"Because we are sick they take away our liberty.We have obeyed the law.We have done no wrong.And yet they would put us in prison.Molokai is a prison. That you know. Niuli, there, his sister wassent to Molokai seven years ago.He has not seen her since.Nor will he ever see her. She must stay there until she dies. This isnot her will.It is not Niuli's will.It is the will of the white men who rule the land.And who are these white men?
"We know.We have it from our fathers and our fathers' fathers.They came like lambs, speaking softly.Well might they speaksoftly, for we were many and strong, and all the islands were ours.As I say, they spoke softly.They were of two kinds.The one kind asked our permission, our gracious permission, to preach to us the word of God.The other kind asked our permission, our gracious permission, to trade with us.That was the beginning. Today allthe islands are theirs, all the land, all the cattle--everything is theirs.They that preached the word of God and they that preached the word of Rum have fore-gathered and become great chiefs.They live like kings in houses of many rooms, with multitudes of servants to care for them.They who had nothing have everything, and if you, or I, or any Kanaka be hungry, they sneer and say, 'Well, why don'tyou work?There are the plantations.'
Koolau paused.He raised one hand, and with gnarled and twisted fingers lifted up the blazing wreath of hibiscus that crowned his black hair.The moonlight bathed the scene in silver.It was a night of peace, though those who sat about him and listened had all the seeming of battle-wrecks.Their faces were leonine.Here a space yawned in a face where should have been a nose, and there an arm-stump showed where a hand had rotted off.They were men and women beyond the pale, the thirty of them, for upon them had been placed the mark of the beast.
They sat, flower-garlanded, in the perfumed, luminous night, andtheir lips made uncouth noises and their throats rasped approval of Koolau's speech.They were creatures who once had been men and women.But they were men and women no longer.They were monsters-- in face and form grotesque caricatures of everything human.They were hideously maimed and distorted, and had the seeming of creatures that had been racked in millenniums of hell.Their hands, when they possessed them, were like harpy claws.Their faces were the misfits and slips, crushed and bruised by some mad god at play in the machinery of life.Here and there were features which the mad god had smeared half away, and one woman wept scalding tears from twin pits of horror, where her eyes once had been.Some were in pain and groaned from their chests.Others coughed, making sounds like the tearing of tissue.Two were idiots, more like huge apes marred in the making, until even an ape were an angel.They mowed and gibbered in the moonlight, under crowns of drooping, golden blossoms.One, whose bloated ear-lobe flapped like a fan upon his shoulder, caught up a gorgeous flower of orange and scarlet and with it decorated the monstrous ear that flip-flapped with hisevery movement.
And over these things Koolau was king. And this was his kingdom,-- a flower-throttled gorge, with beetling cliffs and crags, from which floated the blattings of wild goats.On three sides the grim walls rose, festooned in fantastic draperies of tropic vegetation and pierced by cave- entrances--the rocky lairs of Koolau's subjects.On the fourth side the earth fell away into a tremendous abyss, and, far below, could be seen the summits of lesser peaks and crags, at whose bases foamed and rumbled the Pacific surge.In fine weather a boat could land on the rocky beach that marked the entrance of Kalalau Valley, but the weather must be very fine.And a cool- headed mountaineer might climb from the beach to the head of Kalalau Valley, to this pocket among the peaks where Koolau ruled; but such a mountaineer must be very cool of head, and he must know the wild- goat trails as well.The marvel was that the mass of human wreckage that constituted Koolau's people should have been able to drag its helpless misery over the giddy goat-trails to this inaccessiblespot.
"Brothers," Koolau began.
But one of the mowing, apelike travesties emitted a wild shriek of madness, and Koolau waited while the shrill cachination was tossed back and forth among the rocky walls and echoed distantly through the pulseless night.
"Brothers, is it not strange? Ours was the land, and behold, the land is not ours.What did these preachers of the word of God and the word of Rum give us for the land? Have you received one dollar, as much as one dollar, any one of you, for the land? Yet it is theirs, and in return they tell us we can go to work on the land, their land, and that what we produce by our toil shall be theirs.Yet in the old days we did not have to work.Also, when we are sick, they take away our freedom.""Who brought the sickness, Koolau?" demanded Kiloliana, a lean and wiry man with a face so like a laughing faun's that one might expect to see the cloven hoofs under him.They were cloven, it was true, but the cleavages were great ulcers and livid putrefactions.Yet this was Kiloliana, the most daring climber of them all, the man who knew every goat-trail and who had led Koolau and his wretched followers into the recesses of Kalalau.
