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.