Bound
for
Hawaii (a
hundred
and
fifty
miles
distant,)
to
visit
the
great
volcano
and
behold
the
other
notable
things
which
distinguish
that
island
above
the
remainder
of
the
group,
we
sailed
from
Honolulu
on
a
certain
Saturday
afternoon,
in
the
good
schooner
Boomerang.
The
Boomerang
was
about
as
long
as
two
street
cars,
and
about
as
wide
as
one.
She
was
so
small (though
she
was
larger
than
the
majority
of
the
inter-island coasters)
that
when
I stood
on
her
deck I felt
but
little
smaller
than
the
Colossus
of
Rhodes
must
have
felt
when
he
had a man-of-
war
under
him. I
could
reach
the
water
when
she
lay
over
under
a
strong
breeze.
When
the
Captain
and
my
comrade
(a Mr. Billings),
myself
and
four
other
persons
were
all
assembled
on
the
little
after
portion
of
the
deck
which
is
sacred
to
the
cabin
passengers,
it
was
full—there
was
not
room
for
any
more
quality
folks.
Another
section
of
the
deck,
twice
as
large
as
ours,
was
full
of
natives
of
both
sexes,
with
their
customary
dogs, mats, blankets, pipes,
calabashes
of
poi, fleas,
and
other
luxuries
and
baggage
of
minor
importance.
As
soon
as
we
set
sail
the
natives
all
lay
down
on
the
deck
as
thick
as
negroes
in
a slave-pen,
and
smoked, conversed,
and
spit
on
each
other,
and
were
truly
sociable.
The
little
low-ceiled
cabin
below
was
rather
larger
than
a hearse,
and
as
dark
as
a vault.
It
had
two
coffins
on
each
side—I
mean
two
bunks. A small table,
capable
of
accommodating
three
persons
at
dinner, stood against
the
forward bulkhead,
and
over
it
hung
the
dingiest whale
oil
lantern
that
ever
peopled
the
obscurity
of
a
dungeon
with
ghostly
shapes.
The
floor
room
unoccupied
was
not
extensive.
One
might
swing
a
cat
in
it, perhaps,
but
not
a
long
cat.
The
hold
forward
of
the
bulkhead
had
but
little
freight
in
it,
and
from
morning
till
night
a portly
old
rooster,
with
a voice
like
Baalam's ass,
and
the
same
disposition
to
use
it,
strutted
up
and
down
in
that
part
of
the
vessel
and
crowed.
He
usually
took
dinner
at
six
o'clock,
and
then,
after
an
hour
devoted
to
meditation,
he
mounted a
barrel
and
crowed
a
good
part
of
the
night.
He
got
hoarser
all
the
time,
but
he
scorned
to
allow
any
personal
consideration
to
interfere
with
his
duty,
and
kept
up
his
labors
in
defiance
of
threatened
diphtheria. Sleeping
was
out
of
the
question
when
he
was
on
watch.
He
was
a source
of
genuine
aggravation
and
annoyance.
It
was
worse
than
useless
to
shout
at
him
or
apply
offensive
epithets
to
him—he
only
took
these
things
for
applause,
and
strained
himself
to
make
more
noise. Occasionally,
during
the
day, I threw
potatoes
at
him
through
an
aperture
in
the
bulkhead,
but
he
only
dodged
and
went
on
crowing.
The
first
night,
as
I
lay
in
my coffin,
idly
watching
the
dim
lamp
swinging
to
the
rolling
of
the
ship,
and
snuffing
the
nauseous
odors
of
bilge
water, I felt
something
gallop
over
me. I
turned
out
promptly. However, I
turned
in
again
when
I found
it
was
only
a rat. Presently
something
galloped
over
me
once
more. I
knew
it
was
not
a
rat
this
time,
and
I
thought
it
might
be
a centipede,
because
the
Captain had
killed
one
on
deck
in
the
afternoon. I
turned
out.
The
first
glance
at
the
pillow
showed
me
repulsive
sentinel
perched
upon
each
end
of
it—cockroaches
as
large
as
peach
leaves—fellows
with
long,
quivering
antennae
and
fiery,
malignant
eyes.
They
were
grating
their
teeth
like
tobacco
worms,
and
appeared
to
be
dissatisfied
about
something. I had
often
heard
that
these
reptiles
were
in
the
habit
of
eating
off
sleeping sailors'
toe
nails
down
to
the
quick,
and
I
would
not
get
in
the
bunk
any
more. I
lay
down
on
the
floor.
But
a
rat
came
and
bothered
me,
and
shortly
afterward
a
procession
of
cockroaches
arrived
and
camped
in
my hair.
In
a
few
moments
the
rooster
was
crowing
with
uncommon spirit
and
a
party
of
fleas
were
throwing
double
somersaults
about
my
person
in
the
wildest disorder,
and
taking
a
bite
every
time
they
struck. I
was
beginning
to
feel really annoyed. I got
up
and
put
my
clothes
on
and
went
on
deck.
The
above
is
not
overdrawn;
it
is
a truthful sketch
of
inter-island
schooner
life.
There
is
no
such
thing
as
keeping
a
vessel
in
elegant
condition,
when
she
carries
molasses
and
Kanakas.
It
was
compensation
for
my sufferings
to
come
unexpectedly
upon
so
beautiful a
scene
as
met my eye—to
step
suddenly
out
of
the
sepulchral
gloom
of
the
cabin
and
stand
under
the
strong
light
of
the
moon—in
the
centre,
as
it
were,
of
a
glittering
sea
of
liquid silver—to
see
the
broad
sails
straining
in
the
gale,
the
ship
heeled
over
on
her
side,
the
angry
foam
hissing past
her
lee
bulwarks,
and
sparkling
sheets
of
spray dashing high
over
her
bows
and
raining
upon
her
decks;
to
brace
myself
and
hang
fast
to
the
first
object
that
presented
itself,
with
hat
jammed
down
and
coat tails
whipping
in
the
breeze,
and
feel
that
exhilaration
that
thrills
in
one's
hair
and
quivers
down
his
back
bone
when
he
knows
that
every
inch
of
canvas
is
drawing
and
the
vessel
cleaving
through
the
waves
at
her
utmost
speed.
