I went ahead.
"We can't pay you any money; but if you will all promise again to be on hand before ten o'clock day after to-morrow, we'll take you down to the harbor now and give you a small dive." A wild promise rang up the sides of the ravine.
A "small dive" is a ceremony somewhat peculiar to this island.

A visitor--no native white man would ever think of such a thing--stands on the edge of a pier, or anywhere, where the water is quite deep, and tosses in a bit of money, while the darkey boys--who are sure to be all ready when a visitor is standing on a pier--dive for it.

It's a lot of fun to see them do this, and Rectus and I had already chucked a good deal of small change into the harbor, and had seen it come up again, some of it before it got to the bottom.

These dives are called "small," because the darkeys want to put the thing mildly.

They couldn't coax anybody down to the water to give them a big dive.
"You see," said I to Rectus, as we started down the ravine toward the river, with the crowd of adherents marching in front, "we've got to have these fellows at the coronation.