"On the way up we crossed many streams, and I held my breath to see the two men carrying my mother's chair run lightly across the teetering log bridges, but she sat there smiling, not a bit afraid and enjoying every minute of it. Our English friends and I were carried over by the natives. I simply shut my eyes, clutched the thick hair of my carrier and held my breath till we were on the other side.
"Making ourselves at home in the house so kindly left to our use, we set the boys to open the oven and remove its contents, and then we sat down and made a grand feast—roast pig, chicken, taro, yams, and breadfruit—all fresh and hot. Our boys had brought salt, limes, and bread, and on the way up we gathered fresh cocoanuts to drink with our dinner. Then we lay down on the soft mats and fell sound asleep in our borrowed house on the top of our little world.
"In the morning, we began the descent of the other side, which was much easier and quicker. When we were within a mile of the village we were shown a pool; then the men retired and we women took a swim, after which we put on our 'silika' dresses and started on. Children had been stationed along the path to look out for us, and, though we could see noone, we heard shouts of 'Ua maliu mai tamaitai' (the ladies are coming), going from one to another. At the entrance to the village my mother got out of her chair and we walked on. Themanaia, or beauty man of the village, accompanied by two magnificent looking aides, came forward to meet us. They were oiled and polished till they shone like bronze, and on their heads they wore the great ceremonial headdresses. Their only garments were short kilts oftapa, which made a fine display of their lace-like tattooing. On their right arms they wore twists of green with boars' tusks, while their ankles were encircled with green wreaths and their necks with the whale-tooth necklaces that denote rank. It seemed strange to be received by young men, for in all our other trips either Louis or Lloyd was the guest of honor—making it a man's party—and to them the village maid, ortaupo, with her girl attendants, acted as hostess. As ours was a woman's party, we were received by young men. Themanaiagave his hand to my mother, the other two escorted me and the English lady, and, with the poor husband trailing along behind, we walked with stately pomp across themalae[62]to the guest house. There was not a soul in sight, and, though the children must have been bursting with interest and curiosity, not one was to be seen. The guest house stood in the centre of the little village, which lay on the seashore, overlooking a small bay. Behind it the forest climbed the slopes of steep mountains, down which several streams and waterfallsrushed into the sea, and in front the smooth wide beach stretched its white length. On each side were the plantations of bananas, cocoanuts, and other tropic fruits, while scattered here and there among the brown thatched houses the breadfruit trees spread out their huge branches of shining green.
"The guest house had been decorated with leaves, ferns, and flowers. As we ducked under the eaves, our eyes a little dazzled by the brightness of the sunlight, we were received by thetaupoand her maidens, who were spreading fine mats for us to sit on. Oh the sweet, cool, clean freshness of a native house! It would not be fair to call it a hut, for that suggests squalor, or makeshift, whereas these houses are works of art. The roof rises inside like a great dome, the inner thatch being intricately woven in patterns, while the floor is made of clean pebbles, neatly laid and covered with fine mats. In the centre of the house the main pole stands like a tall mast, with several cross-bars where the furniture—rolls of mats andtapa,kavabowls and cups—is kept. There is nothing else in the room, except, perhaps, one or two camphor-wood chests. The centre pole in the house at Vaiee was wound round and about with ropes of frangipani flowers, while bright red hibiscus bells decorated the cross bars, and ferns in long wreaths were looped round the edge of the room. The eaves come down pretty low, about four feet from the ground, so that one has to stoop to enter.
"After receiving us with great cordiality, making us comfortable with fans, etc., the girls joined us as we sat stiffly in a semi-circle, waiting for the chief—forwe knew our Samoan manners. Presently we saw him coming, dressed very plainly in a kilt oftapaand carrying the high chief fly flapper.[63]He was accompanied by his talking man, with his tall staff of office, and several of the lesser house chiefs—all looking very important and impressive. After shaking hands with us (which is not a Samoan custom and always spoils the dignity of a fine entrance), they sat in a semi-circle facing us. Then the talking man drew a long breath and started in. Samoan talking men, ortulafale, are noted for their eloquence, but it is the wearisome part of amalagato have to listen to hours of high-flown discourse. At last, however, with a final burst of oratory, our relief came, and then thetaupomade and served thekava. In later years the Samoans learned to grate the root for brewing, but on that occasion it was prepared in the good old-fashioned island way. Thetaupoand her girls first washed their mouths out several times with fresh water and then chewed the roots—nibbled them, rather, very daintily—until there was enough for a brew. This was put in the middle of a huge wooden bowl (shallow and with eight short legs, all carved out of one piece of wood), and water was poured over it. Thetaupo,[64]very self-conscious, sitting cross-legged before the bowl, dressed to the nines in flowers and ferns, with a piece of red hibiscus flower stuck on one cheek like a beauty patch, her short hair oiled and sprinkled with grated sandalwood, was as prettyas a picture. The cup was presented first to the chief,[65]who made a little speech of welcome—'May your visit be a happy one'—then drank off the contents and spun the cup along the floor. It was now presented to my mother, who took a sip only, and afterwards to me. I poured a libation and said in Samoan 'Blessed be our high chief meeting.' Then came our English friends and Laulii,[66]who came with us to officiate as 'talking man' for our party. She made a charming little speech that made everybody laugh, and then, the ceremonies being over, we all gathered together for a real talk. We brought news from Apia—we asked news of Vaiee. When I got into deep water with my Samoan, Laulii would help me out, and we would both translate what was said to my mother and the others. Themanaiaand his young men, who had taken a back seat while their elders received us, came over to join in the talk and tell us of the preparations for our visit.
