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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76499 ***


[Illustration: Statue of Kamehameha I, Honolulu.]




  Hawaiian Idylls of
  Love and Death

  BY THE
  REV. HERBERT H. GOWEN
  F.R.G.S., M.R.S.A. (LOND.)
  _Author of “The Paradise of the Pacific,” etc._

  [Illustration]

  NEW YORK
  COCHRANE PUBLISHING CO.
  1908




  Copyright, 1908, by
  COCHRANE PUBLISHING CO.




INTRODUCTION


The following stories are concerned mainly with incidents bearing
on the career of the first sovereign of the Hawaiian archipelago,
Kamehameha I, worthily distinguished from his successors as “Kamehameha
the Great,” who, born about the year 1736, achieved the unification of
the group in 1795, and died in 1819, leaving behind him no one capable
of following in his footsteps.

A few words about this notable ruler of a kingdom now no more may not
be amiss as introductory to the stories to follow.

       *       *       *       *       *

Every visitor to Honolulu finds his way in course of time to
the splendid square between the Iolani Palace and the Aliiolani
Hale. At least, such were the names borne till recent years by
the dwelling-place of the sovereign and the meeting-place of the
legislators of Hawaii. But times are changed, and names have changed
with them. Now more prosaic names have been adopted by more prosaic
times.

Changing times, however, can never take away the interest attaching to
one prominent object in this square, just in front of the Legislative
Buildings. For monarch and legislature, ay, and people, too, may pass
away and only bring into greater relief the true greatness of the man
whose statue here keeps sentry guard.

It is the statue of the chief who made Hawaii a kingdom, and gave it
such cohesion and such stability that as a kingdom it endured for just
a century. Here stands Kamehameha I, “the lonely one,” as his name
implies, represented by the artist as he might have appeared in life
at the head of his army in those heroic days when the chiefs of Hawaii
fought “like gods of war dispensing fate.”

We see him here a man of gigantic mould, with furrowed and smileless
countenance, as of one who seldom spoke save to command, and who
commanded to be obeyed. Spear in hand, feather-helmet on head, and on
his shoulders the famous feather cloak which took nine generations of
kings to construct--we seem to see before us that “Mars armipotent,” of
whom it might be said, as it was said of the Homeric hero:

  “On him the war is bent, the darts are shed,
   And all their falchions wave about his head:
   Repulsed, he stands, nor from his stand retires,
   But with repeated shouts his army fires.”

The statue was modelled after a fine specimen of the Hawaiian race,
named Kaopuiki, with whom the writer has several times crossed the
channel from Maui to Lanai, but we have authority for the features in
the portrait painted by M. Choris, the artist attached to Kotzebue’s
expedition in 1816. This is the only authentic picture of Kamehameha in
existence, and was painted when he was nearly eighty years old.

Over a hundred and ten years ago, in the year of our era 1795,
this man effected what, under the circumstances, seemed a task of
insuperable difficulty--the union of the eight islands of the Hawaiian
group under one government. What those difficulties were only those
who have studied the matter will be able to appreciate. Here it will
suffice to say that of his race there was none like him before, there
has been none like him since. In all that shadowy time from the dawn of
Hawaiian history to the establishment of intercourse with the western
world, the time of heroes eight or nine feet high, who wielded spears
ten yards long; heroes who fought with gods and received aid from gods,
as the Greek warriors at Troy from Minerva and Apollo--heroes like
Kiha of the magic conch, like Liloa and Umi and Lono, there was none
who accomplished what Kamehameha did by the patient toil and dauntless
courage of forty years.

And in all the time since, in spite of that unexampled advance in
civilization, which has made of Hawaii a land of telephones, electric
light, public schools, universal suffrage and the rest, there has
arisen no Hawaiian with one-tenth part of the manhood possessed and
used, mainly for good, by this heroic savage.

If the conquests of Kamehameha were inferior in extent to those of
Alexander, it was because he had not Alexander’s scope. At any rate,
he fought till he had no more worlds to conquer, and what he conquered
he kept for himself and his family until the dynasty expired. Like
Napoleon (and Kamehameha is often spoken of as the “Napoleon of the
Pacific”), he had an unswerving faith in his destiny. Otherwise, he
never could have overcome so completely the obstacles in his way.

For, although the uniting of eight small islands into one kingdom
may appear to us a slight achievement, as a matter of fact, the task
was anything but easy. Each of the islands had its traditions of
pre-eminence, and the relations of island with island were marked by
furious jealousy and hostility. Intercourse, for many generations, was
almost suspended, except for purposes of war. Even a few years ago the
natives of the windward and the leeward islands could be distinguished
by their language--the Kauai and Oahu people using _t_ and _r_ in the
Tahitian dialect, where the natives of Hawaii and Maui used _k_ and
_l_. But the fusion commenced by Kamehameha has progressed so well that
the ancient differences of language are nearly as much obliterated as
the desire for separate and independent governments.

The consolidation of the kingdoms had been attempted before by able
soldiers and statesmen, but had failed. Even the wise and philanthropic
Vancouver tried to dissuade Kamehameha from what he believed a Utopian
scheme which must result disastrously. Nevertheless, the savage
followed his stars and prevailed.

The late king--Kalakaua--an unbiased witness, since he succeeded to the
throne as the first of a new line, unconnected with and in a measure
hostile to the dynasty of the Kamehamehas--thus passes judgment on his
illustrious predecessor:

“Kamehameha was a man of tremendous physical and intellectual
strength. In any land, and in any age, he would have been a leader.
The impress of his mind remains with his crude and vigorous laws, and
wherever he stepped is seen an imperishable track. He was so strong of
limb that ordinary men were but children in his grasp, and in council
the wisest yielded to his judgment. He seems to have been born a man
and to have had no boyhood. He was always sedate and thoughtful,
and, from his earliest years, cared for no sport or pastime that was
not manly. He had a harsh and rugged face, less given to smiles than
frowns, but strongly marked with lines indicative of self-reliance
and changeless purpose. He was barbarous, unforgiving and merciless
to his enemies, but just, sagacious and considerate in dealing with
his subjects. He was more feared than loved or respected; but his
strength of arm and force of character well fitted him for the supreme
chieftaincy of the group, and he accomplished what no one else could
have done in his day.”

This extract does no more than justice to Kamehameha’s powers of body
and mind. Indeed it was his intellectual greatness which distinguished
him so much from his contemporaries, and which forms his chief claim to
the recognition of thoughtful men of all times and races.

He is, in the first place, worthy to be put beside Fabius Maximus
for his invincible pertinacity and patience. “_Unus homo cunctando
restituit rem_,” was said of Hannibal’s great conqueror, and of the
conqueror of Kalanikapule and _la haute noblesse_ of all Hawaii it
might be said with truth that not less by waiting than by fighting
did he make for himself a kingdom. There may have been something
of the Hawaiian indifference to the flight of time in the patience
which enabled Kamehameha to take defeat so easily and to retire so
contentedly, like another Cincinnatus, to cultivate his patrimonial
fields at Waipio, but there was also without doubt abundant faith in
waiting for the fullness of time--a faith the very reverse of common in
barbarous or semi-civilized communities.

None knew, like Kamehameha, how to endure defeat so as to make it but
a step to a deferred but more complete victory. Had he been a student
of history he might well have adopted the words of Admiral Coligni,
who said of himself: “In one respect I may claim superiority over
Alexander, over Scipio, over Cæsar. They won great battles, it is true.
I have lost four great battles; and yet I shew to the enemy a more
formidable front than ever.”

Nevertheless, Kamehameha knew when to strike and did strike hard. Like
Napoleon, he could hurl all his force at a given point with marvellous
celerity and precision, and, once having developed his plan, he
suffered no obstacle to prevent its being carried into effect.

In the third place, he had a singular power of knowing the right
instruments to employ in his undertakings. Very many great men ruin
the work they take in hand, either by undertaking too much personally,
or else by employing inefficient and unsuitable instruments. In either
case, the work fails to outlive the worker, even if he be not destined
to see the ruin himself. It is sometimes said that such and such a
successful ruler had the good fortune to be surrounded by such and
such a brilliant galaxy of statesmen. The good fortune is in reality
the good sense and insight which lead a ruler to select the fit
instruments for his purpose.

Kamehameha’s throne had for its pillars of support men who might very
well have been his rivals, and among all the notable chiefs of the
time none was discarded or neglected, save such men as Kaiana, whose
fickleness made him more of a menace than a mainstay. As it was, few
kings ever had an abler council--more conspicuous for courage in battle
or for wisdom in the arts of government--than that which included men
like Kalanimoku, _alias_ William Pitt, Kameeiamoku and Keeaumoku, and
the Englishmen--Young and Davis.

Kamehameha, too, lived long enough after he had crushed out all
opposition to his rule to show that he understood the art of
consolidating as well as that of establishing a monarchy. For
twenty-five years he governed Hawaii with steadily increasing skill
and enlightenment, piloting the new kingdom through every kind of
embroilment with the nations represented in the realm.

Like William the Conqueror, he purposed to govern with good laws what
he had won with a cruel sword, and, if he was overstern to repress,
he undoubtedly spared the country much misery which a weaker or more
lenient policy might have entailed.

Finally, looking at Kamehameha as a man, rather than as a ruler,
we need not deny him the title of “Great.” He could be loved as
well as feared. He was scrupulously just, even when it came to the
condemnation of his own past actions, and perhaps greater than any
victory over the rival chiefs was the victory he won over himself when
he broke free from the trammels the “fire-water” of the foreigner were
fast making for him, and bade his countrymen imitate him and be free.

Enough has been suggested in these introductory remarks to make
clear that not only to the antiquary, searching amid the ruins of a
perishing people for some faded remnants of romance; not only to the
historian, seeking here and there in the archives of nations to glean
illustrations of some great historical generalization; not only to the
lover of the story of war and adventure; but, above all, to the student
of men as men the memory of the first monarch of Hawaii ought to be of
sufficient interest not to pass into oblivion.

For heroism is of no one age, and of no one race. It commands the
sympathy and respect of all, and it is the writer’s hope that these
simple sketches may show, in the story of the first Kamehameha, that
touch of Nature which makes the whole world kin, that quality of
manhood which obliterates the distinction between white and black,
between East and West, between the man of yesterday and the man of
to-day.

  “For East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
   Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat;
   But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
   When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the
     ends of the earth.”




CONTENTS


                                         PAGE

     I--THE POISON GODDESS OF MOLOKAI      11

    II--THE STORY OF THE KIHA-PU           19

   III--THE SPLINTERED PADDLE              27

    IV--THE SLANDERED PRIEST OF OAHU       34

     V--KEALA                              43

    VI--PELE DECLARES FOR KAMEHAMEHA       51

   VII--THE CITY OF REFUGE                 59

  VIII--SWEET LEILEHUA                     67

    IX--THE SPOUTING CAVE OF LANAI         78

     X--LONO’S LAST MARTYR                 89

    XI--KEOUA, A STORY OF KALAWAO         101




Hawaiian Idylls of Love and Death




I

THE POISON GODDESS OF MOLOKAI


Kaneakama was as handsome a young fellow as you could have found on the
eight islands; neither unknown to war nor unskilled in divination and
the learning of the priests. But he had one vice--he was an inveterate
gambler.

And here he sat in his grass hut on the slopes of the Olukui, feeling
as miserable as any wretch of to-day who had squandered his patrimony
at Monte Carlo, for he had been playing _maika_ the whole day long and
luck had been against him at every throw. The devil, he thought, must
have been in the smooth black stones; throw as he might, they would not
go straight. Yes, they were certainly bewitched. And now he had nothing
to call his own but one little pig--everything was lost.

Why did he not stake the pig? you ask. Ah! Kaneakama had asked himself
that question many a time that evening, but had each time repelled the
very thought as a temptation. For he had dedicated this pig to his
Aumakua, or tutelary divinity, and with all his faults he was too
pious to break his vows to the gods.

So, although happy thus far in the possession of a good conscience,
he nursed his grief until the kind divinities sent their messenger,
sleep--welcome to all men everywhere.

And, as Kaneakama slept, he had a wonderful vision. The song of a bird
broke upon his ear, then the sweet sounds transformed themselves into
an aura of radial light and in the light he beheld the loveliest form
he had ever seen.

It was that of a young girl, but Kaneakama’s first impression was
that it was some glorious bird, for he wanted to get up and throw a
mat across the door lest she should fly away. Her black hair fell in
a great shadow behind her like a pair of wings; no chief arrayed for
battle had feather cloak so rich in orange and scarlet as that which
clung to her perfect form from throat to shapely knee. Her eyes, too,
even in the bright aura which encircled her, shone like stars in the
night.

Kaneakama gazed he knew not how long, and when he came to himself he
was only conscious of having received a command from the goddess (for
such indeed was his adorable visitant) to take his dedicated pig and
stake it as he had done the rest. You see, the gods and goddesses of
ancient Hawaii had rather backward ideas regarding the morality of
gambling.

However, Kaneakama is not to be blamed for this. He did as his divinity
had told him, and now if the ill-luck of his former experience had been
surprising, still more so was the turn of fortune which seemed to pour
riches into his lap. He went home from that day’s _maika_-playing a
rich man, but, remembering the source of his wealth, he determined to
dedicate one-half of it to the service of the goddess, and to build a
temple where she might dwell and receive his worship.

This he did, and no sooner was the temple so far completed that it only
lacked its central idol, than once more the vision of the Aumakua broke
in upon his sleep.

This time there was no doubt about the voice. It was as sweet to hear
as the vision was to see.

“Go to the king, O Kaneakama,” it said; “tell him that the _akua_ wish
to dwell in the temple made by man in the shadow of his court. Power
shall be his if he will shelter them. Let him send warriors with their
axes and knives to the top of Maunaloa. Out of the wood let them hew me
an image, and this shall be my shrine in the _heiau_ you have built,
and you, O Kaneakama, shall be my high-priest, worshipper and lover of
Kalaipahoa, terrible to mortals.”

When Kaneakama awoke he hastened to obey the command, and the king was
pleased to hear of the honours in store. Three hundred men were chosen;
and these, carrying, besides their weapons, great folds of _kapa_ (for
the venom of the poison goddess was a thing to be dreaded), set out on
their march. Kaneakama, commissioned by the king, went before them as a
guide to the spot designated in his sleep.

As they marched they recalled all they had heard of the poison
goddess--how she had come from an unknown land to Molokai and had made
her home on Maunaloa. There, so it was said, the earth was burnt
and blackened, and the birds fell dead as they flew over it. It was,
moreover, the dwelling-place of Laamaomao, the god of the winds, and
at any moment a strong spirit of the air might break loose from the
calabash of the god and hurl the intruders afar into the Paiolo Channel.

So they journeyed on with teeth chattering and hearts cold within them.
They climbed upwards along the torrent-bed over boulders for two hours
or more; then they came to the forest belt where the silver leaves of
the _kukui_ seemed to shiver with sympathetic fear; then they came to
the black lava slopes, where they had to look carefully to their steps.

At last they heard a rumbling like that of the winds of Laamaomao
wrestling in his calabash, and suddenly before them lay the vast
extinct crater, half hidden in the mist.

Their way lay downwards, the mist parting to receive them, until they
saw in front of them a great black blot, such as a fire would make in
some weird forest which shrivels and blackens but will not burn. The
only whiteness was the whiteness of the bones strewn around, and the
only greenness came from one tree in the centre, which rose erect and
plumy in this wilderness of death. Some said they beheld a scarlet and
yellow bird perched in its branches, but many doubted, as they saw
strong-winged birds fly right up to the rim of the circle and fall dead
as though pierced by an arrow.

It was true, then, this story of the poison goddess; it was true that
her touch was death. One hundred men went straightway back to the
king, afraid. But Kaneakama stayed the fear of the others and commanded
them to do their work.

Twenty men took their axes and went forward to hew down the tree,
but, alas! they fell dead before they had advanced twenty yards. Five
times did Kaneakama send fresh detachments forward, moving slowly in a
circle, and five times did they perish as beneath a blast of death. So
five circles of dead men lay round about the tree.

Then Kaneakama commanded half the remaining hundred to take _kapa_ and
wrap themselves in it, making of it masks and shields, and they went
forward till they reached the tree. Then they hewed at it, each man
dying with the blow he struck, till, with a noise that awoke echoes in
Maunaloa, the great tree fell crashing through the shrivelled trunks
around it. Then the remaining band, still shielding themselves as
best they could with the _kapa_, took their _pahoas_ and cut away the
branches, working feverishly, for men fainted and fell apace, till at
last a rough shape was ready to be carried back to the _heiau_.

