LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 University of California. 
 
 Class 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
MEMORIES 
 OF VAILIMA 
 
 BY 
 
 ISOBEL STRONG 
 
 AND 
 
 LLOYD OSBOURNE 
 
 -',^.->^ ? I ?. 
 
 WESTMINSTER 
 
 ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO., LTD. 
 
 1903 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Verses Written in 1872, .... 1 
 By Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 
 Vailiima Table-Talk, 7 
 
 By Isohel Strong. 
 
 Mr. Stevenson's Home Life at Vailima, . 77 
 By Lloyd Osbonrne. 
 
 Pola, Ill 
 
 By Isobel Str^ong. 
 
 Samoan Songs, ...... 139 
 
 By Isobel Strong. 
 
 215243 
 
VERSES WRITTEN IN 1872 
 By Robert Louis Stevenson 
 
 Though he that ever kind and true, 
 Kept stoutly step by step with you 
 Your whole long gusty lifetime through 
 
 Be gone awhile before, 
 Be now a moment gone before, 
 Yet, doubt not, soon the seasons shall 
 restore 
 
 Your friend to you. 
 
VERSES WRITTEN IN 1872 
 
 II 
 
 He has but turned a corner — still 
 He pushes on with right goodwill, 
 Thro' mire and marsh, by heugh and hill 
 
 That self-same arduous way, — 
 That self-same upland hopeful way, 
 That you and he through many a doubtful 
 day 
 
 Attempted still. 
 
BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 III 
 
 He is not dead, this friend — not dead. 
 But, in the path we mortals tread. 
 Got some few, trifling steps ahead 
 
 And nearer to the end, 
 So that you, too, once past the bend, 
 Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend 
 
 You fancy dead. 
 
VERSES WRITTEN IN 1872 
 
 IV 
 
 Push gaily on, strong heart ! The while 
 You travel forward mile by mile, 
 He loiters with a backward smile 
 
 Till you can overtake, 
 And strains his eyes, to search his wake, 
 Or whistling, as he sees you through the 
 brake. 
 
 Waits on a stile. 
 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
VAILIMA TABLE TALK 
 
 At Vailima, in the latter part of the year 
 1892, I began keeping a journal, putting 
 down from time to time bits of Mr. Steven- 
 son's conversation, characteristic sentences 
 and stories. Two large volumes were filled 
 in time, from which I publish the following 
 extracts with some misgiving, for, as will 
 be seen, they are of their nature fragmen- 
 tary and disconnected. Much that would 
 make them more comprehensible is of too 
 intimate and personal a nature to print, and 
 it would only be possible to render them 
 more consecutive by weaving them into 
 some sort of biography or narrative, which 
 it is neither my province nor my desire to 
 attempt. 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 ' I have been writing to Louis's dictation 
 the story of Anne de St. Ives,^ a young 
 Frenchman in the time of Napoleon. 
 Some days we have worked from eight 
 o'clock until four, and that is not counting 
 the hours Louis writes and makes notes 
 in the early morning by lamp-light. He 
 dictates with great earnestness, and when 
 particularly interested unconsciously acts 
 the part of his characters. When he came 
 to the description of the supper Anne has 
 with Flora and Ronald, he bowed as he 
 dictated the hero's speeches and twirled 
 his moustache. When he described the 
 interview between the old lady and the 
 drover, he spoke in a high voice for the 
 one, and a deep growl for the other, and 
 all in broad Scotch even to ** coma " 
 (comma). 
 
 ' When Louis was writing Ballantrae^ 
 my mother says he once came into her 
 
 ^ This story was finished, except the last three chapters, 
 and published under the name of &t. Ives. 
 
 8. . ' 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 room to look in the glass, as he wished to 
 describe a certain haughty, disagreeable 
 expression of his hero's. He told her he t 
 actually expected to see the master's clean- 
 shaven face and powdered head, and was 
 quite disconcerted at beholding only his 
 own reflection. 
 
 ' I was sitting by Louis's bedside with a 
 book, this evening, when he asked me to 
 read aloud. " Don't go back," he said ; 
 "start in just where you are." As it 
 happened, I was reading The Merry Men ; 
 he laughed a little when he recognised his 
 own words. I went on and finished the 
 story. '' Well," he said, " it is not cheerful ; 
 it is distinctly not cheerful !" 
 
 ' " In these stories," I asked, " do you 
 preach a moral ? " 
 
 ' " Oh, not mine," he said. " What I want 
 to give, what I try for, is God's moral ! " 
 
 ' '' Could you not give ' God's moral ' in 
 a pretty story ? " I asked. _ 
 
 9 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 ' '' It is a very difficult thing to know," 
 he said ; " it is a thing I have often thought 
 over — the problem of what to do with 
 one's talents." He said he thought his 
 own gift lay in the grim and terrible- — that 
 some writers touch the heart, he clutched 
 at the throat. I said I thought Pi^ovidence 
 and the Guitar a very pretty story, full of 
 sweetness and the milk of human kindness. 
 
 ' " But it is not so sweet as Maj^kheim 
 is grim. There I feel myself strong." 
 
 ' " At least," I said, *' you have no man- 
 nerisms." 
 
 ' He took the book out of my hand and 
 read "it was a wonderful clear night of 
 stars." '* Oh," he said, " how many, many 
 times I have written 'a wonderful clear 
 night of stars ! ' " 
 
 ' But I maintained that this, in itself, was 
 a good sentence and presented a picture to 
 the mind. " It is the mannerisms of the 
 author who can't say ' says he ' and ' says 
 she ' that I object to ; whose characters 
 
 lO 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 hiss, and thunder, and ejaculate and 
 
 syllable " 
 
 "'Oh, my dear," he said, " deal gently 
 with me — I once fluted ! " ' 
 
 'Jan. iQth, 1893. 
 
 ' Oh, poor Anne ! Louis has been laid 
 up with threatenings of a hemorrhage and 
 is not allowed to speak. It is a cruel 
 blow just when we were getting on so well 
 with Anne. When I went in to his bed- 
 side this morning he wrote on a slate, 
 "Allow me to introduce you to Mr. 
 Dumbley ! " He was leaning against a 
 bed-rest to which he called my attention. 
 It was the one Sir Percy Shelley gave him; 
 my mother had taken all the upholstery out 
 as being too warm for this climate, putting 
 in a back of woven cocoa-nut sinnet, which 
 is very neat and pretty, and comfortable 
 besides. He cannot speak nor lean forward 
 to write, for fear of starting a hemorrhage, 
 and yet he does not look ill at all. He is 
 II 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 tanned a good brown, has a high colour 
 and very bright eyes. In illness he is never 
 pale ; as he lies back against the rest in his 
 blue and white Japanese kimono, with a 
 wide red sash, so fresh and bright, looking 
 at you with such a pleasant, smiling face, 
 it is hard to realise he is in great danger. 
 
 ' He has a slate by his side and writes 
 nonsense on it. " I 'm a rose-garden invahd 
 wreathed in weak smiles." To a visitor 
 who asked " how are you ? " he wrote : 
 " Mr. Dumbley is no better and be hanged 
 to him ! " 
 
 'To pass the time I showed him how 
 to make a, b, and c, on the hands, and 
 we were getting some entertainment out 
 of it when suddenly the brilliant idea 
 struck us both to dictate Anne in the 
 deaf and dumb alphabet! It was slow 
 work, and I often made mistakes, but 
 we got on pretty well to the extent of 
 five pages. 
 
 ' In the afternoon Aolele entertained him 
 
 12 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 by playing patience on a table drawn to 
 the bed. For his amusement she learned 
 a game from a book, and he is always 
 pleased and interested to see it played, 
 making signs when she goes wrong and 
 pointing at cards for her to take up. 
 
 ' We are only allowed in to him one at 
 a time, when we all try to be entertaining 
 and recount cheerful adventures of the 
 household. Aolele is very successful at 
 this, but she leaves her smile at the 
 bed-room door ; indeed we are all terribly 
 anxious.' 
 
 'Jan. 18th. 
 
 ' Louis is better to-day, and we did 
 seven pages in the deaf and dumb alphabet. 
 The only concern he has betrayed over 
 his illness was at the first sign of improve- 
 ment ; he wrote, " O Belle, I am so 
 pleased ! " and the tears stood in his 
 eyes.' 
 
 'Jan. 22nd. 
 
 ' To-day Louis was so much better that, 
 ^3 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 though he had a headache, we wrote twelve 
 pages of Anne. When the luncheon bell 
 rang we both thought it a mistake, the 
 morning had flown by so quickly. He 
 generally fills in his convalescence with 
 poetry ; to-day he read us some beautiful 
 verses about Aolele and me.' 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 High as my heart ! the quip be mme 
 That draws their stature to a Hne^, 
 My pair of fairies plump and dark^ 
 The dryads of my cattle park. 
 Here by my window close I sit_, 
 And watch (and my heart laughs at it) 
 How these my dragon-lilies are 
 Alike and yet dissimilar. 
 From European womankind 
 They are divided and defined 
 By the free limb and wider mind. 
 The nobler gait, the little foot. 
 The indiscreeter petticoat ; 
 And show, by each endearing cause. 
 More like what Eve in Eden was — 
 Buxom and free, flowing and fine, 
 
 H 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 In every limb^ in every line, 
 
 Inimitably feminine. 
 
 Like ripe fruit on the espaliers 
 
 Their sun-bepainted hue appears. 
 
 And the white lace (when lace they wear) 
 
 Shows on their golden breast more fair. 
 
 So far the same they seem, and yet 
 
 One apes the shrew, one the coquette — 
 
 A sybil or a truant child 
 
 One runs — with a crop halo — wild ; 
 
 And one more sedulous to please, 
 
 Her long dark hair, deep as her knees. 
 
 And thrid with living silver, sees. 
 
 What need have I of wealth or fame, 
 
 A club, an often-printed name ? 
 
 It more contents my heart to know 
 
 Them going simply to and fro ; 
 
 To see the dear pair pause and pass 
 
 Girded, among the drenching grass, 
 
 In the resplendent sun, or hear. 
 
 When the huge moon delays to appear. 
 
 Their kindred voices sounding near 
 
 In the verandah twilight. So 
 
 Sound ever ; so, forever go 
 
 And come upon your small brown feet 
 
 Twin honours to my country seat. 
 
 And its too happy master lent : 
 
 My solace and its ornament. 
 
 15 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 THE DAUGHTER, TEUILA, HER NATIVE NAME 
 THE DECORATOR 
 
 Man^ child or woman, none from her 
 
 The insatiable embellisher. 
 
 Escapes ! She leaves, where'er she goes, 
 
 A wreath, a ribbon, or a rose ; 
 
 A bow or else a button changed. 
 
 Two hairs coquettishly deranged. 
 
 Some vital trifle, takes the eye. 
 
 And shows the adorner has been by. 
 
 Is fortune more obdurate grown ? 
 
 And does she leave my dear alone 
 
 With none to adorn, none to caress ? 
 
 Straight on her proper loveliness 
 
 She broods and lingers, cuts and carves. 
 
 With combs and brushes, rings and scarves ; 
 
 The treasure of her hair she takes 
 
 Therewith a new presentment makes. 
 
 Babe, Goddess, Naiad of the grot. 
 
 And weeps if any like it not ! 
 
 Oft clustered by her bended knees 
 
 (Smiling himself) the gazer sees. 
 
 Compact as flowers in garden beds. 
 
 The smiling faces and shaved heads 
 
 Of the brown island babes : with whom 
 
 She exults to decorate her room, 
 
 j6 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 To dress them^ cheer them when they cry^ 
 
 And still to pet and prettify. 
 
 Or see^ as in a looking-glass^ 
 
 Her graceful^ dimpled person pass, 
 
 Nought great therein but eyes and hair_, 
 
 On her true business here and there : 
 
 Her huge, half-naked Staff, intent. 
 
 See her review and regiment. 
 
 An ant with elephants, and how 
 
 A smiling mouth, a clouded brow. 
 
 Satire and turmoil, quips and tears. 
 
 She deals among her grenadiers ! 
 
 Her pantry and her kitchen squad, 
 
 Six-footers all, obey her nod, 
 
 Incline to her their martial chests. 
 
 With school-boy laughter hail her jests. 
 
 And do her in her kilted dress 
 
 Obsequious obeisances. 
 
 So, dear, may you be never done 
 
 Your pretty busy round to run. 
 
 And show with changing frocks and scents, 
 
 Your ever-varying lineaments : 
 
 Your saucy step, your languid grace. 
 
 Your sullen and your smiling face, 
 
 Sound sense, true valour, baby fears. 
 
 And bright, unreasonable tears. 
 
 The Hebe of our aging tribe : 
 
 Matron and child, my friend and scribe. 
 
 17 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 'Feb. 25th, 1893. 
 
 * We are at sea on our way to Sydney. 
 Louis took advantage of our stop at 
 Auckland to call on Sir George Grey^ to 
 ask his advice on Samoan affairs. He 
 described his visit when he came back to 
 the ship. . . . *' He received me in the 
 quietest, coolest manner, heard me with 
 the most extraordinary patience, saying 
 nothing. Again and again I felt ashamed 
 — he still pressed me to go on. He said : 
 ' Let me give you a piece of advice from 
 my own experience — pay no attention to 
 attacks, go on doing what you are doing 
 for the good of Samoa ; the time will come 
 when it will be appreciated, and I am one 
 of the few men who have lived long 
 enough to learn this.' Then looking at me 
 with his curious blue eyes and a kind of 
 faint smile, * The worst of my anxiety is 
 over,' he said. ' I thought you were an 
 
 ^ The veteran Ex-Governor and Ex -Premier of New 
 Zealand. 
 
 i8 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 invalid. When 1 see the fire in your eye, 
 and your hfe and energy, I feel no more 
 anxiety about Samoa.' I told him it was 
 certainly time I put my hand to the plough, 
 and nothing would make me leave but de- 
 portation. He nodded his head at me for 
 quite a considerable time, like a convinced 
 mandarin. ' You may have thought you 
 stopped at Samoa on a whim. You may 
 think me old-fashioned, but I believe it 
 was Providence. There is something over 
 us ; and when I heard that a man with the 
 romantic imagination of a novelist had 
 settled down in one of those islands, I said 
 to myself, these races will be saved ! ' At 
 every turn of the conversation it was the 
 most singular thing to hear the old pro- 
 consul allege parallel incidents from all 
 parts of the world, and from any time in 
 the last fifty years. He kept another 
 guest waiting an hour and three-quarters ; 
 when we were at last interrupted he bade 
 me wait for him, and walked with me to 
 
 19 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 the hotel door, arm-in-arm, like a very 
 ancient schoolboy with a younger boy, 
 that was inexpressibly attaching." 
 
 'Louis was flattered by the interview 
 and said so ; and I was amused to find 
 that not a word had been said about his 
 books. The old man took him altogether 
 as a politician, and I was glad to hear that 
 Louis had complimented the politician on 
 his literary success. 
 
 ' Aolele's description of Louis. " Some- 
 times he looks like an old man of eighty 
 with a wild eye, and then, at a moment's 
 notice, he 's a pretty brown boy." Now, 
 on this trip, he 's the brown boy.' 
 
 'Sydney, March 3rd, 1893. 
 
