The Project Gutenberg eBook, Kiana: a Tradition of Hawaii, by James Jackson Jarves

J. Webber del. I. Andrews. Sc.

A Hawaiian Chief.

KIANA:
A TRADITION OF HAWAII.

BY
JAMES J. JARVES,

Author of “History of the Hawaiian Islands,” “Parisian” and “Italian Sights,”
“Art-Hints,” &c., &c.

BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE:
JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY.

LONDON:
S. LOW, SON, AND COMPANY,
Ludgate Hill.

M DCCC LVII.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by
James Munroe and Company,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

CAMBRIDGE:
THURSTON AND TORRY, PRINTERS.

TO
HIS MAJESTY
ALEXANDER LIHOLIHO,
WHO NOW SO WORTHILY FILLS THE THRONE OF THE
HAWAIIAN ISLANDS,
AS
KAMEHAMEHA IV.,
THIS TRADITION OF HIS KINGDOM IS
RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED.

PREFACE.

Strictly speaking, there is no such thing as Fiction. Every emotion, thought, or action embodied into literature has been human experience at some time. We can imagine nothing within the laws of nature, but what has had or may have an actual existence. A novel, therefore, but personifies the Truth. In giving a local interest to its actors, it introduces them to the reader through the medium of sympathies and passions, common to his own heart, of reason intelligible to his own mind, or of moral sentiments that find an echo in his own soul. Its success depends upon the skill and feeling with which the author works out his characters into a consistent whole—creating a simple and effective unity out of his plot, locality, and motive. Still every reader likes to feel that the persons whose fates warm his interest in the pages of a romance, actually lived and were as tangibly human as himself, and his degree of interest is apt to be in ratio to his belief that they were real personages. I am glad, therefore, to be able to assure my readers of the following facts.

In my youth I spent several years in different parts of the Pacific Ocean, but chiefly at the Sandwich or Hawaiian Islands. While engaged in procuring materials for their history,—first published in 1843,—I was much struck with a tradition relating to their history by Europeans, two and a half centuries before Cook so accidentally stumbled upon them. Briefly it was this—

Eighteen generations of kings previous to Kamehameha I., during the reign of Kahoukapa, or Kiana, there arrived at Hawaii, a white priest, bringing with him an idol, which, by his persuasion, was enrolled in the calendar of the Hawaiian gods, and a temple erected for its service. The stranger priest acquired great influence, and left a reputation for goodness that was green in the memories of the people of Hawaii three centuries later. Another statement adds that a vessel was wrecked on the island, and the captain and his sister reached the shore, where they were kindly received and adopted into the families of the chiefs.

Without enlarging here upon the tradition, and the light my subsequent researches threw upon it, I will simply state that I became convinced that a Spanish priest, woman, and several men were rescued from a wreck, landed and lived in Hawaii, and acquired power and consideration from their superior knowledge, and for a while were even regarded as gods. Some of them intermarried with the aborigines, and their blood still exists (or did recently) among certain families, who pride themselves greatly upon their foreign origin.

Other traces of their existence are perceptible in the customs, ideas, and even the language of the natives, which last has a number of words strikingly analogous to the Spanish of the same meaning. Captain Cook found among them a remnant of a sword-blade and another bit of iron. They were not strangers to this metal, and as no ores exist in their soil, they could have derived their knowledge solely from foreign intercourse.

Soon after the conquest of Mexico, Cortez sent three vessels upon an exploring expedition to California. After sailing as far as 29° north, one was sent back to report progress. The other two held on and were never heard from. Why may not one of these be the vessel that was wrecked on Hawaii? The winds would naturally drive her in that direction, and the date of the expedition agrees, so far as can be made out from Hawaiian chronology, with the time of the first arrival of white men on that island. Indeed, at that period of maritime discovery, white men could come from no other quarter. For my part, I believe that a port of Mexico was the starting point of the wrecked party; a conjecture which derives some plausibility from the fact, that, when the natives offered the whites bananas and other tropical fruits, they were familiar with them, which would be the case, if they came from Tehuantepec, from whence Cortez fitted out his vessel.

To absolutely identify the white strangers of Hawaii with the missing ships of Cortez, is not now possible. But the interest in them, left thus isolated from civilization amid savages, upon an island in the centre of the then unknown ocean, is peculiar. Especially have I always been curious to trace the fate of the solitary white woman,—a waif of refinement cast thus on a barbarous shore,—and of the priest too,—to learn how far their joint influence tempered the heathenism into which they were thrown, or whether they were finally overcome by paganism.

Twelve years ago, while amid the scenery described in this volume, and the customs and traditions of the natives were fresh in my mind, I began to pen their history; but other objects prevented my going on, until the past winter, when leisure and the advice of friends, pleased with the subject, prompted its completion. The descriptions of the natural features of this remarkable island, of the religion, customs, government, and conditions of its aborigines, as well as the events in general, are as faithful transcripts, in words, of the actual, to my personal knowledge, as it is in my power to give.

In saying thus much for the facts, I am in duty bound to add a word for the ideas. Prefaces, some say, are never read. It may be so. But for myself, I like the good old custom, by which as author, or reader, I can talk or be talked directly to. It is the only way of familiar intercourse between two parties so essential to each other. I shall therefore speak on.

Every tale is based upon certain ideas, which are its life-blood. Of late, fiction has become the channel by which the topics most in the thought of the age, or which bear directly upon its welfare, reach most readily the popular mind. But few authors, however, can count upon many readers, and I am not one of them. Still what a man has to say to the public, should be his earnest thought frankly told. No one has a monopoly of wisdom. The most gifted author cannot fill the measure of the understanding. The humblest may give utterance to ideas, that, however plain to most thinkers, may through him be the means of first reaching some minds, or at least suggesting thoughts that shall leave them wiser and happier. If what he say, has in it no substance of truth, it will speedily come to naught. But on the contrary, if it contain simply the seeds of truth, they will be sure to find a ripening soil somewhere in human hearts, and bud and blossom into peace and progress. With this motive I have spoken freely such views as have been prompted by my experience and reflections. They are not much to read, nor much to skip. Whichever the reader does, he carries with him my warmest wishes for his welfare, and the hope that if he find in the Story nothing to instruct, it may still be not without the power “to amuse.”

Casa Dauphiné,
Piazza Maria Antonia,
Florence, 1857.

KIANA:
A TRADITION OF HAWAII.

CHAPTER I.

“They that sail on the sea tell of the danger thereof; and when we hear it with our ears, we marvel thereat.”—Ecclesiasticus, xliii. 24.

“The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,

The furrow followed free;

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea.”

Ancient Mariner.

To be alone on the great ocean, to feel besides the ship that bears you, nothing human floats within your world’s horizon, begets in a thoughtful mind a deep solemnity. The voyager is, as it were, at once brought before the material image of eternity. Sky and sea, each recedes without limit from his view; a circle above, a circle around, a circle underneath, no beginning, no ending, no repose for the sight, no boundary on which to fix the thought, but growing higher and higher, wider and wider, deeper and deeper, as the eye gazes and finds no resting point,—both sea and sky suggest, with overpowering force, that condition of soul which, knowing neither time nor space, forever mounts Godward. In no mood does Nature speak louder to the heart than in her silence. When her thunders roll through the atmosphere and the hills tremble, the ocean surges and the wind wails; when she laughs through her thousand notes from bird or blossom, the heart either exults at the strife, or grows tender with sympathy in the universal joy. But place man alone on the ocean, shrouded in silence, with no living thing beyond his own tiny, wooden world for companionship, he begins to realize in the mighty expanse which engulfs his vision his own physical insignificancy. The very stars that look down upon him, with light twinkling and faint, from the rapidity with which they have sent their rays through distant firmaments to greet his vision and tell him there are countless worlds of greater beauty and higher perfection for his spirit to explore; even they deepen his feeling of littleness, till, finally, his soul recovers its dignity in the very magnitude of the scenery spread for its exploration. It knows that all this is but a portion of its heritage; that earth, air and water, the very planets that mock its curiosity, are ministering spirits, given with all their mysteries to be finally absorbed into its own all-penetrating nature.

Few, however, can so realize their own spirit-power, as to be calm in a calm. A motionless ship upon a silent ocean has a phantom look. The tall, tapering spars, the symmetrical tracery of ropes, the useless sails in white drooping folds, the black body in sharp relief in the white light, added to the ghost-ship,—the twin of the one in the air,—in dimly-shadowed companionship, hull uppermost and her masts pointing downwards in the blue water, make up a spectral picture. As day after day passes, overhead a hot burning sun whose rays blind without rejoicing, no ripple upon the water, no life, because neither fish nor bird can bear the heat; the very garbage thrown overboard floating untouched, as if destruction rejected her own; the night mantling all in darkness, making silence still more oppressive,—for even the blocks refuse their wonted creaking;—all this consumes the body like rust slowly eating into iron. Nature faints and man sinks into her lassitude. He feels deserted of his own mother. She that bore him mocks him. Perchance a cold grey sky, pregnant with gloom, shuts down all around him, reflecting itself in the ocean which looks even greyer and colder. The atmosphere grows barren of light. No wind comes. Silent, motionless, and despairing, the vessel lies upon the waters; not slumbering, for every nerve within is quickened to unnatural keenness to catch a sign of change. It comes not. The seamen’s hearts, too worn to pray or curse, daily sink deeper within them, like masses of lead slowly finding their way through the fathomless depths of the ocean. A sail, a floating spar, a shark or devil fish, anything that were of man or beast, a shrub, the tiniest sea-snail or wildest bird, would be welcomed as Columbus hailed the floating signs that told to his mutinous crew a coming shore.

But none come. Weeks go by thus. Is man a god that his soul cannot fail within him! Must he not sympathize with the surrounding inanition! Welcome battle, welcome storm, welcome all that excites his energies, though it consume blood and muscle; be the mind racked and the body tortured; still man marches triumphantly on to his object. But take away opposition, reduce him to nothingness, convince him that action begets no result, that will is powerless, and he is no longer man. Not to act is conscious annihilation. But Nature never wholly deserts. She leaves hope to cheer humanity with promises that sooner or later must be fulfilled. There is, however, no condition so destitute of all that makes man Man as helpless solitude, when mind and body alike without action, stagnate and forget their origin.

Such was the condition of the crew of a vessel about the year 1530, lying motionless on the waters of the Pacific, not far from 25° north latitude and 140° west longitude. The bark was of that frail class, called caravel, scarcely fitted to navigate a small lake, much less to explore unknown seas. Yet, in those days European navigators did not hesitate to trust their lives and fortunes, on voyages of years’ duration, to craft which would now be condemned even for river navigation. The one of which we speak was of about seventy tons burden, with a high poop, which gave a comfortable cabin, a half deck and a forecastle, raised like the poop, sufficient to give partial shelter to the numerous crew. One mast with a large lateen sail rose from the centre of the vessel, but her progress was aided as much by oars as by canvas. At the masthead was a castle-shaped box, in which the seamen could comfortably remain, either as lookouts, or for defence. This gave to the spar a clumsy, top-heavy look, wholly inconsistent with our modern ideas of nautical symmetry.

It was plain that the caravel had been long from port, and had suffered much from stress of weather. Her sides were rusty grey; barnacles clung so thickly below and above the water line, as to greatly interfere with her sailing qualities; the seams were open, and as the hot sun poured upon them, pitch oozed out. A tattered and threadbare sail hung loosely from the long yard which swayed from the masthead. The cordage appeared strained and worn to its last tension. Iron rust had eaten through and stained the wood in all parts of the hull. If paint had ever existed, the elements had long since eaten it up. Everything indicated long and hard usage. Yet amid all there were signs of seamanship and discipline; for bad and shattered as were rope, spar, and sail, everything was in its place and in the best order its condition permitted.

Within the cabin was a weather-beaten young man, well made, of a strong and active frame, features bronzed by long exposure to varied climates, and fine soft hair, somewhat light in color, which even now would have curled gracefully, had it been properly cared for. He lay ill and panting on the transom, with his face close to the open port, gasping for air; not that he was seriously reduced, for it was readily seen that fatigue, anxiety and scanty fare had more to do with his weak condition than actual disease. Near him was a rude chart of the coasts of Mexico and adjacent sea, which he had long and carefully, and, to all appearance, fruitlessly studied. It was covered with a labyrinth of pencil marks, indicating a confused idea both of navigation and his present position. He had been recently poring over it, and at last had thrown it aside as utterly worthless, or at all events as affording him no clue by which to extricate himself from his present situation in a sea wholly unknown to the navigators of his day.

Near him sat a priest, whose thoughtful, benevolent face was far from expressing despair even under their present circumstances. He talked to the young man of the necessity of trusting themselves to the guidance of Providence, and sought to cheer him by his own hopeful serenity and untiring action.

