 | Mark Twain's sketches, new and old |  |
HONOURED AS A CURIOSITY.
IF you get into conversation with
a stranger in Honolulu, and experience
that natural desire to
know what sort of ground you are
treading on by finding out what
manner of man your stranger is,
strike out boldly and address him
as “Captain.” Watch him narrowly,
and if you see by his countenance
that you are on the wrong
track, ask him where he preaches.
It is a safe bet that he is either a
missionary or captain of a whaler.
I became personally acquainted with seventy-two captains and ninety-six
missionaries. The captains and ministers form one-half of the population;
and their families; and the final fourth is made up of high officers of the
Hawaiian Government. And there are just about cats enough for three apiece
all around.
A solemn stranger met me in the suburbs one day, and said:
“Good morning, your reverence. Preach in the stone church yonder, no
doubt!”
“No, I don't. I'm not a preacher.”
“Really, I beg your pardon, captain. I trust you had a good season. How
much oil” —
“Oil! Why what do you take me for? I'm not a whaler.”
“Oh! I beg a thousands pardons, your Excellency. Major-General in the
household troops, no doubt? Minister of the Interior, likely? Secretary of
War? First Gentleman of the Bedchamber? Commissioner of the Royal”—
“Stuff! man. I'm not connected in any way with the Government.”
“Bless my life! Then who the mischief are you? what the mischief are you?
and how the mischief did you get here? and where in thunder did you come
from?”
“I'm only a private personage—an unassuming stranger—lately arrived from
America.”
“No! Not a missionary! not a whaler! not a member of his Majesty's
Government! not even Secretary of the Navy! Ah! heaven! it is too blissful
to be true; alas! I do but dream. And yet that noble, honest countenance—
those oblique, ingenuous eyes—that massive head, incapable of—of anything;
your hand; give me your hand, bright waif. Excuse these tears. For sixteen
weary years I have yearned for a moment like this, and”—
Here his feeling were too much for him, and he swooned away. I pitied this
poor creature from the bottom of my heart. I was deeply moved. I shed a few
tears on him, and kissed him for his mother. I then took what small change
he had, and “shoved.”
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