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RILEM State-of-the-Art Reports

Antonin Fabbri · Jean-Claude Morel ·

Jean-Emmanuel Aubert ·
Quoc-Bao Bui · Domenico Gallipoli ·
B. V. Venkatarama Reddy Editors

Testing and
Characterisation
of Earth-based
Building Materials
and Elements
State-of-the-Art Report of the RILEM TC
274-TCE
RILEM State-of-the-Art Reports
RILEM STATE-OF-THE-ART REPORTS
Volume 35

RILEM, The International Union of Laboratories and Experts in Construction

Materials, Systems and Structures, founded in 1947, is a non-governmental sci-
entific association whose goal is to contribute to progress in the construction
sciences, techniques and industries, essentially by means of the communica-
tion it fosters between research and practice. RILEM’s focus is on construction
materials and their use in building and civil engineering structures, covering all
phases of the building process from manufacture to use and recycling of materi-
als. More information on RILEM and its previous publications can be found on
www.RILEM.net.
The RILEM State-of-the-Art Reports (STAR) are produced by the Technical
Committees. They represent one of the most important outputs that RILEM
generates – high level scientific and engineering reports that provide cutting edge
knowledge in a given field. The work of the TCs is one of RILEM’s key functions.
Members of a TC are experts in their field and give their time freely to share their
expertise. As a result, the broader scientific community benefits greatly from
RILEM’s activities.
RILEM’s stated objective is to disseminate this information as widely as pos-
sible to the scientific community. RILEM therefore considers the STAR reports of
its TCs as of highest importance, and encourages their publication whenever
possible.
The information in this and similar reports is mostly pre-normative in the sense
that it provides the underlying scientific fundamentals on which standards and
codes of practice are based. Without such a solid scientific basis, construction
practice will be less than efficient or economical.
It is RILEM’s hope that this information will be of wide use to the scientific
community.
Indexed in SCOPUS, Google Scholar and SpringerLink.

More information about this series at https://link.springer.com/bookseries/8780

Antonin Fabbri · Jean-Claude Morel ·
Jean-Emmanuel Aubert · Quoc-Bao Bui ·
Domenico Gallipoli · B. V. Venkatarama Reddy
Editors

Testing and Characterisation

of Earth-based Building
Materials and Elements
State-of-the-Art Report of the RILEM TC
274-TCE
Editors
Antonin Fabbri Jean-Claude Morel
Laboratoire de Tribologie et Dynamique Faculty of Engineering, Environment
des Systèmes and Computing, Centre for the Built
École Nationale des Travaux Publics de and Natural Environment
l’Etat Coventry University
Vaulx-en-Velin, France Conventry, UK
Laboratoire de Tribologie et Dynamique
Jean-Emmanuel Aubert des Systèmes
Laboratoire Matériaux et Durabilité des
École Nationale des Travaux Publics de
Constructions
l’Etat
University of Toulouse
Vaulx-en-Velin, France
Toulouse, France
Quoc-Bao Bui
Domenico Gallipoli
Faculty of Civil Engineering
Institut Supérieur Aquitain du Bâtiment et
Ton Duc Thang University
Travaux Publics
Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam
University of Pau and Pays de l’Adour
Anglet, France
B. V. Venkatarama Reddy
Università degli Studi di Genova Department of Civil Engineering
Genova, Italy Indian Institute of Science Bangalore
Bengaluru, Karnataka, India

ISSN 2213-204X ISSN 2213-2031 (electronic)

RILEM State-of-the-Art Reports
ISBN 978-3-030-83296-4 ISBN 978-3-030-83297-1 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83297-1

© RILEM 2022
No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, microfilming, recording or otherwise, without written
permission from the Publisher, with the exception of any material supplied specifically for the purpose
of being entered and executed on a computer system, for exclusive use by the purchaser of the work.
Permission for use must always be obtained from the owner of the copyright: RILEM.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication
does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant
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The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book
are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or
the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any
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claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.

This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
RILEM Technical Committee 274-TCE

Jean-Emmanuel Aubert
Christopher T. S. Beckett
Ana Armada Bras
Agostino W. Bruno
Quoc-Bao Bui
Bogdan Cazacliu
Antonin Fabbri
Paulina Faria
Domenico Gallipoli
Anne-Cecile Grillet
Guillaume Habert
Erwan Hamard
Rogiros Illampas
Ioannis Ioannou
Emmanuel Keita
Thibaut Lecompte
Pascal Maillard
Fionn McGregor
Jean-Claude Morel
Daniel V. Oliveira
Kouka Amed Jérémy Ouedraogo
Claudiane Ouellet-Plamondon
Céline Perlot-Bascoulès
Noemie Prime
Elodie Prud’homme
B. V. Venkatarama Reddy
Abbie Romano
Rui Silva

v
vi RILEM Technical Committee 274-TCE

Dora Silveira
Humberto Varum
Anne Ventura
Pete Walker
Monika Woloszyn
RILEM Publications

The following list is presenting the global offer of RILEM Publications, sorted by
series. Each publication is available in printed version and/or in online version.

RILEM Proceedings (PRO)

PRO 1: Durability of High Performance Concrete (ISBN: 2-912143-03-9; e-ISBN:

2-351580-12-5; e-ISBN: 2351580125); Ed. H. Sommer
PRO 2: Chloride Penetration into Concrete (ISBN: 2-912143-00-04; e-ISBN:
2912143454); Eds. L.-O. Nilsson and J.-P. Ollivier
PRO 3: Evaluation and Strengthening of Existing Masonry Structures (ISBN: 2-
912143-02-0; e-ISBN: 2351580141); Eds. L. Binda and C. Modena
PRO 4: Concrete: From Material to Structure (ISBN: 2-912143-04-7; e-ISBN:
2351580206); Eds. J.-P. Bournazel and Y. Malier
PRO 5: The Role of Admixtures in High Performance Concrete (ISBN: 2-912143-
05-5; e-ISBN: 2351580214); Eds. J. G. Cabrera and R. Rivera-Villarreal
PRO 6: High Performance Fiber Reinforced Cement Composites—HPFRCC 3
(ISBN: 2-912143-06-3; e-ISBN: 2351580222); Eds. H. W. Reinhardt and A. E.
Naaman
PRO 7: 1st International RILEM Symposium on Self-Compacting Concrete (ISBN:
2-912143-09-8; e-ISBN: 2912143721); Eds. Å. Skarendahl and Ö. Petersson
PRO 8: International RILEM Symposium on Timber Engineering (ISBN: 2-912143-
10-1; e-ISBN: 2351580230); Ed. L. Boström
PRO 9: 2nd International RILEM Symposium on Adhesion between Polymers and
Concrete ISAP ’99 (ISBN: 2-912143-11-X; e-ISBN: 2351580249); Eds. Y. Ohama
and M. Puterman

vii
viii RILEM Publications

PRO 10: 3rd International RILEM Symposium on Durability of Building and

Construction Sealants (ISBN: 2-912143-13-6; e-ISBN: 2351580257); Ed. A. T. Wolf
PRO 11: 4th International RILEM Conference on Reflective Cracking in Pavements
(ISBN: 2-912143-14-4; e-ISBN: 2351580265); Eds. A. O. Abd El Halim, D. A. Taylor
and El H. H. Mohamed
PRO 12: International RILEM Workshop on Historic Mortars: Characteristics and
Tests (ISBN: 2-912143-15-2; e-ISBN: 2351580273); Eds. P. Bartos, C. Groot and
J. J. Hughes
PRO 13: 2nd International RILEM Symposium on Hydration and Setting (ISBN:
2-912143-16-0; e-ISBN: 2351580281); Ed. A. Nonat
PRO 14: Integrated Life-Cycle Design of Materials and Structures—ILCDES 2000
(ISBN: 951-758-408-3; e-ISBN: 235158029X); (ISSN: 0356-9403); Ed. S. Sarja
PRO 15: Fifth RILEM Symposium on Fibre-Reinforced Concretes (FRC)—
BEFIB’2000 (ISBN: 2-912143-18-7; e-ISBN: 291214373X); Eds. P. Rossi and G.
Chanvillard
PRO 16: Life Prediction and Management of Concrete Structures (ISBN: 2-912143-
19-5; e-ISBN: 2351580303); Ed. D. Naus
PRO 17: Shrinkage of Concrete—Shrinkage 2000 (ISBN: 2-912143-20-9; e-ISBN:
2351580311); Eds. V. Baroghel-Bouny and P.-C. Aïtcin
PRO 18: Measurement and Interpretation of the On-Site Corrosion Rate (ISBN:
2-912143-21-7; e-ISBN: 235158032X); Eds. C. Andrade, C. Alonso, J. Fullea, J.
Polimon and J. Rodriguez
PRO 19: Testing and Modelling the Chloride Ingress into Concrete (ISBN:
2-912143-22-5; e-ISBN: 2351580338); Eds. C. Andrade and J. Kropp
PRO 20: 1st International RILEM Workshop on Microbial Impacts on Building
Materials (CD 02) (e-ISBN 978-2-35158-013-4); Ed. M. Ribas Silva
PRO 21: International RILEM Symposium on Connections between Steel and
Concrete (ISBN: 2-912143-25-X; e-ISBN: 2351580346); Ed. R. Eligehausen
PRO 22: International RILEM Symposium on Joints in Timber Structures (ISBN:
2-912143-28-4; e-ISBN: 2351580354); Eds. S. Aicher and H.-W. Reinhardt
PRO 23: International RILEM Conference on Early Age Cracking in Cementi-
tious Systems (ISBN: 2-912143-29-2; e-ISBN: 2351580362); Eds. K. Kovler and A.
Bentur
PRO 24: 2nd International RILEM Workshop on Frost Resistance of Concrete
(ISBN: 2-912143-30-6; e-ISBN: 2351580370); Eds. M. J. Setzer, R. Auberg and
H.-J. Keck
RILEM Publications ix

