I
Expected We Should Be Swamped Every Moment, And From The Frightened
Looks Of Our Crew I Knew They Expected The Same Thing.
Hence, I was
not reassured when Ratu Lala remarked that it was in just such a sea,
and in the same place, that he lost his schooner (which the government
had given him) and that on that occasion he and all his crew remained
in the water for five hours.
When I explained that I had no wish to be
upset, he said, "I suppose you can swim?" I said "Yes! but I do not
wish to lose my gun and other property," to which he replied, "Well,
I lost more than that when my schooner went down." I was therefore not
a little relieved when he had the sail lowered. He explained that he
never liked being beaten, even if he drowned us all, and *all this
was because I had bet him one shilling (by his own desire) that he
would not get a fish. I mention this to show what foolhardy things
he was capable of doing, never thinking of the consequences. I could
mention many such cases. We at length came to some shallows between
a lot of small and most picturesque islands, and as it was low tide,
and we could not pass, we, viz., Ratu Lala, myself, and the other
chiefs, got out to walk, leaving the boat and crew to come on when
they could (they arrived at 4 a.m. the next morning). I was glad to
get an opportunity to dry myself, and we started off at a good rate
for our destination, but unfortunately we came to a spot where grew
a small weed that the Fijians consider a great luxury when cooked,
and Ratu Lala and his people stayed here fully two hours, till they
had picked all the weed in sight, in spite of the heavy rain. It
was amusing to see all these high-caste Fijians and old Stivani, the
jester, running to and fro with yells of delight like so many children,
all on account of a weed which I myself afterwards failed to enjoy.
On the way I shot three duck, and later, when it was too dark to shoot,
we could see the beach between the mangroves and the sea was almost
black with them. On the other side of us there was a regular chorus of
wild chickens crowing and pigeons "howling" in the woods. After four
hours' hard walking we arrived at our destination, Qelani, long after
dark, dead tired, and soaked to the skin. We put up at the "Buli's"
hut; he was a cousin of Ratu Lala, and was a hideous and sulky-looking
fellow, but his hut was one of the finest and neatest I had seen in
Fiji. As I literally had not had a mouthful of food since the previous
evening, I was glad when about a dozen women entered bearing banana
leaves covered with yams, fish, octopus, chickens, etc. We stayed here
some days, but we had miserable, wet weather. There was excellent
fishing in the stream here, and Ratu Lala especially had very good
sport. Many of the fish averaged one-and-a-half pounds and more, but
he told me that they often run to five pounds. There were three kinds,
and all excellent eating. The commonest was a beautiful silvery fish,
and another was of a golden colour with bright red stripes. During the
latter part of my stay in Qelani I suffered from a slight attack of
dysentery, and it was dull lying ill on the floor of a native hut with
no one to talk to, as Ratu Lala always tried to avoid speaking English
whenever possible, and would often only reply in monosyllables. It
would often seem as if he were annoyed at something, but I found that
he did this to all white men, and meant nothing by it. I soon cured
myself by eating a lot of raw leaves of some bush plant, also a great
quantity of native arrow-root.
In spite of my sickness I managed to shoot a fair number of duck,
wild chickens and pigeon, and also a few birds for my collection. One
day, in spite of the rain, I was rowed over to Ngamia, which is
a wonderfully beautiful island, about three hours from Qelani. It
was thickly covered with a fine cycad which grows amongst the rocks
overhanging the sea. The natives call it "loga-loga,"[8] and eat the
fruit. I landed and botanized a bit, finding some new and interesting
plants, and then rowed on a few miles to call on the only white man
on the island, an Australian named Mitchell, who has a large coconut
property. He was astonished and pleased to see me, and introduced
me to his Fijian wife, and his two pretty half-caste daughters soon
got together a good breakfast for me. He seemed glad to see a white
man again, and nearly talked my head off , and was full of anecdotes
about the fighting they had with the Fijian cannibals in 1876. He
told me that in the last great hurricane his house was blown over on
to a small island which he owned nearly half-a-mile away.
To describe all the incidents of my long visit would fill a book,
but I think I have written enough to show what a very interesting
time I spent with this Fijian Prince. It was without doubt one of
the most curious experiences of all my travels in different parts
of the globe. With all his faults, Ratu Lala was a good fellow, and
he certainly was a sportsman. All Fiji knows his failings, otherwise
I should not have alluded to them. The old blood of the Fijians ran
in his veins, his ancestors were kings who had been used to command
and to tyrannise; therefore he could never see any harm in the many
stories of his escapades that he told me, and he seemed much offended
and surprised when I advised him not to talk about them to other
Europeans.
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