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——”
Loud and shrill came the voice of the lonely watcher far to his left, and then shriller still, like the harsh shriek of sea-birds, followed blasts from the conch-shell trumpets which woke all the echoes of the dead old crater, and sent the gulls clangorous and protesting from their marshy resting-place to fill the air, hitherto so still, with noise and motion. And as the upper element was thus suddenly awakened into life, so the waves below became, almost in another moment, ridged with foam in a hundred places. Where the sunbeams had slept placidly on an unbroken surface of azure, they were now reflected hither and thither by the black sides of canoes, the flashing of outriggers, the sheen of polished metal, the scarlet and yellow of innumerable feather cloaks, the glittering of oars amid the spray-rain, the gleaming of dusky bodies, and the forward leap of the high prows, whose painted eyes seemed to glow with the fire of life. And in advance was the famous double war canoe Peleleu, the rowers straining at the oars, and the kahili-bearers and warriors standing around the mighty chief who was destined to make Hawaii a nation.
On they came, nearing the flat beach of Waikiki, where unless Kalanikapule opposed, they could enter the coral reef and land without impediment. But Kalanikapule chose to meet his rival in the heart of the country among the palis, rather than on the level ground; so, though from Leahi you could have seen the moving of dark masses of men among the forests of the southern side of the island, there was no sign on the beach of opposition to the landing of the Hawaiian troops.
Hakuole hastened to his post in the army, but he did not forget Leilehua, for her gift was around his neck.
Of the strife that followed, with all its thrilling episodes, we must forbear to speak. How Kalanikapule collected his forces in the Nuuanu Pali; how Kamehameha followed him with his veterans, driving him to the ridge of the island; how the traitor Kaiana met his doom; how Kamehameha’s white men brought into battle the red-mouthed guns which made the thunder roll among the mountains; how the fight raged on till the awful precipice was reached, from which men poured down in a living avalanche to the rocks below; how at last Kamehameha drew back his victorious troops into the lower country, where the loud “Auwe” of the women rent the air in wailing for their husbands and fathers—all these are stories by themselves.
Kamehameha knew himself at last lord of the Eight Islands from Niihau to Hawaii.
It was a day of great mourning in Oahu. In every house there was wailing and rending of hair for the warriors transfixed by the sharp spears or battered to death on the rocks of the Nuuanu Pali. But they had fought well, they were gone to Paliuli, the blue mountain, to the land of the divine water of Kane, and as the sun set men saw the great procession of the dead in the western sky leaving the earth forever by the road of the gods. But when the sun rose again in the east they turned their thoughts to the living and the day. What now would be their fate? Kamehameha would hold his court; he would receive the homage of the conquered people; he would expect his hookana or tribute. “Let us hasten,” they said, “to propitiate the new king.” So all prepared to go with their gifts. Prominent among these was Kamakahou, the father of Leilehua. He had known of Hakuole’s love and had been himself disposed to accept him for a son-in-law, but he was a sycophant and a schemer. As a kahuna he had been among the advisers of the fallen chiefs, and his reputation for learning was great. He knew the five planets and suspected the existence of a sixth; he knew all the kapu days, the holy seasons and the prescribed ordinances; he could prepare lustral waters to drive away diseases and demons. He was proficient in all the ten branches of priestly lore, and could even cause the spirits of the dead to enter the body of a person and possess it. He was skilled, moreover, in the preparation of medicines, and could cure toothache and bruises and broken bones.
But with all his learning he was avaricious and preferred the favor of the king to the approval of his conscience. So he prepared his gift and went.
The court of Kamehameha was held in the open air, the royal pavilion consisting of a raised couch of ferns over which a slight lanai had been built of lauhala palms. The king reclined at his ease. Beside him stood the royal kahili-bearers waving their huge feather brushes. Close by stood the pukanas, or trumpeters, with gorgeous headgear and capes. Near these stood the kukini, or runners, the kahunas, with tabu-sticks, while the hula-girls with instruments of music squatted a little to the left. In the midst of the kahunas, on a carpet of red cloth was the famous war god of Kamehameha, Kaili, whose shriek could be heard above the din of battle. It was of wickerwork decorated with small feathers, its eyes made of large oyster shells and mouth ornamented by a double row of dog’s fangs.
