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----_”