It was a rough and ugly idol, with widely distended mouth (to be filled
presently with hideous rows of shark’s teeth), extended arms, hands
and fingers, but Kaneakama looked beyond the art of the craftsman,
and, wrapping the image in fold upon fold of _kapa_, he with his few
remaining men wended his way down the mountainside, through the long
valley to the seashore.

There was great rejoicing at the court when Kalaipahoa, for so the
goddess hewn out with daggers was named, was placed in her shrine, and
the temple dedicated with many victims; but all the rejoicing was
faint and hollow as compared with the joy of the man who was at once
the high-priest and lover of the goddess.

When he ministered before the shrine he saw not the rough and hideous
idol, but the celestial beauty of the birdlike maiden who had visited
him in the night visions. If she was terrible to others, she was always
smiling and beneficent to him.

Yet, though he faithfully performed his duties at the _heiau_, carrying
and presenting the offerings, interpreting the wishes of the goddess
to the king, performing all the accustomed rites and observing all the
prescribed tabus, he was not yet satisfied. It grew more and more hard
to nourish himself on visions of the past. He recalled how that Pele,
the volcano goddess, had had a mortal lover and had come down on earth
to dwell. Why should not Kalaipahoa give him at least a sign? From
pitying those who had died in the mountain, he began to envy them.

O man of little faith! The sign came. He dreamed and seemed in his
dreams in Paliuli, the Elysian land, land of the blue mountain and the
water of life, and, as soon as his eyes could bear the light, he saw
Kalaipahoa in all her radiance, and around her stood the men who had
perished at the shaping of the idol. They bore her calabashes, waved
her _kahilis_, and stood about her as her soldiers and her slaves. But
after one swift glance around him, Kaneakama saw only Kalaipahoa, and
she, so he believed, saw only him.

“O Kalaipahoa,” he cried, “why am I worse off than the serfs who died
in Maunaloa? They stand in thy presence and see thy face, while I toil
in thy service and have no reward!”

Kalaipahoa’s face lightened with a smile.

“Foolish mortal!” she cried, “did you not see that my court is
incomplete, wanting its greatest? The great chiefs have their
‘companions in death,’ but you have your household gone before you.
However, you shall have your reward to-night.”

Then she bade him bring the _puhenehene_ board and play.

He played; but, alas! such was his confusion that he lost every game,
and such his preoccupation that he was not even sorry to find himself
once again a pauper. At last he had nothing left to lose, and knew not
what to do.

“Stake yourself!” cried a sweet voice.

No sooner said than done. Once more the stones were thrown. Once more
Kaneakama lost. And the vision vanished, the goddess with a smile still
upon her face.

“Ah, well!” said Kaneakama, “I am the lover of the goddess; I will die.
Let me prepare an offering for her; I will place bananas in her hands
and will share her feast. It may be she will bid me come sit at her
feet.”

He prepared his offering, and dared to take of the food presented to
the goddess. The banana he ate must have received from the hands of
the goddess the gift of death, for when the temple slaves came next
morning to the _heiau_, there, before the shrine of wickerwork, lay the
lover of the goddess--dead, and, by the look of his eyes, he had died
neither unwillingly nor afraid.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was this image of Kalaipahoa that Kamehameha long begged in vain
from Kahekili. It came to him after the death of the savage old Maui
chief and he kept it always near him. It was a useful idol to him, for
a single chip placed in the food of an obnoxious person would send
him to the shades in less than twenty-four hours. Kamehameha, by his
will, had the image divided among some of his chiefs, but the good
Queen Kaahumanu collected all the chips she could lay her hands on, and
burned them.

It is said, however, one or two fragments are still in existence.
Perhaps the visitor to Honolulu may find them in the Kamehameha museum,
but let us hope their virulent properties may never be put to the test.




II

THE STORY OF THE KIHA-PU

  “Of this small horn one feeble blast
   Would fearful odds against thee cast.”

                             --“_The Lady of the Lake._”


The minstrels of the olden world were wont to sing of the marvels of
Olifant, the magic horn of Roland, which that glorious paladin had won
in battle from the giant Jatmund. All nature trembled at its blast, the
fowls of the air fell dead, the trees shivered and the hearts of the
Saracens failed them for fear, even though the sound came from thirty
miles away.

The counterpart of this famous horn is, we believe, still to be seen
among the relics of the old savage world of Hawaii preserved in the
museum at Honolulu. Let the visitor not fail to ask for a sight of
the Kiha-pu, the famous war trumpet or magic conch of Kiha. It is a
huge nautilus-shell of a species exceedingly rare in the island group,
adorned (one can scarcely say beautified) with the inlaid teeth of
conquered chieftains whose death-cry was once drowned by that strident
blast. Whenever the trumpet is blown, such at least is the popular
belief, the groans and cries of these old warriors are heard on the
wind. Far back in the generations of old, in the twelfth century of
our era, this wonder-working shell was brought from the distant isles
of Samoa, but its historical career in Hawaii does not commence till
the reign of the mighty warrior Kiha, who ruled the land for forty
years midway in the fifteenth century.

Since then in what innumerable battles has it played its part!
Kamehameha prized it as he prized Kalaipahoa, the poison goddess;
Kaili, the war god, or even as he prized the fire-vomiting guns of the
white men. The unique qualities of the Kiha-pu caused its possession to
be eagerly coveted by the rival chiefs. When blown with skill, it had
power over the gods and over the legions of genii. Were the canoes at
sea and the rowers lacking food, one blast of the Kiha-pu would summon
Ukanipu, the shark god, to drive the flying fish so that they might
fall into the open boats. Were it necessary to replenish the water
calabashes, then the trumpet could call upon Kuluiau, the goddess of
rain, and the oarsmen would have scarce time to arrange the vessels
ere the rain came down from the clouds in torrents. Was it wind that
was wanted, lo! in answer to the prayer of the Kiha-pu, Laamaomao,
the god of wind, would open his swelling calabashes towards the sea,
and the breezes would rush forth. Thus useful in peace, it was a
hundredfold useful in war. The king could send forth at will strident
voices such as startled the ears of the enemy with challenge to battle
and premonition of defeat. He could make the magic conch utter clarion
notes such as would summon the forces of the spirit world to his aid
and rally his people from the most hopeless fight. The sound was like
the sound of breakers against the rocky shores of Hawaii.

To-day, alas! though the horn may still be blown, no deity responds to
its despairing wail. When, during the native insurrection of 1889, the
shell conches sounded out shrilly upon the air, many of those present
thought of the Kiha-pu and its traditional magic. But Lono came not
from his age-long sleep, and all things conspired to show that the
potency of the trumpet of Kiha was no more.

Here is a tale founded on the old meles, of the times when the famous
conch was in the hands of the king who gave it its name.

       *       *       *       *       *

Kiha was desirous of a new feather cloak to mark his dignity among
the _alii_. He would summon to his presence the feather hunters to
go forth into the forest to snare the _mame_ and the _oo_, that from
their brilliant feathers of scarlet and yellow he might weave his royal
mantle. To bring them to the royal enclosure he bethought himself of
the Kiha-pu and dispatched its trusted guardian, whose name was Hoilo,
to bring it forthwith from the _heiau_ or temple. In a little while
Hoilo came back with rueful countenance and announced that the treasure
had disappeared. In its place was an ugly, carved black stone.

The king, as may be imagined, was terribly wroth, but waxing wise with
cunning he concealed from everybody his loss, even announcing to Hoilo
that the shell was in a place known to himself. But, as soon as he
dared, he hastened to the _heiau_ and there made a confidant of the
high-priest, with whom he consulted as to the fate of the Kiha-pu.
After the due sacrifices, there came a response from the oracle. A
voice from the wicker shrine announced that the conch had been stolen
by a band of marauders, half human and half demon, who had for some
time been prowling about the neighborhood. The king was in despair,
but presently a gleam of hope was vouchsafed by the tidings that the
lost treasure should be recovered by the king on the day when Kiha
ate of the first fruit of the cocoanut tree to be planted by himself
at the next fullness of the moon. In answer to the question as to who
should be the instrument of the restoration, only the mysterious reply
was given that it would be a being without hands and wearing neither a
_malo_ nor mantle.

It was with a very heavy heart that Kiha returned to his palace,
knowing that his trumpet was in the hands of the demi-demon band, but
nevertheless he dissembled his grief, kept his secret manfully, planted
his cocoanut and watered the soil daily with his own hand.

In the meanwhile the demons departed with their spoil northwards to
Kauai, where after many adventures they arrived and settled themselves
down in the mountains at the back of Waimea.

Here Ika, the leader of the band, who took care to retain the personal
control of the Kiha-pu, had the misfortune to provoke, by some unusual
piece of tyranny, a quarrel with one of his comrades, and this latter,
bent upon revenge, determined to repeat the theft, for his own personal
ends, of the magic trumpet. Not willing to run the risk of being
its possessor, however, he contented himself with robbing it of its
miraculous powers. He found out that this could be effected by placing
a cross mark upon its rim, accompanying the operation with incantations
and prayers to Lono. So, while Ika lay, made drunk with _awa_, the
Kiha-pu was stolen, marked with the tabu sign by the priest at Waiolani
and returned again to its place. The next day Ika arose, hung the horn
by its cord of human hair around his neck and sallied proudly forth,
as he had been wont, to exhibit its wonderful powers, and extort the
admiration of his followers. But, alas! when he raised the conch to his
mouth and blew, even though he blew with the full force of his lungs,
there came back nothing but a comparatively feeble, natural hollow
sound.

Ika was sadly mortified at his humiliation in the sight of men, and
still more so when, after further and fruitless experiments, he had to
confess that the virtue of the ill-gotten trophy had departed.

He came to the conclusion that supernatural powers had been invoked
against him, and in search of further light paid a visit to an aged
seer at Waialua to enquire whether the voice of the Kiha-pu would be
ever restored. To his great joy the answer was returned: “Yes, once
more among the hills of Hawaii the Kiha-pu shall speak to the ears
of gods and men.” More than this, the prophet, after the manner of
oracles, refused to tell.

Thereupon Ika decided to return at once with his companions to Hawaii,
and in a few days they had crossed the channels, beheld once more the
snows of the very district from which they had so suddenly decamped
eight years before.

Now it happened that on this very day King Kiha, who, to the amazement
of his people, had been apparently spending eight years in the
cultivation of a single palm, went out to his tree and was delighted
to find that three cocoanuts had attained their maturity and were
ready for his eating. In accordance with the ritual prescribed by the
priests, these were now solemnly eaten, and at the very moment the
feast was consummated came the news that the band of demoniac marauders
had reoccupied the marshy wood behind the mountains of Waipio.

The tidings had scarcely reached the expectant chief when, lo! there
was a tumult at the palace gate and, advancing a few steps, Kiha beheld
the royal guard bringing into his presence the strangest looking old
man he had ever seen. His hands were tied behind his back for more
security, but at his heels followed an object still stranger to the
eye. It was a dog, a big, ill-shapen beast of no earthly breed. It had
blue bristles, its ears were human and the eyes were small and fiery,
like those of a demon, one burning with a greenish light, and the other
white.

The charge against the man was that of stealing _awa_, and it was
represented that the dog, in this business, was his accomplice and a
marvellously cunning brute. Across the mind of the king, however, there
flashed the prediction of the oracle, which he had kept hoarded up in
his mind. Surely, here, in this dog, was a being without hands and
wearing neither _malo_ nor mantle. Was not this the instrument of the
gods, sent to his aid?

Without a moment’s delay he had the two, the man and the dog, sent to
the _heiau_ at Pakaalani, and thence he sent forth the dog to hunt
through the mountains the wonder-working conch, and recover it from the
hands of the thief.

There could be no doubt that the strange hound understood his mission,
for he leaped through the open door, hurried to the mountains, and,
after a long hunt, at length seized and bore away in his teeth the
object of Kiha’s eight years’ quest. As, however, he was returning down
the mountains, for one moment he dropped his spoil, and then there
rang out upon the air a sound terrible to hear. For in the fall a tiny
piece of the Kiha-pu, the very piece upon which was scratched the tabu
cross of Lono, was broken off, and, liberated from silence, the old
voice sounded forth as in the years gone by, startling the unaccustomed
echoes of the mountains.

The robbers heard and, discovering their loss, started in pursuit. The
king heard, too, and found it hard to possess his soul in patience
till the dog’s return. Presently the door of the temple burst open and
in rushed the green-eyed dog with the Kiha-pu in his mouth. The weird
brute dropped it at the king’s feet, and then immediately fell dead.
His companion, the _awa_-stealer, was inconsolable for his loss, but
Kiha awarded to him a royally generous compensation, and then placing
the horn to his lips blew such a blast as the mountains of Hawaii had
not heard for many a year. The troops rushed together at the potent
summons, and, led at once into the mountains, fell upon the demon band.

In a few hours the whole gang was exterminated, with the exception
of Ika and two or three of his comrades, who were reserved for the
sacrifices at the _heiau_, to be offered on the rededication of the
Kiha-pu.

After this, Kiha took more care of his famous trumpet and regarded it
as one of the chief talismans by which the authority of the throne was
supported, but the _awa_-stealer, though having no further need of
recourse to his old trade, deemed his new fortune no true compensation
for the loss of his old friend, the green-eyed dog.




III

THE SPLINTERED PADDLE


In the year 1784 there was raging on the island of Hawaii the conflict
known as “_Kaua awa_,” or “the bitter war,” a name very accurately
descriptive of its exasperating and unmerciful character. There were in
those days two kinds of wars in Hawaii, viz., wars of courtesy, when
the arrangements for the contest were made with the most punctilious
regard for the etiquette of Hawaiian chivalry, when the object of the
invasion was considerately notified, and the place of landing and of
battle carefully chosen, and, in the second place, wars of devastation,
when everything was done to harass a foeman without respect to his
feelings.

The “bitter war,” however, outran even this latter in the envenomed
nature of the hostility aroused between the contending chiefs. These
were, on the one side, Keoua and Keawemauhili, high chiefs who had
lately shared the defeat of the ill-fated Kiwaloa in the battle of
Mokuohai, and, on the other side, Kamehameha, whose future destiny had
already been revealed to men like Keeaumoku, “the king-maker” of Hawaii.

These three waged a kind of triangular contest for the sovereignty
of the island and brought to the struggle animosities which had been
intensified by the events following the death of Kalaniopuu and his
son.

For the moment, however, there was a lull in the campaign. Kamehameha
had retired foiled, with his fleet, upon Laupahoehoe. Keawemauhili had
just lost the help of the mercenaries from Maui, and Keoua was busy
collecting his forces. In fact some parts of the country were enjoying
the unwonted feeling of peace, and remained undisturbed by the arrival
of the fleet-footed _lunapais_ to gather together the tribesmen for the
war.

Such was the case along the Puna coast, near the extreme southeastern
point of the island, not far from the ever-burning abode of Pele in
Kilauea. A traveler, dropping down near the village of Kapoho one
morning in the early summer, would have thought the scene an ideal
picture of peace. The purple mountains in the background seemed still
asleep under the morning shadows which hung among the groves of _kukui_
and _kou_; the surf on the white reef was lazily playing with the
branching coral; and the blue-green water of the Pacific slumbered
under the long, level rays of the awaking sun. Yet, early as it was, a
hundred dusky fisher folk of the Puna coast were plying their business,
not with the fierce energy of western workers who rise early to wage
war with the hours, but with the happy languor of those who have no
quarrel with Time, and know that the whole day is before them, one long
free leisure, in which they can lazily catch and prepare and enjoy the
bounty of the sea.

They have taken out in the canoes an immense rope of banana leaves,
fully half a mile in length, and are spreading it in a circle upon the
shining waters. When spread out it is a veritable magic ring. Glancing
down into the waters beneath, you may perceive hundreds of strange
creatures of the deep, blue, green, scarlet and yellow, with queer
beaks and fins, darting hither and thither, but never daring--poor,
silly fishes, like some inhabitants of the upper air--to cross the
black shadow which hangs so threateningly over them. And, after a
while, the fishermen enter with the canoes and, poising their spears,
strike where and when they choose, till the boats begin to sink deeper
in the sea with the weight of their finny spoil.

Such was the aspect of things on the Puna coast a moment before it was
suddenly changed by a very unwelcome apparition. Sweeping around the
headland of Kumukahi, there bore down upon the peaceful fishermen, from
the direction of Laupahoehoe, the war canoe of a chief, one inspired,
doubtless, with no amicable intentions. It was painted red from stem to
stern and bore a pennon at the masthead. The sturdy rowers wore short
cloaks of yellow feathers which gleamed in the sunlight. Now, a visit
of a chief was at no time a very welcome event to the fishermen, as it
meant the confiscation of their spoil to supply the necessity of a by
no means scanty following. Sometimes they felt inclined to follow the
example of the men of Kau and respond to the demands of the chief for
fish by hurling enough into the canoes to sink them and their occupants
to the bottom of the sea. In this case, however, there was evidently
more to be feared than confiscation. And as, when some hungry shark
enters the lagoon where all the children are bathing and surf-swimming,
there rises the dread cry of “_Mao!_” and instantly there follows a
“_pilipili_” scramble to the shore, so when this great red and yellow
monster of the deep, with its swift paddles and its human voices, swept
over the waves, there was such a movement shoreward as showed that the
indolent Hawaiian could be agile enough when he chose.