Before the king the gifts lay in piles—calabashes of rare wood, logs of iliahi, or sandalwood, rolls of curiously wrought kapa, pigs, dogs, cocoanuts, sweet potatoes, seaweeds, shrimps, papai, opelo, awa, and many another costly article of dress, or dainty morsel of food.
Finally, when Kamehameha seemed a little sated with his hookana, came a gift which drew all eyes. They saw Kamakahou leading his daughter Leilehua forward to the presence of the king. “O king,” he cried, “behold the kaikamahine; take her, the light of my eyes, and let there be peace between us.”
The maiden, who had advanced reluctantly, stood timidly before the couch, her face hid in her hands. The black tresses fell down her back in great coils, rippling over her dusky shoulders and falling to the skirt of yellow kapa which was fastened around her waist. On her head was a wreath of the scarlet flowers from which she took her name; on her wrists and ankles bracelets of sea-shells, and on her breast the ivory emblem suspended by the mystic three hundred braids of human hair.
Only a moment she stood, and then, weeping, sank on her knees, let her hands fall from her face, and with pleading eyes gazed into the king’s face. Kamehameha, startled at so beauteous a vision, raised himself from the couch and, as he stood erect, clad in the brilliant feather cloak which was the work of ten generations of kings, he seemed a god come down in human form. As he stepped forward to take the hand of the tribute girl, a great shout began—
“Nani loa! Maikai loa! e——”
Began, I say, but did not finish; for, lo! the circle of spectators parted, and there strode to the side of the weeping maid a young man who lacked but little of the height of Kamehameha himself. He was covered with blood and dust, having almost crawled from the battlefield, but he stood erect now, and he had a torn wreath of flowers around his neck. He did not flinch before the gaze of the king, but caught the hand of Leilehua, lifted her up, and bore her in among the people. It took only a few seconds, but the stillness of death had fallen upon the people. Was Hakuole mad? Had he seen a lapu and been bewitched? Rash man! See the thunder-cloud in the face of the chief who was never crossed with impunity! What fate did the conqueror of Oahu meditate for the man who braved him? Would he be offered as a sacrifice at the heiau, or would he be clubbed to death, burned, or buried alive?
Hark! the king raises his voice, and his guards seize the overbold youth and the maiden, hurry them before the dais, and stand ready to carry out whatever sentence of death is imposed.
Leilehua and Hakuole stand before Kamehameha, and they can hear their hearts beat, the people are so quiet.
Then Kamehameha speaks in strong, firm tones, which show the man born for command, but with no touch of immoderate anger. The cloud has gone from his face, but he begins sharply enough:
“E Hakuole, so you are tired of life, tired of fighting. You dream already of maiden’s eyes and a life among the nala. You would let the prows rot on the beach, seeking no more for the glory a man ought to love. Well, as you mean to stay among the wahine, and love a maiden here more than you fear me, I suspend you from a soldier’s duty till the moon Ikiiki returns. Away! and for the girl, Leilehua, the faithful in love, all the lands which were her father’s are hers from henceforth. Take the kaikamahine—beautiful is she as the morning breaking the shadows—and may the loves of Leilehua and Hakuole be as glorious to Hawaii as the wars of Kamehameha.”
Kamehameha had indeed won a greater victory than that of Nuuanu Pali, for the hearts of the people, and not their bodies only, were henceforth his forever.
Thus the first of the Seven Kings of Hawaii established his sovereignty and founded a dynasty, and the statue of this “Napoleon of the Pacific” in front of Aliiolani Hale, in Honolulu, will ever attract the reverence of men. Had all the island kings been like the first Kamehameha, Hawaii had never more known the strife of factions.
Hakuole and Leilehua had a long honeymoon, in which they learned depths of love as yet unfathomed. Then they came back to be among the staunchest supporters of the new king. Love grew with the years, and the sweet singers of Hawaii to-day can choose no better theme to bring back the romance of the old barbaric times than the story of sweet Leilehua and her bold lover Hakuole, who for her sake braved the wrath of a king.