one
ugly picture haunted me of the two women, the naked and the clad, locked
in that hostile embrace. The harm done was probably not much, yet I
could have looked on death and massacre with less revolt. The return to
these primeval weapons, the vision of man's beastliness, of his
ferality, shocked in me a deeper sense than that with which we count the
cost of battles. There are elements in our state and history which it is
a pleasure to forget, which it is perhaps the better wisdom not to dwell
on. Crime, pestilence, and death are in the day's work; the imagination
readily accepts them. It instinctively rejects, on the contrary,
whatever shall call up the image of our race upon its lowest terms, as
the partner of beasts, beastly itself, dwelling pell-mell and
huggermugger, hairy man with hairy woman, in the caves of old. And yet
to be just to barbarous islanders we must not forget the slums and dens
of our cities: I must not forget that I have passed dinnerward through
Soho, and seen that which cured me of my dinner.
FOOTNOTE:
[7] Gin and brandy.
CHAPTER V
A TALE OF A TAPU--_continued_
_Tuesday, July 16_.--It rained in the night, sudden and loud, in Gilbert
Island fashion. Before the day, the crowing of a cock aroused me and I
wandered in the compound and along the street. The squall was blown by,
the moon shone with incomparable lustre, the air lay dead as in a room,
and yet all the isle sounded as under a strong shower, the eaves thickly
pattering, the lofty palms dripping at larger intervals and with a
louder note. In this bold nocturnal light the interior of the houses lay
inscrutable, one lump of blackness, save when the moon glinted under the
roof, and made a belt of silver, and drew the slanting shadows of the
pillars on the floor. Nowhere in all the town was any lamp or ember; not
a creature stirred; I thought I was alone to be awake; but the police
were faithful to their duty; secretly vigilant, keeping account of time;
and a little later, the watchman struck slowly and repeatedly on the
cathedral bell; four o'clock, the warning signal. It seemed strange
that, in a town resigned to drunkenness and tumult, curfew and réveille
should still be sounded and still obeyed.
The day came, and brought little change. The place still lay silent; the
people slept, the town slept. Even the few who were awake, mostly women
and children, held their peace and kept within under the strong shadow
of the thatch, where you must stop and peer to see them. Through the
deserted streets, and past sleeping houses, a deputation took its way at
an early hour to the palace; the king was suddenly awakened, and must
listen (probably with a headache) to unpalatable truths. Mrs. Rick,
being a sufficient mistress of that difficult tongue, was spokeswoman;
she explained to the sick monarch that I was an intimate personal friend
of Queen Victoria's; that immediately on my return I should make her a
report upon Butaritari; and that if my house should have been again
invaded by natives, a man-of-war would be despatched to make reprisals.
It was scarce the fact--rather a just and necessary parable of the fact,
corrected for latitude; and it certainly told upon the king. He was much
affected; he had conceived the notion (he said) that I was a man of some
importance, but not dreamed it was as bad as this; and the missionary
house was tapu'd under a fine of fifty dollars.
So much was announced on the return of the deputation; not any more; and
I gathered subsequently that much more had passed. The protection gained
was welcome. It had been the most annoying and not the least alarming
feature of the day before, that our house was periodically filled with
tipsy natives, twenty or thirty at a time, begging drink, fingering our
goods, hard to be dislodged, awkward to quarrel with. Queen Victoria's
friend (who was soon promoted to be her son) was free from these
intrusions. Not only my house, but my neighbourhood as well, was left in
peace; even on our walks abroad we were guarded and prepared for; and,
like great persons visiting a hospital, saw only the fair side. For the
matter of a week we were thus suffered to go out and in and live in a
fool's paradise, supposing the king to have kept his word, the tapu to
be revived, and the island once more sober.
_Tuesday, July 23_.--We dined under a bare trellis erected for the
Fourth of July; and here we used to linger by lamplight over coffee and
tobacco. In that climate evening approaches without sensible chill; the
wind dies out before sunset; heaven glows a while and fades, and darkens
into the blueness of the tropical night; swiftly and insensibly the
shadows thicken, the stars multiply their number; you look around you
and the day is gone. It was then that we would see our Chinaman draw
near across the compound in a lurching sphere of light, divided by his
shadows; and with the coming of the lamp the night closed about the
table. The faces of the company, the spars of the trellis, stood out
suddenly bright on a ground of blue and silver, faintly designed with
palm-tops and the peaked roofs of houses. Here and there the gloss upon
a leaf, or the fracture of a stone, returned an isolated sparkle. All
else had vanished. We hung there, illuminated like a galaxy of stars _in
vacuo_; we sat, manifest and blind, amid the general ambush of the
darkness; and the islanders, passing with light footfalls and low voices
in the sand of the road, lingered to observe us, unseen.
On Tuesday the dusk had fallen, the lamp had just been brought, when a
missile struck the table with a rattling smack and rebounded past my
ear. Three inches to one side and this page had never been written; for
the thing travelled like a cannon ball. It was supposed at the time to
be a nut, though even at the time I thought it seemed a small one and
fell strangely.
_Wednesday, July 24_.--The dusk had fallen once more, and the lamp been
just brought out, when the same business was repeated. And again the
missile whistled past my ear. One nut I had been willing to accept; a
second, I rejected utterly. A cocoa-nut does not come slinging along on
a windless evening, making an angle of about fifteen degrees with the
horizon; cocoa-nuts do not fall on successive nights at the same hour
and spot; in both cases, besides, a specific moment seemed to have been
chosen, that when the lamp was just carried out, a specific person
threatened, and that the head of the family. I may have been right or
wrong, but I believed I was the mark of some intimidation; believed the
missile was a stone, aimed not to hit, but to frighten.
No idea makes a man more angry. I ran into the road, where the natives
were as usual promenading in the dark; Maka joined me with a lantern;
and I ran from one to another, glared in quite innocent faces, put
useless questions, and proffered idle threats. Thence I carried my wrath
(which was worthy the son of any queen in history) to the Ricks. They
heard me with depression, assured me this trick of throwing a stone into
a family dinner was not new; that it meant mischief, and was of a piece
with the alarming disposition of the natives. And then the truth, so
long concealed from us, came out. The king had broken his promise, he
had defied the deputation; the tapu was still dormant, "The Land we Live
in" still selling drink, and that quarter of the town disturbed and
menaced by perpetual broils. But there was worse ahead: a feast was now
preparing for the birthday of the little princess; and the tributary
chiefs of Kuma and Little Makin were expected daily. Strong in a
following of numerous and somewhat savage clansmen, each of these was
believed, like a Douglas of old, to be of doubtful loyalty. Kuma (a
little pot-bellied fellow) never visited the palace, never entered the
town, but sat on the beach on a mat, his gun across his knees, parading
his mistrust and scorn; Karaiti of Makin, although he was more bold, was
not supposed to be more friendly; and not only were these vassals
jealous of the throne, but the followers on either side shared in the
animosity. Brawls had already taken place; blows had passed which might
at any moment be repaid in blood. Some of the strangers were already
here and already drinking; if the debauch continued after the bulk of
them had come, a collision, perhaps a revolution, was to be expected.
The sale of drink is in this group a measure of the jealousy of traders;
one begins, the others are constrained to follow; and to him who has the
most gin, and sells it the most recklessly, the lion's share of copra is
assured. It is felt by all to be an extreme expedient, neither safe,
decent, nor dignified. A trader on Tarawa, heated by an eager rivalry,
brought many cases of gin. He told me he sat afterwards day and night
in his house till it was finished, not daring to arrest the sale, not
venturing to go forth, the bush all round him filled with howling
drunkards. At night, above all, when he was afraid to sleep, and heard
shots and voices about him in the darkness, his remorse was black.
"My God!" he reflected, "if I was to lose my life on such a wretched
business!" Often and often, in the story of the Gilberts, this scene has
been repeated; and the remorseful trader sat beside his lamp, longing
for the day, listening with agony for the sound of murder, registering
resolutions for the future. For the business is easy to begin, but
hazardous to stop. The natives are in their way a just and law-abiding
people, mindful of their debts, docile to the voice of their own
institutions; when the tapu is re-enforced they will cease drinking; but
the white who seeks to antedate the movement by refusing liquor does so
at his peril.
Hence, in some degree, the anxiety and helplessness of Mr. Rick. He and
Tom, alarmed by the rabblement of the "Sans Souci," had stopped the
sale; they had done so without danger, because "The Land we Live in"
still continued selling; it was claimed, besides, that they had been the
first to begin. What step could be taken? Could Mr. Rick visit Mr.
Muller (with whom he was not on terms) and address him thus: "I was
getting ahead of you, now you are getting ahead of me, and I ask you to
forgo your profit. I got my place closed in safety, thanks to your
continuing; but now I think you have continued long enough. I begin to
be alarmed; and because I am afraid I ask you to confront a certain
danger"? It was not to be thought of. Something else had to be found;
and there was one person at one end of the town who was at least not
interested in copra. There was little else to be said in favour of
myself as an ambassador. I had arrived in the Wightman schooner, I was
living in the Wightman compound, I was the daily associate of the
Wightman coterie. It was egregious enough that I should now intrude
unasked in the private affairs of Crawford's agent, and press upon him
the sacrifice of his interests and the venture of his life. But bad as I
might be, there was none better; since the affair of the stone I was,
besides, sharp-set to be doing, the idea of a delicate interview
attracted me, and I thought it policy to show myself abroad.
The night was very dark. There was service in the church, and the
building glimmered through all its crevices like a dim Kirk Allowa'. I
saw few other lights, but was indistinctly aware of many people stirring
in the darkness, and a hum and sputter of low talk that sounded
stealthy. I believe (in the old phrase) my beard was sometimes on my
shoulder as I went. Muller's was but partly lighted, and quite silent,
and the gate was fastened. I could by no means manage to undo the latch.
No wonder, since I found it afterwards to be four or five feet long--a
fortification in itself. As I still fumbled, a dog came on the inside
and snuffed suspiciously at my hands, so that I was reduced to calling
"House ahoy!" Mr. Muller came down and put his chin across the paling in
the dark. "Who is that?" said he, like one who has no mind to welcome
strangers.
"My name is Stevenson," said I.
"O, Mr. Stevens! I didn't know you. Come inside."
We stepped into the dark store, when I leaned upon the counter and he
against the wall. All the light came from the sleeping-room, where I saw
his family being put to bed; it struck full in my face, but Mr. Muller
stood in shadow. No doubt he expected what was coming, and sought the
advantage of position; but for a man who wished to persuade and had
nothing to conceal, mine was the preferable.
"Look here," I began, "I hear you are selling to the natives."
"Others have done that before me," he returned pointedly.
"No doubt," said I, "and I have nothing to do with the past, but the
future. I want you to promise you will handle these spirits carefully."
"Now what is your motive in this?" he asked, and then, with a sneer,
"Are you afraid of your life?"
"That is nothing to the purpose," I replied. "I know, and you know,
these spirits ought not to be used at all."
"Tom and Mr. Rick have sold them before."
"I have nothing to do with Tom and Mr. Rick. All I know is I have heard
them both refuse."
"No, I suppose you have nothing to do with them. Then you are just
afraid of your life."
"Come now," I cried, being perhaps a little stung, "you know in your
heart I am asking a reasonable thing. I don't ask you to lose your
profit--though I would prefer to see no spirits brought here, as you
would----"
"I don't say I wouldn't. I didn't begin this," he interjected.
"No, I don't suppose you did," said I. "And I don't ask you to lose; I
ask you to give me your word, man to man, that you will make no native
drunk."
Up to now Mr. Muller had maintained an attitude very trying to my
temper; but he had maintained it with difficulty, his sentiment being
all upon my side; and here he changed ground for the worse. "It isn't me
that sells," said he.
"No, it's that nigger," I agreed. "But he's yours to buy and sell; you
have your hand on the nape of his neck; and I ask you--I have my wife
here--to use the authority you have."
He hastily returned to his old word. "I don't deny I could if I wanted,"
said he. "But there's no danger, the natives are all quiet. You're just
afraid of your life."
I do not like to be called a coward, even by implication; and here I
lost my temper and propounded an untimely ultimatum. "You had better put
it plain," I cried. "Do you mean to refuse me what I ask?"
"I don't want either to refuse it or grant it," he replied.
"You'll find you have to do the one thing or the other, and right now!"
I cried, and then, striking into a happier vein, "Come," said I, "you're
a better sort than that. I see what's wrong with you--you think I came
from the opposite camp. I see the sort of man you are, and you know that
what I ask is right."
Again he changed ground. "If the natives get any drink, it isn't safe to
stop them," he objected.
"I'll be answerable for the bar," I said. "We are three men and four
revolvers; we'll come at a word, and hold the place against the
village."
"You don't know what you're talking about; it's too dangerous!" he
cried.
"Look here," said I, "I don't mind much about losing that life you talk
so much of; but I mean to lose it the way I want to, and that is,
putting a stop to all this beastliness."
He talked a while about his duty to the firm; I minded not at all, I was
secure of victory. He was but waiting to capitulate, and looked about
for any potent to relieve the strain. In the gush of light from the
bedroom door I spied a cigar-holder on the desk. "That is well
coloured," said I.
"Will you take a cigar?" said he.
I took it and held it up unlighted. "Now," said I, "you promise me."
"I promise you you won't have any trouble from natives that have drunk
at my place," he replied.
"That is all I ask," said I, and showed it was not by immediately
offering to try his stock.
So far as it was anyway critical our interview here ended. Mr. Muller
had thenceforth ceased to regard me as an emissary from his rivals,
dropped his defensive attitude, and spoke as he believed. I could make
out that he would already, had he dared, have stopped the sale himself.
Not quite daring, it may be imagined how he resented the idea of
interference from those who had (by his own statement) first led him on,
then deserted him in the breach, and now (sitting themselves in safety)
egged him on to a new peril, which was all gain to them, all loss to
him. I asked him what he thought of the danger from the feast.
"I think worse of it than any of you," he answered. "They were shooting
around here last night, and I heard the balls too. I said to myself,
'That's bad.' What gets me is why you should be making this row up at
your end. I should be the first to go."
It was a thoughtless wonder. The consolation of being second is not
great: the fact, not the order of going--there was our concern.
Scott talks moderately of looking forward to a time of fighting "with a
feeling that resembled pleasure." The resemblance seems rather an
identity. In modern life, contact is ended; man grows impatient of
endless manoeuvres; and to approach the fact, to find ourselves where
we can push our advantage home, and stand a fair risk, and see at last
what we are made of, stirs the blood. It was so at least with all my
family, who bubbled with delight at the approach of trouble; and we sat
deep into the night like a pack of schoolboys, preparing the revolvers
and arranging plans against the morrow. It promised certainly to be a
busy and eventful day. The Old Men were to be summoned to confront me on
the question of the tapu; Muller might call us at any moment to garrison
his bar; and suppose Muller to fail, we decided in a family council to
take that matter into our own hands, "The Land we Live in" at the
pistol's mouth, and, with the polysyllabic Williams, dance to a new
tune. As I recall our humour I think it would have gone hard with the
mulatto.
_Wednesday, July 24_.--It was as well, and yet it was disappointing that
these thunder-clouds rolled off in silence. Whether the Old Men recoiled
from an interview with Queen Victoria's son, whether Muller had secretly
intervened, or whether the step flowed naturally from the fears of the
king and the nearness of the feast, the tapu was early that morning
re-enforced; not a day too soon, from the manner the boats began to
arrive thickly, and the town was filled with the big rowdy vassals of
Karaiti.
The effect lingered for some time on the minds of the traders; it was
with the approval of all present that I helped to draw up a petition to
the United States, praying for a law against the liquor trade in the
Gilberts; and it was at this request that I added, under my own name, a
brief testimony of what had passed;--useless pains, since the whole
repose, probably unread and possibly unopened, in a pigeon-hole at
Washington.
_Sunday, July 28_.--This day we had the afterpiece of the debauch. The
king and queen, in European clothes, and followed by armed guards,
attended church for the first time, and sat perched aloft in a
precarious dignity under the barrel-hoops. Before sermon his majesty
clambered from the dais, stood lopsidedly upon the gravel floor, and in
a few words abjured drinking. The queen followed suit with a yet briefer
allocution. All the men in church were next addressed in turn; each held
up his right hand, and the affair was over--throne and church were
reconciled.
CHAPTER VI
THE FIVE DAYS' FESTIVAL
_Thursday, July 25_.--The street was this day much enlivened by the
presence of the men from Little Makin; they average taller than
Butaritarians, and, being on a holiday, went wreathed with yellow leaves
and gorgeous in vivid colours. They are said to be more savage, and to
be proud of the distinction. Indeed, it seemed to us they swaggered in
the town, like plaided Highlanders upon the streets of Inverness,
conscious of barbaric virtues.
In the afternoon the summer parlour was observed to be packed with
people; others standing outside and stooping to peer under the eaves,
like children at home about a circus. It was the Makin company,
rehearsing for the day of competition. Karaiti sat in the front row
close to the singers, where we were summoned (I suppose in honour of
Queen Victoria) to join him. A strong breathless heat reigned under the
iron roof, and the air was heavy with the scent of wreaths. The singers,
with fine mats about their loins, cocoa-nut feathers set in rings upon
their fingers, and their heads crowned with yellow leaves, sat on the
floor by companies. A varying number of soloists stood up for different
songs; and these bore the chief part in the music. But the full force of
the companies, even when not singing, contributed continuously to the
effect, and marked the ictus of the measure, mimicking, grimacing,
casting up their heads and eyes, fluttering the feathers on their
fingers, clapping hands, or beating (loud as a kettledrum) on the left
breast; the time was exquisite, the music barbarous, but full of
conscious art. I noted some devices constantly employed. A sudden
change would be introduced (I think of key) with no break of the
measure, but emphasised by a sudden heightening of the voice and a
swinging, general gesticulation. The voices of the soloists would begin
far apart in a rude discord, and gradually draw together to a unison;
which, when they had reached, they were joined and drowned by the full
chorus. The ordinary, hurried, barking, unmelodious movement of the
voices would at times be broken and glorified by a psalm-like strain of
melody, often well constructed, or seeming so by contrast. There was
much variety of measure, and towards the end of each piece, when the fun
became fast and furious, a recourse to this figure--
[Illustration]
It is difficult to conceive what fire and devilry they get into these
hammering finales; all go together, voices, hands, eyes, leaves, and
fluttering finger-rings; the chorus swings to the eye, the song throbs
on the ear; the faces are convulsed with enthusiasm and effort.
Presently the troop stood up in a body, the drums forming a half-circle
for the soloists, who were sometimes five or even more in number. The
songs that followed were highly dramatic; though I had none to give me
any explanation, I would at times make out some shadowy but decisive
outline of a plot; and I was continually reminded of certain quarrelsome
concerted scenes in grand operas at home; just so the single voices
issue from and fall again into the general volume; just so do the
performers separate and crowd together, brandish the raised hand, and
roll the eye to heaven--or the gallery. Already this is beyond the
Thespian model; the art of this people is already past the embryo; song,
dance, drums, quartette and solo--it is the drama full developed
although still in miniature. Of all so-called dancing in the South Seas,
that which I saw in Butaritari stands easily the first. The _hula_, as
it may be viewed by the speedy globe-trotter in Honolulu, is surely the
most dull of man's inventions, and the spectator yawns under its length
as at a college lecture or a parliamentary debate. But the Gilbert
Island dance leads on the mind; it thrills, rouses, subjugates; it has
the essence of all art, an unexplored imminent significance. Where so
many are engaged, and where all must make (at a given moment) the same
swift, elaborate, and often arbitrary movement, the toil of rehearsal is
of course extreme. But they begin as children. A child and a man may
often be seen together in a maniap'; the man sings and gesticulates, the
child stands before him with streaming tears and tremulously copies him
in act and sound; it is the Gilbert Island artist learning (as all
artists must) his art in sorrow.
I may seem to praise too much; here is a passage from my wife's diary,
which proves that I was not alone in being moved, and completes the
picture:--"The conductor gave the cue, and all the dancers, waving their
arms, swaying their bodies, and clapping their breasts in perfect time,
opened with an introductory. The performers remained seated, except two,
and once three, and twice a single soloist. These stood in the group,
making a slight movement with the feet and rhythmical quiver of the body
as they sang. There was a pause after the introductory, and then the
real business of the opera--for it was no less--began; an opera where
every singer was an accomplished actor. The leading man, in an
impassioned ecstasy which possessed him from head to foot, seemed
transfigured; once it was as though a strong wind had swept over the
stage--their arms, their feathered fingers thrilling with an emotion
that shook my nerves as well: heads and bodies followed like a field of
grain before a gust. My blood came hot and cold, tears pricked my eyes,
my head whirled, I felt an almost irresistible impulse to join the
dancers. One drama, I think, I very nearly understood. A fierce and
savage old man took the solo part. He sang of the birth of a prince,
and how he was tenderly rocked in his mother's arms; of his boyhood,
when he excelled his fellows in swimming, climbing, and all athletic
sports; of his youth, when he went out to sea in his boat and fished; of
his manhood, when he married a wife who cradled a son of his own in her
arms. Then came the alarm of war, and a great battle, of which for a
time the issue was doubtful; but the hero conquered, as he always does,
and with a tremendous burst of the victors the piece closed. There were
also comic pieces, which caused great amusement. During one, an old man
behind me clutched me by the arm, shook his finger in my face with a
roguish smile, and said something with a chuckle, which I took to be the
equivalent of 'O, you women, you women; it is true of you all!' I fear
it was not complimentary. At no time was there the least sign of the
ugly indecency of the eastern islands. All was poetry pure and simple.
The music itself was as complex as our own, though constructed on an
entirely different basis; once or twice I was startled by a bit of
something very like the best English sacred music, but it was only for
an instant. At last there was a longer pause, and this time the dancers
were all on their feet. As the drama went on the interest grew. The
performers appealed to each other, to the audience, to the heaven above;
they took counsel with each other, the conspirators drew together in a
knot; it was just an opera, the drums coming in at proper intervals, the
tenor, baritone, and bass all where they should be--except that the
voices were all of the same calibre. A woman once sang from the back row
with a very fine contralto voice spoilt by being made artificially
nasal; I notice all the women affect that unpleasantness. At one time a
boy of angelic beauty was the soloist; and at another a child of six or
eight, doubtless an infant phenomenon being trained, was placed in the
centre. The little fellow was desperately frightened and embarrassed at
first, but towards the close warmed up to his work and showed much
dramatic talent. The changing expressions on the faces of the dancers
were so speaking that it seemed a great stupidity not to understand
them."
Our neighbour at this performance, Karaiti, somewhat favours his
Butaritarian majesty in shape and feature, being like him portly,
bearded, and Oriental. In character he seems the reverse: alert,
smiling, jovial, jocular, industrious. At home in his own island, he
labours himself like a slave, and makes his people labour like a
slave-driver. He takes an interest in ideas. George the trader told him
about flying-machines. "Is that true, George?" he asked. "It is in the
papers," replied George. "Well," said Karaiti, "if that man can do it
with machinery, I can do it without"; and he designed and made a pair of
wings, strapped them on his shoulders, went to the end of a pier,
launched himself into space, and fell bulkily into the sea. His wives
fished him out, for his wings hindered him in swimming. "George," said
he, pausing as he went up to change, "George, you lie." He had eight
wives, for his small realm still follows ancient customs; but he showed
embarrassment when this was mentioned to my wife. "Tell her I have only
brought one here," he said anxiously. Altogether the Black Douglas
pleased us much; and as we heard fresh details of the king's uneasiness,
and saw for ourselves that all the weapons in the summer parlour had
been hid, we watched with the more admiration the cause of all this
anxiety rolling on his big legs, with his big smiling face, apparently
unarmed, and certainly unattended, through the hostile town. The Red
Douglas, pot-bellied Kuma, having perhaps heard word of the debauch,
remained upon his fief; his vassals thus came uncommanded to the feast,
and swelled the following of Karaiti.
_Friday, July 26_.--At night in the dark, the singers of Makin paraded
in the road before our house and sang the song of the princess. "This is
the day; she was born to-day; Nei Kamaunave was born to-day--a beautiful
princess, Queen of Butaritari." So I was told it went in endless
iteration. The song was of course out of season, and the performance
only a rehearsal. But it was a serenade besides; a delicate attention to
ourselves from our new friend, Karaiti.
_Saturday, July 27_.--We had announced a performance of the magic
lantern to-night in church; and this brought the king to visit us. In
honour of the Black Douglas (I suppose) his usual two guardsmen were now
increased to four; and the squad made an outlandish figure as they
straggled after him, in straw hats, kilts and jackets. Three carried
their arms reversed, the butts over their shoulders, the muzzles
menacing the king's plump back; the fourth had passed his weapon behind
his neck, and held it there with arms extended like a backboard. The
visit was extraordinarily long. The king, no longer galvanised with gin,
said and did nothing. He sat collapsed in a chair and let a cigar go
out. It was hot, it was sleepy, it was cruel dull; there was no resource
but to spy in the countenance of Tebureimoa for some remaining trait of
_Mr. Corpse_ the butcher. His hawk nose, crudely depressed and flattened
at the point, did truly seem to us to smell of midnight murder. When he
took his leave, Maka bade me observe him going down the stair (or rather
ladder) from the verandah. "Old man," said Maka. "Yes," said I, "and yet
I suppose not old man." "Young man," returned Maka, "perhaps fo'ty." And
I have heard since he is most likely younger.
While the magic lantern was showing, I skulked without in the dark. The
voice of Maka, excitedly explaining the Scripture slides, seemed to fill
not the church only, but the neighbourhood. All else was silent.
Presently a distant sound of singing arose and approached; and a
procession drew near along the road, the hot clean smell of the men and
women striking in my face delightfully. At the corner, arrested by the
voice of Maka and the lightening and darkening of the church, they
paused. They had no mind to go nearer, that was plain. They were Makin
people, I believe, probably staunch heathens, contemners of the
missionary and his works. Of a sudden, however, a man broke from their
company, took to his heels, and fled into the church; next moment three
had followed him; the next it was a covey of near upon a score, all
pelting for their lives. So the little band of the heathen paused
irresolute at the corner, and melted before the attractions of a magic
lantern, like a glacier in spring. The more staunch vainly taunted the
deserters; three fled in a guilty silence, but still fled; and when at
length the leader found the wit or the authority to get his troop in
motion and revive the singing, it was with much diminished forces that
they passed musically on up the dark road.
Meanwhile inside the luminous pictures brightened and faded. I stood for
some while unobserved in the rear of the spectators, when I could hear
just in front of me a pair of lovers following the show with interest,
the male playing the part of interpreter and (like Adam) mingling
caresses with his lecture. The wild animals, a tiger in particular, and
that old school-treat favourite, the sleeper and the mouse, were hailed
with joy; but the chief marvel and delight was in the gospel series.
Maka, in the opinion of his aggrieved wife, did not properly rise to the
occasion. "What is the matter with the man? Why can't he talk?" she
cried. The matter with the man, I think, was the greatness of the
opportunity; he reeled under his good fortune; and whether he did ill or
well, the exposure of these pious "phantoms" did as a matter of fact
silence in all that part of the island the voice of the scoffer. "Why
then," the word went round, "why then, the Bible is true!" And on our
return afterwards we were told the impression was yet lively, and those
who had seen might be heard telling those who had not, "O yes, it is all
true; these things all happened, we have seen the pictures." The
argument is not so childish as it seems; for I doubt if these islanders
are acquainted with any other mode of representation but photography; so
that the picture of an event (on the old melodrama principle that "the
camera cannot lie, Joseph"), would appear strong proof of its
occurrence. The fact amused us the more because our slides were some of
them ludicrously silly, and one (Christ before Pilate) was received with
shouts of merriment, in which even Maka was constrained to join.
_Sunday, July 28_.--Karaiti came to ask for a repetition of the
"phantoms"--this was the accepted word--and, having received a promise,
turned and left my humble roof without the shadow of a salutation. I
felt it impolite to have the least appearance of pocketing a slight; the
times had been too difficult, and were still too doubtful; and Queen
Victoria's son was bound to maintain the honour of his house. Karaiti
was accordingly summoned that evening to the Ricks, where Mrs. Rick fell
foul of him in words, and Queen Victoria's son assailed him with
indignant looks. I was the ass with the lion's skin; I could not roar in
the language of the Gilbert Islands; but I could stare. Karaiti declared
he had meant no offence; apologised in a sound, hearty, gentlemanly
manner; and became at once at his ease. He had in a dagger to examine,
and announced he would come to price it on the morrow, to-day being
Sunday; this nicety in a heathen with eight wives surprised me. The
dagger was "good for killing fish," he said roguishly; and was supposed
to have his eye upon fish upon two legs. It is at least odd that in
Eastern Polynesia fish was the accepted euphemism for the human
sacrifice. Asked as to the population of his island, Karaiti called out
to his vassals who sat waiting him outside the door, and they put it at
four hundred and fifty; but (added Karaiti jovially) there will soon be
plenty more, for all the women are in the family way. Long before we
separated I had quite forgotten his offence. He, however, still bore it
in mind; and with a very courteous inspiration returned early on the
next day, paid us a long visit, and punctiliously said farewell when he
departed.
_Monday, July 29_.--The great day came round at last. In the first hours
the night was startled by the sound of clapping hands and the chant of
Nei Kamaunava; its melancholy, slow, and somewhat menacing measures
broken at intervals by a formidable shout. The little morsel of humanity
thus celebrated in the dark hours was observed at midday playing on the
green entirely naked, and equally unobserved and unconcerned.
The summer parlour on its artificial islet, relieved against the
shimmering lagoon, and shimmering itself with sun and tinned iron, was
all day crowded about by eager men and women. Within, it was boxed full
of islanders, of any age and size, and in every degree of nudity and
finery. So close we squatted, that at one time I had a mighty handsome
woman on my knees, two little naked urchins having their feet against my
back. There might be a dame in full attire of _holoku_ and hat and
flowers; and her next neighbour might the next moment strip some little
rag of a shift from her fat shoulders and come out a monument of flesh,
painted rather than covered by the hairbreadth _ridi_. Little ladies who
thought themselves too great to appear undraped upon so high a festival
were seen to pause outside in the broad sunshine, their miniature
_ridis_ in their hand; a moment more and they were full-dressed and
entered the concert-room.
At either end stood up to sing, or sat down to rest, the alternate
companies of singers; Kuma and Little Makin on the north, Butaritari and
its conjunct hamlets to the south; both groups conspicuous in barbaric
bravery. In the midst, between these rival camps of troubadours, a bench
was placed; and here the king and queen throned it, some two or three
feet above the crowded audience on the floor--Tebureimoa as usual in his
striped pyjamas with a satchel strapped across one shoulder, doubtless
(in the island fashion) to contain his pistols; the queen in a purple
_holoku_, her abundant hair let down, a fan in her hand. The bench was
turned facing to the strangers, a piece of well-considered civility; and
when it was the turn of Butaritari to sing, the pair must twist round on
the bench, lean their elbows on the rail, and turn to us the spectacle
of their broad backs. The royal couple occasionally solaced themselves
with a clay pipe; and the pomp of state was further heightened by the
rifles of a picket of the guard.
With this kingly countenance, and ourselves squatted on the ground, we
heard several songs from one side or the other. Then royalty and its
guards withdrew, and Queen Victoria's son and daughter-in-law were
summoned by acclamation to the vacant throne. Our pride was perhaps a
little modified when we were joined on our high places by a certain
thriftless loafer of a white; and yet I was glad too, for the man had a
smattering of native, and could give me some idea of the subject of the
songs. One was patriotic, and dared Tembinok' of Apemama, the terror of
the group, to an invasion. One mixed the planting of taro and the
harvest-home. Some were historical, and commemorated kings and the
illustrious chances of their time, such as a bout of drinking or a war.
One, at least, was a drama of domestic interest, excellently played by
the troop from Makin. It told the story of a man who has lost his wife,
at first bewails her loss, then seeks another: the earlier strains (or
acts) are played exclusively by men; but towards the end a woman
appears, who has just lost her husband; and I suppose the pair console
each other, for the finale seemed of happy omen. Of some of the songs my
informant told me briefly they were "like about the _weemen_"; this I
could have guessed myself. Each side (I should have said) was
strengthened by one or two women. They were all soloists, did not very
often join in the performance, but stood disengaged at the back part of
the stage, and looked (in _ridi_, necklace, and dressed hair) for all
the world like European ballet-dancers. When the song was anyway broad
these ladies came particularly to the front; and it was singular to see
that, after each entry, the _première danseuse_ pretended to be overcome
by shame, as though led on beyond what she had meant, and her male
assistants made a feint of driving her away like one who had disgraced
herself. Similar affectations accompany certain truly obscene dances of
Samoa, where they are very well in place. Here it was different. The
words, perhaps, in this free-spoken world, were gross enough to make a
carter blush; and the most suggestive feature was this feint of shame.
For such parts the women showed some disposition; they were pert, they
were neat, they were acrobatic, they were at times really amusing, and
some of them were pretty. But this is not the artist's field; there is
the whole width of heaven between such capering and ogling, and the
strange rhythmic gestures, and strange, rapturous, frenzied faces with
which the best of the male dancers held us spellbound through a Gilbert
Island ballet.
Almost from the first it was apparent that the people of the city were
defeated. I might have thought them even good, only I had the other
troop before my eyes to correct my standard, and remind me continually
of "the little more, and how much it is." Perceiving themselves worsted,
the choir of Butaritari grew confused, blundered, and broke down; amid
this hubbub of unfamiliar intervals I should not myself have recognised
the slip, but the audience were quick to catch it, and to jeer. To crown
all, the Makin company began a dance of truly superlative merit. I know
not what it was about, I was too much absorbed to ask. In one act a part
of the chorus, squealing in some strange falsetto, produced very much
the effect of our orchestra; in another, the dancers, leaping like
jumping-jacks, with arms extended, passed through and through each
other's ranks with extraordinary speed, neatness, and humour. A more
laughable effect I never saw; in any European theatre it would have
brought the house down, and the island audience roared with laughter and
applause. This filled up the measure for the rival company, and they
forgot themselves and decency. After each act or figure of the ballet,
the performers pause a moment standing, and the next is introduced by
the clapping of hands in triplets. Not until the end of the whole ballet
do they sit down, which is the signal for the rivals to stand up. But
now all rules were to be broken. During the interval following on this
great applause, the company of Butaritari leaped suddenly to their feet
and most unhandsomely began a performance of their own. It was strange
to see the men of Makin staring; I have seen a tenor in Europe stare
with the same blank dignity into a hissing theatre; but presently, to my
surprise, they sobered down, gave up the unsung remainder of their
ballet, resumed their seats, and suffered their ungallant adversaries to
go on and finish. Nothing would suffice. Again, at the first interval,
Butaritari unhandsomely cut in; Makin, irritated in turn, followed the
example; and the two companies of dancers remained permanently standing,
continuously clapping hands, and regularly cutting across each other at
each pause. I expected blows to begin with any moment; and our position
in the midst was highly unstrategical. But the Makin people had a better
thought; and upon a fresh interruption turned and trooped out of the
house. We followed them, first because these were the artists, second
because they were guests and had been scurvily ill-used. A large
population of our neighbours did the same, so that the causeway was
filled from end to end by the procession of deserters; and the
Butaritari choir was left to sing for its own pleasure in an empty
house, having gained the point and lost the audience. It was surely
fortunate that there was no one drunk; but, drunk or sober, where else
would a scene so irritating have concluded without blows?
The last stage and glory of this auspicious day was of our own
providing--the second and positively the last appearance of the
phantoms. All round the church, groups sat outside, in the night, where
they could see nothing; perhaps ashamed to enter, certainly finding some
shadowy pleasure in the mere proximity. Within, about one-half of the
great shed was densely packed with people. In the midst, on the royal
dais, the lantern luminously smoked; chance rays of light struck out the
earnest countenance of our Chinaman grinding the hand-organ; a fainter
glimmer showed off the rafters and their shadows in the hollow of the
roof; the pictures shone and vanished on the screen; and as each
appeared, there would run a hush, a whisper, a strong shuddering rustle,
and a chorus of small cries among the crowd. There sat by me the mate of
a wrecked schooner. "They would think this a strange sight in Europe or
the States," said he, "going on in a building like this, all tied with
bits of string."
