diff options
Diffstat (limited to '387-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/387-h.htm | 10559 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/fpb.jpg | bin | 0 -> 158737 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/fps.jpg | bin | 0 -> 33178 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p118b.jpg | bin | 0 -> 379558 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p118s.jpg | bin | 0 -> 35257 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p120b.jpg | bin | 0 -> 54464 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p120s.jpg | bin | 0 -> 23710 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p167.jpg | bin | 0 -> 9325 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p209b.jpg | bin | 0 -> 49409 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p209s.jpg | bin | 0 -> 24366 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p21.jpg | bin | 0 -> 17433 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p320b.jpg | bin | 0 -> 432039 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p320s.jpg | bin | 0 -> 36693 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p35b.jpg | bin | 0 -> 40607 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p35s.jpg | bin | 0 -> 14942 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p5b.jpg | bin | 0 -> 86266 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 387-h/images/p5s.jpg | bin | 0 -> 22924 bytes |
17 files changed, 10559 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/387-h/387-h.htm b/387-h/387-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ebee8a4 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/387-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10559 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Vailima Letters, by Robert Louis Stevenson</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +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: 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. 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. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/387-h/images/fpb.jpg b/387-h/images/fpb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2609716 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/fpb.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/fps.jpg b/387-h/images/fps.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0a57c9d --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/fps.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p118b.jpg b/387-h/images/p118b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c127c79 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p118b.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p118s.jpg b/387-h/images/p118s.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f972a3c --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p118s.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p120b.jpg b/387-h/images/p120b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb82ba4 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p120b.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p120s.jpg b/387-h/images/p120s.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..90cf982 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p120s.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p167.jpg b/387-h/images/p167.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0977489 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p167.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p209b.jpg b/387-h/images/p209b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d0e12a --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p209b.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p209s.jpg b/387-h/images/p209s.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7dc2826 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p209s.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p21.jpg b/387-h/images/p21.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..197fa7b --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p21.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p320b.jpg b/387-h/images/p320b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..25c4850 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p320b.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p320s.jpg b/387-h/images/p320s.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e23ad0b --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p320s.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p35b.jpg b/387-h/images/p35b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e333b92 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p35b.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p35s.jpg b/387-h/images/p35s.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..36077cf --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p35s.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p5b.jpg b/387-h/images/p5b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b96b071 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p5b.jpg diff --git a/387-h/images/p5s.jpg b/387-h/images/p5s.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7abf553 --- /dev/null +++ b/387-h/images/p5s.jpg |
