CHAPTER 12

Island Life

People work in Hawaii. For those whose lots are cast permanently in the Islands life is not what it appears superficially to the tourist, one long, happy holiday. Nor is there here, as in so many tropical countries, a three-hour hiatus in the middle of the day, when men and women take their siesta. Hours of business are what they are in New York or Chicago, and life is planned—too completely, perhaps—along northern lines. In Honolulu men go usually to their clubs to luncheon—the Pacific, the University, or the City Club—talk business and hurry back to a long afternoon in their offices. These clubs, it is fair to say, are delightfully arranged buildings with windows on all sides to catch any breeze. Of them the oldest is the Pacific, formerly the British Club, on Alakea Street. The house has broad verandas on both floors and large, cool rooms. The University Club, more especially a resort of younger men, has a pretty cottage near the Hawaiian Hotel. Its membership includes a large number of army and navy officers, graduates of West Point and Annapolis, as well as men from American, English, and German Universities. The City Club, much more inclusive in membership, is in a business block in the centre of the town. There are also, of course, as in all American cities, lodges of various orders. Masons, Odd Fellows, Elks, and Red Men. The new Y. M. C. A. building, on the corner of Hotel and Alakea Streets, has thoroughly comfortable quarters, and serves as a club for large numbers of the floating population.

While men are lunching at their clubs their wives give luncheon parties or go out to luncheons —a form of social entertainment which would seem more suited to a cold climate than to tropical midday. In the late afternoon the Country Club in Nuuanu Valley, or the Pacific Tennis Court near the Executive Building, or the various athletic fields and the bathing beaches at Waikiki are the meeting places of society. At night there are dinners, dances, and bridge parties; occasionally, and much more amusing, moonlight surfing and swimming parties. There is no particular social season in Honolulu. More people are out of town in summer, but, on the other hand, that is the time when boys are at home with their friends from American colleges and they must be entertained day and night. This, therefore, is the time to see more of the distinctively Hawaiian forms of amusement. Very popular are the " luaus," real Hawaiian feasts with all the dishes cooked in the ancient way. The tables are spread with fern leaves instead of with linen. Forks and knives and spoons should have no place, and are only tolerated occasionally because the younger generation does not know how to use fingers with the dexterity and grace of its eighteenth century great-grandparents. Poi is, of course, the staple of the feast; poi usually served in individual bowls, however, instead of in one huge calabash into which all dip their fingers—this, a sop to modern ideas of hygiene. /Real training is necessary to eat this paste gracefully, to wind it around the fingers with just the right twist and in just the right amount, and to convey it from bowl to mouth without spilling. There are fish, wrapped in sweet-smelling ti leaves and cooked in underground ovens, and sometimes raw fish, to the horror of the uninitiated. There are meats of all kinds, also baked in ti leaves; whole pigs that have been stuffed with hot stones and allowed to steam for hours in their "imus," or underground ovens. Rarely, now, are served the little, poi-fed puppies, which, if one can forget what they are, taste like the most delicate of suckling pigs. There are always a thick, gritty, strong-tasting paste made of pounded kukui nuts and used as seasoning; sweet potatoes and yams; baked bananas; breadfruit; a pudding made of sweet potatoes and cocoanuts, cloyingly sweet but very good; the refreshing milk of young cocoanuts to drink.

Hawaiian "pounding poi"

The Hawaiian liquor, made from sugar-cane or from the ti root, is a fiery liquid, almost pure alcohol. Instead of it punch is usually served, or the excellent light beer made in Honolulu, beer which is healthful in a warm climate and might almost be called a national drink. There is no doubt that a taste for most of these delicacies must be the result of childhood experience, or must be carefully cultivated, but once acquired, it is a taste which is always eager to be gratified. The "malahini," or newcomer, who is afraid of unknown dishes can at least stay his hunger with fruit; oranges and bananas, alligator pears that melt in the mouth, guavas, pomegranates, perhaps the exquisitely flavoured custard-apple, and other tropical fruits. But whether he goes away empty or full, the luau will have been another memorable experience; its green tables loaded with queer food wrapped in queer brown bundles, polished calabashes of grey-blue or pink poi, the whole dimly lighted with pale golden Chinese lanterns inscribed with letters of- scarlet, or brightly lighted with flaming torches. And through it all his ears will have been charmed with the mournful, poetic notes of Hawaiian songs, stealing out from behind the palm trees—music which ends always with "Aloha-oe," that lovely song of farewell, written by the Queen, which is most popular of all, most characteristic of the Hawaiian temper.

