Table of Contents

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"Off for Hawaii" is a complete story in itself, but forms the third volume of a line of books issued under the general title of the "Flag of Freedom Series."

In the present work we have the same boy heroes who figured in "When Santiago Fell" and "A Sailor Boy with Dewey," but once again the scene is shifted, and we are taken to the Hawaiian Islands, so recently annexed to the United States, on a hunt for a pearl treasure secreted in a cave overlooking the great volcano Kilauea.

My main object in writing this tale of adventure was to acquaint American boys with some of the sights to be seen throughout Hawaii, taking in Honolulu, Wailuku, Hilo, the great volcano, and numerous other places of interest. The subject is a most fascinating one, and well worthy of a more extended description than I have given it.

It may seem to some that the adventures of the boys are overdrawn, but this is hardly a fact. Hawaii is, comparatively speaking, a new ​country, and in such a place many things will happen which do not occur in more settled territories. Nearly every nationality under the sun is represented there, and in such a mixed community it would be strange if everything was as it should be.

Again thanking my numerous friends for the cordial manner in which they have received my other books, I place this last work in their hands, trusting they will peruse it with both pleasure and profit.

Captain Ralph Bonehill.

August 15, 1899.

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A Quest of Importance,

​

"And you really believe in this great treasure, Oliver?"

"I certainly do, Mark. What would make me believe otherwise?"

"Nothing, that I can bring to mind. But to think that there may be fifty thousands dollars' worth of pearls secreted in a cave close to the volcano Kilauea, on the Hawaiian Islands! It's—well, staggering."

"I do not believe that Gaston Brown was the man to deceive anyone, least of all his own son," continued Oliver Raymond. "There was nothing to be gained by such a course."

"The thing of it is, to find this Kanaka known as Joe Koloa," put in Dan Holbrook, who was Oliver's particular chum. "Unless we find him and get him to explain certain things, to look for the pearls will be like looking for a diamond in a coal mine. I understand that the volcano basin ​is about nine miles in circumference. We can't search every foot of such a large territory as that."

"We haven't got to search every foot of it," went on Oliver, who was highly enthusiastic on the subject and was trying his best to make Dan and myself equally so. "You know, Dan, and so does Mark, that all we've got to do is to locate the double-headed idol carved out of lava, standing at the entrance to the cave. That ought not to be so difficult, even in a territory ten or twelve miles in extent."

"You must remember one thing, Oliver," I returned. "You have both sailed the Pacific, while I have never been west before. Yet I have read enough about the Sandwich Islands, as they used to be called, to know that the gigantic volcano Kalauea is in a constant state of eruption, overflowing its basin at various points and sending its liquid lava flowing in hundreds of directions. If this Cave of Pearls, as the Kanakas called it, existed fifty years ago, it is more than likely that the lava filled it up long since, and the pearls may be a hundred feet underground—or under lava, to speak more correctly."

"Then you don't advise undertaking the expedition, Mark?" said Oliver disappointedly.

"I didn't say that. Our time is our own, we each have quite some money to spend, and a trip ​to the Hawaiian Islands will suit me about as well as anything. I have always wanted to visit the largest volcano in the world. It must be a grand sight."

"Father says it is the grandest sight he ever saw," said Dan Holbrook. "He stopped at the islands on his first trip to Hong Kong."

"And remember what I said," continued Oliver Raymond. "If we find the treasure I shall insist on giving each of you a liberal portion of it."

"We won't count our chickens before the eggs are laid," I answered gravely. "But we'll go, and that settles it."

"Yes, we'll go," added Dan. "Hurrah for the Hawaiian Islands, Uncle Sam's new mid-Pacific possessions!"

Oliver Raymond and Dan Holbrook were boys between sixteen and seventeen years of age, although outdoor life and travel had given them the appearance of being older. They were the sons of two gentlemen who belonged to a large machinery manufacturing firm, doing business in San Francisco, Hong Kong, Manila, and other cities of this portion of the globe.

In a previous volume of this series, entitled "A Sailor Boy with Dewey," Oliver Raymond was allowed to tell his own story of how he and Dan Holbrook took a trip to the Philippine ​Islands, where they fell in with the savage Tagals and lost some valuable documents and their money belts. Returning to Hong Kong, they joined Admiral Dewey's fleet, bound for Manila Bay, and served on the Boston during the great naval battle in which the entire Spanish fleet was destroyed. Going ashore later on, they passed through many adventures in and near Manila, trying to get back their belongings and trying to save the firm of Raymond, Holbrook & Smith from losing a valuable business connection in Manila proper.

