SAMOAN MYTHOLOGY
The mythology of the Samoans was much like that of other primitive nations, and as in similar cases their gods and heroes were closely connected. The chiefdeity was a certain Tangoloalangi or “god-of-heaven.” He had a son called Pilibuu, who came down to earth, settled in Samoa, and planted kava and sugar-cane. He also made a fishing-net and selected as his place of abode a spot on Upolu large enough to enable him to spread it out. Pilibuu had four sons to whom he allotted various offices; one was to look after the plantations, another to carry the walking-stick and fly-whisk to “do the talking,” a third as warrior carried the spear and club, while the youngest had charge of the canoes. To all he gave the excellent advice, “When you wish to work, work; when you wish to talk, talk; when you wish to fight, fight.” The second injunction struck me as that most congenial to his descendants.
The Samoans had legends connected with their mats, those of fine texture being valued as jewels are in Western lands. One was told me at great length about a mat made by a woman who was a spirit, who worked at different times under the vines, under a canoe, and on the sea-shore. Either her personal charms or her industry captivated Tangoloalangi, and he took her up to heaven and made her his wife. Her first child, a daughter, was endowed with the mat, and looking down from heaven she was fascinated by the appearance of a fine man attired in a lava-lava of red bird-of-paradise feathers. She descended in a shower of rain, but her Endymion, mistaking her mode of transit for an ordinary storm, took off his plumes for fear they should get wet. Arrived on earth she went up to him and said, “Where is the man I saw from heaven wearing a fine lava-lava?” “I am he,” replied the swain. Incredulous, she retorted, “I saw a man not so ugly as you.” “I am the same as before, but you saw me from a distance with a red lava-lava on.” In vain he resumed his adornment;the charm was broken and she would none of him. Instead of returning to the skies she wandered to another village and had further adventures with the mat, which she gave to her daughter by the earthly husband whom she ultimately selected. She told the girl that on any day on which she took the mat out to dry in the sun there would be darkness, rain, and hurricane. The mat was still preserved in the family of the man who told me the story, and was never taken out to dry in the sun.
The Samoans, like other races, had a story of the Flood, and one derivation (there are several) of the name of the Group is Sa = sacred or preserved, Moa = fowl, as they say that one of their gods preserved his fowls on these islands during the deluge.
They had sacred symbols, such as sticks, leaves, and stones, and a general belief in spirits, but I never heard of any special ritual, nor were there any traces of temples on the Islands. They seemed a gentle, amiable people, not fierce like the natives of New Ireland, the New Hebrides, and others of negroid type.
The constant joy of the natives is to go for a malanga or boat expedition to visit neighbouring villages, and we quite realised the fascination of this mode of progress when we were rowed through the quiet lagoons in early morning or late evening, the rising or setting sun striking colours from the barrier reefs, and our boatmen chanting native songs as they bent to their oars. Once a little girl was thrown into our boat to attend us when we were going to sleep in a native teacher’s house. She lay down at the bottom with a tappa cloth covering her from the sun. We were amused, when the men began to sing, to hear her little voice from under the cloth joining in the melody.
DESIRE FOR ENGLISH PROTECTION
On this occasion we visited one or two stations ofthe London missionaries and inspected a number of young chief students. I noticed one youth who seemed particularly pleased by something said to him by the missionary. I asked what had gratified him, and Mr. Hills said that he had told him that the Island from which he came (I think one of the Ellice Islands) had just been annexed by the British, and they were so afraid of being taken by the Germans! That well represented the general feeling. Once as we were rowing in our boat a large native canoe passed us, and the men in it shouted some earnest supplication. I asked what it was, and was told that they were imploring “by Jesus Christ” that we should beg the British Government to take the Island.
Poor things, not long after we left, the agreement was made by which England assumed the Protectorate of Tonga and Germany that of Upolu and Savaii of the Samoan group. Since the war New Zealand has the “mandate” to govern them, and I hope they are happy. I never heard that they were ill-treated by the Germans during their protectorate, but they had certainly seen enough of the forced labour on German plantations to make them terribly afraid of their possible fate.
The London missionaries had stations not only on the main Island, but also on the outlying islets of Manono and Apolima which they were anxious that we should visit. The latter was a small but romantic spot. The only practicable landing-place was between two high projecting rocks, and we were told that any party of natives taking refuge there could guarantee themselves against pursuit by tying a rope across from rock to rock and upsetting any hostile canoe into the sea.
