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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/387-0.txt b/387-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4ccda67 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9037 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Vailima Letters, by Robert Louis Stevenson, +Edited by Sidney Colvin + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Vailima Letters + being correspondence addressed by Robert Louis Stevenson + to Sidney Colvin + + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + +Editor: Sidney Colvin + +Release Date: February 19, 2013 [eBook #387] +[This file was first posted on December 5, 1995] + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VAILIMA LETTERS*** + + +Transcribed from the 1908 Methuen edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Portrait of Robert Louis Stevenson] + + + + + + VAILIMA LETTERS + + + BEING CORRESPONDENCE + + ADDRESSED BY + + ROBERT LOUIS + + STEVENSON + + TO + + SIDNEY COLVIN + + NOVEMBER 1890 — OCTOBER 1894 + + * * * * * + + LONDON + + METHUEN AND CO. + + 36 ESSEX STREET + + _Seventh Edition_ + + * * * * * + +_First Published_ _November_ 1895 +_Second Edition_ _December_ 1895 +_Third Edition_ _February_ 1901 +_Fourth Edition_ _October_ 1904 +_Fifth Edition_ _March_ 1906 +_Sixth Edition_ _October_ 1907 +_Seventh Edition_ _December_ 1908 + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +EDITORIAL NOTE xi +LETTER + I. November 1890 1 + II. November 25—December 2, 1890 22 + III. December 1890 33 + IV. January 17, 1891 46 + V. February 1891 51 + VI. March 1891 54 + VII. April 1891 65 + VIII. April 29—May 19, 1891 70 + IX. June 1891 77 + X. September 1891 82 + XI. September 28—October 13, 1891 94 + XII. October 1891 102 + XIII. November 25—December 7, 1891 110 + XIV. December 1891—January 3, 1892 119 + XV. January 31—February 1892 135 + XVI. February—March 2, 1892 139 + XVII. March 9—March 30, 1892 147 + XVIII. May 1—May 27, 1892 158 + XIX. May 29—June 1892 180 + XX. July 2—July 12, 1892 202 + XXI. August—September 13, 1892 205 + XXII. September 15—October 8, 1892 221 + XXIII. October 28—November 8, 1892 227 + XXIV. December 1—December 5, 1892 236 + XXV. January—January 30, 1893 239 + XXVI. February 19—February 23, 1893 247 + XXVII. February 1893 250 + XXVIII. April—April 22, 1893 252 + XXIX. April 25—May 23, 1893 260 + XXX. May 29—June 15, 1893 270 + XXXI. June 24—July 18, 1893 280 + XXXII. August 1893 296 + XXXIII. August 23—September 12, 1893 298 + XXXIV. October 23—December 4, 1893 306 + XXXV. December 1893 313 + XXXVI. January 29, 1894 320 + XXXVII. February 1894 322 + XXXVIII. March 1894 324 + XXXIX. May 18, 1894 330 + XL. June 18, 1894 333 + XLI. July 1894 336 + XLII. August 7—August 13, 1894 340 + XLIII. September 1894 343 + XLIV. October 6, 1894 348 +Epilogue 355 +Appendix 360 + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +Portrait of R. L. Stevenson; etched by W. Strang _Frontispiece_ +after a photograph by Falk of Sydney +Portrait of R. L. Stevenson on his Horse ‘Jack’ 119 +Portrait of R. L. Stevenson with the Native Chief 320 +Tui Malealiifano + + + + +EDITORIAL NOTE. + + +SO much of preface seems necessary to this volume as may justify its +publication and explain its origin. The writer was for many years my +closest friend. It was in the summer of 1873 that a lady, whose gracious +influence has helped to shape and encourage more than one distinguished +career, first awakened my interest in him and drew us together. He was +at that time a lad of twenty-two, with his powers not yet set nor his way +of life determined. But to know him was to recognise at once that here +was a young genius of whom great things might be expected. A slender, +boyish presence, with a graceful, somewhat fantastic bearing, and a +singular power and attraction in the eyes and smile, were the signs that +first impressed you; and the impression was quickly confirmed and +deepened by the charm of his talk, which was irresistibly sympathetic and +inspiring, and not less full of matter than of mirth. I have known no +man in whom the poet’s heart and imagination were combined with such a +brilliant strain of humour and such an unsleeping alertness and +adroitness of the critical intelligence. But it was only in conversation +that he could as yet do himself justice. His earliest efforts in +literature were of a very uneven and tentative quality. The reason +partly was that in mode of expression and choice of language, no less +than in the formation of opinion and the conduct of life, he was +impatient, even to excess, of the conventional, the accepted, and the +trite. His perceptions and emotions were acute and vivid in the extreme; +his judgments, whether founded on experience, reading, discussion, or +caprice (and a surprising amount of all these things had been crowded +into his youthful existence) were not less fresh and personal; while to +his ardent fancy the world was a theatre glowing with the lights and +bustling with the incidents of romance. To find for all he had to say +words of vital aptness and animation—to communicate as much as possible +of what he has somewhere called ‘the incommunicable thrill of things’—was +from the first his endeavour in literature, nay more, it was the main +passion of his life. The instrument that should serve his purpose could +not be forged in haste, still less could it be adopted at second hand or +ready-made; and he has himself narrated how long and toilsome was the +apprenticeship he served. + +In those days, then, of Stevenson’s youth it was my good fortune to be of +use to him, partly by helping to soften parental opposition to his inborn +vocation for letters, partly by recommending him to editors (Mr. +Hamerton, Sir George Grove, and Mr. Leslie Stephen in succession), and a +little even by such technical hints as a classical training and five +years’ seniority enabled me to give. It belonged to the richness of his +nature to repay in all things much for little, _ἑκατομβοἶ ἐννεαβοιών_, +and from these early relations sprang both the affection, to me +inestimable, of which the following correspondence bears evidence, and +the habit, which it pleased him to maintain after he had become one of +the acknowledged masters of English letters, of confiding in and +consulting me about his work in progress. It was my business to find +fault; to ‘damn’ what I did not like; a duty which, as will be inferred +from the following pages, I was accustomed to discharge somewhat +unsparingly. But he was too manly a spirit to desire or to relish +flattery, and too true an artist to be content with doing less than his +best: he knew, moreover, in what rank of English writers I put him, and +for what audience, not of to-day, I would have him labour. _Tibi +Palinure_—so, in the last weeks of his life, he proposed to inscribe to +me a set of his collected works. Not Palinurus so much as Polonius may +perhaps—or so I sometimes suspect—have been really the character; but his +own amiable view of the matter has to be mentioned in order to account +for part of the tenor of the following correspondence. + +As a letter-writer, Mr. Stevenson was punctilious in business matters +(herein putting some violence on his nature), indefatigable where there +was a service to be requited or a kindness done, and to strangers and +slight acquaintances ever courteous and attentive. I am not sure, +indeed, but that in this capacity it was the outer rather than the inner +circle of his correspondents who, speaking generally, had the best of +him. To his intimate friends he wrote charmingly indeed by fits, but +often, at least in early days, in a manner not a little trying and +tantalising. With these, his correspondence was apt to be a thing wholly +of moods. ‘Sordid facts,’ as he called them, were almost never +mentioned: date and place one could never infer except from the postmark. +He would exclaim over some predicament to the nature of which he gave no +clue whatever, or appeal for sympathy in circumstances impossible to +conjecture; or, starting in a key of vague poetry and sentiment, would +wind up (in a manner characteristic also of his talk) with a rhapsody of +hyperbolical slang. Or he would dilate on some new phase of his many +maladies with burlesque humour—with complaint never—but what had been the +nature of the attack you were left to wonder and guess in vain. During +the period of his Odyssey in the South Seas, from August 1888 until the +spring of 1890, the remoteness and inaccessibility of the scenes he +visited inevitably interrupted all correspondence for months together; +and when at long intervals a packet reached us, the facts and +circumstances of his wanderings were to be gathered from the admirable +letters of Mrs. Stevenson (who has this feminine accomplishment in +perfection) rather than from his own. But when later in the +last-mentioned year, 1890, he and his family were settled on their newly +bought property on the mountain behind Apia, to which he gave the name of +Vailima (five rivers), he for the first time, to my infinite +gratification, took to writing me long and regular monthly budgets as +full and particular as heart could wish; and this practice he maintained +until within a few weeks of his death. + +It is these journal-letters from Samoa, covering with a few intervals the +period from November 1890 to October 1894, that are printed by themselves +in the present volume. They occupy a place, as has been indicated, quite +apart in his correspondence, and in any general selection from his +letters would fill a quite disproportionate space. Begun without a +thought of publicity, and simply to maintain our intimacy undiminished, +so far as might be, by separation, they assumed in the course of two or +three years a bulk so considerable, and contained so much of the matter +of his daily life and thoughts, that it by-and-by occurred to him, as may +be read on page 200, that ‘some kind of a book’ might be extracted out of +them after his death. It is this passage which has given me my warrant +for their publication, and at the same time has imposed on me no very +easy editorial task. In a correspondence so unreserved, the duty of +suppression and selection must needs be delicate. Belonging to the race +of Scott and Dumas, of the romantic narrators and creators, Stevenson +belonged no less to that of Montaigne and the literary egotists. The +word seems out of place, since of egotism in the sense of vanity or +selfishness he was of all men the most devoid; but he was nevertheless a +watchful and ever interested observer of the motions of his own mind. He +saw himself, as he saw everything else, (to borrow the words of Mr. +Andrew Lang) with the lucidity of genius, and loved to put himself on +terms of confidence with his readers; but of confidence kept always +within fit limits, and permitting no undue intrusion into his private +affairs and feelings. To maintain the same limits in the editing of an +intimate correspondence after his death would have been impossible. I +have tried to do my best under the circumstances; to suffer no feelings +to be hurt that could be spared, and only to lift the veil of family life +so far as under the conditions was unavoidable. Neither would it have +been possible from such a correspondence to expunge the record of those +trivialities which make up the chief part of life, even in surroundings +so romantic and unusual as Stevenson in these years had chosen for +himself. It belonged to the personal charm of the man that nothing ever +seemed commonplace or insignificant in his company; but in correspondence +this charm must needs to some extent evaporate. + +Such as they remain, then, these letters will be found a varied record, +perfectly frank and familiar, of the writer’s every-day moods, thoughts, +and doings during his Samoan exile. They tell, with the zest and often +in the language of a man who remained to the last a boy in spirit, of the +pleasures and troubles of a planter founding his home in the virgin soil +of a tropical island; the pleasures of an invalid beginning after many +years to resume habits of outdoor life and exercise; the toils and +satisfactions, failures and successes, of a creative artist whose +invention was as fertile as his standards were high and his industry +unflinching. These divers characters have probably never been so united +in any man before. Something also they tell of the inward movements and +affections of one of the bravest and tenderest of human hearts. One part +of his life, it should be said, which his other letters will fully +reveal, finds little expression in these, namely the relations of cordial +and ungrudging kindness in which he stood towards the younger generation +of writers at home, including many personally unknown to him. Neither do +ordinary impressions of travel—impressions of the beauties of the tropics +and the captivating strangeness of the island people and their ways—fill +much space in them. These things were no longer new to the writer when +the correspondence began; they had been part of the element of his life +since the day, near two years before, when his yacht first anchored in +the Bay of Nukahiva, and his soul, to quote his own words, ‘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.’ In their stead we find, what to some +readers may be hardly so welcome, the observations of a close student of +native life, history, and manners, and some of the perplexities and +pre-occupations of an island politician. + +The political allusions are seldom in the form of direct statement or +narrative. To understand them, the reader must bear in mind a few main +facts, which I shall state as briefly and plainly as possible. At the +date when Stevenson settled in Samoa, the government of the island had +lately been settled between the three powers interested, namely Germany, +England, and the United States, at the convention of Berlin. Under this +convention, Malietoa Laupepa, who had previously been deposed and +deported by the Germans in favour of a nominee of their own, was +reinstated as king, to the exclusion of his kinsman, the powerful and +popular Mataafa, whose titles might be held equally good and whose +abilities were certainly greater, but who was specially obnoxious to the +Germans owing to his resistance to them during the troubles of the +previous years. For a time the two kinsmen, Laupepa and Mataafa, lived +on amicable terms, but presently differences arose between them. Mataafa +had expected to occupy a position of influence in the government: finding +himself ignored, he withdrew to a camp a few miles outside the town of +Apia, where he lived in semi-royal state as a kind of passive rebel or +rival to the recognised king. In the meantime, in the course of the year +1891, the two white officials appointed under the Berlin Convention, +namely the Chief Justice, a Swedish gentleman named Cedarkrantz, and the +President of the Council, Baron Senfft von Pilsach, had come out to the +islands and entered on their duties. In Stevenson’s judgment these +gentlemen proved quite unequal to their task, an opinion which before +long came to be shared and acted on by the foreign offices of the three +powers under whom they were appointed. Stevenson was no abstracted +student or dreamer; the human interests and the human duties lying +immediately about him were ever the first in his eyes: and petty and +remote as these island concerns may appear to us, they were for him near +and urgent. A man of his eager nature and persuasive powers must +naturally acquire influence in any community in which he may be thrown, +and among the natives in especial, by kindness, justice, and a +sympathetic understanding of their ways and character, he soon came to +enjoy a singular degree of authority. His unauthorised intervention in +public matters may have been of a nature disconcerting to the official +mind, but his purposes were at all times those of a peacemaker. The +steady aim of his efforts was to bring about the withdrawal of the two +discredited white officials (against whom, it will be seen, he had no +personal animus whatever) and to procure a reconciliation between Laupepa +and Mataafa, so that the latter might exercise the share in the +government due to his character, titles, and following. The first part +of this policy commended itself after a time to the three powers and +their agents, and was carried out; the second not; and his friend Mataafa +was by-and-by attacked by the forces of Laupepa, beaten, and sent into +exile. + +In reading the following pages it must be borne in mind that Mulinuu and +Malie, the places respectively of Laupepa’s and Mataafa’s residence, are +also used to signify their respective parties and followings. The reader +will have no difficulty in identifying the various personages composing +the family group whose names occur constantly in the correspondence, +namely the writer’s mother, his wife (‘Fanny’), his stepson, Mr. Lloyd +Osbourne (‘Lloyd’), his step-daughter and amanuensis, Mrs. Strong +(‘Belle’), and her young son (‘Austin’). Explanation of any other +matters seeming to require it is added in the footnotes. + + S. C. + +_August_ 1895. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + _In the Mountain_, _Apia_, _Samoa_, + _Monday_, _November_ 2_nd_, 1890 + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—This is a hard and interesting and beautiful life that we +lead now. Our place is in a deep cleft of Vaea Mountain, some six +hundred feet above the sea, embowered in forest, which is our strangling +enemy, and which we combat with axes and dollars. I went crazy over +outdoor work, and had at last to confine myself to the house, or +literature must have gone by the board. _Nothing_ is so interesting as +weeding, clearing, and path-making; the oversight of labourers becomes a +disease; it is quite an effort not to drop into the farmer; and it does +make you feel so well. To come down covered with mud and drenched with +sweat and rain after some hours in the bush, change, rub down, and take a +chair in the verandah, is to taste a quiet conscience. And the strange +thing that I mark is this: If I go out and make sixpence, bossing my +labourers and plying the cutlass or the spade, idiot conscience applauds +me; if I sit in the house and make twenty pounds, idiot conscience wails +over my neglect and the day wasted. For near a fortnight I did not go +beyond the verandah; then I found my rush of work run out, and went down +for the night to Apia; put in Sunday afternoon with our consul, ‘a nice +young man,’ dined with my friend H. J. Moors in the evening, went to +church—no less—at the white and half-white church—I had never been +before, and was much interested; the woman I sat next _looked_ a +full-blood native, and it was in the prettiest and readiest English that +she sang the hymns; back to Moors’, where we yarned of the islands, being +both wide wanderers, till bed-time; bed, sleep, breakfast, horse saddled; +round to the mission, to get Mr. Clarke to be my interpreter; over with +him to the King’s, whom I have not called on since my return; received by +that mild old gentleman; have some interesting talk with him about Samoan +superstitions and my land—the scene of a great battle in his (Malietoa +Laupepa’s) youth—the place which we have cleared the platform of his +fort—the gulley of the stream full of dead bodies—the fight rolled off up +Vaea mountain-side; back with Clarke to the Mission; had a bit of lunch +and consulted over a queer point of missionary policy just arisen, about +our new Town Hall and the balls there—too long to go into, but a quaint +example of the intricate questions which spring up daily in the +missionary path. + +Then off up the hill; Jack very fresh, the sun (close on noon) staring +hot, the breeze very strong and pleasant; the ineffable green country all +round—gorgeous little birds (I think they are humming birds, but they say +not) skirmishing in the wayside flowers. About a quarter way up I met a +native coming down with the trunk of a cocoa palm across his shoulder; +his brown breast glittering with sweat and oil: ‘Talofa’—‘Talofa, +alii—You see that white man? He speak for you.’ ‘White man he gone up +here?’—‘Ioe (Yes)’—‘Tofa, alii’—‘Tofa, soifua!’ I put on Jack up the +steep path, till he is all as white as shaving stick—Brown’s euxesis, +wish I had some—past Tanugamanono, a bush village—see into the houses as +I pass—they are open sheds scattered on a green—see the brown folk +sitting there, suckling kids, sleeping on their stiff wooden pillows—then +on through the wood path—and here I find the mysterious white man (poor +devil!) with his twenty years’ certificate of good behaviour as a +book-keeper, frozen out by the strikes in the colonies, come up here on a +chance, no work to be found, big hotel bill, no ship to leave in—and come +up to beg twenty dollars because he heard I was a Scotchman, offering to +leave his portmanteau in pledge. Settle this, and on again; and here my +house comes in view, and a war whoop fetches my wife and Henry (or +Simelé), our Samoan boy, on the front balcony; and I am home again, and +only sorry that I shall have to go down again to Apia this day week. I +could, and would, dwell here unmoved, but there are things to be attended +to. + +Never say I don’t give you details and news. That is a picture of a +letter. + +I have been hard at work since I came; three chapters of _The Wrecker_, +and since that, eight of the South Sea book, and, along and about and in +between, a hatful of verses. Some day I’ll send the verse to you, and +you’ll say if any of it is any good. I have got in a better vein with +the South Sea book, as I think you will see; I think these chapters will +do for the volume without much change. Those that I did in the _Janet +Nicoll_, under the most ungodly circumstances, I fear will want a lot of +suppling and lightening, but I hope to have your remarks in a month or +two upon that point. It seems a long while since I have heard from you. +I do hope you are well. I am wonderful, but tired from so much work; +’tis really immense what I have done; in the South Sea book I have fifty +pages copied fair, some of which has been four times, and all twice +written, certainly fifty pages of solid scriving inside a fortnight, but +I was at it by seven a.m. till lunch, and from two till four or five +every day; between whiles, verse and blowing on the flageolet; never +outside. If you could see this place! but I don’t want any one to see it +till my clearing is done, and my house built. It will be a home for +angels. + +So far I wrote after my bit of dinner, some cold meat and bananas, on +arrival. Then out to see where Henry and some of the men were clearing +the garden; for it was plain there was to be no work to-day indoors, and +I must set in consequence to farmering. I stuck a good while on the way +up, for the path there is largely my own handiwork, and there were a lot +of sprouts and saplings and stones to be removed. Then I reached our +clearing just where the streams join in one; it had a fine autumn smell +of burning, the smoke blew in the woods, and the boys were pretty merry +and busy. Now I had a private design:— + + [Picture: Map] + +The Vaita’e I had explored pretty far up; not yet the other stream, the +Vaituliga (g=nasal n, as ng in sing); and up that, with my wood knife, I +set off alone. It is here quite dry; it went through endless woods; +about as broad as a Devonshire lane, here and there crossed by fallen +trees; huge trees overhead in the sun, dripping lianas and tufted with +orchids, tree ferns, ferns depending with air roots from the steep banks, +great arums—I had not skill enough to say if any of them were the edible +kind, one of our staples here!—hundreds of bananas—another staple—and +alas! I had skill enough to know all of these for the bad kind that +bears no fruit. My Henry moralised over this the other day; how hard it +was that the bad banana flourished wild, and the good must be weeded and +tended; and I had not the heart to tell him how fortunate they were here, +and how hungry were other lands by comparison. The ascent of this lovely +lane of my dry stream filled me with delight. I could not but be +reminded of old Mayne Reid, as I have been more than once since I came to +the tropics; and I thought, if Reid had been still living, I would have +written to tell him that, for, me, _it had come true_; and I thought, +forbye, that, if the great powers go on as they are going, and the Chief +Justice delays, it would come truer still; and the war-conch will sound +in the hills, and my home will be inclosed in camps, before the year is +ended. And all at once—mark you, how Mayne Reid is on the spot—a strange +thing happened. I saw a liana stretch across the bed of the brook about +breast-high, swung up my knife to sever it, and—behold, it was a wire! +On either hand it plunged into thick bush; to-morrow I shall see where it +goes and get a guess perhaps of what it means. To-day I know no more +than—there it is. A little higher the brook began to trickle, then to +fill. At last, as I meant to do some work upon the homeward trail, it +was time to turn. I did not return by the stream; knife in hand, as long +as my endurance lasted, I was to cut a path in the congested bush. + +At first it went ill with me; I got badly stung as high as the elbows by +the stinging plant; I was nearly hung in a tough liana—a rotten trunk +giving way under my feet; it was deplorable bad business. And an axe—if +I dared swing one—would have been more to the purpose than my cutlass. +Of a sudden things began to go strangely easier; I found stumps, bushing +out again; my body began to wonder, then my mind; I raised my eyes and +looked ahead; and, by George, I was no longer pioneering, I had struck an +old track overgrown, and was restoring an old path. So I laboured till I +was in such a state that Carolina Wilhelmina Skeggs could scarce have +found a name for it. Thereon desisted; returned to the stream; made my +way down that stony track to the garden, where the smoke was still +hanging and the sun was still in the high tree-tops, and so home. Here, +fondly supposing my long day was over, I rubbed down; exquisite agony; +water spreads the poison of these weeds; I got it all over my hands, on +my chest, in my eyes, and presently, while eating an orange, _à la_ +Raratonga, burned my lip and eye with orange juice. Now, all day, our +three small pigs had been adrift, to the mortal peril of our corn, +lettuce, onions, etc., and as I stood smarting on the back verandah, +behold the three piglings issuing from the wood just opposite. Instantly +I got together as many boys as I could—three, and got the pigs penned +against the rampart of the sty, till the others joined; whereupon we +formed a cordon, closed, captured the deserters, and dropped them, +squeaking amain, into their strengthened barracks where, please God, they +may now stay! + +Perhaps you may suppose the day now over; you are not the head of a +plantation, my juvenile friend. Politics succeeded: Henry got adrift in +his English, Bene was too cowardly to tell me what he was after: result, +I have lost seven good labourers, and had to sit down and write to you to +keep my temper. Let me sketch my lads.—Henry—Henry has gone down to town +or I could not be writing to you—this were the hour of his English lesson +else, when he learns what he calls ‘long expessions’ or ‘your chief’s +language’ for the matter of an hour and a half—Henry is a chiefling from +Savaii; I once loathed, I now like and—pending fresh discoveries—have a +kind of respect for Henry. He does good work for us; goes among the +labourers, bossing and watching; helps Fanny; is civil, kindly, +thoughtful; _O si sic semper_! But will he be ‘his sometime self +throughout the year’? Anyway, he has deserved of us, and he must +disappoint me sharply ere I give him up.—Bene—or Peni-Ben, in plain +English—is supposed to be my ganger; the Lord love him! God made a +truckling coward, there is his full history. He cannot tell me what he +wants; he dares not tell me what is wrong; he dares not transmit my +orders or translate my censures. And with all this, honest, sober, +industrious, miserably smiling over the miserable issue of his own +unmanliness.—Paul—a German—cook and steward—a glutton of work—a splendid +fellow; drawbacks, three: (1) no cook; (2) an inveterate bungler; a man +with twenty thumbs, continually falling in the dishes, throwing out the +dinner, preserving the garbage; (3) a dr—, well, don’t let us say +that—but we daren’t let him go to town, and he—poor, good soul—is afraid +to be let go.—Lafaele (Raphael), a strong, dull, deprecatory man; +splendid with an axe, if watched; the better for a rowing, when he calls +me ‘Papa’ in the most wheedling tones; desperately afraid of ghosts, so +that he dare not walk alone up in the banana patch—see map. The rest are +changing labourers; and to-night, owing to the miserable cowardice of +Peni, who did not venture to tell me what the men wanted—and which was no +more than fair—all are gone—and my weeding in the article of being +finished! Pity the sorrows of a planter. + +I am, Sir, yours, and be jowned to you, The Planter, + + R. L. S. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_ 3_rd_ + +I begin to see the whole scheme of letter-writing; you sit down every day +and pour out an equable stream of twaddle. + +This morning all my fears were fled, and all the trouble had fallen to +the lot of Peni himself, who deserved it; my field was full of weeders; +and I am again able to justify the ways of God. All morning I worked at +the South Seas, and finished the chapter I had stuck upon on Saturday. +Fanny, awfully hove-to with rheumatics and injuries received upon the +field of sport and glory, chasing pigs, was unable to go up and down +stairs, so she sat upon the back verandah, and my work was chequered by +her cries. ‘Paul, you take a spade to do that—dig a hole first. If you +do that, you’ll cut your foot off! Here, you boy, what you do there? +You no get work? You go find Simelé; he give you work. Peni, you tell +this boy he go find Simelé; suppose Simelé no give him work, you tell him +go ’way. I no want him here. That boy no good.’—_Peni_ (from the +distance in reassuring tones), ‘All right, sir!’—_Fanny_ (after a long +pause), ‘Peni, you tell that boy go find Simelé! I no want him stand +here all day. I no pay that boy. I see him all day. He no do +nothing.’—Luncheon, beef, soda-scones, fried bananas, pine-apple in +claret, coffee. Try to write a poem; no go. Play the flageolet. Then +sneakingly off to farmering and pioneering. Four gangs at work on our +place; a lively scene; axes crashing and smoke blowing; all the knives +are out. But I rob the garden party of one without a stock, and you +should see my hand—cut to ribbons. Now I want to do my path up the +Vaituliga single-handed, and I want it to burst on the public complete. +Hence, with devilish ingenuity, I begin it at different places; so that +if you stumble on one section, you may not even then suspect the fulness +of my labours. Accordingly, I started in a new place, below the wire, +and hoping to work up to it. It was perhaps lucky I had so bad a +cutlass, and my smarting hand bid me stay before I had got up to the +wire, but just in season, so that I was only the better of my activity, +not dead beat as yesterday. + +A strange business it was, and infinitely solitary; away above, the sun +was in the high tree-tops; the lianas noosed and sought to hang me; the +saplings struggled, and came up with that sob of death that one gets to +know so well; great, soft, sappy trees fell at a lick of the cutlass, +little tough switches laughed at and dared my best endeavour. Soon, +toiling down in that pit of verdure, I heard blows on the far side, and +then laughter. I confess a chill settled on my heart. + +Being so dead alone, in a place where by rights none should be beyond me, +I was aware, upon interrogation, if those blows had drawn nearer, I +should (of course quite unaffectedly) have executed a strategic movement +to the rear; and only the other day I was lamenting my insensibility to +superstition! Am I beginning to be sucked in? Shall I become a midnight +twitterer like my neighbours? At times I thought the blows were echoes; +at times I thought the laughter was from birds. For our birds are +strangely human in their calls. Vaea mountain about sundown sometimes +rings with shrill cries, like the hails of merry, scattered children. As +a matter of fact, I believe stealthy wood-cutters from Tanugamanono were +above me in the wood and answerable for the blows; as for the laughter, a +woman and two children had come and asked Fanny’s leave to go up +shrimp-fishing in the burn; beyond doubt, it was these I heard. Just at +the right time I returned; to wash down, change, and begin this snatch of +letter before dinner was ready, and to finish it afterwards, before Henry +has yet put in an appearance for his lesson in ‘long explessions.’ + +Dinner: stewed beef and potatoes, baked bananas, new loaf-bread hot from +the oven, pine-apple in claret. These are great days; we have been low +in the past; but now are we as belly-gods, enjoying all things. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_. (_Hist. Vailima resumed_.) + +A gorgeous evening of after-glow in the great tree-tops and behind the +mountain, and full moon over the lowlands and the sea, inaugurated a +night of horrid cold. To you effete denizens of the so-called temperate +zone, it had seemed nothing; neither of us could sleep; we were up +seeking extra coverings, I know not at what hour—it was as bright as day. +The moon right over Vaea—near due west, the birds strangely silent, and +the wood of the house tingling with cold; I believe it must have been +60°! Consequence; Fanny has a headache and is wretched, and I could do +no work. (I am trying all round for a place to hold my pen; you will +hear why later on; this to explain penmanship.) I wrote two pages, very +bad, no movement, no life or interest; then I wrote a business letter; +then took to tootling on the flageolet, till glory should call me +farmering. + +I took up at the fit time Lafaele and Mauga—Mauga, accent on the first, +is a mountain, I don’t know what Maugà means—mind what I told you of the +value of g—to the garden, and set them digging, then turned my attention +to the path. I could not go into my bush path for two reasons: 1st, sore +hands; 2nd, had on my trousers and good shoes. Lucky it was. Right in +the wild lime hedge which cuts athwart us just homeward of the garden, I +found a great bed of kuikui—sensitive plant—our deadliest enemy. A fool +brought it to this island in a pot, and used to lecture and +sentimentalise over the tender thing. The tender thing has now taken +charge of this island, and men fight it, with torn hands, for bread and +life. A singular, insidious thing, shrinking and biting like a weasel; +clutching by its roots as a limpet clutches to a rock. As I fought him, +I bettered some verses in my poem, the _Woodman_; the only thought I gave +to letters. Though the kuikui was thick, there was but a small patch of +it, and when I was done I attacked the wild lime, and had a hand-to-hand +skirmish with its spines and elastic suckers. All this time, close by, +in the cleared space of the garden, Lafaele and Maugà were digging. +Suddenly quoth Lafaele, ‘Somebody he sing out.’—‘Somebody he sing out? +All right. I go.’ And I went and found they had been whistling and +‘singing out’ for long, but the fold of the hill and the uncleared bush +shuts in the garden so that no one heard, and I was late for dinner, and +Fanny’s headache was cross; and when the meal was over, we had to cut up +a pineapple which was going bad, to make jelly of; and the next time you +have a handful of broken blood-blisters, apply pine-apple juice, and you +will give me news of it, and I request a specimen of your hand of write +five minutes after—the historic moment when I tackled this history. My +day so far. + +Fanny was to have rested. Blessed Paul began making a duck-house; she +let him be; the duck-house fell down, and she had to set her hand to it. +He was then to make a drinking-place for the pigs; she let him be +again—he made a stair by which the pigs will probably escape this +evening, and she was near weeping. Impossible to blame the indefatigable +fellow; energy is too rare and goodwill too noble a thing to discourage; +but it’s trying when she wants a rest. Then she had to cook the dinner; +then, of course—like a fool and a woman—must wait dinner for me, and make +a flurry of herself. Her day so far. _Cetera adhuc desunt_. + + * * * * * + + _Friday—I think_. + +I have been too tired to add to this chronicle, which will at any rate +give you some guess of our employment. All goes well; the kuikui—(think +of this mispronunciation having actually infected me to the extent of +misspelling! tuitui is the word by rights)—the tuitui is all out of the +paddock—a fenced park between the house and boundary; Peni’s men start +to-day on the road; the garden is part burned, part dug; and Henry, at +the head of a troop of underpaid assistants, is hard at work clearing. +The part clearing you will see from the map; from the house run down to +the stream side, up the stream nearly as high as the garden; then back to +the star which I have just added to the map. + +My long, silent contests in the forest have had a strange effect on me. +The unconcealed vitality of these vegetables, their exuberant number and +strength, the attempts—I can use no other word—of lianas to enwrap and +capture the intruder, the awful silence, the knowledge that all my +efforts are only like the performance of an actor, the thing of a moment, +and the wood will silently and swiftly heal them up with fresh +effervescence; the cunning sense of the tuitui, suffering itself to be +touched with wind-swayed grasses and not minding—but let the grass be +moved by a man, and it shuts up; the whole silent battle, murder, and +slow death of the contending forest; weigh upon the imagination. My poem +the _Woodman_ stands; but I have taken refuge in a new story, which just +shot through me like a bullet in one of my moments of awe, alone in that +tragic jungle:— + + _The High Woods of Ulufanua_. + 1. A South Sea Bridal. + 2. Under the Ban. + 3. Savao and Faavao. + 4. Cries in the High Wood. + 5. Rumour full of Tongues. + 6. The Hour of Peril. + 7. The Day of Vengeance. + +It is very strange, very extravagant, I daresay; but it’s varied, and +picturesque, and has a pretty love affair, and ends well. Ulufanua is a +lovely Samoan word, ulu=grove; fanua=land; grove-land—‘the tops of the +high trees.’ Savao, ‘sacred to the wood,’ and Faavao, ‘wood-ways,’ are +the names of two of the characters, Ulufanua the name of the supposed +island. + +I am very tired, and rest off to-day from all but letters. Fanny is +quite done up; she could not sleep last night, something it seemed like +asthma—I trust not. I suppose Lloyd will be about, so you can give him +the benefit of this long scrawl. Never say that I _can’t_ write a +letter, say that I don’t.—Yours ever, my dearest fellow, + + R. L. S. + + * * * * * + + _Later on Friday_. + +The guid wife had bread to bake, and she baked it in a pan, O! But +between whiles she was down with me weeding sensitive in the paddock. +The men have but now passed over it; I was round in that very place to +see the weeding was done thoroughly, and already the reptile springs +behind our heels. Tuitui is a truly strange beast, and gives food for +thought. I am nearly sure—I cannot yet be quite, I mean to experiment, +when I am less on the hot chase of the beast—that, even at the instant he +shrivels up his leaves, he strikes his prickles downward so as to catch +the uprooting finger; instinctive, say the gabies; but so is man’s +impulse to strike out. One thing that takes and holds me is to see the +strange variation in the propagation of alarm among these rooted beasts; +at times it spreads to a radius (I speak by the guess of the eye) of five +or six inches; at times only one individual plant appears frightened at a +time. We tried how long it took one to recover; ’tis a sanguine +creature; it is all abroad again before (I guess again) two minutes. It +is odd how difficult in this world it is to be armed. The double armour +of this plant betrays it. In a thick tuft, where the leaves disappear, I +thrust in my hand, and the bite of the thorns betrays the topmost stem. +In the open again, and when I hesitate if it be clover, a touch on the +leaves, and its fine sense and retractile action betrays its identity at +once. Yet it has one gift incomparable. Rome had virtue and knowledge; +Rome perished. The sensitive plant has indigestible seeds—so they +say—and it will flourish for ever. I give my advice thus to a young +plant—have a strong root, a weak stem, and an indigestible seed; so you +will outlast the eternal city, and your progeny will clothe mountains, +and the irascible planter will blaspheme in vain. The weak point of +tuitui is that its stem is strong. + + * * * * * + + _Supplementary Page_. + +Here beginneth the third lesson, which is not from the planter but from a +less estimable character, the writer of books. + +I want you to understand about this South Sea Book. The job is immense; +I stagger under material. I have seen the first big _tache_. It was +necessary to see the smaller ones; the letters were at my hand for the +purpose, but I was not going to lose this experience; and, instead of +writing mere letters, have poured out a lot of stuff for the book. How +this works and fits, time is to show. But I believe, in time, I shall +get the whole thing in form. Now, up to date, that is all my design, and +I beg to warn you till we have the whole (or much) of the stuff together, +you can hardly judge—and I can hardly judge. Such a mass of stuff is to +be handled, if possible without repetition—so much foreign matter to be +introduced—if possible with perspicuity—and, as much as can be, a spirit +of narrative to be preserved. You will find that come stronger as I +proceed, and get the explanations worked through. Problems of style are +(as yet) dirt under my feet; my problem is architectural, creative—to get +this stuff jointed and moving. If I can do that, I will trouble you for +style; anybody might write it, and it would be splendid; well-engineered, +the masses right, the blooming thing travelling—twig? + +This I wanted you to understand, for lots of the stuff sent home is, I +imagine, rot—and slovenly rot—and some of it pompous rot; and I want you +to understand it’s a _lay-in_. + +Soon, if the tide of poeshie continues, I’ll send you a whole lot to +damn. You never said thank-you for the handsome tribute addressed to you +from Apemama; such is the gratitude of the world to the God-sent poick. +Well, well:—‘Vex not thou the poick’s mind, With thy coriaceous +ingratitude, The P. will be to your faults more than a little blind, And +yours is a far from handsome attitude.’ Having thus dropped into poetry +in a spirit of friendship, I have the honour to subscribe myself, Sir, + + Your obedient humble servant, + + SILAS WEGG. + +I suppose by this you will have seen the lad—and his feet will have been +in the Monument—and his eyes beheld the face of George. Well! + +There is much eloquence in a well! + I am, Sir + Yours + + The Epigrammatist + + [Picture: Robert Louis Stevenson written three times to form a triangle] + + FINIS—EXPLICIT + + + + +CHAPTER II + + + _Vailima_, _Tuesday_, _November_ 25_th_, 1890. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—I wanted to go out bright and early to go on with my +survey. You never heard of that. The world has turned, and much water +run under bridges, since I stopped my diary. I have written six more +chapters of the book, all good I potently believe, and given up, as a +deception of the devil’s, the High Woods. I have been once down to Apia, +to a huge native feast at Seumanutafa’s, the chief of Apia. There was a +vast mass of food, crowds of people, the police charging among them with +whips, the whole in high good humour on both sides; infinite noise; and a +historic event—Mr. Clarke, the missionary, and his wife, assisted at a +native dance. On my return from this function, I found work had stopped; +no more South Seas in my belly. Well, Henry had cleared a great deal of +our bush on a contract, and it ought to be measured. I set myself to the +task with a tape-line; it seemed a dreary business; then I borrowed a +prismatic compass, and tackled the task afresh. I have no books; I had +not touched an instrument nor given a thought to the business since the +year of grace 1871; you can imagine with what interest I sat down +yesterday afternoon to reduce my observations; five triangles I had +taken; all five came right, to my ineffable joy. Our dinner—the lowest +we have ever been—consisted of _one avocado pear_ between Fanny and me, a +ship’s biscuit for the guidman, white bread for the Missis, and red wine +for the twa. No salt horse, even, in all Vailima! After dinner Henry +came, and I began to teach him decimals; you wouldn’t think I knew them +myself after so long desuetude! + +I could not but wonder how Henry stands his evenings here; the Polynesian +loves gaiety—I feed him with decimals, the mariner’s compass, +derivations, grammar, and the like; delecting myself, after the manner of +my race, _moult tristement_. I suck my paws; I live for my dexterities +and by my accomplishments; even my clumsinesses are my joy—my woodcuts, +my stumbling on the pipe, this surveying even—and even weeding sensitive; +anything to do with the mind, with the eye, with the hand—with a part of +_me_; diversion flows in these ways for the dreary man. But gaiety is +what these children want; to sit in a crowd, tell stories and pass jests, +to hear one another laugh and scamper with the girls. It’s good fun, +too, I believe, but not for R. L. S., _ætat._ 40. Which I am now past +forty, Custodian, and not one penny the worse that I can see; as amusable +as ever; to be on board ship is reward enough for me; give me the wages +of going on—in a schooner! Only, if ever I were gay, which I +misremember, I am gay no more. And here is poor Henry passing his +evenings on my intellectual husks, which the professors masticated; +keeping the accounts of the estate—all wrong I have no doubt—I keep no +check, beyond a very rough one; marching in with a cloudy brow, and the +day-book under his arm; tackling decimals, coming with cases of +conscience—how would an English chief behave in such a case? etc.; and, I +am bound to say, on any glimmer of a jest, lapsing into native hilarity +as a tree straightens itself after the wind is by. The other night I +remembered my old friend—I believe yours also—Scholastikos, and +administered the crow and the anchor—they were quite fresh to Samoan ears +(this implies a very early severance)—and I thought the anchor would have +made away with my Simelè altogether. + +Fanny’s time, in this interval, has been largely occupied in contending +publicly with wild swine. We have a black sow; we call her Jack +Sheppard; impossible to confine her—impossible also for her to be +confined! To my sure knowledge she has been in an interesting condition +for longer than any other sow in story; else she had long died the death; +as soon as she is brought to bed, she shall count her days. I suppose +that sow has cost us in days’ labour from thirty to fifty dollars; as +many as eight boys (at a dollar a day) have been twelve hours in chase of +her. Now it is supposed that Fanny has outwitted her; she grins behind +broad planks in what was once the cook-house. She is a wild pig; far +handsomer than any tame; and when she found the cook-house was too much +for her methods of evasion, she lay down on the floor and refused food +and drink for a whole Sunday. On Monday morning she relapsed, and now +eats and drinks like a little man. I am reminded of an incident. Two +Sundays ago, the sad word was brought that the sow was out again; this +time she had carried another in her flight. Moors and I and Fanny were +strolling up to the garden, and there by the waterside we saw the black +sow, looking guilty. It seemed to me beyond words; but Fanny’s _cri du +cœur_ was delicious: ‘G-r-r!’ she cried; ‘nobody loves you!’ + +I would I could tell you the moving story of our cart and cart-horses; +the latter are dapple-grey, about sixteen hands, and of enormous +substance; the former was a kind of red and green shandry-dan with a +driving bench; plainly unfit to carry lumber or to face our road. +(Remember that the last third of my road, about a mile, is all made out +of a bridle-track by my boys—and my dollars.) It was supposed a white +man had been found—an ex-German artilleryman—to drive this last; he +proved incapable and drunken; the gallant Henry, who had never driven +before, and knew nothing about horses—except the rats and weeds that +flourish on the islands—volunteered; Moors accepted, proposing to follow +and supervise: despatched his work and started after. No cart! he +hurried on up the road—no cart. Transfer the scene to Vailima, where on +a sudden to Fanny and me, the cart appears, apparently at a hard gallop, +some two hours before it was expected; Henry radiantly ruling chaos from +the bench. It stopped: it was long before we had time to remark that the +axle was twisted like the letter L. Our first care was the horses. There +they stood, black with sweat, the sweat raining from them—literally +raining—their heads down, their feet apart—and blood running thick from +the nostrils of the mare. We got out Fanny’s under-clothes—couldn’t find +anything else but our blankets—to rub them down, and in about half an +hour we had the blessed satisfaction to see one after the other take a +bite or two of grass. But it was a toucher; a little more and these +steeds would have been foundered. + + * * * * * + + _Monday_, 31_st_? _November_. + +Near a week elapsed, and no journal. On Monday afternoon, Moors rode up +and I rode down with him, dined, and went over in the evening to the +American Consulate; present, Consul-General Sewall, Lieut. Parker and +Mrs. Parker, Lafarge the American decorator, Adams an American historian; +we talked late, and it was arranged I was to write up for Fanny, and we +should both dine on the morrow. + +On the Friday, I was all forenoon in the Mission House, lunched at the +German Consulate, went on board the _Sperber_ (German war ship) in the +afternoon, called on my lawyer on my way out to American Consulate, and +talked till dinner time with Adams, whom I am supplying with +introductions and information for Tahiti and the Marquesas. Fanny +arrived a wreck, and had to lie down. The moon rose, one day past full, +and we dined in the verandah, a good dinner on the whole; talk with +Lafarge about art and the lovely dreams of art students. Remark by +Adams, which took me briskly home to the Monument—‘I only liked one +_young_ woman—and that was Mrs. Procter.’ Henry James would like that. +Back by moonlight in the consulate boat—Fanny being too tired to walk—to +Moors’s. Saturday, I left Fanny to rest, and was off early to the +Mission, where the politics are thrilling just now. The native pastors +(to every one’s surprise) have moved of themselves in the matter of the +native dances, desiring the restrictions to be removed, or rather to be +made dependent on the character of the dance. Clarke, who had feared +censure and all kinds of trouble, is, of course, rejoicing greatly. A +characteristic feature: the argument of the pastors was handed in in the +form of a fictitious narrative of the voyage of one Mr. Pye, an English +traveller, and his conversation with a chief; there are touches of satire +in this educational romance. Mr. Pye, for instance, admits that he knows +nothing about the Bible. At the Mission I was sought out by Henry in a +devil of an agitation; he has been made the victim of a forgery—a crime +hitherto unknown in Samoa. I had to go to Folau, the chief judge here, +in the matter. Folau had never heard of the offence, and begged to know +what was the punishment; there may be lively times in forgery ahead. It +seems the sort of crime to tickle a Polynesian. After lunch—you can see +what a busy three days I am describing—we set off to ride home. My Jack +was full of the devil of corn and too much grass, and no work. I had to +ride ahead and leave Fanny behind. He is a most gallant little rascal is +my Jack, and takes the whole way as hard as the rider pleases. Single +incident: half-way up, I find my boys upon the road and stop and talk +with Henry in his character of ganger, as long as Jack will suffer me. +Fanny drones in after; we make a show of eating—or I do—she goes to bed +about half-past six! I write some verses, read Irving’s _Washington_, +and follow about half-past eight. O, one thing more I did, in a +prophetic spirit. I had made sure Fanny was not fit to be left alone, +and wrote before turning in a letter to Chalmers, telling him I could not +meet him in Auckland at this time. By eleven at night, Fanny got me +wakened—she had tried twice in vain—and I found her very bad. Thence +till three, we laboured with mustard poultices, laudanum, soda and +ginger—Heavens! wasn’t it cold; the land breeze was as cold as a river; +the moon was glorious in the paddock, and the great boughs and the black +shadows of our trees were inconceivable. But it was a poor time. + +Sunday morning found Fanny, of course, a complete wreck, and myself not +very brilliant. Paul had to go to Vailele _re_ cocoa-nuts; it was +doubtful if he could be back by dinner; never mind, said I, I’ll take +dinner when you return. Off set Paul. I did an hour’s work, and then +tackled the house work. I did it beautiful: the house was a picture, it +resplended of propriety. Presently Mr. Moors’ Andrew rode up; I heard +the doctor was at the Forest House and sent a note to him; and when he +came, I heard my wife telling him she had been in bed all day, and that +was why the house was so dirty! Was it grateful? Was it politic? Was +it TRUE?—Enough! In the interval, up marched little L. S., one of my +neighbours, all in his Sunday white linens; made a fine salute, and +demanded the key of the kitchen in German and English. And he cooked +dinner for us, like a little man, and had it on the table and the coffee +ready by the hour. Paul had arranged me this surprise. Some time later, +Paul returned himself with a fresh surprise on hand; he was almost sober; +nothing but a hazy eye distinguished him from Paul of the week days: +_vivat_! + +On the evening I cannot dwell. All the horses got out of the paddock, +went across, and smashed my neighbour’s garden into a big hole. How +little the amateur conceives a farmer’s troubles. I went out at once +with a lantern, staked up a gap in the hedge, was kicked at by a chestnut +mare, who straightway took to the bush; and came back. A little after, +they had found another gap, and the crowd were all abroad again. What +has happened to our own garden nobody yet knows. + +Fanny had a fair night, and we are both tolerable this morning, only the +yoke of correspondence lies on me heavy. I beg you will let this go on +to my mother. I got such a good start in your letter, that I kept on at +it, and I have neither time nor energy for more. + + Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + * * * * * + + _Something new_. + +I was called from my letters by the voice of Mr. —, who had just come up +with a load of wood, roaring, ‘Henry! Henry! Bring six boys!’ I saw +there was something wrong, and ran out. The cart, half unloaded, had +upset with the mare in the shafts; she was all cramped together and all +tangled up in harness and cargo, the off shaft pushing her over, Mr. — +holding her up by main strength, and right along-side of her—where she +must fall if she went down—a deadly stick of a tree like a lance. I +could not but admire the wisdom and faith of this great brute; I never +saw the riding-horse that would not have lost its life in such a +situation; but the cart-elephant patiently waited and was saved. It was +a stirring three minutes, I can tell you. + +I forgot in talking of Saturday to tell of one incident which will +particularly interest my mother. I met Dr. D. from Savaii, and had an +age-long talk about Edinburgh folk; it was very pleasant. He has been +studying in Edinburgh, along with his son; a pretty relation. He told me +he knew nobody but college people: ‘I was altogether a student,’ he said +with glee. He seems full of cheerfulness and thick-set energy. I feel +as if I could put him in a novel with effect; and ten to one, if I know +more of him, the image will be only blurred. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_, _Dec._ 2_nd_. + +I should have told you yesterday that all my boys were got up for their +work in moustaches and side-whiskers of some sort of blacking—I suppose +wood-ash. It was a sight of joy to see them return at night, axe on +shoulder, feigning to march like soldiers, a choragus with a loud voice +singing out, ‘March-step! March-step!’ in imperfect recollection of some +drill. + +Fanny seems much revived. + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + + _Monday_, _twenty-somethingth of_ + _December_, 1890. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—I do not say my Jack is anything extraordinary; he is +only an island horse; and the profane might call him a Punch; and his +face is like a donkey’s; and natives have ridden him, and he has no mouth +in consequence, and occasionally shies. But his merits are equally +surprising; and I don’t think I should ever have known Jack’s merits if I +had not been riding up of late on moonless nights. Jack is a bit of a +dandy; he loves to misbehave in a gallant manner, above all on Apia +Street, and when I stop to speak to people, they say (Dr. Stuebel the +German consul said about three days ago), ‘O what a wild horse! it cannot +be safe to ride him.’ Such a remark is Jack’s reward, and represents his +ideal of fame. Now when I start out of Apia on a dark night, you should +see my changed horse; at a fast steady walk, with his head down, and +sometimes his nose to the ground—when he wants to do that, he asks for +his head with a little eloquent polite movement indescribable—he climbs +the long ascent and threads the darkest of the wood. The first night I +came it was starry; and it was singular to see the starlight drip down +into the crypt of the wood, and shine in the open end of the road, as +bright as moonlight at home; but the crypt itself was proof, blackness +lived in it. The next night it was raining. We left the lights of Apia +and passed into limbo. Jack finds a way for himself, but he does not +calculate for my height above the saddle; and I am directed forward, all +braced up for a crouch and holding my switch upright in front of me. It +is curiously interesting. In the forest, the dead wood is +phosphorescent; some nights the whole ground is strewn with it, so that +it seems like a grating over a pale hell; doubtless this is one of the +things that feed the night fears of the natives; and I am free to confess +that in a night of trackless darkness where all else is void, these +pallid _ignes suppositi_ have a fantastic appearance, rather bogey even. +One night, when it was very dark, a man had put out a little lantern by +the wayside to show the entrance to his ground. I saw the light, as I +thought, far ahead, and supposed it was a pedestrian coming to meet me; I +was quite taken by surprise when it struck in my face and passed behind +me. Jack saw it, and he was appalled; do you think he thought of shying? +No, sir, not in the dark; in the dark Jack knows he is on duty; and he +went past that lantern steady and swift; only, as he went, he groaned and +shuddered. For about 2500 of Jack’s steps we only pass one house—that +where the lantern was; and about 1500 of these are in the darkness of the +pit. But now the moon is on tap again, and the roads lighted. + + [Picture: Map] + +I have been exploring up the Vaituliga; see your map. It comes down a +wonderful fine glen; at least 200 feet of cliffs on either hand, winding +like a corkscrew, great forest trees filling it. At the top there ought +to be a fine double fall; but the stream evades it by a fault and passes +underground. Above the fall it runs (at this season) full and very gaily +in a shallow valley, some hundred yards before the head of the glen. Its +course is seen full of grasses, like a flooded meadow; that is the sink! +beyond the grave of the grasses, the bed lies dry. Near this upper part +there is a great show of ruinous pig-walls; a village must have stood +near by. + +To walk from our house to Wreck Hill (when the path is buried in fallen +trees) takes one about half an hour, I think; to return, not more than +twenty minutes; I daresay fifteen. Hence I should guess it was +three-quarters of a mile. I had meant to join on my explorations passing +eastward by the sink; but, Lord! how it rains. + + * * * * * + + (_Later_.) + +I went out this morning with a pocket compass and walked in a varying +direction, perhaps on an average S. by W., 1754 paces. Then I struck +into the bush, N.W. by N., hoping to strike the Vaituliga above the +falls. Now I have it plotted out I see I should have gone W. or even W. +by S.; but it is not easy to guess. For 600 weary paces I struggled +through the bush, and then came on the stream below the gorge, where it +was comparatively easy to get down to it. In the place where I struck +it, it made cascades about a little isle, and was running about N.E., 20 +to 30 feet wide, as deep as to my knee, and piercing cold. I tried to +follow it down, and keep the run of its direction and my paces; but when +I was wading to the knees and the waist in mud, poison brush, and rotted +wood, bound hand and foot in lianas, shovelled unceremoniously off the +one shore and driven to try my luck upon the other—I saw I should have +hard enough work to get my body down, if my mind rested. It was a +damnable walk; certainly not half a mile as the crow flies, but a real +bucketer for hardship. Once I had to pass the stream where it flowed +between banks about three feet high. To get the easier down, I swung +myself by a wild-cocoanut—(so called, it bears bunches of scarlet +nutlets)—which grew upon the brink. As I so swung, I received a crack on +the head that knocked me all abroad. Impossible to guess what tree had +taken a shy at me. So many towered above, one over the other, and the +missile, whatever it was, dropped in the stream and was gone before I had +recovered my wits. (I scarce know what I write, so hideous a Niagara of +rain roars, shouts, and demonizes on the iron roof—it is pitch dark +too—the lamp lit at 5!) It was a blessed thing when I struck my own +road; and I got home, neat for lunch time, one of the most wonderful mud +statues ever witnessed. In the afternoon I tried again, going up the +other path by the garden, but was early drowned out; came home, plotted +out what I had done, and then wrote this truck to you. + +Fanny has been quite ill with ear-ache. She won’t go, hating the sea at +this wild season; I don’t like to leave her; so it drones on, steamer +after steamer, and I guess it’ll end by no one going at all. She is in a +dreadful misfortune at this hour; a case of kerosene having burst in the +kitchen. A little while ago it was the carpenter’s horse that trod in a +nest of fourteen eggs, and made an omelette of our hopes. The farmer’s +lot is not a happy one. And it looks like some real uncompromising bad +weather too. I wish Fanny’s ear were well. Think of parties in +Monuments! think of me in Skerryvore, and now of this. It don’t look +like a part of the same universe to me. Work is quite laid aside; I have +worked myself right out. + + * * * * * + + _Christmas Eve_. + +Yesterday, who could write? My wife near crazy with ear-ache; the rain +descending in white crystal rods and playing hell’s tattoo, like a +_tutti_ of battering rams, on our sheet-iron roof; the wind passing high +overhead with a strange dumb mutter, or striking us full, so that all the +huge trees in the paddock cried aloud, and wrung their hands, and +brandished their vast arms. The horses stood in the shed like things +stupid. The sea and the flagship lying on the jaws of the bay vanished +in sheer rain. All day it lasted; I locked up my papers in the iron box, +in case it was a hurricane, and the house might go. We went to bed with +mighty uncertain feelings; far more than on shipboard, where you have +only drowning ahead—whereas here you have a smash of beams, a shower of +sheet-iron, and a blind race in the dark and through a whirlwind for the +shelter of an unfinished stable—and my wife with ear-ache! Well, well, +this morning, we had word from Apia; a hurricane was looked for, the +ships were to leave the bay by 10 A.M.; it is now 3.30, and the flagship +is still a fixture, and the wind round in the blessed east, so I suppose +the danger is over. But heaven is still laden; the day dim, with +frequent rattling bucketfuls of rain; and just this moment (as I write) a +squall went overhead, scarce striking us, with that singular, solemn +noise of its passage, which is to me dreadful. I have always feared the +sound of wind beyond everything. In my hell it would always blow a gale. + +I have been all day correcting proofs, and making out a new plan for our +house. The other was too dear to be built now, and it was a hard task to +make a smaller house that would suffice for the present, and not be a +mere waste of money in the future. I believe I have succeeded; I have +taken care of my study anyway. + +Two favours I want to ask of you. First, I wish you to get ‘Pioneering +in New Guinea,’ by J. Chalmers. It’s a missionary book, and has less +pretensions to be literature than Spurgeon’s sermons. Yet I think even +through that, you will see some of the traits of the hero that wrote it; +a man that took me fairly by storm for the most attractive, simple, +brave, and interesting man in the whole Pacific. He is away now to go up +the Fly River; a desperate venture, it is thought; he is quite a +Livingstone card. + +Second, try and keep yourself free next winter; and if my means can be +stretched so far, I’ll come to Egypt and we’ll meet at Shepheard’s Hotel, +and you’ll put me in my place, which I stand in need of badly by this +time. Lord, what bully times! I suppose I’ll come per British Asia, or +whatever you call it, and avoid all cold, and might be in Egypt about +November as ever was—eleven months from now or rather less. But do not +let us count our chickens. + +Last night three piglings were stolen from one of our pig-pens. The +great Lafaele appeared to my wife uneasy, so she engaged him in +conversation on the subject, and played upon him the following engaging +trick. You advance your two forefingers towards the sitter’s eyes; he +closes them, whereupon you substitute (on his eyelids) the fore and +middle fingers of the left hand; and with your right (which he supposes +engaged) you tap him on the head and back. When you let him open his +eyes, he sees you withdrawing the two forefingers. ‘What that?’ asked +Lafaele. ‘My devil,’ says Fanny. ‘I wake um, my devil. All right now. +He go catch the man that catch my pig.’ About an hour afterwards, +Lafaele came for further particulars. ‘O, all right,’ my wife says. ‘By +and by, that man he sleep, devil go sleep same place. By and by, that +man plenty sick. I no care. What for he take my pig?’ Lafaele cares +plenty; I don’t think he is the man, though he may be; but he knows him, +and most likely will eat some of that pig to-night. He will not eat with +relish. + + * * * * * + + _Saturday_ 27_th_. + +It cleared up suddenly after dinner, and my wife and I saddled up and off +to Apia, whence we did not return till yesterday morning. Christmas Day +I wish you could have seen our party at table. H. J. Moors at one end +with my wife, I at the other with Mrs. M., between us two native women, +Carruthers the lawyer, Moors’s two shop-boys—Walters and A. M. the +quadroon—and the guests of the evening, Shirley Baker, the defamed and +much-accused man of Tonga, and his son, with the artificial joint to his +arm—where the assassins shot him in shooting at his father. Baker’s +appearance is not unlike John Bull on a cartoon; he is highly interesting +to speak to, as I had expected; I found he and I had many common +interests, and were engaged in puzzling over many of the same +difficulties. After dinner it was quite pretty to see our Christmas +party, it was so easily pleased and prettily behaved. In the morning I +should say I had been to lunch at the German consulate, where I had as +usual a very pleasant time. I shall miss Dr. Stuebel much when he +leaves, and when Adams and Lafarge go also, it will be a great blow. I +am getting spoiled with all this good society. + +On Friday morning, I had to be at my house affairs before seven; and they +kept me in Apia till past ten, disputing, and consulting about brick and +stone and native and hydraulic lime, and cement and sand, and all sorts +of otiose details about the chimney—just what I fled from in my father’s +office twenty years ago; I should have made a languid engineer. Rode up +with the carpenter. Ah, my wicked Jack! on Christmas Eve, as I was +taking the saddle bag off, he kicked at me, and fetched me too, right on +the shin. On Friday, being annoyed at the carpenter’s horse having a +longer trot, he uttered a shrill cry and tried to bite him! Alas, alas, +these are like old days; my dear Jack is a Bogue, but I cannot strangle +Jack into submission. + +I have given up the big house for just now; we go ahead right away with a +small one, which should be ready in two months, and I suppose will +suffice for just now. + +O I know I haven’t told you about our _aitu_, have I? It is a lady, +_Aitu fafine_: she lives on the mountain-side; her presence is heralded +by the sound of a gust of wind; a sound very common in the high woods; +when she catches you, I do not know what happens; but in practice she is +avoided, so I suppose she does more than pass the time of day. The great +_aitu Saumai-afe_ was once a living woman; and became an _aitu_, no one +understands how; she lives in a stream at the well-head, her hair is red, +she appears as a lovely young lady, her bust particularly admired, to +handsome young men; these die, her love being fatal;—as a handsome youth +she has been known to court damsels with the like result, but this is +very rare; as an old crone she goes about and asks for water, and woe to +them who are uncivil! _Saumai-afe_ means literally, ‘Come here a +thousand!’ A good name for a lady of her manners. My _aitu fafine_ does +not seem to be in the same line of business. It is unsafe to be a +handsome youth in Samoa; a young man died from her favours last month—so +we said on this side of the island; on the other, where he died, it was +not so certain. I, for one, blame it on Madam _Saumai-afe_ without +hesitation. + +Example of the farmer’s sorrows. I slipped out on the balcony a moment +ago. It is a lovely morning, cloudless, smoking hot, the breeze not yet +arisen. Looking west, in front of our new house, I saw, two heads of +Indian corn wagging, and the rest and all nature stock still. As I +looked, one of the stalks subsided and disappeared. I dashed out to the +rescue; two small pigs were deep in the grass—quite hid till within a few +yards—gently but swiftly demolishing my harvest. Never be a farmer. + + * * * * * + + 12.30 _p.m._ + +I while away the moments of digestion by drawing you a faithful picture +of my morning. When I had done writing as above it was time to clean our +house. When I am working, it falls on my wife alone, but to-day we had +it between us; she did the bedroom, I the sitting-room, in fifty-seven +minutes of really most unpalatable labour. Then I changed every stitch, +for I was wet through, and sat down and played on my pipe till dinner was +ready, mighty pleased to be in a mildly habitable spot once more. The +house had been neglected for near a week, and was a hideous spot; my +wife’s ear and our visit to Apia being the causes: our Paul we prefer not +to see upon that theatre, and God knows he has plenty to do elsewhere. + +I am glad to look out of my back door and see the boys smoothing the +foundations of the new house; this is all very jolly, but six months of +it has satisfied me; we have too many things for such close quarters; to +work in the midst of all the myriad misfortunes of the planter’s life, +seated in a Dyonisius’ (can’t spell him) ear, whence I catch every +complaint, mishap and contention, is besides the devil; and the hope of a +cave of my own inspires me with lust. O to be able to shut my own door +and make my own confusion! O to have the brown paper and the matches and +‘make a hell of my own’ once more! + +I do not bother you with all my troubles in these outpourings; the +troubles of the farmer are inspiriting—they are like difficulties out +hunting—a fellow rages at the time and rejoices to recall and to +commemorate them. My troubles have been financial. It is hard to +arrange wisely interests so distributed. America, England, Samoa, +Sydney, everywhere I have an end of liability hanging out and some shelf +of credit hard by; and to juggle all these and build a dwelling-place +here, and check expense—a thing I am ill fitted for—you can conceive what +a nightmare it is at times. Then God knows I have not been idle. But +since _The Master_ nothing has come to raise any coins. I believe the +springs are dry at home, and now I am worked out, and can no more at all. +A holiday is required. + +_Dec._ 28_th_. I have got unexpectedly to work again, and feel quite +dandy. Good-bye. + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + _S. S. Lübeck_, _between Apia and Sydney_, + _Jan._ 17_th_, 1891. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—The Faamasino Sili, or Chief Justice, to speak your low +language, has arrived. I had ridden down with Henry and Lafaele; the sun +was down, the night was close at hand, so we rode fast; just as I came to +the corner of the road before Apia, I heard a gun fire; and lo, there was +a great crowd at the end of the pier, and the troops out, and a chief or +two in the height of Samoa finery, and Seumanu coming in his boat (the +oarsmen all in uniform), bringing the Faamasino Sili sure enough. It was +lucky he was no longer; the natives would not have waited many weeks. +But think of it, as I sat in the saddle at the outside of the crowd +(looking, the English consul said, as if I were commanding the +manœuvres), I was nearly knocked down by a stampede of the three consuls; +they had been waiting their guest at the Matafele end, and some wretched +intrigue among the whites had brought him to Apia, and the consuls had to +run all the length of the town and come too late. + +The next day was a long one; I was at a marriage of G. the banker to +Fanua, the virgin of Apia. Bride and bridesmaids were all in the old +high dress; the ladies were all native; the men, with the exception of +Seumanu, all white. + +It was quite a pleasant party, and while we were writing, we had a +bird’s-eye view of the public reception of the Chief Justice. The best +part of it were some natives in war array; with blacked faces, turbans, +tapa kilts, and guns, they looked very manly and purposelike. No, the +best part was poor old drunken Joe, the Portuguese boatman, who seemed to +think himself specially charged with the reception, and ended by falling +on his knees before the Chief Justice on the end of the pier and in full +view of the whole town and bay. The natives pelted him with rotten +bananas; how the Chief Justice took it I was too far off to see; but it +was highly absurd. + +I have commemorated my genial hopes for the regimen of the Faamasino Sili +in the following canine verses, which, if you at all guess how to read +them, are very pretty in movement, and (unless he be a mighty good man) +too true in sense. + + We’re quarrelling, the villages, we’ve beaten the wooden drum’s, + Sa femisai o nu’u, sa taia o pate, + Is expounded there by the justice, + Ua Atuatuvale a le faamasino e, + The chief justice, the terrified justice, + Le faamasino sili, le faamasino se, + Is on the point of running away the justice, + O le a solasola le faamasino e, + The justice denied any influence, the terrified justice, + O le faamasino le ai a, le faamasino se, + O le a solasola le faamasino e. + +Well, after this excursion into tongues that have never been alive—though +I assure you we have one capital book in the language, a book of fables +by an old missionary of the unpromising name of Pratt, which is simply +the best and the most literary version of the fables known to me. I +suppose I should except La Fontaine, but L. F. takes a long time; these +are brief as the books of our childhood, and full of wit and literary +colour; and O, Colvin, what a tongue it would be to write, if one only +knew it—and there were only readers. Its curse in common use is an +incredible left-handed wordiness; but in the hands of a man like Pratt it +is succinct as Latin, compact of long rolling polysyllables and little +and often pithy particles, and for beauty of sound a dream. Listen, I +quote from Pratt—this is good Samoan, not canine— + + + + ... ... ... ... ... + 1 2 3 4 1 +O le afa, ua taalili ai le ulu vao, ua pa mai le faititili. + +1 almost _wa_, 2 the two _a’s_ just distinguished, 3 the _ai_ is +practically suffixed to the verb, 4 almost _vow_. The excursion has +prolonged itself. + +I started by the _Lübeck_ to meet Lloyd and my mother; there were many +reasons for and against; the main reason against was the leaving of Fanny +alone in her blessed cabin, which has been somewhat remedied by my +carter, Mr. —, putting up in the stable and messing with her; but perhaps +desire of change decided me not well, though I do think I ought to see an +oculist, being very blind indeed, and sometimes unable to read. Anyway I +left, the only cabin passenger, four and a kid in the second cabin, and a +dear voyage it had like to have proved. Close to Fiji (choose a worse +place on the map) we broke our shaft early one morning; and when or where +we might expect to fetch land or meet with any ship, I would like you to +tell me. The Pacific is absolutely desert. I have sailed there now some +years; and scarce ever seen a ship except in port or close by; I think +twice. It was the hurricane season besides, and hurricane waters. Well, +our chief engineer got the shaft—it was the middle crank shaft—mended; +thrice it was mended, and twice broke down; but now keeps up—only we dare +not stop, for it is almost impossible to start again. The captain in the +meanwhile crowded her with sail; fifteen sails in all, every stay being +gratified with a stay-sail, a boat-boom sent aloft for a maintop-gallant +yard, and the derrick of a crane brought in service as bowsprit. All the +time we have had a fine, fair wind and a smooth sea; to-day at noon our +run was 203 miles (if you please!), and we are within some 360 miles of +Sydney. Probably there has never been a more gallant success; and I can +say honestly it was well worked for. No flurry, no high words, no long +faces; only hard work and honest thought; a pleasant, manly business to +be present at. All the chances were we might have been six weeks—ay, or +three months at sea—or never turned up at all, and now it looks as though +we should reach our destination some five days too late. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + + [_On Board Ship between Sydney and Apia_, + _Feb._ 1891.] + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—The _Janet Nicoll_ stuff was rather worse than I had +looked for; you have picked out all that is fit to stand, bar two others +(which I don’t dislike)—the Port of Entry and the House of Temoana; that +is for a present opinion; I may condemn these also ere I have done. By +this time you should have another Marquesan letter, the worst of the lot, +I think; and seven Paumotu letters, which are not far out of the vein, as +I wish it; I am in hopes the Hawaiian stuff is better yet: time will +show, and time will make perfect. Is something of this sort practicable +for the dedication? + + TERRA MARIQUE + + PER PERICULA PER ARDUA + + AMICAE COMITI + + D.D. + + AMANS VIATOR + +’Tis a first shot concocted this morning in my berth: I had always before +been trying it in English, which insisted on being either insignificant +or fulsome: I cannot think of a better word than _comes_, there being not +the shadow of a Latin book on board; yet sure there is some other. Then +_viator_ (though it _sounds_ all right) is doubtful; it has too much, +perhaps, the sense of wayfarer? Last, will it mark sufficiently that I +mean my wife? And first, how about blunders? I scarce wish it longer. + +Have had a swingeing sharp attack in Sydney; beating the fields for two +nights, Saturday and Sunday. Wednesday was brought on board, _tel quel_, +a wonderful wreck; and now, Wednesday week, am a good deal picked up, but +yet not quite a Samson, being still groggy afoot and vague in the head. +My chess, for instance, which is usually a pretty strong game, and defies +all rivalry aboard, is vacillating, devoid of resource and observation, +and hitherto not covered with customary laurels. As for work, it is +impossible. We shall be in the saddle before long, no doubt, and the pen +once more couched. You must not expect a letter under these +circumstances, but be very thankful for a note. Once at Samoa, I shall +try to resume my late excellent habits, and delight you with journals, +you unaccustomed, I unaccustomed; but it is never too late to mend. + +It is vastly annoying that I cannot go even to Sydney without an attack; +and heaven knows my life was anodyne. I only once dined with anybody; at +the club with Wise; worked all morning—a terrible dead pull; a month only +produced the imperfect embryos of two chapters; lunched in the +boarding-house, played on my pipe; went out and did some of my messages; +dined at a French restaurant, and returned to play draughts, whist, or +Van John with my family. This makes a cheery life after Samoa; but it +isn’t what you call burning the candle at both ends, is it? (It appears +to me not one word of this letter will be legible by the time I am done +with it, this dreadful ink rubs off.) I have a strange kind of novel +under construction; it begins about 1660 and ends 1830, or perhaps I may +continue it to 1875 or so, with another life. One, two, three, four, +five, six generations, perhaps seven, figure therein; two of my old +stories, ‘Delafield’ and ‘Shovel,’ are incorporated; it is to be told in +the third person, with some of the brevity of history, some of the detail +of romance. _The Shovels of Newton French_ will be the name. The idea +is an old one; it was brought to birth by an accident; a friend in the +islands who picked up F. Jenkin, read a part, and said: ‘Do you know, +that’s a strange book? I like it; I don’t believe the public will; but I +like it.’ He thought it was a novel! ‘Very well,’ said I, ‘we’ll see +whether the public will like it or not; they shall have the chance.’ + + Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + + _Friday_, _March_ 19_th_. + +MY DEAR S. C.,—You probably expect that now I am back at Vailima I shall +resume the practice of the diary letter. A good deal is changed. We are +more; solitude does not attend me as before; the night is passed playing +Van John for shells; and, what is not less important, I have just +recovered from a severe illness, and am easily tired. + +I will give you to-day. I sleep now in one of the lower rooms of the new +house, where my wife has recently joined me. We have two beds, an empty +case for a table, a chair, a tin basin, a bucket and a jug; next door in +the dining-room, the carpenters camp on the floor, which is covered with +their mosquito nets. Before the sun rises, at 5.45 or 5.50, Paul brings +me tea, bread, and a couple of eggs; and by about six I am at work. I +work in bed—my bed is of mats, no mattress, sheets, or filth—mats, a +pillow, and a blanket—and put in some three hours. It was 9.5 this +morning when I set off to the stream-side to my weeding; where I toiled, +manuring the ground with the best enricher, human sweat, till the +conch-shell was blown from our verandah at 10.30. At eleven we dine; +about half-past twelve I tried (by exception) to work again, could make +nothing on’t, and by one was on my way to the weeding, where I wrought +till three. Half-past five is our next meal, and I read Flaubert’s +Letters till the hour came round; dined, and then, Fanny having a cold, +and I being tired, came over to my den in the unfinished house, where I +now write to you, to the tune of the carpenters’ voices, and by the +light—I crave your pardon—by the twilight of three vile candles filtered +through the medium of my mosquito bar. Bad ink being of the party, I +write quite blindfold, and can only hope you may be granted to read that +which I am unable to see while writing. + +I said I was tired; it is a mild phrase; my back aches like toothache; +when I shut my eyes to sleep, I know I shall see before them—a phenomenon +to which both Fanny and I are quite accustomed—endless vivid deeps of +grass and weed, each plant particular and distinct, so that I shall lie +inert in body, and transact for hours the mental part of my day business, +choosing the noxious from the useful. And in my dreams I shall be +hauling on recalcitrants, and suffering stings from nettles, stabs from +citron thorns, fiery bites from ants, sickening resistances of mud and +slime, evasions of slimy roots, dead weight of heat, sudden puffs of air, +sudden starts from bird-calls in the contiguous forest—some mimicking my +name, some laughter, some the signal of a whistle, and living over again +at large the business of my day. + +Though I write so little, I pass all my hours of field-work in continual +converse and imaginary correspondence. I scarce pull up a weed, but I +invent a sentence on the matter to yourself; it does not get written; +_autant en emportent les vents_; but the intent is there, and for me (in +some sort) the companionship. To-day, for instance, we had a great talk. +I was toiling, the sweat dripping from my nose, in the hot fit after a +squall of rain: methought you asked me—frankly, was I happy. Happy (said +I); I was only happy once; that was at Hyères; it came to an end from a +variety of reasons, decline of health, change of place, increase of +money, age with his stealing steps; since then, as before then, I know +not what it means. But I know pleasure still; pleasure with a thousand +faces, and none perfect, a thousand tongues all broken, a thousand hands, +and all of them with scratching nails. High among these I place this +delight of weeding out here alone by the garrulous water, under the +silence of the high wood, broken by incongruous sounds of birds. And +take my life all through, look at it fore and back, and upside +down,—though I would very fain change myself—I would not change my +circumstances, unless it were to bring you here. And yet God knows +perhaps this intercourse of writing serves as well; and I wonder, were +you here indeed, would I commune so continually with the thought of you. +I say ‘I wonder’ for a form; I know, and I know I should not. + +So far, and much further, the conversation went, while I groped in slime +after viscous roots, nursing and sparing little spears of grass, and +retreating (even with outcry) from the prod of the wild lime. I wonder +if any one had ever the same attitude to Nature as I hold, and have held +for so long? This business fascinates me like a tune or a passion; yet +all the while I thrill with a strong distaste. The horror of the thing, +objective and subjective, is always present to my mind; the horror of +creeping things, a superstitious horror of the void and the powers about +me, the horror of my own devastation and continual murders. The life of +the plants comes through my fingertips, their struggles go to my heart +like supplications. I feel myself blood-boltered; then I look back on my +cleared grass, and count myself an ally in a fair quarrel, and make stout +my heart. + +It is but a little while since I lay sick in Sydney, beating the fields +about the navy and Dean Swift and Dryden’s Latin hymns; judge if I love +this reinvigorating climate, where I can already toil till my head swims +and every string in the poor jumping Jack (as he now lies in bed) aches +with a kind of yearning strain, difficult to suffer in quiescence. + +As for my damned literature, God knows what a business it is, grinding +along without a scrap of inspiration or a note of style. But it has to +be ground, and the mill grinds exceeding slowly though not particularly +small. The last two chapters have taken me considerably over a month, +and they are still beneath pity. This I cannot continue, time not +sufficing; and the next will just have to be worse. All the good I can +express is just this; some day, when style revisits me, they will be +excellent matter to rewrite. Of course, my old cure of a change of work +would probably answer, but I cannot take it now. The treadmill turns; +and, with a kind of desperate cheerfulness, I mount the idle stair. I +haven’t the least anxiety about the book; unless I die, I shall find the +time to make it good; but the Lord deliver me from the thought of the +Letters! However, the Lord has other things on hand; and about six +to-morrow, I shall resume the consideration practically, and face (as +best I may) the fact of my incompetence and disaffection to the task. +Toil I do not spare; but fortune refuses me success. We can do more, +Whatever-his-name-was, we can deserve it. But my misdesert began long +since, by the acceptation of a bargain quite unsuitable to all my +methods. + +To-day I have had a queer experience. My carter has from the first been +using my horses for his own ends; when I left for Sydney, I put him on +his honour to cease, and my back was scarce turned ere he was forfeit. I +have only been waiting to discharge him; and to-day an occasion arose. I +am so much _the old man virulent_, so readily stumble into anger, that I +gave a deal of consideration to my bearing, and decided at last to +imitate that of the late —. Whatever he might have to say, this +eminently effective controversialist maintained a frozen demeanour and a +jeering smile. The frozen demeanour is beyond my reach; but I could try +the jeering smile; did so, perceived its efficacy, kept in consequence my +temper, and got rid of my friend, myself composed and smiling still, he +white and shaking like an aspen. He could explain everything; I said it +did not interest me. He said he had enemies; I said nothing was more +likely. He said he was calumniated; with all my heart, said I, but there +are so many liars, that I find it safer to believe them. He said, in +justice to himself, he must explain: God forbid I should interfere with +you, said I, with the same factitious grin, but it can change nothing. +So I kept my temper, rid myself of an unfaithful servant, found a method +of conducting similar interviews in the future, and fell in my own +liking. One thing more: I learned a fresh tolerance for the dead —; he +too had learned—perhaps had invented—the trick of this manner; God knows +what weakness, what instability of feeling, lay beneath. _Ce que c’est +que de nous_! poor human nature; that at past forty I must adjust this +hateful mask for the first time, and rejoice to find it effective; that +the effort of maintaining an external smile should confuse and embitter a +man’s soul. + +To-day I have not weeded; I have written instead from six till eleven, +from twelve till two; with the interruption of the interview aforesaid; a +damned letter is written for the third time; I dread to read it, for I +dare not give it a fourth chance—unless it be very bad indeed. Now I +write you from my mosquito curtain, to the song of saws and planes and +hammers, and wood clumping on the floor above; in a day of heavenly +brightness; a bird twittering near by; my eye, through the open door, +commanding green meads, two or three forest trees casting their boughs +against the sky, a forest-clad mountain-side beyond, and close in by the +door-jamb a nick of the blue Pacific. It is March in England, bleak +March, and I lie here with the great sliding doors wide open in an +undershirt and p’jama trousers, and melt in the closure of mosquito bars, +and burn to be out in the breeze. A few torn clouds—not white, the sun +has tinged them a warm pink—swim in heaven. In which blessed and fair +day, I have to make faces and speak bitter words to a man—who has +deceived me, it is true—but who is poor, and older than I, and a kind of +a gentleman too. On the whole, I prefer the massacre of weeds. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_. + +When I had done talking to you yesterday, I played on my pipe till the +conch sounded, then went over to the old house for dinner, and had scarce +risen from table ere I was submerged with visitors. The first of these +despatched, I spent the rest of the evening going over the Samoan +translation of my _Bottle Imp_ with Claxton the missionary; then to bed, +but being upset, I suppose, by these interruptions, and having gone all +day without my weeding, not to sleep. For hours I lay awake and heard +the rain fall, and saw faint, far-away lightning over the sea, and wrote +you long letters which I scorn to reproduce. This morning Paul was +unusually early; the dawn had scarce begun when he appeared with the tray +and lit my candle; and I had breakfasted and read (with indescribable +sinkings) the whole of yesterday’s work before the sun had risen. Then I +sat and thought, and sat and better thought. It was not good enough, nor +good; it was as slack as journalism, but not so inspired; it was +excellent stuff misused, and the defects stood gross on it like humps +upon a camel. But could I, in my present disposition, do much more with +it? in my present pressure for time, were I not better employed doing +another one about as ill, than making this some thousandth fraction +better? Yes, I thought; and tried the new one, and behold, I could do +nothing: my head swims, words do not come to me, nor phrases, and I +accepted defeat, packed up my traps, and turned to communicate the +failure to my esteemed correspondent. I think it possible I overworked +yesterday. Well, we’ll see to-morrow—perhaps try again later. It is +indeed the hope of trying later that keeps me writing to you. If I take +to my pipe, I know myself—all is over for the morning. Hurray, I’ll +correct proofs! + + * * * * * + + _Pago-Pago_, _Wednesday_. + +After I finished on Sunday I passed a miserable day; went out weeding, +but could not find peace. I do not like to steal my dinner, unless I +have given myself a holiday in a canonical manner; and weeding after all +is only fun, the amount of its utility small, and the thing capable of +being done faster and nearly as well by a hired boy. In the evening +Sewall came up (American consul) and proposed to take me on a malaga, +which I accepted. Monday I rode down to Apia, was nearly all day +fighting about drafts and money; the silver problem does not touch you, +but it is (in a strange and I hope passing phase) making my situation +difficult in Apia. About eleven, the flags were all half-masted; it was +old Captain Hamilton (Samesoni the natives called him) who had passed +away. In the evening I walked round to the U.S. Consulate; it was a +lovely night with a full moon; and as I got round to the hot corner of +Matautu I heard hymns in front. The balcony of the dead man’s house was +full of women singing; Mary (the widow, a native) sat on a chair by the +doorstep, and I was set beside her on a bench, and next to Paul the +carpenter; as I sat down I had a glimpse of the old captain, who lay in a +sheet on his own table. After the hymn was over, a native pastor made a +speech which lasted a long while; the light poured out of the door and +windows; the girls were sitting clustered at my feet; it was choking hot. +After the speech was ended, Mary carried me within; the captain’s hands +were folded on his bosom, his face and head were composed; he looked as +if he might speak at any moment; I have never seen this kind of waxwork +so express or more venerable; and when I went away, I was conscious of a +certain envy for the man who was out of the battle. All night it ran in +my head, and the next day when we sighted Tutuila, and ran into this +beautiful land-locked loch of Pago Pago (whence I write), Captain +Hamilton’s folded hands and quiet face said a great deal more to me than +the scenery. + +I am living here in a trader’s house; we have a good table, Sewall doing +things in style; and I hope to benefit by the change, and possibly get +more stuff for Letters. In the meanwhile, I am seized quite +_mal-à-propos_ with desire to write a story, _The Bloody Wedding_, +founded on fact—very possibly true, being an attempt to read a murder +case—not yet months old, in this very place and house where I now write. +The indiscretion is what stops me; but if I keep on feeling as I feel +just now it will have to be written. Three Star Nettison, Kit Nettison, +Field the Sailor, these are the main characters: old Nettison, and the +captain of the man of war, the secondary. Possible scenario. Chapter I. +. . . + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + + _Saturday_, _April_ 18_th_. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—I got back on Monday night, after twenty-three hours in +an open boat; the keys were lost; the Consul (who had promised us a +bottle of Burgundy) nobly broke open his store-room, and we got to bed +about midnight. Next morning the blessed Consul promised us horses for +the daybreak; forgot all about it, worthy man; set us off at last in the +heat of the day, and by a short cut which caused infinite trouble, and we +were not home till dinner. I was extenuated, and have had a high fever +since, or should have been writing before. To-day for the first time, I +risk it. Tuesday I was pretty bad; Wednesday had a fever to kill a +horse; Thursday I was better, but still out of ability to do aught but +read awful trash. This is the time one misses civilisation; I wished to +send out for some police novels; Montépin would have about suited my +frozen brain. It is a bother when all one’s thought turns on one’s work +in some sense or other; could not even think yesterday; I took to +inventing dishes by way of entertainment. Yesterday, while I lay asleep +in the afternoon, a very lucky thing happened; the Chief Justice came to +call; met one of our employés on the road; and was shown what I had done +to the road. + +‘Is this the road across the island?’ he asked. + +‘The only one,’ said Innes. + +‘And has one man done all this?’ + +‘Three times,’ said the trusty Innes. ‘It has had to be made three +times, and when Mr. Stevenson came, it was a track like what you see +beyond.’ + +‘This must be put right,’ said the Chief Justice. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_. + +The truth is, I broke down yesterday almost as soon as I began, and have +been surreptitiously finishing the entry to-day. For all that I was much +better, ate all the time, and had no fever. The day was otherwise +uneventful. I am reminded; I had another visitor on Friday; and Fanny +and Lloyd, as they returned from a forest raid, met in our desert, +untrodden road, first Father Didier, Keeper of the conscience of Mataafa, +the rising star; and next the Chief justice, sole stay of Laupepa, the +present and unsteady star, and remember, a few days before we were close +to the sick bed and entertained by the amateur physician of Tamasese, the +late and sunken star. ‘That is the fun of this place,’ observed Lloyd; +‘everybody you meet is so important.’ Everybody is also so gloomy. It +will come to war again, is the opinion of all the well informed—and +before that to many bankruptcies; and after that, as usual, to famine. +Here, under the microscope, we can see history at work. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_. + +I have been very neglectful. A return to work, perhaps premature, but +necessary, has used up all my possible energies and made me acquainted +with the living headache. I just jot down some of the past notabilia. +Yesterday B., a carpenter, and K., my (unsuccessful) white man, were +absent all morning from their work; I was working myself, where I hear +every sound with morbid certainty, and I can testify that not a hammer +fell. Upon inquiry I found they had passed the morning making ice with +our ice machine and taking the horizon with a spirit level! I had no +sooner heard this than—a violent headache set in; I am a real employer of +labour now, and have much of the ship captain when aroused; and if I had +a headache, I believe both these gentlemen had aching hearts. I promise +you, the late—was to the front; and K., who was the most guilty, yet (in +a sense) the least blameable, having the brains and character of a +canary-bird, fared none the better for B.’s repartees. I hear them hard +at work this morning, so the menace may be blessed. It was just after my +dinner, just before theirs, that I administered my redoubtable tongue—it +is really redoubtable—to these skulkers (Paul used to triumph over Mr. J. +for weeks. ‘I am very sorry for you,’ he would say; ‘you’re going to +have a talk with Mr. Stevenson when he comes home: you don’t know what +that is!’) In fact, none of them do, till they get it. I have known K., +for instance, for months; he has never heard me complain, or take notice, +unless it were to praise; I have used him always as my guest, and there +seems to be something in my appearance which suggests endless, ovine +long-suffering! We sat in the upper verandah all evening, and discussed +the price of iron roofing, and the state of the draught-horses, with +Innes, a new man we have taken, and who seems to promise well. + +One thing embarrasses me. No one ever seems to understand my attitude +about that book; the stuff sent was never meant for other than a first +state; I never meant it to appear as a book. Knowing well that I have +never had one hour of inspiration since it was begun, and have only +beaten out my metal by brute force and patient repetition, I hoped some +day to get a ‘spate of style’ and burnish it—fine mixed metaphor. I am +now so sick that I intend, when the Letters are done and some more +written that will be wanted, simply to make a book of it by the +pruning-knife. + +I cannot fight longer; I am sensible of having done worse than I hoped, +worse than I feared; all I can do now is to do the best I can for the +future, and clear the book, like a piece of bush, with axe and cutlass. +Even to produce the MS. of this will occupy me, at the most favourable +opinion, till the middle of next year; really five years were wanting, +when I could have made a book; but I have a family, and—perhaps I could +not make the book after all. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + + _April_ 29_th_, ’91. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—I begin again. I was awake this morning about half-past +four. It was still night, but I made my fire, which is always a +delightful employment, and read Lockhart’s ‘Scott’ until the day began to +peep. It was a beautiful and sober dawn, a dove-coloured dawn, +insensibly brightening to gold. I was looking at it some while over the +down-hill profile of our eastern road, when I chanced to glance +northward, and saw with extraordinary pleasure the sea lying outspread. +It seemed as smooth as glass, and yet I knew the surf was roaring all +along the reef, and indeed, if I had listened, I could have heard it—and +saw the white sweep of it outside Matautu. + +I am out of condition still, and can do nothing, and toil to be at my +pen, and see some ink behind me. I have taken up again _The High Woods +of Ulufanua_. I still think the fable too fantastic and far-fetched. +But, on a re-reading, fell in love with my first chapter, and for good or +evil I must finish it. It is really good, well fed with facts, true to +the manners, and (for once in my works) rendered pleasing by the presence +of a heroine who is pretty. Miss Uma is pretty; a fact. All my other +women have been as ugly as sin, and like Falconet’s horse (I have just +been reading the anecdote in Lockhart), _mortes_ forbye. + +News: Our old house is now half demolished; it is to be rebuilt on a new +site; now we look down upon and through the open posts of it like a +bird-cage, to the woods beyond. My poor Paulo has lost his father and +succeeded to thirty thousand thalers (I think); he had to go down to the +Consulate yesterday to send a legal paper; got drunk, of course, and is +still this morning in so bemused a condition that our breakfasts all went +wrong. Lafaele is absent at the deathbed of his fair spouse; fair she +was, but not in deed, acting as harlot to the wreckers at work on the +warships, to which society she probably owes her end, having fallen off a +cliff, or been thrust off it—_inter pocula_. Henry is the same, our +stand-by. In this transition stage he has been living in Apia; but the +other night he stayed up, and sat with us about the chimney in my room. +It was the first time he had seen a fire in a hearth; he could not look +at it without smiles, and was always anxious to put on another stick. We +entertained him with the fairy tales of civilisation—theatres, London, +blocks in the street, Universities, the Underground, newspapers, etc., +and projected once more his visit to Sydney. If we can manage, it will +be next Christmas. (I see it will be impossible for me to afford a +further journey _this_ winter.) We have spent since we have been here +about £2500, which is not much if you consider we have built on that +three houses, one of them of some size, and a considerable stable, made +two miles of road some three times, cleared many acres of bush, made some +miles of path, planted quantities of food, and enclosed a horse paddock +and some acres of pig run; but ’tis a good deal of money regarded simply +as money. K. is bosh; I have no use for him; but we must do what we can +with the fellow meanwhile; he is good-humoured and honest, but +inefficient, idle himself, the cause of idleness in others, grumbling, a +self-excuser—all the faults in a bundle. He owes us thirty weeks’ +service—the wretched Paul about half as much. Henry is almost the only +one of our employés who has a credit. + + * * * * * + + _May_ 17_th_. + +Well, am I ashamed of myself? I do not think so. I have been hammering +Letters ever since, and got three ready and a fourth about half through; +all four will go by the mail, which is what I wish, for so I keep at +least my start. Days and days of unprofitable stubbing and digging, and +the result still poor as literature, left-handed, heavy, unillumined, but +I believe readable and interesting as matter. It has been no joke of a +hard time, and when my task was done, I had little taste for anything but +blowing on the pipe. A few necessary letters filled the bowl to +overflowing. + +My mother has arrived, young, well, and in good spirits. By desperate +exertions, which have wholly floored Fanny, her room was ready for her, +and the dining-room fit to eat in. It was a famous victory. Lloyd never +told me of your portrait till a few days ago; fortunately, I had no +pictures hung yet; and the space over my chimney waits your counterfeit +presentment. I have not often heard anything that pleased me more; your +severe head shall frown upon me and keep me to the mark. But why has it +not come? Have you been as forgetful as Lloyd? + + * * * * * + + 18_th_. + +Miserable comforters are ye all! I read your esteemed pages this morning +by lamplight and the glimmer of the dawn, and as soon as breakfast was +over, I must turn to and tackle these despised labours! Some courage was +necessary, but not wanting. There is one thing at least by which I can +avenge myself for my drubbing, for on one point you seem impenetrably +stupid. Can I find no form of words which will at last convey to your +intelligence the fact that _these letters were never meant_, _and are not +now meant_, _to be other than a quarry of materials from which the book +may be drawn_? There seems something incommunicable in this (to me) +simple idea; I know Lloyd failed to comprehend it, I doubt if he has +grasped it now; and I despair, after all these efforts, that you should +ever be enlightened. Still, oblige me by reading that form of words once +more, and see if a light does not break. You may be sure, after the +friendly freedoms of your criticism (necessary I am sure, and wholesome I +know, but untimely to the poor labourer in his landslip) that mighty +little of it will stand. + +Our Paul has come into a fortune, and wishes to go home to the Hie +Germanie. This is a tile on our head, and if a shower, which is now +falling, lets up, I must go down to Apia, and see if I can find a +substitute of any kind. This is, from any point of view, disgusting; +above all, from that of work; for, whatever the result, the mill has to +be kept turning; apparently dust, and not flour, is the proceed. Well, +there is gold in the dust, which is a fine consolation, since—well, I +can’t help it; night or morning, I do my darndest, and if I cannot charge +for merit, I must e’en charge for toil, of which I have plenty and plenty +more ahead before this cup is drained; sweat and hyssop are the +ingredients. + +We are clearing from Carruthers’ Road to the pig fence, twenty-eight +powerful natives with Catholic medals about their necks, all swiping in +like Trojans; long may the sport continue! + +The invoice to hand. Ere this goes out, I hope to see your expressive, +but surely not benignant countenance! Adieu, O culler of offensive +expressions—‘and a’ to be a posy to your ain dear May!’—Fanny seems a +little revived again after her spasm of work. Our books and furniture +keep slowly draining up the road, in a sad state of scatterment and +disrepair; I wish the devil had had K. by his red beard before he had +packed my library. Odd leaves and sheets and boards—a thing to make a +bibliomaniac shed tears—are fished out of odd corners. But I am no +bibliomaniac, praise Heaven, and I bear up, and rejoice when I find +anything safe. + + * * * * * + + 19_th_. + +However, I worked five hours on the brute, and finished my Letter all the +same, and couldn’t sleep last night by consequence. Haven’t had a bad +night since I don’t know when; dreamed a large, handsome man (a New +Orleans planter) had insulted my wife, and, do what I pleased, I could +not make him fight me; and woke to find it was the eleventh anniversary +of my marriage. A letter usually takes me from a week to three days; but +I’m sometimes two days on a page—I was once three—and then my friends +kick me. _C’est-y-bête_! I wish letters of that charming quality could +be so timed as to arrive when a fellow wasn’t working at the truck in +question; but, of course, that can’t be. Did not go down last night. It +showered all afternoon, and poured heavy and loud all night. + +You should have seen our twenty-five popes (the Samoan phrase for a +Catholic, lay or cleric) squatting when the day’s work was done on the +ground outside the verandah, and pouring in the rays of forty-eight eyes +through the back and the front door of the dining-room, while Henry and I +and the boss pope signed the contract. The second boss (an old man) wore +a kilt (as usual) and a Balmoral bonnet with a little tartan edging and +the tails pulled off. I told him that hat belong to my country—Sekotia; +and he said, yes, that was the place that he belonged to right enough. +And then all the Papists laughed till the woods rang; he was slashing +away with a cutlass as he spoke. + +The pictures have decidedly not come; they may probably arrive Sunday. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + + _June_, 1891. + +SIR,—To you, under your portrait, which is, in expression, your true, +breathing self, and up to now saddens me; in time, and soon, I shall be +glad to have it there; it is still only a reminder of your absence. +Fanny wept when we unpacked it, and you know how little she is given to +that mood; I was scarce Roman myself, but that does not count—I lift up +my voice so readily. These are good compliments to the artist. I write +in the midst of a wreck of books, which have just come up, and have for +once defied my labours to get straight. The whole floor is filled with +them, and (what’s worse) most of the shelves forbye; and where they are +to go to, and what is to become of the librarian, God knows. It is hot +to-night, and has been airless all day, and I am out of sorts, and my +work sticks, the devil fly away with it and me. We had an alarm of war +since last I wrote my screeds to you, and it blew over, and is to blow on +again, and the rumour goes they are to begin by killing all the whites. +I have no belief in this, and should be infinitely sorry if it came to +pass—I do not mean for _us_, that were otiose—but for the poor, deluded +schoolboys, who should hope to gain by such a step. + + * * * * * + +[_Letter resumed_.] + + _June_ 20_th_. + +No diary this time. Why? you ask. I have only sent out four Letters, +and two chapters of the _Wrecker_. Yes, but to get these I have written +132 pp., 66,000 words in thirty days; 2200 words a day; the labours of an +elephant. God knows what it’s like, and don’t ask me, but nobody shall +say I have spared pains. I thought for some time it wouldn’t come at +all. I was days and days over the first letter of the lot—days and days +writing and deleting and making no headway whatever, till I thought I +should have gone bust; but it came at last after a fashion, and the rest +went a thought more easily, though I am not so fond as to fancy any +better. + +Your opinion as to the letters as a whole is so damnatory that I put them +by. But there is a ‘hell of a want of’ money this year. And these +Gilbert Island papers, being the most interesting in matter, and forming +a compact whole, and being well illustrated, I did think of as a possible +resource. + +It would be called + + _Six Months in Melanesia_, + + _Two Island Kings_, + + —_Monarchies_, + + _Gilbert Island Kings_, + + —_Monarchies_, + +and I daresay I’ll think of a better yet—and would divide thus:— + + _Butaritati_. + I. A Town asleep. + II. The Three Brothers. + III. Around our House. + IV. A Tale of a Tapu. + V. The Five Day’s Festival. + VI. Domestic Life—(which might be omitted, but not well, + better be recast). + _The King of Apemama_. + VII. The Royal Traders. + VIII. Foundation of Equator Town. + IX. The Palace of Mary Warren. + X. Equator Town and the Palace. + XI. King and Commons. + XII. The Devil Work Box. + XIII. The Three Corslets. + XIV. Tail piece; the Court upon a Journey. + +I wish you to watch these closely, judging them as a whole, and treating +them as I have asked you, and favour me with your damnatory advice. I +look up at your portrait, and it frowns upon me. You seem to view me +with reproach. The expression is excellent; Fanny wept when she saw it, +and you know she is not given to the melting mood. She seems really +better; I have a touch of fever again, I fancy overwork, and to-day, when +I have overtaken my letters, I shall blow on my pipe. Tell Mrs. S. I +have been playing _Le Chant d’Amour_ lately, and have arranged it, after +awful trouble, rather prettily for two pipes; and it brought her before +me with an effect scarce short of hallucination. I could hear her voice +in every note; yet I had forgot the air entirely, and began to pipe it +from notes as something new, when I was brought up with a round turn by +this reminiscence. We are now very much installed; the dining-room is +done, and looks lovely. Soon we shall begin to photograph and send you +our circumstances. My room is still a howling wilderness. I sleep on a +platform in a window, and strike my mosquito bar and roll up my +bedclothes every morning, so that the bed becomes by day a divan. A +great part of the floor is knee-deep in books, yet nearly all the shelves +are filled, alas! It is a place to make a pig recoil, yet here are my +interminable labours begun daily by lamp-light, and sometimes not yet +done when the lamp has once more to be lighted. The effect of pictures +in this place is surprising. They give great pleasure. + + * * * * * + + _June_ 21_st_. + +A word more. I had my breakfast this morning at 4.30! My new cook has +beaten me and (as Lloyd says) revenged all the cooks in the world. I +have been hunting them to give me breakfast early since I was twenty; and +now here comes Mr. Ratke, and I have to plead for mercy. I cannot stand +4.30; I am a mere fevered wreck; it is now half-past eight, and I can no +more, and four hours divide me from lunch, the devil take the man! +Yesterday it was about 5.30, which I can stand; day before 5, which is +bad enough; to-day, I give out. It is like a London season, and as I do +not take a siesta once in a month, and then only five minutes, I am being +worn to the bones, and look aged and anxious. + +We have Rider Haggard’s brother here as a Land Commissioner; a nice kind +of a fellow; indeed, all the three Land Commissioners are very agreeable. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + + _Sunday_, _Sept._ 5 (?), 1891. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—Yours from Lochinver has just come. You ask me if I am +ever homesick for the Highlands and the Isles. Conceive that for the +last month I have been living there between 1786 and 1850, in my +grandfather’s diaries and letters. I _had_ to take a rest; no use +talking; so I put in a month over my _Lives of the Stevensons_ with great +pleasure and profit and some advance; one chapter and a part drafted. +The whole promises well Chapter I. Domestic Annals. Chapter II. The +Northern Lights. Chapter III. The Bell Rock. Chapter IV. A Family of +Boys. Chap. V. The Grandfather. VI. Alan Stevenson. VII. Thomas +Stevenson. My materials for my great-grandfather are almost null; for my +grandfather copious and excellent. Name, a puzzle. _A Scottish Family_, +_A Family of Engineers_, _Northern Lights_, _The Engineers of the +Northern Lights_: _A Family History_. Advise; but it will take long. +Now, imagine if I have been homesick for Barrahead and Island Glass, and +Kirkwall, and Cape Wrath, and the Wells of the Pentland Firth; I could +have wept. + +Now for politics. I am much less alarmed; I believe the _malo_ (=_raj_, +government) will collapse and cease like an overlain infant, without a +shot fired. They have now been months here on their big salaries—and +Cedarcrantz, whom I specially like as a man, has done nearly nothing, and +the Baron, who is well-meaning, has done worse. They have these large +salaries, and they have all the taxes; they have made scarce a foot of +road; they have not given a single native a position—all to white men; +they have scarce laid out a penny on Apia, and scarce a penny on the +King; they have forgot they were in Samoa, or that such a thing as +Samoans existed, and had eyes and some intelligence. The Chief Justice +has refused to pay his customs! The President proposed to have an +expensive house built for himself, while the King, his master, has none! +I had stood aside, and been a loyal, and, above all, a silent subject, up +to then; but now I snap my fingers at their _malo_. It is damned, and +I’m damned glad of it. And this is not all. Last ‘_Wainiu_,’ when I +sent Fanny off to Fiji, I hear the wonderful news that the Chief Justice +is going to Fiji and the Colonies to improve his mind. I showed my way +of thought to his guest, Count Wachtmeister, whom I have sent to you with +a letter—he will tell you all the news. Well, the Chief Justice stayed, +but they said he was to leave yesterday. I had intended to go down, and +see and warn him! But the President’s house had come up in the +meanwhile, and I let them go to their doom, which I am only anxious to +see swiftly and (if it may be) bloodlessly fall. + +Thus I have in a way withdrawn my unrewarded loyalty. Lloyd is down +to-day with Moors to call on Mataafa; the news of the excursion made a +considerable row in Apia, and both the German and the English consuls +besought Lloyd not to go. But he stuck to his purpose, and with my +approval. It’s a poor thing if people are to give up a pleasure party +for a _malo_ that has never done anything for us but draw taxes, and is +going to go pop, and leave us at the mercy of the identical Mataafa, whom +I have not visited for more than a year, and who is probably furious. + +The sense of my helplessness here has been rather bitter; I feel it +wretched to see this dance of folly and injustice and unconscious +rapacity go forward from day to day, and to be impotent. I was not +consulted—or only by one man, and that on particular points; I did not +choose to volunteer advice till some pressing occasion; I have not even a +vote, for I am not a member of the municipality. + +What ails you, miserable man, to talk of saving material? I have a whole +world in my head, a whole new society to work, but I am in no hurry; you +will shortly make the acquaintance of the Island of Ulufanua, on which I +mean to lay several stories; the _Bloody Wedding_, possibly the _High +Woods_—(O, it’s so good, the High Woods, but the story is craziness; +that’s the trouble,)—a political story, the _Labour Slave_, etc. +Ulufanua is an imaginary island; the name is a beautiful Samoan word for +the _top_ of a forest; ulu—leaves or hair, fanua=land. The ground or +country of the leaves. ‘Ulufanua the isle of the sea,’ read that verse +dactylically and you get the beat; the u’s are like our double oo; did +ever you hear a prettier word? + +I do not feel inclined to make a volume of Essays, but if I did, and +perhaps the idea is good—and any idea is better than South Seas—here +would be my choice of the Scribner articles: _Dreams_, _Beggars_, +_Lantern-Bearers_, _Random Memories_. There was a paper called the _Old +Pacific Capital_ in Fraser, in Tulloch’s time, which had merit; there +were two on Fontainebleau in the _Magazine of Art_ in Henley’s time. I +have no idea if they’re any good; then there’s the _Emigrant Train_. +_Pulvis et Umbra_ is in a different key, and wouldn’t hang on with the +rest. + +I have just interrupted my letter and read through the chapter of the +_High Woods_ that is written, a chapter and a bit, some sixteen pages, +really very fetching, but what do you wish? the story is so wilful, so +steep, so silly—it’s a hallucination I have outlived, and yet I never did +a better piece of work, horrid, and pleasing, and extraordinarily _true_; +it’s sixteen pages of the South Seas; their essence. What am I to do? +Lose this little gem—for I’ll be bold, and that’s what I think it—or go +on with the rest, which I don’t believe in, and don’t like, and which can +never make aught but a silly yarn? Make another end to it? Ah, yes, but +that’s not the way I write; the whole tale is implied; I never use an +effect, when I can help it, unless it prepares the effects that are to +follow; that’s what a story consists in. To make another end, that is to +make the beginning all wrong. The dénouement of a long story is nothing; +it is just a ‘full close,’ which you may approach and accompany as you +please—it is a coda, not an essential member in the rhythm; but the body +and end of a short story is bone of the bone and blood of the blood of +the beginning. Well, I shall end by finishing it against my judgment; +that fragment is my Delilah. Golly, it’s good. I am not shining by +modesty; but I do just love the colour and movement of that piece so far +as it goes. + +I was surprised to hear of your fishing. And you saw the ‘Pharos,’ +thrice fortunate man; I wish I dared go home, I would ask the +Commissioners to take me round for old sake’s sake, and see all my family +pictures once more from the Mull of Galloway to Unst. However, all is +arranged for our meeting in Ceylon, except the date and the blooming +pounds. I have heard of an exquisite hotel in the country, airy, large +rooms, good cookery, not dear; we shall have a couple of months there, if +we can make it out, and converse or—as my grandfather always +said—‘commune.’ ‘Communings with Mr. Kennedy as to Lighthouse Repairs.’ +He was a fine old fellow, but a droll. + + * * * * * + + _Evening_. + +Lloyd has returned. Peace and war were played before his eyes at heads +or tails. A German was stopped with levelled guns; he raised his whip; +had it fallen, we might have been now in war. Excuses were made by +Mataafa himself. Doubtless the thing was done—I mean the stopping of the +German—a little to show off before Lloyd. Meanwhile—was up here, telling +how the Chief Justice was really gone for five or eight weeks, and +begging me to write to the _Times_ and denounce the state of affairs; +many strong reasons he advanced; and Lloyd and I have been since his +arrival and —’s departure, near half an hour, debating what should be +done. Cedarcrantz is gone; it is not my fault; he knows my views on that +point—alone of all points;—he leaves me with my mouth sealed. Yet this +is a nice thing that because he is guilty of a fresh offence—his +flight—the mouth of the only possible influential witness should be +closed? I do not like this argument. I look like a cad, if I do in the +man’s absence what I could have done in a more manly manner in his +presence. True; but why did he go? It is his last sin. And I, who like +the man extremely—that is the word—I love his society—he is intelligent, +pleasant, even witty, a gentleman—and you know how that attaches—I loathe +to seem to play a base part; but the poor natives—who are like other +folk, false enough, lazy enough, not heroes, not saints—ordinary men +damnably misused—are they to suffer because I like Cedarcrantz, and +Cedarcrantz has cut his lucky? This is a little tragedy, observe well—a +tragedy! I may be right, I may be wrong in my judgment, but I am in +treaty with my honour. I know not how it will seem to-morrow. Lloyd +thought the barrier of honour insurmountable, and it is an ugly obstacle. +He (Cedarcrantz) will likely meet my wife three days from now, may travel +back with her, will be charming if he does; suppose this, and suppose him +to arrive and find that I have sprung a mine—or the nearest approach to +it I could find—behind his back? My position is pretty. Yes, I am an +aristocrat. I have the old petty, personal view of honour? I should +blush till I die if I do this; yet it is on the cards that I may do it. +So much I have written you in bed, as a man writes, or talks, in a +_bittre Wahl_. Now I shall sleep, and see if I am more clear. I will +consult the missionaries at least—I place some reliance in M. also—or I +should if he were not a partisan; but a partisan he is. There’s the +pity. To sleep! A fund of wisdom in the prostrate body and the fed +brain. Kindly observe R. L. S. in the talons of politics! ’Tis +funny—’tis sad. Nobody but these cursed idiots could have so driven me; +I cannot bear idiots. + +My dear Colvin, I must go to sleep; it is long past ten—a dreadful hour +for me. And here am I lingering (so I feel) in the dining-room at the +Monument, talking to you across the table, both on our feet, and only the +two stairs to mount, and get to bed, and sleep, and be waked by dear old +George—to whom I wish my kindest remembrances—next morning. I look +round, and there is my blue room, and my long lines of shelves, and the +door gaping on a moonless night, and no word of S. C. but his twa +portraits on the wall. Good-bye, my dear fellow, and goodnight. Queer +place the world! + + * * * * * + + _Monday_. + +No clearness of mind with the morning; I have no guess what I should do. +’Tis easy to say that the public duty should brush aside these little +considerations of personal dignity; so it is that politicians begin, and +in a month you find them rat and flatter and intrigue with brows of +brass. I am rather of the old view, that a man’s first duty is to these +little laws; the big he does not, he never will, understand; I may be +wrong about the Chief Justice and the Baron and the state of Samoa; I +cannot be wrong about the vile attitude I put myself in if I blow the +gaff on Cedarcrantz behind his back. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_. + +One more word about the South Seas, in answer to a question I observe I +have forgotten to answer. The Tahiti part has never turned up, because +it has never been written. As for telling you where I went or when, or +anything about Honolulu, I would rather die; that is fair and plain. How +can anybody care when or how I left Honolulu? A man of upwards of forty +cannot waste his time in communicating matter of that indifference. The +letters, it appears, are tedious; they would be more tedious still if I +wasted my time upon such infantile and sucking-bottle details. If ever I +put in any such detail, it is because it leads into something or serves +as a transition. To tell it for its own sake, never! The mistake is all +through that I have told too much; I had not sufficient confidence in the +reader, and have overfed him; and here are you anxious to learn how I—O +Colvin! Suppose it had made a book, all such information is given to one +glance of an eye by a map with a little dotted line upon it. But let us +forget this unfortunate affair. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_. + +Yesterday I went down to consult Clarke, who took the view of delay. Has +he changed his mind already? I wonder: here at least is the news. Some +little while back some men of Manono—what is Manono?—a Samoan rotten +borough, a small isle of huge political importance, heaven knows why, +where a handful of chiefs make half the trouble in the country. Some men +of Manono (which is strong Mataafa) burned down the houses and destroyed +the crops of some Malietoa neighbours. The President went there the +other day and landed alone on the island, which (to give him his due) was +plucky. Moreover, he succeeded in persuading the folks to come up and be +judged on a particular day in Apia. That day they did not come; but did +come the next, and, to their vast surprise, were given six months’ +imprisonment and clapped in gaol. Those who had accompanied them cried +to them on the streets as they were marched to prison, ‘Shall we rescue +you?’ The condemned, marching in the hands of thirty men with loaded +rifles, cried out ‘No’! And the trick was done. But it was ardently +believed a rescue would be attempted; the gaol was laid about with armed +men day and night; but there was some question of their loyalty, and the +commandant of the forces, a very nice young beardless Swede, became +nervous, and conceived a plan. How if he should put dynamite under the +gaol, and in case of an attempted rescue blow up prison and all? He went +to the President, who agreed; he went to the American man-of-war for the +dynamite and machine, was refused, and got it at last from the Wreckers. +The thing began to leak out, and there arose a muttering in town. People +had no fancy for amateur explosions, for one thing. For another, it did +not clearly appear that it was legal; the men had been condemned to six +months’ prison, which they were peaceably undergoing; they had not been +condemned to death. And lastly, it seemed a somewhat advanced example of +civilisation to set before barbarians. The mutter in short became a +storm, and yesterday, while I was down, a cutter was chartered, and the +prisoners were suddenly banished to the Tokelaus. Who has changed the +sentence? We are going to stir in the dynamite matter; we do not want +the natives to fancy us consenting to such an outrage. + +Fanny has returned from her trip, and on the whole looks better. The +_High Woods_ are under way, and their name is now the _Beach of Falesá_, +and the yarn is cured. I have about thirty pages of it done; it will be +fifty to seventy I suppose. No supernatural trick at all; and escaped +out of it quite easily; can’t think why I was so stupid for so long. +Mighty glad to have Fanny back to this ‘Hell of the South Seas,’ as the +German Captain called it. What will Cedarcrantz think when he comes +back? To do him justice, had he been here, this Manono hash would not +have been. + +Here is a pretty thing. When Fanny was in Fiji all the Samoa and Tokelau +folks were agog about our ‘flash’ house; but the whites had never heard +of it. + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, + Author of _The Beach of Falesá_. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + + _Sept._ 28. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—Since I last laid down my pen, I have written and +rewritten _The Beach of Falesá_; something like sixty thousand words of +sterling domestic fiction (the story, you will understand, is only half +that length); and now I don’t want to write any more again for ever, or +feel so; and I’ve got to overhaul it once again to my sorrow. I was all +yesterday revising, and found a lot of slacknesses and (what is worse in +this kind of thing) some literaryisms. One of the puzzles is this: It is +a first person story—a trader telling his own adventure in an island. +When I began I allowed myself a few liberties, because I was afraid of +the end; now the end proved quite easy, and could be done in the pace; so +the beginning remains about a quarter tone out (in places); but I have +rather decided to let it stay so. The problem is always delicate; it is +the only thing that worries me in first person tales, which otherwise +(quo’ Alan) ‘set better wi’ my genius.’ There is a vast deal of fact in +the story, and some pretty good comedy. It is the first realistic South +Sea story; I mean with real South Sea character and details of life. +Everybody else who has tried, that I have seen, got carried away by the +romance, and ended in a kind of sugar-candy sham epic, and the whole +effect was lost—there was no etching, no human grin, consequently no +conviction. Now I have got the smell and look of the thing a good deal. +You will know more about the South Seas after you have read my little +tale than if you had read a library. As to whether any one else will +read it, I have no guess. I am in an off time, but there is just the +possibility it might make a hit; for the yarn is good and melodramatic, +and there is quite a love affair—for me; and Mr. Wiltshire (the narrator) +is a huge lark, though I say it. But there is always the exotic +question, and everything, the life, the place, the dialects—trader’s +talk, which is a strange conglomerate of literary expressions and English +and American slang, and Beach de Mar, or native English,—the very trades +and hopes and fears of the characters, are all novel, and may be found +unwelcome to that great, hulking, bullering whale, the public. + +Since I wrote, I have been likewise drawing up a document to send it to +the President; it has been dreadfully delayed, not by me, but to-day they +swear it will be sent in. A list of questions about the dynamite report +are herein laid before him, and considerations suggested why he should +answer. + + * * * * * + + _October_ 5_th_. + +Ever since my last snatch I have been much chivied about over the +President business; his answer has come, and is an evasion accompanied +with schoolboy insolence, and we are going to try to answer it. I drew +my answer and took it down yesterday; but one of the signatories wants +another paragraph added, which I have not yet been able to draw, and as +to the wisdom of which I am not yet convinced. + + * * * * * + + _Next day_, _Oct._ 7_th_, _the right day_. + +We are all in rather a muddled state with our President affair. I do +loathe politics, but at the same time, I cannot stand by and have the +natives blown in the air treacherously with dynamite. They are still +quiet; how long this may continue I do not know, though of course by mere +prescription the Government is strengthened, and is probably insured till +the next taxes fall due. But the unpopularity of the whites is growing. +My native overseer, the great Henry Simelé, announced to-day that he was +‘weary of whites upon the beach. All too proud,’ said this veracious +witness. One of the proud ones had threatened yesterday to cut off his +head with a bush knife! These are ‘native outrages’; honour bright, and +setting theft aside, in which the natives are active, this is the main +stream of irritation. The natives are generally courtly, far from always +civil, but really gentle, and with a strong sense of honour of their own, +and certainly quite as much civilised as our dynamiting President. + +We shall be delighted to see Kipling. I go to bed usually about +half-past eight, and my lamp is out before ten; I breakfast at six. We +may say roughly we have no soda water on the island, and just now +truthfully no whisky. I _have_ heard the chimes at midnight; now no +more, I guess. _But_—Fanny and I, as soon as we can get coins for it, +are coming to Europe, not to England: I am thinking of Royat. Bar wars. +If not, perhaps the Apennines might give us a mountain refuge for two +months or three in summer. How is that for high? But the money must be +all in hand first. + + * * * * * + + _October_ 13_th_. + +How am I to describe my life these last few days? I have been wholly +swallowed up in politics, a wretched business, with fine elements of +farce in it too, which repay a man in passing, involving many dark and +many moonlight rides, secret counsels which are at once divulged, sealed +letters which are read aloud in confidence to the neighbours, and a mass +of fudge and fun, which would have driven me crazy ten years ago, and now +makes me smile. + +On Friday, Henry came and told us he must leave and go to ‘my poor old +family in Savaii’; why? I do not quite know—but, I suspect, to be +tattooed—if so, then probably to be married, and we shall see him no +more. I told him he must do what he thought his duty; we had him to +lunch, drank his health, and he and I rode down about twelve. When I got +down, I sent my horse back to help bring down the family later. My own +afternoon was cut out for me; my last draft for the President had been +objected to by some of the signatories. I stood out, and one of our +small number accordingly refused to sign. Him I had to go and persuade, +which went off very well after the first hottish moments; you have no +idea how stolid my temper is now. By about five the thing was done; and +we sat down to dinner at the Chinaman’s—the Verrey or Doyen’s of Apia—G. +and I at each end as hosts; G.’s wife—Fanua, late maid of the village; +her (adopted) father and mother, Seumanu and Faatulia, Fanny, Belle, +Lloyd, Austin, and Henry Simelé, his last appearance. Henry was in a +kilt of gray shawl, with a blue jacket, white shirt and black necktie, +and looked like a dark genteel guest in a Highland shooting-box. Seumanu +(opposite Fanny, next G.) is chief of Apia, a rather big gun in this +place, looking like a large, fatted, military Englishman, bar the colour. +Faatulia, next me, is a bigger chief than her husband. Henry is a chief +too—his chief name, Iiga (Ee-eeng-a), he has not yet ‘taken’ because of +his youth. We were in fine society, and had a pleasant meal-time, with +lots of fun. Then to the Opera—I beg your pardon, I mean the Circus. We +occupied the first row in the reserved seats, and there in the row behind +were all our friends—Captain Foss and his Captain-Lieutenant, three of +the American officers, very nice fellows, the Dr., etc., so we made a +fine show of what an embittered correspondent of the local paper called +‘the shoddy aristocracy of Apia’; and you should have seen how we carried +on, and how I clapped, and Captain Foss hollered ‘_wunderschön_!’ and +threw himself forward in his seat, and how we all in fact enjoyed +ourselves like school-children, Austin not a shade more than his +neighbours. Then the Circus broke up, and the party went home, but I +stayed down, having business on the morrow. + +Yesterday, October 12th, great news reaches me, and Lloyd and I, with the +mail just coming in, must leave all, saddle, and ride down. True enough, +the President had resigned! Sought to resign his presidency of the +council, and keep his advisership to the King; given way to the Consul’s +objections and resigned all—then fell out with them about the disposition +of the funds, and was now trying to resign from his resignation! Sad +little President, so trim to look at, and I believe so kind to his little +wife! Not only so, but I meet D. on the beach. D. calls me in +consultation, and we make with infinite difficulty a draft of a petition +to the King. . . . Then to dinner at M.’s, a very merry meal, interrupted +before it was over by the arrival of the committee. Slight sketch of +procedure agreed upon, self appointed spokesman, and the deputation sets +off. Walk all through Matafele, all along Mulinuu, come to the King’s +house; he has verbally refused to see us in answer to our letter, +swearing he is gase-gase (chief-sickness, not common man’s), and indeed +we see him inside in bed. It is a miserable low house, better houses by +the dozen in the little hamlet (Tanugamanono) of bushmen on our way to +Vailima; and the President’s house in process of erection just opposite! +We are told to return to-morrow; I refuse; and at last we are very sourly +received, sit on the mats, and I open out, through a very poor +interpreter, and sometimes hampered by unacceptable counsels from my +backers. I can speak fairly well in a plain way now. C. asked me to +write out my harangue for him this morning; I have done so, and couldn’t +get it near as good. I suppose (talking and interpreting) I was twenty +minutes or half-an-hour on the deck; then his majesty replied in the +dying whisper of a big chief; a few words of rejoinder (approving), and +the deputation withdrew, rather well satisfied. + +A few days ago this intervention would have been a deportable offence; +not now, I bet; I would like them to try. A little way back along +Mulinuu, Mrs. G. met us with her husband’s horse; and he and she and +Lloyd and I rode back in a heavenly moonlight. Here ends a chapter in +the life of an island politician! Catch me at it again; ’tis easy to go +in, but it is not a pleasant trade. I have had a good team, as good as I +could get on the beach; but what trouble even so, and what fresh troubles +shaping. But I have on the whole carried all my points; I believe all +but one, and on that (which did not concern me) I had no right to +interfere. I am sure you would be amazed if you knew what a good hand I +am at keeping my temper, talking people over, and giving reasons which +are not my reasons, but calculated for the meridian of the particular +objection; so soon does falsehood await the politician in his whirling +path. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + + _May_, _October_ 24_th_. + +MY DEAR CARTHEW,—See what I have written, but it’s Colvin I’m after—I +have written two chapters, about thirty pages of _Wrecker_ since the mail +left, which must be my excuse, and the bother I’ve had with it is not to +be imagined, you might have seen me the day before yesterday weighing +British sov.’s and Chili dollars to arrange my treasure chest. And there +was such a calculation, not for that only, but for the ship’s position +and distances when—but I am not going to tell you the yarn—and then, as +my arithmetic is particularly lax, Lloyd had to go over all my +calculations; and then, as I had changed the amount of money, he had to +go over all _his_ as to the amount of the lay; and altogether, a bank +could be run with less effusion of figures than it took to shore up a +single chapter of a measly yarn. However, it’s done, and I have but one +more, or at the outside two, to do, and I am Free! and can do any damn +thing I like. + +Before falling on politics, I shall give you my day. Awoke somewhere +about the first peep of day, came gradually to, and had a turn on the +verandah before 5.55, when ‘the child’ (an enormous Wallis Islander) +brings me an orange; at 6, breakfast; 6.10, to work; which lasts till, at +10.30, Austin comes for his history lecture; this is rather dispiriting, +but education must be gone about in faith—and charity, both of which +pretty nigh failed me to-day about (of all things) Carthage; 11, +luncheon; after luncheon in my mother’s room, I read Chapter XXIII. of +_The Wrecker_, then Belle, Lloyd, and I go up and make music furiously +till about 2 (I suppose), when I turn into work again till 4; fool from 4 +to half-past, tired out and waiting for the bath hour; 4.30, bath; 4.40, +eat two heavenly mangoes on the verandah, and see the boys arrive with +the pack-horses; 5, dinner; smoke, chat on verandah, then hand of cards, +and at last at 8 come up to my room with a pint of beer and a hard +biscuit, which I am now consuming, and as soon as they are consumed I +shall turn in. + +Such are the innocent days of this ancient and outworn sportsman; to-day +there was no weeding, usually there is however, edge in somewhere. My +books for the moment are a crib to Phædo, and the second book of +Montaigne; and a little while back I was reading Frederic Harrison, +‘Choice of Books,’ etc.—very good indeed, a great deal of sense and +knowledge in the volume, and some very true stuff, _contra_ Carlyle, +about the eighteenth century. A hideous idea came over me that perhaps +Harrison is now getting _old_. Perhaps you are. Perhaps I am. Oh, this +infidelity must be stared firmly down. I am about twenty-three—say +twenty-eight; you about thirty, or, by’r lady, thirty-four; and as +Harrison belongs to the same generation, there is no good bothering about +him. + +Here has just been a fine alert; I gave my wife a dose of chlorodyne. +‘Something wrong,’ says she. ‘Nonsense,’ said I. ‘Embrocation,’ said +she. I smelt it, and—it smelt very funny. ‘I think it’s just gone bad, +and to-morrow will tell.’ Proved to be so. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_. + +_History of Tuesday_.—Woke at usual time, very little work, for I was +tired, and had a job for the evening—to write parts for a new instrument, +a violin. Lunch, chat, and up to my place to practise; but there was no +practising for me—my flageolet was gone wrong, and I had to take it all +to pieces, clean it, and put it up again. As this is a most intricate +job—the thing dissolves into seventeen separate members, most of these +have to be fitted on their individual springs as fine as needles, and +sometimes two at once with the springs shoving different ways—it took me +till two. Then Lloyd and I rode forth on our errands; first to Motootua, +where we had a really instructive conversation on weeds and grasses. +Thence down to Apia, where we bought a fresh bottle of chlorodyne and +conversed on politics. + +My visit to the King, which I thought at the time a particularly nugatory +and even schoolboy step, and only consented to because I had held the +reins so tight over my little band before, has raised a deuce of a +row—new proclamation, no one is to interview the sacred puppet without +consuls’ permission, two days’ notice, and an approved interpreter—read +(I suppose) spy. Then back; I should have said I was trying the new +horse; a tallish piebald, bought from the circus; he proved steady and +safe, but in very bad condition, and not so much the wild Arab steed of +the desert as had been supposed. The height of his back, after +commodious Jack, astonished me, and I had a great consciousness of +exercise and florid action, as I posted to his long, emphatic trot. We +had to ride back easy; even so he was hot and blown; and when we set a +boy to lead him to and fro, our last character for sanity perished. We +returned just neat for dinner; and in the evening our violinist arrived, +a young lady, no great virtuoso truly, but plucky, industrious, and a +good reader; and we played five pieces with huge amusement, and broke up +at nine. This morning I have read a splendid piece of Montaigne, written +this page of letter, and now turn to the _Wrecker_. + +_Wednesday_—November 16th or 17th—and I am ashamed to say mail day. The +_Wrecker_ is finished, that is the best of my news; it goes by this mail +to Scribner’s; and I honestly think it a good yarn on the whole and of +its measly kind. The part that is genuinely good is Nares, the American +sailor; that is a genuine figure; had there been more Nares it would have +been a better book; but of course it didn’t set up to be a book, only a +long tough yarn with some pictures of the manners of to-day in the +greater world—not the shoddy sham world of cities, clubs, and colleges, +but the world where men still live a man’s life. The worst of my news is +the influenza; Apia is devastate; the shops closed, a ball put off, etc. +As yet we have not had it at Vailima, and, who knows? we may escape. +None of us go down, but of course the boys come and go. + +Your letter had the most wonderful ‘I told you so’ I ever heard in the +course of my life. Why, you madman, I wouldn’t change my present +installation for any post, dignity, honour, or advantage conceivable to +me. It fills the bill; I have the loveliest time. And as for wars and +rumours of wars, you surely know enough of me to be aware that I like +that also a thousand times better than decrepit peace in Middlesex? I do +not quite like politics; I am too aristocratic, I fear, for that. God +knows I don’t care who I chum with; perhaps like sailors best; but to go +round and sue and sneak to keep a crowd together—never. My imagination, +which is not the least damped by the idea of having my head cut off in +the bush, recoils aghast from the idea of a life like Gladstone’s, and +the shadow of the newspaper chills me to the bone. Hence my late +eruption was interesting, but not what I like. All else suits me in this +(killed a mosquito) A1 abode. + +About politics. A determination was come to by the President that he had +been an idiot; emissaries came to G. and me to kiss and be friends. My +man proposed I should have a personal interview; I said it was quite +useless, I had nothing to say; I had offered him the chance to inform me, +had pressed it on him, and had been very unpleasantly received, and now +‘Time was.’ Then it was decided that I was to be made a culprit against +Germany; the German Captain—a delightful fellow and our constant +visitor—wrote to say that as ‘a German officer’ he could not come even to +say farewell. We all wrote back in the most friendly spirit, telling him +(politely) that some of these days he would be sorry, and we should be +delighted to see our friend again. Since then I have seen no German +shadow. + +Mataafa has been proclaimed a rebel; the President did this act, and then +resigned. By singular good fortune, Mataafa has not yet moved; no thanks +to our idiot governors. They have shot their bolt; they have made a +rebel of the only man (_to their own knowledge_, _on the report of their +own spy_) who held the rebel party in check; and having thus called on +war to fall, they can do no more, sit equally ‘expertes’ of _vis_ and +counsel, regarding their handiwork. It is always a cry with these folk +that he (Mataafa) had no ammunition. I always said it would be found; +and we know of five boat-loads that have found their way to Malie +already. Where there are traders, there will be ammunition; aphorism by +R. L. S. + +Now what am I to do next? + +Lives of the Stevensons? _Historia Samoae_? A History for Children? +Fiction? I have had two hard months at fiction; I want a change. +Stevensons? I am expecting some more material; perhaps better wait. +Samoa; rather tempting; might be useful to the islands—and to me; for it +will be written in admirable temper; I have never agreed with any party, +and see merits and excuses in all; should do it (if I did) very slackly +and easily, as if half in conversation. History for Children? This +flows from my lessons to Austin; no book is any good. The best I have +seen is Freeman’s _Old English History_; but his style is so rasping, and +a child can learn more, if he’s clever. I found my sketch of general +Aryan History, given in conversation, to have been practically correct—at +least what I mean is, Freeman had very much the same stuff in his early +chapters, only not so much, and I thought not so well placed; and the +child remembered some of it. Now the difficulty is to give this general +idea of main place, growth, and movement; it is needful to tack it on a +yarn. Now Scotch is the only History I know; it is the only history +reasonably represented in my library; it is a very good one for my +purpose, owing to two civilisations having been face to face +throughout—or rather Roman civilisation face to face with our ancient +barbaric life and government, down to yesterday, to 1750 anyway. But the +_Tales of a Grandfather_ stand in my way; I am teaching them to Austin +now, and they have all Scott’s defects and all Scott’s hopeless merit. I +cannot compete with that; and yet, so far as regards teaching History, +how he has missed his chances! I think I’ll try; I really have some +historic sense, I feel that in my bones. Then there’s another thing. +Scott never knew the Highlands; he was always a Borderer. He has missed +that whole, long, strange, pathetic story of our savages, and, besides, +his style is not very perspicuous to childhood. Gad, I think I’ll have a +flutter. Buridan’s Ass! Whether to go, what to attack. Must go to +other letters; shall add to this, if I have time. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + + _Nov._ 25_th_, 1891. + +MY DEAR COLVIN, MY DEAR COLVIN,—I wonder how often I’m going to write it. +In spite of the loss of three days, as I have to tell, and a lot of +weeding and cacao planting, I have finished since the mail left four +chapters, forty-eight pages of my Samoa history. It is true that the +first three had been a good deal drafted two years ago, but they had all +to be written and re-written, and the fourth chapter is all new. Chapter +I. Elements of Discord-Native. II. Elements of Discord-Foreign. III. +The Success of Laupepa. IV. Brandeis. V. Will probably be called ‘The +Rise of Mataafa.’ VI. _Furor Consularis_—a devil of a long chapter. +VII. Stuebel the Pacificator. VIII. Government under the Treaty of +Berlin. IX. Practical Suggestions. Say three-sixths of it are done, +maybe more; by this mail five chapters should go, and that should be a +good half of it; say sixty pages. And if you consider that I sent by +last mail the end of the _Wrecker_, coming on for seventy or eighty +pages, and the mail before that the entire Tale of the _Beach of Falesá_, +I do not think I can be accused of idleness. This is my season; I often +work six and seven, and sometimes eight hours; and the same day I am +perhaps weeding or planting for an hour or two more—and I daresay you +know what hard work weeding is—and it all agrees with me at this time of +the year—like—like idleness, if a man of my years could be idle. + +My first visit to Apia was a shock to me; every second person the ghost +of himself, and the place reeking with infection. But I have not got the +thing yet, and hope to escape. This shows how much stronger I am; think +of me flitting through a town of influenza patients seemingly unscathed. +We are all on the cacao planting. + +The next day my wife and I rode over to the German plantation, Vailele, +whose manager is almost the only German left to speak to us. Seventy +labourers down with influenza! It is a lovely ride, half-way down our +mountain towards Apia, then turn to the right, ford the river, and three +miles of solitary grass and cocoa palms, to where the sea beats and the +wild wind blows unceasingly about the plantation house. On the way down +Fanny said, ‘Now what would you do if you saw Colvin coming up?’ + +Next day we rode down to Apia to make calls. + +Yesterday the mail came, and the fat was in the fire. + + * * * * * + + _Nov._ 29_th_? + +_Book_. All right. I must say I like your order. And the papers are +some of them up to dick, and no mistake. I agree with you the lights +seem a little turned down. The truth is, I was far through (if you +understand Scots), and came none too soon to the South Seas, where I was +to recover peace of body and mind. No man but myself knew all my +bitterness in those days. Remember that, the next time you think I +regret my exile. And however low the lights are, the stuff is true, and +I believe the more effective; after all, what I wish to fight is the best +fought by a rather cheerless presentation of the truth. The world must +return some day to the word duty, and be done with the word reward. +There are no rewards, and plenty duties. And the sooner a man sees that +and acts upon it like a gentleman or a fine old barbarian, the better for +himself. + +There is my usual puzzle about publishers. Chatto ought to have it, as +he has all the other essays; these all belong to me, and Chatto publishes +on terms. Longman has forgotten the terms we are on; let him look up our +first correspondence, and he will see I reserved explicitly, as was my +habit, the right to republish as I choose. Had the same arrangement with +Henley, Magazine of Art, and with Tulloch Fraser’s.—For any necessary +note or preface, it would be a real service if you would undertake the +duty yourself. I should love a preface by you, as short or as long as +you choose, three sentences, thirty pages, the thing I should like is +your name. And the excuse of my great distance seems sufficient. I +shall return with this the sheets corrected as far as I have them; the +rest I will leave, if you will, to you entirely; let it be your book, and +disclaim what you dislike in the preface. You can say it was at my eager +prayer. I should say I am the less willing to pass Chatto over, because +he behaved the other day in a very handsome manner. He asked leave to +reprint _Damien_; I gave it to him as a present, explaining I could +receive no emolument for a personal attack. And he took out my share of +profits, and sent them in my name to the Leper Fund. I could not bear +after that to take from him any of that class of books which I have +always given him. Tell him the same terms will do. Clark to print, +uniform with the others. + +I have lost all the days since this letter began re-handling Chapter IV. +of the Samoa racket. I do not go in for literature; address myself to +sensible people rather than to sensitive. And, indeed, it is a kind of +journalism, I have no right to dally; if it is to help, it must come +soon. In two months from now it shall be done, and should be published +in the course of March. I propose Cassell gets it. I am going to call +it ‘A Footnote to History: Eight Years of Trouble in Samoa,’ I believe. +I recoil from serious names; they seem so much too pretentious for a +pamphlet. It will be about the size of _Treasure Island_, I believe. Of +course, as you now know, my case of conscience cleared itself off, and I +began my intervention directly to one of the parties. The other, the +Chief Justice, I am to inform of my book the first occasion. God knows +if the book will do any good—or harm; but I judge it right to try. There +is one man’s life certainly involved; and it may be all our lives. I +must not stand and slouch, but do my best as best I can. But you may +conceive the difficulty of a history extending to the present week, at +least, and where almost all the actors upon all sides are of my personal +acquaintance. The only way is to judge slowly, and write boldly, and +leave the issue to fate. . . . I am far indeed from wishing to confine +myself to creative work; that is a loss, the other repairs; the one +chance for a man, and, above all, for one who grows elderly, ahem, is to +vary drainage and repair. That is the one thing I understand—the +cultivation of the shallow _solum_ of my brain. But I would rather, from +soon on, be released from the obligation to write. In five or six years +this plantation—suppose it and us still to exist—should pretty well +support us and pay wages; not before, and already the six years seem long +to me. If literature were but a pastime! + +I have interrupted myself to write the necessary notification to the +Chief Justice. + +I see in looking up Longman’s letter that it was as usual the letter of +an obliging gentleman; so do not trouble him with my reminder. I wish +all my publishers were not so nice. And I have a fourth and a fifth +baying at my heels; but for these, of course, they must go wanting. + + * * * * * + + _Dec._ 2_nd_. + +No answer from the Chief Justice, which is like him, but surely very +wrong in such a case. The lunch bell! I have been off work, playing +patience and weeding all morning. Yesterday and the day before I drafted +eleven and revised nine pages of Chapter V., and the truth is, I was +extinct by lunch-time, and played patience sourly the rest of the day. +To-morrow or next day I hope to go in again and win. Lunch 2nd Bell. + + * * * * * + + _Dec._ 2_nd_, _afternoon_. + +I have kept up the idleness; blew on the pipe to Belle’s piano; then had +a ride in the forest all by my nainsel; back and piped again, and now +dinner nearing. Take up this sheet with nothing to say. The weird +figure of Faauma is in the room washing my windows, in a black lavalava +(kilt) with a red handkerchief hanging from round her neck between her +breasts; not another stitch; her hair close cropped and oiled; when she +first came here she was an angelic little stripling, but she is now in +full flower—or half-flower—and grows buxom. As I write, I hear her wet +cloth moving and grunting with some industry; for I had a word this day +with her husband on the matter of work and meal-time, when she is always +late. And she has a vague reverence for Papa, as she and her enormous +husband address me when anything is wrong. Her husband is Lafaele, +sometimes called the archangel, of whom I have writ you often. Rest of +our household, Talolo, cook; Pulu, kitchen boy, good, steady, industrious +lads; Henry, back again from Savaii, where his love affair seems not to +have prospered, with what looks like a spear-wound in the back of his +head, of which Mr. Reticence says nothing; Simi, Manuele, and two other +labourers out-doors. Lafaele is provost of the live-stock, whereof now, +three milk-cows, one bull-calf, one heifer, Jack, Macfarlane, the mare, +Harold, Tifaga Jack, Donald and Edinburgh—seven horses—O, and the +stallion—eight horses; five cattle; total, if my arithmetic be correct, +thirteen head of beasts; I don’t know how the pigs stand, or the ducks, +or the chickens; but we get a good many eggs, and now and again a +duckling or a chickling for the table; the pigs are more solemn, and +appear only on birthdays and sich. + + * * * * * + + _Monday_, _Dec._ 7. + +On Friday morning about eleven 1500 cacao seeds arrived, and we set to +and toiled from twelve that day to six, and went to bed pretty tired. +Next day I got about an hour and a half at my History, and was at it +again by 8.10, and except an hour for lunch kept at it till four P.M. +Yesterday, I did some History in the morning, and slept most of the +afternoon; and to-day, being still averse from physical labour, and the +mail drawing nigh, drew out of the squad, and finished for press the +fifth chapter of my History; fifty-nine pages in one month; which (you +will allow me to say) is a devil of a large order; it means at least 177 +pages of writing; 89,000 words! and hours going to and fro among my +notes. However, this is the way it has to be done; the job must be done +fast, or it is of no use. And it is a curious yarn. Honestly, I think +people should be amused and convinced, if they could be at the pains to +look at such a damned outlandish piece of machinery, which of course they +won’t. And much I care. + +When I was filling baskets all Saturday, in my dull mulish way, perhaps +the slowest worker there, surely the most particular, and the only one +that never looked up or knocked off, I could not but think I should have +been sent on exhibition as an example to young literary men. Here is how +to learn to write, might be the motto. You should have seen us; the +verandah was like an Irish bog; our hands and faces were bedaubed with +soil; and Faauma was supposed to have struck the right note when she +remarked (_à propos_ of nothing), ‘Too much _eleele_ (soil) for me!’ The +cacao (you must understand) has to be planted at first in baskets of +plaited cocoa-leaf. From four to ten natives were plaiting these in the +wood-shed. Four boys were digging up soil and bringing it by the boxful +to the verandah. Lloyd and I and Belle, and sometimes S. (who came to +bear a hand), were filling the baskets, removing stones and lumps of +clay; Austin and Faauma carried them when full to Fanny, who planted a +seed in each, and then set them, packed close, in the corners of the +verandah. From twelve on Friday till five P.M. on Saturday we planted +the first 1500, and more than 700 of a second lot. You cannot dream how +filthy we were, and we were all properly tired. They are all at it again +to-day, bar Belle and me, not required, and glad to be out of it. The +Chief Justice has not yet replied, and I have news that he received my +letter. What a man! + +I have gone crazy over Bourget’s _Sensations d’Italie_; hence the +enclosed dedications, a mere cry of gratitude for the best fun I’ve had +over a new book this ever so! + + [Picture: Photograph of Robert Louis Stevenson on his horse ‘Jack’] + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + + _Tuesday_, _Dec._ 1891. + +SIR,—I have the honour to report further explorations of the course of +the river Vaea, with accompanying sketch plan. The party under my +command consisted of one horse, and was extremely insubordinate and +mutinous, owing to not being used to go into the bush, and being +half-broken anyway—and that the wrong half. The route indicated for my +party was up the bed of the so-called river Vaea, which I accordingly +followed to a distance of perhaps two or three furlongs eastward from the +house of Vailima, where the stream being quite dry, the bush thick, and +the ground very difficult, I decided to leave the main body of the force +under my command tied to a tree, and push on myself with the point of the +advance guard, consisting of one man. The valley had become very narrow +and airless; foliage close shut above; dry bed of the stream much +excavated, so that I passed under fallen trees without stooping. +Suddenly it turned sharply to the north, at right angles to its former +direction; I heard living water, and came in view of a tall face of rock +and the stream spraying down it; it might have been climbed, but it would +have been dangerous, and I had to make my way up the steep earth banks, +where there is nowhere any footing for man, only fallen trees, which made +the rounds of my ladder. I was near the top of this climb, which was +very hot and steep, and the pulses were buzzing all over my body, when I +made sure there was one external sound in my ears, and paused to listen. +No mistake; a sound of a mill-wheel thundering, I thought, close by, yet +below me, a huge mill-wheel, yet not going steadily, but with a +_schottische_ movement, and at each fresh impetus shaking the mountain. +There, where I was, I just put down the sound to the mystery of the bush; +where no sound now surprises me—and any sound alarms; I only thought it +would give Jack a fine fright, down where he stood tied to a tree by +himself, and he was badly enough scared when I left him. The good folks +at home identified it; it was a sharp earthquake. + + [Picture: Map] + +At the top of the climb I made my way again to the water-course; it is +here running steady and pretty full; strange these intermittencies—and +just a little below the main stream is quite dry, and all the original +brook has gone down some lava gallery of the mountain—and just a little +further below, it begins picking up from the left hand in little boggy +tributaries, and in the inside of a hundred yards has grown a brook +again. The general course of the brook was, I guess, S.E.; the valley +still very deep and whelmed in wood. It seemed a swindle to have made so +sheer a climb and still find yourself at the bottom of a well. But +gradually the thing seemed to shallow, the trees to seem poorer and +smaller; I could see more and more of the silver sprinkles of sky among +the foliage, instead of the sombre piling up of tree behind tree. And +here I had two scares—first, away up on my right hand I heard a bull low; +I think it was a bull from the quality of the low, which was singularly +songful and beautiful; the bulls belong to me, but how did I know that +the bull was aware of that? and my advance guard not being at all +properly armed, we advanced with great precaution until I was satisfied +that I was passing eastward of the enemy. It was during this period that +a pool of the river suddenly boiled up in my face in a little fountain. +It was in a very dreary, marshy part among dilapidated trees that you see +through holes in the trunks of; and if any kind of beast or elf or devil +had come out of that sudden silver ebullition, I declare I do not think I +should have been surprised. It was perhaps a thing as curious—a fish, +with which these head waters of the stream are alive. They are some of +them as long as my finger, should be easily caught in these shallows, and +some day I’ll have a dish of them. + +Very soon after I came to where the stream collects in another banana +swamp, with the bananas bearing well. Beyond, the course is again quite +dry; it mounts with a sharp turn a very steep face of the mountain, and +then stops abruptly at the lip of a plateau, I suppose the top of Vaea +mountain: plainly no more springs here—there was no smallest furrow of a +watercourse beyond—and my task might be said to be accomplished. But +such is the animated spirit in the service that the whole advance guard +expressed a sentiment of disappointment that an exploration, so far +successfully conducted, should come to a stop in the most promising view +of fresh successes. And though unprovided either with compass or +cutlass, it was determined to push some way along the plateau, marking +our direction by the laborious process of bending down, sitting upon, and +thus breaking the wild cocoanut trees. This was the less regretted by +all from a delightful discovery made of a huge banyan growing here in the +bush, with flying-buttressed flying buttresses, and huge arcs of trunk +hanging high overhead and trailing down new complications of root. I +climbed some way up what seemed the original beginning; it was easier to +climb than a ship’s rigging, even rattled; everywhere there was foot-hold +and hand-hold. It was judged wise to return and rally the main body, who +had now been left alone for perhaps forty minutes in the bush. + +The return was effected in good order, but unhappily I only arrived (like +so many other explorers) to find my main body or rear-guard in a +condition of mutiny; the work, it is to be supposed, of terror. It is +right I should tell you the Vaea has a bad name, an _aitu fafine_—female +devil of the woods—succubus—haunting it, and doubtless Jack had heard of +her; perhaps, during my absence, saw her; lucky Jack! Anyway, he was +neither to hold nor to bind, and finally, after nearly smashing me by +accident, and from mere scare and insubordination several times, +deliberately set in to kill me; but poor Jack! the tree he selected for +that purpose was a banana! I jumped off and gave him the heavy end of my +whip over the buttocks! Then I took and talked in his ear in various +voices; you should have heard my alto—it was a dreadful, devilish note—I +_knew_ Jack _knew_ it was an _aitu_. Then I mounted him again, and he +carried me fairly steadily. He’ll learn yet. He has to learn to trust +absolutely to his rider; till he does, the risk is always great in thick +bush, where a fellow must try different passages, and put back and +forward, and pick his way by hair’s-breadths. + +The expedition returned to Vailima in time to receive the visit of the R. +C. Bishop. He is a superior man, much above the average of priests. + + * * * * * + + _Thursday_. + +Yesterday the same expedition set forth to the southward by what is known +as Carruthers’ Road. At a fallen tree which completely blocks the way, +the main body was as before left behind, and the advance guard of one now +proceeded with the exploration. At the great tree known as _Mepi Tree_, +after Maben the surveyor, the expedition struck forty yards due west till +it struck the top of a steep bank which it descended. The whole bottom +of the ravine is filled with sharp lava blocks quite unrolled and very +difficult and dangerous to walk among; no water in the course, scarce any +sign of water. And yet surely water must have made this bold cutting in +the plateau. And if so, why is the lava sharp? My science gave out; but +I could not but think it ominous and volcanic. The course of the stream +was tortuous, but with a resultant direction a little by west of north; +the sides the whole way exceeding steep, the expedition buried under +fathoms of foliage. Presently water appeared in the bottom, a good +quantity; perhaps thirty or forty cubic feet, with pools and waterfalls. +A tree that stands all along the banks here must be very fond of water; +its roots lie close-packed down the stream, like hanks of guts, so as to +make often a corrugated walk, each root ending in a blunt tuft of +filaments, plainly to drink water. Twice there came in small tributaries +from the left or western side—the whole plateau having a smartish +inclination to the east; one of the tributaries in a handsome little web +of silver hanging in the forest. Twice I was startled by birds; one that +barked like a dog; another that whistled loud ploughman’s signals, so +that I vow I was thrilled, and thought I had fallen among runaway blacks, +and regretted my cutlass which I had lost and left behind while taking +bearings. A good many fishes in the brook, and many cray-fish; one of +the last with a queer glow-worm head. Like all our brooks, the water is +pure as air, and runs over red stones like rubies. The foliage along +both banks very thick and high, the place close, the walking exceedingly +laborious. By the time the expedition reached the fork, it was felt +exceedingly questionable whether the _moral_ of the force were +sufficiently good to undertake more extended operations. A halt was +called, the men refreshed with water and a bath, and it was decided at a +drumhead council of war to continue the descent of the Embassy Water +straight for Vailima, whither the expedition returned, in rather poor +condition, and wet to the waist, about 4. P.M. + +Thus in two days the two main watercourses of this country have been +pretty thoroughly explored, and I conceive my instructions fully carried +out. The main body of the second expedition was brought back by another +officer despatched for that purpose from Vailima. Casualties: one horse +wounded; one man bruised; no deaths—as yet, but the bruised man feels +to-day as if his case was mighty serious. + + * * * * * + + _Dec._ 25, ’91. + +Your note with a very despicable bulletin of health arrived only +yesterday, the mail being a day behind. It contained also the excellent +_Times_ article, which was a sight for sore eyes. I am still _taboo_; +the blessed Germans will have none of me; and I only hope they may enjoy +the _Times_ article. ’Tis my revenge! I wish you had sent the letter +too, as I have no copy, and do not even know what I wrote the last day, +with a bad headache, and the mail going out. However, it must have been +about right, for the _Times_ article was in the spirit I wished to +arouse. I hope we can get rid of the man before it is too late. He has +set the natives to war; but the natives, by God’s blessing, do not want +to fight, and I think it will fizzle out—no thanks to the man who tried +to start it. But I did not mean to drift into these politics; rather to +tell you what I have done since I last wrote. + +Well, I worked away at my History for a while, and only got one chapter +done; no doubt this spate of work is pretty low now, and will be soon +dry; but, God bless you, what a lot I have accomplished; _Wrecker_ done, +_Beach of Falesá_ done, half the _History_: _c’est étonnant_. (I hear +from Burlingame, by the way, that he likes the end of the _Wrecker_; ’tis +certainly a violent, dark yarn with interesting, plain turns of human +nature), then Lloyd and I went down to live in Haggard’s rooms, where +Fanny presently joined us. Haggard’s rooms are in a strange old +building—old for Samoa, and has the effect of the antique like some +strange monastery; I would tell you more of it, but I think I’m going to +use it in a tale. The annexe close by had its door sealed; poor Dowdney +lost at sea in a schooner. The place is haunted. The vast empty sheds, +the empty store, the airless, hot, long, low rooms, the claps of wind +that set everything flying—a strange uncanny house to spend Christmas in. + + * * * * * + + _Jan._ 1_st_, ’92. + +For a day or two I have sat close and wrought hard at the _History_, and +two more chapters are all but done. About thirty pages should go by this +mail, which is not what should be, but all I could overtake. Will any +one ever read it? I fancy not; people don’t read history for reading, +but for education and display—and who desires education in the history of +Samoa, with no population, no past, no future, or the exploits of +Mataafa, Malietoa, and Consul Knappe? Colkitto and Galasp are a trifle +to it. Well, it can’t be helped, and it must be done, and, better or +worse, it’s capital fun. There are two to whom I have not been +kind—German Consul Becker and English Captain Hand, R.N. + +On Dec. 30th I rode down with Belle to go to (if you please) the Fancy +Ball. When I got to the beach, I found the barometer was below 29°, the +wind still in the east and steady, but a huge offensive continent of +clouds and vapours forming to leeward. It might be a hurricane; I dared +not risk getting caught away from my work, and, leaving Belle, returned +at once to Vailima. Next day—yesterday—it was a tearer; we had storm +shutters up; I sat in my room and wrote by lamplight—ten pages, if you +please, seven of them draft, and some of these compiled from as many as +seven different and conflicting authorities, so that was a brave day’s +work. About two a huge tree fell within sixty paces of our house; a +little after, a second went; and we sent out boys with axes and cut down +a third, which was too near the house, and buckling like a fishing rod. +At dinner we had the front door closed and shuttered, the back door open, +the lamp lit. The boys in the cook-house were all out at the cook-house +door, where we could see them looking in and smiling. Lauilo and Faauma +waited on us with smiles. The excitement was delightful. Some very +violent squalls came as we sat there, and every one rejoiced; it was +impossible to help it; a soul of putty had to sing. All night it blew; +the roof was continually sounding under missiles; in the morning the +verandahs were half full of branches torn from the forest. There was a +last very wild squall about six; the rain, like a thick white smoke, +flying past the house in volleys, and as swift, it seemed, as rifle +balls; all with a strange, strident hiss, such as I have only heard +before at sea, and, indeed, thought to be a marine phenomenon. Since +then the wind has been falling with a few squalls, mostly rain. But our +road is impassable for horses; we hear a schooner has been wrecked and +some native houses blown down in Apia, where Belle is still and must +remain a prisoner. Lucky I returned while I could! But the great good +is this; much bread-fruit and bananas have been destroyed; if this be +general through the islands, famine will be imminent; and _whoever blows +the coals_, _there can be no war_. Do I then prefer a famine to a war? +you ask. Not always, but just now. I am sure the natives do not want a +war; I am sure a war would benefit no one but the white officials, and I +believe we can easily meet the famine—or at least that it can be met. +That would give our officials a legitimate opportunity to cover their +past errors. + + * * * * * + + _Jan._ 2_nd_. + +I woke this morning to find the blow quite ended. The heaven was all a +mottled gray; even the east quite colourless; the downward slope of the +island veiled in wafts of vapour, blue like smoke; not a leaf stirred on +the tallest tree; only, three miles away below me on the barrier reef, I +could see the individual breakers curl and fall, and hear their conjunct +roaring rise, as it still rises at 1 P.M., like the roar of a +thoroughfare close by. I did a good morning’s work, correcting and +clarifying my draft, and have now finished for press eight chapters, +ninety-one pages, of this piece of journalism. Four more chapters, say +fifty pages, remain to be done; I should gain my wager and finish this +volume in three months, that is to say, the end should leave me per +February mail; I cannot receive it back till the mail of April. Yes, it +can be out in time; pray God that it be in time to help. + +How do journalists fetch up their drivel? I aim only at clearness and +the most obvious finish, positively at no higher degree of merit, not +even at brevity—I am sure it could have been all done, with double the +time, in two-thirds of the space. And yet it has taken me two months to +write 45,500 words; and, be damned to my wicked prowess, I am proud of +the exploit! The real journalist must be a man not of brass only, but +bronze. Chapter IX. gapes for me, but I shrink on the margin, and go on +chattering to you. This last part will be much less offensive (strange +to say) to the Germans. It is Becker they will never forgive me for; +Knappe I pity and do not dislike; Becker I scorn and abominate. Here is +the tableau. I. Elements of Discord: Native. II. Elements of Discord: +Foreign. III. The Sorrows of Laupepa. IV. Brandeis. V. The Battle of +Matautu. VI. Last Exploits of Becker. VII. The Samoan Camps. VIII. +Affairs of Lautii and Fangalii. IX. ‘_Furor Consularis_.’ X. The +Hurricane. XI. Stuebel Recluse. XII. The Present Government. I +estimate the whole roughly at 70,000 words. Should anybody ever dream of +reading it, it would be found amusing. 70000/300=233 printed pages; a +respectable little five-bob volume, to bloom unread in shop windows. +After that, I’ll have a spank at fiction. And rest? I shall rest in the +grave, or when I come to Italy. If only the public will continue to +support me! I lost my chance not dying; there seems blooming little fear +of it now. I worked close on five hours this morning; the day before, +close on nine; and unless I finish myself off with this letter, I’ll have +another hour and a half, or _aiblins twa_, before dinner. Poor man, how +you must envy me, as you hear of these orgies of work, and you scarce +able for a letter. But Lord, Colvin, how lucky the situations are not +reversed, for I have no situation, nor am fit for any. Life is a steigh +brae. Here, have at Knappe, and no more clavers! + + * * * * * + + 3_rd_. + +There was never any man had so many irons in the fire, except Jim +Pinkerton. I forgot to mention I have the most gallant suggestion from +Lang, with an offer of MS. authorities, which turns my brain. It’s all +about the throne of Poland and buried treasure in the Mackay country, and +Alan Breck can figure there in glory. + +Yesterday, J. and I set off to Blacklock’s (American Consul) who lives +not far from that little village I have so often mentioned as lying +between us and Apia. I had some questions to ask him for my History; +thence we must proceed to Vailele, where I had also to cross-examine the +plantation manager about the battle there. We went by a track I had +never before followed down the hill to Vaisigano, which flows here in a +deep valley, and was unusually full, so that the horses trembled in the +ford. The whole bottom of the valley is full of various streams posting +between strips of forest with a brave sound of waters. In one place we +had a glimpse of a fall some way higher up, and then sparkling in +sunlight in the midst of the green valley. Then up by a winding path +scarce accessible to a horse for steepness, to the other side, and the +open cocoanut glades of the plantation. Here we rode fast, did a mighty +satisfactory afternoon’s work at the plantation house, and still faster +back. On the return Jack fell with me, but got up again; when I felt him +recovering I gave him his head, and he shoved his foot through the rein; +I got him by the bit however, and all was well; he had mud over all his +face, but his knees were not broken. We were scarce home when the rain +began again; that was luck. It is pouring now in torrents; we are in the +height of the bad season. Lloyd leaves along with this letter on a +change to San Francisco; he had much need of it, but I think this will +brace him up. I am, as you see, a tower of strength. I can remember +riding not so far and not near so fast when I first came to Samoa, and +being shattered next day with fatigue; now I could not tell I have done +anything; have re-handled my battle of Fangalii according to yesterday’s +information—four pages rewritten; and written already some half-dozen +pages of letters. + +I observe with disgust that while of yore, when I own I was guilty, you +never spared me abuse, but now, when I am so virtuous, where is the +praise? Do admit that I have become an excellent letter-writer—at least +to you, and that your ingratitude is imbecile.—Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + + _Jan._ 31_st_, ’92. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—No letter at all from you, and this scratch from me! +Here is a year that opens ill. Lloyd is off to ‘the coast’ sick—_the +coast_ means California over most of the Pacific—I have been down all +month with influenza, and am just recovering—I am overlaid with proofs, +which I am just about half fit to attend to. One of my horses died this +morning, and another is now dying on the front lawn—Lloyd’s horse and +Fanny’s. Such is my quarrel with destiny. But I am mending famously, +come and go on the balcony, have perfectly good nights, and though I +still cough, have no oppression and no hemorrhage and no fever. So if I +can find time and courage to add no more, you will know my news is not +altogether of the worst; a year or two ago, and what a state I should +have been in now! Your silence, I own, rather alarms me. But I tell +myself you have just miscarried; had you been too ill to write, some one +would have written me. Understand, I send this brief scratch not because +I am unfit to write more, but because I have 58 galleys of the _Wrecker_ +and 102 of the _Beach of Falesá_ to get overhauled somehow or other in +time for the mail, and for three weeks I have not touched a pen with my +finger. + + * * * * * + + _Feb._ 1_st_. + +The second horse is still alive, but I still think dying. The first was +buried this morning. My proofs are done; it was a rough two days of it, +but done. _Consummatum est_; _na uma_. I believe the _Wrecker_ ends +well; if I know what a good yarn is, the last four chapters make a good +yarn—but pretty horrible. _The Beach of Falesá_ I still think well of, +but it seems it’s immoral and there’s a to-do, and financially it may +prove a heavy disappointment. The plaintive request sent to me, to make +the young folks married properly before ‘that night,’ I refused; you will +see what would be left of the yarn, had I consented. This is a poison +bad world for the romancer, this Anglo-Saxon world; I usually get out of +it by not having any women in it at all; but when I remember I had the +_Treasure of Franchard_ refused as unfit for a family magazine, I feel +despair weigh upon my wrists. + +As I know you are always interested in novels, I must tell you that a new +one is now entirely planned. It is to be called _Sophia Scarlet_, and is +in two parts. Part I. The Vanilla Planter. Part II. The Overseers. No +chapters, I think; just two dense blocks of narrative, the first of which +is purely sentimental, but the second has some rows and quarrels, and +winds up with an explosion, if you please! I am just burning to get at +Sophia, but I _must_ do this Samoan journalism—that’s a cursed duty. The +first part of Sophia, bar the first twenty or thirty pages, writes +itself; the second is more difficult, involving a good many +characters—about ten, I think—who have to be kept all moving, and give +the effect of a society. I have three women to handle, out and +well-away! but only Sophia is in full tone. Sophia and two men, +Windermere, the Vanilla Planter, who dies at the end of Part I., and +Rainsforth, who only appears in the beginning of Part II. The fact is, I +blush to own it, but Sophia is a _regular novel_; heroine and hero, and +false accusation, and love, and marriage, and all the rest of it—all +planted in a big South Sea plantation run by ex-English officers—_à la_ +Stewart’s plantation in Tahiti. There is a strong undercurrent of labour +trade, which gives it a kind of Uncle Tom flavour, _absit omen_! The +first start is hard; it is hard to avoid a little tedium here, but I +think by beginning with the arrival of the three Miss Scarlets hot from +school and society in England, I may manage to slide in the information. +The problem is exactly a Balzac one, and I wish I had his fist—for I have +already a better method—the kinetic, whereas he continually allowed +himself to be led into the static. But then he had the fist, and the +most I can hope is to get out of it with a modicum of grace and energy, +but for sure without the strong impression, the full, dark brush. Three +people have had it, the real creator’s brush: Scott, see much of _The +Antiquary_ and _The Heart of Midlothian_ (especially all round the trial, +before, during, and after)—Balzac—and Thackeray in _Vanity Fair_. +Everybody else either paints _thin_, or has to stop to paint, or paints +excitedly, so that you see the author skipping before his canvas. Here +is a long way from poor Sophia Scarlet! + + This day is published + + _Sophia Scarlet_ + + By + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + + _Feb._ 1892. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—This has been a busyish month for a sick man. First, +Faauma—the bronze candlestick, whom otherwise I called my butler—bolted +from the bed and bosom of Lafaele, the Archangel Hercules, prefect of the +cattle. There was the deuce to pay, and Hercules was inconsolable, and +immediately started out after a new wife, and has had one up on a visit, +but says she has ‘no conversation’; and I think he will take back the +erring and possibly repentant candlestick; whom we all devoutly prefer, +as she is not only highly decorative, but good-natured, and if she does +little work makes no rows. I tell this lightly, but it really was a +heavy business; many were accused of complicity, and Rafael was really +very sorry. I had to hold beds of justice—literally—seated in my bed and +surrounded by lying Samoans seated on the floor; and there were many +picturesque and still inexplicable passages. It is hard to reach the +truth in these islands. + +The next incident overlapped with this. S. and Fanny found three strange +horses in the paddock: for long now the boys have been forbidden to leave +their horses here one hour because our grass is over-grazed. S. came up +with the news, and I saw I must now strike a blow. ‘To the pound with +the lot,’ said I. He proposed taking the three himself, but I thought +that too dangerous an experiment, said I should go too, and hurried into +my boots so as to show decision taken, in the necessary interviews. They +came of course—the interviews—and I explained what I was going to do at +huge length, and stuck to my guns. I am glad to say the natives, with +their usual (purely speculative) sense of justice highly approved the +step after reflection. Meanwhile off went S. and I with the three +_corpora delicti_; and a good job I went! Once, when our circus began to +kick, we thought all was up; but we got them down all sound in wind and +limb. I judged I was much fallen off from my Elliott forefathers, who +managed this class of business with neatness and despatch. Half-way down +it came on to rain tropic style, and I came back from my outing drenched +liked a drowned man—I was literally blinded as I came back among these +sheets of water; and the consequence was I was laid down with diarrhoea +and threatenings of Samoa colic for the inside of another week. + +I have a confession to make. When I was sick I tried to get to work to +finish that Samoa thing, wouldn’t go; and at last, in the colic time, I +slid off into _David Balfour_, some 50 pages of which are drafted, and +like me well. Really I think it is spirited; and there’s a heroine that +(up to now) seems to have attractions: _absit omen_! David, on the +whole, seems excellent. Alan does not come in till the tenth chapter, +and I am only at the eighth, so I don’t know if I can find him again; but +David is on his feet, and doing well, and very much in love, and mixed up +with the Lord Advocate and the (untitled) Lord Lovat, and all manner of +great folk. And the tale interferes with my eating and sleeping. The +join is bad; I have not thought to strain too much for continuity; so +this part be alive, I shall be content. But there’s no doubt David seems +to have changed his style, de’il ha’e him! And much I care, if the tale +travel! + + * * * * * + + _Friday_, _Feb._ ?? 19_th_? + +Two incidents to-day which I must narrate. After lunch, it was raining +pitilessly; we were sitting in my mother’s bedroom, and I was reading +aloud Kinglake’s Charge of the Light Brigade, and we had just been all +seized by the horses aligning with Lord George Paget, when a figure +appeared on the verandah; a little, slim, small figure of a lad, with +blond (_i.e._ limed) hair, a propitiatory smile, and a nose that alone of +all his features grew pale with anxiety. ‘I come here stop,’ was about +the outside of his English; and I began at once to guess that he was a +runaway labourer, and that the bush-knife in his hand was stolen. It +proved he had a mate, who had lacked his courage, and was hidden down the +road; they had both made up their minds to run away, and had ‘come here +stop.’ I could not turn out the poor rogues, one of whom showed me marks +on his back, into the drenching forest; I could not reason with them, for +they had not enough English, and not one of our boys spoke their tongue; +so I bade them feed and sleep here to-night, and to-morrow I must do what +the Lord shall bid me. + +Near dinner time, I was told that a friend of Lafaele’s had found human +remains in my bush. After dinner, a figure was seen skulking across +towards the waterfall, which produced from the verandah a shout, in my +most stentorian tones: ‘_O ai le ingoa_?’ literally ‘Who the name?’ which +serves here for ‘What’s your business?’ as well. It proved to be +Lafaele’s friend; I bade a kitchen boy, Lauilo, go with him to see the +spot, for though it had ceased raining, the whole island ran and dripped. +Lauilo was willing enough, but the friend of the archangel demurred; he +had too much business; he had no time. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘you too +much frightened, I go along,’ which of course produced the usual shout of +delight from all those who did not require to go. I got into my Saranac +snow boots. Lauilo got a cutlass; Mary Carter, our Sydney maid, joined +the party for a lark, and off we set. I tell you our guide kept us +moving; for the dusk fell swift. Our woods have an infamous reputation +at the best, and our errand (to say the least of it) was grisly. At last +they found the remains; they were old, which was all I cared to be sure +of; it seemed a strangely small ‘pickle-banes’ to stand for a big, +flourishing, buck-islander, and their situation in the darkening and +dripping bush was melancholy. All at once, I found there was a second +skull, with a bullet-hole I could have stuck my two thumbs in—say anybody +else’s one thumb. My Samoans said it could not be, there were not enough +bones; I put the two pieces of skull together, and at last convinced +them. Whereupon, in a flash, they found the not unromantic explanation. +This poor brave had succeeded in the height of a Samoan warriors +ambition; he had taken a head, which he was never destined to show to his +applauding camp. Wounded himself, he had crept here into the bush to die +with his useless trophy by his side. His date would be about fifteen +years ago, in the great battle between Laupepa and Talavou, which took +place on My Land, Sir. To-morrow we shall bury the bones and fire a +salute in honour of unfortunate courage. + +Do you think I have an empty life? or that a man jogging to his club has +so much to interest and amuse him?—touch and try him too, but that goes +along with the others: no pain, no pleasure, is the iron law. So here I +stop again, and leave, as I left yesterday, my political business +untouched. And lo! here comes my pupil, I believe, so I stop in time. + + * * * * * + + _March_ 2_nd_. + +Since I last wrote, fifteen chapters of _David Balfour_ have been +drafted, and five _tirés au clair_. I think it pretty good; there’s a +blooming maiden that costs anxiety—she is as virginal as billy; but David +seems there and alive, and the Lord Advocate is good, and so I think is +an episodic appearance of the Master of Lovat. In Chapter XVII. I shall +get David abroad—Alan went already in Chapter XII. The book should be +about the length of _Kidnapped_; this early part of it, about D.’s +evidence in the Appin case, is more of a story than anything in +_Kidnapped_, but there is no doubt there comes a break in the middle, and +the tale is practically in two divisions. In the first James More and +the M’Gregors, and Catriona, only show; in the second, the Appin case +being disposed of, and James Stewart hung, they rule the roast and usurp +the interest—should there be any left. Why did I take up _David +Balfour_? I don’t know. A sudden passion. + +Monday, I went down in the rain with a colic to take the chair at a +public meeting; dined with Haggard; sailed off to my meeting, and fought +with wild beasts for three anxious hours. All was lost that any sensible +man cared for, but the meeting did not break up—thanks a good deal to R. +L. S.—and the man who opposed my election, and with whom I was all the +time wrangling, proposed the vote of thanks to me with a certain +handsomeness; I assure you I had earned it . . . Haggard and the great +Abdul, his high-caste Indian servant, imported by my wife, were sitting +up for me with supper, and I suppose it was twelve before I got to bed. +Tuesday raining, my mother rode down, and we went to the Consulate to +sign a Factory and Commission. Thence, I to the lawyers, to the printing +office, and to the Mission. It was dinner time when I returned home. + +This morning, our cook-boy having suddenly left—injured feelings—the +archangel was to cook breakfast. I found him lighting the fire before +dawn; his eyes blazed, he had no word of any language left to use, and I +saw in him (to my wonder) the strongest workings of gratified ambition. +Napoleon was no more pleased to sign his first treaty with Austria than +was Lafaele to cook that breakfast. All morning, when I had hoped to be +at this letter, I slept like one drugged and you must take this (which is +all I can give you) for what it is worth— + + D.B. + + _Memoirs of his Adventures at Home and Abroad_. _The Second Part_; + _wherein are set forth the misfortunes in which he was involved upon + the Appin Murder_; _his troubles with Lord Advocate Prestongrange_; + _captivity on the Bass Rock_; _journey into France and Holland_; _and + singular relations with James More Drummond or Macgregor_, _a son of + the notorious Rob Roy_. + +Chapters.—I. A Beggar on Horseback. II. The Highland Writer. III. I go +to Pilrig. IV. Lord Advocate Prestongrange. V. Butter and Thunder. VI. +I make a fault in honour. VII. The Bravo. VIII. The Heather on Fire. +IX. I begin to be haunted with a red-headed man. X. The Wood by +Silvermills. XI. On the march again with Alan. XII. Gillane Sands. +XIII. The Bass Rock. XIV. Black Andie’s Tale of Tod Lapraik. XV. I go +to Inveraray. + + + +That is it, as far as drafted. Chapters IV. V. VII. IX. and XIV. I am +specially pleased with; the last being an episodical bogie story about +the Bass Rock told there by the Keeper. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + + _March_ 9_th_. + +MY DEAR S. C.,—Take it not amiss if this is a wretched letter. I am +eaten up with business. Every day this week I have had some business +impediment—I am even now waiting a deputation of chiefs about the +road—and my precious morning was shattered by a polite old scourge of a +_faipule_—parliament man—come begging. All the time _David Balfour_ is +skelping along. I began it the 13th of last month; I have now 12 +chapters, 79 pages ready for press, or within an ace, and, by the time +the month is out, one-half should be completed, and I’ll be back at +drafting the second half. What makes me sick is to think of Scott +turning out _Guy Mannering_ in three weeks! What a pull of work: +heavens, what thews and sinews! And here am I, my head spinning from +having only re-written seven not very difficult pages—and not very good +when done. Weakling generation. It makes me sick of myself, to make +such a fash and bobbery over a rotten end of an old nursery yarn, not +worth spitting on when done. Still, there is no doubt I turn out my work +more easily than of yore, and I suppose I should be singly glad of that. +And if I got my book done in six weeks, seeing it will be about half as +long as a Scott, and I have to write everything twice, it would be about +the same rate of industry. It is my fair intention to be done with it in +three months, which would make me about one-half the man Sir Walter was +for application and driving the dull pen. Of the merit we shall not +talk; but I don’t think Davie is _without_ merit. + + * * * * * + + _March_ 12_th_. + +And I have this day triumphantly finished 15 chapters, 100 pages—being +exactly one-half (as near as anybody can guess) of _David Balfour_; the +book to be about a fifth as long again (altogether) as _Treasure Island_: +could I but do the second half in another month! But I can’t, I fear; I +shall have some belated material arriving by next mail, and must go again +at the History. Is it not characteristic of my broken tenacity of mind, +that I should have left Davie Balfour some five years in the British +Linen Company’s Office, and then follow him at last with such vivacity? +But I leave you again; the last (15th) chapter ought to be re-wrote, or +part of it, and I want the half completed in the month, and the month is +out by midnight; though, to be sure, last month was February, and I might +take grace. These notes are only to show I hold you in mind, though I +know they can have no interest for man or God or animal. + +I should have told you about the Club. We have been asked to try and +start a sort of weekly ball for the half-castes and natives, ourselves to +be the only whites; and we consented, from a very heavy sense of duty, +and with not much hope. Two nights ago we had twenty people up, received +them in the front verandah, entertained them on cake and lemonade, and I +made a speech—embodying our proposals, or conditions, if you like—for I +suppose thirty minutes. No joke to speak to such an audience, but it is +believed I was thoroughly intelligible. I took the plan of saying +everything at least twice in a different form of words, so that if the +one escaped my hearers, the other might be seized. One white man came +with his wife, and was kept rigorously on the front verandah below! You +see what a sea of troubles this is like to prove; but it is the only +chance—and when it blows up, it must blow up! I have no more hope in +anything than a dead frog; I go into everything with a composed despair, +and don’t mind—just as I always go to sea with the conviction I am to be +drowned, and like it before all other pleasures. But you should have +seen the return voyage, when nineteen horses had to be found in the dark, +and nineteen bridles, all in a drench of rain, and the club, just +constituted as such, sailed away in the wet, under a cloudy moon like a +bad shilling, and to descend a road through the forest that was at that +moment the image of a respectable mountain brook. My wife, who is +president _with power to expel_, had to begin her functions. . . . + + * * * * * + + 25_th_ _March_. + +Heaven knows what day it is, but I am ashamed, all the more as your +letter from Bournemouth of all places—poor old Bournemouth!—is to hand, +and contains a statement of pleasure in my letters which I wish I could +have rewarded with a long one. What has gone on? A vast of affairs, of +a mingled, strenuous, inconclusive, desultory character; much waste of +time, much riding to and fro, and little transacted or at least peracted. + +Let me give you a review of the present state of our live stock.—Six boys +in the bush; six souls about the house. Talolo, the cook, returns again +to-day, after an absence which has cost me about twelve hours of riding, +and I suppose eight hours’ solemn sitting in council. ‘I am sorry indeed +for the Chief Justice of Samoa,’ I said; ‘it is more than I am fit for to +be Chief Justice of Vailima.’—Lauilo is steward. Both these are +excellent servants; we gave a luncheon party when we buried the Samoan +bones, and I assure you all was in good style, yet we never interfered. +The food was good, the wine and dishes went round as by +mechanism.—Steward’s assistant and washman Arrick, a New Hebridee black +boy, hired from the German firm; not so ugly as most, but not pretty +neither; not so dull as his sort are, but not quite a Crichton. When he +came first, he ate so much of our good food that he got a prominent +belly. Kitchen assistant, Tomas (Thomas in English), a Fiji man, very +tall and handsome, moving like a marionette with sudden bounds, and +rolling his eyes with sudden effort.—Washerwoman and precentor, Helen, +Tomas’s wife. This is our weak point; we are ashamed of Helen; the +cook-house blushes for her; they murmur there at her presence. She seems +all right; she is not a bad-looking, strapping wench, seems chaste, is +industrious, has an excellent taste in hymns—you should have heard her +read one aloud the other day, she marked the rhythm with so much +gloating, dissenter sentiment. What is wrong, then? says you. Low in +your ear—and don’t let the papers get hold of it—she is of no family. +None, they say; literally a common woman. Of course, we have +out-islanders, who _may_ be villeins; but we give them the benefit of the +doubt, which is impossible with Helen of Vailima; our blot, our pitted +speck. The pitted speck I have said is our precentor. It is always a +woman who starts Samoan song; the men who sing second do not enter for a +bar or two. Poor, dear Faauma, the unchaste, the extruded Eve of our +Paradise, knew only two hymns; but Helen seems to know the whole +repertory, and the morning prayers go far more lively in +consequence.—Lafaele, provost of the cattle. The cattle are Jack, my +horse, quite converted, my wife rides him now, and he is as steady as a +doctor’s cob; Tifaga Jack, a circus horse, my mother’s piebald, bought +from a passing circus; Belle’s mare, now in childbed or next door, +confound the slut! Musu—amusingly translated the other day ‘don’t want +to,’ literally cross, but always in the sense of stubbornness and +resistance—my wife’s little dark-brown mare, with a white star on her +forehead, whom I have been riding of late to steady her—she has no vices, +but is unused, skittish and uneasy, and wants a lot of attention and +humouring; lastly (of saddle horses) Luna—not the Latin _moon_, the +Hawaiian _overseer_, but it’s pronounced the same—a pretty little mare +too, but scarce at all broken, a bad bucker, and has to be ridden with a +stock-whip and be brought back with her rump criss-crossed like a clan +tartan; the two cart horses, now only used with pack-saddles; two cows, +one in the straw (I trust) to-morrow, a third cow, the Jersey—whose milk +and temper are alike subjects of admiration—she gives good exercise to +the farming saunterer, and refreshes him on his return with cream; two +calves, a bull, and a cow; God knows how many ducks and chickens, and for +a wager not even God knows how many cats; twelve horses, seven horses, +five kine: is not this Babylon the Great which I have builded? Call it +_Subpriorsford_. + +Two nights ago the club had its first meeting; only twelve were present, +but it went very well. I was not there, I had ridden down the night +before after dinner on my endless business, took a cup of tea in the +Mission like an ass, then took a cup of coffee like a fool at Haggard’s, +then fell into a discussion with the American Consul . . . I went to bed +at Haggard’s, came suddenly broad awake, and lay sleepless the live +night. It fell chill, I had only a sheet, and had to make a light and +range the house for a cover—I found one in the hall, a macintosh. So +back to my sleepless bed, and to lie there till dawn. In the morning I +had a longish ride to take in a day of a blinding, staggering sun, and +got home by eleven, our luncheon hour, with my head rather swimmy; the +only time I have _feared_ the sun since I was in Samoa. However, I got +no harm, but did not go to the club, lay off, lazied, played the pipe, +and read—a novel by James Payn—sometimes quite interesting, and in one +place really very funny with the quaint humour of the man. Much +interested the other day. As I rode past a house, I saw where a Samoan +had written a word on a board, and there was an A, perfectly formed, but +upside down. You never saw such a thing in Europe; but it is as common +as dirt in Polynesia. Men’s names are tattooed on the forearm; it is +common to find a subverted letter tattooed there. Here is a tempting +problem for psychologists. + +I am now on terms again with the German Consulate, I know not for how +long; not, of course, with the President, which I find a relief; still, +with the Chief Justice and the English Consul. For Haggard, I have a +genuine affection; he is a loveable man. + +Wearyful man! ‘Here is the yarn of Loudon Dodd, _not as he told it_, +_but as it was afterwards written_.’ These words were left out by some +carelessness, and I think I have been thrice tackled about them. Grave +them in your mind and wear them on your forehead. + +The Lang story will have very little about the treasure; _The Master_ +will appear; and it is to a great extent a tale of Prince Charlie _after_ +the ’45, and a love story forbye: the hero is a melancholy exile, and +marries a young woman who interests the prince, and there is the devil to +pay. I think the Master kills him in a duel, but don’t know yet, not +having yet seen my second heroine. No—the Master doesn’t kill him, they +fight, he is wounded, and the Master plays _deus ex machina_. I _think_ +just now of calling it _The Tail of the Race_; no—heavens! I never saw +till this moment—but of course nobody but myself would ever understand +Mill-Race, they would think of a quarter-mile. So—I am nameless again. +My melancholy young man is to be quite a Romeo. Yes, I’ll name the book +from him: _Dyce of Ythan_—pronounce Eethan. + + + + + +Dyce of Ythan + +by R. L. S. + + + + + +O, Shovel—Shovel waits his turn, he and his ancestors. I would have +tackled him before, but my _State Trials_ have never come. So that I +have now quite planned:— + + + + + +Dyce of Ythan. (Historical, 1750.) + +Sophia Scarlet. (To-day.) + +The Shovels of Newton French. (Historical, 1650 to 1830.) + + + +And quite planned and part written:— + + + +The Pearl Fisher. (To-day.) (With Lloyd a machine.) + +David Balfour. (Historical, 1751.) + + + +And, by a strange exception for R. L. S., all in the third person except +D. B. + + + +I don’t know what day this is now (the 29th), but I have finished my two +chapters, ninth and tenth, of _Samoa_ in time for the mail, and feel +almost at peace. The tenth was the hurricane, a difficult problem; it so +tempted one to be literary; and I feel sure the less of that there is in +my little handbook, the more chance it has of some utility. Then the +events are complicated, seven ships to tell of, and sometimes three of +them together; O, it was quite a job. But I think I have my facts pretty +correct, and for once, in my sickening yarn, they are handsome facts: +creditable to all concerned; not to be written of—and I should think, +scarce to be read—without a thrill. I doubt I have got no hurricane into +it, the intricacies of the yarn absorbing me too much. But there—it’s +done somehow, and time presses hard on my heels. The book, with my best +expedition, may come just too late to be of use. In which case I shall +have made a handsome present of some months of my life for nothing and to +nobody. Well, through Her the most ancient heavens are fresh and strong. + + * * * * * + + 30_th_. + +After I had written you, I re-read my hurricane, which is very poor; the +life of the journalist is hard, another couple of writings and I could +make a good thing, I believe, and it must go as it is! But, of course, +this book is not written for honour and glory, and the few who will read +it may not know the difference. Very little time. I go down with the +mail shortly, dine at the Chinese restaurant, and go to the club to dance +with islandresses. Think of my going out once a week to dance. + +Politics are on the full job again, and we don’t know what is to come +next. I think the whole treaty _raj_ seems quite played out! They have +taken to bribing the _faipule_ men (parliament men) to stay in Mulinuu, +we hear; but I have not yet sifted the rumour. I must say I shall be +scarce surprised if it prove true; these rumours have the knack of being +right.—Our weather this last month has been tremendously hot, not by the +thermometer, which sticks at 86°, but to the sensation: no rain, no wind, +and this the storm month. It looks ominous, and is certainly +disagreeable. + +No time to finish, + + Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + + _May_ 1_st_. 1892. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—As I rode down last night about six, I saw a sight I must +try to tell you of. In front of me, right over the top of the forest +into which I was descending was a vast cloud. The front of it accurately +represented the somewhat rugged, long-nosed, and beetle-browed profile of +a man, crowned by a huge Kalmuck cap; the flesh part was of a heavenly +pink, the cap, the moustache, the eyebrows were of a bluish gray; to see +this with its childish exactitude of design and colour, and hugeness of +scale—it covered at least 25°—held me spellbound. As I continued to +gaze, the expression began to change; he had the exact air of closing one +eye, dropping his jaw, and drawing down his nose; had the thing not been +so imposing, I could have smiled; and then almost in a moment, a shoulder +of leaden-coloured bank drove in front and blotted it. My attention +spread to the rest of the cloud, and it was a thing to worship. It rose +from the horizon, and its top was within thirty degrees of the zenith; +the lower parts were like a glacier in shadow, varying from dark indigo +to a clouded white in exquisite gradations. The sky behind, so far as I +could see, was all of a blue already enriched and darkened by the night, +for the hill had what lingered of the sunset. But the top of my Titanic +cloud flamed in broad sunlight, with the most excellent softness and +brightness of fire and jewels, enlightening all the world. It must have +been far higher than Mount Everest, and its glory, as I gazed up at it +out of the night, was beyond wonder. Close by rode the little crescent +moon; and right over its western horn, a great planet of about equal +lustre with itself. The dark woods below were shrill with that noisy +business of the birds’ evening worship. When I returned, after eight, +the moon was near down; she seemed little brighter than before, but now +that the cloud no longer played its part of a nocturnal sun, we could see +that sight, so rare with us at home that it was counted a portent, so +customary in the tropics, of the dark sphere with its little gilt band +upon the belly. The planet had been setting faster, and was now below +the crescent. They were still of an equal brightness. + +I could not resist trying to reproduce this in words, as a specimen of +these incredibly beautiful and imposing meteors of the tropic sky that +make so much of my pleasure here; though a ship’s deck is the place to +enjoy them. O what _awful_ scenery, from a ship’s deck, in the tropics! +People talk about the Alps, but the clouds of the trade wind are alone +for sublimity. + +Now to try and tell you what has been happening. The state of these +islands, and of Mataafa and Laupepa (Malietoa’s _ambo_) had been much on +my mind. I went to the priests and sent a message to Mataafa, at a time +when it was supposed he was about to act. He did not act, delaying in +true native style, and I determined I should go to visit him. I have +been very good not to go sooner; to live within a few miles of a rebel +camp, to be a novelist, to have all my family forcing me to go, and to +refrain all these months, counts for virtue. But hearing that several +people had gone and the government done nothing to punish them, and +having an errand there which was enough to justify myself in my own eyes, +I half determined to go, and spoke of it with the half-caste priest. And +here (confound it) up came Laupepa and his guards to call on me; we kept +him to lunch, and the old gentleman was very good and amiable. He asked +me why I had not been to see him? I reminded him a law had been made, +and told him I was not a small boy to go and ask leave of the consuls, +and perhaps be refused. He told me to pay no attention to the law but +come when I would, and begged me to name a day to lunch. The next day (I +think it was) early in the morning, a man appeared; he had metal buttons +like a policeman—but he was none of our Apia force; he was a rebel +policeman, and had been all night coming round inland through the forest +from Malie. He brought a letter addressed + +_I laua susuga_ To his Excellency + +_Misi Mea_. Mr. Thingumbob. + +(So as not to compromise me). I can read Samoan now, though not speak +it. It was to ask me for last Wednesday. My difficulty was great; I had +no man here who was fit, or who would have cared to write for me; and I +had to postpone the visit. So I gave up half-a-day with a groan, went +down to the priests, arranged for Monday week to go to Malie, and named +Thursday as my day to lunch with Laupepa. I was sharply ill on +Wednesday, mail day. But on Thursday I had to trail down and go through +the dreary business of a feast, in the King’s wretched shanty, full in +view of the President’s fine new house; it made my heart burn. + +This gave me my chance to arrange a private interview with the King, and +I decided to ask Mr. Whitmee, one of our missionaries, to be my +interpreter. On Friday, being too much exhausted to go down, I begged +him to come up. He did, I told him the heads of what I meant to say; and +he not only consented, but said, if we got on well with the King, he +would even proceed with me to Malie. Yesterday, in consequence, I rode +down to W.’s house by eight in the morning; waited till ten; received a +message that the King was stopped by a meeting with the President and +_faipule_; made another engagement for seven at night; came up; went +down; waited till eight, and came away again, _bredouille_, and a dead +body. The poor, weak, enslaved King had not dared to come to me even in +secret. Now I have to-day for a rest, and to-morrow to Malie. Shall I +be suffered to embark? It is very doubtful; they are on the trail. On +Thursday, a policeman came up to me and began that a boy had been to see +him, and said I was going to see Mataafa.—‘And what did you say?’ said +I.—‘I told him I did not know about where you were going,’ said he.—‘A +very good answer,’ said I, and turned away. It is lashing rain to-day, +but to-morrow, rain or shine, I must at least make the attempt; and I am +so weary, and the weather looks so bad. I could half wish they would +arrest me on the beach. All this bother and pother to try and bring a +little chance of peace; all this opposition and obstinacy in people who +remain here by the mere forbearance of Mataafa, who has a great force +within six miles of their government buildings, which are indeed only the +residences of white officials. To understand how I have been occupied, +you must know that ‘Misi Mea’ has had another letter, and this time had +to answer himself; think of doing so in a language so obscure to me, with +the aid of a Bible, concordance and dictionary! What a wonderful Baboo +compilation it must have been! I positively expected to hear news of its +arrival in Malie by the sound of laughter. I doubt if you will be able +to read this scrawl, but I have managed to scramble somehow up to date; +and to-morrow, one way or another, should be interesting. But as for me, +I am a wreck, as I have no doubt style and handwriting both testify. + + * * * * * + + 8 P.M. + +Wonderfully rested; feel almost fit for to-morrow’s dreary excursion—not +that it will be dreary if the weather favour, but otherwise it will be +death; and a native feast, and I fear I am in for a big one, is a thing I +loathe. I wonder if you can really conceive me as a politician in this +extra-mundane sphere—presiding at public meetings, drafting +proclamations, receiving mis-addressed letters that have been carried all +night through tropical forests? It seems strange indeed, and to you, who +know me really, must seem stranger. I do not say I am free from the itch +of meddling, but God knows this is no tempting job to meddle in; I smile +at picturesque circumstances like the Misi Mea (_Monsieur Chose_ is the +exact equivalent) correspondence, but the business as a whole bores and +revolts me. I do nothing and say nothing; and then a day comes, and I +say ‘this can go on no longer.’ + + * * * * * + + 9.30 P.M. + +The wretched native dilatoriness finds me out. News has just come that +we must embark at six to-morrow; I have divided the night in watches, and +hope to be called to-morrow at four and get under way by five. It is a +great chance if it be managed; but I have given directions and lent my +own clock to the boys, and hope the best. If I get called at four we +shall do it nicely. Good-night; I must turn in. + + * * * * * + + _May_ 3_rd_. + +Well, we did get off by about 5.30, or, by’r lady! quarter of six: myself +on Donald, the huge grey cart-horse, with a ship-bag across my saddle +bow, Fanny on Musu and Belle on Jack. We were all feeling pretty tired +and sick, and I looked like heaven knows what on the cart horse: ‘death +on the pale horse,’ I suggested—and young Hunt the missionary, who met me +to-day on the same charger, squinted up at my perch and remarked, +‘There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft.’ The boat was ready +and we set off down the lagoon about seven, four oars, and Talolo, my +cook, steering. + + * * * * * + + _May_ 9_th_ (_Monday anyway_). + +And see what good resolutions came to! Here is all this time past, and +no speed made. Well, we got to Malie and were received with the most +friendly consideration by the rebel chief. Belle and Fanny were +obviously thought to be my two wives; they were served their kava +together, as were Mataafa and myself. Talolo utterly broke down as +interpreter; long speeches were made to me by Mataafa and his orators, of +which he could make nothing but they were ‘very much surprised’—his way +of pronouncing obliged—and as he could understand nothing that fell from +me except the same form of words, the dialogue languished and all +business had to be laid aside. We had kava, and then a dish of +arrowroot; one end of the house was screened off for us with a fine tapa, +and we lay and slept, the three of us heads and tails, upon the mats till +dinner. After dinner his illegitimate majesty and myself had a walk, and +talked as well as my twopenny Samoan would admit. Then there was a dance +to amuse the ladies before the house, and we came back by moonlight, the +sky piled full of high faint clouds that long preserved some of the +radiance of the sunset. The lagoon was very shallow; we continually +struck, for the moon was young and the light baffling; and for a long +time we were accompanied by, and passed and re-passed, a huge whale-boat +from Savaii, pulling perhaps twelve oars, and containing perhaps forty +people who sang in time as they went So to the hotel, where we slept, and +returned the next Tuesday morning on the three same steeds. + +Meanwhile my business was still untransacted. And on Saturday morning, I +sent down and arranged with Charlie Taylor to go down that afternoon. I +had scarce got the saddle bags fixed and had not yet mounted, when the +rain began. But it was no use delaying now; off I went in a wild +waterspout to Apia; found Charlie (Salé) Taylor—a sesquipedalian young +half-caste—not yet ready, had a snack of bread and cheese at the hotel +while waiting him, and then off to Malie. It rained all the way, seven +miles; the road, which begins in triumph, dwindles down to a nasty, +boggy, rocky footpath with weeds up to a horseman’s knees; and there are +eight pig fences to jump, nasty beastly jumps—the next morning we found +one all messed with blood where a horse had come to grief—but my Jack is +a clever fencer; and altogether we made good time, and got to Malie about +dark. It is a village of very fine native houses, high, domed, oval +buildings, open at the sides, or only closed with slatted Venetians. To +be sure, Mataafa’s is not the worst. It was already quite dark within, +only a little fire of cocoa-shell blazed in the midst and showed us four +servants; the chief was in his chapel, whence we heard the sound of +chaunting. Presently he returned; Taylor and I had our soaking clothes +changed, family worship was held, kava brewed, I was exhibited to the +chiefs as a man who had ridden through all that rain and risked +deportation to serve their master; they were bidden learn my face, and +remember upon all occasions to help and serve me. Then dinner, and +politics, and fine speeches until twelve at night—O, and some more +kava—when I could sit up no longer; my usual bed-time is eight, you must +remember. Then one end of the house was screened off for me alone, and a +bed made—you never saw such a couch—I believe of nearly fifty (half at +least) fine mats, by Mataafa’s daughter, Kalala. Here I reposed alone; +and on the other side of the tafa, Majesty and his household. Armed +guards and a drummer patrolled about the house all night; they had no +shift, poor devils; but stood to arms from sun-down to sun-up. + +About four in the morning, I was awakened by the sound of a whistle pipe +blown outside on the dark, very softly and to a pleasing simple air; I +really think I have hit the first phrase: + + [Picture: Fragment of music score] + +It sounded very peaceful, sweet and strange in the dark; and I found this +was a part of the routine of my rebel’s night, and it was done (he said) +to give good dreams. By a little before six, Taylor and I were in the +saddle again fasting. My riding boots were so wet I could not get them +on, so I must ride barefoot. The morning was fair but the roads very +muddy, the weeds soaked us nearly to the waist, Salé was twice spilt at +the fences, and we got to Apia a bedraggled enough pair. All the way +along the coast, the paté (small wooden drum) was beating in the villages +and the people crowding to the churches in their fine clothes. Thence +through the mangrove swamp, among the black mud and the green mangroves, +and the black and scarlet crabs, to Mulinuu, to the doctor’s, where I had +an errand, and so to the inn to breakfast about nine. After breakfast I +rode home. Conceive such an outing, remember the pallid brute that lived +in Skerryvore like a weevil in a biscuit, and receive the intelligence +that I was rather the better for my journey. Twenty miles ride, sixteen +fences taken, ten of the miles in a drenching rain, seven of them fasting +and in the morning chill, and six stricken hours’ political discussions +by an interpreter; to say nothing of sleeping in a native house, at which +many of our excellent literati would look askance of itself. + +You are to understand: if I take all this bother, it is not only from a +sense of duty, or a love of meddling—damn the phrase, take your +choice—but from a great affection for Mataafa. He is a beautiful, sweet +old fellow, and he and I grew quite fulsome on Saturday night about our +sentiments. I had a messenger from him to-day with a flannel undershirt +which I had left behind like a gibbering idiot; and perpetrated in reply +another baboo letter. It rains again to-day without mercy; blessed, +welcome rains, making up for the paucity of the late wet season; and when +the showers slacken, I can hear my stream roaring in the hollow, and tell +myself that the cacaos are drinking deep. I am desperately hunted to +finish my Samoa book before the mail goes; this last chapter is equally +delicate and necessary. The prayers of the congregation are requested. +Eheu! and it will be ended before this letter leaves and printed in the +States ere you can read this scribble. The first dinner gong has +sounded; _je vous salue_, _monsieur et cher confrère_. _Tofa_, _soifua_! +Sleep! long life! as our Samoan salutation of farewell runs. + + * * * * * + + _Friday_, _May_ 13_th_. + +Well, the last chapter, by far the most difficult and ungrateful, is well +under way, I have been from six to seven hours upon it daily since I last +wrote; and that is all I have done forbye working at Samoan rather hard, +and going down on Wednesday evening to the club. I make some progress +now at the language; I am teaching Belle, which clears and exercises +myself. I am particularly taken with the _finesse_ of the pronouns. The +pronouns are all dual and plural and the first person, both in the dual +and plural, has a special exclusive and inclusive form. You can conceive +what fine effects of precision and distinction can be reached in certain +cases. Take Ruth, i. _vv._ 8 to 13, and imagine how those pronouns come +in; it is exquisitely elegant, and makes the mouth of the _littérateur_ +to water. I am going to exercitate my pupil over those verses to-day for +pronoun practice. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_. + +Yesterday came yours. Well, well, if the dears prefer a week, why, I’ll +give them ten days, but the real document, from which I have scarcely +varied, ran for one night. I think you seem scarcely fair to Wiltshire, +who had surely, under his beast-ignorant ways, right noble qualities. +And I think perhaps you scarce do justice to the fact that this is a +place of realism _à outrance_; nothing extenuated or coloured. Looked at +so, is it not, with all its tragic features, wonderfully idyllic, with +great beauty of scene and circumstance? And will you please to observe +that almost all that is ugly is in the whites? I’ll apologise for Papa +Randal if you like; but if I told you the whole truth—for I did extenuate +there!—and he seemed to me essential as a figure, and essential as a pawn +in the game, Wiltshire’s disgust for him being one of the small, +efficient motives in the story. Now it would have taken a fairish dose +to disgust Wiltshire.—Again, the idea of publishing the Beach +substantively is dropped—at once, both on account of expostulation, and +because it measured shorter than I had expected. And it was only taken +up, when the proposed volume, _Beach de Mar_, petered out. It petered +out thus: the chief of the short stories got sucked into _Sophia +Scarlet_—and Sophia is a book I am much taken with, and mean to get to, +as soon as—but not before—I have done _David Balfour_ and _The Young +Chevalier_. So you see you are like to hear no more of the Pacific or +the nineteenth century for a while. _The Young Chevalier_ is a story of +sentiment and passion, which I mean to write a little differently from +what I have been doing—if I can hit the key; rather more of a sentimental +tremolo to it. It may thus help to prepare me for _Sophia_, which is to +contain three ladies, and a kind of a love affair between the heroine and +a dying planter who is a poet! large orders for R. L. S. + +O the German taboo is quite over; no soul attempts to support the C. J. +or the President, they are past hope; the whites have just refused their +taxes—I mean the council has refused to call for them, and if the council +consented, nobody would pay; ’tis a farce, and the curtain is going to +fall briefly. Consequently in my History, I say as little as may be of +the two dwindling stars. Poor devils! I liked the one, and the other +has a little wife, now lying in! There was no man born with so little +animosity as I. When I heard the C. J. was in low spirits and never left +his house, I could scarce refrain from going to him. + +It was a fine feeling to have finished the History; there ought to be a +future state to reward that grind! It’s not literature, you know; only +journalism, and pedantic journalism. I had but the one desire, to get +the thing as right as might be, and avoid false concords—even if that! +And it was more than there was time for. However, there it is: done. +And if Samoa turns up again my book has to be counted with, being the +only narrative extant. Milton and I—if you kindly excuse the +juxtaposition—harnessed ourselves to strange waggons, and I at least will +be found to have plodded very soberly with my load. There is not even a +good sentence in it, but perhaps—I don’t know—it may be found an honest, +clear volume. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_. + +Never got a word set down, and continues on Thursday 19th May, his own +marriage day as ever was. News; yes. The C. J. came up to call on us! +After five months’ cessation on my side, and a decidedly painful +interchange of letters, I could not go down—could not—to see him. My +three ladies received him, however; he was very agreeable as usual, but +refused wine, beer, water, lemonade, chocolate and at last a cigarette. +Then my wife asked him, ‘So you refuse to break bread?’ and he waved his +hands amiably in answer. All my three ladies received the same +impression that he had serious matters in his mind: now we hear he is +quite cock-a-hoop since the mail came, and going about as before his +troubles darkened. But what did he want with me? ’Tis thought he had +received a despatch—and that he misreads it (so we fully believe) to the +effect that they are to have war ships at command and can make their +little war after all. If it be so, and they do it, it will be the +meanest wanton slaughter of poor men for the salaries of two white +failures. But what was his errand with me? Perhaps to warn me that +unless I behave he now hopes to be able to pack me off in the _Curaçoa_ +when she comes. + +I have celebrated my holiday from _Samoa_ by a plunge at the beginning of +_The Young Chevalier_. I am afraid my touch is a little broad in a love +story; I can’t mean one thing and write another. As for women, I am no +more in any fear of them; I can do a sort all right; age makes me less +afraid of a petticoat, but I am a little in fear of grossness. However, +this David Balfour’s love affair, that’s all right—might be read out to a +mothers’ meeting—or a daughters’ meeting. The difficulty in a love yarn, +which dwells at all on love, is the dwelling on one string; it is +manifold, I grant, but the root fact is there unchanged, and the +sentiment being very intense, and already very much handled in letters, +positively calls for a little pawing and gracing. With a writer of my +prosaic literalness and pertinency of point of view, this all shoves +toward grossness—positively even towards the far more damnable +_closeness_. This has kept me off the sentiment hitherto, and now I am +to try: Lord! Of course Meredith can do it, and so could Shakespeare; +but with all my romance, I am a realist and a prosaist, and a most +fanatical lover of plain physical sensations plainly and expressly +rendered; hence my perils. To do love in the same spirit as I did (for +instance) D. Balfour’s fatigue in the heather; my dear sir, there were +grossness—ready made! And hence, how to sugar? However, I have nearly +done with Marie-Madeleine, and am in good hopes of Marie-Salomé, the real +heroine; the other is only a prologuial heroine to introduce the hero. + + * * * * * + + _Friday_. + +Anyway, the first prologuial episode is done, and Fanny likes it. There +are only four characters; Francis Blair of Balmile (Jacobite Lord +Gladsmuir) my hero; the Master of Ballantrae; Paradon, a wine-seller of +Avignon; Marie-Madeleine his wife. These two last I am now done with, +and I think they are successful, and I hope I have Balmile on his feet; +and the style seems to be found. It is a little charged and violent; +sins on the side of violence; but I think will carry the tale. I think +it is a good idea so to introduce my hero, being made love to by an +episodic woman. This queer tale—I mean queer for me—has taken a great +hold upon me. Where the devil shall I go next? This is simply the tale +of a _coup de tête_ of a young man and a young woman; with a nearly, +perhaps a wholly, tragic sequel, which I desire to make thinkable right +through, and sensible; to make the reader, as far as I shall be able, eat +and drink and breathe it. Marie-Salomé des Saintes-Maries is, I think, +the heroine’s name; she has got to _be_ yet: _sursum corda_! So has the +young Chevalier, whom I have not yet touched, and who comes next in +order. Characters: Balmile, or Lord Gladsmuir, _comme vous voulez_; +Prince Charlie; Earl Marischal; Master of Ballantrae; and a spy, and Dr. +Archie Campbell, and a few nondescripts; then, of women, Marie-Salomé and +Flora Blair; seven at the outside; really four full lengths, and I +suppose a half-dozen episodic profiles. How I must bore you with these +ineptitudes! Have patience. I am going to bed; it is (of all hours) +eleven. I have been forced in (since I began to write to you) to blatter +to Fanny on the subject of my heroine, there being two _cruces_ as to her +life and history: how came she alone? and how far did she go with the +Chevalier? The second must answer itself when I get near enough to see. +The first is a back-breaker. Yet I know there are many reasons why a +_fille de famine_, romantic, adventurous, ambitious, innocent of the +world, might run from her home in these days; might she not have been +threatened with a convent? might there not be some Huguenot business +mixed in? Here am I, far from books; if you can help me with a +suggestion, I shall say God bless you. She has to be new run away from a +strict family, well-justified in her own wild but honest eyes, and +meeting these three men, Charles Edward, Marischal, and Balmile, through +the accident of a fire at an inn. She must not run from a marriage, I +think; it would bring her in the wrong frame of mind. Once I can get +her, _sola_, on the highway, all were well with my narrative. Perpend. +And help if you can. + +Lafaele, long (I hope) familiar to you, has this day received the visit +of his _son_ from Tonga; and the _son_ proves to be a very pretty, +attractive young daughter! I gave all the boys kava in honour of her +arrival; along with a lean, side-whiskered Tongan, dimly supposed to be +Lafaele’s step-father; and they have been having a good time; in the end +of my verandah, I hear Simi, my present incapable steward, talking Tongan +with the nondescript papa. Simi, our out-door boy, burst a succession of +blood-vessels over our work, and I had to make a position for the wreck +of one of the noblest figures of a man I ever saw. I believe I may have +mentioned the other day how I had to put my horse to the trot, the canter +and (at last) the gallop to run him down. In a photograph I hope to send +you (perhaps with this) you will see Simi standing in the verandah in +profile. As a steward, one of his chief points is to break crystal; he +is great on fracture—what do I say?—explosion! He cleans a glass, and +the shards scatter like a comet’s bowels. + +_N.B._—If I should by any chance be deported, the first of the rules hung +up for that occasion is to communicate with you by telegraph.—Mind, I do +not fear it, but it _is_ possible. + + * * * * * + + _Monday_ 25_th_. + +We have had a devil of a morning of upset and bustle; the bronze +candlestick Faauma has returned to the family, in time to take her +position of stepmamma, and it is pretty to see how the child is at once +at home, and all her terrors ended. + + * * * * * + + 27_th_. _Mail day_. + +And I don’t know that I have much to report. I may have to leave for +Malie as soon as these mail packets are made up. ’Tis a necessity (if it +be one) I rather deplore. I think I should have liked to lazy; but I +daresay all it means is the delay of a day or so in harking back to David +Balfour; that respectable youth chides at being left (where he is now) in +Glasgow with the Lord Advocate, and after five years in the British +Linen, who shall blame him? I was all forenoon yesterday down in Apia,’ +dictating, and Lloyd type-writing, the conclusion of _Samoa_; and then at +home correcting till the dinner bell; and in the evening again till +eleven of the clock. This morning I have made up most of my packets, and +I think my mail is all ready but two more, and the tag of this. I would +never deny (as D. B might say) that I was rather tired of it. But I have +a damned good dose of the devil in my pipe-stem atomy; I have had my +little holiday outing in my kick at _The Young Chevalier_, and I guess I +can settle to _David Balfour_ to-morrow or Friday like a little man. I +wonder if any one had ever more energy upon so little strength?—I know +there is a frost, the Samoa book can only increase that—I can’t help it, +that book is not written for me but for Miss Manners; but I mean to break +that frost inside two years, and pull off a big success, and Vanity +whispers in my ear that I have the strength. If I haven’t, whistle ower +the lave o’t! I can do without glory and perhaps the time is not far off +when I can do without corn. It is a time coming soon enough, anyway; and +I have endured some two and forty years without public shame, and had a +good time as I did it. If only I could secure a violent death, what a +fine success! I wish to die in my boots; no more Land of Counterpane for +me. To be drowned, to be shot, to be thrown from a horse—ay, to be +hanged, rather than pass again through that slow dissolution. + +I fancy this gloomy ramble is caused by a twinge of age; I put on an +under-shirt yesterday (it was the only one I could find) that barely came +under my trousers; and just below it, a fine healthy rheumatism has now +settled like a fire in my hip. From such small causes do these valuable +considerations flow! + +I shall now say adieu, dear Sir, having ten rugged miles before me and +the horrors of a native feast and parliament without an interpreter, for +to-day I go alone. + + Yours ever, + + R. L S. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + + _Sunday_, 29_th_ _May_. + +HOW am I to overtake events? On Wednesday, as soon as my mail was +finished, I had a wild whirl to look forward to. Immediately after +dinner, Belle, Lloyd and I, set out on horseback, they to the club, I to +Haggard’s, thence to the hotel where I had supper ready for them. All +next day we hung round Apia with our whole house-crowd in Sunday array, +hoping for the mail steamer with a menagerie on board. No such luck; the +ship delayed; and at last, about three, I had to send them home again, a +failure of a day’s pleasuring that does not bear to be discussed. Lloyd +was so sickened that he returned the same night to Vailima, Belle and I +held on, sat most of the evening on the hotel verandah stricken silly +with fatigue and disappointment, and genuine sorrow for our poor boys and +girls, and got to bed with rather dismal appreciations of the morrow. + +These were more than justified, and yet I never had a jollier day than +Friday 27th. By 7.30 Belle and I had breakfast; we had scarce done +before my mother was at the door on horseback, and a boy at her heels to +take her not very dashing charger home again. By 8.10 we were all on the +landing pier, and it was 9.20 before we had got away in a boat with two +inches of green wood on the keel of her, no rudder, no mast, no sail, no +boat flag, two defective rowlocks, two wretched apologies for oars, and +two boys—one a Tongan half-caste, one a white lad, son of the Tonga +schoolmaster, and a sailor lad—to pull us. All this was our first taste +of the tender mercies of Taylor (the sesquipidalian half-caste introduced +two letters back, I believe). We had scarce got round Mulinuu when Salé +Taylor’s heart misgave him; he thought we had missed the tide; called a +halt, and set off ashore to find canoes. Two were found; in one my +mother and I were embarked with the two biscuit tins (my present to the +feast), and the bag with our dry clothes, on which my mother was +perched—and her cap was on the top of it—feminine hearts please +sympathise; all under the guidance of Salé. In the other Belle and our +guest; Tauilo, a chief-woman, the mother of my cook, were to have +followed. And the boys were to have been left with the boat. But Tauilo +refused. And the four, Belle, Tauilo, Frank the sailor-boy, and Jimmie +the Tongan half-caste, set off in the boat across that rapidly shoaling +bay of the lagoon. + +How long the next scene lasted, I could never tell. Salé was always +trying to steal away with our canoe and leave the other four, probably +for six hours, in an empty, leaky boat, without so much as an orange or a +cocoanut on board, and under the direct rays of the sun. I had at last +to stop him by taking the spare paddle off the out-rigger and sticking it +in the ground—depth, perhaps two feet—width of the bay, say three miles. +At last I bid him land me and my mother and go back for the other ladies. +‘The coast is so rugged,’ said Salé.—‘What?’ I said, ‘all these villages +and no landing place?’—‘Such is the nature of Samoans,’ said he. Well, +I’ll find a landing-place, I thought; and presently I said, ‘Now we are +going to land there.’—‘We can but try,’ said the bland Salé, with +resignation. Never saw a better landing-place in my life. Here the boat +joined us. My mother and Salé continued in the canoe alone, and Belle +and I and Tauilo set off on foot for Malie. Tauilo was about the size of +both of us put together and a piece over; she used us like a mouse with +children. I had started barefoot; Belle had soon to pull off her gala +shoes and stockings; the mud was as deep as to our knees, and so slippery +that (moving, as we did, in Indian file, between dense scratching tufts +of sensitive) Belle and I had to take hands to support each other, and +Tauilo was steadying Belle from the rear. You can conceive we were got +up to kill, Belle in an embroidered white dress and white hat, I in a +suit of Bedford cords hot from the Sydney tailors; and conceive us, +below, ink-black to the knees with adhesive clay, and above, streaming +with heat. I suppose it was better than three miles, but at last we made +the end of Malie. I asked if we could find no water to wash our feet; +and our nursemaid guided us to a pool. We sat down on the pool side, and +our nursemaid washed our feet and legs for us—ladies first, I suppose out +of a sudden respect to the insane European fancies: such a luxury as you +can scarce imagine. I felt a new man after it. But before we got to the +King’s house we were sadly muddied once more. It was 1 P.M. when we +arrived, the canoe having beaten us by about five minutes, so we made +fair time over our bog-holes. + +But the war dances were over, and we came in time to see only the tail +end (some two hours) of the food presentation. In Mataafa’s house three +chairs were set for us covered with fine mats. Of course, a native house +without the blinds down is like a verandah. All the green in front was +surrounded with sheds, some of flapping canvas, some of green palm +boughs, where (in three sides of a huge oblong) the natives sat by +villages in a fine glow of many-hued array. There were folks in tapa, +and folks in patchwork; there was every colour of the rainbow in a spot +or a cluster; there were men with their heads gilded with powdered +sandal-wood, others with heads all purple, stuck full of the petals of a +flower. In the midst there was a growing field of outspread food, +gradually covering acres; the gifts were brought in, now by chanting +deputations, now by carriers in a file; they were brandished aloft and +declaimed over, with polite sacramental exaggerations, by the official +receiver. He, a stalwart, well-oiled quadragenarian, shone with sweat +from his exertions, brandishing cooked pigs. At intervals, from one of +the squatted villages, an orator would arise. The field was almost +beyond the reach of any human speaking voice; the proceedings besides +continued in the midst; yet it was possible to catch snatches of this +elaborate and cut-and-dry oratory—it was possible for me, for instance, +to catch the description of my gift and myself as the _alii Tusitala_, _O +le alii O malo tetele_—the chief White Information, the chief of the +great Governments. Gay designation? In the house, in our three curule +chairs, we sat and looked on. On our left a little group of the family. +In front of us, at our feet, an ancient Talking-man, crowned with green +leaves, his profile almost exactly Dante’s; Popo his name. He had +worshipped idols in his youth; he had been full grown before the first +missionary came hither from Tahiti; this makes him over eighty. Near by +him sat his son and colleague. In the group on our left, his little +grandchild sat with her legs crossed and her hands turned, the model +already (at some three years old) of Samoan etiquette. Still further off +to our right, Mataafa sat on the ground through all the business; and +still I saw his lips moving, and the beads of his rosary slip stealthily +through his hand. We had kava, and the King’s drinking was hailed by the +Popos (father and son) with a singular ululation, perfectly new to my +ears; it means, to the expert, ‘Long live Tuiatua’; to the inexpert, is a +mere voice of barbarous wolves. We had dinner, retired a bit behind the +central pillar of the house; and, when the King was done eating, the +ululation was repeated. I had my eyes on Mataafa’s face, and I saw pride +and gratified ambition spring to life there and be instantly sucked in +again. It was the first time, since the difference with Laupepa, that +Popo and his son had openly joined him, and given him the due cry as +Tuiatua—one of the eight royal names of the islands, as I hope you will +know before this reaches you. + +Not long after we had dined, the food-bringing was over. The gifts +(carefully noted and tallied as they came in) were now announced by a +humorous orator, who convulsed the audience, introducing singing notes, +now on the name of the article, now on the number; six thousand odd heads +of taro, three hundred and nineteen cooked pigs; and one thing that +particularly caught me (by good luck), a single turtle ‘for the King’—_le +tasi mo le tupu_. Then came one of the strangest sights I have yet +witnessed. The two most important persons there (bar Mataafa) were Popo +and his son. They rose, holding their long shod rods of talking men, +passed forth from the house, broke into a strange dance, the father +capering with outstretched arms and rod, the son crouching and gambolling +beside him in a manner indescribable, and presently began to extend the +circle of this dance among the acres of cooked food. _Whatever they +leaped over_, _whatever they called for_, _became theirs_. To see +mediæval Dante thus demean himself struck a kind of a chill of +incongruity into our Philistine souls; but even in a great part of the +Samoan concourse, these antique and (I understand) quite local manners +awoke laughter. One of my biscuit tins and a live calf were among the +spoils he claimed, but the large majority of the cooked food (having once +proved his dignity) he re-presented to the King. + +Then came the turn of _le alii Tusitala_. He would not dance, but he was +given—five live hens, four gourds of oil, four fine tapas, a hundred +heads of taro, two cooked pigs, a cooked shark, two or three cocoanut +branches strung with kava, and the turtle, who soon after breathed his +last, I believe, from sunstroke. It was a royal present for ‘the chief +of the great powers.’ I should say the gifts were, on the proper signal, +dragged out of the field of food by a troop of young men, all with their +lava-lavas kilted almost into a loin-cloth. The art is to swoop on the +food-field, pick up with unerring swiftness the right things and +quantities, swoop forth again on the open, and separate, leaving the +gifts in a new pile: so you may see a covey of birds in a corn-field. +This reminds me of a very inhumane but beautiful passage I had forgotten +in its place. The gift-giving was still in full swing, when there came a +troop of some ninety men all in tafa lava-lavas of a purplish colour; +they paused, and of a sudden there went up from them high into the air a +flight of live chickens, which, as they came down again, were sent again +into the air, for perhaps a minute, from the midst of a singular turmoil +of flying arms and shouting voices; I assure you, it was very beautiful +to see, but how many chickens were killed? + +No sooner was my food set out than I was to be going. I had a little +serious talk with Mataafa on the floor, and we went down to the boat, +where we got our food aboard, such a cargo—like the Swiss Family +Robinson, we said. However, a squall began, Tauilo refused to let us go, +and we came back to the house for half-an-hour or so, when my ladies +distinguished themselves by walking through a Fono (council), my mother +actually taking up a position between Mataafa and Popo! It was about +five when we started—turtle, pigs, taro, etc., my mother, Belle, myself, +Tauilo, a portly friend of hers with the voice of an angel, and a +pronunciation so delicate and true that you could follow Samoan as she +sang, and the two tired boys Frank and Jimmie, with the two bad oars and +the two slippery rowlocks to impel the whole. Salé Taylor took the canoe +and a strong Samoan to paddle him. Presently after he went inshore, and +passed us a little after, with his arms folded, and _two_ strong Samoans +impelling him Apia-ward. This was too much for Belle, who hailed, +taunted him, and made him return to the boat with one of the Samoans, +setting Jimmie instead in the canoe. Then began our torment, Salé and +the Samoan took the oars, sat on the same thwart (where they could get no +swing on the boat had they tried), and deliberately ladled at the lagoon. +We lay enchanted. Night fell; there was a light visible on shore; it did +not move. The two women sang, Belle joining them in the hymns she has +learned at family worship. Then a squall came up; we sat a while in +roaring midnight under rivers of rain, and, when it blew by, there was +the light again, immovable. A second squall followed, one of the worst I +was ever out in; we could scarce catch our breath in the cold, dashing +deluge. When it went, we were so cold that the water in the bottom of +the boat (which I was then baling) seemed like a warm footbath in +comparison, and Belle and I, who were still barefoot, were quite restored +by laving in it. + +All this time I had kept my temper, and refrained as far as might be from +any interference, for I saw (in our friend’s mulish humour) he always +contrived to twist it to our disadvantage. But now came the acute point. +Young Frank now took an oar. He was a little fellow, near as frail as +myself, and very short; if he weighed nine stone, it was the outside; but +his blood was up. He took stroke, moved the big Samoan forward to bow, +and set to work to pull him round in fine style. Instantly a kind of +race competition—almost race hatred—sprang up. We jeered the Samoan. +Salé declared it was the trim of the boat: ‘if this lady was aft’ +(Tauilo’s portly friend) ‘he would row round Frank.’ We insisted on her +coming aft, and Frank still rowed round the Samoan. When the Samoan +caught a crab (the thing was continual with these wretched oars and +rowlocks), we shouted and jeered; when Frank caught one, Salé and the +Samoan jeered and yelled. But anyway the boat moved, and presently we +got up with Mulinuu, where I finally lost my temper, when I found that +Salé proposed to go ashore and make a visit—in fact, we all three did. +It is not worth while going into, but I must give you one snatch of the +subsequent conversation as we pulled round Apia bay. ‘This Samoan,’ said +Salé, ‘received seven German bullets in the field of Fangalii.’ ‘I am +delighted to hear it,’ said Belle. ‘His brother was killed there,’ +pursued Salé; and Belle, prompt as an echo, ‘Then there are no more of +the family? how delightful!’ Salé was sufficiently surprised to change +the subject; he began to praise Frank’s rowing with insufferable +condescension: ‘But it is after all not to be wondered at,’ said he, +‘because he has been for some time a sailor. My good man, is it three or +five years that you have been to sea?’ And Frank, in a defiant shout: +‘Two!’ Whereupon, so high did the ill-feeling run, that we three clapped +and applauded and shouted, so that the President (whose house we were +then passing) doubtless started at the sounds. It was nine when we got +to the hotel; at first no food was to be found, but we skirmished up some +bread and cheese and beer and brandy; and (having changed our wet clothes +for the rather less wet in our bags) supped on the verandah. + +_Saturday_ 28_th_. I was wakened about 6.30, long past my usual hour, by +a benevolent passer-by. My turtle lay on the verandah at my door, and +the man woke me to tell me it was dead, as it had been when we put it on +board the day before. All morning I ran the gauntlet of men and women +coming up to me: ‘Mr. Stevenson, your turtle is dead.’ I gave half of it +to the hotel keeper, so that his cook should cut it up; and we got a +damaged shell, and two splendid meals, beefsteak one day and soup the +next. The horses came for us about 9.30. It was waterspouting; we were +drenched before we got out of the town; the road was a fine going +Highland trout stream; it thundered deep and frequent, and my mother’s +horse would not better on a walk. At last she took pity on us, and very +nobly proposed that Belle and I should ride ahead. We were mighty glad +to do so, for we were cold. Presently, I said I should ride back for my +mother, but it thundered again, Belle is afraid of thunder, and I decided +to see her through the forest before I returned for my other hen—I may +say, my other wet hen. About the middle of the wood, where it is +roughest and steepest, we met three pack-horses with barrels of +lime-juice. I piloted Belle past these—it is not very easy in such a +road—and then passed them again myself, to pilot my mother. This +effected, it began to thunder again, so I rode on hard after Belle. When +I caught up with her, she was singing Samoan hymns to support her +terrors! We were all back, changed, and at table by lunch time, 11 A.M. +Nor have any of us been the worse for it sinsyne. That is pretty good +for a woman of my mother’s age and an invalid of my standing; above all, +as Tauilo was laid up with a bad cold, probably increased by rage. + + * * * * * + + _Friday_, 3_rd_ _June_. + +On Wednesday the club could not be held, and I must ride down town and to +and fro all afternoon delivering messages, then dined and rode up by the +young moon. I had plenty news when I got back; there is great talk in +town of my deportation: it is thought they have written home to Downing +Street requesting my removal, which leaves me not much alarmed; what I do +rather expect is that H. J. Moors and I may be haled up before the C. J. +to stand a trial for _lèse_-Majesty. Well, we’ll try and live it +through. + +The rest of my history since Monday has been unadulterated _David +Balfour_. In season and out of season, night and day, David and his +innocent harem—let me be just, he never has more than the two—are on my +mind. Think of David Balfour with a pair of fair ladies—very nice ones +too—hanging round him. I really believe David is as a good character as +anybody has a right to ask for in a novel. I have finished drafting +Chapter XX. to-day, and feel it all ready to froth when the spigot is +turned. + +O I forgot—and do forget. What did I mean? A waft of cloud has fallen +on my mind, and I will write no more. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_, _I believe_, 8_th_ _June_. + +Lots of David, and lots of David, and the devil any other news. +Yesterday we were startled by great guns firing a salute, and to-day +Whitmee (missionary) rode up to lunch, and we learned it was the +_Curaçoa_ come in, the ship (according to rumour) in which I was to be +deported. I went down to meet my fate, and the captain is to dine with +me Saturday, so I guess I am not going this voyage. Even with the +particularity with which I write to you, how much of my life goes +unexpressed; my troubles with a madman by the name of —, a genuine living +lunatic, I believe, and jolly dangerous; my troubles about poor —, all +these have dropped out; yet for moments they were very instant, and one +of them is always present with me. + +I have finished copying Chapter XXI. of David—‘_solus cum sola_; we +travel together.’ Chapter XXII., ‘_Solus cum sola_; we keep house +together,’ is already drafted. To the end of XXI. makes more than 150 +pages of my manuscript—damn this hair—and I only designed the book to run +to about 200; but when you introduce the female sect, a book does run +away with you. I am very curious to see what you will think of my two +girls. My own opinion is quite clear; I am in love with both. I foresee +a few pleasant years of spiritual flirtations. The creator (if I may +name myself, for the sake of argument, by such a name) is essentially +unfaithful. For the duration of the two chapters in which I dealt with +Miss Grant, I totally forgot my heroine, and even—but this is a flat +secret—tried to win away David. I think I must try some day to marry +Miss Grant. I’m blest if I don’t think I’ve got that hair out! which +seems triumph enough; so I conclude. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_. + +Your infinitesimal correspondence has reached me, and I have the honour +to refer to it with scorn. It contains only one statement of conceivable +interest, that your health is better; the rest is null, and so far as +disquisitory unsound. I am all right, but David Balfour is ailing; this +came from my visit to the man-of-war, where I had a cup of tea, and the +most of that night walked the verandah with extraordinary convictions of +guilt and ruin, many of which (but not all) proved to have fled with the +day, taking David along with them; he R.I.P. in Chapter XXII. + +On Saturday I went down to the town, and fetched up Captain Gibson to +dinner; Sunday I was all day at Samoa, and had a pile of visitors. +Yesterday got my mail, including your despicable sheet; was fooled with a +visit from the high chief Asi, went down at 4 P.M. to my Samoan lesson +from Whitmee—I think I shall learn from him, he does not fool me with +cockshot rules that are demolished next day, but professes ignorance like +a man; the truth is, the grammar has still to be expiscated—dined with +Haggard, and got home about nine. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_. + +The excellent Clarke up here almost all day yesterday, a man I esteem and +like to the soles of his boots; I prefer him to anyone in Samoa, and to +most people in the world; a real good missionary, with the inestimable +advantage of having grown up a layman. Pity they all can’t get that! It +recalls my old proposal, which delighted Lady Taylor so much, that every +divinity student should be thirty years old at least before he was +admitted. Boys switched out of college into a pulpit, what chance have +they? That any should do well amazes me, and the most are just what was +to be expected. + + * * * * * + + _Saturday_. + +I must tell you of our feast. It was long promised to the boys, and came +off yesterday in one of their new houses. My good Simelé arrived from +Savaii that morning asking for political advice; then we had Tauilo; +Elena’s father, a talking man of Tauilo’s family; Talolo’s cousin; and a +boy of Simelé’s family, who attended on his dignity; then Metu, the +meat-man—you have never heard of him, but he is a great person in our +household—brought a lady and a boy—and there was another infant—eight +guests in all. And we sat down thirty strong. You should have seen our +procession, going (about two o’clock), all in our best clothes, to the +hall of feasting! All in our Sunday’s best. The new house had been +hurriedly finished; the rafters decorated with flowers; the floor spread, +native style, with green leaves; we had given a big porker, twenty-five +pounds of fresh beef, a tin of biscuit, cocoanuts, etc. Our places were +all arranged with much care; the native ladies of the house facing our +party; the sides filled up by the men; the guests, please observe: the +two chief people, male and female, were placed with our family, the rest +between S. and the native ladies. After the feast was over, we had kava, +and the calling of the kava was a very elaborate affair, and I thought +had like to have made Simelé very angry; he is really a considerable +chief, but he and Tauilo were not called till after all our family, _and +the guests_, I suppose the principle being that he was still regarded as +one of the household. I forgot to say that our black boy did not turn up +when the feast was ready. Off went the two cooks, found him, decorated +him with huge red hibiscus flowers—he was in a very dirty under +shirt—brought him back between them like a reluctant maid, and, thrust +him into a place between Faauma and Elena, where he was petted and +ministered to. When his turn came in the kava drinking—and you may be +sure, in their contemptuous, affectionate kindness for him, as for a good +dog, it came rather earlier than it ought—he was cried under a new name. +_Aleki_ is what they make of his own name Arrick; but instead of [the cup +of / ‘le ipu o] Aleki!’ it was called ‘le ipu o _Vailima_’ and it was +explained that he had ‘taken his chief-name’! a jest at which the +plantation still laughs. Kava done, I made a little speech, Henry +translating. If I had been well, I should have alluded to all, but I was +scarce able to sit up; so only alluded to my guest of all this month, the +Tongan, Tomas, and to Simelé, partly for the jest of making him translate +compliments to himself. The talking man replied with many handsome +compliments to me, in the usual flood of Samoan fluent neatness; and we +left them to an afternoon of singing and dancing. Must stop now, as my +right hand is very bad again. I am trying to write with my left. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_. + +About half-past eight last night, I had gone to my own room, Fanny and +Lloyd were in Fanny’s, every one else in bed, only two boys on the +premises—the two little brown boys Mitaiele (Michael), age I suppose 11 +or 12, and the new steward, a Wallis islander, speaking no English and +about fifty words of Samoan, recently promoted from the bush work, and a +most good, anxious, timid lad of 15 or 16—looks like 17 or 18, of +course—they grow fast here. In comes Mitaiele to Lloyd, and told some +rigmarole about Paatalise (the steward’s name) wanting to go and see his +family in the bush.—‘But he has no family in the bush,’ said Lloyd. +‘No,’ said Mitaiele. They went to the boy’s bed (they sleep in the +walled-in compartment of the verandah, once my dressing-room) and called +at once for me. He lay like one asleep, talking in drowsy tones but +without excitement, and at times ‘cheeping’ like a frightened mouse; he +was quite cool to the touch, and his pulse not fast; his breathing seemed +wholly ventral; the bust still, the belly moving strongly. Presently he +got from his bed, and ran for the door, with his head down not three feet +from the floor and his body all on a stretch forward, like a striking +snake: I say ‘ran,’ but this strange movement was not swift. Lloyd and I +mastered him and got him back in bed. Soon there was another and more +desperate attempt to escape, in which Lloyd had his ring broken. Then we +bound him to the bed humanely with sheets, ropes, boards and pillows. He +lay there and sometimes talked, sometimes whispered, sometimes wept like +an angry child; his principal word was ‘Faamolemole’—‘Please’—and he kept +telling us at intervals that his family were calling him. During this +interval, by the special grace of God, my boys came home; we had already +called in Arrick, the black boy; now we had that Hercules, Lafaele, and a +man Savea, who comes from Paatalise’s own island and can alone +communicate with him freely. Lloyd went to bed, I took the first watch, +and sat in my room reading, while Lafaele and Arrick watched the madman. +Suddenly Arrick called me; I ran into the verandah; there was Paatalise +free of all his bonds and Lafaele holding him. To tell what followed is +impossible. We were five people at him—Lafaele and Savea, very strong +men, Lloyd, I and Arrick, and the struggle lasted until 1 A.M. before we +had him bound. One detail for a specimen: Lloyd and I had charge of one +leg, we were both sitting on it, and lo! we were both tossed into the +air—I, I daresay, a couple of feet. At last we had him spread-eagled to +the iron bedstead, by his wrists and ankles, with matted rope; a most +inhumane business, but what could we do? it was all we could do to manage +it even so. The strength of the paroxysms had been steadily increasing, +and we trembled for the next. And now I come to pure Rider Haggard. +Lafaele announced that the boy was very bad, and he would get ‘some +medicine’ which was a family secret of his own. Some leaves were brought +mysteriously in; chewed, placed on the boy’s eyes, dropped in his ears +(see Hamlet) and stuck up his nostrils; as he did this, the weird doctor +partly smothered the patient with his hand; and by about 2 A.M. he was in +a deep sleep, and from that time he showed no symptom of dementia +whatever. The medicine (says Lafaele) is principally used for the +wholesale slaughter of families; he himself feared last night that his +dose was fatal; only one other person, on this island, knows the secret; +and she, Lafaele darkly whispers, has abused it. This remarkable tree we +must try to identify. + +The man-of-war doctor came up to-day, gave us a strait-waistcoat, taught +us to bandage, examined the boy and saw he was apparently well—he +insisted on doing his work all morning, poor lad, and when he first came +down kissed all the family at breakfast! The Doctor was greatly excited, +as may be supposed, about Lafaele’s medicine. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_. + +All yesterday writing my mail by the hand of Belle, to save my wrist. +This is a great invention, to which I shall stick, if it can be managed. +We had some alarm about Paatalise, but he slept well all night for a +benediction. This lunatic asylum exercise has no attractions for any of +us. + +I don’t know if I remembered to say how much pleased I was with _Across +the Plains_ in every way, inside and out, and you and me. The critics +seem to taste it, too, as well as could be hoped, and I believe it will +continue to bring me in a few shillings a year for a while. But such +books pay only indirectly. + +To understand the full horror of the mad scene, and how well my boys +behaved, remember that _they believed P.’s ravings_, they _knew_ that his +dead family, thirty strong, crowded the front verandah and called on him +to come to the other world. They _knew_ that his dead brother had met +him that afternoon in the bush and struck him on both temples. And +remember! we are fighting the dead, and they had to go out again in the +black night, which is the dead man’s empire. Yet last evening, when I +thought P. was going to repeat the performance, I sent down for Lafaele, +who had leave of absence, and he and his wife came up about eight o’clock +with a lighted brand. These are the things for which I have to forgive +my old cattle-man his manifold shortcomings; they are heroic—so are the +shortcomings, to be sure. + +It came over me the other day suddenly that this diary of mine to you +would make good pickings after I am dead, and a man could make some kind +of a book out of it without much trouble. So, for God’s sake, don’t lose +them, and they will prove a piece of provision for my ‘poor old family,’ +as Simelé calls it. + +About my coming to Europe, I get more and more doubtful, and rather +incline to Ceylon again as place of meeting. I am so absurdly well here +in the tropics, that it seems like affectation. Yet remember I have +never once stood Sydney. Anyway, I shall have the money for it all +ahead, before I think of such a thing. + +We had a bowl of Punch on your birthday, which my incredible mother +somehow knew and remembered. + +I sometimes sit and yearn for anything in the nature of an income that +would come in—mine has all got to be gone and fished for with the +immortal mind of man. What I want is the income that really comes in of +itself while all you have to do is just to blossom and exist and sit on +chairs. Think how beautiful it would be not to have to mind the critics, +and not even the darkest of the crowd—Sidney Colvin. I should probably +amuse myself with works that would make your hair curl, if you had any +left. + + R. L S. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + + _Saturday_, 2_nd_ _July_ 1892. + +THE character of my handwriting is explained, alas! by scrivener’s cramp. +This also explains how long I have let the paper lie plain. + + * * * * * + + 1 P.M. + +I was busy copying David Balfour with my left hand—a most laborious +task—Fanny was down at the native house superintending the floor, Lloyd +down in Apia, and Belle in her own house cleaning, when I heard the +latter calling on my name. I ran out on the verandah; and there on the +lawn beheld my crazy boy with an axe in his hand and dressed out in green +ferns, dancing. I ran downstairs and found all my house boys on the back +verandah, watching him through the dining-room. I asked what it +meant?—‘Dance belong his place,’ they said.—‘I think this no time to +dance,’ said I. ‘Has he done his work?’—‘No,’ they told me, ‘away bush +all morning.’ But there they all stayed on the back verandah. I went on +alone through the dining-room, and bade him stop. He did so, shouldered +the axe, and began to walk away; but I called him back, walked up to him, +and took the axe out of his unresisting hands. The boy is in all things +so good, that I can scarce say I was afraid; only I felt it had to be +stopped ere he could work himself up by dancing to some craziness. Our +house boys protested they were not afraid; all I know is they were all +watching him round the back door and did not follow me till I had the +axe. As for the out boys, who were working with Fanny in the native +house, they thought it a very bad business, and made no secret of their +fears. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_, 6_th_. + +I have no account to give of my stewardship these days, and there’s a day +more to account for than mere arithmetic would tell you. For we have had +two Monday Fourths, to bring us at last on the right side of the +meridian, having hitherto been an exception in the world and kept our +private date. Business has filled my hours sans intermission. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_, 12_th._ + +I am doing no work and my mind is in abeyance. Fanny and Belle are +sewing-machining in the next room; I have been pulling down their hair, +and Fanny has been kicking me, and now I am driven out. Austin I have +been chasing about the verandah; now he has gone to his lessons, and I +make believe to write to you in despair. But there is nothing in my +mind; I swim in mere vacancy, my head is like a rotten nut; I shall soon +have to begin to work again or I shall carry away some part of the +machinery. I have got your insufficient letter, for which I scorn to +thank you. I have had no review by Gosse, none by Birrell; another time +if I have a letter in the _Times_, you might send me the text as well; +also please send me a cricket bat and a cake, and when I come home for +the holidays, I should like to have a pony. + + I am, sir, your obedient servant, + + JACOB TONSON. + +_P.S._ I am quite well; I hope you are quite well. The world is too +much with us, and my mother bids me bind my hair and lace my bodice blue. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—This is Friday night, the (I believe) 18th or 20th August +or September. I shall probably regret to-morrow having written you with +my own hand like the Apostle Paul. But I am alone over here in the +workman’s house, where I and Belle and Lloyd and Austin are pigging; the +rest are at cards in the main residence. I have not joined them because +‘belly belong me’ has been kicking up, and I have just taken 15 drops of +laudanum. + +On Tuesday, the party set out—self in white cap, velvet coat, cords and +yellow half boots, Belle in a white kind of suit and white cap to match +mine, Lloyd in white clothes and long yellow boots and a straw hat, +Graham in khakis and gaiters, Henry (my old overseer) in blue coat and +black kilt, and the great Lafaele with a big ship-bag on his saddle-bow. +We left the mail at the P. O., had lunch at the hotel, and about 1.50 set +out westward to the place of tryst. This was by a little shrunken brook +in a deep channel of mud on the far side of which, in a thicket of low +trees, all full of moths of shadow and butterflies of sun, we lay down to +await her ladyship. Whiskey and water, then a sketch of the encampment +for which we all posed to Belle, passed off the time until 3.30. Then I +could hold on no longer. 30 minutes late. Had the secret oozed out? +Were they arrested? I got my horse, crossed the brook again, and rode +hard back to the Vaea cross roads, whence I was aware of white clothes +glancing in the other long straight radius of the quadrant. I turned at +once to return to the place of tryst; but D. overtook me, and almost bore +me down, shouting ‘Ride, ride!’ like a hero in a ballad. Lady Margaret +and he were only come to shew the place; they returned, and the rest of +our party, reinforced by Captain Leigh and Lady Jersey, set on for Malie. +The delay was due to D.’s infinite precautions, leading them up lanes, by +back ways, and then down again to the beach road a hundred yards further +on. + +It was agreed that Lady Jersey existed no more; she was now my cousin +Amelia Balfour. That relative and I headed the march; she is a charming +woman, all of us like her extremely after trial on this somewhat rude and +absurd excursion. And we Amelia’d or Miss Balfour’d her with great but +intermittent fidelity. When we came to the last village, I sent Henry on +ahead to warn the King of our approach and amend his discretion, if that +might be. As he left I heard the villagers asking _which was the great +lady_? And a little further, at the borders of Malie itself, we found +the guard making a music of bugles and conches. Then I knew the game was +up and the secret out. A considerable guard of honour, mostly children, +accompanied us; but, for our good fortune, we had been looked for +earlier, and the crowd was gone. + +Dinner at the King’s; he asked me to say grace, I could think of +none—never could; Graham suggested _Benedictus Benedicat_, at which I +leaped. We were nearly done, when old Popo inflicted the Atua howl (of +which you have heard already) right at Lady Jersey’s shoulder. She +started in fine style.—‘There,’ I said, ‘we have been giving you a +chapter of Scott, but this goes beyond the Waverley Novels.’ After +dinner, kava. Lady J. was served before me, and the King _drank last_; +it was the least formal kava I ever saw in that house,—no names called, +no show of ceremony. All my ladies are well trained, and when Belle +drained her bowl, the King was pleased to clap his hands. Then he and I +must retire for our private interview, to another house. He gave me his +own staff and made me pass before him; and in the interview, which was +long and delicate, he twice called me _afioga_. Ah, that leaves you +cold, but I am Samoan enough to have been moved. _Susuga_ is my accepted +rank; to be called _afioga_—Heavens! what an advance—and it leaves Europe +cold. But it staggered my Henry. The first time it was complicated +‘lana susuga _ma_ lana afioga—his excellency _and_ his majesty’—the next +time plain Majesty. Henry then begged to interrupt the interview and +tell who he was—he is a small family chief in Sawaii, not very small—‘I +do not wish the King,’ says he, ‘to think me a boy from Apia.’ On our +return to the palace, we separated. I had asked for the ladies to sleep +alone—that was understood; but that Tusitala—his afioga Tusitala—should +go out with the other young men, and not sleep with the highborn females +of his family—was a doctrine received with difficulty. Lloyd and I had +one screen, Graham and Leigh another, and we slept well. + +In the morning I was first abroad before dawn; not very long, already +there was a stir of birds. A little after, I heard singing from the +King’s chapel—exceeding good—and went across in the hour when the east is +yellow and the morning bank is breaking up, to hear it nearer. All about +the chapel, the guards were posted, and all saluted Tusitala. I could +not refrain from smiling: ‘So there is a place too,’ I thought, ‘where +sentinels salute me.’ Mine has been a queer life. + + [Picture: Drawing] + +Breakfast was rather a protracted business. And that was scarce over +when we were called to the great house (now finished—recall your earlier +letters) to see a royal kava. This function is of rare use; I know grown +Samoans who have never witnessed it. It is, besides, as you are to hear, +a piece of prehistoric history, crystallised in figures, and the facts +largely forgotten; an acted hieroglyph. The house is really splendid; in +the rafters in the midst, two carved and coloured model birds are posted; +the only thing of the sort I have ever remarked in Samoa, the Samoans +being literal observers of the second commandment. At one side of the +egg our party sat. a=Mataafa, b=Lady J., c=Belle, d=Tusitala, e=Graham, +f=Lloyd, g=Captain Leigh, h=Henry, i=Popo. The x’s round are the high +chiefs, each man in his historical position. One side of the house is +set apart for the King alone; we were allowed there as his guests and +Henry as our interpreter. It was a huge trial to the lad, when a speech +was made to me which he must translate, and I made a speech in answer +which he had to orate, full-breathed, to that big circle; he blushed +through his dark skin, but looked and acted like a gentleman and a young +fellow of sense; then the kava came to the King; he poured one drop in +libation, drank another, and flung the remainder outside the house behind +him. Next came the turn of the old shapeless stone marked T. It stands +for one of the King’s titles, Tamasoalii; Mataafa is Tamasoalii this day, +but cannot drink for it; and the stone must first be washed with water, +and then have the bowl emptied on it. Then—the order I cannot +recall—came the turn of y and z, two orators of the name of Malietoa; the +first took his kava down plain, like an ordinary man; the second must be +packed to bed under a big sheet of tapa, and be massaged by anxious +assistants and rise on his elbow groaning to drink his cup. W., a great +hereditary war man, came next; five times the cup-bearers marched up and +down the house and passed the cup on, five times it was filled and the +General’s name and titles heralded at the bowl, and five times he refused +it (after examination) as too small. It is said this commemorates a time +when Malietoa at the head of his army suffered much for want of supplies. +Then this same military gentleman must _drink_ five cups, one from each +of the great names: all which took a precious long time. He acted very +well, haughtily and in a society tone _outlining_ the part. The +difference was marked when he subsequently made a speech in his own +character as a plain God-fearing chief. A few more high chiefs, then +Tusitala; one more, and then Lady Jersey; one more, and then Captain +Leigh, and so on with the rest of our party—Henry of course excepted. +You see in public, Lady Jersey followed me—just so far was the secret +kept. + +Then we came home; Belle, Graham and Lloyd to the Chinaman’s, I with Lady +Jersey, to lunch; so severally home. Thursday I have forgotten: +Saturday, I began again on Davie; on Sunday, the Jersey party came up to +call and carried me to dinner. As I came out, to ride home, the +search-lights of the _Curaçoa_ were lightening on the horizon from many +miles away, and next morning she came in. Tuesday was huge fun: a +reception at Haggard’s. All our party dined there; Lloyd and I, in the +absence of Haggard and Leigh, had to play aide-de-camp and host for about +twenty minutes, and I presented the population of Apia at random but +(luck helping) without one mistake. Wednesday we had two middies to +lunch. Thursday we had Eeles and Hoskyn (lieutenant and doctor—very, +very nice fellows—simple, good and not the least dull) to dinner. +Saturday, Graham and I lunched on board; Graham, Belle, Lloyd dined at +the G.’s; and Austin and the _whole_ of our servants went with them to an +evening entertainment; the more bold returning by lantern-light. +Yesterday, Sunday, Belle and I were off by about half past eight, left +our horses at a public house, and went on board the _Curaçoa_ in the +wardroom skiff; were entertained in the wardroom; thence on deck to the +service, which was a great treat; three fiddles and a harmonium and +excellent choir, and the great ship’s company joining: on shore in +Haggard’s big boat to lunch with the party. Thence all together to +Vailima, where we read aloud a Ouida Romance we have been secretly +writing; in which Haggard was the hero, and each one of the authors had +to draw a portrait of him or herself in a Ouida light. Leigh, Lady J., +Fanny, R.L.S., Belle and Graham were the authors. + +In the midst of this gay life, I have finally recopied two chapters, and +drafted for the first time three of Davie Balfour. But it is not a life +that would continue to suit me, and if I have not continued to write to +you, you will scarce wonder. And to-day we all go down again to dinner, +and to-morrow they all come up to lunch! The world is too much with us. +But it now nears an end, to-day already the _Curaçoa_ has sailed; and on +Saturday or Sunday Lady Jersey will follow them in the mail steamer. I +am sending you a wire by her hands as far as Sydney, that is to say +either you or Cassell, about _Falesá_: I will not allow it to be called +_Uma_ in book form, that is not the logical name of the story. Nor can I +have the marriage contract omitted; and the thing is full of misprints +abominable. In the picture, Uma is rot; so is the old man and the negro; +but Wiltshire is splendid, and Case will do. It seems badly illuminated, +but this may be printing. How have I seen this first number? Not +through your attention, guilty one! Lady Jersey had it, and only +mentioned it yesterday. + +I ought to say how much we all like the Jersey party. My boy Henry was +enraptured with the manners of the _Tawaitai Sili_ (chief lady). Among +our other occupations, I did a bit of a supposed epic describing our +tryst at the ford of the Gasegase; and Belle and I made a little book of +caricatures and verses about incidents on the visit. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_. + +The wild round of gaiety continues. After I had written to you +yesterday, the brain being wholly extinct, I played piquet all morning +with Graham. After lunch down to call on the U.S. Consul, hurt in a +steeple-chase; thence back to the new girls’ school which Lady J. was to +open, and where my ladies met me. Lady J. is really an orator, with a +voice of gold; the rest of us played our unremarked parts; missionaries, +Haggard, myself, a Samoan chief, holding forth in turn; myself with (at +least) a golden brevity. Thence, Fanny, Belle, and I to town, to our +billiard room in Haggard’s back garden, where we found Lloyd and where +Graham joined us. The three men first dressed, with the ladies in a +corner; and then, to leave them a free field, we went off to Haggard and +Leigh’s quarters, where—after all to dinner, where our two parties, a +brother of Colonel Kitchener’s, a passing globe-trotter, and Clarke the +missionary. A very gay evening, with all sorts of chaff and mirth, and a +moonlit ride home, and to bed before 12.30. And now to-day, we have the +Jersey-Haggard troupe to lunch, and I must pass the morning dressing +ship. + + * * * * * + + _Thursday_, _Sept._ 1_st_. + +I sit to write to you now, 7.15, all the world in bed except myself, +accounted for, and Belle and Graham, down at Haggard’s at dinner. Not a +leaf is stirring here; but the moon overhead (now of a good bigness) is +obscured and partly revealed in a whirling covey of thin storm-clouds. +By Jove, it blows above. + +From 8 till 11.15 on Tuesday, I dressed ship, and in particular cleaned +crystal, my specially. About 11.30 the guests began to arrive before I +was dressed, and between while I had written a parody for Lloyd to sing. +Yesterday, Wednesday, I had to start out about 3 for town, had a long +interview with the head of the German Firm about some work in my new +house, got over to Lloyd’s billiard-room about six, on the way whither I +met Fanny and Belle coming down with one Kitchener, a brother of the +Colonel’s. Dined in the billiard-room, discovered we had forgot to order +oatmeal; whereupon, in the moonlit evening, I set forth in my tropical +array, mess jacket and such, to get the oatmeal, and meet a young fellow +C.—and not a bad young fellow either, only an idiot—as drunk as Croesus. +He wept with me, he wept for me; he talked like a bad character in an +impudently bad farce; I could have laughed aloud to hear, and could make +you laugh by repeating, but laughter was not uppermost. + +This morning at about seven, I set off after the lost sheep. I could +have no horse; all that could be mounted—we have one girth-sore and one +dead-lame in the establishment—were due at a picnic about 10.30. The +morning was very wet, and I set off barefoot, with my trousers over my +knees, and a macintosh. Presently I had to take a side path in the bush; +missed it; came forth in a great oblong patch of taro solemnly surrounded +by forest—no soul, no sign, no sound—and as I stood there at a loss, +suddenly between the showers out broke the note of a harmonium and a +woman’s voice singing an air that I know very well, but have (as usual) +forgot the name of. ’Twas from a great way off, but seemed to fill the +world. It was strongly romantic, and gave me a point which brought me, +by all sorts of forest wading, to an open space of palms. These were of +all ages, but mostly at that age when the branches arch from the ground +level, range themselves, with leaves exquisitely green. The whole +interspace was overgrown with convolvulus, purple, yellow and white, +often as deep as to my waist, in which I floundered aimlessly. The very +mountain was invisible from here. The rain came and went; now in sunlit +April showers, now with the proper tramp and rattle of the tropics. All +this while I met no sight or sound of man, except the voice which was now +silent, and a damned pig-fence that headed me off at every corner. Do +you know barbed wire? Think of a fence of it on rotten posts, and you +barefoot. But I crossed it at last with my heart in my mouth and no harm +done. Thence at last to C’s.: no C. Next place I came to was in the +zone of woods. They offered me a buggy and set a black boy to wash my +legs and feet. ‘Washum legs belong that fellow white-man’ was the +command. So at last I ran down my son of a gun in the hotel, sober, and +with no story to tell; penitent, I think. Home, by buggy and my poor +feet, up three miles of root, boulder, gravel and liquid mud, slipping +back at every step. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_, _Sept._ 4_th_. + +Hope you will be able to read a word of the last, no joke writing by a +bad lantern with a groggy hand and your glasses mislaid. Not that the +hand is not better, as you see by the absence of the amanuensis hitherto. +Mail came Friday, and a communication from yourself much more decent than +usual, for which I thank you. Glad the _Wrecker_ should so hum; but +Lord, what fools these mortals be! + +So far yesterday, the citation being wrung from me by remembrance of many +reviews. I have now received all _Falesá_, and my admiration for that +tale rises; I believe it is in some ways my best work; I am pretty sure, +at least, I have never done anything better than Wiltshire. + + * * * * * + + _Monday_, 13_th_ _September_ 1892. + +On Wednesday the Spinsters of Apia gave a ball to a select crowd. Fanny, +Belle, Lloyd and I rode down, met Haggard by the way and joined company +with him. Dinner with Haggard, and thence to the ball. The Chief +Justice appeared; it was immediately remarked, and whispered from one to +another, that he and I had the only red sashes in the room,—and they were +both of the hue of blood, sir, blood. He shook hands with myself and all +the members of my family. Then the cream came, and I found myself in the +same set of a quadrille with his honour. We dance here in Apia a most +fearful and wonderful quadrille, I don’t know where the devil they fished +it from; but it is rackety and prancing and embraceatory beyond words; +perhaps it is best defined in Haggard’s expression of a gambado. When I +and my great enemy found ourselves involved in this gambol, and crossing +hands, and kicking up, and being embraced almost in common by large and +quite respectable females, we—or I—tried to preserve some rags of +dignity, but not for long. The deuce of it is that, personally, I love +this man; his eye speaks to me, I am pleased in his society. We +exchanged a glance, and then a grin; the man took me in his confidence; +and through the remainder of that prance we pranced for each other. Hard +to imagine any position more ridiculous; a week before he had been trying +to rake up evidence against me by brow-beating and threatening a +half-white interpreter; that very morning I had been writing most +villainous attacks upon him for the _Times_; and we meet and smile, +and—damn it!—like each other. I do my best to damn the man and drive him +from these islands; but the weakness endures—I love him. This is a thing +I would despise in anybody else; but he is so jolly insidious and +ingratiating! No, sir, I can’t dislike him; but if I don’t make hay of +him, it shall not be for want of trying. + +Yesterday, we had two Germans and a young American boy to lunch; and in +the afternoon, Vailima was in a state of siege; ten white people on the +front verandah, at least as many brown in the cook house, and countless +blacks to see the black boy Arrick. + +Which reminds me, Arrick was sent Friday was a week to the German Firm +with a note, and was not home on time. Lloyd and I were going bedward, +it was late with a bright moon—ah, poor dog, you know no such moons as +these!—when home came Arrick with his head in a white bandage and his +eyes shining. He had had a fight with other blacks, Malaita boys; many +against one, and one with a knife: ‘I KNICKED ’EM DOWN, three four!’ he +cried; and had himself to be taken to the doctor’s and bandaged. Next +day, he could not work, glory of battle swelled too high in his +threadpaper breast; he had made a one-stringed harp for Austin, borrowed +it, came to Fanny’s room, and sang war-songs and danced a war dance in +honour of his victory. And it appears, by subsequent advices, that it +was a serious victory enough; four of his assailants went to hospital, +and one is thought in danger. All Vailima rejoiced at this news. + +Five more chapters of David, 22 to 27, go to Baxter. All love affair; +seems pretty good to me. Will it do for the young person? I don’t know: +since the Beach, I know nothing, except that men are fools and +hypocrites, and I know less of them than I was fond enough to fancy. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + + _Thursday_, 15_th_ _September_. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—On Tuesday, we had our young adventurer ready, and Fanny, +Belle, he and I set out about three of a dark, deadly hot, and deeply +unwholesome afternoon. Belle had the lad behind her; I had a pint of +champagne in either pocket, a parcel in my hands, and as Jack had a girth +sore and I rode without a girth, I might be said to occupy a very +unstrategic position. On the way down, a little dreary, beastly drizzle +beginning to come out of the darkness, Fanny put up an umbrella, her +horse bounded, reared, cannoned into me, cannoned into Belle and the lad, +and bolted for home. It really might and ought to have been an A1 +catastrophe; but nothing happened beyond Fanny’s nerves being a good deal +shattered; of course, she could not tell what had happened to us until +she got her horse mastered. + +Next day, Haggard went off to the Commission and left us in charge of his +house; all our people came down in wreaths of flowers; we had a boat for +them; Haggard had a flag in the Commission boat for us; and when at last +the steamer turned up, the young adventurer was carried on board in great +style, with a new watch and chain, and about three pound ten of tips, and +five big baskets of fruit as free-will offerings to the captain. Captain +Morse had us all to lunch; champagne flowed, so did compliments; and I +did the affable celebrity life-sized. It made a great send-off for the +young adventurer. As the boat drew off, he was standing at the head of +the gangway, supported by three handsome ladies—one of them a real +full-blown beauty, Madame Green, the singer—and looking very engaging +himself, between smiles and tears. Not that he cried in public. + +My, but we were a tired crowd! However, it is always a blessing to get +home, and this time it was a sort of wonder to ourselves that we got back +alive. Casualties: Fanny’s back jarred, horse incident; Belle, bad +headache, tears and champagne; self, idiocy, champagne, fatigue; Lloyd, +ditto, ditto. As for the adventurer, I believe he will have a delightful +voyage for his little start in life. But there is always something +touching in a mite’s first launch. + + * * * * * + + _Date unknown_. + +I am now well on with the third part of the _Débâcle_. The two first I +liked much; the second completely knocking me; so far as it has gone, +this third part appears the ramblings of a dull man who has forgotten +what he has to say—he reminds me of an M.P. But Sedan was really great, +and I will pick no holes. The batteries under fire, the red-cross folk, +the county charge—perhaps, above all, Major Bouroche and the operations, +all beyond discussion; and every word about the Emperor splendid. + + * * * * * + + _September_ 30_th_. + +David Balfour done, and its author along with it, or nearly so. Strange +to think of even our doctor here repeating his nonsense about +debilitating climate. Why, the work I have been doing the last twelve +months, in one continuous spate, mostly with annoying interruptions and +without any collapse to mention, would be incredible in Norway. But I +_have_ broken down now, and will do nothing as long as I possibly can. +With David Balfour I am very well pleased; in fact these labours of the +last year—I mean _Falesá_ and _D. B._, not Samoa, of course—seem to me to +be nearer what I mean than anything I have ever done; nearer what I mean +by fiction; the nearest thing before was _Kidnapped_. I am not +forgetting the _Master of Ballantrae_, but that lacked all +pleasurableness, and hence was imperfect in essence. So you see, if I am +a little tired, I do not repent. + +The third part of the _Débâcle_ may be all very fine; but I cannot read +it. It suffers from _impaired vitality_, and _uncertain aim_; two deadly +sicknesses. Vital—that’s what I am at, first: wholly vital, with a +buoyancy of life. Then lyrical, if it may be, and picturesque, always +with an epic value of scenes, so that the figures remain in the mind’s +eye for ever. + + * * * * * + + _October_ 8_th_. + +Suppose you sent us some of the catalogues of the parties what vends +statutes? I don’t want colossal Herculeses, but about quarter size and +less. If the catalogues were illustrated it would probably be found a +help to weak memories. These may be found to alleviate spare moments, +when we sometimes amuse ourselves by thinking how fine we shall make the +palace if we do not go pop. Perhaps in the same way it might amuse you +to send us any pattern of wall paper that might strike you as cheap, +pretty and suitable for a room in a hot and extremely bright climate. It +should be borne in mind that our climate can be extremely dark too. Our +sitting-room is to be in varnished wood. The room I have particularly in +mind is a sort of bed and sitting-room, pretty large, lit on three sides, +and the colour in favour of its proprietor at present is a topazy yellow. +But then with what colour to relieve it? For a little work-room of my +own at the back. I should rather like to see some patterns of +unglossy—well, I’ll be hanged if I can describe this red—it’s not Turkish +and it’s not Roman and it’s not Indian, but it seems to partake of the +two last, and yet it can’t be either of them, because it ought to be able +to go with vermilion. Ah, what a tangled web we weave—anyway, with what +brains you have left choose me and send me some—many—patterns of this +exact shade. + +A few days ago it was Haggard’s birthday and we had him and his cousin to +dinner—bless me if I ever told you of his cousin!—he is here anyway, and +a fine, pleasing specimen, so that we have concluded (after our own happy +experience) that the climate of Samoa must be favourable to cousins. +Then we went out on the verandah in a lovely moonlight, drinking port, +hearing the cousin play and sing, till presently we were informed that +our boys had got up a siva in Lafaele’s house to which we were invited. +It was entirely their own idea. The house, you must understand, is +one-half floored, and one-half bare earth, and the dais stands a little +over knee high above the level of the soil. The dais was the stage, with +three footlights. We audience sat on mats on the floor, and the cook and +three of our work-boys, sometimes assisted by our two ladies, took their +places behind the footlights and began a topical Vailima song. The +burden was of course that of a Samoan popular song about a white man who +objects to all that he sees in Samoa. And there was of course a special +verse for each one of the party—Lloyd was called the dancing man +(practically the Chief’s handsome son) of Vailima; he was also, in his +character I suppose of overseer, compared to a policeman—Belle had that +day been the almoner in a semi-comic distribution of wedding rings and +thimbles (bought cheap at an auction) to the whole plantation company, +fitting a ring on every man’s finger, and a ring and a thimble on both +the women’s. This was very much in character with her native name +_Teuila_, the adorner of the ugly—so of course this was the point of her +verse and at a given moment all the performers displayed the rings upon +their fingers. Pelema (the cousin—_our_ cousin) was described as +watching from the house and whenever he saw any boy not doing anything, +running and doing it himself. Fanny’s verse was less intelligible, but +it was accompanied in the dance with a pantomime of terror well-fitted to +call up her haunting, indefatigable and diminutive presence in a blue +gown. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + + _Vailima_, _October_ 28_th_, 1892. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—This is very late to begin the monthly budget, but I have +a good excuse this time, for I have had a very annoying fever with +symptoms of sore arm, and in the midst of it a very annoying piece of +business which suffered no delay or idleness. . . . The consequence of +all this was that my fever got very much worse and your letter has not +been hitherto written. But, my dear fellow, do compare these little +larky fevers with the fine, healthy, prostrating colds of the dear old +dead days at home. Here was I, in the middle of a pretty bad one, and I +was able to put it in my pocket, and go down day after day, and attend to +and put my strength into this beastly business. Do you see me doing that +with a catarrh? And if I had done so, what would have been the result? + +Last night, about four o’clock, Belle and I set off to Apia, whither my +mother had preceded us. She was at the Mission; we went to Haggard’s. +There we had to wait the most unconscionable time for dinner. I do not +wish to speak lightly of the Amanuensis, who is unavoidably present, but +I may at least say for myself that I was as cross as two sticks. Dinner +came at last, we had the tinned soup which is usually the _pièce de +résistance_ in the halls of Haggard, and we pitched into it. Followed an +excellent salad of tomatoes and cray-fish, a good Indian curry, a tender +joint of beef, a dish of pigeons, a pudding, cheese and coffee. I was so +over-eaten after this ‘hunger and burst’ that I could scarcely move; and +it was my sad fate that night in the character of the local author to +eloquute before the public—‘Mr. Stevenson will read a selection from his +own works’—a degrading picture. I had determined to read them the +account of the hurricane; I do not know if I told you that my book has +never turned up here, or rather only one copy has, and that in the +unfriendly hands of —. It has therefore only been seen by enemies; and +this combination of mystery and evil report has been greatly envenomed by +some ill-judged newspaper articles from the States. Altogether this +specimen was listened to with a good deal of uncomfortable expectation on +the part of the Germans, and when it was over was applauded with +unmistakable relief. The public hall where these revels came off seems +to be unlucky for me; I never go there but to some stone-breaking job. +Last time it was the public meeting of which I must have written you; +this time it was this uneasy but not on the whole unsuccessful +experiment. Belle, my mother, and I rode home about midnight in a fine +display of lightning and witch-fires. My mother is absent, so that I may +dare to say that she struck me as voluble. The Amanuensis did not strike +me the same way; she was probably thinking, but it was really rather a +weird business, and I saw what I have never seen before, the witch-fires +gathered into little bright blue points almost as bright as a +night-light. + + * * * * * + + _Saturday_. + +This is the day that should bring your letter; it is gray and cloudy and +windless; thunder rolls in the mountain; it is a quarter past six, and I +am alone, sir, alone in this workman’s house, Belle and Lloyd having been +down all yesterday to meet the steamer; they were scarce gone with most +of the horses and all the saddles, than there began a perfect picnic of +the sick and maim; Iopu with a bad foot, Faauma with a bad shoulder, +Fanny with yellow spots. It was at first proposed to carry all these to +the doctor, particularly Faauma, whose shoulder bore an appearance of +erysipelas, that sent the amateur below. No horses, no saddle. Now I +had my horse and I could borrow Lafaele’s saddle; and if I went alone I +could do a job that had long been waiting; and that was to interview the +doctor on another matter. Off I set in a hazy moonlight night; windless, +like to-day; the thunder rolling in the mountain, as to-day; in the still +groves, these little mushroom lamps glowing blue and steady, singly or in +pairs. Well, I had my interview, said everything as I had meant, and +with just the result I hoped for. The doctor and I drank beer together +and discussed German literature until nine, and we parted the best of +friends. I got home to a silent house of sleepers, only Fanny awaiting +me; we talked awhile, in whispers, on the interview; then, I got a +lantern and went across to the workman’s house, now empty and silent, +myself sole occupant. So to bed, prodigious tired but mighty content +with my night’s work, and to-day, with a headache and a chill, have +written you this page, while my new novel waits. Of this I will tell you +nothing, except the various names under consideration. First, it ought +to be called—but of course that is impossible— + + _Braxfield_. + +Then it _is_ to be called either + + _Weir of Hermiston_, + + _The Lord-Justice Clerk_, + + _The Two Kirsties of the Cauldstaneslap_, + +or + + _Four Black Brothers_. + +Characters: + + Adam Weir, Lord-Justice Clerk, called Lord Hermiston. + + Archie, his son. + + Aunt Kirstie Elliott, his housekeeper at Hermiston. + + Elliott of the Cauldstaneslap, her brother. + + Kirstie Elliott, his daughter. + + Jim, Gib, Hob & Dandie—his sons. + + Patrick Innes, a young advocate. + + The Lord-Justice General. + +Scene, about Hermiston in the Lammermuirs and in Edinburgh. Temp. 1812. +So you see you are to have another holiday from copra! The rain begins +softly on the iron roof, and I will do the reverse and—dry up. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_. + +Yours with the diplomatic private opinion received. It is just what I +should have supposed. _Ça m’est bien égal_.—The name is to be + + _The Lord-Justice Clerk_. + +None others are genuine. Unless it be + + _Lord-Justice Clerk Hermiston_. + + * * * * * + + _Nov._ 2_nd_. + +On Saturday we expected Captain Morse of the Alameda to come up to lunch, +and on Friday with genuine South Sea hospitality had a pig killed. On +the Saturday morning no pig. Some of the boys seemed to give a doubtful +account of themselves; our next neighbour below in the wood is a bad +fellow and very intimate with some of our boys, for whom his confounded +house is like a fly-paper for flies. To add to all this, there was on +the Saturday a great public presentation of food to the King and +Parliament men, an occasion on which it is almost dignified for a Samoan +to steal anything, and entirely dignified for him to steal a pig. + +(The Amanuensis went to the _talolo_, as it is called, and saw something +so very pleasing she begs to interrupt the letter to tell it. The +different villagers came in in bands—led by the maid of the village, +followed by the young warriors. It was a very fine sight, for some three +thousand people are said to have assembled. The men wore nothing but +magnificent head-dresses and a bunch of leaves, and were oiled and +glistening in the sunlight. One band had no maid but was led by a tiny +child of about five—a serious little creature clad in a ribbon of grass +and a fine head-dress, who skipped with elaborate leaps in front of the +warriors, like a little kid leading a band of lions. A.M.) + +The A.M. being done, I go on again. All this made it very possible that +even if none of our boys had stolen the pig, some of them might know the +thief. Besides, the theft, as it was a theft of meat prepared for a +guest, had something of the nature of an insult, and ‘my face,’ in native +phrase, ‘was ashamed.’ Accordingly, we determined to hold a bed of +justice. It was done last night after dinner. I sat at the head of the +table, Graham on my right hand, Henry Simelé at my left, Lloyd behind +him. The house company sat on the floor around the walls—twelve all +told. I am described as looking as like Braxfield as I could manage with +my appearance; Graham, who is of a severe countenance, looked like +Rhadamanthus; Lloyd was hideous to the view; and Simelé had all the fine +solemnity of a Samoan chief. The proceedings opened by my delivering a +Samoan prayer, which may be translated thus—‘Our God, look down upon us +and shine into our hearts. Help us to be far from falsehood so that each +one of us may stand before Thy Face in his integrity.’—Then, beginning +with Simelé, every one came up to the table, laid his hand on the Bible, +and repeated clause by clause after me the following oath—I fear it may +sound even comic in English, but it is a very pretty piece of Samoan, and +struck direct at the most lively superstitions of the race. ‘This is the +Holy Bible here that I am touching. Behold me, O God! If I know who it +was that took away the pig, or the place to which it was taken, or have +heard anything relating to it, and shall not declare the same—be made an +end of by God this life of mine!’ They all took it with so much +seriousness and firmness that (as Graham said) if they were not innocent +they would make invaluable witnesses. I was so far impressed by their +bearing that I went no further, and the funny and yet strangely solemn +scene came to an end. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_, _No._ 6th. + +Here is a long story to go back upon, and I wonder if I have either time +or patience for the task? + +Wednesday I had a great idea of match-making, and proposed to Henry that +Faalé would make a good wife for him. I wish I had put this down when it +was fresher in my mind, it was so interesting an interview. My gentleman +would not tell if I were on or not. ‘I do not know yet; I will tell you +next week. May I tell the sister of my father? No, better not, tell her +when it is done.’—‘But will not your family be angry if you marry without +asking them?’—‘My village? What does my village want? Mats!’ I said I +thought the girl would grow up to have a great deal of sense, and my +gentleman flew out upon me; she had sense now, he said. + +Thursday, we were startled by the note of guns, and presently after heard +it was an English war ship. Graham and I set off at once, and as soon as +we met any townsfolk they began crying to me that I was to be arrested. +It was the _Vossische Zeitung_ article which had been quoted in a paper. +Went on board and saw Captain Bourke; he did not even know—not even +guess—why he was here; having been sent off by cablegram from Auckland. +It is hoped the same ship that takes this off Europewards may bring his +orders and our news. But which is it to be? Heads or tails? If it is +to be German, I hope they will deport me; I should prefer it so; I do not +think that I could bear a German officialdom, and should probably have to +leave _sponte mea_, which is only less picturesque and more expensive. + + * * * * * + + 8_th_. + +Mail day. All well, not yet put in prison, whatever may be in store for +me. No time even to sign this lame letter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + + _Dec._ 1_st_. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—Another grimy little odd and end of paper, for which you +shall be this month repaid in kind, and serve you jolly well right. . . . +The new house is roofed; it will be a braw house, and what is better, I +have my yearly bill in, and I find I can pay for it. For all which +mercies, etc. I must have made close on £4,000 this year all told; but, +what is not so pleasant, I seem to have come near to spending them. I +have been in great alarm, with this new house on the cards, all summer, +and came very near to taking in sail, but I live here so entirely on +credit, that I determined to hang on. + + * * * * * + + _Dec._ 1_st_. + +I was saying yesterday that my life was strange and did not think how +well I spoke. Yesterday evening I was briefed to defend a political +prisoner before the Deputy Commissioner. What do you think of that for a +vicissitude? + + * * * * * + + _Dec._ 3_rd_. + +Now for a confession. When I heard you and Cassells had decided to print +_The Bottle Imp_ along with _Falesá_, I was too much disappointed to +answer. _The Bottle Imp_ was the _pièce de résistance_ for my volume, +_Island Nights’ Entertainments_. However, that volume might have never +got done; and I send you two others in case they should be in time. + +First have the _Beach of Falesá_. + +Then a fresh false title: ISLAND NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENTS; and then + +_The Bottle Imp_: a cue from an old melodrama. + +_The Isle of Voices_. + +_The Waif Woman_; a cue from a _saga_. + +Of course these two others are not up to the mark of _The Bottle Imp_; +but they each have a certain merit, and they fit in style. By saying ‘a +cue from an old melodrama’ after the B. I., you can get rid of my note. +If this is in time, it will be splendid, and will make quite a volume. + +Should you and Cassells prefer, you can call the whole volume _I. N. +E._—though the _Beach of Falesá_ is the child of a quite different +inspiration. They all have a queer realism, even the most extravagant, +even the _Isle of Voices_; the manners are exact. + +Should they come too late, have them type-written, and return to me here +the type-written copies. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_, _Dec._ 4_th_. + +3rd start,—But now more humbly and with the aid of an Amanuensis. First +one word about page 2. My wife protests against the Waif-woman and I am +instructed to report the same to you. . . . + + * * * * * + + _Dec._ 5_th_. + +A horrid alarm rises that our October mail was burned crossing the +Plains. If so, you lost a beautiful long letter—I am sure it was +beautiful though I remember nothing about it—and I must say I think it +serves you properly well. That I should continue writing to you at such +length is simply a vicious habit for which I blush. At the same time, +please communicate at once with Charles Baxter whether you have or have +not received a letter posted here Oct. 12th, as he is going to cable me +the fate of my mail. + +Now to conclude my news. The German Firm have taken my book like angels, +and the result is that Lloyd and I were down there at dinner on Saturday, +where we partook of fifteen several dishes and eight distinct forms of +intoxicating drink. To the credit of Germany, I must say there was not a +shadow of a headache the next morning. I seem to have done as well as my +neighbours, for I hear one of the clerks expressed the next morning a +gratified surprise that Mr. Stevenson stood his drink so well. It is a +strange thing that any race can still find joy in such athletic +exercises. I may remark in passing that the mail is due and you have had +far more than you deserve. + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + + _January_ 1893. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—You are properly paid at last, and it is like you will +have but a shadow of a letter. I have been pretty thoroughly out of +kilter; first a fever that would neither come on nor go off, then acute +dyspepsia, in the weakening grasp of which I get wandering between the +waking state and one of nightmare. Why the devil does no one send me +_Atalanta_? And why are there no proofs of D. Balfour? Sure I should +have had the whole, at least the half, of them by now; and it would be +all for the advantage of the Atalantans. I have written to Cassell & Co. +(matter of _Falesá_) ‘you will please arrange with him’ (meaning you). +‘What he may decide I shall abide.’ So consider your hand free, and act +for me without fear or favour. I am greatly pleased with the +illustrations. It is very strange to a South-Seayer to see Hawaiian +women dressed like Samoans, but I guess that’s all one to you in +Middlesex. It’s about the same as if London city men were shown going to +the Stock Exchange as _pifferari_; but no matter, none will sleep worse +for it. I have accepted Cassell’s proposal as an amendment to one of +mine; that _D. B._ is to be brought out first under the title _Catriona_ +without pictures; and, when the hour strikes, _Kidnapped_ and _Catriona_ +are to form vols. I. and II. of the heavily illustrated ‘Adventures of +David Balfour’ at 7s. 6d. each, sold separately. + +—’s letter was vastly sly and dry and shy. I am not afraid now. Two +attempts have been made, both have failed, and I imagine these failures +strengthen me. Above all this is true of the last, where my weak point +was attempted. On every other, I am strong. Only force can dislodge me, +for public opinion is wholly on my side. All races and degrees are +united in heartfelt opposition to the Men of Mulinuu. The news of the +fighting was of no concern to mortal man; it was made much of because men +love talk of battles, and because the Government pray God daily for some +scandal not their own; but it was only a brisk episode in a clan fight +which has grown apparently endemic in the west of Tutuila. At the best +it was a twopenny affair, and never occupied my mind five minutes. + +I am so weary of reports that are without foundation and threats that go +without fulfilment, and so much occupied besides by the raging troubles +of my own wame, that I have been very slack on politics, as I have been +in literature. With incredible labour, I have rewritten the First +Chapter of the Justice Clerk; it took me about ten days, and requires +another athletic dressing after all. And that is my story for the month. +The rest is grunting and grutching. + +Consideranda for _The Beach_:— + +I. Whether to add one or both the tales I sent you? + +II. Whether to call the whole volume ‘Island Nights Entertainments’? + +III. Whether, having waited so long, it would not be better to give me +another mail, in case I could add another member to the volume and a +little better justify the name? + +If I possibly can draw up another story, I will. What annoyed me about +the use of _The Bottle Imp_ was that I had always meant it for the +centre-piece of a volume of _Märchen_ which I was slowly to elaborate. +You always had an idea that I depreciated the B. I; I can’t think +wherefore; I always particularly liked it—one of my best works, and ill +to equal; and that was why I loved to keep it in portfolio till I had +time to grow up to some other fruit of the same _venue_. However, that +is disposed of now, and we must just do the best we can. + +I am not aware that there is anything to add; the weather is hellish, +waterspouts, mists, chills, the foul fiend’s own weather, following on a +week of expurgated heaven; so it goes at this bewildering season. I +write in the upper floor of my new house, of which I will send you some +day a plan to measure. ’Tis an elegant structure, surely, and the proid +of me oi. Was asked to pay for it just now, and genteelly refused, and +then agreed, in view of general good-will, to pay a half of what is still +due. + + * * * * * + + 24_th_ _January_ 1893. + +This ought to have gone last mail and was forgotten. My best excuse is +that I was engaged in starting an influenza, to which class of exploit +our household has been since then entirely dedicated. We had eight +cases, one of them very bad, and one—mine—complicated with my old friend +Bluidy Jack. Luckily neither Fanny, Lloyd or Belle took the confounded +thing, and they were able to run the household and nurse the sick to +admiration. + +Some of our boys behaved like real trumps. Perhaps the prettiest +performance was that of our excellent Henry Simelé, or, as we sometimes +call him, Davy Balfour. Henry, I maun premeese, is a chief; the humblest +Samoan recoils from emptying slops as you would from cheating at cards; +now the last nights of our bad time when we had seven down together, it +was enough to have made anybody laugh or cry to see Henry going the +rounds with a slop-bucket and going inside the mosquito net of each of +the sick, Protestant and Catholic alike, to pray with them. + +I must tell you that in my sickness I had a huge alleviation and began a +new story. This I am writing by dictation, and really think it is an art +I can manage to acquire. The relief is beyond description; it is just +like a school-treat to me and the amanuensis bears up extraordinar’. The +story is to be called _St. Ives_; I give you your choice whether or not +it should bear the subtitle, ‘Experiences of a French prisoner in +England.’ We were just getting on splendidly with it, when this cursed +mail arrived and requires to be attended to. It looks to me very like as +if St. Ives would be ready before any of the others, but you know me and +how impossible it is I should predict. The Amanuensis has her head quite +turned and believes herself to be the author of this novel (and is to +some extent)—and as the creature (!) has not been wholly useless in the +matter (I told you so! A.M.) I propose to foster her vanity by a little +commemoration gift! The name of the hero is Anne de St. Yves—he +Englishes his name to St. Ives during his escape. It is my idea to get a +ring made which shall either represent _Anne_ or A. S. Y. A., of course, +would be Amethyst and S. Sapphire, which is my favourite stone anyway and +was my father’s before me. But what would the ex-Slade professor do +about the letter Y? Or suppose he took the other version, how would he +meet the case, the two N.’s? These things are beyond my knowledge, which +it would perhaps be more descriptive to call ignorance. But I place the +matter in the meanwhile under your consideration and beg to hear your +views. I shall tell you on some other occasion and when the A.M. is out +of hearing how _very_ much I propose to invest in this testimonial; but I +may as well inform you at once that I intend it to be cheap, sir, damned +cheap! My idea of running amanuenses is by praise, not pudding, flattery +and not coins! I shall send you when the time is ripe a ring to measure +by. + +To resume our sad tale. After the other seven were almost wholly +recovered Henry lay down to influenza on his own account. He is but just +better and it looks as though Fanny were about to bring up the rear. As +for me, I am all right, though I _was_ reduced to dictating _Anne_ in the +deaf and dumb alphabet, which I think you will admit is a _comble_. + +Politics leave me extraordinary cold. It seems that so much of my +purpose has come off, and Cedarcrantz and Pilsach are sacked. The rest +of it has all gone to water. The triple-headed ass at home, in his +plenitude of ignorance, prefers to collect the taxes and scatter the +Mataafas by force or the threat of force. It may succeed, and I suppose +it will. It is none the less for that expensive, harsh, unpopular and +unsettling. I am young enough to have been annoyed, and altogether eject +and renegate the whole idea of political affairs. Success in that field +appears to be the organisation of failure enlivened with defamation of +character; and, much as I love pickles and hot water (in your true +phrase) I shall take my pickles in future from Crosse and Blackwell and +my hot water with a dose of good Glenlivat. + +Do not bother at all about the wall-papers. We have had the whole of our +new house varnished, and it looks beautiful. I wish you could see the +hall; poor room, it had to begin life as an infirmary during our recent +visitation; but it is really a handsome comely place, and when we get the +furniture, and the pictures, and what is so very much more decorative, +the picture frames, will look sublime. + + * * * * * + + _Jan._ 30_th_. + +I have written to Charles asking for Rowlandson’s Syntax and Dance of +Death out of our house, and begging for anything about fashions and +manners (fashions particularly) for 1814. Can you help? Both the +Justice Clerk and St. Ives fall in that fated year. Indeed I got into +St. Ives while going over the Annual Register for the other. There is a +kind of fancy list of Chaps. of St. Ives. (It begins in Edinburgh +Castle.) I. Story of a lion rampant (that was a toy he had made, and +given to a girl visitor). II. Story of a pair of scissors. III. St. +Ives receives a bundle of money. IV. St. Ives is shown a house. V. The +Escape. VI. The Cottage (Swanston College). VII. The Hen-house. VIII. +Three is company and four none. IX. The Drovers. X. The Great North +Road. XI. Burchell Fenn. XII. The covered cart. XIII. The doctor. +XIV. The Luddites. V. Set a thief to catch a thief. XXVI. M. le Comte +de Kéroualle (his uncle, the rich _émigré_, whom he finds murdered). +XVII. The cousins. XVIII. Mr. Sergeant Garrow. XIX. A meeting at the +Ship, Dover. XX. Diane. XXI. The Duke’s Prejudices. XXII. The False +Messenger. XXIII. The gardener’s ladder. XXIV. The officers. XXV. +Trouble with the Duke. XXVI. Fouquet again. XXVII. The Aeronaut. +XXVIII. The True-Blooded Yankee. XXIX. In France. I don’t know where to +stop. Apropos, I want a book about Paris, and the _first return_ of the +_émigrés_ and all up to the _Cent Jours_: d’ye ken anything in my way? I +want in particular to know about them and the Napoleonic functionaries +and officers, and to get the colour and some vital details of the +business of exchange of departments from one side to the other. Ten +chapters are drafted, and VIII. re-copied by me, but will want another +dressing for luck. It is merely a story of adventure, rambling along; +but that is perhaps the guard that ‘sets my genius best,’ as Alan might +have said. I wish I could feel as easy about the other! But there, all +novels are a heavy burthen while they are doing, and a sensible +disappointment when they are done. + +For God’s sake, let me have a copy of the new German Samoa White book. + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + + _At Sea_, _S.S. & Mariposa_, + _Feb._ 19th, ’93. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—You will see from this heading that I am not dead yet nor +likely to be. I was pretty considerably out of sorts, and that is indeed +one reason why Fanny, Belle, and I have started out for a month’s lark. +To be quite exact, I think it will be about five weeks before we get +home. We shall stay between two and three in Sydney. Already, though we +only sailed yesterday, I am feeling as fit as a fiddle. Fanny ate a +whole fowl for breakfast, to say nothing of a tower of hot cakes. Belle +and I floored another hen betwixt the pair of us, and I shall be no +sooner done with the present amanuensing racket than I shall put myself +outside a pint of Guinness. If you think this looks like dying of +consumption in Apia I can only say I differ from you. In the matter of +David, I have never yet received my proofs at all, but shall certainly +wait for your suggestions. Certainly, Chaps. 17 to 20 are the hitch, and +I confess I hurried over them with both wings spread. This is doubtless +what you complain of. Indeed, I placed my single reliance on Miss Grant. +If she couldn’t ferry me over, I felt I had to stay there. + +About _Island Nights’ Entertainments_ all you say is highly satisfactory. +Go in and win. + +The extracts from the _Times_ I really cannot trust myself to comment +upon. They were infernally satisfactory; so, and perhaps still more so, +was a letter I had at the same time from Lord Pembroke. If I have time +as I go through Auckland, I am going to see Sir George Grey. + +Now I really think that’s all the business. I have been rather sick and +have had two small hemorrhages, but the second I believe to have been +accidental. No good denying that this annoys, because it do. However, +you must expect influenza to leave some harm, and my spirits, appetite, +peace on earth and goodwill to men are all on a rising market. During +the last week the amanuensis was otherwise engaged, whereupon I took up, +pitched into, and about one half demolished another tale, once intended +to be called _The Pearl Fisher_, but now razeed and called _The Schooner +Farralone_. We had a capital start, the steamer coming in at sunrise, +and just giving us time to get our letters ere she sailed again. The +manager of the German firm (O strange, changed days!) danced attendance +upon us all morning; his boat conveyed us to and from the steamer. + + * * * * * + + _Feb._ 21_st_. + +All continues well. Amanuensis bowled over for a day, but afoot again +and jolly; Fanny enormously bettered by the voyage; I have been as jolly +as a sand-boy as usual at sea. The Amanuensis sits opposite to me +writing to her offspring. Fanny is on deck. I have just supplied her +with the Canadian Pacific Agent, and so left her in good hands. You +should hear me at table with the Ulster purser and a little punning +microscopist called Davis. Belle does some kind of abstruse +Boswellising; after the first meal, having gauged the kind of jests that +would pay here, I observed, ‘Boswell is Barred during this cruise.’ + + * * * * * + + 23_rd_. + +We approach Auckland and I must close my mail. All goes well with the +trio. Both the ladies are hanging round a beau—the same—that I unearthed +for them: I am general provider, and especially great in the beaux +business. I corrected some proofs for Fanny yesterday afternoon, fell +asleep over them in the saloon—and the whole ship seems to have been down +beholding me. After I woke up, had a hot bath, a whiskey punch and a +cigarette, and went to bed, and to sleep too, at 8.30; a recrudescence of +Vailima hours. Awoke to-day, and had to go to the saloon clock for the +hour—no sign of dawn—all heaven grey rainy fog. Have just had breakfast, +written up one letter, register and close this. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Bad pen, bad ink, +bad light, bad +blotting-paper. + + + + _S. S. Mariposa_, _at Sea_. + _Apia due by daybreak to-morrow_ 9 _p.m._ + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—Have had an amusing but tragic holiday, from which we +return in disarray. Fanny quite sick, but I think slowly and steadily +mending; Belle in a terrific state of dentistry troubles which now seem +calmed; and myself with a succession of gentle colds out of which I at +last succeeded in cooking up a fine pleurisy. By stopping and stewing in +a perfectly airless state-room I seem to have got rid of the pleurisy. +Poor Fanny had very little fun of her visit, having been most of the time +on a diet of maltine and slops—and this while the rest of us were rioting +on oysters and mushrooms. Belle’s only devil in the hedge was the +dentist. As for me, I was entertained at the General Assembly of the +Presbyterian Church, likewise at a sort of artistic club; made speeches +at both, and may therefore be said to have been, like Saint Paul, all +things to all men. I have an account of the latter racket which I meant +to have enclosed in this. . . . Had some splendid photos taken, likewise +a medallion by a French sculptor; met Graham, who returned with us as far +as Auckland. Have seen a good deal too of Sir George Grey; what a +wonderful old historic figure to be walking on your arm and recalling +ancient events and instances! It makes a man small, and yet the extent +to which he approved what I had done—or rather have tried to +do—encouraged me. Sir George is an expert at least, he knows these +races: he is not a small employé with an ink-pot and a Whittaker. + +Take it for all in all, it was huge fun: even Fanny had some lively sport +at the beginning; Belle and I all through. We got Fanny a dress on the +sly, gaudy black velvet and Duchesse lace. And alas! she was only able +to wear it once. But we’ll hope to see more of it at Samoa; it really is +lovely. Both dames are royally outfitted in silk stockings, etc. We +return, as from a raid, with our spoils and our wounded. I am now very +dandy: I announced two years ago that I should change. Slovenly youth, +all right—not slovenly age. So really now I am pretty spruce; always a +white shirt, white necktie, fresh shave, silk, socks, O a great sight!—No +more possible, + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + + _April_, 1893. + +1. _Slip_ 3. Davie would be _attracted_ into a similar dialect, as he +is later—e.g., with Doig, chapter XIX. This is truly Scottish. + +4, _to lightly_; correct; ‘to lightly’ is a good regular Scots verb. + +15. See Allan Ramsay’s works. + +15, 16. Ay, and that is one of the pigments with which I am trying to +draw the character of Prestongrange. ’Tis a most curious thing to render +that kind, insignificant mask. To make anything precise is to risk my +effect. And till the day he died, _Davie_ was never sure of what P. was +after. Not only so; very often P. didn’t know himself. There was an +element of mere liking for Davie; there was an element of being +determined, in case of accidents, to keep well with him. He hoped his +Barbara would bring him to her feet, besides, and make him manageable. +That was why he sent him to Hope Park with them. But Davie cannot +_know_; I give you the inside of Davie, and my method condemns me to give +only the outside both of Prestongrange and his policy. + +—I’ll give my mind to the technicalities. Yet to me they seem a part of +the story, which is historical, after all. + +—I think they wanted Alan to escape. But when or where to say so? I +will try. + +—20, _Dean_. I’ll try and make that plainer. + +_Chap._ XIII., I fear it has to go without blows. If I could get the +pair—No, can’t be. + +—XIV. All right, will abridge. + +—XV. I’d have to put a note to every word; and he who can’t read Scots +can _never_ enjoy Tod Lapraik. + +—XVII. Quite right. I _can_ make this plainer, and will. + +—XVIII. I know, but I have to hurry here; this is the broken back of my +story; some business briefly transacted, I am leaping for Barbara’s +apron-strings. + +_Slip_ 57. Quite right again; I shall make it plain. + +_Chap._ XX. I shall make all these points clear. About Lady +Prestongrange (not _Lady_ Grant, only _Miss_ Grant, my dear, though +_Lady_ Prestongrange, quoth the dominie) I am taken with your idea of her +death, and have a good mind to substitute a featureless aunt. + +_Slip_ 78. I don’t see how to lessen this effect. There is really not +much said of it; and I know Catriona did it. But I’ll try. + +—89. I know. This is an old puzzle of mine. You see C.’s dialect is +not wholly a bed of roses. If only I knew the Gaelic. Well, I’ll try +for another expression. + + * * * * * + +_The end_. I shall try to work it over. James was at Dunkirk ordering +post-horses for his own retreat. Catriona did have her suspicions +aroused by the letter, and, careless gentleman, I told you so—or she did +at least.—Yes, the blood money, I am bothered about the portmanteau; it +is the presence of Catriona that bothers me; the rape of the pockmantie +is historic. . . . + +To me, I own, it seems in the proof a very pretty piece of workmanship. +David himself I refuse to discuss; he _is_. The Lord Advocate I think a +strong sketch of a very difficult character, James More, sufficient; and +the two girls very pleasing creatures. But O dear me, I came near losing +my heart to Barbara! I am not quite so constant as David, and even +he—well, he didn’t know it, anyway! _Tod Lapraik_ is a piece of living +Scots: if I had never writ anything but that and _Thrawn Janet_, still +I’d have been a writer. The defects of _D.B._ are inherent, I fear. But +on the whole, I am far indeed from being displeased with the tailie. +They want more Alan? Well, they can’t get it. + +I found my fame much grown on this return to civilisation. _Digito +monstrari_ is a new experience; people all looked at me in the streets in +Sydney; and it was very queer. Here, of course, I am only the white +chief in the Great House to the natives; and to the whites, either an +ally or a foe. It is a much healthier state of matters. If I lived in +an atmosphere of adulation, I should end by kicking against the pricks. +O my beautiful forest, O my beautiful shining, windy house, what a joy it +was to behold them again! No chance to take myself too seriously here. + +The difficulty of the end is the mass of matter to be attended to, and +the small time left to transact it in. I mean from Alan’s danger of +arrest. But I have just seen my way out, I do believe. + + * * * * * + + _Easter Sunday_. + +I have now got as far as slip 28, and finished the chapter of the law +technicalities. Well, these seemed to me always of the essence of the +story, which is the story of a _cause célébre_; moreover, they are the +justification of my inventions; if these men went so far (granting Davie +sprung on them) would they not have gone so much further? But of course +I knew they were a difficulty; determined to carry them through in a +conversation; approached this (it seems) with cowardly anxiety; and +filled it with gabble, sir, gabble. I have left all my facts, but have +removed 42 lines. I should not wonder but what I’ll end by re-writing +it. It is not the technicalities that shocked you, it was my bad art. +It is very strange that X. should be so good a chapter and IX. and XI. so +uncompromisingly bad. It looks as if XI. also would have to be +re-formed. If X. had not cheered me up, I should be in doleful dumps, +but X. is alive anyway, and life is all in all. + + * * * * * + + _Thursday_, _April_ 5_th_. + +Well, there’s no disguise possible; Fanny is not well, and we are +miserably anxious. . . . + + * * * * * + + _Friday_, 7_th_. + +I am thankful to say the new medicine relieved her at once. A crape has +been removed from the day for all of us. To make things better, the +morning is ah! such a morning as you have never seen; heaven upon earth +for sweetness, freshness, depth upon depth of unimaginable colour, and a +huge silence broken at this moment only by the far-away murmur of the +Pacific and the rich piping of a single bird. You can’t conceive what a +relief this is; it seems a new world. She has such extraordinary +recuperative power that I do hope for the best. I am as tired as man can +be. This is a great trial to a family, and I thank God it seems as if +ours was going to bear it well. And O! if it only lets up, it will be +but a pleasant memory. We are all seedy, bar Lloyd: Fanny, as per above; +self nearly extinct; Belle, utterly overworked and bad toothache; Cook, +down with a bad foot; Butler, prostrate with a bad leg. Eh, what a +faim’ly! + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_. + +Grey heaven, raining torrents of rain; occasional thunder and lightning. +Everything to dispirit; but my invalids are really on the mend. The rain +roars like the sea; in the sound of it there is a strange and ominous +suggestion of an approaching tramp; something nameless and measureless +seems to draw near, and strikes me cold, and yet is welcome. I lie quiet +in bed to-day, and think of the universe with a good deal of equanimity. +I have, at this moment, but the one objection to it; the _fracas_ with +which it proceeds. I do not love noise; I am like my grandfather in +that; and so many years in these still islands has ingrained the +sentiment perhaps. Here are no trains, only men pacing barefoot. No +carts or carriages; at worst the rattle of a horse’s shoes among the +rocks. Beautiful silence; and so soon as this robustious rain takes off, +I am to drink of it again by oceanfuls. + + * * * * * + + _April_ 16_th_. + +Several pages of this letter destroyed as beneath scorn; the wailings of +a crushed worm; matter in which neither you nor I can take stock. Fanny +is distinctly better, I believe all right now; I too am mending, though I +have suffered from crushed wormery, which is not good for the body, and +damnation to the soul. I feel to-night a baseless anxiety to write a +lovely poem _à propos des bottes de ma grandmère_. I see I am idiotic. +I’ll try the poem. + + * * * * * + + 17_th_. + +The poem did not get beyond plovers and lovers. I am still, however, +harassed by the unauthentic Muse; if I cared to encourage her—but I have +not the time, and anyway we are at the vernal equinox. It is funny +enough, but my pottering verses are usually made (like the God-gifted +organ voice’s) at the autumnal; and this seems to hold at the Antipodes. +There is here some odd secret of Nature. I cannot speak of politics; we +wait and wonder. It seems (this is partly a guess) Ide won’t take the C. +J. ship, unless the islands are disarmed; and that England hesitates and +holds off. By my own idea, strongly corroborated by Sir George, I am +writing no more letters. But I have put as many irons in against this +folly of the disarming as I could manage. It did not reach my ears till +nearly too late. What a risk to take! What an expense to incur! And +for how poor a gain! Apart from the treachery of it. My dear fellow, +politics is a vile and a bungling business. I used to think meanly of +the plumber; but how he shines beside the politician! + + * * * * * + + _Thursday_. + +A general, steady advance; Fanny really quite chipper and jolly—self on +the rapid mend, and with my eye on _forests_ that are to fall—and my +finger on the axe, which wants stoning. + + * * * * * + + _Saturday_, 22. + +Still all for the best; but I am having a heart-breaking time over +_David_. I have nearly all corrected. But have to consider _The Heather +on Fire_, _The Wood by Silvermills_, and the last chapter. They all seem +to me off colour; and I am not fit to better them yet. No proof has been +sent of the title, contents, or dedication. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + + 25_th_ _April_. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—To-day early I sent down to Maben (Secretary of State) an +offer to bring up people from Malie, keep them in my house, and bring +them down day by day for so long as the negotiation should last. I have +a favourable answer so far. This I would not have tried, had not old Sir +George Grey put me on my mettle; ‘Never despair,’ was his word; and ‘I am +one of the few people who have lived long enough to see how true that +is.’ Well, thereupon I plunged in; and the thing may do me great harm, +but yet I do not think so—for I think jealousy will prevent the trial +being made. And at any rate it is another chance for this distracted +archipelago of children, sat upon by a clique of fools. If, by the gift +of God, I can do—I am allowed to try to do—and succeed: but no, the +prospect is too bright to be entertained. + +To-day we had a ride down to Tanugamanono, and then by the new wood +paths. One led us to a beautiful clearing, with four native houses; +taro, yams, and the like, excellently planted, and old Folau—‘the Samoan +Jew’—sitting and whistling there in his new-found and well-deserved +well-being. It was a good sight to see a Samoan thus before the world. +Further up, on our way home, we saw the world clear, and the wide die of +the shadow lying broad; we came but a little further, and found in the +borders of the bush a Banyan. It must have been 150 feet in height; the +trunk, and its acolytes, occupied a great space; above that, in the peaks +of the branches, quite a forest of ferns and orchids were set; and over +all again the huge spread of the boughs rose against the bright west, and +sent their shadow miles to the eastward. I have not often seen anything +more satisfying than this vast vegetable. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_. + +A heavenly day again! the world all dead silence, save when, from far +down below us in the woods, comes up the crepitation of the little wooden +drum that beats to church. Scarce a leaf stirs; only now and again a +great, cool gush of air that makes my papers fly, and is gone.—The King +of Samoa has refused my intercession between him and Mataafa; and I do +not deny this is a good riddance to me of a difficult business, in which +I might very well have failed. What else is to be done for these silly +folks? + + * * * * * + + _May_ 12_th_. + +And this is where I had got to, before the mail arrives with, I must say, +a real gentlemanly letter from yourself. Sir, that is the sort of letter +I want! Now, I’ll make my little proposal. I will accept _Child’s Play_ +and _Pan’s Pipes_. Then I want _Pastoral_, _The Manse_, _The Islet_, +leaving out if you like all the prefacial matter and beginning at I. Then +the portrait of Robert Hunter, beginning ‘Whether he was originally big +or little,’ and ending ‘fearless and gentle.’ So much for _Mem. and +Portraits_. _Beggars_, sections I. and II., _Random Memories_ II., and +_Lantern Bearers_; I’m agreeable. These are my selections. I don’t know +about _Pulvis et Umbra_ either, but must leave that to you. But just +what you please. + +About _Davie_ I elaborately wrote last time, but still _Davie_ is not +done; I am grinding singly at _The Ebb Tide_, as we now call the +_Farallone_; the most of it will go this mail. About the following, let +there be no mistake: I will not write the abstract of _Kidnapped_; write +it who will, I will not. Boccaccio must have been a clever fellow to +write both argument and story; I am not, _et je me recuse_. + +We call it _The Ebb Tide_: _a Trio and Quartette_; but that secondary +name you may strike out if it seems dull to you. The book, however, +falls in two halves, when the fourth character appears. I am on p. 82 if +you want to know, and expect to finish on I suppose 110 or so; but it +goes slowly, as you may judge from the fact that this three weeks past, I +have only struggled from p. 58 to p. 82: twenty-four pages, _et encore_ +sure to be rewritten, in twenty-one days. This is no prize-taker; not +much Waverley Novels about this! + + * * * * * + + _May_ 16_th_. + +I believe it will be ten chapters of _The Ebb Tide_ that go to you; the +whole thing should be completed in I fancy twelve; and the end will +follow punctually next mail. It is my great wish that this might get +into _The Illustrated London News_ for Gordon Browne to illustrate. For +whom, in case he should get the job, I give you a few notes. A purao is +a tree giving something like a fig with flowers. He will find some +photographs of an old marine curiosity shop in my collection, which may +help him. Attwater’s settlement is to be entirely overshadowed +everywhere by tall palms; see photographs of Fakarava: the verandahs of +the house are 12 ft. wide. Don’t let him forget the Figure Head, for +which I have a great use in the last chapter. It stands just clear of +the palms on the crest of the beach at the head of the pier; the +flag-staff not far off; the pier he will understand is perhaps three feet +above high water, not more at any price. The sailors of the _Farallone_ +are to be dressed like white sailors of course. For other things, I +remit this excellent artist to my photographs. + +I can’t think what to say about the tale, but it seems to me to go off +with a considerable bang; in fact, to be an extraordinary work: but +whether popular! Attwater is a no end of a courageous attempt, I think +you will admit; how far successful is another affair. If my island ain’t +a thing of beauty, I’ll be damned. Please observe Wiseman and Wishart; +for incidental grimness, they strike me as in it. Also, kindly observe +the Captain and _Adar_; I think that knocks spots. In short, as you see, +I’m a trifle vainglorious. But O, it has been such a grind! The devil +himself would allow a man to brag a little after such a crucifixion! And +indeed I’m only bragging for a change before I return to the darned thing +lying waiting for me on p. 88, where I last broke down. I break down at +every paragraph, I may observe; and lie here and sweat, till I can get +one sentence wrung out after another. Strange doom; after having worked +so easily for so long! Did ever anybody see such a story of four +characters? + + * * * * * + + _Later_, 2.30. + +It may interest you to know that I am entirely _tapu_, and live apart in +my chambers like a caged beast. Lloyd has a bad cold, and Graham and +Belle are getting it. Accordingly, I dwell here without the light of any +human countenance or voice, and strap away at _The Ebb Tide_ until (as +now) I can no more. Fanny can still come, but is gone to glory now, or +to her garden. Page 88 is done, and must be done over again to-morrow, +and I confess myself exhausted. Pity a man who can’t work on along when +he has nothing else on earth to do! But I have ordered Jack, and am +going for a ride in the bush presently to refresh the machine; then back +to a lonely dinner and durance vile. I acquiesce in this hand of fate; +for I think another cold just now would just about do for me. I have +scarce yet recovered the two last. + + * * * * * + + _May_ 18_th_. + +My progress is crabwise, and I fear only IX. chapters will be ready for +the mail. I am on p. 88 again, and with half an idea of going back again +to 85. We shall see when we come to read: I used to regard reading as a +pleasure in my old light days. All the house are down with the influenza +in a body, except Fanny and me. The influenza appears to become endemic +here, but it has always been a scourge in the islands. Witness the +beginning of _The Ebb Tide_, which was observed long before the Iffle had +distinguished himself at home by such Napoleonic conquests. I am now of +course ‘quite a recluse,’ and it is very stale, and there is no +amanuensis to carry me over my mail, to which I shall have to devote many +hours that would have been more usefully devoted to _The Ebb Tide_. For +you know you can dictate at all hours of the day and at any odd moment; +but to sit down and write with your red right hand is a very different +matter. + + * * * * * + + _May_ 20_th_. + +Well, I believe I’ve about finished the thing, I mean as far as the mail +is to take it. Chapter X. is now in Lloyd’s hands for remarks, and +extends in its present form to p. 93 incl. On the 12th of May, I see by +looking back, I was on p. 82, not for the first time; so that I have made +11 pages in nine livelong days. Well! up a high hill he heaved a huge +round stone. But this Flaubert business must be resisted in the +premises. Or is it the result of influenza? God forbid. Fanny is down +now, and the last link that bound me to my fellow men is severed. I sit +up here, and write, and read Renan’s _Origines_, which is certainly +devilish interesting; I read his Nero yesterday, it is very good, O, very +good! But he is quite a Michelet; the general views, and such a piece of +character painting, excellent; but his method sheer lunacy. You can see +him take up the block which he had just rejected, and make of it the +corner-stone: a maddening way to deal with authorities; and the result so +little like history that one almost blames oneself for wasting time. But +the time is not wasted; the conspectus is always good, and the blur that +remains on the mind is probably just enough. I have been enchanted with +the unveiling of Revelations. And how picturesque that return of the +false Nero! The Apostle John is rather discredited. And to think how +one had read the thing so often, and never understood the attacks upon +St. Paul! I remember when I was a child, and we came to the Four Beasts +that were all over eyes, the sickening terror with which I was filled. +If that was Heaven, what, in the name of Davy Jones and the aboriginal +night-mare, could Hell be? Take it for all in all, _L’Antéchrist_ is +worth reading. The _Histoire d’Israël_ did not surprise me much; I had +read those Hebrew sources with more intelligence than the New Testament, +and was quite prepared to admire Ahab and Jezebel, etc. Indeed, Ahab has +always been rather a hero of mine; I mean since the years of discretion. + + * * * * * + + _May_ 21_st_. + +And here I am back again on p. 85! the last chapter demanding an entire +revision, which accordingly it is to get. And where my mail is to come +in, God knows! This forced, violent, alembicated style is most abhorrent +to me; it can’t be helped; the note was struck years ago on the _Janet +Nicoll_, and has to be maintained somehow; and I can only hope the +intrinsic horror and pathos, and a kind of fierce glow of colour there is +to it, and the surely remarkable wealth of striking incident, may guide +our little shallop into port. If Gordon Browne is to get it, he should +see the Brassey photographs of Papeete. But mind, the three waifs were +never in the town; only on the beach and in the calaboose. By George, +but it’s a good thing to illustrate for a man like that! Fanny is all +right again. False alarm! I was down yesterday afternoon at Paupata, +and heard much growling of war, and the delightful news that the C. J. +and the President are going to run away from Mulinuu and take refuge in +the Tivoli hotel. + + * * * * * + + 23_rd_. _Mail day_. + +And lots of pleasures before me, no doubt! Among others the attempt to +extract an answer from—before mail time, which may succeed or may not. + +_The Ebb Tide_, all but (I take it) fifteen pages, is now in your +hands—possibly only about eleven pp. It is hard to say. But there it +is, and you can do your best with it. Personally, I believe I would in +this case make even a sacrifice to get Gordon Browne and copious +illustration. I guess in ten days I shall have finished with it; then I +go next to _D. Balfour_, and get the proofs ready: a nasty job for me, as +you know. And then? Well, perhaps I’ll take a go at the family history. +I think that will be wise, as I am so much off work. And then, I +suppose, _Weir of Hermiston_, but it may be anything. I am discontented +with _The Ebb Tide_, naturally; there seems such a veil of words over it; +and I like more and more naked writing; and yet sometimes one has a +longing for full colour and there comes the veil again. _The Young +Chevalier_ is in very full colour, and I fear it for that reason.—Ever, + + R. L S. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + + 29_th_ _May_. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—Still grinding at Chap. XI. I began many days ago on p. +93, and am still on p. 93, which is exhilarating, but the thing takes +shape all the same and should make a pretty lively chapter for an end of +it. For XII. is only a footnote _ad explicandum_. + + * * * * * + + _June the_ 1_st_. + +Back on p. 93. I was on 100 yesterday, but read it over and condemned +it. + + * * * * * + + 10 _a.m._ + +I have worked up again to 97, but how? The deuce fly away with +literature, for the basest sport in creation. But it’s got to come +straight! and if possible, so that I may finish _D. Balfour_ in time for +the same mail. What a getting upstairs! This is Flaubert outdone. +Belle, Graham, and Lloyd leave to-day on a malaga down the coast; to be +absent a week or so: this leaves Fanny, me, and —, who seems a nice, +kindly fellow. + + * * * * * + + _June_ 2_nd_. + +I am nearly dead with dyspepsia, over-smoking, and unremunerative +overwork. Last night, I went to bed by seven; woke up again about ten +for a minute to find myself light-headed and altogether off my legs; went +to sleep again, and woke this morning fairly fit. I have crippled on to +p. 101, but I haven’t read it yet, so do not boast. What kills me is the +frame of mind of one of the characters; I cannot get it through. Of +course that does not interfere with my total inability to write; so that +yesterday I was a living half-hour upon a single clause and have a +gallery of variants that would surprise you. And this sort of trouble +(which I cannot avoid) unfortunately produces nothing when done but +alembication and the far-fetched. Well, read it with mercy! + + * * * * * + + 8 _a.m._ + +Going to bed. Have read it, and believe the chapter practically done at +last. But lord! it has been a business. + + * * * * * + + _July_ 3_rd_, 8.15. + +The draft is finished, the end of Chapter II. and the tale, and I have +only eight pages _wiederzuarbeiten_. This is just a cry of joy in +passing. + + * * * * * + + 10.30. + +Knocked out of time. Did 101 and 102. Alas, no more to-day, as I have +to go down town to a meeting. Just as well though, as my thumb is about +done up. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_, _June_ 4_th_. + +Now for a little snippet of my life. Yesterday, 12.30, in a heavenly day +of sun and trade, I mounted my horse and set off. A boy opens my gate +for me. ‘Sleep and long life! A blessing on your journey,’ says he. +And I reply ‘Sleep, long life! A blessing on the house!’ Then on, down +the lime lane, a rugged, narrow, winding way, that seems almost as if it +was leading you into Lyonesse, and you might see the head and shoulders +of a giant looking in. At the corner of the road I meet the inspector of +taxes, and hold a diplomatic interview with him; he wants me to pay taxes +on the new house; I am informed I should not till next year; and we part, +_re infecta_, he promising to bring me decisions, I assuring him that, if +I find any favouritism, he will find me the most recalcitrant tax-payer +on the island. Then I have a talk with an old servant by the wayside. A +little further I pass two children coming up. ‘Love!’ say I; ‘are you +two chiefly-proceeding inland?’ and they say, ‘Love! yes!’ and the +interesting ceremony is finished. Down to the post office, where I find +Vitrolles and (Heaven reward you!) the White Book, just arrived per +_Upolu_, having gone the wrong way round, by Australia; also six copies +of _Island Nights’ Entertainments_. Some of Weatherall’s illustrations +are very clever; but O Lord! the lagoon! I did say it was ‘shallow,’ +but, O dear, not so shallow as that a man could stand up in it! I had +still an hour to wait for my meeting, so Postmaster Davis let me sit down +in his room and I had a bottle of beer in, and read _A Gentleman of +France_. Have you seen it coming out in _Longman’s_? My dear Colvin! +’tis the most exquisite pleasure; a real chivalrous yarn, like the Dumas’ +and yet unlike. Thereafter to the meeting of the five newspaper +proprietors. Business transacted, I have to gallop home and find the +boys waiting to be paid at the doorstep. + + * * * * * + + _Monday_, 5_th_. + +Yesterday, Sunday, the Rev. Dr. Browne, secretary to the Wesleyan +Mission, and the man who made the war in the Western Islands and was +tried for his life in Fiji, came up, and we had a long, important talk +about Samoa. O, if I could only talk to the home men! But what would it +matter? none of them know, none of them care. If we could only have +Macgregor here with his schooner, you would hear of no more troubles in +Samoa. That is what we want; a man that knows and likes the natives, +_qui paye de sa personne_, and is not afraid of hanging when necessary. +We don’t want bland Swedish humbugs, and fussy, fostering German barons. +That way the maelstrom lies, and we shall soon be in it. + +I have to-day written 103 and 104, all perfectly wrong, and shall have to +rewrite them. This tale is devilish, and Chapter XI. the worst of the +lot. The truth is of course that I am wholly worked out; but it’s nearly +done, and shall go somehow according to promise. I go against all my +gods, and say it is _not worth while_ to massacre yourself over the last +few pages of a rancid yarn, that the reviewers will quite justly tear to +bits. As for D.B., no hope, I fear, this mail, but we’ll see what the +afternoon does for me. + + * * * * * + + 4.15. + +Well, it’s done. Those tragic 16 pp. are at last finished, and I have +put away thirty-two pages of chips, and have spent thirteen days about as +nearly in Hell as a man could expect to live through. It’s done, and of +course it ain’t worth while, and who cares? There it is, and about as +grim a tale as was ever written, and as grimy, and as hateful. + + SACRED + TO THE MEMORY + + OF + + J. L. HUISH, + + BORN 1856, AT HACKNEY, + + LONDON, + + Accidentally killed upon this + + Island, + + 10th September, 1889. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_, 6. + +I am exulting to do nothing. It pours with rain from the westward, very +unusual kind of weather; I was standing out on the little verandah in +front of my room this morning, and there went through me or over me a +wave of extraordinary and apparently baseless emotion. I literally +staggered. And then the explanation came, and I knew I had found a frame +of mind and body that belonged to Scotland, and particularly to the +neighbourhood of Callander. Very odd these identities of sensation, and +the world of connotations implied; highland huts, and peat smoke, and the +brown, swirling rivers, and wet clothes, and whiskey, and the romance of +the past, and that indescribable bite of the whole thing at a man’s +heart, which is—or rather lies at the bottom of—a story. + +I don’t know if you are a Barbey d’Aurévilly-an. I am. I have a great +delight in his Norman stories. Do you know the _Chevalier des Touches_ +and _L’Ensorcelée_? They are admirable, they reek of the soil and the +past. But I was rather thinking just now of _Le Rideau Cramoisi_, and +its adorable setting of the stopped coach, the dark street, the +home-going in the inn yard, and the red blind illuminated. Without +doubt, _there_ was an identity of sensation; one of those conjunctions in +life that had filled Barbey full to the brim, and permanently bent his +memory. + +I wonder exceedingly if I have done anything at all good; and who can +tell me? and why should I wish to know? In so little a while, I, and the +English language, and the bones of my descendants, will have ceased to be +a memory! And yet—and yet—one would like to leave an image for a few +years upon men’s minds—for fun. This is a very dark frame of mind, +consequent on overwork and the conclusion of the excruciating _Ebb Tide_. +Adieu. + +What do you suppose should be done with _The Ebb Tide_? It would make a +volume of 200 pp.; on the other hand, I might likely have some more +stories soon: _The Owl_, _Death in the Pot_, _The Sleeper Awakened_; all +these are possible. _The Owl_ might be half as long; _The Sleeper +Awakened_, ditto; _Death in the Pot_ a deal shorter, I believe. Then +there’s the _Go-Between_, which is not impossible altogether. _The Owl_, +_The Sleeper Awakened_, and the _Go-Between_ end reasonably well; _Death +in the Pot_ is an ungodly massacre. O, well, _The Owl_ only ends well in +so far as some lovers come together, and nobody is killed at the moment, +but you know they are all doomed, they are Chouan fellows. + + * * * * * + + _Friday_, 9_th_. + +Well, the mail is in; no Blue-book, depressing letter from C.; a long, +amusing ramble from my mother; vast masses of Romeike; they _are_ going +to war now; and what will that lead to? and what has driven, them to it +but the persistent misconduct of these two officials? I know I ought to +rewrite the end of this bluidy _Ebb Tide_: well, I can’t. _Cest plus +fort que moi_; it has to go the way it is, and be jowned to it! From +what I make out of the reviews, I think it would be better not to +republish _The Ebb Tide_: but keep it for other tales, if they should +turn up. Very amusing how the reviews pick out one story and damn the +rest I and it is always a different one. Be sure you send me the article +from _Le Temps_. + + * * * * * + + _Saturday_, 17_th_. + +Since I wrote this last, I have written a whole chapter of my +grandfather, and read it to-night; it was on the whole much appreciated, +and I kind of hope it ain’t bad myself. ’Tis a third writing, but it +wants a fourth. By next mail, I believe I might send you 3 chapters. +That is to say _Family Annals_, _The Service of the Northern Lights_, and +_The Building of the Bell Rock_. Possibly even 4—_A Houseful of Boys_. +I could finish my grandfather very easy now; my father and Uncle Alan +stop the way. I propose to call the book: _Northern Lights_: _Memoirs of +a Family of Engineers_. I tell you, it is going to be a good book. My +idea in sending Ms. would be to get it set up; two proofs to me, one to +Professor Swan, Ardchapel, Helensburgh—mark it private and +confidential—one to yourself; and come on with criticisms! But I’ll have +to see. The total plan of the book is this— + + I. Domestic Annals. + II. The Service of the Northern Lights. + III. The Building of the Bell Rock. + IV. A Houseful of Boys (or, the Family in Baxter’s Place). + V. Education of an Engineer. + VI. The Grandfather. + VII. Alan Stevenson. + VIII. Thomas Stevenson. + +There will be an Introduction ‘The Surname of Stevenson’ which has proved +a mighty queer subject of inquiry. But, Lord! if I were among libraries. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_, 18_th_. + +I shall put in this envelope the end of the ever-to-be-execrated _Ebb +Tide_, or Stevenson’s Blooming Error. Also, a paper apart for _David +Balfour_. The slips must go in another enclosure, I suspect, owing to +their beastly bulk. Anyway, there are two pieces of work off my mind, +and though I could wish I had rewritten a little more of _David_, yet it +was plainly to be seen it was impossible. All the points indicated by +you have been brought out; but to rewrite the end, in my present state of +over-exhaustion and fiction—phobia, would have been madness; and I let it +go as it stood. My grandfather is good enough for me, these days. I do +not work any less; on the whole, if anything, a little more. But it is +different. + +The slips go to you in four packets; I hope they are what they should be, +but do not think so. I am at a pitch of discontent with fiction in all +its form—or my forms—that prevents me being able to be even interested. +I have had to stop all drink; smoking I am trying to stop also. It +annoys me dreadfully: and yet if I take a glass of claret,—I have a +headache the next day! O, and a good headache too; none of your trifles. + +Well, sir, here’s to you, and farewell.—Yours ever. + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + + _Saturday_, 24_th_ (?) _June_. + +MY DEAR COLVIN—Yesterday morning, after a day of absolute temperance, I +awoke to the worst headache I had had yet. Accordingly, temperance was +said farewell to, quinine instituted, and I believe my pains are soon to +be over. We wait, with a kind of sighing impatience, for war to be +declared, or to blow finally off, living in the meanwhile in a kind of +children’s hour of firelight and shadow and preposterous tales; the king +seen at night galloping up our road upon unknown errands and covering his +face as he passes our cook; Mataafa daily surrounded (when he awakes) +with fresh ‘white man’s boxes’ (query, ammunition?) and professing to be +quite ignorant of where they come from; marches of bodies of men across +the island; concealment of ditto in the bush; the coming on and off of +different chiefs; and such a mass of ravelment and rag-tag as the devil +himself could not unwind. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_, 28_th_ _June_. + +Yesterday it rained with but little intermission, but I was jealous of +news. Graham and I got into the saddle about 1 o’clock and off down to +town. In town, there was nothing but rumours going; in the night drums +had been beat, the men had run to arms on Mulinuu from as far as Vaiala, +and the alarm proved false. There were no signs of any gathering in Apia +proper, and the Secretary of State had no news to give. I believed him, +too, for we are brither Scots. Then the temptation came upon me strong +to go on to the ford and see the Mataafa villages, where we heard there +was more afoot. Off we rode. When we came to Vaimusu, the houses were +very full of men, but all seemingly unarmed. Immediately beyond is that +river over which we passed in our scamper with Lady Jersey; it was all +solitary. Three hundred yards beyond is a second ford; and there—I came +face to face with war. Under the trees on the further bank sat a picket +of seven men with Winchesters; their faces bright, their eyes ardent. As +we came up, they did not speak or move; only their eyes followed us. The +horses drank, and we passed the ford. ‘Talofa!’ I said, and the +commandant of the picket said ‘Talofa’; and then, when we were almost by, +remembered himself and asked where we were going. ‘To Faamuina,’ I said, +and we rode on. Every house by the wayside was crowded with armed men. +There was the European house of a Chinaman on the right-hand side: a flag +of truce flying over the gate—indeed we saw three of these in what little +way we penetrated into Mataafa’s lines—all the foreigners trying to +protect their goods; and the Chinaman’s verandah overflowed with men and +girls and Winchesters. By the way we met a party of about ten or a dozen +marching with their guns and cartridge-belts, and the cheerful alacrity +and brightness of their looks set my head turning with envy and sympathy. +Arrived at Vaiusu, the houses about the _malae_ (village green) were +thronged with men, all armed. On the outside of the council-house (which +was all full within) there stood an orator; he had his back turned to his +audience, and seemed to address the world at large; all the time we were +there his strong voice continued unabated, and I heard snatches of +political wisdom rising and falling. + +The house of Faamuina stands on a knoll in the _malae_. Thither we +mounted, a boy ran out and took our horses, and we went in. Faamuina was +there himself, his wife Pelepa, three other chiefs, and some attendants; +and here again was this exulting spectacle as of people on their marriage +day. Faamuina (when I last saw him) was an elderly, limping gentleman, +with much of the debility of age; it was a bright-eyed boy that greeted +me; the lady was no less excited; all had cartridge-belts. We stayed but +a little while to smoke a sului; I would not have kava made, as I thought +my escapade was already dangerous (perhaps even blameworthy) enough. On +the way back, we were much greeted, and on coming to the ford, the +commandant came and asked me if there were many on the other side. ‘Very +many,’ said I; not that I knew, but I would not lead them on the ice. +‘That is well!’ said he, and the little picket laughed aloud as we +splashed into the river. We returned to Apia, through Apia, and out to +windward as far as Vaiala, where the word went that the men of the +Vaimauga had assembled. We met two boys carrying pigs, and saw six young +men busy cooking in a cook-house; but no sign of an assembly; no arms, no +blackened faces. I forgot! As we turned to leave Faamuina’s, there ran +forward a man with his face blackened, and the back of his lava-lava +girded up so as to show his tattooed hips naked; he leaped before us, cut +a wonderful caper, and flung his knife high in the air, and caught it. +It was strangely savage and fantastic and high-spirited. I have seen a +child doing the same antics long before in a dance, so that it is plainly +an _accepted solemnity_. I should say that for weeks the children have +been playing with spears. Up by the plantation I took a short cut, which +shall never be repeated, through grass and weeds over the horses’ heads +and among rolling stones; I thought we should have left a horse there, +but fortune favoured us. So home, a little before six, in a dashing +squall of rain, to a bowl of kava and dinner. But the impression on our +minds was extraordinary; the sight of that picket at the ford, and those +ardent, happy faces whirls in my head; the old aboriginal awoke in both +of us and knickered like a stallion. + +It is dreadful to think that I must sit apart here and do nothing; I do +not know if I can stand it out. But you see, I may be of use to these +poor people, if I keep quiet, and if I threw myself in, I should have a +bad job of it to save myself. There; I have written this to you; and it +is still but 7.30 in the day, and the sun only about one hour up; can I +go back to my old grandpapa, and men sitting with Winchesters in my +mind’s eye? No; war is a huge _entraînement_; there is no other +temptation to be compared to it, not one. We were all wet, we had been +about five hours in the saddle, mostly riding hard; and we came home like +schoolboys, with such a lightness of spirits, and I am sure such a +brightness of eye, as you could have lit a candle at! + + * * * * * + + _Thursday_ 29_th_. + +I had two priests to luncheon yesterday: the Bishop and Père Rémy. They +were very pleasant, and quite clean too, which has been known sometimes +not to be—even with bishops. Monseigneur is not unimposing; with his +white beard and his violet girdle he looks splendidly episcopal, and when +our three waiting lads came up one after another and kneeled before him +in the big hall, and kissed his ring, it did me good for a piece of +pageantry. Rémy is very engaging; he is a little, nervous, eager man, +like a governess, and brimful of laughter and small jokes. So is the +bishop indeed, and our luncheon party went off merrily—far more merrily +than many a German spread, though with so much less liquor. One trait +was delicious. With a complete ignorance of the Protestant that I would +scarce have imagined, he related to us (as news) little stories from the +gospels, and got the names all wrong! His comments were delicious, and +to our ears a thought irreverent. ‘_Ah_! _il connaissait son monde_, +_allez_!’ ‘_Il était fin_, _notre Seigneur_!’ etc. + + * * * * * + + _Friday_. + +Down with Fanny and Belle, to lunch at the International. Heard there +about the huge folly of the hour, all the Mulinuu ammunition having been +yesterday marched openly to vaults in Matafele; and this morning, on a +cry of protest from the whites, openly and humiliatingly disinterred and +marched back again. People spoke of it with a kind of shrill note that +did not quite satisfy me. They seemed not quite well at ease. Luncheon +over, we rode out on the Malie road. All was quiet in Vaiusu, and when +we got to the second ford, alas! there was no picket—which was just what +Belle had come to sketch. On through quite empty roads; the houses +deserted, never a gun to be seen; and at last a drum and a penny whistle +playing in Vaiusu, and a cricket match on the _malae_! Went up to +Faamuina’s; he is a trifle uneasy, though he gives us kava. I cannot see +what ails him, then it appears that he has an engagement with the Chief +Justice at half-past two to sell a piece of land. Is this the reason why +war has disappeared? We ride back, stopping to sketch here and there the +fords, a flag of truce, etc. I ride on to Public Hall Committee and pass +an hour with my committees very heavily. To the hotel to dinner, then to +the ball, and home by eleven, very tired. At the ball I heard some news, +of how the chief of Letonu said that I was the source of all this +trouble, and should be punished, and my family as well. This, and the +rudeness of the man at the ford of the Gase-gase, looks but ill; I should +have said that Faamuina, as he approached the first ford, was spoken to +by a girl, and immediately said goodbye and plunged into the bush; the +girl had told him there was a war party out from Mulinuu; and a little +further on, as we stopped to sketch a flag of truce, the beating of drums +and the sound of a bugle from that direction startled us. But we saw +nothing, and I believe Mulinuu is (at least at present) incapable of any +act of offence. One good job, these threats to my home and family take +away all my childish temptation to go out and fight. Our force must be +here, to protect ourselves. I see panic rising among the whites; I hear +the shrill note of it in their voices, and they talk already about a +refuge on the war ships. There are two here, both German; and the +_Orlando_ is expected presently. + + * * * * * + + _Sunday_ 9_th_ _July_. + +Well, the war has at last begun. For four or five days, Apia has been +filled by these poor children with their faces blacked, and the red +handkerchief about their brows, that makes the Malietoa uniform, and the +boats have been coming in from the windward, some of them 50 strong, with +a drum and a bugle on board—the bugle always ill-played—and a sort of +jester leaping and capering on the sparred nose of the boat, and the +whole crew uttering from time to time a kind of menacing ululation. +Friday they marched out to the bush; and yesterday morning we heard that +some had returned to their houses for the night, as they found it ‘so +uncomfortable.’ After dinner a messenger came up to me with a note, that +the wounded were arriving at the Mission House. Fanny, Lloyd and I +saddled and rode off with a lantern; it was a fine starry night, though +pretty cold. We left the lantern at Tanuga-manono, and then down in the +starlight. I found Apia, and myself, in a strange state of flusteration; +my own excitement was gloomy and (I may say) truculent; others appeared +imbecile; some sullen. The best place in the whole town was the +hospital. A longish frame-house it was, with a big table in the middle +for operations, and ten Samoans, each with an average of four +sympathisers, stretched along the walls. Clarke was there, steady as a +die; Miss Large, little spectacled angel, showed herself a real trump; +the nice, clean, German orderlies in their white uniforms looked and +meant business. (I hear a fine story of Miss Large—a cast-iron +teetotaller—going to the public-house for a bottle of brandy.) + +The doctors were not there when I arrived; but presently it was observed +that one of the men was going cold. He was a magnificent Samoan, very +dark, with a noble aquiline countenance, like an Arab, I suppose, and was +surrounded by seven people, fondling his limbs as he lay: he was shot +through both lungs. And an orderly was sent to the town for the (German +naval) doctors, who were dining there. Meantime I found an errand of my +own. Both Clarke and Miss Large expressed a wish to have the public +hall, of which I am chairman, and I set off down town, and woke people +out of their beds, and got a committee together, and (with a great deal +of difficulty from one man, whom we finally overwhelmed) got the public +hall for them. Bar the one man, the committee was splendid, and agreed +in a moment to share the expense if the shareholders object. Back to the +hospital about 11.30; found the German doctors there. Two men were going +now, one that was shot in the bowels—he was dying rather hard, in a +gloomy stupor of pain and laudanum, silent, with contorted face. The +chief, shot through the lungs, was lying on one side, awaiting the last +angel; his family held his hands and legs; they were all speechless, only +one woman suddenly clasped his knee, and ‘keened’ for the inside of five +seconds, and fell silent again. Went home, and to bed about two A.M. +What actually passed seems undiscoverable; but the Mataafas were surely +driven back out of Vaitele; that is a blow to them, and the resistance +was far greater than had been anticipated—which is a blow to the +Laupepas. All seems to indicate a long and bloody war. + +Frank’s house in Mulinuu was likewise filled with wounded; many dead +bodies were brought in; I hear with certainty of five, wrapped in mats; +and a pastor goes to-morrow to the field to bring others. The Laupepas +brought in eleven heads to Mulinuu, and to the great horror and +consternation of the native mind, one proved to be a girl, and was +identified as that of a Taupou—or Maid of the Village—from Savaii. I +hear this morning, with great relief, that it has been returned to Malie, +wrapped in the most costly silk handkerchiefs, and with an apologetic +embassy. This could easily happen. The girl was of course attending on +her father with ammunition, and got shot; her hair was cut short to make +her father’s war head-dress—even as our own Sina’s is at this moment; and +the decollator was probably, in his red flurry of fight, wholly +unconscious of her sex. I am sorry for him in the future; he must make +up his mind to many bitter jests—perhaps to vengeance. But what an end +to one chosen for her beauty and, in the time of peace, watched over by +trusty crones and hunchbacks! + + * * * * * + + _Evening_. + +Can I write or not? I played lawn tennis in the morning, and after lunch +down with Graham to Apia. Ulu, he that was shot in the lungs, still +lives; he that was shot in the bowels is gone to his fathers, poor, +fierce child! I was able to be of some very small help, and in the way +of helping myself to information, to prove myself a mere gazer at +meteors. But there seems no doubt the Mataafas for the time are +scattered; the most of our friends are involved in this disaster, and +Mataafa himself—who might have swept the islands a few months ago—for him +to fall so poorly, doubles my regret. They say the Taupou had a gun and +fired; probably an excuse manufactured _ex post facto_. I go down +to-morrow at 12, to stay the afternoon, and help Miss Large. In the +hospital to-day, when I first entered it, there were no attendants; only +the wounded and their friends, all equally sleeping and their heads +poised upon the wooden pillows. There is a pretty enough boy there, +slightly wounded, whose fate is to be envied: two girls, and one of the +most beautiful, with beaming eyes, tend him and sleep upon his pillow. +In the other corner, another young man, very patient and brave, lies +wholly deserted. Yet he seems to me far the better of the two; but not +so pretty! Heavens, what a difference that makes; in our not very well +proportioned bodies and our finely hideous faces, the 1-32nd—rather the +1-64th—this way or that! Sixteen heads in all at Mulinuu. I am so stiff +I can scarce move without a howl. + + * * * * * + + _Monday_, 10_th_. + +Some news that Mataafa is gone to Savaii by way of Manono; this may mean +a great deal more warfaring, and no great issue. (When Sosimo came in +this morning with my breakfast he had to lift me up. It is no joke to +play lawn tennis after carrying your right arm in a sling so many years.) +What a hard, unjust business this is! On the 28th, if Mataafa had moved, +he could have still swept Mulinuu. He waited, and I fear he is now only +the stick of a rocket. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_, 12_th_. + +No more political news; but many rumours. The government troops are off +to Manono; no word of Mataafa. O, there is a passage in my mother’s +letter which puzzles me as to a date. Is it next Christmas you are +coming? or the Christmas after? This is most important, and must be +understood at once. If it is next Christmas, I could not go to Ceylon, +for lack of gold, and you would have to adopt one of the following +alternatives: 1st, either come straight on here and pass a month with us; +’tis the rainy season, but we have often lovely weather. Or (2nd) come +to Hawaii and I will meet you there. Hawaii is only a week’s sail from +S. Francisco, making only about sixteen days on the heaving ocean; and +the steamers run once a fortnight, so that you could turn round; and you +could thus pass a day or two in the States—a fortnight even—and still see +me. But I have sworn to take no further excursions till I have money +saved to pay for them; and to go to Ceylon and back would be torture +unless I had a lot. You must answer this at once, please; so that I may +know what to do. We would dearly like you to come on here. I’ll tell +you how it can be done; I can come up and meet you at Hawaii, and if you +had at all got over your sea-sickness, I could just come on board and we +could return together to Samoa, and you could have a month of our life +here, which I believe you could not help liking. Our horses are the +devil, of course, miserable screws, and some of them a little vicious. I +had a dreadful fright—the passage in my mother’s letter is recrossed and +I see it says the end of /94: so much the better, then; but I would like +to submit to you my alternative plan. I could meet you at Hawaii, and +reconduct you to Hawaii, so that we could have a full six weeks together +and I believe a little over, and you would see this place of mine, and +have a sniff of native life, native foods, native houses—and perhaps be +in time to see the German flag raised, who knows?—and we could generally +yarn for all we were worth. I should like you to see Vailima; and I +should be curious to know how the climate affected you. It is quite hit +or miss; it suits me, it suits Graham, it suits all our family; others it +does not suit at all. It is either gold or poison. I rise at six, the +rest at seven; lunch is at 12; at five we go to lawn tennis till dinner +at six; and to roost early. + +A man brought in a head to Mulinuu in great glory; they washed the black +paint off, and behold! it was his brother. When I last heard he was +sitting in his house, with the head upon his lap, and weeping. Barbarous +war is an ugly business; but I believe the civilised is fully uglier; but +Lord! what fun! + +I should say we now have definite news that there are _three_ women’s +heads; it was difficult to get it out of the natives, who are all +ashamed, and the women all in terror of reprisals. Nothing has been done +to punish or disgrace these hateful innovators. It was a false report +that the head had been returned. + + * * * * * + + _Thursday_, 13_th_. + +Mataafa driven away from Savaii. I cannot write about this, and do not +know what should be the end of it. + + * * * * * + + _Monday_, 17_th_. + +Haggard and Ahrens (a German clerk) to lunch yesterday. There is no real +certain news yet: I must say, no man could _swear_ to any result; but the +sky looks horribly black for Mataafa and so many of our friends along +with him. The thing has an abominable, a beastly, nightmare interest. +But it’s wonderful generally how little one cares about the wounded; +hospital sights, etc.; things that used to murder me. I was far more +struck with the excellent way in which things were managed; as if it had +been a peep-show; I held some of the things at an operation, and did not +care a dump. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_, 18_th_. + +Sunday came the _Katoomba_, Captain Bickford, C.M.G. Yesterday, Graham +and I went down to call, and find he has orders to suppress Mataafa at +once, and has to go down to-day before daybreak to Manono. He is a very +capable, energetic man; if he had only come ten days ago, all this would +have gone by; but now the questions are thick and difficult. (1) Will +Mataafa surrender? (2) Will his people allow themselves to be disarmed? +(3) What will happen to them if they do? (4) What will any of them +believe after former deceptions? The three consuls were scampering on +horseback to Leulumoega to the King; no Cusack-Smith, without whose +accession I could not send a letter to Mataafa. I rode up here, wrote my +letter in the sweat of the concordance and with the able-bodied help of +Lloyd—and dined. Then down in continual showers and pitchy darkness, and +to Cusack-Smith’s; not re-returned. Back to the inn for my horse, and to +C.-S.’s, when I find him just returned and he accepts my letter. Thence +home, by 12.30, jolly tired and wet. And to-day have been in a +crispation of energy and ill-temper, raking my wretched mail together. +It is a hateful business, waiting for the news; it may come to a fearful +massacre yet.—Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + + _August_, 1893. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—Quite impossible to write. Your letter is due to-day; a +nasty, rainy-like morning with huge blue clouds, and a huge indigo shadow +on the sea, and my lamp still burning at near 7. Let me humbly give you +news. Fanny seems on the whole the most, or the only, powerful member of +the family; for some days she has been the Flower of the Flock. Belle is +begging for quinine. Lloyd and Graham have both been down with ‘belly +belong him’ (Black Boy speech). As for me, I have to lay aside my lawn +tennis, having (as was to be expected) had a smart but eminently brief +hemorrhage. I am also on the quinine flask. I have been re-casting the +beginning of the _Hanging Judge_ or _Weir of Hermiston_; then I have been +cobbling on my grandfather, whose last chapter (there are only to be +four) is in the form of pieces of paper, a huge welter of inconsequence, +and that glimmer of faith (or hope) which one learns at this trade, that +somehow and some time, by perpetual staring and glowering and rewriting, +order will emerge. It is indeed a queer hope; there is one piece for +instance that I want in—I cannot put it one place for a good reason—I +cannot put it another for a better—and every time I look at it, I turn +sick and put the MS. away. + +Well, your letter hasn’t come, and a number of others are missing. It +looks as if a mail-bag had gone on, so I’ll blame nobody, and proceed to +business. + +It looks as if I was going to send you the first three chapters of my +Grandfather. . . . If they were set up, it would be that much anxiety +off my mind. I have a strange feeling of responsibility, as if I had my +ancestors’ _souls_ in my charge, and might miscarry with them. + +There’s a lot of work gone into it, and a lot more is needed. Still +Chapter I. seems about right to me, and much of Chapter II. Chapter III. +I know nothing of, as I told you. And Chapter IV. is at present all ends +and beginnings; but it can be pulled together. + +This is all I have been able to screw up to you for this month, and I may +add that it is not only more than you deserve, but just about more than I +was equal to. I have been and am entirely useless; just able to tinker +at my Grandfather. The three chapters—perhaps also a little of the +fourth—will come home to you next mail by the hand of my cousin Graham +Balfour, a very nice fellow whom I recommend to you warmly—and whom I +think you will like. This will give you time to consider my various and +distracted schemes. + +All our wars are over in the meantime, to begin again as soon as the +war-ships leave. Adieu. + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + + 23_rd_ _August_. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—Your pleasing letter _re The Ebb Tide_, to hand. I +propose, if it be not too late, to delete Lloyd’s name. He has nothing +to do with the last half. The first we wrote together, as the beginning +of a long yarn. The second is entirely mine; and I think it rather +unfair on the young man to couple his name with so infamous a work. +Above all, as you had not read the two last chapters, which seem to me +the most ugly and cynical of all. + +You will see that I am not in a good humour; and I am not. It is not +because of your letter, but because of the complicated miseries that +surround me and that I choose to say nothing of. Life is not all Beer +and Skittles. The inherent tragedy of things works itself out from white +to black and blacker, and the poor things of a day look ruefully on. +Does it shake my cast-iron faith? I cannot say it does. I believe in an +ultimate decency of things; ay, and if I woke in hell, should still +believe it! But it is hard walking, and I can see my own share in the +missteps, and can bow my head to the result, like an old, stern, unhappy +devil of a Norseman, as my ultimate character is. . . . + +Well, _il faut cultiver son jardin_. That last expression of poor, +unhappy human wisdom I take to my heart and go to _St. Ives_. + + * * * * * + + 24th _Aug._ + +And did, and worked about 2 hours and got to sleep ultimately and ‘a’ the +clouds has blawn away.’ ‘Be sure we’ll have some pleisand weather, When +a’ the clouds (storms?) has blawn (gone?) away.’ Verses that have a +quite inexplicable attraction for me, and I believe had for Burns. They +have no merit, but are somehow good. I am now in a most excellent +humour. + +I am deep in _St. Ives_ which, I believe, will be the next novel done. +But it is to be clearly understood that I promise nothing, and may throw +in your face the very last thing you expect—or I expect. _St. Ives_ will +(to my mind) not be wholly bad. It is written in rather a funny style; a +little stilted and left-handed; the style of St. Ives; also, to some +extent, the style of R. L. S. dictating. _St. Ives_ is unintellectual +and except as an adventure novel, dull. But the adventures seem to me +sound and pretty probable; and it is a love story. Speed his wings! + + * * * * * + + _Sunday night_. + +_De cœur un peu plus dispos_, _monsieur et cher confrère_, _je me remets +à vous écrire_. _St. Ives_ is now in the 5th chapter copying; in the +14th chapter of the dictated draft. I do not believe I shall end by +disliking it. + + * * * * * + + _Monday_. + +Well, here goes again for the news. Fanny is _very well_ indeed, and in +good spirits; I am in good spirits but not _very_ well; Lloyd is in good +spirits and very well; Belle has a real good fever which has put her pipe +out wholly. Graham goes back this mail. He takes with him three +chapters of _The Family_, and is to go to you as soon as he can. He +cannot be much the master of his movements, but you grip him when you can +and get all you can from him, as he has lived about six months with us +and he can tell you just what is true and what is not—and not the dreams +of dear old Ross. He is a good fellow, is he not? + +Since you rather revise your views of _The Ebb Tide_, I think Lloyd’s +name might stick, but I’ll leave it to you. I’ll tell you just how it +stands. Up to the discovery of the champagne, the tale was all planned +between us and drafted by Lloyd; from that moment he has had nothing to +do with it except talking it over. For we changed our plan, gave up the +projected Monte Cristo, and cut it down for a short story. My +jmpression—(I beg your pardon—this is a local joke—a firm here had on its +beer labels, ‘sole jmporters’)—is that it will never be popular, but +might make a little _succès de scandale_. However, I’m done with it now, +and not sorry, and the crowd may rave and mumble its bones for what I +care. + +Hole essential. I am sorry about the maps; but I want ’em for next +edition, so see and have proofs sent. You are quite right about the +bottle and the great Huish, I must try to make it clear. No, I will not +write a play for Irving nor for the devil. Can you not see that the work +of _falsification_ which a play demands is of all tasks the most +ungrateful? And I have done it a long while—and nothing ever came of it. + +Consider my new proposal, I mean Honolulu. You would get the Atlantic +and the Rocky Mountains, would you not? for bracing. And so much less +sea! And then you could actually see Vailima, which I _would_ like you +to, for it’s beautiful and my home and tomb that is to be; though it’s a +wrench not to be planted in Scotland—that I can never deny—if I could +only be buried in the hills, under the heather and a table tombstone like +the martyrs, where the whaups and plovers are crying! Did you see a man +who wrote the _Stickit Minister_, and dedicated it to me, in words that +brought the tears to my eyes every time I looked at them, ‘Where about +the graves of the martyrs the whaups are crying. _His_ heart remembers +how.’ Ah, by God, it does! Singular that I should fulfil the Scots +destiny throughout, and live a voluntary exile, and have my head filled +with the blessed, beastly place all the time! + +And now a word as regards the delusions of the dear Ross, who remembers, +I believe, my letters and Fanny’s when we were first installed, and were +really hoeing a hard row. We have salad, beans, cabbages, tomatoes, +asparagus, kohl-rabi, oranges, limes, barbadines, pine-apples, Cape +gooseberries—galore; pints of milk and cream; fresh meat five days a +week. It is the rarest thing for any of us to touch a tin; and the +gnashing of teeth when it has to be done is dreadful—for no one who has +not lived on them for six months knows what the Hatred of the Tin is. As +for exposure, my weakness is certainly the reverse; I am sometimes a +month without leaving the verandah—for my sins, be it said! Doubtless, +when I go about and, as the Doctor says, ‘expose myself to malaria,’ I am +in far better health; and I would do so more too—for I do not mean to be +silly—but the difficulties are great. However, you see how much the dear +Doctor knows of my diet and habits! Malaria practically does not exist +in these islands; it is a negligeable quantity. What really bothers us a +little is the mosquito affair—the so-called elephantiasis—ask Ross about +it. A real romance of natural history, _quoi_! + +Hi! stop! you say _The Ebb Tide_ is the ‘working out of an artistic +problem of a kind.’ Well, I should just bet it was! You don’t like +Attwater. But look at my three rogues; they’re all there, I’ll go bail. +Three types of the bad man, the weak man, and the strong man with a +weakness, that are gone through and lived out. + +Yes, of course I was sorry for Mataafa, but a good deal sorrier and +angrier about the mismanagement of all the white officials. I cannot +bear to write about that. Manono all destroyed, one house standing in +Apolima, the women stripped, the prisoners beaten with whips—and the +women’s heads taken—all under white auspices. And for upshot and result +of so much shame to the white powers—Tamasese already conspiring! as I +knew and preached in vain must be the case! Well, well, it is no fun to +meddle in politics! + +I suppose you’re right about Simon. But it is Symon throughout in that +blessed little volume my father bought for me in Inverness in the year of +grace ’81, I believe—the trial of James Stewart, with the Jacobite +pamphlet and the dying speech appended—out of which the whole of Davie +has already been begotten, and which I felt it a kind of loyalty to +follow. I really ought to have it bound in velvet and gold, if I had any +gratitude! and the best of the lark is, that the name of David Balfour is +not anywhere within the bounds of it. + +A pretty curious instance of the genesis of a book. I am delighted at +your good word for _David_; I believe the two together make up much the +best of my work and perhaps of what is in me. I am not ashamed of them, +at least. There is one hitch; instead of three hours between the two +parts, I fear there have passed three years over Davie’s character; but +do not tell anybody; see if they can find it out for themselves; and no +doubt his experiences in _Kidnapped_ would go far to form him. I would +like a copy to go to G. Meredith. + + * * * * * + + _Wednesday_. + +Well, here is a new move. It is likely I may start with Graham next week +and go to Honolulu to meet the other steamer and return: I do believe a +fortnight at sea would do me good; yet I am not yet certain. The crowded +_up_-steamer sticks in my throat. + + * * * * * + + _Tuesday_, 12_th_ _Sept._ + +Yesterday was perhaps the brightest in the annals of Vailima. I got +leave from Captain Bickford to have the band of the _Katoomba_ come up, +and they came, fourteen of ’em, with drum, fife, cymbals and bugles, blue +jackets, white caps, and smiling faces. The house was all decorated with +scented greenery above and below. We had not only our own nine out-door +workers, but a contract party that we took on in charity to pay their +war-fine; the band besides, as it came up the mountain, had collected a +following of children by the way, and we had a picking of Samoan ladies +to receive them. Chicken, ham, cake, and fruits were served out with +coffee and lemonade, and all the afternoon we had rounds of claret negus +flavoured with rum and limes. They played to us, they danced, they sang, +they tumbled. Our boys came in the end of the verandah and gave _them_ a +dance for a while. It was anxious work getting this stopped once it had +begun, but I knew the band was going on a programme. Finally they gave +three cheers for Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, shook hands, formed up and marched +off playing—till a kicking horse in the paddock put their pipes out +something of the suddenest—we thought the big drum was gone, but Simelé +flew to the rescue. And so they wound away down the hill with ever +another call of the bugle, leaving us extinct with fatigue, but perhaps +the most contented hosts that ever watched the departure of successful +guests. Simply impossible to tell how well these blue-jackets behaved; a +most interesting lot of men; this education of boys for the navy is +making a class, wholly apart—how shall I call them?—a kind of lower-class +public school boy, well-mannered, fairly intelligent, sentimental as a +sailor. What is more shall be writ on board ship if anywhere. + +Please send _Catriona_ to G. Meredith. + + * * * * * + + _S. S. Mariposa_. + +To-morrow I reach Honolulu. Good-morning to your honour. R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + + _Waikiki_, _Honolulu_, _H. 1._ + _Oct._ 23rd, 1893. + +DEAR COLVIN,—My wife came up on the steamer and we go home together in 2 +days. I am practically all right, only sleepy and tired easily, slept +yesterday from 11 to 11.45, from 1 to 2.50, went to bed at 8 P.M., and +with an hour’s interval slept till 6 A.M., close upon 14 hours out of the +24. We sail to-morrow. I am anxious to get home, though this has been +an interesting visit, and politics have been curious indeed to study. We +go to P.P.C. on the ‘Queen’ this morning; poor, recluse lady, _abreuvée +d’injures qu’elle est_. Had a rather annoying lunch on board the +American man-of-war, with a member of the P.G. (provincial government); +and a good deal of anti-royalist talk, which I had to sit out—not only +for my host’s sake, but my fellow guests. At last, I took the lead and +changed the conversation. + + R. L. S. + +I am being busted here by party named Hutchinson. Seems good. + + * * * * * + + [_Vailima—November_.] + +Home again, and found all well, thank God. I am perfectly well again and +ruddier than the cherry. Please note that 8000 is not bad for a volume +of short stories; the _Merry Men_ did a good deal worse; the short story +never sells. I hope _Catriona_ will do; that is the important. The +reviews seem mixed and perplexed, and one had the peculiar virtue to make +me angry. I am in a fair way to expiscate my family history. Fanny and +I had a lovely voyage down, with our new C. J. and the American Land +Commissioner, and on the whole, and for these disgusting steamers, a +pleasant ship’s company. I cannot understand why you don’t take to the +Hawaii scheme. Do you understand? You cross the Atlantic in six days, +and go from ’Frisco to Honolulu in seven. Thirteen days at sea _in +all_.—I have no wish to publish _The Ebb Tide_ as a book, let it wait. +It will look well in the portfolio. I would like a copy, of course, for +that end; and to ‘look upon’t again’—which I scarce dare. + + * * * * * + + [_Later_.] + +This is disgraceful. I have done nothing; neither work nor letters. On +the Me (May) day, we had a great triumph; our Protestant boys, instead of +going with their own villages and families, went of their own accord in +the Vailima uniform; Belle made coats for them on purpose to complete the +uniform, they having bought the stuff; and they were hailed as they +marched in as the Tama-ona—the rich man’s children. This is really a +score; it means that Vailima is publicly taken as a family. Then we had +my birthday feast a week late, owing to diarrhoea on the proper occasion. +The feast was laid in the Hall, and was a singular mass of food: 15 pigs, +100 lbs. beef, 100 lbs. pork, and the fruit and filigree in a proportion. +We had sixty horse-posts driven in the gate paddock; how many guests I +cannot guess, perhaps 150. They came between three and four and left +about seven. Seumanu gave me one of his names; and when my name was +called at the ava drinking, behold, it was _Au mai taua ma manu-vao_! +You would scarce recognise me, if you heard me thus referred to! + +Two days after, we hired a carriage in Apia, Fanny, Belle, Lloyd and I, +and drove in great style, with a native outrider, to the prison; a huge +gift of ava and tobacco under the seats. The prison is now under the +_pule_ of an Austrian, Captain Wurmbrand, a soldier of fortune in Servia +and Turkey, a charming, clever, kindly creature, who is adored by ‘_his_ +chiefs’ (as he calls them) meaning _our_ political prisoners. And we +came into the yard, walled about with tinned iron, and drank ava with the +prisoners and the captain. It may amuse you to hear how it is proper to +drink ava. When the cup is handed you, you reach your arm out somewhat +behind you, and slowly pour a libation, saying with somewhat the manner +of prayer, ‘_Ia taumafa e le atua_. _Ua matagofie le fésilafaiga nei_.’ +‘Be it (high-chief) partaken of by the God. How (high chief) beautiful +to view is this (high chief) gathering.’ This pagan practice is very +queer. I should say that the prison ava was of that not very welcome +form that we elegantly call spit-ava, but of course there was no escape, +and it had to be drunk. Fanny and I rode home, and I moralised by the +way. Could we ever stand Europe again? did she appreciate that if we +were in London, we should be _actually jostled_ in the street? and there +was nobody in the whole of Britain who knew how to take ava like a +gentleman? ’Tis funny to be thus of two civilisations—or, if you like, +of one civilisation and one barbarism. And, as usual, the barbarism is +the more engaging. + +Colvin, you have to come here and see us in our [native / mortal] spot. +I just don’t seem to be able to make up my mind to your not coming. By +this time, you will have seen Graham, I hope, and he will be able to tell +you something about us, and something reliable, I shall feel for the +first time as if you knew a little about Samoa after that. Fanny seems +to be in the right way now. I must say she is very, very well for her, +and complains scarce at all. Yesterday, she went down _sola_ (at least +accompanied by a groom) to pay a visit; Belle, Lloyd and I went a walk up +the mountain road—the great public highway of the island, where you have +to go single file. The object was to show Belle that gaudy valley of the +Vaisigano which the road follows. If the road is to be made and opened, +as our new Chief Justice promises, it will be one of the most beautiful +roads in the world. But the point is this: I forgot I had been three +months in civilisation, wearing shoes and stockings, and I tell you I +suffered on my soft feet; coming home, down hill, on that stairway of +loose stones, I could have cried. O yes, another story, I knew I had. +The house boys had not been behaving well, so the other night I announced +a _fono_, and Lloyd and I went into the boys’ quarters, and I talked to +them I suppose for half an hour, and Talolo translated; Lloyd was there +principally to keep another ear on the interpreter; else there may be +dreadful misconceptions. I rubbed all their ears, except two whom I +particularly praised; and one man’s wages I announced I had cut down by +one half. Imagine his taking this smiling! Ever since, he has been +specially attentive and greets me with a face of really heavenly +brightness. This is another good sign of their really and fairly +accepting me as a chief. When I first came here, if I had fined a man a +sixpence, he would have quit work that hour, and now I remove half his +income, and he is glad to stay on—nay, does not seem to entertain the +possibility of leaving. And this in the face of one particular +difficulty—I mean our house in the bush, and no society, and no women +society within decent reach. + +I think I must give you our staff in a tabular form. + + HOUSE. KITCHEN OUTSIDE. ++ o _Sosimo_, provost + o _Talolo_, provost + o _Henry Simelé_, +and butler, and my and chief cook. provost and overseas +valet. of outside boys. + + o _Iopu_, second +o _Misifolo_, who is cook. _Lü_. +Fanny and Belle’s +chamberlain. _Tali_, his wife, no _Tasi Sele_. + wages. + _Maiele_. + _Ti’a_, Samoan cook. + _Pulu_, who is also + _Feiloa’i_, his our talking man and + child, no wages, cries the ava. + likewise no + work—Belle’s pet. + + + o _Leuelu_, Fanny’s + boy, gardener, odd + jobs. + + IN APIA. + + + _Eliga_, washman + and daily errand man. + +The crosses mark out the really excellent boys. Ti’a is the man who has +just been fined half his wages; he is a beautiful old man, the living +image of ‘Fighting Gladiator,’ my favourite statue—but a dreadful humbug. +I think we keep him on a little on account of his looks. This sign o +marks those who have been two years or upwards in the family. I note all +my old boys have the cross of honour, except Misifolo; well, poor dog, he +does his best, I suppose. You should see him scour. It is a remark that +has often been made by visitors: you never see a Samoan run, except at +Vailima. Do you not suppose that makes me proud? + +I am pleased to see what a success _The Wrecker_ was, having already in +little more than a year outstripped _The Master of Ballantrae_. + +About _David Balfour_ in two volumes, do see that they make it a +decent-looking book, and tell me, do you think a little historical +appendix would be of service? Lang bleats for one, and I thought I might +address it to him as a kind of open letter. + + * * * * * + + _Dec._ 4_th_. + +No time after all. Good-bye. + + R. L S. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—One page out of my picture book I must give you. Fine +burning day; half past two P.M. We four begin to rouse up from +reparatory slumbers, yawn, and groan, get a cup of tea, and miserably +dress: we have had a party the day before, X’mas Day, with all the boys +absent but one, and latterly two; we had cooked all day long, a cold +dinner, and lo! at two our guests began to arrive, though dinner was not +till six; they were sixteen, and fifteen slept the night and breakfasted. +Conceive, then, how unwillingly we climb on our horses and start off in +the hottest part of the afternoon to ride 4½ miles, attend a native feast +in the gaol, and ride four and a half miles back. But there is no help +for it. I am a sort of father of the political prisoners, and have +_charge d’âmes_ in that riotously absurd establishment, Apia Gaol. The +twenty-three (I think it is) chiefs act as under gaolers. The other day +they told the Captain of an attempt to escape. One of the lesser +political prisoners the other day effected a swift capture, while the +Captain was trailing about with the warrant; the man came to see what was +wanted; came, too, flanked by the former gaoler; my prisoner offers to +show him the dark cell, shoves him in, and locks the door. ‘Why do you +do that?’ cries the former gaoler. ‘A warrant,’ says he. Finally, the +chiefs actually feed the soldiery who watch them! + +The gaol is a wretched little building, containing a little room, and +three cells, on each side of a central passage; it is surrounded by a +fence of corrugated iron, and shows, over the top of that, only a gable +end with the inscription _O le Fale Puipui_. It is on the edge of the +mangrove swamp, and is reached by a sort of causeway of turf. When we +drew near, we saw the gates standing open and a prodigious crowd +outside—I mean prodigious for Apia, perhaps a hundred and fifty people. +The two sentries at the gate stood to arms passively, and there seemed to +be a continuous circulation inside and out. The captain came to meet us; +our boy, who had been sent ahead was there to take the horses; and we +passed inside the court which was full of food, and rang continuously to +the voice of the caller of gifts; I had to blush a little later when my +own present came, and I heard my one pig and eight miserable pine-apples +being counted out like guineas. In the four corners of the yard and +along one wall, there are make-shift, dwarfish, Samoan houses or huts, +which have been run up since Captain Wurmbrand came to accommodate the +chiefs. Before that they were all crammed into the six cells, and locked +in for the night, some of them with dysentery. They are wretched +constructions enough, but sanctified by the presence of chiefs. We heard +a man corrected loudly to-day for saying ‘_Fale_’ of one of them; +‘_Maota_,’ roared the highest chief present—‘palace.’ About eighteen +chiefs, gorgeously arrayed, stood up to greet us, and led us into one of +these _maotas_, where you may be sure we had to crouch, almost to kneel, +to enter, and where a row of pretty girls occupied one side to make the +ava (kava). The highest chief present was a magnificent man, as high +chiefs usually are; I find I cannot describe him; his face is full of +shrewdness and authority; his figure like Ajax; his name Auilua. He took +the head of the building and put Belle on his right hand. Fanny was +called first for the ava (kava). Our names were called in English style, +the high-chief wife of Mr. St— (an unpronounceable something); Mrs. +Straw, and the like. And when we went into the other house to eat, we +found we were seated alternately with chiefs about the—table, I was about +to say, but rather floor. Everything was to be done European style with +a vengeance! We were the only whites present, except Wurmbrand, and +still I had no suspicion of the truth. They began to take off their ulas +(necklaces of scarlet seeds) and hang them about our necks; we politely +resisted, and were told that the King (who had stopped off their _siva_) +had sent down to the prison a message to the effect that he was to give a +dinner to-morrow, and wished their second-hand ulas for it. Some of them +were content; others not. There was a ring of anger in the boy’s voice, +as he told us we were to wear them past the King’s house. Dinner over, I +must say they are moderate eaters at a feast, we returned to the ava +house; and then the curtain drew suddenly up upon the set scene. We took +our seats, and Auilua began to give me a present, recapitulating each +article as he gave it out, with some appropriate comment. He called me +several times ‘their only friend,’ said they were all in slavery, had no +money, and these things were all made by the hands of their +families—nothing bought; he had one phrase, in which I heard his voice +rise up to a note of triumph: ‘This is a present from the poor prisoners +to the rich man.’ Thirteen pieces of tapa, some of them surprisingly +fine, one I think unique; thirty fans of every shape and colour; a kava +cup, etc., etc. At first Auilua conducted the business with weighty +gravity; but before the end of the thirty fans, his comments began to be +humorous. When it came to a little basket, he said: ‘Here was a little +basket for Tusitala to put sixpence in, when he could get hold of +one’—with a delicious grimace. I answered as best as I was able through +a miserable interpreter; and all the while, as I went on, I heard the +crier outside in the court calling my gift of food, which I perceived was +to be Gargantuan. I had brought but three boys with me. It was plain +that they were wholly overpowered. We proposed to send for our gifts on +the morrow; but no, said the interpreter, that would never do; they must +go away to-day, Mulinuu must see my porters taking away the gifts,—‘make +’em jella,’ quoth the interpreter. And I began to see the reason of this +really splendid gift; one half, gratitude to me—one half, a wipe at the +King. + +And now, to introduce darker colours, you must know this visit of mine to +the gaol was just a little bit risky; we had several causes for anxiety; +it _might_ have been put up, to connect with a Tamasese rising. Tusitala +and his family would be good hostages. On the other hand, there were the +Mulinuu people all about. We could see the anxiety of Captain Wurmbrand, +no less anxious to have us go, than he had been to see us come; he was +deadly white and plainly had a bad headache, in the noisy scene. +Presently, the noise grew uproarious; there was a rush at the gate—a rush +in, not a rush out—where the two sentries still stood passive; Auilua +leaped from his place (it was then that I got the name of Ajax for him) +and the next moment we heard his voice roaring and saw his mighty figure +swaying to and fro in the hurly-burly. As the deuce would have it, we +could not understand a word of what was going on. It might be nothing +more than the ordinary ‘grab racket’ with which a feast commonly +concludes; it might be something worse. We made what arrangements we +could for my tapa, fans, etc., as well as for my five pigs, my masses of +fish, taro, etc., and with great dignity, and ourselves laden with ulas +and other decorations, passed between the sentries among the howling mob +to our horses. All’s well that ends well. Owing to Fanny and Belle, we +had to walk; and, as Lloyd said, ‘he had at last ridden in a circus.’ +The whole length of Apia we paced our triumphal progress, past the King’s +palace, past the German firm at Sogi—you can follow it on the map—amidst +admiring exclamations of ‘_Mawaia_’—beautiful—it may be rendered ‘O my! +ain’t they dandy’—until we turned up at last into our road as the dusk +deepened into night. It was really exciting. And there is one thing +sure: no such feast was ever made for a single family, and no such +present ever given to a single white man. It is something to have been +the hero of it. And whatever other ingredients there were, undoubtedly +gratitude was present. As money value I have actually gained on the +transaction! + +Your note arrived; little profit, I must say. Scott has already put his +nose in, in _St. Ives_, sir; but his appearance is not yet complete; +nothing is in that romance, except the story. I have to announce that I +am off work, probably for six months. I must own that I have overworked +bitterly—overworked—there, that’s legible. My hand is a thing that was, +and in the meanwhile so are my brains. And here, in the very midst, +comes a plausible scheme to make Vailima pay, which will perhaps let me +into considerable expense just when I don’t want it. You know the vast +cynicism of my view of affairs, and how readily and (as some people say) +with how much gusto I take the darker view? + +Why do you not send me Jerome K. Jerome’s paper, and let me see _The Ebb +Tide_ as a serial? It is always very important to see a thing in +different presentments. I want every number. Politically we begin the +new year with every expectation of a bust in 2 or 3 days, a bust which +may spell destruction to Samoa. I have written to Baxter about his +proposal. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + + _Vailima_, + _Jan._ 29_th_, 1894. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—I had fully intended for your education and moral health +to fob you off with the meanest possible letter this month, and +unfortunately I find I will have to treat you to a good long account of +matters here. I believe I have told you before about Tui-ma-le-alii-fano +and my taking him down to introduce him to the Chief Justice. Well, Tui +came back to Vailima one day in the blackest sort of spirits, saying the +war was decided, that he also must join in the fight, and that there was +no hope whatever of success. He must fight as a point of honour for his +family and country; and in his case, even if he escaped on the field of +battle, deportation was the least to be looked for. He said he had a +letter of complaint from the Great Council of A’ana which he wished to +lay before the Chief Justice; and he asked me to accompany him as if I +were his nurse. We went down about dinner time; and by the way received +from a lurking native the famous letter in an official blue envelope +gummed up to the edges. It proved to be a declaration of war, quite +formal, but with some variations that really made you bounce. White +residents were directly threatened, bidden to have nothing to do with the +King’s party, not to receive their goods in their houses, etc., under +pain of an accident. However, the Chief Justice took it very wisely and +mildly, and between us, he and I and Tui made up a plan which has proved +successful—so far. The war is over—fifteen chiefs are this morning +undergoing a curious double process of law, comparable to a court +martial; in which their complaints are to be considered, and if possible +righted, while their conduct is to be criticised, perhaps punished. Up +to now, therefore, it has been a most successful policy; but the danger +is before us. My own feeling would decidedly be that all would be +spoiled by a single execution. The great hope after all lies in the +knotless, rather flaccid character of the people. These are no Maoris. +All the powers that Cedarcrantz let go by disuse the new C. J. is +stealthily and boldly taking back again; perhaps some others also. He +has shamed the chiefs in Mulinuu into a law against taking heads, with a +punishment of six years’ imprisonment and, for a chief, degradation. To +him has been left the sole conduct of this anxious and decisive inquiry. +If the natives stand it, why, well! But I am nervous. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + + _Feb._ 1894. + +DEAR COLVIN,—By a reaction, when your letter is a little decent, mine is +to be naked and unashamed. We have been much exercised. No one can +prophesy here, of course, and the balance still hangs trembling, but I +_think_ it will go for peace. + +The mail was very late this time; hence the paltryness of this note. +When it came and I had read it, I retired with _The Ebb Tide_ and read it +all before I slept. I did not dream it was near as good; I am afraid I +think it excellent. A little indecision about Attwater, not much. It +gives me great hope, as I see I _can_ work in that constipated, mosaic +manner, which is what I have to do just now with _Weir of Hermiston_. + +We have given a ball; I send you a paper describing the event. We have +two guests in the house, Captain-Count Wurmbrand and Monsieur Albert de +Lautreppe. Lautreppe is awfully nice—a quiet, gentlemanly fellow, +_gonflé de rêves_, as he describes himself—once a sculptor in the atelier +of Henry Crosse, he knows something of art, and is really a resource to +me. + +Letter from Meredith very kind. Have you seen no more of Graham? + +What about my grandfather? The family history will grow to be quite a +chapter. + +I suppose I am growing sensitive; perhaps, by living among barbarians, I +expect more civility. Look at this from the author of a very interesting +and laudatory critique. He gives quite a false description of something +of mine, and talks about my ‘insolence.’ Frankly, I supposed ‘insolence’ +to be a tapua word. I do not use it to a gentleman, I would not write it +of a gentleman: I may be wrong, but I believe we did not write it of a +gentleman in old days, and in my view he (clever fellow as he is) wants +to be kicked for applying it to me. By writing a novel—even a bad one—I +do not make myself a criminal for anybody to insult. This may amuse you. +But either there is a change in journalism, too gradual for you to remark +it on the spot, or there is a change in me. I cannot bear these phrases; +I long to resent them. My forbears, the tenant farmers of the Mains, +would not have suffered such expressions unless it had been from +Cauldwell, or Rowallan, or maybe Auchendrane. My Family Pride bristles. +I am like the negro, ‘I just heard last night’ who my great, great, +great, great grandfather was.—Ever yours, + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + + _March_ 1894. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—This is the very day the mail goes, and I have as yet +written you nothing. But it was just as well—as it was all about my +‘blacks and chocolates,’ and what of it had relation to whites you will +read some of in the _Times_. It means, as you will see, that I have at +one blow quarrelled with all the officials of Samoa, the Foreign Office, +and I suppose her Majesty the Queen with milk and honey blest. But +you’ll see in the _Times_. I am very well indeed, but just about dead +and mighty glad the mail is near here, and I can just give up all hope of +contending with my letters, and lie down for the rest of the day. These +_Times_ letters are not easy to write. And I dare say the Consuls say, +‘Why, then, does he write them?’ + +I had miserable luck with _St. Ives_; being already half-way through it, +a book I had ordered six months ago arrives at last, and I have to change +the first half of it from top to bottom! How could I have dreamed the +French prisoners were watched over like a female charity school, kept in +a grotesque livery, and shaved twice a week? And I had made all my +points on the idea that they were unshaved and clothed anyhow. However, +this last is better business; if only the book had come when I ordered +it! _A propos_, many of the books you announce don’t come as a matter of +fact. When they are of any value, it is best to register them. Your +letter, alas! is not here; I sent it down to the cottage, with all my +mail, for Fanny; on Sunday night a boy comes up with a lantern and a note +from Fanny, to say the woods are full of Atuas and I must bring a horse +down that instant, as the posts are established beyond her on the road, +and she does not want to have the fight going on between us. Impossible +to get a horse; so I started in the dark on foot, with a revolver, and my +spurs on my bare feet, leaving directions that the boy should mount after +me with the horse. Try such an experience on Our Road once, and do it, +if you please, after you have been down town from nine o’clock till six, +on board the ship-of-war lunching, teaching Sunday School (I actually do) +and making necessary visits; and the Saturday before, having sat all day +from half past six to half-past four, scriving at my _Times_ letter. +About half-way up, just in fact at ‘point’ of the outposts, I met Fanny +coming up. Then all night long I was being wakened with scares that +really should be looked into, though I _knew_ there was nothing in them +and no bottom to the whole story; and the drums and shouts and cries from +Tanugamanono and the town keeping up an all night corybantic chorus in +the moonlight—the moon rose late—and the search-light of the war-ship in +the harbour making a jewel of brightness as it lit up the bay of Apia in +the distance. And then next morning, about eight o’clock, a drum coming +out of the woods and a party of patrols who had been in the woods on our +left front (which is our true rear) coming up to the house, and meeting +there another party who had been in the woods on our right [front / rear] +which is Vaea Mountain, and 43 of them being entertained to ava and +biscuits on the verandah, and marching off at last in single file for +Apia. Briefly, it is not much wonder if your letter and my whole mail +was left at the cottage, and I have no means of seeing or answering +particulars. + +The whole thing was nothing but a bottomless scare; it was _obviously_ +so; you couldn’t make a child believe it was anything else, but it has +made the Consuls sit up. My own private scares were really abominably +annoying; as for instance after I had got to sleep for the ninth time +perhaps—and that was no easy matter either, for I had a crick in my neck +so agonising that I had to sleep sitting up—I heard noises as of a man +being murdered in the boys’ house. To be sure, said I, this is nothing +again, but if a man’s head was being taken, the noises would be the same! +So I had to get up, stifle my cries of agony from the crick, get my +revolver, and creep out stealthily to the boys’ house. And there were +two of them sitting up, keeping watch of their own accord like good boys, +and whiling the time over a game of Sweepi (Cascino—the whist of our +islanders)—and one of them was our champion idiot, Misifolo, and I +suppose he was holding bad cards, and losing all the time—and these +noises were his humorous protests against Fortune! + +Well, excuse this excursion into my ‘blacks and chocolates.’ It is the +last. You will have heard from Lysaght how I failed to write last mail. +The said Lysaght seems to me a very nice fellow. We were only sorry he +could not stay with us longer. Austin came back from school last week, +which made a great time for the Amanuensis, you may be sure. Then on +Saturday, the _Curaçoa_ came in—same commission, with all our old +friends; and on Sunday, as already mentioned, Austin and I went down to +service and had lunch afterwards in the wardroom. The officers were +awfully nice to Austin; they are the most amiable ship in the world; and +after lunch we had a paper handed round on which we were to guess, and +sign our guess, of the number of leaves on the pine-apple; I never saw +this game before, but it seems it is much practised in the Queen’s Navee. +When all have betted, one of the party begins to strip the pine-apple +head, and the person whose guess is furthest out has to pay for the +sherry. My equanimity was disturbed by shouts of _The American +Commodore_, and I found that Austin had entered and lost about a bottle +of sherry! He turned with great composure and addressed me. ‘I am +afraid I must look to you, Uncle Louis.’ The Sunday School racket is +only an experiment which I took up at the request of the late American +Land Commissioner; I am trying it for a month, and if I do as ill as I +believe, and the boys find it only half as tedious as I do, I think it +will end in a month. I have _carte blanche_, and say what I like; but +does any single soul understand me? + +Fanny is on the whole very much better. Lloyd has been under the +weather, and goes for a month to the South Island of New Zealand for some +skating, save the mark! I get all the skating I want among officials. + +Dear Colvin, please remember that my life passes among my ‘blacks or +chocolates.’ If I were to do as you propose, in a bit of a tiff, it +would cut you off entirely from my life. You must try to exercise a +trifle of imagination, and put yourself, perhaps with an effort, into +some sort of sympathy with these people, or how am I to write to you? I +think you are truly a little too Cockney with me.—Ever yours, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + + _Vailima_, _May_ 18_th_, 1894. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—Your proposals for the Edinburgh edition are entirely to +my mind. About the _Amateur Emigrant_, it shall go to you by this mail +well slashed. If you like to slash some more on your own account, I give +you permission. ’Tis not a great work; but since it goes to make up the +two first volumes as proposed, I presume it has not been written in +vain.—_Miscellanies_. I see with some alarm the proposal to print +_Juvenilia_; does it not seem to you taking myself a little too much as +Grandfather William? I am certainly not so young as I once was—a lady +took occasion to remind me of the fact no later agone than last night. +‘Why don’t you leave that to the young men, Mr. Stevenson?’ said she—but +when I remember that I felt indignant at even John Ruskin when he did +something of the kind I really feel myself blush from head to heel. If +you want to make up the first volume, there are a good many works which I +took the trouble to prepare for publication and which have never been +republished. In addition to _Roads_ and _Dancing Children_, referred to +by you, there is an Autumn effect in the _Portfolio_, and a paper on +_Fontainebleau—Forest Notes_ is the name of it—in _Cornhill_. I have no +objection to any of these being edited, say with a scythe, and +reproduced. But I heartily abominate and reject the idea of reprinting +the _Pentland Rising_. For God’s sake let me get buried first. + +_Tales and Fantasies_. Vols. I. and II. have my hearty approval. But I +think III. and IV. had better be crammed into one as you suggest. I will +reprint none of the stories mentioned. They are below the mark. Well, I +dare say the beastly _Body-Snatcher_ has merit, and I am unjust to it +from my recollections of the _Pall Mall_. But the other two won’t do. +For vols. V. and VI., now changed into IV. and V., I propose the common +title of _South Sea Yarns_. There! These are all my differences of +opinion. I agree with every detail of your arrangement, and, as you see, +my objections have turned principally on the question of hawking unripe +fruit. I daresay it is all pretty green, but that is no reason for us to +fill the barrow with trash. Think of having a new set of type cast, +paper especially made, etc., in order to set up rubbish that is not fit +for the _Saturday Scotsman_. It would be the climax of shame. + +I am sending you a lot of verses, which had best, I think, be called +_Underwoods_ Book III., but in what order are they to go? Also, I am +going on every day a little, till I get sick of it, with the attempt to +get the _Emigrant_ compressed into life; I know I can—or you can after +me—do it. It is only a question of time and prayer and ink, and should +leave something, no, not good, but not all bad—a very genuine +appreciation of these folks. You are to remember besides there is that +paper of mine on Bunyan in _The Magazine of Art_. O, and then there’s +another thing in _Seeley_ called some spewsome name, I cannot recall it. + +Well—come, here goes for _Juvenilia_. _Dancing Infants_, _Roads_, _An +Autumn Effect_, _Forest Notes_ (but this should come at the end of them, +as it’s really rather riper), the t’other thing from _Seeley_, and I’ll +tell you, you may put in my letter to the Church of Scotland—it’s not +written amiss, and I daresay the _Philosophy of Umbrellas_ might go in, +but there I stick—and remember _that_ was a collaboration with James +Walter Ferrier. O, and there was a little skit called the _Charity +Bazaar_, which you might see; I don’t think it would do. Now, I do not +think there are two other words that should be printed.—By the way, there +is an article of mine called _The Day after To-morrow_ in the +_Contemporary_ which you might find room for somewhere; it is no’ bad. + +Very busy with all these affairs and some native ones also. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + + _Vailima_, June 18th, 94. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—You are to please understand that my last letter is +withdrawn unconditionally. You and Baxter are having all the trouble of +this Edition, and I simply put myself in your hands for you to do what +you like with me, and I am sure that will be the best, at any rate. +Hence you are to conceive me withdrawing all objections to your printing +anything you please. After all it is a sort of family affair. About the +Miscellany Section, both plans seem to me quite good. Toss up. I think +the _Old Gardener_ has to stay where I put him last. It would not do to +separate John and Robert. + +In short, I am only sorry I ever uttered a word about the edition, and +leave you to be the judge. I have had a vile cold which has prostrated +me for more than a fortnight, and even now tears me nightly with +spasmodic coughs; but it has been a great victory. I have never borne a +cold with so little hurt; wait till the clouds blow by, before you begin +to boast! I have had no fever; and though I’ve been very unhappy, it is +nigh over, I think. Of course, _St. Ives_ has paid the penalty. I must +not let you be disappointed in _St. I._ It is a mere tissue of +adventures; the central figure not very well or very sharply drawn; no +philosophy, no destiny, to it; some of the happenings very good in +themselves, I believe, but none of them _bildende_, none of them +constructive, except in so far perhaps as they make up a kind of sham +picture of the time, all in italics and all out of drawing. Here and +there, I think, it is well written; and here and there it’s not. Some of +the episodic characters are amusing, I do believe; others not, I suppose. +However, they are the best of the thing such as it is. If it has a merit +to it, I should say it was a sort of deliberation and swing to the style, +which seems to me to suit the mail-coaches and post-chaises with which it +sounds all through. ’Tis my most prosaic book. + +I called on the two German ships now in port, and we are quite friendly +with them, and intensely friendly of course with our own _Curaçoas_. But +it is other guess work on the beach. Some one has employed, or +subsidised, one of the local editors to attack me once a week. He is +pretty scurrilous and pretty false. The first effect of the perusal of +the weekly Beast is to make me angry; the second is a kind of deep, +golden content and glory, when I seem to say to people: ‘See! this is my +position—I am a plain man dwelling in the bush in a house, and behold +they have to get up this kind of truck against me—and I have so much +influence that they are obliged to write a weekly article to say I have +none.’ + +By this time you must have seen Lysaght and forgiven me the letter that +came not at all. He was really so nice a fellow—he had so much to tell +me of Meredith—and the time was so short—that I gave up the intervening +days between mails entirely to entertain him. + +We go on pretty nicely. Fanny, Belle, and I have had two months alone, +and it has been very pleasant. But by to-morrow or next day noon, we +shall see the whole clan assembled again about Vailima table, which will +be pleasant too; seven persons in all, and the Babel of voices will be +heard again in the big hall so long empty and silent. Good-bye. Love to +all. Time to close.—Yours ever, + + R. L. S. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + + _July_, 1894. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—I have to thank you this time for a very good letter, and +will announce for the future, though I cannot now begin to put in +practice, good intentions for our correspondence. I will try to return +to the old system and write from time to time during the month; but truly +you did not much encourage me to continue! However, that is all by-past. +I do not know that there is much in your letter that calls for answer. +Your questions about _St. Ives_ were practically answered in my last; so +were your wails about the edition, _Amateur Emigrant_, etc. By the end +of the year _St. I._ will be practically finished, whatever it be worth, +and that I know not. When shall I receive proofs of the _Magnum Opus_? +or shall I receive them at all? + +The return of the Amanuensis feebly lightens my heart. You can see the +heavy weather I was making of it with my unaided pen. The last month has +been particularly cheery largely owing to the presence of our good +friends the _Curaçoas_. She is really a model ship, charming officers +and charming seamen. They gave a ball last month, which was very rackety +and joyous and naval. . . . + +On the following day, about one o’clock, three horsemen might have been +observed approaching Vailima, who gradually resolved themselves into two +petty officers and a native guide. Drawing himself up and saluting, the +spokesman (a corporal of Marines) addressed me thus. ‘Me and my +shipmates inwites Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, Mrs. Strong, Mr. Austin, and Mr. +Balfour to a ball to be given to-night in the self-same ‘all.’ It was of +course impossible to refuse, though I contented myself with putting in a +very brief appearance. One glance was sufficient; the ball went off like +a rocket from the start. I had only time to watch Belle careering around +with a gallant bluejacket of exactly her own height—the standard of the +British navy—an excellent dancer and conspicuously full of small-talk—and +to hear a remark from a beach-comber, ‘It’s a nice sight this some way, +to see the officers dancing like this with the men, but I tell you, sir, +these are the men that’ll fight together!’ + +I tell you, Colvin, the acquaintance of the men—and boys—makes me feel +patriotic. Eeles in particular is a man whom I respect. I am half in a +mind to give him a letter of introduction to you when he goes home. In +case you feel inclined to make a little of him, give him a dinner, ask +Henry James to come to meet him, etc.—you might let me know. I don’t +know that he would show his best, but he is a remarkably fine fellow, in +every department of life. + +We have other visitors in port. A Count Festetics de Solna, an Austrian +officer, a very pleasant, simple, boyish creature, with his young wife, +daughter of an American millionaire; he is a friend of our own Captain +Wurmbrand, and it is a great pity Wurmbrand is away. + +Glad you saw and liked Lysaght. He has left in our house a most cheerful +and pleasing memory, as a good, pleasant, brisk fellow with good health +and brains, and who enjoys himself and makes other people happy. I am +glad he gave you a good report of our surroundings and way of life; but I +knew he would, for I believe he had a glorious time—and gave one. + +I am on fair terms with the two Treaty officials, though all such +intimacies are precarious; with the consuls, I need not say, my position +is deplorable. The President (Herr Emil Schmidt) is a rather dreamy man, +whom I like. Lloyd, Graham and I go to breakfast with him to-morrow; the +next day the whole party of us lunch on the _Curaçoa_ and go in the +evening to a _Bierabend_ at Dr. Funk’s. We are getting up a paper-chase +for the following week with some of the young German clerks, and have in +view a sort of child’s party for grown-up persons with kissing games, +etc., here at Vailima. Such is the gay scene in which we move. Now I +have done something, though not as much as I wanted, to give you an idea +of how we are getting on, and I am keenly conscious that there are other +letters to do before the mail goes.—Yours ever, + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + + _Aug._ 7_th_. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—This is to inform you, sir, that on Sunday last (and this +is Tuesday) I attained my ideal here, and we had a paper chase in Vailele +Plantation, about 15 miles, I take it, from us; and it was all that could +be wished. It is really better fun than following the hounds, since you +have to be your own hound, and a precious bad hound I was, following +every false scent on the whole course to the bitter end; but I came in +3rd at the last on my little Jack, who stuck to it gallantly, and awoke +the praises of some discriminating persons. (5 + 7 + 2.5 = 14.5 miles; +yes, that is the count.) We had quite the old sensations of +exhilaration, discovery, an appeal to a savage instinct; and I felt +myself about 17 again, a pleasant experience. However, it was on the +Sabbath Day, and I am now a pariah among the English, as if I needed any +increment of unpopularity. I must not go again; it gives so much +unnecessary tribulation to poor people, and, sure, we don’t want to make +tribulation. I have been forbidden to work, and have been instead doing +my two or three hours in the plantation every morning. I only wish +somebody would pay me £10 a day for taking care of cacao, and I could +leave literature to others. Certainly, if I have plenty of exercise, and +no work, I feel much better; but there is Biles the butcher! him we have +always with us. + +I do not much like novels, I begin to think, but I am enjoying +exceedingly Orme’s _History of Hindostan_, a lovely book in its way, in +large quarto, with a quantity of maps, and written in a very lively and +solid eighteenth century way, never picturesque except by accident and +from a kind of conviction, and a fine sense of order. No historian I +have ever read is so minute; yet he never gives you a word about the +people; his interest is entirely limited in the concatenation of events, +into which he goes with a lucid, almost superhuman, and wholly ghostly +gusto. ‘By the ghost of a mathematician’ the book might be announced. A +very brave, honest book. + +Your letter to hand. + +Fact is, I don’t like the picter. O, it’s a good picture, but if you +_ask_ me, you know, I believe, stoutly believe, that mankind, including +you, are going mad, I am not in the midst with the other frenzy dancers, +so I don’t catch it wholly; and when you show me a thing—and ask me, +don’t you know—Well, well! Glad to get so good an account of the +_Amateur Emigrant_. Talking of which, I am strong for making a volume +out of selections from the South Sea letters; I read over again the King +of Apemama, and it is good in spite of your teeth, and a real curiosity, +a thing that can never be seen again, and the group is annexed and +Tembinoka dead. I wonder, couldn’t you send out to me the _first_ five +Butaritari letters and the Low Archipelago ones (both of which I have +lost or mislaid) and I can chop out a perfectly fair volume of what I +wish to be preserved. It can keep for the last of the series. + +_Travels and Excursions_, vol. II. Should it not include a paper on S. +F. from the _Mag. of Art_? The A. E., the New Pacific capital, the Old +ditto. _Silver. Squat._ This would give all my works on the States; and +though it ain’t very good, it’s not so very bad. _Travels and +Excursions_, vol. III., to be these resuscitated letters—_Miscellanies_, +vol. II.—_comme vous voudrez_, _cher monsieur_! + + * * * * * + + _Monday_, Aug. 13_th_. + +I have a sudden call to go up the coast and must hurry up with my +information. There has suddenly come to our naval commanders the need of +action, they’re away up the coast bombarding the Atua rebels. All +morning on Saturday the sound of the bombardment of Lotuanu’u kept us +uneasy. To-day again the big guns have been sounding further along the +coast. + +To-morrow morning early I am off up the coast myself. Therefore you must +allow me to break off here without further ceremony.—Yours ever, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + + _Vailima_, 1894. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—This must be a very measly letter. I have been trying +hard to get along with _St. Ives_. I should now lay it aside for a year +and I daresay I should make something of it after all. Instead of that, +I have to kick against the pricks, and break myself, and spoil the book, +if there were anything to spoil, which I am far from saying. I’m as sick +of the thing as ever any one can be; it’s a rudderless hulk; it’s a +pagoda, and you can just feel—or I can feel—that it might have been a +pleasant story, if it had been only blessed at baptism. + +Our politics have gone on fairly well, but the result is still doubtful. + + * * * * * + + _Sept._ 10_th_. + +I know I have something else to say to you, but unfortunately I awoke +this morning with collywobbles, and had to take a small dose of laudanum +with the usual consequences of dry throat, intoxicated legs, partial +madness and total imbecility; and for the life of me I cannot remember +what it is. I have likewise mislaid your letter amongst the +accumulations on my table, not that there was anything in it. Altogether +I am in a poor state. I forgot to tell Baxter that the dummy had turned +up and is a fine, personable-looking volume and very good reading. +Please communicate this to him. + +I have just remembered an incident that I really must not let pass. You +have heard a great deal more than you wanted about our political +prisoners. Well, one day, about a fortnight ago, the last of them was +set free—Old Poè, whom I think I must have mentioned to you, the +father-in-law of my cook, was one that I had had a great deal of trouble +with. I had taken the doctor to see him, got him out on sick leave, and +when he was put back again gave bail for him. I must not forget that my +wife ran away with him out of the prison on the doctor’s orders and with +the complicity of our friend the gaoler, who really and truly got the +sack for the exploit. As soon as he was finally liberated, Poè called a +meeting of his fellow-prisoners. All Sunday they were debating what they +were to do, and on Monday morning I got an obscure hint from Talolo that +I must expect visitors during the day who were coming to consult me. +These consultations I am now very well used to, and seeing first, that I +generally don’t know what to advise, and second that they sometimes don’t +take my advice—though in some notable cases they have taken it, generally +to my own wonder with pretty good results—I am not very fond of these +calls. They minister to a sense of dignity, but not peace of mind, and +consume interminable time always in the morning too, when I can’t afford +it. However, this was to be a new sort of consultation. Up came Poè and +some eight other chiefs, squatted in a big circle around the old +dining-room floor, now the smoking-room. And the family, being +represented by Lloyd, Graham, Belle, Austin and myself, proceeded to +exchange the necessary courtesies. Then their talking man began. He +said that they had been in prison, that I had always taken an interest in +them, that they had now been set at liberty without condition, whereas +some of the other chiefs who had been liberated before them were still +under bond to work upon the roads, and that this had set them considering +what they might do to testify their gratitude. They had therefore agreed +to work upon my road as a free gift. They went on to explain that it was +only to be on my road, on the branch that joins my house with the public +way. + +Now I was very much gratified at this compliment, although (to one used +to natives) it seemed rather a hollow one. It meant only that I should +have to lay out a good deal of money on tools and food and to give wages +under the guise of presents to some workmen who were most of them old and +in ill-health. Conceive how much I was surprised and touched when I +heard the whole scheme explained to me. They were to return to their +provinces, and collect their families; some of the young men were to live +in Apia with a boat, and ply up and down the coast to A’ana and A’tua +(our own Tuamasaga being quite drained of resources) in order to supply +the working squad with food. Tools they did ask for, but it was +especially mentioned that I was to make no presents. In short, the whole +of this little ‘presentation’ to me had been planned with a good deal +more consideration than goes usually with a native campaign. + +(I sat on the opposite side of the circle to the talking man. His face +was quite calm and high-bred as he went through the usual Samoan +expressions of politeness and compliment, but when he came on to the +object of their visit, on their love and gratitude to Tusitala, how his +name was always in their prayers, and his goodness to them when they had +no other friend, was their most cherished memory, he warmed up to real, +burning, genuine feeling. I had never seen the Samoan mask of reserve +laid aside before, and it touched me more than anything else. A.M.) + +This morning as ever was, bright and early up came the whole gang of +them, a lot of sturdy, common-looking lads they seemed to be for the most +part, and fell to on my new road. Old Poè was in the highest of good +spirits, and looked better in health than he has done any time in two +years, being positively rejuvenated by the success of his scheme. He +jested as he served out the new tools, and I am sorry to say damned the +Government up hill and down dale, probably with a view to show off his +position as a friend of the family before his work-boys. Now, whether or +not their impulse will last them through the road does not matter to me +one hair. It is the fact that they have attempted it, that they have +volunteered and are now really trying to execute a thing that was never +before heard of in Samoa. Think of it! It is road-making—the most +fruitful cause (after taxes) of all rebellions in Samoa, a thing to which +they could not be wiled with money nor driven by punishment. It does +give me a sense of having done something in Samoa after all. + +Now there’s one long story for you about ‘my blacks.’—Yours ever, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + + + _Vailima_, _Samoa_, + _Oct._ 6_th_, 1894. + +MY DEAR COLVIN,—We have had quite an interesting month and mostly in +consideration of that road which I think I told you was about to be made. +It was made without a hitch, though I confess I was considerably +surprised. When they got through, I wrote a speech to them, sent it down +to a Missionary to be translated, and invited the lot to a feast. I +thought a good deal of this feast. The occasion was really interesting. +I wanted to pitch it in hot. And I wished to have as many influential +witnesses present as possible. Well, as it drew towards the day I had +nothing but refusals. Everybody supposed it was to be a political +occasion, that I had made a hive of rebels up here, and was going to push +for new hostilities. + +The Amanuensis has been ill, and after the above trial petered out. I +must return to my own, lone Waverley. The captain refused, telling me +why; and at last I had to beat up for people almost with prayers. +However, I got a good lot, as you will see by the accompanying newspaper +report. The road contained this inscription, drawn up by the chiefs +themselves: + + ‘THE ROAD OF GRATITUDE.’ + +‘Considering the great love of Tusitala in his loving care of us in our +distress in the prison, we have therefore prepared a splendid gift. It +shall never be muddy, it shall endure for ever, this road that we have +dug.’ This the newspaper reporter could not give, not knowing any +Samoan. The same reason explains his references to Seumanutafa’s speech, +which was not long and _was_ important, for it was a speech of courtesy +and forgiveness to his former enemies. It was very much applauded. +Secondly, it was not Poè, it was Mataafã (don’t confuse with Mataafa) who +spoke for the prisoners. Otherwise it is extremely correct. + +I beg your pardon for so much upon my aboriginals. Even you must +sympathise with me in this unheard-of compliment, and my having been able +to deliver so severe a sermon with acceptance. It remains a nice point +of conscience what I should wish done in the matter. I think this +meeting, its immediate results, and the terms of what I said to them, +desirable to be known. It will do a little justice to me, who have not +had too much justice done me. At the same time, to send this report to +the papers is truly an act of self-advertisement, and I dislike the +thought. Query, in a man who has been so much calumniated, is that not +justifiable? I do not know; be my judge. Mankind is too complicated for +me; even myself. Do I wish to advertise? I think I do, God help me! I +have had hard times here, as every man must have who mixes up with public +business; and I bemoan myself, knowing that all I have done has been in +the interest of peace and good government; and having once delivered my +mind, I would like it, I think, to be made public. But the other part of +me _regimbs_. + +I know I am at a climacteric for all men who live by their wits, so I do +not despair. But the truth is I am pretty nearly useless at literature, +and I will ask you to spare _St. Ives_ when it goes to you; it is a sort +of _Count Robert of Paris_. But I hope rather a _Dombey and Son_, to be +succeeded by _Our Mutual Friend_ and _Great Expectations_ and _A Tale of +Two Cities_. No toil has been spared over the ungrateful canvas; and it +_will not_ come together, and I must live, and my family. Were it not +for my health, which made it impossible, I could not find it in my heart +to forgive myself that I did not stick to an honest, common-place trade +when I was young, which might have now supported me during these ill +years. But do not suppose me to be down in anything else; only, for the +nonce, my skill deserts me, such as it is, or was. It was a very little +dose of inspiration, and a pretty little trick of style, long lost, +improved by the most heroic industry. So far, I have managed to please +the journalists. But I am a fictitious article and have long known it. +I am read by journalists, by my fellow-novelists, and by boys; with +these, _incipit et explicit_ my vogue. Good thing anyway! for it seems +to have sold the Edition. And I look forward confidently to an +aftermath; I do not think my health can be so hugely improved, without +some subsequent improvement in my brains. Though, of course, there is +the possibility that literature is a morbid secretion, and abhors health! +I do not think it is possible to have fewer illusions than I. I +sometimes wish I had more. They are amusing. But I cannot take myself +seriously as an artist; the limitations are so obvious. I did take +myself seriously as a workman of old, but my practice has fallen off. I +am now an idler and cumberer of the ground; it may be excused to me +perhaps by twenty years of industry and ill-health, which have taken the +cream off the milk. + +As I was writing this last sentence, I heard the strident rain drawing +near across the forest, and by the time I was come to the word ‘cream’ it +burst upon my roof, and has since redoubled, and roared upon it. A very +welcome change. All smells of the good wet earth, sweetly, with a kind +of Highland touch; the crystal rods of the shower, as I look up, have +drawn their criss-cross over everything; and a gentle and very welcome +coolness comes up around me in little draughts, blessed draughts, not +chilling, only equalising the temperature. Now the rain is off in this +spot, but I hear it roaring still in the nigh neighbourhood—and that +moment, I was driven from the verandah by random rain drops, spitting at +me through the Japanese blinds. These are not tears with which the page +is spotted! Now the windows stream, the roof reverberates. It is good; +it answers something which is in my heart; I know not what; old memories +of the wet moorland belike. + +Well, it has blown by again, and I am in my place once more, with an +accompaniment of perpetual dripping on the verandah—and very much +inclined for a chat. The exact subject I do not know! It will be bitter +at least, and that is strange, for my attitude is essentially _not_ +bitter, but I have come into these days when a man sees above all the +seamy side, and I have dwelt some time in a small place where he has an +opportunity of reading little motives that he would miss in the great +world, and indeed, to-day, I am almost ready to call the world an error. +Because? Because I have not drugged myself with successful work, and +there are all kinds of trifles buzzing in my ear, unfriendly trifles, +from the least to the—well, to the pretty big. All these that touch me +are Pretty Big; and yet none touch me in the least, if rightly looked at, +except the one eternal burthen to go on making an income. If I could +find a place where I could lie down and give up for (say) two years, and +allow the sainted public to support me, if it were a lunatic asylum, +wouldn’t I go, just! But we can’t have both extremes at once, worse +luck! I should like to put my savings into a proprietarian investment, +and retire in the meanwhile into a communistic retreat, which is +double-dealing. But you men with salaries don’t know how a family weighs +on a fellow’s mind. + +I hear the article in next week’s _Herald_ is to be a great affair, and +all the officials who came to me the other day are to be attacked! This +is the unpleasant side of being (without a salary) in public life; I will +leave anyone to judge if my speech was well intended, and calculated to +do good. It was even daring—I assure you one of the chiefs looked like a +fiend at my description of Samoan warfare. Your warning was not needed; +we are all determined to _keep the peace_ and to _hold our peace_. I +know, my dear fellow, how remote all this sounds! Kindly pardon your +friend. I have my life to live here; these interests are for me +immediate; and if I do not write of them, I might as soon not write at +all. There is the difficulty in a distant correspondence. It is perhaps +easy for me to enter into and understand your interests; I own it is +difficult for you; but you must just wade through them for friendship’s +sake, and try to find tolerable what is vital for your friend. I cannot +forbear challenging you to it, as to intellectual lists. It is the proof +of intelligence, the proof of not being a barbarian, to be able to enter +into something outside of oneself, something that does not touch one’s +next neighbour in the city omnibus. + +Good-bye, my lord. May your race continue and you flourish—Yours ever, + + TUSITALA. + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +THE tenor of these last letters of Stevenson’s to me, and of others +written to several of his friends at the same time, seemed to give just +cause for anxiety. Indeed, as the reader will have perceived, a gradual +change had during the past months been coming over the tone of his +correspondence. It was not like him to be sensitive to a rough word in a +friendly review, nor to recur with so much feeling to my unlucky +complaint, quickly regretted and withdrawn, as to his absorption in +native affairs and local interests. To judge by these letters, his old +invincible spirit of inward cheerfulness was beginning to give way to +moods of depression and overstrained feeling; although to those about +him, it seems, his charming habitual sweetness and gaiety of temper were +undiminished. Again, it was a new thing in his life that he should thus +painfully feel the strain of literary work, at almost all other times his +chief delight and pastime, and should express the longing to lay it down. +His friend Mr. Charles Baxter and I at once telegraphed to him, as the +success of the Edinburgh Edition enabled us to do, in terms intended to +ease his mind and to induce him to take the rest of which he seemed so +urgently in need. It seems doubtful if our words were fully understood: +it is more doubtful still if that ever-shaping mind had retained any +capacity for rest, except, as he had himself foretold, the rest of the +grave. At any rate he took none, but on receipt of our message only +turned to his old expedient, a change of labour. He gave up for a while +the attempt to finish _St. Ives_; a task as to which I may say that he +had no occasion to write so despondingly, for as a tale of adventure, +manners, and the road, which is all it was meant to be, it will be found +a very spirited and entertaining piece, lacking, indeed, the dénouement, +and containing a chapter or two which the author would doubtless have +cancelled or recast, but others which are in almost his happiest manner +of invention and narrative. He gave this up, and turned to a more +arduous theme, the tragic story of the Scottish moorlands, in which the +varieties and the strength of border character were to be illustrated in +the Four Brothers of Cauldstaneslap, and the Hanging Judge was to be +called upon, like Brutus, to condemn his son, and the two Kirsties, +younger and elder, were to embody one the wavering and the other the +heroic soul of woman. + +On this theme, which had already been working in his mind for some years, +he felt his inspiration return, and laboured during the month of November +and the first days of December at the full pitch of his powers and in the +conscious happiness of their exercise. About the same time various +external circumstances occurred to give him pleasure. The incident of +the road-making, as the reader has seen, had brought home to him as +nothing else could have done the sense of the love and gratitude he had +won from the island people and their chiefs, and of the power he was able +to exercise on them for their good. Soon afterwards, the anniversaries +of his own birthday and of the American thanksgiving feast brought +evidences hardly less welcome, after so much contention and annoyance as +the island affairs and politics had involved him in, of the honour and +affection in which he was held by all that was best in the white +community. By each succeeding mail came stronger proofs from home of the +manner in which men of letters of the younger generation had come to +regard him as their master, their literary conscience and example, and +above all their friend. Deepest, perhaps, of all lay that pleasure of +feeling himself to be working once more at his best. Of the many and +various gifts of this brilliant spirit—adventurer, observer, humorist, +moralist, essayist, poet, critic, and romancer—of all his many and +various gifts, the master gift was assuredly the creative, the gift of +human and historical imagination. It was not in vain that his islanders +called him Tusitala. Teller of tales he had been, first and foremost, +from his childhood; seer into the hearts and fates of men and women he +was growing to be more and more. The time was now ripe—had only the +strength sufficed—for his career as a creative writer to enter upon a new +and ampler phase. The fragment on which he wrought during the last month +of his life gives to my mind (as it did to his own) for the first time +the full measure of his powers; and if in the literature of romance there +is to be found work more masterly, of more piercing human insight or more +concentrated imaginative vision and beauty, I do not know it. + +But to enter on such a task under such conditions was of all his +adventures the most adventurous. The Pacific climate had brought him, as +we have seen, a renewal for some years of nervous energy and joy in +living, but it may be doubted if that climate is ever truly and in the +long run restorative to men of northern blood. At any rate it demands as +a condition of health some measure of repose, and to repose he had, here +as elsewhere, been a stranger. He entered upon his new labour, taxing +alike to heart and mind, with all the fibres of his brain long strained +by unremitting toil in the tropic heats he loved. Readers will remember +the gallant doctrine of his early essay. ‘By all means begin your folio; +even if the doctor does not give you a year, even if he hesitates about a +month, make one brave push, and see what can be accomplished in a week. +It is not only in finished undertakings that we ought to honour useful +labour. A spirit goes out of the man who means execution, which outlives +the most untimely end.’ In a temper truly accordant with this doctrine +he applied himself to his new task, and before it was fully half +accomplished the doom so long foreshadowed and so little feared had +overtaken him; he had died as he would have desired to die, and fallen +smiling in the midst of the battle. That he was more or less distinctly +aware of the imminence of the blow we may gather from the tenor of some +of his letters written in these weeks. On the last day of his life, +after a morning of happy work and pleasant correspondence, he was seen +gazing long and wistfully at the mountain summit which he had chosen to +be his burial-place. Towards the evening of the same day, he was talking +gaily with his wife, and trying to reassure her under the sense of coming +calamity which oppressed her, when the sudden rupture of a blood-vessel +in the brain laid him, almost in a moment, unconscious at her feet; and +before two hours were over he had passed away. To the English-speaking +world he has left behind a treasure which it would be vain as yet to +attempt to estimate; to the profession of letters one of the most +ennobling and inspiring of examples; and to his friends an image of the +memory more vivid and more dear than are the presences of almost any of +the living. + + + + +APPENDIX + + + _Address to the Chiefs on the opening of the Road of Gratitude_, Oct. + 1894. + +MR. STEVENSON said: ‘We are met together to-day to celebrate an event and +to do honour to certain chiefs, my friends,—Lelei, Mataafa, Salevao, Poè, +Teleso, Tupuola Lotofaga, Tupuola Amaile, Muliaiga, Ifopo, and Fatialofa. +You are all aware in some degree of what has happened. You know these +chiefs to have been prisoners; you perhaps know that during the term of +their confinement, I had it in my power to do them certain favours. One +thing some of you cannot know, that they were immediately repaid by +answering attentions. They were liberated by the new administration; by +the King, and the Chief Justice, and the Ta’its’ifono, who are here +amongst us to-day, and to whom we all desire to tender our renewed and +perpetual gratitude for that favour. As soon as they were free men—owing +no man anything—instead of going home to their own places and families, +they came to me; they offered to do this work for me as a free gift, +without hire, without supplies, and I was tempted at first to refuse +their offer. I knew the country to be poor, I knew famine threatening; I +knew their families long disorganised for want of supervision. Yet I +accepted, because I thought the lesson of that road might be more useful +to Samoa than a thousand breadfruit trees; and because to myself it was +an exquisite pleasure to receive that which was so handsomely offered. +It is now done; you have trod it to-day in coming hither. It has been +made for me by chiefs; some of them old, some sick, all newly delivered +from a harassing confinement, and in spite of weather unusually hot and +insalubrious. I have seen these chiefs labour valiantly with their own +hands upon the work, and I have set up over it, now that it is finished, +the name of ‘The Road of Gratitude’ (the road of loving hearts) and the +names of those that built it. ‘In perpetuam memoriam,’ we say and speak +idly. At least so long as my own life shall be spared, it shall be here +perpetuated; partly for my pleasure and in my gratitude; partly for +others; to continually publish the lesson of this road.’ + +Addressing himself to the chiefs, Mr. Stevenson then said:— + +‘I will tell you, Chiefs, that, when I saw you working on that road, my +heart grew warm; not with gratitude only, but with hope. It seemed to me +that I read the promise of something good for Samoa; it seemed to me, as +I looked at you, that you were a company of warriors in a battle, +fighting for the defence of our common country against all aggression. +For there is a time to fight, and a time to dig. You Samoans may fight, +you may conquer twenty times, and thirty times, and all will be in vain. +There is but one way to defend Samoa. Hear it before it is too late. It +is to make roads, and gardens, and care for your trees, and sell their +produce wisely, and, in one word, to occupy and use your country. If you +do not others will.’ + +The speaker then referred to the parable of the ‘Talents,’ Matt. xxv. +14–30, and continuing, impressively asked: ‘What are you doing with your +talent, Samoa? Your three talents, Savaii, Upolu, and Tutuila? Have you +buried it in a napkin? Not Upolu at least. You have rather given it out +to be trodden under feet of swine: and the swine cut down food trees and +burn houses, according to the nature of swine, or of that much worse +animal, foolish man, acting according to his folly. “Thou knewest that I +reap where I sowed not, and gather where I have not strawed.” But God +has both sown and strawed for you here in Samoa; He has given you a rich +soil, a splendid sur copious rain; all is ready to your hand, half done. +And I repeat to you that thing which is sure: if you do not occupy and +use your country, others will. It will not continue to be yours or your +childrens, if you occupy it for nothing. You and your children will in +that case be cast out into outer darkness, where shall be weeping and +gnashing of teeth; for that is the law of God which passeth not away. I +who speak to you have seen these things. I have seen them with my +eyes—these judgments of God. I have seen them in Ireland, and I have +seen them in the mountains of my own country—Scotland—and my heart was +sad. These were a fine people in the past—brave, gay, faithful, and very +much like Samoans, except in one particular, that they were much wiser +and better at that business of fighting of which you think so much. But +the time came to them as it now comes to you, and it did not find them +ready. The messenger came into their villages and they did not know him; +they were told, as you are told, to use and occupy their country, and +they would not hear. And now you may go through great tracts of the land +and scarce meet a man or a smoking house, and see nothing but sheep +feeding. The other people that I tell you of have come upon them like a +foe in the night, and these are the other people’s sheep who browse upon +the foundation of their houses. To come nearer; and I have seen this +judgment in Oahu also. I have ridden there the whole day along the coast +of an island. Hour after hour went by and I saw the face of no living +man except that of the guide who rode with me. All along that desolate +coast, in one bay after another, we saw, still standing, the churches +that have been built by the Hawaiians of old. There must have been many +hundreds, many thousands, dwelling there in old times, and worshipping +God in these now empty churches. For to-day they were empty; the doors +were closed, the villages had disappeared, the people were dead and gone; +only the church stood on like a tombstone over a grave, in the midst of +the white men’s sugar fields. The other people had come and used that +country, and the Hawaiians who occupied it for nothing had been swept +away, “where is weeping and gnashing of teeth.” + +‘I do not speak of this lightly, because I love Samoa and her people. I +love the land, I have chosen it to be my home while I live, and my grave +after I am dead; and I love the people, and have chosen them to be my +people to live and die with. And I see that the day is come now of the +great battle; of the great and the last opportunity by which it shall be +decided, whether you are to pass away like these other races of which I +have been speaking, or to stand fast and have your children living on and +honouring your memory in the land you received of your fathers. + +‘The Land Commission and the Chief Justice will soon have ended their +labours. Much of your land will be restored to you, to do what you can +with. Now is the time the messenger is come into your villages to summon +you; the man is come with the measuring rod; the fire is lighted in which +you shall be tried; whether you are gold or dross. Now is the time for +the true champions of Samoa to stand forth. And who is the true champion +of Samoa? It is not the man who blackens his face, and cuts down trees, +and kills pigs and wounded men. It is the man who makes roads, who +plants food trees, who gathers harvests, and is a profitable servant +before the Lord, using and improving that great talent that has been +given him in trust. That is the brave soldier; that is the true +champion; because all things in a country hang together like the links of +the anchor cable, one by another: but the anchor itself is industry. + +‘There is a friend of most of us, who is far away; not to be forgotten +where I am, where Tupuola is, where Poè Lelei, Mataafa, Solevao, Poè +Teleso, Tupuola Lotofaga, Tupuolo Amaile, Muliaiga, Ifopo, Fatialofa, +Lemusu are. He knew what I am telling you; no man better. He saw the +day was come when Samoa had to walk in a new path, and to be defended, +not only with guns and blackened faces, and the noise of men shouting, +but by digging and planting, reaping and sowing. When he was still here +amongst us, he busied himself planting cacao; he was anxious and eager +about agriculture and commerce, and spoke and wrote continually; so that +when we turn our minds to the same matters, we may tell ourselves that we +are still obeying Mataafa. Ua tautala mai pea o ia ua mamao. + +‘I know that I do not speak to idle or foolish hearers. I speak to those +who are not too proud to work for gratitude. Chiefs! You have worked +for Tusitala, and he thanks you from his heart. In this, I could wish +you could be an example to all Samoa—I wish every chief in these islands +would turn to, and work, and build roads, and sow fields, and plant food +trees, and educate his children and improve his talents—not for love of +Tusitala, but for the love of his brothers, and his children, and the +whole body of generations yet unborn. + +‘Chiefs! On this road that you have made many feet shall follow. The +Romans were the bravest and greatest of people! mighty men of their +hands, glorious fighters and conquerors. To this day in Europe you may +go through parts of the country where all is marsh and bush, and perhaps +after struggling through a thicket, you shall come forth upon an ancient +road, solid and useful as the day it was made. You shall see men and +women bearing their burdens along that even way, and you may tell +yourself that it was built for them perhaps fifteen hundred years +before,—perhaps before the coming of Christ,—by the Romans. And the +people still remember and bless them for that convenience, and say to one +another, that as the Romans were the bravest men to fight, so they were +the best at building roads. + +‘Chiefs! Our road is not built to last a thousand years, yet in a sense +it is. When a road is once built, it is a strange thing how it collects +traffic, how every year as it goes on, more and more people are found to +walk thereon, and others are raised up to repair and perpetuate it, and +keep it alive; so that perhaps even this road of ours may, from +reparation to reparation, continue to exist and be useful hundreds and +hundreds of years after we are mingled in the dust. And it is my hope +that our far-away descendants may remember and bless those who laboured +for them to-day.’ + + * * * * * + + Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty + at the Edinburgh University Press + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VAILIMA LETTERS*** + + +******* This file should be named 387-0.txt or 387-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/8/387 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Vailima Letters + being correspondence addressed by Robert Louis Stevenson + to Sidney Colvin + + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + +Editor: Sidney Colvin + +Release Date: February 19, 2013 [eBook #387] +[This file was first posted on December 5, 1995] + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VAILIMA LETTERS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1908 Methuen edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Portrait of Robert Louis Stevenson" +title= +"Portrait of Robert Louis Stevenson" +src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>VAILIMA LETTERS</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BEING +CORRESPONDENCE</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">ADDRESSED +BY</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">ROBERT LOUIS</p> +<p style="text-align: center">STEVENSON</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TO</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">SIDNEY +COLVIN</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">November</span> +1890 — <span class="smcap">October</span> 1894</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON</p> +<p style="text-align: center">METHUEN AND CO.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">36 ESSEX STREET</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Seventh Edition</i></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><i>First Published</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>November</i></p> +</td> +<td><p>1895</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Second Edition</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>December</i></p> +</td> +<td><p>1895</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Third Edition</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>February</i></p> +</td> +<td><p>1901</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Fourth Edition</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>October</i></p> +</td> +<td><p>1904</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Fifth Edition</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>March</i></p> +</td> +<td><p>1906</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Sixth Edition</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>October</i></p> +</td> +<td><p>1907</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Seventh Edition</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>December</i></p> +</td> +<td><p>1908</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Editorial Note</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagexi">xi</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="GutSmall">LETTER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">I.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>November 1890</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">II.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>November 25—December 2, 1890</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">III.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>December 1890</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">IV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>January 17, 1891</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">V.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>February 1891</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>March 1891</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>April 1891</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>April 29—May 19, 1891</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page70">70</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">IX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>June 1891</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page77">77</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">X.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>September 1891</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>September 28—October 13, 1891</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>October 1891</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>November 25—December 7, 1891</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>December 1891—January 3, 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>January 31—February 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page135">135</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>February—March 2, 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XVII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>March 9—March 30, 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XVIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>May 1—May 27, 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>May 29—June 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>July 2—July 12, 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>August—September 13, 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>September 15—October 8, 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>October 28—November 8, 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page227">227</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>December 1—December 5, 1892</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page236">236</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>January—January 30, 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>February 19—February 23, 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page247">247</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXVII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>February 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page250">250</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXVIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>April—April 22, 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page252">252</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXIX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>April 25—May 23, 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page260">260</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>May 29—June 15, 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>June 24—July 18, 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page280">280</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>August 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page296">296</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>August 23—September 12, 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page298">298</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>October 23—December 4, 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page306">306</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>December 1893</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page313">313</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>January 29, 1894</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page320">320</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXVII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>February 1894</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page322">322</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXVIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>March 1894</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page324">324</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXIX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>May 18, 1894</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page330">330</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XL.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>June 18, 1894</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page333">333</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>July 1894</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page336">336</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>August 7—August 13, 1894</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>September 1894</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page343">343</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>October 6, 1894</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page348">348</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Epilogue</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page355">355</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Appendix</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page360">360</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>Portrait of R. L. Stevenson; etched by W. Strang after a +photograph by Falk of Sydney</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>Frontispiece</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Portrait of R. L. Stevenson on his Horse +‘Jack’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Portrait of R. L. Stevenson with the Native Chief Tui +Malealiifano</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page320">320</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span>EDITORIAL NOTE.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">So</span> much of preface seems necessary +to this volume as may justify its publication and explain its +origin. The writer was for many years my closest +friend. It was in the summer of 1873 that a lady, whose +gracious influence has helped to shape and encourage more than +one distinguished career, first awakened my interest in him and +drew us together. He was at that time a lad of twenty-two, +with his powers not yet set nor his way of life determined. +But to know him was to recognise at once that here was a young +genius of whom great things might be expected. A slender, +boyish presence, with a graceful, somewhat fantastic bearing, and +a singular power and attraction in the eyes and smile, were the +signs that first impressed you; and the impression was quickly +confirmed and deepened by the charm of his talk, which was +irresistibly sympathetic and inspiring, and not less full of +matter than of mirth. I have known no man in whom the +poet’s heart and imagination were combined with such a +brilliant strain of humour and such an unsleeping alertness and +adroitness of the critical intelligence. But it was only in +conversation that he could as yet <a name="pagexii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xii</span>do himself justice. His +earliest efforts in literature were of a very uneven and +tentative quality. The reason partly was that in mode of +expression and choice of language, no less than in the formation +of opinion and the conduct of life, he was impatient, even to +excess, of the conventional, the accepted, and the trite. +His perceptions and emotions were acute and vivid in the extreme; +his judgments, whether founded on experience, reading, +discussion, or caprice (and a surprising amount of all these +things had been crowded into his youthful existence) were not +less fresh and personal; while to his ardent fancy the world was +a theatre glowing with the lights and bustling with the incidents +of romance. To find for all he had to say words of vital +aptness and animation—to communicate as much as possible of +what he has somewhere called ‘the incommunicable thrill of +things’—was from the first his endeavour in +literature, nay more, it was the main passion of his life. +The instrument that should serve his purpose could not be forged +in haste, still less could it be adopted at second hand or +ready-made; and he has himself narrated how long and toilsome was +the apprenticeship he served.</p> +<p>In those days, then, of Stevenson’s youth it was my good +fortune to be of use to him, partly by helping to soften parental +opposition to his inborn vocation for letters, partly by +recommending him to editors (Mr. Hamerton, Sir George Grove, and +Mr. Leslie Stephen in succession), and a little even <a +name="pagexiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xiii</span>by such +technical hints as a classical training and five years’ +seniority enabled me to give. It belonged to the richness +of his nature to repay in all things much for little, +<i>ἑκατομβοἶ +ἐννεαβοιών</i>, +and from these early relations sprang both the affection, to me +inestimable, of which the following correspondence bears +evidence, and the habit, which it pleased him to maintain after +he had become one of the acknowledged masters of English letters, +of confiding in and consulting me about his work in +progress. It was my business to find fault; to +‘damn’ what I did not like; a duty which, as will be +inferred from the following pages, I was accustomed to discharge +somewhat unsparingly. But he was too manly a spirit to +desire or to relish flattery, and too true an artist to be +content with doing less than his best: he knew, moreover, in what +rank of English writers I put him, and for what audience, not of +to-day, I would have him labour. <i>Tibi +Palinure</i>—so, in the last weeks of his life, he proposed +to inscribe to me a set of his collected works. Not +Palinurus so much as Polonius may perhaps—or so I sometimes +suspect—have been really the character; but his own amiable +view of the matter has to be mentioned in order to account for +part of the tenor of the following correspondence.</p> +<p>As a letter-writer, Mr. Stevenson was punctilious in business +matters (herein putting some violence on his nature), +indefatigable where there was a service to be requited or a +kindness done, <a name="pagexiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiv</span>and to strangers and slight acquaintances ever +courteous and attentive. I am not sure, indeed, but that in +this capacity it was the outer rather than the inner circle of +his correspondents who, speaking generally, had the best of +him. To his intimate friends he wrote charmingly indeed by +fits, but often, at least in early days, in a manner not a little +trying and tantalising. With these, his correspondence was +apt to be a thing wholly of moods. ‘Sordid +facts,’ as he called them, were almost never mentioned: +date and place one could never infer except from the +postmark. He would exclaim over some predicament to the +nature of which he gave no clue whatever, or appeal for sympathy +in circumstances impossible to conjecture; or, starting in a key +of vague poetry and sentiment, would wind up (in a manner +characteristic also of his talk) with a rhapsody of hyperbolical +slang. Or he would dilate on some new phase of his many +maladies with burlesque humour—with complaint +never—but what had been the nature of the attack you were +left to wonder and guess in vain. During the period of his +Odyssey in the South Seas, from August 1888 until the spring of +1890, the remoteness and inaccessibility of the scenes he visited +inevitably interrupted all correspondence for months together; +and when at long intervals a packet reached us, the facts and +circumstances of his wanderings were to be gathered from the +admirable letters of Mrs. Stevenson (who has this feminine +accomplishment in perfection) <a name="pagexv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xv</span>rather than from his own. But +when later in the last-mentioned year, 1890, he and his family +were settled on their newly bought property on the mountain +behind Apia, to which he gave the name of Vailima (five rivers), +he for the first time, to my infinite gratification, took to +writing me long and regular monthly budgets as full and +particular as heart could wish; and this practice he maintained +until within a few weeks of his death.</p> +<p>It is these journal-letters from Samoa, covering with a few +intervals the period from November 1890 to October 1894, that are +printed by themselves in the present volume. They occupy a +place, as has been indicated, quite apart in his correspondence, +and in any general selection from his letters would fill a quite +disproportionate space. Begun without a thought of +publicity, and simply to maintain our intimacy undiminished, so +far as might be, by separation, they assumed in the course of two +or three years a bulk so considerable, and contained so much of +the matter of his daily life and thoughts, that it by-and-by +occurred to him, as may be read on page 200, that ‘some +kind of a book’ might be extracted out of them after his +death. It is this passage which has given me my warrant for +their publication, and at the same time has imposed on me no very +easy editorial task. In a correspondence so unreserved, the +duty of suppression and selection must needs be delicate. +Belonging to the race of <a name="pagexvi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xvi</span>Scott and Dumas, of the romantic +narrators and creators, Stevenson belonged no less to that of +Montaigne and the literary egotists. The word seems out of +place, since of egotism in the sense of vanity or selfishness he +was of all men the most devoid; but he was nevertheless a +watchful and ever interested observer of the motions of his own +mind. He saw himself, as he saw everything else, (to borrow +the words of Mr. Andrew Lang) with the lucidity of genius, and +loved to put himself on terms of confidence with his readers; but +of confidence kept always within fit limits, and permitting no +undue intrusion into his private affairs and feelings. To +maintain the same limits in the editing of an intimate +correspondence after his death would have been impossible. +I have tried to do my best under the circumstances; to suffer no +feelings to be hurt that could be spared, and only to lift the +veil of family life so far as under the conditions was +unavoidable. Neither would it have been possible from such +a correspondence to expunge the record of those trivialities +which make up the chief part of life, even in surroundings so +romantic and unusual as Stevenson in these years had chosen for +himself. It belonged to the personal charm of the man that +nothing ever seemed commonplace or insignificant in his company; +but in correspondence this charm must needs to some extent +evaporate.</p> +<p>Such as they remain, then, these letters will be found a +varied record, perfectly frank and familiar, <a +name="pagexvii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvii</span>of the +writer’s every-day moods, thoughts, and doings during his +Samoan exile. They tell, with the zest and often in the +language of a man who remained to the last a boy in spirit, of +the pleasures and troubles of a planter founding his home in the +virgin soil of a tropical island; the pleasures of an invalid +beginning after many years to resume habits of outdoor life and +exercise; the toils and satisfactions, failures and successes, of +a creative artist whose invention was as fertile as his standards +were high and his industry unflinching. These divers +characters have probably never been so united in any man +before. Something also they tell of the inward movements +and affections of one of the bravest and tenderest of human +hearts. One part of his life, it should be said, which his +other letters will fully reveal, finds little expression in +these, namely the relations of cordial and ungrudging kindness in +which he stood towards the younger generation of writers at home, +including many personally unknown to him. Neither do +ordinary impressions of travel—impressions of the beauties +of the tropics and the captivating strangeness of the island +people and their ways—fill much space in them. These +things were no longer new to the writer when the correspondence +began; they had been part of the element of his life since the +day, near two years before, when his yacht first anchored in the +Bay of Nukahiva, and his soul, to quote his own words, +‘went down with these moorings whence no windlass <a +name="pagexviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xviii</span>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.’ In their stead we find, what to +some readers may be hardly so welcome, the observations of a +close student of native life, history, and manners, and some of +the perplexities and pre-occupations of an island politician.</p> +<p>The political allusions are seldom in the form of direct +statement or narrative. To understand them, the reader must +bear in mind a few main facts, which I shall state as briefly and +plainly as possible. At the date when Stevenson settled in +Samoa, the government of the island had lately been settled +between the three powers interested, namely Germany, England, and +the United States, at the convention of Berlin. Under this +convention, Malietoa Laupepa, who had previously been deposed and +deported by the Germans in favour of a nominee of their own, was +reinstated as king, to the exclusion of his kinsman, the powerful +and popular Mataafa, whose titles might be held equally good and +whose abilities were certainly greater, but who was specially +obnoxious to the Germans owing to his resistance to them during +the troubles of the previous years. For a time the two +kinsmen, Laupepa and Mataafa, lived on amicable terms, but +presently differences arose between them. Mataafa had +expected to occupy a position of influence in the government: +finding himself ignored, he withdrew to a <a +name="pagexix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xix</span>camp a few +miles outside the town of Apia, where he lived in semi-royal +state as a kind of passive rebel or rival to the recognised +king. In the meantime, in the course of the year 1891, the +two white officials appointed under the Berlin Convention, namely +the Chief Justice, a Swedish gentleman named Cedarkrantz, and the +President of the Council, Baron Senfft von Pilsach, had come out +to the islands and entered on their duties. In +Stevenson’s judgment these gentlemen proved quite unequal +to their task, an opinion which before long came to be shared and +acted on by the foreign offices of the three powers under whom +they were appointed. Stevenson was no abstracted student or +dreamer; the human interests and the human duties lying +immediately about him were ever the first in his eyes: and petty +and remote as these island concerns may appear to us, they were +for him near and urgent. A man of his eager nature and +persuasive powers must naturally acquire influence in any +community in which he may be thrown, and among the natives in +especial, by kindness, justice, and a sympathetic understanding +of their ways and character, he soon came to enjoy a singular +degree of authority. His unauthorised intervention in +public matters may have been of a nature disconcerting to the +official mind, but his purposes were at all times those of a +peacemaker. The steady aim of his efforts was to bring +about the withdrawal of the two discredited white <a +name="pagexx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xx</span>officials +(against whom, it will be seen, he had no personal animus +whatever) and to procure a reconciliation between Laupepa and +Mataafa, so that the latter might exercise the share in the +government due to his character, titles, and following. The +first part of this policy commended itself after a time to the +three powers and their agents, and was carried out; the second +not; and his friend Mataafa was by-and-by attacked by the forces +of Laupepa, beaten, and sent into exile.</p> +<p>In reading the following pages it must be borne in mind that +Mulinuu and Malie, the places respectively of Laupepa’s and +Mataafa’s residence, are also used to signify their +respective parties and followings. The reader will have no +difficulty in identifying the various personages composing the +family group whose names occur constantly in the correspondence, +namely the writer’s mother, his wife (‘Fanny’), +his stepson, Mr. Lloyd Osbourne (‘Lloyd’), his +step-daughter and amanuensis, Mrs. Strong (‘Belle’), +and her young son (‘Austin’). Explanation of +any other matters seeming to require it is added in the +footnotes.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">S. C.</p> +<p><i>August</i> 1895.</p> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CHAPTER +I</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>In the Mountain</i>, <i>Apia</i>, +<i>Samoa</i>,<br /> +<i>Monday</i>, <i>November</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1890</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—This is a +hard and interesting and beautiful life that we lead now. +Our place is in a deep cleft of Vaea Mountain, some six hundred +feet above the sea, embowered in forest, which is our strangling +enemy, and which we combat with axes and dollars. I went +crazy over outdoor work, and had at last to confine myself to the +house, or literature must have gone by the board. +<i>Nothing</i> is so interesting as weeding, clearing, and +path-making; the oversight of labourers becomes a disease; it is +quite an effort not to drop into the farmer; and it does make you +feel so well. To come down covered with mud and drenched +with sweat and rain after some hours in the bush, change, rub +down, and take a chair in the verandah, is to taste a quiet +conscience. And the strange thing that I mark is this: If I +go out and make sixpence, bossing my labourers and plying the +cutlass or the spade, idiot conscience applauds me; if I sit in +the house and make twenty pounds, idiot conscience wails over my +neglect and the day wasted. For near a fortnight I did not +go beyond the verandah; then I found my rush of work run out, and +went down for the night to Apia; put in Sunday afternoon with our +consul, ‘a nice young man,’ dined with my friend H. +J. Moors in the evening, went to church—no less—at +the white and half-white church—I had never been before, +and was much interested; the woman I sat next <i>looked</i> a +full-blood native, and it was in the prettiest and readiest +English that she sang the hymns; back to Moors’, where we +yarned of the islands, being both wide wanderers, till bed-time; +bed, sleep, breakfast, horse saddled; round to the mission, to +get Mr. Clarke to be my interpreter; over with him to the +King’s, whom I have not called on since my return; received +by that mild old gentleman; have some interesting talk with him +about Samoan superstitions and my land—the scene of a great +battle in his (Malietoa Laupepa’s) youth—the place +which we have cleared the platform of his fort—the gulley +of the stream full of dead bodies—the fight rolled off up +Vaea mountain-side; back with Clarke to the Mission; had a bit of +lunch and consulted over a queer point of missionary policy just +arisen, about our new Town Hall and the balls there—too +long to go into, but a quaint example of the intricate questions +which spring up daily in the missionary path.</p> +<p>Then off up the hill; Jack very fresh, the sun (close on noon) +staring hot, the breeze very strong and pleasant; the ineffable +green country all round—gorgeous little birds (I think they +are humming birds, but they say not) skirmishing in the wayside +flowers. About a quarter way up I met a native coming down +with the trunk of a cocoa palm across his shoulder; his brown +breast glittering with sweat and oil: +‘Talofa’—‘Talofa, alii—You see that +white man? He speak for you.’ ‘White man +he gone up here?’—‘Ioe +(Yes)’—‘Tofa, alii’—‘Tofa, +soifua!’ I put on Jack up the steep path, till he is +all as white as shaving stick—Brown’s euxesis, wish I +had some—past Tanugamanono, a bush village—see into +the houses as I pass—they are open sheds scattered on a +green—see the brown folk sitting there, suckling kids, +sleeping on their stiff wooden pillows—then on through the +wood path—and here I find the mysterious white man (poor +devil!) with his twenty years’ certificate of good +behaviour as a book-keeper, frozen out by the strikes in the +colonies, come up here on a chance, no work to be found, big +hotel bill, no ship to leave in—and come up to beg twenty +dollars because he heard I was a Scotchman, offering to leave his +portmanteau in pledge. Settle this, and on again; and here +my house comes in view, and a war whoop fetches my wife and Henry +(or Simelé), our Samoan boy, on the front balcony; and I +am home again, and only sorry that I shall have to go down again +to Apia this day week. I could, and would, dwell here +unmoved, but there are things to be attended to.</p> +<p>Never say I don’t give you details and news. That +is a picture of a letter.</p> +<p>I have been hard at work since I came; three chapters of +<i>The Wrecker</i>, and since that, eight of the South Sea book, +and, along and about and in between, a hatful of verses. +Some day I’ll send the verse to you, and you’ll say +if any of it is any good. I have got in a better vein with +the South Sea book, as I think you will see; I think these +chapters will do for the volume without much change. Those +that I did in the <i>Janet Nicoll</i>, under the most ungodly +circumstances, I fear will want a lot of suppling and lightening, +but I hope to have your remarks in a month or two upon that +point. It seems a long while since I have heard from +you. I do hope you are well. I am wonderful, but +tired from so much work; ’tis really immense what I have +done; in the South Sea book I have fifty pages copied fair, some +of which has been four times, and all twice written, certainly +fifty pages of solid scriving inside a fortnight, but I was at it +by seven a.m. till lunch, and from two till four or five every +day; between whiles, verse and blowing on the flageolet; never +outside. If you could see this place! but I don’t +want any one to see it till my clearing is done, and my house +built. It will be a home for angels.</p> +<p>So far I wrote after my bit of dinner, some cold meat and +bananas, on arrival. Then out to see where Henry and some +of the men were clearing the garden; for it was plain there was +to be no work to-day indoors, and I must set in consequence to +farmering. I stuck a good while on the way up, for the path +there is largely my own handiwork, and there were a lot of +sprouts and saplings and stones to be removed. Then I +reached our clearing just where the streams join in one; it had a +fine autumn smell of burning, the smoke blew in the woods, and +the boys were pretty merry and busy. Now I had a private +design:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p5b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Map" +title= +"Map" +src="images/p5s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The Vaita’e I had explored pretty far up; not yet the +other stream, the Vaituliga (g=nasal n, as ng in sing); and up +that, with my wood knife, I set off alone. It is here quite +dry; it went through endless woods; about as broad as a +Devonshire lane, here and there crossed by fallen trees; huge +trees overhead in the sun, dripping lianas and tufted with +orchids, tree ferns, ferns depending with air roots from the +steep banks, great arums—I had not skill enough to say if +any of them were the edible kind, one of our staples +here!—hundreds of bananas—another staple—and +alas! I had skill enough to know all of these for the bad +kind that bears no fruit. My Henry moralised over this the +other day; how hard it was that the bad banana flourished wild, +and the good must be weeded and tended; and I had not the heart +to tell him how fortunate they were here, and how hungry were +other lands by comparison. The ascent of this lovely lane +of my dry stream filled me with delight. I could not but be +reminded of old Mayne Reid, as I have been more than once since I +came to the tropics; and I thought, if Reid had been still +living, I would have written to tell him that, for, me, <i>it had +come true</i>; and I thought, forbye, that, if the great powers +go on as they are going, and the Chief Justice delays, it would +come truer still; and the war-conch will sound in the hills, and +my home will be inclosed in camps, before the year is +ended. And all at once—mark you, how Mayne Reid is on +the spot—a strange thing happened. I saw a liana +stretch across the bed of the brook about breast-high, swung up +my knife to sever it, and—behold, it was a wire! On +either hand it plunged into thick bush; to-morrow I shall see +where it goes and get a guess perhaps of what it means. +To-day I know no more than—there it is. A little +higher the brook began to trickle, then to fill. At last, +as I meant to do some work upon the homeward trail, it was time +to turn. I did not return by the stream; knife in hand, as +long as my endurance lasted, I was to cut a path in the congested +bush.</p> +<p>At first it went ill with me; I got badly stung as high as the +elbows by the stinging plant; I was nearly hung in a tough +liana—a rotten trunk giving way under my feet; it was +deplorable bad business. And an axe—if I dared swing +one—would have been more to the purpose than my +cutlass. Of a sudden things began to go strangely easier; I +found stumps, bushing out again; my body began to wonder, then my +mind; I raised my eyes and looked ahead; and, by George, I was no +longer pioneering, I had struck an old track overgrown, and was +restoring an old path. So I laboured till I was in such a +state that Carolina Wilhelmina Skeggs could scarce have found a +name for it. Thereon desisted; returned to the stream; made +my way down that stony track to the garden, where the smoke was +still hanging and the sun was still in the high tree-tops, and so +home. Here, fondly supposing my long day was over, I rubbed +down; exquisite agony; water spreads the poison of these weeds; I +got it all over my hands, on my chest, in my eyes, and presently, +while eating an orange, <i>à la</i> Raratonga, burned my +lip and eye with orange juice. Now, all day, our three +small pigs had been adrift, to the mortal peril of our corn, +lettuce, onions, etc., and as I stood smarting on the back +verandah, behold the three piglings issuing from the wood just +opposite. Instantly I got together as many boys as I +could—three, and got the pigs penned against the rampart of +the sty, till the others joined; whereupon we formed a cordon, +closed, captured the deserters, and dropped them, squeaking +amain, into their strengthened barracks where, please God, they +may now stay!</p> +<p>Perhaps you may suppose the day now over; you are not the head +of a plantation, my juvenile friend. Politics succeeded: +Henry got adrift in his English, Bene was too cowardly to tell me +what he was after: result, I have lost seven good labourers, and +had to sit down and write to you to keep my temper. Let me +sketch my lads.—Henry—Henry has gone down to town or +I could not be writing to you—this were the hour of his +English lesson else, when he learns what he calls ‘long +expessions’ or ‘your chief’s language’ +for the matter of an hour and a half—Henry is a chiefling +from Savaii; I once loathed, I now like and—pending fresh +discoveries—have a kind of respect for Henry. He does +good work for us; goes among the labourers, bossing and watching; +helps Fanny; is civil, kindly, thoughtful; <i>O si sic +semper</i>! But will he be ‘his sometime self +throughout the year’? Anyway, he has deserved of us, +and he must disappoint me sharply ere I give him +up.—Bene—or Peni-Ben, in plain English—is +supposed to be my ganger; the Lord love him! God made a +truckling coward, there is his full history. He cannot tell +me what he wants; he dares not tell me what is wrong; he dares +not transmit my orders or translate my censures. And with +all this, honest, sober, industrious, miserably smiling over the +miserable issue of his own unmanliness.—Paul—a +German—cook and steward—a glutton of work—a +splendid fellow; drawbacks, three: (1) no cook; (2) an inveterate +bungler; a man with twenty thumbs, continually falling in the +dishes, throwing out the dinner, preserving the garbage; (3) a +dr—, well, don’t let us say that—but we +daren’t let him go to town, and he—poor, good +soul—is afraid to be let go.—Lafaele (Raphael), a +strong, dull, deprecatory man; splendid with an axe, if watched; +the better for a rowing, when he calls me ‘Papa’ in +the most wheedling tones; desperately afraid of ghosts, so that +he dare not walk alone up in the banana patch—see +map. The rest are changing labourers; and to-night, owing +to the miserable cowardice of Peni, who did not venture to tell +me what the men wanted—and which was no more than +fair—all are gone—and my weeding in the article of +being finished! Pity the sorrows of a planter.</p> +<p>I am, Sir, yours, and be jowned to you, The Planter,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i> 3<i>rd</i></p> +<p>I begin to see the whole scheme of letter-writing; you sit +down every day and pour out an equable stream of twaddle.</p> +<p>This morning all my fears were fled, and all the trouble had +fallen to the lot of Peni himself, who deserved it; my field was +full of weeders; and I am again able to justify the ways of +God. All morning I worked at the South Seas, and finished +the chapter I had stuck upon on Saturday. Fanny, awfully +hove-to with rheumatics and injuries received upon the field of +sport and glory, chasing pigs, was unable to go up and down +stairs, so she sat upon the back verandah, and my work was +chequered by her cries. ‘Paul, you take a spade to do +that—dig a hole first. If you do that, you’ll +cut your foot off! Here, you boy, what you do there? +You no get work? You go find Simelé; he give you +work. Peni, you tell this boy he go find Simelé; +suppose Simelé no give him work, you tell him go +’way. I no want him here. That boy no +good.’—<i>Peni</i> (from the distance in reassuring +tones), ‘All right, sir!’—<i>Fanny</i> (after a +long pause), ‘Peni, you tell that boy go find +Simelé! I no want him stand here all day. I no +pay that boy. I see him all day. He no do +nothing.’—Luncheon, beef, soda-scones, fried bananas, +pine-apple in claret, coffee. Try to write a poem; no +go. Play the flageolet. Then sneakingly off to +farmering and pioneering. Four gangs at work on our place; +a lively scene; axes crashing and smoke blowing; all the knives +are out. But I rob the garden party of one without a stock, +and you should see my hand—cut to ribbons. Now I want +to do my path up the Vaituliga single-handed, and I want it to +burst on the public complete. Hence, with devilish +ingenuity, I begin it at different places; so that if you stumble +on one section, you may not even then suspect the fulness of my +labours. Accordingly, I started in a new place, below the +wire, and hoping to work up to it. It was perhaps lucky I +had so bad a cutlass, and my smarting hand bid me stay before I +had got up to the wire, but just in season, so that I was only +the better of my activity, not dead beat as yesterday.</p> +<p>A strange business it was, and infinitely solitary; away +above, the sun was in the high tree-tops; the lianas noosed and +sought to hang me; the saplings struggled, and came up with that +sob of death that one gets to know so well; great, soft, sappy +trees fell at a lick of the cutlass, little tough switches +laughed at and dared my best endeavour. Soon, toiling down +in that pit of verdure, I heard blows on the far side, and then +laughter. I confess a chill settled on my heart.</p> +<p>Being so dead alone, in a place where by rights none should be +beyond me, I was aware, upon interrogation, if those blows had +drawn nearer, I should (of course quite unaffectedly) have +executed a strategic movement to the rear; and only the other day +I was lamenting my insensibility to superstition! Am I +beginning to be sucked in? Shall I become a midnight +twitterer like my neighbours? At times I thought the blows +were echoes; at times I thought the laughter was from +birds. For our birds are strangely human in their +calls. Vaea mountain about sundown sometimes rings with +shrill cries, like the hails of merry, scattered children. +As a matter of fact, I believe stealthy wood-cutters from +Tanugamanono were above me in the wood and answerable for the +blows; as for the laughter, a woman and two children had come and +asked Fanny’s leave to go up shrimp-fishing in the burn; +beyond doubt, it was these I heard. Just at the right time +I returned; to wash down, change, and begin this snatch of letter +before dinner was ready, and to finish it afterwards, before +Henry has yet put in an appearance for his lesson in ‘long +explessions.’</p> +<p>Dinner: stewed beef and potatoes, baked bananas, new +loaf-bread hot from the oven, pine-apple in claret. These +are great days; we have been low in the past; but now are we as +belly-gods, enjoying all things.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>. (<i>Hist. +Vailima resumed</i>.)</p> +<p>A gorgeous evening of after-glow in the great tree-tops and +behind the mountain, and full moon over the lowlands and the sea, +inaugurated a night of horrid cold. To you effete denizens +of the so-called temperate zone, it had seemed nothing; neither +of us could sleep; we were up seeking extra coverings, I know not +at what hour—it was as bright as day. The moon right +over Vaea—near due west, the birds strangely silent, and +the wood of the house tingling with cold; I believe it must have +been 60°! Consequence; Fanny has a headache and is +wretched, and I could do no work. (I am trying all round +for a place to hold my pen; you will hear why later on; this to +explain penmanship.) I wrote two pages, very bad, no +movement, no life or interest; then I wrote a business letter; +then took to tootling on the flageolet, till glory should call me +farmering.</p> +<p>I took up at the fit time Lafaele and Mauga—Mauga, +accent on the first, is a mountain, I don’t know what +Maugà means—mind what I told you of the value of +g—to the garden, and set them digging, then turned my +attention to the path. I could not go into my bush path for +two reasons: 1st, sore hands; 2nd, had on my trousers and good +shoes. Lucky it was. Right in the wild lime hedge +which cuts athwart us just homeward of the garden, I found a +great bed of kuikui—sensitive plant—our deadliest +enemy. A fool brought it to this island in a pot, and used +to lecture and sentimentalise over the tender thing. The +tender thing has now taken charge of this island, and men fight +it, with torn hands, for bread and life. A singular, +insidious thing, shrinking and biting like a weasel; clutching by +its roots as a limpet clutches to a rock. As I fought him, +I bettered some verses in my poem, the <i>Woodman</i>; the only +thought I gave to letters. Though the kuikui was thick, +there was but a small patch of it, and when I was done I attacked +the wild lime, and had a hand-to-hand skirmish with its spines +and elastic suckers. All this time, close by, in the +cleared space of the garden, Lafaele and Maugà were +digging. Suddenly quoth Lafaele, ‘Somebody he sing +out.’—‘Somebody he sing out? All +right. I go.’ And I went and found they had +been whistling and ‘singing out’ for long, but the +fold of the hill and the uncleared bush shuts in the garden so +that no one heard, and I was late for dinner, and Fanny’s +headache was cross; and when the meal was over, we had to cut up +a pineapple which was going bad, to make jelly of; and the next +time you have a handful of broken blood-blisters, apply +pine-apple juice, and you will give me news of it, and I request +a specimen of your hand of write five minutes after—the +historic moment when I tackled this history. My day so +far.</p> +<p>Fanny was to have rested. Blessed Paul began making a +duck-house; she let him be; the duck-house fell down, and she had +to set her hand to it. He was then to make a drinking-place +for the pigs; she let him be again—he made a stair by which +the pigs will probably escape this evening, and she was near +weeping. Impossible to blame the indefatigable fellow; +energy is too rare and goodwill too noble a thing to discourage; +but it’s trying when she wants a rest. Then she had +to cook the dinner; then, of course—like a fool and a +woman—must wait dinner for me, and make a flurry of +herself. Her day so far. <i>Cetera adhuc +desunt</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday—I think</i>.</p> +<p>I have been too tired to add to this chronicle, which will at +any rate give you some guess of our employment. All goes +well; the kuikui—(think of this mispronunciation having +actually infected me to the extent of misspelling! tuitui is the +word by rights)—the tuitui is all out of the +paddock—a fenced park between the house and boundary; +Peni’s men start to-day on the road; the garden is part +burned, part dug; and Henry, at the head of a troop of underpaid +assistants, is hard at work clearing. The part clearing you +will see from the map; from the house run down to the stream +side, up the stream nearly as high as the garden; then back to +the star which I have just added to the map.</p> +<p>My long, silent contests in the forest have had a strange +effect on me. The unconcealed vitality of these vegetables, +their exuberant number and strength, the attempts—I can use +no other word—of lianas to enwrap and capture the intruder, +the awful silence, the knowledge that all my efforts are only +like the performance of an actor, the thing of a moment, and the +wood will silently and swiftly heal them up with fresh +effervescence; the cunning sense of the tuitui, suffering itself +to be touched with wind-swayed grasses and not minding—but +let the grass be moved by a man, and it shuts up; the whole +silent battle, murder, and slow death of the contending forest; +weigh upon the imagination. My poem the <i>Woodman</i> +stands; but I have taken refuge in a new story, which just shot +through me like a bullet in one of my moments of awe, alone in +that tragic jungle:—</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>The High Woods +of Ulufanua</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>A South Sea Bridal.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Under the Ban.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Savao and Faavao.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Cries in the High Wood.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">5.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Rumour full of Tongues.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">6.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Hour of Peril.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">7.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Day of Vengeance.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>It is very strange, very extravagant, I daresay; but +it’s varied, and picturesque, and has a pretty love affair, +and ends well. Ulufanua is a lovely Samoan word, ulu=grove; +fanua=land; grove-land—‘the tops of the high +trees.’ Savao, ‘sacred to the wood,’ and +Faavao, ‘wood-ways,’ are the names of two of the +characters, Ulufanua the name of the supposed island.</p> +<p>I am very tired, and rest off to-day from all but +letters. Fanny is quite done up; she could not sleep last +night, something it seemed like asthma—I trust not. I +suppose Lloyd will be about, so you can give him the benefit of +this long scrawl. Never say that I <i>can’t</i> write +a letter, say that I don’t.—Yours ever, my dearest +fellow,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Later on Friday</i>.</p> +<p>The guid wife had bread to bake, and she baked it in a pan, +O! But between whiles she was down with me weeding +sensitive in the paddock. The men have but now passed over +it; I was round in that very place to see the weeding was done +thoroughly, and already the reptile springs behind our +heels. Tuitui is a truly strange beast, and gives food for +thought. I am nearly sure—I cannot yet be quite, I +mean to experiment, when I am less on the hot chase of the +beast—that, even at the instant he shrivels up his leaves, +he strikes his prickles downward so as to catch the uprooting +finger; instinctive, say the gabies; but so is man’s +impulse to strike out. One thing that takes and holds me is +to see the strange variation in the propagation of alarm among +these rooted beasts; at times it spreads to a radius (I speak by +the guess of the eye) of five or six inches; at times only one +individual plant appears frightened at a time. We tried how +long it took one to recover; ’tis a sanguine creature; it +is all abroad again before (I guess again) two minutes. It +is odd how difficult in this world it is to be armed. The +double armour of this plant betrays it. In a thick tuft, +where the leaves disappear, I thrust in my hand, and the bite of +the thorns betrays the topmost stem. In the open again, and +when I hesitate if it be clover, a touch on the leaves, and its +fine sense and retractile action betrays its identity at +once. Yet it has one gift incomparable. Rome had +virtue and knowledge; Rome perished. The sensitive plant +has indigestible seeds—so they say—and it will +flourish for ever. I give my advice thus to a young +plant—have a strong root, a weak stem, and an indigestible +seed; so you will outlast the eternal city, and your progeny will +clothe mountains, and the irascible planter will blaspheme in +vain. The weak point of tuitui is that its stem is +strong.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Supplementary Page</i>.</p> +<p>Here beginneth the third lesson, which is not from the planter +but from a less estimable character, the writer of books.</p> +<p>I want you to understand about this South Sea Book. The +job is immense; I stagger under material. I have seen the +first big <i>tache</i>. It was necessary to see the smaller +ones; the letters were at my hand for the purpose, but I was not +going to lose this experience; and, instead of writing mere +letters, have poured out a lot of stuff for the book. How +this works and fits, time is to show. But I believe, in +time, I shall get the whole thing in form. Now, up to date, +that is all my design, and I beg to warn you till we have the +whole (or much) of the stuff together, you can hardly +judge—and I can hardly judge. Such a mass of stuff is +to be handled, if possible without repetition—so much +foreign matter to be introduced—if possible with +perspicuity—and, as much as can be, a spirit of narrative +to be preserved. You will find that come stronger as I +proceed, and get the explanations worked through. Problems +of style are (as yet) dirt under my feet; my problem is +architectural, creative—to get this stuff jointed and +moving. If I can do that, I will trouble you for style; +anybody might write it, and it would be splendid; +well-engineered, the masses right, the blooming thing +travelling—twig?</p> +<p>This I wanted you to understand, for lots of the stuff sent +home is, I imagine, rot—and slovenly rot—and some of +it pompous rot; and I want you to understand it’s a +<i>lay-in</i>.</p> +<p>Soon, if the tide of poeshie continues, I’ll send you a +whole lot to damn. You never said thank-you for the +handsome tribute addressed to you from Apemama; such is the +gratitude of the world to the God-sent poick. Well, +well:—‘Vex not thou the poick’s mind, With thy +coriaceous ingratitude, The P. will be to your faults more than a +little blind, And yours is a far from handsome +attitude.’ Having thus dropped into poetry in a +spirit of friendship, I have the honour to subscribe myself, +Sir,</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Your obedient humble servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Silas +Wegg</span>.</p> +<p>I suppose by this you will have seen the lad—and his +feet will have been in the Monument—and his eyes beheld the +face of George. Well!</p> +<p>There is much eloquence in a well!<br /> + I am, Sir<br /> + Yours</p> +<p style="text-align: center">The Epigrammatist</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p21.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Robert Louis Stevenson written three times to form a triangle" +title= +"Robert Louis Stevenson written three times to form a triangle" +src="images/p21.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">FINIS—EXPLICIT</p> +<h2><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Vailima</i>, <i>Tuesday</i>, +<i>November</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1890.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—I wanted to +go out bright and early to go on with my survey. You never +heard of that. The world has turned, and much water run +under bridges, since I stopped my diary. I have written six +more chapters of the book, all good I potently believe, and given +up, as a deception of the devil’s, the High Woods. I +have been once down to Apia, to a huge native feast at +Seumanutafa’s, the chief of Apia. There was a vast +mass of food, crowds of people, the police charging among them +with whips, the whole in high good humour on both sides; infinite +noise; and a historic event—Mr. Clarke, the missionary, and +his wife, assisted at a native dance. On my return from +this function, I found work had stopped; no more South Seas in my +belly. Well, Henry had cleared a great deal of our bush on +a contract, and it ought to be measured. I set myself to +the task with a tape-line; it seemed a dreary business; then I +borrowed a prismatic compass, and tackled the task afresh. +I have no books; I had not touched an instrument nor given a +thought to the business since the year of grace 1871; you can +imagine with what interest I sat down yesterday afternoon to +reduce my observations; five triangles I had taken; all five came +right, to my ineffable joy. Our dinner—the lowest we +have ever been—consisted of <i>one avocado pear</i> between +Fanny and me, a ship’s biscuit for the guidman, white bread +for the Missis, and red wine for the twa. No salt horse, +even, in all Vailima! After dinner Henry came, and I began +to teach him decimals; you wouldn’t think I knew them +myself after so long desuetude!</p> +<p>I could not but wonder how Henry stands his evenings here; the +Polynesian loves gaiety—I feed him with decimals, the +mariner’s compass, derivations, grammar, and the like; +delecting myself, after the manner of my race, <i>moult +tristement</i>. I suck my paws; I live for my dexterities +and by my accomplishments; even my clumsinesses are my +joy—my woodcuts, my stumbling on the pipe, this surveying +even—and even weeding sensitive; anything to do with the +mind, with the eye, with the hand—with a part of <i>me</i>; +diversion flows in these ways for the dreary man. But +gaiety is what these children want; to sit in a crowd, tell +stories and pass jests, to hear one another laugh and scamper +with the girls. It’s good fun, too, I believe, but +not for R. L. S., <i>ætat.</i> 40. Which I am now +past forty, Custodian, and not one penny the worse that I can +see; as amusable as ever; to be on board ship is reward enough +for me; give me the wages of going on—in a schooner! +Only, if ever I were gay, which I misremember, I am gay no +more. And here is poor Henry passing his evenings on my +intellectual husks, which the professors masticated; keeping the +accounts of the estate—all wrong I have no doubt—I +keep no check, beyond a very rough one; marching in with a cloudy +brow, and the day-book under his arm; tackling decimals, coming +with cases of conscience—how would an English chief behave +in such a case? etc.; and, I am bound to say, on any glimmer of a +jest, lapsing into native hilarity as a tree straightens itself +after the wind is by. The other night I remembered my old +friend—I believe yours also—Scholastikos, and +administered the crow and the anchor—they were quite fresh +to Samoan ears (this implies a very early severance)—and I +thought the anchor would have made away with my Simelè +altogether.</p> +<p>Fanny’s time, in this interval, has been largely +occupied in contending publicly with wild swine. We have a +black sow; we call her Jack Sheppard; impossible to confine +her—impossible also for her to be confined! To my +sure knowledge she has been in an interesting condition for +longer than any other sow in story; else she had long died the +death; as soon as she is brought to bed, she shall count her +days. I suppose that sow has cost us in days’ labour +from thirty to fifty dollars; as many as eight boys (at a dollar +a day) have been twelve hours in chase of her. Now it is +supposed that Fanny has outwitted her; she grins behind broad +planks in what was once the cook-house. She is a wild pig; +far handsomer than any tame; and when she found the cook-house +was too much for her methods of evasion, she lay down on the +floor and refused food and drink for a whole Sunday. On +Monday morning she relapsed, and now eats and drinks like a +little man. I am reminded of an incident. Two Sundays +ago, the sad word was brought that the sow was out again; this +time she had carried another in her flight. Moors and I and +Fanny were strolling up to the garden, and there by the waterside +we saw the black sow, looking guilty. It seemed to me +beyond words; but Fanny’s <i>cri du cœur</i> was +delicious: ‘G-r-r!’ she cried; ‘nobody loves +you!’</p> +<p>I would I could tell you the moving story of our cart and +cart-horses; the latter are dapple-grey, about sixteen hands, and +of enormous substance; the former was a kind of red and green +shandry-dan with a driving bench; plainly unfit to carry lumber +or to face our road. (Remember that the last third of my +road, about a mile, is all made out of a bridle-track by my +boys—and my dollars.) It was supposed a white man had +been found—an ex-German artilleryman—to drive this +last; he proved incapable and drunken; the gallant Henry, who had +never driven before, and knew nothing about horses—except +the rats and weeds that flourish on the +islands—volunteered; Moors accepted, proposing to follow +and supervise: despatched his work and started after. No +cart! he hurried on up the road—no cart. Transfer the +scene to Vailima, where on a sudden to Fanny and me, the cart +appears, apparently at a hard gallop, some two hours before it +was expected; Henry radiantly ruling chaos from the bench. +It stopped: it was long before we had time to remark that the +axle was twisted like the letter L. Our first care was the +horses. There they stood, black with sweat, the sweat +raining from them—literally raining—their heads down, +their feet apart—and blood running thick from the nostrils +of the mare. We got out Fanny’s +under-clothes—couldn’t find anything else but our +blankets—to rub them down, and in about half an hour we had +the blessed satisfaction to see one after the other take a bite +or two of grass. But it was a toucher; a little more and +these steeds would have been foundered.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i>, 31<i>st</i>? +<i>November</i>.</p> +<p>Near a week elapsed, and no journal. On Monday +afternoon, Moors rode up and I rode down with him, dined, and +went over in the evening to the American Consulate; present, +Consul-General Sewall, Lieut. Parker and Mrs. Parker, Lafarge the +American decorator, Adams an American historian; we talked late, +and it was arranged I was to write up for Fanny, and we should +both dine on the morrow.</p> +<p>On the Friday, I was all forenoon in the Mission House, +lunched at the German Consulate, went on board the <i>Sperber</i> +(German war ship) in the afternoon, called on my lawyer on my way +out to American Consulate, and talked till dinner time with +Adams, whom I am supplying with introductions and information for +Tahiti and the Marquesas. Fanny arrived a wreck, and had to +lie down. The moon rose, one day past full, and we dined in +the verandah, a good dinner on the whole; talk with Lafarge about +art and the lovely dreams of art students. Remark by Adams, +which took me briskly home to the Monument—‘I only +liked one <i>young</i> woman—and that was Mrs. +Procter.’ Henry James would like that. Back by +moonlight in the consulate boat—Fanny being too tired to +walk—to Moors’s. Saturday, I left Fanny to +rest, and was off early to the Mission, where the politics are +thrilling just now. The native pastors (to every +one’s surprise) have moved of themselves in the matter of +the native dances, desiring the restrictions to be removed, or +rather to be made dependent on the character of the dance. +Clarke, who had feared censure and all kinds of trouble, is, of +course, rejoicing greatly. A characteristic feature: the +argument of the pastors was handed in in the form of a fictitious +narrative of the voyage of one Mr. Pye, an English traveller, and +his conversation with a chief; there are touches of satire in +this educational romance. Mr. Pye, for instance, admits +that he knows nothing about the Bible. At the Mission I was +sought out by Henry in a devil of an agitation; he has been made +the victim of a forgery—a crime hitherto unknown in +Samoa. I had to go to Folau, the chief judge here, in the +matter. Folau had never heard of the offence, and begged to +know what was the punishment; there may be lively times in +forgery ahead. It seems the sort of crime to tickle a +Polynesian. After lunch—you can see what a busy three +days I am describing—we set off to ride home. My Jack +was full of the devil of corn and too much grass, and no +work. I had to ride ahead and leave Fanny behind. He +is a most gallant little rascal is my Jack, and takes the whole +way as hard as the rider pleases. Single incident: half-way +up, I find my boys upon the road and stop and talk with Henry in +his character of ganger, as long as Jack will suffer me. +Fanny drones in after; we make a show of eating—or I +do—she goes to bed about half-past six! I write some +verses, read Irving’s <i>Washington</i>, and follow about +half-past eight. O, one thing more I did, in a prophetic +spirit. I had made sure Fanny was not fit to be left alone, +and wrote before turning in a letter to Chalmers, telling him I +could not meet him in Auckland at this time. By eleven at +night, Fanny got me wakened—she had tried twice in +vain—and I found her very bad. Thence till three, we +laboured with mustard poultices, laudanum, soda and +ginger—Heavens! wasn’t it cold; the land breeze was +as cold as a river; the moon was glorious in the paddock, and the +great boughs and the black shadows of our trees were +inconceivable. But it was a poor time.