Their Morning Meal
Not wholly is our world made up of bright stars and bright eyes: so now
to our story.
A conscientious host should ever be up betimes, to look after the
welfare of his guests, and see to it that their day begin auspiciously.
King Media announced the advent of the sun, by rustling at my bower’s
eaves in person.
A repast was spread in an adjoining arbor, which Media’s pages had
smoothed for our reception, and where his subordinate chiefs were in
attendance. Here we reclined upon mats. Balmy and fresh blew the breath
of the morning; golden vapors were upon the mountains, silver sheen
upon the grass; and the birds were at matins in the groves; their
bright plumage flashing into view, here and there, as if some rainbow
were crouching in the foliage.
Spread before us were viands, served in quaint-shaped, curiously-dyed
gourds, not Sevres, but almost as tasteful; and like true porcelain,
fire had tempered them. Green and yielding, they are plucked from the
tree; and emptied of their pulp, are scratched over with minute marks,
like those of a line engraving. The ground prepared, the various
figures are carefully etched. And the outlines filled up with delicate
punctures, certain vegetable oils are poured over them, for coloring.
Filled with a peculiar species of earth, the gourd is now placed in an
oven in the ground. And in due time exhumed, emptied of its contents,
and washed in the stream, it presents a deep-dyed exterior; every
figure distinctly traced and opaque, but the ground semi-transparent.
In some cases, owing to the variety of dyes employed, each figure is of
a different hue.
More glorious goblets than these for the drinking of wine, went never
from hand to mouth. Capacious as pitchers, they almost superseded
decanters.
Now, in a tropical climate, fruit, with light wines, forms the only fit
meal of a morning. And with orchards and vineyards forever in sight,
who but the Hetman of the Cossacs would desire more? We had plenty of
the juice of the grape. But of this hereafter; there are some fine old
cellars, and plenty of good cheer in store.
During the repast, Media, for a time, was much taken up with our
raiment. He begged me to examine for a moment the texture of his right
royal robe, and observe how much superior it was to my own. It put my
mantle to the blush; being tastefully stained with rare devices in red
and black; and bordered with dyed fringes of feathers, and tassels of
red birds’ claws.
Next came under observation the Skyeman’s Guayaquil hat; at whose
preposterous shape, our host laughed in derision; clapping a great
conical calabash upon the head of an attendant, and saying that now he
was Jarl. At this, and all similar sallies, Samoa was sure to roar
louder than any; though mirth was no constitutional thing with him. But
he seemed rejoiced at the opportunity of turning upon us the ridicule,
which as a barbarian among whites, he himself had so often experienced.
These pleasantries over, King Media very slightly drew himself up, as
if to make amends for his previous unbending. He discoursed imperially
with his chiefs; nodded his sovereign will to his pages; called for
another gourd of wine; in all respects carrying his royalty bravely.
The repast concluded, we journeyed to the canoe-house, where we found
the little Chamois stabled like a steed. One solitary depredation had
been committed. Its sides and bottom had been completely denuded of the
minute green barnacles, and short sea-grass, which, like so many
leeches, had fastened to our planks during our long, lazy voyage.
By the people they had been devoured as dainties.