"Immediately after the ceremonies of our reception we presented our gifts to the chief. Laulii was the spokesman for us, and the village talking man stood in the door of the guest house and announced in a loud voice the list of our presents, while from the inside of the surrounding houses came the sound of clapping hands. This ceremony of presenting gifts was done humorously, Laulii making many jokesand local hits which were received with polite laughter.
"We were three days in Vaiee, during which we were entertained by dances of the village girls, war and knife dances by themanaiaand his young men, and, besides being furnished with good food all the time, we were honored with one grand feast, which was attended by the whole village. On the morning of the second day we were sitting in the guest house, which, by the simple expedient of hanging up a sheet of tapa, had been turned into two bedrooms for the night, when some native girls called my attention and pointed out to sea. A number of canoes were to be seen coming round the point at the mouth of the harbor, and as they came nearer we could hear the oarsmen singing and could distinguish our names. They were bringing—so they sang—the fish to Tamaitai Aolele—they had been out all night gathering turtles for Tamaitai Teuila.
"Later in the day there was a grandtalolo, or ceremony of gift giving. My mother, as guest of honor, sat just inside the guest house, on a pile of mats, with the rest of us in a semi-circle around her, all facing the sea. There was a hum and buzz of excitement in the village, and we could catch glimpses of fine headdresses and old women scurrying about with mats and flowers. Soon the procession appeared, led by themanaiain full costume, dancing and twirling his head knife, and accompanied by several young men. After them came others bearing gifts hung from poles. Laulii, as our 'talking man,' received them, and our servants, in a little group, made up afine chorus. Themanaiaand his young men came up, danced in front of us, and then, taking the poles from their attendants, laid three large turtles before us, calling out that they were a humble offering from the men of Vaiee to the great and glorious and beautiful lady of Vailima. Laulii received them, to my surprise, with jeering remarks that threw everybody into fits of laughter, evidently quite the correct thing to do. The next people brought a huge fish, nets of crabs, strings of brightly coloured fish, and sharks' fins.
"Seeing that one of the young men had a rag tied round his thumb, I asked him if he had hurt his hand. He replied that when he dived for the turtle it caught him by the thumb, and if his friends hadn't gone to his aid he might have drowned. He told it as though it would have been a great joke on him. We were all pretty well acquainted by this time, and everybody threw in remarks. Then our boys removed the presents, chose what we would take with us—only a small portion—and the rest was returned to the village for the feast. On state occasions the men are the cooks, and there is one dish that is only to be prepared by themanaia—who has to array himself in full war paint to serve it—and a grand dish it is, composed of breadfruit dumplings stewed in cocoanut cream in a wooden bowl by means of hot stones dropped in. The dumplings are served in a twist of banana leaf, and each has a stick thrust in it to eat it by. The grand feast was held about four o'clock, in a long arbor built for the occasion of upright sticks covered with cocoanut-palm leaves. Fresh greenbanana leaves served as a table-cloth, and on it was spread every dainty known to Samoa—pigs baked underground, turtle, whole fish, chickens,taro, yams, roasted green bananas, broiled fresh-water prawns, crabs, a fat worm that we pretended to eat but didn't, heart of cocoanut-tree salad with dressing made of cream from the nuts, limes and sea-water, and all kinds of fruit. We were all so hungry that, if it hadn't been for Laulii's warning, we might have fallen to before the chief said grace, which would have been a shocking breach of good manners. The first ceremonious stiffness having worn off by this time, the meal was enlivened by much friendly gaiety.
"That evening was given over to the dances, which lasted till nearly midnight. Themanaiaand thetaupohad each written songs and composed music for the dances in our honor, and copies of them, written out neatly by the schoolmaster, were presented to us. Our friend, the English captain, made a great hit with the young men by exhibiting feats of strength, which they all copied, being highly delighted when they beat the Englishman, but cheering generously when he beat them. Then we played casino, with sticks of tobacco on our side and head knives, fans, etc., on theirs, for stakes. I perceived that themanaiapurposely played badly in order to let me win his head knife, on which he had carved my name.
"We had intended returning over the mountain as we came, but the chief suggested that we go back by sailboat, as they had a very good one, and we could stop at some village every night on the way home. When we saw the boat we found it to be aprimitive affair, with a bent tree for a mast and the sails tied with rotten ropes, but, knowing the natives to be the best boatmen in the world, we decided to take our chances and rely on their skill to pilot us safely home. We sent a number of our men back over the mountain to carry our share of the presents, but, as we were going to stop at villages on the way we took with us our part of the feast—several turtles, and, in lieu of calico or European things, which were not to be had at this retired place, sometapa—for gifts. Before we left I made a parcel of sandwiches—of tinned tongue and stale bread—in case we got hungry, for it is often a 'long time between feasts.'
"Everybody wanted to go with us, and, though the chief did his best to hold them back, the little boat was so crowded that we were nearly level with the water. As we went around by the windward side of the island, it was a rough trip.
"I noticed that the boatmen were narrowly watching my mother as she paddled in the water with her hand over the side of the boat, but did not understand the reason until afterwards, when we found out that, a little while before, a man had had his hand bitten off by a shark, and another who was sitting on the edge of a canoe had had a large piece of his thigh bitten out. The natives, being too polite to tell her to stop dabbling in the water, preferred to keep close watch themselves and be ready to strike with their oars if a shark should rise.
