Haggard and my daughter thereupon returned to Ruge’s Buildings, and the rest of us pursued our way through the enchanted forest, past groves of bananas, and up the mountain. From time to time little stiles barring the narrow paths had to be negotiated; some Europeans explorers had imagined that these were a kind of fortification to protect Mataafa’s quarters, but really they were nothing more romantic than fences to keep pigs from wandering.
Nature in Samoa everywhere erected natural screens for those who desired concealment in the extraordinary luxuriance of her tangled vegetation: overhead, broad-leaved forest trees interlacing their branches so that it was possible to ride even at midday under a tropical sun; below, the long and varied creeping plants which went under the general name of “vines,” and which rendered progress difficult except where narrow tracks had been cleared leading from one little village to another. Mostly, however, the villagers were within easy reach of the seashore, partly for convenience of fishing, partly as being accessible in boats. The villagers loved to visit their friends, rowing pleasantly from place to place within the lagoons which circled the Island.
To return to our journey. Among other instances of tropical luxuriance, we passed a quantity of sensitive plant. The original plant had been placed by a member of a German firm on his child’s grave, thence it had quickly spread and had become a perfect pest in the surrounding districts. My horse was an extremely lanky and skinny animal which Mr. Haggard had procured for my use, and which alternately rejoiced in the names of “Pedigree” and “Starvation,” the latter seeming more appropriate. R.L.S. rode a fat little pony. Mrs. Strong subsequently caricatured our progress by representing me very tall with an extremely tight waistband, and Stevenson looking upward from his diminutive steed.
Mrs. Strong, be it understood, regarded any kind of fitting garment as a foolish superfluity. On this occasion she had donned corsets for the convenience of a long ride, but when, in the twilight, we neared our destination she slipped them off and gave them to an attendant, bidding him be a good boy and carry them for her.
KING MATAAFA
As we approached the royal abode we were met first by a man beating a drum, then by the whole population, and heard many remarks interchanged in low tones; my companions told me that they referred to the “Tamaiti Sili” or “Great Lady,” showing how singularly ineffectual was my disguise. If any proof of this were needed it was soon supplied. Mataafa, a very fine old man, received us most courteously, attended specially by a remarkable old gentleman called Popo, who had curiously aquiline features quite unlike the ordinary native. Stevenson thus described him:
“He who had worshipped feathers and shells and wood,
As a pillar alone in the desert that points where a city stood,
Survived the world that was his, playmates and gods and tongue—
For even the speech of his race had altered since Popo was young.
And ages of time and epochs of changing manners bowed,
And the silent hosts of the dead wondered and muttered aloud
With him, as he bent and marvelled, a man of the time of the Ark,
And saluted the ungloved hand of the Lady of Osterley Park.”
We were first presented with refreshing cocoa-nuts, and after profuse compliments, conveyed through the interpreter, dinner, or supper, was prepared on a small wooden table in the background. It consisted of pigeon, chickens, taros, and yams, but poor Mataafa, who had previously adjourned for evening service, could not share the birds because it was a fast day. He was a Roman Catholic—another point of difference between him and Malietoa, who was a Protestant.
After the evening repast came the kava ceremony. As is well known, kava is a drink made from the roots of the pepper-tree, chewed by young persons (who have first carefully washed their teeth), and then soaked in water. To me it always tasted rather like soapy water, but it is most popular with the natives, who will sit at festivities drinking large quantities. It is said to have no effect on the head, but to numb the lower limbs if too much is imbibed.
At special ceremonies, however, it is somewhat in the nature of a loving-cup, only each guest has a cocoa-nut shell refilled from the general wooden-legged bowl for his benefit. The kava is always given in strict order of precedence, and the interest was to see whether Mataafa would give the first cup to Stevenson as a man, and head of the family, or to me, a mere woman and ostensibly a female relative, as in the latter case it would show that he saw through my cousinly pretensions. It was rather a curious scene in the dimly lighted native house—chairs for the King and his European guests, while the interpreter, Henry Simele, and the native henchmen squatted near-by. With an indescribable expression of suppressed amusement Mataafa handed the cup to me, whereupon Stevenson, with a delightful twinkle of his eye, exclaimed, “Oh, Amelia, you’re a very bad conspirator!”