The Admiral lifted him, calling him "son."
Those of his kind watching from the wood now sent forth
a considerable deputation. There came to us a dozen naked
men, fairly tall, well-shaped, skin of red copper, smeared
often with paint in bars and disks and crescents. Their
hair was not like the Negro's, the only other naked man our
time knew, but was straight, black, somewhat coarse, not
bushy but abundant, cut short with the men below the ear.
They are a beardless people. Our beards are an amazement
to them, as are our clothes. A fiercely quarrelsome folk, a
peace-keeping, gentle folk will sound their note very soon.
These belonged to the latter kind. Their lances were not our
huge knightly ones, nor the light, hard ones of the Moors.
They were hardly more than stout canes, the head not iron
--they had no iron--but flint or bone shaped by a flint
knife. Where the paint was not splashed or patterned over
them, their faces could be liked very well. Lips were not over
full, the nose slightly beaked, the forehead fairly high, the
eyes good. They did not jabber nor move idly but kept
measure and a pleasant dignity. They seemed gentle and
happy. So were they when we found them.
Their speech sounded of no tongue that we knew. Luis
Torres and I alike had knowledge of Arabic. We had no
Persian that might be nearer yet, but Arabia being immemorially
caravan-knit with India, it was thought that it
might be understood.
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