Ocean itself, not the inhabitants, expressed an objection to our presence on this occasion. There was no sheltering lagoon to receive us, the sea was so rough and the surf so violent that our crew assured us that it was impossible to land, and we had to retreat to Manono. Mr. Haggard sent a message thence to the Apolima chiefs assuring them of our great regret, and promising that I would send my portrait to hang in their village guest-house. I told this to the head missionary’s wife when I saw her again, and she exclaimed with much earnestness, “Oh, do send the photograph or they will all turn Wesleyans!” To avert this catastrophe a large, elaborately framed photograph was duly sent from Sydney and formally presented by Mr. Haggard. I trust that it kept the score or so of Islanders in the true faith. A subsequent visitor found it hanging upside down in the guest-house, and the last I heard of it was that the chiefs had fled with it to the hills after some fighting in which they were defeated. I seem to have been an inefficient fetish, but I do not know whose quarrel they had embraced.
We had one delightful picnic, not by boat, but riding inland to a waterfall some twenty or thirty feet high. Our meal was spread on rocks in the little river into which it fell, and after our luncheon the native girls who accompanied us sat on the top of the fall and let themselves be carried by the water into the deep pool below. My daughter and I envied, though we could not emulate them, but my brother divested himself of his outer garments and clad in pyjamas let two girls take him by either arm and shot with them down into the clear cool water. One girl who joined the entertainment was said to be a spirit, but there was nooutward sign to show wherein she differed from a mortal. Mortals or spirits, they were a cheery, light-hearted race.
VISIT FROM TAMASESE
I must mention Tamasese’s farewell visit to us accompanied by one or two followers. Mr. Haggard donned his uniform for the occasion, and as usual we English sat in a row on chairs, while the Samoans squatted on the floor in front. We had as interpreter a half-caste called Yandall, who had some shadowy claim to the royal blood of England in his veins. How or why I never understood, but he was held in vague esteem on that account.
At this visit, after various polite phrases had been interchanged, Haggard premised his oration by enjoining on Yandall to interpret his words exactly. He first dilated in flowery language on the importance of my presence in Samoa, on which our guests interjected murmurs of pleased assent. He then went on to foreshadow our imminent departure—mournful “yahs” came in here—and then wound up with words to this effect: “Partings must always occur on earth; there is but one place where there will be no more partings, and that is the Kingdom of heaven,where Lady Jersey will be very pleased to see all present”! Imagine the joy of the Stevenson family when this gem of rhetoric was reported to them.
I have already referred to the story,An Object of Pity, or the Man Haggard, which was written by my brother and myself in collaboration with the Stevensons. The idea was that each author should describe his or her own character, that Haggard should be the hero of a romance running through the whole, and that we should all imitate the style of Ouida, to whom the booklet was inscribed in a delightful dedication afterwardswritten by Stevenson, from which I venture to cull a few extracts:
“Lady Ouida,—Many besides yourself have exulted to collect Olympian polysyllables and to sling ink not Wisely but too Well. They are forgotten, you endure. Many have made it their goal and object to Exceed; and who else has been so Excessive?... It is therefore, with a becoming diffidence that we profit by an unusual circumstance to approach and to address you.“We, undersigned, all persons of ability and good character, were suddenly startled to find ourselves walking in broad day in the halls of one of your romances. We looked about us with embarrassment, we instinctively spoke low; and you were good enough not to perceive the intrusion or to affect unconsciousness. But we were there; we have inhabited your tropical imagination; we have lived in the reality that which you have but dreamed of in your studio. And the Man Haggard above all. The house he dwells in was not built by any carpenter, you wrote it with your pen; the friends with which he has surrounded himself are the mere spirit of your nostrils; and those who look on at his career are kept in a continual twitter lest he should fall out of the volume; in which case, I suppose he must infallibly injure himself beyond repair; and the characters in the same novel, what would become of them?... The present volume has been written slavishly from your own gorgeous but peculiar point of view. Your touch of complaisance in observation, your genial excess of epithet, and the grace of your antiquarian allusions, have been cultivated like the virtues. Could we do otherwise? When nature and life had caught the lyre from your burning hands who were we to affect a sterner independence?”
“Lady Ouida,—Many besides yourself have exulted to collect Olympian polysyllables and to sling ink not Wisely but too Well. They are forgotten, you endure. Many have made it their goal and object to Exceed; and who else has been so Excessive?... It is therefore, with a becoming diffidence that we profit by an unusual circumstance to approach and to address you.