But the pursuit did not end with the shore. Leaping from the war canoe,
the attendants of the ravaging _alii_ hurled their spears with effect.
Some of the fishermen resisted and more than one with his paddle made
things lively for his assailant. Presently, however, in the manner
of Hawaiian warfare, the combat resolved itself into a duel. The
combatants on either side grounded their spears and paddles to watch
a single combat which promised to decide the fortunes of the day. The
champion of the fishermen was Napopo, who, with a child slung upon his
back, seemed unequally matched with his opponent, a chief of tremendous
size and unspeakable ferocity of countenance. Once seen, this chief was
not to be forgotten, and, as he rushed towards the unlucky fisherman in
his path, he appeared to both sides alike irresistible. But Napopo was
no coward, and he knew the ground better than his foe. Craftily he drew
his antagonist over the coral beach and watched with lightning eye the
moment when the spear should rush forth upon the air. Thus it happened
that in launching his spear the chief tripped in a crevice of the rocks
and fell face downward, while the missile whizzed harmlessly through
the air. Then, leaping forward, Napopo used his paddle to such effect
that he had surely left the chief dead upon the ground had not his
followers rushed forward to the assistance of their lord. Encumbered
with the child and fearing to risk its life by continuing as the
aggressor, Napopo allowed the retainers to take away the battered and
crestfallen raider. With his child and his splintered paddle he retired
to his house a little distance from the shore, and was in time when he
reached it to see the gaily painted canoe put back around the headland,
the rowers somewhat sobered, doubtless, by their adventure and without
a single fish.

       *       *       *       *       *

Years have passed away and the wars of Hawaii are well nigh over.
Kamehameha has won the reward of his patience and of his many defeats,
and is now overlord of all the Eight Islands.

He has been making his triumphal progress round the coast of Hawaii,
consecrating new _heiaus_, superintending the construction of fish
ponds and collecting his tributes in labor, sandalwood, yellow feathers
and fish. He has come, in due course, to Kapoho, and many are assembled
at the royal enclosure to meet him and present their _hookana_. Among
these comes Napopo with an enormous calabash of fish. He has no reason
to fear, but as he approaches the _lanai_ and sees the concourse of
runners, heralds, soldiers, and executioners, priests and hula-dancers,
it seems impossible for him to raise his eyes. What is there in the
eyes which face him which seems to freeze his blood? Glaring at him
with the recognition of an ancient enemy are the eyes of the man whom
he had once encountered on the coral beach and whose head he had broken
with his paddle. The recognition is, at any rate, mutual. Kamehameha,
the quondam raider, and Napopo, the bold fisherman of Puna, have met
face to face. It is in vain to attempt escape. Napopo feels that,
even did not the soldiers crowd the entrance, there was no strength
in his limbs to move. He can only await death with what composure
he may. Kamanawa and Kalaimoku, and the two white chiefs, Young and
Davis, glance at the king for orders, conscious of his emotion, though
ignorant of its cause. But the king waved them aside and, rising amid
the assembly, spoke in tones which reached the outer fringe of the
spectators.

“Chiefs and people of Hawaii, and ye men of Puna in particular, I thank
you for your welcome and your gifts to-day. Not for the first time,
however, have I come among you, and I venture to confess that when I
came before, you treated me even better than you have to-day. For you
gave me wisdom, which is better for kings than valor. I came among you
in the bitterness of my heart, thinking to revenge the rebellion of
Keawemauhili upon his subjects. I swooped down upon you as the shark
upon the flying fishes, and had well nigh plundered you of your fish
and burned your houses and slain your men. But this man here before me
came against me, not with battle-axe or javelin, but with his fisher’s
paddle, and therewith stayed the course of the blood-drinking spear
and well nigh ended the battles of Kamehameha. Surely even then were
the gods my friends, or I had gone down shamed into the halls of the
dead. And now what shall be done with the fellow who lifted up his hand
against me?”

The chiefs looked upon one another, and no one ventured to speak. They
knew the grim, sardonic humor of the man and, in spite of his words,
would not have been surprised at some fearful sentence. As for Napopo,
the bitterness of death was almost past. Hope had not yet begun to
torture him.

Then amid the silence of the multitude the king spoke again, almost a
smile in his furrowed face.

“My sentence is that the men of Puna be not required to pay the fish
tax, except as a gift of love. Well do I deserve to lose the fish. That
day, I remember, I felt lucky not to have lost my life. Go, Napopo, and
defend the shores of Puna against every doer of a lawless deed. And the
child thou didst bear upon thy back, what has become of it?”

“He is here, my lord,” said Napopo, scarcely knowing whether or not he
was dreaming, as he brought forward a young man, tall and erect and
handsome as any warrior in Kamehameha’s suite.

“It is well,” said the monarch, “he shall be my care and shall be
numbered among my bodyguard. May the gods give him a heart as fearless
as his sire’s!”

       *       *       *       *       *

The next day Kamehameha promulgated the law known as “Mamalahoe”--“the
law of the splintered paddle”--by which it was decreed that any chief
who should henceforth engage in a raid upon unarmed and helpless people
should be surely put to death.

Thus the king proved himself worthy to rule, because strong enough to
condemn publicly the errors of his past.




IV

THE SLANDERED PRIEST OF OAHU


The chiefs left the council chamber of Kahahana moody and displeased.
Such a proposition as they had heard had never before been suggested
by a king of Oahu. The wiles of Kahekili, the _moi_ of Maui, they
knew. Like a greedy octopus, he was ever stretching out his tentacles
to lay hold on everything within reach, and his eyes had for many a
long year been on the coastland of Kualoa. But that Kahahana, their
own feudal lord, the king who had but recently been installed with
extraordinary solemnities and the sacrifice of an unwonted number of
victims, the king whom they were expecting to bring back the glorious
days of Peleioholani, should propose such a cession was far more than
weakness; it was imbecility and treason. They gazed in imagination
upon the beautiful amphitheatre of Koolau Bay, stretching in a perfect
semi-circle from Kualoa Point to Kaneohe, counted up the revenue in
whalebone and whale’s teeth it was wont to produce and at once, in a
fierce kind of unanimity, overrode the proposal of the king. They then
despatched, in the name of the whole college of the _alii_, a rejoinder
to the king of Maui, such as would stir up that terrible old warrior
even from his _awa_-drinking to order forth the _lunapais_ with the
chant of war. However, better war than disgrace, they felt--better
even defeat, better to prostrate themselves before Kahekili with the
ignominious appeal of the vanquished, “_E make paha, e ola paha--iluna
ke alo? ilalo ke alo?_” than tamely to give away the choicest of their
lands. Let the country be parcelled out after defeat, and not before!

Such had been the patriotic advice of the priest Kaopulupulu, who had
long stood near the throne of Oahu, a support to its kings, learned
in the traditions of kingship and in the lore of the gods, skilled
not only to read the clouds and the auguries, but also to understand
the hearts of mortals and of spirits. The white hair which descended
over his dusky shoulders covered a brain whose like for experience and
sagacity Oahu did not contain from Maena to Makapuu.

So the chiefs departed to send their message, leaving Kahahana in no
enviable mood, reclining on the _lanai_. Truth to say, he was ashamed
of himself and had made his proposal not over willingly. He had been
brought up with Kahekili on the island of Maui, had adventured with
him in the wars against Hawaii, their spears had drunk blood together,
nay, they had become almost one in family ties, for he had taken the
half-sister of Kahekili for his bride. Thus, in making himself the tool
of Kahekili, the weak and credulous chief had acted without considering
the aspects his proposal would present to the rest of the _alii_.
Now, ill at ease, bitter and angry, as well as ashamed, he could only
anticipate what would be the wrath of Kahekili and what degree of
revenge he would plan.

Kahahana was right in one particular at least. Kahekili, when he
received the news, went almost stark mad with anger. His followers
whispered one to another that he had become “_hehena_,” and quailed
before him, or, if possible, kept themselves afar from the royal
enclosure. At length, however, the paroxysm passed and counsel took the
place of passion. There sits Kahekili, a mighty man yet, in spite of
his years, emaciated somewhat through the drinking of awa, but terrible
to look on. One side of his body was tattooed almost black, the other
retained its natural hue, his eyes were somewhat heavy, yet now and
again lustrous with his thoughts. Long had he dreamed of being the
possessor of Kualoa. It was his “Naboth’s Vineyard.” Here were ivory
and whalebone enough to make him rich and envied. He had deemed the
fool Kahahana sufficiently his creature and vassal not to gainsay him
in such a matter as this. Now, wherefore should he not pronounce the
word and send out the black _maika_-stone to the chiefs for war?

But other and craftier counsels prevailed. Why go to the trouble of war
if he could break the power of Oahu some easier way? Oahu was strong
and formidable in battle array, thanks to the counsel of the priest
Kaopulupulu. The issue of conflict on the field was by no means assured
while he remained by Kahahana’s side. Kaopulupulu removed, the fruit
of Oahu would fall from the tree into his hands. Were it not better
to proceed craftily? Fortunately, he had in his court the younger
brother of Kaopulupulu, whose jealousy of the high-priest of Oahu was
notorious, and with him ere the day was done, had Kahekili speech and
agreement.

The days went by and Kahahana began to lose his uneasy mind. Kahekili
had taken his rebuff much more readily than of wont, and there was no
sign of hostile preparation or intent. Only Kaopulupulu persisted in
urging the king to beware and remain ready for a visit from Kahekili’s
flotilla of canoes at any hour of the day or night.

One day, nearly two weeks from the time the cession of Kualoa had been
rejected, he was on his way to the royal _lanai_ to urge a doubling of
the coast watch, when, greatly to his surprise, as he went in to stand
before the king, there went out Nanoa, his brother, who had come with
messages from Kahekili. Kaopulupulu liked not the look which Nanoa cast
upon him as he passed, but shame withheld him from mistrusting so close
a kinsman, and he replied heartily to the other’s formal salutation.
But when he stood before the king, Kahahana looked blackly on him and
gave him no such greeting as had been customary. Kaopulupulu misdoubted
in his heart that some evil was afoot, and presently learned from the
king that he was adjudged a traitor to Oahu. Had he not, so the charge
ran, conspired to aid Kahekili to the overlordship of Oahu? But for the
desire of the Maui king to be true to his old roofmate and kinsman by
marriage, the treachery had remained unrevealed.

Kaopulupulu remained awhile silent, sorrowful, and in bitter anger
before the king. “I scorn,” he said, “to defend myself with words--I
whose deeds ought to speak louder than the calumnies of Kahekili. Yet
is he laboring to overcome with guile those whom he fears to meet with
the war-spear. Beware of Kahekili, but if ye will heed me not, suffer
me to depart with my only son to Waianae to till my fields. Time shall
be the judge between us.”

The king, who was scarce prepared as yet to take upon himself the
risk of an arrest, did not withhold his permission, and presently
Kaopulupulu might have been seen with bowed head, led by the hand
of his only son, and followed at a little distance by his amazed
retainers, wending his way slowly to Waianae. Hither he arrived just as
the rising moon had kindled its beacon on the mountain-tops.

That very night, in spite of his dejection, he tattooed himself and all
his followers upon the knee, in token of loyalty to Kahahana.

“_He eha nui no, he nui loa lakuu aloha!_”[A] said the faithful slaves
as the sharp instrument of fish-bones pierced their skin.

  [A] “Great is the pain, but greater still is our love.”

“Soon, I foresee,” answered Kaopulupulu, “you will tattoo yourselves
not for the living, but for the dead.” And all the household uttered
their loud “_auwe_.”

And now followed lamentable days for Oahu. The king, distrusted and
distrustful, held few parleys with his chiefs: more and more careless
grew the guards along the coast; fewer and fewer the appeals to the
gods. In the _heiaus_ the shrines stood neglected. A few tattered
shreds of clothing washed by the rain and bleached by the sun were all
that was left of their once gaudy array of idols, while piles of broken
calabashes and cocoanut shells, with rotten wreaths of flowers and
putrid masses of meat, formed unsightly heaps in the sacred enclosures.
Men’s hearts seemed to have gone to sleep and even the old warriors
allowed their spears to rust, and to dream only of the past.

Into the midst of this doleful time came the news that Kahekili was
preparing to muster his canoes on the beach of Lahaina, but Kahahana,
so far from allowing the tidings to reveal to his heart the craft
of the Maui chief and his emissary, kept still within his bosom the
poisoned shaft and muttered:

“Kaopulupulu predicted this. Surely the priest is skillful to ensure
the fulfillment of his own predictions.”

So his anger waxed against the aged priest and he sent canoes with his
_ilamoku_, or executioner, to Waianae. In his frenzy it seemed better
to slay one who had been his friend than to sit still and await the
oncoming of Kahekili.

Kaopulupulu and his son were fishing along the shore when the boat hove
in sight, and, as it were, by the afflatus of the gods, the priest knew
that it was an errand of blood.

“Farewell,” he said, “my son, blood of my blood. A little while we
shall wander apart, but Lono will see and hear, and will not allow
death to sever us long, since we are true kin!”

Nevertheless, he went courteously to the landing-place to meet the men
and asked them whence they had come. But they answered roughly and
straightway seized the boy, who cried piteously for his life. Out into
the canoe they bore him, and then hurled him headlong into the water
between the boat and the reef. When he tried to swim they smote him on
the head with the paddles and with clubs, till the waves were reddened
with blood and the sharks scented their prey afar. Then upon the shore
stood Kaopulupulu, his white hair streaming in the breeze, and cried
aloud under the inspiration of the gods:

“It is better to sleep in the sea, for from the sea comes the means of
life.”

Men mused much upon this saying in the aftertime, but understood it
not till many years had flown. The enemies of Kaopulupulu said: “It
is a proof of his conspiracy with Kahekili,” but all men afterwards
interpreted it of the coming of Kamehameha, the overlord of the Eight
Islands, from the sea.

Kahahana was, however, not content with the death of the son, and when
he had allowed Kaopulupulu some space for the torment of grief, he sent
again the death-boat for the priest.

So Kaopulupulu was brought, not all unwillingly, to Puulio, and there
in the presence of the king for whom he would willingly have died to
preserve him from the impending storm, he was slain by the club of the
_ilamoku_. All men wept to see such sacrilege committed, as the old man
stood up for his death-blow before the king. Once more the prophetic
fire glowed in his eye-sockets, and once more he cried aloud so that
all the assembly might hear:

“Farewell, my lord, O king! Alas! that I should in my death foreshadow
thine own. When the fatal club whirls behind thee, then shalt thou know
the faith of Kaopulupulu to Oahu and to thee!” A moment after he fell
face foremost and was dragged away with a hook to the temple.

       *       *       *       *       *

Great is the commotion on the beach of Waikiki. The echoes of Diamond
Head are rudely awakened with the shouts of warriors. The forces of
Maui have swept over from Lahaina and have effected their landing
almost without opposition from Kahahana. The Oahu forces, undisciplined
and demoralized, are driven helter-skelter to the valleys, and Kahekili
may solace himself ere long with Kualoa, and all Koolau to boot.

Kahahana fled to the mountains around Ewa and here for nearly two years
was hidden, fed and clothed by his compassionate subjects. Then, having
learned how lovely it is to rely upon fidelity, such fidelity as he now
knew to have been that of his slandered priest, Kaopulupulu, he learned
in his turn also how bitter it is to be betrayed.

His wife’s brother, Kehuamanoha, yielded up the secret of his
hiding-place to Kahekili, and he was dragged by the order of the
conqueror from Ewa to Waikiki, to stand in the presence of his crafty
antagonist.

Thus in all points Nemesis overtook him, and when he died a sacrifice
to the gods at Waikiki, he cried out for the vengeful deities to wash
out in his blood the wretchedness of his unfaithfulness and allow him
to meet the manes of Kaopulupulu in peace.

But a man’s folly, so far as its consequences are concerned, does not
end with repentance, and heavily did Kahekili lay his yoke upon Oahu.
Men, women and children were butchered, the streams were piled high
with the dead, and ran scarlet to the sea, and one of the Maui chiefs
built a house at Lapakea with the bones of the slain.




V

KEALA


The man-eating _mu_ was in the street.

