 This is Section 55 of Newspaper Articles by Mark Twain. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Newspaper Articles by Mark Twain, Section 55, The Sacramento Daily Union, July 1866. Part 1. The Sacramento Daily Union, July 16, 1866, Honolulu, June 22, 1866. Home again. I have just got back from a three-week cruise on the island of Hawaii and an eventful sojourn of several days at the Great Volcano. But of that trip I will speak hereafter. I am too badly used up to do it now. I only want to write a few lines at present by the live Yankee merely to keep my communications open, as the soldiers say. The Late Princess. I find Hawaiian politics in a state of unusual stir on account of the death of the king's sister. Her royal highness, the Princess Victoria Kamamalu Kahumanu, heir presumptive to the crown. She was something over twenty-seven years old and had never been married, although she was formally betrothed to Prince William and the marriage-day appointed more than once, but circumstances interfered and the nuptials were never consummated. The Princess was a granddaughter of old Kamehameha the Conqueror, and, like all of that stock, was talented. She was the last female descendant of the old warrior. The care of her infancy was confided to Dr. AF, correctly, GP, Judd, afterwards so honorably distinguished in Hawaiian history. Subsequently Honorable John Yee was appointed her guardian by the king. She was carefully educated in the Royal Chief School, which was, at that time, presided over by the earliest friends of the Hawaiians, the American missionaries. It is now in the hands of the gentlemen of the Royal Hawaiian Church, otherwise the Reformed Catholic Church, a sort of nondescript wildcat religion imported here from England. She became an accomplished pianist and vocalist, and for many years sat at the Melodian and led the choir in the Great Stone Church here. From her infancy it was expected that she would one day fill the throne, and therefore great importance was attached to her acts, and they were duly observed and noted as straws calculated to show how the wind would be likely to set in her ultimate official life. Consequently, the strong friendship she manifested for the missionaries was regarded with jealous eye in certain quarters, and frequent attempts were made to diminish her partiality for them. The late Mr. Wiley, or Minister of Foreign Affairs, a native of Scotland, once sent for Honorable Mr. Yee and endeavored to get him to use his influence in dissuading the princess and Mrs. Bishop, a high chiefess, who visited California in the Ajax lately, from further attendance upon the church choirs. He said it was very improper and out of character for princesses to sing in a choir, and that such personages in England would not do such a thing. The effort was fruitless, however. Victoria continued her former course, and remained faithful to her early friends. She was urged to desert them and go over to the reformed Catholic Church, but she steadfastly refused. The princess was distinguished as the founder and perpetual president of a benevolent association called Ahahui Kahumanu, an organization partaking of the benevolent character of free masonry but without its secrecy. It was composed of her countrywomen, and supported by their subscriptions. Its membership was exceedingly numerous, and its ramifications extended all over the several islands of the group. Its objects were to secure careful nursing of its members when sick, and their decent burial after death. The society always formed in procession and followed deceased members to the grave, arrayed in a uniform composed of a white robe and a scarf, which indicated the official rank of the wearer by its colour. The princess was possessed of immense landed estates, and formerly kept up considerable state. She rode in a fine carriage, and had her guards and sentries about her several residences in European fashion. The natives have always been remarkable for the extravagant love and devotion they show toward their chiefs, it almost amounts to worship. When Victoria was a girl of fifteen, she made an excursion through the island of Hawaii, the realm of the ancient founders of her race, with her guardian and a retinue of servants, and was everywhere received with a wild enthusiasm by her people. In Hilo they came in multitudes to the house of the reverend missionary where she was stopping, and brought with them all manner of offerings—poi, tarot, bananas, pigs, fowls—anything they could get hold of which was valuable in their eyes, and many of them stinted and starved themselves for the time being, no doubt, to do this honour to a princess who could not use or carry away the hundredth part of what they lavished upon her. And for hours and even days together the people thronged around the place and wept and chanted their distressing songs, and wailed their agonizing wails, for joy at the return of a loved one, and sorrow at his death, are expressed in precisely the same way with this curious people. Morning for the dead. The princess died on Tuesday May 29th, and on Wednesday the body was conveyed to the king's palace, there to lie in state about four weeks, which is royal custom here. The chamber is still darkened, and its walls and ceilings draped and festooned with solemn black. The corpse is attired in white satin trimmed with lace and ruche, and reposes upon the famous yellow feather war-cloak of the kings of Hawaii. A simple coronet of orange blossoms, interwoven with white feathers, adorns the head that was promised a regal diadem. Six kahili beaters stand upon each side, and these are surrounded by a guard of honor in command of one of the high chiefs. A party of chief women are in constant attendance, and officers of the household troops and of the volunteer forces are on duty about the palace. The old queen dowagers sleeps in the chamber every night, candelabras burn day and night at the head and feet of the corpse, and shed a funereal twilight over it, and over the silent attendance and the dark and dismal symbols of woe. Every evening a new chant, composed by some chief woman several days before, and carefully rehearsed, is sung. All this in the death chamber. Outside on the broad verandas and in the ample palace-yard a multiple of common natives howl and wail, and weep and chant the dreary funeral songs of ancient Hawaii, and dance the strange dance for the dead. Numbers of these people remain there day after day and night after night, sleeping in the open air in the intervals of their morning ceremonies. I am told these things, I have not seen them. The king has ordered that no foreigner shall be permitted to enter the palace gates before the last night previous to the funeral. The reason why this order was issued is, I am told, that the performance at the palace at the time the corpse of the late king lay there in state were criticized and commented upon too freely. These performances were considerably toned down while the missionaries were in power, but under the more liberal regime of the new reformed Catholic dispensation they fell back toward their old-time barbarous character. The gates were thrown open, and everybody went in and saw and heard what may be termed the funeral orgies of the dead king. The term is coarse, but perhaps it is a better one than a milder one would be. And then Scribblers like myself wrote column after column about the matter in the public prints, and the subject was discussed and criticized in private circles and invaded against in the pulpits. All this was harassing and disagreeable to the party's nearest concern, and hence the present order forbidding any but Hawaiian citizens and lenient friends from witnessing the ceremonies. So strong is some people's curiosity, however, that the law has already been violated several times within the past week by strangers who entered the tabooed grounds in disguise. They were discovered, however, and quietly turned out. The deceased princess has lain in state now for more than three weeks. Yet still the nightly wailing goes on in the palace yard, and the crowds of natives who conduct it increases steadily by influx from the other islands, and the lamentations grow more extravagant all the time. The missionary efforts to discourage and break up this weird custom, inherited from the old pagan days, are quietly rebuked in a little advertisement which appears over the signature of the King's Chamberlain in the public papers today, wherein he invites all natives to come to the palace grounds and stay there night and day and take part in the wailing for the departed. That looks like a disposition on the part of the authorities not only to check the progress of civilization, but to go backward a little. THE COFFIN The legislature have appropriated six thousand dollars to defray the funeral expenses of the princess. The obsequies will take place the latter part of next week. I have seen the coffin, it is not quite finished yet, and certainly it is the most elegant piece of burial furniture I ever saw. It is made of those two superb species of native wood, ko and koa. The former is nearly as dark as ebony, the latter is like fine California laurel, richly grained and clouded with mahogany. Both woods have an iron-like hardness and are exceedingly close in grain, and when highly polished and varnished nothing in the shape of wood can be more brilliant, more lustrous, more beautiful. It produces a sort of ecstasy in me to look at it, and holds me like a mesmeric fascination. There is nothing extraordinary about the fashioning, the planning and construction of this coffin, but still it is beautiful. The wood is so splendidly burnished and so gracefully grained and clouded. The silver tablet upon the coffin, upon which is to be inscribed the name and title of the deceased, is to cost five hundred dollars. I go into these minor details to show you that royal state in the Sandwich Islands approaches as near to its European models as the circumstances of the case will admit. How funerals of dead chiefs were celebrated in old times. If a Sandwich Islands missionary comes across a stranger, I think he weighs him and measures him and judges him, in defiance of the injunction to judge not, etc., by an ideal which he has created in his own mind, and if that stranger falls short of that ideal in any particular, the good missionary thinks he falls just that much short of what he ought to be in order to stand a chance for salvation. And with a tranquil simplicity of self-conceit, which is marvellous to a modest man, he honestly believes that the Almighty of a necessity thinks exactly as he does. I violate the injunction to judge not, also. I judge that missionary, but