Now the mate’s spirited protest had much impressed the agent, who was a keen tradesman, and without unduly pressing the skipper, he made it clear to him that it would be well to go slow, in case the mate should “behave ugly,” as he put it. And so he kept the skipper well in hand, allowing him to have only a gentle fling, and seeing him depart from the beach that night for his ship only partially drunk, and without any means of strengthening the hold the liquor had got upon him. The mate was on deck when he came, and duly noted his condition, but said not a word. And the skipper reeled to his bunk, his head all awhirl with projects for the mate’s discomfiture, but saying nothing at all.
CHAPTER VI
INTRODUCES AMERICANS
Whew! but that was a long chapter! And, moreover, I feel that it was far too full of creepy things. I don’t want you to think that those boys had no fun, only I get so full of the hard side of things when I remember how little of the soft came my way at sea, that I commit the bad mistake of forgetting the joys of life. Believe me, in spite of the seriousness of the situation on board the Sealark, there were times in the evenings when the laughter of those boys and the fellows forrard was simply uproarious, partly because they were well fed and fully employed, but principally because of the four Hawaiian seamen, who were, like most of their race, just bubbling over with happiness, simply because they were alive. It is perhaps a poor sense of humour that makes us laugh at mistakes in language, absurd perversions of speech, but it argues, I think, a beautiful mind, when those whom we laugh at, being full of intelligence, will take no offence, but improve the occasion, in order that more fun may result. Already I am beginning to feel my space run short, but I really must quote one little snatch of conversation which Frank held with Oonee, one of the Hawaiians, giving it as near as possible verbatim.
Frank. “You was once a cannibal, wasn’t you?”
Oonee. “No, Falankee, not me. My father, he eatee plenty mans.”
Frank. “Now look here, Oonee, d’you mean to tell me that you’ve never had a steak off a man?”
Oonee. “Yes, Falankee, I tell you taloo (true). But looka. My Baluther, he go livee ’nother islan’. Velly bad man there. I can’t forget (remember) what you call ’im. One time mishnally come. Evelly body glad, because no fight longa time so no eata longa pig. Kanaka call man longa pig when him bake. Take the mishnally ’way velly quick, cut ’im neck, put ’im in Kanaka oven all same pig. Bimeby done, all hands come make feast. No knife, no follok, every man pull off bit. Bit hat, bit coat, bit boot, too much plenty velly hard. Bimeby one man he say, ‘Mishnally no good ki ki, he makee eatee some nutting, no good belong spoil ’im. Flow ’im ’way.’”
This Oonee was a humorist of the first water, and very proud of his English-speaking abilities. A favourite yarn of his was how once being adrift in Hobart Town when on leave from a whaler, he stopped outside of a shop, and inquired of a strangely-attired gentleman who was standing there the way to his ship. The gentleman, who happened to be a full-length Highlander, used as a tobacconist sign, made no response, and to quote Oonee, “Him no say nutting, no look me, no more. Me touch ’im, feel all same wood, me flightened ’im; lun ’way. I no savvy what thing man that belong.”