A Week After We Put To Sea, All Our Fresh
Provisions Were Consumed, And We Had To Live On Our Cargo -
Dried Salmon.
We three and the captain more than filled the
little hole of a cabin.
There wasn't even a hammock, and we
had to sleep on the deck, or on the lockers. The fleas, the
cockroaches, and the rats, romped over and under one all
night. Not counting the time it took to go down the river,
or the ten days we were kept at its mouth, we were just six
weeks at sea before we reached Woahoo, on Christmas Day.
How beautiful the islands looked as we passed between them,
with a fair wind and studding sails set alow and aloft.
Their tropical charms seemed more glowing, the water bluer,
the palm trees statelier, the vegetation more libertine than
ever. On the south the land rises gradually from the shore
to a range of lofty mountains. Immediately behind Honolulu -
the capital - a valley with a road winding up it leads to the
north side of the island. This valley is, or was then,
richly cultivated, principally with TARO, a large root not
unlike the yam. Here and there native huts were dotted
about, with gardens full of flowers, and abundance of
tropical fruit. Higher up, where it becomes too steep for
cultivation, growth of all kind is rampant. Acacias,
oranges, maples, bread-fruit, and sandal-wood trees, rear
their heads above the tangled ever-greens. The high peaks,
constantly in the clouds, arrest the moisture of the ocean
atmosphere, and countless rills pour down the mountain sides,
clothing everything in perpetual verdure.
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