Cumner's Son & Other South Sea Folk: A Vulgar Fraction

A Vulgar Fraction

Sometimes when, like Mirza, I retire to my little Hill of Bagdad for
meditation, there comes before me the bright picture of Hawaii with its
coral-bulwarked islands and the memory of an idle sojourn on their
shores. I remember the rainbow-coloured harbour of Honolulu Hilo, the
simply joyous Arcadie at the foot of Mauna Loa, and Mauna Kea which
lifted violet shoulders to the morning, the groves of cocoa-palms and
tamarinds, the waterfalls dropping over sheer precipices a thousand feet
into the ocean, the green embrasures where the mango, the guava, and the
lovi lovi grow, and where the hibiscus lifts red hands to the light. I
call to mind the luau where Kalakua, the King, presided over the
dispensation of stewed puppy, lifted to one's lips by brown but fair
fingers, of live shrimps, of poi and taro and balls of boiled sea-weed
stuffed with Heaven knows what; and to crown all, or to drown all, the
insinuating liquor kava, followed when the festival was done by the
sensuous but fascinating hula hula, danced by maidens of varying
loveliness. Of these Van Blaricom, the American, said, "they'd capture
Chicago in a week with that racket," and he showed Blithelygo his
calculations as to profits.

The moments that we enjoyed the most, however, were those that came when
feast and serenade were over, when Hawaii Ponoi, the National Anthem, was
sung, and we lay upon the sands and watched the long white coverlet of
foam folding towards the shore, and saw visions and dreamed dreams. But
at times we also breathed a prayer--a prayer that somebody or something
would come and carry off Van Blaricom, whose satire, born and nurtured in
Chicago, was ever turned against Hawaii and all that therein was.

There are times when I think I had a taste of Paradise in Hawaii--but a
Paradise not without a Satanic intruder in the shape of that person from
Illinois. Nothing escaped his scorn. One day we saw from Diamond Head
three water-spouts careering to the south, a splendid procession of the
powers of the air. He straightway said to Kalakua, that "a Michigan
cyclone had more git-up-and-git about it than them three black cats with
their tails in the water." He spent hours in thinking out rudely caustic
things to repeat about this little kingdom. He said that the Government
was a Corliss-engine running a sewing machine. He used to ask the
Commander of the Forces when the Household Cavalry were going into summer
camp--they were twelve. The only thing that appeared to impress him
seriously was Molokai, the desolate island where the lepers made their
cheerless prison-home. But the reason for his gravity appeared when he
said to Blithelygo and myself: "There'd be a fortune in that menagerie if
it was anchored in Lake Michigan." On that occasion he was answered in
strong terms. It was the only time I ever heard Blithelygo use profanity.
But the American merely dusted his patent leather shoes with a gay silk
kerchief, adjusted his clothes on his five-foot frame as he stood up; and
said: "Say you ought to hear my partner in Chicago when he lets out. He's
an artist!"

This Man from the West was evidently foreordained to play a part in the
destinies of Blithelygo and myself, for during two years of travel he
continuously crossed our path. His only becoming quality was his ample
extravagance. Perhaps it was the bountiful impetus he gave to the
commerce of Honolulu, and the fact that he talked of buying up a portion
of one of the Islands for sugar-planting, that induced the King to be
gracious to him. However that might be, when Blithelygo and I joined his
Majesty at Hilo to visit the extinct volcano of Kilauea, there was the
American coolly puffing his cigar and quizzically feeling the limbs and
prodding the ribs of the one individual soldier who composed the King's
body-guard. He was not interested in our arrival further than to give us
a nod. In a pause that followed our greetings, he said to his Majesty,
while jerking his thumb towards the soldier: "King, how many of 'em have
you got in your army?"

His Majesty blandly but with dignity turned to his aide-de-camp and
raised his eyebrows inquiringly. The aide-de-camp answered: "Sixty."

"Then we've got 1/60th of the standing army with us, eh?" drawled Van
Blaricom.

