passing abreast one of the Navigator Islands, close in. Jule hove a
marlinespike at the mate's head and jumped overboard. He swum ashore
to the beach and, inside of a week, he'd shipped aboard the Emily. And
'twas aboard the Emily, and at Hello Island, as I said afore, that he
met Rosy.

"George Simmons--a cockney Britisher he was, and skipper--was standing
at the schooner's wheel, swearing at the two Kanaka sailors who were
histing the jib. Julius, who was mate, was roosting on the lee rail
amid-ships, helping him swear. And old Teunis Van Doozen, a Dutchman
from Java or thereabouts, who was cook, was setting on a stool by the
galley door ready to heave in a word whenever 'twas necessary. The
Kanakas was doing the work. That was the usual division of labor aboard
the Emily.

"Well, just then there comes a yell from the bushes along the shore.
Then another yell and a most tremendous cracking and smashing. Then out
of them bushes comes tearing a little man with spectacles and a black
enamel-cloth carpetbag, heaving sand like a steam-shovel and seemingly
trying his best to fly. And astern of him comes more yells and a big,
husky Kanaka woman, about eight foot high and three foot in the beam,
with her hands stretched out and her fingers crooked.

"Julius used to swear that that beach was all of twenty yards wide and
that the little man only lit three times from bush to wharf. And he
didn't stop there. He fired the carpetbag at the schooner's stern and
then spread out his wings and flew after it. His fingers just hooked
over the rail and he managed to haul himself aboard. Then he curled up
on the deck and breathed short but spirited. The Kanaka woman danced to
the stringpiece and whistled distress signals.