Fifty years ago two English missionaries in the Fijis wrote a book in which they said that the traffic in sandalwood, tortoise-shell and beche-de-mer among those islands “has been, and still is chiefly in the hands of Americans from the port of Salem.” No corner of the Seven Seas seems to have been too hostile or remote to be overlooked by the shipmasters of old Salem in their quest for trade. The first vessels of the East India Company to touch at the Fijis made a beginning of that commerce a little more than a hundred years ago. No more than four years after their pioneer voyage, however, Captain William Richardson in the Salem bark Active was trading with the natives and continuing his voyage to Canton in 1811. During the next half century the untutored people of the Fijis pictured the map of America as consisting mostly of a place called Salem whose ships and sailors were seldom absent from their palm-fringed beaches.

When Commodore Wilkes sailed on his exploring expedition of the South Seas in 1840, his pilot and interpreter was Captain Benjamin Vandeford of Salem. He died on the way home from this famous cruise and Commodore Wilkes wrote of him: “He had formerly been in command of various vessels sailing from Salem, and had made many voyages to the Fiji Islands. During our stay there he was particularly useful in superintending all trade carried on to supply the ship.” It was another Salem skipper of renown, Captain John H. Eagleston, who carried one of Commodore Wilkes’ vessels safely into port in 1840 among the Fijis by reason of his intimate knowledge of those waters.

South Sea trading in that era was a romance of commerce, crowded with perilous adventure. The brig Charles Doggett of Salem, commanded by Captain George Batchelder was lying off Kandora in the Fijis in 1833, when her crew was attacked by natives. Five of the seamen and the mate were killed and most of the others wounded. On her way to Manila in the same voyage the brig touched at the Pelew Islands and was again attacked, in which affray a cabin boy was killed. The Charles Doggett had previously played a part in one of the most romantic chapters of ocean history, the mutiny of the Bounty. In 1831, Captain William Driver took the brig to Tahiti whither, a short time before, the Bounty colony had been transported by the British Government from its first home on Pitcairn Island. There were eighty-seven of these descendants of the original mutineers, and they had been taken to Tahiti at their own request to seek a more fertile and habitable island. They were an Utopian colony, virtuous, and intensely pious, and soon disgusted with the voluptuous immoralities of the Tahitians, they became homesick for the isolated peace of Pitcairn Island, and begged to be carried back. When Captain Driver found them they besought him to take them away from Tahiti, and he embarked them for Pitcairn Island, fourteen hundred miles away. They had been gone only nine months and they rejoiced with touching eagerness and affection at seeing their old home again. Captain Driver went on his way in the Charles Doggett, with the satisfaction of having done a kindly deed for one of the most singularly attractive and picturesque communities known in modern history.[44]

Another kind of sea-story was woven in the loss of the Salem ship Glide which was wrecked at Tacanova in 1832, after her company had been set upon by natives with the loss of two seamen. The South Sea Islands were very primitive in those days, and the narrative of the Glide as told by one of her crew portrays customs, conditions and adventures which have long since vanished. The Glide was owned by the famous Salem shipping merchant Joseph Peabody, and commanded by Captain Henry Archer. She sailed for the South Pacific in 1829, with a crew of young men hailing from her home port. While at New Zealand a journal kept on board records that “the presence of several English whale ships helped to relieve the most timid of us from any feeling of insecurity because of the treachery of the natives. Among the visitors on board was a chief supposed to have been concerned in the massacre of the ship Boyd’s crew in the Bay of Islands. Some of the particulars of this tragedy were related to us by foreigners resident at New Zealand. The chief was a man of very powerful frame, and of an exceedingly repulsive appearance. The cook said: ‘There, that fellow looks as though he could devour any of us without salt.’”

A little later in the voyage the Glide hit a reef and her captain decided that she must be hove down and repaired. How small these old-time vessels were is shown in this process of heaving them down, or careening on some sandy beach when their hulls needed cleaning or repairs. In the Peabody Museum of Salem there is a painting done by one of the crew, of the Salem brig Eunice which was hauled ashore on a South Sea island. After stripping, emptying her and caulking her seams, the crew discovered that it was a task beyond their strength to launch her again. What did they do but assemble all the spare timber, cut down trees and hew planks, and after incredible exertion build a huge cask around the brig’s dismantled hull. It was more of a cylinder than a cask, however, from which the bow and stern of the craft extended. Lines were passed to her boats and the windlass called into action as she lay at anchor close to the beach.

Then with hawsers rigged around the great cask, every possible purchase was obtained, and slowly the brig began to roll over and over toward the sea, exactly as a barrel is rolled down the skids into a warehouse. In this unique and amazing fashion the stout Eunice was trundled into deep water. As soon as she was afloat, the planking which encased her was stripped off and she was found to be uninjured. Then her masts were stepped and rigged, her ballast, stores and cargo put aboard, and she sailed away for Salem. The painting of this ingenious incident tells the story more convincingly than the description.