CHAPTER VII
HUSBAND AND WIFE
The trader accustomed to the manners of Eastern Polynesia has a lesson
to learn among the Gilberts. The _ridi_ is but a spare attire; as late
as thirty years back the women went naked until marriage; within ten
years the custom lingered; and these facts, above all when heard in
description, conveyed a very false idea of the manners of the group. A
very intelligent missionary described it (in its former state) as a
"Paradise of naked women" for the resident whites. It was at least a
platonic Paradise, where Lothario ventured at his peril. Since 1860,
fourteen whites have perished on a single island, all for the same
cause, all found where they had no business, and speared by some
indignant father of a family; the figure was given me by one of their
contemporaries who had been more prudent and survived. The strange
persistence of these fourteen martyrs might seem to point to monomania
or a series of romantic passions; gin is the more likely key. The poor
buzzards sat alone in their houses by an open case; they drank; their
brain was fired; they stumbled towards the nearest houses on chance; and
the dart went through their liver. In place of a Paradise the trader
found an archipelago of fierce husbands and of virtuous women. "Of
course if you wish to make love to them, it's the same as anywhere
else," observed a trader innocently; but he and his companions rarely so
choose.
The trader must be credited with a virtue: he often makes a kind and
loyal husband. Some of the worst beachcombers in the Pacific, some of
the last of the old school, have fallen in my path, and some of them
were admirable to their native wives, and one made a despairing widower.
The position of a trader's wife in the Gilberts is, besides, unusually
enviable. She shares the immunities of her husband. Curfew in Butaritari
sounds for her in vain. Long after the bell is rung and the great island
ladies are confined for the night to their own roof, this chartered
libertine may scamper and giggle through the deserted streets or go down
to bathe in the dark. The resources of the store are at her hand; she
goes arrayed like a queen, and feasts delicately every day upon tinned
meats. And she who was perhaps of no regard or station among natives
sits with captains, and is entertained on board of schooners. Five of
these privileged dames were some time our neighbours. Four were handsome
skittish lasses, gamesome like children, and like children liable to
fits of pouting. They wore dresses by day, but there was a tendency
after dark to strip these lendings and to career and squall about the
compound in the aboriginal _ridi_. Games of cards were continually
played, with shells for counters; their course was much marred by
cheating; and the end of a round (above all if a man was of the party)
resolved itself into a scrimmage for the counters. The fifth was a
matron. It was a picture to see her sail to church on a Sunday, a
parasol in hand, a nursemaid following, and the baby buried in a trade
hat and armed with a patent feeding-bottle. The service was enlivened by
her continual supervision and correction of the maid. It was impossible
not to fancy the baby was a doll, and the church some European playroom.
All these women were legitimately married. It is true that the
certificate of one, when she proudly showed it, proved to run thus, that
she was "married for one night," and her gracious partner was at liberty
to "send her to hell" the next morning; but she was none the wiser or
the worse for the dastardly trick. Another, I heard, was married on a
work of mine in a pirated edition; it answered the purpose as well as a
Hall Bible. Notwithstanding all these allurements of social
distinction, rare food and raiment, a comparative vacation from toil,
and legitimate marriage contracted on a pirated edition, the trader must
sometimes seek long before he can be mated. While I was in the group one
had been eight months on the quest, and he was still a bachelor.
Within strictly native society the old laws and practices were harsh,
but not without a certain stamp of high-mindedness. Stealthy adultery
was punished with death; open elopement was properly considered virtue
in comparison, and compounded for a fine in land. The male adulterer
alone seems to have been punished. It is correct manners for a jealous
man to hang himself; a jealous woman has a different remedy--she bites
her rival. Ten or twenty years ago it was a capital offence to raise a
woman's _ridi_; to this day it is still punished with a heavy fine; and
the garment itself is still symbolically sacred. Suppose a piece of land
to be disputed in Butaritari, the claimant who shall first hang a _ridi_
on the tapu-post has gained his cause, since no one can remove or touch
it but himself.
The _ridi_ was the badge not of the woman but the wife, the mark not of
her sex but of her station. It was the collar on the slave's neck, the
brand on merchandise. The adulterous woman seems to have been spared;
were the husband offended, it would be a poor consolation to send his
draught cattle to the shambles. Karaiti, to this day, calls his eight
wives "his horses," some trader having explained to him the employment
of these animals on farms; and Nanteitei hired out his wives to do
mason-work. Husbands, at least when of high rank, had the power of life
and death; even whites seem to have possessed it; and their wives, when
they had transgressed beyond forgiveness, made haste to pronounce the
formula of deprecation--_I Kana Kim_. This form of words had so much
virtue that a condemned criminal, repeating it on a particular day to
the king who had condemned him, must be instantly released. It is an
offer of abasement, and, strangely enough, the reverse--the
imitation--is a common vulgar insult in Great Britain to this day. I
give a scene between a trader and his Gilbert Island wife, as it was
told me by the husband, now one of the oldest residents, but then a
freshman in the group.
"Go and light a fire," said the trader, "and when I have brought this
oil I will cook some fish."
The woman grunted at him, island fashion.
"I am not a pig that you should grunt at me," said he.
"I know you are not a pig," said the woman, "neither am I your slave."
"To be sure you are not my slave, and if you do not care to stop with
me, you had better go home to your people," said he. "But in the
meantime go and light the fire; and when I have brought this oil I will
cook some fish."
She went as if to obey; and presently when the trader looked she had
built a fire so big that the cook-house was catching in flames.
"_I Kana Kim!_" she cried, as she saw him coming; but he recked not, and
hit her with a cooking-pot. The leg pierced her skull, blood spouted, it
was thought she was a dead woman, and the natives surrounded the house
in a menacing expectation. Another white was present, a man of older
experience. "You will have us both killed if you go on like this," he
cried. "She had said, _I Kana Kim_!" If she had not said _I Kana Kim_ he
might have struck her with a caldron. It was not the blow that made the
crime, but the disregard of an accepted formula.
Polygamy, the particular sacredness of wives, their semi-servile state,
their seclusion in kings' harems, even their privilege of biting, all
would seem to indicate a Mohammedan society and the opinion of the
soullessness of woman. And not so in the least. It is a mere appearance.
After you have studied these extremes in one house, you may go to the
next and find all reversed, the woman the mistress, the man only the
first of her thralls. The authority is not with the husband as such, nor
the wife as such. It resides in the chief or the chief-woman; in him or
her who has inherited the lands of the clan, and stands to the clansman
in the place of parent, exacting their service, answerable for their
fines. There is but the one source of power and the one ground of
dignity--rank. The king married a chief-woman; she became his menial,
and must work with her hands on Messrs. Wightman's pier. The king
divorced her; she regained at once her former state and power. She
married the Hawaiian sailor, and behold the man is her flunkey and can
be shown the door at pleasure. Nay, and such low-born lords are even
corrected physically, and, like grown but dutiful children, must endure
the discipline.
We were intimate in one such household, that of Nei Takauti and Nan
Tok'; I put the lady first of necessity. During one week of fool's
paradise, Mrs. Stevenson had gone alone to the sea-side of the island
after shells. I am very sure the proceeding was unsafe; and she soon
perceived a man and woman watching her. Do what she would, her guardians
held her steadily in view; and when the afternoon began to fall, and
they thought she had stayed long enough, took her in charge, and by
signs and broken English ordered her home. On the way the lady drew from
her earring-hole a clay pipe, the husband lighted it, and it was handed
to my unfortunate wife, who knew not how to refuse the incommodious
favour; and when they were all come to our house, the pair sat down
beside her on the floor, and improved the occasion with prayer. From
that day they were our family friends; bringing thrice a day the
beautiful island garlands of white flowers, visiting us any evening, and
frequently carrying us down to their own maniap' in return, the woman
leading Mrs. Stevenson by the hand like one child with another.
Nan Tok', the husband, was young, extremely handsome, of the most
approved good humour, and suffering in his precarious station from
suppressed high spirits. Nei Takauti, the wife, was getting old; her
grown son by a former marriage had just hanged himself before his
mother's eyes in despair at a well-merited rebuke. Perhaps she had never
been beautiful, but her face was full of character, her eye of sombre
fire. She was a high chief-woman, but by a strange exception for a
person of her rank, was small, spare and sinewy, with lean small hands
and corded neck. Her full dress of an evening was invariably a white
chemise--and for adornment, green leaves (or sometimes white blossoms)
stuck in her hair and thrust through her huge earring-holes. The husband
on the contrary changed to view like a kaleidoscope. Whatever pretty
thing my wife might have given to Nei Takauti--a string of beads, a
ribbon, a piece of bright fabric--appeared the next evening on the
person of Nan Tok'. It was plain he was a clothes-horse; that he wore
livery; that, in a word, he was his wife's wife. They reversed the
parts, indeed, down to the least particular; it was the husband who
showed himself the ministering angel in the hour of pain, while the wife
displayed the apathy and heartlessness of the proverbial man.
When Nei Takauti had a headache Nan Tok' was full of attention and
concern. When the husband had a cold and a racking toothache the wife
heeded not, except to jeer. It is always the woman's part to fill and
light the pipe; Nei Takauti handed hers in silence to the wedded page;
but she carried it herself, as though the page were not entirely
trusted. Thus she kept the money, but it was he who ran the errands,
anxiously sedulous. A cloud on her face dimmed instantly his beaming
looks; on an early visit to their maniap' my wife saw he had cause to be
wary. Nan Tok' had a friend with him, a giddy young thing, of his own
age and sex; and they had worked themselves into that stage of
jocularity when consequences are too often disregarded. Nei Takauti
mentioned her own name. Instantly Nan Tok' held up two fingers, his
friend did likewise, both in an ecstasy of slyness. It was plain the
lady had two names; and from the nature of their merriment, and the
wrath that gathered on her brow, there must be something ticklish in the
second. The husband pronounced it; a well-directed cocoa-nut from the
hand of his wife caught him on the side of the head, and the voices and
the mirth of these indiscreet young gentlemen ceased for the day.
The people of Eastern Polynesia are never at a loss; their etiquette is
absolute and plenary; in every circumstance it tells them what to do and
how to do it. The Gilbertines are seemingly more free, and pay for their
freedom (like ourselves) in frequent perplexity. This was often the case
with the topsy-turvy couple. We had once supplied them during a visit
with a pipe and tobacco; and when they had smoked and were about to
leave, they found themselves confronted with a problem: should they take
or leave what remained of the tobacco? The piece of plug was taken up,
it was laid down again, it was handed back and forth, and argued over,
till the wife began to look haggard and the husband elderly. They ended
by taking it, and I wager were not yet clear of the compound before they
were sure they had decided wrong. Another time they had been given each
a liberal cup of coffee, and Nan Tok' with difficulty and disaffection
made an end of his. Nei Takauti had taken some, she had no mind for
more, plainly conceived it would be a breach of manners to set down the
cup unfinished, and ordered her wedded retainer to dispose of what was
left. "I have swallowed all I can, I cannot swallow more, it is a
physical impossibility," he seemed to say; and his stern officer
reiterated her commands with secret imperative signals. Luckless dog!
but in mere humanity we came to the rescue and removed the cup.
I cannot but smile over this funny household; yet I remember the good
souls with affection and respect. Their attention to ourselves was
surprising. The garlands are much esteemed, the blossoms must be sought
far and wide; and though they had many retainers to call to their aid,
we often saw themselves passing afield after the blossoms, and the wife
engaged with her own hands in putting them together. It was no want of
heart, only that disregard so incident to husbands, that made Nei
Takauti despise the sufferings of Nan Tok'. When my wife was unwell she
proved a diligent and kindly nurse; and the pair, to the extreme
embarrassment of the sufferer, became fixtures in the sick-room. This
rugged, capable, imperious old dame, with the wild eyes, had deep and
tender qualities; her pride in her young husband it seemed that she
dissembled, fearing possibly to spoil him; and when she spoke of her
dead son there came something tragic in her face. But I seemed to trace
in the Gilbertines a virility of sense and sentiment which distinguishes
them (like their harsh and uncouth language) from their brother
islanders in the east.
PART V
THE GILBERTS--APEMAMA
CHAPTER I
THE KING OF APEMAMA: THE ROYAL TRADER
There is one great personage in the Gilberts: Tembinok' of Apemama:
solely conspicuous, the hero of song, the butt of gossip. Through the
rest of the group the kings are slain or fallen in tutelage: Tembinok'
alone remains, the last tyrant, the last erect vestige of a dead
society. The white man is everywhere else, building his houses, drinking
his gin, getting in and out of trouble with the weak native governments.
There is only one white on Apemama, and he on sufferance, living far
from court, and hearkening and watching his conduct like a mouse in a
cat's ear. Through all the other islands a stream of native visitors
comes and goes, travelling by families, spending years on the grand
tour. Apemama alone is left upon one side, the tourist dreading to risk
himself within the clutch of Tembinok'. And fear of the same Gorgon
follows and troubles them at home. Maiana once paid him tribute; he once
fell upon and seized Nonuti: first steps to the empire of the
archipelago. A British warship coming on the scene, the conqueror was
driven to disgorge, his career checked in the outset, his dear-bought
armoury sunk in his own lagoon. But the impression had been made:
periodical fear of him still shakes the islands; rumour depicts him
mustering his canoes for a fresh onfall; rumour can name his
destination; and Tembinok' figures in the patriotic war-songs of the
Gilberts like Napoleon in those of our grandfathers.
We were at sea, bound from Mariki to Nonuti and Tapituea, when the wind
came suddenly fair for Apemama. The course was at once changed; all
hands were turned-to to clean ship, the decks holy-stoned, the cabin
washed, the trade-room overhauled. In all our cruising we never saw the
_Equator_ so smart as she was made for Tembinok'. Nor was Captain Reid
alone in these coquetries; for, another schooner chancing to arrive
during my stay in Apemama, I found that she also was dandified for the
occasion. And the two cases stand alone in my experience of South Sea
traders.
We had on board a family of native tourists, from the grandsire to the
babe in arms, trying (against an extraordinary series of ill-luck) to
regain their native island of Peru.[8] Five times already they had paid
their fare and taken ship; five times they had been disappointed,
dropped penniless upon strange islands, or carried back to Butaritari,
whence they sailed. This last attempt had been no better-starred; their
provisions were exhausted. Peru was beyond hope, and they had cheerfully
made up their minds to a fresh stage of exile in Tapituea or Nonuti.
With this slant of wind their random destination became once more
changed; and like the Calendar's pilot, when the "black mountains" hove
in view, they changed colour and beat upon their breasts. Their camp,
which was on deck in the ship's waist, resounded with complaint. They
would be set to work, they must become slaves, escape was hopeless, they
must live and toil and die in Apemama, in the tyrant's den. With this
sort of talk they so greatly terrified their children, that one (a big
hulking boy) must at last be torn screaming from the schooner's side.
And their fears were wholly groundless. I have little doubt they were
not suffered to be idle; but I can vouch for it that they were kindly
and generously used. For, the matter of a year later, I was once more
shipmate with these inconsistent wanderers on board the _Janet Nicoll_.
Their fare was paid by Tembinok'; they who had gone ashore from the
_Equator_ destitute, reappeared upon the _Janet_ with new clothes, laden
with mats and presents, and bringing with them a magazine of food, on
which they lived like fighting-cocks throughout the voyage; I saw them
at length repatriated, and I must say they showed more concern on
quitting Apemama than delight at reaching home.
We entered by the north passage (Sunday, September 1st), dodging among
shoals. It was a day of fierce equatorial sunshine; but the breeze was
strong and chill; and the mate, who conned the schooner from the
cross-trees, returned shivering to the deck. The lagoon was thick with
many-tinted wavelets; a continuous roaring of the outer sea overhung the
anchorage; and the long, hollow crescent of palm ruffled and sparkled in
the wind. Opposite our berth the beach was seen to be surmounted for
some distance by a terrace of white coral, seven or eight feet high and
crowned in turn by the scattered and incongruous buildings of the
palace. The village adjoins on the south, a cluster of high-roofed
maniap's. And village and palace seemed deserted.
We were scarce yet moored, however, before distant and busy figures
appeared upon the beach, a boat was launched, and a crew pulled out to
us bringing the king's ladder. Tembinok' had once an accident; has
feared ever since to intrust his person to the rotten chandlery of South
Sea traders; and devised in consequence a frame of wood, which is
brought on board a ship as soon as she appears, and remains lashed to
her side until she leave. The boat's crew, having applied this engine,
returned at once to shore. They might not come on board; neither might
we land, or not without danger of offence; the king giving pratique in
person. An interval followed, during which dinner was delayed for the
great man; the prelude of the ladder giving us some notion of his
weighty body and sensible, ingenious character, had highly whetted our
curiosity; and it was with something like excitement that we saw the
beach and terrace suddenly blacken with attendant vassals, the king and
party embark, the boat (a man-of-war gig) come flying towards us dead
before the wind, and the royal coxswain lay us cleverly aboard, mount
the ladder with a jealous diffidence, and descend heavily on deck.
Not long ago he was overgrown with fat, obscured to view, and a burthen
to himself. Captains visiting the island advised him to walk; and though
it broke the habits of a life and the traditions of his rank, he
practised the remedy with benefit. His corpulence is now portable; you
would call him lusty rather than fat; but his gait is still dull,
stumbling, and elephantine. He neither stops nor hastens, but goes about
his business with an implacable deliberation. We could never see him and
not be struck with his extraordinary natural means for the theatre: a
beaked profile like Dante's in the mask, a mane of long black hair, the
eye brilliant, imperious, and inquiring: for certain parts, and to one
who could have used it, the face was a fortune. His voice matched it
well, being shrill, powerful, and uncanny, with a note like a
sea-bird's. Where there are no fashions, none to set them, few to follow
them if they were set, and none to criticise, he dresses--as Sir Charles
Grandison lived--"to his own heart." Now he wears a woman's frock, now a
naval uniform; now (and more usually) figures in a masquerade costume of
his own design: trousers and a singular jacket with shirt tails, the cut
and fit wonderful for island workmanship, the material always handsome,
sometimes green velvet, sometimes cardinal red silk. This masquerade
becomes him admirably. In the woman's frock he looks ominous and weird
beyond belief. I see him now come pacing towards me in the cruel sun,
solitary, a figure out of Hoffmann.
A visit on board ship, such as that at which we now assisted, makes a
chief part and by far the chief diversion of the life of Tembinok'. He
is not only the sole ruler, he is the sole merchant of his triple
kingdom, Apemama, Aranuka, and Kuria, well-planted islands. The taro
goes to the chiefs, who divide as they please among their immediate
adherents; but certain fish, turtles--which abound in Kuria,--and the
whole produce of the coco-palm, belong exclusively to Tembinok'. "A'
cobra[9] berong me," observed his majesty with, a wave of his hand; and
he counts and sells it by the houseful. "You got copra, king?" I have
heard a trader ask. "I got two, three outches,"[10] his majesty replied:
"I think three." Hence the commercial importance of Apemama, the trade
of three islands being centred there in a single hand; hence it is that
so many whites have tried in vain to gain or to preserve a footing;
hence ships are adorned, cooks have special orders, and captains array
themselves in smiles, to greet the king. If he be pleased with his
welcome and the fare he may pass days on board, and every day, and
sometimes every hour, will be of profit to the ship. He oscillates
between the cabin, where he is entertained with strange meats, and the
trade-room, where he enjoys the pleasures of shopping on a scale to
match his person. A few obsequious attendants squat by the house door,
awaiting his least signal. In the boat, which has been suffered to drop
astern, one or two of his wives lie covered from the sun under mats,
tossed by the short sea of the lagoon, and enduring agonies of heat and
tedium. This severity is now and then relaxed and the wives allowed on
board. Three or four were thus favoured on the day of our arrival:
substantial ladies airily attired in _ridis_. Each had a share of copra,
her _peculium_, to dispose of for herself. The display in the
trade-room--hats, ribbons, dresses, scents, tins of salmon--the pride of
the eye and the lust of the flesh--tempted them in vain. They had but
the one idea--tobacco, the island currency, tantamount to minted gold;
returned to shore with it, burthened but rejoicing; and late into the
night, on the royal terrace, were to be seen counting the sticks by
lamplight in the open air.
The king is no such economist. He is greedy of things new and foreign.
House after house, chest after chest, in the palace precinct, is
already crammed with clocks, musical boxes, blue spectacles, umbrellas,
knitted waistcoats, bolts of stuff, tools, rifles, fowling-pieces,
medicines, European foods, sewing-machines, and, what is more
extraordinary, stoves: all that ever caught his eye, tickled his
appetite, pleased him for its use, or puzzled him with its apparent
inutility. And still his lust is unabated. He is possessed by the seven
devils of the collector. He hears a thing spoken of, and a shadow comes
on his face. "I think I no got him," he will say; and the treasures he
has seem worthless in comparison. If a ship be bound for Apemama, the
merchant racks his brain to hit upon some novelty. This he leaves
carelessly in the main cabin or partly conceals in his own berth, so
that the king shall spy it for himself. "How much you want?" inquires
Tembinok', passing and pointing. "No, king; that too dear," returns the
trader. "I think I like him," says the king. This was a bowl of
gold-fish. On another occasion it was scented soap. "No, king; that cost
too much," said the trader; "too good for a Kanaka." "How much you got?
I take him all," replied his majesty, and became the lord of seventeen
boxes at two dollars a cake. Or again, the merchant feigns the article
is not for sale, is private property, an heirloom or a gift; and the
trick infallibly succeeds. Thwart the king and you hold him. His
autocratic nature rears at the affront of opposition. He accepts it for
a challenge; sets his teeth like a hunter going at a fence; and with no
mark of emotion, scarce even of interest, stolidly piles up the price.
Thus, for our sins, he took a fancy to my wife's dressing-bag, a thing
entirely useless to the man, and sadly battered by years of service.
Early one forenoon he came to our house, sat down, and abruptly offered
to purchase it. I told him I sold nothing, and the bag at any rate was a
present from a friend; but he was acquainted with these pretexts from of
old, and knew what they were worth and how to meet them. Adopting what I
believe is called "the object method," he drew out a bag of English
gold, sovereigns and half-sovereigns, and began to lay them one by one
in silence on the table; at each fresh piece reading our faces with a
look. In vain I continued to protest I was no trader; he deigned not to
reply. There must have been twenty pounds on the table, he was still
going on, and irritation had begun to mingle with our embarrassment,
when a happy idea came to our delivery. Since his majesty thought so
much of the bag, we said, we must beg him to accept it as a present. It
was the most surprising turn in Tembinok's experience. He perceived too
late that his persistence was unmannerly; hung his head a while in
silence: then, lifting up a sheepish countenance, "I 'shamed," said the
tyrant. It was the first and the last time we heard him own to a flaw in
his behaviour. Half an hour after he sent us a camphor-wood chest, worth
only a few dollars--but then heaven knows what Tembinok' had paid for
it.
Cunning by nature, and versed for forty years in the government of men,
it must not be supposed that he is cheated blindly, or has resigned
himself without resistance to be the milch-cow of the passing trader.
His efforts have been even heroic. Like Nakaeia of Makin, he has owned
schooners. More fortunate than Nakaeia, he has found captains. Ships of
his have sailed as far as to the colonies. He has trafficked direct, in
his own bottoms, with New Zealand. And even so, even there, the
world-enveloping dishonesty of the white man prevented him; his profit
melted, his ship returned in debt, the money for the insurance was
embezzled, and when the _Coronet_ came to be lost, he was astonished to
find he had lost all. At this he dropped his weapons; owned he might as
hopefully wrestle with the winds of heaven; and like an experienced
sheep, submitted his fleece thenceforward to the shearers. He is the
last man in the world to waste anger on the incurable; accepts it with
cynical composure; asks no more in those he deals with than a certain
decency of moderation; drives as good a bargain as he can; and when he
considers he is more than usually swindled, writes it in his memory
against the merchant's name. He once ran over to me a list of captains
and supercargoes with whom he had done business, classing them under
three heads: "He cheat a litty"--"He cheat plenty"--and "I think he
cheat too much." For the first two classes he expressed perfect
toleration; sometimes, but not always, for the third. I was present when
a certain merchant was turned about his business, and was the means
(having a considerable influence ever since the bag) of patching up the
dispute. Even on the day of our arrival there was like to have been a
hitch with Captain Reid: the ground of which is perhaps worth recital.
Among goods exported specially for Tembinok' there is a beverage known
(and labelled) as Hennessy's brandy. It is neither Hennessy, nor even
brandy; it is about the colour of sherry, but is not sherry; tastes of
kirsch, and yet neither is it kirsch. The king, at least, has grown used
to this amazing brand, and rather prides himself upon the taste; and any
substitution is a double offence, being at once to cheat him and to cast
a doubt upon his palate. A similar weakness is to be observed in all
connoisseurs. Now, the last case sold by the _Equator_ was found to
contain a different and I would fondly fancy a superior distillation;
and the conversation opened very black for Captain Reid. But Tembinok'
is a moderate man. He was reminded and admitted that all men were liable
to error, even himself; accepted the principle that a fault handsomely
acknowledged should be condoned; and wound the matter up with this
proposal: "Tuppoti[11] I mi'take, you 'peakee me. Tuppoti you mi'take, I
'peakee you. Mo' betta."
After dinner and supper in the cabin, a glass or two of "Hennetti"--the
genuine article this time, with the kirsch bouquet,--and five hours'
lounging on the trade-room counter, royalty embarked for home. Three
tacks grounded the boat before the palace; the wives were carried
ashore on the backs of vassals; Tembinok' stepped on a railed platform
like a steamer's gangway, and was borne shoulder-high through the
shallows, up the beach, and by an inclined plane, paved with pebbles, to
the glaring terrace where he dwells.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] In the Gilbert group.
[9] Copra: the dried kernel of the cocoa-nut, the chief article of
commerce throughout the Pacific Islands.
[10] Houses.
[11] Suppose.
CHAPTER II
THE KING OF APEMAMA: FOUNDATION OF EQUATOR TOWN
Our first sight of Tembinok' was a matter of concern, almost alarm, to
my whole party. We had a favour to seek; we must approach in the proper
courtly attitude of a suitor; and must either please him or fail in the
main purpose of our voyage. It was our wish to land and live in Apemama,
and see more near at hand the odd character of the man and the odd (or
rather ancient) condition of his island. In all other isles of the South
Seas a white man may land with his chest, and set up house for a
lifetime, if he choose, and if he have the money or the trade; no
hindrance is conceivable. But Apemama is a close island, lying there in
the sea with closed doors; the king himself, like a vigilant officer,
ready at the wicket to scrutinise and reject intrenching visitors. Hence
the attraction of our enterprise; not merely because it was a little
difficult, but because this social quarantine, a curiosity in itself,
has been the preservative of others.
Tembinok', like most tyrants, is a conservative; like many
conservatives, he eagerly welcomes new ideas, and, except in the field
of politics, leans to practical reform. When the missionaries came,
professing a knowledge of the truth, he readily received them; attended
their worship, acquired the accomplishment of public prayer, and made
himself a student at their feet. It is thus--it is by the cultivation of
similar passing chances--that he has learned to read, to write, to
cipher, and to speak his queer, personal English, so different from
ordinary "Beach de Mar," so much more obscure, expressive, and
condensed. His education attended to, he found time to become critical
of the new inmates. Like Nakaeia of Makin, he is an admirer of silence
in the island; broods over it like a great ear; has spies who report
daily; and had rather his subjects sang than talked. The service, and in
particular the sermon, were thus sure to become offences: "Here, in my
island, _I_ 'peak," he once observed to me. "My chieps no 'peak--do what
I talk." He looked at the missionary, and what did he see? "See Kanaka
'peak in a big outch!" he cried, with a strong ring of sarcasm. Yet he
endured the subversive spectacle, and might even have continued to
endure it, had not a fresh point arisen. He looked again, to employ his
own figure; and the Kanaka was no longer speaking, he was doing
worse--he was building a copra-house. The king was touched in his chief
interests; revenue and prerogative were threatened. He considered
besides (and some think with him) that trade is incompatible with the
missionary claims. "Tuppoti mitonary think 'good man': very good.
Tuppoti he think 'cobra': no good. I send him away ship." Such was his
abrupt history of the evangelist in Apemama.
Similar deportations are common: "I send him away ship" is the epitaph
of not a few, his majesty paying the exile's fare to the next place of
call. For instance, being passionately fond of European food, he has
several times added to his household a white cook, and one after another
these have been deported. They, on their side, swear they were not paid
their wages; he, on his, that they robbed and swindled him beyond
endurance: both perhaps justly. A more important case was that of an
agent despatched (as I heard the story) by a firm of merchants to worm
his way into the king's good graces, become, if possible, premier, and
handle the copra in the interests of his employers. He obtained
authority to land, practised his fascinations, was patiently listened to
by Tembinok', supposed himself on the highway to success; and behold!
when the next ship touched at Apemama, the would-be premier was flung
into a boat--had on board--his fare paid, and so good-bye. But it is
needless to multiply examples; the proof of the pudding is in the
eating. When we came to Apemama, of so many white men who have scrambled
for a place in that rich market, one remained--a silent, sober,
solitary, niggardly recluse, of whom the king remarks, "I think he good;
he no 'peak."
I was warned at the outset we might very well fail in our design; yet
never dreamed of what proved to be the fact, that we should be left
four-and-twenty hours in suspense and come within an ace of ultimate
rejection. Captain Reid had primed himself; no sooner was the king on
board, and the Hennetti question amicably settled, than he proceeded to
express my request and give an abstract of my claims and virtues. The
gammon about Queen Victoria's son might do for Butaritari; it was out of
the question here; and I now figured as "one of the Old Men of England,"
a person of deep knowledge, come expressly to visit Tembinok's dominion,
and eager to report upon it to the no less eager Queen Victoria. The
king made no shadow of an answer, and presently began upon a different
subject. We might have thought he had not heard, or not understood; only
that we found ourselves the subject of a constant study. As we sat at
meals, he took us in series and fixed upon each, for near a minute at a
time, the same hard and thoughtful stare. As he thus looked he seemed to
forget himself, the subject and the company, and to become absorbed in
the process of his thought; the look was wholly impersonal: I have seen
the same in the eyes of portrait-painters. The counts upon which whites
have been deported are mainly four: cheating Tembinok', meddling
overmuch with copra, which is the source of his wealth and one of the
sinews of his power, _'peaking_, and political intrigue. I felt
guiltless upon all; but how to show it? I would not have taken copra in
a gift: how to express that quality by my dinner-table bearing? The
rest of the party shared my innocence and my embarrassment. They shared
also in my mortification when after two whole meal-times and the odd
moments of an afternoon devoted to this reconnoitring, Tembinok' took
his leave in silence. Next morning, the same undisguised study, the same
silence, was resumed; and the second day had come to its maturity before
I was informed abruptly that I had stood the ordeal. "I look your eye.
You good man. You no lie," said the king: a doubtful compliment to a
writer of romance. Later he explained he did not quite judge by the eye
only, but the mouth as well. "Tuppoti I see man," he explained. "I no
tavvy good man, bad man. I look eye, look mouth. Then I tavvy. Look
_eye_, look mouth," he repeated. And indeed in our case the mouth had
the most to do with it, and it was by our talk that we gained admission
to the island; the king promising himself (and I believe really
amassing) a vast amount of useful knowledge ere we left.
The terms of our admission were as follows: We were to choose a site,
and the king should there build us a town. His people should work for
us, but the king only was to give them orders. One of his cooks should
come daily to help mine, and to learn of him. In case our stores ran
out, he would supply us, and be repaid on the return of the _Equator_.
On the other hand, he was to come to meals with us when so inclined;
when he stayed at home, a dish was to be sent him from our table; and I
solemnly engaged to give his subjects no liquor or money (both of which
they are forbidden to possess) and no tobacco, which they were to
receive only from the royal hand. I think I remember to have protested
against the stringency of this last article; at least, it was relaxed,
and when a man worked for me I was allowed to give him a pipe of tobacco
on the premises, but none to take away.
The site of Equator City--we named our city for the schooner--was soon
chosen. The immediate shores of the lagoon are windy and blinding;
Tembinok' himself is glad to grope blue-spectacled on his terrace; and
we fled the neighbourhood of the red _conjunctiva_, the suppurating
eyeball, and the beggar who pursues and beseeches the passing foreigner
for eyewash. Behind the town the country is diversified; here open,
sandy, uneven, and dotted with dwarfish palms; here cut up with taro
trenches, deep and shallow, and, according to the growth of the plants,
presenting now the appearance of a sandy tannery, now of an alleyed and
green garden. A path leads towards the sea, mounting abruptly to the
main level of the island--twenty or even thirty feet, although Findlay
gives five; and just hard by the top of the rise, where the coco-palms
begin to be well grown, we found a grove of pandanus, and a piece of
soil pleasantly covered with green underbush. A well was not far off
under a rustic well-house; nearer still, in a sandy cup of the land, a
pond where we might wash our clothes. The place was out of the wind, out
of the sun, and out of sight of the village. It was shown to the king,
and the town promised for the morrow.
The morrow came. Mr. Osbourne landed, found nothing done, and carried
his complaint to Tembinok'. He heard it, rose, called for a Winchester,
stepped without the royal palisade, and fired two shots in the air. A
shot in the air is the first Apemama warning; it has the force of a
proclamation in more loquacious countries; and his majesty remarked
agreeably that it would make his labourers "mo' bright." In less than
thirty minutes, accordingly, the men had mustered, the work was begun,
and we were told that we might bring our baggage when we pleased.
It was two in the afternoon ere the first boat was beached, and the long
procession of chests and crates and sacks began to straggle through the
sandy desert towards Equator Town. The grove of pandanus was practically
a thing of the past. Fire surrounded and smoke rose in the green
underbush. In a wide circuit the axes were still crashing. Those very
advantages for which the place was chosen, it had been the king's first
idea to abolish; and in the midst of this devastation there stood
already a good-sized maniap' and a small closed house. A mat was spread
near by for Tembinok'; here he sat superintending, in cardinal red, a
pith helmet on his head, a meerschaum pipe in his mouth, a wife
stretched at his back with custody of the matches and tobacco. Twenty or
thirty feet in front of him the bulk of the workers squatted on the
ground; some of the bush here survived; and in this the commons sat
nearly to their shoulders, and presented only an arc of brown faces,
black heads, and attentive eyes fixed on his majesty. Long pauses
reigned, during which the subjects stared and the king smoked. Then
Tembinok' would raise his voice and speak shrilly and briefly. There was
never a response in words; but if the speech were jesting, there came by
way of answer discreet, obsequious laughter--such laughter as we hear in
schoolrooms; and if it were practical, the sudden uprising and departure
of the squad. Twice they so disappeared, and returned with further
elements of the city; a second house and a second maniap'. It was
singular to spy, far off through the coco-stems, the silent oncoming of
the maniap', at first (it seemed) swimming spontaneously in the air--but
on a nearer view betraying under the eaves many score of moving naked
legs. In all the affair servile obedience was no less remarkable than
servile deliberation. The gang had here mustered by the note of a deadly
weapon; the man who looked on was the unquestioned master of their
lives; and except for civility, they bestirred themselves like so many
American hotel clerks. The spectator was aware of an unobtrusive yet
invincible inertia, at which the skipper of a trading dandy might have
torn his hair.
Yet the work was accomplished. By dusk, when his majesty withdrew, the
town was founded and complete, a new and ruder Amphion having called it
from nothing with three cracks of a rifle. And the next morning the same
conjurer obliged us with a further miracle: a mystic rampart fencing us,
so that the path which ran by our doors became suddenly impassable, the
inhabitants who had business across the isle must fetch a wide circuit,
and we sat in the midst in a transparent privacy, seeing, seen, but
unapproachable, like bees in a glass hive. The outward and visible sign
of this glamour was no more than a few ragged coco-leaf garlands round
the stems of the outlying palms; but its significance reposed on the
tremendous sanction of the tapu and the guns of Tembinok'.
We made our first meal that night in the improvised city, where we were
to stay two months, and which--so soon as we had done with it--was to
vanish in a day as it appeared, its elements returning whence they came,
the tapu raised, the traffic on the path resumed, the sun and the moon
peering in vain between the palm-trees for the bygone work, the wind
blowing over an empty site. Yet the place, which is now only an episode
in some memories, seemed to have been built, and to be destined to
endure, for years. It was a busy hamlet. One of the maniap's we made our
dining-room, one the kitchen. The houses we reserved for sleeping. They
were on the admirable Apemama plan: out and away the best house in the
South Seas; standing some three feet above the ground on posts; the
sides of woven flaps, which can be raised to admit light and air, or
lowered to shut out the wind and the rain: airy, healthy, clean, and
watertight. We had a hen of a remarkable kind: almost unique in my
experience; being a hen that occasionally laid eggs. Not far off, Mrs.