with a modesty which is entitled to some credit, I freely confess that my judgment may err. Now therefore, when I say that the Sandwich Islands missionaries are pious, hard-working, hard-praying, self-sacrificing, hospitable, devoted to the well-being of this people and the interests of Protestantism, bigoted, puritanical, slow, ignorant of all white human nature and natural ways of men, except the remnant of these things that are left in their own class or profession, old-foggy, fifty years behind the age, unchartable toward the weaknesses of the flesh, considering all shortcomings, faults and failings in the light of crimes, and having no mercy and no forgiveness for such. When I say this about the missionaries, I do it with the explicit understanding that it is only my estimate of them, not that of a higher intelligence, nor that of even other sinners like myself. It is only my estimate, and it may fall far short of being a just one. Now after the above free confession of my creed, I think I ought to be allowed to print a word of defence of these missionaries without having that eternal charge of partiality and prejudice launched at me that is generally sure to be discharged at any man here who ventures, in certain quarters, to give them any credit or offer to defend them from ill-natured aspersions. Mr. Staley, my Lord Bishop of Honolulu, who was built into a Lord by the English Bishop of Oxford and shipped over here with a fully equipped, established church in his pocket, has frequently said that the natives of these islands are morally and religiously in a worse condition to-day than they were before the American missionaries ever came here. Now that is not true, and in that respect the statement bears a very strong family likeness to many other of the Bishop's remarks about our missionaries. Our missionaries are our missionaries, and even if they were our devils, I would not want any English prelate to slander them. I will not go into an argument to prove that the natives have been improved by missionary labour, because facts are stronger than argument. Above I have stated how the natives are now singing and wailing every night, clearly enough but innocently and harmlessly, out yonder in the palace-yard for the dead princess. Following is some account of the style of conducting this sort of thing shortly before the traduced missionaries came. I quote from Jarvie's history of the Sandwich Islands. The ceremonies observed on the death of any important personage were exceedingly barbarous. The hair was shaved or cut close, teeth knocked out, and sometimes the ears were mangled. Some tattooed their tongues in a corresponding manner to the other parts of their bodies. Frequently the flesh was cut or burnt, eyes scooped out, and other even more painful personal outrages inflicted. But these usages, however shocking they may appear, were innocent compared with the horrid Saturnalia which immediately followed the death of a chief of the highest rank. Even the most unbounded license prevailed. Law and restraint were cast aside, and the whole people appeared more like demons than human beings. Every vice and crime was allowed. Property was destroyed. Houses fired and old feuds revived and avenged. Gambling, theft, and murder were as open as the day. Clothing was cast aside as a useless encumbrance. Drunkenness and promiscuous prostitution prevailed throughout the land. No women, excepting the widows of the deceased, being exempt from the grossest violation. There was no passion, however lewd, or desire, however wicked, but could be gratified with impunity during the continuance of this period which, happily, from its own violence soon spent itself. No other nation was ever witnessed to a custom which so entirely threw off all moral and legal restraints and incited the evil passions to unresisted riot and wanton debauchery. It is easy to see now that the missionaries have made a better people of this race than they formerly were, and I am satisfied that if that old-time national spree were still a custom of the country, my Lord Bishop would not be in this town today saying hard things about the missionaries. No, his excellent judgment would have impelled him to take to the woods when the princess died. Who shall inherit the throne? The great bulk of the wealth, the commerce, the enterprise and the spirit of progress in the Sandwich Islands, centers in the Americans. Americans own the whaling fleet, they own the great sugar plantations, they own the cattle ranches, they own their share of mercantile depots and the lines of package ships. Whatever of commercial and agricultural greatness the country can boast of, it owes to them. Consequently the question of who is likely to succeed to the crown in case of the death of the present king is an interesting one to American residents and therefore to their countrymen at home. The incumbent of the throne has it in his power to help or hinder them a good deal. The king is not married, and if he dies without leaving an air of his own body or appointing a successor, the crown will be likely to fall upon either his highness Prince William C. Lunalilo or David Calacaua. The former is of the highest blood in the kingdom, higher than the king himself it is said, and Calacaua is descended from the ancient kings of the island of Hawaii. King Keaua, father of Kamehameha the Great, great grandfather of the present king, was also the great great grandfather of Prince William, but from Kamehameha the lines diverge, and if there is any kinship between William and Kamehameha the Fifth it is distant. They both had a common ancestor in King Umi, however, a gentleman who flourished several hundred years ago. Prince William is called eleventh in descent from Umi, and the present king only fourteenth, which confers seniority of birth and rank upon the former, but this subject is tanglesome. Prince William is a man of fine large build. His thirty-one years of age is affable, gentlemanly, open, frank, manly. Is as independent as a lord, and has a spirit and a will like the old conqueror himself. He is intelligent, shrewd, sensible. Is a man of first rate abilities, in fact. He has a right handsome face, and the best nose in the Hawaiian kingdom, white or otherwise. It is a splendid beak, and worth being proud of. He has one most unfortunate fault. He drinks constantly. And it is a great pity, for if he would moderate this appetite or break it off altogether, he could become a credit to himself and his nation. I like this man, and I like his bold independence, and his friendship for and appreciation of the American residence, and I take no pleasure in mentioning this failing of his. If I could print a sermon that would reform him, I would cheerfully do it. David Calacaua Honourable David Calacaua, who at present holds the office of King's Chamberlain, is a man of fine presence, is an educated gentleman, and a man of good abilities. He is approaching forty, I should judge, is thirty-five at any rate. He is conservative, politic, and calculating, makes little display, and does not talk much in the legislature. He is a quiet, dignified, sensible man, and would do no discredit to the kingly office. The king has power to appoint his successor. If he does such a thing, his choice will probably fall on Calacaua. In case the king should die without making provision for a successor, it would be the duty of the legislature to select the king from among the dozen high chiefs, male and female, who are eligible under the Hawaiian Constitution. Under these circumstances, if Prince William were thoroughly redeemed from his besetting sin, his chances would be about even with Calacaua's. Funeral Music It is two o'clock in the morning, and I have just been up toward the palace to hear some of the singing of the numerous well-born watchers of both sexes, who are standing guard in the Chamber of Death. The voices were very pure and rich, and blended together without harshness or discord, and the music was exceedingly plaintive and beautiful. I would have been glad enough to get closer. When the plebeians outside the building resumed their distressing noise I came away. In the distance I hear them as if yet poor, simple, loving, faithful, Christian savages. Post-Script The Swallow arrived here on Monday morning with Anson Burlingame, United States minister to China, and General Van Valkenburg, United States minister to Japan. Their stay is limited to fourteen days, but a strong effort will be made to persuade them to break that limit and pass the Fourth of July here. They are paying and receiving visits constantly, of course, and are cordially welcomed. Burlingame is a man who would be esteemed, respected, and popular anywhere, no matter whether he were among Christians or cannibals. The people are expecting McCook, our new minister to these islands every day. Whartonby and Mackie, of Nevada, California, arrived here in the last vessel and will start back in a week or two. They came merely for recreation. Several San Franciscans have come to Honolulu to locate permanently. Among them Dr. A. C. Buffam. He has a fair and growing practice. Judge Jones is another. He has already more law practice on his hands than he can well attend to, and lastly J.J. Ayres, late one of the proprietors of the morning call, has arrived, with material for starting a newspaper and job office. He has not made up his mind yet, however, to try the experiment of a newspaper here. Sanford, last chief engineer of the Ajax, came in the last vessel and proposes to settle in the islands, perhaps in the sugar line. He has gone to Maui to see what the chances are in that deservedly famous sugar-producing region. A letter arrived here yesterday morning, giving a meager account of the arrival on the island of Hawaii of nineteen poor, starving wretches who had been buffeting a stormy sea in an open boat for forty-three days. Their ship, the Hornet from New York, with a quantity of kerosene on board, had taken fire and burned in latitude two degrees north and longitude one hundred and thirty-five degrees west. Think of their sufferings for forty-three days and nights, exposed to the scorching heat of the center of the torrid zone, and at the mercy of a ceaseless storm. When they had been entirely out of provisions for a day or two and the cravings of hunger became insupportable, they yielded to the shipwrecked mariner's final and fearful alternative, and solemnly drew lots to determine who of their number should die to furnish food for his comrades. And then the morning mists lifted and they saw a land, they are being cared for at San Pohoihoi, Laopa Hoihoi, a little seaside station I spent a night at two weeks ago. This boatload was in charge of the captain of the Hornet. He reports that the remainder of the persons in his ship, twenty in number, left her in two boats, under command of the first and second mates, and the three boats kept company until the night of the nineteenth day when they got separated. No further particulars have arrived here yet, and no confirmation of the above sad story. DINNER TO THE ENVOYS The American citizens of Honolulu, anxious to show to their distinguished visitors the honor and respect do them, have invited them to partake of a dinner upon some occasion before their departure. Burlingame and General Van Valkenburg have accepted the invitation, and will inform the committee this evening what day will best suit their convenience. MARK TWAIN END OF SECTION 55 This is Section 56 of Newspaper Articles by Mark Twain. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Newspaper Articles by Mark Twain, Section 56, the Sacramento Daily Union, July 1866, Part II. The Sacramento Daily Union, July 19, 1866. Burning of the Clippership Hornet at Sea. Detailed account of the sufferings of officers and crew, as given by the third officer and members of the crew. Honolulu, June 25, 1866. In the post-script to a letter which I wrote two or three days ago, and sent by the ship Live Yankee, I gave you the substance of a letter received here from Hilo by Walker Allen and Company, informing them that a boat containing fifteen men, in a helpless and starving condition, had drifted ashore at Laupahoehoe, Island of Hawaii, and that they had belonged to the Clippership Hornet, Mitchell Master, and had been afloat on the ocean since the burning of that vessel, about one hundred miles north of the equator, on the third of May, forty-three days. The third maid and ten of the seaman have arrived here and are now in the hospital. Captain Mitchell, one seaman named Antonio Pacine, and two passengers, Samuel and Henry Ferguson of New York City, young gentlemen, aged respectively, eighteen and twenty-eight, are still at Hilo, but are expected here within the week. In the captain's modest epitome of this terrible romance, which you have probably published, you detect the fine old hero through it. It reads like Grant. THE THIRD MATE I have talked with the seaman and with John S. Thomas' third mate, but their accounts are so nearly alike in all substantial points that I will merely give the officer's statement and weave into it such matters as the men mentioned in the way of incidents, experiences, emotions, etc. Thomas is very intelligent, and a very cool and self-possessed young man, and seems to have kept a pretty accurate log of his remarkable voyage in his head. He told his story, of three hours' length, in a plain, straightforward way, and with no attempt at display, and no straining after effect. Wherever any incident may be noted in this paper, where any individual has betrayed any emotion or enthusiasm, or has departed from strict stoical self-possession, or had a solitary thought that was not an utterly unpoetical and essentially practical one, remember that Thomas, the third mate, was not that person. He has been eleven days on shore, and already looks sufficiently sound and healthy to pass almost anywhere without being taken for an invalid. He has the marks of a hard experience about him, though, when one looks closely. He is very much sunburned and weather-beaten, and looks thirty-two years old. He is only twenty-four, however, and has been a sailor fifteen years. He was born in Richmond, Maine, and still considers that place his home. The following is the substance of what Thomas said. The Hornet left New York on the fifteenth of January last, unusually well manned, fitted, and provisioned, as fast and as handsome a clippership as ever sailed out of that port. She had a general cargo, a little of everything, a large quantity of kerosene oil and barrels, several hundred cases of candles, also four hundred tons Pacific Railroad iron, and three engines. The third mate thinks they were dock engines, and one of the seamen thought they were locomotives. Had no gales and no bad weather, nothing but fine sailing weather, and she went along steadily and well, fast, very fast, in fact. Had uncommonly good weather off Cape Horn, he had been around that Cape seven times each way, and had never seen such fine weather there before. On the twelfth of April, in latitude, say, thirty-five south and longitude ninety-five west, signaled a Prussian bark. She set Prussian ensign, and the Hornet responded with her name, expressed by means of merit system of signals. She was sailing west, probably bound for Australia. This was the last vessel ever seen by the Hornet's people, until they floated ashore at Hawaii in the longboat, a space of sixty-four days. The ship on fire. At seven o'clock on the morning of the third of May, the chief mate and two men started down into the hold to draw some bright varnish from a cask. The captain told him to bring the cask on deck, that it was dangerous to have it where it was in the hold. The mate, instead of obeying the order, proceeded to draw a can full of the varnish first. He had an open light in his hand, and the liquid took fire. The can was dropped. The officer in his consternation neglected to close the bung, and in a few seconds the fiery torrent had run in every direction, under bales of rope, cases of candles, barrels of kerosene, and all sorts of freight, and tongues of flame were shooting upward through every aperture and crevice toward the deck. The ship was moving along under easy sail. The watch on duty were idling here and there in such shade as they could find, and the listlessness and repose of mourning in the tropics was upon the vessel and her belongings. But as six bells chimed, the cry of fire rang through the ship, and woke every man to life and action. And following the fearful warning, and almost as fleetly came the fire itself, it sprang through hatchways, seized upon chairs, tables, cordage, anything, everything. And almost before the bewildered men could realize what the trouble was and what was to be done, the cabin was a hell of angry flames. The main mast was on fire, its rigging was burnt asunder. One man said all this had happened within eighteen or twenty minutes after the first alarm. Two others say, in ten minutes. All say that one hour after the alarm the main and mizzen masks were burned in two and fell overboard. Captain Mitchell ordered the three boats to be launched instantly, which was done, and so hurriedly that the long boat, the one he left the vessel in himself, had a hole as large as a man's head stove in her bottom. A blanket was stuffed into the opening and fastened to its place. Not a single thing was saved except such food and other articles as to lay about the cabin and could be quickly seized and thrown on deck. Thomas was sent into the long boat to receive its proportion of these things, and, being barefooted at the time, and bareheaded, and having no clothing on save an undershirt and pantaloons, of course he never got a chance afterward to add to his dress. He lost everything he had including his log-book, which he had faithfully kept from the first. Forty minutes after the fire alarm the provisions and the passengers were on board the three boats and they rode away from the ship, and to some distance too, for the heat was very great. Twenty minutes afterward the two masks I have mentioned, with their rigging and their broad sheets of canvas wreathed in flames, crashed into the sea. All night long the thirty-one unfortunate sat in their frail boats and watched the gallant ship burn, and felt his men feel when they see a tried friend perishing, and are powerless to help him. The sea was illuminated for miles around, and the clouds above were tinged with a ruddy hue. The faces of the men glowed in the strong light as they shaded their eyes with their hands, and peered out anxiously upon the wild picture, and the gunnels of the boats and the idle oars shone like polished gold. At five o'clock on the morning after the disaster, in latitude two degrees, twenty minutes north, longitude one hundred and twelve degrees, eight minutes west, the ship went down, and the crew of the Hornet were alone, on the great deep, or as one of the seamen expressed it, we felt as if somebody or something had gone away, as if we hadn't any home any more. Captain Mitchell divided his boats' crew into two watches, and gave the third mate charge of one and took the other himself. He had saved a studying sail from the ship, and out of this the men fashioned a rude sail with their knives. They hoisted it, and taking the first and second mate's boats in tow, they bore away upon the ship's course, north-west, and kept in the track of vessels bound to or from San Francisco in the hope of being picked up. Their water, provisions, etc. I have said that in the few minutes time allowed him Captain Mitchell was only able to seize upon the few articles of food and other necessaries that happened to lie about the cabin. Here is the list. Four hams, seven pieces of salt-pork, each piece weighed about four pounds, one box of raisins, one hundred pounds of bread, about one barrel, twelve two-pound cans of oysters, clams and assorted meats, six buckets of raw potatoes, which rotted so fast they got but little benefit from them. A keg with four pounds of butter in it, twelve gallons of water in a forty-gallon tears, or scuttle-butt, four one-gallon demi-jons full of water, three bottles of brandy, the property of passengers, some pipes, matches, and a hundred pounds of tobacco, had no medicines. That was all these poor fellows had to live on for forty-three days, the whole thirty-one of them. Each boat had a compass, a quadrant, a copy of Bowditch's navigator, and a nautical almanac, and the captain's and chief mate's boat had chronometers. Rations Of course all hands were put on short allowance at once. The day they set sail from the ship, each man was allowed a small morsel of salt-pork, or a little piece of potato if he preferred it, and half a sea-biscuit three times a day. To understand how very light this ration of bread was, it is only necessary to know that it takes seven of these sea-biscuits to weigh a pound. The first two days they only allowed one gill of water a day to each man, but for nearly a fortnight after that the weather was lowering and stormy, and frequent rain-squalls occurred. The rain was caught in canvas, and whenever there was a shower, the forty-gallon cask and every other vessel that would hold water was filled. Even all the boots that were watertight were pressed into this service, except such as the matches and tobacco were deposited in to keep dry. So for fourteen days. There