The account of the heaving down of the Glide is not so unusual as this but it throws an interesting light upon the problems of these resourceful mariners of other days. “To heave down the ship was an undertaking requiring great caution and ability,” the journal relates. “A large ship to be entirely dismantled; a large part of her cargo to be conveyed ashore; a floating stage of spars and loose timbers constructed alongside; ourselves surrounded by cannibals, scores of which were continually about the vessel and looking as if they meditated mischief. It was well for the Glide that her captain not only knew the ropes but had been a ship carpenter and could use an axe. He had not, like many masters of vessels nowadays, climbed up to the captain’s berth through the cabin window. He was fully equal to this emergency.”

The ship, having been hove down without mishap, was made ready for opening a trade in beche-de-mer, a species of sea slug, which was dried and carried to China as a delicacy in high repute among the people of that country. A safe anchorage was found, and the king of the nearest tribe “made pliable” by numerous gifts after which a contract was made with him for gathering the cargo. He assembled his people and set them at work erecting on the beach the row of buildings needed for storing and curing the sea slugs.

When this was done the warriors of nearby friendly tribes began to appear in canoes, bringing their wives and children. They built huts along the beach until an uproarious village had sprung up. Its people bartered tortoise shell, hogs and vegetables for iron tools, and whales’ teeth, and helped gather beche-de-mer in the shallow water along the reefs. Two of the ship’s officers and perhaps a dozen of the crew lived ashore for the purpose of curing the cargo. Their plant was rather imposing, consisting of a “Batter House,” a hundred feet long by thirty wide in which the fish was spread and smoked; the “Trade House” in which were stored muskets, pistols, cutlasses, cloth, iron-ware, beads, etc., and the “Pot House” which contained the great kettles used for boiling the unsavory mess. In putting up these buildings the king would make a hundred of his islanders toil a week on end for a musket—and he kept the musket.

“The business aboard, the din of industry ashore, the coming and going of boats and the plying of hundreds of canoes to and from the sea reef, gave much animation to things,” writes the chronicler of this voyage of the Glide.

“Indeed I could not but regard the scene, among islands so little known to the world, as highly creditable to the commercial enterprise of the merchants engaged in the trade. Where next, thought I, will Salem vessels sail? North or south, around Good Hope or the Horn, we find them, officered and manned by Salem men. The Glide’s company were thirty men, most of whom were young, strong and active, a force sufficient with our muskets, pistols, cutlasses, etc., to resist any attack from the natives. Though without a profusion of ornamental work, the Glide was a beautiful model, as strong as oak and ship carpenters could make her. At anchor in the harbor of Miambooa, she had a warlike appearance. Heavy cannon loaded with a cannister and grape shot projected from the port holes on each side. In each top was a chest of arms and ammunition. On deck and below, weapons of defense were so arranged as to be available at short notice. Boarding nettings eight or ten feet high were triced up around the ship by tackles, and whipping lines suspended from the ends of the lower yardarms.”

Before the journal deals with the tragedy and loss of the Glide, the author jots down such bits of information as this:

“One of the most powerful chiefs on this island (Overlau) at the time of our visiting it, was Mr. David Whepley, an American, and, I believe, a native of New Bedford, whence he had sailed some years before in a whale ship. For some cause, on the arrival of the vessel here, he took sudden leave and ultimately became distinguished among the natives. He was a young man apparently about thirty years of age.”

The career of a trader in the South Seas three-quarters of a century ago was enlivened by incidents like the following:

“When passing within a few miles of Pennrhyn’s Island, we noticed some canoes filled with savages coming off to the ship. Wishing to procure some grass for our live-stock, we hove to and awaited their approach. Their numbers and strength made it prudent to put ourselves in a defensive position; each man was armed and our cannon, loaded with grape-shot, were run out at the port holes.

“Presently there were alongside fifty or sixty of the most repulsive monsters that I ever beheld; very tall, of complexion unmixed black, with coarse stiff hair like dog’s bristles, and their language, if such it was, more resembling dogs barking than articulate speech. Their whole aspect was truly terrific. They were not permitted to come on board, but only to clamber up the sides of the vessel. The ship’s channels fore and aft on both sides were filled with them. The Glide’s company was armed, yet our situation was very perilous.

“Whilst Captain Archer was selecting some articles of trade, a spear was hurled at him by a savage standing in the larboard mizzen channels. I stood within four or five feet of the captain, and saw the savage, but his movement was so quick that I could not in season give the alarm. The captain was leaning over the larboard hencoop, his back was toward the savage, and but for a providential turning of his head, the spear would have pierced his neck. As it was, it grazed his neck and inflicted a slight wound.

