Scenes in the Hawaiian Islands and California

A few hours' sail brought us to Kalepolepo. Rev. Mr. Alexander had ridden over from Wailuku, ten miles distant, and came on board, and stayed with us some hours while the steamer took on board a supply of wood. It was good to see his beaming face, and receive his cordial welcome. He gave me a lesson in Hawaiian.

"What was it, aunty?" asked Willie.

One sentence was, "He olu olu anei oe?" Are you well? You would say perhaps, "Aole au i ike." I don't understand.

"How funny!" said little Alice.

The next morning, just before we reached Kailua, we discovered the king's barge, and in a few minutes he himself came on board with some of his attendants. The meeting between himself and his queen was affecting; she, not having been to their country-seat since the death of the young prince, was quite overcome. His Majesty was dressed in a light mixed suit, with drab buskins buttoned to the knee, white boots, and a drab felt hat, with about two inches of crape on it. His buskins, setting off his fine form, gave him a very noble appearance. Indeed, he seemed to feel himself every inch a king. After the queen had become somewhat composed, he came to where we sat and, with a hearty shake of the hand, welcomed us to his country. He spoke of his visit to America, some years ago, and conversed very agreeably for some little time. At leaving us, both he and the queen again shook hands, with the same pleasant manner.

At noon we arrived in Kealakekua Bay, on the west side of Hawaii, where Captain Cook was killed. Rev. Mr. Paris was on the beach, with horses to take us to his house, about two miles distant. As the steamer was to remain till night, we went. Our landing was almost on the very spot where Cook was killed. Grandma and I donned our riding-skirts, mounted our horses and started on our ride. Such hills and roads, so dusty and steep, never before entered my imagination! It was the first time grandma had been on a horse for forty years. Sometimes we were a little afraid; but as our horses were not, we gathered courage. At times a precipice rose above us three or four hundred feet on one side, and on the other descended perhaps a hundred feet. The rock was of lava, much broken, sometimes looking like the waves of the sea, or like a stream rolling over the precipice. A portion of the road was cut out of the side of the rock. Mrs. Paris's cordial greeting repaid us for our hot and dusty ride. Here, for the first time, I saw orange-trees in full bloom. They were large and elegant trees, with blossoms and green and ripe fruit growing at the same time. How we enjoyed the fruit, luscious and juicy, and so refreshing after our ride! The arbutulum grows here like a large tree, and blossoms profusely. In the garden we saw young pine-apples, green mangoes, and Chinese oranges, – a perfect orange in miniature, but acid as a lemon.

Toward sunset, we returned to the ship. Darkness covered us before reaching the shore; but our sure-footed horses took us down without a mishap. At the head of the bay rises a pali, or precipice, six or seven hundred feet high, and it is said to go down perpendicularly into the water perhaps as much more.

On Thursday, we sailed all day along grand precipices rising from the ocean, some of them seven hundred or a thousand feet high, with waterfalls leaping the whole distance, or broken into smaller cascades. Sometimes the streams seemed like a silver ribbon, bordered with green moss; these steeps being generally covered with verdure. Here and there was a deep gorge or gulch, as they are there called. The first and only valley of importance we saw was Waipio, whose sides rose exceedingly grand and beautiful, with zigzag mule-paths up the slopes. Far in the distance, amid its shadows, fell a ribbon-like cascade, said to be two thousand four hundred feet high; behind it lay mountains with their summits resting in the clouds. A village with its pretty church nestled in a grove of cocoa-nuts on the beach. After this the precipices grew lower and lower, until finally the scene changed to undulating hills, and a rain storm notified us that we were approaching Hilo. We reached that place about ten o'clock at night, and landed through the surf; that is, the little boat stopped about fifty feet from the shore, and a man waded out and took grandma in his arms; but there being a little delay in getting ashore, the wave rolled in upon her and gave her quite a wetting. When the man came back, and said, "Come, come," I started immediately. The surf roared in the darkness, and I was afraid, but was very soon set down safely on the shore. Dr. Wetmore met us on the beach, and escorted us in the rain to Mrs. Coan's house. Mr. Coan was away upon a tour; but they sent a messenger after him, and he returned home on Saturday.

Hilo is celebrated for its heavy rains, and I should think also for its gigantic spiders. I was afraid of them, though it is said they are harmless unless molested.

Sabbath we passed in the usual manner. Grandpa addressed the native congregation in the morning, and told them of his visit to the Holy Land. They seemed delighted to see one who had looked upon Jerusalem, and walked by the shores of Gennesaret.