</p> +<p>Sunday morning found Fanny, of course, a complete wreck, and +myself not very brilliant. Paul had to go to Vailele +<i>re</i> cocoa-nuts; it was doubtful if he could be back by +dinner; never mind, said I, I’ll take dinner when you +return. Off set Paul. I did an hour’s work, and +then tackled the house work. I did it beautiful: the house +was a picture, it resplended of propriety. Presently Mr. +Moors’ Andrew rode up; I heard the doctor was at the Forest +House and sent a note to him; and when he came, I heard my wife +telling him she had been in bed all day, and that was why the +house was so dirty! Was it grateful? Was it +politic? Was it <span +class="GutSmall">TRUE</span>?—Enough! In the +interval, up marched little L. S., one of my neighbours, all in +his Sunday white linens; made a fine salute, and demanded the key +of the kitchen in German and English. And he cooked dinner +for us, like a little man, and had it on the table and the coffee +ready by the hour. Paul had arranged me this +surprise. Some time later, Paul returned himself with a +fresh surprise on hand; he was almost sober; nothing but a hazy +eye distinguished him from Paul of the week days: +<i>vivat</i>!</p> +<p>On the evening I cannot dwell. All the horses got out of +the paddock, went across, and smashed my neighbour’s garden +into a big hole. How little the amateur conceives a +farmer’s troubles. I went out at once with a lantern, +staked up a gap in the hedge, was kicked at by a chestnut mare, +who straightway took to the bush; and came back. A little +after, they had found another gap, and the crowd were all abroad +again. What has happened to our own garden nobody yet +knows.</p> +<p>Fanny had a fair night, and we are both tolerable this +morning, only the yoke of correspondence lies on me heavy. +I beg you will let this go on to my mother. I got such a +good start in your letter, that I kept on at it, and I have +neither time nor energy for more.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Something new</i>.</p> +<p>I was called from my letters by the voice of Mr. —, who +had just come up with a load of wood, roaring, +‘Henry! Henry! Bring six boys!’ I +saw there was something wrong, and ran out. The cart, half +unloaded, had upset with the mare in the shafts; she was all +cramped together and all tangled up in harness and cargo, the off +shaft pushing her over, Mr. — holding her up by main +strength, and right along-side of her—where she must fall +if she went down—a deadly stick of a tree like a +lance. I could not but admire the wisdom and faith of this +great brute; I never saw the riding-horse that would not have +lost its life in such a situation; but the cart-elephant +patiently waited and was saved. It was a stirring three +minutes, I can tell you.</p> +<p>I forgot in talking of Saturday to tell of one incident which +will particularly interest my mother. I met Dr. D. from +Savaii, and had an age-long talk about Edinburgh folk; it was +very pleasant. He has been studying in Edinburgh, along +with his son; a pretty relation. He told me he knew nobody +but college people: ‘I was altogether a student,’ he +said with glee. He seems full of cheerfulness and thick-set +energy. I feel as if I could put him in a novel with +effect; and ten to one, if I know more of him, the image will be +only blurred.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>, <i>Dec.</i> +2<i>nd</i>.</p> +<p>I should have told you yesterday that all my boys were got up +for their work in moustaches and side-whiskers of some sort of +blacking—I suppose wood-ash. It was a sight of joy to +see them return at night, axe on shoulder, feigning to march like +soldiers, a choragus with a loud voice singing out, +‘March-step! March-step!’ in imperfect +recollection of some drill.</p> +<p>Fanny seems much revived.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i>, <i>twenty-somethingth +of</i><br /> +<i>December</i>, 1890.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—I do not say +my Jack is anything extraordinary; he is only an island horse; +and the profane might call him a Punch; and his face is like a +donkey’s; and natives have ridden him, and he has no mouth +in consequence, and occasionally shies. But his merits are +equally surprising; and I don’t think I should ever have +known Jack’s merits if I had not been riding up of late on +moonless nights. Jack is a bit of a dandy; he loves to misbehave +in a gallant manner, above all on Apia Street, and when I stop to +speak to people, they say (Dr. Stuebel the German consul said +about three days ago), ‘O what a wild horse! it cannot be +safe to ride him.’ Such a remark is Jack’s +reward, and represents his ideal of fame. Now when I start +out of Apia on a dark night, you should see my changed horse; at +a fast steady walk, with his head down, and sometimes his nose to +the ground—when he wants to do that, he asks for his head +with a little eloquent polite movement indescribable—he +climbs the long ascent and threads the darkest of the wood. +The first night I came it was starry; and it was singular to see +the starlight drip down into the crypt of the wood, and shine in +the open end of the road, as bright as moonlight at home; but the +crypt itself was proof, blackness lived in it. The next +night it was raining. We left the lights of Apia and passed +into limbo. Jack finds a way for himself, but he does not +calculate for my height above the saddle; and I am directed +forward, all braced up for a crouch and holding my switch upright +in front of me. It is curiously interesting. In the +forest, the dead wood is phosphorescent; some nights the whole +ground is strewn with it, so that it seems like a grating over a +pale hell; doubtless this is one of the things that feed the +night fears of the natives; and I am free to confess that in a +night of trackless darkness where all else is void, these pallid +<i>ignes suppositi</i> have a fantastic appearance, rather bogey +even. One night, when it was very dark, a man had put out a +little lantern by the wayside to show the entrance to his +ground. I saw the light, as I thought, far ahead, and +supposed it was a pedestrian coming to meet me; I was quite taken +by surprise when it struck in my face and passed behind me. +Jack saw it, and he was appalled; do you think he thought of +shying? No, sir, not in the dark; in the dark Jack knows he +is on duty; and he went past that lantern steady and swift; only, +as he went, he groaned and shuddered. For about 2500 of +Jack’s steps we only pass one house—that where the +lantern was; and about 1500 of these are in the darkness of the +pit. But now the moon is on tap again, and the roads +lighted.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p35b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Map" +title= +"Map" +src="images/p35s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I have been exploring up the Vaituliga; see your map. It +comes down a wonderful fine glen; at least 200 feet of cliffs on +either hand, winding like a corkscrew, great forest trees filling +it. At the top there ought to be a fine double fall; but +the stream evades it by a fault and passes underground. +Above the fall it runs (at this season) full and very gaily in a +shallow valley, some hundred yards before the head of the +glen. Its course is seen full of grasses, like a flooded +meadow; that is the sink! beyond the grave of the grasses, the +bed lies dry. Near this upper part there is a great show of +ruinous pig-walls; a village must have stood near by.</p> +<p>To walk from our house to Wreck Hill (when the path is buried +in fallen trees) takes one about half an hour, I think; to +return, not more than twenty minutes; I daresay fifteen. +Hence I should guess it was three-quarters of a mile. I had +meant to join on my explorations passing eastward by the sink; +but, Lord! how it rains.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Later</i>.)</p> +<p>I went out this morning with a pocket compass and walked in a +varying direction, perhaps on an average S. by W., 1754 +paces. Then I struck into the bush, N.W. by N., hoping to +strike the Vaituliga above the falls. Now I have it plotted +out I see I should have gone W. or even W. by S.; but it is not +easy to guess. For 600 weary paces I struggled through the +bush, and then came on the stream below the gorge, where it was +comparatively easy to get down to it. In the place where I +struck it, it made cascades about a little isle, and was running +about N.E., 20 to 30 feet wide, as deep as to my knee, and +piercing cold. I tried to follow it down, and keep the run +of its direction and my paces; but when I was wading to the knees +and the waist in mud, poison brush, and rotted wood, bound hand +and foot in lianas, shovelled unceremoniously off the one shore +and driven to try my luck upon the other—I saw I should +have hard enough work to get my body down, if my mind +rested. It was a damnable walk; certainly not half a mile +as the crow flies, but a real bucketer for hardship. Once I +had to pass the stream where it flowed between banks about three +feet high. To get the easier down, I swung myself by a +wild-cocoanut—(so called, it bears bunches of scarlet +nutlets)—which grew upon the brink. As I so swung, I +received a crack on the head that knocked me all abroad. +Impossible to guess what tree had taken a shy at me. So +many towered above, one over the other, and the missile, whatever +it was, dropped in the stream and was gone before I had recovered +my wits. (I scarce know what I write, so hideous a Niagara +of rain roars, shouts, and demonizes on the iron roof—it is +pitch dark too—the lamp lit at 5!) It was a blessed +thing when I struck my own road; and I got home, neat for lunch +time, one of the most wonderful mud statues ever witnessed. +In the afternoon I tried again, going up the other path by the +garden, but was early drowned out; came home, plotted out what I +had done, and then wrote this truck to you.</p> +<p>Fanny has been quite ill with ear-ache. She won’t +go, hating the sea at this wild season; I don’t like to +leave her; so it drones on, steamer after steamer, and I guess +it’ll end by no one going at all. She is in a +dreadful misfortune at this hour; a case of kerosene having burst +in the kitchen. A little while ago it was the +carpenter’s horse that trod in a nest of fourteen eggs, and +made an omelette of our hopes. The farmer’s lot is +not a happy one. And it looks like some real uncompromising +bad weather too. I wish Fanny’s ear were well. +Think of parties in Monuments! think of me in Skerryvore, and now +of this. It don’t look like a part of the same +universe to me. Work is quite laid aside; I have worked +myself right out.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Christmas Eve</i>.</p> +<p>Yesterday, who could write? My wife near crazy with +ear-ache; the rain descending in white crystal rods and playing +hell’s tattoo, like a <i>tutti</i> of battering rams, on +our sheet-iron roof; the wind passing high overhead with a +strange dumb mutter, or striking us full, so that all the huge +trees in the paddock cried aloud, and wrung their hands, and +brandished their vast arms. The horses stood in the shed +like things stupid. The sea and the flagship lying on the +jaws of the bay vanished in sheer rain. All day it lasted; +I locked up my papers in the iron box, in case it was a +hurricane, and the house might go. We went to bed with +mighty uncertain feelings; far more than on shipboard, where you +have only drowning ahead—whereas here you have a smash of +beams, a shower of sheet-iron, and a blind race in the dark and +through a whirlwind for the shelter of an unfinished +stable—and my wife with ear-ache! Well, well, this +morning, we had word from Apia; a hurricane was looked for, the +ships were to leave the bay by 10 <span +class="GutSmall">A.M.</span>; it is now 3.30, and the flagship is +still a fixture, and the wind round in the blessed east, so I +suppose the danger is over. But heaven is still laden; the +day dim, with frequent rattling bucketfuls of rain; and just this +moment (as I write) a squall went overhead, scarce striking us, +with that singular, solemn noise of its passage, which is to me +dreadful. I have always feared the sound of wind beyond +everything. In my hell it would always blow a gale.</p> +<p>I have been all day correcting proofs, and making out a new +plan for our house. The other was too dear to be built now, +and it was a hard task to make a smaller house that would suffice +for the present, and not be a mere waste of money in the +future. I believe I have succeeded; I have taken care of my +study anyway.</p> +<p>Two favours I want to ask of you. First, I wish you to +get ‘Pioneering in New Guinea,’ by J. Chalmers. +It’s a missionary book, and has less pretensions to be +literature than Spurgeon’s sermons. Yet I think even +through that, you will see some of the traits of the hero that +wrote it; a man that took me fairly by storm for the most +attractive, simple, brave, and interesting man in the whole +Pacific. He is away now to go up the Fly River; a desperate +venture, it is thought; he is quite a Livingstone card.</p> +<p>Second, try and keep yourself free next winter; and if my +means can be stretched so far, I’ll come to Egypt and +we’ll meet at Shepheard’s Hotel, and you’ll put +me in my place, which I stand in need of badly by this +time. Lord, what bully times! I suppose I’ll +come per British Asia, or whatever you call it, and avoid all +cold, and might be in Egypt about November as ever +was—eleven months from now or rather less. But do not +let us count our chickens.</p> +<p>Last night three piglings were stolen from one of our +pig-pens. The great Lafaele appeared to my wife uneasy, so +she engaged him in conversation on the subject, and played upon +him the following engaging trick. You advance your two +forefingers towards the sitter’s eyes; he closes them, +whereupon you substitute (on his eyelids) the fore and middle +fingers of the left hand; and with your right (which he supposes +engaged) you tap him on the head and back. When you let him +open his eyes, he sees you withdrawing the two forefingers. +‘What that?’ asked Lafaele. ‘My +devil,’ says Fanny. ‘I wake um, my devil. +All right now. He go catch the man that catch my +pig.’ About an hour afterwards, Lafaele came for +further particulars. ‘O, all right,’ my wife +says. ‘By and by, that man he sleep, devil go sleep +same place. By and by, that man plenty sick. I no +care. What for he take my pig?’ Lafaele cares +plenty; I don’t think he is the man, though he may be; but +he knows him, and most likely will eat some of that pig +to-night. He will not eat with relish.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Saturday</i> 27<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>It cleared up suddenly after dinner, and my wife and I saddled +up and off to Apia, whence we did not return till yesterday +morning. Christmas Day I wish you could have seen our party +at table. H. J. Moors at one end with my wife, I at the +other with Mrs. M., between us two native women, Carruthers the +lawyer, Moors’s two shop-boys—Walters and A. M. the +quadroon—and the guests of the evening, Shirley Baker, the +defamed and much-accused man of Tonga, and his son, with the +artificial joint to his arm—where the assassins shot him in +shooting at his father. Baker’s appearance is not +unlike John Bull on a cartoon; he is highly interesting to speak +to, as I had expected; I found he and I had many common +interests, and were engaged in puzzling over many of the same +difficulties. After dinner it was quite pretty to see our +Christmas party, it was so easily pleased and prettily +behaved. In the morning I should say I had been to lunch at +the German consulate, where I had as usual a very pleasant +time. I shall miss Dr. Stuebel much when he leaves, and +when Adams and Lafarge go also, it will be a great blow. I +am getting spoiled with all this good society.</p> +<p>On Friday morning, I had to be at my house affairs before +seven; and they kept me in Apia till past ten, disputing, and +consulting about brick and stone and native and hydraulic lime, +and cement and sand, and all sorts of otiose details about the +chimney—just what I fled from in my father’s office +twenty years ago; I should have made a languid engineer. +Rode up with the carpenter. Ah, my wicked Jack! on +Christmas Eve, as I was taking the saddle bag off, he kicked at +me, and fetched me too, right on the shin. On Friday, being +annoyed at the carpenter’s horse having a longer trot, he +uttered a shrill cry and tried to bite him! Alas, alas, +these are like old days; my dear Jack is a Bogue, but I cannot +strangle Jack into submission.</p> +<p>I have given up the big house for just now; we go ahead right +away with a small one, which should be ready in two months, and I +suppose will suffice for just now.</p> +<p>O I know I haven’t told you about our <i>aitu</i>, have +I? It is a lady, <i>Aitu fafine</i>: she lives on the +mountain-side; her presence is heralded by the sound of a gust of +wind; a sound very common in the high woods; when she catches +you, I do not know what happens; but in practice she is avoided, +so I suppose she does more than pass the time of day. The +great <i>aitu Saumai-afe</i> was once a living woman; and became +an <i>aitu</i>, no one understands how; she lives in a stream at +the well-head, her hair is red, she appears as a lovely young +lady, her bust particularly admired, to handsome young men; these +die, her love being fatal;—as a handsome youth she has been +known to court damsels with the like result, but this is very +rare; as an old crone she goes about and asks for water, and woe +to them who are uncivil! <i>Saumai-afe</i> means literally, +‘Come here a thousand!’ A good name for a lady +of her manners. My <i>aitu fafine</i> does not seem to be +in the same line of business. It is unsafe to be a handsome +youth in Samoa; a young man died from her favours last +month—so we said on this side of the island; on the other, +where he died, it was not so certain. I, for one, blame it +on Madam <i>Saumai-afe</i> without hesitation.</p> +<p>Example of the farmer’s sorrows. I slipped out on +the balcony a moment ago. It is a lovely morning, +cloudless, smoking hot, the breeze not yet arisen. Looking +west, in front of our new house, I saw, two heads of Indian corn +wagging, and the rest and all nature stock still. As I +looked, one of the stalks subsided and disappeared. I +dashed out to the rescue; two small pigs were deep in the +grass—quite hid till within a few yards—gently but +swiftly demolishing my harvest. Never be a farmer.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">12.30 <i>p.m.</i></p> +<p>I while away the moments of digestion by drawing you a +faithful picture of my morning. When I had done writing as +above it was time to clean our house. When I am working, it +falls on my wife alone, but to-day we had it between us; she did +the bedroom, I the sitting-room, in fifty-seven minutes of really +most unpalatable labour. Then I changed every stitch, for I +was wet through, and sat down and played on my pipe till dinner +was ready, mighty pleased to be in a mildly habitable spot once +more. The house had been neglected for near a week, and was +a hideous spot; my wife’s ear and our visit to Apia being +the causes: our Paul we prefer not to see upon that theatre, and +God knows he has plenty to do elsewhere.</p> +<p>I am glad to look out of my back door and see the boys +smoothing the foundations of the new house; this is all very +jolly, but six months of it has satisfied me; we have too many +things for such close quarters; to work in the midst of all the +myriad misfortunes of the planter’s life, seated in a +Dyonisius’ (can’t spell him) ear, whence I catch +every complaint, mishap and contention, is besides the devil; and +the hope of a cave of my own inspires me with lust. O to be +able to shut my own door and make my own confusion! O to +have the brown paper and the matches and ‘make a hell of my +own’ once more!</p> +<p>I do not bother you with all my troubles in these outpourings; +the troubles of the farmer are inspiriting—they are like +difficulties out hunting—a fellow rages at the time and +rejoices to recall and to commemorate them. My troubles +have been financial. It is hard to arrange wisely interests +so distributed. America, England, Samoa, Sydney, everywhere +I have an end of liability hanging out and some shelf of credit +hard by; and to juggle all these and build a dwelling-place here, +and check expense—a thing I am ill fitted for—you can +conceive what a nightmare it is at times. Then God knows I +have not been idle. But since <i>The Master</i> nothing has +come to raise any coins. I believe the springs are dry at +home, and now I am worked out, and can no more at all. A +holiday is required.</p> +<p><i>Dec.</i> 28<i>th</i>. I have got unexpectedly to work +again, and feel quite dandy. Good-bye.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>S. S. Lübeck</i>, <i>between +Apia and Sydney</i>,<br /> +<i>Jan.</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1891.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—The Faamasino +Sili, or Chief Justice, to speak your low language, has +arrived. I had ridden down with Henry and Lafaele; the sun +was down, the night was close at hand, so we rode fast; just as I +came to the corner of the road before Apia, I heard a gun fire; +and lo, there was a great crowd at the end of the pier, and the +troops out, and a chief or two in the height of Samoa finery, and +Seumanu coming in his boat (the oarsmen all in uniform), bringing +the Faamasino Sili sure enough. It was lucky he was no +longer; the natives would not have waited many weeks. But +think of it, as I sat in the saddle at the outside of the crowd +(looking, the English consul said, as if I were commanding the +manœuvres), I was nearly knocked down by a stampede of the +three consuls; they had been waiting their guest at the Matafele +end, and some wretched intrigue among the whites had brought him +to Apia, and the consuls had to run all the length of the town +and come too late.</p> +<p>The next day was a long one; I was at a marriage of G. the +banker to Fanua, the virgin of Apia. Bride and bridesmaids +were all in the old high dress; the ladies were all native; the +men, with the exception of Seumanu, all white.</p> +<p>It was quite a pleasant party, and while we were writing, we +had a bird’s-eye view of the public reception of the Chief +Justice. The best part of it were some natives in war +array; with blacked faces, turbans, tapa kilts, and guns, they +looked very manly and purposelike. No, the best part was +poor old drunken Joe, the Portuguese boatman, who seemed to think +himself specially charged with the reception, and ended by +falling on his knees before the Chief Justice on the end of the +pier and in full view of the whole town and bay. The +natives pelted him with rotten bananas; how the Chief Justice +took it I was too far off to see; but it was highly absurd.</p> +<p>I have commemorated my genial hopes for the regimen of the +Faamasino Sili in the following canine verses, which, if you at +all guess how to read them, are very pretty in movement, and +(unless he be a mighty good man) too true in sense.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’re quarrelling, the villages, +we’ve beaten the wooden drum’s,<br /> +Sa femisai o nu’u, sa taia o pate,<br /> +Is expounded there by the justice,<br /> +Ua Atuatuvale a le faamasino e,<br /> +The chief justice, the terrified justice,<br /> +Le faamasino sili, le faamasino se,<br /> +Is on the point of running away the justice,<br /> +O le a solasola le faamasino e,<br /> +The justice denied any influence, the terrified justice,<br /> +O le faamasino le ai a, le faamasino se,<br /> +O le a solasola le faamasino e.</p> +<p>Well, after this excursion into tongues that have never been +alive—though I assure you we have one capital book in the +language, a book of fables by an old missionary of the +unpromising name of Pratt, which is simply the best and the most +literary version of the fables known to me. I suppose I +should except La Fontaine, but L. F. takes a long time; these are +brief as the books of our childhood, and full of wit and literary +colour; and O, Colvin, what a tongue it would be to write, if one +only knew it—and there were only readers. Its curse +in common use is an incredible left-handed wordiness; but in the +hands of a man like Pratt it is succinct as Latin, compact of +long rolling polysyllables and little and often pithy particles, +and for beauty of sound a dream. Listen, I quote from +Pratt—this is good Samoan, not canine—</p> +<p> </p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">...</p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center">...</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">...</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">...</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">...</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>1</p> +</td> +<td><p>2</p> +</td> +<td><p>3</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p> +</td> +<td><p>1</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>O le afa,</p> +</td> +<td><p>ua</p> +</td> +<td><p>taalili</p> +</td> +<td><p>ai</p> +</td> +<td><p>le ulu vao,</p> +</td> +<td><p>ua pa mai</p> +</td> +<td><p>le faititili.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>1 almost <i>wa</i>, 2 the two <i>a’s</i> just +distinguished, 3 the <i>ai</i> is practically suffixed to the +verb, 4 almost <i>vow</i>. The excursion has prolonged +itself.</p> +<p>I started by the <i>Lübeck</i> to meet Lloyd and my +mother; there were many reasons for and against; the main reason +against was the leaving of Fanny alone in her blessed cabin, +which has been somewhat remedied by my carter, Mr. —, +putting up in the stable and messing with her; but perhaps desire +of change decided me not well, though I do think I ought to see +an oculist, being very blind indeed, and sometimes unable to +read. Anyway I left, the only cabin passenger, four and a +kid in the second cabin, and a dear voyage it had like to have +proved. Close to Fiji (choose a worse place on the map) we +broke our shaft early one morning; and when or where we might +expect to fetch land or meet with any ship, I would like you to +tell me. The Pacific is absolutely desert. I have +sailed there now some years; and scarce ever seen a ship except +in port or close by; I think twice. It was the hurricane +season besides, and hurricane waters. Well, our chief +engineer got the shaft—it was the middle crank +shaft—mended; thrice it was mended, and twice broke down; +but now keeps up—only we dare not stop, for it is almost +impossible to start again. The captain in the meanwhile +crowded her with sail; fifteen sails in all, every stay being +gratified with a stay-sail, a boat-boom sent aloft for a +maintop-gallant yard, and the derrick of a crane brought in +service as bowsprit. All the time we have had a fine, fair +wind and a smooth sea; to-day at noon our run was 203 miles (if +you please!), and we are within some 360 miles of Sydney. +Probably there has never been a more gallant success; and I can +say honestly it was well worked for. No flurry, no high +words, no long faces; only hard work and honest thought; a +pleasant, manly business to be present at. All the chances +were we might have been six weeks—ay, or three months at +sea—or never turned up at all, and now it looks as though +we should reach our destination some five days too late.</p> +<h2><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>On Board Ship between Sydney and +Apia</i>,<br /> +<i>Feb.</i> 1891.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—The <i>Janet +Nicoll</i> stuff was rather worse than I had looked for; you have +picked out all that is fit to stand, bar two others (which I +don’t dislike)—the Port of Entry and the House of +Temoana; that is for a present opinion; I may condemn these also +ere I have done. By this time you should have another +Marquesan letter, the worst of the lot, I think; and seven +Paumotu letters, which are not far out of the vein, as I wish it; +I am in hopes the Hawaiian stuff is better yet: time will show, +and time will make perfect. Is something of this sort +practicable for the dedication?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">TERRA +MARIQUE</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">PER PERICULA +PER ARDUA</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">AMICAE +COMITI</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">D.D.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">AMANS +VIATOR</span></p> +<p>’Tis a first shot concocted this morning in my berth: I +had always before been trying it in English, which insisted on +being either insignificant or fulsome: I cannot think of a better +word than <i>comes</i>, there being not the shadow of a Latin +book on board; yet sure there is some other. Then +<i>viator</i> (though it <i>sounds</i> all right) is doubtful; it +has too much, perhaps, the sense of wayfarer? Last, will it +mark sufficiently that I mean my wife? And first, how about +blunders? I scarce wish it longer.</p> +<p>Have had a swingeing sharp attack in Sydney; beating the +fields for two nights, Saturday and Sunday. Wednesday was +brought on board, <i>tel quel</i>, a wonderful wreck; and now, +Wednesday week, am a good deal picked up, but yet not quite a +Samson, being still groggy afoot and vague in the head. My +chess, for instance, which is usually a pretty strong game, and +defies all rivalry aboard, is vacillating, devoid of resource and +observation, and hitherto not covered with customary +laurels. As for work, it is impossible. We shall be +in the saddle before long, no doubt, and the pen once more +couched. You must not expect a letter under these +circumstances, but be very thankful for a note. Once at +Samoa, I shall try to resume my late excellent habits, and +delight you with journals, you unaccustomed, I unaccustomed; but +it is never too late to mend.</p> +<p>It is vastly annoying that I cannot go even to Sydney without +an attack; and heaven knows my life was anodyne. I only +once dined with anybody; at the club with Wise; worked all +morning—a terrible dead pull; a month only produced the +imperfect embryos of two chapters; lunched in the boarding-house, +played on my pipe; went out and did some of my messages; dined at +a French restaurant, and returned to play draughts, whist, or Van +John with my family. This makes a cheery life after Samoa; +but it isn’t what you call burning the candle at both ends, +is it? (It appears to me not one word of this letter will +be legible by the time I am done with it, this dreadful ink rubs +off.) I have a strange kind of novel under construction; it +begins about 1660 and ends 1830, or perhaps I may continue it to +1875 or so, with another life. One, two, three, four, five, +six generations, perhaps seven, figure therein; two of my old +stories, ‘Delafield’ and ‘Shovel,’ are +incorporated; it is to be told in the third person, with some of +the brevity of history, some of the detail of romance. +<i>The Shovels of Newton French</i> will be the name. The +idea is an old one; it was brought to birth by an accident; a +friend in the islands who picked up F. Jenkin, read a part, and +said: ‘Do you know, that’s a strange book? I +like it; I don’t believe the public will; but I like +it.’ He thought it was a novel! ‘Very +well,’ said I, ‘we’ll see whether the public +will like it or not; they shall have the chance.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i>, <i>March</i> +19<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear</span> S. C.,—You probably +expect that now I am back at Vailima I shall resume the practice +of the diary letter. A good deal is changed. We are +more; solitude does not attend me as before; the night is passed +playing Van John for shells; and, what is not less important, I +have just recovered from a severe illness, and am easily +tired.</p> +<p>I will give you to-day. I sleep now in one of the lower +rooms of the new house, where my wife has recently joined +me. We have two beds, an empty case for a table, a chair, a +tin basin, a bucket and a jug; next door in the dining-room, the +carpenters camp on the floor, which is covered with their +mosquito nets. Before the sun rises, at 5.45 or 5.50, Paul +brings me tea, bread, and a couple of eggs; and by about six I am +at work. I work in bed—my bed is of mats, no +mattress, sheets, or filth—mats, a pillow, and a +blanket—and put in some three hours. It was 9.5 this +morning when I set off to the stream-side to my weeding; where I +toiled, manuring the ground with the best enricher, human sweat, +till the conch-shell was blown from our verandah at 10.30. +At eleven we dine; about half-past twelve I tried (by exception) +to work again, could make nothing on’t, and by one was on +my way to the weeding, where I wrought till three. +Half-past five is our next meal, and I read Flaubert’s +Letters till the hour came round; dined, and then, Fanny having a +cold, and I being tired, came over to my den in the unfinished +house, where I now write to you, to the tune of the +carpenters’ voices, and by the light—I crave your +pardon—by the twilight of three vile candles filtered +through the medium of my mosquito bar. Bad ink being of the +party, I write quite blindfold, and can only hope you may be +granted to read that which I am unable to see while writing.</p> +<p>I said I was tired; it is a mild phrase; my back aches like +toothache; when I shut my eyes to sleep, I know I shall see +before them—a phenomenon to which both Fanny and I are +quite accustomed—endless vivid deeps of grass and weed, +each plant particular and distinct, so that I shall lie inert in +body, and transact for hours the mental part of my day business, +choosing the noxious from the useful. And in my dreams I +shall be hauling on recalcitrants, and suffering stings from +nettles, stabs from citron thorns, fiery bites from ants, +sickening resistances of mud and slime, evasions of slimy roots, +dead weight of heat, sudden puffs of air, sudden starts from +bird-calls in the contiguous forest—some mimicking my name, +some laughter, some the signal of a whistle, and living over +again at large the business of my day.</p> +<p>Though I write so little, I pass all my hours of field-work in +continual converse and imaginary correspondence. I scarce +pull up a weed, but I invent a sentence on the matter to +yourself; it does not get written; <i>autant en emportent les +vents</i>; but the intent is there, and for me (in some sort) the +companionship. To-day, for instance, we had a great +talk. I was toiling, the sweat dripping from my nose, in +the hot fit after a squall of rain: methought you asked +me—frankly, was I happy. Happy (said I); I was only +happy once; that was at Hyères; it came to an end from a +variety of reasons, decline of health, change of place, increase +of money, age with his stealing steps; since then, as before +then, I know not what it means. But I know pleasure still; +pleasure with a thousand faces, and none perfect, a thousand +tongues all broken, a thousand hands, and all of them with +scratching nails. High among these I place this delight of +weeding out here alone by the garrulous water, under the silence +of the high wood, broken by incongruous sounds of birds. +And take my life all through, look at it fore and back, and +upside down,—though I would very fain change myself—I +would not change my circumstances, unless it were to bring you +here. And yet God knows perhaps this intercourse of writing +serves as well; and I wonder, were you here indeed, would I +commune so continually with the thought of you. I say +‘I wonder’ for a form; I know, and I know I should +not.</p> +<p>So far, and much further, the conversation went, while I +groped in slime after viscous roots, nursing and sparing little +spears of grass, and retreating (even with outcry) from the prod +of the wild lime. I wonder if any one had ever the same +attitude to Nature as I hold, and have held for so long? +This business fascinates me like a tune or a passion; yet all the +while I thrill with a strong distaste. The horror of the +thing, objective and subjective, is always present to my mind; +the horror of creeping things, a superstitious horror of the void +and the powers about me, the horror of my own devastation and +continual murders. The life of the plants comes through my +fingertips, their struggles go to my heart like +supplications. I feel myself blood-boltered; then I look +back on my cleared grass, and count myself an ally in a fair +quarrel, and make stout my heart.</p> +<p>It is but a little while since I lay sick in Sydney, beating +the fields about the navy and Dean Swift and Dryden’s Latin +hymns; judge if I love this reinvigorating climate, where I can +already toil till my head swims and every string in the poor +jumping Jack (as he now lies in bed) aches with a kind of +yearning strain, difficult to suffer in quiescence.</p> +<p>As for my damned literature, God knows what a business it is, +grinding along without a scrap of inspiration or a note of +style. But it has to be ground, and the mill grinds +exceeding slowly though not particularly small. The last +two chapters have taken me considerably over a month, and they +are still beneath pity. This I cannot continue, time not +sufficing; and the next will just have to be worse. All the +good I can express is just this; some day, when style revisits +me, they will be excellent matter to rewrite. Of course, my +old cure of a change of work would probably answer, but I cannot +take it now. The treadmill turns; and, with a kind of +desperate cheerfulness, I mount the idle stair. I +haven’t the least anxiety about the book; unless I die, I +shall find the time to make it good; but the Lord deliver me from +the thought of the Letters! However, the Lord has other +things on hand; and about six to-morrow, I shall resume the +consideration practically, and face (as best I may) the fact of +my incompetence and disaffection to the task. Toil I do not +spare; but fortune refuses me success. We can do more, +Whatever-his-name-was, we can deserve it. But my misdesert +began long since, by the acceptation of a bargain quite +unsuitable to all my methods.</p> +<p>To-day I have had a queer experience. My carter has from +the first been using my horses for his own ends; when I left for +Sydney, I put him on his honour to cease, and my back was scarce +turned ere he was forfeit. I have only been waiting to +discharge him; and to-day an occasion arose. I am so much +<i>the old man virulent</i>, so readily stumble into anger, that +I gave a deal of consideration to my bearing, and decided at last +to imitate that of the late —. Whatever he might have +to say, this eminently effective controversialist maintained a +frozen demeanour and a jeering smile. The frozen demeanour +is beyond my reach; but I could try the jeering smile; did so, +perceived its efficacy, kept in consequence my temper, and got +rid of my friend, myself composed and smiling still, he white and +shaking like an aspen. He could explain everything; I said +it did not interest me. He said he had enemies; I said +nothing was more likely. He said he was calumniated; with +all my heart, said I, but there are so many liars, that I find it +safer to believe them. He said, in justice to himself, he +must explain: God forbid I should interfere with you, said I, +with the same factitious grin, but it can change nothing. +So I kept my temper, rid myself of an unfaithful servant, found a +method of conducting similar interviews in the future, and fell +in my own liking. One thing more: I learned a fresh +tolerance for the dead —; he too had learned—perhaps +had invented—the trick of this manner; God knows what +weakness, what instability of feeling, lay beneath. <i>Ce +que c’est que de nous</i>! poor human nature; that at past +forty I must adjust this hateful mask for the first time, and +rejoice to find it effective; that the effort of maintaining an +external smile should confuse and embitter a man’s +soul.</p> +<p>To-day I have not weeded; I have written instead from six till +eleven, from twelve till two; with the interruption of the +interview aforesaid; a damned letter is written for the third +time; I dread to read it, for I dare not give it a fourth +chance—unless it be very bad indeed. Now I write you +from my mosquito curtain, to the song of saws and planes and +hammers, and wood clumping on the floor above; in a day of +heavenly brightness; a bird twittering near by; my eye, through +the open door, commanding green meads, two or three forest trees +casting their boughs against the sky, a forest-clad mountain-side +beyond, and close in by the door-jamb a nick of the blue +Pacific. It is March in England, bleak March, and I lie +here with the great sliding doors wide open in an undershirt and +p’jama trousers, and melt in the closure of mosquito bars, +and burn to be out in the breeze. A few torn +clouds—not white, the sun has tinged them a warm +pink—swim in heaven. In which blessed and fair day, I +have to make faces and speak bitter words to a man—who has +deceived me, it is true—but who is poor, and older than I, +and a kind of a gentleman too. On the whole, I prefer the +massacre of weeds.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>.</p> +<p>When I had done talking to you yesterday, I played on my pipe +till the conch sounded, then went over to the old house for +dinner, and had scarce risen from table ere I was submerged with +visitors. The first of these despatched, I spent the rest +of the evening going over the Samoan translation of my <i>Bottle +Imp</i> with Claxton the missionary; then to bed, but being +upset, I suppose, by these interruptions, and having gone all day +without my weeding, not to sleep. For hours I lay awake and +heard the rain fall, and saw faint, far-away lightning over the +sea, and wrote you long letters which I scorn to reproduce. +This morning Paul was unusually early; the dawn had scarce begun +when he appeared with the tray and lit my candle; and I had +breakfasted and read (with indescribable sinkings) the whole of +yesterday’s work before the sun had risen. Then I sat +and thought, and sat and better thought. It was not good +enough, nor good; it was as slack as journalism, but not so +inspired; it was excellent stuff misused, and the defects stood +gross on it like humps upon a camel. But could I, in my +present disposition, do much more with it? in my present pressure +for time, were I not better employed doing another one about as +ill, than making this some thousandth fraction better? Yes, +I thought; and tried the new one, and behold, I could do nothing: +my head swims, words do not come to me, nor phrases, and I +accepted defeat, packed up my traps, and turned to communicate +the failure to my esteemed correspondent. I think it +possible I overworked yesterday. Well, we’ll see +to-morrow—perhaps try again later. It is indeed the +hope of trying later that keeps me writing to you. If I +take to my pipe, I know myself—all is over for the +morning. Hurray, I’ll correct proofs!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Pago-Pago</i>, +<i>Wednesday</i>.</p> +<p>After I finished on Sunday I passed a miserable day; went out +weeding, but could not find peace. I do not like to steal +my dinner, unless I have given myself a holiday in a canonical +manner; and weeding after all is only fun, the amount of its +utility small, and the thing capable of being done faster and +nearly as well by a hired boy. In the evening Sewall came +up (American consul) and proposed to take me on a malaga, which I +accepted. Monday I rode down to Apia, was nearly all day +fighting about drafts and money; the silver problem does not +touch you, but it is (in a strange and I hope passing phase) +making my situation difficult in Apia. About eleven, the +flags were all half-masted; it was old Captain Hamilton (Samesoni +the natives called him) who had passed away. In the evening +I walked round to the U.S. Consulate; it was a lovely night with +a full moon; and as I got round to the hot corner of Matautu I +heard hymns in front. The balcony of the dead man’s +house was full of women singing; Mary (the widow, a native) sat +on a chair by the doorstep, and I was set beside her on a bench, +and next to Paul the carpenter; as I sat down I had a glimpse of +the old captain, who lay in a sheet on his own table. After +the hymn was over, a native pastor made a speech which lasted a +long while; the light poured out of the door and windows; the +girls were sitting clustered at my feet; it was choking +hot. After the speech was ended, Mary carried me within; +the captain’s hands were folded on his bosom, his face and +head were composed; he looked as if he might speak at any moment; +I have never seen this kind of waxwork so express or more +venerable; and when I went away, I was conscious of a certain +envy for the man who was out of the battle. All night it +ran in my head, and the next day when we sighted Tutuila, and ran +into this beautiful land-locked loch of Pago Pago (whence I +write), Captain Hamilton’s folded hands and quiet face said +a great deal more to me than the scenery.</p> +<p>I am living here in a trader’s house; we have a good +table, Sewall doing things in style; and I hope to benefit by the +change, and possibly get more stuff for Letters. In the +meanwhile, I am seized quite <i>mal-à-propos</i> with +desire to write a story, <i>The Bloody Wedding</i>, founded on +fact—very possibly true, being an attempt to read a murder +case—not yet months old, in this very place and house where +I now write. The indiscretion is what stops me; but if I +keep on feeling as I feel just now it will have to be +written. Three Star Nettison, Kit Nettison, Field the +Sailor, these are the main characters: old Nettison, and the +captain of the man of war, the secondary. Possible +scenario. Chapter I. . . .</p> +<h2><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Saturday</i>, <i>April</i> +18<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—I got back on +Monday night, after twenty-three hours in an open boat; the keys +were lost; the Consul (who had promised us a bottle of Burgundy) +nobly broke open his store-room, and we got to bed about +midnight. Next morning the blessed Consul promised us +horses for the daybreak; forgot all about it, worthy man; set us +off at last in the heat of the day, and by a short cut which +caused infinite trouble, and we were not home till dinner. +I was extenuated, and have had a high fever since, or should have +been writing before. To-day for the first time, I risk +it. Tuesday I was pretty bad; Wednesday had a fever to kill +a horse; Thursday I was better, but still out of ability to do +aught but read awful trash. This is the time one misses +civilisation; I wished to send out for some police novels; +Montépin would have about suited my frozen brain. It +is a bother when all one’s thought turns on one’s +work in some sense or other; could not even think yesterday; I +took to inventing dishes by way of entertainment. +Yesterday, while I lay asleep in the afternoon, a very lucky +thing happened; the Chief Justice came to call; met one of our +employés on the road; and was shown what I had done to the +road.</p> +<p>‘Is this the road across the island?’ he +asked.</p> +<p>‘The only one,’ said Innes.</p> +<p>‘And has one man done all this?’</p> +<p>‘Three times,’ said the trusty Innes. +‘It has had to be made three times, and when Mr. Stevenson +came, it was a track like what you see beyond.’</p> +<p>‘This must be put right,’ said the Chief +Justice.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>.</p> +<p>The truth is, I broke down yesterday almost as soon as I +began, and have been surreptitiously finishing the entry +to-day. For all that I was much better, ate all the time, +and had no fever. The day was otherwise uneventful. I +am reminded; I had another visitor on Friday; and Fanny and +Lloyd, as they returned from a forest raid, met in our desert, +untrodden road, first Father Didier, Keeper of the conscience of +Mataafa, the rising star; and next the Chief justice, sole stay +of Laupepa, the present and unsteady star, and remember, a few +days before we were close to the sick bed and entertained by the +amateur physician of Tamasese, the late and sunken star. +‘That is the fun of this place,’ observed Lloyd; +‘everybody you meet is so important.’ Everybody +is also so gloomy. It will come to war again, is the +opinion of all the well informed—and before that to many +bankruptcies; and after that, as usual, to famine. Here, +under the microscope, we can see history at work.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>.</p> +<p>I have been very neglectful. A return to work, perhaps +premature, but necessary, has used up all my possible energies +and made me acquainted with the living headache. I just jot +down some of the past notabilia. Yesterday B., a carpenter, +and K., my (unsuccessful) white man, were absent all morning from +their work; I was working myself, where I hear every sound with +morbid certainty, and I can testify that not a hammer fell. +Upon inquiry I found they had passed the morning making ice with +our ice machine and taking the horizon with a spirit level! +I had no sooner heard this than—a violent headache set in; +I am a real employer of labour now, and have much of the ship +captain when aroused; and if I had a headache, I believe both +these gentlemen had aching hearts. I promise you, the +late—was to the front; and K., who was the most guilty, yet +(in a sense) the least blameable, having the brains and character +of a canary-bird, fared none the better for B.’s +repartees. I hear them hard at work this morning, so the +menace may be blessed. It was just after my dinner, just +before theirs, that I administered my redoubtable tongue—it +is really redoubtable—to these skulkers (Paul used to +triumph over Mr. J. for weeks. ‘I am very sorry for +you,’ he would say; ‘you’re going to have a +talk with Mr. Stevenson when he comes home: you don’t know +what that is!’) In fact, none of them do, till they +get it. I have known K., for instance, for months; he has +never heard me complain, or take notice, unless it were to +praise; I have used him always as my guest, and there seems to be +something in my appearance which suggests endless, ovine +long-suffering! We sat in the upper verandah all evening, +and discussed the price of iron roofing, and the state of the +draught-horses, with Innes, a new man we have taken, and who +seems to promise well.</p> +<p>One thing embarrasses me. No one ever seems to +understand my attitude about that book; the stuff sent was never +meant for other than a first state; I never meant it to appear as +a book. Knowing well that I have never had one hour of +inspiration since it was begun, and have only beaten out my metal +by brute force and patient repetition, I hoped some day to get a +‘spate of style’ and burnish it—fine mixed +metaphor. I am now so sick that I intend, when the Letters +are done and some more written that will be wanted, simply to +make a book of it by the pruning-knife.</p> +<p>I cannot fight longer; I am sensible of having done worse than +I hoped, worse than I feared; all I can do now is to do the best +I can for the future, and clear the book, like a piece of bush, +with axe and cutlass. Even to produce the <span +class="GutSmall">MS.</span> of this will occupy me, at the most +favourable opinion, till the middle of next year; really five +years were wanting, when I could have made a book; but I have a +family, and—perhaps I could not make the book after +all.</p> +<h2><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>April</i> 29<i>th</i>, +’91.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—I begin +again. I was awake this morning about half-past four. +It was still night, but I made my fire, which is always a +delightful employment, and read Lockhart’s +‘Scott’ until the day began to peep. It was a +beautiful and sober dawn, a dove-coloured dawn, insensibly +brightening to gold. I was looking at it some while over +the down-hill profile of our eastern road, when I chanced to +glance northward, and saw with extraordinary pleasure the sea +lying outspread. It seemed as smooth as glass, and yet I +knew the surf was roaring all along the reef, and indeed, if I +had listened, I could have heard it—and saw the white sweep +of it outside Matautu.</p> +<p>I am out of condition still, and can do nothing, and toil to +be at my pen, and see some ink behind me. I have taken up +again <i>The High Woods of Ulufanua</i>. I still think the +fable too fantastic and far-fetched. But, on a re-reading, +fell in love with my first chapter, and for good or evil I must +finish it. It is really good, well fed with facts, true to +the manners, and (for once in my works) rendered pleasing by the +presence of a heroine who is pretty. Miss Uma is pretty; a +fact. All my other women have been as ugly as sin, and like +Falconet’s horse (I have just been reading the anecdote in +Lockhart), <i>mortes</i> forbye.</p> +<p>News: Our old house is now half demolished; it is to be +rebuilt on a new site; now we look down upon and through the open +posts of it like a bird-cage, to the woods beyond. My poor +Paulo has lost his father and succeeded to thirty thousand +thalers (I think); he had to go down to the Consulate yesterday +to send a legal paper; got drunk, of course, and is still this +morning in so bemused a condition that our breakfasts all went +wrong. Lafaele is absent at the deathbed of his fair +spouse; fair she was, but not in deed, acting as harlot to the +wreckers at work on the warships, to which society she probably +owes her end, having fallen off a cliff, or been thrust off +it—<i>inter pocula</i>. Henry is the same, our +stand-by. In this transition stage he has been living in +Apia; but the other night he stayed up, and sat with us about the +chimney in my room. It was the first time he had seen a +fire in a hearth; he could not look at it without smiles, and was +always anxious to put on another stick. We entertained him +with the fairy tales of civilisation—theatres, London, +blocks in the street, Universities, the Underground, newspapers, +etc., and projected once more his visit to Sydney. If we +can manage, it will be next Christmas. (I see it will be +impossible for me to afford a further journey <i>this</i> +winter.) We have spent since we have been here about +£2500, which is not much if you consider we have built on +that three houses, one of them of some size, and a considerable +stable, made two miles of road some three times, cleared many +acres of bush, made some miles of path, planted quantities of +food, and enclosed a horse paddock and some acres of pig run; but +’tis a good deal of money regarded simply as money. +K. is bosh; I have no use for him; but we must do what we can +with the fellow meanwhile; he is good-humoured and honest, but +inefficient, idle himself, the cause of idleness in others, +grumbling, a self-excuser—all the faults in a bundle. +He owes us thirty weeks’ service—the wretched Paul +about half as much. Henry is almost the only one of our +employés who has a credit.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 17<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Well, am I ashamed of myself? I do not think so. I +have been hammering Letters ever since, and got three ready and a +fourth about half through; all four will go by the mail, which is +what I wish, for so I keep at least my start. Days and days +of unprofitable stubbing and digging, and the result still poor +as literature, left-handed, heavy, unillumined, but I believe +readable and interesting as matter. It has been no joke of +a hard time, and when my task was done, I had little taste for +anything but blowing on the pipe. A few necessary letters +filled the bowl to overflowing.</p> +<p>My mother has arrived, young, well, and in good spirits. +By desperate exertions, which have wholly floored Fanny, her room +was ready for her, and the dining-room fit to eat in. It +was a famous victory. Lloyd never told me of your portrait +till a few days ago; fortunately, I had no pictures hung yet; and +the space over my chimney waits your counterfeit +presentment. I have not often heard anything that pleased +me more; your severe head shall frown upon me and keep me to the +mark. But why has it not come? Have you been as +forgetful as Lloyd?</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">18<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Miserable comforters are ye all! I read your esteemed +pages this morning by lamplight and the glimmer of the dawn, and +as soon as breakfast was over, I must turn to and tackle these +despised labours! Some courage was necessary, but not +wanting. There is one thing at least by which I can avenge +myself for my drubbing, for on one point you seem impenetrably +stupid. Can I find no form of words which will at last +convey to your intelligence the fact that <i>these letters were +never meant</i>, <i>and are not now meant</i>, <i>to be other +than a quarry of materials from which the book may be +drawn</i>? There seems something incommunicable in this (to +me) simple idea; I know Lloyd failed to comprehend it, I doubt if +he has grasped it now; and I despair, after all these efforts, +that you should ever be enlightened. Still, oblige me by +reading that form of words once more, and see if a light does not +break. You may be sure, after the friendly freedoms of your +criticism (necessary I am sure, and wholesome I know, but +untimely to the poor labourer in his landslip) that mighty little +of it will stand.</p> +<p>Our Paul has come into a fortune, and wishes to go home to the +Hie Germanie. This is a tile on our head, and if a shower, +which is now falling, lets up, I must go down to Apia, and see if +I can find a substitute of any kind. This is, from any +point of view, disgusting; above all, from that of work; for, +whatever the result, the mill has to be kept turning; apparently +dust, and not flour, is the proceed. Well, there is gold in +the dust, which is a fine consolation, since—well, I +can’t help it; night or morning, I do my darndest, and if I +cannot charge for merit, I must e’en charge for toil, of +which I have plenty and plenty more ahead before this cup is +drained; sweat and hyssop are the ingredients.</p> +<p>We are clearing from Carruthers’ Road to the pig fence, +twenty-eight powerful natives with Catholic medals about their +necks, all swiping in like Trojans; long may the sport +continue!</p> +<p>The invoice to hand. Ere this goes out, I hope to see +your expressive, but surely not benignant countenance! +Adieu, O culler of offensive expressions—‘and +a’ to be a posy to your ain dear May!’—Fanny +seems a little revived again after her spasm of work. Our +books and furniture keep slowly draining up the road, in a sad +state of scatterment and disrepair; I wish the devil had had K. +by his red beard before he had packed my library. Odd +leaves and sheets and boards—a thing to make a bibliomaniac +shed tears—are fished out of odd corners. But I am no +bibliomaniac, praise Heaven, and I bear up, and rejoice when I +find anything safe.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">19<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>However, I worked five hours on the brute, and finished my +Letter all the same, and couldn’t sleep last night by +consequence. Haven’t had a bad night since I +don’t know when; dreamed a large, handsome man (a New +Orleans planter) had insulted my wife, and, do what I pleased, I +could not make him fight me; and woke to find it was the eleventh +anniversary of my marriage. A letter usually takes me from +a week to three days; but I’m sometimes two days on a +page—I was once three—and then my friends kick +me. <i>C’est-y-bête</i>! I wish letters +of that charming quality could be so timed as to arrive when a +fellow wasn’t working at the truck in question; but, of +course, that can’t be. Did not go down last +night. It showered all afternoon, and poured heavy and loud +all night.</p> +<p>You should have seen our twenty-five popes (the Samoan phrase +for a Catholic, lay or cleric) squatting when the day’s +work was done on the ground outside the verandah, and pouring in +the rays of forty-eight eyes through the back and the front door +of the dining-room, while Henry and I and the boss pope signed +the contract. The second boss (an old man) wore a kilt (as +usual) and a Balmoral bonnet with a little tartan edging and the +tails pulled off. I told him that hat belong to my +country—Sekotia; and he said, yes, that was the place that +he belonged to right enough. And then all the Papists +laughed till the woods rang; he was slashing away with a cutlass +as he spoke.</p> +<p>The pictures have decidedly not come; they may probably arrive +Sunday.</p> +<h2><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>June</i>, 1891.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—To you, under your +portrait, which is, in expression, your true, breathing self, and +up to now saddens me; in time, and soon, I shall be glad to have +it there; it is still only a reminder of your absence. +Fanny wept when we unpacked it, and you know how little she is +given to that mood; I was scarce Roman myself, but that does not +count—I lift up my voice so readily. These are good +compliments to the artist. I write in the midst of a wreck +of books, which have just come up, and have for once defied my +labours to get straight. The whole floor is filled with +them, and (what’s worse) most of the shelves forbye; and +where they are to go to, and what is to become of the librarian, +God knows. It is hot to-night, and has been airless all +day, and I am out of sorts, and my work sticks, the devil fly +away with it and me. We had an alarm of war since last I +wrote my screeds to you, and it blew over, and is to blow on +again, and the rumour goes they are to begin by killing all the +whites. I have no belief in this, and should be infinitely +sorry if it came to pass—I do not mean for <i>us</i>, that +were otiose—but for the poor, deluded schoolboys, who +should hope to gain by such a step.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>[<i>Letter resumed</i>.]</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>June</i> 20<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>No diary this time. Why? you ask. I have only sent +out four Letters, and two chapters of the <i>Wrecker</i>. +Yes, but to get these I have written 132 pp., 66,000 words in +thirty days; 2200 words a day; the labours of an elephant. +God knows what it’s like, and don’t ask me, but +nobody shall say I have spared pains. I thought for some +time it wouldn’t come at all. I was days and days +over the first letter of the lot—days and days writing and +deleting and making no headway whatever, till I thought I should +have gone bust; but it came at last after a fashion, and the rest +went a thought more easily, though I am not so fond as to fancy +any better.</p> +<p>Your opinion as to the letters as a whole is so damnatory that +I put them by. But there is a ‘hell of a want +of’ money this year. And these Gilbert Island papers, +being the most interesting in matter, and forming a compact +whole, and being well illustrated, I did think of as a possible +resource.</p> +<p>It would be called</p> +<p class="gutindent"><i>Six Months in Melanesia</i>,</p> +<p class="gutindent"><i>Two Island Kings</i>,</p> +<p class="gutindent">—<i>Monarchies</i>,</p> +<p class="gutindent"><i>Gilbert Island Kings</i>,</p> +<p class="gutindent">—<i>Monarchies</i>,</p> +<p>and I daresay I’ll think of a better yet—and would +divide thus:—</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: +center"><i>Butaritati</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">I.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>A Town asleep.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">II.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Three Brothers.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">III.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Around our House.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">IV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>A Tale of a Tapu.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">V.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Five Day’s Festival.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Domestic Life—(which might be omitted, but not well, +better be recast).</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>The King of +Apemama</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Royal Traders.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Foundation of Equator Town.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">IX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Palace of Mary Warren.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">X.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Equator Town and the Palace.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>King and Commons.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Devil Work Box.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Three Corslets.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Tail piece; the Court upon a Journey.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>I wish you to watch these closely, judging them as a whole, +and treating them as I have asked you, and favour me with your +damnatory advice. I look up at your portrait, and it frowns +upon me. You seem to view me with reproach. The +expression is excellent; Fanny wept when she saw it, and you know +she is not given to the melting mood. She seems really +better; I have a touch of fever again, I fancy overwork, and +to-day, when I have overtaken my letters, I shall blow on my +pipe. Tell Mrs. S. I have been playing <i>Le Chant +d’Amour</i> lately, and have arranged it, after awful +trouble, rather prettily for two pipes; and it brought her before +me with an effect scarce short of hallucination. I could +hear her voice in every note; yet I had forgot the air entirely, +and began to pipe it from notes as something new, when I was +brought up with a round turn by this reminiscence. We are +now very much installed; the dining-room is done, and looks +lovely. Soon we shall begin to photograph and send you our +circumstances. My room is still a howling wilderness. +I sleep on a platform in a window, and strike my mosquito bar and +roll up my bedclothes every morning, so that the bed becomes by +day a divan. A great part of the floor is knee-deep in +books, yet nearly all the shelves are filled, alas! It is a +place to make a pig recoil, yet here are my interminable labours +begun daily by lamp-light, and sometimes not yet done when the +lamp has once more to be lighted. The effect of pictures in +this place is surprising. They give great pleasure.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>June</i> 21<i>st</i>.</p> +<p>A word more. I had my breakfast this morning at +4.30! My new cook has beaten me and (as Lloyd says) +revenged all the cooks in the world. I have been hunting +them to give me breakfast early since I was twenty; and now here +comes Mr. Ratke, and I have to plead for mercy. I cannot +stand 4.30; I am a mere fevered wreck; it is now half-past eight, +and I can no more, and four hours divide me from lunch, the devil +take the man! Yesterday it was about 5.30, which I can +stand; day before 5, which is bad enough; to-day, I give +out. It is like a London season, and as I do not take a +siesta once in a month, and then only five minutes, I am being +worn to the bones, and look aged and anxious.</p> +<p>We have Rider Haggard’s brother here as a Land +Commissioner; a nice kind of a fellow; indeed, all the three Land +Commissioners are very agreeable.</p> +<h2><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>, <i>Sept.</i> 5 (?), +1891.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—Yours from +Lochinver has just come. You ask me if I am ever homesick +for the Highlands and the Isles. Conceive that for the last +month I have been living there between 1786 and 1850, in my +grandfather’s diaries and letters. I <i>had</i> to +take a rest; no use talking; so I put in a month over my <i>Lives +of the Stevensons</i> with great pleasure and profit and some +advance; one chapter and a part drafted. The whole promises +well Chapter <span class="GutSmall">I.</span> Domestic +Annals. Chapter <span class="GutSmall">II.</span> The +Northern Lights. Chapter <span class="GutSmall">III.</span> +The Bell Rock. Chapter <span class="GutSmall">IV.</span> A +Family of Boys. Chap. <span class="GutSmall">V.</span> The +Grandfather. <span class="GutSmall">VI.</span> Alan +Stevenson. <span class="GutSmall">VII.</span> Thomas +Stevenson. My materials for my great-grandfather are almost +null; for my grandfather copious and excellent. Name, a +puzzle. <i>A Scottish Family</i>, <i>A Family of +Engineers</i>, <i>Northern Lights</i>, <i>The Engineers of the +Northern Lights</i>: <i>A Family History</i>. Advise; but +it will take long. Now, imagine if I have been homesick for +Barrahead and Island Glass, and Kirkwall, and Cape Wrath, and the +Wells of the Pentland Firth; I could have wept.</p> +<p>Now for politics. I am much less alarmed; I believe the +<i>malo</i> (=<i>raj</i>, government) will collapse and cease +like an overlain infant, without a shot fired. They have +now been months here on their big salaries—and Cedarcrantz, +whom I specially like as a man, has done nearly nothing, and the +Baron, who is well-meaning, has done worse. They have these +large salaries, and they have all the taxes; they have made +scarce a foot of road; they have not given a single native a +position—all to white men; they have scarce laid out a +penny on Apia, and scarce a penny on the King; they have forgot +they were in Samoa, or that such a thing as Samoans existed, and +had eyes and some intelligence. The Chief Justice has +refused to pay his customs! The President proposed to have +an expensive house built for himself, while the King, his master, +has none! I had stood aside, and been a loyal, and, above +all, a silent subject, up to then; but now I snap my fingers at +their <i>malo</i>. It is damned, and I’m damned glad +of it. And this is not all. Last +‘<i>Wainiu</i>,’ when I sent Fanny off to Fiji, I +hear the wonderful news that the Chief Justice is going to Fiji +and the Colonies to improve his mind. I showed my way of +thought to his guest, Count Wachtmeister, whom I have sent to you +with a letter—he will tell you all the news. Well, +the Chief Justice stayed, but they said he was to leave +yesterday. I had intended to go down, and see and warn +him! But the President’s house had come up in the +meanwhile, and I let them go to their doom, which I am only +anxious to see swiftly and (if it may be) bloodlessly fall.</p> +<p>Thus I have in a way withdrawn my unrewarded loyalty. +Lloyd is down to-day with Moors to call on Mataafa; the news of +the excursion made a considerable row in Apia, and both the +German and the English consuls besought Lloyd not to go. +But he stuck to his purpose, and with my approval. +It’s a poor thing if people are to give up a pleasure party +for a <i>malo</i> that has never done anything for us but draw +taxes, and is going to go pop, and leave us at the mercy of the +identical Mataafa, whom I have not visited for more than a year, +and who is probably furious.</p> +<p>The sense of my helplessness here has been rather bitter; I +feel it wretched to see this dance of folly and injustice and +unconscious rapacity go forward from day to day, and to be +impotent. I was not consulted—or only by one man, and +that on particular points; I did not choose to volunteer advice +till some pressing occasion; I have not even a vote, for I am not +a member of the municipality.</p> +<p>What ails you, miserable man, to talk of saving +material? I have a whole world in my head, a whole new +society to work, but I am in no hurry; you will shortly make the +acquaintance of the Island of Ulufanua, on which I mean to lay +several stories; the <i>Bloody Wedding</i>, possibly the <i>High +Woods</i>—(O, it’s so good, the High Woods, but the +story is craziness; that’s the trouble,)—a political +story, the <i>Labour Slave</i>, etc. Ulufanua is an +imaginary island; the name is a beautiful Samoan word for the +<i>top</i> of a forest; ulu—leaves or hair, +fanua=land. The ground or country of the leaves. +‘Ulufanua the isle of the sea,’ read that verse +dactylically and you get the beat; the u’s are like our +double oo; did ever you hear a prettier word?</p> +<p>I do not feel inclined to make a volume of Essays, but if I +did, and perhaps the idea is good—and any idea is better +than South Seas—here would be my choice of the Scribner +articles: <i>Dreams</i>, <i>Beggars</i>, <i>Lantern-Bearers</i>, +<i>Random Memories</i>. There was a paper called the <i>Old +Pacific Capital</i> in Fraser, in Tulloch’s time, which had +merit; there were two on Fontainebleau in the <i>Magazine of +Art</i> in Henley’s time. I have no idea if +they’re any good; then there’s the <i>Emigrant +Train</i>. <i>Pulvis et Umbra</i> is in a different key, +and wouldn’t hang on with the rest.</p> +<p>I have just interrupted my letter and read through the chapter +of the <i>High Woods</i> that is written, a chapter and a bit, +some sixteen pages, really very fetching, but what do you wish? +the story is so wilful, so steep, so silly—it’s a +hallucination I have outlived, and yet I never did a better piece +of work, horrid, and pleasing, and extraordinarily <i>true</i>; +it’s sixteen pages of the South Seas; their essence. +What am I to do? Lose this little gem—for I’ll +be bold, and that’s what I think it—or go on with the +rest, which I don’t believe in, and don’t like, and +which can never make aught but a silly yarn? Make another +end to it? Ah, yes, but that’s not the way I write; +the whole tale is implied; I never use an effect, when I can help +it, unless it prepares the effects that are to follow; +that’s what a story consists in. To make another end, +that is to make the beginning all wrong. The +dénouement of a long story is nothing; it is just a +‘full close,’ which you may approach and accompany as +you please—it is a coda, not an essential member in the +rhythm; but the body and end of a short story is bone of the bone +and blood of the blood of the beginning. Well, I shall end +by finishing it against my judgment; that fragment is my +Delilah. Golly, it’s good. I am not shining by +modesty; but I do just love the colour and movement of that piece +so far as it goes.</p> +<p>I was surprised to hear of your fishing. And you saw the +‘Pharos,’ thrice fortunate man; I wish I dared go +home, I would ask the Commissioners to take me round for old +sake’s sake, and see all my family pictures once more from +the Mull of Galloway to Unst. However, all is arranged for +our meeting in Ceylon, except the date and the blooming +pounds. I have heard of an exquisite hotel in the country, +airy, large rooms, good cookery, not dear; we shall have a couple +of months there, if we can make it out, and converse or—as +my grandfather always said—‘commune.’ +‘Communings with Mr. Kennedy as to Lighthouse +Repairs.’ He was a fine old fellow, but a droll.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Evening</i>.</p> +<p>Lloyd has returned. Peace and war were played before his +eyes at heads or tails. A German was stopped with levelled +guns; he raised his whip; had it fallen, we might have been now +in war. Excuses were made by Mataafa himself. +Doubtless the thing was done—I mean the stopping of the +German—a little to show off before Lloyd. +Meanwhile—was up here, telling how the Chief Justice was +really gone for five or eight weeks, and begging me to write to +the <i>Times</i> and denounce the state of affairs; many strong +reasons he advanced; and Lloyd and I have been since his arrival +and —’s departure, near half an hour, debating what +should be done. Cedarcrantz is gone; it is not my fault; he +knows my views on that point—alone of all points;—he +leaves me with my mouth sealed. Yet this is a nice thing +that because he is guilty of a fresh offence—his +flight—the mouth of the only possible influential witness +should be closed? I do not like this argument. I look +like a cad, if I do in the man’s absence what I could have +done in a more manly manner in his presence. True; but why +did he go? It is his last sin. And I, who like the +man extremely—that is the word—I love his +society—he is intelligent, pleasant, even witty, a +gentleman—and you know how that attaches—I loathe to +seem to play a base part; but the poor natives—who are like +other folk, false enough, lazy enough, not heroes, not +saints—ordinary men damnably misused—are they to +suffer because I like Cedarcrantz, and Cedarcrantz has cut his +lucky? This is a little tragedy, observe well—a +tragedy! I may be right, I may be wrong in my judgment, but +I am in treaty with my honour. I know not how it will seem +to-morrow. Lloyd thought the barrier of honour +insurmountable, and it is an ugly obstacle. He +(Cedarcrantz) will likely meet my wife three days from now, may +travel back with her, will be charming if he does; suppose this, +and suppose him to arrive and find that I have sprung a +mine—or the nearest approach to it I could +find—behind his back? My position is pretty. +Yes, I am an aristocrat. I have the old petty, personal +view of honour? I should blush till I die if I do this; yet +it is on the cards that I may do it. So much I have written +you in bed, as a man writes, or talks, in a <i>bittre +Wahl</i>. Now I shall sleep, and see if I am more +clear. I will consult the missionaries at least—I +place some reliance in M. also—or I should if he were not a +partisan; but a partisan he is. There’s the +pity. To sleep! A fund of wisdom in the prostrate +body and the fed brain. Kindly observe R. L. S. in the +talons of politics! ’Tis funny—’tis +sad. Nobody but these cursed idiots could have so driven +me; I cannot bear idiots.</p> +<p>My dear Colvin, I must go to sleep; it is long past +ten—a dreadful hour for me. And here am I lingering +(so I feel) in the dining-room at the Monument, talking to you +across the table, both on our feet, and only the two stairs to +mount, and get to bed, and sleep, and be waked by dear old +George—to whom I wish my kindest remembrances—next +morning. I look round, and there is my blue room, and my +long lines of shelves, and the door gaping on a moonless night, +and no word of S. C. but his twa portraits on the wall. +Good-bye, my dear fellow, and goodnight. Queer place the +world!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i>.</p> +<p>No clearness of mind with the morning; I have no guess what I +should do. ’Tis easy to say that the public duty +should brush aside these little considerations of personal +dignity; so it is that politicians begin, and in a month you find +them rat and flatter and intrigue with brows of brass. I am +rather of the old view, that a man’s first duty is to these +little laws; the big he does not, he never will, understand; I +may be wrong about the Chief Justice and the Baron and the state +of Samoa; I cannot be wrong about the vile attitude I put myself +in if I blow the gaff on Cedarcrantz behind his back.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>.</p> +<p>One more word about the South Seas, in answer to a question I +observe I have forgotten to answer. The Tahiti part has +never turned up, because it has never been written. As for +telling you where I went or when, or anything about Honolulu, I +would rather die; that is fair and plain. How can anybody +care when or how I left Honolulu? A man of upwards of forty +cannot waste his time in communicating matter of that +indifference. The letters, it appears, are tedious; they +would be more tedious still if I wasted my time upon such +infantile and sucking-bottle details. If ever I put in any +such detail, it is because it leads into something or serves as a +transition. To tell it for its own sake, never! The +mistake is all through that I have told too much; I had not +sufficient confidence in the reader, and have overfed him; and +here are you anxious to learn how I—O Colvin! Suppose +it had made a book, all such information is given to one glance +of an eye by a map with a little dotted line upon it. But +let us forget this unfortunate affair.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>.</p> +<p>Yesterday I went down to consult Clarke, who took the view of +delay. Has he changed his mind already? I wonder: +here at least is the news. Some little while back some men +of Manono—what is Manono?—a Samoan rotten borough, a +small isle of huge political importance, heaven knows why, where +a handful of chiefs make half the trouble in the country. +Some men of Manono (which is strong Mataafa) burned down the +houses and destroyed the crops of some Malietoa neighbours. +The President went there the other day and landed alone on the +island, which (to give him his due) was plucky. Moreover, +he succeeded in persuading the folks to come up and be judged on +a particular day in Apia. That day they did not come; but +did come the next, and, to their vast surprise, were given six +months’ imprisonment and clapped in gaol. Those who +had accompanied them cried to them on the streets as they were +marched to prison, ‘Shall we rescue you?’ The +condemned, marching in the hands of thirty men with loaded +rifles, cried out ‘No’! And the trick was +done. But it was ardently believed a rescue would be +attempted; the gaol was laid about with armed men day and night; +but there was some question of their loyalty, and the commandant +of the forces, a very nice young beardless Swede, became nervous, +and conceived a plan. How if he should put dynamite under +the gaol, and in case of an attempted rescue blow up prison and +all? He went to the President, who agreed; he went to the +American man-of-war for the dynamite and machine, was refused, +and got it at last from the Wreckers. The thing began to +leak out, and there arose a muttering in town. People had +no fancy for amateur explosions, for one thing. For +another, it did not clearly appear that it was legal; the men had +been condemned to six months’ prison, which they were +peaceably undergoing; they had not been condemned to death. +And lastly, it seemed a somewhat advanced example of civilisation +to set before barbarians. The mutter in short became a +storm, and yesterday, while I was down, a cutter was chartered, +and the prisoners were suddenly banished to the Tokelaus. +Who has changed the sentence? We are going to stir in the +dynamite matter; we do not want the natives to fancy us +consenting to such an outrage.</p> +<p>Fanny has returned from her trip, and on the whole looks +better. The <i>High Woods</i> are under way, and their name +is now the <i>Beach of Falesá</i>, and the yarn is +cured. I have about thirty pages of it done; it will be +fifty to seventy I suppose. No supernatural trick at all; +and escaped out of it quite easily; can’t think why I was +so stupid for so long. Mighty glad to have Fanny back to +this ‘Hell of the South Seas,’ as the German Captain +called it. What will Cedarcrantz think when he comes +back? To do him justice, had he been here, this Manono hash +would not have been.</p> +<p>Here is a pretty thing. When Fanny was in Fiji all the +Samoa and Tokelau folks were agog about our ‘flash’ +house; but the whites had never heard of it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Robert Louis +Stevenson</span>,<br /> +Author of <i>The Beach of Falesá</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sept.</i> 28.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—Since I last +laid down my pen, I have written and rewritten <i>The Beach of +Falesá</i>; something like sixty thousand words of +sterling domestic fiction (the story, you will understand, is +only half that length); and now I don’t want to write any +more again for ever, or feel so; and I’ve got to overhaul +it once again to my sorrow. I was all yesterday revising, +and found a lot of slacknesses and (what is worse in this kind of +thing) some literaryisms. One of the puzzles is this: It is +a first person story—a trader telling his own adventure in +an island. When I began I allowed myself a few liberties, +because I was afraid of the end; now the end proved quite easy, +and could be done in the pace; so the beginning remains about a +quarter tone out (in places); but I have rather decided to let it +stay so. The problem is always delicate; it is the only +thing that worries me in first person tales, which otherwise +(quo’ Alan) ‘set better wi’ my +genius.’ There is a vast deal of fact in the story, +and some pretty good comedy. It is the first realistic +South Sea story; I mean with real South Sea character and details +of life. Everybody else who has tried, that I have seen, +got carried away by the romance, and ended in a kind of +sugar-candy sham epic, and the whole effect was lost—there +was no etching, no human grin, consequently no conviction. +Now I have got the smell and look of the thing a good deal. +You will know more about the South Seas after you have read my +little tale than if you had read a library. As to whether +any one else will read it, I have no guess. I am in an off +time, but there is just the possibility it might make a hit; for +the yarn is good and melodramatic, and there is quite a love +affair—for me; and Mr. Wiltshire (the narrator) is a huge +lark, though I say it. But there is always the exotic +question, and everything, the life, the place, the +dialects—trader’s talk, which is a strange +conglomerate of literary expressions and English and American +slang, and Beach de Mar, or native English,—the very trades +and hopes and fears of the characters, are all novel, and may be +found unwelcome to that great, hulking, bullering whale, the +public.</p> +<p>Since I wrote, I have been likewise drawing up a document to +send it to the President; it has been dreadfully delayed, not by +me, but to-day they swear it will be sent in. A list of +questions about the dynamite report are herein laid before him, +and considerations suggested why he should answer.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>October</i> 5<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Ever since my last snatch I have been much chivied about over +the President business; his answer has come, and is an evasion +accompanied with schoolboy insolence, and we are going to try to +answer it. I drew my answer and took it down yesterday; but +one of the signatories wants another paragraph added, which I +have not yet been able to draw, and as to the wisdom of which I +am not yet convinced.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Next day</i>, <i>Oct.</i> +7<i>th</i>, <i>the right day</i>.</p> +<p>We are all in rather a muddled state with our President +affair. I do loathe politics, but at the same time, I +cannot stand by and have the natives blown in the air +treacherously with dynamite. They are still quiet; how long +this may continue I do not know, though of course by mere +prescription the Government is strengthened, and is probably +insured till the next taxes fall due. But the unpopularity +of the whites is growing. My native overseer, the great +Henry Simelé, announced to-day that he was ‘weary of +whites upon the beach. All too proud,’ said this +veracious witness. One of the proud ones had threatened +yesterday to cut off his head with a bush knife! These are +‘native outrages’; honour bright, and setting theft +aside, in which the natives are active, this is the main stream +of irritation. The natives are generally courtly, far from +always civil, but really gentle, and with a strong sense of +honour of their own, and certainly quite as much civilised as our +dynamiting President.</p> +<p>We shall be delighted to see Kipling. I go to bed +usually about half-past eight, and my lamp is out before ten; I +breakfast at six. We may say roughly we have no soda water +on the island, and just now truthfully no whisky. I +<i>have</i> heard the chimes at midnight; now no more, I +guess. <i>But</i>—Fanny and I, as soon as we can get +coins for it, are coming to Europe, not to England: I am thinking +of Royat. Bar wars. If not, perhaps the Apennines +might give us a mountain refuge for two months or three in +summer. How is that for high? But the money must be +all in hand first.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>October</i> 13<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>How am I to describe my life these last few days? I have +been wholly swallowed up in politics, a wretched business, with +fine elements of farce in it too, which repay a man in passing, +involving many dark and many moonlight rides, secret counsels +which are at once divulged, sealed letters which are read aloud +in confidence to the neighbours, and a mass of fudge and fun, +which would have driven me crazy ten years ago, and now makes me +smile.</p> +<p>On Friday, Henry came and told us he must leave and go to +‘my poor old family in Savaii’; why? I do not +quite know—but, I suspect, to be tattooed—if so, then +probably to be married, and we shall see him no more. I +told him he must do what he thought his duty; we had him to +lunch, drank his health, and he and I rode down about +twelve. When I got down, I sent my horse back to help bring +down the family later. My own afternoon was cut out for me; +my last draft for the President had been objected to by some of +the signatories. I stood out, and one of our small number +accordingly refused to sign. Him I had to go and persuade, +which went off very well after the first hottish moments; you +have no idea how stolid my temper is now. By about five the +thing was done; and we sat down to dinner at the +Chinaman’s—the Verrey or Doyen’s of +Apia—G. and I at each end as hosts; G.’s +wife—Fanua, late maid of the village; her (adopted) father +and mother, Seumanu and Faatulia, Fanny, Belle, Lloyd, Austin, +and Henry Simelé, his last appearance. Henry was in +a kilt of gray shawl, with a blue jacket, white shirt and black +necktie, and looked like a dark genteel guest in a Highland +shooting-box. Seumanu (opposite Fanny, next G.) is chief of +Apia, a rather big gun in this place, looking like a large, +fatted, military Englishman, bar the colour. Faatulia, next +me, is a bigger chief than her husband. Henry is a chief +too—his chief name, Iiga (Ee-eeng-a), he has not yet +‘taken’ because of his youth. We were in fine +society, and had a pleasant meal-time, with lots of fun. +Then to the Opera—I beg your pardon, I mean the +Circus. We occupied the first row in the reserved seats, +and there in the row behind were all our friends—Captain +Foss and his Captain-Lieutenant, three of the American officers, +very nice fellows, the Dr., etc., so we made a fine show of what +an embittered correspondent of the local paper called ‘the +shoddy aristocracy of Apia’; and you should have seen how +we carried on, and how I clapped, and Captain Foss hollered +‘<i>wunderschön</i>!’ and threw himself forward +in his seat, and how we all in fact enjoyed ourselves like +school-children, Austin not a shade more than his +neighbours. Then the Circus broke up, and the party went +home, but I stayed down, having business on the morrow.</p> +<p>Yesterday, October 12th, great news reaches me, and Lloyd and +I, with the mail just coming in, must leave all, saddle, and ride +down. True enough, the President had resigned! Sought +to resign his presidency of the council, and keep his advisership +to the King; given way to the Consul’s objections and +resigned all—then fell out with them about the disposition +of the funds, and was now trying to resign from his +resignation! Sad little President, so trim to look at, and +I believe so kind to his little wife! Not only so, but I +meet D. on the beach. D. calls me in consultation, and we +make with infinite difficulty a draft of a petition to the King. +. . . Then to dinner at M.’s, a very merry meal, +interrupted before it was over by the arrival of the +committee. Slight sketch of procedure agreed upon, self +appointed spokesman, and the deputation sets off. Walk all +through Matafele, all along Mulinuu, come to the King’s +house; he has verbally refused to see us in answer to our letter, +swearing he is gase-gase (chief-sickness, not common +man’s), and indeed we see him inside in bed. It is a +miserable low house, better houses by the dozen in the little +hamlet (Tanugamanono) of bushmen on our way to Vailima; and the +President’s house in process of erection just +opposite! We are told to return to-morrow; I refuse; and at +last we are very sourly received, sit on the mats, and I open +out, through a very poor interpreter, and sometimes hampered by +unacceptable counsels from my backers. I can speak fairly +well in a plain way now. C. asked me to write out my +harangue for him this morning; I have done so, and couldn’t +get it near as good. I suppose (talking and interpreting) I +was twenty minutes or half-an-hour on the deck; then his majesty +replied in the dying whisper of a big chief; a few words of +rejoinder (approving), and the deputation withdrew, rather well +satisfied.</p> +<p>A few days ago this intervention would have been a deportable +offence; not now, I bet; I would like them to try. A little +way back along Mulinuu, Mrs. G. met us with her husband’s +horse; and he and she and Lloyd and I rode back in a heavenly +moonlight. Here ends a chapter in the life of an island +politician! Catch me at it again; ’tis easy to go in, +but it is not a pleasant trade. I have had a good team, as +good as I could get on the beach; but what trouble even so, and +what fresh troubles shaping. But I have on the whole +carried all my points; I believe all but one, and on that (which +did not concern me) I had no right to interfere. I am sure +you would be amazed if you knew what a good hand I am at keeping +my temper, talking people over, and giving reasons which are not +my reasons, but calculated for the meridian of the particular +objection; so soon does falsehood await the politician in his +whirling path.</p> +<h2><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i>, <i>October</i> +24<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Carthew</span>,—See what I +have written, but it’s Colvin I’m after—I have +written two chapters, about thirty pages of <i>Wrecker</i> since +the mail left, which must be my excuse, and the bother I’ve +had with it is not to be imagined, you might have seen me the day +before yesterday weighing British sov.’s and Chili dollars +to arrange my treasure chest. And there was such a +calculation, not for that only, but for the ship’s position +and distances when—but I am not going to tell you the +yarn—and then, as my arithmetic is particularly lax, Lloyd +had to go over all my calculations; and then, as I had changed +the amount of money, he had to go over all <i>his</i> as to the +amount of the lay; and altogether, a bank could be run with less +effusion of figures than it took to shore up a single chapter of +a measly yarn. However, it’s done, and I have but one +more, or at the outside two, to do, and I am Free! and can do any +damn thing I like.</p> +<p>Before falling on politics, I shall give you my day. +Awoke somewhere about the first peep of day, came gradually to, +and had a turn on the verandah before 5.55, when ‘the +child’ (an enormous Wallis Islander) brings me an orange; +at 6, breakfast; 6.10, to work; which lasts till, at 10.30, +Austin comes for his history lecture; this is rather dispiriting, +but education must be gone about in faith—and charity, both +of which pretty nigh failed me to-day about (of all things) +Carthage; 11, luncheon; after luncheon in my mother’s room, +I read Chapter <span class="GutSmall">XXIII.</span> of <i>The +Wrecker</i>, then Belle, Lloyd, and I go up and make music +furiously till about 2 (I suppose), when I turn into work again +till 4; fool from 4 to half-past, tired out and waiting for the +bath hour; 4.30, bath; 4.40, eat two heavenly mangoes on the +verandah, and see the boys arrive with the pack-horses; 5, +dinner; smoke, chat on verandah, then hand of cards, and at last +at 8 come up to my room with a pint of beer and a hard biscuit, +which I am now consuming, and as soon as they are consumed I +shall turn in.</p> +<p>Such are the innocent days of this ancient and outworn +sportsman; to-day there was no weeding, usually there is however, +edge in somewhere. My books for the moment are a crib to +Phædo, and the second book of Montaigne; and a little while +back I was reading Frederic Harrison, ‘Choice of +Books,’ etc.—very good indeed, a great deal of sense +and knowledge in the volume, and some very true stuff, +<i>contra</i> Carlyle, about the eighteenth century. A +hideous idea came over me that perhaps Harrison is now getting +<i>old</i>. Perhaps you are. Perhaps I am. Oh, +this infidelity must be stared firmly down. I am about +twenty-three—say twenty-eight; you about thirty, or, +by’r lady, thirty-four; and as Harrison belongs to the same +generation, there is no good bothering about him.</p> +<p>Here has just been a fine alert; I gave my wife a dose of +chlorodyne. ‘Something wrong,’ says she. +‘Nonsense,’ said I. ‘Embrocation,’ +said she. I smelt it, and—it smelt very funny. +‘I think it’s just gone bad, and to-morrow will +tell.’ Proved to be so.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>.</p> +<p><i>History of Tuesday</i>.—Woke at usual time, very +little work, for I was tired, and had a job for the +evening—to write parts for a new instrument, a +violin. Lunch, chat, and up to my place to practise; but +there was no practising for me—my flageolet was gone wrong, +and I had to take it all to pieces, clean it, and put it up +again. As this is a most intricate job—the thing +dissolves into seventeen separate members, most of these have to +be fitted on their individual springs as fine as needles, and +sometimes two at once with the springs shoving different +ways—it took me till two. Then Lloyd and I rode forth +on our errands; first to Motootua, where we had a really +instructive conversation on weeds and grasses. Thence down +to Apia, where we bought a fresh bottle of chlorodyne and +conversed on politics.</p> +<p>My visit to the King, which I thought at the time a +particularly nugatory and even schoolboy step, and only consented +to because I had held the reins so tight over my little band +before, has raised a deuce of a row—new proclamation, no +one is to interview the sacred puppet without consuls’ +permission, two days’ notice, and an approved +interpreter—read (I suppose) spy. Then back; I should +have said I was trying the new horse; a tallish piebald, bought +from the circus; he proved steady and safe, but in very bad +condition, and not so much the wild Arab steed of the desert as +had been supposed. The height of his back, after commodious +Jack, astonished me, and I had a great consciousness of exercise +and florid action, as I posted to his long, emphatic trot. +We had to ride back easy; even so he was hot and blown; and when +we set a boy to lead him to and fro, our last character for +sanity perished. We returned just neat for dinner; and in +the evening our violinist arrived, a young lady, no great +virtuoso truly, but plucky, industrious, and a good reader; and +we played five pieces with huge amusement, and broke up at +nine. This morning I have read a splendid piece of +Montaigne, written this page of letter, and now turn to the +<i>Wrecker</i>.</p> +<p><i>Wednesday</i>—November 16th or 17th—and I am +ashamed to say mail day. The <i>Wrecker</i> is finished, +that is the best of my news; it goes by this mail to +Scribner’s; and I honestly think it a good yarn on the +whole and of its measly kind. The part that is genuinely +good is Nares, the American sailor; that is a genuine figure; had +there been more Nares it would have been a better book; but of +course it didn’t set up to be a book, only a long tough +yarn with some pictures of the manners of to-day in the greater +world—not the shoddy sham world of cities, clubs, and +colleges, but the world where men still live a man’s +life. The worst of my news is the influenza; Apia is +devastate; the shops closed, a ball put off, etc. As yet we +have not had it at Vailima, and, who knows? we may escape. +None of us go down, but of course the boys come and go.</p> +<p>Your letter had the most wonderful ‘I told you so’ +I ever heard in the course of my life. Why, you madman, I +wouldn’t change my present installation for any post, +dignity, honour, or advantage conceivable to me. It fills +the bill; I have the loveliest time. And as for wars and +rumours of wars, you surely know enough of me to be aware that I +like that also a thousand times better than decrepit peace in +Middlesex? I do not quite like politics; I am too +aristocratic, I fear, for that. God knows I don’t +care who I chum with; perhaps like sailors best; but to go round +and sue and sneak to keep a crowd together—never. My +imagination, which is not the least damped by the idea of having +my head cut off in the bush, recoils aghast from the idea of a +life like Gladstone’s, and the shadow of the newspaper +chills me to the bone. Hence my late eruption was +interesting, but not what I like. All else suits me in this +(killed a mosquito) A1 abode.</p> +<p>About politics. A determination was come to by the +President that he had been an idiot; emissaries came to G. and me +to kiss and be friends. My man proposed I should have a +personal interview; I said it was quite useless, I had nothing to +say; I had offered him the chance to inform me, had pressed it on +him, and had been very unpleasantly received, and now ‘Time +was.’ Then it was decided that I was to be made a +culprit against Germany; the German Captain—a delightful +fellow and our constant visitor—wrote to say that as +‘a German officer’ he could not come even to say +farewell. We all wrote back in the most friendly spirit, +telling him (politely) that some of these days he would be sorry, +and we should be delighted to see our friend again. Since +then I have seen no German shadow.</p> +<p>Mataafa has been proclaimed a rebel; the President did this +act, and then resigned. By singular good fortune, Mataafa +has not yet moved; no thanks to our idiot governors. They +have shot their bolt; they have made a rebel of the only man +(<i>to their own knowledge</i>, <i>on the report of their own +spy</i>) who held the rebel party in check; and having thus +called on war to fall, they can do no more, sit equally +‘expertes’ of <i>vis</i> and counsel, regarding their +handiwork. It is always a cry with these folk that he +(Mataafa) had no ammunition. I always said it would be +found; and we know of five boat-loads that have found their way +to Malie already. Where there are traders, there will be +ammunition; aphorism by R. L. S.</p> +<p>Now what am I to do next?</p> +<p>Lives of the Stevensons? <i>Historia Samoae</i>? A +History for Children? Fiction? I have had two hard +months at fiction; I want a change. Stevensons? I am +expecting some more material; perhaps better wait. Samoa; +rather tempting; might be useful to the islands—and to me; +for it will be written in admirable temper; I have never agreed +with any party, and see merits and excuses in all; should do it +(if I did) very slackly and easily, as if half in +conversation. History for Children? This flows from +my lessons to Austin; no book is any good. The best I have +seen is Freeman’s <i>Old English History</i>; but his style +is so rasping, and a child can learn more, if he’s +clever. I found my sketch of general Aryan History, given +in conversation, to have been practically correct—at least +what I mean is, Freeman had very much the same stuff in his early +chapters, only not so much, and I thought not so well placed; and +the child remembered some of it. Now the difficulty is to +give this general idea of main place, growth, and movement; it is +needful to tack it on a yarn. Now Scotch is the only +History I know; it is the only history reasonably represented in +my library; it is a very good one for my purpose, owing to two +civilisations having been face to face throughout—or rather +Roman civilisation face to face with our ancient barbaric life +and government, down to yesterday, to 1750 anyway. But the +<i>Tales of a Grandfather</i> stand in my way; I am teaching them +to Austin now, and they have all Scott’s defects and all +Scott’s hopeless merit. I cannot compete with that; +and yet, so far as regards teaching History, how he has missed +his chances! I think I’ll try; I really have some +historic sense, I feel that in my bones. Then there’s +another thing. Scott never knew the Highlands; he was +always a Borderer. He has missed that whole, long, strange, +pathetic story of our savages, and, besides, his style is not +very perspicuous to childhood. Gad, I think I’ll have +a flutter. Buridan’s Ass! Whether to go, what +to attack. Must go to other letters; shall add to this, if +I have time.</p> +<h2><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Nov.</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1891.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>, <span +class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—I wonder how often +I’m going to write it. In spite of the loss of three +days, as I have to tell, and a lot of weeding and cacao planting, +I have finished since the mail left four chapters, forty-eight +pages of my Samoa history. It is true that the first three +had been a good deal drafted two years ago, but they had all to +be written and re-written, and the fourth chapter is all +new. Chapter <span class="GutSmall">I.</span> Elements of +Discord-Native. <span class="GutSmall">II.</span> Elements +of Discord-Foreign. <span class="GutSmall">III.</span> The +Success of Laupepa. <span class="GutSmall">IV.</span> +Brandeis. <span class="GutSmall">V.</span> Will probably be +called ‘The Rise of Mataafa.’ <span +class="GutSmall">VI.</span> <i>Furor Consularis</i>—a devil +of a long chapter. <span class="GutSmall">VII.</span> +Stuebel the Pacificator. <span +class="GutSmall">VIII.</span> Government under the Treaty of +Berlin. <span class="GutSmall">IX.</span> Practical +Suggestions. Say three-sixths of it are done, maybe more; +by this mail five chapters should go, and that should be a good +half of it; say sixty pages. And if you consider that I +sent by last mail the end of the <i>Wrecker</i>, coming on for +seventy or eighty pages, and the mail before that the entire Tale +of the <i>Beach of Falesá</i>, I do not think I can be +accused of idleness. This is my season; I often work six +and seven, and sometimes eight hours; and the same day I am +perhaps weeding or planting for an hour or two more—and I +daresay you know what hard work weeding is—and it all +agrees with me at this time of the year—like—like +idleness, if a man of my years could be idle.</p> +<p>My first visit to Apia was a shock to me; every second person +the ghost of himself, and the place reeking with infection. +But I have not got the thing yet, and hope to escape. This +shows how much stronger I am; think of me flitting through a town +of influenza patients seemingly unscathed. We are all on +the cacao planting.</p> +<p>The next day my wife and I rode over to the German plantation, +Vailele, whose manager is almost the only German left to speak to +us. Seventy labourers down with influenza! It is a +lovely ride, half-way down our mountain towards Apia, then turn +to the right, ford the river, and three miles of solitary grass +and cocoa palms, to where the sea beats and the wild wind blows +unceasingly about the plantation house. On the way down +Fanny said, ‘Now what would you do if you saw Colvin coming +up?’</p> +<p>Next day we rode down to Apia to make calls.</p> +<p>Yesterday the mail came, and the fat was in the fire.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Nov.</i> 29<i>th</i>?</p> +<p><i>Book</i>. All right. I must say I like your +order. And the papers are some of them up to dick, and no +mistake. I agree with you the lights seem a little turned +down. The truth is, I was far through (if you understand +Scots), and came none too soon to the South Seas, where I was to +recover peace of body and mind. No man but myself knew all +my bitterness in those days. Remember that, the next time +you think I regret my exile. And however low the lights +are, the stuff is true, and I believe the more effective; after +all, what I wish to fight is the best fought by a rather +cheerless presentation of the truth. The world must return +some day to the word duty, and be done with the word +reward. There are no rewards, and plenty duties. And +the sooner a man sees that and acts upon it like a gentleman or a +fine old barbarian, the better for himself.</p> +<p>There is my usual puzzle about publishers. Chatto ought +to have it, as he has all the other essays; these all belong to +me, and Chatto publishes on terms. Longman has forgotten +the terms we are on; let him look up our first correspondence, +and he will see I reserved explicitly, as was my habit, the right +to republish as I choose. Had the same arrangement with +Henley, Magazine of Art, and with Tulloch +Fraser’s.—For any necessary note or preface, it would +be a real service if you would undertake the duty yourself. +I should love a preface by you, as short or as long as you +choose, three sentences, thirty pages, the thing I should like is +your name. And the excuse of my great distance seems +sufficient. I shall return with this the sheets corrected +as far as I have them; the rest I will leave, if you will, to you +entirely; let it be your book, and disclaim what you dislike in +the preface. You can say it was at my eager prayer. I +should say I am the less willing to pass Chatto over, because he +behaved the other day in a very handsome manner. He asked +leave to reprint <i>Damien</i>; I gave it to him as a present, +explaining I could receive no emolument for a personal +attack. And he took out my share of profits, and sent them +in my name to the Leper Fund. I could not bear after that +to take from him any of that class of books which I have always +given him. Tell him the same terms will do. Clark to +print, uniform with the others.</p> +<p>I have lost all the days since this letter began re-handling +Chapter <span class="GutSmall">IV.</span> of the Samoa +racket. I do not go in for literature; address myself to +sensible people rather than to sensitive. And, indeed, it +is a kind of journalism, I have no right to dally; if it is to +help, it must come soon. In two months from now it shall be +done, and should be published in the course of March. I +propose Cassell gets it. I am going to call it ‘A +Footnote to History: Eight Years of Trouble in Samoa,’ I +believe. I recoil from serious names; they seem so much too +pretentious for a pamphlet. It will be about the size of +<i>Treasure Island</i>, I believe. Of course, as you now +know, my case of conscience cleared itself off, and I began my +intervention directly to one of the parties. The other, the +Chief Justice, I am to inform of my book the first +occasion. God knows if the book will do any good—or +harm; but I judge it right to try. There is one man’s +life certainly involved; and it may be all our lives. I +must not stand and slouch, but do my best as best I can. +But you may conceive the difficulty of a history extending to the +present week, at least, and where almost all the actors upon all +sides are of my personal acquaintance. The only way is to +judge slowly, and write boldly, and leave the issue to fate. . . +. I am far indeed from wishing to confine myself to creative +work; that is a loss, the other repairs; the one chance for a +man, and, above all, for one who grows elderly, ahem, is to vary +drainage and repair. That is the one thing I +understand—the cultivation of the shallow <i>solum</i> of +my brain. But I would rather, from soon on, be released +from the obligation to write. In five or six years this +plantation—suppose it and us still to exist—should +pretty well support us and pay wages; not before, and already the +six years seem long to me. If literature were but a +pastime!</p> +<p>I have interrupted myself to write the necessary notification +to the Chief Justice.</p> +<p>I see in looking up Longman’s letter that it was as +usual the letter of an obliging gentleman; so do not trouble him +with my reminder. I wish all my publishers were not so +nice. And I have a fourth and a fifth baying at my heels; +but for these, of course, they must go wanting.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 2<i>nd</i>.</p> +<p>No answer from the Chief Justice, which is like him, but +surely very wrong in such a case. The lunch bell! I +have been off work, playing patience and weeding all +morning. Yesterday and the day before I drafted eleven and +revised nine pages of Chapter <span class="GutSmall">V.</span>, +and the truth is, I was extinct by lunch-time, and played +patience sourly the rest of the day. To-morrow or next day +I hope to go in again and win. Lunch 2nd Bell.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 2<i>nd</i>, +<i>afternoon</i>.</p> +<p>I have kept up the idleness; blew on the pipe to Belle’s +piano; then had a ride in the forest all by my nainsel; back and +piped again, and now dinner nearing. Take up this sheet +with nothing to say. The weird figure of Faauma is in the +room washing my windows, in a black lavalava (kilt) with a red +handkerchief hanging from round her neck between her breasts; not +another stitch; her hair close cropped and oiled; when she first +came here she was an angelic little stripling, but she is now in +full flower—or half-flower—and grows buxom. As +I write, I hear her wet cloth moving and grunting with some +industry; for I had a word this day with her husband on the +matter of work and meal-time, when she is always late. And +she has a vague reverence for Papa, as she and her enormous +husband address me when anything is wrong. Her husband is +Lafaele, sometimes called the archangel, of whom I have writ you +often. Rest of our household, Talolo, cook; Pulu, kitchen +boy, good, steady, industrious lads; Henry, back again from +Savaii, where his love affair seems not to have prospered, with +what looks like a spear-wound in the back of his head, of which +Mr. Reticence says nothing; Simi, Manuele, and two other +labourers out-doors. Lafaele is provost of the live-stock, +whereof now, three milk-cows, one bull-calf, one heifer, Jack, +Macfarlane, the mare, Harold, Tifaga Jack, Donald and +Edinburgh—seven horses—O, and the +stallion—eight horses; five cattle; total, if my arithmetic +be correct, thirteen head of beasts; I don’t know how the +pigs stand, or the ducks, or the chickens; but we get a good many +eggs, and now and again a duckling or a chickling for the table; +the pigs are more solemn, and appear only on birthdays and +sich.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i>, <i>Dec.</i> 7.</p> +<p>On Friday morning about eleven 1500 cacao seeds arrived, and +we set to and toiled from twelve that day to six, and went to bed +pretty tired. Next day I got about an hour and a half at my +History, and was at it again by 8.10, and except an hour for +lunch kept at it till four <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> Yesterday, I did some History +in the morning, and slept most of the afternoon; and to-day, +being still averse from physical labour, and the mail drawing +nigh, drew out of the squad, and finished for press the fifth +chapter of my History; fifty-nine pages in one month; which (you +will allow me to say) is a devil of a large order; it means at +least 177 pages of writing; 89,000 words! and hours going to and +fro among my notes. However, this is the way it has to be +done; the job must be done fast, or it is of no use. And it +is a curious yarn. Honestly, I think people should be +amused and convinced, if they could be at the pains to look at +such a damned outlandish piece of machinery, which of course they +won’t. And much I care.</p> +<p>When I was filling baskets all Saturday, in my dull mulish +way, perhaps the slowest worker there, surely the most +particular, and the only one that never looked up or knocked off, +I could not but think I should have been sent on exhibition as an +example to young literary men. Here is how to learn to +write, might be the motto. You should have seen us; the +verandah was like an Irish bog; our hands and faces were bedaubed +with soil; and Faauma was supposed to have struck the right note +when she remarked (<i>à propos</i> of nothing), ‘Too +much <i>eleele</i> (soil) for me!’ The cacao (you +must understand) has to be planted at first in baskets of plaited +cocoa-leaf. From four to ten natives were plaiting these in +the wood-shed. Four boys were digging up soil and bringing +it by the boxful to the verandah. Lloyd and I and Belle, +and sometimes S. (who came to bear a hand), were filling the +baskets, removing stones and lumps of clay; Austin and Faauma +carried them when full to Fanny, who planted a seed in each, and +then set them, packed close, in the corners of the +verandah. From twelve on Friday till five <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> on Saturday we planted the first +1500, and more than 700 of a second lot. You cannot dream +how filthy we were, and we were all properly tired. They +are all at it again to-day, bar Belle and me, not required, and +glad to be out of it. The Chief Justice has not yet +replied, and I have news that he received my letter. What a +man!</p> +<p>I have gone crazy over Bourget’s <i>Sensations +d’Italie</i>; hence the enclosed dedications, a mere cry of +gratitude for the best fun I’ve had over a new book this +ever so!</p> +<h2><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p118b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Photograph of Robert Louis Stevenson on his horse +‘Jack’" +title= +"Photograph of Robert Louis Stevenson on his horse +‘Jack’" +src="images/p118s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>, <i>Dec.</i> +1891.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I have the honour to +report further explorations of the course of the river Vaea, with +accompanying sketch plan. The party under my command +consisted of one horse, and was extremely insubordinate and +mutinous, owing to not being used to go into the bush, and being +half-broken anyway—and that the wrong half. The route +indicated for my party was up the bed of the so-called river +Vaea, which I accordingly followed to a distance of perhaps two +or three furlongs eastward from the house of Vailima, where the +stream being quite dry, the bush thick, and the ground very +difficult, I decided to leave the main body of the force under my +command tied to a tree, and push on myself with the point of the +advance guard, consisting of one man. The valley had become +very narrow and airless; foliage close shut above; dry bed of the +stream much excavated, so that I passed under fallen trees +without stooping. Suddenly it turned sharply to the north, +at right angles to its former direction; I heard living water, +and came in view of a tall face of rock and the stream spraying +down it; it might have been climbed, but it would have been +dangerous, and I had to make my way up the steep earth banks, +where there is nowhere any footing for man, only fallen trees, +which made the rounds of my ladder. I was near the top of +this climb, which was very hot and steep, and the pulses were +buzzing all over my body, when I made sure there was one external +sound in my ears, and paused to listen. No mistake; a sound +of a mill-wheel thundering, I thought, close by, yet below me, a +huge mill-wheel, yet not going steadily, but with a +<i>schottische</i> movement, and at each fresh impetus shaking +the mountain. There, where I was, I just put down the sound +to the mystery of the bush; where no sound now surprises +me—and any sound alarms; I only thought it would give Jack +a fine fright, down where he stood tied to a tree by himself, and +he was badly enough scared when I left him. The good folks +at home identified it; it was a sharp earthquake.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p120b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Map" +title= +"Map" +src="images/p120s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>At the top of the climb I made my way again to the +water-course; it is here running steady and pretty full; strange +these intermittencies—and just a little below the main +stream is quite dry, and all the original brook has gone down +some lava gallery of the mountain—and just a little further +below, it begins picking up from the left hand in little boggy +tributaries, and in the inside of a hundred yards has grown a +brook again. The general course of the brook was, I guess, +S.E.; the valley still very deep and whelmed in wood. It +seemed a swindle to have made so sheer a climb and still find +yourself at the bottom of a well. But gradually the thing +seemed to shallow, the trees to seem poorer and smaller; I could +see more and more of the silver sprinkles of sky among the +foliage, instead of the sombre piling up of tree behind +tree. And here I had two scares—first, away up on my +right hand I heard a bull low; I think it was a bull from the +quality of the low, which was singularly songful and beautiful; +the bulls belong to me, but how did I know that the bull was +aware of that? and my advance guard not being at all properly +armed, we advanced with great precaution until I was satisfied +that I was passing eastward of the enemy. It was during +this period that a pool of the river suddenly boiled up in my +face in a little fountain. It was in a very dreary, marshy +part among dilapidated trees that you see through holes in the +trunks of; and if any kind of beast or elf or devil had come out +of that sudden silver ebullition, I declare I do not think I +should have been surprised. It was perhaps a thing as +curious—a fish, with which these head waters of the stream +are alive. They are some of them as long as my finger, +should be easily caught in these shallows, and some day +I’ll have a dish of them.</p> +<p>Very soon after I came to where the stream collects in another +banana swamp, with the bananas bearing well. Beyond, the +course is again quite dry; it mounts with a sharp turn a very +steep face of the mountain, and then stops abruptly at the lip of +a plateau, I suppose the top of Vaea mountain: plainly no more +springs here—there was no smallest furrow of a watercourse +beyond—and my task might be said to be accomplished. +But such is the animated spirit in the service that the whole +advance guard expressed a sentiment of disappointment that an +exploration, so far successfully conducted, should come to a stop +in the most promising view of fresh successes. And though +unprovided either with compass or cutlass, it was determined to +push some way along the plateau, marking our direction by the +laborious process of bending down, sitting upon, and thus +breaking the wild cocoanut trees. This was the less +regretted by all from a delightful discovery made of a huge +banyan growing here in the bush, with flying-buttressed flying +buttresses, and huge arcs of trunk hanging high overhead and +trailing down new complications of root. I climbed some way +up what seemed the original beginning; it was easier to climb +than a ship’s rigging, even rattled; everywhere there was +foot-hold and hand-hold. It was judged wise to return and +rally the main body, who had now been left alone for perhaps +forty minutes in the bush.</p> +<p>The return was effected in good order, but unhappily I only +arrived (like so many other explorers) to find my main body or +rear-guard in a condition of mutiny; the work, it is to be +supposed, of terror. It is right I should tell you the Vaea +has a bad name, an <i>aitu fafine</i>—female devil of the +woods—succubus—haunting it, and doubtless Jack had +heard of her; perhaps, during my absence, saw her; lucky +Jack! Anyway, he was neither to hold nor to bind, and +finally, after nearly smashing me by accident, and from mere +scare and insubordination several times, deliberately set in to +kill me; but poor Jack! the tree he selected for that purpose was +a banana! I jumped off and gave him the heavy end of my +whip over the buttocks! Then I took and talked in his ear +in various voices; you should have heard my alto—it was a +dreadful, devilish note—I <i>knew</i> Jack <i>knew</i> it +was an <i>aitu</i>. Then I mounted him again, and he +carried me fairly steadily. He’ll learn yet. He +has to learn to trust absolutely to his rider; till he does, the +risk is always great in thick bush, where a fellow must try +different passages, and put back and forward, and pick his way by +hair’s-breadths.</p> +<p>The expedition returned to Vailima in time to receive the +visit of the R. C. Bishop. He is a superior man, much above +the average of priests.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Thursday</i>.</p> +<p>Yesterday the same expedition set forth to the southward by +what is known as Carruthers’ Road. At a fallen tree +which completely blocks the way, the main body was as before left +behind, and the advance guard of one now proceeded with the +exploration. At the great tree known as <i>Mepi Tree</i>, +after Maben the surveyor, the expedition struck forty yards due +west till it struck the top of a steep bank which it +descended. The whole bottom of the ravine is filled with +sharp lava blocks quite unrolled and very difficult and dangerous +to walk among; no water in the course, scarce any sign of +water. And yet surely water must have made this bold +cutting in the plateau. And if so, why is the lava +sharp? My science gave out; but I could not but think it +ominous and volcanic. The course of the stream was +tortuous, but with a resultant direction a little by west of +north; the sides the whole way exceeding steep, the expedition +buried under fathoms of foliage. Presently water appeared +in the bottom, a good quantity; perhaps thirty or forty cubic +feet, with pools and waterfalls. A tree that stands all +along the banks here must be very fond of water; its roots lie +close-packed down the stream, like hanks of guts, so as to make +often a corrugated walk, each root ending in a blunt tuft of +filaments, plainly to drink water. Twice there came in +small tributaries from the left or western side—the whole +plateau having a smartish inclination to the east; one of the +tributaries in a handsome little web of silver hanging in the +forest. Twice I was startled by birds; one that barked like +a dog; another that whistled loud ploughman’s signals, so +that I vow I was thrilled, and thought I had fallen among runaway +blacks, and regretted my cutlass which I had lost and left behind +while taking bearings. A good many fishes in the brook, and +many cray-fish; one of the last with a queer glow-worm +head. Like all our brooks, the water is pure as air, and +runs over red stones like rubies. The foliage along both +banks very thick and high, the place close, the walking +exceedingly laborious. By the time the expedition reached +the fork, it was felt exceedingly questionable whether the +<i>moral</i> of the force were sufficiently good to undertake +more extended operations. A halt was called, the men +refreshed with water and a bath, and it was decided at a drumhead +council of war to continue the descent of the Embassy Water +straight for Vailima, whither the expedition returned, in rather +poor condition, and wet to the waist, about 4. <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span></p> +<p>Thus in two days the two main watercourses of this country +have been pretty thoroughly explored, and I conceive my +instructions fully carried out. The main body of the second +expedition was brought back by another officer despatched for +that purpose from Vailima. Casualties: one horse wounded; +one man bruised; no deaths—as yet, but the bruised man +feels to-day as if his case was mighty serious.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 25, ’91.</p> +<p>Your note with a very despicable bulletin of health arrived +only yesterday, the mail being a day behind. It contained +also the excellent <i>Times</i> article, which was a sight for +sore eyes. I am still <i>taboo</i>; the blessed Germans +will have none of me; and I only hope they may enjoy the +<i>Times</i> article. ’Tis my revenge! I wish +you had sent the letter too, as I have no copy, and do not even +know what I wrote the last day, with a bad headache, and the mail +going out. However, it must have been about right, for the +<i>Times</i> article was in the spirit I wished to arouse. +I hope we can get rid of the man before it is too late. He +has set the natives to war; but the natives, by God’s +blessing, do not want to fight, and I think it will fizzle +out—no thanks to the man who tried to start it. But I +did not mean to drift into these politics; rather to tell you +what I have done since I last wrote.</p> +<p>Well, I worked away at my History for a while, and only got +one chapter done; no doubt this spate of work is pretty low now, +and will be soon dry; but, God bless you, what a lot I have +accomplished; <i>Wrecker</i> done, <i>Beach of Falesá</i> +done, half the <i>History</i>: <i>c’est +étonnant</i>. (I hear from Burlingame, by the way, +that he likes the end of the <i>Wrecker</i>; ’tis certainly +a violent, dark yarn with interesting, plain turns of human +nature), then Lloyd and I went down to live in Haggard’s +rooms, where Fanny presently joined us. Haggard’s +rooms are in a strange old building—old for Samoa, and has +the effect of the antique like some strange monastery; I would +tell you more of it, but I think I’m going to use it in a +tale. The annexe close by had its door sealed; poor Dowdney +lost at sea in a schooner. The place is haunted. The +vast empty sheds, the empty store, the airless, hot, long, low +rooms, the claps of wind that set everything flying—a +strange uncanny house to spend Christmas in.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Jan.</i> 1<i>st</i>, +’92.</p> +<p>For a day or two I have sat close and wrought hard at the +<i>History</i>, and two more chapters are all but done. +About thirty pages should go by this mail, which is not what +should be, but all I could overtake. Will any one ever read +it? I fancy not; people don’t read history for +reading, but for education and display—and who desires +education in the history of Samoa, with no population, no past, +no future, or the exploits of Mataafa, Malietoa, and Consul +Knappe? Colkitto and Galasp are a trifle to it. Well, +it can’t be helped, and it must be done, and, better or +worse, it’s capital fun. There are two to whom I have +not been kind—German Consul Becker and English Captain +Hand, R.N.</p> +<p>On Dec. 30th I rode down with Belle to go to (if you please) +the Fancy Ball. When I got to the beach, I found the +barometer was below 29°, the wind still in the east and +steady, but a huge offensive continent of clouds and vapours +forming to leeward. It might be a hurricane; I dared not +risk getting caught away from my work, and, leaving Belle, +returned at once to Vailima. Next +day—yesterday—it was a tearer; we had storm shutters +up; I sat in my room and wrote by lamplight—ten pages, if +you please, seven of them draft, and some of these compiled from +as many as seven different and conflicting authorities, so that +was a brave day’s work. About two a huge tree fell +within sixty paces of our house; a little after, a second went; +and we sent out boys with axes and cut down a third, which was +too near the house, and buckling like a fishing rod. At +dinner we had the front door closed and shuttered, the back door +open, the lamp lit. The boys in the cook-house were all out +at the cook-house door, where we could see them looking in and +smiling. Lauilo and Faauma waited on us with smiles. +The excitement was delightful. Some very violent squalls +came as we sat there, and every one rejoiced; it was impossible +to help it; a soul of putty had to sing. All night it blew; +the roof was continually sounding under missiles; in the morning +the verandahs were half full of branches torn from the +forest. There was a last very wild squall about six; the +rain, like a thick white smoke, flying past the house in volleys, +and as swift, it seemed, as rifle balls; all with a strange, +strident hiss, such as I have only heard before at sea, and, +indeed, thought to be a marine phenomenon. Since then the +wind has been falling with a few squalls, mostly rain. But +our road is impassable for horses; we hear a schooner has been +wrecked and some native houses blown down in Apia, where Belle is +still and must remain a prisoner. Lucky I returned while I +could! But the great good is this; much bread-fruit and +bananas have been destroyed; if this be general through the +islands, famine will be imminent; and <i>whoever blows the +coals</i>, <i>there can be no war</i>. Do I then prefer a +famine to a war? you ask. Not always, but just now. I +am sure the natives do not want a war; I am sure a war would +benefit no one but the white officials, and I believe we can +easily meet the famine—or at least that it can be +met. That would give our officials a legitimate opportunity +to cover their past errors.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Jan.</i> 2<i>nd</i>.</p> +<p>I woke this morning to find the blow quite ended. The +heaven was all a mottled gray; even the east quite colourless; +the downward slope of the island veiled in wafts of vapour, blue +like smoke; not a leaf stirred on the tallest tree; only, three +miles away below me on the barrier reef, I could see the +individual breakers curl and fall, and hear their conjunct +roaring rise, as it still rises at 1 <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span>, like the roar of a thoroughfare +close by. I did a good morning’s work, correcting and +clarifying my draft, and have now finished for press eight +chapters, ninety-one pages, of this piece of journalism. +Four more chapters, say fifty pages, remain to be done; I should +gain my wager and finish this volume in three months, that is to +say, the end should leave me per February mail; I cannot receive +it back till the mail of April. Yes, it can be out in time; +pray God that it be in time to help.</p> +<p>How do journalists fetch up their drivel? I aim only at +clearness and the most obvious finish, positively at no higher +degree of merit, not even at brevity—I am sure it could +have been all done, with double the time, in two-thirds of the +space. And yet it has taken me two months to write 45,500 +words; and, be damned to my wicked prowess, I am proud of the +exploit! The real journalist must be a man not of brass +only, but bronze. Chapter <span class="GutSmall">IX.</span> +gapes for me, but I shrink on the margin, and go on chattering to +you. This last part will be much less offensive (strange to +say) to the Germans. It is Becker they will never forgive +me for; Knappe I pity and do not dislike; Becker I scorn and +abominate. Here is the tableau. <span +class="GutSmall">I.</span> Elements of Discord: Native. +<span class="GutSmall">II.</span> Elements of Discord: +Foreign. <span class="GutSmall">III.</span> The +Sorrows of Laupepa. <span class="GutSmall">IV.</span> +Brandeis. <span class="GutSmall">V.</span> The Battle of +Matautu. <span class="GutSmall">VI.</span> Last Exploits of +Becker. <span class="GutSmall">VII.</span> The Samoan +Camps. <span class="GutSmall">VIII.</span> Affairs of +Lautii and Fangalii. <span class="GutSmall">IX.</span> +‘<i>Furor Consularis</i>.’ <span +class="GutSmall">X.</span> The Hurricane. <span +class="GutSmall">XI.</span> Stuebel Recluse. <span +class="GutSmall">XII.</span> The Present Government. I +estimate the whole roughly at 70,000 words. Should anybody +ever dream of reading it, it would be found amusing. +70000/300=233 printed pages; a respectable little five-bob +volume, to bloom unread in shop windows. After that, +I’ll have a spank at fiction. And rest? I shall +rest in the grave, or when I come to Italy. If only the +public will continue to support me! I lost my chance not +dying; there seems blooming little fear of it now. I worked +close on five hours this morning; the day before, close on nine; +and unless I finish myself off with this letter, I’ll have +another hour and a half, or <i>aiblins twa</i>, before +dinner. Poor man, how you must envy me, as you hear of +these orgies of work, and you scarce able for a letter. But +Lord, Colvin, how lucky the situations are not reversed, for I +have no situation, nor am fit for any. Life is a steigh +brae. Here, have at Knappe, and no more clavers!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">3<i>rd</i>.</p> +<p>There was never any man had so many irons in the fire, except +Jim Pinkerton. I forgot to mention I have the most gallant +suggestion from Lang, with an offer of <span +class="GutSmall">MS.</span> authorities, which turns my +brain. It’s all about the throne of Poland and buried +treasure in the Mackay country, and Alan Breck can figure there +in glory.</p> +<p>Yesterday, J. and I set off to Blacklock’s (American +Consul) who lives not far from that little village I have so +often mentioned as lying between us and Apia. I had some +questions to ask him for my History; thence we must proceed to +Vailele, where I had also to cross-examine the plantation manager +about the battle there. We went by a track I had never +before followed down the hill to Vaisigano, which flows here in a +deep valley, and was unusually full, so that the horses trembled +in the ford. The whole bottom of the valley is full of +various streams posting between strips of forest with a brave +sound of waters. In one place we had a glimpse of a fall +some way higher up, and then sparkling in sunlight in the midst +of the green valley. Then up by a winding path scarce +accessible to a horse for steepness, to the other side, and the +open cocoanut glades of the plantation. Here we rode fast, +did a mighty satisfactory afternoon’s work at the +plantation house, and still faster back. On the return Jack +fell with me, but got up again; when I felt him recovering I gave +him his head, and he shoved his foot through the rein; I got him +by the bit however, and all was well; he had mud over all his +face, but his knees were not broken. We were scarce home +when the rain began again; that was luck. It is pouring now +in torrents; we are in the height of the bad season. Lloyd +leaves along with this letter on a change to San Francisco; he +had much need of it, but I think this will brace him up. I +am, as you see, a tower of strength. I can remember riding +not so far and not near so fast when I first came to Samoa, and +being shattered next day with fatigue; now I could not tell I +have done anything; have re-handled my battle of Fangalii +according to yesterday’s information—four pages +rewritten; and written already some half-dozen pages of +letters.</p> +<p>I observe with disgust that while of yore, when I own I was +guilty, you never spared me abuse, but now, when I am so +virtuous, where is the praise? Do admit that I have become +an excellent letter-writer—at least to you, and that your +ingratitude is imbecile.—Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Jan.</i> 31<i>st</i>, +’92.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—No letter at +all from you, and this scratch from me! Here is a year that +opens ill. Lloyd is off to ‘the coast’ +sick—<i>the coast</i> means California over most of the +Pacific—I have been down all month with influenza, and am +just recovering—I am overlaid with proofs, which I am just +about half fit to attend to. One of my horses died this +morning, and another is now dying on the front +lawn—Lloyd’s horse and Fanny’s. Such is +my quarrel with destiny. But I am mending famously, come +and go on the balcony, have perfectly good nights, and though I +still cough, have no oppression and no hemorrhage and no +fever. So if I can find time and courage to add no more, +you will know my news is not altogether of the worst; a year or +two ago, and what a state I should have been in now! Your +silence, I own, rather alarms me. But I tell myself you +have just miscarried; had you been too ill to write, some one +would have written me. Understand, I send this brief +scratch not because I am unfit to write more, but because I have +58 galleys of the <i>Wrecker</i> and 102 of the <i>Beach of +Falesá</i> to get overhauled somehow or other in time for +the mail, and for three weeks I have not touched a pen with my +finger.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Feb.</i> 1<i>st</i>.</p> +<p>The second horse is still alive, but I still think +dying. The first was buried this morning. My proofs +are done; it was a rough two days of it, but done. +<i>Consummatum est</i>; <i>na uma</i>. I believe the +<i>Wrecker</i> ends well; if I know what a good yarn is, the last +four chapters make a good yarn—but pretty horrible. +<i>The Beach of Falesá</i> I still think well of, but it +seems it’s immoral and there’s a to-do, and +financially it may prove a heavy disappointment. The +plaintive request sent to me, to make the young folks married +properly before ‘that night,’ I refused; you will see +what would be left of the yarn, had I consented. This is a +poison bad world for the romancer, this Anglo-Saxon world; I +usually get out of it by not having any women in it at all; but +when I remember I had the <i>Treasure of Franchard</i> refused as +unfit for a family magazine, I feel despair weigh upon my +wrists.</p> +<p>As I know you are always interested in novels, I must tell you +that a new one is now entirely planned. It is to be called +<i>Sophia Scarlet</i>, and is in two parts. Part I. The +Vanilla Planter. Part II. The Overseers. No chapters, +I think; just two dense blocks of narrative, the first of which +is purely sentimental, but the second has some rows and quarrels, +and winds up with an explosion, if you please! I am just +burning to get at Sophia, but I <i>must</i> do this Samoan +journalism—that’s a cursed duty. The first part +of Sophia, bar the first twenty or thirty pages, writes itself; +the second is more difficult, involving a good many +characters—about ten, I think—who have to be kept all +moving, and give the effect of a society. I have three +women to handle, out and well-away! but only Sophia is in full +tone. Sophia and two men, Windermere, the Vanilla Planter, +who dies at the end of Part I., and Rainsforth, who only appears +in the beginning of Part II. The fact is, I blush to own +it, but Sophia is a <i>regular novel</i>; heroine and hero, and +false accusation, and love, and marriage, and all the rest of +it—all planted in a big South Sea plantation run by +ex-English officers—<i>à la</i> Stewart’s +plantation in Tahiti. There is a strong undercurrent of +labour trade, which gives it a kind of Uncle Tom flavour, +<i>absit omen</i>! The first start is hard; it is hard to +avoid a little tedium here, but I think by beginning with the +arrival of the three Miss Scarlets hot from school and society in +England, I may manage to slide in the information. The +problem is exactly a Balzac one, and I wish I had his +fist—for I have already a better method—the kinetic, +whereas he continually allowed himself to be led into the +static. But then he had the fist, and the most I can hope +is to get out of it with a modicum of grace and energy, but for +sure without the strong impression, the full, dark brush. +Three people have had it, the real creator’s brush: Scott, +see much of <i>The Antiquary</i> and <i>The Heart of +Midlothian</i> (especially all round the trial, before, during, +and after)—Balzac—and Thackeray in <i>Vanity +Fair</i>. Everybody else either paints <i>thin</i>, or has +to stop to paint, or paints excitedly, so that you see the author +skipping before his canvas. Here is a long way from poor +Sophia Scarlet!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">This day is published</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Sophia Scarlet</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center">By</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Robert Louis +Stevenson</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Feb.</i> 1892.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—This has been +a busyish month for a sick man. First, Faauma—the +bronze candlestick, whom otherwise I called my +butler—bolted from the bed and bosom of Lafaele, the +Archangel Hercules, prefect of the cattle. There was the +deuce to pay, and Hercules was inconsolable, and immediately +started out after a new wife, and has had one up on a visit, but +says she has ‘no conversation’; and I think he will +take back the erring and possibly repentant candlestick; whom we +all devoutly prefer, as she is not only highly decorative, but +good-natured, and if she does little work makes no rows. I +tell this lightly, but it really was a heavy business; many were +accused of complicity, and Rafael was really very sorry. I +had to hold beds of justice—literally—seated in my +bed and surrounded by lying Samoans seated on the floor; and +there were many picturesque and still inexplicable +passages. It is hard to reach the truth in these +islands.</p> +<p>The next incident overlapped with this. S. and Fanny +found three strange horses in the paddock: for long now the boys +have been forbidden to leave their horses here one hour because +our grass is over-grazed. S. came up with the news, and I +saw I must now strike a blow. ‘To the pound with the +lot,’ said I. He proposed taking the three himself, +but I thought that too dangerous an experiment, said I should go +too, and hurried into my boots so as to show decision taken, in +the necessary interviews. They came of course—the +interviews—and I explained what I was going to do at huge +length, and stuck to my guns. I am glad to say the natives, +with their usual (purely speculative) sense of justice highly +approved the step after reflection. Meanwhile off went S. +and I with the three <i>corpora delicti</i>; and a good job I +went! Once, when our circus began to kick, we thought all +was up; but we got them down all sound in wind and limb. I +judged I was much fallen off from my Elliott forefathers, who +managed this class of business with neatness and despatch. +Half-way down it came on to rain tropic style, and I came back +from my outing drenched liked a drowned man—I was literally +blinded as I came back among these sheets of water; and the +consequence was I was laid down with diarrhoea and threatenings +of Samoa colic for the inside of another week.</p> +<p>I have a confession to make. When I was sick I tried to +get to work to finish that Samoa thing, wouldn’t go; and at +last, in the colic time, I slid off into <i>David Balfour</i>, +some 50 pages of which are drafted, and like me well. +Really I think it is spirited; and there’s a heroine that +(up to now) seems to have attractions: <i>absit omen</i>! +David, on the whole, seems excellent. Alan does not come in +till the tenth chapter, and I am only at the eighth, so I +don’t know if I can find him again; but David is on his +feet, and doing well, and very much in love, and mixed up with +the Lord Advocate and the (untitled) Lord Lovat, and all manner +of great folk. And the tale interferes with my eating and +sleeping. The join is bad; I have not thought to strain too +much for continuity; so this part be alive, I shall be +content. But there’s no doubt David seems to have +changed his style, de’il ha’e him! And much I +care, if the tale travel!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i>, <i>Feb.</i> ?? +19<i>th</i>?</p> +<p>Two incidents to-day which I must narrate. After lunch, +it was raining pitilessly; we were sitting in my mother’s +bedroom, and I was reading aloud Kinglake’s Charge of the +Light Brigade, and we had just been all seized by the horses +aligning with Lord George Paget, when a figure appeared on the +verandah; a little, slim, small figure of a lad, with blond +(<i>i.e.</i> limed) hair, a propitiatory smile, and a nose that +alone of all his features grew pale with anxiety. ‘I +come here stop,’ was about the outside of his English; and +I began at once to guess that he was a runaway labourer, and that +the bush-knife in his hand was stolen. It proved he had a +mate, who had lacked his courage, and was hidden down the road; +they had both made up their minds to run away, and had +‘come here stop.’ I could not turn out the poor +rogues, one of whom showed me marks on his back, into the +drenching forest; I could not reason with them, for they had not +enough English, and not one of our boys spoke their tongue; so I +bade them feed and sleep here to-night, and to-morrow I must do +what the Lord shall bid me.</p> +<p>Near dinner time, I was told that a friend of Lafaele’s +had found human remains in my bush. After dinner, a figure +was seen skulking across towards the waterfall, which produced +from the verandah a shout, in my most stentorian tones: +‘<i>O ai le ingoa</i>?’ literally ‘Who the +name?’ which serves here for ‘What’s your +business?’ as well. It proved to be Lafaele’s +friend; I bade a kitchen boy, Lauilo, go with him to see the +spot, for though it had ceased raining, the whole island ran and +dripped. Lauilo was willing enough, but the friend of the +archangel demurred; he had too much business; he had no +time. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘you too much +frightened, I go along,’ which of course produced the usual +shout of delight from all those who did not require to go. +I got into my Saranac snow boots. Lauilo got a cutlass; +Mary Carter, our Sydney maid, joined the party for a lark, and +off we set. I tell you our guide kept us moving; for the +dusk fell swift. Our woods have an infamous reputation at +the best, and our errand (to say the least of it) was +grisly. At last they found the remains; they were old, +which was all I cared to be sure of; it seemed a strangely small +‘pickle-banes’ to stand for a big, flourishing, +buck-islander, and their situation in the darkening and dripping +bush was melancholy. All at once, I found there was a +second skull, with a bullet-hole I could have stuck my two thumbs +in—say anybody else’s one thumb. My Samoans +said it could not be, there were not enough bones; I put the two +pieces of skull together, and at last convinced them. +Whereupon, in a flash, they found the not unromantic +explanation. This poor brave had succeeded in the height of +a Samoan warriors ambition; he had taken a head, which he was +never destined to show to his applauding camp. Wounded +himself, he had crept here into the bush to die with his useless +trophy by his side. His date would be about fifteen years +ago, in the great battle between Laupepa and Talavou, which took +place on My Land, Sir. To-morrow we shall bury the bones +and fire a salute in honour of unfortunate courage.</p> +<p>Do you think I have an empty life? or that a man jogging to +his club has so much to interest and amuse him?—touch and +try him too, but that goes along with the others: no pain, no +pleasure, is the iron law. So here I stop again, and leave, +as I left yesterday, my political business untouched. And +lo! here comes my pupil, I believe, so I stop in time.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 2<i>nd</i>.</p> +<p>Since I last wrote, fifteen chapters of <i>David Balfour</i> +have been drafted, and five <i>tirés au clair</i>. I +think it pretty good; there’s a blooming maiden that costs +anxiety—she is as virginal as billy; but David seems there +and alive, and the Lord Advocate is good, and so I think is an +episodic appearance of the Master of Lovat. In Chapter +<span class="GutSmall">XVII.</span> I shall get David +abroad—Alan went already in Chapter <span +class="GutSmall">XII.</span> The book should be about the +length of <i>Kidnapped</i>; this early part of it, about +D.’s evidence in the Appin case, is more of a story than +anything in <i>Kidnapped</i>, but there is no doubt there comes a +break in the middle, and the tale is practically in two +divisions. In the first James More and the M’Gregors, +and Catriona, only show; in the second, the Appin case being +disposed of, and James Stewart hung, they rule the roast and +usurp the interest—should there be any left. Why did +I take up <i>David Balfour</i>? I don’t know. A +sudden passion.</p> +<p>Monday, I went down in the rain with a colic to take the chair +at a public meeting; dined with Haggard; sailed off to my +meeting, and fought with wild beasts for three anxious +hours. All was lost that any sensible man cared for, but +the meeting did not break up—thanks a good deal to R. L. +S.—and the man who opposed my election, and with whom I was +all the time wrangling, proposed the vote of thanks to me with a +certain handsomeness; I assure you I had earned it . . . +Haggard and the great Abdul, his high-caste Indian servant, +imported by my wife, were sitting up for me with supper, and I +suppose it was twelve before I got to bed. Tuesday raining, +my mother rode down, and we went to the Consulate to sign a +Factory and Commission. Thence, I to the lawyers, to the +printing office, and to the Mission. It was dinner time +when I returned home.</p> +<p>This morning, our cook-boy having suddenly left—injured +feelings—the archangel was to cook breakfast. I found +him lighting the fire before dawn; his eyes blazed, he had no +word of any language left to use, and I saw in him (to my wonder) +the strongest workings of gratified ambition. Napoleon was +no more pleased to sign his first treaty with Austria than was +Lafaele to cook that breakfast. All morning, when I had +hoped to be at this letter, I slept like one drugged and you must +take this (which is all I can give you) for what it is +worth—</p> +<p style="text-align: center">D.B.</p> +<p class="gutindent"><i>Memoirs of his Adventures at Home and +Abroad</i>. <i>The Second Part</i>; <i>wherein are set +forth the misfortunes in which he was involved upon the Appin +Murder</i>; <i>his troubles with Lord Advocate Prestongrange</i>; +<i>captivity on the Bass Rock</i>; <i>journey into France and +Holland</i>; <i>and singular relations with James More Drummond +or Macgregor</i>, <i>a son of the notorious Rob Roy</i>.</p> +<p>Chapters.—<span class="GutSmall">I.</span> A Beggar on +Horseback. <span class="GutSmall">II.</span> The Highland +Writer. <span class="GutSmall">III.</span> I go to +Pilrig. <span class="GutSmall">IV.</span> Lord Advocate +Prestongrange. <span class="GutSmall">V.</span> Butter and +Thunder. <span class="GutSmall">VI.</span> I make a fault +in honour. <span class="GutSmall">VII.</span> The +Bravo. <span class="GutSmall">VIII.</span> The Heather on +Fire. <span class="GutSmall">IX.</span> I begin to be +haunted with a red-headed man. <span +class="GutSmall">X.</span> The Wood by Silvermills. <span +class="GutSmall">XI.</span> On the march again with Alan. +<span class="GutSmall">XII.</span> Gillane Sands. <span +class="GutSmall">XIII.</span> The Bass Rock. <span +class="GutSmall">XIV.</span> Black Andie’s Tale of Tod +Lapraik. <span class="GutSmall">XV.</span> I go to +Inveraray.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>That is it, as far as drafted. Chapters <span +class="GutSmall">IV.</span> <span class="GutSmall">V.</span> +<span class="GutSmall">VII.</span> <span +class="GutSmall">IX.</span> and <span +class="GutSmall">XIV.</span> I am specially pleased with; the +last being an episodical bogie story about the Bass Rock told +there by the Keeper.</p> +<h2><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +147</span>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 9<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear</span> S. C.,—Take it not +amiss if this is a wretched letter. I am eaten up with +business. Every day this week I have had some business +impediment—I am even now waiting a deputation of chiefs +about the road—and my precious morning was shattered by a +polite old scourge of a <i>faipule</i>—parliament +man—come begging. All the time <i>David Balfour</i> +is skelping along. I began it the 13th of last month; I +have now 12 chapters, 79 pages ready for press, or within an ace, +and, by the time the month is out, one-half should be completed, +and I’ll be back at drafting the second half. What +makes me sick is to think of Scott turning out <i>Guy +Mannering</i> in three weeks! What a pull of work: heavens, +what thews and sinews! And here am I, my head spinning from +having only re-written seven not very difficult pages—and +not very good when done. Weakling generation. It +makes me sick of myself, to make such a fash and bobbery over a +rotten end of an old nursery yarn, not worth spitting on when +done. Still, there is no doubt I turn out my work more +easily than of yore, and I suppose I should be singly glad of +that. And if I got my book done in six weeks, seeing it +will be about half as long as a Scott, and I have to write +everything twice, it would be about the same rate of +industry. It is my fair intention to be done with it in +three months, which would make me about one-half the man Sir +Walter was for application and driving the dull pen. Of the +merit we shall not talk; but I don’t think Davie is +<i>without</i> merit.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 12<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>And I have this day triumphantly finished 15 chapters, 100 +pages—being exactly one-half (as near as anybody can guess) +of <i>David Balfour</i>; the book to be about a fifth as long +again (altogether) as <i>Treasure Island</i>: could I but do the +second half in another month! But I can’t, I fear; I +shall have some belated material arriving by next mail, and must +go again at the History. Is it not characteristic of my +broken tenacity of mind, that I should have left Davie Balfour +some five years in the British Linen Company’s Office, and +then follow him at last with such vivacity? But I leave you +again; the last (15th) chapter ought to be re-wrote, or part of +it, and I want the half completed in the month, and the month is +out by midnight; though, to be sure, last month was February, and +I might take grace. These notes are only to show I hold you +in mind, though I know they can have no interest for man or God +or animal.</p> +<p>I should have told you about the Club. We have been +asked to try and start a sort of weekly ball for the half-castes +and natives, ourselves to be the only whites; and we consented, +from a very heavy sense of duty, and with not much hope. +Two nights ago we had twenty people up, received them in the +front verandah, entertained them on cake and lemonade, and I made +a speech—embodying our proposals, or conditions, if you +like—for I suppose thirty minutes. No joke to speak +to such an audience, but it is believed I was thoroughly +intelligible. I took the plan of saying everything at least +twice in a different form of words, so that if the one escaped my +hearers, the other might be seized. One white man came with +his wife, and was kept rigorously on the front verandah +below! You see what a sea of troubles this is like to +prove; but it is the only chance—and when it blows up, it +must blow up! I have no more hope in anything than a dead +frog; I go into everything with a composed despair, and +don’t mind—just as I always go to sea with the +conviction I am to be drowned, and like it before all other +pleasures. But you should have seen the return voyage, when +nineteen horses had to be found in the dark, and nineteen +bridles, all in a drench of rain, and the club, just constituted +as such, sailed away in the wet, under a cloudy moon like a bad +shilling, and to descend a road through the forest that was at +that moment the image of a respectable mountain brook. My +wife, who is president <i>with power to expel</i>, had to begin +her functions. . . .</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">25<i>th</i> <i>March</i>.</p> +<p>Heaven knows what day it is, but I am ashamed, all the more as +your letter from Bournemouth of all places—poor old +Bournemouth!—is to hand, and contains a statement of +pleasure in my letters which I wish I could have rewarded with a +long one. What has gone on? A vast of affairs, of a +mingled, strenuous, inconclusive, desultory character; much waste +of time, much riding to and fro, and little transacted or at +least peracted.</p> +<p>Let me give you a review of the present state of our live +stock.—Six boys in the bush; six souls about the +house. Talolo, the cook, returns again to-day, after an +absence which has cost me about twelve hours of riding, and I +suppose eight hours’ solemn sitting in council. +‘I am sorry indeed for the Chief Justice of Samoa,’ I +said; ‘it is more than I am fit for to be Chief Justice of +Vailima.’—Lauilo is steward. Both these are +excellent servants; we gave a luncheon party when we buried the +Samoan bones, and I assure you all was in good style, yet we +never interfered. The food was good, the wine and dishes +went round as by mechanism.—Steward’s assistant and +washman Arrick, a New Hebridee black boy, hired from the German +firm; not so ugly as most, but not pretty neither; not so dull as +his sort are, but not quite a Crichton. When he came first, +he ate so much of our good food that he got a prominent +belly. Kitchen assistant, Tomas (Thomas in English), a Fiji +man, very tall and handsome, moving like a marionette with sudden +bounds, and rolling his eyes with sudden +effort.—Washerwoman and precentor, Helen, Tomas’s +wife. This is our weak point; we are ashamed of Helen; the +cook-house blushes for her; they murmur there at her +presence. She seems all right; she is not a bad-looking, +strapping wench, seems chaste, is industrious, has an excellent +taste in hymns—you should have heard her read one aloud the +other day, she marked the rhythm with so much gloating, dissenter +sentiment. What is wrong, then? says you. Low in your +ear—and don’t let the papers get hold of it—she +is of no family. None, they say; literally a common +woman. Of course, we have out-islanders, who <i>may</i> be +villeins; but we give them the benefit of the doubt, which is +impossible with Helen of Vailima; our blot, our pitted +speck. The pitted speck I have said is our precentor. +It is always a woman who starts Samoan song; the men who sing +second do not enter for a bar or two. Poor, dear Faauma, +the unchaste, the extruded Eve of our Paradise, knew only two +hymns; but Helen seems to know the whole repertory, and the +morning prayers go far more lively in consequence.—Lafaele, +provost of the cattle. The cattle are Jack, my horse, quite +converted, my wife rides him now, and he is as steady as a +doctor’s cob; Tifaga Jack, a circus horse, my +mother’s piebald, bought from a passing circus; +Belle’s mare, now in childbed or next door, confound the +slut! Musu—amusingly translated the other day +‘don’t want to,’ literally cross, but always in +the sense of stubbornness and resistance—my wife’s +little dark-brown mare, with a white star on her forehead, whom I +have been riding of late to steady her—she has no vices, +but is unused, skittish and uneasy, and wants a lot of attention +and humouring; lastly (of saddle horses) Luna—not the Latin +<i>moon</i>, the Hawaiian <i>overseer</i>, but it’s +pronounced the same—a pretty little mare too, but scarce at +all broken, a bad bucker, and has to be ridden with a stock-whip +and be brought back with her rump criss-crossed like a clan +tartan; the two cart horses, now only used with pack-saddles; two +cows, one in the straw (I trust) to-morrow, a third cow, the +Jersey—whose milk and temper are alike subjects of +admiration—she gives good exercise to the farming +saunterer, and refreshes him on his return with cream; two +calves, a bull, and a cow; God knows how many ducks and chickens, +and for a wager not even God knows how many cats; twelve horses, +seven horses, five kine: is not this Babylon the Great which I +have builded? Call it <i>Subpriorsford</i>.</p> +<p>Two nights ago the club had its first meeting; only twelve +were present, but it went very well. I was not there, I had +ridden down the night before after dinner on my endless business, +took a cup of tea in the Mission like an ass, then took a cup of +coffee like a fool at Haggard’s, then fell into a +discussion with the American Consul . . . I went to bed at +Haggard’s, came suddenly broad awake, and lay sleepless the +live night. It fell chill, I had only a sheet, and had to +make a light and range the house for a cover—I found one in +the hall, a macintosh. So back to my sleepless bed, and to +lie there till dawn. In the morning I had a longish ride to +take in a day of a blinding, staggering sun, and got home by +eleven, our luncheon hour, with my head rather swimmy; the only +time I have <i>feared</i> the sun since I was in Samoa. +However, I got no harm, but did not go to the club, lay off, +lazied, played the pipe, and read—a novel by James +Payn—sometimes quite interesting, and in one place really +very funny with the quaint humour of the man. Much +interested the other day. As I rode past a house, I saw +where a Samoan had written a word on a board, and there was an A, +perfectly formed, but upside down. You never saw such a +thing in Europe; but it is as common as dirt in Polynesia. +Men’s names are tattooed on the forearm; it is common to +find a subverted letter tattooed there. Here is a tempting +problem for psychologists.</p> +<p>I am now on terms again with the German Consulate, I know not +for how long; not, of course, with the President, which I find a +relief; still, with the Chief Justice and the English +Consul. For Haggard, I have a genuine affection; he is a +loveable man.</p> +<p>Wearyful man! ‘Here is the yarn of Loudon Dodd, +<i>not as he told it</i>, <i>but as it was afterwards +written</i>.’ These words were left out by some +carelessness, and I think I have been thrice tackled about +them. Grave them in your mind and wear them on your +forehead.</p> +<p>The Lang story will have very little about the treasure; +<i>The Master</i> will appear; and it is to a great extent a tale +of Prince Charlie <i>after</i> the ’45, and a love story +forbye: the hero is a melancholy exile, and marries a young woman +who interests the prince, and there is the devil to pay. I +think the Master kills him in a duel, but don’t know yet, +not having yet seen my second heroine. No—the Master +doesn’t kill him, they fight, he is wounded, and the Master +plays <i>deus ex machina</i>. I <i>think</i> just now of +calling it <i>The Tail of the Race</i>; no—heavens! I +never saw till this moment—but of course nobody but myself +would ever understand Mill-Race, they would think of a +quarter-mile. So—I am nameless again. My +melancholy young man is to be quite a Romeo. Yes, +I’ll name the book from him: <i>Dyce of +Ythan</i>—pronounce Eethan.</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p>Dyce of Ythan</p> +<p>by R. L. S.</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p>O, Shovel—Shovel waits his turn, he and his +ancestors. I would have tackled him before, but my <i>State +Trials</i> have never come. So that I have now quite +planned:—</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p>Dyce of Ythan. (Historical, 1750.)</p> +<p>Sophia Scarlet. (To-day.)</p> +<p>The Shovels of Newton French. (Historical, 1650 to 1830.)</p> +<p> </p> +<p>And quite planned and part written:—</p> +<p> </p> +<p>The Pearl Fisher. (To-day.) (With Lloyd a machine.)</p> +<p>David Balfour. (Historical, 1751.)</p> +<p> </p> +<p>And, by a strange exception for R. L. S., all in the third +person except D. B.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>I don’t know what day this is now (the 29th), but I have +finished my two chapters, ninth and tenth, of <i>Samoa</i> in +time for the mail, and feel almost at peace. The tenth was +the hurricane, a difficult problem; it so tempted one to be +literary; and I feel sure the less of that there is in my little +handbook, the more chance it has of some utility. Then the +events are complicated, seven ships to tell of, and sometimes +three of them together; O, it was quite a job. But I think +I have my facts pretty correct, and for once, in my sickening +yarn, they are handsome facts: creditable to all concerned; not +to be written of—and I should think, scarce to be +read—without a thrill. I doubt I have got no +hurricane into it, the intricacies of the yarn absorbing me too +much. But there—it’s done somehow, and time +presses hard on my heels. The book, with my best +expedition, may come just too late to be of use. In which +case I shall have made a handsome present of some months of my +life for nothing and to nobody. Well, through Her the most +ancient heavens are fresh and strong.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">30<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>After I had written you, I re-read my hurricane, which is very +poor; the life of the journalist is hard, another couple of +writings and I could make a good thing, I believe, and it must go +as it is! But, of course, this book is not written for +honour and glory, and the few who will read it may not know the +difference. Very little time. I go down with the mail +shortly, dine at the Chinese restaurant, and go to the club to +dance with islandresses. Think of my going out once a week +to dance.</p> +<p>Politics are on the full job again, and we don’t know +what is to come next. I think the whole treaty <i>raj</i> +seems quite played out! They have taken to bribing the +<i>faipule</i> men (parliament men) to stay in Mulinuu, we hear; +but I have not yet sifted the rumour. I must say I shall be +scarce surprised if it prove true; these rumours have the knack +of being right.—Our weather this last month has been +tremendously hot, not by the thermometer, which sticks at +86°, but to the sensation: no rain, no wind, and this the +storm month. It looks ominous, and is certainly +disagreeable.</p> +<p>No time to finish,</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +158</span>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 1<i>st</i>. 1892.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—As I rode +down last night about six, I saw a sight I must try to tell you +of. In front of me, right over the top of the forest into +which I was descending was a vast cloud. The front of it +accurately represented the somewhat rugged, long-nosed, and +beetle-browed profile of a man, crowned by a huge Kalmuck cap; +the flesh part was of a heavenly pink, the cap, the moustache, +the eyebrows were of a bluish gray; to see this with its childish +exactitude of design and colour, and hugeness of scale—it +covered at least 25°—held me spellbound. As I +continued to gaze, the expression began to change; he had the +exact air of closing one eye, dropping his jaw, and drawing down +his nose; had the thing not been so imposing, I could have +smiled; and then almost in a moment, a shoulder of +leaden-coloured bank drove in front and blotted it. My +attention spread to the rest of the cloud, and it was a thing to +worship. It rose from the horizon, and its top was within +thirty degrees of the zenith; the lower parts were like a glacier +in shadow, varying from dark indigo to a clouded white in +exquisite gradations. The sky behind, so far as I could +see, was all of a blue already enriched and darkened by the +night, for the hill had what lingered of the sunset. But +the top of my Titanic cloud flamed in broad sunlight, with the +most excellent softness and brightness of fire and jewels, +enlightening all the world. It must have been far higher +than Mount Everest, and its glory, as I gazed up at it out of the +night, was beyond wonder. Close by rode the little crescent +moon; and right over its western horn, a great planet of about +equal lustre with itself. The dark woods below were shrill +with that noisy business of the birds’ evening +worship. When I returned, after eight, the moon was near +down; she seemed little brighter than before, but now that the +cloud no longer played its part of a nocturnal sun, we could see +that sight, so rare with us at home that it was counted a +portent, so customary in the tropics, of the dark sphere with its +little gilt band upon the belly. The planet had been +setting faster, and was now below the crescent. They were +still of an equal brightness.</p> +<p>I could not resist trying to reproduce this in words, as a +specimen of these incredibly beautiful and imposing meteors of +the tropic sky that make so much of my pleasure here; though a +ship’s deck is the place to enjoy them. O what +<i>awful</i> scenery, from a ship’s deck, in the +tropics! People talk about the Alps, but the clouds of the +trade wind are alone for sublimity.</p> +<p>Now to try and tell you what has been happening. The +state of these islands, and of Mataafa and Laupepa +(Malietoa’s <i>ambo</i>) had been much on my mind. I +went to the priests and sent a message to Mataafa, at a time when +it was supposed he was about to act. He did not act, +delaying in true native style, and I determined I should go to +visit him. I have been very good not to go sooner; to live +within a few miles of a rebel camp, to be a novelist, to have all +my family forcing me to go, and to refrain all these months, +counts for virtue. But hearing that several people had gone +and the government done nothing to punish them, and having an +errand there which was enough to justify myself in my own eyes, I +half determined to go, and spoke of it with the half-caste +priest. And here (confound it) up came Laupepa and his +guards to call on me; we kept him to lunch, and the old gentleman +was very good and amiable. He asked me why I had not been +to see him? I reminded him a law had been made, and told +him I was not a small boy to go and ask leave of the consuls, and +perhaps be refused. He told me to pay no attention to the +law but come when I would, and begged me to name a day to +lunch. The next day (I think it was) early in the morning, +a man appeared; he had metal buttons like a policeman—but +he was none of our Apia force; he was a rebel policeman, and had +been all night coming round inland through the forest from +Malie. He brought a letter addressed</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><i>I laua susuga</i></p> +<p><i>Misi Mea</i>.</p> +</td> +<td><p>To his Excellency</p> +<p>Mr. Thingumbob.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>(So as not to compromise me). I can read Samoan now, +though not speak it. It was to ask me for last +Wednesday. My difficulty was great; I had no man here who +was fit, or who would have cared to write for me; and I had to +postpone the visit. So I gave up half-a-day with a groan, +went down to the priests, arranged for Monday week to go to +Malie, and named Thursday as my day to lunch with Laupepa. +I was sharply ill on Wednesday, mail day. But on Thursday I +had to trail down and go through the dreary business of a feast, +in the King’s wretched shanty, full in view of the +President’s fine new house; it made my heart burn.</p> +<p>This gave me my chance to arrange a private interview with the +King, and I decided to ask Mr. Whitmee, one of our missionaries, +to be my interpreter. On Friday, being too much exhausted +to go down, I begged him to come up. He did, I told him the +heads of what I meant to say; and he not only consented, but +said, if we got on well with the King, he would even proceed with +me to Malie. Yesterday, in consequence, I rode down to +W.’s house by eight in the morning; waited till ten; +received a message that the King was stopped by a meeting with +the President and <i>faipule</i>; made another engagement for +seven at night; came up; went down; waited till eight, and came +away again, <i>bredouille</i>, and a dead body. The poor, +weak, enslaved King had not dared to come to me even in +secret. Now I have to-day for a rest, and to-morrow to +Malie. Shall I be suffered to embark? It is very +doubtful; they are on the trail. On Thursday, a policeman +came up to me and began that a boy had been to see him, and said +I was going to see Mataafa.—‘And what did you +say?’ said I.—‘I told him I did not know about +where you were going,’ said he.—‘A very good +answer,’ said I, and turned away. It is lashing rain +to-day, but to-morrow, rain or shine, I must at least make the +attempt; and I am so weary, and the weather looks so bad. I +could half wish they would arrest me on the beach. All this +bother and pother to try and bring a little chance of peace; all +this opposition and obstinacy in people who remain here by the +mere forbearance of Mataafa, who has a great force within six +miles of their government buildings, which are indeed only the +residences of white officials. To understand how I have +been occupied, you must know that ‘Misi Mea’ has had +another letter, and this time had to answer himself; think of +doing so in a language so obscure to me, with the aid of a Bible, +concordance and dictionary! What a wonderful Baboo +compilation it must have been! I positively expected to +hear news of its arrival in Malie by the sound of laughter. +I doubt if you will be able to read this scrawl, but I have +managed to scramble somehow up to date; and to-morrow, one way or +another, should be interesting. But as for me, I am a +wreck, as I have no doubt style and handwriting both testify.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">8 <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span></p> +<p>Wonderfully rested; feel almost fit for to-morrow’s +dreary excursion—not that it will be dreary if the weather +favour, but otherwise it will be death; and a native feast, and I +fear I am in for a big one, is a thing I loathe. I wonder +if you can really conceive me as a politician in this +extra-mundane sphere—presiding at public meetings, drafting +proclamations, receiving mis-addressed letters that have been +carried all night through tropical forests? It seems +strange indeed, and to you, who know me really, must seem +stranger. I do not say I am free from the itch of meddling, +but God knows this is no tempting job to meddle in; I smile at +picturesque circumstances like the Misi Mea (<i>Monsieur +Chose</i> is the exact equivalent) correspondence, but the +business as a whole bores and revolts me. I do nothing and +say nothing; and then a day comes, and I say ‘this can go +on no longer.’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">9.30 <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span></p> +<p>The wretched native dilatoriness finds me out. News has +just come that we must embark at six to-morrow; I have divided +the night in watches, and hope to be called to-morrow at four and +get under way by five. It is a great chance if it be +managed; but I have given directions and lent my own clock to the +boys, and hope the best. If I get called at four we shall +do it nicely. Good-night; I must turn in.