Who could tell that it was not a community of Cannibals. No one aboard the Catamaran.
It may seem singular that such a thought should have entered the mind of any of the individuals who occupied the raft. But it did occur to some of them; and to one of the four in particular. This was Ben Brace himself.
The sailor’s experience, so far from destroying the credences of boyhood,—which included the existence of whole tribes of cannibals,—had only strengthened his belief in such anthropophagi.
More than strengthened it: for it had been confirmed in every particular.
He had been to the Fiji islands, where he had seen their king, Thakombau,—a true descendant of the lineage of “Hokey-Pokey-Winkey-Wum,”—with other dignitaries of this man-eating nation. He had seen their huge caldron for cooking the flesh of men,—their pots and pans for stewing it,—their dishes upon which it was served up,—the knives with which they were accustomed to carve it,—their larders stocked with human flesh, and redolent of human blood! Nay, more; the English sailor had been an eye-witness of one of their grand festivals; where the bodies of men and women, cooked in various styles,—stewed, roasted, and boiled,—had been served out and partaken of by hundreds of Thakombau’s courtiers; the sailor’s own captain,—the captain of a British frigate,—ay, the commodore of a British squadron,—with cannon sufficient to have blown the island of Viti Vau out of the water,—sitting alongside, apparently a tranquil and contented spectator of the horrid ceremonial!
It is difficult to account for the behaviour of this Englishman, the Hon. — by name. The only explanation of his conduct one can arrive at is, to believe that his weak mind was fast confined by the trammels of that absurd, but often too convenient, theory of international non-interference,—the most dangerous kind of red-tape that ever tethered the squeamish conscience of an official imbecile.
How different was the action of Wilkes,—that Yankee commander we are so fond of finding fault with! He, too, paid a visit to the cannibal island of Viti Vau; and while there, taught both its king and its people a lesson by the fire of his forty-pounders that, if not altogether effective in extinguishing this national but unnatural custom, has terrified them in its practice to this very day.
Non-interference, indeed! International delicacy in the treatment of a tribe of cruel savages! A nation of man-eaters,—forsooth, a nation! Why not apply the laws of nationality to every band of brigands who chances to have conquered an independent existence? Bah! The world is full of frivolous pretences,—drunk with the poison-cup of political hypocrisy.
It was not Ben Brace who thus reasoned, but his biographer. Ben’s reflections were of a strictly practical character His belief in cannibalism was complete; and as the craft to which he had so involuntarily attached himself drifted on towards the mysterious islet, he was not without some misgivings as to the character of the people who might inhabit it.
For this reason he would have approached its shores with greater caution; and he was in the act of enforcing this upon his companions, when his intention was entirely frustrated by the joyous huzza uttered by Snowball; echoed by little William; and chorussed by the childish, feminine voice of Lilly Lalee.