Chapter 21 - Page 2

Islander, a very devil to behold, theatrically
arrayed in kilt and turban; the kilt of a gay calico print, the
turban of a red China silk. His neck was jingling with strings of
beads.

"Who else is on board?" I asked; while Jarl, thus far covering the
stranger with his weapon, now dropped it to the deck.

"Look there:--Annatoo!" was his reply in broken English, pointing
aloft to the fore-top. And lo! a woman, also an Islander; and barring
her skirts, dressed very much like Samoa, was beheld descending.

"Any more?"

"No more."

"Who are _you_ then; and what craft is this?"

"Ah, ah--you are no ghost;--but are you my friend?" he cried,
advancing nearer as he spoke; while the woman having gained the deck,
also approached, eagerly glancing.

We said we were friends; that we meant no harm; but desired to know
what craft this was; and what disaster had befallen her; for that
something untoward had occurred, we were certain.

Whereto, Samoa made answer, that it was true that something dreadful
had happened; and that he would gladly tell us all, and tell us the
truth. And about it he went.

Now, this story of his was related in the mixed phraseology of a
Polynesian sailor. With a few random reflections, in substance, it
will be found in the six following chapters.