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.

Now one of the other men took hold of a little pig by the hind-legs and threw it in a lofty curve to one of the dancing chiefs, who caught the little animal, half stunned by the fall, and, still dancing, carried it to Palo, who killed it by three blows on the head, whereupon it was laid at his feet. This went on for a long time. It was a cruel sight. Squealing and shrieking, the poor animals flew through the air, fell heavily on the hard earth, and lay stunned or tried to crawl away with broken backs or legs. Some were unhurt, and ran off, but a bloodthirsty crowd was after them with clubs and axes, and soon brought them back. Still, one man thought this troublesome, and broke the hind-legs of each pig before throwing it to the chief, so that it might not escape. It was horrible to see and hear the bones break, but the lust for blood was upon the crowd, and on all sides there were passionate eyes, distorted faces and wild yells. Happily the work was soon done, and in front of Palo lay a heap of half-dead, quivering animals. He and his wife now turned their backs to the assembly, while a few high-castes counted the corpses. For each ten one lobe was torn off a sicca-leaf, then the missing lobes were counted, and after a puzzling calculation, the result was announced. Palo turned round and descended from his pedestal with much dignity, though panting from his exertions, and looking so hot that I feared an apoplexy for the old man. I did not know how tough such an old heathen is, nor that his efforts were by no means at an end. Noblesse oblige and such high caste as Palo’s is not attained without trouble.

As female pigs may not be eaten, those just killed were thrown into the sea by the women; meanwhile, the chiefs blew a loud blast on the shell-bugles, to announce to all concerned that Palo’s first duty was accomplished. The deep yet piercing tones must have sounded far into the narrow valleys round.

Then poles were driven into the ground, to which the tusked pigs were tied. Some were enormous beasts, and grunted savagely when anyone came near them. I saw my companion of the morning lying cheerfully grunting in the shade of a tree. Now came a peculiar ceremony, in which all who had contributed pigs were supposed to take part. To my disappointment, Mr. F. refused to join in. Palo took up his position on the stone table, armed with a club. Out of a primitive door, hastily improvised out of a few palm-leaves, the chiefs came dancing in single file, swinging some weapon, a spear or a club. Palo jumped down, danced towards them, chased each chief and finally drove them, still dancing, back through the door. This evidently symbolized some fight in which Palo was the victor. After having done this about twenty times, Palo had to lead all the chiefs in a long dance across the square, passing in high jumps between the pigs. After this he needed a rest, and no wonder. Then the pigs were sacrificed with mysterious ceremonies, the meaning of which has probably never been penetrated. The end of it all was that Palo broke the pigs’ heads with a special club, and when night fell, twenty-six “tuskers” lay agonizing on the ground. Later they were hung on trees, to be eaten next day, and then everybody retired to the huts to eat and rest.

Some hours later great fires were kindled at both ends of the square, and women with torches stood all around. The high-castes opened the ball, but there was not much enthusiasm, and only a few youngsters hopped about impatiently, until their spirits infected some older people, and the crowd increased, so that at last everybody was raving in a mad dance. The performance is monotonous: some men with pan-pipes bend down with their heads touching, and blow with all their might, always the same note, marking time with their feet. Suddenly one gives a jump, others follow, and then the whole crowd moves a number of times up and down the square, until the musicians are out of breath, when they come to a standstill. The excitement goes on until the sun rises. The women, as a rule, keep outside the square, but they dance too, and keep it up all night; now and then a couple disappears into the darkness.

Next morning Palo, who had hardly closed his eyes all night, was very busy again, giving each guest his due share of the feast. The large pigs were dressed, cut up and cooked. This work lasted all day, but everybody enjoyed it. The dexterity and cleanliness with which the carcases are divided is astonishing, and is quite a contrast to the crude way in which native meals are usually dressed and devoured. We whites received a large and very fat slice as a present, which we preferred to pass on, unnoticed, to our boys. Fat is considered the best part of the pig.

The lower jaws of the tuskers were cut out separately and handed over to Palo, to be cleaned and hung up in his gamal in the shape of a chandelier, as tokens of his rank.

Palo is a weather-maker. When we prepared to go home, he promised to smooth the sea, which was running too high for comfort, and to prevent a head-wind. We were duly grateful, and, indeed, all his promises were fulfilled: we had a perfectly smooth sea, and such a dead calm that between the blue sky and the white sea we nearly fainted, and had to row wearily along instead of sailing. Just as we were leaving, Palo came to the bank, making signs for us to come back, a pretty custom, although it is not always meant sincerely.

Late at night we arrived at home once more.