The ancient dances, or "hulas," are not as often seen, both because the art of dancing is being lost and because many of the dances, in the motions which make them up and in the words which accompany them, are, from a civilised point of view, indecent. Some of them are occasionally given in an expurgated form at the vaudeville theatres or certain selected dances, as entertainment after private " luaus," and no opportunity to see them should be neglected. They are often marvellously graceful—more so than are the Arab dances—and with the monotonous beat of their musical accompaniment are very poetical and quite in a class by themselves.

Of good theatres the Islands are destitute. An occasional series of mediocre performances at the Opera House in Honolulu brings out the whole population. Of interest to tourists who have never been in the Orient, however, there are the Chinese and Japanese theatres with their interminably long plays, often gorgeously costumed and, probably, well acted. Nor is there, naturally, much opportunity to hear good professional musicians, although passing artists of note usually give concerts during their short stay in port. There are, of course, the military bands, and the Hawaiian Band gives excellent concerts two or three times a week in the public parks. This band, organised in 1874 as the Royal Hawaiian Band, under Mr. Berger, who is still the leader, is one of the best in existence, and has won many prizes in international competitions. Attached to it are a few Hawaiian singers who usually take part in the concerts. For the tourist, who does not go to the tropics to see the latest French plays or to hear Paderewski play the piano, this theatrical and musical lack will not be annoying, but to residents of the Islands it is a real deprivation.

In Honolulu the Kilohana Art League, with its attractive building on Beretania Street, is the natural art centre. It has good exhibitions of pictures which show the place to be at least not destitute of artists. One of them, D. H. Hitchcock, who has studied abroad, knows how to paint well, and interprets Island scenery and characteristics in a really masterly way. Some of his volcano pictures, always reticent in colour, yet full of the splendour and mystery of the crater, surpass any pictures of the kind which have ever been painted. The Art League has also its literary "circle," and directs endeavours for the beautifying of the city, making suggestions as to the planting of avenues of flowering trees and the treatment of sidewalks and public squares.

For the women of the place housekeeping is none of the easiest. Servants are all Orientals, admirable as far as they go, but with inevitable limitations. The Chinese are faithful, good cooks, and immaculately clean in their work. They are in general preferred to the Japanese, even though during the Chinese New Year, for three days in January or February, they all depart on their annual holiday. During these days no bribe could make them work. They also at that time have the habit of giving to the families for whom they work expensive and usually hideous presents, which must be prominently displayed for months after. An amusing part of the Chinese New Year is the necessity for men of calling on all the Chinese merchants of their acquaintance— ceremonial calls where they are regaled with queer, cloying sweetmeats and champagne. The Japanese are filling the ranks now as house-servants, since under United States immigration laws the Chinese population is gradually dwindling. They are far less reliable, but are often excellent cooks, and Japanese maids in their bright kimonos are picturesque about the house. They can be taught almost anything, and once taught never forget, but unfortunately the knowledge acquired is often of the parrot variety. For example, a lady gave a luncheon and, before the guests arrived, showed her new Japanese maid exactly how to serve each course and what plates to use. The following week she gave another luncheon, exactly like the first, but omitting one course. Her Japanese maid served it perfectly, except that when the time arrived for the course which was left out she brought in all the plates and then carefully removed them, empty. The extreme literalness of both Japanese and Chinese is also often disconcerting. A Chinese cook had recently been converted to Christianity. Just before dinner the lady of the house asked him whether everything had come. He said that the salad had been forgotten, but that, as he had prayed for it, he was sure it would come in time. Such incidents as these make one realise that perfect civility and absolute obedience are not the only requisites of an ideal servant.

