The Floating Island (39 page)

During the stay the Tankerdon and
Coverley families organized excursions in the neighbourhood of Suva, and in the
forests which clothe its heights up to their topmost peaks.

And with regard to this, the
superintendent made a very just observation to his friends the quartette.

“If our Milliardites are so fond
of these excursions into high altitudes, it shows that Floating Island is not
sufficiently undulating. It is too flat, too uniform. But I hope that some day
we shall have an artificial mountain, rivalling the loftiest summits of the
Pacific. Meanwhile, every time they have an opportunity our citizens are eager
to ascend a few hundred feet, and breathe the pure and refreshing air of space.
It meets a want of human nature.”

“Very well,” said Pinchinat. “But
a suggestion, my dear Eucalistus! When you build your mountain in sheet steel
or aluminium, do not forget to put a nice volcano inside it
—
a volcano with
plenty of fireworks.”

“And why, Mr. Facetious?” replied
Calistus Munbar.

“And why not?” replied his
Highness.

As a matter of course Walter
Tankerdon and Miss Coverley took part in these excursions arm-in-arm.

The curiosities of the capital of
Viti-Levu were visited, their “mbure-kalou,” the temples of the spirits, and
also the place used for the political assemblies. These constructions, raised
on a base of dry stones, are composed of plaited bamboos, of beams covered with
a sort of vegetable lace-work, of laths ingeniously arranged to support the
thatch of the roofs. The tourists went to see the hospital, the botanic garden,
laid out like an amphitheatre, behind the town. These walks often lasted until
late, and the tourists returned, lantern in hand, as in the good old times.

And Captain Sarol and his Malays
and the New Hebrideans embarked at Samoa. What were they doing during this stay?
Nothing out of their usual way. They did not go ashore, knowing Viti-Levu and
its neighbours, some by having frequented these parts during their coasting
cruises, others by having worked there for the planters. They very much
preferred to remain on Floating Island, exploring it in every part
—
town, harbours,
park, country, and batteries. A few weeks more, and thanks to the kindness of
the company, thanks to Governor Cyrus Bikerstaff these fellows would land in
their own country, after a sojourn of five months on Floating Island.

Occasionally our artistes talked
to Sarol, who was very intelligent, and spoke English fluently. Sarol spoke to
them enthusiastically of the New Hebrides, of the natives of the group, of
their way of living, their cooking
—
which
interested his Highness particularly. The secret ambition of Pinchinat was to
discover some new dish, the recipe for which he could communicate to the
gastronomic societies of Old Europe.

On the 30th of January, Sebastien
Zorn and his comrades, at whose disposal the Governor put one of the electric
launches of Starboard Harbour, went away with the intention of ascending the
course of the Rewa, one of the principal rivers of the Island. The captain of
the launch, an engineer, and two sailors were on board, with a Fijian pilot. In
vain had Athanase Dorérnus been asked to join the excursionists; the feeling of
curiosity was extinct in the professor of dancing and deportment. And then,
during his absence, a pupil might apply, and he would therefore rather not
leave the dancing-room.

At six o’clock in the morning,
well armed, and furnished with a few provisions, for they would not return
until the evening, the launch left the Bay of Suva, and ran along the coast to
the bay of the Rewa.

Not only reefs, but sharks showed
themselves in great numbers in these parts, and as much care had to be taken of
one as of the other.

“Phew!” said Pinchinat. “Your
sharks are only saltwater cannibals! I’ll undertake to say that those fellows
have lost the taste for human flesh.”

“Do not trust them,” replied the
pilot, “any more than you would trust the Fijians of the interior.”

Pinchinat contented himself with
shrugging his shoulders. He was getting weary of these pretended cannibals, who
did not even become cannibalistic on festival days!

The pilot was thoroughly
acquainted with the bay and the course of the Rewa. Up this important river,
called also the Wai-Levu, the tide is apparent for a distance of forty-five
kilometres, and vessels can go up as far as eighty.

