held his place against the Maui men while his comrades were driven
back. Several antagonists crowded around him. When one fell another
took his place. Heavy blows from war clubs and spears beat down the
weapons of the stalwart warrior and rained blows upon his head and
body. Once and again he swept back the circle of his enemies. But they
clung to him. They wearied and wounded him until he began to stagger
under the blows against which he furnished imperfect guard. His
strength was gone, and hands were outstretched to seize him and carry
him as a living sacrifice to the nearest heiau.
Suddenly a giant Hawaiian with a very long and heavy war club scattered
the group around the fainting warrior.
As he beat down the Maui warriors his cry rang out: “E kokua! E
kokua!”—“To the rescue! To the rescue!”
He gave the old chief a moment’s rest while he kept the surrounding
crowd at bay; then he dashed against the wall of warriors and broke it
down. Turning, he caught the old chief and aided him in hurried
retreat, while his terrible war club played with lightning strokes
against his foes. The young giant screamed with joy when he struck to
earth enemy after enemy. With the insane inspiration of battle he made
charge upon charge, as he pushed the confused mass of chiefs and people
into an impetuous flight. Then he hastened back to his friend and aided
him still further in the retreat.
“It is Ka-meha-meha the sacred,” the Maui warriors cried; “the gods are
in him. Kaili, the war god, strikes through his arms. We cannot fight
against the gods.”
So they made way for the whirlwind warrior as he helped his friend to
the sea. In a few moments they were in a waiting canoe making their
escape to Hawaii.
Ka-meha-meha came from this battle an idolised chief. He fulfilled
Carlyle’s definition of “King”—“König,” “the man who can”—the man who,
after the battle, would be “lifted upon his comrades’ shields and
hailed as hero.” From that time the young giant was a recognised
leader. His position was substantially the same as that of the king’s
own sons.
This was a sore defeat for the king of Hawaii. He was humiliated and
angry. His self-love and ambition were sorely stricken, but he did not
pour out his wrath upon his followers. He cheered them and encouraged
them to prepare for new endeavours.
He called upon the high chiefs of the various districts of his island
for a more thorough preparation of men and war supplies, that with a
new and larger army he might make complete subjugation of Maui.
This was in 1775, at the same time that in America the “Boston tea
party” and Battle of Bunker’s Hill were being followed by the struggle
for freedom on the part of England’s colonies. In England, King George
was calling upon Parliament for advice and funds wherewith to subdue
the blood brothers in America. Both King George and King Kalaniopuu
were equally obstinate in the determination to rule the lands across
the waters.
The chiefs devoted all the energies of their districts to the
preparation for the new war.
The warriors went up into the mountains to find the Kauila—the spear
tree—that they might cut down and dry the wood for spears and war clubs
and daggers.
The lava ledges were searched for the hardest pa-hoe-hoe—the
fine-grained, compact lava, well fitted for tools with which to hew out
and smooth the many new canoes needed. The stone age is not so very far
away from to-day—in some parts of the world. The forests were searched
for the best trees from which canoes could be made. The sound of stone
axes and adzes rang throughout the land. Hundreds of workmen hewed and
scraped and other hundreds polished, until at last a large fleet of
canoes and a vast quantity of weapons were prepared.
The fishermen made new offerings to their gods. Large quantities of
fish were caught and dried for the commissary department of the new
army.
The cloth-makers sought eagerly for the bark of the woke—the paper
mulberry tree. They made offerings to their gods, Hia and Lauhuki, of
bark and leaves, with the prayer that the bark might be easily
manufactured into the finest cloth. Then they pounded the bark into
sheets which they stained with vegetable and mineral dyes. Sometimes
they made this paper-cloth into waterproof cloaks and sheets by soaking
it in cocoanut or kukui nut oil.
Every taro field was carefully cultivated, and prayers offered and
sacrifices made to the hideous images of gods placed at some corner of
each field to watch over the growing plants. A large amount of taro
must be ready to be pounded into poi the next season for the warriors’
poi-bowls.
The large number of young chiefs throughout the island was organised
into three bands. The young men of royal blood, the king’s sons and
their cousins, were set apart as the bodyguard of the old king. They
were the Keawe, or “the bearers.” They were the supporters of the king
in whatever move he might make. They were personally responsible for
his safety.
