Hawaiian idylls of love and death

“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.