Lolóma, or two years in cannibal-land: A story of old Fiji

by Henry Britton

There was a tradition in the tribe of a further prediction that after the arrival of a canoe without an outrigger a vessel without ropes or cordage would come. Some of the young Fijians of Big-Wind’s court lived to see, nearly half a century later, a steamship in Levuka harbour, which they considered verified this prediction also.

In the evening, sports were celebrated by the light of the moon on the village green in honour of the new arrival. The dancers numbered over 100, and there was an orchestra of 20 persons. The musical instruments of the Fijians are the conch-shell, a flute played by blowing through the nose, pandean pipes, a sort of jew’s harp (which consists of a strip of bamboo), drums made of hollowed logs or bamboos with cross-pieces near the ends, and a long stick, from which clear notes are produced by striking it with a shorter one.

The shadowy ball-room is at length prepared. It is bounded by groves of thick-leaved trees in which the fireflies have set their lamps, and it is canopied by the moon-lit firmament, which sheds a silvery light over all. The night is radiant as the day, and infinitely more ethereal.

The dancers are all in gala attire. The women are profusely decorated with flowers and green garlands, or red ribands made of the fine membrane of a leaf. Their hair is tricked out to an immense size, their lissom bodies are scented with sandalwood, and they wear likus dyed all manner of colours. The men’s faces are painted in grotesque patterns, and they sport ornamental garters and armlets of shells and coloured grasses. The step begins slowly to the accompaniment of a low chanting and clapping of hands, the striking of bamboos on the ground producing a sound like that of the tambourine. The speed is gradually accelerated, but the inflections of the body and every movement are done by the company in exact time. The violence of the stamping increases, the measure becomes inconceivably animated and wild—for the Fijians dance with their whole bodies, eyes and all—till at length, the climax reached, there is a grand shout of “Woi!” by the whole party at the top of their voices, and the task of the exhausted performers is ended for a time.

There were several kinds of dances, and among them the Flying Fox Dance and the Waves of the Sea Dance. These, of which I had seen a mere indication from my leafy retreat in the hills, were now performed with the elaborateness proper to a state occasion.

A large company stood up for the Flying Fox Dance, and began by singing a soft air, to which responses were made by a chorus, the women accompanying the music with graceful motions of the hands, making a step forward and back again with one foot, while the other remained fixed. Presently there was a quicker measure, the dancers made a half-turn, leaping and clapping their hands. Then the company broke into two parties, which advanced towards each other and went through some evolutions, which terminated the introduction. The next part depicted the robbing of a banana-tree by flying foxes. The banana-tree was represented by a pole set up in the middle of the square, with a bunch of fruit at the top. The ballet d’action then proceeded. The foxes met in consultation, determined on a robbery, sent out skirmishers to guard against a surprise, and then made the attack. One old fox climbed the tree, and the little foxes clustered under it crying with delight at the prospect of ripe fruit. While the fox in the tree hung by his legs and flapped his arms, another climbed after him, and there was a great deal of fighting, scratching, and squalling, after the manner of these animals, until one obtained the mastery. All the evolutions of the dancers were in imitation of the motions of the flying foxes, and their cry was also accurately imitated.

The dance representing the waves of the sea was equally graceful. There was the advance of a long wave and its little shoots running up the beach, the band representing the roar of the surf. The ocean ebbed and flowed, low waves sighed upon the shore and advanced in merry laughing ripples, throwing here and there a fringe of spray. The winsome prattling lasses assumed a graver mood. The sea was lashed into fury, surges vast as hills roared to the sound of rhythmic feet, and, breaking on some rocky prominence, clove the air with milk-white jets. The dancers flung their arms above their white masi-covered heads as they met, and when they bounded high above the ground, like the white foam of the sea when it hurls its columns of spray and surges of beaded water in the face of the sun, the spectators, no longer able to control themselves, fairly shouted with delight.

Every movement was performed in the most exact time; and, as in the case of the Flying Fox Dance, the performance seemed like a poetic drama represented by the perfection of pantomime.

The scene is a singularly wild one. The flash of dark eyes, the gleam of white teeth, and the spectacle of bosoms, arms, and ankles glancing bare in utter abandonment to the enjoyment of the moment, with the dark forms of the savages sitting around make a picture not readily to be forgotten. The weird music of the drum and fluttering pipes adds to the wonder, glow, and tumult. As the girls shout, stamp, and reel in maddest ecstacies, their eyes aglow under their short curly hair, and sparkling with the grace and glitter of the movement, strangely mixing with the mass of blending hues, it is intoxicating.

The evening closes with laughter and endless chatter. Presently the love-chirp ceases. The village sleeps, silvery and still.