were luxurious occasions, when there was plenty of water to drink, but after that how they suffered the agonies of thirst for four long weeks. Hoping Against Hope For seven days the boat sailed on, and the starving men ate their fragment of biscuit and their morsel of raw pork in the morning, and hungrily counted the tedious hours until noon and night should bring their repetitions of it. And in the long intervals they looked mutely into each other's faces, or turned their wistful eyes across the wild sea in search of the suckering sail that was never to come. "'Didn't you talk?' I asked one of the men. "'No. We were too down-hearted, that is, the first week or more. We didn't talk. We only looked at each other and over the ocean, and thought, I suppose, thought of home, of shelter from storms, of food and drink and rest. The hope of being picked up hung to them constantly, was ever present to them and in their thoughts like hunger. And in the captain's mind was the hope of making the clarion islands, and he clung to it many a day. The nights were very dark, they had no lantern and could not see the compass, and there were no stars to steer by. Thomas said, of the boat, she handled easy, and we steered by the feel of the wind in our faces and the heave of the sea. Dark and dismal and lonesome work was that. Sometimes they got a fleeting glimpse of the sailor's friend, the North Star, and then they lighted a match and hastened anxiously to see if their compass was faithful to them, for it had to be placed close to an iron ring-bolt in the stern, and they were afraid during those first nights that this might cause it to vary. It proved true to them, however. Sumptuous fair. On the fifth day a notable incident occurred. They caught a dolphin, and while their enthusiasm was still at its highest over this stroke of good fortune, they captured another. They made a trifling fire in a tin plate and warmed the prizes, to cook them was not possible, and divided them equitably among all hands and ate them. On the sixth day two more dolphins were caught. Two more were caught on the seventh day, and also a small bonita, and they began to believe they were always going to live in this extravagant way, but it was not to be. These were their last dolphins, and they never could get another bonita, though they saw them and longed for them often afterward. Rations Reduced On the eighth day the rations were reduced by one-half, thus breakfast one-fourth of a biscuit, an ounce of ham and a gill of water to each man, dinner same quantity of bread and water, and four oysters or clams, supper, water and bread the same, and twelve large raisins or fourteen small ones to a man. Also during the first twelve or fifteen days each man had one spoonful of brandy a day, then it gave out. This day, as one of the men was gazing across the dull waste of waters as usual, he saw a small dark object rising and falling upon the waves. He called attention to it, and in a moment every eye was bent upon it in intensest interest. When the boat had approached a little nearer it was discovered that it was a small green turtle fast asleep. Every noise was hushed as they crept upon the unconscious slumberer. Directions were given, and hopes and fears expressed in guarded whispers, at the fatal moment, a moment of tremendous consequence to these famishing men. The experts selected for the high and responsible office, stretched forth his hand, while his excited comrades baited their breath and trembled for the success of the enterprise, and seized the turtle by the hind leg and handed him aboard. His delicate flesh was carefully divided among the party and eagerly devoured, after being warmed, like the dolphins which went before him. The boats separate. After the eighth day I have ten days unaccounted for. No notes of them save that the men say they had their two or three ounces of food and their gill of water three times a day, and then the same weary watching for a saving sail by day and by night, and the same sad hope deferred that Maketh the heart sick was their monotonous experience. They talked more, however, and the captain laboured without ceasing to keep them cheerful. They have always a word of praise for the old man. The eighteenth day was a memorable one to the wanderers on the lonely sea. On that day the boats parted company. The captain said that separate from each other there were three chances for the saving of some of the party where there could be but one chance if they kept together. The magnanimity and utter unselfishness of Captain Mitchell, through his example the same conduct in his men, throughout this distressing voyage, are among its most amazing features. No disposition was ever shown by the strong to impose upon the weak, and no greediness, no desire on the part of any, to get more than his just share of food, was ever evinced. On the contrary, they were thoughtful of each other and all was ready to care for and assist each other to the utmost of their ability. When the time came to part company, Captain Mitchell and his crew, although theirs was much more the numerous party, fifteen men to nine and seven respectively in the other boats, took only one-third of the meager amount of provision still left, and passed over the other two-thirds to be divided up between the other crews. These men could starve, if need be, but they seem not to have known how to be mean. To the division the Captain had left for his boat's share two-thirds of the ham, one-fourth of a box of raisins, half a bucket of biscuit crumbs, fourteen gallons of water, three cans of soup and bully. That last expression of the third mates occurred frequently during his narrative, and bothered me so painfully with its mysterious incomprehensibility that at length I begged him to explain to me what this dark and dreadful soup and bully might be. With the consul's assistance he finally made me understand the French dish known as soup bouillon, is put up in cans like preserved meats, and the American sailor is under the impression that its name is a sort of general tide which describes any description of edible whatever, which is hermetically sealed in a tin vessel. And with that high contempt for trifling conventionalities which distinguishes his class, he has seen fit to modify the pronunciation into soup and bully. Mark. The Captain told the mates he was still going to try to make the Clarion Isles, and that they could imitate his example if they thought best, but he wished them to freely follow the dictates of their own judgment in the matter. At eleven o'clock in the four noon the boats were all cast loose from each other, and then, as friends part from friends whom they expect to meet no more in life, all hands hailed with a fervent, God bless you boys, good-bye, and the two cherished sails drifted away and disappeared from the longing gaze that followed them so sorrowfully. Another capture. On the afternoon of this eventful eighteenth day two boobies were caught, a bird about as large as a duck, but all bone and feathers, not as much meat as there is on a pigeon, not nearly so much the men say. They eat them raw, bones, entrails, and everything. No single morsel was wasted. They were carefully apportioned among the fifteen men. No fire could be built for cooking purposes, the wind was so strong and the sea ran so high that it was all a man could do to light his pipe. A good friend gone. At eventide the wanderers missed a cheerful spirit, a plucky, strong-hearted fellow who never drooped his head or lost his grip, a staunch and true good friend who was always at his post in storm or calm, in rain or shine, who scorned to say die and yet was never afraid to die, a little trim and taut old rooster he was who starved with rest, but came on watch in the stern sheets promptly every day at four in the morning and six in the evening for eighteen days and crowed like a maniac. Right well they named him Richard the Lionheart. One of the men said with honest feeling, as true as I'm a man, Mr. Mark Twain, if that rooster was here to-day and any man dared to abuse the bird, I'd break his neck. Richard was esteemed by all. And by all his rites were respected. He received his little ration of breadcrumbs every time the men were fed, and, like them, he bore up bravely and never grumbled and never gave way to despair. As long as he was strong enough he stood in the stern sheets or mounted the gunnel as regularly as his watch came round and crowed his two-hour talk, and when at last he grew feeble in the legs and had to stay below, his heart was still stout and he slapped about in the water on the bottom of the boat and crowed as bravely as ever. He felt that under circumstances like these America expects every rooster to do his duty, and he did it. But is it not to the high honour of that boat's crew of starving men that, tortured day and night by the pangs of hunger as they were, they refused to appease them with the blood of their humble comrade? Richard was transferred to the chief mate's boat and sailed away on the eighteenth day. The third mate does not remember distinctly, but thinks morning and evening prayers were begun on the nineteenth day. They were conducted by one of the young Fergusons, because the captain could not read the prayer-book without his spectacles, and they had been burned with the ship. And ever after this date, at the rising and setting of the sun, the storm-tossed mariners reverently bowed their heads while prayers went up for they that are helpless and far at sea. An incident. On the morning of the twenty-first day, while some of the crew were dozing on the thorps, and others were buried in reflection, one of the men suddenly sprang to his feet and cried, A SALE! A SALE! Of course, sluggish blood bounded then, and eager eyes were turned to seek the welcome vision. But disappointment was their portion as usual. It was only the chief mate's boat drifting across their path after three days' absence. In a short time the two parties were abreast each other and in hailing distance. They talked twenty minutes, the mate reported all well, and then sailed away, and they never saw him afterward. Further Reduction of Rations. On the twenty-fourth day Captain Mitchell took an observation and found that he was in latitude sixteen degrees north and longitude a hundred and seventeen degrees west, about one thousand miles from where his vessel was burned. The hope he had cherished so long that he would be able to make the clarion aisles deserted him at last, he could only go before the wind, and he was now obliged to attempt the best thing the southeast trades could do for him, blow him to the American group, or the sandwich islands, and therefore he reluctantly