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Vailima Letters   By: (1850-1894)

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Vailima Letters Robert Louis Stevenson Scanned and proofed by David Price, email

Vailima Letters



MY DEAR COLVIN, This is a hard and interesting and beautiful life that we lead now. Our place is in a deep cleft of Vaea Mountain, some six hundred feet above the sea, embowered in forest, which is our strangling enemy, and which we combat with axes and dollars. I went crazy over outdoor work, and had at last to confine myself to the house, or literature must have gone by the board. NOTHING is so interesting as weeding, clearing, and path making; the oversight of labourers becomes a disease; it is quite an effort not to drop into the farmer; and it does make you feel so well. To come down covered with mud and drenched with sweat and rain after some hours in the bush, change, rub down, and take a chair in the verandah, is to taste a quiet conscience. And the strange thing that I mark is this: If I go out and make sixpence, bossing my labourers and plying the cutlass or the spade, idiot conscience applauds me; if I sit in the house and make twenty pounds, idiot conscience wails over my neglect and the day wasted. For near a fortnight I did not go beyond the verandah; then I found my rush of work run out, and went down for the night to Apia; put in Sunday afternoon with our consul, 'a nice young man,' dined with my friend H. J. Moors in the evening, went to church no less at the white and half white church I had never been before, and was much interested; the woman I sat next LOOKED a full blood native, and it was in the prettiest and readiest English that she sang the hymns; back to Moors', where we yarned of the islands, being both wide wanderers, till bed time; bed, sleep, breakfast, horse saddled; round to the mission, to get Mr. Clarke to be my interpreter; over with him to the King's, whom I have not called on since my return; received by that mild old gentleman; have some interesting talk with him about Samoan superstitions and my land the scene of a great battle in his (Malietoa Laupepa's) youth the place which we have cleared the platform of his fort the gulley of the stream full of dead bodies the fight rolled off up Vaea mountain side; back with Clarke to the Mission; had a bit of lunch and consulted over a queer point of missionary policy just arisen, about our new Town Hall and the balls there too long to go into, but a quaint example of the intricate questions which spring up daily in the missionary path.

Then off up the hill; Jack very fresh, the sun (close on noon) staring hot, the breeze very strong and pleasant; the ineffable green country all round gorgeous little birds (I think they are humming birds, but they say not) skirmishing in the wayside flowers. About a quarter way up I met a native coming down with the trunk of a cocoa palm across his shoulder; his brown breast glittering with sweat and oil: 'Talofa' 'Talofa, alii You see that white man? He speak for you.' 'White man he gone up here?' 'Ioe (Yes)' 'Tofa, alii' 'Tofa, soifua!' I put on Jack up the steep path, till he is all as white as shaving stick Brown's euxesis, wish I had some past Tanugamanono, a bush village see into the houses as I pass they are open sheds scattered on a green see the brown folk sitting there, suckling kids, sleeping on their stiff wooden pillows then on through the wood path and here I find the mysterious white man (poor devil!) with his twenty years' certificate of good behaviour as a book keeper, frozen out by the strikes in the colonies, come up here on a chance, no work to be found, big hotel bill, no ship to leave in and come up to beg twenty dollars because he heard I was a Scotchman, offering to leave his portmanteau in pledge... Continue reading book >>

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