The chiefs who were the boon companions of the royal family, who had
the privilege of eating around the royal poi-bowls, were separated into
two regiments: the Alapa—“the slender”—and Piipii—“the furious.”
The Alapa chiefs were the flower of Hawaiian nobility next to the
highest chiefs. Eight hundred warriors were in its ranks. They were of
almost equal stature, averaging nearly six feet in height. Their spears
were of equal length. The bird-hunters of each chief had scoured the
forests for the rich crimson feathers of the iiwi, which were woven
into glistening war capes. The regimental uniform—light bamboo helmets,
feather-coated and crested with brilliant plumes, added to the majestic
appearance of these stalwart chiefs.
Many were the chants and stories about the prowess of the individuals
belonging to this noble band. They were all members of the Aha-alii, or
“Company of Chiefs.” Their genealogies would give them a welcome and a
position in any court on any island.
Allegiance could be transferred from one king to another, or from
island to island, without loss of rank. Once a chief, always a chief.
There could be no system of degradation from the station conferred by
birth.
Allegiance was usually given for family reasons. The blood relatives
were loyal even unto death to the king of their own blood. Sometimes
for personal reasons, such as intermarriage or friendship, a chief
would be led to espouse the cause of a new king. Sometimes captives
were given the choice between allegiance or death as a human sacrifice
before the gods. If they accepted the new service, they were at once
treated like friends and property and marriage secured for them. Insult
or injury at the hands of a superior chief was always considered good
grounds for a transfer of allegiance.
Chiefs were never made slaves, kauwa hooluki—“wearied servants.” The
common people were in a state of serfdom akin to European feudalism.
Life and property and family were absolutely at the will of the high
chief, but the servant could leave everything and seek another master.
In time of war a captured chief, unless claimed as a “blood brother” by
a friend in the ranks of the enemy, or accepted by the new king, was
sentenced to the heiau, or temple, as a human sacrifice. Each chief of
the “Aha-alii” had the right to wear the beautiful feather lei, or
wreath, and the feather cape, and the niho palaoa, or ivory hook,
suspended from a heavy necklace of human hair. He had the right to sail
a canoe stained red, from the mast of which floated a pennant over a
red sail.
The bond of brotherhood among chiefs was a matter of individual
concern. “Two young men adopted each other as brothers. They were bound
to support each other in weal or woe. If they found themselves in
opposing ranks, and one was taken prisoner, his friend was bound to
obtain his freedom, and there is no record in all the legends and
traditions that this singular friendship ever made default.” The
highest chiefs were called alii-tabu—the tabu chiefs. They were sacred
in the eyes of the people, who prostrated themselves with faces in the
dust when the high chief came near them. “It was said that certain
chiefs were so tabu that they did not show themselves abroad by day.”
Alexander says: “It was death for a common man to remain standing at
the mention of the king’s name.”
While this army was being recruited, great preparations were made for
the purchase of the favour of the gods. Temples were repaired and the
gods reclothed. This was a peculiar ceremony. New kapa, or paper-cloth
garments, were made and consecrated to the god with prayer and
sacrifices. This cloth for the gods was made from the finest bark of
the mulberry tree. It was beautifully coloured and brought to the idol.
Another series of prayers and offerings—and frequently a human
victim—then the ornamented kapa was wrapped around the image as a war
cloak.
Such preparations, on so large a scale, could not be concealed from
Kahekili, king of Maui. He also gathered warriors and weapons as far as
possible from his subjects. But he felt his weakness and sent an
embassy to Oahu. He must have a large body of reinforcements and the
only available army must come from Oahu. He knew of only one priest in
the island group who refused absolutely to acknowledge the superiority
of Holoae, the high priest of Hawaii. Therefore, he had requested the
king of Oahu to send the high priest Ka-leo-puu-puu to combat the
supernatural powers of the high priest of Hawaii. Both of these high
priests were of the highest rank. Priestly prestige and power depended
upon genealogy. Each of these priests could look back through a
straight line of ancestors, to the days of the Vikings of the Pacific
and the sea voyages of the eleventh century.
Holoae was a direct descendant of Paao, the eleventh century priest
coming from Upolu, Samoa, to Hawaii. His prerogatives in Hawaii and
Maui were unquestioned.
