Tusitala: R. L. S.--a New Phase
HIS baptismal names were Robert Lewis, and Dr. Jepp says his father always wrote the second name Lewis. Stevenson himself had a fancy for the French spelling, but not for the French pronunciation. I must have heard the name hundreds of times from his wife and his mother, and it was always the British, not the French, pronunciation. I never heard him called Robert in his own home; nor did I see it written by him, except when he wrote his name in full: Robert Louis Stevenson.
When he decided to settle in Samoa, the question of his Samoan name had to be considered. In the native language there is only one consonant in a syllable, and every syllable ends with a vowel; therefore no syllable contains more than two letters, and Stevenson Samoanized would have been Se-te-vini-só-ni — in pronunciation a short sentence.
I was told by one who was present when the form of the name was being discussed that the late Reverend J. E. Newell, then one of the tutors at the Malua College, asked: ‘Why not Tusitala?’
The suggestion was acclaimed by all who knew the Samoan language, and was approved by Stevenson when its meaning was explained to him; for it is Writer of Stories, from tusi, to write, and tala, stories. It was in one word of four syllables a name, a title, and a description of his occupation. The Samoans use only one name, and have no prefix like ‘Mr.’
I
My residence in Samoa covered eighteen years, but in two periods. The first was from 1863 to 1879, when, through the ill health of my wife, I was obliged to relinquish my missionary work. The second period was two and a half years, from 1891 to 1894, during the time that R. L. Stevenson was there.
It was Sunday morning when the mail-boat on which I sailed from San Francisco reached the harbor of Apia in Samoa. Before ten o’clock on Monday morning my first visitor arrived; and, to my surprise and pleasure, he was R. L. Stevenson, who had ridden down from Vailima to welcome me. He told me that he abstained from calling on Sunday because he thought the Samoans might be shocked by a Sunday visit, and he did not wish to risk compromising me in their eyes.
He said that since the news of my coming had been received by the mail, a month before, some of the people had expressed to him their pleasure at the prospect of my return; and he could assure me of a warm welcome back for a time to the field of my former labors. His frankness and friendliness greatly impressed me: as did also his love for the people and his interest in their welfare. He stayed until I had the first proof of the accuracy of what he had said by the arrival of a large band of native pastors to welcome me. That first interview revealed to me his charming — almost bewitching — personality, and all my subsequent intercourse with him confirmed and strengthened the impressions produced that morning.
Before the end of the week I rode up to Vailima on horseback, to return Mr. Stevenson’s call. I intended to make a short visit. But in that I reckoned without both my host and my hostess. A short visit to Vailima was almost an impossibility; both Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson conspired to defeat my intention that day. Mrs. Stevenson had an idea that I was a botanist and a gardener. She had started a kitchen garden on a plot of cleared forest land, a little distance from the house, where she was making experiments with vegetables not indigenous to the Tropics; and she wanted my opinion on the success she had met. Of course, I went.
Both husband and wife, in that household, were unconventional in the matter of dress; and in the visit to the garden Mrs. Stevenson had an advantage over me. Vegetation grows so rapidly in Samoa that it is almost impossible to keep footpaths free from weeds and grass. That morning there had been rain, and our walk was partly through long wet grass. Mrs. Stevenson was barefooted. She therefore gathered her skirts about her and stalked through the wet herbage with impunity. I was wearing low shoes and socks!
By the time we got back to the house, it was nearly luncheon time. R. L. S. had prepared a salad, in which culinary art he was a specialist; and for him the salad was all the better because the vegetables in it were from his wife’s garden. After luncheon we went to a balcony in front of the drawingroom, which was on the second floor. This overlooked the undulating forest, down to the sea, of which a vast expanse was visible. Stevenson was that day free from pain, in high spirits, and in his best mood for conversation.
