Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📕

Put It To The House That We Should Have Supper.  The Motion

Was Carried Nem. Con.,  And A Dutch Cheese Was Produced With

Much Eclat.  Samson Coupled The Ideas Of Dutch Cheeses And

Yankee Hospitality.  This Revived The Flagging Spirit Of

Emulation.  On One Side,  It Was Thought That British Manners

Were Susceptible Of Amendment.  Confusion Was Then

Respectively Drunk To Yankee Hospitality,  English Manners, 

And - This Was An Addition Of Fred's - To Dutch Cheeses. 

After Which,  To Change The Subject,  A Song Was Called For, 

And A Gentleman Who Shall Be Nameless,  For There Was A Little

Mischief In The Choice,  Sang 'Rule Britannia.'  Not Being

Encored,  The Singer Drank To The Flag That Had Braved The

Battle And The Breeze For Nearly Ninety Years.  'Here's To

Uncle Sam,  And His Stars And Stripes.'  The Mounted Officer

Rose To His Legs (With Difficulty) And Declared 'That He

Could Not,  And Would Not,  Hear His Country Insulted Any

Longer.  He Begged To Challenge The "Crowd."  He Regretted

The Necessity,  But His Feelings Had Been Wounded,  And He

Could Not - No,  He Positively Could Not Stand It.'  A Slight

Push From Samson Proved The Fact - The Speaker Fell,  To Rise

No More.  The Rest Of The Company Soon Followed His Example, 

And Shortly Afterwards There Was No Sound But That Of The

Adjacent Rapids.

Early Next Morning The Settler's Boat Came Up,  And Took Us A

Mile Down The River,  Where We Found A Larger One To Convey Us

To Fort Vancouver.  The Crew Were A Maltese Sailor And A Man

Who Had Been In The United States Army.  Each Had His Private

Opinions As To Her Management.  Naturally,  The Maltese Should

Have Been Captain,  But The Soldier Was Both Supercargo And

Part Owner,  And Though It Was Blowing Hard And The Sails Were

Fully Large,  The Foreigner,  Who Was But A Poor Little

Creature,  Had To Obey Orders.

As The River Widened And Grew Rougher,  We Were Wetted From

Stem To Stern At Every Plunge; And When It Became Evident

That The Soldier Could Not Handle The Sails If The Maltese

Was Kept At The Helm,  The Heavy Rifleman Who Was On Board, 

Declaring That He Knew The River,  Took Upon Himself To Steer

Us.  In A Few Minutes The Boat Was Nearly Swamped.  The

Maltese Prayed And Blasphemed In Language Which No One

Understood.  The Oaths Of The Soldier Were Intelligible

Enough.  The 'Heavy,' Now Alarmed,  Nervously Asked What Had

Better Be Done.  My Advice Was To Grease The Bowsprit,  Let Go

The Mast,  And Splice The Main Brace.  'In Another Minute Or

Two,' I Added,  'You'll Steer Us All To The Bottom.'

Fred,  Who Thought It No Time For Joking,  Called The Rifleman

A 'Damned Fool,' And Authoritatively Bade Him Give Up The

Tiller; Saying That I Had Been In Her Majesty's Navy,  And

Perhaps Knew A Little More About Boats Than He Did.  To This

The Other Replied That 'He Didn't Want Anyone To Learn Him;

He Reckon'd He'd Been Raised To Boating As Well As The Next

Man,  And He'd Be Derned If He Was Going To Trust His Life To 

Anybody!'  Samson,  Thinking No Doubt Of His Own,  Took His

Pipe Out Of His Mouth,  And Towering Over The Steersman,  Flung

Him Like A Child On One Side.  In An Instant I Was In His

Place.

It Was A Minute Or Two Before The Boat Had Way Enough To

Answer The Helm.  By That Time We Were Within A Dozen Yards

Of A Reef.  Having Noticed,  However,  That The Little Craft

Was Quick In Her Stays,  I Kept Her Full Till The Last,  Put

The Helm Down,  And Round She Spun In A Moment.  Before I

Could Thank My Stars,  The Pintle,  Or Hook On Which The Rudder

Hangs,  Broke Off.  The Tiller Was Knocked Out Of My Hand,  And

The Boat's Head Flew Into The Wind.  'Out With The Sweeps,' I

Shouted.  But The Sweeps Were Under The Gear.  All Was

Confusion And Panic.  The Two Men Cursed In The Names Of

Their Respective Saints.  The 'Heavy' Whined,  'I Told You How

It W'd Be.'  Samson Struggled Valiantly To Get At An Oar, 

While Fred,  Setting The Example,  Begged All Hands To Be Calm, 

And Be Ready To Fend The Stern Off The Rocks With A Boathook. 

As We Drifted Into The Surf I Was Wondering How Many Bumps

She Would Stand Before She Went To Pieces.  Happily The Water

Shallowed,  And The Men,  By Jumping Overboard,  Managed To Drag

The Boat Through The Breakers Under The Lee Of The Point.  We

Afterwards Drew Her Up On To The Beach,  Kindled A Fire,  Got

Out Some Provisions,  And Stayed Till The Storm Was Over.

