Before yet the anchor plunged a canoe was already paddling from the
hamlet. It contained two men: one white, one brown and tattooed
across the face with bands of blue, both in immaculate white
European clothes: the resident trader, Mr. Regler, and the native
chief, Taipi-Kikino. 'Captain, is it permitted to come on board?'
were the first words we heard among the islands. Canoe followed
canoe till the ship swarmed with stalwart, six-foot men in every
stage of undress; some in a shirt, some in a loin-cloth, one in a
handkerchief imperfectly adjusted; some, and these the more
considerable, tattooed from head to foot in awful patterns; some
barbarous and knived; one, who sticks in my memory as something
bestial, squatting on his hams in a canoe, sucking an orange and
spitting it out again to alternate sides with ape-like vivacity--
all talking, and we could not understand one word; all trying to
trade with us who had no thought of trading, or offering us island
curios at prices palpably absurd. There was no word of welcome; no
show of civility; no hand extended save that of the chief and Mr.
Regler. As we still continued to refuse the proffered articles,
complaint ran high and rude; and one, the jester of the party,
railed upon our meanness amid jeering laughter. Amongst other
angry pleasantries--'Here is a mighty fine ship,' said he, 'to have
no money on board!' I own I was inspired with sensible repugnance;
even with alarm. The ship was manifestly in their power; we had
women on board; I knew nothing of my guests beyond the fact that
they were cannibals; the Directory (my only guide) was full of
timid cautions; and as for the trader, whose presence might else
have reassured me, were not whites in the Pacific the usual
instigators and accomplices of native outrage? When he reads this
confession, our kind friend, Mr. Regler, can afford to smile.