Ka-leo-puu-puu was able to prove beyond question that the mantle of
priesthood had never passed out of the family since the days of
Pau-makua of the eleventh century. There was strong rivalry between the
two priestly lines. Kahekili of Maui desired to bring the two priestly
powers into conflict with each other. This was the real beginning of
the new war.
New temples were built and old temples repaired by both kings, and all
were filled with gods and priests and sacrifices. Prayers and
incantations innumerable were used by both parties. Many human
sacrifices were laid upon the altars.
At last the Maui priest informed his king that he was assured by the
gods of final victory. “The warriors of Hawaii should come like fish
into a bay and should be caught in a net.” From this suggestion came
the plan of battle afterward carried out.
The new year dawned—the year known in the civilised world as 1776. It
was the year of the Declaration of Independence in America. It was the
year of increased British effort and many reverses on the part of the
colonies. It was in this year that King George’s dark-skinned brother
in ambition, Ka-lani-opuu, set sail with “a cloud of boats.” Hundreds
of canoes crossed the channel between the two islands and then coasted
western Maui.
They landed wherever any little valley on the rugged slope of Mt.
Hale-a-ka-la—“House of the sun”—afforded soil sufficient to give life
or foothold. They destroyed the villages and drove the terrified
defenceless people up the lava cliffs to mountain hiding-places.
Early one morning a part of the king’s army landed at Maalaea Bay, near
the spot where they had been defeated. The chiefs looked over the sandy
isthmus lying between the two great Maui mountains—Mt. Hale-a-ka-la and
Mt. Iao. On the other side of some sand hills in this isthmus lay
Wai-luku, the home of the Maui king. The cry arose: “On to Wai-luku! On
to Wai-luku!” No strong force had offered opposition so far in the
invasion. It seemed fair to presume that they had completely surprised
the Maui warriors.
Through the Wai-luku lands dashes a swiftly flowing stream of clear,
cold water, breaking through the foothills of Mt. Iao. The banks of
this stream had already been the scene of many a bloody battle, hence
the name Wai-luku—“Water of destruction.”
It was nearly ten miles away—but that would be only a short morning’s
race for the hardy chiefs.
The Alapa warriors shouted, “Let us drink of the waters of Wai-luku
this day!” The king, surrounded by his bodyguard of royal chiefs,
watched the splendid array of warriors as they hastened to surprise the
Maui warriors. The king’s prophet chanted as they passed him:
“Roll on, roll on, waves of Hawaii!
You are the surf waves.
The war god rides on the surf
To land on the banks of Wai-luku.”
Over the long desert isthmus sped the stalwart chiefs on up the divide
between the two great mountains, until they saw the valley of the
Wai-luku and the ocean waters of the eastern coast. On sped the eight
hundred bronzed and sinewy athletes. It was to them an easy race for
victory. Below Wai-luku lies a sandy tract through which the winds
swept with power. It has long been a tangled group of large rounded
sand hills. As they entered this rough region the first serious show of
force met the exultant Hawaiians. There was obstinate resistance, but
the onset of the Hawaiian chiefs was irresistible. They literally
trampled the warriors of Maui beneath their feet. On into the sand
hills they rushed, chanting their song of victory. Suddenly their Maui
foe disappeared, and in front and rear and on every side rose up
hundreds of warriors from Oahu—strangers to the Alapa chiefs.
The scouts of Maui had faithfully reported the movements of
Ka-lani-opuu and the coming of the Alapa high chiefs, giving the Maui
king time to select and place his allies from Oahu. The wily king had
made thorough preparation to catch his enemies “in a net.” The
ambuscade was not ordinarily a part of Hawaiian warfare. In battle,
dependence was placed upon the strong arm rather than in cunning wit.
Often the beginning of a battle would be delayed by a series of single
conflicts between challenging chiefs, as in the days of European
knight-errantry. Banners were seldom carried. Some giant chief with
marked helmet towered above his fellows and was the centre around which
his followers could gather. Sometimes war gods—images of hideous and
distorted features—were carried by priests and thrust into the faces of
opponents.
This battle of the Alapa regiment was unlike the ordinary contests. The
brave warriors massed their strength and expected to override all
opposition.
But when they were drawn into conflict in the sand hills their ranks
were broken. They were forced to pass around the obstacles or climb
over them.
From every wind-raised hill the Oahu men hurled heavy stones upon the
plumed helmets beneath them, and thrust long spears into those who
stormed the hillsides.