Among those who participated in some of these adventures was the second mate of a schooner, a Yankee by the name of Watterson Brown. The sailor had a father living on the island of Luzon, and one day Oliver and Dan came upon this old man while some natives were trying to rob him. The elderly man died from wounds inflicted in the struggle, and left to his son some papers relating to the fortune mentioned at the opening of this chapter. These papers had been turned over to Watt Brown, as he was called, and when the second mate was mortally wounded in a battle with some Chinese pirates, he had turned over the documents to Oliver, stating that if he could find the fortune he might keep it, knowing full well that Oliver would give his chum Dan a fair share of his findings.

​I had become acquainted with the two boys through Mr. Raymond, whom I had met in Cuba during those stirring war times, which I have tried to depict to the best of my ability in another volume called, "When Santiago Fell." I had had adventures between the Cuban and Spanish lines galore, and when I was captured and placed in a Santiago dungeon, Oliver's father was my cell companion. How we finally escaped has already been related.

My father and I lived in the East, but upon Mr. Raymond's kind invitation we had come on to San Francisco, and here I had first met Oliver and Dan, and the three of us soon became warm friends. They never got done telling of their adventures in the Philippines, nor I of my adventures in Cuba, where I had left an old school chum, a Cuban youth named Alano Guerez. Alano was still at home, trying to do what he could, now the war was over, for his parents on their extensive sugar-cane plantation.

The trip West by my father and myself had been productive of more than friendly relations. My father had been looking for a good business opening to work in connection with what he already possessed in New York and in Santiago and Havana, Cuba. Mr. Smith, of the firm of Raymond, Holbrook & Smith, wished to retire, and now my father was a member of the new firm of ​Raymond, Holbrook & Carter, and in the future business was to be carried on in the East as well as in the West. This business relationship brought us boys closer together than ever.

"We'll form a club," said Oliver one day, "The Faithful Three," and all of us agreed and shook hands over it. Our parents were all well-to-do and our time was our own, and we looked for good times ahead, never dreaming of the many perils into which the search for the Cave of Pearls was to lead us.

The One-Armed Sailor,

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"And so you three boys have finally decided to take this trip," said Mr. Raymond, when we told him of our plans. "Very well, I have no objections. But you must be careful and keep out of such dangers as fell to your lots in Cuba and the Philippines."

"Oh, there is no war going on in the Hawaiian Islands, Mr. Raymond," I answered, with a laugh. "We'll only have peaceful natives to deal with. The most that could happen to us is to get lost, and I reckon we could easily find ourselves again—each island being rather small."

"Not so small as you may think, Mark. Besides, you may be mistaken about the natives. The average Kanaka is indeed a peaceful man, but there are others who are ignorant and superstitious, and if you attempt to disturb their superstitions by tampering with this two-headed idol, which the documents mention, you may get into serious trouble."

"We won't let them know what we are up to, ​father," broke in Oliver. "Do you suppose we want them to locate the Cave of Pearls and run off with the precious things? Not much! We won't even tell this Joe Koloa what we are up to until we feel certain he is thoroughly trustworthy."

"I place but little confidence in this story of a hidden treasure worth fifty thousand dollars," said my father, who sat by, smoking a favorite Havana cigar. "I am inclined to think that this Gaston Brown's head was just a bit turned. His mode of living showed that he was eccentric."

"Well, the boys want to see the volcano anyway, Carter," said Mr. Raymond, "so let them go."

"Oh, I am willing—but they must take good care of themselves." My father turned to me. "When do you want to start?"

"I'll leave that to Oliver," I answered. "He is the head of this expedition."

"The regular steamer for Honolulu sails day after to-morrow," said Oliver. "We might rather take that than to wait—if we can get staterooms. I understand the travel to the Hawaiian Islands since they have been annexed to the United States has been very heavy."

"We might make the trip in a sailboat," suggested Dan, but with a twinkle in his eye which showed that he did not mean what he said.

"Yes, and be wrecked again, as we were on ​the Dart," burst out Oliver. "No, thank you, no more schooners for me. The steamer will do very well."

"Yes, you had better take the steamer," said Mr. Raymond. "Such a trip will take but seven days, whereas to go by sailing vessel may take six weeks or longer."