“We, undersigned, all persons of ability and good character, were suddenly startled to find ourselves walking in broad day in the halls of one of your romances. We looked about us with embarrassment, we instinctively spoke low; and you were good enough not to perceive the intrusion or to affect unconsciousness. But we were there; we have inhabited your tropical imagination; we have lived in the reality that which you have but dreamed of in your studio. And the Man Haggard above all. The house he dwells in was not built by any carpenter, you wrote it with your pen; the friends with which he has surrounded himself are the mere spirit of your nostrils; and those who look on at his career are kept in a continual twitter lest he should fall out of the volume; in which case, I suppose he must infallibly injure himself beyond repair; and the characters in the same novel, what would become of them?... The present volume has been written slavishly from your own gorgeous but peculiar point of view. Your touch of complaisance in observation, your genial excess of epithet, and the grace of your antiquarian allusions, have been cultivated like the virtues. Could we do otherwise? When nature and life had caught the lyre from your burning hands who were we to affect a sterner independence?”
There follow humorous comments on the contents of the chapters, and the Dedication ends with the signatures of “Your fond admirers” in Samoan with Englishtranslations. Mrs. Stevenson, for instance, was “O Le Fafine Mamana O I Le Maunga, The Witch-Woman of the Mountain”; and the rest of us bore like fanciful designations. It was of course absurd daring on the part of Rupert and myself to write the initial chapters, which dealt with an imaginary conspiracy typical of the jealousies among various inhabitants of the Islands, and with our expedition to Malie (Mataafa’s Camp); but we were honoured by the addition of four amusing chapters written by Stevenson, Mrs. Stevenson, Mrs. Strong, and their cousin Graham (now Sir Graham) Balfour. The Stevensons gave a lurid account of Haggard’s evening party at Ruge’s Buildings, and Mr. Balfour projected himself into the future and imagined Haggard old and historic surrounded by friends and evolving memories of the past.
“AN OBJECT OF PITY”
We had kept him in ignorance of what was on foot, but when all was complete the Stevensons gave us luncheon at Vailima with the best of native dishes, Lloyd Osbourne, adorned with leaves and flowers in native fashion, officiating as butler. When the banquet was over a garland of flowers was hung round Haggard’s neck, a tankard of ale was placed before him, and Stevenson read aloud the MSS. replete with allusions to, and jokes about, his various innocent idiosyncrasies. So far from being annoyed, the good-natured hero was quite delighted, and kept on saying, “What a compliment all you people are paying me!” In the end we posed as a group, Mrs. Strong lying on the ground and holding up an apple while the rest of us knelt or bent in various attitudes of adoration round the erect form and smiling countenance of Haggard. The photograph taken did not come out very well, but sufficiently for my mother later on to make a colouredsketch for me to keep as a frontispiece for my special copy ofAn Object of Pity. It was indeed a happy party—looking back it is sad to think how few of those present now survive, but it was pleasure unalloyed while it lasted.
As for the booklet, with general agreement of the authors I had it privately printed at Sydney, the copies being distributed amongst us. Some years after Stevenson’s death Mr. Blaikie asked leave to print twenty-five presentation copies in the same form as the Edinburgh edition, to which Mrs. Stevenson consented. I wrote an explanatory Preface, and lent for reproduction the clever little book of coloured sketches by Mrs. Strong, with Stevenson’s verses underneath to which I have already alluded.
We had arranged to return to Australia by the American mail-ship, theMariposa, so after three of the happiest weeks of my life we had to embark on board her on the evening of September 2nd, when she entered the harbour of Apia.
Regret at leaving Samoa was, however, much allayed by meeting my son, Villiers, who had come across America from England in the charge of Sir George Dibbs, our New South Wales Premier, whose visit to the mother-land I have already described. Villiers had grown very tall since we parted, he had finished his Eton career and joined us to spend some months in Australia before going to Oxford. We were amused by an “interview” with him and Dibbs in one of the American papers, in which he was described as son of the Governor of New South Wales, but more like a young Englishman than a young Australian, which was hardly surprising considering that he had at that time never set foot in Australia. Thisreminds me of some French people who seeing a Maharajah in Paris at the time of Lord Minto’s appointment to India, thought that the dignified and turbaned Indian must be the new Viceroy—the Earl of Minto.
COURAGE OF R. L. STEVENSON
Poor Robert Louis Stevenson—he died not long after our visit; his life, death, and funeral have been recorded in many books and by many able pens. His life, with all its struggles and despite constant ill-health, was, I hope and believe, a happy one. Perhaps we most of us fail to weigh fairly the compensating joy of overcoming when confronted with adversity of any kind. He told me once how he had had a MS. refused just at the time when he had undertaken the cares of a family represented by a wife and her children, but I am sure that the pleasure of the success which he won was greater to his buoyant nature than any depression caused by temporary failure.
He loved his Island home, though he had from time to time a sense of isolation. He let this appear once when he said how he should feel our departure, and how sorry he should be when he should also lose the companionship of Haggard.
