At the end of the year 1775, the Doctor’s eldest son, Captain James Burney, who, on board the Cerberus, had convoyed General Burgoyne to America, obtained permission from the Admiralty to return home, in order to again accompany Captain Cooke in a voyage round the world; the second circumnavigation of the young Captain; the third, and unhappily the last, of the great Captain Cooke.
Omiah, whom they were to restore to his country and friends, came now upon a leave-taking visit to the family of his favourite Captain Burney.
Omiah, by this time, had made some proficiency in the English language, and in English customs; and he knew the town so well, that he perambulated it for exercise and for visits, without either interpreter or guide.
But he owed quite as much assistance to attitude and gesture, for making himself understood, as to speech, for in that he was still, at times, quite unintelligible. To dumb shew he was probably familiar, the brevity and paucity of his own dialect making it necessarily a principal source of communication at Ulitea and at Otaheite. What he knew of English he must have caught instinctively and mechanically, as it is caught by children; and, it may be, only the faster from having his attention unencumbered with grammatical difficulties, or orthographical contrarieties: yesterday served for the past, in all its distances: tomorrow, for the future, in all its dependences.
The King allowed him a handsome pension, upon which he lived perfectly at ease, and very happily: and he entertained, in return, as gratefully loyal a devotion to his Majesty as if he had been a native born subject.
He was very lively, yet gentle; and even politely free from any forwardness or obtrusion; holding back, and keeping silent, when not called into notice, with as much delicacy and reserve, as any well bred European. And his confidence in the benevolence and honour of the strangers with whom he had trusted his person and his life, spoke a nature as intrepid as it was guileless.
Dr. Burney inquired of him whether he had lately seen the King?
“Yes,” he answered, “Yes. King George bid me, ‘Omy, you go home.’ O! dood man, King George! ver dood man!—not ver bad!”
He then endeavoured, very pleasingly, to discriminate between his joy at returning to his native land, and his grief in quitting England. “Lord Sandwich,” he said, “bid me—Mr. Omy, you two ships: one, two: you go home. Omy make ver fine bow;” which he rose to perform, and with grace and ease; “den Omy say, My lord, ver much oblige!”