“This seemed to be a signal for attack; the savages became exceedingly clamorous. The captain commanded ‘Fire.’ It was a fearful order and fearfully obeyed. Five or six savages, among them the one who had hurled the spear, were shot and fell back with a death shriek into the sea. Others were severely wounded by our boarding pikes, and cutlasses. Two or three of the crew were slightly injured in keeping the natives from the deck. Had the captain’s orders been a moment delayed, the savages must have gained the better of us. As soon as the captain’s order had been given I let go the weather main-brace. A six knot breeze was blowing and the yards having been quickly rounded, the motion was soon sufficient to embarrass the savages, and we were enabled to drive them from the ship.

“As the Glide moved on, we left them astern in the utmost confusion. Their situation was truly pitiable. The sun had set; there was a heavy sea, and the wind was freshening. They were five miles from their island. Some were swimming about hither and thither to recover their canoes which had been upset by the ship’s progress; some went soon to the bottom, and others who had gained their canoes sat hideously bemoaning the desolation around them. Their eyes rolled wildly as they hurled their spears toward the ship, and they howled and gnashed their teeth like so many fiends of darkness. We passed within a mile of the island, and observed numerous fires kindled along the shore, probably as beacons to guide back the natives who had attacked us.”

Captain Archer’s ship filled her hold with beche-de-mer and took it to Manila, returning to the Fijis for a second cargo. Arriving once more at the island of Overlau, the first and third officers with part of the crew were sent in a boat to Lakamba, an island twenty-five miles distant to conduct the traffic in beche-de-mer. Because of shoal water the ship could not follow them and she carried on a trade at her anchorage in tortoise shell and sandal wood. “Knowing that on the completion of our second cargo,” reads the journal, “we were to leave the Fijis, the party at Lakamba worked with zeal. The men aboard ship were no less industrious. The armorer and his mate manufactured knives, chisels, and other cutlery for exchange. The carpenter was busy at his bench. Above some were repairing the rigging; on deck others were mending sails, and making matting bags to pack beche-de-mer. The sun shone not on a more faithful crew. The captain traded with the natives when they came alongside, and directed all matters aboard. Thus prosperously passed several weeks.

“We were frequently visited by David Whepley, the American chieftain at Overlau; sometimes accompanied by two or three of his warriors. He was usually dressed as a sailor and had with him a loaded rifle whose good qualities were the main topic of his conversation. He also told us much concerning his singular life, and his adopted people, over whom he seemed to have great influence owing to his superior wisdom, and the good terms existing between him and the powerful king of Bou. The king of Bou sometimes visited us. When this old chief, whose complexion was darkness visible out of which peered two deep-set glaring eyeballs with a grizzly beard tapering to a point a foot below his chin, came alongside in his large double canoe, the spectacle was impressive. This canoe was of curious and imposing structure, able to hold a hundred or more persons, with a triangular matting sail as large as the Glide’s maintopsail. He was accompanied by forty or fifty vigorous black warriors, huge but symmetrical in build, with elegant white turbans on their heads, and ornaments hanging from their ears. They were girt with some white tapas, and held massive clubs and spears which they use with terrible effect.

“One morning about forty of the savages of Overlau brought some fruit off the ship, ostensibly for trade. Only two or three of them were allowed to come on board at a time. Nine or ten of the crew were variously occupied in different parts of the ship. The armorer and myself were at work together on the forecastle. In a short time our suspicions were excited by seeing our visitors engaged in close conversation among themselves, and counting the men, ‘Rua, Tolo, Va, Leema, Ono, Vetu,’ etc. (one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, etc.). The armorer was going aft to inform the captain of the circumstances when our second officer, on looking over the ship’s side, saw some savages busily passing up weapons to others standing in the channels. The men aloft, having also perceived this manoeuvre, hurried down on deck and discharged a volley of musketry over the heads of the visitors which dispersed them. Some leaped into the sea, others into their canoes, and swam or paddled ashore in great consternation.”

But the company of the Glide were not to escape scot-free from the hostility of the Fijians. A few days after the foregoing incident, the second officer, carpenter, and six of the foremast hands were sent ashore to cut an anchor-stalk of timber. As usual, the boat was well supplied with arms and ammunition. A boy of the party was left in charge of the boat on the beach, and the others went into the nearest woods. Presently a score of natives appeared and tried to trade, but the sailors were too busy to deal with them, whereupon they sauntered off to the beach and began to annoy the lad who had been left behind. Before long they were stealing articles from the boat and the young sentinel raised an alarm.

