“But about the taboo pig? Revenons à nos cochons!”
“I’m coming to that. Well, we landed at an island we had never been on before, where there was a village of Coast natives. A crowd of beehive-shaped huts, you know, the wall about three feet high, and all the rest roof, wattle, and clay, and moss, built as neat as a bird’s-nest outside, not very sweet inside. So we landed and got out the grub, and marched up to the village. Not a soul to be seen; not a black in the place. Their gear was all cleaned out too; there wasn’t a net, nor a spear, nor a mat, nor a bowl (they’re great beggars for making pipkins), not a blessed fetich stone even, in the whole place. You never saw anything so forsaken. But just in the middle of the row of huts, you might call it a street if you liked, there lay, as happy as if he was by the fireside among the children in Galway, a great big fat beast of a hog. Well, we couldn’t make out what had become of the people. Thought we had frightened them away, only then they’d have taken the hog. Suddenly, out of some corner, comes a black fellow making signs of peace. He held up his hands to show he had no weapon in them, and then he held up his feet ditto.”
“Why on earth did he hold up his feet?”
“To show he wasn’t trailing a spear between his toes; that is a common dodge of theirs. We made signs to him to come up, and up he came, speaking a kind of pigeon English. It seems he was an interpreter by trade, paying a visit to his native village; so we tried to get out of him what it was all about. Just what we might have expected. A kid had been born in the village that day.”
“What had the birth of a kid got to do with it?”
“It’s like this, don’t you know. Every tribe is divided into Coast natives and Bush natives. One set lives by the sea, and is comparatively what you might call civilized. The other set, their cousins, live in the Bush, and are a good deal more savage. Now, when anything out of the way, especially anything of a fortunate kind, happens in one division of the tribe, the other division pops down on them, loots everything it can lay hands on, maltreats the women, breaks what’s too heavy to carry, and generally plays the very mischief. The birth of a child is always celebrated in that way.”
“And don’t the others resist?”
“Resist! No! It would be the height of rudeness. Do you resist when people leave cards at your house, ‘with kind inquiries’? It’s just like that; a way they have of showing a friendly interest.”
“But what can be the origin of such an extraordinary custom?”
“I don’t know. Guess it has a kind of civilizing effect, as you’ll see. Resources of civilization get handed on to the Bush tribes, but that can’t be what it was started for. However, recently the tribes have begun to run cunning, and they hide themselves and all their goods when they have reason to expect a friendly visit. This was what they had done the day we landed. But, while we were jawing with the interpreter, we heard a yell to make your hair stand on end. The Bush tribe came down on the village all in their war paint,—white clay; an arrangement, as you say, in black and white. Down they came, rushed into every hut, rushed out again, found nothing, and an awful rage they were in. They said this kind of behaviour was most ungentlemanly; why, where was decent feeling? where was neighbourliness? While they were howling, they spotted the hog, and made for him in a minute; here was luncheon, anyhow,—pork chops. So they soon had a fire, set a light to one of the houses in fact, and heaped up stones; that’s how they cook. They cut you up in bits, wrap them in leaves—”