That being my first interview with him in his home, I could not fail to notice several characteristics. His vivacity was wonderful for a chronic invalid. He was as active and restless as if — had it been possible — his veins were filled with quicksilver. He had a cigarette between his fingers, and occasionally between his lips; but it was constantly going out after a few puffs. There was a strong rail in front of the balcony, for safety. He, like the rest of us, had his chair; but he occupied it for only a few minutes at a time. Then he strode along the balcony and poised himself upon the rail. Anon, he slid off, took a few steps, and dropped into his chair. Sometimes he came and stood before me, discoursing upon one point or another. All the time I was lounging in a deck chair, noticing and enjoying the changes in his features, his attitudes, and the varying tones of his voice, almost as much as the subjects of his conversation. He put life into everything he discussed.
He knew I had not brought a supply of books across America, my heavy baggage being still on the way, via Australia. He therefore placed his library at my service, and I took a book away that day. Later I had an arrangement on the front of my saddle, such as I had used in previous years in the Islands for carrying botanical specimens. With this I could strap a parcel of books wrapped in waterproof cloth on my saddle; and I rarely went to or from Vailima without such a parcel. The use of his books, of course, led to conversations on the subjects of some of them; and those literary conversations I greatly appreciated, for they revealed his judgment of and attitude toward many subjects. He was by no means dogmatic in most of his judgments, and was always fair in argument. However, he held definite and strong views on some controversial matters. In his acceptance of the Sacred Scriptures he was far more ‘orthodox’ than most present-day theologians, and he was a genuine believer in Divine Inspiration.
II
About three years before my return to Samoa, the London Missionary Society had decided to found a High School for girls, in their teens or over, to be conducted by lady missionaries. This was to give a superior education to the most promising young women from all the ten inhabited islands. Thirty acres of land had been acquired for the buildings and for the production of most of the food for the scholars. A plan for the building of the school had been prepared and, with the estimated cost, had been approved by the Directors in London. But up to the time of my arrival no one had been found to carry out the work, and the missionaries asked me to undertake it. That took me halfway to Vailima six days a week for some months, and I had a standing invitation to lunch there.
At that time there was no road for a horse-drawn vehicle in Samoa. When the Vailima house was built, all the materials for the structure had to be carried on the shoulders, or in the hands, of men; and all the imported provisions for the household, at the time when I was there, were carried from Apia by two pack-horses. The ‘road’ was, for most of the distance, a narrow track.
I, therefore, induced the people to give a strip of land for a broad road, and to construct the road; and when the mail-boat that took me to Apia returned from Sydney and Auckland, I sent by her an order to San Francisco for a light van and harness for a horse. When she again returned, a month after my arrival, she brought what was ordered, and by that time our road was nearly completed. That was the first road for a vehicle that was made in Samoa; and ‘the road of the loving heart,’which the people constructed some time later to show their ‘love for Tusitala,’ was the continuation of our road from Papauta—the Girls’ College — to Vailima. That is the history of ‘the road of the loving heart.’
One day, soon after the school had been opened, Mr. Stevenson called on me at my apartments, in a more formal manner than usual. He wished to write a story in the Samoan language; but he felt that his knowledge, especially of the idioms, was too imperfect. He told me that he had consulted natives and missionaries, and all advised him to ask me for the help he needed. He would not ask for more than one hour a week, and he would come to me in my rooms at whatever time best suited me. If I had any scruple about devoting that time to his help, he hoped I would frankly tell him.
In Samoa there is only an hour and twenty minutes’ difference between the shortest and the longest day: on the shortest, the sun rises about 6.20 a.m. and sets at 5.40; on the longest, it rises about 5.40, and sets at 6.20. Tea time in our missionary homes was about five o’clock, and the time between that and lamp-lighting for evening occupations was our leisure hour. I told him that. I should be delighted to give him that time for the study of the niceties of the Samoan language. Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, with whom I boarded, would be delighted if he would join us at tea, and then we would set to work.