Around the deck and under such shelter from the heat as they could contrive, the crew reclined in mournful groups; some with faces hardened into despair, and others careless or indifferent. A few only manifested a spirit of pious resignation. The strongest seldom spoke. Their looks were as sullen as their tempers were fierce, and if they opened their mouths, it was to mutter or curse, daring Nature to do her worst. Nothing but their physical debility prevented frequent violent explosions of the pent-up irritability arising from their helpless state. Disease and starvation were rapidly adding fresh horrors to their situation. One seaman lay on the hard deck with a broken thigh, in which mortification had already begun, groaning and piteously asking for water. In his thirst he would have drank more in one hour than was allowanced to the entire crew for a day’s consumption. Several others, whose fevered tongues rattled from dryness, were also tossing and moaning on the rough planks, too weak or hopeless to join in the fruitless appeal of their dying comrade. Such water as they had was clotted with slime, and impregnated with foul odors. Their meat was all gone, and the little bread left, musty and worm-eaten.

All wore the look of having long struggled with adverse fortune. They were men whose element was made up of hardship and adventure; men, who, forgetting in one hour’s better fortune all that had brought them to their present condition, would not hesitate to embark again on a similar errand. Here they were, bowed in spirit, haggard in features, their hardy limbs lying torpidly about, indifferent to death itself, but worn to worse than death by drifting for weeks about under a pitiless sun on an unknown sea, which the oldest of them had never heard of, and which seemed to them as if they had arrived within the confines of stagnant matter, where they were doomed to rot in body and decay in mind, coffined in their vessel, whose slow destruction kept even pace with their own.

Five of their number had already died and been cast overboard. Gladly would they have seen sharks gorge themselves on their late shipmates, as that would have shown them that the water still contained life. But no carrion fishes came near them. With faces upturned and glassy eyes fixed upon the caravel, those corpses floated about them so long that the crew were at last afraid to look over the bulwarks for fear of seeing what they desired so much to forget.

But humanity had not altogether abandoned them. The frailest in body among that vessel’s company proved the strongest in faith and action. A woman was of their number. Consuming even less of their provisions than the others, she reserved herself, and in great measure her allowance of food, for those whose necessity she considered as greater than her own. At all hours was she to be seen moving quietly about, speaking hope and courage to one, giving to eat or drink to another, or fanning the hot brow of a half delirious sufferer, while she talked to him of a home into which no suffering could enter, if the heart once were right. Especially was she devoted to the young man in the cabin. He evidently relied even more upon her than upon the priest, and imbibed fresh strength and hope from her voice and example. The priest was equally unwearied with his bodily aid and spiritual counsel to the crew. Thus it was that amid the most trying of the experiences of ocean-life, despair did not altogether quench hope.

Yet what situation could be more cheerless! One altogether similar in the history of navigation had never occurred before, and by the hurried course of discovery and civilization, would not again occur. They were literally alone, drifting on an unknown, motionless sea. No winds stirred its surface; no birds flew by; no fishes came up from beneath their keel; there was no change except from the burning day to the feverish night, which brought with it no cooling dew, nor any sign to excite a sailor’s hope. Although they could not know the fact, not a vessel beside theirs for thousands of miles east or west, north or south, floated on that ocean. Driven thither against their wills, they were the first to explore its solitude. It was true that continents and archipelagoes thickly peopled were around them, but for all they knew, they were being carried by an irresistible fate to the boundary of nature, whence they would drop into a fathomless void. They were therefore literally alone.

CHAPTER II.

“Suddaine they see from midst of all the maine,

The surging waters like a Mountain rise,

And the great Sea, puft up with proud Disdaine,

To swell above the measure of his guise,

Threatening to devoure all that his Powre despise.”

Spenser.

The caravel in question was more than ordinarily frail, having been hastily equipped with two others from the port of Tehuantepec in Mexico, at the order of Cortez for the exploration of the continent about and above the gulf of California. It is true, an experienced seaman named Grijalva had been put in command, and he had been so far successful as to have reached the twenty-ninth degree of north latitude. Thence one vessel had been sent back with an account of his progress. The other two continued their explorations northward, with the hope of arriving at that kingdom so rich in precious metals, of which they had heard so many rumors from the recently conquered Mexicans. Creeping coastwise slowly upward, many fine bays with shores rich in verdure met their view, but of gold they found no traces, and of inhabitants, with the exception of an occasional glimpse of a naked savage, who ran terrified away, they were equally unsuccessful. Yet they were navigating waters, the tributary streams of which were literally bedded in gold. But neither the time nor people to which this treasure was to be disclosed had arrived. Consequently, Grijalva, with his eyes blinded to what was constantly within his reach, saw nothing but a vast wilderness, which promised neither wealth nor honor as the reward of further exploration. Reluctantly, therefore, he turned his course southward. That night a severe gale came on, and both caravels were driven far from their course towards the southwest. It was in vain with such unseaworthy vessels that Grijalva sought to regain the coast. The wind blew him still farther into unknown seas, which daily became more tempestuous, until his storm-shattered vessel sank in sight of her scarcely better conditioned consort, engulfing all on board.

This sight for the moment chilled the hearts of the surviving crew, and paralyzed their exertions. But Spanish seamen and the soldiers of Cortez were too accustomed to death in every form, to long despair. They redoubled their efforts, and by bailing and cautious steering, keeping the vessel directly before the wind, weathered the gale, which the next day was succeeded by the fatal calm, already described.

There were on board some twenty persons, veterans in the hardships and conflicts of the new world. Their commander was the young man that lay exhausted in the cabin. He spoke to the woman who now sat with his head on her lap, while she gave him such meagre refreshment as their famished bark afforded. His name was Juan Alvirez. Hers was Beatriz. They were brother and sister. He had been a volunteer with Narvaez, and after his defeat enlisted under Cortez, and was present at the siege of Mexico, and all the subsequent expeditions of his commander, to whom he was greatly attached. This attachment was founded in a congeniality of temperament, which led him to emulate the heroic daring and unflinching perseverance of Cortez, while his more powerful intellect was equally an object of his profound admiration. With the same thirst for adventure, the same chivalric courage, the same devotion to the Catholic worship, the same contempt for the rights, feelings or sufferings of others so that his own desire was gained, devout and loyal, with deep affections, easily moved to anger or kindness, childlike in his impulses, yet strong in action, Alvirez in most points, except judgment, might be considered a Cortez on a small scale. Indeed, his intimacy with him, begun when Alvirez was not twenty years of age, had, by strengthening the natural traits of character so similar to his own, quite merged him into his commander. His individuality was shown chiefly in executing what Cortez ordered, and in blind though gallant acts of devotion, upon the spur of emergency, in which prudence or generalship were not often considered.

Alvirez was frank and social. These qualities joined to his tried bravery made him the favorite of all. Even the Mexicans who had so often suffered from his arm, learned to distinguish and admire in him that generous fearlessness to all danger, which pitiless to them, was self-devoted to his own cause, and stooping to no artifice in action, went direct to its mark, like the swoop of a hawk upon its quarry. With them he was known as Tonatiuh, ‘the child of the sun,’ from his burning glance and stroke as quick as light. His thirst for adventure keeping him in continual action, he gladly volunteered to command the soldiery in the expeditions which Cortez sent to explore and subdue the unknown regions to the north of Mexico.

Not yet in the prime of life, we find this Spanish cavalier, faint from exertions which had wearied out all on board, lying half helpless, grieving over the fate of the brave seamen who had so long and skilfully kept the little squadron afloat.

His sister Beatriz shared many of these traits with her brother. She was as brave, self-devoted, ardent, and impulsive as he, but true womanhood and a benevolence of heart which instinctively led her to seek the happiness of those with whom she was, made her in conduct an altogether different being. Deeply imbued with the Roman Catholic faith, while she sedulously conformed to the demands of its ritual, its principles tempered by her own native goodness and purity, reflected through her peace and good will towards all men. Juan was all energy and action. His will flowed from desire like a torrent, rending asunder its natural barriers, and spreading mingled ruin and fertility in its course. Her will was deep, calm, and sure, without noise, with no sudden movement, but like the quiet uprising of an ocean-tide, it steadily rose, floating all things safely higher and still higher on its bosom, until they attained its own level. All about her felt its movement, wondered at the effect, and welcomed the cause.

Her influence over rude men was not the result of charms that most attract the common eye. The oval of her head was faultless. Her hair was of ethereal softness, and seemed to take its hue and character from her mind rather than from nature’s pigments. Considering her race, her complexion was rare, being blonde. Warmth, firmness, decision, and much heart-suffering, were denoted by her mouth. Her eyes spoke at will the language of her soul, or kept its emotions as a sealed book. Yet they were not beautiful in the strictly physical sense, being in repose somewhat lifeless in color, but when they talked, an illumination as if from another sphere overspread her countenance, and surrounded her entire person with an atmosphere radiant with spirit emotion. So gentle, yet so penetrating was her speech, that it seemed as though she breathed her language. To the listener it was as if some delicious strain of music had passed through him, harmonizing his whole nature. This, no doubt, was owing rather to her purity and earnestness, as they found language and a responsive echo and all that was true and good in others, than to any wonderful endowment of voice. Her vital organization being acute and generous, she was extremely susceptible to all life emotions, yet so well-balanced was her character, which was the result of a varied experience, garnered into wisdom, that came more from intuition than out of the cold processes of reason, that rarely was she otherwise than the same quiet high-toned woman, as persuasive to good by her presence, as faithful to it by her example. None, therefore, asked her age, debated her beauty, or questioned her motives. All, even the mercenary soldier, the profane seamen, and the untutored Indian, felt themselves better, happier and safer, for having her among them. Her sad, sympathizing face, her winning speech, generous action, and noiseless, graceful carriage, were to them more of the Madonna than of the earth-woman. Yet she was strictly human, differing from others of her sex only in being a larger type of God’s handiwork, with fuller capacities both to receive and give, whether of suffering or joy. The key to her character was her invariably following her own noble instincts, sanctioned and aided as they were by the principles of her faith. In this respect, she was fortunate in possessing for her confessor the priest who was with them. He was a Dominican monk, Olmedo by name, and although attached by education to his theology, was of enlarged and humane mind, and felt that love rather than force was the only sure principle of conversion of the heathen to Christianity.

Olmedo had come from Spain with the father of Alvirez, who held a post of trust in Cuba. Thence he followed Cortez to Mexico, and on repeated occasions had done much to soften his fanaticism, and inspire him with a more humane policy towards the unhappy Indians. When Alvirez set out on the present expedition, his sister and Olmedo determined to accompany him; the former from her love for Juan, and the latter from attachment to both, and the hope that he might find a field for missionary labor, in which the principles that animated him and Beatriz might have free scope, unneutralized by the brutality and excesses of the miscalled soldiers of the Cross.

The other members of the caravel’s company need just now no special mention, except that although bred in the Cortez school of blood and rapine, they were, almost unconsciously to themselves, influenced much not only by the high toned courage and unflinching perseverance of their commander, but still more by the purer examples and earnest faith of Beatriz and Olmedo; each of whom, as opportunity offered, sought to deepen this impression, and to persuade them that there was truer treasure on earth than even the gold for which they lavished their blood, and better enjoyment to be found than in the brutal indulgence of base passions. There was, in consequence, in most of them a devotion to their leader and confessor, loftier and more sincere than the force of discipline, or the ordinary inspiration of their religion, because founded on an appeal to their hearts. For Beatriz the rudest one among them would willingly have shed all his blood to save a drop of hers.

“May the Holy Mother receive their souls,” somewhat abruptly exclaimed Juan, who had been musing upon the fate of Grijalva. His sister did not reply, except by a deep sigh, feeling that silence best expressed her sympathy with her brother’s ejaculation.

Juan and those of the crew who now remained alive, exhausted by their sufferings and labors, soon sunk into a sound sleep. Olmedo and Beatriz were alone left awake, and avoiding by a common instinct the past, they talked only of their present situation and probable future. There was nothing in their external conditions to authorize hope for maiden or priest; yet a reliance on divine care so completely filled their hearts, that although no light penetrated their ocean-horizon, each felt and spoke words of encouragement to the other.

While they talked, light breezes began in variable puffs to stir the sails. As the wind increased, it grew contrary to the course for Mexico, yet it was balmy, and as the sea under its influence began to rise and fall in gentle swells, the air became cooler, and the sky was gradually interspersed with fleecy clouds which occasionally shed a little rain.

Awakening Juan and the crew, Olmedo pointed to the clouds, which, driving before them, seemed to beckon to some unknown haven beyond. “Our deliverance has come,” exclaimed he; “let us lose no time in welcoming the breeze.”

“We cannot reach Mexico with this wind,” said Juan glancing aloft; then, as his spirits revived with the brightening prospect, he gaily added, “Let us follow whither it blows; new fields of adventure may repay us for those we have lost.”

“My son,” solemnly replied Olmedo, “we are a feeble band, but trusting in Him who ordereth all things, we may accept with gratitude the auspicious breeze; not to carry us to new scenes of slaughter, but in the hope that He who has preserved us alike from the storm and calm, reserves us for a more noble mission.”

