V

We had a variety of callers at the office. Sometimes the white-clothed officer from a visiting British warship, who usually would produce a note-book and inquire of the Secretary if any suspicious characters had arrived at the islands. Frequently Captain Lewer, the Billeting Officer, who might borrow an oil-can from the typists across the passage and oil his artificial leg; a perfect fount of gossip from the Beach. Judge Roberts, out of breath and exhausted from his ascent of the stairs, for whom I would hasten to get a chair. George Westbrook, expansive and humorous. And the Secretary would lean back from his desk, pipe in hand, and listen to all the callers had to say; being accessible to anyone.

Once came two natives to the door, with white jackets and lava-lavas, clutching umbrellas. I recognized the chief from the first village where I had slept on my ride round the island, with his attendant missionary. I saw that they had som page 136in mind other than a conventional call and fetched a half-caste boy from the department where I had formerly worked to act as interpreter. "What they want is some food," said Frank, the half-caste, regarding them with some contempt, after an interchange of courtesies. He proposed that I give them sixpence for bread and a shilling for tinned salmon. I was half afraid of causing offence; but Frank, with superior knowledge, was scornful at the suggestion. Dubiously I gave them, I think, three shillings: all that I happened to have in my pocket. "Fafetai! Fafetai!" and they became wreathed in smiles, curiously like children, and after copious farewells and asking when I proposed again to come and visit them, flat-footed off down stairs.

Early in 1923 there was a very severe "blow"—the worst I ever knew in the islands. It lasted, so far as I remember, about forty-eight hours, and the insistence of the wind became almost alarming. Water seemed forced through every crack in roof and board, and the insides of the walls and windows were running with moisture. It is at this time of the year—the worst of the rainy season—that leather will mildew in a single night and enormous winged cockroaches appear and browse on bookbindings and inside suitcases. The humidity and apparent heat at times are terrific. The palm-trees on this occasion were bending up like fishing-rods, and great fronds, twenty feet or more in length, were flying through the air; the shriek of the gale being punctuated by an occasional crash on the tin roof, of a coco-nut.

I, on my islet at Vaiala, was more or less marooned, and when at length I got out it was to find shingle all over the street of Apia and "an enormous dun-coloured sea pouring over the reefs of the harbour—a result of the scourings of the rivers that evacuate into the bay." There were not many at work that—I think it was Monday—morning.

The vessel that had been in port—a big tramp, loading copra—had pulled up anchor at the warning of the barometer and beaten it for the shelter of Saluafata.

We had a monthly steamer from New Zealand, occasional yachts and cargo boats from Europe and America, men-o'-war on patrol, and Apia was graced at irregular intervals by two very curious craft. These were steamships—the Dawn and the page 137Rob Roy. They appeared to be painted bright red, but the red was of rust, and their rotting sides were stopped with concrete. Their owner, Captain Allen, a menacing-looking man who wore elastic-sided boots, was sometimes to be seen at the McDonalds—one of the last of the old-timers. He owned the little island of Funafuti, where he was said to have a fine house, with billiard tables, among the coconut-palms with which it was planted. Allen formerly had been engaged in the "black-birding" trade, and was the subject of portentous tales, of which among the least remarkable is, that having taken one of his ships to New Caledonia for repairs, and the bill being too large for his liking, he simply got up steam and sailed away. It was also stated—which I can well believe—that he dared not take the Rob Roy or the Dawn into any such port as Sydney, as they would straightway have been condemned. He was supposed to be a wealthy man, but when he died in Fiji in 1926 he was found to be worth very little.