'In Another Minute Or
Two,' I Added, 'you'll Steer Us All To The Bottom.'
Fred, who thought it no time for joking, called the rifleman
a 'damned fool,' and authoritatively bade him give up the
tiller; saying that I had been in Her Majesty's Navy, and
perhaps knew a little more about boats than he did.
To this
the other replied that 'he didn't want anyone to learn him;
he reckon'd he'd been raised to boating as well as the next
man, and he'd be derned if he was going to trust his life to
anybody!' Samson, thinking no doubt of his own, took his
pipe out of his mouth, and towering over the steersman, flung
him like a child on one side. In an instant I was in his
place.
It was a minute or two before the boat had way enough to
answer the helm. By that time we were within a dozen yards
of a reef. Having noticed, however, that the little craft
was quick in her stays, I kept her full till the last, put
the helm down, and round she spun in a moment. Before I
could thank my stars, the pintle, or hook on which the rudder
hangs, broke off. The tiller was knocked out of my hand, and
the boat's head flew into the wind. 'Out with the sweeps,' I
shouted. But the sweeps were under the gear. All was
confusion and panic. The two men cursed in the names of
their respective saints. The 'heavy' whined, 'I told you how
it w'd be.' Samson struggled valiantly to get at an oar,
while Fred, setting the example, begged all hands to be calm,
and be ready to fend the stern off the rocks with a boathook.
As we drifted into the surf I was wondering how many bumps
she would stand before she went to pieces. Happily the water
shallowed, and the men, by jumping overboard, managed to drag
the boat through the breakers under the lee of the point. We
afterwards drew her up on to the beach, kindled a fire, got
out some provisions, and stayed till the storm was over.
CHAPTER XXX
WHAT was then called Fort Vancouver was a station of the
Hudson's Bay Company. We took up our quarters here till one
of the company's vessels - the 'Mary Dare,' a brig of 120
tons, was ready to sail for the Sandwich Islands. This was
about the most uncomfortable trip I ever made. A sailing
merchant brig of 120 tons, deeply laden, is not exactly a
pleasure yacht; and 2,000 miles is a long voyage. For ten
days we lay at anchor at the mouth of the Columbia, detained
by westerly gales. 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. The climate is one
of the least changeable in the world; the sea breeze blows
day and night, and throughout the year the day temperature
does not vary more than five or six degrees, the average
being about eighty-three degrees Fahrenheit in the shade. In
1850 the town of Honolulu was little else than a native
village of grass and mat huts. Two or three merchants had
good houses. In one of these Fred and Samson were domiciled;
there was no such thing as a hotel. I was the guest of
General Miller, the Consul-General. What changes may have
taken place since the above date I have no means of knowing.
So far as the natives go, the change will assuredly have been
for the worse; for the aborigines, in all parts of the world,
lose their primitive simplicity and soon acquire the worst
vices of civilisation.
Even King Tamehameha III. was not innocent of one of them.
General Miller offered to present us at court, but he had to
give several days' notice in order that his Majesty might be
sufficiently sober to receive us. A negro tailor from the
United States fitted us out with suits of black, and on the
appointed day we put ourselves under the shade of the old
General's cocked hat, and marched in a body to the palace. A
native band, in which a big drum had the leading part,
received us with 'God save the Queen' - whether in honour of
King Tamy, or of his visitors, was not divulged. We were
first introduced to a number of chiefs in European uniforms -
except as to their feet, which were mostly bootless.
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