We will now return to Hina--or Hooho, as she was sometimes
called--the beautiful wife of Hakalanileo, nephew of Paumakua, of
Hawaii. Hakalanileo had acquired his possessions in Hilo partly
through the influence of his own family, and partly through his
marriage with the sister of a consequential district chief. Later
in life he had seen and become enamored of Hina, the daughter of
Uli, and prevailed upon her to become his wife. The marriage was not
acceptable to Uli. The position and family connections of Hakalanileo
were sufficiently inviting, but Uli, who dealt in sorcery and magic,
saw disaster in the proposed union and advised her daughter against
it. After much persuasion, however, her consent was obtained; but
she gave it with this injunction:
"Since you will have it so, take her, Hakalanileo; but guard her
well, for I can see that some day the winds will snatch her from you,
and you will behold her not again for many years."
"Be it even as you say," replied Hakalanileo, "I will take the
hazard. We do not well to reject a treasure because, perchance,
it may be stolen. Hina shall be my wife."
And thus it was that Hina became the wife of the nephew of
Paumakua--Hina, the most beautiful maiden in all Hawaii; Hina, whose
eyes were like stars, and whose hair fell in waves below the fringes
of her pau; Hina, whose name has come down to us through the centuries
garlanded with song. And for years she lived happily with Hakalanileo,
who loved her above all others--lived with him until she became the
mother of two sons, Kana and Niheu; and then the winds snatched her
away from her husband, just as Uli had predicted six years before. But
the winds that bore her hence filled the sails of the great barge
of Kaupeepee.
The chief of Haupu had heard of her great beauty, and resolved to
see with his own eyes what the bards had exalted in song. Travelling
overland from Puna in disguise, he reached her home in Hilo, and saw
that the poets had done her no more than justice. She was beautiful
indeed, and the wife of one to whose blood he had vowed undying
enmity. Returning to Puna, where his barge lay in waiting for him,
he hovered around the coast of Hilo for some days, watching for an
opportunity to seize the woman whose charms had enraptured him.
At last it came. After sunset, when the moon was shining, Hina repaired
to the beach with her women to bathe. A signal was given--it is
thought by the first wife of Hakalanileo--and not long after a light
but heavily-manned canoe dashed through the surf and shot in among
the bathers. The women screamed and started for the shore. Suddenly a
man leaped from the canoe into the water. There was a brief struggle,
a stifled scream, a sharp word of command, and a moment later Kaupeepee
was again in the canoe with the nude and frantic Hina in his arms.
The boatmen knew their business--knew the necessity of quick work--and
without a word the canoe was turned and driven through the surf like
an arrow. The barge, with a man at every oar and the sails ready
to hoist, was lying a short distance out at sea. A speck of light
guided the boatmen, and the barge was soon reached. All were hastily
transferred to it. The sails were spread, the men bent to their oars,
the canoe was taken in tow; and, while the alarm-drum was sounding and
fires were appearing on shore, Hina, wrapped in folds of soft kapa,
sat sobbing in one of the apartments of the barge, and was being
swiftly borne by wind and oar toward the fortress of Haupu.
The return to Haupu occupied a little more than two days. During that
time Hina had mourned continually and partaken of no food. Kaupeepee
had treated her with respect and kindness; but she was bewildered
with the shock of her abduction, and begged to be either killed or
returned to her children.
The party landed a little before daylight. The sea was rough, but
the moon shone brightly, and the passage into the mouth of one of the
gulches was made without accident. In the arms of Kaupeepee Hina was
borne up the rock-hewn path to the fortress, and placed in apartments
on the lower terrace provided with every comfort and luxury known to
the nobility of the islands at that period. They had been especially
prepared for her reception, and women were in attendance to wait upon
her and see that she wanted for nothing, except her liberty. The large
private room of the three communicating apartments--the one designed
for her personal occupation--was a model of barbaric taste and comfort,
and to its adornment many of the exposed districts of Oahu and Maui had
unwillingly contributed. Its walls were tapestried with finely-woven
and brilliantly-colored mattings, dropping from festoons of shells
and underlapping a carpet of hardier material covering the level
ground-floor. The beams of the ceiling were also studded with shells
and gaudily stained. On one side of the room was a slightly-raised
platform, thickly strewn with dry sea-grass and covered with many
folds of kapa. This was the kapa-moe, or sleeping-couch. Opposite
was a kapa-covered lounge extending along the entire side of the
room. In the middle of the apartment were spread several thicknesses
of mats, which served alike for eating and lounging purposes. Light
was admitted through two small openings immediately under the eaves,
and from the door when its heavy curtains were looped aside. On a row
of shelves in a corner of the room were carved calabashes and other
curious drinking-vessels, as well as numerous ornaments of shells,
ivory and feathers; and in huge calabashes under them were stores
of female attire of every description then in use. In fact, nothing
seemed to be wanting, and, in spite of her grief, Hina could scarcely
repress a feeling of delight as she was shown into the apartment and
the kukui torches displayed its luxurious appointments.
