Yet awhile, joined together by a sense of common danger, and long engrossed in turning over their tinsel acquisitions without present thought of proprietorship, the pair refrained from all squabbles.  But soon burst the storm.  Having given every bale and every case a good shaking, Annatoo, making an estimate of the whole, very coolly proceeded to set apart for herself whatever she fancied.  To this, Samoa objected; to which objection Annatoo objected; and then they went at it.

The lady vowed that the things were no more Samoa’s than hers; nay, not so much; and that whatever she wanted, that same would she have.  And furthermore, by way of codicil, she declared that she was slave to nobody.

Now, Samoa, sad to tell, stood in no little awe of his bellicose spouse.  What, though a hero in other respects; what, though he had slain his savages, and gallantly carried his craft from their clutches:—­Like the valiant captains Marlborough and Belisarius, he was a poltroon to his wife.  And Annatoo was worse than either Sarah or Antonina.

However, like every thing partaking of the nature of a scratch, most conjugal squabbles are quickly healed; for if they healed not, they would never anew break out:  which is the beauty of the thing.  So at length they made up but the treaty stipulations of Annatoo told much against the interests of Samoa.  Nevertheless, ostensibly, it was agreed upon, that they should strictly go halves; the lady, however, laying special claim to certain valuables, more particularly fancied.  But as a set-off to this, she generously renounced all claims upon the spare rigging; all claims upon the fore-mast and mainmast; and all claims upon the captain’s arms and ammunition.  Of the latter, by the way, Dame Antonina stood in no need.  Her voice was a park of artillery; her talons a charge of bayonets.

CHAPTER XXIV Dedicated To The College Of Physicians And Surgeons

By this time Samoa’s wounded arm was in such a state, that amputation became necessary.  Among savages, severe personal injuries are, for the most part, accounted but trifles.  When a European would be taking to his couch in despair, the savage would disdain to recline.

More yet.  In Polynesia, every man is his own barber and surgeon, cutting off his beard or arm, as occasion demands.  No unusual thing, for the warriors of Varvoo to saw off their own limbs, desperately wounded in battle.  But owing to the clumsiness of the instrument employed—­a flinty, serrated shell—­the operation has been known to last several days.  Nor will they suffer any friend to help them; maintaining, that a matter so nearly concerning a warrior is far better attended to by himself.  Hence it may be said, that they amputate themselves at their leisure, and hang up their tools when tired.  But, though thus beholden to no one for aught connected with the practice of surgery, they never cut off their own heads, that ever I heard; a species of amputation to which, metaphorically speaking, many would-be independent sort of people in civilized lands are addicted.