The only reason I did not go was that I felt too tired. The very
thought of the effort to swim over was nauseating. So I called to
the Kanaka to come to me, and proceeded to share the hatch-cover
with him. Otoo, he told me his name was (pronounced
-t-); also he told me that he was a native of Bora
Bora, the most westerly of the Society Group. As I learned
afterward, he had got the hatch-cover first, and, after some
time, encountering Captain Oudouse, had offered to share it with
him, and had been kicked off for his pains.

And that was how Otoo and I first came together. He was no
fighter. He was all sweetness and gentleness, a love-creature
though he stood nearly six feet tall and was muscled like a
gladiator. He was no fighter, but he was also no coward. He had
the heart of a lion, and in the years that followed I have seen
him run risks that I would never dream of taking. What I mean is
that, while he was no fighter, and while he always avoided
precipitating a row, he never ran away from trouble when it
started. And it was " 'Ware shoal!" when once Otoo went into
action. I shall never forget what he did to Bill King. It
occurred in German Samoa. Bill King was hailed the champion
heavyweight of the American navy. He was a big brute of a man, a
veritable gorilla, one of those hard-hitting, rough-housing
chaps, and clever with his fists as well. He picked the quarrel,
and he kicked Otoo twice and struck him once before Otoo felt it
to be necessary to fight. I don't think it lasted four minutes,
at the end of which time Bill King was the unhappy possessor of
four broken ribs, a broken fore-arm, and a dislocated
shoulder-blade. Otoo knew nothing of scientific boxing. He was
merely a man-handler, and Bill King was something like three