Rensselaer Republican, Volume 15, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 June 1883 — MARK TWAIN'S CANNIBAL MEAL. [ARTICLE]

MARK TWAIN'S CANNIBAL MEAL.

The King of Easter island, in the Pacific ocean, and myself, were dining together, and he was giving me the particulars of feasting in that region. He said: “In the Sandwich islands and the Marquesas, they make poi out of taroroot, only. The native takes the taroroot, which is much like what you describe a turnip to be, and wraps it in plantain leaves, and puts it in the ground, which he has lined with hot stones, don’t you see?—covers it up, lets it roast. He takes it out, pounds it in a great stone dish with a large pestle; adds water to this mush, from time to time, to thin it. He sets it away (it is poi now) in large calabashes. It looks like so much flour paste. At meals all the family and friends sit around the calabash on their haunches —except that the poor common Kanakas are naked, of course. Ah, no, my friend—because vou see me, the great King, in shirt-collar and spectacles, you must not imagine that the common subjects must ape grandeur and put on clothes.

“They sit around the calabash, and all eat from it with their hands. Each inserts his fingers and stirs them briskly around until a portion of the pulpy mass adheres to them—then tilts back his head, lets the suspended tail ©f pulp descend into his open mouth — then his fingers follow, and he sucks the remainder from them. Now, if the pulp be thick, you can use one finger; if it be thinner you must use two, or three, or four fingers, accordingly. An inspired girl invented the method of thickening four-finger with bread-fruit —and also the flavoring it with carcasses of the delicious bird which in your tongue yon term grasshoppers. ” “Blessed girl!” "Blessed girl, indeed! But pardon me— you—you seem distressed.” “It is nothing. Poi, even in its native nastiness, is only mildly delicious to me —the addition to it of the wild game you mention —” "Ah, say no more. I perceive. But try this dish- It is a fry of bananas and plantains, with oranges sliced in it, and just a spoonful or so of the delightful chirimoya added to give it tone. I conceived the idea of adding the angleworms.”

“It was inspiration.” "I so regard it. It is so considered, by the great chiefs. To the common herd it is tabu, that is to say, prohibited. Now, as regards missionaries,” •ontinued the King, reflectively scratching his head with the fork I had presented to him, and which he had already learned to use a great deal, though not always in a strictly-legiti-mate way, “as regards missionaries, I ■will say that their landing here was unexpected, but I hastened to give them •very protection, and I gave them full privilege to teach. They were the first whites that some of my people had seen, and of course these simple natives had a natural curiosity to experiment upon them. I could not reasonably deny them this little gratification, though I counseled them to practice as little cruelty upon the strangers as was compatible with a fair desire for information and the necessity for wholesome amusement. They removed Johnson’s ears, and that was a thing which I regretted seriously, until it was explained to me that a great chiefs little child desired them to play with; and, if y<m could have seen hoW much more contented and restful the poor thing was after it acquired them, you would have felt how blessed a thing it was to be able to contribute to the happiness •t even a little child.” “It was the impulse of a generous

heart—it was a spirit of liberality as rare as it is beautiful. And how did Johnson like it?” “Oh, Johnson said it was the will of God. It was like Johnson to say that. But the missionaries were right well treated, on the whefle. The natives tried various interesting experiments upon them, such as scorching them and scalping them, and all that sort of thing, and I killed one of them, myself, not in malice, but because I had a curious caprice to see how he would go with onions. He was a failure. Old and tough. Give me pungency and tenderness for a combination. Onions and infancy is my idea of comfort. But here comes a dish which you will like, my good haole—baked dog and yams. Project your teeth in this direction and nip this slice from the contrivance which you call a fork. A man, if he be anything of an epicure, is bound to like this dish. It is, par excellence, the national dish—no luau is complete without it. A luau is a grand feast, my friend—that is what it means. “As I was saying, the Kanakas experimented a good deal on the missionaries, in the interest of science, and the experiments were generally fatal, though I urged them not to waste the missionaries, for we could not know when we would have another lot. But among those that survived was Williams, and it was he that sent home those damaging reports to your countrymen when he spoke of the treatment of his brethren in a peevish, fault-find-ing spirit, ill-becoming to his sacred calling.”

