“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.