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uninhabited. As night came on the men sat around the small campfire and ate a picnic supper. Hal noticed that Omo had wandered away down the beach, perhaps to enjoy the stillness of the lagoon under the night sky. During these past days he had felt strangely drawn towards Omo. He admired his even disposition, his patience and cheerfulness, his skill in handling the schooner, and his quiet courage. He wondered what Omo was thinking now that he had come back to the sort of islands he loved.
    He excused himself and wandered down the beach. He found Omo leaning against a coconut tree and looking out over the lagoon. Hal joined him. Omo seemed so wrapped up in his reverie that Hal did not speak.
    Now the lagoon was black instead of green. It looked like a sheet of black glass. It reflected blue-white Vega, yellow Arcturus, fiery-red Antares. A thousand other pinpoints of light stabbed its surface. In a few hours it would reflect the Southern Cross, quite visible here although Bikini was a few degrees north of the equator.
    There was no sound except the muffled roar of the surf on the outer edge of the reef. The islands across the lagoon were dark.
    ‘I was here once long ago,’ said Omo. ‘People lived here then. It was a happy place. Now it is very sad.’
    ‘But it had to be,’ Hal replied. ‘I mean, the atom bomb tests and all that’
    ‘I know, I know. I blame no one.’ They sat down on the bank that shelved to the beach. ‘Omo,’ said HaL ‘how does it come that you speak English so well? I thought everybody down here spoke pidgin-English or - what do you call it? - beche-de-mer.’
    Omo’s white teeth gleamed in a smile. ‘I am glad you like my English. I learned it from an American missionary lady. She was very good - she taught our people much. Some of our other visitors were not so kind.’
    Hal did not need to ask what he meant. The early European and American visitors to these waters had been more interested in copra and pearls than in kindness. They had given the natives their diseases, debauched them with their strong liquors, and slaughtered them with firearms. And was this cruelty a thing of the past? He remembered what Crab had said the other day: ‘Let him sink. He’s only a kanaka anyhow.’ Had Omo heard him say it? ‘Omo,’ Hal said, ‘I want you to do me a favour.’ Omo turned towards him eagerly. ‘Anything in the world!’
    ‘I have heard that your people have a custom of exchanging names. Two friends swap names as a sign that they are blood brothers and are ready to give their lives for each other. Would you be willing to swap names with me, Omo?’
    Omo tried to answer, but choked with emotion. Hal caught the glint of starlight on a tear rolling down the brown man’s cheek. Then Omo’s powerful hand grasped his.
    ‘It shall be so,’ said Omo. ‘In the depths of our hearts you shall be Omo and I shall be Hal. What we would do for ourselves we will do for each other.’

Chapter 7
Argument with an octopus
    Roger could never seem to get over the idea that this trip was a lark arranged for his special amusement.
    His chief object in life was to have a good time. His brother could be as serious as he liked. But as for him, he was going to have some fun.
    So, instead of hunting specimens along the reef the next morning, he stripped to his shorts and dived in for a cool swim.
    This was the ocean side of the reef. The ocean was quiet this morning except for a lazy swell.
    Hal saw his brother dive into the sea and smiled tolerantly. The kid was too young to work for long at a time. Let him enjoy himself.
    Hal followed Omo, Crab, and the captain as they walked along the reef, peering over the edge. He saw a baby octopus in the shallows, then another, and another. Each was about as big as a plate. Omo picked up several of them, saying that he would cook them for lunch. In the islands, octopus tentacles were considered quite a choice titbit.
    Roger was a powerful swimmer for his age. He was