“What say you, Beatriz, is father Olmedo right?” asked Juan, more to hear her voice than as desiring her opinion, which he knew would conform to her confessor’s.

“Dear brother, our father is right. Orphans that we are, let us abandon ourselves to the guidance of the Holy Virgin and the saints. They will lead us to the work they have for us to do.”

To the followers of Alvirez, any course which promised a new excitement or conquest was welcome. They therefore bestirred themselves with such alacrity as their famished condition permitted. In a short time the caravel was going before the wind with all the speed she was capable of, while the crew, excepting the necessary watch, again betook themselves to the repose they so greatly needed, and which, sustained as it now was by hope, did much to revive their strength.

CHAPTER III.

“My dream is of an island place

Which distant seas keep lonely;

A noble island, in whose face

The stars are watchers only.

Those bright still stars! they need not seem

Brighter or stiller in my dream.”

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

In the nineteenth degree of north latitude, and one hundred and fifty-five degrees west, lies a large and important island, one of a group stretching for several hundred miles in a north-westerly direction. At the date of this tale, it was wholly unknown, except to its aborigines. Situated in the centre of the vast North Pacific, not another inhabitable land within thousands of miles, it was quietly biding its destiny, when in the circumnavigating advance of civilization westward to its original seat in the Orient, it should become a new centre of commerce and Christianity; and, as it were, an Inn of nature’s own building on the great highway of nations.

Up to this time, however, not a sail had ever been seen from its shores. Nothing had ever reached them within the memories of its population, to disprove to them that their horizon was not the limits of the world, and that they were not its sole possessors. It is true, that in the songs of their bards, there were faint traces of a more extended knowledge, but so faint as to have lost all meaning to the masses, who in themselves saw the entire human race.

Hawaii, for such was the aboriginal name of the largest and easternmost island, was a fitting ocean-beacon to guide the mariner to hospitable shores. Rising as it does fourteen thousand feet above the level of the sea, snow-capped in places, in others shooting up thick masses of fire and smoke from active volcanoes, it could be seen for a great distance on the water, except, as was often the case, it was shrouded in dense clouds. Generally, either the gigantic dome of Mauna Loa, which embosomed an active crater of twenty-seven miles in circumference on its summit, which was more than two and a half miles high, or the still loftier, craggy and frost-clad peaks of Mauna Kea, met the sight long before its picturesque coast-line came into view. As usually seen at a long distance, these two mountain summits, so nigh each other and yet so unlike in outline, seemingly repose on a bed of clouds, like celestial islands floating in ether. This illusion is the more complete from their great elevation, and coming as they do with their lower drapery of vapor, so suddenly upon the sight of the voyager, after weeks, and, as it often happens, months of ocean solitude.

Nowhere does nature display a more active laboratory or on a grander scale. At her bidding, fire and water here meet, and, amid throes, explosions, upheavings and submergings, the outpourings of liquid rock, the roars of a burning ocean, hissing, recoiling and steaming at the base of fiery mountains, which amid quakings and thunders shoot up high into air, not only flame and smoke, but give birth to other mountains, which run in fluid masses to the shore forming new coast-lines, she gradually creates to herself fresh domains out of the fathomless sea, destined by a slower and more peaceful process to be finally fitted for the abode of man. For ages before the human race appeared, this fierce labor had been going on. Slowly decreasing in violence as the solid fabric arose from the sea, the vegetable and animal kingdom at last successively claimed their right to colonize the land thus prepared for them. Nature, however, had not yet finished the substructure; for although she had extinguished a portion of her fires and allowed the forests to grow in some spots in undisturbed luxuriance, yet there were others still active and on a scale to be seen nowhere else on the globe. At intervals, rarer as they became older, they belched forth ruin, to add in time greater stability and more fertility to the new-formed earth.

Even to this day, Hawaii continues in a transition state. The vast agencies to which the island owes its origin, not unfrequently shake it to its centre, giving a new impetus to its geological growth. Sometimes it rocks, so it seems, on its centre, and alternately rising and falling, the ocean invades the land, sweeping from the coast by its fast rushing tide,—piled up by its velocity into such a wall of water as in its recoil overwhelmed Pharaoh’s host in the Red Sea,—whole villages, and carrying off numbers of their struggling population to perish in its vortex. So rapid is its reflux and over so vast a space, that it often leaves bare its own bed, with the finny tribes stranded amid its coral forests, or flapping helplessly on its sandy bottom. When this phenomenon occurs it is generally in quick successive waves, without previous warning, and so rapidly, that were it not for the amphibious habits of the islanders, the destruction of life would be great.

The sister islands further to the west have long since ceased to fear earthquake or volcanic eruption. Their surfaces are covered with extinct craters, lined in general with verdure and melodious with the notes of birds. Around each of the group, by the labors of the tiniest of her creatures, as if to show how the feeblest agencies at her bidding can control the strongest, Nature is slowly but surely constructing a coral frame, a fit setting to her sunny picture. The busy little zoöphyte, by its minute industry sets that bound to the ocean, which Canute in all his power was unable to do. Over its barriers and through its vegetable-like forms, trees and shrubs, blossoms and flowers, rich in every hue which gives beauty to the land, the rushing wave can pass only by giving toll to these water bees. They have not to seek their food, but they make the everlasting waters bring it to their door, and pour over them, in their struggle to reach the shore, a glad symphony of power and praise.

On the northeast of Hawaii lies a deep bay, fringed with coral reefs, but in many places presenting high cliffs, precipitous masses of volcanic rock, rent by deep chasms, or forming valleys through which pour streams of fresh water along banks of surpassing fertility. Everywhere the soil is good and the vegetation profuse. Numerous cascades tumble from the hills in all directions, giving life and music to the scene. Some are mere threads of water lost in spray amid rainbow arches, before reaching the rocky basins underneath. Others shoot from precipices, waving, foaming torrents, which thunder over stream-worn rocks, far away beneath in sunless and almost inaccessible dells. Emerging from these into placid rivers, they flow quietly on till meeting the incoming surges of the ocean, which, as they struggle over the coral bars at their mouths, whiten their surfaces with foam and break into eddies and uncertain currents, creating trying navigation for the frail canoes of the islanders.

The vegetation was unequal in luxuriance. In some spots it pushed its verdure quite into the brine, which not unfrequently watered the roots of trees that overhung it. In others, broad belts of sand came between the grasses and the water. These glistened in the sun’s rays in contrast with the back ground of dense green, like burnished metal. Earth, the provident mother, had not, however, so overdone her good works, as in some of the more southern groups to provide a meal without other labor than plucking. There were fine groves of the different species of food-bearing palms,—orchards of bread-fruit and other kinds of trees, from which man could derive both sustenance and material to clothe and house him; but for these purposes and the culture of the taro plant, which was his main resource, no little labor and skill were necessary.

Metals were unknown. The animal and feathered creature were scanty in species and numbers, and much of the island surface was still a wilderness of basaltic rock or fields of lava and cinders. But such was the salubrity of the climate and the activity of nature, that its resources for the comfort, and to a considerable degree of the civilization of man, were making rapid development; not sufficient as yet to release him from the active exercise of his faculties, and thus induce a sensual repose, but just enough to reward him for exertion, while indolence was sure to beget actual want.

The little caravel with her famished and sickly crew that we left in the midst of the North Pacific, rolling before a fresh breeze from the northeast, which proved to be the regular trade-wind, had continued her course for several days in the same direction. During this time, several others of the ship’s company had died and been cast overboard. Frequent showers, and the occasional catching of flying-fish, and now and then a dolphin or porpoise, did somewhat to restore the physical energies of the survivors, while the balmy condition of the air, the exhilaration of rapid motion, and the prospect of novel adventure, had much weight in raising the spirits of all.

Still there were no indications of land. The sun had set for the tenth time behind the same purple canopy of clouds; the same birds screamed and flew overhead; the waves rose and toppled after them with gushing foam, just so high and no higher; the sails bellied out with monotonous fulness; not a rope was stirred nor oar moved; on, on, rolled the caravel, now dipping this bulwark, now that, surging aside the water and trailing it in her wake with the noise of a mill-course; no variety, except that the north-star sank lower each night, until the very evenness of their way, hour answering to hour and day to day, began to beget in them a feeling of doubt as to the actual existence of land in the direction they were heading. This, combined with the weariness which inevitably steals over the senses when long at sea without change, led to greater carelessness in the night-watches. They fancied themselves borne onward by a fate which their own precautions could neither alter nor avert. Hence it was, that having worn out conjecture and argument as to their positive and probable destiny, they had on the tenth evening more than ordinarily abandoned themselves to chance. The day had been thicker than usual, and there was no light at night except the uncertain twinkling of stars through driving masses of clouds.

All except the helmsman slept. He dozed. Habit kept him sufficiently awake to keep the caravel to her course, but nothing more. Suddenly a dull, weighty sound was heard, like the roll of heavy waters, dying slowly away in the distance. Another; then another; quicker and quicker, each louder and nearer. The caravel was lifted high on one sea and fell heavily into the trough of another, rolling so uneasily as to start up all on board. At this moment the pilot, catching the gleam of a long line of breakers, hoarsely shouted “all hands, quick, or by the saints we are lost,” at the same moment putting the helm hard down to bring her into the wind. He was too late. The craft fell broadside into the rollers and became unmanageable. The mast snapped off close to the deck, and was pitched into the water to the leeward. At the same instant a grinding, crushing sound was heard underneath, as the caravel was lifted and thrown heavily upon the reef, breaking in the floor timbers and flooding her hold with water. It was too dark to distinguish anything but the white crest of the breakers all around, while their noise prevented any orders being distinctly heard. Indeed so sudden and complete was the disaster, that there was nothing to be done by the crew but to cling to the wreck and passively await their fate. Death came soon to a number, who were washed overboard and taken by the undertow seaward, where sharks fed upon them. Waves washed over the vessel in quick succession, gradually breaking her up. The after cabin held together longest, affording some shelter to its occupants. In a little while, however, even this was gone. All left on board were floated off, they knew not whither, clinging to whatever they could grasp, and rolled over in the surf until most of them became insensible. Beatriz, however, retained her presence of mind, and aided by the almost superhuman efforts of Tolta, a Mexican captive, was finally cast upon a soft beach, without other injury than a few skin bruises and the swallowing of a little water, of which she was soon relieved. It was too dark to learn the fate of the others. Dragging themselves beyond the wash of the breakers, in anxious suspense they awaited daybreak to disclose more fully their situation.

CHAPTER IV.

“Obedient to the light

That shone within his soul, he went, pursuing

The windings of the dell. The rivulet,

Wanton and wild, through many a green ravine

Beneath the forest flowed.”

Shelley.

Within the tropics the sun lights up the earth or leaves it, with scarcely any of the mysterious greeting or farewell, with which in more northern climates he loiters on his way, dyeing the landscape with subtle gradations of colors, from the fullest display of his mingled glories in a yellow and purple blaze, to the faintest hues of every shade, delicate and aerial, like the gossamer robes of spirit land. His coming is punctual and his welcome hearty. Objects take their hue and shape from out of the night almost instantaneously, changing from black to golden brightness, as by the touch of magic. There is loss of beauty to the eye in this, though the earth may gain in fertility from not having to wait so long for the fruitful warmth.

It was well nigh morning when the caravel broke up in the reef. The air was warm, and although the surf roared as loudly as ever, the wind had gone down. Soon the sun began to appear above the horizon. Beatriz, availing herself of its earliest light, began to search for her brother and his company. Tolta was active also. Bits of the wreck strewed the beach, with here and there articles that might still be of service, but she paid no attention to them. Hurriedly looking about her, hoping yet fearful, she espied a body half-buried in the sand. In an instant she was beside it, but it was one of the crew, stiff and cold. There was no time to spare for a corpse, so she continued her search for the living. An object half hidden amid low shrubbery caught her eye. Hastening thither, she saw the well known white robe of Olmedo. With a cry of joy she rushed to it, and then breathlessly knelt at his side, placing her hand upon Olmedo’s heart and her mouth close to his, to detect any signs of life. He was warm and breathing. His eyes slowly opened, and recognizing Beatriz, for a moment he seemed to have forgotten the wreck, and to imagine himself still at sea. As he stretched out his hand with a smile, to give her his wonted welcome, she seized it passionately, kissed it and burst into tears.

The good father, surprised at this feeling in one usually so calm, yet carried away by it without knowing why, pressed her hand warmly in return, while a tear found its way also to his eye. Instantly recovering her usual manner, Beatriz asked if he could give her tidings of Juan.

The question recalled to Olmedo the disaster of the night. He had himself been thrown ashore, on top of a plank to which he had clung at the breaking up of the caravel, and had scrambled up the beach, until he reached the bushes, where he had been found half gone in faintness and sleep.

At the name of Juan he started to his feet and said, “Let us lose no time in looking for him. The wreck was so sudden that human efforts could not have availed to save any one. God may have brought him safely to shore as he has us.”

