“Oh, yes—one, a very good man; his name is Joajai” [George].
“Take me to his house,” said the officer. “I want to see him.”
In a few minutes Mr. Carteret and his marines were being conducted up a steep and rugged path towards the white trader's house, which was situated quite apart from the native village, while the bluejackets were left in the boat, remarking to each other that this white man was a most cursed unfriendly sort of a chap not to come down to the beach when he saw a man-of-war's boat ashore.
“Don't you be such a fool, Tom,” said the coxswain to one of the men. “You're always a-jumpin' at conclusions too rapid. Just you wait a bit and see. It's my belief that this chap has been up to something, and the marines have gone with Carteret to scruff him and bring him aboard. I saw the sergeant had a pair of darbies, and what do you suppose that Carteret's come ashore with a regular escort for?”
A ten minutes' walk and Lieutenant Carteret and his men, guided by a number of natives, reached the white man's thatched dwelling, which stood amid a grove of banana and bread-fruit trees. When within a few yards, the lieutenant saw a tall, graceful young native girl, clad in semi-European style, advance to the open door, and then with a terrified exclamation withdraw again.
“That is Tui,{*} Joajai's wife,” said one of the natives, pointing to the girl, who now again appeared, and, with her full dark eyes dilated with alarm, timidly held out her hand to the officer and murmured something in the native tongue.
* The diminutive of Tuilagi.
“She speaks English, but she is afraid of the men with the guns,” explained the native guide.
“Where is your husband?” said Lieutenant Carteret, motioning to the girl to seat herself, and the marines to stand back.
She only shook her head, and turned inquiringly to the natives who accompanied the officer.