“It was pitiful in that Williams, after all you had done for his party.” “I should say so. But never mind, let’s be cheerful, any wav. How are you making out ? Let me help you to a fried plantain. Take some more of the pup. Not? Try some of the human charm! You’ll like him. He was a Frenchman, a splendid chap—young and hearty, beautiful to look upon. Do you prefer white meat of dark ? Let me help you to some of the breast. Ah, me, I have known this youngster for thirteen years—fished with him, sailed with him, swam with him, gave a couple of my sisters and four aunts to him. I loved him. He was always good. He is good now.” Taking up a fragment of his late brother-in-law the King took a bite, and then gazed long and pensively on the remainder, until by-and-by the muscles of his mouth began to twitch with emotion, and presently two or three great tears welled from his eyes and course! down his cheeks. Then, in a choking voice, he murmured: “Alas, they have fried him.”

I laid down the breast-bone of the deceased and burst into tears also. Buch is the sympathetic power of grief. It was nothing to me whether they fried him or broiled him; it was nothing to me how this poor foreigner was cooked; I was only eating him out of vain curiosity, and not because I loved him, not because I respected him, not because I wished to curry favor with his relatives. Yet I wept.

“They have fried him,” said the King. “Alas, poor Gautier. However, let us cheer up, let us be content. But I will have my cook for breakfast for this — and I will fry him and see how he likes it. There is nothing like a sharp example to teach a man, my friend. But don’t be idle, sir—take some more of the fried Frenchman. I ought to be ashamed to oiler you such a dish, but you see how lam situated. He ought to have been baked—this fellow ought. We always bake a Frenchman—we never think of frying him. But I wish you had known this fellow—so kind, so gentle, so loving, and you see yourself how tender he is. But that Williams business —I wish you would straighten that up for me when you go to America. If your people could only know the facts in the case, they would not blame me. It is a little hard, after I have spent all these years in building a good name, to have it all knocked in the head by this shabby adventurer. Now, what he called a ‘hideous revel,’ and a ‘feast of demons,’ and all sorts of vile and wicked names, was nothing in the world, I give you my sacred’honor, but a simple bocue—seventeen old crippled natives —no account under the sun, just an expense to the community, and I fricasseed them to give a little treat to some

visiting town chiefs (Aidermen you call them in your country), who were here for a day or two from Wonga Island. ‘Feast of demons,’ indeed! Feast of dried-up, skinny old rapscallions that the island is a thousand times bet’ter off without, and I am sure it was honorable in us to be hospitable to those strangers. Though, between you and me, it was an awful swindle on them. Tough? Oh, don’t mention it. More cholera morbus and indigestion and general suffering among those chiefs, you never saw the like of your li f e. Now, Twain, you see what truth there was in Williams’ statements—all that row about nothing. You can set this thing right in your country —you can do it easy; simply just explain the facts—and anything I can do for you I’ll do it—you may depend on me. Send me a copy of your weekly. I can’t read it, but a little literature can’t hurt a man anyhow. Caesar’s ghost!” “Oh, heaven, what is the matter, your Gracious majesty?” “Oh, misery; Oh, murder; Oh, desperation.” “Oh, what is it,your Imperial-Majesty ? I beseech you.” He had sprung to his feet and his fixed eyes were staring wildly at the fried meat before him. “Oh, my brain reels. This hair is not a Frenchman’s hair. There must be some mistake. A horrid suspicion bursts upon me. Ah, what is this I see ?—this thing ?—this accusing mark ?

A strawberry mark on the left arm?— it is, it is, my long-lost brother!” Alas, it was even so. It was his longlost brother—what was left of him. Poor, poor fellow; he was fit only to be shoveled into a basket and given to the poor now. The King fell to the floor insensible. He grew worse and worse, and the next day his removal to the country was ordered. Many sympathizing relatives and friends followed the palanquin in and did what they could to alleviate the sufferings of their unhappy sovereign. It turned out afterward that the sweetheart of the Frenchman had made a surreptitious exchange of marketing in the King’s kitchen before daylight on that fatal day. She had bought the King’s brother from a wandering tribe that belonged to the great wilderness at the other end of the island. She bought him purposely to make that exchange, though, of course, she did not know who he was. The Frenchman escaped from the island in a canoe that very night. I would have liked to taste that Frenchman.