This accounted for the silence in the village. No one was in sight when
the two chiefs, Kakaua and Kapahala, met.

“Ha, Kakaua, hearest thou the news? Kahekili is dead!”

“_Auwe!_ dark the day of Maui! There will be pickings for crows, now
the eagle is gone! Methinks the ‘Lonely One’ in Kohala will soon be
looking this way again.”

“Ay, said not Kahekili to him: ‘When the black _kapa_ covers me, then
shalt thou be the _maika_-stone sweeping from Hawaii to Niihau’?”

“What say Kaeo and Kalanikapule?”

“Nay, I know not. When I left the royal enclosure they were wailing
and knocking out their teeth, and between whiles they discussed the
disposal of Kahekili’s bones.”

“Ah, Kalani had best grind them to powder and mix them with _poi_ for
the eating of the chiefs. They will need all the strength of Kahekili’s
heart to stand up against the lord of Halawa.”

“Yea,” said a newcomer, “and methinks, Kakaua, you need to eat his
liver, for I hear the man-eating _mu_ is in the street, seeking some
victim to please the gods and the dead chief therewith. The _mu_, who
is, you may know, none other than Ahi, the priest, has a special love
for you, Kakaua! Is it not so? _Aloha!_ I go a-fishing.”

Kakaua turned white under his dusky skin, and apparently concluded to
go fishing, too, for when an hour later the priest Ahi came to make a
call of honor--having destined Kakaua for the sacrifice which was to
appease the manes of the dead king--the intended victim was not to be
found, nor was his canoe.

This looked bad, for the surf was thundering upon the reef as though
the shark god himself had come to attend the obsequies of Kahekili, and
Laamaomao in his train--a big leak in his calabash, from whence poured
forth angry gusts of wind along the shore.

Meanwhile Ahi, acting the part of that unpopular functionary, the
_mu-ai-kanaka_, was parading the empty streets with horrible yells and
contortions of the body. In one hand he held a club with which to fell
his victim from behind, in the other a hook with which to drag the body
to the _heiau_. He was very angry, for he had calculated by this time
to have had the hook in the flesh of Kakaua, against whom he bore a
special grudge.

The history, as is so often the case, concerned a maiden.

Sweet Keala! ill was it for thy peace that thou wast beautiful as the
_lehua_ which is wooed by the _olokele_ in the morning sun, and ill was
it for Ahi and Kakaua that they, the one or the other, agreed not to
give thee up and seek another maiden, whereof there were many in the
Eight Islands!

Ahi was a priest and cruel, and Keala loved him not, loved neither
himself nor his vocation; but Kakaua she loved because he was a
warrior, straight as a palm-tree and smiling as the dawn. This was not
pleasant knowledge to Ahi, and he had loved the idea of personating the
man-eating _mu_, because he might thereby rid himself of his rival,
and, Kakaua away--why, surely Keala would love him.

And now Kakaua was away--if not consumed upon the altar of the gods,
assuredly eaten by the sharks outside the reef, for the surf which
boomed upon the coral rocks had cruel white teeth which must have
devoured any canoe out that night. Ahi protested to Keala that, beyond
all doubt, Kakaua had gone down to the realm of Milu to eat lizards
and butterflies and recline under ghostly trees--nevermore to revisit
the upper air. But, somehow, such is the obstinacy of womankind, Keala
loved Ahi none the more, and Kakaua none the less. Moreover, she told
the priest to his face she would rather be the bride of the sharks than
share his loathsome couch.

In his heart, however, Ahi was by no means so sure of the death of
Kakaua, and oftentimes at night he would build a fireplace on the
hearth of his hut, plant _kapa_-sticks at the corners and make a fire
by rubbing the firestick, _aulima_, on a twig of _akia_ and endeavor to
send out his soul through the smoke, to discover the whereabouts of the
man whom he feared absent even more than present.

But his visions for many nights were vague--rolling seas, surf-beaten
shores, groves of palms, slopes of lava, concourses of men, troops
preparing for battle, but no Kakaua. Each night his soul came back to
his body fruitlessly wearied.

His disappointment he revenged upon the girl whom he hoped to win. Day
by day he persecuted her with his advances, and day by day she repelled
him with the bitterest scorn. All the power of the gods he denounced
against her faithful obstinacy, but Keala refused to believe that the
_akua_ were hostile to human constancy, and bore the revilings of the
priest in patience.

But it was hard to live in the Hawaii of olden time the enemy of the
priests. The high chief Hua had ventured to oppose them, and of him it
was said in proverbs: “Rattling are the bones of Hua in the sun.” Is
it, then, to be wondered at that, week by week, the situation of Keala
became more perilous? Till one day, after Ahi had been most violent
in his protestations of love, and Keala most bitter in her repulse,
the struggle ceased with the slaughter of the maiden--on a charge,
supported by false witnesses, of having broken the _kapu_ and eaten of
the forbidden food. Like a meek lamb, and amid the tears of the people,
Keala was slain before the altar of the _heiau_, but with her dying
voice she appealed to the only goddess whose power she knew--Pele, the
mistress of the great volcano whose lava-floods ravaged the coasts of
Hawaii. Pele was a fickle deity, she knew, but surely she would avenge
the wrongs of her sex. So Keala died, faithful to Kakaua. Yet Ahi was
not happy. The people hated him, and his own heart was not at peace.

More zealous than ever in his priestly duties, he made daily offerings
to propitiate the volcano goddess, for he feared the prayer of the
dying maiden, and as the rumor of his subornation grew he feared even
more the living arm of Kakaua, to be assured of whose death he would
have given half his wealth. Again and again he projected his spirit
into space, to search for his former rival, and each time he grew
certain that Kakaua was alive and not dead.

But one night, no sooner had he made his fire, prepared and drunk his
_awa_, chanted his fire-prayer and called upon the terrible name of
Uli, than he felt his soul go out through the smoke, like an invisible
bird, over the sand plains and over the sea, till he came to a dark
mountain mass rising far above the clouds. Here he once more felt
himself touch the ground and able to look about him. Down below through
the driving mists he could see the gray shore-line and the white reef.
The locality seemed familiar to him, though he recalled not its name.
Up above was the mountain sparsely covered with _ohelo_ and with clouds
of sulphurous smoke rolling from its summit. Now he suspected his
whereabouts, and when he glanced a second time along the road he was
certain. The green water below was the bay of Hilo, the mountain was
the terrible Kilauea, where in Halemaumau, the house of everlasting
fire, the goddess Pele was wont to ride the red surges with her sisters
and tilt with lances of flaming lava. The road was the mountain-path
from Waiakea to Kapapala, and up the road, as the spirit of Ahi gazed
at the well-known landmarks, a strangely familiar figure was making
its way. A foretaste of malicious joy thrilled the disembodied spirit
and he hurriedly gained the path which the toiling wayfarer must take.
Right in the middle of the road he made the magic sign known only to
the _kahunas_, uttered the imprecation of Uli, and then, although
conscious that he was only a ghost, and invisible, withdrew to a cave
near by to watch the working of his wizardry.

Scarcely had he reached his place of concealment when he felt a strange
trembling of the earth, and a moment later, gazing out, he beheld a
sight which made him, spirit though he was, shiver like a leaf. The
traveler had almost reached the spellbound square when from the top of
the mountain there appeared the head of a tide of lava like a river
of molten lead, and on the lurid crest, as though riding upon the
surf-board, was the dreaded goddess of the crater. The tide of flame
was making its way straight along the channel of the road, and Ahi saw
with relief it would sweep by him and leave him untouched. And when the
traveler lifted his face in terror toward the oncoming death, Ahi was
happy at last, for the face was indeed the face of Kakaua. The spell
was working. His old enemy was doomed, and by the very power to whom
Keala had made her supplication.

But Ahi’s joy was short-lived and gave way to convulsive rage when he
looked again. For the terror had fled from Kakaua’s face and in its
stead was joy, and the priest following the eyes of the doomed man
looked upon the countenance of Pele, and lo! it was Pele no longer,
but Keala. And the man stretched out his arms in ecstasy for the
embrace of the goddess. Yes, Pele had, after all, hearkened to Keala’s
prayer.

Darkness came over the frustrate ghost, and presently from the smoke
of his own hearth Ahi’s spirit went out unbidden and stood in the
halls of the underworld, the abode of Milu. A great paradise stretched
out before the portals of the gloomy prison-house. There were waters
fresher and palms greener than those of Waipio, and down the mossy
rocks trickled the sparkling drops which made the stream, as though the
tears of lovers shed on earth were here distilling into the river of
the water of life. Delicious perfumes and the song of innumerable birds
filled the air.

But all this gave no pleasure to the soul of Ahi, who made fruitless
efforts not to see, when before him glided the happy shades of Kakaua
and Keala in joyous converse, and he cursed Uli and Kiiaka and all his
gods when they looked upon him and said:

“Thanks, Ahi, through thee we are alive, for we love, and thou, alas!
art dead!”

       *       *       *       *       *

Ahi awoke and the ashes upon his hearth were dead and cold.

As for Ahi himself, his hair was white and his limbs palsied. He knew
that the words of Kakaua and Keala were true, and that the gods had
written down his name as dead. His heart within his breast was like
stone, and his life was gone from him like smoke. He lived thus many
years, but he gave no more offerings to Pele, for he said: “Verily, the
fires of Pele turn to sunshine, and the spells of the _kahuna_ are vain
before such love as that of Kakaua and Keala.”




VI

PELE DECLARES FOR KAMEHAMEHA


The ancient kings of Hawaii showed their wisdom and their appreciation
of the beautiful when they chose Waipio for a royal residence. There
was no other spot in the Eight Islands so blessed by nature, prodigal
as she was of her gifts from Niihau to Hawaii. A romantic valley
nearly a mile wide at the seaward entrance, enclosed on the other
sides by nearly perpendicular hills, clothed with grass, creepers and
shrubs--such was Waipio. Winding paths led upwards amid the jutting
rocks and threadlike cascades descending almost at one leap, forming
the stream below which flowed deviously among the sand-hills to the sea.

At one time, says an old legend, the stream was more sluggish than now,
but a great fish which lived off the Hamakua coast found the supply of
fresh water too scanty for his need and appealed to Kane for more. In
consequence, fresh springs were created, the bed of the river tilted up
and the requisite increase of water obligingly supplied. The great fish
is there no longer; but, if so disposed, you may still see the finger
marks of Kane on the huge stones which he hurled into the river to
raise its bed.

A hundred and eighteen years ago Waipio was still the loveliest spot
in the Paradise of the Pacific. Here the palms were tallest, the
foliage greenest, the blossoms brightest, the water coolest. And in
recognition of this fact many were the folk who here made their abode.
Along the foot of the mountains and extending up the valley as far as
the eye could reach were little groups of grass huts looking almost
as natural as the trees and mountains. Nearer the sea was part of the
patrimony of Kamehameha, and many were the evidences of the labors
in which the great chief, like a modern Cincinnatus, had indulged in
the intervals of fighting his many foes. Here were the fish ponds,
here the taro-patches, here even attempts at the construction of an
aqueduct--attempts rendered, however, futile by the lack of adequate
tools.

At the time of which we speak Kamehameha was at home, but nevertheless
not bent upon peaceful pursuits. This was at once evident from a glance
at the coral beach. Gigantic war canoes painted and pennoned lay along
the sand mile after mile. A great double pirogue, containing mounted
cannon and chests of firearms, was evidently the king’s own special
craft. There were, however, several more or less seaworthy schooners of
American build in the royal fleet.

In these Kamehameha and his army had come hurriedly back from Molokai,
whither he had gone after his great victory in Maui. The battle in the
Iao valley, known as the “damming of the waters,” had rendered him, for
the time being, master of Maui, and, after sending one ambassador to
Kauai to look out a powerful wizard and another to Oahu to interview
Kahekili, he had gone himself to Molokai to secure influence over
the high chiefess Kalola, her daughter Liliha and her granddaughter
Keopuolani. With these on his side, or under his protection, Kamehameha
knew he could appeal with every hope of success to the aristocratic
instincts of the people.

But suddenly, almost from the blue sky, a thunderbolt had fallen into
the midst of his plans. A messenger landed one morning with the news
that Keoua in Hawaii had attacked and slain Keawemauhili in a battle
near Hilo, had overrun and annexed his dominions in Puna and Kau, and
had forthwith invaded the territories of Kamehameha in Hamakua, Waipio,
and Waimea, destroying fish ponds and potato fields, and committing all
kinds of barbarities.

Such news was an imperative summons to Kamehameha to return at once to
Hawaii, and this he had done with his usual celerity. Keoua, taken by
surprise, retreated to Paauhau in Hamakua and there awaited attack. Two
bloody battles were fought, but neither side gained much advantage,
and, while Keoua fell back on Hilo, Kamehameha withdrew to Waipio,
where we now behold him, in November, 1790, getting ready for the final
struggle.

Little groups of chiefs and warriors are sitting on the beach,
polishing their weapons and talking of the prospects of the campaign.

“Kamehameha has been playing with Keoua so far,” said an old grizzled
warrior, scarred with the wounds of twenty battles. “When he begins to
fight real battles, he will win.”

“He has the favor of the gods,” said another; “he should soon make an
end of rebellion.”

“Ay,” added a third, “what chief in Hawaii aforetime has been at once
the guardian of Kaili, the war god, and the possessor of Kalaipahoa,
the poison goddess?”

“And,” said Kamanawa, “the owner of the magic conch, Kiha-pu!”

“And has had the help of the white men,” interposed Kaiana, proud of
his friendship with the _haole_ captains, with whom he made a visit to
China. “See what havoc the red-mouthed guns made in Kepaniwai!”

“Yea,” resumed Keeaumoku, “the ‘Lonely One’ must succeed. Years ago,
when I withdrew from the battlefield because I knew no leader whose
battle-shout stirred my blood, the old prophet Keaulumoku came across
the hills from Lahaina to my dwelling and chanted me the events which
were to come. That was years ago, but I wait in patience.”

“One thing Kamehameha lacks,” said a chief who had hitherto remained
silent--and as he spake the others lifted their faces in expectant
surprise--“one thing the lord of Kohala lacks. Marked you not the other
night how, while we slept, there came a tremor of the earth which waked
us all and brought cold blood to our hearts? If that same goddess who
thus changed sleep into fear would come to the help of our chief, Keoua
would not long remain in the upper air. Pele is stronger than the white
man’s fire-breathing guns! But, behold! yonder comes the _lunapai_,
and with him a goodly number of recruits for the war. Let us go and
hear his news.”

As though the speaker’s thought were the thought of the whole camp,
there was a simultaneous movement towards the _lanai_, whither the
messenger had directed his steps. The excitement grew when it was seen
that the _lunapai_ had news. He had gone well nigh round the island,
three hundred miles in nine days, and had met with signal success.
There had been no need of the _uluku_ to slit the ears of the recruits
and drag them reluctant to the war. Goodly young men had joined him
at every village, and Kamehameha’s ranks were swelled by a daily
increasing army of those who had heard of his exploits in Maui and how
he had at last avenged the slaughter on the sand-hills fifteen years
before.

But the man had evidently something else to relate besides his success
as a _lunapai_ and, refusing to eat or drink until he told his tale, he
only waited until Kamehameha, who had just come in from fishing, had
taken his place on a couch of _pulu_ and then began:

“O king, verily a mightier _lunapai_ than Pakahala has gone through
the island. Hearken, chiefs, and fear the gods! Hearken, warriors, and
follow your lord, the beloved of heaven, to sure and happy victory!”

The chiefs and spearmen gathered round at once and a great silence was
made. Then the orator resumed:

“Keoua assembled his warriors and set out for Kau. They marched, a
great host lusting for the noise of battle, along the road which leads
by the abode of Pele, the death-dealing Kilauea. Heedless of the power
of the goddess, they rolled stones into the crater, unmindful of the
sacrilege.

“But Pele was not pleased with their amusement, neither liked she to
receive rocks instead of _ohelo_-berries. And when the men slept, she
awakened in her anger and threw out the stones they had thrown in,
with flame and cinders, to a great distance. Then were Keoua’s men
afraid and in vain tried to soothe the goddess. But she refused to be
appeased, and all through that day and the second and the third the
earth shook and the fire leaped from the mountain, and the ashes rained
down upon the host.

“Then on the third night Keoua spake and said: ‘Why stay we here to be
consumed of Pele? Let us advance.’ So they advanced in three companies.
The first company moved on over the mountain, and, verily, as they went
they died a thousand deaths.

“For the earth rocked beneath their feet and darkness came forth from
the crater which entered into their souls, and the thunder made their
hearts quake, and the lightnings burned up many among them. From the
pit beside them the fire glared red and blue and yellow, as though all
the sisters and cousins of Pele were holding revel and mocking their
victims. Scarce could they breathe, but they hastened on and gained at
last the free air.

