Thomas Stevenson remained at Skerryvore until April, 1887, when he left
for a short visit to Edinburgh. While there he became suddenly worse and
died on the 8th of May.

Louis's greatest reason for remaining in England was gone now, and he
determined to cross the ocean with his family once more.

His mother willingly gave up her home, her family, her friends, and the
comforts she had always enjoyed to go with him to a new country, on any
venture he might propose if his health could only be improved thereby.

On August 21, 1887, Louis bade good-by to Scotland for the last time and
sailed away from London on the steamship _Ludgate Hill_ for New York.




CHAPTER VII

SECOND VISIT TO AMERICA

  "Tis a good land to fall in with men, and a pleasant land to see."

        --(_Words spoken by Hendrik Hudson when he first brought his
           ship through the Narrows and saw the Bay of New York_.)


Stevenson's second landing in New York was a great contrast to his
first. The "Amateur Emigrant" had no one to bid him welcome and Godspeed
but a West Street tavern-keeper, and now when Mr. Will Low, his old
friend of Fontainebleau days, hastened to the dock to welcome him on the
_Ludgate Hill_, he found the author of "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" already
surrounded by reporters.

The trip had done him good in spite of their passage having been an
unusually rough one, with numerous discomforts. The _Ludgate Hill_ was
not an up-to-date liner and she carried a very mixed cargo. The very
fact of her being a tramp ship and that the passengers were free to be
about with the men and officers, stay in the wheel-house, and enjoy a
real sea life, delighted Stevenson, and he wrote back to Sidney Colvin:

"I enjoyed myself more than I could have hoped on board our floating
menagerie; stallions and monkeys and matches made our cargo; and the
vast continent of the incongruities rolled the while like a haystack;
and the stallions stood hypnotized by the motion, looking through the
port at our dinner table, and winnied when the crockery was broken; and
the little monkeys stared at one another in their cages ... and the big
monkey, Jacko scoured about the ship and rested willingly in my arms ...
the other passengers, when they were not sick, looked on and laughed.
Take all this picture, and make it roll till the bell shall sound
unexpected notes and the fittings shall break loose in our state rooms,
and you have the voyage of the Ludgate Hill. She arrived in the port of
New York without beer, porter, soda-water, curaçoa, fresh meat, or fresh
water, and yet we lived and we regret her."

After a short visit with friends in Newport they returned to New York
and settled down for a time in the Hotel St. Stephen, on 11th Street,
near University Place, to make plans for their winter's trip.

Soon after their arrival "Jekyll and Hyde" was dramatized and produced
with great success. When it was known that the author of this remarkable
story was in the city, people flocked from all sides to call on him, and
fairly wearied him with their attentions, although he liked to see them
and made many interesting acquaintances at the time.

Washington Square was one of his favorite spots in New York, and he
spent many hours there watching the children playing about. A day he
always recalled with special pleasure was the one when he had spent a
whole forenoon in the Square talking with Mark Twain.

Among those who were anxious to know Stevenson was the American
sculptor Augustus St. Gaudens. He had been delighted with his writings
and regretted he had not met him in Paris when he and Mr. Low had been
there together. "If Stevenson ever comes to New York," he said to Mr.
Low, "I want to meet him," and added that he would consider it a great
privilege if Stevenson would permit him to make his portrait.

It was with much pleasure, therefore, that Mr. Low brought them
together, and they took to one another immediately. "I like your
sculptor. What a splendid straightforward and simple fellow he is," said
Stevenson; and St. Gaudens's comment after their first meeting was:
"Astonishingly young, not a bit like an invalid and a bully fellow."

Stevenson readily consented to sit for his portrait, and they spent many
delightful hours together while the sketches were being made for it.

One day the sculptor brought his eight-year-old son, Homer, with him,
and years afterward gave the following description of the child's visit:

"On the way I endeavored to impress on the boy the fact that he was
about to see a man whom he must remember all his life. It was a lovely
day and as I entered the room Stevenson lay as usual on rather a high
bed. I presented Homer to him ... but since my son's interest,
notwithstanding my injunctions, was to say the least far from
enthusiastic, I sent him out to play.

[Illustration: Bas-relief of Stevenson by Augustus Saint Gaudens]

"I then asked Stevenson to pose but that was not successful ... all the
gestures being forced and affected. Therefore I suggested to him that if
he would try to write, some natural attitude might result. He assented
and taking a sheet of paper ... he pulled his knees up and began.
Immediately his attitude was such that I was enabled to create something
of use and continued drawing while he wrote with an occasional smile.
Presently I finished and told him there was no necessity for his writing
any more. He did not reply but proceeded for quite a while. Then he
folded the paper with deliberation, placed it in an envelope, addressed
it, and handed it to me. It was to 'Master Homer St. Gaudens.'

"I asked him: 'Do you wish me to give this to the boy?'

"'Yes,'

"'When? Now?'

"'Oh, no, in five or ten years, or when I am dead.'

"I put it in a safe and here it is:


"May 27, 1888.