I suggested that he should write a piece of his story, which I would read and correct where correction was needed; and then we would discuss the reasons for my criticisms. That greatly pleased him, and thus the matter was settled. In a delicate way he said he knew I would not take anything for what I did, but the Missionary Society I served should not suffer for the loss of my time in helping him. I assured him that I should give him only my free time. I came to know, however, that at the May Missionary Meeting, when the Samoans contributed to the London Missionary Society, there was a contribution which no native could have given.
I believe that the student enjoyed that hour; but he did not enjoy it more than did the teacher. The peculiarities and the niceties of the language were a wonder to us both. We agreed that the Samoans must have descended from a higher condition of intellectual culture, to possess such a wonderful language. The extent of the vocabulary— certainly nearly thirteen hundred words, in an unwritten language (for until missionaries collected and wrote them, they were unwritten) — was a marvel. The orators all had a full knowledge of the entire vocabulary. Then the delicate differences in expression and shades of meaning, and the varieties in the pronouns and particles, astonished both of us. I regretted that the opportunity for such pleasant intercourse came only once a week. Sometimes there was a break in that.
When the weather was bad, Mrs. Stevenson wisely exercised her influence to keep him at home; and sometimes he was not well enough to come. Then he invariably sent a message or a note in explanation; but occasionally he was not able to write even a short note. Those notes were generally amusing and always interesting. Here is one: —
MY DEAR MR. WHITMEE, — The weather seems impossible, and my family will not let me go. Please excuse
THE CLASS.
Only once did he willfully play truant. Then he wrote: —
MY DEAR COUNT WHITMEE, — I have just finished a novel, which you will understand if you consider it is like a hundred and twenty sermons on end — and I simply cannot put my mind to Samoan or anything else. I am like an empty bag. I can, and I will do nothing.
Your unfruitful pupil,
TUSITALA.
The novel then just finished was Catriona. Another letter was: —
MY DEAR MR. WHITMEE, — The most dreadful ill luck certainly pursues me. I have had an attack which makes it impossible, or at least highly unwise, to venture out this afternoon. A lot of Edwin waits your eagle eye. But it must be when it must. Why do you despise our humble luncheons? I wish you would remember, when you are at Papauta anyway, how glad we all are to see you.
Yours sincerely,
R. L. STEVENSON.
If at that time a whole week passed without my presence at those ‘humble luncheons,’it was quite exceptional.
I believe he would have appreciated a visit from some congenial friend after twelve o’clock almost every day; for the luncheon conversation was a pleasant relaxation to him after his morning’s work. Here is another note: —
MY DEAR MR. WHITMEE, — I have had bad luck yesterday and to-day: I have a cold and the class cannot come.
Your hopeless pupil,
R. L. S.
Then followed ‘Notes for Dictionary.’ At that time he was reading the Book of Job in our Samoan Bible; and he had found some words which were not in the third edition of the Dictionary, which contained 1257 words. I forwarded the list to one of the Mission Staff to be put with others, to be included in a fourth edition.
The next day I rode from Papauta to see him, and found him still confined to his bed, but sitting propped up with pillows, and writing. He was, however, glad to relinquish his work. That morning I returned his Memoir of Professor Fleeming Jenkin, the engineer; and I told him I had written to my eldest son, who was going in for electrical engineering, telling him to purchase a copy at my expense, as a birthday gift.
Stevenson said: ‘Your son won’t get a copy in Britain; it is out of print there. But I will write to my publisher in New York and instruct him to forward a copy, if you will give me his Christian name and address.’
This I did; and he took half a sheet of note paper and wrote on it: ‘To Harold B. Whitmee, from his Father’s Friend, Robert Louis Stevenson.’ He handed that to me, saying, ‘Send that to your son and ask him to put it in the book.’
That was a characteristic action. He knew the inscription would greatly enhance the value of the book to my son.
