The next day I set out on my journey into the interior, Masirewa
and another Fijian carrying my baggage (which was wrapped up in
waterproof cloth) on a long bamboo pole. We followed the course of
the Navua River for some distance. In the swamps bordering the river
grew quantities of a variety of sago palm (SAGUS VITIENSIS) called by
the natives Songo. They extract the sago from the trunk, and the palm
always dies after flowering. After passing through about four miles
of sugar cane, with small villages of the Indian coolies who work in
the cane fields, we left behind us the last traces of civilization. We
next came to a very beautiful bit of hilly country, densely wooded on
the hills, though bordering the broad gravelly beaches of the river
were long stretches of beautiful grassy pastures. Darkness set in
as we ascended some thickly wooded hills. The atmosphere was damp
and close, and mosquitoes plentiful, and small phosphorescent lumps
seemed to wink at us out of the darkness on every side. I had to strike
plenty of matches to discover the track, and continually bumped myself
against boulders and the trunks of tree-ferns. It was late when we
arrived at the village of Nakavu, on the banks of the Navua River,
where I was soon asleep on a pile of mats in the hut of the "Buli,"
or village chief.
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