FROM the time of my casual encounter with Karky the artist, my
life was one of absolute wretchedness. Not a day passed but I
was persecuted by the solicitations of some of the natives to
subject myself to the odious operation of tattooing. Their
importunities drove me half wild, for I felt how easily they
might work their will upon me regarding this or anything else
which they took into their heads. Still, however, the behaviour
of the islanders towards me was as kind as ever. Fayaway was
quite as engaging; Kory-Kory as devoted; and Mehevi the king just
as gracious and condescending as before. But I had now been
three months in their valley, as nearly as I could estimate; I
had grown familiar with the narrow limits to which my wandering
had been confined; and I began bitte
