During all the long years of famine and death what had befallen
Oluolu, the young wife of Kaakakai, left in the secluded valley
back of Hana? She saw the blight that suddenly fell upon the land;
saw the springs and streams go dry around her humble home; saw the
leaves of the banana wither and the grass turn yellow in the valley;
saw famishing men, women and children madly searching for water,
and tearing down cocoanuts for the little milk they afforded;
and then by degrees she learned of all that had transpired and was
still transpiring in Hana, including the sad story of the death of
Luahoomoe and the flight of Kaakakai. But whither had he fled? No one
could tell her; but, wherever he might be, she knew that, if alive,
he would some day return to her, and therefore struggled on as best
she could to live.
Her home was with Kaakao, whose wife was Mamulu. They had been blessed
with three sons, all of whom had perished in Hua's useless wars, and
now in their old age they were occupying a little kuleana, so far up
the narrow valley winding into the hills that no land for cultivation
was found above them. They had small patches of taro and potatoes,
a score or two of cocoanut-trees of old growth, and plantains and
bananas enough for their use. In the hills back of them were ohias
and other wild fruits, and, with pigs and fowls in abundance, there
was never any lack of food in the house of Kaakao.
But when the drought came, accompanied by the scorching south wind,
Kaakao shared the fate of his neighbors. His pigs and fowls scattered
in search of water, and did not return. The ripening plantains and
bananas, together with a few bulbs of taro, were hastily gathered,
and the food supply stored in the house was adequate to the wants
of the occupants for some weeks to come; but fresh water was nowhere
to be found, and the cocoanuts were stripped from the trees and laid
away to meet, as far as possible, the terrible emergency.
Thus passed nearly half a month, during which time harrowing reports
from the valleys below reached the kuleana through parties vainly
searching everywhere among the hills for water. Then Kaakao saw that
his supply of cocoanut-milk was nearly exhausted, and resolved to visit
the sea-shore, where he knew of a spring in times past dripping from
the rocks almost on a level with the waves. "Surely," he thought,
"that spring cannot be dry, with all the water around it." And,
swinging two water-calabashes over his shoulders, he started for
the sea-shore. But he never returned. In passing to the coast he was
seized, among others, and offered as a sacrifice in the heiau.
For two days his return was awaited at the kuleana. Then Mamulu
solemnly said: "Kaakao is dead. We have no more water and but little
food. Why suffer longer? Let us drink koheoheo and die."
"Not to-day, my good friend Mamulu," replied Oluolu, soothingly. "We
will talk of it to-morrow. Last night in my dreams a whisper told me
not to despair. Let us wait."
The next morning Oluolu rose at daylight. The last of the cocoanut-milk
was gone, and the mouths of both were dry and feverish. There was
a strangely cheerful light in Oluolu's eyes as she bent over the
suffering but patient Mamulu, and, holding up a calabash, said:
"I shall soon return with this filled with water!--think of it,
Mamulu!--filled with pure, fresh water!"
"Poor child!" replied Mamulu, not doubting that her mind was
wandering. "But where will you go for it?"
"Only a short walk--right up the valley!" returned Oluolu. "You know
the little cavern among the rocks. The mouth is almost closed, but I
can find it. The water is in the back part of the ana. It is running
water, but it disappears in the darkness. Perhaps it comes from Po;
but no matter--it is sweet and good. Luahoomoe came to me last night,
with his long, white hair smeared with blood, and told me he had sent
the water there. It is for us alone. If others know of it or taste it,
it will disappear. So we must be careful, Mamulu, very careful."
Leaving the woman almost in a daze at the words thus spoken in rapid
and excited sentences, Oluolu left the hut and started up the narrow
valley. A walk of three or four minutes brought her to the entrance of
an abrupt and chasm-like ravine gashing the hills on the right. To
its almost precipitous sides clung overhanging masses of ragged
volcanic rock, from the crevices of which a sturdy vegetation had
taken root, and in time past gloomily shaded the narrow channel; but
the interlacing branches of the trees were almost leafless, and all
around were seen the footprints of death and desolation. Not a breath
of wind cooled the sultry air, and no sound of living creature broke
the silence of the heated hills. The mouth of the ravine was partially
choked with huge boulders washed down by the freshets of centuries,
and the ground was strewn with dead leaves and broken branches.