There has lately been some correspondence in the papers about misprints in his books. This may be due in part to the necessity of leaving the correction of his proofs to others when he was residing or travelling in distant climes. When we were in Samoa,Una, or the Beach of Falesa, was appearing as a serial in an illustrated paper of which I received a copy. Stevenson had not seen it in print until I showed it to him, and was much vexed to find that some verbal alteration had been made in the text. At his request when we left the Island I took a cable to send off from Auckland, whereour ship touched, with strict injunctions to “follow Una line by line.” There was no cable then direct from Samoa, and apparently no arrangement had been made to let the author see his own work while in progress.
DEPARTURE FROM AUSTRALIA—CHINA AND JAPAN
Early in 1893 my husband was obliged to resign his Governorship, as our Welsh agent had died and there were many urgent calls for his presence in England. The people of New South Wales were most generous in their expressions of regret, and I need not dwell on all the banquets and farewells which marked our departure. I feel that all I have said of Australia and of our many friends there is most inadequate; but though the people and places offered much variety in fact, in description it would be most difficult to avoid repetition were I to attempt an account of the townships and districts which we visited and of the welcome which we received from hospitable hosts in every place. There were mining centres like Newcastle where the coal was so near the surface that we walked into a large mine through a sloping tunnel instead of descending in a cage; there was the beautiful scenery of the Hawkesbury River, the rich lands round Bathurst and Armidale and other stations where we passed most enjoyable days with squatters whose fathers had rescued these lands and made “the wilderness to blossom like a rose.” It often seemed to me that one special reason why Englishmen in Colonial life succeeded where other nations equally intelligent and enterprising failed to take permanent root was the way in which Englishwomen would adapt themselves to isolation. We all know thesuperiority of many Frenchwomen in domestic arts, but it is difficult to imagine a Frenchwoman living in the conditions accepted by English ladies in all parts of the Empire.
One lady in New South Wales lived fifteen miles from the nearest neighbour, and her one relaxation after a hard day’s work was to hear that neighbour playing down the telephone on a violin. That, however, was living in the world compared to the fate of another friend! The husband of the latter lady was, when we met, a very rich man who drove a four-in-hand and sent his son to Eton. When they first started Colonial life they lived for five years a hundred miles from any other white woman. The lady had a white maid-servant of some kind for a short time at the beginning of their career, but she soon left, and after that she had only black “gins” (women). I was told that one of her children had been burnt in a bush fire, and her brother-in-law was killed by the blacks. Naturally I did not refer to those tragedies, but I asked whether she did not find the isolation very trying, particularly the evenings. She said, oh no, she was so occupied during the day and so tired when the work was over that she had no time to wish for anything but rest. She was a very quiet, pleasant woman, a lady in every sense of the word, and one could not but admire the way in which she had passed through those hard and trying years and resumed completely civilised existence.
BUSHRANGERS
We heard many tales of bushrangers from those who had encountered them or heard of their performances from friends. It is not very astonishing that a population largely recruited in early days from convicts should have provided a contingent of highwaymen.Their two main sources of income were the oxen and horses which they stole and sold again after scientifically “faking” the brands, and the gold which they robbed as it was being conveyed to distant banks.
I have referred to Rolf Boldrewood’s hero “Starlight.” Certain incidents of his career were adapted from the life of the most prominent bushranger Kelly, but whereas Starlight, for the purpose of the story, is endowed with some of the traits of a fallen angel, Kelly seems to have been a common sort of villain in most respects, only gifted with exceptional daring and with that power over other men which is potent for good or evil. He was described as wearing “armour”; I believe that he protected himself with certain kitchen utensils under his clothes. In the end, when hotly pursued by the police, he and his band underwent a regular siege in a house, but by that time the police were able to bring up reinforcements by rail, the gang was forced to surrender, and Kelly and others were executed.
A sordid incident was that on the very night of his execution Kelly’s brother and sister appeared, for money, on the stage in a theatre at Melbourne!
The railroad was the effectual means of stopping bushranging, both by facilitating the movements of the police and by enabling gold to be transported without the risks attendant on coaches, or horsemen who were sometimes sent by their employers to carry it from place to place. A gentleman told me how he had been thus commissioned, and being attacked by a solitary bushranger in a wayside inn, dodged his assailant round and round a stove and ultimately got off safely.
