On the afternoon of the 4th of June, 1885, the Hawaiian labour schooner Mana, of which I was “recruiter” was beating through Apolima Straits, which divide the islands of Upolu and Savai’i.  The south-east trade was blowing very strongly and a three-knot current setting against the wind had raised a short, confused sea, and our decks were continually flooded.  But we had to thrash through it with all the sail we could possibly carry, for among the sixty-two Gilbert Islands “recruits” I had on board three had developed symptoms of what we feared was small-pox, and we were anxious to reach the anchorage off the town of Mulifanua at the west end of Upolu before dark.  At Mulifanua there was a large German cotton plantation, employing four hundred “recruited” labourers, and on the staff of European employes was a resident doctor.  In the ordinary course of things we should have gone on to Apia, which was twenty miles farther on, and our port of destination, and handed over my cargo of “recruits” to the manager of the German firm there; but as Mulifanua Plantation was also owned by them, and my “recruits” would probably be sent there eventually, the captain and I decided to land the entire lot at that place, instead of taking them to Apia, where the European community would be very rough upon us if the disease on board did turn out to be small-pox.

As the skipper and I were standing aft, watching the showers of spray that flew over the schooner every time a head sea smacked her in the face, one of the hands shouted out that there was a man in the water, close to on the weather bow.  Hauling our head sheets to windward we head-reached towards him, and in a few minutes the man, who was swimming in the most gallant fashion, was alongside, and clambered on board.  He was a rather dark-skinned Polynesian, young, and of extremely powerful physique.

“Thanks, good friends,” he said, speaking in halting Samoan. “’Tis a high sea in which to swim.  Yet,” and here he glanced around him at the land on both sides, “I was half-way across.”

“Come below,” I said, “and take food and drink, and I will give you a lava-lava (waistcloth).” (He was nude.)

He thanked me, and then again his keen dark eyes were fixed upon Savai’i ­three miles distant.

“Art bound to Savai’i?” he asked quickly.

“Nay.  We beat against the wind.  To-night we anchor at Mulifanua.”

“Ah!” and his face changed, “then I must leave, for it is to Savai’i I go,” and he was about to go over the rail when we held him back.

“Wait, friend.  In a little time the ship will be close in to the passage through the reef at Saleleloga” (a town of Savai’i), “and then as we put the ship about, thou canst go on thy way.  Why swim two leagues and tempt the sharks when there is no need.  Come below and eat and drink, and have no fear.  We shall take thee as near to the passage as we can.”

The skipper came below with us, and after providing our visitor with a navy blue waistcloth, we gave him a stiff tumbler of rum, and some bread and meat.  He ate quickly and then asked for a smoke, and in a few minutes more we asked him who he was, and why he was swimming across the straits.  We spoke in Samoan.  “Friends,” he said, “I will tell the truth.  I am one of the kau galuega (labourers) on Mulifanua Plantation.  Yesterday being the Sabbath, and there being no work, I went into the lands of the Samoan village to steal young nuts and taro.  I had thrown down and husked a score, and was creeping back to my quarters by a side path through the grove, when I was set upon by three young Samoan manaia (bloods) who began beating me with clubs ­seeking to murder me.  We fought, and I, knowing that death was upon me, killed one man with a blow of my tori nui{} (husking stick) of iron-wood, and then drove it deep into the chest of another.  Then I fled, and gaining the beach, ran into the sea so that I might swim to Savai’i, for there will I be safe from pursuit” “’Tis a long swim, man ­’tis five leagues.”  He laughed and expanded his brawny chest “What is that to me?  I have swam ten leagues many times.”

      A heavy, pointed stick of hardwood, used for husking coco-
     nuts.

“Where do you belong?” asked the skipper in English.

He answered partly in the same language and partly in his curious Samoan.

“I am of Anuda.{} My name is Vanaki.  Two years ago I came to Samoa in a German labour ship to work on the plantations, for I wanted to see other places and earn money, and then return to Anuda and speak of the things I had seen.  It was a foolish thing of me.  The German suis (overseers) are harsh men.  I worked very hard on little food.  It was for that I had to steal.  And I am but one man from Anuda, and there are four hundred others from many islands ­black-skinned, man-eating, woolly-haired pigs from the Solomon and New Hebrides, and fierce fellows like these Tafito{} men from the Gilbert Islands such as I now see here on this ship.  No one of them can speak my tongue of Anuda.  And now I am a free man.”

Anuda or Cherry Island is an outlier of the Santa Cruz Group, in the South Pacific.  The natives are more of the Polynesian than the Melanesian type, and are a fine, stalwart race.

      Tafitos ­natives of the Pacific Equatorial Islands such
     as the Gilbert Group.

“You are a plucky fellow,” said the captain, “and deserve good luck.  Here, take this dollar, and tie it up in the corner of your waistcloth.  You can buy yourself some tobacco from the white trader at Salelelogo.”

“Ah, yes, indeed.  But” (and here he dropped into Samoan again, and turned to me) “I would that the good captain would take me as a sailor for his next voyage.  I was for five years with Captain Macleod of Nouméa.  And I am a good man ­honest, and no boaster.”