There
was
no
darkness,
no
dimness,
no
obscurity
there.
All
was
brightness,
every
object
was
vividly
defined.
Every
prostrate Kanaka;
every
coil
of
rope;
every
calabash
of
poi;
every
puppy;
every
seam
in
the
flooring;
every
bolthead;
every
object; however minute,
showed
sharp
and
distinct
in
its
every
outline;
and
the
shadow
of
the
broad
mainsail
lay
black
as
a
pall
upon
the
deck,
leaving
Billings's
white
upturned face glorified
and
his
body
in
a total eclipse.
Monday
morning
we
were
close
to
the
island
of
Hawaii.
Two
of
its
high
mountains
were
in
view—Mauna Loa
and
Hualaiai.
The
latter
is
an
imposing peak,
but
being
only
ten
thousand
feet high
is
seldom
mentioned
or
heard
of. Mauna Loa
is
said
to
be
sixteen
thousand
feet high.
The
rays
of
glittering
snow
and
ice,
that
clasped
its
summit
like
a claw,
looked
refreshing
when
viewed
from
the
blistering climate
we
were
in.
One
could
stand
on
that
mountain
(wrapped
up
in
blankets
and
furs
to
keep
warm),
and
while
he
nibbled a snowball
or
an
icicle
to
quench
his
thirst
he
could
look
down
the
long
sweep
of
its
sides
and
see
spots
where
plants
are
growing
that
grow
only
where
the
bitter cold
of
Winter
prevails;
lower
down
he
could
see
sections devoted
to
production
that
thrive
in
the
temperate
zone
alone;
and
at
the
bottom
of
the
mountain
he
could
see
the
home
of
the
tufted
cocoa-palms
and
other
species
of
vegetation
that
grow
only
in
the
sultry
atmosphere
of
eternal
Summer.
He
could
see
all
the
climes
of
the
world
at
a single glance
of
the
eye,
and
that
glance
would
only
pass
over
a distance
of
four
or
five
miles
as
the
bird
flies!
By
and
by
we
took
boat
and
went
ashore
at
Kailua, designing
to
ride
horseback
through
the
pleasant
orange
and
coffee
region
of
Kona,
and
rejoin
the
vessel
at
a
point
some
leagues distant.
This
journey
is
well
worth
taking.
The
trail
passes
along
on
high ground—say a
thousand
feet
above
sea
level—and usually
about
a
mile
distant
from
the
ocean,
which
is
always
in
sight, save
that
occasionally
you
find yourself buried
in
the
forest
in
the
midst
of
a rank tropical
vegetation
and
a
dense
growth
of
trees,
whose
great
bows
overarch
the
road
and
shut
out
sun
and
sea
and
everything,
and
leave
you
in
a dim,
shady
tunnel,
haunted
with
invisible
singing
birds
and
fragrant
with
the
odor
of
flowers.
It
was
pleasant
to
ride
occasionally
in
the
warm
sun,
and
feast
the
eye
upon
the
ever-
changing
panorama
of
the
forest (beyond
and
below
us),
with
its
many
tints,
its
softened lights
and
shadows,
its
billowy
undulations
sweeping
gently
down
from
the
mountain
to
the
sea.
It
was
pleasant
also,
at
intervals,
to
leave
the
sultry
sun
and
pass
into
the
cool,
green
depths
of
this
forest
and
indulge
in
sentimental
reflections
under
the
inspiration
of
its
brooding
twilight
and
its
whispering
foliage.
We
rode
through
one
orange
grove
that
had
ten
thousand
tree
in
it!
They
were
all
laden
with
fruit.
At
one
farmhouse
we
got
some
large
peaches
of
excellent
flavor.
This
fruit,
as
a
general
thing,
does
not
do
well
in
the
Sandwich
Islands.
It
takes
a
sort
of
almond
shape,
and
is
small
and
bitter.
It
needs
frost,
they
say,
and
perhaps
it
does;
if
this
be
so,
it
will
have
a
good
opportunity
to
go
on
needing
it,
as
it
will
not
be
likely
to
get
it.
The
trees
from
which
the
fine
fruit
I
have
spoken of, came, had been
planted
and
replanted
sixteen
times,
and
to
this
treatment
the
proprietor
of
the
orchard
attributed
his-success.
We
passed
several
sugar plantations—new
ones
and
not
very
extensive.
The
crops were,
in
most
cases,
third
rattoons. [NOTE.—The
first
crop
is
called
"plant cane;"
subsequent
crops
which
spring
from
the
original
roots,
without
replanting,
are
called
"rattoons."]
Almost
everywhere
on
the
island
of
Hawaii sugar-cane
matures
in
twelve
months,
both
rattoons
and
plant,
and
although
it
ought
to
be
taken
off
as
soon
as
it
tassels,
no
doubt,
it
is
not
absolutely
necessary
to
do
it
until
about
four
months
afterward.
In
Kona,
the
average
yield
of
an
acre
of
ground
is
two
tons
of
sugar,
they
say.
This
is
only
a moderate
yield
for
these
islands,
but
would
be
astounding
for
Louisiana
and
most
other
sugar
growing
countries.
The
plantations
in
Kona being
on
pretty high ground—up
among
the
light
and
frequent
rains—no
irrigation
whatever
is
required.