Bushranging was extinct before our arrival in New South Wales, but Jersey had one rather curiousexperience of its aftermath. An old man had murdered his wife, and, in accordance with the then custom, the capital sentence pronounced upon him by the judge came before the Governor in Council for confirmation. Jersey asked the advice of each member in turn, and all concurred in the verdict except one man, who declined to give an opinion. After the Council he took my husband aside and told him that he had not liked to join in the condemnation as he knew the criminal personally. He added this curious detail. The murderer had formerly been connected with a gang of bushrangers; he had not actually shared in their depredations, but he had received the animals they stole, and it was his job to fake the brands—namely, to efface the names or marks of the proper owners and to substitute others so that the horses or cattle could not be identified. The gang was captured and broken up, the members being all sentenced to death or other severe punishment, but this man escaped, as his crimes could not be proved against him. Nemesis, however, awaited him in another form. He kept his faking iron; and when his wife was found murdered, the fatal wound was identified as having been inflicted with this weapon, and he was thereby convicted.
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
Another story of those bygone days, though unconnected with bushranging, seems worth preservation. A man was found lying dead in the streets of Brisbane (or some other town in Queensland), and there was no evidence whatever to show how he had come by this fate, though the fact that his watch was missing pointed to violence on the part of some person unknown. A considerable time afterwards certain poor houses were demolished, with the view presumably to building better ones in their place. Behind a brick in thechimney of one of these houses was found the missing watch. A workman who had inhabited the house at the time of the murder was thereupon arrested, and brought before a judge who had come on circuit. The workman protested his innocence, saying that he had seen the man lying in the street and, finding that he was quite dead, appropriated his watch and took it home to his wife. The woman had told him that he was very foolish, as if the watch were found in his possession he might be accused of killing the man, and yielding to her persuasions instead of trying to sell or wearing it he hid it behind the chimney where it was found. The story sounded thin, but on hearing the details of place and date the presiding judge exclaimed that it was true. When a young barrister he himself had been in the same town, and was running to catch the train when a man, apparently drunk, lurched against him; he pushed him aside and saw him fall, but had no idea that he was injured, and hurried on. The workman was acquitted, and I suppose that the judge acquitted himself!
Space has not admitted any record of our visitors at Sydney, but I must mention the pleasure which we had in welcoming Miss Shaw who came on behalf ofThe Timesto examine and report on the Kanaka question. It was universally allowed thatThe Timeshad been very well advised in sending out so charming and capable a lady. She won the hearts of the Queensland planters, who introduced her to many sides of plantation life which they would never have troubled themselves to show a mere man. We gladly continued in England a friendship thus begun at the Antipodes, none the less gladly when Miss Shaw became the wife of an equally talented servant of the Empire, Sir Frederick Lugard.
One year we entertained at Osterley a number of foreign Colonial delegates and asked representative English people to meet them.
Among our guests were Sir Frederick and Lady Lugard. The latter was seated between a Belgian, interested in the Congo, and I think a Dutchman. After dinner these gentlemen asked me in somewhat agitated tones, “Qui était cette dame qui était si forte dans la question de l’Afrique?” and one said to the other, “Elle vous a bien roulé, mon cher.”
I explained that it was Lady Lugard, formerly Miss Flora Shaw.
“Quoi—la grande Miss Shaw! Alors cela s’explique,” was the reply in a voice of awe.
In February 1893 Villiers and our younger children left in theOphirdirect for England, accompanied by Harry Cholmondeley, the German governess, and the servants. My brother remained on the staff of our successor, Sir Robert Duff. Our eldest daughter, Margaret, stayed with us, as we contemplated a visit to Japan and a trip across Canada and to Chicago on our way back, and wished for her company.
We travelled by train to Toowoomba in Queensland, where we slept one night, and then went on to Brisbane, where we embarked on board the Eastern Australian ship theCatterthun. Brisbane was still suffering from the after-effects of great floods, and it was curious, particularly in the suburbs, to see many houses, which had been built on piles to avoid the depredation of ants, overturned, and lying on their sides like houses thrown out of a child’s box of toys. Nevertheless Brisbane struck us as a cheerful and prosperous city during our few hours’ stay.
THE GREAT BARRIER REEF
The voyage through the lagoon of the Great BarrierReef, though hot, was most enjoyable. As is well known this great coral reef extends for over twelve hundred miles in the ocean washing the north-east coast of Australia. In the wide expanse of sea between it and the mainland ships can generally sail unvexed by storms, and from a few hours after we left Brisbane till we reached the mouth of the North Continent that was our happy condition.
