96 
FROM SYDNEY TO TORRES STRAIT. 
trees, were bathed in a flood of golden rays, and all nature seemed to breathe forth silent 
adoration to the great Source of light and life. But the pleasant hours spent at Ngaloa 
were rapidly drawing to a close, and we were forced to beat a hasty retreat along the narrow 
smooth paths marked by the footprints of the natives, some of whom piloted us through the 
woods, lest we should be surprised by the brief twilight of the tropics. 
Kandavu has been used of late as a port of call for trans-Pacific steamers. On the 
8th the mail steamer “Mikado” arrived from Sydney, on the ioth the “Cyphrenes” from 
New Zealand, besides which H.M.S. “Dido” and H.M. schooner “Reynard” had come in 
on the 7th of August, so that the harbour of Ngaloa wore all the appearance of an important 
commercial and naval station. Yet, excepting a few r wooden huts, there were no visible 
beginnings of the city which in days to come may possibly reflect its stately outlines in the 
calm waters of this inlet, not inferior in the charm of its scenery to the most famous 
harbours in the Old and New Worlds. The port, moreover, has the advantage of lying in 
the direct route between Sydney, Honolulu, and San Francisco, and vessels calling here 
avoid loss of time, as well as the risks connected with the navigation of the inland or central 
sea of Fiji. 
Sometimes in the morning one heard a low harmonious chant, accompanied at intervals by 
clapping of hands, and, looking out upon the sunlit bay, discovered that the sounds proceeded 
from a canoe laden with a crowd of brown women, girls, and boys, rowed by a couple of men. 
In the background, the broad sails of the native craft were stealing along the richly wooded 
shores—it was a perfect picture of Polynesian life. A few days before our departure we 
were invited to a “ miki-miki,” or native entertainment, given in our honour by the chief of 
Kandavu. The spot selected was an avenue of palms close to the beach on the western side 
of the harbour. At the end nearest to the spectators, about a score of natives were seated in 
a circle. This was the band, and the music consisted of a monotonous but not inharmonious 
chant, accompanied by the sound of the Fijian drum. There were few, if any, traces of 
melody, simply a combination of bass, tenor, alto, and treble voices, now swelling to a loud 
chorus, now dying away upon the night air. The time kept by the singers was faultless, and 
rather quick, becoming more rapid towards the end of each dance. The number of the 
performers, who were gathered at the opposite extreme of the avenue, buried in darkness, 
could not be exactly ascertained, as they seemed to vary with each dance, but it may have 
amounted to a hundred or more. They had been summoned by the chief from the different 
villages of Kandavu. Their polished skins reflected the light of the torches, and, besides 
being fantastically adorned with feathers and every item of a Fijian toilette,’they appeared 
differently armed in each dance; and accordingly we had a fan-dance, a dance with bow and 
arrow, a club-dance, &c. A sprightly lad, the son of the chief, carrying a fan, acted as master 
of the ceremonies. The performance mainly consisted of a slow advance towards the spectators, 
the men moving in double file, sometimes four abreast, gracefully swinging their bodies, now 
to one side, now to the other. They kept exact time, every movement being executed as by 
one man. The last dance evidently simulated the skirmish, the charge, the alternate advance 