I shook my head.  “It cannot be.  From Mulifanua we go to Apia And there will be news there of what thou hast done yesterday, and we cannot hide a man on this small ship.”  And then I asked the captain what he thought of the request.

“We ought to try and work it,” said the skipper.  “If he was five years with Jock Macleod he’s all right.”

We questioned him further, and he satisfied us as to his bona-fides, giving us the names of many men ­captains and traders ­known to us intimately.

“Vanaki,” I said, “this is what may be done, but you must be quick, for presently we shall be close to the passage off Saleleloga, and must go about When you land, go to Miti-loa the chief, and talk to him privately.  There is bad blood between his people and those of Mulifanua ­”

“I know it It has been so for two years past.”

“Now, listen.  Miti-loa and the captain here and I are good friends.  Tell him that you have seen us.  Hide nothing from him of yesterday.  He is a strong man.”

“I know it Who does not, in this part of Samoa know of Miti-loa?” {}

“That is true.  And Miti knows us two papalagi{} well.  Stay with him, work for him, and do all that he may ask.  He will ask but little ­perhaps nothing.  In twenty days from now, this ship will be at Apia ready for sea again.  We go to the Tokelaus” (Gilbert Islands) “or else to the Solomons, and if thou comest on board in the night who is to know of it but Miti-loa and thyself?”

      Miti-loa ­“Long Dream “.

      White men ­foreigners.

The mate put his head under the flap of the skylight “Close on to the reef, sir.  Time to go about.”

“All right, Carey.  Put her round Now Vanaki, up on deck, and over you go.”

Vanaki nodded and smiled, and followed us.  Then quickly he took off his lava-lava, deftly wrapped it about his head like an Indian turban, and held out his hand in farewell, and every one on board cheered as he I leapt over the side, and began his swim to the land.

From the cross-trees I watched him through my glasses, saw him enter the passage into smooth water, and disdaining to rest on any of the exposed and isolated projections of reef which lined the passage, continue his course towards the village.  Then a rain squall hid him from view, but we knew that he was safe.

That evening we landed our “recruits” at Mulifanua, and after thoroughly disinfecting the ship, we sailed a few days later for Apia.  Here we were again chartered to proceed to the New Hebrides and Solomon Islands for another cruise.

As we were refitting, I received a letter from Miti-loa, telling me that Vanaki was safe, and would be with us in a few days.  When he did arrive, he came with Miti-loa himself in his taumalua (native boat) and a score of his people.  Vanaki was so well made-up as a Samoan that when he stepped on deck the skipper and I did not recognise him.  We sent him below, and told him to keep quiet until we were well under way.

“Ah,” said Miti-loa to us, “what a man is he!  Such a swimmer was never before seen.  My young men have made much of him, and I would he would stay with me.”

Vanaki turned out an acquisition to our ship’s company, and soon became a favourite with every one.  He was highly delighted when he was placed on the articles at the usual rate of wages paid to native seamen ­L3 per month.  Our crew were natives from all parts of Polynesia, but English was the language used by them generally to each other.  Like all vessels in the labour trade we carried a double crew ­one to man the boats when recruiting, and one to work the ship when lying “off and on” at any island where we could not anchor, and Vanaki was greatly pleased when I told him that he should have a place in my boat, instead of being put in the “covering"{} boat.

      The “covering” boat is that which stands by to open fire
     if the “landing” boat is attacked.

We made a splendid run down to the Solomons from Samoa, and when in sight of San Cristoval, spoke a French labour vessel from Nouméa, recruiting for the French New Hebrides Company.  Her captain and his “recruiter” (both Englishmen) paid us a visit.  They were old acquaintances of our captain and myself, and as they came alongside in their smart whaleboat and Vanaki saw their faces, he gave a weird yell of delight, and rubbed noses with them the moment they stepped on deck.

“Hallo, Vanaki, my lad,” said the skipper of La Metise, shaking his hand, “how are you?” Then turning to us he said:  “Vanaki was with me when I was mate with Captain Macleod, in the old Aurore of Nouméa.  He’s a rattling good fellow for a native, and I wish I had him with me now.  Wherever did you pick him up?”

We told him, and Houston laughed when I narrated the story of Vanaki’s swim.

“Oh, that’s nothing for him to do.  Why, the beggar once swam from the Banks Group across to the Torres Islands.  Has he never told you about it?”

“No.  And I would hardly believe him if he did.  Why, the two groups are fifty miles apart.”

“No, from Tog in the Torres Islands to Ureparapara in the Banks Group is a little over forty miles.  But you must wheedle the yarn out of him.  He’s a bit sensitive of talking about it, on account of his at first being told he was a liar by several people.  But Macleod, two traders who were passengers with us, and all the crew of the Aurore know the story to be true.  We sent an account of it to the Sydney papers.”

“I’ll get him to tell me some day,” I said “I once heard of a native woman swimming from Nanomaga in the Ellice Group to Nanomea ­thirty-five miles ­but never believed it for a long time.”

