Pele and Hiiaka: A Myth From Hawaii

PELE AND HIIAKA

A Myth From Hawaii

By
NATHANIEL B. EMERSON, A. M., M. D.
HONOLULU, HAWAII
Author of The Long Voyages of the Ancient Hawaiians, and of Unwritten Literature of Hawaii, Translator of David Malo’s Hawaiian Antiquities

PRINTED BY
Honolulu Star-Bulletin Limited
1915

Copyright, 1915, by

N. B. EMERSON.

Published March, 1915.

TO
HER MAJESTY LILIUOKALANI
AND
HER BELOVED HAWAIIAN
PEOPLE

PREFACE

The story of Pele and her sister Hiiaka stands at the fountain-head of Hawaiian myth and is the matrix from which the unwritten literature of Hawaii drew its life-blood. The material for the elaboration of this story has, in part, been found in serial contributions to the Hawaiian newspapers during the last few decades; in part, gathered by interviews with the men and women of the older regime, in whose memory it has been stored and, again, in part, it has been supplied by papers solicited from intelligent Hawaiians. The information contained in the notes has been extracted by viva voce appeal to Hawaiians themselves. These last two sources of information will soon be no longer available.

Merely as a story, this myth of Pele and her kindred may be deemed to have no compelling merit that should attract one to its reading. The cycle of world-myth already gathered from the rising to the setting of the sun, from the north pole to the south pole, is quite vast enough, and far in excess of the power of any one scholar to master and digest. It contains enough pretty stories, in all conscience, to satisfy the demands of the whole raft of storiologists and penny-a-liners, ever on the alert to cram the public with new sensations, without making it necessary to levy upon Hawaii for her little contribution.

It is not from a disposition to pander to any such appetite that the writer has drudged through many long years in collecting and giving literary shape to the material herein presented. The people who settled the Hawaiian group of islands are recognized as having occupied a unique station, one so far removed from the center and vortex of Polynesian activity as to enable them to cast a highly important side-light on many of the problems yet unsolved, that are of interest to ethnologists and philologists and that still enshroud the Polynesian race.

Hawaii rejoiced in a Kamehameha, who, with a strong hand, welded its discordant political elements into one body and made of it a nation. But it was denied a Homer capable of voicing its greatest epic in one song. The myth of the volcanic queen, like every other important Hawaiian myth, has been handled by many poets and raconteurs, each from his own point of view, influenced, no doubt, by local environment; but there never stood forth one singer with the supreme power to symphonize the jarring notes and combine them into one concordant whole. This fact is a tribute to the independent attitude of Hawaii’s geographical units as well as to its scattered minstrelsy.

This book does not offer itself as a complete history of Pele; it does not even assume to present all the oli, mele, and pule that deal with the great name of Pele. There were important events in her life that will receive but incidental mention. Of such is the story of Pele’s relations with the swine-god Kama-pua’a. As indicated in the title, the author confines his attention almost wholly to the story of Pele’s relations with Prince Lohiau of Haena, in which the girl Hiiaka became involved as an accessory.

It was inevitable that such a myth as that of Pele should draw to it and, like an ocean-reef, become the stranding ground of a great mass of flotsam and jetsam poetry and story. Especially was this true of those passional fragments of Hawaiian mele and oli, which, without this, would not easily have found a concrete object to which they might attach themselves.

It matters not whether the poet-philosopher, deep pondering on the hot things of love, hit upon Pele as the most striking and appropriate character to serve his purpose and to wear his garment of passionate song and story, or, whether his mind, working more objectively, took Nature’s suggestion and came to realize that, in the wild play of the volcanic forces, he had exemplified before him a mighty parable of tempestuous love. Certain it is that the volcano was antecedent to the poet and his musings, and it seems more reasonable to suppose that from it came the first suggestion and that his mind, as by a flash of inspiration, began its subjective work as the result of what he saw going on before his eyes.

The Hawaiian to whose memory was committed the keeping of an old time mele regarded it as a sacred trust, to be transmitted in its integrity; and he was inclined to look upon every different and contradictory version of that mele as, in a sense, an infringement of his preserve, a desecration of that sacred thing which had been entrusted to him. It resulted from this that such a thing as a company of haku-mele (poets or song-makers) conferring together for the purpose of settling upon one authoritative version of a historic mele was an impossibility.

It is a misfortune when the myth-cycle of any people or country is invaded for exploitation by that class of writers whose sole object is to pander, or cater—to use a softer term—to the public taste for novelty and sensation, before that cycle has been canvassed and reported upon by students who approach it in a truthful yet sympathetic spirit. In other words: plain exposition should come before sensational exploitation. To reverse the order would be as undesirable as to have Münchausen gain the ear of the public before Mungo Park, Livingston, Stanley, Cook, or Vancouver had blazed the way and taken their observations.

Fortunately for Hawaii, the spirit of the times has set its face like a flint against this sort of sensation-mongering, and if a Münchausen were now to claim the public ear he would have the searchlight of scientific investigation turned upon him as pitilessly as it was done in the case of an alleged claim to the discovery of the north pole.

It is a satisfaction to the author, after having accomplished his pioneer work of opening up a new domain, to bid the public enter in and enjoy the delicious lehua parks once claimed by the girl Hiiaka as her own; and he can assure them that there yet remain many coverts that are full of charm which are to this day unravaged by the fires of Pele.

Thanks, many thanks, are due from the author—and from us all—to the men and women of Hawaiian birth whose tenacious memories have served as the custodians of the material herein set forth, but who have ungrudgingly made us welcome to these remainder biscuits of mythological song and story, which, but for them, would have been swallowed up in the grave, unvoiced and unrecorded.

N. B. EMERSON.

INTRODUCTION

According to Hawaiian myth, Pele, the volcanic fire-queen and the chief architect of the Hawaiian group, was a foreigner, born in the mystical land of Kuai-he-lani, a land not rooted and anchored to one spot, but that floated free like the Fata Morgana, and that showed itself at times to the eyes of mystics, poets and seers, a garden land, clad with the living glory of trees and habitations—a vision to warm the imagination. The region was known as Kahiki (Kukulu o Kahiki), a name that connotes Java and that is associated with the Asiatic cradle of the Polynesian race.

Pele’s mother was Haumea, a name that crops up as an ancestor in the hoary antiquity of the Hawaiian people, and she was reputed to be the daughter of Kane-hoa-lani.