"DEAR HOMER ST. GAUDENS--Your father has brought you this day to see me
and tells me it is his hope you may remember the occasion. I am going to
do what I can to carry out his wish; and it may amuse you, years after,
to see this little scrap of paper and to read what I write. I must begin
by testifying that you yourself took no interest whatever in the
introduction, and in the most proper spirit displayed a single-minded
ambition to get back to play, and this I thought an excellent and
admirable point in your character. You were also,--I use the past tense
with a view to the time when you shall read rather than to that when I
am writing,--a very pretty boy, and to my European views startlingly
self-possessed. My time of observation was so limited that you must
pardon me if I can say no more ... but you may perhaps like to know that
the lean, flushed man in bed, who interested you so little, was in a
state of mind extremely mingled and unpleasant; harassed with work which
he thought he was not doing well, troubled with difficulties to which
you will in time succeed, and yet looking forward to no less a matter
than a voyage to the South Seas and the visitation of savage and desert
islands.
                      "Your father's friend,
                                 "ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON."


The portrait was finished in bas-relief and many copies were made of it.
The most familiar is the one giving only Stevenson's head and
shoulders, but the splendid big one placed as a memorial to him in St.
Giles's Cathedral in Edinburgh shows him as he must have looked that day
lying in bed, writing to Homer St. Gaudens.

Another man in New York whom Stevenson had admired for years and longed
to meet was General Sherman. The war was long past, and he was then an
old gentleman living very quietly. One day St. Gaudens took Stevenson to
call on him, and he was asked afterward if he was at all disappointed in
his hero.

"Disappointed," he exclaimed. "It was simply magnificent to stand in the
presence of one who has done what he has, and then to find him so genial
and human. It was the next thing to seeing Wellington, and I dare say
the Iron Duke would not have been half so human."

The anticipation of a train trip across the continent was so distasteful
that a proposed visit to Colorado was given up, and they decided to try
the climate of the Adirondacks for the winter instead.

They chose Saranac, not far from the Canadian border, and rented a
cottage there.

The climate was as unpleasant as possible. It rained, snowed, sleeted,
and froze continually. The cold at times was arctic, the thermometer
dropping thirty degrees below zero in January. "Venison was crunching
with ice after being an hour in the oven, and a large lump of ice was
still unmelted in a pot where water was steaming all around it."

Their cottage was dubbed "Hunter's Home." It was far from the railroad,
few luxuries were to be had, and they lived a simple life in earnest.

Of course, they had a dog; no "hunter's home" would be complete without
one, but Louis scouted the idea of adding things as unfitting as plush
table-covers and upholstered footstools. The table went bare, and he
fashioned a footstool for his mother out of a log, in true backwoods
fashion.

His wife and mother found the cold hard to bear, but he stood it
remarkably well and benefited by it. Saranac reminded him of Scotland,
he said, without the smell of peats and the heather.

Dressed in a buffalo coat, astrakhan cap, and Indian boots, he and Lloyd
walked, skated, or went sleighing every day.

His pen was kept busy also. A new novel, "The Master of Ballantrae," was
started, and he contributed a series of articles to _Scribner's
Magazine_. For these he was paid a regular sum offered by the publishers
and agreed upon in advance--a new experience. It made him feel "awfu'
grand," he told a Scotch friend.

A venture he had been longing to make since a boy was a cruise among the
islands of the South Seas. While enduring the bitter cold of Saranac
such hazy ideas as he had had about such a trip began to form themselves
into a definite scheme. He was anxious for a long voyage; perhaps the
warm sea air might cure him after all else had failed.

So night after night he and Lloyd eagerly pored over books and maps,
and the family discussed plans for such an expedition.

When spring came Mrs. Stevenson started for San Francisco to secure, if
possible, a yacht in which they might undertake such a cruise. If all
went well Louis and his mother and Lloyd would follow.

While they waited for results they spent the time at Manasquan, on the
New Jersey coast. There Stevenson and his son enjoyed the sailing, and
their New York friends came often to see them.

Mr. Low tells of the day at Manasquan when word was received from Mrs.
Stevenson that she had found a schooner-yacht satisfactory for the
voyage.

An answer must be sent at once. Her husband telegraphed that they would
come, but it was not without misgivings that he made this final
decision. There was much at stake in an uncertain venture of the kind.
It meant a sacrifice of comfort for his wife and mother, big expense,
and perhaps no better health in the end.

However, it seemed worth the risk, and having decided to go he began to
look forward to the trip with boyish delight. "It will be horrid fun,"
he said, "to be an invalid gentleman on board a yacht, to walk around
with a spy-glass under your arm, to make landings and trade beads and
chromos for cocoanuts, and to have the natives swim out to meet you."

He and Lloyd spent hours laying their course and making out lists of
stores with which to furnish the schooner, regardless of the doubt
expressed by their friends as to the capacity of the boat. "They calmly
proceeded with their interminable lists and scorned the criticism of a
mere land-lubber. All conversation that was not of a nautical character
failed to hold their interest."

Cheered with strong hopes for Louis's future, the family departed for
San Francisco on the 28th of May, 1888. Their one regret was the good
friends they were leaving behind. This particularly affected Louis, but
he tried to hide his feelings by making all sorts of lively and
impossible proposals for their joining him later on.

His parting words to Mr. Low were: "There's England over there--and I've
left it--perhaps I may never go back--and there on the other side of
this big continent there's another sea rolling in. I loved the Pacific
in the days when I was at Monterey, and perhaps now it will love me a
little. I am going to meet it; ever since I was a boy the South Seas
have laid a spell upon me."




