“Saw thousands of red land crabs near the banks of the lagoons. As we approached they marched away in vast battalions and entrenched themselves in rock crevices.
“Had late dinner with a native chief and his wife. Nice old chap, had intelligent face; if his lips had not been quite so thick he would have resembled Gladstone, the great English statesman. R—— and I squatted on mats before him in the native fashion and ate fish and stewed fruit off little wooden platters. Delicious repast; couldn’t stand the kava (native wine) offered us; we spat it out, much to host’s disgust.
Banana Plantation, Fiji
“A pretty Fijian girl, who was supposed to be connected by blood to some great Tongan prince, came in from the hut opposite and proved most entertaining. She sang native melodies to us and danced.
“R—— said she would make a fortune at the Tivoli. She was dressed in a robe made of the finest material, fastened on by a girdle of grass and flowers. The robe just reached to her knees. R—— said that the knees alone were worth photographing. He is full of sunny humour. She got a splinter in one of her toes. R—— fixed his monocle on and probed away at the toe till he got it out. Never saw such perfect feet, olive-brown and as soft as velvet. Terrible hot night; tried to sleep out beneath some palm-trees; made a beautiful bed of moss and grass but couldn’t sleep. Both jumped up and found that a modern semi-heathen, semi-Christian ceremony was in progress. It’s what they called the Meke dance, I think. R—— and I crept under the palms to see the sight. It was a magical scene to see those maids and handsome Fijian youths dressed in their barbaric, picturesque costumes as they did a barbaric two-step.
“We got into conversation with some of the old chiefs who were squatting in a semicircle gazing on the dance.
“They told us that it wasn’t a barbarian dance at all, but simply the anniversary of the time when they were converted. As the night wore on the elders got convivial and drank kava out of a large calabash and joined in that extraordinary religious ceremony. Many of the thanksgiving high kicks made my pal hold on to me tightly and gasp. We felt quite sure that something must go, either a joint get out of its socket or a limb snap. The little Fijian kiddies that were watching my comrade stare through his eyeglass screamed with delight and danced around us. They thought he was some kind of an English idol. The grand finale of that festival is indescribable.
“All I can say of the impression left on my memory is, that it seemed to be some kind of ecclesiastical can-can, some strange potpourri of Catholicism, Protestantism, Mohammedanism, Buddhism and reminiscent heathenism flavoured with a dash of revelry.
“Sunday.—Arrived at Suva. Went up to the Parade and made inquiries, hoping to hear something of Waylao. All I could hear was the voice of Mr and Mrs Pink singing in the mission-room that adjoined their store.