Despair is Followed by Surprises and Deliverance.  
At first John Jarwin could not quite realise his true position after leaving Raratonga. The excitement consequent on the whole affair remained for some time on his mind, causing him to feel as if it were a dream, and it was not until he had fairly landed again on Big Chief’s island, and returned to his own little hut there, and had met with Cuffy—whose demonstrations of intense delight cannot by any possibility be described—that he came fully to understand the value of the opportunity which he had let slip through his fingers.
 
Poor Jarwin! words fail to convey a correct idea of the depth of his despair, for now he saw clearly, as he thought, that perpetual slavery was his doom. Under the influence of the feelings that overwhelmed him he became savage.
 
“Cuff,” said he, on the afternoon of the day of his return, “it’s all up with you and me, old chap.”
 
The tone in which this was uttered was so stern that the terrier drooped its ears, lowered its tail, and looked up with an expression that was equivalent to “Don’t kick me, please don’t!”
 
Jarwin smiled a grim yet a pitiful smile as he looked at the dog.
 
“Yes, it’s all up with us,” he continued; “we shall live and die in slavery; wot a fool I was not to cut and run when I had the chance!”
 
The remembrance of “honour bright” flashed upon him here, but he was still savage, and therefore doggedly shut his eyes to it.
 
At this point a message was brought to him from Big Chief requesting his attendance in the royal hut. Jarwin turned angrily on the messenger and bid him begone in a voice of thunder, at the same time intimating, by a motion of his foot, that if he did not obey smartly, he would quicken his motions for him. The messenger vanished, and Jarwin sat down beside Cuffy—who looked excessively humble—and vented his feelings thus—
 
“I can’t stand it no longer Cuff. I won’t stand it! I’m goin’ to bust up, I am; so look out for squalls.”
 
A feeling of uncertainty as to the best method of “busting up” induced him to clutch his hair with both hands, and snort. It must not be supposed that our hero gave way to such rebellious feelings with impunity. On the contrary, his conscience pricked him to such an extent that it felt like an internal pin-cushion or hedgehog. While he was still holding fast to his locks in meditative uncertainty, three natives appeared at the entrance of his hut, and announced that they had been sent by Big Chief to take him to the royal hut by force, in case he should refuse to go peaceably.
 
Uttering a shout of defiance, the exasperated man sprang up and rushed at the natives, who, much too wise to await the onset, fled in three different directions. Instead of pursuing any of them, Jarwin went straight to his master’s hut, where he found him seated on a couch of native cloth. Striding up to him he clenched his fist, and holding it up in a threatening manner, exclaimed—
 
“Now look ’ee here, Big Chief—which it would be big thief if ’ee had yer right name—I ain’t goin’ to stand this sort o’ thing no longer. I kep’ my word to you all the time we wos at Raratonga, but now I’ll keep it no longer. I’ll do my best to cut the cable and make sail the wery first chance I gits—so I give ’ee fair warnin’.”
 
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. He knew that the savage, to whom he had spoken at various times on the subject of satanic influence, was perfectly sincere in his inquiry, as well as in his astonishment. Moreover, he himself felt surprised that Big Chief, who was noted for his readiness to resent insult, should have submitted to his angry tones and looks and threatening manner without the slightest evidence of indignation. The two men therefore stood looking at each other in silent surprise for a few moments.
 
“Big Chief,” said Jarwin at last, bringing his right fist down heavily into his left palm, by way of emphasis, “there’s no dibbil, as you call him, got possession o’ me. My own spirit is dibbil enough, I find, to account for all that I’ve said and done—an’ a great deal more. But it has bin hard on me to see the door open, as it were, an’ not take adwantage of it. Howsever, it’s all over now, an’ I ax yer parding. I’ll not mutiny again. You’ve been a kind feller to me, old chap—though you are a savage—an’ I ain’t on-grateful; as long as I’m your slave I’ll do my duty—‘honour bright;’ at the same time I think it fair an’ above board to let you know that I’ll make my escape from you when I git the chance. I’m bound for to sarve you while I eat your wittles, but I am free to go if I can manage it. 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.”
 
“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.”
 
“Well, you are a queer codger,” said Jarwin, laughing in spite of himself; “if ever there was a man as didn’t feel up to singin’, that’s me at this moment. Howsomedever, I ’spose it must be done. Wot’ll you ’ave? ‘Ben Bolt,’ ‘Black-eyed Susan,’ ‘The Jolly Young Waterman,’ ‘Jim Crow,’ ‘There is a Happy Land,’ or the ‘Old Hundred,’ eh? Only say the word, an’ I’ll turn on the steam.”
 
Big Chief made no reply. As he appeared to be lost in meditation, Jarwin sat down, and in a species of desperation, began to bellow with all the strength of his lungs one of those nautical ditties with which seamen are wont to enliven the movements of the windlass or the capstan. He changed the tune several times, and at length slid gradually into a more gentle and melodious vein of song, while Big Chief listened with evident pleasure. Still there was perceptible to Jarwin a dash of sadness in his master’s countenance which he had never seen before. Wondering at this, and changing his tunes to suit his own varying moods, he gradually came to plaintive songs, and then to psalms and hymns.
 
At last Big Chief seemed satisfied, and bade his slave good-night.
 
“He’s a wonderful c’racter,” remarked Jarwin to Cuffy, as he lay down to rest that night, “a most onaccountable sort o’ man. There’s sumthin’ workin’ in ’is ’ead; tho’ wot it may be is more nor I can tell. P’raps he’s agoin’ to spiflicate me, in consikence o’ my impidence. If so, Cuff, whatever will became o’ you, my poor little doggie!”
 
Cuffy nestled very close to his master’s side at this point, and whined in a pitiful tone, as if he really understood the purport of his remarks. In five minutes more he was giving vent to occasional mild little whines and half barks, indicating that he was in the land of dreams, and Jarwin’s nose was creating sounds which told that its owner had reached that blessed asylum of the weary—oblivion.
 
Next day our sailor awakened to the consciousness of the fact that the sun was shining brightly, that paroquets were chattering gaily, that Cuffy was still sleeping soundly, and that the subjects of Big Chief were making an unusual uproar outside.
 
Starting up, and pulling on a pair of remarkably ancient canvas trousers, which his master had graciously permitted him to retain and wear, Jarwin looked out at the door of his hut and became aware of the fact that the whole tribe was assembled in the spot where national “palavers” were wont to be held. The “House” appeared to be engaged at the time in the discussion of some exceedingly knotty question—a sort of national education bill, or church endowment scheme—for there was great excitement, much gesticulation, and very loud talk, accompanied with not a little angry demonstration on the part of the disputants.
 
“Hallo! wot’s up?” inquired Jarwin of a stout savage who stood at his door armed with a club, on the head of which human teeth formed a conspicuous ornament.
 
“Palaver,” replied the savage.
 
“It’s easy to hear and see that,” replied Jarwin, “but wot is it all about?”
 
The savage vouchsafed no farther reply, but continued to march up and down in front of the hut.
 
Jarwin, therefore, essayed to quit his abode, but was stopped by the taciturn savage, who said that he must consider himself a prisoner until the palaver had come to an end. He was therefore fain to content himself with standing at his door and watching the gesticulations of the members of council.
 
Big Chief was there of course, and appeared to take a prominent part in the proceedings. But there were other chiefs of the tribe whose opinions had much weight, though they were inferior to him in position. At last they appeared to agree, and finally, with a loud shout, the whole band rushed off in the direction of the temple where th............