“The men hearing the cry were making for the boat,” relates the diarist of the Glide, “when the savages in a body rushed towards them. Our sailors, levelling their loaded muskets, retreated backward to the beach, avoiding with great difficulty the clubs and spears hurled at them. Thus all but two reached the boat. One of these as he came down to the water’s edge, imprudently discharged his musket, and was instantly attacked and overpowered. He succeeded in throwing himself into the water, and after swimming a few strokes was seen to lift his head streaming with blood, and with his hand beckon feebly for the boat which, amidst the excitement, had been shoved off into deep water. He was followed by the savages, again attacked, dragged ashore and slain. The other unfortunate man rushed from the woods, hewing his way with the butt of his musket through the crowd of savages and fell dead on the beach.

“Whilst the crew on board was busily engaged in washing decks, the fearful war-cry of the natives fell upon our ears. David Whepley, who was sitting with some members of his tribe upon the taffrail, cried out, ‘There is trouble with your shipmates ashore.’ Seeing the flash and hearing the report of the musket, I ran aft to give the alarm to Captain Archer who hastened on deck and after scanning the beach with the glass, ordered a boat away in which Whepley himself went.

“Our feeling may be imagined as we went over the ship’s side and watched in silence the first boat making towards us, having on board only six of the eight men who had left the ship. Who had been left behind we knew not, until on a nearer approach one of the crew exclaimed: ‘I do not see Derby or Knight.’[45]

“The lifeless bodies of the two men were found by the second boat’s company lying on the beach stripped of their clothing and dreadfully mangled. They were wrapped in garments, brought on board and laid out upon the quarterdeck. About eleven o’clock of the same day they were committed to the care of David Whepley, who carried them to his end of the island and buried them. Although no funeral services were formally held, yet in the hearts of all that looked upon the dead, and walked the deck in sadness, were solemn thoughts of death and earnest hopes that this severe and unexpected stroke might influence for good our after lives.”

Not long after this tragedy the Glide sailed for the island of Miambooa, which was destined to be the scene of her loss. The story of the wreck and the experience of the survivors among a tribe of singularly friendly Fijis seems worthy a place in the history of Salem seafarers.

“Every boat load of beche-de-mer that came off from the shore (at Miambooa),” runs the story, “was greeted with joy, for it added something to the cargo which was fast being completed. Friendly relations existed between the natives and ourselves, so that the trade was undisturbed. The ship was in good order and we were almost ready to leave the islands. At evening the officers walked the quarterdeck with lighter step, and the crew, well and happy, assembled upon the forecastle which resounded with their mirth and songs. One of these songs was ‘Home Sweet Home,’ and under a clear starlit sky, enjoying after hard work the grateful ocean breeze, the inspiring chorus of this song burst forth from our hearts, and recalled to memory long past and distant scenes. Our shipmates ashore also caught our pealing chorus as it floated over the still water to their ears and they sent it back to the ship like an echo.

“On March 31, (1831), the sky began to lower, and sudden gusts of wind blowing violently down the high land which eastward overhangs the town of Bonne Rarah, caused the ship to careen and gave token of a coming storm. The signal guns at their usual hour announced ‘all’s well,’ but in the gloomy light the wind increased to hurricane force and after making a gallant fight of it the Glide dragged her anchors and was driven on a reef. The crew got ashore in daylight, but after being twenty-two months absent from port, was wrecked the Glide, one of the stateliest ships that ever sailed from Salem.”

“Among those who left the ship in the same party with me,” wrote our survivor, “was a young man who communicated to me some interesting particulars of his life. His name was William Carey. He had sailed, some years before, from Nantucket in the whale-ship Oreno, which was wrecked near Turtle Island, one of the Fijis. The officers and crew escaped from the wreck, but Carey, noticing a disturbance between his shipmates and the natives, concealed himself, fearing the issue. He remained in safe seclusion two or three days, not venturing to go out lest he should suffer what he supposed to be and what was, the fate of his companions, and he stealthily crept from his concealment in search of food. He was seen by a native, and, conscious of being discovered, he seated himself on a rock, and turning his back toward the savage, awaited the result in powerless despair. The native approached him, bade him rise and conducted him to the Boore.[46] The natives held an animated conference at which it was decided to spare his life, and he was taken by the chief into his family, and ever afterwards well provided for and kindly treated.

“Several years after the loss of the Oreno, the Salem ship Clay, Captain Vandeford, of Salem, arrived at the same island. Carey’s acquaintance with the language and customs of the natives enabled him to render important services in the way of trade. After the departure of the Clay from the islands Carey shipped on board the brig Quill, Captain Kinsman of Salem. With this vessel he remained until her cargo was completed when he was induced to take a berth in the Glide. Thus was he twice wrecked at the Fijis, and twice subjected to a residence among the savages without meanwhile visiting home.