CHAPTER VIII

IN THE SOUTH SEAS

 "Since long ago, a child at home,
  I read and longed to rise and roam,
  Where'er I went, what'er I willed,
  One promised land my fancy filled.
  Hence the long road my home I made;
  Tossed much in ships; have often laid
  Below the uncurtained sky my head,
  Rain-deluged and wind buffeted;
  And many a thousand miles I crossed,
  And corners turned--love's labor lost,
  Till, Lady, to your isle of sun
  I came, not hoping, and like one
  Snatched out of blindness, rubbed my eyes,
  And hailed my promised land with cries."


Once, while Louis was a discontented student at the University of
Edinburgh, the premier of New Zealand, Mr. Seed, spent an evening with
his father and talked about the South Sea Islands until the boy said he
was "sick with desire to go there."

From that time on a visit to that out-of-the-way corner of the earth was
a cherished dream, and he read everything he could lay hands on that
told about it.

While in California, the first time, Mr. Virgil Williams, an artist,
aroused his interest still more by the accounts of his own trip in the
South Seas.

Now his opportunity to see them had actually come. He already knew much
of the kind of places and people they were going among.

Three thousand miles across the open sea lay the Marquesas Islands, the
first group they hoped to visit, and it was for that port their
schooner, the _Casco_, turned her head when she was towed out of the
Golden Gate at dawn on the 28th of June.

Besides the family and a servant, Valentine Roch, who had been with them
since Bournemouth days, the party consisted of the skipper, Captain
Otis, who was well acquainted with the Pacific, a crew of four
deck-hands, and a Japanese cook.

The _Casco_ was a fore-and-aft schooner, ninety-five feet in length, of
seventy tons' burden. "She had most graceful lines and with her lofty
masts, white sails and decks, and glittering brass work, was a lovely
craft to the eye as she sat upon the water."

"I must try to describe the vessel that is to be our home for so long,"
Mrs. Stevenson, senior, wrote to her sister at Colinton. "From the deck
you step down into the cockpit, which is our open air drawing room. It
has seats all around, nicely cushioned, and we sit or lie there most of
the day. The compass is there, and the wheel, so the man at the wheel
always keeps us company.... At the bottom of the stairs on the right
hand side is the captain's room. Straight ahead is the main--or
after--cabin, a nice bright place with a skylight and four portholes.
There are four sofas that can be turned into beds if need be, and there
are lockers under them in which our clothes are stored away. Above and
behind each sofa is a berth concealed by white lace curtains on brass
rods, and in these berths we three women are laid away as on shelves
each night to sleep.

"Opposite the entrance is a mirror let into the wall, with two small
shelves under it. On each side of this is a door. The one to the right
leads ... to Lloyd's cabin, and beyond that again is the forward cabin,
or dining room. The door to the left opens into ... Louis'
sleeping-room. It is very roomy with both a bed and a sofa in it, so
that he will be very comfortable....

"The dining room has a long table and chairs. Between the doors a very
ugly picture of fruit and cake. Louis would fain cover it up if we could
spare a flag with which to do it. The doors at the further end lead to
the pantry and galley and beyond these are the men's quarters."

No expense had been spared in building the _Casco_ to make her
comfortable. She was intended, however, for cruising in the California
waters and was hardly suited to the rough handling she received during
the squally weather of the next few months. Fortunately she stood the
test well and her passengers suffered few discomforts.

Once under way and settled for living, the trip proved quite uneventful.
The long days were spent on deck reading or working, and Stevenson began
to gather material for a book on the South Seas. The ship's life suited
him admirably; every strange fish and new star interested him, and he
grew stronger hourly in the warm air.

"Since the fifth day," he wrote, "we were left behind by a full-rigged
English ship ... bound round the Horn, we have not spied a sail, nor a
land bird, nor a shred of sea-weed. In impudent isolation, the toy
schooner has plowed her path of snow across the empty deep, far from all
track of commerce, far from any hand of help; now to the sound of
slatting sails and stamping sheet blocks, staggering in the turmoil of
that business falsely called a calm, now, in the assault of squalls
burying her lee-rail in the sea.... Flying fish, a skimming silver rain
on the blue sea; a turtle fast asleep in the early morning sunshine;
the Southern Cross hung thwart the forerigging like the frame of a
wrecked kite--the pole star and the familiar plough dropping ever lower
in the wake; these build up thus far the history of our voyage. It is
singular to come so far and see so infinitely little."

The squalls that came very quickly, frequently broke the monotony of the
trip. One moment the _Casco_ would be sailing along easily and the "next
moment, the inhabitants of the cabin were piled one upon another, the
sea was pouring into the cockpit and spouting in fountains through
forgotten deadlights, and the steersman stood spinning the wheel for his
life in a halo of tropical rain."

After twenty-two days at sea they sighted their first island, Nukahiva,
one of the Marquesan group, and were all on deck before dawn anxiously
watching for it. They not only looked forward eagerly to the sight of
land again after so many days on the open ocean, but it was indeed an
adventure to come to a country totally strange to all of them, where
few white people had been before.

