<SPAN name="chap19"></SPAN>
<h3> CHAPTER XIX </h3>
<h3> THE SANDWICH ISLANDERS—HIDE-CURING—WOOD-CUTTING—RATTLE- SNAKES—NEW-COMERS </h3>
<p>Here was a change in my life as complete as it had been sudden. In the
twinkling of an eye, I was transformed from a sailor into a
"beach-comber" and a hide-curer; yet the novelty and the comparative
independence of the life were not unpleasant. Our hide-house was a
large building, made of rough boards, and intended to hold forty
thousand hides. In one corner of it, a small room was parted off, in
which four berths were made, where we were to live, with mother earth
for our floor. It contained a table, a small locker for pots, spoons,
plates, etc., and a small hole cut to let in the light. Here we put our
chests, threw our bedding into the berths, and took up our quarters.
Over our head was another small room, in which Mr. Russell lived, who
had charge of the hide-house; the same man who was for a time an
officer of the Pilgrim. There he lived in solitary grandeur; eating
and sleeping alone, (and these were his principal occupations,) and
communing with his own dignity. The boy was to act as cook; while
myself, a giant of a Frenchman named Nicholas, and four Sandwich
Islanders, were to cure the hides. Sam, the Frenchman, and myself,
lived together in the room, and the four Sandwich Islanders worked and
ate with us, but generally slept at the oven. My new messmate,
Nicholas, was the most immense man that I had ever seen in my life. He
came on the coast in a vessel which was afterwards wrecked, and now let
himself out to the different houses to cure hides. He was considerably
over six feet, and of a frame so large that he might have been shown
for a curiosity. But the most remarkable thing about him was his feet.
They were so large that he could not find a pair of shoes in California
to fit him, and was obliged to send to Oahu for a pair; and when he got
them, he was compelled to wear them down at the heel. He told me once,
himself, that he was wrecked in an American brig on the Goodwin Sands,
and was sent up to London, to the charge of the American consul,
without clothing to his back or shoes to his feet, and was obliged to
go about London streets in his stocking feet three or four days, in the
month of January, until the consul could have a pair of shoes made for
him. His strength was in proportion to his size, and his ignorance to
his strength—"strong as an ox, and ignorant as strong." He neither
knew how to read nor write. He had been to sea from a boy, and had
seen all kinds of service, and been in every kind of vessel:
merchantmen, men-of-war, privateers, and slavers; and from what I could
gather from his accounts of himself, and from what he once told me, in
confidence, after we had become better acquainted, he had even been in
worse business than slave-trading. He was once tried for his life in
Charleston, South Carolina, and though acquitted, yet he was so
frightened that he never would show himself in the United States again;
and I could not persuade him that he could never be tried a second time
for the same offence. He said he had got safe off from the breakers,
and was too good a sailor to risk his timbers again.</p>
<p>Though I knew what his life had been, yet I never had the slightest
fear of him. We always got along very well together, and, though so
much stronger and larger than I, he showed a respect for my education,
and for what he had heard of my situation before coming to sea. "I'll
be good friends with you," he used to say, "for by-and-by you'll come
out here captain, and then you'll haze me well!" By holding well
together, we kept the officer in good order, for he was evidently
afraid of Nicholas, and never ordered us, except when employed upon the
hides. My other companions, the Sandwich Islanders, deserve particular
notice.</p>
<p>A considerable trade has been carried on for several years between
California and the Sandwich Islands, and most of the vessels are manned
with Islanders; who, as they, for the most part, sign no articles,
leave whenever they choose, and let themselves out to cure hides at San
Diego, and to supply the places of the men of the American vessels
while on the coast. In this way, quite a colony of them had become
settled at San Diego, as their headquarters. Some of these had recently
gone off in the Ayacucho and Loriotte, and the Pilgrim had taken Mr.
Mannini and three others, so that there were not more than twenty left.
