THE PACIFIC 211 



reverent serving of the kava. Before the mixing of the kava was 

 started, a grass rope encrusted with cowrie shells was led from 

 the bowl itself to the feet of the Guest of Honour, who was served 

 first. The other guests, seated within a green arbour, were served 

 next. The Captain was among these and watched the inscrutable 

 faces of seasoned kava drinkers for any indication of the taste he 

 might expect, pleasant or ill. The 'bilo', or cup, in which the 

 'yanggona' is served is made from the lower half of a coconut 

 shell, highly polished; it is smooth to the touch. Soon the 

 Captain was draining the brown coloured liquid. Its taste is hard 

 to define; unattractive at first to the European palate, it soon 

 grows on one, for it leaves a sharp clean taste in the mouth. It 

 is drunk by Europeans and Fijians alike in the mid-morning in 

 many of the offices in Suva. 



As the Captain came off the ship next day onto the wharf an 

 old Fijian in khaki shorts offered him kava. Feeling that he was 

 now a hardened kava drinker he readily consented to enter the 

 temporary shelter where, he found, this old man made kava for 

 the workers upon the wharf. Instead of the smooth, well-worn 

 kava bowl made from a solid tree trunk, the old man's mixture 

 was swilling in the rusty interior of a battered half kerosene 

 tin. A brown chipped plastic bowl floated upon its surface, and 

 soon this was in the Captain's hands. Fijians are nature's gentle- 

 men, so he had been told, and thus there was now no turning back 

 unless he risked giving offence. Luckily yanggona should be drunk 

 at a single draught and soon the Captain was throwing back the 

 empty little bowl and clapping his appreciation. But his friend 

 did not end his generosity here, for every time the Captain left 

 the ship after this, whether dressed in plain clothes or in full 

 white Number lo uniform with sword, and to the shrill of boat- 

 swain's calls, to call upon His Excellency, nature's own gentle- 

 man tottered out with his rusty offering of kava, and the crew 

 paused on deck to watch the skipper in his embarrassment. 



But if the formal dancing of 'mekes' on the green turf of Fiji 

 was thrilling, the impromptu dancing at Rotuma was the real 

 thing — the South Sea Island dancing one has dreamt about for 

 years. The anchorage off the village at Rotuma is exposed, and so 

 after landing the stores, which had been carried from Fiji, the 



