Perceiving that I was in trouble, I made signs for pardon, the safest thing to do, though I did not know what offense I had committed.

My interpreter coming up, however, put me right, but not until a long palaver had ensued.

The deputy's hail, liberally translated, was: "Ahoy, there, on the frantic steed! Know you not that it is against the law to ride thus through the village of our fathers ?" I made what apologies I could, and offered to dismount and, like my servant, lead my nag by the bridle.
This, the interpreter told me, would also be a grievous wrong, and so I again begged for pardon.

I was summoned to appear before a chief; but my interpreter, being a wit as well as a bit of a rogue, explained that I was myself something of a chief, and should not be detained, being on a most important mission.

In my own behalf I could only say that I was a stranger, but, pleading all this, I knew I still deserved to be roasted, at which the chief showed a fine row of teeth and seemed pleased, but allowed me to pass on.
[Illustration: The _Spray's_ course from the Strait of Magellan to Torres Strait.] [Illustration: The _Spray's_ course from Australia to South Africa.] The chief of the Tongas and his family at Caini, returning my visit, brought presents of tapa-cloth and fruits.