On the morning of the eighth of February, after again experiencing the instability and fickleness of the natives, and that apathy and indolence proverbially characteristic of them, I succeeded, through the aid of my friend, in securing a guide and horse to conduct us thither. The Indian, who is the traveller’s sole reliance, as previously remarked, in all kinds of menial service, can hardly be induced to work, unless from the necessity of supplying his own immediate wants, or under the orders of the alcalde, to whom strangers are often obliged to apply for assistance in compelling these indolent people to assist them. In such a case, the aggrieved party enters his complaint to the alcalde, stating that he has endeavored to hire an Indian, but that he refuses. The Indian is then sent for, and his reasons for declining heard: if not satisfactory, and they seldom are, he is commanded to attend the traveller, and the amount of his compensation fixed at the time. The penalty for disobedience is imprisonment, which, however, is seldom incurred. We were upon the road at an early hour, but had not proceeded far before we experienced “a norther” of rain and wind—a kind of tempest peculiar to these regions, and exceedingly annoying. We stopped at an Indian’s hut for shelter; but the dilapidated state of the walls offered so insufficient a protection from the elements, that I soon concluded to make headway under their fury, and to endeavor to reach the town of Kaua, where we expected to find a good retreat. The ride over the slippery rocks was slow and hazardous, but at three o’clock we reached the long looked-for place, where we had pictured to ourselves so much happiness in the change of clothes and comfortable lodgings. How fallacious, sometimes, are our brightest anticipations! On arriving at the Casa-real, (the traveller’s first hope,) every thing was found to be comfortless and forbidding. Our clothes were drenched, and the storm continued unabated.