We stopped at one or two coast towns and passed through the very pretty Albany Passage to the Gulf of Carpentaria, across which we had a perfectly smooth passage. We then spent a night or two with Mr. Dashwood at Port Darwin, where we were much interested in the population, partly officials of the Eastern Extension Cable Company and partly Chinese. Everything has doubtless changed greatly in the years which have intervened since our visit. Port Darwin was then the chief town of the Northern Territory of South Australia—now the Northern Territory has been taken over by the Commonwealth Government, which appoints an Administrator and encourages settlement. I hope the settlers will succeed, but Port Darwin remains in my memory as a very hot place and the European inhabitants as of somewhat yellow complexion.
The Chinese had a temple or Joss house, attached to which was a sort of hall in which were stored numerous jars recalling those of the Forty Thieves, but containing the bones of dead Chinamen awaiting transport to their own country.
While at Port Darwin Mr. Dashwood very kindly arranged a Corroboree for us. We were told that this was one of the few places where such an entertainment was possible. In parts of Australia farther south the aboriginals have become too civilised, and in the wilderplaces they were too shy and would not perform before white men.
The whole thing was well worth seeing. The men were almost naked, and had with their own blood stuck wool in patterns on their black bodies. They had tall hats or mitres of bamboo on their heads and carried long spears. The Corroboree began after dark, and the men shouted, danced, and carried on a mimic war to the glare of blazing bonfires. A sort of music or rhythmic noise accompanied the performance caused by weird figures painted with stripes of white paint who were striking their thighs with their hands. They looked so uncanny that I could not at first make out what they were, but was told that they were the women or “gins.” The scene might have come out of the infernal regions or of a Witches’ Walpurgis Night.
Next morning my husband wanted to give the performers presents; he was begged not to give them money, as they would spend it in drink, but he was allowed to purchase tobacco and tea and distribute packets of these. Most peaceable quiet men and women tidily dressed came up to receive them, and it was hardly possible to believe that these were the demoniac warriors who had thrilled us the night before.
While at Port Darwin we visited the prison, and seven or eight Malays, under sentence of death for piracy or some similar crime, were paraded for our inspection. I thought this somewhat hard upon them, but we were assured that such notice would be rather pleasing to them than otherwise, and their smiling countenances certainly conveyed that impression. One odd bit of red-tape was connected with this. Every death-sentence had to go to Adelaide, then headquarters of the Northern Territory Government, to be confirmed, but becausewhen Port Darwin was first established it took many weeks for any communication to go to and fro, no criminal could be executed till that number of weeks had elapsed, although telegraph or post could have reported the sentence and received confirmation in days if not in hours. No doubt all is now different, but I do not suppose that the criminals objected to the delay.
COLOURED LABOUR
Here, as elsewhere in the semi-tropical parts of Australia, the burning question of coloured labour arose—one wondered, for instance, whether such labour would not have largely facilitated the introduction of rubber. Still Australia must, and will, decide this and similar problems for herself; and if even strictly regulated Indian or kanaka labour would infringe the ideal of “White Australia,” the barrier must be maintained.
Of course our officers on board theCatterthunwere white, but the crew were Chinese. At one time an attempt had been made to prevent their employment—very much to Captain Shannon’s distress, as he loved his Chinamen. This veto, however, was not in force when we made the voyage, though the men were not allowed on shore. We had a Chinese Wesleyan missionary on board, and we were told that when his Wesleyan friends wanted him to visit them at Melbourne or Sydney (the former, I think) they had to deposit £100, to be refunded when he returned to the ship, as a guarantee against his remaining in the country.
At Port Darwin we said a final farewell to Australia and sailed for Hong-Kong. Our one port of call during this voyage was at Dilli, port of the Portuguese Colony of Timor. The southern portion of Timor belongs to the Dutch, but our company was under contract to callat the Portuguese port, and we suffered acutely in consequence. The Portuguese had owned a gunboat for five years, during which time they had contrived to knock some forty-nine holes in its boiler. They had had it once repaired by the Dutch, but it was past local efforts, so we had to tow the wretched thing to Hong-Kong, which seriously impeded our progress. The Portuguese could not even tie it on straight, so after we had gone some distance we had to send an officer and a carpenter on board. They found the three officers of the Portuguese Navy who had it in charge prostrate with sea-sickness (not surprising from the way they were tossing about), so they tied the vessel properly behind us, left a card, and returned.
Timor was a picturesque mountainous island, but its commerce as far as we could learn consisted of Timor ponies—sturdy little beasts—and postage stamps. Of course everyone on board rushed off to purchase the latter for their collections.
I rode up with one or two companions to a Portuguese monastery on the top of a hill, where the Father Superior entertained us with exceptionally good port wine. He said that he and his community educated young native chiefs. We tried politely to ascertain whether the education was gratis. The Reverend Father said that the youths did not pay, but each brought several natives who cultivated the plantations belonging to the monastery as an equivalent. Presumably this was not slavery, but what a convenient way of paying school fees! An improvement on Squeers—the scholars learnt, and their attendants toiled, for the public good.
