By eight o'clock in the morning, when we reached the shore, the
beach was shimmering in the sunlight, the sand gleaming under the
intense rays as if reflecting the beams of gigantic mirrors.
Heat-waves quivered in the moist air.

This was the beach that had witnessed the strange career of John
Howard, a Yankee sailor who had fled a Yankee ship fifty years
before and made his bed for good and all in the Marquesas. Lying
Bill Pincher had told me the story. Howard, known to the natives as
T'yonny, had been welcomed by them in their generous way, and the
_tahuna_ had decorated him from head to foot in the very highest
style of the period. In a few years, what with this tattooing and
with sunburn, one would have sworn him to be a Polynesian. He was
ambitious, and by alliances acquired an entire valley, which he left
to his son, T'yonny Junior. Mr. Howard, senior, garbed himself like
the natives and was like them in many ways, but he retained a deep
love for his country and its flag, and when he saw an American
man-of-war entering the harbor, he went aboard with his many tawny
relatives-in-law.

The captain was amazed to hear him talking with the sailors.

"'E was blooming well knocked off 'is pins," said Lying Bill.
"'Blow me!' 'e sez, 'if that blooming cannibal don't talk the King's
English as if 'e was born in New York!' 'E 'ad 'im down in the cabin
to 'ave a drink, thinking 'e was a big chief. 'Oward took a cigar and
smoked it and drank 'is whiskey with a gulp and a wry face like all
Americans.

"'I must say,' sez the captain, 'you're the most intelligent 'eathen