By
and
by,
after
a
rugged
climb,
we
halted
on
the
summit
of
a
hill
which
commanded
a far-reaching view.
The
moon
rose
and
flooded
mountain
and
valley
and
ocean
with
a mellow radiance,
and
out
of
the
shadows
of
the
foliage
the
distant
lights
of
Honolulu glinted
like
an
encampment
of
fireflies.
The
air
was
heavy
with
the
fragrance
of
flowers.
The
halt
was
brief.—Gayly laughing
and
talking,
the
party
galloped on,
and
I
clung
to
the
pommel
and
cantered after. Presently
we
came
to
a
place
where
no
grass
grew—a
wide
expanse
of
deep
sand.
They
said
it
was
an
old
battle
ground.
All
around
everywhere,
not
three
feet apart,
the
bleached
bones
of
men gleamed
white
in
the
moonlight.
We
picked
up
a
lot
of
them
for
mementoes. I got
quite
a
number
of
arm
bones
and
leg
bones—of
great
chiefs,
may
be,
who
had
fought
savagely
in
that
fearful
battle
in
the
old
days,
when
blood flowed
like
wine
where
we
now
stood—and wore
the
choicest
of
them
out
on
Oahu afterward, trying
to
make
him
go.
All
sorts
of
bones
could
be
found
except
skulls;
but
a
citizen
said, irreverently,
that
there
had been
an
unusual
number
of
"skull-hunters"
there
lately—a
species
of
sportsmen I had
never
heard
of
before.
Nothing
whatever
is
known
about
this
place—its
story
is
a
secret
that
will
never
be
revealed.
The
oldest
natives
make
no
pretense
of
being possessed
of
its
history.
They
say
these
bones
were
here
when
they
were
children.
They
were
here
when
their
grandfathers
were
children—but
how
they
came here,
they
can
only
conjecture.
Many
people
believe
this
spot
to
be
an
ancient
battle-ground,
and
it
is
usual
to
call
it
so;
and
they
believe
that
these
skeletons
have
lain
for
ages
just
where
their
proprietors
fell
in
the
great
fight.
Other
people
believe
that
Kamehameha I.
fought
his
first
battle
here.
On
this
point, I
have
heard
a story,
which
may
have
been taken
from
one
of
the
numerous
books
which
have
been written concerning
these
islands—I
do
not
know
where
the
narrator
got it.
He
said
that
when
Kamehameha (who
was
at
first
merely a subordinate
chief
on
the
island
of
Hawaii),
landed
here,
he
brought a
large
army
with
him,
and
encamped
at
Waikiki.
The
Oahuans
marched
against him,
and
so
confident
were
they
of
success
that
they
readily
acceded
to
a
demand
of
their
priests
that
they
should
draw
a line
where
these
bones
now
lie,
and
take
an
oath
that,
if
forced
to
retreat
at
all,
they
would
never
retreat
beyond
this
boundary.
The
priests
told
them
that
death
and
everlasting
punishment
would
overtake
any
who
violated
the
oath,
and
the
march
was
resumed. Kamehameha
drove
them
back
step
by
step;
the
priests
fought
in
the
front rank
and
exhorted
them
both
by
voice
and
inspiriting
example
to
remember
their
oath—to die,
if
need
be,
but
never
cross
the
fatal
line.
The
struggle
was
manfully
maintained,
but
at
last
the
chief
priest
fell, pierced
to
the
heart
with
a spear,
and
the
unlucky
omen
fell
like
a blight
upon
the
brave
souls
at
his
back;
with
a
triumphant
shout
the
invaders
pressed
forward—the line
was
crossed—the
offended
gods
deserted
the
despairing
army, and,
accepting
the
doom
their
perjury
had brought
upon
them,
they
broke
and
fled
over
the
plain
where
Honolulu
stands
now—up
the
beautiful Nuuanu Valley—paused a moment,
hemmed
in
by
precipitous
mountains
on
either
hand
and
the
frightful
precipice
of
the
Pari
in
front,
and
then
were
driven over—a
sheer
plunge
of
six
hundred
feet!
The
story
is
pretty enough,
but
Mr. Jarves'
excellent
history
says
the
Oahuans
were
intrenched
in
Nuuanu Valley;
that
Kamehameha
ousted
them, routed them,
pursued
them
up
the
valley
and
drove
them
over
the
precipice.
He
makes
no
mention
of
our
bone-yard
at
all
in
his
book. Impressed
by
the
profound
silence
and
repose
that
rested
over
the
beautiful landscape,
and
being,
as
usual,
in
the
rear, I gave voice
to
my thoughts. I said: "What a
picture
is
here
slumbering
in
the
solemn
glory
of
the
moon!
How
strong
the
rugged
outlines
of
the
dead
volcano
stand
out
against
the
clear sky!