"At the first village where we stopped for the night we had a ticklish job getting through the reef, for there was but one small opening, and if we missedit we would be smashed to pieces. The wind was blowing towards the shore, and the great breakers crashing against the reef sent white spray high into the air. The boatmen were all pulling ropes and shouting orders at once. It seemed as though we were driving straight into the reef, and I looked on terror-stricken, but my mother chose that moment to say cheerfully, 'I think I'll have a sandwich!'
"The last day of our trip we ran inside the reef, where it was smooth sailing. Surely there is no mode of travelling on earth so enchanting as this; we went gliding over the blue water, with a sea-garden of coral, marine mosses, and brilliantly coloured fish below us, the white sails bellying before the breeze, the natives singing, the shore with its palms and little villages half hidden in green foliage slipping by, the mountains standing high against the sky, while on the other side of the barrier reef the surf pounded in impotent fury, throwing up a hedge of white, foaming spray. We seemed to be part of a living poem.
"When at length our delightful expedition came to an end and we landed at Apia, we found ourselves confronted by a rather ridiculous dilemma. My mother had not worn any shoes going over to Vaiee, which was quite in keeping with native customs and more comfortable for walking on the soft moss and lush grass in the damp, dripping woods, but it was another thing to land in Apia at the hotel barefoot. She slipped in as unobtrusively as possible and no one saw her. We had supper in our rooms—or, rather, on the veranda connected with them. The next morning I ran out to buy her some shoes—anykind—but there were none small enough. At last our little carriage was sent down from Vailima and came around to the side entrance. My mother got in without being seen and took the reins, but the horse, having been overfed with oats by Eliga in his desire to treat it kindly, began to leap and plunge, and dashed around to the front, where a number of the hotel guests were gathered. I heard them say, 'That is Mrs. Stevenson,' and all ran to look. As the horse continued to plunge about they all called out 'Jump, Mrs. Stevenson!' but she held on. I knew why she didn't jump—it was because of her bare feet. She was otherwise very neatly dressed in black, with hat and veil and gloves. Finally one man, bolder than the rest, reached in and lifted her out, and her little bare feet were seen waving in the air!"
One day, not long after this—July 17, 1896, to be exact—Mrs. Stevenson and her daughter were driving along the beach at Apia, when they were surprised to see a strange craft in the bay—a curious little sloop that they knew had not been seen nor heard of before in those waters. On inquiry they found it was the famousSpray, in which Captain Joshua Slocum, of Boston, sailed alone around the world. They called on the adventurous skipper at once and invited him to visit Vailima, which he did on the following day. Mrs. Stevenson was delighted with the unconventional ways and conversation of the captain, and, indeed, found in him much that was kindred to her own spirit. When he wished to buy some giant bamboo from her plantation for a mast for his little vessel, she, of course, made him apresent of it, and had it cut and taken down by the natives. He told her of his visit to the missionary bark, theStar of Hope, which was then in port at Apia. He was shown into their chart room and looked at their instruments, upon which he remarked, "I am a better Christian than you are, for you have two chronometers and a sextant, while I have only my belief in God and an old clock." When asked why he didn't take a sheep or some chickens along with him to eat as a relief from his constant diet of canned goods, he said, "You can't kill a fellow-passenger. Out in the great stillness you get fond even of a chicken, and as for pigs, they are the most lovable and intelligent of animals."
Joshua Slocum was a magnificent specimen of strength and health, and his manly figure was well set off by the clothing—or, rather, the lack of it—used in the tropics. When Mrs. Stevenson met him afterwards in New York she was much struck by the change caused in his appearance by the wearing of a conventional black suit, and regretted that he had to hide his real beauty—his lithe, strong figure—in ugly broadcloth. She had a great and sincere admiration for him, as she always had for physical courage in any form. In her preface toThe Wrong Boxshe says, "Some time after Louis's death Captain Joshua Slocum, on his way round the world alone in the little sloopSpray, came to the house at Vailima. Here, I thought, was a mariner after my husband's own heart. Who had a better right to the directories [studied by Stevenson at Saranac when planning for the South Sea cruise] than this man who was aboutto sail those very seas with no other guide than the stars and a small broken clock that served in place of a chronometer? Captain Slocum received the volumes with reverence, and used them, as he afterwards told me, to his great advantage."
From his own book,Sailing Alone Around the World, I have taken the following account of his meeting with Mrs. Stevenson:
"The next morning after my arrival, bright and early, Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson came to theSprayand invited me to visit Vailima the following day. I was of course thrilled when I found myself, after so many days of adventure, face to face with this bright woman, so lately the companion of the author whose books had delighted me on the voyage. The kindly eyes, that looked me through and through, sparkled when we compared notes of adventure. I marvelled at some of her experiences and escapes. She told me that along with her husband she had voyaged in all manner of rickety craft among the islands of the Pacific, reflectively adding, 'Our tastes were similar.' Following the subject of voyages she gave me the four beautiful volumes of sailing directories for the Mediterranean, writing on the fly-leaf of the first, 'To Captain Slocum. These volumes have been read and re-read many times by my husband, and I am very sure that he would be pleased that they should be passed on to the sort of sea-faring man that he liked above all others. Fanny V. de G. Stevenson.' Mrs. Stevenson also gave me a great directory of the Indian Ocean. It was not without a feeling of reverential awe that I received the booksso nearly directly from the hand of Tusitala, 'who sleeps in the forest.' Aolele, theSpraywill cherish your gift!
"On another day the family from Vailima went to visit theSpray. The sloop being in the stream, we boarded her from the beach abreast, in the little razeed Gloucester dory, which had been painted a smart green. Our combined weight loaded it gunwale to the water, and I was obliged to steer with great care to avoid swamping. The adventure pleased Mrs. Stevenson greatly, and as we paddled along she sang 'They went to sea in a pea-green boat.' I could understand her saying of her husband and herself 'Our tastes were similar.'
