The first strength goes to the king and chiefs; it is "spliced" two or three times, the common natives being glad to get a very indifferent article. At many of the islands of Polynesia, the kava, instead of being beaten with stones, is chewed, and the masticated mass is ejected from the mouth into a vessel, and then water added to it; this chewing operation being performed chiefly by the women. But at Strong's Island, no woman is allowed to take any part in its preparation, or even to be present at the ceremony of preparing or drinking it. His majesty and suite being at hand, the "funeral-baked meats" were brought in, with piles of roasted bread-fruit and large bunches of bananas, and all the natives sat or squatted in their proper places, according to rank. The king, seeing us whites looking on, beckoned us to take seats near his royal person, and personally saw that we were liberally supplied with meat and fruit. We did ample justice to the fare, as became distinguished guests, and made a hearty meal. The remains of the feast were being cleared away, and we were about to leave in quest of further adventures, when the cooper made his appearance among us, with his pipe in full blast. "Well, boys," said he, "you've been having a glorious wake, I suppose, for the old duchess, or marchioness, or whatever her rank may be. You won't get drunk on kava, though, after the aristocracy have had the first wringing of it. You might drink a deck bucketful of the slops that's handed around afterwards. How did they feed you, pretty well?" "Yes, cooper," said I, "you should have been here sooner. You lost a good dinner by being too late for it." "Why what did you have for dinner?" he asked. "Something that we sailors don't get every day in the week;" I answered. "We can appreciate roast pig when we do get it." "Did you have roast pig for dinner?" asked the cooper. "Certainly, we did," said I, triumphantly. "Well, I presume you did--all but the pig," said he, dryly. "What do you mean by that?" I inquired, dubiously. There was no smile on the cooper's face, but that twinkling of his beard was perceptible, which always denoted a high state of inward enjoyment. "Why, pigs that are raised down our way," said he, "have a different tone of voice in expressing themselves. They don't _bark_." "Bark!" I exclaimed, as light began to dawn upon me, while some of my companions already began to look a little qualmish. "You don't mean to say that--" "I don't mean to say anything," returned the cooper. "Come outside and see the sacrificial altar, and its trimmings." We followed him a short distance back from the house till he halted, and pointed significantly to an ensanguined block of wood, near which lay four sets of paws, and four heads, unmistakably canine, corresponding in number to the four "roast pigs" at the banquet.