SKETCHES OF HONOLULU.
BAY OF HONOLULU.—KANACKA FUNERAL.—THE MISSIONARIES.—HUTS AND HABITS OF
THE NATIVES.—TARO-PLANT.—ROAST DOG.—SCHOOL OF THE YOUNG CHIEFS.—RIDE
IN THE COUNTRY.—THE MAUSOLEUM.—COCOANUT-TREE.—CANOES.—HEATHEN
TEMPLE.—KING’S CHAPEL.—RIDE TO EWA.—FATHER BISHOP.—HIS SABLE FLOCK.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 10. The bay of Honolulu is only a bend in the shore.
About a mile from the strand, a coral reef emerges, over which the
rollers pour their perpetual surge. Through this reef, nature has left a
narrow passage, which admits smaller vessels, but a ship of our depth is
obliged to anchor outside, and nearly two miles distant from the shore.
The right extremity of the bay, as you enter it, is guarded by the steep
cone of an exhausted volcano, which has taken the less terrific name of
Diamond Hill. The left is defended by a bold bluff, which shoulders its
way, with savage ferocity, into the roaring sea. The town of Honolulu
stretches along the interval, while close in the background soars the
wild crater of another extinguished volcano, under the bewildering name
of the Punch-Bowl. The steeps beyond are broken into deep ravines, which
wind off in rich verdure into the heart of the island. On its mountain
crags the boldest eagle might build; in its glens the callow cygnet
slumber.
While I was inquiring for a good hotel, the Rev. Mr. Damon, seamen’s
chaplain at this port, came on board, and invited me to take quarters
with him, an invitation which I cheerfully accepted. Months of boxing
about at sea give a charm to the land-berth, which only they can fully
appreciate who slumber over keels. On landing, my trunk was claimed by
some twenty boys and porters. In the general strife I gave it to the one
who appeared to need a shilling the most. His fellows took their
disappointment in good humor. A short walk brought me to the domicile of
my friend, where an agreeable lady welcomed me in.
THURSDAY, JUNE 11. I had only seated myself in my new abode, when Mr.
Damon invited me to accompany him to a funeral. The deceased was a
foreigner, of some popularity among the natives, who attended his
remains in large numbers to his grave. They were all on foot, moving in
silent, but tumultuous order. There was no solemnity in their motions,
but a subdued air in their faces. Some were helping along those who were
bowed with the infirmities of age, and others were carrying piping
infants in their arms, lashed to their backs.
The burial-ground is a mile, or more, from the town, on a slight
elevation, fenced in and shaded with native trees. Here the procession
halted, and gathered in dark, silent masses around a new-dug grave. The
coffin was lowered; a few words of appropriate admonition addressed to
those around; a prayer offered; the earth returned to its place; a
slight mound raised; flowers and sprigs of evergreen cast upon it, and
the crowd wound their way back in the same silent disorder in which they
came. Here was no pomp, no trappings of grief, but that simple homage of
the heart, which bespeaks a sentiment of bereavement and respect. Let
others have, if they will, a funeral pageant, but give me rather that
flower which grief gathers and affection plants, or that tear which
trembles in the eye of the untutored child of nature.
Before the missionaries introduced a change of customs, the natives were
in the habit of expressing their grief, at the death of a favorite
chief, by knocking out two or more of their front teeth. The strength of
their attachment was evinced by the extent of this dental devastation,
which sometimes involved the destruction of every tooth. This is the
reason that so few of the older inhabitants have their teeth entire. The
missionaries substituted for this act of self-inflicted violence, the
innocent tokens of bereavement, and that tribute of respect which is
conveyed in casting on the grave a sprig of evergreen, as a type of the
soul’s immortality. Humanity and religion always go hand in hand.
FRIDAY, JUNE 12. The morning has been passed in receiving calls from the
missionaries. They are plain in their apparel, easy in their manners,
and intelligent in their conversation. They have none of that rigid
solemnity, which a sectarian puts on, who would throw his religion into
his looks; and yet they are free of that lightness and triviality which
are incompatible with a high and earnest purpose. They have cheerfulness
without levity, and sobriety without sternness. They are far from being
men of one idea; their mental horizon is broad. They have impressed
their genius upon all the social habits and civil institutions of the
islanders among whom they dwell. Indeed, all that exists here, upon
which the eye of the Christian philanthropist can dwell with
complacency, has risen from a weltering tide of barbarism, through their
agency, as the islands themselves have emerged from the ocean through
the action of the volcano.
