It is fitting that the way to a shrine should be a hard one, for to the man filled with the true passion of pilgrimage the pangs of the journey are a part of the reward for making it. The one who loves his Stevenson and his South Seas, will also love every stone upon which he stumbles, every creeper that rasps his cheek, every throb of his overworked heart, every ache in his racked muscles in that soul and body-trying climb to the summit of the mountain where the Master sleeps. I had seen pilgrims of one kind or another stumbling on their way many times previous to that stormy afternoon that I climbed the heights behind Vailima, but always without comprehending what it was that urged them forward. That day knowledge came, and when, in the year that followed, I met Nepalese and Burman plodding the dusty river road to Buddh-Gaya, or Turk and Arab trudging south from Damascus on the last leg of the Mecca Hadj, it was to greet them with the sympathetic smile that said, "I, too, know why."
Of the Great Ones of the earth, only Cecil John Rhodes, looking forth
"Across the world he won—
The granite of the ancient North—
Great spaces washed with sun,"
sleeps as appropriately surrounded as does Stevenson. But Tusitala—I have seen the tears start to the eyes of the great Chiefs, Mataafa and Seumanu, at the mention of that name—has also the world he won at his feet, while on his tomb are words unparalleled in fitness by any epitaph ever graven, a verse as deathless as the fame of the gentle soul that sleeps beneath. Stevenson's self-composed epitaph, read from a printed page, is an unblemished jewel of verse, no more; read from the bronze tablet of the tomb by the climber of the Heights, to the requiems of the Trade-wind in the trees and the mutter of the distant surf, it is as though breathed by the spirit of the Master himself.
"Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and glad did I die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
'Here he lies where he longed to be—
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.'"
As a colonial experiment German Samoa—the islands of Upolou, Savaii, Manono and Apolima—was not a startling success. During the first four years of the militant Teutonic government disaffection became rife among the natives, agricultural production fell off and trade languished. Realizing that a change of policy was imperative, Emperor William sent out to Apia one of the most distinguished statesmen and scholars in the Fatherland, Dr. Solf, a former member of the Reichstag, and under his wise régime much of the lost ground was regained. As far as might be in a German colony, the new Governor endeavoured to follow the plan so successfully adopted by the Americans in Tutuila, that of exercising a gentle supervision over the natives, directing them in matters of insular importance and leaving the Chiefs supreme in village affairs. This policy—the only one that can ever be successful with the high-spirited, liberty-loving Samoans—will be good as long as it lasts, but unfortunately it will take a man of no less breadth of character, humanity and imagination than Dr. Solf to maintain it, and such a governor is hardly likely to be forthcoming.
As the administrator of actual colonies, Germany's problem in her Samoan possessions is a more difficult one than that of the United States, which only exercises a protectorate over Tutuila and Manua. With extensive copra and cacao plantations under exploitation, German subjects in Samoa will never cease to chafe under the necessity of importing practically all of their labour from the Solomons, New Hebrides and other islands to the west, when there are thirty or forty thousand Samoans close at hand who spend their days in dreaming and their nights in singing and dancing. Of course, the Samoans never have performed regular labour, and can never be brought to do so, a fact, however, which the energetic and industrious Teuton finds it hard to understand. A governor of less force and breadth of vision than Dr. Solf will find it difficult to withstand the pressure of the planting interests for the inauguration of a policy that will, in some manner, make the Samoan more productive. One does not need a lifetime of acquaintance with the Samoan to know that the first step in this direction will mark the beginning of an era of discontent that nothing but a re-establishment of the broad, human régime of Dr. Solf can bring to an end.
Dr. Solf was the Governor of German Samoa at the time of our visit to Apia, and our meetings with him were among the pleasantest features of our stay. We found him all that our naval friends in Tutuila had claimed, quite the biggest figure among South Pacific executives, and it was with no surprise and much pleasure that we heard of his subsequent elevation to the post of Colonial Secretary, next to that of Prime Minister the most important portfolio in the gift of Emperor William.[1]
Outside of his political activities, Dr. Solf had long been prominent in German yachting circles, and on one of his calls aboard Lurline he appeared in the uniform of an officer of the Kiel Yacht Club.