Pele was ambitious from childhood and from the earliest age made it her practice to stick close to her mother’s fireplace in company with the fire-keeper Lono-makua, ever watchful of his actions, studious of his methods—an apprenticeship well fitted to serve her in good stead such time as she was to become Hawaii’s volcanic fire-queen. This conduct drew upon Pele the suspicion and illwill of her elder sister Na-maka-o-ka-ha’i, a sea-goddess, who, fathoming the latent ambition of Pele, could not fail to perceive that its attainment would result in great commotion and disturbance in their home-land.

Her fears and prognostications proved true. Namaka, returning from one of her expeditions across the sea, found that Pele, taking advantage of her absence, had erupted a fiery deluge and smothered a portion of the home-land with aä.

It would have gone hard with Pele; but mother Haumea bade her take refuge in the fold (pola) of Ka-moho-alii’s malo. Now this elder brother of Pele was a deity of great power and authority, a terrible character, hedged about with tabus that restricted and made difficult the approach of his enemies. Such a refuge could only be temporary, and safety was to be assured only by Pele’s removal from her home in the South land, and that meant flight. It was accomplished in the famed mythical canoe Honua-i-a-kea.

The company was a distinguished one, including such godlike beings as Ka-moho-alii, Kane-apua, Kane-milo-hai and many other relations of Pele, the youngest, but not the least important, of whom was the girl Hiiaka, destined to be the heroine of the story here unfolded and of whom it was said that she was born into the world as a clot of blood out of the posterior fontanelle (nunoi) of her mother Haumea, the other sisters having been delivered through the natural passage.

The sailing course taken by Pele’s company brought them to some point northwest of Hawaii, along that line of islets, reefs, and shoals which tail off from Hawaii as does the train of a comet from its nucleus. At Moku-papápa Pele located her brother Kane-milo-hai, as if to hold the place for her or to build it up into fitness for human residence, for it was little more than a reef. Her next stop was at the little rock of Nihoa that lifts its head some eight hundred feet above the ocean. Here she made trial with the divining rod Paoa, but the result being unfavorable, she passed on to the insignificant islet of Lehua which clings like a limpet to the flank of Niihau. In spite of its smallness and unfitness for residence, Pele was moved to crown the rock with a wreath of kau-no’a, while Hiiaka contributed a chaplet of lehua which she took from her own neck, thus christening it for all time. The poet details the itinerary of the voyage in the following graphic lines:

Ke Kaao a Pele i Haawi ia Ka-moho-alii i ka Haalele ana ia Kahiki

Ku makou e hele me ku’u mau poki’i aloha,

Ka aina a makou i ike ole ai malalo aku nei,

A’e makou me ku’u poki’i, kau i ka wa’a;

No’iau ka hoe a Ka-moho-alii;

A’ea’e, kau i ka nalu—

He nalu haki kakala,

He nalu e imi ana i ka aina e hiki aku ai.

O Nihoa ka aina a makou i pae mua aku ai:

Lele a’e nei makou, kau i uka o Nihoa.

O ka hana no a ko’u poki’i, a Kane-apua,

O ka hooili i ka ihu o ka wa’a a nou i ke kai:

Waiho anei o Ka-moho-alii ia Kane-apua i uka o Nihoa.

No’iau ka hoe a Ka-moho-alii

A pae i ka aina i kapa ia o Lehua.

TRANSLATION

Pele’s Account to Ka-moho-alii of the Departure from Kahiki

We stood to sail with my kindred beloved

To an unknown land below the horizon;

We boarded—my kinsmen and I—our craft,

Our pilot well skilled, Ka-moho-alii.

Our craft o’ermounted and mastered the waves;

The sea was rough and choppy, but the waves

Bore us surely on to our destined shore—

The rock Nihoa, the first land we touched;

Gladly we landed and climbed up its cliffs.

Fault of the youngster, Kane-apua,

He loaded the bow till it ducked in the waves;

Ka-moho-alii marooned the lad,

Left the boy on the islet Nihoa

And, pilot well skilled, he sailed away

Till we found the land we christened Lehua.

When they had crowned the desolate rock with song and wreath, Ka-moho-alii would have steered for Niihau, but Pele, in a spasm of tenderness that smiles like an oasis in her life, exclaimed, “How I pity our little brother who journeyed with us till now!” At this Ka-moho-alii turned the prow of the canoe in the direction of Nihoa and they rescued Kane-apua from his seagirt prison. Let the poet tell the story:

Hui[1] iho nei ka wa’a a Ka-moho-alii

E kii ana i ko lakou pokii, ia Kane-apua, i Nihoa.

Pili aku nei ka wa’a o Ka-moho-alii i uka nei o Nihoa,

Kahea aku nei i ko lakou pokii, ia Kane-apua,

E kau aku ma ka pola o ka wa’a.

Hui iho nei ka ihu o ka wa’a o Ka-moho-alii—

He wa’a e holo ana i Niihau,

Kau aku nei o Ka-moho-alii i ka laau, he paoa,[2]

E imi ana i ko lakou aina e noho ai, o Kauai:

Aole na’e i loa’a.

Kau mai la o Ka-moho-alii i ka laau, he paoa;

O Ahu[3] ka aina.

Ia ka ana iho nei o lakou i Alia-pa’akai,

Aole na’e he aina.

TRANSLATION

Ka-moho-alii turned his canoe

To rescue lad Kane from Nihoa.

Anon the craft lies off Nihoa’s coast;

They shout to the lad, to Kane-apua,

Come aboard, rest with us on the pola.[4]

Ka-moho-alii turns now his prow,

He will steer for the fertile Niihau.

He sets out the wizard staff Paoa,

To test if Kauai’s to be their home;

But they found it not there.

Once more the captain sails on with the rod,

To try if Oahu’s the wished for land:

They thrust in the staff at Salt Lake Crater,

But that proved not the land of their promise.

Arrived at Oahu, Ka-moho-alii, who still had Pele in his keeping, left the canoe in charge of Holoholo-kai and, with the rest of the party, continued the journey by land. The witchery of the Paoa was appealed to from time to time, as at Alia-pa’akai, Puowaena (Punchbowl Hill), Leahi (Diamond Head), and lastly at Makapu’u Point, but nowhere with a satisfactory response. (The words of Pele in the second verse of the kaao next to be given lead one to infer that she must for a time have entertained the thought that they had found the desired haven at Pele-ula—a small land-division within the limits of the present city of Honolulu.) Let the poet tell the story:

Ke ku nei makou e imi kahi e noho ai

A loa’a ma Pele-ula:

O Kapo-ula-kina’u ka wahine;

A loa’a i ka lae kapu o Maka-pu’u.

