It has been a matter of great regret to me that I found so very few opportunities of hearing the legends and fables which I believe abound throughout these isles. The few persons who have chanced to learn them from the natives were generally too busy to tell them,—still more, unable to spare time to write them down, as I invariably asked them to do. Those I did hear were fanciful, and often poetic.

When I was staying on the island of Ngau, I succeeded in buying some curious specimens of the bait used for cuttle-fish. It is a very fair imitation of a rat, made of the backs of two brown cowries, with a heavy stone between them,—a small brown cowrie to represent the head, and a wooden tail. The shells are bored and tied together with sinnet. Wishing to learn the origin of so quaint a device, we inquired of our host, Zacheusa—a fine old Fijian teacher, who did good work among the Kai Tholos in the early days of the lotu, and who knows many legends. What he told us was as follows:—

“A rat one day fell off a canoe into the sea, and landed on the head of a cuttle-fish, greatly to the alarm of both. The cuttle-fish was going to shake off the rat, when the latter prayed him to show mercy on him, and to carry him to a place where his grandfather and grandmother were waiting for him. So the kind cuttle-fish swam on and on, till he was very weary; but the rat enjoyed this new mode of travel, and urged him to go on further and further. At last they neared a grassy bank, which was just where the rat wished to land; but being an ungenerous animal himself, he feared the cuttle-fish would play him some trick, so he cried, ‘Oh, please, do not land me there: I shall surely die.’ But the cuttle-fish, being weary of him, swam straight to the bank, whereupon the rat jumped ashore, and instead of thanking his kind deliverer, he ran away jeering. So now the cuttle-fish hates the rat, and is always on the watch to seize him and punish him.” And this is why the fisher-folk of Ngau make rats of cowrie-shells to bait their nets.

Here is a kindred fable, quoted from Sir Arthur Gordon’s private journal:—

“In Camp, Nasaucoko, July 18, 1876....—After yangona in the evening, all the party began to tell fables. ‘The crane and the crab,’ say the Fijians, ‘quarrelled as to their powers of racing. The crab said he would go the fastest, and that the crane might fly across from point to point, while he went round by the shore. The crane flew off, and the crab stayed quietly in his hole, trusting to the multitude of his brethren to deceive the crane. The crane flew to the first point, and seeing a crab-hole, put down his ear, and heard a buzzing noise. “That slave is here before me,” said he, and flew on to the next point. Here the same thing happened, till at last, on reaching a point above Serua, the crane fell exhausted, and was drowned in the sea.’

“Ratu Tabusakiu capped this by an almost exactly similar story,—only in this case the competition was between a crane and a butterfly. The latter challenged the crane to fly to Tonga, tempting him to do so by asking if he was fond of shrimps. The butterfly kept resting on the crane’s back, without the crane knowing it, and whenever the bird looked round and said to himself, ‘That kaisi (lowborn) fellow is gone; I can rest and fly slowly now, without fear of his overtaking me,’ the butterfly would leave his back and fly a little way ahead, saying, ‘Here I am, cousin,’ till the poor bird died exhausted; and the butterfly, who had no longer his back to rest on, perished also.”

Equally charming is a legend told to me in the mountains of Viti Levu, which suggests that Charles Lamb must have visited Fiji ere he wrote the ‘Essays of Elia,’ for here is a native version of the “Essay of Roast Pig”! The legend tells how, many many years ago, there had been a fight at Nandronga, and the dead bodies of the slain were laid under the overhanging eaves of a house till the living had time to bury them. The house accidentally took fire and was burnt down, and the bodies were of course roasted. The chief ordered that they should be removed, and the men who lifted them burnt their fingers: they instinctively put their hands to their mouths, licked, and liked the flavour. They called to their friends, who followed suit; and thus the people of the isles discovered how excellent a thing is roast flesh,—a fact which they had previously had no chance of testing, as, with the exception of a small rat, no animal of any sort existed on any of the isles, till the men of Tonga imported pigs. Thus it was that cannibalism originated in the isles. So says the legend of Nandronga.

