Our Little Hawaiian Cousin

STORIES OF OLDEN TIME

Auwae's father repeats a legend handed down through generations of his family. "More than four hundred years ago," he says, "not far from this very spot, there lived a great chief. His home was not Hawaii, but he came from a distant land to fight and win honour under the king of this island. He became powerful, and was much loved by the people. His relatives followed, and settled here with him, and all went merry.

"The time for the monthly festival drew near; games, races, and trials of strength were planned to make a pleasant holiday for all. The chief himself was to take part. He and his dearest friend were both well trained in sliding down the steep hillsides on their polished sledges; so they agreed to vie with each other at the festival to see who could win.

"How seldom, friends, these sledges are used now! What a grand sport it was! I have a sledge at home used by my father, not more than six inches wide, and at least eight feet long. The runners are finely curved and polished. You must all have seen it.

"But to come back to my story. The chief knew well just how to throw himself upon the sledge; he knew the difficult art of keeping his sledge under him as he slid down the steep race track; he was able to guide his sledge with the greatest skill.

"But his friend was as skilful as himself, so the people expected a close contest. Many wagers of bunches of bananas and fat pigs were made.

"The time came, and the two men went up the hillside with their sledges under their arms. They laughed and chatted, and had just reached the top when a beautiful young woman suddenly appeared before them.

"She bowed before the chief, and said, 'Will you try the race with me instead of your friend?'

"'What!' he exclaimed, 'with a woman?'

"'What difference should that make, if she is greater and more skilful than you?' was her answer.

"The chief was angered, but he only replied, 'Then take my friend's sledge and make ready.'

"And so these two, the chief and the strange, beautiful woman, rushed down the hillside. For a single moment she lost her balance, and the chief reached the goal first.

"How the people cheered and shouted! But the woman silently pointed toward the top, as much as to say, 'Let us have one more trial.'

"Again the chief climbed the hillside, this time with the woman by his side. As they were about to start once more, the stranger exclaimed:

"'Your sledge is better than mine; if you wish to be just, you will exchange yours for mine.'

"'Why should I?' answered the chief. 'I do not know you. You are not a sister or wife of mine.' And he turned without further heed and flung himself down the steep descent, supposing the woman was also on the way.

"But not so! She stamped her foot upon the ground, and suddenly a stream of burning lava poured forth and rushed down the hillside. The chief reached the foot of the hill and turned to see the fiery torrent destroying everything in its way.

"Too late, he understood everything now. The strange woman was none other than the goddess Pele, who had taken this form to sport with men. He had angered her, and she was about to destroy him and all his people.

"And look! There rode the goddess, herself, on the crest of the foremost wave of lava. What should he do? He instantly turned aside and fled with his friend to a small hill from which he could see the awful death of his people.

"And now the valleys were filled with the burning torrent. Pele did not intend to let him escape. Nothing was left but the ocean. He reached it just as his brother drew near in his canoe. Together they fled to their old home across the waters, and never again dared to visit Hawaii, lest the dreadful goddess should come forth against him."

When the story is finished, tales are told of the old days of war and bloodshed; when the word of the chief was law to his people; when no life was safe from the power of the priests and chiefs. Then, indeed, were surely needed the cities of refuge still standing on this island.

"It is at least a hundred years ago," says old Hiko, "that my grandfather fled to the Pahonua, that strong old city whose walls have sheltered many an innocent man and helpless woman. He was accused of breaking the 'tabu' the chief of his village had laid upon a certain spring of water." (Of course, as you know, "tabu" means sacred, and so the water of that spring must not be used by any one except the chief himself.)

"My grandfather was then a young man, gay and happy. He would never have dared to break the tabu, but an enemy accused him of so doing, and the chief sent armed men to kill him. A good friend heard of it in time to warn him, and he fled over the mountains on his trusty horse.

"His pursuers were in full view when he reached the entrance to the city of refuge. Here they believed he was under the protection of the gods, so they turned back. Drawing a long breath of relief, he entered the city. He lived for some days in one of the houses built inside its massive walls. Then he came home again without fear, for he could never more be harmed for the deed of which he had been accused.

"In those times, my children," says the old man, "the thief, even the murderer, was pardoned, once he reached the city of refuge. And during wars it was the place to which women and children fled; there alone were they safe."

But the people are rested now, and do not care to think longer of the olden times. As the tide is far out, a dance upon the beach is proposed. Upa pounds his drum, and another of the party plays upon a bamboo flute. All the others move about on the coral sand in slow, graceful circles.