III
This leads me to Stevenson’s use and estimation of the Sacred Scriptures. I doubt whether many literary men — or even preachers — have read the Bible more regularly, with more reverence, or with greater appreciation, than he did. To him the Bible was the most wonderful and most valuable book in the world. He was not troubled by modern criticism. As to the speculations and imaginations on dates and authorship of the books, he cared little. He did not think all the books of the Old Testament were on a common level in the matter of Divine Inspiration. He did not see the need for it in the writing of the historical books. The Book of Job he admired, and he almost reveled in the reading of it, even in the Samoan tongue. Some of the books of the Prophets he ranked as superlative literature. He read the books as wholes, not in fragments, and did not see the need of imagining that there were two Isaiahs. In the books generally he found something more than human, although in human writers, he recognized limits of individuality in character and intellect, as well as in divine illumination.
Of the fact of Divine Inspiration he had no doubt; for there is so much in the Bible for which mere human knowledge, imagination, or intellectual power cannot account. In reference to the predictive Scriptures, he almost scorned the attitude of the churches in general, and of theologians and preachers in particular. He had a conception of his own in reference to the predictive pictures of the prophetic books. More than once or twice he expressed to me his wonder that — as he put it — ‘you preachers do not study more, and make greater use of, the teaching of the Prophets: for in my belief they supply the key to the future of the world.’
One day he said to me: ‘I cannot understand how you theologians and preachers can apply to the Church — or the multiplicity of churches — Scripture promises which, in their plain meaning, must apply to God’s chosen people Israel, and to Palestine; and which, consequently, must still be future. You call yourselves the “Israel of God ” or the “Spiritual Israel.”' As an example of this misinterpretation, he gave me Isaiah LXII. ‘But,’ said he, ‘that does not stand alone. The prophetic books are full of teachings which, if they are interpreted literally, would be inspiring, and a magnificent assurance of a great and glorious future; but which, as they are spiritualized, become farcical — as applied to the Church, they are a comedy.’
I am ashamed to acknowledge that he rightly included me among ‘the preachers who emasculate and make ridiculous the great predictions of the Prophets’; for I remembered, among other sermons of similar import, one sermon especially, on Psalm II, 6—8, when I spiritualized the whole passage, applying it to the spiritual ’Zion’ and the work of the missionary church.
On several occasions Stevenson discussed such points with me; for he was, nearly all the time I knew him, reading the Old Testament prophetic Scriptures. He referred to the fact that Isaiah LIII predicted both failure and success, and that Christ spoke of his Second Coming (Parousia), when the promised restoration of Jerusalem and Palestine to Israel must be fulfilled, if ever the prophetic promises are fulfilled. He laid the greatest stress upon the fact, which in his opinion stood out most prominently, that ‘to Israel as a whole the promises were made; and that in Israel they would find their accomplishment, if ever they were fulfilled, and not in the Church.'
One day he said to me: ’I have never given special attention to the question of “the lost tribes of Israel”; but if the Anglo-Saxons do not represent them to-day, I don’t know where they are to be found. No people now living is worthy of the prophetic promises. There must be vast changes in store for the world in the future.'
Although what I have written is the substance of all he said, he set me thinking upon the great, subject of the world’s future; and to R. L. S. I owe the initiation of much prophetic and apocalyptic study during subsequent years. For this I owe him a debt of gratitude, as well as for other benefits received from his virile personality.
In a book entitled With Stevenson in Samoa, published in London, in 1910, by Mr. H. J. Moors, whom I knew during my first, and also my second, residence in the Islands, there is some strong, but somewhat contradictory, language concerning Stevenson’s religion. Mr. Moors says: ‘We never discussed the Bible seriously, as far as I recollect. Reverent always where matters of religion were concerned, Stevenson was not what I regard as a religious man. . . . Though he was more or less a dual personality, he was mostly Bohemian; and more than once, to his annoyance, has he been surprised in Bohemia. The Stevenson whom some writers have told us of—the man of morals, the preacher, the maker of prayers — is not the Stevenson I knew. Yet it is true that he moralized and preached in his own peculiar way, and true that he wrote some exquisite prayers. The truth is, there were two Stevensons! And I write of this strange personality as I found him, not as revealed through the looking-glass of the man’s books.’