“After these marched the second company and, a little later, the third.
These felt the earthquake and the showers of sand, but lost no men in
the darkness and storm. As they pressed on, hoping soon to overtake
their fellows, they rejoiced and each bade the other be of good cheer,
since they had escaped the fury of the goddess.

“But, ere they had gone a hundred paces further, they saw a sight which
moved their hearts with such a fear as comes to man but once in life.
What was that crowd of warriors doing yonder, sitting silent on the
earth? Were they asleep or turned to stone? There was the whole central
band of the army, silent and still; some sat upright, some were lying
down, some even yet embracing their wives and children, some joining
noses, as taking leave one of another. And all was ghastly and still.
Every heart was chilled with the cold shadow of death.

“Nevertheless, scarce could they believe the truth until they
approached and touched and shook them. Then they knew that suddenly, as
in a moment, the third part of Keoua’s army had been breathed upon by
Pele, and the life had fled from them like vapor before the fire. But
one living thing was there. It was a hog rooting among the trees, and
the men were afraid, believing it to be Kamapuaa, the man-pig, spouse
of the goddess. So they did not dare to stay to raise the wail of
mourners. They hurried on and, after much time, reached the band which
first crossed the mountain. From these, O king, I heard the story, and
thither I am come to proclaim that the queen of Halemaumau has declared
herself on our part. Verily, Pele has accepted thee for a son and will
bring thee to the lordship of Hawaii!”

The concourse scarce awaited the orator’s peroration. A mighty shout
arose from the host, and with one voice they cried: “_E Kamehameha!_
Praise we the goddess of fire, gracious to us and to our lord.”

Kamehameha arose. He had thrown his cloak over his shoulders, donned
his feather-helmet and grasped his terrible spear. Head and shoulders
he appeared above every man in the assembly, and as he spake his form
seemed to swell and his voice increase in power, as though the afflatus
of the gods possessed him. Then he cried, and men in the canoes far out
to sea heard his voice:

“Great is the favor of Pele! Now, chiefs and warriors of Hawaii, the
time is come. On with the building of the great _heiau_! On with
Puukohola! Make the altar ready for the body of the victim, even for
Keoua. A few more days and Keliimaikai shall present Kaili the blood
for which he thirsts. Keoua’s death-day draws nigh and the day of
victory. Praise to Pele, dwelling in the vaults of eternal fire, the
friend and guardian of Kamehameha, your king.”




VII

THE CITY OF REFUGE

_A Tale of Oahu_


“All day long the noise of battle roll’d.”

But it was night now, and there was silence on the battlefield. As
the moon rose, its long shafts of light quivered across the lagoons
which stretched between Moanalua and Waianae, and silvered the coral
beach of Ewa, so that the dark heaps of corpses stood out with weird
distinctness.

The treachery of Kalanikapule had been crowned with success--a
success which in the aftertimes proved ruinous enough, since the
folly of Kahekili’s heirs was preparing the way for the supremacy
of Kamehameha--and Kaeo was dead. The brave invader from Maui had
accepted war with a light heart, since it brought him immunity from the
plottings of his chiefs, and might even have repelled the wanton attack
of his brother, had it not been for the guns and ships of the white man.

But, as it was, he found himself in a trap. “Better to die in battle,”
he said, “many will be the companions in death,” and so fought to the
last, and died.

Yes, indeed! many _had_ been the “companions in death”--not only among
the yellow-cloaked _aliis_ who had hurled their spears in vain against
the “red-mouthed” guns, but even among the women, who, following at
first to supply the warriors with food and drink from their calabashes,
stood at last, side by side, with their husbands to aid them, and fell
across their corpses.

It was thus that Liliha had stood by and fallen with her husband
Kahulu; but, in the moonlight, who was to distinguish hero from hero?
Their souls had gone down into the dark halls of Milu, their bodies
were objects of attention to the foul night-birds which flapped their
dusky wings with joy and scarce had leisure to break the silence with a
scream as they gorged themselves on the red fruit of fraternal discord.

There was apparently no one to disturb the horrid feast, but suddenly
a little cry came from one of the hills of slain which sent the whole
black brood whirring across to another part of the battlefield. A bird
had been pecking at the eyes of the slain and had aroused, by the
smart, some unconscious one back to life.

The cry was faint enough, but presently from the gory hillock whence
it came, there might have been seen a form of a woman painfully
disengaging herself from the surrounding dead. One corpse she sought,
but could not find, or she had been content to clasp it and send forth
her soul to seek its soul in the nether world. So with a little cry,
which might have been the expression of disappointment or of hope,
Liliha, daughter of the high-priest of Kauai and wife of Kaulu (for so
you might have recognized her as the traveling lamp of night sent its
cold rays across her beautiful face), slipped, with a shudder, from her
gruesome bedfellows, and laboriously sought the shore. The little waves
were sleepily plashing on the coral beach, toying with the dripping
branches and blossoms of the overhanging _hau_. Here was an invitation
if not to life, at least to death, which latter Liliha felt was almost,
if not quite, as good.

But when the water flowed around her limbs she felt suddenly strong and
instinctively swam out into the silver waters of the lagoon. The waves
bathed her wounds and cooled her fevered brow, and there seemed above
her the spirit-wings of Hope whom even Hawaiian mythology recognized
and worshipped. She struck out for the Aiea shore, where she hoped to
find refuge among her kin until the wrath of Kalanikapule should be
overpast.

But, as she went on, the wounds bled again, some hungry shark was
surely behind her scenting the blood, and, when at length she cast her
body, bruised and bleeding, upon the beach, she no longer hoped for
life, but for a cave in which to die.

At the entrance of the Halawa valley was a thicket almost concealing
the mouth of the pass. A tangle of _ieie_ had overgrown the shrubs and
trees, so that to right or left of the white boulders, over which in
freshet-times the torrents passed from the mountains to the sea, there
was just the place where a hunted fugitive might hide or a wounded
animal might die.

Here Liliha lay on the _pulu_, never so luxuriously soft as now. (We
may appreciate the instinct which leads the Hawaiians to-day to pad
their coffins with it.) But the valley of Halawa was not to be Liliha’s
coffin. Her swoon of the battlefield was but repeated, and when she
awoke there was near her the sound of many men all talking together
around a fire whose glow penetrated her hiding-place. They were mixing
_awa_; the bowl was in their midst, and they were busy chewing the
narcotic root and steeping the masticated morsels in the bowl. They had
evidently shared in the recent fight, for they had their weapons with
them, and, as the firelight shone upon their breasts, Liliha saw that
the ivory _palaoa_ of several had been stained with blood.

But presently a groan startled the awakened woman. It came from an
inert bundle just beyond the fireglow. The warriors turned their heads.
They were in a merry mood. Victory had crowned their arms, and an _awa_
orgy was in sight. Hence they only chuckled and said:

“_E Kahulu!_ but you shall soon drink _awa_ with Milu! Kaeo will have
some boon companions down there in the dark. There is twitching of
the eyes in the house of Kahulu to-day, or verily the _akua_ are all
asleep.”

The object of their mockery answered not, but turned over to nurse his
thoughts in silence. As his face for one instant caught the light, the
woman in the thicket knew him and--decided to live.

Meanwhile the _awa_-brewing went on, and presently came the
_awa_-drinking. For an hour the merriment grew and then for an hour it
declined, till one form after another, with a sidelong glance at the
helpless prisoner, yielded to the seductive narcotic and slept--a sleep
not pleasant to look on, for the bodies of the men turned uneasily and
writhed as in pain.

But one slept not. He had had no _awa_, and bitter thoughts keep him
wakeful. Death was certain. All the omens proved it. Was not even
now that low cooing sound the voice of the _alae_, the waterfowl,
whose call was always the harbinger of death? He raised his head to
listen, and then he doubted. Had he been in his native woods in Kauai
that low cry would have brought him to Liliha’s arms. How often had
she thus greeted him as she came back from beating the _kapa_ in the
pools. Alas! nevermore should he see her on this beautiful earth, but,
perchance, when the ordeal of the sacrificial oven was passed----

Ah! that _coo-ee_, softly repeated and so near him! He had never
thought of Milu--the Hawaiian Pluto--as a benign deity, but now he
breathed a thanksgiving to the grim _akua_ that he had permitted the
shade of Liliha to come back from the dead. They would keep together,
and soon enter the underworld together, and then--who shall separate?

But was it a ghost who cut the thongs which bound him? Was it a ghost
who, finger on lip, led him stealthily over the prostrate bodies of the
guards, and placed his feet on the downward path? He dared not stop
to reflect. His brain whirled. But no sooner were they side by side
and hand in hand on the dark plain together than they sped fleetly as
though they knew no wound nor fatigue. One thought buoyed them up, one
word passed between them, as they gazed half-frightened at each other
for one moment. It was the word “_Puuhonua_”--the city of refuge--a
word which called up to view an open gate, and white-robed priests with
branches of _maile_ who would bid them enter into peace in the name of
the gods.

Oh! how long the way was! How dark the road! Never had the sun been so
slow rising from its watery bed to look forth once more upon the world
from behind the barred cage made by the trunks of the cocoanut palms
along the shore!

Light at last--and lo! in the distance before them the long line of
stockaded wall, with the guarded gates, and the white flags floating at
either end from the lofty spear points. The grim idols along the wall
seemed to smile and mock alternately. To smile, as the distance to the
gate grew less, to mock, as behind them rose the ferocious yell which
proclaimed that the _awa_-drinkers had not long overslept their watch.
The same sun which made shine so fair the walls of the city of refuge
glinted upon the spears and feather helmets of the pursuers.

Liliha and Kahulu ran like hunted hares, but Nature has her limits.
They had done miracles, but even miracles have their laws, and stern
Nature would yield no more. They stood between the priests and the
pursuers; they saw life before them and death behind them--alas!
ineluctable. Then they looked into one another’s faces and saw
something stronger than death and better than life itself. So they
fell vanquished upon the sand. But as Kahulu fell, he knew a dear,
pale face--no ghost--a face scarred with wounds, looking at him with
radiant, starlike eyes and--was content.

       *       *       *       *       *

A company stood before the victorious Kalanikapule. The chief was
reclining upon a heap of ferns, with a crowd of runners, diviners,
priests, _hula_-dancers, and _kahili_-bearers around him. The eyes of
all, however, were fixed upon two bruised and bleeding forms which
made the center of the company before the king. The chiefs, with their
spears and gorgeous feather capes, the priests with their red cloaks
and white wands were vigorously declaiming before the king. They seemed
unanimous as they clamored for the death of Kahulu.

“O Kalanikapule,” cried the chiefs, “we have brought hither the rebel
to die. His head is forfeit to the king, and the gods desire to drink
his blood. We took him--the slayer of our brethren--the right hand
of Kaeo--we took him in the battle. We bound him fast, foot to foot,
hand to hand, his neck between his knees, and we were bearing him to
your feet. But while we rested, for it was night, and we were in the
mountains, came this woman, who assuredly fought by his side in the
battle and died before our eyes--came this woman, we say, even as
from the dead, and loosed his bands and helped him to escape from our
hands. Verily, had not thy servants been keen-sighted as the hawk,
and very wakeful, they--the guilty ones--had reached the _puuhonua_,
and had now been in peace. But, O king, be this remembered to our
good: thy servants were swifter than the fleet dogs of the _haole_
and outstripped the rebels, that Kaili and all the gods may become
pleasant towards thee, when they see the flesh of men smoking on their
altars in the _heiau_.”

And the priests added to the voice of the chiefs: “_Ai!_ we have
sharpened the _pahoa_ and heated the oven for Kahulu. He did not reach
the _puuhonua_, but fell before the very threshold--such was the will
of the gods! Therefore he must die! Is it not death for the defeated
one who reaches not the city of refuge?”

       *       *       *       *       *

Then the king--with a light playing across his features such as no man
had seen before--answered and said:

“Set Kahulu free! Verily, he reached the _puuhonua_, for there is no
city of refuge like that of a woman’s love.”

And the priests and the chiefs stood silent, but the people shouted
greatly at the decree of Kalanikapule.




VIII

SWEET LEILEHUA


What the rose is to England and the lily to France is the _Lehua_ to
Hawaii _nei_. When the maidens lying on the beach of coral sand or
beneath the _lauhala_ palms touch their guitars and sing the _meles_ of
times gone by, it is of “Sweet Leilehua” that they sing. And when they
would inspire departing visitors with happy memories of the mid-ocean
Paradise they twine around their necks the fragrant wreaths of _maile_
and _lehua_.

And the beautiful flower well deserves its place as the emblem of
Hawaii. Almost all over the country, anywhere between fifteen hundred
and six thousand feet above sea-level, you may see its scarlet blossoms
flashing in the sun. Here it is slender and graceful, like the island
maidens, a shrub some fifteen feet high; there a tree of a hundred
feet, strong and tall, like the island men. Men say that the higher
up the trees grow the finer are the blossoms, and certainly where the
white man’s foot has trodden least the _lehua_ seems most at home.

“Sweet Leilehua” has a lover who is as the nightingale to the rose--the
_olokele_, a bright little scarlet bird, whose life’s happiness it is
to drink honey from the scarlet flower. You can scarcely distinguish
bird from blossom. The tree seems alive with flashing wings.

But, alas! civilization has doomed the _olokele_, and perhaps the
_lehua_. Is it true, also, that their human counterparts in the youth
and maidenhood of Hawaii are going, too?

The following tale of Leilehua and Hakuole is a tale of over a hundred
years ago. Still the maidens sing it, still men remember it; but where
now is there an _olokele_ so bold in his love for the _lehua_ as was
Hakuole, the chief of Oahu?

       *       *       *       *       *

Hakuole stood on Leahi gazing earnestly seawards or turning his eyes
occasionally to the left, in the direction of Koko Head and Makapuu.
The sun never shone upon a fairer scene than that upon which he looked.
Down below lay the glistening white beach of Waikiki, fringed a few
yards from the water with dense thickets of _hau_ trees, whose short,
crooked trunks, glossy leaves and showy yellow flowers were a welcome
relief to the eye from the coral sand. In the blue-green waters which
stretched out to the horizon there was only the break of the white
reef on which the Pacific waves rolled with thunderous noise, and here
and there a fishing boat in which the fishers sat silent with uplifted
spear. Leahi, on which the chieftain stood, rose like a crouching lion
from the seashore, its lava slopes almost bare of vegetation save for
a few straggling indigo bushes, while in the crater behind Hakuole was
a large swamp surrounded by rushes and patched here and there with the
white wings of flocking sea-birds.

The chief was in the very prime of youth, and his figure showed to
advantage on the rocky promontory against the sky. He had upon his
head the usual helmet of yellow feathers, on his shoulders a small
feather cloak, and the rest of his dress was of dark brown _kapa_.
He had a necklace of shells and shark’s teeth round his neck and a
heavy spear of _Kauila_ wood in his hand. It was easy to see by his
erect and martial bearing that he was an _alii_, whose pedigree was
uncontaminated by mixture with the common people, and his training had
been the training of a warrior.

And warriors were needed now, for the great Kamehameha was on his
way from Apani to attempt the conquest of Oahu, and so complete the
subjugation of the Eight Islands. Hawaii was his from Kalae to Upolo.
Maui had in vain gathered its warriors to meet him. And now the news
had come that Kamehameha was on his way to Oahu. He had embarked with
the veterans of his army and the fleet of war canoes was fast lessening
the distance between him and his last great rival, Kalanikapule.

Meanwhile Kalanikapule was not to be caught napping. The flower of
his army was assembled on the south side of the island: watchmen were
stationed on Makapuu, Koko Head and Leahi, and for the last two nights
the waves had been illumined by a constant burning of _papala_ sticks.
But so far no sign of the war prows of the great _alii_ had been
discovered.

Hakuole at his lonely post wished they would appear, to terminate the
awful suspense. With eyes still turned seaward he flung himself down
wearily on the ground in the shade of a dark-foliaged _milo_, whose
quivering aspen-like leaves seemed, like his own heart, apprehensive of
the trouble to come. He was in love; he longed to declare his passion,
to lead his bride to the house he had prepared for her. But what could
he do? This horrible conflict was impending, and who could say what
would be the result? Kamehameha, the unconquered Kamehameha, was at
hand: a bloody battle would be fought. Who would win? Who was even sure
of surviving?

In this dismal strain ran his thoughts, when suddenly the bushes behind
him parted and a face peered through, timidly advancing and then
retreating amid the leaves. It was a beautiful face--with great, soft
brown eyes gleaming like evening stars from the dusky olive skin, a
face surrounded by thick masses of wavy hair of raven blackness, a face
full of warm blood and passionate life. It belonged to no other than
Leilehua.

