Kaiuolani

Promptly at twelve o’clock, as announced, the doors of the armory were thrown open to the straggling few who ventured or ambled thither. These were, though, however reduced in numbers, deeply in earnest, and contrary to expectation consisted mostly of missionaries, a few disgruntled Royalists, and others still less desirable. In fact the leading element in all parties or castes, those upon whom the burdens had hitherto rested, made themselves conspicuous only by their timely absence.

Even Bender, who had regained so quickly and absolutely his liberty,—already going at will upon the streets and elsewhere without any danger of molestation,—was not there. Norton the original publicist and only proposer could nowhere be found, and Gutenborj, shut in and alone at his own private quarters, raged and fussed about “such nonsense.”

Out at Diamond Head the Guards and Rifles already mingled upon friendly terms, for both Wayntro and Ihoas proved easily relaxing and in the absence of Bender on the one hand and some sort of controlled inspiration on the other the two forces agreeably and irrevocably interpenetrated in a search for individual delectation.

No collective tendency abridged their unrestricted bent and those once belligerent regiments, the nation’s only defense, aristocracy’s sole support and democracy’s last effective hope, joined hands in the humbler reliefs of an overworked and browbeaten man’s permitted part.

A populace, those upon whom the burdens rest, devoid of enthusiasm or despair must only gape at opportunity’s repeated offering. What could these do for the fate of nationalism or the prolongation of state? Neither sharing the law’s benefits nor rising to social requirements they of necessity and of right stood back heedless amid the great unglorified: once relieved of the juggler’s wiles settled down to the lone enjoyment of a vainly provisioned lot.

The ambitious alone, those eager to break down barriers, courted the extravagant, were to be found overstepping the bounds of sobriety, and as they fared they waged:

“Would you lie here a prisoner, in the face of humanity’s call? Everywhere the people demand your fitting response. Be a man, Colonel Young, as I can and will obtain your release: you and I could annex these islands to the United States in a trice. Brace up my good fellow,” urged Harvenoiq, his words burning with renewed self-anticipation.

“Me? Sacrifice honor? Lay opportunity at the feet of expediency? Never!”

“You may change your mind, as all great men do. It shall go hard with you here, and why not take advantage of a certainty? I know whereof I speak.”

“If you have the right, then release me. If not, your assurances belie the reason. Come; out with it; what have you to do with my detention?”

“Your recently accepted friend Bender might answer that in a less dissatisfactory manner. I have a more urgent business at the armory, just now; the missionaries are there, in force.”

Scenting a fancied opportunity, yet to lift himself at the expense of another man’s sincerity, Harvenoiq quietly abandoned Young to his fate and undertook adroitly to fasten his own flight to the tail end of another’s forced if welcome obligation: the true missionary element remained absolved, had not shown their hand, and of choice or compulsion held in fact ultimately the balance of power.

These soldiers of the cross had led the white vanguard here, as elsewhere, and from the landing of Cook—and the Judds’s arrival—made themselves felt, slowly at first, but effectively at last, in a friendly recasting of individual belief. Content with inner regeneration, their soul enervating endeavors would not disturb the outer form: allowed spirituality best conserved by a natural adjustment of material requirements.

Their blood had long ago taken root and shorn, as it was, of mercenary motives resolved the beginning of a homogeneous admixture and tolerable assimilation, which might have determined in time its own attendant exaltation. The veins of royalty already coursed with an improved morality: no less did the interceding religion benefit by the superior infusion, and had not pelf (there could have been no other incentive) inspired a stronger agency’s pursuit, lowered the scale of activity to the bare standard of commercial worth—who knows what their destiny?

Now that the two contending factions, the avaricious foreigners on the one hand and the dazed and tolerant natives on the other, stood motionless and surprised, each at the blow stricken of his own weakness, the hitherto ignored and abused missionary and his natural born or truly converted brother once more arose, alone and unhindered, as the sole redeemer of a bereft and disordered people. They were few in fact, but loyal to themselves and fearless of any trial; uncertainty had driven the last doubting culprit from their ranks—Varnum and his kind had quietly but effectively decamped; the call was made, not at their instance, but as a better utilization of them, by those who dared not face the consequences of their own act; the empty building in which they gathered seemed to echo but a single responsibility; the little band unconsciously grouped in the center; a few disconsolate loiterers scattered here and there about the wide bare floors; presently one among the group, taller than the rest, more ungainly and less nervous said almost in a whisper:

“Gentlemen, the time has come for us to act; we must have a government, cannot exist without.”

The speaker’s words bore no bitterness, nor elation, nor self-imposed preferment. Cheer alone rang in his voice, and deep underneath heavy dark eyelashes a pair of small piercing eyes sparkled with determination and kindled their confidence.