"Calling to say good-bye to my friends at Vailima, I met Mrs. Stevenson, in her Panama hat, and went over the estate with her. Men were at work clearing the land, and to one of them she gave an order to cut a couple of bamboo trees for theSprayfrom a clump she had planted four years before, and which had grown to a height of sixty feet. I used them for spare spars, and the butt of one served on the homeward voyage for a jib-boom.
"After a farewellavaceremony in Samoan fashion at Vailima, theSpraystood out of the harbor August 20, 1896, and continued on her course. A sense of loneliness seized upon me as the islands faded astern, and as a remedy for it I crowded on sail for lovely Australia, which was not a strange land to me; but for long days in my dreams Vailima stood before the prow."
It is sad to know that this brave sailor temptedfate once too often, for he sailed out of New York harbor some years ago and was never heard of again.
Even though their beloved Tusitala was with them no more, the Samoans did not forget his widow, and they often went to Vailima in bodies to do her honour. In a letter to her mother-in-law she describes one of these visiting parties:
"A couple of months ago the Tongan village sent to ask if they might come and dance for us on Christmas. They were the men that considered they belonged particularly to Louis; do you remember my telling you how their village was put into mourning at the time of his death—in Tongan fashion—for three days? And then how they marched up here, every man in a new black lavalava, some forty strong, to decorate the grave? I did not feel much like gaieties, but could not refuse the Tongans. I asked Chief Justice Ide, his daughter, and a travelling salesman named Campbell to see the dancing. Six or eight pretty girls were turned up by our 'poor old family' to make thekava, and, though our own boys had been given a holiday, we had attendants in scores. I had had a turkey roasted and corned beef boiled, so that with such things laid out on the sideboard I could give my guests a sort of picnic meal instead of dinner. The Tongans marched up—about fifty of them—led by theirtaupodressed in a fine mat and dancing as she came. She was followed by the girls of the village carrying the usual presents on poles, and then came the fighting men with blackened faces and wearing the dress used in the war dances. They were all tall powerful young men, and lookedvery fierce and magnificent. They manœuvred while on the lawn and then we had the usual business ofkavaand orations. The dancing, for which they used an ancient war drum, took place in the hall, where the Chief Justice and I sat, as you might say, on thrones in front of the table, with the other spectators sitting on the floor around us. The dancing was wild and really splendid. When they left, just as dusk was falling, we presented them with a full-grown pig and two boxes of biscuit. Our boys thought Louis's grandfather[67]should be shown some honor for the occasion, so they decorated his bust with a wreath cocked over one eye and a big red flower over one ear. I never saw anything more incongruous; it was enough to make him turn over in his grave."
Mrs. Stevenson's health improved after her return to Samoa, and she and her daughter spent quiet, pleasant months together working in the garden, walking in the forest, playing chess, reading, and sewing, and were both looking forward to the return of Mr. Osbourne when the news arrived of the sudden death in Edinburgh of Mrs. Thomas Stevenson. It was a sad shock to her daughter-in-law, who had grown to love Louis's mother dearly, and all the more distressing as she was summoned to go at once to Scotland to help settle the estate. It now became clear that the island home, made dear by a thousand tender associations, would have to be abandoned. Had Mrs. Stevenson been able to follow out her own desires at that time, she would have preferred to spend the remainder of her days there, but her sonand daughter were drawn away perforce by the claims of their own families—the education of their children, etc.—and it was impossible for her to live there alone. So, with a tearing of heart-strings more easily imagined than described, she began to make preparations to leave the place for ever.
The first thing was to choose from their belongings suitable gifts for the dear friends that were to be left behind. Two young chiefs, one their host at themalagato Vaiee, were taken to the tool room and told to choose what they wanted. One took an immense steel gouge which he said would be grand for making canoes. Another young chief fell heir to the tennis outfit (he had learned the game from Lloyd Osbourne), and went proudly off to set it up in his village. To old Seumanutafa, high chief of Apia, Mrs. Stevenson gave a four-poster bedstead, with mattress and pillows complete, in which one may imagine that he slept more imposingly but less restfully than on his own native mats. This chief was the man who saved so many lives at the time of the great hurricane, when the men-of-war were lost, that the United States Government sent him, in appreciation, a fine whale boat and a gold watch with an inscription in the case. As he had no pockets in his native costume, he wore a leather belt with a pouch in it for the watch, usually wearing it next to his bare brown body.
To the friend and neighbour, Mr. Caruthers, were given some framed oil-paintings, and he returned the compliment by offering to take Jack, Mrs. Stevenson's pony, and give him the best of care as long as helived, promising that no one should ever ride him. To a Danish baker named Hellesoe, who had always sent up a huge cake with his compliments on Mr. Stevenson's birthday, was given a wonderful armchair made entirely of beadwork put on by hand and trimmed with fringe and coloured flowers. Having seen the little sitting-room over the bakeshop, they were sure the chair would fit in beautifully there.
It was a busy time when they packed up to leave Samoa. They had no real help, for none of the Samoans knew how to pack, though they helped in making boxes and lifting and carrying. The two women sorted, wrapped, and packed all the books of the large library, besides the Chippendale furniture that came from Scotland, and some antiques, including old carved cabinets dating back to 1642. After everything of value had been packed, there were still many odds and ends—glassware and such articles—which were left behind with the intention of sending for them later. Eventually the plan was changed and the things were given to Mr. Gurr, with whom the key of the house had been left. This explains why so many glass bowls, etc., were bought by tourists at Apia, and how every odd pen that was found was sold as Mr. Stevenson's own and original. It was then that Mrs. Stevenson's diary, to which I have already alluded, was overlooked in the packing, only to turn up years afterwards in London.
