I Return to Maui--We Are Visited by the President of the Mission, Who
Determines to Go to the Marqueses Islands--Are Not Led to Go With
Him--"Poi," Its Preparation and Peculiarities
The progress I had made in learning the language surprised the Elders
at Honolulu. I was able to converse tolerably well with the natives,
and understand what they said. When they learned how the Lord had
opened our way and aided us in acquiring the language, they felt that
it might be wisdom for me to continue my labors there, instead of
removing to Honolulu. This, after counseling together, was the decision
of the president.
I was much gratified at the privilege of returning to Maui; for, to my
view, prospects for accomplishing any great amount of good were not
very bright then at Honolulu.
Elder William Farrer sailed with me to Maui, to be a partner to Henry
W. Bigler.
We had scarcely reached Lahaina, when Elder Hiram Blackwell called
upon us from the Island of Hawaii, where he had been with Elder James
Hawkins. He was on his way to Honolulu, and expected, if it was not
contrary to counsel, to return home. He was discouraged in trying to
learn the language and preach to the natives. He reached Honolulu in
time to return with the other Elders.
At this point I may anticipate the order of my narrative by stating
that Elder James Hawkins, Brother Blackwell's partner, remained on
Hawaii for some time, striving to acquire the language, and to proclaim
the gospel to the people. He afterwards came up to Maui and labored
there, and filled a good mission before he returned home.
About three weeks after my return from Honolulu, we were surprised at
receiving a visit from the president of the mission. He had concluded
to leave the Sandwich Islands and go to the Marquesas Islands; for he
thought there was a better field there.
These latter islands, 30° south of where we were then, are inhabited
by a race of people whose language is very similar to that spoken by
the natives of the Sandwich Islands. They are probably descendants of
one common stock. But they are naturally more fierce and savage than
the Sandwich Islanders. It is said of some of them, that when they are
engaged in war, they have no objections to eating a piece of a roasted
man; indeed, they rather relish such a meal at such times, as they
think it makes them brave.
Our president's principal motive in coming to see us was to have us go
with him. If prospects were no better on Maui than on the island he had
been on, he thought we should accompany him. It was not from any fear
that the people of the Marquesas group would eat us, that we did not
fall in with his proposal; but because we could not see the propriety
of it.
Our position, just then, was a peculiar one. Here was our president,
the man who had been appointed to counsel and guide us, proposing to
us to leave the field to which we had been appointed, and to take a
journey of several hundred miles to another land to labor. What were
we to do? How far did the obedience which we owed to him require us to
go? This was an important question. To disobey a man in the rightful
exercise of authority, was an act from which we naturally recoiled; and
an act, too, of which we were not in the least disposed to be guilty.
But we felt that it would not be right for us to leave that island then.
We had done but little at warning the people, or accomplishing our
mission, and why leave them then, any more than on the first day that
we landed? We had not been appointed by the authority, which called him
and us, to go to the Marquesas Islands; we knew of no opening there, or
of any reason why we should go there in preference to any other place
on the earth. If we followed our president there, because he told us to
come with him, and we should find no opening to preach the gospel, why
not follow him to some other country if he should so require us?
Fortunately we were relieved from the necessity of refusing to comply
with his counsel. He felt plainly enough that his proposal did not
strike us favorably. He had not been many hours with us until he found
this out; and he told us that probably it would be better for us to
remain where we were until we gave the people a fair trial; and then,
if we could not do anything, we could follow him, as he intended to
write to us respecting his success. The first we heard from him, he
had drifted down to Tahiti, on the Society Islands, where some of our
Elders were then laboring. His mission, however, was of no profit to
himself.
When an Elder has the spirit of his mission, he cannot rest contented
unless he is proclaiming to the people the message with which he is
entrusted. Surround him with every comfort his heart can desire, and
if he has that spirit, he will still be anxious to go forth among the
people, even if he knows he will meet with privations and persecution.
This was my feeling before the visit of the president of the mission,
and after he left, my anxiety increased, and I told the brethren that I
must push out among the natives; and commence preaching to them as well
as I could. I had made very good progress in the language, and felt
able to explain in part the first principles of the gospel.
About a week after the president's visit I started off, intending,
if I did not get an opening, to go around the island. But the Lord
had revealed to me that I would find a people prepared to receive the
truth; and I started as a man would who was going to meet his friends.
Though I had never seen them in the flesh, I knew that when I met them
they would not be strangers unto me.
Borrowing Brother Bigler's valise, one which he had carried many a day
himself while on a mission in the States, I started, feeling as proud
of the privilege of swinging it across my shoulder as any knight ever
was at wearing, for the first time, his gold spurs.