As to outdoor sports there is enough to satisfy the keenest. Aside from the surf-riding, the bathing is excellent all along the shores, and at Waikiki, where there is no undertow, where the bottom is of softest sand, where the waves are never large enough to be dangerous, but always to give motion to the water, it is ideal. Two rival boat clubs arrange for rowing and paddling races in Honolulu harbour. Sailboats dot the waters of Pearl Harbour, and the larger yachts cruise about outside. At the Country Club there is a good golf course. Everywhere are tennis courts. At all times of the year there are baseball and football games to watch. Saddle horses can be procured at any of the stables, and most people ride. Perhaps the most popular sport is polo, and at Moanalua can be seen as exciting matches as anywhere on the continent. Altogether it is a climate which calls one into the open, and everything has been done to make outdoor life attractive.

As to dress, people get along with just about what they wear in northern countries, except that white linen is much more in evidence. Duck trousers and even white suits are worn by men at all times, and women dress as much as possible in muslins, and linen, or light silk suits. Raincoats are essential, since at any time a trade wind shower may drift across the mountains—a shower which really wets so little that one's clothes dry in a few minutes in the sunshine, but which seems important while it lasts.

The tourist whose main object is to buy—and there are many such—will find Honolulu most unsatisfactory if he is hunting for really good things. The American shops are much like those on the mainland and have much the same articles to sell, but in a more limited selection. The Oriental shops are interesting, but have, after all, not as much of the best as do those in San Francisco. There are, of course, shops which sell Hawaiian curiosities, most of them things which few people except "curio" hunters would care to own. Old calabashes, which are often wonderful in colour and texture, are becoming hard to find, and are, therefore, very expensive. Those which were formerly the property of chiefs have a slight ridge running around the bowl, a ridge not really noticeable to sight, but only to the touch. These bowls are not intrinsically better than others, but have perhaps a slight added interest. Many of the modern calabashes, less expensive because not laboriously chipped out by hand, but turned by machinery, are beautiful because of the colour of the koa, or, still finer, of the rare kou, from which they are made. It is possible to find koa furniture also, but this is usually unattractive in shape. The best way is to have chairs or tables made of good pieces of the wood and copied from old models. It is still possible to find good pieces of tapa, in different shades of rich brown, the brighter colours usually coming from the islands of the South Pacific. There are strings of tiny white Niihau shells and of the delicious smelling mokihana berries that keep their perfume for years. Old necklaces of golden, stained walrus ivory are very rare and very expensive, as are the beautiful yellow feather leis of which the ancient royal cloaks and helmets were made. Imitation leis of dyed feathers are everywhere. There are fans of all kinds, the lightest made of woven bamboo, not distinctively Hawaiian, the best and most durable of cocoanut leaves. There are all sorts of mats, the finest made of the Niihau reed, the best so fine that they can be crushed in the hand as though made of the softest wool. But most of these things are modem—Hawaii has no great ancient art which it lies in the province of the enlightened tourist to discover. There are no pictures, no pieces of wonderful old pottery to be unearthed, as they were a few years ago in the Orient, because such things were not a part of Hawaiian life.