What Was Then Called Fort Vancouver Was A Station Of The

Hudson's Bay Company.  We Took Up Our Quarters Here Till One

Of The Company's Vessels - The 'Mary Dare,' A Brig Of 120

Tons,  Was Ready To Sail For The Sandwich Islands.  This Was

About The Most Uncomfortable Trip I Ever Made.  A Sailing

Merchant Brig Of 120 Tons,  Deeply Laden,  Is Not Exactly A

Pleasure Yacht; And 2,000 Miles Is A Long Voyage.  For Ten

Days We Lay At Anchor At The Mouth Of The Columbia,  Detained

By Westerly Gales.  A Week After We Put To Sea,  All Our Fresh

Provisions Were Consumed,  And We Had To Live On Our Cargo -

Dried Salmon.  We Three And The Captain More Than Filled The

Little Hole Of A Cabin.  There Wasn't Even A Hammock,  And We

Had To Sleep On The Deck,  Or On The Lockers.  The Fleas,  The

Cockroaches,  And The Rats,  Romped Over And Under One All

Night.  Not Counting The Time It Took To Go Down The River, 

Or The Ten Days We Were Kept At Its Mouth,  We Were Just Six 

Weeks At Sea Before We Reached Woahoo,  On Christmas Day.

How Beautiful The Islands Looked As We Passed Between Them, 

With A Fair Wind And Studding Sails Set Alow And Aloft. 

Their Tropical Charms Seemed More Glowing,  The Water Bluer, 

The Palm Trees Statelier,  The Vegetation More Libertine Than

Ever.  On The South The Land Rises Gradually From The Shore

To A Range Of Lofty Mountains.  Immediately Behind Honolulu -

The Capital - A Valley With A Road Winding Up It Leads To The

North Side Of The Island.  This Valley Is,  Or Was Then, 

Richly Cultivated,  Principally With Taro,  A Large Root Not

Unlike The Yam.  Here And There Native Huts Were Dotted

About,  With Gardens Full Of Flowers,  And Abundance Of

Tropical Fruit.  Higher Up,  Where It Becomes Too Steep For

Cultivation,  Growth Of All Kind Is Rampant.  Acacias, 

Oranges,  Maples,  Bread-Fruit,  And Sandal-Wood Trees,  Rear

Their Heads Above The Tangled Ever-Greens.  The High Peaks, 

Constantly In The Clouds,  Arrest The Moisture Of The Ocean

Atmosphere,  And Countless Rills Pour Down The Mountain Sides, 

Clothing Everything In Perpetual Verdure.  The Climate Is One

Of The Least Changeable In The World; The Sea Breeze Blows

Day And Night,  And Throughout The Year The Day Temperature

Does Not Vary More Than Five Or Six Degrees,  The Average

Being About Eighty-Three Degrees Fahrenheit In The Shade.  In

1850 The Town Of Honolulu Was Little Else Than A Native

Village Of Grass And Mat Huts.  Two Or Three Merchants Had

Good Houses.  In One Of These Fred And Samson Were Domiciled;

There Was No Such Thing As A Hotel.  I Was The Guest Of

General Miller,  The Consul-General.  What Changes May Have

Taken Place Since The Above Date I Have No Means Of Knowing. 

So Far As The Natives Go,  The Change Will Assuredly Have Been

For The Worse; For The Aborigines,  In All Parts Of The World, 

Lose Their Primitive Simplicity And Soon Acquire The Worst

Vices Of Civilisation.

Even King Tamehameha Iii. Was Not Innocent Of One Of Them. 

General Miller Offered To Present Us At Court,  But He Had To

Give Several Days' Notice In Order That His Majesty Might Be

Sufficiently Sober To Receive Us.  A Negro Tailor From The

United States Fitted Us Out With Suits Of Black,  And On The

Appointed Day We Put Ourselves Under The Shade Of The Old

General's Cocked Hat,  And Marched In A Body To The Palace.  A

Native Band,  In Which A Big Drum Had The Leading Part, 

Received Us With 'God Save The Queen' - Whether In Honour Of

King Tamy,  Or Of His Visitors,  Was Not Divulged.  We Were

First Introduced To A Number Of Chiefs In European Uniforms -

Except As To Their Feet,  Which Were Mostly Bootless.  Their

Names Sounded Like Those Of The State Officers In Mr.

Gilbert's 'Mikado.'  I Find In My Journal One Entered As

Tovey-Tovey,  Another As Kanakala.  We Were Then Conducted To

The Presence Chamber By The Foreign Minister,  Mr. Wiley,  A

Very Pronounced Scotch Gentleman With A Star Of The First

Magnitude On His Breast.  The King Was Dressed As An English

Admiral.  The Queen,  Whose Ample Undulations Also Reminded 

One Of The High Seas,  Was On His Right; While In Perfect

Gradation On Her Right Again Were Four Princesses In Short

Frocks And Long Trousers,  With Plaited Tails Tied With Blue

Ribbon,  Like The Miss Kenwigs.  A Little Side Dispute Arose

Between The Stiff Old General And The Foreign Minister As To

Whose Right It Was To Present Us.  The Consul Carried The

Day; But The Scot,  Not To Be Beaten,