They had not gone far before a well known voice was heard calling loudly upon Beatriz. In an instant, she was clasped in the embrace of her brother. He had rushed from a neighboring grove, as he caught sight of his sister, and now the two in their sudden joy clung to each other with mingled sobs and laughter; for being twins their active affections had been formed together in one maternal mould.

Juan led the party to the spot from which he had emerged, where they found three of the seamen. It seems that Juan had reached the land, somewhat bruised, in company with them, and the four had spent their time in searching for Beatriz and others of the crew, but owing to the darkness of the night and the loudness of the surf, they were neither seen nor heard. Farther search assured them that they were the sole survivors of the wreck. Accordingly having secured the few objects of utility that had been thrown ashore from it, they began to explore their new home in reference to their future wants.

The land was much broken and thickly covered with vegetation, some of which was familiar to them from being common to the “tierra caliente” of Mexico. As they wandered inland they came to cultivated patches of yam and the sweet potato. Many of the fields were enclosed in well constructed stone walls. They were therefore in an inhabited land, and, as they thought, must soon meet the tillers of the soil. Bananas and other fruit hung within their reach. Numerous paths intersected grounds, which were divided into square or oblong lots, surrounded by dykes, planted with the broad leafed, nutritious taro, and irrigated by so admirable a network of water-courses as to extort from all exclamations of surprise. Following up the most trodden of these paths, they came to a retired valley embosomed amid forest-clad hills, with a quiet stream flowing through its centre, and cultivated as far up as the eye could see, in the same manner as the fields through which they had passed. Soon houses came into view. They were in clusters, low, of thatch, raised on embankments, with stone pavements around them, or fenced in by rude palisades.

Expecting each minute to meet the owners, they proceeded cautiously towards them. They were disappointed, however, for not a human being appeared; not even a dog or domestic animal of any kind; the air was still and the sun hot; there was no hum of insects or song of birds; the sole life that met their view was now and then a stray lizard, that glided so quickly and silently away as but to make the surrounding stillness still more sensible.

They began to distrust their senses. Were they in an enchanted land? Was their shipwreck real, or were they dreaming? Their very voices seemed to die out in the universal silence. They gathered fruit and eat, and this reassured them of the reality of their appetites at least, but their own shadows as they lengthened before them seemed unreal, while those of tree and rock cast spectral forms about their path.

Terrible and oppressive grew upon them the ambiguity of their position. Were they watched and being led by enchantment into the power of savage foes, or were they tantalized by illusions, like the dreams of starving men who rave of dainties ever within their reach? What meant this life without life, harvest without reapers, houses without owners, this atmosphere without insect-hum or bird-song? The very waters enclosed in rocky basins, or overshadowed by motionless foliage, were unrippled by current or wave, and repeating the landscape in their still depths, made it even more unreal. The gracefully shaped canoes which floated upon them without moving, looked as if painted upon the surface of the stream.

Juan’s impatient spirit chafed for want of action. “By the Holy Mass, father Olmedo,” he cried, “this silence beats that which made us hold our breaths on the night when we marched out of Mexico, thinking we were stealing away unseen from those red devils, when tens of thousands of their impish eyes were glaring upon us, awaiting the signal to drag us to their damnable temples. Well must you remember it, and how sad a night they made of it to us, after the silence was once broken by their infernal yells, as they dragged away so many of our companions to have their hearts torn from their living bodies, as offerings to their hideous war-god. Jesu Maria! I like not this awful stillness. Give me rather a hundred foes and my own trusty horse, that I might dash among them with our old battle-cry;”—and in the excitement of the moment, he sprang forward, waved his sword and shouted at the top of his voice, “At them, cavaliers; Santiago for Spain.”

“Ah! I have started you at last,” he exultingly exclaimed. “Hark! By the Holy Virgin, they reply in our blessed language. A dozen wax candles for our Lady’s shrine for this, as soon as I can get them,—we are among friends, Beatriz.”

“You mistake, Juan,” replied Beatriz. “The words you hear are only your own sent back from the hills.”

Juan, distrusting her more acute senses, again shouted, and convinced himself that it was only the rocks that mockingly echoed the shout. It was the first time since their creation, that they had given back a sound foreign to their own shores, and it seemed to linger long among them as if they relished its notes. Then the silence brooded over the scene more ominously than before, as no foes appeared, and no human voice sent back the defiance. Tolta’s eyes, however, glared furiously on Juan at his ill-timed allusion to “La Noche Triste,” but it was only for a moment. Beatriz had observed the look, and in a low whisper said to Juan, “Nay, brother, forbear, that night was a sad one to many besides ourselves. Why provoke Tolta to revengeful thoughts? He has done us both faithful service. For my sake respect his feelings.”

Chafed as he was at the mysterious silence, which only angered him, while it awed, not through fear, but from the depths of its repose, the hearts of Olmedo and Beatriz, who found something in it kindred to their own position, Juan’s hasty impulse would have been to have vented his irritation upon the Mexican, but a second look from his sister restored his better nature, and he frankly held out his hand to him, exclaiming, “Pardon my hastiness, Tolta, I meant not to vex you.”

The Mexican’s features resumed their usual apathy, and no one would have supposed from them, that an emotion had ever touched his heart. Yet among them all, no eye or ear was keener than his, no nature more sensitive, none so quick in its perceptions when touched in its own interests or passions, and none more patient, outwardly forbearing, and inwardly revengeful, for he was faithful to self-immolation in his friendship, and equally so in his enmity.

In him love to the individual and hate to the Spanish race were so interwoven, that it would have been impossible for himself to foresee how he should act on any occasion which might afford scope for either passion. He was an Aztec by birth, of the race of the priesthood, young, accustomed to arms, and learned in the lore of his race; at heart a worshipper of their idols, though a forced baptism, and the necessities of a captive, made him nominally a Christian. Manuel was the name bestowed in baptism, but I prefer to retain that of his birth. In him lay dormant all those qualities which marked the downfall of his nation. He was both subtle and open, gentle and fierce; in his domestic relations inclined to love and peace, refined and courteous; in his faith believing in one God of “perfection and purity,” yet delighting in smearing the altars of terrible deities with human gore; a tiger in rage, and a lamb in sentiment; in short, combining in his own breast the instincts of brute and man, with no harmonizing principle to keep him in permanent peaceful relations with himself or his kind. He believed in peace and purity, and delighted in war and cruelty, displaying to his enemies either open and irreconcilable hatred, or concealing revenge under the mask of courtesy and kindness, nay, almost servility, at the same time recognizing no principles of humanity or religion which interfered with his desires. As a conqueror, he was imperious; as a captive, abject. But the native pride and fierceness of his race, so long dominant among servile tribes, ill adapted him to his present anomalous state, in which, while feeling himself partly treated as a friend, he could not forget the events so recent in the history of his race which had made him in reality a slave. Although he brooded much over his own altered destinies and his country’s fall, yet, while with Beatriz, the gentle principle in his nature became active, and he felt soothed and grateful.

Concord being restored, the little party footed their way towards a cluster of houses of more pretension than the others, built upon a slight eminence, terraced on all sides with stone work, and having a flight of steps to the summit. This was walled in, and gave sufficient area to enclose quite a hamlet. Indeed it might be considered a fortification of no slight strength, where fire-arms were unknown.

They proceeded cautiously up the steps, stimulated by curiosity, and thinking it better to brave openly and promptly any danger that might threaten, as from experience they knew that no demeanor imposes more powerfully upon barbarians than courage. To this course Tolta advised them. He was the least affected by the singularity of their position, and seemed in many things to recognize a similarity in the degree of civilization and manner of cultivation, as well as in the articles themselves, to the habits and productions of tribes on the southern frontiers of his own country, though the entire absence of precious metals, and any altars or edifices which indicated the worship of sanguinary deities, puzzled him not a little.

Immediately within the wall, and bordering the main avenue, leading to a large and commodious house, were many rudely carved wooden images, with round staring eyes and grinning mouths. Before them were the remains of fruit, and about them were hung wreaths of flowers, indicating that they were held in reverence. Passing between them, Juan felt disposed to try the temper of his sword upon their awkwardly shaped legs and arms for practice, and to express his abhorrence of what he termed blasphemy, quite forgetful that in his own land images of the Virgin and saints, some scarcely better executed, were common to every street and by every roadside, and that before them were lamps constantly burning and offerings of flowers placed.

Olmedo’s better judgment checked him. “This indeed may be, my son, as you say, a device of Satan to turn their hearts from the true worship; but let us learn more before we act. These very offerings and idols prove the necessity of worship to the darkened minds of their makers, and from these false symbols we may by persuasion turn them to the holy ones of our religion. Remember the Master’s charge to Peter, when he would have taken the sword. We have had too much of that, and too many of your brothers in arms have already perished by the sword. We have been led hither for some wise purpose. Be peaceful and patient. God will disclose his design in due season. In the meantime, let us respect all that we see, and if the people of this silent valley show themselves, meet them with the cross aloft and open hands. We are too few to contend against a multitude, though not to persuade them by courtesy and our very helplessness to peace and kindness. If none appear, let us use these good gifts, as provided by Him who has led us thither.”

Juan replied: “By my troth, father, I would clip off the heads of a few of these ugly monsters, if for no other motive than to call up a host of the evil spirits that possess them, that I might do them battle. You speak truth, however, and I will be patient. Hurry on, my men, let us explore this sanctuary, and see if we can start out any one to give us the hospitality we so sorely need.”

Beatriz, who feared his hasty mood, stopped him as he was about to enter the large house. “No, Juan, let me go in first. The inmates, if any there be, may slumber; the presence of a maiden,” said she, “will create neither alarm nor fear. I will enter first.”

So saying, she drew aside the heavy cloth which hung at the door and went in. Olmedo not heeding her request to Juan, entered immediately after, but not soon enough to anticipate Tolta, who glided in before him as noiselessly as a shadow. Juan and the others without further question followed after.

They found themselves in a spacious room formed by white posts driven into the ground, with rafters springing from them, making a lofty roof, covered throughout with thatch, fastened on in the neatest manner with neatly braided cord. The floor was spread with white mats. Every part was scrupulously clean. There were raised divans of fine mats variously colored, and as pliable as the coarser cloths of Europe. These invited repose, though the pillows being of wood covered with matting, indicated no effeminacy in the slumbers of their owners. Several of these divans were curtained by gaily painted cloths, differing in texture from anything they had seen before. It was something between paper and the cotton fabrics of Mexico. Garments of the same material, but of softer and finer quality hung about the walls. There were also wooden bowls of beautiful grain, highly polished and indicating no slight degree of mechanical skill; also vessels for water, formed from the gourd plant and prettily ornamented; fans, graceful plumes of crimson and golden feathers, protective armor of net or basket work, war clubs, spears and other weapons. In fine, they found themselves within a house, which afforded all that was necessary to their wants in that climate, and much that showed no inconsiderable degree of refinement and taste, but no one to challenge their intrusion.

The other houses presented a similar sight. They ransacked everywhere to find some one to explain the unaccountable desertion. There had been no haste. The inhabitants had not fled in fear. Everything was in its natural place and condition, just as were the household effects of the Pompeiians, when Vesuvius buried them in lava and ashes. But here the mystery was inexplicable. Evidently the desertion had not been very recent. Some weeks must have passed. Their own appearance, therefore, could not be connected with it. There was not an article that could properly belong to such domestic circles that was wanting, and all in the best condition and ready for use. Everything, however, that had life had been carefully removed. Even the usual tenants of deserted habitations, rats, were missing. The awe that almost mastered them in the silence of the open valley, no longer clung to them in the confined walls of human make. Curiosity was now uppermost. They talked freely and loudly, and busied themselves with conjectures to solve the wonder, but with no other result than to weary their minds without any satisfactory answer.

“At all events,” said Juan, “all but drowned in the morning, with our brave caravel ground to pieces on the rocks, and most of our poor seamen a prey to the fishes, here we are at night well housed, with food at hand, and no greedy innkeeper’s face to suggest a long bill. For my part let’s to sleep. This is much more comfortable than campaigning amid the rocks of Tlascalla, with the prospect of a copper-headed lance finding its way between the ribs before one could sleep out his first nap.”

“You counsel rightly,” replied the priest, “but first let us unite in the Ave Maria.” So saying, he motioned to them to come into the open air, and holding up his crucifix he led the chant, while the others knelt and joined in. Then in the silence of the setting sun, there arose, for the first time in that unknown land, the hymn of praise to the mother of Jesus, woman deified and restored to her true nature as the hope and purifier of man, the type of God’s love to his own image. Softly and gently as Beatriz breathed the words “Ave purissima,” they seemed to fill all space, and borne on the air of the fast coming night, stole through the valley, along the waters, up the hill-sides and amid the trees, with a melody which made all Nature listen and repeat in notes still more penetrating, that thrilling symphony of peace and purity. The evening stars looked down gladly upon the little band, and shedding a harmonious radiance around the singers, their hearts grew quiet and strong. Even Tolta felt its influence. As the seamen looked at the hideous idols about them, they fancied they saw them move in the night air as if they too bowed in worship to a spirit mightier than their own. It was indeed mightier; for it was the spirit of Love.