SATURDAY, JUNE 13. The huts of the natives dot with a cheerful aspect
the broad plain on which Honolulu stands, and stretch away into the
green gorges of the mountains. They resemble in the distance ricks of
hay, and you half persuade yourself that you have arrived in a community
of thrifty farmers. This impression almost flashes into conviction, when
you see herds of cattle reposing in the valleys, and goats bounding
among the cliffs. But the rush of children from the interior of these
hay-stacks, and their prattle and laughter among the vines which trail
their porches, soon dispel the illusion. You find them human
habitations, and possessing, in many instances, an air of surprising
neatness and comfort.
True, you find in them no chairs, tables, or ordinary cooking utensils;
nor do the habits of the inmates render these articles necessary. But
you find thick mats, on which they sleep and sit, as Adam and Eve did on
the leaves which the autumnal wind shook from their bowers. They need no
fireplaces, no glowing grate, or crackling hearth,—a broad, bright sun,
wheeling up in splendor out of a quiet ocean, reigns monarch of the
seasons, and tempers the air aright. Their apparel extends but little
beyond the simplest requirements of the nursery. It is a garment
seemingly thrown on for the sake of modesty, as drapery is sometimes
attached to a statue. But the proportions still swell in their roundness
and strength on the eye. It was with no little difficulty the
missionaries could persuade them to assume even this scanty garment. It
seemed to them a superfluity, suggested neither by the characteristics
of the climate, nor sentiments of delicacy. They would have gone without
it as readily to a church as to a carousal. Such is habit impressed on a
people by the force of barbaric ages.
Near each cot you encounter an oven, not obtruded on your eye as if to
mock your hunger, but modestly sunk in the earth. The cavity is lined
with stones, in which a fire is kindled; when sufficiently heated, the
embers are removed, a few taro-leaves thrown in, and on this the taro
itself and meat. The whole is then covered over with taro-leaves and
earth. The meat thus preserves its juices, and has an advantage in this
respect over all modern inventions. This primitive process of cooking is
called the lua.
The most esteemed roaster, that undergoes the lua, is one of the canine
species. It is a dog resembling the larger-sized poodle, with smooth
hair and soft flesh. It is nursed at the breast of the women, and never
allowed to eat animal food. It is baked entire, like the pig, and is
said to taste very much like that little grunter. This is considered the
most choice dish which an epicurean chief can present to his
distinguished guests. I was earnestly invited to partake of one, but the
little fellow’s once cheerful bark, his wagging tail in token of
recognition, his love of children, his participation in their sports,
his gratitude and unsuspecting confidence, were all too warm in my
imagination to permit the deed. I would never take life for the sake of
animal food, and least of all the life of one that is
“The first to welcome, foremost to defend.”
In another hut which we entered, we found the mother and her children
seated around a large calabash, which contained poi. This is the dish on
which the natives mostly subsist. It is made of the root of the taro
plant, which resembles in shape the large beet. A plat of low ground is
thrown up into little hills like a potatoe-patch, and water let in
sufficient to fill the furrows. In these hills the taro grows, shaded
only by its own luxuriant leaves. At maturity, which it reaches in a few
months, the men and women dash into it, and, with the water ankle deep,
commence pulling. The bottoms, which are intended for consumption, are
conveyed to the earth-oven; being baked, they are then pounded, and
water added till the mass assumes the consistency of paste. In this
state it undergoes a partial fermentation, and is then in prime order
for eating. It is conveyed to the mouth by the two forefingers, which
are dipped into it, and to which it adheres in a pendulous globule,
which a slight shake detaches.
This was the dish to which the mother invited us, and which it seemed
almost discourteous to decline. Her little daughter exclaiming, “Mili,
mili—good,” coaxed me to let her drop a globule of it from her small
fingers into my mouth. Down it dropped, and down it went, leaving only a
sour taste. I tried to keep up a look of relish, but the effort must
have betrayed itself. This was the last time I attempted poi. On this
the natives live, and their physical developments sufficiently attest
its nutritious properties. Some of them, who are exempted by their means
from labor, attain a giant stature. They become extremely fat, and roll
along as if bone and muscle were hardly equal to the task of locomotion.
What think ye of that, ye carnivorous tribe, who judge of a man’s bulk
by the amount of roast beef which he consumes! The Hawaiian outdoes ye
on paste!
SUNDAY, JUNE 14. I have exchanged to-day with Mr. Damon; he taking the
capstan of the Congress, and I the pulpit of the mariners’ chapel. The
audience both morning and evening has been large, leaving hardly a
vacant seat. It is composed of foreign residents and sailors in port.
The music, led by a seraphine, would have been creditable in any place.