Declining food, Hina dismissed her attendants, and, throwing herself on
the kapa-moe, was soon folded in the soft mantle of sleep and carried
back in dreams to the home from which she had been ravished. The room
was dark, and she slept for many hours. Awaking, she could not for
a moment recollect where she was; but gradually the events of the
preceding three days came to her, and she appreciated that she was
a prisoner in the hands of Kaupeepee, of whose name and exploits
she was not ignorant, and that repining would secure her neither
liberation nor kind treatment. Therefore, with a sagacity to be
expected of the daughter of Uli, and not without a certain feeling
of pride as she reflected that her beauty had inspired Kaupeepee to
abduct her, she admitted her attendants, attired herself becomingly,
partook heartily of a breakfast of fish, poi, potatoes and fruits,
and then sent word to Kaupeepee that she would be pleased to see him.
Kaupeepee expected a storm of tears and reproaches as he entered the
room, but was agreeably disappointed. Hina rose, bowed, and waited
for him to speak.
"What can I do for you?" inquired Kaupeepee in a kindly tone, while
a just perceptible smile of triumph swept across his handsome face.
"Liberate me," replied Hina promptly.
"You are free to go anywhere within the walls of Haupu," returned
Kaupeepee, moving his arms around as if they embraced the whole world.
"Return me to my children," said Hina; and at thought of them her
eyes flashed with earnestness.
"Impossible!" was the firm reply.
"Then kill me!" exclaimed Hina.
"Did you ever see me before I had the pleasure of embracing you in
the water on the coast of Hilo?" inquired the chief, evasively.
"No," replied Hina, curtly.
"Well, I saw you before that time," continued Kaupeepee--"saw you in
your house; saw you among the palms; saw you by the waters. I made a
journey overland from Puna to see you--to see the wife of my enemy,
the most beautiful woman in Hawaii."
Hina was but a woman, and of a race and time when the promptings of
the heart were not fettered by rigid rules of propriety. Kaupeepee
was the handsome and distinguished son of a king, and his words of
praise were not unpleasant to her. She therefore bent her eyes to
the floor and remained silent while he added:
"Hina would think little of the man who would risk his life to possess
himself of such a woman, and then kill or cast her off as not worth
the keeping. You are like no other woman; I am like no other man. Such
companionship has the approval of the gods, and you will leave Haupu
only when its walls shall have been battered down and Kaupeepee lies
dead among the ruins!"
To this terrible declaration Hina could offer no reply. The fierceness
of this prince of the old line of Nanaula, this enemy of her people,
this scourge of the southern chiefs, alike charmed and frightened her,
and with her hands to her face she sank upon the lounge of kapa beside
which she had been standing.
The chief regarded her for a moment, perhaps with a feeling of pity;
then, placing his hand upon her shoulder, he softly said:
"You will not be unhappy in Haupu."
"Will the bird sing that is covered with a calabash?" replied Hina,
raising her eyes. "I am your prisoner."
"Not more my prisoner than I am yours," rejoined the chief,
gallantly. "Therefore, as fellow-prisoners, let us make the best of
walls that shut out no sunshine, and of gates that are a bar only
against intrusion."
"How brave, and yet how gentle!" mused Hina, as Kaupeepee, feeling that
he had said enough, turned and left the room. "How strangely pleasant
are his words and voice! No one ever spoke so to me before. I could
have listened longer."
After that Hina harkened for the footsteps of Kaupeepee, and lived
to forget that she was a prisoner in the fortress of Haupu. His love
gently wooed her thoughts from the past and made sweet the bondage
which he shared with her.