themselves do not object to this summary anticipation of the moment of
dissolution; on the contrary, when they become sensible of infirmity, they invite
their sons to strangle them. While the sons, far from objecting to an act of
parricide, will intimate to their aged parents, if they delay the request, that they
have lived long enough, and that it will be well for them to enjoy the rest of the
grave. On both sides this singular conduct is due apparently to the Fijian belief
that the condition of the spirit in the next world will exactly resemble that of the
individual in this; and consequently everybody is desirous to cross the threshold
while he retains some degree of activity of body.
Alone we must die, but we need not pass alone into the spirit-world! Such is the
conviction of the Fijians, and accordingly they provide a dead chief with
attendants, by strangling at his grave his favourite wives. And they slay a valiant
warrior that he may precede him on his journey, and do battle for him with all
evil spirits or demons. These victims are called “grass,” and lie at the bottom of
the chieftain’s grave; the wives decked out in fleecy folds of the softest masi, the
servants with their various implements in their hands, and the warrior equipped
for the strife, with his favourite club by his side. No resistance is offered by any
one of the sufferers; no attempt is made to escape; all seem to contend for the
honour of escorting their chief into the other world.
Mr. Williams was present at the funeral of the King of Somo-somo in August,
- Age was beginning to tell upon him, but there was no immediately
dangerous symptom, and on the 21st, when Mr. Williams visited him, he was
better than he had been for two or three days before. Judge, then, of the
missionary’s surprise, when, on the 24th, he was informed that the king was
dead, and that preparations were being made for his interment, he could scarcely
believe the report. The ominous word “preparations” induced him to hasten at
once to the scene of action, but his utmost speed failed to bring him to Nasima,
the king’s house, in time. The moment he entered it was evident that, as far as
concerned two of the women, he was too late to save their lives. The effect of
that ghastly scene was overwhelming. Scores of deliberate murderers in the very
act surrounded him; yet was there no confusion, and the unearthly horrid
stillness was broken only by an occasional word from him who presided. Nature
seemed to lend her aid to enhance the impression of horror; there was not a
breath in the air, and the half subdued light in that hall of death revealed every
object with unusual distinctness.
“All was motionless as sculpture, and”—writes Mr. Williams—“a strange
feeling came upon me, as though I was myself becoming a statue. To speak was