It was funny to find that the private soldiers were better served with food than the General and his staff. There was reform, so as to even up the matter of rations, but the General was not anxious and solicitous for better food. His idea of the correct supper after a hard day's service is a goodly sized sliced onion with salt, meat broiled on two sticks, hard tack, a tin cup of coffee, for luxuries a baked potato, a pipe of tobacco, a nip of whisky, a roll in a blanket and a sleep until the next day's duties are announced by the bugle.
As the gentlemen of the staff got their sea legs, and flavored the narration of their experiences with humor, I found myself in a cloudy state and mentioned a small matter to the brigadier surgeon, who whipped out a thermometer and took my temperature, and that man of science gave me no peace night or day, and drove me from the ship into Paradise—that is to say I was ordered to stay at Honolulu. Through a window of the Queen's hospital I saw lumps of tawny gold that were pomegranates shaking in the breeze, another tree glowed with dates, and a broad, vividly green hedge was rich with scarlet colors. I was duly examined by physicians, who were thorough as German specialists. I had, in the course of a few hours, a nap, a dish of broth, a glass of milk, a glass of ice water and an egg nog. That broth flowed like balm to the right spot. It was chicken broth. When I guzzled the egg nog I would have bet ten to one on beating that fever in a week, and the next morning about 4:30, when there was competitive crowing by a hundred roosters, I was glad of the concert, for it gave assurance of a supply of chickens to keep up the broth and the eggs that disguised the whiskey.
Two days later I gave up the egg nog because it was too good for me. I knew I did not deserve anything so nice, and suspected it was a beneficence associated with a cloud on my brow. I had the approval of the hospital physician as to egg nog, and he cut off a lot of dainties sent by the Honolulu ladies, who must have imagined that I was one of the heroes of the war. Their mission is to make heroes happy. I was detained under the royal palms, and other palms that were planted by the missionaries, four weeks, and got away on the ship Peru with Major-General Otis, and when we had gone on for a fortnight, as far as from the Baltic to Lake Erie, we saw some rocks that once were Spanish property.
As we left Honolulu the air was already a-glitter with Star Spangled Banners. There are three great points to be remembered as to the annexation of Hawaii:
1. There is not to be a continuance of the slavery of Asiatics in the new possession.
2. "Manhood suffrage" is not to be extended to Asiatics, often actually as under strictly conventional constitutional construction.
3. The archipelago is to be a United States territory, but not a State of the United States. Ex-President Harrison says in his most interesting book: "This Country of Ours," which should be one of our national school books:
"Out of the habit of dealing with the public domain has come the common thought that all territory that we acquire must, when sufficiently populous, be erected into States. But why may we not take account of the quality of the people as well as of their numbers, if future acquisitions should make it proper to do so? A territorial form of government is not so inadequate that it might not serve for an indefinite time."
It is to be remarked of the Hawaiian Islands that they did not possess the original riches of timber that distinguished the West Indies, especially Cuba, where Columbus found four varieties of oranges. One of the features of Hawaiian forestry is the Royal Palm, but it was not indigenous to the islands. The oldest of the stately royalists is not of forty years' growth, and yet they add surprising grace to many scenes, and each year will increase their height and enhance their beauty.
Hawaiians will be saved from extinction by miscegenation. There will be no harm done these feeble people by the shelter of the flag of the great republic. The old superstitions prevail among them to an extent greater than is generally understood. I had the privilege of visiting an American home, the background of which was a rugged mountain that looked like a gigantic picture setting forth the features of a volcanic world. Far up the steep is a cave in which the bones of many of the old savages were deposited in the days of civil war and inhuman sacrifices. The entrance was long ago—in the days the Hawaii people describe as "Before the Missionaries." The hole going to the holy cavern was closed, but there is still pious watching over the place of bones, and if there are climbers of the mountain not to be trusted with the solemn secrets of ancient times, they are stalked by furtive watchmen of the consecrated bones, and no doubt the ever alert sentinels would resist violation of the sepulchre in the rocks; and the natives are careful to scatter their special knowledge that the spot is haunted by supernatural shapes and powers. The Americans living in the midst of these mysteries are rather proud of the ghosts they never see, but have to put up with the haunting guard still ministering to the gods that dwelt in the shrines where the shadows of extinct volcanoes fall, long before the masterful missionaries planted their first steps in the high places.