 * Last evening we went to a dinner given 
 
 by Mr. and Mrs. at the Cosmopolitan 
 
 Club ; as it was a " wonderful clear night 
 of stars," we walked home. We passed 
 the Australia Hotel, just as a tall, soldierly 
 
 20 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 man, middle-aged, I should think, and un- 
 doubtedly a gentleman, came staggering 
 out and swayed up the street fearfully 
 drunk. We stopped and looked after him, 
 Aolele and I keeping the man in sight 
 while Louis made inquiries at the hotel 
 about him. I confess, I should have pre- 
 ferred going on our way, but I could not 
 escape, with Madam Esmond on one hand, 
 and Don Quixote on the other. Louis 
 came out of the hotel very indignant ; he 
 had found the attendants grinning; they 
 said, however, they knew the gentleman, 
 and were surprised to see him drinking. 
 Louis ran ahead and overtook the man just 
 as two fellows were lifting him to his feet 
 after a fall. He grasped eagerly at Louis 
 and seemed much relieved in his mind, 
 " You 're a gentleman," he said, " you tell 
 me what to do, and I '11 do it. I '11 do 
 anything you say — you're a gentleman." 
 The two fellows, who had been helping 
 him, moved off, but one turned back to 
 
 21 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 say, ''You never know a gentleman till 
 he 's tried.' The drunken man went on to 
 offer Louis fifty pounds, saying, *' I 'm bad, 
 you 're good," in a most ridiculous way. 
 " Cabby," said he, " do you know me ? " 
 
 " O yes, sir," said Cabby, " you 're Mr. 
 
 of ." "Will you cash a fifty pound 
 
 cheque for me ? " " Certainly, sir." " All 
 right," said the man, ' I '11 give you five 
 pounds in the morning ! " While he 
 was still fumbling for his cheque-book, 
 Louis motioned the cabman to drive 
 off. 
 
 ' In the meantime a man came up to 
 Aolele, who was standing a little way off, 
 and stared hard at her. '' What is the 
 matter with you ? " she asked. '' I 'm 
 drunk too," said the man.' 
 
 ' Both Louis and Aolele like to read 
 trash, that is, if it is bad enough to be 
 funny. My mother was tired and sent 
 us out to buy some novels for her. As 
 
 22 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 we went along the street we saw Louis's 
 picture in many of the shop-windows, 
 and people turned and looked after us in 
 a way, Louis said, that made him feel very 
 self-conscious. We went into a big shop 
 and had picked out an armful of books. 
 A young clerk came up to Louis with 
 great respect and recognition in his eye. 
 ''What have you been getting, Mr. Ste- 
 venson ? " he asked. " We have all the 
 best authors — Meredith, Barrie, Anstey 
 — " and then his countenance changed ; 
 he cast a most reproachful, disappointed 
 look at Louis as he read the titles of the 
 chosen works — T'he Sin of a Countess, 
 Miriam, the Avenger, The Lady Detective. 
 He retired and took no further interest 
 in us. 
 
 'As we went to get into a cab, we 
 passed a strange-looking old boot-black, 
 who called out " Stevenson ! " as we passed. 
 I looked back, but Louis hurried me into 
 the cab, when the man cried out again 
 
 23 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 " Louis Stevenson ! " and then, much louder, 
 " Mr. Louis Stevenson, I Ve read all your 
 works.'" 
 
 'Louis is very fond of jewels, as any 
 one may see by his writings, and he in- 
 dulges this passion as far as circumstances 
 allow. 
 
 'He has had three topaz rings made, 
 for topaz is the stone of his birth month, 
 November. Inside two of them are his 
 initials, and these he has presented, with a 
 memorial poem, to my mother and my- 
 self. On his own we engraved the first 
 letters of our names. Sapphire is the 
 stone of Lloyd's month, April ; so he has 
 bought a set of sapphire studs to take back 
 to Lloyd in Samoa.' 
 
 These rings, O my beloved pair, 
 For me on your brown fingers wear : 
 Each, a perpetual caress. 
 To tell you of my tenderness. 
 24 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 Let — when at morning as ye rise 
 The golden topaz takes your eyes — 
 To each her emblem whisper sure 
 Love was awake an hour before. 
 
 Ah yes ! an hour before ye woke 
 Low to my heart my emblem spoke, 
 And grave, as to renew an oath, 
 It I have kissed and blessed you both. 
 
 Sidney, N.S.W., March 1893. 
 
 * My mother was proposing one day to 
 exchange consciences with Palema, who 
 was quite ready for the bargain. Louis 
 was watching the transaction with interest 
 and suggested that the business might be 
 developed, and that a trade journal might 
 be started where consciences could be ad- 
 vertised for sale or exchange. He himself, 
 he added, might be very glad to avail him- 
 self of such facilities, and wondered what 
 his own conscience would look like in 
 print. '' Oh ! " said Palema, '* let me try." 
 " For Sale. A conscience, half-calf, slightly 
 
 25 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 soiled, gilt-edged (or shall we say uncut ?), 
 scarce and curious." 
 
 *At this there was a hearty laugh, led 
 by Louis himself.' 
 
 ' Vailima, April 12, 1893. 
 
 'I asked Louis why painters, who live 
 in much the same atmosphere as literary 
 men, are less interesting and more narrow- 
 minded ; at least that had been my 
 experience. He offered an explanation 
 that sounded reasonable enough. The 
 study of painting or music does not ex- 
 pand the mind in any direction save one. 
 Literature, with its study of human nature, 
 events, and history, is a constant educa- 
 tion, and in that career a man cannot 
 stick at one place as the painter and musi- 
 cian almost invariably does. He studies 
 his one pin's point of a talent, enlarging 
 that, perhaps, and deepening it, but in no 
 other direction does his mind work. The 
 26 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 bank clerk, whose daily life is spent in 
 adding up figures, knows that his intel- 
 ligence is cramped and is more apt to 
 devote his leisure to study and improve- 
 ment; but the painter believes his work 
 to be a culture, and thinks he needs no 
 more. 
 
 'Our talk turned on Millet, to whom 
 Louis takes off his hat. He made money 
 for years doing ordinary popular work, and 
 then, in spite of starvation and a large 
 family, proceeded to paint what he thought 
 was true art. 
 
 ' " And yet," I said, " if I were one of 
 the large family, I might not think it so 
 fine. A painter might sacrifice his family 
 to his art ; would you ? Would you go 
 on writing things like Will o' the Mill if 
 we were all starving, and 3Iiriam, the 
 Avenger would save us ? " 
 
 ' Louis gave in. " You know well 
 enough I would save my family if it 
 carried me to the gallows' foot." ' 
 27 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 'April 19th, 1893. 
 
 ' The mail has just come in and stopped 
 all work for the day. It was brought up 
 as usual on horseback by Sosimo, in a big 
 waterproof bag, and carried to Louis's 
 room, followed by the family in great 
 excitement. Louis always empties the 
 mail-bag himself, and parcels out the 
 letters while we all sit in an expectant 
 semicircle on the floor. Woe betide the 
 person who tries to snatch a letter from 
 the pile! We have to wait our turn as 
 Louis throws them out ; he gives Austin 
 all the picture papers to open, and as he 
 looks over his own letters he gives me 
 those from strangers and autograph- 
 collectors; I feel neglected if I don't get 
 ten or twelve at least. 
 
 ' Some of these are very amusing. " Sir, 
 I think you are the greatest author living. 
 Please send me a complete set of Samoan 
 stamps." *' Mr. Stevenson, I have to 
 trouble you for your autograph and that 
 28 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 of your talented wife." Others are beg- 
 ging letters asking Louis to pay the 
 travelling expenses of a gentleman who 
 wishes to do missionary work in Samoa 
 combined with raising chickens, or to 
 advance ten pounds in commercial enter- 
 prise, for which he will receive as compen- 
 sation one Angora goat ! INIany of the 
 letters, though, contain genuine expres- 
 sions of admiration and thanks for the 
 good his books have given. He always 
 answers sincere letters, especially those 
 from children or sick people. Some of 
 these which he dictated to me are so help- 
 ful, so inspiring, that I have dropped tears 
 on the paper as I wrote. 
 
 ' Every mail brings him a number of 
 books from young authors asking his 
 opinion and advice. These he always 
 reads, and, if possible, encourages the 
 authors with a few words of commenda- 
 tion. If they are hopelessly bad he writes 
 nothing. 
 
 29 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 ' I have a very good system with the 
 autograph hunters. On one set of cards 
 Louis writes his name and the date ; on 
 another set a sentiment such as 
 
 " Smoking is a pernicious habit " ; 
 
 or an idle rhyme — 
 
 " I know not if I wish to please, 
 I know not if I may, 
 I only scribble at my ease, 
 To pass a rainy day." 
 
 Or, 
 
 " How jolly 'tis to sit and laugh 
 In gay green-wood^ 
 And write the merry autograph 
 For other people's good." 
 
 * Louis calls these *' penny plain and 
 tuppence coloured." The former I send 
 in reply to the ordinary polite request, 
 but those who take the trouble to enclose 
 an addressed envelope and a Samoan 
 stamp I reward with "tuppence coloured." 
 Letters that come spelling his name with 
 30 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 a ph, or " Step Henson," as he calls it, are 
 torn up in wrath. 
 
 * Mail-day unsettled Louis for work, so 
 we took a walk in the forest ; we wore no 
 hats and went bare-footed under the big 
 spreading trees in the cool shade. We sat 
 on a stone by the upper waterfall and 
 talked about a story we are both reading 
 in Longmans Magazine, called A Gentle- 
 man of France. Louis was so pleased 
 with the opening chapters that he said he 
 was going to write to Mr. Weyman and 
 congratulate him on his work.' 
 
 'April 20th, 1893. 
 
 * I was pottering about my room this 
 morning when Louis came in with the 
 remark that he was a gibbering idiot. I 
 have seen him in this mood before, when 
 he pulls out hairpins, tangles up his 
 mother's knitting, and interferes in what- 
 ever his women-kind are engaged upon. 
 So I gave him employment in tidying a 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 drawer all the morning — talking the wildest 
 nonsense all the time, and he was babbling 
 on when Sosimo came in to tell us lunch 
 was ready ; his very reverential, respectful 
 manner brought the Idiot Boy to his feet 
 at once, and we all went off laughing to 
 lunch. 
 
 ' This afternoon Louis was still too 
 much of an Idiot Boy to write, and he 
 walked about in such a restless way that 
 it occurred to me to teach him to sew. 
 He has done all sorts of things in these 
 moods before, modelling little clay figures, 
 making woodcuts and printing them, and 
 even knitting. He has often told me of 
 the beautiful necktie he knit with his own 
 hands, but he got it so dirty in the course 
 of construction that it was taken away from 
 him and burnt. I cut out some saddle 
 blankets and taught him to herring-bone 
 them in red worsted. He learned the 
 stitch at once and took an absorbing 
 interest in it, the interest he puts into 
 32 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 everything he does. He sat on the sofa 
 by the window in his long blue and white 
 Japanese kimono, his bare feet on the 
 tiger rug, looking such a strange figure 
 at his work. He made loops and then 
 pulled the worsted through as though it 
 was a rope. He suddenly remarked, " I 
 don't seem to get that neat, hurried, 
 bite-your-thread effect that women do so 
 well." He certainly did not. " I think," 
 he added, soberly, "that my style is sort 
 of heaveho and windlassy ! " He walked 
 out with Aolele to look at her garden, but 
 hurried back and is now busily at work 
 sewing. 
 
 ' Louis will nev^r allow any jokes on 
 the subject of " wall-flowers " or old maids. 
 He reduced me to tears describing a young 
 girl dressing herself in ball finery and sit- 
 ting the evening out with smiles, while her 
 breast was filled with the crushing sense 
 of failure. He says he will never forgive 
 c 33 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 Thackeray for the old age of Beatrix ; nor 
 W. S. Gilbert for the humiliating per- 
 sonage of Lady Jane. 
 
 * We were talking island affairs one day, 
 when Lloyd summed up the whole situ- 
 ation thus: '^Samoan politics are like the 
 mills of God — they always get to wind- 
 ward of you." 
 
 ' Louis was telling of a narrow escape 
 from being killed he once had when riding. 
 
 ' " Why didn't you jump off your horse ? " 
 asked my mother. 
 
 ' *' Why, woman ! I was ten miles from 
 home." 
 
 ' " Well," said she, *' isn't it better to be 
 ten miles from home than in heaven or 
 hell?"' 
 
 ' Apiil 30th, 1 893. 
 
 ' Will o' the Mill made a great impres- 
 sion upon Graham Balfour in his youth, 
 and he declares that his character and life 
 are moulded upon that story. Louis re- 
 
 34 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 pudiated the tale altogether, and says that 
 Will's sentiments upon life are " cat's 
 meat." 
 
 ' Conversation at table : 
 
 ' Palevm. It is the best thing on life that 
 has been written this age. 
 
 'Louis. Rather remarkable how little 
 stock I take in it myself. 
 
 ' PalemcL If you had stood by your 
 words I would have gone down on my 
 knees to you. But how did you come 
 to write what you don't believe ? 
 
 ' Louis. WeW, I was at that age when 
 you begin to look about and wonder if you 
 should live your life 
 
 ' Palema. To be or not to be ? 
 
 'Louis. Exactly. Everything is tem- 
 perament. Well, I did the other fellow's 
 temperament — held a brief on the other 
 side — to see how it looked. 
 
 ' Palema. Mighty well you did it too. 
 
 * Louis. No doubt better than I should 
 have done my own side ! ' 
 
 35 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 'May 28th, 1893. 
 
 'Mr. Daplyn, a painter, and an old 
 friend of Louis's, is visiting us ; we hold 
 fierce and animated debates on all sorts of 
 subjects. On Imagination in Art vei^sus 
 Technical Skill — Moral Codes, and the 
 Conduct of Life ; and this morning we 
 debated whether it was unmanly for the 
 sterner sex to weep. Palema scorned a 
 man who wept, but was forced to admit 
 that noble actions were touching — that the 
 Indian Mutiny must not be spoken of, 
 and barred out suffering children. Lloyd 
 proclaimed loudly that he himself was an 
 emotional man. " And," he added, " per- 
 haps the lightest-hearted member of this 
 family ! " which was hailed with shouts of 
 laughter. Louis said that he had wept in 
 public and wept in private, had cried over 
 stories and people, and would continue to 
 do so to the end of the chapter. 
 
 ' Mr. Daplyn, the most scornful anti- 
 weeper of the party, wound up with the 
 
 36 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 remark, " but I 'm easily moved to tears 
 myself ! " 
 
 *This afternoon we all congregated in 
 Lloyd's study ; there are not many chairs, 
 so some of us lay at full length on the 
 bear-skins. Louis paced up and down the 
 room, and Palema drew up his six-feet-two 
 against the wall. The talk was introspec- 
 tive. Everybody described himself and the 
 workings of his own inner consciousness. 
 Louis said : " I can behave pretty well on 
 the average, though I come to grief on 
 occasions. I love fighting, but bitterly 
 dislike people to be angry with me — the 
 uncomfortable effect of fighting." He said 
 he was forgiving, but Aolele denied it and 
 said, " Louis thinks he forgives, but he 
 only lays the bundle on the shelf and long 
 after takes it down and quarrels with it." 
 '' No ! " protested Louis, " it is on the shelf, 
 I admit, and 1 would let it stay there. But 
 if any one else pulled it down I would tear 
 Z7 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 it with fury. In fact," he went on, " I am 
 made up of contradictory elements, and 
 have a clearing-house inside of me where 
 I dishonour cheques of bitterness." 
 
 * Palema said of himself that he was a 
 stoical epicurean. 
 
 * " I," cried Louis, " am a cynical epi- 
 curean." 
 
 ' " I," continued Palema, '' am made up 
 inside of water-tight compartments that 
 nowhere join ! " 
 
 ' I said there was a good deal of theatre 
 in my inside, which led to a lively discus- 
 sion on posing before the world. That 
 to carry a brave front though your heart 
 quaked was a pose ; to live up to your 
 better nature was a pose ; and Louis made 
 us all laugh by saying earnestly, " In 
 short, everybody who tries to do right is a 
 hypocrite ! " ' 
 
 'May Slst, 1893. 
 
 ' I asked Louis, in the course of a 
 
 38 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 conversation this evening, how he defined 
 the word literature. 
 
 ' " Jt is capable of explanation, I think," 
 he said ; " when you see words used to the 
 best purpose — no waste, going tight around 
 a subject. Also they must be true. My 
 stories are not the truth, but I try to make 
 my characters act as they would act in life. 
 No detail is too small to study for truth. 
 Lloyd and I spent five days weighing 
 money and making calculations for the 
 treasure found in The Wrecker. 
 
