So did my people formerly; but they do not
eat so many now, because the missionary who was last here expressed
disgust at it. The poor people asked if it was wrong to eat rats; and
he told them that it was certainly not wrong, but that the people of
England would be much disgusted were they asked to eat rats."
We had not been an hour in the house of this kind-hearted man when we
were convinced of the truth of his statement as to their numbers; for
the rats ran about the floors in dozens, and during our meal two men
were stationed at the table to keep them off!
"What a pity you have no cats!" said Peterkin, and he aimed a blow at
another reckless intruder, and missed it.
"We would indeed be glad to have a few," rejoined the teacher, "but
they are difficult to be got. The hogs, we find, are very good rat-killers,
but they do not seem to be able to keep the numbers down. I have heard
that they are better than cats."
As the teacher said this, his good-natured black face was wrinkled with
a smile of merriment. Observing that I had noticed it, he said--
"I smiled just now when I remembered the fate of the first cat that was
taken to Rarotonga. This is one of the stations of the London
Missionary Society. It, like our own, is infested with rats, and a cat
was brought at last to the island. It was a large black one. On being
turned loose, instead of being content to stay among men, the cat took
to the mountains, and lived in a wild state, sometimes paying visits
during the night to the houses of the natives; some of whom, living at
a distance from the settlement, had not heard of the cat's arrival, and
were dreadfully frightened in consequence, calling it a 'monster of the
deep,' and flying in terror away from it.
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