In it were eight or ten natives,
comely, vivacious-looking youths, all gesture and exclamation; the
red feathers in their head-bands perpetually nodding.
With them also
came a stranger, a renegade from Christendom and humanity - a white
man, in the South Sea girdle, and tattooed in the face. A broad blue
band stretched across his face from ear to ear, and on his forehead
was the taper figure of a blue shark, nothing but fins from head to
tail.
Some of us gazed upon this man with a feeling akin to horror, no ways
abated when informed that he had voluntarily submitted to this
embellishment of his countenance. What an impress! Far worse than
Cain's - his was perhaps a wrinkle, or a freckle, which some of our
modern cosmetics might have effaced; but the blue shark was a mark
indelible, which all the waters of Abana and Pharpar, rivers of
Damascus, could never wash out. He was an Englishman, Lem Hardy he
called himself, who had deserted from a trading brig touching at the
island for wood and water some ten years previous. He had gone ashore
as a sovereign power armed with a musket and a bag of ammunition, and
ready if need were, to prosecute war on his own account. The country
was divided by the hostile kings of several large valleys. With one
of them, from whom he first received overtures, he formed an
alliance, and became what he now was, the military leader of the
tribe, and war-god of the entire island.
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