What
a
snowy
fringe
marks
the
bursting
of
the
surf
over
the
long, curved reef!
How
calmly
the
dim
city
sleeps
yonder
in
the
plain!
How
soft
the
shadows
lie
upon
the
stately
mountains
that
border
the
dream-haunted Mauoa Valley!
What
a
grand
pyramid
of
billowy
clouds
towers
above
the
storied Pari!
How
the
grim
warriors
of
the
past
seem
flocking
in
ghostly
squadrons
to
their
ancient
battlefield
again—how
the
wails
of
the
dying
well
up
from
the—"
At
this
point
the
horse
called
Oahu sat
down
in
the
sand. Sat
down
to
listen, I suppose.
Never
mind
what
he
heard, I stopped apostrophising
and
convinced
him
that
I
was
not
a
man
to
allow
contempt
of
Court
on
the
part
of
a horse. I
broke
the
back-bone
of
a
Chief
over
his
rump
and
set
out
to
join
the
cavalcade
again.
Very
considerably fagged
out
we
arrived
in
town
at
9
o'clock
at
night,
myself
in
the
lead—for
when
my
horse
finally came
to
understand
that
he
was
homeward
bound
and
hadn't
far
to
go,
he
turned
his
attention
strictly
to
business.
This
is
a
good
time
to
drop
in
a
paragraph
of
information.
There
is
no
regular
livery
stable
in
Honolulu, or, indeed,
in
any
part
of
the
Kingdom
of
Hawaii;
therefore
unless
you
are
acquainted
with
wealthy
residents
(who
all
have
good
horses),
you
must
hire
animals
of
the
wretchedest
description
from
the
Kanakas. (i.e. natives.)
Any
horse
you
hire,
even
though
it
be
from
a
white
man,
is
not
often
of
much
account,
because
it
will
be
brought
in
for
you
from
some
ranch,
and
has necessarily been leading a
hard
life.
If
the
Kanakas
who
have
been caring
for
him
(inveterate
riders
they
are)
have
not
ridden
him
half
to
death
every
day
themselves,
you
can
depend
upon
it
they
have
been doing
the
same
thing
by
proxy,
by
clandestinely
hiring
him
out.
At
least,
so
I
am
informed.
The
result
is,
that
no
horse
has a
chance
to
eat, drink, rest, recuperate,
or
look
well
or
feel well,
and
so
strangers
go
about
the
Islands
mounted
as
I
was
to-day.
In
hiring
a
horse
from
a Kanaka,
you
must
have
all
your
eyes
about
you,
because
you
can
rest
satisfied
that
you
are
dealing
with
a shrewd unprincipled rascal.
You
may
leave
your
door
open
and
your
trunk
unlocked
as
long
as
you
please,
and
he
will
not
meddle
with
your
property;
he
has
no
important
vices
and
no
inclination
to
commit
robbery
on
a
large
scale;
but
if
he
can
get
ahead
of
you
in
the
horse
business,
he
will
take
a
genuine
delight
in
doing it.
This
traits
is
characteristic
of
horse
jockeys,
the
world
over,
is
it
not?
He
will
overcharge
you
if
he
can;
he
will
hire
you
a fine-looking
horse
at
night
(anybody's—may
be
the
King's,
if
the
royal
steed
be
in
convenient
view),
and
bring
you
the
mate
to
my Oahu
in
the
morning,
and
contend
that
it
is
the
same
animal.
If
you
make
trouble,
he
will
get
out
by
saying
it
was
not
himself
who
made
the
bargain
with
you,
but
his
brother, "who went
out
in
the
country
this
morning."
They
have
always
got a "brother"
to
shift
the
responsibility upon. A
victim
said
to
one
of
these
fellows
one
day: "But I
know
I
hired
the
horse
of
you,
because
I noticed
that
scar
on
your
cheek."
The
reply
was
not
bad: "Oh, yes—yes—my
brother
all
same—we twins!" A
friend
of
mine, J. Smith,
hired
a
horse
yesterday,
the
Kanaka
warranting
him
to
be
in
excellent
condition. Smith had a
saddle
and
blanket
of
his
own,
and
he
ordered
the
Kanaka
to
put
these
on
the
horse.
The
Kanaka
protested
that
he
was
perfectly
willing
to
trust
the
gentleman
with
the
saddle
that
was
already
on
the
animal,
but
Smith
refused
to
use
it.
The
change
was
made;
then
Smith noticed
that
the
Kanaka had
only
changed
the
saddles,
and
had left
the
original
blanket
on
the
horse;
he
said
he
forgot
to
change
the
blankets,
and
so,
to
cut
the
bother
short, Smith mounted
and
rode away.
