“I can remember it all as though it were yesterday. I can even hear the strange bird that was singing up in the citron trees, which grew just over the little plot where they buried their dead. We felt a bit swaggery when the military band came out of the chief palavana, formed up with their instruments (vuvis, bone flutes, human bones, gourds with strings across, lais, wooden drums, and bamboo flutes), and commenced to play an anthem of welcome as we entered the stockade gateway that led into that portion of the village where the head chief received ambassadors in council. I think the sight of all was Sanga, as she marched just ahead of us, a flower dangling in her hair, and her little chest swelled majestically, as she looked sideways on the tribal children, who were staring at her with awestruck eyes.
“If I had had any poetic idea in my head about that village being some dwelling-place of fairy-land, I’m sure it was soon dispelled when we passed by the village dustbin.
“‘Phew!’ said Deny, as Sanga and I sniffed and held our noses. Even in those high altitudes of the Fijian mountain villages there was considerable room for sanitary improvement.
“Such was our reception in Nisao just twenty years ago.
“That same night we got pally with the high chief, Roko (meaning ‘high-born’). He gave us all the direct information that we required; told us that, true enough, a white man did dwell up in the cool mountain villages of the cannibal Kai Tholos. Then he told us how the White Roko had lorded it over the village folk of Tumba for quite ten years, after having made himself their chief. It seemed as though we dreamed it all as we stood there, Deny and I, and heard the astounding facts as we warily got the friendly chief on the tack that we were most interested in. He nodded his head and said:
“‘Yes, Papalagi, beautiful white Marama (white girl) live up there too; nicer chiefess; smoother shoulders, whiter skin.’
“Saying this, old Roko made various descriptive signs in an attempt to convey to our minds the wondrous beauty of the White Roko’s daughter. It was then that we learnt that the Englishman was known to his tribe by the name of Yoraka. Whether his name was Yorick, and this name that he was known by was a bastardized equivalent of it, I don’t know; possibly it was so.
“I recall that that old chief was immensely amused when he discovered that Deny and I were after the white girl.
“‘How does she dress? What does she do with herself? Is she wild? Is she married?’ and such-like questions did we put to Roko.
“Roko did not know much about the girl’s habits, for she was seldom allowed out of the Tholos stronghold, and Old chief Roko dared not go up there to his neighbour’s stronghold because they were enemies. We were delighted to hear that he was not on friendly terms with this extraordinary Yoraka, for it enabled us to extract a promise from him to help us out of it should we get into difficulties. We arranged that, should our countryman ‘turn up rough’ and set his tribal heathen on us, we should send Sanga back to his village for help.