I had a dreary ride
yesterday, as the rain was incessant, and I saw neither man, bird,
or beast the whole way. Kahele was so heavily loaded that I rode
the thirty miles at a foot's pace, and he became so tired that I had
to walk.
It has been a splendid week, with every circumstance favourable,
nothing sordid or worrying to disturb the impressions received,
kindness and goodwill everywhere, a travelling companion whose
consideration, endurance, and calmness were beyond all praise, and
at the end the cordial welcomes of my Hawaiian "home."
I.L.B.
LETTER XXX. {422}
RIDGE HOUSE, KONA, HAWAII. June 12.
I landed in Kealakakua Bay on a black lava block, on which tradition
says that Captain Cook fell, struck with his death-wound, a century
ago. The morning sun was flaming above the walls of lava 1,000 feet
in height which curve round the dark bay, the green deep water
rolled shorewards in lazy undulations, canoes piled full of
pineapples poised themselves on the swell, ancient cocopalms glassed
themselves in still waters--it was hot, silent, tropical.
The disturbance which made the bay famous is known to every
schoolboy; how the great explorer, long supposed by the natives to
be their vanished god Lono, betrayed his earthly lineage by groaning
when he was wounded, and was then dispatched outright.
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