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 3<i>rd</i>.</p> +<p>Well, we did get off by about 5.30, or, by’r lady! +quarter of six: myself on Donald, the huge grey cart-horse, with +a ship-bag across my saddle bow, Fanny on Musu and Belle on +Jack. We were all feeling pretty tired and sick, and I +looked like heaven knows what on the cart horse: ‘death on +the pale horse,’ I suggested—and young Hunt the +missionary, who met me to-day on the same charger, squinted up at +my perch and remarked, ‘There’s a sweet little cherub +that sits up aloft.’ The boat was ready and we set +off down the lagoon about seven, four oars, and Talolo, my cook, +steering.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 9<i>th</i> (<i>Monday +anyway</i>).</p> +<p>And see what good resolutions came to! Here is all this +time past, and no speed made. Well, we got to Malie and +were received with the most friendly consideration by the rebel +chief. Belle and Fanny were obviously thought to be my two +wives; they were served their kava together, as were Mataafa and +myself. Talolo utterly broke down as interpreter; long +speeches were made to me by Mataafa and his orators, of which he +could make nothing but they were ‘very much +surprised’—his way of pronouncing obliged—and +as he could understand nothing that fell from me except the same +form of words, the dialogue languished and all business had to be +laid aside. We had kava, and then a dish of arrowroot; one +end of the house was screened off for us with a fine tapa, and we +lay and slept, the three of us heads and tails, upon the mats +till dinner. After dinner his illegitimate majesty and +myself had a walk, and talked as well as my twopenny Samoan would +admit. Then there was a dance to amuse the ladies before +the house, and we came back by moonlight, the sky piled full of +high faint clouds that long preserved some of the radiance of the +sunset. The lagoon was very shallow; we continually struck, +for the moon was young and the light baffling; and for a long +time we were accompanied by, and passed and re-passed, a huge +whale-boat from Savaii, pulling perhaps twelve oars, and +containing perhaps forty people who sang in time as they went So +to the hotel, where we slept, and returned the next Tuesday +morning on the three same steeds.</p> +<p>Meanwhile my business was still untransacted. And on +Saturday morning, I sent down and arranged with Charlie Taylor to +go down that afternoon. I had scarce got the saddle bags +fixed and had not yet mounted, when the rain began. But it +was no use delaying now; off I went in a wild waterspout to Apia; +found Charlie (Salé) Taylor—a sesquipedalian young +half-caste—not yet ready, had a snack of bread and cheese +at the hotel while waiting him, and then off to Malie. It +rained all the way, seven miles; the road, which begins in +triumph, dwindles down to a nasty, boggy, rocky footpath with +weeds up to a horseman’s knees; and there are eight pig +fences to jump, nasty beastly jumps—the next morning we +found one all messed with blood where a horse had come to +grief—but my Jack is a clever fencer; and altogether we +made good time, and got to Malie about dark. It is a +village of very fine native houses, high, domed, oval buildings, +open at the sides, or only closed with slatted Venetians. +To be sure, Mataafa’s is not the worst. It was +already quite dark within, only a little fire of cocoa-shell +blazed in the midst and showed us four servants; the chief was in +his chapel, whence we heard the sound of chaunting. +Presently he returned; Taylor and I had our soaking clothes +changed, family worship was held, kava brewed, I was exhibited to +the chiefs as a man who had ridden through all that rain and +risked deportation to serve their master; they were bidden learn +my face, and remember upon all occasions to help and serve +me. Then dinner, and politics, and fine speeches until +twelve at night—O, and some more kava—when I could +sit up no longer; my usual bed-time is eight, you must +remember. Then one end of the house was screened off for me +alone, and a bed made—you never saw such a couch—I +believe of nearly fifty (half at least) fine mats, by +Mataafa’s daughter, Kalala. Here I reposed alone; and +on the other side of the tafa, Majesty and his household. +Armed guards and a drummer patrolled about the house all night; +they had no shift, poor devils; but stood to arms from sun-down +to sun-up.</p> +<p>About four in the morning, I was awakened by the sound of a +whistle pipe blown outside on the dark, very softly and to a +pleasing simple air; I really think I have hit the first +phrase:</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p167.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Fragment of music score" +title= +"Fragment of music score" +src="images/p167.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>It sounded very peaceful, sweet and strange in the dark; and I +found this was a part of the routine of my rebel’s night, +and it was done (he said) to give good dreams. By a little +before six, Taylor and I were in the saddle again fasting. +My riding boots were so wet I could not get them on, so I must +ride barefoot. The morning was fair but the roads very +muddy, the weeds soaked us nearly to the waist, Salé was +twice spilt at the fences, and we got to Apia a bedraggled enough +pair. All the way along the coast, the paté (small +wooden drum) was beating in the villages and the people crowding +to the churches in their fine clothes. Thence through the +mangrove swamp, among the black mud and the green mangroves, and +the black and scarlet crabs, to Mulinuu, to the doctor’s, +where I had an errand, and so to the inn to breakfast about +nine. After breakfast I rode home. Conceive such an +outing, remember the pallid brute that lived in Skerryvore like a +weevil in a biscuit, and receive the intelligence that I was +rather the better for my journey. Twenty miles ride, +sixteen fences taken, ten of the miles in a drenching rain, seven +of them fasting and in the morning chill, and six stricken +hours’ political discussions by an interpreter; to say +nothing of sleeping in a native house, at which many of our +excellent literati would look askance of itself.</p> +<p>You are to understand: if I take all this bother, it is not +only from a sense of duty, or a love of meddling—damn the +phrase, take your choice—but from a great affection for +Mataafa. He is a beautiful, sweet old fellow, and he and I +grew quite fulsome on Saturday night about our sentiments. +I had a messenger from him to-day with a flannel undershirt which +I had left behind like a gibbering idiot; and perpetrated in +reply another baboo letter. It rains again to-day without +mercy; blessed, welcome rains, making up for the paucity of the +late wet season; and when the showers slacken, I can hear my +stream roaring in the hollow, and tell myself that the cacaos are +drinking deep. I am desperately hunted to finish my Samoa +book before the mail goes; this last chapter is equally delicate +and necessary. The prayers of the congregation are +requested. Eheu! and it will be ended before this letter +leaves and printed in the States ere you can read this +scribble. The first dinner gong has sounded; <i>je vous +salue</i>, <i>monsieur et cher confrère</i>. +<i>Tofa</i>, <i>soifua</i>! Sleep! long life! as our Samoan +salutation of farewell runs.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i>, <i>May</i> +13<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Well, the last chapter, by far the most difficult and +ungrateful, is well under way, I have been from six to seven +hours upon it daily since I last wrote; and that is all I have +done forbye working at Samoan rather hard, and going down on +Wednesday evening to the club. I make some progress now at +the language; I am teaching Belle, which clears and exercises +myself. I am particularly taken with the <i>finesse</i> of +the pronouns. The pronouns are all dual and plural and the +first person, both in the dual and plural, has a special +exclusive and inclusive form. You can conceive what fine +effects of precision and distinction can be reached in certain +cases. Take Ruth, i. <i>vv.</i> 8 to 13, and imagine how +those pronouns come in; it is exquisitely elegant, and makes the +mouth of the <i>littérateur</i> to water. I am going +to exercitate my pupil over those verses to-day for pronoun +practice.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>.</p> +<p>Yesterday came yours. Well, well, if the dears prefer a +week, why, I’ll give them ten days, but the real document, +from which I have scarcely varied, ran for one night. I +think you seem scarcely fair to Wiltshire, who had surely, under +his beast-ignorant ways, right noble qualities. And I think +perhaps you scarce do justice to the fact that this is a place of +realism <i>à outrance</i>; nothing extenuated or +coloured. Looked at so, is it not, with all its tragic +features, wonderfully idyllic, with great beauty of scene and +circumstance? And will you please to observe that almost +all that is ugly is in the whites? I’ll apologise for +Papa Randal if you like; but if I told you the whole +truth—for I did extenuate there!—and he seemed to me +essential as a figure, and essential as a pawn in the game, +Wiltshire’s disgust for him being one of the small, +efficient motives in the story. Now it would have taken a +fairish dose to disgust Wiltshire.—Again, the idea of +publishing the Beach substantively is dropped—at once, both +on account of expostulation, and because it measured shorter than +I had expected. And it was only taken up, when the proposed +volume, <i>Beach de Mar</i>, petered out. It petered out +thus: the chief of the short stories got sucked into <i>Sophia +Scarlet</i>—and Sophia is a book I am much taken with, and +mean to get to, as soon as—but not before—I have done +<i>David Balfour</i> and <i>The Young Chevalier</i>. So you +see you are like to hear no more of the Pacific or the nineteenth +century for a while. <i>The Young Chevalier</i> is a story +of sentiment and passion, which I mean to write a little +differently from what I have been doing—if I can hit the +key; rather more of a sentimental tremolo to it. It may +thus help to prepare me for <i>Sophia</i>, which is to contain +three ladies, and a kind of a love affair between the heroine and +a dying planter who is a poet! large orders for R. L. S.</p> +<p>O the German taboo is quite over; no soul attempts to support +the C. J. or the President, they are past hope; the whites have +just refused their taxes—I mean the council has refused to +call for them, and if the council consented, nobody would pay; +’tis a farce, and the curtain is going to fall +briefly. Consequently in my History, I say as little as may +be of the two dwindling stars. Poor devils! I liked +the one, and the other has a little wife, now lying in! +There was no man born with so little animosity as I. When I heard +the C. J. was in low spirits and never left his house, I could +scarce refrain from going to him.</p> +<p>It was a fine feeling to have finished the History; there +ought to be a future state to reward that grind! It’s +not literature, you know; only journalism, and pedantic +journalism. I had but the one desire, to get the thing as +right as might be, and avoid false concords—even if +that! And it was more than there was time for. +However, there it is: done. And if Samoa turns up again my +book has to be counted with, being the only narrative +extant. Milton and I—if you kindly excuse the +juxtaposition—harnessed ourselves to strange waggons, and I +at least will be found to have plodded very soberly with my +load. There is not even a good sentence in it, but +perhaps—I don’t know—it may be found an honest, +clear volume.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>.</p> +<p>Never got a word set down, and continues on Thursday 19th May, +his own marriage day as ever was. News; yes. The C. +J. came up to call on us! After five months’ +cessation on my side, and a decidedly painful interchange of +letters, I could not go down—could not—to see +him. My three ladies received him, however; he was very +agreeable as usual, but refused wine, beer, water, lemonade, +chocolate and at last a cigarette. Then my wife asked him, +‘So you refuse to break bread?’ and he waved his +hands amiably in answer. All my three ladies received the +same impression that he had serious matters in his mind: now we +hear he is quite cock-a-hoop since the mail came, and going about +as before his troubles darkened. But what did he want with +me? ’Tis thought he had received a despatch—and +that he misreads it (so we fully believe) to the effect that they +are to have war ships at command and can make their little war +after all. If it be so, and they do it, it will be the +meanest wanton slaughter of poor men for the salaries of two +white failures. But what was his errand with me? Perhaps to +warn me that unless I behave he now hopes to be able to pack me +off in the <i>Curaçoa</i> when she comes.</p> +<p>I have celebrated my holiday from <i>Samoa</i> by a plunge at +the beginning of <i>The Young Chevalier</i>. I am afraid my +touch is a little broad in a love story; I can’t mean one +thing and write another. As for women, I am no more in any +fear of them; I can do a sort all right; age makes me less afraid +of a petticoat, but I am a little in fear of grossness. +However, this David Balfour’s love affair, that’s all +right—might be read out to a mothers’ +meeting—or a daughters’ meeting. The difficulty +in a love yarn, which dwells at all on love, is the dwelling on +one string; it is manifold, I grant, but the root fact is there +unchanged, and the sentiment being very intense, and already very +much handled in letters, positively calls for a little pawing and +gracing. With a writer of my prosaic literalness and +pertinency of point of view, this all shoves toward +grossness—positively even towards the far more damnable +<i>closeness</i>. This has kept me off the sentiment +hitherto, and now I am to try: Lord! Of course Meredith can +do it, and so could Shakespeare; but with all my romance, I am a +realist and a prosaist, and a most fanatical lover of plain +physical sensations plainly and expressly rendered; hence my +perils. To do love in the same spirit as I did (for +instance) D. Balfour’s fatigue in the heather; my dear sir, +there were grossness—ready made! And hence, how to +sugar? However, I have nearly done with Marie-Madeleine, +and am in good hopes of Marie-Salomé, the real heroine; +the other is only a prologuial heroine to introduce the hero.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i>.</p> +<p>Anyway, the first prologuial episode is done, and Fanny likes +it. There are only four characters; Francis Blair of +Balmile (Jacobite Lord Gladsmuir) my hero; the Master of +Ballantrae; Paradon, a wine-seller of Avignon; Marie-Madeleine +his wife. These two last I am now done with, and I think +they are successful, and I hope I have Balmile on his feet; and +the style seems to be found. It is a little charged and +violent; sins on the side of violence; but I think will carry the +tale. I think it is a good idea so to introduce my hero, +being made love to by an episodic woman. This queer +tale—I mean queer for me—has taken a great hold upon +me. Where the devil shall I go next? This is simply +the tale of a <i>coup de tête</i> of a young man and a +young woman; with a nearly, perhaps a wholly, tragic sequel, +which I desire to make thinkable right through, and sensible; to +make the reader, as far as I shall be able, eat and drink and +breathe it. Marie-Salomé des Saintes-Maries is, I +think, the heroine’s name; she has got to <i>be</i> yet: +<i>sursum corda</i>! So has the young Chevalier, whom I +have not yet touched, and who comes next in order. +Characters: Balmile, or Lord Gladsmuir, <i>comme vous voulez</i>; +Prince Charlie; Earl Marischal; Master of Ballantrae; and a spy, +and Dr. Archie Campbell, and a few nondescripts; then, of women, +Marie-Salomé and Flora Blair; seven at the outside; really +four full lengths, and I suppose a half-dozen episodic +profiles. How I must bore you with these ineptitudes! +Have patience. I am going to bed; it is (of all hours) +eleven. I have been forced in (since I began to write to +you) to blatter to Fanny on the subject of my heroine, there +being two <i>cruces</i> as to her life and history: how came she +alone? and how far did she go with the Chevalier? The +second must answer itself when I get near enough to see. +The first is a back-breaker. Yet I know there are many +reasons why a <i>fille de famine</i>, romantic, adventurous, +ambitious, innocent of the world, might run from her home in +these days; might she not have been threatened with a convent? +might there not be some Huguenot business mixed in? Here am +I, far from books; if you can help me with a suggestion, I shall +say God bless you. She has to be new run away from a strict +family, well-justified in her own wild but honest eyes, and +meeting these three men, Charles Edward, Marischal, and Balmile, +through the accident of a fire at an inn. She must not run +from a marriage, I think; it would bring her in the wrong frame +of mind. Once I can get her, <i>sola</i>, on the highway, +all were well with my narrative. Perpend. And help if +you can.</p> +<p>Lafaele, long (I hope) familiar to you, has this day received +the visit of his <i>son</i> from Tonga; and the <i>son</i> proves +to be a very pretty, attractive young daughter! I gave all +the boys kava in honour of her arrival; along with a lean, +side-whiskered Tongan, dimly supposed to be Lafaele’s +step-father; and they have been having a good time; in the end of +my verandah, I hear Simi, my present incapable steward, talking +Tongan with the nondescript papa. Simi, our out-door boy, +burst a succession of blood-vessels over our work, and I had to +make a position for the wreck of one of the noblest figures of a +man I ever saw. I believe I may have mentioned the other +day how I had to put my horse to the trot, the canter and (at +last) the gallop to run him down. In a photograph I hope to +send you (perhaps with this) you will see Simi standing in the +verandah in profile. As a steward, one of his chief points +is to break crystal; he is great on fracture—what do I +say?—explosion! He cleans a glass, and the shards +scatter like a comet’s bowels.</p> +<p><i>N.B.</i>—If I should by any chance be deported, the +first of the rules hung up for that occasion is to communicate +with you by telegraph.—Mind, I do not fear it, but it +<i>is</i> possible.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i> 25<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>We have had a devil of a morning of upset and bustle; the +bronze candlestick Faauma has returned to the family, in time to +take her position of stepmamma, and it is pretty to see how the +child is at once at home, and all her terrors ended.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">27<i>th</i>. <i>Mail +day</i>.</p> +<p>And I don’t know that I have much to report. I may +have to leave for Malie as soon as these mail packets are made +up. ’Tis a necessity (if it be one) I rather +deplore. I think I should have liked to lazy; but I daresay +all it means is the delay of a day or so in harking back to David +Balfour; that respectable youth chides at being left (where he is +now) in Glasgow with the Lord Advocate, and after five years in +the British Linen, who shall blame him? I was all forenoon +yesterday down in Apia,’ dictating, and Lloyd type-writing, +the conclusion of <i>Samoa</i>; and then at home correcting till +the dinner bell; and in the evening again till eleven of the +clock. This morning I have made up most of my packets, and +I think my mail is all ready but two more, and the tag of +this. I would never deny (as D. B might say) that I was +rather tired of it. But I have a damned good dose of the +devil in my pipe-stem atomy; I have had my little holiday outing +in my kick at <i>The Young Chevalier</i>, and I guess I can +settle to <i>David Balfour</i> to-morrow or Friday like a little +man. I wonder if any one had ever more energy upon so +little strength?—I know there is a frost, the Samoa book +can only increase that—I can’t help it, that book is +not written for me but for Miss Manners; but I mean to break that +frost inside two years, and pull off a big success, and Vanity +whispers in my ear that I have the strength. If I +haven’t, whistle ower the lave o’t! I can do +without glory and perhaps the time is not far off when I can do +without corn. It is a time coming soon enough, anyway; and +I have endured some two and forty years without public shame, and +had a good time as I did it. If only I could secure a +violent death, what a fine success! I wish to die in my +boots; no more Land of Counterpane for me. To be drowned, +to be shot, to be thrown from a horse—ay, to be hanged, +rather than pass again through that slow dissolution.</p> +<p>I fancy this gloomy ramble is caused by a twinge of age; I put +on an under-shirt yesterday (it was the only one I could find) +that barely came under my trousers; and just below it, a fine +healthy rheumatism has now settled like a fire in my hip. +From such small causes do these valuable considerations flow!</p> +<p>I shall now say adieu, dear Sir, having ten rugged miles +before me and the horrors of a native feast and parliament +without an interpreter, for to-day I go alone.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L S.</p> +<h2><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +180</span>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>, 29<i>th</i> +<i>May</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">How</span> am I to overtake events? +On Wednesday, as soon as my mail was finished, I had a wild whirl +to look forward to. Immediately after dinner, Belle, Lloyd +and I, set out on horseback, they to the club, I to +Haggard’s, thence to the hotel where I had supper ready for +them. All next day we hung round Apia with our whole +house-crowd in Sunday array, hoping for the mail steamer with a +menagerie on board. No such luck; the ship delayed; and at +last, about three, I had to send them home again, a failure of a +day’s pleasuring that does not bear to be discussed. +Lloyd was so sickened that he returned the same night to Vailima, +Belle and I held on, sat most of the evening on the hotel +verandah stricken silly with fatigue and disappointment, and +genuine sorrow for our poor boys and girls, and got to bed with +rather dismal appreciations of the morrow.</p> +<p>These were more than justified, and yet I never had a jollier +day than Friday 27th. By 7.30 Belle and I had breakfast; we +had scarce done before my mother was at the door on horseback, +and a boy at her heels to take her not very dashing charger home +again. By 8.10 we were all on the landing pier, and it was +9.20 before we had got away in a boat with two inches of green +wood on the keel of her, no rudder, no mast, no sail, no boat +flag, two defective rowlocks, two wretched apologies for oars, +and two boys—one a Tongan half-caste, one a white lad, son +of the Tonga schoolmaster, and a sailor lad—to pull +us. All this was our first taste of the tender mercies of +Taylor (the sesquipidalian half-caste introduced two letters +back, I believe). We had scarce got round Mulinuu when +Salé Taylor’s heart misgave him; he thought we had +missed the tide; called a halt, and set off ashore to find +canoes. Two were found; in one my mother and I were +embarked with the two biscuit tins (my present to the feast), and +the bag with our dry clothes, on which my mother was +perched—and her cap was on the top of it—feminine +hearts please sympathise; all under the guidance of +Salé. In the other Belle and our guest; Tauilo, a +chief-woman, the mother of my cook, were to have followed. +And the boys were to have been left with the boat. But +Tauilo refused. And the four, Belle, Tauilo, Frank the +sailor-boy, and Jimmie the Tongan half-caste, set off in the boat +across that rapidly shoaling bay of the lagoon.</p> +<p>How long the next scene lasted, I could never tell. +Salé was always trying to steal away with our canoe and +leave the other four, probably for six hours, in an empty, leaky +boat, without so much as an orange or a cocoanut on board, and +under the direct rays of the sun. I had at last to stop him +by taking the spare paddle off the out-rigger and sticking it in +the ground—depth, perhaps two feet—width of the bay, +say three miles. At last I bid him land me and my mother +and go back for the other ladies. ‘The coast is so +rugged,’ said Salé.—‘What?’ I +said, ‘all these villages and no landing +place?’—‘Such is the nature of Samoans,’ +said he. Well, I’ll find a landing-place, I thought; +and presently I said, ‘Now we are going to land +there.’—‘We can but try,’ said the bland +Salé, with resignation. Never saw a better +landing-place in my life. Here the boat joined us. My +mother and Salé continued in the canoe alone, and Belle +and I and Tauilo set off on foot for Malie. Tauilo was +about the size of both of us put together and a piece over; she +used us like a mouse with children. I had started barefoot; +Belle had soon to pull off her gala shoes and stockings; the mud +was as deep as to our knees, and so slippery that (moving, as we +did, in Indian file, between dense scratching tufts of sensitive) +Belle and I had to take hands to support each other, and Tauilo +was steadying Belle from the rear. You can conceive we were +got up to kill, Belle in an embroidered white dress and white +hat, I in a suit of Bedford cords hot from the Sydney tailors; +and conceive us, below, ink-black to the knees with adhesive +clay, and above, streaming with heat. I suppose it was +better than three miles, but at last we made the end of +Malie. I asked if we could find no water to wash our feet; +and our nursemaid guided us to a pool. We sat down on the +pool side, and our nursemaid washed our feet and legs for +us—ladies first, I suppose out of a sudden respect to the +insane European fancies: such a luxury as you can scarce +imagine. I felt a new man after it. But before we got +to the King’s house we were sadly muddied once more. +It was 1 <span class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> when we arrived, the +canoe having beaten us by about five minutes, so we made fair +time over our bog-holes.</p> +<p>But the war dances were over, and we came in time to see only +the tail end (some two hours) of the food presentation. In +Mataafa’s house three chairs were set for us covered with +fine mats. Of course, a native house without the blinds +down is like a verandah. All the green in front was +surrounded with sheds, some of flapping canvas, some of green +palm boughs, where (in three sides of a huge oblong) the natives +sat by villages in a fine glow of many-hued array. There +were folks in tapa, and folks in patchwork; there was every +colour of the rainbow in a spot or a cluster; there were men with +their heads gilded with powdered sandal-wood, others with heads +all purple, stuck full of the petals of a flower. In the +midst there was a growing field of outspread food, gradually +covering acres; the gifts were brought in, now by chanting +deputations, now by carriers in a file; they were brandished +aloft and declaimed over, with polite sacramental exaggerations, +by the official receiver. He, a stalwart, well-oiled +quadragenarian, shone with sweat from his exertions, brandishing +cooked pigs. At intervals, from one of the squatted +villages, an orator would arise. The field was almost +beyond the reach of any human speaking voice; the proceedings +besides continued in the midst; yet it was possible to catch +snatches of this elaborate and cut-and-dry oratory—it was +possible for me, for instance, to catch the description of my +gift and myself as the <i>alii Tusitala</i>, <i>O le alii O malo +tetele</i>—the chief White Information, the chief of the +great Governments. Gay designation? In the house, in +our three curule chairs, we sat and looked on. On our left +a little group of the family. In front of us, at our feet, +an ancient Talking-man, crowned with green leaves, his profile +almost exactly Dante’s; Popo his name. He had +worshipped idols in his youth; he had been full grown before the +first missionary came hither from Tahiti; this makes him over +eighty. Near by him sat his son and colleague. In the +group on our left, his little grandchild sat with her legs +crossed and her hands turned, the model already (at some three +years old) of Samoan etiquette. Still further off to our +right, Mataafa sat on the ground through all the business; and +still I saw his lips moving, and the beads of his rosary slip +stealthily through his hand. We had kava, and the +King’s drinking was hailed by the Popos (father and son) +with a singular ululation, perfectly new to my ears; it means, to +the expert, ‘Long live Tuiatua’; to the inexpert, is +a mere voice of barbarous wolves. We had dinner, retired a +bit behind the central pillar of the house; and, when the King +was done eating, the ululation was repeated. I had my eyes +on Mataafa’s face, and I saw pride and gratified ambition +spring to life there and be instantly sucked in again. It +was the first time, since the difference with Laupepa, that Popo +and his son had openly joined him, and given him the due cry as +Tuiatua—one of the eight royal names of the islands, as I +hope you will know before this reaches you.</p> +<p>Not long after we had dined, the food-bringing was over. +The gifts (carefully noted and tallied as they came in) were now +announced by a humorous orator, who convulsed the audience, +introducing singing notes, now on the name of the article, now on +the number; six thousand odd heads of taro, three hundred and +nineteen cooked pigs; and one thing that particularly caught me +(by good luck), a single turtle ‘for the +King’—<i>le tasi mo le tupu</i>. Then came one +of the strangest sights I have yet witnessed. The two most +important persons there (bar Mataafa) were Popo and his +son. They rose, holding their long shod rods of talking +men, passed forth from the house, broke into a strange dance, the +father capering with outstretched arms and rod, the son crouching +and gambolling beside him in a manner indescribable, and +presently began to extend the circle of this dance among the +acres of cooked food. <i>Whatever they leaped over</i>, +<i>whatever they called for</i>, <i>became theirs</i>. To +see mediæval Dante thus demean himself struck a kind of a +chill of incongruity into our Philistine souls; but even in a +great part of the Samoan concourse, these antique and (I +understand) quite local manners awoke laughter. One of my +biscuit tins and a live calf were among the spoils he claimed, +but the large majority of the cooked food (having once proved his +dignity) he re-presented to the King.</p> +<p>Then came the turn of <i>le alii Tusitala</i>. He would +not dance, but he was given—five live hens, four gourds of +oil, four fine tapas, a hundred heads of taro, two cooked pigs, a +cooked shark, two or three cocoanut branches strung with kava, +and the turtle, who soon after breathed his last, I believe, from +sunstroke. It was a royal present for ‘the chief of +the great powers.’ I should say the gifts were, on +the proper signal, dragged out of the field of food by a troop of +young men, all with their lava-lavas kilted almost into a +loin-cloth. The art is to swoop on the food-field, pick up +with unerring swiftness the right things and quantities, swoop +forth again on the open, and separate, leaving the gifts in a new +pile: so you may see a covey of birds in a corn-field. This +reminds me of a very inhumane but beautiful passage I had +forgotten in its place. The gift-giving was still in full +swing, when there came a troop of some ninety men all in tafa +lava-lavas of a purplish colour; they paused, and of a sudden +there went up from them high into the air a flight of live +chickens, which, as they came down again, were sent again into +the air, for perhaps a minute, from the midst of a singular +turmoil of flying arms and shouting voices; I assure you, it was +very beautiful to see, but how many chickens were killed?</p> +<p>No sooner was my food set out than I was to be going. I +had a little serious talk with Mataafa on the floor, and we went +down to the boat, where we got our food aboard, such a +cargo—like the Swiss Family Robinson, we said. +However, a squall began, Tauilo refused to let us go, and we came +back to the house for half-an-hour or so, when my ladies +distinguished themselves by walking through a Fono (council), my +mother actually taking up a position between Mataafa and +Popo! It was about five when we started—turtle, pigs, +taro, etc., my mother, Belle, myself, Tauilo, a portly friend of +hers with the voice of an angel, and a pronunciation so delicate +and true that you could follow Samoan as she sang, and the two +tired boys Frank and Jimmie, with the two bad oars and the two +slippery rowlocks to impel the whole. Salé Taylor +took the canoe and a strong Samoan to paddle him. Presently +after he went inshore, and passed us a little after, with his +arms folded, and <i>two</i> strong Samoans impelling him +Apia-ward. This was too much for Belle, who hailed, taunted +him, and made him return to the boat with one of the Samoans, +setting Jimmie instead in the canoe. Then began our +torment, Salé and the Samoan took the oars, sat on the +same thwart (where they could get no swing on the boat had they +tried), and deliberately ladled at the lagoon. We lay +enchanted. Night fell; there was a light visible on shore; +it did not move. The two women sang, Belle joining them in +the hymns she has learned at family worship. Then a squall +came up; we sat a while in roaring midnight under rivers of rain, +and, when it blew by, there was the light again, immovable. +A second squall followed, one of the worst I was ever out in; we +could scarce catch our breath in the cold, dashing deluge. +When it went, we were so cold that the water in the bottom of the +boat (which I was then baling) seemed like a warm footbath in +comparison, and Belle and I, who were still barefoot, were quite +restored by laving in it.</p> +<p>All this time I had kept my temper, and refrained as far as +might be from any interference, for I saw (in our friend’s +mulish humour) he always contrived to twist it to our +disadvantage. But now came the acute point. Young +Frank now took an oar. He was a little fellow, near as +frail as myself, and very short; if he weighed nine stone, it was +the outside; but his blood was up. He took stroke, moved +the big Samoan forward to bow, and set to work to pull him round +in fine style. Instantly a kind of race +competition—almost race hatred—sprang up. We +jeered the Samoan. Salé declared it was the trim of +the boat: ‘if this lady was aft’ (Tauilo’s +portly friend) ‘he would row round Frank.’ We +insisted on her coming aft, and Frank still rowed round the +Samoan. When the Samoan caught a crab (the thing was +continual with these wretched oars and rowlocks), we shouted and +jeered; when Frank caught one, Salé and the Samoan jeered +and yelled. But anyway the boat moved, and presently we got +up with Mulinuu, where I finally lost my temper, when I found +that Salé proposed to go ashore and make a visit—in +fact, we all three did. It is not worth while going into, +but I must give you one snatch of the subsequent conversation as +we pulled round Apia bay. ‘This Samoan,’ said +Salé, ‘received seven German bullets in the field of +Fangalii.’ ‘I am delighted to hear it,’ +said Belle. ‘His brother was killed there,’ +pursued Salé; and Belle, prompt as an echo, ‘Then +there are no more of the family? how delightful!’ +Salé was sufficiently surprised to change the subject; he +began to praise Frank’s rowing with insufferable +condescension: ‘But it is after all not to be wondered +at,’ said he, ‘because he has been for some time a +sailor. My good man, is it three or five years that you +have been to sea?’ And Frank, in a defiant shout: +‘Two!’ Whereupon, so high did the ill-feeling +run, that we three clapped and applauded and shouted, so that the +President (whose house we were then passing) doubtless started at +the sounds. It was nine when we got to the hotel; at first +no food was to be found, but we skirmished up some bread and +cheese and beer and brandy; and (having changed our wet clothes +for the rather less wet in our bags) supped on the verandah.</p> +<p><i>Saturday</i> 28<i>th</i>. I was wakened about 6.30, +long past my usual hour, by a benevolent passer-by. My +turtle lay on the verandah at my door, and the man woke me to +tell me it was dead, as it had been when we put it on board the +day before. All morning I ran the gauntlet of men and women +coming up to me: ‘Mr. Stevenson, your turtle is +dead.’ I gave half of it to the hotel keeper, so that +his cook should cut it up; and we got a damaged shell, and two +splendid meals, beefsteak one day and soup the next. The +horses came for us about 9.30. It was waterspouting; we +were drenched before we got out of the town; the road was a fine +going Highland trout stream; it thundered deep and frequent, and +my mother’s horse would not better on a walk. At last +she took pity on us, and very nobly proposed that Belle and I +should ride ahead. We were mighty glad to do so, for we +were cold. Presently, I said I should ride back for my +mother, but it thundered again, Belle is afraid of thunder, and I +decided to see her through the forest before I returned for my +other hen—I may say, my other wet hen. About the +middle of the wood, where it is roughest and steepest, we met +three pack-horses with barrels of lime-juice. I piloted +Belle past these—it is not very easy in such a +road—and then passed them again myself, to pilot my +mother. This effected, it began to thunder again, so I rode +on hard after Belle. When I caught up with her, she was +singing Samoan hymns to support her terrors! We were all +back, changed, and at table by lunch time, 11 <span +class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> Nor have any of us been the +worse for it sinsyne. That is pretty good for a woman of my +mother’s age and an invalid of my standing; above all, as +Tauilo was laid up with a bad cold, probably increased by +rage.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i>, 3<i>rd</i> +<i>June</i>.</p> +<p>On Wednesday the club could not be held, and I must ride down +town and to and fro all afternoon delivering messages, then dined +and rode up by the young moon. I had plenty news when I got +back; there is great talk in town of my deportation: it is +thought they have written home to Downing Street requesting my +removal, which leaves me not much alarmed; what I do rather +expect is that H. J. Moors and I may be haled up before the C. J. +to stand a trial for <i>lèse</i>-Majesty. Well, +we’ll try and live it through.</p> +<p>The rest of my history since Monday has been unadulterated +<i>David Balfour</i>. In season and out of season, night +and day, David and his innocent harem—let me be just, he +never has more than the two—are on my mind. Think of +David Balfour with a pair of fair ladies—very nice ones +too—hanging round him. I really believe David is as a +good character as anybody has a right to ask for in a +novel. I have finished drafting Chapter <span +class="GutSmall">XX.</span> to-day, and feel it all ready to +froth when the spigot is turned.</p> +<p>O I forgot—and do forget. What did I mean? A +waft of cloud has fallen on my mind, and I will write no +more.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>, <i>I believe</i>, +8<i>th</i> <i>June</i>.</p> +<p>Lots of David, and lots of David, and the devil any other +news. Yesterday we were startled by great guns firing a +salute, and to-day Whitmee (missionary) rode up to lunch, and we +learned it was the <i>Curaçoa</i> come in, the ship +(according to rumour) in which I was to be deported. I went +down to meet my fate, and the captain is to dine with me +Saturday, so I guess I am not going this voyage. Even with +the particularity with which I write to you, how much of my life +goes unexpressed; my troubles with a madman by the name of +—, a genuine living lunatic, I believe, and jolly +dangerous; my troubles about poor —, all these have dropped +out; yet for moments they were very instant, and one of them is +always present with me.</p> +<p>I have finished copying Chapter <span +class="GutSmall">XXI.</span> of David—‘<i>solus cum +sola</i>; we travel together.’ Chapter <span +class="GutSmall">XXII.</span>, ‘<i>Solus cum sola</i>; we +keep house together,’ is already drafted. To the end +of <span class="GutSmall">XXI.</span> makes more than 150 pages +of my manuscript—damn this hair—and I only designed +the book to run to about 200; but when you introduce the female +sect, a book does run away with you. I am very curious to +see what you will think of my two girls. My own opinion is +quite clear; I am in love with both. I foresee a few +pleasant years of spiritual flirtations. The creator (if I +may name myself, for the sake of argument, by such a name) is +essentially unfaithful. For the duration of the two +chapters in which I dealt with Miss Grant, I totally forgot my +heroine, and even—but this is a flat secret—tried to +win away David. I think I must try some day to marry Miss +Grant. I’m blest if I don’t think I’ve +got that hair out! which seems triumph enough; so I conclude.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>.</p> +<p>Your infinitesimal correspondence has reached me, and I have +the honour to refer to it with scorn. It contains only one +statement of conceivable interest, that your health is better; +the rest is null, and so far as disquisitory unsound. I am +all right, but David Balfour is ailing; this came from my visit +to the man-of-war, where I had a cup of tea, and the most of that +night walked the verandah with extraordinary convictions of guilt +and ruin, many of which (but not all) proved to have fled with +the day, taking David along with them; he R.I.P. in Chapter <span +class="GutSmall">XXII.</span></p> +<p>On Saturday I went down to the town, and fetched up Captain +Gibson to dinner; Sunday I was all day at Samoa, and had a pile +of visitors. Yesterday got my mail, including your +despicable sheet; was fooled with a visit from the high chief +Asi, went down at 4 <span class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> to my +Samoan lesson from Whitmee—I think I shall learn from him, +he does not fool me with cockshot rules that are demolished next +day, but professes ignorance like a man; the truth is, the +grammar has still to be expiscated—dined with Haggard, and +got home about nine.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>.</p> +<p>The excellent Clarke up here almost all day yesterday, a man I +esteem and like to the soles of his boots; I prefer him to anyone +in Samoa, and to most people in the world; a real good +missionary, with the inestimable advantage of having grown up a +layman. Pity they all can’t get that! It +recalls my old proposal, which delighted Lady Taylor so much, +that every divinity student should be thirty years old at least +before he was admitted. Boys switched out of college into a +pulpit, what chance have they? That any should do well +amazes me, and the most are just what was to be expected.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Saturday</i>.</p> +<p>I must tell you of our feast. It was long promised to +the boys, and came off yesterday in one of their new +houses. My good Simelé arrived from Savaii that +morning asking for political advice; then we had Tauilo; +Elena’s father, a talking man of Tauilo’s family; +Talolo’s cousin; and a boy of Simelé’s family, +who attended on his dignity; then Metu, the meat-man—you +have never heard of him, but he is a great person in our +household—brought a lady and a boy—and there was +another infant—eight guests in all. And we sat down +thirty strong. You should have seen our procession, going +(about two o’clock), all in our best clothes, to the hall +of feasting! All in our Sunday’s best. The new +house had been hurriedly finished; the rafters decorated with +flowers; the floor spread, native style, with green leaves; we +had given a big porker, twenty-five pounds of fresh beef, a tin +of biscuit, cocoanuts, etc. Our places were all arranged +with much care; the native ladies of the house facing our party; +the sides filled up by the men; the guests, please observe: the +two chief people, male and female, were placed with our family, +the rest between S. and the native ladies. After the feast +was over, we had kava, and the calling of the kava was a very +elaborate affair, and I thought had like to have made +Simelé very angry; he is really a considerable chief, but +he and Tauilo were not called till after all our family, <i>and +the guests</i>, I suppose the principle being that he was still +regarded as one of the household. I forgot to say that our +black boy did not turn up when the feast was ready. Off +went the two cooks, found him, decorated him with huge red +hibiscus flowers—he was in a very dirty under +shirt—brought him back between them like a reluctant maid, +and, thrust him into a place between Faauma and Elena, where he +was petted and ministered to. When his turn came in the +kava drinking—and you may be sure, in their contemptuous, +affectionate kindness for him, as for a good dog, it came rather +earlier than it ought—he was cried under a new name. +<i>Aleki</i> is what they make of his own name Arrick; but +instead of [the cup of / ‘le ipu o] Aleki!’ it was +called ‘le ipu o <i>Vailima</i>’ and it was explained +that he had ‘taken his chief-name’! a jest at which +the plantation still laughs. Kava done, I made a little +speech, Henry translating. If I had been well, I should +have alluded to all, but I was scarce able to sit up; so only +alluded to my guest of all this month, the Tongan, Tomas, and to +Simelé, partly for the jest of making him translate +compliments to himself. The talking man replied with many +handsome compliments to me, in the usual flood of Samoan fluent +neatness; and we left them to an afternoon of singing and +dancing. Must stop now, as my right hand is very bad +again. I am trying to write with my left.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>.</p> +<p>About half-past eight last night, I had gone to my own room, +Fanny and Lloyd were in Fanny’s, every one else in bed, +only two boys on the premises—the two little brown boys +Mitaiele (Michael), age I suppose 11 or 12, and the new steward, +a Wallis islander, speaking no English and about fifty words of +Samoan, recently promoted from the bush work, and a most good, +anxious, timid lad of 15 or 16—looks like 17 or 18, of +course—they grow fast here. In comes Mitaiele to +Lloyd, and told some rigmarole about Paatalise (the +steward’s name) wanting to go and see his family in the +bush.—‘But he has no family in the bush,’ said +Lloyd. ‘No,’ said Mitaiele. They went to +the boy’s bed (they sleep in the walled-in compartment of +the verandah, once my dressing-room) and called at once for +me. He lay like one asleep, talking in drowsy tones but +without excitement, and at times ‘cheeping’ like a +frightened mouse; he was quite cool to the touch, and his pulse +not fast; his breathing seemed wholly ventral; the bust still, +the belly moving strongly. Presently he got from his bed, +and ran for the door, with his head down not three feet from the +floor and his body all on a stretch forward, like a striking +snake: I say ‘ran,’ but this strange movement was not +swift. Lloyd and I mastered him and got him back in +bed. Soon there was another and more desperate attempt to +escape, in which Lloyd had his ring broken. Then we bound +him to the bed humanely with sheets, ropes, boards and +pillows. He lay there and sometimes talked, sometimes +whispered, sometimes wept like an angry child; his principal word +was +‘Faamolemole’—‘Please’—and he +kept telling us at intervals that his family were calling +him. During this interval, by the special grace of God, my +boys came home; we had already called in Arrick, the black boy; +now we had that Hercules, Lafaele, and a man Savea, who comes +from Paatalise’s own island and can alone communicate with +him freely. Lloyd went to bed, I took the first watch, and +sat in my room reading, while Lafaele and Arrick watched the +madman. Suddenly Arrick called me; I ran into the verandah; +there was Paatalise free of all his bonds and Lafaele holding +him. To tell what followed is impossible. We were +five people at him—Lafaele and Savea, very strong men, +Lloyd, I and Arrick, and the struggle lasted until 1 <span +class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> before we had him bound. One +detail for a specimen: Lloyd and I had charge of one leg, we were +both sitting on it, and lo! we were both tossed into the +air—I, I daresay, a couple of feet. At last we had +him spread-eagled to the iron bedstead, by his wrists and ankles, +with matted rope; a most inhumane business, but what could we do? +it was all we could do to manage it even so. The strength +of the paroxysms had been steadily increasing, and we trembled +for the next. And now I come to pure Rider Haggard. +Lafaele announced that the boy was very bad, and he would get +‘some medicine’ which was a family secret of his +own. Some leaves were brought mysteriously in; chewed, +placed on the boy’s eyes, dropped in his ears (see Hamlet) +and stuck up his nostrils; as he did this, the weird doctor +partly smothered the patient with his hand; and by about 2 <span +class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> he was in a deep sleep, and from +that time he showed no symptom of dementia whatever. The +medicine (says Lafaele) is principally used for the wholesale +slaughter of families; he himself feared last night that his dose +was fatal; only one other person, on this island, knows the +secret; and she, Lafaele darkly whispers, has abused it. +This remarkable tree we must try to identify.</p> +<p>The man-of-war doctor came up to-day, gave us a +strait-waistcoat, taught us to bandage, examined the boy and saw +he was apparently well—he insisted on doing his work all +morning, poor lad, and when he first came down kissed all the +family at breakfast! The Doctor was greatly excited, as may +be supposed, about Lafaele’s medicine.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>.</p> +<p>All yesterday writing my mail by the hand of Belle, to save my +wrist. This is a great invention, to which I shall stick, +if it can be managed. We had some alarm about Paatalise, +but he slept well all night for a benediction. This lunatic +asylum exercise has no attractions for any of us.</p> +<p>I don’t know if I remembered to say how much pleased I +was with <i>Across the Plains</i> in every way, inside and out, +and you and me. The critics seem to taste it, too, as well +as could be hoped, and I believe it will continue to bring me in +a few shillings a year for a while. But such books pay only +indirectly.</p> +<p>To understand the full horror of the mad scene, and how well +my boys behaved, remember that <i>they believed P.’s +ravings</i>, they <i>knew</i> that his dead family, thirty +strong, crowded the front verandah and called on him to come to +the other world. They <i>knew</i> that his dead brother had +met him that afternoon in the bush and struck him on both +temples. And remember! we are fighting the dead, and they +had to go out again in the black night, which is the dead +man’s empire. Yet last evening, when I thought P. was +going to repeat the performance, I sent down for Lafaele, who had +leave of absence, and he and his wife came up about eight +o’clock with a lighted brand. These are the things +for which I have to forgive my old cattle-man his manifold +shortcomings; they are heroic—so are the shortcomings, to +be sure.</p> +<p>It came over me the other day suddenly that this diary of mine +to you would make good pickings after I am dead, and a man could +make some kind of a book out of it without much trouble. +So, for God’s sake, don’t lose them, and they will +prove a piece of provision for my ‘poor old family,’ +as Simelé calls it.</p> +<p>About my coming to Europe, I get more and more doubtful, and +rather incline to Ceylon again as place of meeting. I am so +absurdly well here in the tropics, that it seems like +affectation. Yet remember I have never once stood +Sydney. Anyway, I shall have the money for it all ahead, +before I think of such a thing.</p> +<p>We had a bowl of Punch on your birthday, which my incredible +mother somehow knew and remembered.</p> +<p>I sometimes sit and yearn for anything in the nature of an +income that would come in—mine has all got to be gone and +fished for with the immortal mind of man. What I want is +the income that really comes in of itself while all you have to +do is just to blossom and exist and sit on chairs. Think +how beautiful it would be not to have to mind the critics, and +not even the darkest of the crowd—Sidney Colvin. I +should probably amuse myself with works that would make your hair +curl, if you had any left.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L S.</p> +<h2><a name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +202</span>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Saturday</i>, 2<i>nd</i> +<i>July</i> 1892.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> character of my handwriting is +explained, alas! by scrivener’s cramp. This also +explains how long I have let the paper lie plain.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">1 <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span></p> +<p>I was busy copying David Balfour with my left hand—a +most laborious task—Fanny was down at the native house +superintending the floor, Lloyd down in Apia, and Belle in her +own house cleaning, when I heard the latter calling on my +name. I ran out on the verandah; and there on the lawn +beheld my crazy boy with an axe in his hand and dressed out in +green ferns, dancing. I ran downstairs and found all my +house boys on the back verandah, watching him through the +dining-room. I asked what it meant?—‘Dance +belong his place,’ they said.—‘I think this no +time to dance,’ said I. ‘Has he done his +work?’—‘No,’ they told me, ‘away +bush all morning.’ But there they all stayed on the +back verandah. I went on alone through the dining-room, and +bade him stop. He did so, shouldered the axe, and began to +walk away; but I called him back, walked up to him, and took the +axe out of his unresisting hands. The boy is in all things +so good, that I can scarce say I was afraid; only I felt it had +to be stopped ere he could work himself up by dancing to some +craziness. Our house boys protested they were not afraid; +all I know is they were all watching him round the back door and +did not follow me till I had the axe. As for the out boys, +who were working with Fanny in the native house, they thought it +a very bad business, and made no secret of their fears.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>, 6<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>I have no account to give of my stewardship these days, and +there’s a day more to account for than mere arithmetic +would tell you. For we have had two Monday Fourths, to +bring us at last on the right side of the meridian, having +hitherto been an exception in the world and kept our private +date. Business has filled my hours sans intermission.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>, 12<i>th.</i></p> +<p>I am doing no work and my mind is in abeyance. Fanny and +Belle are sewing-machining in the next room; I have been pulling +down their hair, and Fanny has been kicking me, and now I am +driven out. Austin I have been chasing about the verandah; +now he has gone to his lessons, and I make believe to write to +you in despair. But there is nothing in my mind; I swim in +mere vacancy, my head is like a rotten nut; I shall soon have to +begin to work again or I shall carry away some part of the +machinery. I have got your insufficient letter, for which I +scorn to thank you. I have had no review by Gosse, none by +Birrell; another time if I have a letter in the <i>Times</i>, you +might send me the text as well; also please send me a cricket bat +and a cake, and when I come home for the holidays, I should like +to have a pony.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">I am, sir, your obedient +servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Jacob +Tonson</span>.</p> +<p><i>P.S.</i> I am quite well; I hope you are quite +well. The world is too much with us, and my mother bids me +bind my hair and lace my bodice blue.</p> +<h2><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</span>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—This is +Friday night, the (I believe) 18th or 20th August or +September. I shall probably regret to-morrow having written +you with my own hand like the Apostle Paul. But I am alone +over here in the workman’s house, where I and Belle and +Lloyd and Austin are pigging; the rest are at cards in the main +residence. I have not joined them because ‘belly +belong me’ has been kicking up, and I have just taken 15 +drops of laudanum.</p> +<p>On Tuesday, the party set out—self in white cap, velvet +coat, cords and yellow half boots, Belle in a white kind of suit +and white cap to match mine, Lloyd in white clothes and long +yellow boots and a straw hat, Graham in khakis and gaiters, Henry +(my old overseer) in blue coat and black kilt, and the great +Lafaele with a big ship-bag on his saddle-bow. We left the +mail at the P. O., had lunch at the hotel, and about 1.50 set out +westward to the place of tryst. This was by a little +shrunken brook in a deep channel of mud on the far side of which, +in a thicket of low trees, all full of moths of shadow and +butterflies of sun, we lay down to await her ladyship. +Whiskey and water, then a sketch of the encampment for which we +all posed to Belle, passed off the time until 3.30. Then I +could hold on no longer. 30 minutes late. Had the +secret oozed out? Were they arrested? I got my horse, +crossed the brook again, and rode hard back to the Vaea cross +roads, whence I was aware of white clothes glancing in the other +long straight radius of the quadrant. I turned at once to +return to the place of tryst; but D. overtook me, and almost bore +me down, shouting ‘Ride, ride!’ like a hero in a +ballad. Lady Margaret and he were only come to shew the +place; they returned, and the rest of our party, reinforced by +Captain Leigh and Lady Jersey, set on for Malie. The delay +was due to D.’s infinite precautions, leading them up +lanes, by back ways, and then down again to the beach road a +hundred yards further on.</p> +<p>It was agreed that Lady Jersey existed no more; she was now my +cousin Amelia Balfour. That relative and I headed the +march; she is a charming woman, all of us like her extremely +after trial on this somewhat rude and absurd excursion. And +we Amelia’d or Miss Balfour’d her with great but +intermittent fidelity. When we came to the last village, I +sent Henry on ahead to warn the King of our approach and amend +his discretion, if that might be. As he left I heard the +villagers asking <i>which was the great lady</i>? And a +little further, at the borders of Malie itself, we found the +guard making a music of bugles and conches. Then I knew the +game was up and the secret out. A considerable guard of +honour, mostly children, accompanied us; but, for our good +fortune, we had been looked for earlier, and the crowd was +gone.</p> +<p>Dinner at the King’s; he asked me to say grace, I could +think of none—never could; Graham suggested <i>Benedictus +Benedicat</i>, at which I leaped. We were nearly done, when +old Popo inflicted the Atua howl (of which you have heard +already) right at Lady Jersey’s shoulder. She started +in fine style.—‘There,’ I said, ‘we have +been giving you a chapter of Scott, but this goes beyond the +Waverley Novels.’ After dinner, kava. Lady J. +was served before me, and the King <i>drank last</i>; it was the +least formal kava I ever saw in that house,—no names +called, no show of ceremony. All my ladies are well +trained, and when Belle drained her bowl, the King was pleased to +clap his hands. Then he and I must retire for our private +interview, to another house. He gave me his own staff and +made me pass before him; and in the interview, which was long and +delicate, he twice called me <i>afioga</i>. Ah, that leaves +you cold, but I am Samoan enough to have been moved. +<i>Susuga</i> is my accepted rank; to be called +<i>afioga</i>—Heavens! what an advance—and it leaves +Europe cold. But it staggered my Henry. The first +time it was complicated ‘lana susuga <i>ma</i> lana +afioga—his excellency <i>and</i> his +majesty’—the next time plain Majesty. Henry +then begged to interrupt the interview and tell who he +was—he is a small family chief in Sawaii, not very +small—‘I do not wish the King,’ says he, +‘to think me a boy from Apia.’ On our return to +the palace, we separated. I had asked for the ladies to +sleep alone—that was understood; but that +Tusitala—his afioga Tusitala—should go out with the +other young men, and not sleep with the highborn females of his +family—was a doctrine received with difficulty. Lloyd +and I had one screen, Graham and Leigh another, and we slept +well.</p> +<p>In the morning I was first abroad before dawn; not very long, +already there was a stir of birds. A little after, I heard +singing from the King’s chapel—exceeding +good—and went across in the hour when the east is yellow +and the morning bank is breaking up, to hear it nearer. All +about the chapel, the guards were posted, and all saluted +Tusitala. I could not refrain from smiling: ‘So there +is a place too,’ I thought, ‘where sentinels salute +me.’ Mine has been a queer life.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p209b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Drawing" +title= +"Drawing" +src="images/p209s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Breakfast was rather a protracted business. And that was +scarce over when we were called to the great house (now +finished—recall your earlier letters) to see a royal +kava. This function is of rare use; I know grown Samoans +who have never witnessed it. It is, besides, as you are to +hear, a piece of prehistoric history, crystallised in figures, +and the facts largely forgotten; an acted hieroglyph. The +house is really splendid; in the rafters in the midst, two carved +and coloured model birds are posted; the only thing of the sort I +have ever remarked in Samoa, the Samoans being literal observers +of the second commandment. At one side of the egg our party +sat. a=Mataafa, b=Lady J., c=Belle, d=Tusitala, e=Graham, +f=Lloyd, g=Captain Leigh, h=Henry, i=Popo. The x’s +round are the high chiefs, each man in his historical +position. One side of the house is set apart for the King +alone; we were allowed there as his guests and Henry as our +interpreter. It was a huge trial to the lad, when a speech +was made to me which he must translate, and I made a speech in +answer which he had to orate, full-breathed, to that big circle; +he blushed through his dark skin, but looked and acted like a +gentleman and a young fellow of sense; then the kava came to the +King; he poured one drop in libation, drank another, and flung +the remainder outside the house behind him. Next came the +turn of the old shapeless stone marked T. It stands for one +of the King’s titles, Tamasoalii; Mataafa is Tamasoalii +this day, but cannot drink for it; and the stone must first be +washed with water, and then have the bowl emptied on it. +Then—the order I cannot recall—came the turn of y and +z, two orators of the name of Malietoa; the first took his kava +down plain, like an ordinary man; the second must be packed to +bed under a big sheet of tapa, and be massaged by anxious +assistants and rise on his elbow groaning to drink his cup. +W., a great hereditary war man, came next; five times the +cup-bearers marched up and down the house and passed the cup on, +five times it was filled and the General’s name and titles +heralded at the bowl, and five times he refused it (after +examination) as too small. It is said this commemorates a +time when Malietoa at the head of his army suffered much for want +of supplies. Then this same military gentleman must +<i>drink</i> five cups, one from each of the great names: all +which took a precious long time. He acted very well, +haughtily and in a society tone <i>outlining</i> the part. +The difference was marked when he subsequently made a speech in +his own character as a plain God-fearing chief. A few more +high chiefs, then Tusitala; one more, and then Lady Jersey; one +more, and then Captain Leigh, and so on with the rest of our +party—Henry of course excepted. You see in public, +Lady Jersey followed me—just so far was the secret +kept.</p> +<p>Then we came home; Belle, Graham and Lloyd to the +Chinaman’s, I with Lady Jersey, to lunch; so severally +home. Thursday I have forgotten: Saturday, I began again on +Davie; on Sunday, the Jersey party came up to call and carried me +to dinner. As I came out, to ride home, the search-lights +of the <i>Curaçoa</i> were lightening on the horizon from +many miles away, and next morning she came in. Tuesday was +huge fun: a reception at Haggard’s. All our party +dined there; Lloyd and I, in the absence of Haggard and Leigh, +had to play aide-de-camp and host for about twenty minutes, and I +presented the population of Apia at random but (luck helping) +without one mistake. Wednesday we had two middies to +lunch. Thursday we had Eeles and Hoskyn (lieutenant and +doctor—very, very nice fellows—simple, good and not +the least dull) to dinner. Saturday, Graham and I lunched +on board; Graham, Belle, Lloyd dined at the G.’s; and +Austin and the <i>whole</i> of our servants went with them to an +evening entertainment; the more bold returning by +lantern-light. Yesterday, Sunday, Belle and I were off by +about half past eight, left our horses at a public house, and +went on board the <i>Curaçoa</i> in the wardroom skiff; +were entertained in the wardroom; thence on deck to the service, +which was a great treat; three fiddles and a harmonium and +excellent choir, and the great ship’s company joining: on +shore in Haggard’s big boat to lunch with the party. +Thence all together to Vailima, where we read aloud a Ouida +Romance we have been secretly writing; in which Haggard was the +hero, and each one of the authors had to draw a portrait of him +or herself in a Ouida light. Leigh, Lady J., Fanny, R.L.S., +Belle and Graham were the authors.</p> +<p>In the midst of this gay life, I have finally recopied two +chapters, and drafted for the first time three of Davie +Balfour. But it is not a life that would continue to suit +me, and if I have not continued to write to you, you will scarce +wonder. And to-day we all go down again to dinner, and +to-morrow they all come up to lunch! The world is too much +with us. But it now nears an end, to-day already the +<i>Curaçoa</i> has sailed; and on Saturday or Sunday Lady +Jersey will follow them in the mail steamer. I am sending +you a wire by her hands as far as Sydney, that is to say either +you or Cassell, about <i>Falesá</i>: I will not allow it +to be called <i>Uma</i> in book form, that is not the logical +name of the story. Nor can I have the marriage contract +omitted; and the thing is full of misprints abominable. In +the picture, Uma is rot; so is the old man and the negro; but +Wiltshire is splendid, and Case will do. It seems badly +illuminated, but this may be printing. How have I seen this +first number? Not through your attention, guilty one! +Lady Jersey had it, and only mentioned it yesterday.</p> +<p>I ought to say how much we all like the Jersey party. My +boy Henry was enraptured with the manners of the <i>Tawaitai +Sili</i> (chief lady). Among our other occupations, I did a +bit of a supposed epic describing our tryst at the ford of the +Gasegase; and Belle and I made a little book of caricatures and +verses about incidents on the visit.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>.</p> +<p>The wild round of gaiety continues. After I had written +to you yesterday, the brain being wholly extinct, I played piquet +all morning with Graham. After lunch down to call on the +U.S. Consul, hurt in a steeple-chase; thence back to the new +girls’ school which Lady J. was to open, and where my +ladies met me. Lady J. is really an orator, with a voice of +gold; the rest of us played our unremarked parts; missionaries, +Haggard, myself, a Samoan chief, holding forth in turn; myself +with (at least) a golden brevity. Thence, Fanny, Belle, and +I to town, to our billiard room in Haggard’s back garden, +where we found Lloyd and where Graham joined us. The three +men first dressed, with the ladies in a corner; and then, to +leave them a free field, we went off to Haggard and Leigh’s +quarters, where—after all to dinner, where our two parties, +a brother of Colonel Kitchener’s, a passing globe-trotter, +and Clarke the missionary. A very gay evening, with all +sorts of chaff and mirth, and a moonlit ride home, and to bed +before 12.30. And now to-day, we have the Jersey-Haggard +troupe to lunch, and I must pass the morning dressing ship.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Thursday</i>, <i>Sept.</i> +1<i>st</i>.</p> +<p>I sit to write to you now, 7.15, all the world in bed except +myself, accounted for, and Belle and Graham, down at +Haggard’s at dinner. Not a leaf is stirring here; but +the moon overhead (now of a good bigness) is obscured and partly +revealed in a whirling covey of thin storm-clouds. By Jove, +it blows above.</p> +<p>From 8 till 11.15 on Tuesday, I dressed ship, and in +particular cleaned crystal, my specially. About 11.30 the +guests began to arrive before I was dressed, and between while I +had written a parody for Lloyd to sing. Yesterday, +Wednesday, I had to start out about 3 for town, had a long +interview with the head of the German Firm about some work in my +new house, got over to Lloyd’s billiard-room about six, on +the way whither I met Fanny and Belle coming down with one +Kitchener, a brother of the Colonel’s. Dined in the +billiard-room, discovered we had forgot to order oatmeal; +whereupon, in the moonlit evening, I set forth in my tropical +array, mess jacket and such, to get the oatmeal, and meet a young +fellow C.—and not a bad young fellow either, only an +idiot—as drunk as Croesus. He wept with me, he wept +for me; he talked like a bad character in an impudently bad +farce; I could have laughed aloud to hear, and could make you +laugh by repeating, but laughter was not uppermost.</p> +<p>This morning at about seven, I set off after the lost +sheep. I could have no horse; all that could be +mounted—we have one girth-sore and one dead-lame in the +establishment—were due at a picnic about 10.30. The +morning was very wet, and I set off barefoot, with my trousers +over my knees, and a macintosh. Presently I had to take a +side path in the bush; missed it; came forth in a great oblong +patch of taro solemnly surrounded by forest—no soul, no +sign, no sound—and as I stood there at a loss, suddenly +between the showers out broke the note of a harmonium and a +woman’s voice singing an air that I know very well, but +have (as usual) forgot the name of. ’Twas from a +great way off, but seemed to fill the world. It was +strongly romantic, and gave me a point which brought me, by all +sorts of forest wading, to an open space of palms. These +were of all ages, but mostly at that age when the branches arch +from the ground level, range themselves, with leaves exquisitely +green. The whole interspace was overgrown with convolvulus, +purple, yellow and white, often as deep as to my waist, in which +I floundered aimlessly. The very mountain was invisible +from here. The rain came and went; now in sunlit April +showers, now with the proper tramp and rattle of the +tropics. All this while I met no sight or sound of man, +except the voice which was now silent, and a damned pig-fence +that headed me off at every corner. Do you know barbed +wire? Think of a fence of it on rotten posts, and you +barefoot. But I crossed it at last with my heart in my +mouth and no harm done. Thence at last to C’s.: no +C. Next place I came to was in the zone of woods. +They offered me a buggy and set a black boy to wash my legs and +feet. ‘Washum legs belong that fellow +white-man’ was the command. So at last I ran down my +son of a gun in the hotel, sober, and with no story to tell; +penitent, I think. Home, by buggy and my poor feet, up +three miles of root, boulder, gravel and liquid mud, slipping +back at every step.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>, <i>Sept.</i> +4<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Hope you will be able to read a word of the last, no joke +writing by a bad lantern with a groggy hand and your glasses +mislaid. Not that the hand is not better, as you see by the +absence of the amanuensis hitherto. Mail came Friday, and a +communication from yourself much more decent than usual, for +which I thank you. Glad the <i>Wrecker</i> should so hum; +but Lord, what fools these mortals be!</p> +<p>So far yesterday, the citation being wrung from me by +remembrance of many reviews. I have now received all +<i>Falesá</i>, and my admiration for that tale rises; I +believe it is in some ways my best work; I am pretty sure, at +least, I have never done anything better than Wiltshire.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i>, 13<i>th</i> +<i>September</i> 1892.</p> +<p>On Wednesday the Spinsters of Apia gave a ball to a select +crowd. Fanny, Belle, Lloyd and I rode down, met Haggard by +the way and joined company with him. Dinner with Haggard, +and thence to the ball. The Chief Justice appeared; it was +immediately remarked, and whispered from one to another, that he +and I had the only red sashes in the room,—and they were +both of the hue of blood, sir, blood. He shook hands with +myself and all the members of my family. Then the cream +came, and I found myself in the same set of a quadrille with his +honour. We dance here in Apia a most fearful and wonderful +quadrille, I don’t know where the devil they fished it +from; but it is rackety and prancing and embraceatory beyond +words; perhaps it is best defined in Haggard’s expression +of a gambado. When I and my great enemy found ourselves +involved in this gambol, and crossing hands, and kicking up, and +being embraced almost in common by large and quite respectable +females, we—or I—tried to preserve some rags of +dignity, but not for long. The deuce of it is that, +personally, I love this man; his eye speaks to me, I am pleased +in his society. We exchanged a glance, and then a grin; the +man took me in his confidence; and through the remainder of that +prance we pranced for each other. Hard to imagine any +position more ridiculous; a week before he had been trying to +rake up evidence against me by brow-beating and threatening a +half-white interpreter; that very morning I had been writing most +villainous attacks upon him for the <i>Times</i>; and we meet and +smile, and—damn it!—like each other. I do my +best to damn the man and drive him from these islands; but the +weakness endures—I love him. This is a thing I would +despise in anybody else; but he is so jolly insidious and +ingratiating! No, sir, I can’t dislike him; but if I +don’t make hay of him, it shall not be for want of +trying.</p> +<p>Yesterday, we had two Germans and a young American boy to +lunch; and in the afternoon, Vailima was in a state of siege; ten +white people on the front verandah, at least as many brown in the +cook house, and countless blacks to see the black boy Arrick.</p> +<p>Which reminds me, Arrick was sent Friday was a week to the +German Firm with a note, and was not home on time. Lloyd +and I were going bedward, it was late with a bright +moon—ah, poor dog, you know no such moons as +these!—when home came Arrick with his head in a white +bandage and his eyes shining. He had had a fight with other +blacks, Malaita boys; many against one, and one with a knife: +‘I <span class="smcap">knicked ’em down</span>, three +four!’ he cried; and had himself to be taken to the +doctor’s and bandaged. Next day, he could not work, +glory of battle swelled too high in his threadpaper breast; he +had made a one-stringed harp for Austin, borrowed it, came to +Fanny’s room, and sang war-songs and danced a war dance in +honour of his victory. And it appears, by subsequent +advices, that it was a serious victory enough; four of his +assailants went to hospital, and one is thought in danger. +All Vailima rejoiced at this news.</p> +<p>Five more chapters of David, 22 to 27, go to Baxter. All +love affair; seems pretty good to me. Will it do for the +young person? I don’t know: since the Beach, I know +nothing, except that men are fools and hypocrites, and I know +less of them than I was fond enough to fancy.</p> +<h2><a name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +221</span>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Thursday</i>, 15<i>th</i> +<i>September</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—On Tuesday, +we had our young adventurer ready, and Fanny, Belle, he and I set +out about three of a dark, deadly hot, and deeply unwholesome +afternoon. Belle had the lad behind her; I had a pint of +champagne in either pocket, a parcel in my hands, and as Jack had +a girth sore and I rode without a girth, I might be said to +occupy a very unstrategic position. On the way down, a +little dreary, beastly drizzle beginning to come out of the +darkness, Fanny put up an umbrella, her horse bounded, reared, +cannoned into me, cannoned into Belle and the lad, and bolted for +home. It really might and ought to have been an A1 +catastrophe; but nothing happened beyond Fanny’s nerves +being a good deal shattered; of course, she could not tell what +had happened to us until she got her horse mastered.</p> +<p>Next day, Haggard went off to the Commission and left us in +charge of his house; all our people came down in wreaths of +flowers; we had a boat for them; Haggard had a flag in the +Commission boat for us; and when at last the steamer turned up, +the young adventurer was carried on board in great style, with a +new watch and chain, and about three pound ten of tips, and five +big baskets of fruit as free-will offerings to the captain. +Captain Morse had us all to lunch; champagne flowed, so did +compliments; and I did the affable celebrity life-sized. It +made a great send-off for the young adventurer. As the boat +drew off, he was standing at the head of the gangway, supported +by three handsome ladies—one of them a real full-blown +beauty, Madame Green, the singer—and looking very engaging +himself, between smiles and tears. Not that he cried in +public.</p> +<p>My, but we were a tired crowd! However, it is always a +blessing to get home, and this time it was a sort of wonder to +ourselves that we got back alive. Casualties: Fanny’s +back jarred, horse incident; Belle, bad headache, tears and +champagne; self, idiocy, champagne, fatigue; Lloyd, ditto, +ditto. As for the adventurer, I believe he will have a +delightful voyage for his little start in life. But there +is always something touching in a mite’s first launch.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Date unknown</i>.</p> +<p>I am now well on with the third part of the +<i>Débâcle</i>. The two first I liked much; +the second completely knocking me; so far as it has gone, this +third part appears the ramblings of a dull man who has forgotten +what he has to say—he reminds me of an M.P. But Sedan +was really great, and I will pick no holes. The batteries +under fire, the red-cross folk, the county charge—perhaps, +above all, Major Bouroche and the operations, all beyond +discussion; and every word about the Emperor splendid.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>September</i> 30<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>David Balfour done, and its author along with it, or nearly +so. Strange to think of even our doctor here repeating his +nonsense about debilitating climate. Why, the work I have +been doing the last twelve months, in one continuous spate, +mostly with annoying interruptions and without any collapse to +mention, would be incredible in Norway. But I <i>have</i> +broken down now, and will do nothing as long as I possibly +can. With David Balfour I am very well pleased; in fact +these labours of the last year—I mean <i>Falesá</i> +and <i>D. B.</i>, not Samoa, of course—seem to me to be +nearer what I mean than anything I have ever done; nearer what I +mean by fiction; the nearest thing before was +<i>Kidnapped</i>. I am not forgetting the <i>Master of +Ballantrae</i>, but that lacked all pleasurableness, and hence +was imperfect in essence. So you see, if I am a little +tired, I do not repent.</p> +<p>The third part of the <i>Débâcle</i> may be all +very fine; but I cannot read it. It suffers from +<i>impaired vitality</i>, and <i>uncertain aim</i>; two deadly +sicknesses. Vital—that’s what I am at, first: +wholly vital, with a buoyancy of life. Then lyrical, if it +may be, and picturesque, always with an epic value of scenes, so +that the figures remain in the mind’s eye for ever.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>October</i> 8<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Suppose you sent us some of the catalogues of the parties what +vends statutes? I don’t want colossal Herculeses, but +about quarter size and less. If the catalogues were +illustrated it would probably be found a help to weak +memories. These may be found to alleviate spare moments, +when we sometimes amuse ourselves by thinking how fine we shall +make the palace if we do not go pop. Perhaps in the same +way it might amuse you to send us any pattern of wall paper that +might strike you as cheap, pretty and suitable for a room in a +hot and extremely bright climate. It should be borne in +mind that our climate can be extremely dark too. Our +sitting-room is to be in varnished wood. The room I have +particularly in mind is a sort of bed and sitting-room, pretty +large, lit on three sides, and the colour in favour of its +proprietor at present is a topazy yellow. But then with +what colour to relieve it? For a little work-room of my own +at the back. I should rather like to see some patterns of +unglossy—well, I’ll be hanged if I can describe this +red—it’s not Turkish and it’s not Roman and +it’s not Indian, but it seems to partake of the two last, +and yet it can’t be either of them, because it ought to be +able to go with vermilion. Ah, what a tangled web we +weave—anyway, with what brains you have left choose me and +send me some—many—patterns of this exact shade.</p> +<p>A few days ago it was Haggard’s birthday and we had him +and his cousin to dinner—bless me if I ever told you of his +cousin!—he is here anyway, and a fine, pleasing specimen, +so that we have concluded (after our own happy experience) that +the climate of Samoa must be favourable to cousins. Then we +went out on the verandah in a lovely moonlight, drinking port, +hearing the cousin play and sing, till presently we were informed +that our boys had got up a siva in Lafaele’s house to which +we were invited. It was entirely their own idea. The +house, you must understand, is one-half floored, and one-half +bare earth, and the dais stands a little over knee high above the +level of the soil. The dais was the stage, with three +footlights. We audience sat on mats on the floor, and the +cook and three of our work-boys, sometimes assisted by our two +ladies, took their places behind the footlights and began a +topical Vailima song. The burden was of course that of a +Samoan popular song about a white man who objects to all that he +sees in Samoa. And there was of course a special verse for +each one of the party—Lloyd was called the dancing man +(practically the Chief’s handsome son) of Vailima; he was +also, in his character I suppose of overseer, compared to a +policeman—Belle had that day been the almoner in a +semi-comic distribution of wedding rings and thimbles (bought +cheap at an auction) to the whole plantation company, fitting a +ring on every man’s finger, and a ring and a thimble on +both the women’s. This was very much in character +with her native name <i>Teuila</i>, the adorner of the +ugly—so of course this was the point of her verse and at a +given moment all the performers displayed the rings upon their +fingers. Pelema (the cousin—<i>our</i> cousin) was +described as watching from the house and whenever he saw any boy +not doing anything, running and doing it himself. +Fanny’s verse was less intelligible, but it was accompanied +in the dance with a pantomime of terror well-fitted to call up +her haunting, indefatigable and diminutive presence in a blue +gown.</p> +<h2><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +227</span>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Vailima</i>, <i>October</i> +28<i>th</i>, 1892.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—This is very +late to begin the monthly budget, but I have a good excuse this +time, for I have had a very annoying fever with symptoms of sore +arm, and in the midst of it a very annoying piece of business +which suffered no delay or idleness. . . . The consequence of all +this was that my fever got very much worse and your letter has +not been hitherto written. But, my dear fellow, do compare +these little larky fevers with the fine, healthy, prostrating +colds of the dear old dead days at home. Here was I, in the +middle of a pretty bad one, and I was able to put it in my +pocket, and go down day after day, and attend to and put my +strength into this beastly business. Do you see me doing +that with a catarrh? And if I had done so, what would have +been the result?</p> +<p>Last night, about four o’clock, Belle and I set off to +Apia, whither my mother had preceded us. She was at the +Mission; we went to Haggard’s. There we had to wait +the most unconscionable time for dinner. I do not wish to +speak lightly of the Amanuensis, who is unavoidably present, but +I may at least say for myself that I was as cross as two +sticks. Dinner came at last, we had the tinned soup which +is usually the <i>pièce de résistance</i> in the +halls of Haggard, and we pitched into it. Followed an +excellent salad of tomatoes and cray-fish, a good Indian curry, a +tender joint of beef, a dish of pigeons, a pudding, cheese and +coffee. I was so over-eaten after this ‘hunger and +burst’ that I could scarcely move; and it was my sad fate +that night in the character of the local author to eloquute +before the public—‘Mr. Stevenson will read a +selection from his own works’—a degrading +picture. I had determined to read them the account of the +hurricane; I do not know if I told you that my book has never +turned up here, or rather only one copy has, and that in the +unfriendly hands of —. It has therefore only been +seen by enemies; and this combination of mystery and evil report +has been greatly envenomed by some ill-judged newspaper articles +from the States. Altogether this specimen was listened to +with a good deal of uncomfortable expectation on the part of the +Germans, and when it was over was applauded with unmistakable +relief. The public hall where these revels came off seems +to be unlucky for me; I never go there but to some stone-breaking +job. Last time it was the public meeting of which I must +have written you; this time it was this uneasy but not on the +whole unsuccessful experiment. Belle, my mother, and I rode +home about midnight in a fine display of lightning and +witch-fires. My mother is absent, so that I may dare to say +that she struck me as voluble. The Amanuensis did not +strike me the same way; she was probably thinking, but it was +really rather a weird business, and I saw what I have never seen +before, the witch-fires gathered into little bright blue points +almost as bright as a night-light.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Saturday</i>.</p> +<p>This is the day that should bring your letter; it is gray and +cloudy and windless; thunder rolls in the mountain; it is a +quarter past six, and I am alone, sir, alone in this +workman’s house, Belle and Lloyd having been down all +yesterday to meet the steamer; they were scarce gone with most of +the horses and all the saddles, than there began a perfect picnic +of the sick and maim; Iopu with a bad foot, Faauma with a bad +shoulder, Fanny with yellow spots. It was at first proposed +to carry all these to the doctor, particularly Faauma, whose +shoulder bore an appearance of erysipelas, that sent the amateur +below. No horses, no saddle. Now I had my horse and I +could borrow Lafaele’s saddle; and if I went alone I could +do a job that had long been waiting; and that was to interview +the doctor on another matter. Off I set in a hazy moonlight +night; windless, like to-day; the thunder rolling in the +mountain, as to-day; in the still groves, these little mushroom +lamps glowing blue and steady, singly or in pairs. Well, I +had my interview, said everything as I had meant, and with just +the result I hoped for. The doctor and I drank beer +together and discussed German literature until nine, and we +parted the best of friends. I got home to a silent house of +sleepers, only Fanny awaiting me; we talked awhile, in whispers, +on the interview; then, I got a lantern and went across to the +workman’s house, now empty and silent, myself sole +occupant. So to bed, prodigious tired but mighty content +with my night’s work, and to-day, with a headache and a +chill, have written you this page, while my new novel +waits. Of this I will tell you nothing, except the various +names under consideration. First, it ought to be +called—but of course that is impossible—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Braxfield</i>.</p> +<p>Then it <i>is</i> to be called either</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Weir of Hermiston</i>,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Lord-Justice Clerk</i>,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Two Kirsties of the +Cauldstaneslap</i>,</p> +<p>or</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Four Black Brothers</i>.</p> +<p>Characters:</p> +<p class="gutindent">Adam Weir, Lord-Justice Clerk, called Lord +Hermiston.</p> +<p class="gutindent">Archie, his son.</p> +<p class="gutindent">Aunt Kirstie Elliott, his housekeeper at +Hermiston.</p> +<p class="gutindent">Elliott of the Cauldstaneslap, her +brother.</p> +<p class="gutindent">Kirstie Elliott, his daughter.</p> +<p class="gutindent">Jim, Gib, Hob & Dandie—his +sons.</p> +<p class="gutindent">Patrick Innes, a young advocate.</p> +<p class="gutindent">The Lord-Justice General.</p> +<p>Scene, about Hermiston in the Lammermuirs and in +Edinburgh. Temp. 1812. So you see you are to have another +holiday from copra! The rain begins softly on the iron +roof, and I will do the reverse and—dry up.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>.</p> +<p>Yours with the diplomatic private opinion received. It +is just what I should have supposed. <i>Ça +m’est bien égal</i>.—The name is to be</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Lord-Justice Clerk</i>.</p> +<p>None others are genuine. Unless it be</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Lord-Justice Clerk +Hermiston</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Nov.</i> 2<i>nd</i>.</p> +<p>On Saturday we expected Captain Morse of the Alameda to come +up to lunch, and on Friday with genuine South Sea hospitality had +a pig killed. On the Saturday morning no pig. Some of +the boys seemed to give a doubtful account of themselves; our +next neighbour below in the wood is a bad fellow and very +intimate with some of our boys, for whom his confounded house is +like a fly-paper for flies. To add to all this, there was +on the Saturday a great public presentation of food to the King +and Parliament men, an occasion on which it is almost dignified +for a Samoan to steal anything, and entirely dignified for him to +steal a pig.</p> +<p>(The Amanuensis went to the <i>talolo</i>, as it is called, +and saw something so very pleasing she begs to interrupt the +letter to tell it. The different villagers came in in +bands—led by the maid of the village, followed by the young +warriors. It was a very fine sight, for some three thousand +people are said to have assembled. The men wore nothing but +magnificent head-dresses and a bunch of leaves, and were oiled +and glistening in the sunlight. One band had no maid but +was led by a tiny child of about five—a serious little +creature clad in a ribbon of grass and a fine head-dress, who +skipped with elaborate leaps in front of the warriors, like a +little kid leading a band of lions. <span +class="GutSmall">A.M.</span>)</p> +<p>The <span class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> being done, I go on +again. All this made it very possible that even if none of +our boys had stolen the pig, some of them might know the +thief. Besides, the theft, as it was a theft of meat +prepared for a guest, had something of the nature of an insult, +and ‘my face,’ in native phrase, ‘was +ashamed.’ Accordingly, we determined to hold a bed of +justice. It was done last night after dinner. I sat +at the head of the table, Graham on my right hand, Henry +Simelé at my left, Lloyd behind him. The house +company sat on the floor around the walls—twelve all +told. I am described as looking as like Braxfield as I +could manage with my appearance; Graham, who is of a severe +countenance, looked like Rhadamanthus; Lloyd was hideous to the +view; and Simelé had all the fine solemnity of a Samoan +chief. The proceedings opened by my delivering a Samoan +prayer, which may be translated thus—‘Our God, look +down upon us and shine into our hearts. Help us to be far +from falsehood so that each one of us may stand before Thy Face +in his integrity.’—Then, beginning with +Simelé, every one came up to the table, laid his hand on +the Bible, and repeated clause by clause after me the following +oath—I fear it may sound even comic in English, but it is a +very pretty piece of Samoan, and struck direct at the most lively +superstitions of the race. ‘This is the Holy Bible +here that I am touching. Behold me, O God! If I know +who it was that took away the pig, or the place to which it was +taken, or have heard anything relating to it, and shall not +declare the same—be made an end of by God this life of +mine!’ They all took it with so much seriousness and +firmness that (as Graham said) if they were not innocent they +would make invaluable witnesses. I was so far impressed by +their bearing that I went no further, and the funny and yet +strangely solemn scene came to an end.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>, <i>No.</i> 6th.</p> +<p>Here is a long story to go back upon, and I wonder if I have +either time or patience for the task?</p> +<p>Wednesday I had a great idea of match-making, and proposed to +Henry that Faalé would make a good wife for him. I +wish I had put this down when it was fresher in my mind, it was +so interesting an interview. My gentleman would not tell if +I were on or not. ‘I do not know yet; I will tell you +next week. May I tell the sister of my father? No, +better not, tell her when it is done.’—‘But +will not your family be angry if you marry without asking +them?’—‘My village? What does my village +want? Mats!’ I said I thought the girl would +grow up to have a great deal of sense, and my gentleman flew out +upon me; she had sense now, he said.</p> +<p>Thursday, we were startled by the note of guns, and presently +after heard it was an English war ship. Graham and I set +off at once, and as soon as we met any townsfolk they began +crying to me that I was to be arrested. It was the +<i>Vossische Zeitung</i> article which had been quoted in a +paper. Went on board and saw Captain Bourke; he did not +even know—not even guess—why he was here; having been +sent off by cablegram from Auckland. It is hoped the same +ship that takes this off Europewards may bring his orders and our +news. But which is it to be? Heads or tails? If +it is to be German, I hope they will deport me; I should prefer +it so; I do not think that I could bear a German officialdom, and +should probably have to leave <i>sponte mea</i>, which is only +less picturesque and more expensive.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">8<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Mail day. All well, not yet put in prison, whatever may +be in store for me. No time even to sign this lame +letter.</p> +<h2><a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +236</span>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 1<i>st</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—Another grimy +little odd and end of paper, for which you shall be this month +repaid in kind, and serve you jolly well right. . . . The +new house is roofed; it will be a braw house, and what is better, +I have my yearly bill in, and I find I can pay for it. For +all which mercies, etc. I must have made close on +£4,000 this year all told; but, what is not so pleasant, I +seem to have come near to spending them. I have been in +great alarm, with this new house on the cards, all summer, and +came very near to taking in sail, but I live here so entirely on +credit, that I determined to hang on.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 1<i>st</i>.</p> +<p>I was saying yesterday that my life was strange and did not +think how well I spoke. Yesterday evening I was briefed to +defend a political prisoner before the Deputy Commissioner. +What do you think of that for a vicissitude?</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 3<i>rd</i>.</p> +<p>Now for a confession. When I heard you and Cassells had +decided to print <i>The Bottle Imp</i> along with +<i>Falesá</i>, I was too much disappointed to +answer. <i>The Bottle Imp</i> was the <i>pièce de +résistance</i> for my volume, <i>Island Nights’ +Entertainments</i>. However, that volume might have never +got done; and I send you two others in case they should be in +time.</p> +<p>First have the <i>Beach of Falesá</i>.</p> +<p>Then a fresh false title: <span class="smcap">Island +Nights’ Entertainments</span>; and then</p> +<p><i>The Bottle Imp</i>: a cue from an old melodrama.</p> +<p><i>The Isle of Voices</i>.</p> +<p><i>The Waif Woman</i>; a cue from a <i>saga</i>.</p> +<p>Of course these two others are not up to the mark of <i>The +Bottle Imp</i>; but they each have a certain merit, and they fit +in style. By saying ‘a cue from an old +melodrama’ after the B. I., you can get rid of my +note. If this is in time, it will be splendid, and will +make quite a volume.</p> +<p>Should you and Cassells prefer, you can call the whole volume +<i>I. N. E.</i>—though the <i>Beach of Falesá</i> is +the child of a quite different inspiration. They all have a +queer realism, even the most extravagant, even the <i>Isle of +Voices</i>; the manners are exact.</p> +<p>Should they come too late, have them type-written, and return +to me here the type-written copies.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>, <i>Dec.</i> +4<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>3rd start,—But now more humbly and with the aid of an +Amanuensis. First one word about page 2. My wife +protests against the Waif-woman and I am instructed to report the +same to you. . . .</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 5<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>A horrid alarm rises that our October mail was burned crossing +the Plains. If so, you lost a beautiful long letter—I +am sure it was beautiful though I remember nothing about +it—and I must say I think it serves you properly +well. That I should continue writing to you at such length +is simply a vicious habit for which I blush. At the same +time, please communicate at once with Charles Baxter whether you +have or have not received a letter posted here Oct. 12th, as he +is going to cable me the fate of my mail.</p> +<p>Now to conclude my news. The German Firm have taken my +book like angels, and the result is that Lloyd and I were down +there at dinner on Saturday, where we partook of fifteen several +dishes and eight distinct forms of intoxicating drink. To +the credit of Germany, I must say there was not a shadow of a +headache the next morning. I seem to have done as well as +my neighbours, for I hear one of the clerks expressed the next +morning a gratified surprise that Mr. Stevenson stood his drink +so well. It is a strange thing that any race can still find +joy in such athletic exercises. I may remark in passing +that the mail is due and you have had far more than you +deserve.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +239</span>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>January</i> 1893.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—You are +properly paid at last, and it is like you will have but a shadow +of a letter. I have been pretty thoroughly out of kilter; +first a fever that would neither come on nor go off, then acute +dyspepsia, in the weakening grasp of which I get wandering +between the waking state and one of nightmare. Why the +devil does no one send me <i>Atalanta</i>? And why are +there no proofs of D. Balfour? Sure I should have had the +whole, at least the half, of them by now; and it would be all for +the advantage of the Atalantans. I have written to Cassell +& Co. (matter of <i>Falesá</i>) ‘you will please +arrange with him’ (meaning you). ‘What he may +decide I shall abide.’ So consider your hand free, +and act for me without fear or favour. I am greatly pleased +with the illustrations. It is very strange to a +South-Seayer to see Hawaiian women dressed like Samoans, but I +guess that’s all one to you in Middlesex. It’s +about the same as if London city men were shown going to the +Stock Exchange as <i>pifferari</i>; but no matter, none will +sleep worse for it. I have accepted Cassell’s +proposal as an amendment to one of mine; that <i>D. B.</i> is to +be brought out first under the title <i>Catriona</i> without +pictures; and, when the hour strikes, <i>Kidnapped</i> and +<i>Catriona</i> are to form vols. I. and II. of the heavily +illustrated ‘Adventures of David Balfour’ at 7s. 6d. +each, sold separately.</p> +<p>—’s letter was vastly sly and dry and shy. I +am not afraid now. Two attempts have been made, both have +failed, and I imagine these failures strengthen me. Above +all this is true of the last, where my weak point was +attempted. On every other, I am strong. Only force +can dislodge me, for public opinion is wholly on my side. +All races and degrees are united in heartfelt opposition to the +Men of Mulinuu. The news of the fighting was of no concern +to mortal man; it was made much of because men love talk of +battles, and because the Government pray God daily for some +scandal not their own; but it was only a brisk episode in a clan +fight which has grown apparently endemic in the west of +Tutuila. At the best it was a twopenny affair, and never +occupied my mind five minutes.</p> +<p>I am so weary of reports that are without foundation and +threats that go without fulfilment, and so much occupied besides +by the raging troubles of my own wame, that I have been very +slack on politics, as I have been in literature. With +incredible labour, I have rewritten the First Chapter of the +Justice Clerk; it took me about ten days, and requires another +athletic dressing after all. And that is my story for the +month. The rest is grunting and grutching.</p> +<p>Consideranda for <i>The Beach</i>:—</p> +<p>I. Whether to add one or both the tales I sent you?</p> +<p>II. Whether to call the whole volume ‘Island +Nights Entertainments’?</p> +<p>III. Whether, having waited so long, it would not be +better to give me another mail, in case I could add another +member to the volume and a little better justify the name?</p> +<p>If I possibly can draw up another story, I will. What +annoyed me about the use of <i>The Bottle Imp</i> was that I had +always meant it for the centre-piece of a volume of +<i>Märchen</i> which I was slowly to elaborate. You +always had an idea that I depreciated the B. I; I can’t +think wherefore; I always particularly liked it—one of my +best works, and ill to equal; and that was why I loved to keep it +in portfolio till I had time to grow up to some other fruit of +the same <i>venue</i>. However, that is disposed of now, +and we must just do the best we can.</p> +<p>I am not aware that there is anything to add; the weather is +hellish, waterspouts, mists, chills, the foul fiend’s own +weather, following on a week of expurgated heaven; so it goes at +this bewildering season. I write in the upper floor of my +new house, of which I will send you some day a plan to +measure. ’Tis an elegant structure, surely, and the +proid of me oi. Was asked to pay for it just now, and +genteelly refused, and then agreed, in view of general good-will, +to pay a half of what is still due.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">24<i>th</i> <i>January</i> 1893.</p> +<p>This ought to have gone last mail and was forgotten. My +best excuse is that I was engaged in starting an influenza, to +which class of exploit our household has been since then entirely +dedicated. We had eight cases, one of them very bad, and +one—mine—complicated with my old friend Bluidy +Jack. Luckily neither Fanny, Lloyd or Belle took the +confounded thing, and they were able to run the household and +nurse the sick to admiration.</p> +<p>Some of our boys behaved like real trumps. Perhaps the +prettiest performance was that of our excellent Henry +Simelé, or, as we sometimes call him, Davy Balfour. +Henry, I maun premeese, is a chief; the humblest Samoan recoils +from emptying slops as you would from cheating at cards; now the +last nights of our bad time when we had seven down together, it +was enough to have made anybody laugh or cry to see Henry going +the rounds with a slop-bucket and going inside the mosquito net +of each of the sick, Protestant and Catholic alike, to pray with +them.</p> +<p>I must tell you that in my sickness I had a huge alleviation +and began a new story. This I am writing by dictation, and +really think it is an art I can manage to acquire. The +relief is beyond description; it is just like a school-treat to +me and the amanuensis bears up extraordinar’. The +story is to be called <i>St. Ives</i>; I give you your choice +whether or not it should bear the subtitle, ‘Experiences of +a French prisoner in England.’ We were just getting +on splendidly with it, when this cursed mail arrived and requires +to be attended to. It looks to me very like as if St. Ives +would be ready before any of the others, but you know me and how +impossible it is I should predict. The Amanuensis has her +head quite turned and believes herself to be the author of this +novel (<span class="GutSmall">and is to some +extent</span>)—and as the creature (!) has not been wholly +useless in the matter (<span class="GutSmall">I told you +so! A.M.</span>) I propose to foster her vanity by a little +commemoration gift! The name of the hero is Anne de St. +Yves—he Englishes his name to St. Ives during his +escape. It is my idea to get a ring made which shall either +represent <i>Anne</i> or A. S. Y. A., of course, would be +Amethyst and S. Sapphire, which is my favourite stone anyway and +was my father’s before me. But what would the +ex-Slade professor do about the letter Y? Or suppose he +took the other version, how would he meet the case, the two +N.’s? These things are beyond my knowledge, which it +would perhaps be more descriptive to call ignorance. But I +place the matter in the meanwhile under your consideration and +beg to hear your views. I shall tell you on some other +occasion and when the <span class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> is out +of hearing how <i>very</i> much I propose to invest in this +testimonial; but I may as well inform you at once that I intend +it to be cheap, sir, damned cheap! My idea of running +amanuenses is by praise, not pudding, flattery and not +coins! I shall send you when the time is ripe a ring to +measure by.</p> +<p>To resume our sad tale. After the other seven were +almost wholly recovered Henry lay down to influenza on his own +account. He is but just better and it looks as though Fanny +were about to bring up the rear. As for me, I am all right, +though I <i>was</i> reduced to dictating <i>Anne</i> in the deaf +and dumb alphabet, which I think you will admit is a +<i>comble</i>.</p> +<p>Politics leave me extraordinary cold. It seems that so +much of my purpose has come off, and Cedarcrantz and Pilsach are +sacked. The rest of it has all gone to water. The +triple-headed ass at home, in his plenitude of ignorance, prefers +to collect the taxes and scatter the Mataafas by force or the +threat of force. It may succeed, and I suppose it +will. It is none the less for that expensive, harsh, +unpopular and unsettling. I am young enough to have been +annoyed, and altogether eject and renegate the whole idea of +political affairs. Success in that field appears to be the +organisation of failure enlivened with defamation of character; +and, much as I love pickles and hot water (in your true phrase) I +shall take my pickles in future from Crosse and Blackwell and my +hot water with a dose of good Glenlivat.</p> +<p>Do not bother at all about the wall-papers. We have had +the whole of our new house varnished, and it looks +beautiful. I wish you could see the hall; poor room, it had +to begin life as an infirmary during our recent visitation; but +it is really a handsome comely place, and when we get the +furniture, and the pictures, and what is so very much more +decorative, the picture frames, will look sublime.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Jan.</i> 30<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>I have written to Charles asking for Rowlandson’s Syntax +and Dance of Death out of our house, and begging for anything +about fashions and manners (fashions particularly) for +1814. Can you help? Both the Justice Clerk and St. +Ives fall in that fated year. Indeed I got into St. Ives +while going over the Annual Register for the other. There +is a kind of fancy list of Chaps. of St. Ives. (It begins +in Edinburgh Castle.) <span class="GutSmall">I.</span> Story of a +lion rampant (that was a toy he had made, and given to a girl +visitor). <span class="GutSmall">II.</span> Story of +a pair of scissors. <span class="GutSmall">III.</span> St. +Ives receives a bundle of money. <span +class="GutSmall">IV.</span> St. Ives is shown a house. +<span class="GutSmall">V.</span> The Escape. <span +class="GutSmall">VI.</span> The Cottage (Swanston College). +<span class="GutSmall">VII.</span> The Hen-house. <span +class="GutSmall">VIII.</span> Three is company and four +none. <span class="GutSmall">IX.</span> The Drovers. +<span class="GutSmall">X.</span> The Great North Road. +<span class="GutSmall">XI.</span> Burchell Fenn. <span +class="GutSmall">XII.</span> The covered cart. <span +class="GutSmall">XIII.</span> The doctor. <span +class="GutSmall">XIV.</span> The Luddites. <span +class="GutSmall">V.</span> Set a thief to catch a thief. +<span class="GutSmall">XXVI.</span> M. le Comte de +Kéroualle (his uncle, the rich +<i>émigré</i>, whom he finds murdered). <span +class="GutSmall">XVII.</span> The cousins. <span +class="GutSmall">XVIII.</span> Mr. Sergeant Garrow. <span +class="GutSmall">XIX.</span> A meeting at the Ship, Dover. +<span class="GutSmall">XX.</span> Diane. <span +class="GutSmall">XXI.</span> The Duke’s Prejudices. +<span class="GutSmall">XXII.</span> The False Messenger. +<span class="GutSmall">XXIII.</span> The gardener’s +ladder. <span class="GutSmall">XXIV.</span> The +officers. <span class="GutSmall">XXV.</span> Trouble with +the Duke. <span class="GutSmall">XXVI.</span> Fouquet +again. <span class="GutSmall">XXVII.</span> The +Aeronaut. <span class="GutSmall">XXVIII.</span> The +True-Blooded Yankee. <span class="GutSmall">XXIX.</span> In +France. I don’t know where to stop. Apropos, I +want a book about Paris, and the <i>first return</i> of the +<i>émigrés</i> and all up to the <i>Cent Jours</i>: +d’ye ken anything in my way? I want in particular to +know about them and the Napoleonic functionaries and officers, +and to get the colour and some vital details of the business of +exchange of departments from one side to the other. Ten +chapters are drafted, and <span class="GutSmall">VIII.</span> +re-copied by me, but will want another dressing for luck. +It is merely a story of adventure, rambling along; but that is +perhaps the guard that ‘sets my genius best,’ as Alan +might have said. I wish I could feel as easy about the +other! But there, all novels are a heavy burthen while they +are doing, and a sensible disappointment when they are done.</p> +<p>For God’s sake, let me have a copy of the new German +Samoa White book.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>At Sea</i>, <i>S.S. & +Mariposa</i>,<br /> +<i>Feb.</i> 19th, ’93.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—You will see +from this heading that I am not dead yet nor likely to be. +I was pretty considerably out of sorts, and that is indeed one +reason why Fanny, Belle, and I have started out for a +month’s lark. To be quite exact, I think it will be +about five weeks before we get home. We shall stay between +two and three in Sydney. Already, though we only sailed +yesterday, I am feeling as fit as a fiddle. Fanny ate a +whole fowl for breakfast, to say nothing of a tower of hot +cakes. Belle and I floored another hen betwixt the pair of +us, and I shall be no sooner done with the present amanuensing +racket than I shall put myself outside a pint of Guinness. +If you think this looks like dying of consumption in Apia I can +only say I differ from you. In the matter of David, I have +never yet received my proofs at all, but shall certainly wait for +your suggestions. Certainly, Chaps. 17 to 20 are the hitch, +and I confess I hurried over them with both wings spread. +This is doubtless what you complain of. Indeed, I placed my +single reliance on Miss Grant. If she couldn’t ferry +me over, I felt I had to stay there.</p> +<p>About <i>Island Nights’ Entertainments</i> all you say +is highly satisfactory. Go in and win.</p> +<p>The extracts from the <i>Times</i> I really cannot trust +myself to comment upon. They were infernally satisfactory; +so, and perhaps still more so, was a letter I had at the same +time from Lord Pembroke. If I have time as I go through +Auckland, I am going to see Sir George Grey.</p> +<p>Now I really think that’s all the business. I have +been rather sick and have had two small hemorrhages, but the +second I believe to have been accidental. No good denying +that this annoys, because it do. However, you must expect +influenza to leave some harm, and my spirits, appetite, peace on +earth and goodwill to men are all on a rising market. +During the last week the amanuensis was otherwise engaged, +whereupon I took up, pitched into, and about one half demolished +another tale, once intended to be called <i>The Pearl Fisher</i>, +but now razeed and called <i>The Schooner Farralone</i>. We +had a capital start, the steamer coming in at sunrise, and just +giving us time to get our letters ere she sailed again. The +manager of the German firm (O strange, changed days!) danced +attendance upon us all morning; his boat conveyed us to and from +the steamer.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Feb.</i> 21<i>st</i>.</p> +<p>All continues well. Amanuensis bowled over for a day, +but afoot again and jolly; Fanny enormously bettered by the +voyage; I have been as jolly as a sand-boy as usual at sea. +The Amanuensis sits opposite to me writing to her +offspring. Fanny is on deck. I have just supplied her +with the Canadian Pacific Agent, and so left her in good +hands. You should hear me at table with the Ulster purser +and a little punning microscopist called Davis. Belle does +some kind of abstruse Boswellising; after the first meal, having +gauged the kind of jests that would pay here, I observed, +‘Boswell is Barred during this cruise.’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">23<i>rd</i>.</p> +<p>We approach Auckland and I must close my mail. All goes +well with the trio. Both the ladies are hanging round a +beau—the same—that I unearthed for them: I am general +provider, and especially great in the beaux business. I +corrected some proofs for Fanny yesterday afternoon, fell asleep +over them in the saloon—and the whole ship seems to have +been down beholding me. After I woke up, had a hot bath, a +whiskey punch and a cigarette, and went to bed, and to sleep too, +at 8.30; a recrudescence of Vailima hours. Awoke to-day, +and had to go to the saloon clock for the hour—no sign of +dawn—all heaven grey rainy fog. Have just had +breakfast, written up one letter, register and close this.</p> +<h2><a name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +250</span>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<p>Bad pen, bad ink,<br /> +bad light, bad<br /> +blotting-paper.</p> +<p> </p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>S. S. Mariposa</i>, <i>at +Sea</i>.<br /> +<i>Apia due by daybreak to-morrow</i> 9 <i>p.m.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—Have had an +amusing but tragic holiday, from which we return in +disarray. Fanny quite sick, but I think slowly and steadily +mending; Belle in a terrific state of dentistry troubles which +now seem calmed; and myself with a succession of gentle colds out +of which I at last succeeded in cooking up a fine pleurisy. +By stopping and stewing in a perfectly airless state-room I seem +to have got rid of the pleurisy. Poor Fanny had very little +fun of her visit, having been most of the time on a diet of +maltine and slops—and this while the rest of us were +rioting on oysters and mushrooms. Belle’s only devil +in the hedge was the dentist. As for me, I was entertained +at the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church, likewise at a +sort of artistic club; made speeches at both, and may therefore +be said to have been, like Saint Paul, all things to all +men. I have an account of the latter racket which I meant +to have enclosed in this. . . . Had some splendid photos taken, +likewise a medallion by a French sculptor; met Graham, who +returned with us as far as Auckland. Have seen a good deal +too of Sir George Grey; what a wonderful old historic figure to +be walking on your arm and recalling ancient events and +instances! It makes a man small, and yet the extent to +which he approved what I had done—or rather have tried to +do—encouraged me. Sir George is an expert at least, +he knows these races: he is not a small employé with an +ink-pot and a Whittaker.</p> +<p>Take it for all in all, it was huge fun: even Fanny had some +lively sport at the beginning; Belle and I all through. We +got Fanny a dress on the sly, gaudy black velvet and Duchesse +lace. And alas! she was only able to wear it once. +But we’ll hope to see more of it at Samoa; it really is +lovely. Both dames are royally outfitted in silk stockings, +etc. We return, as from a raid, with our spoils and our +wounded. I am now very dandy: I announced two years ago +that I should change. Slovenly youth, all right—not +slovenly age. So really now I am pretty spruce; always a +white shirt, white necktie, fresh shave, silk, socks, O a great +sight!—No more possible,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +252</span>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>April</i>, 1893.</p> +<p>1. <i>Slip</i> 3. Davie would be <i>attracted</i> +into a similar dialect, as he is later—e.g., with Doig, +chapter <span class="GutSmall">XIX.</span> This is truly +Scottish.</p> +<p>4, <i>to lightly</i>; correct; ‘to lightly’ is a +good regular Scots verb.</p> +<p>15. See Allan Ramsay’s works.</p> +<p>15, 16. Ay, and that is one of the pigments with which I +am trying to draw the character of Prestongrange. +’Tis a most curious thing to render that kind, +insignificant mask. To make anything precise is to risk my +effect. And till the day he died, <i>Davie</i> was never +sure of what P. was after. Not only so; very often P. +didn’t know himself. There was an element of mere +liking for Davie; there was an element of being determined, in +case of accidents, to keep well with him. He hoped his +Barbara would bring him to her feet, besides, and make him +manageable. That was why he sent him to Hope Park with +them. But Davie cannot <i>know</i>; I give you the inside +of Davie, and my method condemns me to give only the outside both +of Prestongrange and his policy.</p> +<p>—I’ll give my mind to the technicalities. +Yet to me they seem a part of the story, which is historical, +after all.</p> +<p>—I think they wanted Alan to escape. But when or +where to say so? I will try.</p> +<p>—20, <i>Dean</i>. I’ll try and make that +plainer.</p> +<p><i>Chap.</i> <span class="GutSmall">XIII.</span>, I fear it +has to go without blows. If I could get the pair—No, +can’t be.</p> +<p>—<span class="GutSmall">XIV.</span> All right, +will abridge.</p> +<p>—<span class="GutSmall">XV.</span> I’d have +to put a note to every word; and he who can’t read Scots +can <i>never</i> enjoy Tod Lapraik.</p> +<p>—<span class="GutSmall">XVII.</span> Quite +right. I <i>can</i> make this plainer, and will.</p> +<p>—<span class="GutSmall">XVIII.</span> I know, but +I have to hurry here; this is the broken back of my story; some +business briefly transacted, I am leaping for Barbara’s +apron-strings.</p> +<p><i>Slip</i> 57. Quite right again; I shall make it +plain.</p> +<p><i>Chap.</i> <span class="GutSmall">XX.</span> I shall +make all these points clear. About Lady Prestongrange (not +<i>Lady</i> Grant, only <i>Miss</i> Grant, my dear, though +<i>Lady</i> Prestongrange, quoth the dominie) I am taken with +your idea of her death, and have a good mind to substitute a +featureless aunt.</p> +<p><i>Slip</i> 78. I don’t see how to lessen this +effect. There is really not much said of it; and I know +Catriona did it. But I’ll try.</p> +<p>—89. I know. This is an old puzzle of +mine. You see C.’s dialect is not wholly a bed of +roses. If only I knew the Gaelic. Well, I’ll +try for another expression.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>The end</i>. I shall try to work it over. James +was at Dunkirk ordering post-horses for his own retreat. +Catriona did have her suspicions aroused by the letter, and, +careless gentleman, I told you so—or she did at +least.—Yes, the blood money, I am bothered about the +portmanteau; it is the presence of Catriona that bothers me; the +rape of the pockmantie is historic. . . .</p> +<p>To me, I own, it seems in the proof a very pretty piece of +workmanship. David himself I refuse to discuss; he +<i>is</i>. The Lord Advocate I think a strong sketch of a +very difficult character, James More, sufficient; and the two +girls very pleasing creatures. But O dear me, I came near +losing my heart to Barbara! I am not quite so constant as +David, and even he—well, he didn’t know it, +anyway! <i>Tod Lapraik</i> is a piece of living Scots: if I +had never writ anything but that and <i>Thrawn Janet</i>, still +I’d have been a writer. The defects of <i>D.B.</i> +are inherent, I fear. But on the whole, I am far indeed +from being displeased with the tailie. They want more +Alan? Well, they can’t get it.</p> +<p>I found my fame much grown on this return to +civilisation. <i>Digito monstrari</i> is a new experience; +people all looked at me in the streets in Sydney; and it was very +queer. Here, of course, I am only the white chief in the +Great House to the natives; and to the whites, either an ally or +a foe. It is a much healthier state of matters. If I +lived in an atmosphere of adulation, I should end by kicking +against the pricks. O my beautiful forest, O my beautiful +shining, windy house, what a joy it was to behold them +again! No chance to take myself too seriously here.</p> +<p>The difficulty of the end is the mass of matter to be attended +to, and the small time left to transact it in. I mean from +Alan’s danger of arrest. But I have just seen my way +out, I do believe.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Easter Sunday</i>.</p> +<p>I have now got as far as slip 28, and finished the chapter of +the law technicalities. Well, these seemed to me always of +the essence of the story, which is the story of a <i>cause +célébre</i>; moreover, they are the justification +of my inventions; if these men went so far (granting Davie sprung +on them) would they not have gone so much further? But of +course I knew they were a difficulty; determined to carry them +through in a conversation; approached this (it seems) with +cowardly anxiety; and filled it with gabble, sir, gabble. I +have left all my facts, but have removed 42 lines. I should +not wonder but what I’ll end by re-writing it. It is +not the technicalities that shocked you, it was my bad art. +It is very strange that <span class="GutSmall">X.</span> should +be so good a chapter and <span class="GutSmall">IX.</span> and +<span class="GutSmall">XI.</span> so uncompromisingly bad. +It looks as if <span class="GutSmall">XI.</span> also would have +to be re-formed. If <span class="GutSmall">X.</span> had +not cheered me up, I should be in doleful dumps, but <span +class="GutSmall">X.</span> is alive anyway, and life is all in +all.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Thursday</i>, <i>April</i> +5<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Well, there’s no disguise possible; Fanny is not well, +and we are miserably anxious. . . .</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i>, 7<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>I am thankful to say the new medicine relieved her at +once. A crape has been removed from the day for all of +us. To make things better, the morning is ah! such a +morning as you have never seen; heaven upon earth for sweetness, +freshness, depth upon depth of unimaginable colour, and a huge +silence broken at this moment only by the far-away murmur of the +Pacific and the rich piping of a single bird. You +can’t conceive what a relief this is; it seems a new +world. She has such extraordinary recuperative power that I +do hope for the best. I am as tired as man can be. +This is a great trial to a family, and I thank God it seems as if +ours was going to bear it well. And O! if it only lets up, +it will be but a pleasant memory. We are all seedy, bar +Lloyd: Fanny, as per above; self nearly extinct; Belle, utterly +overworked and bad toothache; Cook, down with a bad foot; Butler, +prostrate with a bad leg. Eh, what a faim’ly!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>.</p> +<p>Grey heaven, raining torrents of rain; occasional thunder and +lightning. Everything to dispirit; but my invalids are +really on the mend. The rain roars like the sea; in the +sound of it there is a strange and ominous suggestion of an +approaching tramp; something nameless and measureless seems to +draw near, and strikes me cold, and yet is welcome. I lie +quiet in bed to-day, and think of the universe with a good deal +of equanimity. I have, at this moment, but the one +objection to it; the <i>fracas</i> with which it proceeds. +I do not love noise; I am like my grandfather in that; and so +many years in these still islands has ingrained the sentiment +perhaps. Here are no trains, only men pacing +barefoot. No carts or carriages; at worst the rattle of a +horse’s shoes among the rocks. Beautiful silence; and +so soon as this robustious rain takes off, I am to drink of it +again by oceanfuls.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>April</i> 16<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Several pages of this letter destroyed as beneath scorn; the +wailings of a crushed worm; matter in which neither you nor I can +take stock. Fanny is distinctly better, I believe all right +now; I too am mending, though I have suffered from crushed +wormery, which is not good for the body, and damnation to the +soul. I feel to-night a baseless anxiety to write a lovely +poem <i>à propos des bottes de ma +grandmère</i>. I see I am idiotic. I’ll +try the poem.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">17<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>The poem did not get beyond plovers and lovers. I am +still, however, harassed by the unauthentic Muse; if I cared to +encourage her—but I have not the time, and anyway we are at +the vernal equinox. It is funny enough, but my pottering +verses are usually made (like the God-gifted organ voice’s) +at the autumnal; and this seems to hold at the Antipodes. +There is here some odd secret of Nature. I cannot speak of +politics; we wait and wonder. It seems (this is partly a +guess) Ide won’t take the C. J. ship, unless the islands +are disarmed; and that England hesitates and holds off. By +my own idea, strongly corroborated by Sir George, I am writing no +more letters. But I have put as many irons in against this +folly of the disarming as I could manage. It did not reach +my ears till nearly too late. What a risk to take! +What an expense to incur! And for how poor a gain! +Apart from the treachery of it. My dear fellow, politics is +a vile and a bungling business. I used to think meanly of +the plumber; but how he shines beside the politician!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Thursday</i>.</p> +<p>A general, steady advance; Fanny really quite chipper and +jolly—self on the rapid mend, and with my eye on +<i>forests</i> that are to fall—and my finger on the axe, +which wants stoning.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Saturday</i>, 22.</p> +<p>Still all for the best; but I am having a heart-breaking time +over <i>David</i>. I have nearly all corrected. But +have to consider <i>The Heather on Fire</i>, <i>The Wood by +Silvermills</i>, and the last chapter. They all seem to me +off colour; and I am not fit to better them yet. No proof +has been sent of the title, contents, or dedication.</p> +<h2><a name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +260</span>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">25<i>th</i> <i>April</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—To-day early +I sent down to Maben (Secretary of State) an offer to bring up +people from Malie, keep them in my house, and bring them down day +by day for so long as the negotiation should last. I have a +favourable answer so far. This I would not have tried, had +not old Sir George Grey put me on my mettle; ‘Never +despair,’ was his word; and ‘I am one of the few +people who have lived long enough to see how true that +is.’ Well, thereupon I plunged in; and the thing may +do me great harm, but yet I do not think so—for I think +jealousy will prevent the trial being made. And at any rate +it is another chance for this distracted archipelago of children, +sat upon by a clique of fools. If, by the gift of God, I +can do—I am allowed to try to do—and succeed: but no, +the prospect is too bright to be entertained.</p> +<p>To-day we had a ride down to Tanugamanono, and then by the new +wood paths. One led us to a beautiful clearing, with four +native houses; taro, yams, and the like, excellently planted, and +old Folau—‘the Samoan Jew’—sitting and +whistling there in his new-found and well-deserved +well-being. It was a good sight to see a Samoan thus before +the world. Further up, on our way home, we saw the world +clear, and the wide die of the shadow lying broad; we came but a +little further, and found in the borders of the bush a +Banyan. It must have been 150 feet in height; the trunk, +and its acolytes, occupied a great space; above that, in the +peaks of the branches, quite a forest of ferns and orchids were +set; and over all again the huge spread of the boughs rose +against the bright west, and sent their shadow miles to the +eastward. I have not often seen anything more satisfying +than this vast vegetable.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>.</p> +<p>A heavenly day again! the world all dead silence, save when, +from far down below us in the woods, comes up the crepitation of +the little wooden drum that beats to church. Scarce a leaf +stirs; only now and again a great, cool gush of air that makes my +papers fly, and is gone.—The King of Samoa has refused my +intercession between him and Mataafa; and I do not deny this is a +good riddance to me of a difficult business, in which I might +very well have failed. What else is to be done for these +silly folks?</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 12<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>And this is where I had got to, before the mail arrives with, +I must say, a real gentlemanly letter from yourself. Sir, +that is the sort of letter I want! Now, I’ll make my +little proposal. I will accept <i>Child’s Play</i> +and <i>Pan’s Pipes</i>. Then I want <i>Pastoral</i>, <i>The +Manse</i>, <i>The Islet</i>, leaving out if you like all the +prefacial matter and beginning at I. Then the portrait of Robert +Hunter, beginning ‘Whether he was originally big or +little,’ and ending ‘fearless and +gentle.’ So much for <i>Mem. and Portraits</i>. +<i>Beggars</i>, sections I. and II., <i>Random Memories</i> II., +and <i>Lantern Bearers</i>; I’m agreeable. These are +my selections. I don’t know about <i>Pulvis et +Umbra</i> either, but must leave that to you. But just what +you please.</p> +<p>About <i>Davie</i> I elaborately wrote last time, but still +<i>Davie</i> is not done; I am grinding singly at <i>The Ebb +Tide</i>, as we now call the <i>Farallone</i>; the most of it +will go this mail. About the following, let there be no +mistake: I will not write the abstract of <i>Kidnapped</i>; write +it who will, I will not. Boccaccio must have been a clever +fellow to write both argument and story; I am not, <i>et je me +recuse</i>.</p> +<p>We call it <i>The Ebb Tide</i>: <i>a Trio and Quartette</i>; +but that secondary name you may strike out if it seems dull to +you. The book, however, falls in two halves, when the +fourth character appears. I am on p. 82 if you want to +know, and expect to finish on I suppose 110 or so; but it goes +slowly, as you may judge from the fact that this three weeks +past, I have only struggled from p. 58 to p. 82: twenty-four +pages, <i>et encore</i> sure to be rewritten, in twenty-one +days. This is no prize-taker; not much Waverley Novels +about this!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 16<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>I believe it will be ten chapters of <i>The Ebb Tide</i> that +go to you; the whole thing should be completed in I fancy twelve; +and the end will follow punctually next mail. It is my +great wish that this might get into <i>The Illustrated London +News</i> for Gordon Browne to illustrate. For whom, in case +he should get the job, I give you a few notes. A purao is a +tree giving something like a fig with flowers. He will find +some photographs of an old marine curiosity shop in my +collection, which may help him. Attwater’s settlement +is to be entirely overshadowed everywhere by tall palms; see +photographs of Fakarava: the verandahs of the house are 12 ft. +wide. Don’t let him forget the Figure Head, for which +I have a great use in the last chapter. It stands just +clear of the palms on the crest of the beach at the head of the +pier; the flag-staff not far off; the pier he will understand is +perhaps three feet above high water, not more at any price. +The sailors of the <i>Farallone</i> are to be dressed like white +sailors of course. For other things, I remit this excellent +artist to my photographs.</p> +<p>I can’t think what to say about the tale, but it seems +to me to go off with a considerable bang; in fact, to be an +extraordinary work: but whether popular! Attwater is a no +end of a courageous attempt, I think you will admit; how far +successful is another affair. If my island ain’t a +thing of beauty, I’ll be damned. Please observe +Wiseman and Wishart; for incidental grimness, they strike me as +in it. Also, kindly observe the Captain and <i>Adar</i>; I +think that knocks spots. In short, as you see, I’m a +trifle vainglorious. But O, it has been such a grind! +The devil himself would allow a man to brag a little after such a +crucifixion! And indeed I’m only bragging for a +change before I return to the darned thing lying waiting for me +on p. 88, where I last broke down. I break down at every +paragraph, I may observe; and lie here and sweat, till I can get +one sentence wrung out after another. Strange doom; after +having worked so easily for so long! Did ever anybody see +such a story of four characters?</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Later</i>, 2.30.</p> +<p>It may interest you to know that I am entirely <i>tapu</i>, +and live apart in my chambers like a caged beast. Lloyd has +a bad cold, and Graham and Belle are getting it. +Accordingly, I dwell here without the light of any human +countenance or voice, and strap away at <i>The Ebb Tide</i> until +(as now) I can no more. Fanny can still come, but is gone +to glory now, or to her garden. Page 88 is done, and must +be done over again to-morrow, and I confess myself +exhausted. Pity a man who can’t work on along when he +has nothing else on earth to do! But I have ordered Jack, +and am going for a ride in the bush presently to refresh the +machine; then back to a lonely dinner and durance vile. I +acquiesce in this hand of fate; for I think another cold just now +would just about do for me. I have scarce yet recovered the +two last.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 18<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>My progress is crabwise, and I fear only <span +class="GutSmall">IX.</span> chapters will be ready for the +mail. I am on p. 88 again, and with half an idea of going +back again to 85. We shall see when we come to read: I used +to regard reading as a pleasure in my old light days. All +the house are down with the influenza in a body, except Fanny and +me. The influenza appears to become endemic here, but it has +always been a scourge in the islands. Witness the beginning +of <i>The Ebb Tide</i>, which was observed long before the Iffle +had distinguished himself at home by such Napoleonic +conquests. I am now of course ‘quite a +recluse,’ and it is very stale, and there is no amanuensis +to carry me over my mail, to which I shall have to devote many +hours that would have been more usefully devoted to <i>The Ebb +Tide</i>. For you know you can dictate at all hours of the +day and at any odd moment; but to sit down and write with your +red right hand is a very different matter.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 20<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Well, I believe I’ve about finished the thing, I mean as +far as the mail is to take it. Chapter X. is now in +Lloyd’s hands for remarks, and extends in its present form +to p. 93 incl. On the 12th of May, I see by looking back, I +was on p. 82, not for the first time; so that I have made 11 +pages in nine livelong days. Well! up a high hill he heaved +a huge round stone. But this Flaubert business must be +resisted in the premises. Or is it the result of +influenza? God forbid. Fanny is down now, and the +last link that bound me to my fellow men is severed. I sit +up here, and write, and read Renan’s <i>Origines</i>, which +is certainly devilish interesting; I read his Nero yesterday, it +is very good, O, very good! But he is quite a Michelet; the +general views, and such a piece of character painting, excellent; +but his method sheer lunacy. You can see him take up the +block which he had just rejected, and make of it the +corner-stone: a maddening way to deal with authorities; and the +result so little like history that one almost blames oneself for +wasting time. But the time is not wasted; the conspectus is +always good, and the blur that remains on the mind is probably +just enough. I have been enchanted with the unveiling of +Revelations. And how picturesque that return of the false +Nero! The Apostle John is rather discredited. And to +think how one had read the thing so often, and never understood +the attacks upon St. Paul! I remember when I was a child, +and we came to the Four Beasts that were all over eyes, the +sickening terror with which I was filled. If that was +Heaven, what, in the name of Davy Jones and the aboriginal +night-mare, could Hell be? Take it for all in all, +<i>L’Antéchrist</i> is worth reading. The +<i>Histoire d’Israël</i> did not surprise me much; I +had read those Hebrew sources with more intelligence than the New +Testament, and was quite prepared to admire Ahab and Jezebel, +etc. Indeed, Ahab has always been rather a hero of mine; I +mean since the years of discretion.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 21<i>st</i>.</p> +<p>And here I am back again on p. 85! the last chapter demanding +an entire revision, which accordingly it is to get. And +where my mail is to come in, God knows! This forced, +violent, alembicated style is most abhorrent to me; it +can’t be helped; the note was struck years ago on the +<i>Janet Nicoll</i>, and has to be maintained somehow; and I can +only hope the intrinsic horror and pathos, and a kind of fierce +glow of colour there is to it, and the surely remarkable wealth +of striking incident, may guide our little shallop into +port. If Gordon Browne is to get it, he should see the +Brassey photographs of Papeete. But mind, the three waifs +were never in the town; only on the beach and in the +calaboose. By George, but it’s a good thing to +illustrate for a man like that! Fanny is all right +again. False alarm! I was down yesterday afternoon at +Paupata, and heard much growling of war, and the delightful news +that the C. J. and the President are going to run away from +Mulinuu and take refuge in the Tivoli hotel.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">23<i>rd</i>. <i>Mail +day</i>.</p> +<p>And lots of pleasures before me, no doubt! Among others +the attempt to extract an answer from—before mail time, +which may succeed or may not.</p> +<p><i>The Ebb Tide</i>, all but (I take it) fifteen pages, is now +in your hands—possibly only about eleven pp. It is +hard to say. But there it is, and you can do your best with +it. Personally, I believe I would in this case make even a +sacrifice to get Gordon Browne and copious illustration. I +guess in ten days I shall have finished with it; then I go next +to <i>D. Balfour</i>, and get the proofs ready: a nasty job for +me, as you know. And then? Well, perhaps I’ll +take a go at the family history. I think that will be wise, +as I am so much off work. And then, I suppose, <i>Weir of +Hermiston</i>, but it may be anything. I am discontented +with <i>The Ebb Tide</i>, naturally; there seems such a veil of +words over it; and I like more and more naked writing; and yet +sometimes one has a longing for full colour and there comes the +veil again. <i>The Young Chevalier</i> is in very full +colour, and I fear it for that reason.—Ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L S.</p> +<h2><a name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +270</span>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">29<i>th</i> <i>May</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—Still +grinding at Chap. <span class="GutSmall">XI.</span> I began +many days ago on p. 93, and am still on p. 93, which is +exhilarating, but the thing takes shape all the same and should +make a pretty lively chapter for an end of it. For <span +class="GutSmall">XII.</span> is only a footnote <i>ad +explicandum</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>June the</i> 1<i>st</i>.</p> +<p>Back on p. 93. I was on 100 yesterday, but read it over +and condemned it.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">10 <i>a.m.</i></p> +<p>I have worked up again to 97, but how? The deuce fly +away with literature, for the basest sport in creation. But +it’s got to come straight! and if possible, so that I may +finish <i>D. Balfour</i> in time for the same mail. What a +getting upstairs! This is Flaubert outdone. Belle, +Graham, and Lloyd leave to-day on a malaga down the coast; to be +absent a week or so: this leaves Fanny, me, and —, who +seems a nice, kindly fellow.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>June</i> 2<i>nd</i>.</p> +<p>I am nearly dead with dyspepsia, over-smoking, and +unremunerative overwork. Last night, I went to bed by +seven; woke up again about ten for a minute to find myself +light-headed and altogether off my legs; went to sleep again, and +woke this morning fairly fit. I have crippled on to p. 101, +but I haven’t read it yet, so do not boast. What +kills me is the frame of mind of one of the characters; I cannot +get it through. Of course that does not interfere with my +total inability to write; so that yesterday I was a living +half-hour upon a single clause and have a gallery of variants +that would surprise you. And this sort of trouble (which I +cannot avoid) unfortunately produces nothing when done but +alembication and the far-fetched. Well, read it with +mercy!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">8 <i>a.m.</i></p> +<p>Going to bed. Have read it, and believe the chapter +practically done at last. But lord! it has been a +business.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>July</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 8.15.</p> +<p>The draft is finished, the end of Chapter II. and the tale, +and I have only eight pages <i>wiederzuarbeiten</i>. This +is just a cry of joy in passing.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">10.30.</p> +<p>Knocked out of time. Did 101 and 102. Alas, no +more to-day, as I have to go down town to a meeting. Just +as well though, as my thumb is about done up.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>, <i>June</i> +4<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Now for a little snippet of my life. Yesterday, 12.30, +in a heavenly day of sun and trade, I mounted my horse and set +off. A boy opens my gate for me. ‘Sleep and +long life! A blessing on your journey,’ says +he. And I reply ‘Sleep, long life! A blessing +on the house!’ Then on, down the lime lane, a rugged, +narrow, winding way, that seems almost as if it was leading you +into Lyonesse, and you might see the head and shoulders of a +giant looking in. At the corner of the road I meet the +inspector of taxes, and hold a diplomatic interview with him; he +wants me to pay taxes on the new house; I am informed I should +not till next year; and we part, <i>re infecta</i>, he promising +to bring me decisions, I assuring him that, if I find any +favouritism, he will find me the most recalcitrant tax-payer on +the island. Then I have a talk with an old servant by the +wayside. A little further I pass two children coming +up. ‘Love!’ say I; ‘are you two +chiefly-proceeding inland?’ and they say, ‘Love! +yes!’ and the interesting ceremony is finished. Down +to the post office, where I find Vitrolles and (Heaven reward +you!) the White Book, just arrived per <i>Upolu</i>, having gone +the wrong way round, by Australia; also six copies of <i>Island +Nights’ Entertainments</i>. Some of +Weatherall’s illustrations are very clever; but O Lord! the +lagoon! I did say it was ‘shallow,’ but, O +dear, not so shallow as that a man could stand up in it! I +had still an hour to wait for my meeting, so Postmaster Davis let +me sit down in his room and I had a bottle of beer in, and read +<i>A Gentleman of France</i>. Have you seen it coming out +in <i>Longman’s</i>? My dear Colvin! ’tis the +most exquisite pleasure; a real chivalrous yarn, like the +Dumas’ and yet unlike. Thereafter to the meeting of +the five newspaper proprietors. Business transacted, I have +to gallop home and find the boys waiting to be paid at the +doorstep.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i>, 5<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Yesterday, Sunday, the Rev. Dr. Browne, secretary to the +Wesleyan Mission, and the man who made the war in the Western +Islands and was tried for his life in Fiji, came up, and we had a +long, important talk about Samoa. O, if I could only talk +to the home men! But what would it matter? none of them +know, none of them care. If we could only have Macgregor +here with his schooner, you would hear of no more troubles in +Samoa. That is what we want; a man that knows and likes the +natives, <i>qui paye de sa personne</i>, and is not afraid of +hanging when necessary. We don’t want bland Swedish +humbugs, and fussy, fostering German barons. That way the +maelstrom lies, and we shall soon be in it.</p> +<p>I have to-day written 103 and 104, all perfectly wrong, and +shall have to rewrite them. This tale is devilish, and +Chapter <span class="GutSmall">XI.</span> the worst of the +lot. The truth is of course that I am wholly worked out; +but it’s nearly done, and shall go somehow according to +promise. I go against all my gods, and say it is <i>not +worth while</i> to massacre yourself over the last few pages of a +rancid yarn, that the reviewers will quite justly tear to +bits. As for D.B., no hope, I fear, this mail, but +we’ll see what the afternoon does for me.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">4.15.</p> +<p>Well, it’s done. Those tragic 16 pp. are at last +finished, and I have put away thirty-two pages of chips, and have +spent thirteen days about as nearly in Hell as a man could expect +to live through. It’s done, and of course it +ain’t worth while, and who cares? There it is, and +about as grim a tale as was ever written, and as grimy, and as +hateful.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SACRED<br /> +TO THE MEMORY</p> +<p style="text-align: center">OF</p> +<p style="text-align: center">J. L. HUISH,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BORN 1856, +AT HACKNEY,</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">LONDON,</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">Accidentally killed upon this</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Island,</p> +<p style="text-align: center">10th September, 1889.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>, 6.</p> +<p>I am exulting to do nothing. It pours with rain from the +westward, very unusual kind of weather; I was standing out on the +little verandah in front of my room this morning, and there went +through me or over me a wave of extraordinary and apparently +baseless emotion. I literally staggered. And then the +explanation came, and I knew I had found a frame of mind and body +that belonged to Scotland, and particularly to the neighbourhood +of Callander. Very odd these identities of sensation, and +the world of connotations implied; highland huts, and peat smoke, +and the brown, swirling rivers, and wet clothes, and whiskey, and +the romance of the past, and that indescribable bite of the whole +thing at a man’s heart, which is—or rather lies at +the bottom of—a story.</p> +<p>I don’t know if you are a Barbey +d’Aurévilly-an. I am. I have a great +delight in his Norman stories. Do you know the <i>Chevalier +des Touches</i> and <i>L’Ensorcelée</i>? They +are admirable, they reek of the soil and the past. But I +was rather thinking just now of <i>Le Rideau Cramoisi</i>, and +its adorable setting of the stopped coach, the dark street, the +home-going in the inn yard, and the red blind illuminated. +Without doubt, <i>there</i> was an identity of sensation; one of +those conjunctions in life that had filled Barbey full to the +brim, and permanently bent his memory.</p> +<p>I wonder exceedingly if I have done anything at all good; and +who can tell me? and why should I wish to know? In so +little a while, I, and the English language, and the bones of my +descendants, will have ceased to be a memory! And +yet—and yet—one would like to leave an image for a +few years upon men’s minds—for fun. This is a +very dark frame of mind, consequent on overwork and the +conclusion of the excruciating <i>Ebb Tide</i>. Adieu.</p> +<p>What do you suppose should be done with <i>The Ebb +Tide</i>? It would make a volume of 200 pp.; on the other +hand, I might likely have some more stories soon: <i>The Owl</i>, +<i>Death in the Pot</i>, <i>The Sleeper Awakened</i>; all these +are possible. <i>The Owl</i> might be half as long; <i>The +Sleeper Awakened</i>, ditto; <i>Death in the Pot</i> a deal +shorter, I believe. Then there’s the +<i>Go-Between</i>, which is not impossible altogether. +<i>The Owl</i>, <i>The Sleeper Awakened</i>, and the +<i>Go-Between</i> end reasonably well; <i>Death in the Pot</i> is +an ungodly massacre. O, well, <i>The Owl</i> only ends well +in so far as some lovers come together, and nobody is killed at +the moment, but you know they are all doomed, they are Chouan +fellows.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i>, 9<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Well, the mail is in; no Blue-book, depressing letter from C.; +a long, amusing ramble from my mother; vast masses of Romeike; +they <i>are</i> going to war now; and what will that lead to? and +what has driven, them to it but the persistent misconduct of +these two officials? I know I ought to rewrite the end of +this bluidy <i>Ebb Tide</i>: well, I can’t. <i>Cest +plus fort que moi</i>; it has to go the way it is, and be jowned +to it! From what I make out of the reviews, I think it +would be better not to republish <i>The Ebb Tide</i>: but keep it +for other tales, if they should turn up. Very amusing how +the reviews pick out one story and damn the rest I and it is +always a different one. Be sure you send me the article +from <i>Le Temps</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Saturday</i>, 17<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Since I wrote this last, I have written a whole chapter of my +grandfather, and read it to-night; it was on the whole much +appreciated, and I kind of hope it ain’t bad myself. +’Tis a third writing, but it wants a fourth. By next +mail, I believe I might send you 3 chapters. That is to say +<i>Family Annals</i>, <i>The Service of the Northern Lights</i>, +and <i>The Building of the Bell Rock</i>. Possibly even +4—<i>A Houseful of Boys</i>. I could finish my +grandfather very easy now; my father and Uncle Alan stop the +way. I propose to call the book: <i>Northern Lights</i>: +<i>Memoirs of a Family of Engineers</i>. I tell you, it is +going to be a good book. My idea in sending Ms. would be to +get it set up; two proofs to me, one to Professor Swan, +Ardchapel, Helensburgh—mark it private and +confidential—one to yourself; and come on with +criticisms! But I’ll have to see. The total +plan of the book is this—</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">I.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Domestic Annals.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">II.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Service of the Northern Lights.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">III.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Building of the Bell Rock.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">IV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>A Houseful of Boys (or, the Family in Baxter’s +Place).</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">V.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Education of an Engineer.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Grandfather.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Alan Stevenson.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Thomas Stevenson.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>There will be an Introduction ‘The Surname of +Stevenson’ which has proved a mighty queer subject of +inquiry. But, Lord! if I were among libraries.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i>, 18<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>I shall put in this envelope the end of the +ever-to-be-execrated <i>Ebb Tide</i>, or Stevenson’s +Blooming Error. Also, a paper apart for <i>David +Balfour</i>. The slips must go in another enclosure, I +suspect, owing to their beastly bulk. Anyway, there are two +pieces of work off my mind, and though I could wish I had +rewritten a little more of <i>David</i>, yet it was plainly to be +seen it was impossible. All the points indicated by you +have been brought out; but to rewrite the end, in my present +state of over-exhaustion and fiction—phobia, would have +been madness; and I let it go as it stood. My grandfather +is good enough for me, these days. I do not work any less; on the +whole, if anything, a little more. But it is different.</p> +<p>The slips go to you in four packets; I hope they are what they +should be, but do not think so. I am at a pitch of +discontent with fiction in all its form—or my +forms—that prevents me being able to be even +interested. I have had to stop all drink; smoking I am +trying to stop also. It annoys me dreadfully: and yet if I +take a glass of claret,—I have a headache the next +day! O, and a good headache too; none of your trifles.</p> +<p>Well, sir, here’s to you, and farewell.—Yours +ever.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +280</span>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Saturday</i>, 24<i>th</i> (?) +<i>June</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>—Yesterday +morning, after a day of absolute temperance, I awoke to the worst +headache I had had yet. Accordingly, temperance was said +farewell to, quinine instituted, and I believe my pains are soon +to be over. We wait, with a kind of sighing impatience, for +war to be declared, or to blow finally off, living in the +meanwhile in a kind of children’s hour of firelight and +shadow and preposterous tales; the king seen at night galloping +up our road upon unknown errands and covering his face as he +passes our cook; Mataafa daily surrounded (when he awakes) with +fresh ‘white man’s boxes’ (query, ammunition?) +and professing to be quite ignorant of where they come from; +marches of bodies of men across the island; concealment of ditto +in the bush; the coming on and off of different chiefs; and such +a mass of ravelment and rag-tag as the devil himself could not +unwind.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>, 28<i>th</i> +<i>June</i>.</p> +<p>Yesterday it rained with but little intermission, but I was +jealous of news. Graham and I got into the saddle about 1 +o’clock and off down to town. In town, there was +nothing but rumours going; in the night drums had been beat, the +men had run to arms on Mulinuu from as far as Vaiala, and the +alarm proved false. There were no signs of any gathering in +Apia proper, and the Secretary of State had no news to +give. I believed him, too, for we are brither Scots. +Then the temptation came upon me strong to go on to the ford and +see the Mataafa villages, where we heard there was more +afoot. Off we rode. When we came to Vaimusu, the +houses were very full of men, but all seemingly unarmed. +Immediately beyond is that river over which we passed in our +scamper with Lady Jersey; it was all solitary. Three +hundred yards beyond is a second ford; and there—I came +face to face with war. Under the trees on the further bank +sat a picket of seven men with Winchesters; their faces bright, +their eyes ardent. As we came up, they did not speak or +move; only their eyes followed us. The horses drank, and we +passed the ford. ‘Talofa!’ I said, and the +commandant of the picket said ‘Talofa’; and then, +when we were almost by, remembered himself and asked where we +were going. ‘To Faamuina,’ I said, and we rode +on. Every house by the wayside was crowded with armed +men. There was the European house of a Chinaman on the +right-hand side: a flag of truce flying over the +gate—indeed we saw three of these in what little way we +penetrated into Mataafa’s lines—all the foreigners +trying to protect their goods; and the Chinaman’s verandah +overflowed with men and girls and Winchesters. By the way +we met a party of about ten or a dozen marching with their guns +and cartridge-belts, and the cheerful alacrity and brightness of +their looks set my head turning with envy and sympathy. +Arrived at Vaiusu, the houses about the <i>malae</i> (village +green) were thronged with men, all armed. On the outside of +the council-house (which was all full within) there stood an +orator; he had his back turned to his audience, and seemed to +address the world at large; all the time we were there his strong +voice continued unabated, and I heard snatches of political +wisdom rising and falling.</p> +<p>The house of Faamuina stands on a knoll in the +<i>malae</i>. Thither we mounted, a boy ran out and took +our horses, and we went in. Faamuina was there himself, his +wife Pelepa, three other chiefs, and some attendants; and here +again was this exulting spectacle as of people on their marriage +day. Faamuina (when I last saw him) was an elderly, limping +gentleman, with much of the debility of age; it was a bright-eyed +boy that greeted me; the lady was no less excited; all had +cartridge-belts. We stayed but a little while to smoke a +sului; I would not have kava made, as I thought my escapade was +already dangerous (perhaps even blameworthy) enough. On the +way back, we were much greeted, and on coming to the ford, the +commandant came and asked me if there were many on the other +side. ‘Very many,’ said I; not that I knew, but +I would not lead them on the ice. ‘That is +well!’ said he, and the little picket laughed aloud as we +splashed into the river. We returned to Apia, through Apia, +and out to windward as far as Vaiala, where the word went that +the men of the Vaimauga had assembled. We met two boys +carrying pigs, and saw six young men busy cooking in a +cook-house; but no sign of an assembly; no arms, no blackened +faces. I forgot! As we turned to leave +Faamuina’s, there ran forward a man with his face +blackened, and the back of his lava-lava girded up so as to show +his tattooed hips naked; he leaped before us, cut a wonderful +caper, and flung his knife high in the air, and caught it. +It was strangely savage and fantastic and high-spirited. I +have seen a child doing the same antics long before in a dance, +so that it is plainly an <i>accepted solemnity</i>. I +should say that for weeks the children have been playing with +spears. Up by the plantation I took a short cut, which +shall never be repeated, through grass and weeds over the +horses’ heads and among rolling stones; I thought we should +have left a horse there, but fortune favoured us. So home, +a little before six, in a dashing squall of rain, to a bowl of +kava and dinner. But the impression on our minds was +extraordinary; the sight of that picket at the ford, and those +ardent, happy faces whirls in my head; the old aboriginal awoke +in both of us and knickered like a stallion.</p> +<p>It is dreadful to think that I must sit apart here and do +nothing; I do not know if I can stand it out. But you see, +I may be of use to these poor people, if I keep quiet, and if I +threw myself in, I should have a bad job of it to save +myself. There; I have written this to you; and it is still +but 7.30 in the day, and the sun only about one hour up; can I go +back to my old grandpapa, and men sitting with Winchesters in my +mind’s eye? No; war is a huge +<i>entraînement</i>; there is no other temptation to be +compared to it, not one. We were all wet, we had been about +five hours in the saddle, mostly riding hard; and we came home +like schoolboys, with such a lightness of spirits, and I am sure +such a brightness of eye, as you could have lit a candle at!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Thursday</i> 29<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>I had two priests to luncheon yesterday: the Bishop and +Père Rémy. They were very pleasant, and quite +clean too, which has been known sometimes not to be—even +with bishops. Monseigneur is not unimposing; with his white +beard and his violet girdle he looks splendidly episcopal, and +when our three waiting lads came up one after another and kneeled +before him in the big hall, and kissed his ring, it did me good +for a piece of pageantry. Rémy is very engaging; he +is a little, nervous, eager man, like a governess, and brimful of +laughter and small jokes. So is the bishop indeed, and our +luncheon party went off merrily—far more merrily than many +a German spread, though with so much less liquor. One trait +was delicious. With a complete ignorance of the Protestant +that I would scarce have imagined, he related to us (as news) +little stories from the gospels, and got the names all +wrong! His comments were delicious, and to our ears a +thought irreverent. ‘<i>Ah</i>! <i>il connaissait son +monde</i>, <i>allez</i>!’ ‘<i>Il était +fin</i>, <i>notre Seigneur</i>!’ etc.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i>.</p> +<p>Down with Fanny and Belle, to lunch at the +International. Heard there about the huge folly of the +hour, all the Mulinuu ammunition having been yesterday marched +openly to vaults in Matafele; and this morning, on a cry of +protest from the whites, openly and humiliatingly disinterred and +marched back again. People spoke of it with a kind of +shrill note that did not quite satisfy me. They seemed not +quite well at ease. Luncheon over, we rode out on the Malie +road. All was quiet in Vaiusu, and when we got to the +second ford, alas! there was no picket—which was just what +Belle had come to sketch. On through quite empty roads; the +houses deserted, never a gun to be seen; and at last a drum and a +penny whistle playing in Vaiusu, and a cricket match on the +<i>malae</i>! Went up to Faamuina’s; he is a trifle +uneasy, though he gives us kava. I cannot see what ails +him, then it appears that he has an engagement with the Chief +Justice at half-past two to sell a piece of land. Is this +the reason why war has disappeared? We ride back, stopping +to sketch here and there the fords, a flag of truce, etc. I +ride on to Public Hall Committee and pass an hour with my +committees very heavily. To the hotel to dinner, then to +the ball, and home by eleven, very tired. At the ball I +heard some news, of how the chief of Letonu said that I was the +source of all this trouble, and should be punished, and my family +as well. This, and the rudeness of the man at the ford of +the Gase-gase, looks but ill; I should have said that Faamuina, +as he approached the first ford, was spoken to by a girl, and +immediately said goodbye and plunged into the bush; the girl had +told him there was a war party out from Mulinuu; and a little +further on, as we stopped to sketch a flag of truce, the beating +of drums and the sound of a bugle from that direction startled +us. But we saw nothing, and I believe Mulinuu is (at least +at present) incapable of any act of offence. One good job, +these threats to my home and family take away all my childish +temptation to go out and fight. Our force must be here, to +protect ourselves. I see panic rising among the whites; I +hear the shrill note of it in their voices, and they talk already +about a refuge on the war ships. There are two here, both +German; and the <i>Orlando</i> is expected presently.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday</i> 9<i>th</i> +<i>July</i>.</p> +<p>Well, the war has at last begun. For four or five days, +Apia has been filled by these poor children with their faces +blacked, and the red handkerchief about their brows, that makes +the Malietoa uniform, and the boats have been coming in from the +windward, some of them 50 strong, with a drum and a bugle on +board—the bugle always ill-played—and a sort of +jester leaping and capering on the sparred nose of the boat, and +the whole crew uttering from time to time a kind of menacing +ululation. Friday they marched out to the bush; and +yesterday morning we heard that some had returned to their houses +for the night, as they found it ‘so +uncomfortable.’ After dinner a messenger came up to +me with a note, that the wounded were arriving at the Mission +House. Fanny, Lloyd and I saddled and rode off with a +lantern; it was a fine starry night, though pretty cold. We +left the lantern at Tanuga-manono, and then down in the +starlight. I found Apia, and myself, in a strange state of +flusteration; my own excitement was gloomy and (I may say) +truculent; others appeared imbecile; some sullen. The best +place in the whole town was the hospital. A longish +frame-house it was, with a big table in the middle for +operations, and ten Samoans, each with an average of four +sympathisers, stretched along the walls. Clarke was there, +steady as a die; Miss Large, little spectacled angel, showed +herself a real trump; the nice, clean, German orderlies in their +white uniforms looked and meant business. (I hear a fine +story of Miss Large—a cast-iron teetotaller—going to +the public-house for a bottle of brandy.)</p> +<p>The doctors were not there when I arrived; but presently it +was observed that one of the men was going cold. He was a +magnificent Samoan, very dark, with a noble aquiline countenance, +like an Arab, I suppose, and was surrounded by seven people, +fondling his limbs as he lay: he was shot through both +lungs. And an orderly was sent to the town for the (German +naval) doctors, who were dining there. Meantime I found an +errand of my own. Both Clarke and Miss Large expressed a +wish to have the public hall, of which I am chairman, and I set +off down town, and woke people out of their beds, and got a +committee together, and (with a great deal of difficulty from one +man, whom we finally overwhelmed) got the public hall for +them. Bar the one man, the committee was splendid, and +agreed in a moment to share the expense if the shareholders +object. Back to the hospital about 11.30; found the German +doctors there. Two men were going now, one that was shot in +the bowels—he was dying rather hard, in a gloomy stupor of +pain and laudanum, silent, with contorted face. The chief, +shot through the lungs, was lying on one side, awaiting the last +angel; his family held his hands and legs; they were all +speechless, only one woman suddenly clasped his knee, and +‘keened’ for the inside of five seconds, and fell +silent again. Went home, and to bed about two <span +class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> What actually passed seems +undiscoverable; but the Mataafas were surely driven back out of +Vaitele; that is a blow to them, and the resistance was far +greater than had been anticipated—which is a blow to the +Laupepas. All seems to indicate a long and bloody war.</p> +<p>Frank’s house in Mulinuu was likewise filled with +wounded; many dead bodies were brought in; I hear with certainty +of five, wrapped in mats; and a pastor goes to-morrow to the +field to bring others. The Laupepas brought in eleven heads +to Mulinuu, and to the great horror and consternation of the +native mind, one proved to be a girl, and was identified as that +of a Taupou—or Maid of the Village—from Savaii. +I hear this morning, with great relief, that it has been returned +to Malie, wrapped in the most costly silk handkerchiefs, and with +an apologetic embassy. This could easily happen. The +girl was of course attending on her father with ammunition, and +got shot; her hair was cut short to make her father’s war +head-dress—even as our own Sina’s is at this moment; +and the decollator was probably, in his red flurry of fight, +wholly unconscious of her sex. I am sorry for him in the +future; he must make up his mind to many bitter +jests—perhaps to vengeance. But what an end to one +chosen for her beauty and, in the time of peace, watched over by +trusty crones and hunchbacks!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Evening</i>.</p> +<p>Can I write or not? I played lawn tennis in the morning, +and after lunch down with Graham to Apia. Ulu, he that was +shot in the lungs, still lives; he that was shot in the bowels is +gone to his fathers, poor, fierce child! I was able to be +of some very small help, and in the way of helping myself to +information, to prove myself a mere gazer at meteors. But +there seems no doubt the Mataafas for the time are scattered; the +most of our friends are involved in this disaster, and Mataafa +himself—who might have swept the islands a few months +ago—for him to fall so poorly, doubles my regret. +They say the Taupou had a gun and fired; probably an excuse +manufactured <i>ex post facto</i>. I go down to-morrow at +12, to stay the afternoon, and help Miss Large. In the +hospital to-day, when I first entered it, there were no +attendants; only the wounded and their friends, all equally +sleeping and their heads poised upon the wooden pillows. +There is a pretty enough boy there, slightly wounded, whose fate +is to be envied: two girls, and one of the most beautiful, with +beaming eyes, tend him and sleep upon his pillow. In the +other corner, another young man, very patient and brave, lies +wholly deserted. Yet he seems to me far the better of the +two; but not so pretty! Heavens, what a difference that +makes; in our not very well proportioned bodies and our finely +hideous faces, the 1-32nd—rather the 1-64th—this way +or that! Sixteen heads in all at Mulinuu. I am so +stiff I can scarce move without a howl.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i>, 10<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Some news that Mataafa is gone to Savaii by way of Manono; +this may mean a great deal more warfaring, and no great +issue. (When Sosimo came in this morning with my breakfast +he had to lift me up. It is no joke to play lawn tennis +after carrying your right arm in a sling so many years.) +What a hard, unjust business this is! On the 28th, if +Mataafa had moved, he could have still swept Mulinuu. He +waited, and I fear he is now only the stick of a rocket.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>, 12<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>No more political news; but many rumours. The government +troops are off to Manono; no word of Mataafa. O, there is a +passage in my mother’s letter which puzzles me as to a +date. Is it next Christmas you are coming? or the Christmas +after? This is most important, and must be understood at +once. If it is next Christmas, I could not go to Ceylon, +for lack of gold, and you would have to adopt one of the +following alternatives: 1st, either come straight on here and +pass a month with us; ’tis the rainy season, but we have +often lovely weather. Or (2nd) come to Hawaii and I will +meet you there. Hawaii is only a week’s sail from S. +Francisco, making only about sixteen days on the heaving ocean; +and the steamers run once a fortnight, so that you could turn +round; and you could thus pass a day or two in the States—a +fortnight even—and still see me. But I have sworn to +take no further excursions till I have money saved to pay for +them; and to go to Ceylon and back would be torture unless I had +a lot. You must answer this at once, please; so that I may +know what to do. We would dearly like you to come on +here. I’ll tell you how it can be done; I can come up +and meet you at Hawaii, and if you had at all got over your +sea-sickness, I could just come on board and we could return +together to Samoa, and you could have a month of our life here, +which I believe you could not help liking. Our horses are +the devil, of course, miserable screws, and some of them a little +vicious. I had a dreadful fright—the passage in my +mother’s letter is recrossed and I see it says the end of +/94: so much the better, then; but I would like to submit to you +my alternative plan. I could meet you at Hawaii, and +reconduct you to Hawaii, so that we could have a full six weeks +together and I believe a little over, and you would see this +place of mine, and have a sniff of native life, native foods, +native houses—and perhaps be in time to see the German flag +raised, who knows?—and we could generally yarn for all we +were worth. I should like you to see Vailima; and I should +be curious to know how the climate affected you. It is +quite hit or miss; it suits me, it suits Graham, it suits all our +family; others it does not suit at all. It is either gold +or poison. I rise at six, the rest at seven; lunch is at +12; at five we go to lawn tennis till dinner at six; and to roost +early.</p> +<p>A man brought in a head to Mulinuu in great glory; they washed +the black paint off, and behold! it was his brother. When I +last heard he was sitting in his house, with the head upon his +lap, and weeping. Barbarous war is an ugly business; but I +believe the civilised is fully uglier; but Lord! what fun!</p> +<p>I should say we now have definite news that there are +<i>three</i> women’s heads; it was difficult to get it out +of the natives, who are all ashamed, and the women all in terror +of reprisals. Nothing has been done to punish or disgrace +these hateful innovators. It was a false report that the +head had been returned.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Thursday</i>, 13<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Mataafa driven away from Savaii. I cannot write about +this, and do not know what should be the end of it.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i>, 17<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Haggard and Ahrens (a German clerk) to lunch yesterday. +There is no real certain news yet: I must say, no man could +<i>swear</i> to any result; but the sky looks horribly black for +Mataafa and so many of our friends along with him. The +thing has an abominable, a beastly, nightmare interest. But +it’s wonderful generally how little one cares about the +wounded; hospital sights, etc.; things that used to murder +me. I was far more struck with the excellent way in which +things were managed; as if it had been a peep-show; I held some +of the things at an operation, and did not care a dump.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>, 18<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>Sunday came the <i>Katoomba</i>, Captain Bickford, +C.M.G. Yesterday, Graham and I went down to call, and find +he has orders to suppress Mataafa at once, and has to go down +to-day before daybreak to Manono. He is a very capable, +energetic man; if he had only come ten days ago, all this would +have gone by; but now the questions are thick and +difficult. (1) Will Mataafa surrender? (2) Will his +people allow themselves to be disarmed? (3) What will +happen to them if they do? (4) What will any of them +believe after former deceptions? The three consuls were +scampering on horseback to Leulumoega to the King; no +Cusack-Smith, without whose accession I could not send a letter +to Mataafa. I rode up here, wrote my letter in the sweat of +the concordance and with the able-bodied help of Lloyd—and +dined. Then down in continual showers and pitchy darkness, +and to Cusack-Smith’s; not re-returned. Back to the +inn for my horse, and to C.-S.’s, when I find him just +returned and he accepts my letter. Thence home, by 12.30, +jolly tired and wet. And to-day have been in a crispation +of energy and ill-temper, raking my wretched mail together. +It is a hateful business, waiting for the news; it may come to a +fearful massacre yet.—Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page296"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +296</span>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>August</i>, 1893.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—Quite +impossible to write. Your letter is due to-day; a nasty, +rainy-like morning with huge blue clouds, and a huge indigo +shadow on the sea, and my lamp still burning at near 7. Let +me humbly give you news. Fanny seems on the whole the most, +or the only, powerful member of the family; for some days she has +been the Flower of the Flock. Belle is begging for +quinine. Lloyd and Graham have both been down with +‘belly belong him’ (Black Boy speech). As for +me, I have to lay aside my lawn tennis, having (as was to be +expected) had a smart but eminently brief hemorrhage. I am +also on the quinine flask. I have been re-casting the +beginning of the <i>Hanging Judge</i> or <i>Weir of +Hermiston</i>; then I have been cobbling on my grandfather, whose +last chapter (there are only to be four) is in the form of pieces +of paper, a huge welter of inconsequence, and that glimmer of +faith (or hope) which one learns at this trade, that somehow and +some time, by perpetual staring and glowering and rewriting, +order will emerge. It is indeed a queer hope; there is one +piece for instance that I want in—I cannot put it one place +for a good reason—I cannot put it another for a +better—and every time I look at it, I turn sick and put the +<span class="GutSmall">MS.