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.