Mast and sail out of the way, we stretched ourselves in the boat with more comfort, enjoying the cooling current of air. Tetuahunahuna, the sheet in his hand, squatted again on his narrow perch.
“You returned to that ship when the boat picked you up?” I asked.
“Aue!” he replied. “The captain was crazed with anger. He cursed me, and said that the girl has swum ashore.”
“‘No, the shark has taken Anna,’ I said. ‘She will look for her white father no more.’
“The captain had a glass of rum at his mouth, but he put it down. He would have me tell him again her name. When I did so, he shook as if with cold, and he swallowed the rum quickly.
“‘Where was she born?’ he said next.
“‘At Hapaa. Her mother is O Take Oho, whose father was eaten by the men of Tai-o-hae,’ I said, and looking at his face I saw that his eyes were the color of the mio, the rosewood when freshly cut.
“The captain went to his cabin, and soon he leaped up the stairs, falling over the thing they look at to steer the ship, and there, lying on the deck, he cried again and again that I had done wrong not to tell him earlier.
“He held in his hand the tiki, the silver box that Anna had always worn about her neck, that her father had given her.
“He was like a wild bull in the hills, that ship's captain, when he arose, roaring and cursing me. I feared that he would shoot me, for he had a revolver in his hand and said that he would kill himself. But he did not.