While they are enjoying themselves in this way, we can examine Upa's drum. He made it from the hollow trunk of a cocoa-palm. It is covered with shark's skin. Odd as it seems to us, it serves his purpose very well, and the boy keeps good time with the dancers. While he beats upon it he delights in watching Auwae move about on the sand. She is the very picture of grace and happiness.

CHAPTER X.

UP THE MOUNTAIN

The pleasant days pass by for Auwae and Upa, and the time comes for the great trip to Kilauea. You must understand that Kilauea is not the volcano itself, but the largest crater on the side of Mauna Loa. Many grown people as well as children picture a volcano as a great cone with only one deep pit, down into which they can look when they reach the summit.

This is not always so; for the fire raging in the heart of Mauna Loa has burst out in more than one place on its sides. Kilauea is the largest of these outlets, or craters. It is a hard journey to climb even so far as this. Very few people are daring enough to go still farther and journey to the summit of Mauna Loa.

Auwae's mother actually grows excited while she gets her little daughter ready for the trip. She does not care to go herself.

"It is too much work. I know I should get tired; but you can tell me all about it, my child, when you come back. Then I can see it through your eyes. And Upa's father will be kind, and will take good care of you. I shall not worry."

When the first light of the morning shines through the tree tops, three clumsy-looking horses stand in front of Auwae's door. Upa and his father use two of them; the third one is for our little brown maiden, who appears with a fresh garland of flowers upon her head and a smile on her red lips.

She springs upon the saddle without help, and sits astride of the horse just as Upa does. In fact, all Hawaiians ride in this way, and it is very wise. The women could not travel safely over the rough mountain passes if they rode like their white cousins.

"Aloha! Aloha! Aloha!" echoes through the grove, and the party is soon out of sight. They have more than thirty miles of climbing before them; the horses must walk nearly all the way, as it is a steady rise from the village to the edge of the great crater.

At first, the way is through a perfect forest of breadfruit, candlenut, and palm trees. Among them are ferns growing from twenty to thirty feet high! Their great stalks are covered with a silky, golden-brown fibre. Other ferns, more delicate, are wound around these and live upon their life.

It is cool in the shade of the trees; the way is narrow and the horses must go in single file to keep out of the thick underbrush. Presently the way grows lighter and the party come out of the forest and pass a large sugar plantation. Chinese labourers are cutting down the long canes and carrying them to the mill to be crushed. The white overseers are hurrying from one place to another, urging on the men and giving directions, while through it all Auwae can hear the rush and roar of a waterfall. She cannot see it, because the mill and boiler-house hide it from her sight.

The party move to one side to let a team of mules pass them on the narrow road. The mules are laden with kegs of sugar which must be carried to the coast and shipped to distant lands.

The children would like to stop awhile on the plantation, but Upa's father says they must not delay. It will be evening before they can reach the volcano-house.

As they climb higher and higher up the mountainside, the air grows cooler, yet the heat from the sun is so great they are still too warm for comfort. Suddenly a heavy shower takes them by surprise, and Auwae cries out in delight:

"Upa, isn't this fun? I'm going to open my mouth and let the raindrops fall right in. I'm so thirsty! Aren't you?"

The children lie back in their saddles and leave their trusty horses to follow their leader onward and ever upward. No one gives a thought to wet clothing, for will it not be dry again a few minutes after the rain stops falling?

See! the lava-beds stretch out before them. It is clear enough now that Hawaii, the island of flowers, was born of fire. All these miles of gray, shining substance once poured, a broad river of fire, from the crater above. Some of the lava looks like broad waves; again, it is in pools, or rivers, or coils, with great caves here and there. These caves are really bubbles which have suddenly burst as they cooled.

Auwae looks off to each side of the road, built with so much labour up the mountain; then she thinks of what her grandmother has told her of her own journey to Kilauea, years ago. At that time there was no road over the lava-beds, and her horse slipped many times as he stepped on places smooth as glass. And many times his hoofs were badly cut on sharp edges, and left bloody marks behind him.

The air is quite still. Not a sound can be heard. No birds nor insects make their homes on these lava stretches. Yet do not think for a moment that nothing grows here. The moist air and the rains have been great workers, and, in some strange way, delicate ferns, nasturtiums, guavas, and even trees, have taken root, so that the lava-beds are nearly covered.

Hour after hour passes by. Auwae gets so tired she nearly falls from her horse. The luncheon has been eaten long ago. There is no water to drink except what the showers have left in little hollows by the wayside. The children have stopped their chatter and lie with closed eyes on their horses' backs. The smell of sulphur grows strong, and Upa's father turns around to call out:

"Children, here we are at last! And there is my old friend Lono in the doorway to welcome us."

CHAPTER XI.

THE VOLCANO