surfresearch.com.au  newspapers : 1898

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Newspapers : 1898.

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All abreast the four canoes shot in toward the beach.
The paddles ripped the clear, blue water.
The spray dashed over the bows.
Everybody yelled.
No one looked behind, but all knew that the big, rolling sea was overtaking us.
If we did not have sufficient way on the canoe the comber would go by us and we should be left the objects of derision of all the yelling crews that caught us.
How we yelled a mixture of Kanaka and English, everybody shouting at full lung power, the Kanaka exclamations coming wlth sharp, explosive force that contrasted with the slower English like the crack of six-pounders with the roar of guns.
On we go, and there's hardly time to notice that we are just a little ahead of the other three canoes when "There she comes!" shouts Mr. Dimond.
There is a sudden lifting of the stem of the canoe, an instant response in the yells of the crew, a lightning increase in speed, and we've caught the roller.
The others have caught it also, and all four abreast we dash ahead.
Now paddles are at rest, and down the inshore side of the roller we slide, always just ahead of and just under the curling crest that breaks into foam almost under the sharp stern of the canoe.
The speed is tremendous.
It seems as if we were outrunning the Empire State Express.
Lucanias and great Kaisers never dreamed of such speed.
From the sharp cut water of the canoe the foam flies in two lines back up to the crest of the roller.
The spray dashes over us in streams.
And all the time everybody yells.
It is like the performance of an amateur fire department trying to scare out a fire by noise.
It is half a mile to the beach, but there Is hardly time to catch sight of that gorgeous rainbow under the black cloud that hangs over Diamond Head, we are in so quickly.

Not yet though, not yet.
There is a little back swell caused by the beating back of the big surf from the bench.
The watchful Mr. Dlmond at the helm catches sight of it, and his shouting takes the form of directions to his Kanakas.
The puddles that have been dripping little silver balls into the foam, leap forward again.
There is a sudden spurt by the canoe in response.
Two or three seconds it lasts, hardly long enough to shout "Well, ke hao" and we're over it.
That long-drawn wolf howl from the next canoe is Cloman, voicing his satisfaction that Tao-hai has caught the swell too.
The others are managed well and no one has been left behind.
Now the four still abreast drive straight at the beach.
We are on the left flank.
Cloman and Tao-hai are next, the others beyond.
Mr. Dlmond shouts to Tao-hai ond gets a staccato response.
Wo are not twenty yards apart and almost on the beach.
Down goes Mr. Dimond's paddle to port, hard held against the rushing sea.
Tao-hai follows.
Off to port we swing and slide by the beach in line, in half a foot of water.
Skillfully managed were the other canoes also.
At the instant that we swung to port they swung to starboard, and now, all head back toward the reef where the breakers start, we are standing up in the canoes, drenched with the salt spray, but yelling like Indians with the pure joy of it.
A sport for kings, but one that few kings know, and most of those the world regards uncivilized.
De Quincoy found tho glory of motion on top of a six-horse coach.
Others have caught the same spiritual intoxication in the wild, free forward sweep of a fast locomotive.
De Quincoy mused from the top of his coach that the heart of man was the all-compelling power of his glory.
It is the heart of native that knows the surf and drives the surf rider's canoe.

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