The Hawaiian sugar is only partly refined, and of a dull golden color when the sun strikes it. It is largely granular, the particles being almost the size of a small pea. The sacks, made of gunny, are stamped with the names of the various plantations; Ewa, Laie, Halawa, Holua Loa, Kilauea, Makee, Wailuku, and a dozen others, all of them the mystic symbols spelling wealth to their fortunate owners.
They weigh in the neighborhood of one hundred and fifty pounds of the limpest, deadest, weight in the world and without decent "ears" at the end of the sack to afford a hold. Frequently a sack would break, and we would help ourselves to the sugar. The taste is pleasant at first, and we were remarkably liberal in our indulgence, perhaps no more so than a crew of girls would be if they were loading a cargo of chocolate creams.
The sugar as it comes from the island refineries is about twice as sweet as the white granulated article. To a crowd accustomed to black jack molasses as a sweetener for their coffee, the sugar was a wonderful delicacy, for a time. Soon we became cloyed with the taste, and for weeks after my first gorging of sweets, I took my coffee and tea without it, though we always had a small keg of the stuff on hand forward during the remainder of the voyage. The sweet overpowering smell of the sugar soon permeated the ship, and in the heat of midday, became nauseating to us who were not used to it.
The Kanaka workers, splendid specimens, would toss the heavy sacks with apparent ease, the muscles rippling under their smooth skins as they worked. The greatest good feeling prevailed in the hold, and the men constantly referred to our mate amid sallies of laughter for it was considered a great victory for them when the superintendent smoothed matters out.
On deck, at the hatch, and on the wharf, the tally men checked the loading of every sling and bag of sugar that went into the hold. The plantation, the railroad, and the ship's agents had their independent checkers. These chaps, mostly sedate older men, well educated, apparently well paid, kept the neatest tally books I have ever seen. They made the cleanest little marks with very sharp pencils, which they were always sharpening with very sharp pen knives; little marks four in a row, and a cross for every fifth bag. Before the end of each day's loading these very independent tally men would get together under the fo'c'sle head, or behind a convenient freight car on the dock, and reconcile all differences, thus proving themselves brothers under their skins to independent folk in higher stations. Years afterward, I recognized some of these same tally men, still at the job of making very neat little marks and crosses, an easy job no doubt and well worth while if it contributed toward the upkeep of a happy family; most of them looked like settled benedicts.
As we cleaned out the warehouse, the sugar began to come in on the railroad and was slung right aboard from the cars, the Japs sending the loaded cars along by pushing, getting them started by short crow bars, used as levers under the wheels. These Japs were a husky lot with very able bodies, small heads, black cropped hair, often wound with a red or white head band. Most of them had dazzling white teeth which they constantly exposed by expansive grins; altogether they were a testimonial to a rice and fish diet, so far as physical wellbeing is concerned.
The days at the sugar wharf were among the most pleasant of our stay in Honolulu, and like all good things they raced away with disquieting swiftness. Having lighter duties to perform, we were not so dog tired at night and enjoyed our leisure that much more. Peter continued to make progress with the native population and on one eventful night was presented with a large jug of swipes, as a token of esteem.
Brenden, Axel and I were up on Nuuanu Street, in the vicinity of Merchant, watching the shifting crowds as we wandered aimlessly about. Presently we spied Peter, coming toward us, carrying his jug. The street was fairly crowded, and going ahead of us, toward Peter, was a one-legged man; a pugnacious individual who brought down his iron shod peg with loud determination. The wooden leg yawed badly, sailing at least three sheets in the wind, and the flag sidewalk was none too wide for him. Coming up to Peter, he lurched suddenly to port, taking our shipmate squarely on the bow, and the three of them, all carrying cargo, Peter, the Peg Leg, and the Jug of Swipes, rolled into the dusty gutter.
A fight started right there. The Peg, to give him a proper name, attacking, and Peter defending himself from the strange fury of the indignant cripple.