It was a genuine grief to Mrs. Stevenson to sell Vailima, but, in order to retain it she would have had to keep a force of men there constantly at work"fighting the forest," which, if left alone for a short time, speedily envelops and smothers everything in its path. If even so much as an old tin can is thrown out on the ground tropic nature at once proceeds to get rid of the defacement, and in a few days it will be covered with creepers. So, with many a pang of regret, the place was finally sold—with the reservation of the summit of Vaea where the tomb stands—to a Russian merchant named Kunst. He lived there for some time and at his death his heirs sold it to the German Government, which purchased it as a residence for the German governor of Samoa. So the flag of Germany flew over Vailima until the New Zealand expeditionary force landed and took over the islands for Great Britain, when the Union Jack was run up. The natives said that England came to Tusitala, since he could not go to her, and when his own country's flag blew out in the breeze over his old home one could almost fancy that his spirit looked down and rejoiced. Since then it has been used as the British Government House, and at present the English administrator lives there with his wife and aides. Many changes and enlargements have been made in it since it was the home of Tusitala. The Germans cut a new road to Vailima from the highway, and the Road of the Loving Hearts, which originally led to the house, now leads to the burial place of the man for whom the grateful chiefs built it long ago.
All was now ready for their departure, and their native friends gathered from far and wide to takepart in what was for them an event of mournful significance. Tusitala's widow was not permitted to go out to the waiting vessel in the ordinary boat, but was taken by the high chief Seumanutafa in the cutter that had been given him by the United States Government. The awning had been put up over it and it was all trimmed for the occasion in ferns and flowers. Crowds of Samoan friends—Fanua (Mrs. Gurr), Laulii (Mrs. Willis), Tamasese, Amatua, Tupua, Tautala, the Vailima household, and many others, were there in boats, also trimmed with ferns and flowers, to see them off. All went on board and were taken into the cabin, where they were treated to bottled lemonade with ice in the glasses, at which they marvelled greatly. Though they realized that the woman who had done so much for them in the few years of her residence among them—who had tended them in sickness and sympathized with them in sorrow—was about to leave them for ever, they made a strong effort not to cloud her departure with demonstrations of grief, and it was only when she took farewell of Sosimo, the man who had been her beloved husband's body servant at Vailima, that they gave signs of breaking down. All had brought presents, and Mrs. Stevenson and her daughter stood on the deck wreathed in flowers, surrounded by baskets of pineapples, oranges, bananas, and other fruits. Each departing friend, after kissing their hands, added something to the pile of gifts—Samoan fans, seed and shell necklaces, rolls oftapa, and native woven baskets, and the two ladies had all the fingers of bothhands adorned with Samoan tortoise-shell rings. As the ship steamed away the little flotilla of boats, looking like green bouquets on the water, followed them for some distance, the boatmen singing as they rowed the farewell song of the islands,To-fa mi feleni(good-bye, my friend).[Back to Contents]
For six months or more before Mrs. Stevenson's departure for England in 1898, she had been suffering severely from an illness which finally necessitated a surgical operation. This operation, which was a very critical one and brought her within the valley of the shadow for a time, was performed in London by Sir Frederick Treves, the noted surgeon and physician to the King. Treves asked no fee, saying that he considered it a privilege to give this service to the widow of Stevenson.
While the family were in Dorking, where they had taken a house for the summer, Mrs. Strong received a letter of sympathy from Mrs. Stevenson's old friend, Henry James, which is so characteristic that I am impelled to quote it:
"Dear Mrs. Strong:
"I have been meaning each day to write to you again and tell you how much, in these days, I am with you in thought. I can't sufficiently rejoice that you are out of town in this fearful heat, which the air of London, as thick as the wit of some of its inhabitants, must now render peculiarly damnable. I rejoice, too, that you have, like myself, an old housein a pretty old town and an old garden with pleasant old flowers. Further, I jubilate that you are within decent distance of dear old George Meredith, whom I tenderly love and venerate. But after that, I fear my jubilation ceases. I deeply regret the turn your mother's health has taken has not been, as it so utterly ought to be, the right one. But if it has determined the prospect of the operation, which is to afford her relief, I hope with all my heart that it will end by presenting itself to you as 'a blessing in disguise.' No doubt she would have preferred a good deal less disguise, but, after all, we have to take things as they come, and I throw myself into the deep comfort of gratitude that her situation has overtaken her in this country, where every perfect ministration will surround her, rather than in your far-off insular abyss of mere—so to speak—picturesqueness. I should have been, in that case, at the present writing, in a fidget too fierce for endurance, whereas I now can prattle to you quite balmily; for which you are all, no doubt, deeply grateful. Give her, please, my tender love, and say to her that if London were actually at all accessible to me, I should dash down to her thence without delay, and thrust myself as far as would be good for any of you into your innermost concerns. This would be more possible to me later on if you should still be remaining awhile at Dorking—and, at any rate, please be sure that I shall manage to see you the first moment I am able to break with the complications that, for the time, forbid me even a day's absence from this place. I repeat that it eases my spirit immensely that you have exchangedthe planet Saturn—or whichever it is that's the furthest—for this terrestrial globe. In short, between this and October, many things may happen, and among them my finding the right moment to drop on you. I hope all the rest of you thrive and rusticate, and I feel awfully set up with your being, after your tropic isle, at all tolerant of the hollyhocks and other garden produce of my adopted home. I am extremely busy trying to get on with a belated serial—an effort in which each hour has its hideous value. That is really all my present history—but to you all it will mean much, for you too have lived in Arcadia! I embrace you fondly, if you will kindly permit it—every one; beginning with the Babe, so as to give me proper presumption, and working my way steadily up. Good-bye till soon again.
