Hewahewa became a powerful and sagacious ruler. By the influence of Olmedo he was induced to mitigate many of the cruel rites of his mythology, though the belief of his people in Pele remained unshaken. The good monk had therefore the satisfaction to see that humanity gained by his presence in Hawaii, though his opinions affected but a few of the most intelligent minds. Indeed, so satisfied had he himself become of the inefficiency of strictly dogmatic teachings, that he seldom attempted to expound the mysteries of the Roman creed, but confined his discourses to such general ideas of the nature of divinity and the absurdity of idol worship, as might be comprehended by the simplest mind. The seed which he thus sowed was not without fruit. It slowly ripened during rather more than two centuries, gradually weaning the masses from their belief in demonology, until a short time before the advent of the American missionaries, in 1820, the nation discarded paganism and destroyed their idols. Hewahewa, the then high-priest, had inherited much of the inquiring, skeptical spirit of his ancestor. Publicly resigning his office, he was the first to apply the torch to the temples and their sacred contents. The accumulated gifts of national piety through the long centuries of heathenism were consumed in a day, while he and others proclaimed their belief in “one only Great God, dwelling in the heavens.”
Juan’s grief was violent, but he recovered before long his natural tone. As he could not recall the dead, he interested himself in the living, and was ever the same adventurous, impetuous being, admired for his gallantry and beloved for his generosity. Before his sister died, Liliha’s artless sympathy had touched his heart. After that event, he was more than ever drawn to her, and she to him. There was something in her youth and character so different from the wanton beauty and unrefined minds of Hawaiian women in general, that it commanded his respect. He must have some one to love, now his sister was gone, and he loved her. She returned his love as freely, and truly as the wood-dove returns its mate’s. There was no coyness or affected reserve. His manly qualities had now won her heart, still warm with its devotion to Beatriz, and she told him so, and gave it to him with her all. Juan asked of Olmedo the Roman Catholic rite to sanctify their union. Liliha assented, much wondering at first why the words of another were requisite to bind them closer together. They loved each other faithfully. How then could the bond be made dearer or truer? It was difficult to make her understand the necessity of the ceremonies and pledges with which Christians wed. With or without it, however, she was the same faithful, sincere, joyous creature, right in her instincts and quick in her perceptions. From their mingled blood descended several noted chiefs.
What of Olmedo? He lived long and usefully. The dying vision of Beatriz was never absent from his thoughts. It had become a holy message to him. Never did the good man let go by an opportunity for a kind act or comforting word. His counsels and instruction were freely given to all who applied. He lived apart from all others as he had always done, the same solitary chaste man of God. So wrapt was he ever in his reflections, inwardly conversing with his spirit-bride, that among the natives he was known as Kapiolani, “the captive of heaven.”
Beatriz was buried on the spot where she died. Olmedo erected a cross over her remains with the simple inscription in Spanish, “She is not here.” He had consigned her dust to its mother earth, but the spirit had gone back to the God who gave it. Daily at sunset he prayed over the grave. Often that dear face came back to greet and cheer him, and as he gazed, the same lowly whispered words, “for a little while,” fell on his ear. He would then go back with fresh courage and hope to his earthly home, fulfilling its duties as a sacred trust. When he died the tradition does not tell. The last it says of the strange priest is, that he was “the captive of heaven.”
THE END.
FOOTNOTES
[1] An exception in one instance to this fact, so creditable to the Hawaiians, is said to have occurred to one of the American missionary ladies, to whom a native behaved with so much rudeness that the king, Liholiho, only spared his life at the intercession of her husband. The contemplated punishment for a breach of their national hospitality, shows in what abhorrence they regarded a wanton insult to a white woman!
[2] This is not fiction. A large party of warriors once met their death in this way, while others of their company, encamped not far off, escaped.
[3] Lomilomi, as this process is called, is peculiar to Polynesia, for the Asiatic shampooing is but a rough substitute. In Hawaii it was an art, and as much a necessary rite of hospitality to the fatigued traveller, or even of luxurious pleasure, as the wine cup in Europe. By it, commencing with almost imperceptible pressure, from the softest hands, every part of the body was gradually submitted to gently increasing force, until each muscle was kneaded and each joint stretched and cracked, and the whole frame, with fatigue removed and endowed with fresh vitality, was lulled into slumber or recruited for fresh exercise. The Hawaiian Sybarites had invented a pleasure unknown to the Roman. The latter, to have the greater capacity for gorging at their feasts, were wont to prepare themselves by emetics, but the more ingeniously sensual savage first eat his fill, and then resigned himself into the hands of skilled and meretricious women, who, by their ingenious substitute of artificial action of the muscles for natural exercise, hastened digestion without the trouble of locomotion to the effeminate Hawaiian, and by a most deliciously sense-exciting and restoring process, prepared him for fresh gratification of his appetites. In this respect we need not regret that the refinement of the art has departed from Hawaii, but the voyager who has once experienced it in its genuineness, cannot but prize its virtues.