"If we only knew just where to look for this Joe Koloa," mused Dan. "I wonder if he is in Honolulu."

"I think it is more likely that we will find him on the island of Hawaii, where the volcano is. Let me see, what is the principal city there?"

"Hilo," answered Oliver's father. "It is a pretty place, located on the eastern coast of the island and about one day's journey from the volcano."

"Then we had better go to Honolulu first and to Hilo next," said Dan; and so it was arranged. But a good many things were yet to happen to upset all of our plans.

We were sitting on the veranda of Mr. Raymond's home, a beautiful place overlooking San Francisco Bay and the world-renowned Golden Gate. The veranda rested on the side of a sloping grass bank, dotted here and there with flowering bushes, and running down to a tiny brook which gushed along peacefully in the springtime sun.

​While our arrangements were being concluded I grew tired of sitting in the rattan chair I had occupied, and, boy fashion, sprang up and leaped over the veranda railing to the bank below.

As I came down and turned partly around to prevent myself from rolling over on the sloping grass, I caught sight of a flannel shirt and a straw hat peeping from out of the bushes surrounding the veranda.

"Hullo, who's that?" I cried out, and shoved the bushes aside, to uncover a man who lay on the ground with his eyes closed, as if asleep. He was dressed like a sailor, and his left arm was missing from the elbow.

"Who's who?" asked Mr. Raymond.

"Here's a man asleep under the veranda."

"A man? Can it be that good-for-nothing gardener?" cried Mr. Raymond, and ran down the steps. "He's a stranger—a tramp, most likely," he added, a second later. "Hi, wake up here and give an account of yourself," he cried, and caught the one-armed man by the foot.

He had to shake pretty thoroughly before the sailor opened his eyes sleepily. "What are ye doin'?" he mumbled, then sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Guess I was asleep, cap'n."

"You were." Mr. Raymond eyed him sharply. "What brought you into my grounds?"

"No offense, sir. I am—well, I'm down on ​my luck, as the sayin' goes. I stopped in here to ask a little assistance."

"Then why didn't you ask it, instead of crawling in under there?"

"I—er—well, I hate to beg." The sailor shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "Excuse me, cap'n, an' I'll be on my way." And he started to walk off.

"Hold on, not so fast," put in Oliver, who had come down with the others. "How long have you been here?"

"I didn't touch anything," was the reply, and the face of the one-armed man grew dark.

"Didn't you? What is that sticking out of the bosom of your shirt? It looks a good deal like a set of silver spoons—and it is!"

As Oliver concluded he stepped closer, and before the sailor could prevent him, he pulled from the shirt twelve spoons which we instantly recognized as some which belonged to the Raymond household.

"A sneak thief!" ejaculated Mr. Raymond. "We've caught you very nicely, my man."

"Hang the luck!" burst from the one-armed man's lips. "Let me go!"

Before we could realize what he was up to he had hurled Oliver and his father to one side and was bounding down the grassy bank at a speed that would have done credit to a trained athlete.

​"Stop him!" burst from several lips, and away went Dan and myself in pursuit, with the others following in short order.

But the sailor had the start of us, and with a vision of arrest in his mind, continued to run with all the speed at his command. Reaching the brook, he leaped over and made through a hedge lining the highway; and that was the last we saw of him for the time being.

"I wonder if he got away with anything," was Mr. Raymond's query, as he gathered up the spoons, which had been scattered in all directions. "He probably got these from the dining-room sideboard. I'll take a look inside."

He and Oliver entered the residence, while we hunted outside, to see if there were any more undesirable strangers at hand. It was late in the afternoon, and by the time we rejoined the Raymonds it was dark.

"Four silver napkin rings and a gold-plated fish-knife missing," announced Mr. Raymond. "Thank fortune, the loss is not greater."

"I don't believe that fellow was asleep at all," I ventured. "When I spotted him he thought to play a game on me."

"If that is so, I wonder if he heard our talk about the Cave of Pearls?" put in Dan.

"Oh, I hope not!" burst out Oliver. "He would be just the kind to blab it to some of ​his cronies who were bound for the Hawaiian Islands."

"It's a great pity he got away," said Mr. Raymond. "The only safe place for such a rascal is behind the bars."

"Perhaps that sailor rig was only a disguise," suggested my father, who had not seen the man very closely.

"No; he had the regular cut and swing of a sailor," I answered. "But he was no man-o'-warsman even if he was an arm short."

