We had not slept long before we were awaked by Calla, who, as soon as the sun had risen, had come over to the little island with a party of armed men to insist upon our going over to the mainland to see his father, Wanga.
We all said that we would go as soon as we had buried the dead man, but not before; but Calla said that we were to come at once, and that the dead body should be brought along with us.
To this we strongly objected, and when Calla told some men to take up the body and carry it away, Tom knocked the foremost of them down. The others, seeing how their comrade had been treated, were about to strike at Tom with their tomahawks; but Bill and I, seizing our muskets, presented them at Calla, and said that if a single blow were struck we would shoot him.
Tom, too, got his musket, and said that what the dead man had wished should be carried out, and that he would die before he was prevented.
Calla, who seemed to have not overmuch heart in the business, and was, as was afterwards proved, less of a savage than his countrymen, said something to them in his own language, on which they sulkily withdrew, while he tried to prevent our being angry at what had occurred. He said,—
“You sabe Bristol Bob him live along o’ we plenty long time—seven yam time. Him be all one same chief, same my fader Wanga. Make plenty one big bobbery for him die. No kiki he.”
“Never mind, Calla,” Bob said. “We have to do as he told us, and we are going to bury him in the sea.”
“Plenty much queer white man. No care for man kiki he. Fish kiki he say plenty good.”
“Never mind, Calla. We shall do what he said; and afterwards, if your father wants to see us, we will come over to him.”
Calla left us and went away with his men, and we could see that he had plenty of trouble in controlling them; and indeed, if he had not been the son of the great chief of the island, I doubt not that he would have been unable to do so.