“In the course of two or three days after the wreck of the Glide, the king permitted a part of the crew with several natives to go off to the ship to get the salt provisions and bread. Fifty or sixty savages were ransacking the wreck in every part, stripping the rigging from the spars, unhinging the cabin doors, hacking timber to extract nails and spikes, beating in barrels and hogsheads, dragging up our chests from the forecastle, jabbering all the while like monkeys yet working with the steady gravity of old caulkers. The sight was painful, yet their eagerness to outdo each other in securing booty was amusing.

“In my chest was a small package of letters valuable to me alone, which I was now, in my misfortune, especially desirous to keep. As I went towards the chest to get them I was repulsed by a savage who raised his club over my head and bade me begone or he would slay me. ‘Sah- lago, sah- senga, ne- lago, sah- moke.’ I desisted from my purpose, and in a few minutes saw my chest with every token of home in it tumbled over the ship’s side.

“Our beche-de-mer about half filled the hold and by the bilging of the ship, had become a putrid mass. At the foot of the mainmast was a barrel of cast iron axes whose position the natives had somehow learned. Their desire for this tempting prize overcame their reluctance to use the only means of securing it, and down they dove into the loathsome mass at the risk of suffocation, often plunging in vain several times and crawling back on deck covered with slime. One native in diving came in contact with some mortar formed by a cask of lime that was broken by the motion of the ship. Grasping a handful he returned dripping with beche-de-mer and asked what the strange substance was. ‘The white man’s bread,’ answered one of the crew. The native took a large mouthful which well nigh strangled him and spat it out with many wry faces and ludicrous motions amid the loud laughter of his friends.

“Soon after the complete plundering of the ship, a council respecting us was held in the Boore by the king, priests and warriors. It was told me that on the arrival of the first boat’s company at Bonne Rarah, the captain was thus questioned by the king. ‘Should Fijians be cast ashore among your people, how would you treat them?’ ‘Kindly,’ was the reply. ‘Then,’ rejoined the king, ‘I will treat you kindly. Go with your men to the Boore, and I will protect you.’ Nevertheless the consultation caused us many misgivings. The king urged that our services would be very valuable in showing them the use of muskets and in repairing them, in making bullets, etc. One chief thought that we should eat too much, and hence prudently suggested our being dispatched at once. The high priest arose to give his judgment, which was awaited with great interest. This man was very black, of monstrous size, and most unpleasant to look at. He recommended that they make hogs of us, alluding to the practice of killing these animals by blows on the head, cooking and eating them. This advice was consistent with the reputation of this priest. It was said that on the morning before the wreck of the ship, he stood outside his hut yelling and writhing. The natives declared that he shouted or bewitched the vessel ashore.

“After much discussion the better counsel of the king prevailed. The decision was made known to us all by natives who ran and embraced us crying ‘Sambooloa booloa papalangi.’ (The white men will not be hurt.)

“Soon after the breaking up of the council the king as a reassurance of his favor, returned to us a few of our belongings. His method of distribution showed either his supreme contempt for maritime rank or a great error in valuation, for whilst to the crew generally he gave garments or other things very needful and acceptable, upon Captain Archer he bestowed with the utmost dignity and condescension a wornout chart and a useless fragment of an old flannel shirt. The interest of the king in our welfare constantly showed itself during our three months’ residence at Bonne Rarah. Almost daily he looked in upon us to learn our wants, and kept in his house for our sole use quantities of tea, coffee and tobacco, which he distributed to us as need required. If we met him in our walks about the village the salutations ‘sah-andra, touronga-lib,’ (welcome king), ‘sah-andra papalangi,’ (welcome white man), were amicably exchanged. There was withal about him a dignity which well comported with his kingly character, and showed that any violations of loyalty on the part of the natives or of due respect on ours would not go unpunished.

“On the 28th of March, Captain Archer, Carey and two or three of our men sailed in our boat by the king’s consent, to the island of Bou, the capital of the Fijis. This, our first separation, though on many accounts painful, was prudently planned, as a vessel was rumored to be in the vicinity of Bou. After exchanging farewells and cheers of mutual encouragement they started on their perilous adventure of sailing two hundred miles in a small boat, exposed to many dangers, and, not the least, attacks from savages.

“The singular use made of our clothing by the natives was often ludicrous. Some wore our jackets buttoned down behind, others had on our trousers wrong side before; one little fellow strutted along in a ruffled shirt which had belonged to one of the officers, the ruffles flaring on his back. Amongst the booty from the ship were many casks of powder, of whose explosive nature the natives had little knowledge. In one dwelling which we visited were a large number of kegs of powder promiscuously placed on the floor, in the centre of which a fire was kindled. The family was cooking their usual food, loose powder was scattered about, and the proprietor himself, dressed in a sailor’s jacket and with a Scotch cap on his head, sat on a keg of powder before the fire, composedly smoking his pipe. We were somewhat amazed at the sight. Indeed it may be doubted whether Damocles himself (whose famous sword has become much blunted by its frequent use in illustration) had more cause to be ill at ease at his feast than we had while paying our native friend the civilities of the season. Our visit was not protracted and we took leave before the dinner in preparation was ready to be eaten.