and with many misgivings turned his prow towards those distant archipelagos. Not many mouthfuls of food were left, and these must be economized. The third mate said that under this new program of proceedings we could see that we were living too high. We had got to let up on them raisins or the soup and bullies, one, because it stood to reason that we weren't going to make land soon, and so they wouldn't last. It was a matter which had few humorous features about it to them, and yet a smile is almost pardonable at this idea so gravely expressed of living high on fourteen raisins at a meal. The rations remained the same as fixed on the eighth day except that only two meals a day were allowed, and occasionally the raisins and oysters were left out. What these men suffered during the next three weeks no mortal man may hope to describe. Their stomachs and intestines felt to the grasp like a couple of small, tough balls, and the gnawing hunger pains and the dreadful thirst that was consuming them in those burning latitudes became almost insupportable. And yet, as the men say, the captain said funny things and talked cheerful talk until he got them to conversing freely, and then they used to spend hours together describing delicious dinners they had eaten at home, and earnestly planning interminable and preposterous bills of fare for dinners they were going to eat on shore, if they ever lived through their troubles to do it, poor fellows. The captain said plain bread and butter would be good enough for him all the days of his life, if he could only get it. But the saddest things were the dreams they had. An unusually intelligent young sailor named Cox said, In those long days and nights we dreamed all the time, not that we ever slept. I don't mean—no, we only sort of dozed. Three-fourths of the faculties awake, and the other fourth benumbed into the counterfeit of a slumber. Oh no, some of us never slept for twenty-three days, and no man ever saw the captain asleep for upward of thirty. But we barely dozed that way, and dreamed, and all was of such feasts, bread, and fowls, and meat. Everything a man could think of piled upon long tables, and smoking hot, and we sat down and seized upon the first dish in our reach, like ravenous wolves, and carried it to our lips, and—and then we woke up and found the same starving comrades about us, and the vacant sky and the dussel at sea. These things are terrible even to think of. Rations still further reduced. It even startles me to come across that significant heading so often in my notebook, notwithstanding I have grown so familiar with its sound by talking so much with these unfortunate men. On the twenty-eighth day the rations were one teaspoon full of breadcrumbs, and about an ounce of ham for the morning-meal, a spoonful of breadcrumbs alone for the evening-meal, and one gill of water three times a day. A kitten would perish eventually under such sustenance. At this point the third mate's mind reverted painfully to an incident of the early stages of their sufferings. He said there were two between decks, on board the Hornet, who had been lying there sick and helpless for he didn't know how long. But when the ship took fire they turned out as lively as any one under the spur of the excitement. One was a Portugese, he said, and all was of a hungry disposition. When all the provisions that could be got had been broad laughed and deposited near the wheel to be lowered into the boats, that sick Portugese watched his chance, and when nobody was looking he harnessed the provisions and ate up nearly a quarter of the barrel of bread before the old man caught him, and he had more than two notions to put his lights out. The third mate dwelt up on this circumstance as upon a wrong he could not fully forgive, and intimated that the Portugese stole bread enough, if economized in twenty-eighth day rations, to have run the long boat party three months. They capture a prize. Four little flying fish, the size of the sardines of these latter days, flew into the boat on the night of the twenty-eighth day. They were divided among all hands and devoured raw. On the twenty-ninth day they caught another, and divided it into fifteen pieces, less than a teaspoon full apiece. On the thirtieth day they caught a third flying fish, and gave it to the revered old captain, a fish of the same poor little proportions as the others, four inches long. A present a king might be proud of under such circumstances. A present, whose value in the eyes of the men who offered it, was not to be found in the Bank of England, yea, whose vaults were notable to contain it. The old captain refused to take it. The man insisted. The captain said no, he would take his fifteenth. They must take the remainder. They said in substance, though not in words, that they would see him in Jericho first, so the captain had to eat the fish. I believe I have done the third mate some little wrong in the beginning of this letter. I have said he was as self-possessed as a statue, that he never betrayed emotion or enthusiasm. He never did except when he spoke of the old man. It all was thawed through his ice then. The men were the same way. The captain is their hero, their true and faithful friend, whom they delight to honour. I said to one of these infatuated skeletons, but you wouldn't go quite so far as to die for him, a snap of the finger. As quick as that! I wouldn't be alive now if it hadn't been for him. We pursued the subject no further. Those still further reduced. I still claim the public's indulgence and belief, at least Thomas and his men do through me. About the thirty-second day the bread gave entirely out. There was nothing left now, but mere odds and ends of their stock of provisions. Five days afterward, on the thirty-seventh day, latitude sixteen degrees, thirty minutes north, and longitude a hundred and seventy degrees west, kept off for the American group, which don't exist and never will, I suppose, said the third mate, ran directly over the ground, said to be occupied by these islands, i.e., between latitude sixteen degrees and seventeen degrees north, and longitude a hundred and thirty-three degrees to a hundred and thirty-six degrees west, ran over the imaginary islands, and got into a hundred and thirty-six degrees west, and then the captain made a dash for Hawaii, resolving that he would go till he fetched land, or at any rate, as long as he and his men survived. The last ration. On Monday, the thirty-eighth day after the disaster, we had nothing left, said the third mate, but a pound and a half of ham, the bone was a good deal the heaviest part of it, and one soup and bully tin. These things were divided among the fifteen men, and they ate it all, two ounces of food to each man. I do not count the ham bone, as that was saved for the next day. For some time now the poor wretches had been cutting their old boots into small pieces and eating them. They would also pound wet rags to a sort of pulp, and eat them. Starvation Fair. On the thirty-ninth day the ham bone was divided up into rations, and scraped with knives and eaten. I said, You say the two sick men remain sick all through, and after a while two or three had to be relieved from standing watch? How did you get along without medicines? The reply was, Oh, we couldn't have kept them if we'd had them. If we'd had boxes of pills or anything like that, we'd have eaten them. It was just as well. We couldn't have kept them, and we couldn't have given them to the sick men alone. We'd have shared them around all alike, I guess. It was said rather in jest, but it was a pretty true jest, no doubt. After apportioning the ham bone, the captain cut the canvas cover that had been around the ham into fifteen equal pieces, and each man took his portion. This was the last division of food that the captain made. The men broke up the small, oaken butter-tub and divided the staves among themselves and gnawed them up. The shell of the little green turtle, here to fore mentioned, was scraped with knives and eaten to the last shaving. The third mate chewed pieces of boot and spit them out, but ate nothing except the soft straps of two pairs of boots, ate three on the thirty-ninth day and saved one for the fortieth. The awful alternative. The men seemed to have thought in their own minds of the shipwrecked mariner's last dreadful resort, cannibalism, but they do not appear to have conversed about it. They only thought of the casting lots and killing one of their number as a possibility, but even when they were eating rags and bone and boots and shell and hard oak wood, they seemed to have still had a notion that it was remote. They felt that some one of the company must die soon, which one they well knew, and during the last three or four days of their terrible voyage they were patiently but hungrily waiting for him. I wonder if the subject of these anticipations knew what they were thinking of. He must have known it. He must have felt it. They had even calculated how long he would last. They said to themselves, but not to each other, I think they said, He will die Saturday, and then. There was one exception to the spirit of delicacy I have mentioned, a Frenchman, who kept an eye of strong personal interest upon the sinking man, and noted his failing strength with untiring care and some degree of cheerfulness. He frequently said to Thomas, I think he will go off pretty soon now, sir, and then we'll eat him. This is very sad. Thomas and also several of the men state that the sick Portuguese, during the five days that they were entirely out of provisions, actually ate two silk handkerchiefs and a couple of cotton shirts, besides his share of the boots and bones and lumber. The Captain's Birthday Captain Mitchell was fifty-six years old on the twelfth of June, the fortieth day after the burning of the ship, and the third day before the boat's crew reached land. He said it looked somewhat as if it might be the last one he was going to enjoy. He had no birthday feast, except some bits of ham, canvas, no luxury but this, and no substantial's save the leather and oaken bucket-staves. Speaking of the leather diet, one of the men told me he was obliged to eat a pair of boots which were so old and rotten that they were full of holes. And then he smiled gently and said, he didn't know, though, but what the holes tasted about as good as the balance of the boot. This man was still very feeble, and after saying this, he went to bed. LAND HO At eleven o'clock on the fifteenth of June, after suffering all that men may suffer and live for forty-three days in an open boat on a scorching tropical sea, one of the men feebly shouted the glad tidings LAND HO. The watch below were lying in the bottom