"Not one soul aboard the Casco had set foot upon the Islands," says
Stevenson, "or knew except by accident one word of any of the island
tongues; and it was with something perhaps of the same anxious pleasure
as thrilled the bosom of the discoverers that we drew near these
problematic shores.

"Before yet the anchor plunged a canoe was already paddling from the
hamlet. It contained two men: one white, one brown and tattooed across
the face with bands of blue, both immaculate with white European
clothes.... Canoe followed canoe till the ship swarmed with stalwart,
six foot men in every stage of undress ... the more considerable
tattooed from head to foot in awful patterns ... all talking and we
could not understand one word; all trying to trade with us who had no
thought of trading, or offering us island curios at prices palpably
absurd."

All this charmed and delighted Stevenson, who had dreamed many times of
witnessing just such a scene. He wrote to Cummie that he was living all
over again many of the stories she had read to him and found them coming
true about himself.

For six weeks they cruised about among these islands, frequently
dropping anchor and going ashore for several days. When the natives were
convinced that they had neither come to trade or to make trouble, but
were simply interested in them and their country, they made the visitors
most welcome and showered presents of fruit, mats, baskets, and fans
upon them.

All were eager to visit the schooner, which they called _Pahi Mani_,
meaning the shining or the silver ship. The chiefs tried to measure its
dimensions with their arms. The liveliest curiosity was shown about
everything; the red velvet cushions, the looking-glasses, and the
typewriter pleased particularly. A photograph of Queen Victoria hung in
the fore-cabin and was always described to the island callers as _Vahine
Haka-iki Beritano_, which meant literally, woman-great-chief Britain. It
was a surprise to find how much many of them already knew about her.

Some afternoons the _Casco_ swarmed with these strange visitors who were
always delighted at the refreshments of ship's biscuits and pineapple
syrup and water offered them. A certain chief was particularly taken
with a pair of gloves belonging to Mrs. Stevenson, senior. He smelled of
them, called them British tattooing, and insisted on her putting them on
and off a great many times.

The entire family fell quickly into the island mode of living; dressed
as the white inhabitants did; ate all the strange kinds of native food;
and when ashore lived in the native houses, which resembled bird-cages
on stilts. The climate suited them to perfection, and Stevenson
particularly benefited by it, bathing daily in the warm surf and taking
long walks along the beach in search of strange shells.

"Here we are," his mother wrote to Cummie, "in a little bay surrounded
by green mountains, on which sheep are grazing, and there are birds very
like our own 'blackies' singing in the trees. If it were not for the
groves of cocoanut palms, we might almost fancy ourselves in our own
dear land. But the climate here is simply perfect. Of course it is hot,
but there are always fresh breezes.... We have our principal meal at
twelve o'clock, and spend the after part of the day on shore ...
bathing, gathering shells, knitting, or reading. Our Japanese cook and
steward just sets out the table with cold meats, fruit, and cake so that
we can take our other meal at any time in the evening that suits us.

"Fanny and I are dressed like natives, in two garments. As we have to
wade to and from the boat in landing and coming back, we discard
stockings, and on the sands we usually go barefoot entirely. Louis wears
only a shirt and trousers with the legs and arms rolled up as far as
they will go, and he is always barefooted. You will therefore not be
surprised to hear that we are all as red as lobsters. It is a strange
irresponsible half savage life, and I sometimes wonder if we shall ever
be able to return to civilized habits again.

[Illustration: South Sea houses]

"The natives are very simple and kindly people. The Roman Catholic
priests have persuaded them to give up their constant wars and the
practice of cannibalism, though only within recent years....

"Louis has learned a good many words of the language, and with the help
of signs can contrive to carry on a conversation, but I have stuck fast
with two words: '_ka-oha_' which means 'How do you do?' 'thank you,' and
'good bye,' and I am not quite sure how much else, and '_Mitai_,'
meaning good, nice, pretty, kind. I don't expect to get beyond these,
but it is wonderful how much one can express with them....

"The natives have got names for us all. Louis was at first 'the old
man,' much to his distress; but now they call him '_Ona_' meaning owner
of the yacht, a name he greatly prefers to the first. Fanny is _Vahine_,
or wife; I am the _old woman_, and Lloyd rejoices in the name of _MatГ©
Karahi_, the young man with glass eyes (spectacles). Perhaps it is a
compliment here to be called old, as it is in China, at any rate, one
native told Louis that he himself was old, but his mother was not!...

"A native dance was got up for our benefit. None of the dancing-women
appeared, but five men dressed in shirt and trousers, danced together
with spirit and grace. The music was provided by a drum, made out of an
old tin box. Many of the steps reminded me of a Highland reel, but were
curiously mixed up with calisthenic, and even gymnastic exercises; the
hands in particular were used very gracefully, and they often took off
their hats and waved them to and fro. But they also climbed on each
other's shoulders, and did other strange things. After dancing for some
time, they sang songs to us in a curious, low, weird kind of crooning.
Altogether it was a strange sort of afternoon party!"

The Marquesas Islands belong to the French, and the commandant in
charge was most cordial to Stevenson, inviting him to his house
frequently during his stay in the islands. When at the expiration of six
weeks it was time for the _Casco_ to weigh anchor and the party sailed
on to explore still farther, they left behind them many friends who
regretted their departure. Here as elsewhere in the South Seas,
Stevenson showed his sympathy and kindliness toward the island people
regardless of who they were or their rank. White or half-caste priest,
missionary, or trader, all were treated the same. No bribe, he said,
would induce him to call the natives savages.

