The progress I had made in learning the language surprised the Elders at Honolulu. I was able to converse tolerably well with the natives, and understand what they said. When they learned how the Lord had opened our way and aided us in acquiring the language, they felt that it might be wisdom for me to continue my labors there, instead of removing to Honolulu. This, after counseling together, was the decision of the president.

I was much gratified at the privilege of returning to Maui; for, to my view, prospects for accomplishing any great amount of good were not very bright then at Honolulu.

Elder William Farrer sailed with me to Maui, to be a partner to Henry W. Bigler.

We had scarcely reached Lahaina, when Elder Hiram Blackwell called upon us from the Island of Hawaii, where he had been with Elder James Hawkins. He was on his way to Honolulu, and expected, if it was not contrary to counsel, to return home. He was discouraged in trying to learn the language and preach to the natives. He reached Honolulu in time to return with the other Elders.

At this point I may anticipate the order of my narrative by stating that Elder James Hawkins, Brother Blackwell’s partner, remained on Hawaii for some time, striving to acquire the language, and to proclaim the gospel to the people. He afterwards came up to Maui and labored there, and filled a good mission before he returned home.

About three weeks after my return from Honolulu, we were surprised at receiving a visit from the president of the mission. He had concluded to leave the Sandwich Islands and go to the Marquesas Islands; for he thought there was a better field there.

These latter islands, 30° south of where we were then, are inhabited by a race of people whose language is very similar to that spoken by the natives of the Sandwich Islands. They are probably descendants of one common stock. But they are naturally more fierce and savage than the Sandwich Islanders. It is said of some of them, that when they are engaged in war, they have no objections to eating a piece of a roasted man; indeed, they rather relish such a meal at such times, as they think it makes them brave.

Our president’s principal motive in coming to see us was to have us go with him. If prospects were no better on Maui than on the island he had been on, he thought we should accompany him. It was not from any fear that the people of the Marquesas group would eat us, that we did not fall in with his proposal; but because we could not see the propriety of it.

Our position, just then, was a peculiar one. Here was our president, the man who had been appointed to counsel and guide us, proposing to us to leave the field to which we had been appointed, and to take a journey of several hundred miles to another land to labor. What were we to do? How far did the obedience which we owed to him require us to go? This was an important question. To disobey a man in the rightful exercise of authority, was an act from which we naturally recoiled; and an act, too, of which we were not in the least disposed to be guilty. But we felt that it would not be right for us to leave that island then.

We had done but little at warning the people, or accomplishing our mission, and why leave them then, any more than on the first day that we landed? We had not been appointed by the authority, which called him and us, to go to the Marquesas Islands; we knew of no opening there, or of any reason why we should go there in preference to any other place on the earth. If we followed our president there, because he told us to come with him, and we should find no opening to preach the gospel, why not follow him to some other country if he should so require us?

Fortunately we were relieved from the necessity of refusing to comply with his counsel. He felt plainly enough that his proposal did not strike us favorably. He had not been many hours with us until he found this out; and he told us that probably it would be better for us to remain where we were until we gave the people a fair trial; and then, if we could not do anything, we could follow him, as he intended to write to us respecting his success. The first we heard from him, he had drifted down to Tahiti, on the Society Islands, where some of our Elders were then laboring. His mission, however, was of no profit to himself.

When an Elder has the spirit of his mission, he cannot rest contented unless he is proclaiming to the people the message with which he is entrusted. Surround him with every comfort his heart can desire, and if he has that spirit, he will still be anxious to go forth among the people, even if he knows he will meet with privations and persecution. This was my feeling before the visit of the president of the mission, and after he left, my anxiety increased, and I told the brethren that I must push out among the natives; and commence preaching to them as well as I could. I had made very good progress in the language, and felt able to explain in part the first principles of the gospel.

About a week after the president’s visit I started off, intending, if I did not get an opening, to go around the island. But the Lord had revealed to me that I would find a people prepared to receive the truth; and I started as a man would who was going to meet his friends. Though I had never seen them in the flesh, I knew that when I met them they would not be strangers unto me.

Borrowing Brother Bigler’s valise, one which he had carried many a day himself while on a mission in the States, I started, feeling as proud of the privilege of swinging it across my shoulder as any knight ever was at wearing, for the first time, his gold spurs.

