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that inconceivable wind was blowing in toward the center of calm。 The result
was that the seas sprang up from every point of the compass。 There was no wind
to check them。 They popped up like corks released from the bottom of a pail of
water。 There was no system to them； no stability。 They were hollow； maniacal
seas。 They were eighty feet high at the least。 They were not seas at all。 They
resembled no sea a man had ever seen。
They were splashes； monstrous splashesthat is all。 Splashes that were eighty
feet high。 Eighty！ They were more than eighty。 They went over our mastheads。
They were spouts； explosions。 They were drunken。 They fell anywhere； anyhow。
They jostled one another； they collided。 They rushed together and collapsed
upon one another； or fell apart like a thousand waterfalls all at once。 It was
no ocean any man had ever dreamed of； that hurricane center。 It was confusion
thrice confounded。 It was anarchy。 It was a hell pit of sea water gone mad。
The Petite Jeanne？ I don't know。 The heathen told me afterwards that he did
not know。 She was literally torn apart； ripped wide open； beaten into a pulp；
smashed into kindling wood； annihilated。 When I came to I was in the water；
swimming automatically； though I was about two…thirds drowned。 How I got there
I had no recollection。 I remembered seeing the Petite Jeanne fly to pieces at
what must have been the instant that my own consciousness was buffeted out of
me。 But there I was； with nothing to do but make the best of it； and in that
best there was little promise。 The wind was blowing again； the sea was much
smaller and more regular； and I knew that I had passed through the center。
Fortunately； there were no sharks about。 The hurricane had dissipated the
ravenous horde that had surrounded the death ship and fed off the dead。
It was about midday when the Petite Jeanne went to pieces； and it must have
been two hours afterwards when I picked up with one of her hatch covers。 Thick
rain was driving at the time； and it was the merest chance that flung me and
the hatch cover together。 A short length of line was trailing from the rope
handle； and I knew that I was good for a day； at least； if the sharks did not
return。 Three hours later； possibly a little longer； sticking close to the
cover； and with closed eyes； concentrating my whole soul upon the task of
breathing in enough air to keep me going and at the same time of avoiding
breathing in enough water to drown me； it seemed to me that I heard voices。
The rain had ceased； and wind and sea were easing marvelously。 Not twenty feet
away from me； on another hatch cover were Captain Oudouse and the heathen。
They were fighting over the possession of the coverat least； the Frenchman
was。 〃Paien noir！〃 I heard him scream； and at the same time I saw him kick the
kanaka。
Now； Captain Oudouse had lost all his clothes； except his shoes； and they were
heavy brogans。 It was a cruel blow； for it caught the heathen on the mouth and
the point of the chin； half stunning him。 I looked for him to retaliate； but
he contented himself with swimming about forlornly a safe ten feet away。
Whenever a fling of the sea threw him closer； the Frenchman； hanging on with
his hands； kicked out at him with both feet。 Also； at the moment of delivering
each kick； he called the kanaka a black heathen。
〃For two centimes I'd come over there and drown you； you white beast！〃 I
yelled。
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 o…to…o ）； 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 forearm； and a dislocated shoulder blade。 Otoo knew nothing of
scientific boxing。 He was merely a manhandler； and Bill King was something
like three months in recovering from the bit of manhandling he received that
afternoon on Apia beach。
But I am running ahead of my yarn。 We shared the hatch cover between us。 We
took turn and turn about； one lying flat on the cover and resting； while the
other； submerged to the neck； merely held on with his hands。 For two days and
nights； spell and spell； on the cover and in the water； we drifted over the
ocean。 Towards the last I was delirious most of the time； and there were
times； too； when I heard Otoo babbling and raving in his native tongue。 Our
continuous immersion prevented us from dying of thirst； though the sea water
and the sunshine gave us the prettiest imaginable combination of salt pickle
and sunburn。
In the end； Otoo saved my life； for I came to lying on the beach twenty feet
from the water； sheltered from the sun by a couple of cocoanut leaves。 No one
but Otoo could have dragged me there and stuck up the leaves for shade。 He was
lying beside me。 I went off again； and the next time I came round； it was cool
and starry night； and Otoo was pressing a drinking cocoanut to my lips。
We were the sole survivors of the Petite Jeanne。 Captain Oudouse must have
succumbed to exhaustion； for several days later his hatch cover drifted ashore
without him。 Otoo and I lived with the natives of the atoll for a week； when
we were rescued by the French cruiser and taken to Tahiti。 In the meantime；
however； we had performed the ceremony of exchanging names。 In the South Seas
such a ceremony binds two men closer together than blood brothership。 The
initiative had been mine； and Otoo was rapturously delighted when I suggested
it。
〃It is well；〃 he said； in Tahitian。 〃For we have been mates together for two
days on the lips of Death。〃
〃But death stuttered；〃 I smiled。
〃It was a brave deed you did； master；〃 he replied； 〃and Death was not vile
enough to speak。〃
〃Why do you 'master' me？〃 I demanded； with a show of hurt feelings。 〃We have
exchanged names。 To you I am Otoo。 To me you are Charley。 And between you and
me； forever and forever； you shall be Charley； and I shall be Otoo。 It is the
way of the custom。 And when we die； if it does happen that we live again
somewhere beyond the stars and the sky； still shall you be Charley to me； and
I Otoo to you。〃
〃Yes； master；〃 he answered； his eyes luminous and soft with joy。
〃There you go！〃 I cried indignantly。
〃What does it matter what my lips utter？〃 he argued。 〃They are only my lips。
But I shall think Otoo always。 Whenever I think of myself； I shall think of
you。 Whenever men call me by name； I shall think of you。 And beyond the sky
and beyond the stars； always and forever； you shall be Otoo to me。 Is it well；
master？〃
I hid my smile； and answe