Roughing It

Note: The contents of Chapter 5 correspond to Chapters 73-79 in print editions of the book.

Twain takes a short trip in an outrigger canoe to see another one of the sights on the big island of Hawaii. Along the way, he notices a school of porpoises: “We dashed boldly into the midst of a school of huge, beastly porpoises engaged at their eternal game of arching over a wave and disappearing, and then doing it over again and keeping it up” (526).

After watching these aquatic gymnastics for a while, Twain reaches his destination: the ancient City of Refuge, surrounded by an immense enclosure. The author wonders how a culture he regards as primitive could have hauled and assembled the tons of stone required to build the city’s 20-foot walls. According to Hawaiian beliefs, a criminal seeking to avoid vengeance could flee to this stronghold and receive sanctuary. Twain paints a breathless picture of those who succeed in reaching the refuge and those who do not:

Then a chase for life and liberty began—the outlawed criminal flying through pathless forests and over mountain and plain, with his hopes fixed upon the protecting walls of the City of Refuge, and the avenger of blood following hotly after him! (527).

The author next turns his attention to the volcanoes on the island and is suitably impressed by the size of Kilauea, compared to which Italy’s famous Mount Vesuvius is like “a mere toy.” In the company of native guides, Twain and several companions return at night to view the red core of the volcano at its most dramatic. They stand at the rim and look down at the lurid illumination hundreds of feet below them. He notes, “It was ringed and streaked and striped with a thousand branching streams of liquid and gorgeously brilliant fire! It looked like a colossal railroad map of the State of Massachusetts done in chain lightning on a midnight sky” (534).

Venturing even further, a few hardy souls in the party decide to climb down into the volcano to see a lave-lake feature known as the North Lake. The rest of the group retreats, but Twain and another individual trudge along for hours to reach the edge of the lake itself. He explains, “Under us, and stretching away before us, was a heaving sea of molten fire of seemingly limitless extent. The glare from it was so blinding that it was some time before we could bear to look upon it steadily” (540). After viewing this spectacle, they make the long trek back to their hotel and don’t return until two in the morning.

Next, Twain’s party moves on to the island of Maui. He and his companions hike to the summit of the Haleakala volcano. He says, “We climbed a thousand feet up the side of this isolated colossus one afternoon; then camped, and next day climbed the remaining nine thousand feet, and anchored on the summit” (324). While there, the campers are engulfed in clouds below the volcano and by mist accumulating at the core of the crater. This surreal atmosphere is eventually penetrated by the sun’s rays, creating a spectacular effect: “It was the sublimest spectacle I ever witnessed, and I think the memory of it will remain with me always” (550).

While idling away some time in Lahaina, Twain finds himself crossing paths with a man named Markiss, who interrupts his conversations with others for no apparent reason. They don’t know one another, but Markiss feels compelled to top whatever story Twain is telling his companions. These rude intrusions happen on four different occasions and become so bothersome that Twain begins staying indoors to avoid Markiss. Twain says that some time after these encounters, he learned that Markiss had died by suicide and left a note behind. However, the coroner suspected foul play because Markiss could never be taken at his word. Twain notes, “Markiss’s character for thirty years towered aloft as colossal and indestructible testimony, that whatever statement he chose to make was entitled to instant and unquestioning acceptance as a lie” (556).

After spending six months in the islands as a correspondent for his newspaper, Twain returns to San Francisco. He is once again penniless but gets the idea to lecture about his travels. Such public presentations are a rarity at the time, and he isn’t at all sure of the reception he will receive. Twain is forced to rent the hall on credit and have tickets printed up the same way. He asks a few sympathetic friends to sit in the audience and laugh at his jokes.

His stomach in knots, Twain is convinced that the show will be a colossal failure. Much to his surprise, he learns that all the tickets have been sold, and his lecture is well received. He says, “All the papers were kind in the morning; my appetite returned; I had an abundance of money. All's well that ends well” (563). He would subsequently present this same lecture throughout California and Nevada.

Twain eventually returns to give his talk in Virginia City. Afterward, he and a friend are walking through an isolated area known to be dangerous when they are held up at gunpoint by six masked men. The leader of the crew demands Twain’s money but simultaneously tells him to keep his hands raised. The author tries to point out the absurdity of these conflicting demands: “Well, friend, I’m trying my best to please you. You tell me to give up my money, and when I reach for it you tell me to put up my hands” (567).

Leaving Twain and his friend to freeze in the night air, the bandits take the money and depart, but their thievery turns out to be a practical joke, and Twain’s companion is in on the conspiracy to frighten him. He protests to the reader that he really wasn’t scared: “They were not smart; they ought to have sent only one highwayman, with a double-barrelled shot gun, if they desired to see the author of this volume climb a tree” (569).

Twain concludes the story of his travels at this point. A trip that was only intended to last three months took more than six years. After his return to the States, he finds that the world has changed. Children have grown up, and old friends have moved on. Thus, he embarks on a European excursion as a correspondent for another newspaper and leaves the reader with a final caveat:

The moral of it is this: If you are of any account, stay at home and make your way by faithful diligence; but if you are ‘no account,’ go away from home […] Thus you become a blessing to your friends by ceasing to be a nuisance to them—if the people you go among suffer by the operation (570).