“Occasionally we invited the king to share our provisions with us. Whenever he was graciously pleased to accept the invitation he brought with him a chair, plate, knife and fork (which he had obtained from the ship), and after seating himself with becoming dignity, grasped the knife in his left hand at such an angle that as soon as one piece of food entered his mouth two fell back upon his plate. He also used his fork as a toothpick, thus confirming the notion that this practice comports better with the manners of savage than of civilized life.

“An odd volume of Shakespeare saved from the wreck, moved us to get up a dramatic entertainment, the subject of which was the voyage of the Glide. The play began with the captain engaged in shipping a crew at a sailor’s boarding house, and holding forth all those eloquent attractions usually set off by this class of men. Following this scene were various mishaps of the voyage. The king and a crowd of natives were seated before us on mats, and paid wondering attention, at a loss to understand most of our sayings and doings until in the course of the play, our arrival at the Fijis was pictured. The trafficking and haggling with the natives was mimicked by an officer, playing the part of a Fijian, and a common sailor as the trading master. Our drift was more clearly comprehended now, and the progress of the action more eagerly watched. And when the efforts of the natives to cheat us were baffled, the sense of the whole matter flashed upon the audience, and the Boore resounded with an uproar of savage delight. Through the remainder of the play, involving the wreck and our hospitable reception by the king, to whom and his people many compliments were paid by the actors, we were followed with intense interest, and at the close by expressions of royal satisfaction.”

The life of these islanders, as enjoyed by the crew of the Glide was a kind of tropical idyl, and the white trader had not yet blighted them with rum and disease. Our sailor narrator wrote of this Eden into which he was cast by a kindly fate: “One day, I was invited by a chief, whom I had frequently visited, to accompany him on an excursion to the interior of the island. We passed through a defile of the mountains, and then struck into a well-beaten path leading through a rather uneven region. The beautiful diversity of prospect from the higher portions of our course, the mild air of the delightful day, birds of brilliant plumage singing in the trees about us, the ripe and grateful fruit easily procured, patches of sugar cane here and there pleasant to see and taste, agreeable conversation, and the kind civilities of natives whom we met, made our walk the source of intense and various enjoyment.

“At sunset, we reached our journey’s end, a small village of about thirty rudely constructed huts, and were heartily welcomed by the chief of the tribe, who conducted us to his house, and soon set before us a repast of baked pig, fruit and vegetables. In the evening, about twenty natives, invited by our host, assembled, among whom were several that I had seen on board the ship, and who recognized me with apparent delight. A general conversation was held, relating, beside many other topics, to the lost ship, the white men and their country, throughout which it was gratifying to observe mutual kindness and courtesy prevailed. The social party was highly interesting, occasionally enlivened with good-humored mirth.

“In the morning we visited the Boore, which was similarly constructed, though in every respect inferior, to that at Bonne Rarah. In the centre of the apartment, where we held the religious ceremonies, which were about to commence when we reached the building, was a very large bowl of angona or avaroot, of which, after being properly prepared, all the natives assembled repeatedly partook, the intervals between the potations being occupied by the priest pronouncing certain forms of speech, to which the audience who were seated around the apartment, now and then responded. Near the door were arranged in open sight, several small, round blocks of wood, singularly ornamented with sennit and carved work, to which the natives, as they came in and retired, made low obeisance. As usual, no females were present. After the conclusion of the service, which held an hour, we rambled about the village, being kindly welcomed wherever we called; and, at length, returned to the house of the hospitable chief, whence, having partaken of another ample feast, and thanked our host for his kind attention, we departed for Bonne Rarah. My excursion surprised both me and my shipmates, to whom I gave an account of it, for we had previously heard much said of the ferocity of the inland savages.

“In the latter part of April, a festival which we were kindly invited to attend, was held at a village about forty miles from Bonne Rarah. As the place, though on the island of Tacanova, was easiest of access by sailing, my shipmates, it was determined, should accompany the king in his double canoe; and I went with the chief with whom I had made the inland excursion, in his single canoe. My patron I found to be very loquacious, for, instead of our holding a pleasant conversation together, he took upon himself to give me a lecture of what was to be expected at the coming festival, diversifying his discourse with ‘solib,’ grand feast; ‘leebo, leebo,’ great, great; ‘benacka, benacka,’ good, good; ‘mungety-leelo,’ plenty of provisions; ‘pookah,’ pigs; ‘ouvie,’ yams; ‘aooto,’ bread-fruit; ‘boondy,’ plantains, all which expressions, of course, deeply impressed my imagination. Now and then he asked, whether I comprehended what he said. Whatever was my response, he was none the less talkative, for when he questioned me, ‘sah gala guego,’ do you understand? if I answered ‘sah- senga,’ no, he labored long and hard to make his meaning clear to my mind; and, if my reply was ‘sah gala qu ow,’ ‘I do understand,’ he took courage from the honest confession, and at once proceeded to give me more information.