PRO 25: International RILEM Workshop on Frost Damage in Concrete (ISBN: 2-

912143-31-4; e-ISBN: 2351580389); Eds. D. J. Janssen, M. J. Setzer and M. B.
Snyder
PRO 26: International RILEM Workshop on On-Site Control and Evaluation of
Masonry Structures (ISBN: 2-912143-34-9; e-ISBN: 2351580141); Eds. L. Binda
and R. C. de Vekey
PRO 27: International RILEM Symposium on Building Joint Sealants (CD03; e-
ISBN: 235158015X); Ed. A. T. Wolf
PRO 28: 6th International RILEM Symposium on Performance Testing and Eval-
uation of Bituminous Materials—PTEBM’03 (ISBN: 2-912143-35-7; e-ISBN:
978-2-912143-77-8); Ed. M. N. Partl
PRO 29: 2nd International RILEM Workshop on Life Prediction and Ageing
Management of Concrete Structures (ISBN: 2-912143-36-5; e-ISBN: 2912143780);
Ed. D. J. Naus
PRO 30: 4th International RILEM Workshop on High Performance Fiber Reinforced
Cement Composites—HPFRCC 4 (ISBN: 2-912143-37-3; e-ISBN: 2912143799);
Eds. A. E. Naaman and H. W. Reinhardt
PRO 31: International RILEM Workshop on Test and Design Methods for Steel
Fibre Reinforced Concrete: Background and Experiences (ISBN: 2-912143-38-1;
e-ISBN: 2351580168); Eds. B. Schnütgen and L. Vandewalle
PRO 32: International Conference on Advances in Concrete and Structures 2 vol.
(ISBN (set): 2-912143-41-1; e-ISBN: 2351580176); Eds. Ying-shu Yuan, Surendra
P. Shah and Heng-lin Lü
PRO 33: 3rd International Symposium on Self-Compacting Concrete (ISBN: 2-
912143-42-X; e-ISBN: 2912143713); Eds. Ó. Wallevik and I. Níelsson
PRO 34: International RILEM Conference on Microbial Impact on Building
Materials (ISBN: 2-912143-43-8; e-ISBN: 2351580184); Ed. M. Ribas Silva
PRO 35: International RILEM TC 186-ISA on Internal Sulfate Attack and
Delayed Ettringite Formation (ISBN: 2-912143-44-6; e-ISBN: 2912143802); Eds.
K. Scrivener and J. Skalny
PRO 36: International RILEM Symposium on Concrete Science and Engineering—
A Tribute to Arnon Bentur (ISBN: 2-912143-46-2; e-ISBN: 2912143586); Eds. K.
Kovler, J. Marchand, S. Mindess and J. Weiss
PRO 37: 5th International RILEM Conference on Cracking in Pavements—
Mitigation, Risk Assessment and Prevention (ISBN: 2-912143-47-0; e-ISBN:
2912143764); Eds. C. Petit, I. Al-Qadi and A. Millien
PRO 38: 3rd International RILEM Workshop on Testing and Modelling the Chlo-
ride Ingress into Concrete (ISBN: 2-912143-48-9; e-ISBN: 2912143578); Eds. C.
Andrade and J. Kropp
x RILEM Publications

PRO 39: 6th International RILEM Symposium on Fibre-Reinforced Concretes—

BEFIB 2004 (ISBN: 2-912143-51-9; e-ISBN: 2912143748); Eds. M. Di Prisco, R.
Felicetti and G. A. Plizzari
PRO 40: International RILEM Conference on the Use of Recycled Materials in
Buildings and Structures (ISBN: 2-912143-52-7; e-ISBN: 2912143756); Eds. E.
Vázquez, Ch. F. Hendriks and G. M. T. Janssen
PRO 41: RILEM International Symposium on Environment-Conscious Mate-
rials and Systems for Sustainable Development (ISBN: 2-912143-55-1; e-ISBN:
2912143640); Eds. N. Kashino and Y. Ohama
PRO 42: SCC’2005—China: 1st International Symposium on Design, Perfor-
mance and Use of Self-Consolidating Concrete (ISBN: 2-912143-61-6; e-ISBN:
2912143624); Eds. Zhiwu Yu, Caijun Shi, Kamal Henri Khayat and Youjun Xie
PRO 43: International RILEM Workshop on Bonded Concrete Overlays (e-ISBN:
2-912143-83-7); Eds. J. L. Granju and J. Silfwerbrand
PRO 44: 2nd International RILEM Workshop on Microbial Impacts on Building
Materials (CD11) (e-ISBN: 2-912143-84-5); Ed. M. Ribas Silva
PRO 45: 2nd International Symposium on Nanotechnology in Construction, Bilbao
(ISBN: 2-912143-87-X; e-ISBN: 2912143888); Eds. Peter J. M. Bartos, Yolanda de
Miguel and Antonio Porro
PRO 46: Concrete Life’06—International RILEM-JCI Seminar on Concrete Dura-
bility and Service Life Planning: Curing, Crack Control, Performance in Harsh
Environments (ISBN: 2-912143-89-6; e-ISBN: 291214390X); Ed. K. Kovler
PRO 47: International RILEM Workshop on Performance Based Evaluation
and Indicators for Concrete Durability (ISBN: 978-2-912143-95-2; e-ISBN:
9782912143969); Eds. V. Baroghel-Bouny, C. Andrade, R. Torrent and K. Scrivener
PRO 48: 1st International RILEM Symposium on Advances in Concrete through
Science and Engineering (e-ISBN: 2-912143-92-6); Eds. J. Weiss, K. Kovler, J.
Marchand, and S. Mindess
PRO 49: International RILEM Workshop on High Performance Fiber Rein-
forced Cementitious Composites in Structural Applications (ISBN: 2-912143-93-4;
e-ISBN: 2912143942); Eds. G. Fischer and V. C. Li
PRO 50: 1st International RILEM Symposium on Textile Reinforced Concrete
(ISBN: 2-912143-97-7; e-ISBN: 2351580087); Eds. Josef Hegger, Wolfgang
Brameshuber and Norbert Will
PRO 51: 2nd International Symposium on Advances in Concrete through Science
and Engineering (ISBN: 2-35158-003-6; e-ISBN: 2-35158-002-8); Eds. J. Marc-
hand, B. Bissonnette, R. Gagné, M. Jolin and F. Paradis
PRO 52: Volume Changes of Hardening Concrete: Testing and Mitigation (ISBN:
2-35158-004-4; e-ISBN: 2-35158-005-2); Eds. O. M. Jensen, P. Lura and K. Kovler
RILEM Publications xi