 ' I asked him why Charles Reade was 
 not a stylist, though his writings answered 
 to the description. 
 
 ' " You are right," Louis said ; " he is a 
 good writer, and I take off my hat to him 
 with respect. And yet it was in continuity 
 that he failed. In the Ebb Tide, that is 
 now under way, we started on a high 
 key, and oh, haven't we regretted it! If 
 I wanted to say ' he kicked his leg and he 
 winked his eye,' it would be perfectly flat 
 39 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 if I wrote it so. I must pile the colours 
 on to bring it up to the key. Yet I am 
 wrong to liken literature to painting. It 
 is more like music — which is time ; paint- 
 ing is space. In music you wind in and 
 out, but always keep in the key ; that is, 
 you carry the hearer to the end without 
 letting him drop by the way. It winds 
 around and keeps on. So must words 
 wind around. Organised and packed in 
 a mass, as it were, tight with words. Not 
 too short — phrases rather — no word to 
 spare. 
 
 ' *' There are two kinds of style, the 
 plastic, such as I have just described ; the 
 other, the simple placing of words together 
 for harmony. The words should come off 
 the tongue like honey. I began so as a 
 young man ; I had a pretty talent that 
 way, I must confess." 
 
 ' 1 asked him if he thought his present 
 full, entertaining novels, crowded with 
 people and adventure, an improvement 
 40 
 
VAILIMA Table-talk 
 
 upon his earlier honey-dropping essays. 
 But he refused that. He could not, he 
 said, criticise his own work or see it well 
 enough. But in others, he had noticed 
 that the writers who began with honey- 
 sweetness often developed in later work 
 a certain brusqueness and ruggedness. 
 
 ' " Did they do it well ? " I asked. 
 
 ' '' You bet they did ! " said Louis. 
 " Both Beethoven and Shakespeare are 
 good examples of it, in their different arts. 
 Shakespeare's earliest works were plain, 
 dull, unimpassioned verse. Next came 
 his first singing note — such as Romeo and 
 Juliet ; ah," he quoted 
 
 ' My love is boundless as the sea.' 
 
 "The words are like music. Then a 
 strange thing happened — surely some evil 
 woman must have crossed his path and 
 driven him to the hideous work of T'roilus 
 and Cressida ; and yet, but for its in- 
 decency and brutality it might have been 
 41 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 his greatest work. He took the plot from 
 Chaucer, who had told it quietly and 
 prettily, and made of it the horror it is. 
 Then came his later works, full of strength, 
 and broken with flashes so delicate he 
 might have touched them with his tongue 
 and passed on." 
 
 ' I asked him if it were good for the 
 young writer to wade in emotions. 
 
 ' " Good God, no ! " he said ; ''first make 
 his words go sweet, and if he can't spend 
 an afternoon turning a single phrase he 'd 
 better give up the profession of litera- 
 ture." 
 
 'Louis is often charged with being 
 secretive. He turned one day to his 
 mother, who had been questioning him 
 about some trifling matter, and took hold 
 of her shawl. 
 
 ' " Who gave it to you ? " 
 
 '"I bought it." 
 
 ' " Where did you buy it ? " 
 42 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 ' " At Gray and Macfarlane's," answered 
 his mother. 
 
 * " Why ? " persisted Louis. 
 
 ' " I don't know," said Tamaitai Matua, 
 laughing. 
 
 ' '' Good Heavens, woman, why so secre- 
 tive? Why can't you answer a simple 
 question ? Why put me off with a Gray 
 and Macfarlane?" It was all nonsense, 
 but the phrase survived, and when Louis 
 is asked where he is going he answers, 
 " To call on Gray and Macfarlane ! " and 
 when his mother begged to know from 
 whom an important - looking letter had 
 come, he said, in broad Scotch, " From 
 Gray, mem, with Macfarlane's compli- 
 ments ! " ' 
 
 'June 8tk, 1893. 
 
 ' I have just come back from a week's 
 visit at a native village down the coast. 
 Louis says I look as brown as a ham. 
 Aolele said, " I hope you are not tired ; 
 you look pale — a pale black, I mean." 
 43 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 ' When I came up to my room, after 
 being so long away, I found it all deco- 
 rated with flowers and streamers of cocoa- 
 nut fibre, the work of my Samoan boy, 
 Mitaele; he had fastened a garland of 
 hibiscus flowers on my beautiful ash ward- 
 robe by means of tacks, but he meant 
 well, and I hadn't the heart to reprove 
 him. On my writing-table a number of 
 Longmans was lying open, with the fol- 
 lowing verses in Louis's hand fastened to 
 the page with a hairpin : 
 
 " Whether you come back glad or gay^, 
 Or come with streaming eyes and hair^ 
 Here is the gate of the golden way. 
 Here is the cure for all your care ! 
 And be your sorrows great or small. 
 Here, breathe this quantum of romance. 
 Be sure you will forget them all 
 With this dear Gcntlemcm of Frcuice ! " ' 
 
 'June 30th, 1893. 
 
 * We had a fright about my mother to- 
 day. We were visiting the rebel outposts, 
 
 44 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 and in going through a government 
 village Louis called out to us to ride fast. 
 These people all know that we sympathise 
 with the rebels, and it is perhaps a Uttle 
 foolhardy to go through their villages to 
 visit our friends on the other side. Every 
 house we passed was crowded with men 
 bearing rifles. I rode ahead with Louis, 
 and when we looked back for Aolele, we 
 were horrified to see her in the middle 
 of the village, surrounded by armed men. 
 Louis rode back in alarm and found that 
 her horse had balked, and the amiable 
 warriors had come to her assistance. 
 
 ' These Samoan fighting men look very 
 terrible in their battle array with blackened 
 faces and a long " head-knife " in their 
 hands. But on close inspection their eyes 
 are always kind and their smile sweet.' 
 
 'Aug. 23rd, 1893. 
 
 ' We had a trying but characteristic 
 morning over Amie, We were sailing 
 45 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 along on the eleventh chapter when a 
 smart Samoan man appeared with a letter. 
 
 It was from , full of politics and fmy, 
 
 and Louis sent for my mother to come 
 and hear it read aloud. We dismissed 
 
 with scorn equal to his own and on 
 
 to work. 
 
 ' " Chapter twelve," dictated Louis, 
 '' Buccleton " 
 
 ''* That's cheap," I said. 
 
 ^"What's the matter with it? Isn't 
 it good enough for you ? What do you 
 want ? " 
 
 '"Well," I said, "I want 'The Dying 
 Uncle ' or ' The Nephew's Fortune.' " 
 
 ' Louis jeered, but compromised on 
 " My Uncle," and we were off again. 
 Suddenly Aolele burst in. A man had 
 cut his leg with a cane-knife, and I must 
 get perchloride of iron and bandages. 
 
 * I did that all right, started Sosimo at 
 work on Palema's room with a warning 
 not to wash his tan shoes in the river; 
 46 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 saw that the calf was watered ; set the 
 girls to making wreaths for the dinner- 
 party to-night, and returned breathless to 
 Anne, when we worked on serenely until 
 interrupted by the first bell for lunch.' 
 
 'Nov. 3rd, 1893. 
 
 ' Louis has been writing autographs for 
 me ; this is to put in the fly-leaf of Memo- 
 ries and Porti^aits : 
 
 Much of my soul is here interred^ 
 My very past and mind : 
 Who listens nearly to the printed word 
 May hear the heart behind. 
 
 * Louis, Palema and I were walking in 
 the forest to-day and were very thirsty. 
 We looked up at some cocoanut trees, and 
 Louis said : 
 
 ' " If we were natives it would be an 
 easy matter to climb that tree. It is filled 
 with young nuts full of milk.' 
 
 ' *' I wish I had some to drink," I said 
 longingly. 
 
 47 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 ' *' Wouldn't it be aggravating," said 
 Louis, '* to die of thirst under a cocoanut 
 tree because you hadn't the knack of 
 climbing ! " 
 
 ' '' I wouldn't die of thirst," said Palema. 
 
 « " What would you do ? " asked Louis. 
 
 * " I 'd die of rage," he said.' 
 
 'ISlov. 20tk, 1893. 
 
 ' All our Samoan *' boys " went to the 
 great missionary meeting, wearing the 
 Vailima uniform of white shirts, red and 
 white blazers, and the Stuart tartan lava- 
 lava. {Note. — A garment worn in the 
 manner of a kilt.) According to their 
 own accounts they were much admired. 
 Murmurs on all sides were heard about 
 the fine appearance and good looks of 
 '' Tama o le Ona," or, as Louis puts it, 
 " the M'Richies.'" 
 
 'Dec. 10th, 1893. 
 
 ' Louis's birthday is the thirteenth of 
 
 48 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 Nov., but he was not well, so we post- 
 poned festivities to the twenty-first It was 
 purely native, as usual. We had sixteen 
 pigs roasted whole underground, three 
 enormous fish (small whales, Lloyd called 
 them), 400 pounds of salt beef, ditto of 
 pork, 200 heads of taro, great bunches 
 of bananas, native delicacies done up in 
 bundles of ti leaves, 800 pineapples, many 
 weighing fifteen pounds, all from Lloyd's 
 patch, oranges, tinned salmon, sugar-cane, 
 and ship's biscuit in proportion. Among 
 the presents to Tusitala, besides flowers 
 and wreaths, were fans, native baskets, rolls 
 of tapa, ava bowls, cocoanut cups beauti- 
 fully poHshed, and a talking-man's staff; 
 and one pretty girl from Tanugamanono 
 appeared in a fine mat (the diamonds and 
 plate of Samoa), which she wore over her 
 simple tapa kilt, and laid at Tusitala's feet 
 when she departed. Seumanu, the high 
 chief of Apia, presented Louis with the 
 title of " Au-mai-taua-i-manu-vao," ' 
 P 49 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 ' Bee. 9,1 th. 
 
 * Christmas Eve we devoted to our 
 Samoans ; we had forty, counting the 
 children, and not one of them, old or 
 young, had ever seen a Christmas-tree 
 before. Lloyd distributed the gifts (they 
 had all come out from the Army and Navy 
 Stores in London), and made appropriate 
 speeches in Samoan.' 
 
 'Feb. 6th, 1894. 
 ' Louis and I spent a long and busy day 
 over Hermiston ; ^ we 've been working at 
 it, already, several days. Captain Wurm- 
 brandt, an Austrian cavalry officer, and 
 Mr. Buckland, known on his own island as 
 Tin Jack (the original of Tommy Haddon 
 in The Wrecker), are staying with us. 
 The Captain's stories are of the camp, and 
 Tin Jack's are of love and the Islands. 
 The two are excellent company for the 
 rainy season.' 
 
 ^ Weir of Hermiston, the last story on wliich Mr. Stevenson 
 worked, and his best. 
 
 50 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 'Feb. 12tk, 1894. 
 
 'I have been reading a paper by Miss 
 Dickens about her fathei-, and found a 
 particular instance in which Louis resembles 
 him. They both love dancing, but could 
 neither of them waltz. Both were excellent 
 in the polka, and Louis is quite capable of 
 getting out of bed at night, like Dickens, 
 to practise a new step. But my hero has 
 gone a step beyond the illustrious novelist. 
 He began theorising— as he does about 
 everything under the sun— on the subject 
 of dance time. He could never keep step 
 to threes, he said ; it was unnatural. The 
 origin of all counting is the beating of the 
 heart, and how could you make one — two 
 — three out of that ? 
 
 '"How about triple time in music?" 
 I said ; " you play it all right on your 
 flageolet ! " 
 
 ' '* I understand that," he said, " it counts 
 three between every heart-beat." 
 
 51 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 ' " Then waltz to triple time," I said, and 
 he did at once beautifully. 
 
 *The mention of Dickens reminds me 
 of a story that Louis is very fond of tell- 
 ing, of an old Frenchman in Samoa, who, 
 the first time he saw Louis, struck an 
 attitude, and exclaimed, ''Ah! quelle 
 ressemblance!'' Then approaching him, 
 " How like ! How like — Monsieur Charles 
 Dickens. Did no one ever tell you that 
 before ? " And Louis was compelled to 
 confess that certainly nobody ever had.' 
 
 'Feb. 13th, 1894. 
 
 ' We danced this evening after dinner 
 in the big hall. Mamma sat on the table 
 and turned the hurdy-gurdy, and Louis 
 waltzed to triple time. He can also dance 
 the Highland schottische, which he does 
 with much earnestness. We had great fun 
 teaching it to Captain Wurmbrandt, who, 
 being an Austrian, is of course a beautiful 
 dancer. Tin Jack (Tin means Mr. in his 
 
 5^ 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 island) looked handsome and thoughtful 
 as he skimmed about the room in the most 
 beautiful imitation of a waltz, but without 
 a step to bless himself with. I did not 
 realise how good Tommy Haddon was till 
 I read it over again in The Wreckei^ after 
 meeting Tin Jack. He is quite as handsome 
 as Louis describes him, and has a trusting, 
 earnest look. He asked, "What kind of 
 dances do they have here, round and 
 square ? " I answered, in some irritation, 
 "No, three-cornered." "Gracious!" he 
 exclaimed, with interest, " what kind of a 
 dance is that ? " 
 
 ' He is paying his addresses to a young 
 lady here, and Louis wrote the following 
 valentine, which I illuminated in gold on 
 white satin : 
 
 • The isle-man to the lady — I, 
 
 Whose rugged custom it has been 
 To sleep beneath a tropic sky 
 And bivouac in a savage scene. 
 
 53 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 Ah ! since at last I saw you near, 
 
 How shall I then return again ? 
 Alone in the void hemisphere 
 
 How shall my heart endure the pain ? * 
 
 'March 10th, 1894<. 
 
 * To-day is my mother's birthday, and 
 she says the best of her presents is the 
 piece of paper she found pinned on her 
 mosquito-netting in the morning. It was 
 signed R. L. S., and addressed '' To the 
 Stormy Petrel." 
 
 ' Ever perilous 
 And precious, like an ember from the fire 
 Or gem from a volcano, we to-day. 
 When drums of war reverberate in the land 
 And every face is for the battle blacked — 
 No less the sky, that over sodden woods 
 Menaces now in the disconsolate calm 
 The hurly-burly of the hurricane — 
 Do now most fitly celebrate your day. 
 
 Yet amid turmoil, keep for me, my dear. 
 The kind domestic faggot. Let the hearth 
 Shine ever as (I praise my honest gods) 
 In peace and tempest it has ever shone.' 
 
 54 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 'March nth. 
 
 ' Yesterday and to-day we wrote steadily 
 at Anne, while war news and rumours 
 flew thick and fast around us. The 
 
 Captain brought us word that the s 
 
 were barricading their house with mat- 
 tresses, and many natives are taking their 
 valuable mats to the Mission for safety. 
 We are on the very outposts, and if the 
 Atuans did attack Apia they would have 
 to pass Vailima. Our woods are full of 
 scouting parties, and we are occasionally 
 interrupted by the beating of drums as a 
 war-party crosses our lawn. But nothing 
 stops the cheerful flow of Anne, I put in 
 the remark, between sentences, " Louis, 
 have we a pistol or gun in the house that 
 will shoot ? " to which he cheerfully 
 answers, '' No, but we have friends on 
 both sides," and on we go with the dicta- 
 tion.' 
 
 55 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 'Jime Mh, 1894. 
 
 ' This evening, as Austin and I were 
 swinging in the hammock, we heard a call 
 from Aolele : " Big guns ! " We ran out 
 on the verandah ; over toward Atua, where 
 the rebels are, we heard the booming of 
 cannon from the men-of-war, and we 
 watched the exchange of signals with the 
 ships in port by means of rockets and 
 search-lights. There has been fighting in 
 Aana and a number of wounded men were 
 brought into the INIission. Dr. Hoskyn, 
 of the Curafoa, is doing noble work among 
 them ; the natives simply worship him.' 
 