The great desire of my heart from my early boyhood had been to have the
Priesthood and the privilege of preaching the gospel. This desire was
now about to be gratified, and though I was timid and very bashful, I
felt that God would carry me safely through.
The brethren accompanied me about four miles on my way. We were far
from all our friends, and were strangers in a strange land; our
parting, therefore, as might be expected, was painful. They remained to
continue their study of the language.
It was plain to me that the angel of the Lord was with me; for at
whatever place I stopped, I was received most kindly, and the best the
people had was at my service.
The principal food of the natives of the Sandwich Islands is called
_poi_. This is made out of a root which they call _kalo_. "Kalo"
patches are so made that they can be flooded with water; and the ground
is never allowed to be uncovered. In planting this root they do not
use seed. When a native gathers the "kalo," he carries it to his home,
where he cuts off the tops. These are carefully saved, tied up in a
bundle, and carried back to the patch. These tops he sticks in the mud
at the proper distances apart, and at the end of about eleven months
he has another crop of "kalo." This is the process of gathering and
planting.
The "kalo" bears some resemblance in its leaves and taste to the wild
Indian turnips, but its root is much larger; not quite the shape of a
tame turnip, but as large as a moderate sized one. There is a variety
called the "dry land kalo." It is not so extensively cultivated as the
other kind, and is not considered so good eating.
Near every house there is a circular hole. When "kalo" is to be cooked,
a fire is built in this, and a quantity of small volcanic rocks are
piled on top of it. As the fire burns out these sink to the bottom, and
they are spread over the bottom and around the sides of the pit. The
"kalo" roots are then laid in, mats are spread over them, then soil,
until they are completely covered, excepting a small hole at the top,
into which water is poured. That hole is then stopped, and the cooking
commences.
"But how do they cook?" you may ask.
When the water is poured in, the rocks, being hot, speedily convert it
into steam, and, as it cannot escape, it cooks the roots.
I have seen large hogs cooked in this way, and meat is sweeter cooked
in this fashion than by any other method I know anything about. The
native men on the Islands do all the cooking.
When the "kalo" has been in long enough to cook, it is uncovered;
the skin is washed off, and it is pounded with a stone pestle, on a
large flat slab of wood, until it is like a mass of dough. Then it is
put into a calabash, or gourd, and by the next day fermentation has
commenced; or, as we would say if it were bread, it has "raised." Water
is then added to it, and it is mixed until it is a little thinner than
we usually make mush. There is a little sour taste about it the first
day. But it is never eaten at that time by the natives, unless they
have no other food. They like it best when it is quite sour. This is
what they call "poi," and there is no other food that they think can
equal it.
Their usual method of eating is worthy of notice. A large calabash of
"poi" is placed on the mats; around this the family seat themselves.
In families where they make any pretensions to cleanliness, a small
calabash of water is passed around, and each one rinses his or her
fingers before commencing to eat.
To keep off the flies, a boy or a girl stands waving a _kahili_, which
is made by fastening feathers to a long, slender stick.
In eating, they dip their first two fingers into the calabash, load
them with the "poi," and pass them into their mouths. The sucking
of the fingers, the gusto with which they eat, and the incessant
conversation mingled with laughter which they keep up, would lead a
bystander to conclude that they enjoy their food. And they do. If
the "poi" be good, and they have plenty of fish or meat to eat with
it, they have great pleasure in eating. They think white men who eat
together without conversing very unsocial beings. They have an idea
that it contributes to health, and to the enjoyment of the food to have
pleasant and lively conversation while eating.
Before leaving Lahaina, I had tasted a teaspoonful of "poi;" but the
smell of it and the calabash in which it was contained was so much like
that of a book-binder's old, sour, paste-pot that when I put it to my
mouth I gagged at it, and would have vomited had I swallowed it. But in
traveling among the people I soon learned that if I did not eat "poi"
I would put them to great inconvenience; for they would have to cook
separate food for me every meal. This would make me burdensome to them,
and might interfere with my success. I, therefore, determined to learn
to live on their food, and, that I might do so, I asked the Lord to
make it sweet to me. My prayer was heard and answered; the next time I
tasted it, I ate a bowlful, and I positively liked it. It was my food,
whenever I could get it from that time as long as I remained on the
islands.
It may sound strange, yet it is true, that I have sat down to a table
on which bread was placed, and though I had not tasted the latter for
months, I took the "poi" in preference to the bread; it was sweeter to
me than any food I had ever eaten.