After breakfast, which was a repetition of last night's supper, we
three, with Halemanu's daughter as guide, left on horseback for the
waterfall, though the natives tried to dissuade us by saying that
stones came down, and it was dangerous; also that people could not
go in their clothes, there was so much wading. In deference to this
last opinion, D. rode without boots, and I without stockings. We
rode through the beautiful valley till we reached a deep gorge
turning off from it, which opens out into a nearly circular chasm
with walls 2,000 feet in height, where we tethered our horses. A
short time after leaving them, D. said, "She says we can't go
further in our clothes," but when the natives saw me plunge boldly
into the river in my riding dress, which is really not unlike a
fashionable Newport bathing suit, they thought better of it. It was
a thoroughly rough tramp, wading ten times through the river, which
was sometimes up to our knees, and sometimes to our waists, and
besides the fighting among slippery rocks in rushing water, we had
to crawl and slide up and down wet, mossy masses of dislodged rock,
to push with eyes shut through wet jungles of Indian shot, guava,
and a thorny vine, and sometimes to climb from tree to tree at a
considerable height.
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