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      CHAPTER II

      AN ADVENTURE ON PALI

       Table of Contents

      Larry Russell was a youth of sixteen, tall, broad-shouldered, and of good weight. His curly hair was of deep brown, as was also the color of his eyes, and his handsome, manly face was thoroughly tanned by constant exposure to the sun.

      As the youth had said, he was one of three brothers, of whom Ben was the oldest and Walter next. The boys had never known what it was to have a sister, and now they were entirely alone in the world, saving for the step-uncle Larry had mentioned.

      The boys had been brought up in a home which was comfortable if not elegant, and during her life Mrs. Russell had been all that a devoted mother can be, giving the lads a good education and a strict moral and religious training as well. Taking after their father, who had been a great traveller, the boys were inclined to be of a roving nature, but this ​spirit had been constantly curbed by the mother, who dreaded to think of having any one of them leave her.

      At Mrs. Russell's untimely death, life had changed for her sons as a summer sky changes when a cold and wild thunder storm rushes on. The pleasant home had been broken up by the harsh and dictatorial Job Dowling, a man who thought of nothing but to make money and save it. He took charge of everything, sold off the household treasures at the highest possible prices, placed the cash in the best of the Buffalo banks, and took the boys to live with him in a tumble-down cottage on a side street, presided over by an old Irishwoman, for Dowling was a bachelor.

      The first strife had arisen from the selling of some little articles which had belonged to Mrs. Russell's personal effects, and which the boys wished to save as keepsakes. "It's all foolishness, a-keepin' of 'em," Job Dowling had cried. "I won't cater to no such softheartedness. I'll sell the things and put the money in the bank, where it will be a-drawin' interest;" and this he did with the majority of the articles. A few the boys hid, and these were all that were left to them when the final break-up came.

      ​Larry had told but a small portion of the particulars concerning that quarrel—leaving out how Job Dowling had struck him senseless with his cane, and how he had recovered to find himself a prisoner in the garret of the cottage, with his step-uncle gone off to swear out a warrant for his arrest. It had been an easy matter for the lad to escape from the garret by dropping from the window to the roof of the kitchen addition, and with the housekeeper also gone, to the market, the boy had had matters his own way in supplying himself with food. The chase to the freight yard had been a close one, and he had been all but exhausted when the door was shut and locked and the long train rolled on its way.

      The train had taken him only as far as Oakland, and there he had remained for several days, with not enough money to take him across the bay to the metropolis of the Golden Gate. Hard times had followed—for runaways do not always fare so well as boys imagine they do—and more than once Larry had crept away to some secluded corner, to go to sleep whenever the pangs of hunger would allow. It was hunger as much as anything else which had driven him to accept the offer to ship ​with Captain Morgan, and the first square meal he had had for ten days had been eaten in the dingy forecastle of the Rescue.

      Yet life on shipboard had pleased him greatly, and with the knowledge derived from days spent upon Lake Erie he had soon learned to do his full duty as a foremast hand, and as he was both strong and fearless, the climbing of the shrouds and the taking in of sail in the teeth of a storm had no terrors for him.

      The calculation had been that the Rescue would not remain at Honolulu more than two weeks, before starting on the return to San Francisco, but a fierce gale had opened some of her seams, and after unloading, an inspection had showed that she must undergo a thorough overhauling before putting to sea again, or else run the risk of sinking in mid ocean. Upon learning this. Captain Morgan had put her into the basin at the ship-yard, and told the crew that they could either wait until repairs were finished or ship elsewhere, just as they chose.

      The first few days spent in and around the capital city of the Hawaiian, or Sandwich, Islands had pleased Larry greatly, for there was so much ​to see that was new and strange. In San Francisco he had met many Chinese and Japanese, but here in addition were the Kanakas, the natives of the Islands, a race quite distinct in itself, although allied to the Maoris of New Zealand. He had seen them first in the bay, hundreds of them swimming about—for the native Hawaiian takes to the sea like a fish—their heads bobbing up and down like so many cocoanuts.

      The city itself was also of interest, with its broad, smooth streets, lined with stately palms, and dotted everywhere with broad, low villas and huts, each in a veritable bower of green. Down in the business portion the stores were very much like those in a small American city, excepting that they were kept by all sorts of people—Kanakas, Americans, Germans, Frenchmen, and numerous Chinese and Japanese. It was not an uncommon thing to hear two men talking, each in a different language, yet each understanding the other. On his first trips around he had visited the Royal Palace, now the abode of royalty no longer, the Government Buildings on Palace Square and King Street, and also the quaint Kawhaiahoa church, a structure composed entirely of coral, and erected ​by the natives shortly after the missionaries arrived and prevailed upon them to give up idolatry.

      Then had come the chance to sail to Hilo, a town situated upon the eastern coast of Hawaii, the largest of the group of islands. Arriving there, he had had time enough to travel on horseback with a small party to the great volcano. It was a two days' journey, and at night the party slept in a native hut, under kapas, or bark cloths, and in the morning Larry had his first taste of the great national dish, poi, which did not suit him at all, although the natives and some others eat it with great relish.

      The