Ilaila pau ke kuleana;

Imi ia Kane-hoa-lani,

A loa’a i ka lae o Maka-hana-loa.—

He loa ka uka o Puna:

Elua kaua i ke kapa hookahi.

Akahi au a ike—haupu mau, walohia wale:

E Kane-hoa-lani, e-e!

E Kane-hoa-lani, e-e!

Aloha kaua!

Kau ka hokú hookahi, hele i ke ala loa!

Aloha kama kuku kapa a ka wahine!

He wahine lohiau, naná i ka makani;

He makani lohiau, haupu mai oloko!

TRANSLATION

We went to seek for a biding place,

And found it, we thought, in Pele-ula—

Dame Kapo—she of the red-pied robe—

Found it in the sacred cape, Maka-pu’u;

The limit that of our journey by land.

We looked then for Kane-hoa-lani

And found him at Maka-hana-loa.

Far away are the uplands of Puna;

One girdle still serves for you and for me.

Never till now such yearning, such sadness!

Where art thou, Kane-hoa-lani?

O Father Kane, where art thou?

Hail to thee, O Father, and hail to me!

When rose the pilot-star we sailed away.

Hail, girl who beats out tapa for women—

The home-coming wife who watches the wind,

The haunting wind that searches the house!

The survey of Oahu completed, and Ka-moho-alii having resumed command of the canoe, Pele uttered her farewell and they voyaged on to the cluster of islands of which Maui is the center:

Aloha, Oahu, e-e!

E huli ana makou i ka aina mamua aku,

Kahi a makou e noho ai.

TRANSLATION

Farewell to thee, Oahu!

We press on to lands beyond,

In search of a homing place.

Repeated trial with the divining rod, Paoa, made on the western part of Maui as well as on the adjoining islands of Molokai and Lanai proving unsatisfactory, Pele moved on to the exploration of the noble form of Hale-a-ka-la that domes East Maui, with fine hope and promise of success. But here again she was dissatisfied with the result. She had not yet delivered herself from the necessity of protection by her kinsman, Ka-moho-alii: “One girdle yet serves for you and for me,” was the note that still rang out as a confession of dependence, in her song.

While Pele was engaged in her operations in the crater of Hale-a-ka-la, her inveterate enemy Na-maka-o-ka-ha’i, who had trailed her all the way from Kahiki with the persistency of a sea-wolf, appeared in the offing, accompanied by a sea-dragon named Ha-ui.

The story relates that, as Na-maka-o-ka-ha’i passed the sand-spit of Moku-papápa, Kane-milo-hai, who, it will be remembered, had been left there in charge as the agent of Pele, hailed her with the question: “Where are you going so fast?”

“To destroy my enemy, to destroy Pele,” was her answer.

“Return to Kahiki, lest you yourself be destroyed,” was the advice of Kane-milo-hai.

Pele, accepting the gage thrown down by Na-maka-o-ka-ha’i, with the reluctant consent of her guardian Ka-moho-alii, went into battle single-handed. The contest was terrific. The sea-monster, aided by her dragon consort, was seemingly victorious. Dismembered parts of Pele’s body were cast up at Kahiki-nui, where they are still pointed out as the bones of Pele (na iwi o Pele.) (She was only bruised). Ka-moho-alii was dismayed thinking Pele to have been destroyed;—but, looking across the Ale-nui-haha channel, he saw the spirit-form of Pele flaming in the heavens above the summits of Mauna-loa and Mauna-kea. As for Na-maka-o-ka-ha’i, she retired from the battle exultant, thinking that her enemy Pele was done for: but when she reported her victory to Kane-milo-hai, that friend of Pele pointed to the spirit body of Pele glowing in the heavens as proof that she was mistaken. Namaka was enraged at the sight and would have turned back to renew the conflict, but Kane-milo-hai dissuaded her from this foolhardy undertaking, saying, “She is invincible; she has become a spirit.”

The search for a home-site still went on. Even Hale-a-ka-la was not found to be acceptable to Pele’s fastidious taste. According to one account it proved to be so large that Pele found herself unable to keep it warm. Pele, a goddess now, accordingly bade adieu to Maui and its clustering isles and moved on to Hawaii.

He Kaao na Pele, i Haalele ai ia Maui

Aloha o Maui, aloha, e!

Aloha o Moloka’i, aloha, e!

Aloha o Lana’i, aloha, e!

Aloha o Kaho’olawe, aloha, e!

Ku makou e hele, e!

O Hawaii ka ka aina

A makou e noho ai a mau loa aku;

Ke ala ho’i a makou i hiki mai ai,

He ala paoa ole ko Ka-moho-alii,

Ko Pele, ko Kane-milo-hai, ko Kane-apua,

Ko Hiiaka—ka no’iau—i ka poli o Pele,

I hiki mai ai.

TRANSLATION

Pele’s Farewell to Maui

Farewell to thee, Maui, farewell!

Farewell to thee, Moloka’i, farewell!

Farewell to thee, Lana’i, farewell!

Farewell to thee, Kaho’olawe, farewell!

We stand all girded for travel:

Hawaii, it seems, is the land

On which we shall dwell evermore.

The route by which we came hither

Touched lands not the choice of Paoa;—

’Twas the route of Ka-moho-alii,

Of Pele and Kane-milo-hai,

Route traveled by Kane-apua, and by

Hiiaka, the wise, the darling of Pele.

Pele and her company landed on Hawaii at Pua-kó, a desolate spot between Kawaihae and Kailua. Thence they journeyed inland until they came to a place which they named Moku-aweo-weo—not the site of the present crater of that name, but—situated where yawns the vast caldera of Kilauea. It was at the suggestion of Ku-moku-halii and Keawe-nui-kau of Hilo that the name was conferred. They also gave the name Mauna-loa to the mountain mass that faced them on the west, “because,” said they, “our journey was long.”

Night fell and they slept. In the morning, when the elepaio uttered its note, they rose and used the Paoa staff. The omens were favorable, and Pele decided that this was the place for her to establish a permanent home.

The people immediately began to set out many plants valuable for food; among them a variety of kalo called aweü, well suited for upland growth; the ulu (bread-fruit); the maiä (banana); the pala-á (an edible fern); the awa (Piper methysticum) and other useful plants.

The land on the Hilo side of Kilauea, being in the rain belt, is fertile and well fitted for tillage. The statement, however, that Kilauea, or its vicinity, became the place of settlement for any considerable number of people cannot be taken literally. The climatic conditions about Kilauea are too harsh and untropical to allow either the people or the food plants of Polynesia to feel at home in it. The probability is that instead of being gathered about Kilauea, they made their homes in the fat lands of lower Puna or Hilo.

