Here the question appears to me to be whether this act of throwing the branch, so analogous to the throwing the javelin, which was the final act in the Roman declaration of war (and to which our throwing down the glove or the gauntlet has analogy), was merely the signal to themselves, or whether it was not also the notice of attack to the enemy. Upon this will depend whether we are to consider it a treacherous “ruse” (and the presentation of the feathers has that aspect), or whether it was their traditional mode of declaration of war, and construed to be a treacherous attack, because the gallant navigator belonged to a nation more ignorant of the laws of nations than the savages they encountered.
From the very fact of their having enacted this comedy or ceremonial, it must be inferred either that they attached some superstitious importance to its performance, and expected some good effects from it to themselves, or that they thought that it would be understood by their adversaries, in which case they must implicitly have believed it to be common to all nations.
In either case it is just possible that after the manner of savages, they may have confused the symbols of peace and war, and ran into one what the Romans had carefully distinguished—the “caduceatores”,[331] who went to demand peace, and the “fecials,” who were sent to denounce war.
The red and yellow colours of the feathers in the above account may afford a clue, when it is remembered (vide [note]), that they coincide with the colour used by the Otaheitans to testify fidelity and friendliness; but, to appreciate this in its full significance, it will be necessary to show how commonly the traditional symbols of peace among the ancients had reference to the diluvian traditions, more especially the Dove and the Rainbow.
Assuming for the moment that Bryant is right in his derivation of the names of Juno and Venus from Jönah (Hebrew), and Οινας (Greek) = Dove,[332] I ask attention to the following, in connection with the red and yellow feathers of the Polynesians, and the tail feathers of the topia bird mentioned by Cook (supra, [p. 388]).[333] (Bryant, ii. 345), “As the peacock, in the full expansion of his plumes, displays all the beautiful colours of the Iris (the rainbow), it was probably for that reason made the bird of Juno, instead of the dove, which was appropriated to Venus. The same history was variously depicted in different places, and consequently as variously interpreted.” (Compare [p. 279].)
If this is true, if the rainbow is the symbol of peace, and the peacock is the symbol of the rainbow, will it absolutely surprise us to find feathers of various colours presented as tokens of peace? I am prepared for the reply, that Bryant’s etymology is now considered obsolete; but I shall fall back upon the argument which I have urged elsewhere, that in cases where tradition renders the transmission of certain words probable, there is a presumption which overrides the ordinary canons of philological criticism. Philologers very properly lay down, e.g. Mr Max Müller’s “Chapter of Accidents in Comparative Theology,” Contemp. Rev., April 1870, p. 8:—
“Comparative philology has taught us again and again that when we find a word exactly the same in Greek and Sanscrit, we may be certain that it cannot be the same word; and the same applies to comparative mythology ... for the simple reason that Sanscrit and Greek have deviated from each other, have both followed their own way, have both suffered their own phonetic corruptions, and hence, if they do possess the same word, they can only possess it either in its Greek or in its Sanscrit disguise.”
This is of course only upon the assumption that the languages have gone their own way, have followed their own corruptions; but if it can be shown that certain words, &c. &c., were preserved in tradition, and so guarded as not to come under the laws of deviation which philology traces out, or to come under them on different conditions, then, on the contrary, it is exceedingly probable that we should find them identical, or at least recognisable; in any case, this is a point which must be decided according to the evidences of tradition, and not according to the laws of philology. This will be better understood from a case in point. I append the evidence respecting the traditions of the Dove and the Rainbow—which are just the incidents which are likely to have impressed the imagination and memory of mankind.[334]
The digression we have just made involves some risk of distracting attention from the point it was intended to enforce—viz. the traditionary character of the mode, and, by implication, the traditionary recognition of the obligation, of the declaration of war. We have already seen in Ozanam (supra, [p. 371]) indications of the probability of similar traditions among the primitive tribes of Germany. Will it clench the argument if we find Romans and Gauls on a common understanding in these matters, when brought for the first time into contact since their original separation?—
“The great misfortunes which befel the city from the Gauls, are said to have proceeded from the violation of these sacred rites. For when the barbarians were besieging Clusium, Fabius Ambustus was sent ambassador to their camp with proposals of peace, in favour of the besieged. But receiving a harsh answer, he thought himself released from his character of ambassador, and rashly taking up arms for the Clusians, challenged the bravest man in the Gaulish army. He proved victorious, ... but the Gauls having discovered who he was, sent a herald to Rome to accuse Fabius of bearing arms against them, contrary to treaties and good faith, and without a declaration of war. Upon this the Feciales exhorted the Senate to deliver him up to the Gauls, but he appealed to the people, and, being a favourite with them, was screened from the sentence. Soon after this, the Gauls marched to Rome, and sacked the whole city except the Capitol, as we have related at large in the life of Camillus.”—Plutarch’s Numa.