Santo (continued)—Pigs
The sun had hardly risen, yet the air hung heavy in the shrubs surrounding my sleeping-hut. Damp heat and light poured into the shed-like room, where hundreds of flies and as many mosquitoes sought an entrance into my mosquito-net. It was an atmosphere to sap one’s energy; not even the sunshine, so rare in these parts, had any attraction for me, and only the long-drawn “Sail ho!” of the natives, announcing the arrival of the steamer, had power to drive me out of bed.
She soon came to anchor and sent a boat ashore, and when I entered my host’s house, I found some of the ship’s officers there, ready for business and breakfast. Probably to drown the touch of home-sickness that the arrival of a steamer brings to those who are tied to the islands, our host set about emptying his cellar with enthusiasm and perseverance, while the visitors would have been satisfied with much smaller libations, as they had many more stations to visit that day.
While the crew was loading the coprah and landing a quantity of goods, the host started his beloved gramophone for the general benefit, and a fearful hash of music drifted out into the waving palms. Presently some one announces that the cargo is all aboard, whereupon the supercargo puts down his paper and remarks that they are in a hurry. A famous soprano’s wonderful high C is ruthlessly broken off short, and we all run to the beach and jump on the backs of boys, who carry us dry-shod to the boat. We are rowed to the steamer, and presently descend to the storeroom, which smells of calico, soap, tobacco and cheese. Anything may be bought here, from a collar-button to a tin of meat, from perfumery to a shirt, anything,—and sometimes even the very thing one wants. We provide for the necessities of life for the next month or two, hand over our mail and end our visit with a drink. Then the whistle blows, we scramble into the boat, and while my host waves his hat frantically and shouts “good-bye,” the steamer gradually disappears from sight. My friend has “a bad headache” from all the excitement of the morning. I guide him carefully between the cases and barrels the steamer has brought, and deposit him in his bunk; then I retire to my own quarters to devour my mail.
Some days after this we went to see a “sing-sing” up north. We rowed along the shore, and as my host was contributing a pig, we had the animal with us. With legs and snout tightly tied, the poor beast lay sadly in the bottom of the boat, occasionally trying to snap the feet of the rowers. The sea and the wind were perfect, and we made good speed; in the evening we camped on the beach. The next day was just as fine; my host continued the journey by boat, while I preferred to walk the short distance that remained, accompanied by the pig, whose health did not seem equal to another sea-voyage in the blazing sun. It was touching to see the tenderness with which the natives treated the victim-elect, giving it the best of titbits, and urging it with the gentlest of words to start on the walk. It was quite a valuable animal, with good-sized tusks. After some hesitation the pig suddenly rushed off, Sam, his keeper, behind. First it raced through the thicket, which I did not like, so I proposed to Sam to pull the rope on the energetic animal’s leg; but Sam would not damp its splendid enthusiasm for fear it might balk afterwards. Sam managed, however, to direct it back into the path, but we had a most exhausting and exciting, if interesting, walk, for the pig was constantly rushing, sniffing, grunting and digging on all sides, so that Sam was entirely occupied with his charge, and it was quite impossible to converse. At last we proudly entered the village, and the beast was tied in the shade; we separated, not to meet again till the hour of sacrifice.
I was then introduced to the host, a small but venerable old man, who received me with dignified cordiality. We could not talk together, but many ingratiating smiles assured each of the other’s sympathy. The village seemed extremely pleasant to me, which may have been due to the bright sun and the cool breeze. The square was situated on the beach, which sloped steeply to the sea. Along the ridge were planted brightly-coloured trees, and between their trunks we could see the ocean, heavenly blue. On the other side were the large, well-kept gamals, and crowds of people in festival attire; many had come from a distance, as the feast was to be a big one, with plenty to eat for everybody.
Palo, the host, was very busy looking after his guests and giving each his share of good things. He was a most good-natured, courteous old gentleman, although his costume consisted of nothing but a few bunches of ferns. The number of guests increased steadily; besides the real heathen in unadorned beauty, there were half-civilized Christians, ugly in ill-fitting European clothes, of which they were visibly vain, although they made blots on the beautiful picture of native life. All around the square grunted the tusked pigs.
At noon four men gave the signal for the beginning of the festivities by beating two big drums, which called the guests to dinner. Palo had sent us a fowl cooked native fashion between hot stones, and, like everything cooked in this way, it tasted very delicious. Shortly afterwards the real ceremonies began, with the killing of about two hundred young female pigs which had been kept in readiness in little bamboo sheds.
Accompanied by the drums, Palo led all the high-castes in dancing steps out of the gamal and round the square. After a few turns the chiefs drew up in line in front of him, and he mounted a stone table, while everyone else kept on dancing. His favourite wife was next to the table, also dancing. Palo was entirely covered with ferns, which were stuck in his hair, his bracelets and his belt. He still looked quite venerable, but with a suggestion of a faun, a Bacchus or a Neptune. It was a warm day, and the dancing made everybody perspire more than freely.