Many of the natives, although able to afford habitations of a European style, still live on in those used by their ancestors. They are generally of an oblong shape, with a very high-pitched roof, thatched with grass and plantain leaves; and as the eaves slant down to within a short distance from the ground, they have a very picturesque appearance. They are cool in summer, and are impervious to rain. The ceilings, which are very elegant, are composed of polished bamboo, neatly interwoven, while the floors are carpeted with mats of coloured grass. The walls are decorated with a native cloth, called tapa, which serves the purpose of tapestry. The house is divided into separate chambers at night by mats hung up on lines. The beds are primitive; a mat serves for every purpose, and a wooden roller as a pillow. Many of the Kanakas are well educated, and read and write not only their own, but several European languages likewise. There is one newspaper in the Hawaian language, if not more, and several works have been published in it, while the translation of the Bible is to be seen in every native hut. Of course, all this information I picked up from different people during our stay at Honolulu.
“We have not had any fun for a long time; I wonder what will turn up next,” said Jerry to me, after we had been there a couple of days.
The next morning, Mr Callard, the missionary, who was an old friend of Captain Frankland’s, came on board, and invited Jerry and me and Mr McRitchie, and Mr Brand, if he could be spared, to accompany him to the large island of Hawaii, round which he was going to make a visitation tour. Having to wait here for information on some important matters, he gave us the leave we asked.
“You may take Ben Yool with you also,” said he. “The schooner is rather short-handed, and you will find him useful at all events.”
Jerry and I were highly pleased with this, for Ben was a great favourite. We were soon ready with our rifles and knapsacks, not forgetting to take old Surley with us; it was a long time since the poor fellow had had a run on shore.
“Take care that the natives don’t cook and eat him,” said Mr Renshaw, as we shoved off.
The little mission-schooner, the Dove, was in readiness to receive us, and in a few minutes, with a fair breeze, we were standing away to the southward, towards the large island of Hawaii, or Owhyhee, on the shores of which the immortal Cook lost his life.