"Won't you tell your people here that everything is all right?" I suggested.
He turned to the crowd on the pier.
"Everything is in order," he called. "These gentlemen are Norwegian sportsmen, as they say."
"And now the certificate," I reminded him.
He wrote a note just as the resident at Aitu had done.
"You don't intend to take me with you?" he repeated.
"No," I responded, "but I should like to have your company until we can get some fruit and tobacco."
I stood chatting with him on the pier while Kircheiss went to procure the fruit and tobacco. Hadn't we better take the island and wait for a ship instead of sailing off? I debated the question with myself, and then decided we had better go.
The last scene of this little drama was played as the resident and I shook hands and bade each other an apparently cordial farewell. He was a decent fellow, even if he had been suspicious, and I had eaten an excellent dinner at his house. I was glad that we didn't have to humiliate him before the natives, a dreadful fate for an Englishman.
As we hoisted anchor and raised sail, a cheer went up from the natives lined along the shore. They were trying to make amends for having treated us so shabbily and for having taken us for Germans!