</span> away.</p> +<p>Well, your letter hasn’t come, and a number of others +are missing. It looks as if a mail-bag had gone on, so +I’ll blame nobody, and proceed to business.</p> +<p>It looks as if I was going to send you the first three +chapters of my Grandfather. . . . If they were set up, it +would be that much anxiety off my mind. I have a strange +feeling of responsibility, as if I had my ancestors’ +<i>souls</i> in my charge, and might miscarry with them.</p> +<p>There’s a lot of work gone into it, and a lot more is +needed. Still Chapter <span class="GutSmall">I.</span> +seems about right to me, and much of Chapter <span +class="GutSmall">II.</span> Chapter <span +class="GutSmall">III.</span> I know nothing of, as I told +you. And Chapter <span class="GutSmall">IV.</span> is at +present all ends and beginnings; but it can be pulled +together.</p> +<p>This is all I have been able to screw up to you for this +month, and I may add that it is not only more than you deserve, +but just about more than I was equal to. I have been and am +entirely useless; just able to tinker at my Grandfather. +The three chapters—perhaps also a little of the +fourth—will come home to you next mail by the hand of my +cousin Graham Balfour, a very nice fellow whom I recommend to you +warmly—and whom I think you will like. This will give +you time to consider my various and distracted schemes.</p> +<p>All our wars are over in the meantime, to begin again as soon +as the war-ships leave. Adieu.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +298</span>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">23<i>rd</i> <i>August</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—Your pleasing +letter <i>re The Ebb Tide</i>, to hand. I propose, if it be +not too late, to delete Lloyd’s name. He has nothing +to do with the last half. The first we wrote together, as +the beginning of a long yarn. The second is entirely mine; +and I think it rather unfair on the young man to couple his name +with so infamous a work. Above all, as you had not read the +two last chapters, which seem to me the most ugly and cynical of +all.</p> +<p>You will see that I am not in a good humour; and I am +not. It is not because of your letter, but because of the +complicated miseries that surround me and that I choose to say +nothing of. Life is not all Beer and Skittles. The +inherent tragedy of things works itself out from white to black +and blacker, and the poor things of a day look ruefully on. +Does it shake my cast-iron faith? I cannot say it +does. I believe in an ultimate decency of things; ay, and +if I woke in hell, should still believe it! But it is hard +walking, and I can see my own share in the missteps, and can bow +my head to the result, like an old, stern, unhappy devil of a +Norseman, as my ultimate character is. . . .</p> +<p>Well, <i>il faut cultiver son jardin</i>. That last +expression of poor, unhappy human wisdom I take to my heart and +go to <i>St. Ives</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">24th <i>Aug.</i></p> +<p>And did, and worked about 2 hours and got to sleep ultimately +and ‘a’ the clouds has blawn away.’ +‘Be sure we’ll have some pleisand weather, When +a’ the clouds (storms?) has blawn (gone?) +away.’ Verses that have a quite inexplicable +attraction for me, and I believe had for Burns. They have +no merit, but are somehow good. I am now in a most +excellent humour.</p> +<p>I am deep in <i>St. Ives</i> which, I believe, will be the +next novel done. But it is to be clearly understood that I +promise nothing, and may throw in your face the very last thing +you expect—or I expect. <i>St. Ives</i> will (to my +mind) not be wholly bad. It is written in rather a funny +style; a little stilted and left-handed; the style of St. Ives; +also, to some extent, the style of R. L. S. dictating. +<i>St. Ives</i> is unintellectual and except as an adventure +novel, dull. But the adventures seem to me sound and pretty +probable; and it is a love story. Speed his wings!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sunday night</i>.</p> +<p><i>De cœur un peu plus dispos</i>, <i>monsieur et cher +confrère</i>, <i>je me remets à vous +écrire</i>. <i>St. Ives</i> is now in the 5th +chapter copying; in the 14th chapter of the dictated draft. +I do not believe I shall end by disliking it.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i>.</p> +<p>Well, here goes again for the news. Fanny is <i>very +well</i> indeed, and in good spirits; I am in good spirits but +not <i>very</i> well; Lloyd is in good spirits and very well; +Belle has a real good fever which has put her pipe out +wholly. Graham goes back this mail. He takes with him +three chapters of <i>The Family</i>, and is to go to you as soon +as he can. He cannot be much the master of his movements, +but you grip him when you can and get all you can from him, as he +has lived about six months with us and he can tell you just what +is true and what is not—and not the dreams of dear old +Ross. He is a good fellow, is he not?</p> +<p>Since you rather revise your views of <i>The Ebb Tide</i>, I +think Lloyd’s name might stick, but I’ll leave it to +you. I’ll tell you just how it stands. Up to +the discovery of the champagne, the tale was all planned between +us and drafted by Lloyd; from that moment he has had nothing to +do with it except talking it over. For we changed our plan, +gave up the projected Monte Cristo, and cut it down for a short +story. My jmpression—(I beg your pardon—this is +a local joke—a firm here had on its beer labels, +‘sole jmporters’)—is that it will never be +popular, but might make a little <i>succès de +scandale</i>. However, I’m done with it now, and not +sorry, and the crowd may rave and mumble its bones for what I +care.</p> +<p>Hole essential. I am sorry about the maps; but I want +’em for next edition, so see and have proofs sent. +You are quite right about the bottle and the great Huish, I must +try to make it clear. No, I will not write a play for +Irving nor for the devil. Can you not see that the work of +<i>falsification</i> which a play demands is of all tasks the +most ungrateful? And I have done it a long while—and +nothing ever came of it.</p> +<p>Consider my new proposal, I mean Honolulu. You would get +the Atlantic and the Rocky Mountains, would you not? for +bracing. And so much less sea! And then you could +actually see Vailima, which I <i>would</i> like you to, for +it’s beautiful and my home and tomb that is to be; though +it’s a wrench not to be planted in Scotland—that I +can never deny—if I could only be buried in the hills, +under the heather and a table tombstone like the martyrs, where +the whaups and plovers are crying! Did you see a man who +wrote the <i>Stickit Minister</i>, and dedicated it to me, in +words that brought the tears to my eyes every time I looked at +them, ‘Where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are +crying. <i>His</i> heart remembers how.’ Ah, by +God, it does! Singular that I should fulfil the Scots +destiny throughout, and live a voluntary exile, and have my head +filled with the blessed, beastly place all the time!</p> +<p>And now a word as regards the delusions of the dear Ross, who +remembers, I believe, my letters and Fanny’s when we were +first installed, and were really hoeing a hard row. We have +salad, beans, cabbages, tomatoes, asparagus, kohl-rabi, oranges, +limes, barbadines, pine-apples, Cape gooseberries—galore; +pints of milk and cream; fresh meat five days a week. It is +the rarest thing for any of us to touch a tin; and the gnashing +of teeth when it has to be done is dreadful—for no one who +has not lived on them for six months knows what the Hatred of the +Tin is. As for exposure, my weakness is certainly the +reverse; I am sometimes a month without leaving the +verandah—for my sins, be it said! Doubtless, when I +go about and, as the Doctor says, ‘expose myself to +malaria,’ I am in far better health; and I would do so more +too—for I do not mean to be silly—but the +difficulties are great. However, you see how much the dear +Doctor knows of my diet and habits! Malaria practically +does not exist in these islands; it is a negligeable +quantity. What really bothers us a little is the mosquito +affair—the so-called elephantiasis—ask Ross about +it. A real romance of natural history, <i>quoi</i>!</p> +<p>Hi! stop! you say <i>The Ebb Tide</i> is the ‘working +out of an artistic problem of a kind.’ Well, I should +just bet it was! You don’t like Attwater. But +look at my three rogues; they’re all there, I’ll go +bail. Three types of the bad man, the weak man, and the +strong man with a weakness, that are gone through and lived +out.</p> +<p>Yes, of course I was sorry for Mataafa, but a good deal +sorrier and angrier about the mismanagement of all the white +officials. I cannot bear to write about that. Manono +all destroyed, one house standing in Apolima, the women stripped, +the prisoners beaten with whips—and the women’s heads +taken—all under white auspices. And for upshot and +result of so much shame to the white powers—Tamasese +already conspiring! as I knew and preached in vain must be the +case! Well, well, it is no fun to meddle in politics!</p> +<p>I suppose you’re right about Simon. But it is +Symon throughout in that blessed little volume my father bought +for me in Inverness in the year of grace ’81, I +believe—the trial of James Stewart, with the Jacobite +pamphlet and the dying speech appended—out of which the +whole of Davie has already been begotten, and which I felt it a +kind of loyalty to follow. I really ought to have it bound +in velvet and gold, if I had any gratitude! and the best of the +lark is, that the name of David Balfour is not anywhere within +the bounds of it.</p> +<p>A pretty curious instance of the genesis of a book. I am +delighted at your good word for <i>David</i>; I believe the two +together make up much the best of my work and perhaps of what is +in me. I am not ashamed of them, at least. There is +one hitch; instead of three hours between the two parts, I fear +there have passed three years over Davie’s character; but +do not tell anybody; see if they can find it out for themselves; +and no doubt his experiences in <i>Kidnapped</i> would go far to +form him. I would like a copy to go to G. Meredith.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Wednesday</i>.</p> +<p>Well, here is a new move. It is likely I may start with +Graham next week and go to Honolulu to meet the other steamer and +return: I do believe a fortnight at sea would do me good; yet I +am not yet certain. The crowded <i>up</i>-steamer sticks in +my throat.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Tuesday</i>, 12<i>th</i> +<i>Sept.</i></p> +<p>Yesterday was perhaps the brightest in the annals of +Vailima. I got leave from Captain Bickford to have the band +of the <i>Katoomba</i> come up, and they came, fourteen of +’em, with drum, fife, cymbals and bugles, blue jackets, +white caps, and smiling faces. The house was all decorated +with scented greenery above and below. We had not only our +own nine out-door workers, but a contract party that we took on +in charity to pay their war-fine; the band besides, as it came up +the mountain, had collected a following of children by the way, +and we had a picking of Samoan ladies to receive them. +Chicken, ham, cake, and fruits were served out with coffee and +lemonade, and all the afternoon we had rounds of claret negus +flavoured with rum and limes. They played to us, they +danced, they sang, they tumbled. Our boys came in the end +of the verandah and gave <i>them</i> a dance for a while. +It was anxious work getting this stopped once it had begun, but I +knew the band was going on a programme. Finally they gave +three cheers for Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, shook hands, formed up and +marched off playing—till a kicking horse in the paddock put +their pipes out something of the suddenest—we thought the +big drum was gone, but Simelé flew to the rescue. +And so they wound away down the hill with ever another call of +the bugle, leaving us extinct with fatigue, but perhaps the most +contented hosts that ever watched the departure of successful +guests. Simply impossible to tell how well these +blue-jackets behaved; a most interesting lot of men; this +education of boys for the navy is making a class, wholly +apart—how shall I call them?—a kind of lower-class +public school boy, well-mannered, fairly intelligent, sentimental +as a sailor. What is more shall be writ on board ship if +anywhere.</p> +<p>Please send <i>Catriona</i> to G. Meredith.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>S. S. Mariposa</i>.</p> +<p>To-morrow I reach Honolulu. Good-morning to your +honour. R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page306"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +306</span>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Waikiki</i>, <i>Honolulu</i>, +<i>H. 1.</i><br /> +<i>Oct.</i> 23rd, 1893.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Colvin</span>,—My wife came up +on the steamer and we go home together in 2 days. I am +practically all right, only sleepy and tired easily, slept +yesterday from 11 to 11.45, from 1 to 2.50, went to bed at 8 +<span class="GutSmall">P.M.</span>, and with an hour’s +interval slept till 6 <span class="GutSmall">A.M.</span>, close +upon 14 hours out of the 24. We sail to-morrow. I am +anxious to get home, though this has been an interesting visit, +and politics have been curious indeed to study. We go to +P.P.C. on the ‘Queen’ this morning; poor, recluse +lady, <i>abreuvée d’injures qu’elle +est</i>. Had a rather annoying lunch on board the American +man-of-war, with a member of the P.G. (provincial government); +and a good deal of anti-royalist talk, which I had to sit +out—not only for my host’s sake, but my fellow +guests. At last, I took the lead and changed the +conversation.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<p>I am being busted here by party named Hutchinson. Seems +good.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Vailima—November</i>.]</p> +<p>Home again, and found all well, thank God. I am +perfectly well again and ruddier than the cherry. Please +note that 8000 is not bad for a volume of short stories; the +<i>Merry Men</i> did a good deal worse; the short story never +sells. I hope <i>Catriona</i> will do; that is the +important. The reviews seem mixed and perplexed, and one +had the peculiar virtue to make me angry. I am in a fair +way to expiscate my family history. Fanny and I had a +lovely voyage down, with our new C. J. and the American Land +Commissioner, and on the whole, and for these disgusting +steamers, a pleasant ship’s company. I cannot +understand why you don’t take to the Hawaii scheme. +Do you understand? You cross the Atlantic in six days, and +go from ’Frisco to Honolulu in seven. Thirteen days +at sea <i>in all</i>.—I have no wish to publish <i>The Ebb +Tide</i> as a book, let it wait. It will look well in the +portfolio. I would like a copy, of course, for that end; +and to ‘look upon’t again’—which I scarce +dare.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Later</i>.]</p> +<p>This is disgraceful. I have done nothing; neither work +nor letters. On the Me (May) day, we had a great triumph; +our Protestant boys, instead of going with their own villages and +families, went of their own accord in the Vailima uniform; Belle +made coats for them on purpose to complete the uniform, they +having bought the stuff; and they were hailed as they marched in +as the Tama-ona—the rich man’s children. This +is really a score; it means that Vailima is publicly taken as a +family. Then we had my birthday feast a week late, owing to +diarrhoea on the proper occasion. The feast was laid in the +Hall, and was a singular mass of food: 15 pigs, 100 lbs. beef, +100 lbs. pork, and the fruit and filigree in a proportion. +We had sixty horse-posts driven in the gate paddock; how many +guests I cannot guess, perhaps 150. They came between three +and four and left about seven. Seumanu gave me one of his +names; and when my name was called at the ava drinking, behold, +it was <i>Au mai taua ma manu-vao</i>! You would scarce +recognise me, if you heard me thus referred to!</p> +<p>Two days after, we hired a carriage in Apia, Fanny, Belle, +Lloyd and I, and drove in great style, with a native outrider, to +the prison; a huge gift of ava and tobacco under the seats. +The prison is now under the <i>pule</i> of an Austrian, Captain +Wurmbrand, a soldier of fortune in Servia and Turkey, a charming, +clever, kindly creature, who is adored by ‘<i>his</i> +chiefs’ (as he calls them) meaning <i>our</i> political +prisoners. And we came into the yard, walled about with +tinned iron, and drank ava with the prisoners and the +captain. It may amuse you to hear how it is proper to drink +ava. When the cup is handed you, you reach your arm out +somewhat behind you, and slowly pour a libation, saying with +somewhat the manner of prayer, ‘<i>Ia taumafa e le +atua</i>. <i>Ua matagofie le fésilafaiga +nei</i>.’ ‘Be it (high-chief) partaken of by +the God. How (high chief) beautiful to view is this (high +chief) gathering.’ This pagan practice is very +queer. I should say that the prison ava was of that not +very welcome form that we elegantly call spit-ava, but of course +there was no escape, and it had to be drunk. Fanny and I +rode home, and I moralised by the way. Could we ever stand +Europe again? did she appreciate that if we were in London, we +should be <i>actually jostled</i> in the street? and there was +nobody in the whole of Britain who knew how to take ava like a +gentleman? ’Tis funny to be thus of two +civilisations—or, if you like, of one civilisation and one +barbarism. And, as usual, the barbarism is the more +engaging.</p> +<p>Colvin, you have to come here and see us in our [native / +mortal] spot. I just don’t seem to be able to make up +my mind to your not coming. By this time, you will have +seen Graham, I hope, and he will be able to tell you something +about us, and something reliable, I shall feel for the first time +as if you knew a little about Samoa after that. Fanny seems +to be in the right way now. I must say she is very, very +well for her, and complains scarce at all. Yesterday, she +went down <i>sola</i> (at least accompanied by a groom) to pay a +visit; Belle, Lloyd and I went a walk up the mountain +road—the great public highway of the island, where you have +to go single file. The object was to show Belle that gaudy +valley of the Vaisigano which the road follows. If the road +is to be made and opened, as our new Chief Justice promises, it +will be one of the most beautiful roads in the world. But +the point is this: I forgot I had been three months in +civilisation, wearing shoes and stockings, and I tell you I +suffered on my soft feet; coming home, down hill, on that +stairway of loose stones, I could have cried. O yes, +another story, I knew I had. The house boys had not been +behaving well, so the other night I announced a <i>fono</i>, and +Lloyd and I went into the boys’ quarters, and I talked to +them I suppose for half an hour, and Talolo translated; Lloyd was +there principally to keep another ear on the interpreter; else +there may be dreadful misconceptions. I rubbed all their +ears, except two whom I particularly praised; and one man’s +wages I announced I had cut down by one half. Imagine his +taking this smiling! Ever since, he has been specially +attentive and greets me with a face of really heavenly +brightness. This is another good sign of their really and +fairly accepting me as a chief. When I first came here, if +I had fined a man a sixpence, he would have quit work that hour, +and now I remove half his income, and he is glad to stay +on—nay, does not seem to entertain the possibility of +leaving. And this in the face of one particular +difficulty—I mean our house in the bush, and no society, +and no women society within decent reach.</p> +<p>I think I must give you our staff in a tabular form.</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">HOUSE.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">KITCHEN</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">OUTSIDE.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>+ o <i>Sosimo</i>, provost and butler, and my valet.</p> +<p>o <i>Misifolo</i>, who is Fanny and Belle’s +chamberlain.</p> +</td> +<td><p>+ o <i>Talolo</i>, provost and chief cook.</p> +<p>+ o <i>Iopu</i>, second cook.</p> +<p><i>Tali</i>, his wife, no wages.</p> +<p><i>Ti’a</i>, Samoan cook.</p> +<p><i>Feiloa’i</i>, his child, no wages, likewise no +work—Belle’s pet.</p> +<p>+ o <i>Leuelu</i>, Fanny’s boy, gardener, odd jobs.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">In</span> +APIA.</p> +<p>+ <i>Eliga</i>, washman and daily errand man.</p> +</td> +<td><p>+ o <i>Henry Simelé</i>, provost and overseas of +outside boys.</p> +<p><i>Lü</i>.</p> +<p><i>Tasi Sele</i>.</p> +<p><i>Maiele</i>.</p> +<p><i>Pulu</i>, who is also our talking man and cries the +ava.</p> +<p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>The crosses mark out the really excellent boys. +Ti’a is the man who has just been fined half his wages; he +is a beautiful old man, the living image of ‘Fighting +Gladiator,’ my favourite statue—but a dreadful +humbug. I think we keep him on a little on account of his +looks. This sign o marks those who have been two years or +upwards in the family. I note all my old boys have the +cross of honour, except Misifolo; well, poor dog, he does his +best, I suppose. You should see him scour. It is a +remark that has often been made by visitors: you never see a +Samoan run, except at Vailima. Do you not suppose that +makes me proud?</p> +<p>I am pleased to see what a success <i>The Wrecker</i> was, +having already in little more than a year outstripped <i>The +Master of Ballantrae</i>.</p> +<p>About <i>David Balfour</i> in two volumes, do see that they +make it a decent-looking book, and tell me, do you think a little +historical appendix would be of service? Lang bleats for +one, and I thought I might address it to him as a kind of open +letter.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 4<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>No time after all. Good-bye.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L S.</p> +<h2><a name="page313"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +313</span>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—One page out +of my picture book I must give you. Fine burning day; half +past two <span class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> We four begin +to rouse up from reparatory slumbers, yawn, and groan, get a cup +of tea, and miserably dress: we have had a party the day before, +X’mas Day, with all the boys absent but one, and latterly +two; we had cooked all day long, a cold dinner, and lo! at two +our guests began to arrive, though dinner was not till six; they +were sixteen, and fifteen slept the night and breakfasted. +Conceive, then, how unwillingly we climb on our horses and start +off in the hottest part of the afternoon to ride 4½ miles, +attend a native feast in the gaol, and ride four and a half miles +back. But there is no help for it. I am a sort of +father of the political prisoners, and have <i>charge +d’âmes</i> in that riotously absurd establishment, +Apia Gaol. The twenty-three (I think it is) chiefs act as +under gaolers. The other day they told the Captain of an +attempt to escape. One of the lesser political prisoners +the other day effected a swift capture, while the Captain was +trailing about with the warrant; the man came to see what was +wanted; came, too, flanked by the former gaoler; my prisoner +offers to show him the dark cell, shoves him in, and locks the +door. ‘Why do you do that?’ cries the former +gaoler. ‘A warrant,’ says he. Finally, +the chiefs actually feed the soldiery who watch them!</p> +<p>The gaol is a wretched little building, containing a little +room, and three cells, on each side of a central passage; it is +surrounded by a fence of corrugated iron, and shows, over the top +of that, only a gable end with the inscription <i>O le Fale +Puipui</i>. It is on the edge of the mangrove swamp, and is +reached by a sort of causeway of turf. When we drew near, +we saw the gates standing open and a prodigious crowd +outside—I mean prodigious for Apia, perhaps a hundred and +fifty people. The two sentries at the gate stood to arms +passively, and there seemed to be a continuous circulation inside +and out. The captain came to meet us; our boy, who had been +sent ahead was there to take the horses; and we passed inside the +court which was full of food, and rang continuously to the voice +of the caller of gifts; I had to blush a little later when my own +present came, and I heard my one pig and eight miserable +pine-apples being counted out like guineas. In the four +corners of the yard and along one wall, there are make-shift, +dwarfish, Samoan houses or huts, which have been run up since +Captain Wurmbrand came to accommodate the chiefs. Before +that they were all crammed into the six cells, and locked in for +the night, some of them with dysentery. They are wretched +constructions enough, but sanctified by the presence of +chiefs. We heard a man corrected loudly to-day for saying +‘<i>Fale</i>’ of one of them; +‘<i>Maota</i>,’ roared the highest chief +present—‘palace.’ About eighteen chiefs, +gorgeously arrayed, stood up to greet us, and led us into one of +these <i>maotas</i>, where you may be sure we had to crouch, +almost to kneel, to enter, and where a row of pretty girls +occupied one side to make the ava (kava). The highest chief +present was a magnificent man, as high chiefs usually are; I find +I cannot describe him; his face is full of shrewdness and +authority; his figure like Ajax; his name Auilua. He took +the head of the building and put Belle on his right hand. +Fanny was called first for the ava (kava). Our names were +called in English style, the high-chief wife of Mr. St— (an +unpronounceable something); Mrs. Straw, and the like. And +when we went into the other house to eat, we found we were seated +alternately with chiefs about the—table, I was about to +say, but rather floor. Everything was to be done European +style with a vengeance! We were the only whites present, +except Wurmbrand, and still I had no suspicion of the +truth. They began to take off their ulas (necklaces of +scarlet seeds) and hang them about our necks; we politely +resisted, and were told that the King (who had stopped off their +<i>siva</i>) had sent down to the prison a message to the effect +that he was to give a dinner to-morrow, and wished their +second-hand ulas for it. Some of them were content; others +not. There was a ring of anger in the boy’s voice, as +he told us we were to wear them past the King’s +house. Dinner over, I must say they are moderate eaters at +a feast, we returned to the ava house; and then the curtain drew +suddenly up upon the set scene. We took our seats, and +Auilua began to give me a present, recapitulating each article as +he gave it out, with some appropriate comment. He called me +several times ‘their only friend,’ said they were all +in slavery, had no money, and these things were all made by the +hands of their families—nothing bought; he had one phrase, +in which I heard his voice rise up to a note of triumph: +‘This is a present from the poor prisoners to the rich +man.’ Thirteen pieces of tapa, some of them +surprisingly fine, one I think unique; thirty fans of every shape +and colour; a kava cup, etc., etc. At first Auilua +conducted the business with weighty gravity; but before the end +of the thirty fans, his comments began to be humorous. When +it came to a little basket, he said: ‘Here was a little +basket for Tusitala to put sixpence in, when he could get hold of +one’—with a delicious grimace. I answered as +best as I was able through a miserable interpreter; and all the +while, as I went on, I heard the crier outside in the court +calling my gift of food, which I perceived was to be +Gargantuan. I had brought but three boys with me. It +was plain that they were wholly overpowered. We proposed to +send for our gifts on the morrow; but no, said the interpreter, +that would never do; they must go away to-day, Mulinuu must see +my porters taking away the gifts,—‘make ’em +jella,’ quoth the interpreter. And I began to see the +reason of this really splendid gift; one half, gratitude to +me—one half, a wipe at the King.</p> +<p>And now, to introduce darker colours, you must know this visit +of mine to the gaol was just a little bit risky; we had several +causes for anxiety; it <i>might</i> have been put up, to connect +with a Tamasese rising. Tusitala and his family would be +good hostages. On the other hand, there were the Mulinuu +people all about. We could see the anxiety of Captain +Wurmbrand, no less anxious to have us go, than he had been to see +us come; he was deadly white and plainly had a bad headache, in +the noisy scene. Presently, the noise grew uproarious; +there was a rush at the gate—a rush in, not a rush +out—where the two sentries still stood passive; Auilua +leaped from his place (it was then that I got the name of Ajax +for him) and the next moment we heard his voice roaring and saw +his mighty figure swaying to and fro in the hurly-burly. As +the deuce would have it, we could not understand a word of what +was going on. It might be nothing more than the ordinary +‘grab racket’ with which a feast commonly concludes; +it might be something worse. We made what arrangements we +could for my tapa, fans, etc., as well as for my five pigs, my +masses of fish, taro, etc., and with great dignity, and ourselves +laden with ulas and other decorations, passed between the +sentries among the howling mob to our horses. All’s +well that ends well. Owing to Fanny and Belle, we had to +walk; and, as Lloyd said, ‘he had at last ridden in a +circus.’ The whole length of Apia we paced our +triumphal progress, past the King’s palace, past the German +firm at Sogi—you can follow it on the map—amidst +admiring exclamations of +‘<i>Mawaia</i>’—beautiful—it may be +rendered ‘O my! ain’t they dandy’—until +we turned up at last into our road as the dusk deepened into +night. It was really exciting. And there is one thing +sure: no such feast was ever made for a single family, and no +such present ever given to a single white man. It is +something to have been the hero of it. And whatever other +ingredients there were, undoubtedly gratitude was present. +As money value I have actually gained on the transaction!</p> +<p>Your note arrived; little profit, I must say. Scott has +already put his nose in, in <i>St. Ives</i>, sir; but his +appearance is not yet complete; nothing is in that romance, +except the story. I have to announce that I am off work, +probably for six months. I must own that I have overworked +bitterly—overworked—there, that’s +legible. My hand is a thing that was, and in the meanwhile +so are my brains. And here, in the very midst, comes a +plausible scheme to make Vailima pay, which will perhaps let me +into considerable expense just when I don’t want it. +You know the vast cynicism of my view of affairs, and how readily +and (as some people say) with how much gusto I take the darker +view?</p> +<p>Why do you not send me Jerome K. Jerome’s paper, and let +me see <i>The Ebb Tide</i> as a serial? It is always very +important to see a thing in different presentments. I want +every number. Politically we begin the new year with every +expectation of a bust in 2 or 3 days, a bust which may spell +destruction to Samoa. I have written to Baxter about his +proposal.</p> +<h2><a name="page320"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +320</span>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p320b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Portrait of R. L. Stevenson with the Native Chief Tui +Malealiifano" +title= +"Portrait of R. L. Stevenson with the Native Chief Tui +Malealiifano" +src="images/p320s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Vailima</i>,<br /> +<i>Jan.</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1894.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—I had fully +intended for your education and moral health to fob you off with +the meanest possible letter this month, and unfortunately I find +I will have to treat you to a good long account of matters +here. I believe I have told you before about +Tui-ma-le-alii-fano and my taking him down to introduce him to +the Chief Justice. Well, Tui came back to Vailima one day +in the blackest sort of spirits, saying the war was decided, that +he also must join in the fight, and that there was no hope +whatever of success. He must fight as a point of honour for +his family and country; and in his case, even if he escaped on +the field of battle, deportation was the least to be looked +for. He said he had a letter of complaint from the Great +Council of A’ana which he wished to lay before the Chief +Justice; and he asked me to accompany him as if I were his +nurse. We went down about dinner time; and by the way +received from a lurking native the famous letter in an official +blue envelope gummed up to the edges. It proved to be a +declaration of war, quite formal, but with some variations that +really made you bounce. White residents were directly +threatened, bidden to have nothing to do with the King’s +party, not to receive their goods in their houses, etc., under +pain of an accident. However, the Chief Justice took it +very wisely and mildly, and between us, he and I and Tui made up +a plan which has proved successful—so far. The war is +over—fifteen chiefs are this morning undergoing a curious +double process of law, comparable to a court martial; in which +their complaints are to be considered, and if possible righted, +while their conduct is to be criticised, perhaps punished. +Up to now, therefore, it has been a most successful policy; but +the danger is before us. My own feeling would decidedly be +that all would be spoiled by a single execution. The great +hope after all lies in the knotless, rather flaccid character of +the people. These are no Maoris. All the powers that +Cedarcrantz let go by disuse the new C. J. is stealthily and +boldly taking back again; perhaps some others also. He has +shamed the chiefs in Mulinuu into a law against taking heads, +with a punishment of six years’ imprisonment and, for a +chief, degradation. To him has been left the sole conduct +of this anxious and decisive inquiry. If the natives stand +it, why, well! But I am nervous.</p> +<h2><a name="page322"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +322</span>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Feb.</i> 1894.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Colvin</span>,—By a reaction, +when your letter is a little decent, mine is to be naked and +unashamed. We have been much exercised. No one can +prophesy here, of course, and the balance still hangs trembling, +but I <i>think</i> it will go for peace.</p> +<p>The mail was very late this time; hence the paltryness of this +note. When it came and I had read it, I retired with <i>The +Ebb Tide</i> and read it all before I slept. I did not +dream it was near as good; I am afraid I think it +excellent. A little indecision about Attwater, not +much. It gives me great hope, as I see I <i>can</i> work in +that constipated, mosaic manner, which is what I have to do just +now with <i>Weir of Hermiston</i>.</p> +<p>We have given a ball; I send you a paper describing the +event. We have two guests in the house, Captain-Count +Wurmbrand and Monsieur Albert de Lautreppe. Lautreppe is +awfully nice—a quiet, gentlemanly fellow, <i>gonflé +de rêves</i>, as he describes himself—once a sculptor +in the atelier of Henry Crosse, he knows something of art, and is +really a resource to me.</p> +<p>Letter from Meredith very kind. Have you seen no more of +Graham?</p> +<p>What about my grandfather? The family history will grow +to be quite a chapter.</p> +<p>I suppose I am growing sensitive; perhaps, by living among +barbarians, I expect more civility. Look at this from the +author of a very interesting and laudatory critique. He +gives quite a false description of something of mine, and talks +about my ‘insolence.’ Frankly, I supposed +‘insolence’ to be a tapua word. I do not use it +to a gentleman, I would not write it of a gentleman: I may be +wrong, but I believe we did not write it of a gentleman in old +days, and in my view he (clever fellow as he is) wants to be +kicked for applying it to me. By writing a novel—even +a bad one—I do not make myself a criminal for anybody to +insult. This may amuse you. But either there is a +change in journalism, too gradual for you to remark it on the +spot, or there is a change in me. I cannot bear these +phrases; I long to resent them. My forbears, the tenant +farmers of the Mains, would not have suffered such expressions +unless it had been from Cauldwell, or Rowallan, or maybe +Auchendrane. My Family Pride bristles. I am like the +negro, ‘I just heard last night’ who my great, great, +great, great grandfather was.—Ever yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page324"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +324</span>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 1894.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—This is the +very day the mail goes, and I have as yet written you +nothing. But it was just as well—as it was all about +my ‘blacks and chocolates,’ and what of it had +relation to whites you will read some of in the +<i>Times</i>. It means, as you will see, that I have at one +blow quarrelled with all the officials of Samoa, the Foreign +Office, and I suppose her Majesty the Queen with milk and honey +blest. But you’ll see in the <i>Times</i>. I am +very well indeed, but just about dead and mighty glad the mail is +near here, and I can just give up all hope of contending with my +letters, and lie down for the rest of the day. These +<i>Times</i> letters are not easy to write. And I dare say +the Consuls say, ‘Why, then, does he write them?’</p> +<p>I had miserable luck with <i>St. Ives</i>; being already +half-way through it, a book I had ordered six months ago arrives +at last, and I have to change the first half of it from top to +bottom! How could I have dreamed the French prisoners were +watched over like a female charity school, kept in a grotesque +livery, and shaved twice a week? And I had made all my +points on the idea that they were unshaved and clothed +anyhow. However, this last is better business; if only the +book had come when I ordered it! <i>A propos</i>, many of +the books you announce don’t come as a matter of +fact. When they are of any value, it is best to register +them. Your letter, alas! is not here; I sent it down to the +cottage, with all my mail, for Fanny; on Sunday night a boy comes +up with a lantern and a note from Fanny, to say the woods are +full of Atuas and I must bring a horse down that instant, as the +posts are established beyond her on the road, and she does not +want to have the fight going on between us. Impossible to +get a horse; so I started in the dark on foot, with a revolver, +and my spurs on my bare feet, leaving directions that the boy +should mount after me with the horse. Try such an +experience on Our Road once, and do it, if you please, after you +have been down town from nine o’clock till six, on board +the ship-of-war lunching, teaching Sunday School (I actually do) +and making necessary visits; and the Saturday before, having sat +all day from half past six to half-past four, scriving at my +<i>Times</i> letter. About half-way up, just in fact at +‘point’ of the outposts, I met Fanny coming up. +Then all night long I was being wakened with scares that really +should be looked into, though I <i>knew</i> there was nothing in +them and no bottom to the whole story; and the drums and shouts +and cries from Tanugamanono and the town keeping up an all night +corybantic chorus in the moonlight—the moon rose +late—and the search-light of the war-ship in the harbour +making a jewel of brightness as it lit up the bay of Apia in the +distance. And then next morning, about eight o’clock, +a drum coming out of the woods and a party of patrols who had +been in the woods on our left front (which is our true rear) +coming up to the house, and meeting there another party who had +been in the woods on our right [front / rear] which is Vaea +Mountain, and 43 of them being entertained to ava and biscuits on +the verandah, and marching off at last in single file for +Apia. Briefly, it is not much wonder if your letter and my +whole mail was left at the cottage, and I have no means of seeing +or answering particulars.</p> +<p>The whole thing was nothing but a bottomless scare; it was +<i>obviously</i> so; you couldn’t make a child believe it +was anything else, but it has made the Consuls sit up. My +own private scares were really abominably annoying; as for +instance after I had got to sleep for the ninth time +perhaps—and that was no easy matter either, for I had a +crick in my neck so agonising that I had to sleep sitting +up—I heard noises as of a man being murdered in the +boys’ house. To be sure, said I, this is nothing +again, but if a man’s head was being taken, the noises +would be the same! So I had to get up, stifle my cries of +agony from the crick, get my revolver, and creep out stealthily +to the boys’ house. And there were two of them +sitting up, keeping watch of their own accord like good boys, and +whiling the time over a game of Sweepi (Cascino—the whist +of our islanders)—and one of them was our champion idiot, +Misifolo, and I suppose he was holding bad cards, and losing all +the time—and these noises were his humorous protests +against Fortune!</p> +<p>Well, excuse this excursion into my ‘blacks and +chocolates.’ It is the last. You will have +heard from Lysaght how I failed to write last mail. The +said Lysaght seems to me a very nice fellow. We were only +sorry he could not stay with us longer. Austin came back +from school last week, which made a great time for the +Amanuensis, you may be sure. Then on Saturday, the +<i>Curaçoa</i> came in—same commission, with all our +old friends; and on Sunday, as already mentioned, Austin and I +went down to service and had lunch afterwards in the +wardroom. The officers were awfully nice to Austin; they +are the most amiable ship in the world; and after lunch we had a +paper handed round on which we were to guess, and sign our guess, +of the number of leaves on the pine-apple; I never saw this game +before, but it seems it is much practised in the Queen’s +Navee. When all have betted, one of the party begins to +strip the pine-apple head, and the person whose guess is furthest +out has to pay for the sherry. My equanimity was disturbed +by shouts of <i>The American Commodore</i>, and I found that +Austin had entered and lost about a bottle of sherry! He +turned with great composure and addressed me. ‘I am +afraid I must look to you, Uncle Louis.’ The Sunday +School racket is only an experiment which I took up at the +request of the late American Land Commissioner; I am trying it +for a month, and if I do as ill as I believe, and the boys find +it only half as tedious as I do, I think it will end in a +month. I have <i>carte blanche</i>, and say what I like; +but does any single soul understand me?</p> +<p>Fanny is on the whole very much better. Lloyd has been +under the weather, and goes for a month to the South Island of +New Zealand for some skating, save the mark! I get all the +skating I want among officials.</p> +<p>Dear Colvin, please remember that my life passes among my +‘blacks or chocolates.’ If I were to do as you +propose, in a bit of a tiff, it would cut you off entirely from +my life. You must try to exercise a trifle of imagination, +and put yourself, perhaps with an effort, into some sort of +sympathy with these people, or how am I to write to you? I +think you are truly a little too Cockney with me.—Ever +yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Robert Louis +Stevenson</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page330"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +330</span>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Vailima</i>, <i>May</i> +18<i>th</i>, 1894.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—Your +proposals for the Edinburgh edition are entirely to my +mind. About the <i>Amateur Emigrant</i>, it shall go to you +by this mail well slashed. If you like to slash some more +on your own account, I give you permission. ’Tis not +a great work; but since it goes to make up the two first volumes +as proposed, I presume it has not been written in +vain.—<i>Miscellanies</i>. I see with some alarm the +proposal to print <i>Juvenilia</i>; does it not seem to you +taking myself a little too much as Grandfather William? I +am certainly not so young as I once was—a lady took +occasion to remind me of the fact no later agone than last +night. ‘Why don’t you leave that to the young +men, Mr. Stevenson?’ said she—but when I remember +that I felt indignant at even John Ruskin when he did something +of the kind I really feel myself blush from head to heel. +If you want to make up the first volume, there are a good many +works which I took the trouble to prepare for publication and +which have never been republished. In addition to +<i>Roads</i> and <i>Dancing Children</i>, referred to by you, +there is an Autumn effect in the <i>Portfolio</i>, and a paper on +<i>Fontainebleau—Forest Notes</i> is the name of +it—in <i>Cornhill</i>. I have no objection to any of +these being edited, say with a scythe, and reproduced. But +I heartily abominate and reject the idea of reprinting the +<i>Pentland Rising</i>. For God’s sake let me get +buried first.</p> +<p><i>Tales and Fantasies</i>. Vols. <span +class="GutSmall">I.</span> and <span class="GutSmall">II.</span> +have my hearty approval. But I think <span +class="GutSmall">III.</span> and <span +class="GutSmall">IV.</span> had better be crammed into one as you +suggest. I will reprint none of the stories +mentioned. They are below the mark. Well, I dare say +the beastly <i>Body-Snatcher</i> has merit, and I am unjust to it +from my recollections of the <i>Pall Mall</i>. But the +other two won’t do. For vols. <span +class="GutSmall">V.</span> and <span class="GutSmall">VI.</span>, +now changed into <span class="GutSmall">IV.</span> and <span +class="GutSmall">V.</span>, I propose the common title of +<i>South Sea Yarns</i>. There! These are all my +differences of opinion. I agree with every detail of your +arrangement, and, as you see, my objections have turned +principally on the question of hawking unripe fruit. I +daresay it is all pretty green, but that is no reason for us to +fill the barrow with trash. Think of having a new set of +type cast, paper especially made, etc., in order to set up +rubbish that is not fit for the <i>Saturday Scotsman</i>. +It would be the climax of shame.</p> +<p>I am sending you a lot of verses, which had best, I think, be +called <i>Underwoods</i> Book <span class="GutSmall">III.</span>, +but in what order are they to go? Also, I am going on every +day a little, till I get sick of it, with the attempt to get the +<i>Emigrant</i> compressed into life; I know I can—or you +can after me—do it. It is only a question of time and +prayer and ink, and should leave something, no, not good, but not +all bad—a very genuine appreciation of these folks. +You are to remember besides there is that paper of mine on Bunyan +in <i>The Magazine of Art</i>. O, and then there’s +another thing in <i>Seeley</i> called some spewsome name, I +cannot recall it.</p> +<p>Well—come, here goes for <i>Juvenilia</i>. +<i>Dancing Infants</i>, <i>Roads</i>, <i>An Autumn Effect</i>, +<i>Forest Notes</i> (but this should come at the end of them, as +it’s really rather riper), the t’other thing from +<i>Seeley</i>, and I’ll tell you, you may put in my letter +to the Church of Scotland—it’s not written amiss, and +I daresay the <i>Philosophy of Umbrellas</i> might go in, but +there I stick—and remember <i>that</i> was a collaboration +with James Walter Ferrier. O, and there was a little skit +called the <i>Charity Bazaar</i>, which you might see; I +don’t think it would do. Now, I do not think there +are two other words that should be printed.—By the way, +there is an article of mine called <i>The Day after To-morrow</i> +in the <i>Contemporary</i> which you might find room for +somewhere; it is no’ bad.</p> +<p>Very busy with all these affairs and some native ones +also.</p> +<h2><a name="page333"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +333</span>CHAPTER XL</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Vailima</i>, June 18th, 94.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—You are to +please understand that my last letter is withdrawn +unconditionally. You and Baxter are having all the trouble +of this Edition, and I simply put myself in your hands for you to +do what you like with me, and I am sure that will be the best, at +any rate. Hence you are to conceive me withdrawing all +objections to your printing anything you please. After all +it is a sort of family affair. About the Miscellany +Section, both plans seem to me quite good. Toss up. I +think the <i>Old Gardener</i> has to stay where I put him +last. It would not do to separate John and Robert.</p> +<p>In short, I am only sorry I ever uttered a word about the +edition, and leave you to be the judge. I have had a vile +cold which has prostrated me for more than a fortnight, and even +now tears me nightly with spasmodic coughs; but it has been a +great victory. I have never borne a cold with so little +hurt; wait till the clouds blow by, before you begin to +boast! I have had no fever; and though I’ve been very +unhappy, it is nigh over, I think. Of course, <i>St. +Ives</i> has paid the penalty. I must not let you be +disappointed in <i>St. I.</i> It is a mere tissue of +adventures; the central figure not very well or very sharply +drawn; no philosophy, no destiny, to it; some of the happenings +very good in themselves, I believe, but none of them +<i>bildende</i>, none of them constructive, except in so far +perhaps as they make up a kind of sham picture of the time, all +in italics and all out of drawing. Here and there, I think, +it is well written; and here and there it’s not. Some +of the episodic characters are amusing, I do believe; others not, +I suppose. However, they are the best of the thing such as +it is. If it has a merit to it, I should say it was a sort +of deliberation and swing to the style, which seems to me to suit +the mail-coaches and post-chaises with which it sounds all +through. ’Tis my most prosaic book.</p> +<p>I called on the two German ships now in port, and we are quite +friendly with them, and intensely friendly of course with our own +<i>Curaçoas</i>. But it is other guess work on the +beach. Some one has employed, or subsidised, one of the +local editors to attack me once a week. He is pretty +scurrilous and pretty false. The first effect of the +perusal of the weekly Beast is to make me angry; the second is a +kind of deep, golden content and glory, when I seem to say to +people: ‘See! this is my position—I am a plain man +dwelling in the bush in a house, and behold they have to get up +this kind of truck against me—and I have so much influence +that they are obliged to write a weekly article to say I have +none.’</p> +<p>By this time you must have seen Lysaght and forgiven me the +letter that came not at all. He was really so nice a +fellow—he had so much to tell me of Meredith—and the +time was so short—that I gave up the intervening days +between mails entirely to entertain him.</p> +<p>We go on pretty nicely. Fanny, Belle, and I have had two +months alone, and it has been very pleasant. But by +to-morrow or next day noon, we shall see the whole clan assembled +again about Vailima table, which will be pleasant too; seven +persons in all, and the Babel of voices will be heard again in +the big hall so long empty and silent. Good-bye. Love +to all. Time to close.—Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. L. S.</p> +<h2><a name="page336"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +336</span>CHAPTER XLI</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>July</i>, 1894.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—I have to +thank you this time for a very good letter, and will announce for +the future, though I cannot now begin to put in practice, good +intentions for our correspondence. I will try to return to +the old system and write from time to time during the month; but +truly you did not much encourage me to continue! However, +that is all by-past. I do not know that there is much in +your letter that calls for answer. Your questions about +<i>St. Ives</i> were practically answered in my last; so were +your wails about the edition, <i>Amateur Emigrant</i>, etc. +By the end of the year <i>St. I.</i> will be practically +finished, whatever it be worth, and that I know not. When +shall I receive proofs of the <i>Magnum Opus</i>? or shall I +receive them at all?</p> +<p>The return of the Amanuensis feebly lightens my heart. +You can see the heavy weather I was making of it with my unaided +pen. The last month has been particularly cheery largely +owing to the presence of our good friends the +<i>Curaçoas</i>. She is really a model ship, +charming officers and charming seamen. They gave a ball +last month, which was very rackety and joyous and naval. . . +.</p> +<p>On the following day, about one o’clock, three horsemen +might have been observed approaching Vailima, who gradually +resolved themselves into two petty officers and a native +guide. Drawing himself up and saluting, the spokesman (a +corporal of Marines) addressed me thus. ‘Me and my +shipmates inwites Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, Mrs. Strong, Mr. Austin, +and Mr. Balfour to a ball to be given to-night in the self-same +‘all.’ It was of course impossible to refuse, +though I contented myself with putting in a very brief +appearance. One glance was sufficient; the ball went off +like a rocket from the start. I had only time to watch +Belle careering around with a gallant bluejacket of exactly her +own height—the standard of the British navy—an +excellent dancer and conspicuously full of small-talk—and +to hear a remark from a beach-comber, ‘It’s a nice +sight this some way, to see the officers dancing like this with +the men, but I tell you, sir, these are the men that’ll +fight together!’</p> +<p>I tell you, Colvin, the acquaintance of the men—and +boys—makes me feel patriotic. Eeles in particular is +a man whom I respect. I am half in a mind to give him a +letter of introduction to you when he goes home. In case +you feel inclined to make a little of him, give him a dinner, ask +Henry James to come to meet him, etc.—you might let me +know. I don’t know that he would show his best, but +he is a remarkably fine fellow, in every department of life.</p> +<p>We have other visitors in port. A Count Festetics de +Solna, an Austrian officer, a very pleasant, simple, boyish +creature, with his young wife, daughter of an American +millionaire; he is a friend of our own Captain Wurmbrand, and it +is a great pity Wurmbrand is away.</p> +<p>Glad you saw and liked Lysaght. He has left in our house +a most cheerful and pleasing memory, as a good, pleasant, brisk +fellow with good health and brains, and who enjoys himself and +makes other people happy. I am glad he gave you a good +report of our surroundings and way of life; but I knew he would, +for I believe he had a glorious time—and gave one.</p> +<p>I am on fair terms with the two Treaty officials, though all +such intimacies are precarious; with the consuls, I need not say, +my position is deplorable. The President (Herr Emil +Schmidt) is a rather dreamy man, whom I like. Lloyd, Graham +and I go to breakfast with him to-morrow; the next day the whole +party of us lunch on the <i>Curaçoa</i> and go in the +evening to a <i>Bierabend</i> at Dr. Funk’s. We are +getting up a paper-chase for the following week with some of the +young German clerks, and have in view a sort of child’s +party for grown-up persons with kissing games, etc., here at +Vailima. Such is the gay scene in which we move. Now +I have done something, though not as much as I wanted, to give +you an idea of how we are getting on, and I am keenly conscious +that there are other letters to do before the mail +goes.—Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">R. L. +Stevenson</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page340"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +340</span>CHAPTER XLII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Aug.</i> 7<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—This is to +inform you, sir, that on Sunday last (and this is Tuesday) I +attained my ideal here, and we had a paper chase in Vailele +Plantation, about 15 miles, I take it, from us; and it was all +that could be wished. It is really better fun than +following the hounds, since you have to be your own hound, and a +precious bad hound I was, following every false scent on the +whole course to the bitter end; but I came in 3rd at the last on +my little Jack, who stuck to it gallantly, and awoke the praises +of some discriminating persons. (5 + 7 + 2.5 = 14.5 miles; +yes, that is the count.) We had quite the old sensations of +exhilaration, discovery, an appeal to a savage instinct; and I +felt myself about 17 again, a pleasant experience. However, +it was on the Sabbath Day, and I am now a pariah among the +English, as if I needed any increment of unpopularity. I +must not go again; it gives so much unnecessary tribulation to +poor people, and, sure, we don’t want to make +tribulation. I have been forbidden to work, and have been +instead doing my two or three hours in the plantation every +morning. I only wish somebody would pay me £10 a day +for taking care of cacao, and I could leave literature to +others. Certainly, if I have plenty of exercise, and no +work, I feel much better; but there is Biles the butcher! him we +have always with us.</p> +<p>I do not much like novels, I begin to think, but I am enjoying +exceedingly Orme’s <i>History of Hindostan</i>, a lovely +book in its way, in large quarto, with a quantity of maps, and +written in a very lively and solid eighteenth century way, never +picturesque except by accident and from a kind of conviction, and +a fine sense of order. No historian I have ever read is so +minute; yet he never gives you a word about the people; his +interest is entirely limited in the concatenation of events, into +which he goes with a lucid, almost superhuman, and wholly ghostly +gusto. ‘By the ghost of a mathematician’ the +book might be announced. A very brave, honest book.</p> +<p>Your letter to hand.</p> +<p>Fact is, I don’t like the picter. O, it’s a +good picture, but if you <i>ask</i> me, you know, I believe, +stoutly believe, that mankind, including you, are going mad, I am +not in the midst with the other frenzy dancers, so I don’t +catch it wholly; and when you show me a thing—and ask me, +don’t you know—Well, well! Glad to get so good +an account of the <i>Amateur Emigrant</i>. Talking of +which, I am strong for making a volume out of selections from the +South Sea letters; I read over again the King of Apemama, and it +is good in spite of your teeth, and a real curiosity, a thing +that can never be seen again, and the group is annexed and +Tembinoka dead. I wonder, couldn’t you send out to me +the <i>first</i> five Butaritari letters and the Low Archipelago +ones (both of which I have lost or mislaid) and I can chop out a +perfectly fair volume of what I wish to be preserved. It +can keep for the last of the series.</p> +<p><i>Travels and Excursions</i>, vol. <span +class="GutSmall">II.</span> Should it not include a paper +on S. F. from the <i>Mag. of Art</i>? The A. E., the New +Pacific capital, the Old ditto. <i>Silver. Squat.</i> +This would give all my works on the States; and though it +ain’t very good, it’s not so very bad. +<i>Travels and Excursions</i>, vol. <span +class="GutSmall">III.</span>, to be these resuscitated +letters—<i>Miscellanies</i>, vol. <span +class="GutSmall">II.</span>—<i>comme vous voudrez</i>, +<i>cher monsieur</i>!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Monday</i>, Aug. 13<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>I have a sudden call to go up the coast and must hurry up with +my information. There has suddenly come to our naval +commanders the need of action, they’re away up the coast +bombarding the Atua rebels. All morning on Saturday the +sound of the bombardment of Lotuanu’u kept us uneasy. +To-day again the big guns have been sounding further along the +coast.</p> +<p>To-morrow morning early I am off up the coast myself. +Therefore you must allow me to break off here without further +ceremony.—Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Robert Louis +Stevenson</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page343"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +343</span>CHAPTER XLIII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Vailima</i>, 1894.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—This must be +a very measly letter. I have been trying hard to get along +with <i>St. Ives</i>. I should now lay it aside for a year +and I daresay I should make something of it after all. +Instead of that, I have to kick against the pricks, and break +myself, and spoil the book, if there were anything to spoil, +which I am far from saying. I’m as sick of the thing +as ever any one can be; it’s a rudderless hulk; it’s +a pagoda, and you can just feel—or I can feel—that it +might have been a pleasant story, if it had been only blessed at +baptism.</p> +<p>Our politics have gone on fairly well, but the result is still +doubtful.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sept.</i> 10<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>I know I have something else to say to you, but unfortunately +I awoke this morning with collywobbles, and had to take a small +dose of laudanum with the usual consequences of dry throat, +intoxicated legs, partial madness and total imbecility; and for +the life of me I cannot remember what it is. I have +likewise mislaid your letter amongst the accumulations on my +table, not that there was anything in it. Altogether I am +in a poor state. I forgot to tell Baxter that the dummy had +turned up and is a fine, personable-looking volume and very good +reading. Please communicate this to him.</p> +<p>I have just remembered an incident that I really must not let +pass. You have heard a great deal more than you wanted +about our political prisoners. Well, one day, about a +fortnight ago, the last of them was set free—Old +Poè, whom I think I must have mentioned to you, the +father-in-law of my cook, was one that I had had a great deal of +trouble with. I had taken the doctor to see him, got him +out on sick leave, and when he was put back again gave bail for +him. I must not forget that my wife ran away with him out +of the prison on the doctor’s orders and with the +complicity of our friend the gaoler, who really and truly got the +sack for the exploit. As soon as he was finally liberated, +Poè called a meeting of his fellow-prisoners. All +Sunday they were debating what they were to do, and on Monday +morning I got an obscure hint from Talolo that I must expect +visitors during the day who were coming to consult me. +These consultations I am now very well used to, and seeing first, +that I generally don’t know what to advise, and second that +they sometimes don’t take my advice—though in some +notable cases they have taken it, generally to my own wonder with +pretty good results—I am not very fond of these +calls. They minister to a sense of dignity, but not peace +of mind, and consume interminable time always in the morning too, +when I can’t afford it. However, this was to be a new +sort of consultation. Up came Poè and some eight +other chiefs, squatted in a big circle around the old dining-room +floor, now the smoking-room. And the family, being +represented by Lloyd, Graham, Belle, Austin and myself, proceeded +to exchange the necessary courtesies. Then their talking +man began. He said that they had been in prison, that I had +always taken an interest in them, that they had now been set at +liberty without condition, whereas some of the other chiefs who +had been liberated before them were still under bond to work upon +the roads, and that this had set them considering what they might +do to testify their gratitude. They had therefore agreed to +work upon my road as a free gift. They went on to explain +that it was only to be on my road, on the branch that joins my +house with the public way.</p> +<p>Now I was very much gratified at this compliment, although (to +one used to natives) it seemed rather a hollow one. It +meant only that I should have to lay out a good deal of money on +tools and food and to give wages under the guise of presents to +some workmen who were most of them old and in ill-health. +Conceive how much I was surprised and touched when I heard the +whole scheme explained to me. They were to return to their +provinces, and collect their families; some of the young men were +to live in Apia with a boat, and ply up and down the coast to +A’ana and A’tua (our own Tuamasaga being quite +drained of resources) in order to supply the working squad with +food. Tools they did ask for, but it was especially +mentioned that I was to make no presents. In short, the +whole of this little ‘presentation’ to me had been +planned with a good deal more consideration than goes usually +with a native campaign.</p> +<p>(I sat on the opposite side of the circle to the talking +man. His face was quite calm and high-bred as he went +through the usual Samoan expressions of politeness and +compliment, but when he came on to the object of their visit, on +their love and gratitude to Tusitala, how his name was always in +their prayers, and his goodness to them when they had no other +friend, was their most cherished memory, he warmed up to real, +burning, genuine feeling. I had never seen the Samoan mask +of reserve laid aside before, and it touched me more than +anything else. <span class="GutSmall">A.M.</span>)</p> +<p>This morning as ever was, bright and early up came the whole +gang of them, a lot of sturdy, common-looking lads they seemed to +be for the most part, and fell to on my new road. Old +Poè was in the highest of good spirits, and looked better +in health than he has done any time in two years, being +positively rejuvenated by the success of his scheme. He +jested as he served out the new tools, and I am sorry to say +damned the Government up hill and down dale, probably with a view +to show off his position as a friend of the family before his +work-boys. Now, whether or not their impulse will last them +through the road does not matter to me one hair. It is the +fact that they have attempted it, that they have volunteered and +are now really trying to execute a thing that was never before +heard of in Samoa. Think of it! It is +road-making—the most fruitful cause (after taxes) of all +rebellions in Samoa, a thing to which they could not be wiled +with money nor driven by punishment. It does give me a +sense of having done something in Samoa after all.</p> +<p>Now there’s one long story for you about ‘my +blacks.’—Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Robert Louis +Stevenson</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page348"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +348</span>CHAPTER XLIV</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Vailima</i>, <i>Samoa</i>,<br /> +<i>Oct.</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1894.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Colvin</span>,—We have had +quite an interesting month and mostly in consideration of that +road which I think I told you was about to be made. It was +made without a hitch, though I confess I was considerably +surprised. When they got through, I wrote a speech to them, +sent it down to a Missionary to be translated, and invited the +lot to a feast. I thought a good deal of this feast. +The occasion was really interesting. I wanted to pitch it +in hot. And I wished to have as many influential witnesses +present as possible. Well, as it drew towards the day I had +nothing but refusals. Everybody supposed it was to be a +political occasion, that I had made a hive of rebels up here, and +was going to push for new hostilities.</p> +<p>The Amanuensis has been ill, and after the above trial petered +out. I must return to my own, lone Waverley. The +captain refused, telling me why; and at last I had to beat up for +people almost with prayers. However, I got a good lot, as +you will see by the accompanying newspaper report. The road +contained this inscription, drawn up by the chiefs +themselves:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘<span +class="smcap">The Road of Gratitude</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Considering the great love of Tusitala in his loving +care of us in our distress in the prison, we have therefore +prepared a splendid gift. It shall never be muddy, it shall +endure for ever, this road that we have dug.’ This +the newspaper reporter could not give, not knowing any +Samoan. The same reason explains his references to +Seumanutafa’s speech, which was not long and <i>was</i> +important, for it was a speech of courtesy and forgiveness to his +former enemies. It was very much applauded. Secondly, +it was not Poè, it was Mataafã (don’t confuse +with Mataafa) who spoke for the prisoners. Otherwise it is +extremely correct.</p> +<p>I beg your pardon for so much upon my aboriginals. Even +you must sympathise with me in this unheard-of compliment, and my +having been able to deliver so severe a sermon with +acceptance. It remains a nice point of conscience what I +should wish done in the matter. I think this meeting, its +immediate results, and the terms of what I said to them, +desirable to be known. It will do a little justice to me, +who have not had too much justice done me. At the same +time, to send this report to the papers is truly an act of +self-advertisement, and I dislike the thought. Query, in a +man who has been so much calumniated, is that not +justifiable? I do not know; be my judge. Mankind is +too complicated for me; even myself. Do I wish to +advertise? I think I do, God help me! I have had hard +times here, as every man must have who mixes up with public +business; and I bemoan myself, knowing that all I have done has +been in the interest of peace and good government; and having +once delivered my mind, I would like it, I think, to be made +public. But the other part of me <i>regimbs</i>.</p> +<p>I know I am at a climacteric for all men who live by their +wits, so I do not despair. But the truth is I am pretty +nearly useless at literature, and I will ask you to spare <i>St. +Ives</i> when it goes to you; it is a sort of <i>Count Robert of +Paris</i>. But I hope rather a <i>Dombey and Son</i>, to be +succeeded by <i>Our Mutual Friend</i> and <i>Great +Expectations</i> and <i>A Tale of Two Cities</i>. No toil +has been spared over the ungrateful canvas; and it <i>will +not</i> come together, and I must live, and my family. Were +it not for my health, which made it impossible, I could not find +it in my heart to forgive myself that I did not stick to an +honest, common-place trade when I was young, which might have now +supported me during these ill years. But do not suppose me +to be down in anything else; only, for the nonce, my skill +deserts me, such as it is, or was. It was a very little +dose of inspiration, and a pretty little trick of style, long +lost, improved by the most heroic industry. So far, I have +managed to please the journalists. But I am a fictitious +article and have long known it. I am read by journalists, +by my fellow-novelists, and by boys; with these, <i>incipit et +explicit</i> my vogue. Good thing anyway! for it seems to +have sold the Edition. And I look forward confidently to an +aftermath; I do not think my health can be so hugely improved, +without some subsequent improvement in my brains. Though, +of course, there is the possibility that literature is a morbid +secretion, and abhors health! I do not think it is possible +to have fewer illusions than I. I sometimes wish I had +more. They are amusing. But I cannot take myself +seriously as an artist; the limitations are so obvious. I +did take myself seriously as a workman of old, but my practice +has fallen off. I am now an idler and cumberer of the +ground; it may be excused to me perhaps by twenty years of +industry and ill-health, which have taken the cream off the +milk.</p> +<p>As I was writing this last sentence, I heard the strident rain +drawing near across the forest, and by the time I was come to the +word ‘cream’ it burst upon my roof, and has since +redoubled, and roared upon it. A very welcome change. +All smells of the good wet earth, sweetly, with a kind of +Highland touch; the crystal rods of the shower, as I look up, +have drawn their criss-cross over everything; and a gentle and +very welcome coolness comes up around me in little draughts, +blessed draughts, not chilling, only equalising the +temperature. Now the rain is off in this spot, but I hear +it roaring still in the nigh neighbourhood—and that moment, +I was driven from the verandah by random rain drops, spitting at +me through the Japanese blinds. These are not tears with +which the page is spotted! Now the windows stream, the roof +reverberates. It is good; it answers something which is in +my heart; I know not what; old memories of the wet moorland +belike.</p> +<p>Well, it has blown by again, and I am in my place once more, +with an accompaniment of perpetual dripping on the +verandah—and very much inclined for a chat. The exact +subject I do not know! It will be bitter at least, and that +is strange, for my attitude is essentially <i>not</i> bitter, but +I have come into these days when a man sees above all the seamy +side, and I have dwelt some time in a small place where he has an +opportunity of reading little motives that he would miss in the +great world, and indeed, to-day, I am almost ready to call the +world an error. Because? Because I have not drugged +myself with successful work, and there are all kinds of trifles +buzzing in my ear, unfriendly trifles, from the least to +the—well, to the pretty big. All these that touch me +are Pretty Big; and yet none touch me in the least, if rightly +looked at, except the one eternal burthen to go on making an +income. If I could find a place where I could lie down and +give up for (say) two years, and allow the sainted public to +support me, if it were a lunatic asylum, wouldn’t I go, +just! But we can’t have both extremes at once, worse +luck! I should like to put my savings into a proprietarian +investment, and retire in the meanwhile into a communistic +retreat, which is double-dealing. But you men with salaries +don’t know how a family weighs on a fellow’s +mind.</p> +<p>I hear the article in next week’s <i>Herald</i> is to be +a great affair, and all the officials who came to me the other +day are to be attacked! This is the unpleasant side of +being (without a salary) in public life; I will leave anyone to +judge if my speech was well intended, and calculated to do +good. It was even daring—I assure you one of the +chiefs looked like a fiend at my description of Samoan +warfare. Your warning was not needed; we are all determined +to <i>keep the peace</i> and to <i>hold our peace</i>. I +know, my dear fellow, how remote all this sounds! Kindly +pardon your friend. I have my life to live here; these +interests are for me immediate; and if I do not write of them, I +might as soon not write at all. There is the difficulty in +a distant correspondence. It is perhaps easy for me to +enter into and understand your interests; I own it is difficult +for you; but you must just wade through them for +friendship’s sake, and try to find tolerable what is vital +for your friend. I cannot forbear challenging you to it, as +to intellectual lists. It is the proof of intelligence, the +proof of not being a barbarian, to be able to enter into +something outside of oneself, something that does not touch +one’s next neighbour in the city omnibus.</p> +<p>Good-bye, my lord. May your race continue and you +flourish—Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Tusitala</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page355"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +355</span>EPILOGUE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> tenor of these last letters of +Stevenson’s to me, and of others written to several of his +friends at the same time, seemed to give just cause for +anxiety. Indeed, as the reader will have perceived, a +gradual change had during the past months been coming over the +tone of his correspondence. It was not like him to be +sensitive to a rough word in a friendly review, nor to recur with +so much feeling to my unlucky complaint, quickly regretted and +withdrawn, as to his absorption in native affairs and local +interests. To judge by these letters, his old invincible +spirit of inward cheerfulness was beginning to give way to moods +of depression and overstrained feeling; although to those about +him, it seems, his charming habitual sweetness and gaiety of +temper were undiminished. Again, it was a new thing in his +life that he should thus painfully feel the strain of literary +work, at almost all other times his chief delight and pastime, +and should express the longing to lay it down. His friend +Mr. Charles Baxter and I at once telegraphed to him, as the +success of the Edinburgh Edition enabled us to do, in terms +intended to ease his mind and <a name="page356"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 356</span>to induce him to take the rest of +which he seemed so urgently in need. It seems doubtful if +our words were fully understood: it is more doubtful still if +that ever-shaping mind had retained any capacity for rest, +except, as he had himself foretold, the rest of the grave. +At any rate he took none, but on receipt of our message only +turned to his old expedient, a change of labour. He gave up +for a while the attempt to finish <i>St. Ives</i>; a task as to +which I may say that he had no occasion to write so despondingly, +for as a tale of adventure, manners, and the road, which is all +it was meant to be, it will be found a very spirited and +entertaining piece, lacking, indeed, the dénouement, and +containing a chapter or two which the author would doubtless have +cancelled or recast, but others which are in almost his happiest +manner of invention and narrative. He gave this up, and +turned to a more arduous theme, the tragic story of the Scottish +moorlands, in which the varieties and the strength of border +character were to be illustrated in the Four Brothers of +Cauldstaneslap, and the Hanging Judge was to be called upon, like +Brutus, to condemn his son, and the two Kirsties, younger and +elder, were to embody one the wavering and the other the heroic +soul of woman.</p> +<p>On this theme, which had already been working in his mind for +some years, he felt his inspiration return, and laboured during +the month of November and the first days of December at <a +name="page357"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 357</span>the full +pitch of his powers and in the conscious happiness of their +exercise. About the same time various external +circumstances occurred to give him pleasure. The incident +of the road-making, as the reader has seen, had brought home to +him as nothing else could have done the sense of the love and +gratitude he had won from the island people and their chiefs, and +of the power he was able to exercise on them for their +good. Soon afterwards, the anniversaries of his own +birthday and of the American thanksgiving feast brought evidences +hardly less welcome, after so much contention and annoyance as +the island affairs and politics had involved him in, of the +honour and affection in which he was held by all that was best in +the white community. By each succeeding mail came stronger +proofs from home of the manner in which men of letters of the +younger generation had come to regard him as their master, their +literary conscience and example, and above all their +friend. Deepest, perhaps, of all lay that pleasure of +feeling himself to be working once more at his best. Of the +many and various gifts of this brilliant spirit—adventurer, +observer, humorist, moralist, essayist, poet, critic, and +romancer—of all his many and various gifts, the master gift +was assuredly the creative, the gift of human and historical +imagination. It was not in vain that his islanders called +him Tusitala. Teller of tales he had been, first and +foremost, from his childhood; seer into the <a +name="page358"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 358</span>hearts and +fates of men and women he was growing to be more and more. +The time was now ripe—had only the strength +sufficed—for his career as a creative writer to enter upon +a new and ampler phase. The fragment on which he wrought +during the last month of his life gives to my mind (as it did to +his own) for the first time the full measure of his powers; and +if in the literature of romance there is to be found work more +masterly, of more piercing human insight or more concentrated +imaginative vision and beauty, I do not know it.</p> +<p>But to enter on such a task under such conditions was of all +his adventures the most adventurous. The Pacific climate +had brought him, as we have seen, a renewal for some years of +nervous energy and joy in living, but it may be doubted if that +climate is ever truly and in the long run restorative to men of +northern blood. At any rate it demands as a condition of +health some measure of repose, and to repose he had, here as +elsewhere, been a stranger. He entered upon his new labour, +taxing alike to heart and mind, with all the fibres of his brain +long strained by unremitting toil in the tropic heats he +loved. Readers will remember the gallant doctrine of his +early essay. ‘By all means begin your folio; even if +the doctor does not give you a year, even if he hesitates about a +month, make one brave push, and see what can be accomplished in a +week. It is not only in finished undertakings <a +name="page359"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 359</span>that we +ought to honour useful labour. A spirit goes out of the man +who means execution, which outlives the most untimely +end.’ In a temper truly accordant with this doctrine +he applied himself to his new task, and before it was fully half +accomplished the doom so long foreshadowed and so little feared +had overtaken him; he had died as he would have desired to die, +and fallen smiling in the midst of the battle. That he was +more or less distinctly aware of the imminence of the blow we may +gather from the tenor of some of his letters written in these +weeks. On the last day of his life, after a morning of +happy work and pleasant correspondence, he was seen gazing long +and wistfully at the mountain summit which he had chosen to be +his burial-place. Towards the evening of the same day, he +was talking gaily with his wife, and trying to reassure her under +the sense of coming calamity which oppressed her, when the sudden +rupture of a blood-vessel in the brain laid him, almost in a +moment, unconscious at her feet; and before two hours were over +he had passed away. To the English-speaking world he has +left behind a treasure which it would be vain as yet to attempt +to estimate; to the profession of letters one of the most +ennobling and inspiring of examples; and to his friends an image +of the memory more vivid and more dear than are the presences of +almost any of the living.</p> +<h2><a name="page360"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +360</span>APPENDIX</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Address to the Chiefs on the +opening of the Road of Gratitude</i>, Oct. 1894.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stevenson</span> said: ‘We are +met together to-day to celebrate an event and to do honour to +certain chiefs, my friends,—Lelei, Mataafa, Salevao, +Poè, Teleso, Tupuola Lotofaga, Tupuola Amaile, Muliaiga, +Ifopo, and Fatialofa. You are all aware in some degree of +what has happened. You know these chiefs to have been +prisoners; you perhaps know that during the term of their +confinement, I had it in my power to do them certain +favours. One thing some of you cannot know, that they were +immediately repaid by answering attentions. They were +liberated by the new administration; by the King, and the Chief +Justice, and the Ta’its’ifono, who are here amongst +us to-day, and to whom we all desire to tender our renewed and +perpetual gratitude for that favour. As soon as they were +free men—owing no man anything—instead of going home +to their own places and families, they came to me; they offered +to do this work for me as a free gift, without hire, without +supplies, and I was tempted at first to refuse their offer. +I knew the country to be poor, I knew famine threatening; I knew +their families long disorganised for want of supervision. +Yet I accepted, <a name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +361</span>because I thought the lesson of that road might be more +useful to Samoa than a thousand breadfruit trees; and because to +myself it was an exquisite pleasure to receive that which was so +handsomely offered. It is now done; you have trod it to-day +in coming hither. It has been made for me by chiefs; some +of them old, some sick, all newly delivered from a harassing +confinement, and in spite of weather unusually hot and +insalubrious. I have seen these chiefs labour valiantly +with their own hands upon the work, and I have set up over it, +now that it is finished, the name of ‘The Road of +Gratitude’ (the road of loving hearts) and the names of +those that built it. ‘In perpetuam memoriam,’ +we say and speak idly. At least so long as my own life +shall be spared, it shall be here perpetuated; partly for my +pleasure and in my gratitude; partly for others; to continually +publish the lesson of this road.’</p> +<p>Addressing himself to the chiefs, Mr. Stevenson then +said:—</p> +<p>‘I will tell you, Chiefs, that, when I saw you working +on that road, my heart grew warm; not with gratitude only, but +with hope. It seemed to me that I read the promise of +something good for Samoa; it seemed to me, as I looked at you, +that you were a company of warriors in a battle, fighting for the +defence of our common country against all aggression. For +there is a time to fight, and a time to dig. You Samoans +may fight, you may conquer twenty times, and thirty times, and +all will be in vain. There is but one way to defend +Samoa. Hear it before it is too late. It is to make +roads, and gardens, and care for your trees, and sell their +produce wisely, and, in one word, to occupy and use your +country. If you do not others will.’</p> +<p><a name="page362"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 362</span>The +speaker then referred to the parable of the +‘Talents,’ Matt. xxv. 14–30, and continuing, +impressively asked: ‘What are you doing with your talent, +Samoa? Your three talents, Savaii, Upolu, and +Tutuila? Have you buried it in a napkin? Not Upolu at +least. You have rather given it out to be trodden under +feet of swine: and the swine cut down food trees and burn houses, +according to the nature of swine, or of that much worse animal, +foolish man, acting according to his folly. “Thou +knewest that I reap where I sowed not, and gather where I have +not strawed.” But God has both sown and strawed for +you here in Samoa; He has given you a rich soil, a splendid sur +copious rain; all is ready to your hand, half done. And I +repeat to you that thing which is sure: if you do not occupy and +use your country, others will. It will not continue to be +yours or your childrens, if you occupy it for nothing. You +and your children will in that case be cast out into outer +darkness, where shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth; for that +is the law of God which passeth not away. I who speak to +you have seen these things. I have seen them with my +eyes—these judgments of God. I have seen them in +Ireland, and I have seen them in the mountains of my own +country—Scotland—and my heart was sad. These +were a fine people in the past—brave, gay, faithful, and +very much like Samoans, except in one particular, that they were +much wiser and better at that business of fighting of which you +think so much. But the time came to them as it now comes to +you, and it did not find them ready. The messenger came +into their villages and they did not know him; they were told, as +you are told, to use and occupy their country, and they would not +hear. <a name="page363"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +363</span>And now you may go through great tracts of the land and +scarce meet a man or a smoking house, and see nothing but sheep +feeding. The other people that I tell you of have come upon +them like a foe in the night, and these are the other +people’s sheep who browse upon the foundation of their +houses. To come nearer; and I have seen this judgment in +Oahu also. I have ridden there the whole day along the +coast of an island. Hour after hour went by and I saw the +face of no living man except that of the guide who rode with +me. All along that desolate coast, in one bay after +another, we saw, still standing, the churches that have been +built by the Hawaiians of old. There must have been many +hundreds, many thousands, dwelling there in old times, and +worshipping God in these now empty churches. For to-day +they were empty; the doors were closed, the villages had +disappeared, the people were dead and gone; only the church stood +on like a tombstone over a grave, in the midst of the white +men’s sugar fields. The other people had come and +used that country, and the Hawaiians who occupied it for nothing +had been swept away, “where is weeping and gnashing of +teeth.”</p> +<p>‘I do not speak of this lightly, because I love Samoa +and her people. I love the land, I have chosen it to be my +home while I live, and my grave after I am dead; and I love the +people, and have chosen them to be my people to live and die +with. And I see that the day is come now of the great +battle; of the great and the last opportunity by which it shall +be decided, whether you are to pass away like these other races +of which I have been speaking, or to stand fast and have your +children living on and honouring your memory in the land you +received of your fathers.</p> +<p><a name="page364"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +364</span>‘The Land Commission and the Chief Justice will +soon have ended their labours. Much of your land will be +restored to you, to do what you can with. Now is the time +the messenger is come into your villages to summon you; the man +is come with the measuring rod; the fire is lighted in which you +shall be tried; whether you are gold or dross. Now is the +time for the true champions of Samoa to stand forth. And +who is the true champion of Samoa? It is not the man who +blackens his face, and cuts down trees, and kills pigs and +wounded men. It is the man who makes roads, who plants food +trees, who gathers harvests, and is a profitable servant before +the Lord, using and improving that great talent that has been +given him in trust. That is the brave soldier; that is the +true champion; because all things in a country hang together like +the links of the anchor cable, one by another: but the anchor +itself is industry.</p> +<p>‘There is a friend of most of us, who is far away; not +to be forgotten where I am, where Tupuola is, where Poè +Lelei, Mataafa, Solevao, Poè Teleso, Tupuola Lotofaga, +Tupuolo Amaile, Muliaiga, Ifopo, Fatialofa, Lemusu are. He +knew what I am telling you; no man better. He saw the day +was come when Samoa had to walk in a new path, and to be +defended, not only with guns and blackened faces, and the noise +of men shouting, but by digging and planting, reaping and +sowing. When he was still here amongst us, he busied +himself planting cacao; he was anxious and eager about +agriculture and commerce, and spoke and wrote continually; so +that when we turn our minds to the same matters, we may tell +ourselves that we are still obeying Mataafa. Ua tautala mai +pea o ia ua mamao.</p> +<p><a name="page365"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +365</span>‘I know that I do not speak to idle or foolish +hearers. I speak to those who are not too proud to work for +gratitude. Chiefs! You have worked for Tusitala, and +he thanks you from his heart. In this, I could wish you +could be an example to all Samoa—I wish every chief in +these islands would turn to, and work, and build roads, and sow +fields, and plant food trees, and educate his children and +improve his talents—not for love of Tusitala, but for the +love of his brothers, and his children, and the whole body of +generations yet unborn.</p> +<p>‘Chiefs! On this road that you have made many feet +shall follow. The Romans were the bravest and greatest of +people! mighty men of their hands, glorious fighters and +conquerors. To this day in Europe you may go through parts +of the country where all is marsh and bush, and perhaps after +struggling through a thicket, you shall come forth upon an +ancient road, solid and useful as the day it was made. You +shall see men and women bearing their burdens along that even +way, and you may tell yourself that it was built for them perhaps +fifteen hundred years before,—perhaps before the coming of +Christ,—by the Romans. And the people still remember +and bless them for that convenience, and say to one another, that +as the Romans were the bravest men to fight, so they were the +best at building roads.</p> +<p>‘Chiefs! Our road is not built to last a thousand +years, yet in a sense it is. When a road is once built, it +is a strange thing how it collects traffic, how every year as it +goes on, more and more people are found to walk thereon, and +others are raised up to repair and perpetuate it, and keep it +alive; so that perhaps even <a name="page366"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 366</span>this road of ours may, from +reparation to reparation, continue to exist and be useful +hundreds and hundreds of years after we are mingled in the +dust. And it is my hope that our far-away descendants may +remember and bless those who laboured for them to-day.’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page368"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 368</span>Printed by T. and A. <span +class="smcap">Constable</span>, Printers to His Majesty<br /> +at the Edinburgh University Press</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VAILIMA LETTERS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 387-h.htm or 387-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/8/387 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +Vailima Letters Robert Louis Stevenson +Scanned and proofed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +Vailima Letters + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + +IN THE MOUNTAIN, APIA, SAMOA, +MONDAY, NOVEMBER 2ND, 1890 + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - This is a hard and interesting and +beautiful life that we lead now. Our place is in a deep +cleft of Vaea Mountain, some six hundred feet above the sea, +embowered in forest, which is our strangling enemy, and which +we combat with axes and dollars. I went crazy over outdoor +work, and had at last to confine myself to the house, or +literature must have gone by the board. NOTHING is so +interesting as weeding, clearing, and path-making; the +oversight of labourers becomes a disease; it is quite an +effort not to drop into the farmer; and it does make you feel +so well. To come down covered with mud and drenched with +sweat and rain after some hours in the bush, change, rub +down, and take a chair in the verandah, is to taste a quiet +conscience. And the strange thing that I mark is this: If I +go out and make sixpence, bossing my labourers and plying the +cutlass or the spade, idiot conscience applauds me; if I sit +in the house and make twenty pounds, idiot conscience wails +over my neglect and the day wasted. For near a fortnight I +did not go beyond the verandah; then I found my rush of work +run out, and went down for the night to Apia; put in Sunday +afternoon with our consul, 'a nice young man,' dined with my +friend H. J. Moors in the evening, went to church - no less - +at the white and half-white church - I had never been before, +and was much interested; the woman I sat next LOOKED a full- +blood native, and it was in the prettiest and readiest +English that she sang the hymns; back to Moors', where we +yarned of the islands, being both wide wanderers, till bed- +time; bed, sleep, breakfast, horse saddled; round to the +mission, to get Mr. Clarke to be my interpreter; over with +him to the King's, whom I have not called on since my return; +received by that mild old gentleman; have some interesting +talk with him about Samoan superstitions and my land - the +scene of a great battle in his (Malietoa Laupepa's) youth - +the place which we have cleared the platform of his fort - +the gulley of the stream full of dead bodies - the fight +rolled off up Vaea mountain-side; back with Clarke to the +Mission; had a bit of lunch and consulted over a queer point +of missionary policy just arisen, about our new Town Hall and +the balls there - too long to go into, but a quaint example +of the intricate questions which spring up daily in the +missionary path. + +Then off up the hill; Jack very fresh, the sun (close on +noon) staring hot, the breeze very strong and pleasant; the +ineffable green country all round - gorgeous little birds (I +think they are humming birds, but they say not) skirmishing +in the wayside flowers. About a quarter way up I met a +native coming down with the trunk of a cocoa palm across his +shoulder; his brown breast glittering with sweat and oil: +'Talofa' - 'Talofa, alii - You see that white man? He speak +for you.' 'White man he gone up here?' - 'Ioe (Yes)' - +'Tofa, alii' - 'Tofa, soifua!' I put on Jack up the steep +path, till he is all as white as shaving stick - Brown's +euxesis, wish I had some - past Tanugamanono, a bush village +- see into the houses as I pass - they are open sheds +scattered on a green - see the brown folk sitting there, +suckling kids, sleeping on their stiff wooden pillows - then +on through the wood path - and here I find the mysterious +white man (poor devil!) with his twenty years' certificate of +good behaviour as a book-keeper, frozen out by the strikes in +the colonies, come up here on a chance, no work to be found, +big hotel bill, no ship to leave in - and come up to beg +twenty dollars because he heard I was a Scotchman, offering +to leave his portmanteau in pledge. Settle this, and on +again; and here my house comes in view, and a war whoop +fetches my wife and Henry (or Simele), our Samoan boy, on the +front balcony; and I am home again, and only sorry that I +shall have to go down again to Apia this day week. I could, +and would, dwell here unmoved, but there are things to be +attended to. + +Never say I don't give you details and news. That is a +picture of a letter. + +I have been hard at work since I came; three chapters of THE +WRECKER, and since that, eight of the South Sea book, and, +along and about and in between, a hatful of verses. Some day +I'll send the verse to you, and you'll say if any of it is +any good. I have got in a better vein with the South Sea +book, as I think you will see; I think these chapters will do +for the volume without much change. Those that I did in the +JANET NICOLL, under the most ungodly circumstances, I fear +will want a lot of suppling and lightening, but I hope to +have your remarks in a month or two upon that point. It +seems a long while since I have heard from you. I do hope +you are well. I am wonderful, but tired from so much work; +'tis really immense what I have done; in the South Sea book I +have fifty pages copied fair, some of which has been four +times, and all twice written, certainly fifty pages of solid +scriving inside a fortnight, but I was at it by seven a.m. +till lunch, and from two till four or five every day; between +whiles, verse and blowing on the flageolet; never outside. +If you could see this place! but I don't want any one to see +it till my clearing is done, and my house built. It will be +a home for angels. + +So far I wrote after my bit of dinner, some cold meat and +bananas, on arrival. Then out to see where Henry and some of +the men were clearing the garden; for it was plain there was +to be no work to-day indoors, and I must set in consequence +to farmering. I stuck a good while on the way up, for the +path there is largely my own handiwork, and there were a lot +of sprouts and saplings and stones to be removed. Then I +reached our clearing just where the streams join in one; it +had a fine autumn smell of burning, the smoke blew in the +woods, and the boys were pretty merry and busy. Now I had a +private design:- + +[Map which cannot be reproduced] + +The Vaita'e I had explored pretty far up; not yet the other +stream, the Vaituliga (g=nasal n, as ng in sing); and up +that, with my wood knife, I set off alone. It is here quite +dry; it went through endless woods; about as broad as a +Devonshire lane, here and there crossed by fallen trees; huge +trees overhead in the sun, dripping lianas and tufted with +orchids, tree ferns, ferns depending with air roots from the +steep banks, great arums - I had not skill enough to say if +any of them were the edible kind, one of our staples here! - +hundreds of bananas - another staple - and alas! I had skill +enough to know all of these for the bad kind that bears no +fruit. My Henry moralised over this the other day; how hard +it was that the bad banana flourished wild, and the good must +be weeded and tended; and I had not the heart to tell him how +fortunate they were here, and how hungry were other lands by +comparison. The ascent of this lovely lane of my dry stream +filled me with delight. I could not but be reminded of old +Mayne Reid, as I have been more than once since I came to the +tropics; and I thought, if Reid had been still living, I +would have written to tell him that, for, me, IT HAD COME +TRUE; and I thought, forbye, that, if the great powers go on +as they are going, and the Chief Justice delays, it would +come truer still; and the war-conch will sound in the hills, +and my home will be inclosed in camps, before the year is +ended. And all at once - mark you, how Mayne Reid is on the +spot - a strange thing happened. I saw a liana stretch +across the bed of the brook about breast-high, swung up my +knife to sever it, and - behold, it was a wire! On either +hand it plunged into thick bush; to-morrow I shall see where +it goes and get a guess perhaps of what it means. To-day I +know no more than - there it is. A little higher the brook +began to trickle, then to fill. At last, as I meant to do +some work upon the homeward trail, it was time to turn. I +did not return by the stream; knife in hand, as long as my +endurance lasted, I was to cut a path in the congested bush. + +At first it went ill with me; I got badly stung as high as +the elbows by the stinging plant; I was nearly hung in a +tough liana - a rotten trunk giving way under my feet; it was +deplorable bad business. And an axe - if I dared swing one - +would have been more to the purpose than my cutlass. Of a +sudden things began to go strangely easier; I found stumps, +bushing out again; my body began to wonder, then my mind; I +raised my eyes and looked ahead; and, by George, I was no +longer pioneering, I had struck an old track overgrown, and +was restoring an old path. So I laboured till I was in such +a state that Carolina Wilhelmina Skeggs could scarce have +found a name for it. Thereon desisted; returned to the +stream; made my way down that stony track to the garden, +where the smoke was still hanging and the sun was still in +the high tree-tops, and so home. Here, fondly supposing my +long day was over, I rubbed down; exquisite agony; water +spreads the poison of these weeds; I got it all over my +hands, on my chest, in my eyes, and presently, while eating +an orange, A LA Raratonga, burned my lip and eye with orange +juice. Now, all day, our three small pigs had been adrift, +to the mortal peril of our corn, lettuce, onions, etc., and +as I stood smarting on the back verandah, behold the three +piglings issuing from the wood just opposite. Instantly I +got together as many boys as I could - three, and got the +pigs penned against the rampart of the sty, till the others +joined; whereupon we formed a cordon, closed, captured the +deserters, and dropped them, squeaking amain, into their +strengthened barracks where, please God, they may now stay! + +Perhaps you may suppose the day now over; you are not the +head of a plantation, my juvenile friend. Politics +succeeded: Henry got adrift in his English, Bene was too +cowardly to tell me what he was after: result, I have lost +seven good labourers, and had to sit down and write to you to +keep my temper. Let me sketch my lads. - Henry - Henry has +gone down to town or I could not be writing to you - this +were the hour of his English lesson else, when he learns what +he calls 'long expessions' or 'your chief's language' for the +matter of an hour and a half - Henry is a chiefling from +Savaii; I once loathed, I now like and - pending fresh +discoveries - have a kind of respect for Henry. He does good +work for us; goes among the labourers, bossing and watching; +helps Fanny; is civil, kindly, thoughtful; O SI SIC SEMPER! +But will he be 'his sometime self throughout the year'? +Anyway, he has deserved of us, and he must disappoint me +sharply ere I give him up. - Bene - or Peni-Ben, in plain +English - is supposed to be my ganger; the Lord love him! +God made a truckling coward, there is his full history. He +cannot tell me what he wants; he dares not tell me what is +wrong; he dares not transmit my orders or translate my +censures. And with all this, honest, sober, industrious, +miserably smiling over the miserable issue of his own +unmanliness. - Paul - a German - cook and steward - a glutton +of work - a splendid fellow; drawbacks, three: (1) no cook; +(2) an inveterate bungler; a man with twenty thumbs, +continually falling in the dishes, throwing out the dinner, +preserving the garbage; (3) a dr-, well, don't let us say +that - but we daren't let him go to town, and he - poor, good +soul - is afraid to be let go. - Lafaele (Raphael), a strong, +dull, deprecatory man; splendid with an axe, if watched; the +better for a rowing, when he calls me 'Papa' in the most +wheedling tones; desperately afraid of ghosts, so that he +dare not walk alone up in the banana patch - see map. The +rest are changing labourers; and to-night, owing to the +miserable cowardice of Peni, who did not venture to tell me +what the men wanted - and which was no more than fair - all +are gone - and my weeding in the article of being finished! +Pity the sorrows of a planter. + +I am, Sir, yours, and be jowned to you, The Planter, +R. L. S. + + +Tuesday 3rd + + +I begin to see the whole scheme of letter-writing; you sit +down every day and pour out an equable stream of twaddle. + +This morning all my fears were fled, and all the trouble had +fallen to the lot of Peni himself, who deserved it; my field +was full of weeders; and I am again able to justify the ways +of God. All morning I worked at the South Seas, and finished +the chapter I had stuck upon on Saturday. Fanny, awfully +hove-to with rheumatics and injuries received upon the field +of sport and glory, chasing pigs, was unable to go up and +down stairs, so she sat upon the back verandah, and my work +was chequered by her cries. 'Paul, you take a spade to do +that - dig a hole first. If you do that, you'll cut your +foot off! Here, you boy, what you do there? You no get +work? You go find Simele; he give you work. Peni, you tell +this boy he go find Simele; suppose Simele no give him work, +you tell him go 'way. I no want him here. That boy no +good.' - PENI (from the distance in reassuring tones), 'All +right, sir!' - FANNY (after a long pause), 'Peni, you tell +that boy go find Simele! I no want him stand here all day. +I no pay that boy. I see him all day. He no do nothing.' - +Luncheon, beef, soda-scones, fried bananas, pine-apple in +claret, coffee. Try to write a poem; no go. Play the +flageolet. Then sneakingly off to farmering and pioneering. +Four gangs at work on our place; a lively scene; axes +crashing and smoke blowing; all the knives are out. But I +rob the garden party of one without a stock, and you should +see my hand - cut to ribbons. Now I want to do my path up +the Vaituliga single-handed, and I want it to burst on the +public complete. Hence, with devilish ingenuity, I begin it +at different places; so that if you stumble on one section, +you may not even then suspect the fulness of my labours. +Accordingly, I started in a new place, below the wire, and +hoping to work up to it. It was perhaps lucky I had so bad a +cutlass, and my smarting hand bid me stay before I had got up +to the wire, but just in season, so that I was only the +better of my activity, not dead beat as yesterday. + +A strange business it was, and infinitely solitary; away +above, the sun was in the high tree-tops; the lianas noosed +and sought to hang me; the saplings struggled, and came up +with that sob of death that one gets to know so well; great, +soft, sappy trees fell at a lick of the cutlass, little tough +switches laughed at and dared my best endeavour. Soon, +toiling down in that pit of verdure, I heard blows on the far +side, and then laughter. I confess a chill settled on my +heart. + +Being so dead alone, in a place where by rights none should +be beyond me, I was aware, upon interrogation, if those blows +had drawn nearer, I should (of course quite unaffectedly) +have executed a strategic movement to the rear; and only the +other day I was lamenting my insensibility to superstition! +Am I beginning to be sucked in? Shall I become a midnight +twitterer like my neighbours? At times I thought the blows +were echoes; at times I thought the laughter was from birds. +For our birds are strangely human in their calls. Vaea +mountain about sundown sometimes rings with shrill cries, +like the hails of merry, scattered children. As a matter of +fact, I believe stealthy wood-cutters from Tanugamanono were +above me in the wood and answerable for the blows; as for the +laughter, a woman and two children had come and asked Fanny's +leave to go up shrimp-fishing in the burn; beyond doubt, it +was these I heard. Just at the right time I returned; to +wash down, change, and begin this snatch of letter before +dinner was ready, and to finish it afterwards, before Henry +has yet put in an appearance for his lesson in 'long +explessions.' + +Dinner: stewed beef and potatoes, baked bananas, new loaf- +bread hot from the oven, pine-apple in claret. These are +great days; we have been low in the past; but now are we as +belly-gods, enjoying all things. + + +WEDNESDAY. (HIST. VAILIMA RESUMED.) + + +A gorgeous evening of after-glow in the great tree-tops and +behind the mountain, and full moon over the lowlands and the +sea, inaugurated a night of horrid cold. To you effete +denizens of the so-called temperate zone, it had seemed +nothing; neither of us could sleep; we were up seeking extra +coverings, I know not at what hour - it was as bright as day. +The moon right over Vaea - near due west, the birds strangely +silent, and the wood of the house tingling with cold; I +believe it must have been 60 degrees! Consequence; Fanny has +a headache and is wretched, and I could do no work. (I am +trying all round for a place to hold my pen; you will hear +why later on; this to explain penmanship.) I wrote two +pages, very bad, no movement, no life or interest; then I +wrote a business letter; then took to tootling on the +flageolet, till glory should call me farmering. + +I took up at the fit time Lafaele and Mauga - Mauga, accent +on the first, is a mountain, I don't know what Mauga means - +mind what I told you of the value of g - to the garden, and +set them digging, then turned my attention to the path. I +could not go into my bush path for two reasons: 1st, sore +hands; 2nd, had on my trousers and good shoes. Lucky it was. +Right in the wild lime hedge which cuts athwart us just +homeward of the garden, I found a great bed of kuikui - +sensitive plant - our deadliest enemy. A fool brought it to +this island in a pot, and used to lecture and sentimentalise +over the tender thing. The tender thing has now taken charge +of this island, and men fight it, with torn hands, for bread +and life. A singular, insidious thing, shrinking and biting +like a weasel; clutching by its roots as a limpet clutches to +a rock. As I fought him, I bettered some verses in my poem, +the WOODMAN; the only thought I gave to letters. Though the +kuikui was thick, there was but a small patch of it, and when +I was done I attacked the wild lime, and had a hand-to-hand +skirmish with its spines and elastic suckers. All this time, +close by, in the cleared space of the garden, Lafaele and +Mauga were digging. Suddenly quoth Lafaele, 'Somebody he +sing out.' - 'Somebody he sing out? All right. I go.' And +I went and found they had been whistling and 'singing out' +for long, but the fold of the hill and the uncleared bush +shuts in the garden so that no one heard, and I was late for +dinner, and Fanny's headache was cross; and when the meal was +over, we had to cut up a pineapple which was going bad, to +make jelly of; and the next time you have a handful of broken +blood-blisters, apply pine-apple juice, and you will give me +news of it, and I request a specimen of your hand of write +five minutes after - the historic moment when I tackled this +history. My day so far. + +Fanny was to have rested. Blessed Paul began making a duck- +house; she let him be; the duck-house fell down, and she had +to set her hand to it. He was then to make a drinking-place +for the pigs; she let him be again - he made a stair by which +the pigs will probably escape this evening, and she was near +weeping. Impossible to blame the indefatigable fellow; +energy is too rare and goodwill too noble a thing to +discourage; but it's trying when she wants a rest. Then she +had to cook the dinner; then, of course - like a fool and a +woman - must wait dinner for me, and make a flurry of +herself. Her day so far. CETERA ADHUC DESUNT. + + +FRIDAY - I THINK. + + +I have been too tired to add to this chronicle, which will at +any rate give you some guess of our employment. All goes +well; the kuikui - (think of this mispronunciation having +actually infected me to the extent of misspelling! tuitui is +the word by rights) - the tuitui is all out of the paddock - +a fenced park between the house and boundary; Peni's men +start to-day on the road; the garden is part burned, part +dug; and Henry, at the head of a troop of underpaid +assistants, is hard at work clearing. The part clearing you +will see from the map; from the house run down to the stream +side, up the stream nearly as high as the garden; then back +to the star which I have just added to the map. + +My long, silent contests in the forest have had a strange +effect on me. The unconcealed vitality of these vegetables, +their exuberant number and strength, the attempts - I can use +no other word - of lianas to enwrap and capture the intruder, +the awful silence, the knowledge that all my efforts are only +like the performance of an actor, the thing of a moment, and +the wood will silently and swiftly heal them up with fresh +effervescence; the cunning sense of the tuitui, suffering +itself to be touched with wind-swayed grasses and not minding +- but let the grass be moved by a man, and it shuts up; the +whole silent battle, murder, and slow death of the contending +forest; weigh upon the imagination. My poem the WOODMAN +stands; but I have taken refuge in a new story, which just +shot through me like a bullet in one of my moments of awe, +alone in that tragic jungle:- + + +THE HIGH WOODS OF ULUFANUA. + +1. A South Sea Bridal. +2. Under the Ban. +3. Savao and Faavao. +4. Cries in the High Wood. +5. Rumour full of Tongues. +6. The Hour of Peril. +7. The Day of Vengeance. + + +It is very strange, very extravagant, I daresay; but it's +varied, and picturesque, and has a pretty love affair, and +ends well. Ulufanua is a lovely Samoan word, ulu=grove; +fanua=land; grove-land - 'the tops of the high trees.' +Savao, 'sacred to the wood,' and Faavao, 'wood-ways,' are the +names of two of the characters, Ulufanua the name of the +supposed island. + +I am very tired, and rest off to-day from all but letters. +Fanny is quite done up; she could not sleep last night, +something it seemed like asthma - I trust not. I suppose +Lloyd will be about, so you can give him the benefit of this +long scrawl. Never say that I CAN'T write a letter, say that +I don't. - Yours ever, my dearest fellow, +R. L. S. + + +LATER ON FRIDAY. + + +The guid wife had bread to bake, and she baked it in a pan, +O! But between whiles she was down with me weeding sensitive +in the paddock. The men have but now passed over it; I was +round in that very place to see the weeding was done +thoroughly, and already the reptile springs behind our heels. +Tuitui is a truly strange beast, and gives food for thought. +I am nearly sure - I cannot yet be quite, I mean to +experiment, when I am less on the hot chase of the beast - +that, even at the instant he shrivels up his leaves, he +strikes his prickles downward so as to catch the uprooting +finger; instinctive, say the gabies; but so is man's impulse +to strike out. One thing that takes and holds me is to see +the strange variation in the propagation of alarm among these +rooted beasts; at times it spreads to a radius (I speak by +the guess of the eye) of five or six inches; at times only +one individual plant appears frightened at a time. We tried +how long it took one to recover; 'tis a sanguine creature; it +is all abroad again before (I guess again) two minutes. It +is odd how difficult in this world it is to be armed. The +double armour of this plant betrays it. In a thick tuft, +where the leaves disappear, I thrust in my hand, and the bite +of the thorns betrays the topmost stem. In the open again, +and when I hesitate if it be clover, a touch on the leaves, +and its fine sense and retractile action betrays its identity +at once. Yet it has one gift incomparable. Rome had virtue +and knowledge; Rome perished. The sensitive plant has +indigestible seeds - so they say - and it will flourish for +ever. I give my advice thus to a young plant - have a strong +root, a weak stem, and an indigestible seed; so you will +outlast the eternal city, and your progeny will clothe +mountains, and the irascible planter will blaspheme in vain. +The weak point of tuitui is that its stem is strong. + + +SUPPLEMENTARY PAGE. + + +Here beginneth the third lesson, which is not from the +planter but from a less estimable character, the writer of +books. + +I want you to understand about this South Sea Book. The job +is immense; I stagger under material. I have seen the first +big TACHE. It was necessary to see the smaller ones; the +letters were at my hand for the purpose, but I was not going +to lose this experience; and, instead of writing mere +letters, have poured out a lot of stuff for the book. How +this works and fits, time is to show. But I believe, in +time, I shall get the whole thing in form. Now, up to date, +that is all my design, and I beg to warn you till we have the +whole (or much) of the stuff together, you can hardly judge - +and I can hardly judge. Such a mass of stuff is to be +handled, if possible without repetition - so much foreign +matter to be introduced - if possible with perspicuity - and, +as much as can be, a spirit of narrative to be preserved. +You will find that come stronger as I proceed, and get the +explanations worked through. Problems of style are (as yet) +dirt under my feet; my problem is architectural, creative - +to get this stuff jointed and moving. If I can do that, I +will trouble you for style; anybody might write it, and it +would be splendid; well-engineered, the masses right, the +blooming thing travelling - twig? + +This I wanted you to understand, for lots of the stuff sent +home is, I imagine, rot - and slovenly rot - and some of it +pompous rot; and I want you to understand it's a LAY-IN. + +Soon, if the tide of poeshie continues, I'll send you a whole +lot to damn. You never said thank-you for the handsome +tribute addressed to you from Apemama; such is the gratitude +of the world to the God-sent poick. Well, well:- 'Vex not +thou the poick's mind, With thy coriaceous ingratitude, The +P. will be to your faults more than a little blind, And yours +is a far from handsome attitude.' Having thus dropped into +poetry in a spirit of friendship, I have the honour to +subscribe myself, Sir, + +Your obedient humble servant, +SILAS WEGG. + + +I suppose by this you will have seen the lad - and his feet +will have been in the Monument - and his eyes beheld the face +of George. Well! + +There is much eloquence in a well! +I am, Sir +Yours + +The Epigrammatist + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + +FINIS - EXPLICIT + + + +CHAPTER II + + + +VAILIMA, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 25TH, 1890. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - I wanted to go out bright and early to go +on with my survey. You never heard of that. The world has +turned, and much water run under bridges, since I stopped my +diary. I have written six more chapters of the book, all +good I potently believe, and given up, as a deception of the +devil's, the High Woods. I have been once down to Apia, to a +huge native feast at Seumanutafa's, the chief of Apia. There +was a vast mass of food, crowds of people, the police +charging among them with whips, the whole in high good humour +on both sides; infinite noise; and a historic event - Mr. +Clarke, the missionary, and his wife, assisted at a native +dance. On my return from this function, I found work had +stopped; no more South Seas in my belly. Well, Henry had +cleared a great deal of our bush on a contract, and it ought +to be measured. I set myself to the task with a tape-line; +it seemed a dreary business; then I borrowed a prismatic +compass, and tackled the task afresh. I have no books; I had +not touched an instrument nor given a thought to the business +since the year of grace 1871; you can imagine with what +interest I sat down yesterday afternoon to reduce my +observations; five triangles I had taken; all five came +right, to my ineffable joy. Our dinner - the lowest we have +ever been - consisted of ONE AVOCADO PEAR between Fanny and +me, a ship's biscuit for the guidman, white bread for the +Missis, and red wine for the twa. No salt horse, even, in +all Vailima! After dinner Henry came, and I began to teach +him decimals; you wouldn't think I knew them myself after so +long desuetude! + +I could not but wonder how Henry stands his evenings here; +the Polynesian loves gaiety - I feed him with decimals, the +mariner's compass, derivations, grammar, and the like; +delecting myself, after the manner of my race, MOULT +TRISTEMENT. I suck my paws; I live for my dexterities and by +my accomplishments; even my clumsinesses are my joy - my +woodcuts, my stumbling on the pipe, this surveying even - and +even weeding sensitive; anything to do with the mind, with +the eye, with the hand - with a part of ME; diversion flows +in these ways for the dreary man. But gaiety is what these +children want; to sit in a crowd, tell stories and pass +jests, to hear one another laugh and scamper with the girls. +It's good fun, too, I believe, but not for R. L. S., AETAT. +40. Which I am now past forty, Custodian, and not one penny +the worse that I can see; as amusable as ever; to be on board +ship is reward enough for me; give me the wages of going on - +in a schooner! Only, if ever I were gay, which I +misremember, I am gay no more. And here is poor Henry +passing his evenings on my intellectual husks, which the +professors masticated; keeping the accounts of the estate - +all wrong I have no doubt - I keep no check, beyond a very +rough one; marching in with a cloudy brow, and the day-book +under his arm; tackling decimals, coming with cases of +conscience - how would an English chief behave in such a +case? etc.; and, I am bound to say, on any glimmer of a jest, +lapsing into native hilarity as a tree straightens itself +after the wind is by. The other night I remembered my old +friend - I believe yours also - Scholastikos, and +administered the crow and the anchor - they were quite fresh +to Samoan ears (this implies a very early severance) - and I +thought the anchor would have made away with my Simele +altogether. + +Fanny's time, in this interval, has been largely occupied in +contending publicly with wild swine. We have a black sow; we +call her Jack Sheppard; impossible to confine her - +impossible also for her to be confined! To my sure knowledge +she has been in an interesting condition for longer than any +other sow in story; else she had long died the death; as soon +as she is brought to bed, she shall count her days. I +suppose that sow has cost us in days' labour from thirty to +fifty dollars; as many as eight boys (at a dollar a day) have +been twelve hours in chase of her. Now it is supposed that +Fanny has outwitted her; she grins behind broad planks in +what was once the cook-house. She is a wild pig; far +handsomer than any tame; and when she found the cook-house +was too much for her methods of evasion, she lay down on the +floor and refused food and drink for a whole Sunday. On +Monday morning she relapsed, and now eats and drinks like a +little man. I am reminded of an incident. Two Sundays ago, +the sad word was brought that the sow was out again; this +time she had carried another in her flight. Moors and I and +Fanny were strolling up to the garden, and there by the +waterside we saw the black sow, looking guilty. It seemed to +me beyond words; but Fanny's CRI DU COEUR was delicious: 'G- +r-r!' she cried; 'nobody loves you!' + +I would I could tell you the moving story of our cart and +cart-horses; the latter are dapple-grey, about sixteen hands, +and of enormous substance; the former was a kind of red and +green shandry-dan with a driving bench; plainly unfit to +carry lumber or to face our road. (Remember that the last +third of my road, about a mile, is all made out of a bridle- +track by my boys - and my dollars.) It was supposed a white +man had been found - an ex-German artilleryman - to drive +this last; he proved incapable and drunken; the gallant +Henry, who had never driven before, and knew nothing about +horses - except the rats and weeds that flourish on the +islands - volunteered; Moors accepted, proposing to follow +and supervise: despatched his work and started after. No +cart! he hurried on up the road - no cart. Transfer the +scene to Vailima, where on a sudden to Fanny and me, the cart +appears, apparently at a hard gallop, some two hours before +it was expected; Henry radiantly ruling chaos from the bench. +It stopped: it was long before we had time to remark that the +axle was twisted like the letter L. Our first care was the +horses. There they stood, black with sweat, the sweat +raining from them - literally raining - their heads down, +their feet apart - and blood running thick from the nostrils +of the mare. We got out Fanny's under-clothes - couldn't +find anything else but our blankets - to rub them down, and +in about half an hour we had the blessed satisfaction to see +one after the other take a bite or two of grass. But it was +a toucher; a little more and these steeds would have been +foundered. + + +MONDAY, 31ST? NOVEMBER. + + +Near a week elapsed, and no journal. On Monday afternoon, +Moors rode up and I rode down with him, dined, and went over +in the evening to the American Consulate; present, Consul- +General Sewall, Lieut. Parker and Mrs. Parker, Lafarge the +American decorator, Adams an American historian; we talked +late, and it was arranged I was to write up for Fanny, and we +should both dine on the morrow. + +On the Friday, I was all forenoon in the Mission House, +lunched at the German Consulate, went on board the SPERBER +(German war ship) in the afternoon, called on my lawyer on my +way out to American Consulate, and talked till dinner time +with Adams, whom I am supplying with introductions and +information for Tahiti and the Marquesas. Fanny arrived a +wreck, and had to lie down. The moon rose, one day past +full, and we dined in the verandah, a good dinner on the +whole; talk with Lafarge about art and the lovely dreams of +art students. Remark by Adams, which took me briskly home to +the Monument - 'I only liked one YOUNG woman - and that was +Mrs. Procter.' Henry James would like that. Back by +moonlight in the consulate boat - Fanny being too tired to +walk - to Moors's. Saturday, I left Fanny to rest, and was +off early to the Mission, where the politics are thrilling +just now. The native pastors (to every one's surprise) have +moved of themselves in the matter of the native dances, +desiring the restrictions to be removed, or rather to be made +dependent on the character of the dance. Clarke, who had +feared censure and all kinds of trouble, is, of course, +rejoicing greatly. A characteristic feature: the argument of +the pastors was handed in in the form of a fictitious +narrative of the voyage of one Mr. Pye, an English traveller, +and his conversation with a chief; there are touches of +satire in this educational romance. Mr. Pye, for instance, +admits that he knows nothing about the Bible. At the Mission +I was sought out by Henry in a devil of an agitation; he has +been made the victim of a forgery - a crime hitherto unknown +in Samoa. I had to go to Folau, the chief judge here, in the +matter. Folau had never heard of the offence, and begged to +know what was the punishment; there may be lively times in +forgery ahead. It seems the sort of crime to tickle a +Polynesian. After lunch - you can see what a busy three days +I am describing - we set off to ride home. My Jack was full +of the devil of corn and too much grass, and no work. I had +to ride ahead and leave Fanny behind. He is a most gallant +little rascal is my Jack, and takes the whole way as hard as +the rider pleases. Single incident: half-way up, I find my +boys upon the road and stop and talk with Henry in his +character of ganger, as long as Jack will suffer me. Fanny +drones in after; we make a show of eating - or I do - she +goes to bed about half-past six! I write some verses, read +Irving's WASHINGTON, and follow about half-past eight. O, +one thing more I did, in a prophetic spirit. I had made sure +Fanny was not fit to be left alone, and wrote before turning +in a letter to Chalmers, telling him I could not meet him in +Auckland at this time. By eleven at night, Fanny got me +wakened - she had tried twice in vain - and I found her very +bad. Thence till three, we laboured with mustard poultices, +laudanum, soda and ginger - Heavens! wasn't it cold; the land +breeze was as cold as a river; the moon was glorious in the +paddock, and the great boughs and the black shadows of our +trees were inconceivable. But it was a poor time. + +Sunday morning found Fanny, of course, a complete wreck, and +myself not very brilliant. Paul had to go to Vailele RE +cocoa-nuts; it was doubtful if he could be back by dinner; +never mind, said I, I'll take dinner when you return. Off +set Paul. I did an hour's work, and then tackled the house +work. I did it beautiful: the house was a picture, it +resplended of propriety. Presently Mr. Moors' Andrew rode +up; I heard the doctor was at the Forest House and sent a +note to him; and when he came, I heard my wife telling him +she had been in bed all day, and that was why the house was +so dirty! Was it grateful? Was it politic? Was it TRUE? - +Enough! In the interval, up marched little L. S., one of my +neighbours, all in his Sunday white linens; made a fine +salute, and demanded the key of the kitchen in German and +English. And he cooked dinner for us, like a little man, and +had it on the table and the coffee ready by the hour. Paul +had arranged me this surprise. Some time later, Paul +returned himself with a fresh surprise on hand; he was almost +sober; nothing but a hazy eye distinguished him from Paul of +the week days: VIVAT! + +On the evening I cannot dwell. All the horses got out of the +paddock, went across, and smashed my neighbour's garden into +a big hole. How little the amateur conceives a farmer's +troubles. I went out at once with a lantern, staked up a gap +in the hedge, was kicked at by a chestnut mare, who +straightway took to the bush; and came back. A little after, +they had found another gap, and the crowd were all abroad +again. What has happened to our own garden nobody yet knows. + +Fanny had a fair night, and we are both tolerable this +morning, only the yoke of correspondence lies on me heavy. I +beg you will let this go on to my mother. I got such a good +start in your letter, that I kept on at it, and I have +neither time nor energy for more. + +Yours ever, +R. L. S. + + +SOMETHING NEW. + + +I was called from my letters by the voice of Mr. -, who had +just come up with a load of wood, roaring, 'Henry! Henry! +Bring six boys!' I saw there was something wrong, and ran +out. The cart, half unloaded, had upset with the mare in the +shafts; she was all cramped together and all tangled up in +harness and cargo, the off shaft pushing her over, Mr. - +holding her up by main strength, and right along-side of her +- where she must fall if she went down - a deadly stick of a +tree like a lance. I could not but admire the wisdom and +faith of this great brute; I never saw the riding-horse that +would not have lost its life in such a situation; but the +cart-elephant patiently waited and was saved. It was a +stirring three minutes, I can tell you. + +I forgot in talking of Saturday to tell of one incident which +will particularly interest my mother. I met Dr. D. from +Savaii, and had an age-long talk about Edinburgh folk; it was +very pleasant. He has been studying in Edinburgh, along with +his son; a pretty relation. He told me he knew nobody but +college people: 'I was altogether a student,' he said with +glee. He seems full of cheerfulness and thick-set energy. I +feel as if I could put him in a novel with effect; and ten to +one, if I know more of him, the image will be only blurred. + + +TUESDAY, DEC. 2ND. + + +I should have told you yesterday that all my boys were got up +for their work in moustaches and side-whiskers of some sort +of blacking - I suppose wood-ash. It was a sight of joy to +see them return at night, axe on shoulder, feigning to march +like soldiers, a choragus with a loud voice singing out, +'March-step! March-step!' in imperfect recollection of some +drill. + +Fanny seems much revived. + +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER III + + + +MONDAY, TWENTY-SOMETHINGTH OF DECEMBER, 1890. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - I do not say my Jack is anything +extraordinary; he is only an island horse; and the profane +might call him a Punch; and his face is like a donkey's; and +natives have ridden him, and he has no mouth in consequence, +and occasionally shies. But his merits are equally +surprising; and I don't think I should ever have known Jack's +merits if I had not been riding up of late on moonless +nights. Jack is a bit of a dandy; he loves to misbehave in a +gallant manner, above all on Apia Street, and when I stop to +speak to people, they say (Dr. Stuebel the German consul said +about three days ago), 'O what a wild horse! it cannot be +safe to ride him.' Such a remark is Jack's reward, and +represents his ideal of fame. Now when I start out of Apia +on a dark night, you should see my changed horse; at a fast +steady walk, with his head down, and sometimes his nose to +the ground - when he wants to do that, he asks for his head +with a little eloquent polite movement indescribable - he +climbs the long ascent and threads the darkest of the wood. +The first night I came it was starry; and it was singular to +see the starlight drip down into the crypt of the wood, and +shine in the open end of the road, as bright as moonlight at +home; but the crypt itself was proof, blackness lived in it. +The next night it was raining. We left the lights of Apia +and passed into limbo. Jack finds a way for himself, but he +does not calculate for my height above the saddle; and I am +directed forward, all braced up for a crouch and holding my +switch upright in front of me. It is curiously interesting. +In the forest, the dead wood is phosphorescent; some nights +the whole ground is strewn with it, so that it seems like a +grating over a pale hell; doubtless this is one of the things +that feed the night fears of the natives; and I am free to +confess that in a night of trackless darkness where all else +is void, these pallid IGNES SUPPOSITI have a fantastic +appearance, rather bogey even. One night, when it was very +dark, a man had put out a little lantern by the wayside to +show the entrance to his ground. I saw the light, as I +thought, far ahead, and supposed it was a pedestrian coming +to meet me; I was quite taken by surprise when it struck in +my face and passed behind me. Jack saw it, and he was +appalled; do you think he thought of shying? No, sir, not in +the dark; in the dark Jack knows he is on duty; and he went +past that lantern steady and swift; only, as he went, he +groaned and shuddered. For about 2500 of Jack's steps we +only pass one house - that where the lantern was; and about +1500 of these are in the darkness of the pit. But now the +moon is on tap again, and the roads lighted. + +I have been exploring up the Vaituliga; see your map. It +comes down a wonderful fine glen; at least 200 feet of cliffs +on either hand, winding like a corkscrew, great forest trees +filling it. At the top there ought to be a fine double fall; +but the stream evades it by a fault and passes underground. +Above the fall it runs (at this season) full and very gaily +in a shallow valley, some hundred yards before the head of +the glen. Its course is seen full of grasses, like a flooded +meadow; that is the sink! beyond the grave of the grasses, +the bed lies dry. Near this upper part there is a great show +of ruinous pig-walls; a village must have stood near by. + +To walk from our house to Wreck Hill (when the path is buried +in fallen trees) takes one about half an hour, I think; to +return, not more than twenty minutes; I daresay fifteen. +Hence I should guess it was three-quarters of a mile. I had +meant to join on my explorations passing eastward by the +sink; but, Lord! how it rains. + +(LATER.) + +I went out this morning with a pocket compass and walked in a +varying direction, perhaps on an average S. by W., 1754 +paces. Then I struck into the bush, N.W. by N., hoping to +strike the Vaituliga above the falls. Now I have it plotted +out I see I should have gone W. or even W. by S.; but it is +not easy to guess. For 600 weary paces I struggled through +the bush, and then came on the stream below the gorge, where +it was comparatively easy to get down to it. In the place +where I struck it, it made cascades about a little isle, and +was running about N.E., 20 to 30 feet wide, as deep as to my +knee, and piercing cold. I tried to follow it down, and keep +the run of its direction and my paces; but when I was wading +to the knees and the waist in mud, poison brush, and rotted +wood, bound hand and foot in lianas, shovelled +unceremoniously off the one shore and driven to try my luck +upon the other - I saw I should have hard enough work to get +my body down, if my mind rested. It was a damnable walk; +certainly not half a mile as the crow flies, but a real +bucketer for hardship. Once I had to pass the stream where +it flowed between banks about three feet high. To get the +easier down, I swung myself by a wild-cocoanut - (so called, +it bears bunches of scarlet nutlets) - which grew upon the +brink. As I so swung, I received a crack on the head that +knocked me all abroad. Impossible to guess what tree had +taken a shy at me. So many towered above, one over the +other, and the missile, whatever it was, dropped in the +stream and was gone before I had recovered my wits. (I +scarce know what I write, so hideous a Niagara of rain roars, +shouts, and demonizes on the iron roof - it is pitch dark too +- the lamp lit at 5!) It was a blessed thing when I struck +my own road; and I got home, neat for lunch time, one of the +most wonderful mud statues ever witnessed. In the afternoon +I tried again, going up the other path by the garden, but was +early drowned out; came home, plotted out what I had done, +and then wrote this truck to you. + +Fanny has been quite ill with ear-ache. She won't go, hating +the sea at this wild season; I don't like to leave her; so it +drones on, steamer after steamer, and I guess it'll end by no +one going at all. She is in a dreadful misfortune at this +hour; a case of kerosene having burst in the kitchen. A +little while ago it was the carpenter's horse that trod in a +nest of fourteen eggs, and made an omelette of our hopes. +The farmer's lot is not a happy one. And it looks like some +real uncompromising bad weather too. I wish Fanny's ear were +well. Think of parties in Monuments! think of me in +Skerryvore, and now of this. It don't look like a part of +the same universe to me. Work is quite laid aside; I have +worked myself right out. + + +CHRISTMAS EVE. + + +Yesterday, who could write? My wife near crazy with ear- +ache; the rain descending in white crystal rods and playing +hell's tattoo, like a TUTTI of battering rams, on our sheet- +iron roof; the wind passing high overhead with a strange dumb +mutter, or striking us full, so that all the huge trees in +the paddock cried aloud, and wrung their hands, and +brandished their vast arms. The horses stood in the shed +like things stupid. The sea and the flagship lying on the +jaws of the bay vanished in sheer rain. All day it lasted; I +locked up my papers in the iron box, in case it was a +hurricane, and the house might go. We went to bed with +mighty uncertain feelings; far more than on shipboard, where +you have only drowning ahead - whereas here you have a smash +of beams, a shower of sheet-iron, and a blind race in the +dark and through a whirlwind for the shelter of an unfinished +stable - and my wife with ear-ache! Well, well, this +morning, we had word from Apia; a hurricane was looked for, +the ships were to leave the bay by 10 A.M.; it is now 3.30, +and the flagship is still a fixture, and the wind round in +the blessed east, so I suppose the danger is over. But +heaven is still laden; the day dim, with frequent rattling +bucketfuls of rain; and just this moment (as I write) a +squall went overhead, scarce striking us, with that singular, +solemn noise of its passage, which is to me dreadful. I have +always feared the sound of wind beyond everything. In my +hell it would always blow a gale. + +I have been all day correcting proofs, and making out a new +plan for our house. The other was too dear to be built now, +and it was a hard task to make a smaller house that would +suffice for the present, and not be a mere waste of money in +the future. I believe I have succeeded; I have taken care of +my study anyway. + +Two favours I want to ask of you. First, I wish you to get +'Pioneering in New Guinea,' by J. Chalmers. It's a +missionary book, and has less pretensions to be literature +than Spurgeon's sermons. Yet I think even through that, you +will see some of the traits of the hero that wrote it; a man +that took me fairly by storm for the most attractive, simple, +brave, and interesting man in the whole Pacific. He is away +now to go up the Fly River; a desperate venture, it is +thought; he is quite a Livingstone card. + +Second, try and keep yourself free next winter; and if my +means can be stretched so far, I'll come to Egypt and we'll +meet at Shepheard's Hotel, and you'll put me in my place, +which I stand in need of badly by this time. Lord, what +bully times! I suppose I'll come per British Asia, or +whatever you call it, and avoid all cold, and might be in +Egypt about November as ever was - eleven months from now or +rather less. But do not let us count our chickens. + +Last night three piglings were stolen from one of our pig- +pens. The great Lafaele appeared to my wife uneasy, so she +engaged him in conversation on the subject, and played upon +him the following engaging trick. You advance your two +forefingers towards the sitter's eyes; he closes them, +whereupon you substitute (on his eyelids) the fore and middle +fingers of the left hand; and with your right (which he +supposes engaged) you tap him on the head and back. When you +let him open his eyes, he sees you withdrawing the two +forefingers. 'What that?' asked Lafaele. 'My devil,' says +Fanny. 'I wake um, my devil. All right now. He go catch +the man that catch my pig.' About an hour afterwards, +Lafaele came for further particulars. 'O, all right,' my +wife says. 'By and by, that man he sleep, devil go sleep +same place. By and by, that man plenty sick. I no care. +What for he take my pig?' Lafaele cares plenty; I don't +think he is the man, though he may be; but he knows him, and +most likely will eat some of that pig to-night. He will not +eat with relish. + + +SATURDAY 27TH. + + +It cleared up suddenly after dinner, and my wife and I +saddled up and off to Apia, whence we did not return till +yesterday morning. Christmas Day I wish you could have seen +our party at table. H. J. Moors at one end with my wife, I +at the other with Mrs. M., between us two native women, +Carruthers the lawyer, Moors's two shop-boys - Walters and A. +M. the quadroon - and the guests of the evening, Shirley +Baker, the defamed and much-accused man of Tonga, and his +son, with the artificial joint to his arm - where the +assassins shot him in shooting at his father. Baker's +appearance is not unlike John Bull on a cartoon; he is highly +interesting to speak to, as I had expected; I found he and I +had many common interests, and were engaged in puzzling over +many of the same difficulties. After dinner it was quite +pretty to see our Christmas party, it was so easily pleased +and prettily behaved. In the morning I should say I had been +to lunch at the German consulate, where I had as usual a very +pleasant time. I shall miss Dr. Stuebel much when he leaves, +and when Adams and Lafarge go also, it will be a great blow. +I am getting spoiled with all this good society. + +On Friday morning, I had to be at my house affairs before +seven; and they kept me in Apia till past ten, disputing, and +consulting about brick and stone and native and hydraulic +lime, and cement and sand, and all sorts of otiose details +about the chimney - just what I fled from in my father's +office twenty years ago; I should have made a languid +engineer. Rode up with the carpenter. Ah, my wicked Jack! +on Christmas Eve, as I was taking the saddle bag off, he +kicked at me, and fetched me too, right on the shin. On +Friday, being annoyed at the carpenter's horse having a +longer trot, he uttered a shrill cry and tried to bite him! +Alas, alas, these are like old days; my dear Jack is a Bogue, +but I cannot strangle Jack into submission. + +I have given up the big house for just now; we go ahead right +away with a small one, which should be ready in two months, +and I suppose will suffice for just now. + +O I know I haven't told you about our AITU, have I? It is a +lady, AITU FAFINE: she lives on the mountain-side; her +presence is heralded by the sound of a gust of wind; a sound +very common in the high woods; when she catches you, I do not +know what happens; but in practice she is avoided, so I +suppose she does more than pass the time of day. The great +AITU SAUMAI-AFE was once a living woman; and became an AITU, +no one understands how; she lives in a stream at the well- +head, her hair is red, she appears as a lovely young lady, +her bust particularly admired, to handsome young men; these +die, her love being fatal; - as a handsome youth she has been +known to court damsels with the like result, but this is very +rare; as an old crone she goes about and asks for water, and +woe to them who are uncivil! SAUMAI-AFE means literally, +'Come here a thousand!' A good name for a lady of her +manners. My AITU FAFINE does not seem to be in the same line +of business. It is unsafe to be a handsome youth in Samoa; a +young man died from her favours last month - so we said on +this side of the island; on the other, where he died, it was +not so certain. I, for one, blame it on Madam SAUMAI-AFE +without hesitation. + +Example of the farmer's sorrows. I slipped out on the +balcony a moment ago. It is a lovely morning, cloudless, +smoking hot, the breeze not yet arisen. Looking west, in +front of our new house, I saw, two heads of Indian corn +wagging, and the rest and all nature stock still. As I +looked, one of the stalks subsided and disappeared. I dashed +out to the rescue; two small pigs were deep in the grass - +quite hid till within a few yards - gently but swiftly +demolishing my harvest. Never be a farmer. + + +12.30 P.M. + + +I while away the moments of digestion by drawing you a +faithful picture of my morning. When I had done writing as +above it was time to clean our house. When I am working, it +falls on my wife alone, but to-day we had it between us; she +did the bedroom, I the sitting-room, in fifty-seven minutes +of really most unpalatable labour. Then I changed every +stitch, for I was wet through, and sat down and played on my +pipe till dinner was ready, mighty pleased to be in a mildly +habitable spot once more. The house had been neglected for +near a week, and was a hideous spot; my wife's ear and our +visit to Apia being the causes: our Paul we prefer not to see +upon that theatre, and God knows he has plenty to do +elsewhere. + +I am glad to look out of my back door and see the boys +smoothing the foundations of the new house; this is all very +jolly, but six months of it has satisfied me; we have too +many things for such close quarters; to work in the midst of +all the myriad misfortunes of the planter's life, seated in a +Dyonisius' (can't spell him) ear, whence I catch every +complaint, mishap and contention, is besides the devil; and +the hope of a cave of my own inspires me with lust. O to be +able to shut my own door and make my own confusion! O to +have the brown paper and the matches and 'make a hell of my +own' once more! + +I do not bother you with all my troubles in these +outpourings; the troubles of the farmer are inspiriting - +they are like difficulties out hunting - a fellow rages at +the time and rejoices to recall and to commemorate them. My +troubles have been financial. It is hard to arrange wisely +interests so distributed. America, England, Samoa, Sydney, +everywhere I have an end of liability hanging out and some +shelf of credit hard by; and to juggle all these and build a +dwelling-place here, and check expense - a thing I am ill +fitted for - you can conceive what a nightmare it is at +times. Then God knows I have not been idle. But since THE +MASTER nothing has come to raise any coins. I believe the +springs are dry at home, and now I am worked out, and can no +more at all. A holiday is required. + +DEC. 28TH. I have got unexpectedly to work again, and feel +quite dandy. Good-bye. + +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + +S. S. LUBECK, BETWEEN APIA AND SYDNEY, +JAN. 17TH, 1891. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - The Faamasino Sili, or Chief Justice, to +speak your low language, has arrived. I had ridden down with +Henry and Lafaele; the sun was down, the night was close at +hand, so we rode fast; just as I came to the corner of the +road before Apia, I heard a gun fire; and lo, there was a +great crowd at the end of the pier, and the troops out, and a +chief or two in the height of Samoa finery, and Seumanu +coming in his boat (the oarsmen all in uniform), bringing the +Faamasino Sili sure enough. It was lucky he was no longer; +the natives would not have waited many weeks. But think of +it, as I sat in the saddle at the outside of the crowd +(looking, the English consul said, as if I were commanding +the manoeuvres), I was nearly knocked down by a stampede of +the three consuls; they had been waiting their guest at the +Matafele end, and some wretched intrigue among the whites had +brought him to Apia, and the consuls had to run all the +length of the town and come too late. + +The next day was a long one; I was at a marriage of G. the +banker to Fanua, the virgin of Apia. Bride and bridesmaids +were all in the old high dress; the ladies were all native; +the men, with the exception of Seumanu, all white. + +It was quite a pleasant party, and while we were writing, we +had a bird's-eye view of the public reception of the Chief +Justice. The best part of it were some natives in war array; +with blacked faces, turbans, tapa kilts, and guns, they +looked very manly and purposelike. No, the best part was +poor old drunken Joe, the Portuguese boatman, who seemed to +think himself specially charged with the reception, and ended +by falling on his knees before the Chief Justice on the end +of the pier and in full view of the whole town and bay. The +natives pelted him with rotten bananas; how the Chief Justice +took it I was too far off to see; but it was highly absurd. + +I have commemorated my genial hopes for the regimen of the +Faamasino Sili in the following canine verses, which, if you +at all guess how to read them, are very pretty in movement, +and (unless he be a mighty good man) too true in sense. + + +We're quarrelling, the villages, we've beaten the wooden +drum's, +Sa femisai o nu'u, sa taia o pate, +Is expounded there by the justice, +Ua Atuatuvale a le faamasino e, +The chief justice, the terrified justice, +Le faamasino sili, le faamasino se, +Is on the point of running away the justice, +O le a solasola le faamasino e, +The justice denied any influence, the terrified justice, +O le faamasino le ai a, le faamasino se, +O le a solasola le faamasino e. + + +Well, after this excursion into tongues that have never been +alive - though I assure you we have one capital book in the +language, a book of fables by an old missionary of the +unpromising name of Pratt, which is simply the best and the +most literary version of the fables known to me. I suppose I +should except La Fontaine, but L. F. takes a long time; these +are brief as the books of our childhood, and full of wit and +literary colour; and O, Colvin, what a tongue it would be to +write, if one only knew it - and there were only readers. +Its curse in common use is an incredible left-handed +wordiness; but in the hands of a man like Pratt it is +succinct as Latin, compact of long rolling polysyllables and +little and often pithy particles, and for beauty of sound a +dream. Listen, I quote from Pratt - this is good Samoan, not +canine - + + +O le afa, + +1 2 3 +ua taalili ai + + 4 +le ulu vao, + +1 +ua pa mai + + +le faititili. + + + +1 almost WA, 2 the two A'S just distinguished, 3 the AI is +practically suffixed to the verb, 4 almost VOW. The +excursion has prolonged itself. + +I started by the LUBECK to meet Lloyd and my mother; there +were many reasons for and against; the main reason against +was the leaving of Fanny alone in her blessed cabin, which +has been somewhat remedied by my carter, Mr. -, putting up in +the stable and messing with her; but perhaps desire of change +decided me not well, though I do think I ought to see an +oculist, being very blind indeed, and sometimes unable to +read. Anyway I left, the only cabin passenger, four and a +kid in the second cabin, and a dear voyage it had like to +have proved. Close to Fiji (choose a worse place on the map) +we broke our shaft early one morning; and when or where we +might expect to fetch land or meet with any ship, I would +like you to tell me. The Pacific is absolutely desert. I +have sailed there now some years; and scarce ever seen a ship +except in port or close by; I think twice. It was the +hurricane season besides, and hurricane waters. Well, our +chief engineer got the shaft - it was the middle crank shaft +- mended; thrice it was mended, and twice broke down; but now +keeps up - only we dare not stop, for it is almost impossible +to start again. The captain in the meanwhile crowded her +with sail; fifteen sails in all, every stay being gratified +with a stay-sail, a boat-boom sent aloft for a maintop- +gallant yard, and the derrick of a crane brought in service +as bowsprit. All the time we have had a fine, fair wind and +a smooth sea; to-day at noon our run was 203 miles (if you +please!), and we are within some 360 miles of Sydney. +Probably there has never been a more gallant success; and I +can say honestly it was well worked for. No flurry, no high +words, no long faces; only hard work and honest thought; a +pleasant, manly business to be present at. All the chances +were we might have been six weeks - ay, or three months at +sea - or never turned up at all, and now it looks as though +we should reach our destination some five days too late. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + + +[ON BOARD SHIP BETWEEN SYDNEY AND APIA, FEB. 1891.] + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - The JANET NICOLL stuff was rather worse +than I had looked for; you have picked out all that is fit to +stand, bar two others (which I don't dislike) - the Port of +Entry and the House of Temoana; that is for a present +opinion; I may condemn these also ere I have done. By this +time you should have another Marquesan letter, the worst of +the lot, I think; and seven Paumotu letters, which are not +far out of the vein, as I wish it; I am in hopes the Hawaiian +stuff is better yet: time will show, and time will make +perfect. Is something of this sort practicable for the +dedication? + + +TERRA MARIQUE +PER PERICULA PER ARDUA +AMICAE COMITI +D.D. +AMANS VIATOR + + +'Tis a first shot concocted this morning in my berth: I had +always before been trying it in English, which insisted on +being either insignificant or fulsome: I cannot think of a +better word than COMES, there being not the shadow of a Latin +book on board; yet sure there is some other. Then VIATOR +(though it SOUNDS all right) is doubtful; it has too much, +perhaps, the sense of wayfarer? Last, will it mark +sufficiently that I mean my wife? And first, how about +blunders? I scarce wish it longer. + +Have had a swingeing sharp attack in Sydney; beating the +fields for two nights, Saturday and Sunday. Wednesday was +brought on board, TEL QUEL, a wonderful wreck; and now, +Wednesday week, am a good deal picked up, but yet not quite a +Samson, being still groggy afoot and vague in the head. My +chess, for instance, which is usually a pretty strong game, +and defies all rivalry aboard, is vacillating, devoid of +resource and observation, and hitherto not covered with +customary laurels. As for work, it is impossible. We shall +be in the saddle before long, no doubt, and the pen once more +couched. You must not expect a letter under these +circumstances, but be very thankful for a note. Once at +Samoa, I shall try to resume my late excellent habits, and +delight you with journals, you unaccustomed, I unaccustomed; +but it is never too late to mend. + +It is vastly annoying that I cannot go even to Sydney without +an attack; and heaven knows my life was anodyne. I only once +dined with anybody; at the club with Wise; worked all morning +- a terrible dead pull; a month only produced the imperfect +embryos of two chapters; lunched in the boarding-house, +played on my pipe; went out and did some of my messages; +dined at a French restaurant, and returned to play draughts, +whist, or Van John with my family. This makes a cheery life +after Samoa; but it isn't what you call burning the candle at +both ends, is it? (It appears to me not one word of this +letter will be legible by the time I am done with it, this +dreadful ink rubs off.) I have a strange kind of novel under +construction; it begins about 1660 and ends 1830, or perhaps +I may continue it to 1875 or so, with another life. One, +two, three, four, five, six generations, perhaps seven, +figure therein; two of my old stories, 'Delafield' and +'Shovel,' are incorporated; it is to be told in the third +person, with some of the brevity of history, some of the +detail of romance. THE SHOVELS OF NEWTON FRENCH will be the +name. The idea is an old one; it was brought to birth by an +accident; a friend in the islands who picked up F. Jenkin, +read a part, and said: 'Do you know, that's a strange book? +I like it; I don't believe the public will; but I like it.' +He thought it was a novel! 'Very well,' said I, 'we'll see +whether the public will like it or not; they shall have the +chance.' + +Yours ever, +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + + +FRIDAY, MARCH 19TH. + + +MY DEAR S. C., - You probably expect that now I am back at +Vailima I shall resume the practice of the diary letter. A +good deal is changed. We are more; solitude does not attend +me as before; the night is passed playing Van John for +shells; and, what is not less important, I have just +recovered from a severe illness, and am easily tired. + +I will give you to-day. I sleep now in one of the lower +rooms of the new house, where my wife has recently joined me. +We have two beds, an empty case for a table, a chair, a tin +basin, a bucket and a jug; next door in the dining-room, the +carpenters camp on the floor, which is covered with their +mosquito nets. Before the sun rises, at 5.45 or 5.50, Paul +brings me tea, bread, and a couple of eggs; and by about six +I am at work. I work in bed - my bed is of mats, no +mattress, sheets, or filth - mats, a pillow, and a blanket - +and put in some three hours. It was 9.5 this morning when I +set off to the stream-side to my weeding; where I toiled, +manuring the ground with the best enricher, human sweat, till +the conch-shell was blown from our verandah at 10.30. At +eleven we dine; about half-past twelve I tried (by exception) +to work again, could make nothing on't, and by one was on my +way to the weeding, where I wrought till three. Half-past +five is our next meal, and I read Flaubert's Letters till the +hour came round; dined, and then, Fanny having a cold, and I +being tired, came over to my den in the unfinished house, +where I now write to you, to the tune of the carpenters' +voices, and by the light - I crave your pardon - by the +twilight of three vile candles filtered through the medium of +my mosquito bar. Bad ink being of the party, I write quite +blindfold, and can only hope you may be granted to read that +which I am unable to see while writing. + +I said I was tired; it is a mild phrase; my back aches like +toothache; when I shut my eyes to sleep, I know I shall see +before them - a phenomenon to which both Fanny and I are +quite accustomed - endless vivid deeps of grass and weed, +each plant particular and distinct, so that I shall lie inert +in body, and transact for hours the mental part of my day +business, choosing the noxious from the useful. And in my +dreams I shall be hauling on recalcitrants, and suffering +stings from nettles, stabs from citron thorns, fiery bites +from ants, sickening resistances of mud and slime, evasions +of slimy roots, dead weight of heat, sudden puffs of air, +sudden starts from bird-calls in the contiguous forest - some +mimicking my name, some laughter, some the signal of a +whistle, and living over again at large the business of my +day. + +Though I write so little, I pass all my hours of field-work +in continual converse and imaginary correspondence. I scarce +pull up a weed, but I invent a sentence on the matter to +yourself; it does not get written; AUTANT EN EMPORTENT LES +VENTS; but the intent is there, and for me (in some sort) the +companionship. To-day, for instance, we had a great talk. I +was toiling, the sweat dripping from my nose, in the hot fit +after a squall of rain: methought you asked me - frankly, was +I happy. Happy (said I); I was only happy once; that was at +Hyeres; it came to an end from a variety of reasons, decline +of health, change of place, increase of money, age with his +stealing steps; since then, as before then, I know not what +it means. But I know pleasure still; pleasure with a +thousand faces, and none perfect, a thousand tongues all +broken, a thousand hands, and all of them with scratching +nails. High among these I place this delight of weeding out +here alone by the garrulous water, under the silence of the +high wood, broken by incongruous sounds of birds. And take +my life all through, look at it fore and back, and upside +down, - though I would very fain change myself - I would not +change my circumstances, unless it were to bring you here. +And yet God knows perhaps this intercourse of writing serves +as well; and I wonder, were you here indeed, would I commune +so continually with the thought of you. I say 'I wonder' for +a form; I know, and I know I should not. + +So far, and much further, the conversation went, while I +groped in slime after viscous roots, nursing and sparing +little spears of grass, and retreating (even with outcry) +from the prod of the wild lime. I wonder if any one had ever +the same attitude to Nature as I hold, and have held for so +long? This business fascinates me like a tune or a passion; +yet all the while I thrill with a strong distaste. The +horror of the thing, objective and subjective, is always +present to my mind; the horror of creeping things, a +superstitious horror of the void and the powers about me, the +horror of my own devastation and continual murders. The life +of the plants comes through my fingertips, their struggles go +to my heart like supplications. I feel myself blood- +boltered; then I look back on my cleared grass, and count +myself an ally in a fair quarrel, and make stout my heart. + +It is but a little while since I lay sick in Sydney, beating +the fields about the navy and Dean Swift and Dryden's Latin +hymns; judge if I love this reinvigorating climate, where I +can already toil till my head swims and every string in the +poor jumping Jack (as he now lies in bed) aches with a kind +of yearning strain, difficult to suffer in quiescence. + +As for my damned literature, God knows what a business it is, +grinding along without a scrap of inspiration or a note of +style. But it has to be ground, and the mill grinds +exceeding slowly though not particularly small. The last two +chapters have taken me considerably over a month, and they +are still beneath pity. This I cannot continue, time not +sufficing; and the next will just have to be worse. All the +good I can express is just this; some day, when style +revisits me, they will be excellent matter to rewrite. Of +course, my old cure of a change of work would probably +answer, but I cannot take it now. The treadmill turns; and, +with a kind of desperate cheerfulness, I mount the idle +stair. I haven't the least anxiety about the book; unless I +die, I shall find the time to make it good; but the Lord +deliver me from the thought of the Letters! However, the +Lord has other things on hand; and about six to-morrow, I +shall resume the consideration practically, and face (as best +I may) the fact of my incompetence and disaffection to the +task. Toil I do not spare; but fortune refuses me success. +We can do more, Whatever-his-name-was, we can deserve it. +But my misdesert began long since, by the acceptation of a +bargain quite unsuitable to all my methods. + +To-day I have had a queer experience. My carter has from the +first been using my horses for his own ends; when I left for +Sydney, I put him on his honour to cease, and my back was +scarce turned ere he was forfeit. I have only been waiting +to discharge him; and to-day an occasion arose. I am so much +THE OLD MAN VIRULENT, so readily stumble into anger, that I +gave a deal of consideration to my bearing, and decided at +last to imitate that of the late -. Whatever he might have +to say, this eminently effective controversialist maintained +a frozen demeanour and a jeering smile. The frozen demeanour +is beyond my reach; but I could try the jeering smile; did +so, perceived its efficacy, kept in consequence my temper, +and got rid of my friend, myself composed and smiling still, +he white and shaking like an aspen. He could explain +everything; I said it did not interest me. He said he had +enemies; I said nothing was more likely. He said he was +calumniated; with all my heart, said I, but there are so many +liars, that I find it safer to believe them. He said, in +justice to himself, he must explain: God forbid I should +interfere with you, said I, with the same factitious grin, +but it can change nothing. So I kept my temper, rid myself +of an unfaithful servant, found a method of conducting +similar interviews in the future, and fell in my own liking. +One thing more: I learned a fresh tolerance for the dead -; +he too had learned - perhaps had invented - the trick of this +manner; God knows what weakness, what instability of feeling, +lay beneath. CE QUE C'EST QUE DE NOUS! poor human nature; +that at past forty I must adjust this hateful mask for the +first time, and rejoice to find it effective; that the effort +of maintaining an external smile should confuse and embitter +a man's soul. + +To-day I have not weeded; I have written instead from six +till eleven, from twelve till two; with the interruption of +the interview aforesaid; a damned letter is written for the +third time; I dread to read it, for I dare not give it a +fourth chance - unless it be very bad indeed. Now I write +you from my mosquito curtain, to the song of saws and planes +and hammers, and wood clumping on the floor above; in a day +of heavenly brightness; a bird twittering near by; my eye, +through the open door, commanding green meads, two or three +forest trees casting their boughs against the sky, a forest- +clad mountain-side beyond, and close in by the door-jamb a +nick of the blue Pacific. It is March in England, bleak +March, and I lie here with the great sliding doors wide open +in an undershirt and p'jama trousers, and melt in the closure +of mosquito bars, and burn to be out in the breeze. A few +torn clouds - not white, the sun has tinged them a warm pink +- swim in heaven. In which blessed and fair day, I have to +make faces and speak bitter words to a man - who has deceived +me, it is true - but who is poor, and older than I, and a +kind of a gentleman too. On the whole, I prefer the massacre +of weeds. + + +SUNDAY. + + +When I had done talking to you yesterday, I played on my pipe +till the conch sounded, then went over to the old house for +dinner, and had scarce risen from table ere I was submerged +with visitors. The first of these despatched, I spent the +rest of the evening going over the Samoan translation of my +BOTTLE IMP with Claxton the missionary; then to bed, but +being upset, I suppose, by these interruptions, and having +gone all day without my weeding, not to sleep. For hours I +lay awake and heard the rain fall, and saw faint, far-away +lightning over the sea, and wrote you long letters which I +scorn to reproduce. This morning Paul was unusually early; +the dawn had scarce begun when he appeared with the tray and +lit my candle; and I had breakfasted and read (with +indescribable sinkings) the whole of yesterday's work before +the sun had risen. Then I sat and thought, and sat and +better thought. It was not good enough, nor good; it was as +slack as journalism, but not so inspired; it was excellent +stuff misused, and the defects stood gross on it like humps +upon a camel. But could I, in my present disposition, do +much more with it? in my present pressure for time, were I +not better employed doing another one about as ill, than +making this some thousandth fraction better? Yes, I thought; +and tried the new one, and behold, I could do nothing: my +head swims, words do not come to me, nor phrases, and I +accepted defeat, packed up my traps, and turned to +communicate the failure to my esteemed correspondent. I +think it possible I overworked yesterday. Well, we'll see +to-morrow - perhaps try again later. It is indeed the hope +of trying later that keeps me writing to you. If I take to +my pipe, I know myself - all is over for the morning. +Hurray, I'll correct proofs! + + +PAGO-PAGO, WEDNESDAY. + + +After I finished on Sunday I passed a miserable day; went out +weeding, but could not find peace. I do not like to steal my +dinner, unless I have given myself a holiday in a canonical +manner; and weeding after all is only fun, the amount of its +utility small, and the thing capable of being done faster and +nearly as well by a hired boy. In the evening Sewall came up +(American consul) and proposed to take me on a malaga, which +I accepted. Monday I rode down to Apia, was nearly all day +fighting about drafts and money; the silver problem does not +touch you, but it is (in a strange and I hope passing phase) +making my situation difficult in Apia. About eleven, the +flags were all half-masted; it was old Captain Hamilton +(Samesoni the natives called him) who had passed away. In +the evening I walked round to the U.S. Consulate; it was a +lovely night with a full moon; and as I got round to the hot +corner of Matautu I heard hymns in front. The balcony of the +dead man's house was full of women singing; Mary (the widow, +a native) sat on a chair by the doorstep, and I was set +beside her on a bench, and next to Paul the carpenter; as I +sat down I had a glimpse of the old captain, who lay in a +sheet on his own table. After the hymn was over, a native +pastor made a speech which lasted a long while; the light +poured out of the door and windows; the girls were sitting +clustered at my feet; it was choking hot. After the speech +was ended, Mary carried me within; the captain's hands were +folded on his bosom, his face and head were composed; he +looked as if he might speak at any moment; I have never seen +this kind of waxwork so express or more venerable; and when I +went away, I was conscious of a certain envy for the man who +was out of the battle. All night it ran in my head, and the +next day when we sighted Tutuila, and ran into this beautiful +land-locked loch of Pago Pago (whence I write), Captain +Hamilton's folded hands and quiet face said a great deal more +to me than the scenery. + +I am living here in a trader's house; we have a good table, +Sewall doing things in style; and I hope to benefit by the +change, and possibly get more stuff for Letters. In the +meanwhile, I am seized quite MAL-A-PROPOS with desire to +write a story, THE BLOODY WEDDING, founded on fact - very +possibly true, being an attempt to read a murder case - not +yet months old, in this very place and house where I now +write. The indiscretion is what stops me; but if I keep on +feeling as I feel just now it will have to be written. Three +Star Nettison, Kit Nettison, Field the Sailor, these are the +main characters: old Nettison, and the captain of the man of +war, the secondary. Possible scenario. Chapter I.... + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + + +SATURDAY, APRIL 18TH. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - I got back on Monday night, after twenty- +three hours in an open boat; the keys were lost; the Consul +(who had promised us a bottle of Burgundy) nobly broke open +his store-room, and we got to bed about midnight. Next +morning the blessed Consul promised us horses for the +daybreak; forgot all about it, worthy man; set us off at last +in the heat of the day, and by a short cut which caused +infinite trouble, and we were not home till dinner. I was +extenuated, and have had a high fever since, or should have +been writing before. To-day for the first time, I risk it. +Tuesday I was pretty bad; Wednesday had a fever to kill a +horse; Thursday I was better, but still out of ability to do +aught but read awful trash. This is the time one misses +civilisation; I wished to send out for some police novels; +Montepin would have about suited my frozen brain. It is a +bother when all one's thought turns on one's work in some +sense or other; could not even think yesterday; I took to +inventing dishes by way of entertainment. Yesterday, while I +lay asleep in the afternoon, a very lucky thing happened; the +Chief Justice came to call; met one of our employes on the +road; and was shown what I had done to the road. + +'Is this the road across the island?' he asked. + +'The only one,' said Innes. + +'And has one man done all this?' + +'Three times,' said the trusty Innes. 'It has had to be made +three times, and when Mr. Stevenson came, it was a track like +what you see beyond.' + +'This must be put right,' said the Chief Justice. + + +SUNDAY. + + +The truth is, I broke down yesterday almost as soon as I +began, and have been surreptitiously finishing the entry to- +day. For all that I was much better, ate all the time, and +had no fever. The day was otherwise uneventful. I am +reminded; I had another visitor on Friday; and Fanny and +Lloyd, as they returned from a forest raid, met in our +desert, untrodden road, first Father Didier, Keeper of the +conscience of Mataafa, the rising star; and next the Chief +justice, sole stay of Laupepa, the present and unsteady star, +and remember, a few days before we were close to the sick bed +and entertained by the amateur physician of Tamasese, the +late and sunken star. 'That is the fun of this place,' +observed Lloyd; 'everybody you meet is so important.' +Everybody is also so gloomy. It will come to war again, is +the opinion of all the well informed - and before that to +many bankruptcies; and after that, as usual, to famine. +Here, under the microscope, we can see history at work. + + +WEDNESDAY. + + +I have been very neglectful. A return to work, perhaps +premature, but necessary, has used up all my possible +energies and made me acquainted with the living headache. I +just jot down some of the past notabilia. Yesterday B., a +carpenter, and K., my (unsuccessful) white man, were absent +all morning from their work; I was working myself, where I +hear every sound with morbid certainty, and I can testify +that not a hammer fell. Upon inquiry I found they had passed +the morning making ice with our ice machine and taking the +horizon with a spirit level! I had no sooner heard this than +- a violent headache set in; I am a real employer of labour +now, and have much of the ship captain when aroused; and if I +had a headache, I believe both these gentlemen had aching +hearts. I promise you, the late - was to the front; and K., +who was the most guilty, yet (in a sense) the least +blameable, having the brains and character of a canary-bird, +fared none the better for B.'s repartees. I hear them hard +at work this morning, so the menace may be blessed. It was +just after my dinner, just before theirs, that I administered +my redoubtable tongue - it is really redoubtable - to these +skulkers (Paul used to triumph over Mr. J. for weeks. 