Those who saw and heard believed “old man” Cole sincere, and in these times and under such circumstances small sincerity were worth any quantity of so-called ability. Don Dupont, their former sergeant at arms, a half-cast royalist of high descent, an oldtime missionary’s son and a lawyer by profession, climbed upon a handy stool and quietly placing him in nomination the Honorable Christopher C. Cole suddenly became without a dissenting voice the first chairman of the then barely improvised but afterwards seriously potent government of Hawaii.

These men and women who were by chance or strategy thrust forward supposedly to their doom, at a time when every other agency seemed politically dead, proved themselves fairly equal to the thankless task imposed, and as missionaries once installed all the wiles of Christendom could nor would jar loose the clutch nor break the grip of their tenacity.

Both Commodore Uhlrix, in command, and Colonel Young, his prisoner, thence had good grounds for the discernment of a new factor, rising boldly to harass and defeat each in his unquestionable part. The latter sank down shorn and forlorn in his cell; Xane Bender had just left and perchance the news seemed the more frightful. The commodore hastened to consult Liliuokolani, at last effectively deposed and possibly beaten.

Had Floyd Young then and there resigned himself to a fate that determines as surely as follows political fortune he might not have taken a step that could only prolong an ending as inevitable as just; bringing in the wake of its certain progress alike ignominious failure and deplorable disaster. Faltering, the threshold of greatness—his naturally destined scope—again slipped his reasonable grasp, and a law higher than his apprehension or man’s making must unavoidably, though bitter, work its never-ending, changeless course.

All plans were doomed, their situations inexplicable, and in spite of Young’s unseemly plotting and Kaiuolani’s higher appeal, Harvenoiq’s doubtful support or Bender’s rabid opposition, a freshly gathering whirlwind enveloped and swept them, a regretful, drooping nation, always faster, still more artfully toward the lisping jaws of a larger born and stronger grown world-adjusting power. The newly begotten and strongly conceived empire of an overruling West swooped upon them, and her steel-sharpened talons and explosive-laden charge already rent loose the startled prey and held fast a tightening grip.

Hawaii hung limp in the eagle’s clutch, and those who might have rescued the tiny victim, stilled of its liberty-stirring melody, her golden plumage ruffled, neglected that broader summons in the blind rush for individual shelter.

Only one man dared so forget the future as to provision the present: bore no interests contrary to the welfare of others, and that man rose up, as most final arbiters do, from absolute innocuousness and shamefaced insignificance. Run down at the heels and neglected by his friends, hard pressed at home and content in the world, his unencumbered ears tilted easily to the feeble sounding of wholesome fame.

Nor did ascendancy the least disturb his apparent equilibrium; rising steadily above the fixed horizon of its accidental discovery the fain controlling orbit of his rapidly coming-into-view constellation shed a warmth and brilliance and radiation that bespoke already and undeniably the lasting tenure and cohesive powers of his administrative capacity.

The commander of the marines, possibly more anxious to justify the report which he had already dispatched to Washington than to accommodate the new government, forthwith let it be known of his intention to remain indefinitely at camp Bonton; and though there was no friendliness between them—Uhlrix indeed did not so much as deign to recognize the new chairman or his quasi government—the presence of an active though foreign army, all equipped and ready, was openly welcomed alike by those who feared either life or property and the ones upon whom devolved the responsibility of policing the new regime.

There was no other government, not another effective force. Hence by virtue of a certain indispensableness rather than insistence the one, though disclaimed, of necessity gained obeyance; the other, however delectable, they condescended to respect: the two, while antagonistic in spirit, together resolved an only safeguard to both persons and effects, which of itself made either agency supremely forceful, each in its own proper sphere.

Young paled at the outlook, and Gutenborj alone of all those possessed with ulterior designs and personal aims ventured an open declaration.

“You are the man for the occasion,” said he, adroitly, to the chairman, deliberately bolting himself into an audience before any kind of organization had been fairly perfected. “Every schoolboy here knows of your integrity; and if, perchance, I can be of any service, call upon me. Hans Gutenborj stands for law and order: I need not advise you, as to that, of course.”

The gaunt, respectful Cole, not unmindful of the intruder’s motive and ability, paid no other heed than dignified answer to the pretended courtesy bestowed; and, proceeding as if no interruption had occurred, convinced possibly one interested spectator that at least a man helmed the ship who could and would resist temptation. Nor was his policy and its effect less openly established; as the first important committee appointed and dispatched proved none other than one of annexation to the United States, and the proclamation presently issued, pronouncing the provisional government duly established, only redoubled anxiety in the land.