 ' June SOtk. 
 
 ' Louis has just returned from a trip on 
 board H.M.S. Cura^oa to the neighbour- 
 ing island of Manu a. It is really a part 
 of the Samoan group, but w^hen the Berhn 
 treaty was made between the three great 
 Powers they forgot Manu'a, and now the 
 
 56 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 little island is independent and at peace, 
 reigned over by a young half-caste girl 
 of eighteen. When commissioners and 
 tax-collectors went over to Manu'a, the 
 young queen gave them to understand 
 that the island was her own, and they 
 had no business there, though other- 
 wise they were treated with Samoan hos- 
 pitality. It is a very interesting place, and 
 Louis had a great deal to tell us about 
 his trip, but I think he enjoyed the man- 
 of-war itself the most. He says he has 
 gained enough experience to write a sea- 
 story; he has stored up technical terms 
 from the officers, and ship slang from the 
 midshipmen. He was invited to after- 
 noon tea with the warrant officers, had 
 early morning cocoa with Mr. Burney, one 
 of the midshipmen, and was reproved by 
 the captain for crossing the batten on the 
 poop which marks off the post of the 
 officer on duty. In his daily tub he was 
 so careful not to splash the water that the 
 57 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 severe orderly, a marine, didn't believe he 
 had taken a bath at all, looking so sus- 
 piciously at Louis that he declares he felt 
 like apologising. 
 
 ' " Lay out a clean shirt, Abbott," he 
 said one evening as he was dressing for 
 dinner. 
 
 ' " This is Saturday, Mr. Stevenson," said 
 the orderly. " The one you have will do 
 well enough. I will lay out a clean one 
 to-morrow ! " 
 
 ' Sosimo never smiled all the time Louis 
 was away ; he was the first to sight the 
 man-of-war steaming into the harbour, and 
 was on the beach holding Jack by the 
 bridle before the Curafoa had come to 
 anchor. Louis rode home, leaving Sosimo 
 to go on board and bring up his valise. 
 
 ' Long ago Louis had a topaz stud that 
 was somewhat difficult to put into his shirt, 
 so he gave it to me. I laid it away in 
 my trinket box and was dismayed, when 
 I first wanted to wear it, to find it gone. 
 58 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 Sosimo had missed the stud, discovered it 
 in my box, and carried it back to Louis's 
 room. I kept up the fight for some time, 
 trying to secrete it from Sosimo by putting 
 it in out-of-the-way places, but it was in- 
 variably found in Louis's room, no matter 
 where I had hidden it. 
 
 ' When he came up from the ship he 
 put Louis's valise down on the verandah 
 and carefully abstracted from his mouth 
 the precious stud he had carried there for 
 safety. I gave up, then, and it is now 
 Louis's own. 
 
 ' We miss Louis so terribly, even for a 
 few days, that now we all rejoice to be 
 together again. There are just seven of 
 us : Aunt Maggie and her son Louis, 
 Aolele and her son Lloyd, myself and my 
 son Austin, and Palema, as the natives 
 call Louis's cousin, Graham Balfour. 
 
 * Our furniture has come all the way 
 from Scotland : thirty-seven cases, some 
 of them fifteen feet square, weighing in 
 59 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 all seventy- two tons. The boxes were 
 brought up on the bullock-carts of the 
 German firm by scores of Solomon Island 
 blackboys, in a most exciting and noisy 
 procession. 
 
 ' Mr. Moore, chaplain of H.M.S. Cura^oa, 
 came up in his spotless white clothes to 
 help us unpack, returning to his ship in 
 the evening the picture of a chimney- 
 sweep — or, as Louis said, "black, but 
 comely."' 
 
 ' July 9tk. 
 
 'We have been very gay. Lloyd, 
 Louis, and I went to the officers' ball on 
 the 3rd, and on the 4th, two Curafoa 
 marines appeared on the verandah. '' Me 
 and my messmates," one of them said, 
 ''invites Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson, Mrs. 
 Strong, Mr. Osbourne, and Mr. Balfour 
 to a sailors' ball in the same 'all as last 
 night, not forgetting young Goskin." We 
 accepted with pleasure, and I went, escorted 
 by Louis and Austin. The ball was a great 
 60 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 success ; everybody was there. Louis said, 
 as he looked on at officers and sailors danc- 
 ing in the same set, harmony and good- 
 fellowship on all sides, " The Curapoa 
 revives my faith in human nature ! " 
 
 ' The next day, Louis, Lloyd, and I rode 
 in the German flower parade or Blumen- 
 Corso, as they called it ; last night we had 
 a dinner-party of twenty, the first time 
 since the boxes were opened, and dis- 
 played all our silver and glass with 
 dazzling effect. The big hall lights up 
 beautifully at night, and the pictures, and 
 busts, and old furniture, change the whole 
 aspect of the room. Our guests included 
 Count and Countess Rudolf Festetics, of 
 the yacht Tolna, now in port, the captain 
 of the English man-of-war (the German 
 captains were asked but were away cruis- 
 ing) and President Schmidt. Louis was 
 in splendid health and spirits, and though 
 work has been neglected, nobody cares. 
 
 ' An English midshipman who is spend- 
 6i 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 ing a week with us, told me that though 
 he had known and liked Mr. Stevenson 
 all this time, it was only the other day, 
 when he was roaming about the library, 
 looking at the books, that it came over 
 him all of a heap — '' he 's the josser that 
 wrote Treasure Island'' ' 
 
 'July 9.9,71(1, 1894.. 
 
 ' On Sunday evening, as Austin went 
 to bed, I sat with him as usual for a little 
 talk. He told me a good deal about the 
 Mission at Monterey where he had been 
 at school and the services of the Catholic 
 church. " Protestants," he said, " don't 
 seem to care for you when you 're dead, 
 
 but the Catholics " and he gave a long 
 
 description of the funeral ceremonies, end- 
 ing up with " and eight pall-berries by 
 your coffin ! " 
 
 'I told them all when I came down. 
 ' " What a pretty funeral," said Louis, " to 
 be decorated with pall-berries ! " 
 62 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 ' " That is," said Palema, " if it is in the 
 pall-berry season." 
 
 '"In the islands," said Lloyd, "I 
 suppose they would have tinned pall- 
 berries ! " 
 
 ' '* Imagine," said Palema, " if you were 
 too early in the season and the pall-berries 
 were green. Unripe pall-berries ! " 
 
 '"Or too late," said Louis; "fancy if 
 the pall-berries were rotten ! " 
 
 'We were talking about some cham- 
 pagne we had drunk at a friend's house. 
 
 'Palema. And such stuff! Such sticky, 
 sweet, treacly 
 
 'Louis, After all, there are only three 
 kinds of champagne — sweet, dry, and 
 gooseberry. 
 
 ' Teuila, The kind we had was gooseberry. 
 
 'Palema, It was worse; it was old 
 gooseberry. 
 
 'Louis. We used to get some vile stuff 
 at 's in London. 
 
 63 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 * Palema, Restaurant champagne ? 
 
 'Louis. Infinitely worse! God knows 
 who could have made it — the manufacture 
 must have been a secret. 
 
 'Palema. A secret that died with the 
 man who drank it ! 
 
 ' I came into Louis's room to find him 
 and Sosimo very busy, clearing up and 
 sorting papers. " Did you tell Sosimo to 
 do this ? " I asked. " No," said Louis, with 
 his arms full of books, " he told me ! " 
 
 ' The other day the cook was away, and 
 Louis, who was busy writing, took his 
 meals in his room. Knowing there was 
 no one to cook his lunch, he told Sosimo 
 to bring him some bread and cheese. To 
 his surprise he was served with an excel- 
 lent meal — an omelette, a good salad, and 
 perfect coffee. 
 
 ' " Who cooked this ? " asked Louis, in 
 Samoan. 
 
 64 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 ' " I did," said Sosimo. 
 
 ' " Well," said Louis, " great is your 
 wisdom." 
 
 ' Sosimo bowed and corrected him — 
 " Great is my love ! " ' 
 
 'Aug. 5th, 1894. 
 
 ' Now that the Curafoa is here, Louis 
 only works in the forenoon. Later in the 
 day some one is sure to be seen toiling up 
 the road by what they call " the Cu7^afoa 
 track," and shortly before they reach the 
 turnstile exchange pleasantries with the 
 upper verandah, where Louis is reading, 
 playing piquet with Palema, or giving 
 Austin a French lesson. If the visitor 
 happens to be either of the two Scotch 
 midshipmen. Lord Kelburn or Mr. Meikle- 
 john, then the greetings on both sides 
 are in a most excruciating Edinburgh or 
 Glasgow accent. The other day we had a 
 most interesting conversation with the first 
 lieutenant, Mr, Eeles, who is Louis's par- 
 E 65 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 ticular chum on board, and the Lieutenant 
 of Marines, Mr. Worthington. 
 
 ' Our talk turned upon the Islands : 
 Lieutenant Eeles told us of a visit he 
 made to some far-off islands of the South- 
 western Pacific ; the natives showed him a 
 place where the " turtle men " were buried. 
 They called them that, they said, because, 
 though they Avere white men, their breasts 
 and backs were hard like turtles. He was 
 not much interested, having heard any 
 number of island yarns and legends. It 
 was only after he left the place, and the 
 ship was on its way to Fiji, that suddenly 
 waking from sleep, he sat up with the 
 thought, like a revelation, " the turtle men 
 were white soldiers in armour ! " 
 
 ' Lloyd told of an island a friend of ours 
 had visited that had been bombarded by a 
 man-of-war ; one bomb, left behind in the 
 sand, had not exploded. Afterwards some 
 natives found it, and began hammering it, 
 when it exploded, killing a number of 
 66 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 them. Since then the natives warn stran- 
 gers to be careful of the stones, as they 
 are dangerous and liable to blow up. 
 
 ' Louis is never tired of hearing the Sol- 
 dier (as we call Mr. Worthington), who 
 has introduced us to Chevalier's songs. So 
 we wound up the evening with " Liza " 
 and the Vicar's song from The Sorcerer, 
 Louis joining in the chorus at the top of 
 his voice.' 
 
 'Aug. 21th. 
 
 * We have worked at Anne all these 
 mornings when the guns were firing on 
 Atua, stopping once in a while to specu- 
 late on what damage they might be doing. 
 We can get no news, but will hear all 
 about it when the Curafoa comes back. 
 They hate to bombard a miserable little 
 native stronghold and kill a handful of 
 innocent people, but they have to obey 
 orders ; in the meantime, we pfod along at 
 Anne, while groups of natives stand silently 
 
 67 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 and anxiously on the verandah, looking to- 
 ward Lotuanuu listening to the booming 
 of the guns. 
 
 'To-day we were in the middle of the 
 chapter about the claret-coloured chaise, 
 when we were interrupted by the arrival 
 of eight chiefs. They proved to be the 
 liberated political prisoners that we had 
 been interested in for so long, whose free- 
 dom from jail they owe to Louis. Louis 
 entertained them in the smoking-room ; 
 we all sat on the floor in a semicircle, and 
 had ava made. Their speeches were very 
 beautiful, and full of genuine gratitude as 
 they went back over the history of every 
 kindness that Louis had done for them. 
 In proof of their gratitude they offered to 
 make a road, sixty feet wide, connecting 
 us with the highway across the island. 
 The offer touched and surprised Louis 
 very much, and though he tried to refuse, 
 they overruled every objection. He said 
 if they made the road he would like to 
 68 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 name it " The Road of the Grateful 
 Hearts," but they said no, it would be 
 called " The Road of the Loving Heart," 
 in the singular, and they asked me to copy 
 out a paper they had written with that 
 name, and all their titles attached, to be 
 painted on a board and put up at the 
 cross-roads.' 
 
 'Sept. 24<th, 1894. 
 
 * Louis and I have been writing, work- 
 ing away every morning like steam-engines 
 on Herniiston. Louis got a set-back with 
 Anne, and he has put it aside for a while. 
 He worried terribly over it, but could 
 not make it run smoothly. He read it 
 aloud one evening and Lloyd criticised 
 the love-scene, so Louis threw the whole 
 thing over for a time. Fortunately he 
 picked up Her mist on all right, and is in 
 better spirits at once. He has always been 
 wonderfully clear and sustained in his i 
 69 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 dictation, but he generally made notes 
 in the early morning, which he elaborated 
 as he read them aloud. In Hermiston he 
 i had hardly more than a line or two of 
 notes to keep him on the track, but he 
 never falters for a word, giving me the 
 sentences, with capital letters and all the 
 stops, as clearly and steadily as though he 
 were reading from an unseen book. He 
 walks up and down the room as I write, 
 and his voice is so beautiful and the story 
 so interesting that I forget to rest ; when 
 we are interrupted by the lunch-bell, I 
 am sometimes quite cramped, and Louis 
 thumps me on the back in imitation of a 
 Samoan lomi-lomi (massage) and apologises. 
 The story is all the more thrilling as he 
 says he has taken me for young Kirsty. 
 
 ' We had such an interesting time to- 
 day, looking over old fashion-books for 
 the heroine's clothes. Her dress is gray, 
 to which I suggested the addition of a 
 pink kerchief; this afternoon Louis came 
 
 70 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 into my room to announce that in her 
 evening walk Kirsty would wear pink silk 
 stockings to match her kerchief; he said 
 he could use the incident very artfully to 
 develop her character. " Belle," he said, 
 *' I see it all so clearly ! The story unfolds 
 itself before me to the least detail— there 
 is nothing left in doubt. I never felt so 
 before in anything I ever wrote. It will 
 be my best work ; I feel myself so sure in 
 every word ! " ' 
 
 ' Nov. 30th. 
 
 ' A few days ago three sailors of 
 H.M.S. Wallaroo came up and asked for 
 a drink of water. We gave them seats on 
 the verandah and offered them some cool 
 beer after their long, hot walk. When 
 Louis came down to talk to them he was 
 not long in discovering that they were all 
 three Scotch ; they had made for Vailima, 
 " like homing pigeons," on their first day 
 71 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 of leave. When they were going away I 
 gave them an opportunity to return 
 by asking for a pattern of a sailor 
 jacket. 
 
 ' Yesterday we were sitting on the little 
 front verandah by Louis's work-room, peg- 
 ging away at Hermiston like one o'clock. 
 I hardly drew breath, but flew over the 
 paper ; Louis thinks it is good himself, 
 so we were in a very cheerful humour ; 
 we heard a babble of voices at the gate 
 and recognised our sailors. Louis gave 
 up with the utmost good-nature, and 
 came down to talk with them. It was 
 Thanksgiving Day, and preparations were 
 going on for a dinner party, with all 
 American dishes. Aolele was experiment- 
 ing with some Samoan berries, with a view 
 to cranberry sauce ; the kitchen depart- 
 ment was in great excitement over that 
 foreign bird, the turkey. I overhauled 
 the silver, Lloyd was concocting cocktails 
 to stow away on the ice, and the village 
 72 
 
VAILIMA TABLE-TALK 
 
 irirls, who scent festivities from afar, and 
 always appear smiling and ready to help, 
 were filling the jars and vases, and dressing 
 the table in flowers ; all this made a great 
 confusion, but Louis kept his sailors on all 
 the afternoon. 
 