Stevenson tended a garden of salad and shalots. The salad was devoured
by the hen--which was her bane. The shalots were served out a leaf at a
time, and welcomed and relished like peaches. Toddy and green cocoa-nuts
were brought us daily. We once had a present of fish from the king, and
once of a turtle. Sometimes we shot so-called plover along on the shore,
sometimes wild chicken in the bush. The rest of our diet was from tins.
Our occupations were very various. While some of the party would be away
sketching, Mr. Osbourne and I hammered away at a novel. We read Gibbon
and Carlyle aloud; we blew on flageolets, we strummed on guitars; we
took photographs by the light of the sun, the moon, and flash-powder;
sometimes we played cards. Pot-hunting engaged a part of our leisure. I
have myself passed afternoons in the exciting but innocuous pursuit of
winged animals with a revolver; and it was fortunate there were better
shots of the party, and fortunate the king could lend us a more suitable
weapon, in the form of an excellent fowling-piece, or our spare diet had
been sparer still.
Night was the time to see our city, after the moon was up, after the
lamps were lighted, and so long as the fire sparkled in the cook-house.
We suffered from a plague of flies and mosquitoes, comparable to that of
Egypt; our dinner-table (lent, like all our furniture, by the king) must
be enclosed in a tent of netting, our citadel and refuge; and this
became all luminous, and bulged and beaconed under the eaves, like the
globe of some monstrous lamp under the margin of its shade. Our cabins,
the sides being propped at a variety of inclinations, spelled out
strange, angular patterns of brightness. In his roofed and open kitchen,
Ah Fu was to be seen by lamp and firelight, dabbling among pots. Over
all, there fell in the season an extraordinary splendour of mellow
moonshine. The sand sparkled as with the dust of diamonds; the stars had
vanished. At intervals, a dusky night-bird, slow and low flying, passed
in the colonnade of the tree stems and uttered a hoarse croaking cry.
CHAPTER III
THE KING OF APEMAMA: THE PALACE OF MANY WOMEN
The palace, or rather the ground which it includes, is several acres in
extent. A terrace encloses it toward the lagoon; on the side of the
land, a palisade with several gates. These are scarce intended for
defence; a man, if he were strong, might easily pluck down the palisade;
he need not be specially active to leap from the beach upon the terrace.
There is no parade of guards, soldiers, or weapons; the armoury is under
lock and key; and the only sentinels are certain inconspicuous old women
lurking day and night before the gates. By day, these crones were often
engaged in boiling syrup or the like household occupation; by night,
they lay ambushed in the shadow or crouched along the palisade, filling
the office of eunuchs to this harem, sole guards upon a tyrant life.
Female wardens made a fit outpost for this palace of many women. Of the
number of the king's wives I have no guess; and but a loose idea of
their function. He himself displayed embarrassment when they were
referred to as his wives, called them himself "my pamily," and explained
they were his "cutcheons"--cousins. We distinguished four of the crowd:
the king's mother; his sister, a grave, trenchant woman, with much of
her brother's intelligence; the queen proper, to whom (and to whom
alone) my wife was formally presented; and the favourite of the hour, a
pretty, graceful girl, who sat with the king daily, and once (when he
shed tears) consoled him with caresses. I am assured that even with her
his relations are platonic. In the background figured a multitude of
ladies, the lean, the plump, and the elephantine, some in sacque frocks,
some in the hairbreadth _ridi_; high-born and low, slave and mistress;
from the queen to the scullion, from the favourite to the scraggy
sentries at the palisade. Not all of these of course are of "my
pamily,"--many are mere attendants; yet a surprising number shared the
responsibility of the king's trust. These were key-bearers, treasurers,
wardens of the armoury, the napery, and the stores. Each knew and did
her part to admiration. Should anything be required--a particular gun,
perhaps, or a particular bolt of stuff,--the right queen was summoned;
she came bringing the right chest, opened it in the king's presence, and
displayed her charge in perfect preservation--the gun cleaned and oiled,
the goods duly folded. Without delay or haste, and with the minimum of
speech, the whole great establishment turned on wheels like a machine.
Nowhere have I seen order more complete and pervasive. And yet I was
always reminded of Norse tales of trolls and ogres who kept their hearts
buried in the ground for the mere safety, and must confide the secret to
their wives. For these weapons are the life of Tembinok'. He does not
aim at popularity; but drives and braves his subjects, with a simplicity
of domination which it is impossible not to admire, hard not to
sympathise with. Should one out of so many prove faithless, should the
armoury be secretly unlocked, should the crones have dozed by the
palisade and the weapons find their way unseen into the village,
revolution would be nearly certain, death the most probable result, and
the spirit of the tyrant of Apemama flit to rejoin his predecessors of
Mariki and Tapituea. Yet those whom he so trusts are all women, and all
rivals.
There is indeed a ministry and staff of males: cook, steward, carpenter,
and supercargoes: the hierarchy of a schooner. The spies, "his majesty's
daily papers," as we called them, come every morning to report, and go
again. The cook and steward are concerned with the table only. The
supercargoes, whose business it is to keep tally of the copra at three
pounds a month and a percentage, are rarely in the palace; and two at
least are in the other islands. The carpenter, indeed, shrewd and jolly
old Rubam--query, Reuben?--promoted on my last visit to the greater
dignity of governor, is daily present, altering, extending,
embellishing, pursuing the endless series of the king's inventions; and
his majesty will sometimes pass an afternoon watching and talking with
Rubam at his work. But the males are still outsiders; none seems to be
armed, none is intrusted with a key; by dusk they are all usually
departed from the palace; and the weight of the monarchy and of the
monarch's life reposes unshared on the women.
Here is a household unlike, indeed, to one of ours; more unlike still to
the Oriental harem: that of an elderly childless man, his days menaced,
dwelling alone amid a bevy of women of all ages, ranks, and
relationships,--the mother, the sister, the cousin, the legitimate wife,
the concubine, the favourite, the eldest born, and she of yesterday; he,
in their midst, the only master, the only male, the sole dispenser of
honours, clothes, and luxuries, the sole mark of multitudinous ambitions
and desires. I doubt if you could find a man in Europe so bold as to
attempt this piece of tact and government. And seemingly Tembinok'
himself had trouble in the beginning. I hear of him shooting at a wife
for some levity on board a schooner. Another, on some more serious
offence, he slew outright; he exposed her body in an open box, and (to
make the warning more memorable) suffered it to putrefy before the
palace gate. Doubtless his growing years have come to his assistance;
for upon so large a scale it is more easy to play the father than the
husband. And to-day, at least to the eye of a stranger, all seems to go
smoothly, and the wives to be proud of their trust, proud of their rank,
and proud of their cunning lord.
I conceived they made rather a hero of the man. A popular master in a
girls' school might, perhaps, offer a figure of his preponderating
station. But then the master does not eat, sleep, live, and wash his
dirty linen in the midst of his admirers; he escapes, he has a room of
his own, he leads a private life; if he had nothing else, he has the
holidays, and the more unhappy Tembinok' is always on the stage and on
the stretch.
In all my coming and going, I never heard him speak harshly or express
the least displeasure. An extreme, rather heavy, benignity--the
benignity of one sure to be obeyed--marked his demeanour; so that I was
at times reminded of Samuel Richardson in his circle of admiring women.
The wives spoke up and seemed to volunteer opinions, like our wives at
home--or, say, like doting but respectable aunts. Altogether, I conclude
that he rules his seraglio much more by art than terror; and those who
give a different account (and who have none of them enjoyed my
opportunities of observation) perhaps failed to distinguish between
degrees of rank, between "my pamily" and the hangers-on, laundresses,
and prostitutes.
A notable feature is the evening game of cards; when lamps are set forth
upon the terrace, and "I and my pamily" play for tobacco by the hour. It
is highly characteristic of Tembinok' that he must invent a game for
himself; highly characteristic of his worshipping household that they
should swear by the absurd invention. It is founded on poker, played
with the honours out of many packs, and inconceivably dreary. But I have
a passion for all games, studied it, and am supposed to be the only
white who ever fairly grasped its principle: a fact for which the wives
(with whom I was not otherwise popular) admired me with acclamation. It
was impossible to be deceived; this was a genuine feeling: they were
proud of their private game, had been cut to the quick by the want of
interest shown in it by others, and expanded under the flattery of my
attention. Tembinok' puts up a double stake, and receives in return two
hands to choose from: a shallow artifice which the wives (in all these
years) have not yet fathomed. He himself, when talking with me
privately, made not the least secret that he was secure of winning; and
it was thus he explained his recent liberality on board the _Equator_.
He let the wives buy their own tobacco, which pleased them at the
moment. He won it back at cards, which made him once more, and without
fresh expense, that which he ought to be,--the sole fount of all
indulgences. And he summed the matter up in that phrase with which he
almost always concludes any account of his policy: "Mo' betta."
The palace compound is laid with broken coral, excruciating to the eyes
and the bare feet, but exquisitely raked and weeded. A score or more of
buildings lie in a sort of street along the palisade and scattered on
the margin of the terrace; dwelling-houses for the wives and the
attendants, storehouses for the king's curios and treasures, spacious
maniap's for feast or council, some on pillars of wood, some on piers of
masonry. One was still in hand, a new invention, the king's latest born:
a European frame-house built for coolness inside a lofty maniap': its
roof planked like a ship's deck to be a raised, shady, and yet private
promenade. It was here the king spent hours with Rubam; here I would
sometimes join them; the place had a most singular appearance; and I
must say I was greatly taken with the fancy, and joined with relish in
the counsels of the architects.
Suppose we had business with his majesty by day: we strolled over the
sand and by the dwarfish palms, exchanged a "_Konamaori_" with the
crone on duty, and entered the compound. The wide sheet of coral glared
before us deserted; all having stowed themselves in dark canvas from the
excess of room. I have gone to and fro in that labyrinth of a place,
seeking the king; and the only breathing creature I could find was when
I peered under the eaves of a maniap', and saw the brawny body of one of
the wives stretched on the floor, a naked Amazon plunged in noiseless
slumber. If it were still the hour of the "morning papers" the quest
would be more easy, the half-dozen obsequious, sly dogs squatting on the
ground outside a house, crammed as far as possible in its narrow shadow,
and turning to the king a row of leering faces. Tembinok' would be
within, the flaps of the cabin raised, the trade blowing through,
hearing their report. Like journalists nearer home, when the day's news
were scanty, these would make the more of it in words; and I have known
one to fill up a barren morning with an imaginary conversation of two
dogs. Sometimes the king deigns to laugh, sometimes to question or jest
with them, his voice sounding shrilly from the cabin. By his side he may
have the heir-apparent, Paul, his nephew and adopted son, six years old,
stark naked, and a model of young human beauty. And there will always be
the favourite and perhaps two other wives awake; four more lying supine
under mats and whelmed in slumber. Or perhaps we came later, fell on a
more private hour, and found Tembinok' retired in the house with the
favourite, an earthenware spittoon, a leaden inkpot, and a commercial
ledger. In the last, lying on his belly, he writes from day to day the
uneventful history of his reign; and when thus employed he betrayed a
touch of fretfulness on interruption with which I was well able to
sympathise. The royal annalist once read me a page or so, translating as
he went; but the passage being genealogical, and the author boggling
extremely in his version, I own I have been sometimes better
entertained. Nor does he confine himself to prose, but touches the lyre
too, in his leisure moments, and passes for the chief bard of his
kingdom, as he is its sole public character, leading architect, and only
merchant. His competence, however, does not reach to music; and his
verses, when they are ready, are taught to a professional musician, who
sets them and instructs the chorus. Asked what his songs were about,
Tembinok' replied, "Sweethearts and trees and the sea. Not all the same
true, all the same lie." For a condensed view of lyrical poetry (except
that he seems to have forgot the stars and flowers) this would be hard
to mend. These multifarious occupations bespeak (in a native and an
absolute prince) unusual activity of mind.
The palace court at noon is a spot to be remembered with awe, the
visitor scrambling there, on the loose stones, through a splendid
nightmare of light and heat; but the sweep of the wind delivers it from
flies and mosquitoes; and with the set of sun it became heavenly. I
remember it best on moonless nights. The air was like a bath of milk.
Countless shining stars were overhead, the lagoon paved with them. Herds
of wives squatted by companies on the gravel, softly chatting. Tembinok'
would doff his jacket, and sit bare and silent, perhaps meditating
songs; the favourite usually by him, silent also. Meanwhile in the midst
of the court, the palace lanterns were being lit and marshalled in rank
upon the ground--six or eight square yards of them; a sight that gave
one strange ideas of the number of "my pamily"; such a sight as may be
seen about dusk in a corner of some great terminus at home. Presently
these fared off into all corners of the precinct, lighting the last
labours of the day, lighting one after another to their rest that
prodigious company of women. A few lingered in the middle of the court
for the card-party, and saw the honours shuffled and dealt, and
Tembinok' deliberating between his two hands, and the queens losing
their tobacco. Then these also were scattered and extinguished; and
their place was taken by a great bonfire, the night-light of the palace.
When this was no more, smaller fires burned likewise at the gates. These
were tended by the crones, unseen, unsleeping--not always unheard.
Should any approach in the dark hours, a guarded alert made the circuit
of the palisade; each sentry signalled her neighbour with a stone; the
rattle of falling pebbles passed and died away; and the wardens of
Tembinok' crouched in their places silent as before.
CHAPTER IV
THE KING OF APEMAMA: EQUATOR TOWN AND THE PALACE
Five persons were detailed to wait upon us. Uncle Parker, who brought us
toddy and green nuts, was an elderly, almost an old man, with the
spirits, the industry, and the morals of a boy of ten. His face was
ancient, droll, and diabolical, the skin stretched over taut sinews,
like a sail on the guide-rope; and he smiled with every muscle of his
head. His nuts must be counted every day, or he would deceive us in the
tale; they must be daily examined, or some would prove to be unhusked;
nothing but the king's name, and scarcely that, would hold him to his
duty. After his toils were over, he was given a pipe, matches, and
tobacco, and sat on the floor in the maniap' to smoke. He would not seem
to move from his position, and yet every day, when the things fell to be
returned, the plug had disappeared; he had found the means to conceal it
in the roof, whence he could radiantly produce it on the morrow.
Although this piece of legerdemain was performed regularly before three
or four pairs of eyes, we could never catch him in the fact; although we
searched after he was gone, we could never find the tobacco. Such were
the diversions of Uncle Parker, a man nearing sixty. But he was punished
according unto his deeds: Mrs. Stevenson took a fancy to paint him, and
the sufferings of the sitter were beyond description.
Three lasses came from the palace to do our washing and racket with Ah
Fu. They were of the lowest class, hangers-on kept for the convenience
of merchant skippers, probably low-born, perhaps out-islanders, with
little refinement whether of manner or appearance, but likely and jolly
enough wenches in their way. We called one "Guttersnipe," for you may
find her image in the slums of any city; the same lean, dark-eyed,
eager, vulgar face, the same sudden, hoarse guffaws, the same forward
and yet anxious manner, as with a tail of an eye on the policeman: only
the policeman here was a live king, and his truncheon a rifle. I doubt
if you could find anywhere out of the islands, or often there, the
parallel of "Fatty," a mountain of a girl, who must have weighed near as
many stones as she counted summers, could have given a good account of a
life-guardsman, had the face of a baby, and applied her vast mechanical
forces almost exclusively to play. But they were all three of the same
merry spirit. Our washing was conducted in a game of romps; and they
fled and pursued, and splashed, and pelted, and rolled each other in the
sand, and kept up a continuous noise of cries and laughter like holiday
children. Indeed, and however strange their own function in that austere
establishment, were they not escaped for the day from the largest and
strictest Ladies' School in the South Seas?
Our fifth attendant was no less a person than the royal cook. He was
strikingly handsome both in face and body, lazy as a slave, and insolent
as a butcher's boy. He slept and smoked on our premises in various
graceful attitudes; but so far from helping Ah Fu, he was not at the
pains to watch him. It may be said of him that he came to learn, and
remained to teach; and his lessons were at times difficult to stomach.
For example, he was sent to fill a bucket from the well. About half-way
he found my wife watering her onions, changed buckets with her, and
leaving her the empty, returned to the kitchen with the full. On another
occasion he was given a dish of dumplings for the king, was told they
must be eaten hot, and that he should carry them as fast as possible.
The wretch set oft at the rate of about a mile in the hour, head in air,
toes turned out. My patience, after a month of trial, failed me at the
sight. I pursued, caught him by his two big shoulders, and thrusting him
before me, ran with him down the hill, over the sands, and through the
applauding village, to the Speak House, where the king was then holding
a pow-wow. He had the impudence to pretend he was internally injured by
my violence, and to profess serious apprehensions for his life.
All this we endured; for the ways of Tembinok' are summary, and I was
not yet ripe to take a hand in the man's death. But in the meanwhile,
here was my unfortunate China boy slaving for the pair, and presently he
fell sick. I was now in the position of Cimondain Lantenac, and indeed
all the characters in _Quatre-Vingt-Treize_: to continue to spare the
guilty, I must sacrifice the innocent. I took the usual course and tried
to save both, with the usual consequence of failure. Well rehearsed, I
went down to the palace, found the king alone, and obliged him with a
vast amount of rigmarole. The cook was too old to learn; I feared he was
not making progress; how if we had a boy instead?--boys were more
teachable. It was all in vain; the king pierced through my disguises to
the root of the fact; saw that the cook had desperately misbehaved; and
sat a while glooming. "I think he tavvy too much," he said at last, with
grim concision; and immediately turned the talk to other subjects. The
same day another high officer, the steward, appeared in the cook's
place, and, I am bound to say, proved civil and industrious.
As soon as I left, it seems the king called for a Winchester and
strolled outside the palisade, awaiting the defaulter. That day
Tembinok' wore the woman's frock; as like as not, his make-up was
completed by a pith helmet and blue spectacles. Conceive the glaring
stretch of sand-hills, the dwarf palms with their noon-day shadows, the
line of the palisade, the crone sentries (each by a small clear fire)
cooking syrup on their posts--and this chimæra waiting with his deadly
engine. To him, enter at last the cook, strolling down the sandhill
from Equator Town, listless, vain and graceful; with no thought of
alarm. As soon as he was well within range, the travestied monarch fired
the six shots over his head, at his feet, and on either hand of him: the
second Apemama warning, startling in itself, fatal in significance, for
the next time his majesty will aim to hit. I am told the king is a crack
shot; that when he aims to kill, the grave may be got ready; and when he
aims misses by so near a margin that the culprit tastes six times the
bitterness of death. The effect upon the cook I had an opportunity of
seeing for myself. My wife and I were returning from the sea-side of the
island, when we spied one coming to meet us at a very quick, disordered
pace, between a walk and a run. As we drew nearer we saw it was the
cook, beside himself with some emotion, his usual warm, mulatto colour
declined into a bluish pallor. He passed us without word or gesture,
staring on us with the face of a Satan, and plunged on across the wood
for the unpeopled quarter of the island and the long, desert beach,
where he might rage to and fro unseen, and froth out the vials of his
wrath, fear, and humiliation. Doubtless in the curses that he there
uttered to the bursting surf and the tropic birds, the name of the
_Kaupoi_--the rich man--was frequently repeated. I had made him the
laughing-stock of the village in the affair of the king's dumplings; I
had brought him by my machinations into disgrace and the immediate
jeopardy of his days; last, and perhaps bitterest, he had found me there
by the way to spy upon him in the hour of his disorder.
Time passed, and we saw no more of him. The season of the full moon came
round, when a man thinks shame to lie sleeping; and I continued until
late--perhaps till twelve or one in the morning--to walk on the bright
sand and in the tossing shadow of the palms. I played, as I wandered, on
a flageolet, which occupied much of my attention; the fans overhead
rattled in the wind with a metallic chatter; and a bare foot falls at
any rate almost noiseless on that shifting soil. Yet when I got back to
Equator Town, where all the lights were out, and my wife (who was still
awake, and had been looking forth) asked me who it was that followed me,
I thought she spoke in jest. "Not at all," she said. "I saw him twice as
you passed, walking close at your heels. He only left you at the corner
of the maniap'; he must be still behind the cook-house." Thither I
ran--like a fool, without any weapon--and came face to face with the
cook. He was within my tapu-line, which was death in itself; he could
have no business there at such an hour but either to steal or to kill;
guilt made him timorous; and he turned and fled before me in the night
in silence. As he went I kicked him in that place where honour lies, and
he gave tongue faintly like an injured mouse. At the moment I dare say
he supposed it was a deadly instrument that touched him.
What had the man been after? I have found my music better qualified to
scatter than to collect an audience. Amateur as I was, I could not
suppose him interested in my reading of the "Carnival of Venice," or
that he would deny himself his natural rest to follow my variations on
"The Ploughboy." And whatever his design, it was impossible I should
suffer him to prowl by night among the houses. A word to the king, and
the man were not, his case being far beyond pardon. But it is one thing
to kill a man yourself; quite another to bear tales behind his back and
have him shot by a third party; and I determined to deal with the fellow
in some method of my own. I told Ah Fu the story, and bade him fetch me
the cook whenever he should find him. I had supposed this would be a
matter of difficulty; and far from that, he came of his own accord: an
act really of desperation, since his life hung by my silence, and the
best he could hope was to be forgotten. Yet he came with an assured
countenance, volunteered no apology or explanation, complained of
injuries received, and pretended he was unable to sit down. I suppose I
am the weakest man God made; I had kicked him in the least vulnerable
part of his big carcase; my foot was bare, and I had not even hurt my
foot. Ah Fu could not control his merriment. On my side, knowing what
must be the nature of his apprehensions, I found in so much impudence a
kind of gallantry, and secretly admired the man. I told him I should say
nothing of his night's adventure to the king; that I should still allow
him, when he had an errand, to come within my tapu-line by day; but if
ever I found him there after the set of the sun I would shoot him on the
spot; and to the proof showed him a revolver. He must have been
incredibly relieved; but he showed no sign of it, took himself off with
his usual dandy nonchalance, and was scarce seen by us again.
These five, then, with the substitution of the steward for the cook,
came and went, and were our only visitors. The circle of the tapu held
at arm's-length the inhabitants of the village. As for "my pamily," they
dwelt like nuns in their enclosure; only once have I met one of them
abroad, and she was the king's sister, and the place in which I found
her (the island infirmary) was very likely privileged. There remains
only the king to be accounted for. He would come strolling over, always
alone, a little before a meal-time, take a chair, and talk and eat with
us like an old family friend. Gilbertine etiquette appears defective on
the point of leave-taking. It may be remembered we had trouble in the
matter with Karaiti; and there was something childish and disconcerting
in Tembinok's abrupt "I want go home now," accompanied by a kind of
ducking rise, and followed by an unadorned retreat. It was the only blot
upon his manners, which were otherwise plain, decent, sensible, and
dignified. He never stayed long nor drank much, and copied our behaviour
where he perceived it to differ from his own. Very early in the day, for
instance, he ceased eating with his knife. It was plain he was
determined in all things to wring profit from our visit, and chiefly
upon etiquette. The quality of his white visitors puzzled and concerned
him; he would bring up name after name, and ask if its bearer were a
"big chiep," or even a "chiep" at all--which, as some were my excellent
good friends, and none were actually born in the purple, became at times
embarrassing. He was struck to learn that our classes were
distinguishable by their speech, and that certain words (for instance)
were tapu on the quarter-deck of a man-of-war; and he begged in
consequence that we should watch and correct him on the point. We were
able to assure him that he was beyond correction. His vocabulary is apt
and ample to an extraordinary degree. God knows where he collected it,
but by some instinct or some accident he has avoided all profane or
gross expressions. "Obliged," "stabbed," "gnaw," "lodge," "power,"
"company," "slender," "smooth," and "wonderful," are a few of the
unexpected words that enrich his dialect. Perhaps what pleased him most
was to hear about saluting the quarter-deck of a man-of-war. In his
gratitude for this hint he became fulsome. "Schooner cap'n no tell me,"
he cried; "I think no tavvy! You tavvy too much; tavvy 'teama', tavvy
man-a-wa'. I think you tavvy everything." Yet he gravelled me often
enough with his perpetual questions; and the false Mr. Barlow stood
frequently exposed before the royal Sandford. I remember once in
particular. We were showing the magic-lantern; a slide of Windsor Castle
was put in, and I told him there was the "outch" of Victoreea. "How many
pathom he high?" he asked, and I was dumb before him. It was the
builder, the indefatigable architect of palaces, that spoke; collector
though he was, he did not collect useless information; and all his
questions had a purpose. After etiquette, government, law, the police,
money, and medicine were his chief interests--things vitally important
to himself as a king and the father of his people. It was my part not
only to supply new information, but to correct the old. "My patha he
tell me," or "White man he tell me," would be his constant beginning;
"You think he lie?" Sometimes I thought he did. Tembinok' once brought
me a difficulty of this kind, which I was long of comprehending. A
schooner captain had told him of Captain Cook; the king was much
interested in the story; and turned for more information--not to Mr.
Stephen's Dictionary, not to the "Britannica," but to the Bible in the
Gilbert Island version (which consists chiefly of the New Testament and
the Psalms). Here he sought long and earnestly; Paul he found, and
Festus, and Alexander the coppersmith: no word of Cook. The inference
was obvious: the explorer was a myth. So hard it is, even for a man of
great natural parts like Tembinok', to grasp the ideas of a new society
and culture.
CHAPTER V
KING AND COMMONS
We saw but little of the commons of the isle. At first we met them at
the well, where they washed their linen and we drew water for the table.
The combination was distasteful; and, having a tyrant at command, we
applied to the king and had the place enclosed in our tapu. It was one
of the few favours which Tembinok' visibly boggled about granting, and
it may be conceived how little popular it made the strangers. Many
villagers passed us daily going afield; but they fetched a wide circuit
round our tapu, and seemed to avert their looks. At times we went
ourselves into the village--a strange place. Dutch by its canals,
Oriental by the height and steepness of the roofs, which looked at dusk
like temples; but we were rarely called into a house: no welcome, no
friendship, was offered us; and of home life we had but the one view:
the waking of a corpse, a frigid, painful scene: the widow holding on
her lap the cold, bluish body of her husband, and now partaking of the
refreshments which made the round of the company, now weeping and
kissing the pale mouth. ("I fear you feel this affliction deeply," said
the Scottish minister. "Eh, sir, and that I do!" replied the widow.
"I've been greetin' a' nicht; an' noo I'm just gaun to sup this bit
parritch, and then I'll begin an' greet again.") In our walks abroad I
have always supposed the islanders avoided us, perhaps from distaste,
perhaps by order; and those whom we met we took generally by surprise.
The surface of the isle is diversified with palm groves, thickets, and
romantic dingles four feet deep, relics of old taro plantations, and it
is thus possible to stumble unawares on folk resting or hiding from
their work. About pistol-shot from our township there lay a pond in the
bottom of a jungle; here the maids of the isle came to bathe, and were
several times alarmed by our intrusion. Not for them are the bright cold
rivers of Tahiti or Upolu, not for them to splash and laugh in the hour
of the dusk with a villageful of gay companions; but to steal here
solitary, to crouch in a place like a cow-wallow, and wash (if that can
be called washing) in lukewarm mud, brown as their own skins. Other, but
still rare, encounters occur to my memory. I was several times arrested
by a tender sound in the bush of voices talking, soft as flutes and with
quiet intonations. Hope told a flattering tale: I put aside the leaves;
and behold! in place of the expected dryads, a pair of all too solid
ladies squatting over a clay pipe in the ungraceful _ridi_. The beauty
of the voice and the eye was all that remained to these vast dames; but
that of the voice was exquisite indeed. It is strange I should have
never heard a more winning sound of speech, yet the dialect should be
one remarkable for violent, ugly, and outlandish vocables; so that
Tembinok' himself declared it made him weary, and professed to find
repose in talking English.
The state of this folk, of whom I saw so little, I can merely guess at.
The king himself explains the situation with some art. "No; I no pay
them," he once said. "I give them tobacco. They work for me _all the
same brothers_." It is true there was a brother once in Arden! But we
prefer the shorter word. They bear every servile mark,--levity like a
child's, incurable idleness, incurious content. The insolence of the
cook was a trait of his own; not so his levity, which he shared with the
innocent Uncle Parker. With equal unconcern both gambolled under the
shadow of the gallows, and took liberties with death that might have
surprised a careless student of man's nature. I wrote of Parker that he
behaved like a boy of ten: what was he else, being a slave of sixty? He
had passed all his years in school, fed, clad, thought for, commanded;
and had grown familiar and coquetted with the fear of punishment. By
terror you may drive men long, but not far. Here, in Apemama, they work
at the constant and the instant peril of their lives; and are plunged in
a kind of lethargy of laziness. It is common to see one go afield in his
stiff mat ungirt, so that he walks elbows-in like a trussed fowl; and
whatsoever his right hand findeth to do, the other must be off duty
holding on his clothes. It is common to see two men carrying between
them on a pole a single bucket of water. To make two bites of a cherry
is good enough: to make two burthens of a soldier's kit, for a distance
of perhaps half a furlong, passes measure. Woman, being the less
childish animal, is less relaxed by servile conditions. Even in the
king's absence, even when they were alone, I have seen Apemama women
work with constancy. But the outside to be hoped for in a man is that he
may attack his task in little languid fits, and lounge between-whiles.
So I have seen a painter, with his pipe going, and a friend by the
studio fireside. You might suppose the race to lack civility, even
vitality, until you saw them in the dance. Night after night, and
sometimes day after day, they rolled out their choruses in the great
Speak House--solemn andantes and adagios, led by the clapped hand, and
delivered with an energy that shook the roof. The time was not so slow,
though it was slow for the islands; but I have chosen rather to indicate
the effect upon the hearer. Their music had a church-like character from
near at hand, and seemed to European ears more regular than the run of
island music. Twice I have heard a discord regularly solved. From
farther off, heard at Equator Town for instance, the measures rose and
fell and crepitated like the barking of hounds in a distant kennel.
The slaves are certainly not overworked--children of ten do more without
fatigue--and the Apemama labourers have holidays, when the singing
begins early in the afternoon. The diet is hard; copra and a sweetmeat
of pounded pandanus are the only dishes I observed outside the palace;
but there seems no defect in quantity, and the king shares with them his
turtles. Three came in a boat from Kuria during our stay; one was kept
for the palace, one sent to us, one presented to the village. It is the
habit of the islanders to cook the turtle in its carapace; we had been
promised the shells, and we asked a tapu on this foolish practice. The
face of Tembinok' darkened and he answered nothing. Hesitation in the
question of the well I could understand, for water is scarce on a low
island; that he should refuse to interfere upon a point of cookery was
more than I had dreamed of; and I gathered (rightly or wrongly) that he
was scrupulous of touching in the least degree the private life and
habits of his slaves. So that even here, in full despotism, public
opinion has weight; even here, in the midst of slavery, freedom has a
corner.
Orderly, sober, and innocent, life flows in the isle from day to day as
in a model plantation under a model planter. It is impossible to doubt
the beneficence of that stern rule. A curious politeness, a soft and
gracious manner, something effeminate and courtly, distinguishes the
islanders of Apemama; it is talked of by all the traders, it was felt
even by residents so little beloved as ourselves, and noticeable even in
the cook, and even in that scoundrel's hours of insolence. The king,
with his manly and plain bearing, stood out alone; you might say he was
the only Gilbert Islander in Apemama. Violence, so common in Butaritari,
seems unknown. So are theft and drunkenness. I am assured the experiment
has been made of leaving sovereigns on the beach before the village:
they lay there untouched. In all our time on the island I was but once
asked for drink. This was by a mighty plausible fellow, wearing European
clothes and speaking excellent English--Tamaiti his name, or, as the
whites have now corrupted it, "Tom White": one of the king's
supercargoes at three pounds a month and a percentage, a medical man
besides, and in his private hours a wizard. He found me one day in the
outskirts of the village, in a secluded place, hot and private, where
the taro-pits are deep and the plants high. Here he buttonholed me, and,
looking about him like a conspirator, inquired if I had gin.
I told him I had. He remarked that gin was forbidden, lauded the
prohibition a while, and then went on to explain that he was a doctor,
or "dogstar" as he pronounced the word, that gin was necessary to him
for his medical infusions, that he was quite out of it, and that he
would be obliged to me for some in a bottle. I told him I had passed the
king my word on landing; but since his case was so exceptional, I would
go down to the palace at once, and had no doubt that Tembinok' would set
me free. Tom White was immediately overwhelmed with embarrassment and
terror, besought me in the most moving terms not to betray him, and fled
my neighbourhood. He had none of the cook's valour; it was weeks before
he dared to meet my eye; and then only by the order of the king and on
particular business.
The more I viewed and admired this triumph of firm rule, the more I was
haunted and troubled by a problem, the problem (perhaps) of to-morrow
for ourselves. Here was a people protected from all serious misfortune,
relieved of all serious anxieties, and deprived of what we call our
liberty. Did they like it? and what was their sentiment towards the
ruler? The first question I could not of course ask, nor perhaps the
natives answer. Even the second was delicate; yet at last, and under
charming and strange circumstances, I found my opportunity to put it and
a man to reply. It was near the full of the moon, with a delicious
breeze; the isle was bright as day--to sleep would have been sacrilege;
and I walked in the bush, playing my pipe. It must have been the sound
of what I am pleased to call my music that attracted in my direction
another wanderer of the night. This was a young man attired in a fine
mat, and with a garland on his hair, for he was new come from dancing
and singing in the public hall; and his body, his face, and his eyes
were all of an enchanting beauty. Every here and there in the Gilberts
youth are to be found of this absurd perfection; I have seen five of us
pass half an hour in admiration of a boy at Mariki; and Te Kop (my
friend in the fine mat and garland) I had already several times
remarked, and long ago set down as the loveliest animal in Apemama. The
philtre of admiration must be very strong, or these natives specially
susceptible to its effects, for I have scarce ever admired a person in
the islands but what he has sought my particular acquaintance. So it was
with Te Kop. He led me to the ocean side; and for an hour or two we sat
smoking and talking on the resplendent sand and under the ineffable
brightness of the moon. My friend showed himself very sensible of the
beauty and amenity of the hour. "Good night! Good wind!" he kept
exclaiming, and as he said the words he seemed to hug myself. I had long
before invented such reiterated expressions of delight for a character
(Felipe, in the story of "Olalla") intended to be partly bestial. But
there was nothing bestial in Te Kop: only a childish pleasure in the
moment. He was no less pleased with his companion, or was good enough to
say so; honoured me, before he left, by calling me Te Kop; apostrophised
me as "My name!" with an intonation exquisitely tender, laying his hand
at the same time swiftly on my knee; and after we had risen, and our
paths began to separate in the bush, twice cried to me with a sort of
gentle ecstasy, "I like you too much!" From the beginning he had made no
secret of his terror of the king; would not sit down or speak above a
whisper till he had put the whole breadth of the isle between himself
and his monarch, then harmlessly asleep; and even there, even within a
stone-cast of the outer sea, our talk covered by the sound of the surf
and the rattle of the wind among the palms, continued to speak
guardedly, softening his silver voice (which rang loud enough in the
chorus) and looking about him like a man in fear of spies. The strange
thing is that I should have beheld him no more. In any other island in
the whole South Seas, if I had advanced half as far with any native, he
would have been at my door next morning, bringing and expecting gifts.
But Te Kop vanished in the bush for ever. My house, of course, was
unapproachable; but he knew where to find me on the open beach, where I
went daily. I was the _Kaupoi_, the rich man; my tobacco and trade were
known to be endless: he was sure of a present. I am at a loss how to
explain his behaviour, unless it be supposed that he recalled with
terror and regret a passage in our interview. Here it is:
"The king, he good man?" I asked.
"Suppose he like you, he good man," replied Te Kop: "no like, no good."
That is one way of putting it, of course. Te Kop himself was probably no
favourite, for he scarce appealed to my judgment as a type of industry.
And there must be many others whom the king (to adhere to the formula)
does not like. Do these unfortunates like the king? Or is not rather the
repulsion mutual? and the conscientious Tembinok', like the
conscientious Braxfield before him, and many other conscientious rulers
and judges before either, surrounded by a considerable body of
"grumbletonians"? Take the cook, for instance, when he passed us by,
blue with rage and terror. He was very wroth with me; I think by all the
old principles of human nature he was not very well pleased with his
sovereign. It was the rich man he sought to waylay: I think it must have
been by the turn of a hair that it was not the king he waylaid instead.
