Stevenson on horseback, I walking by her
side, and Mr. and Mrs. Osbourne close in our wake on bicycles, at a
sudden turn in the road we found ourselves mixed with a remarkable
native procession, with a somewhat primitive band of music, in front
of us, while behind was a festival or a funeral, we could not tell
which. Several of the stoutest men carried bales and bundles on poles.
Some were evidently bales of tapa-cloth. The burden of one set of
poles, heavier than the rest, however, was not so easily made out. My
curiosity was whetted to know whether it was a roast pig or something
of a gruesome nature, and I inquired about it. "I don't know," said
Mrs. Stevenson, "whether this is a wedding or a funeral. Whatever it
is, though, captain, our place seems to be at the head of it."
The _Spray_ being in the stream, we boarded her from the beach
abreast, in the little razeed Gloucester dory, which had been painted
a smart green. Our combined weight loaded it gunwale to the water, and
I was obliged to steer with great care to avoid swamping. The
adventure pleased Mrs. Stevenson greatly, and as we paddled along she
sang, "They went to sea in a pea-green boat." I could understand her
saying of her husband and herself, "Our tastes were similar."
As I sailed farther from the center of civilization I heard less and
less of what would and what would not pay. Mrs. Stevenson, in speaking
of my voyage, did not once ask me what I would make out of it.
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