"So you think you can tell an ordinary seaman from a navy man," laughed my father. "Well, perhaps. Would you know him again if you saw him?"

"We'd know one arm was missing," laughed Dan.

"Yes, I'd know him again," I answered. "He had fishy, shifty eyes that are not easily forgotten. I would like to know his name."

We talked about the one-armed sailor for the balance of the evening, but reached no conclusion concerning him, excepting that he might have become "stranded" in San Francisco and had taken to stealing for a living in preference to signing articles for another cruise. I did not know it then, but I was destined to meet the one-armed man again, much to my sorrow.

The Loss of the Original Map,

​

It is perhaps time that I described the documents left to Oliver by Watt Brown, the second mate of the ill-fated schooner Dart.

They were but two in number, and had originally been but one, having been torn asunder by Gaston Brown or somebody unknown to us.

The documents were two portions of a sheet of parchment such as was used for legal papers a hundred years ago. They were yellow and faded with age, and it was with great difficulty that we made out what each contained—the one some written instructions for finding the Cave of Pearls and the second a map of the volcano Kilauea and vicinity, showing, not the new roads, but the old trails running from the south and east coasts to this interesting territory.

In the written description a Kanaka named Holo Koloa was mentioned as knowing something of the trail to the hidden cave. In a footnote on this sheet, Gaston Brown had written that Holo Koloa was dead, but that he had left all his ​secrets to Joe Koloa, a half-educated Kanaka, who, however, was said to be very superstitious about going near the great volcano, and especially near the cave, for fear of offending the great fire-goddess Pele. Nothing was said about where this Joe Koloa might be located. For all we knew to the contrary, he might be dead.

Many times had we pored over the written instructions, but could make out but little excepting that the cave was located a good four hours' journey from "the face on the rock, where the sun came up." What this meant we could not tell, excepting it might be some rock fronting the ocean on the eastern coast of Hawaii.

"We'll solve this mystery sooner or later," said Oliver confidently. "It may take time, but fifty thousand dollars' worth of pearls are not to be sneezed at."

"The value may be overrated," I answered. "Still, let us make the hunt and see what there is in it."

"Perhaps the pearls are underrated," said Dan. "Oliver may be a hundred thousand dollars richer when he comes away from the islands."

"If I am I'll give each of you a quarter of the find," laughed Oliver.

On the morning following the talk on the veranda we drove down to the office of the Oceanic Steamship Company and engaged passage on the ​commodious steamer Mariposa, of three thousand tons' burden. The steamer lay at her wharf at the foot of Folsom Street, and having procured our tickets we hurried hither to inspect our staterooms before going back to Oliver's home to pack our valises, having previously decided that no trunks should be taken on the trip.

Steamship and wharf were busy places, and we had to fairly elbow our way through the crowd to the Mariposa's deck.

We had secured three berths in two adjoining staterooms. This left a berth in one of the staterooms vacant, and we wondered who would take this, hoping it would be some party who would be agreeable.

"If he isn't agreeable the seven days' trip will seem like a month," I said, for it was understood that Dan and Oliver would bunk together and I must pair off with the stranger.

"Perhaps you'll have the whole stateroom to yourself," answered Dan. "Then you'll be better fixed than we are."

As yet the berth remained untaken, nor did anybody come to claim it while we remained on board. Having made as much of an inspection as we desired, we hurried ashore once more, and set off to drive back to Oliver's home.

We had come into the city in a low two-seat carriage drawn by a pair of small but powerful ​ponies, and now, having gained a stretch of level road, Oliver, who loved horseflesh, "let them out," as Dan expressed it, until we fairly flew past the rocks, trees, and fences which lined the highway.

"Hullo!" yelled Dan suddenly, as we rounded a somewhat sharp curve. "Stop!"

"What's up?" queried Oliver, as he brought the team down a bit.

"There is that rascal of a one-armed sailor!"

"Where?" I cried.

"There he goes, behind yonder clump of trees. He saw me and shook his fist at me."

"Shall I turn back for him?" questioned Oliver. "Perhaps we can catch him this time."

"We might try it," was my answer. "But we can't waste much time—with all that packing to do before we go to bed."

"You are sure it was the right man, Dan?"

"He had one arm, and he dove out of sight as soon as he saw us."

"Then it must have been the fellow," said Oliver. He brought the ponies about, and in a twinkle we were speeding back to where Dan had seen the man.

