“This treaty shall not fail; it must be ratified,” said Cole, in
private, to Aokahameha, some little time afterwards, while sitting
together, at one side, in convention duly assembled.
Hawaii’s commander in chief did not answer at once, but fingered
nervously at the officially printed copy of the resolution held loosely
in hand.
Perhaps he reverently contemplated the will of Kaiuolani; or, doubting,
earnestly looked forward to an apparently last and only recourse;
more likely a recently disclosed conflict--waging, one against the
other, by two predominating influences--disturbed him most. Whatever
the thought, the mood served his purpose, for as between these two
overtowering combatants their people and the government must then and
there by representatives for that special reason convened irrevocably
if inconsiderately choose to determine.
Ah Mla’s feigning to expose someone, as it seemed, at the trial of
Liliuokolani, had, on the one hand, brought Gutenborj to his senses:
forcing a coalition that threatened to invest the shrewder Oriental
with a kind of ownership or mastery of all labor in the Islands;
guaranteeing to the latter outright possession or control of pretty
much everything else there at all worth the trouble of a monopoly.
These, thwarting the opposition, bade certain to continue
republicanism, as best suited to the requirements of individual
domination.
On the other hand America had extended an unmistakable invitation to
them to lay down their autonomy.
Tiring of unprogressive administration, the Americans had elected to
office men who believed it their province to serve, not to dictate. A
lowering of their flag at Honolulu had roused the nation. Expansion
reverted from danger into a public demand, became an administrative
necessity, and the incoming president only voiced the sentiment of a
stronger, less easily controlled element in recommending that congress
take immediate steps to regain their fallen prestige.
This, the proposed treaty,--but evidently more a demand,--lay before
the Hawaiians, now hopelessly divided and utterly unable to resolve
compliance.
What were they to do? What could be done without the queen’s sanction?
Aokahameha continued reflecting, and the delegates wrangled. Cole grew
impatient and again continued:
“We are losing valuable time, Aokahameha.”
“I was just wondering how we might gain needed time,” replied he, not
at all disconcerted.
“Try an adjournment; it should test the opposition’s strength, and if
carried--well, I for one should like very much to see our good friend a
benedict.”
“If lost, though, our weakness shall have been prematurely exposed.”
“There isn’t money enough in all Hawaii to buy the queen--everybody
knows that.”
The motion was made at Aokahameha’s suggestion and the debate closed.
All day long the two factions had fought over the question as to
whether or not a Kamehameha had once proffered to the United States
friendlier auspices than to any other foreign power: the one side
affirming the other denying that annexation were an act of conquest,
everybody welcomed a chance to vote upon something.
The motion failed, and Cole and his followers turned pale at the
prospect of defeat. It proved a first warning, and the opposition
shouted for the main question.
Aokahameha alone remained calm, and seemed to understand the situation,
saying:
“Politics lead but to empire; statesmanship alone conserves democracy;
let them vote, if they would.”
And they did vote; but not until revolutionized by an incident little
expected.
Supporters of the proposed measure stood dumfounded, and totally
unable to recover the shock of apparent defeat. The opposition, on
the other hand, waxed strong and careless with the first blush of
supposed triumph--no more tribute or parleying or delay, now that their
opponents seemed routed; they must press home their victory, and enjoy
the spoils.
Isaacs sprang to his feet demanding an immediate vote upon the
resolution as offered; a weak voice from Kahulani seconded him;
Elmsford twisted in the chair; Cole motioned him “Put the question” and
a pin dropping had disturbed their quiet.
No one should venture a farthing upon the chance; but suddenly
Kaiuolani burst into the room: tripping lightly down the aisle,
everybody turned to look, and not one would bid her desist.
“Her majesty’s abdication, and hearty support,” said she, to the
surprised chairman, the while presenting him with a carefully written,
signed, and sealed document in evidence.
Had a thunderclap stricken them no greater pandemonium could have
prevailed. Annexationists fell to hugging each other, and the roll call
began.
“Aye.” “Aye.” “Aye,” replied everybody, excepting those who skewed into
a distant corner.
“The ayes have it, and the motion is carried,” declared the chair, amid
profoundest confusion. “What is your further pleasure?”
Aokahameha arose, saying distinctly:
“I desire to nominate the Honorable C. C. Cole for governor of Hawaii,
the first principality, duly annexed, to the United States of America,
and move that we proceed to choose by acclamation.”
“I second the nomination,” cried a hundred voices throughout the hall.
“And as governor, no less a man, I congratulate you,” said Kaiuolani,
for the first time shaking the hand of an humbler equal.
“Long live the Republic!” shouted someone in the audience.
“Make it Empire, and we’ll all join with huzzas!” replied Gutenborj,
who had come in expecting otherwise to congratulate what now proved to
be a sadly routed constituency.