Mr. Johnstone, an English resident in the South Seas at the time of
Stevenson's visit, says: "His inborn courtesy more than any of his other
good traits, endeared him to his fellows in the Pacific ... in the
hearts of our Island people he built a monument more lasting than stone
or brass."

The recollection of the history of his own wild Scottish Islands, the
people and conditions his grandfather found among them, helped him to
understand these people and account for many of their actions. Though at
opposite ends of the earth, many of their customs and legends
corresponded. The dwellers in the Hebrides in the old days likewise
lived in clans with their chief and struggled to retain their
independence against an invading power.

Tahiti, one of the group of Society Islands, was their next stopping
place. Before starting a new mate was shipped, who was more familiar
with the course, which lay through the Dangerous Archipelago--a group of
low, badly lighted islands.

The Society Islands are most beautiful, Tahiti probably the gem of them
all, but on arriving Stevenson was in no condition to appreciate their
loveliness. A cold contracted on the trip made him quite ill. The trip
had proved very dangerous even with the aid of a pilot, and twice they
gave themselves up for lost when they were becalmed and drifted in
toward the shore. "The reefs were close in," wrote Stevenson, "with my
eye! What a surf! The pilot thought we were gone and the captain had a
boat cleared, when a lucky squall came to our rescue."

After landing his condition became so much worse his wife grew desperate
and determined to find a comfortable spot for him. After much trouble a
Chinaman with a team was secured, who agreed to drive the entire family
to Tautira, the largest village, sixteen miles away over a road crossed
by no less than twenty-one streams. On this uncertain venture they
started, with the head of the family in a state of collapse, knowing
nothing of the village they were going to or the living it would afford
them.

None of them ever regretted the perseverance which led them on, however,
for in all their wanderings in the South Seas before or after no place
ever charmed them more, or were they received with greater hospitality
than in Tautira.

The day after their arrival, Moe, an island princess and an ex-queen,
visited them. When she found Stevenson ill she insisted he and his
family be moved to her own house where they could have more comforts.
The house at the time was occupied by Ori, a subchief, a subject and
relative of the princess. But he and his family gladly turned out to
make room for the visitors and lived in a tiny house near by.

"Ori is the very finest specimen of native we have seen yet," wrote Mrs.
Stevenson. "He is several inches over six feet, of perfect though almost
gigantic proportions."

As soon as her husband was strong enough to be about again he and Ori
became great friends. Finally, according to an island custom, Stevenson
was adopted into Ori's clan and became his brother. This likewise meant
exchanging names and Ori became Rui, the nearest possible approach to
Louis since there is no L or S in the Tahitian language. Louis in turn
became Teriitera (pronounced Ter_ee_terah), which was Ori's Christian
name, Ori standing merely for his clan title.

To show their gratitude for the hospitality shown them by Ori and the
people of the village, Stevenson decided to give a public feast.

The feast day was set for Wednesday, and the previous Sunday a chief
issued the invitations from the Farehau, a house resembling an enormous
bird-cage in the centre of the village, from which all the news was read
aloud to the people once a week.

A feast of such size necessitated much preparation.

"The chief, who was our guide in the matter," wrote Mrs. Stevenson,
"found four large fat hogs, which Louis bought, and four cases of ship's
biscuit were sent over from the Casco, which is lying at Papeete for
repairs.... Our hogs were killed in the morning, washed in the sea, and
roasted whole in a pit with hot stones. When done they were laid on
their stomachs in neat open coffins of green basket work, each hog with
his case of biscuits beside him. Early in the morning the entire
population began bathing, a bath being the preliminary to everything.
At about three o'clock--four was the hour set--there was a general
movement toward our premises, so that I had to hurry Louis into his
clothes, all white even to his shoes. Lloyd was also in white, but
barefoot.... The chief, who speaks French very well, stood beside Louis
to interpret for him. By the time we had taken our respective places on
the veranda in front of our door, an immense crowd had assembled. They
came in five detachments.... Each set of people came bending under the
weight of bamboo poles laden with fruits, figs, fowls, etc. All were
dressed in their gayest and many had wreaths of leaves or flowers on
their heads. The prettiest sight of all was the children, who came
marching two and two abreast, the bamboo poles lying lengthwise across
their shoulders.

"When all the offerings had been piled in five great heaps upon the
ground, Louis made his oration to the accompaniment of the squealing of
pigs, the cackling of hens, and the roar of the surf.... A speech was
made in return on behalf of the village.... Each speaker finished by
coming forward with one of the smaller things in his hand, which he
offered personally to Louis, and then shook hands with us all and
retired. Among these smaller presents were many fish-hooks for large
fishing, laboriously carved from mother-of-pearl shell. One man came
with one egg in each hand saying 'carry these to Scotland with you, let
them hatch into cocks, and their song shall remind you of Tautira.' The
schoolmaster, with a leaf-basket of rose apples, made his speech in
French."