Still up the loose sand the Alapa warriors struggled, putting to death
every foe, as they took possession of one hill after another, while
their comrades forced the Oahu warriors back through the winding sand
valleys.
The conflict continued hour after hour. The blazing tropical sun filled
the struggling warriors with raging thirst, and the waters of the
Wai-luku were still nearly a mile away.
Then the struggle toward the stream was checked. The Oahu warriors were
continually reinforced by fresh, unwearied men. The broken ranks of the
Alapa regiment were met by a constantly increasing host of enemies.
Soon the larger bodies were separated into small bands, each one
hopelessly surrounded by picked warriors.
Broken helmets and tattered feather cloaks lay crushed and trampled
into the sand. Fragments of broken spears, javelins and war clubs lay
in splinters under the feet. Naked and bleeding the chiefs raised
broken arms to ward off descending blows. They died bravely, avenging
themselves to the utmost in their death.
Only one of the large regiment was captured alive. Hundreds of bodies
of his companions marked the progress of the fight. This last warrior,
Ke-awe-hano—“the silent supporter”—noted for his valour, fought to the
last and then was beaten down and captured.
“To the chief! To the chief!” was the cry of the Oahu warriors. The
wounded man was carried at once to the camp of the king. They decided
that he should be sacrificed to the gods, but his wounds were severe
and he died before they could carry him to the temple.
Two other valiant chiefs side by side fought their way through their
enemies and escaped. They evidently left before the regiment had been
annihilated, for they were unnoticed until they had gone so far that
pursuit was useless. They reached the camp of Kalaniopuu at sunset—the
last of the Alapa regiment.
“Into the valley of death rode the six hundred.” Like sacrifices mark
the brave deeds of brave men in all nations.
This battle received the name in Hawaiian history—“The furious
destruction at Kakanilua”—Kakanilua was the name of the sand hills
below Wai-luku.
Great was the wailing among the royal chiefs of Hawaii and throughout
the army. Sore was the heart of the disappointed king. He called a war
council of the powerful chiefs of his bodyguard. It was a night
council. The old king seemed to have a secret feeling that the gods
were fighting against him. Apparently he desired to give up the
invasion. He was surrounded by a turbulent band of fighting chiefs.
They waged war among themselves when they could not attack the
neighbouring islands.
They decided to press on the next day and defeat Kahekili and his
allies. Before day began to dawn the camp was roused for action. The
majestic masses of clouds almost always hanging over Mt. Iao were
glorious in the morning light as the great army drew near the sand
hills. The Maui army crowded up toward the steep sides of the mountain
as if to avoid the scene of the battle of the preceding day. The debris
of battle, the mutilated bodies of hundreds of warriors inspired the
great army to endeavour to avenge the recent defeat.
But the Maui army had the advantage of a well chosen position. The
Hawaiians had to fight up hill or else drift down to the sand hills. In
either case advance was difficult. Each step forward was fully earned.
Each sand hill passed was almost as much of a defeat as a victory.
There was a full day of savage fighting, marked by inhuman acts of
awful brutality. The native account of the battle says: “It was not a
war characterised by deeds of princely courtesy.” Many noted names of
valiant chiefs were never again mentioned in Hawaiian story. The story
and the life ended together in this Wailuku battle.
At last the Hawaiian warriors were forced to retreat to the camp of
their king, where Kalaniopuu and his guard had waited for the result of
the battle.
Kahekili evidently suffered almost as severely as the invaders, for
there was scarcely any attempt at pursuit.
Kalaniopuu had brought part of his household with him. His chief queen,
Ka-lo-la, was the sister of Kahekili. She had come to share in the
victory over her brother and assist in the pacification of her former
friends. The attack had been made, and the ragged remnants of a
vanquished army had come back.
He was too heavily burdened with camp equipage and suffering men for
immediate fight. He proposed that they sue for peace and that his wife,
Ka-lo-la, be the messenger to her brother. The queen utterly refused to
face her brother. There had been too many past personalities between
them, and she had evidently been a vigorous endorser of her husband’s
invasions into her old homeland. Life was too precious to be risked in
that brother’s presence. She proposed that the royal prince, Kiwalao,
her son, be sent as ambassador.
