First toms and tabbies lay in wait for the children of other cats, and soon there was not a kitten left alive, nor could the parents prevent the devouring of their children because of the avid hunger of the adults.
With the kittens gone, began a struggle, with the death of all as the apparent end in view. Swifter and stronger cats slew weaker cats, and the cats which allied themselves in bands, attacked distant strongholds of cats. Slowly and surely went on this internecine warfare, with the seeming certainty that, if not halted, one day the last two cats on Tetiaroa would face each other in the final contest of prowess. Then one lone cat might remain doomed to certain death from starvation, because there would be no meat left.
Once on a leviathan Atlantic liner, when the usual exterminating process of hydrocyanic gas could not be used, all food was removed, and the rats were left to starve, with a dozen cats to hasten the end. But the rats ate the cats, and then the leather cushions, and finally their weaker brethren, until the last rat died of starvation.
But on Tetiaroa when there were but a few dozen of the quickest, cleverest, and strongest cats remaining, the process suddenly stopped. Atavism, heredity, or the stern battle for life, developed in the survivors unusual intelligence, or they had a return of plain cat-sense. Perhaps they held a powwow, or meowmeow, or whatever a council of cats should be called, and decided upon the one course that would preserve their species. In any event, they saved themselves by ending the warfare. They reverted to the habits of their forefathers, and went fishing. It is as natural for a cat to fish as for a dog to hunt a rabbit. Falconer marked the ferocious jaguars of South America lying in wait upon the shores of the river Plata to seize the fish that passed by the roots of the trees. My goldfish ponds in California were raided by cats many times.
“I myself,” said Nohea, “have seen the fisher-cats of Tetiaroa stretched at length on the shores of the lagoon, awaiting their prey. I have seen a mother cat, with her kittens stringing in a cue behind her, snaring in silence, and with paws fierce to strike, the small fish which come in the eddies of the shallow pools. I have seen the good parent pass a small fish back to her child and smile under her bristling whiskers at her cleverness in providing such fare for her little ones.”
The diver ceased speaking, and unrolled his mat. He knelt a moment and prayed, and then he laid him down, and in a moment his deep breathing was informing of his serene slumber.
I lay there a few minutes thinking of his story, of the robber-crabs and the fisher-cats, and above me the vast fronds of the cocoas inclined to and fro, while, doubtless, other industrious crabs, unwarned by their kindred’s fate, were climbing for nuts.
CHAPTER VIII
I meet a Seventh Day Adventist missionary, and a descendant of a mutineer of the Bounty—They tell me the story of Pitcairn island—An epic of isolation.