MANNERS OF THE PEOPLE
There are about three thousand white people in the islands; they are mostly
Americans. In fact they are the kings of the Sandwich Islands; the monarchy
is not much more than a mere name. These people stand as high in the scale
of character as any people in the world, and some of them who were born and
educated in those islands don't even know what vice is. The natives of the
Sandwich Islands of color are a rich, dark brown, a kind of black and tan.
The tropical sun and the easygoing ways inherited from their ancestors have
made them rather idle, but they are not vicious at all; they are good
people. The native women in the rural districts wear a loose, magnificent,
curtain calico garment, but the men don't. Upon great occasions the men wear
an umbrella, or some little fancy article like that—further than
this they have no inclination towards gorgeousness of costume. In ancient
times the king was the ruler of all the land, and supreme head of the church
and state; his voice was superior to all law; he was absolute; his power was
sacred. After the king in authority came the high priests of the ancient
superstition, and after them the great chiefs, little better than slaves to
the king. Next came the common plebians, and they were slaves to the whole
party, were abused and killed at the slightest
pretext. And below them, away down at the bottom of this pile of tyranny and
superstition, came the women, and they were the abject slaves of all; they
were degraded to the level of the beasts, and thought to be no better. They
were cruelly maltreated. By the law of the land it was death for a woman to
eat at the same table with her husband, or to eat out of the same dish with
him. Even those darkened people seemed to have a glimmering idea of the
danger of the women eating forbidden fruit, and they didn't want to take the
risk. Now the Sandwich Islanders are the best educated of any people on the
earth, and I don't suppose there is a single Kannacker of 18 years and upward, but what can read and write. And all
this wonderful work was accomplished by our American missionaries. And what
is curious further, this great work was paid for in great part by the
American Sunday school children with their pennies. Though it is beyond all
comprehension that many a bad little boy has reaped a lucrative income, by
confiscating the pennies given him for missionary contributions, dropping
into the box such brass buttons as he could spare from his garments. It is
the proudest reflection of my life that I never did that—never did
it but once or twice, anyhow. These natives are an exceeding hospitable
people. If you want to stay two or three days and nights in a native cabin
you will be welcome. They will feast you on raw fish, with the scales on,
cocoanuts, plantains, baked dogs and fricasseed cats, all the luxuries of
the season. But if you want to trade with one of them, that's business. He
will tell one falsehood after another right straight along, and not ordinary
lies either, but monstrous incredible ones, and when a native is caught in a
lie it doesn't incommode him at all. All these natives have a dozen mothers
at least, not natural mothers, but adopted ones. A California man went down
there and opened a sugar plantation. One of his hands came and said he
wanted to bury his mother. He gave him permission. In a few days the man
wanted to go and bury another mother. He gave him permission. In a few days
the man wanted to go and bury another mother. The Californian thought it
strange, but said "Well, go and plant her." Within a month the man wanted to
bury some more mothers. "Look ye here," said the planter, "I don't want to
be hard upon you in your affliction, but it appears to me your stock of
mothers holds out pretty well. It interferes with business, so clear out and
never come back till you have buried every mother you have in the
world."