Pele, on her human side at least, was dependent for support and physical comfort upon the fruits of the earth and the climatic conditions that made up her environment. Yet with all this, in the narrative that follows her relations to humanity are of that exceptional character that straddle, as it were, that border line which separates the human from the superhuman, but for the most part occupy the region to the other side of that line, the region into which if men and women of this work-a-day world pass they find themselves uncertain whether the beings with whom they converse are bodied like themselves or made up of some insubstantial essence and liable to dissolve and vanish at the touch.

THE HOME OF PELE. KILAUEA IN ACTION.

Copyright by R. K. Bonine.

[1] Hui, an elided form of huli, the l being dropped. [↑]

[2] Paoa. One Hawaiian says this should be pahoa. (Paulo Hokii.)

The Paoa mentioned in verse eight was a divining rod used to determine the suitability of any spot for Pele’s excavations. The land must be proof against the entrance of sea water. It also served as a spade in excavating for a volcanic crater.

When a suitable place was finally discovered on Hawaii, the Paoa staff was planted in Panaewa and became a living tree, multiplying itself until it was a forest. The writer’s informant says that it is a tree known to the present generation of men. “I have seen sticks cut from it,” said he, “but not the living tree itself.” [↑]

[3] O Ahu. The particle o is not yet joined to its substantive, as in Oahu, the form we now have. [↑]

[4] Pola, the raised platform in the waist of the canoe, a place of honor. [↑]

CHAPTER I

PELE IN THE BOSOM OF HER FAMILY

Once, when Pele was living in the pit of Kilauea, she roused up from her couch on the rough hearth-plate and said to her sisters, “Let us make an excursion to the ocean and enjoy ourselves, open the opihi shells and sea-urchins, hunt for small squid and gather sea-moss.”

To this all joyfully assented, saying, “Yes, let us go.”

The sisters formed quite a procession as they tramped the narrow downhill path until they came to the hill Pu’u-Pahoehoe—a place in the lower lands of Puna. Pele herself did not visibly accompany them on this journey; that was not according to her custom: she had other ways and means of travel than to plod along a dusty road. When, however, the party arrived at the rendezvous, there, sure enough, they found Pele awaiting them, ready for the business in hand.

In the midst of their pleasurings Pele caught sight of Hopoe and Haena as they were indulging in an al fresco dance and having a good time by the Puna sea. She was greatly pleased and, turning to her sisters, said, “Come, haven’t you also got some dance that you can show off in return for this entertainment by Hopoe and her companion?”

They all hung their heads and said, “We have no hula.”

Hiiaka, the youngest, had stayed behind to gather lehua flowers, and when she came along laden with wreaths, Pele said to her, jestingly, “I’ve just been proposing to your sisters here to dance a hula in response to that of Hopoe and her fellow, but they decline, saying they have not the art. I suppose it’s of no use to ask you, you are so small; but, perhaps, you’ve got a bit of a song.”

“Yes, I have a song,” Hiiaka answered, to the surprise of all.

“Let us have it, then; go on!” said Pele.

Then the little girl, having first decorated all of her sisters with the wreaths, beginning with Pele, sang as follows:

Ke ha’a la Puna i ka makani;

Ha’a ka ulu hala i Keaau;

Ha’a Haena me Hopoe;

Ha’a ka wahine,

Ami i kai o Nana-huki, la—

Hula le’a wale,

I kai o Nana-huki, e-e!

TRANSLATION

Puna’s a-dance in the breeze,

The hala groves of Keaau shaken:

Haena and Hopoe are swaying;

The thighs of the dancing nymph

Quiver and sway, down at Nana-huki—

A dance most sightly and pleasing,

Down by the sea Nana-huki.

Pele was delighted. “Is that all you have?” she asked.

“I have something more,” said the girl.

“Let us hear it then.”

Hiiaka put even more spirit into the song as she complied:

O Puna kai kuwá i ka hala;

Pae ka leo o ke kai;

Ke lu, la, i na pua lehua.

Nana i kai o Hopoe,

Ka wahine ami i kai

O Nana-huki, la;

Hula le’a wale,

I kai o Nana-huki, e-e.

TRANSLATION

The voice of Puna’s sea resounds

Through the echoing hala groves;

The lehua trees cast their bloom.

Look at the dancing girl Hopoe;

Her graceful hips swing to and fro,

A-dance on the beach Nana-huki:

A dance that is full of delight,

Down by the sea Nana-huki.

At the conclusion of this innocent performance—the earliest mention of the hula that has reached us—Hiiaka went to stay with her friend Hopoe, a person whose charm of character had fascinated the imagination of the susceptible girl and who had already become her dearest intimate, her inspiring mentor in those sister arts, song, poesy and the dance.

Pele herself remained with her sister Hiiaka-i-ka-pua-enaena (Hiiaka-of-the-fire-bloom), and presently she lay down to sleep in a cave on a smooth plate of pahoehoe. Before she slept she gave her sister this command: “Listen to me. I am lying down to sleep; when the others return from fishing, eat of the fish, but don’t dare to wake me. Let me sleep on until I wake of myself. If one of you wakes me it will be the death of you all. If you must needs wake me, however, call my little sister and let her be the one to rouse me; or, if not her, let it be my brother Ke-o-wahi-maka-o-ka-ua—one of these two.”

When Ke-o-wahi-maka-o-ka-ua, who was so closely related to Pele that she called him brother, had received this command and had seen her lapse into profound sleep he went and reported the matter to Hiiaka, retailing all that Pele had said. “Strange that this havoc-producer should sleep in this way, and no bed-fellow!” said Hiiaka to herself. “Here are all the other Hiiakas, all of equal rank and merit! Perhaps it was because my dancing pleased her that she wishes me to be the one to rouse her.”

The cavern in the hill Pahoehoe in which Pele lay and slept, wrapped in her robe (kapa-ahu), remains to this day.

In her sleep Pele heard the far-off beating of hula drums, and her spirit-body pursued the sound. At first it seemed to come from some point far out to sea; but as she followed, it shifted, moving to the north, till it seemed to be off the beach of Waiakea, in Hilo; thence it moved till it was opposite Lau-pahoehoe. Still evading her pursuit, the sound retreated till it came from the boisterous ocean that beats against the shaggy cliffs of Hamakua. Still going north, it seemed presently to have reached the mid channel of Ale-nui-haha that tosses between Hawaii and Maui.