PRO 53: High Performance Fiber Reinforced Cement Composites—HPFRCC5

(ISBN: 978-2-35158-046-2; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-089-9); Eds. H. W. Reinhardt
and A. E. Naaman
PRO 54: 5th International RILEM Symposium on Self-Compacting Concrete (ISBN:
978-2-35158-047-9; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-088-2); Eds. G. De Schutter and V. Boel
PRO 55: International RILEM Symposium Photocatalysis, Environment and
Construction Materials (ISBN: 978-2-35158-056-1; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-057-8);
Eds. P. Baglioni and L. Cassar
PRO 56: International RILEM Workshop on Integral Service Life Modelling of
Concrete Structures (ISBN 978-2-35158-058-5; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-090-5); Eds.
R. M. Ferreira, J. Gulikers and C. Andrade
PRO 57: RILEM Workshop on Performance of cement-based materials in aggressive
aqueous environments (e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-059-2); Ed. N. De Belie
PRO 58: International RILEM Symposium on Concrete Modelling—CONMOD’08
(ISBN: 978-2-35158-060-8; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-076-9); Eds. E. Schlangen and
G. De Schutter
PRO 59: International RILEM Conference on On Site Assessment of Concrete,
Masonry and Timber Structures—SACoMaTiS 2008 (ISBN set: 978-2-35158-061-5;
e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-075-2); Eds. L. Binda, M. di Prisco and R. Felicetti
PRO 60: Seventh RILEM International Symposium on Fibre Reinforced Concrete:
Design and Applications—BEFIB 2008 (ISBN: 978-2-35158-064-6; e-ISBN: 978-
2-35158-086-8); Ed. R. Gettu
PRO 61: 1st International Conference on Microstructure Related Durability of
Cementitious Composites 2 vol., (ISBN: 978-2-35158-065-3; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-
084-4); Eds. W. Sun, K. van Breugel, C. Miao, G. Ye and H. Chen
PRO 62: NSF/ RILEM Workshop: In-situ Evaluation of Historic Wood and Masonry
Structures (e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-068-4); Eds. B. Kasal, R. Anthony and M. Drdácký
PRO 63: Concrete in Aggressive Aqueous Environments: Performance, Testing and
Modelling, 2 vol., (ISBN: 978-2-35158-071-4; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-082-0); Eds.
M. G. Alexander and A. Bertron
PRO 64: Long Term Performance of Cementitious Barriers and Reinforced Concrete
in Nuclear Power Plants and Waste Management—NUCPERF 2009 (ISBN: 978-2-
35158-072-1; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-087-5); Eds. V. L’Hostis, R. Gens and C. Gallé
PRO 65: Design Performance and Use of Self-consolidating Concrete—SCC’2009
(ISBN: 978-2-35158-073-8; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-093-6); Eds. C. Shi, Z. Yu, K. H.
Khayat and P. Yan
PRO 66: 2nd International RILEM Workshop on Concrete Durability and Service
Life Planning—ConcreteLife’09 (ISBN: 978-2-35158-074-5; ISBN: 978-2-35158-
074-5); Ed. K. Kovler
xii RILEM Publications

PRO 67: Repairs Mortars for Historic Masonry (e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-083-7); Ed.
C. Groot
PRO 68: Proceedings of the 3rd International RILEM Symposium on ‘Rheology of
Cement Suspensions such as Fresh Concrete (ISBN 978-2-35158-091-2; e-ISBN:
978-2-35158-092-9); Eds. O. H. Wallevik, S. Kubens and S. Oesterheld
PRO 69: 3rd International PhD Student Workshop on ‘Modelling the Durability of
Reinforced Concrete (ISBN: 978-2-35158-095-0); Eds. R. M. Ferreira, J. Gulikers
and C. Andrade
PRO 70: 2nd International Conference on ‘Service Life Design for Infrastructure’
(ISBN set: 978-2-35158-096-7, e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-097-4); Eds. K. van Breugel,
G. Ye and Y. Yuan
PRO 71: Advances in Civil Engineering Materials—The 50-year Teaching Anniver-
sary of Prof. Sun Wei’ (ISBN: 978-2-35158-098-1; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-099-8);
Eds. C. Miao, G. Ye and H. Chen
PRO 72: First International Conference on ‘Advances in Chemically-Activated
Materials—CAM’2010’ (2010), 264 pp., ISBN: 978-2-35158-101-8; e-ISBN: 978-
2-35158-115-5; Eds. Caijun Shi and Xiaodong Shen
PRO 73: 2nd International Conference on ‘Waste Engineering and Management—
ICWEM 2010’ (2010), 894 pp., ISBN: 978-2-35158-102-5; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-
103-2, Eds. J. Zh. Xiao, Y. Zhang, M. S. Cheung and R. Chu
PRO 74: International RILEM Conference on ‘Use of Superabsorbent Polymers
and Other New Additives in Concrete’ (2010) 374 pp., ISBN: 978-2-35158-104-9;
e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-105-6; Eds. O.M. Jensen, M.T. Hasholt, and S. Laustsen
PRO 75: International Conference on ‘Material Science—2nd ICTRC—Textile
Reinforced Concrete—Theme 1’ (2010) 436 pp., ISBN: 978-2-35158-106-3; e-
ISBN: 978-2-35158-107-0; Ed. W. Brameshuber
PRO 76: International Conference on ‘Material Science—HetMat—Modelling of
Heterogeneous Materials—Theme 2’ (2010) 255 pp., ISBN: 978-2-35158-108-7;
e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-109-4; Ed. W. Brameshuber
PRO 77: International Conference on ‘Material Science—AdIPoC—Additions
Improving Properties of Concrete—Theme 3’ (2010) 459 pp., ISBN: 978-2-35158-
110-0; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-111-7; Ed. W. Brameshuber
PRO 78: 2nd Historic Mortars Conference and RILEM TC 203-RHM Final Work-
shop—HMC2010 (2010) 1416 pp., e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-112-4; Eds. J. Válek, C.
Groot and J. J. Hughes
PRO 79: International RILEM Conference on Advances in Construction Materials
Through Science and Engineering (2011) 213 pp., ISBN: 978-2-35158-116-2, e-
ISBN: 978-2-35158-117-9; Eds. Christopher Leung and K.T. Wan
RILEM Publications xiii

PRO 80: 2nd International RILEM Conference on Concrete Spalling due to Fire
Exposure (2011) 453 pp., ISBN: 978-2-35158-118-6; e-ISBN: 978-2-35158-119-3;
Eds. E.A.B. Koenders and F. Dehn
PRO 81: 2nd International RILEM Conference on Strain Hardening Cementitious
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xiv RILEM Publications

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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
In the past, the physical difference between the nobility—alii—and
the common or laboring people was far more conspicuous than to-
day, when practically all Hawaiians are well nourished. “No
aristocracy,” says one historian, “was ever more distinctly marked by
nature.” Death was the penalty for the most trifling breach of
etiquette, such as for a commoner to remain on his feet at mention
of the moi’s (king’s) name, or even while the royal food or beverage
was being carried past. This stricture was carried even to the extent
of punishing by death any subject who crossed the shadow of the
sacred presence or that of his halé, house.
Besides the ordinary household officials, such as wielder of the
kahili, custodian of the cuspidor, masseur (the Hawaiians are famous
for their clever massage, or lomi-lomi), as well as chief steward,
treasurer, heralds, and runners, the court of a high chief included
priests, sorcerers, bards and story-tellers, hula dancers, drummers,
and even jesters.
The chiefs were as a rule the only owners of land, appropriating all
that the soil raised, and the fish adjacent to it, to say nothing of the
time and labor of the makaainana (workers) living upon it—a proper
feudal system. The only hold the common people and the petty
chiefs had upon the moi was their freedom to enter, service with
some more popular tyrant; and as wars were frequent, it behooved
monarchs not to act too arbitrarily lest they be caught in a pinch
without soldiery.
To dip into the lore of Hawaii, is to be stirred by the tremendous
romance of it all. Visioning the conditions of those days, one sees
the people slaving and sweating for their warlike masters, and, after
the manner of slaves the world over down the past, worshiping the
pageantry supported by their toil, whether of white invention, or that
of the most superb savagery—priceless feather-mantles, ornaments,
weapons of warfare, or red-painted canoes with red sails cleaving
the blue of ocean.
 (1) Iao Valley, Island of Maui. (2) Rainbow Falls, Hawaii.