Of these, four were on pay at the Ayacucho's house, four more working
with us, and the rest were living at the oven in a quiet way; for their
money was nearly gone, and they must make it last until some other
vessel came down to employ them.</p>
<p>During the four months that I lived here, I got well acquainted with
all of them, and took the greatest pains to become familiar with their
language, habits, and characters. Their language, I could only learn,
orally, for they had not any books among them, though many of them had
been taught to read and write by the missionaries at home. They spoke
a little English, and by a sort of compromise, a mixed language was
used on the beach, which could be understood by all. The long name of
Sandwich Islanders is dropped, and they are called by the whites, all
over the Pacific ocean, "Kanákas," from a word in their own language
which they apply to themselves, and to all South Sea Islanders, in
distinction from whites, whom they call "Haole." This name, "Kanaka,"
they answer to, both collectively and individually. Their proper
names, in their own language, being difficult to pronounce and
remember, they are called by any names which the captains or crews may
choose to give them. Some are called after the vessel they are in;
others by common names, as Jack, Tom, Bill; and some have fancy names,
as Ban-yan, Fore-top, Rope-yarn, Pelican, etc., etc. Of the four who
worked at our house one was named "Mr. Bingham," after the missionary
at Oahu; another, Hope, after a vessel that he had been in; a third,
Tom Davis, the name of his first captain; and the fourth, Pelican, from
his fancied resemblance to that bird. Then there was Lagoda-Jack,
California-Bill, etc., etc. But by whatever names they might be
called, they were the most interesting, intelligent, and kind-hearted
people that I ever fell in with. I felt a positive attachment for
almost all of them; and many of them I have, to this time, a feeling
for, which would lead me to go a great way for the mere pleasure of
seeing them, and which will always make me feel a strong interest in
the mere name of a Sandwich Islander.</p>
<p>Tom Davis knew how to read, write, and cipher in common arithmetic; had
been to the United States, and spoke English quite well. His education
was as good as that of three-quarters of the Yankees in California, and
his manners and principles a good deal better, and he was so quick of
apprehension that he might have been taught navigation, and the
elements of many of the sciences, with the most perfect ease. Old "Mr.
Bingham" spoke very little English—almost none, and neither knew how
to read nor write; but he was the best-hearted old fellow in the world.
He must have been over fifty years of age, and had two of his front
teeth knocked out, which was done by his parents as a sign of grief at
the death of Kamehameha, the great king of the Sandwich Islands. We
used to tell him that he ate Captain Cook, and lost his teeth in that
way. That was the only thing that ever made him angry. He would
always be quite excited at that; and say—"Aole!" (no.) "Me no eat
Captain Cook! Me pikinini—small—so high—no more! My father see
Captain Cook! Me—no!" None of them liked to have anything said about
Captain Cook, for the sailors all believe that he was eaten, and that,
they cannot endure to be taunted with.—"New Zealand Kanaka eat white
man;—Sandwich Island Kanaka—no. Sandwich Island Kanaka ua like pu na
haole—all 'e same a' you!"</p>
<p>Mr. Bingham was a sort of patriarch among them, and was always treated
with great respect, though he had not the education and energy which
gave Mr. Mannini his power over them. I have spent hours in talking
with this old fellow about Kamehameha, the Charlemagne of the Sandwich
Islands; his son and successor Riho Riho, who died in England, and was
brought to Oahu in the frigate Blonde, Captain Lord Byron, and whose
funeral he remembered perfectly; and also about the customs of his
country in his boyhood, and the changes which had been made by the
missionaries. He never would allow that human beings had been eaten
there; and, indeed, it always seemed like an insult to tell so
affectionate, intelligent, and civilized a class of men, that such
barbarities had been practised in their own country within the
recollection of many of them. Certainly, the history of no people on
the globe can show anything like so rapid an advance. I would have
trusted my life and my fortune in the hands of any one of these people;
and certainly had I wished for a favor or act of sacrifice, I would
have gone to them all, in turn, before I should have applied to one of
my own countrymen on the coast, and should have expected to have seen
it done, before my own countrymen had got half through counting the
cost. Their costumes, and manner of treating one another, show a
simple, primitive generosity, which is truly delightful; and which is
often a reproach to our own people. Whatever one has, they all have.
Money, food, clothes, they share with one another; even to the last
piece of tobacco to put in their pipes. I once heard old Mr. Bingham
say, with the highest indignation, to a Yankee trader who was trying to
persuade him to keep his money to himself—"No! We no all 'e same a'
you!—Suppose one got money, all got money. You;—suppose one got
money—lock him up in chest.—No good!"—"Kanaka all 'e same a' one!"
This principle they carry so far, that none of them will eat anything
in the sight of others without offering it all round. I have seen one
of them break a biscuit, which had been given him, into five parts, at
a time when I knew he was on a very short allowance, as there was but
little to eat on the beach.</p>
<p>My favorite among all of them, and one who was liked by both officers
and men, and by whomever he had anything to do with, was Hope. He was
an intelligent, kind-hearted little fellow, and I never saw him angry,
though I knew him for more than a year, and have seen him imposed upon
by white people, and abused by insolent officers of vessels. He was
always civil, and always ready, and never forgot a benefit. I once
took care of him when he was ill, getting medicines from the ship's
chests, when no captain or officer would do anything for him, and he
never forgot it. Every Kanaka has one particular friend, whom he
considers himself bound to do everything for, and with whom he has a
sort of contract,—an alliance offensive and defensive,—and for whom
he will often make the greatest sacrifices. This friend they call
aikane; and for such did Hope adopt me. I do not believe I could have
wanted anything which he had, that he would not have given me. In
return for this, I was always his friend among the Americans, and used
to teach him letters and numbers; for he left home before he had
learned how to read. He was very curious about Boston (as they call
the United States); asking many questions about the houses, the people,
etc., and always wished to have the pictures in books explained to him.
