The Indians, who
always have a holyday on Sunday, were engaged at playing a kind of
running game of ball, on a level piece of ground, near the houses. The
old ones sat down in a ring, looking on, while the young ones- men,
boys and girls- were chasing the ball, and throwing it with all their
might. Some of the girls ran like greyhounds. At every accident, or
remarkable feat, the old people set up a deafening screaming and
clapping of hands. Several blue jackets were reeling about among the
houses, which showed that the pulperias had been well patronized.
One or two of the sailors had got on horseback, but being rather
indifferent horsemen, and the Spaniards having given them vicious
horses, they were soon thrown, much to the amusement of the people.
A half dozen Sandwich Islanders, from the hide-houses and the two
brigs, who are bold riders, were dashing about on the full gallop,
hallooing and laughing like so many wild men.
It was now nearly sundown, and S--- and myself went into a house and
sat quietly down to rest ourselves before going down to the beach.
Several people were soon collected to see "los Ingles marineros,"
and one of them- a young woman- took a great fancy to my pocket
handkerchief, which was a large silk one that I had before going to
sea, and a handsomer one than they had been in the habit of seeing.
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