We are friends." Another pause; when, rising to his feet, the stranger slowly descended, holding on by one hand to the rigging, for but one did he have; his musket partly slung from his back, and partly griped under the stump of his mutilated arm.
He alighted about six paces from where we stood; and balancing his weapon, eyed us bravely as the Cid.
He was a tall, dark Islander, a very devil to behold, theatrically arrayed in kilt and turban; the kilt of a gay calico print, the turban of a red China silk.

His neck was jingling with strings of beads.
"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..