Before reclining upon the green-carpeted wharf, we haole guests

were weighted with leis of the starry plumeria, awapuhi, in color
deep-cream centered with yellow, in touch like cool, velvety flesh,
clinging caressingly to neck and shoulder. The perfume is not unlike
that of our tuberose, or gardenia, though not quite so heavy. Half-
breathing in the sensuous air, we were conscious of the lapping of
dark waters below, that mirrored the star-lamped zenith.
Our unforced relish of their traditional delicacies had much to do
with the unbending of the natives, both those who sat with us and
those who served. And when we were seen to twirl our fingers deftly
in their beloved poi and absorb it with avidity that was patently
honest, the younger women and girls were captured, ducking behind
one another in giggly flurry at each encounter of smiles and glances.
I wonder if they ever pause to be thankful that they live in the days
of ai noa, free eating, as against those of ai kapu, tabu eating, which
obtained before the time of Kamehameha II.
The foods were of the finest, and, half-lying, like the Romans, we
ate at our length—and almost consumed our length of the endless
variety, this time without implements of civilized cutlery. We pitied
quite unnecessarily, those who boast that they have lived so-and-so
many years in the Islands and have never even tasted poi—together
with most other good things of the land and sea and air.
Recalling the christening feast at Pearl Lochs, we looked vainly for
some sign of desire on the part of the Hawaiians to dance, and
finally asked Mr. Kawewehi about it. The young people appeared
unconquerably shy, but an old man, grizzled and wrinkled, his dim
eyes retrospective of nearly fourscore years, squatted before us,
reenforced with a rattling dried gourd, and displayed the rather
emasculated hula of the Kalakaua reign—an angular performance of
elbows and knees accompanied by a monotonous, weird chant, the
explosive rattling of the gourd accentuating the high lights. This
obliging ancient responded to several encores; and while the
“dance” was different from any we had witnessed, it seemed a
bloodless and decadent example of motion in which was none of the
zest of life that rules the dancing of untrained peoples.
With smiles and imploring looks, and finally, in response to their
tittering protestations of ignorance of the steps, declaring that after
all we believed they did not know the hula, we touched the mettle of
some of the younger maidens. One white-gowned girl of sixteen
disappeared from the line sitting along the stringer-piece of the pier,
and presently, out of the dusk at the land-end, materializing
between the indistinct rows of her people, she undulated to the
barbaric two-step fretting of an old guitar that had strummed
throughout. Directly the social atmosphere underwent a change,
vibrating and warming. Wahines with their sweet consenting faces,
and their men, strong bodies relaxed as they rested among the
ferns, jested musically in speech that has been likened to a gargle of
vowels. Another and younger sprite took form in the shoreward
gloom and joined the first, where the two revolved about each other
like a pair of pale moths in the lantern light. Fluttering before Mrs.
Kawewehi, with motions they invited her to make one of them; but
either she could not for diffidence, or would not, even though her
husband sprang into the charmed space and danced and gestured
temptingly before her blushing, laughing face. A slim old wahine,
coaxed by the two girls, whom all the company seemed eager to
exhibit as their choicest exponent of the olden hula, next stood
before us, and held the company breathless with an amazing and
all-too-short dance. Unsmiling, she seemed unconscious of our
presence—twisting and circling, drawing unseen forms to her
withered heart; level eyes and still mouth expressionless,
dispassionate as a mummy’s. She was anything but comely, and far
from youthful. But she could out-dance the best and command the
speechless attention of all.
Came a pause when the guitar trembled on, though it seemed that
the dancing must be done. Just as, reluctantly, we began to gather
our leis and every day senses, in order not to outlive the sumptuous
welcome, into the wavering light there glided a very young girl,
slender and dark, curl-crowned, dainty and lovely as a dryad, who
stepped and postured listlessly with slow and slower passes of slim
hands in the air, as a butterfly opens and shuts its wings on a flower,
waiting for some touch to send it madly wheeling into space.
And he came—the Dancing Faun; I knew him the moment he
greeted my eyes. Black locks curled tightly to his shapely head, his
nose was blunt and broad, eyes wild and wicked-black with fun, and
lips full and curled back from small, regular teeth. I could swear to a
pointed ear in his curls to either side, and that his foot was cloven. I
could not see these things, but knew they must be. His shirt, for
even a Faun must wear a shirt in twentieth century Hawaii, was a
frank tatter—a tatter and nothing more, over his bister, glistening
chest. The hands, long and supple, betokened the getting of an easy
livelihood from tropic branches.
The listless dryad swayed into quickened life, and the last and most
beautiful spectacle of the night was on. I do not try to describe a
hula. To you it may mean one thing, or many; to me, something
else, or many other things. History tells us that the ancient
professional dancers were devotees of a very naughty goddess,
Laka. One may read vulgarity and sordid immorality into it; another
infuse it with art and with poetry. And it is the love-poetry of the
Polynesian. A poet sings because he must. The Hawaiian dances
because he cannot refrain from dancing. Deprived of his mode of
motion, he fades away, and in the process is likely to become
immoral where before he was but unmoral, as a child may be. The
page of the history of this people is nearly turned. Such as they
were, they have never really changed—the individuality of their
blood, manifested in their features, their very facial expression, is
not strong enough to persist as a race, but unaltered endures in
proportion to its quantity, largely mixed as it now is with other
strains. The pure-bred Hawaiians are become far-apart and few,
dying off every year with none to fill their gracious places. The page
is being torn off faster and faster, and soon must flutter away.
 Holualoa, to Huehue, August 30.
The Doctor, as a final benefaction, waiving inconvenience to himself,
sent us the whole journey to Waimea on the Parker Ranch, in his
own carriage, in charge of the Portuguese coachman.
The first night we were fortunate enough to spend at Huehue, home
of the John Maguires, rich Hawaiian ranchers who had extended the
invitation at the Goodhues’ reception. Lacking such hospitality, the
malihini must travel, either by horse or carriage, or the one
automobile stage, a long distance to any sort of hotel. “They don’t
know what they’ve got!” Jack commented on the ignorance of the
American public concerning the glorious possibilities of this country.
“Just watch this land in the future, when they once wake up!”
Mrs. Maguire, one eighth Hawaiian, is an unmitigated joy,
compounded of sweet dignity and a bubbling vivacity that wipes out
all thought of years and the wavy graying hair that only intensifies
the beauty of her dark eyes—a merry, sympathetic companion, one
decides, for all moods and ages. Her husband is a noble example of
the Hawaiian type, like the descendant of a race of rulers, strong
kings, with commanding brow and eye of eagle, firm mouth, square
jaw, and stern aquiline nose, the lofty-featured countenance gentled
by a thatch of thick powder-gray hair and a benevolent expression.
The Kona Sewing Guild was in full blast when we drew up in the
blooming garden of the rambling house, but I fell napping on a hikiè
in the guest-cottage, tired from a strenuous day of packing, typing—
and traveling, even through such ravishing country, in full view of
the ravishing Blue Flush of sea and sky.
“I hate to wake my poor tired Woman,” Jack’s voice wooed me from
sleep an hour later; “but the most wonderful horse is waiting for you
to ride him.”
“But I’ve no clothes,” as I came back to earth.
“Oh, I’ve got some for you,” he grinned, depositing a scarlet calico
muumuu on the hikiè, “and I’m just dying to see you ride in it!—Mrs.
Maguire has one on, and looks all right.”
Properly adjusted, in a man’s saddle this full garment appears like
bloomers, and I can vouch is most comfortable.
Then to me they led one of Pharaoh’s horses—no other could it be,
so full his eye, so proud his neck, the pricking of his ear so fine;
none but a steed of Pharaoh’s wears quite such flare of nostril, nor
looks so loftily across the plain. Ah, he is something to remember,
“Sweet Lei Lehua,” and I can never forget his brave crest, nor the
flick of that small pointed ear, and the red, red nostril, blowing
scented breath of grass and flowers—sweet as the flower whose
name he wears.
Our ride was upon the lava flank of Hualalai and all within the
boundaries of the Maguire possessions, which comprise some 60,000
acres. My steed, like the Welshman on Haleakala showing yonder
above the clouds, evidenced his sober years only in judgment of
head and hoof. We attacked precarious places of sliding stones and
slid down others as steep and uncertain, brushing lehua and great
ferns; into deep, green-grown blowholes of prehistoric convulsions
we peered; and finally, descending a verdant pinnacle where Mrs.
Maguire led for the viewing of broad downward miles of tumultuous
lava to the blue sea, we went gingerly on a grassy trail beset with
snares of slaty lava that tinkled like glass, over natural bridges of the
same brittle-blown substance, then threaded a sparse lehua wood to
the main road.
All the while our hostess, younger hearted than any, was the soul of
the party, a constant incentive to daring climbs or breathless bursts
of speed, just an untired girl in mind and body of her. One could but
join in abandon of enjoyment that comes with swift motion, urging
to greater effort, whirling around curves, going out of the way to
leap obstacles. And which is better, and what constitutes long life: to
sit peacefully with folded hands while the rout goes by a-horseback
with laugh and love and song, walking carefully all one’s days, or to
live in heat of blood and thrill of beauty and every cell of persisting
youth, taking high hazard with sea and sail, mountain and horse,
and every adventurous desire?
Spinning an abrupt curve, our mounts stopped at a gate like shots
against a target, and our gleeful leader spurred at right angles
straight up a four-foot stone wall to the next zigzag of road, we
following willy-nilly in the mad scramble, marveling how we escaped
a spill.
Following the Feast of Horses came the luau—not so-called, for it is
the accustomed dinner of these people who, it seems to me, feed
upon nectar and ambrosia. Fancy the tender fowl, stewed in coconut
cream, and the picked and “lomied” rosy salmon bellies, with rosier
fresh tomatoes, and salmon-pink salt like ground pigeon-blood
rubies, and—but the entirely Hawaiian dinned, served with all the
silver and crystal, napery and formality of a city banquet eludes my
pen.
“Do play, Mate,” Jack said in the twilight, where he lounged on the
lanai after dining; “I haven’t heard a grand piano for a long time, in
this lotus loveland of guitars and ukuleles and their delectable airs.”
And so, high upon a sleeping volcano in the Sandwich Isles I sat me
down to Chopin’s and Beethoven’s stately processionals. For once, in
this land of spent fires, we all forewent and forgot the lilt of hulas
and threnodies of dusky love songs, in the brave, deep music of our
own Caucasian blood.
“I haven’t played those things since I studied in Paris,” Mrs. Maguire
said with reminiscence in her sobered eyes; and a “Thank you” came
through the doorway from a visiting clergyman, while a blithe young
judge of the District called for Mendelssohn’s Funeral March while I
was about it.
But Jack, with cigarette dead between his pointed fingers, lay in a
long chair, his wide eyes star-roving in the purple pit of the night
sky; for music always sets him dreaming, and many’s the time I
have momentarily wondered, at concert and opera, if he heard
aught but the suggestions of the opening measures, so busily did he
make notes upon whatever those suggestions had been to his flying
brain.