I take those quotations from Mr. Moors’s book as a text on which to give expression to my own views. In some respects I agree with Mr. Moors; but in other respects my views are widely divergent from his. Before I read Mr. Moors’s book, I believed that the germ of Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde he had found in himself: ‘He is more or less a dual personality.’ Mr. Moors may have seen more of one side of his character than I have. I am confident that I saw much more of his inner life than Mr. Moors did. He saw exaggerated manifestations of the worst, while I saw genuine manifestations of the best, that was in Tusitala. I am, however, certain that Mr. Moors never saw anything that could be said to be immoral or of doubtful morality. I never saw in him anything indicating the lack of a pure moral principle always prompting him in his life and conduct.
Mr. Moors says of Stevenson that he was ’reverent always, where matters of religion were concerned.’ That is good testimony from a man who made no profession of being religious himself. If by a ‘religious man’ he means one who is careful to observe outward forms of religion, I agree that R. L. S. had nothing in him that was like the ‘Pharisee’; but I have seen in him something resembling the attitude of the ‘Publican’ of our Lord’s parable. I have read two books published in London in which the writer professes to have known Stevenson, and to have met him at a dance with native girls; but I don’t believe a word on the subject written by the author. What that writer suggested was absolutely impossible. To Stevenson t he honor of a Samoan girl was as precious as that of any British woman.
On matters of morality on the part of foreign settlers in the Islands, also in reference to excesses in drink, I had conversations with him in which he deplored the conduct of British subjects and others.
One morning he had not attempted his ordinary writing, but rode down to Papauta with a written prayer in the Samoan language, which he wished me to read and correct if there were any errors in its composition. He told me that on the previous day two of the Samoans whom he employed had a serious quarrel. He had been informed of it and had, as he hoped, settled the matter. But the attitude of one of the men, who was mainly to blame, was so serious that he wished to make it a matter for prayer the following morning. I may explain that throughout the Samoan Islands there was hardly a family that did not observe family worship. It was observed at Vailima, one of the men, who was a kind of foreman to the outside staff, acting as chaplain.
When the master was well enough to rise early, he usually attended at that morning worship at which a hymn was sung, a short portion of Scripture read, and a short prayer offered. Stevenson proposed to offer the prayer himself the following morning. I have wished since that I had asked permission to make a copy of what he had written. But I remember the gist of it, although not the actual sentences. There was a reverent approach to God, and thanks for preservation, and for mercies and gifts bestowed. There was acknowledgment of sinfulness on the part of all, and a petition for forgiveness, in which I specially noted that the pronouns used included the person offering the prayer. Then there was a reference to what took place the previous day, and thanksgiving that there had been mutual confession and reconciliation. There followed supplication for help and strength to resist all inclination to give way to anger and vindictive feelings, and for help, that day and every day, to live as in God’s sight, and so in peace and love toward one another and toward all people.
I do not know in what sense Mr. Moors uses the word ‘Bohemian’ in reference to Stevenson: if only ‘unconventional’ and sufficiently erratic to be different from most other people, I might agree with him. Tusitala reveled in the unconventional; and if he met anyone who was ‘goody-goody’ he might go far enough to scandalize the ‘unco quid.’ In some of his moods he, like Byron, misrepresented himself. If there was exaggeration in his speech, it was of his own failings. Cant and religious pretenses were abhorrent and impossible to him. Mr. Moors says: ‘Sometimes you would catch Stevenson in what was almost a spiritual trance; and I really believe there was a good deal of the spiritualistic in his nature.’ There I agree with him; and doubtless I saw much more of that side of his character than Mr. Moors did. He admits that he ‘never discussed the Bible seriously’ with him. I did; and I have never met with a man who was not a minister of the Gospel who had such perfect knowledge of the Book.