of the boat. What do you suppose they did? They said they had been cruelly disappointed over and over again, and they dreaded to risk another experience of the kind. They could not bear it. They lay still where they were. They said they would not trust to an appearance that might not be land after all. They would wait. Shortly it was proven beyond question that they were almost to land. Then there was joy in the party. One man is said to have swooned away, another said the sight of the green hills was better to him than a day's rations—a strange figure for a man to use who had been fasting for forty days and forty nights. The land was the island of Hawaii, and they were off and could see nothing in shore but breakers. I was there a week or two ago, and it is a very dangerous place. When they got pretty close to shore they saw cabins, but no human beings. They thought they would lower the sail and try to work in with the oars. They cut the ropes and the sail came down, and then they found they were not strong enough to ship the oars. They drifted helplessly toward the breakers, but looked listlessly on and cared not a straw for the violent death which seemed about to overtake them after all their manful struggles, their privations, and their terrible sufferings. They said it was good to see the green fields again. It was all they cared for. The green fields were a haven of rest for the weary wayfarers. It was sufficient. They were satisfied. It was nothing to them that death stood in their pathway. They had long been familiar to him. He had no terrors for them. Two of Captain Spencer's natives saw the boat, knew by the appearance of things that it was in trouble, and dashed through the surf and swam out to it. When they climbed aboard there were only five yards of space between the poor sufferers and a sudden and violent death. Fifteen minutes afterward the boat was beached upon the shore and a crowd of natives, who are the very incarnation of generosity and selfishness and hospitality, were around the strangers, dumping bananas, melons, taro, poi, anything and everything they could scrape together that could be eaten, on the ground by the cartload, and if Mr. Jones of the station had not hurried down with his steward they would soon have killed the starving man with kindness. As it was the sick Portugese really ate six bananas before Jones could get a hold of him and stop him. This is a fact, and so are the stories of his previous exploits. Jones and the Kanaka girls and men took the mariners in their arms like so many children and carried them up to the house, where they received kind and judicious attention until Sunday evening when two whale-boats came from Hilo, Jones furnished a third, and they were taken in these to the town just named, arriving there at two o'clock Monday morning. Each of the young Ferguson's kept a journal from the day the ship sailed from New York until they got on land once more at Hawaii. The captain also kept a log every day he was adrift. These logs, by the captain's direction, were to be kept up faithfully as long as any of the crew were alive, and the last survivor was to put them in a bottle when he succumbed, and lashed the bottle to the inside of the boat. The captain gave a bottle to each officer of the other boats, with orders to follow his example. The old gentleman was always thoughtful. The hardest berth in that boat, I think, must have been that of provision-keeper. This office was performed by the captain and the third mate. Of course, they were always hungry. They always had access to the food, and yet must not gratify their craving appetites. The young Ferguson's are very highly spoken of by all the boat's crew as patient, enduring, manly and kind-hearted gentlemen. The captain gave them a watch to themselves. It was the duty of each to bail the water out of the boat three hours a day. Their home is in Stamford, Connecticut, but their father's place of business is New York. In the chief mate's boat was a passenger, a gentlemanly young fellow of twenty years, named William Lang, son of a stockbroker in New York. The chief mate, Samuel Hardy, lived in Chatham, Massachusetts. Second mate belonged in Shields, England. The cook, George Washington, Negro, was in the chief mate's boat, and also the steward, Negro. The carpenter was in the second mate's boat. CAPTAIN MITCHELL To this man's good sense, cool judgment, perfect discipline, close attention to the smallest particulars which could conduce to the welfare of his crew, or render their ultimate rescue more probable, that boat's crew owe their lives. He has shown brain and ability that make him worthy to command the finest frigate in the United States, and a genuine unassuming heroism that should entitle him to a congressional medal. I suppose some of the citizens of San Francisco who know how to appreciate this kind of a man will not let him go on hungry forever after he gets there. In the above remarks I am only echoing the expressed opinions of numbers of persons here who have never seen Captain Mitchell, but who judge him by his works. Among others, Honorable Anson Burlingame, and our minister to Japan, both of whom have called at the hospital several times, and held long conversations with the men. Burlingame speaks in terms of the most unqualified praise of Captain Mitchell's high and distinguished abilities, as evinced at every point throughout his wonderful voyage. THE SICK Captain Mitchell, one sailor, and the two Ferguson's are still at Hilo. The two first mentioned are pretty feeble from what I can learn. The Captain's sense of responsibility kept him strong and awake all through the voyage, but as soon as he landed, and that fearful strain upon his faculties was removed, he was prostrated, became the feeblest of the boat's company. The sea men here are doing remarkably well, considering all things. They already walk about the hospital a little, and very stiff-legged, because of the long inaction their muscles have experienced. When they came ashore at Hawaii, no man in the party had had any movement of his bowels for eighteen days, several not for twenty-five or thirty, one not for thirty-seven, and one not for forty-four days, as soon as any of the men can travel they will be sent to San Francisco. I have written this lengthy letter in a great hurry in order to get it off by the bark Milton Badger, if the thing be possible, and I may have made a good many mistakes, but I hardly think so. All the statistical information in it comes from Thomas, and he may have made mistakes, because he tells his story entirely from memory, and although he has naturally a most excellent one, it might well be pardoned for inaccuracies concerning events which transpired during a series of weeks that never saw his mind strongly fixed upon any thought save the weary longing for food and water. But the log-books of the captain and the two passengers will tell the terrible romance from the first day to the last in faithful detail, and these I shall forward by the next mail if I am permitted to copy them. Mark Twain. The Sacramento Daily Union, July 30, 1866, Honolulu, June 30, 1866. A Month of Morning. For a little more than a month, the late Princess, her Royal Highness Victoria Kamamalu Kahumanu, heir presumptive to the Crown and sister to the King, lay in state at Iolani Palace, the royal residence. For a little over a month, troops of natives of both sexes, drawn here from the several islands by the Great Event, have thronged past my door every evening on their way to the Palace. Every night and all night long, for more than thirty days, multitudes of these strange mourners have burned their candle-nut torches in the royal enclosure, and sung their funeral dirges, and danced their hula-hulas, and wail their harrowing wail for the dead. All this time we strangers have been consumed with curiosity to look within those walls, and see the pagan deviltry that was going on there. But the thing was taboo—forbidden. We get our word taboo from the Hawaiian language. To foreigners, how are this? The grounds were thrown open to everybody the first night, but several rowdy white people acted so unbecomingly, so shamefully, in fact, that the King placed a strict taboo upon their future admittance. I was absent on the island of Hawaii, Maui, at that time, and so I lost that one single opportunity to gratify my curiosity in this matter. Last night was to behold the grand finale, and as much as the obsequies were to transpire to-day, and therefore I was a good deal gratified to learn that a few foreigners would be allowed to enter a side gate and view the performances in the palace yard from the veranda of Dr. Hutchinson's house, Minister of the Interior. I got there at a little after eight p.m. White scene in the palace grounds. The veranda we occupied overlooked the royal grounds, and afforded an excellent view of the two thousand or twenty-five hundred natives sitting densely packed together in the glare of the torches between our position and the palace a hundred feet in front of us. It was a wild scene. Those long rows of eager, dusky faces with the light upon them, the band of hula girls in the center showily attired in white bodices and pink skirts, and with wreaths of pink and white flowers and garlands of green leaves about their heads, and the strongly illuminated torch-bearers scattered far and near at intervals through the large assemblage and standing up conspicuously above the masses of sitting forms. Light enough found its way to the broad verandas of the palace to enable us to see whatever transpired upon them with considerable distinctness. We could see nothing there, however, except two or three native sentries in red uniforms with gleaming muskets in their hands. Presently someone said, "'Oh, there's the king! Where?' "'There! On the veranda! Now he's just passing that—' "'No! It's that blasted Harris!' That isn't really his Christian name, but he is usually called by that or a stronger one. I state this by way of explanation. This is the Minister of Finance and Attorney General, and I don't know how many other things. He has three marked points. He is not a second Solomon. He is as vain as a peacock. He is as cheeky as—however, there is no simile for his cheek. In the legislature, the other day, the speaker was trying to see to refractory member. The member knew he was strictly in order, though, and that his only crime was his opposition to the ministry, and so he refused to sit down. Harris whispered to the interpreter, "'Tell the speaker to let me have the chair a moment.'" The speaker vacated his place. Harris stepped into it, wrapped fiercely with the gavel, scowled imperiously upon the intrepid commoner and