And the king gives, or seems to give, plenty of opportunities; day and
night he goes abroad alone, whether armed or not I can but guess; and
the taro-patches, where his business must so often carry him, seem
designed for assassination. The case of the cook was heavy indeed to my
conscience. I did not like to kill my enemy at second-hand; but had I a
right to conceal from the king, who had trusted me, the dangerous secret
character of his attendant? And suppose the king should fall, what
would be the fate of the king's friends? It was our opinion at the time
that we should pay dear for the closing of the well; that our breath was
in the king's nostrils; that if the king should by any chance be
bludgeoned in a taro-patch, the philosophical and musical inhabitants of
Equator Town might lay aside their pleasant instruments, and betake
themselves to what defence they had, with a very dim prospect of
success. These speculations were forced upon us by an incident which I
am ashamed to betray. The schooner _H.L. Haseltine_ (since capsized at
sea, with the loss of eleven lives) put in to Apemama in a good hour for
us, who had near exhausted our supplies. The king, after his habit,
spent day after day on board; the gin proved unhappily to his taste; he
brought a store of it ashore with him; and for some time the sole tyrant
of the isle was half-seas-over. He was not drunk--the man is not a
drunkard, he has always stores of liquor at hand, which he uses with
moderation,--but he was muzzy, dull, and confused. He came one day to
lunch with us, and while the cloth was being laid fell asleep in his
chair. His confusion, when he awoke and found he had been detected, was
equalled by our uneasiness. When he was gone we sat and spoke of his
peril, which we thought to be in some degree our own; of how easily the
man might be surprised in such a state by _grumbletonians_; of the
strange scenes that would follow--the royal treasures and stores at the
mercy of the rabble, the palace over-run, the garrison of women turned
adrift. And as we talked we were startled by a gun-shot and a sudden,
barbaric outcry. I believe we all changed colour; but it was only the
king firing at a dog and the chorus striking up in the Speak House. A
day or two later I learned the king was very sick; went down, diagnosed
the case; and took at once the highest medical degree by the exhibition
of bicarbonate of soda. Within the hour Richard was himself again; and I
found him at the unfinished house, enjoying the double pleasure of
directing Rubam and making a dinner off cocoa-nut dumplings, and all
eagerness to have the formula of this new sort of _pain-killer_--for
_pain-killer_ in the islands is the generic name of medicine. So ended
the king's modest spree and our anxiety.
On the face of things, I ought to say, loyalty appeared unshaken. When
the schooner at last returned for us, after much experience of baffling
winds, she brought a rumour that Tebureimoa had declared war on Apemama.
Tembinok' became a new man; his face radiant; his attitude, as I saw him
preside over a council of chiefs in one of the palace maniap's, eager as
a boy's; his voice sounding abroad shrill and jubilant, over half the
compound. War is what he wants, and here was his chance. The English
captain, when he flung his arms in the lagoon, had forbidden him (except
in one case) all military adventures in the future: here was the case
arrived. All morning the council sat; men were drilled, arms were
bought, the sound of firing disturbed the afternoon; the king devised
and communicated to me his plan of campaign, which was highly elaborate
and ingenious, but perhaps a trifle fine-spun for the rough and random
vicissitudes of war. And in all this bustle the temper of the people
appeared excellent, an unwonted animation in every face, and even Uncle
Parker burning with military zeal.
Of course it was a false alarm. Tebureimoa had other fish to fry. The
ambassador who accompanied us on our return to Butaritari found him
retired to a small island on the reef, in a huff with the Old Men, a
tiff with the traders, and more fear of insurrection at home than
appetite for wars abroad. The plenipotentiary had been placed under my
protection; and we solemnly saluted when we met. He proved an excellent
fisherman, and caught bonito over the ship's side. He pulled a good oar,
and made himself useful for a whole fiery afternoon, towing the becalmed
_Equator_ off Mariki. He went to his post and did no good. He returned
home again, having done no harm. _O si sic omnes!_
CHAPTER VI
THE KING OF APEMAMA: DEVIL-WORK
The ocean beach of Apemama was our daily resort. The coast is broken by
shallow bays. The reef is detached, elevated, and includes a lagoon
about knee-deep, the unrestful spending-basin of the surf. The beach is
now of fine sand, now of broken coral. The trend of the coast being
convex, scarce a quarter of a mile of it is to be seen at once; the land
being so low, the horizon appears within a stone-cast; and the narrow
prospect enhances the sense of privacy. Man avoids the place--even his
footprints are uncommon; but a great number of birds hover and pipe
there fishing, and leave crooked tracks upon the sand. Apart from these,
the only sound (and I was going to say the only society) is that of the
breakers on the reef.
On each projection of the coast, the bank of coral clinkers immediately
above the beach has been levelled, and a pillar built, perhaps
breast-high. These are not sepulchral; all the dead being buried on the
inhabited side of the island, close to men's houses, and (what is worse)
to their wells. I was told they were to protect the isle against inroads
from the sea--divine or diabolical martellos, probably sacred to
Taburik, God of Thunder.
The bay immediately opposite Equator Town, which we called Fu Bay, in
honour of our cook, was thus fortified on either horn. It was well
sheltered by the reef, the enclosed water clear and tranquil, the
enclosing beach curved like a horseshoe, and both steep and broad. The
path debouched about the midst of the re-entrant angle, the woods
stopping some distance inland. In front, between the fringe of the wood
and the crown of the beach, there had been designed a regular figure,
like the court for some new variety of tennis, with borders of round
stones imbedded, and pointed at the angles with low posts, likewise of
stone. This was the king's Pray Place. When he prayed, what he prayed
for, and to whom he addressed his supplications, I could never learn.
The ground was tapu.
In the angle, by the mouth of the path, stood a deserted maniap'. Near
by there had been a house before our coming, which was now transported
and figured for the moment in Equator Town. It had been, and it would be
again when we departed, the residence of the guardian and wizard of the
spot--Tamaiti. Here, in this lone place, within sound of the sea, he had
his dwelling and uncanny duties. I cannot call to mind another case of a
man living on the ocean side of any open atoll; and Tamaiti must have
had strong nerves, the greater confidence in his own spells, or, what I
believe to be the truth, an enviable scepticism. Whether Tamaiti had any
guardianship of the Pray Place I never heard. But his own particular
chapel stood farther back in the fringe of the wood. It was a tree of
respectable growth. Around it there was drawn a circle of stones like
those that enclosed the Pray Place; in front, facing towards the sea, a
stone of a much greater size, and somewhat hollowed, like a piscina,
stood close against the trunk; in front of that again a conical pile of
gravel. In the hollow of what I have called the piscina (though it
proved to be a magic seat) lay an offering of green cocoa-nuts; and when
you looked up you found the boughs of the tree to be laden with strange
fruit: palm-branches elaborately plaited, and beautiful models of
canoes, finished and rigged to the least detail. The whole had the
appearance of a midsummer and sylvan Christmas-tree _al fresco_. Yet we
were already well enough acquainted in the Gilberts to recognise it, at
the first sight, for a piece of wizardry, or, as they say in the group,
of Devil-work.
The plaited palms were what we recognised. We had seen them before on
Apaiang, the most christianised of all these islands; where excellent
Mr. Bingham lived and laboured and has left golden memories; whence all
the education in the northern Gilberts traces its descent; and where we
were boarded by little native Sunday-school misses in clean frocks, with
demure faces, and singing hymns as to the manner born.
Our experience of Devil-work at Apaiang had been as follows:--It chanced
we were benighted at the house of Captain Tierney. My wife and I lodged
with a Chinaman some half a mile away; and thither Captain Reid and a
native boy escorted us by torchlight. On the way the torch went out, and
we took shelter in a small and lonely Christian chapel to rekindle it.
Stuck in the rafters of the chapel was a branch of knotted palm. "What is
that?" I asked. "O, that's Devil-work," said the Captain. "And what is
Devil-work?" I inquired. "If you like, I'll show you some when we get to
Johnnie's," he replied. "Johnnie's" was a quaint little house upon the
crest of the beach, raised some three feet on posts, approached by stairs;
part walled, part trellised. Trophies of advertisement-photographs were
hung up within for decoration. There was a table and a recess-bed, in
which Mrs. Stevenson slept; while I camped on the matted floor with
Johnnie, Mrs. Johnnie, her sister, and the devil's own regiment of
cockroaches. Hither was summoned an old witch, who looked the part to
horror. The lamp was set on the floor; the crone squatted on the
threshold, a green palm-branch in her hand, the light striking full on her
aged features and picking out behind her, from the black night, timorous
faces of spectators. Our sorceress began with a chanted incantation; it
was in the old tongue, for which I had no interpreter; but ever and again
there ran along the crowd outside that laugh which every traveller in the
islands learns so soon to recognise,--the laugh of terror. Doubtless these
half-Christian folk were shocked, these half-heathen folk alarmed. Chench
or Taburik thus invoked, we put our questions; the witch knotted the
leaves, here a leaf and there a leaf, plainly on some arithmetical system;
studied the result with great apparent contention of mind; and gave the
answers. Sidney Colvin was in robust health and gone a journey; and we
should have a fair wind upon the morrow: that was the result of our
consultation, for which we paid a dollar. The next day dawned cloudless
and breathless; but I think Captain Reid placed a secret reliance on the
sibyl, for the schooner was got ready for sea. By eight the lagoon was
flawed with long cat's-paws, and the palms tossed and rustled; before ten
we were clear of the passage and skimming under all plain sail, with
bubbling scuppers. So we had the breeze, which was well worth a dollar in
itself; but the bulletin about my friend in England proved, some six
months later, when I got my mail, to have been groundless. Perhaps London
lies beyond the horizon of the island gods.
Tembinok', in his first dealings, showed himself sternly averse from
superstition: and had not the _Equator_ delayed, we might have left the
island and still supposed him to be an agnostic. It chanced one day,
however, that he came to our maniap', and found Mrs. Stevenson in the
midst of a game of patience. She explained the game as well as she was
able, and wound up jocularly by telling him this was her devil-work, and
if she won, the _Equator_ would arrive next day. Tembinok' must have
drawn a long breath; we were not so high-and-dry after all; he need no
longer dissemble, and he plunged at once into confessions. He made
devil-work every day, he told us, to know if ships were coming in; and
thereafter brought us regular reports of the results. It was surprising
how regularly he was wrong; but he had always an explanation ready.
There had been some schooner in the offing out of view; but either she
was not bound for Apemama, or had changed her course, or lay becalmed. I
used to regard the king with veneration as he thus publicly deceived
himself. I saw behind him all the fathers of the Church, all the
philosophers and men of science of the past; before him, all those that
are to come; himself in the midst; the whole visionary series bowed over
the same task of welding incongruities. To the end Tembinok' spoke
reluctantly of the island gods and their worship, and I learned but
little. Taburik is the god of thunder, and deals in wind and weather. A
while since there were wizards who could call him down in the form of
lightning. "My patha he tell me he see: you think he lie?"
Tienti--pronounced something like "Chench," and identified by his
majesty with the devil--sends and removes bodily sickness. He is
whistled for in the Paumotuan manner, and is said to appear; but the
king has never seen him. The doctors treat disease by the aid of Chench:
eclectic Tembinok' at the same time administering "pain-killer" from his
medicine-chest, so as to give the sufferer both chances. "I think mo'
betta," observed his majesty, with more than his usual self-approval.
Apparently the gods are not jealous, and placidly enjoy both shrine and
priest in common. On Tamaiti's medicine-tree, for instance, the model
canoes are hung up _ex voto_ for a prosperous voyage, and must therefore
be dedicated to Taburik, god of the weather; but the stone in front is
the place of sick folk come to pacify Chench.
It chanced, by great good luck, that even as we spoke of these affairs,
I found myself threatened with a cold. I do not suppose I was ever glad
of a cold before, or shall ever be again; but the opportunity to see the
sorcerers at work was priceless, and I called in the faculty of Apemama.
They came in a body, all in their Sunday's best and hung with wreaths
and shells, the insignia of the devil-worker. Tamaiti I knew already:
Terutak' I saw for the first time, a tall, lank, raw-boned, serious
North-Sea fisherman turned brown; and there was a third in their company
whose name I never heard, and who played to Tamaiti the part of
_famulus_. Tamaiti took me in hand first, and led me, conversing
agreeably, to the shores of Fu Bay. The _famulus_ climbed a tree for
some green cocoa-nuts. Tamaiti himself disappeared a while in the bush
and returned with coco tinder, dry leaves, and a spray of waxberry. I
was placed on the stone, with my back to the tree and my face to
windward; between me and the gravel-heap one of the green nuts was set;
and then Tamaiti (having previously bared his feet, for he had come in
canvas shoes, which tortured him) joined me within the magic circle,
hollowed out the top of the gravel-heap, built his fire in the bottom,
and applied a match: it was one of Bryant and May's. The flame was slow
to catch, and the irreverent sorcerer filled in the time with talk of
foreign places--of London, and "companies," and how much money they had;
of San Francisco, and the nefarious fogs, "all the same smoke," which
had been so nearly the occasion of his death. I tried vainly to lead him
to the matter in hand. "Everybody make medicine," he said lightly. And
when I asked him if he were himself a good practitioner--"No savvy," he
replied, more lightly still. At length the leaves burst in a flame,
which he continued to feed; a thick, light smoke blew in my face, and
the flames streamed against and scorched my clothes. He in the meanwhile
addressed, or affected to address, the evil spirit, his lips moving
fast, but without sound; at the same time he waved in the air and twice
struck me on the breast with his green spray. So soon as the leaves were
consumed the ashes were buried, the green spray was imbedded in the
gravel, and the ceremony was at an end.
A reader of the "Arabian Nights" felt quite at home. Here was the
suffumigation; here was the muttering wizard; here was the desert place
to which Aladdin was decoyed by the false uncle. But they manage these
things better in fiction. The effect was marred by the levity of the
magician, entertaining his patient with small talk like an affable
dentist, and by the incongruous presence of Mr. Osbourne with a camera.
As for my cold, it was neither better nor worse.
I was now handed over to Terutak', the leading practitioner or medical
baronet of Apemama. His place is on the lagoon side of the island, hard
by the palace. A rail of light wood, some two feet high, encloses an
oblong piece of gravel like the king's Pray Place; in the midst is a
green tree: below, a stone table bears a pair of boxes covered with a
fine mat; and in front of these an offering of food, a cocoa-nut, a
piece of taro or a fish, is placed daily. On two sides the enclosure is
lined with maniap's; and one of our party, who had been there to sketch,
had remarked a daily concourse of people and an extraordinary number of
sick children; for this is in fact the infirmary of Apemama. The doctor
and myself entered the sacred place alone; the boxes and the mat were
displaced; and I was enthroned in their stead upon the stone, facing
once more to the east. For a while the sorcerer remained unseen behind
me, making passes in the air with a branch of palm. Then he struck
lightly on the brim of my straw hat; and this blow he continued to
repeat at intervals, sometimes brushing instead my arm and shoulder. I
have had people try to mesmerise me a dozen times, and never with the
least result. But at the first tap--on a quarter no more vital than my
hat-brim, and from nothing more virtuous than a switch of palm wielded
by a man I could not even see--sleep rushed upon me like an armed man.
My sinews fainted, my eyes closed, my brain hummed, with drowsiness. I
resisted--at first instinctively, then with a certain flurry of despair,
in the end successfully; if that were indeed success which enabled me to
scramble to my feet, to stumble home somnambulous, to cast myself at
once upon my bed, and sink at once into a dreamless stupor. When I awoke
my cold was gone. So I leave a matter that I do not understand.
Meanwhile my appetite for curiosities (not usually very keen) had been
strangely whetted by the sacred boxes. They were of pandanus wood,
oblong in shape, with an effect of pillaring along the sides like straw
work, lightly fringed with hair or fibre and standing on four legs. The
outside was neat as a toy; the inside a mystery I was resolved to
penetrate. But there was a lion in the path. I might not approach
Terutak', since I had promised to buy nothing in the island; I dared not
have recourse to the king, for I had already received from him more
gifts than I knew how to repay. In this dilemma (the schooner being at
last returned) we hit on a device. Captain Reid came forward in my
stead, professed an unbridled passion for the boxes, and asked and
obtained leave to bargain for them with the wizard. That same afternoon
the captain and I made haste to the infirmary, entered the enclosure,
raised the mat, and had begun to examine the boxes at our leisure, when
Terutak's wife bounced out of one of the nigh houses, fell upon us,
swept up the treasures, and was gone. There was never a more absolute
surprise. She came, she took, she vanished, we had not a guess whither;
and we remained, with foolish looks and laughter, on the empty field.
Such was the fit prologue of our memorable bargaining.
Presently Terutak' came, bringing Tamaiti along with him, both smiling;
and we four squatted without the rail. In the three maniap's of the
infirmary a certain audience was gathered: the family of a sick child
under treatment, the king's sister playing cards, a pretty girl, who
swore I was the image of her father; in all perhaps a score. Terutak's
wife had returned (even as she had vanished) unseen, and now sat,
breathless and watchful, by her husband's side. Perhaps some rumour of
our quest had gone abroad, or perhaps we had given the alert by our
unseemly freedom: certain, at least, that in the faces of all present
expectation and alarm were mingled.
Captain Reid announced, without preface or disguise, that I was come to
purchase; Terutak', with sudden gravity, refused to sell. He was
pressed; he persisted. It was explained we only wanted one: no matter,
two were necessary for the healing of the sick. He was rallied, he was
reasoned with: in vain. He sat there, serious and still, and refused.
All this was only a preliminary skirmish; hitherto no sum of money had
been mentioned; but now the captain brought his great guns to bear. He
named a pound, then two, then three. Out of the maniap's one person
after another came to join the group, some with mere excitement, others
with consternation in their faces. The pretty girl crept to my side; it
was then that--surely with the most artless flattery--she informed me of
my likeness to her father. Tamaiti the infidel sat with hanging head and
every mark of dejection. Terutak' streamed with sweat, his eye was
glazed, his face wore a painful rictus, his chest heaved like that of
one spent with running. The man must have been by nature covetous; and I
doubt if ever I saw moral agony more tragically displayed. His wife by
his side passionately encouraged his resistance.
And now came the charge of the old guard. The captain, making a skip,
named the surprising figure of five pounds. At the word the maniap's
were emptied. The king's sister flung down her cards and came to the
front to listen, a cloud on her brow. The pretty girl beat her breast
and cried with wearisome iteration that if the box were hers I should
have it. Terutak's wife was beside herself with pious fear, her face
discomposed, her voice (which scarce ceased from warning and
encouragement) shrill as a whistle. Even Terutak' lost that image-like
immobility which he had hitherto maintained. He rocked on his mat, threw
up his closed knees alternately, and struck himself on the breast after
the manner of dancers. But he came gold out of the furnace; and with
what voice was left him continued to reject the bribe.
And now came a timely interjection. "Money will not heal the sick,"
observed the king's sister sententiously; and as soon as I heard the
remark translated my eyes were unsealed, and I began to blush for my
employment. Here was a sick child, and I sought, in the view of its
parents, to remove the medicine-box. Here was the priest of a religion,
and I (a heathen millionaire) was corrupting him to sacrilege. Here was
a greedy man, torn in twain betwixt greed and conscience; and I sat by
and relished, and lustfully renewed his torments. _Ave, Cæsar_!
Smothered in a corner, dormant but not dead, we have all the one touch
of nature: an infant passion for the sand and blood of the arena. So I
brought to an end my first and last experience of the joys of the
millionaire, and departed amid silent awe. Nowhere else can I expect to
stir the depths of human nature by an offer of five pounds; nowhere
else, even at the expense of millions, could I hope to see the evil of
riches stand so legibly exposed. Of all the bystanders, none but the
king's sister retained any memory of the gravity and danger of the thing
in hand. Their eyes glowed, the girl beat her breast, in senseless
animal excitement. Nothing was offered them; they stood neither to gain
nor to lose; at the mere name and wind of these great sums Satan
possessed them.
From this singular interview I went straight to the palace; found the
king; confessed what I had been doing; begged him, in my name, to
compliment Terutak' on his virtue, and to have a similar box made for me
against the return of the schooner. Tembinok', Rubam, and one of the
Daily Papers--him we used to call "the Facetiæ Column"--laboured for a
while of some idea, which was at last intelligibly delivered. They
feared I thought the box would cure me; whereas, without the wizard, it
was useless; and when I was threatened with another cold I should do
better to rely on pain-killer. I explained I merely wished to keep it in
my "outch" as a thing made in Apemama; and these honest men were much
relieved.
Late the same evening, my wife, crossing the isle to windward, was aware
of singing in the bush. Nothing is more common in that hour and place
than the jubilant carol of the toddy-cutter swinging high overhead,
beholding below him the narrow ribbon of the isle, the surrounding field
of ocean, and the fires of the sunset. But this was of a graver
character, and seemed to proceed from the ground-level. Advancing a
little in the thicket, Mrs. Stevenson saw a clear space, a fine mat
spread in the midst, and on the mat a wreath of white flowers and one of
the devil-work boxes. A woman--whom we guess to have been Mrs.
Terutak'--sat in front, now drooping over the box like a mother over a
cradle, now lifting her face and directing her song to heaven. A passing
toddy-cutter told my wife that she was praying. Probably she did not so
much pray as deprecate; and perhaps even the ceremony was one of
disenchantment. For the box was already doomed; it was to pass from its
green medicine-tree, reverend precinct, and devout attendants; to be
handled by the profane; to cross three seas; to come to land under the
foolscap of St. Paul's; to be domesticated within hail of Lillie Bridge;
there to be dusted by the British housemaid, and to take perhaps the
roar of London for the voice of the outer sea along the reef. Before
even we had finished dinner Chench had begun his journey, and one of the
newspapers had already placed the box upon my table as the gift of
Tembinok'.
I made haste to the palace, thanked the king, but offered to restore the
box, for I could not bear that the sick of the island should be made to
suffer. I was amazed by his reply. Terutak', it appeared, had still
three or four in reserve against an accident; and his reluctance, and
the dread painted at first on every face, was not in the least
occasioned by the prospect of medical destitution, but by the immediate
divinity of Chench. How much more did I respect the king's command,
which had been able to extort in a moment and for nothing a sacrilegious
favour that I had in vain solicited with millions! But now I had a
difficult task in front of me; it was not in my view that Terutak'
should suffer by his virtue; and I must persuade the king to share my
opinion, to let me enrich one of his subjects, and (what was yet more
delicate) to pay for my present. Nothing shows the king in a more
becoming light than the fact that I succeeded. He demurred at the
principle; he exclaimed, when he heard it, at the sum. "Plenty money!"
cried he, with contemptuous displeasure. But his resistance was never
serious; and when he had blown off his ill-humour--"A' right," said he.
"You give him. Mo' betta."
Armed with this permission, I made straight for the infirmary. The night
was now come, cool, dark, and starry. On a mat, hard by a clear fire of
wood and coco-shell, Terutak' lay beside his wife. Both were smiling;
the agony was over, the king's command had reconciled (I must suppose)
their agitating scruples; and I was bidden to sit by them and share the
circulating pipe. I was a little moved myself when I placed five gold
sovereigns in the wizard's hand; but there was no sign of emotion in
Terutak' as he returned them, pointed to the palace, and named
Tembinok'. It was a changed scene when I had managed to explain.
Terutak', long, dour Scots fisherman as he was, expressed his
satisfaction within bounds; but the wife beamed; and there was an old
gentleman present--her father, I suppose--who seemed nigh translated.
His eyes stood out of his head; "_Kaupoi, Kaupoi_--rich, rich!" ran on
his lips like a refrain; and he could not meet my eye but what he
gurgled into foolish laughter.
I might now go home, leaving that fire-lit family party gloating over
their new millions, and consider my strange day. I had tried and
rewarded the virtue of Terutak'. I had played the millionaire, had
behaved abominably, and then in some degree repaired my thoughtlessness.
And now I had my box, and could open it and look within. It contained a
miniature sleeping-mat and a white shell. Tamaiti, interrogated next day
as to the shell, explained it was not exactly Chench, but a cell, or
body, which he would at times inhabit. Asked why there was a
sleeping-mat, he retorted indignantly, "Why have you mats?" And this was
the sceptical Tamaiti! But island scepticism is never deeper than the
lips.
CHAPTER VII
THE KING OF APEMAMA
Thus all things on the island, even the priests of the gods, obey the
word of Tembinok'. He can give and take, and slay, and allay the
scruples of the conscientious, and do all things (apparently) but
interfere in the cookery of a turtle. "I got power" is his favourite
word; it interlards his conversation; the thought haunts him and is ever
fresh; and when he has asked and meditates of foreign countries, he
looks up with a smile and reminds you, "_I got power_." Nor is his
delight only in the possession, but in the exercise. He rejoices in the
crooked and violent paths of kingship like a strong man to run a race,
or like an artist in his art. To feel, to use his power, to embellish
his island and the picture of the island life after a private ideal, to
milk the island vigorously, to extend his singular museum--these employ
delightfully the sum of his abilities. I never saw a man more patently
in the right trade.
It would be natural to suppose this monarchy inherited intact through
generations. And so far from that, it is a thing of yesterday. I was
already a boy at school while Apemama was yet republican, ruled by a
noisy council of Old Men, and torn with incurable feuds. And Tembinok'
is no Bourbon; rather the son of a Napoleon. Of course he is well-born.
No man need aspire high in the isles of the Pacific unless his pedigree
be long and in the upper regions mythical. And our king counts
cousinship with most of the high families in the archipelago, and traces
his descent to a shark and a heroic woman. Directed by an oracle, she
swam beyond sight of land to meet her revolting paramour, and received
at sea the seed of a predestined family. "I think lie," is the king's
emphatic commentary; yet he is proud of the legend. From this
illustrious beginning the fortunes of the race must have declined; and
Teñkoruti, the grandfather of Tembinok', was the chief of a village at
the north end of the island. Kuria and Aranuka were yet independent;
Apemama itself the arena of devastating feuds. Through this perturbed
period of history the figure of Teñkoruti stalks memorable. In war he
was swift and bloody; several towns fell to his spear, and the
inhabitants were butchered to a man. In civil life his arrogance was
unheard of. When the council of Old Men was summoned, he went to the
Speak House, delivered his mind, and left without waiting to be
answered. Wisdom had spoken: let others opine according to their folly.
He was feared and hated, and this was his pleasure. He was no poet; he
cared not for arts or knowledge. "My gran'patha one thing savvy, savvy
pight," observed the king. In some lull of their own disputes the Old
Men of Apemama adventured on the conquest of Apemama; and this unlicked
Caius Marcius was elected general of the united troops. Success attended
him; the islands were reduced, and Teñkoruti returned to his own
government, glorious and detested. He died about 1860, in the seventieth
year of his age and the full odour of unpopularity. He was tall and
lean, says his grandson, looked extremely old, and "walked all the same
young man." The same observer gave me a significant detail. The
survivors of that rough epoch were all defaced with spearmarks; there
was none on the body of this skilful fighter. "I see old man, no got a
spear," said the king.
Teñkoruti left two sons, Tembaitake and Tembinatake. Tembaitake, our
king's father, was short, middling stout, a poet, a good genealogist,
and something of a fighter; it seems he took himself seriously, and was
perhaps scarce conscious that he was in all things the creature and
nursling of his brother. There was no shadow of dispute between the
pair: the greater man filled with alacrity and content the second
place: held the breach in war, and all the portfolios in the time of
peace: and, when his brother rated him, listened in silence, looking on
the ground. Like Teñkoruti, he was tall and lean and a swift walker--a
rare trait in the islands. He possessed every accomplishment. He knew
sorcery, he was the best genealogist of his day, he was a poet, he could
dance and make canoes and armour; and the famous mast of Apemama, which
ran one joint higher than the mainmast of a full-rigged ship, was of his
conception and design. But these were avocations, and the man's trade
was war. "When my uncle go make wa', he laugh," said Tembinok'. He
forbade the use of field fortification, that protractor of native
hostilities; his men must fight in the open, and win or be beaten out of
hand; his own activity inspired his followers; and the swiftness of his
blows beat down, in one lifetime, the resistance of three islands. He
made his brother sovereign, he left his nephew absolute. "My uncle make
all smooth," said Tembinok'. "I mo' king than my patha: I got power," he
said, with formidable relish.
Such is the portrait of the uncle drawn by the nephew. I can set beside
it another by a different artist, who has often--I may say
always--delighted me with his romantic taste in narrative, but not
always--and I may say not often--persuaded me of his exactitude. I have
already denied myself the use of so much excellent matter from the same
source, that I begin to think it time to reward good resolution; and his
account of Tembinatake agrees so well with the king's, that it may very
well be (what I hope it is) the record of a fact, and not (what I
suspect) the pleasing exercise of an imagination more than sailorly. A.,
for so I had perhaps better call him, was walking up the island after
dusk, when he came on a lighted village of some size, was directed to
the chief's house, and asked leave to rest and smoke a pipe. "You will
sit down, and smoke a pipe, and wash, and eat, and sleep," replied the
chief, "and to-morrow you will go again." Food was brought, prayers
were held (for this was in the brief day of Christianity), and the chief
himself prayed with eloquence and seeming sincerity. All evening A. sat
and admired the man by the firelight. He was six feet high, lean, with
the appearance of many years, and an extraordinary air of breeding and
command. "He looked like a man who would kill you laughing," said A., in
singular echo of one of the king's expressions. And again: "I had been
reading the Musketeer books, and he reminded me of Aramis." Such is the
portrait of Tembinatake, drawn by an expert romancer.
We had heard many tales of "my patha"; never a word of my uncle till two
days before we left. As the time approached for our departure Tembinok'
became greatly changed; a softer, a more melancholy, and, in particular,
a more confidential man appeared in his stead. To my wife he contrived
laboriously to explain that though he knew he must lose his father in
the course of nature, he had not minded nor realised it till the moment
came; and that now he was to lose us he repeated the experience. We
showed fireworks one evening on the terrace. It was a heavy business;
the sense of separation was in all our minds, and the talk languished.
The king was specially affected, sat disconsolate on his mat, and often
sighed. Of a sudden one of the wives stepped forth from a cluster, came
and kissed him in silence, and silently went again. It was just such a
caress as we might give to a disconsolate child, and the king received
it with a child's simplicity. Presently after we said good-night and
withdrew; but Tembinok' detained Mr. Osbourne, patting the mat by his
side and saying: "Sit down. I feel bad, I like talk." Osbourne sat down
by him. "You like some beer?" said he; and one of the wives produced a
bottle. The king did not partake, but sat sighing and smoking a
meerschaum pipe. "I very sorry you go," he said at last. "Miss Stlevens
he good man, woman he good man, boy he good man; all good man. Woman he
smart all the same man. My woman" (glancing towards his wives) "he good
woman, no very smart. I think Miss Stlevens he big chiep all the same
cap'n man-o'-wa'. I think Miss Stlevens he rich man all the same me. All
go schoona. I very sorry. My patha he go, my uncle he go, my cutcheons
he go, Miss Stlevens he go: all go. You no see king cry before. King all
the same man: feel bad, he cry. I very sorry."
In the morning it was the common topic in the village that the king had
wept. To me he said: "Last night I no can 'peak: too much here," laying
his hand upon his bosom. "Now you go away all the same my pamily. My
brothers, my uncle go away. All the same." This was said with a
dejection almost passionate. And it was the first time I had heard him
name his uncle, or indeed employ the word. The same day he sent me a
present of two corselets, made in the island fashion of plaited fibre,
heavy and strong. One had been worn by Teñkoruti, one by Tembaitake; and
the gift being gratefully received, he sent me, on the return of his
messengers--a third--that of Tembinatake. My curiosity was roused; I
begged for information as to the three wearers; and the king entered
with gusto into the details already given. Here was a strange thing,
that he should have talked so much of his family, and not once mentioned
that relative of whom he was plainly the most proud. Nay, more: he had
hitherto boasted of his father; thenceforth he had little to say of him;
and the qualities for which he had praised him in the past were now
attributed where they were due,--to the uncle. A confusion might be
natural enough among islanders, who call all the sons of their
grandfather by the common name of father. But this was not the case with
Tembinok'. Now the ice was broken the word uncle was perpetually in his
mouth; he who had been so ready to confound was now careful to
distinguish; and the father sank gradually into a self-complacent
ordinary man, while the uncle rose to his true stature as the hero and
founder of the race.
The more I heard and the more I considered, the more this mystery of
Tembinok's behaviour puzzled and attracted me. And the explanation, when
it came, was one to strike the imagination of a dramatist. Tembinok' had
two brothers. One, detected in private trading, was banished, then
forgiven, lives to this day in the island, and is the father of the
heir-apparent, Paul. The other fell beyond forgiveness. I have heard it
was a love-affair with one of the king's wives, and the thing is highly
possible in that romantic archipelago. War was attempted to be levied;
but Tembinok' was too swift for the rebels, and the guilty brother
escaped in a canoe. He did not go alone. Tembinatake had a hand in the
rebellion, and the man who had gained a kingdom for a weakling brother
was banished by that brother's son. The fugitives came to shore in other
islands, but Tembinok' remains to this day ignorant of their fate.
So far history. And now a moment for conjecture. Tembinok' confused
habitually, not only the attributes and merits of his father and his
uncle, but their diverse personal appearance. Before he had even spoken,
or thought to speak, of Tembinatake, he had told me often of a tall,
lean father, skilled in war, and his own schoolmaster in genealogy and
island arts. How if both were fathers, one natural, one adoptive? How if
the heir of Tembaitake, like the heir of Tembinok' himself, were not a
son, but an adopted nephew? How if the founder of the monarchy, while he
worked for his brother, worked at the same time for the child of his
loins? How if on the death of Tembaitake, the two stronger natures,
father and son, king and kingmaker, clashed, and Tembinok', when he
drove out his uncle, drove out the author of his days? Here is at least
a tragedy four-square.
The king took us on board in his own gig, dressed for the occasion in
the naval uniform. He had little to say, he refused refreshments, shook
us briefly by the hand, and went ashore again. That night the palm-tops
of Apemama had dipped behind the sea, and the schooner sailed solitary
under the stars.
LETTERS FROM SAMOA
LETTERS TO THE "TIMES," "PALL MALL GAZETTE," ETC.
I
TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES"
_Yacht "Casco," Hawaiian Islands, Feb. 10, 1889._
Sir,--News from Polynesia is apt to come piecemeal, and thus fail of its
effect, the first step being forgotten before the second comes to hand.
For this reason I should like to be allowed to recapitulate a little of
the past before I go on to illustrate the present extraordinary state of
affairs in the Samoan Islands.
It is quite true that this group was largely opened up by German
enterprise, and that the port of Apia is much the creation of the
Godeffroys. So far the German case extends; no farther. Apia was
governed till lately by a tripartite municipality, the American,
English, and German Consuls, and one other representative of each of the
three nations making up the body. To both America and Germany a harbour
had been ceded. England, I believe, had no harbour, but that her
position was quite equal to that of her neighbours one fact eloquently
displays. Malietoa--then King of Samoa, now a prisoner on the Marshall
Islands--offered to accept the supremacy of England. Unhappily for
himself, his offer was refused, Her Majesty's Government declaring, I am
told, that they would prefer to see him independent. As he now wanders
the territory of his island prison, under the guns of an Imperial
war-ship, his independence (if it still exist) must be confined
entirely to his bosom.
Such was the former equal and pacific state of the three nations at
Apia. It would be curious to tell at length by what steps of
encroachment on the one side and weakness on the other the present reign
of terror has been brought about; but my time before the mail departs is
very short, your space is limited, and in such a history much must be
only matter of conjecture. Briefly and roughly, then, there came a
sudden change in the attitude of Germany. Another treaty was proposed to
Malietoa and refused; the cause of the rebel Tamasese was invented or
espoused; Malietoa was seized and deported, Tamasese installed, the
tripartite municipality dissolved, the German Consul seated
autocratically in its place, and the Hawaiian Embassy (sent by a Power
of the same race to moderate among Samoans) dismissed with threats and
insults. In the course of these events villages have been shelled, the
German flag has been at least once substituted for the English, and the
Stars and Stripes (only the other day) were burned at Matafatatele. On
the day of the chase after Malietoa the houses of both English and
Americans were violently entered by the Germans. Since the dissolution
of the municipality English and Americans have paid their taxes into the
hands of their own Consuls, where they accumulate, and the German
representative, unrecognised and unsupported, rules single in Apia. I
have had through my hands a file of Consular proclamations, the most
singular reading--a state of war declared, all other authority but that
of the German representative suspended, punishment (and the punishment
of death in particular) liberally threatened. It is enough to make a man
rub his eyes when he reads Colonel de Coetlogon's protest and the
high-handed rejoinder posted alongside of it the next day by Dr. Knappe.
