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H. Wilfrid Walker - Wanderings Among South Sea Savages
moment, and from the frightened looks of our crew I knew they expected the same thing. Hence, I was
not reassured when Ratu Lala remarked that it was in just such a sea, and in the same place, that he lost
his schooner (which the government had given him) and that on that occasion he and all his crew
remained in the water for five hours. When I explained that I had no wish to be upset, he said, "I suppose
you can swim?" I said "Yes! but I do not wish to lose my gun and other property," to which he replied,
"Well, I lost more than that when my schooner went down." I was therefore not a little relieved when he
had the sail lowered. He explained that he never liked being beaten, even if he drowned us all, and *all
this was because I had bet him one shilling (by his own desire) that he would not get a fish. I mention
this to show what foolhardy things he was capable of doing, never thinking of the consequences. I could
mention many such cases. We at length came to some shallows between a lot of small and most
picturesque islands, and as it was low tide, and we could not pass, we, viz., Ratu Lala, myself, and the
other chiefs, got out to walk, leaving the boat and crew to come on when they could (they arrived at 4
a.m. the next morning). I was glad to get an opportunity to dry myself, and we started off at a good rate
for our destination, but unfortunately we came to a spot where grew a small weed that the Fijians
consider a great luxury when cooked, and Ratu Lala and his people stayed here fully two hours, till they
had picked all the weed in sight, in spite of the heavy rain. It was amusing to see all these high-caste
Fijians and old Stivani, the jester, running to and fro with yells of delight like so many children, all on
account of a weed which I myself afterwards failed to enjoy.
On the way I shot three duck, and later, when it was too dark to shoot, we could see the beach between
the mangroves and the sea was almost black with them. On the other side of us there was a regular
chorus of wild chickens crowing and pigeons "howling" in the woods. After four hours' hard walking we
arrived at our destination, Qelani, long after dark, dead tired, and soaked to the skin. We put up at the
"Buli's" hut; he was a cousin of Ratu Lala, and was a hideous and sulky-looking fellow, but his hut was
one of the finest and neatest I had seen in Fiji. As I literally had not had a mouthful of food since the
previous evening, I was glad when about a dozen women entered bearing banana leaves covered with
yams, fish, octopus, chickens, etc. We stayed here some days, but we had miserable, wet weather. There
was excellent fishing in the stream here, and Ratu Lala especially had very good sport. Many of the fish
averaged one-and-a-half pounds and more, but he told me that they often run to five pounds. There were
three kinds, and all excellent eating. The commonest was a beautiful silvery fish, and another was of a
golden colour with bright red stripes. During the latter part of my stay in Qelani I suffered from a slight
attack of dysentery, and it was dull lying ill on the floor of a native hut with no one to talk to, as Ratu
Lala always tried to avoid speaking English whenever possible, and would often only reply in
monosyllables. It would often seem as if he were annoyed at something, but I found that he did this to all
white men, and meant nothing by it. I soon cured myself by eating a lot of raw leaves of some bush plant,
also a great quantity of native arrow-root.
In spite of my sickness I managed to shoot a fair number of duck, wild chickens and pigeon, and also a
few birds for my collection. One day, in spite of the rain, I was rowed over to Ngamia, which is a
wonderfully beautiful island, about three hours from Qelani. It was thickly covered with a fine cycad
which grows amongst the rocks overhanging the sea. The natives call it "loga-loga,"[8] and eat the fruit. I
landed and botanized a bit, finding some new and interesting plants, and then rowed on a few miles to
call on the only white man on the island, an Australian named Mitchell, who has a large coconut
property. He was astonished and pleased to see me, and introduced me to his Fijian wife, and his two
pretty half-caste daughters soon got together a good breakfast for me. He seemed glad to see a white man
again, and nearly talked my head off , and was full of anecdotes about the fighting they had with the
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