In the midst of them, the blackest and largest in that dark
setting, reclined James Hook, or as he wrote himself, Jas. Hook,
of whom it is said he was the only man that the Sea-Cook feared.
He lay at his ease in a rough chariot drawn and propelled by his
men, and instead of a right hand he had the iron hook with which
ever and anon he encouraged them to increase their pace. As dogs
this terrible man treated and addressed them, and as dogs they
obeyed him. In person he was cadaverous [dead looking] and
blackavized [dark faced], and his hair was dressed in long curls,
which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a
singularly threatening expression to his handsome countenance.
His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound
melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which
time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly. In
manner, something of the grand seigneur still clung to him, so
that he even ripped you up with an air, and I have been told that
he was a RACONTEUR [storyteller] of repute.