Who is Dr. Knappe, thus to make peace and war, deal in life and death,
and close with a buffet the mouth of English Consuls? By what process
known to diplomacy has he risen from his one-sixth part of municipal
authority to be the Bismarck of a Polynesian island? And what spell has
been cast on the Cabinets of Washington and St. James's, that Mr.
Blacklock should have been so long left unsupported, and that Colonel de
Coetlogon must bow his head under a public buffet?
I have not said much of the Samoans. I despair, in so short a space, to
interest English readers in their wrongs; with the mass of people at
home they will pass for some sort of cannibal islanders, with whom faith
were superfluous, upon whom kindness might be partly thrown away. And,
indeed, I recognise with gladness that (except as regards the captivity
of Malietoa) the Samoans have had throughout the honours of the game.
Tamasese, the German puppet, has had everywhere the under hand; almost
none, except those of his own clan, have ever supported his cause, and
even these begin now to desert him. "This is no Samoan war," said one of
them, as he transferred his followers and services to the new
Malietoa--Mataafa; "this is a German war." Mataafa, if he be cut off
from Apia and the sea, lies inexpugnable in the foot-hills immediately
behind with 5,000 warriors at his back. And beyond titles to a great
deal of land, which they extorted in exchange for rifles and ammunition
from the partisans of Tamasese, of all this bloodshed and bullying the
Germans behold no profit. I have it by last advices that Dr. Knappe has
approached the King privately with fair speeches, assuring him that the
state of war, bombardments, and other evils of the day, are not at all
directed at Samoans, but against the English and Americans; and that,
when these are extruded, peace shall again smile on a German island. It
can never be proved, but it is highly possible he may have said so; and,
whether he said it or not, there is a sense in which the thing is true.
Violence has not been found to succeed with the Samoans; with the two
Anglo-Saxon Powers it has been found to work like a charm.
I conclude with two instances, one American, one English:--
_First_.--Mr. Klein, an American journalist, was on the beach with
Malietoa's men on the night of the recent German defeat. Seeing the
boats approach in the darkness, Mr. Klein hailed them and warned them of
the Samoan ambush, and, by this innocent and humane step, made public
the fact of his presence. Where much else is contested so much appears
to be admitted (and, indeed, claimed) upon both sides. Mr. Klein is now
accused of firing on the Germans and of advising the Samoans to fire,
both of which he denies. He is accused, after the fight, of succouring
only the wounded of Malietoa's party; he himself declares that he helped
both; and, at any rate, the offence appears a novel one, and the
accusation threatens to introduce fresh dangers into Red Cross work. He
was on the beach that night in the exercise of his profession. If he was
with Malietoa's men, which is the real gist of his offence, we who are
not Germans may surely ask, Why not? On what ground is Malietoa a rebel?
The Germans have not conquered Samoa that I ever heard of; they are
there on treaty like their neighbours, and Dr. Knappe himself (in the
eyes of justice) is no more than the one-sixth part of the town council
of Apia. Lastly, Mr. Klein's innocence stands very clearly proven by the
openness with which he declared his presence. For all that, this
gentleman lay for a considerable time, watched day and night by German
sailors, a prisoner in the American Consulate; even after he had
succeeded in running the gauntlet of the German guards, and making his
escape in a canoe to the American warship _Nipsic_, he was imperiously
redemanded from under his own flag, and it is probable his extradition
is being already called for at Washington.
_Secondly_.--An English artist had gone into the bush sketching. I
believe he had been to Malietoa's camp, so that his guilt stands on
somewhat the same ground as Mr. Klein's. He was forcibly seized on board
the British packet _Richmond_, carried half-dressed on board the
_Adler_, and detained there, in spite of all protest, until an English
war-ship had been cleared for action. This is of notoriety, and only one
case (although a strong one) of many. Is it what the English people
understand by the sovereignty of the seas?--I am, etc.,
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
II
TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES"
_Vailima, Upolu, Samoa, Oct. 12, 1891._
Sir,--I beg leave to lay before your readers a copy of a correspondence,
or (should that have reached you by another channel) to offer a few
words of narrative and comment.
On Saturday, September 5, Mr. Cedercrantz, the Chief Justice of Samoa,
sailed on a visit to Fiji, leaving behind him certain prisoners in the
gaol, and Baron Senfft von Pilsach, President of the Municipal Council,
master of the field. The prisoners were five chiefs of Manono who had
surrendered of their own accord, or at the desire of Mataafa, had been
tried by a native magistrate, and received sentence of six months'
confinement under "gentlemanly" (_sic_) conditions. As they were marched
to prison, certain of their country-folk of Manono ran beside and
offered an immediate rescue; but Lieutenant Ulfsparre ordered the men of
the escort to load, and the disturbance blew by. How little weight was
attached to this incident by the Chief Justice is sufficiently indicated
by the fact of his departure. It was unhappily otherwise with those whom
he left behind. Panic seems to have marked them for her own; they
despaired at once of all lawful defence; and, on Sunday, the day after
the Chief Justice's departure, Apia was in consequence startled with
strange news. Dynamite bought from the wrecker ship, an electrical
machine and a mechanic hired, the prison mined, and a letter despatched
to the people of Manono advising them of the fact, and announcing that
if any rescue were attempted prison and prisoners should be blown
up--such were the voices of rumour; and the design appearing equally
feeble, reckless, and wicked, considerable agitation was aroused.
Perhaps it had some effect. Our Government at least, which had rushed so
hastily to one extreme, now dashed with the same speed into another.
Sunday was the day of dynamite, Tuesday dawned the day of deportation. A
cutter was hurriedly prepared for sea, and the prisoners, whom the Chief
Justice had left three days before under a sentence of "gentlemanly"
detention, found themselves under way to exile in the Tokelaus.
A Government of this agility escapes criticism: by multiplying surprises
it obliterates the very memory of past mistakes. Some, perhaps, forgot
the dynamite; some, hearing no more of it, set it down to be a trick of
rumour such as we are well used to in the islands. But others were not
so sure. Others considered that the rumour (even if unfounded) was of an
ill example, might bear deplorable fruit, and, from all points of view
of morality and policy, required a public contradiction. Eleven of these
last entered accordingly into the annexed correspondence with the
President. It will be seen in the crevice of what quibble that gentleman
sought refuge and sits inexpugnable. In a question affecting his
humanity, his honour, and the wellbeing of the kingdom which he serves,
he has preferred to maintain what I can only call a voluble silence. The
public must judge of the result; but there is one point to which I may
be allowed to draw attention--that passage in the fourth of the appended
documents in which he confesses that he was already acquainted with the
rumours in question, and that he has been present (and apparently not
protesting) when the scandal was discussed and the proposed enormity
commended.
The correspondence was still passing when the President surprised Apia
with a fresh gambado. He has been a long while in trouble as to his
disposition of the funds. His intention to build a house for himself--to
all appearance with native money--his sending the taxes out of the
islands and locking them up in deposits, and his noisy squabbles with
the King and native Parliament as to the currency, had all aroused
unfavourable comment. On Saturday, the 3rd of October, a correspondence
on the last point appeared in the local paper. By this it appeared that
our not too resolute King and Parliament had at last and in one
particular defied his advice and maintained their own opinion. If
vengeance were to be the order of the day, it might have been expected
to fall on the King and Parliament; but this would have been too direct
a course, and the blow was turned instead against an innocent municipal
council. On the 7th the President appeared before that body, informed
them that his authority was lessened by the publication, that he had
applied to the King for a month's leave of (theatrical) absence, and
must now refuse to fulfil his duties. With this he retired to his own
house, which is under the same roof, leaving the councillors and the
municipality to do what they pleased and drift where they could without
him. It is reported he has since declared his life to be in danger, and
even applied to his Consul for protection. This seems to pass the bounds
of credibility; but the movements of Baron Senfft von Pilsach have been
throughout so agitated and so unexpected that we know not what to look
for; and the signatories of the annexed addresses, if they were accused
to-morrow of a design on the man's days, would scarce have spirit left
to be surprised.
It must be clearly pointed out that this is no quarrel of German and
anti-German. The German officials, consular and naval, have behaved with
perfect loyalty. A German wrote the letter to the paper which unchained
this thunderbolt; and it was a German who took the chair which the
President had just vacated at the table of the municipal board. And
though the Baron is himself of German race, his conduct presents no
appearance of design, how much less of conspiracy! Doubtless certain
journals will so attempt to twist it; but to the candid it will seem no
more than the distracted evolutions of a weak man in a series of panics.
Such is a rough outline of the events to which I would fain direct the
attention of the public at home, in the States, and still more in
Germany. It has for me but one essential point. Budgets have been called
in question, and officials publicly taken the pet before now. But the
dynamite scandal is unique.
If it be unfounded, our complaint is already grave. It was the
President's duty, as a man and as a responsible official, to have given
it instant and direct denial: and since he neither did so of his own
motion, nor consented to do so on our repeated instances, he has shown
that he neither understands nor yet is willing to be taught the
condition of this country. From what I have been able to collect,
Samoans are indignant because the thing was decided between the King and
President without consultation with the native Parliament. The thing
itself, it does not enter in their thoughts to call in question; they
receive gratefully a fresh lesson in civilised methods and civilised
justice; a day may come when they shall put that lesson in practice for
themselves; and if they are then decried for their barbarity--as they
will surely be--and punished for it, as is highly probable, I will ask
candid people what they are to think? "How?" they will say. "Your own
white people intended to do this, and you said nothing. We do it, and
you call us treacherous savages!"
This is to suppose the story false. Suppose it true, however; still
more, suppose the plan had been carried out. Suppose these chiefs to
have surrendered to the white man's justice, administered or not by a
brown Judge; suppose them tried, condemned, confined in that snare of a
gaol, and some fine night their mangled limbs cast in the faces of their
countrymen: I leave others to predict the consequences of such an
object-lesson in the arts of peace and the administration of the law.
The Samoans are a mild race, but their patience is in some points
limited. Under Captain Brandeis a single skirmish and the death of a few
youths sufficed to kindle an enduring war and bring on the ruin of the
Government. The residents have no desire for war, and they deprecate
altogether a war embittered from the beginning by atrocities. Nor can
they think the stakes at all equal between themselves and Baron Senfft.
He has nothing to lose but a situation; he is here in what he stands in;
he can swarm to-morrow on board a war-ship and be off. But the residents
have some of them sunk capital on these shores; some of them are
involved in extended affairs; they are tied to the stake, and they
protest against being plunged into war by the violence, and having that
war rendered more implacable by the preliminary cruelties, of a white
official.
I leave entirely upon one side all questions of morality; but there is
still one point of expediency on which I must touch. The old native
Government (which was at least cheap) failed to enforce the law, and
fell, in consequence, into the manifold troubles which have made the
name of Samoa famous. The enforcement of the law--that was what was
required, that was the salvation looked for. And here we have a
Government at a high figure, and it cannot defend its own gaol, and can
find no better remedy than to assassinate its prisoners. What we have
bought at this enormous increase of expenditure is the change from King
Log to King Stork--from the man who failed to punish petty theft to the
man who plots the destruction of his own gaol and the death of his own
prisoners.
On the return of the Chief Justice, the matter will be brought to his
attention; but the cure of our troubles must come from home; it is from
the Great Powers that we look for deliverance. They sent us the
President. Let them either remove the man, or see that he is stringently
instructed--instructed to respect public decency, so we be no longer
menaced with doings worthy of a revolutionary committee; and instructed
to respect the administration of the law, so if I be fined a dollar
to-morrow for fast riding in Apia street, I may not awake next morning
to find my sentence increased to one of banishment or death by
dynamite.--I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
_P.S._--_October 14_.--I little expected fresh developments before the
mail left. But the unresting President still mars the quiet of his
neighbours. Even while I was writing the above lines, Apia was looking
on in mere amazement on the continuation of his gambols. A white man had
written to the King, and the King had answered the letter--crimes
against Baron Senfft von Pilsach and (his private reading of) the Berlin
Treaty. He offered to resign--I was about to say "accordingly," for the
unexpected is here the normal--from the presidency of the municipal
board, and to retain his position as the King's adviser. He was
instructed that he must resign both, or neither; resigned both; fell out
with the Consuls on details; and is now, as we are advised, seeking to
resile from his resignations. Such an official I never remember to have
read of, though I have seen the like, from across the footlights and the
orchestra, evolving in similar figures to the strains of Offenbach.
R.L.S.
COPIES OF A CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN CERTAIN RESIDENTS OF APIA AND BARON
SENFFT VON PILSACH.
I
_September 28, 1891_.
BARON SENFFT VON PILSACH.
Sir,--We are requested to lay the enclosed appeal before you, and to
express the desire of the signatories to meet your views as to the
manner of the answer.
Should you prefer to reply by word of mouth, a deputation will be ready
to wait upon you on Thursday, at any hour you may please to appoint.
Should you prefer to reply in writing, we are asked only to impress upon
you the extreme desire of the signatories that no time should be
unnecessarily lost.
Should you condescend in either of the ways suggested to set at rest our
anxiety, we need scarce assure you that the step will be received with
gratitude.--We have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient servants,
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
E. W. GURR.
II
(_Enclosed in No. I_.)
The attention of the President of the Municipal Council is respectfully
directed to the following rumours:--
1. That at his suggestion, or with his authority, dynamite was
purchased, or efforts were made to procure dynamite, and the use of an
electrical machine was secured, or attempted to be obtained.
2. That this was for the purpose of undermining, or pretending to
undermine, the gaol in which the Manono prisoners were confined.
3. That notification of this design was sent to the friends of the
prisoners.
4. That a threat of blowing up the gaol and the prisoners, in the event
of an attempted rescue, was made.
Upon all and upon each of these points severally the white residents
anxiously expect and respectfully beg information.
It is suggested for the President's consideration that rumours
unconnected or unexplained acquire almost the force of admitted truth.
That any want of confidence between the governed and the Government must
be fruitful in loss to both.
That the rumours in their present form tend to damage the white races in
the native mind, and to influence for the worse the manners of the
Samoans.
And that the President alone is in a position to deny, to explain, or to
correct these rumours.
Upon these grounds the undersigned ask to be excused for any informality
in their address, and they hope and humbly pray that the President will
accept the occasion here presented, and take early and effectual means
to inform and reassure the whites, and to relieve them from possible
misjudgment on the part of the Samoans.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
E.W. GURR.
[_and nine other signatures_.]
III
_Apia, Sept. 30, 1891._
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, ESQ., E.W. GURR, ESQ.
Dear Sirs,--Thanking you for your kind letter dated 28th inst., which I
received yesterday, together with the address in question, I beg to
inform you that I am going to answer the address in writing as soon as
possible.--I have the honour to be, dear Sirs, your obedient servant,
SENFFT.
IV
_Apia, Oct. 2, 1891._
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, ESQ., E. W. GURR, Esq.
Gentlemen,--I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of an address
without date which has been signed by you and some other foreign
residents and handed to me on the 29th of September.
In this address my attention is directed to some rumours, specified
therein, concerning which I am informed that "upon all and upon each of
these points severally the white residents anxiously expect and
respectfully beg information."
Generally, I beg to state that, with a view of successfully performing
my official duties, I believe it is advisable for me to pay no attention
to any anonymous rumour.
Further, I cannot forbear expressing my astonishment that in speaking to
me so seriously in the name of "the white residents" the subscribers of
the address have deemed it unnecessary to acquaint me with their
authorisation for doing so. This omission is by no means a mere
informality. There are white residents who in my presence have commented
upon the rumours in question in a manner directly opposed to the meaning
of the address.
This fact alone will justify me in objecting to the truth of the
above-quoted statement so prominently set forth and so positively
affirmed in the address. It will also justify me in abstaining from a
reply to the further assertions of gentlemen who, in apostrophising me,
care so little for the correctness of the facts they deal with.
If, in consequence, according to the apprehensions laid down in the
address, those unexplained rumours will "damage the white races in the
native mind," I think the signing parties will then remember that there
are public authorities in Samoa officially and especially charged with
the protection of "the white residents." If they present to them their
complaints and their wishes I have no doubt by so doing they will get
all information they may require.
I ask you, gentlemen, to communicate this answer to the parties having
signed the address in question.--I have the honour to be, Gentlemen,
your obedient servant,
FRHR. SENFFT VON PILSACH.
V
_Oct. 9, 1891_.
The signatories of the address are in receipt of the President's favour
under date October 2. Much of his answer is occupied in dealing with a
point foreign to the matter in hand, and in itself surprising to the
signatories. Their address was an appeal for information on specific
points and an appeal from specific persons, who correctly described
themselves as "white residents," "the undersigned," and in the
accompanying letter as the "signatories." They were so far from seeking
to collect evidence in private that they applied frankly and directly to
the person accused for explanation; and so far from seeking to multiply
signatures or promote scandal that they kept the paper strictly to
themselves. They see with regret that the President has failed to
appreciate this delicacy. They see with sorrow and surprise that, in
answer to a communication which they believe to have been temperately
and courteously worded, the President has thought fit to make an
imputation on their honesty. The trick of which he would seem to accuse
them would have been useless, and even silly, if attempted; and on a
candid re-examination of the address and the accompanying letter, the
President will doubtless see fit to recall the imputation.
By way of answer to the questions asked the signatories can find nothing
but what seems to be a recommendation to them to apply to their Consuls
for "protection." It was not protection they asked, but information. It
was not a sense of fear that moved them, but a sense of shame. It is
their misfortune that they cannot address the President in his own
language, or they would not now require to explain that the words "tend
to damage the white races in the native mind," quoted and misapplied by
the President, do not express any fear of suffering by the hands of the
Samoans, but in their good opinion, and were not the expression of any
concern for the duration of peace, but of a sense of shame under what
they conceived to be disgraceful imputations. While agreeing generally
with the President's expressed sentiment as to "anonymous rumours," they
feel that a line has to be drawn. Certain rumours they would not suffer
to remain uncontradicted for an hour. It was natural, therefore, that
when they heard a man of their own white race accused of conspiring to
blow up the gaol and the prisoners who were there under the safeguard of
his honour, they should attribute to the accused a similar impatience to
be justified; and it is with a sense of painful surprise that they find
themselves to have been mistaken.
(_Signatures as to Number II_.)
VI
_Apia, October 9, 1891_.
Gentlemen,--Being in receipt of your communication under to-day's date,
I have the honour to inform you that I have undertaken the
re-examination of your first address, which you believe would induce me
to recall the answer I have given on the 2nd inst.
From this re-examination I have learned again that your appeal begins
with the following statement:--
"Upon all and upon each of these points severally the white residents
anxiously expect and respectfully beg information."
I have called this statement a seriously speaking to me in the name of
the white residents, and I have objected to the truth of that statement.
If after a "candid re-examination" of the matter from your part you may
refute me in either or both points, I shall be glad, indeed, in
recalling my answer.
At present I beg to say that I see no reason for your supposing I
misunderstood your expression of damaging the white races in the native
mind, unless you have no other notion of protection than that applying
to the body.
Concerning the assertion contained in the last clause of your second
address, that five Samoan prisoners having been sentenced by a Samoan
Judge for destroying houses were in the gaol of the Samoan Government
"under the safeguard of my honour," I ask for your permission to
recommend this statement also and especially to your re-examination.--I
have the honour to be, Gentlemen, your obedient servant,
FRHR. SENFFT VON PILSACH.
III
TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES"
_Samoa, April 9, 1892._
Sir,--A sketch of our latest difficulty in Samoa will be interesting, at
least to lawyers.
In the Berlin General Act there is one point on which, from the earliest
moment, volunteer interpreters have been divided. The revenue arising
from the customs was held by one party to belong to the Samoan
Government, by another to the municipality; and the dispute was at last
decided in favour of the municipality by Mr. Cedercrantz, Chief Justice.
The decision was not given in writing; but it was reported by at least
one of the Consuls to his Government, it was of public notoriety, it is
not denied, and it was at once implicitly acted on by the parties.
Before that decision, the revenue from customs was suffered to
accumulate; ever since, to the knowledge of the Chief Justice, and with
the daily countenance of the President, it has been received,
administered, and spent by the municipality. It is the function of the
Chief Justice to interpret the Berlin Act; its sense was thus supposed
to be established beyond cavil; those who were dissatisfied with the
result conceived their only recourse lay in a prayer to the Powers to
have the treaty altered; and such a prayer was, but the other day,
proposed, supported, and finally negatived, in a public meeting.
About a year has gone by since the decision, and the state of the Samoan
Government has been daily growing more precarious. Taxes have not been
paid, and the Government has not ventured to enforce them. Fresh taxes
have fallen due, and the Government has not ventured to call for them.
Salaries were running on, and that of the Chief Justice alone amounts to
a considerable figure for these islands; the coffers had fallen low, at
last it is believed they were quite empty, no resource seemed left, and
bystanders waited with a smiling curiosity for the wheels to stop. I
should add, to explain the epithet "smiling," that the Government has
proved a still-born child; and except for some spasmodic movements which
I have already made the subject of remark in your columns, it may be
said to have done nothing but pay salaries.
In this state of matters, on March 28, the President of the Council,
Baron Senfft von Pilsach, was suddenly and privately supplied by Mr.
Cedercrantz with a written judgment, reversing the verbal and public
decision of a year before. By what powers of law was this result
attained? And how was the point brought again before his Honour? I feel
I shall here strain the credulity of your readers, but our authority is
the President in person. The suit was brought by himself in his capacity
(perhaps an imaginary one) of King's adviser; it was defended by himself
in his capacity of President of the Council, no notice had been given,
the parties were not summoned, they were advised neither of the trial
nor the judgment; so far as can be learned two persons only met and
parted--the first was the plaintiff and defendant rolled in one, the
other was a Judge who had decided black a year ago, and had now
intimated a modest willingness to decide white.
But it is possible to follow more closely these original proceedings.
Baron von Pilsach sat down (he told us) in his capacity of adviser to
the King, and wrote to himself, in his capacity of President of the
Council, an eloquent letter of reprimand three pages long; an unknown
English artist clothed it for him in good language; and nothing remained
but to have it signed by King Malietoa, to whom it was attributed. "So
long as he knows how to sign!"--a white official is said thus to have
summed up, with a shrug, the qualifications necessary in a Samoan king.
It was signed accordingly, though whether the King knew what he was
signing is matter of debate; and thus regularised, it was forwarded to
the Chief Justice enclosed in a letter of adhesion from the President.
Such as they were, these letters appear to have been the pleadings on
which the Chief Justice proceeded; such as they were, they seem to have
been the documents in this unusual case.
Suppose an unfortunate error to have been made, suppose a reversal of
the Court's finding and the year's policy to have become immediately
needful, wisdom would indicate an extreme frankness of demeanour. And
our two officials preferred a policy of irritating dissimulation. While
the revolution was being prepared behind the curtain, the President was
holding night sessions of the municipal council. What was the business?
No other than to prepare an ordinance regulating those very customs
which he was secretly conspiring to withdraw from their control. And it
was a piece of duplicity of a similar nature which first awoke the
echoes of Apia by its miscarriage. The council had sent up for the
approval of the Consular Board a project of several bridges, one of
which, that of the Vaisingano, was of chief importance to the town. To
sanction so much fresh expense, at the very moment when, to his secret
knowledge, the municipality was to be left bare of funds, appeared to
one of the Consuls an unworthy act; and the proposal was accordingly
disallowed. The people of Apia are extremely swift to guess. No sooner
was the Vaisingano bridge denied them than they leaped within a
measurable distance of the truth. It was remembered that the Chief
Justice had but recently (this time by a decision regularly obtained)
placed the municipal funds at the President's mercy; talk ran high of
collusion between the two officials; it was rumoured the safe had been
already secretly drawn upon; the newspaper being at this juncture
suddenly and rather mysteriously sold, it was rumoured it had been
bought for the officials with municipal money, and the Apians crowded in
consequence to the municipal meeting on April 1, with minds already
heated.
The President came on his side armed with the secret judgment; and the
hour being now come, he unveiled his work of art to the municipal
councillors. On the strength of the Chief Justice's decision, to his
knowledge, and with the daily countenance of the President, they had for
twelve months received and expended the revenue from customs. They
learned now that this was wrong; they learned not only that they were to
receive no more, but that they must refund what they had already spent;
and the total sum amounting to about $25,000, and there being less than
$20,000 in the treasury, they learned that they were bankrupt. And with
the next breath the President reassured them; time was to be given to
these miserable debtors, and the King in his clemency would even advance
them from their own safe--now theirs no longer--a loan of $3,000 against
current expenses. If the municipal council of Apia be far from an ideal
body, at least it makes roads and builds bridges, at least it does
something to justify its existence and reconcile the ratepayer to the
rates. This was to cease: all the funds husbanded for this end were to
be transferred to the Government at Mulinuu, which has never done
anything to mention but pay salaries, and of which men have long ceased
to expect anything else but that it shall continue to pay salaries till
it die of inanition. Let us suppose this raid on the municipal treasury
to have been just and needful. It is plain, even if introduced in the
most conciliatory manner, it could never have been welcome. And, as it
was, the sting was in the manner--in the secrecy and the surprise, in
the dissimulation, the dissonant decisions, the appearance of collusion
between the officials, and the offer of a loan too small to help. Bitter
words were spoken at the council-table; the public joined with shouts;
it was openly proposed to overpower the President and seize the treasury
key. Baron von Pilsach possesses the redeeming rudimentary virtue of
courage. It required courage to come at all on such an errand to those
he had deceived; and amidst violent voices and menacing hands he
displayed a constancy worthy of a better cause. The council broke
tumultuously up; the inhabitants crowded to a public meeting; the
Consuls, acquainted with the alarming effervescency of feeling,
communicated their willingness to meet the municipal councillors and
arrange a compromise; and the inhabitants renewed by acclamation the
mandate of their representatives. The same night these sat in council
with the Consular Board, and a _modus vivendi_ was agreed upon, which
was rejected the next morning by the President.
The representations of the Consuls had, however, their effect; and when
the council met again on April 6, Baron von Pilsach was found to have
entirely modified his attitude. The bridge over the Vaisingano was
conceded, the sum of $3,000 offered to the council was increased to
$9,000, about one-half of the existing funds; the Samoan Government,
which was to profit by the customs, now agreed to bear the expenses of
collection; the President, while refusing to be limited to a specific
figure, promised an anxious parsimony in the Government expenditure,
admitted his recent conduct had been of a nature to irritate the
councillors, and frankly proposed it should be brought under the notice
of the Powers. I should not be a fair reporter if I did not praise his
bearing. In the midst of men whom he had grossly deceived, and who had
recently insulted him in return, he behaved himself with tact and
temper. And largely in consequence his _modus vivendi_ was accepted
under protest, and the matter in dispute referred without discussion to
the Powers.
I would like to refer for one moment to my former letter. The Manono
prisoners were solemnly sentenced to six months' imprisonment; and, by
some unexplained and secret process, the sentence was increased to one
of banishment. The fact seems to have rather amused the Governments at
home. It did not at all amuse us here on the spot. But we sought
consolation by remembering that the President was a layman, and the
Chief Justice had left the islands but the day before. Let Mr.
Cedercrantz return, we thought, and Arthur would be come again. Well,
Arthur is come. And now we begin to think he was perhaps an approving,
if an absent, party to the scandal. For do we not find, in the case of
the municipal treasury, the same disquieting features? A decision is
publicly delivered, it is acted on for a year, and by some secret and
inexplicable process we find it suddenly reversed. We are supposed to be
governed by English law. Is this English law? Is it a law at all? Does
it permit a state of society in which a citizen can live and act with
confidence? And when we are asked by natives to explain these
peculiarities of white man's government and white man's justice, in what
form of words are we to answer?
_April_ 12.
Fresh news reaches me; I have once again to admire the accuracy of
rumour in Apia, and that which I had passed over with a reference
becomes the head and front of our contention. The _Samoa Times_ was
nominally purchased by a gentleman who, whatever be his other
recommendations, was notoriously ill off. There was paid down for it
£600 in gold, a huge sum of ready money for Apia, above all in gold, and
all men wondered where it came from. It is this which has been
discovered. The wrapper of each rouleau was found to be signed by Mr.
Martin, collector for the municipality as well as for the Samoan
Government, and countersigned by Mr. Savile, his assistant. In other
words, the money had left either the municipal or the Government safe.
The position of the President is thus extremely exposed. His accounts up
to January 1 are in the hands of auditors. The next term of March 31 is
already past, and although the natural course has been repeatedly
suggested to him, he has never yet permitted the verification of the
balance in his safe. The case would appear less strong against the Chief
Justice. Yet a month has not elapsed since he placed the funds at the
disposal of the President, on the avowed ground that the population of
Apia was unfit to be intrusted with its own affairs. And the very week
of the purchase he reversed his own previous decision and liberated his
colleague from the last remaining vestige of control. Beyond the extent
of these judgments, I doubt if this astute personage will be found to
have committed himself in black and white; and the more foolhardy
President may thus be left in the top of the breach alone.
Let it be explained or apportioned as it may, this additional scandal is
felt to have overfilled the measure. It may be argued that the President
has great tact and the Chief Justice a fund of philosophy. Give us
instead a judge who shall proceed according to the forms of justice, and
a treasurer who shall permit the verification of his balances. Surely
there can be found among the millions of Europe two frank and honest
men, one of whom shall be acquainted with English law, and the other
possess the ordinary virtues of a clerk, over whose heads, in the
exercise of their duties, six months may occasionally pass without
painful disclosures and dangerous scandals; who shall not weary us with
their surprises and intrigues; who shall not amaze us with their lack of
penetration; who shall not, in the hour of their destitution, seem to
have diverted £600 of public money for the purchase of an
inconsiderable sheet, or at a time when eight provinces of discontented
natives threaten at any moment to sweep their ineffective Government
into the sea to have sought safety and strength in gagging the local
Press of Apia. If it be otherwise--if we cannot be relieved, if the
Powers are satisfied with the conduct of Mr. Cedercrantz and Baron
Senfft von Pilsach; if these were sent here with the understanding that
they should secretly purchase, perhaps privately edit, a little sheet of
two pages, issued from a crazy wooden building at the mission gate; if
it were, indeed, intended that, for this important end, they should
divert (as it seems they have done) public funds and affront all the
forms of law--we whites can only bow the head. We are here quite
helpless. If we would complain of Baron Pilsach, it can only be to Mr.
Cedercrantz; if we would complain of Mr. Cedercrantz, and the Powers
will not hear us, the circle is complete. A nightly guard surrounds and
protects their place of residence, while the house of the King is
cynically left without the pickets. Secure from interference, one utters
the voice of the law, the other moves the hands of authority; and now
they seem to have sequestered in the course of a single week the only
available funds and the only existing paper in the islands.
But there is one thing they forget. It is not the whites who menace the
duration of their Government, and it is only the whites who read the
newspaper. Mataafa sits hard by in his armed camp and sees. He sees the
weakness, he counts the scandals of their Government. He sees his rival
and "brother" sitting disconsidered at their doors, like Lazarus before
the house of Dives, and, if he is not very fond of his "brother," he is
very scrupulous of native dignities. He has seen his friends menaced
with midnight destruction in the Government gaol, and deported without
form of law. He is not himself a talker, and his thoughts are hid from
us; but what is said by his more hasty partisans we know. On March 29,
the day after the Chief Justice signed the secret judgment, three days
before it was made public, and while the purchase of the newspaper was
yet in treaty, a native orator stood up in an assembly. "Who asked the
Great Powers to make laws for us; to bring strangers here to rule us?"
he cried. "We want no white officials to bind us in the bondage of
taxation." Here is the changed spirit which these gentlemen have
produced by a misgovernment of fifteen months. Here is their peril,
which no purchase of newspapers and no subsequent editorial suppressions
can avert.
It may be asked if it be still time to do anything. It is, indeed,
already late; and these gentlemen, arriving in a golden moment, have
fatally squandered opportunity and perhaps fatally damaged white
prestige. Even the whites themselves they have not only embittered, but
corrupted. We were pained the other day when our municipal councillors
refused, by a majority, to make the production of invoices obligatory at
the Custom-house. Yet who shall blame them, when the Chief Justice, with
a smallness of rapacity at which all men wondered, refused to pay, and I
believe, still withholds the duties on his imports? He was above the
law, being the head of it; and this was how he preached by example. He
refused to pay his customs; the white councillors, following in his
wake, refuse to take measures to enforce them against others; and the
natives, following in his wake, refuse to pay their taxes. These taxes
it may, perhaps, be never possible to raise again directly. Taxes have
never been popular in Samoa; yet in the golden moment when this
Government began its course, a majority of the Samoans paid them. Every
province should have seen some part of that money expended in its
bounds; every nerve should have been strained to interest and gratify
the natives in the manner of its expenditure. It has been spent instead
on Mulinuu, to pay four white officials, two of whom came in the suite
of the Chief Justice, and to build a so-called Government House, in
which the President resides, and the very name of taxes is become
abhorrent. What can still be done, and what must be done immediately, is
to give us a new Chief Justice--a lawyer, a man of honour, a man who
will not commit himself to one side, whether in politics or in private
causes, and who shall not have the appearance of trying to coin money at
every joint of our affairs. So much the better if he be a man of talent,
but we do not ask so much. With an ordinary appreciation of law, an
ordinary discretion and ordinary generosity, he may still, in the course
of time, and with good fortune, restore confidence and repair the
breaches in the prestige of the whites. As for the President there is
much discussion. Some think the office is superfluous, still more the
salary to be excessive; some regard the present man, who is young and
personally pleasing, as a tool and scapegoat for another, and these are
tempted to suppose that, with a new and firm Chief Justice, he might yet
redeem his character. He would require at least to clear himself of the
affair of the rouleaux, or all would be against him.--I am. Sir, your
obedient servant,
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
IV
TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES"
_Samoa, June_ 22, 1892.
Sir,--I read in a New Zealand paper that you published my last with
misgiving. The writer then goes on to remind me that I am a novelist,
and to bid me return to my romances and leave the affairs of Samoa to
sub-editors in distant quarters of the world. "We, in common with other
journals, have correspondents in Samoa," he complains, "and yet we have
no news from them of the curious conspiracy which Mr. Stevenson appears
to have unearthed, and which, if it had any real existence, would be
known to everybody on the island." As this is the only voice which has
yet reached me from beyond the seas, I am constrained to make some
answer. But it must not be supposed that, though you may perhaps have
been alone to publish, I have been alone to write. The same story is now
in the hands of the three Governments from their respective Consuls. Not
only so, but the complaint of the municipal council, drawn by two able
solicitors, has been likewise laid before them.
This at least is public, and I may say notorious. The solicitors were
authorised to proceed with their task at a public meeting. The President
(for I was there and heard him) approved the step, though he refrained
from voting. But he seems to have entertained a hope of burking, or, at
least, indefinitely postponing, the whole business, and, when the
meeting was over, and its proceedings had been approved (as is
necessary) by the Consular Board, he neglected to notify the two
gentlemen appointed of that approval. In a large city the trick might
have succeeded for a time; in a village like Apia, where all news leaks
out and the King meets the cobbler daily, it did no more than to
advertise his own artfulness. And the next he learned, the case for the
municipal council had been prepared, approved by the Consuls, and
despatched to the Great Powers. I am accustomed to have my word doubted
in this matter, and must here look to have it doubted once again. But
the fact is certain. The two solicitors (Messrs. Carruthers and Cooper)
were actually cited to appear before the Chief Justice in the Supreme
Court. I have seen the summons, and the summons was the first and last
of this State trial. The proceeding, instituted in an hour of temper,
was, in a moment of reaction, allowed to drop.
About the same date a final blow befell the Government of Mulinuu. Let
me remind you, sir, of the situation. The funds of the municipality had
been suddenly seized, on what appeared a collusive judgment, by the
bankrupt Government of Mulinuu. The paper, the organ of opposition, was
bought by a man of straw; and it was found the purchase-money had been
paid in rouleaux from the Government safes. The Government consisted of
two men. One, the President and treasurer, had a ready means to clear
himself and dispose for ever of the scandal--that means, apart from any
scandal, was his mere, immediate duty,--viz., to have his balance
verified. And he has refused to do so, and he still refuses. But the
other, though he sits abstruse, must not think to escape his share of
blame. He holds a high situation; he is our chief magistrate, he has
heard this miserable tale of the rouleaux, at which the Consuls looked
so black, and why has he done nothing? When he found that the case
against himself and his colleague had gone to the three Powers a little
of the suddenest, he could launch summonses (which it seems he was
afterwards glad to disavow) against Messrs. Cooper and Carruthers. But
then, when the whole island murmured--then, when a large sum which could
be traced to the Government treasuries was found figuring in the hands
of a man of straw--where were his thunderbolts then? For more than a
month the scandal has hung black about his colleague; for more than a
month he has sat inert and silent; for more than a month, in
consequence, the last spark of trust in him has quite died out.
