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While he was yet pondering these things, Big Chief advanced towards him, and, taking him by the hand, led him into the centre of the concourse. To his great surprise and confusion the tall chief said "Now, Jowin will palaver to you. He is one Breetish tar one Christian. He can tell us what we shall do."
Big Chief made no reply for some moments, but opened his eyes with such an intense expression of unaffected amazement, that Jarwin's wrath abated, in spite of his careful nursing of it to keep it warm. "Jowin," he exclaimed at length, "you Christian Breetish tar, have your dibbil got into you?" This question effectually routed Jarwin's anger.
"You's bin bad, Jowin," answered Big Chief, gravely, "wery bad. Dead a-most. Now, you's goin' to be bedder. Doctor say that " "Doctor!" exclaimed Jarwin in surprise, "what doctor?" "Doctor of ship. Hims come ebbery day for to see you." "Ship!" cried Jarwin, springing up in his bed and glaring at Big Chief in wonder.
There you may roast me alive an' eat me, if you like, but you can't say, after this, that I'm sailin' under false colours." During this speech a variety of expressions affected the countenance of Big Chief, but that of melancholy predominated. "Jowin," he said, slowly, "I like you."
Sit down, you Breetish tar." "All right, old chap," replied Jarwin, seating himself on a stool opposite to his master. "Wot is it to be about?" "Jowin," rejoined Big Chief, with deepening gravity, "you's bin well treated here." Big Chief spoke in broken English now, having picked it up with amazing facility from his white slave.
But we give 'em awful lickin', Jowin oh! smash um down right and left; got you out de canoe dead, I think, but no, not jus' so. Bring you here Raratonga. De Cookee missionary an' his wife not here; away in ship you sees im make. Native teecher here. Dat teecher's wife bin nurse you an' go away jus' now. Ship comes here for trade, bound for England. Ams got doctor.
"You're a good-hearted old buffer," said Jarwin, grasping the Chief's hand, and squeezing it; "to say the truth, I'm wery fond o' yourself, but it's nat'ral that I should like my freedom better." Big Chief pondered this for some time, and shook his head slowly, as if the result of his meditation was not satisfactory. "Jowin," he resumed, after a pause, "sing me a song."
"Kite right, kite right," replied Big Chief, with a deep sigh, "you say it am nat'ral. Good, good, so 'tis. Now, Jowin," continued the savage chief, with intense earnestness, "you's free to go when you pleases." "Oh, gammon!" replied Jarwin, with an unbelieving grin. "Wot is gammon?" demanded Big Chief, with a somewhat disappointed look.
"Well, it don't matter what it means it's nothin' or nonsense, if you like but wot do you mean, old man, `that's the rub, as Hamblet, or some such c'racter, said to his father-in-law; you ain't in airnest, are you?" "Jowin," answered the Chief, with immovable gravity, "I not onderstan' you. Wot you mean by airnest?"
You do this for love of your God, your Saviour, so you tells me. Good, I do not need much palaver. Wen de sun shines it am hot; wen not shine am cold. Wot more? Cookee missionary have say the truth. My slave have prove the truth. I love you, Jowin. I love your God. I keep you if possible, but Christian must not have slave. Go you is free."
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