Scenes in the Hawaiian Islands and California — Story, Setting & Ideas

A Journey Framed by Missionary Purpose

The publisher's note reveals that Anderson accompanied her father, Rev. Rufus Anderson, on official business for the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. This context shapes every observation. When she describes the "venerable missionaries" at Kailua or the "stone church" where a thousand natives gathered, she writes as an insider to the mission enterprise. Yet her eye for incongruity—the carriage that terrifies horses, the "prickly pear" hedges that are "unsightly but very strong"—keeps the narrative from becoming mere propaganda. The reader should note how Anderson balances reverence with curiosity, especially in scenes where native customs (like the handshake and "aloha") are treated with respect.

The Texture of Hawaiian Life

Anderson's most vivid passages capture the material culture of the islands. She describes taro patches, poi and raw fish eaten with fingers, and the "pahoihoi" lava that tears at carriage wheels. The native response to the carriage—"whole families turned out, men, women, and children"—reveals a society in transition. Her account of the prickly pear's thorns working through a buckskin glove is a small but telling detail: the landscape resists even the prepared traveler. These observations are not systematic ethnography but the impressions of a young woman who notices both the "green rose" and the "century-plant" that blooms every twenty-five years.

California as a Second Act

The California chapters, though less extensive in the excerpts, offer a contrast to the Hawaiian scenes. San Francisco's "Lick House" and "Mission Dolores" appear alongside street cars and hills. The "backbone of America" and "Golden Gate" suggest a landscape of scale and ambition. Anderson's voice shifts: the Hawaiian passages dwell on community and ritual, while California is rendered in terms of commerce and infrastructure. Readers should watch for how the two halves of the book reflect different modes of travel—the sea voyage to Hawaii versus the overland or coastal routes in California—and how Anderson's descriptive strategies adapt.

The Limits of the Excerpts

The provided text breaks off mid-sentence and omits entire chapters, including the description of Kilauea volcano (referenced in the illustration caption). This means the reader cannot assess Anderson's treatment of Hawaii's geology or her later impressions of California. The excerpts also lack any conclusion, leaving the narrative arc incomplete. What remains is a fragmentary but coherent portrait of a young woman navigating two unfamiliar worlds. The reader should approach the full text expecting more set pieces—volcanic landscapes, missionary gatherings, and the daily rhythms of 1860s travel—that the excerpts only hint at.

Anderson's narrative rewards attention to small, concrete details: the way a native deacon sends watermelons, the precise number of horses tied outside a church, the thorns that cannot be seen but cause pain. These moments anchor the broader missionary and travel themes in lived experience. The reader who follows these threads will find a book that is both a period piece and a personal record of encounter.

I kept thinking about how Mary Anderson must have felt watching Hawaii for the first time—so much newness, yet tinged with homesickness. It reminded me, strangely, of that older travel account where another soul crossed Travels through the states of North America, and the provinces of Upper and Lower Canada, during the years 1795, 1796, and 1797 [Vol. 1 of 2] — Story, Setting & Ideas. Both whisper that ache of being far from home, quietly, the way old letters do.