They were all dressed in the “upper ten” native fashion of Samoa. One of them was wearing an old American naval officer’s cast-off suit. The women had their hair done in fashionable style with red and white blossoms stuck in at the bunched sides, also on their native girdles, and what with their plump handsome faces and intelligent eyes, looked strikingly attractive. There were several children, and they all welcomed him and rolloped around us with delight.
Stevenson was soon engaged with the elder, who, I think, was a Mataafa chief, who could not speak English; but R.L.S. seemed to understand all he said, and by the way he made him repeat phrases over and over again, I should think the chief was correcting Stevenson’s pronunciation of some Samoan words.
The native boys and girls were dressed neatly in ridis, and tappu-cloth blouses, their hair parted and combed smoothly, and very polite, too, they were, as they brought Stevenson their school-books, wherein they had written their English lessons. Stevenson seemed to take a deep interest in their efforts, patted them on the heads approvingly as he examined their books and this greatly delighted them. In the corner of the large shed-like place, wherein we all stood, the youngest son of about six years of age, quite naked, stood on his head singing with gusto, as R.L.S. gave him a lead pencil as a gift, for he seemed to be very fond of children and greatly enjoyed seeing their delight. Lifting the little girls up, he held them high over his head, as the parents smiled approval at his antics to make them laugh, and Samoan children are never so pleasing and pretty as when their cheery little brown faces laugh, as their mouths stretch, and all their pearly teeth are exposed to view.
As we said good-bye to the chief and his wife, Stevenson put the youngest girl on his back as though to take her away with him. Although she was only a mite of about three years old, she seemed to see the joke, and waved her hands towards the homestead as we all walked away: then when he put her to the ground she scampered off so fast homeward that you couldn’t see her tiny legs going!
I am telling you all this so as to attempt to give an idea of Stevenson’s character, as he appeared to my eyes as a lad. It was then evening time, and the sun was setting over the hills as we all went down the forest track, and in the distance two white women and a native were coming up towards us. It was R.L.S.’s wife and a friend. Mrs Stevenson affectionately greeted him with a loud kiss! And then started to give him a dressing-down for going off and not keeping some domestic appointment.
She was a vivacious amiable lady, without any side whatever; dressed like an Australian squatter’s wife, and bare throated like Stevenson himself, and they both wore white shoes without wearing socks, in sandal fashion.
As we walked along the track Stevenson was very observant and asked the natives the names of various tropical trees. He had a cheery musical laugh, and a pronounced habit of gazing abstractedly in front of him while anyone was talking to him, a habit which was especially noticeable when his wife was with him, for he seemed to look upon her as a sort of helpmate to relieve him and take the burden off his shoulders, by answering and apologising to those who interrupted his meditations. At other times he was just the reverse and strangely talkative, and could not talk fast enough to his friends, whom he seemed very much attached to, as he took down notes in a pocket-book. He had the appearance of a man of very strong character, affectionate and tender to children and all those about him.
I should think he was one of those who would show great courage if he were called on to do so, for once on Apia beach a white man was thrashing a Samoan boy who had been stealing fruit and fish from a basket which he had left outside a grog saloon. Stevenson, who happened to be strolling down the beach to take a boat out to a schooner anchored in the bay, caught sight of the coward blows being inflicted on the frightened lad, and as the trader did not cease, Stevenson went straight up to him and pushed him aside, and heatedly expostulated with him about his brutality. The ruffian stared astonished at R.L.S. and then used some offensive epithet, at which Stevenson’s face went rigid as he stared at him with flashing eyes, and almost lost control of himself. I saw that had not the man had the instinct to see that Stevenson was not the slightest bit frightened of him and gone away muttering to himself, Stevenson would have knocked him down.
I think it was that same evening that I went to a native feast at Satoa village. The guests were mostly of the Samoan best-class natives. It was a lovely night. Overhead sailed the full moon in the dark blue vault of a cloudless heaven, as by the huddled native village homes the assembled privileged guests squatted around, forming a ring of dark bodies as they watched the weird fantastic dance which celebrated the birth of a child to a celebrated chief. The stage of the forest floor was adorned with the Samoan professional dancers and singers. I shall always remember the weird beauty of that romantic scene as they swayed and danced, chanting strange ear-haunting melodies, all their faces alight with animation and the joy of being alive as they sang old South Sea love songs, suddenly stopping in their wild dances as the words of the choruses breathed thoughts of love and impassioned vows of plighted lovers. They would stop perfectly still and gaze for a few moments, staring in each other’s eyes like statues, or the figures of romantic love pictures, only their lips moving as they sang the words of delight into the listening maids’ ears, then once more suddenly start off whirling round with their arms, swaying rhythmically, their faces gazing upwards, and sometimes over their shoulders.
I can truly say that I have never seen anything so really romantic, or heard music that so truly expressed human emotions, excepting perhaps when, some years after, I was troubadouring on the frontier of Spain, and played the violin, accompanying the Spanish peasants as they sang in parts the romantic “Estudiantina.” The Spanish maids gazed into their lovers’ eyes, as they sang, much the same as the savages of the South Seas did on that night of which I am now telling you.