Kiana: a Tradition of Hawaii

There are some natures like the orange-tree, upon which the blossom and fruit meet at the same time. In their capacity for joy they receive more from one glowing, self-forgetting impulse, than colder and more calculating persons are able to gather in a lifetime. With such are generally permitted on earth only glimpses of ecstatic happiness, far-off sights of their promised land, the eternal future, through the never ending ages of which their affections and intellect shall steadily advance towards infinite Love and Wisdom, each emotion a new bliss, and each thought a deeper current from the infinitude of divine knowledge.

Who are those that realize their hopes on earth; here find their homes, content with the present and its material gifts, without heart-yearnings for deeper, truer, and more satisfying affections; without soul-strivings to penetrate the mysterious Beyond? Who are such? Through the length and breadth of every land myriads respond, “Give us a sufficiency of treasure on earth, and we will not seek to scale heaven. Our loves, our lands, our gold and our silver, our mistresses, our wives and our children; our well-garnished tables and our fine houses; the riches for which our hands and minds labor, and which our hearts covet; all that we can see, feel, weigh and compare; the honors by which we are exalted above our neighbors, the fame by which our names are in the world’s mouths; these are our desires. Give us abundantly of these that we may eat, drink, and be merry, and we ask not for more. This earth is good enough for us.”

Do they have their reward? Yea, verily! as they sow, so they reap. Few there are who steadily give themselves to the pursuit of these desires, but receive houses and lands, honor and fame, meats and drinks, handsome women or fine men, such children as such parentage can give birth to, stocks in all banks but that of Eternity. There is no lack of wealth like this to the earnest seeker.

God is a provident father. He has created everything good of its kind, and bestowed self-will upon man that he might himself elect his manner of life. The standard of enjoyment for his own soul is at his own option, whether he will discipline it here for its higher good hereafter, or whether he will enjoy here without reference to that hereafter, the knowledge of which is suggested in some way or other to all men. Man is highly distinguished. For is not creation made for him? There is neither gift nor discipline but can be made subservient to his moral growth; to his conquest of the kingdom of heaven. There is nothing, also, but may be transformed by sensual, selfish, short sighted desire, by his weaknesses or passions; by his false logic or falser ambition, into a morass of error, into which he will ever plunge deeper and deeper, unless he resolutely bends his steps towards the firm land of hope and faith that is never wholly shut out of the gloomiest horizon.

Just in proportion to the quality of the treasure we seek, is the degree of enjoyment that springs from its realization. All that belongs solely to earth has incorporated with it change, decay, satiety, fear, and care. These are warning angels, to urge the spirit to temperance, that it may not mar its capacity for nobler enjoyments. As they are disregarded, and man seeks only that which is perishable, he finds his pleasures pall and his appetites wane. Abuse extinguishes gratification. Want of aspiration towards the perfect development of all man’s faculties leaves him a monotonous, abdominal animal, content with husks wherewith to fill his belly. There is no increase in store for him, because he can conceive of nothing better than what his feeble hands or vainglorious mind have gathered around him. Nature reads to him no moral lesson, because he uses her only as a slave, to administer to his material wants. He sees not that there is in all things a deeper principle than mere use for the body.

The vital element that pervades all nature, uniting it in a chain of harmonious progression, the eternal laws of which even his stolid spirit cannot ultimately avoid, however much he now seeks to bury it beneath the grosser particles of matter, escapes his perception. Guided only by his finite, perishable sensorium, in vain attempt to grasp at once the entire treasure, he often plunges his suicidal knife into the ovary which daily laid him a golden egg. Thus man destroys his own birthright through brutal ignorance and sensual impatience. The truly wise count all things at their right worth, and find a sympathy in every natural object, in varied degree, according as it speaks to them the thought of a common Creator, and connects them in one common end. They have, therefore, a double enjoyment. First, that which springs from the right material use of every object or sense; secondly, the language which both speak to them of hope and faith in more refined enjoyments and more perfect conditions of existence. The very trials and incompleteness of present experiences are so many testimonies of future and nobler realizations. Thus God speaks as kindly through the so-called evils and disappointments of life, as through the more readily distinguished blessings; for if they see in the latter hope and happiness, so in the former they distinguish that chastening which, through paternal discipline, seeks to guide and strengthen.

Few situations could be more trying to moral firmness than the circumstances under which we left Olmedo and Beatriz. Free from all external restraint of church discipline, with no censorship beyond their own consciences; reason and passion both pleading their right to be united; their past by its friendship casting a bright light upon their future and closer union; doomed to pass their lives, while still in the flush of life, away from all that had made other homes dear; twin exiles, each sustaining the other and now alone, amid a joyous seductive nature, every motion and aspect of which was pleading for love;—was there not in all this sufficient temptation to have overcome them? Neither were ascetic by nature nor principle. No two human beings, by organization, were better fitted to enjoy lawfully all the indulgences wholesome instincts and the tenderness of united hearts craved. The very restraint which former circumstances and the absence of love had produced, now that both were removed, but made them more susceptible to the reaction. We must not, therefore, judge that kiss too harshly. Less passion would have removed them from our sympathies. Now they have vindicated their humanity, will they be able to vindicate their duty? Duty as their religion taught them!

Olmedo’s heart beat wildly. His face was flushed and fevered. He would have repeated the embrace, but something instinctively alarmed Beatriz, and she sadly whispered, putting her hand on his forehead, and looking directly at him, with an expression of affection and alarm, “You do not love me, Olmedo!”

