Of That Jolly Old Lord, Borabolla; And That Jolly Island Of His,
Mondoldo; And Of The Fish-Ponds, And The Hereafters Of Fish
Drawing near Mondoldo, our next place of destination, we were greeted
by six fine canoes, gayly tricked out with streamers, and all alive
with the gestures of their occupants. King Borabolla and court were
hastening to welcome our approach; Media, unbeknown to all, having
notified him at the Banquet of the Five-and-Twenty Kings, of our
intention to visit his dominions.
Soon, side by side, these canoes floated with ours; each barge of Odo
courteously flanked by those of Mondoldo.
Not long were we in identifying Borabolla: the portly, pleasant old
monarch, seated cross-legged upon a dais, projecting over the bow of
the largest canoe of the six, close-grappling to the side of the Sea
Elephant.
Was he not a goodly round sight to behold? Round all over; round of eye
and of head; and like the jolly round Earth, roundest and biggest about
the Equator. A girdle of red was his Equinoctial Line, giving a
compactness to his plumpness.
This old Borabolla permitted naught to come between his head and the
sun; not even gray hairs. Bald as a gourd, right down on his brazen
skull, the rays of the luminary converged.
He was all hilarity; full of allusions to the feast at Willamilla,
where he had done royal execution. Rare old Borabolla! thou wert made
for dining out; thy ample mouth an inlet for good cheer, and a
sally-port for good humor.
Bustling about on his dais, he now gave orders for the occupants of our
canoes to be summarily emptied into his own; saying, that in that
manner only did he allow guests to touch the beach of Mondoldo.
So, with no little trouble—for the waves were grown somewhat riotous—we
proceeded to comply; bethinking ourselves all the while, how annoying
is sometimes an over-strained act of hospitality.
We were now but little less than a mile from the shore. But what of
that? There was plenty of time, thought Borabolla, for a hasty lunch,
and the getting of a subsequent appetite ere we effected a landing. So
viands were produced; to which the guests were invited to pay heedful
attention; or take the consequences, and famish till the long voyage in
prospect was ended.
Soon the water shoaled (approaching land is like nearing truth in
metaphysics), and ere we yet touched the beach, Borabolla declared,
that we were already landed. Which paradoxical assertion implied, that
the hospitality of Mondoldo was such, that in all directions it
radiated far out upon the lagoon, embracing a great circle; so that no
canoe could sail by the island, without its occupants being so long its
guests.
In most hospitable vicinity to the water, was a fine large structure,
inclosed by a stockade; both rather dilapidated; as if the cost of
entertaining its guests, prevented outlays for repairing the place. But
it was one of Borabolla’s maxims, that generally your tumble-down old
homesteads yield the most entertainment; their very dilapidation
betokening their having seen good service in hospitality; whereas,
spruce-looking, finical portals, have a phiz full of meaning; for
niggards are oftentimes neat.
Now, after what has been said, who so silly as to fancy, that because
Borabolla’s mansion was inclosed by a stockade, that the same was
intended as a defense against guests? By no means. In the palisade was
a mighty breach, not an entrance-way, wide enough to admit six Daniel
Lamberts abreast.
“Look,” cried Borabolla, as landing we stepped toward the place. “Look
Media! look all. These gates, you here see, lashed back with osiers,
have been so lashed during my life-time; and just where they stand,
shall they rot; ay, they shall perish wide open.”
“But why have them at all?” inquired Media.
“Ah! there you have old Borabolla,” cried the other.
“No,” said Babbalanja, “a fence whose gate is ever kept open, seems
unnecessary, I grant; nevertheless, it gives a notable hint, otherwise
not so aptly conveyed; for is not the open gate the sign of the open
heart?”
“Right, right,” cried Borabolla; “so enter both, cousin Media;” and
with one hand smiting his chest, with the other he waved us on.
But if the stockade seemed all open gate, the structure within seemed
only a roof; for nothing but a slender pillar here and there, supported
it.
“This is my mode of building,” said Borabolla; “I will have no outside
to my palaces. Walls are superfluous. And to a high-minded guest, the
entering a narrow doorway is like passing under a yoke; every time he
goes in, or comes out, it reminds him, that he is being entertained at
the cost of another. So storm in all round.”
Within, was one wide field-bed; where reclining, we looked up to
endless rows of brown calabashes, and trenchers suspended along the
rafters; promissory of ample cheer as regiments of old hams in a
baronial refectory.
They were replenished with both meat and drink; the trenchers readily
accessible by means of cords; but the gourds containing arrack,
suspended neck downward, were within easy reach where they swung.
Seeing all these indications of hard roystering; like a cautious young
bridegroom at his own marriage merry-making, Taji stood on his guard.
And when Borabolla urged him to empty a gourd or two, by way of making
room in him for the incidental repast about to be served, Taji civilly
declined; not wishing to cumber the floor, before the cloth was laid.