A few legends, forming the subject of popular mékés, have happily been preserved by the Rev. Thomas Williams. One of these tells of a crab so large that it grasped a man in its claw, but he fortunately slipped through between the forceps, and so escaped injury. Another man ventured to climb on to the monster’s back, and paid dear for his temerity, being dashed to pieces by a stroke from a claw. That must have been a curiously constructed crab! He quotes another which tells of a gigantic bird called “Duck of the Rock,” which carried off Tutu Wathi Wathi, the beautiful wife of the god Okova, and sister to Rokoua, while she was fishing on the reef at Nai Thombo Thombo. The gods started in a large canoe to search for the lady, and they came to an island inhabited only by goddesses, who spent their lives in pleasant sport. Rokoua suggested that they might as well remain here, and give up their vain quest for Okova’s lost love; but the faithful husband scouted the idea, and insisted on sailing to the Yasawas, the most westerly isles of the group. Here they found the cave in which lived the terrible bird. But the cave was empty, for the bird was fishing; and they found only one little finger of Tutu Wathi Wathi. Yet this Okova cherished as a special relic, and swore to avenge her death. Presently they saw the devourer approach, and his vast wings darkened the face of the sun. In his beak he carried five large turtles, and in his talons ten porpoises, which he at once proceeded to eat. Then Okova prayed to three other gods to aid him by causing the wind to blow; and immediately a gust blew back the feathers of the monster’s tail, and Rokoua instantly struck his spear through it vitals. So great was the bird that, though the spear was very long, it was entirely lost in its body. They took one of its smallest feathers to make a new canoe sail, not venturing to risk the use of a large feather. They then cast the dead bird into the sea, causing such a surge as to “flood the foundation of the sky.” So having accomplished their just vengeance, they sailed safely back to Nai Thombo Thombo.

It seems strange, in writing of a country so recently pagan, to have no occasion to allude to the religion of the past. This is partly because the idols were few and insignificant. The different gods dwelt enshrined in all manner of animals—fish, birds, reptiles,—and even plants. The hawk, the shark, the land-crab, fowl, eel, and, above all, the serpent, were thus held in reverence.

Of the latter, very few specimens are to be found in Fiji (so few, that during my two years of continual travel and observation in the isles, I have only seen two, both of which were gliding among rocks on the sea-shore). These reptiles were worshipped under different names in the various isles of the group. In some places, when one was found it was anointed with cocoa-nut oil, and left at liberty. In others it was reverently carried to the temple, and there laid on a bed of native cloth and solemnly anointed and fed.

Under this form was worshipped Ndengei, the supreme god and creator of all things. He it was who sent a great deluge to punish the sin of his rebellious people; he also revealed fire by teaching two of his human sons to rub two pieces of wood together. His temple was at Raki Raki, a cave on the north-east of Viti Levu, whither the people carried great offerings. One sacrifice is recorded of two hundred pigs and one hundred turtles. But the most acceptable sacrifices were human; and men have been known to slay their own wives, rather than fail to propitiate the giver of yams. The offerings were laid before the mouth of the cave, and the priests crawled in on hands and knees. If the prayer were granted, they reappeared all wet to show that needful rain-showers would fall. Of course if the omen failed, subsequent sins were alleged as the cause of failure in the compact.

Ndengei was supposed to love silence, therefore the noisy bats near his cave were banished; the potters were likewise dismissed to small islands, purposely created for them; and women going to fetch water from the sacred mount were enjoined to be silent, else their food would turn into serpents.

There appears reason to suppose that the serpent was commonly worshipped throughout the Pacific—certainly in the Friendly or Tongan Isles. When (A.D. 1830) Mr Williams visited this group, he touched at a small isle near Tongatabu, and found a nest of sea-snakes. He bade his men kill the largest as a specimen. At the next island where they touched they carried it ashore, and prepared to dry it, but the fishermen (who were preparing their nets) raised a terrific yell, and seizing their clubs rushed upon the Christian natives, shouting, “You have killed our god!” Williams stepped between the two parties, and with difficulty restrained their violence, on condition that the reptile should at once be carried back to the boat.