Huehue, to Parker Ranch, August 31.

“The sweetest poi is eaten out of the hau calabash,” “He mikomiko
ka ai’na oka poi o loko oka umeke hau,” say the Hawaiians; and our
parting gift from the Maguires was a little calabash of polished, light-
golden wood, out of their cherished hoard.
Then, sped by the warm “Aloha nui oe” we set our faces toward the
expanse of lava that was to be our portion for a day. One’s principal
impression, geographical as well as geological, of the journey, is of
lava, and lava, and more lava—new lava of 1859, old lava, older
lava, oldest lava, and wide waste of inexpressible ruin upon ruin of
lava, lava without end. How present any conception of this resistless,
gigantic fall of molten rock across which, mid-mountain, our road
graded? The general aspect of stilled lava is little different from
photographic portrayal of the living, fluid substance. It cools, and
quickly, in the veriest shapes of its activity, and the traveler who
misses the wonder of a moving mountain-side finds fair
representation in the arrested flood. It needs little imagination to
assist the eye to carry to the brain an illusion of movement in the
long red-brown sweep from mountain top to sea margin. In many
places we could see where hotter, faster streams had cut through
slower, wider swaths; and again, following the line of least
resistance, where some swift, deep torrent had burned its
devastating way down between the rocky banks of a gully.
The pahoehoe lava preserves all its swirls and eddies precisely as
they chilled in the long-ago or shorter-ago; while the a-a rears
snapping, flame-like edges against obstructions, or has piled up of
its own coolness in toothed walls. Incalculable, shimmering leagues
below, purple-brown lava rivers lie like ominous shadows of unseen
menaces upon plains of disintegrate eruptive stuff of our starry
system that has for remote ages ceased to resemble lava.
Ribboning this strange, fire-licked landscape our road lay gray-white
as ashes, at times spanning dreadful chasms where once had blown
giant blisters and bubbles. These, chilling too suddenly, had
collapsed, leaving caverns and bridges of material fragile as crystal,
layer upon layer, which at close range looked to be molten metal,
shining like grains of gold and silver mixed with base alloy.
Often our eyes lifted to the azure summer sea with its tracks like
footprints of the winds, or as if the water had been brushed by great
wings. And with that day, meeting the breezes of Windward Hawaii,
there passed my Blue Flush into the limbo of heavenly memories.
Leaving the later flow, we traversed a land of lava so eternally
ancient that it blossoms with fertile growth. Beautiful color of plant
life springs from this seared dust of millenniums—cactus blossoming
magenta and reddish-gold and snow-white; native hibiscus, flaunting
tawny flames on high, scraggly trees of scant foliage; lehua’s
crimson-threaded paint brushes; blue and white morning-glories and
patches of crimson flowers, flung about like velvet rugs. And here
one comes upon what remains of a sandalwood forest that was
systematically despoiled by generations of traders from the time of
its discovery somewhere around 1790, according to Vancouver. By
1816 the ill-considered deforesting of sandalwood had become an
important industry of the Hawaiians, chief and commoner, with
foreigners.
The wood was originally exported to India, though said to be rather
inferior. Then the Canton market claimed the bulk of the aromatic
timber, where it was used for carved furniture, as well as for incense.
Even the roots were grubbed by the avaricious native woodsmen,
and trade flourished until about 1835, when the government awoke
to the imminent extermination of the valuable tree, and put a ban
upon the cutting of the younger growth. But it is not surprising to
learn that the tireless forethought of Kamehameha had long before
protested against the indiscriminate barter, and particularly the
sacrifice of the new growth.
The livelong day we had traveled upon privately owned ranches, and
at last found ourselves on Parker Ranch, the largest in the Territory,
approximately 300,000 acres, lying between and on the slopes of the
Kohala Mountains to the north, knobby with spent blowholes, and
great Mauna Kea, reaching into the vague fastnesses of the latter.
This grand estate, estimated at $3,000,000, is the property of one
small, slim descendant of the original John Parker who, with a
beautiful Hawaiian maiden to wife, founded the famous line and the
famous ranch, which is a principality in itself. Perhaps no young
Hawaiian beauty, since Kaiulani, has commanded, however modestly,
so conspicuous a place as that occupied by Thelma Parker.
Although we had gone with humane leisure, the horses fagged as
the day wore. Often we walked to rest them and refresh our own
cramped members, treading rich pasture starred with flowers we did
not know, and keeping an eye to bands of Scotch beef-cattle, some
of the 20,000 head with which little Thelma is credited. After the
pampering climate of Kona, coats and carriage robes were none too
warm at the close of day, when we neared the sizable post-office
village of Waimea, headquarters of the enormous ranch.
Never shall be forgotten that approach to Waimea under Kohala’s
jade-green mountains like California’s in showery springtime; nor the
little craters in plain and valley—red mouths blowing kisses to the
sun; nor yet tenderly painted foothills and sunset cloud-rack, and the
sweet, cool wind and lowing herds.
“It seems like something I have dreamed, long ago,” Jack mused;
for, year in and year out, often in sleep he wanders purposefully in a
land of unconscious mind that his waking eyes have never seen.
 Parker Ranch, September 2.
Judging from even our sketchy view of the Parker Ranch, it is reason
in itself for a future visit to Hawaii. The glorious country, with its
invaluable assets, is handled with all the precision of a great
corporation. Through the courtesy of Mr. Thurston, we are enjoying
the hospitality of the manager, Mr. Alfred W. Carter, and his wife,
who dwell in the roomy house of Thelma, now abroad. In our short
horseback ride we saw a few of the fine thoroughbred horses which
are raised, one of the imported stallions being a son of Royal Flush
II. Royal Flush II lives and moves and pursues his golden-chestnut
being on the ranch of Rudolph Spreckles, adjoining our own on
Sonoma Mountain.