Jarl, however, yielding to importunity, and unmindful of the unities of
time and place, went freely about, from gourd to gourd, concocting in
him a punch. At which, Samoa expressed much surprise, that he should be
so unobservant as not to know, that in Mardi, guests might be pressed
to demean themselves, without its being expected that so they would do.
A true toss-pot himself, he bode his time.
The second lunch over, Borabolla placed both hands to the ground, and
giving the sigh of the fat man, after three vigorous efforts, succeeded
in gaining his pins; which pins of his, were but small for his body;
insomuch that they hugely staggered about, under the fine old load they
carried.
The specific object of his thus striving after an erect posture, was to
put himself in motion, and conduct us to his fish-ponds, famous
throughout the Archipelago as the hobby of the king of Mondoldo.
Furthermore, as the great repast of the day, yet to take place, was to
be a grand piscatory one, our host was all anxiety, that we should have
a glimpse of our fish, while yet alive and hearty.
We were alarmed at perceiving, that certain servitors were preparing to
accompany us with trenchers of edibles. It begat the notion, that our
trip to the fish-ponds was to prove a long journey. But they were not
three hundred yards distant; though Borabolla being a veteran traveler,
never stirred from his abode without his battalion of butlers.
The ponds were four in number, close bordering the water, embracing
about an acre each, and situated in a low fen, draining several
valleys. The excavated soil was thrown up in dykes, made tight by being
beaten all over, while in a soft state, with the heavy, flat ends of
Palm stalks. Lying side by side, by three connecting trenches, these
ponds could be made to communicate at pleasure; while two additional
canals afforded means of letting in upon them the salt waters of the
lagoon on one hand, or those of an inland stream on the other. And by a
third canal with four branches, together or separately, they could be
partially drained. Thus, the waters could be mixed to suit any gills;
and the young fish taken from the sea, passed through a stated process
of freshening; so that by the time they graduated, the salt was well
out of them, like the brains out of some diplomaed collegians.
Fresh-water fish are only to be obtained in Mondoldo by the artificial
process above mentioned; as the streams and brooks abound not in trout
or other Waltonian prey.
Taken all floundering from the sea, Borabolla’s fish, passing through
their regular training for the table, and daily tended by their
keepers, in course of time became quite tame and communicative. To
prove which, calling his Head Ranger, the king bade him administer the
customary supply of edibles.
Accordingly, mouthfuls were thrown into the ponds. Whereupon, the fish
darted in a shoal toward the margin; some leaping out of the water in
their eagerness. Crouching on the bank, the Ranger now called several
by name, patted their scales, carrying on some heathenish nursery-talk,
like St. Anthony, in ancient Coptic, instilling virtuous principles
into his finny flock on the sea shore.
But alas, for the hair-shirted old dominie’s backsliding disciples.
For, of all nature’s animated kingdoms, fish are the most unchristian,
inhospitable, heartless, and cold-blooded of creatures. At least, so
seem they to strangers; though at bottom, somehow, they must be all
right. And truly it is not to be wondered at, that the very reverend
Anthony strove after the conversion of fish. For, whoso shall
Christianize, and by so doing, humanize the sharks, will do a greater
good, by the saving of human life in all time to come, than though he
made catechumens of the head-hunting Dyaks of Borneo, or the
blood-bibbing Battas of Sumatra. And are these Dyaks and Battas one
whit better than tiger-sharks? Nay, are they so good? Were a Batta your
intimate friend, you would often mistake an orang-outang for him; and
have orang-outangs immortal souls? True, the Battas believe in a
hereafter; but of what sort? Full of Blue-Beards and bloody bones. So,
also, the sharks; who hold that Paradise is one vast Pacific, ploughed
by navies of mortals, whom an endless gale forever drops into their
maws.
Not wholly a surmise. For, does it not appear a little unreasonable to
imagine, that there is any creature, fish, flesh, or fowl, so little in
love with life, as not to cherish hopes of a future state? Why does man
believe in it? One reason, reckoned cogent, is, that he desires it. Who
shall say, then, that the leviathan this day harpooned on the coast of
Japan, goes not straight to his ancestor, who rolled all Jonah, as a
sweet morsel, under his tongue?
Though herein, some sailors are slow believers, or at best hold
themselves in a state of philosophical suspense. Say they—“That
catastrophe took place in the Mediterranean; and the only whales
frequenting the Mediterranean, are of a sort having not a swallow large
enough to pass a man entire; for those Mediterranean whales feed upon
small things, as horses upon oats.” But hence, the sailors draw a rash
inference. Are not the Straits of Gibralter wide enough to admit a
sperm-whale, even though none have sailed through, since Nineveh and
the gourd in its suburbs dried up?
As for the possible hereafter of the whales; a creature eighty feet
long without stockings, and thirty feet round the waist before dinner,
is not inconsiderately to be consigned to annihilation.