In the Wrong Paradise | Page 9

tribe, and I even pleased myself with the hope that
some day, a reclaimed and enlightened character, she might employ her
skill in embroidering slippers and braces for a humble vessel. I seemed
to see her, a helpmate meet for me, holding Mothers' Meetings, playing
hymn-tunes on the lyre, or the double pipes, the native instruments, and,
above all, winning the islanders from their cruel and abominable
custom of exposing their infant children on the mountains. How
differently have all things been arranged.
But I am wandering from my story. When we reached the group by the
fireside, who had at first been unaware of our entrance, the chief's wife
gave a slight start, alarmed doubtless by my appearance. She could

never have seen, nor even dreamed of, such a spectacle as I must have
presented, haggard, ragged, faint with hunger, and worn with fatigue as
I was. The chief motioned to me that I should kneel at his wife's feet,
and kiss her hand, but I merely bowed, not considering this a fit
moment to protest otherwise against such sacrilegious mummeries. But
the woman--her name I learned later was Ocyale--did not take my
attitude in bad part. The startled expression of her face changed to a
look of pity, and, with a movement of her hand, she directed Doto to
bring a large golden cup from the table at the upper end of the room.
Into this cup she ladled some dark liquid from a bowl which was placed
on a small three- legged stand, or dumb waiter, close to her side. Next
she spilt a little of the wine on the polished floor, with an appearance of
gravity which I did not understand. It appears that this spilling of wine
is a drink offering to their idols. She then offered me the cup, which I
was about to taste, when I perceived that the liquor was indubitably
alcoholic!
A total abstainer, I had, I am thankful to say, strength enough to resist
the temptation thus adroitly thrust upon me. Setting down the cup, I
pointed to the badge of blue ribbon, which, though damp and colourless,
remained faithful to my button-hole. I also made signs I was hungry,
and would be glad of something to eat. My gestures, as far as the blue
ribbon went, must have been thrown away, of course, but any one could
understand that I was fainting from hunger. The mistress of the house
called to one of the spinning girls, who rose and went within the door
opening from the platform at the upper end of the room. She presently
returned with an old woman, a housekeeper, as we would say, and
obviously a faithful and familiar servant. After some conversation, of
which I was probably the topic, the old woman hobbled off, laughing.
She soon came back, bringing, to my extreme delight, a basket with
cakes and goat cheese, and some cold pork in a dish.
I ought, perhaps, to say here that, in spite of the luxury of their
appointments, and their extraordinary habit of "eating and drinking all
day to the going down of the sun" (as one of their own poets says),
these islanders are by no means good cooks. I have tasted of more
savoury meats, dressed in coverings of leaves on hot stones, in Maori

pahs, or in New Caledonian villages, than among the comparatively
civilized natives of the country where I now found myself. Among the
common people, especially, there was no notion of hanging or keeping
meat. Often have I seen a man kill a hog on the floor of his house, cut it
up, toast it, as one may say, at the fire, and then offer the grilled and
frequently under- done flesh to his guests. Invariably the guests are
obliged to witness the slaughter of the animal which is to supply their
dinner. This slaughter is performed as a kind of sacrifice; the legs of the
beast are the portions of the gods, and are laid, with bits of fat, upon the
altars. Then chops, or rather kabobs, of meat are hacked off, spitted,
and grilled or roasted at the fire. Consequently all the meat tasted in
this island is actually "meat offered to idols."
When I made this discovery the shock was very great, and I feared I
was repeating a sin denounced from the earliest ages. But what was I to
do? Not the meat only, but the vegetables, the fruit, the grain, the very
fish (which the natives never eat except under stress of great hunger),
were sacred to one or other of their innumerable idols. I must eat, or
starve myself to death--a form of suicide. I therefore made up my mind
to eat without scruple, remembering that the gods of