After spending half an hour with us, our friends went back to their ship, each having shaken hands warmly with Vanaki, and wished him good luck.

It was some days before the captain and I had time to hear Vanaki’s story, which I relate as nearly as possible in his own words.

First of all, however, I must mention that Ureparapara or Bligh Island is a well-wooded, fertile spot, about sixteen miles in circumference, and is an extinct crater.  It is now the seat of a successful mission.  Tog is much smaller, well-wooded, and inhabited, and about nine hundred feet high.  At certain times of the year a strong current sets in a northerly and westerly direction, and it is due to this fact that Vanaki accomplished his swim.  Now for his story.

“I was in the port watch of the Aurore.  We came to Ureparapara in the month of June to ‘recruit’ and got four men.  Whilst we were there, Captain Houston (who was then mate of the Aurore) asked me if I would dive under the ship and look at her copper; for a week before we had touched a reef.  So I dived, and found that five sheets of copper were gone from the port side about half a fathom from the keel.  So the captain took five new sheets of copper, and punched the nail holes, and gave me one sheet at a time, and I nailed them on securely.  In three hours it was done, for the ship was in quiet, clear water, and I knew what to do.  The captain then said to me laughingly that he feared I had but tacked on the sheets loosely, and that they would come off.  My heart was sore at this, and so I asked Mr. Houston, who is a good diver, to go and look.  And he dived and looked, and then five other of the crew ­natives ­dived and looked, and they all said that the work was well and truly done ­all the nails driven home, and the sheets smooth, and without a crinkle.  This pleased the captain greatly, and he gave me a small gold piece, and told me that I could go on shore, and spend it at the white trader’s store.

“Now I did a foolish thing.  I bought from the trader two bottles of strange grog called arrak.  It was very strong ­stronger than rum ­and soon I and two others who drank it became very drunk, and lay on the ground like pigs.  Mr. Houston came and found me, and brought me on board, and I was laid on the after-deck under the awning.

“At sunset the ship sailed.  I was still asleep, and heard nothing, though in a little while it began to blow, and much rain fell The captain let me lie on the lee side, so that the rain might beat upon me, and bring me to life again.

“When four bells struck I awoke.  I was ashamed.  Waiting until the wheel was relieved, I crept along the deck unseen, for it was very dark, and goy up on the top of the top-gallant fo’c’stle, and again lay down.  The ship was running before the wind under close-reefed sails, and the sea was so great that she pitched heavily every now and then, and much water came over the bows.  This did me good, and I soon began to feel able to go below and turn in in my bunk.  Then presently, as I was about to rise, the ship made a great plunge, and a mighty sea fell upon her, and I was swept away.  No one saw me go, for no one knew that I was there, and the night was very, very dark.

“When I came to the surface, I could see the ship’s lights, and cried out, but no one heard me, for the wind and sea made a great noise; and then, too, there was sweeping rain In a little while the lights were gone, and I was alone.

“‘Now,’ I said to myself, ’Vanaki, thou art a fool, and will go into the belly of a shark because of becoming drunk.’  And then my heart came back to me, and I swam on easily over the sea, hoping that I would be missed, and the ship heave-to, and send a boat.  But I looked in vain.

“By-and-by the sky cleared, and the stars came out, but the wind still blew fiercely, and the seas swept me along so quickly that I knew it would be folly for me to try and face them, and try to swim back to Ureparapara.

“‘I will swim to Tog,’ I said; ‘if the sharks spare me I can do it.’  For now that the sky was clear, and I could see the stars my fear died away; and so I turned a little, and swam to the west a little by the north.

“There was a strong current with me, and hour by hour as I swam the wind became less, and the sea died away.

“When daylight came I was not tired, and rested on my back.  And as I rested, two green turtle rose near me.  They looked at me, and I was glad, for I knew that where turtle were there would be no sharks.  I am not afraid of sharks, but what is a man to do with a shark in the open sea without a knife?

“Towards noon there came rain I lay on my back and put my hollowed hands together, and caught enough to satisfy my great thirst.  The rain did not last long.

“A little after noon I saw the land ­the island of Tog.  It was but three leagues away.

“Then I swam into a great and swift tide-rip, which carried me to the eastward.  It was so strong that I feared it would take me away from the island, but soon it turned and swept me to the westward.  And then I saw the land becoming nearer and nearer.

“When the sun was nearly touching the sea-rim, I was so close to the south-end of Tog, that I could see the spars of a ship lying at anchor in the bay called Pio.  And then when the sun had set I could see the lights of many canoes catching flying-fish by torchlight.

“I swam on and came to the ship.  It was the Aurore.

“I clambered up the side-ladder, and stood on deck, and the man who was on anchor watch ­an ignorant Tokelau ­shouted out in fear, and ran to tell the captain, and Mr. Houston.

“They brought me below and made much of me, and gave me something to drink which made me sleep for many hours.

“When I awakened I was strong and well, but my eyes were malai (bloodshot).  That is all.”