They were Christians; but they had only been Christians for a short
time, and they still trembled at the name of the goddess Pélé, who
lived up in the mountains in the boiling crater of the fiery volcano,
and ruled their island.

Their fathers had told them how she would get angry, and would pour
out red-hot rivers of molten stone that would eat up all the trees and
people and run hissing into the Pacific Ocean. There to that day was
that river of stone--a long tongue of cold, hard lava--stretching
down to the shore of the island, and here across the trees on the
mountain-top could be seen, even now, the smoke of her anger.
Perhaps, after all, Pélé was greater than Jehovah--she was certainly
terrible--and she was very near!

"If you do not offer fire to her, as you used to do," the priests went
on, "she will pour down her fire into the sea and kill all your fish.
She will fill up your fishing grounds with the pahoehoe[27] (lava),
and you will starve. Great is Pélé and greatly to be feared."

The priests were angry because the preaching of the missionaries had
led many away from the worship of Pélé which, of course, meant fewer
hogs for themselves; and now the whole nation on Hawaii, that volcanic
island of the seas, seemed to be deserting her.

The people began to waver under the threats, but a brown-faced woman,
with strong, fearless eyes that looked out with scorn on Pélé priests,
was not to be terrified.

"It is Kapiolani,[28] the chieftainess," murmured the people to one
another. "She is Christian; will she forsake Jehovah and return to