Eight days out we saw the loom of Wailangi Lala Island light and another of those incidents occurred which demonstrate how narrow is the borderline between success and disaster. Knowing it would be several hours before we came up on the light, I went below to rest, leaving what I thought were clear instructions with Mickey, on watch, that I was to be called before we reached it, so that we could make a necessary change of course at the light. I slept fitfully and came up on deck without having been called—to see the light already abeam and the boat on a course that would very shortly have piled us on the rocks. I changed the course and asked Mickey why he hadn’t called me according to orders. His only reason was that he couldn’t remember what I had told him, and thus had done nothing!
It is necessary to navigate very carefully in the Koro Sea. All day we cruised among countless inviting-looking islands, wanting to stop, but required to push on to Suva, the official port of entry for the Fiji Islands. We knew that, on this trip at least, we would not have the time to backtrack, for the hurricane season was approaching and by the first of November, at the latest, we would have to be on our way south to New Zealand, out of the area of tropical storms.
That night, as we worked our way through a tricky series of lights at the western exit of the Koro Sea, I stayed on deck. I had no desire to push my luck and knew there would be plenty of time to catch up on lost sleep when we had dropped the hook in the harbor of Suva.
By afternoon on October 18 we were rounding Viti Levu with a good breeze and at 1600 we dropped anchor off the Royal Suva Yacht Club. A very nice birthday present for the Skipper!
As usual, the first hour or two was hectic. The port doctor cleared us without difficulty, but the customs official sealed not only our guns and liquor, but a case of root beer as well. (Beer, he insisted, is beer!) The immigration officer was a bit bothered by the presence of three Japanese tourists without visas, although I explained that I had checked in advance and been assured that no visas would be necessary for a short visit of a yacht to a crown colony. At last he solved the dilemma by deciding officially to ignore their presence so long as they did nothing to call attention to themselves. In other words, so long as there was no trouble they had the freedom of the port.
After we had been cleared there came, as usual, the press, followed by the Commodore of the Royal Suva Yacht Club, who presented the family with honorary membership cards. When we introduced Nick, Mickey, and Moto, emphasizing that they, too, were yachtsmen, there was an awkward pause.
“Er—well—yes!” I almost expected him to add, “Rawther!” Instead, he drew me aside as soon as convenient and confided that the club was forced to adopt a “Whites Only” policy—because of the Indians, you know—and although he, personally, had nothing against the Japanese—and he was sure that most of the others would feel the same—well, there it was, you know, and all that.
As a family, we discussed the situation long and seriously and decided, at last, that we could do more good by accepting the proffered membership than by huffily refusing. As Jessica expressed it, “We’ll make friends and sow destruction!” This we tried to do, taking every opportunity of bringing our companions into the conversation: “They’ll be the first Japanese yachtsmen ever to have sailed around the world” and “Those chaps of ours are pretty good small-boat sailors. They made a fine record in the All-Japan Intercollegiates—they sail Class boats much like those you have here,” etc., etc. When we admired the clubhouse, we expressed regrets that all of us couldn’t see what a fine place they had and described how wonderfully we had been treated by yacht clubs in Japan. “Wonderful what a common interest in sports can do to bridge international barriers, isn’t it?”
Our campaign didn’t seem to have much effect at first, but after a few days we noticed that those who came aboard made a special effort to be cordial to the Japanese, albeit somewhat ponderously.
We did not change the policies of the Royal Suva Yacht Club; Nick, Mickey, and Moto never saw the inside of the clubhouse, and yet we felt we had gained something when one of the senior members remarked, in tones of obvious astonishment: “Those lads of yours are fine chaps—very intelligent!” And he added thoughtfully, “It is rather a pity they can’t go into the clubhouse—walk around a bit, what? Some of the trophies make a good show—and then, there are the photographs.... Yes, it is a pity.”