Louisson Brothers’ Coffee Plantation,

Honokaa District, Hawaii, September 5.
Our next lap was to Honokaa, where we were met by another
carriage. The day’s trip demonstrated a still better realization that
the big island comprises nearly two-thirds of the 6700 square miles
of the eight inhabited islands; as well as the copiously watered
fertility of this windward coast. Leaving Waimea, we continued
across the rolling green plains, whose indefinite borders were lost in
Mauna Kea’s misty foothills. Rain fell soothingly, and often we had
glimpses of fierce-looking, curly-headed Scotch bulls with white
faces, vignetted in breaking Scotch mist into the veriest details of old
steel engravings. Hawaiian cowboys, taking form in the cottony
vaporousness, waved and called to our coachman ere swallowed
again.
One cannot encompass Hawaii without stepping upon the feet of
one lordly mountain or another. If it is not the exalted Mauna Kea, it
is surely the hardly less lofty Mauna Loa, or Hualalai.
At any moment in these Islands one may look off to the sea,
whether calm or blue-flushed; or, as here, deep-blue and white-
whipped, driven like a mighty river by the strong and steady trade
wind. One never grows fully accustomed to the startling height of
the horizon, which seems always above eye-level, cradling one’s
senses in a vast blue bowl.
At last the road dipped seaward to the bluffs where lies red-roofed,
tree-sheltered Honokaa, headquarters of a great sugar plantation.
After luncheon at the little hotel, we set out upon the almost
unbroken climb of several miles to Louissons’ coffee plantation,
where we had been invited by these two indefatigable brothers.
Never have I met but one man who could surpass in perpetual
motion our dear and earnest friend Alexander Hume Ford, and that
man is “Abe” Louisson, who, body and eye and brain, seems
animated by a galvanic battery.
It was a waving, shimmering land of incalculable proportions
through which we ascended, of green so fair that there is no other
green like it—the fabulous sugar-cane so closely standing that it
responds to all moods of the capricious sky, like the pale-green
surfaces of mountain lakes; cane that on the one hand surges out of
sight into the mountain clouds, and on the other floods its fair green
clear to the sudden red verge of cliffs sheering into the blue, high-
breasting Pacific. And every way we turned, there were the sweat-
shining, swart foreigners, Japanese, Portuguese, and what not, in
blue-denim livery of labor, directed by mounted khaki-gaitered lunas
(overseers), white or Hawaiian, or both, under broad sombreros.
We had not been in the high-basemented cottage half an hour, when
the driven enthusiasm of Mr. “Abe” had us out again and among the
magnificent coffee plants; and we learned that a coffee plantation
can be one of the prettiest places under heaven, with its polished
dark-green foliage, head-high and over, crowded with red jewels of
berries, interspersed by an imported shade tree which he calls the
grevillea. This tree serves the dual purpose of shading the plants—
which are kept resolutely trimmed to convenient height—and of
fertilizing with its leaves the damp ground under the thick shrubbery.
Nowhere have we seen such luxuriant growth of coffee, and the café
noir was unequaled save for a magic brew we had once drunk in the
mountains of Jamaica.
We were making very jolly over dessert and the thick, black coffee,
when the house seemed seized in an angry grasp and shaken like a
gigantic rat. I never did like earthquakes, and the April eighteenth
disaster which I saw through in California has not strengthened my
nerve. Jack, with expectant face, remained in his seat; but I, as the
violence augmented, stood up and reached for his hand, vaguely
wondering why every one did not run for the outside. The frame
building seemed yielding as a basket—purposely erected that way. At
the beginning of the tremor, the cook and his kokua had come
quietly into the room and held the lamps; and when the second
shock was heard grinding through the mountain Mr. Abe, wishing us
to have the full benefit of the harmless volcanic diversion, rose
dramatically, black eyes burning and arms waving, and cried:
“Here it comes! Listen to it! It’s coming! Hear it! Feel it!”
It was a milder shock, and was followed by a still lighter one,
accompanied by a distant rumbling and grinding in this last living
island of the group.
Of course, our first thought following upon the immediate
excitement of the shake was of the volcanoes. Would Kilauea, which
had this long time dwindled to a breath of smoke, awake? A
telephone to Hilo brought no report of activity. Our first attempts to
use the wire were ludicrous failures, for every Mongolian and
Portuguese of the thousands on Hawaii was yapping and jabbering
after his manner, and the effect was as of a rising and falling
murmur of incommunicable human woe, broken here and there by a
sharper or more individual note of trouble. A white man’s speech
carried faintly in the unseen Babel.
 Louisson’s to Hilo, September 6.
In the perfumed cool of morning we bade farewell to the hospitable
bachelors, and descended once more from the knees of Mauna Kea
to its feet upon the cliffs. The world was a-sparkle from glinting
mountain brow above purple forest and cloud-ring, down the
undulating lap of rustling cane, to the dimpling sea that ruffled its
edges against the bold coast. Trees, heavy with overnight rain,
shook their sun-opals upon us from leaf and branch, and little rills
tinkled across the road. The air was filled with bird-songs, and in our
hearts there was also something singing for gladness.
Thus far, in our junketing, we have relied for the most part upon
saddle horses and railroad trains, or private conveyances of one sort
or another. Long stretches endured in public vehicles have never
tempted. But to-day’s journeying, in the middle seat of three,
luggage strapped on behind the four-in-hand stage, was a unique
experience, and an excellent chance to observe the labor element.
For we traveled in company with members of its various branches—
Hawaiian, Portuguese, Japanese, and many another breed.
The overcrowding was ludicrous. At some stop on the way, a bevy of
Japanese would swarm into the stage without first a “look-see” to
find if it was already full, literally piling themselves upon us. Jack,
determinedly extricating them and holding firmly to his seat, would
say with laughing eyes and smiling-set lips, while he thrust his big
shoulders this way and that: “I like to look at them, but they’d camp
on us if we’d let them!”
The only compromise we made with the overreaching coolie tide was
to take into our seat a sad little Porto Rican cripple, a mere child
with aged and painwrought face, whom the passengers, of
whatsoever nationality, shunned because of the bad repute of his
blood in the Islands; and also a sunny small daughter of Portugal,
glorious-eyed and bashfully friendly. When presented with a big
round dollar, she answered maturely, to his query as to how she
would squander it, a laconic:
“School shoes.”
Shades of striped candy! How did her mother accomplish it? Now,
the shrinking Porto Rican lad hobbled straight into a fruit store at the
next halt, reappeared laden with red-cheeked imported apples, and
with transfigured face of gratitude, held up his treasure for us to
share. Jack, with moist eyes, bit his lip. So much for one Porto Rican
in Hawaii. One would like to know his mother, too.
Isabella Bird Bishop has painted a thrilling word-picture of the
gulches of Windward Hawaii in the Hilo District—giant erosions of
age-old cloud-bursts, their precipitous sides hidden in a savage
wealth of vegetation, heavy with tropic perfume. And this day,
swinging through and beyond the coffee and cane of the Hamakua
District that adjoins the Kona, following the patient grades along the
faces of stupendous ravines, descending to bridges over rapturous
streams that began and ended in waterfalls, we remembered how
she, long before any bridging, at the risk of her precious life, forded
on horseback these same turbulent water courses, swollen by
freshets. For she was possessed of that same joy in existence that I
know so well, and which, unescorted in a period when few women
braved traveling alone, led her to venture ocean and island and
foreign continent, writing as vividly as she lived.
Only fleeting glimpses we had of the coast—sheer green capes
overflung with bursting waterfalls that dropped rainbow fringes to
meet the blue-and-white frills of surf. “Bearded with falls,” to quote
Robert Louis Stevenson, is this bluffwise coast of the Big Island, and
we envied the Snark’s crew who from seaward had viewed the
complete glory, from surf to mountain head.
Laupahoehoe, “leaf of lava,” was the simple poesy of the ancient-
Hawaiian who named a long, low outthrust at the mouth of a wide
ravine. Weather-softened old houses as well as grass huts stray its
dreamy length, under coco palms etched against the horizon; and
the natives seem to have no business but to bask beneath the blue-
and-gold sky. One lovely thumb-sketch we glimpsed, where a river
frolicked past a thatched hut beneath a leaning coco palm, near
which a living bronze stood motionless—a rare picture in modern
Hawaii.
Laupahoehoe, Hakalau, Onomea, each representing a sugar
plantation—we passed them all, and toward the end of day our
absurd four-in-hand of gritty little mules trotted into a fine red
boulevard. Just as we had settled our cramped limbs to enjoy the
unwonted evenness of surface, the driver pulled up in Wainaku, a
section of suburban Hilo, before a seaward-sloping greensward
terrace fanned by a “Travelers’ palm,” under which grazed a golden-
coated mare. Here, upon a word sent ahead by mutual friends in the
adorable way of the land, we were again to know the welcome of
perfect strangers—an unequalled hospitality combined of European
and Polynesian ideals by the white peoples who have made this
country their own.
On the steps of an inviting lanai room stood a blue-eyed lady-
woman, sweet and cool and solicitous, with three lovely children
grouped about her slender, blue-Princess-gowned form—Mrs. William
T. Balding, whose husband is connected with the Hilo Sugar
Company. Its mill purrs all hours at Wainaku by the sea.
Refreshed by a bath, and arrayed in preposterously wrinkled ducks
and holoku out of our suit cases, we dined exquisitely with the
young couple in an exquisite dining room hung with fern baskets,
the table sparkling with its perfect appointment, in contrast with the
natural wildness of tropical growth seen through the wide windows.

Shipmans’ Volcano Home, Hawaii, September

7.
Away back in 1790 or thereabout, an American fur-trader named
Metcalf, commanding the snow Eleanor, visited the Sandwich Islands
on his way to the Orient, his son, eighteen years of age, being
master of a small schooner, Fair American, which had been detained
by the Spaniards at Nootka Sound.
A plot was hatched by some of the chiefs to capture the Eleanor,
which was frustrated by Kamehameha, who himself boarded her and
ordered the treacherous chiefs ashore. Following this, a high alii of
Kona was insulted and thrashed with a rope’s-end by Captain Metcalf
for some trifling offense, and vowed vengeance upon the next vessel
that should come within his reach.
The little snow crossed Hawaii Channel to Honuaula, Maui, where a
chief of Olowalu with his men one night stole a boat and killed the
sailor asleep in it, afterward breaking up the boat for the nails.
Metcalf set sail for Olowalu, where, under mask of trading with the
natives, he turned loose a broadside of cannon into the flock of
peaceful canoes surrounding the Eleanor, strewing the water with
dead and dying.
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.
Hilo Harbor was once called after Lord Byron, cousin of the poet,
who nearly a century ago dropped the anchor of his frigate Blonde in
the offing, and surveyed the bay as well as the Volcano Kilauea.
Captain Vancouver, that thoroughgoing benefactor of Polynesia, saw
the possibilities of this port, for he wrote:

“Byron Bay will no doubt become the site of the capital of

the island. The fertility of the district of Hilo, ... the
excellent water, and abundant fish pools which surround it,
the easy access it has to the sandalwood district, and also
to the sulphur, which will doubtless soon become an object
of commerce, and the facilities it affords for refitting
vessels, render it a place of great importance.”

