I prevailed upon Po-Po to drink a parting shell; and even little Loo,
actually looking conscious that one of her hopeless admirers was
about leaving Partoowye for ever, sipped a few drops from a folded
leaf. As for the warm-hearted Arfretee, her grief was unbounded. She
even besought me to spend my last night under her own palm-thatch;
and then, in the morning, she would herself paddle me off to the
ship.
But this I would not consent to; and so, as something to remember her
by, she presented me with a roll of fine matting, and another of
tappa. These gifts placed in my hammock, I afterward found very
agreeable in the warm latitudes to which we were bound; nor did they
fail to awaken most grateful remembrances.
About nightfall, we broke away from this generous-hearted household,
and hurried down to the water.
It was a mad, merry night among the sailors; they had on tap a small
cask of wine, procured in the same way as the doctor's flasks.
An hour or two after midnight, everything was noiseless; but when the
first streak of the dawn showed itself over the mountains, a sharp
voice hailed the forecastle, and ordered the ship unmoored.
The anchors came up cheerily; the sails were soon set; and with the
early breath of the tropical morning, fresh and fragrant from the
hillsides, we slowly glided down the bay, and were swept through the
opening in the reef. Presently we "hove to," and the canoes came
alongside to take off the islanders who had accompanied us thus far.
As he stepped over the side, I shook the doctor long and heartily by
the hand. I have never seen or heard of him since.
Crowding all sail, we braced the yards square; and, the breeze
freshening, bowled straight away from the land. Once more the
sailor's cradle rocked under me, and I found myself rolling in my
gait.
By noon, the island had gone down in the horizon; and all before us
was the wide Pacific.
End of Omoo, by Herman Melville
