ines on either side of the
stronghold bent around it to the rocky neck, thus making the place
almost an island. In these ravines were narrow paths by which his
people descended to their boats, secreted on the dark and winding
waters or hoisted on the rocks. This was the Troy of the Pacific;
Kaupepee was the Paris, and here he brought his Helen, who was Hina,
the most beautiful woman of her day, and the wife of a chief in
Hawaii. Kaupepee, encouraged by his oracles, inflamed by reports of
the woman's charm, had been lurking along the coast for some time,
watching for his opportunity. It came when Hina ventured into the
sea to bathe on a moonlight evening. Kaupepee, dashing from his
concealment, intercepted her escape, shouted to his men who were
in waiting behind a wooded point, and while the woman's friends and
attendants fled shrieking to the shore, he lifted her into his canoe,
paddled away to his double barge a half mile out, placed his lovely
captive in a shelter on board, and began the return voyage. The drum
could be heard in the village rousing the people, and lights twinkled
among the trees, showing that a pursuit was intended. In vain. The
dusky Menelaus may have put to sea, but he never appeared in view of
the flying ships. During the two days occupied in the run to Molokai
the prisoner refused food, and begged to be put to death. She was
assured that no harm was intended to her. On arriving at the fort of
her captor she was surprised by the appearance of women who had been
stolen from her villages before, and who were now to be her maids; nor
could she restrain an exclamation of pleasure when she was ushered into
what for the next eighteen years was to be her home. It was hung and
carpeted with decorated mats; its wooden frame was brightly painted,
festooned with flowers, and friezed with shells; couches of sea-grass
were overspread with cloth beaten from palm fibre; heavy curtains hung
at the doors; ranged on shelves were ornaments and carved calabashes,
while there was a profuse array of feathered cloaks and other modish
millinery and raiment.

All, from Kaupepee to the humblest soldier, had paid the respect to
her that was the due of a queen. She was told that she could enjoy
a certain amount of liberty, and if she suffered from her slight
captivity she was asked what might be thought of her new lord whose
heart she had absolutely in her keeping, and who was therefore less
free than she. This pretty speec