Stevenson generally spoke of the Divine Being as God, and rarely spoke of Christ or Jesus, except in reference to some New Testament incident. That was not because he had any doubt of the deity of Christ; but rather because in Him he recognized the only Personality in whom we can really know God. He interpreted literally much that most Christian people spiritualize. He said to me, ’You preachers spiritualize so much of the Scriptures that you destroy their teaching, and make them meaningless.’ He understood literally such statements of our Lord as these: ‘No man cometh unto the Father, but by me’; ‘If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also’; ‘He that hath seen me hath seen the Father’; ‘I am in the Father, and the Father in me.’ He believed that only in the Person of our incarnate Lord can we have any real comprehension of the Infinite Being, either as the Father or as the Holy Spirit. To him the word ‘God ’ comprehended the Trinity, and he did not differentiate between the three Personalities: in Jesus the Christ we know the Father, and possess the Holy Spirit. I believe that was Stevenson’s attitude.
I have already stated how literally he understood the predictions of the Prophetic books, and his belief that the wonderful promises for the world and for humanity will be fulfilled.
Stevenson’s attitude toward missionaries in Samoa was one of friendliness to all; but there were degrees in his friendships, which were not biased by their religious views, but were warmer or cooler according to the personalities of the missionaries. Roman Catholics and Protestants shared his friendship. I once asked him to give me frankly his opinion of missionary work in Samoa.
I said: ‘You have had unusual opportunities of forming a judgment on the value of the work done and I should like to know exactly what is your opinion.'
He gave me a graver look than was usual and replied: ‘You know I have severely criticized an action of one of your missionaries, although it was not of his work as a missionary. I do not think all missionaries are equally wise, and of some missionary methods I do not approve. But for the work of the London Missionary Society generally I have great admiration. I regard the presence of you missionaries in these islands as the one redeeming feature of the residence of white men in Samoa.'
I made a note of that at the time.
The late Dr. George Brown, who was some years a Wesleyan Missionary in Samoa, was in 1890 a fellow passenger with Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson from Sydney to Samoa. Writing of their conversations on board, Dr. Brown said: ’I think Stevenson had been prejudiced against missionary work. Either he had formed his opinions from statements made by prejudiced people, or he had seen some unfavorable examples of the work which had been accomplished. We never discussed the necessity, expediency, and obligation of missionary work among the heathen.'
IV
I might not have ventured to write freely on the home life at Vailima, if I had not been asked more than once whether the Stevenson family was a happy one. Some people appear to think that with such apparently incongruous elements as R. L. S., with his keen and delicate sensibility; Mrs. Stevenson, much older than he was, and in many respects the opposite of her husband; a stepdaughter, married, and with a son still a boy, separated from her husband; and a stepson, harmonious and happy family life would be almost impossible. During most of the time of my visits, Stevenson’s mother was also a member of the family; and she added another element, for she was, in almost every respect, the opposite of her daughter-in-law and Mrs. Strong.
Of course, I saw the family only occasionally; but I believe I saw them all together (except Stevenson’s stepson, whom I do not include in the following statements, because I saw him only occasionally and never knew him intimately), and saw them under such differing circumstances as warranted me in forming a judgment; yet I never saw the least sign of want of harmony, the least lack of perfect confidence in one another, or the least failure of family affection. Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson were genuine lovers. He owed his life to her, and apparently he never forgot it. She had great admiration for him, and devoted herself to his welfare with the most solicitous care and womanly love. When she dictated to him about exposing himself, or doing some things he wished to do, it was consideration, prompted by love, which made her assume authority. His stepdaughter also admired him, and I believe she was never more happy than when she was working for him as amanuensis or in other ways.
Soon after my arrival in Samoa in 1891, Mrs. Stevenson senior arrived on a second visit to her son. She was a hale and hearty old lady, with the vivacity of healthy middle age — a refined and dignified Edinburgh lady, whom it was a joy to know. She was a godly woman, with wide sympathies, and possessing broad and liberal views on religious and other matters. On her first visit to her son, she learned to ride a very quiet pony, which seemed aware of the dignity of its rider. This was the only way by which she could pass to and fro between Vailima and Apia at that time, unless she had used a kind of sedan chair, which was disagreeable to her. A rule in life with her appeared to be to give as little trouble to others as was possible, and to do as much for others as she could.