Had the voice of the Almighty called to him, as it did to Adam in the garden, a greater change could not have come over Olmedo. It was the voice of the Almighty in the pure soul of Beatriz, and it spoke to an answering conscience. He became breathless, pale, and faint, as the full meaning of those soft words pierced through his soul. They spoke volumes. His passion was quenched, and true wisdom descended upon him. In an instant he was another being, loving not less, but less selfishly—able to sacrifice indulgence to Duty, to her and to his faith; for he would not peril her soul through the entreaties of passion, or the pleadings of what might be selfish reason.

Holding her hand tenderly as might a father, he said, “Beatriz, my daughter in faith, thou art my saviour in action. Love thee! let me prove how I do love thee. I dare not think of what we might be to each other, were not I wedded to the Holy Church. No blessing will follow vows broken, because circumstances tempt. Help me to be true to my religion and to thee! Forgive my passion thou wilt, because thou knowest the strength of passion. Be to me sister, spirit-bride—all of woman in tenderness, love and friendship thou canst, and as I am true to thy confiding faith, so God deal with me. In his own wise providence and good time will he recompense our faith in Him and our love to each other. Had my passions overpowered us both, however much our union might have brought us pleasure, we should have sought to hide our heads in shame and confusion, as the conviction that we had purchased it by the violated faith of a soul, consecrated to heaven, grew upon us. Heaven spoke through thee, Beatriz; angel woman hast thou ever proved to me.”

Kneeling upon the ground, with Beatriz besides him, every passion harmonized by gratitude and hope and faith, Olmedo lifted up his head and said, “Father, I thank thee, that thou hast spared me this crime. Thine be the praise, and not to my own feeble will, which without thee, in the hour of temptation, thou hast permitted me to see is as a broken reed. I praise thee, I thank thee, Father, that thou hast pitied thy servant, and in saving him from error hast given him further opportunity for thy service and of getting wisdom. In creating man, thou has bestowed upon him affections for wise purposes, and I now see that thou delightest no more in their sacrifice than in innocent blood. I thank thee that I am a man; that I possess from thee the desires and aspirations for love eternal as the heavens, and that thou hast permitted me to find, even in my solitary profession, a heart which makes mine beat warmer, truer and better. May it ever be a strength and a support, and this love, which I now confess before thee, our Father, be a bond of stricter service and accountability for every thought and action, and finally unite us in spirit among the just made perfect.”

Thus plead the Man with his Maker. In his aroused emotions, the formal language of priestly prayer was forgotten, and the genuine, sincere thought of the heart ascended freely and welcome to God, with nature’s true eloquence. Does the Great Heart not hear such prayers? Heart to heart and soul to soul make answer! When man conquers himself and ascends in spirit to his eternal home in the heavens, asking from God direct, life and light to guide and keep him through his earthly trials, the sympathetic voice of the entire heavens echoes his prayer, and repeats to him the assurance of aid. Prayer is to the soul what the plough is to the soil. It opens it to vivifying rays. As the disturbed water sends circle after circle, wider and wider over its surface, so in the moral world, each thought or action for good or evil, spreads likewise, and awakes throughout its infinity its circle of affinities. Angels rejoice with man in his rise, and fiends exult in his fall. Be cautious, therefore, fellow-man, for thou canst not calculate the extent of thy influence in either life.

Beatriz felt her power and her responsibility, and was troubled. Silently, but with deep earnestness, she followed Olmedo in his prayer. Both rose from that forest sanctuary dearer to each other, because there was now no secret thought between them. Each felt that the salvation of the other was a solemn charge from heaven.

CHAPTER XVII.

By the time Olmedo and Beatriz had begun to retrace their steps to their homes, Tolta’s hesitation had vanished, and he prepared to seize them. If his anger had been aroused by the scene between Kiana and the maiden, he was now furious with rage and jealousy at the discovery of the mutual love of Olmedo and Beatriz. Of their motives and resolves he could appreciate nothing. He saw only that they loved. Their devout prayer had astonished him, but that over, his imagination acted as a slow-match to explode his passions.

At a sign from him, his warriors stealthily encircled the two, and stepping out suddenly from their retreat, seized and bound them before they could either resist or effectually cry out. Tolta, unable to repress his satisfaction, walked up to Olmedo and hissed in his ear, “Catholic maidens are not kept solely for the dalliance of Catholic priests. You shall soon see her fonder of an Aztec priest than she has been of you, most chaste monk,” and he leered upon him with such a demoniacal meaning, as for an instant to paralyze the speech of Olmedo, who almost fancied the devil himself had bodily entrapped him.

Soon recognizing Tolta, he exclaimed, “What means this violence? Are you mad? Release us, or evil will come upon you.”

“Not so fast, monk, we have a journey to make first. I wish to introduce you to one who is as fond of Spanish blood as your countrymen are of Mexican.”

“Do with me as you will, but send back Beatriz to her brother. She has never injured you,” urged Olmedo.

“Beatriz is my prize, you are another’s,” said Tolta, with a look so full of dark insinuation that his captive shuddered,—not for himself, but for the maiden.

He would have again entreated, but Tolta fearing to lose time, ordered his men to gag him and drive him before them, while he whispered to Beatriz, “If you attempt an outcry, these infidels will kill Olmedo. His sole hope is in your keeping quiet.” This he said with cunning forethought, and it had the immediate effect he wished, to keep her silent, for he dreaded the influence of her voice quite as much as he feared any alarm she could give.