The Fijian gods seemed to have fully appreciated the blessings of quiet. Raitumaibulu, lord of life, god of the crops, was especially careful of his own comfort in this respect. During the month of December (midsummer), when he came to earth to cause all fruit-bearing trees to blossom, the people were forbidden to make any unnecessary noise: they might not blow the trumpet, nor beat drums, nor dance, nor sing (not even at sea); they might neither cultivate the soil nor make war, lest the god should be disturbed in his operations, and deliver over the land to famine. Here we mark the connection, common to all mythologies, between the old serpent and the fruits of the earth. This Ceres of Fiji had no serpent car to bring him to earth, but he himself took the form of a serpent, and dwelt in a small cave near Mbau, where the people flocked to do him homage.

A legend attaches to this cave, which makes us wish that more attention could be given to the folk-lore of these isles ere it utterly fades away, like the grey mists of night before the beams of morning. Perhaps it is already too late, for the lotu (Christianity) has brought in such a flood of newer stories, that doubtless the old fables have fallen into disrepute, and probably (just as in Scotland) the dread of a sneer or a rebuke from their teachers will cause those who know them best to shrink from uttering them. The legend I allude to was happily recorded by Mr Waterhouse, senior, one of the earliest and most able of the Wesleyan missionaries. Such men as these had little spare time, and probably less inclination, to take much trouble in collecting foolish stories. However, enough have been recorded to make us wish for more; and here is a sample of Fijian folk-lore.

I have told you how the lord of the crops lay enshrined in the likeness of a great serpent. But there was a sceptical chief, named Keroika, who would not believe in this divinity, and rashly determined to test the matter. So, taking with him a cargo of small fish, he proceeded in his canoe to the sacred cave. There he was greeted by a serpent of average size, who told him he was son of the god: Keroika made him an offering of fish, and prayed for an interview with his father. Another serpent came out to see what was going on. He proved to be a grandson, and he likewise received a gift of fish, and a request to induce his grandfather to appear. And after a while an immense serpent came forth, and Keroika knew that it was the Raitumaibulu himself. So he made obeisance, and presented his offering of fish, which was graciously accepted by the serpent-god; but as he turned to retreat to his cave Keroika treacherously shot him with an arrow, and then, horror-stricken at what he had done, fled in terror from the spot, but he was pursued by a terrible voice, crying, “Nought but serpents! Nought but serpents!” These ominous words were still ringing in his ears when he reached his home, where, determined to conquer his foolish fear, he called for dinner. But when the servants uncovered the cooking-pot, and were about to lift out the food, they started back in horror—the pot was full of serpents. At least, thought the chief, I will drink; but as he raised a jar to his lips he poured out serpents instead of water. Hungry and thirsty, he threw himself wearily on his mat, hoping to find solace in sleep, but from every corner hissing snakes glided round him, and the wretched man fled from his house in terror. As he passed the temple he saw a crowd collected to hear the priest make a revelation, which was that the god had been wounded by a citizen, and that in consequence evil would surely befall the city. So, finding there was no use in further concealment, he confessed his crime, made large offerings to propitiate the angry god, and received pardon.

When the Rev. John Hunt visited the island of Vatulele, he was invited by one of the chiefs to visit a cave about seven miles distant, in which dwelt the gods of the island. He found a cave about twenty feet in height and sixty in length, communicating with an inner cave, in both of which the receding tide leaves a clear pool, inhabited by a variety of crustacea somewhat larger than a shrimp: these are common enough at certain places, and are brown till cooked, when they become red. Those in this cave are all red, and probably are therefore deemed supernatural. Their mother is said to be of immense size, and dwells by herself in the inner cave; but the children, who are called Ura, answer to their name, and appear at the call of their worshippers—or rather did so in heathen days.

