Pigs-And Pigs!

The Sad Plight of a Confirmed Vegetarian in Tahiti

YEARS ago a grimy little steamer came, at irregular intervals, from beyond the western horizon of Ra’iatea.

Its double mission was the delivery of cargo from far countries and the transportation of the miscellany of inter-island commerce. The principal factor of that commerce appeared to be the pig.

Now, in our native land, we had known the pig, in the form of slices of savoury ham, rashers of bacon and grunts is suing from small enclosures situated in remote parts of farm-yards; but never, until the hour we stood on the wharf at Uturoa and beheld the multitude ar riving by cart, canoe, wheelbarrow and on the hoof, were we aware that the world contained so many pigs.

Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos play strange jests on unsuspecting humanity.

They had placed us on the shore of this remote island, and yet had with held from us a vision of the future.

While we were seeing pigs hurled by the score on cargo nets and, as the winches tightened the nets and bore them aloft, were hearing cries of fear and rage massed in strange harmonies

and dissonances, it was not vouchsafed us to know we were listening to the music of the future. Had wisdom been given us to record, on the lines and spaces of the musical staff, the sounds which quivered o’er Ra’iatea in those far-off days, our name would shine among the stars and the acclaim ac corded the immortals would be for us, instead of for the present-day darlings of the mob.

The Fates also withheld from us the foreknowledge of how our future life in the islands was to be interwoven with pigs.

(Continued Overleaf)

In the wisdom of our maturity we have discarded the carnivorous habits of our youthful days and have become as the beasts of the field. The sight of

torn flesh and reeking gore gives us vertigo; while the smell of flesh-pots charged with garlic and onions destroys our appetite. Yet, since our coming to

the islands—on birthdays and Christmas and New Year —we have been continu ally deluged with pigs.

The intentions of the donors, of course, are of the highest order. In Polynesia, the royal present, the gift of gifts, as worthy of presentation and ac ceptance as the offering of a brace of peacocks to a Roman Emperor, is the pig.

IT all began at MacFarlane’s place, in Moorea. We had been there sev eral months, and the time of our de parture was at hand. Our native friends came, one by one, to say farewell, and with each came also, a pig.

Before the schooner arrived to take us to Papeete, MacFarlane’s lawns were covered with tethered pigs, and we were in despair as to what disposal to make of them.

By the time they were loaded on the schooner the hatches were full. Half way down the bay, we heard a hail.

Canoes were putting off for the schooner. They came alongside. More pigs!

Fortunately, at that time, we had a very dear friend, who kept an hotel at Papeete, and we did not have to clutter up our place in Tahiti with all these pigs. We would have paid, richly, any one to take this schooner-load of pigs off our hands; but our friend of the hotel spared us that expense and re ceived the cargo with paeans of joy.

WERE our contact with pigs confined to birthdays and feast days, we might summon our fortitude and look upon these occasions as we regard days of fasting and repentance—instru ments of moral and spiritual discipline.

But our neighbours keep pigs that are constantly breaking loose and up rooting our garden, and our slumbers are frequently interrupted by night ex peditions of pig-owners, accompanied by excited dogs, trailing in full cry across our premises.

If we wish to go to the districts and are thrifty enough to go by truck we must travel with numerous pigs as companions. The whole bottom of the truck is invariably covered with a par quetry of pigs which forms an uneasy foot-rest throughout the journey.

If we walk into the town, there is sure to pass us on the road a rickety cart, driven by a Chinaman, bearing a load of pigs. At the quay, as we pass along the waterfront, are newly-arrived island schooners discharging a squealing cargo of pigs—some of which usually break loose at the moment of our pass ing, and spoil the whiteness of our duck trousers in brushing past, if they do not actually overthrow us and our dignity into the dust of the roadway.

In this sea of pigs we are a forlorn castaway; for we are no trencherman.

Were it an ocean of carrots and lentils and eggplant and lettuce —that would be another story.—A.C.R.

Rev. and Mrs. H. J. E. Short, of the London Missionary Society station at Hula, Papua, have proceeded to Eng land after attending the World Con ference at Madras, India.

Mr. W. J. (“Billy”) Candler, well known travelling inspector for Gillespie Bros. Pty. Ltd., prominent Australian flour manufacturers, arrived in Sydney on January 19 by the “Nankin”, after paying one of his periodical visits to New Guinea. He sailed for Fiji by the “Mariposa” on February 3, and will later proceed to Western Samoa.