Compelling her to walk before him, the party passed in single file through the forest in the direction of the mountain, till they reached its outskirts, and came to the more scantily wooded uplands. Here they were joined by another and larger band, bearing a “manele,” a sort of palanquin, into which Beatriz was placed, and borne rapidly on by four stout warriors, who were relieved each hour by others. In this way allowing no intercourse between the captives, but hurrying on at a dog trot by a circuitous course that took them away from the inhabited portions of the country, they made rapid progress for several hours without a halt or seeing any one.

Their course lay along the eastern and southern flank of Mauna Kea, which was then a wilderness, much broken up by precipitous ravines and irregular plains, dotted with groves of a beautiful species of laurel, whose pendant branches, with small dark green leaves intermingled with delicate white blossoms, all but swept the ground, affording by day a shade impervious to the sun, and by night not an unwelcome shelter. Not a word had been uttered by which either of the captives could get a clue to their probable fate. Each was most anxious for the other. At the same time both felt a certain degree of relief and even pleasure in their mutual presence, and had the choice to be free and apart been given to either, while thus uncertain as to their future, neither would have accepted it. Beatriz alone had some suspicion as to the object of Tolta in their abduction. Olmedo on the contrary, notwithstanding the dark hints of the Mexican, could not persuade himself that any real danger awaited either. Calm in his own soul-peace, he patiently bided a solution of the mystery.

As night approached, Tolta gave orders to encamp under one of the laurel groves. Being now beyond immediate danger of a recapture, Olmedo’s gag was removed, and he was permitted to warm himself by the fire, which, at that altitude, was agreeable even in July. He was kept apart from Beatriz, each being under the charge of a distinct company of warriors. They were fierce, athletic men, quite capable of executing any orders their chief,—for such by the command of Pohaku, they now considered the Mexican,—might give, but at the same time they regarded their captives, especially Beatriz, more with curiosity than hostility. Her quiet, resigned demeanor, had made some impression upon them, and involuntarily they treated her with a degree of respect, that did not pass unnoticed by their crafty leader. He was not at all satisfied with himself, although his expedition promised such complete success. While away from Beatriz, he could plot against her honor and her brother’s life without compunction, but it was quite a different thing when she was an unresisting captive in his power. Her apparent feebleness and moral security were more formidable barriers than an armed defence. She had not once appealed to him by voice, but her mournful look, excited rather at his treachery than her danger, recalled to him those moments which, under other auspices, had impelled him to peril his life for hers. Besides, he thought of Pohaku, and feared the effect of her beauty on his sensual appetite. He might claim the woman as well as the man, and how could he resist.

Having fully embarked in his career of deceit and revenge, Tolta saw at a glance he had gone too far to withdraw, for the fiery Juan would never forgive the insult to his sister, however lenient she might prove. The future began already to wear a different and more problematical aspect than it did when he first meditated his treachery. The apparent ease with which he had done so much, but magnified what remained to be done. In fact, his conflicting emotions all but paralyzed his evil energies, which threatened to leave him midway in his career an imbecile villain, sure to die like a torpid serpent from the blows of the first that discovered him. This hesitation arose from the influence Beatriz exercised over him, despite his jealousy, which at intervals somewhat cooled from having his rival in his power. He was therefore, restless, suspicious and wavering. While his captives slept peacefully on the rude couches of tapa and dried leaves their guards had prepared for them, he sat apart gloomily brooding over his projects.

It was clear star-light. Through the thick foliage an occasional bright ray at times found its way, as if to hint to his troubled soul there still was light for it if he would but look upward. But his eyes were either bent upon the ground, or peered out between the pendulous branches into the mysterious horizon around, out of which grew strange, spectral shapes, with long arms sweeping the night-air. In the daytime they were but common trees, like those under which he sat, but to him they now became demon ambassadors from his terrible war-god to arouse him to vengeance. Through the overhanging branches, the chill breeze sent hoarse sounds as they chafed against each other, at times grinding heavily with a dismal noise like the crushing of bones, while the more distant trees responded with fitful shrieks or deep sighings as the winds by turns rose or sunk in varying gusts; now wholly silent, then swelling into a diapason that thrilled Tolta’s heart with horrible fancies. Owls flapped their white wings, and lighted near by, hooting, with their great staring eyes fixed on him. Then gathered about him a chorus of furies that excited every passion to avenge his father, massacred by Cortez at the foot of the altar, on which still reeked a human sacrifice; his mother violated and slain by the savage allies of the inhuman Christian; himself, wounded and senseless in her defence, mangled and taunted by his Tezcucan foes,—but, but what? that but for the instant exorcised the vision, for it recalled to him that Juan, indignant at the wanton barbarity, had rescued him from their hands, and that Beatriz had bound up his wounds, and spoken to him the first words of kindness he had ever heard from the lips of a Spaniard.

