“I don’t know; I’ve been here a long time now, and I never had a letter and I never sent one away.”
“Then how should I be able to send to my Sally.”
“Dunno,” said the man. “There, you think it over. Ngati here will be ready to take care of you, youngster; and matey here shall soon have a chief to take care of him.”
“I don’t know so much about that,” said Jem. “I should be ready enough to come ashore, but you’ve got some precious unpleasant ways out here as wouldn’t suit me.”
“You’d soon get used to them,” said the Englishman, drily; “and after leading a rough life, and being bullied by everybody, it isn’t half bad to be a chief, and have a big canoe of your own, and make people do as you like.”
“But then you’re a great powerful man,” said Don. “They’d obey you, but they wouldn’t obey me.”
“Oh, yes, they would, if you went the right way to work. It isn’t only being big. They’re big, much bigger all round than Englishmen, and stronger and more active. They’re not afraid of your body, but of your mind; that’s what they can’t understand. If I was to write down something on a bit of wood or a leaf—we don’t often see paper here—and give it to you to read, and you did the same to me, that gets over them: it’s a wonder they can’t understand. And lots of other things we know are puzzles to them, and so they think us big. You consider it over a bit, my lad; and if you decide to run for it, I’ll see as you don’t come to no harm.”
“And him too?”
“Oh, yes; he shall be all right too; I’ll see to that.”
“Shouldn’t be too tempting for ’em, eh? Should I?” said Jem.