It was the Blonde which brought back in that year of 1825, to his
native land the remains of Kamehameha II, Liholiho, and his queen,
Kamamalu, from England, where they had been made much of at
court. Both fell victims to measles—always one of the deadliest of
diseases to islanders throughout the South Seas.
Poor things! Three years before, this favorite queen of Liholiho,
Kamamalu, on the last day of a long revel, had been the most
gorgeous object ever described by a reverend missionary:
“The car of state in which she joined the processions passing in
different directions consisted of an elegantly modeled whaleboat
fastened firmly to a platform of wicker work thirty feet long by
twelve wide, and borne on the heads of seventy men. The boat was
lined, and the whole platform covered, first with imported
broadcloth, and then with beautiful patterns of tapa or native cloth
of a variety of figures and rich colors. The men supporting the whole
were formed into a solid body so that the outer rows only at the
sides and ends were seen; and all forming these wore the splendid
scarlet and yellow feather cloaks and helmets of which you have
read accounts; and than which, scarce anything can appear more
superb. The only dress of the queen was a scarlet silk pa’u or native
petticoat, and a coronet of feathers. She was seated in the middle of
the boat and screened from the sun by an immense Chinese
umbrella of scarlet damask, richly ornamented with gilding, fringe
and tassels, and supported by a chief standing behind her, in a
scarlet malo or girdle, and feather helmet. On one quarter of the
boat stood Karimoku (Kalaimoku) the Prime Minister, and on the
other Naihe, the national orator, both also in malos of scarlet silk and
helmets of feathers, and each bearing a kahili or feathered staff of
state near thirty feet in height. The upper parts of these kahilis were
of scarlet feathers so ingeniously and beautifully arranged on
artificial branches attached to the staff as to form cylinders fifteen or
eighteen inches in diameter and twelve to fourteen feet long; the
lower parts or handles were covered with alternate rings of tortoise
shell and ivory of the neatest workmanship and highest polish.”
King Liholiho had a very engaging streak of recklessness that more
than once spread consternation amongst his following. As once in
1821, when he left Honolulu in an open boat for a short trip to Ewa.
The boat was crowded with thirty attendants, including two women.
But when off Puuloa, he refused to put in to the lagoon, and kept on
into the very lively water around Barber’s Point. Then, with royal
disregard of the fear and protests of his entourage, without water or
provisions, he set the course for Kauai, ninety miles of strong head
wind and sea.
“Here is your compass!” he cried to the helmsman, flinging up his
right hand, the fingers spread. “Steer by this!—And if you return
with the boat, I shall swim to Kauai, alone!”
Good seamanship and luck vindicated him, and they arrived safely
off Waimea, Kauai, after a night of peril. And to think that the
measles should have had their way with such a prince as that!
From the second station out of Hilo, moored near the main wharf,
we could make out the dear little Snark.
The observation car was filled with well-to-do Hilo residents bound
for the week-end at their volcano lodges, and I could see Jack
planning two more island homes.
To Kilauea, at last, at last—my first volcano, albeit a more or less
disappointing Kilauea these days, without visible fire, the pit,
Halemaumau, only vouchsafing an exhibition of sulphurous smoke
and fumes. But living volcano it is, and much alive or little, does not
greatly matter. Besides, one may always hope for the maximum
since Kilauea is notoriously capricious.
For eighteen miles the track up from Hilo slants almost
imperceptibly, so gradual is the ascent through dense forest, largely
of tree ferns, and, latterly, dead lehua overspread sumptuously with
parasitic ferns and creepers. There seems no beginning nor end to
the monster island. Despite the calm, vast beauty of many of its
phases, one cannot help thinking of it as something sentient and
threatening; of the time when it first heaved its colossal back out of
the primordial slime. And it is still an island in the making.
The carriage, sent up the day before from Hilo, was driven by one
Jimmy, a part-Hawaiian, part-Marquesan grandson of Kakela, a
Hawaiian missionary to the Marquesas group, whose intervention
saved Mr. Whalon, mate of an American vessel, from being roasted
and eaten by the cannibals of Hiva-oa. Jimmy’s grandfather was
rewarded by the personal gift of a gold watch from Abraham Lincoln,
in addition to a sum of money from the American Government. “And
don’t forget, Mate,” Jack reminded me, “your boat is next bound to
the Marquesas!”
It was a hearty crowd that sat at dinner; and imagine our smacking
delight in a boundless stack of ripe sweet corn-on-the-cob mid-
center of the bountiful table! Among all manner of Hawaiian staples
and delicacies, rendered up by sea and shore, we found one new to
us—stewed ferns. Not the fronds, mind, but the stalks and stems
and midribs. Served hot, the slippery, succulent lengths are not
unlike fresh asparagus. The fern is also prepared cold, dressed as a
salad.
The father of his flock rode in late from one of the headquarters of
his own great cattle ranch, PuuOO, on Mauna Kea. These estates, in
the royal manner of the land, often extend from half the colossal
height of one or the other of the mountains, bending across the
great valley to the nether slope of the sister mount, in a strip the
senses can hardly credit, to the sea. This enables a family to enjoy
homes from high altitudes, variously down to the seaside.
The flock as well as its maternal head rose as one to make their
good man comfortable after his long rough miles in the saddle. In a
crisp twilight, the men smoked on the high lanai, and the rest of us
breathed the invigorating mountain air. It was hard to realize the
nearness of this greatest of living volcanoes. Presently Jack and I
became conscious of an ineffably faint yet close sound like “the tiny
horns of Elfland blowing.” Crickets, we thought, although puzzled by
an unwontedly sustained and resonant note in the diminutive
bugling. And we were informed, whether seriously I know not, that
the fairy music proceeded from landshells (Achatinella), which grow
on leaves and bark of trees, some 800 species being known.
Certainly there are more things in earth and heaven—and these
harmonious pixie conches, granting it was they, connoted the loftier
origin. Jack’s eyes and mouth were dubious:
“I ha’e ma doots,” he softly warned; “but I hope it is a landshell
orchestra, because the fancy gives you so much pleasure.”
 September 8.
Kilauea, “The Only,” has a just right to this distinguished
interpretation of its name, for it conforms to no preconceived idea of
what a volcano should be. Not by any stretch of imagination is it
conical; and it fails by some nine thousand feet of being, compared
with the thirteen-odd-thousand-foot peak on the side of which it lies,
a mountain summit; its crater is not a bowl of whatsoever oval or
circle; nor has it ever, but once, to human knowledge, belched stone
and ashes—a hundred and fifty years ago when it wiped out the bulk
of a hostile army moving against Kamehameha’s hordes, thus
proving to the all-conquering chief that the Goddess Pélé, who
dwells in the House of Everlasting Fire, Halemaumau, was on his
side.
Different from Mauna Loa’s own skyey crater, which has inundated
Hawaii in nearly every direction, Kilauea, never overflows, but holds
within itself its content of molten rock. It has, however, been known
to break out from underneath. The vertical sides, from 100 to 700
feet high, inclose nearly eight miles of flat, collapsed floor containing
2650 acres, while the active pit, a great well some 1000 feet in
diameter, is sunk in this main level.
In the forenoon we visited the Volcano House on the yawning lip of
the big crater, and sat before a roomy stone fireplace in the older
section, where Isabella Bird and many another wayfarer, including
Mark Twain, once toasted their toes of a nipping night.
From the hotel lanai we looked a couple of miles or so across the
sunken lava pan to Halemaumau, from which a column of slow,
silent, white vapor rose like a genie out of underworld Arabian
Nights, and floated off in the light air currents. No fire, no glow—
only the ghostly, thin smoke. And this inexorable if evanescent
breath of the sleeping mountain has abundant company in myriad
lesser banners from hot fissures over all the surrounding red-brown
basin, while the higher country, variously green or arid, shows many
a pale spiral of steam.
Rheumatic invalids should thrive at the Volcano House, for this
natural steam is diverted through pipes to a bath-house where they
may luxuriate as in a Turkish establishment; and there is nothing to
prevent them from lying all hours near some chosen hot crack in the
brilliant red earth that sulphurous exudation has incrusted with
sparkling yellow and white crystals.
Having arranged with Mr. Demosthenes, Greek proprietor of this
house as well as the pretty Hilo Hotel, for a guide to the pit later on,
Mrs. Shipman directed her coachman farther up Mauna Loa—the
“up” being hardly noticeable—to see thriving as well as dead koa
forest, and also the famous “tree molds.” A prehistoric lava-flow
annihilated the big growth, root and branch, cooling rapidly as it
piled around the trees, leaving these hollow shafts that are faithful
molds of the consumed trunks.
The fading slopes of Mauna Loa, whose far from moribund crater is
second in size only to Kilauea’s, beckoned alluringly to us lovers of
saddle and wilderness. One cannot urge too insistently the delusive
eye-snare of Hawaii’s heights, because an elastic fancy, continuously
on the stretch, is needful to realize the true proportions. Today, only
by measuring the countless distant and more distant forest belts and
other notable features on the incredible mountain side could we gain
any conception of its soaring vastitude.
For a time the road winds through rolling plains of pasture studded
with gray shapes of large, dead trees, and then comes to the
sawmills of the Hawaii Mahogany Company. Here we went on foot
among noble living specimens of the giant koa, which range from
sixty to eighty feet, their diameters a tenth of their height, with
wide-spreading limbs—beautiful trees of laurel-green foliage with
moon-shaped, leaf-like bracts. It was in royal canoes of this acacia,
often seventy feet in length, hollowed whole out of the mighty boles,
that Kamehameha made his conquest of the group, and by means of
which his empire-dreaming mind planned to subdue Tahiti and the
rest of the Society Group. As a by-product, the koa furnishes bark
excellent for tanning purposes.
 (1) Alika Lava Flow, 1919. (2) Pit of Halemanman.