Could he have forgotten this, he would have gone straight on to his revenge without a single soul-qualm. As it was, fortified by his jealousy, and impelled by the gathering force of reawakened passions, the struggle of personal gratitude became gradually weaker, until there was nothing between him and his victims, except the love which he felt for Beatriz, and which jealousy had now all but turned into hate. From out of the gloom of nature around him, there spoke voices and issued shapes, kindred to all the darker purposes of his soul. Guatimotzin, his butchered sovereign, whose blood was in his own veins, called to him from his bed of hot coals, not to forget his martyrdom. The spirits of myriads of Mexicans slain by famine were waving their gaunt arms, and clawing with feeble fingers at him, while hollow voices muttered, “Avenge us, art thou not our kin?” and they pointed to the sleeping Spaniards, and wound their dark limbs over them in a death embrace. The flames of Mexico, once the pride and glory of the Aztec empire, now in ashes, burst upon his vision. He once more saw her towers and palaces glowing with heat and crumbling to the ground, while fire and smoke shut out the bright heaven above, and settled like a hellish pall upon his native city. His eye-balls became blood-shot as he strove to penetrate the darkness to gainsay his vision. It was in vain. Far into the deep shadow beyond, and high above him, there glowed a bright red spot growing larger each minute, with flames and smoke intermingled, and ever and anon there faintly reached him a crashing sound like the fall of heavy bodies from a great elevation. There was a reality in the sight he could not dissipate by reason, or by gazing. The longer he looked, the more true it became. At last, tired out by his watchings, he too sunk into an uneasy slumber, saying to himself as his original purpose, with renewed craft returned to him, “Away with doubt; I will obey your call, my countrymen, or join you in the dark abodes whence you urge me to vengeance,”—then mingling with his patriotic frenzy his personal desires, he added, “I will circumvent them all. The Spaniards shall be sacrificed, and Juan slain. Kiana and Pohaku must perish in the coming war. Olmedo and Beatriz shall believe that I have taken them away to save them. He shall die in attempting to escape, and she shall be rescued by me. It will then be time enough to use my opportunity, if she still resists my love. Alone! whom else can she look to? Chiefs and people all curse Pohaku, brute that he is. Many already hail me as their deliverer from his tyranny. Yes, love and revenge are both sweet to an Aztec. My parents’ slaughter shall be avenged, and these sacrilegious Spaniards shall learn that an Aztec’s hate never dies.”

CHAPTER XVIII.

As soon as day broke, Tolta recommenced his march. The route was difficult, but he hoped to reach Pohaku’s fortress the coming night. They had camped well up Mauna Kea, and as the sun slowly lighted the landscape, sending his rays into the depths of that mysterious space which lay between them and Mauna Loa, it disclosed a scene that might literally be taken for the valley of the shadow of death.

Its mean elevation above the sea was about four thousand feet, gradually rising as it approaches the mountains on either side. Numerous streams of lava, now black and vitreous, and of great extent, having their source in the huge volcano opposite, glistened in the morning sun. Several of these lay in their direction, and they would be obliged to make their way as they best could over their jagged and distorted surfaces. At the distance they were from them, they looked like cataracts of ink. Amid them, and scattered thickly over the plain, were small conical craters, regular in shape, and composed of clay and ashes. These gave to the region the appearance of being pock-marked on a leviathan scale. Whirlwinds swept frequently over the plain, taking up high into the air columns of fine sand, and dispersing it with furious and blinding gusts. There was neither water nor vegetation, except in the immediate vicinity of Mauna Kea, or a long way to the eastward. In their rear, but far above, was perpetual snow, though not in sufficient masses to make a conspicuous land-mark. Immediately beneath them were piles of basaltic rocks and loose stones, thrown together in abrupt heaps on slippery beds of gravel, with now and then soil enough to grow coarse grasses, and stunted cassia trees, whose yellow blossoms were the sole bits of bright color permitted by nature to enliven the general dreariness. Far away to the left the horizon was lined with forests, that rose on its verge like great green billows. Before them, somewhat to the right, was the gigantic outline of the lofty crater of Mauna Loa, whose immense base occupied nearly one third of the island, rising so gradually to its summit, as to appear in the distance like a huge dome, up whose sides a carriage might easily be drawn. The vast scale of its desolation may be judged of from its having on its summit, as already remarked, an active crater of nearly thirty miles in circuit.

As Tolta turned his eyes towards this mountain, he saw the bright red spot that had glowed so fiery in his late vision was not without foundation in fact. The edge of the crater was to be clearly seen with not much more than its usual volume of smoke. At some distance below, however, there was a great rent in the mountain, out of which poured a stream of melted lava, rapidly making its way in an oblique direction between them and Kilauea.

His warriors saw it at the same time, and comprehending from their long experience in this region, the necessity of despatch, if they would not be cut off from the territories of Pohaku beyond, they set forward on their march at the top of their speed.

In compliance with his resolution of the previous night, to regain if possible the confidence of his captive, Tolta approached Olmedo and said, “We have far to go to-day. Forget my words of yesterday; I was angered to see the white priest embrace Beatriz. Had you remained where you were, you would have both been slain. More I cannot now say; but with Tolta you are safe, he will restore you to your homes when the storm is over. Confide in him. You are now free to talk with your daughter; but be cautious before your guards, for though they serve me well now, it is at the bidding of a greater chief than Kiana.”

This artful speech confused Olmedo. He distrusted Tolta; but he knew enough of the artifice of Indian character, not to give himself blindly to the Mexican, and at the same time not to reject him outright; for whatever might be his motives, on him alone to all appearance depended the fate of Beatriz. Besides, he saw that he had him at disadvantage, from having witnessed his interview with her. This gave the wily Aztec an opportunity of injuring both in their most sensitive points, for he had learned enough of the sacred responsibility of a Catholic confessor to his female flock, to see at once his power over the priest. Whatever else Juan might forgive, he would be relentless towards the dishonorer of his sister.