Sweet Leilehua!--who among the maidens of Oahu was more loved than she,
the daughter of the great _kahuna_, the priest of Lono?

When the maidens sat by the streams and beat out the _kapa_ with their
mallets on the broad, flat boulders, whose song was merrier than hers?
Or who was obeyed so devotedly by all? If Hakuole’s love was returned,
happy was he among men; but if Leilehua thought not of him, there was
no other maiden in the land who could solace him for her loss.

Hakuole turned, and his face changed when he saw her. As the sun, when
it shines opposite the mists of Pauoa, spans the valleys with double
rainbows, so the face of Leilehua brought brightness to the darkness
of Hakuole’s brow. He was again the chieftain in the pride of his
manhood, the bravest, the strongest of the young _aliis_. Raising
himself and stretching out his eager arms towards the maiden, he cried:
“Leilehua, my Leilehua, my beautiful scarlet flower!” But even as he
spoke the graceful form vanished, dropping at his feet a wreath of
brilliant _lehua_.

Had he been too impetuous and frightened her away? Had she dropped the
_lei_ in her haste? Or had she designedly left it for him? He would
follow her and see; but his face was no longer troubled, for he had
felt the light of Leilehua’s eyes, and he knew she loved him. He had
her sweet floral namesake on his neck; he was strong as Kamehameha
himself; he would conquer now and live for love.

But for the present he would follow her, or would she escape him?

“_E ala, e ala, e ala-a-a-a----_”

Loud and shrill came the voice of the lonely watcher far to his left,
and then shriller still, like the harsh shriek of sea-birds, followed
blasts from the conch-shell trumpets which woke all the echoes of the
dead old crater, and sent the gulls clangorous and protesting from
their marshy resting-place to fill the air, hitherto so still, with
noise and motion. And as the upper element was thus suddenly awakened
into life, so the waves below became, almost in another moment, ridged
with foam in a hundred places. Where the sunbeams had slept placidly
on an unbroken surface of azure, they were now reflected hither and
thither by the black sides of canoes, the flashing of outriggers, the
sheen of polished metal, the scarlet and yellow of innumerable feather
cloaks, the glittering of oars amid the spray-rain, the gleaming of
dusky bodies, and the forward leap of the high prows, whose painted
eyes seemed to glow with the fire of life. And in advance was the
famous double war canoe Peleleu, the rowers straining at the oars, and
the _kahili_-bearers and warriors standing around the mighty chief who
was destined to make Hawaii a nation.

On they came, nearing the flat beach of Waikiki, where unless
Kalanikapule opposed, they could enter the coral reef and land without
impediment. But Kalanikapule chose to meet his rival in the heart of
the country among the _palis_, rather than on the level ground; so,
though from Leahi you could have seen the moving of dark masses of men
among the forests of the southern side of the island, there was no sign
on the beach of opposition to the landing of the Hawaiian troops.

Hakuole hastened to his post in the army, but he did not forget
Leilehua, for her gift was around his neck.

       *       *       *       *       *

Of the strife that followed, with all its thrilling episodes, we must
forbear to speak. How Kalanikapule collected his forces in the Nuuanu
Pali; how Kamehameha followed him with his veterans, driving him to
the ridge of the island; how the traitor Kaiana met his doom; how
Kamehameha’s white men brought into battle the red-mouthed guns which
made the thunder roll among the mountains; how the fight raged on till
the awful precipice was reached, from which men poured down in a living
avalanche to the rocks below; how at last Kamehameha drew back his
victorious troops into the lower country, where the loud “_Auwe_” of
the women rent the air in wailing for their husbands and fathers--all
these are stories by themselves.

Kamehameha knew himself at last lord of the Eight Islands from Niihau
to Hawaii.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a day of great mourning in Oahu. In every house there was
wailing and rending of hair for the warriors transfixed by the sharp
spears or battered to death on the rocks of the Nuuanu Pali. But they
had fought well, they were gone to Paliuli, the blue mountain, to
the land of the divine water of Kane, and as the sun set men saw the
great procession of the dead in the western sky leaving the earth
forever by the road of the gods. But when the sun rose again in the
east they turned their thoughts to the living and the day. What now
would be their fate? Kamehameha would hold his court; he would receive
the homage of the conquered people; he would expect his _hookana_ or
tribute. “Let us hasten,” they said, “to propitiate the new king.”
So all prepared to go with their gifts. Prominent among these was
Kamakahou, the father of Leilehua. He had known of Hakuole’s love and
had been himself disposed to accept him for a son-in-law, but he was a
sycophant and a schemer. As a _kahuna_ he had been among the advisers
of the fallen chiefs, and his reputation for learning was great. He
knew the five planets and suspected the existence of a sixth; he knew
all the _kapu_ days, the holy seasons and the prescribed ordinances;
he could prepare lustral waters to drive away diseases and demons. He
was proficient in all the ten branches of priestly lore, and could
even cause the spirits of the dead to enter the body of a person and
possess it. He was skilled, moreover, in the preparation of medicines,
and could cure toothache and bruises and broken bones.

But with all his learning he was avaricious and preferred the favor of
the king to the approval of his conscience. So he prepared his gift and
went.

The court of Kamehameha was held in the open air, the royal pavilion
consisting of a raised couch of ferns over which a slight _lanai_ had
been built of _lauhala_ palms. The king reclined at his ease. Beside
him stood the royal _kahili_-bearers waving their huge feather brushes.
Close by stood the _pukanas_, or trumpeters, with gorgeous headgear and
capes. Near these stood the _kukini_, or runners, the _kahunas_, with
tabu-sticks, while the _hula_-girls with instruments of music squatted
a little to the left. In the midst of the _kahunas_, on a carpet of
red cloth was the famous war god of Kamehameha, Kaili, whose shriek
could be heard above the din of battle. It was of wickerwork decorated
with small feathers, its eyes made of large oyster shells and mouth
ornamented by a double row of dog’s fangs.

Before the king the gifts lay in piles--calabashes of rare wood, logs
of _iliahi_, or sandalwood, rolls of curiously wrought _kapa_, pigs,
dogs, cocoanuts, sweet potatoes, seaweeds, shrimps, _papai_, _opelo_,
_awa_, and many another costly article of dress, or dainty morsel of
food.

Finally, when Kamehameha seemed a little sated with his _hookana_, came
a gift which drew all eyes. They saw Kamakahou leading his daughter
Leilehua forward to the presence of the king. “O king,” he cried,
“behold the _kaikamahine_; take her, the light of my eyes, and let
there be peace between us.”

The maiden, who had advanced reluctantly, stood timidly before the
couch, her face hid in her hands. The black tresses fell down her back
in great coils, rippling over her dusky shoulders and falling to the
skirt of yellow _kapa_ which was fastened around her waist. On her head
was a wreath of the scarlet flowers from which she took her name; on
her wrists and ankles bracelets of sea-shells, and on her breast the
ivory emblem suspended by the mystic three hundred braids of human hair.

Only a moment she stood, and then, weeping, sank on her knees, let her
hands fall from her face, and with pleading eyes gazed into the king’s
face. Kamehameha, startled at so beauteous a vision, raised himself
from the couch and, as he stood erect, clad in the brilliant feather
cloak which was the work of ten generations of kings, he seemed a god
come down in human form. As he stepped forward to take the hand of the
tribute girl, a great shout began--

“_Nani loa! Maikai loa! e----_”

_Began_, I say, but did not finish; for, lo! the circle of spectators
parted, and there strode to the side of the weeping maid a young
man who lacked but little of the height of Kamehameha himself. He
was covered with blood and dust, having almost crawled from the
battlefield, but he stood erect now, and he had a torn wreath of
flowers around his neck. He did not flinch before the gaze of the king,
but caught the hand of Leilehua, lifted her up, and bore her in among
the people. It took only a few seconds, but the stillness of death had
fallen upon the people. Was Hakuole mad? Had he seen a _lapu_ and been
bewitched? Rash man! See the thunder-cloud in the face of the chief who
was never crossed with impunity! What fate did the conqueror of Oahu
meditate for the man who braved him? Would he be offered as a sacrifice
at the _heiau_, or would he be clubbed to death, burned, or buried
alive?

Hark! the king raises his voice, and his guards seize the overbold
youth and the maiden, hurry them before the dais, and stand ready to
carry out whatever sentence of death is imposed.

Leilehua and Hakuole stand before Kamehameha, and they can hear their
hearts beat, the people are so quiet.

Then Kamehameha speaks in strong, firm tones, which show the man born
for command, but with no touch of immoderate anger. The cloud has gone
from his face, but he begins sharply enough:

“_E Hakuole_, so you are tired of life, tired of fighting. You dream
already of maiden’s eyes and a life among the _nala_. You would let
the prows rot on the beach, seeking no more for the glory a man ought
to love. Well, as you mean to stay among the _wahine_, and love a
maiden here more than you fear me, I suspend you from a soldier’s duty
till the moon Ikiiki returns. Away! and for the girl, Leilehua, the
faithful in love, all the lands which were her father’s are hers from
henceforth. Take the _kaikamahine_--beautiful is she as the morning
breaking the shadows--and may the loves of Leilehua and Hakuole be as
glorious to Hawaii as the wars of Kamehameha.”

Kamehameha had indeed won a greater victory than that of Nuuanu
Pali, for the hearts of the people, and not their bodies only, were
henceforth his forever.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus the first of the Seven Kings of Hawaii established his sovereignty
and founded a dynasty, and the statue of this “Napoleon of the
Pacific” in front of Aliiolani Hale, in Honolulu, will ever attract
the reverence of men. Had all the island kings been like the first
Kamehameha, Hawaii had never more known the strife of factions.

Hakuole and Leilehua had a long honeymoon, in which they learned
depths of love as yet unfathomed. Then they came back to be among the
staunchest supporters of the new king. Love grew with the years, and
the sweet singers of Hawaii to-day can choose no better theme to bring
back the romance of the old barbaric times than the story of sweet
Leilehua and her bold lover Hakuole, who for her sake braved the wrath
of a king.




IX

THE SPOUTING CAVE OF LANAI

  “Over the mountains and under the waves.
   Over the fountains and under the graves.
   Over floods that are deepest,
       Which Neptune obey,
   Over rocks that are steepest,
       Love will find out the way.”

                               --_Old Song._


Readers of Byron will remember, in his poem entitled, “The Island,” the
description of a wonderful cavern at Toobanai, the only entrance to
which was under the sea. The way by which Neuha guided Torquil to its
safe retreat is described as follows:

  “Young Neuha plunged into the deep, and he
   Follow’d; her track beneath the native sea.
   Was as a native’s of the element,
   So smoothly, bravely, brilliantly she went,
   Leaving a streak of light behind her heel,
   Which struck and flash’d like an amphibious steel.
   Closely, and scarcely less expert to trace
   The depths where divers hold the pearl in chase,
   Torquil, the nursling of the northern seas,
   Pursued her liquid steps with art and ease.
   Deep--deeper for an instant Neuha led
   The way--then upward soar’d--and as she spread
   Her arms and flung the foam from off her locks
   Laugh’d and the sound was answered by the rocks.
   They had gain’d a central realm of earth again,
   But look’d for tree, and field, and sky in vain.
   Around she pointed to a spacious cave,
   Whose only portal was the keyless wave.”

The poet admits having found the original of his submarine cave in
Mariner’s “Account of the Tonga Islands,” taking advantage of the
license allowed to poets to transplant it to the scene of his poem.

Probably he did not know that there existed in the Hawaiian group a
cavern similar to that which he describes, to which attaches a story
far more romantic than that of the loves of Torquil and Neuha.

The Puhio-kaala, or Spouting Cave of Kaala, is on the rocky coast
of the little island of Lanai, near Kaumalapau Bay. Down below the
rocky bluff is that “refuge submarine” where “Nature played with the
stalactites, and built herself a chapel of the seas.”

The entrance is marked by the vortex of a whirlpool, from which a
column of foam rises up when the tide runs out. He who dared to venture
the perils of the entrance would, on gaining his footing below, find
himself beneath a “self-born Gothic canopy,”

  “A hollow archway by the sun unseen,
   Save through the billows’ glassy veil of green.”

The pleasure of the diver, however, would be rudely disturbed when he
found the cave already occupied by millions of cold-blooded, slimy,
shelly, stinging, dank and noisome creatures of the deep. Once, legend
says, it was inhabited by the great lizard god, Moalii, but Ukanipo,
the shark god, threatened to block up the entrance with rocks if he did
not move. Thereupon the cave was left to its present smaller, but no
less uncanny tenants.

These were quite sufficient to prevent frequent visits to the cave,
though in truth there were few bold and skillful enough to shoot
through the whirlpool into its sunless depths, even if inclined.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the present time Lanai has but a few hundred inhabitants at most,
although one of the loveliest islands of the group. But when, over a
hundred years ago, Kamehameha, with his court, paid it a brief visit to
enjoy an interval of rest and refreshment, he found no fewer than five
or six thousand people on the beach to welcome him. Rich and numerous
were the presents brought, and among those who offered their gifts was
Kaala, “the flower of Lanai,” who strewed flowers no lovelier than
herself in the conqueror’s path.

She was a beautiful girl of fifteen, the daughter of a chief named
Opunui, and one who had no lack of admirers. Even Kamehameha could not
help following her graceful movements with pleasure. But in the heart
of one who followed in the king’s train, the warrior Kaaialii, the girl
made such instant havoc that it needed only a glance for her to detect
the passion she had kindled. And, strange to say, she who had repulsed
so many adorers in her native isle, felt herself won in a moment by
this tall, sinewy chief from Oahu.

Kaaialii, seeing and reading her smile, apprehended no difficulty in
winning her for his wife, but he was overestimating the smoothness of
true love’s course.

When he begged Kamehameha to grant him Kaala for a wife, the king made
no objection, but ventured to suggest, in justice, a reference to the
father, too.

Even this, difficult as it may appear in prospect to most lovers,
did not seem a hopeless task to Kaaialii, for he was well known as a
warrior and better born than Opunui.

Opunui, however, thought otherwise. He had a grudge against Kaaialii
which went back as far as the battle of Maunalei, when they had been
opposed in the conflict, and, moreover, there was another suitor, who,
although detested by the girl, was more than eligible in the eyes of
her father.

This favored one was Mailou, “the bone breaker”--one whose prowess as a
wrestler had won the unstinted admiration and regard of the father, but
inspired no tender feeling in the breast of the daughter.

Now Opunui was too wise to meet Kamehameha’s request for his daughter
with a blunt refusal, and he respected the “bone breaker’s” powers
of body too much to cast him aside for another without an effort, so
he assumed an air of great deference, told the king how pleased he
would be to comply, and how great an honor he would esteem it to have
Kaaialii for a son-in-law, but that unfortunately he had pledged his
word to his estimable friend Mailou. The only way out of the dilemma,
the wily old man suggested, was for Mailou and Kaaialii to wrestle the
matter out between them. He would be content to leave the girl in the
victor’s hands.

Of course he had such faith in the cruel embrace of the “bone breaker”
that he believed it vain for his daughter to aspire to the embrace of
Kaaialii.

Everywhere the news of the contest spread, and was received with
pleasure, for the Hawaiian needed nothing more than _panem et
circenses_ to make up the joy of life. There was only one exception and
this was the maiden who was to be chief gainer or loser by the struggle.

She was driven almost to despair by the news, for she knew the deadly
strength of Mailou, and could not forget the reports of the many wives
he had slain and cast into the sea. She clung to Kaaialii as to one
whom she was sending to his death, and yet one in whom was her only
hope of life.

Meanwhile the arena was prepared. The two combatants stood face to
face--Mailou with his long arms, broad shoulders and mighty limbs, his
fingers opening and closing, as if impatient to tear his adversary to
pieces--Kaaialii in comparison almost frail and slender, yet with no
lack of cheerful confidence expressed in his handsome features.

Kaala knew no more of Shakespeare than Shakespeare knew of her; but, as
she gazed trembling at her lover, she felt, with Rosalind:

  “The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.”

Then the battle began, a struggle to the death, in which every injury
it was possible to inflict was permissible. To the taunts of Mailou,
Kaaialii made no reply, but when the “bone breaker” sprang like a wild
beast at his throat, his shark-like teeth grinning with anticipated
triumph, he was on the alert and, dexterously swinging aside his body,
he allowed Mailou to fall headlong to the earth. In another instant he
had seized his right arm, and with a skillful kick snapped the bone
below the elbow. With a howl of rage Mailou rushed again to the attack,
but was felled to the ground and his left arm broken as the right had
been. With both arms broken, the furious giant rushed once again at the
warrior, charging with lowered head, like a bull. But this was his last
charge, for Kaaialii had him by the hair as he fell, and, placing his
knee against his back, with a mighty effort broke his spine.