“If you are from my far-off home-land Kahiki, I will follow you thither, but I will come up with you,” said Pele.

To her detective ear, as she flitted across the heaving waters of Ale-nui-haha, the pulsing of the drums now located itself at the famous hill Kauwiki, in Hana; but, on reaching that place, the music had passed on to the west and sounded from the cliffs of Ka-haku-loa.

The fugitive music led her next across another channel, until in her flight she had traversed the length of Moloka’i and had come to the western point of that island, Lae-o-ka-laau. Thence she flew to cape Maka-pu’u, on Oahu, and so on, until, after crossing that island, she reached cape Kaena, whose finger-point reaches out towards Kaua’i. In that desolate spot dwelt an aged creature of myth, Pohaku-o-Kaua’i by name, the personal representative of that rock whose body-form the hero Mawi had jerked from its ocean bed ages before, in his futile attempt to draw together the two islands Kaua’i and Oahu and unite them into one mass.

Pele, arguing from her exasperation, said, “It must be my old grandfather Pohaku-o-Kaua’i who is playing this trick with the music. If it’s he that’s leading me this chase, I’ll kill him.”

The old fellow saw her approach and, hailing her from a distance, greeted her most heartily. Her answer was in a surly mood: “Come here! I’m going to kill you to-day. So it’s you that’s been fooling me with deceitful music, leading me a wearisome chase.”

“Not I, I’ve not done this. There they are, out to sea; you can hear for yourself.” And, sure enough, on listening, one could hear the throbbing of the music in the offing.

Pele acknowledged her mistake and continued her pursuit, with the parting assurance to the old soul that if he had been the guilty one, it would have been his last day of life.

The real authors of this illusive musical performance were two little creatures named Kani-ka-wí and Kani-ka-wá, the former a sprite that was embodied in the nose-flute, the latter in the hokeo, a kind of whistle, both of them used as accompaniments to the hula. Their sly purpose was to lure Pele to a place where the hula was being performed.

Pele now plunged into the water—from this point at least she swam—and, guided by the call of the music, directed her course to the little village of Haena that perched like a gull on the cape of the same name, at the northernmost point of the island of Kaua’i. It was but a few steps to the hall of the hula—the halau—where throbbed the hula drums and where was a concourse of people gathered from the whole island.

CHAPTER II

PELE MEETS AND FASCINATES LOHIAU

As Pele drew near to the rustic hall where the hula was in full blast, the people in the outskirts of the assembly turned to look in wonder and admiration at the beauty and charm of the stranger who had appeared so unexpectedly and whose person exhaled such a fragrance, as if she had been clad with sweet-scented garlands of maile, lehua and hala. One and all declared her to be the most beautiful woman they had ever looked upon. Where was she from? Surely not from Kaua’i. Such loveliness could not have remained hidden in any nook or corner of the island, they declared.

Instinctively the wondering multitude parted and offered a lane for her to pass through and enter the halau, thus granting to Pele a full view of the musicians and performers of the hula, and, sitting in their midst, Lohiau,—as yet seemingly unconscious of her presence,—on his either hand a fellow drummer; while, flanking these to right and left, sat players with a joint of bamboo in either hand (the kaekeeke). But drummer and kaekeeke-player, musicians and actors—aye, the whole audience—became petrified and silent at the sight of Pele, as she advanced step by step, her eyes fixed on Lohiau.

Then, with intensified look, as if summoning to her aid the godlike gifts that were hers as the mistress of Kilauea, she reached out her hand and, in a clear tone, with a mastery that held the listeners spell-bound, she chanted:

Lu’ulu’u Hanalei i ka ua nui,

Kaumaha i ka noe o Alaka’i,

I ka hele ua o Manu’a-kepa;

Uoi ku i ka loa o Ko’i-alana,

I ka alaka’i ’a a ka malihini, e!

Mai hina, mai hina au,

Mai palaha ia o-e.

Imi wale ana au o kahi o ke ola,

O ke ola nei, e-e!

TRANSLATION

Tight-pressed is Hanalei’s throng,

A tree bent down by heavy rain,

Weighted with drops from the clouds,

When rain columns sweep through Manu’a-kepa,

This throng that has lured on the stranger,

Nigh to downfall, to downfall, was I,

Laid flat by your trick—aye yours!

My quest was for comfort and life,

Just for comfort and life!

The silence became oppressive. In the stillness that followed the song expectant eyes were focused upon Prince Lohiau, awaiting his reply to the address of the stranger who stood in their midst. No one knew who she was; no one imagined her to be Pele. That she was a person of distinction and rank was evident enough, one whom it was the duty and rare privilege of their chief to receive and entertain.

Presently there was wrinkling of foreheads, an exchange of glances, prompting winks and nods, inclinations of the head, a turning of the eyes—though not a word was spoken—; for his friends thought thus to rouse Lohiau from his daze and to prompt him to the dutiful rites of hospitality and gallantry. Paoa, his intimate friend, sitting at Lohiau’s right hand, with a drum between his knees, even ventured to nudge him in the side.

The silence was broken by Pele:

Kalakú Hilo i ka ua nui;

Kapu ke nu, ke i,

I ka puá o ka leo,

I ka hamahamau—hamau kakou—

I ka hawanawana;

I ke kunou maka;

I ka awihi maka;

I ka alawa iki.

Eia ho’i au, kou hoa,

Kou hoa, ho’i, e-e!

TRANSLATION

Bristling, frumpy, sits Hilo,

Drenched by the pouring rain,

Forbidden to murmur,

Or put forth a sound,

Or make utt’rance by speech:

Must all remain breathless,

Nor heave an audible sigh,

Withholding the nod, the wink,

And the glance to one side.

I pray you behold me now:—

Here stand I, your guest,

Your companion, your mate!

Lohiau, once roused from his ecstacy, rose to the occasion and with the utmost gallantry and politeness invited Pele to sit with him and partake of the hospitalities of the halau.

When Pele had seated herself on the mat-piled dais, Lohiau, following the etiquette of the country, asked whence she came.

“I am of Kaua’i,” she answered.

“There is no woman of Kaua’i your equal in beauty,” said Lohiau. “I am the chief and I know, for I visit every part of the whole island.”

“You have doubtless traveled about the whole island,” answered Pele; “yet there remain places you are not acquainted with; and that is where I come from.”

“No, no! you are not of Kaua’i. Where are you from?”