'I am +very sorry for you,' he would say; 'you're going to have a +talk with Mr. Stevenson when he comes home: you don't know +what that is!') In fact, none of them do, till they get it. +I have known K., for instance, for months; he has never heard +me complain, or take notice, unless it were to praise; I have +used him always as my guest, and there seems to be something +in my appearance which suggests endless, ovine long- +suffering! We sat in the upper verandah all evening, and +discussed the price of iron roofing, and the state of the +draught-horses, with Innes, a new man we have taken, and who +seems to promise well. + +One thing embarrasses me. No one ever seems to understand my +attitude about that book; the stuff sent was never meant for +other than a first state; I never meant it to appear as a +book. Knowing well that I have never had one hour of +inspiration since it was begun, and have only beaten out my +metal by brute force and patient repetition, I hoped some day +to get a 'spate of style' and burnish it - fine mixed +metaphor. I am now so sick that I intend, when the Letters +are done and some more written that will be wanted, simply to +make a book of it by the pruning-knife. + +I cannot fight longer; I am sensible of having done worse +than I hoped, worse than I feared; all I can do now is to do +the best I can for the future, and clear the book, like a +piece of bush, with axe and cutlass. Even to produce the MS. +of this will occupy me, at the most favourable opinion, till +the middle of next year; really five years were wanting, when +I could have made a book; but I have a family, and - perhaps +I could not make the book after all. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + + +APRIL 29TH, '91. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - I begin again. I was awake this morning +about half-past four. It was still night, but I made my +fire, which is always a delightful employment, and read +Lockhart's 'Scott' until the day began to peep. It was a +beautiful and sober dawn, a dove-coloured dawn, insensibly +brightening to gold. I was looking at it some while over the +down-hill profile of our eastern road, when I chanced to +glance northward, and saw with extraordinary pleasure the sea +lying outspread. It seemed as smooth as glass, and yet I +knew the surf was roaring all along the reef, and indeed, if +I had listened, I could have heard it - and saw the white +sweep of it outside Matautu. + +I am out of condition still, and can do nothing, and toil to +be at my pen, and see some ink behind me. I have taken up +again THE HIGH WOODS OF ULUFANUA. I still think the fable +too fantastic and far-fetched. But, on a re-reading, fell in +love with my first chapter, and for good or evil I must +finish it. It is really good, well fed with facts, true to +the manners, and (for once in my works) rendered pleasing by +the presence of a heroine who is pretty. Miss Uma is pretty; +a fact. All my other women have been as ugly as sin, and +like Falconet's horse (I have just been reading the anecdote +in Lockhart), MORTES forbye. + +News: Our old house is now half demolished; it is to be +rebuilt on a new site; now we look down upon and through the +open posts of it like a bird-cage, to the woods beyond. My +poor Paulo has lost his father and succeeded to thirty +thousand thalers (I think); he had to go down to the +Consulate yesterday to send a legal paper; got drunk, of +course, and is still this morning in so bemused a condition +that our breakfasts all went wrong. Lafaele is absent at the +deathbed of his fair spouse; fair she was, but not in deed, +acting as harlot to the wreckers at work on the warships, to +which society she probably owes her end, having fallen off a +cliff, or been thrust off it -INTER POCULA. Henry is the +same, our stand-by. In this transition stage he has been +living in Apia; but the other night he stayed up, and sat +with us about the chimney in my room. It was the first time +he had seen a fire in a hearth; he could not look at it +without smiles, and was always anxious to put on another +stick. We entertained him with the fairy tales of +civilisation - theatres, London, blocks in the street, +Universities, the Underground, newspapers, etc., and +projected once more his visit to Sydney. If we can manage, +it will be next Christmas. (I see it will be impossible for +me to afford a further journey THIS winter.) We have spent +since we have been here about 2500 pounds, which is not much +if you consider we have built on that three houses, one of +them of some size, and a considerable stable, made two miles +of road some three times, cleared many acres of bush, made +some miles of path, planted quantities of food, and enclosed +a horse paddock and some acres of pig run; but 'tis a good +deal of money regarded simply as money. K. is bosh; I have +no use for him; but we must do what we can with the fellow +meanwhile; he is good-humoured and honest, but inefficient, +idle himself, the cause of idleness in others, grumbling, a +self-excuser - all the faults in a bundle. He owes us thirty +weeks' service - the wretched Paul about half as much. Henry +is almost the only one of our employes who has a credit. + + +MAY 17TH. + + +Well, am I ashamed of myself? I do not think so. I have +been hammering Letters ever since, and got three ready and a +fourth about half through; all four will go by the mail, +which is what I wish, for so I keep at least my start. Days +and days of unprofitable stubbing and digging, and the result +still poor as literature, left-handed, heavy, unillumined, +but I believe readable and interesting as matter. It has +been no joke of a hard time, and when my task was done, I had +little taste for anything but blowing on the pipe. A few +necessary letters filled the bowl to overflowing. + +My mother has arrived, young, well, and in good spirits. By +desperate exertions, which have wholly floored Fanny, her +room was ready for her, and the dining-room fit to eat in. +It was a famous victory. Lloyd never told me of your +portrait till a few days ago; fortunately, I had no pictures +hung yet; and the space over my chimney waits your +counterfeit presentment. I have not often heard anything +that pleased me more; your severe head shall frown upon me +and keep me to the mark. But why has it not come? Have you +been as forgetful as Lloyd? + + +18TH. + + +Miserable comforters are ye all! I read your esteemed pages +this morning by lamplight and the glimmer of the dawn, and as +soon as breakfast was over, I must turn to and tackle these +despised labours! Some courage was necessary, but not +wanting. There is one thing at least by which I can avenge +myself for my drubbing, for on one point you seem +impenetrably stupid. Can I find no form of words which will +at last convey to your intelligence the fact that THESE +LETTERS WERE NEVER MEANT, AND ARE NOT NOW MEANT, TO BE OTHER +THAN A QUARRY OF MATERIALS FROM WHICH THE BOOK MAY BE DRAWN? +There seems something incommunicable in this (to me) simple +idea; I know Lloyd failed to comprehend it, I doubt if he has +grasped it now; and I despair, after all these efforts, that +you should ever be enlightened. Still, oblige me by reading +that form of words once more, and see if a light does not +break. You may be sure, after the friendly freedoms of your +criticism (necessary I am sure, and wholesome I know, but +untimely to the poor labourer in his landslip) that mighty +little of it will stand. + +Our Paul has come into a fortune, and wishes to go home to +the Hie Germanie. This is a tile on our head, and if a +shower, which is now falling, lets up, I must go down to +Apia, and see if I can find a substitute of any kind. This +is, from any point of view, disgusting; above all, from that +of work; for, whatever the result, the mill has to be kept +turning; apparently dust, and not flour, is the proceed. +Well, there is gold in the dust, which is a fine consolation, +since - well, I can't help it; night or morning, I do my +darndest, and if I cannot charge for merit, I must e'en +charge for toil, of which I have plenty and plenty more ahead +before this cup is drained; sweat and hyssop are the +ingredients. + +We are clearing from Carruthers' Road to the pig fence, +twenty-eight powerful natives with Catholic medals about +their necks, all swiping in like Trojans; long may the sport +continue! + +The invoice to hand. Ere this goes out, I hope to see your +expressive, but surely not benignant countenance! Adieu, O +culler of offensive expressions - 'and a' - to be a posy to +your ain dear May!' - Fanny seems a little revived again +after her spasm of work. Our books and furniture keep slowly +draining up the road, in a sad state of scatterment and +disrepair; I wish the devil had had K. by his red beard +before he had packed my library. Odd leaves and sheets and +boards - a thing to make a bibliomaniac shed tears - are +fished out of odd corners. But I am no bibliomaniac, praise +Heaven, and I bear up, and rejoice when I find anything safe. + + +19TH. + + +However, I worked five hours on the brute, and finished my +Letter all the same, and couldn't sleep last night by +consequence. Haven't had a bad night since I don't know +when; dreamed a large, handsome man (a New Orleans planter) +had insulted my wife, and, do what I pleased, I could not +make him fight me; and woke to find it was the eleventh +anniversary of my marriage. A letter usually takes me from a +week to three days; but I'm sometimes two days on a page - I +was once three - and then my friends kick me. C'EST-Y-BETE! +I wish letters of that charming quality could be so timed as +to arrive when a fellow wasn't working at the truck in +question; but, of course, that can't be. Did not go down +last night. It showered all afternoon, and poured heavy and +loud all night. + +You should have seen our twenty-five popes (the Samoan phrase +for a Catholic, lay or cleric) squatting when the day's work +was done on the ground outside the verandah, and pouring in +the rays of forty-eight eyes through the back and the front +door of the dining-room, while Henry and I and the boss pope +signed the contract. The second boss (an old man) wore a +kilt (as usual) and a Balmoral bonnet with a little tartan +edging and the tails pulled off. I told him that hat belong +to my country - Sekotia; and he said, yes, that was the place +that he belonged to right enough. And then all the Papists +laughed till the woods rang; he was slashing away with a +cutlass as he spoke. + +The pictures have decidedly not come; they may probably +arrive Sunday. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + + +JUNE, 1891. + + +SIR, - To you, under your portrait, which is, in expression, +your true, breathing self, and up to now saddens me; in time, +and soon, I shall be glad to have it there; it is still only +a reminder of your absence. Fanny wept when we unpacked it, +and you know how little she is given to that mood; I was +scarce Roman myself, but that does not count - I lift up my +voice so readily. These are good compliments to the artist. +I write in the midst of a wreck of books, which have just +come up, and have for once defied my labours to get straight. +The whole floor is filled with them, and (what's worse) most +of the shelves forbye; and where they are to go to, and what +is to become of the librarian, God knows. It is hot to- +night, and has been airless all day, and I am out of sorts, +and my work sticks, the devil fly away with it and me. We +had an alarm of war since last I wrote my screeds to you, and +it blew over, and is to blow on again, and the rumour goes +they are to begin by killing all the whites. I have no +belief in this, and should be infinitely sorry if it came to +pass - I do not mean for US, that were otiose - but for the +poor, deluded schoolboys, who should hope to gain by such a +step. + + +[LETTER RESUMED.] +JUNE 20TH. + + +No diary this time. Why? you ask. I have only sent out four +Letters, and two chapters of the WRECKER. Yes, but to get +these I have written 132 pp., 66,000 words in thirty days; +2200 words a day; the labours of an elephant. God knows what +it's like, and don't ask me, but nobody shall say I have +spared pains. I thought for some time it wouldn't come at +all. I was days and days over the first letter of the lot - +days and days writing and deleting and making no headway +whatever, till I thought I should have gone bust; but it came +at last after a fashion, and the rest went a thought more +easily, though I am not so fond as to fancy any better. + +Your opinion as to the letters as a whole is so damnatory +that I put them by. But there is a 'hell of a want of' money +this year. And these Gilbert Island papers, being the most +interesting in matter, and forming a compact whole, and being +well illustrated, I did think of as a possible resource. + +It would be called + + +SIX MONTHS IN MELANESIA, +TWO ISLAND KINGS, +- MONARCHIES, +GILBERT ISLAND KINGS, +- MONARCHIES, + + +and I daresay I'll think of a better yet - and would divide +thus:- + + +BUTARITATI. + + +I. A Town asleep. +II. The Three Brothers. +III. Around our House. +IV. A Tale of a Tapu. +V. The Five Day's Festival. +VI. Domestic Life - (which might be omitted, but not well, +better be recast). + + +THE KING OF APEMAMA. + + +VII. The Royal Traders. +VIII. Foundation of Equator Town. +IX. The Palace of Mary Warren. +X. Equator Town and the Palace. +XI. King and Commons. +XII. The Devil Work Box. +XIII. The Three Corslets. +XIV. Tail piece; the Court upon a Journey. + + +I wish you to watch these closely, judging them as a whole, +and treating them as I have asked you, and favour me with +your damnatory advice. I look up at your portrait, and it +frowns upon me. You seem to view me with reproach. The +expression is excellent; Fanny wept when she saw it, and you +know she is not given to the melting mood. She seems really +better; I have a touch of fever again, I fancy overwork, and +to-day, when I have overtaken my letters, I shall blow on my +pipe. Tell Mrs. S. I have been playing LE CHANT D'AMOUR +lately, and have arranged it, after awful trouble, rather +prettily for two pipes; and it brought her before me with an +effect scarce short of hallucination. I could hear her voice +in every note; yet I had forgot the air entirely, and began +to pipe it from notes as something new, when I was brought up +with a round turn by this reminiscence. We are now very much +installed; the dining-room is done, and looks lovely. Soon +we shall begin to photograph and send you our circumstances. +My room is still a howling wilderness. I sleep on a platform +in a window, and strike my mosquito bar and roll up my +bedclothes every morning, so that the bed becomes by day a +divan. A great part of the floor is knee-deep in books, yet +nearly all the shelves are filled, alas! It is a place to +make a pig recoil, yet here are my interminable labours begun +daily by lamp-light, and sometimes not yet done when the lamp +has once more to be lighted. The effect of pictures in this +place is surprising. They give great pleasure. + + +JUNE 21ST. + + +A word more. I had my breakfast this morning at 4.30! My +new cook has beaten me and (as Lloyd says) revenged all the +cooks in the world. I have been hunting them to give me +breakfast early since I was twenty; and now here comes Mr. +Ratke, and I have to plead for mercy. I cannot stand 4.30; I +am a mere fevered wreck; it is now half-past eight, and I can +no more, and four hours divide me from lunch, the devil take +the man! Yesterday it was about 5.30, which I can stand; day +before 5, which is bad enough; to-day, I give out. It is +like a London season, and as I do not take a siesta once in a +month, and then only five minutes, I am being worn to the +bones, and look aged and anxious. + +We have Rider Haggard's brother here as a Land Commissioner; +a nice kind of a fellow; indeed, all the three Land +Commissioners are very agreeable. + + + +CHAPTER X + + + +SUNDAY, SEPT. 5 (?), 1891. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - Yours from Lochinver has just come. You +ask me if I am ever homesick for the Highlands and the Isles. +Conceive that for the last month I have been living there +between 1786 and 1850, in my grandfather's diaries and +letters. I HAD to take a rest; no use talking; so I put in a +month over my LIVES OF THE STEVENSONS with great pleasure and +profit and some advance; one chapter and a part drafted. The +whole promises well Chapter I. Domestic Annals. Chapter II. +The Northern Lights. Chapter III. The Bell Rock. Chapter +IV. A Family of Boys. Chap. V. The Grandfather. VI. Alan +Stevenson. VII. Thomas Stevenson. My materials for my +great-grandfather are almost null; for my grandfather copious +and excellent. Name, a puzzle. A SCOTTISH FAMILY, A FAMILY +OF ENGINEERS, NORTHERN LIGHTS, THE ENGINEERS OF THE NORTHERN +LIGHTS: A FAMILY HISTORY. Advise; but it will take long. +Now, imagine if I have been homesick for Barrahead and Island +Glass, and Kirkwall, and Cape Wrath, and the Wells of the +Pentland Firth; I could have wept. + +Now for politics. I am much less alarmed; I believe the MALO +(=RAJ, government) will collapse and cease like an overlain +infant, without a shot fired. They have now been months here +on their big salaries - and Cedarcrantz, whom I specially +like as a man, has done nearly nothing, and the Baron, who is +well-meaning, has done worse. They have these large +salaries, and they have all the taxes; they have made scarce +a foot of road; they have not given a single native a +position - all to white men; they have scarce laid out a +penny on Apia, and scarce a penny on the King; they have +forgot they were in Samoa, or that such a thing as Samoans +existed, and had eyes and some intelligence. The Chief +Justice has refused to pay his customs! The President +proposed to have an expensive house built for himself, while +the King, his master, has none! I had stood aside, and been +a loyal, and, above all, a silent subject, up to then; but +now I snap my fingers at their MALO. It is damned, and I'm +damned glad of it. And this is not all. Last 'WAINIU,' when +I sent Fanny off to Fiji, I hear the wonderful news that the +Chief Justice is going to Fiji and the Colonies to improve +his mind. I showed my way of thought to his guest, Count +Wachtmeister, whom I have sent to you with a letter - he will +tell you all the news. Well, the Chief Justice stayed, but +they said he was to leave yesterday. I had intended to go +down, and see and warn him! But the President's house had +come up in the meanwhile, and I let them go to their doom, +which I am only anxious to see swiftly and (if it may be) +bloodlessly fall. + +Thus I have in a way withdrawn my unrewarded loyalty. Lloyd +is down to-day with Moors to call on Mataafa; the news of the +excursion made a considerable row in Apia, and both the +German and the English consuls besought Lloyd not to go. But +he stuck to his purpose, and with my approval. It's a poor +thing if people are to give up a pleasure party for a MALO +that has never done anything for us but draw taxes, and is +going to go pop, and leave us at the mercy of the identical +Mataafa, whom I have not visited for more than a year, and +who is probably furious. + +The sense of my helplessness here has been rather bitter; I +feel it wretched to see this dance of folly and injustice and +unconscious rapacity go forward from day to day, and to be +impotent. I was not consulted - or only by one man, and that +on particular points; I did not choose to volunteer advice +till some pressing occasion; I have not even a vote, for I am +not a member of the municipality. + +What ails you, miserable man, to talk of saving material? I +have a whole world in my head, a whole new society to work, +but I am in no hurry; you will shortly make the acquaintance +of the Island of Ulufanua, on which I mean to lay several +stories; the BLOODY WEDDING, possibly the HIGH WOODS - (O, +it's so good, the High Woods, but the story is craziness; +that's the trouble,) - a political story, the LABOUR SLAVE, +etc. Ulufanua is an imaginary island; the name is a +beautiful Samoan word for the TOP of a forest; ulu - leaves +or hair, fanua=land. The ground or country of the leaves. +'Ulufanua the isle of the sea,' read that verse dactylically +and you get the beat; the u's are like our double oo; did +ever you hear a prettier word? + +I do not feel inclined to make a volume of Essays, but if I +did, and perhaps the idea is good - and any idea is better +than South Seas - here would be my choice of the Scribner +articles: DREAMS, BEGGARS, LANTERN-BEARERS, RANDOM MEMORIES. +There was a paper called the OLD PACIFIC CAPITAL in Fraser, +in Tulloch's time, which had merit; there were two on +Fontainebleau in the MAGAZINE OF ART in Henley's time. I +have no idea if they're any good; then there's the EMIGRANT +TRAIN. PULVIS ET UMBRA is in a different key, and wouldn't +hang on with the rest. + +I have just interrupted my letter and read through the +chapter of the HIGH WOODS that is written, a chapter and a +bit, some sixteen pages, really very fetching, but what do +you wish? the story is so wilful, so steep, so silly - it's a +hallucination I have outlived, and yet I never did a better +piece of work, horrid, and pleasing, and extraordinarily +TRUE; it's sixteen pages of the South Seas; their essence. +What am I to do? Lose this little gem - for I'll be bold, +and that's what I think it - or go on with the rest, which I +don't believe in, and don't like, and which can never make +aught but a silly yarn? Make another end to it? Ah, yes, +but that's not the way I write; the whole tale is implied; I +never use an effect, when I can help it, unless it prepares +the effects that are to follow; that's what a story consists +in. To make another end, that is to make the beginning all +wrong. The denouement of a long story is nothing; it is just +a 'full close,' which you may approach and accompany as you +please - it is a coda, not an essential member in the rhythm; +but the body and end of a short story is bone of the bone and +blood of the blood of the beginning. Well, I shall end by +finishing it against my judgment; that fragment is my +Delilah. Golly, it's good. I am not shining by modesty; but +I do just love the colour and movement of that piece so far +as it goes. + +I was surprised to hear of your fishing. And you saw the +'Pharos,' thrice fortunate man; I wish I dared go home, I +would ask the Commissioners to take me round for old sake's +sake, and see all my family pictures once more from the Mull +of Galloway to Unst. However, all is arranged for our +meeting in Ceylon, except the date and the blooming pounds. +I have heard of an exquisite hotel in the country, airy, +large rooms, good cookery, not dear; we shall have a couple +of months there, if we can make it out, and converse or - as +my grandfather always said - 'commune.' 'Communings with Mr. +Kennedy as to Lighthouse Repairs.' He was a fine old fellow, +but a droll. + + +EVENING. + + +Lloyd has returned. Peace and war were played before his +eyes at heads or tails. A German was stopped with levelled +guns; he raised his whip; had it fallen, we might have been +now in war. Excuses were made by Mataafa himself. Doubtless +the thing was done - I mean the stopping of the German - a +little to show off before Lloyd. Meanwhile - was up here, +telling how the Chief Justice was really gone for five or +eight weeks, and begging me to write to the TIMES and +denounce the state of affairs; many strong reasons he +advanced; and Lloyd and I have been since his arrival and -'s +departure, near half an hour, debating what should be done. +Cedarcrantz is gone; it is not my fault; he knows my views on +that point - alone of all points; - he leaves me with my +mouth sealed. Yet this is a nice thing that because he is +guilty of a fresh offence - his flight - the mouth of the +only possible influential witness should be closed? I do not +like this argument. I look like a cad, if I do in the man's +absence what I could have done in a more manly manner in his +presence. True; but why did he go? It is his last sin. And +I, who like the man extremely - that is the word - I love his +society - he is intelligent, pleasant, even witty, a +gentleman - and you know how that attaches - I loathe to seem +to play a base part; but the poor natives - who are like +other folk, false enough, lazy enough, not heroes, not saints +- ordinary men damnably misused - are they to suffer because +I like Cedarcrantz, and Cedarcrantz has cut his lucky? This +is a little tragedy, observe well - a tragedy! I may be +right, I may be wrong in my judgment, but I am in treaty with +my honour. I know not how it will seem to-morrow. Lloyd +thought the barrier of honour insurmountable, and it is an +ugly obstacle. He (Cedarcrantz) will likely meet my wife +three days from now, may travel back with her, will be +charming if he does; suppose this, and suppose him to arrive +and find that I have sprung a mine - or the nearest approach +to it I could find - behind his back? My position is pretty. +Yes, I am an aristocrat. I have the old petty, personal view +of honour? I should blush till I die if I do this; yet it is +on the cards that I may do it. So much I have written you in +bed, as a man writes, or talks, in a BITTRE WAHL. Now I +shall sleep, and see if I am more clear. I will consult the +missionaries at least - I place some reliance in M. also - or +I should if he were not a partisan; but a partisan he is. +There's the pity. To sleep! A fund of wisdom in the +prostrate body and the fed brain. Kindly observe R. L. S. in +the talons of politics! 'Tis funny - 'tis sad. Nobody but +these cursed idiots could have so driven me; I cannot bear +idiots. + +My dear Colvin, I must go to sleep; it is long past ten - a +dreadful hour for me. And here am I lingering (so I feel) in +the dining-room at the Monument, talking to you across the +table, both on our feet, and only the two stairs to mount, +and get to bed, and sleep, and be waked by dear old George - +to whom I wish my kindest remembrances - next morning. I +look round, and there is my blue room, and my long lines of +shelves, and the door gaping on a moonless night, and no word +of S. C. but his twa portraits on the wall. Good-bye, my +dear fellow, and goodnight. Queer place the world! + + +MONDAY. + + +No clearness of mind with the morning; I have no guess what I +should do. 'Tis easy to say that the public duty should +brush aside these little considerations of personal dignity; +so it is that politicians begin, and in a month you find them +rat and flatter and intrigue with brows of brass. I am +rather of the old view, that a man's first duty is to these +little laws; the big he does not, he never will, understand; +I may be wrong about the Chief Justice and the Baron and the +state of Samoa; I cannot be wrong about the vile attitude I +put myself in if I blow the gaff on Cedarcrantz behind his +back. + + +TUESDAY. + + +One more word about the South Seas, in answer to a question I +observe I have forgotten to answer. The Tahiti part has +never turned up, because it has never been written. As for +telling you where I went or when, or anything about Honolulu, +I would rather die; that is fair and plain. How can anybody +care when or how I left Honolulu? A man of upwards of forty +cannot waste his time in communicating matter of that +indifference. The letters, it appears, are tedious; they +would be more tedious still if I wasted my time upon such +infantile and sucking-bottle details. If ever I put in any +such detail, it is because it leads into something or serves +as a transition. To tell it for its own sake, never! The +mistake is all through that I have told too much; I had not +sufficient confidence in the reader, and have overfed him; +and here are you anxious to learn how I - O Colvin! Suppose +it had made a book, all such information is given to one +glance of an eye by a map with a little dotted line upon it. +But let us forget this unfortunate affair. + + +WEDNESDAY. + + +Yesterday I went down to consult Clarke, who took the view of +delay. Has he changed his mind already? I wonder: here at +least is the news. Some little while back some men of Manono +- what is Manono? - a Samoan rotten borough, a small isle of +huge political importance, heaven knows why, where a handful +of chiefs make half the trouble in the country. Some men of +Manono (which is strong Mataafa) burned down the houses and +destroyed the crops of some Malietoa neighbours. The +President went there the other day and landed alone on the +island, which (to give him his due) was plucky. Moreover, he +succeeded in persuading the folks to come up and be judged on +a particular day in Apia. That day they did not come; but +did come the next, and, to their vast surprise, were given +six months' imprisonment and clapped in gaol. Those who had +accompanied them cried to them on the streets as they were +marched to prison, 'Shall we rescue you?' The condemned, +marching in the hands of thirty men with loaded rifles, cried +out 'No'! And the trick was done. But it was ardently +believed a rescue would be attempted; the gaol was laid about +with armed men day and night; but there was some question of +their loyalty, and the commandant of the forces, a very nice +young beardless Swede, became nervous, and conceived a plan. +How if he should put dynamite under the gaol, and in case of +an attempted rescue blow up prison and all? He went to the +President, who agreed; he went to the American man-of-war for +the dynamite and machine, was refused, and got it at last +from the Wreckers. The thing began to leak out, and there +arose a muttering in town. People had no fancy for amateur +explosions, for one thing. For another, it did not clearly +appear that it was legal; the men had been condemned to six +months' prison, which they were peaceably undergoing; they +had not been condemned to death. And lastly, it seemed a +somewhat advanced example of civilisation to set before +barbarians. The mutter in short became a storm, and +yesterday, while I was down, a cutter was chartered, and the +prisoners were suddenly banished to the Tokelaus. Who has +changed the sentence? We are going to stir in the dynamite +matter; we do not want the natives to fancy us consenting to +such an outrage. + +Fanny has returned from her trip, and on the whole looks +better. The HIGH WOODS are under way, and their name is now +the BEACH OF FALESA, and the yarn is cured. I have about +thirty pages of it done; it will be fifty to seventy I +suppose. No supernatural trick at all; and escaped out of it +quite easily; can't think why I was so stupid for so long. +Mighty glad to have Fanny back to this 'Hell of the South +Seas,' as the German Captain called it. What will +Cedarcrantz think when he comes back? To do him justice, had +he been here, this Manono hash would not have been. + +Here is a pretty thing. When Fanny was in Fiji all the Samoa +and Tokelau folks were agog about our 'flash' house; but the +whites had never heard of it. + + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, +Author of THE BEACH OF FALESA. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + + +SEPT. 28. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - Since I last laid down my pen, I have +written and rewritten THE BEACH OF FALESA; something like +sixty thousand words of sterling domestic fiction (the story, +you will understand, is only half that length); and now I +don't want to write any more again for ever, or feel so; and +I've got to overhaul it once again to my sorrow. I was all +yesterday revising, and found a lot of slacknesses and (what +is worse in this kind of thing) some literaryisms. One of +the puzzles is this: It is a first person story - a trader +telling his own adventure in an island. When I began I +allowed myself a few liberties, because I was afraid of the +end; now the end proved quite easy, and could be done in the +pace; so the beginning remains about a quarter tone out (in +places); but I have rather decided to let it stay so. The +problem is always delicate; it is the only thing that worries +me in first person tales, which otherwise (quo' Alan) 'set +better wi' my genius.' There is a vast deal of fact in the +story, and some pretty good comedy. It is the first +realistic South Sea story; I mean with real South Sea +character and details of life. Everybody else who has tried, +that I have seen, got carried away by the romance, and ended +in a kind of sugar-candy sham epic, and the whole effect was +lost - there was no etching, no human grin, consequently no +conviction. Now I have got the smell and look of the thing a +good deal. You will know more about the South Seas after you +have read my little tale than if you had read a library. As +to whether any one else will read it, I have no guess. I am +in an off time, but there is just the possibility it might +make a hit; for the yarn is good and melodramatic, and there +is quite a love affair - for me; and Mr. Wiltshire (the +narrator) is a huge lark, though I say it. But there is +always the exotic question, and everything, the life, the +place, the dialects - trader's talk, which is a strange +conglomerate of literary expressions and English and American +slang, and Beach de Mar, or native English, - the very trades +and hopes and fears of the characters, are all novel, and may +be found unwelcome to that great, hulking, bullering whale, +the public. + +Since I wrote, I have been likewise drawing up a document to +send it to the President; it has been dreadfully delayed, not +by me, but to-day they swear it will be sent in. A list of +questions about the dynamite report are herein laid before +him, and considerations suggested why he should answer. + + +OCTOBER 5TH. + + +Ever since my last snatch I have been much chivied about over +the President business; his answer has come, and is an +evasion accompanied with schoolboy insolence, and we are +going to try to answer it. I drew my answer and took it down +yesterday; but one of the signatories wants another paragraph +added, which I have not yet been able to draw, and as to the +wisdom of which I am not yet convinced. + + +NEXT DAY, OCT. 7TH, THE RIGHT DAY. + + +We are all in rather a muddled state with our President +affair. I do loathe politics, but at the same time, I cannot +stand by and have the natives blown in the air treacherously +with dynamite. They are still quiet; how long this may +continue I do not know, though of course by mere prescription +the Government is strengthened, and is probably insured till +the next taxes fall due. But the unpopularity of the whites +is growing. My native overseer, the great Henry Simele, +announced to-day that he was 'weary of whites upon the beach. +All too proud,' said this veracious witness. One of the +proud ones had threatened yesterday to cut off his head with +a bush knife! These are 'native outrages'; honour bright, +and setting theft aside, in which the natives are active, +this is the main stream of irritation. The natives are +generally courtly, far from always civil, but really gentle, +and with a strong sense of honour of their own, and certainly +quite as much civilised as our dynamiting President. + +We shall be delighted to see Kipling. I go to bed usually +about half-past eight, and my lamp is out before ten; I +breakfast at six. We may say roughly we have no soda water +on the island, and just now truthfully no whisky. I HAVE +heard the chimes at midnight; now no more, I guess. BUT - +Fanny and I, as soon as we can get coins for it, are coming +to Europe, not to England: I am thinking of Royat. Bar wars. +If not, perhaps the Apennines might give us a mountain refuge +for two months or three in summer. How is that for high? +But the money must be all in hand first. + + +OCTOBER 13TH. + + +How am I to describe my life these last few days? I have +been wholly swallowed up in politics, a wretched business, +with fine elements of farce in it too, which repay a man in +passing, involving many dark and many moonlight rides, secret +counsels which are at once divulged, sealed letters which are +read aloud in confidence to the neighbours, and a mass of +fudge and fun, which would have driven me crazy ten years +ago, and now makes me smile. + +On Friday, Henry came and told us he must leave and go to 'my +poor old family in Savaii'; why? I do not quite know - but, +I suspect, to be tattooed - if so, then probably to be +married, and we shall see him no more. I told him he must do +what he thought his duty; we had him to lunch, drank his +health, and he and I rode down about twelve. When I got +down, I sent my horse back to help bring down the family +later. My own afternoon was cut out for me; my last draft +for the President had been objected to by some of the +signatories. I stood out, and one of our small number +accordingly refused to sign. Him I had to go and persuade, +which went off very well after the first hottish moments; you +have no idea how stolid my temper is now. By about five the +thing was done; and we sat down to dinner at the Chinaman's - +the Verrey or Doyen's of Apia - G. and I at each end as +hosts; G.'s wife - Fanua, late maid of the village; her +(adopted) father and mother, Seumanu and Faatulia, Fanny, +Belle, Lloyd, Austin, and Henry Simele, his last appearance. +Henry was in a kilt of gray shawl, with a blue jacket, white +shirt and black necktie, and looked like a dark genteel guest +in a Highland shooting-box. Seumanu (opposite Fanny, next +G.) is chief of Apia, a rather big gun in this place, looking +like a large, fatted, military Englishman, bar the colour. +Faatulia, next me, is a bigger chief than her husband. Henry +is a chief too - his chief name, Iiga (Ee-eeng-a), he has not +yet 'taken' because of his youth. We were in fine society, +and had a pleasant meal-time, with lots of fun. Then to the +Opera - I beg your pardon, I mean the Circus. We occupied +the first row in the reserved seats, and there in the row +behind were all our friends - Captain Foss and his Captain- +Lieutenant, three of the American officers, very nice +fellows, the Dr., etc, so we made a fine show of what an +embittered correspondent of the local paper called 'the +shoddy aristocracy of Apia'; and you should have seen how we +carried on, and how I clapped, and Captain Foss hollered +'WUNDERSCHON!' and threw himself forward in his seat, and how +we all in fact enjoyed ourselves like school-children, Austin +not a shade more than his neighbours. Then the Circus broke +up, and the party went home, but I stayed down, having +business on the morrow. + +Yesterday, October 12th, great news reaches me, and Lloyd and +I, with the mail just coming in, must leave all, saddle, and +ride down. True enough, the President had resigned! Sought +to resign his presidency of the council, and keep his +advisership to the King; given way to the Consul's objections +and resigned all - then fell out with them about the +disposition of the funds, and was now trying to resign from +his resignation! Sad little President, so trim to look at, +and I believe so kind to his little wife! Not only so, but I +meet D. on the beach. D. calls me in consultation, and we +make with infinite difficulty a draft of a petition to the +King. . . . Then to dinner at M.'s, a very merry meal, +interrupted before it was over by the arrival of the +committee. Slight sketch of procedure agreed upon, self +appointed spokesman, and the deputation sets off. Walk all +through Matafele, all along Mulinuu, come to the King's +house; he has verbally refused to see us in answer to our +letter, swearing he is gase-gase (chief-sickness, not common +man's), and indeed we see him inside in bed. It is a +miserable low house, better houses by the dozen in the little +hamlet (Tanugamanono) of bushmen on our way to Vailima; and +the President's house in process of erection just opposite! +We are told to return to-morrow; I refuse; and at last we are +very sourly received, sit on the mats, and I open out, +through a very poor interpreter, and sometimes hampered by +unacceptable counsels from my backers. I can speak fairly +well in a plain way now. C. asked me to write out my +harangue for him this morning; I have done so, and couldn't +get it near as good. I suppose (talking and interpreting) I +was twenty minutes or half-an-hour on the deck; then his +majesty replied in the dying whisper of a big chief; a few +words of rejoinder (approving), and the deputation withdrew, +rather well satisfied. + +A few days ago this intervention would have been a deportable +offence; not now, I bet; I would like them to try. A little +way back along Mulinuu, Mrs. G. met us with her husband's +horse; and he and she and Lloyd and I rode back in a heavenly +moonlight. Here ends a chapter in the life of an island +politician! Catch me at it again; 'tis easy to go in, but it +is not a pleasant trade. I have had a good team, as good as +I could get on the beach; but what trouble even so, and what +fresh troubles shaping. But I have on the whole carried all +my points; I believe all but one, and on that (which did not +concern me) I had no right to interfere. I am sure you would +be amazed if you knew what a good hand I am at keeping my +temper, talking people over, and giving reasons which are not +my reasons, but calculated for the meridian of the particular +objection; so soon does falsehood await the politician in his +whirling path. + + + +CHAPTER XII + + + +MAY, OCTOBER 24TH. + + +MY DEAR CARTHEW, - See what I have written, but it's Colvin +I'm after - I have written two chapters, about thirty pages +of WRECKER since the mail left, which must be my excuse, and +the bother I've had with it is not to be imagined, you might +have seen me the day before yesterday weighing British sov.'s +and Chili dollars to arrange my treasure chest. And there +was such a calculation, not for that only, but for the ship's +position and distances when - but I am not going to tell you +the yarn - and then, as my arithmetic is particularly lax, +Lloyd had to go over all my calculations; and then, as I had +changed the amount of money, he had to go over all HIS as to +the amount of the lay; and altogether, a bank could be run +with less effusion of figures than it took to shore up a +single chapter of a measly yarn. However, it's done, and I +have but one more, or at the outside two, to do, and I am +Free! and can do any damn thing I like. + +Before falling on politics, I shall give you my day. Awoke +somewhere about the first peep of day, came gradually to, and +had a turn on the verandah before 5.55, when 'the child' (an +enormous Wallis Islander) brings me an orange; at 6, +breakfast; 6.10, to work; which lasts till, at 10.30, Austin +comes for his history lecture; this is rather dispiriting, +but education must be gone about in faith - and charity, both +of which pretty nigh failed me to-day about (of all things) +Carthage; 11, luncheon; after luncheon in my mother's room, I +read Chapter XXIII. of THE WRECKER, then Belle, Lloyd, and I +go up and make music furiously till about 2 (I suppose), when +I turn into work again till 4; fool from 4 to half-past, +tired out and waiting for the bath hour; 4.30, bath; 4.40, +eat two heavenly mangoes on the verandah, and see the boys +arrive with the pack-horses; 5, dinner; smoke, chat on +verandah, then hand of cards, and at last at 8 come up to my +room with a pint of beer and a hard biscuit, which I am now +consuming, and as soon as they are consumed I shall turn in. + +Such are the innocent days of this ancient and outworn +sportsman; to-day there was no weeding, usually there is +however, edge in somewhere. My books for the moment are a +crib to Phaedo, and the second book of Montaigne; and a +little while back I was reading Frederic Harrison, 'Choice of +Books,' etc. - very good indeed, a great deal of sense and +knowledge in the volume, and some very true stuff, CONTRA +Carlyle, about the eighteenth century. A hideous idea came +over me that perhaps Harrison is now getting OLD. Perhaps +you are. Perhaps I am. Oh, this infidelity must be stared +firmly down. I am about twenty-three - say twenty-eight; you +about thirty, or, by'r lady, thirty-four; and as Harrison +belongs to the same generation, there is no good bothering +about him. + +Here has just been a fine alert; I gave my wife a dose of +chlorodyne. 'Something wrong,' says she. 'Nonsense,' said +I. 'Embrocation,' said she. I smelt it, and - it smelt very +funny. 'I think it's just gone bad, and to-morrow will +tell.' Proved to be so. + + +WEDNESDAY. + + +HISTORY OF TUESDAY. - Woke at usual time, very little work, +for I was tired, and had a job for the evening - to write +parts for a new instrument, a violin. Lunch, chat, and up to +my place to practise; but there was no practising for me - my +flageolet was gone wrong, and I had to take it all to pieces, +clean it, and put it up again. As this is a most intricate +job - the thing dissolves into seventeen separate members, +most of these have to be fitted on their individual springs +as fine as needles, and sometimes two at once with the +springs shoving different ways - it took me till two. Then +Lloyd and I rode forth on our errands; first to Motootua, +where we had a really instructive conversation on weeds and +grasses. Thence down to Apia, where we bought a fresh bottle +of chlorodyne and conversed on politics. + +My visit to the King, which I thought at the time a +particularly nugatory and even schoolboy step, and only +consented to because I had held the reins so tight over my +little band before, has raised a deuce of a row - new +proclamation, no one is to interview the sacred puppet +without consuls' permission, two days' notice, and an +approved interpreter - read (I suppose) spy. Then back; I +should have said I was trying the new horse; a tallish +piebald, bought from the circus; he proved steady and safe, +but in very bad condition, and not so much the wild Arab +steed of the desert as had been supposed. The height of his +back, after commodious Jack, astonished me, and I had a great +consciousness of exercise and florid action, as I posted to +his long, emphatic trot. We had to ride back easy; even so +he was hot and blown; and when we set a boy to lead him to +and fro, our last character for sanity perished. We returned +just neat for dinner; and in the evening our violinist +arrived, a young lady, no great virtuoso truly, but plucky, +industrious, and a good reader; and we played five pieces +with huge amusement, and broke up at nine. This morning I +have read a splendid piece of Montaigne, written this page of +letter, and now turn to the WRECKER. + +WEDNESDAY - November 16th or 17th - and I am ashamed to say +mail day. The WRECKER is finished, that is the best of my +news; it goes by this mail to Scribner's; and I honestly +think it a good yarn on the whole and of its measly kind. +The part that is genuinely good is Nares, the American +sailor; that is a genuine figure; had there been more Nares +it would have been a better book; but of course it didn't set +up to be a book, only a long tough yarn with some pictures of +the manners of to-day in the greater world - not the shoddy +sham world of cities, clubs, and colleges, but the world +where men still live a man's life. The worst of my news is +the influenza; Apia is devastate; the shops closed, a ball +put off, etc. As yet we have not had it at Vailima, and, who +knows? we may escape. None of us go down, but of course the +boys come and go. + +Your letter had the most wonderful 'I told you so' I ever +heard in the course of my life. Why, you madman, I wouldn't +change my present installation for any post, dignity, honour, +or advantage conceivable to me. It fills the bill; I have +the loveliest time. And as for wars and rumours of wars, you +surely know enough of me to be aware that I like that also a +thousand times better than decrepit peace in Middlesex? I do +not quite like politics; I am too aristocratic, I fear, for +that. God knows I don't care who I chum with; perhaps like +sailors best; but to go round and sue and sneak to keep a +crowd together - never. My imagination, which is not the +least damped by the idea of having my head cut off in the +bush, recoils aghast from the idea of a life like +Gladstone's, and the shadow of the newspaper chills me to the +bone. Hence my late eruption was interesting, but not what I +like. All else suits me in this (killed a mosquito) A1 +abode. + +About politics. A determination was come to by the President +that he had been an idiot; emissaries came to G. and me to +kiss and be friends. My man proposed I should have a +personal interview; I said it was quite useless, I had +nothing to say; I had offered him the chance to inform me, +had pressed it on him, and had been very unpleasantly +received, and now 'Time was.' Then it was decided that I was +to be made a culprit against Germany; the German Captain - a +delightful fellow and our constant visitor - wrote to say +that as 'a German officer' he could not come even to say +farewell. We all wrote back in the most friendly spirit, +telling him (politely) that some of these days he would be +sorry, and we should be delighted to see our friend again. +Since then I have seen no German shadow. + +Mataafa has been proclaimed a rebel; the President did this +act, and then resigned. By singular good fortune, Mataafa +has not yet moved; no thanks to our idiot governors. They +have shot their bolt; they have made a rebel of the only man +(TO THEIR OWN KNOWLEDGE, ON THE REPORT OF THEIR OWN SPY) who +held the rebel party in check; and having thus called on war +to fall, they can do no more, sit equally 'expertes' of VIS +and counsel, regarding their handiwork. It is always a cry +with these folk that he (Mataafa) had no ammunition. I +always said it would be found; and we know of five boat-loads +that have found their way to Malie already. Where there are +traders, there will be ammunition; aphorism by R. L. S. + +Now what am I to do next? + +Lives of the Stevensons? HISTORIA SAMOAE? A History for +Children? Fiction? I have had two hard months at fiction; I +want a change. Stevensons? I am expecting some more +material; perhaps better wait. Samoa; rather tempting; might +be useful to the islands - and to me; for it will be written +in admirable temper; I have never agreed with any party, and +see merits and excuses in all; should do it (if I did) very +slackly and easily, as if half in conversation. History for +Children? This flows from my lessons to Austin; no book is +any good. The best I have seen is Freeman's OLD ENGLISH +HISTORY; but his style is so rasping, and a child can learn +more, if he's clever. I found my sketch of general Aryan +History, given in conversation, to have been practically +correct - at least what I mean is, Freeman had very much the +same stuff in his early chapters, only not so much, and I +thought not so well placed; and the child remembered some of +it. Now the difficulty is to give this general idea of main +place, growth, and movement; it is needful to tack it on a +yarn. Now Scotch is the only History I know; it is the only +history reasonably represented in my library; it is a very +good one for my purpose, owing to two civilisations having +been face to face throughout - or rather Roman civilisation +face to face with our ancient barbaric life and government, +down to yesterday, to 1750 anyway. But the TALES OF A +GRANDFATHER stand in my way; I am teaching them to Austin +now, and they have all Scott's defects and all Scott's +hopeless merit. I cannot compete with that; and yet, so far +as regards teaching History, how he has missed his chances! +I think I'll try; I really have some historic sense, I feel +that in my bones. Then there's another thing. Scott never +knew the Highlands; he was always a Borderer. He has missed +that whole, long, strange, pathetic story of our savages, +and, besides, his style is not very perspicuous to childhood. +Gad, I think I'll have a flutter. Buridan's Ass! Whether to +go, what to attack. Must go to other letters; shall add to +this, if I have time. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + + +NOV. 25TH, 1891. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, MY DEAR COLVIN, - I wonder how often I'm +going to write it. In spite of the loss of three days, as I +have to tell, and a lot of weeding and cacao planting, I have +finished since the mail left four chapters, forty-eight pages +of my Samoa history. It is true that the first three had +been a good deal drafted two years ago, but they had all to +be written and re-written, and the fourth chapter is all new. +Chapter I. Elements of Discord-Native. II. Elements of +Discord-Foreign. III. The Success of Laupepa. IV. Brandeis. +V. Will probably be called 'The Rise of Mataafa.' VI. FUROR +CONSULARIS - a devil of a long chapter. VII. Stuebel the +Pacificator. VIII. Government under the Treaty of Berlin. +IX. Practical Suggestions. Say three-sixths of it are done, +maybe more; by this mail five chapters should go, and that +should be a good half of it; say sixty pages. And if you +consider that I sent by last mail the end of the WRECKER, +coming on for seventy or eighty pages, and the mail before +that the entire Tale of the BEACH OF FALESA, I do not think I +can be accused of idleness. This is my season; I often work +six and seven, and sometimes eight hours; and the same day I +am perhaps weeding or planting for an hour or two more - and +I daresay you know what hard work weeding is - and it all +agrees with me at this time of the year - like - like +idleness, if a man of my years could be idle. + +My first visit to Apia was a shock to me; every second person +the ghost of himself, and the place reeking with infection. +But I have not got the thing yet, and hope to escape. This +shows how much stronger I am; think of me flitting through a +town of influenza patients seemingly unscathed. We are all +on the cacao planting. + +The next day my wife and I rode over to the German +plantation, Vailele, whose manager is almost the only German +left to speak to us. Seventy labourers down with influenza! +It is a lovely ride, half-way down our mountain towards Apia, +then turn to the right, ford the river, and three miles of +solitary grass and cocoa palms, to where the sea beats and +the wild wind blows unceasingly about the plantation house. +On the way down Fanny said, 'Now what would you do if you saw +Colvin coming up?' + +Next day we rode down to Apia to make calls. + +Yesterday the mail came, and the fat was in the fire. + + +NOV. 29TH? + + +BOOK. All right. I must say I like your order. And the +papers are some of them up to dick, and no mistake. I agree +with you the lights seem a little turned down. The truth is, +I was far through (if you understand Scots), and came none +too soon to the South Seas, where I was to recover peace of +body and mind. No man but myself knew all my bitterness in +those days. Remember that, the next time you think I regret +my exile. And however low the lights are, the stuff is true, +and I believe the more effective; after all, what I wish to +fight is the best fought by a rather cheerless presentation +of the truth. The world must return some day to the word +duty, and be done with the word reward. There are no +rewards, and plenty duties. And the sooner a man sees that +and acts upon it like a gentleman or a fine old barbarian, +the better for himself. + +There is my usual puzzle about publishers. Chatto ought to +have it, as he has all the other essays; these all belong to +me, and Chatto publishes on terms. Longman has forgotten the +terms we are on; let him look up our first correspondence, +and he will see I reserved explicitly, as was my habit, the +right to republish as I choose. Had the same arrangement +with Henley, Magazine of Art, and with Tulloch Fraser's. - +For any necessary note or preface, it would be a real service +if you would undertake the duty yourself. I should love a +preface by you, as short or as long as you choose, three +sentences, thirty pages, the thing I should like is your +name. And the excuse of my great distance seems sufficient. +I shall return with this the sheets corrected as far as I +have them; the rest I will leave, if you will, to you +entirely; let it be your book, and disclaim what you dislike +in the preface. You can say it was at my eager prayer. I +should say I am the less willing to pass Chatto over, because +he behaved the other day in a very handsome manner. He asked +leave to reprint DAMIEN; I gave it to him as a present, +explaining I could receive no emolument for a personal +attack. And he took out my share of profits, and sent them +in my name to the Leper Fund. I could not bear after that to +take from him any of that class of books which I have always +given him. Tell him the same terms will do. Clark to print, +uniform with the others. + +I have lost all the days since this letter began re-handling +Chapter IV. of the Samoa racket. I do not go in for +literature; address myself to sensible people rather than to +sensitive. And, indeed, it is a kind of journalism, I have +no right to dally; if it is to help, it must come soon. In +two months from now it shall be done, and should be published +in the course of March. I propose Cassell gets it. I am +going to call it 'A Footnote to History: Eight Years of +Trouble in Samoa,' I believe. I recoil from serious names; +they seem so much too pretentious for a pamphlet. It will be +about the size of TREASURE ISLAND, I believe. Of course, as +you now know, my case of conscience cleared itself off, and I +began my intervention directly to one of the parties. The +other, the Chief Justice, I am to inform of my book the first +occasion. God knows if the book will do any good - or harm; +but I judge it right to try. There is one man's life +certainly involved; and it may be all our lives. I must not +stand and slouch, but do my best as best I can. But you may +conceive the difficulty of a history extending to the present +week, at least, and where almost all the actors upon all +sides are of my personal acquaintance. The only way is to +judge slowly, and write boldly, and leave the issue to fate. +. . . I am far indeed from wishing to confine myself to +creative work; that is a loss, the other repairs; the one +chance for a man, and, above all, for one who grows elderly, +ahem, is to vary drainage and repair. That is the one thing +I understand - the cultivation of the shallow SOLUM of my +brain. But I would rather, from soon on, be released from +the obligation to write. In five or six years this +plantation - suppose it and us still to exist - should pretty +well support us and pay wages; not before, and already the +six years seem long to me. If literature were but a pastime! + +I have interrupted myself to write the necessary notification +to the Chief Justice. + +I see in looking up Longman's letter that it was as usual the +letter of an obliging gentleman; so do not trouble him with +my reminder. I wish all my publishers were not so nice. And +I have a fourth and a fifth baying at my heels; but for +these, of course, they must go wanting. + + +DEC. 2ND. + + +No answer from the Chief Justice, which is like him, but +surely very wrong in such a case. The lunch bell! I have +been off work, playing patience and weeding all morning. +Yesterday and the day before I drafted eleven and revised +nine pages of Chapter V., and the truth is, I was extinct by +lunch-time, and played patience sourly the rest of the day. +To-morrow or next day I hope to go in again and win. Lunch +2nd Bell. + + +DEC. 2ND, AFTERNOON. + + +I have kept up the idleness; blew on the pipe to Belle's +piano; then had a ride in the forest all by my nainsel; back +and piped again, and now dinner nearing. Take up this sheet +with nothing to say. The weird figure of Faauma is in the +room washing my windows, in a black lavalava (kilt) with a +red handkerchief hanging from round her neck between her +breasts; not another stitch; her hair close cropped and +oiled; when she first came here she was an angelic little +stripling, but she is now in full flower - or half-flower - +and grows buxom. As I write, I hear her wet cloth moving and +grunting with some industry; for I had a word this day with +her husband on the matter of work and meal-time, when she is +always late. And she has a vague reverence for Papa, as she +and her enormous husband address me when anything is wrong. +Her husband is Lafaele, sometimes called the archangel, of +whom I have writ you often. Rest of our household, Talolo, +cook; Pulu, kitchen boy, good, steady, industrious lads; +Henry, back again from Savaii, where his love affair seems +not to have prospered, with what looks like a spear-wound in +the back of his head, of which Mr. Reticence says nothing; +Simi, Manuele, and two other labourers out-doors. Lafaele is +provost of the live-stock, whereof now, three milk-cows, one +bull-calf, one heifer, Jack, Macfarlane, the mare, Harold, +Tifaga Jack, Donald and Edinburgh - seven horses - O, and the +stallion - eight horses; five cattle; total, if my arithmetic +be correct, thirteen head of beasts; I don't know how the +pigs stand, or the ducks, or the chickens; but we get a good +many eggs, and now and again a duckling or a chickling for +the table; the pigs are more solemn, and appear only on +birthdays and sich. + + +MONDAY, DEC. 7. + + +On Friday morning about eleven 1500 cacao seeds arrived, and +we set to and toiled from twelve that day to six, and went to +bed pretty tired. Next day I got about an hour and a half at +my History, and was at it again by 8.10, and except an hour +for lunch kept at it till four P.M. Yesterday, I did some +History in the morning, and slept most of the afternoon; and +to-day, being still averse from physical labour, and the mail +drawing nigh, drew out of the squad, and finished for press +the fifth chapter of my History; fifty-nine pages in one +month; which (you will allow me to say) is a devil of a large +order; it means at least 177 pages of writing; 89,000 words! +and hours going to and fro among my notes. However, this is +the way it has to be done; the job must be done fast, or it +is of no use. And it is a curious yarn. Honestly, I think +people should be amused and convinced, if they could be at +the pains to look at such a damned outlandish piece of +machinery, which of course they won't. And much I care. + +When I was filling baskets all Saturday, in my dull mulish +way, perhaps the slowest worker there, surely the most +particular, and the only one that never looked up or knocked +off, I could not but think I should have been sent on +exhibition as an example to young literary men. Here is how +to learn to write, might be the motto. You should have seen +us; the verandah was like an Irish bog; our hands and faces +were bedaubed with soil; and Faauma was supposed to have +struck the right note when she remarked (A PROPOS of +nothing), 'Too much ELEELE (soil) for me!' The cacao (you +must understand) has to be planted at first in baskets of +plaited cocoa-leaf. From four to ten natives were plaiting +these in the wood-shed. Four boys were digging up soil and +bringing it by the boxful to the verandah. Lloyd and I and +Belle, and sometimes S. (who came to bear a hand), were +filling the baskets, removing stones and lumps of clay; +Austin and Faauma carried them when full to Fanny, who +planted a seed in each, and then set them, packed close, in +the corners of the verandah. From twelve on Friday till five +P.M. on Saturday we planted the first 1500, and more than 700 +of a second lot. You cannot dream how filthy we were, and we +were all properly tired. They are all at it again to-day, +bar Belle and me, not required, and glad to be out of it. +The Chief Justice has not yet replied, and I have news that +he received my letter. What a man! + +I have gone crazy over Bourget's SENSATIONS D'ITALIE; hence +the enclosed dedications, a mere cry of gratitude for the +best fun I've had over a new book this ever so! + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + + +TUESDAY, DEC. 1891. + + +SIR, - I have the honour to report further explorations of +the course of the river Vaea, with accompanying sketch plan. +The party under my command consisted of one horse, and was +extremely insubordinate and mutinous, owing to not being used +to go into the bush, and being half-broken anyway - and that +the wrong half. The route indicated for my party was up the +bed of the so-called river Vaea, which I accordingly followed +to a distance of perhaps two or three furlongs eastward from +the house of Vailima, where the stream being quite dry, the +bush thick, and the ground very difficult, I decided to leave +the main body of the force under my command tied to a tree, +and push on myself with the point of the advance guard, +consisting of one man. The valley had become very narrow and +airless; foliage close shut above; dry bed of the stream much +excavated, so that I passed under fallen trees without +stooping. Suddenly it turned sharply to the north, at right +angles to its former direction; I heard living water, and +came in view of a tall face of rock and the stream spraying +down it; it might have been climbed, but it would have been +dangerous, and I had to make my way up the steep earth banks, +where there is nowhere any footing for man, only fallen +trees, which made the rounds of my ladder. I was near the +top of this climb, which was very hot and steep, and the +pulses were buzzing all over my body, when I made sure there +was one external sound in my ears, and paused to listen. No +mistake; a sound of a mill-wheel thundering, I thought, close +by, yet below me, a huge mill-wheel, yet not going steadily, +but with a SCHOTTISCHE movement, and at each fresh impetus +shaking the mountain. There, where I was, I just put down +the sound to the mystery of the bush; where no sound now +surprises me - and any sound alarms; I only thought it would +give Jack a fine fright, down where he stood tied to a tree +by himself, and he was badly enough scared when I left him. +The good folks at home identified it; it was a sharp +earthquake. + +At the top of the climb I made my way again to the water- +course; it is here running steady and pretty full; strange +these intermittencies - and just a little below the main +stream is quite dry, and all the original brook has gone down +some lava gallery of the mountain - and just a little further +below, it begins picking up from the left hand in little +boggy tributaries, and in the inside of a hundred yards has +grown a brook again. The general course of the brook was, I +guess, S.E.; the valley still very deep and whelmed in wood. +It seemed a swindle to have made so sheer a climb and still +find yourself at the bottom of a well. But gradually the +thing seemed to shallow, the trees to seem poorer and +smaller; I could see more and more of the silver sprinkles of +sky among the foliage, instead of the sombre piling up of +tree behind tree. And here I had two scares - first, away up +on my right hand I heard a bull low; I think it was a bull +from the quality of the low, which was singularly songful and +beautiful; the bulls belong to me, but how did I know that +the bull was aware of that? and my advance guard not being at +all properly armed, we advanced with great precaution until I +was satisfied that I was passing eastward of the enemy. It +was during this period that a pool of the river suddenly +boiled up in my face in a little fountain. It was in a very +dreary, marshy part among dilapidated trees that you see +through holes in the trunks of; and if any kind of beast or +elf or devil had come out of that sudden silver ebullition, I +declare I do not think I should have been surprised. It was +perhaps a thing as curious - a fish, with which these head +waters of the stream are alive. They are some of them as +long as my finger, should be easily caught in these shallows, +and some day I'll have a dish of them. + +Very soon after I came to where the stream collects in +another banana swamp, with the bananas bearing well. Beyond, +the course is again quite dry; it mounts with a sharp turn a +very steep face of the mountain, and then stops abruptly at +the lip of a plateau, I suppose the top of Vaea mountain: +plainly no more springs here - there was no smallest furrow +of a watercourse beyond - and my task might be said to be +accomplished. But such is the animated spirit in the service +that the whole advance guard expressed a sentiment of +disappointment that an exploration, so far successfully +conducted, should come to a stop in the most promising view +of fresh successes. And though unprovided either with +compass or cutlass, it was determined to push some way along +the plateau, marking our direction by the laborious process +of bending down, sitting upon, and thus breaking the wild +cocoanut trees. This was the less regretted by all from a +delightful discovery made of a huge banyan growing here in +the bush, with flying-buttressed flying buttresses, and huge +arcs of trunk hanging high overhead and trailing down new +complications of root. I climbed some way up what seemed the +original beginning; it was easier to climb than a ship's +rigging, even rattled; everywhere there was foot-hold and +hand-hold. It was judged wise to return and rally the main +body, who had now been left alone for perhaps forty minutes +in the bush. + +The return was effected in good order, but unhappily I only +arrived (like so many other explorers) to find my main body +or rear-guard in a condition of mutiny; the work, it is to be +supposed, of terror. It is right I should tell you the Vaea +has a bad name, an AITU FAFINE - female devil of the woods - +succubus - haunting it, and doubtless Jack had heard of her; +perhaps, during my absence, saw her; lucky Jack! Anyway, he +was neither to hold nor to bind, and finally, after nearly +smashing me by accident, and from mere scare and +insubordination several times, deliberately set in to kill +me; but poor Jack! the tree he selected for that purpose was +a banana! I jumped off and gave him the heavy end of my whip +over the buttocks! Then I took and talked in his ear in +various voices; you should have heard my alto - it was a +dreadful, devilish note - I KNEW Jack KNEW it was an AITU. +Then I mounted him again, and he carried me fairly steadily. +He'll learn yet. He has to learn to trust absolutely to his +rider; till he does, the risk is always great in thick bush, +where a fellow must try different passages, and put back and +forward, and pick his way by hair's-breadths. + +The expedition returned to Vailima in time to receive the +visit of the R. C. Bishop. He is a superior man, much above +the average of priests. + + +THURSDAY. + + +Yesterday the same expedition set forth to the southward by +what is known as Carruthers' Road. At a fallen tree which +completely blocks the way, the main body was as before left +behind, and the advance guard of one now proceeded with the +exploration. At the great tree known as MEPI TREE, after +Maben the surveyor, the expedition struck forty yards due +west till it struck the top of a steep bank which it +descended. The whole bottom of the ravine is filled with +sharp lava blocks quite unrolled and very difficult and +dangerous to walk among; no water in the course, scarce any +sign of water. And yet surely water must have made this bold +cutting in the plateau. And if so, why is the lava sharp? +My science gave out; but I could not but think it ominous and +volcanic. The course of the stream was tortuous, but with a +resultant direction a little by west of north; the sides the +whole way exceeding steep, the expedition buried under +fathoms of foliage. Presently water appeared in the bottom, +a good quantity; perhaps thirty or forty cubic feet, with +pools and waterfalls. A tree that stands all along the banks +here must be very fond of water; its roots lie close-packed +down the stream, like hanks of guts, so as to make often a +corrugated walk, each root ending in a blunt tuft of +filaments, plainly to drink water. Twice there came in small +tributaries from the left or western side - the whole plateau +having a smartish inclination to the east; one of the +tributaries in a handsome little web of silver hanging in the +forest. Twice I was startled by birds; one that barked like +a dog; another that whistled loud ploughman's signals, so +that I vow I was thrilled, and thought I had fallen among +runaway blacks, and regretted my cutlass which I had lost and +left behind while taking bearings. A good many fishes in the +brook, and many cray-fish; one of the last with a queer glow- +worm head. Like all our brooks, the water is pure as air, +and runs over red stones like rubies. The foliage along both +banks very thick and high, the place close, the walking +exceedingly laborious. By the time the expedition reached +the fork, it was felt exceedingly questionable whether the +MORAL of the force were sufficiently good to undertake more +extended operations. A halt was called, the men refreshed +with water and a bath, and it was decided at a drumhead +council of war to continue the descent of the Embassy Water +straight for Vailima, whither the expedition returned, in +rather poor condition, and wet to the waist, about 4. P.M. + +Thus in two days the two main watercourses of this country +have been pretty thoroughly explored, and I conceive my +instructions fully carried out. The main body of the second +expedition was brought back by another officer despatched for +that purpose from Vailima. Casualties: one horse wounded; +one man bruised; no deaths - as yet, but the bruised man +feels to-day as if his case was mighty serious. + + +DEC. 25, '91. + + +Your note with a very despicable bulletin of health arrived +only yesterday, the mail being a day behind. It contained +also the excellent TIMES article, which was a sight for sore +eyes. I am still TABOO; the blessed Germans will have none +of me; and I only hope they may enjoy the TIMES article. +'Tis my revenge! I wish you had sent the letter too, as I +have no copy, and do not even know what I wrote the last day, +with a bad headache, and the mail going out. However, it +must have been about right, for the TIMES article was in the +spirit I wished to arouse. I hope we can get rid of the man +before it is too late. He has set the natives to war; but +the natives, by God's blessing, do not want to fight, and I +think it will fizzle out - no thanks to the man who tried to +start it. But I did not mean to drift into these politics; +rather to tell you what I have done since I last wrote. + +Well, I worked away at my History for a while, and only got +one chapter done; no doubt this spate of work is pretty low +now, and will be soon dry; but, God bless you, what a lot I +have accomplished; WRECKER done, BEACH OF FALESA done, half +the HISTORY: C'EST ETONNANT. (I hear from Burlingame, by the +way, that he likes the end of the WRECKER; 'tis certainly a +violent, dark yarn with interesting, plain turns of human +nature), then Lloyd and I went down to live in Haggard's +rooms, where Fanny presently joined us. Haggard's rooms are +in a strange old building - old for Samoa, and has the effect +of the antique like some strange monastery; I would tell you +more of it, but I think I'm going to use it in a tale. The +annexe close by had its door sealed; poor Dowdney lost at sea +in a schooner. The place is haunted. The vast empty sheds, +the empty store, the airless, hot, long, low rooms, the claps +of wind that set everything flying - a strange uncanny house +to spend Christmas in. + + +JAN. 1ST, '92. + + +For a day or two I have sat close and wrought hard at the +HISTORY, and two more chapters are all but done. About +thirty pages should go by this mail, which is not what should +be, but all I could overtake. Will any one ever read it? I +fancy not; people don't read history for reading, but for +education and display - and who desires education in the +history of Samoa, with no population, no past, no future, or +the exploits of Mataafa, Malietoa, and Consul Knappe? +Colkitto and Galasp are a trifle to it. Well, it can't be +helped, and it must be done, and, better or worse, it's +capital fun. There are two to whom I have not been kind - +German Consul Becker and English Captain Hand, R.N. + +On Dec. 30th I rode down with Belle to go to (if you please) +the Fancy Ball. When I got to the beach, I found the +barometer was below 29 degrees, the wind still in the east +and steady, but a huge offensive continent of clouds and +vapours forming to leeward. It might be a hurricane; I dared +not risk getting caught away from my work, and, leaving +Belle, returned at once to Vailima. Next day - yesterday - +it was a tearer; we had storm shutters up; I sat in my room +and wrote by lamplight - ten pages, if you please, seven of +them draft, and some of these compiled from as many as seven +different and conflicting authorities, so that was a brave +day's work. About two a huge tree fell within sixty paces of +our house; a little after, a second went; and we sent out +boys with axes and cut down a third, which was too near the +house, and buckling like a fishing rod. At dinner we had the +front door closed and shuttered, the back door open, the lamp +lit. The boys in the cook-house were all out at the cook- +house door, where we could see them looking in and smiling. +Lauilo and Faauma waited on us with smiles. The excitement +was delightful. Some very violent squalls came as we sat +there, and every one rejoiced; it was impossible to help it; +a soul of putty had to sing. All night it blew; the roof was +continually sounding under missiles; in the morning the +verandahs were half full of branches torn from the forest. +There was a last very wild squall about six; the rain, like a +thick white smoke, flying past the house in volleys, and as +swift, it seemed, as rifle balls; all with a strange, +strident hiss, such as I have only heard before at sea, and, +indeed, thought to be a marine phenomenon. Since then the +wind has been falling with a few squalls, mostly rain. But +our road is impassable for horses; we hear a schooner has +been wrecked and some native houses blown down in Apia, where +Belle is still and must remain a prisoner. Lucky I returned +while I could! But the great good is this; much bread-fruit +and bananas have been destroyed; if this be general through +the islands, famine will be imminent; and WHOEVER BLOWS THE +COALS, THERE CAN BE NO WAR. Do I then prefer a famine to a +war? you ask. Not always, but just now. I am sure the +natives do not want a war; I am sure a war would benefit no +one but the white officials, and I believe we can easily meet +the famine - or at least that it can be met. That would give +our officials a legitimate opportunity to cover their past +errors. + + +JAN. 2ND. + + +I woke this morning to find the blow quite ended. The heaven +was all a mottled gray; even the east quite colourless; the +downward slope of the island veiled in wafts of vapour, blue +like smoke; not a leaf stirred on the tallest tree; only, +three miles away below me on the barrier reef, I could see +the individual breakers curl and fall, and hear their +conjunct roaring rise, as it still rises at 1 P.M., like the +roar of a thoroughfare close by. I did a good morning's +work, correcting and clarifying my draft, and have now +finished for press eight chapters, ninety-one pages, of this +piece of journalism. Four more chapters, say fifty pages, +remain to be done; I should gain my wager and finish this +volume in three months, that is to say, the end should leave +me per February mail; I cannot receive it back till the mail +of April. Yes, it can be out in time; pray God that it be in +time to help. + +How do journalists fetch up their drivel? I aim only at +clearness and the most obvious finish, positively at no +higher degree of merit, not even at brevity - I am sure it +could have been all done, with double the time, in two-thirds +of the space. And yet it has taken me two months to write +45,500 words; and, be damned to my wicked prowess, I am proud +of the exploit! The real journalist must be a man not of +brass only, but bronze. Chapter IX. gapes for me, but I +shrink on the margin, and go on chattering to you. This last +part will be much less offensive (strange to say) to the +Germans. It is Becker they will never forgive me for; Knappe +I pity and do not dislike; Becker I scorn and abominate. +Here is the tableau. I. Elements of Discord: Native. II. +Elements of Discord: Foreign. III. The Sorrows of Laupepa. +IV. Brandeis. V. The Battle of Matautu. VI. Last Exploits +of Becker. VII. The Samoan Camps. VIII. Affairs of Lautii +and Fangalii. IX. 'FUROR CONSULARIS.' X. The Hurricane. +XI. Stuebel Recluse. XII. The Present Government. I +estimate the whole roughly at 70,000 words. Should anybody +ever dream of reading it, it would be found amusing. +70000/300=233 printed pages; a respectable little five-bob +volume, to bloom unread in shop windows. After that, I'll +have a spank at fiction. And rest? I shall rest in the +grave, or when I come to Italy. If only the public will +continue to support me! I lost my chance not dying; there +seems blooming little fear of it now. I worked close on five +hours this morning; the day before, close on nine; and unless +I finish myself off with this letter, I'll have another hour +and a half, or AIBLINS TWA, before dinner. Poor man, how you +must envy me, as you hear of these orgies of work, and you +scarce able for a letter. But Lord, Colvin, how lucky the +situations are not reversed, for I have no situation, nor am +fit for any. Life is a steigh brae. Here, have at Knappe, +and no more clavers! + + +3RD. + + +There was never any man had so many irons in the fire, except +Jim Pinkerton. I forgot to mention I have the most gallant +suggestion from Lang, with an offer of MS. authorities, which +turns my brain. It's all about the throne of Poland and +buried treasure in the Mackay country, and Alan Breck can +figure there in glory. + +Yesterday, J. and I set off to Blacklock's (American Consul) +who lives not far from that little village I have so often +mentioned as lying between us and Apia. I had some questions +to ask him for my History; thence we must proceed to Vailele, +where I had also to cross-examine the plantation manager +about the battle there. We went by a track I had never +before followed down the hill to Vaisigano, which flows here +in a deep valley, and was unusually full, so that the horses +trembled in the ford. The whole bottom of the valley is full +of various streams posting between strips of forest with a +brave sound of waters. In one place we had a glimpse of a +fall some way higher up, and then sparkling in sunlight in +the midst of the green valley. Then up by a winding path +scarce accessible to a horse for steepness, to the other +side, and the open cocoanut glades of the plantation. Here +we rode fast, did a mighty satisfactory afternoon's work at +the plantation house, and still faster back. On the return +Jack fell with me, but got up again; when I felt him +recovering I gave him his head, and he shoved his foot +through the rein; I got him by the bit however, and all was +well; he had mud over all his face, but his knees were not +broken. We were scarce home when the rain began again; that +was luck. It is pouring now in torrents; we are in the +height of the bad season. Lloyd leaves along with this +letter on a change to San Francisco; he had much need of it, +but I think this will brace him up. I am, as you see, a +tower of strength. I can remember riding not so far and not +near so fast when I first came to Samoa, and being shattered +next day with fatigue; now I could not tell I have done +anything; have re-handled my battle of Fangalii according to +yesterday's information - four pages rewritten; and written +already some half-dozen pages of letters. + +I observe with disgust that while of yore, when I own I was +guilty, you never spared me abuse, but now, when I am so +virtuous, where is the praise? Do admit that I have become +an excellent letter-writer - at least to you, and that your +ingratitude is imbecile. - Yours ever, + +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + + +JAN 31ST, '92. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - No letter at all from you, and this scratch +from me! Here is a year that opens ill. Lloyd is off to +'the coast' sick - THE COAST means California over most of +the Pacific - I have been down all month with influenza, and +am just recovering - I am overlaid with proofs, which I am +just about half fit to attend to. One of my horses died this +morning, and another is now dying on the front lawn - Lloyd's +horse and Fanny's. Such is my quarrel with destiny. But I +am mending famously, come and go on the balcony, have +perfectly good nights, and though I still cough, have no +oppression and no hemorrhage and no fever. So if I can find +time and courage to add no more, you will know my news is not +altogether of the worst; a year or two ago, and what a state +I should have been in now! Your silence, I own, rather +alarms me. But I tell myself you have just miscarried; had +you been too ill to write, some one would have written me. +Understand, I send this brief scratch not because I am unfit +to write more, but because I have 58 galleys of the WRECKER +and 102 of the BEACH OF FALESA to get overhauled somehow or +other in time for the mail, and for three weeks I have not +touched a pen with my finger. + + +FEB. 1ST. + + +The second horse is still alive, but I still think dying. +The first was buried this morning. My proofs are done; it +was a rough two days of it, but done. CONSUMMATUM EST; NA +UMA. I believe the WRECKER ends well; if I know what a good +yarn is, the last four chapters make a good yarn - but pretty +horrible. THE BEACH OF FALESA I still think well of, but it +seems it's immoral and there's a to-do, and financially it +may prove a heavy disappointment. The plaintive request sent +to me, to make the young folks married properly before 'that +night,' I refused; you will see what would be left of the +yarn, had I consented. This is a poison bad world for the +romancer, this Anglo-Saxon world; I usually get out of it by +not having any women in it at all; but when I remember I had +the TREASURE OF FRANCHARD refused as unfit for a family +magazine, I feel despair weigh upon my wrists. + +As I know you are always interested in novels, I must tell +you that a new one is now entirely planned. It is to be +called SOPHIA SCARLET, and is in two parts. Part I. The +Vanilla Planter. Part II. The Overseers. No chapters, I +think; just two dense blocks of narrative, the first of which +is purely sentimental, but the second has some rows and +quarrels, and winds up with an explosion, if you please! I +am just burning to get at Sophia, but I MUST do this Samoan +journalism - that's a cursed duty. The first part of Sophia, +bar the first twenty or thirty pages, writes itself; the +second is more difficult, involving a good many characters - +about ten, I think - who have to be kept all moving, and give +the effect of a society. I have three women to handle, out +and well-away! but only Sophia is in full tone. Sophia and +two men, Windermere, the Vanilla Planter, who dies at the end +of Part I., and Rainsforth, who only appears in the beginning +of Part II. The fact is, I blush to own it, but Sophia is a +REGULAR NOVEL; heroine and hero, and false accusation, and +love, and marriage, and all the rest of it - all planted in a +big South Sea plantation run by ex-English officers - A LA +Stewart's plantation in Tahiti. There is a strong +undercurrent of labour trade, which gives it a kind of Uncle +Tom flavour, ABSIT OMEN! The first start is hard; it is hard +to avoid a little tedium here, but I think by beginning with +the arrival of the three Miss Scarlets hot from school and +society in England, I may manage to slide in the information. +The problem is exactly a Balzac one, and I wish I had his +fist - for I have already a better method - the kinetic, +whereas he continually allowed himself to be led into the +static. But then he had the fist, and the most I can hope is +to get out of it with a modicum of grace and energy, but for +sure without the strong impression, the full, dark brush. +Three people have had it, the real creator's brush: Scott, +see much of THE ANTIQUARY and THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN +(especially all round the trial, before, during, and after) - +Balzac - and Thackeray in VANITY FAIR. Everybody else either +paints THIN, or has to stop to paint, or paints excitedly, so +that you see the author skipping before his canvas. Here is +a long way from poor Sophia Scarlet! + +This day is published +SOPHIA SCARLET +By +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + + +FEB. 1892. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - This has been a busyish month for a sick +man. First, Faauma - the bronze candlestick, whom otherwise +I called my butler - bolted from the bed and bosom of +Lafaele, the Archangel Hercules, prefect of the cattle. +There was the deuce to pay, and Hercules was inconsolable, +and immediately started out after a new wife, and has had one +up on a visit, but says she has 'no conversation'; and I +think he will take back the erring and possibly repentant +candlestick; whom we all devoutly prefer, as she is not only +highly decorative, but good-natured, and if she does little +work makes no rows. I tell this lightly, but it really was a +heavy business; many were accused of complicity, and Rafael +was really very sorry. I had to hold beds of justice - +literally - seated in my bed and surrounded by lying Samoans +seated on the floor; and there were many picturesque and +still inexplicable passages. It is hard to reach the truth +in these islands. + +The next incident overlapped with this. S. and Fanny found +three strange horses in the paddock: for long now the boys +have been forbidden to leave their horses here one hour +because our grass is over-grazed. S. came up with the news, +and I saw I must now strike a blow. 'To the pound with the +lot,' said I. He proposed taking the three himself, but I +thought that too dangerous an experiment, said I should go +too, and hurried into my boots so as to show decision taken, +in the necessary interviews. They came of course - the +interviews - and I explained what I was going to do at huge +length, and stuck to my guns. I am glad to say the natives, +with their usual (purely speculative) sense of justice highly +approved the step after reflection. Meanwhile off went S. +and I with the three CORPORA DELICTI; and a good job I went! +Once, when our circus began to kick, we thought all was up; +but we got them down all sound in wind and limb. I judged I +was much fallen off from my Elliott forefathers, who managed +this class of business with neatness and despatch. Half-way +down it came on to rain tropic style, and I came back from my +outing drenched liked a drowned man - I was literally blinded +as I came back among these sheets of water; and the +consequence was I was laid down with diarrhoea and +threatenings of Samoa colic for the inside of another week. + +I have a confession to make. When I was sick I tried to get +to work to finish that Samoa thing, wouldn't go; and at last, +in the colic time, I slid off into DAVID BALFOUR, some 50 +pages of which are drafted, and like me well. Really I think +it is spirited; and there's a heroine that (up to now) seems +to have attractions: ABSIT OMEN! David, on the whole, seems +excellent. Alan does not come in till the tenth chapter, and +I am only at the eighth, so I don't know if I can find him +again; but David is on his feet, and doing well, and very +much in love, and mixed up with the Lord Advocate and the +(untitled) Lord Lovat, and all manner of great folk. And the +tale interferes with my eating and sleeping. The join is +bad; I have not thought to strain too much for continuity; so +this part be alive, I shall be content. But there's no doubt +David seems to have changed his style, de'il ha'e him! And +much I care, if the tale travel! + + +FRIDAY, FEB. ?? 19TH? + + +Two incidents to-day which I must narrate. After lunch, it +was raining pitilessly; we were sitting in my mother's +bedroom, and I was reading aloud Kinglake's Charge of the +Light Brigade, and we had just been all seized by the horses +aligning with Lord George Paget, when a figure appeared on +the verandah; a little, slim, small figure of a lad, with +blond (I.E. limed) hair, a propitiatory smile, and a nose +that alone of all his features grew pale with anxiety. 'I +come here stop,' was about the outside of his English; and I +began at once to guess that he was a runaway labourer, and +that the bush-knife in his hand was stolen. It proved he had +a mate, who had lacked his courage, and was hidden down the +road; they had both made up their minds to run away, and had +'come here stop.' I could not turn out the poor rogues, one +of whom showed me marks on his back, into the drenching +forest; I could not reason with them, for they had not enough +English, and not one of our boys spoke their tongue; so I +bade them feed and sleep here to-night, and to-morrow I must +do what the Lord shall bid me. + +Near dinner time, I was told that a friend of Lafaele's had +found human remains in my bush. After dinner, a figure was +seen skulking across towards the waterfall, which produced +from the verandah a shout, in my most stentorian tones: 'O AI +LE INGOA?' literally 'Who the name?' which serves here for +'What's your business?' as well. It proved to be Lafaele's +friend; I bade a kitchen boy, Lauilo, go with him to see the +spot, for though it had ceased raining, the whole island ran +and dripped. Lauilo was willing enough, but the friend of +the archangel demurred; he had too much business; he had no +time. 'All right,' I said, 'you too much frightened, I go +along,' which of course produced the usual shout of delight +from all those who did not require to go. I got into my +Saranac snow boots. Lauilo got a cutlass; Mary Carter, our +Sydney maid, joined the party for a lark, and off we set. I +tell you our guide kept us moving; for the dusk fell swift. +Our woods have an infamous reputation at the best, and our +errand (to say the least of it) was grisly. At last 'they +found the remains; they were old, which was all I cared to be +sure of; it seemed a strangely small 'pickle-banes' to stand +for a big, flourishing, buck-islander, and their situation in +the darkening and dripping bush was melancholy. All at once, +I found there was a second skull, with a bullet-hole I could +have stuck my two thumbs in - say anybody else's one thumb. +My Samoans said it could not be, there were not enough bones; +I put the two pieces of skull together, and at last convinced +them. Whereupon, in a flash, they found the not unromantic +explanation. This poor brave had succeeded in the height of +a Samoan warriors ambition; he had taken a head, which he was +never destined to show to his applauding camp. Wounded +himself, he had crept here into the bush to die with his +useless trophy by his side. His date would be about fifteen +years ago, in the great battle between Laupepa and Talavou, +which took place on My Land, Sir. To-morrow we shall bury +the bones and fire a salute in honour of unfortunate courage. + +Do you think I have an empty life? or that a man jogging to +his club has so much to interest and amuse him? - touch and +try him too, but that goes along with the others: no pain, no +pleasure, is the iron law. So here I stop again, and leave, +as I left yesterday, my political business untouched. And +lo! here comes my pupil, I believe, so I stop in time. + + +MARCH 2ND. + + +Since I last wrote, fifteen chapters of DAVID BALFOUR have +been drafted, and five TIRES AU CLAIR. I think it pretty +good; there's a blooming maiden that costs anxiety - she is +as virginal as billy; but David seems there and alive, and +the Lord Advocate is good, and so I think is an episodic +appearance of the Master of Lovat. In Chapter XVII. I shall +get David abroad - Alan went already in Chapter XII. The +book should be about the length of KIDNAPPED; this early part +of it, about D.'s evidence in the Appin case, is more of a +story than anything in KIDNAPPED, but there is no doubt there +comes a break in the middle, and the tale is practically in +two divisions. In the first James More and the M'Gregors, +and Catriona, only show; in the second, the Appin case being +disposed of, and James Stewart hung, they rule the roast and +usurp the interest - should there be any left. Why did I +take up DAVID BALFOUR? I don't know. A sudden passion. + +Monday, I went down in the rain with a colic to take the +chair at a public meeting; dined with Haggard; sailed off to +my meeting, and fought with wild beasts for three anxious +hours. All was lost that any sensible man cared for, but the +meeting did not break up - thanks a good deal to R. L. S. - +and the man who opposed my election, and with whom I was all +the time wrangling, proposed the vote of thanks to me with a +certain handsomeness; I assure you I had earned it . . . +Haggard and the great Abdul, his high-caste Indian servant, +imported by my wife, were sitting up for me with supper, and +I suppose it was twelve before I got to bed. Tuesday +raining, my mother rode down, and we went to the Consulate to +sign a Factory and Commission. Thence, I to the lawyers, to +the printing office, and to the Mission. It was dinner time +when I returned home. + +This morning, our cook-boy having suddenly left - injured +feelings - the archangel was to cook breakfast. I found him +lighting the fire before dawn; his eyes blazed, he had no +word of any language left to use, and I saw in him (to my +wonder) the strongest workings of gratified ambition. +Napoleon was no more pleased to sign his first treaty with +Austria than was Lafaele to cook that breakfast. All +morning, when I had hoped to be at this letter, I slept like +one drugged and you must take this (which is all I can give +you) for what it is worth - + + +D.B. + +MEMOIRS OF HIS ADVENTURES AT HOME AND ABROAD. THE SECOND +PART; WHEREIN ARE SET FORTH THE MISFORTUNES IN WHICH HE WAS +INVOLVED UPON THE APPIN MURDER; HIS TROUBLES WITH LORD +ADVOCATE PRESTONGRANGE; CAPTIVITY ON THE BASS ROCK; JOURNEY +INTO FRANCE AND HOLLAND; AND SINGULAR RELATIONS WITH JAMES +MORE DRUMMOND OR MACGREGOR, A SON OF THE NOTORIOUS ROB ROY. + + + +Chapters. - I. A Beggar on Horseback. II. The Highland +Writer. III. I go to Pilrig. IV. Lord Advocate +Prestongrange. V. Butter and Thunder. VI. I make a fault in +honour. VII. The Bravo. VIII. The Heather on Fire. IX. I +begin to be haunted with a red-headed man. X. The Wood by +Silvermills. XI. On the march again with Alan. XII. Gillane +Sands. XIII. The Bass Rock. XIV. Black Andie's Tale of Tod +Lapraik. XV. I go to Inveraray. + +That is it, as far as drafted. Chapters IV. V. VII. IX. and +XIV. I am specially pleased with; the last being an +episodical bogie story about the Bass Rock told there by the +Keeper. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + + +MARCH 9TH. + + +MY DEAR S. C., - Take it not amiss if this is a wretched +letter. I am eaten up with business. Every day this week I +have had some business impediment - I am even now waiting a +deputation of chiefs about the road - and my precious morning +was shattered by a polite old scourge of a FAIPULE - +parliament man - come begging. All the time DAVID BALFOUR is +skelping along. I began it the 13th of last month; I have +now 12 chapters, 79 pages ready for press, or within an ace, +and, by the time the month is out, one-half should be +completed, and I'll be back at drafting the second half. +What makes me sick is to think of Scott turning out GUY +MANNERING in three weeks! What a pull of work: heavens, what +thews and sinews! And here am I, my head spinning from +having only re-written seven not very difficult pages - and +not very good when done. Weakling generation. It makes me +sick of myself, to make such a fash and bobbery over a rotten +end of an old nursery yarn, not worth spitting on when done. +Still, there is no doubt I turn out my work more easily than +of yore, and I suppose I should be singly glad of that. And +if I got my book done in six weeks, seeing it will be about +half as long as a Scott, and I have to write everything +twice, it would be about the same rate of industry. It is my +fair intention to be done with it in three months, which +would make me about one-half the man Sir Walter was for +application and driving the dull pen. Of the merit we shall +not talk; but I don't think Davie is WITHOUT merit. + + +MARCH 12TH. + + +And I have this day triumphantly finished 15 chapters, 100 +pages - being exactly one-half (as near as anybody can guess) +of DAVID BALFOUR; the book to be about a fifth as long again +(altogether) as TREASURE ISLAND: could I but do the second +half in another month! But I can't, I fear; I shall have +some belated material arriving by next mail, and must go +again at the History. Is it not characteristic of my broken +tenacity of mind, that I should have left Davie Balfour some +five years in the British Linen Company's Office, and then +follow him at last with such vivacity? But I leave you +again; the last (15th) chapter ought to be re-wrote, or part +of it, and I want the half completed in the month, and the +month is out by midnight; though, to be sure, last month was +February, and I might take grace. These notes are only to +show I hold you in mind, though I know they can have no +interest for man or God or animal. + +I should have told you about the Club. We have been asked to +try and start a sort of weekly ball for the half-castes and +natives, ourselves to be the only whites; and we consented, +from a very heavy sense of duty, and with not much hope. Two +nights ago we had twenty people up, received them in the +front verandah, entertained them on cake and lemonade, and I +made a speech - embodying our proposals, or conditions, if +you like - for I suppose thirty minutes. No joke to speak to +such an audience, but it is believed I was thoroughly +intelligible. I took the plan of saying everything at least +twice in a different form of words, so that if the one +escaped my hearers, the other might be seized. One white man +came with his wife, and was kept rigorously on the front +verandah below! You see what a sea of troubles this is like +to prove; but it is the only chance - and when it blows up, +it must blow up! I have no more hope in anything than a dead +frog; I go into everything with a composed despair, and don't +mind - just as I always go to sea with the conviction I am to +be drowned, and like it before all other pleasures. But you +should have seen the return voyage, when nineteen horses had +to be found in the dark, and nineteen bridles, all in a +drench of rain, and the club, just constituted as such, +sailed away in the wet, under a cloudy moon like a bad +shilling, and to descend a road through the forest that was +at that moment the image of a respectable mountain brook. My +wife, who is president WITH POWER TO EXPEL, had to begin her +functions. . . . + + +25TH MARCH. + + +Heaven knows what day it is, but I am ashamed, all the more +as your letter from Bournemouth of all places - poor old +Bournemouth! - is to hand, and contains a statement of +pleasure in my letters which I wish I could have rewarded +with a long one. What has gone on? A vast of affairs, of a +mingled, strenuous, inconclusive, desultory character; much +waste of time, much riding to and fro, and little transacted +or at least peracted. + +Let me give you a review of the present state of our live +stock. - Six boys in the bush; six souls about the house. +Talolo, the cook, returns again to-day, after an absence +which has cost me about twelve hours of riding, and I suppose +eight hours' solemn sitting in council. 'I am sorry indeed +for the Chief Justice of Samoa,' I said; 'it is more than I +am fit for to be Chief Justice of Vailima.' - Lauilo is +steward. Both these are excellent servants; we gave a +luncheon party when we buried the Samoan bones, and I assure +you all was in good style, yet we never interfered. The food +was good, the wine and dishes went round as by mechanism. - +Steward's assistant and washman Arrick, a New Hebridee black +boy, hired from the German firm; not so ugly as most, but not +pretty neither; not so dull as his sort are, but not quite a +Crichton. When he came first, he ate so much of our good +food that he got a prominent belly. Kitchen assistant, Tomas +(Thomas in English), a Fiji man, very tall and handsome, +moving like a marionette with sudden bounds, and rolling his +eyes with sudden effort. - Washerwoman and precentor, Helen, +Tomas's wife. This is our weak point; we are ashamed of +Helen; the cook-house blushes for her; they murmur there at +her presence. She seems all right; she is not a bad-looking, +strapping wench, seems chaste, is industrious, has an +excellent taste in hymns - you should have heard her read one +aloud the other day, she marked the rhythm with so much +gloating, dissenter sentiment. What is wrong, then? says +you. Low in your ear - and don't let the papers get hold of +it - she is of no family. None, they say; literally a common +woman. Of course, we have out-islanders, who MAY be +villeins; but we give them the benefit of the doubt, which is +impossible with Helen of Vailima; our blot, our pitted speck. +The pitted speck I have said is our precentor. It is always +a woman who starts Samoan song; the men who sing second do +not enter for a bar or two. Poor, dear Faauma, the unchaste, +the extruded Eve of our Paradise, knew only two hymns; but +Helen seems to know the whole repertory, and the morning +prayers go far more lively in consequence. - Lafaele, provost +of the cattle. The cattle are Jack, my horse, quite +converted, my wife rides him now, and he is as steady as a +doctor's cob; Tifaga Jack, a circus horse, my mother's +piebald, bought from a passing circus; Belle's mare, now in +childbed or next door, confound the slut! Musu - amusingly +translated the other day 'don't want to,' literally cross, +but always in the sense of stubbornness and resistance - my +wife's little dark-brown mare, with a white star on her +forehead, whom I have been riding of late to steady her - she +has no vices, but is unused, skittish and uneasy, and wants a +lot of attention and humouring; lastly (of saddle horses) +Luna - not the Latin MOON, the Hawaiian OVERSEER, but it's +pronounced the same - a pretty little mare too, but scarce at +all broken, a bad bucker, and has to be ridden with a stock- +whip and be brought back with her rump criss-crossed like a +clan tartan; the two cart horses, now only used with pack- +saddles; two cows, one in the straw (I trust) to-morrow, a +third cow, the Jersey - whose milk and temper are alike +subjects of admiration - she gives good exercise to the +farming saunterer, and refreshes him on his return with +cream; two calves, a bull, and a cow; God knows how many +ducks and chickens, and for a wager not even God knows how +many cats; twelve horses, seven horses, five kine: is not +this Babylon the Great which I have builded? Call it +SUBPRIORSFORD. + +Two nights ago the club had its first meeting; only twelve +were present, but it went very well. I was not there, I had +ridden down the night before after dinner on my endless +business, took a cup of tea in the Mission like an ass, then +took a cup of coffee like a fool at Haggard's, then fell into +a discussion with the American Consul . . . I went to bed at +Haggard's, came suddenly broad awake, and lay sleepless the +live night. It fell chill, I had only a sheet, and had to +make a light and range the house for a cover - I found one in +the hall, a macintosh. So back to my sleepless bed, and to +lie there till dawn. In the morning I had a longish ride to +take in a day of a blinding, staggering sun, and got home by +eleven, our luncheon hour, with my head rather swimmy; the +only time I have FEARED the sun since I was in Samoa. +However, I got no harm, but did not go to the club, lay off, +lazied, played the pipe, and read - a novel by James Payn - +sometimes quite interesting, and in one place really very +funny with the quaint humour of the man. Much interested the +other day. As I rode past a house, I saw where a Samoan had +written a word on a board, and there was an A, perfectly +formed, but upside down. You never saw such a thing in +Europe; but it is as common as dirt in Polynesia. Men's +names are tattooed on the forearm; it is common to find a +subverted letter tattooed there. Here is a tempting problem +for psychologists. + +I am now on terms again with the German Consulate, I know not +for how long; not, of course, with the President, which I +find a relief; still, with the Chief Justice and the English +Consul. For Haggard, I have a genuine affection; he is a +loveable man. + +Wearyful man! 'Here is the yarn of Loudon Dodd, NOT AS HE +TOLD IT, BUT AS IT WAS AFTERWARDS WRITTEN.' These words were +left out by some carelessness, and I think I have been thrice +tackled about them. Grave them in your mind and wear them on +your forehead. + +The Lang story will have very little about the treasure; THE +MASTER will appear; and it is to a great extent a tale of +Prince Charlie AFTER the '45, and a love story forbye: the +hero is a melancholy exile, and marries a young woman who +interests the prince, and there is the devil to pay. I think +the Master kills him in a duel, but don't know yet, not +having yet seen my second heroine. No - the Master doesn't +kill him, they fight, he is wounded, and the Master plays +DEUS EX MACHINA. I THINK just now of calling it THE TAIL OF +THE RACE; no - heavens! I never saw till this moment - but +of course nobody but myself would ever understand Mill-Race, +they would think of a quarter-mile. So - I am nameless +again. My melancholy young man is to be quite a Romeo. Yes, +I'll name the book from him: DYCE OF YTHAN - pronounce +Eethan. + + +Dyce of Ythan +by R. L. S. + + +O, Shovel - Shovel waits his turn, he and his ancestors. I +would have tackled him before, but my STATE TRIALS have never +come. So that I have now quite planned:- + + +Dyce of Ythan. (Historical, 1750.) +Sophia Scarlet. (To-day.) +The Shovels of Newton French. (Historical, 1650 to 1830.) + +And quite planned and part written:- + +The Pearl Fisher. (To-day.) (With Lloyd a machine.) +David Balfour. (Historical, 1751.) + +And, by a strange exception for R. L. S., all in the third +person except D. B. + +I don't know what day this is now (the 29th), but I have +finished my two chapters, ninth and tenth, of SAMOA in time +for the mail, and feel almost at peace. The tenth was the +hurricane, a difficult problem; it so tempted one to be +literary; and I feel sure the less of that there is in my +little handbook, the more chance it has of some utility. +Then the events are complicated, seven ships to tell of, and +sometimes three of them together; O, it was quite a job. But +I think I have my facts pretty correct, and for once, in my +sickening yarn, they are handsome facts: creditable to all +concerned; not to be written of - and I should think, scarce +to be read - without a thrill. I doubt I have got no +hurricane into it, the intricacies of the yarn absorbing me +too much. But there - it's done somehow, and time presses +hard on my heels. The book, with my best expedition, may +come just too late to be of use. In which case I shall have +made a handsome present of some months of my life for nothing +and to nobody. Well, through Her the most ancient heavens +are fresh and strong. + + +30TH. + + +After I had written you, I re-read my hurricane, which is +very poor; the life of the journalist is hard, another couple +of writings and I could make a good thing, I believe, and it +must go as it is! But, of course, this book is not written +for honour and glory, and the few who will read it may not +know the difference. Very little time. I go down with the +mail shortly, dine at the Chinese restaurant, and go to the +club to dance with islandresses. Think of my going out once +a week to dance. + +Politics are on the full job again, and we don't know what is +to come next. I think the whole treaty RAJ seems quite +played out! They have taken to bribing the FAIPULE men +(parliament men) to stay in Mulinuu, we hear; but I have not +yet sifted the rumour. I must say I shall be scarce +surprised if it prove true; these rumours have the knack of +being right. - Our weather this last month has been +tremendously hot, not by the thermometer, which sticks at 86 +degrees, but to the sensation: no rain, no wind, and this the +storm month. It looks ominous, and is certainly +disagreeable. + +No time to finish, +Yours ever, +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + + +MAY 1ST. 1892. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - As I rode down last night about six, I saw +a sight I must try to tell you of. In front of me, right +over the top of the forest into which I was descending was a +vast cloud. The front of it accurately represented the +somewhat rugged, long-nosed, and beetle-browed profile of a +man, crowned by a huge Kalmuck cap; the flesh part was of a +heavenly pink, the cap, the moustache, the eyebrows were of a +bluish gray; to see this with its childish exactitude of +design and colour, and hugeness of scale - it covered at +least 25 degrees - held me spellbound. As I continued to +gaze, the expression began to change; he had the exact air of +closing one eye, dropping his jaw, and drawing down his nose; +had the thing not been so imposing, I could have smiled; and +then almost in a moment, a shoulder of leaden-coloured bank +drove in front and blotted it. My attention spread to the +rest of the cloud, and it was a thing to worship. It rose +from the horizon, and its top was within thirty degrees of +the zenith; the lower parts were like a glacier in shadow, +varying from dark indigo to a clouded white in exquisite +gradations. The sky behind, so far as I could see, was all +of a blue already enriched and darkened by the night, for the +hill had what lingered of the sunset. But the top of my +Titanic cloud flamed in broad sunlight, with the most +excellent softness and brightness of fire and jewels, +enlightening all the world. It must have been far higher +than Mount Everest, and its glory, as I gazed up at it out of +the night, was beyond wonder. Close by rode the little +crescent moon; and right over its western horn, a great +planet of about equal lustre with itself. The dark woods +below were shrill with that noisy business of the birds' +evening worship. When I returned, after eight, the moon was +near down; she seemed little brighter than before, but now +that the cloud no longer played its part of a nocturnal sun, +we could see that sight, so rare with us at home that it was +counted a portent, so customary in the tropics, of the dark +sphere with its little gilt band upon the belly. The planet +had been setting faster, and was now below the crescent. +They were still of an equal brightness. + +I could not resist trying to reproduce this in words, as a +specimen of these incredibly beautiful and imposing meteors +of the tropic sky that make so much of my pleasure here; +though a ship's deck is the place to enjoy them. O what +AWFUL scenery, from a ship's deck, in the tropics! People +talk about the Alps, but the clouds of the trade wind are +alone for sublimity. + +Now to try and tell you what has been happening. The state +of these islands, and of Mataafa and Laupepa (Malietoa's +AMBO) had been much on my mind. I went to the priests and +sent a message to Mataafa, at a time when it was supposed he +was about to act. He did not act, delaying in true native +style, and I determined I should go to visit him. I have +been very good not to go sooner; to live within a few miles +of a rebel camp, to be a novelist, to have all my family +forcing me to go, and to refrain all these months, counts for +virtue. But hearing that several people had gone and the +government done nothing to punish them, and having an errand +there which was enough to justify myself in my own eyes, I +half determined to go, and spoke of it with the half-caste +priest. And here (confound it) up came Laupepa and his +guards to call on me; we kept him to lunch, and the old +gentleman was very good and amiable. He asked me why I had +not been to see him? I reminded him a law had been made, and +told him I was not a small boy to go and ask leave of the +consuls, and perhaps be refused. He told me to pay no +attention to the law but come when I would, and begged me to +name a day to lunch. The next day (I think it was) early in +the morning, a man appeared; he had metal buttons like a +policeman - but he was none of our Apia force; he was a rebel +policeman, and had been all night coming round inland through +the forest from Malie. He brought a letter addressed + +I LAUA SUSUGA To his Excellency +MISI MEA. Mr. Thingumbob. + +(So as not to compromise me). I can read Samoan now, though +not speak it. It was to ask me for last Wednesday. My +difficulty was great; I had no man here who was fit, or who +would have cared to write for me; and I had to postpone the +visit. So I gave up half-a-day with a groan, went down to +the priests, arranged for Monday week to go to Malie, and +named Thursday as my day to lunch with Laupepa. I was +sharply ill on Wednesday, mail day. But on Thursday I had to +trail down and go through the dreary business of a feast, in +the King's wretched shanty, full in view of the President's +fine new house; it made my heart burn. + +This gave me my chance to arrange a private interview with +the King, and I decided to ask Mr. Whitmee, one of our +missionaries, to be my interpreter. On Friday, being too +much exhausted to go down, I begged him to come up. He did, +I told him the heads of what I meant to say; and he not only +consented, but said, if we got on well with the King, he +would even proceed with me to Malie. Yesterday, in +consequence, I rode down to W.'s house by eight in the +morning; waited till ten; received a message that the King +was stopped by a meeting with the President and FAIPULE; made +another engagement for seven at night; came up; went down; +waited till eight, and came away again, BREDOUILLE, and a +dead body. The poor, weak, enslaved King had not dared to +come to me even in secret. Now I have to-day for a rest, and +to-morrow to Malie. Shall I be suffered to embark? It is +very doubtful; they are on the trail. On Thursday, a +policeman came up to me and began that a boy had been to see +him, and said I was going to see Mataafa. - 'And what did +you say?' said I. - 'I told him I did not know about where +you were going,' said he. - 'A very good answer,' said I, and +turned away. It is lashing rain to-day, but to-morrow, rain +or shine, I must at least make the attempt; and I am so +weary, and the weather looks so bad. I could half wish they +would arrest me on the beach. All this bother and pother to +try and bring a little chance of peace; all this opposition +and obstinacy in people who remain here by the mere +forbearance of Mataafa, who has a great force within six +miles of their government buildings, which are indeed only +the residences of white officials. To understand how I have +been occupied, you must know that 'Misi Mea' has had another +letter, and this time had to answer himself; think of doing +so in a language so obscure to me, with the aid of a Bible, +concordance and dictionary! What a wonderful Baboo +compilation it must have been! I positively expected to hear +news of its arrival in Malie by the sound of laughter. I +doubt if you will be able to read this scrawl, but I have +managed to scramble somehow up to date; and to-morrow, one +way or another, should be interesting. But as for me, I am a +wreck, as I have no doubt style and handwriting both testify. + + +8 P.M. + + +Wonderfully rested; feel almost fit for to-morrow's dreary +excursion - not that it will be dreary if the weather favour, +but otherwise it will be death; and a native feast, and I +fear I am in for a big one, is a thing I loathe. I wonder if +you can really conceive me as a politician in this extra- +mundane sphere - presiding at public meetings, drafting +proclamations, receiving mis-addressed letters that have been +carried all night through tropical forests? It seems strange +indeed, and to you, who know me really, must seem stranger. +I do not say I am free from the itch of meddling, but God +knows this is no tempting job to meddle in; I smile at +picturesque circumstances like the Misi Mea (MONSIEUR CHOSE +is the exact equivalent) correspondence, but the business as +a whole bores and revolts me. I do nothing and say nothing; +and then a day comes, and I say 'this can go on no longer.' + + +9.30 P. M. + + +The wretched native dilatoriness finds me out. News has just +come that we must embark at six to-morrow; I have divided the +night in watches, and hope to be called to-morrow at four and +get under way by five. It is a great chance if it be +managed; but I have given directions and lent my own clock to +the boys, and hope the best. If I get called at four we +shall do it nicely. Good-night; I must turn in. + + +MAY 3RD. + + +Well, we did get off by about 5.30, or, by'r lady! quarter of +six: myself on Donald, the huge grey cart-horse, with a ship- +bag across my saddle bow, Fanny on Musu and Belle on Jack. +We were all feeling pretty tired and sick, and I looked like +heaven knows what on the cart horse: 'death on the pale +horse,' I suggested - and young Hunt the missionary, who met +me to-day on the same charger, squinted up at my perch and +remarked, 'There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft.' +The boat was ready and we set off down the lagoon about +seven, four oars, and Talolo, my cook, steering. + + +MAY 9TH (MONDAY ANYWAY). + + +And see what good resolutions came to! Here is all this time +past, and no speed made. Well, we got to Malie and were +received with the most friendly consideration by the rebel +chief. Belle and Fanny were obviously thought to be my two +wives; they were served their kava together, as were Mataafa +and myself. Talolo utterly broke down as interpreter; long +speeches were made to me by Mataafa and his orators, of which +he could make nothing but they were 'very much surprised' - +his way of pronouncing obliged - and as he could understand +nothing that fell from me except the same form of words, the +dialogue languished and all business had to be laid aside. +We had kava, and then a dish of arrowroot; one end of the +house was screened off for us with a fine tapa, and we lay +and slept, the three of us heads and tails, upon the mats +till dinner. After dinner his illegitimate majesty and +myself had a walk, and talked as well as my twopenny Samoan +would admit. Then there was a dance to amuse the ladies +before the house, and we came back by moonlight, the sky +piled full of high faint clouds that long preserved some of +the radiance of the sunset. The lagoon was very shallow; we +continually struck, for the moon was young and the light +baffling; and for a long time we were accompanied by, and +passed and re-passed, a huge whale-boat from Savaii, pulling +perhaps twelve oars, and containing perhaps forty people who +sang in time as they went So to the hotel, where we slept, +and returned the next Tuesday morning on the three same +steeds. + +Meanwhile my business was still untransacted. And on +Saturday morning, I sent down and arranged with Charlie +Taylor to go down that afternoon. I had scarce got the +saddle bags fixed and had not yet mounted, when the rain +began. But it was no use delaying now; off I went in a wild +waterspout to Apia; found Charlie (Sale) Taylor - a +sesquipedalian young half-caste - not yet ready, had a snack +of bread and cheese at the hotel while waiting him, and then +off to Malie. It rained all the way, seven miles; the road, +which begins in triumph, dwindles down to a nasty, boggy, +rocky footpath with weeds up to a horseman's knees; and there +are eight pig fences to jump, nasty beastly jumps - the next +morning we found one all messed with blood where a horse had +come to grief - but my Jack is a clever fencer; and +altogether we made good time, and got to Malie about dark. +It is a village of very fine native houses, high, domed, oval +buildings, open at the sides, or only closed with slatted +Venetians. To be sure, Mataafa's is not the worst. It was +already quite dark within, only a little fire of cocoa-shell +blazed in the midst and showed us four servants; the chief +was in his chapel, whence we heard the sound of chaunting. +Presently he returned; Taylor and I had our soaking clothes +changed, family worship was held, kava brewed, I was +exhibited to the chiefs as a man who had ridden through all +that rain and risked deportation to serve their master; they +were bidden learn my face, and remember upon all occasions to +help and serve me. Then dinner, and politics, and fine +speeches until twelve at night - O, and some more kava - when +I could sit up no longer; my usual bed-time is eight, you +must remember. Then one end of the house was screened off +for me alone, and a bed made - you never saw such a couch - I +believe of nearly fifty (half at least) fine mats, by +Mataafa's daughter, Kalala. Here I reposed alone; and on the +other side of the tafa, Majesty and his household. Armed +guards and a drummer patrolled about the house all night; +they had no shift, poor devils; but stood to arms from sun- +down to sun-up. + +About four in the morning, I was awakened by the sound of a +whistle pipe blown outside on the dark, very softly and to a +pleasing simple air; I really think I have hit the first +phrase: + +[Fragment of music score which cannot be reproduced] + +It sounded very peaceful, sweet and strange in the dark; and +I found this was a part of the routine of my rebel's night, +and it was done (he said) to give good dreams. By a little +before six, Taylor and I were in the saddle again fasting. +My riding boots were so wet I could not get them on, so I +must ride barefoot. The morning was fair but the roads very +muddy, the weeds soaked us nearly to the waist, Sale was +twice spilt at the fences, and we got to Apia a bedraggled +enough pair. All the way along the coast, the pate (small +wooden drum) was beating in the villages and the people +crowding to the churches in their fine clothes. Thence +through the mangrove swamp, among the black mud and the green +mangroves, and the black and scarlet crabs, to Mulinuu, to +the doctor's, where I had an errand, and so to the inn to +breakfast about nine. After breakfast I rode home. Conceive +such an outing, remember the pallid brute that lived in +Skerryvore like a weevil in a biscuit, and receive the +intelligence that I was rather the better for my journey. +Twenty miles ride, sixteen fences taken, ten of the miles in +a drenching rain, seven of them fasting and in the morning +chill, and six stricken hours' political discussions by an +interpreter; to say nothing of sleeping in a native house, at +which many of our excellent literati would look askance of +itself. + +You are to understand: if I take all this bother, it is not +only from a sense of duty, or a love of meddling - damn the +phrase, take your choice - but from a great affection for +Mataafa. He is a beautiful, sweet old fellow, and he and I +grew quite fulsome on Saturday night about our sentiments. I +had a messenger from him to-day with a flannel undershirt +which I had left behind like a gibbering idiot; and +perpetrated in reply another baboo letter. It rains again +to-day without mercy; blessed, welcome rains, making up for +the paucity of the late wet season; and when the showers +slacken, I can hear my stream roaring in the hollow, and tell +myself that the cacaos are drinking deep. I am desperately +hunted to finish my Samoa book before the mail goes; this +last chapter is equally delicate and necessary. The prayers +of the congregation are requested. Eheu! and it will be +ended before this letter leaves and printed in the States ere +you can read this scribble. The first dinner gong has +sounded; JE VOUS SALUE, MONSIEUR ET CHER CONFRERE. TOFA, +SOIFUA! Sleep! long life! as our Samoan salutation of +farewell runs. + + +FRIDAY, MAY 13TH. + + +Well, the last chapter, by far the most difficult and +ungrateful, is well under way, I have been from six to seven +hours upon it daily since I last wrote; and that is all I +have done forbye working at Samoan rather hard, and going +down on Wednesday evening to the club. I make some progress +now at the language; I am teaching Belle, which clears and +exercises myself. I am particularly taken with the FINESSE +of the pronouns. The pronouns are all dual and plural and +the first person, both in the dual and plural, has a special +exclusive and inclusive form. You can conceive what fine +effects of precision and distinction can be reached in +certain cases. Take Ruth, i. VV. 8 to 13, and imagine how +those pronouns come in; it is exquisitely elegant, and makes +the mouth of the LITTERATEUR to water. I am going to +exercitate my pupil over those verses to-day for pronoun +practice. + + +TUESDAY. + + +Yesterday came yours. Well, well, if the dears prefer a +week, why, I'll give them ten days, but the real document, +from which I have scarcely varied, ran for one night. I +think you seem scarcely fair to Wiltshire, who had surely, +under his beast-ignorant ways, right noble qualities. And I +think perhaps you scarce do justice to the fact that this is +a place of realism A OUTRANCE; nothing extenuated or +coloured. Looked at so, is it not, with all its tragic +features, wonderfully idyllic, with great beauty of scene and +circumstance? And will you please to observe that almost all +that is ugly is in the whites? I'll apologise for Papa +Randal if you like; but if I told you the whole truth - for I +did extenuate there! - and he seemed to me essential as a +figure, and essential as a pawn in the game, Wiltshire's +disgust for him being one of the small, efficient motives in +the story. Now it would have taken a fairish dose to disgust +Wiltshire. - Again, the idea of publishing the Beach +substantively is dropped - at once, both on account of +expostulation, and because it measured shorter than I had +expected. And it was only taken up, when the proposed +volume, BEACH DE MAR, petered out. It petered out thus: the +chief of the short stories got sucked into SOPHIA SCARLET - +and Sophia is a book I am much taken with, and mean to get +to, as soon as - but not before - I have done DAVID BALFOUR +and THE YOUNG CHEVALIER. So you see you are like to hear no +more of the Pacific or the nineteenth century for a while. +THE YOUNG CHEVALIER is a story of sentiment and passion, +which I mean to write a little differently from what I have +been doing - if I can hit the key; rather more of a +sentimental tremolo to it. It may thus help to prepare me +for SOPHIA, which is to contain three ladies, and a kind of a +love affair between the heroine and a dying planter who is a +poet! large orders for R. L. S. + +O the German taboo is quite over; no soul attempts to support +the C. J. or the President, they are past hope; the whites +have just refused their taxes - I mean the council has +refused to call for them, and if the council consented, +nobody would pay; 'tis a farce, and the curtain is going to +fall briefly. Consequently in my History, I say as little as +may be of the two dwindling stars. Poor devils! I liked the +one, and the other has a little wife, now lying in! There +was no man born with so little animosity as I. When I heard +the C. J. was in low spirits and never left his house, I +could scarce refrain from going to him. + +It was a fine feeling to have finished the History; there +ought to be a future state to reward that grind! It's not +literature, you know; only journalism, and pedantic +journalism. I had but the one desire, to get the thing as +right as might be, and avoid false concords - even if that! +And it was more than there was time for. However, there it +is: done. And if Samoa turns up again my book has to be +counted with, being the only narrative extant. Milton and I +- if you kindly excuse the juxtaposition - harnessed +ourselves to strange waggons, and I at least will be found to +have plodded very soberly with my load. There is not even a +good sentence in it, but perhaps - I don't know - it may be +found an honest, clear volume. + + +WEDNESDAY. + + +Never got a word set down, and continues on Thursday 19th +May, his own marriage day as ever was. News; yes. The C. J. +came up to call on us! After five months' cessation on my +side, and a decidedly painful interchange of letters, I could +not go down - could not - to see him. My three ladies +received him, however; he was very agreeable as usual, but +refused wine, beer, water, lemonade, chocolate and at last a +cigarette. Then my wife asked him, 'So you refuse to break +bread?' and he waved his hands amiably in answer. All my +three ladies received the same impression that he had serious +matters in his mind: now we hear he is quite cock-a-hoop +since the mail came, and going about as before his troubles +darkened. But what did he want with me? 'Tis thought he had +received a despatch - and that he misreads it (so we fully +believe) to the effect that they are to have war ships at +command and can make their little war after all. If it be +so, and they do it, it will be the meanest wanton slaughter +of poor men for the salaries of two white failures. But what +was his errand with me? Perhaps to warn me that unless I +behave he now hopes to be able to pack me off in the CURACOA +when she comes. + +I have celebrated my holiday from SAMOA by a plunge at the +beginning of THE YOUNG CHEVALIER. I am afraid my touch is a +little broad in a love story; I can't mean one thing and +write another. As for women, I am no more in any fear of +them; I can do a sort all right; age makes me less afraid of +a petticoat, but I am a little in fear of grossness. +However, this David Balfour's love affair, that's all right - +might be read out to a mothers' meeting - or a daughters' +meeting. The difficulty in a love yarn, which dwells at all +on love, is the dwelling on one string; it is manifold, I +grant, but the root fact is there unchanged, and the +sentiment being very intense, and already very much handled +in letters, positively calls for a little pawing and gracing. +With a writer of my prosaic literalness and pertinency of +point of view, this all shoves toward grossness - positively +even towards the far more damnable CLOSENESS. This has kept +me off the sentiment hitherto, and now I am to try: Lord! Of +course Meredith can do it, and so could Shakespeare; but with +all my romance, I am a realist and a prosaist, and a most +fanatical lover of plain physical sensations plainly and +expressly rendered; hence my perils. To do love in the same +spirit as I did (for instance) D. Balfour's fatigue in the +heather; my dear sir, there were grossness - ready made! And +hence, how to sugar? However, I have nearly done with Marie- +Madeleine, and am in good hopes of Marie-Salome, the real +heroine; the other is only a prologuial heroine to introduce +the hero. + + +FRIDAY. + + +Anyway, the first prologuial episode is done, and Fanny likes +it. There are only four characters; Francis Blair of Balmile +(Jacobite Lord Gladsmuir) my hero; the Master of Ballantrae; +Paradon, a wine-seller of Avignon; Marie-Madeleine his wife. +These two last I am now done with, and I think they are +successful, and I hope I have Balmile on his feet; and the +style seems to be found. It is a little charged and violent; +sins on the side of violence; but I think will carry the +tale. I think it is a good idea so to introduce my hero, +being made love to by an episodic woman. This queer tale - I +mean queer for me - has taken a great hold upon me. Where +the devil shall I go next? This is simply the tale of a COUP +DE TETE of a young man and a young woman; with a nearly, +perhaps a wholly, tragic sequel, which I desire to make +thinkable right through, and sensible; to make the reader, as +far as I shall be able, eat and drink and breathe it. Marie- +Salome des Saintes-Maries is, I think, the heroine's name; +she has got to BE yet: SURSUM CORDA! So has the young +Chevalier, whom I have not yet touched, and who comes next in +order. Characters: Balmile, or Lord Gladsmuir, COMME VOUS +VOULEZ; Prince Charlie; Earl Marischal; Master of Ballantrae; +and a spy, and Dr. Archie Campbell, and a few nondescripts; +then, of women, Marie-Salome and Flora Blair; seven at the +outside; really four full lengths, and I suppose a half-dozen +episodic profiles. How I must bore you with these +ineptitudes! Have patience. I am going to bed; it is (of +all hours) eleven. I have been forced in (since I began to +write to you) to blatter to Fanny on the subject of my +heroine, there being two CRUCES as to her life and history: +how came she alone? and how far did she go with the +Chevalier? The second must answer itself when I get near +enough to see. The first is a back-breaker. Yet I know +there are many reasons why a FILLE DE FAMINE, romantic, +adventurous, ambitious, innocent of the world, might run from +her home in these days; might she not have been threatened +with a convent? might there not be some Huguenot business +mixed in? Here am I, far from books; if you can help me with +a suggestion, I shall say God bless you. She has to be new +run away from a strict family, well-justified in her own wild +but honest eyes, and meeting these three men, Charles Edward, +Marischal, and Balmile, through the accident of a fire at an +inn. She must not run from a marriage, I think; it would +bring her in the wrong frame of mind. Once I can get her, +SOLA, on the highway, all were well with my narrative. +Perpend. And help if you can. + +Lafaele, long (I hope) familiar to you, has this day received +the visit of his SON from Tonga; and the SON proves to be a +very pretty, attractive young daughter! I gave all the boys +kava in honour of her arrival; along with a lean, side- +whiskered Tongan, dimly supposed to be Lafaele's step-father; +and they have been having a good time; in the end of my +verandah, I hear Simi, my present incapable steward, talking +Tongan with the nondescript papa. Simi, our out-door boy, +burst a succession of blood-vessels over our work, and I had +to make a position for the wreck of one of the noblest +figures of a man I ever saw. I believe I may have mentioned +the other day how I had to put my horse to the trot, the +canter and (at last) the gallop to run him down. In a +photograph I hope to send you (perhaps with this) you will +see Simi standing in the verandah in profile. As a steward, +one of his chief points is to break crystal; he is great on +fracture - what do I say? - explosion! He cleans a glass, +and the shards scatter like a comet's bowels. + +N.B. - If I should by any chance be deported, the first of +the rules hung up for that occasion is to communicate with +you by telegraph. - Mind, I do not fear it, but it IS +possible. + + +MONDAY 25TH. + + +We have had a devil of a morning of upset and bustle; the +bronze candlestick Faauma has returned to the family, in time +to take her position of stepmamma, and it is pretty to see +how the child is at once at home, and all her terrors ended. + + +27TH. MAIL DAY. + + +And I don't know that I have much to report. I may have to +leave for Malie as soon as these mail packets are made up. +'Tis a necessity (if it be one) I rather deplore. I think I +should have liked to lazy; but I daresay all it means is the +delay of a day or so in harking back to David Balfour; that +respectable youth chides at being left (where he is now) in +Glasgow with the Lord Advocate, and after five years in the +British Linen, who shall blame him? I was all forenoon +yesterday down in Apia,' dictating, and Lloyd type-writing, +the conclusion of SAMOA; and then at home correcting till the +dinner bell; and in the evening again till eleven of the +clock. This morning I have made up most of my packets, and I +think my mail is all ready but two more, and the tag of this. +I would never deny (as D. B might say) that I was rather +tired of it. But I have a damned good dose of the devil in +my pipe-stem atomy; I have had my little holiday outing in my +kick at THE YOUNG CHEVALIER, and I guess I can settle to +DAVID BALFOUR to-morrow or Friday like a little man. I +wonder if any one had ever more energy upon so little +strength? - I know there is a frost, the Samoa book can only +increase that - I can't help it, that book is not written for +me but for Miss Manners; but I mean to break that frost +inside two years, and pull off a big success, and Vanity +whispers in my ear that I have the strength. If I haven't, +whistle ower the lave o't! I can do without glory and +perhaps the time is not far off when I can do without corn. +It is a time coming soon enough, anyway; and I have endured +some two and forty years without public shame, and had a good +time as I did it. If only I could secure a violent death, +what a fine success! I wish to die in my boots; no more Land +of Counterpane for me. To be drowned, to be shot, to be +thrown from a horse - ay, to be hanged, rather than pass +again through that slow dissolution. + +I fancy this gloomy ramble is caused by a twinge of age; I +put on an under-shirt yesterday (it was the only one I could +find) that barely came under my trousers; and just below it, +a fine healthy rheumatism has now settled like a fire in my +hip. From such small causes do these valuable considerations +flow! + +I shall now say adieu, dear Sir, having ten rugged miles +before me and the horrors of a native feast and parliament +without an interpreter, for to-day I go alone. + +Yours ever, +R. L S. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + + +SUNDAY, 29TH MAY. + + +HOW am I to overtake events? On Wednesday, as soon as my +mail was finished, I had a wild whirl to look forward to. +Immediately after dinner, Belle, Lloyd and I, set out on +horseback, they to the club, I to Haggard's, thence to the +hotel where I had supper ready for them. All next day we +hung round Apia with our whole house-crowd in Sunday array, +hoping for the mail steamer with a menagerie on board. No +such luck; the ship delayed; and at last, about three, I had +to send them home again, a failure of a day's pleasuring that +does not bear to be discussed. Lloyd was so sickened that he +returned the same night to Vailima, Belle and I held on, sat +most of the evening on the hotel verandah stricken silly with +fatigue and disappointment, and genuine sorrow for our poor +boys and girls, and got to bed with rather dismal +appreciations of the morrow. + +These were more than justified, and yet I never had a jollier +day than Friday 27th. By 7.30 Belle and I had breakfast; we +had scarce done before my mother was at the door on +horseback, and a boy at her heels to take her not very +dashing charger home again. By 8.10 we were all on the +landing pier, and it was 9.20 before we had got away in a +boat with two inches of green wood on the keel of her, no +rudder, no mast, no sail, no boat flag, two defective +rowlocks, two wretched apologies for oars, and two boys - one +a Tongan half-caste, one a white lad, son of the Tonga +schoolmaster, and a sailor lad - to pull us. All this was +our first taste of the tender mercies of Taylor (the +sesquipidalian half-caste introduced two letters back, I +believe). We had scarce got round Mulinuu when Sale Taylor's +heart misgave him; he thought we had missed the tide; called +a halt, and set off ashore to find canoes. Two were found; +in one my mother and I were embarked with the two biscuit +tins (my present to the feast), and the bag with our dry +clothes, on which my mother was perched - and her cap was on +the top of it - feminine hearts please sympathise; all under +the guidance of Sale. In the other Belle and our guest; +Tauilo, a chief-woman, the mother of my cook, were to have +followed. And the boys were to have been left with the boat. +But Tauilo refused. And the four, Belle, Tauilo, Frank the +sailor-boy, and Jimmie the Tongan half-caste, set off in the +boat across that rapidly shoaling bay of the lagoon. + +How long the next scene lasted, I could never tell. Sale was +always trying to steal away with our canoe and leave the +other four, probably for six hours, in an empty, leaky boat, +without so much as an orange or a cocoanut on board, and +under the direct rays of the sun. I had at last to stop him +by taking the spare paddle off the out-rigger and sticking it +in the ground - depth, perhaps two feet - width of the bay, +say three miles. At last I bid him land me and my mother and +go back for the other ladies. 'The coast is so rugged,' said +Sale. - 'What?' I said, 'all these villages and no landing +place?' - 'Such is the nature of Samoans,' said he. Well, +I'll find a landing-place, I thought; and presently I said, +'Now we are going to land there.' - 'We can but try,' said +the bland Sale, with resignation. Never saw a better +landing-place in my life. Here the boat joined us. My +mother and Sale continued in the canoe alone, and Belle and I +and Tauilo set off on foot for Malie. Tauilo was about the +size of both of us put together and a piece over; she used us +like a mouse with children. I had started barefoot; Belle +had soon to pull off her gala shoes and stockings; the mud +was as deep as to our knees, and so slippery that (moving, as +we did, in Indian file, between dense scratching tufts of +sensitive) Belle and I had to take hands to support each +other, and Tauilo was steadying Belle from the rear. You can +conceive we were got up to kill, Belle in an embroidered +white dress and white hat, I in a suit of Bedford cords hot +from the Sydney tailors; and conceive us, below, ink-black to +the knees with adhesive clay, and above, streaming with heat. +I suppose it was better than three miles, but at last we made +the end of Malie. I asked if we could find no water to wash +our feet; and our nursemaid guided us to a pool. We sat down +on the pool side, and our nursemaid washed our feet and legs +for us - ladies first, I suppose out of a sudden respect to +the insane European fancies: such a luxury as you can scarce +imagine. I felt a new man after it. But before we got to +the King's house we were sadly muddied once more. It was 1 +P.M. when we arrived, the canoe having beaten us by about +five minutes, so we made fair time over our bog-holes. + +But the war dances were over, and we came in time to see only +the tail end (some two hours) of the food presentation. In +Mataafa's house three chairs were set for us covered with +fine mats. Of course, a native house without the blinds down +is like a verandah. All the green in front was surrounded +with sheds, some of flapping canvas, some of green palm +boughs, where (in three sides of a huge oblong) the natives +sat by villages in a fine glow of many-hued array. There +were folks in tapa, and folks in patchwork; there was every +colour of the rainbow in a spot or a cluster; there were men +with their heads gilded with powdered sandal-wood, others +with heads all purple, stuck full of the petals of a flower. +In the midst there was a growing field of outspread food, +gradually covering acres; the gifts were brought in, now by +chanting deputations, now by carriers in a file; they were +brandished aloft and declaimed over, with polite sacramental +exaggerations, by the official receiver. He, a stalwart, +well-oiled quadragenarian, shone with sweat from his +exertions, brandishing cooked pigs. At intervals, from one +of the squatted villages, an orator would arise. The field +was almost beyond the reach of any human speaking voice; the +proceedings besides continued in the midst; yet it was +possible to catch snatches of this elaborate and cut-and-dry +oratory - it was possible for me, for instance, to catch the +description of my gift and myself as the ALII TUSITALA, O LE +ALII O MALO TETELE - the chief White Information, the chief +of the great Governments. Gay designation? In the house, in +our three curule chairs, we sat and looked on. On our left a +little group of the family. In front of us, at our feet, an +ancient Talking-man, crowned with green leaves, his profile +almost exactly Dante's; Popo his name. He had worshipped +idols in his youth; he had been full grown before the first +missionary came hither from Tahiti; this makes him over +eighty. Near by him sat his son and colleague. In the group +on our left, his little grandchild sat with her legs crossed +and her hands turned, the model already (at some three years +old) of Samoan etiquette. Still further off to our right, +Mataafa sat on the ground through all the business; and still +I saw his lips moving, and the beads of his rosary slip +stealthily through his hand. We had kava, and the King's +drinking was hailed by the Popos (father and son) with a +singular ululation, perfectly new to my ears; it means, to +the expert, 'Long live Tuiatua'; to the inexpert, is a mere +voice of barbarous wolves. We had dinner, retired a bit +behind the central pillar of the house; and, when the King +was done eating, the ululation was repeated. I had my eyes +on Mataafa's face, and I saw pride and gratified ambition +spring to life there and be instantly sucked in again. It +was the first time, since the difference with Laupepa, that +Popo and his son had openly joined him, and given him the due +cry as Tuiatua - one of the eight royal names of the islands, +as I hope you will know before this reaches you. + +Not long after we had dined, the food-bringing was over. The +gifts (carefully noted and tallied as they came in) were now +announced by a humorous orator, who convulsed the audience, +introducing singing notes, now on the name of the article, +now on the number; six thousand odd heads of taro, three +hundred and nineteen cooked pigs; and one thing that +particularly caught me (by good luck), a single turtle 'for +the King' - LE TASI MO LE TUPU. Then came one of the +strangest sights I have yet witnessed. The two most +important persons there (bar Mataafa) were Popo and his son. +They rose, holding their long shod rods of talking men, +passed forth from the house, broke into a strange dance, the +father capering with outstretched arms and rod, the son +crouching and gambolling beside him in a manner +indescribable, and presently began to extend the circle of +this dance among the acres of cooked food. WHATEVER THEY +LEAPED OVER, WHATEVER THEY CALLED FOR, BECAME THEIRS. To see +mediaeval Dante thus demean himself struck a kind of a chill +of incongruity into our Philistine souls; but even in a great +part of the Samoan concourse, these antique and (I +understand) quite local manners awoke laughter. One of my +biscuit tins and a live calf were among the spoils he +claimed, but the large majority of the cooked food (having +once proved his dignity) he re-presented to the King. + +Then came the turn of LE ALII TUSITALA. He would not dance, +but he was given - five live hens, four gourds of oil, four +fine tapas, a hundred heads of taro, two cooked pigs, a +cooked shark, two or three cocoanut branches strung with +kava, and the turtle, who soon after breathed his last, I +believe, from sunstroke. It was a royal present for 'the +chief of the great powers.' I should say the gifts were, on +the proper signal, dragged out of the field of food by a +troop of young men, all with their lava-lavas kilted almost +into a loin-cloth. The art is to swoop on the food-field, +pick up with unerring swiftness the right things and +quantities, swoop forth again on the open, and separate, +leaving the gifts in a new pile: so you may see a covey of +birds in a corn-field. This reminds me of a very inhumane +but beautiful passage I had forgotten in its place. The +gift-giving was still in full swing, when there came a troop +of some ninety men all in tafa lava-lavas of a purplish +colour; they paused, and of a sudden there went up from them +high into the air a flight of live chickens, which, as they +came down again, were sent again into the air, for perhaps a +minute, from the midst of a singular turmoil of flying arms +and shouting voices; I assure you, it was very beautiful to +see, but how many chickens were killed? + +No sooner was my food set out than I was to be going. I had +a little serious talk with Mataafa on the floor, and we went +down to the boat, where we got our food aboard, such a cargo +- like the Swiss Family Robinson, we said. However, a squall +began, Tauilo refused to let us go, and we came back to the +house for half-an-hour or so, when my ladies distinguished +themselves by walking through a Fono (council), my mother +actually taking up a position between Mataafa and Popo! It +was about five when we started - turtle, pigs, taro, etc., my +mother, Belle, myself, Tauilo, a portly friend of hers with +the voice of an angel, and a pronunciation so delicate and +true that you could follow Samoan as she sang, and the two +tired boys Frank and Jimmie, with the two bad oars and the +two slippery rowlocks to impel the whole. Sale Taylor took +the canoe and a strong Samoan to paddle him. Presently after +he went inshore, and passed us a little after, with his arms +folded, and TWO strong Samoans impelling him Apia-ward. This +was too much for Belle, who hailed, taunted him, and made him +return to the boat with one of the Samoans, setting Jimmie +instead in the canoe. Then began our torment, Sale and the +Samoan took the oars, sat on the same thwart (where they +could get no swing on the boat had they tried), and +deliberately ladled at the lagoon. We lay enchanted. Night +fell; there was a light visible on shore; it did not move. +The two women sang, Belle joining them in the hymns she has +learned at family worship. Then a squall came up; we sat a +while in roaring midnight under rivers of rain, and, when it +blew by, there was the light again, immovable. A second +squall followed, one of the worst I was ever out in; we could +scarce catch our breath in the cold, dashing deluge. When it +went, we were so cold that the water in the bottom of the +boat (which I was then baling) seemed like a warm footbath in +comparison, and Belle and I, who were still barefoot, were +quite restored by laving in it. + +All this time I had kept my temper, and refrained as far as +might be from any interference, for I saw (in our friend's +mulish humour) he always contrived to twist it to our +disadvantage. But now came the acute point. Young Frank now +took an oar. He was a little fellow, near as frail as +myself, and very short; if he weighed nine stone, it was the +outside; but his blood was up. He took stroke, moved the big +Samoan forward to bow, and set to work to pull him round in +fine style. Instantly a kind of race competition - almost +race hatred - sprang up. We jeered the Samoan. Sale +declared it was the trim of the boat: 'if this lady was aft' +(Tauilo's portly friend) 'he would row round Frank.' We +insisted on her coming aft, and Frank still rowed round the +Samoan. When the Samoan caught a crab (the thing was +continual with these wretched oars and rowlocks), we shouted +and jeered; when Frank caught one, Sale and the Samoan jeered +and yelled. But anyway the boat moved, and presently we got +up with Mulinuu, where I finally lost my temper, when I found +that Sale proposed to go ashore and make a visit - in fact, +we all three did. It is not worth while going into, but I +must give you one snatch of the subsequent conversation as we +pulled round Apia bay. 'This Samoan,' said Sale, 'received +seven German bullets in the field of Fangalii.' 'I am +delighted to hear it,' said Belle. 'His brother was killed +there,' pursued Sale; and Belle, prompt as an echo, 'Then +there are no more of the family? how delightful!' Sale was +sufficiently surprised to change the subject; he began to +praise Frank's rowing with insufferable condescension: 'But +it is after all not to be wondered at,' said he, 'because he +has been for some time a sailor. My good man, is it three or +five years that you have been to sea?' And Frank, in a +defiant shout: 'Two!' Whereupon, so high did the ill-feeling +run, that we three clapped and applauded and shouted, so that +the President (whose house we were then passing) doubtless +started at the sounds. It was nine when we got to the hotel; +at first no food was to be found, but we skirmished up some +bread and cheese and beer and brandy; and (having changed our +wet clothes for the rather less wet in our bags) supped on +the verandah. + +SATURDAY 28TH. I was wakened about 6.30, long past my usual +hour, by a benevolent passer-by. My turtle lay on the +verandah at my door, and the man woke me to tell me it was +dead, as it had been when we put it on board the day before. +All morning I ran the gauntlet of men and women coming up to +me: 'Mr. Stevenson, your turtle is dead.' I gave half of it +to the hotel keeper, so that his cook should cut it up; and +we got a damaged shell, and two splendid meals, beefsteak one +day and soup the next. The horses came for us about 9.30. +It was waterspouting; we were drenched before we got out of +the town; the road was a fine going Highland trout stream; it +thundered deep and frequent, and my mother's horse would not +better on a walk. At last she took pity on us, and very +nobly proposed that Belle and I should ride ahead. We were +mighty glad to do so, for we were cold. Presently, I said I +should ride back for my mother, but it thundered again, Belle +is afraid of thunder, and I decided to see her through the +forest before I returned for my other hen - I may say, my +other wet hen. About the middle of the wood, where it is +roughest and steepest, we met three pack-horses with barrels +of lime-juice. I piloted Belle past these - it is not very +easy in such a road - and then passed them again myself, to +pilot my mother. This effected, it began to thunder again, +so I rode on hard after Belle. When I caught up with her, +she was singing Samoan hymns to support her terrors! We were +all back, changed, and at table by lunch time, 11 A.M. Nor +have any of us been the worse for it sinsyne. That is pretty +good for a woman of my mother's age and an invalid of my +standing; above all, as Tauilo was laid up with a bad cold, +probably increased by rage. + + +FRIDAY, 3RD JUNE. + + +On Wednesday the club could not be held, and I must ride down +town and to and fro all afternoon delivering messages, then +dined and rode up by the young moon. I had plenty news when +I got back; there is great talk in town of my deportation: it +is thought they have written home to Downing Street +requesting my removal, which leaves me not much alarmed; what +I do rather expect is that H. J. Moors and I may be haled up +before the C. J. to stand a trial for LESE-Majesty. Well, +we'll try and live it through. + +The rest of my history since Monday has been unadulterated +DAVID BALFOUR. In season and out of season, night and day, +David and his innocent harem - let me be just, he never has +more than the two - are on my mind. Think of David Balfour +with a pair of fair ladies - very nice ones too - hanging +round him. I really believe David is as a good character as +anybody has a right to ask for in a novel. I have finished +drafting Chapter XX. to-day, and feel it all ready to froth +when the spigot is turned. + +O I forgot - and do forget. What did I mean? A waft of +cloud has fallen on my mind, and I will write no more. + + +WEDNESDAY, I BELIEVE, 8TH JUNE. + + +Lots of David, and lots of David, and the devil any other +news. Yesterday we were startled by great guns firing a +salute, and to-day Whitmee (missionary) rode up to lunch, and +we learned it was the CURACOA come in, the ship (according to +rumour) in which I was to be deported. I went down to meet +my fate, and the captain is to dine with me Saturday, so I +guess I am not going this voyage. Even with the +particularity with which I write to you, how much of my life +goes unexpressed; my troubles with a madman by the name of -, +a genuine living lunatic, I believe, and jolly dangerous; my +troubles about poor -, all these have dropped out; yet for +moments they were very instant, and one of them is always +present with me. + +I have finished copying Chapter XXI. of David - 'SOLUS CUM +SOLA; we travel together.' Chapter XXII., 'SOLUS CUM SOLA; +we keep house together,' is already drafted. To the end of +XXI. makes more than 150 pages of my manuscript - damn this +hair - and I only designed the book to run to about 200; but +when you introduce the female sect, a book does run away with +you. I am very curious to see what you will think of my two +girls. My own opinion is quite clear; I am in love with +both. I foresee a few pleasant years of spiritual +flirtations. The creator (if I may name myself, for the sake +of argument, by such a name) is essentially unfaithful. For +the duration of the two chapters in which I dealt with Miss +Grant, I totally forgot my heroine, and even - but this is a +flat secret - tried to win away David. I think I must try +some day to marry Miss Grant. I'm blest if I don't think +I've got that hair out! which seems triumph enough; so I +conclude. + + +TUESDAY. + + +Your infinitesimal correspondence has reached me, and I have +the honour to refer to it with scorn. It contains only one +statement of conceivable interest, that your health is +better; the rest is null, and so far as disquisitory unsound. +I am all right, but David Balfour is ailing; this came from +my visit to the man-of-war, where I had a cup of tea, and the +most of that night walked the verandah with extraordinary +convictions of guilt and ruin, many of which (but not all) +proved to have fled with the day, taking David along with +them; he R.I.P. in Chapter XXII. + +On Saturday I went down to the town, and fetched up Captain +Gibson to dinner; Sunday I was all day at Samoa, and had a +pile of visitors. Yesterday got my mail, including your +despicable sheet; was fooled with a visit from the high chief +Asi, went down at 4 P.M. to my Samoan lesson from Whitmee - I +think I shall learn from him, he does not fool me with +cockshot rules that are demolished next day, but professes +ignorance like a man; the truth is, the grammar has still to +be expiscated - dined with Haggard, and got home about nine. + + +WEDNESDAY. + + +The excellent Clarke up here almost all day yesterday, a man +I esteem and like to the soles of his boots; I prefer him to +anyone in Samoa, and to most people in the world; a real good +missionary, with the inestimable advantage of having grown up +a layman. Pity they all can't get that! It recalls my old +proposal, which delighted Lady Taylor so much, that every +divinity student should be thirty years old at least before +he was admitted. Boys switched out of college into a pulpit, +what chance have they? That any should do well amazes me, +and the most are just what was to be expected. + + +SATURDAY. + + +I must tell you of our feast. It was long promised to the +boys, and came off yesterday in one of their new houses. My +good Simele arrived from Savaii that morning asking for +political advice; then we had Tauilo; Elena's father, a +talking man of Tauilo's family; Talolo's cousin; and a boy of +Simele's family, who attended on his dignity; then Metu, the +meat-man - you have never heard of him, but he is a great +person in our household - brought a lady and a boy - and +there was another infant - eight guests in all. And we sat +down thirty strong. You should have seen our procession, +going (about two o'clock), all in our best clothes, to the +hall of feasting! All in our Sunday's best. The new house +had been hurriedly finished; the rafters decorated with +flowers; the floor spread, native style, with green leaves; +we had given a big porker, twenty-five pounds of fresh beef, +a tin of biscuit, cocoanuts, etc. Our places were all +arranged with much care; the native ladies of the house +facing our party; the sides filled up by the men; the guests, +please observe: the two chief people, male and female, were +placed with our family, the rest between S. and the native +ladies. After the feast was over, we had kava, and the +calling of the kava was a very elaborate affair, and I +thought had like to have made Simele very angry; he is really +a considerable chief, but he and Tauilo were not called till +after all our family, AND THE GUESTS, I suppose the principle +being that he was still regarded as one of the household. I +forgot to say that our black boy did not turn up when the +feast was ready. Off went the two cooks, found him, +decorated him with huge red hibiscus flowers - he was in a +very dirty under shirt - brought him back between them like a +reluctant maid, and, thrust him into a place between Faauma +and Elena, where he was petted and ministered to. When his +turn came in the kava drinking - and you may be sure, in +their contemptuous, affectionate kindness for him, as for a +good dog, it came rather earlier than it ought - he was cried +under a new name. ALEKI is what they make of his own name +Arrick; but instead of + +{ the cup of } +{'le ipu o } + +Aleki!' it was called 'le ipu o VAILIMA' and it was explained +that he had 'taken his chief-name'! a jest at which the +plantation still laughs. Kava done, I made a little speech, +Henry translating. If I had been well, I should have alluded +to all, but I was scarce able to sit up; so only alluded to +my guest of all this month, the Tongan, Tomas, and to Simele, +partly for the jest of making him translate compliments to +himself. The talking man replied with many handsome +compliments to me, in the usual flood of Samoan fluent +neatness; and we left them to an afternoon of singing and +dancing. Must stop now, as my right hand is very bad again. +I am trying to write with my left. + + +SUNDAY. + + +About half-past eight last night, I had gone to my own room, +Fanny and Lloyd were in Fanny's, every one else in bed, only +two boys on the premises - the two little brown boys Mitaiele +(Michael), age I suppose 11 or 12, and the new steward, a +Wallis islander, speaking no English and about fifty words of +Samoan, recently promoted from the bush work, and a most +good, anxious, timid lad of 15 or 16 - looks like 17 or 18, +of course - they grow fast here. In comes Mitaiele to Lloyd, +and told some rigmarole about Paatalise (the steward's name) +wanting to go and see his family in the bush. - 'But he has +no family in the bush,' said Lloyd. 'No,' said Mitaiele. +They went to the boy's bed (they sleep in the walled-in +compartment of the verandah, once my dressing-room) and +called at once for me. He lay like one asleep, talking in +drowsy tones but without excitement, and at times 'cheeping' +like a frightened mouse; he was quite cool to the touch, and +his pulse not fast; his breathing seemed wholly ventral; the +bust still, the belly moving strongly. Presently he got from +his bed, and ran for the door, with his head down not three +feet from the floor and his body all on a stretch forward, +like a striking snake: I say 'ran,' but this strange movement +was not swift. Lloyd and I mastered him and got him back in +bed. Soon there was another and more desperate attempt to +escape, in which Lloyd had his ring broken. Then we bound +him to the bed humanely with sheets, ropes, boards and +pillows. He lay there and sometimes talked, sometimes +whispered, sometimes wept like an angry child; his principal +word was 'Faamolemole' - 'Please' - and he kept telling us at +intervals that his family were calling him. During this +interval, by the special grace of God, my boys came home; we +had already called in Arrick, the black boy; now we had that +Hercules, Lafaele, and a man Savea, who comes from +Paatalise's own island and can alone communicate with him +freely. Lloyd went to bed, I took the first watch, and sat +in my room reading, while Lafaele and Arrick watched the +madman. Suddenly Arrick called me; I ran into the verandah; +there was Paatalise free of all his bonds and Lafaele holding +him. To tell what followed is impossible. We were five +people at him - Lafaele and Savea, very strong men, Lloyd, I +and Arrick, and the struggle lasted until 1 A.M. before we +had him bound. One detail for a specimen: Lloyd and I had +charge of one leg, we were both sitting on it, and lo! we +were both tossed into the air - I, I daresay, a couple of +feet. At last we had him spread-eagled to the iron bedstead, +by his wrists and ankles, with matted rope; a most inhumane +business, but what could we do? it was all we could do to +manage it even so. The strength of the paroxysms had been +steadily increasing, and we trembled for the next. And now I +come to pure Rider Haggard. Lafaele announced that the boy +was very bad, and he would get 'some medicine' which was a +family secret of his own. Some leaves were brought +mysteriously in; chewed, placed on the boy's eyes, dropped in +his ears (see Hamlet) and stuck up his nostrils; as he did +this, the weird doctor partly smothered the patient with his +hand; and by about 2 A.M. he was in a deep sleep, and from +that time he showed no symptom of dementia whatever. The +medicine (says Lafaele) is principally used for the wholesale +slaughter of families; he himself feared last night that his +dose was fatal; only one other person, on this island, knows +the secret; and she, Lafaele darkly whispers, has abused it. +This remarkable tree we must try to identify. + +The man-of-war doctor came up to-day, gave us a strait- +waistcoat, taught us to bandage, examined the boy and saw he +was apparently well - he insisted on doing his work all +morning, poor lad, and when he first came down kissed all the +family at breakfast! The Doctor was greatly excited, as may +be supposed, about Lafaele's medicine. + + +TUESDAY. + + +All yesterday writing my mail by the hand of Belle, to save +my wrist. This is a great invention, to which I shall stick, +if it can be managed. We had some alarm about Paatalise, but +he slept well all night for a benediction. This lunatic +asylum exercise has no attractions for any of us. + +I don't know if I remembered to say how much pleased I was +with ACROSS THE PLAINS in every way, inside and out, and you +and me. The critics seem to taste it, too, as well as could +be hoped, and I believe it will continue to bring me in a few +shillings a year for a while. But such books pay only +indirectly. + +To understand the full horror of the mad scene, and how well +my boys behaved, remember that THEY BELIEVED P.'S RAVINGS, +they KNEW that his dead family, thirty strong, crowded the +front verandah and called on him to come to the other world. +They KNEW that his dead brother had met him that afternoon in +the bush and struck him on both temples. And remember! we +are fighting the dead, and they had to go out again in the +black night, which is the dead man's empire. Yet last +evening, when I thought P. was going to repeat the +performance, I sent down for Lafaele, who had leave of +absence, and he and his wife came up about eight o'clock with +a lighted brand. These are the things for which I have to +forgive my old cattle-man his manifold shortcomings; they are +heroic - so are the shortcomings, to be sure. + +It came over me the other day suddenly that this diary of +mine to you would make good pickings after I am dead, and a +man could make some kind of a book out of it without much +trouble. So, for God's sake, don't lose them, and they will +prove a piece of provision for my 'poor old family,' as +Simele calls it. + +About my coming to Europe, I get more and more doubtful, and +rather incline to Ceylon again as place of meeting. I am so +absurdly well here in the tropics, that it seems like +affectation. Yet remember I have never once stood Sydney. +Anyway, I shall have the money for it all ahead, before I +think of such a thing. + +We had a bowl of Punch on your birthday, which my incredible +mother somehow knew and remembered. + +I sometimes sit and yearn for anything in the nature of an +income that would come in - mine has all got to be gone and +fished for with the immortal mind of man. What I want is the +income that really comes in of itself while all you have to +do is just to blossom and exist and sit on chairs. Think how +beautiful it would be not to have to mind the critics, and +not even the darkest of the crowd - Sidney Colvin. I should +probably amuse myself with works that would make your hair +curl, if you had any left. + + +R. L S. + + + +CHAPTER XX + + + +SATURDAY, 2ND JULY 1892. + + +THE character of my handwriting is explained, alas! by +scrivener's cramp. This also explains how long I have let +the paper lie plain. + + +1 P. M. + + +I was busy copying David Balfour with my left hand - a most +laborious task - Fanny was down at the native house +superintending the floor, Lloyd down in Apia, and Belle in +her own house cleaning, when I heard the latter calling on my +name. I ran out on the verandah; and there on the lawn +beheld my crazy boy with an axe in his hand and dressed out +in green ferns, dancing. I ran downstairs and found all my +house boys on the back verandah, watching him through the +dining-room. I asked what it meant? - 'Dance belong his +place,' they said. - 'I think this no time to dance,' said I. +'Has he done his work?' - 'No,' they told me, 'away bush all +morning.' But there they all stayed on the back verandah. I +went on alone through the dining-room, and bade him stop. He +did so, shouldered the axe, and began to walk away; but I +called him back, walked up to him, and took the axe out of +his unresisting hands. The boy is in all things so good, +that I can scarce say I was afraid; only I felt it had to be +stopped ere he could work himself up by dancing to some +craziness. Our house boys protested they were not afraid; +all I know is they were all watching him round the back door +and did not follow me till I had the axe. As for the out +boys, who were working with Fanny in the native house, they +thought it a very bad business, and made no secret of their +fears. + + +WEDNESDAY, 6TH. + + +I have no account to give of my stewardship these days, and +there's a day more to account for than mere arithmetic would +tell you. For we have had two Monday Fourths, to bring us at +last on the right side of the meridian, having hitherto been +an exception in the world and kept our private date. +Business has filled my hours sans intermission. + + +TUESDAY, 12TH + + +I am doing no work and my mind is in abeyance. Fanny and +Belle are sewing-machining in the next room; I have been +pulling down their hair, and Fanny has been kicking me, and +now I am driven out. Austin I have been chasing about the +verandah; now he has gone to his lessons, and I make believe +to write to you in despair. But there is nothing in my mind; +I swim in mere vacancy, my head is like a rotten nut; I shall +soon have to begin to work again or I shall carry away some +part of the machinery. I have got your insufficient letter, +for which I scorn to thank you. I have had no review by +Gosse, none by Birrell; another time if I have a letter in +the TIMES, you might send me the text as well; also please +send me a cricket bat and a cake, and when I come home for +the holidays, I should like to have a pony. + +I am, sir, your obedient servant, + +JACOB TONSON. + + +P.S. I am quite well; I hope you are quite well. The world +is too much with us, and my mother bids me bind my hair and +lace my bodice blue. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - This is Friday night, the (I believe) 18th +or 20th August or September. I shall probably regret to- +morrow having written you with my own hand like the Apostle +Paul. But I am alone over here in the workman's house, where +I and Belle and Lloyd and Austin are pigging; the rest are at +cards in the main residence. I have not joined them because +'belly belong me' has been kicking up, and I have just taken +15 drops of laudanum. + +On Tuesday, the party set out - self in white cap, velvet +coat, cords and yellow half boots, Belle in a white kind of +suit and white cap to match mine, Lloyd in white clothes and +long yellow boots and a straw hat, Graham in khakis and +gaiters, Henry (my old overseer) in blue coat and black kilt, +and the great Lafaele with a big ship-bag on his saddle-bow. +We left the mail at the P. O., had lunch at the hotel, and +about 1.50 set out westward to the place of tryst. This was +by a little shrunken brook in a deep channel of mud on the +far side of which, in a thicket of low trees, all full of +moths of shadow and butterflies of sun, we lay down to await +her ladyship. Whiskey and water, then a sketch of the +encampment for which we all posed to Belle, passed off the +time until 3.30. Then I could hold on no longer. 