There is the supper-bell; so we must wait until to-morrow for another story.

IX

The Volcano

"NOW, aunty, what are we to see to-day, and where are we to go?" asked Willie, as we assembled in the sitting-room.

We'll go to the volcano to-day, Willie, I answered.

Tuesday morning, we started on our first real horseback journey. The party numbered seven, – three elderly people and four younger ones. Two of our friends escorted us a few miles on our way, and then, as it began to rain, they turned back. I could think of nothing but a party of gipsies, as we rode out of Mr. Coan's yard. You would have laughed to see our fitting out. Grandpa had on rubber overalls, a long rubber coat, and a drab felt hat tied upon his head. I doubt if you would have known him. Grandma wore a dark riding-skirt, an oil-cloth cape over her shoulders, and a felt hat, decidedly slouchy, trimmed with green ribbon. I had on an old drab skirt, my water-proof cloak, and a venerable straw hat trimmed with green, with a blue barege veil falling from its brim. The rest were dressed in similar style. We rode in single file, and the road was so bad, if road it could be called, that we advanced barely two miles an hour. Every few minutes we had to go up or down some steep place, or through mud nearly a foot deep. Swamps and streams alternated with our short hills. At length we came to a wood of tropical luxuriance, where the road was just a mule-path, the branches often meeting before our faces, so that we had to raise our hands to part them. It rained as it always does here. While we young people were venturing on a short canter, my saddle turned completely, and I landed on my feet in an oozy place, fortunately unhurt. A few miles short of the half-way house, – miles are not measured by feelings there, – my horse gave out. For some time he had walked lame in all his feet, and at last refused to go at all. One of the young gentlemen lent me his horse, and led mine. We reached the half-way house about five o'clock, wet through. This was a native house, the occupants of which at once turned out, bag and baggage, the latter consisting, however, of only a few calabashes and pillows, and removed into a smaller hut. We found our house neatly laid with mats, and looking comparatively inviting. The firebrands had been carried out, leaving only the coals in the center of the floor, surrounded by stones to protect the matting. The house was of thatched sides and altogether looked very much like the native houses we saw on the Isthmus.

We made a temporary curtain of a blanket, put on dry clothes, hanging our wet ones up to dry; then laid a table-cloth on the matting, and from buckets and calabashes brought out our dinner. Our service was of tin; but we made a hearty meal, sitting Turk fashion on the mat. After our dinner and tea together, the natives came in, and we had prayers. Mr. Coan read a few verses in English and then in the native language, which was followed by two prayers, one in English, the other in Hawaiian, by the head of the family. We then lay down to sleep; but cockroaches, fleas, and a strong cup of tea drove slumber from our eyelids, and there was more sighing than sleep. The men who brought our calabashes walked or dog-trotted it all the way barefooted, and got on faster than we did. The calabashes are fastened one at each end of a pole four or five feet long, and the bearers don't seem to mind the weight, balancing them easily on their shoulders and carrying them safely. We never missed the smallest article, and nothing was injured by jarring.

We mounted our horses the next morning with good courage, though it was dubious weather, and we had a long ride before us. After a while, we young folks headed the procession and cantered when we could, which was seldom, as a great deal of the way was like riding in the bed of a brook. It had rained so much that a puddle of water was met every few feet. Part of our way was through a beautiful growth of gigantic ferns, mingled with other trees. The ferns were of a beautiful species, growing twenty or more feet high, and crowned with waving feathery branches. Other trees had their bark almost hidden by velvety moss or tiny ferns.

We arrived at the volcano house wet and tired, about three o'clock, but were much comforted by the cleanly appearance of the house, so nicely matted were the floors, with a raised place for sleeping. Outside, under a roof like a veranda, was a blazing fire, and it was needed for drying our clothes, and sending warmth through our chilled limbs.

We ladies retired behind our curtain, and soon appeared in complete Bloomer costume. We set our table in more civilized style, having a rough board whereon to lay our cloth, while benches saved the necessity of our sitting again in Turk fashion. We rested better than the previous night, rousing ourselves once in a while from our lowly matted couch to gaze through the mist at the light from the crater, which looked like an enormous fire.

About nine the next morning, we took our winding way to the edge of the bluff, commanding a fine view of the crater; and there it lay before us, a huge, blackened, fire-desolated gulf! Steam issued from fissures in various parts, while a dense rolling volume marked the place of the really burning lake: We ladies, in our Bloomer dresses, – for it isn't safe to wear long skirts, – started down the precipice. At some of the steep places, our gentlemen tied ropes to the shrubs, and, with jumping and careful walking, we were soon down upon the lava floor.