CHAPTER V.

“See man from Nature rising slow to Art.”—Pope.

Mauna Kea, the highest mountain of Hawaii, occupies the northern portion of the island. In some places it descends in grassy slopes, sufficiently gentle to form plains, dotted here and there with the many armed pandanus and the thickly leaved kukui trees. From the resinous nuts of the latter the natives obtained their torches, while its rich foliage and grand proportions made it equally valuable for timber or shade.

At the distance of some twenty miles from the bay where the caravel was wrecked, there was a level and extensive plain fringed with forests of the above named trees, and backed by the snow-topped mountains. The front afforded a wide-spread view of the ocean, the breezes from which, added to an elevation of several thousand feet, gave it a climate much cooler and more bracing than that of the coast. On this account, and from its natural beauties, it had from time immemorial been used by the Hawaiians as a spot on which to celebrate public games or sacred festivals. Its verdant and carefully irrigated soil afforded food for the numerous priests who belonged to the different “heiaus” or temples to be seen within its limits. These were built of basaltic stones, some of which were of great size, and nicely adjusted together without cement, according to their natural fractures. Within the walls, which were massive and high, were the houses of the priests and the shrines where were deposited the most sacred images. Each chief of importance had his family temple, around which had grown up villages, to accommodate himself and retainers in their periodical visits to this upland region.

For a month previous to the wreck, many thousands of the islanders had been gathered under their chiefs to engage in their annual athletic games. Their principal object was, however, to celebrate the festival of Lono. Now Lono was one of those mythic beings so common in America and Polynesia, who in ages long gone by, after having done many notable things for the benefit of their fellow men, disappear like Moses in some inexplicable manner, leaving behind them a memory always green, and a sort of implied promise to return with greater benefits in store. Indeed, heroes of this character appear amid much traditionary fog, in the youth of almost all nations. In this instance, Lono had killed his wife in a fit of jealousy, instigated by a Hawaiian Iago out of malice equal to the Venetian’s. Love’s reaction and contrition drove him frantic. After founding games in honor of his victim, he put out to sea in an oddly shaped canoe,—so the tradition runs,—promising to return some future day with many good things to enhance his welcome. Whether it was from love to him, or from faith in the expected increase of comforts and riches, that they so venerated his memory, I am at this day unable to say, but certain it is that a more popular god did not exist in Hawaii. His festival was therefore celebrated with peculiar unction.

On this occasion it had been honored with unusual solemnity, on account of the presence of the most powerful and best beloved chief of this island, whose territory embraced the fertile bay where the caravel went ashore.

It was the custom on the most sacred festivals to enforce perfect silence from man and beast during certain rites. While the festival lasted, peace was universal, property respected, and under the solemn influence of the magic “tabu,” human law and police seemed unnecessary; for there was implied in this simple word, if but its spirit were infringed, all the awful judgments, both temporal and supernatural, that the imagination could conceive, and even more, for the very uncertainty of the fate which was to attend its violation, added ten-fold force to its terrors. The simple symbol, therefore, which denoted the application of the tabu to any object, carried with it a power such as no civilized code ever exercised, and which the tortures of the Inquisition failed to establish.

The word tabu, as applied to religious matters, was a ritual in itself. Hence when the high-priest set apart a certain time as tabu to Lono, the entire population knew what ceremonies were to be performed, and what was expected of each of them. During the present holidays it had been specially enjoined that the valley in which Kiana, a descendant of Lono and the supreme chief of more than half of Hawaii, resided, should be tabu from man and all domestic animals. For one month, profound silence was to rest upon it. Consequently, the inhabitants left for the uplands, taking with them every animal and fowl which they owned. It was owing to this tabu that Alvirez, when he explored the valley, met with such complete stillness amid all the outward signs of active life.

The very day, therefore, that Alvirez had so freely taken possession of the chief’s own quarters, Kiana with his people were on their march homeward. This chief, as is the aristocracy in general of Hawaii, was of commanding stature, some six feet six inches in height, finely proportioned, with round elastic limbs, not over muscular or too sinewy, like the North American Indian, but full, with a soft smooth skin and a bright olive complexion, which was not so dark, but that the blood at times deepened the color thereon. His face was strikingly handsome, being, like his body, of that happy medium between womanly softness and the more rugged development of manly strength, which indicates a well harmonized physical structure. In repose, one feared to see him move, lest the beauty of outline would be destroyed; but when in action, with his muscles quivering with a hidden fire, his dark eyes flashing light, the full nostril of his race and rich sensual lip expanded with excitement, there was about him much that recalled the Apollo, particularly in the light step and eager haughty expression. His strength was prodigious. He had been known in battle, having broken his javelin, to seize an enemy by the leg and neck, and break his spine by a blow across his knees. Fierce he undoubtedly was to his foes, but there were in all his actions a pervading manliness and generosity, joined to a winning demeanor, which stamped him as one of nature’s gentlemen. No rival of his tribe disputed his authority, because all felt safer and better under his rule. By moral influence, rather than by force, all the other chiefs of this portion of Hawaii looked to him as their leader and umpire; so that without any of the dubious treaties and forms of a confederated government, they had all the advantages of one, while each remained free within his own territorial confines.

By nature humane, Kiana had infused into their general policy and domestic life a more liberal spirit towards inferiors, and a less servile feeling towards the priesthood. He held the latter, in general, in small esteem, perceiving how much they were disposed to corrupt the simplest power of nature into a hideous mythology, based upon fear and superstition, to the intent to enrich themselves at the expense of the people. As he also inherited the office of high-priest, his influence was the more effective, inasmuch as he set the example of neglecting all the requirements of their pagan ritual which were cruel or oppressive, while the games and festivals, which tended to develop their physical powers and give them amusements, or to lighten their general labors, were sedulously cared for. His people were therefore happy and prosperous, and, at the date of this tale, exhibited an agreeable picture of a race blessed with a salubrious climate, a soil ample for all their simple wants, living almost patriarchally under a beloved chief, whose more intelligent mind, by example rather than argument, had influenced them to a form of idolatry which in its offerings of only fruits of the earth, to its symbolized phenomena or the images of departed men once venerated for their moral worth, in some degree connected their souls through refining influences with the Great Maker.

In closing the festival, the procession was formed with great state and solemnity, preparatory to its final departure from the sacred plain. First came a thousand men in regular files, armed with swords of sharks’ teeth and slings. Each had a laurel wreath on his head, and a tapa mantle of bright red thrown loosely over his shoulders. This corps led the way to the noise of rude drums and other barbarous music. Behind them marched a more numerous body in detached companies, armed with javelins and spears, and a species of wooden mace, which, dexterously used, becomes a formidable weapon. In addition, each man carried a dagger of the same material, from sixteen inches to two feet long. All wore helmets of wicker work, shaped like the Grecian casque and covered with various colored feathers. These helmets in connection with their bright war cloaks, gave to the whole array a classical look not unworthy of the heroic days of Greece. The appearance of the men was martial, and their step firm and regular.

In the centre of their array there was a selected corps of one hundred young chiefs, armed with still better weapons. Their costume was also much richer than that of the common men. They wore scarlet feather cloaks and helmets. Conspicuous amid them, borne upon a litter hung about with crimson drapery, sat Kiana. His helmet was surmounted by a graceful crest from which lightly floated a plume taken from the long and beautiful feathers of the tropic bird. Both the helmet and his war cloak were made of brilliant yellow feathers, so small and delicate as to appear like scales of gold. These two articles were the richest treasures in the regalia of Hawaii. The birds from which the feathers are obtained,—one only from under each wing,—are found solely in the most inaccessible parts of the mountains and ensnared with great difficulty. Nearly one hundred and fifty years, or nine generations of Kiana’s ancestors had been occupied in collecting a sufficient number to make this truly regal helmet and cloak. This was the first occasion he had had to display them. He bore himself in consequence even more royally than ever before; for savage though he was, the pride of ancestry and the trappings of power warmed his blood as fully as if he had been a civilized ruler.

Immediately behind him was borne a colossal image of Lono. It was carved with greater skill than common, and surrounded by a company of white-robed priests, chanting the “mele” or hymn, which had been composed upon his disappearance. At particular parts the whole people joined with a melancholy refrain, that gave a living interest to the story, and showed how forcible was the hold it had upon their imaginations. On either side of Kiana, were twelve men of immense size and strength, naked to their waist-cloths, two by two, bearing the “kahilis,” as were called the insignia of his rank. These were formed of scarlet feathers, thickly set, in the shape of a plume, of eighteen inches diameter, about ten feet high, and tipped to the depth of a foot with yellow feathers. With the handles, which were encircled with alternate rings of ivory or tortoise-shell, their entire height was twenty feet. As they towered and waved above the multitude, they conveyed an idea of state and grandeur inferior to nothing of the kind that has ever graced the ceremonies of the white man.

The women of his household followed close to the chief. Their aristocratic birth and breeding were manifest in their corpulency and haughty bearing. To exaggerate their size,—which was partly a criterion of noble blood—they had swelled their waists with voluminous folds of gaudy cloths, under the pressure of which, added to their own bulk, they waddled rather than walked. Helped by young and active attendants, their pace was, however, equal to the slow progress of the procession. A numerous retinue of their own sex, bearing their tokens of rank, fans, fly-brushes, spittoons, sunscreens, and lighter articles of clothing, waited upon them. Some of these young women were gracefully formed, fair and voluptuous, with pleasant features, without any excess of flesh. In contrast with their mistresses, they might have been considered as beauties, as, indeed, they were the belles of Hawaii. Small, soft hands, delicate and tapering fingers, satin-like in their touch and gentle and pleasant to the shake, were common among all.

The women in general were a laughing, merry set, prone to affection, finery, and sensuous enjoyment. But the lower orders were workers in the fullest sense, the men being their task-masters, treating them as an inferior caste by imposing upon their sex arbitrary distinctions in their food, domestic privileges, duties, and even religious rites, so that their social condition was wantonly degraded. Yet females were admitted to power and often held the highest rank.

Besides this state there was a vast throng of attendants carrying burdens, or driving before them their domestic animals. The families of the soldiery followed the procession, in irregular masses, as it defiled from the plain into the valleys that led towards the coast. In advancing, its numbers gradually lessened by the departure of warriors, and minor chiefs with their retainers, for their respective destinations. With the exception of those immediately about Kiana, all order of march soon ceased, and the crowd spread themselves over hill and valley shouting and jeering, in their good-natured hurry to reach their homes. The fowls cackled, the dogs barked. The swine with ominous grunts charged in all directions, upsetting impartially owners and neighbors, amid the laughter and cheers of the lookers on. Children grew doubly mischievous in the turmoil, running hither and thither, with frantic cries, pushing and crowding each other over rocks into the rapid streams, in which they were as much at home as the fishes. They tripped up their heavily laden parents in their gambols about their footsteps, dodging the quick blow in return with the slipperiness of eels, or repaying with equally noisy coin the threats of future floggings, which they well knew would be forgotten over the first meal. The more sedate vented their enthusiasm in deep toned songs, which, as they swelled into full chorus, filled the air with a wild music, in keeping with the scene. In forest and grove the birds listened and replied in musical notes that thrilled sweetly on the ear amid the medley of sounds. Nature was awake to the scene. From every tree and rock, out of each dell and off each hill-top, there came voices to mingle in the general jubilee. The mountain breezes poured their anthems in joyous harmony through branch and leaf. Buds and blossoms bowing before balmy airs, shook out their fragrance. Cascades sparkled and leaped, foamed and roared in the bright sun. Rivulets, looking in the distance like silver threads, stole with soothing murmurs along the plains, while the startled wild fowl with defiant note fled deeper into the forest or skulked closer in the thicket as the living current swept by.

While all was thus life and motion in the uplands, the solitude of the sea coast remained as described in the last chapter. Alvirez and his party had disposed themselves for the night as best suited their individual convenience. There was no lack of accommodation or retirement. Each might have selected a village to himself, but they all remained within the enclosure where we left them. Juan and Beatriz occupied the principal house. Olmedo chose one near, and the good man was soon dreaming of his early Castilian cell. Tolta watched long and late, and then stretched himself, mastiff-like, upon a mat at the threshold of the house in which Beatriz slept. The three seamen, after sundry explorations, which seemed to give them small satisfaction, cursed their luck in being wrecked on a land which had not even copper, much less gold or silver, in short, anything whatever which came up to their ideas of spoil, and closing their eyes, muttered their discontent even in their sleep.

CHAPTER VI.

“How often events, by chance and unexpectedly come to pass, which you had not dared even to hope for.”—Terence.