The
horse
went
lame
a
mile
from
town,
and
afterward
got
to
cutting
up
some
extraordinary
capers. Smith got
down
and
took
off
the
saddle,
but
the
blanket stuck
fast
to
the
horse—glued
to
a
procession
of
raw
places.
The
Kanaka's
mysterious
conduct
stood explained.
Another
friend
of
mine
bought a pretty
good
horse
from
a native, a
day
or
two
ago,
after
a tolerably
thorough
examination
of
the
animal.
He
discovered
today
that
the
horse
was
as
blind
as
a bat,
in
one
eye.
He
meant
to
have
examined
that
eye,
and
came
home
with
a
general
notion
that
he
had
done
it;
but
he
remembers
now
that
every
time
he
made
the
attempt
his
attention
was
called
to
something
else
by
his
victimizer.
One
more
instance,
and
then
I
will
pass
to
something
else. I
am
informed
that
when
a
certain
Mr. L., a
visiting
stranger,
was
here,
he
bought a pair
of
very
respectable-looking match
horses
from
a native.
They
were
in
a
little
stable
with
a partition
through
the
middle
of
it—one
horse
in
each
apartment. Mr. L.
examined
one
of
them
critically
through
a
window
(the Kanaka's "brother"
having
gone
to
the
country
with
the
key),
and
then
went
around
the
house
and
examined
the
other
through
a
window
on
the
other
side.
He
said
it
was
the
neatest
match
he
had
ever
seen,
and
paid
for
the
horses
on
the
spot. Whereupon
the
Kanaka
departed
to
join
his
brother
in
the
country.
The
fellow
had
shamefully
swindled L.
There
was
only
one
"match" horse,
and
he
had
examined
his
starboard
side
through
one
window
and
his
port
side
through
another! I
decline
to
believe
this
story,
but
I
give
it
because
it
is
worth
something
as
a fanciful
illustration
of
a fixed fact—namely,
that
the
Kanaka horse- jockey
is
fertile
in
invention
and
elastic
in
conscience.
You
can
buy
a pretty
good
horse
for
forty
or
fifty
dollars,
and
a
good
enough
horse
for
all
practical
purposes
for
two
dollars
and
a half. I
estimate
"Oahu"
to
be
worth
somewhere
in
the
neighborhood
of
thirty-five cents. A
good
deal
better
animal
than
he
is
was
sold
here
day
before
yesterday
for
a
dollar
and
seventy-five cents,
and
sold
again
to-day
for
two
dollars
and
twenty-five cents;
Williams
bought a handsome
and
lively
little
pony
yesterday
for
ten
dollars;
and
about
the
best
common
horse
on
the
island
(and
he
is
a really
good
one)
sold
yesterday,
with
Mexican
saddle
and
bridle,
for
seventy
dollars—a
horse
which
is
well
and
widely known,
and
greatly
respected
for
his
speed,
good
disposition
and
everlasting bottom.
You
give
your
horse
a
little
grain
once
a day;
it
comes
from
San Francisco,
and
is
worth
about
two
cents
a pound;
and
you
give
him
as
much
hay
as
he
wants;
it
is
cut
and
brought
to
the
market
by
natives,
and
is
not
very
good
it
is
baled
into
long, round bundles,
about
the
size
of
a
large
man;
one
of
them
is
stuck
by
the
middle
on
each
end
of
a
six
foot
pole,
and
the
Kanaka shoulders
the
pole
and
walks
about
the
streets
between
the
upright
bales
in
search
of
customers.
These
hay
bales,
thus
carried,
have
a
general
resemblance
to
a
colossal
capital
'H.'
The
hay-bundles
cost
twenty-five
cents
apiece,
and
one
will
last
a
horse
about
a day.
You
can
get
a
horse
for
a song, a week's
hay
for
another
song,
and
you
can
turn
your
animal
loose
among
the
luxuriant
grass
in
your
neighbor's
broad
front
yard
without
a
song
at
all—you
do
it
at
midnight,
and
stable
the
beast
again
before
morning.
You
have
been
at
no
expense
thus
far,
but
when
you
come
to
buy
a
saddle
and
bridle
they
will
cost
you
from
twenty
to
thirty-five dollars.
You
can
hire
a horse,
saddle
and
bridle
at
from
seven
to
ten
dollars
a week,
and
the
owner
will
take
care
of
them
at
his
own
expense.
It
is
time
to
close
this
day's record—bed time.
As
I
prepare
for
sleep, a
rich
voice
rises
out
of
the
still
night, and,
far
as
this
ocean
rock
is
toward
the
ends
of
the
earth, I
recognize
a
familiar
home
air.
But
the
words
seem
somewhat
out
of
joint: "Waikiki lantoni
oe
Kaa hooly hooly wawhoo." Translated,
that
means
"When
we
were
marching
through
Georgia."