In was in these circumstances that the Government of Mulinuu approached
the municipal council with a proposal to levy fresh taxes from the
whites. It was in these circumstances that the municipal council
answered, No. Public works have ceased, the destination of public moneys
is kept secret, and the municipal council resolved to stop supplies.
At this, it seems, the Government awoke to a sense of their position.
The natives had long ceased to pay them; now the whites had followed
suit. Destitution had succeeded to embarrassment. And they made haste to
join with themselves another who did not share in their unpopularity.
This gentleman, Mr. Thomas Maben, Government surveyor, is himself
deservedly popular, and the office created for him, that of Secretary
of State, is one in which, under happier auspices, he might accomplish
much. He is promised a free hand; he has succeeded to, and is to
exercise entirely, those vague functions claimed by the President under
his style of adviser to the King. It will be well if it is found to be
so in the field of practice. It will be well if Mr. Maben find any funds
left for his not exorbitant salary. It would doubtless have been better,
in this day of their destitution and in the midst of growing Samoan
murmurs against the high salaries of whites, if the Government could
have fallen on some expedient which did not imply another. And there is
a question one would fain have answered. The President claims to hold
two offices--that of adviser to the King, that of President of the
Municipal Council. A year ago, in the time of the dynamite affair, he
proposed to resign the second and retain his whole emoluments as adviser
to the King. He has now practically resigned the first; and we wish to
know if he now proposes to retain his entire salary as President of the
Council.--I am, etc.,
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
V
TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES"
_Apia, July_ 19, 1892.
Sir,--I am at last in receipt of your article upon my letter. It was as
I supposed; you had a difficulty in believing the events recorded; and,
to my great satisfaction, you suggest an inquiry. You observe the marks
of passion in my letter, or so it seems to you. But your summary shows
me that I have not failed to communicate with a sufficient clearness the
facts alleged. Passion may have seemed to burn in my words: it has not
at least impaired my ability to record with precision a plain tale. The
"cold language" of Consular reports (which you say you would prefer) is
doubtless to be had upon inquiry in the proper quarter; I make bold to
say it will be found to bear me out. Of the law case for the
municipality I can speak with more assurance; for, since it was sent, I
have been shown a copy. Its language is admirably cold, yet it tells (it
is possible in a much better dialect) the same remarkable story. But all
these corroborations sleep in official keeping; and, thanks to the
generosity with which you have admitted me to your columns, I stand
alone before the public. It is my prayer that this may cease as soon as
possible. There is other evidence gone home; let that be produced. Or
let us have (as you propose) an inquiry; give to the Chief Justice and
the President an opportunity to clear their characters, and to myself
that liberty (which I am so often requested to take) of returning to my
private business.--I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
VI
TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES"
_Apia, September_ 14, 1892.
Sir,--The Peninsula of Mulinuu was claimed by the German firm; and in
case their claim should be found good, they had granted to the Samoan
Government an option to buy at a certain figure. Hereon stand the houses
of our officials, in particular that of the Chief Justice. It has long
been a problem here whether this gentleman paid any rent, and the
problem is now solved; the Chief Justice of Samoa was a squatter. On the
ground that the Government was about to purchase the peninsula, he
occupied a house; on the ground that the Germans were about to sell it,
he refused to pay them any rent. The firm seemed to have no remedy but
to summon the squatter before himself, and hear over again from the
official what they had heard already from the disastrous tenant. But
even in Samoa an ingenious man, inspired by annoyance, may find means of
self-protection. The house was no part of the land, nor included in the
option; the firm put it up for sale; and the Government, under pain of
seeing the Chief Justice houseless, was obliged to buy it.
In the meanwhile the German claim to Mulinuu was passed by the Land
Commission and sent on to the Chief Justice on the 17th of May. He ended
by confirming the report; but though his judgment bears date the 9th of
August, it was not made public till the 15th. So far as we are aware,
and certainly so far as Samoa has profited by his labours, his Honour
may be said to have had nothing else to do but to attend to this one
piece of business; he was being paid to do so at the rate of £100 a
month; and it took him ninety days, or about as long as it took Napoleon
to recapture and to lose again his empire. But better late than never;
and the Germans, rejoicing in the decision, summoned the Government to
complete the purchase or to waive their option. There was again a delay
in answering, for the policy of all parts of this extraordinary
Government is on one model; and when the answer came it was only to
announce a fresh deception. The German claim had passed the Land
Commission and the Supreme Court, it was good against objections, but it
appeared it was not yet good for registration, and must still be
resurveyed by a "Government surveyor." The option thus continues to
brood over the land of Mulinuu, the Government to squat there without
payment, and the German firm to stand helpless and dispossessed. What
can they do? Their adversary is their only judge. I hear it calculated
that the present state of matters may be yet spun out for months, at the
end of which period there must come at last a day of reckoning; and the
purchase-money will have to be found or the option to be waived and the
Government to flit elsewhere. As for the question of arrears of rent, it
will be in judicious hands, and his Honour may be trusted to deal with
it in a manner suitable to the previous history of the case.
But why (it will be asked) spin out by these excessive methods a thread
of such tenuity? Why go to such lengths for four months longer of
fallacious solvency? I expect not to be believed, but I think the
Government still hopes. A war-ship, under a hot-headed captain, might be
decoyed into hostilities; the taxes might begin to come in again; the
three Powers might become otherwise engaged and the little stage of
Samoa escape observation--indeed, I know not what they hope, but they
hope something. There lives on in their breasts a remainder coal of
ambition still unquenched. Or it is only so that I can explain a late
astonishing sally of his Honour's. In a long and elaborate judgment he
has pared the nails, and indeed removed the fingers, of his only rival,
the municipal magistrate. For eighteen months he has seen the lower
Court crowded with affairs, the while his own stood unfrequented like an
obsolete churchyard. He may have remarked with envy many hundred cases
passing through his rival's hands, cases of assault, cases of larceny,
ranging in the last four months from 2s. up to £1 12s.; or he may have
viewed with displeasure that despatch of business which was
characteristic of the magistrate, Mr. Cooper. An end, at least, has been
made of these abuses. Mr. Cooper is henceforth to draw his salary for
the _minimum_ of public service; and all larcenies and assaults, however
trivial, must go, according to the nationality of those concerned,
before the Consular or the Supreme Courts.
To this portentous judgment there are two sides--a practical and legal.
And first as to the practical. For every blow struck or shilling stolen
the parties must now march out to Mulinuu and place themselves at the
mercy of a Court, which if Hamlet had known, he would have referred with
more emotion to the law's delays. It is feared they will not do so, and
that crime will go on in consequence unpunished, and increase by
indulgence. But this is nothing. The Court of the municipal magistrate
was a convenient common-ground and clearing-house for our manifold
nationalities. It has now been, for all purpose of serious utility,
abolished, and the result is distraction. There was a recent trumpery
case, heard by Mr. Cooper amid shouts of mirth. It resolved itself (if I
remember rightly) into three charges of assault with counter-charges,
and three of abusive language with the same; and the parties represented
only two nationalities--a small allowance for Apia. Yet in our new
world, since the Chief Justice's decision, this vulgar shindy would have
split up into six several suits before three different Courts; the
charges must have been heard by one Judge, the counter-charges by
another; the whole nauseous evidence six times repeated, and the lawyers
six times fee'd.
Remains the legal argument. His Honour admits the municipality to be
invested "with such legislative powers as generally constitute a police
jurisdiction"; he does not deny the municipality is empowered to take
steps for the protection of the person, and it was argued this implied a
jurisdiction in cases of assault. But this argument (observes his
Honour) "proves too much, and consequently nothing. For like reasons the
municipal council should have power to provide for the punishment of all
felonies against the person, and I suppose the property as well." And,
filled with a just sense that a merely police jurisdiction should be
limited, he limits it with a vengeance by the exclusion of all assaults
and all larcenies. A pity he had not looked into the Berlin Act! He
would have found it already limited there by the same power which called
it into being--limited to fines not exceeding $200 and imprisonment not
extending beyond 180 days. Nay, and I think he might have even reasoned
from this discovery that he was himself somewhat in error. For, assaults
and larcenies being excluded, what kind of enormity is that which is to
be visited with a fine of £40 or an imprisonment of half a year? It is
perhaps childish to pursue further this childish controversialist. But
there is one passage, if he had dipped into the Berlin Act, that well
might have arrested his attention: that in which he is himself empowered
to deal with "crimes and offences,... subject, however, to the
provisions defining the jurisdiction of the municipal magistrate of
Apia."
I trust, sir, this is the last time I shall have to trouble you with
these twopenny concerns. But until some step is taken by the three
Powers, or until I have quite exhausted your indulgence, I shall
continue to report our scandals as they arise. Once more, one thing or
other: Either what I write is false, and I should be chastised as a
calumniator; or else it is true, and these officials are unfit for their
position.--I am, etc.,
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
_P.S._--The mail is already closed when I receive at last decisive
confirmation of the purchase of the _Samoa Times_ by the Samoan
Government. It has never been denied; it is now admitted. The paper
which they bought so recently, they are already trying to sell; and have
received and refused an offer of £150 for what they bought for upwards
of £600. Surely we may now demand the attention of the three Powers.
VII
TO THE EDITOR OF THE "PALL MALL GAZETTE"
I
_September_ 4, 1893.
In June it became clear that the King's Government was weary of waiting
upon Europe, as it had been clear long before that Europe would do
nothing. The last commentary on the Berlin Act was read. Malietoa
Laupepa had been put in _ex auctoritate_ by the Powers; the Powers would
not support him even by a show of strength, and there was nothing left
but to fall back on an "Election according to the Laws and Customs of
Samoa"--by arbitrament of rifle-bullets and blackened faces. Instantly
heaven was darkened by a brood of rumours, random calumnies, and idle
tales. As we rode, late at night, through the hamlet near my house, we
saw the fires lighted in the houses, and eager talkers discussing the
last report. The King was sick; he was dying; he was perfectly well; he
was seen riding furiously by night in the back parts of Apia, and
covering his face as he rode. Mataafa was in favour with the Germans; he
was to be made a German king; he was secure of the support of all Samoa;
he had no following whatsoever. The name of every chief and village
(with many that were new to the hearer) came up in turn, to be dubbed
Laupepa, or Mataafa, or both at the same time, or neither. Dr. George
Brown, the missionary, had just completed a tour of the islands. There
are few men in the world with a more mature knowledge of native
character, and I applied to him eagerly for an estimate of the relative
forces. "When the first shot is fired, and not before," said he, "you
will know who is who." The event has shown that he might have gone yet
further; for even after shots were fired and men slain, an important
province was still hesitating and trimming.
Mataafa lay in Malie. He had an armed picket at a ford some two miles
from Apia, where they sat in a prodigious state of vigilance and glee;
and his whole troop, although not above five hundred strong, appeared
animated with the most warlike spirit. For himself, he waited, as he had
waited for two years; wrote eloquent letters, the time to answer which
was quite gone by; and looked on while his enemies painfully collected
their forces. Doubtless to the last he was assured and deceived by vain
promises of help.
The process of gathering a royal army in Samoa is cumbrous and dilatory
in the extreme. There is here none of the expedition of the fiery cross
and the bale-fire; but every step is diplomatic. Each village, with a
great expense of eloquence, has to be wiled with promises and spurred
by threats, and the greater chieftains make stipulations ere they will
march. Tamasese, son to the late German puppet, and heir of his
ambitions, demanded the vice-kingship as the price of his accession,
though I am assured that he demanded it in vain. The various provinces
returned various and unsatisfactory answers. Atua was off and on;
Tuamasaga was divided; Tutuila recalcitrant; and for long the King sat
almost solitary under the windy palms of Mulinuu. It seemed indeed as if
the war was off, and the whole archipelago unanimous (in the native
phrase) to sit still and plant taro.
But at last, in the first days of July, Atua began to come in. Boats
arrived, thirty and fifty strong, a drum and a very ill-played bugle
giving time to the oarsmen, the whole crew uttering at intervals a
savage howl; and on the decked fore-sheets of the boat the village
champion, frantically capering and dancing. Parties were to be seen
encamped in palm-groves with their rifles stacked. The shops were
emptied of red handkerchiefs, the rallying sign, or (as a man might say)
the uniform of the Royal army. There was spirit shown; troops of
handsome lads marched in a right manly fashion, with their guns on their
shoulders, to the music of the drum and the bugle or the tin-whistle.
From a hamlet close to my own doors a contingent of six men marched out.
Their leader's kit contained one stick of tobacco, four boxes of
matches, and the inevitable red handkerchief; in his case it was of
silk, for he had come late to the purchasing, and the commoner materials
were exhausted. This childish band of braves marched one afternoon to a
neighbouring hill, and the same night returned to their houses, on the
ground that it was "uncomfortable" in the bush. An excellent old fellow,
who had had enough of war in many campaigns, took refuge in my service
from the conscription, but in vain. The village had decided no warrior
might hang back. One summoner arrived; and then followed some
negotiations--I have no authority to say what: enough that the
messenger departed and our friend remained. But, alas! a second envoy
followed and proved to be of sterner composition; and with a basket full
of food, kava, and tobacco, the reluctant hero proceeded to the wars. I
am sure they had few handsomer soldiers, if, perhaps, some that were
more willing. And he would have been better to be armed. His gun--but in
Mr. Kipling's pleasant catchword, that is another story.
War, to the Samoan of mature years, is often an unpleasant necessity. To
the young boy it is a heaven of immediate pleasures, as well as an
opportunity of ultimate glory. Women march with the troops--even the
Taupo-sa, or sacred maid of the village, accompanies her father in the
field to carry cartridges, and bring him water to drink,--and their
bright eyes are ready to "rain influence" and reward valour. To what
grim deeds this practice may conduct I shall have to say later on. In
the rally of their arms, it is at least wholly pretty; and I have one
pleasant picture of a war-party marching out; the men armed and
boastful, their heads bound with the red handkerchief, their faces
blacked--and two girls marching in their midst under European parasols.
On Saturday, July 8th, by the early morning, the troops began to file
westward from Apia, and about noon found found themselves face to face
with the lines of Mataafa in the German plantation of Vaitele. The
armies immediately fraternised; kava was made by the ladies, as who
should say tea, at home, and partaken of by the braves with many
truculent expressions. One chief on the King's side, revolted by the
extent of these familiarities, began to beat his followers with a staff.
But both parties were still intermingled between the lines, and the
chiefs on either side were conversing, and even embracing, at the
moment, when an accidental, or perhaps a treacherous, shot precipitated
the engagement. I cannot find there was any decisive difference in the
numbers actually under fire; but the Mataafas appear to have been ill
posted and ill led. Twice their flank was turned, their line enfiladed,
and themselves driven with the loss of about thirty, from two successive
cattle walls. A third wall afforded them a more effectual shelter, and
night closed on the field of battle without further advantage. All night
the Royal troops hailed volleys of bullets at this obstacle. With the
earliest light, a charge proved it to be quite deserted, and from
further down the coast smoke was seen rising from the houses of Malie.
Mataafa had precipitately fled, destroying behind him the village,
which, for two years, he had been raising and beautifying.
So much was accomplished: what was to follow? Mataafa took refuge in
Manono, and cast up forts. His enemies, far from following up this
advantage, held _fonos_ and made speeches and found fault. I believe the
majority of the King's army had marched in a state of continuous
indecision, and maintaining an attitude of impartiality more to be
admired in the cabinet of the philosopher than in the field of war. It
is certain at least that only one province has as yet fired a shot for
Malietoa Laupepa. The valour of the Tuamasaga was sufficient and
prevailed. But Atua was in the rear, and has as yet done nothing. As for
the men of Crana, so far from carrying out the plan agreed upon, and
blocking the men of Malie, on the morning of the 8th, they were
entertaining an embassy from Mataafa, and they suffered his fleet of
boats to escape without a shot through certain dangerous narrows of the
lagoon, and the chief himself to pass on foot and unmolested along the
whole foreshore of their province. No adequate excuse has been made for
this half-heartedness--or treachery. It was a piece of the whole which
was a specimen. There are too many strings in a Samoan intrigue for the
merely European mind to follow, and the desire to serve upon both sides,
and keep a door open for reconciliation, was manifest almost throughout.
A week passed in these divided counsels. Savaii had refused to receive
Mataafa--it is said they now hesitated to rise for the King, and
demanded instead a _fono_ (or council) of both sides. And it seemed at
least possible that the Royal army might proceed no further, and the
unstable alliance be dissolved.
On Sunday, the 16th, Her British Majesty's ship _Katoomba_, Captain
Bickford, C.M.G., arrived in Apia with fresh orders. Had she but come
ten days earlier the whole of this miserable business would have been
prevented, for the three Powers were determined to maintain Malietoa
Laupepa by arms, and had declared finally against Mataafa. Right or
wrong, it was at least a decision, and therefore welcome. It may not be
best--it was something. No honest friend to Samoa can pretend anything
but relief that the three Powers should at last break their vacillating
silence. It is of a piece with their whole policy in the islands that
they should have hung in stays for upwards of two years--of a piece with
their almost uniform ill-fortune that, eight days before their purpose
was declared, war should have marked the country with burned houses and
severed heads.
II
There is another side to the medal of Samoan warfare. So soon as an
advantage is obtained, a new and (to us) horrible animal appears upon
the scene--the Head Hunter. Again and again we have reasoned with our
boys against this bestial practice; but reason and (upon this one point)
even ridicule are vain. They admit it to be indefensible; they allege
its imperative necessity. One young man, who had seen his father take a
head in the late war, spoke of the scene with shuddering revolt, and yet
said he must go and do likewise himself in the war which was to come.
How else could a man prove he was brave? and had not every country its
own customs?
Accordingly, as occasion offered, these same pleasing children, who had
just been drinking kava with their opponents, fell incontinently on the
dead and dying, and secured their grisly trophies. It should be said,
in fairness, that the Mataafas had no opportunity to take heads, but
that their chief, taught by the lesson of Fangalii, had forbidden the
practice. It is doubtful if he would have been obeyed, and yet his power
over his people was so great that the German plantation, where they lay
some time, and were at last defeated, had not to complain of the theft
of a single cocoa-nut. Hateful as it must always be to mutilate and
murder the disabled, there were in this day's affray in Vaitele
circumstances yet more detestable. Fifteen heads were brought in all to
Mulinuu. They were carried with parade in front of the fine house which
our late President built for himself before he was removed. Here, on the
verandah, the King sat to receive them, and utter words of course and
compliment to each successful warrior. They were _spolia opima_ in the
number. Leaupepe, Mataafa's nephew--or, as Samoans say, his son--had
fallen by the first wall, and whether from those sentiments of kindred
and friendship that so often unite the combatants in civil strife, or to
mark by an unusual formality the importance of the conquest, not only
his head but his mutilated body also was brought in. From the mat in
which the corpse was enveloped a bloody hand protruded, and struck a
chill in white eye-witnesses. It were to attribute to [Malietoa] Laupepa
sentiments entirely foreign to his race and training, if we were to
suppose him otherwise than gratified.
But it was not so throughout. Every country has its customs, say native
apologists, and one of the most decisive customs of Samoa ensures the
immunity of women. They go to the front, as our women of yore went to a
tournament. Bullets are blind; and they must take their risk of bullets,
but of nothing else. They serve out cartridges and water; they jeer the
faltering and defend the wounded. Even in this skirmish of Vaitele they
distinguished themselves on either side. One dragged her skulking
husband from a hole, and drove him to the front. Another, seeing her
lover fall, snatched up his gun, kept the head-hunters at bay, and drew
him unmutilated from the field. Such services they have been accustomed
to pay for centuries; and often, in the course of centuries, a bullet or
a spear must have despatched one of these warlike angels. Often enough,
too, the head-hunter, springing ghoul-like on fallen bodies, must have
decapitated a woman for a man. But, the case arising, there was an
established etiquette. So soon as the error was discovered the head was
buried, and the exploit forgotten. There had never yet, in the history
of Samoa, occurred an instance in which a man had taken a woman's head
and kept it and laid it at his monarch's feet.
Such was the strange and horrid spectacle, which must have immediately
shaken the heart of Laupepa, and has since covered the faces of his
party with confusion. It is not quite certain if there were three, or
only two: a recent attempt to reduce the number to one must be received
with caution as an afterthought; the admissions in the beginning were
too explicit, the panic of shame and fear had been too sweeping. There
is scarce a woman of our native friends in Apia who can speak upon the
subject without terror; scarce any man without humiliation. And the
shock was increased out of measure by the fact that the head--or one of
the heads--was recognised; recognised for the niece of one of the
greatest of court ladies; recognised for a Taupo-sa, or sacred maid of a
village from Savaii. It seemed incredible that she--who had been chosen
for virtue and beauty, who went everywhere attended by the fairest
maidens, and watched over by vigilant duennas, whose part it was, in
holiday costume, to receive guests, to make kava, and to be the leader
of the revels, should become the victim of a brutal rally in a cow-park,
and have her face exposed for a trophy to the victorious king.
In all this muttering of aversion and alarm, no word has been openly
said. No punishment, no disgrace, has been inflicted on the
perpetrators of the outrage. King, Consuls, and mission appear to have
held their peace alike. I can understand a certain apathy in whites.
Head-hunting, they say, is a horrid practice: and will not stop to
investigate its finer shades. But the Samoan himself does not hesitate;
for him the act is portentous; and if it go unpunished, and set a
fashion, its consequences must be damnable. This is not a breach of a
Christian virtue, of something half-learned by rote, and from
foreigners, in the last thirty years. It is a flying in the face of
their own native, instinctive, and traditional standard: tenfold more
ominous and degrading. And, taking the matter for all in all, it seems
to me that head-hunting itself should be firmly and immediately
suppressed. "How else can a man prove himself to be brave?" my friend
asked. But often enough these are but fraudulent trophies. On the morrow
of the fight at Vaitele, an Atua man discovered a body lying in the
bush: he took the head. A day or two ago a party was allowed to visit
Manono. The King's troops on shore, observing them put off from the
rebel island, leaped to the conclusion that this must be the wounded
going to Apia, launched off at once two armed boats and overhauled the
others--after heads. The glory of such exploits is not apparent; their
power for degradation strikes the eyes. Lieutenant Ulfsparre, our late
Swedish Chief of Police and Commander of the forces, told his men that
if any of them took a head his own hand should avenge it. That was
talking; I should like to see all in the same story--king, consuls, and
missionaries--included.
III
The three Powers have at last taken hold here in Apia. But they came the
day after the fair; and the immediate business on hand is very delicate.
This morning, 18th, Captain Bickford, followed by two Germans, sailed
for Manono. If he shall succeed in persuading Mataafa to surrender, all
may be well. If he cannot, this long train of blunders may end in--what
is so often the result of blundering in the field of politics--a horrid
massacre. Those of us who remember the services of Mataafa, his
unfailing generosity and moderation in the past, and his bereavement in
the present--as well as those who are only interested in a mass of men
and women, many of them our familiar friends, now pent up on an island,
and beleaguered by three warships and a Samoan army--await the issue
with dreadful expectation.
VIII
TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES"
_Vailima, Apia, April_ 23, 1894.
Sir,--I last addressed you on the misconduct of certain officials here,
and I was so far happy as to have had my facts confirmed in every
particular with but one exception. That exception, the affair of the
dynamite, has been secretly smuggled away; you shall look in vain in
either Blue-book or White-book for any mention even of the charge; it is
gone like the conjurer's orange. I might have been tempted to inquire
into the reason of this conspiracy of silence, whether the idea was
conceived in the bosoms of the three Powers themselves, or whether in
the breasts of the three Consuls, because one of their number was
directly implicated. And I might have gone on to consider the moral
effect of such suppressions, and to show how very idle they were, and
how very undignified, in the face of a small and compact population,
where everybody sees and hears, where everybody knows, and talks, and
laughs. But only a personal question remained, which I judged of no
interest to the public. The essential was accomplished. Baron Senfft was
gone already. Mr. Cedercrantz still lingered among us in the character
(I may say) of a private citizen, his Court at last closed, only his
pocket open for the receipt of his salary, representing the dignity of
the Berlin Act by sitting in the wind on Mulinuu Point for several
consecutive months--a curious phantom or survival of a past age. The new
officials were not as yet, because they had not been created. And we
fell into our old estate of government by the three Consuls, as it was
in the beginning before the Berlin Act existed; as it seems it will be
till the end, after the Berlin Act has been swept away.
It was during the time of this triumvirate, and wholly at their
instigation and under their conduct, that Mataafa was defeated, driven
to Manono, and (three warships coming opportunely to hand) forced to
surrender. I have been called a partisan of this chief's, and I accept
the term. I thought him, on the whole, the most honest man in Samoa, not
excepting white officials. I ventured to think he had been hardly used
by the Treaty Powers; I venture to think so still. It was my opinion
that he should have been conjoined with Malietoa as Vice-King; and I
have seen no reason to change that opinion, except that the time for it
is past. Mataafa has played and lost; an exile, and stripped of his
titles, he walks the exiguous beach of Jaluit, sees the German flag over
his head, and yearns for the land wind of Upolu. In the politics of
Samoa he is no longer a factor; and it only remains to speak of the
manner in which his rebellion was suppressed and punished. Deportation
is, to the Samoan mind, the punishment next to death, and thirteen of
the chiefs engaged were deported with their leader. Twenty-seven others
were cast into the gaol. There they lie still; the Government makes
almost no attempt to feed them, and they must depend on the activity of
their families and the charity of pitying whites. In the meantime, these
very families are overloaded with fines, the exorbitant sum of more than
£6,600 having been laid on the chiefs and villages that took part with
Mataafa.
So far we can only complain that the punishments have been severe and
the prison commissariat absent. But we have, besides, to regret the
repeated scandals in connection with the conduct of the war, and we look
in vain for any sign of punishment. The Consuls had to employ barbarous
hands; we might expect outrages; we did expect them to be punished, or
at least disowned. Thus, certain Mataafa chiefs were landed, and landed
from a British man-of-war, to be shamefully abused, beaten, and struck
with whips along the main street of Mulinuu. There was no punishment,
there was even no inquiry; the three Consuls winked. Only one man was
found honest and bold enough to open his mouth, and that was my old
enemy, Mr. Cedercrantz. Walking in Mulinuu, in his character of
disinterested spectator, gracefully desipient, he came across the throng
of these rabblers and their victims. He had forgotten that he was an
official, he remembered that he was a man. It was his last public
appearance in Samoa to interfere; it was certainly his best. Again, the
Government troops in the field took the heads of girls, a detestable
felony even in Samoan eyes. They carried them in procession to Mulinuu,
and made of them an oblation to that melancholy effigy the King, who
(sore against his will) sat on the verandah of the Government building,
publicly to receive this affront, publicly to utter the words of
compliment and thanks which constitute the highest reward known to
Samoan bravery, and crowned as heroes those who should have been hanged
like dogs. And again the three Consuls unanimously winked. There was no
punishment, there was even no inquiry.
Lastly, there is the story of Manono. Three hours were given to Mataafa
to accept the terms of the ultimatum, and the time had almost elapsed
when his boats put forth, and more than elapsed before he came alongside
the _Katoomba_ and surrendered formally to Captain Bickford. In the dusk
of the evening, when all the ships had sailed, flames were observed to
rise from the island. Mataafa flung himself on his knees before Captain
Bickford, and implored protection for his women and children left
behind, and the captain put back the ship and despatched one of the
Consuls to inquire. The _Katoomba_ had been about seventy hours in the
islands. Captain Bickford was a stranger; he had to rely on the Consuls
implicitly. At the same time, he knew that the Government troops had
been suffered to land for the purpose of restoring order, and with the
understanding that no reprisals should be committed on the adherents of
Mataafa; and he charged the emissary with his emphatic disapproval,
threats of punishment on the offenders, and reminders that the war had
now passed under the responsibility of the three Powers. I cannot
condescend on what this Consul saw during his visit; I can only say what
he reported on his return. He reported all well, and the chiefs on the
Government side fraternising and making _ava_ with those on Mataafa's.
It may have been; at least it is strange. The burning of the island
proceeded, fruit-trees were cut down, women stripped naked; a scene of
brutal disorder reigned all night, and left behind it, over a quarter of
the island, ruin. If they fraternised with Mataafa's chieftains they
must have been singularly inconsistent, for, the next we learn of the
two parties, they were beating, spitting upon, and insulting them along
the highway. The next morning in Apia I asked the same Consul if there
had not been some houses burned. He told me no. I repeated the question,
alleging the evidence of officers on board the _Katoomba_ who had seen
the flames increase and multiply as they steamed away; whereupon he had
this remarkable reply--"O! huts, huts, huts! There isn't a house, a
frame house, on the island." The case to plain men stands thus:--The
people of Manono were insulted, their food-trees cut down, themselves
left houseless; not more than ten houses--I beg the Consul's pardon,
huts--escaped the rancour of their enemies; and to this day they may be
seen to dwell in shanties on the site of their former residences, the
pride of the Samoan heart. The ejaculation of the Consul was thus at
least prophetic; and the traveller who revisits to-day the shores of
the "Garden Island" may well exclaim in his turn, "Huts, huts, huts!"
The same measure was served out, in the mere wantonness of clan hatred,
to Apolima, a nearly inaccessible islet in the straits of the same name;
almost the only property saved there (it is amusing to remember) being a
framed portrait of Lady Jersey, which its custodian escaped with into
the bush, as it were the palladium and chief treasure of the
inhabitants. The solemn promise passed by Consuls and captains in the
name of the three Powers was thus broken; the troops employed were
allowed their bellyful of barbarous outrage. And again there was no
punishment, there was no inquiry, there was no protest, there was not a
word said to disown the act or disengage the honour of the three Powers.
I do not say the Consuls desired to be disobeyed, though the case looks
black against one gentleman, and even he is perhaps only to be accused
of levity and divided interest; it was doubtless important for him to be
early in Apia, where he combines with his diplomatic functions the
management of a thriving business as commission agent and auctioneer. I
do say of all of them that they took a very nonchalant view of their
duty.
I told myself that this was the government of the Consular Triumvirate.
When the new officials came it would cease; it would pass away like a
dream in the night; and the solid _Pax Romana_, of the Berlin General
Act would succeed. After all, what was there to complain of? The Consuls
had shown themselves no slovens and no sentimentalists. They had shown
themselves not very particular, but in one sense very thorough.
Rebellion was to be put down swiftly and rigorously, if need were with
the hand of Cromwell; at least it was to be put down. And in these
unruly islands I was prepared almost to welcome the face of
Rhadamanthine severity.
And now it appears it was all a mistake. The government by the Berlin
General Act is no more than a mask, and a very expensive one, for
government by the Consular Triumvirate. Samoa pays (or tries to pay)
£2,200 a year to a couple of helpers; and they dare not call their souls
their own. They take their walks abroad with an anxious eye on the three
Consuls, like two well-behaved children with three nurses; and the
Consuls, smiling superior, allow them to amuse themselves with the
routine of business. But let trouble come, and the farce is suspended.
At the whistle of a squall these heaven-born mariners seize the tiller,
and the £2,200 amateurs are knocked sprawling on the bilge. At the first
beat of the drum, the treaty officials are sent below, gently
protesting, like a pair of old ladies, and behold! the indomitable
Consuls ready to clear the wreck and make the deadly cutlass shine. And
their method, studied under the light of a new example, wears another
air. They are not so Rhadamanthine as we thought. Something that we can
only call a dignified panic presides over their deliberations. They have
one idea to lighten the ship. "Overboard with the ballast, the
main-mast, and the chronometer!" is the cry. In the last war they got
rid (first) of the honour of their respective countries, and (second) of
all idea that Samoa was to be governed in a manner consistent with
civilisation, or Government troops punished for any conceivable
misconduct. In the present war they have sacrificed (first) the prestige
of the new Chief Justice, and (second) the very principle for which they
had contended so vigorously and so successfully in the war before--that
rebellion was a thing to be punished.
About the end of last year, that war, a war of the Tupuas under Tamasese
the younger, which was a necessary pendant to the crushing of Mataafa,
began to make itself heard of in obscure grumblings. It was but a timid
business. One half of the Tupua party, the whole province of Atua, never
joined the rebellion, but sulked in their villages and spent the time in
indecisive eloquence and barren embassies. Tamasese, by a trick
eminently Samoan, "went in the high bush and the mountains," carrying a
gun like a private soldier--served, in fact, with his own troops
_incognito_--and thus, to Samoan eyes, waived his dynastic pretensions.
And the war, which was announced in the beginning with a long catalogue
of complaints against the King and a distinct and ugly threat to the
white population of Apia, degenerated into a war of defence by the
province of Aána against the eminently brutal troops of Savaii, in which
sympathy was generally and justly with the rebels. Savaii, raging with
private clan hatred and the lust of destruction, was put at free
quarters in the disaffected province, repeated on a wider scale the
outrages of Manono and Apolima, cut down the food-trees, stripped and
insulted the women, robbed the children of their little possessions,
burned the houses, killed the horses, the pigs, the dogs, the cats,
along one half of the seaboard of Aána, and in the prosecution of these
manly exploits managed (to the joy of all) to lose some sixty men
killed, wounded, and drowned.
Government by the Treaty of Berlin was still erect when, one fine
morning, in walked the three Consuls, totally uninvited, with a
proclamation prepared and signed by themselves, without any mention of
anybody else. They had awoke to a sense of the danger of the situation
and their own indispensable merits. The two children knew their day was
over; the nurses had come for them. Who can blame them for their
timidity? The Consuls have the ears of the Governments; they are the
authors of those despatches of which, in the ripeness of time,
Blue-books and White-books are made up; they had dismissed (with some
little assistance from yourself) MM. Cedercrantz and Senfft von Pilsach,
and they had strangled, like an illegitimate child, the scandal of the
dynamite. The Chief Justice and the President made haste to disappear
between decks, and left the ship of the State to the three volunteers.
There was no lack of activity. The Consuls went up to Atua, they went
down to Aána; the oarsmen toiled, the talking men pleaded; they are said
to have met with threats in Atua, and to have yielded to them--at
least, in but a few days' time they came home to us with a new treaty
of pacification. Of course, and as before, the Government troops were
whitewashed; the Savaii ruffians had been stripping women and killing
cats in the interests of the Berlin Treaty; there was to be no
punishment and no inquiry; let them retire to Savaii with their booty
and their dead. Offensive as this cannot fail to be, there is still some
slight excuse for it. The King is no more than one out of several chiefs
of clans. His strength resides in the willing obedience of the
Tuamasaga, and a portion--I have to hope a bad portion--of the island of
Savaii. To punish any of these supporters must always be to accept a
risk; and the golden opportunity had been allowed to slip at the moment
of the Mataafa war.
What was more original was the treatment of the rebels. They were under
arms that moment against the Government; they had fought and sometimes
vanquished; they had taken heads and carried them to Tamasese. And the
terms granted were to surrender fifty rifles, to make some twenty miles
of road, to pay some old fines--and to be forgiven! The loss of fifty
rifles to people destitute of any shadow of a gunsmith to repair them
when they are broken, and already notoriously short of ammunition, is a
trifle; the number is easy to be made up of those that are out of
commission; for there is not the least stipulation as to their value;
any synthesis of old iron and smashed wood that can be called a gun is
to be taken from its force. The road, as likely as not, will never be
made. The fines have nothing to say to this war; in any reasonably
governed country they should never have figured in the treaty; they had
been inflicted before, and were due before. Before the rebellion began,
the beach had rung with I know not what indiscreet bluster; the natives
were to be read a lesson; Tamasese (by name) was to be hanged; and after
what had been done to Mataafa, I was so innocent as to listen with awe.
And now the rebellion has come, and this was the punishment! There might
well have been a doubt in the mind of any chief who should have been
tempted to follow the example of Mataafa; but who is it that would not
dare to follow Tamasese?
For some reason--I know not what, unless it be fear--there is a strong
prejudice amongst whites against any interference with the bestial
practice of head-hunting. They say it would be impossible to identify
the criminals--a thing notoriously contrary to fact. A man does not take
a head, as he steals an apple, for secret degustation; the essence of
the thing is its publicity. After the girls' heads were brought into
Mulinuu I pressed Mr. Cusack-Smith to take some action. He proposed a
paper of protest, to be signed by the English residents. We made rival
drafts; his was preferred, and I have heard no more of it. It has not
been offered me to sign; it has not been published; under a paper-weight
in the British Consulate I suppose it may yet be found! Meanwhile, his
Honour Mr. Ide, the new Chief Justice, came to Samoa and took spirited
action. He engineered an ordinance through the House of Faipule,
inflicting serious penalties on any who took heads, and the papers at
the time applauded his success. The rebellion followed, the troops were
passing to the front, and with excellent resolution Mr. Ide harangued
the chiefs, reiterated the terms of the new law, and promised unfailing
vengeance on offenders. It was boldly done, and he stood committed
beyond possibility of retreat to enforce this his first important edict.
Great was the commotion, great the division, in the Samoan mind. "O! we
have had Chief Justices before," said a visitor to my house; "we know
what they are; I will take a head if I can get one." Others were more
doubtful, but thought none could be so bold as lay a hand on the
peculiar institution of these islands. Yet others were convinced. Savaii
took heads; but when they sent one to Mulinuu a messenger met them by
the convent gates from the King; he would none of it, and the trophy
must be ingloriously buried, Savaii took heads also, and Tamasese
accepted the presentation. Tuamasaga, on the other hand, obeyed the
Chief Justice and (the occasion being thrust upon them) contented
themselves with taking the dead man's ears. On the whole, about
one-third of the troops engaged, and our not very firm Monarch himself,
kept the letter of the ordinance. And it was upon this scene of partial,
but really cheering, success that the Consuls returned with their
general pardon! The Chief Justice was not six months old in the islands.
He had succeeded to a position complicated by the failure of his
predecessor. Personally, speaking face to face with the chiefs, he had
put his authority in pledge that the ordinance should be enforced. And
he found himself either forgotten or betrayed by the three Consuls.
These volunteers had made a liar of him; they had administered to him,
before all Samoa, a triple buffet. I must not wonder, though I may still
deplore, that Mr. Ide accepted the position thus made for him. There was
a deal of alarm in Apia. To refuse the treaty thus hastily and
shamefully cobbled up would have increased it tenfold. Already, since
the declaration of war and the imminence of the results, one of the
papers had ratted, and the white population were girding at the new
ordinance. It was feared besides that the native Government, though they
had voted, were secretly opposed to it. It was almost certain they would
try to prevent its application to the loyalist offenders of Savaii. The
three Consuls in the negotiations of the treaty had fully illustrated
both their want of sympathy with the ordinance and their want of regard
for the position of the Chief Justice. "In short, I am to look for no
support, whether physical or moral?" asked Mr. Ide; and I could make but
the one answer--"Neither physical nor moral." It was a hard choice; and
he elected to accept the terms of the treaty without protest. And the
next war (if we are to continue to enjoy the benefits of the Berlin Act)
will probably show us the result in an enlarged assortment of heads, and
the next difficulty perhaps prove to us the diminished prestige of the
Chief Justice. Mr. Ide announces his intention of applying the law in
the case of another war; but I very much fear the golden opportunity has
again been lost. About one-third of the troops believed him this time;
how many will believe him the next?
It will doubtless be answered that the Consuls were affected by the
alarm in Apia and actuated by the desire to save white lives. I am far
from denying that there may be danger; and I believe that the way we are
going is the best way to bring it on. In the progressive decivilisation
of these islands--evidenced by the female heads taken in the last war
and the treatment of white missionaries in this--our methods of pull
devil, pull baker, general indecision, and frequent (though always
dignified) panic are the best calculated in the world to bring on a
massacre of whites. A consistent dignity, a consistent and independent
figure of a Chief Justice, the enforcement of the laws, and above all,
of the laws against barbarity, a Consular board the same in the presence
as in the absence of warships, will be found our best defence.
Much as I have already occupied of your space, I would yet ask leave to
draw two conclusions.
And first, Mataafa and Tamasese both made war. Both wars were presumably
dynastic in character, though the Tupua not rallying to Tamasese as he
had expected led him to cover his design. That he carried a gun himself,
and himself fired, will not seem to European ears a very important
alleviation. Tamasese received heads, sitting as a King, under whatever
name; Mataafa had forbidden the taking of heads--of his own accord, and
before Mr. Ide had taken office. Tamasese began with threats against the
white population; Mataafa never ceased to reassure them and to extend an
effectual protection to their property. What is the difference between
their cases? That Mataafa was an old man, already famous, who had served
his country well, had been appointed King of Samoa, had served in the
office, and had been set aside--not, indeed, in the text, but in the
protocols of the Berlin Act, by name? I do not grudge his good fortune
to Tamasese, who is an amiable, spirited, and handsome young man; and
who made a barbarous war, indeed, since heads were taken after the old
Samoan practice, but who made it without any of the savagery which we
have had reason to comment upon in the camp of his adversaries. I do not
grudge the invidious fate that has befallen my old friend and his
followers. At first I believed these judgments to be the expression of a
severe but equal justice. I find them, on further experience, to be mere
measures of the degree of panic in the Consuls, varying directly as the
distance of the nearest war-ship. The judgments under which they fell
have now no sanctity; they form no longer a precedent; they may
perfectly well be followed by a pardon, or a partial pardon, as the
authorities shall please. The crime of Mataafa is to have read strictly
the first article of the Berlin Act, and not to have read at all (as how
should he when it has never been translated?) the insidious protocol
which contains its significance; the crime of his followers is to have
practised clan fidelity, and to have in consequence raised an _imperium
in imperio_, and fought against the Government. Their punishment is to
be sent to a coral atoll and detained there prisoners. It does not sound
much; it is a great deal. Taken from a mountain island, they must
inhabit a narrow strip of reef sunk to the gunwale in the ocean. Sand,
stone, and cocoa-nuts, stone, sand, and pandanus, make the scenery.
There is no grass. Here these men, used to the cool, bright mountain
rivers of Samoa, must drink with loathing the brackish water of the
coral. The food upon such islands is distressing even to the omnivorous
white. To the Samoan, who has that shivering delicacy and ready disgust
of the child or the rustic mountaineer, it is intolerable. I remember
what our present King looked like, what a phantom he was, when he
returned from captivity in the same place. Lastly, these fourteen have
been divorced from their families. The daughter of Mataafa somehow broke
the _consigne_ and accompanied her father; but she only. To this day
one of them, Palepa, the wife of Faamuina, is dunning the authorities in
vain to be allowed to join her husband--she a young and handsome woman,
he an old man and infirm. I cannot speak with certainty, but I believe
they are allowed no communication with the prisoners, nor the prisoners
with them. My own open experience is brief and conclusive--I have not
been suffered to send my friends one stick of tobacco or one pound of
_ava_. So much to show the hardships are genuine. I have to ask a pardon
for these unhappy victims of untranslated protocols and inconsistent
justice. After the case of Tamasese, I ask it almost as of right. As for
the other twenty-seven in the gaol, let the doors be opened at once.
They have showed their patience, they have proved their loyalty long
enough. On two occasions, when the guards deserted in a body, and again
when the Aána prisoners fled, they remained--one may truly
say--voluntary prisoners. And at least let them be fed! I have paid
taxes to the Samoan Government for some four years, and the most
sensible benefit I have received in return has been to be allowed to
feed their prisoners.
Second, if the farce of the Berlin Act is to be gone on with, it will be
really necessary to moderate among our five Sovereigns--six if we are to
count poor Malietoa, who represents to the life the character of the
Hare and Many Friends. It is to be presumed that Mr. Ide and Herr
Schmidt were chosen for their qualities; it is little good we are likely
to get by them if, at every wind of rumour, the three Consuls are to
intervene. The three Consuls are paid far smaller salaries, they have no
right under the treaty to interfere with the government of autonomous
Samoa, and they have contrived to make themselves all In all. The King
and a majority of the Faipule fear them and look to them alone, while
the legitimate adviser occupies a second place, if that. The misconduct
of MM. Cedercrantz and Senfft von Pilsach was so extreme that the
Consuls were obliged to encroach; and now when these are gone the
authority acquired in the contest remains with the encroachers. On their
side they have no rights, but a tradition of victory, the ear of the
Governments at home, and the _vis viva_ of the war-ships. For the poor
treaty officials, what have they but rights very obscurely expressed and
very weakly defended by their predecessors? Thus it comes about that
people who are scarcely mentioned in the text of the treaty are, to all
intents and purposes, our only rulers.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
IX
TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES"
_Vailima, Samoa, May_ 22, 1894.
Sir,--I told you in my last that the Consuls had tinkered up a treaty of
peace with the rebels of Aána. A month has gone by, and I would not
weary readers your with a story so intricate and purposeless. The
Consuls seem to have gone backward and forward, to and fro. To periods
of agitated activity, comparable to that of three ants about a broken
nest, there succeeded seasons in which they rested from their labours
and ruefully considered the result. I believe I am not overstating the
case when I say that this treaty was at least twice rehandled, and the
date of submission changed, in the interval. And yesterday at length we
beheld the first-fruits of the Consular diplomacy. A boat came in from
Aána bearing the promised fifty stand of arms--in other words, a talking
man, a young chief, and some boatmen in charge of a boat-load of broken
ironmongery. The Government (well advised for once) had placed the
Embassy under an escort of German blue-jackets, or I think it must have
gone ill with the Ambassadors.
So much for Aána and the treaty. With Atua, the other disaffected
province, we have been and are on the brink of war. The woods have been
patrolled, the army sent to the front, blood has been shed. It consists
with my knowledge that the loyalist troops marched against the enemy
under a hallucination. One and all believed, a majority of them still
believe, that the war-ships were to follow and assist them. Who told
them so? If I am to credit the rumours of the natives, as well as the
gossip of official circles, a promise had been given to this effect by
the Consuls, or at least by one of the Consuls. And when I say that a
promise had been given, I mean that it had been sold. I mean that the
natives had to buy it by submissions.
Let me take an example of these submissions. The native Government
increased the salary of Mr. Gurr, the natives' advocate. It was not a
largesse; it was rather an act of tardy justice, by which Mr. Gurr
received at last the same emoluments as his predecessor in the office.
At the same time, with a bankrupt treasury, all fresh expenses are and
must be regarded askance. The President, acting under a so-called
Treasury regulation, refused to honour the King's order. And a friendly
suit was brought, which turned on the validity of this Treasury
regulation. This was more than doubtful. The President was a treaty
official; hence bound by the treaty. The three Consuls had been acting
for him in his absence, using his powers and no other powers whatever
under the treaty; and the three Consuls so acting had framed a
regulation by which the powers of the President were greatly extended.
This was a vicious circle with a vengeance. But the Consuls, with the
ordinary partiality of parents for reformed offspring, regarded the
regulation as the apple of their eye. They made themselves busy in its
defence, they held interviews, it is reported they drew pleas; and it
seemed to all that the Chief Justice hesitated. It is certain at least
that he long delayed sentence. And during this delay the Consuls showed
their power. The native Government was repeatedly called together, and
at last forced to rescind the order in favour of Mr. Gurr. It was not
done voluntarily, for the Government resisted. It was not done by
conviction, for the Government had taken the first opportunity to
restore it. If the Consuls did not appear personally in the affair--and
I do not know that they did not--they made use of the President as a
mouthpiece; and the President delayed the deliberations of the
Government until he should receive further instructions from the
Consuls. Ten pounds is doubtless a considerable affair to a bankrupt
Government. But what were the Consuls doing in this matter of inland
administration? What was their right to interfere? What were the
arguments with which they overcame the resistance of the Government? I
am either very much misinformed, or these gentlemen were trafficking in
a merchandise which they did not possess, and selling at a high price
the assistance of the war-ships over which (as now appears) they have no
control.
Remark the irony of fate. This affair had no sooner been settled, Mr.
Gurr's claims cut at the very root, and the Treasury regulation
apparently set beyond cavil, than the Chief Justice pulled himself
together, and, taking his life in his right hand, delivered sentence in
the case. Great was the surprise. Because the Chief Justice had balked
so long, it was supposed he would never have taken the leap. And here,
upon a sudden, he came down with a decision flat against the Consuls and
their Treasury regulation. The Government have, I understand, restored
Mr. Gurr's salary in consequence. The Chief Justice, after giving us all
a very severe fright, has reinstated himself in public opinion by this
tardy boldness; and the Consuls find their conduct judicially condemned.
It was on a personal affront that the Consuls turned on Mr. Cedercrantz.
Here is another affront, far more galling and public! I suppose it is
but a coincidence that I should find at the same time the clouds
beginning to gather about Mr. Ide's head. In a telegram, dated from
Auckland, March 30, and copyrighted by the Associated Press, I find the
whole blame of the late troubles set down to his account. It is the work
of a person worthy of no trust. In one of his charges, and in one only,
he is right. The Chief Justice fined and imprisoned certain chiefs of
Aána under circumstances far from clear; the act was, to say the least
of it, susceptible of misconstruction, and by natives will always be
thought of as an act of treachery. But, even for this, it is not
possible for me to split the blame justly between Mr. Ide and the three
Consuls. In these early days, as now, the three Consuls were always too
eager to interfere where they had no business, and the Chief Justice was
always too patient or too timid to set them in their place. For the rest
of the telegram no qualification is needed. "The Chief Justice was
compelled to take steps to disarm the natives." He took no such steps;
he never spoke of disarmament except publicly and officially to disown
the idea; it was during the days of the Consular triumvirate that the
cry began. "The Chief Justice called upon Malietoa to send a strong
force," etc.; the Chief Justice "disregarded the menacing attitude
assumed by the Samoans," etc.--these are but the delusions of a fever.
The Chief Justice has played no such part; he never called for forces;
he never disregarded menacing attitudes, not even those of the Consuls.
What we have to complain of in Mr. Ide and Mr. Schmidt is strangely
different. We complain that they have been here since November, and the
three Consuls are still allowed, when they are not invited, to interfere
in the least and the greatest; that they have been here for upwards of
six months, and government under the Berlin Treaty is still
overridden--and I may say overlaid--by the government of the Consular
triumvirate.
This is the main fountain of our present discontents. This it is that we
pray to be relieved from. Out of six Sovereigns, exercising incongruous
rights or usurpations on this unhappy island, we pray to be relieved of
three. The Berlin Treaty was not our choice; but if we are to have it at
all, let us have it plain. Let us have the text, and nothing but the
text. Let the three Consuls who have no position under the treaty cease
from troubling, cease from raising war and making peace, from passing
illegal regulations in the face of day, and from secretly blackmailing
the Samoan Government into renunciations of its independence.
Afterwards, when we have once seen it in operation, we shall be able to
judge whether government under the Berlin Treaty suits or does not suit
our case.--I am, Sir, etc.,
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
X
FROM THE "DAILY CHRONICLE," _March_ 18, 1895.
[Subjoined is the full text of the late Robert Louis Stevenson's last
letter to Mr. J. F. Hogan, M.P. Apart from its pathetic interest as
one of the final compositions of the distinguished novelist, its
eloquent terms of pleading for his exiled friend Mataafa, and the
light it sheds on Samoan affairs, make it a very noteworthy and
instructive document.--ED. _D.C._]
_Vailima, Oct._ 7, 1894.
J. F. HOGAN, ESQ., M.P.
Dear Sir,--My attention was attracted the other day by the thoroughly
pertinent questions which you put in the House of Commons, and which the
Government failed to answer. It put an idea in my head that you were
perhaps the man who might take up a task which I am almost ready to give
up. Mataafa is now known to be my hobby. People laugh when they see any
mention of his name over my signature, and the _Times_, while it still
grants me hospitality, begins to lead the chorus. I know that nothing
can be more fatal to Mataafa's cause than that he should be made
ridiculous, and I cannot help feeling that a man who makes his bread by
writing fiction labours under the disadvantage of suspicion when he
touches on matters of fact. If I were even backed up before the world by
one other voice, people might continue to listen, and in the end
something might be done. But so long as I stand quite alone, telling the
same story, which becomes, apparently, not only more tedious, but less
credible by repetition, I feel that I am doing nothing good, possibly
even some evil.
Now, sir, you have shown by your questions in the House, not only that
you remember Mataafa, but that you are instructed in his case, and this
exposes you to the trouble of reading this letter.
Mataafa was made the prisoner of the three Powers. He had been guilty of
rebellion; but surely rather formally than really. He was the appointed
King of Samoa. The treaty set him aside, and he obeyed the three Powers.
His successor--or I should rather say his successor's advisers and
surroundings--fell out with him. He was disgusted by the spectacle of
their misgovernment. In this humour he fell to the study of the Berlin
Act, and was misled by the famous passage, "His successor shall be duly
elected according to the laws and customs of Samoa." It is to be noted
that what I will venture to call the infamous Protocol--a measure
equally of German vanity, English cowardice, and American _incuria_--had
not been and _has never yet been_ translated into the Samoan language.
They feared light because their works were darkness. For what he did
during what I can only call his candidature, I must refer you to the
last chapter of my book. It was rebellion to the three Powers; to him it
was not rebellion. The troops of the King attacked him first. The sudden
arrival and sudden action of Captain Bickford concluded the affair in
the very beginning. Mataafa surrendered. He surrendered to Captain
Bickford. He was brought back to Apia on Captain Bickford's ship. I
shall never forget the Captain pointing to the British ensign and
saying, "Tell them they are safe under that." And the next thing we
learned, Mataafa and his chiefs were transferred to a German war-ship
and carried to the Marshalls.
Who was responsible for this? Who is responsible now for the care and
good treatment of these political prisoners? I am far from hinting that
the Germans actually maltreat him. I know even that many of the Germans
regard him with respect. But I can only speak of what I know here. It is
impossible to send him or any of his chiefs either a present or a
letter. I believe the mission (Catholic) has been allowed some form of
communication. On the same occasion I sent down letters and presents.
They were refused; and the officer of the deck on the German war-ship
had so little reticence as to pass the remark, "O, you see, you like
Mataafa; we don't." In short, communication is so completely sundered
that for anything we can hear in Samoa, they may all have been hanged at
the yard-arm two days out.
To take another instance. The high chief Faamoina was recently married
to a young and pleasing wife. She desired to follow her husband, an old
man, in bad health, and so deservedly popular that he had been given the
by-name of "_Papalagi Mativa_," or "Poor White Man," on account of his
charities to our countrymen. She was refused. Again and again she has
renewed her applications to be allowed to rejoin him, and without the
least success.
It has been decreed by some one, I know not whom, that Faamoina must
have no one to nurse him, and that his wife must be left in the
anomalous and dangerous position which the Treaty Powers have made for
her. I have wearied myself, and I fear others, by my attempts to get a
passage for her or to have her letters sent. Every one sympathises. The
German ships now in port are loud in expressions of disapproval and
professions of readiness to help her. But to whom can we address
ourselves? Who is responsible? Who is the unknown power that sent
Mataafa in a German ship to the Marshalls, instead of in an English ship
to Fiji? that has decreed since that he shall receive not even
inconsiderable gifts and open letters? and that keeps separated Faamoina
and his wife?
Now, dear sir, these are the facts, and I think that I may be excused
for being angry. At the same time, I am well aware that an angry man is
a bore. I am a man with a grievance, and my grievance has the misfortune
to be very small and very far away. It is very small, for it is only the
case of under a score of brown-skinned men who have been dealt with in
the dark by I know not whom. And I want to know. I want to know by whose
authority Mataafa was given over into German hands. I want to know by
whose authority, and for how long a term of years, he is condemned to
the miserable exile of a low island. And I want to know how it happens
that what is sauce for the goose is not sauce for the gander in
Samoa?--that the German enemy Mataafa has been indefinitely exiled for
what is after all scarce more than constructive rebellion, and the
German friend Tamasese, for a rebellion which has lasted long enough to
threaten us with famine, and was disgraced in its beginning by ominous
threats against the whites, has been punished by a fine of fifty rifles?
True, I could sympathise with the German officers in their
embarrassment. Here was the son of the old King whom they had raised,
and whom they had deserted. What an unenviable office was theirs when
they must make war upon, suppress, and make a feint of punishing, this
man to whom they stood bound by a hereditary alliance, and to whose
father they had already failed so egregiously! They were loyal all
round. They were loyal to their Tamasese, and got him off with his fine.
And shall I not be a little loyal to Mataafa? And will you not help me?
He is now an old man, very piously inclined, and I believe he would
enter at least the lesser orders of the Church if he were suffered to
come back. But I do not even ask so much as this, though I hope it. It
would be enough if he were brought back to Fiji, back to the food and
fresh water of his childhood, back into the daylight from the darkness
of the Marshalls, where some of us could see him, where we could write
to him and receive answers, where he might pass a tolerable old age. If
you can help me to get this done, I am sure that you will never regret
it. In its small way, this is another case of Toussaint L'Ouverture, not
so monstrous if you like, not on so large a scale, but with
circumstances of small perfidy that make it almost as odious.
I may tell you in conclusion that, circumstances co-operating with my
tedious insistence, the last of the Mataafa chiefs here in Apia has been
liberated from gaol. All this time they stayed of their own free will,
thinking it might injure Mataafa if they escaped when others did. And
you will see by the enclosed paper how these poor fellows spent the
first hours of their liberty.[12] You will see also that I am not the
firebrand that I am sometimes painted, and that in helping me, if you
shall decide to do so, you will be doing nothing against the peace and
prosperity of Samoa.
With many excuses for having occupied so much of your valuable time, I
remain, yours truly,
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
_P.S._--On revisal, I observe some points: in the first place, I do not
believe Captain Bickford was to blame; I suspect him to have been a
victim. I have been told, but it seems incredible, that he underwent an
examination about Mataafa's daughter having been allowed to accompany
him. Certainly he liked his job little, and some of his colleagues less.
R. L. S.
_Oct._ 9.
Latest intelligence. We have received at last a letter from Mataafa. He
is well treated and has good food; only complains of not hearing from
Samoa. This has very much relieved our minds. But why were they
previously left in the dark?
R. L. S.
FOOTNOTE:
[12] _i.e._ in building a section of a new road to Mr. Stevenson's
house. The paper referred to is a copy of the _Samoa Times_,
containing a report of the dinner given by Mr. Stevenson at Vailima
to inaugurate this new road.
LETTERS TO YOUNG PEOPLE
I
TO MISS B...
_Vailima Plantation [Spring_, 1892].
Dear Friend,[13]--Please salute your pupils in my name, and tell them
that a long, lean, elderly man who lives right through on the underside
of the world, so that down in your cellar you are nearer him than the
people in the street, desires his compliments.
This man lives on an island which is not very long and is extremely
narrow. The sea beats round it very hard, so that it is difficult to get
to shore. There is only one harbour where ships come, and even that is
very wild and dangerous; four ships of war were broken there a little
while ago, and one of them is still lying on its side on a rock clean
above water, where the sea threw it as you might throw your fiddle-bow
upon the table. All round the harbour the town is strung out: it is
nothing but wooden houses, only there are some churches built of stone.
They are not very large, but the people have never seen such fine
buildings. Almost all the houses are of one story. Away at one end of
the village lives the king of the whole country. His palace has a
thatched roof which rests upon posts; there are no walls, but when it
blows and rains, they have Venetian blinds which they let down between
the posts, making all very snug. There is no furniture, and the king and
the queen and the courtiers sit and eat on the floor, which is of
gravel: the lamp stands there too, and every now and then it is upset.
These good folk wear nothing but a kilt about their waists, unless to go
to church or for a dance on the New Year or some great occasion. The
children play marbles all along the street; and though they are
generally very jolly, yet they get awfully cross over their marbles, and
cry and fight just as boys and girls do at home. Another amusement in
country places is to shoot fish with a little bow and arrow. All round
the beach there is bright shallow water, where the fishes can be seen
darting or lying in shoals. The child trots round the shore, and
whenever he sees a fish, lets fly an arrow, and misses, and then wades
in after his arrow. It is great fun (I have tried it) for the child, and
I never heard of it doing any harm to the fishes, so what could be more
jolly?
The road to this lean man's house is uphill all the way, and through
forests; the trees are not so much unlike those at home, only here and
there some very queer ones are mixed with them--cocoa-nut palms, and
great trees that are covered with bloom like red hawthorn but not near
so bright; and from them all thick creepers hang down like ropes, and
ugly-looking weeds that they call orchids grow in the forks of the
branches; and on the ground many prickly things are dotted, which they
call pine-apples. I suppose every one has eaten pine-apple drops.
On the way up to the lean man's house you pass a little village, all of
houses like the king's house, so that as you ride by you can see
everybody sitting at dinner, or, if it is night, lying in their beds by
lamplight; because all the people are terribly afraid of ghosts, and
would not lie in the dark for anything. After the village, there is only
one more house, and that is the lean man's. For the people are not very
many, and live all by the sea, and the whole inside of the island is
desert woods and mountains. When the lean man goes into the forest, he
is very much ashamed to own it, but he is always in a terrible fright.
The wood is so great, and empty, and hot, and it is always filled with
curious noises: birds cry like children, and bark like dogs; and he can
hear people laughing and felling trees; and the other day (when he was
far in the woods) he heard a sound like the biggest mill-wheel possible,
going with a kind of dot-and-carry-one movement like a dance. That was
the noise of an earthquake away down below him in the bowels of the
earth; and that is the same thing as to say away up toward you in your
cellar in Kilburn. All these noises make him feel lonely and scared, and
he doesn't quite know what he is scared of. Once when he was just about
to cross a river, a blow struck him on the top of his head, and knocked
him head-foremost down the bank and splash into the water. It was a nut,
I fancy, that had fallen from a tree, by which accident people are
sometimes killed. But at the time he thought it was a Black Boy.
"Aha," say you, "and what is a Black Boy?" Well, there are here a lot of
poor people who are brought to Samoa from distant islands to labour for
the Germans. They are not at all like the king and his people, who are
brown and very pretty: for these are black as negroes and as ugly as
sin, poor souls, and in their own land they live all the time at war,
and cook and eat men's flesh. The Germans make them work; and every now
and then some run away into the Bush, as the forest is called, and build
little sheds of leaves, and eat nuts and roots and fruits, and dwell
there by themselves. Sometimes they are bad, and wild, and people
whisper to each other that some of them have gone back to their horrid
old habits, and catch men and women in order to eat them. But it is very
likely not true; and the most of them are poor, half-starved, pitiful
creatures, like frightened dogs. Their life is all very well when the
sun shines, as it does eight or nine months in the year. But it is very
different the rest of the time. The wind rages then most violently. The
great trees thrash about like whips; the air is filled with leaves and
branches flying like birds; and the sound of the trees falling shakes
the earth. It rains, too, as it never rains at home. You can hear a
shower while it is yet half a mile away, hissing like a shower-bath in
the forest; and when it comes to you, the water blinds your eyes, and
the cold drenching takes your breath away as though some one had struck
you. In that kind of weather it must be dreadful indeed to live in the
woods, one man alone by himself. And you must know that if the lean man
feels afraid to be in the forest, the people of the island and the Black
Boys are much more afraid than he; for they believe the woods to be
quite filled with spirits; some like pigs, and some like flying things;
but others (and these are thought the most dangerous) in the shape of
beautiful young women and young men, beautifully dressed in the island
manner with fine kilts and fine necklaces, and crosses of scarlet seeds
and flowers. Woe betide him or her who gets to speak with one of these!
They will be charmed out of their wits, and come home again quite silly,
and go mad and die. So that the poor runaway Black Boy must be always
trembling, and looking about for the coming of the demons.
Sometimes the women-demons go down out of the woods into the villages;
and here is a tale the lean man heard last year: One of the islanders
was sitting in his house, and he had cooked fish. There came along the
road two beautiful young women, dressed as I told you, who came into his
house, and asked for some of his fish. It is the fashion in the islands
always to give what is asked, and never to ask folks' names. So the man
gave them fish, and talked to them in the island jesting way. Presently
he asked one of the women for her red necklace; which is good manners
and their way: he had given the fish, and he had a right to ask for
something back. "I will give it you by and by," said the woman, and she
and her companion went away; but he thought they were gone very
suddenly, and the truth is they had vanished. The night was nearly come,
when the man heard the voice of the woman crying that he should come to
her, and she would give the necklace. He looked out, and behold! she was
standing calling him from the top of the sea, on which she stood as you
might stand on the table. At that, fear came on the man; he fell on his
knees and prayed, and the woman disappeared.
It was said afterward that this was once a woman, indeed, but she should
have died a thousand years ago, and has lived all that while as an evil
spirit in the woods beside the spring of a river. Sau-mai-afe[14] is her
name, in case you want to write to her.
Ever your friend (for whom I thank the stars),
TUSITALA (Tale-writer).
II
TO MISS B...
_Vailima Plantation, 14 Aug._ 1892.
... The lean man is exceedingly ashamed of himself, and offers his
apologies to the little girls in the cellar just above. If they will be
so good as to knock three times upon the floor, he will hear it on the
other side of his floor, and will understand that he is forgiven.
I left you and the children still on the road to the lean man's house,
where a great part of the forest has now been cleared away. It comes
back again pretty quick, though not quite so high; but everywhere,
except where the weeders have been kept busy, young trees have sprouted
up, and the cattle and the horses cannot be seen as they feed. In this
clearing there are two or three houses scattered about, and between the
two biggest I think the little girls in the cellar would first notice a
sort of thing like a gridiron on legs, made of logs of wood. Sometimes
it has a flag flying on it, made of rags of old clothes. It is a fort
(as I am told) built by the person here who would be much the most
interesting to the girls in the cellar. This is a young gentleman of
eleven years of age, answering to the name of Austin. It was after
reading a book about the Red Indians that he thought it more prudent to
create this place of strength. As the Red Indians are in North America,
and this fort seems to me a very useless kind of building, I anxiously
hope that the two may never be brought together. When Austin is not
engaged in building forts, nor on his lessons, which are just as
annoying to him as other children's lessons are to them, he walks
sometimes in the Bush, and if anybody is with him, talks all the time.
When he is alone I don't think he says anything, and I dare say he feels
very lonely and frightened, just as the Samoan does, at the queer noises
and the endless lines of the trees.
He finds the strangest kinds of seeds, some of them bright-coloured like
lollipops, or really like precious stones; some of them in odd cases
like tobacco-pouches. He finds and collects all kinds of little shells,
with which the whole ground is scattered, and that, though they are the
shells of land creatures like our snails, are of nearly as many shapes
and colours as the shells on our sea-beaches. In the streams that come
running down out of our mountains, all as clear and bright as
mirror-glass, he sees eels and little bright fish that sometimes jump
together out of the surface of the brook in a spray of silver, and
fresh-water prawns which lie close under the stones, looking up at him
through the water with eyes the colour of a jewel. He sees all kinds of
beautiful birds, some of them blue and white, and some of them coloured
like our pigeons at home; and these last, the little girls in the cellar
may like to know, live almost entirely on wild nutmegs as they fall ripe
off the trees. Another little bird he may sometimes see, as the lean man
saw him only this morning: a little fellow not so big as a man's hand,
exquisitely neat, of a pretty bronzy black like ladies' shoes, who
sticks up behind him (much as a peacock does) his little tail, shaped
and fluted like a scallop-shell.
Here there are a lot of curious and interesting things that Austin sees
all round him every day; and when I was a child at home in the old
country I used to play and pretend to myself that I saw things of the
same kind--that the rooms were full of orange and nutmeg trees, and the
cold town gardens outside the windows were alive with parrots and with
lions. What do the little girls in the cellar think that Austin does? He
makes believe just the other way; he pretends that the strange great
trees with their broad leaves and slab-sided roots are European oaks;
and the places on the road up (where you and I and the little girls in
the cellar have already gone) he calls old-fashioned, far-away European
names, just as if you were to call the cellar-stairs and the corner of
the next street--if you could only manage to pronounce their
names--Upolu and Savaii. And so it is with all of us, with Austin, and
the lean man, and the little girls in the cellar; wherever we are, it is
but a stage on the way to somewhere else, and whatever we do, however
well we do it, it is only a preparation to do something else that shall
be different.
But you must not suppose that Austin does nothing but build forts, and
walk among the woods, and swim in the rivers. On the contrary, he is
sometimes a very busy and useful fellow; and I think the little girls in
the cellar would have admired him very nearly as much as he admired
himself, if they had seen him setting off on horseback, with his hand on
his hip, and his pocket full of letters and orders, at the head of quite
a procession of huge white cart-horses with pack-saddles, and big, brown
native men with nothing on but gaudy kilts. Mighty well he managed all
his commissions; and those who saw him ordering and eating his
single-handed luncheon in the queer little Chinese restaurant on the
beach, declare he looked as if the place, and the town, and the whole
archipelago belonged to him.
But I am not going to let you suppose that this great gentleman at the
head of all his horses and his men, like the king of France in the old
rhyme, would be thought much of a dandy on the streets of London. On the
contrary, if he could be seen with his dirty white cap and his faded
purple shirt, and his little brown breeks that do not reach his knees,
and the bare shanks below, and the bare feet stuck in the
stirrup-leathers--for he is not quite long enough to reach the irons--I
am afraid the little girls and boys in your part of the town might be
very much inclined to give him a penny in charity. So you see that a
very big man in one place might seem very small potatoes in another,
just as the king's palace here (of which I told you in my last) would be
thought rather a poor place of residence by a Surrey gipsy. And if you
come to that, even the lean man himself, who is no end of an important
person, if he were picked up from the chair where he is now sitting, and
slung down, feet foremost, in the neighbourhood of Charing Cross, would
probably have to escape into the nearest shop, or take the risk of being
mobbed. And the ladies of his family, who are very pretty ladies, and
think themselves uncommon well-dressed for Samoa, would (if the same
thing were to be done to them) be extremely glad to get into a cab....
TUSITALA.
III
UNDER COVER TO MISS B...
_Vailima, 4th Sept. 1892._
Dear Children in the Cellar,--I told you before something of the Black
Boys who come here to work on the plantations, and some of whom run away
and live a wild life in the forests of the island.[15] Now I want to
tell you of one who lived in the house of the lean man. Like the rest of
them here, he is a little fellow, and when he goes about in old battered
cheap European clothes, looks very small and shabby. When first he came
he was as lean as a tobacco-pipe, and his smile (like that of almost all
the others) was the sort that half makes you wish to smile yourself, and
half wish to cry. However, the boys in the kitchen took him in hand and
fed him up. They would set him down alone to table, and wait upon him
till he had his fill, which was a good long time to wait. The first
thing we noticed was that his little stomach began to stick out like a
pigeon's breast; and then the food got a little wider spread, and he
started little calves to his legs; and last of all, he began to get
quite saucy and impudent. He is really what you ought to call a young
man, though I suppose nobody in the whole wide world has any idea of his
age; and as far as his behaviour goes, you can only think of him as a
big little child with a good deal of sense.
When Austin built his fort against the Indians, Arick (for that is the
Black Boy's name) liked nothing so much as to help him. And this is very
funny, when you think that of all the dangerous savages in this island
Arick is one of the most dangerous. The other day, besides, he made
Austin a musical instrument of the sort they use in his own country--a
harp with only one string. He took a stick about three feet long and
perhaps four inches round. The under side he hollowed out in a deep
trench to serve as sounding-box; the two ends of the upper side he made
to curve upward like the ends of a canoe, and between these he stretched
the single string. He plays upon it with a match or a little piece of
stick, and sings to it songs of his own country, of which no person here
can understand a single word, and which are, very likely, all about
fighting with his enemies in battle, and killing them, and, I am sorry
to say, cooking them in a ground-oven, and eating them for supper when
the fight is over.
For Arick is really what you call a savage, though a savage is a very
different sort of a person, and very much nicer than he is made to
appear in little books. He is the kind of person that everybody smiles
to, or makes faces at, or gives a smack as he goes by; the sort of
person that all the girls on the plantation give the best seat to and
help first, and love to decorate with flowers and ribbons, and yet all
the while are laughing at him; the sort of person who likes best to play
with Austin, and whom Austin, perhaps (when he is allowed), likes best
to play with. He is all grins and giggles and little steps out of
dances, and little droll ways to attract people's attention and set them
laughing. And yet, when you come to look at him closely, you will find
that his body is all covered with _scars_! This happened when he was a
child. There was war, as is the way in these wild islands, between his
village and the next, much as if there were war in London between one
street and another; and all the children ran about playing in the middle
of the trouble, and, I dare say, took no more notice of the war than you
children in London do of a general election. But sometimes, at general
elections, English children may get run over by processions in the
street; and it chanced that as little Arick was running about in the
Bush, and very busy about his playing, he ran into the midst of the
warriors on the other side. These speared him with a poisoned spear; and
his own people, when they had found him, in order to cure him of the
poison scored him with knives that were probably made of fish-bone.
