I learned from Lolóma’s astronomical discourses that when two stars are observed near the moon they are called “the moon’s wives;” the moon is therefore a masculine noun, a point which the language does not settle. What with us is superstitiously called the “man-in-the-moon” is by the Fijian spoken of as “The man and his wife.” The man is plaiting cocoanut fibre into sinnet, while the woman, mallet in hand, is beating out the bark of which she is going to make native cloth. Emblematic this, of the two great industries, for, food excepted, to the Fijian there is nothing like cordage and cloth—the former is used in building houses, lashing canoes, &c., and the latter, if not much used on the person, is valuable property for exchange or barter.
When a star is seen preceding the moon, as is often the case, the Fiji observer would be heard to say, “That star is the tug, towing the moon through the skies.” This is not a borrowed figure either, for the Fijian sailors on a large craft will often take small ones in tow.
The Southern Cross is called “Nga,” i.e., the “duck constellation.” The Fiji imagination sees in this constellation a resemblance to a flying duck. Popular belief says: the two “pointers” are two men; that nearest the cross is a blind man, the other can see. They were both after the duck to throw at it. The blind man threw first, and, as might be expected, missed. Off goes the duck, giving the man who can see, no chance. Our Fiji proverb-maker and moral philosopher has added this good moral lesson to the fable, “Let him that can see throw first.” Sometimes the “pointers” are referred to as viz., a slave and a chief. The slave shoots first and misses, thereby greatly disappointing his chief. Moral—“Never precede your superiors.” Mothers will sometimes try to quiet their peevish little ones by pointing to the “Nga,” in the Southern sky, and saying to “baby,” “Look up there at your duck.”
Orion and his belt are called Iri, i.e., the “Fan,” from their resemblance to a Bau fan. This is said to be the fan of the great god Dengeh. An accident happened to it once upon a time, when the god had fallen asleep near the fire. The fan dropping out of his hand got burnt on one side; hence the blank—the apparent absence of stars on one side. Another tale is, that the fan is that of a local god at a place called Nakasaleka, where, it is reported, mosquitoes never bite, for the simple reason, there are none there to bite, and there are none there to bite because the god with his big fan swept them all away.
One of the first stars, or, rather, the first star seen in the evening, is called “Dingodingo,” i.e., “One who eats in another’s house,” because he comes out to shine so close on the heels of day; in other words he enters into Day’s house, when, in fact, he himself belongs to Night. Another meaning of the same word is “the inspector.” This star, therefore, is out having a look at things before his companions.
A superstition with regard to comets says: “Whichever way the flag (i.e., the luminous tail) flies or streams, from that quarter we may expect to hear the news of the death of a great chief.”
A fable of the sun’s setting says: “A big fish swallows him, but in a little while will cast him up again in the East, i.e., he will rise in the morning.” The usual way of saying the “sun has risen” is “the sun has climbed.” The Fijian speaks of the sun as still climbing the sky, till he reaches the meridian. After that the expression is, “he goes to his drowning.”
An hour before daybreak, which is always the coldest part of the night in Fiji, we took shelter in a thicket, and rested till the sun was well up in the Heavens. We had scarcely any provisions with us, and there was little occasion for that. A piece of sugar-cane, easily carried, and renewable at many places, as we walked along, furnished a sweet and nourishing juice which appeased at once both thirst and hunger.
The heavy dew of tropical countries lies long upon the ground, the valleys are often filled with vapour until several hours after sunrise, and the steamy billows are frequently seen ascending after the bright glare of the sun has made itself felt severely in exposed places.
As we went on our course, the grass was spangled with mountain dew. The carpets of bright green in the thick glassy glades of the forest glistened. The bosky landscape was for a time half veiled in the thin vapouries of the early morning. Soon the atmosphere became as lucid as crystal, pure as an opal, and a sky of pale turquoise blue, free as yet from the mid-day sheen, lent a softening splendour to the view. Sometimes the eye took in at a glance, orange and lemon trees bending under the weight of their golden spheres, the umbrageous bread fruit with its scolloped and variegated leaves, the green tops of the palm, the tapioca, guava, ginger, turmeric, arrowroot, and croton oil plants, the luscious pine-apple, and banks covered with the wild chili, brilliant with a rare combination of colours, and gay with the fresh verdure of eternal spring. Little rivulets glided from the base of one hill to the other, bubbling round grassy knolls, glancing from beneath low tree-fringed rocks, and singing in soft tones of the cool green woods through which they came. Huge cloud-capped hills rose to a height of 2,000 feet on either hand like a vast natural amphitheatre, their sides often perforated by peaceful valleys radiating down to the sea, and the crannies and crags of their summits ringing with the sound of the wind.