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    Chapter LXIX

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    Chapter 73
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    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 antennae 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 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.
    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.
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