July 30 Monday – Sam’s sixteenth letter to the Union, dated “Honolulu, June 30, 1866. A MONTH OF MOURNING”:
For a little more than a month, the late Princess—her Royal Highness Victoria Kamamalu Kaahumanu, heir presumptive to the crown and sister to the King—lay in state at Iolani Palace, the royal residence. For a little over a month, troops of natives of both sexes, drawn here from the several islands by the great event, have thronged past my door every evening on their way to the palace. Every night, and all night long, for more than thirty days, multitudes of these strange mourners have burned their candle-nut torches in the royal inclosure, and sung their funeral dirges, and danced their hulahulas, and wailed their harrowing wail for the dead. All this time we strangers have been consumed with curiosity to look within those walls and see the pagan deviltry that was going on there. But the thing was tabu (forbidden—we get our word “taboo” from the Hawaiian language) to foreigners—haoles. The grounds were thrown open to everybody the first night, but several rowdy white people acted so unbecomingly—so shamefully, in fact—that the King placed a strict tabu upon their future admittance. I was absent—on the island of Hawaii [Maui].—at that time, and so I lost that one single opportunity to gratify my curiosity in this matter [Day 161; Schmidt].
Also, while at sea Sam began a letter to his mother, Jane Clemens, and sister Pamela. The letter would be completed in San Francisco on Aug. 20 and would include segments written July 6, 7, 8, 10 and August 20. The sea is very dark & blue here. I play whist & euchre at night until the passengers all tire out & go to bed, & then walk the quarter-deck & smoke with the mates & swap lies with them till 2 oclock….Get up at 8 in the morning—always the last man, & never quick enough for the first table— & breakfast with servants, children & subordinate officers. This is better than I do in San Francisco, though—always get up at noon, there [MTL 1: 351].
From Sam’s notebook:
“This is the fifth day of dead, almost motionless calm—a man can walk a crack in the deck, the ship lies so still. I enjoy it, and I believe all hands do except the d—d baby. I write 2 hours a day and loaf the balance…1400 miles at sea—Lat. 38.40; long 154.03—Distance 51” [MTNJ 1: 149].