And what became of Barab the Mohammedan? All I can say is, the good work that Giovanni and I began was finished off by the missionaries. Barab was expelled from Samoa, and hastened seaward, doubtless to seek fresh converts for his creed in other lands.
After losing Giovanni’s welcome companionship, I felt very lonely, and so decided to go seaward again. Though I was not a sailor by profession, it was always an easy matter for me to get a ship. I think I had an ingratiating way with me when I approached the mates and skippers. And when I came across a skipper or mate with a face like cast-iron and eyes like a shark’s, which I often did, I changed my tactics. For I approached him with my violin in one hand and a bottle of the best Hollands in the other hand. I invariably found that, if music does not soothe the savage breast, Hollands gin comes pretty near the mark. Anyway, I got a berth and sailed before the mast outbound for old Tai-o-hae, Nuka Hiva. I had been to the Marquesas many times, but in the next chapter I shall tell a few incidents that I have not recorded before.
CHAPTER XIII. AN OLD MARQUESAN QUEEN
In Tai-o-hae—I come across a Widowed Marquesan Queen—Am received with Dignity—The Artistic Tattoo on Loi Vakamoa’s Royal Person—The Queen tells how she was married to a certain Martin Smith of New South Wales—An aged Queen’s Vanity—A Heathen Necropolis.
The seas I’ve roamed, hypocrisy I hate:
God grafted in my soul the fire of song.
On life’s dark hills I’ve wrestled, fought with Fate.
Here in South Seas, still young, I jog along,