Night came and went; when morning broke, the same stillness rested on the valley. All of its guests still slept the deep sleep of fatigue, except Tolta, who had thought he heard at intervals distant sounds that fell mockingly upon his ear for a moment, and then died away into profound silence. Cautiously he had listened and peered into the deep shadows of hill and forest, but had detected nothing. As often, however, as he had sunk again into restless slumber, the same strange sounds came to him. The air seemed filled with them; voices and laughter, the tramp of feet and cries of animals, yet so vague and intermingled, that at last he fancied there was a spell upon the valley; that its inhabitants had all perished by demoniacal violence, and unseen by mortal eyes, during the night, came back to haunt their late homes.

This solution of the mystery was not calculated to reassure him, and he became more restless than before. Visions of his native land mingled themselves with the phantom forms and sounds which disturbed his slumbers. His imagination vibrated between joy and fear, without a moment’s pause to give him rest. Gradually, however, as morning twilight came up over the hill tops, he fancied he detected shadowy outlines of men, sharp against the horizon, passing rapidly into the gloom further down. His terrors were then realized. He saw the ghosts that had so disturbed his slumbers fleeing before the coming day, and he shuddered as with a grave-chill.

A cock suddenly crowed afar off. Tolta started as if the trumpet of Cortez had sounded in his ears. His blood tingled once more in his veins. Another and another crow, nearer and nearer; the morning air is suddenly filled with their rival notes. A dog barks! Scores of dogs’ throats open in reply. Human voices are now distinctly heard. Groups of men, women, and children, can be plainly seen descending into the valley from the wooded uplands. He watches their motions, half doubting his own senses. A band orderly marching approaches the enclosure. He sees among them the sharp array of lances, and the brilliant colors of feathered casques and cloaks. They recall to him the warriors of Mexico, and he exults in their martial tread and warlike aspect. His first impulse is to rush forward and greet them. “Now shall Spanish blood again be shed, and their false hearts quiver on the altars of Mexico’s war-god! Here in this teocalli, shall the incense so sweet to Huitzilpotcli’s nostrils once more ascend;” and in his dreamy excitement he rushed forward as if to strike the serpent-skin drum, whose terrible signal had so often been the death-warrant to his country’s invaders.

Shall Beatriz die this death? No sooner did she occur to him, than his fierceness passed away like a spent surge. All other emotions were lost in the desire to protect her. Stepping quietly inside the house, he woke Juan and motioned him to follow.

As they passed out and looked over the parapet, they saw considerable stir among the warriors. They were coming towards them at great speed, and evidently with no friendly intent. Their leader had caught sight of Tolta as he left the wall to awaken Juan, and indignant at what he supposed a violation of the tabu, by one of his people, ordered them to surround the enclosure, so as to prevent the possibility of escape, while he with a few followers ascended by the narrow stone steps, that he might slay the sacrilegious wretch with his own hand.

By the time Kiana—for it was he—had nearly reached the platform, Juan had arrived at the gate-way, and at a glance took in his whole position.

“Tonatiuh can now strike the infidel,” said Tolta with sarcastic emphasis, as he recalled Juan’s unwise speech of the day before, at the same time pointing to Kiana, whose rapid strides would in another instant bring him in front of Alvirez. The Mexican then re-entered the house to warn Beatriz of their new danger.

Juan had too often encountered as fearful odds, in his Mexican campaigns, to lose his presence of mind in a crisis like this. He called to his men to come to his succor, as he prepared to hold the gate-way against his foes, and shouting his accustomed battle-cry, drew his long Toledo blade, and advanced it in guard to await Kiana’s onset.

This chief in his rush up the steps had not fairly lifted his eyes until the shout of “Santiago for Spain” reached his ears. His astonishment at the apparition of the white man,—the gleaming steel, fierce eyes, thick red beard and strange tongue, the costume so unlike his people’s,—instead of the expected tawny hue of his own race, brought him to a sudden stop. It was but for a moment, for, excited by his previous fury at a crime so uncommon among his people, he saw only an offender who seemed aided by sorcery, and rushed at him with uplifted javelin, reserving his force to strike and not to throw. So sudden and powerful was his spring, that although Juan’s sword parried the blow, he was borne backward, and Kiana found himself on the platform.

Both paused as they now better saw each other’s strength and strangeness. Kiana’s surprise was increased as Juan’s men, followed by Olmedo with crucifix in hand, came hastily up and ranged themselves at his side. His own soldiers were fast crowding upon the platform, filled with wonder rather than fear, at so unexpected a sight. At his command they were filing off to surround Juan’s little band, and close in upon them, while he upraised his javelin, prepared once more to tempt the skill of his strange enemy. His right foot was advanced, his broad chest thrown out and weapon poised to try again the thrust, which had never before failed him, when a new cry was heard and a new figure came forward and sprung between him and Alvirez.

It was Beatriz. Her long flowing robes, dishevelled hair, her pallor and the impulsive energy with which she pushed aside Juan’s sword, and turned her eager eyes towards Kiana, fearlessly fronting his javelin, amazed the red-men. Their weapons dropped silently by their sides, as their chief gazed in astonishment with powerless arm upon the new apparition.

Kiana’s indecision was, however, only momentary. A sudden thought had seized him. Turning to his followers he said, “Behold Lono and his wife! they have returned with their faces brightened, and their speech changed, from their abode in the sun. They have come as Lono promised, with new teachers and good gifts. Let us honor them and make them welcome.” As he spoke every weapon was laid upon the earth, and every head was bowed. Kiana alone stood erect, asserting his dignity even in the presence of a returned god.

Whatever his native sense might have suggested in regard to the origin of the group before him, his sagacity in turning the ideas of his people into their present channel, was safety to the one side, and direct benefit to himself. He recognized at once a superiority in their armor and habiliments, which evinced a knowledge far beyond that of his own people. They could be useful to him in many ways. Naturally humane and generous, after his first anger had cooled, he would not have harmed a hair of their heads. On the contrary, he and his people, had they found them helpless on the shore, would have tenderly received them. Now that he saw the tabu had not been violated, but that so far from sacrilege, an event had occurred that appeared to all miraculous, and confirmatory of the traditions of his ancestry, he determined to receive the strangers as his own kin, while he confirmed in the minds of his people the belief in their divinity. As the common Hawaiian’s idea of a god was of a being not more removed from him in power and intelligence than was the white man, this was an easy affair.

Accordingly he gave orders that they should be provided with suitable retinues and lands, and servants assigned to them as of his own family.

His decision was proclaimed by the public heralds. Great were the rejoicings and shouts throughout the valley, that Lono and his wife had come back and were to protect them from their enemies, and enrich them by new arts and gifts. The simple people believed and prostrated themselves deferentially before Juan and Beatriz. Their persons and those of the others were tabued or made sacred. No follower of Kiana’s dared lift his hand toward them, except to do them service or honor. The change from the peril of immediate massacre, to being worshipped as divine personages, was so striking, that while they realized its advantages, they could not, before they had acquired the easy tongue of Hawaii, fully comprehend its cause. The seamen, however, readily domesticated themselves, taking wives, and were soon placed on the footing of petty chiefs.

CHAPTER VII.

“In countless upward-stirring waves

The moon-drawn tide-wave strives:

In thousand far-transplanted grafts

The parent fruit survives;

So in the new-born millions,

The perfect Adam lies.

Not less are Summer mornings dear

To every child they wake,

And each with novel-life his sphere

Fills for his proper sake.”

Emerson.

A year had passed. There was no iron on the island, consequently no means of building a vessel, which could carry the exiles back to Mexico. Their only hope lay in the possibility that some caravel, equipped as theirs had been for discovery, might sight Hawaii and explore its coasts. But this hope was so faint as rarely to form a theme of discussion; so they wisely identified themselves with the interests and welfare of their generous host, whose kindness and confidence grew with their stay.

Kiana and Juan became firm friends. The former had long since learned the origin and history of the shipwrecked party, as indeed had the more intelligent among his chiefs, but their superior knowledge, and the polite deference of the nobles towards them, continued to keep them in the same sacred relation to the common people as at first. This was the more useful, that it gave to their efforts to instruct them the sanction of religion.

To properly understand the condition of the people under the government of Kiana, it will be necessary to go more into detail. I have already observed, that their climate and soil combined that happy medium of salubrity and fertility, which gave ample returns in health and harvests, but did not dispense with care and labor. Hence, they were an active and industrious race. Nature was indeed a loving, considerate mother to them. As yet no noxious reptiles or insects infested the land; ferocious animals were equally unknown; storms were so rare as scarcely to be ever thought of, while the temperature was so even, that their language had no term to express the various changes and conditions of physical comfort or discomfort, we combine into the word weather. This, of course, was a sad loss to conversation, but no doubt a compensation for lack of this prolific topic existed somehow in their domestic circles.

The households of the chiefs were in one sense almost patriarchally constructed. “My people” had a meaning as significant as upon a slave plantation in America, with the difference that here they were only transferred with the soil. They were literally “my people;” and as with all purely despotic institutions, their welfare depended mainly upon the character of their lords.

In some respects there existed a latitude of deportment between the chiefs and their serfs, which gave rise to a certain degree of social equality. This freedom of manner is common to that state of society in which the actual gulf between the different classes is irrevocably fixed. It grows out of protection on the one hand and dependence on the other. On Hawaii there existed a partial community of property; for although all that the serf possessed belonged to his lord, yet he had the use and improvement of the property in his charge, and besides certain direct interests in it, was protected by what might be termed their “common law.” The chief was both executive and judiciary, as obtains in all rude society. Self-interest became a powerful incentive to humanity, because cruelty or injustice towards his tenantry was a direct injury to his own property, and a provocation to desert his lands. There was also the family bond, derived from direct intermingling of blood, the perpetuity of estates and the familiarity of personal intercourse between the chiefs and their dependents, fortified by a condition of society that knew no contrasts to this state. The lack of other commerce than barter and a partial feudal system, which required the people not only to furnish their own arms, but upon all occasions to follow their lords to the field, helped to develop this social union of extremes.

All lands were in reality held in fief of the supreme chief. His will was in the main the code of law, and indeed the religious creed; that is, the ultimate appeal in all questions was vested in him. But public opinion, based upon old habits and certain intuitive convictions of right and justice common to all mankind, held even him in check; so that while rarely attempting any forcible violation of what was understood to be the universal custom, he had it in his power indirectly to modify the laws and belief of his people. While to some extent the spirit of the clan existed, giving rise to devotion and attachments similar to those recorded of the Highlanders of Scotland, there prevailed more extensively the servile feeling common to Oriental despotism. Numerous retainers of every grade and rank surrounded each chief, forming courts with as varied and as positive an etiquette as those of Europe or Asia. The most trivial necessity was dignified into an office. Thus there were “pipe lighters,” masters of the pipe as they might be called, masters of the spittoon, of the plumes or “kahilis,” and so on, while there was no lack of idle clients, the “bosom friends” of the chief, his boon companions, buffoons, pimps and every other parasitical condition in which the individual merges his own identity into the caprices or policy of his ruler, or by deceit, flattery, or superior address, seeks to advance his own selfishness at the general expense.

In this arrangement the analogy to the courts of Europe is so evident as to form a striking satire upon them. Here we find amid petty, semi-naked tribes, the same masters and mistresses of royal robes and other useless paraphernalia; the same abject crowd of parasites quarrelling and intriguing for honors and riches they are too lazy or dishonest rightfully to earn; the same degrading etiquette which exalts a knowledge of its absurdities above all morality, and imposes penalties upon its infringement, not bestowed upon crime itself: in fine, a parody of all that in European monarchies tends to make human nature base and contemptible.

Justice, however, requires me to state, that while the vices of the systems were allied, their virtues were no less in common. Despotism corrupts the many, but there are a choice few in all aristocracies who receive power and homage only as in deposit for the public good. Its conditions are favorable to their moral growth, when perhaps the rugged necessities of life, in conflicts of equality, would dwarf their souls to the common level of material wants or selfish interests. Besides these exceptions, as familiar to savage as to civilized life, because founded not upon acquired knowledge, but upon natural instincts, the very superiority of position begets desire for superior manners and external advantages. Thus we find in not a few of the privileged orders, rare politeness and outward polish, and a chivalric loyalty to the institution of titled aristocracy, as if in partaking of its birthright, it brought with it a loftier and more refined standard of feeling and action than that of the masses.

A SACRIFICIAL FEAST.

The best of food was reserved for the nobles. Their houses, bathing places, and domestic utensils, were tabu from vulgar use. They even used a language or courtly dialect unintelligible to their subjects. Their deportment was based upon the innate consciousness of mental superiority and long inherited authority. Rank was derived from the mother as the only certain fountain of ancestry. In size and dignity of personal carriage they were conspicuous from the crowd. In short, the difference was so marked in Hawaii between the chief and his serf, as to suggest to a superficial observer the idea of two distinct races.