"How did it feel to walk on the lava, aunty?" said Willie.

It seemed like walking on a snow-crust. Once in a while a foot would sink through, and this at first alarmed us; but we soon got used to it. There were many deep fissures in the lava, from some of which issued steam; these we used to jump over.

"How wide were they?" asked Harry.

One or two feet wide; and no one knows how deep. Mr. Coan seemed to think that forty feet below us might be liquid lava. The lava had flowed in countless shapes and ways. Sometimes it had hardened in circles, or parts of a circle, or it was all crumbled and broken. This last they call a-a [ah-ah]. Often a piece of the thin crust cracked under our footsteps, and turning it over, there would be upon the under surface all the colors of the rainbow.

After a walk of two and a half miles, we came to what is called the "blow hole," where steam rushes out with great force and a loud report, like many factory pipes. It seemed as if some angry goddess dwelt below, whom we had insulted by coming into her domains, and that she was belching out her fierce anger, and vowing vengeance.

But the final wonder was when the fiery gulf came into view. It must have been half a mile square, and was about fifty feet below the level of where we stood. It was boiling up all over its lead-colored surface. Toward the center, it would blacken over, and the blacker it grew, the more intently we watched, until finally it rose in a huge dome thousands of tons in weight, red and fiery, and fell as suddenly. It was so hot, that we had to cover our faces or turn away. There were several red-hot fountains in various parts of the lake, throwing up jets of lava. One was near a shallow cave, from the edges of which, the lava hung in beautiful flame-colored stalactites.

"What are stalactites?" asked little Alice.

An icicle is a stalactite of frozen water; these were of lava, shaped just like large icicles.

All the while, the lake was boiling up in some places, and wrinkling and folding over at the edges. It was a terrible and exciting sight. One of the party would shout, "There, there, the boiler is going to throw up now!" and as it rose into the air, a grand chorus of "There!" would announce the end of that discharge. It is impossible to describe to you the grandeur of the scene. It is one of God's most wonderful works. We felt weak and powerless before it.

We took our lunch on the shore of this fiery lake, and afterwards spent an hour in gathering specimens of the different kinds of lava.

Not far from the lake is a peak of lava which is called the "Gothic Cathedral" from its shape. Some of the party passed by a block looking like a lion. There were huge fields of "a-a" where the lava was thrown up into rough heaps, as if some one had tried to knead up blocks a foot square, and given it up as a bad job. We walked nearly six miles in the crater, going and coming, which will give you an idea of its size. It is nine miles in circumference. Our young gentlemen we left behind, as they had discovered a new cave where they could see many valuable specimens. When we reached the house, we were wet and tired; for it rained while we were in the crater, and we had to change our clothes. We ladies saw the yellow sulphur beds in the distance, but were too weary to visit them.

During our absence, the native men had gathered a quantity of ohelo berries, resembling cranberries, but tasting like blueberries, not so sweet perhaps, but like them seedless; they were very nice with sugar, so we added them to our bill of fare. Remind me of those berries to-morrow, and I'll tell you a story about them.

Now for supper.

X

A Story about Kapiolani

AS I entered the sitting-room, I was greeted by a chorus of voices saying, "Aunty, the berries, you know!" So I began.

A good while ago, when the missionaries first went to the Hawaiian Islands, a princess lived there named Kapiolani, the daughter of Keawemauhili. She was a portly person, as most in high rank were, having an engaging countenance, a keen black eye, and black hair put up by a comb. She dressed in a civilized fashion, and used chairs and tables. Her husband's name was Naihe. In the year 1825, only five years after the mission was commenced, Kapiolani was living at Kaawaloa. Many of her countrymen still supposed that the volcano was the abode of a powerful goddess, whose name was Pele. They were very superstitious, and reverenced and feared to anger this goddess.

Kapiolani had become a Christian, and felt sorry for her poor people who were still in the darkness of paganism, and determined to break the spell that bound them. So she announced her intention to visit the crater of Kilauea, and call upon the goddess to do her worst. Her husband and many others endeavored to dissuade her, but she was not to be moved from her purpose. She traveled, mostly on foot, over a rough and desolate road, a distance of about a hundred miles.

