“The missionaries came forth to Christianize the savages.” Sani said. “But it wasn’t as if the savages weren’t dangerous enough already.” She told us of the Great Malhaha War of 1845, when two sau chiefs, Riamku and Sani’s husband’s ancestor Maraf, from the same village of Noa'tau, each installed different saus of their choosing in our village of Motusa. The conflict killed all the young men on both sides with many villages entirely depopulated. Maraf thought he finally had the strategic advantage, when he acquired a cannon from one of the whalers but, at the battle that followed, after a few shots the falconet failed, and Riamkau’s men rallied, killing Maraf and a hundred of his men. He was buried with the faulty gun serving as his headstone, and a great number of pigs were paid in indemnity.
“A year later the Catholic Marist missionaries arrived.” She said.” There were already few Wesleyan missionaries from Tonga, landed by John Williams in 1839.” Gradually, the southern and south-eastern part of the island, and Riamkau, became converted to Catholicism, and the rest of the island, Maraf’s heirs, to Wesleyan dogma. When William Fletcher established his mission in 1865, he noted that his flock had chosen to adopt a more western appearance
‘The contrast between the skins and garments, stained with turmeric
and the clean shirts and dresses, was too marked to be overlooked.
The young men of the district appeared in a sort of uniform, clean
white shirts, and clean cloth wrapped about them in place of trousers.
The idea was their own: the effect was good... As I reached the houses
of the heathen part of the village, the difference was very marked.
Everything was dirty, Turmeric was on all sides... (It was hard) to tell
a Papist from a professed heathen by his outward gait and
demeanour. There is the same unkempt head of long hair, the same
daubing with turmeric; indeed, the same wild, and unpolished, and
unwholesome appearance.’
Tumeric was the talcum powder of the traditional, of tolerance. But tolerance wasn’t on tap in the pulpits of the mission churches at the end of the 1860s.
The Wesleyans were complaining about the heretical Papist ‘scarlet whores’ impeding their civilizing progress, and ruining the commodity accounting balance sheet of converts per unit cost. They were making the world more like Britain, measurable as much in housing and clothing as in baptisms.
The Catholics, for their part, were preaching the narrative of martyrdom, in the values of ‘faith, baptism, confession, and communion,’ while living among their flock in ‘poverty, celibacy, and obedience.’
But differences between the two agendas were only foreground and background; what for one group was underlined, for the other was subtext, and for all their vows of poverty, the Catholics were definitely playing the money game.
‘At Rotumah I was struck by the ingenious method the Roman
Catholic priests have adopted for paying the natives for their labour.
They, the priests, are all poor men, having as a rule barely sufficient
means to support themselves except in a native fashion, and
consequently they have no money to expend in wages. They have
therefore adopted a system of fines, which when enforced are usually
found to exceed in amount the sum due for service. Absence from
church is fined; smoking on Sunday, or even walking out, is against
the law. Women are fined for not wearing bonnets when attending
mass, kava drinking ensures a heavy penalty, and fishing on holy
days is strictly forbidden. The chief source of revenue comes from
absence from church, as service goes on two or three times a day,
and most probably just when the poor people are fishing or
cultivating the ground.’
Boddam-Whetham, JW, Pearls of the Pacific, 1876
Other influences stoked the fires and brimstones. European traders provided guns and ammunition, French ship captains drew up treaties and made threats, British colonial officials in Fiji hovered just beyond the horizon, and Rotuman chiefs became anxious to exercise their vested interests, kinship alliances and grievances.
“But when push finally came to shove,” Said Sani, “it was the Rotumans who did the fighting.”
“When was that?” I asked.
“The Motusa War of 1871.” She said.
“You mean our village?” I asked.
“The very same.” She said. “It was a strange mix of Rotuman custom and missionary innovation.”
Wars were conducted in a ceremonial, if not celebratory fashion, in a one-day encounter only, like a sporting event. Chiefs sent challenges announcing a particular time and place for combat. The day before the scheduled conflict, each side held a feast, featuring ki chants and war dances. Battles were conducted on flat stretches of beach, to preclude ambushes. Prior to engagement, each side danced menacingly and tauntingly, sang verses proclaiming their ferocity, and then chanted to solicit the support of their gods. Warriors dressed in their best clothing, to make any unanticipated funerary preparations easier. They tied up their hair in topknots and wore milomilo conical or suru crescent-shaped basket hats, decorated with tapa and feathers. Round their necks they wore charms, and their bodies were smeared with coconut oil mixed with turmeric. The main weapons were spears, clubs and stones, thrown both at distant and close quarters. The goal was to kill the leading chief of the other team. When this had been accomplished, the supporters of that chief would withdraw, and the fighting would end.
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