Los gringos; or, An inside view of Mexico and California

by H. A. Wise

CHAPTER XXXIX.

For twenty days after sailing from the Mexican coast, the steady trade-wind drove the frigate merrily over the blue water, until one evening we found ourselves, with wings furled and anchors down, within shelter of the reefs and hills of the Bay of Hilo.

Near us nestled an enchanting little village, with straw huts and cottages, half hidden beneath a perfect forest of flowers, banana, bread fruit, and coffee trees, with here and there thick clusters of cocoanuts shooting high in the air, like petals from the brilliant parterres at their feet, waving rattling leaves and trunks in a very indolent and graceful style peculiarly their own. Then the deep, velvety verdure around gradually rose in green slopes, and receded far away in the distance, until the scene was closed by the "twin giants of the Pacific," Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. Nearer, along the fertile shores were white rills leaping into the sea, groups of natives upon the beach, and the little bay alive with slender and reed-like canoes, skimming like a breath over the water, the broad paddles flashing in the sun, tempting tropical fruits, reposing dewily in leafy baskets, the natives themselves gesticulating and chattering with amazing volubility, which added to the bright, fresh, novel, and glorious scenery of the island, made a pleasing contrast to the parched Sierras and Tierra Caliente of Mexico.

The day subsequent to our arrival chanced to be Sunday, and, soon after breakfast, we pulled on shore. There was no reason for disappointment in a closer view of the village. The richest and densest tropical foliage shaded, and almost impeded the pathways. Native huts, with bleached thatching, and pretty cottages of the missionaries, were peeping from amid the groves. Streams of pure water were murmuring in every direction, and the cool trade-wind was blowing breezily through the branches of the trees. Altogether, the effect was quite exhilarating.

Large numbers of copper-hued natives, dressed in their gayest colors, were waiting to receive us, and, stepping on shore, I resigned myself with great docility to the guidance of a stout person, who, tapping an embroidered crown on the sleeve of his coat, with a short baton, informed me, with an expressive nod, that he was kaiko—king's man—in other words, a guardian of the peace.

A few minutes' walk brought us to an immense thatched building, which was the native church. On entering, we were politely shown places, and I was fortunate in getting a seat immediately fronting the preacher, and facing the congregation. There were, at the lowest, a thousand present, ranged on plain wooden benches, all over the vast earth floor of the meeting-house, and crowds more were pouring in from the different doorways: ancient matrons, in dazzling calico frocks, cut very high in the neck, and very low at the heels, unconfined by belt or bodice, wearing coal-scuttle bonnets—sometimes two—toppling very much in front—giving a general idea of having been put on wrong end foremost: young damsels attired in gaily-colored shawls and ribbons, their nether limbs encased in a superabundance of hose, and strong brogan shoes: venerable, gentlemanly kanakas, in tightly-fitting trousers, unconscionably short-waisted coats, with swallow-tails: others again saved from appearing in puris naturalibis by the aid of a tappa, or flimsy shirt, about the loins. But they were a sober, orderly congregation, and with the exception of a little restlessness amid the juveniles, all listened with marked attention to the discourse of their pastor.

The Reverend Mr. Cohen preached to them, and seemed to adapt the sermon to their comprehension; occasionally, however, interrupted by some elderly person, when any obscure passage was not rendered sufficiently clear, whereupon an explanation always followed, in the most urbane, kindly manner.

The dialect is exquisitely soft and vowelly; and then the frequent repetition of many words, from the want of copiousness, renders it susceptible of being delivered with the most inconceivable rapidity. We had singing at intervals during service by some fifty youths from the Reverend Mr. Lyman's school. I judged it rather discordant, and although the voices were not harsh, nor unmusical, there was yet neither taste nor harmony in their efforts. After church, we visited the comfortable, pleasant residences of the missionaries—they were surrounded by well-cultivated gardens of taro, vegetables, and fruits. The inmates we found pious, sensible, and excellent persons, who had devoted many years among their heathen neighbors in philanthropic diffusions of the Gospel.

We had but a day or two to ramble about the village before an expedition was planned to visit the volcano of Kilauea. We were indebted to the good offices of Mr. Pitman for making all preparations for the journey. Each was provided with a kanaka as a sort of body-servant to take charge of extra luggage and wardrobe, stowed in two huge calabashes, with the half of other shells laid over the round orifices on top, which effectually shielded their contents from the weather: they were then slung by a net work of bark braid to each end of a short pole, like a pair of scales, over the swarthy shoulders of our valets. There were full half-a-dozen more fitted with the like contrivances filled with edibles. All were sent off at daylight, while we remained to a delightful breakfast of fresh water fatted mullets, new eggs, and butter. Horses were then brought forward, and attended by a guide, we moved in direction of the south end of the island. In an hour we had lost sight of the ocean, left the pretty, "dim o'er arching groves" of Hilo, and struck a narrow pathway over smooth undulating masses of vitreous lava, just as it lay cooled from the lips of some remote boiling crater, whose overlapping iron waves had flowed from the regions above, whilst the rankest ferns and vegetation blocked the route, creeping and extending as far as the eye could span up the gradual slopes of the mountains. It was certainly a dull, uninteresting landscape. We pushed our way through these green fibrous barriers, with nothing to diversify the monotony, save the course through a dismal forest of ragged trees, laced and covered with impenetrable thickets of vines and parasitical plants, only relieved by the pale green of the candle nut and mighty leaves of an occasional banana tree; meeting, perhaps, at every dreary league with a filthy, ill-constructed native hut, filled with yet filthier occupants. From nearly every habitation we had a volunteer or two in our train, so that, in the afternoon, when we reached what is called the half-way house, there were enough followers for an Indian army.