For seventeen years we were together; for seventeen years he was at my shoulder, watching while I slept, nursing me through fever and wounds--ay, and receiving wounds in fighting for me.He signed on the same ships with me; and together we ranged the Pacific from Hawaii to Sydney Head, and from Torres Straits to the Galapagos.We blackbirded from the New Hebrides and the Line Islands over to the westward clear through the Louisades, New Britain, New Ireland, and New Hanover.We were wrecked three times--in the Gilberts, in the Santa Cruz group, and in the Fijis.And we traded and salved wherever a dollar promised in the way of pearl and pearl shell, copra, beche-de-mer, hawkbill turtle shell, and stranded wrecks.
It began in Papeete, immediately after his announcement that he was going with me over all the sea, and the islands in the midst thereof.There was a club in those days in Papeete, where the pearlers, traders, captains, and riffraff of South Sea adventurers forgathered.The play ran high, and the drink ran high; and I am very much afraid that I kept later hours than were becoming or proper.No matter what the hour was when I left the club, there was Otoo waiting to see me safely home.
At first I smiled; next I chided him.Then I told him flatly that I stood in need of no wet-nursing.After that I did not see him when I came out of the club.Quite by accident, a week or so later, I discovered that he still saw me home, lurking across the street among the shadows of the mango trees.What could I do? I know what I did do.
Insensibly I began to keep better hours.On wet and stormy nights, in the thick of the folly and the fun, the thought would persist in coming to me of Otoo keeping his dreary vigil under the dripping mangoes.Truly, he made a better man of me.Yet he was not strait-laced.And he knew nothing of common Christian morality.All the people on Bora Bora were Christians; but he was a heathen, the only unbeliever on the island, a gross materialist, who believed that when he died he was dead.He believed merely in fair play and square dealing.Petty meanness, in his code, was almost as serious as wanton homicide; and I do believe that he respected a murderer more than a man given to small practices.
Concerning me, personally, he objected to my doing anything that washurtful to me.Gambling was all right.He was an ardent gambler himself.But late hours, he explained, were bad for one's health.He had seen men who did not take care of themselves die of fever.He was no teetotaler, and welcomed a stiff nip any time when it was wet work in the boats.On the other hand, he believed in liquor in moderation.He had seen many men killed or disgraced by square-face or Scotch.
Otoo had my welfare always at heart.He thought ahead for me, weighed my plans, and took a greater interest in them than I did myself.At first, when I was unaware of this interest of his in my affairs, he had to divine my intentions, as, for instance, at Papeete, when I contemplated going partners with a knavish fellow-countryman on a guano venture.I did not know he was a knave.Nor did any white man in Papeete.Neither did Otoo know, but he saw how thick we were getting, and found out for me, and without my asking him.Native sailors from the ends of the seas knock about on the beach in Tahiti; and Otoo, suspicious merely, went among them till he had gathered sufficient data to justify his suspicions.Oh, it was a nice history, that of Randolph Waters.I couldn't believe it when Otoo first narrated it; but when I sheeted it home to Waters he gave in without a murmur, and got away on the first steamer to Aukland.
At first, I am free to confess, I couldn't help resenting Otoo's poking his nose into my business.But I knew that he was wholly unselfish; and soon I had to acknowledge his wisdom and discretion.He had his eyes open always to my main chance, and he was both keen-sighted and far- sighted.In time he became my counselor, until he knew more of my business than I did myself.He really had my interest at heart more than I did.'mine was the magnificent carelessness of youth, for I preferred romance to dollars, and adventure to a comfortable billet with all night in.So it was well that I had some one to look out for me.I know that if it had not been for Otoo, I should not be here today.
Of numerous instances, let me give one.I had had some experience in blackbirding before I went pearling in the Paumotus.Otoo and I were on the beach in Samoa--we really were on the beach and hard aground--when my chance came to go as recruiter on a blackbird brig.Otoo signed on before the mast; and for the next half-dozen years, in as many ships, weknocked about the wildest portions of Melanesia.Otoo saw to it that he always pulled stroke-oar in my boat.Our custom in recruiting labor was to land the recruiter on the beach.The covering boat always lay on its oars several hundred feet off shore, while the recruiter's boat, also lying on its oars, kept afloat on the edge of the beach.When I landed with my trade goods, leaving my steering sweep apeak, Otoo left his stroke position and came into the stern sheets, where a Winchester lay ready to hand under a flap of canvas.The boat's crew was also armed, the Sniders concealed under canvas flaps that ran the length of the gunwales.
While I was busy arguing and persuading the woolly-headed cannibals to come and labor on the Queensland plantations Otoo kept watch.And often and often his low voice warned me of suspicious actions and impending treachery.Sometimes it was the quick shot from his rifle, knocking a nigger over, that was the first warning I received.And in my rush to the boat his hand was always there to jerk me flying aboard.Once, I remember, on SANTA ANNA, the boat grounded just as the trouble began.The covering boat was dashing to our assistance, but the several score of savages would have wiped us out before it arrived.Otoo took a flying leap ashore, dug both hands into the trade goods, and scattered tobacco, beads, tomahawks, knives, and calicoes in all directions.