ordered him to sit down. The man declined to do it. Harris commanded the sergeant at arms to seat him. After a trial, that officer said the bold representative of the people refused to permit him to seat him. Harris ordered the sergeant to take the man out of the house, remove him by force. Sensation, tempest, I should rather say. The poor, humbled and brow-beaten country members threw off their fears for the moment and became men, and from every part of the house they shouted, "'Come out of that chair! Leave that place! Put him out! Put out the—' I have forgotten the Hawaiian phrase, but it is equivalent to miserable dog. And this terrible man, who was going to perform such wonders, vacated the speaker's chair and went meekly back to his own place, leaving the stout opponent of the ministry master of the field. The legislature adjourned at once, and the excited and triumphant burst forth into a stirring battle-hem of the old days of Kamea-Maea the Great. Harris was an American once. He was born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. But he is no longer one. He is Hupili Mayai to the king. How do you like that, Mr. H? How do you like being attacked in your own native tongue? Note to the reader, that long native word means—well, it means, Uriah heap boil down. It means the soul and spirit of sequiousness. No genuine American can be other than obedient and respectful toward the government he lives under and the flag that protects him. No such an American can ever be Hupili Mayai to anybody. I hope the gentle reader will pardon this digression. But if the gentle reader don't want to do it, he can let it alone. A glimpse of the heathen ages. About half-past eight o'clock a dozen native women rose up and began the sad morning rites. They locked arms and swayed violently backward and forward, faced around and went through a number of quick gestures with hands, heads, and bodies, turned and twisted and mingled together, heads and hands going all the time, and their motions timed to a weird howling, which it would be rather complementary to call singing, and finished up spreading their arms abroad and throwing their heads and bodies far backward simultaneously and all uttering a deafening squal at the same moment. Well, if there's anything between the pharolons and fiddler's green as devilish as that, I wish I may— Brown, I said, these solemn and impressive funeral rites of the ancient times have been rescued from the oblivion to which the ignorant missionaries consigned them forty years ago by the good and wise Lord Bishop Staley, and it ill-beseems such as you to speak irreverently of them. I cannot permit you to say more in this vein in my presence. When the women had finished, the multitude clapped their hands boisterously in token of applause. A number of native boys' necks stood up and went through a performance a good deal like that which I have just described, singing, at the same time, a strange, unmusical chant. The audience applauded again. Harris came out once more on that part of the veranda which could be seen best by the great assemblage, and assumed an attitude and expression so suggestive of his being burdened with the cares of state of sixty or seventy kingdoms that, if I had been a stranger, I must have said to myself, the trifles Richier had to contend with were foolishness to what this man has got on his hands. Christianity and Civilization in Warm Quarters Next about twenty native women dressed in black rose up and sang some hymns like ours, but in the Kanakatang, and made good music of them. Some of the voices were very rich and sweet, the harmony was excellent and the time perfect. Every now and then, while this choir sang, and in fact all the evening, old-time natives scattered through the crowd would suddenly break out into a wild, heartbroken wail that would almost startle one's pulse into stillness. And there was one old fellow near the center who would get up often, no matter what was going on, and branch forth into a sort of sing-song recitation which he would eventually change into a stump speech. He seemed to make a good many hits judging by the cordial applause he got from a coterie of admirers in his immediate vicinity. More Heathen Devil Tree A dozen men performed next, howled, and distorted their bodies and flung their arms fiercely about like very maniacs. I'd bless my soul, just listen at that racket. Your opinion is your opinion, and I don't quarrel with it, and my opinion is my opinion, and I say, once for all, that if I was mayor of this town I would just get up here and read the riot act once if I died for it the next. Brown, I cannot allow this language. These touching expressions of mourning were instituted by the Good Bishop, who has come from his English home to teach this poor benighted race to follow the example and imitate the sinless ways of the Redeemer, and did not he mourn for the dead Lazarus? Do not the sacred scriptures say Jesus wept? I overheard this person Brown muttering something about the imitation being rather overdone or improved on, or something of that kind, but I paid no attention to it. The man means well, his ignorance is his misfortune, not his crime. Twenty Kanakas in striped knit shirts now filed through the dense crowd and sat down in a double row on the ground. Each bore an immense gourd more than two feet long, with a neck near one end and a head to it, the other, or largest end, was a foot in diameter. These things were dry and hollow, and are the native tom-toms or drums. Each man set his gourd on end, and supported it with a hand on each side. At a given signal every drummer launched out into a dismal chant and slapped his drum twice in quick succession with his open hands. Then three times. Then twice again. Then—well, I cannot describe it—they slapped the drums in every conceivable way, and the sound produced was as dull and dry as if the drums had been solid stone. Then they held them above their heads a few moments, or over their shoulders, or in front of their faces, or behind their necks, and then brought them simultaneously to the ground with a dead hollow thump. And then they went on slapping them as before. They kept up this most dreary and unexciting performance for twenty minutes or more, and the great concourse of natives watched every motion with rapt and eager admiration, and loudly applauded the musicians. Brown muttered, under the vile pretense of not intending to be overheard, Jesus wept. Brown, I said, your conduct is shameful. It has always been conceded that in following the example set us by the Saviour we may be allowed some latitude, but I will not argue with a man who is so bigoted, fault-finding and uncharitable. I will have nothing further to say to you upon this subject. He—he wept. I thought I heard those words, but Brown's head was out of the window and I was not certain. I was already irritated to that degree that to speak would be to lose my temper, and therefore I allowed the suspected mutinous language to pass unnoticed. The Celebrated National Dance, Hula Hula. After the drumming came the famous Hula Hula we had heard so much about and so long to see. The lascivious dance that was want to set the passions of men ablaze in the old heathen days a century ago. About thirty buxom young Kanaka women, gaily attired as I have before remarked, in pink and white, and with heads wreathed with flowers and evergreens, formed themselves into half a dozen rows of five or six in a row, shook the wreaths out of their skirts, tightened their girdles, and began the most unearthly catawalling that was ever heard, perhaps. The noise had a marked and regular time to it, however, and they kept strict time to it with writhing bodies, with heads and hands thrust out to the left, then to the right, then a step to the front, and the left hands all projected simultaneously forward, and the right hands placed on the hips, then the same repeated with a change of hands, then a mingling together of the performers, quicker time, faster and more violently excited motions, more and more complicated gestures, the words of their fierce chant meantime treating in broadest terms and in detail of things which may be vaguely hinted at in a respectable newspaper but not distinctly mentioned. Then a convulsive writhing of the person continued for a few moments and ending in a sudden stop and a grand catawall in chorus. Great applause! Jesus wept! I barely heard the words, and that was all. They sounded like blasphemy. I offered no rebuke to the utterer because I could not disguise from myself that the gentle grief of the Saviour was but poorly imitated here, that the heathen orgies resurrected by the Lord Bishop of Honolulu were not warranted by the teachings of the Master whom he professes to serve. Minister Harris, emerging from the palace veranda at this moment, with the weight of his sixty kingdoms bearing down on him heavier than ever, and it being past midnight, I judged at time to go home, and I did so. Whose circus it was? It is reported that the king has said, The foreigners, like their religion, let them enjoy it, and freely, but the religion of my fathers is good enough for me. Now, that is all right. At least I think so. And I have no fault to find with the natives for the lingering love they feel for their ancient customs, but I do find fault with Bishop Staley for reviving those customs of a barbarous age at a time when they had long been abandoned and were being forgotten, when one more generation of faithful adherents to the teachings of the American missionaries would have buried them forever and made them memories of the past. Things to be talked of and wondered at, like the old laws that made it death for a plebeian to stand erect in the presence of his king, or for a man to speak to his wife on a taboo day, but never imitated. For forty years before the bishop brought his royal Hawaiian established Reformed Catholic Church here, the kings and chiefs of this land had been buried with the quiet, simple Christian rites that are observed in England and America, and no man thought of anything more being necessary. But one of the first things Bishop Staley did when he arrived here a few years ago was to write home that the missionaries had deprived the natives of their innocent sports and pastimes, such as the lascivious hula-hula and the promiscuous bathing in the surf of nude natives of opposite sexes. And one of the next things he did was to attend a hula-hula at Waikiki with his holy head tricked out in the flower and evergreen trumpery worn by the hula-girls. When the late king died the bishop revived the half-forgotten howling and hula-dancing and other barbarisms in the palace-yard, and officiated there as a