This is a very savage piece of child-life; and Arick, for all his good
nature, is still a very savage person. I have told you how the Black
Boys sometimes run away from the plantations, and live alone in the
forest, building little sheds to protect them from the rain, and
sometimes planting little gardens for food; but for the most part living
the best they can upon the nuts of the trees and the yams that they dig
with their hands out of the earth. I do not think there can be anywhere
in the world people more wretched than these runaways. They cannot
return, for they would only return to be punished; they can never hope
to see again their own people--indeed, I do not know what they can hope,
but just to find enough yams every day to keep them from starvation. And
in the wet season of the year, which is our summer and your winter, when
the rain falls day after day far harder and louder than the loudest
thunder-plump that ever fell in England, and the room is so dark that
the lean man is sometimes glad to light his lamp to write by, I can
think of nothing so dreary as the state of these poor runaways in the
houseless bush. You are to remember, besides, that the people of the
island hate and fear them because they are cannibals; sit and tell
tales of them about their lamps at night in their own comfortable
houses, and are sometimes afraid to lie down to sleep if they think
there is a lurking Black Boy in the neighbourhood. Well, now, Arick is
of their own race and language, only he is a little more lucky because
he has not run away; and how do you think that he proposed to help them?
He asked if he might not have a gun. "What do you want with a gun,
Arick?" was asked. He answered quite simply, and with his nice,
good-natured smile, that if he had a gun he would go up into the High
Bush and shoot Black Boys as men shoot pigeons. He said nothing about
eating them, nor do I think he really meant to; I think all he wanted
was to clear the plantation of vermin, as gamekeepers at home kill
weasels or rats.
The other day he was sent on an errand to the German company where many
of the Black Boys live. It was very late when he came home. He had a
white bandage round his head, his eyes shone, and he could scarcely
speak for excitement. It seems some of the Black Boys who were his
enemies at home had attacked him, one with a knife. By his own account,
he had fought very well; but the odds were heavy. The man with the knife
had cut him both in the head and back; he had been struck down; and if
some Black Boys of his own side had not come to the rescue, he must
certainly have been killed. I am sure no Christmas-box could make any of
you children so happy as this fight made Arick. A great part of the next
day he neglected his work to play upon the one-stringed harp and sing
songs about his great victory. To-day, when he is gone upon his holiday,
he has announced that he is going back to the German firm to have
another battle and another triumph. I do not think he will go, all the
same, or I should be uneasy; for I do not want to have my Arick killed;
and there is no doubt that if he begins this fight again, he will be
likely to go on with it very far. For I have seen him once when he saw,
or thought he saw, an enemy.
It was one of those dreadful days of rain, the sound of it like a great
waterfall, or like a tempest of wind blowing in the forest; and there
came to our door two runaway Black Boys seeking refuge. In such weather
as that my enemy's dog (as Shakespeare says) should have had a right to
shelter. But when Arick saw the two poor rogues coming with their empty
stomachs and drenched clothes, one of them with a stolen cutlass in his
hand, through that world of falling water, he had no thought of any pity
in his heart. Crouching behind one of the pillars of the verandah, to
which he clung with his two hands, his mouth drew back into a strange
sort of smile, his eyes grew bigger and bigger, and his whole face was
just like the one word MURDER in big capitals.
But I have told you a great deal too much about poor Arick's savage
nature, and now I must tell you of a great amusement he had the other
day. There came an English ship of war into the harbour, and the
officers good-naturedly gave an entertainment of songs and dances and a
magic lantern, to which Arick and Austin were allowed to go. At the door
of the hall there were crowds of Black Boys waiting and trying to peep
in, as children at home lie about and peep under the tent of a circus;
and you may be sure Arick was a very proud person when he passed them
all by, and entered the hall with his ticket.
I wish I knew what he thought of the whole performance; but a friend of
the lean man, who sat just in front of Arick, tells me what seemed to
startle him most. The first thing was when two of the officers came out
with blackened faces, like minstrels, and began to dance. Arick was sure
that they were really black, and his own people, and he was wonderfully
surprised to see them dance in this new European style.
But the great affair was the magic lantern. The hall was made quite
dark, which was very little to Arick's taste. He sat there behind my
friend, nothing to be seen of him but eyes and teeth, and his heart was
beating finely in his little scarred breast. And presently there came
out of the white sheet that great big eye of light that I am sure all
you children must have often seen. It was quite new to Arick; he had no
idea what would happen next, and in his fear and excitement he laid hold
with his little slim black fingers like a bird's claw on the neck of the
friend in front of him. All through the rest of the show, as one picture
followed another on the white sheet, he sat there grasping and
clutching, and goodness knows whether he were more pleased or
frightened.
Doubtless it was a very fine thing to see all those bright pictures
coming out and dying away again, one after another; but doubtless it was
rather alarming also, for how was it done? At last when there appeared
upon the screen the head of a black woman (as it might be his own mother
or sister), and this black woman of a sudden began to roll her eyes, the
fear or the excitement, whichever it was, rung out of him a loud,
shuddering sob. I think we all ought to admire his courage when, after
an evening spent in looking at such wonderful miracles, he and Austin
set out alone through the forest to the lean man's house. It was late at
night and pitch dark when some of the party overtook the little white
boy and the big black boy, marching among the trees with their lantern.
I have told you this wood has an ill name, and all the people of the
island believe it to be full of evil spirits; it is a pretty dreadful
place to walk in by the moving light of a lantern, with nothing about
you but a curious whirl of shadows, and the black night above and
beyond. But Arick kept his courage up, and I dare say Austin's too, with
a perpetual chatter, so that the people coming after heard his voice
long before they saw the shining of the lantern.
TUSITALA.
IV
TO AUSTIN STRONG
_Vailima, November_ 2, 1892.
My dear Austin,--First and foremost I think you will be sorry to hear
that our poor friend Arick has gone back to the German firm. He had not
been working very well, and we had talked of sending him off before; but
remembering how thin he was when he came here, and seeing what fat
little legs and what a comfortable little stomach he had laid on in the
meanwhile, we found we had not the heart. The other day, however, he set
up chat to Henry, the Samoan overseer, asking him who he was and where
he came from, and refusing to obey his orders. I was in bed in the
workmen's house, having a fever. Uncle Lloyd came over to me, told me of
it, and I had Arick sent up. I told him I would give him another chance.
He was taken out and asked to apologise to Henry, but he would do no
such thing. He preferred to go back to the German firm. So we hired a
couple of Samoans who were up here on a visit to the boys and packed him
off in their charge to the firm, where he arrived safely, and a receipt
was given for him like a parcel.[16]
Sunday last the _Alameda_ returned. Your mother was off bright and early
with Palema, for it is a very curious thing, but is certainly the case,
that she was very impatient to get news of a young person by the name
of Austin. Mr. Gurr lent a horse for the Captain--it was a pretty big
horse, but our handsome Captain, as you know, is a very big Captain
indeed. Now, do you remember Misifolo--a tall, thin Hovea boy that came
shortly before you left? He had been riding up this same horse of Gurr's
just the day before, and the horse threw him off at Motootua corner, and
cut his hip. So Misifolo called out to the Captain as he rode by that
that was a very bad horse, that it ran away and threw people off, and
that he had best be careful; and the funny thing is, that the Captain
did not like it at all. The foal might as well have tried to run away
with Vailima as that horse with Captain Morse, which is poetry, as you
see, into the bargain; but the Captain was not at all in that way of
thinking, and was never really happy until he had got his foot on ground
again. It was just then that the horse began to be happy too, so they
parted in one mind. But the horse is still wondering what kind of piece
of artillery he had brought up to Vailima last Sunday morning. So far it
was all right. The Captain was got safe off the wicked horse, but how
was he to get back again to Apia and the _Alameda_?
Happy thought--there was Donald, the big pack-horse! The last time
Donald was ridden he had upon him a hair-pin and a pea--by which I
mean--(once again to drop into poetry) you and me. Now he was to have a
rider more suited to his size. He was brought up to the door--he looked
a mountain. A step-ladder was put alongside of him. The Captain
approached the step-ladder, and he looked an Alp. I wasn't as much
afraid for the horse as I was for the step-ladder, but it bore the
strain, and with a kind of sickening smash that you might have heard at
Monterey, the Captain descended to the saddle. Now don't think that I am
exaggerating, but at the moment when that enormous Captain settled down
upon Donald, the horse's hind-legs gave visibly under the strain. What
the couple looked like, one on top of t'other, no words can tell you,
and your mother must here draw a picture.
--Your respected Uncle,
O TUSITALA.
V
TO AUSTIN STRONG
_Vailima, November_ 15, 1892.
My dear Austin,--The new house is begun. It stands out nearly half way
over towards Pineapple Cottage--the lower floor is laid and the uprights
of the wall are set up; so that the big lower room wants nothing but a
roof over its head. When it rains (as it does mostly all the time) you
never saw anything look so sorry for itself as that room left outside.
Beyond the house there is a work-shed roofed with sheets of iron, and in
front, over about half the lawn, the lumber for the house lies piled. It
is about the bringing up of this lumber that I want to tell you.
For about a fortnight there were at work upon the job two German
overseers, about a hundred Black Boys, and from twelve to twenty-four
draught-oxen. It rained about half the time, and the road was like
lather for shaving. The Black Boys seemed to have had a new rig-out.
They had almost all shirts of scarlet flannel, and lavalavas, the Samoan
kilt, either of scarlet or light blue. As the day got warm they took off
the shirts; and it was a very curious thing, as you went down to Apia on
a bright day, to come upon one tree after another in the empty forest
with these shirts stuck among the branches like vermilion birds.
I observed that many of the boys had a very queer substitute for a
pocket. This was nothing more than a string which some of them tied
about their upper arms and some about their necks, and in which they
stuck their clay pipes; and as I don't suppose they had anything else to
carry, it did very well. Some had feathers in their hair, and some long
stalks of grass through the holes in their noses. I suppose this was
intended to make them look pretty, poor dears; but you know what a Black
Boy looks like, and these Black Boys, for all their blue, and their
scarlet, and their grass, looked just as shabby, and small, and sad, and
sorry for themselves, and like sick monkeys as any of the rest.
As you went down the road you came upon them first working in squads of
two. Each squad shouldered a couple of planks and carried them up about
two hundred feet, gave them to two others, and walked back empty-handed
to the places they had started from. It wasn't very hard work, and they
didn't go about it at all lively; but of course, when it rained, and the
mud was deep, the poor fellows were unhappy enough. This was in the
upper part about Trood's. Below, all the way down to Tanugamanono, you
met the bullock-carts coming and going, each with ten or twenty men to
attend upon it, and often enough with one of the overseers near. Quite a
far way off through the forest you could hear the noise of one of these
carts approaching. The road was like a bog, and though a good deal wider
than it was when you knew it, so narrow that the bullocks reached quite
across it with the span of their big horns. To pass by, it was necessary
to get into the bush on one side or the other. The bullocks seemed to
take no interest in their business; they looked angry and stupid, and
sullen beyond belief; and when it came to a heavy bit of the road, as
often as not they would stop.
As long as they were going, the Black Boys walked in the margin of the
bush on each side, pushing the cart-wheels with hands and shoulders, and
raising the most extraordinary outcry. It was strangely like some very
big kind of bird. Perhaps the great flying creatures that lived upon the
earth long before man came, if we could have come near one of their
meeting-places, would have given us just such a concert.
When one of the bullamacows[17] stopped altogether the fun was highest.
The bullamacow stood on the road, his head fixed fast in the yoke,
chewing a little, breathing very hard, and showing in his red eye that
if he could get rid of the yoke he would show them what a circus was.
All the Black Boys tailed on to the wheels and the back of the cart,
stood there getting their spirits up, and then of a sudden set to
shooing and singing out. It was these outbursts of shrill cries that it
was so curious to hear in the distance. One such stuck cart I came up to
and asked what was the worry. "Old fool bullamacow stop same place," was
the reply. I never saw any of the overseers near any of the stuck carts;
you were a very much better overseer than either of these.
While this was going on, I had to go down to Apia five or six different
times, and each time there were a hundred Black Boys to say
"Good-morning" to. This was rather a tedious business; and, as very few
of them answered at all, and those who did, only with a grunt like a
pig's, it was several times in my mind to give up this piece of
politeness. The last time I went down, I was almost decided; but when I
came to the first pair of Black Boys, and saw them looking so comic and
so melancholy, I began the business over again. This time I thought more
of them seemed to answer, and when I got down to the tail-end where the
carts were running, I received a very pleasant surprise, for one of the
boys, who was pushing at the back of a cart, lifted up his head, and
called out to me in wonderfully good English, "You good man--always say
'Good-morning.'" It was sad to think that these poor creatures should
think so much of so small a piece of civility, and strange that
(thinking so) they should be so dull as not to return it.
UNCLE LOUIS.
VI
TO AUSTIN STRONG
_June_ 18, 1893.
Respected Hopkins,[18]--This is to inform you that the Jersey cow had an
elegant little cow-calf Sunday last. There was a great deal of
rejoicing, of course; but I don't know whether or not you remember the
Jersey cow. Whatever else she is, the Jersey cow is _not_ good-natured,
and Dines, who was up here on some other business, went down to the
paddock to get a hood and to milk her. The hood is a little wooden board
with two holes in it, by which it is hung from her horns. I don't know
how he got it on, and I don't believe _he_ does. Anyway, in the middle
of the operation, in came Bull Bazett, with his head down, and roaring
like the last trumpet. Dines and all his merry men hid behind trees in
the paddock, and skipped. Dines then got upon a horse, plied his spurs,
and cleared for Apia. The next time he is asked to meddle with our cows,
he will probably want to know the reason why. Meanwhile, there was the
cow, with the board over her eyes, left tied by a pretty long rope to a
small tree in the paddock, and who was to milk her? She roared,--I was
going to say like a bull, but it was Bazett who did that, walking up
and down, switching his tail, and the noise of the pair of them was
perfectly dreadful.
Palema went up to the Bush to call Lloyd; and Lloyd came down in one of
his know-all-about-it moods. "It was perfectly simple," he said. "The
cow was hooded; anybody could milk her. All you had to do was to draw
her up to the tree, and get a hitch about it." So he untied the cow, and
drew her up close to the tree, and got a hitch about it right enough.
And then the cow brought her intellect to bear on the subject, and
proceeded to walk round the tree to get the hitch off.
[Illustration]
Now, this is geometry, which you'll have to learn some day. The tree is
the centre of two circles. The cow had a "radius" of about two feet, and
went leisurely round a small circle; the man had a "radius" of about
thirty feet, and either he must let the cow get the hitch unwound, or
else he must take up his two feet to about the height of his eyes, and
race round a big circle. This was racing and chasing.
The cow walked quietly round and round the tree to unwind herself; and
first Lloyd, and then Palema, and then Lloyd again, scampered round the
big circle, and fell, and got up again, and bounded like a deer, to keep
her hitched.
It was funny to see, but we couldn't laugh with a good heart; for every
now and then (when the man who was running tumbled down) the cow would
get a bit ahead; and I promise you there was then no sound of any
laughter, but we rather edged away toward the gate, looking to see the
crazy beast loose, and charging us. To add to her attractions, the board
had fallen partly off, and only covered one eye, giving her the look of
a crazy old woman in a Sydney slum. Meanwhile, the calf stood looking
on, a little perplexed, and seemed to be saying: "Well, now, is this
life? It doesn't seem as if it was all it was cracked up to be. And this
is my mamma? What a very impulsive lady!"
All the time, from the lower paddock, we could hear Bazett roaring like
the deep seas, and if we cast our eye that way, we could see him
switching his tail, as a very angry gentleman may sometimes switch his
cane. And the Jersey would every now and then put up her head, and low
like the pu[19] for dinner. And take it for all in all, it was a very
striking scene. Poor Uncle Lloyd had plenty of time to regret having
been in such a hurry; so had poor Palema, who was let into the business,
and ran until he was nearly dead. Afterward Palema went and sat on a
gate, where your mother sketched him, and she is going to send you the
sketch. And the end of it? Well, we got her tied again, I really don't
know how; and came stringing back to the house with our tails between
our legs. That night at dinner, the Tamaitai[20] bid us tell the boys to
be very careful "not to frighten the cow." It was too much; the cow had
frightened us in such fine style that we all broke down and laughed like
mad.
General Hoskyns, there is no further news, your Excellency, that I am
aware of. But it may interest you to know that Mr. Christian held his
twenty-fifth birthday yesterday--a quarter of a living century old;
think of it, drink of it, innocent youth!--and asked down Lloyd and
Daplyn to a feast at one o'clock, and Daplyn went at seven, and got
nothing to eat at all. Whether they had anything to drink, I know
not--no, not I; but it's to be hoped so. Also, your uncle Lloyd has
stopped smoking, and he doesn't like it much. Also, that your mother is
most beautifully gotten up to-day, in a pink gown with a topaz stone in
front of it; and is really looking like an angel, only that she isn't
like an angel at all--only like your mother herself.
Also that the Tamaitai has been waxing the floor of the big room, so
that it shines in the most ravishing manner; and then we insisted on
coming in, and she wouldn't let us, and we came anyway, and have made
the vilest mess of it--but still it shines.
Also, that I am, your Excellency's obedient servant,
UNCLE LOUIS.
VII
TO AUSTIN STRONG
My Dear Hutchinson,--This is not going to be much of a letter, so don't
expect what can't be had. Uncle Lloyd and Palema made a malanga[21] to
go over the island to Siumu, and Talolo was anxious to go also; but how
could we get along without him? Well, Misifolo, the Maypole, set off on
Saturday, and walked all that day down the island to beyond Faleasiu
with a letter for Iopu; and Iopu and Tali and Misifolo rose very early
on the Sunday morning, and walked all that day up the island, and came
by seven at night--all pretty tired, and Misifolo most of all--to
Tanugamanono.[22] We at Vailima knew nothing at all about the marchings
of the Saturday and Sunday, but Uncle Lloyd got his boys and things
together and went to bed.
A little after five in the morning I awoke and took the lantern, and
went out of the front door and round the verandahs. There was never a
spark of dawn in the east, only the stars looked a little pale; and I
expected to find them all asleep in the workhouse. But no! the stove was
roaring, and Talolo and Fono, who was to lead the party, were standing
together talking by the stove, and one of Fono's young men was lying
asleep on the sofa in the smoking-room, wrapped in his lavalava. I had
my breakfast at half-past five that morning, and the bell rang before
six, when it was just the grey of dawn. But by seven the feast was
spread--there was lopu coming up, with Tali at his heels, and Misifolo
bringing up the rear--and Talolo could go the malanga.
Off they set, with two guns and three porters, and Fono and Lloyd and
Palema and Talolo himself with best Sunday-go-to-meeting lavalava rolled
up under his arm, and a very sore foot; but much he cared--he was
smiling from ear to ear, and would have gone to Siumu over red-hot
coals. Off they set round the corner of the cook-house, and into the
bush beside the chicken-house, and so good-bye to them.
But you should see how Iopu has taken possession! "Never saw a place in
such a state!" is written on his face. "In my time," says he, "we didn't
let things go ragging along like this, and I'm going to show you
fellows." The first thing he did was to apply for a bar of soap, and
then he set to work washing everything (that had all been washed last
Friday in the regular course). Then he had the grass cut all round the
cook-house, and I tell you but he found scraps, and odds and ends, and
grew more angry and indignant at each fresh discovery.
"If a white chief came up here and smelt this, how would you feel?" he
asked your mother. "It is enough to breed a sickness!"
And I dare say you remember this was just what your mother had often
said to himself; and did say the day she went out and cried on the
kitchen steps in order to make Talolo ashamed. But Iopu gave it all out
as little new discoveries of his own. The last thing was the cows, and I
tell you he was solemn about the cows. They were all destroyed, he said,
nobody knew how to milk except himself--where he is about right. Then
came dinner and a delightful little surprise. Perhaps you remember that
long ago I used not to eat mashed potatoes, but had always two or three
boiled in a plate. This has not been done for months, because Talolo
makes such admirable mashed potatoes that I have caved in. But here came
dinner, mashed potatoes for your mother and the Tamaitai, and then
boiled potatoes in a plate for me!
And there is the end of the Tale of the return of Iopu, up to date. What
more there may be is in the lap of the gods, and, Sir, I am yours
considerably,
UNCLE LOUIS.
VIII
TO AUSTIN STRONG
My Dear Hoskyns,--I am kept away in a cupboard because everybody has the
influenza; I never see anybody at all, and never do anything whatever
except to put ink on paper up here in my room. So what can I find to
write to you?--you, who are going to school, and getting up in the
morning to go bathing, and having (it seems to me) rather a fine time of
it in general?
You ask if we have seen Arick? Yes, your mother saw him at the head of a
gang of boys, and looking fat, and sleek, and well-to-do. I have an idea
that he misbehaved here because he was homesick for the other Black
Boys, and didn't know how else to get back to them. Well, he has got
them now, and I hope he likes it better than I should.
I read the other day something that I thought would interest so great a
sea-bather as yourself. You know that the fishes that we see, and catch,
go only a certain way down into the sea. Below a certain depth there is
no life at all. The water is as empty as the air is above a certain
height. Even the shells of dead fishes that come down there are crushed
into nothing by the huge weight of the water. Lower still, in the places
where the sea is profoundly deep, it appears that life begins again.
People fish up in dredging-buckets loose rags and tatters of creatures
that hang together all right down there with the great weight holding
them in one, but come all to pieces as they are hauled up. Just what
they look like, just what they do or feed upon, we shall never find out.
Only that we have some flimsy fellow-creatures down in the very bottom
of the deep seas, and cannot get them up except in tatters. It must be
pretty dark where they live, and there are no plants or weeds, and no
fish come down there, or drowned sailors either, from the upper parts,
because these are all mashed to pieces by the great weight long before
they get so far, or else come to a place where perhaps they float. But I
dare say a cannon sometimes comes careering solemnly down, and circling
about like a dead leaf or thistle-down; and then the ragged fellows go
and play about the cannon and tell themselves all kinds of stories about
the fish higher up and their iron houses, and perhaps go inside and
sleep, and perhaps dream of it all like their betters.
Of course you know a cannon down there would be quite light. Even in
shallow water, where men go down with a diving-dress, they grow so light
that they have to hang weights about their necks, and have their boots
loaded with twenty pounds of lead--as I know to my sorrow. And with all
this, and the helmet, which is heavy enough of itself to any one up here
in the thin air, they are carried about like gossamers, and have to take
every kind of care not to be upset and stood upon their heads. I went
down once in the dress, and speak from experience. But if we could get
down for a moment near where the fishes are, we should be in a tight
place. Suppose the water not to crush us (which it would), we should
pitch about in every kind of direction; every step we took would carry
us as far as if we had seven-league boots; and we should keep flying
head over heels, and top over bottom, like the liveliest clowns in the
world.
Well, sir, here is a great deal of words put down upon a piece of paper,
and if you think that makes a letter, why, very well! And if you don't,
I can't help it. For I have nothing under heaven to tell you.
So, with kindest wishes to yourself, and Louie, and Aunt Nellie, believe
me, your affectionate
UNCLE LOUIS.
Now here is something more worth telling you. This morning at six
o'clock I saw all the horses together in the front paddock, and in a
terrible ado about something. Presently I saw a man with two buckets on
the march, and knew where the trouble was--the cow! The whole lot
cleared to the gate but two--Donald, the big white horse, and my Jack.
They stood solitary, one here, one there. I began to get interested, for
I thought Jack was off his feed. In came the man with the bucket and all
the ruck of curious horses at his tail. Right round he went to where
Donald stood (D) and poured out a feed, and the majestic Donald ate it,
and the ruck of common horses followed the man. On he went to the second
station, Jack's (J. in the plan), and poured out a feed, and the fools
of horses went in with him to the next place (A in the plan). And behold
as the train swung round, the last of them came curiously too near Jack;
and Jack left his feed and rushed upon this fool with a kind of outcry,
and the fool fled, and Jack returned to his feed; and he and Donald ate
theirs with glory, while the others were still circling round for fresh
feeds.
[Illustration]
Glory be to the name of Donald and to the name of Jack, for they had
found out where the foods were poured, and each took his station and
waited there, Donald at the first of the course for his, Jack at the
second station, while all the impotent fools ran round and round after
the man with his buckets!
R. L. S.
IX
TO AUSTIN STRONG
Vailima.
My Dear Austin,--Now when the overseer is away[23] I think it my duty to
report to him anything serious that goes on on the plantation.
Early the other afternoon we heard that Sina's foot was very bad, and
soon after that we could have heard her cries as far away as the front
balcony. I think Sina rather enjoys being ill, and makes as much of it
as she possibly can; but all the same it was painful to hear the cries;
and there is no doubt she was at least very uncomfortable. I went up
twice to the little room behind the stable, and found her lying on the
floor, with Tali and Faauma and Talolo all holding on different bits of
her. I gave her an opiate; but whenever she was about to go to sleep one
of these silly people would be shaking her, or talking in her ear, and
then she would begin to kick about again and scream.
Palema and Aunt Maggie took horse and went down to Apia after the
doctor. Right on their heels off went Mitaele on Musu to fetch Tauilo,
Talolo's mother. So here was all the island in a bustle over Sina's
foot. No doctor came, but he told us what to put on. When I went up at
night to the little room, I found Tauilo there, and the whole plantation
boxed into the place like little birds in a nest. They were sitting on
the bed, they were sitting on the table, the floor was full of them, and
the place as close as the engine-room of a steamer. In the middle lay
Sina, about three parts asleep with opium; two able-bodied work-boys
were pulling at her arms, and whenever she closed her eyes calling her
by name, and talking in her ear. I really didn't know what would become
of the girl before morning. Whether or not she had been very ill before,
this was the way to make her so, and when one of the work-boys woke her
up again, I spoke to him very sharply, and told Tauilo she must put a
stop to it.
Now I suppose this was what put it into Tauilo's head to do what she
did next. You remember Tauilo, and what a fine, tall, strong, Madame
Lafarge sort of person she is? And you know how much afraid the natives
are of the evil spirits in the wood, and how they think all sickness
comes from them? Up stood Tauilo, and addressed the spirit in Sina's
foot, and scolded it, and the spirit answered and promised to be a good
boy and go away. I do not feel so much afraid of the demons after this.
It was Faauma told me about it. I was going out into the pantry after
soda-water, and found her with a lantern drawing water from the tank.
"Bad spirit he go away," she told me.
"That's first-rate," said I. "Do you know what the name of that spirit
was? His name was _tautala_ (talking)."
"O, no!" she said; "his name is _Tu_."
You might have knocked me down with a straw. "How on earth do you know
that?" I asked.
"Heerd him tell Tauilo," she said.
As soon as I heard that I began to suspect Mrs. Tauilo was a little bit
of a ventriloquist; and imitating as well as I could the sort of voice
they make, asked her if the bad spirit did not talk like that. Faauma
was very much surprised, and told me that was just his voice.
Well, that was a very good business for the evening. The people all went
away because the demon was gone away, and the circus was over, and Sina
was allowed to sleep. But the trouble came after. There had been an evil
spirit in that room and his name was Tu. No one could say when he might
come back again; they all voted it was Tu much; and now Talolo and Sina
have had to be lodged in the Soldier Room.[24] As for the little room by
the stable, there it stands empty; it is too small to play soldiers in,
and I do not see what we can do with it, except to have a nice brass
name-plate engraved in Sydney, or in "Frisco," and stuck upon the door
of it--_Mr. Tu._
So you see that ventriloquism has its bad side as well as its good
sides; and I don't know that I want any more ventriloquists on this
plantation. We shall have _Tu_ in the cook-house next, and then _Tu_ in
Lafaele's, and _Tu_ in the workman's cottage; and the end of it all will
be that we shall have to take the Tamaitai's room for the kitchen, and
my room for the boys' sleeping-house, and we shall all have to go out
and camp under umbrellas.
Well, where you are there may be schoolmasters, but there is no such
thing as Mr. _Tu_!
Now, it's all very well that these big people should be frightened out
of their wits by an old wife talking with her mouth shut; that is one of
the things we happen to know about. All the old women in the world might
talk with their mouths shut, and not frighten you or me, but there are
plenty of other things that frighten us badly. And if we only knew about
them, perhaps we should find them no more worthy to be feared than an
old woman talking with her mouth shut. And the names of some of these
things are Death, and Pain, and Sorrow.
UNCLE LOUIS.
X
TO AUSTIN STRONG
_Jan._ 27, 1893.
Dear General Hoskyns,--I have the honour to report as usual. Your giddy
mother having gone planting a flower-garden, I am obliged to write with
my own hand, and, of course, nobody will be able to read it. This has
been a very mean kind of a month. Aunt Maggie left with the influenza.
We have heard of her from Sydney, and she is all right again; but we
have inherited her influenza, and it made a poor place of Vailima. We
had Talolo, Mitaele, Sosimo, Iopu, Sina, Misifolo, and myself, all sick
in bed at the same time; and was not that a pretty dish to set before
the king! The big hall of the new house having no furniture, the sick
pitched their tents in it,--I mean their mosquito-nets,--like a military
camp. The Tamaitai and your mother went about looking after them, and
managed to get us something to eat. Henry, the good boy! though he was
getting it himself, did housework, and went round at night from one
mosquito-net to another, praying with the sick. Sina, too, was as good
as gold, and helped us greatly. We shall always like her better. All the
time--I do not know how they managed--your mother found the time to come
and write for me; and for three days, as I had my old trouble on, and
had to play dumb man, I dictated a novel in the deaf-and-dumb alphabet.
But now we are all recovered, and getting to feel quite fit. A new
paddock has been made; the wires come right up to the top of the hill,
pass within twenty yards of the big clump of flowers (if you remember
that) and by the end of the pineapple patch. The Tamaitai and your
mother and I all sleep in the upper story of the new house; Uncle Lloyd
is alone in the workman's cottage; and there is nobody at all at night
in the old house, but ants and cats and mosquitoes. The whole inside of
the new house is varnished. It is a beautiful golden-brown by day, and
in lamplight all black and sparkle. In the corner of the hall the new
safe is built in, and looks as if it had millions of pounds in it; but I
do not think there is much more than twenty dollars and a spoon or two;
so the man that opens it will have a great deal of trouble for nothing.
Our great fear is lest we should forget how to open it; but it will look
just as well if we can't. Poor Misifolo--you remember the thin boy, do
you not?--had a desperate attack of influenza; and he was in a great
taking. You would not like to be very sick in some savage place in the
islands, and have only the savages to doctor you? Well, that was just
the way he felt. "It is all very well," he thought, "to let these
childish white people doctor a sore foot or a toothache, but this is
serious--I might die of this! For goodness' sake let me get away into a
draughty native house, where I can lie in cold gravel, eat green
bananas, and have a real grown-up, tattooed man to raise spirits and say
charms over me." A day or two we kept him quiet, and got him much
better. Then he said he _must_ go. He had had his back broken in his own
islands, he said; it had come broken again, and he must go away to a
native house and have it mended. "Confound your back!" said we; "lie
down in your bed." At last, one day, his fever was quite gone, and he
could give his mind to the broken back entirely. He lay in the hall; I
was in the room alone; all morning and noon I heard him roaring like a
bull calf, so that the floor shook with it. It was plainly humbug; it
had the humbugging sound of a bad child crying; and about two of the
afternoon we were worn out, and told him he might go. Off he set. He was
in some kind of a white wrapping, with a great white turban on his head,
as pale as clay, and walked leaning on a stick. But, O, he was a glad
boy to get away from these foolish, savage, childish white people, and
get his broken back put right by somebody with some sense. He nearly
died that night, and little wonder! but he has now got better again, and
long may it last! All the others were quite good, trusted us wholly, and
stayed to be cured where they were. But then he was quite right, if you
look at it from his point of view; for, though we may be very clever, we
do not set up to cure broken backs. If a man has his back broken we
white people can do nothing at all but bury him. And was he not wise,
since that was his complaint, to go to folks who could do more?
Best love to yourself, and Louie, and Aunt Nellie, and apologies for so
dull a letter from your respectful and affectionate
UNCLE LOUIS.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] The lady to whom the first three of these letters are addressed
"used to hear" (writes Mr. Lloyd Osbourne) "so frequently of the
'boys' in Vailima, that she wrote and asked Mr. Stevenson for news of
them, as it would so much interest her little girls. In the tropics,
for some reason or other that it is impossible to understand,
servants and work-people are always called 'boys,' though the years
of Methuselah may have whitened their heads, and great-grandchildren
prattle about their knees. Mr. Stevenson was amused to think that his
'boys,' who ranged from eighteen years of age to threescore and ten,
should be mistaken for little youngsters; but he was touched to hear
of the sick children his friend tried so hard to entertain, and
gladly wrote a few letters to them. He would have written more but
for the fact that his friend left the home, being transferred
elsewhere."
[14] Come-a-thousand.
[15] The German company, from which we got our black boy Arick, owns
and cultivates many thousands of acres in Samoa, and keeps at least a
thousand black people to work on its plantations. Two schooners are
always busy in bringing fresh batches to Samoa, and in taking home to
their own islands the men who have worked out their three years' term
of labour. This traffic in human beings is called the "labour trade,"
and is the life's blood, not only of the great German company, but of
all the planters in Fiji, Queensland, New Caledonia, German New
Guinea, the Solomon Islands, and the New Hebrides. The difference
between the labour trade, as it is now carried on under Government
supervision, and the slave trade is a great one, but not great enough
to please sensitive people. In Samoa the missionaries are not allowed
by the company to teach these poor savages religion, or to do
anything to civilise them and raise them from their monkey-like
ignorance. But in other respects the company is not a bad master, and
treats its people pretty well. The system, however, is one that
cannot be defended and must sooner or later be suppressed.--[L.O.]
[16] When Arick left us and went back to the German company, he had
grown so fat and strong and intelligent that they deemed he was made
for better things than for cotton-picking or plantation work, and
handed him over to their surveyor, who needed a man to help him. I
used often to meet him after this, tripping at his master's heels
with the theodolite, or scampering about with tapes and chains like a
kitten with a spool of thread. He did not look then as though he were
destined to die of a broken heart, though that was his end not so
many months afterward. The plantation manager told me that Arick and
a New Ireland boy went crazy with home-sickness, and died in the
hospital together.--[L.O.]
[17] "Bullamacow" is a word that always amuses the visitor to Samoa.
When the first pair of cattle was brought to the islands and the
natives asked the missionaries what they must call these strange
creatures, they were told that the English name was a "bull and a
cow." But the Samoans thought that "a bull and a cow" was the name of
each of the animals, and they soon corrupted the English words into
"bullamacow," which has remained the name for beef or cattle ever
since.--[L.O.]
[18] In the letters that were sent to Austin Strong you will be
surprised to see his name change from Austin to Hoskyns, and from
Hopkins to Hutchinson. It was the penalty Master Austin had to pay
for being the particular and bosom friend of each of the one hundred
and eighty bluejackets that made up the crew of the British
man-of-war _Curaçoa_; for, whether it was due to some bitter memories
of the Revolutionary war, or to some rankling reminiscences of 1812,
that even friendship could not altogether stifle (for Austin was a
true American boy), they annoyed him by giving him, each one of them,
a separate name.--[L.O.]
[19] The big conch-shell that was blown at certain hours every
day.--[L.O.]
[20] Mrs. R. L. S., as she is called in Samoan, "the lady."--[L.O.]
[21] A visiting party.
[22] Talolo was the Vailima cook; Sina, his wife; Tauilo, his mother;
Mitaele and Sosimo, his brothers. Lafaele, who was married to Faauma,
was a middle-aged Futuna Islander, and had spent many years of his
life on a whale-ship, the captain of which had kidnapped him when a
boy. Misifolo was one of the "house-maids." Iopu and Tali, man and
wife, had long been in our service, but had left it after they had
been married some time; but, according to Samoan ideas, they were
none the less members of Tusitala's family, because, though they were
no longer working for him, they still owed him allegiance. "Aunt
Maggie" is Mr. Stevenson's mother; Palema, Mr. Graham
Balfour.--[L.O.]
[23] While Austin was in Vailima many little duties about the
plantation fell to his share, so that he was often called the
"overseer"; and small as he was, he sometimes took charge of a couple
of big men, and went into town with the pack-horses. It was not all
play, either, for he had to see that the barrels and boxes did not
chafe the horses' backs, and that they were not allowed to come home
too fast up the steep road.--[L.O.]
[24] A room set apart to serve as the theatre for an elaborate
war-game, which was one of Mr. Stevenson's favourite recreations.
END OF VOL. XVIII
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