Of course he was now out of sight. But there was only a small patch of bushes there, back of which was a large open field. Leaving the team tied to a convenient tree, we rushed into the brush. ​As we gained the field we saw the one-armed sailor standing near the lower end.

"There he is!" came from all of us simultaneously.

"And there he goes!" added Oliver, as the rascal began to run again. "Hi, stop there!" he called out.

"Go back, or I'll shoot somebody!" roared the sailor in return, but without slackening his pace.

"We ought to be able to catch him," I put in. "I don't believe he will shoot, even if he has a pistol, which I doubt."

"Don't be too sure," answered Dan. "But come on," and he set the pace, which put me in mind of our foot races at Broxville Academy. Soon I was up to him and by a spurt I passed him.

The one-armed sailor had gained the edge of the big field. But we were less than fifty feet from him, and now we saw him trip on a dead tree branch and roll over and over down a hillside leading to a slimy pool of water. Before he could save himself he went into the pool with a loud splash and disappeared from view.

The whole scene was so comical I burst into a loud laughter, and my two friends joined in. By the time we had gained the edge of the pool the one-armed sailor had reappeared, dripping with stagnant and foul-smelling liquid, and with ​his face completely covered with the muck which lay at the bottom of the pool.

"Whow!" he spluttered, and wiped his face with his coat sleeve. Then he floundered out of the pool, looking thoroughly crestfallen and miserable.

"So we've caught you after all," said Oliver, as sternly as he could, although I saw that he felt like laughing.

"Oh, gents, don't be hard on me!" was the pitiful return. "I never stole before in my life."

"Do you expect us to believe that?"

"It's the truth, indeed it is. You've got your spoons back. Let me go, please."

"How about those other things? " asked Dan.

"I took nothing else—upon my honor, I didn't, gents."

"You took four napkin-rings and a golden fish-knife," I said. "We must have those back, whether we let you go or not."

At the mentioning of the articles, the rascal's face fell. It was easy to see that he was a hypocrite, whining only when cornered, a person that is a regular snake in the grass.

"I—I—there must be a mistake," he began.

"There is no mistake. You took the articles and you must give them up again," said Oliver coldly.

"Well I—er—to tell the truth, gents, I ​pawned the things. I did it to buy something to eat with."

"And something to drink," I added, for his breath smelled of liquor, although he was not intoxicated.

"No—only something to eat."

"Where are the tickets?" was Oliver's question, and after some hesitation, the one-armed sailor brought forth two wet and greasy bits of pasteboard issued by a San Francisco pawnbroker, showing all of the articles had been pawned for a dollar and seventy-five cents.

"Have you got that money?" demanded Oliver, as he placed the tickets in the envelope to an old letter he happened to be carrying.

"I've got fifty cents of it, and that's all."

"Hand it over."

The one-armed sailor did so, his face in the meantime growing full of bitter hatred.

"Now vamose," cried Oliver. "And if you ever show your face in these parts again I'll have you arrested."

"I won't show myself, don't you fear," was the quick answer, and in a moment the sailor had turned and was walking back to the highway. Once there, he turned, shook his fist at us, and disappeared around a bend.

"A bad egg," was Dan's comment. "I never want to see him again."

​"Nor do I want to see him," answered Oliver. "But hop in, boys, and we'll get home. All told, we are only out a dollar and a quarter on the robbery, which is not much, considering what might have been taken."

"You have the tickets safe?" questioned Dan, as we got into the carriage.

"The pawnbroker's tickets? Oh, yes—and the steamer tickets, too."

Then of a sudden Oliver placed his hand into his coat pocket and drew out another envelope, that which had contained the documents left by Gaston Brown.

"I was careless about this map," he began. "I should have left it at home with the letter. I might—— Creation! it's gone!"

"Gone? The map?" came from Dan and me.

"Yes, the map is gone—lost!"

The Start for Honolulu,

​

The three of us stared at each other in utter dismay, unable for the moment to speak. The map—that precious bit of parchment—was gone, lost! What should we do now?

"And our tickets to Honolulu all bought!" groaned Dan, who was the first to break the painful silence.

"Are you sure it is lost?" I said. "Haven't you it anywhere about your clothing? Feel in every pocket."

"Maybe you left it home," suggested Dan, a faint ray of hope shining in his face.

"No, I am sure I had it when I came away, worse luck," groaned Oliver. "And I am equally sure I haven't it now," he added, after a thorough search not only of his person but also of the carriage. "The question is, where did I drop it?"