As she drew near the volcano, she was met by one who claimed to be a prophetess of Pele, and threatened her with the displeasure of the goddess, should she come into her domains on this hostile errand. She was told that she would certainly perish if she went to the crater. Kapiolani disregarded the impostor, and went on. Those ohelo berries which I spoke of in my last story were sacred to Pele, and no one dared to eat them unless they had first offered some to the goddess. But Kapiolani gathered and ate them. "She and her company of about eighty," said Mr. Bingham, "accompanied by a missionary, descended from the rim of the crater to the black ledge. There, in full view of the terrific panorama before them, she threw in the berries, and calmly addressed the company thus: 'Jehovah is my God. He kindled these fires. I fear not Pele. If I perish by the anger of Pele, then you may fear the power of Pele; but if I trust in Jehovah, and he shall save me from the wrath of Pele when I break through her tabus, then you must fear and serve the Lord Jehovah. All the gods of Hawaii are vain. Great is the goodness of Jehovah in sending missionaries to turn us from these vanities to the living God and the way of righteousness!'" Then amid the horrid belching and bellowing of the crater, they sung a hymn of praise, and prayed to the God of heaven and earth.

Now wasn't it a grand, a noble thing for this woman, who had been educated in the grossest idolatry, who had only heard of the true God within a very few years, thus to come out and defy her nation's deity, this Pele? Why, even we, brought up in the light and power of the gospel, could not wonder that those benighted savages feared and worshiped. We silently thanked God in our hearts, that we knew him as our Creator and the Maker of this wonderful volcano, instead of a wicked, revengeful heathen god.

"You spoke of Pele's tabus; what is a tabu, aunty?" said Carrie.

Anything forbidden by their law or customs was called "tabu."

Now we will go back to our journey. The day after we descended the crater, we started for the half-way house on our return. It was a dreary, rainy morning, but cleared up soon, though no sun was visible. The roads were dryer, and we young people cantered off, leaving the more staid portion of the party behind; and reached our resting-place two hours or more before the others, and before our native men too. We were hungry, but our calabashes of food were far behind us, so we fell to decorating the house, in order to occupy our time. It was a simple thatched hut, with no windows and only one door. We built an arch over the doorway of two gigantic ferns, with a bouquet of red roses in the center, and made thence a continuous wreath of ferns and red leaves to the end of the house, and down to the ground each side. The bright red leaves were brought us by the little kanaka [native] children. Inside, opposite the door, we made another arch, and twined a wreath around the center pole supporting the roof. Our native men, as they entered, exclaimed "nani," handsome, or "maikai," good. And Mr. Coan's face, as he came up the hill, smiled approval. It really had entirely transformed the dingy hut into quite a fairy bower. All night, fleas and cockroaches disputed with us for its possession, and we rose in the morning, unrefreshed, to a day's ride in the rain. The road was worse than on the day we first came over it. It had stormed incessantly, the streams were swollen, the mud was deeper, and our horses stiff and weary, not to mention ourselves as in the same predicament. At times it rained so hard that our horses turned their backs to it, and refused to move, and there we had to sit until the violence of the shower was over. We often waded through streams up to the saddle-girth. Part of the way, the road was made of the trunks of fern-trees laid crosswise, not more than two or three feet broad. They were worn and broken, and in some places decayed entirely away. We considered it, however, a good road, and cantered over it, our sure-footed horses never once stumbling. Glad indeed, were we, to see the white spire of the Hilo church, and more glad to reach Mr. Coan's hospitable house, where hot baths and a good dinner in some degree enlivened us. Grandma was tired, but a night and day's rest made her quite herself again. We felt amply repaid for any amount of fatigue or discomfort, by our view of the crater and burning lake. It was a scene for a lifetime; no pen could describe it, no pencil portray it; one must see it with one's own eyes, to appreciate its wonders. God alone could create it; and his power only could say to this surging, fiery torrent, "Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther."

March 24th, we took the steamer Kilauea. It rained as we sailed out of the bay, – Byron's Bay as it is called. The surf rolls in here terrifically, and beats upon the shore with an incessant booming sound. The view of Hilo, as you enter the bay, is said to be very fine; but we were so unfortunate as to come in, in the night, and to go out in a rain-storm. The natives play in the surf a great deal. They have what is called a surfboard perhaps four or five feet long. With this board, they swim out perhaps a mile, and then lying on it, ride in on the top of the surf-billows. I was sorry not to see this amusement; but the little children, with their small boards, I often saw trying to imitate their elders.

"Don't they ever get hurt, aunty?" asked little Alice.

Not often. The natives are perfectly at home in the water, and can swim long distances. The women are about as good swimmers as the men.

Ah, the bell! the bell! we mustn't keep grandpa waiting.

XI

Kau and Journey to Kaawaloa