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 heeled 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.