Accepting of his pressing
invitation, we visited the brig, and took a parting glass of wine with
her gallant and gentlemanly commander.
About five o'clock P.M., we proceeded on our voyage. At eight o'clock a
dense fog hung over the bay, and, the ebb-tide being adverse to our
progress, we were compelled to find a landing for our small and frail
craft. This was not an easy matter, in the almost impenetrable
darkness. As good-luck would have it, however, after we had groped
about for some time, a light was discovered by our skipper. He rowed
the boat towards it, but grounded. Hauling off, he made another attempt
with better success, reaching within hailing distance of the shore. The
light proceeded from a camp-fire of three Kanacka (Sandwich island)
runaway sailors. As soon as they ascertained who we were and what we
wanted, they stripped themselves naked, and, wading through the mud and
water to the boat, took us on their shoulders, and carried us high and
dry to the land. The boat, being thus lightened of her burden, was
rowed farther up, and landed.
The natives of the Sandwich islands (Kanackas, as they are called) are,
without doubt, the most expert watermen in the world.
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