The shade of a palm tree furnishes an ideal resting place, and if a dog
fight occurs in the grass-grown street, he becomes a box-seat spectator
without moving from his couch. Levuka, the second largest town in the
Fijis, was dozing on the afternoon of December 14, 1905, and I decided
to follow the example set by the inhabitants. The thermometer in the
shack at the end of the wharf registered 98 degrees, but the picturesque
little town, with its white and vermilion-tinted houses, looked restful
and cool. The hot, still atmosphere weighed down upon the Pacific,
ironing out the wind ruffles till the ocean resembled a plain of glass,
in which the Union Company's steamer _Navua_, from Auckland, appeared to
be stuck fast, as if the glassy sea had suddenly hardened around her
black hull.
A thin strip of shadow huddled close to a pile of pearl shell at the end
of the wharf, and I doubled myself up and attempted to sleep. But
hardwood planks don't make an ideal resting place. Besides, the rays of
sun followed the strip of shadow around the pile, and each time I
slipped into a doze I would be pricked into wakefulness.
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