While overhauling the _Casco_ two or three days before they planned to
leave Tautira, Captain Otis was shocked to find the whole upper half of
the main masthead completely eaten out by dry-rot. This necessitated
taking the schooner around to Papeete, on the other side of the island,
for repairs. Under ordinary circumstances the setting of a new masthead
need to have delayed them but a few days; in the South Seas, however,
it was a different matter. Only after searching for days in Papeete was
he able to find a man who knew anything of ship-carpentering, and when
found he worked according to his own sweet will. So it was five weeks
before the _Casco_ was ready to return for her passengers, who in the
meantime were in a state of anxiety as to her whereabouts.

During their enforced stay Ori treated the entire family like a brother
indeed, doing everything in his power to make their visit pleasant.

At last, on Christmas Day, they were ready to depart. The entire
population of Tautira came to the beach to bid them farewell, and as the
_Casco_ swung out of the harbor one of the French officials fired a
salute of twenty-one guns with his army rifle and the schooner returned
it with a heavy-tongued Winchester.

Tautira had grown to seem like a real home to all of them. To leave it
with very little hope of ever returning to see such good friends as
Princess Moe and Ori was a real grief, while they in their turn were
quite heart-broken. Stevenson's friendship had brought something into
their lives they had never had before.

Honolulu was the goal of the _Casco_ now, and all eagerly looked forward
to the letters waiting for them there--the first word from home since
leaving San Francisco.

Bad weather attended the _Casco_ all the way. They were delayed by a
succession of hurricanes and calms until the supply of food ran very low
and they were reduced to a diet of "salt-horse" and ship-biscuit.

The last forty-eight hours of their run was made in the very teeth of a
furious gale when the captain took big risks by carrying full sail, with
the hope of making port before their supply of food and water was
entirely exhausted. In spite of the danger, Stevenson enjoyed this
daring run hugely. Later, when he and Lloyd wrote "The Wrecker"
together, this very episode figured in the story, Captain Otis under the
name of Captain Nares performing a similar sail-carrying feat on the
schooner _Norah Creina_.

Mrs. Strong, Stevenson's stepdaughter, and her family were waiting in
Honolulu and gave them a warm welcome. The travellers soon found
themselves the centre of interest among Mrs. Strong's large circle of
friends and it was with difficulty Stevenson found time to finish the
last chapters of "The Master of Ballantrae," which he had been working
on since leaving Saranac.

Honolulu, with its street-cars, shops, electric lights, and mixture of
native and foreign population, seemed strangely crowded and modern after
the scenes they had recently left; too modern by far to suit Stevenson,
who preferred the unconventional wild life of the islands they had come
from.

At the Royal Palace in Honolulu, Kalakaua, the last of the Hawaiian
kings, still held court. He enjoyed R.L.S. and invited him often to the
palace and told him the history and legends of many of the islands of
the South Seas. It was from Kalakaua he first learned to know the
troubled history of the Samoan Islands and of Apia, which was to be his
future home.

The Island of Molokai, the leper colony, lay not far off. While in
Honolulu he spent several days there, in the place where Father Damien
had lately done his splendid work.

According to their original scheme they were to return home from
Honolulu, but having come so far they were eager to see more. They had
tasted the dangers and fascination of the life among the wild islands,
each so different, and it had only whetted their appetites for what lay
still beyond. The chances of coming so far again were slight; it seemed
too good an opportunity to miss. So Stevenson wrote to the friends at
home, whom he longed daily to see: "Yes--I own up--I am untrue to
friendship and (what is less, but still considerable) to civilization. I
am not coming home for another year.... But look here and judge me
tenderly. I have had more fun and pleasure of my life these past months
than ever before, and more health than any time in ten long years....
And this precious deep is filled with islands which we may still visit,
and though the sea is a dreadful place, I like to be there, and like
squalls (when they are over) and to draw near to a new island I can not
say how much I like....

"Remember me as I was at home, and think of me sea-bathing and walking
about, as jolly as a sand boy; you will own the temptation is strong;
and as the scheme, bar fatal accidents, is bound to pay into the
bargain, sooner or later, it seems it would be madness to come home now,
with an imperfect book ... and perhaps fall sick again by autumn.

"It is a singular thing that as I was packing up old papers ere I left
Skerryvore, I came on the prophecies of a drunken Highland sibyl, when I
was sixteen. She said I was to be very happy,--to visit America and _to
be much upon the sea_.... I can not say why I like the sea ... my poor
grandfather it is from him I inherit the taste I fancy, and he was
around many islands in his day; but I, please God, shall beat him at
that before the recall is sounded."

So the _Casco_ was shipped back to San Francisco, Mrs. Stevenson,
senior, returned to Scotland for a visit, and the trading schooner
_Equator_ was chartered for a trip among the Marshall, Gilbert, and
Samoan Islands.

Just before leaving, the following letter came from Ori, which Stevenson
says he would rather have received than written "Red Gauntlet" or the
"Sixth Г†neid."