 ' He took them over the house and 
 showed them the busts and statues, the 
 Burmah gods, the curiosities from the 
 islands, the big picture of Skerryvore light- 
 house, built by his grandfather on the coast 
 of Scotland ; the treasured bit of Gordon's 
 handwriting, from Khartoum, in Arabic 
 letters on a cigarette paper, framed, for 
 safety, between two pieces of glass ; and 
 the library, where the Scotchmen gathered 
 about an old edition of Burns, with a por- 
 trait. Louis gave a volume of Under- 
 woods, with an inscription, to Grant, the 
 one who hailed from Edinburgh, and the 
 man carried it carefully wrapped in his 
 handkerchief. As they went away, waving 
 their sailor hats and keeping step, Louis 
 
 73 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 leaned over the railing of the verandah and 
 said, looking after them with a smile, 
 " How I love a blue-jacket ! What a pity 
 we can't invite them to our dinner to-night ; 
 they would be so entertaining ! " ' 
 
 74 
 
MR. STEVENSON'S HOME LIFE 
 AT VAILIMA 
 
MR. STEVENSON'S HOME LIFE 
 AT VAILIMA 
 
 Three miles behind Apia, on a rising 
 plateau that stands some seven hundred 
 feet above the ocean level, lie the house 
 and grounds of Vailima. ' I have chosen 
 the land to be my land, the people to be 
 my people, to live and die with,' said Mr. 
 Stevenson, in his speech to the Samoan 
 chiefs ; and his great lonely house beneath 
 Vaea Mountain, the fruit of so much love, 
 thought, and patient labour, will never lose 
 the world's interest, nor fail to be a spot 
 of pious pilgrimage, so long as his books 
 endure and his exile be unforgotten. For 
 Stevenson was an exile ; he knew he 
 would never see his native land again 
 
 77 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 when the Luclgate Hill carried him down 
 the Thames ; he knew he had tm-ned his 
 back for ever on the old world, which 
 had come to mean no more to him than 
 shattered health, shattered hopes, a life of 
 gray invalidism, tragic to recall. What- 
 ever the future held in store for him, he 
 knew it could be no worse than what 
 he was leaving, that living death of the 
 sick-room, the horror of which he never 
 dared put to paper. I can remember the 
 few minutes allowed him each day in the 
 open air when the thin sunshine of South 
 England permitted ; his despairing face, 
 the bitterness of the soul too big for 
 words when this little liberty was perforce 
 refused him. I recall him saying : ' I do 
 * not ask for health, but I will go any- 
 where, live anywhere I can enjoy the 
 ordinary existence of a human being.' I 
 used to remind him of that when at 
 times his Samoan exile lay heavy upon 
 him, and his eyes turned longingly to 
 
 78 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 home and to those friends he would never 
 see again. 
 
 I will say nothing of the voyaging, of 
 the long, dim winter in the Adirondaeks, 
 of the various chain of events that carried 
 him into the southern seas and a new life. 
 His health began to return at once ; at the 
 end of the second cruise in the schooner 
 Equator, he even dared to think of return- 
 ing home, and went to the length of en- 
 gaging cabins in the mail steamer. But 
 even the mild and pleasant climate of New 
 South Wales, so like that of Italy or 
 southern California, proved too harsh for 
 his new-born strength, and a severe illness 
 overwhelmed him on the eve of his de- 
 parture. The vessel sailed without him, 
 and he was no sooner able to walk than 
 he returned to the islands in the private 
 trading steamer of one of his friends. He 
 grew well immediately, and began to re- 
 cognise the hopelessness of quitting the 
 only spot that offered him a degree of 
 
 79 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 health ; and when the cruise was done and 
 the vessel paid off in Sydney, he returned 
 to Samoa in order to make it his home. 
 
 When we first saw Vailima it was 
 covered with unbroken forest; not the 
 forest of the temperate zone with varied 
 glades and open spaces, but the thick 
 tangle of the tropics, dense, dark, and cool 
 in even the hottest day. The murmur of 
 streams and waterfalls fell sometimes upon 
 our ears as we wandered in the deep shade, 
 and mingled with the cooing of wild doves 
 and the mysterious, echoing sound of a 
 native woodpecker at work. Our China- 
 man, who was with us on this first survey, 
 busied himself with taking samples of the 
 soil, and grew almost incoherent with the 
 richness of what he called the ' dirty.' We, 
 for our part, were no less delighted with 
 what we saw, and could realise, as we 
 forced our way through the thickets and 
 skirted the deep ravines, what a noble 
 labour lay before our axes, what exquisite 
 80 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 views and glorious gardens could be carved 
 out of the broken mountain-side and the 
 sullen forest. 
 
 The land was bought, a half square 
 mile of forest-clad plateau, ravine, and 
 mountain, and the blind blacksmith who 
 sold the property generously threw in a 
 herd of cattle, very precisely estimated 
 at forty in number, which from that day 
 to this has never been seen by the eye of 
 man. Years passed in health-resorts and 
 crowded cities made Mr. Stevenson greedy 
 of land-owning when the opportunity came 
 to him ; he was determined that no row of 
 villas in the uncertain future should mar 
 his vistas of the sea nor press their back 
 gardens into his plantation. In this, it 
 must be confessed, he saw far ahead, for 
 poor, distracted, war-worn Samoa has not 
 encouraged the villa-resident as yet, and the 
 primeval forest still stretches from Vailima 
 across the island to the shores beyond. 
 
 A rough shanty was built, a pony 
 F 8i 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 bought, a German in decayed circum- 
 stances engaged as cook, and Mr. Steven- 
 son took up his quarters in the first 
 , clearing and began pioneer life with an 
 undaunted heart. For months he lived 
 in a most distracting fashion, and threv^r 
 himself with ardour into the work of felling, 
 clearing, and opening up his acres to culti- 
 vation. Gangs of Samoans were busy the 
 whole day long, and the rough, overgrown 
 path from town flattened beneath the tread 
 of naked feet. Planks and scantling lined 
 it for upwards of a mile, representing the 
 various stages of his industry and the 
 various misfortunes that had overtaken 
 the noble savage in his labours. The 
 little leisure of the planter was spent in 
 studying the language, in teaching his 
 overseer English decimals and history after 
 the harassing hours of the day, and in 
 acquainting himself first hand with the 
 amazing inconsistencies that make up the 
 Samoan character. 
 
 82 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 The new house was built ; I arrived 
 from England with the furniture, the 
 library, and other effects of our old home ; 
 the phase of hard work and short commons 
 passed gradually away, and a form of 
 hollow comfort dawned upon us. I say 
 hollow comfort, for though we began to 
 accumulate cows, horses, and the general 
 apparatus of civilised life, the question of 
 service became a vexing one. An ex- 
 pensive German cooked our meals and 
 quarrelled with the white housemaid ; the 
 white overseer said that ' manual labour 
 was the one thing that never agreed with 
 him,' and that it was an unwholesome 
 thing for a man to be roused in the 
 early morning, ' for one ought to wake 
 up natural -like.' The white carter 
 ' couldn't bear with niggers,' and though 
 he did his work well and faithfully, he 
 helped to demoralise the place and add 
 to our difficulties. Everything was at 
 sixes and sevens, when, on the occasion of 
 
 83 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 Mrs. Stevenson's going to Fiji for a few 
 months' rest, my sister and I took charge 
 of affairs. The expensive German was 
 bidden to depart ; JNIr. Stevenson dis- 
 charged the carter ; the white overseer 
 (who was tied to us by contract) was 
 bought off with cold coin, to sleep out his 
 ' natural sleep ' under a kindlier star and 
 to engage himself (presumably) in intel- 
 lectual labours elsewhere. With the de- 
 parture of our tyrants we began again 
 to raise our diminished heads : my sister 
 and I threw ourselves into the kitchen, 
 and took up the labour of cooking with 
 zeal and determination ; the domestic 
 boundaries proved too narrow for our 
 new-found energies, and we overflowed 
 into the province of entertainment, with 
 decorated menus, silver-plate and finger- 
 bowls ! Our friends were pressed to 
 lunch with us, to commend our inde- 
 pendence and — to eat our biscuits. It 
 was a French Revolution in miniature ;. 
 
 84 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 we danced the carmagnole in the kitchen 
 and were prepared to conquer the Samoan 
 social world. One morning, before the 
 ardom' and zest of it all had time to be 
 dulled by custom, I happened to discover 
 a young and very handsome Samoan on 
 our back verandah. He was a dandified 
 youngster, with a red flower behind his 
 ear and his hair limed in the latest fashion. 
 I liked his open face and his unembar- 
 rassed manner, and inquired what pro- 
 pitious fate had brought him to sit upon 
 our ice-chest and radiate good nature on 
 our back porch. It seemed that Simele, 
 the overseer, owed him two Chile dollars, 
 and that he was here, bland, friendly, but 
 insistent, to collect the debt in person. 
 That Simele would not be back for hours 
 in no way disturbed him, and he seemed 
 prepared to swing his brown legs and 
 show his white teeth for a whole eternity. 
 
 ' Chief,' I said, a sudden thought strik- 
 ing me, ' you are he that I have been 
 
 85 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 looking for so long. You are going to 
 stay in Vailima and be our cook ! ' 
 
 ' But I don't know how to cook,' he 
 replied. 
 
 *That is no matter,' I said. 'Two 
 months ago I was as you ; to-day I am 
 a splendid cook. I will teach you my 
 skill.' 
 
 ' But I don't want to learn,' he said, and 
 brought back the conversation to Chile 
 dollars. 
 
 * There is no good making excuses,' I 
 said. ' This is a psychological moment 
 in the history of VaiHma. You are the 
 Man of Destiny.' 
 
 'But I haven't my box,' he expostu- 
 lated. 
 
 ' I will send for it,' I returned. ' I 
 would not lose you for twenty boxes. If 
 you need clothes, why there stands my 
 own chest ; flowers grow in profusion and 
 the oil -bottle rests never empty beside 
 my humble bed ; and in the hot hours 
 Z6 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 of the afternoon there is the beautifullest 
 pool where you can bathe and wash your 
 lovely hair. Moreover, so generous are 
 the regulations of Tusitala's government 
 that his children receive weekly large 
 sums of money, and they are allowed on 
 Sundays to call their friends to this elegant 
 house and entertain them with salt beef 
 and biscuit.' 
 
 Thus was Taalolo introduced into the 
 Vailima kitchen, never to leave it for 
 four years save when the war-drum called 
 him to the front with a six-shooter and a 
 * death - tooth ' — the Samoan cutlass or 
 head-knife. He became in time not only 
 an admirable chef, but the nucleus of the 
 whole native establishment and the loyalest 
 of all our Samoan family. His coming 
 was the turning-point in the history of 
 the house ; we had achieved independence 
 of our white masters, and their discon- 
 tented white faces had disappeared one 
 by one. Honest brown ones now took 
 
 87 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 their places, and we gained more than 
 good servants by the change. 
 
 Samoans hve in a loose, patriarchal 
 fashion. With them, as with most bar- 
 barians, the fam-ily is everything, and the 
 immediate head of it the unit of the 
 country. Moreover, the easy system of 
 adoption that prevails throughout, and 
 the bounty of Nature that makes food- 
 getting more of a pastime than a labour, 
 allows the Samoan to pass from one family 
 to another almost at will. There is a 
 single word in the dictionary that contains 
 a world of meaning — a man that works 
 hard for a short time and then grows lazy 
 — * as applied to a stranger entering a new 
 family.' 
 
 Naturally it came to pass in Vailima 
 that a new family was started, with Mr. 
 Stevenson for its house - chief, and the 
 tradition of devotion and service trans- 
 ferred bodily from Samoan life into our 
 own. None knew better than Mr. Steven- 
 SS 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 son how to foster and encourage this in- 
 novation, and our family soon began to 
 acquire a status in the land. The Stuart 
 tartan kilt, our uniform on Sundays and 
 other holidays, became a thing of pride 
 to the wearer and the badge of his high 
 connection, and the viamahi or prestige of 
 Vailima was to be supported and upheld 
 by every son of the house. Truth suffered 
 occasionally at the hands of the more 
 zealous, and I can trace many misstate- 
 ments and exaggerations that have crept 
 into print to the misguided though laud- 
 able ardour of our clansmen. A friend 
 aptly described Vailima as 'an Irish 
 castle of 1820 minus the dirt' It must 
 be remembered that the better class of 
 Samoans are gentlefolk, and are undis- 
 tinguishable, so far as good manners, good 
 breeding and tact are concerned, from the 
 people we ordinarily mix with in our ow^n 
 country. No Spaniard is more punctilious 
 in matters of etiquette, no German prouder 
 
 89 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 of his long pedigree, than these handsome 
 and stalwart barbarians ; and their language 
 is even enriched by a whole vocabulary of 
 courtesy with which every chief must be 
 familiar. In fact, the rudeness, boorish- 
 ness, and pretentiousness of many whites 
 is often sharply criticised and condemned. 
 
 In number the Vailima family varied 
 from thirteen to twenty-one, a picked lot 
 of young men that for physique, good 
 manners, obedience, and manliness it would 
 be hard to match in any country. It must 
 be said that Mr. Stevenson's methods of 
 discipline had much to do with this favour- 
 able result. Unquestioning and absolute 
 obedience was insisted upon ; an order 
 once given was seldom altered or modified, 
 and the singular and unforeseen partiality 
 of Samoans (apparently the most casual of 
 mankind) for system, for an ordered and 
 regulated existence, for a harness of daily 
 routine, was taken advantage of to the 
 fullest degree. Every man had his work 
 90 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 outlined for him in advance, and several 
 even possessed type-written lists of their 
 various duties. Little proclamations and 
 notices were often posted up in order to 
 correct petty irregularities, and to define 
 the responsibility and authority of each 
 member of the household. For breaches 
 of discipline, untruthfulness, absence with- 
 out leave, etc., money fines were imposed 
 with rigorous impartiality, and for more 
 serious offences a regular court martial 
 was held. No one was ever fined without 
 his first assenting to the justice of the 
 punishment, and the culprit was always 
 given the option of receiving his money in 
 full and being dismissed the place. A leaf, 
 too, was taken with advantage from the 
 old Naval Regulations, and no man was 
 ever punished the same day of the offence. 
 The fines themselves went into the coffers 
 of the rival missionary societies, Protestant 
 or Roman Catholic, according to the creed 
 of the involuntary donor. A lecture often 
 
 91 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 fell to the lot of the wrong-doer that he 
 relished even less than the penalty of his 
 offence, and the summing up of an im- 
 portant suenga or trial was always listened 
 to in breathless silence by the members of 
 the household. It ran usually to some- 
 thing of this sort : 
 
 ' Fiaali'i, you have confessed that you 
 stole the cooked pigs, the taro, the palu- 
 samis, the breadfruit, and fish that fell 
 to Vailima's portion at yesterday's feast. 
 Your wish to eat was greater than your 
 wish to be a gentleman. You have shown 
 a bad heart and your sin is a great one, 
 not alone for the pigs which count as 
 naught, but because you have been false 
 to your family. Even a German black- 
 boy that knows not God and whom you 
 despise, would not have done what you 
 have done. It is easy to say that you are 
 sorry, that you wish you were dead : but 
 that is no answer. We have lost far more 
 than a few dozen baskets of food; we 
 92 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 have lost our trust in you, which used to 
 be so great, our confidence in your loyalty 
 and high-chiefness. See how many bad 
 things have resulted from your sin ! First, 
 you have told many Hes and have tried to 
 screen your wickedness by a trick, say- 
 ing that five baskets was all the feast ap- 
 portioned to us, thus bringing shame on 
 the gentleman who gave it. Secondly, 
 you persuaded Ti'a, Tulafono, and Satu- 
 paiala to join in your conspiracy, which 
 they did not wish to do at first, they being 
 like Eve in the garden and you the Serpent. 
 You have hurt all our hearts here, not 
 because of the pigs, but because we are 
 ashamed and mortified before the world. 
 If this thing gets spoken of and carried 
 from house to house, we shall be ashamed 
 to walk along the road, for people will 
 mock at us, and the name of Vailima will 
 not be fragrant. Then if it reaches the 
 ears of the great chiefs that treated us so 
 handsomely, are we to say : " Be not angry, 
 93 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 gentlemen, four of our family are thieves ; 
 their respect and love for me is great, 
 but their wish to eat pig is greater still ! " 
 There are great sins that are easily for- 
 given : there are others that are hard to 
 pardon. It is better to obey a strong and 
 angry heart than to obey the belly. / am 
 not your father ; 7 am not your chief. The 
 belly is your chief ! But God has not given 
 all my family bad hearts. Look at Leu- 
 polu. He was not like Ti'a, Tulafono, and 
 Satupaiala; he was a brave man, though 
 he was only one and you so many. He 
 said you were doing a wicked thing; he 
 w^ould not surrender his burden of food, 
 nor did the fear of ghosts prevent him 
 coming home in the dark. For if a man 
 is brave in uprightness he is brave in all 
 other ways. But Leupolu loved his family 
 more than his belly, and when he came 
 home he did not make a great cry, nor 
 did he tell the story of your wickedness. 
 He went about with a sad face and said 
 94 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 nothing, for he was like myself, angry but 
 sorrowful. He will be rewarded for his 
 love with a new kilt and suitable jacket. 
 Ti'a, Tulafono, and Satupaiala are each 
 fined two dollars. Fiaali'i, you are fined 
 thirty dollars to be paid in weekly instal- 
 ments. When the whole thirty-six dollars 
 is ready it will be handed you, and you will 
 make us a great feast here in Vailima by 
 way of atonement, and for every pig stolen 
 there shall be two pigs, and for every taro, 
 two taro, and so on and more also. You 
 shall be the host, but you shall call none 
 of your friends to the feast, nor Ti'a, Tula- 
 fono, nor Satupaiala, but the others shall 
 invite their friends. Then you will be for- 
 given and this thing forgotten. We live 
 only by the high-chief-will of God, nor 
 must we be cruel to one another when the 
 High-Chief-Son of God is so good to us all. 
 One word must still be said. Let the story 
 of this wicked business be buried in your 
 hearts, lest strangers talk of it. Fiaali'i 
 95 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 and the others have been tried and pun- 
 ished, and their penalties must not be in- 
 creased by mockery or reproaches. Think 
 of your own sins and hold your peace. 
 This trial is finished. Sosimo, Mitaele, 
 and Pulu will make 'ava for us all, and it 
 will be called on the front verandah.' 
 
