Kaiuolani

With Young’s capture and Wayntro’s retreat the already toppling government awakened to fresh dangers and sought to invoke a last privilege: martial law was, therefore, promptly declared, and Aokahameha again placed in command, sent posthaste after the rebellious natives; his policy had, vitally if not happily changed.

Two years of dubious warfare and hotly contested intrigue convinced him that it were futile to attempt any sort of restoration. Cole, as well, held himself free from taint, and stood ready to sacrifice individual welfare for the good of a bettered whole. There were, also, elements at work antagonistic to both friends and foes; and, had Kaiuolani apprised him of what she the sooner divined?

“I shall put down this rebellion, as enabled with such force as can be mustered. Liberty is a birth-right and loyalty its only safeguard. Whatever the manifestations,—whether robbed of our queen or blessed with a president, though it be Occidental or Oriental,—sovereignty must obtain. Unity is ultimate, and reason but a consequence: please bear me witness,” said Aokahameha, candidly, to Cole and his cabinet, making ready to go after Kenlikola and his too rabidly inclined following.

“I am pleased that our friend Aokahameha understands so well the present; though his after-theory be at fault; liberty is rather the product of reason,” replied Cole, constantly doing and trusting—the very incarnation of belief.

“Philosophy and practice are not necessarily antagonistic, as I am taught: our religions are but one, not rightly understood. Enlightened as well as endowed, we may yet teach you to live; Orientalism is founded upon things we know,” suggested Aokahameha, not the least perturbed.

“And dies, only to live!” shouted Kaiuolani, flitting into their midst, unheralded if tolerable.

Not they, nor Cole, would dispute, or thought to restrain her. Some vital potency lay behind the princess’ sudden though elusive demeanor, and they were only too glad that she chose to let them proceed with the business of ordering a hopelessly shattered entity.

“On with the work,” continued she, “and I promise a just retribution. Like for like, and the dread waves take me should I deign fail.”

Aokahameha did go,—he appeared not to understand or heed,—and a rapid advance soon brought him to the foothills, whence Kenlikola’s command had flown. They fought valiantly, man for man, and until Aokahameha’s superior generalship outdid the enemy there seemed no certainty of victory on either side.

It was the often repeated story of gold against God, and truth prevailing God had won—but, as ever, strategy outwitted, and the valient hosts of a passing day scattered and ran pellmell over the hills and into byways scarce none but them exactly knew.

Kenlikola escaped.

A secret growth of twisted pine and low koa fringed the lower edge, reaching at places far up into rugged canyons or along sloping ravines, severely impeding the progress of men less accustomed to mountain climbing or service dodging. There should be no halting, however; though another reason had saved all except the ringleaders from an otherwise immediate capture.

Aokahameha pursued them.

An ominous mist overhung the ragged sky line higher up along the broken, precipitous coast at the opposite side of the mountains. The sun blazed weakly in the west, or let fleeting shadows dark and weird against the somber woodland at places covering dreaded tangles.

Here and there in the far-off open might be seen now and then revered heads, carrying in their arms from shelter to shelter mysteriously wrought symbols, sacred and inspiring to those retreating.

White mice gamboled near by—then hid in the reed grasses; they had survived the ages immune to all save princes—these men, in quest, seemed strange to them.

A lizard crawled into its hole, and knowing ones sighed.

Aokahameha reflected.

“Dispose companies as directed,” commanded he (addressing Wayntro), having theretofore reconnoitered and determined upon some sort of a round up. “I am going to climb old Punch Bowl,—the call is resistless,—and when you have returned I shall be here, our most convenient place of rendezvous.”

The captain, ordering, shouted:

“Form for attack, forward, march!” and the ragged lines breaking into squads waged hard upon the trail of Kenlikola’s confused and disordered rear.

Facing the mists, Aokahameha walked briskly up the gradual incline and on, to Pali, the highest point, overjutting out and away toward the bewitching, coaxing waters far down at the ocean’s tumbling, heaving level. A long narrow hogback, worn deep with uncertain stepping, led the way. The sands gave and sank underneath his feet, as if to threaten and retard his going; but some misshapen impulse lured him on, and he would not stop.

After a while the broad, tinted valleys, with their many diversities, lay spread and stretching afar at his back. He did not turn, neither comprehended them. In front, a more subtle, inviting aspect opened to view. The fog hung thick and black before his eyes, but just beyond, nearly a thousand feet below, the blue seas adjured a sight that penetrated even darker things.

The path grew wider now, and easier; Aokahameha quickened step, and suddenly someone appeared, as if entranced.

A human being had risen in front, and wishing to know who might be there to disturb him in his right, the thwarted man called loudly and ran fast after: only stillness answered; a splash and his echoed voice alike took wings and flew with the winds that howl and moan their doleful eternity at this fated place.

“Cheated!” whispered he, leaning low over the edge and peering dizzily down through space vaulting with a taunt its wanted rest.

The sun’s height saved him; it had been desecration to disturb the peace of another; night must pass and day come again before he might now make the leap.

But who had thus escaped him?

The thought burned deeply into his growing consciousness, and drawing back a little, over the slippery, declivitous stones, himself puzzled and gainsaid, Aokahameha made fast his hold upon a projecting root at one side the wind-swept, deep-cut roadway, where he lay for a long time marvelling the consequence of living.

“I’ll return to my post,” said he, to himself, in due time convinced; “the sunshine is more of than rain: the world is a better place, than hence we know not.”

Composure quickly followed. A new life suddenly dawned, and bounding to his feet Aokahameha scrambled back over the short, steep incline, thence tramped down the hill, toward whence he had come with a resolution as firm as hitherto wavering.

The skies seemed to twinkle with freshened meaning, the earth beneath his feet resounded a goodlier trend, and from his heart there sprang a yearning that before only had lost him the opportunity.

“Ihoas is dead, but—Kaiuolani lives,” rose to mind, and did not cease, till he had once more resolved.

Reaching again the field of action, Aokahameha found that Wayntro’s disappointed scouts were already fast returning; these untrained and driven men could or would not scale the heights as did those in retreat. Kenlikola escaped, and the major portion of his defeated and scattering army made off through covering of the mountains hard again toward the northland. A few, however, less fleet than discreet were really overtaken and brought proudly back: offering, as they did, something of an excuse, if not purpose as intended, the chase was abandoned and some sort of reasonably plausible returning begun.

“And where are the prisoners?” demanded Cole, upon the appearance of Aokahameha and his half-deserted, illy paid and grumbling command.

“Here, sir,” replied he, lining up a dozen or more indifferent duskies.

“Kenlikola—is he gone?”

“I am not advised.”

“Have you Elmsford?”

“Had not thought of him.”

“I don’t see Kaiuolani?”

“She was here the last I knew.”

“I presume it hardly worth while to ask about Young and others of our friends, is it, my poor Aokahameha?”

“You see here, with your eyes, all the fruits of a ready victory: the price, I take it, shall come next.”