Olmedo, therefore, coolly thanked Tolta, saying, “I trust, my son, no injury will befall us or our friends. Why not seek Juan? He is needed more than either of us to protect his sister, if there be the danger you imply?”

“Ask no questions now, priest. Later you will know all; Juan will be with you soon. I have provided also for him. He would have been here now, had he not been absent yesterday from his house. Go and aid Beatriz. Inspire her with courage. You will have need of all your forces this day. See how that lava gains upon the plain below us,” and Tolta pointed to its red current which was rapidly flowing towards their intended track.

Olmedo parleyed no longer with the Mexican, but hastened to Beatriz, and related their brief conversation. “I much fear he is false to us all,” added he, “but we have no alternative now but to follow his directions. We shall have enough to do to-day, to contend with the obstacles in nature that threaten us, for it is plain that he fears more the dangers behind him, than those in front. He will not retrace his steps,—we must trust in God and go on.”

The voice of Olmedo was soothing to Beatriz, and with his presence she forgot her fears. Her anxiety for Juan was almost lost in her present joy in finding Olmedo free to be by her side, and she looked forward hopefully to meeting her brother as Tolta had promised. “I am strong, Olmedo, thanks to my rough journeys with the army. Never fear for me. Be Tolta true or false, our fates are bound up together, and the Holy Virgin will protect us;” and she smiled so trustingly upon him, that he felt she was indeed protected by the Mother of God.

They had little opportunity to talk, because the way was so rough as to require constant care and great exertion to prevent the warriors who bore the “manele” from falling. As their own lives were to be the forfeit should harm befall their prisoners before they were delivered to Pohaku, they were most cautious to preserve them from injury from the stones which frequently came rolling down the mountain, set in motion by the haste with which they clambered over them. Their activity, however, prevented any accident, and in a few hours they arrived at the less rugged plain, where they halted near a spring of water, from which they replenished their stock, as it was the last they could hope to fall in with during the day.

But little rest was allowed. Tolta was afraid of pursuit, while his men were even more fearful of the volcanic eruption. The immediate outbreak was now hid from them by an intervening ridge, but the smoke and explosions continued to increase very perceptibly. Their course was for the present more rapid, as it was on comparatively level ground. The soil being of loose ashes, was, however, fatiguing to the step, except where the smooth lava rock cropped out. Over that they could go at a quick pace, and thus make up for their previous slower progress. Such scanty vegetation as this district afforded was soon passed, and they came upon the region of dead streams of lava, emphatically known as clinkers. Some of them were several miles in width, and tried the endurance of the party greatly. As it was impossible to carry Beatriz farther on the “manele,” it was abandoned. They had now to climb over huge fragments of lava, of obsidian hardness, and as sharp and brittle as glass, continually breaking into minute pieces that frequently cut through their sandals, and wounded their feet, so that their course might have been tracked for some distance by blood. Tolta had provided against this contingency by spare sandals, otherwise his expedition would have been crippled midway—equally unable to advance or retreat. Olmedo lifted Beatriz over the roughest passages, assisted by the stoutest warriors, who, on several occasions, caught him and his burden just in time to save them from severe bruises. None escaped some injuries, for it was often necessary to crawl for short distances over steep masses so slippery and friable, as to cause many a slide and fracture, ending in cut limbs. Imagine all the slag from all the forges and glass factories, that have ever existed, thrown confusedly on the ground, in pieces from the size of hillocks to that of peas, shivered into every variety of pointed and cragged fragments, and an idea of the highway over which they were now making their way may be formed.

To add to their delays it began to rain, and by the time they had got to the smoother ground beyond, a fog set in, so dense as to obscure the landmarks by which they had hitherto been guided. The oldest warriors were now at fault. After wandering for some time at random, the fruitlessness of such exertions compelled them to stop. So many hours had been consumed in disentangling themselves from the clinkers, that it was nigh dark. There was no remedy but to seek the best camping spot the locality offered. Tolta ordered several couples of the men to explore about them in different directions, keeping within hail of the main party. In a half hour they returned, and reported having found a cave on the edge of a dwarf Ohia wood. To this they went, and with a fire made themselves tolerably comfortable. With the refinement, in which the Aztec nobility were bred, Tolta screened a portion of the cave for the sole use of Beatriz, and with tapa mantles made for her not an unwelcome retreat from the storm without and the rude men within. Olmedo was permitted to remain near by, but Tolta kept beside him. The rain poured in torrents and made its way through the roof, wetting the floor, while the smoke from the fire with difficulty escaped into the open air. Yet, amid all this discomfort, Olmedo offered up his evening prayer, Beatriz joining in the usual hymn, with a voice that seemed to the stilled warriors to come from another world, so melodious was it even to their dull ears, in contrast with the barbarous chants of their own women.

The captives found it difficult to sleep in the confined air of the cave, which grew more hot and stifling as the fire died out. Occasionally fatigue overpowered them and they dozed; but they were oftener awake, from a restlessness they could not account for, and which kept their senses in that dreamy, vague condition, which neither admits of perfect consciousness nor salutary rest. At intervals a hoarse blast, and a dull heavy roar, like the sudden escape of vast volumes of ignited gases, startled their ears. Several times the cave trembled as if in an ague fit; once so violently that a loosened rock fell near the guards and caused them all to start up. For a few seconds they staggered like sea-sick men, but recognizing the breathings of the volcano, with which they were familiar, they merely ejaculated, “Pele is sporting to-night in the fire-surf,” and laid themselves down again to sleep.