I could hardly persuade myself that I was in an island of the Pacific,
where but a few years since the homage of man rose only in howls to a
pagan idol.
The attendance at this chapel is the best evidence of the success with
which Mr. Damon performs the duties assigned him by the American
Seamen’s Friend Society. But his sphere of activity is not confined to
these walls; it extends to the moral wants of the different ships
entering the harbor, and embraces also the management of a periodical
devoted to seamen. This publication was eagerly sought by our crew. To
sustain it a subscription was proposed, which was headed by a liberal
donation from Commodore Stockton, Captain Du Pont, and the officers.
MONDAY, JUNE 15. There are two large churches for the natives in
Honolulu. The services in these are conducted in the native language by
the Rev. Mr. Armstrong and the Rev. Mr. Smith, both intelligent and
devoted missionaries. These men and all their brethren occupy a
difficult position in these islands. It is made so, less by the
fickleness of the natives than the interference of foreigners. The very
men who, coming as they do from civilized and Christian lands, should be
the first to countenance and sustain them, are those from whom they
experience the most opposition. It seems impossible to avoid their
cavils. If the missionaries devote themselves exclusively to their
spiritual duties, the complaint is, that the temporal interests of the
community are neglected. If they interest themselves in the
encouragement of agriculture and the mechanic arts, the cry is, that
they are interfering in secular matters which do not belong to them.
Between these two rocks no ship can pass without having her copper raked
off on one side or the other.
The truth is, the missionaries are pursuing the only plan which can
produce decisive and satisfactory results. They are inculcating the
precepts and obligations of the Bible on all classes, and educating the
young. Their schools embrace hundreds of native children, who will
themselves become teachers. In one of these schools, which is under the
superintendence of Mr. and Mrs. Cook, I found the children of the high
chiefs, and among them the heir-apparent. They spoke the English
language with entire freedom, and wrote it with surprising accuracy.
Their acquirements, in all the branches of a useful education, would
have done credit to youth of the same age in any country. In mental
arithmetic, I have never seen them surpassed. They multiplied five
decimals by five, named at random, and gave the result, with perfect
accuracy, in less time than any one could possibly have reached it on a
slate. We now adjourned with the scholars to the parlor, where Mrs. Cook
placed one of the misses at the piano, while another took the guitar,
and they all struck into a melody that might have gratified a more
fastidious taste than ours.
Now these are the children of the chiefs—their sons, and their
daughters; those whose intelligence and influence are to shape the
destinies of these islands. If this is not beginning at the right end of
the business, I should like to have some one tell us where the right end
is.
TUESDAY, JUNE 16. My kanacka brought me his horse this afternoon
punctual at the hour. This horse, a noble animal, is all his capital. I
give him a dollar a day for the use; can have him at any and all hours,
though I seldom ride but once. This is enough, unless the showers hold
up more than they have; for they now fall as easily as a hasty word from
a heated heart; or a blow from the ferule of a vexed pedagogue; or a
yellow leaf from the twig of a blighted tree; or a false smile from the
eyes of a cunning coquette; or a hollow nut from the teeth of a
squirrel; or a silver eel from the hand of a fisherman; or any thing
else, which escapes very easily from its confinement.
My fair companion being firmly in her saddle, we started, at an easy
canter, over the plain, which stretches away from the eastern section of
the town. We passed on the right the royal mausoleum, lifting its sombre
roof over the coffins of barbaric kings. Before Christianity, with her
silent rites, reached these islands, the death of a monarch or sachem
was followed by a wail that poured itself over hill and vale, in a
roaring tide. Then followed a scene of promiscuous licentiousness, from
which the orbs of heaven might have withdrawn their light. Over these
obscene orgies Christianity has spread her influences, and the dead now
go quietly to their rest, and the living lay it to heart.
Further on, we passed through a cocoanut-grove. This singular tree
shoots up some fifty feet, without seeming to know for what purpose; it
then suddenly branches out, and is so eager in this spreading business
that it seems to lose its soaring ambition; and there it stands, like a
naked shaft, with its umbrella-shaped top. Its broad leaves hang down as
if to conceal its blushes. It is naked as sin driven from its last
subterfuge. It fain would reconcile you to its deformity by its milk;
but this is as insipid as its own look is foolish. This tree, with a
half-naked kanacka climbing its shaft, is the most effective picture of
poverty with which I have ever met. It is, if possible, worse than a
monkey on the sign-post of a groggery, beckoning to his fellow-topers to
come in. But the decoy, in this case, wiser than the dupe, never drinks.