sort of master of ceremonies. For many a year before he came that wretchedest of all wretched musical abortions the tom-tom had not been heard near the heart of Honolulu, but he has reinstated it and brought it into its ancient esteem and popularity. The old superstitions of this people were passing away far faster than is the case with the inhabitants of the unfrequented and sparsely populated country districts of America, France and Wales, but Bishop Staley is putting a stop to progress in this direction. We owe the strange and unpleasant scenes of last night to him. There are not ten white men in the kingdom who have ever seen their like before in public, and I am told that he is appalled at the work of his own hands, that he is ashamed, that he dreads to think of the comments it will provoke in Christian lands, in a word, that he finds too late that he has made a most melancholy blunder. Bishop Staley. If I may speak freely, I think this all comes of elevating a weak, trivial-minded man to a position of rank and power, of making a bishop out of very inferior material, of trying to construct greatness out of constitutional insignificance. My estimate of Bishop Staley is not carelessly formed, there is evidence to back it. He gossips habitually. He lacks the common wisdom to keep still that deadly enemy of a man his own tongue. He says ill-advised things in public speeches, and then in other public speeches denies that he ever said them. He shows spite, a trait which is not allied to greatness. He is fond of rushing into print, like mediocrity the world over, and is vainer of being my Lord Bishop over a diocese of fifteen thousand men and women, albeit they belong to other people's churches, than some other men would be of wielding the worldwide power of the Pope. And finally every single important act of his administration has evinced a lack of sagacity and an unripeness of judgment which might be forgiven a youth, but not a full-grown man, or, if that seems too severe, which might be forgiven a restless visionary nobody, but not a bishop. My estimate of Bishop Staley may be a wrong one, but it is at least an honest one. Persons who are intimate with Bishop Staley say he is a good man, and a well-educated and cultivated one, and that in social life he is companionable, pleasant, and liberal spirited when church matters are not the topic of conversation. This is no doubt true, but it is my province to speak of him in his official, not in his private capacity. He has shown the temerity of an incautious, inexperienced, and immature judgment in rushing in here fresh from the heart and home of a high English civilization, and throwing down the gauntlet of defiance before a band of stern, tenacious, unyielding, tireless, industrious, devoted old Puritan knights who have seen forty years of missionary service, whose time was never fooled away in theorizing, but whose lightest acts always meant business, who landed here two score years ago, full of that fervent zeal and resistless determination inherited from their pilgrim forefathers, and marched forth and seized upon this people with a grip of iron and infused into their being wrought into their very natures the spirit of democracy and the religious enthusiasm that animated themselves, whose grip is still upon the race and can never be loosened till they, of their own free will and accord, shall relax it. He showed a marvellous temerity, one weak, inexperienced man against a host of drilled and hardy veterans, and among them great men, men who would be great in wider and broader spheres than that they have chosen here. He miscalculated the force, the confidence, the determination of that Puritan spirit which subdued America and underlies her whole religious fabric today, which has subdued these islanders and whose influence over them can never be unseated. The Reformed Catholic Church, the Court Religion His church was another miscalculation. It was a mistake to appeal by imposing ceremonies and showy display to a people imbued with a thorough Puritan distaste for such things, and who had never been much accustomed to anything of the kind at any period of their history. There is little in common between the simple evergreen decorations and the tom-toms and the hula-hulas of the natives, and the cheap magnificence of the bishop's cathedral altar, his gaudily painted organ pipes, and the monotonous and unattractive ceremonials of his church service. He is fighting with good nerve, but his side is weak. The moneyed strength of these islands, their agriculture, their commerce, their mercantile affairs, is in the hands of Americans, Republicans. The religious power of the country is wielded by Americans, Republicans. The whole people are saturated with the spirit of democratic Puritanism, and they are Republicans. This is a republic, to the very narrow, and over it sit a king, a dozen nobles, and a half-dozen ministers. The field of the royal Hawaiian established church is thus so circumscribed that the little cathedral in Nuanu Street, with its thirty pews of ten individual capacity each, is large enough to accommodate it in its entirety and have room to spare. And this is the bugbear that has kept the American missionaries in hot water for three or four years. The bishop of Honolulu ought to feel flattered that a chance so slim as his, and a power so feeble as his, has been able to accomplish it. But at the same time he ought to feel grateful because, if let alone, he and his church must infallibly have been and remained insignificant. I do not say this ill-naturedly, for I bear the bishop no malice, and I respect his sacred office. I simply state a palpable fact. I will say a word or two about the reformed Catholic church, to the end that strangers may understand its character. Briefly then, it is a miraculous invention. One might worship this strange production itself without breaking the first commandment, for there is nothing like it in the heavens above or in the earth beneath, or in the water under the earth. The Catholics refuse to accept it as Catholic. The Episcopalians deny that it is the church they are accustomed to, and of course the Puritans claim no kindred with it. It is called a child of the established church of England, but it resembles its parent in few particulars. It has got an altar, which is gay, with fiery velvet, showy white trimmings, vases of flowers, and other mantel ornaments. It was once flanked by imposing seven branched candlesticks, but these were obnoxious and have been removed. Over it is a thing like a gilt signboard on which is rudely painted two processions, four personages in each, marching solemnly and in single file toward the crucified Saviour in the centre, and bringing their baggage with them. The design of it is a secret known only to the artist and his maker. Near the pulpit is a red canopied shower-bath, I mean it looks like one, upon which is inscribed, separated unto the Gospel of God. The bishop sits under it at a small desk, when he has got nothing particular to do. The organ-pipes are coloured with a groundwork of blue, which is covered all over with a flower-work wrought in other colours. Judging by its striking homeliness, I should say that the artist of the altar-piece had laboured here also. Near the door of the church, but inside, of course, stands a small pillar surmounted by a large shell. It may be for holy water, or it may be a contribution box. If the latter be the case, I must protest that this ghastly pun, this mute suggestion to, shell out, is ill-suited to the sacred character of the place, and it is only with the profoundest pain that I force myself to even think for a moment upon so distressing a circumstance. Against the wall is a picture of the future cathedral of Honolulu, a more imposing structure than the present one, that many a year may elapse before it is built is no wish of mine. A dozen acolytes, Chinese, Kanaka, and half-white boys, arrayed in white robes, hold positions near the altar, and during the early part of the service they sing and go through some performances suggestive of the regular Catholic services. After that the majority of the boys go off on furlough. The Bishop reads a chapter from the Bible, then the organist leaves his instrument and sings a litany peculiar to this church, and not to be heard elsewhere. There is nothing stirring or incendiary about his mild nasal music. The congregation join the chorus. After this a third clergyman preaches the sermon. These three ecclesiastics all wear white surpluses. I have described the evening services. When the Bishop first came here he indulged in a good deal of showy display and ceremony in his church, but these proved so distasteful, even to Episcopalians, that he shortly modified them very much. I have spoken rather irreverently once or twice in the above paragraph, and I am ashamed of it, but why write it over? I would not be likely to get it any better. I might make the matter worse. And say that, Brown, have you, in defiance of all my reproofs, been looking over my shoulder again? Yes, but that's all right, you know. That's all right. Just say, just say that the Bishop works as hard as any man, and makes the best fight he can. And that's a credit to him, anyway. Brown, that is the first charitable sentiment I have ever heard you utter. At a proper moment I will confer upon you a fitting reward for it. But for the present, good night, son. Go now. Go to your innocent slumbers, and wash your feet, Brown, or perhaps it is your teeth. At any rate, you are unusually offensive this evening. Remedy the matter. Never mind explaining. Good night. The Roman Catholic Mission The French Roman Catholic Mission here, under the right reverend Lord Bishop Micrae, goes along quietly and unastentaciously, and its affairs are conducted with a wisdom which betrays the presence of a leader of distinguished ability. The Catholic clergy are honest, straightforward, frank, and open. They are industrious and devoted to their religion and their work. They never meddle. Wherever they do, can be relied on as being prompted by a good and worthy motive. These things disarm resentment. Prejudice cannot exist in their presence. Consequently, Americans are never heard to speak ill or slightingly of the French Catholic Mission. Their religion is not nondescript. It is plain, out and out, undisguised and unmistakably Catholicism. You know right where to find them when you want them. The American missionaries have no quarrel with these men. They honor and respect and esteem them, and bid them God's speed. There is an anomaly for you. Puritan and Roman Catholics striding along, hand in hand, under the banner of the cross. Mark Twain. End of section 57