At the earliest light all were on foot for a fresh start. The rain had ceased, but the atmosphere was lurid and heavy, and respiration more or less difficult. They found themselves upon a knoll of considerable dimensions, lightly wooded, and surrounded by a sea of lava, over which they could not see far on account of the smoke and steam arising from it in all directions. During the night a fresh flow had spread itself over the clinkers they had passed the day before. It was now so hot and vaporous as to cut off all retreat in that direction.

As the wind at times dispersed the smoke, they caught glimpses of the fountain-head of the stream, apparently some fifteen miles from them, and about half way up the mountain. It was not a violent eruption, but poured out at short intervals, with roarings and tremblings of the earth, huge masses of molten rock of the hue of blood, which descended rapidly towards them. In spots it suddenly disappeared, emerging at some distance, and continuing its course with renewed rapidity. This was caused by its meeting with an obstacle it had not sufficient volume to overwhelm, but was driven to eat its way underground, forming galleries, which, when cooled and emptied of the lava, leave caves sometimes of great extent and intricacy. This alternate appearing and disappearing of the crimson fluid amid the surrounding blackness, gave it the look of the glaring eyes of huge basilisks watching in desert caverns for their prey. At times it leaped precipices with a furious, fiery plunge, scattering its hot spray on all sides, rock and forest alike recoiling from its destructive touch, shivering into a thousand fragments, or melting with the fervent heat, and swelling the consuming tide.

The progress of the torrent towards them was so rapid, as to leave but little time for reflection. It was gradually rising all around, and threatened to submerge the knoll, which as yet had escaped. Many of the trees on its skirts had already been crisped and blackened with the heat; some had fallen, the trunks being burned off near the ground, while the branches lay unconsumed, on the lava stream, which cools and hardens very rapidly, presenting a surface often sufficiently strong to bear a man’s weight, even while the crimson current is flowing underneath. This fact was suggested to Tolta by his men as the most likely means of escape. Indeed none other seemed to offer.

Accordingly, they sought the stream in the direction in which it was narrowest and firmest. Ten of the warriors spread themselves out in the form of a fan, sounding their way with their spears as if on ice, for fear of air-holes, and to test the strength of its surface. The remainder of the party followed, more or less apart, with great caution, holding their breaths to lighten their weights. Their feet were protected by rough sandals, and bits of wood strapped to them, from the lava, which was in spots still so warm as frequently to raise blisters. Where it had suddenly cooled it had split up into deep chasms, raised cones, and twisted and cracked into every variety of shape. It was therefore with the greatest difficulty that any progress could be made. They persevered, however, when a sudden crack was heard, and at the same instant a shriek of agony. The foremost of the warriors had trodden upon the thin crust where it had been puffed up by the air, and, being as brittle as glass, it had broken and let him down into the liquid lava beneath.

Appalled by his fate, the whole party halted. To go on was impossible, as it was evident they had reached the extreme verge of solid lava. All beyond was either fluid, or so densely covered with sulphurous vapor, that it was sure death to advance. They retraced their steps without a minute’s delay, and it was none too soon. A fresh wave of lava was fast descending towards them, and setting the crust on which they were all in motion. Suddenly a vein of red lava showed itself in a narrow chasm, over which several of the warriors had already leaped. At the same moment, detonating gases were heard near by, and then louder explosions, from which the air was fast becoming impregnated with deadly vapors. Beatriz, sinking from their suffocating effects, faintly said to Olmedo, “My father, I can go no farther,—my strength is all gone.”

He had been sustaining her for some time past, and felt himself scarcely stronger, but roused by her danger he seized her in his arms and was about to leap the fiery chasm, when he stumbled and partially fell, with both their weights overhanging its brink. Quicker than thought the men nearest seized them, and, before a word could be uttered, by a violent effort they had cleared the chasm, but not before all were slightly scorched by the heat which flickered above it. They had scarcely time to leave the spot before it discharged a stream of viscid lava, which pursued them coiling and twisting after their footsteps like a wounded snake. As it was an easy matter to outrun this, they soon got back to the knoll, which now rose like an island above the molten flood.

The Hawaiians, breathless with their efforts, sat down and gazed hopelessly upon the rising lava. A dense poisonous smoke was gradually narrowing their horizon all around and slowly approaching, leaving no hope of escaping suffocation, even if they were spared a more immediate and violent death. Their position was far worse than to be on a burning prairie, for fire can then be made to fight fire as the ally of man. Here all nature was melting before the heat of the eruption. At any instant the solid rock on which they sat might surge and toss like the waves of the ocean, in blazing, gory-hued billows, while of themselves not one particle of matter would survive to disclose their fate. The fast increasing heat soon drove them to the centre of the hill, where sheltered by a pile of stones they had a moment’s respite.

Tolta, leaving his men, searched everywhere for another chance to cross the lava, but was driven back, scorched and faint, to the knoll. “Am I to die here like a scorpion encircled by fire?” said he, in a rage at his futile efforts. “Was it for this that I have plotted vengeance, and to possess Beatriz? Juan to escape, and she to die with me the death of a dog; curses upon Pele and her demon crew! Great god of Mexico, if thou art not thyself become a slave to the Christian’s God, save thy servant!” and he shook his fist at the hot lava in the fury of his despair.

