iii, p.131.
2. Letter to Sidney Colvin, ibid., p. 134.
3. Margaret Stevenson, From Saranac to the Marquesas and Beyond (London 1903), p.63.
4. W.E. Clarke, Reminiscences of Robert Louis Stevenson, n.d., no page numbers.
5. In Arthur Johnstone, Recollections of Robert Louis Stevenson in the Pacific (London 1905), p.103.
6. Letter to R.A.M. Stevenson, Letters, vol. iv, p.303.
7. Robert Louis Stevenson, Weir of Hermiston, Skerryvore Edition (London 1925), p. 129.
8. Letter to Sidney Colvin, Letters, vol. iii, p.292.
ISLAND LANDFALLS:
Reflections from the South Seas
by Robert Louis Stevenson
selected and introduced by
JENNI CALDER
Throughout his life Stevenson was a prolific letter writer. While in the South Seas he wrote to many of his friends in England and Scotland, most regularly to Sidney Colvin, who acted as his literary agent in London. From the following letters, written between the ages of thirty-nine and forty-one, we get a flavour of Stevenson’s experiences and responses in the Pacific which has a spontaneous liveliness often muted in his more polished work. His delight in fresh encounters and his boyish enthusiasm are expressed in the letters without inhibition. But an attentiveness to detail and nuance is also apparent, and a disarming directness. When he wrote for publication, there were times that Stevenson felt he had to curb his frankness and subdue his criticism. This was less likely to be true of his letters.
The text of the letters in this selection is taken from the Swanston edition of Stevenson’s work, 1925, which includes some letters not published in earlier editions.
Yacht ‘Casco’, at sea, near the Paumotus
7 A.M., September 6th,1888, with a dreadful pen.
My Dear Charles, – Last night as I lay under my blanket in the cockpit, courting sleep, I had a comic seizure. There was nothing visible but the southern stars, and the steersman there out by the binnacle lamp; we were all looking forward to a most deplorable landfall on the morrow, praying God we should fetch a tuft of palms which are to indicate the Dangerous Archipelago; the night was as warm as milk, and all of a sudden I had a vision of – Drummond Street. It came on me like a flash of lightning: I simply returned thither, and into the past. And when I remember all I hoped and feared as I pickled about Rutherford’s2 in the rain and the east wind; how I feared I should make a mere shipwreck, and yet timidly hoped not; how I feared I should never have a friend, far less a wife, and yet passionately hoped I might; how I hoped (if I did not take to drink) I should possibly write one little book, etc. etc. And then now – what a change! I feel somehow as if I should like the incident set upon a brass plate at the corner of that dreary thoroughfare for all students to read, poor devils, when their hearts are down. And I felt I must write one word to you. Excuse me if I write little: when I am at sea, it gives me a headache; when I am in port, I have my diary crying ‘Give, give.’ I shall have a fine book of travels, I feel sure; and will tell you more of the South Seas after very few months than any other writer has done – except Herman Melville3 perhaps, who is a howling cheese. Good luck to you, God bless you. – Your affectionate friend, R.L.S.
Tautira, Island of Tahiti [November 1888].
Dear Tomarcher, – This is a pretty state of things! seven o’clock and no word of breakfast! And I was awake a good deal last night, for it was full moon, and they had made a great fire of cocoa-nut husks down by the sea, and as we have no blinds or shutters, this kept my room very bright. And then the rats had a wedding or a school-feast under my bed.
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