Timor provided an interesting addition to our passengers in the person of a Portuguese Archbishop with his attendant priests. I believe that his Grace had gotinto some kind of ecclesiastical hot-water and was going to Macao for inquiry, but I do not know particulars. However, on the Sunday following our departure from Timor I learnt that our captain would read the English service and the Chinese Wesleyan would hold one for the crew on the lower deck. I suggested to the first officer that he should offer the Portuguese priests facilities for their rites, as it seemed only proper that all creeds should take part. This was gratefully accepted, but when a few days later I sent my friend again to propose a service on March 25th (the Annunciation) the padre was quite annoyed, and asked what he knew about it! My officer piously declared that we knew all about it, but the Archbishop would have nothing to say to it.
HONG-KONG
The only rough part of our whole voyage was some twenty-four hours before reaching Hong-Kong, and if we had not had the gunboat dragging behind we should probably have landed before the storm. I was greatly surprised by the beauty of Hong-Kong. Its depth of colour is astonishing and the variety of craft and constant movement in the harbour most fascinating. As viewed from the Peak, it was like a scene from a world-drama in which modern civilisation and traffic were ever invading the strange and ancient life of the China beyond. There were the great men-of-war and merchant ships of the West side by side with the sampans on which thousands of Chinese made their homes, lived and moved and had their being. To the roofs of the sampans the babies were tied by long cords so that they might play on deck without falling into the water. Anyhow, the boys were securely tied—there seemed some little doubt about the knots in the case of girls. Then behind the city were the great red-peaked hillswhich one sees on screens—I had always thought that they were the convention of the artist, but no, they were exact transcripts from nature.
Across the harbour lay the British mainland possession, Kowloon, to which we paid an amusing visit. We were taken by the Commodore of the Station, and as I believe we did something unauthorised, gratitude forbids me to mention his name. We entered a Chinese gambling-house, which was very quaint. There was a high hall with a gallery or galleries running round—behind were some little rooms with men smoking, I imagine opium. In the gallery in which we took seats were several people, including Chinese ladies. On the floor of the hall was a table at which sat two or three Chinamen who appeared to be playing some game of their own—probably fan-tan. We were given little baskets with strings in which to let down our stakes. As we did not know the game and had no idea what we were backing, we put in some small coins for the fun of the thing, and when we drew them up again found them agreeably multiplied. I had a shrewd suspicion that the heathen Chinee recognised our escort and took good care that we were not fleeced.
The climate of Hong-Kong is said to be very trying, and our brief experience bore this out. We spent Easter Sunday there, and it was so hot that attendance in the Cathedral was a distinct effort. A few days later we went on an expedition to the Happy Valley, and it was so cold that our hosts handed round orange brandy to keep the party alive.
While we were there our daughter Margaret attended her first “come-out” ball, and we felt that it was quite an original performance for a débutante to be carried to Government House in a Chinese chair.
Hong-Kong should be a paradise for the young—there were only nine English girls in the Colony of age to be invited, and any number of young men from ships and offices.
CANTON
Even more interesting than Hong-Kong was our brief visit to Canton. The railway from Kowloon to Canton was not then built, and we went by boat up the Pearl River. Everything was novel to us, including the pagodas on the banks of the river, erected to propitiate some kind of deities or spirits, but once there remaining unused, and generally falling into decay. We reached Canton at daybreak, and if Hong-Kong was a revelation Canton was still more surprising. The wide river was packed with native vessels. How they could move at all was a problem: some were propelled by wheels like water wheels, only the motive power was men who worked a perpetual tread-mill; the majority were inhabited by a large river population called the Tankers, who ages before had taken up their abode on boats when driven by nature or man from land. We were told that they never willingly went ashore, and when compelled to do so by business, ran till they regained their floating homes. But not the river alone, the vast city with its teeming population was so exactly what you see in Chinese pictures that it appeared quite unreal; for a moment I felt as if it had been built up to deceive the Western traveller, as houses were erected and peasants dressed up in the eighteenth century to make Catherine the Great believe in a prosperous population where none existed.
However, Canton was real, and the more we saw during our short stay the more were we astonished by pictures awakened to life. We visited a rich merchant, and his house and enclosed garden, with little bridges,quaintly trimmed shrubs, and summer-houses in which were seated portly gentlemen in silk garments and round hats with buttons on the top, had been transported bodily from the old Chinese wall-paper in my nursery at Stoneleigh. His wife was escorted into his hall by attendant maidens, but so thick was the paint on her face and mouth that for her utterance was as difficult as walking on her tiny feet.