We passed near the shore a large number of canoes, in which the natives
were engaged in fishing. They keep them pointed towards the sea, and one
person vigorously at work with the paddles, so that the rollers, which
set in here with great force, may not heave them high and dry on the
beach. They show great skill in the management of these treacherous
canoes. A novice would upset one before he was well in. They are often
themselves capsized, but it costs them only a ducking; the canoe is
instantly righted, and they are back again in its hollow. As for the
water, it is almost as much their element as that of the fish for which
they angle. They can dive from ten to fifteen fathoms, and bring up
shells; or swim many miles without apparent fatigue. There is a native
woman, now living in Honolulu, who, being wrecked at sea, swam twenty
miles to the shore of a neighboring island. Her husband, of feebler
constitution, gave out; she buoyed him up, swimming with him till they
had come in sight of the shore, when he sank overpowered. Still she
clung to him, and brought the lifeless form to the beach. Give me a
kanacka wife in a gale.
Winding around a bay which circles up, with a rippling verge, into the
mainland, we arrived at the blackened ruins of a celebrated heathen
temple. The rude foundations only remain; the superstructure has been
swept away with the savage rites which it enshrined. The smoke of human
victims here appeased the violated tabu, and the putrid exhalations of
decaying beasts cancelled the turpitude of human guilt. But Revelation
has poured its clear light into its dark recesses. The sorcerer has
fled, the victim been unbound, and the guilty have gone to that
mercy-seat where penitence never pleads in vain.
High over these fearful ruins soars the steep crater of an extinguished
volcano, to which a capricious fancy has given the appellation of
Diamond Hill. It still stands in all the stern ruggedness which its
adamantine features assumed, when, ages since, its burning torrents of
lava stiffened into rock. It is now the beacon of the mariner; the first
that greets his glance, and the last that fades upon his eye. Against
its base the broad Pacific heaves its swelling strength; but it will
stand unshaken till the pillars of nature’s vast fabric fall.
We passed, on our return, the king’s chapel, a spacious edifice, of one
hundred and fifty-four feet by seventy-eight. It is reared of coral
rock, hewn into uniform blocks, and impresses you with its architectural
sobriety and strength. The interior of its high walls is relieved by a
substantial gallery, while the ample area of its floor presents to the
eye, in the form of seats, the varied means and ingenuity of their
occupants. The pulpit is the same which once gravely dignified the
central church in New Haven, Conn., but which a more fastidious taste
recently set aside. It answers its sacred design very well here. Sinners
are converted under its droppings just as readily as if the marbles of
Carrara gleamed from its panels. The truth of God falls with the same
power in the sumptuous shrine of the prince and the wigwam of the
savage. The towers of the triple crown, and the tent of the Arab,
tremble alike beneath its force.
The sun had set before we reached our home. The bustle through many of
the streets had subsided; but the loud words and laughter of the crowd
that had gathered to witness the approach of a strange sail, came
floating on the wind. The hour of ten is announced by a gun from the
fort,—a signal for the keepers of pulperias and places of amusement to
close their doors. The king himself, if abroad, though engaged in a game
of chess, would forego the triumph of a checkmate, and return to his
palace. He aims, in this particular at least, to maintain a wholesome
regulation through the influence of his own example. Prouder potentates
may laugh at this punctilio of his Hawaiian majesty, but were they to
imitate it, their thrones would be quite as safe and their subjects
quite as virtuous. A good example is like a guinea, which shines just as
bright, however deep and dark the mine from which it came. Our wisest
lessons often come from our inferiors, as the choicest fruit is
frequently found on the humblest shrub. The condor may dwell in the
lofty steeps of the mountain, but it is to the modest thrush or
meadow-lark that we turn for a gush of music.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 17. Mr. Damon and myself took horses this morning for
Ewa, lying in a valley, which opens on the sea, and distant some twelve
miles. Our horses were in fine spirits, and started off at a
hand-gallop, across the broad lagoon, which skirts the western extremity
of the town. Over this fertile interval swell many round knolls, crowned
with kanacka huts, and surrounded with thrifty taro patches. Ascending
the spur of a mountain range, a deep, green valley opened on the right,
through which a winding rivulet babbled, and where herds were seen
cropping the grass, or ruminating in the shade. From its bosom rose the
walls of a spacious enclosure, into which the cattle, horses, and sheep
are driven at night,—to protect them, as one would suppose, from
ravenous beasts; but there are none in the island: the object is to keep
them from straying off among the mountains, and becoming too wild for
domestic purposes; for every thing here runs instinctively to wildness.