Hospitality was a common virtue. There was no beggary, as there was no need of begging, for the simple wants of the natives were easily supplied. The poorest man never refused food to his worst enemy, should he enter his house and demand it. Indeed so freely were presents made, that the absolute law of “meum and tuum,” as it exists among commercial races, with its progeny of judges and gaols, locks and fetters, had with them scarcely a defined meaning. Where there was so much trust and generosity, any violation of them met with prompt and severe retribution. Theft was visited upon the offender by the injured party, even if the weaker, by the seizure of every movable article belonging to him. In this wild justice they were sustained by the whole population. If the property of a high chief suffered, the thief was sometimes placed in an old canoe, bound hand and foot, and set adrift upon the ocean.

Kiana’s people were wealthy in their simple way. His reign was the golden age of Hawaii. This was owing mainly to his own character, which took delight in the happiness and prosperity of his subjects. No lands were so well cultivated as his. No rents were more ample or more cheerfully paid. His people had easy access to him. In their labors as in their sports he often mingled. If at times he was hasty or severe, it was owing rather to the quickened indignation of offended justice than to selfish passion.

A very striking reform in the rites if not in the principles of their religion had been peacefully brought about by him. In general, the savage mind is more influenced by fear than by love; that is, it seeks by worship to avoid harm from natural objects, which from ignorance of their laws he considers to be evil spirits, rather than to do homage to those whose direct beneficence is readily recognized. But Kiana, like Manco Capac with the Peruvians, taught them a less slavish ritual. Instead of sacrifices of animals to deities whose attributes solely inspired dread, he led them to rejoice in the bounteous seasons, the vivifying sun, the winds that refreshed their bodies, and the clouds that watered their thirsty soil. He taught them that the waters that bore them so pleasantly from island to island, were much more to be regarded lovingly, than the devouring shark with superstitious fear. Thus without fully, or perhaps in any degree recognizing the principles of the One God, the people were led more into harmony with those of his works, which were suggestive of good and kind attributes, which they symbolized in idols, to which they offered chiefly the fruits of the earth. They were indeed idolaters, because their minds seldom, if ever, separated the image from the ideas, but it was an idolatry that made them cheerful and truthful, and not gloomy and cruel.

Contented under their government, reposing on their religion, these islanders presented a picture of happiness, which, if we consider only the peaceful, joyous flow of the material life, we might well envy. They had no money to beget avarice, or to excite to the rivalries and dishonesties of trade. There were no more prosperous territories and bounteous soils for them to covet by arms; none of superior force to make them afraid. Their diet was simple, and their diseases few. They had nothing to fear from famine, weather, noxious animals, or poisonous insects. Their unbounded hospitality kept want from even the idler,—their agricultural games and fisheries gave ample scope for their physical energies, while their numerous festivals, the songs of the bards, and traditions and speeches of their historians and orators kept alive a national spirit, which made them proud of their origin and their country.

All their myths were connected with the great phenomena of nature, with which their island was so pregnant. Hence in their minds there was a certain grandeur of sentiment, as well as loftiness of expression and suggestive imagery, that imbued them with the more elevating influences of the great nature around them. Then their joyous dances, particularly graceful and spirited among the children, though too expressive, perhaps, in action and words of the sensual instincts with the adults, caused the gayety of their sunny skies and the passionate enjoyments of their rare climate to come home to them with a fulness of sympathy that made them truly the children of material Nature. They danced, they sang, they sported, and they feasted, as if the present hour had had no predecessor, and was to see no successor. If they labored, it was that they might enjoy. In all their exercises, whether of amusement, religion or work, the requirements of the chiefs, or the necessities of their families, there was a renunciation of all but the present moment, mingled with so full a sense of sportive humor, that no civilized spectator could have looked unmoved upon their sensuous happiness, however much he might moralize upon its affinity to mere animal life.

If they ever thought of death, it was merely as a change to a world where their enjoyments would be still more complete. At the worst their spirits would only wander about their earthly abodes, vexed at the sight of pleasures which they could no longer participate in. The general idea the serfs had of heaven, was of some place specially given to the chiefs, into which if they entered at all, it was in the same servile and distinct relation to them as on earth. Perhaps one great cause of their contentment sprung from their implicit acquiescence in the power and privileges of their rulers, as of beings too vastly their superiors to admit even for a moment of any equality of fate or aspirations in either life.

Such in brief were the character and condition of the race among which Alvirez and his party were now domesticated, and to all appearance for life. There was much to reconcile them to their new position, as will be shown, and especially in the peaceful contrast their present homes presented to the crime and devastation which had been their experience in Mexico. True, there was no gold. But what need of gold, when all it represents was provided without price? After their long experience of perils and hardships, to the seamen their present lives seemed planted in Eden. An occasional affray with some distant tribe that sought to spoil their more fortunate countryman under Kiana’s rule, gave them opportunities to exercise their courage for the benefit of their new friends. The reputation which they soon established, and the supernatural character with which they continued in some degree, still to be regarded, especially at a distance, contributed much towards keeping the frontiers quiet. Juan and Kiana, according to Hawaiian custom, exchanged names, by which in friendship, power and property, they were viewed as one. But the better to appreciate the true position of each in reference to their new life, we must trace their individual experiences.

CHAPTER VIII.

“Earth, our bright home its mountains and its waters,

And the ethereal shapes which are suspended

O’er its expanse, and those fair daughters,

The clouds, of Sun and Ocean who have blended

The colors of the air since first extended,

It cradled the young world....”

Shelley.

Olmedo had not been idle during the year in his labors to convert the islanders to his faith. Nor was he without a certain degree of success, though very far from having instilled into them any definite ideas of Christianity. Indeed, strange as it may appear at the first statement, there was in the rites he wished to supersede so much analogy with those he wished to introduce, that the substitution was not easily effected. Juan, in his martial zeal for the Roman Catholic faith, would gladly have used the same arguments here as in Mexico; that is, have destroyed the idols, purified the temples, and set up crucifixes and new images, which only they should worship, whether persuaded or not of their religious efficacy. For once, however, Spanish zeal was obliged to be tempered with a respect for the force which was not now on their side. It must be confessed, also, that the easy, seductive life he had led, the absence of the worst features of heathenism, and the generous character and shrewdness of Kiana, had not a little weakened Juan’s fanaticism; so that, although conforming sufficiently to the ritual of his faith to keep himself within the pale of his church’s salvation, he had almost unconsciously imbibed the idea that some even of the virtues of Christianity might exist among pagans.

Within the walled enclosure in which Juan and his sister resided, overlooking the sea, Olmedo had built a small chapel. The rude images which native ingenuity under his direction had carved to represent the Virgin and her Son, were not so unlike their own wooden deities, as to require anything more than an enlargement of their mythology, for the simple natives to have accepted them as their own. This of course would have been only adding to the sin which Olmedo wished to eradicate. The good man, however, persevered in his rites and doctrines, and had the satisfaction to have numbers of the chiefs and their attendants come to witness his worship. Among them most frequently was Kiana, but as his eyes were oftener directed towards kneeling Beatriz, than the holy symbols of the altar, it is to be presumed that another motive beside religious conviction swayed his heart. He saw that the crucifix and the images of the gods of the white man, as he regarded them, were very dear to them. Out of respect, therefore, to his guests, in unconscious philosophical imitation of Alexander Severus, when he placed statues of Abraham and Christ among his revered images, Kiana had set up the crucifix in his domestic pantheon. How far he understood the teachings of Olmedo may be gathered from one of their not unfrequent colloquies upon religion.

Mass had just been said. Olmedo had trained some of the more tractable youths to assist him in the service, which they did the more willingly, from perceiving that it gave them a personal importance to be considered of the household of Lono. The solemn chant of the priest in a strange and sonorous tongue, the regular responses of the Spaniards, and their thorough devotion, the simple exhortations to a good life, which all present could comprehend, followed by the earnest eloquence of Olmedo, as he sought to expound in the Hawaiian tongue the mysteries of a faith which it had no terms correctly to render, all made an impressive scene. Their hearts were touched even when their minds were not enlightened.

It was the decline of day. The sun was pouring a flood of soft light over the sea, which sparkled as with the radiance of an opal. Kiana, Olmedo, and Beatriz, came out of the chapel, and reclined upon a pile of mats which their attendants had spread for them on a green knoll just beyond the reach of the waves. The trade wind fanned them with its cool breath, and sang an evening hymn amid the waving palms, high above their heads. A group of fishermen were hauling their nets, heavy with the meshed fishes, to the music of a wild chant. Numbers of both sexes were sporting in the surf. The line of breakers commenced far seaward, in long, lofty, curling swells, that came in regular succession thundering onward to the shore, which trembled under the mighty reverberation. It was not a sound of anger, nor of merriment, but the pealing forth of Nature’s mightiest organ, in deep-toned notes of praise. There was much in the commingled glories of sound and color, the beauty of the shore, and the expanse of the ocean, to suggest an Infinite Author to the most thoughtless mind.

Human life and happiness mingle largely with the scene. The bathers shout and gambol in the water as if in their native element. The maidens and boys,—with their parents, who in the frolic become children also,—dive under the huge combers as one after another they break and foam on their way to the shore. Heads with flowing tresses and laughing eyes are continually shooting up through the yeast of waters with merry cries, then ducking again to escape the quick coming wave. Rising beyond it, each plunge carries them further seaward, till with their surf-boards they reach the line of deep water. Then poising their boards on the very crests of the heaviest rollers, they throw themselves flat upon them, and skilfully keeping their position just on its edge before it topples and breaks, they are borne with the speed of race horses towards the shore. Now is their highest glee. In revelry they scream and toss their dark arms, which strikingly contrast with the silvery gleaming wave, urging their ocean steeds to still more headlong haste. They near the rocks. Another instant, and of their gaysome forms nothing will remain but mangled flesh and broken bones. But no: the wave passes from under them, and dashes its salt spray upon the land barrier, and far away among the green bushes; the surf board is cast with violence upon the shore, but the active swimmers avoid the shock, by sliding at the latest moment from their boards and diving seaward, again emerge, challenging each other once more to mount Neptune’s car.

A more quiet scene is at the left. Here flows a gentle stream, overhung with deep foliage. On its banks, to the beating of drums and the quick chants of the musicians, young children are dancing. They wear wreaths of white or scarlet flowers, intermingled with deep green leaves, on their heads; and on their bosoms are necklaces of bright shells or finely braided hair, and feather mantles about their waists. They are yet too young to feel other instincts than the gladsome and chaste impulses which are shown in light and graceful motions. Even the groups of adults seated on the grass, watching with interest their sports, reflect their innocent gayety, and become for the moment young and innocent themselves.

In the stream itself, mothers are teaching their infants to swim. Their love for the water is apparent in every struggle. They take to it like ducklings, and almost as soon as they can walk they can be trusted alone in that element. Now they turn their smiling faces towards their parents, and kick and cry for one more plash and still another; the delighted mother encouraging its attempts with soothing voice and tender care.

Such was the spectacle on which Kiana and his friends were gazing, after leaving the chapel and seating themselves by the sea-shore.

That day Olmedo had in his discourse dwelt more earnestly than usual upon the doctrines of his creed, with the hope finally to induce Kiana to cast aside his mythology and accept the Roman Catholic Trinity. Here, indeed, was the stumbling-block. How could Olmedo hope to make an idea, which was in a great degree contradictory and incomprehensible even to many of the cultivated and theological minds of Europe, intelligible to the simple reason of the Polynesian, when by the former it was at least only received as a great mystery!

“You tell me,” said Kiana, “that there is one great God, who made heaven and earth, an all-wise, all-perfect, all-powerful Being. He has created the Hawaiian, the Spaniard, the Mexican, and all the races of men. I know this to be true. My people worship the wooden images of deities, and think they supply their wants. But those of us who have been taught the true meaning of our sacred songs, know full well that these senseless idols cannot make the taro grow,—they do not send us rain,—neither do they bestow life, nor health. My thought has always been, there is one only Great God dwelling in the heavens.”

“Your thought is indeed right,” replied Olmedo; “but God many years ago, seeing how wicked the world was, sent his only-begotten Son to teach it true religion. He was cruelly crucified by the people to whom he was sent, and he went up to heaven, where he remains to be the judge and Saviour of all men. After his ascension, he sent to his disciples, to comfort them, the Holy Ghost. Now these three persons are one God,—the God whom we Christians worship. All your images are vain idols; cast them aside, and set up in their places the image of the Son, Jesus Christ, and his holy mother, of whom he was born in the flesh, by the will of God, without a human father. Then shall you and your people be saved.”

Had Olmedo been content to have acquiesced in the simple conception of the One God, he would have had little difficulty in persuading Kiana and his people to renounce the direct worship of idols, and to trust in and pray to the Great Father. There was something in their minds that made this idea seem not wholly new to them. This was derived in part from the mystic expressions of their bards, who had dimly felt this sublime truth, and in the testimony of the universal heart of the human race, which ultimately resolves all things into One Great Cause, however much it may overshadow his glory and pervert his attributes, by multiplying the symbols of natural powers, and make to itself “graven images” of earthly passions and foibles. But when Olmedo talked dogmatically of the “Three in One,” he left only a vague impression, that he worshipped either “three male gods and one female, which made four,” or that there were absolutely three equal gods, which in time they called “Kane, Kaneloa, and Maui.”