The width of the Rewa exceeds two
hundred yards at its mouth. It runs between sandy banks, low on the left, steep
on the right, from which the banana and cocoanut trees rise luxuriantly from a
wide stretch of verdure. Its name is Rewa-Rewa, conformably to that duplication
of the word which is almost general among the people of the Pacific. And, as Yvernès
remarked, is this not an imitation of the childish pronunciation one finds in
such words as papa, dada, bonbon, etc.? In fact, these natives have barely
emerged from childhood.

The true Rewa is formed by the
Wai-Levu (the great water) and the Wai-Manu, and its principal mouth bears the
name of Wai-Ni-Ki.

After the circuit of the delta,
the launch ran past the village of Kamba, half hidden in its basket of flowers.
It did not stop here, so as to lose nothing of the flood-tide, nor did it stop
at the village of Naitasiri. Besides, at this epoch the village had been declared
“taboo,” with its houses, its trees, its inhabitants, up to the waters of the
Rewa which bathed its beach. The natives would permit no one to set foot in it.

As the excursionists ran along in
front of Naitasiri, the pilot pointed out a tall tree, a tavala, which rose in
an angle of the bank.

“And what is there remarkable
about that tree?” asked Frascolin.

“Nothing,” replied the pilot, “except
that its bark is gashed from its roots to the fork. These indicate the number
of human bodies that were cooked there and then eaten.”

“Like the notches of a baker on
his sticks,” observed Pinchinat, shrugging his shoulders as a sign of
incredulity.

But he was wrong. The Fiji
Islands are pre-eminently the country of cannibalism, and, it is necessary to
repeat it, these practices are not entirely extinct. The love of good living
will keep them alive for a long time yet among the tribes of the interior. Yes,
the love of good living! for, in the opinion of the Fijians, nothing is
comparable in taste and delicacy to human flesh, which is much superior to
beef. If the pilot were to be believed, there was a certain chief,
Ra-Undrenudu, who set up stones on his estate, and when he died these stones
numbered eight hundred and twenty-two.

“And do you know what these stones
indicated?”

“It is impossible for us to guess,”
said Yvernès, “even if we apply all our intelligence as instrumentalists!”

“They showed the number of human
bodies this chief had devoured.”

“By himself?”

“By himself.”

“He was a large eater!” replied
Pinchinat, whose opinion was made up regarding these “Fijian fairytales.”

About eleven o’clock a bell rang
on the right bank. The village of Naililii, composed of a few straw huts,
appeared among the foliage, under the shade of cocoanut trees and banana trees.
A Catholic mission is established in this village. Could the tourists stop an
hour and shake hands with the missionary, a compatriot? The pilot saw no reason
why they should not, and the launch was moored to the root of a tree.

Sebastien Zorn and his comrades
landed, and they had not walked for two minutes before they met with the
Superior of the mission.

He was a man of about fifty, of
pleasant face and energetic figure. Happy to be able to welcome Frenchmen, he
took them to his hut in the village, which comprises about a hundred Fijians.
He insisted that his guests must accept some of the refreshments of the
country. He assured them that this did not mean the repugnant kava, but a sort
of drink, or rather soup, of agreeable flavour, obtained by cooking the cyrenæ,
molluscs very abundant on the beaches of the Rewa.

This missionary admitted that it
was a hard task to withdraw his faithful from the lord of “bukalo,” that is to
say, human flesh. “And as you are going towards the interior, my dear guests,” added
he, “be prudent, and keep on your guard.”

“Do you hear that, Pinchinat?”
said Sebastien Zorn.

They left a little before the
noonday angelus sounded from the bell of the little church. As they proceeded
the launch met several canoes laden with bananas. This is the local currency in
which the natives pay their taxes. The river banks continued to be bordered
with laurels, acacias, citron trees, and cactus with blood-red flowers. Over
them the banana and cocoanut trees raise their lofty branches laden with
bunches, and all this verdure stretches back to the mountains dominated by the
peak of Mbugge-Levu.