Hawaiian lei and flower sellers, Honolulu

Hawaii is, as yet, a place with but few literary associations. The early voyagers touch on it. There are several old histories of the Islands, of which that by Jarves, now very rare, is probably the best. Books of travel often devote to them an inaccurate chapter or two. Mark Twain has been amusing about the Islands, as he has about everything else, but his constitutional spirit of banter did not prevent him from being deeply impressed with the Hawaiian charm. Robert Louis Stevenson more than once stayed in Honolulu for several months, lay in his hammock under the hao trees of Waikiki, smoked his cigarettes, talked, and wrote a little. His letters tell of the place, and he laid the scene of one rather un-Hawaiian story, the "Bottle Imp," in Hawaii, and it was to a good old "missionary" citizen that his famous letter to Dr. Hyde was addressed. Pity it is for Hawaii that he did not write of it as he did of Samoa. His step-daughter, Mrs. Strong, has written a novel, " The Girl from Home," which gives a good picture of life in Honolulu before the American occupation. Very recently a belated interest is being taken in the poetical legends of the place, and valuable as well as keenly interesting books have been published, "Myths and Legends of Hawaii" being the most complete. The Hawaiian Annual^ published by Thrum, in Honolulu, prints every year an English translation of one or two of these delightful old legends. Much scientific work is also being done, most of it under the direct guidance of the Bishop Museum, in the study of ancient Hawaiian life and religion. And it is high time that this work should be accomplished, since the Hawaiian race is rapidly passing and the older generations, who have kept traditions pure, are almost gone. All is important and most, even to the layman, is interesting.  There has been no poet of Hawaii. No ancient bard stands out preeminent, and indeed, most of the " meles " have grown up through natural accretion through the centuries and are rightly anonymous. These songs, too, should all be translated, although no translation could perpetuate the peculiar rhythm of the originals. They are full of repetitions, many of them epic in interest if not in form, yet with all their crudities they contain strains of real poetry, images that linger in memory because of their vivid simplicity, that recall the early poetical speech of older lands. And to-day there is much to touch the imagination of a poet, should one arise. Many of the printed legends are poetry in all but form. Nature in its most sensuously beautiful aspects seeks poetical interpretation. There is material for many a solemn poem in the slow tragedy of the dying, lovable, Hawaiian people; for many a gay lyric in the swish of the waves under the prow of the swift canoes; of expression in words of the sad, passionate music that sobs on moonlight nights to the accompaniment of the waves at Waikiki. But the poet of Hawaii is still to come.

Because of this lack of literature there is no way to get any permanent impression of the charm of Hawaii except by a visit. Its history one can read and can appreciate if one is able to adopt, in the reading, a sympathetic point of view. The fact that thoroughly American ideals pervade all phases of Island industry, of modes of living, and of social intercourse may be accepted and theoretically believed. But the Hawaiian flavour, with which these ideals are subtly impregnated and that insensibly affects all who have lived there, is something indescribable, something which seems to emanate from the misty hills, the whispering waters, the exquisite vegetation, the low voices of the people. All this may be grasped only through the senses. The eyes must see from the shores at Waikiki the bright carpet of water beyond which Diamond Head so proudly stands at the gateway of the world beyond. The ears must catch the melody of Hawaiian song and the swish of the wind in the palms. The scent of stephanotis and plumaria and ginger must strike one as it steals through the hibiscus hedges around secluded gardens. The whole body must respond to the tender caress of trade winds that have blown across a thousand miles of warm ocean. Only this is full knowledge—and the sense of this no words can convey. And after happy weeks there comes the parting —the good-byes on the ship's deck, for no tourist stays long in Honolulu without making friends. Even this is different from other partings. On the dock is the band, playing well-known tunes and, last of all, "Aloha-oe "—the last "aloha," the most familiar of Hawaiian words, which means "greeting" and "good-bye" and "love" and "best wishes for all happiness," according to its intonation. On the deck the departing passengers are covered with leis, with wreaths of flowers, one or two from every friend—red carnations, yellow ginger, green, sweet-smelling "maile " from the mountains. And as the ship pulls slowly away these leis, some of them, are thrown back to those who are left behind, thrown so fast that the widening space of water is almost hidden under fiery streams of flowers. The crowd grows indistinct, is only a coloured line against the black background of warehouses. As the ship gains headway the hills rise once more behind the little city. Once more there is the beautiful panorama of gleaming, multi-coloured water and of bright mountains with the narrow green plain between. Diamond Head draws back, and as the ship takes the waves of the open Pacific one knows that Hawaii, with all its loveliness, its stupendous mountains, its thrilling volcanoes, is only a happy memory—a place to love, and a place to be proud of since America has made it a land of prosperity, and happiness, and liberty.

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