Although an idol visibly representing a deity was almost unknown, the personal appearance of the gods was minutely recorded. Thus Thangawalu was a giant sixty feet in height, with a forehead eight span high. Another had but one tooth, which was in the lower jaw, but rose above his head. He had wings instead of arms, and on these were claws wherewith to hook his victims. One had eight arms, and was a skilful mechanic. Another had eight eyes, and was full of wisdom. One had eighty stomachs. Another had two bodies, male and female, united like the Siamese twins. There was a leper god, and a murderer; a god of war, and one whose sole delight was to steal women of high birth.

The carpenters, the fishermen, and agriculturists, each worshipped special deities.

In addition to the principal gods, there was a vast number of little gods, answering to our fairies, who were called “children of the waters.” There were also numerous objects of veneration which recall our own Scotch relics. Such was wairua, which was an oval stone, the size of a swan’s egg, which, with several smaller stones, children of the god, lay in the hollow of a small tree beside the stream at Namusi in Viti Levu. There was another stone at Mbau which gave birth to a little stone whenever a woman of rank was confined in the town. This sympathetic deity has been removed, but its children still mark the spot where it formerly lay. At Ovalau there was formerly a black stone, which was once a sacred pig killed and baked by sacrilegious hands, but which, on being taken out of the oven, was found to have assumed this form. There were also groves of sacred trees at Mbau, and in several other places—too many of which have been destroyed by iconoclastic zeal.

Certain war-clubs were treated with reverence approaching to worship; and the men who had wielded them with the mightiest arm, and had been specially distinguished in battle, ranked as heroes and demi-gods, henceforth to be honoured with libations at every ceremonial-drinking of yangona. As the water was poured into the yangona-bowl, a herald cried aloud: “Prepare a libation to the Loa-loa—to the Veidoti,” &c., &c., mentioning all the chief temples reverenced by the tribe. “Prepare a libation to the chieftains who have died on the water, or died on the land! Be gracious, ye lords, the gods, that the rain may cease” (or whatever prayer was to be offered). Then, as the cup was filled for the highest chief present, the herald once more cried: “Let the gods be gracious, and send us a wind from the west or from the east,” according to the requirements of the day. Then as the king or high chief took the cup, he poured the libation on the ground ere he drank. Of course this ceremony has passed away with the old faith in the gods.

As to notions concerning a future life, I fancy that the traditions concerning the way of approach to the spirit-world varied in different parts of the group. In Vanua Levu we were told that the beautiful headland of Nai Thombo Thombo, the northernmost point of the isle, was the spot where the gods were wont to assemble, and whence the spirits of the dead departed to seek the abode of Ndengei. It is a very eerie spot, with precipitous cliffs towering above dense masses of foliage, and casting a deep gloomy shade—the awful stillness of which is unbroken by the cry of any living thing.

The way to Mbula, as the Fijian Paradise is called, was long and difficult, and many enemies sought to waylay the spirits and take them captive. One of these, called Nangga Nangga, was so bitter a foe to all who had eschewed wedded bliss, that it is said not one of these hapless ones has ever reached his bourne. Seized by the vengeful demon, he was dashed to pieces on a large black stone.

At Nai Thombo Thombo the fortunate man, whose wives had so loved him as to submit to be strangled on his death, was rejoined by their spirits, and together they embarked in the canoe which was appointed to carry them to the presence of the judge—notice of their approach being given by a parrot, which cried once for each spirit of the party, and so gave warning to a demon named Samuyalo, “the killer of souls,” who lay in wait and endeavoured to club them. If he succeeded in killing them, he feasted spiritually; but if he only wounded them, they were doomed to wander sadly among the mountains.

Those who escaped the club of the soul destroyer passed on to one of the highest peaks of the Kauvandra mountains, where the path to Mbula ends abruptly at the brink of a precipice, the base of which is washed by a deep lake. Here an old man and his son induced the wayfarers to sit on an overhanging oar, whence they were thrown headlong into the deep waters below, through which they passed to Muri Muria, which was a minor paradise in Mbula.

