Journal of Residence in the New Hebrides, S.W. Pacific OceanBice, C. (Charles)
History
Journal of Residence in the New Hebrides, S.W. Pacific Ocean
Bice, C. (Charles)
Missions -- Vanuatu
The men returned in the afternoon with about thirty nice fish, which
were at once consigned to the oven, and in the evening the feast was
spread here in front of my house, and the whole village assembled to
partake. Grace was said, and the huge quantities of food distributed,
and eaten with very evident relish. Postprandial grace having been said,
the company dispersed, and soon all the festal remnants, too,
disappeared. The evening was one of the most glorious I have ever seen,
and I sat outside my house for a long time talking with the people. Many
were prevented attending by reason of sickness, and our numbers at
Prayers and school were not so full as usual. After school a dance was
proposed, but did not come off. Instead thereof, a few of the men came
and serenaded me, very quietly and softly, and much more in consonance
with my feelings than the noisy songs and clappings of the dance. It was
one of those nights in which it was a “shame to go to bed,” but tired
nature seeks repose, and soon the village was sunk in silent slumber.
_Wednesday, September 8th._--Another most glorious morning followed by a
very hot and ennervating day. After our morning duties here, public and
private, I went with some of the boys to Ruosi. It was very pleasant
there by the water side, and one got a perfect freedom from the blue
bottles, which invaded my house in such numbers, this morning, that I
had to retire. The discomfort of these loathsome creatures is excessive,
and one gets away from them as far as possible. Not having had a washing
day for some days, I made one to-day, and myself turned washerwoman. The
one idea of natives with respect to clothes washing, is to pile on the
soap agony, and leave your garments as stiff as a board, and almost as
uncomfortable to wear. I entrusted a pair of white flannel trowsers, and
a white flannel coat to one of the boys to wash, but I tremble to think
what the result will be. On our way homeward we were stopped by loud
“cooes” from the rear rank, and Patrick came running forward to say
“They are here.” Soon a white hat appeared, and I fancied at once it
must be the “Southern Cross,” but wondered why she had come so quickly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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