Fara Way 13

  ‘There were no great advantages to be gained from the war by the
   winning side. The villages of the vanquished might be sacked, but they
   were seldom burnt; their plantations might be overrun, but there was
   little willful destruction. All pigs were, of course, regarded as legitimate
   spoil. The vanquished would perhaps promise to pay to the conquerors
   so many baskets of provisions or so many mats and canoes, a promise
   which was always faithfully and speedily performed, even though they
   might accompany the last part of the payment with a fresh declaration
   of war. The victorious side obtained no territorial aggrandisement, as it
   was to the common interest of all to maintain the integrity of the land,
   and the victors might on some future occasion be themselves in the
   position of the vanquished... Some of the large and high fuag ri house
   foundations were built by labour from defeated districts, suggesting
   the possibility of labour as a form of tribute... Nominally first-fruits
   were claimed by the victors from the chief of the vanquished, or
   perhaps the victors might depose the conquered chiefs, and put
   nominees in their places... Such a course had, however, relatively little
   permanence... There was not such thing as indiscriminate slaughter or
   debauchery of the women after a fight.’

In the Motusa War, Communion and Christian prayers took the place of chants. Late into the previous night, Father Joseph Trouillet had baptised recently converted Catholics, sanctifying them for the expected battle. The new dress code for warriors required black dress suits, frock coats, and starched, stiffly-ironed shirts, collars and ties, although the basketware head-gear, bravely trimmed with feathers and red cloth, like an Indian head-dress put on backwards, was still considered de rigeur. Spears, clubs and stones had been replaced with firearms. The battle was fought on the isthmus, and the Wesleyans won, with a final score of 12 to 2. The Treaty of Hamelin was signed, and relative peace prevailed, save for the odd French warship, mediating and fomenting dissent. When the anti-Catholic Reverend Thomas Moore made landfall in 1877, the situation took a turn, and when Riamkau stole a pig and was shot in the back, he died a Catholic martyr. The war of 1878 lasted over two months, resulting in a letter to the Governor of Fiji, requesting cession to Great Britain. They got their wish.
“We call it Rotuma Day.” Said Sani. “It brought us peace.” And Jehovah Witnesses, Seventh Day Adventists, Mormons, and Assembly of God on Rotuma members, and an unreasonable number and variety of their churches, spread all across the island she drove us around.
Thankfully, also, it brought them cold beer, which is where we ended up late afternoon, at Rocky Point.
For our final destination, before returning to Julie and the rest of our family in Motusa, Sani took us to her home in Nao’tau, to meet her husband. He was a big solid middle-aged Polynesian, with receding grey wavy hair, a big square jaw, and a nose so wide and flat, it made you wonder how it could be an instrument of respiration. He wore his lava-lava like he had been born in it.
“Gagaj Maraf Solomone.” He said, introducing himself. Which is about all he said. He was a man of few words. But he didn’t appear to need many. We knew her was married to a very regal presence. We knew that he was a direct descendent of Maraf. We knew that he was also a chief, not a sau anymore, as the office had been terminated in the 1860’s, but a chief nonetheless. We didn’t know that he was a member of the Fijian parliament, or how he would slurp his soup at dinner. We asked him questions about traditional and changing Rotuman society, and he always took a very long time, before answering in as few words as were necessary, to answer the question without giving anything else away.
In the old days, when a chief died, and the day came for laying his halaf foundation stone, each of the five districts had to bring a healthy pretty young girl to the ceremony. At the appointed time, they were struck once on the head with a stout club, for their deaths were required to be instantaneous. If one cried out, she would have been carried away and another girl from the same district would be sacrificed in her place. They were buried, one at each of the four corners in the cemetery, and one right in the centre, their bodies resembling the five stars of the ‘atarou Southern Cross constellation, where the spirit of the kings would go.
I asked him what would happen, if someone committed a serious crime.
“It is rare in Rotuma.” He said.
I pushed him for a response.
“He would make restitution to the community.” He said.
I asked him what would happen if his restitution had been inadequate.
“He would go fishing.” He said. Southern Cross power.
A man like this one, I thought, would have had that kind of foundation stone.



“The main island far exceeds in populousness and fertility all that we  
  have seen in this sea...the evidently superior fertility of the island,
  and the seeming cheerful and friendly disposition of the natives,
  makes this, in our opinion, the most eligible place for ships coming
  from the eastward, wanting refreshments, to touch at; and with
  regard to missionary views...there can hardly be a place where they
  settle with greater advantage, as there is food in abundance; and the
  island, lying remote from others, can never be engaged in wars...”
                                          William Wilson, missionary ship Duff, 1797