"Yours, my dear Teuila, very constantly,"Henry James."
Except for this unfortunate illness the family spent a pleasant summer in England, in a little cottage surrounded by an old-fashioned garden near Burford.
From a photograph by Hollinger, London.Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson.
From a photograph by Hollinger, London.Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson.
One of the purposes of this visit to England was Mrs. Stevenson's desire to carry out one of her husband's last requests. In a letter not to be opened until after his death he asked that, if the arrangements already made for the writing and publication of his biography by Sidney Colvin should not have been carried out within four years, it should be placed in the hands of some other person. As the four years had elapsed and nothing had been done in the matter, it was decided that Graham Balfour, Stevenson'scousin and devoted friend, should undertake the task; and when Mrs. Stevenson had partially recovered from her illness she removed to the Balfour residence and gave her assistance for some time in laying out the plans for the book.
Her convalescence was very slow, and, finding the damp climate of England unfavourable, she finally decided to move to the island of Madeira for rest and recuperation. Accompanied by her son and his family, her daughter having left for New York City to join her son, Austin Strong, she travelled by slow stages through France, Spain, and Portugal, reaching Madeira in the early part of December, 1898. From Lisbon they sailed in a filthy little Portuguese steamer, freighted with hay and kerosene, and the passengers, in utter disregard of the inflammable nature of the cargo, scattered cigarette ends and lighted matches all over the ship. However, a kind Providence carried them to port without accident.
After a most uncomfortable voyage of two days and nights they drew into the beautiful bay of Funchal, with its curving shore and background of lofty mountains. Thequintas, or country-houses, each surrounded by a terraced garden and vineyard, which dotted the slopes, gave a cheerful air to the landscape. Mrs. Stevenson speaks of it as the "most picturesque place" she ever saw, and she had seen many of the beauty spots of the world.
In a letter to her daughter written from here she says: "My plans are vague. The years ahead of me seem like large empty rooms, with high ceilings and echoes. Not gay, say you, but I was never one forgaiety much—and I may discover a certain grandeur in the emptiness."
When at last her strength seemed equal to the long journey, she once more turned her face towards the setting sun, and beautiful California. On the way a flying stop was made in Indiana to see relatives and friends of her girlhood. Speaking of them she says, "I saw my old friends, the Fletchers. They came to see me in droves, and it was strange to see them old men and women, talking of their grandchildren. It seems so difficult to realize that one's self is old; indeed, I don't believe I ever shall." While in Indianapolis she met for the first time her distinguished compatriot, James Whitcomb Riley, who afterwards wrote to her recalling the occasion of their meeting in his own gentle, kindly way. I quote the letter:
"Indianapolis, Christmas, 1900."Dear Mrs. Stevenson:
"Since your brief visit here last winter I've been remembering you and your kindness every day, and in fancy have written down—hundreds of times—my thanks to you and yours—once, when first well enough to get down-town, wrapping a photograph for you of the very well man Iusedto be. Finding the portrait this Christmas morning, I someway think it good-omenish, and so send you the long-belated thing, together with a copy of a recent book in which are most affectionally set some old and some new lines of tribute to the dear man who is just away. How I loved him through his lovely art! And how I loved all he loved and yet loves—for withboth heart and soul, and tears and smiles, he seems very near at hand. Therefore my very gentlest greetings on this blessed day go out to him as to you.
"Fraternally,"James Whitcomb Riley."[68]
Mrs. Stevenson wished to live within sight of the Pacific Ocean, so she purchased a lot at the corner of Hyde and Lombard Streets, on the very top of one of San Francisco's famous hills, and at once began the building of her house, living meanwhile for a time on Belvedere Island and later at 2751 Broadway. The creation of a new thing—whether it might be a dress, a surprise dish for the table, a garden or a house, always appealed strongly to her, and as she plunged eagerly into the business of planning and discussing with architects and contractors, her interest in life rose again. As she remarked, "It is awfully exciting to build a house." Mr. Willis Polk was the architect, but he followed her design, which she made by building a little house out of match-boxes on the corner of a table. The house was rather unusual in its plan, flat-roofed, and with architecture somewhat "on the Mexican order," as the contractor said. It fitted in well with the landscape and gave one a feeling of home comfort and cheer within. She herself said it was "like a fort on a cliff." Hidden from the street by a high retaining wall and a colonnade embowered in vines was a beautiful garden where she gradually collected rare plants from various parts of the world. A wide stretch of emerald lawn filled thecentre, and around its borders were massed flowering shrubs and small trees—low-growing varieties purposely chosen in order not to hide the sea view from the windows. Here a climbing syringa brought from the romantic Borda gardens in Mexico, where the sad Empress Carlota used to walk, flung out its tendrils gaily to the salt sea breeze, and seemed never to miss the kindlier sun of its former home. At one side there was a small cemented pool, the birds' drinking-place, where many of the little creatures came to dip their bills and trill their morning songs. In this quiet scented garden, kept safe from intruding eyes on all sides by vine-covered walls and shrubbery, one might sit and dream, reminded of the outside world only by the clanging of a street-car bell or the distant whistle of an ocean steamer.
