After settling my business at the Post Office, accompanied by my German-Yankee fellow-passenger, I took a stroll round the town and suburbs; though it is so open and green that it seems all suburbs. We invested a small sum in oranges, which we found in perfection, and sucked them as we went along in the most undignified way possible. We directed our steps to that part of the town where the better class seemed to reside, in cool, shady lanes, the houses embowered in large-leaved tropical trees, cocoa-nut, banana, bread-fruit, calabash, and other palms, with cycas and tree-ferns with stems some fifteen feet high. Flower-bearing shrubs also abounded, such as the Hibiscus, Mairi, of which the women make wreaths, and Gardenia, with the flowers of which they also adorn themselves. In some of the gardens water was laid on, and pretty fountains were playing, from which it would appear that the water supply is good, and that there is a good head of it in some mountain reservoir above.
We strolled along to the right of the town, towards the high volcanic mountain on which the fort is situated, the long extinct crater showing plainly on its summit. Some years since, when a French ship bombarded the town, the Kanakas who manned the fort, threw down their sponges, rammers, and all, directly the first shot was fired, leaving the fort to take care of itself.
We returned to the harbour by way of the King's palace, which is in the centre of the town, and may be known by the royal flag floating over it. The palace is built of coral stone, and is an unpretending building, reminding one of a French maison de campagne. It stands in about an acre of ground, ornamented with flowers, shrubs, and an avenue of kukui and koa-trees. A native sentry stood at the gate in his uniform of blue coat and white trousers, and with his musket duly shouldered in regulation style.
On the following day I made an excursion with an American gentleman, who is something of a naturalist, to the remarkable valley, or gorge, in the mountains at the back of the town, which had so attracted my notice when I first saw it from the deck of our ship. It is called the Nuuanu Valley, and is well worthy of a visit. The main street of the town leads directly up to the entrance to the valley; and on the road we passed many pretty low-roofed houses surrounded by beautifully-kept gardens, the houses being those of the chief merchants and consuls of the port. They looked quite cool and pleasant, embowered in green papyrus, tamarind, and palm-trees, which shaded them from the hot tropical sun with their large-leaved foliage. I find the sun now, in winter-time, so hot that it is almost intolerable. What must it be in summer?
As we proceed, we reach the fertile land, which nearly all lies at the foot of the mountains, the long disintegration of the high ground having left a rich deposit for vegetable growth. Some patches of arrowroot lie close to the road, irrigated by the streams that run down from the mountain above. But the principal crop is the taro-plant (Arum esculentum), from which the native food of poi is made. Let me say a few words about this poi, as it forms the main staple of Hawaiian food. The taro is grown in pits or beds, kept very wet,—in which case, urged by the natural heat of the climate, it grows with immense rapidity and luxuriance. It is the succulent root which is used for food. It is pounded into a semi-fluid mess, after which it is allowed to stand a few days and ferment; it is then worked about with the hands until it acquires the proper consistency for eating, when it is stored in gourds and calabashes. It must be of a certain thickness, neither too soft nor too firm, something of the consistency of thick flour-paste, though glutinous, and it is eaten in the following manner. Two fingers are dipped into the pot containing the poi, and turned rapidly round until a sufficient quantity of the paste adheres to them; then, by a rapid motion, the lot is wriggled out of the pot, conveyed into the mouth, and the fingers are sucked clean. Young girls dip in only one finger at a time, the men two fingers. I was frequently invited to dip my fingers into the poi and try it, being told that it was very good; but I had not the courage.[15]
But to proceed on my walk up the Nuuanu Valley. About two miles from the town, we came to a very pretty villa on one side of the road,—with some large native huts, in a shady garden, on the other. We find that this villa is the country residence of Queen Emma. Looking in through the gate of the garden opposite, who should I see but our quondam lady passenger from Sydney, Miss Ribbids, reclining on a bank in the most luxurious fashion! She had walked up the valley alone, she informed us, and the natives had been most kind to her, giving her fruits, and wreaths of flowers for her adornment.
Proceeding up the valley, we find ourselves on high ground, our road having been for the most part up-hill. Looking back, a charming view lies spread before us. The sky is brilliant and unclouded. Below us lie the town and harbour, the blue sea as smooth as a mirror, shipping dotting the bay, and a silvery line of water breaking along the distant reef. We begin to catch the breeze blowing from the upper part of the valley, and it feels fresh and invigorating after toiling under the noonday sun.
As we ascend the road we meet several of the native girls coming down on horseback. They seem to have quite a passion for riding in the island, and have often to be prevented racing through the streets of Honolulu. The horses are of a poor breed; but the women, who sit astride like the men, seem plucky riders, their long, flowing dresses making respectable riding-habits. Most of the girls wore garlands of ohelo and other flowers round their heads, being very fond of ornament.
Shortly after meeting the girls, a man passed us, at the usual jog canter, with a coffin slung on the saddle in front of him, and after him followed another rider with the lid. We remarked upon the strange burden, and I asked of the first man, who was going to be buried? "My wife," he replied; "me pay seventy-five dollars for um coffin." He grinned, and seemed quite pleased with his coffin, which was really a handsome one.
As we ascend, we seem to get quite into the bush. Thick vegetation spreads up the steep hills on each side of us. I can now understand how difficult it must be to travel through a tropical forest. The brushwood grows so close together, and is so intertwined, that it would appear almost impossible to force one's way through it. The mountains rise higher and higher as we advance, and are covered with lovely light-green foliage. The hills seem to have been thrown up evenly in ridges, each ridge running up the mountain-side having its separate peak. Here and there a small cataract leaps down the face of a rock, shining like a silver thread, and disappearing in the brushwood below until it comes down to swell the mountain-torrent running by our side close to the road.