 But Mr. Stevenson was not only the 
 judge in the household, the meter out of 
 punishments and rewards ; he was the real 
 matai or head of the family, and was always 
 ready, no matter how busy he might be, 
 or how much immersed in literary work, 
 to turn a friendly ear to the plaints of 
 his people. He was consulted on every 
 imaginable subject, and all manner of petty 
 persecutions and petty injustices were put 
 right by his strong arm. Government 
 chiefs and rebels consulted him with re- 
 gard to policy ; political letters were 
 brought to him to read and criticise ; his 
 native following was so widely divided 
 in party that he was often kept better 
 96 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 informed on current events than any one 
 person in the country. Old gentlemen 
 would arrive in stately procession with 
 squealing pigs for the 'chief- house of 
 wisdom,' and would beg advice on the 
 capitation- tax or some such subject of the 
 hour ; an armed party would come from 
 across the island with gifts, and a request 
 that Tusitala would take charge of the 
 funds of the village and in time buy the 
 roof-iron for a proposed church. Parties 
 would come to hear the latest news of the 
 proposed disarming of the country, or to 
 arrange a private audience with one of the 
 officials ; and poor, war-worn chieftains, 
 whose only anxiety was to join the win- 
 ning side, and who wished to consult with 
 Tusitala as to which that might be. Mr. 
 Stevenson would sigh sometimes as he 
 saw these stately folk crossing the lawn 
 in single file, their attendants following 
 behind with presents and baskets, but he 
 never failed to meet or hear them. 
 G 97 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 It has often been asked what gave Mr. 
 Stevenson his standing in Samoa ; what it 
 was that made this English man of letters 
 such a power in the land of his adoption. 
 It must be remembered that to the Samoan 
 mind he was inordinately rich, and many 
 of them believe in the bottom of their 
 hearts that the story of the bottle-imp 
 was no fiction, but a tangible fact. Mr. 
 Stevenson was a resident, a considerable 
 land-owner, a man like themselves, with 
 taro- swamps, banana plantations, and a 
 Samoan ainga or family. He was no 
 official with a hired house, here to-day 
 with specious goodwill on his lips, and 
 empty promises, but off to-morrow in the 
 mail-steamer to that vague region called 
 ' papalagi ' or ' the white country.' He 
 knew Samoan etiquette, and was familiar 
 with the baser as well as the better side 
 of the native character ; he was cautiously 
 generous after the fashion of the country, 
 and neither excited covetousness by undue 
 98 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 prodigality nor failed to respond in a befit- 
 ting way for favours received. Moreover, 
 he was a consistent partisan of Mataafa, 
 the ill-fated rebel king, a man of high and 
 noble character, who though beaten and 
 crushed by the government forces was 
 nevertheless looked up to and covertly 
 admired by all Samoa. The divinity that 
 doth hedge a king, even a defeated and 
 fallen one, cast a glamour over his close 
 friend, Mr. Stevenson. And when the 
 British man-of-war brought the unfortu- 
 nate ex-king to Apia with many of his 
 chiefs, it was Mr. Stevenson that first 
 boarded the ship with sympathy and assist- 
 ance; it was Mr. Stevenson that lighted 
 the great ovens and brought down his men 
 weighted with food-baskets when all were 
 afraid and stood aloof; it was Mr. Steven- 
 son that attended to the political prisoners 
 in the noisome jail after they had been 
 flogged through the streets and foully mis- 
 handled under the very guns of the men-of- 
 99 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 war; it was Mr. Stevenson that brought 
 and paid the doctor, that had the stink- 
 ing prison cleansed, that fed the starving 
 wretches from his own pocket until the 
 officials were ashamed and terrified into 
 action. These things made a deep im- 
 pression at the time, and will never be 
 altogether forgotten. No wonder the 
 government chiefs said to one another : 
 ' Behold, this is indeed a friend ; would 
 our white officials have done the same had 
 the day gone against us ? ' And the ex- 
 pression, ' Once Tusitala's friend, always 
 Tusitala's friend,' went about the country- 
 side like a proverb. 
 
 Mr. Stevenson's relations with the mis- 
 sionary bodies, the two Protestant and the 
 Roman Catholic, were particularly happy. 
 He stood high in the esteem of all three, 
 for though a candid critic, he was in keen 
 sympathy with their work and their way 
 of doing it, and was ever outspoken in 
 his admiration of their high-mindedness, 
 
 lOO 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 unsectarianism, and honest endeavour to 
 improve the people. His friendship and 
 regard was no less generously returned; 
 and they opened their hearts to him, freely 
 and frankly, on many a delicate matter 
 undivulged to the general v^orld ; for to- 
 gether they stood on the common ground 
 of regard for Samoa and devotion to its 
 welfare. Would that I could say the 
 same of our officials, or characterise Mr. 
 Stevenson's relations with the most of 
 them in the sam^e strain ; but it must be 
 confessed that to them he was the bete 
 noir of the country, or a better simile, the 
 Samoan Jove, whose thunderbolts carried 
 consternation far and wide. In vain they 
 attempted to deport him from the island, 
 to close his mouth by regulation, to post 
 spies about his house and involve him in 
 the illicit importation of arms and fixed 
 ammunition. The natives looked on in 
 wonder, and when the officials vanished 
 and the undaunted Tusitala remained 
 
 lOI 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 behind, they drew their own conclu- 
 sions. 
 
 But of the many causes that went to 
 make Mr. Stevenson a considerable figure 
 in his adopted country, his own personality 
 
 ^ after all was the chiefest. If his ardent, 
 sympathetic individuality shines so con- 
 vincingly through the text of his books 
 that it makes friends of those who but 
 dimly understand his work, how much 
 more was it the case in far Samoa, where 
 no printed page intervened between the 
 man and his fellows, where his voice 
 reached first hand and swayed — not lite- 
 
 I rary coteries in the heart of civilisation, but 
 war-scarred chiefs with guns in their hands 
 and wrongs to right. He w^ould have 
 been loved and followed anywhere, but 
 how much more in poor, misgoverned, dis- 
 tracted Samoa, so remote, so inarticulate ; 
 for he was one of the Great-hearts of this 
 world both in pen and deed, and many were 
 those he helped. 
 
 I02 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 The current of life ran very placidly in 
 Vailima, in spite of the little agitations and 
 bitternesses of the tiny world at our feet. 
 The conch-shell awakened the household 
 at daybreak, and the routine of existence 
 went forward unchanged, for all that the 
 cannon might boom from the men-of-war, 
 and the mellow trumpets proclaim the 
 march of armed men. At times a war- 
 party would halt at our front verandah, 
 discuss a bowl of ava with the head of the 
 house, and melt picturesquely away again 
 in the forest, with perhaps a feu dejoie in 
 honour of their host — a compliment that 
 he would gladly have dispensed with. 
 Meals were served in the great hall of 
 Vailima, a noble room over fifty feet long 
 and proportionately broad, of v/hich Mr. 
 Stevenson was pardonably proud. At half 
 past two the clapping of hands announced 
 that ava was prepared — that peculiar be- 
 verage of the South Pacific — and when 
 every one was assembled it was called and 
 103 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 distributed in the Samoan manner, Mr. 
 Stevenson receiving the first cup according 
 to the dictates of etiquette. There were 
 usually visitors in the house, and the cool 
 of the noon often brought callers from 
 the 'beach,' officers from the men-of-war, 
 missionaries, officials, blue-jackets, local 
 residents, priests, Mormon elders, passing 
 tourists — all the flotsam and jetsam, in 
 fact, of a petty port lying on one of the 
 great thoroughfares of the world. It is 
 hard for an outsider to realise the life 
 and animation there is in Samoa. The 
 American conjures up a picture of a frontier 
 post ; the Englishman harks to Kipling 
 and station life in India ; and both are 
 wrong. Samoa is very cosmopolitan for 
 all its insignificance on the map and its 
 white population of four hundred souls : 
 balls, picnics, parties, are of common 
 occurrence ; there is a constant flow of 
 news, rumour, and island gossip ; and four 
 steamers a month link the group to the 
 104 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 outside world and bring an endless pro- 
 cession of strange faces across our little 
 stage. 
 
 Mr. Stevenson was fond of amusement 
 and hospitality, and apart from a constant 
 succession of more formal luncheon-parties 
 and dinners, there was always room at his 
 table for the unexpected guests that the 
 chef had orders to bear in mind. The first 
 cotillon ever given in Samoa took place at 
 Vailima ; the first pony paper-chase w^as 
 got up under Mr. Stevenson's direction ; 
 he was always eager to bear his part in any 
 scheme for the public entertainment, and 
 his support and subscription could always 
 be reckoned on in advance. Nor was he 
 less backward with regard to the natives, 
 whom he often feasted in the Samoan way 
 with great pomp and a rigorous regard to 
 etiquette and custom. His birthday party 
 was a veritable gathering of the clans, 
 beginning at dawn and continuing uninter- 
 ruptedly till dusk, with a huge feast and 
 105 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 troops of dancers to entertain the people. 
 A Christmas-tree rejoiced the household 
 every year, and was the occasion of breath- 
 less anticipation and excitement ; and the 
 little fiesta was not unenhanced by the 
 good-humoured raillery with which the 
 presents were distributed. 
 
 Mr. Stevenson could not be seen to 
 better advantage than at the head of his 
 faultless table, sharing and leading the 
 conversation of the guests that various 
 strange fates had brought together beneath 
 his roof He loved the contrast of even- 
 ing dress and the half-naked attendants ; 
 the rough track that led the visitor through 
 forest and jungle to this glowing house 
 under Vaea, the juxtaposition of original 
 Hogarths, Piranes's, pictures by Sargent, 
 Lemon and Will H. Low ; the sculptured 
 work of Rodin and Augustus St. Gaudens, 
 with rifle-racks, revolvers, and trophies of 
 savage weapons. And the conversation 
 that was to match : English literature and 
 io6 
 
HOME LIFE AT VAILIMA 
 
 copra ; Paul Bourget's new book and the 
 rebel loss at Tifitifi ; European politics 
 and the best method of suppressing head- 
 taking ! 
 
 When he was detained in town at night, 
 or by some mischance was late of returning 
 to Vailima, it was his command that the 
 house should be lit throughout so that he 
 might see it shining through the forest on 
 his home-coming. As I must now be 
 drawing to an end, where better could I 
 stop than at this picture — the tired man 
 drawing rein in ' The Road of the Loving 
 Heart,' and gazing up at the lights of 
 home ? 
 
 107 
 
POLA 
 
PO L A 
 
 ' If you want a child as badly as all that,' 
 my brother said, ' why not adopt a chiefs 
 son, some one who is handsome and well- 
 born, and will be a credit to you, instead of 
 crying your eyes out over a little common 
 brat who is an ungrateful cub, and ugly 
 into the bargain ? ' 
 
 I wasn't particularly fond of the ' com- 
 mon brat,' but I had grown used to tending 
 him, bandaging his miserable little foot, 
 and trying to make his lot easier to bear, 
 and he had been spirited away. One may 
 live long in Samoa without understanding 
 the whys and wherefores. His mother 
 may have been jealous of my care of the 
 child and carried him away in the night ; 
 III 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 or the clan to which he belonged may 
 have sent for him, though his reputed 
 father was our assistant cook. At any 
 rate, he had gone — disappeared as com- 
 pletely and entirely as though he had 
 vanished into thin air, and I, sitting on 
 the steps of the verandah, gave way to 
 tears. 
 
 Two days later, hastening across the 
 courtyard, I turned the corner suddenly, 
 nearly falling over a small Samoan boy, 
 who stood erect in a gallant pose before 
 the house, leaning upon a long stick of 
 sugar-cane, as though it were a spear. 
 
 ' Who are you ? ' I asked, in the native 
 language. 
 
 ' I am your son,' was the surprising 
 reply. 
 
 * And what is your name ? ' 
 
 ' Pola,' he said. ' Pola, of Tanuga- 
 manono, and my mother is the white chief 
 lady, Teuila of Vaihma.' 
 
 He was a beautiful creature, of an even 
 
 I 12 
 
POLA 
 
 tint of light bronze brown ; his slender 
 body reflected the polish of scented cocoa- 
 nut oil, the tiny garment he called his 
 lava lava, fastened at the waist, was 
 coquettishly kilted above one knee. He 
 wore a necklace of scarlet berries across his 
 shoulders, and a bright red hibiscus flower 
 stuck behind his ear. On his cheek a 
 single rose-leaf hid the dimple. His large 
 black eyes looked up at me with an 
 expression of terror, overcome by pure 
 physical courage. From the top of his 
 curly head to the soles of his high-arched, 
 slender foot he looked tamaalii — high- 
 bred. To all my inquiries he answered in 
 purest high-chief Samoan that he was my 
 son. 
 
 My brother came to the rescue with 
 explanations. Taking pity on me, he had 
 gone to our village (as we called Tanuga- 
 manono) and adopted the chiefs second 
 son in my name, and here he was come to 
 present himself in person. 
 
 H 11^ 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 I shook hands with him, a ceremony 
 he performed very gracefully with great 
 dignity. Then he offered me the six feet 
 of sugar-cane, with the remark that it was 
 a small, trifling gift, unworthy of my 
 high-chief notice. I accepted it with a 
 show of great joy and appreciation, though 
 by a turn of the head one could see acres 
 of sugar-cane growing on the other side of 
 the river. 
 
 There was an element of embarrassment 
 in the possession of this charming creature. 
 I could not speak the Samoan language 
 very well at that time, and saw, by his 
 vague but polite smile, that much of 
 my conversation was incomprehensible to 
 him. His language to me was so ex- 
 tremely 'high-chief that I could not 
 understand more than three words in a 
 sentence. What made the situation still 
 more poignant was that look of repressed 
 fear glinting in the depths of his velvety 
 eyes. 
 
 114 
 
POLA 
 
 I took him by the hand (that trembled 
 shghtly in mine, though he walked boldly 
 along with me), and led him about the 
 house, thinking the sight of all the 
 wonders of Vailima might divert his mind. 
 When I threw open the door of the hall, 
 with its pictures and statues, waxed floor 
 and glitter of silver on the sideboard, Pola 
 made the regulation quotation from Scrip- 
 ture, ' And behold the half has not been 
 told me.' 
 