There was general rejoicing at Kaaialii’s victory, for the wrestler,
though feared on account of his strength, was too much of a bully to be
popular, and only in the heart of Opunui was there any regret at the
issue. Opunui, so far from being reconciled to Kaala becoming the wife
of Kaaialii, was more than ever determined that the latter should never
carry away his prize.

So, although he opposed no word when Kamehameha placed the lovers hand
in hand before him and pronounced them married, he formed his plan.
With soft, plausible words he approached his daughter, expressing his
delight at her happiness, but requesting that she would come with him
for the last time to visit her mother, Kalani, and speak the sad words
of farewell. The maiden tearfully acquiesced and, assuring Kaaialii of
her speedy return, followed her father down the valley of Palawai,
towards the Bay of Kaumalapau.

“Why go to the bay, my father, since you say that my mother is ill at
Malana?” inquired the girl.

The old hypocrite answered that her mother was at the seashore, where
she had prepared a banquet in celebration of her child’s marriage.
There were crabs, shrimps, limpets, and all kinds of dainties. Kalani
only awaited her husband and daughter.

Arrived at the shore, however, Kaala saw that her mother’s fire was not
there, and knew that her father was deceiving her. Glancing up she saw
his face lighted with a cruel smile, which no longer concealed his real
feelings.

“Listen,” he said, “rather than be the bride of Kaaialii you shall have
a shark for your mate, and in his palace beneath the sea I will keep
you safe till the king has left Lanai with his warriors.”

The poor girl screamed, for she guessed his purpose, but it was too
late to resist. Just below the bench of rock on which they stood, the
Spouting Cave roared and foamed. Opunui knew its entrance well, and
seizing his daughter in his arms waited for the moment when the column
of water settled down into the vortex. Then he sprang and, sinking
beneath the surface, the two found themselves drawn swiftly by the
current down and down, and then suddenly swept through the entrance
into a dark and gloomy cavern.

The greenish light showed even to the fainting girl the horror of
her surroundings, and it was as in a dream that she heard her father
declare that there she should remain till the hated Kaaialii had given
her up and gone. She had barely time to renew her vow of fidelity to
her lover before Opunui seized the proper moment, plunged once more
into the water and was sucked up with the spouting column into the
upper air.

The girl, brought back to consciousness by the very terror of her
situation, was left alone to waste her strength in unavailing efforts
to return through the water. Alas! this was a feat requiring a strength
and a skill far beyond such as hers.

We return to Kaaialii, who was anything but pleased with the bride’s so
sudden departure. He followed her with his eyes as long as he could,
then he transferred his thoughts to the meeting again on the morrow.
But when the morrow came and no Kaala, and, still more, when he learned
that Kaala had never been near the hut of Kalani, his heart misgave him.

He started to seek his lost one, and wherever he went signs of evil
multiplied. The path of his beloved led to the sea and stopped; Opunui
kept out of his way and took refuge in a _puuhonua_; the diviners, whom
he consulted, could only tell him:

“The sweet-smelling flower of Lanai is neither in the hills nor in the
valleys. Search the sea. There are cliffs that are hollow, and caves
beneath the waves.”

With this vague oracle in his mind he wandered along the rocky shore,
crying out in his despair:

“O Kaala, Kaala! if living, where sleepest thou? If dead, where rest
thy bones?”

Suddenly from the waters below him there seemed to come a voice
mounting upward from a wraith of water. He looked below, and the
vortex at his feet seemed to call him by name and invite him. She was
dead, he thought, her spirit had called! What could he do better than
die too?

So with the cry “Kaala” upon his lips, he leaped and was engulfed in
the waves which dragged him below as with invisible hands.

A friend following him and knowing that here was the entrance to the
Spouting Cave, fled along the rocks and told what he had seen, and in
an hour or two Kamehameha himself, rowed by his sturdiest oarsmen, was
near the spot in his canoe.

Kaaialii found himself drawn downwards till he no longer believed
himself alive. At last his feet gained the sloping beach and he found
his head once more above water, but, in the dark, he believed he had
arrived in the hall of the dead. The thundering of the breakers sounded
above him, life seemed left far behind, but both hope and memory came
back with the touch of cold and slimy things crawling over and stinging
his flesh. He knew he was alive, and just at that moment a low moan
reached his ears which made his heart stand still.

Looking around he saw a dark form upon the strand, and from this
direction came the moaning.

He crawled towards it, and had barely reached it ere he heard his name
pronounced. It was the body of Kaala he saw before him and the creeping
things of the sea were sucking her blood.

Kaaialii flung himself upon her with a passionate kiss.

“O Kaala! Kaaialii is here!” He pushed back her wet hair, took her in
his arms, and began to carry her towards the opening of the cave. But
with a voice which grew gradually fainter, Kaala told him that she was
dying.

“I am so happy that you are here! Lay me down and let me die!”

The smile that played upon her lips testified to her joy, but it also
made Kaaialii hope for her life. When, however, he laid his hand upon
her heart, it was cold and still. Death had come and found her happy.

But Kaaialii still clasped his precious burden as though waiting for
Kaala to awake. He sat in silence, all unconscious of the flight of
time, until he was roused from his stupor by a splash.

In another instant came another, and then there rose up from the water
two forms: first the figure of Ua, a friend of Kaala, and immediately
behind Kamehameha, who had been shown the mouth of the cave and had
dauntlessly leaped to wrest from it its secret and his friend.

A swift glance revealed to the king all that had happened. The warrior
laid his dead bride beside him, rose to his feet, and with bent head
stood before his chief.

The stern monarch was touched with Kaaialii’s unspoken grief. “I see,”
he said; “she is dead. Let her rest; she can have no better sepulchre.
Come, Kaaialii, let us go.”

Then Kaaialii came to himself. He had never gone further in his
thoughts as yet than the discovery of his loved one. Now he knew and
faced the consequences.

“Go?” he cried. “Nay, I stay. Oh, my king, never have I disobeyed you
before, and never will I disobey you again. But here I must stay. My
life ends here.”

With a swift movement he seized a stone, dashed it against his head,
crushing into the very brain, then sank lifeless beside the body of
Kaala.

Kamehameha left them together, and by-and-by had them wrapped in folds
of _kapa_. There their bones lie to-day. Few, however, to-day know the
secret of the entrance to Puhio-Kaala.

The minstrels made a dirge about it and in after years, when Kamehameha
rested at Kealia or Waipio, there was no _mele_ he loved so well to
hear as that which told of the faith of Kaala and Kaaialii:

  “Oh! dead is Kaaialii, the young chief of Hawaii,
   The chief of few years and many battles.
   His limbs were strong and his heart was gentle.
   His face was like the sun, and he was without fear.
   For his love he plunged into the deep waters;
   For his love he gave his life.”




X

LONO’S LAST MARTYR


The heroes of victory are rarely without their monuments: the heroes
of lost causes are too often forgotten. The old order changes, giving
place to new, and in course of time we praise the bold innovators who
let in the light, but we forget that even the defeated darkness may
have its martyrdoms, its faith and its courage worthy of the poet’s
song.

It is a story of such heroism as this which gathers round a neglected
tumulus, now well nigh hidden in clustering ferns and creeping vines
on the island of Hawaii. Not far from Kilau, on the western coast of
the island, almost under the shadow of Mauna Hualalai, which rises
nearly 9,000 feet above the sea, there is a plain of rough lava, whose
barrenness is only in places veiled by tufts of waving grass and by
spreading creepers and richly hued flowers. In many places there rise
the ruins of former temples and fortifications belonging to the old
warlike time. The massive, squarely shapen stones contrast strangely
with the spherical volcanic boulders which attest that here Nature has
warred as well as man. After traveling over two miles of such country
as this you will begin to stumble over frequent heaps of stones well
nigh concealed in the grass and ferns. Your imagination suggests
graves, rightly so, and you pick your way among them till you come
to Kuamoo, where there is an oblong cairn, some ten feet long by six
wide, built in the form of a tomb, and almost hidden from sight in the
greenery of innumerable ferns and the blossoms of morning glory and
passion flower. Well does Nature keep the spot beautiful and fragrant,
for here lie side by side the mortal remains of two heroes and two
lovers, whom, heathen though they were, the new time will not willingly
permit to be forgotten.

It was in the autumn of 1819 that the great change came which has been
hailed by many as the day of new birth for the Eight Islands--the
abolition of the tabu and the destruction of the idols. We shall not
attempt to defend the anterior condition of the island kingdom, but it
will be seen in the course of this story that the transition was by no
means without its element of danger and mischief.

No darkness could well have been deeper than that of olden Hawaii,
with its bloody worship, its human sacrifices, its oppression of
the _makaainana_, or common people, and, above all, its tabu. How
this pressed with leaden weight upon the people would be almost
incredible if described in detail. Suffice it to say that for every
act and condition of life there was a tabu, extending to food, dress,
etiquette, time, place, labor, and privilege. And for every breach of
the tabu there was but one penalty--death.

It might, therefore, be thought that its abolition would be received
with universal applause, that only from the hearts of the cruel bigots
of heathenism, monsters thirsting for human gore, tyrants ruling
by oppression and fraud, would there be a sigh of regret when the
death-knell of the old heathenism sounded forth.

This, however, was not the case. Viewing the matter from close quarters
we can easily see that the priests and worshippers of Lono, who
protested against the act of Liholiho had some justice on their side.

The mighty Kamehameha had breathed his last, and his dust had been
hidden away somewhere, where, no one but Hoapili knew, among the
mountains of Hawaii. Liholiho, his successor, was under the influence
of the queen mother, Kaahumanu, who had long been chafing under the
restraints of the tabu upon her sex. He himself, a youth of twenty-two,
no stranger, unfortunately, to the fire-water of the whalers, deemed
the law of tabu overmuch of a clog on his own princely liberty, and as
entailing, moreover, a heavy expenditure for the support of the state
idolatry and the maintenance of the priesthood.

Arrived at Kawaihae, he heard of Kaahumanu’s intention to attempt
the sacrilege, and, not indisposed to have his own share in the
contemplated work, immediately sailed to the south. Landing at Puako,
there followed a series of debauches to which the court of Kamehameha
had been a stranger. For twenty-four hours the tumultuous merriment
went on. The royal party joined the _hula_-dancers in their obscene
revelry. They tossed bottles of liquor to the sea gods, inviting them
to drink themselves drunk with them, and at last the moment arrived
when a public violation of the tabu was to take place, in order to
show that the old order had passed forever. This breach with the past
was made by the king’s deliberate act of sending prohibited food from
his own table to that of the women, and by his taking his own place
among them. In a moment the royal example was followed, men and women
were eating and drinking promiscuously together, and the feast was no
longer “_ai kapu_,” or sacred eating, but “_ai noa_,” or common eating.
A few chiefs turned pale in their drunkenness at the outrages offered
to their religion and their law, some strode forth indignant and held
counsel together, while Liholiho and the high-priest, Hewahewa, with
their drunken crew, rode forth to destroy the images of the insulted
gods, and the shrines where no sacrifice should be offered more.

We shall not be ashamed to stay among the few still faithful to the
old order and its traditions. It is true the tabu was tyrannous and
cruel beyond belief, but a cruel code is far better than anarchy, and
Liholiho had nothing to put in the place of the tabu but the lawless
wantonness of the whalers. Was the liquor of the white men a better
inspiration than the will of the chiefs? Had not Kamehameha, to whom
the land owed prosperity and peace, deliberately given up drinking
the _haole_ gin and expressly warned his people against falling into
its pernicious snare? And now had they not lived to see his son, a
shameful sight to the people, reeling on horseback, arms and legs
extended, raging against the gods of their fathers? If Vancouver had
sent the white teacher he had promised they might have heard tidings
worth giving ear to, as, rumor had it, had been the case in Tahiti,
but surely it was better to keep the old law, by which the chiefs and
people alike guided their steps, until they had considered the new!

The chief speaker in the conference was the young and handsome
Kekuaokalani, upon whom had fallen the defense of the traditions of
church and state. No nobler Hawaiian had ever been listened to by the
_alii_. Well nigh seven feet in height, with masses of raven black hair
hanging upon his shoulders, perfect in features and form, wise, brave
and magnetic, a chief of even bluer blood than his uncle Kamehameha, by
his own choice also a priest, equal in learning to Hewahewa, he was a
man well fitted to be the leader of a cause however desperate it might
appear. Moreover, his marriage with the beautiful Manono, who lived in
the light of his love, had touched the sympathy and imaginations of the
people, and when he strode forth from the wild revelry of the crowd,
bearing in his arms the insulted image of Lono, he may well have seemed
a hero, or even a demi-god, to the amazed and troubled people.

Whether ambitious or not, Kekuaokalani conceived that to him had
come a charge from the gods to avenge their cause upon a drunken and
degenerate king and to take the place before the shrines vacated by
the renegade Hewahewa. As for Kaahumanu, he knew her to be a light
woman, whose escapades had sorely troubled the heart and patience of
Kamehameha. Certainly Lady Pele, goddess of the fire-world, slumbering
within the mountain, would protect her honor against law-breakers such
as she.

So Kekuaokalani withdrew to Kaaweloa, where the conservative leaders
and the priests offered him the crown, with the oracular saying: “A
religious chief shall possess the kingdom, but irreligious chiefs
shall always be poor.” It was a dangerous honor thus thrust upon him,
but he accepted it gladly and prepared for the trial of strength with
Liholiho. Many of the people who shared his spirit gathered around him
and, when the winter solstice brought with it the annual feast of Lono,
the festival was kept with a sincerity and enthusiasm all the more
impressive from the presentiment entertained by not a few that it was
the last festival which Lono would ever have in Hawaii. It is not a
little pathetic to contemplate the people “about to die” face to face
with the gods “about to die” for these five strange, sad, festive days.

Meanwhile the work of the royal “reformers” went on throughout the
land and a month passed by, during which the news came daily of the
pulling down of _heiaus_ and the burning of idols. The king was happy
in his iconoclasm, but no word came to him of the preparations of
Kekuaokalani. Then suddenly the tidings reached Liholiho that Hamakua
was being invaded by the rebels, and that one of the chiefs, Kainapau
by name, was slain. Some of the king’s favorites endeavored to belittle
the affair and strove to allay the royal alarm by offering, with forty
warriors, to suppress the insurrection. Hewahewa, the renegade priest,
knew Kekuaokalani better, and declared:

“Not forty times forty will be enough! Kekuaokalani is in the field to
conquer or to die!”

Then the alarm was genuine and general, and while the resourceful
Kaahumanu bethought herself of the purchase of muskets from the white
traders, Liholiho endeavored to quench the fire of rebellion by the
sending of an embassy.

Some of the most notable men in the crowd were selected, men close
of kin to Kekuaokalani, as well as high in the counsels of Liholiho.
There was prominent among them, Naihe, the uncle of the rebel chief,
and Kalaimoku, the commander of the king’s forces. And with these was
Keopuolani, the bluest blooded queen of Kamehameha.

“We come,” they said, “to make peace between you and the king. Liholiho
offers you freedom to follow your own religion if you will consent to
lay aside your arms.”

“Alas!” replied the chief, “to what avail is liberty to worship when
the gods and the temples are consumed with fire? How can we serve the
gods acceptably when the tabu exists no more and men know not what is
sacred and what is common?”

“You will have war, then?” asked the ambassadors.

“Nay, I choose not,” cried Kekuaokalani. “Here stand I where Liholiho
and Hewahewa, king and high-priest, should stand to defend the
traditions to which I am pledged by my oath as _alii_. Lono will not
forget the faithful, and if we die we die true to our ancestors and to
the gods who made them kings.”

Kalaimoku withdrew with his company sadly and respectfully, and
Kekuakoalani went within his house and, falling upon the breast of his
wife, burst into tears.

O! beautiful was life surrounded with the love of Manono! Hard it were
to die and go beneath the ground with such sunshine flooding the earth.
But Kekuaokalani was right: “He could not choose.”

“Is there a choice for strong souls to be weak?” Though he die, he must
be loyal to his faith in Lono. The night before, the _alae_ had uttered
its shrill note of presaging ill outside the house. Manono was all
disconsolate with so many auguries of ill about her, but her husband
bravely used every endeavor to turn aside her fears, saying that
forebodings of ill were only for those who did ill. Yet he felt in his
heart that the gods perhaps intended to take their cause into their own
hands, and that he might be only a sacrifice where he had hoped to be a
deliverer.