Among these masses of foliage are
one or two European factories, little in keeping with the savage nature of the
country. These are sugar factories, fitted up with the best modern machinery,
and their products, as a traveller, M. Verschnur, says, “can advantageously
bear comparison with the sugars of the Antilles and other colonies.”

About one o’clock the launch
reached the end of its voyage on the Rewa. In two hours the ebb would begin,
and it was as well to take advantage of it for the return journey. The run down
would not take long, as the tide ebbs quickly. The excursionists ought to be
back on Floating Island before ten o’clock in the evening.

A little time could be spent
here, and it could not be better employed than in visiting the village of
Tampoo, the first huts of which were visible about half a mile away.

It was arranged that the engineer
and two sailors should remain in charge of the launch, while the pilot piloted
his passengers to the village, where the ancient customs were preserved in all
their Fijian purity. In this part of the island the missionaries have wasted
their trouble and their sermons. There still reign the sorcerers; there still are
worked the sorceries, particularly those bearing the complicated name of “Vaka-Ndran-in-Kan-Tacka,”
that is to say, “incantation by leaves.” Here the people worship the Katvavous,
the gods whose existence had no beginning, and will have no end, and who do not
disdain special sacrifices that the governor-general is powerless to prevent,
and even to punish.

Perhaps it would have been more
prudent not to venture among these suspicious tribes. But our artistes, quite
Parisian in their curiosity, insisted on it, and the pilot consented to
accompany them, advising them not to get far away from each other.

On entering Tampoo, which
consisted of a hundred straw huts, they met some women, real savages, wearing but
cotton drawers knotted round their waist: they betrayed no surprise at the
sight of the strangers. They were occupied in the preparation of curcuma, made
of roots preserved in trenches previously lined with grasses and banana leaves.
These roots were taken out, grilled, scraped, pressed into baskets lined with
ferns, and the juice which ran out was poured into bamboos. This juice serves
as food and pomatum, and in both respects is very widely used.

The party entered the village.
There was no welcome on the part of the natives, who were in no hurry to greet
the visitors, or to offer them hospitality. The exterior of the huts was not
attractive. Considering the odour that issued from them in which that of rancid
cocoanut oil prevailed, the quartette congratulated themselves that the laws of
hospitality were not much honoured here.

However, when they arrived before
the habitation of the chief
—
a
Fijian of tall stature, and stern and ferocious look
—
he advanced towards them amid an
escort of natives. His woolly hair was white with lime. He had assumed his ceremonial
garb, a striped shirt, a belt round his body, an old carpet slipper on his left
foot, and
—
how
did Pinchinat restrain a burst of laughter?
—
an
old blue coat with gold buttons, patched in many places, and its unequal tails
flapping against his calves. As he advanced towards the papalangis, the chief
stumbled against a stump, lost his equilibrium, and fell to the ground.

Immediately, conformably to the
etiquette of the “bale muri,” the whole of the escort fell down flat “in order
to take their share in the absurdity of this fall.”

This was explained by the pilot,
and Pinchinat approved of the formality as being no more ridiculous than many
others in use in European courts
—
at
least in his opinion.

When the natives had got up, the
chief and the pilot exchanged a few sentences in Fijian, of which the quartette
did not understand a word. These sentences, translated by the pilot, were
merely asking why the strangers had come to the village of Tampoo. The reply
being that they wished to visit the village and take a walk round the
neighbourhood, permission was given, after an exchange of several questions and
replies.

The chief, however, manifested
neither pleasure nor displeasure at this arrival of tourists in Tampoo, and at
a sign from him the natives returned to their huts.

“After all,” said Pinchinat, “they
do not seem to be so very bad.”

“That is no reason for our not
being careful,” replied Frascolin.

For an hour our artistes walked
about the village without being interfered with by the natives. The chief in
his blue coat had gone into his hut, and it was obvious that the visit was
treated as a matter of indifference.

After moving about Tampoo without
any hut being opened to welcome them, Sebastien Zorn, Yvernès, Pinchinat,
Frascolin, and the pilot strolled towards the ruins of some temples, like
abandoned huts, which were not far from the dwelling of one of the sorcerers of
the place.