 He went quite close to the tiger-skin, 
 with the glass eyes and big teeth. ' It is 
 not living ? ' he asked, and when I assured 
 him it was dead he remarked that it was a 
 large pussy, and then added, gravely, that 
 he supposed the forests of London were 
 filled with these animals. 
 
 He held my hand quite tightly going 
 up the stairs, and I realised then that 
 he could never have mounted a staircase 
 before. Indeed, everything in the house, 
 even chairs and tables, books and pictures, 
 
 "5 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 were new and strange to this little savage 
 gentleman. 
 
 I took him to my room, where I had a 
 number of letters to write. He sat on the 
 floor at my feet very obediently while I 
 went on with itiy work. Looking down a 
 few minutes later I saw that he had fallen 
 asleep, lying on a white rug in a childish, 
 graceful attitude, and I realised again his 
 wild beauty and charm. 
 
 Late in the day, as it began to grow 
 dark, I asked Pola if he did not wish to go 
 home. 
 
 ' No, Teuila,' he answered bravely. 
 
 ' But you will be my boy just the same,' 
 I explained. ' Only you see Tumau (his 
 real mother) will be lonely at first. So you 
 can sleep at the village and come and see 
 me during the day.' 
 
 His eyes lit up with that and the first 
 smile of the day overspread his face, show- 
 ing the whitest teeth imaginable. 
 
 It was not long before he was perfectly 
 ii6 
 
POLA 
 
 at home in Vailima. He would arrive in 
 the morning early, attended by a serving- 
 man of his family who walked meekly in 
 the young chief's footsteps, carrying the 
 usual gift for me. Sometimes it was 
 sugar-cane, or a wreath woven by the 
 village girls, or a single fish wrapped in 
 a piece of banana-leaf, or a few fresh 
 water prawns, or even a bunch of way- 
 side flowers ; my little son seldom came 
 empty-handed. 
 
 It was Pola who really taught me the 
 Samoan language. Ordinarily the natives 
 cannot simplify their remarks for foreigners, 
 but Pola invented a sort of Samoan baby- 
 talk for me ; sometimes, if I could not 
 understand, he would shake me with his 
 fierce little brown hands, crying * Stupid, 
 stupid ! ' But generally he was extremely 
 patient, trying a sentence in half a dozen 
 different ways, with his bright eyes fixed 
 eagerly on my face ; when the sense of 
 what he said dawned upon me and I 
 117 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 repeated it to prove that I understood, 
 his own countenance would light up 
 with an expression of absolute pride and 
 triumph. ' Good ! ' he would say ap- 
 provingly. ' Great is your high - chief 
 wisdom ! ' 
 
 Once we spent a happy afternoon 
 together in the forest, picking up queer 
 land shells, bright berries and curious 
 flowers, while Pola dug up a number of 
 plants by the roots. I asked him the next 
 day what he had done with the beautiful 
 red flowers. His reply was beyond me, 
 so I shook my head. He looked at me 
 anxiously for a moment with the worried 
 expression that so often crossed his face 
 in conversation with me, and patting the 
 floor scraped up an imaginary hole. 'They 
 sit down in the dusty,' he said in baby 
 Samoan. ' Where ? ' I asked. ' In front 
 of Tumau.' And then I understood that 
 he had planted them in the ground before 
 his mother's house. 
 
 ii8 
 
POLA 
 
 Another time he came up all laughter 
 and excitement to tell of an adventure. 
 
 ' Your brother,' he said, ' the high-chief 
 Loia, he of the four eyes (eye-glasses), 
 came riding by the village as I was walking 
 up to Vailima. He offered me a ride on 
 his horse and gave me his chief-hand. I 
 put my foot on the stirrup, and just as 1 
 jumped the horse shied, and, as I had hold 
 of the high-chief Loia, we both fell off into 
 the vosid palasi' 
 
 ' Yes,' I said, ' you both fell off. That 
 was very funny.' 
 
 'Palasl! ' he reiterated. 
 
 But here I looked doubtful. Pola 
 repeated his word several times as though 
 the very sound ought to convey some idea 
 to my bemuddled brain, and then a bright 
 idea struck him. I heard his bare feet 
 pattering swiftly down the stairs. He 
 came flying back, still laughing, and laid 
 the dictionary in my lap. I hastily turned 
 the leaves, Pola questing in each one like 
 119 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 an excited little dog, till I found the defini- 
 tion of his word, ' to fall squash like a ripe 
 fruit on the ground.' 
 
 * Falasi I ' he cried triumphantly, when 
 he saw I understood, making a gesture 
 downward with both hands the while 
 laughing heartily. ' We both fell off 
 palasi ! ' 
 
 It was through Pola that I learned all 
 the news of Tanugamanono. He would 
 curl up on the floor at my feet as I sat in 
 my room sewing, and pour forth an end- 
 less stream of village gossip. How Mata, 
 the native parson, had whipped his daughter 
 for going to a picnic on Sunday and drink- 
 ing a glass of beer. 
 
 ' Her father went whack ! whack ! ' 
 Pola illustrated the scene with gusto, * and 
 Maua cried, ah ! ah ! But the village says 
 Mata is right, for we must not let .the 
 white man's evil come near us.' 
 
 ' Evil ? ' I said ; ' what evil ? ' 
 
 ' Drink,' said Pola solemnly. 
 1 20 
 
POLA 
 
 Then he told how ' the ladies of Tanu- 
 gamanono ' bought a pig of a trader, each 
 contributing a dollar until forty dollars 
 were collected. There was to be a grand 
 feast among the ladies on account of the 
 choosing of a maid or taupo, the young 
 girl who represents the village on all state 
 occasions. When the pig came it turned 
 out to be an old boar, so tough and rank 
 it could not be eaten. The ladies were 
 much ashamed before their guests, and 
 asked the white man for another pig, but 
 he only laughed at them. He had their 
 money, so he did not care. 
 
 ' That was very, very bad of him,' I 
 exclaimed indignantly. 
 
 * It is the way of white people,' said 
 Pola philosophically. 
 
 It was through my little chief that we 
 learned of a bit of fine hospitality. It 
 seems that pigs were scarce in the village, 
 so each house-chief pledged himself to 
 refrain from killing one of them for six 
 
 121 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 months. Any one breaking this rule agreed 
 to give over his house to be looted by the 
 village. 
 
 Pola came up rather late one morning, 
 and told me, hilariously, of the fun they 
 had had looting Tupuola's house. 
 
 ' But Tupuola is a friend of ours,' I said. 
 ' I don't like to hear of all his belongings 
 being scattered.' 
 
 ' It is all right,' Pola exclaimed. ' Tu- 
 puola said to the village, *' Come and loot. 
 I have broken the law, and I will pay the 
 forfeit."' 
 
 ' How did he break the law ? ' I 
 asked. 
 
 ' When the high- chief Loia, your brother 
 of the four eyes, stopped the night at 
 Tanugamanono, on his way to the shark 
 fishing, he stayed with Tupuola, so of 
 course it was chiefly to kill a pig in his 
 honour.' 
 
 ' But it was against the law. JMy brother 
 would not have liked it, and Tupuola must 
 
 122 
 
POLA 
 
 have felt badly to know his house was to 
 be looted.' 
 
 ' He would have felt worse,' said Pola, 
 * to have acted unchiefly to a friend. ' 
 
 We never would have known of the 
 famine in Tanugamanono if it had not 
 been for Pola. The hurricane had blown 
 off all the young nuts from the cocoanut- 
 palms and the fruit from the breadfruit- 
 trees, while the taro was not yet ripe. We 
 passed the village daily. The chief was 
 my brother's dear friend, the girls often 
 came up to decorate the place for a dinner- 
 party, but we had no hint of any distress 
 in the village. 
 
 One morning I gave Pola two large 
 ship's biscuits from the pantry. 
 
 ' Be not angry,' said Pola. ' But I 
 prefer to carry these home.' 
 
 ' Eat them,' I said, ' and I will give you 
 more.' 
 
 Before leaving that night he came to 
 remind me of this. I was swinging in a 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 haminock reading a novel when Pola came 
 to kiss my hand and bid me good- night. 
 
 'Love; I said, ' TalofcL 
 
 ' SoifuaJ Pola replied, ' may you sleep '; 
 and then he added, ' Be not angry, but the 
 ship's biscuits ' 
 
 * Are you hungry ? ' I asked. ' Didn't 
 you have your dinner ? ' 
 
 'Oh, yes, plenty of pea-soupo ' (a general 
 name for anything in tins) ; ' but you said, 
 in your high-chief kindness, that if I ate 
 the two biscuits you would give me more 
 to take home.' 
 
 ' And you ate them ? ' 
 
 He hesitated a perceptible moment, and 
 then said : 
 
 'Yes, I ate them.' 
 
 He looked so glowing and sweet, leaning 
 forward to beg a favour, that I suddenly 
 pulled him to me by his bare, brown 
 shoulders for a kiss. He fell against the 
 hammock and two ship's biscuits slipped 
 from under his lava lava. 
 124 
 
POLA 
 
 * O Pola ! ' 1 cried reproachfully. It 
 cut me to the heart that he should lie 
 to me. 
 
 He picked them up in silence, repress- 
 ing the tears that stood in his eyes, and 
 turned to go. I felt there was something 
 strange in this. 
 
 ' I will give you two more biscuits,' I 
 said quietly, ' if you will explain why you 
 told a wicked lie and pained the heart that 
 loved you.' 
 
 ' Teuila,' he cried anxiously, * I love 
 you. I would not pain your heart for all 
 the world. But they are starving in the 
 village. My father, the chief, divides the 
 food, so that each child and old person 
 and all shall share alike, and to-day there 
 was only green baked bananas, two for 
 each, and to-night when I return there 
 will be again a division of one for each 
 member of the village. It seems hard 
 that I should come here and eat and eat, 
 and my brother and my two little sisters, 
 125 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 and the good Tumau also, should have 
 only one banana. So I thought I would 
 say to you, '' behold I have eaten the two 
 biscuits," and then you would give me two 
 more and that w^ould be enough for one 
 each to my two sisters and Tumau and 
 my brother, who is older than I.' 
 
 That night my brother went down to 
 the village and interviewed the chief. It 
 was all true, as Pola had said, only they 
 had been too proud to mention it. Mr. 
 Stevenson sent bags of rice and kegs of 
 beef to the village, and gave them per- 
 mission to dig for edible roots in our 
 forest, so they were able to tide over 
 until the taro and yams were ripe. 
 
 Pola always spoke of Vailima as ' our 
 place,' and Mr. Stevenson as ' my chief.' 
 I had given him a pony that exactly 
 matched his own skin. A missionary, 
 meeting him in the forest road as he was 
 galloping along like a young centaur, 
 asked, ' Who are you ? " 
 126 
 
POLA 
 
 ' I,' answered Pola, reining in with a 
 gallant air, * am one of the Vailima men ! ' 
 
 He proved, however, that he considered 
 himself a true Samoan by a conversation 
 we had together once when we were walk- 
 ing down to Apia. We passed a new house 
 where a number of half-caste carpenters 
 were briskly at work. 
 
 ' See how clever these men are, Pola,' 
 I said, ' building the white man's house. 
 When you get older perhaps I will have 
 you taught carpentering, that you may 
 build houses and make money.' 
 
 ' Me ? ' asked Pola, surprised. 
 
 ' Yes,' I replied. ' Don't you think that 
 would be a good idea ? ' 
 
 ' I am the son of a chief,' said Pola. 
 
 ' I know,' I said, ' that your highness is 
 a very great personage, but all the same 
 it is good to know how to make money. 
 Wouldn't you like to be a carpenter ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Pola scornfully, adding, with 
 a wave of his arm that took in acres of 
 127 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 breadfruit-trees, banana groves, and taro 
 patches, ' Why should I work ? All this 
 land belongs to me.' 
 
 Once, when Pola had been particularly 
 adorable, I told him, in a burst of affection, 
 that he could have anything in the world 
 he wanted, only begging him to name it. 
 
 He smiled, looked thoughtful for an in- 
 stant, and then answered, promptly, that 
 of all things in the world he would like 
 ear-rings, like those the sailors wear. 
 
 I bought him a pair the next time I 
 went to town. Then, armed with a cork 
 and a needleful of white silk, I called Pola, 
 and asked if he wanted the ear-rings badly 
 enough to endure the necessary operation. 
 
 He smiled and walked up to me. 
 
 ' Now, this is going to hurt, Pola,' I 
 said. 
 
 He stood perfectly straight when I 
 
 pushed the needle through his ear and 
 
 cut off the little piece of silk. I looked 
 
 anxiously in his face as he turned his head 
 
 128 
 
POLA 
 
 for me to pierce the other one. I was so 
 nervous that my hands trembled. 
 
 ' Are you sure it does not hurt, Pola, 
 my pigeon ? ' I asked, and I have never 
 forgotten his answer. 
 
 ' JNIy father is a soldier,' he said. 
 
 Pola's dress was a simple garment, a 
 square of white muslin hemmed by his 
 adopted mother. Like all Samoans, he 
 was naturally very clean, going with the 
 rest of the ' Vailima men ' to swim in the 
 pool twice a day. He would wash his 
 hair in the juice of wild oranges, clean his 
 teeth with the inside husk of the cocoa- 
 nut, and putting on a fresh lava lava 
 would wash out the discarded one in the 
 river, laying it out in the sunshine to dry. 
 He was always decorated with flowers in 
 some way — a necklace of jessamine buds, 
 pointed red peppers, or the scarlet fruit 
 of the pandanas. Little white boys look 
 naked without their clothes, but Pola in a 
 strip of muslin, with his wreath of flowers, 
 I 129 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 or sea-shells, some ferns twisted about 
 one ankle, perhaps, or a boar's tusk fast- 
 ened to his left arm with strands of horse- 
 hair, looked completely, even handsomely, 
 dressed. 
 
 He was not too proud to lend a help- 
 ing hand at any work going — setting the 
 table, polishing the floor of the hall or the 
 brass handles of the old cabinet, leading 
 the horses to water, carrying pails for the 
 milkmen, helping the cook in the kitchen, 
 the butler in the pantry, or the cow-boy 
 in the fields ; holding skeins of wool for 
 Mr. Stevenson's mother, or trotting beside 
 the lady of the house, ' Aolele,' as they 
 all called her, carrying seeds or plants for 
 her garden. When my brother went out 
 with a number of natives laden with 
 surveying implements, Pola only stopped 
 long enough to beg for a cane-knife before 
 he was leading the party. If Mr. Steven- 
 son called for his horse and started to town 
 it was always Pola who flew to open the 
 130 
 
POLA 
 
 gate for him waving a Manuia and ' good 
 luck to the travelhng ! ' 
 
 The Samoans are not reserved, like the 
 Indians, or haughty, like the Arabs. They 
 are a cheerful, lively people, who keenly 
 enjoy a joke, laughing at the slighest pro- 
 vocation. Pola bubbled over with fun, 
 and his voice could be heard chattering 
 and singing gaily at any hour of the day. 
 He made up little verses about me, which 
 he sang to the graceful gestures of the siva 
 or native dance, showing unaffected delight 
 when commended. He cried out with joy 
 and admiration when he first heard a hand- 
 organ, and was excitedly happy when 
 allowed to turn the handle. I gave him 
 a box of tin soldiers, which he played with 
 for hours in my room. He would arrange 
 them on the floor, talking earnestly to 
 himself in Samoan. 
 
 ' These are brave brown men,' he would 
 mutter. ' They are fighting for Mataafa. 
 Boom ! boom ! These are wliite men. They 
 131 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 are fighting the Samoans. Pouf !' And with 
 a wave of his arm he knocked down a whole 
 battalion, with the scornful remark, ' The 
 Samoans win ! ' 
 
 After Mr. Stevenson's death so many of 
 his Samoan friends begged for his photo- 
 graph that we sent to Sydney for a supply, 
 which was soon exhausted. One afternoon 
 Pola came in and remarked, in a very hurt 
 and aggrieved manner, that he had been 
 neglected in the way of photographs. 
 
