Comparisons may be odious, but I cannot help referring to the contrast between our naval officers and those of Germany in their treatment of savage tribes who dwell on the coasts.
Britons dress in mufti, and go on shore with their hands in their pockets. Germans go in full uniform, lashed to their swords, and probably bristling with six-shooters. Our fellows never get into a row, but the Fatherland fellows are never out of hot water, because they are suspected.
. . . . . .
But now the work of pearl fishing and sponge collecting was in full swing.
There is no island in all the Pacific so rich in pearl oysters as the little-known green dot in the blue waters, to which I have given the name of St. Peter’s. If ever I myself, reader, am able to afford a yacht, it is to this island and others I know of that I shall steer, and I believe that I am long-headed enough to make it pay.
Unlike many savage islanders, King “Mlada” cared little for pearls.
He was getting up in years, he explained. His people all loved him, and he preferred to remain here till death should close his eyes. So he parted readily with the pearl treasures he had during his long reign collected. He refused to be paid in money.
“Money no good,” he said. “No can eat he.”
But beads and cloth—ah! that was in his way.