The true abode of bliss was Mburotu, a blessed region of scented groves and pleasant glades, where all things most highly prized by the Fijians were said to abound. Here they cultivated pleasant gardens, lived in families, ate and drank, and even fought. Moreover, like Mohammedan saints, they were supposed to attain exceeding great stature. But the primary idea connected with death seems to have been that of simple rest, as expressed in one of their songs—

Those spirits who had failed to please the gods were subjected to divers punishments. Some were laid in rows on their faces, and converted into taro beds. Men who had failed to slay a foe were sentenced for evermore to beat a heap of filth with a club, this being the most degrading punishment. Others were roasted and eaten by hungry gods.

Opinions were divided as to the souls of inanimate objects. Some people professed to have seen the souls of canoes, houses, plants, pots, and other things swimming on the stream of the Kauvandra well, which bore them to the regions of immortality; and others averred that they had seen footmarks of the ghosts of pigs and dogs round the same well.

Mburotu (which the Tongans called Bulotu and the Samoans Pulotu) was the abode of the gods, into which favoured mortals were admitted. The legends concerning it tell of a speaking tree which was there, and a fountain of life. The Tongan legend tells how Maui, the chief of the gods, fished up Tonga from the bottom of the sea, and how some of the minor gods fled from Bulotu and took up their abode on Tonga. To punish this rebellion they were made subject to death, and forbidden ever to re-enter Bulotu; and great was their wonder and sorrow when they realised the change that had come over them. But they made the best of matters, and became the parents of the noble Tongan race.

The Fijians believe that sometimes, as they sail from the Windward Isles towards Khandavu, they see Burotu, with the sun shining brightly on it. But when they steer towards it, it fades away, and grows fainter and fainter, till it vanishes utterly, and they sail in silent wonder over the spot where they distinctly saw it standing, green and beautiful, in the midst of the waters.

In the course of our wanderings through the isles, we have heard some curious statistics concerning the practice of witchcraft, which in many details are almost identical with the superstitions which, as you well know, were once so common in the British Isles, and still linger there in many a corner little suspected.⁠[64] Thus a person having a grudge against his neighbour will try to obtain something which he has touched—a bit of his dress, the refuse of his food, or, above all, a piece of his hair,—and having uttered certain charmed words, will conceal this about the house—generally in the thatch—with a conviction that, ere long, the victim will waste away. Should he bathe in running water before the fourth day, the charm is broken, as it also would be should the charm be discovered. Of course, persons professing Christianity are supposed to lose faith in such matters; but in truth such superstitions are slow to die out. There are also certain magical leaves which, being carefully rolled up in a bamboo and buried in a man’s garden, insure his being bewitched. In heathen days, the help of the priest was sought in laying on the charm; and a common method pursued was to bury a cocoa-nut beneath the temple hearth, where a fire was constantly burning: then, as the nut dried up and perished, so would the person represented sicken and die. Here, as in Scotland, there were professional witches, whose power for evil was always to be purchased. Persons believing themselves to be in danger from any such, invariably applied to some dealer in witchcraft, who wrought counter spells. Should the wizard be detected in his evil deed—burying or hiding the charm—he was summarily clubbed, and his house burnt.

Strange ordeals were also common, as proofs of guilt or innocence. So were divers methods of divination.

Very curious, too, are the various forms of tambu or prohibition, made use of to protect the gardens from robbery—such as planting a cluster of reeds, the tops of which are all inserted in one cocoa-nut. The rash thief who defies this tambu is certain to be afflicted with boils.

Seers used formerly to be in high repute, and the class of visions that we know as “second sight” were common.

Among the graceful forms of superstition, is that of courteously exclaiming mbula (“life to you”) to a person who sneezes, who invariably replies mole—“thanks.”

From these few meagre notes you may gather that there is abundant interesting material to be collected in these isles, should any one be found possessing unbounded leisure, perfect knowledge of the people and of their language, and a disposition to devote both to the search for these fast-fading traces of the past.