Omoo: Adventures in the South SeasMelville, Herman
General
Omoo: Adventures in the South Seas
Melville, Herman
Adventure stories; Polynesia -- Description and travel -- Fiction
Presently we made out the following:—“Ah! you pemi, ah!—you come!—What
for you come?—You be fine for come no pilot.—I say, you hear?—I say,
you ita maitui (no good).—You hear?—You no pilot.—Yes, you d—— me, you
no pilot ’t all; I d—— you; you hear?”
This tirade, which showed plainly that, whatever the profane old rascal
was at, he was in right good earnest, produced peals of laughter from
the ship. Upon which, he seemed to get beside himself; and the boy,
who, with suspended paddle, was staring about him, received a sound box
over the head, which set him to work in a twinkling, and brought the
canoe quite near. The orator now opening afresh, it turned out that his
vehement rhetoric was all addressed to the mate, still standing
conspicuously on the bulwarks.
But Jermin was in no humour for nonsense; so, with a sailor’s blessing,
he ordered him off. The old fellow then flew into a regular frenzy,
cursing and swearing worse than any civilized being I ever heard.
“You sabbee me?” he shouted. “You know me, ah? Well; me Jim, me
pilot—been pilot now long time.”
“Ay,” cried Jermin, quite surprised, as indeed we all were, “you are
the pilot, then, you old pagan. Why didn’t you come off before this?”
“Ah! me scibbee,—me know—you piratee (pirate)—see you long time, but no
me come—I sabbee you—you ita maitai nuee (superlatively bad).”
“Paddle away with ye,” roared Jermin, in a rage; “be off! or I’ll dart
a harpoon at ye!”
But, instead of obeying the order, Jim, seizing his paddle, darted the
canoe right up to the gangway, and, in two bounds, stood on deck.
Pulling a greasy silk handkerchief still lower over his brow, and
improving the sit of his frock-coat with a vigorous jerk, he then
strode up to the mate; and, in a more flowery style than ever, gave him
to understand that the redoubtable “Jim,” himself, was before him; that
the ship was his until the anchor was down; and he should like to hear
what anyone had to say to it.
As there now seemed little doubt that he was all he claimed to be, the
Julia was at last surrendered.
Our gentleman now proceeded to bring us to an anchor, jumping up
between the knight-heads, and bawling out “Luff! luff! keepy off!
leeepy off!” and insisting upon each time being respectfully responded
to by the man at the helm. At this time our steerage-way was almost
gone; and yet, in giving his orders, the passionate old man made as
much fuss as a white squall aboard the Flying Dutchman.
Jim turned out to be the regular pilot of the harbour; a post, be it
known, of no small profit; and, in his eyes, at least, invested with
immense importance. Our unceremonious entrance, therefore, was regarded
as highly insulting, and tending to depreciate both the dignity and
lucrativeness of his office.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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