Because of his importunity, Pele answered him, “I am from Puna, from the land of the sunrise; from Ha’eha’e, the eastern gate of the sun.”

Lohiau bade that they spread the tables for a feast, and he invited Pele to sit with him and partake of the food. But Pele refused food, saying, “I have eaten.”

“How can that be?” said he, “seeing you have but now come from a long journey? You had better sit down and eat.”

Pele sat with him, but she persistently declined all his offers of food, “I am not hungry.”

Lohiau sat at the feast, but he could not eat; his mind was disturbed; his eyes were upon the woman at his side. When they rose from the table he led her, not unwilling, to his house, and he lay down upon a couch by her side. But she would favor him only with kisses. In his growing passion for her he forgot his need of food, his fondness for the hula, the obligations that rested upon him as a host: all these were driven from his head.

All that night and the following day, and another night, and for three days and three nights, he lay at her side, struggling with her, striving to overcome her resistance. But she would grant him only kisses.

And, on the third night, as it came towards morning, Pele said to Lohiau, “I am about to return to my place, to Puna, the land of the sunrise. You shall stay here. I will prepare a habitation for us, and, when all is ready I will send and fetch you to myself. If it is a man who comes, you must not go with him; but, if a woman, you are to go with the woman. Then, for five days and five nights you and I will take our fill of pleasure. After that you will be free to go with another woman.”

In his madness, Lohiau put forth his best efforts to overcome Pele’s resistance, but she would not permit him. “When we meet on Hawaii you shall enjoy me to your fill,” said she. He struggled with her, but she foiled him and bit him in the hand to the quick; and he grasped the wound with the other hand to staunch the pain. And he, in turn, in the fierceness of his passion, planted his teeth in her body.

At this, Pele fluttered forth from the house, plunged into the ocean and—was gone.

CHAPTER III

LOHIAU COMES TO HIMSELF—HIS DEATH—THE THREAT OF PAOA

When Lohiau came to himself, as from a dream, he looked for the woman who had lain at his side, but her place was vacant and cold. He went out into the open air, but she was nowhere to be found, and he turned back into the empty house.

Lohiau’s stay with Pele in the sleeping house had prolonged itself beyond all reason and his friends became concerned about him; and as night after night and day after day passed and they neither saw nor heard anything of him, their concern grew into alarm. Yet no one dared enter the house. Lohiau’s sister, however, made it her business to investigate. Opening the door of the house, she entered, and, lo, there hung the body of her brother, suspended from a rafter, his malo about his neck. Life had been gone for many hours and the body was cold. Her screams brought to her aid a group of Lohiau’s friends who at once lifted their voices in unison with hers, bewailing their chief’s death and denouncing the woman who had been with him as the guilty cause.

Paoa was the most outspoken in his imprecations. Stripping off his malo, he stood forth in the garb of nature and declared he would not resume his loin cloth until he had sought out the woman and humiliated her by the grossest of insults. “I will not gird my loins with a malo until I have kindled a fire in Pele’s face, pounded her face as one pounds a taro, consumed her very eyes.” This was the savage oath with which Paoa pledged his determination to avenge the death of his friend, his chief, Lohiau. With universal wailing, amid the waving of kahilis, with tender care and the observance of all due rites, his people anointed the dear body of their chief with perfumed oil, wrapped it in scented robes of choicest tapa, and laid it to rest in the sepulcher.

The favorite dog of Lohiau, who was greatly attached to his master, took his station at the grave and would not be persuaded to leave. Poha-kau, a cousin of Pele,—himself a kupua and possessed of superhuman powers,—having journeyed from Hawaii to Haena, found the faithful creature keeping his lonely vigil at the grave and he brought the dog with him to Pele.

“Your man is dead; Lohiau is dead,” said he. “But this animal—do you recognize him?—I found watching by the grave in Haena.”

“Yes, that is the dog I saw with Lohiau,” answered Pele; and she hid the dog away in her secret place.

CHAPTER IV

PELE AWAKES FROM HER SLEEP

While the scene we have described was being enacted on Kaua’i, the spirit of Pele, returning from its long flight, hovered over the sleeping body at Lau-pahoehoe. Above it waved the kahilis, about it were gathered the sisters and other relatives, quietly sobbing. Though it was many days since Pele had lain down to sleep, and though they feared the consequences if she continued thus, they dared not disturb her. When that was proposed, the sister in charge objected. “If it must be done, we shall have to send for Hiiaka the beloved.”

Some of them suggested that Pele must be dead, she had remained so long without motion. But Hiiaka-of-the-lightning-flash scouted the idea: “How can that be? The body shows no signs of decay.”

The girl Hiiaka saw the messenger that had been despatched to fetch her, while as yet she was in the dim distance,—it was her nurse, Paú-o-pala’e,—and there came to her a premonition of what it all meant, a vision, a picture, of the trouble that was to come; yet, overmastering her, was a feeling of affection and loyalty for her elder sister. Standing outside the house, that she might better watch the approach of Paú-o-pala’e and be on hand to greet her, she voiced her vision in song:

A ka lae ohi’a i Papa-lau-ahi,

I ka imu lei lehua o Kua-o-ka-la—

Lehua maka-nou i ke ahi—

A wela e-e, wela la!

Wela i ke ahi au,

A ka Wahine mai ka Lua, e-e!

TRANSLATION

From the forest-tongue at Papa-lau-ahi

To the garlands heaped at Back-o’-the-sun,

The beauteous lehuas are wilted,

Scorched, burnt up, aye burnt,

Consumed by the fire of the Woman—

The fire that flows from the Pit.

As the messenger, in the vibrating sunlight, thridded her way among the tree clumps and lava-knobs, which now concealed her and now brought her into full view, Hiiaka, with gaze intent to gain such snap-shots of her as these obstructions did not forbid, continued her song:

No ka Lua paha ia makani, o ka Pu’u-lena,

Ke halihali i ke ala laau,

Honi u ai ke kini i kai o Haena—

Haena aloha!

Ke kau nei ka haili moe;

Kau ka haili moe i ke ahiahi:

He hele ko kakahiaka:

Mana’o hele paha au e-e.

Homai ka ihu a hele a’e au;

Aloha oe a noho iho, e-e!

TRANSLATION

From the Pit, doubtless, breathes Pu’u-lena,

With its waft of woodland perfume—

A perfume drunk in with rapture

On the beach of belovéd Haena.

There wafts to me this premonition,

This vision and dream of the night:

I must be gone in the morning:

I foresee I must travel to-morrow.

