We now placed the chama shells, the crabs, and other shell-fish, together with Johnny’s specimens, to which he had added a splendid madrepore vase, in the boat, and as soon as the swimmers were dressed, we pulled over to Palm-islet. Here we arranged a tent in the same manner as we had done on the memorable night when we first reached these shores. Max then kindled a fire, and prepared to cook our supper. The shell-fish were easily managed by placing them upon the embers, but the crabs, which it was necessary to boil, and which were of the size of small lobsters, presented a more difficult case. Max’s culinary genius, however, stimulated by a keen appetite, eventually triumphed over every obstacle. He procured a number of stones, which he heated in the fire; then filling one of the deep and rounded chama shells with water, he proceeded to drop the heated stones into it, using a couple of sticks as a pair of tongs. This process he continued until the water boiled, when he remorselessly plunged the unhappy crabs therein, and from time to time dropped in more of the heated stones, until the cookery was complete.
Chapter Twenty.
Arthur’s Story.
Browne on “The Knightly Character”—Rokóa—The Cannibal Island of Angatan.
“This is no Grecian fable of fountains running wine,
Of hags with snaky tresses, and sailors turned to swine:
On yonder teeming island, under the noon day sun,
In sight of many people, these strange, dark deeds were done.”
Having made a hearty and satisfactory supper, and concluded the meal with a draught of cocoa-nut milk, we sat down, like the patriarchs of old, “in the door of our tent” facing the sea, to enjoy the freshness of the evening breeze.
Johnny, after having settled it to his own entire satisfaction, that the shell in which his pearls had been found, was properly a mussel, and not an oyster; and having also, by Arthur’s help, resolved his doubts and difficulties, touching divers other knotty points in conchology; successively raised and canvassed the grave and edifying questions—whether there actually were such creatures as mermaids?—whether sea-serpents were indigenous to the neighbourhood of Cape Cod and Massachusetts Bay?—whether the narratives of ancient and modern voyagers, in regard to Krakens, and gigantic Polypes, with feelers or arms as long as a ship’s main-mast, had any foundation in fact or were to be looked upon as sheer fabrications?—and, finally, whether the hideous and revolting practice of cannibalism, really prevailed among the inhabitants of certain groups of islands in the Pacific?
“This puts me in mind, Arthur,” said Johnny, suddenly, while the last-mentioned subject was under discussion, “of a promise you made during the voyage, to tell me a story about a cannibal island upon which you were once cast, and the adventures you met with there. This is a good time to tell it: it is quite early, and the night so beautiful, that it would be a shame to think of going to bed for two or three hours yet; for my part, I feel as though I could sit here all night without getting sleepy.”