40. CHAPTER XL.
Seeing flight was useless, the Islanders again stopped
their canoe, and once more we cautiously drew nearer;
myself crying out to them not to be fearful; and Samoa,
with the odd humor of his race, averring that he had known
every soul of them from his infancy.
We approached within two or three yards; when we
paused, which somewhat allayed their alarm. Fastening a
red China handkerchief to the blade of our long mid-ship
oar, I waved it in the air. A lively clapping of hands,
and many wild exclamations.
While yet waving the flag, I whispered to Jarl to give
the boat a sheer toward the canoe, which being adroitly
done, brought the bow, where I stood, still nearer to the
Islanders. I then dropped the silk among them; and the
Islander, who caught it, at once handed it to the warlike
old man with the sling; who, on seating himself, spread it
before him; while the rest crowding round, glanced rapidly
from the wonderful gift, to the more wonderful donors.
This old man was the superior of the party. And Samoa
asserted, that he must be a priest of the country to which
the Islanders belonged; that the craft could be no other
than one of their sacred canoes, bound on some priestly voyage.
All this he inferred from the altar-like prow, and
there being no women on board.
Bent upon conciliating the old priest, I dropped into the
canoe another silk handkerchief; while Samoa loudly exclaimed,
that we were only three men, and were peaceably
inclined. Meantime, old Aaron, fastening the two silks
crosswise over his shoulders, like a brace of Highland plaids,
crosslegged sat, and eyed us.
It was a curious sight. The old priest, like a scroll of
old parchment, covered all over with hieroglyphical devices,
harder to interpret, I'll warrant, than any old Sanscrit
manuscript. And upon his broad brow, deep-graven in
wrinkles, were characters still more mysterious, which no
Champollion nor gipsy could have deciphered. He looked
old as the elderly hills; eyes sunken, though bright; and
head white as the summit of Mont Blanc.
The rest were a youthful and comely set: their complexion
that of Gold Sherry, and all tattooed after this pattern:
two broad cross-stripes on the chest and back, reaching
down to the waist, like a foot-soldier's harness. Their
faces were full of expression; and their mouths were full of
fine teeth; so that the parting of their lips, was as the
opening of pearl oysters. Marked, here and there, after the
style of Tahiti, with little round figures in blue, dotted in
the middle with a spot of vermilion, their brawny brown
thighs looked not unlike the gallant hams of Westphalia,
spotted with the red dust of Cayenne.
But what a marvelous resemblance in the features of all.
Were they born at one birth? This resemblance was
heightened by their uniform marks. But it was subsequently
ascertained, that they were the children of one sire; and
that sire, old Aaron; who, no doubt, reposed upon his sons,
as an old general upon the trophies of his youth.
They were the children of as many mothers; and he
was training them up for the priesthood.