I saw a good deal of Mrs. Stevenson, for she rode to Apia every Sunday, to take tea with Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, with whom I boarded, and to attend the evening service at the English Chapel, at which, when I was at Apia, I usually preached. Mrs. Clarke always had a bedroom for her, and she rode back to Vailima on Monday morning. As I, for much of the time, rode up to the Girls’ High School, I had the pleasure of accompanying her, and usually went on to Vailima.
As we always rode at walking pace, those rides gave me the opportunity of engaging in pleasant and profitable conversation with Mrs. Stevenson. Often she introduced some point, or points, in my sermon on the previous evening, or something else in connection with the service. Our congregation being of different nationalities and of different sections of the Church, we used a shortened form of the Church of England prayers. Although she was a Presbyterian, she liked the prayers used, and complimented me on my sympathetic reading. I did not adhere to the Prayer Book Lessons, and my companion often mentioned passages of Scripture, or points in the sermon, which had specially interested her.
In those conversations the old lady revealed her faith in Christ, her unbounded love for Him, and an experimental knowledge of some of the deepest things in the spiritual life. If I had been her pastor and she had known me for years, I doubt whether she could have revealed her inner life more fully than she did in those rides through the dense vegetation of the Samoan hills.
It would be presumption to enlarge on her love for her son. That may be taken for granted. Her admiration of him was also great. It struck me that at the time when R. L. S. was straitened pecuniarily it was his mother’s influence which moved his father’s heart to afford him regular assistance. As to her son’s religious standing, she would have been better satisfied if it had been more on ordinary and conventional lines; but she had no doubt whatever about his faith in Christ as his Saviour.
Shortly before I left Samoa Stevenson spoke to me about the young halfcaste people of Apia. He and Mrs. Stevenson had tried, by some social gatherings, to interest and benefit them; but their efforts had not been encouraging. I suggested that he might try to reach the young men by holding a Bible class on Sunday afternoons. He was attracted by the idea, and decided to start a class, taking the book of Isaiah for his earliest studies.
He said to me: ‘I will have my own way in this.’ That was in reference to his wife’s objection to his attendance at our service at the English Chapel on Sunday nights. In that objection I believe she was fully justified. The chapel was a small galvanized-iron structure. The audience always filled it, and the temperature in it was oppressive. For R. L. S. to attend that service, and, after it, to ride up to Vailima and meet the comparatively cool breeze from the land to the sea which always blows at night, would have been madness on his part. Although I was usually the preacher when I was in residence at Apia, and should have been delighted to have him as a hearer, for the benefit of his criticism, I heartily agreed with Mrs. Stevenson’s veto against her husband’s attendance. But the afternoon class was not open to any of the objections against the evening service. He took the class, but did not live many months to carry it on.
My last ride to Vailima was on the day the mail-boat for San Francisco was due. The farewells were over, and I was about to mount my horse, when Mr. Stevenson said: ‘One question, Mr. Whitmee, I wish to ask: If you are requested to come again to Samoa, will you come? ’
I replied: ’Yes, if a good and sufficient reason be given for my return.’
He said: ‘Thank you; you will have to come back.’
I have no knowledge of what prompted that question.
I believe Tusitala revealed to me his inner life, his deepest thoughts about God, the present life, and the life to come. And as he died only a few months after I left Samoa, I probably received his latest confidences. From these I believe I am warranted in saying he possessed saving faith in Christ unto life eternal. And from his belief in the prophetic books of the Old Testament, the teaching of Christ, and the apocalyptic portions of the New Testament, he possessed the fullest and clearest conception of the Second Coming of Christ, and the establishment of His Kingdom upon earth, of all the men I then knew. He interpreted the wonderful predictions literally, and often spoke scornfully of the ‘spiritualizing’ of predictions which he believed should be literally understood. He did not believe that the Church, as it is at present constituted, would win the world.