Great logs, hugely pathetic in the relentless clutch of machinery,

were being dragged out by steel cable and donkey-engine, and piled
in enormous and increasing heaps. Jack, who is inordinately fond of
fine woods if they are cut unshammingly thick, left an order for
certain generous table-top slabs to be seasoned from logs which we
chose for their magnificent grain and texture.
In addition to their flourishing koa business, these mills are turning
out five hundred ohia lehua railroad ties per day, and filling orders
from the States. But one can easily predict a barren future for the
forests of Hawaii if no restraint, as now, is enforced in the selection
of trees.
In the bright afternoon, horseback, with a Hawaiian guide, we made
descent into Kilauea.
The morning’s cursory view had been no preparation for the
beautiful trail, on which we were obliged to brush aside tree-
branches and ferns and berry bushes in order to see the cracking
desolation of the basin. Abruptly enough, however, we debouched
upon its floor, under the stiff wall we had descended, now hundreds
of feet overhead. Before us lay a crusted field of copperish dull-gold,
where whiffs and plumes of white rose near and far from awesome
fissures—a comfortless waste without promise of security, a
treacherous valley of fear, of lurking hurt, of extermination should a
foot slip.
On a well-worn pathway, blazed in the least dangerous places, we
traversed the strange, hot earth-substance. The horses, warily
sniffing, seemed to know every yard of the way as accurately as the
tiny Hawaiian guide. But I recalled Christian in the Valley of the
Shadow, for at every hand yawned pitfalls large and small and most
fantastic—devilish cracks issuing ceaseless scalding menace, broken
crusts of cooled lava-bubble of metallic dark opalescence; jagged
rents over which we hurried to avoid the hot, gaseous breath of
hissing subterranean furnaces.
Now and then the guide requested us to dismount, and then led,
crawling, into caverns of unearthly writhen forms of pahoehoe lava,
weirdly beautiful interiors—bubbles that had burst redly in the latest
overflow of Halemaumau into the main crater. On through the
uncanny, distorted lavascape cautiously we fared under a cloud-
rifted sky, and finally left the horses in a corral of quarried lava,
thence proceeding afoot to the House of Fire.
Perched on the ultimate, toothed edge, we peered into a baleful gulf
of pestilent vapors rising, forever rising, light and fine, impalpable as
nightmare mists from out a pit of destruction. Only seldom, when
the slight breeze stirred and parted the everlasting, unbottled
vapors, were we granted a fleeting glimpse, many hundreds of feet
below on the bottom of the well, of the plummetless hole that spills
upward its poisonous breath. If the frail-seeming ledge on which we
hung had caved, not one of us could have reached bottom alive—the
deadly fumes would have done for us far short of that.
A long silent space we watched the phenomenon, thought robbed of
definiteness by our abrupt and absolute removal from the blooming,
springing, established world above the encircling palisade of dead
and dying planetary matter. Jack’s comment, if inelegant, was fit,
and without intentional levity:
“A hell of a hole,” he pronounced.
Pélé, Goddess of Volcanoes, with her family, constituted a separate
class of deities, believed to have emigrated from Samoa in ancient
days, and taken up their abode in Moanalua, Oahu. Their next
reputed move was to Kalaupapa, Molokai, thence to Haleakala,
finally coming to rest on the Big Island. In Halemaumau they made
their home, although stirring up the furies in Mauna Loa and Hualalai
on occasion, as in 1801, when unconsidered largess of hogs and
sacrifices was vainly thrown into the fiery flood to appease the huhu
(angry) goddess. Only the sacrifice of a part of Kamehameha’s
sacred hair could stay her wrath, which cooled within a day or two.
Many, doubtless, have there been of great men and women in the
Polynesian race; but the fairest complement to the greatest,
Kamehameha, seems to have been that flower of spiritual bravery,
Kapiolani. A high princess of Hawaii, she performed what is
accounted one of the greatest acts of moral courage ever known—
equal to and even surpassing that of Martin Luther. Woman of
lawless temperament, her imperious mind became interested in the
tenets of Christianity, and swiftly she blossomed into a paragon of
virtue and refinement, excelling all the sisterhood in her intelligent
adoption of European habits of thought and living.
Brooding over the unshakable spell of Pélé upon her people, in
defiance of their dangerous opposition, as well as that of her
husband, Naihe, the national orator, she determined to court the
wrath of the Fire Goddess in one sweeping denunciation and
renunciation. We have it, however, that Naihe later cultivated an
aloha for the missionaries, and was buried where are now only the
ruined foundations of the first mission station, established by Ely and
Ruggles in 1824 and 1828, mauka of Cook Monument.
It was almost within our own time, in 1824, when she set out on
foot from Kaawaloa on Kealakekua Bay, a weary hundred and fifty
miles, to Hilo. Word of the pilgrimage was heralded abroad, so that
when she came to Kilauea, one of the pioneer missionaries, Mr.
Goodrich, was already there to greet her. But first the inspired
princess was halted by the priestess of Pélé, Who entreated her not
to go near the crater, prophesying certain death should she violate
the tabus. Kapiolani met all argument with the Scripture, silencing
the priestess, who confessed that ke akua, the deity, had deserted
her.
Kapiolani proceeded to Halemaumau. There in an improvised hut she
spent the prayerful night; and in the morning, undeserted by her
faithful train of some fourscore persons, descended over half a
thousand feet to the “Black Ledge,” where, in full view and heat of
the grand and awful spectacle of superstitious veneration,
unflinchingly she ate of the votive berries consecrate to the dread
deity. Casting outraging stones into the burning lake, she fearlessly
chanted:
 “Jehovah is my God!
He kindled these fires!
I fear thee not, Pélé!
If I perish by the anger of Pélé,
Then Pélé may you fear!
But if I trust in Jehovah, who is my God,
And he preserve me when violating the tabus of Pélé,
Him alone must you fear and serve!”
Vision how this truly glorious soul then knelt, surrounded by the
bowed company of the faithful, in adoration of the Living God, while
their mellow voices, solemn with supreme exaltation, rose in praise.
One cannot help wondering if Mr. Goodrich, fortunate enough to
experience such epochal event, was able, over and above its moral
and religious significance, to sense the tremendous romance of it.
Scarcely less illuminating, was the conversion of that remarkable
woman, Kaahumanu, favorite wife of Kamehameha, to whom I have
already referred as one of the most vital feminine figures in
Polynesian annals. Far superior in intellect to most of the chiefs, she
had been created regent upon the demise of her husband, ruling
with an iron will, haughty and overbearing.
At first disdainful of the missionaries, finally her interest was enlisted
in educational matters, whereupon with characteristic abandon she
threw herself into the learning of the written word as well as the
spoken. An extremist by nature, born again if ever was human soul,
from 1825 to her death in Manoa Valley, Honolulu, in June of 1832,
she held herself dedicate to the task of personally spreading virtue
and industry throughout the Islands. Her last voyage was to pay a
visit to Kapiolani, after which she lived to receive the fourth re-
enforcement of American missionaries, who arrived in the Averick a
month before her passing. The crowning triumph of her dying hours
was to hold in her fingers the first complete copy of the New
Testament in the Hawaiian tongue. Alexander writes: