Kaiuolani

The marines pressed hard at the gate.

“Halt!” shouted Aokahameha, rising upon his elbow to confront the courier who had advanced unmolested close to the palace doors.

“I demand your immediate surrender,” replied the intruder, half sarcastically, half in earnest.

“Whose surrender?” interceded Ihoas, while Aokahameha barely changed to a less comfortable position on the bench.

The nonplussed messenger made no reply; just whom he sought or where to begin had not dawned upon Uhlrix’s mind, much less had it occurred to the aid who carried his dispatch.

“Who dares so boldly?” ventured Ihoas, after a while, cutting short the pause that ensued.

“America,” knowingly replied the lackey.

“Charge!” shouted Aokahameha, turning to face the Guards, before either one speaking had recovered the shock; which, seemingly, affected both alike.

Instantly the glad soldiery wheeled to, a thousand deadly cartridges dropped into place, and as many rifles leveled in the face of a halting, mystified foe.

Ihoas arose, imploring wildly:

“To battle, Aokahameha; Kaiuolani is the prize!”

Terror seized the over-conscious man and running forward he would have ordered a cessation, but his voice failed him: the wild gesticulations of a frightened leader only encouraged the more the determined ranks, whereat a wicked report from two solid columns rang out defiance, echoed the warning its trained, undaunted purpose bespoke.

The Americans wavered. The charge had come unexpectedly, and their broken lines needs must have faltered had not an undaunted leader rallied and held them face to face with danger.

Uhlrix astride his heavy horse galloped to the fore, and lifting in the stirrups, his harsh, nasal voice heard above the din of tumult, shouted:

“Fire!”

Their aim proved deadly. The havoc wrought was more than he had expected. An organized front broke into scattering fragments and daring men ran to shelter. Aokahameha fell among the first, bleeding at Ihoas’s feet. The startled princess threw herself over him, calling loudly:

“Courage, Aokahameha; Ihoas speaks.”

But the proud man was past heeding,—even a cherished hope,—and lay helpless upon the ground. The Guards ran hither and thither, trembling with disaster. The marines advanced upon the capitol, clearing and slashing the way with carbine and saber; and with driving the enemy and surrounding the building an ominous silence overcast the place. High above them drooped and fluttered the cross and bars, waving to the world its innocent grace and sacred claims. Harvenoiq spied it.

Still standing prisoner beneath the folds of his own—a flag that he would do honor, yet suffer to degrade—the fain diplomat cogitated with Bender the best means of escape or pandered self with the possibility of unheard-of rehabilitation. The flag cord stood wound securely within reach; the crafty Isaacs now displayed round his shoulders the significant stars and stripes; Harvenoiq breathed intently; temptation mastered, and grasping the unthwarted emblem the ready reckoner made it fast, loosened the cord and—as the one lowered the other rose, striking terror into the hearts of a friendly people, raising enthusiasm among his own, to the point of tolerance—signalled the outcome that none but he had dared design.

The retreating Guards halted and gazed, breathless and expectant amid the sacred grounds in front of the queen’s palace. The marines drew up in order round the capitol building. Not a word escaped. All eyes turned toward the flags. A chance whirlwind entangled them and Harvenoiq tugged at the rope, but could raise the one nor lower the other hardly an inch. Providence had decreed the flight of empire and all the powers of earth could not raise the embargo nor broaden those bounds beyond the bare limit of conquest’s idle fruitage.

Nor was the trophy to be won without an essential cost. Twice the little flag fluttered free in the skies. No common man appeared able to check or advance its beneficent inspiration; all sweltered blind in stupid lowness—but again the faithful, star-voiced standard waved loose from the unthinking, feeling-bereft monster that would gorge serene on plundered plenty, and open-mouthed men started amazed at an only call—rising as of old from the deep unfathomable, claiming recognition, rousing energy, signalling the goal.

Kaiuolani dashed into their midst,—Ipo snorting and foaming,—her corded cap, tasseled boots, and legginged uniform afresh and scabbard dangling: the stilled environs livened with valor and torn breasts breathed anew the spirit that survives, as she charged up and down a rapidly reorganizing front, shouting:

“Rally, comrades; Kaiuolani leads!”

They did recover; and with one sharp, decisive advance hurled the marines, Uhlrix, his pensioners and all, back upon adjoining streets, bleeding and torn and overcome.

Kaiuolani, fired and foremost, ran toward the flagstaff. A swarthy Guard hauled aloft the emblem of their country: the stars and stripes swung low, and the proud princess rising in the saddle and brandishing her sword whipped the hated rag into shreds at their feet.

“Long live the princess,” rang out in chorus from a myriad hoarse throats, scarcely failing the hushed, hard suspense, till their leader turned to meet and face a more painful, deadlier conflict.

Young and the Rifles had come, and with fixed bayonets and double step bore down upon the rear.

The march had been continuous and the distance great, but the new and untried were eager for a chance and their commander waxed hot with revenge.

Norton had convinced him.

Having misled Uhlrix and stirred the Guards to ill-advised action, she, close pursued and eager, made good her disappearance and drove away to meet and surcharge the Rifles; arriving scarcely Gutenborj had reached and directed their reasonable necessities.

“But, I tell you, you are misinformed; or, perhaps, not at all aware of recent developments,” urged Norton, to the surprised planter, with emphasis, in a last endeavor to convince Young, the three having met in hasty consultation.

“I understand the situation perfectly: all that we require is a safe, sound and conservative management of the Rifles—the queen is spokesman,” replied he, quite positive and not the least argumentative.