Casting her eyes around in every direction, to be sure that she was not
observed, Oluolu quickly found a way over the boulders and ascended
the ravine. Proceeding upward thirty or forty yards, and climbing a
rocky bench, over which in seasons of rain had poured a little cascade,
she stopped in front of an overhanging mass of vitreous rock, and the
next moment disappeared in a stooping posture through a low opening
almost concealed by decrepitations from above. The opening led to a
cavern forty or fifty feet in depth, with an irregular width almost
as great. The floor descended from the entrance, and was smooth
and apparently water-worn. Two or three steps forward enabled her
to stand upright; but all beyond was darkness, and for a moment she
remained undecided which way to proceed. She heard a sound like that
of a bare and cautious footstep on the smooth floor. She was startled,
but suffering had made her desperate, and she listened again. The same
sound continued, but it was mellowed into the soft murmur of waters
somewhere back in the darkness, and with a swelling heart she groped
her way toward the silvery voice, sweeter to her than the strains of
the ohe or the songs of birds.
Closer and closer she approached, every step making more distinct
the joyful music, until at last she felt the spatter of cool water
upon her bare feet. Stretching out her hand, it came in contact
with a little stream gushing from the back wall of the cavern, and
instantly disappearing where it fell upon a layer of loose gravel
washed down from the entrance. She hastily drank from her palm, and
found that the water was cool and sweet. Then she held the mouth
of the calabash under the stream, and, after wetting her head and
drinking until prudence counseled her to stop, refilled the vessel,
cautiously emerged from the opening, and hastened back to the hut.
Hesitating without the door, to satisfy herself that no one had arrived
during her absence, Oluolu noiselessly entered, and, stealing to the
kapa-moe upon which Mamulu was half-deliriously dreaming, poured a
quantity of water upon her head, and, as she opened her eyes with a
bewildered stare, dropped a swallow into her parched and open mouth.
Half-rising, Mamulu dreamily felt of her dripping hair, and then
stared vacantly at Oluolu, who stood smilingly beside her with the
calabash in her hand. In a moment she recalled all that had occurred
before she dropped into the troubled sleep from which she had been
so strangely aroused.
"Then it is not a dream!" she murmured, clasping her wasted hands
upon her breast. "The gods have sent us water!" And she reached for
the calabash.
"No," said Oluolu kindly, withdrawing the vessel. "We have plenty,
but you are weak and would drink too much. Now lie down, with this
roll of kapa under your head, and while I am giving you a swallow at
a time I will tell you all about the water and how I found it."
And so, slowly feeding Mamulu with the precious fluid, and at the same
time bathing her head and throat, Oluolu related to her everything
that had occurred.
"But will the stream continue?" anxiously inquired Mamulu. "Would
it not be well to fill all the calabashes in the house, and all we
can procure, and so keep them, that we may not be left without water
should the stream disappear?"
"I think it would not be well to anger the gods by doubting them,"
replied Oluolu. "The water was sent, not to prolong our sufferings,
but to save our lives; and I am sure it will continue so long as we
guard the secret and allow no others to use it."
Oluolu's faith was rewarded. Without any diminution in volume
the little stream continued to flow and sink in the darkness of
the cavern until the wrath of the gods was appeased and the rains
finally came again. But Oluolu and her companion could not subsist
on water alone. The parched earth produced no food; but they did not
despair. Every day they cautiously watered a little patch of mountain
taro in the ravine above the cavern, and at intervals of four or five
days went to the sea-shore and returned with fish, crabs, limpets
and edible sea-weed.
And so they managed to live without suffering, while the valleys
became almost depopulated, and all others in Hana were stricken with
famine. They seldom saw a human face in their journeys to and from
the sea, and never in the valley where they lived, and the few they
met avoided them, fearful, no doubt, that the miserable means of
subsistence to which they resorted might become known to others.