The great desire of my heart from my early boyhood had been to have the Priesthood and the privilege of preaching the gospel. This desire was now about to be gratified, and though I was timid and very bashful, I felt that God would carry me safely through.

The brethren accompanied me about four miles on my way. We were far from all our friends, and were strangers in a strange land; our parting, therefore, as might be expected, was painful. They remained to continue their study of the language.

It was plain to me that the angel of the Lord was with me; for at whatever place I stopped, I was received most kindly, and the best the people had was at my service.

The principal food of the natives of the Sandwich Islands is called poi. This is made out of a root which they call kalo. “Kalo” patches are so made that they can be flooded with water; and the ground is never allowed to be uncovered. In planting this root they do not use seed. When a native gathers the “kalo,” he carries it to his home, where he cuts off the tops. These are carefully saved, tied up in a bundle, and carried back to the patch. These tops he sticks in the mud at the proper distances apart, and at the end of about eleven months he has another crop of “kalo.” This is the process of gathering and planting.

The “kalo” bears some resemblance in its leaves and taste to the wild Indian turnips, but its root is much larger; not quite the shape of a tame turnip, but as large as a moderate sized one. There is a variety called the “dry land kalo.” It is not so extensively cultivated as the other kind, and is not considered so good eating.

Near every house there is a circular hole. When “kalo” is to be cooked, a fire is built in this, and a quantity of small volcanic rocks are piled on top of it. As the fire burns out these sink to the bottom, and they are spread over the bottom and around the sides of the pit. The “kalo” roots are then laid in, mats are spread over them, then soil, until they are completely covered, excepting a small hole at the top, into which water is poured. That hole is then stopped, and the cooking commences.

“But how do they cook?” you may ask.

When the water is poured in, the rocks, being hot, speedily convert it into steam, and, as it cannot escape, it cooks the roots.

I have seen large hogs cooked in this way, and meat is sweeter cooked in this fashion than by any other method I know anything about. The native men on the Islands do all the cooking.

When the “kalo” has been in long enough to cook, it is uncovered; the skin is washed off, and it is pounded with a stone pestle, on a large flat slab of wood, until it is like a mass of dough. Then it is put into a calabash, or gourd, and by the next day fermentation has commenced; or, as we would say if it were bread, it has “raised.” Water is then added to it, and it is mixed until it is a little thinner than we usually make mush. There is a little sour taste about it the first day. But it is never eaten at that time by the natives, unless they have no other food. They like it best when it is quite sour. This is what they call “poi,” and there is no other food that they think can equal it.

Their usual method of eating is worthy of notice. A large calabash of “poi” is placed on the mats; around this the family seat themselves.

In families where they make any pretensions to cleanliness, a small calabash of water is passed around, and each one rinses his or her fingers before commencing to eat.

To keep off the flies, a boy or a girl stands waving a kahili, which is made by fastening feathers to a long, slender stick.

In eating, they dip their first two fingers into the calabash, load them with the “poi,” and pass them into their mouths. The sucking of the fingers, the gusto with which they eat, and the incessant conversation mingled with laughter which they keep up, would lead a bystander to conclude that they enjoy their food. And they do. If the “poi” be good, and they have plenty of fish or meat to eat with it, they have great pleasure in eating. They think white men who eat together without conversing very unsocial beings. They have an idea that it contributes to health, and to the enjoyment of the food to have pleasant and lively conversation while eating.

Before leaving Lahaina, I had tasted a teaspoonful of “poi;” but the smell of it and the calabash in which it was contained was so much like that of a book-binder’s old, sour, paste-pot that when I put it to my mouth I gagged at it, and would have vomited had I swallowed it. But in traveling among the people I soon learned that if I did not eat “poi” I would put them to great inconvenience; for they would have to cook separate food for me every meal. This would make me burdensome to them, and might interfere with my success. I, therefore, determined to learn to live on their food, and, that I might do so, I asked the Lord to make it sweet to me. My prayer was heard and answered; the next time I tasted it, I ate a bowlful, and I positively liked it. It was my food, whenever I could get it from that time as long as I remained on the islands.

It may sound strange, yet it is true, that I have sat down to a table on which bread was placed, and though I had not tasted the latter for months, I took the “poi” in preference to the bread; it was sweeter to me than any food I had ever eaten.