“That is what the people of the Tokelau Islands call O le fati le galu—the last great wave, that gathering itself together far out on the ocean, rushes to the reef, and curling high up as the mast of a ship, falls and shakes the land from one side to the other.”
The girl knew what she was talking about, for from that moment the fury of the wind sensibly decreased, and half an hour later we were able to open the door and gaze out upon the sea, still seething white with broken, tumbling surf?
Walking down to my boat-house, I found that the boat herself was not injured in any way, though most of the roof had been blown away. Then feeling that my usual attack of ague was coming on, I returned to the house, and found that Niâbon had made my coffee.
I drank it, and then wrapped myself up in a couple of blankets in readiness for the first touch of that deadly, terrible chill which seems to freeze the marrow in the bones of any one who is suffering from malarial fever. Niâbon watched me gravely, and then came and stood beside me.
“Mr. Sherry,” she said, this time speaking in English, “why don't you let me give you some medicine to cure you of that fever? I can cure you.”
“I believe you can, Niâbon,” I replied; “you certainly mesmerised me when I was at Krause's station that day, and I awakened feeling a lot better.”
“What is 'mesmerise'?” she asked quickly.
“Sending any one to sleep, as you did me.”
“I can always do that,” she said simply, “and so could my mother.”
“Can you make me sleep now?”