After this wanton massacre of innocent islanders, Metcalf returned to Hawaii and lay on and off Kealakekua Bay waiting for the Fair American, which had by now arrived off Kawaihae, the seaport of the present Parker Ranch, which we had seen when we passed through.
Chief Kameeiamoku went out with a fleet of canoes as if to trade, and when the eighteen-year-old skipper of the schooner was off guard, threw him outboard and dispatched the crew with the exception of Isaac Davis, the mate.
Simultaneously, John Young, the original of the Youngs of Hawaii, found himself detained ashore, and all canoes under tabu by orders of Kamehameha, in order that Metcalf should not hear of the loss of his son and the schooner. The Eleanor continued lying off and on, firing signals, for a couple of days, and finally sailed for China.
John Young and Isaac Davis were eventually raised by Kamehameha to the rank of chiefs, endowed with valuable tracts of land; and they in turn lent the great moi their service of brain and hand in council and war, though carefully guarded for years whenever a foreign keel hove in sight.
Small cannon, looted from the Fair American as well as from other vessels which had been “cut out,” were of priceless worth in the experienced hands of the white men in enabling Kamehameha eventually to win his war of conquest, especially over the Maui armies under the sons of Kahekili.
All of which is preamble to the pleasant fact that we are enviable guests of Mr. and Mrs. W. H. Shipman, of Hilo, at their volcano residence, Mrs. Shipman being the granddaughter of the gallant Isaac Davis. Also we find she is half-sister to our friend Mrs. Tommy White. Such a healthy, breezy household it is; and such a wholesome, handsome brood of young folk, under the keen though indulgent eye of this motherly deep-bosomed woman. Her three fourths British ancestry keeps firm vigilance against undue demonstration of the ease-loving strain of wayward sunny Polynesian blood she has brought to their dowry.
The tropic wine in her veins has preserved her from all age and decay of spirit. During this day and evening I have more than once failed to resist my desire to lay my tired head upon her breast, where it has been made amply welcome.
A social and domestic queen is Mrs. Shipman, and right sovranly she reigns over her quiet, resourceful Scotch spouse, in whose contented blue eye twinkles pride in her efficient handling of their family. Although models of discipline and courtesy, their offspring are brimming with hilarious humor, while ofttimes their mother’s stately, silken-holokued figure is the maypole of a dancing, prancing romp. Those holokus are the care of the two elder daughters, who never tire of planning variations of pattern and richness, with wondrous garniture of lace and embroidery.
Mrs. Shipman—and again we are in Kakina’s debt—had telephoned our latest hostess to extend an invitation to this suburban home; and according to arrangement Jack and I met her on the up-mountain train from Hilo to the terminal station, whence the Shipman carriage carried us ten miles farther to this high house in a garden smothered in tree-ferns.
Today we had our first glimpse of Hilo, the second city of the Territory, on its matchless site at the feet of Mauna Loa, divided by two rivers, the Wailuku tearing its way down a deep and tortuous gorge. Nothing could be more impressive than the pretty town’s background of steadily rising mountain of sugar cane and forest and twisted lava-flow. The rivers are spanned by steel bridges, the main streets broad and clean and shaded by enormous trees, with many branching lanes over-arched by blossoming foliage and hedged with vines and shrubbery.