“She is a prisoner and a back number, this very minute,” declared their unsought informant, with crafty vehemence.

“What?” queried they, in breathless unison.

“The palace is surrounded, and Kaiuolani is chief——”

“That is false! If there is any such disturbance at the palace, depend upon what I say: Bender is at the bottom of it,” interposed Young, unable to bear the contemplated accusation, particularly as he himself had encountered the two—both Bender and Kaiuolani—keeping close company, while riding on the avenue, earlier in the day.

“He may be a close counsellor: I shouldn’t undertake to venture less, though I have no very apparent reason for predicting as much: you may know more about that than I do,” replied Norton, her eyes riveted hard upon Young’s reddening face.

Gutenborj weakened,—the possibilities were more than he could risk,—saying in compromising tones, to Young only, having ignored Norton entirely:

“Possibly we had best hold the Rifles in check until better advised. Let us keep our hands clean; Bender may be on top; I understand Uhlrix is susceptible—the marines are invincible: our interests——”

“Hold, man!” interrupted Young unable longer to restrain his feelings. “Would you place property above life, sacrifice honor to save dollars?”

“Order is my religion; the laws subserve best who the powers heed most,” answered the shrewd financier, with characteristic confidence.

“Fain reason never won fair laurel. Policy degrades: patriotism uplifts—go your way: Floyd Young shall do his part in deeds that ring true,” replied the younger man, with a vigor that convinced; thereat, leaping astride his horse and flashing the steel that welds, shouted:

“Forward, march!”

Both Gutenborj and Norton did go their way, and the Rifles doubly quickened toward the palace; Young’s indignation grew with each recurring memory; the distant crack and rumble of musketry hardened conscience, and barely the Guards recovered their front Kaiuolani met face to face her old-time champion.

Their eyes flashed determination. The one flamed and encouraged with the glow of success: the other measuring well the consequences of a mistaken conduct—how could they but alter the progress and change the course of a conflict in which they waged?

“Lay down your arms, Kaiuolani, and heed a more befitting usefulness,” said Young, calmly, having measured well, as he took it, the probable outcome of a conflict.

“Then lay down yours, or prove the right to challenge,” replied the princess, wholly unmindful of any possible inequality.

Kaiuolani met her lover’s gaze without a tremor; he flushed and hesitated,—the supreme test had come,—then recovering turned to his command and ordered them advance with bayonets fixed.

Wheeling round and facing her men, Kaiuolani shouted:

“Charge, Guards; your princess leads!”

They fired, and the battle raged anew.

Twice the sturdy patriots forced the hungry oncomers hard upon their reserves, but each time those careless hirelings heeded a master’s call and rallying forced admittance beyond the gates. But the Guards stood upon principle, and the voice of a princess brooked no retreat—the marines once again came into sight! they pressed forward in the distance!

“Trapped?” whispered the princess, half audibly—“No, no; not I; never these men—on with the battle! forward the lines!” cried she, charging fearlessly ahead, her voice ringing triumph in the ears of those she trusted, striking terror to the hearts of a ruthless foe.

The ground she gained ran red with blood; the moans of the fallen, the ghastly heaps of dead and dying did not stop them; Kaiuolani knew no halting short of a queen’s deliverance, her country’s salvation. She urged and directed: Young rallied and implored—but personal interests pitted against national valor proved a hopeless task: the Rifles weakened, became panic-stricken, and the onrushing Guards swept over them like a storm trampling the heavens.

The queen sat there, in her room, throughout it all, stoic and indifferent. The destiny of her cares had passed into other hands; the hopes and aims of a lifetime trembled in the balance; the aspirations of generations seemed crushed beneath the ruthless hand of fate; centuries of development, and the highest and best at their disposal must abide the decree of a stronger will: Liliuokolani breathed easily, and at last placed her faith where kings and princes, paupers and producers alike find a living, unyielding consolation.

She set her foot down to stay. The place belonged to her, and no man bore the right to dispossess. Norton stole into the room. She came there as she had gone elsewhere—hurriedly.

“Fly, Liliuokolani, fly; the Rifles are crushed; the Guards are marching out, the marines advancing!” whispered Norton, eagerly.

“Why should I go? and who are you, to address me thus?” replied the queen, calmly.

Thereat Elmsford burst in at the door, and Norton as quickly left. He had gone there as a last resort to save the queen from possible capture.

“Come with me; it is your majesty’s only refuge—the walls of my house shall protect you against harm. Come?” said he, earnestly and in good faith.

“No. I remain here, where I belong, even in the face of abandonment. Go. Save yourselves; Liliuokolani is immovable.”

And they went—the victorious Guards, the queen’s retinue, and all those in authority who sympathized—orderly and rapidly toward Diamond Head; though Kaiuolani did not know until long afterwards that the queen herself remained shut up and alone at the palace.

Those upon whom the princess relied for counsel knew better than she the futility of undertaking peacefully to induce Liliuokolani’s going, and to remove her by force had been an act of rebellion—so construed by both Uhlrix and Young in justification of their openly wanton and widely intentioned assaults. The two hard-fought engagements had so depleted the Guards that to stand ground against such odds had been worse than madness: the possibility of recruiting under shelter the necessary force to regain the capital and effectively establish authority outweighed in the minds of knowing ones: Kaiuolani was led innocent and the flight directed.

Sitting, however, in final council just outside the city, where a temporary halt was made to recover breath and prepare the march, their gallant commander suddenly arose and nervously turning her glasses upon the doomed capitol in the distance reeled, and shrieked:

“The flag!”

Thenceforth her advance became solely a matter of their prevision.