Within the walls of this house were a thousand objects gathered in her wanderings in all sorts of strange places, but the greatest attraction was the magnificent outlook over sea and land afforded by its commanding position. From the flat roof one looked down on one side upon the picturesque city, with its many hills and steeply climbing streets, all a-glitter at night with a million twinkling lights, and on the other upon the great sparkling expanse of the bay, alive with craft of every sort, from the great ocean steamer just in from the Orient to the tiny fisher boats, with their lateen sails, returning with their day's catch from outside the "Heads." From the drawing-room windows one could see the winking eye of Alcatraz Island, grim rocky guardian of the Golden Gate, and all the ships of the Pacific fleetsmaking their slow way in to their docking places. How often must she have looked out upon those returning wanderers of the deep and thought with a tender sadness of that day in the treasured past when the Silver Ship sailed away with her and her beloved towards the enchanted isles!
The house at Hyde and Lombard Streets, San Francisco, with some alterations in the way of bay windows, etc., which have been made since Mrs. Stevenson sold it.
The house at Hyde and Lombard Streets, San Francisco, with some alterations in the way of bay windows, etc., which have been made since Mrs. Stevenson sold it.
Once she stood watching from these windows for the transport that was coming in with soldiers from the Philippines, among whom was her nephew, Edward Orr. As the ship hove in sight she sent her grandson flying to the roof to wave a welcome with a large flag, and almost the first thing the homesick young soldier saw as he turned eager eyes shorewards was the fluttering banner high on the house-top on the hill. Having nothing else convenient with which to return the salute, he and his mates snatched a sheet from a bunk and waved it from a porthole. Meanwhile Mrs. Stevenson had despatched her son to hire a launch and take the mother and sisters of her nephew out to meet him, and as soon as the sea-worn and tired young soldiers had landed at the Presidio she sent out baskets of fruit and bottles of milk for their refreshment.
Island memories were always dear to her, and when one day she heard that a ship had come into port manned with sailors from Samoa, she at once sent to the dock and invited them all to call on her. Soon the dark-skinned, picturesque troop, shy but proud of the attention shown them by Tusitala's widow, arrived. Theavabowl was brought out and placed before them as they sat cross-legged on the floor in a semi-circle, and after the brewing of theavait was drunk with all the proper ceremonies of speech-making and exchanges of compliments. Mr. Carmichael Carr, who, with his mother, the well-known singer, was one of the visitors that day, writes: "I have a wonderfully clear picture of the reception Mrs. Stevenson gave and the South Sea men she had gathered around her—their strange appearance and incantations and the peculiar drink they brewed."
At the Hyde Street house she received many distinguished people—actors, writers, singers, and even royalties. There Henry James, S. S. McClure, David Bispham, William Faversham and his wife, ex-Queen Liliuokalani and a hundred others went to pay her their respects. It was at a reception she was giving to Liliuokalani—which, by the way, she gave in the hope of arousing favourable interest in the Queen's mission to Washington to seek justice—that she first met David Bispham, and first heard him sing, too, in a rather unusual way. Some one—I think it was Gelett Burgess—said to the Queen, "Will your Majesty please issue a royal command? We have never heard one." Whereupon her Majesty pointed her finger at Bispham and said, "The bard is commanded to sing!"
When the Stevenson Society of San Francisco held their yearly meetings of commemoration on Louis's birthday she was the honoured guest, and it was characteristic of her to remember to invite his old friend, Jules Simoneau of Monterey, for these occasions. When she first asked the old man to come he shrugged his shoulders and said: "What! Will you take me to see your fine friends in this old blouse? I have noother clothes." "Your clothes are nothing," she replied. "All that matters to me is that you were my husband's dear friend." So he went, and was entertained in her house with as much consideration as though he had been a prince of the blood. On the evening of the dinner given by the Society at the old restaurant which had once been frequented by Stevenson, she took Simoneau in her carriage, and when a fashionable young lady in her party objected to this arrangement she was rebuked by being sent home in a street-car.
Among other public functions to which she was invited to do her honour as the widow of Stevenson was a banquet given by theSt.Andrews Society, which included nearly all the Scotchmen in San Francisco. In conversation with three of them she remarked that she had the sugar bowl from which Bobby Burns had sweetened his toddy when he went to see Robert Stevenson,[69]and, after inviting them to call, promised to mix a toddy for them and sweeten it from the same historic sugar bowl. About a week later the three appeared, exceedingly Scotch in their long black coats and silk hats, and each carrying a formal bouquet. They had a delightful time, drinking their toddy, which was duly sweetened from the hallowed bowl, and reciting Burns's poems to her in such broad Scotch that she could not understand a word of it. But she loved the sound of it all the same.
