While the learned Professor muttered these metaphysical and philological reflections, the seaman was stripping himself to the waist.
“That’s the Burmese style, sir,” he said, pointing to his shoulders and upper arm.
These limbs were tattooed in a beautiful soft blue; the pattern was a series of diminishing squares, from which long narrow triangles ran down to the elbow-joints.
“Sehr schôn, sehr schôn,” exclaimed the delighted Professor. “It is very hubsch, very pretty, very well. We cannot now decorate, we Germans. Ach, it is mournful!” and he sighed. “And now, sir, have you to show me any moko? A little moko would be very instructive.”
“Moko? Rather! The Maori pattern, you mean; the New Zealand dodge? Just look between my shoulders,” and the seaman turned a broad bare back, whereon were designs of curious involuted spirals.
“That is right, that is right,” whispered the Professor. “Moko, schlange, serpent-marks, so they call it in their tongue. Better moko, on an European man, have I never seen. You observe,” he remarked to the elder Mr. Wright, waving his hand as he followed the tattooed lines—“you observe the serpentine curves? Very beautiful.”
“Extremely interesting,” said Mr. Wright, who, being no anthropologist, seemed nervous and uncomfortable.
“Corresponds, too, with the marks in the picture,” he added, comparing the sketch of the original Shields with the body of the claimant.
“Are you satisfied now, governor?” asked the sailor.
“One little moment. Have you on the Red Sea coast been? Have you been at Suakim? Have you any Arab markings?”