There are two kinds of it,—wet and dry. The wet is grown under water. Square beds are made, two or more feet deep, in which the taro is planted; then the water is let in at one end, and flows out of the other, thus keeping running water upon the bed all the time. It requires about a year for the plant to get its growth. The natives bake the root in their stone ovens, which are large holes in the ground. They place at the bottom of the oven a quantity of wood and over it a heap of stones, which are heated thoroughly by the burning wood; then the pig, chicken, potatoes, or whatever else they wish to cook, are laid on the stones, leaves being wrapped around them to keep them clean, a little water is thrown on, and the whole is covered with earth. The water comes gradually in contact with the stones, and is converted into steam, which, with the heat of the stones, in a few hours cooks the food.
After the taro is baked, they peel it with a shell, and pound it with a stone pestle in wooden trays, mixing with it water; then they set it away to ferment. When ready for use, it has a sort of lavender color, and is acid. They call it poi; it tastes like yeast or sour flour paste, and is eaten with coarse salt. The natives eat with it raw fish. This is the favorite Hawaiian dish.
"Raw fish, aunty?" said Carrie.
Yes, raw fish; they say raw fish tastes much better than cooked; but I could not believe it. Yet we eat raw oysters; perhaps that is no worse. Taro-tops are very good greens. The natives usually sit round a large calabash, and dip one, two, or three fingers, according to the consistency of the poi; then by a peculiar movement they take it from the calabash, and convey it to the mouth. That is their favorite mode of eating, and they say it does not taste so well when eaten with a spoon.
Next morning, some native women called on us. There were about twenty of them. They were cordial and kind, and their "aloha" was very hearty as we shook hands with each. Some were fine-looking, tall and portly. A few could talk English a little. They welcomed grandpa, making a short speech in Hawaiian, and presented us with some fowls, onions, cabbages, potatoes, eggs, squashes, and taro. Grandpa thanked them, and spoke of the interest he and Christians in America had always felt in them. Mr. Clark was interpreter, and their faces lighted up with evident joy.
The following day we called on Prince William Lunalilo, and his father Kanaina. Prince William is one of the highest chiefs in the kingdom, the rank here being determined by the mother. In the reception-room was a beautiful table, inlaid with specimens of native woods. The furniture was covered with red plush. On the walls were oil paintings of the prince and his father and mother, taken about fifteen years ago.
Prince William took us to the royal cemetery, a small square stone building in the spacious yard. In the center of the one room on a table, was a crimson velvet cushion trimmed with gold fringe, on which lay the Hawaiian crown. Unfortunately, I did not notice it particularly. On either side were enormous coffins, that of Kamehameha II. being the handsomest, and covered with a pall of green brocaded silk; others were covered also with silk palls, or draped in black. Some of the coffins were long and large, the high chiefs having been, as a general thing, tall and stout. One could not help thinking that here was the end of earthly grandeur; the monarch and his lowest subject must alike die.
We went to a prayer-meeting at Oahu College, Punahou, on Wednesday night. It was a pleasant thing to meet with twenty or thirty missionary children for prayer and praise.
Thursday morning we listened to some very creditable recitations, and examined some beautiful drawings by the young ladies and gentlemen, and after lunch heard compositions, and saw the ladies practice calisthenics; all of which would have done honor to one of our home institutions. In the afternoon, we drove back to Honolulu, and attended a sewing-circle at the house of one of the foreign residents. It really seemed like one of our home circles, the profusion of exquisite flowers and the absence of our cold March weather only dispelling the illusion. We reveled in the lovely roses, our green-house favorites blooming here with such rank luxuriance. I saw here for the first time in my life a green rose.
"Green rose?" asked little Alice. "I never heard of such a thing."