They were all astonishingly quick in catching at explanations, and many
things which I had thought it utterly impossible to make them
understand, they often seized in an instant, and asked questions which
showed that they knew enough to make them wish to go farther. The
pictures of steamboats and railroad cars, in the columns of some
newspapers which I had, gave me great difficulty to explain. The
grading of the road, the rails, the construction of the carriages, they
could easily understand, but the motion produced by steam was a little
too refined for them. I attempted to show it to them once by an
experiment upon the cook's coppers, but failed; probably as much from
my own ignorance as from their want of apprehension; and, I have no
doubt, left them with about as clear an idea of the principle as I had
myself. This difficulty, of course, existed in the same force with the
steamboats and all I could do was to give them some account of the
results, in the shape of speed; for, failing in the reason, I had to
fall back upon the fact. In my account of the speed I was supported by
Tom, who had been to Nantucket, and seen a little steamboat which ran
over to New Bedford.</p>
<p>A map of the world, which I once showed them, kept their attention for
hours; those who knew how to read pointing out the places and referring
to me for the distances. I remember being much amused with a question
which Hope asked me. Pointing to the large irregular place which is
always left blank round the poles, to denote that it is undiscovered,
he looked up and asked.—"Pau?" (Done? ended?)</p>
<p>The system of naming the streets and numbering the houses, they easily
understood, and the utility of it. They had a great desire to see
America, but were afraid of doubling Cape Horn, for they suffer much in
cold weather, and had heard dreadful accounts of the Cape, from those
of their number who had been round it.</p>
<p>They smoke a great deal, though not much at a time; using pipes with
large bowls, and very short stems, or no stems at all. These, they
light, and putting them to their mouths, take a long draught, getting
their mouths as full as they can hold, and their cheeks distended, and
then let it slowly out through their mouths and nostrils. The pipe is
then passed to others, who draw, in the same manner, one pipe-full
serving for half a dozen. They never take short, continuous draughts,
like Europeans, but one of these "Oahu puffs," as the sailors call
them, serves for an hour or two, until some one else lights his pipe,
and it is passed round in the same manner. Each Kanaka on the beach had
a pipe, flint, steel, tinder, a hand of tobacco, and a jack-knife,
which he always carried about with him.</p>
<p>That which strikes a stranger most peculiarly is their style of
singing. They run on, in a low, guttural, monotonous sort of chant,
their lips and tongues seeming hardly to move, and the sounds modulated
solely in the throat. There is very little tune to it, and the words,
so far as I could learn, are extempore. They sing about persons and
things which are around them, and adopt this method when they do not
wish to be understood by any but themselves; and it is very effectual,
for with the most careful attention I never could detect a word that I
knew. I have often heard Mr. Mannini, who was the most noted
improvisatore among them, sing for an hour together, when at work in
the midst of Americans and Englishmen; and, by the occasional shouts
and laughter of the Kanakas, who were at a distance, it was evident
that he was singing about the different men that he was at work with.
They have great powers of ridicule, and are excellent mimics; many of
them discovering and imitating the peculiarities of our own people,
before we had seen them ourselves.</p>
<p>These were the people with whom I was to spend a few months; and who,
with the exception of the officer, Nicholas the Frenchman, and the boy,
made the whole population of the beach. I ought, perhaps, to except
the dogs, for they were an important part of our settlement. Some of
the first vessels brought dogs out with them, who, for convenience,
were left ashore, and there multiplied, until they came to be a great
people. While I was on the beach, the average number was about forty,
and probably an equal, or greater number are drowned, or killed in some
other way, every year. They are very useful in guarding the beach, the
Indians being afraid to come down at night; for it was impossible for
any one to get within half a mile of the hide-houses without a general
alarm. The father of the colony, old Sachem, so called from the ship
in which he was brought out, died while I was there, full of years, and
was honorably buried. Hogs, and a few chickens, were the rest of the
animal tribe, and formed, like the dogs, a common company, though they
were all known and marked, and usually fed at the houses to which they
belonged.</p>
<p>I had been but a few hours on the beach, and the Pilgrim was hardly out
of sight, when the cry of "Sail ho!" was raised, and a small
hermaphrodite brig rounded the point, bore up into the harbor, and came
to anchor. It was the Mexican brig Fazio, which we had left at San
Pedro, and which had come down to land her tallow, try it all over, and
make new bags, and then take it in, and leave the coast. They moored
ship, erected their try-works on shore, put up a small tent, in which
they all lived, and commenced operations. They made an addition to our
society, and we spent many evenings in their tent, where, amid the
Babel of English, Spanish, French, Indian, and Kanaka, we found some
words that we could understand in common.</p>
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