[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.