“Soon after sunset, having landed at a small island midway between Bonne Rarah and the place to which we were bound, we were well received by the natives, who conducted us to their Boore, near the top of a high hill, and presently furnished us with a generous repast. Here, in less than an hour, the report of our arrival drew together many savages, from whose evident astonishment, as they gazed upon me, I conjectured that most of them had never seen a white man. Though we were kindly invited to spend the night here, yet the curiosity of the natives made them reluctant to retire from the Boore, and leave us to sleep. Our singular situation, exposure to attacks from savages, over whom kindness and ferocity hold rule by turns, and a consciousness of our almost complete helplessness in such a case, occasioned in me unquiet feelings, which, in truth, were not allayed by my dear friend, the cannibal-chief, who frequently started up from his mat in great excitement, and paced rapidly to and fro, with his war-club at his side. The chief, at length, explained his singular conduct by telling me that the savages designed to detain me on their island, and that he had been anxiously devising some way to defeat their purpose. At his suggestion, early in the morning, before the natives were stirring, we silently left the Boore. I placed myself on the chief’s broad shoulders, and held in one hand his war-club, and in the other his canoe-paddle. Thus we stole softly down the steep hill, and when we came to the beach, to our amazement, our canoe was no where to be seen. The chief in the height of his vexation, brandished his club towards the Boore, and poured forth a torrent of imprecation. Fearful that his wild anger would soon arouse the natives, I looked about for the canoe, and after careful search, found it secreted in a thicket near the shore. We dragged it with difficulty to the water, hoisted our three-cornered sail, and unmolested sailed away from the island.

“The sun had just risen, when we reached the landing-place, about a mile from the spot chosen for the festival. We were among the first comers. On the glittering waves at some distance, we saw hundreds of canoes, some boldly advancing on the open sea, others more wary keeping nearer the shore, and others now and then emerging into sight from behind points of land and small islands, all bound, with their shouting crews, for the general feast. They soon drew nearer and companies of natives from neighboring islands and remote villages of Tacanova, landed, in quick succession, at the beach, and made the hills echo with their loud rejoicing.

“The plain selected for the feast was of many acres, covered with liveliest verdure, surrounded by groves in which were many fruit trees, and through it coursed brooks of pure water from adjacent highlands. In its centre was a pyramid, apparently eight feet square at the base, and tapering fifteen feet to a point of yams; and near it was a smaller one, of angona root. Hanging from gnarled branches of ironwood trees, in another part of the field, were large quantities of plantains, cocoanuts and bread-fruit. At one end were several pens, filled with swine, of which there were at least a hundred, while the men, profusely anointed with cocoanut oil, decorated with garlands of beads and flowers, having on their heads very large white turbans and around their waists elegant maros, were proudly strutting about the place, displaying their fashionable attire; and the women were meekly and laboriously cooking food.

“After the completed preparation, the different tribes of the numerous assemblage arranged themselves on the grass in semicircles, about ten paces in front of which were seated their respective king, chiefs and priests, and between these dignitaries and the people were placed their appointed provisions. The tribes all first drank angona, and then, four or five natives, who attended each tribe as waiters, began dividing the food, and another taking on a plantain leaf a parcel of it, advanced to the master of the feast for the division, and asked ‘quotha,’ (for whom), when the name of some one being spoken aloud, the person thus designated clapped his hands to make known his position, and, being at once supplied with his portion, began eating it with strips of bamboo sharpened on one edge and pointed. This ceremony was repeated until all received their shares, reference being made to rank in the order of distribution.

“In the afternoon two or three hundred young females, wearing girdles of variegated grass and leaves, and necklaces of colored beads and flowers, danced with liveliest and modest mien across the plain, loudly singing and waving beautiful fans over their heads with easy uniformity and grace; and then adroitly wheeling about, retraced their way, with fans flourishing in the air, echoing song and sprightly dance.

“Next came forward a party of men, with hair frizzled in the highest style of Fijian art, tapering beards, long tapas of snowy native cloth, contrasting with their own swarthy color and trailing on the grass, their arms and faces shining with cocoanut oil, carrying their stout and polished war-clubs; and, having arranged themselves in two divisions, a pace apart, in open distance, they raised with united voices a piercing war song, in time with which all made the same impressive gestures. Now they bent back their bodies, elevating their war-clubs in the air, in seeming preparation for attack; then, with faces of determined courage, lifting higher their shrill, fierce chorus, all leaped as one man onward, as if about to meet a furious foe; and, at last, as if they had achieved a noble victory changing to triumphal notes their yell of onset, with fiend-like grimaces they danced wildly about in a thousand intricate and changeful steps.