"I make you to know my great affection. At the hour when you left us, I
was filled with tears; my wife Rui Telime, also, and all my household.
When you embarked I felt great sorrow. It is for this that I went upon
the road, and you looked from that ship, and I looked at you on the ship
with great grief until you had raised the anchor and hoisted the sail.
When the ship started I ran along the beach to see you still; and when
you were in the open sea I cried out to you 'Farewell Louis,' and when
I was coming back to my house I seemed to hear your voice crying, 'Rui,
farewell.' Afterwards I watched the ship as long as I could until the
night fell; and when it was dark I said to myself: 'If I had wings I
should fly to the ship to meet you,'... I wept then ... telling myself
continually, 'Teriitera returns to his own country and leaves his dear
Rui in grief.'... I will not forget you in my memory. Here is the
thought: I desire to meet you again. It is my Teriitera makes the only
riches I desire in this world. It is your eyes that I desire to see
again. It must be that your body and my body shall eat together at one
table, there is what would make my heart content. But now we are
separated. May God be with you all. May His word and His mercy go with
you, so that you may be well and we also, according to the words of
Paul.

"ORI A ORI, that is to say, RUI."

"All told," said Stevenson, "if my books have enabled or helped me to
make this voyage, to know Rui, and to have received such a letter, they
have ... not been writ in vain."




CHAPTER IX

VAILIMA

  "We thank Thee for this place in which we dwell; for the love that
  unites us; for the peace accorded us this day; for the hope with which
  we expect the morrow; for the health, the work, the food, and the
  bright skies that make our lives delightful, for the friends in all
  parts of the earth, and our friendly helpers in this foreign isle....
  Give us courage and gaiety and the quiet mind. Spare to us our
  friends, soften to us our enemies. Bless us, if it may be, in all our
  innocent endeavors. If it may not, give us strength to encounter that
  which is to come, that we may be brave in peril, constant in
  tribulation, temperate in wrath, and in all changes of fortune, and
  down to the gates of death, loyal and loving one to another." R.L.S.

                        --_Prayer used with the household at Vailima_.


On the 7th of December, when the family landed at Upolu, the chief of
the Samoas or Samoan Islands, they little dreamed it was to be their
home for the next four years and the last the master of the house was
ever to know.

It had been frequently borne upon Stevenson, however, while cruising
among the Marshall and Gilbert Islands during the past months, that a
home in either England or Scotland again was a vain dream for him.

"I do not ask for health," he said, "but I will go anywhere and live in
any place where I can enjoy the existence of a human being." He seldom
complained and it is rare to find even the brave sort of cry he made
against fate to a friend at this time.

"For fourteen years I have not had a day's real health. I have wakened
sick and gone to bed weary, and I have done my work unflinchingly. I
have written in bed, and written out of it, written in hemorrhages,
written in sickness, written torn by coughing, written when my head swam
for weakness, and for so long, it seems to me I have won my wager and
recovered my glove. I am better now, have been, rightly speaking, since
I first came to the Pacific; and still few are the days when I am not in
some physical distress. And the battle goes on--ill or well, is a
trifle; so as it goes. I was made for a contest, and the Powers have so
willed that my battlefield shall be this dingy inglorious one of the
bed and the physics bottle."

Here in the tropics he might hope to live and work years longer--a
return to a cold climate, he now knew, would be fatal.

Why not turn traders? Often on starry nights, drifting among the low
islands, he and Lloyd and the captain of the _Equator_ had lain out on
deck and planned what a lark it would be to buy a schooner, cruise among
the islands, and trade with the natives. They would write stories, too,
about these strange island dwellers with their many weird superstitions
and of the white men who drifted from all corners of the globe to make
their home there.

Already Captain Reid had told them many such tales which Stevenson wove
into stories. The "Beach of FalesГЎ" and the "Isle of Voices" are
probably the two most famous, while "the strange story of the loss of
the brigantine Wandering Minstrel and what men and ships do in that wild
and beautiful world beyond the American continent" formed a plot for
the story called "The Wrecker," which he and Lloyd Osbourne wrote
together later on.

Samoa was a place he was eager to visit. King Kalakaua at Honolulu had
already told him much of its troubled history. The group of thirteen
islands lay about four thousand two hundred miles southwest of San
Francisco. At that time they were under the control of England, Germany,
and the United States according to a treaty entered into in 1889. These
countries appointed a chief justice, a president of the municipal
council, three consuls, and three land commissioners. A native king was
likewise recognized on each island.

This triple control proved most unsatisfactory and for years past there
had been constant friction among the officials and warlike outbreaks
among the natives.

These complications interested Stevenson. His first idea had been to
stop there but a short time. He now found he wanted to remain in Samoa
long enough to write its history.

The Samoans are true Polynesians; a strong and handsome race whose
reputation is high among all the people of the Pacific. The large
majority have become Christians, but in spite of the influence of the
missionaries and the foreign powers who control them, they retain many
of their old customs and habits. They are naturally peace-loving in
spite of their many wars. Fighting does not appeal to them for its own
sake, and they enjoy a good family life, treating their women with great
respect and lavishing affection upon their children.

Stevenson wanted those at home to know these people better; his
sympathy, which was ever with the weaker side, was instantly aroused in
behalf of the natives, and he wanted to tell their side of the story.

If they were to make a home anywhere in the South Seas there could be no
better spot than Apia, the principal port and capital of these islands,
as it had a good mail service, a most important feature to a writer.
The monthly mail-steamers between San Francisco and Sydney, as well as
other Australian mail-boats, stopped there.