CHAPTER XIX.

Mutual terror forces hostile animals into peaceful companionship. Under its influence the wolf lies down as quietly beside the lamb as if in the kingdom of love. The extremes of faith and education produce in man under threatened, speedy death, much the same outward result. Pohaku’s warriors, bred in cruelty, and believing only in malignant deities, viewed their fast coming fate with sullen indifference. So long as there was hope in their exertions they were ready to show themselves men, but when death looked them right in the face, they were equally ready to proffer their breasts to his stroke without further struggle. Their instincts taught them that as life was beyond their control, so was death. He was a foe they could not conquer, neither should he triumph in their fear. Thus in his ignorance and unbelief the savage meets the great change with an insensibility, which, in its outward calm, rivals the faith of the Christian.

Having abandoned hope, they sat stoically regarding the rising tide of lava,—seldom speaking, for it was a scene in which nature, uniting them by a common feeling, made speech useless. The air grew hotter each second. Puffs of steam issued from the rocks near by. At times a thick cloud of suffocating vapor swept so close to them, that they were obliged to hold their breaths until it passed.

Olmedo and Beatriz, with their hands joined, calmly awaited their end. As the danger drew nigher they shrunk closer together, each impulsively seeking to shield the other.

“How terrible this is, Olmedo, to see earth and air on fire,” said Beatriz to him, in a voice scarce above a whisper. “Look, it will soon reach us.” She shuddered and was silent for a minute, but recovering herself, added, with her eyes seeing only him, “it will be sweet to enter heaven together, will it not, my more than father?” She thought of him now only as the being who had awakened in her faith and feelings, which made her look forward with joy to celestial freedom.

“Yes, my daughter, this is indeed a terrible sight. Nature perishes like a scroll in the flames. The last day has indeed come upon us, and we shall soon see the Holy One and his Saints. Have no fear. As we have fought the good fight, so shall we be welcomed into the joy of our Lord. But my soul faints for these poor heathen, who await their death with such unconcern. Would that I could even now baptize them into the true faith.”

In the meantime Tolta had returned from his fruitless endeavor to find an avenue for escape. In his anger, he had cursed the gods of Hawaii and denied his own, from whom no succor came. More enlightened and cultivated than the Hawaiians, with a moral conviction of the superior truths of the Catholic faith, yet hating it for the injuries it had brought upon him and his country, Tolta was filled with distracting emotions. The Spaniard’s deity might even now save them, as he had ever shown himself so much more powerful than his own, but he disdained to call upon him, and the very sight of the crucifix which Olmedo wore filled him with fresh anger.

He felt that his treachery had brought this awful fate upon those of all the Spanish race, who had never done him evil. This was a source of misery to him, but far weaker than that which sprung from having his hopes baffled by so unexpected and lingering a death, which in releasing his victims, consigned himself to the accumulated horrors of his own and the Christian’s hell. Oppressed by these thoughts, believing but contemning repentance; seeing that just retribution was seeking him out, yet bidding it defiance; sorrowing, not for his selfish passions, but for their defeat, he crept back despairing, and laying himself down close to the feet of Beatriz, said to her, “We shall all burn together. You will go to the Virgin Mother and I to darkness,—to despair,—to any hell that shall release me from the sight of the hated white man—curses upon them all,” and covering his head with his mantle he shut out all outward objects, and remained as motionless as if turned to stone.

Olmedo made no appeal to him, comprehending its uselessness, but turning to the warriors, spoke to them of a brighter world which awaited them if they would trust in the Christian’s God and be baptized. “Renounce your demon idols and call upon the Saviour this represents,” said he, holding up his crucifix, and pointing to a calabash of water, added, “you can be baptized and saved even at the last hour.”

“We have offended Pele,” one of them replied, “and she dooms us. No one can escape her anger. More powerful is she than your deity. You and your god will soon be but ashes. See how she rides the air, spouting fire in her anger! She comes, she comes!” “auwe! auwe!” and a mournful and prolonged wail, like the death-song of the Indian, burst from their united lips, as a shower of hot cinders began to fall so thick and fast as to obscure the little light that had reached them through the smoke, which the wind had hitherto in a considerable degree kept off.

“The cave, Olmedo, the cave,—quick, quick!” cried Beatriz, grasping his hand to urge him forward. Tolta started up at the call, like one retouched with life, and the three were soon under its shelter.

The warriors remained as Olmedo last spoke to them, either not hearing the cry of Beatriz, or preferring to meet their death like soldiers at their posts in the open air. Their wail continued to be heard to the latest moment, rising from a low monotonous, tremulous note of suppressed suffering into a prolonged chorus of muffled shrieks, that fell upon the ears of Beatriz and Olmedo like the last despairing cry of humanity, and thrilled their hearts with horror. For an instant it made them regardless of their own safety, and they turned back a step or two, calling upon the warriors to follow, but the burning ashes fell so fast that they were immediately driven still farther into the recesses of the cave. Their ears were ringing with the dismal wail; the effect of which from sheer sympathetic force, is to enhance the bitterness of grief and paralyze joyous emotion, so that the listener is changed into the mourner, despite his own indifference to the cause. In this case, the sensibilities of the priest and maiden were the more acute from their own participation in the dangers which were bringing a lingering death upon so many of their number, added to their inability to render any assistance. Doubtless the stupefaction from the poisonous gases, with which the atmosphere was laden, added to their own exhaustion from previous efforts, aided to make the warriors so indifferent to their fate. No one replied to the call of Olmedo, or even to the authoritative voice of Tolta, who had at last roused himself at the clearer perception of their situation, and with reawakened energies was prepared to continue his exertions to escape.

