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<h2> CHAPTER LXV. </h2>
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<p>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.</p>
<p>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!</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p>"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—"</p>
<p>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.</p>
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<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p>"But I know I hired the horse of you, because I noticed that scar on your
cheek."</p>
<p>The reply was not bad: "Oh, yes—yes—my brother all same—we
twins!"</p>
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<p>A friend of mine, J. Smith, hired a horse yesterday, the Kanaka warranting
him to be in excellent condition.</p>
<p>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.</p>
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<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.'</p>
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<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p>"Waikiki lantoni oe Kaa hooly hooly wawhoo."</p>
<p>Translated, that means "When we were marching through Georgia."</p>
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