“Our company, being requested by several chiefs, on the second day of the festival, to amuse in our turn the assembled crowds, concluded to perform a few military manoeuvres. We chose one of us captain, recalled what we knew of soldiers’ tactics, and keeping time by a whistled tune, in lack of better accompaniment, advanced in open order, and charged bayonets; marched with muskets shouldered in lock-step and solid column; formed a hollow square, and, finally wheeled into line. All our movements were watched with eager eyes by the natives who expressed their pleasure by loud plaudits, to which, of course, like true soldiers, we gave slight heed, but with face unmoved, proceeded through the manual exercise. When the order came ‘make ready—aim—fire,’ one of our muskets happening to be loaded, discharged its contents over the heads of scores of seated savages, whose dismay now equalled their previous approbation. Their earnest inquiries were hardly evaded by assuring them that the piece was overcharged with powder.

“Towards evening the festival was concluded and the company began to disperse. Those who had sailed to the place, started to the shore where the canoes were secured and embarked in their little fleets in various directions. Our party sailed in pleasant company with others bound for Bonne Rarah. When we came within a few miles of this town, a burning object was discovered on the water, which, on a nearer approach, we found to be our beautiful ship to which fire had been set by the savages who had remained behind for the sake of her iron work. This was a sad conclusion to the enjoyment experienced at the festival. The satisfaction that we had felt in looking out from our lonely abode upon the hull of the Glide was now taken away, and we felt more than ever deprived of remembrances of home.

“A few weeks after the departure for Bou of Captain Archer, a large double canoe arrived at Bonne Rarah, from which we learned that the captain and his party were safe; that the brig Niagara, Capt. Brown, of Salem, had been wrecked on a reef midway between Overlau and Bou and that her crew were now staying at this latter island. Thus, the two only vessels at the Fijis at this time were wrecked on the same day, and in the same storm; and, very remarkably, no member of either crew was afterwards slain by the natives.

“A part of the crew, with our second officer and Mr. Carey, left us on the return of this canoe to Bou, thus reducing our number to sixteen men. The separation seemed like bidding a mutual farewell for life, narrowed the circle in which our spirits were chiefly sustained by common sympathies and hopes, and deepened that feeling of loneliness which previously parting with others had occasioned. To miss a single face which we were wont to see, was deeply felt. The officers and crew of the Glide, once held together by duties on shipboard, and, afterwards by the still stronger community of suffering, were dispersing in various directions whilst the lot of those who went away, and of those who staid behind was enshrouded by the same cloud of dark uncertainty. Some were about to suffer many more trials before reaching home; and of the return of others to their native land there has yet been no account.”

Strangely enough the journal of the wreck of the Glide ends in this abrupt fashion as if it were “to be continued in our next.” Curious to learn in what manner the crew was rescued from its long exile in the Fijis a search was begun among the log-books of other Salem ships trading with those islands in the thirties. It was like hunting a needle in a haystack, but the mystery was uncovered by the log of the bark Peru of Salem, Captain John H. Eagleston. Under date of June 7th, 1831, he wrote while among the Fiji Islands:

“Visited by a double canoe with about 50 natives, and a boat from a town called Lebouka. Got 9 turtle out of the canoe, 3 for a musket. Was informed by the chiefs in the canoe of Captain Archer of ship Glide being cast away at Muddy-vater and Captain Brown in the Niagara at Bou, and that they had lost everything belonging to them. Which I had every reason to believe as the canoe had several trunks and chests in it. Got up the boarding netting. At 3 A. M. sent the whale boat up to Bou, with the interpreter and 5 Lebouka men with a large present to the king and a letter to Captain Brown which was from his wife. People employed in putting arms in order.

“June 8—at 9 A. M. our boat returned from Bou with 2 boats in company which belonged to the Brig. Took on board Captain Brown, Captain Vandeford, officers and crew of the Brig (Niagara) and 2 officers and 2 men belonging to the Glide. Most of them belonging to Salem and in all 15. Many of them without shirts to their backs or shoes to their feet and some with a small part of a pair of trousers. On learning that Captain Archer had left Bou a few days before for Goro, he being in distress and suffering, I thought it my duty to send word to him that I was here.

“June 10th. Archer with 2 of his men came from Bou.”

The whereabouts of the other men of the Glide being discovered in this way, they were later picked up and brought home, and their story ended happily, as it should, for they deserved fairer prospects after the ill-fortune which laid them by the heels in the Fijis as those islands were in those far away years when the white man had first found them out.