The aide-de-camp bowed affirmatively. The King was scanning Mauna Loa.
The American winked at us. The King did not see the wink, but he had
caught a tone in the voice of the invader, which brought, as I thought, a
slight flush to his swarthy cheek. The soldier-his name was
Lilikalu--looked from his King to the critic of his King's kingdom and
standing army, and there was a glow beneath his long eyelashes which
suggested that three-quarters of a century of civilisation had not quite
drawn the old savage spirit from the descendants of Lailai, the Hawaiian
Eve.

During the journey up the Forty-Mile Track to Kilauea, the American
enveloped 1/60th of his Majesty's standing army with his Michigan Avenue
and peanut-stand wit, and not always, it was observed, out of the hearing
of the King, who nevertheless preserved a marked unconsciousness. Majesty
was at a premium with two of us on that journey. Only once was the
Chicagonian's wit not stupid as well as offensive. It chanced thus. The
afternoon in which we reached the volcano was suffocatingly hot, and the
King's bodyguard had discarded all clothing--brief when complete--save
what would not count in any handicap. He was therefore at peace, while
the rest of us, Royalty included, were inwardly thinking that after this
the orthodox future of the wicked would have no terrors. At a moment when
the body-guard appeared to be most ostentatious in his freedom from
clothing the American said to his Majesty: "King, do you know what 1/60th
of your standing army is?" The reply was a low and frigid: "No."

"It's a vulgar fraction."

.....................

There were seven of us walking on the crater of the volcano: great banks
of sulphur on the right, dark glaciers of lava on the left, high walls of
scoria and volcanic crust enveloping us all about. We were four thousand
feet above the level of the sea. We were standing at the door of the
House of Pele, the Goddess of Fire. We knocked, but she would not open.
The flames were gone from her hearthstone, her smoke was gorging the
throat of the suffering earth.

"Say, she was awful sick while she was about it," said the American as he
stumbled over the belched masses of lava.

That was one day. But two days after we stood at Pele threshold again.
Now red scoria and pumice and sulphur boiled and rolled where the hard
lava had frayed our boots. Within thirty-six hours Kilauea has sprung
from its flameless sleep into sulphurous life and red roaring grandeur.
Though Pele came but slowly, she came; and a lake of fire beat at the
lofty sides of the volcanic cup. The ruby spray flashed up to the sky,
and geysers of flame hurled long lances at the moon.

"King," said the American, "why don't you turn it into an axe-factory?"

At last the time came when we must leave this scene of marvel and terror,
and we retired reluctantly. There were two ways by which we might return
to the bridle path that led down the mountain. The American desired to
take the one by which we had not come; the rest of us, tired out,
preferred to go as we came--the shortest way. A compromise was made by
his Majesty sending 1/60th of the standing army with the American, who
gaily said he would join us, "horse, foot and cavalry," in the
bridle-path. We reached the meeting-point first, but as we looked back we
saw with horror that two streams of fire were flowing down the mountain
side. We were to the left of them both, and safe; but between them, and
approaching us, were Van Blaricom and the native soldier. The two men saw
their danger, and pushed swiftly down the mountainside and towards us,
but more swiftly still these narrow snake-like streams came on.

Presently the streams veered towards each other and joined. The two men
were on an island with a shore of fire. There was one hope--the shore was
narrow yet. But in running the American fell, spraining his ankle badly.
We were speechless, but the King's lips parted with a moan, as he said:
"Lilikalu can jump the stream, but the other--!"

They were now at the margin of that gleaming shore, the American wringing
his hands. It was clear to him that unless a miracle happened he would
see his beloved Chicago no more; for the stream behind them was rapidly
widening.

I think I see that 1/60th of his Majesty's infantry as he looked down
upon the slight and cowering form of the American. His moment of
vengeance had come. A second passed, marked by the splashing roar of the
waves in the hill above us, and then the soldier-naked, all save the
boots he wore-seized the other in his arms, stepped back a few paces, and
then ran forward and leaped across the barrier of flame. Not quite
across! One foot and ankle sank into the molten masses, with a shiver of
agony, he let the American fall on the safe ground. An instant later and
he lay at our feet, helpless and maimed for many a day; and the standing
army of the King was deprived of 1/60th of its strength.

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