“Tell them this is a king’s ship, and if they behave themselves they have nothing to fear,” said the captain. “Stop! Six of them can come aboard armed if they like. You can lead them and interpret.”
“I’ll tell them, sir; but I won’t come aboard, thank you. I’m a bit of a savage now, and the crew might make remarks, and we should quarrel.”
He turned to the savages, and the captain and lieutenant exchanged glances, while directly after the canoe was run alongside, and half-a-dozen of the people sprang up the side, and were admitted through the boarding netting to begin striding about the deck in the most fearless way.
They were fine, herculean-looking fellows, broad-shouldered and handsome, and every man had his face tattooed in a curious scroll-like pattern, which ended on the sides of his nose.
Their arms were spears and tomahawks, and two carried by a stout thong to the wrist a curiously carved object, which looked like a model of a paddle in pale green stone, carefully polished, but which on closer inspection seemed to be a weapon for using at close quarters.
As they paraded the deck, with their quick eyes grasping everything, they made no scruple about placing their faces close to those of the sailors, and then drawing themselves up with a conscious look of satisfaction and self-esteem, as they compared their physique with that of their visitors.
One of them, a great fellow of about six feet three, and stout and muscular in proportion, stopped suddenly in front of Jem, at whom he seemed to frown, and turned to Don, upon whose chest he laid the back of his hand.
“Pakeha,” he said in a deep voice; “Ngati pakeha.”
“Tell him he’s another, Mas’ Don,” said Jem.
The savage turned fiercely upon Jem, gripping Don’s arm the while.