The merchant spoke a little English, but was not very easy to understand. He showed the charmingly decorated apartments of his “Number One Wife,” but I am uncertain whether that was the lady we saw or a predecessor, and in the garden we were introduced to “my Old Brother.” We were entertained with super-fine tea and also presented with some in packets, but we did not find that pure Chinese tea was altogether appreciated by our friends in England. We stayed at the Consulate with Mr. Watters; a most interesting man who, having spent a large portion of his life in China, had become imbued with much of their idealism, and esteemed them highly in many respects. The Consulates of the various European Powers were all situated in a fortified enclosure called the Shameen, outside the city proper. It was very pretty and pleasant, with green grass and nice gardens. Soup made of birds’ nests duly appeared at dinner. As is well known, these nests are made by the birds themselves of a kind of gum, not of twigs and leaves. The birds are a species of sea-swallow which builds in cliffs and rocks. The nests come chiefly from Java, Sumatra, and the coasts of Malacca. Our kind host also provided sharks’ fins, another much-esteemed luxury.
The wonderful streets of Canton with their gaily painted signs and shops teeming with goods of alldescriptions, the temples, Examination Hall, and Prison have been described by so many travellers that I will not dwell upon them. We were carried to all the sights in chairs, and under the auspices of Mr. Watters were treated with every civility, though I cannot of course say whether any insulting remarks were made in the vernacular.
THE VICEROY OF CANTON
Our constant friend, Sir Thomas Sanderson, had written in advance to ensure that Jersey should be treated with every respect by the then Viceroy of Canton, who was Li-Hung Chang’s brother. It was arranged that guards belonging to the Consulate should accompany my husband when he went to pay his ceremonial call so that he might appear sufficiently important. He was very courteously received, and took the opportunity of hinting to the interpreter that when His Excellency returned the visit my daughter and I would like to see him. Directly he arrived at the Consulate he expressed a wish that we should appear, and we gladly obeyed the summons. We discovered afterwards that this was quite an innovation, as the Viceroy had never before seen a white woman. Anyhow, he seemed just as amused at seeing us as we were at seeing him, and asked every sort of question both about public matters in England and about our domestic affairs.
He wanted to know what would be done with my jewellery when I died and why I did not wear ear-rings. Of course he inquired about the Queen, also about the British Parliament. Concerning the latter the interpreter translated the pertinent question, “His Excellency wants to know how five hundred men can ever settle anything”—I fear that my husband could only laugh in reply.
The Viceroy and his attendants remained for about an hour. We were seated at a long table facing the Great Man, and Mr. Watters and the Vice-Consul at either end. When our guest and his followers had departed Mr. Watters told us that they had been carefully watching lest anything should have been said in Chinese which could have been construed as derogatory to the British. Only once, he said, had a term been used with regard to the Queen’s sons which was not absolutely the highest properly applied to Princes. The Viceroy was, however, in such a good temper and the whole interview went off so well that they thought it wiser to take no notice of this single lapse from diplomatic courtesy.
It was, probably still is, necessary to keep eyes and ears open in dealing with the “childlike and bland” race. The late Lord Loch once described to me a typical scene which took place when he was Governor of Hong-Kong. A great review of British troops was being held at which a prominent Chinese Governor or General (I forget which) was present and a number of Chinese were onlookers. The Chinese official was exceedingly anxious to edge out of his allotted position to one a little in front of Lord Loch, who was of course taking the salute. If he had succeeded in doing so his countrymen would have at once believed in the Chinese claim that all foreign nations were tributary to the Son of Heaven and have accepted the salute as a recognition of the fact. Lord Loch therefore stepped a little in advance each time that his guest moved forward, and this continued till both, becoming aware of the absurdity of the situation, burst out laughing and the gentleman with the pigtail perforce resigned his “push.”
Thanks to Mr. Watters we were able to buy someexceptionally good Mandarins’ coats and embroideries, as he found dealers who had really fine things and made them understand that Jersey meant business.
From Hong-Kong we sailed in an American ship for Japan, and landed at Kobe towards the middle of April. We had a very pleasant captain, who amused me by the plaintive way in which he spoke of the cross-examination to which he was subjected by many passengers. One man was much annoyed by the day lost in crossing 170° longitude. “I tried to explain as courteously as I could,” said the captain, “but at last he exclaimed, ‘I don’t believe you know anything about it, but I have a brother-in-law in a bank in New York and I shall write and ask him!’”—as if they kept the missing day in the bank.