Nevertheless, the next morning, when the army made itself ready for
the march, Kekuaokalani had a countenance wherein was no trace of fear
or foreboding. With cheerful shouts of encouragement to his eager
followers, he trod the lava plains with as much alacrity as if starting
to a feast, and close behind him, rather than with the other women
in the rear, marched Manono, happier to stand on the field of blood
beside her lover than to tarry behind in ignoble safety. There were
priests of Lono, too, carrying the gods newly arrayed for the carnage.
Perchance, yet once again, might the war god Kaili be seen flying above
the contending hosts, a luminous streak of vapor, uttering aloud the
war cries which had cleared the way to victory for Kamehameha. How the
drunkard Liholiho would feel his blood freezing in his veins at such an
apparition!

As they marched along they came to the spot where, twelve generations
before, the mighty giant Maukaleoleo had appeared to the hero Umi and
had given him strength above the lot of man to overcome his foes. Would
that now that terrific figure might appear, plucking the cocoanuts from
the tallest trees as he walked, or wading out to sea among the canoes!

But, alas! no marvels came to aid their faith. They must fight the
battle of the gods alone to-day.

So at last they came to Kuamoo on the morning of December 19, 1819,
a day forever memorable in the history of Hawaii as the day in which
the forces of the old era were defeated by those of the new, both
struggling in the dark and ignorant of the light which was so soon to
come.

Kalaimoku was even yet anxious to avoid a battle with Kekuaokalani, who
was his own sister’s son, and he sent a messenger with an affectionate
entreaty for another interview. But, even though his own mother
pleaded, together with his uncle, the dauntless heathen refused to
listen to the messenger and compelled him to leap into the sea and swim
with all his might to save his life.

The forces then took up their respective positions, Kalaimoku knowing
that now only the grim arbitrament of battle could decide. Liholiho’s
forces were strong in musketry and in the aid of foreigners, and their
retreat was protected by the formidable squadron of double canoes which
had been the pride of Kamehameha’s declining years. Kekuaokalani placed
the priests of Lono with the images in the front of his line for a
while, and then loud were the imprecations denounced upon the royal
army. But, to be of more avail to-day, behind these was a splendid
force of spearmen eager for the _lehua_, or first-slain victim. Behind
all were the women, who followed the soldiers with calabashes of water
and dried fish, to recruit the strength of the combatants when these
were weary or athirst. But every woman was ready to fight and die with
Kekuaokalani.

The attack was made by the rebel forces, who bore down upon the army
of Liholiho with an impetus such as must have swept all before it,
had it not been for the foreigners with their guns vomiting streams
of fire upon their assailants. The company of musketeers kept up
such a murderous fire upon the rebel center that, after a terrific
and protracted struggle, this was driven back to the rising ground.
Kekuaokalani, whose tall form was seen everywhere in the fray as he
shouted orders to his spearmen, was wounded early in the battle, but
fought on without knowing it, rallying his forces behind a stone
wall about breast high, where there took place a struggle which
for obstinacy and valour had no parallel in the annals of Hawaiian
warfare. The double canoes commanded by the queen mother, Kaahumanu,
raked the insurgent position with their guns, but two heroic figures
seemed to stand out among the falling after every discharge, as if
bearing charmed lives amid the rain of death. These were Kekuaokalani
and his wife, Manono, who fought side by side, heedless of the heaped
corpses around them. Weak with loss of blood from his previous wounds,
Kekuaokalani more than once leaned fainting upon the arm of his wife,
but he revived again and again to fight with a still more desperate
valor. The temptation was sore when he beheld, through the battle
smoke, his uncle Kalaimoku and his mother signalling him to ask for
quarter; he set his teeth hard and fired again. Had it been Manono
herself, he had most like done the same, though her breast had faced
the bullets! No longer able to stand, he sat upon a fragment of
lava and continued to load and fire his musket. No Kaili flew above
the host as of old, no Lono came to lend supernatural aid to his
faithful martyrs. Instead, the forces of Kalaimoku were advancing,
and Kekuaokalani knew himself left to die, with life still sweet on
his lips. The fated ball came at last, pierced his left breast, and,
folding his face in his feather cloak, Kekuaokalani fell forward at
the feet of Manono, and expired without a groan. Manono wept not, but
awaited hopefully the messenger of death which should make them fellows
again in the halls of Milu. On came the conquerors; in vain Kalaimoku
and his sister cried to save her. Another bullet, unerring in its aim,
pierced her temple and she fell upon the warm but lifeless body of her
husband.

The insurgents made but little more resistance now that their leader
had fallen. It was sunset and under the cover of the darkness any that
could, escaped. Some surrendered or were captured by the royal troops,
a few crept into caves and holes of the mountains, and, covering the
entrance with pieces of lava, lay concealed till Liholiho had returned
to Kailua.

Kalaimoku and his sister stood over the corpses of Kekuaokalani and
Manono, and, gazing long upon the noble dead, exclaimed with tears:

“Truly, since the days of Keawe, no nobler Hawaiians have lost the
light of the sun!”

Thus perished Lono’s last champions, faithful unto death.

Three months later the first Christian missionaries reached the group
with the tidings so long desired. The first news which reached them
from the shore was in the almost incredible words: “The idols of Hawaii
are no more!”

May we not, while rejoicing in the new day which was thus brought to
the land left by Liholiho bereft of law and religion, retain a tender
heart for the youthful pair whose bodies sleep beneath the morning
glory and the heaped-up stones on the shore of Kuamoo?




XI

KEOUA

_A Story of Kalawao_


The laws of men are merciful in intent, but they sometimes grind
hard upon the innocent and the poor, at times through the necessary
imperfection of all human efforts after the ideal, at times through the
harsh administration of enactments good enough in themselves.

No laws have ever seemed so necessary in Hawaii as the laws enforcing
the segregation of lepers; no laws just in themselves have ever been
the cause of so much grief and pain. There have been times, moreover,
when they were carried out neither wisely nor mercifully.

At such a time only could the following story have been possible--the
story of a love which laws could not abrogate nor death itself annul.

       *       *       *       *       *

Pauoa is a valley of almost perpetual rainbow, where the mists dance in
the sunshine on the mountainside and the waters trickle down through
thickets of ferns and scarlet creepers to the long lines of cocoanut
palms which stand like sentinels along the beach from Diamond Head to
Honolulu.

But its chief beauty to Keoua, returning with his net from fishing
outside the coral reef, lay in the fact that he was homeward bent.
There, a hundred yards further, was the grass hut, secluded behind a
screen of banana trees, and rising apparently out of a glistening swamp
of taro-patch made on a terrace of the mountainside. What joy to feel
the embrace of his good _wahine_, Luka, and to have the crowing brown
baby thrust into his arms to fondle! Was it not always worth while to
be the long day away to know such a homecoming as this?

But to-night there was no welcome, and Keoua’s heart sank. In his haste
he waded through the taro-patch, instead of skirting the enclosure as
usual. The child was there, he heard its cry before he entered, but
of wife there was no sign. The baby lay on the matted floor, feebly
whining; the mother was gone, apparently not without struggle, for the
matting at the door had been torn violently away, making the hut look
like a desolate cave.

Keoua did not search the enclosure: he knew what had happened. The
officers of the Board of Health had found his hut at last, and had
taken away his wife, for--_she was a leper_. They had taken her away in
the husband’s absence, for they knew that, had he been there, he would
have fought to the death. His loaded gun still lay where he had left it
in the corner of the hut. They had taken her by violence as it seemed,
and callously left the helpless babe behind, for Hawaiian officials,
even those with bowels of compassion, were not much given to thinking
about babies. Some Chinese coolies working in the neighborhood
corroborated the suggestions of his fear. Luka had been carried away
to the _haole_ (white) doctors, and she would be taken to Molokai, and
there be dead--dead to husband, child and friends.

Keoua was a crushed man when he took his helpless babe in his arms. It
did not occur to him to give it away, as many of his friends would have
done, or even to find a nurse for it. Somehow it reminded him that he
once had a home. He did not go fishing now. For three or four days he
tried to make the babe eat some _poi_, or even, so stupid or ignorant
was the man, some hard taro, or a piece of banana, but, although it
did not cry, it refused to eat, and one day towards evening its cries
ceased forever. Then Keoua, more miserable and lonely than ever,
wrapped the tiny corpse in fold upon fold of _kapa_ and took it to the
Kawaiahao cemetery. Here, among the graves of so many of his fast-dying
race, he found a little wooden hut and knocked at the door. An old
white-haired Hawaiian, no other indeed than Keoua’s father, opened. He
was living here on the very soil which was in time to be his grave, and
to him Keoua handed the bundle without a word of explanation, even as
to the absence of Luka. The two men uttered their “_auwe_” together,
the young man in his youth and the old man in his age, over the body
of the babe. Then, as the moon rose, silvering the cocoanut groves of
Waikiki, Keoua stole back to his deserted hut, with the instinct of a
beast wishing to hide its head in the earth.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two days later the “_Likelike_” is on her way from Honolulu to Mani.
What a dream that voyage is! For a while the empty craters of Leahi and
Koko Head, fringed with breakers along the coral reef, stand out in
glorious sunlight. Then suddenly--

  “The sun’s rim dips,
   The stars rush out,
   At one stride comes the dark.”

Mattresses are spread on deck, the passengers stretch themselves for
sleep, the air is heavy with the scent of the wreaths of flowers with
which almost every voyager is bedecked; overhead the stars swing
like lamps, or as though the whole vault of heaven, with its million
eyes, were one lamp swaying in infinite space. Then, with a faint
consciousness of something breaking in upon your dream, you feel an
anchor drop and hear the splash of oars. You have not, however, reached
your destination yet. This is some boat coming off from the shores of
Molokai for stores for a lonely ranch in the mountains. If you rise,
you may lean over the bulwarks and look through the mists upon a black
mass of mountain wall which conceals the most loathsome scene the
world affords--the great lazar house of Hawaii in Nature’s fairest
garden, the saddest witness our earth possesses to the existence of the
serpent’s trail.

Yes, it is not the chill night-mist which makes you shiver; for,
although you know the leper settlement is not on this side of the
island, at Kaunakakai, but on the other side over the _pali_ at
Kalaupapa, you feel that no wall of mountain can shut out the thought
of thirteen hundred fellow creatures suffering a living death in the
land which God made so fair.

If you had been onboard the “_Likelike_” on the day of which I speak,
you would have heard, almost coincident with the lifting of the anchor,
a splash so indistinct that when some one shouted “Man overboard!”
few believed the cry. Men lazily looked over the bulwarks, but saw
nothing, for the moon was behind the mountain, and presently, with the
comforting assurance that, if anybody had gone overboard, he was by
this time food for sharks, lay back on their mattresses to continue
their dreams and their voyage.

But a man _had_ gone overboard, a man whose heart was bent on crossing
seas and mountains to his leper bride. Keoua swam ashore silently,
fearing every second to see the white fin of a shark start up beside
him in the water. Once he felt the cold, slimy sucker of a squid
against his ankle, but he tore himself free, and, shooting on a high
roller through a narrow break in the reef, lay at last, spent and
breathless, but safe upon the beach.

Yet the worst was still before him. Kalaupapa could only be approached
by crossing the mountain range, and the only path on the other side was
down a _pali_ so steep that it made the head of the bravest climber
dizzy to look upon it. However, there was no help for it, and in a
few minutes, Keoua, recovering from the exhaustion consequent upon
his swim, set off on the upward journey. This was comparatively easy,
though it was still easier in the darkness to miss the path and get
into those haunted gorges where of old the poison goddess had her
grove. Long ropes of _ieie_, tough as wire cables, formed a ladder
up the face of the mountain. By these, scarcely touching the ground,
he toiled upwards through tangled growths which would otherwise have
been impassable. When he reached the top, the sun was just rising from
the clouds, and revealing one after another the majestic ridges of
Haleakala and the rock-bound coasts of Maui and Lanai. Then the wind
came sweeping up and threatened to dash the intruder backwards down the
rocks. The trees swayed and bent, the foliage of the _kukui_ shivered
with its ghostly sheen, the clouds swept away from the bay of Kalawao,
and there, several thousand feet below, lay the white roofs and
_lanais_ of as peaceful a settlement, to all appearances, as any upon
which the sun has ever shone.

But if ever a place could be called a whited sepulchre it was this;
not that Christian love and self-sacrifice had not cast an aureole
of beauty about it which made it sacred, but because here was the
realization of Milton’s terrible vision:

  “A lazar house it seemed, wherein were laid
   Numbers of all diseased; all maladies
   Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms
   Of heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds,
   Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs,
   Intestine stone and ulcer, cholic pangs,
   Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy,
   And moonstruck madness, pining atrophy,
   Marasmus and wide-wasting pestilence,
   Dropsies and asthmas and joint-racking rheums.
   Dire was the tossing, deep the groans: Despair
   Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch;
   And over them triumphant Death his dart
   Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invoked,
   With vows, as their chief good and final hope.”

How could Nature sing so sweetly and smile so fair when the eyes rested
upon a cancer so foul!

Keoua looked down as though he expected to see there the grass hut
of Pauoa Valley with Luka and her baby at the door to greet him, but
the place seemed deserted till, when half-way down, the sweet tinkle
of a chapel bell roused him from a dream, and he supported himself
by a clump of guava bushes to watch the dark-cassocked priests and
white-hooded sisters passing from the House of Misery to the solace of
the House of God. Such was the mood of Keoua that he could not feel any
thrill in the thought of these brave men and sweet women thus living
in grim company with death. He thought only of the curse the white man
had brought to his race from the days of Cook, the discoverer, to the
day when the fruits of ancient vice had burst forth in the heart of his
own home. So it was with hard and bitter thoughts he hastened on his
way, scarce knowing what he intended to do, perhaps carry Luka bodily
away from the pest-house to the fastnesses of the mountains, where they
might live like the free wild beasts and die in peace.

As he came near the hospital, however, there met him, sauntering forth,
a man dressed in a cool suit of white linen, whose keen eye and earnest
serious face proclaimed him the doctor.

He glanced at the wayfarer with something of surprise, seeing that he
was endeavoring to avoid an encounter.

“_Aloha!_” he exclaimed, using the familiar Hawaiian greeting. The man
made no response, but looked savagely on the ground.

“Hello, my man; what’s the matter?” For Keoua looked ghastly through
his olive skin, and his steps tottered. But strength came to answer,
fiercely:

“_Hele aku_--go away--curse you. Before time, _kanaka_ live here, no
_pake mai_--(leprosy)--all _maikai loa_--very good. Then _haole_ man
come, bring _pake mai_. Poor _kanaka_ die; make die all time. _Haole_
man thief steal kanaka’s _wahine_; _haole_ man kill _kanaka’s keiki_
(child). _Hele!_”

The doctor thought of all he might say, for it was eminently
reasonable, all this segregation, and the kanaka had much cause to
be grateful for what the government was doing for the lepers. But he
knew logic was not what the poor wretch wanted, and while he hesitated
the need of answering vanished, for there rose up from the hospital a
strange sound, strange at least from such a place. It was the strain
of a band of music, plaintive yet joyful--no dirge, but the voice of
rejoicing. For in this lazar-house joy is not unknown, albeit it comes
at an hour when others weep. A soul freed from pain, from pollution,
and from the body of death, born into the light of Paradise--in such a
case was it not fitting that cymbals should clash and trumpets sound?

“_Heaha kela?_” exclaimed Keoua; “what is that?”

“The good God has taken to rest the soul of a poor woman who was glad
to go.”

“What was her name?” cried the Hawaiian, excitedly.

“Luka,” replied the doctor.

An ashy pallor spread over the man’s already bloodless face. It was
plain to the doctor that Death had come even quicker than Love. Then
there came a bitter cry, mingled with bitter laughter.

“_Akua maikai!_ Good God!... Ha, ha, ha, ha.... He bad God! He all same
_haole_! Steal poor kanaka’s _wahine_.... _Auwe_ ... _auwe_.... Me
curse Him!”

But the curse came not. A change as though an angel had whispered
to him came swift as thought. He pressed his hands on his heart and
murmured:

“Me no curse Him! Good God! He good God! Sweet wife, sweet _keiki_ ...
I come. _E Christo e aloha mai._” Then he fell heavily to the ground.

An angel had indeed spoken to him--the kindest angel whom God had sent
to Kalaupapa--the angel of Death.

The music played on, and celestial harmonies seemed to mingle with its
strains. It was as though glad spirits met and welcomed one another in
a land fairer even than Hawaii, a land, moreover, where the serpent’s
blight may never come.

       *       *       *       *       *

A double funeral took place in the leper cemetery that very afternoon,
and those who were there said the priest must have been absent-minded,
for at the close of the service he spread his hands over the grave and
said:

“Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76499 ***