Summary

Portrait of Richard Henry Dana Richard Henry Dana Two Years Before the Mast — Chapter XVI

I shall never forget the delightful sensation of being in the open air, with the birds singing around me, and escaped from the confinement, labor, and strict rule of a vessel—of being once more in my life, though only for a day, my own master. A sailor’s liberty is but for a day; yet while it lasts it is perfect. He is under no one’s eye, and can do whatever, and go to wherever, he pleases.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Richard Henry Dana Richard Henry Dana Two Years Before the Mast — Chapter XVI

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.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Richard Henry Dana Richard Henry Dana Two Years Before the Mast — Chapter XVI

The little children were running about among the huts, stark naked, and the men were not much better; but the women had generally coarse gowns, of a sort of tow cloth. The men are employed, most of the time, in tending the cattle of the mission, and in working in the garden, which is a very large one, including several acres, and filled, it is said, with the best fruits of the climate. The language of these people, which is spoken by all the Indians of California, is the most brutish and inhuman language, without any exception, that I ever heard, or that could well be conceived of.
Source: Wikisource

Get perspective with Kwize: daily news enlightened by great literature