69. CHAPTER LXIX.
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 antennæ 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 keeled
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.