A farewell kiss ere I journey;

Farewell, alas, to thee who remainest!

Her hostess, Hopoe, would not take the song or the farewell of Hiiaka seriously. “You are simply joking,” she said, “letting your gloomy imagination run away with you. Who in the world is driving you away, as if you had worn out your welcome?”

The messenger, Paú-o-pala’e, when she had saluted Hiiaka, said, “I come from your sisters. They want to see you.”

Arrived at Lau-pahoehoe,[1] Hiiaka found her sisters in great consternation, fearing for the life of Pele if she were allowed to continue her long sleep. Her spirit, it is true, had come back to her body; but it was merely hovering about and had not entered and taken possession, so that there were no signs of animation or life. It seemed to be waiting for the voice of Hiiaka, the belovéd, to summon it back and to make it resume consciousness.

Hiiaka demanded to know the cause of the wailing.

“We are lamenting our sister, the head of the family. You can see for yourself; she is dead.”

After carefully examining the body of Pele, Hiiaka stoutly declared, “She is not dead. That is evident from the absence of corruption.” Then, sitting close to Pele’s feet, she sang:

O hookó ia aku oe

O ka hana ana a ke akua:

I kai o Maka-wai

Ke kiké la ka pohaku:

Wáhi kai a ke ’kua—

He akua, he kanáka;

He kanáka no, e-e!

TRANSLATION

Content you now with your god-work:

Down by the sea at Maka-wai

The rocks have smitten together;

The sea has opened a channel.

Goddess you were, now human,

Return to your human clay!

Pele slept on and gave no sign of waking. Hiiaka then chanted this serenade:

E ala, e ala, e ala!

E ala, e Hi-ka-po-kuakini!

E ala, e Hi-ka-po-kuamáno!

E ala, e ke Akua, e ke Alo!

E ala, e ka Uwila nui,

Maka ehá i ka lani, la!

E ala, e, e ala!

TRANSLATION

Awake now, awake, awake!

Wake, Goddess of multiple god-power!

Wake, Goddess of essence most godlike!

Wake, Queen of the lightning shaft,

The piercing fourth eye of heaven!

Awake; I pray thee awake!

The effect was magical: Pele’s bosom heaved; breath entered her lungs; a fresh color came to her face, and spread to the tips of her ears. She sighed, stretched herself and sat up: she was herself again.

[1] This Laupahoehoe is to be distinguished from that in Hilo. [↑]

CHAPTER V

PELE MAKES A PROPOSITION TO HER SISTERS

That same day Pele and the other sisters returned to Kilauea, while Hiiaka went back to resume her visit with Hopoe, each party reaching its destination at about the same time. Early the next morning Pele called to her sister Hiiaka-i-ka-ale-i (Hiiaka-of-the-choppy-sea) and said, “I want you to go on an errand for me.”

“No doubt I shall agree to go when you have told me what it is,” was the answer of the young woman.

“You are to journey to Kaua’i and escort hither our lover—yours and mine. While on the way you are not to lie with him; you are not to touch noses with him; you are not to fondle him or snuggle close to him. If you do any such thing I will kill both of you. After your return, for five days and five nights, I will have him to myself, and after that he shall be your lover.”

On hearing this, the young woman hung her head and wept.

Pele then made the same proposal to each of the other sisters in turn. Not one of them would consent to undertake the mission. They knew full well the perils of the undertaking: the way was beset with swarms of demons and dragons, with beings possessed with powers of enchantment; and Pele did not offer to endow them with the power that would safeguard them on their journey.

Pele, finding herself foiled on this tack, as a diversion, said, “Let us refresh ourselves and have some luau.” The sisters immediately set to work, and, when they had made up the bundles of delicate taro leaves and were about to lay them upon the fire, Pele called to Paú-o-pala’e and bade her go straightway to Haena and fetch Hiiaka, “And you are to be back here by the time the luau is cooked.”

Now the girl, whose full name was Hiiaka-i-ka-poli-o-Pele, was the youngest of the sisters, and, by reason of her loveliness and accommodating disposition, she was Pele’s favorite. She was, moreover, gifted with a quick intuition and a clairvoyant perception of distant happenings and coming events. At the time of the conversation between Pele and the seven sisters, Hiiaka was sporting in the ocean with her surf-board in the company of Hopoe. While thus engaged, the whole matter of the proposed journey to Haena came to her as in a vision. In the midst of her surfing she turned to Hopoe and said, “I perceive that I am about to undertake a long journey; and during my absence you will remain here in Puna waiting my return.”

“No! What puts such a notion into your head?” said Hopoe.

“Yes, I must go,” insisted Hiiaka. Then they mounted a roller, and, as their boards touched the beach, there stood the messenger of Pele; and this was the message: “Gird on your paú and come with me to Kilauea. Your sister commands it.”

As the two jogged on their uphill way, an impulse seized Hiiaka, and she gave voice to a premonition, a shadow of coming trouble, as it were, and, standing in the road at Mokau-lele, she sang:

He uä kui lehua ko Pana-ewa;

He uä ma kai kui hala ko Puna, e!

Aloha e, aloha wale Koloa, e-e!

Na mau’u i moe o Malei.

TRANSLATION

Pana-ewa’s rain beats down the lehuas,

A rain by the sea smites the halas of Puna.

My love, my pity go out to Koloa;—

Her fare, wilted herbs at Malei.

Hiiaka—true poet that she was, and alive to every colorable aspect of nature—as she trudged on her way, came upon a sight that touched her imagination; two birds were sipping together in loving content of the water that had collected in the crotch of a tree, in which also was growing an awa plant.—Such nature-planted awa was famed as being the most toxic of any produced in Puna.—Her poetic mind found in the incident something that was in harmony with her own mood, and she wove it into a song:

O ka manu múkimukí,

Ale lehua a ka manu,

O ka awa ili lena

I ka uka o Ka-li’u;

O ka manu ha’iha’i lau awa o Puna:—

Aia i ka laau ka awa ona o Puna,

O Puna, ho’i, e-e!

TRANSLATION

O bird that sips with delight

the nectar-bloom of lehua,

Tasting the yellow-barked awa

That climbs in Ka-liu’s uplands;

O bird that brews from this leafage

Puna’s bitter-sweet awa draught;—

Puna’s potentest awa grows

Aloft in the crotch of a tree;—

Most potent this awa of Puna!

