An Account of the Hurricane at Suva Vou, Fiji
By Mrs. A. Marriott.
I WILL try to give an account of the hurricane here at Suva Vou. As is my custom when Mr. Marriott is away, I slept that night in one of our native believer’s houses in the koro (native village). Soon I was fast asleep on a native bed, but not for long. Voices awakened me, and I found the inmates very busy packing all their belongings. The wind was howling furiously, and I was told that they expected a hurricane. I asked a native sister, Seni, to come with me to our home, a few minutes’ walk away, and help me get some things packed into our built-in wardrobe. This must have been about 11 P. M. It was hard work finding our way, with the rain beating in our faces, and already many trees obstructing our path. When we reached home, we found the shed had disappeared, and the iron of the front veranda roof was lifting. The rain was beating in on our goods. The temporary doors were gone. The only windows in the house were burst open. I tried to pull them in, but could not. I lighted the lamp, but it soon went out, so we did the best we could in the dark to bundle the things into the cupboard. One trunk had been blown across the passage into another room. As the wind was increasing in fury, we thought best to return to the native village. Seni’s house was swaying to and fro, and the roof was leaking badly. Soon Metui, our elder, and his family sought admittance, as his house was almost down. This was indeed bad news, as his was a new house, and we had thought of seeking shelter there. Presently part of the roof where we were was lifted, and we all ran to the next house. I shall never forget how that place swayed. The rain beat in from all directions, the children cried and clung to their mothers, while the men were kept busy nailing up stays from the inside. We all kept near the door. Our elder came in to say that Seni’s house, where I had slept, was down. That was about ten minutes after we had left it. The four houses opposite had been blown by the wind half-way down the hill to the beach, and the newest house in the village, next to us, was leveled also. We were all in readiness to go to the second house from there, but Metui returned saying that it was full of people and might fall at any moment. Where could we flee? He brought us worse news—the church, the strongest building in the place, had a lean, the doors were burst, and many panes of glass were broken. Not another house was left standing on the hill, but some were still safe in the hollow. The houses of the bali (town chief) were down, but the house of the turagani-koro (lord of the town) was holding well. Metui took his wife and children there, then returned for me. This house was full of men, women, and children. The main posts were swaying backward and forward. What a sight we beheld on Friday morning when the wind had abated enough to have the door opened wide! House after house leveled; great trees, the growth of years, and the food supply for weeks, uprooted. The ground was strewn with limbs, coconuts, breadfruits, oranges, etc. The church was nearly over, being lifted off the posts on one side. I found two of our chairs outside, one near the church, the other in a native’s garden. Everything in our house, even to the goods in the steel trunks, was saturated, except one case of books. The bathroom and kitchen roofs were off, and it seemed to me that as many of our belongings were outside as inside. Nearly every tree on the mission land is uprooted. Some of our goods we had left in the native mission house until the new building could be completed. These were quite destroyed, as it is among the twenty-seven houses in the town that are down flat. Kerosene was spilled on our food supply, and the water in the tank is flavored with leaves and salt spray from the sea. Five large cutters were washed ashore here. It was indeed touching to see the people coming up from the boats. Only two fatalities occurred on our beach. Praise the Lord, all our workers and brethren here are well, and of good courage. We rejoice to look forward to the land where storms are unknown. I determine to shelter daily under the wings of the Almighty.