 ' But your father, the chief, has a large 
 fine one.' 
 
 ' True,' said Pola. * But that is not 
 mine. I have the box presented to me 
 by your high -chief goodness. It has a 
 little cover, and there I wish to put the 
 sun-shadow of Tusitala, the beloved chief 
 whom we all revere, but I more than the 
 others, because he was the head of my 
 clan.' 
 
 * To be sure,' I said, and looked about 
 for a photograph. I found a picture cut 
 132 
 
POLA 
 
 from a weekly paper, one I remember that 
 Mr. Stevenson himself had particularly 
 disliked. He would have been pleased 
 had he seen the scornful way Pola thew 
 the picture on the floor. 
 
 " I will not have that ! ' he cried. ' It 
 is pig-faced. It is not the shadow of our 
 chief/ He leaned against the door and 
 wept. 
 
 ' I have nothing else, Pola,' I protested. 
 ' Truly, if I had another picture of Tusitala 
 I would give it to you.' 
 
 He brightened up at once. ' There is 
 the one in the smoking-room," he said, 
 ' where he walks back and forth. That 
 pleases me, for it looks like him.' He 
 referred to an oil painting of INIr. Steven- 
 son by Sargent. I explained that I could 
 not give him that. ' Then I will take the 
 round one,' he said, ' of tin.' This last 
 was the bronze bas-relief by St. Gaudens. 
 I must have laughed involuntarily, for he 
 went out deeply hurt. Hearing a strange 
 
 T -^ '> 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 noise in the hall an hour or so later, I 
 opened the door, and discovered Pola 
 lying on his face, weeping bitterly. 
 
 ' What are you crying about ? ' I 
 asked. 
 
 ' The shadow, the shadow,' he sobbed. 
 ' I want the sun-shadow of Tusitala.' 
 
 I knocked at my mother's door across 
 the hall, and at the sight of that tear- 
 stained face her heart melted, and he was 
 given a good photograph, which he wrapped 
 in a banana-leaf, tying it carefully with a 
 ribbon of grass. 
 
 We left Samoa after Mr. Stevenson's 
 death, staying away for more than a year. 
 Pola wrote me letters by every mail in a 
 large round hand, but they were too con- 
 ventional to bear any impress of his mind. 
 He referred to our regretted separation, 
 exhorting me to stand fast in the high- 
 chief will of the Lord, and, with his love 
 to each member of the family, mentioned 
 by name and title, he prayed that I might 
 134 
 
POLA 
 
 live long, sleep well, and not forget Pola, 
 my unworthy servant. 
 
 When we returned to Samoa we were 
 up at dawn, on shipboard, watching the 
 horizon for the first faint cloud that floats 
 above the island of Upulu. Already the 
 familiar perfume came floating over the 
 waters — that sweet blending of many 
 odours, of cocoanut oil and baking bread- 
 fruit, of jessamine and gardenia. It smelt 
 of home to us, leaning over the rail and 
 watching. First a cloud, then a shadow 
 growing more and more distinct until we 
 saw the outline of the island. Then, as 
 we drew nearer, the deep purple of the 
 distant hills, the green of the rich forests, 
 and the silvery ribbons where the water- 
 falls reflect the sunshine. 
 
 Among the fleet of boats skimming out 
 to meet us was one far ahead of the others, 
 a lone canoe propelled by a woman, with a 
 single figure standing in the prow. As 
 the steamer drew near I made out the 
 
 135 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 figure of Pola, dressed in wreaths and 
 flowers in honour of my return. As the 
 anchor went down in the bay of Apia and 
 the custom-house officer started to board, 
 I called out, begging him to let the child 
 come on first. He drew aside. The canoe 
 came alongside the ship, and Pola, in his 
 finery of fresh flowers, ran up the gangway 
 and stepped forth on the deck. The pas- 
 sengers drew back before the strange little 
 figure, but he was too intent upon finding 
 me to notice them. 
 
 ' Teuila ! ' he cried joyfully, with the 
 tears rolling down his cheeks. I went 
 forward to meet him, and, kneeling on 
 the deck, caught him in my arms. 
 
 136 
 
SAMOAN SONGS 
 
SAM O AN SONGS 
 
 In Samoa a man's standing in the com- 
 munity can be pretty well gauged by the 
 songs that are composed and sung about 
 him. Some are humorous, some satirical, 
 some complimentary, and many are only 
 rhymes to his name, like a nursery jingle. 
 The smallest incident, once put into song, 
 will live for years. There is a boat-song 
 about a very unpopular official who left 
 the islands years ago. We were once 
 travelling by water in the smooth lagoon 
 within the coral reef, and passed the 
 liouse where this man had lived ; it was 
 pointed out to us, and instantly, with 
 a sweep of the oars to keep time, the 
 139 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 boatman trolled out the jeering, scornful 
 words : 
 
 A wise man broke through the horizon : 
 Did he give us of his wisdom ? 
 Nay; no wisdom came to us^ 
 But all our money went to him. 
 Aue ! Aue ! All our money 's gone ! 
 
 Mr. Stevenson mentions in his Footnote 
 to History how Mr. Weber of the German 
 firm was remembered in the islands : 
 
 His name still lives in the songs of Samoa. One 
 that I have heard tells of Misi Ueba and a biscuit- 
 box, the suggesting incident being long since for- 
 gotten. Another sings plaintively how all things, 
 land and food and property, pass progressively, as 
 by a law of nature, into the hands of Misi Ueba, 
 and soon nothing will be left for Samoans. This 
 is an epitaph the man would have enjoyed. 
 
 ^ There are many songs about Tusitala 
 
 (' Story -writer '), as Mr. Stevenson was 
 
 called in the island — rousing boat-songs, 
 
 when the paddles all beat time, and the 
 
 140 
 
SAMOAN SONGS 
 
 handles are clicked against the sides of 
 the canoe to the rhythm of his name. 
 The Samoans show their courtesy in 
 remembering a man's songs, and even in 
 rowing JNIr. Stevenson out to meet a 
 passenger-ship I have heard the boatmen 
 keep time to 
 
 Tusitala nia Aolele. 
 
 JNIuch travelling is done by water in the 
 islands, and at night, to avoid the sun's 
 rays. It was very pleasant rowing by 
 moonlight in the quiet waters of the 
 lagoon near the shore, within the protect- 
 ing coral reef that surrounds each island 
 of the group and breasts the full force of 
 the ocean breakers. The roaring and 
 boiling of the surf made a pleasant accom- 
 paniment to the singing voices of the 
 brown men as they kept time to the 
 rhythm of the song with a long sweep of 
 the oars. The groves of palm-trees grow 
 in thick fohage to the water's edge, and 
 141 
 

 MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 often from the shadow where a cluster 
 of native houses lay hidden, the people, 
 recognising the passing traveller by his 
 boat-song, would call out across the lagoon, 
 ' Talofa Tusitala ! ' 
 
 There are dancing - songs about Mr. 
 Stevenson, depicting life at Vaihma, v/hich 
 might be called topical, as they generally 
 touched upon the small incidents of planta- 
 tion life. These were composed by some 
 servant or labourer on the place, and saved 
 up for a fete-day, such as Christmas, the 
 holidays of England and America, and 
 Mr. Stevenson's birthday, when they were 
 chanted, danced, and acted with great 
 spirit by the Samoans of our household. 
 Sometimes every member of the family 
 would be represented, each singing a 
 characteristic verse, while all hands came 
 in on the refrain in a full, rich harmony. 
 The central figure, the heart of the song, 
 was always Tusitala, and though they made 
 many little jokes at the expense of the 
 142 
 
SAMOAN SONGS 
 
 rest of us, his name was always treated 
 with respect. 
 
 Other songs are long chants, with in- 
 numerable verses descriptive of Tusitala's 
 wisdom, his house, his friendship for the 
 natives, and his love for Samoa. One of 
 these may be called the ' Song of the Roof- 
 Iron,' or ' The Meeting of Tusitala and the 
 Men of Vaie'e.' 
 
 The chief of Vaie'e, on the windward 
 side of the island, had saved up sixty 
 dollars in twelve * golden shillings,' as he 
 called the five -dollar pieces. War had 
 broken out, and he and his men were 
 going off to fight. Their village might 
 be looted during their absence, so they 
 brought the bag of golden shilhngs to 
 Tusitala ; brought it with much ceremony 
 and many presents, including a live turtle 
 borne aloft on two poles. Mr. Stevenson 
 locked up the precious bag in his safe that 
 is built into the hall at A^ailima. After 
 three months, when the warriors returned, 
 143 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 the money was given back to them. They 
 explained that it had been saved up with 
 incredible patience to buy roof-iron for 
 their new church. Mr. Stevenson good- 
 naturedly took the matter in hand, with 
 the result that the village received more 
 roof-iron for the money than had ever 
 been given to natives before. The friendly 
 act was commemorated in a song that is 
 really prettier than one would think the 
 subject warranted, and the friendship 
 begun over the matter of the roof-iron 
 has endured between the people of Vaie'e 
 and the members of Tusitala's family to 
 this day. 
 
 ' The Song of the Wen ' commemorates 
 an interesting event. A humble servant 
 of the family, a Hvely, amusing fellow 
 named Eliga, was afflicted with a large, 
 unsightly tumour on his back. In a land 
 where beauty is of the first importance, 
 this unfortunate man was made to suffer 
 doubly. Mr. Stevenson and my mother 
 144 
 
SAMOAN SONGS 
 
 had him examined by the kindly surgeon 
 of an Enghsh man-of-war, who proposed 
 an operation. But Eliga would not submit. 
 He explained to Tusitala that there were 
 strings in the wen that were tied about his 
 heart, and if they were severed he would 
 die. When JNIr. Stevenson translated the 
 doctor's diagnosis, Eliga was unconvinced. 
 His skin, he said, was different on the 
 outside from a white man's, and there- 
 fore it was not unnatural to suppose 
 that his insides were made on a different 
 plan. 
 
 In the end Mr. Stevenson's and my 
 mother's arguments prevailed, and he sub- 
 mitted ; but for their sakes, not his own, 
 and he begged them to remember, when 
 he was gone, that he had died for love of 
 them. On the day of the operation Eliga 
 prepared his house for death : the fine mats 
 were spread, the rush curtains were all up, 
 the decorations removed ; the single room 
 was so exquisitely prepared that not a 
 K 145 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 pebble on the floor was out of place, and 
 his relatives were assembled. He himself 
 was of a pale-lead colour and shaking with 
 apprehension, yet he came out bravely and 
 lifted Aolele off her horse, and received 
 Tusitala and the doctor with perfect self- 
 possession. 
 
 The operation was successful, and Eliga 
 recovered; but it was not only renewed 
 health and strength that came to him, but 
 the fulfilment of his dearest ambitions. 
 Owing to his deformity he had been kept 
 out of titles and estates that were promptly 
 restored to him. In the islands no deformed 
 or very ugly person can be a chief In- 
 deed, if the children of a great man are 
 ill-looking it is not unusual for him to 
 adopt the handsomest boy in the village 
 to succeed him. 
 
 The change in Eliga was magical. In- 
 stead of being the cringing, almost dwarfish 
 creature who cut monkey-tricks to make 
 people laugh, after the pathetic manner of 
 146 
 
SAMOAN SONGS 
 
 the deformed in Samoa, he carried himself 
 erect, with a haughty mien ; he dyed his 
 hair red, and wore it in the latest fashion, 
 combed up into Grecian curls and powdered 
 with sandalwood. When he came into 
 his title he made a visit to Vailima in 
 state, accompanied by his new retainers, 
 all laden with gifts for the family, and 
 ' The Song of the Wen ' was sung for the 
 first time. 
 
 A semicircle of men sat upon mats laid 
 out upon the lawn in front of the house. 
 On the verandah, facing them, sat Mr. 
 Stevenson, surrounded by his family and 
 native servants, looking on with that 
 serious, respectful attention it was his 
 custom to accord all native formalities, 
 however trivial they may have seemed. 
 
 Eliga came forward crouchingly, with a 
 cocoanut tied by a piece of sinnet to his 
 back. To the accompaniment of clapping 
 hands and harmonious chanting, he half 
 recited, half acted the story before us. 
 
 147 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 He capered, he made silly, hideous faces, 
 he did the buffoon for the last time in his 
 life ; and then, as the string was cut, and 
 the cocoanut rolled to the ground, he 
 sprang erect, thumped his breast, and 
 sang aloud his triumph and gratitude. 
 
 ' O Tusitala ! ' he cried, ' when you first 
 came here I was ugly and poor and de- 
 formed. I was jeered at and scorned by 
 the unthinking. I ate grass ; a bunch of 
 leaves was my sole garment, and I had 
 nothing to hide my ugliness. But now, 
 
 Tusitala, now I am beautiful ; my body 
 is sound and handsome : I bear a great 
 name ; I am rich and powerful and un- 
 ashamed, and I owe it all to you, Tusitala. 
 
 1 have come to tell your Highness that 
 I will not forget. Tusitala, I will work 
 
 • for you all my life, and my family shall 
 work for your family, and there shall 
 be no question of wage between us, only 
 loving-kindness. My life is yours, and 
 I will be your servant till I die.' 
 148 
 
SAMOAN SONGS 
 
 The most beautiful of the songs are 
 those that were composed in memory of 
 Mr. Stevenson, and sung at Vailima after 
 his death. One, referring to the steadfast 
 loyalty of Mr. Stevenson to the High 
 Chief Mataafa, through peace and war, 
 victory and defeat, has for its refrain ; 
 
 Once Tusitala's friend. 
 Always Tusitala's friend. 
 
 Another describes a Samoan searching 
 among the white people for one as good 
 and kind as Tusitala. He asks of the 
 officials and the consuls and captains of 
 ships, and they all answer, ' There were 
 none like him, and he has gone.' 
 
 For months after his death, parties of 
 natives, headed by the chief bringing a 
 present of a costly, fine mat, would come 
 to Vailima and offer their condolences to 
 the family. They were people whom he 
 had befriended, with their followers and 
 149 
 
MEMORIES OF VAILIMA 
 
 clans ; for each small, individual kindness 
 an entire village assumed the burden of 
 gratitude. There were his old friends, 
 Tuimalealiifano and his village of Fale- 
 latai ; Seumanutafa, the chief of Apia ; 
 the villages of Vaie'e and Safata, Falefa 
 and many others. There were the political 
 prisoners, chiefs of important clans, whom 
 INIr. Stevenson was instrumental in releas- 
 ing from jail. There were the members 
 of the clan of the beloved Mataafa, then 
 an exile, all bringing presents and making 
 very touching speeches of love for Tusitala, 
 and sympathy for his family. Each party, 
 on leaving, handed to my mother a roll 
 of paper : it was the song of that village 
 written in memory of ]Mr. Stevenson. 
 
 When a party of Samoans, for love of 
 him, weed the path that leads to Vaea ; 
 when they gather once a year, on the 13th 
 of November, bringing wreaths and flowers 
 to decorate his tomb ; when a party of 
 travellers cross the mountain by his grave, 
 150 
 
SAMOAN SONGS 
 
 they lift their tuneful voices in one of these 
 songs : 
 
 Groan and weep^ O my heart in its sorrow ! • 
 Alas for Tusitala, who rests in the forest ! 
 Aimlessly we wait, and sorrowing ; will he again 
 
 retm'n ? 
 Lament, O Vailima ! Waiting and ever waiting ! 
 Let us search and ask of the captains of ships, 
 ' Be not angry, but has not Tusitala come ? ' 
 
 Grieve, O my heart ! I cannot bear to look on 
 
 All the chiefs who are assembling. 
 
 Alas, Tusitala, thou art not here ! 
 
 I look hither and thither, in vain, for thee. 
 
 Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable 
 
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