By-and-by it appeared that when once you had agreed to accept a native for your "flem," or friend, he from henceforward felt in duty bound to attend to all your wants which it lay within his power to supply.This important preliminary settled, fruit and provisions of various kinds appeared as if by magic.Huge baskets of luscious oranges, massive bunches of gold and green bananas, clusters of green cocoa-nuts, conch-shells full of chillies, fowls loudly protesting against their hard fate, gourds full of eggs, and a few vociferous swine--all came tumbling on board in richest profusion, and, strangest thing of all, not a copper was asked in return.I might have as truly said nothing was asked, since money must have been useless here.Many women came alongside, but none climbed on board.Surprised at this, Iasked Samuela the reason, as soon as I could disengage him for a few moments from the caresses of his friends.He informed me that the ladies' reluctance to favour us with their society was owing to their being in native dress, which it is punishable to appear in among white men, the punishment consisting of a rather heavy fine.Even the men and boys, I noticed, before they ventured to climb on board, stayed a while to put on trousers, or what did duty for those useful articles of dress.At any rate, they were all clothed, not merely enwrapped with a fold or two of "tapa," the native bark-cloth, but made awkward and ugly by dilapidated shirts and pants.
She was a busy ship for the rest of that day.The anchor down, sails furled and decks swept, the rest of the time was our own, and high jinks were the result.The islanders were amiability personified, merry as children, nor did I see or hear one quarrelsome individual among them.While we were greedily devouring the delicious fruit, which was piled on deck in mountainous quantities, they encouraged us, telling us that the trees ashore were breaking down under their loads, and what a pity it was that there were so few to eat such bountiful supplies.
We were, it appeared, the first whale-ship that had anchored there that year, and, in that particular bay where we lay, no vessel had moored for over two years.An occasional schooner from Sydney called at the "town" about ten miles away, where the viceroy's house was, and at the present time of speaking one of Godeffroi's Hamburg ships was at anchor there, taking in an accumulation of copra from her agent's store.But the natives all spoke of her with a shrug--"No like Tashman.Tashman no good." Why, I could not ascertain.
Our Kanakas had promised to remain with us till our departure for the south, so, hard as it seemed to them, they were not allowed to go ashore, in case they might not come back, and leave us short-handed.But as their relatives and friends could visit them whenever they felt inclined, the restriction did not hurt them much.The next day, being Sunday, all hands were allowed liberty to go ashore by turns (except the Kanakas), with strict injunctions to molest no one, but to behave as if in a big town guarded by policemen.As no money could be spent, none was given, and, best of all, it was impossible to procure any intoxicating liquor.
Our party got ashore about 9.30, but not a soul was visible either on the beach or in the sun-lit paths which led through the forest inland.Here and there a house, with doors wide open, stood in its little cleared space, silent and deserted.It was like a country without inhabitants.Presently, however, a burst of melody arrested us, and borne upon the scented breeze came oh, so sweetly!--the well-remembered notes of "Hollingside."Hurriedly getting behind a tree, I let myself go, and had a perfectly lovely, soul-refreshing cry.Reads funny, doesn't it?
Sign of weakness perhaps.But when childish memories come back upon one torrent-like in the swell of a hymn or the scent of the hawthorn, it seems to me that the flood-gates open without you having anything to do with it.When I was a little chap in the Lock Chapel choir, before the evil days came, that tune was my favourite; and when I heard it suddenly come welling up out of the depths of the forest, my heart just stood still for a moment, and then the tears came.Queer idea, perhaps, to some people;but I do not know when I enjoyed myself so much as I did just then, except when a boy of sixteen home from a voyage, and strolling along the Knightsbridge Road, I "happened" into the Albert Hall.I did not in the least know what was coming; the notices on the bills did not mean anything to me; but I paid my shilling, and went up into the gallery.I had hardly edged myself into a corner by the refreshment-stall, when a great breaker of sound caught me, hurled me out of time, thought, and sense in one intolerable ecstasy--"For unto us a Child is born;unto us a Son is given"--again and again--billows and billows of glory.I gasped for breath, shook like one in an ague fit; the tears ran down in a continuous stream; while people stared amazed at me, thinking, I suppose, that I was another drunken sailor.
Well, I was drunk, helplessly intoxicated, but not with drink, with something Divine, untellable, which, coming upon me unprepared, simply swept me away with it into a heaven of delight, to which only tears could testify.