CHAPTER IX.

“The rounded world is fair to see,

Nine times folded in mystery,

Though baffled seers cannot impart

The secret of its laboring heart,

Throbs thine with Nature’s throbbing breast,

And all is clear from east to west,

Spirit that lurks each form within,

Beckons to spirit of its kin.

Self-kindled every atom glows,

And hints the future which it owes.”

Emerson.

The good missionary, for such in truth was Olmedo, was met at every step of his argument with answers, which from their truth and good sense, he found no little difficulty in refuting, while he drew his weapons solely from the polemic armory of Rome. It matters little in what theological crucible the doctrines of Jesus may have been melted, they all become, after the process, perverted from their simplicity. They then require schools to sustain them and scholars to explain. Whereas in the few earnest and loving words of their Author, before they are petrified into creeds, they find their way readily into the hearts and minds of even children. Indeed properly to receive them we must become as little children. The polemical subtleties of Reason are wholly foreign to him who did Works in his Father’s name, that they might bear witness of Him.

As often, therefore, as Olmedo sought merely to indoctrinate Kiana, he was met with replies founded on assumptions of the same character as his own, or on the admission of similar ideas and ceremonies among the Hawaiians, which from their analogy to the rites and thoughts of his own church, a more bigoted Roman Catholic missionary of that day would have accounted for, only by the blinding devices of the devil. But Olmedo’s mind was so largely imbued with true charity, that recognizing a common brotherhood in man, he was prepared to admit that even the heathen were not left wholly without some spiritual light, which was the seed in due time destined to grow up into Christianity. His mildness and firmness were proportionate to the strength of his own convictions. He was patient also, and disclaimed forced conversions, which he well knew would only recoil into deeper error, through the avenging power of wounded liberty and reason. Moreover, he had no wish to substitute a new idol for an old one. In Mexico, humanity demanded the prompt abolition of human sacrifices and other cruel rites. Here he had no fanatical and crafty priesthood to oppose him; no barbarous customs openly to denounce; the people looked upon him as a messenger from some divinity, and listened deferentially to his exhortations. He saw plainly that the evils which he had to encounter lay deep in the temperament of the Hawaiian, and could only be eradicated by presenting to his mind moral truths, which might gradually so operate upon his sensuous character, as to give him higher motives of action, from convincing him that better results and increased happiness would be his reward both here and hereafter. Perhaps no obstacle was more fatal to his success than the easy and hospitable nature of the Hawaiian himself. Based as it was, upon the generous spontaneity of his climate, modified or directed by the individual character of the rulers and priests, it found no difficulty in adding to its mythology at the will of the latter, or in being courteous and kind to all. But this quality, dependent as it was mainly upon the healthful action of their animal natures, could not be permanently counted upon. Their passions, like the limbs of the tiger in repose, were beautiful to look at, but rouse them and they were equally fearful. In the exercise of hospitality, they freely proffered their wives and daughters to their guests, but excite their hate or jealousy, and their revenge became demoniacal. With all their external peace and happiness, there was but faint moral principle. This Olmedo saw, and endeavored to inculcate virtue as the only basis of religious reform.

On the other hand, they had often expressed much good-natured wonder at his refusal to take a wife from the most beautiful girls, which partly from pity at his continence, and partly to test its strength, they had offered him under the most seductive circumstances. His explanation of the vow of chastity required by his religion, did not aid to render it the more acceptable to them. It was beyond their comprehension that any deity should require such a mortification of the instincts he had himself created. Olmedo’s abstinence was therefore the more marvellous, but perceiving how scrupulously he fulfilled the obligations of his tabu, they gave him that respect which every sincere action, proceeding from a good motive, never fails to inspire. By degrees they began to feel in Olmedo’s life a purity and benevolence, which, overlooking his own bodily ease or enjoyment, was untiring in its efforts to do them all good. In sickness, he watched at their bedsides with herbs to heal and words to cheer. In strife he was ever active to make peace. Their children he fondled, and upon their plastic minds he was better able to impress the idea of a One Great God and his Son’s love. He told them beautiful stories of that sinless woman and mother of Judea, the Madonna, who centered in herself all the human and divine strength of her sex, and who, as the spouse of God, was ever nigh to pity, soothe, and protect. He taught them that to forgive was better than to revenge; that the law not to steal sprang from a better principle than fear of retaliation; in short, that virtue brought a peace and joy far beyond all that the fullest gratifications of their merely selfish desires could produce.

Much of this instruction fell among choking weeds. Still they were all better for having Olmedo among them; and, indeed, the very fact of their being able in any degree to appreciate his life, showed the dawnings of a new light to their minds.

Without this detail of the relative moral positions of the priest and his semi-flock, the reader would not appreciate the force of Kiana’s reply to Olmedo’s appeal, in which the latter had given a brief history of the Christian religion as derived from the Holy Scriptures and interpreted by the Roman church.

I give merely the substance of Kiana’s words, as it would be too tedious to follow them literally through the web of conversation which led to so full an enunciation of his own belief. The reader will perceive a sufficient coincidence, to suggest either a common source of knowledge in the earliest ages of human history or certain religious instincts in the human mind, that make isolated races come to practically the same religious conclusions.

“Some things that you tell me,” said Kiana, “are like our own traditions. From them we learn that there was a time when there was no land nor water, but everywhere darkness and confusion. It was then that the Great God made Hawaii. Soon after he created a man and woman to dwell on it. These two were our progenitors.

“Ages afterwards a flood came and drowned all the land, except the top of Mauna Kea, which you see yonder,” continued the chief, pointing to its snowy summit. “A few only of the people were saved in a great canoe, which floated a long while on the waters, until it rested there, and the people went forth and again built houses and dwelt in the land.

“One of our Gods also stopped the sun, as you say Joshua did, not to slay his enemies, but to give light to his wife to finish her work.

“We have a hell, but it is not one of torturing flames, but of darkness, where bad men wander about in misery, having for food only lizards and butterflies. Our heaven is bright like yours, and those who are admitted are forever happy. You tell me of a Purgatory, where the souls of those who go not directly to heaven or hell, remain in temporary punishment. Our priests tell us that the spirits of those who have been not very good or bad, remain about the earth, and that they visit mortals to protect or harm according to their dispositions.

“We pray with our faces and arms extended towards heaven, as you do. We have our fasts and our feasts, in memory of our good men, who have gone before us to happiness. We venerate their relics and the people worship them.

“You believe in One Great God and worship many. We do the same. What matters it by what names they are called. You declare a man whom you call Pope, to be the representative of God on earth; that he can bind or loose for hell or heaven; that only through belief in his church can any one be saved; that his authority is derived from dreams and visions, and prophesies and traditions written in a Holy Book.

“Our priests too have visions and dreams. Their gods visit them. They claim authority from the same sources of inspiration. Your Pope is no doubt right to govern you as he does. His book is a good book for you white men; but we red men have no need of a book, while our priests still talk with their gods, as you say yours once did.

“If no one can be saved except in believing in the Pope, what becomes of all the races you tell me of who have never heard of him? Would a good God punish his creatures for not knowing what they cannot know? No! I do not believe in this! The Great Spirit has given us Hawaiians some truth. Perhaps he has given you white men more. This I can believe, as I see you are so superior to us in knowledge, but that he created those only who acknowledge the Pope, to be saved, I do not believe!

“Our priests when they quarrel talk in the same way. Each claims to be the favorite and inspired of his God, but it is because they are selfish and ambitious. They wish to control men by pretending to hold the gate of Heaven. My thought is, that God hears and sees all men, whether they pray through priests or not. I am the Pope of my people, but I know that I cannot shut or open heaven to any one. I have no right to give away the lands of other people, because they do not believe as I do. Some prefer one God and some another.

“You have what you call an Inquisition to punish those who do not assent to your faith. We too have our ‘tabus’ which permit the same, when sacrilege is done or our laws broken. If we adopted your laws and customs, how should we be better off than now, when they are so alike?

“If your Jesus was the Supreme God, how could his creatures put him to death? How could he have been a man like us? If he were only a great prophet, then I can understand how these things happened and why he has since been worshiped as a God?

“Have you not heard our priests say, that among the doctrines that have come down to us from the earliest time, is one almost the same as you tell us of Jesus, ‘to love our neighbor as ourself, to do to him what we wish done to us?’ They also tell us to keep peace with all. God who sees will avenge, the same as you say, only that you constantly preach and practise it, which our priests have long since forgotten to.”

After this manner did Kiana reply to Olmedo. The words of the pagan were a prolific theme of reflection to him. In some things he found himself a scholar where he would have been a teacher. There was then a light even to the Gentiles. How vain was force, how wicked compulsion in matters of faith! Mankind all sought one common end, happiness here and hereafter. God had left none so blind as not to have glimmerings of truth. He would adjudge them according to their gifts, and not by an arbitrary rule of priestcraft. God’s laws were uniform and universal. All creation was penetrated with their essence. Sin brought its own punishment, and virtue its own reward, whether within or without the pale of the church. Was the Roman Church, after all, but one form of religious expression? An imperfect one, too! At this thought he shuddered as the force of theological dogmas recoiled upon him. It was but a transient emotion. Truth was not so easily subdued. The idea flashed through his mind, “Does not pure religion diminish in proportion as a stony theology flourishes? Is not that a science of words and forms of man’s creation, destined gradually to pass away, as the kingdom of God, which is only of the Spirit, shall increase until all men are baptized into it through Love and not through Fear?”

Olmedo’s heart swelled at these thoughts. As he gazed upon the scene before him, so in harmony with the joyousness of nature, so penetrated with her beauty, so choral with her melodies, the mere scholastic theologian died from within him. His face lighted into a glow of thankfulness, that God had created Beauty, and given man senses to enjoy it. Was there any good thing of his to be refused? Was not every gift to be accepted with gratitude, and used to increase his enjoyment? Was not the rule Use, and the denial Abuse? Was not the immolation of correct instincts a sacrifice of self to Belial? Were not the heathen themselves reading a lesson to him from Nature’s Bible, wiser than those he had studied from the Law and the Prophets? There was opened to him a new revelation. Not of Rome! Not from Geneva! God’s world in all its fulness flowed in upon him. He was inspired with the thought. Out from his eyes as he stood erect and felt himself for once wholly a man, there, shone a light that made those who looked upon him feel what it was for man to have been created in His Image. But beware monk! Beware priest! There is either salvation or ruin in this! Salvation, if Duty holds the helm,—ruin if Desire seizes the post.

Kiana regarded Olmedo in amazement. His was not the soul to enter into such a sanctuary. There was one, however, whose nature penetrated his inmost thoughts. Nay, more, it instinctively infused itself into his and the two made One Heart; intuitively praising Him. Their eyes met. One deep soul-searching gaze, and these two were for ever joined.

CHAPTER X.

“So Love doth raine

In stoutest minds and maketh monstrous Warre:

He maketh warre: he maketh Peace again.

And yet his Peace is but continual Jarre.

Oh miserable men that to him subject arre.”

Spenser.

The situation of Beatriz alone, so far as companionship of her sex was concerned, was peculiar. She was not one readily to give or seek confidence. Were she surrounded with her equals in race and cultivation, she would not have disclosed her inmost self, and least of all to a female. This was instinct rather than reason. Those about her thought they knew her in all points, because they saw how good and true she was to them. They loved her, because her vast capacity of love drew all lesser loves towards it. They came readily to her with their trials, because in her large heart and womanly perceptions there was an inexhaustible fountain of sympathy and a foresight truer than a sybil’s. Thus daily, wherever she was, whoever among, she received a constant tribute of devotion and confidence. The character of those about her grew better by her presence. But with all this power, of which each word or look could not but make her conscious, she was often inexpressibly sad.

Whence this sadness? Beatriz had never analyzed her own heart. While all others were open to her, her own had remained a mystery. She felt within it deep, broad currents of emotion, which led, she scarcely knew whither. That their waters flowed from a clear spring was self-evident, because her desires were pure and high. She loved her brother warmly, and he returned her love; still there was a wide gulf between them. With other men the gulf was wider. With women she had never been intimate. Hence, while she seemed so easily read by all about her, there still remained a mystery of which none had been able to lift the veil.

Her sympathy, self-sacrificing spirit and generosity; her indignation at the mean or base; her approving glance at the noble and true; her quiet courage and patient endurance; her piety, her quick perception, which so often anticipated man’s slower judgment; her passions even, for she had shown, when roused, a force and decision, that awed armed men and controlled rude hearts; all this was intelligible to her companions, and commanded their love and esteem. But there still remained a depth to her nature, that theirs could never have sounded, and would have remained fathomless to herself, unless stirred by a depth answering to her own.