Kiwalao was robed with all the royal elegance of a king according to
the customs of that almost naked, savage life. He wore his finest neck
ornaments, his most costly feather cloak and girdle and helmet. He was
attended by high chiefs carrying the royal kahili, or large feather
banner, and a royal calabash. These chiefs preceded the young prince as
his heralds.
When his name and position were announced to the outposts of the Maui
army, they fell flat on the face in the sand while he passed by. It was
death to stand before a prince or a tabu chief. Kiwalao was one of the
highest sacred tabu chiefs in all the islands.
Runners carried the news of the coming of this prince to the Maui king.
He was lying on a mat in the royal grass house at Wailuku.
Ka-lani-hale—“the heaven house”—was the name of this home of the king.
As Kiwalao drew near the door all the Maui chiefs prostrated themselves
before him, while the king lazily turned over and partly raised
himself, lifting his head in token of friendly greeting. To have turned
away from the prince, letting his face look down, would have been the
sign of immediate death of his visitor. Kiwalao, with slow and
dignified tread, crossed the room and seated himself in his uncle’s
lap. Then both wailed over the troubles which had brought them
together, and over the deaths among their followers.
The embassy was successful, and terms of peace between the two kings
were arranged. Kalaniopuu returned to Hawaii, to begin at once a new
crusade against Kahekili. During the ensuing two years the war
degenerated into a series of petty raids by which he kept his wife’s
brother busy marching warriors from one end of Maui to the other to
repel his attacks. In 1779 the coming of Captain Cook changed the
course of action and gave the people new things to think about, until
Kamehameha secured white men’s arms and conquered all the islands.
XIV
THE LAST PROPHET OF OAHU
IN THE DAYS OF KAHAHANA, 1782
Paumakua was one of the great voyagers among the ocean-rovers of over
eight hundred years ago. Fornander in his “Account of the Polynesian
Race” says: “One of the legends relates that Paumakua, on his return
from one of his foreign voyages, brought back with him to Oahu two
white men said to have been priests A-ua-ka-hinu and A-ua-ka-mea,
afterwards named Kae-kae and Ma-liu, from whom several priestly
families in after ages claimed descent and authority.” These persons
were described as:
“Ka haole nui maka alohilohi
(A large foreigner, bright sparkling eyes)
A aholehole maka aa
(White cheeks, roguish staring eyes)
Ka puaa keokeo nui maka ulaula!
(A great white pig with reddish eyes).”
In the later years of Hawaiian history, two of the most prominent high
priests in all the islands were among the descendants of these
foreigners. Ka-leo-puu-puu had been high priest of Oahu, but on the
death of his king he was superseded by his elder brother,
Ka-o-pulu-pulu. He was angry and jealous and gladly welcomed an
opportunity to go to Maui as the high priest of Kahekili, the king of
Maui. Born on the island of Oahu and belonging to one of the most
famous families of priests, he understood thoroughly the temperament of
the chiefs of that island and was able to give valuable counsel to his
new ruler. He also tried to make as much trouble as possible for his
brother Ka-o-pulu-pulu.
It was said that Kahekili followed his advice in creating a division
between the king of Oahu and Ka-o-pulu-pulu. He made Kahahana believe
that the high priest was secretly hoping to take Oahu from its king and
turn it over to himself. This statement was drilled into the mind of
the Oahu king while visiting on the island of Molokai. When Kahahana
returned to Oahu he did not hesitate to show his enmity toward the high
priest. He refused to listen when the priest attempted to give counsel
in the meetings of the chiefs. He slighted him in all ways possible and
made the fact very evident that he had no confidence in him.
The king not only drove away his high priest, but also estranged his
chiefs. It is probable that some of the chiefs rebuked the king for his
treatment of such a wise priest and prophet. At any rate the king
“became burdensome to the people as well as capricious and heedless.”
After nearly two years of distrust and dissension in the court of the
king of Oahu, the king of Maui decided to attempt the conquest of his
young friend’s kingdom. Internal troubles among the chiefs of the
island of Hawaii had arisen in connection with the destruction of the
Alapa chiefs and Ka-meha-meha’s ascent to rulership. There was
therefore no danger of an immediate attack from that quarter. Oahu was
entirely unsuspicious of danger. The chief difficulty in the way of
conquest was the wise and powerful priest Ka-o-pulu-pulu.