It was soon after her return to San Francisco that Mrs. Stevenson interested herself in the story of ahalf-caste Samoan girl, a sort of modern Cinderella, of whom she had heard before leaving the islands. This girl, who was an orphan, had been left a fortune in lands and money in Samoa by her American father, and when she was five years of age had been sent to San Francisco by her guardian to be educated. There, through a combination of circumstances, she disappeared, and her property in Samoa lay unclaimed, while the rents went to the benefit of others. When Mrs. Stevenson heard of this she determined to make a search for the girl, and as soon as she reached San Francisco set out to do so. After the rounds of all the private schools and seminaries had been made without success, her friend, Miss Chismore, thought of trying the charity orphan asylums, and in one of these, a Catholic convent school for orphans, she found a girl bearing a somewhat similar name to the lost one. Mrs. Stevenson, taking with her a Samoan basket and some shells, immediately went out to see her. At the school a small, dark, shy girl was brought by the sisters into the visitors' room, and at sight of the Samoan basket she gave a joyful cry of recognition. The long-lost heiress was found, living as a pauper in a charity school! The difficulty then was to prove her claim to the property and secure it for her. In her determination to do this Mrs. Stevenson went to Washington, where, after seeing senators, priests of the Catholic Church, and other persons in authority, she finally succeeded in having the girl's lands, with some of the back rents, restored to her. All this was like a fairy story to the kind sisters at the convent, and their joy was unboundedat seeing their little pauper pupil thus romantically transformed into the rich princess. Meanwhile Mrs. Stevenson invited the young lady to her house, gave a party in her honour, helped her buy clothing suitable to her new station, and, when the time came for her triumphant departure to claim her island possessions, went to see her off on the steamer. As long as this little Cinderella lived she never forgot the fairy godmother who had worked this wonderful change in her life.
It was during this period that the regrettable incident of Mr. Henley's attack on the memory of Stevenson occurred—an incident that attracted a great deal more attention in England than in America, where it was forgotten almost as soon as it happened. Mrs. Stevenson herself always ascribed this strange act on the part of her husband's old friend to his state of health, which had never been good and was rapidly growing worse; and, because she believed he had become embittered by his misfortunes, she bore no rancour. In referring to it she repeated one of her favourite sayings, "To know all is to forgive all," and when, after Mr. Henley's death, his widow wrote to her asking for letters to be published in his "life," she sent them with a kind and affectionate note.
While the house in San Francisco was building, Mrs. Stevenson went away for a time, accompanied only by her maid, for a camping trip in the Santa Cruz Mountains, down among the redwoods. The delights of the place where they camped, in a shady little valley about ten miles from Gilroy, soon won her heart completely, and she decided to purchase asmall ranch there for a permanent summer home. For the first season she lived there in true campers' fashion, which she describes in a letter to her daughter: "At the ranch I have one tent with a curtain in the middle. We sleep on one side of the curtain and sit on the other. I have only the most primitive facilities for cooking, and the butcher is twelve miles away over a mountain road. He is anything but dependable, and when I send for a piece of roast beef I may get a soup bone of veal, or a small bit of liver, or a side of breakfast bacon, which I keep hung in a tree. I cannot keep flour on a tree, so am dependent on the boarding-house [a small summer resort about a quarter of a mile distant] for my bread, and if they are short I have no bread. If I find I lack something essential I have to spend a whole day driving to town through the deep dust to get it. But of course I am going to do all kinds of things by and by." The truth was that this sort of life was exactly to her taste, and the wilder and rougher it was the better it suited her. She was always, to the end of her days, the pioneer woman, and the greensward of the woods went better to her feet than carpeted halls.
Afterwards tents were put up for the accommodation of her family, and every spring, after the rains were over, they all moved down to take up a delightful out-of-door life such as can scarcely be enjoyed anywhere in the world except in California. Cooking was done in the open air, and meals were taken at a long table spread in a deep glen, where the trees were so thick that it was pleasantly cool even on the hottest days.
As time went on the mistress of this sylvan paradise grew more and more attached to it, and she at length decided to build more permanent quarters. First of all, she made a model of a house out of match boxes, with pebbles for the foundation wall, all glued together, painted and complete. Then she hired a country carpenter and built her house—a pleasant little dwelling, with a wide veranda extending in country fashion around two sides of it.
In building the foundation wall boulders from the stream were used, and many were found bearing bold imprints of fossil ferns, birds, and snakes. Mrs. Stevenson was delighted to have these reminders of a past age for her wall, but, alas, during her absence the stones were all cemented in place with the nice smooth sides outward and the fossils turned inward.
Although it was so different from the tropic island that had now become but a tender memory, yet there was much about this place that recalled Vailima days—the sweet seclusion, the rich greenery all about, the music of the little tinkling stream, and, above all, the morning song of the multitudes of birds. It was for this, and perhaps to make a link between her California home and that other far across the wide Pacific that she chose to call the little ranch in the Santa Cruz Mountains Vanumanutagi, vale of the singing birds.
At Vanumanutagi Mrs. Stevenson led a simple life, spending most of her time out-of-doors and occupying herself with plans for the planting and improvement of the land. The house was simply furnished, and the country people were charmed with the gay chintzand bright wall-paper, the brick fireplace, and the general appropriateness of it all. As it was not large, tents were put up for the family and guests to sleep in.
Even this peaceful spot had its excitements, for in the autumn, when the undergrowth everywhere was as dry as tinder, its quiet was sometimes disturbed by the outbreak of California's summer terror—forest-fires. One of the worst of these happened when Mrs. Stevenson was at the ranch with only her sister Elizabeth[70]and a maid. It came suddenly, and the first they knew of it was the sight of what they took to be sea fog, rolling and tumbling over the tops of the hills. They soon knew it for what it was when it came pouring down into the valley and they began to choke with its acrid smell. Presently horsemen came galloping by on their way to warn ranchers of the fire, and every little while a man would come out and report the progress made in checking it. It was an oppressive, hidden danger, for nothing could be seen from the valley of the actual flames through the thick suffocating curtain of smoke that hung over all. The only avenue of escape was by way of the road to Gilroy, and the fire threatened momentarily to cut this off. Not wishing to abandon the place to its fate, Mrs. Stevenson thought out a plan for saving their lives in the last emergency by wrapping up in wet blankets and crouching in a sort of hole or low place in an open field near the house. Fortunately the fire was stopped before this became necessary.