So he purchased four hundred acres on the hills three miles from Apia
and preparations were immediately made for clearing the ground and
building a house. Lloyd Osbourne left for England to bring back the
household treasures from Skerryvore, to make a real home, and Stevenson
and his wife lived gypsy fashion meanwhile in a four-room wooden house.

The new home was named Vailima, which is Samoan for "Five Waters," there
being five streams running through the property.

The house was built of wood, painted dark green with a red roof. When
finished its chief feature was the great hall within, sixty feet long,
lined and ceiled with California redwood. Here among the home
treasures--his own portrait, war dresses, corselets, fans, and mats
presented to him by island kings--the marble bust of grandfather
Stevenson smiled down with approval on many a motley gathering. Louis
often wondered if they reminded the old gentleman of some of the strange
people he had entertained years ago in Baxter Place.

All about was dense, tropical undergrowth, only paths led to the house,
and these must continually be cut out. All carrying was done by two big
New Zealand pack-horses.

A large garden was planted--Mrs. Stevenson's special hobby. Cocoanuts,
oranges, guavas, and mangoes already grew on the estate. The ground was
very fertile, and kava, the root of which is used for the Samoan
national drink, pineapples, sweet potatoes, and eggplants were soon
flourishing among other things. Limes were so plentiful that they formed
the hedge about the place; citrons were so common that they rotted on
the trees.

[Illustration: The house at Vailima]

All this ground-breaking, house-building, and gardening were new to
Stevenson, and he revelled in them to the neglect of his writing.

"This is a hard and interesting and beautiful life we lead now," he
wrote to Sidney Colvin. "Our place is in a deep cleft of Væa 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 am 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 pathmaking; the oversight of laborers 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."

Before his arrival in Apia, Stevenson's tale of "The Bottle Imp" had
been translated into Samoan by the missionaries. When the natives
discovered he was its author they immediately named him Tusitala, The
Teller-of-Tales. He still owned the bottle, they said; it was that gave
him the wealth to cruise about in a great boat and build a fine house.
The family often wondered why native visitors were curious to see the
inside of the great safe in the hall at Vailima until they found that it
was the belief among the islanders that the safe was the bottle's
hiding-place.

Mrs. Stevenson, senior, returned with Lloyd from England, and later Mrs.
Strong and her small son, Austin, came from Honolulu to make the family
complete.

The servants were all natives, "boys" as they called themselves. There
were usually about half a dozen about the house, with a boy for the
garden and to look after the cows and pigs, besides a band of outside
laborers, varying from half a dozen to thirty, under Lloyd's direction.

Sosimo was Stevenson's particular boy. He waited upon him hand and foot,
looked after his clothes and his pony "Jack," and was devoted in every
way. His loyalty to his master lasted to the end of his own life.

The servants were governed on something very like the clan system. A
Vailima tartan was adopted for special occasions and Stevenson
encouraged them to think of the household as a family, to take interest
and pride in all its doings.

On Sunday evenings the entire household was assembled. A chapter of the
Samoan Bible was read and Samoan hymns sung. Then a prayer in English
written by Stevenson was read, concluding with the Lord's Prayer in
Samoan.

If the master had cause to be displeased with any one of them, they were
all summoned and reprimanded or fined.

His stories delighted them. They were never tired of looking at the
picture of Skerryvore Light and hearing about the rugged coasts of
Tusitala's native island and of his father and grandfather who built
lighthouses. The latter impressed them greatly, since building of any
kind in Samoa is considered a fine art. The deeds of General Gordon, the
Indian Mutiny, and Lucknow were likewise favorite tales when Tusitala
showed them a treasure he prized highly: a message written by General
Gordon from Khartoum. It was in Arabic on a small piece of
cigarette-paper which might be easily swallowed should the messenger be
captured. Stevenson always believed it to be the last message sent
before the great general's death.

They came to him for everything and he was ever ready with help and
advice. They were quick to appreciate his justice and kindliness, and to
a man were devoted to him. "Once Tusitala's friend, always Tusitala's
friend," they said.

With his customary energy he threw himself heart and soul for a time
into the political troubles of the island, making himself the champion
of the natives' cause. He wrote a series of letters to the papers at
home stating his idea of the injustice shown the Samoans under their
present government. It was a most delicate situation, and at times led
to very strained relations between himself and the officials in Apia.

Those at home wondered why Stevenson tampered with island politics at
all. Why did he not simply leave them to the powers in charge?

His answer was, he had made Samoa his home, the Samoans were his people,
and he could not fail to resent any injustice shown them.

Lloyd Osbourne says: "He was consulted on every imaginable subject....
Government chiefs and rebels consulted him with regard to policy;
political letters were brought to him to read and criticise.... Parties
would come to hear the latest news of the proposed disarming of the
country, or to arrange a private audience with one of the officials; and
poor war-worn chieftains, whose only anxiety was to join the winning
side and who wished to consult with Tusitala as to which that might be.
Mr. Stevenson would sigh sometimes as he saw these stately folks
crossing the lawn in single file, their attendants following behind with
presents and baskets, but he never failed to meet or hear them."

He aided one party of chieftains in prison, and to show their gratitude
on regaining their freedom they cleared and dug a splendid road leading
to his house. All the labor and expense they bore themselves, which
amounted to no small matter. Ala Loto Alofa, they called it, the Road of
the Loving Hearts.