Further on, we passed upon the left a lofty rock, over the steep stern
face of which a convolvulus had spread its verdure, throwing out its
green leaves and delicate blossoms, like smiles on the face of a
hypochondriac. Here we met a native driving two large pigs to market,
and carrying a third lashed to his back. I expected to hear a squeal at
least from his living knapsack; but the mouth had been tied up, leaving
only room through the nostril for air. When the pig is to be killed, no
knife is drawn, no blood taken; but this cord around the nose is
tightened till respiration ceases, and death ensues. Rather a hard end
awaits the poor pig, whether it come by knife or cord; and yet no other
animal, in his last struggles, has so little sympathy. That he is
uncomely, is most true, but he did not select his own shape; and true it
is, that his habits are not quite neat, but he has been turned out of
doors, and left to shirk and shack for himself. It was not his fault
that the devil once got into him, and run him down a steep ledge into
the sea. The devil leads his betters to a much worse place. I see not
therefore why all feeling should be denied the pig in death. But let
that pass.
Proceeding on, we soon reached the precipice which overhangs the deep
ravine, through which the Pearl river holds its exulting course. Here we
might have stopped; but our horses, which well understand these
difficult paths, and are as sure of foot as the chamois, wound down the
steep, and hurried, with clattering hoof, over the bridge which spans
the rushing stream; and then swept up the opposite elevation at the top
of their speed. Ewa now broke on the eye, swelling from a wide verdant
plain, embowered in shade, and looking out on the sea. A winding path,
which obeyed the curve of the shore, took us into the heart of the
little village, where we alighted at the door of our venerable host, the
Rev. Mr. Bishop.
This devoted missionary was at the time with his sable flock in the
church, where he meets them once a week, independent of the Sabbath.
They look up to him with feelings which only goodness can merit and
reverence inspire; and well may they pay him these tokens of love and
respect. He has been long with them, restraining their wild
propensities, training them to habits of industry, and leading them to
the path of immortal life. This is with him a labor of love. The stipend
allowed him by our Board of Foreign Missions is all spent in maintaining
schools and destitute places of worship. He lives on the proceeds of a
dairy, which his good wife manages. If this be not Christian
benevolence, will some opponent of the missionary enterprise tell me
what is.
The house of Father Bishop, as he is familiarly called, is a plain,
one-story building, with a rude porch running around it, covered with
the vines of the creeping-grape. It stands in the midst of fruit and
shade trees, which throw their shadows to the verge of a garden, where
the varied plants of a tropical clime are in luxuriant bloom. Yet every
thing seemed as free of display and mechanical arrangement as if its
growth had been spontaneous. The family consisted of Mrs. B., two
sprightly native children, whose mother had recently died, and a kanacka
domestic. At two o’clock we sat down to dinner, which consisted of
mullet, presented our host by a native chief, and a turkey of his own
raising. Then came figs and milk, with the fruits of his garden. All
presenting a pleasing specimen of pastoral life.
After a siesta, to which the climate here inclines one, we rambled over
the parsonage, among the neat huts of the natives, and, at about two
hours to sunset, took our departure. We soon fell in with a herd of
cattle, which two or three noisy kanackas on horseback were driving to
their enclosure for the night. When a beast attempted to break away, one
of these started in pursuit; and instead of heading off the animal,
brought him up with the lasso, which he threw, with surprising
dexterity, over his horns. In one of the narrow runnels which crosses
the last lagoon, we found a horse, which had missed his step on the two
logs which compose the bridge. The channel was only broad enough to let
in the length of the horse, and on each bank stood a kanacka, the one
hold of the bridle, the other hold of the tail, trying to lift the
animal out. We told one of them to jump in and turn the head of the
horse up stream, and the other to drop the tail and take his whip. These
orders obeyed, the animal gave a spring, and was soon out of his
difficulties.
We reached home before dark: we had rode twenty-four miles on a road
running over steep ledges, across deep ravines, and around toppling
crags: I was bruised and fatigued, and determined to try, before
retiring to rest, the bath and the “lomi-lomi.” The latter is a kind of
shampooing much resorted to here to relieve fatigue. A kanacka who
understood it was at hand, and, on my coming out of the bath, commenced
his kneading process. He used me much as a baker would a lump of dough.
He worked me into this shape, then into that, then into no shape at all.
My limbs became flat, or round, or neither, at his will. My muscles were
all relaxed, and my joints seemed to have lost a sense of location. He
put me back into the shape in which I came from nature’s mould, and I
sunk to sleep softly as an infant in its cradle. Ye who take to anodynes
and inebriating potations to relieve a sense of pain, restlessness, or
fatigue, try the lomi-lomi.