30 minutes +late. Had the secret oozed out? Were they arrested? I got +my horse, crossed the brook again, and rode hard back to the +Vaea cross roads, whence I was aware of white clothes +glancing in the other long straight radius of the quadrant. +I turned at once to return to the place of tryst; but D. +overtook me, and almost bore me down, shouting 'Ride, ride!' +like a hero in a ballad. Lady Margaret and he were only come +to shew the place; they returned, and the rest of our party, +reinforced by Captain Leigh and Lady Jersey, set on for +Malie. The delay was due to D.'s infinite precautions, +leading them up lanes, by back ways, and then down again to +the beach road a hundred yards further on. + +It was agreed that Lady Jersey existed no more; she was now +my cousin Amelia Balfour. That relative and I headed the +march; she is a charming woman, all of us like her extremely +after trial on this somewhat rude and absurd excursion. And +we Amelia'd or Miss Balfour'd her with great but intermittent +fidelity. When we came to the last village, I sent Henry on +ahead to warn the King of our approach and amend his +discretion, if that might be. As he left I heard the +villagers asking WHICH WAS THE GREAT LADY? And a little +further, at the borders of Malie itself, we found the guard +making a music of bugles and conches. Then I knew the game +was up and the secret out. A considerable guard of honour, +mostly children, accompanied us; but, for our good fortune, +we had been looked for earlier, and the crowd was gone. + +Dinner at the King's; he asked me to say grace, I could think +of none - never could; Graham suggested BENEDICTUS BENEDICAT, +at which I leaped. We were nearly done, when old Popo +inflicted the Atua howl (of which you have heard already) +right at Lady Jersey's shoulder. She started in fine style. +- 'There,' I said, 'we have been giving you a chapter of +Scott, but this goes beyond the Waverley Novels.' After +dinner, kava. Lady J. was served before me, and the King +DRANK LAST; it was the least formal kava I ever saw in that +house, - no names called, no show of ceremony. All my ladies +are well trained, and when Belle drained her bowl, the King +was pleased to clap his hands. Then he and I must retire for +our private interview, to another house. He gave me his own +staff and made me pass before him; and in the interview, +which was long and delicate, he twice called me AFIOGA. Ah, +that leaves you cold, but I am Samoan enough to have been +moved. SUSUGA is my accepted rank; to be called AFIOGA - +Heavens! what an advance - and it leaves Europe cold. But it +staggered my Henry. The first time it was complicated 'lana +susuga MA lana afioga - his excellency AND his majesty' - the +next time plain Majesty. Henry then begged to interrupt the +interview and tell who he was - he is a small family chief in +Sawaii, not very small - 'I do not wish the King,' says he, +'to think me a boy from Apia.' On our return to the palace, +we separated. I had asked for the ladies to sleep alone - +that was understood; but that Tusitala - his afioga Tusitala +- should go out with the other young men, and not sleep with +the highborn females of his family - was a doctrine received +with difficulty. Lloyd and I had one screen, Graham and +Leigh another, and we slept well. + +In the morning I was first abroad before dawn; not very long, +already there was a stir of birds. A little after, I heard +singing from the King's chapel - exceeding good - and went +across in the hour when the east is yellow and the morning +bank is breaking up, to hear it nearer. All about the +chapel, the guards were posted, and all saluted Tusitala. I +could not refrain from smiling: 'So there is a place too,' I +thought, 'where sentinels salute me.' Mine has been a queer +life. + +[Drawing in book reproduced here in characters...] + + y2 + X X X + H X + G X + F X + E The X +D i Kava X +A X + B X + C X + T X + X X + W + +Breakfast was rather a protracted business. And that was +scarce over when we were called to the great house (now +finished - recall your earlier letters) to see a royal kava. +This function is of rare use; I know grown Samoans who have +never witnessed it. It is, besides, as you are to hear, a +piece of prehistoric history, crystallised in figures, and +the facts largely forgotten; an acted hieroglyph. The house +is really splendid; in the rafters in the midst, two carved +and coloured model birds are posted; the only thing of the +sort I have ever remarked in Samoa, the Samoans being literal +observers of the second commandment. At one side of the egg +our party sat. a=Mataafa, b=Lady J., c=Belle, d=Tusitala, +e=Graham, f=Lloyd, g=Captain Leigh, h=Henry, i=Popo. The x's +round are the high chiefs, each man in his historical +position. One side of the house is set apart for the King +alone; we were allowed there as his guests and Henry as our +interpreter. It was a huge trial to the lad, when a speech +was made to me which he must translate, and I made a speech +in answer which he had to orate, full-breathed, to that big +circle; he blushed through his dark skin, but looked and +acted like a gentleman and a young fellow of sense; then the +kava came to the King; he poured one drop in libation, drank +another, and flung the remainder outside the house behind +him. Next came the turn of the old shapeless stone marked T. +It stands for one of the King's titles, Tamasoalii; Mataafa +is Tamasoalii this day, but cannot drink for it; and the +stone must first be washed with water, and then have the bowl +emptied on it. Then - the order I cannot recall - came the +turn of y and z, two orators of the name of Malietoa; the +first took his kava down plain, like an ordinary man; the +second must be packed to bed under a big sheet of tapa, and +be massaged by anxious assistants and rise on his elbow +groaning to drink his cup. W., a great hereditary war man, +came next; five times the cup-bearers marched up and down the +house and passed the cup on, five times it was filled and the +General's name and titles heralded at the bowl, and five +times he refused it (after examination) as too small. It is +said this commemorates a time when Malietoa at the head of +his army suffered much for want of supplies. Then this same +military gentleman must DRINK five cups, one from each of the +great names: all which took a precious long time. He acted +very well, haughtily and in a society tone OUTLINING THE +part. The difference was marked when he subsequently made a +speech in his own character as a plain God-fearing chief. A +few more high chiefs, then Tusitala; one more, and then Lady +Jersey; one more, and then Captain Leigh, and so on with the +rest of our party - Henry of course excepted. You see in +public, Lady Jersey followed me - just so far was the secret +kept. + +Then we came home; Belle, Graham and Lloyd to the Chinaman's, +I with Lady Jersey, to lunch; so severally home. Thursday I +have forgotten: Saturday, I began again on Davie; on Sunday, +the Jersey party came up to call and carried me to dinner. +As I came out, to ride home, the search-lights of the CURACOA +were lightening on the horizon from many miles away, and next +morning she came in. Tuesday was huge fun: a reception at +Haggard's. All our party dined there; Lloyd and I, in the +absence of Haggard and Leigh, had to play aide-de-camp and +host for about twenty minutes, and I presented the population +of Apia at random but (luck helping) without one mistake. +Wednesday we had two middies to lunch. Thursday we had Eeles +and Hoskyn (lieutenant and doctor - very, very nice fellows - +simple, good and not the least dull) to dinner. Saturday, +Graham and I lunched on board; Graham, Belle, Lloyd dined at +the G.'s; and Austin and the WHOLE of our servants went with +them to an evening entertainment; the more bold returning by +lantern-light. Yesterday, Sunday, Belle and I were off by +about half past eight, left our horses at a public house, and +went on board the CURACOA in the wardroom skiff; were +entertained in the wardroom; thence on deck to the service, +which was a great treat; three fiddles and a harmonium and +excellent choir, and the great ship's company joining: on +shore in Haggard's big boat to lunch with the party. Thence +all together to Vailima, where we read aloud a Ouida Romance +we have been secretly writing; in which Haggard was the hero, +and each one of the authors had to draw a portrait of him or +herself in a Ouida light. Leigh, Lady J., Fanny, R.L.S., +Belle and Graham were the authors. + +In the midst of this gay life, I have finally recopied two +chapters, and drafted for the first time three of Davie +Balfour. But it is not a life that would continue to suit +me, and if I have not continued to write to you, you will +scarce wonder. And to-day we all go down again to dinner, +and to-morrow they all come up to lunch! The world is too +much with us. But it now nears an end, to-day already the +CURACOA has sailed; and on Saturday or Sunday Lady Jersey +will follow them in the mail steamer. I am sending you a +wire by her hands as far as Sydney, that is to say either you +or Cassell, about FALESA: I will not allow it to be called +UMA in book form, that is not the logical name of the story. +Nor can I have the marriage contract omitted; and the thing +is full of misprints abominable. In the picture, Uma is rot; +so is the old man and the negro; but Wiltshire is splendid, +and Case will do. It seems badly illuminated, but this may +be printing. How have I seen this first number? Not through +your attention, guilty one! Lady Jersey had it, and only +mentioned it yesterday. + +I ought to say how much we all like the Jersey party. My boy +Henry was enraptured with the manners of the TAWAITAI SILI +(chief lady). Among our other occupations, I did a bit of a +supposed epic describing our tryst at the ford of the +Gasegase; and Belle and I made a little book of caricatures +and verses about incidents on the visit. + + +TUESDAY. + + +The wild round of gaiety continues. After I had written to +you yesterday, the brain being wholly extinct, I played +piquet all morning with Graham. After lunch down to call on +the U.S. Consul, hurt in a steeple-chase; thence back to the +new girls' school which Lady J. was to open, and where my +ladies met me. Lady J. is really an orator, with a voice of +gold; the rest of us played our unremarked parts; +missionaries, Haggard, myself, a Samoan chief, holding forth +in turn; myself with (at least) a golden brevity. Thence, +Fanny, Belle, and I to town, to our billiard room in +Haggard's back garden, where we found Lloyd and where Graham +joined us. The three men first dressed, with the ladies in a +corner; and then, to leave them a free field, we went off to +Haggard and Leigh's quarters, where - after all to dinner, +where our two parties, a brother of Colonel Kitchener's, a +passing globe-trotter, and Clarke the missionary. A very gay +evening, with all sorts of chaff and mirth, and a moonlit +ride home, and to bed before 12.30. And now to-day, we have +the Jersey-Haggard troupe to lunch, and I must pass the +morning dressing ship. + + +THURSDAY, SEPT. 1ST. + + +I sit to write to you now, 7.15, all the world in bed except +myself, accounted for, and Belle and Graham, down at +Haggard's at dinner. Not a leaf is stirring here; but the +moon overhead (now of a good bigness) is obscured and partly +revealed in a whirling covey of thin storm-clouds. By Jove, +it blows above. + +From 8 till 11.15 on Tuesday, I dressed ship, and in +particular cleaned crystal, my specially. About 11.30 the +guests began to arrive before I was dressed, and between +while I had written a parody for Lloyd to sing. Yesterday, +Wednesday, I had to start out about 3 for town, had a long +interview with the head of the German Firm about some work in +my new house, got over to Lloyd's billiard-room about six, on +the way whither I met Fanny and Belle coming down with one +Kitchener, a brother of the Colonel's. Dined in the +billiard-room, discovered we had forgot to order oatmeal; +whereupon, in the moonlit evening, I set forth in my tropical +array, mess jacket and such, to get the oatmeal, and meet a +young fellow C. - and not a bad young fellow either, only an +idiot - as drunk as Croesus. He wept with me, he wept for +me; he talked like a bad character in an impudently bad +farce; I could have laughed aloud to hear, and could make you +laugh by repeating, but laughter was not uppermost. + +This morning at about seven, I set off after the lost sheep. +I could have no horse; all that could be mounted - we have +one girth-sore and one dead-lame in the establishment - were +due at a picnic about 10.30. The morning was very wet, and I +set off barefoot, with my trousers over my knees, and a +macintosh. Presently I had to take a side path in the bush; +missed it; came forth in a great oblong patch of taro +solemnly surrounded by forest - no soul, no sign, no sound - +and as I stood there at a loss, suddenly between the showers +out broke the note of a harmonium and a woman's voice singing +an air that I know very well, but have (as usual) forgot the +name of. 'Twas from a great way off, but seemed to fill the +world. It was strongly romantic, and gave me a point which +brought me, by all sorts of forest wading, to an open space +of palms. These were of all ages, but mostly at that age +when the branches arch from the ground level, range +themselves, with leaves exquisitely green. The whole +interspace was overgrown with convolvulus, purple, yellow and +white, often as deep as to my waist, in which I floundered +aimlessly. The very mountain was invisible from here. The +rain came and went; now in sunlit April showers, now with the +proper tramp and rattle of the tropics. All this while I met +no sight or sound of man, except the voice which was now +silent, and a damned pig-fence that headed me off at every +corner. Do you know barbed wire? Think of a fence of it on +rotten posts, and you barefoot. But I crossed it at last +with my heart in my mouth and no harm done. Thence at last +to C's.: no C. Next place I came to was in the zone of +woods. They offered me a buggy and set a black boy to wash +my legs and feet. 'Washum legs belong that fellow white-man' +was the command. So at last I ran down my son of a gun in +the hotel, sober, and with no story to tell; penitent, I +think. Home, by buggy and my poor feet, up three miles of +root, boulder, gravel and liquid mud, slipping back at every +step. + + +SUNDAY, SEPT. 4TH. + + +Hope you will be able to read a word of the last, no joke +writing by a bad lantern with a groggy hand and your glasses +mislaid. Not that the hand is not better, as you see by the +absence of the amanuensis hitherto. Mail came Friday, and a +communication from yourself much more decent than usual, for +which I thank you. Glad the WRECKER should so hum; but Lord, +what fools these mortals be! + +So far yesterday, the citation being wrung from me by +remembrance of many reviews. I have now received all FALESA, +and my admiration for that tale rises; I believe it is in +some ways my best work; I am pretty sure, at least, I have +never done anything better than Wiltshire. + + +MONDAY, 13TH SEPTEMBER 1892. + + +On Wednesday the Spinsters of Apia gave a ball to a select +crowd. Fanny, Belle, Lloyd and I rode down, met Haggard by +the way and joined company with him. Dinner with Haggard, +and thence to the ball. The Chief Justice appeared; it was +immediately remarked, and whispered from one to another, that +he and I had the only red sashes in the room, - and they were +both of the hue of blood, sir, blood. He shook hands with +myself and all the members of my family. Then the cream +came, and I found myself in the same set of a quadrille with +his honour. We dance here in Apia a most fearful and +wonderful quadrille, I don't know where the devil they fished +it from; but it is rackety and prancing and embraceatory +beyond words; perhaps it is best defined in Haggard's +expression of a gambado. When I and my great enemy found +ourselves involved in this gambol, and crossing hands, and +kicking up, and being embraced almost in common by large and +quite respectable females, we - or I - tried to preserve some +rags of dignity, but not for long. The deuce of it is that, +personally, I love this man; his eye speaks to me, I am +pleased in his society. We exchanged a glance, and then a +grin; the man took me in his confidence; and through the +remainder of that prance we pranced for each other. Hard to +imagine any position more ridiculous; a week before he had +been trying to rake up evidence against me by brow-beating +and threatening a half-white interpreter; that very morning I +had been writing most villainous attacks upon him for the +TIMES; and we meet and smile, and - damn it! - like each +other. I do my best to damn the man and drive him from these +islands; but the weakness endures - I love him. This is a +thing I would despise in anybody else; but he is so jolly +insidious and ingratiating! No, sir, I can't dislike him; +but if I don't make hay of him, it shall not be for want of +trying. + +Yesterday, we had two Germans and a young American boy to +lunch; and in the afternoon, Vailima was in a state of siege; +ten white people on the front verandah, at least as many +brown in the cook house, and countless blacks to see the +black boy Arrick. + +Which reminds me, Arrick was sent Friday was a week to the +German Firm with a note, and was not home on time. Lloyd and +I were going bedward, it was late with a bright moon - ah, +poor dog, you know no such moons as these! - when home came +Arrick with his head in a white bandage and his eyes shining. +He had had a fight with other blacks, Malaita boys; many +against one, and one with a knife: 'I KNICKED 'EM DOWN, three +four!' he cried; and had himself to be taken to the doctor's +and bandaged. Next day, he could not work, glory of battle +swelled too high in his threadpaper breast; he had made a +one-stringed harp for Austin, borrowed it, came to Fanny's +room, and sang war-songs and danced a war dance in honour of +his victory. And it appears, by subsequent advices, that it +was a serious victory enough; four of his assailants went to +hospital, and one is thought in danger. All Vailima rejoiced +at this news. + +Five more chapters of David, 22 to 27, go to Baxter. All +love affair; seems pretty good to me. Will it do for the +young person? I don't know: since the Beach, I know nothing, +except that men are fools and hypocrites, and I know less of +them than I was fond enough to fancy. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + + +THURSDAY, 15TH SEPTEMBER. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - On Tuesday, we had our young adventurer +ready, and Fanny, Belle, he and I set out about three of a +dark, deadly hot, and deeply unwholesome afternoon. Belle +had the lad behind her; I had a pint of champagne in either +pocket, a parcel in my hands, and as Jack had a girth sore +and I rode without a girth, I might be said to occupy a very +unstrategic position. On the way down, a little dreary, +beastly drizzle beginning to come out of the darkness, Fanny +put up an umbrella, her horse bounded, reared, cannoned into +me, cannoned into Belle and the lad, and bolted for home. It +really might and ought to have been an A1 catastrophe; but +nothing happened beyond Fanny's nerves being a good deal +shattered; of course, she could not tell what had happened to +us until she got her horse mastered. + +Next day, Haggard went off to the Commission and left us in +charge of his house; all our people came down in wreaths of +flowers; we had a boat for them; Haggard had a flag in the +Commission boat for us; and when at last the steamer turned +up, the young adventurer was carried on board in great style, +with a new watch and chain, and about three pound ten of +tips, and five big baskets of fruit as free-will offerings to +the captain. Captain Morse had us all to lunch; champagne +flowed, so did compliments; and I did the affable celebrity +life-sized. It made a great send-off for the young +adventurer. As the boat drew off, he was standing at the +head of the gangway, supported by three handsome ladies - one +of them a real full-blown beauty, Madame Green, the singer - +and looking very engaging himself, between smiles and tears. +Not that he cried in public. + +My, but we were a tired crowd! However, it is always a +blessing to get home, and this time it was a sort of wonder +to ourselves that we got back alive. Casualties: Fanny's +back jarred, horse incident; Belle, bad headache, tears and +champagne; self, idiocy, champagne, fatigue; Lloyd, ditto, +ditto. As for the adventurer, I believe he will have a +delightful voyage for his little start in life. But there is +always something touching in a mite's first launch. + + +DATE UNKNOWN. + + +I am now well on with the third part of the DEBACLE. The two +first I liked much; the second completely knocking me; so far +as it has gone, this third part appears the ramblings of a +dull man who has forgotten what he has to say - he reminds me +of an M.P. But Sedan was really great, and I will pick no +holes. The batteries under fire, the red-cross folk, the +county charge - perhaps, above all, Major Bouroche and the +operations, all beyond discussion; and every word about the +Emperor splendid. + + +SEPTEMBER 30TH. + + +David Balfour done, and its author along with it, or nearly +so. Strange to think of even our doctor here repeating his +nonsense about debilitating climate. Why, the work I have +been doing the last twelve months, in one continuous spate, +mostly with annoying interruptions and without any collapse +to mention, would be incredible in Norway. But I HAVE broken +down now, and will do nothing as long as I possibly can. +With David Balfour I am very well pleased; in fact these +labours of the last year - I mean FALESA AND D. B., not +Samoa, of course - seem to me to be nearer what I mean than +anything I have ever done; nearer what I mean by fiction; the +nearest thing before was KIDNAPPED. I am not forgetting the +MASTER OF BALLANTRAE, but that lacked all pleasurableness, +and hence was imperfect in essence. So you see, if I am a +little tired, I do not repent. + +The third part of the DEBACLE may be all very fine; but I +cannot read it. It suffers from IMPAIRED VITALITY, and +UNCERTAIN AIM; two deadly sicknesses. Vital - that's what I +am at, first: wholly vital, with a buoyancy of life. Then +lyrical, if it may be, and picturesque, always with an epic +value of scenes, so that the figures remain in the mind's eye +for ever. + + +OCTOBER 8TH. + + +Suppose you sent us some of the catalogues of the parties +what vends statutes? I don't want colossal Herculeses, but +about quarter size and less. If the catalogues were +illustrated it would probably be found a help to weak +memories. These may be found to alleviate spare moments, +when we sometimes amuse ourselves by thinking how fine we +shall make the palace if we do not go pop. Perhaps in the +same way it might amuse you to send us any pattern of wall +paper that might strike you as cheap, pretty and suitable for +a room in a hot and extremely bright climate. It should be +borne in mind that our climate can be extremely dark too. +Our sitting-room is to be in varnished wood. The room I have +particularly in mind is a sort of bed and sitting-room, +pretty large, lit on three sides, and the colour in favour of +its proprietor at present is a topazy yellow. But then with +what colour to relieve it? For a little work-room of my own +at the back. I should rather like to see some patterns of +unglossy - well, I'll be hanged if I can describe this red - +it's not Turkish and it's not Roman and it's not Indian, but +it seems to partake of the two last, and yet it can't be +either of them, because it ought to be able to go with +vermilion. Ah, what a tangled web we weave - anyway, with +what brains you have left choose me and send me some - many - +patterns of this exact shade. + +A few days ago it was Haggard's birthday and we had him and +his cousin to dinner - bless me if I ever told you of his +cousin! - he is here anyway, and a fine, pleasing specimen, +so that we have concluded (after our own happy experience) +that the climate of Samoa must be favourable to cousins. +Then we went out on the verandah in a lovely moonlight, +drinking port, hearing the cousin play and sing, till +presently we were informed that our boys had got up a siva in +Lafaele's house to which we were invited. It was entirely +their own idea. The house, you must understand, is one-half +floored, and one-half bare earth, and the dais stands a +little over knee high above the level of the soil. The dais +was the stage, with three footlights. We audience sat on +mats on the floor, and the cook and three of our work-boys, +sometimes assisted by our two ladies, took their places +behind the footlights and began a topical Vailima song. The +burden was of course that of a Samoan popular song about a +white man who objects to all that he sees in Samoa. And +there was of course a special verse for each one of the party +- Lloyd was called the dancing man (practically the Chief's +handsome son) of Vailima; he was also, in his character I +suppose of overseer, compared to a policeman - Belle had that +day been the almoner in a semi-comic distribution of wedding +rings and thimbles (bought cheap at an auction) to the whole +plantation company, fitting a ring on every man's finger, and +a ring and a thimble on both the women's. This was very much +in character with her native name TEUILA, the adorner of the +ugly - so of course this was the point of her verse and at a +given moment all the performers displayed the rings upon +their fingers. Pelema (the cousin - OUR cousin) was +described as watching from the house and whenever he saw any +boy not doing anything, running and doing it himself. +Fanny's verse was less intelligible, but it was accompanied +in the dance with a pantomime of terror well-fitted to call +up her haunting, indefatigable and diminutive presence in a +blue gown. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + + +VAILIMA, OCTOBER 28TH, 1892. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - This is very late to begin the monthly +budget, but I have a good excuse this time, for I have had a +very annoying fever with symptoms of sore arm, and in the +midst of it a very annoying piece of business which suffered +no delay or idleness. . . . The consequence of all this was +that my fever got very much worse and your letter has not +been hitherto written. But, my dear fellow, do compare these +little larky fevers with the fine, healthy, prostrating colds +of the dear old dead days at home. Here was I, in the middle +of a pretty bad one, and I was able to put it in my pocket, +and go down day after day, and attend to and put my strength +into this beastly business. Do you see me doing that with a +catarrh? And if I had done so, what would have been the +result? + +Last night, about four o'clock, Belle and I set off to Apia, +whither my mother had preceded us. She was at the Mission; +we went to Haggard's. There we had to wait the most +unconscionable time for dinner. I do not wish to speak +lightly of the Amanuensis, who is unavoidably present, but I +may at least say for myself that I was as cross as two +sticks. Dinner came at last, we had the tinned soup which is +usually the PIECE DE RESISTANCE in the halls of Haggard, and +we pitched into it. Followed an excellent salad of tomatoes +and cray-fish, a good Indian curry, a tender joint of beef, a +dish of pigeons, a pudding, cheese and coffee. I was so +over-eaten after this 'hunger and burst' that I could +scarcely move; and it was my sad fate that night in the +character of the local author to eloquute before the public - +'Mr. Stevenson will read a selection from his own works' - a +degrading picture. I had determined to read them the account +of the hurricane; I do not know if I told you that my book +has never turned up here, or rather only one copy has, and +that in the unfriendly hands of -. It has therefore only +been seen by enemies; and this combination of mystery and +evil report has been greatly envenomed by some ill-judged +newspaper articles from the States. Altogether this specimen +was listened to with a good deal of uncomfortable expectation +on the part of the Germans, and when it was over was +applauded with unmistakable relief. The public hall where +these revels came off seems to be unlucky for me; I never go +there but to some stone-breaking job. Last time it was the +public meeting of which I must have written you; this time it +was this uneasy but not on the whole unsuccessful experiment. +Belle, my mother, and I rode home about midnight in a fine +display of lightning and witch-fires. My mother is absent, +so that I may dare to say that she struck me as voluble. The +Amanuensis did not strike me the same way; she was probably +thinking, but it was really rather a weird business, and I +saw what I have never seen before, the witch-fires gathered +into little bright blue points almost as bright as a night- +light. + + +SATURDAY + + +This is the day that should bring your letter; it is gray and +cloudy and windless; thunder rolls in the mountain; it is a +quarter past six, and I am alone, sir, alone in this +workman's house, Belle and Lloyd having been down all +yesterday to meet the steamer; they were scarce gone with +most of the horses and all the saddles, than there began a +perfect picnic of the sick and maim; Iopu with a bad foot, +Faauma with a bad shoulder, Fanny with yellow spots. It was +at first proposed to carry all these to the doctor, +particularly Faauma, whose shoulder bore an appearance of +erysipelas, that sent the amateur below. No horses, no +saddle. Now I had my horse and I could borrow Lafaele's +saddle; and if I went alone I could do a job that had long +been waiting; and that was to interview the doctor on another +matter. Off I set in a hazy moonlight night; windless, like +to-day; the thunder rolling in the mountain, as to-day; in +the still groves, these little mushroom lamps glowing blue +and steady, singly or in pairs. Well, I had my interview, +said everything as I had meant, and with just the result I +hoped for. The doctor and I drank beer together and +discussed German literature until nine, and we parted the +best of friends. I got home to a silent house of sleepers, +only Fanny awaiting me; we talked awhile, in whispers, on the +interview; then, I got a lantern and went across to the +workman's house, now empty and silent, myself sole occupant. +So to bed, prodigious tired but mighty content with my +night's work, and to-day, with a headache and a chill, have +written you this page, while my new novel waits. Of this I +will tell you nothing, except the various names under +consideration. First, it ought to be called - but of course +that is impossible - + + +BRAXFIELD. +Then it IS to be called either +WEIR OF HERMISTON, +THE LORD-JUSTICE CLERK, +THE TWO KIRSTIES OF THE CAULDSTANESLAP, +or +FOUR BLACK BROTHERS. + +Characters: + +Adam Weir, Lord-Justice Clerk, called Lord Hermiston. +Archie, his son. +Aunt Kirstie Elliott, his housekeeper at Hermiston. +Elliott of the Cauldstaneslap, her brother. +Kirstie Elliott, his daughter. +Jim, } +Gib, } +Hob } his sons. +& } +Dandie, } +Patrick Innes, a young advocate. +The Lord-Justice General. + +Scene, about Hermiston in the Lammermuirs and in Edinburgh. +Temp. 1812. So you see you are to have another holiday from +copra! The rain begins softly on the iron roof, and I will +do the reverse and - dry up. + + +SUNDAY. + + +Yours with the diplomatic private opinion received. It is +just what I should have supposed. CA M'EST BIEN EGAL. - The +name is to be + +THE LORD-JUSTICE CLERK. + +None others are genuine. Unless it be + +LORD-JUSTICE CLERK HERMISTON. + + +NOV. 2ND. + + +On Saturday we expected Captain Morse of the Alameda to come +up to lunch, and on Friday with genuine South Sea hospitality +had a pig killed. On the Saturday morning no pig. Some of +the boys seemed to give a doubtful account of themselves; our +next neighbour below in the wood is a bad fellow and very +intimate with some of our boys, for whom his confounded house +is like a fly-paper for flies. To add to all this, there was +on the Saturday a great public presentation of food to the +King and Parliament men, an occasion on which it is almost +dignified for a Samoan to steal anything, and entirely +dignified for him to steal a pig. + +(The Amanuensis went to the TALOLO, as it is called, and saw +something so very pleasing she begs to interrupt the letter +to tell it. The different villagers came in in bands - led +by the maid of the village, followed by the young warriors. +It was a very fine sight, for some three thousand people are +said to have assembled. The men wore nothing but magnificent +head-dresses and a bunch of leaves, and were oiled and +glistening in the sunlight. One band had no maid but was led +by a tiny child of about five - a serious little creature +clad in a ribbon of grass and a fine head-dress, who skipped +with elaborate leaps in front of the warriors, like a little +kid leading a band of lions. A.M.) + +The A.M. being done, I go on again. All this made it very +possible that even if none of our boys had stolen the pig, +some of them might know the thief. Besides, the theft, as it +was a theft of meat prepared for a guest, had something of +the nature of an insult, and 'my face,' in native phrase, +'was ashamed.' Accordingly, we determined to hold a bed of +justice. It was done last night after dinner. I sat at the +head of the table, Graham on my right hand, Henry Simele at +my left, Lloyd behind him. The house company sat on the +floor around the walls - twelve all told. I am described as +looking as like Braxfield as I could manage with my +appearance; Graham, who is of a severe countenance, looked +like Rhadamanthus; Lloyd was hideous to the view; and Simele +had all the fine solemnity of a Samoan chief. The +proceedings opened by my delivering a Samoan prayer, which +may be translated thus - 'Our God, look down upon us and +shine into our hearts. Help us to be far from falsehood so +that each one of us may stand before Thy Face in his +integrity.' - Then, beginning with Simele, every one came up +to the table, laid his hand on the Bible, and repeated clause +by clause after me the following oath - I fear it may sound +even comic in English, but it is a very pretty piece of +Samoan, and struck direct at the most lively superstitions of +the race. 'This is the Holy Bible here that I am touching. +Behold me, O God! If I know who it was that took away the +pig, or the place to which it was taken, or have heard +anything relating to it, and shall not declare the same - be +made an end of by God this life of mine!' They all took it +with so much seriousness and firmness that (as Graham said) +if they were not innocent they would make invaluable +witnesses. I was so far impressed by their bearing that I +went no further, and the funny and yet strangely solemn scene +came to an end. + + +SUNDAY, NO. 6th. + + +Here is a long story to go back upon, and I wonder if I have +either time or patience for the task? + +Wednesday I had a great idea of match-making, and proposed to +Henry that Faale would make a good wife for him. I wish I +had put this down when it was fresher in my mind, it was so +interesting an interview. My gentleman would not tell if I +were on or not. 'I do not know yet; I will tell you next +week. May I tell the sister of my father? No, better not, +tell her when it is done.' - 'But will not your family be +angry if you marry without asking them?' - 'My village? What +does my village want? Mats!' I said I thought the girl +would grow up to have a great deal of sense, and my gentleman +flew out upon me; she had sense now, he said. + +Thursday, we were startled by the note of guns, and presently +after heard it was an English war ship. Graham and I set off +at once, and as soon as we met any townsfolk they began +crying to me that I was to be arrested. It was the VOSSISCHE +ZEITUNG article which had been quoted in a paper. Went on +board and saw Captain Bourke; he did not even know - not even +guess - why he was here; having been sent off by cablegram +from Auckland. It is hoped the same ship that takes this off +Europewards may bring his orders and our news. But which is +it to be? Heads or tails? If it is to be German, I hope +they will deport me; I should prefer it so; I do not think +that I could bear a German officialdom, and should probably +have to leave SPONTE MEA, which is only less picturesque and +more expensive. + + +8TH. + + +Mail day. All well, not yet put in prison, whatever may be +in store for me. No time even to sign this lame letter. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + + +DEC. 1ST. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - Another grimy little odd and end of paper, +for which you shall be this month repaid in kind, and serve +you jolly well right. . . The new house is roofed; it will +be a braw house, and what is better, I have my yearly bill +in, and I find I can pay for it. For all which mercies, etc. +I must have made close on 4,000 pounds this year all told; +but, what is not so pleasant, I seem to have come near to +spending them. I have been in great alarm, with this new +house on the cards, all summer, and came very near to taking +in sail, but I live here so entirely on credit, that I +determined to hang on. + + +DEC. 1ST. + + +I was saying yesterday that my life was strange and did not +think how well I spoke. Yesterday evening I was briefed to +defend a political prisoner before the Deputy Commissioner. +What do you think of that for a vicissitude? + + +DEC. 3RD. + + +Now for a confession. When I heard you and Cassells had +decided to print THE BOTTLE IMP along with FALESA, I was too +much disappointed to answer. THE BOTTLE IMP was the PIECE DE +RESISTANCE for my volume, ISLAND NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS. +However, that volume might have never got done; and I send +you two others in case they should be in time. + +First have the BEACH OF FALESA. + +Then a fresh false title: ISLAND NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS; and +then + +THE BOTTLE IMP: a cue from an old melodrama. + +THE ISLE OF VOICES. + +THE WAIF WOMAN; a cue from a SAGA. + +Of course these two others are not up to the mark of THE +BOTTLE IMP; but they each have a certain merit, and they fit +in style. By saying 'a cue from an old melodrama' after the +B. I., you can get rid of my note. If this is in time, it +will be splendid, and will make quite a volume. + +Should you and Cassells prefer, you can call the whole volume +I. N. E. - though the BEACH OF FALESA is the child of a quite +different inspiration. They all have a queer realism, even +the most extravagant, even the ISLE OF VOICES; the manners +are exact. + +Should they come too late, have them type-written, and return +to me here the type-written copies. + + +SUNDAY, DEC. 4TH. + + +3rd start, - But now more humbly and with the aid of an +Amanuensis. First one word about page 2. My wife protests +against the Waif-woman and I am instructed to report the same +to you. . . . + + +DEC. 5TH. + + +A horrid alarm rises that our October mail was burned +crossing the Plains. If so, you lost a beautiful long letter +- I am sure it was beautiful though I remember nothing about +it - and I must say I think it serves you properly well. +That I should continue writing to you at such length is +simply a vicious habit for which I blush. At the same time, +please communicate at once with Charles Baxter whether you +have or have not received a letter posted here Oct 12th, as +he is going to cable me the fate of my mail. + +Now to conclude my news. The German Firm have taken my book +like angels, and the result is that Lloyd and I were down +there at dinner on Saturday, where we partook of fifteen +several dishes and eight distinct forms of intoxicating +drink. To the credit of Germany, I must say there was not a +shadow of a headache the next morning. I seem to have done +as well as my neighbours, for I hear one of the clerks +expressed the next morning a gratified surprise that Mr. +Stevenson stood his drink so well. It is a strange thing +that any race can still find joy in such athletic exercises. +I may remark in passing that the mail is due and you have had +far more than you deserve. +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + + +JANUARY 1893. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - You are properly paid at last, and it is +like you will have but a shadow of a letter. I have been +pretty thoroughly out of kilter; first a fever that would +neither come on nor go off, then acute dyspepsia, in the +weakening grasp of which I get wandering between the waking +state and one of nightmare. Why the devil does no one send +me ATALANTA? And why are there no proofs of D. Balfour? +Sure I should have had the whole, at least the half, of them +by now; and it would be all for the advantage of the +Atalantans. I have written to Cassell & Co. (matter of +FALESA) 'you will please arrange with him' (meaning you). +'What he may decide I shall abide.' So consider your hand +free, and act for me without fear or favour. I am greatly +pleased with the illustrations. It is very strange to a +South-Seayer to see Hawaiian women dressed like Samoans, but +I guess that's all one to you in Middlesex. It's about the +same as if London city men were shown going to the Stock +Exchange as PIFFERARI; but no matter, none will sleep worse +for it. I have accepted Cassell's proposal as an amendment +to one of mine; that D. B. is to be brought out first under +the title CATRIONA without pictures; and, when the hour +strikes, KIDNAPPED and CATRIONA are to form vols. I. and II. +of the heavily illustrated 'Adventures of David Balfour' at +7s. 6d. each, sold separately. + +-'s letter was vastly sly and dry and shy. I am not afraid +now. Two attempts have been made, both have failed, and I +imagine these failures strengthen me. Above all this is true +of the last, where my weak point was attempted. On every +other, I am strong. Only force can dislodge me, for public +opinion is wholly on my side. All races and degrees are +united in heartfelt opposition to the Men of Mulinuu. The +news of the fighting was of no concern to mortal man; it was +made much of because men love talk of battles, and because +the Government pray God daily for some scandal not their own; +but it was only a brisk episode in a clan fight which has +grown apparently endemic in the west of Tutuila. At the best +it was a twopenny affair, and never occupied my mind five +minutes. + +I am so weary of reports that are without foundation and +threats that go without fulfilment, and so much occupied +besides by the raging troubles of my own wame, that I have +been very slack on politics, as I have been in literature. +With incredible labour, I have rewritten the First Chapter of +the Justice Clerk; it took me about ten days, and requires +another athletic dressing after all. And that is my story +for the month. The rest is grunting and grutching. + +Consideranda for THE BEACH:- + +I. Whether to add one or both the tales I sent you? +II. Whether to call the whole volume 'Island Nights +Entertainments'? +III Whether, having waited so long, it would not be better to +give me another mail, in case I could add another member to +the volume and a little better justify the name? + +If I possibly can draw up another story, I will. What +annoyed me about the use of THE BOTTLE IMP was that I had +always meant it for the centre-piece of a volume of MARCHEN +which I was slowly to elaborate. You always had an idea that +I depreciated the B. I; I can't think wherefore; I always +particularly liked it - one of my best works, and ill to +equal; and that was why I loved to keep it in portfolio till +I had time to grow up to some other fruit of the same VENUE. +However, that is disposed of now, and we must just do the +best we can. + +I am not aware that there is anything to add; the weather is +hellish, waterspouts, mists, chills, the foul fiend's own +weather, following on a week of expurgated heaven; so it goes +at this bewildering season. I write in the upper floor of my +new house, of which I will send you some day a plan to +measure. 'Tis an elegant structure, surely, and the proid of +me oi. Was asked to pay for it just now, and genteelly +refused, and then agreed, in view of general good-will, to +pay a half of what is still due. + + +24TH JANUARY 1893. + + +This ought to have gone last mail and was forgotten. My best +excuse is that I was engaged in starting an influenza, to +which class of exploit our household has been since then +entirely dedicated. We had eight cases, one of them very +bad, and one - mine - complicated with my old friend Bluidy +Jack. Luckily neither Fanny, Lloyd or Belle took the +confounded thing, and they were able to run the household and +nurse the sick to admiration. + +Some of our boys behaved like real trumps. Perhaps the +prettiest performance was that of our excellent Henry Simele, +or, as we sometimes call him, Davy Balfour. Henry, I maun +premeese, is a chief; the humblest Samoan recoils from +emptying slops as you would from cheating at cards; now the +last nights of our bad time when we had seven down together, +it was enough to have made anybody laugh or cry to see Henry +going the rounds with a slop-bucket and going inside the +mosquito net of each of the sick, Protestant and Catholic +alike, to pray with them. + +I must tell you that in my sickness I had a huge alleviation +and began a new story. This I am writing by dictation, and +really think it is an art I can manage to acquire. The +relief is beyond description; it is just like a school-treat +to me and the amanuensis bears up extraordinar'. The story +is to be called ST. IVES; I give you your choice whether or +not it should bear the subtitle, 'Experiences of a French +prisoner in England.' We were just getting on splendidly +with it, when this cursed mail arrived and requires to be +attended to. It looks to me very like as if St. Ives would +be ready before any of the others, but you know me and how +impossible it is I should predict. The Amanuensis has her +head quite turned and believes herself to be the author of +this novel (and IS to some extent) - and as the creature (!) +has not been wholly useless in the matter (I told you so! +A.M.) I propose to foster her vanity by a little +commemoration gift! The name of the hero is Anne de St. Yves +- he Englishes his name to St. Ives during his escape. It is +my idea to get a ring made which shall either represent ANNE +or A. S. Y. A., of course, would be Amethyst and S. Sapphire, +which is my favourite stone anyway and was my father's before +me. But what would the ex-Slade professor do about the +letter Y? Or suppose he took the other version, how would he +meet the case, the two N.'s? These things are beyond my +knowledge, which it would perhaps be more descriptive to call +ignorance. But I place the matter in the meanwhile under +your consideration and beg to hear your views. I shall tell +you on some other occasion and when the A.M. is out of +hearing how VERY much I propose to invest in this +testimonial; but I may as well inform you at once that I +intend it to be cheap, sir, damned cheap! My idea of running +amanuenses is by praise, not pudding, flattery and not coins! +I shall send you when the time is ripe a ring to measure by. + +To resume our sad tale. After the other seven were almost +wholly recovered Henry lay down to influenza on his own +account. He is but just better and it looks as though Fanny +were about to bring up the rear. As for me, I am all right, +though I WAS reduced to dictating ANNE in the deaf and dumb +alphabet, which I think you will admit is a COMBLE. + +Politics leave me extraordinary cold. It seems that so much +of my purpose has come off, and Cedarcrantz and Pilsach are +sacked. The rest of it has all gone to water. The triple- +headed ass at home, in his plenitude of ignorance, prefers to +collect the taxes and scatter the Mataafas by force or the +threat of force. It may succeed, and I suppose it will. It +is none the less for that expensive, harsh, unpopular and +unsettling. I am young enough to have been annoyed, and +altogether eject and renegate the whole idea of political +affairs. Success in that field appears to be the +organisation of failure enlivened with defamation of +character; and, much as I love pickles and hot water (in your +true phrase) I shall take my pickles in future from Crosse +and Blackwell and my hot water with a dose of good Glenlivat. + +Do not bother at all about the wall-papers. We have had the +whole of our new house varnished, and it looks beautiful. I +wish you could see the hall; poor room, it had to begin life +as an infirmary during our recent visitation; but it is +really a handsome comely place, and when we get the +furniture, and the pictures, and what is so very much more +decorative, the picture frames, will look sublime. + + +JAN. 30TH. + + +I have written to Charles asking for Rowlandson's Syntax and +Dance of Death out of our house, and begging for anything +about fashions and manners (fashions particularly) for 1814. +Can you help? Both the Justice Clerk and St. Ives fall in +that fated year. Indeed I got into St. Ives while going over +the Annual Register for the other. There is a kind of fancy +list of Chaps. of St. Ives. (It begins in Edinburgh Castle.) +I. Story of a lion rampant (that was a toy he had made, and +given to a girl visitor). II. Story of a pair of scissors. +III. St. Ives receives a bundle of money. IV. St. Ives is +shown a house. V. The Escape. VI. The Cottage (Swanston +College). VII. The Hen-house. VIII. Three is company and +four none. IX. The Drovers. X. The Great North Road. XI. +Burchell Fenn. XII. The covered cart. XIII. The doctor. +XIV. The Luddites. V. Set a thief to catch a thief. XXVI. +M. le Comte de Keroualle (his uncle, the rich EMIGRE, whom he +finds murdered). XVII. The cousins. XVIII. Mr. Sergeant +Garrow. XIX. A meeting at the Ship, Dover. XX. Diane. XXI. +The Duke's Prejudices. XXII. The False Messenger. XXIII. +The gardener's ladder. XXIV. The officers. XXV. Trouble +with the Duke. XXVI. Fouquet again. XXVII. The Aeronaut. +XXVIII. The True-Blooded Yankee. XXIX. In France. I don't +know where to stop. Apropos, I want a book about Paris, and +the FIRST RETURN of the EMIGRES and all up to the CENT JOURS: +d'ye ken anything in my way? I want in particular to know +about them and the Napoleonic functionaries and officers, and +to get the colour and some vital details of the business of +exchange of departments from one side to the other. Ten +chapters are drafted, and VIII. re-copied by me, but will +want another dressing for luck. It is merely a story of +adventure, rambling along; but that is perhaps the guard that +'sets my genius best,' as Alan might have said. I wish I +could feel as easy about the other! But there, all novels +are a heavy burthen while they are doing, and a sensible +disappointment when they are done. + +For God's sake, let me have a copy of the new German Samoa +White book. R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + + +AT SEA, S.S. & MARIPOSA, +FEB. 19th, '93. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - You will see from this heading that I am +not dead yet nor likely to be. I was pretty considerably out +of sorts, and that is indeed one reason why Fanny, Belle, and +I have started out for a month's lark. To be quite exact, I +think it will be about five weeks before we get home. We +shall stay between two and three in Sydney. Already, though +we only sailed yesterday, I am feeling as fit as a fiddle. +Fanny ate a whole fowl for breakfast, to say nothing of a +tower of hot cakes. Belle and I floored another hen betwixt +the pair of us, and I shall be no sooner done with the +present amanuensing racket than I shall put myself outside a +pint of Guinness. If you think this looks like dying of +consumption in Apia I can only say I differ from you. In the +matter of David, I have never yet received my proofs at all, +but shall certainly wait for your suggestions. Certainly, +Chaps. 17 to 20 are the hitch, and I confess I hurried over +them with both wings spread. This is doubtless what you +complain of. Indeed, I placed my single reliance on Miss +Grant. If she couldn't ferry me over, I felt I had to stay +there. + +About ISLAND NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS all you say is highly +satisfactory. Go in and win. + +The extracts from the TIMES I really cannot trust myself to +comment upon. They were infernally satisfactory; so, and +perhaps still more so, was a letter I had at the same time +from Lord Pembroke. If I have time as I go through Auckland, +I am going to see Sir George Grey. + +Now I really think that's all the business. I have been +rather sick and have had two small hemorrhages, but the +second I believe to have been accidental. No good denying +that this annoys, because it do. However, you must expect +influenza to leave some harm, and my spirits, appetite, peace +on earth and goodwill to men are all on a rising market. +During the last week the amanuensis was otherwise engaged, +whereupon I took up, pitched into, and about one half +demolished another tale, once intended to be called THE PEARL +FISHER, but now razeed and called THE SCHOONER FARRALONE. We +had a capital start, the steamer coming in at sunrise, and +just giving us time to get our letters ere she sailed again. +The manager of the German firm (O strange, changed days!) +danced attendance upon us all morning; his boat conveyed us +to and from the steamer. + + +FEB. 21ST. + + +All continues well. Amanuensis bowled over for a day, but +afoot again and jolly; Fanny enormously bettered by the +voyage; I have been as jolly as a sand-boy as usual at sea. +The Amanuensis sits opposite to me writing to her offspring. +Fanny is on deck. I have just supplied her with the Canadian +Pacific Agent, and so left her in good hands. You should +hear me at table with the Ulster purser and a little punning +microscopist called Davis. Belle does some kind of abstruse +Boswellising; after the first meal, having gauged the kind of +jests that would pay here, I observed, 'Boswell is Barred +during this cruise.' + + +23RD + + +We approach Auckland and I must close my mail. All goes well +with the trio. Both the ladies are hanging round a beau - +the same - that I unearthed for them: I am general provider, +and especially great in the beaux business. I corrected some +proofs for Fanny yesterday afternoon, fell asleep over them +in the saloon - and the whole ship seems to have been down +beholding me. After I woke up, had a hot bath, a whiskey +punch and a cigarette, and went to bed, and to sleep too, at +8.30; a recrudescence of Vailima hours. Awoke to-day, and +had to go to the saloon clock for the hour - no sign of dawn +- all heaven grey rainy fog. Have just had breakfast, +written up one letter, register and close this. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + + +Bad pen, bad ink, +bad light, bad +blotting-paper. + +S. S. MARIPOSA, AT SEA. +APIA DUE BY DAYBREAK TO-MORROW 9 P.M. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - Have had an amusing but tragic holiday, +from which we return in disarray. Fanny quite sick, but I +think slowly and steadily mending; Belle in a terrific state +of dentistry troubles which now seem calmed; and myself with +a succession of gentle colds out of which I at last succeeded +in cooking up a fine pleurisy. By stopping and stewing in a +perfectly airless state-room I seem to have got rid of the +pleurisy. Poor Fanny had very little fun of her visit, +having been most of the time on a diet of maltine and slops - +and this while the rest of us were rioting on oysters and +mushrooms. Belle's only devil in the hedge was the dentist. +As for me, I was entertained at the General Assembly of the +Presbyterian Church, likewise at a sort of artistic club; +made speeches at both, and may therefore be said to have +been, like Saint Paul, all things to all men. I have an +account of the latter racket which I meant to have enclosed +in this. . . . Had some splendid photos taken, likewise a +medallion by a French sculptor; met Graham, who returned with +us as far as Auckland. Have seen a good deal too of Sir +George Grey; what a wonderful old historic figure to be +walking on your arm and recalling ancient events and +instances! It makes a man small, and yet the extent to which +he approved what I had done - or rather have tried to do - +encouraged me. Sir George is an expert at least, he knows +these races: he is not a small employe with an ink-pot and a +Whittaker. + +Take it for all in all, it was huge fun: even Fanny had some +lively sport at the beginning; Belle and I all through. We +got Fanny a dress on the sly, gaudy black velvet and Duchesse +lace. And alas! she was only able to wear it once. But +we'll hope to see more of it at Samoa; it really is lovely. +Both dames are royally outfitted in silk stockings, etc. We +return, as from a raid, with our spoils and our wounded. I +am now very dandy: I announced two years ago that I should +change. Slovenly youth, all right - not slovenly age. So +really now I am pretty spruce; always a white shirt, white +necktie, fresh shave, silk, socks, O a great sight! - No more +possible, +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + + +APRIL, 1893. + + +1. SLIP 3. Davie would be ATTRACTED into a similar dialect, +as he is later - e.g., with Doig, chapter XIX. This is truly +Scottish. + +4, TO LIGHTLY; correct; 'to lightly' is a good regular Scots +verb. + +15. See Allan Ramsay's works. + +15, 16. Ay, and that is one of the pigments with which I am +trying to draw the character of Prestongrange. 'Tis a most +curious thing to render that kind, insignificant mask. To +make anything precise is to risk my effect. And till the day +he died, DAVIE was never sure of what P. was after. Not only +so; very often P. didn't know himself. There was an element +of mere liking for Davie; there was an element of being +determined, in case of accidents, to keep well with him. He +hoped his Barbara would bring him to her feet, besides, and +make him manageable. That was why he sent him to Hope Park +with them. But Davie cannot KNOW; I give you the inside of +Davie, and my method condemns me to give only the outside +both of Prestongrange and his policy. + +- I'll give my mind to the technicalities. Yet to me they +seem a part of the story, which is historical, after all. + +- I think they wanted Alan to escape. But when or where to +say so? I will try. + +- 20, DEAN. I'll try and make that plainer. + +CHAP. XIII., I fear it has to go without blows. If I could +get the pair - No, can't be. + +- XIV. All right, will abridge. + +- XV. I'd have to put a note to every word; and he who can't +read Scots can NEVER enjoy Tod Lapraik. + +- XVII. Quite right. I CAN make this plainer, and will. + +- XVIII. I know, but I have to hurry here; this is the +broken back of my story; some business briefly transacted, I +am leaping for Barbara's apron-strings. + +SLIP 57. Quite right again; I shall make it plain. + +CHAP. XX. I shall make all these points clear. About Lady +Prestongrange (not LADY Grant, only MISS Grant, my dear, +though LADY Prestongrange, quoth the dominie) I am taken with +your idea of her death, and have a good mind to substitute a +featureless aunt. + +SLIP 78. I don't see how to lessen this effect. There is +really not much said of it; and I know Catriona did it. But +I'll try. + +- 89. I know. This is an old puzzle of mine. You see C.'s +dialect is not wholly a bed of roses. If only I knew the +Gaelic. Well, I'll try for another expression. + +THE END. I shall try to work it over. James was at Dunkirk +ordering post-horses for his own retreat. Catriona did have +her suspicions aroused by the letter, and, careless +gentleman, I told you so - or she did at least. - Yes, the +blood money, I am bothered about the portmanteau; it is the +presence of Catriona that bothers me; the rape of the +pockmantie is historic. . . . + +To me, I own, it seems in the proof a very pretty piece of +workmanship. David himself I refuse to discuss; he IS. The +Lord Advocate I think a strong sketch of a very difficult +character, James More, sufficient; and the two girls very +pleasing creatures. But O dear me, I came near losing my +heart to Barbara! I am not quite so constant as David, and +even he - well, he didn't know it, anyway! TOD LAPRAIK is a +piece of living Scots: if I had never writ anything but that +and THRAWN JANET, still I'd have been a writer. The defects +of D.B. are inherent, I fear. But on the whole, I am far +indeed from being displeased with the tailie. They want more +Alan? Well, they can't get it. + +I found my fame much grown on this return to civilisation. +DIGITO MONSTRARI is a new experience; people all looked at me +in the streets in Sydney; and it was very queer. Here, of +course, I am only the white chief in the Great House to the +natives; and to the whites, either an ally or a foe. It is a +much healthier state of matters. If I lived in an atmosphere +of adulation, I should end by kicking against the pricks. O +my beautiful forest, O my beautiful shining, windy house, +what a joy it was to behold them again! No chance to take +myself too seriously here. + +The difficulty of the end is the mass of matter to be +attended to, and the small time left to transact it in. I +mean from Alan's danger of arrest. But I have just seen my +way out, I do believe. + + +EASTER SUNDAY. + + +I have now got as far as slip 28, and finished the chapter of +the law technicalities. Well, these seemed to me always of +the essence of the story, which is the story of a CAUSE +CELEBRE; moreover, they are the justification of my +inventions; if these men went so far (granting Davie sprung +on them) would they not have gone so much further? But of +course I knew they were a difficulty; determined to carry +them through in a conversation; approached this (it seems) +with cowardly anxiety; and filled it with gabble, sir, +gabble. I have left all my facts, but have removed 42 lines. +I should not wonder but what I'll end by re-writing it. It +is not the technicalities that shocked you, it was my bad +art. It is very strange that X. should be so good a chapter +and IX. and XI. so uncompromisingly bad. It looks as if XI. +also would have to be re-formed. If X. had not cheered me +up, I should be in doleful dumps, but X. is alive anyway, and +life is all in all. + + +THURSDAY, APRIL 5TH. + + +Well, there's no disguise possible; Fanny is not well, and we +are miserably anxious. . . . + + +FRIDAY, 7TH. + + +I am thankful to say the new medicine relieved her at once. +A crape has been removed from the day for all of us. To make +things better, the morning is ah! such a morning as you have +never seen; heaven upon earth for sweetness, freshness, depth +upon depth of unimaginable colour, and a huge silence broken +at this moment only by the far-away murmur of the Pacific and +the rich piping of a single bird. You can't conceive what a +relief this is; it seems a new world. She has such +extraordinary recuperative power that I do hope for the best. +I am as tired as man can be. This is a great trial to a +family, and I thank God it seems as if ours was going to bear +it well. And O! if it only lets up, it will be but a +pleasant memory. We are all seedy, bar Lloyd: Fanny, as per +above; self nearly extinct; Belle, utterly overworked and bad +toothache; Cook, down with a bad foot; Butler, prostrate with +a bad leg. Eh, what a faim'ly! + + +SUNDAY. + + +Grey heaven, raining torrents of rain; occasional thunder and +lightning. Everything to dispirit; but my invalids are +really on the mend. The rain roars like the sea; in the +sound of it there is a strange and ominous suggestion of an +approaching tramp; something nameless and measureless seems +to draw near, and strikes me cold, and yet is welcome. I lie +quiet in bed to-day, and think of the universe with a good +deal of equanimity. I have, at this moment, but the one +objection to it; the FRACAS with which it proceeds. I do not +love noise; I am like my grandfather in that; and so many +years in these still islands has ingrained the sentiment +perhaps. Here are no trains, only men pacing barefoot. No +carts or carriages; at worst the rattle of a horse's shoes +among the rocks. Beautiful silence; and so soon as this +robustious rain takes off, I am to drink of it again by +oceanfuls. + + +APRIL 16TH. + + +Several pages of this letter destroyed as beneath scorn; the +wailings of a crushed worm; matter in which neither you nor I +can take stock. Fanny is distinctly better, I believe all +right now; I too am mending, though I have suffered from +crushed wormery, which is not good for the body, and +damnation to the soul. I feel to-night a baseless anxiety to +write a lovely poem A PROPOS DES BOTTES DE MA GRANDMERE. I +see I am idiotic. I'll try the poem. + + +17TH. + + +The poem did not get beyond plovers and lovers. I am still, +however, harassed by the unauthentic Muse; if I cared to +encourage her - but I have not the time, and anyway we are at +the vernal equinox. It is funny enough, but my pottering +verses are usually made (like the God-gifted organ voice's) +at the autumnal; and this seems to hold at the Antipodes. +There is here some odd secret of Nature. I cannot speak of +politics; we wait and wonder. It seems (this is partly a +guess) Ide won't take the C. J. ship, unless the islands are +disarmed; and that England hesitates and holds off. By my +own idea, strongly corroborated by Sir George, I am writing +no more letters. But I have put as many irons in against +this folly of the disarming as I could manage. It did not +reach my ears till nearly too late. What a risk to take! +What an expense to incur! And for how poor a gain! Apart +from the treachery of it. My dear fellow, politics is a vile +and a bungling business. I used to think meanly of the +plumber; but how he shines beside the politician! + + +THURSDAY. + + +A general, steady advance; Fanny really quite chipper and +jolly - self on the rapid mend, and with my eye on FORESTS +that are to fall - and my finger on the axe, which wants +stoning. + + +SATURDAY, 22. + + +Still all for the best; but I am having a heart-breaking time +over DAVID. I have nearly all corrected. But have to +consider THE HEATHER ON FIRE, THE WOOD BY SILVERMILLS, and +the last chapter. They all seem to me off colour; and I am +not fit to better them yet. No proof has been sent of the +title, contents, or dedication. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + + +25TH APRIL. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - To-day early I sent down to Maben +(Secretary of State) an offer to bring up people from Malie, +keep them in my house, and bring them down day by day for so +long as the negotiation should last. I have a favourable +answer so far. This I would not have tried, had not old Sir +George Grey put me on my mettle; 'Never despair,' was his +word; and 'I am one of the few people who have lived long +enough to see how true that is.' Well, thereupon I plunged +in; and the thing may do me great harm, but yet I do not +think so - for I think jealousy will prevent the trial being +made. And at any rate it is another chance for this +distracted archipelago of children, sat upon by a clique of +fools. If, by the gift of God, I can do - I am allowed to +try to do - and succeed: but no, the prospect is too bright +to be entertained. + +To-day we had a ride down to Tanugamanono, and then by the +new wood paths. One led us to a beautiful clearing, with +four native houses; taro, yams, and the like, excellently +planted, and old Folau - 'the Samoan Jew' - sitting and +whistling there in his new-found and well-deserved well- +being. It was a good sight to see a Samoan thus before the +world. Further up, on our way home, we saw the world clear, +and the wide die of the shadow lying broad; we came but a +little further, and found in the borders of the bush a +Banyan. It must have been 150 feet in height; the trunk, and +its acolytes, occupied a great space; above that, in the +peaks of the branches, quite a forest of ferns and orchids +were set; and over all again the huge spread of the boughs +rose against the bright west, and sent their shadow miles to +the eastward. I have not often seen anything more satisfying +than this vast vegetable. + + +SUNDAY. + + +A heavenly day again! the world all dead silence, save when, +from far down below us in the woods, comes up the crepitation +of the little wooden drum that beats to church. Scarce a +leaf stirs; only now and again a great, cool gush of air that +makes my papers fly, and is gone. - The King of Samoa has +refused my intercession between him and Mataafa; and I do not +deny this is a good riddance to me of a difficult business, +in which I might very well have failed. What else is to be +done for these silly folks? + + +MAY 12TH. + + +And this is where I had got to, before the mail arrives with, +I must say, a real gentlemanly letter from yourself. Sir, +that is the sort of letter I want! Now, I'll make my little +proposal. I will accept CHILD'S PLAY and PAN'S PIPES. Then I +want PASTORAL, THE MANSE, THE ISLET, leaving out if you like +all the prefacial matter and beginning at I. Then the +portrait of Robert Hunter, beginning 'Whether he was +originally big or little,' and ending 'fearless and gentle.' +So much for MEM. AND PORTRAITS. BEGGARS, sections I. and +II., RANDOM MEMORIES II., and LANTERN BEARERS; I'm agreeable. +These are my selections. I don't know about PULVIS ET UMBRA +either, but must leave that to you. But just what you +please. + +About DAVIE I elaborately wrote last time, but still DAVIE is +not done; I am grinding singly at THE EBB TIDE, as we now +call the FARALLONE; the most of it will go this mail. About +the following, let there be no mistake: I will not write the +abstract of KIDNAPPED; write it who will, I will not. +Boccaccio must have been a clever fellow to write both +argument and story; I am not, ET JE ME RECUSE. + +We call it THE EBB TIDE: A TRIO AND QUARTETTE; but that +secondary name you may strike out if it seems dull to you. +The book, however, falls in two halves, when the fourth +character appears. I am on p. 82 if you want to know, and +expect to finish on I suppose 110 or so; but it goes slowly, +as you may judge from the fact that this three weeks past, I +have only struggled from p. 58 to p. 82: twenty-four pages, +ET ENCORE sure to be rewritten, in twenty-one days. This is +no prize-taker; not much Waverley Novels about this! + + + +MAY 16TH. + + +I believe it will be ten chapters of THE EBB TIDE that go to +you; the whole thing should be completed in I fancy twelve; +and the end will follow punctually next mail. It is my great +wish that this might get into THE ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS for +Gordon Browne to illustrate. For whom, in case he should get +the job, I give you a few notes. A purao is a tree giving +something like a fig with flowers. He will find some +photographs of an old marine curiosity shop in my collection, +which may help him. Attwater's settlement is to be entirely +overshadowed everywhere by tall palms; see photographs of +Fakarava: the verandahs of the house are 12 ft. wide. Don't +let him forget the Figure Head, for which I have a great use +in the last chapter. It stands just clear of the palms on +the crest of the beach at the head of the pier; the flag- +staff not far off; the pier he will understand is perhaps +three feet above high water, not more at any price. The +sailors of the FARALLONE are to be dressed like white sailors +of course. For other things, I remit this excellent artist +to my photographs. + +I can't think what to say about the tale, but it seems to me +to go off with a considerable bang; in fact, to be an +extraordinary work: but whether popular! Attwater is a no +end of a courageous attempt, I think you will admit; how far +successful is another affair. If my island ain't a thing of +beauty, I'll be damned. Please observe Wiseman and Wishart; +for incidental grimness, they strike me as in it. Also, +kindly observe the Captain and ADAR; I think that knocks +spots. In short, as you see, I'm a trifle vainglorious. But +O, it has been such a grind! The devil himself would allow a +man to brag a little after such a crucifixion! And indeed +I'm only bragging for a change before I return to the darned +thing lying waiting for me on p. 88, where I last broke down. +I break down at every paragraph, I may observe; and lie here +and sweat, till I can get one sentence wrung out after +another. Strange doom; after having worked so easily for so +long! Did ever anybody see such a story of four characters? + + +LATER, 2.30. + + +It may interest you to know that I am entirely TAPU, and live +apart in my chambers like a caged beast. Lloyd has a bad +cold, and Graham and Belle are getting it. Accordingly, I +dwell here without the light of any human countenance or +voice, and strap away at THE EBB TIDE until (as now) I can no +more. Fanny can still come, but is gone to glory now, or to +her garden. Page 88 is done, and must be done over again to- +morrow, and I confess myself exhausted. Pity a man who can't +work on along when he has nothing else on earth to do! But I +have ordered Jack, and am going for a ride in the bush +presently to refresh the machine; then back to a lonely +dinner and durance vile. I acquiesce in this hand of fate; +for I think another cold just now would just about do for me. +I have scarce yet recovered the two last. + + +MAY 18TH. + + +My progress is crabwise, and I fear only IX. chapters will be +ready for the mail. I am on p. 88 again, and with half an +idea of going back again to 85. We shall see when we come to +read: I used to regard reading as a pleasure in my old light +days. All the house are down with the influenza in a body, +except Fanny and me. The influenza appears to become endemic +here, but it has always been a scourge in the islands. +Witness the beginning of THE EBB TIDE, which was observed +long before the Iffle had distinguished himself at home by +such Napoleonic conquests. I am now of course 'quite a +recluse,' and it is very stale, and there is no amanuensis to +carry me over my mail, to which I shall have to devote many +hours that would have been more usefully devoted to THE EBB +TIDE. For you know you can dictate at all hours of the day +and at any odd moment; but to sit down and write with your +red right hand is a very different matter. + + +MAY 20TH. + + +Well, I believe I've about finished the thing, I mean as far +as the mail is to take it. Chapter X. is now in Lloyd's +hands for remarks, and extends in its present form to p. 93 +incl. On the 12th of May, I see by looking back, I was on p. +82, not for the first time; so that I have made 11 pages in +nine livelong days. Well! up a high hill he heaved a huge +round stone. But this Flaubert business must be resisted in +the premises. Or is it the result of influenza? God forbid. +Fanny is down now, and the last link that bound me to my +fellow men is severed. I sit up here, and write, and read +Renan's ORIGINES, which is certainly devilish interesting; I +read his Nero yesterday, it is very good, O, very good! But +he is quite a Michelet; the general views, and such a piece +of character painting, excellent; but his method sheer +lunacy. You can see him take up the block which he had just +rejected, and make of it the corner-stone: a maddening way to +deal with authorities; and the result so little like history +that one almost blames oneself for wasting time. But the +time is not wasted; the conspectus is always good, and the +blur that remains on the mind is probably just enough. I +have been enchanted with the unveiling of Revelations. And +how picturesque that return of the false Nero! The Apostle +John is rather discredited. And to think how one had read +the thing so often, and never understood the attacks upon St. +Paul! I remember when I was a child, and we came to the Four +Beasts that were all over eyes, the sickening terror with +which I was filled. If that was Heaven, what, in the name of +Davy Jones and the aboriginal night-mare, could Hell be? +Take it for all in all, L'ANTECHRIST is worth reading. The +HISTOIRE D'ISRAEL did not surprise me much; I had read those +Hebrew sources with more intelligence than the New Testament, +and was quite prepared to admire Ahab and Jezebel, etc. +Indeed, Ahab has always been rather a hero of mine; I mean +since the years of discretion. + + +MAY 21ST. + + +And here I am back again on p. 85! the last chapter demanding +an entire revision, which accordingly it is to get. And +where my mail is to come in, God knows! This forced, +violent, alembicated style is most abhorrent to me; it can't +be helped; the note was struck years ago on the JANET NICOLL, +and has to be maintained somehow; and I can only hope the +intrinsic horror and pathos, and a kind of fierce glow of +colour there is to it, and the surely remarkable wealth of +striking incident, may guide our little shallop into port. +If Gordon Browne is to get it, he should see the Brassey +photographs of Papeete. But mind, the three waifs were never +in the town; only on the beach and in the calaboose. By +George, but it's a good thing to illustrate for a man like +that! Fanny is all right again. False alarm! I was down +yesterday afternoon at Paupata, and heard much growling of +war, and the delightful news that the C. J. and the President +are going to run away from Mulinuu and take refuge in the +Tivoli hotel. + + +23RD. MAIL DAY. + + +And lots of pleasures before me, no doubt! Among others the +attempt to extract an answer from - before mail time, which +may succeed or may not. + +THE EBB TIDE, all but (I take it) fifteen pages, is now in +your hands - possibly only about eleven pp. It is hard to +say. But there it is, and you can do your best with it. +Personally, I believe I would in this case make even a +sacrifice to get Gordon Browne and copious illustration. I +guess in ten days I shall have finished with it; then I go +next to D. BALFOUR, and get the proofs ready: a nasty job for +me, as you know. And then? Well, perhaps I'll take a go at +the family history. I think that will be wise, as I am so +much off work. And then, I suppose, WEIR OF HERMISTON, but +it may be anything. I am discontented with THE EBB TIDE, +naturally; there seems such a veil of words over it; and I +like more and more naked writing; and yet sometimes one has a +longing for full colour and there comes the veil again. THE +YOUNG CHEVALIER is in very full colour, and I fear it for +that reason. - +Ever, +R. L S. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + + +29TH MAY. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - Still grinding at Chap. XI. I began many +days ago on p. 93, and am still on p. 93, which is +exhilarating, but the thing takes shape all the same and +should make a pretty lively chapter for an end of it. For +XII. is only a footnote AD EXPLICANDUM. + + +JUNE THE 1ST. + + +Back on p. 93. I was on 100 yesterday, but read it over and +condemned it. + + +10 A. M. + + +I have worked up again to 97, but how? The deuce fly away +with literature, for the basest sport in creation. But it's +got to come straight! and if possible, so that I may finish +D. BALFOUR in time for the same mail. What a getting +upstairs! This is Flaubert outdone. Belle, Graham, and +Lloyd leave to-day on a malaga down the coast; to be absent a +week or so: this leaves Fanny, me, and -, who seems a nice, +kindly fellow. + + +JUNE 2ND. + + +I am nearly dead with dyspepsia, over-smoking, and +unremunerative overwork. Last night, I went to bed by seven; +woke up again about ten for a minute to find myself light- +headed and altogether off my legs; went to sleep again, and +woke this morning fairly fit. I have crippled on to p. 101, +but I haven't read it yet, so do not boast. What kills me is +the frame of mind of one of the characters; I cannot get it +through. Of course that does not interfere with my total +inability to write; so that yesterday I was a living half- +hour upon a single clause and have a gallery of variants that +would surprise you. And this sort of trouble (which I cannot +avoid) unfortunately produces nothing when done but +alembication and the far-fetched. Well, read it with mercy! + + +8 A.M. + + +Going to bed. Have read it, and believe the chapter +practically done at last. But lord! it has been a business. + + +JULY 3RD, 8.15. + + +The draft is finished, the end of Chapter II. and the tale, +and I have only eight pages WIEDERZUARBEITEN. This is just a +cry of joy in passing. + + +10.30. + + +Knocked out of time. Did 101 and 102. Alas, no more to-day, +as I have to go down town to a meeting. Just as well though, +as my thumb is about done up. + + +SUNDAY, JUNE 4TH. + + +Now for a little snippet of my life. Yesterday, 12.30, in a +heavenly day of sun and trade, I mounted my horse and set +off. A boy opens my gate for me. 'Sleep and long life! A +blessing on your journey,' says he. And I reply 'Sleep, long +life! A blessing on the house!' Then on, down the lime +lane, a rugged, narrow, winding way, that seems almost as if +it was leading you into Lyonesse, and you might see the head +and shoulders of a giant looking in. At the corner of the +road I meet the inspector of taxes, and hold a diplomatic +interview with him; he wants me to pay taxes on the new +house; I am informed I should not till next year; and we +part, RE INFECTA, he promising to bring me decisions, I +assuring him that, if I find any favouritism, he will find me +the most recalcitrant tax-payer on the island. Then I have a +talk with an old servant by the wayside. A little further I +pass two children coming up. 'Love!' say I; 'are you two +chiefly-proceeding inland?' and they say, 'Love! yes!' and +the interesting ceremony is finished. Down to the post +office, where I find Vitrolles and (Heaven reward you!) the +White Book, just arrived per UPOLU, having gone the wrong way +round, by Australia; also six copies of ISLAND NIGHTS' +ENTERTAINMENTS. Some of Weatherall's illustrations are very +clever; but O Lord! the lagoon! I did say it was 'shallow,' +but, O dear, not so shallow as that a man could stand up in +it! I had still an hour to wait for my meeting, so +Postmaster Davis let me sit down in his room and I had a +bottle of beer in, and read A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE. Have you +seen it coming out in LONGMAN'S? My dear Colvin! 'tis the +most exquisite pleasure; a real chivalrous yarn, like the +Dumas' and yet unlike. Thereafter to the meeting of the five +newspaper proprietors. Business transacted, I have to gallop +home and find the boys waiting to be paid at the doorstep. + + + +MONDAY, 5TH. + + +Yesterday, Sunday, the Rev. Dr. Browne, secretary to the +Wesleyan Mission, and the man who made the war in the Western +Islands and was tried for his life in Fiji, came up, and we +had a long, important talk about Samoa. O, if I could only +talk to the home men! But what would it matter? none of them +know, none of them care. If we could only have Macgregor +here with his schooner, you would hear of no more troubles in +Samoa. That is what we want; a man that knows and likes the +natives, QUI PAYE DE SA PERSONNE, AND is not afraid of +hanging when necessary. We don't want bland Swedish humbugs, +and fussy, fostering German barons. That way the maelstrom +lies, and we shall soon be in it. + +I have to-day written 103 and 104, all perfectly wrong, and +shall have to rewrite them. This tale is devilish, and +Chapter XI. the worst of the lot. The truth is of course +that I am wholly worked out; but it's nearly done, and shall +go somehow according to promise. I go against all my gods, +and say it is NOT WORTH WHILE to massacre yourself over the +last few pages of a rancid yarn, that the reviewers will +quite justly tear to bits. As for D.B., no hope, I fear, +this mail, but we'll see what the afternoon does for me. + + +4.15. + + +Well, it's done. Those tragic 16 pp. are at last finished, +and I have put away thirty-two pages of chips, and have spent +thirteen days about as nearly in Hell as a man could expect +to live through. It's done, and of course it ain't worth +while, and who cares? There it is, and about as grim a tale +as was ever written, and as grimy, and as hateful. + + +SACRED +TO THE MEMORY +OF +J. L. HUISH, +BORN 1856, AT HACKNEY, +LONDON, +Accidentally killed upon this +Island, +10th September, 1889. + + +TUESDAY, 6. + + +I am exulting to do nothing. It pours with rain from the +westward, very unusual kind of weather; I was standing out on +the little verandah in front of my room this morning, and +there went through me or over me a wave of extraordinary and +apparently baseless emotion. I literally staggered. And +then the explanation came, and I knew I had found a frame of +mind and body that belonged to Scotland, and particularly to +the neighbourhood of Callander. Very odd these identities of +sensation, and the world of connotations implied; highland +huts, and peat smoke, and the brown, swirling rivers, and wet +clothes, and whiskey, and the romance of the past, and that +indescribable bite of the whole thing at a man's heart, which +is - or rather lies at the bottom of - a story. + +I don't know if you are a Barbey d'Aurevilly-an. I am. I +have a great delight in his Norman stories. Do you know the +CHEVALIER DES TOUCHES and L'ENSORCELEE? They are admirable, +they reek of the soil and the past. But I was rather +thinking just now of LE RIDEAU CRAMOISI, and its adorable +setting of the stopped coach, the dark street, the home-going +in the inn yard, and the red blind illuminated. Without +doubt, THERE was an identity of sensation; one of those +conjunctions in life that had filled Barbey full to the brim, +and permanently bent his memory. + +I wonder exceedingly if I have done anything at all good; and +who can tell me? and why should I wish to know? In so little +a while, I, and the English language, and the bones of my +descendants, will have ceased to be a memory! And yet - and +yet - one would like to leave an image for a few years upon +men's minds - for fun. This is a very dark frame of mind, +consequent on overwork and the conclusion of the excruciating +EBB TIDE. Adieu. + +What do you suppose should be done with THE EBB TIDE? It +would make a volume of 200 pp.; on the other hand, I might +likely have some more stories soon: THE OWL, DEATH IN THE +POT, THE SLEEPER AWAKENED; all these are possible. THE OWL +might be half as long; THE SLEEPER AWAKENED, ditto; DEATH IN +THE POT a deal shorter, I believe. Then there's the GO- +BETWEEN, which is not impossible altogether. THE OWL, THE +SLEEPER AWAKENED, and the GO-BETWEEN end reasonably well; +DEATH IN THE POT is an ungodly massacre. O, well, THE OWL +only ends well in so far as some lovers come together, and +nobody is killed at the moment, but you know they are all +doomed, they are Chouan fellows. + + +FRIDAY, 9TH. + + +Well, the mail is in; no Blue-book, depressing letter from +C.; a long, amusing ramble from my mother; vast masses of +Romeike; they ARE going to war now; and what will that lead +to? and what has driven, them to it but the persistent +misconduct of these two officials? I know I ought to rewrite +the end of this bluidy EBB TIDE: well, I can't. CEST PLUS +FORT QUE MOI; it has to go the way it is, and be jowned to +it! From what I make out of the reviews, I think it would be +better not to republish THE EBB TIDE: but keep it for other +tales, if they should turn up. Very amusing how the reviews +pick out one story and damn the rest I and it is always a +different one. Be sure you send me the article from LE +TEMPS. + + +SATURDAY, 17TH. + + +Since I wrote this last, I have written a whole chapter of my +grandfather, and read it to-night; it was on the whole much +appreciated, and I kind of hope it ain't bad myself. 'Tis a +third writing, but it wants a fourth. By next mail, I +believe I might send you 3 chapters. That is to say FAMILY +ANNALS, THE SERVICE OF THE NORTHERN LIGHTS, and THE BUILDING +OF THE BELL ROCK. Possibly even 4 - A HOUSEFUL OF BOYS. I +could finish my grandfather very easy now; my father and +Uncle Alan stop the way. I propose to call the book: +NORTHERN LIGHTS: MEMOIRS OF A FAMILY of ENGINEERS. I tell +you, it is going to be a good book. My idea in sending Ms. +would be to get it set up; two proofs to me, one to Professor +Swan, Ardchapel, Helensburgh - mark it private and +confidential - one to yourself; and come on with criticisms! +But I'll have to see. The total plan of the book is this - + +i. Domestic Annals. +ii. The Service of the Northern Lights. +iii. The Building of the Bell Rock. +iv. A Houseful of Boys (or, 'The Family in Baxter's Place). +v. Education of an Engineer. +vi. The Grandfather. +vii. Alan Stevenson. +viii. Thomas Stevenson. + +There will be an Introduction 'The Surname of Stevenson' +which has proved a mighty queer subject of inquiry. But, +Lord! if I were among libraries. + + +SUNDAY, 18TH. + + +I shall put in this envelope the end of the ever-to-be- +execrated EBB TIDE, or Stevenson's Blooming Error. Also, a +paper apart for DAVID BALFOUR. The slips must go in another +enclosure, I suspect, owing to their beastly bulk. Anyway, +there are two pieces of work off my mind, and though I could +wish I had rewritten a little more of DAVID, yet it was +plainly to be seen it was impossible. All the points +indicated by you have been brought out; but to rewrite the +end, in my present state of over-exhaustion and fiction - +phobia, would have been madness; and I let it go as it stood. +My grandfather is good enough for me, these days. I do not +work any less; on the whole, if anything, a little more. But +it is different. + +The slips go to you in four packets; I hope they are what +they should be, but do not think so. I am at a pitch of +discontent with fiction in all its form - or my forms - that +prevents me being able to be even interested. I have had to +stop all drink; smoking I am trying to stop also. It annoys +me dreadfully: and yet if I take a glass of claret, - I have +a headache the next day! O, and a good headache too; none of +your trifles. + +Well, sir, here's to you, and farewell. - Yours ever. +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + + +SATURDAY, 24TH (?) JUNE. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN - Yesterday morning, after a day of absolute +temperance, I awoke to the worst headache I had had yet. +Accordingly, temperance was said farewell to, quinine +instituted, and I believe my pains are soon to be over. We +wait, with a kind of sighing impatience, for war to be +declared, or to blow finally off, living in the meanwhile in +a kind of children's hour of firelight and shadow and +preposterous tales; the king seen at night galloping up our +road upon unknown errands and covering his face as he passes +our cook; Mataafa daily surrounded (when he awakes) with +fresh 'white man's boxes' (query, ammunition?) and professing +to be quite ignorant of where they come from; marches of +bodies of men across the island; concealment of ditto in the +bush; the coming on and off of different chiefs; and such a +mass of ravelment and rag-tag as the devil himself could not +unwind. + + +WEDNESDAY, 28TH JUNE. + + +Yesterday it rained with but little intermission, but I was +jealous of news. Graham and I got into the saddle about 1 +o'clock and off down to town. In town, there was nothing but +rumours going; in the night drums had been beat, the men had +run to arms on Mulinuu from as far as Vaiala, and the alarm +proved false. There were no signs of any gathering in Apia +proper, and the Secretary of State had no news to give. I +believed him, too, for we are brither Scots. Then the +temptation came upon me strong to go on to the ford and see +the Mataafa villages, where we heard there was more afoot. +Off we rode. When we came to Vaimusu, the houses were very +full of men, but all seemingly unarmed. Immediately beyond +is that river over which we passed in our scamper with Lady +Jersey; it was all solitary. Three hundred yards beyond is a +second ford; and there - I came face to face with war. Under +the trees on the further bank sat a picket of seven men with +Winchesters; their faces bright, their eyes ardent. As we +came up, they did not speak or move; only their eyes followed +us. The horses drank, and we passed the ford. 'Talofa!' I +said, and the commandant of the picket said 'Talofa'; and +then, when we were almost by, remembered himself and asked +where we were going. 'To Faamuina,' I said, and we rode on. +Every house by the wayside was crowded with armed men. There +was the European house of a Chinaman on the right-hand side: +a flag of truce flying over the gate - indeed we saw three of +these in what little way we penetrated into Mataafa's lines - +all the foreigners trying to protect their goods; and the +Chinaman's verandah overflowed with men and girls and +Winchesters. By the way we met a party of about ten or a +dozen marching with their guns and cartridge-belts, and the +cheerful alacrity and brightness of their looks set my head +turning with envy and sympathy. Arrived at Vaiusu, the +houses about the MALAE (village green) were thronged with +men, all armed. On the outside of the council-house (which +was all full within) there stood an orator; he had his back +turned to his audience, and seemed to address the world at +large; all the time we were there his strong voice continued +unabated, and I heard snatches of political wisdom rising and +falling. + +The house of Faamuina stands on a knoll in the MALAE. +Thither we mounted, a boy ran out and took our horses, and we +went in. Faamuina was there himself, his wife Pelepa, three +other chiefs, and some attendants; and here again was this +exulting spectacle as of people on their marriage day. +Faamuina (when I last saw him) was an elderly, limping +gentleman, with much of the debility of age; it was a bright- +eyed boy that greeted me; the lady was no less excited; all +had cartridge-belts. We stayed but a little while to smoke a +sului; I would not have kava made, as I thought my escapade +was already dangerous (perhaps even blameworthy) enough. On +the way back, we were much greeted, and on coming to the +ford, the commandant came and asked me if there were many on +the other side. 'Very many,' said I; not that I knew, but I +would not lead them on the ice. 'That is well!' said he, and +the little picket laughed aloud as we splashed into the +river. We returned to Apia, through Apia, and out to +windward as far as Vaiala, where the word went that the men +of the Vaimauga had assembled. We met two boys carrying +pigs, and saw six young men busy cooking in a cook-house; but +no sign of an assembly; no arms, no blackened faces. I +forgot! As we turned to leave Faamuina's, there ran forward +a man with his face blackened, and the back of his lava-lava +girded up so as to show his tattooed hips naked; he leaped +before us, cut a wonderful caper, and flung his knife high in +the air, and caught it. It was strangely savage and +fantastic and high-spirited. I have seen a child doing the +same antics long before in a dance, so that it is plainly an +ACCEPTED SOLEMNITY. I should say that for weeks the children +have been playing with spears. Up by the plantation I took a +short cut, which shall never be repeated, through grass and +weeds over the horses' heads and among rolling stones; I +thought we should have left a horse there, but fortune +favoured us. So home, a little before six, in a dashing +squall of rain, to a bowl of kava and dinner. But the +impression on our minds was extraordinary; the sight of that +picket at the ford, and those ardent, happy faces whirls in +my head; the old aboriginal awoke in both of us and knickered +like a stallion. + +It is dreadful to think that I must sit apart here and do +nothing; I do not know if I can stand it out. But you see, I +may be of use to these poor people, if I keep quiet, and if I +threw myself in, I should have a bad job of it to save +myself. There; I have written this to you; and it is still +but 7.30 in the day, and the sun only about one hour up; can +I go back to my old grandpapa, and men sitting with +Winchesters in my mind's eye? No; war is a huge +ENTRAINEMENT; there is no other temptation to be compared to +it, not one. We were all wet, we had been about five hours +in the saddle, mostly riding hard; and we came home like +schoolboys, with such a lightness of spirits, and I am sure +such a brightness of eye, as you could have lit a candle at! + + +THURSDAY 29TH. + + +I had two priests to luncheon yesterday: the Bishop and Pere +Remy. They were very pleasant, and quite clean too, which +has been known sometimes not to be - even with bishops. +Monseigneur is not unimposing; with his white beard and his +violet girdle he looks splendidly episcopal, and when our +three waiting lads came up one after another and kneeled +before him in the big hall, and kissed his ring, it did me +good for a piece of pageantry. Remy is very engaging; he is +a little, nervous, eager man, like a governess, and brimful +of laughter and small jokes. So is the bishop indeed, and +our luncheon party went off merrily - far more merrily than +many a German spread, though with so much less liquor. One +trait was delicious. With a complete ignorance of the +Protestant that I would scarce have imagined, he related to +us (as news) little stories from the gospels, and got the +names all wrong! His comments were delicious, and to our +ears a thought irreverent. 'AH! IL CONNAISSAIT SON MONDE, +ALLEZ!' 'IL ETAIT FIN, NOTRE SEIGNEUR!' etc. + + +FRIDAY. + + +Down with Fanny and Belle, to lunch at the International. +Heard there about the huge folly of the hour, all the Mulinuu +ammunition having been yesterday marched openly to vaults in +Matafele; and this morning, on a cry of protest from the +whites, openly and humiliatingly disinterred and marched back +again. People spoke of it with a kind of shrill note that +did not quite satisfy me. They seemed not quite well at +ease. Luncheon over, we rode out on the Malie road. All was +quiet in Vaiusu, and when we got to the second ford, alas! +there was no picket - which was just what Belle had come to +sketch. On through quite empty roads; the houses deserted, +never a gun to be seen; and at last a drum and a penny +whistle playing in Vaiusu, and a cricket match on the MALAE! +Went up to Faamuina's; he is a trifle uneasy, though he gives +us kava. I cannot see what ails him, then it appears that he +has an engagement with the Chief Justice at half-past two to +sell a piece of land. Is this the reason why war has +disappeared? We ride back, stopping to sketch here and there +the fords, a flag of truce, etc. I ride on to Public Hall +Committee and pass an hour with my committees very heavily. +To the hotel to dinner, then to the ball, and home by eleven, +very tired. At the ball I heard some news, of how the chief +of Letonu said that I was the source of all this trouble, and +should be punished, and my family as well. This, and the +rudeness of the man at the ford of the Gase-gase, looks but +ill; I should have said that Faamuina, as he approached the +first ford, was spoken to by a girl, and immediately said +goodbye and plunged into the bush; the girl had told him +there was a war party out from Mulinuu; and a little further +on, as we stopped to sketch a flag of truce, the beating of +drums and the sound of a bugle from that direction startled +us. But we saw nothing, and I believe Mulinuu is (at least +at present) incapable of any act of offence. One good job, +these threats to my home and family take away all my childish +temptation to go out and fight. Our force must be here, to +protect ourselves. I see panic rising among the whites; I +hear the shrill note of it in their voices, and they talk +already about a refuge on the war ships. There are two here, +both German; and the ORLANDO is expected presently. + + +SUNDAY 9TH JULY. + + +Well, the war has at last begun. For four or five days, Apia +has been filled by these poor children with their faces +blacked, and the red handkerchief about their brows, that +makes the Malietoa uniform, and the boats have been coming in +from the windward, some of them 50 strong, with a drum and a +bugle on board - the bugle always ill-played - and a sort of +jester leaping and capering on the sparred nose of the boat, +and the whole crew uttering from time to time a kind of +menacing ululation. Friday they marched out to the bush; and +yesterday morning we heard that some had returned to their +houses for the night, as they found it 'so uncomfortable.' +After dinner a messenger came up to me with a note, that the +wounded were arriving at the Mission House. Fanny, Lloyd and +I saddled and rode off with a lantern; it was a fine starry +night, though pretty cold. We left the lantern at Tanuga- +manono, and then down in the starlight. I found Apia, and +myself, in a strange state of flusteration; my own excitement +was gloomy and (I may say) truculent; others appeared +imbecile; some sullen. The best place in the whole town was +the hospital. A longish frame-house it was, with a big table +in the middle for operations, and ten Samoans, each with an +average of four sympathisers, stretched along the walls. +Clarke was there, steady as a die; Miss Large, little +spectacled angel, showed herself a real trump; the nice, +clean, German orderlies in their white uniforms looked and +meant business. (I hear a fine story of Miss Large - a cast- +iron teetotaller - going to the public-house for a bottle of +brandy.) + +The doctors were not there when I arrived; but presently it +was observed that one of the men was going cold. He was a +magnificent Samoan, very dark, with a noble aquiline +countenance, like an Arab, I suppose, and was surrounded by +seven people, fondling his limbs as he lay: he was shot +through both lungs. And an orderly was sent to the town for +the (German naval) doctors, who were dining there. Meantime +I found an errand of my own. Both Clarke and Miss Large +expressed a wish to have the public hall, of which I am +chairman, and I set off down town, and woke people out of +their beds, and got a committee together, and (with a great +deal of difficulty from one man, whom we finally overwhelmed) +got the public hall for them. Bar the one man, the committee +was splendid, and agreed in a moment to share the expense if +the shareholders object. Back to the hospital about 11.30; +found the German doctors there. Two men were going now, one +that was shot in the bowels - he was dying rather hard, in a +gloomy stupor of pain and laudanum, silent, with contorted +face. The chief, shot through the lungs, was lying on one +side, awaiting the last angel; his family held his hands and +legs; they were all speechless, only one woman suddenly +clasped his knee, and 'keened' for the inside of five +seconds, and fell silent again. Went home, and to bed about +two A.M. What actually passed seems undiscoverable; but the +Mataafas were surely driven back out of Vaitele; that is a +blow to them, and the resistance was far greater than had +been anticipated - which is a blow to the Laupepas. All +seems to indicate a long and bloody war. + +Frank's house in Mulinuu was likewise filled with wounded; +many dead bodies were brought in; I hear with certainty of +five, wrapped in mats; and a pastor goes to-morrow to the +field to bring others. The Laupepas brought in eleven heads +to Mulinuu, and to the great horror and consternation of the +native mind, one proved to be a girl, and was identified as +that of a Taupou - or Maid of the Village - from Savaii. I +hear this morning, with great relief, that it has been +returned to Malie, wrapped in the most costly silk +handkerchiefs, and with an apologetic embassy. This could +easily happen. The girl was of course attending on her +father with ammunition, and got shot; her hair was cut short +to make her father's war head-dress - even as our own Sina's +is at this moment; and the decollator was probably, in his +red flurry of fight, wholly unconscious of her sex. I am +sorry for him in the future; he must make up his mind to many +bitter jests - perhaps to vengeance. But what an end to one +chosen for her beauty and, in the time of peace, watched over +by trusty crones and hunchbacks! + + +EVENING. + + +Can I write or not? I played lawn tennis in the morning, and +after lunch down with Graham to Apia. Ulu, he that was shot +in the lungs, still lives; he that was shot in the bowels is +gone to his fathers, poor, fierce child! I was able to be of +some very small help, and in the way of helping myself to +information, to prove myself a mere gazer at meteors. But +there seems no doubt the Mataafas for the time are scattered; +the most of our friends are involved in this disaster, and +Mataafa himself - who might have swept the islands a few +months ago - for him to fall so poorly, doubles my regret. +They say the Taupou had a gun and fired; probably an excuse +manufactured EX POST FACTO. I go down to-morrow at 12, to +stay the afternoon, and help Miss Large. In the hospital to- +day, when I first entered it, there were no attendants; only +the wounded and their friends, all equally sleeping and their +heads poised upon the wooden pillows. There is a pretty +enough boy there, slightly wounded, whose fate is to be +envied: two girls, and one of the most beautiful, with +beaming eyes, tend him and sleep upon his pillow. In the +other corner, another young man, very patient and brave, lies +wholly deserted. Yet he seems to me far the better of the +two; but not so pretty! Heavens, what a difference that +makes; in our not very well proportioned bodies and our +finely hideous faces, the 1-32nd - rather the 1-64th - this +way or that! Sixteen heads in all at Mulinuu. I am so stiff +I can scarce move without a howl. + + +MONDAY, 10TH. + + +Some news that Mataafa is gone to Savaii by way of Manono; +this may mean a great deal more warfaring, and no great +issue. (When Sosimo came in this morning with my breakfast +he had to lift me up. It is no joke to play lawn tennis +after carrying your right arm in a sling so many years.) +What a hard, unjust business this is! On the 28th, if +Mataafa had moved, he could have still swept Mulinuu. He +waited, and I fear he is now only the stick of a rocket. + + +WEDNESDAY, 12TH. + + +No more political news; but many rumours. The government +troops are off to Manono; no word of Mataafa. O, there is a +passage in my mother's letter which puzzles me as to a date. +Is it next Christmas you are coming? or the Christmas after? +This is most important, and must be understood at once. If +it is next Christmas, I could not go to Ceylon, for lack of +gold, and you would have to adopt one of the following +alternatives: 1st, either come straight on here and pass a +month with us; 'tis the rainy season, but we have often +lovely weather. Or (2nd) come to Hawaii and I will meet you +there. Hawaii is only a week's sail from S. Francisco, +making only about sixteen days on the heaving ocean; and the +steamers run once a fortnight, so that you could turn round; +and you could thus pass a day or two in the States - a +fortnight even - and still see me. But I have sworn to take +no further excursions till I have money saved to pay for +them; and to go to Ceylon and back would be torture unless I +had a lot. You must answer this at once, please; so that I +may know what to do. We would dearly like you to come on +here. I'll tell you how it can be done; I can come up and +meet you at Hawaii, and if you had at all got over your sea- +sickness, I could just come on board and we could return +together to Samoa, and you could have a month of our life +here, which I believe you could not help liking. Our horses +are the devil, of course, miserable screws, and some of them +a little vicious. I had a dreadful fright - the passage in +my mother's letter is recrossed and I see it says the end of +/94: so much the better, then; but I would like to submit to +you my alternative plan. I could meet you at Hawaii, and +reconduct you to Hawaii, so that we could have a full six +weeks together and I believe a little over, and you would see +this place of mine, and have a sniff of native life, native +foods, native houses - and perhaps be in time to see the +German flag raised, who knows? - and we could generally yarn +for all we were worth. I should like you to see Vailima; and +I should be curious to know how the climate affected you. It +is quite hit or miss; it suits me, it suits Graham, it suits +all our family; others it does not suit at all. It is either +gold or poison. I rise at six, the rest at seven; lunch is +at 12; at five we go to lawn tennis till dinner at six; and +to roost early. + +A man brought in a head to Mulinuu in great glory; they +washed the black paint off, and behold! it was his brother. +When I last heard he was sitting in his house, with the head +upon his lap, and weeping. Barbarous war is an ugly +business; but I believe the civilised is fully uglier; but +Lord! what fun! + +I should say we now have definite news that there are THREE +women's heads; it was difficult to get it out of the natives, +who are all ashamed, and the women all in terror of +reprisals. Nothing has been done to punish or disgrace these +hateful innovators. It was a false report that the head had +been returned. + + +THURSDAY, 13TH, + + +Mataafa driven away from Savaii. I cannot write about this, +and do not know what should be the end of it. + + +MONDAY, 17TH. + + +Haggard and Ahrens (a German clerk) to lunch yesterday. +There is no real certain news yet: I must say, no man could +SWEAR to any result; but the sky looks horribly black for +Mataafa and so many of our friends along with him. The thing +has an abominable, a beastly, nightmare interest. But it's +wonderful generally how little one cares about the wounded; +hospital sights, etc.; things that used to murder me. I was +far more struck with the excellent way in which things were +managed; as if it had been a peep-show; I held some of the +things at an operation, and did not care a dump. + + +TUESDAY, 18TH. + + +Sunday came the KATOOMBA, Captain Bickford, C.M.G. +Yesterday, Graham and I went down to call, and find he has +orders to suppress Mataafa at once, and has to go down to-day +before daybreak to Manono. He is a very capable, energetic +man; if he had only come ten days ago, all this would have +gone by; but now the questions are thick and difficult. (1) +Will Mataafa surrender? (2) Will his people allow themselves +to be disarmed? (3) What will happen to them if they do? +(4) What will any of them believe after former deceptions? +The three consuls were scampering on horseback to Leulumoega +to the King; no Cusack-Smith, without whose accession I could +not send a letter to Mataafa. I rode up here, wrote my +letter in the sweat of the concordance and with the able- +bodied help of Lloyd - and dined. Then down in continual +showers and pitchy darkness, and to Cusack-Smith's; not re- +returned. Back to the inn for my horse, and to C.-S.'s, when +I find him just returned and he accepts my letter. Thence +home, by 12.30, jolly tired and wet. And to-day have been in +a crispation of energy and ill-temper, raking my wretched +mail together. It is a hateful business, waiting for the +news; it may come to a fearful massacre yet. - Yours ever, + +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + + +AUGUST, 1893. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - Quite impossible to write. Your letter is +due to-day; a nasty, rainy-like morning with huge blue +clouds, and a huge indigo shadow on the sea, and my lamp +still burning at near 7. Let me humbly give you news. Fanny +seems on the whole the most, or the only, powerful member of +the family; for some days she has been the Flower of the +Flock. Belle is begging for quinine. Lloyd and Graham have +both been down with 'belly belong him' (Black Boy speech). +As for me, I have to lay aside my lawn tennis, having (as was +to be expected) had a smart but eminently brief hemorrhage. +I am also on the quinine flask. I have been re-casting the +beginning of the HANGING JUDGE or WEIR OF HERMISTON; then I +have been cobbling on my grandfather, whose last chapter +(there are only to be four) is in the form of pieces of +paper, a huge welter of inconsequence, and that glimmer of +faith (or hope) which one learns at this trade, that somehow +and some time, by perpetual staring and glowering and +rewriting, order will emerge. It is indeed a queer hope; +there is one piece for instance that I want in - I cannot put +it one place for a good reason - I cannot put it another for +a better - and every time I look at it, I turn sick and put +the Ms. away. + +Well, your letter hasn't come, and a number of others are +missing. It looks as if a mail-bag had gone on, so I'll +blame nobody, and proceed to business. + +It looks as if I was going to send you the first three +chapters of my Grandfather. . . . If they were set up, it +would be that much anxiety off my mind. I have a strange +feeling of responsibility, as if I had my ancestors' SOULS in +my charge, and might miscarry with them. + +There's a lot of work gone into it, and a lot more is needed. +Still Chapter I. seems about right to me, and much of Chapter +II. Chapter III. I know nothing of, as I told you. And +Chapter IV. is at present all ends and beginnings; but it can +be pulled together. + +This is all I have been able to screw up to you for this +month, and I may add that it is not only more than you +deserve, but just about more than I was equal to. I have +been and am entirely useless; just able to tinker at my +Grandfather. The three chapters - perhaps also a little of +the fourth - will come home to you next mail by the hand of +my cousin Graham Balfour, a very nice fellow whom I recommend +to you warmly - and whom I think you will like. This will +give you time to consider my various and distracted schemes. + +All our wars are over in the meantime, to begin again as soon +as the war-ships leave. Adieu. + +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + + +23RD AUGUST. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - Your pleasing letter RE THE EBB TIDE, to +hand. I propose, if it be not too late, to delete Lloyd's +name. He has nothing to do with the last half. The first we +wrote together, as the beginning of a long yarn. The second +is entirely mine; and I think it rather unfair on the young +man to couple his name with so infamous a work. Above all, +as you had not read the two last chapters, which seem to me +the most ugly and cynical of all. + +You will see that I am not in a good humour; and I am not. +It is not because of your letter, but because of the +complicated miseries that surround me and that I choose to +say nothing of. Life is not all Beer and Skittles. The +inherent tragedy of things works itself out from white to +black and blacker, and the poor things of a day look ruefully +on. Does it shake my cast-iron faith? I cannot say it does. +I believe in an ultimate decency of things; ay, and if I woke +in hell, should still believe it! But it is hard walking, +and I can see my own share in the missteps, and can bow my +head to the result, like an old, stern, unhappy devil of a +Norseman, as my ultimate character is. . . . + +Well, IL FAUT CULTIVER SON JARDIN. That last expression of +poor, unhappy human wisdom I take to my heart and go to ST. +IVES. + + +24th AUG. + + +And did, and worked about 2 hours and got to sleep ultimately +and 'a' the clouds has blawn away.' 'Be sure we'll have some +pleisand weather, When a' the clouds (storms?) has blawn +(gone?) away.' Verses that have a quite inexplicable +attraction for me, and I believe had for Burns. They have no +merit, but are somehow good. I am now in a most excellent +humour. + +I am deep in ST. IVES which, I believe, will be the next +novel done. But it is to be clearly understood that I +promise nothing, and may throw in your face the very last +thing you expect - or I expect. ST. IVES will (to my mind) +not be wholly bad. It is written in rather a funny style; a +little stilted and left-handed; the style of St. Ives; also, +to some extent, the style of R. L. S. dictating. ST. IVES +is unintellectual and except as an adventure novel, dull. +But the adventures seem to me sound and pretty probable; and +it is a love story. Speed his wings! + + +SUNDAY NIGHT. + + +DE COEUR UN PEU PLUS DISPOS, MONSIEUR ET CHER CONFRERE, JE ME +REMETS A VOUS ECRIRE. ST. IVES is now in the 5th chapter +copying; in the 14th chapter of the dictated draft. I do not +believe I shall end by disliking it. + + +MONDAY. + + +Well, here goes again for the news. Fanny is VERY WELL +indeed, and in good spirits; I am in good spirits but not +VERY well; Lloyd is in good spirits and very well; Belle has +a real good fever which has put her pipe out wholly. Graham +goes back this mail. He takes with him three chapters of THE +FAMILY, and is to go to you as soon as he can. He cannot be +much the master of his movements, but you grip him when you +can and get all you can from him, as he has lived about six +months with us and he can tell you just what is true and what +is not - and not the dreams of dear old Ross. He is a good +fellow, is he not? + +Since you rather revise your views of THE EBB TIDE, I think +Lloyd's name might stick, but I'll leave it to you. I'll +tell you just how it stands. Up to the discovery of the +champagne, the tale was all planned between us and drafted by +Lloyd; from that moment he has had nothing to do with it +except talking it over. For we changed our plan, gave up the +projected Monte Cristo, and cut it down for a short story. +My jmpression - (I beg your pardon - this is a local joke - a +firm here had on its beer labels, 'sole jmporters') - is that +it will never be popular, but might make a little SUCCES DE +SCANDALE. However, I'm done with it now, and not sorry, and +the crowd may rave and mumble its bones for what I care. + +Hole essential. I am sorry about the maps; but I want 'em +for next edition, so see and have proofs sent. You are quite +right about the bottle and the great Huish, I must try to +make it clear. No, I will not write a play for Irving nor +for the devil. Can you not see that the work of +FALSIFICATION which a play demands is of all tasks the most +ungrateful? And I have done it a long while - and nothing +ever came of it. + +Consider my new proposal, I mean Honolulu. You would get the +Atlantic and the Rocky Mountains, would you not? for bracing. +And so much less sea! And then you could actually see +Vailima, which I WOULD like you to, for it's beautiful and my +home and tomb that is to be; though it's a wrench not to be +planted in Scotland - that I can never deny - if I could only +be buried in the hills, under the heather and a table +tombstone like the martyrs, where the whaups and plovers are +crying! Did you see a man who wrote the STICKIT MINISTER, +and dedicated it to me, in words that brought the tears to my +eyes every time I looked at them, 'Where about the graves of +the martyrs the whaups are crying. HIS heart remembers how.' +Ah, by God, it does! Singular that I should fulfil the Scots +destiny throughout, and live a voluntary exile, and have my +head filled with the blessed, beastly place all the time! + +And now a word as regards the delusions of the dear Ross, who +remembers, I believe, my letters and Fanny's when we were +first installed, and were really hoeing a hard row. We have +salad, beans, cabbages, tomatoes, asparagus, kohl-rabi, +oranges, limes, barbadines, pine-apples, Cape gooseberries - +galore; pints of milk and cream; fresh meat five days a week. +It is the rarest thing for any of us to touch a tin; and the +gnashing of teeth when it has to be done is dreadful - for no +one who has not lived on them for six months knows what the +Hatred of the Tin is. As for exposure, my weakness is +certainly the reverse; I am sometimes a month without leaving +the verandah - for my sins, be it said! Doubtless, when I go +about and, as the Doctor says, 'expose myself to malaria,' I +am in far better health; and I would do so more too - for I +do not mean to be silly - but the difficulties are great. +However, you see how much the dear Doctor knows of my diet +and habits! Malaria practically does not exist in these +islands; it is a negligeable quantity. What really bothers +us a little is the mosquito affair - the so-called +elephantiasis - ask Ross about it. A real romance of natural +history, QUOI! + +Hi! stop! you say THE EBB TIDE is the 'working out of an +artistic problem of a kind.' Well, I should just bet it was! +You don't like Attwater. But look at my three rogues; +they're all there, I'll go bail. Three types of the bad man, +the weak man, and the strong man with a weakness, that are +gone through and lived out. + +Yes, of course I was sorry for Mataafa, but a good deal +sorrier and angrier about the mismanagement of all the white +officials. I cannot bear to write about that. Manono all +destroyed, one house standing in Apolima, the women stripped, +the prisoners beaten with whips - and the women's heads taken +- all under white auspices. And for upshot and result of so +much shame to the white powers - Tamasese already conspiring! +as I knew and preached in vain must be the case! Well, well, +it is no fun to meddle in politics! + +I suppose you're right about Simon. But it is Symon +throughout in that blessed little volume my father bought for +me in Inverness in the year of grace '81, I believe - the +trial of James Stewart, with the Jacobite pamphlet and the +dying speech appended - out of which the whole of Davie has +already been begotten, and which I felt it a kind of loyalty +to follow. I really ought to have it bound in velvet and +gold, if I had any gratitude! and the best of the lark is, +that the name of David Balfour is not anywhere within the +bounds of it. + +A pretty curious instance of the genesis of a book. I am +delighted at your good word for DAVID; I believe the two +together make up much the best of my work and perhaps of what +is in me. I am not ashamed of them, at least. There is one +hitch; instead of three hours between the two parts, I fear +there have passed three years over Davie's character; but do +not tell anybody; see if they can find it out for themselves; +and no doubt his experiences in KIDNAPPED would go far to +form him. I would like a copy to go to G. Meredith. + + +WEDNESDAY. + + +Well, here is a new move. It is likely I may start with +Graham next week and go to Honolulu to meet the other steamer +and return: I do believe a fortnight at sea would do me good; +yet I am not yet certain. The crowded UP-steamer sticks in +my throat. + + +TUESDAY, 12TH SEPT. + + +Yesterday was perhaps the brightest in the annals of Vailima. +I got leave from Captain Bickford to have the band of the +KATOOMBA come up, and they came, fourteen of 'em, with drum, +fife, cymbals and bugles, blue jackets, white caps, and +smiling faces. The house was all decorated with scented +greenery above and below. We had not only our own nine out- +door workers, but a contract party that we took on in charity +to pay their war-fine; the band besides, as it came up the +mountain, had collected a following of children by the way, +and we had a picking of Samoan ladies to receive them. +Chicken, ham, cake, and fruits were served out with coffee +and lemonade, and all the afternoon we had rounds of claret +negus flavoured with rum and limes. They played to us, they +danced, they sang, they tumbled. Our boys came in the end of +the verandah and gave THEM a dance for a while. It was +anxious work getting this stopped once it had begun, but I +knew the band was going on a programme. Finally they gave +three cheers for Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, shook hands, formed up +and marched off playing - till a kicking horse in the paddock +put their pipes out something of the suddenest - we thought +the big drum was gone, but Simele flew to the rescue. And so +they wound away down the hill with ever another call of the +bugle, leaving us extinct with fatigue, but perhaps the most +contented hosts that ever watched the departure of successful +guests. Simply impossible to tell how well these blue- +jackets behaved; a most interesting lot of men; this +education of boys for the navy is making a class, wholly +apart - how shall I call them? - a kind of lower-class public +school boy, well-mannered, fairly intelligent, sentimental as +a sailor. What is more shall be writ on board ship if +anywhere. + +Please send CATRIONA to G. Meredith. + + +S. S. MARIPOSA. + + +To-morrow I reach Honolulu. Good-morning to your honour. R. +L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + + +WAIKIKI, HONOLULU, H. 1. +OCT. 23rd, 1893. + + +DEAR COLVIN, - My wife came up on the steamer and we go home +together in 2 days. I am practically all right, only sleepy +and tired easily, slept yesterday from 11 to 11.45, from 1 to +2.50, went to bed at 8 P.M., and with an hour's interval +slept till 6 A.M., close upon 14 hours out of the 24. We +sail to-morrow. I am anxious to get home, though this has +been an interesting visit, and politics have been curious +indeed to study. We go to P.P.C. on the 'Queen' this +morning; poor, recluse lady, ABREUVEE D'INJURES QU'ELLE EST. +Had a rather annoying lunch on board the American man-of-war, +with a member of the P.G. (provincial government); and a good +deal of anti-royalist talk, which I had to sit out - not only +for my host's sake, but my fellow guests. At last, I took +the lead and changed the conversation. + +R. L. S. + +I am being busted here by party named Hutchinson. Seems +good. + + +[VAILIMA - NOVEMBER.] + + +Home again, and found all well, thank God. I am perfectly +well again and ruddier than the cherry. Please note that +8000 is not bad for a volume of short stories; the MERRY MEN +did a good deal worse; the short story never sells. I hope +CATRIONA will do; that is the important. The reviews seem +mixed and perplexed, and one had the peculiar virtue to make +me angry. I am in a fair way to expiscate my family history. +Fanny and I had a lovely voyage down, with our new C. J. and +the American Land Commissioner, and on the whole, and for +these disgusting steamers, a pleasant ship's company. I +cannot understand why you don't take to the Hawaii scheme. +Do you understand? You cross the Atlantic in six days, and +go from 'Frisco to Honolulu in seven. Thirteen days at sea +IN ALL. - I have no wish to publish THE EBB TIDE as a book, +let it wait. It will look well in the portfolio. I would +like a copy, of course, for that end; and to 'look upon't +again' - which I scarce dare. + + +[LATER.] + + +This is disgraceful. I have done nothing; neither work nor +letters. On the Me (May) day, we had a great triumph; our +Protestant boys, instead of going with their own villages and +families, went of their own accord in the Vailima uniform; +Belle made coats for them on purpose to complete the uniform, +they having bought the stuff; and they were hailed as they +marched in as the Tama-ona - the rich man's children. This +is really a score; it means that Vailima is publicly taken as +a family. Then we had my birthday feast a week late, owing +to diarrhoea on the proper occasion. The feast was laid in +the Hall, and was a singular mass of food: 15 pigs, 100 lbs. +beef, 100 lbs. pork, and the fruit and filigree in a +proportion. We had sixty horse-posts driven in the gate +paddock; how many guests I cannot guess, perhaps 150. They +came between three and four and left about seven. Seumanu +gave me one of his names; and when my name was called at the +ava drinking, behold, it was AU MAI TAUA MA MANU-VAO! You +would scarce recognise me, if you heard me thus referred to! + +Two days after, we hired a carriage in Apia, Fanny, Belle, +Lloyd and I, and drove in great style, with a native +outrider, to the prison; a huge gift of ava and tobacco under +the seats. The prison is now under the PULE of an Austrian, +Captain Wurmbrand, a soldier of fortune in Servia and Turkey, +a charming, clever, kindly creature, who is adored by 'HIS +chiefs' (as he calls them) meaning OUR political prisoners. +And we came into the yard, walled about with tinned iron, and +drank ava with the prisoners and the captain. It may amuse +you to hear how it is proper to drink ava. When the cup is +handed you, you reach your arm out somewhat behind you, and +slowly pour a libation, saying with somewhat the manner of +prayer, 'IA TAUMAFA E LE ATUA. UA MATAGOFIE LE FESILAFAIGA +NEI.' 'Be it (high-chief) partaken of by the God. How (high +chief) beautiful to view is this (high chief) gathering.' +This pagan practice is very queer. I should say that the +prison ava was of that not very welcome form that we +elegantly call spit-ava, but of course there was no escape, +and it had to be drunk. Fanny and I rode home, and I +moralised by the way. Could we ever stand Europe again? did +she appreciate that if we were in London, we should be +ACTUALLY JOSTLED in the street? and there was nobody in the +whole of Britain who knew how to take ava like a gentleman? +'Tis funny to be thus of two civilisations - or, if you like, +of one civilisation and one barbarism. And, as usual, the +barbarism is the more engaging. + +Colvin, you have to come here and see us in our { native / +mortal } spot. I just don't seem to be able to make up my +mind to your not coming. By this time, you will have seen +Graham, I hope, and he will be able to tell you something +about us, and something reliable, I shall feel for the first +time as if you knew a little about Samoa after that. Fanny +seems to be in the right way now. I must say she is very, +very well for her, and complains scarce at all. Yesterday, +she went down SOLA (at least accompanied by a groom) to pay a +visit; Belle, Lloyd and I went a walk up the mountain road - +the great public highway of the island, where you have to go +single file. The object was to show Belle that gaudy valley +of the Vaisigano which the road follows. If the road is to +be made and opened, as our new Chief Justice promises, it +will be one of the most beautiful roads in the world. But +the point is this: I forgot I had been three months in +civilisation, wearing shoes and stockings, and I tell you I +suffered on my soft feet; coming home, down hill, on that +stairway of loose stones, I could have cried. O yes, another +story, I knew I had. The house boys had not been behaving +well, so the other night I announced a FONO, and Lloyd and I +went into the boys' quarters, and I talked to them I suppose +for half an hour, and Talolo translated; Lloyd was there +principally to keep another ear on the interpreter; else +there may be dreadful misconceptions. I rubbed all their +ears, except two whom I particularly praised; and one man's +wages I announced I had cut down by one half. Imagine his +taking this smiling! Ever since, he has been specially +attentive and greets me with a face of really heavenly +brightness. This is another good sign of their really and +fairly accepting me as a chief. When I first came here, if I +had fined a man a sixpence, he would have quit work that +hour, and now I remove half his income, and he is glad to +stay on - nay, does not seem to entertain the possibility of +leaving. And this in the face of one particular difficulty - +I mean our house in the bush, and no society, and no women +society within decent reach. + +I think I must give you our staff in a tabular form. + + +HOUSE. + ++ o SOSIMO, provost and butler, and my valet. + +o MISIFOLO, who is Fanny and Belle's chamberlain. + +KITCHEN + ++ o TALOLO, provost and chief cook. + ++ o IOPU, second cook. + +TALI, his wife, no wages. + +TI'A, Samoan cook. + +FEILOA'I, his child, no wages, likewise no work - Belle's +pet. + ++ o LEUELU, Fanny's boy, gardener, odd jobs. + +IN APIA. + ++ ELIGA, washman and daily errand man. + +OUTSIDE. + ++ o HENRY SIMELE, provost and overseas of outside boys. + +LU. + +TASI SELE. + +MAIELE. + +PULU, who is also our talking man and cries the ava. + + +The crosses mark out the really excellent boys. Ti'a is the +man who has just been fined half his wages; he is a beautiful +old man, the living image of 'Fighting Gladiator,' my +favourite statue - but a dreadful humbug. I think we keep +him on a little on account of his looks. This sign o marks +those who have been two years or upwards in the family. I +note all my old boys have the cross of honour, except +Misifolo; well, poor dog, he does his best, I suppose. You +should see him scour. It is a remark that has often been +made by visitors: you never see a Samoan run, except at +Vailima. Do you not suppose that makes me proud? + +I am pleased to see what a success THE WRECKER was, having +already in little more than a year outstripped THE MASTER OF +BALLANTRAE. + +About DAVID BALFOUR in two volumes, do see that they make it +a decent-looking book, and tell me, do you think a little +historical appendix would be of service? Lang bleats for +one, and I thought I might address it to him as a kind of +open letter. + + +DEC. 4TH. + + +No time after all. Good-bye. + +R. L S. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - One page out of my picture book I must give +you. Fine burning day; half past two P.M. We four begin to +rouse up from reparatory slumbers, yawn, and groan, get a cup +of tea, and miserably dress: we have had a party the day +before, X'mas Day, with all the boys absent but one, and +latterly two; we had cooked all day long, a cold dinner, and +lo! at two our guests began to arrive, though dinner was not +till six; they were sixteen, and fifteen slept the night and +breakfasted. Conceive, then, how unwillingly we climb on our +horses and start off in the hottest part of the afternoon to +ride 4 and a half miles, attend a native feast in the gaol, +and ride four and a half miles back. But there is no help +for it. I am a sort of father of the political prisoners, +and have CHARGE D'AMES in that riotously absurd +establishment, Apia Gaol. The twenty-three (I think it is) +chiefs act as under gaolers. The other day they told the +Captain of an attempt to escape. One of the lesser political +prisoners the other day effected a swift capture, while the +Captain was trailing about with the warrant; the man came to +see what was wanted; came, too, flanked by the former gaoler; +my prisoner offers to show him the dark cell, shoves him in, +and locks the door. 'Why do you do that?' cries the former +gaoler. 'A warrant,' says he. Finally, the chiefs actually +feed the soldiery who watch them! + +The gaol is a wretched little building, containing a little +room, and three cells, on each side of a central passage; it +is surrounded by a fence of corrugated iron, and shows, over +the top of that, only a gable end with the inscription O LE +FALE PUIPUI. It is on the edge of the mangrove swamp, and is +reached by a sort of causeway of turf. When we drew near, we +saw the gates standing open and a prodigious crowd outside - +I mean prodigious for Apia, perhaps a hundred and fifty +people. The two sentries at the gate stood to arms +passively, and there seemed to be a continuous circulation +inside and out. The captain came to meet us; our boy, who +had been sent ahead was there to take the horses; and we +passed inside the court which was full of food, and rang +continuously to the voice of the caller of gifts; I had to +blush a little later when my own present came, and I heard my +one pig and eight miserable pine-apples being counted out +like guineas. In the four corners of the yard and along one +wall, there are make-shift, dwarfish, Samoan houses or huts, +which have been run up since Captain Wurmbrand came to +accommodate the chiefs. Before that they were all crammed +into the six cells, and locked in for the night, some of them +with dysentery. They are wretched constructions enough, but +sanctified by the presence of chiefs. We heard a man +corrected loudly to-day for saying 'FALE' of one of them; +'MAOTA,' roared the highest chief present - 'palace.' About +eighteen chiefs, gorgeously arrayed, stood up to greet us, +and led us into one of these MAOTAS, where you may be sure we +had to crouch, almost to kneel, to enter, and where a row of +pretty girls occupied one side to make the ava (kava). The +highest chief present was a magnificent man, as high chiefs +usually are; I find I cannot describe him; his face is full +of shrewdness and authority; his figure like Ajax; his name +Auilua. He took the head of the building and put Belle on +his right hand. Fanny was called first for the ava (kava). +Our names were called in English style, the high-chief wife +of Mr. St- (an unpronounceable something); Mrs. Straw, and +the like. And when we went into the other house to eat, we +found we were seated alternately with chiefs about the - +table, I was about to say, but rather floor. Everything was +to be done European style with a vengeance! We were the only +whites present, except Wurmbrand, and still I had no +suspicion of the truth. They began to take off their ulas +(necklaces of scarlet seeds) and hang them about our necks; +we politely resisted, and were told that the King (who had +stopped off their SIVA) had sent down to the prison a message +to the effect that he was to give a dinner to-morrow, and +wished their second-hand ulas for it. Some of them were +content; others not. There was a ring of anger in the boy's +voice, as he told us we were to wear them past the King's +house. Dinner over, I must say they are moderate eaters at a +feast, we returned to the ava house; and then the curtain +drew suddenly up upon the set scene. We took our seats, and +Auilua began to give me a present, recapitulating each +article as he gave it out, with some appropriate comment. He +called me several times 'their only friend,' said they were +all in slavery, had no money, and these things were all made +by the hands of their families - nothing bought; he had one +phrase, in which I heard his voice rise up to a note of +triumph: 'This is a present from the poor prisoners to the +rich man.' Thirteen pieces of tapa, some of them +surprisingly fine, one I think unique; thirty fans of every +shape and colour; a kava cup, etc., etc. At first Auilua +conducted the business with weighty gravity; but before the +end of the thirty fans, his comments began to be humorous. +When it came to a little basket, he said: 'Here was a little +basket for Tusitala to put sixpence in, when he could get +hold of one' - with a delicious grimace. I answered as best +as I was able through a miserable interpreter; and all the +while, as I went on, I heard the crier outside in the court +calling my gift of food, which I perceived was to be +Gargantuan. I had brought but three boys with me. It was +plain that they were wholly overpowered. We proposed to send +for our gifts on the morrow; but no, said the interpreter, +that would never do; they must go away to-day, Mulinuu must +see my porters taking away the gifts, - 'make 'em jella,' +quoth the interpreter. And I began to see the reason of this +really splendid gift; one half, gratitude to me - one half, a +wipe at the King. + +And now, to introduce darker colours, you must know this +visit of mine to the gaol was just a little bit risky; we had +several causes for anxiety; it MIGHT have been put up, to +connect with a Tamasese rising. Tusitala and his family +would be good hostages. On the other hand, there were the +Mulinuu people all about. We could see the anxiety of +Captain Wurmbrand, no less anxious to have us go, than he had +been to see us come; he was deadly white and plainly had a +bad headache, in the noisy scene. Presently, the noise grew +uproarious; there was a rush at the gate - a rush in, not a +rush out - where the two sentries still stood passive; Auilua +leaped from his place (it was then that I got the name of +Ajax for him) and the next moment we heard his voice roaring +and saw his mighty figure swaying to and fro in the hurly- +burly. As the deuce would have it, we could not understand a +word of what was going on. It might be nothing more than the +ordinary 'grab racket' with which a feast commonly concludes; +it might be something worse. We made what arrangements we +could for my tapa, fans, etc., as well as for my five pigs, +my masses of fish, taro, etc., and with great dignity, and +ourselves laden with ulas and other decorations, passed +between the sentries among the howling mob to our horses. +All's well that ends well. Owing to Fanny and Belle, we had +to walk; and, as Lloyd said, 'he had at last ridden in a +circus.' The whole length of Apia we paced our triumphal +progress, past the King's palace, past the German firm at +Sogi - you can follow it on the map - amidst admiring +exclamations of 'MAWAIA' - beautiful - it may be rendered 'O +my! ain't they dandy' - until we turned up at last into our +road as the dusk deepened into night. It was really +exciting. And there is one thing sure: no such feast was +ever made for a single family, and no such present ever given +to a single white man. It is something to have been the hero +of it. And whatever other ingredients there were, +undoubtedly gratitude was present. As money value I have +actually gained on the transaction! + +Your note arrived; little profit, I must say. Scott has +already put his nose in, in ST. IVES, sir; but his appearance +is not yet complete; nothing is in that romance, except the +story. I have to announce that I am off work, probably for +six months. I must own that I have overworked bitterly - +overworked - there, that's legible. My hand is a thing that +was, and in the meanwhile so are my brains. And here, in the +very midst, comes a plausible scheme to make Vailima pay, +which will perhaps let me into considerable expense just when +I don't want it. You know the vast cynicism of my view of +affairs, and how readily and (as some people say) with how +much gusto I take the darker view? + +Why do you not send me Jerome K. Jerome's paper, and let me +see THE EBB TIDE as a serial? It is always very important to +see a thing in different presentments. I want every number. +Politically we begin the new year with every expectation of a +bust in 2 or 3 days, a bust which may spell destruction to +Samoa. I have written to Baxter about his proposal. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + + +VAILIMA, +JAN. 29TH, 1894. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - I had fully intended for your education and +moral health to fob you off with the meanest possible letter +this month, and unfortunately I find I will have to treat you +to a good long account of matters here. I believe I have +told you before about Tui-ma-le-alii-fano and my taking him +down to introduce him to the Chief Justice. Well, Tui came +back to Vailima one day in the blackest sort of spirits, +saying the war was decided, that he also must join in the +fight, and that there was no hope whatever of success. He +must fight as a point of honour for his family and country; +and in his case, even if he escaped on the field of battle, +deportation was the least to be looked for. He said he had a +letter of complaint from the Great Council of A'ana which he +wished to lay before the Chief Justice; and he asked me to +accompany him as if I were his nurse. We went down about +dinner time; and by the way received from a lurking native +the famous letter in an official blue envelope gummed up to +the edges. It proved to be a declaration of war, quite +formal, but with some variations that really made you bounce. +White residents were directly threatened, bidden to have +nothing to do with the King's party, not to receive their +goods in their houses, etc., under pain of an accident. +However, the Chief Justice took it very wisely and mildly, +and between us, he and I and Tui made up a plan which has +proved successful - so far. The war is over - fifteen chiefs +are this morning undergoing a curious double process of law, +comparable to a court martial; in which their complaints are +to be considered, and if possible righted, while their +conduct is to be criticised, perhaps punished. Up to now, +therefore, it has been a most successful policy; but the +danger is before us. My own feeling would decidedly be that +all would be spoiled by a single execution. The great hope +after all lies in the knotless, rather flaccid character of +the people. These are no Maoris. All the powers that +Cedarcrantz let go by disuse the new C. J. is stealthily and +boldly taking back again; perhaps some others also. He has +shamed the chiefs in Mulinuu into a law against taking heads, +with a punishment of six years' imprisonment and, for a +chief, degradation. To him has been left the sole conduct of +this anxious and decisive inquiry. If the natives stand it, +why, well! But I am nervous. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + + +FEB. 1894. + + +DEAR COLVIN, - By a reaction, when your letter is a little +decent, mine is to be naked and unashamed. We have been much +exercised. No one can prophesy here, of course, and the +balance still hangs trembling, but I THINK it will go for +peace. + +The mail was very late this time; hence the paltryness of +this note. When it came and I had read it, I retired with +THE EBB TIDE and read it all before I slept. I did not dream +it was near as good; I am afraid I think it excellent. A +little indecision about Attwater, not much. It gives me +great hope, as I see I CAN work in that constipated, mosaic +manner, which is what I have to do just now with WEIR OF +HERMISTON. + +We have given a ball; I send you a paper describing the +event. We have two guests in the house, Captain-Count +Wurmbrand and Monsieur Albert de Lautreppe. Lautreppe is +awfully nice - a quiet, gentlemanly fellow, GONFLE DE REVES, +as he describes himself - once a sculptor in the atelier of +Henry Crosse, he knows something of art, and is really a +resource to me. + +Letter from Meredith very kind. Have you seen no more of +Graham? + +What about my grandfather? The family history will grow to +be quite a chapter. + +I suppose I am growing sensitive; perhaps, by living among +barbarians, I expect more civility. Look at this from the +author of a very interesting and laudatory critique. He +gives quite a false description of something of mine, and +talks about my 'insolence.' Frankly, I supposed 'insolence' +to be a tapua word. I do not use it to a gentleman, I would +not write it of a gentleman: I may be wrong, but I believe we +did not write it of a gentleman in old days, and in my view +he (clever fellow as he is) wants to be kicked for applying +it to me. By writing a novel - even a bad one - I do not +make myself a criminal for anybody to insult. This may amuse +you. But either there is a change in journalism, too gradual +for you to remark it on the spot, or there is a change in me. +I cannot bear these phrases; I long to resent them. My +forbears, the tenant farmers of the Mains, would not have +suffered such expressions unless it had been from Cauldwell, +or Rowallan, or maybe Auchendrane. My Family Pride bristles. +I am like the negro, 'I just heard last night' who my great, +great, great, great grandfather was. - Ever yours, + +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + + +MARCH 1894. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - This is the very day the mail goes, and I +have as yet written you nothing. But it was just as well - +as it was all about my 'blacks and chocolates,' and what of +it had relation to whites you will read some of in the TIMES. +It means, as you will see, that I have at one blow quarrelled +with all the officials of Samoa, the Foreign Office, and I +suppose her Majesty the Queen with milk and honey blest. But +you'll see in the TIMES. I am very well indeed, but just +about dead and mighty glad the mail is near here, and I can +just give up all hope of contending with my letters, and lie +down for the rest of the day. These TIMES letters are not +easy to write. And I dare say the Consuls say, 'Why, then, +does he write them?' + +I had miserable luck with ST. IVES; being already half-way +through it, a book I had ordered six months ago arrives at +last, and I have to change the first half of it from top to +bottom! How could I have dreamed the French prisoners were +watched over like a female charity school, kept in a +grotesque livery, and shaved twice a week? And I had made +all my points on the idea that they were unshaved and clothed +anyhow. However, this last is better business; if only the +book had come when I ordered it! A PROPOS, many of the books +you announce don't come as a matter of fact. When they are +of any value, it is best to register them. Your letter, +alas! is not here; I sent it down to the cottage, with all my +mail, for Fanny; on Sunday night a boy comes up with a +lantern and a note from Fanny, to say the woods are full of +Atuas and I must bring a horse down that instant, as the +posts are established beyond her on the road, and she does +not want to have the fight going on between us. Impossible +to get a horse; so I started in the dark on foot, with a +revolver, and my spurs on my bare feet, leaving directions +that the boy should mount after me with the horse. Try such +an experience on Our Road once, and do it, if you please, +after you have been down town from nine o'clock till six, on +board the ship-of-war lunching, teaching Sunday School (I +actually do) and making necessary visits; and the Saturday +before, having sat all day from half past six to half-past +four, scriving at my TIMES letter. About half-way up, just +in fact at 'point' of the outposts, I met Fanny coming up. +Then all night long I was being wakened with scares that +really should be looked into, though I KNEW there was nothing +in them and no bottom to the whole story; and the drums and +shouts and cries from Tanugamanono and the town keeping up an +all night corybantic chorus in the moonlight - the moon rose +late - and the search-light of the war-ship in the harbour +making a jewel of brightness as it lit up the bay of Apia in +the distance. And then next morning, about eight o'clock, a +drum coming out of the woods and a party of patrols who had +been in the woods on our left front (which is our true rear) +coming up to the house, and meeting there another party who +had been in the woods on our right { front / rear } which is +Vaea Mountain, and 43 of them being entertained to ava and +biscuits on the verandah, and marching off at last in single +file for Apia. Briefly, it is not much wonder if your letter +and my whole mail was left at the cottage, and I have no +means of seeing or answering particulars. + +The whole thing was nothing but a bottomless scare; it was +OBVIOUSLY so; you couldn't make a child believe it was +anything else, but it has made the Consuls sit up. My own +private scares were really abominably annoying; as for +instance after I had got to sleep for the ninth time perhaps +- and that was no easy matter either, for I had a crick in my +neck so agonising that I had to sleep sitting up - I heard +noises as of a man being murdered in the boys' house. To be +sure, said I, this is nothing again, but if a man's head was +being taken, the noises would be the same! So I had to get +up, stifle my cries of agony from the crick, get my revolver, +and creep out stealthily to the boys' house. And there were +two of them sitting up, keeping watch of their own accord +like good boys, and whiling the time over a game of Sweepi +(Cascino - the whist of our islanders) - and one of them was +our champion idiot, Misifolo, and I suppose he was holding +bad cards, and losing all the time - and these noises were +his humorous protests against Fortune! + +Well, excuse this excursion into my 'blacks and chocolates.' +It is the last. You will have heard from Lysaght how I +failed to write last mail. The said Lysaght seems to me a +very nice fellow. We were only sorry he could not stay with +us longer. Austin came back from school last week, which +made a great time for the Amanuensis, you may be sure. Then +on Saturday, the CURACOA came in - same commission, with all +our old friends; and on Sunday, as already mentioned, Austin +and I went down to service and had lunch afterwards in the +wardroom. The officers were awfully nice to Austin; they are +the most amiable ship in the world; and after lunch we had a +paper handed round on which we were to guess, and sign our +guess, of the number of leaves on the pine-apple; I never saw +this game before, but it seems it is much practised in the +Queen's Navee. When all have betted, one of the party begins +to strip the pine-apple head, and the person whose guess is +furthest out has to pay for the sherry. My equanimity was +disturbed by shouts of THE AMERICAN COMMODORE, and I found +that Austin had entered and lost about a bottle of sherry! +He turned with great composure and addressed me. 'I am +afraid I must look to you, Uncle Louis.' The Sunday School +racket is only an experiment which I took up at the request +of the late American Land Commissioner; I am trying it for a +month, and if I do as ill as I believe, and the boys find it +only half as tedious as I do, I think it will end in a month. +I have CARTE BLANCHE, and say what I like; but does any +single soul understand me? + +Fanny is on the whole very much better. Lloyd has been under +the weather, and goes for a month to the South Island of New +Zealand for some skating, save the mark! I get all the +skating I want among officials. + +Dear Colvin, please remember that my life passes among my +'blacks or chocolates.' If I were to do as you propose, in a +bit of a tiff, it would cut you off entirely from my life. +You must try to exercise a trifle of imagination, and put +yourself, perhaps with an effort, into some sort of sympathy +with these people, or how am I to write to you? I think you +are truly a little too Cockney with me. - Ever yours, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + + +VAILIMA, MAY 18TH, 1894. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - Your proposals for the Edinburgh edition +are entirely to my mind. About the AMATEUR EMIGRANT, it +shall go to you by this mail well slashed. If you like to +slash some more on your own account, I give you permission. +'Tis not a great work; but since it goes to make up the two +first volumes as proposed, I presume it has not been written +in vain. - MISCELLANIES. I see with some alarm the proposal +to print JUVENILIA; does it not seem to you taking myself a +little too much as Grandfather William? I am certainly not +so young as I once was - a lady took occasion to remind me of +the fact no later agone than last night. 'Why don't you +leave that to the young men, Mr. Stevenson?' said she - but +when I remember that I felt indignant at even John Ruskin +when he did something of the kind I really feel myself blush +from head to heel. If you want to make up the first volume, +there are a good many works which I took the trouble to +prepare for publication and which have never been +republished. In addition to ROADS and DANCING CHILDREN, +referred to by you, there is an Autumn effect in the +PORTFOLIO, and a paper on FONTAINEBLEAU - FOREST NOTES is the +name of it - in CORNHILL. I have no objection to any of +these being edited, say with a scythe, and reproduced. But I +heartily abominate and reject the idea of reprinting the +PENTLAND RISING. For God's sake let me get buried first. + +TALES AND FANTASIES. Vols. I. and II. have my hearty +approval. But I think III. and IV. had better be crammed +into one as you suggest. I will reprint none of the stories +mentioned. They are below the mark. Well, I dare say the +beastly BODY-SNATCHER has merit, and I am unjust to it from +my recollections of the PALL MALL. But the other two won't +do. For vols. V. and VI., now changed into IV. and V., I +propose the common title of SOUTH SEA YARNS. There! These +are all my differences of opinion. I agree with every detail +of your arrangement, and, as you see, my objections have +turned principally on the question of hawking unripe fruit. +I daresay it is all pretty green, but that is no reason for +us to fill the barrow with trash. Think of having a new set +of type cast, paper especially made, etc., in order to set up +rubbish that is not fit for the SATURDAY SCOTSMAN. It would +be the climax of shame. + +I am sending you a lot of verses, which had best, I think, be +called UNDERWOODS Book III., but in what order are they to +go? Also, I am going on every day a little, till I get sick +of it, with the attempt to get the EMIGRANT compressed into +life; I know I can - or you can after me - do it. It is only +a question of time and prayer and ink, and should leave +something, no, not good, but not all bad - a very genuine +appreciation of these folks. You are to remember besides +there is that paper of mine on Bunyan in THE MAGAZINE OF ART. +O, and then there's another thing in SEELEY called some +spewsome name, I cannot recall it. + +Well - come, here goes for JUVENILIA. DANCING INFANTS, +ROADS, AN AUTUMN EFFECT, FOREST NOTES (but this should come +at the end of them, as it's really rather riper), the t'other +thing from SEELEY, and I'll tell you, you may put in my +letter to the Church of Scotland - it's not written amiss, +and I daresay the PHILOSOPHY OF UMBRELLAS might go in, but +there I stick - and remember THAT was a collaboration with +James Walter Ferrier. O, and there was a little skit called +the CHARITY BAZAAR, which you might see; I don't think it +would do. Now, I do not think there are two other words that +should be printed. - By the way, there is an article of mine +called THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW in the CONTEMPORARY which you +might find room for somewhere; it is no' bad. + +Very busy with all these affairs and some native ones also. + + + +CHAPTER XL + + + +VAILIMA, June 18th, 94. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - You are to please understand that my last +letter is withdrawn unconditionally. You and Baxter are +having all the trouble of this Edition, and I simply put +myself in your hands for you to do what you like with me, and +I am sure that will be the best, at any rate. Hence you are +to conceive me withdrawing all objections to your printing +anything you please. After all it is a sort of family +affair. About the Miscellany Section, both plans seem to me +quite good. Toss up. I think the OLD GARDENER has to stay +where I put him last. It would not do to separate John and +Robert. + +In short, I am only sorry I ever uttered a word about the +edition, and leave you to be the judge. I have had a vile +cold which has prostrated me for more than a fortnight, and +even now tears me nightly with spasmodic coughs; but it has +been a great victory. I have never borne a cold with so +little hurt; wait till the clouds blow by, before you begin +to boast! I have had no fever; and though I've been very +unhappy, it is nigh over, I think. Of course, ST. IVES has +paid the penalty. I must not let you be disappointed in ST. +I. It is a mere tissue of adventures; the central figure not +very well or very sharply drawn; no philosophy, no destiny, +to it; some of the happenings very good in themselves, I +believe, but none of them BILDENDE, none of them +constructive, except in so far perhaps as they make up a kind +of sham picture of the time, all in italics and all out of +drawing. Here and there, I think, it is well written; and +here and there it's not. Some of the episodic characters are +amusing, I do believe; others not, I suppose. However, they +are the best of the thing such as it is. If it has a merit +to it, I should say it was a sort of deliberation and swing +to the style, which seems to me to suit the mail-coaches and +post-chaises with which it sounds all through. 'Tis my most +prosaic book. + +I called on the two German ships now in port, and we are +quite friendly with them, and intensely friendly of course +with our own CURACOAS. But it is other guess work on the +beach. Some one has employed, or subsidised, one of the +local editors to attack me once a week. He is pretty +scurrilous and pretty false. The first effect of the perusal +of the weekly Beast is to make me angry; the second is a kind +of deep, golden content and glory, when I seem to say to +people: 'See! this is my position - I am a plain man dwelling +in the bush in a house, and behold they have to get up this +kind of truck against me - and I have so much influence that +they are obliged to write a weekly article to say I have +none.' + +By this time you must have seen Lysaght and forgiven me the +letter that came not at all. He was really so nice a fellow +- he had so much to tell me of Meredith - and the time was so +short - that I gave up the intervening days between mails +entirely to entertain him. + +We go on pretty nicely. Fanny, Belle, and I have had two +months alone, and it has been very pleasant. But by to- +morrow or next day noon, we shall see the whole clan +assembled again about Vailima table, which will be pleasant +too; seven persons in all, and the Babel of voices will be +heard again in the big hall so long empty and silent. Good- +bye. Love to all. Time to close. - Yours ever, + +R. L. S. + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + + +JULY, 1894. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - I have to thank you this time for a very +good letter, and will announce for the future, though I +cannot now begin to put in practice, good intentions for our +correspondence. I will try to return to the old system and +write from time to time during the month; but truly you did +not much encourage me to continue! However, that is all by- +past. I do not know that there is much in your letter that +calls for answer. Your questions about ST. IVES were +practically answered in my last; so were your wails about the +edition, AMATEUR EMIGRANT, etc. By the end of the year ST. +I. will be practically finished, whatever it be worth, and +that I know not. When shall I receive proofs of the MAGNUM +OPUS? or shall I receive them at all? + +The return of the Amanuensis feebly lightens my heart. You +can see the heavy weather I was making of it with my unaided +pen. The last month has been particularly cheery largely +owing to the presence of our good friends the CURACOAS. She +is really a model ship, charming officers and charming +seamen. They gave a ball last month, which was very rackety +and joyous and naval. . . . + +On the following day, about one o'clock, three horsemen might +have been observed approaching Vailima, who gradually +resolved themselves into two petty officers and a native +guide. Drawing himself up and saluting, the spokesman (a +corporal of Marines) addressed me thus. 'Me and my shipmates +inwites Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, Mrs. Strong, Mr. Austin, and +Mr. Balfour to a ball to be given to-night in the self-same +'all.' It was of course impossible to refuse, though I +contented myself with putting in a very brief appearance. +One glance was sufficient; the ball went off like a rocket +from the start. I had only time to watch Belle careering +around with a gallant bluejacket of exactly her own height - +the standard of the British navy - an excellent dancer and +conspicuously full of small-talk - and to hear a remark from +a beach-comber, 'It's a nice sight this some way, to see the +officers dancing like this with the men, but I tell you, sir, +these are the men that'll fight together!' + +I tell you, Colvin, the acquaintance of the men - and boys - +makes me feel patriotic. Eeles in particular is a man whom I +respect. I am half in a mind to give him a letter of +introduction to you when he goes home. In case you feel +inclined to make a little of him, give him a dinner, ask +Henry James to come to meet him, etc. - you might let me +know. I don't know that he would show his best, but he is a +remarkably fine fellow, in every department of life. + +We have other visitors in port. A Count Festetics de Solna, +an Austrian officer, a very pleasant, simple, boyish +creature, with his young wife, daughter of an American +millionaire; he is a friend of our own Captain Wurmbrand, and +it is a great pity Wurmbrand is away. + +Glad you saw and liked Lysaght. He has left in our house a +most cheerful and pleasing memory, as a good, pleasant, brisk +fellow with good health and brains, and who enjoys himself +and makes other people happy. I am glad he gave you a good +report of our surroundings and way of life; but I knew he +would, for I believe he had a glorious time - and gave one. + +I am on fair terms with the two Treaty officials, though all +such intimacies are precarious; with the consuls, I need not +say, my position is deplorable. The President (Herr Emil +Schmidt) is a rather dreamy man, whom I like. Lloyd, Graham +and I go to breakfast with him to-morrow; the next day the +whole party of us lunch on the CURACOA and go in the evening +to a BIERABEND at Dr. Funk's. We are getting up a paper- +chase for the following week with some of the young German +clerks, and have in view a sort of child's party for grown-up +persons with kissing games, etc., here at Vailima. Such is +the gay scene in which we move. Now I have done something, +though not as much as I wanted, to give you an idea of how we +are getting on, and I am keenly conscious that there are +other letters to do before the mail goes. - Yours ever, + +R. L. STEVENSON. + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + + +AUG. 7TH + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - This is to inform you, sir, that on Sunday +last (and this is Tuesday) I attained my ideal here, and we +had a paper chase in Vailele Plantation, about 15 miles, I +take it, from us; and it was all that could be wished. It is +really better fun than following the hounds, since you have +to be your own hound, and a precious bad hound I was, +following every false scent on the whole course to the bitter +end; but I came in 3rd at the last on my little Jack, who +stuck to it gallantly, and awoke the praises of some +discriminating persons. (5 + 7 + 2.5 = 14.5 miles; yes, that +is the count.) We had quite the old sensations of +exhilaration, discovery, an appeal to a savage instinct; and +I felt myself about 17 again, a pleasant experience. +However, it was on the Sabbath Day, and I am now a pariah +among the English, as if I needed any increment of +unpopularity. I must not go again; it gives so much +unnecessary tribulation to poor people, and, sure, we don't +want to make tribulation. I have been forbidden to work, and +have been instead doing my two or three hours in the +plantation every morning. I only wish somebody would pay me +10 pounds a day for taking care of cacao, and I could leave +literature to others. Certainly, if I have plenty of +exercise, and no work, I feel much better; but there is Biles +the butcher! him we have always with us. + +I do not much like novels, I begin to think, but I am +enjoying exceedingly Orme's HISTORY OF HINDOSTAN, a lovely +book in its way, in large quarto, with a quantity of maps, +and written in a very lively and solid eighteenth century +way, never picturesque except by accident and from a kind of +conviction, and a fine sense of order. No historian I have +ever read is so minute; yet he never gives you a word about +the people; his interest is entirely limited in the +concatenation of events, into which he goes with a lucid, +almost superhuman, and wholly ghostly gusto. 'By the ghost +of a mathematician' the book might be announced. A very +brave, honest book. + +Your letter to hand. + +Fact is, I don't like the picter. O, it's a good picture, +but if you ASK me, you know, I believe, stoutly believe, that +mankind, including you, are going mad, I am not in the midst +with the other frenzy dancers, so I don't catch it wholly; +and when you show me a thing - and ask me, don't you know - +Well, well! Glad to get so good an account of the AMATEUR +EMIGRANT. Talking of which, I am strong for making a volume +out of selections from the South Sea letters; I read over +again the King of Apemama, and it is good in spite of your +teeth, and a real curiosity, a thing that can never be seen +again, and the group is annexed and Tembinoka dead. I +wonder, couldn't you send out to me the FIRST five Butaritari +letters and the Low Archipelago ones (both of which I have +lost or mislaid) and I can chop out a perfectly fair volume +of what I wish to be preserved. It can keep for the last of +the series. + +TRAVELS AND EXCURSIONS, vol. II. Should it not include a +paper on S. F. from the MAG. OF ART? The A. E., the New +Pacific capital, the Old ditto. SILVER. SQUAT. This would +give all my works on the States; and though it ain't very +good, it's not so very bad. TRAVELS AND EXCURSIONS, vol. +III., to be these resuscitated letters - MISCELLANIES, vol. +II. - COMME VOUS VOUDREZ, CHER MONSIEUR! + + +MONDAY, Aug. 13TH + + +I have a sudden call to go up the coast and must hurry up +with my information. There has suddenly come to our naval +commanders the need of action, they're away up the coast +bombarding the Atua rebels. All morning on Saturday the +sound of the bombardment of Lotuanu'u kept us uneasy. To-day +again the big guns have been sounding further along the +coast. + +To-morrow morning early I am off up the coast myself. +Therefore you must allow me to break off here without further +ceremony. - Yours ever, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + + +VAILIMA, 1894. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - This must be a very measly letter. I have +been trying hard to get along with ST. IVES. I should now +lay it aside for a year and I daresay I should make something +of it after all. Instead of that, I have to kick against the +pricks, and break myself, and spoil the book, if there were +anything to spoil, which I am far from saying. I'm as sick +of the thing as ever any one can be; it's a rudderless hulk; +it's a pagoda, and you can just feel - or I can feel - that +it might have been a pleasant story, if it had been only +blessed at baptism. + +Our politics have gone on fairly well, but the result is +still doubtful. + + +SEPT. 10TH. + + +I know I have something else to say to you, but unfortunately +I awoke this morning with collywobbles, and had to take a +small dose of laudanum with the usual consequences of dry +throat, intoxicated legs, partial madness and total +imbecility; and for the life of me I cannot remember what it +is. I have likewise mislaid your letter amongst the +accumulations on my table, not that there was anything in it. +Altogether I am in a poor state. I forgot to tell Baxter +that the dummy had turned up and is a fine, personable- +looking volume and very good reading. Please communicate +this to him. + +I have just remembered an incident that I really must not let +pass. You have heard a great deal more than you wanted about +our political prisoners. Well, one day, about a fortnight +ago, the last of them was set free - Old Poe, whom I think I +must have mentioned to you, the father-in-law of my cook, was +one that I had had a great deal of trouble with. I had taken +the doctor to see him, got him out on sick leave, and when he +was put back again gave bail for him. I must not forget that +my wife ran away with him out of the prison on the doctor's +orders and with the complicity of our friend the gaoler, who +really and truly got the sack for the exploit. As soon as he +was finally liberated, Poe called a meeting of his fellow- +prisoners. All Sunday they were debating what they were to +do, and on Monday morning I got an obscure hint from Talolo +that I must expect visitors during the day who were coming to +consult me. These consultations I am now very well used to, +and seeing first, that I generally don't know what to advise, +and second that they sometimes don't take my advice - though +in some notable cases they have taken it, generally to my own +wonder with pretty good results - I am not very fond of these +calls. They minister to a sense of dignity, but not peace of +mind, and consume interminable time always in the morning +too, when I can't afford it. However, this was to be a new +sort of consultation. Up came Poe and some eight other +chiefs, squatted in a big circle around the old dining-room +floor, now the smoking-room. And the family, being +represented by Lloyd, Graham, Belle, Austin and myself, +proceeded to exchange the necessary courtesies. Then their +talking man began. He said that they had been in prison, +that I had always taken an interest in them, that they had +now been set at liberty without condition, whereas some of +the other chiefs who had been liberated before them were +still under bond to work upon the roads, and that this had +set them considering what they might do to testify their +gratitude. They had therefore agreed to work upon my road as +a free gift. They went on to explain that it was only to be +on my road, on the branch that joins my house with the public +way. + +Now I was very much gratified at this compliment, although +(to one used to natives) it seemed rather a hollow one. It +meant only that I should have to lay out a good deal of money +on tools and food and to give wages under the guise of +presents to some workmen who were most of them old and in +ill-health. Conceive how much I was surprised and touched +when I heard the whole scheme explained to me. They were to +return to their provinces, and collect their families; some +of the young men were to live in Apia with a boat, and ply up +and down the coast to A'ana and A'tua (our own Tuamasaga +being quite drained of resources) in order to supply the +working squad with food. Tools they did ask for, but it was +especially mentioned that I was to make no presents. In +short, the whole of this little 'presentation' to me had been +planned with a good deal more consideration than goes usually +with a native campaign. + + +(I sat on the opposite side of the circle to the talking man. +His face was quite calm and high-bred as he went through the +usual Samoan expressions of politeness and compliment, but +when he came on to the object of their visit, on their love +and gratitude to Tusitala, how his name was always in their +prayers, and his goodness to them when they had no other +friend, was their most cherished memory, he warmed up to +real, burning, genuine feeling. I had never seen the Samoan +mask of reserve laid aside before, and it touched me more +than anything else. A.M.) + + +This morning as ever was, bright and early up came the whole +gang of them, a lot of sturdy, common-looking lads they +seemed to be for the most part, and fell to on my new road. +Old Poe was in the highest of good spirits, and looked better +in health than he has done any time in two years, being +positively rejuvenated by the success of his scheme. He +jested as he served out the new tools, and I am sorry to say +damned the Government up hill and down dale, probably with a +view to show off his position as a friend of the family +before his work-boys. Now, whether or not their impulse will +last them through the road does not matter to me one hair. +It is the fact that they have attempted it, that they have +volunteered and are now really trying to execute a thing that +was never before heard of in Samoa. Think of it! It is +road-making - the most fruitful cause (after taxes) of all +rebellions in Samoa, a thing to which they could not be wiled +with money nor driven by punishment. It does give me a sense +of having done something in Samoa after all. + +Now there's one long story for you about 'my blacks.' - Yours +ever, + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + + + +VAILIMA, SAMOA, +OCT. 6TH, 1894. + + +MY DEAR COLVIN, - We have had quite an interesting month and +mostly in consideration of that road which I think I told you +was about to be made. It was made without a hitch, though I +confess I was considerably surprised. When they got through, +I wrote a speech to them, sent it down to a Missionary to be +translated, and invited the lot to a feast. I thought a good +deal of this feast. The occasion was really interesting. I +wanted to pitch it in hot. And I wished to have as many +influential witnesses present as possible. Well, as it drew +towards the day I had nothing but refusals. Everybody +supposed it was to be a political occasion, that I had made a +hive of rebels up here, and was going to push for new +hostilities. + +The Amanuensis has been ill, and after the above trial +petered out. I must return to my own, lone Waverley. The +captain refused, telling me why; and at last I had to beat up +for people almost with prayers. However, I got a good lot, +as you will see by the accompanying newspaper report. The +road contained this inscription, drawn up by the chiefs +themselves: + + +'THE ROAD OF GRATITUDE.' + + +'Considering the great love of Tusitala in his loving care of +us in our distress in the prison, we have therefore prepared +a splendid gift. It shall never be muddy, it shall endure +for ever, this road that we have dug.' This the newspaper +reporter could not give, not knowing any Samoan. The same +reason explains his references to Seumanutafa's speech, which +was not long and WAS important, for it was a speech of +courtesy and forgiveness to his former enemies. It was very +much applauded. Secondly, it was not Poe, it was Mataafa +(don't confuse with Mataafa) who spoke for the prisoners. +Otherwise it is extremely correct. + +I beg your pardon for so much upon my aboriginals. Even you +must sympathise with me in this unheard-of compliment, and my +having been able to deliver so severe a sermon with +acceptance. It remains a nice point of conscience what I +should wish done in the matter. I think this meeting, its +immediate results, and the terms of what I said to them, +desirable to be known. It will do a little justice to me, +who have not had too much justice done me. At the same time, +to send this report to the papers is truly an act of self- +advertisement, and I dislike the thought. Query, in a man +who has been so much calumniated, is that not justifiable? I +do not know; be my judge. Mankind is too complicated for me; +even myself. Do I wish to advertise? I think I do, God help +me! I have had hard times here, as every man must have who +mixes up with public business; and I bemoan myself, knowing +that all I have done has been in the interest of peace and +good government; and having once delivered my mind, I would +like it, I think, to be made public. But the other part of +me REGIMBS. + +I know I am at a climacteric for all men who live by their +wits, so I do not despair. But the truth is I am pretty +nearly useless at literature, and I will ask you to spare ST. +IVES when it goes to you; it is a sort of COUNT ROBERT OF +PARIS. But I hope rather a DOMBEY AND SON, to be succeeded +by OUR MUTUAL FRIEND and GREAT EXPECTATIONS and A TALE OF TWO +CITIES. No toil has been spared over the ungrateful canvas; +and it WILL NOT come together, and I must live, and my +family. Were it not for my health, which made it impossible, +I could not find it in my heart to forgive myself that I did +not stick to an honest, common-place trade when I was young, +which might have now supported me during these ill years. +But do not suppose me to be down in anything else; only, for +the nonce, my skill deserts me, such as it is, or was. It +was a very little dose of inspiration, and a pretty little +trick of style, long lost, improved by the most heroic +industry. So far, I have managed to please the journalists. +But I am a fictitious article and have long known it. I am +read by journalists, by my fellow-novelists, and by boys; +with these, INCIPIT ET EXPLICIT my vogue. Good thing anyway! +for it seems to have sold the Edition. And I look forward +confidently to an aftermath; I do not think my health can be +so hugely improved, without some subsequent improvement in my +brains. Though, of course, there is the possibility that +literature is a morbid secretion, and abhors health! I do +not think it is possible to have fewer illusions than I. I +sometimes wish I had more. They are amusing. But I cannot +take myself seriously as an artist; the limitations are so +obvious. I did take myself seriously as a workman of old, +but my practice has fallen off. I am now an idler and +cumberer of the ground; it may be excused to me perhaps by +twenty years of industry and ill-health, which have taken the +cream off the milk. + +As I was writing this last sentence, I heard the strident +rain drawing near across the forest, and by the time I was +come to the word 'cream' it burst upon my roof, and has since +redoubled, and roared upon it. A very welcome change. All +smells of the good wet earth, sweetly, with a kind of +Highland touch; the crystal rods of the shower, as I look up, +have drawn their criss-cross over everything; and a gentle +and very welcome coolness comes up around me in little +draughts, blessed draughts, not chilling, only equalising the +temperature. Now the rain is off in this spot, but I hear it +roaring still in the nigh neighbourhood - and that moment, I +was driven from the verandah by random rain drops, spitting +at me through the Japanese blinds. These are not tears with +which the page is spotted! Now the windows stream, the roof +reverberates. It is good; it answers something which is in +my heart; I know not what; old memories of the wet moorland +belike. + +Well, it has blown by again, and I am in my place once more, +with an accompaniment of perpetual dripping on the verandah - +and very much inclined for a chat. The exact subject I do +not know! It will be bitter at least, and that is strange, +for my attitude is essentially NOT bitter, but I have come +into these days when a man sees above all the seamy side, and +I have dwelt some time in a small place where he has an +opportunity of reading little motives that he would miss in +the great world, and indeed, to-day, I am almost ready to +call the world an error. Because? Because I have not +drugged myself with successful work, and there are all kinds +of trifles buzzing in my ear, unfriendly trifles, from the +least to the - well, to the pretty big. All these that touch +me are Pretty Big; and yet none touch me in the least, if +rightly looked at, except the one eternal burthen to go on +making an income. If I could find a place where I could lie +down and give up for (say) two years, and allow the sainted +public to support me, if it were a lunatic asylum, wouldn't I +go, just! But we can't have both extremes at once, worse +luck! I should like to put my savings into a proprietarian +investment, and retire in the meanwhile into a communistic +retreat, which is double-dealing. But you men with salaries +don't know how a family weighs on a fellow's mind. + +I hear the article in next week's HERALD is to be a great +affair, and all the officials who came to me the other day +are to be attacked! This is the unpleasant side of being +(without a salary) in public life; I will leave anyone to +judge if my speech was well intended, and calculated to do +good. It was even daring - I assure you one of the chiefs +looked like a fiend at my description of Samoan warfare. +Your warning was not needed; we are all determined to KEEP +THE PEACE and to HOLD OUR PEACE. I know, my dear fellow, how +remote all this sounds! Kindly pardon your friend. I have +my life to live here; these interests are for me immediate; +and if I do not write of them, I might as soon not write at +all. There is the difficulty in a distant correspondence. +It is perhaps easy for me to enter into and understand your +interests; I own it is difficult for you; but you must just +wade through them for friendship's sake, and try to find +tolerable what is vital for your friend. I cannot forbear +challenging you to it, as to intellectual lists. It is the +proof of intelligence, the proof of not being a barbarian, to +be able to enter into something outside of oneself, something +that does not touch one's next neighbour in the city omnibus. + +Good-bye, my lord. May your race continue and you flourish - +Yours ever, + +TUSITALA. + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of Vailima Letters, by Stevenson + diff --git a/old/valma10.zip b/old/valma10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..58e8895 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/valma10.zip |