It was impossible for them to remain near the mouth of the cave, so they lighted some torches of the kukui nut, and proceeded to explore it. “We may find it deep enough to screen us from the lava and fatal air,” said Olmedo. “Here are the remains too of our last night’s provisions, which those poor heathen left here this morning. Alas! for their souls! Come, Beatriz, you shall yet see Juan. Eat a morsel to sustain your strength,” and he gave the example, more to persuade her than to appease his own hunger.

Tolta scowled at the confiding smile Beatriz gave to the priest as she complied with his advice, but he ate also, and the three found in the short respite from the sights and sounds of the outer air, helped as it was by much needed food, a renewal of mental and physical energies which surprised them. It seemed as if they were aroused from some oppressive dream.

The extent of the cave tempted them on. It descended at first somewhat abruptly. At the distance of a hundred rods from the entrance the passage grew narrow, and was partially choked with stones, which had fallen from overhead. By some labor the two men cleared the way for Beatriz to follow, and they found themselves in a large chamber, where the air was quite fresh in contrast with what they had been breathing for hours past. This revived them still more. The roof was covered with stalactites of great size, and had the appearance of having been long undisturbed. Occasionally a slight jar was perceptible in the ground, and a low warning sound of disturbed elements was heard. They were encouraged to go on by finding both decreased as they advanced. Once, only, there was a shock so severe that they paused in stupor, fancying that the rock above them was being crushed in. But, with the exception of a few loose stones that rattled down, no harm was done. Evidently the eruption was either abating, or they were get-away from it. Still to wander at random in an intricate cave, which might at any moment bury them in its ruins, or become a living sepulchre by tempting them away from one danger to meet the still more horrible fate of starvation in utter darkness, for their food and lights could not last much longer, were not thoughts at all calculated to raise their courage.

Something, however, tempted them to keep on. So long as they were in action, hope buoyed them up. Owing to the frequent turnings of the cave, it was impossible to have a clue as to their real direction. It was a series of halls or rooms, some of which were lofty and spacious, joined by long, tortuous and low passages, at times so barricaded by rocky debris as to almost arrest further progress. Tolta, however, was indefatigable in clearing a way through them, as he was the first to explore, while Olmedo and Beatriz waited his report.

Upon emerging into a larger hall than the others, they thought they heard the noise of running water. It grew louder as they approached the farther end, where the torches showed to them a stream, which directly crossed their path. It appeared to issue from the solid rock, but their light was so faint it was impossible to discern anything clearly, except the quick flow of the black waters before them, while not far below they heard a roar and dash as of a cascade or a rapid descent among rocks and chasms.

Here, indeed, was an obstacle undreamed of. Fire cut off their retreat on one side, and water their progress on the other. Beatriz, already well nigh exhausted, said to Olmedo, “We can go no farther. Tell Tolta to save himself if it be possible. He can swim and may find his way out, but we must remain here and await our fate. Let us by prayer prepare to resign ourselves to what must now soon come. With you I shall have no fear of death in any shape.”

Beatriz no more thought of the possibility of Olmedo’s leaving her, even if he could escape, than she would have consented to have left him to perish by himself. It never occurred to her, therefore, to urge him to an effort without her.

“Beatriz, my long loved one, my more than daughter in faith, if die we now must, we will be one in death as we have ever been in our lives. But take courage, we are not to perish so. God has not brought us thus far, to abandon us. I hail this water as a happy omen. What say you, Tolta?”

“When water comes it must go. Rivers do not long flow underground. They love light as do the trees and flowers. I will see how the other side looks,” replied the Mexican.

Holding his torch above his head, he waded in. The water was warm and sulphurous and refreshed him; but it soon became so rapid and deep as to require all his skill as a swimmer to prevent being drawn too near the gulf, whose warning roar was heard not far below. Beatriz and Olmedo watched his progress anxiously, for fear he might be drifted into the rapids, but his light soon showed by its steadiness that he had reached ground on the farther side. A few minutes of suspense ensued, when suddenly he shouted, “We are saved! we shall soon see daylight!” and plunging into the water again, pushing something before him, he was quickly back. “See,” said he, “here is a log hollowed out into a rough canoe. This cave must have an outlet near by, for I see that the natives come here to bath and sport by torch-light. Hurry, and you shall see for yourselves the traces of their presence.”

Beatriz, at the direction of Olmedo, who could swim, placed herself on the log with her feet in the water. It had scarcely buoyancy enough to support her weight, but with Tolta on one side and the priest on the other keeping it upright, she was ferried safely over.

It was as Tolta had said. Fragments of food and other tokens of a recent visit were strewed about. The air also was purer. With lighter spirits they went on, over an easier path than the one they had traversed, and in about twenty minutes began to see glimmerings of light. After climbing a steep and narrow ascent, the mouth of the cave came in sight, and they shortly found themselves in the open air.

For a few minutes they were unable to discern objects distinctly, but as they became able to look about, they saw that they were some distance from the line of the eruption which was still active, but the wind now blew its smoke and gases from them. The country was wooded, and for this region fertile. It had suffered much from the vicinity of the lava stream, the vegetation being either killed or wilted by the heat.