CHAPTER VI

HIIAKA CONSENTS TO PELE’S PROPOSITION

Hiiaka arrived at the Pit in good time to partake with the others of the frugal feast ordered by Pele. At its conclusion, Pele turned to the girl Hiiaka and put the question in her blunt way, “Will you be my messenger to fetch our lover—yours and mine—from Kaua’i? Your sisters here”—she glanced severely about the group—“have refused to go. Will you do this for me?”

The little maid, true to her sense of loyalty to the woman who was her older sister, the head of the family, and her alii, to the surprise and dismay of her other sisters, answered, “Yes, I will go and bring the man.”

It was a shock to their sense of fitness that one so young should be sent on an errand of such danger and magnitude; but more, it was a reproof that slapped them in the face to have this little chit accept without hesitation a commission which they had shrunk from through lack of courage. But they dared not say a word; they could but scowl and roll the eye and shrug the shoulder.

“When you have brought our lover here,” continued Pele, “for five nights and five days he shall be mine; after that, the tabu shall be off and he shall be yours. But, while on the way, you must not kiss him, nor fondle him, nor touch him. If you do it will be the death of you both.”

In spite of the gestured remonstrances of the group, Hiiaka, in utter self-forgetfulness and diplomatic inexperience, agreed to Pele’s proposition, and she framed her assent in a form of speech that had in it the flavor of a sacrament:

Kukulu ka makia a ka huaka’i hele moe ipo:

Ku au, hele, noho oe.

E noho ana na lehua lulu’u,

Ku’u moku lehua i uka o Ka-li’u, e.

Li’uli’u wale ka hele ana

O ka huaka’i moe ipo.

Aloha mai ka ipo—

O Lohiau ipo, i Haena.

TRANSLATION

Firm plant the pillar, seal of our love-pact;

Here stand I, begirt for this love-quest;

You shall abide, and with you my groves—

Lehua and hala—heavy with bloom.

The journey is long and toilsome the task

To bring our fine lover to bed.

Mark! a love-hail—from beloved Lohiau!

Beloved Lohiau of Haena!

(I am impelled by my admiration for this beautiful song to give another version of it:)

Ku kila ke kaunu moe ipo;

Ku au, hele, noho oe, a no-ho,

A noho ana i na lehua o Lu-lu’u,

O ka pae hala, moku lehua, i uka o Ka-li’u.

Li’u-li’u ho’i, li’u-li’u wale

Ka hele ana o ka huaka’i moe ipo.

Aloha mai ka ipo,

O Lohiau ipo, e!

TRANSLATION

Fixed my intent for the lover-quest:

Here I stand to depart; you remain,

And with you my bloom-clad lehuas,

And the palm-groves that wave in Ka-li’u.

Long, wearisome long, shall the journey be

To find and to bring our lover—

That dearest of lovers, Lohiau!

Hiiaka would sleep on it. Her start was to be in the morning. The next day, while Hiiaka was climbing the long ascent up the crater-pali, her sisters, anxious and appreciating the danger of the undertaking, were quietly weeping outside the cave; but they dared not utter a word that might come to the ears of Pele. They began, however, to beckon and signal to Hiiaka to return. She saw them and turned back, uttering the following plaint:

E ku ana au e hele;

E lau ka maka o ua nei ino;

E ka po’e ino, o lakou nei, e:

E mana ana, ka, ia’u e hele;

E hele no au, e-e!

TRANSLATION

While I stand ready for travel,

You bad lot! ’Tis you that I mean!

This weight of travel you’d lay on me;

These bad ones sit with impudent stare:

And so it is I that must go!

The opposition of the sisters was based largely on Hiiaka’s youth and inexperience. The girl did not understand nor give them credit for this generous regard for herself; she saw only their disobedience and disloyalty to Pele’s command.

Pele, impatient at her vacillation, broke out on her savagely: “Here you are again! Be off on your journey! You shall find no food here, no meat, no raiment, no roof, no sisterly greeting, nothing, until you return with the man. It would have been useless to dispatch these homely women on this errand; it seems equally useless to send a beautiful girl like you.”

To this outburst Hiiaka retorted:

Ke hanai a’e la ka ua[1] i ka lani:

Maka’u au i ka ua awa i ka uka o Kiloi.

Iná[2] ia ia la, he loiloi[3], e—

I loiloi no oe elua[4] oiwi—

Loiloi iho la, e-e!

TRANSLATION

The rain doth replenish the heavens;

I dread the fierce rain of upland Kiloí.

Behold now this one, the fault-finder!

You, in two shapes, are hard to please—

Aye, in either shape, hard to please!

“I am not grumbling or finding fault with you (loiloi): it was simply because you turned back that I spoke to you. Do you call that reproaching you?”

Hiiaka, though a novice in diplomacy, as shown by her instant and unconditional acceptance of Pele’s proposition, having once got her second breath, now exacted of Pele a condition that proved her to be, under the discipline of experience, an apt pupil in the delicate art of diplomacy. “I am going to bring our lover, while you remain at home. If during my absence you go forth on one of your raids, you are welcome to ravage and consume the lands that are common to us both; but, see to it that you do not consume my forests of lehua. And, again, if the fit does come upon you and you must ravage and destroy, look to it that you harm not my friend Hopoe.”

Pele readily agreed to Hiiaka’s reasonable demand, thinking thus to hasten her departure. To the inexperienced girl the terms of the agreement seemed now complete and satisfactory, and, in the first blush of her gratification, Hiiaka gave expression to her pleasure:

Ke kau aloha wale mai la ka ua, e-e;

Ka mauna o ka haliü kua, a-a.

I ku au a aloha oe, ka Lua, e-e!

Aloha ia oe, e-e!

TRANSLATION

Kindly falls the rain from heaven;

Now may I turn my back and travel:

Travel-girt, I bid farewell to the Pit;

Here’s a farewell greeting to thee.

Even now Hiiaka made an ineffectual start. Some voice of human instinct whispered that something was wanting, and she again faced her sister with a request so reasonable that it could not be denied:

Ke ku nei au e hele:

Hele au a ke ala,

Mihi mai e-e:

Mana’o, ho’i mai no au,

Ia oe la, ia o-e.

La’i pohu mai la

Lalo o ka Lua, e:

I elua mai la, pono au.

Olelo I ke aka,

Ka hele ho’okahi, e;

Mamina ka leo—

He leo wale no, e-e!

TRANSLATION

My foot still shod for travel,—

I made a misstart on my journey;

I’ve come to repair my neglect.

A need, a request, brings me back,

To plead in thy presence once more:

Joy springs up within;

There’s calm in the Pit.

Give me but a travel-mate:

That would content me.

Who travels alone has

For speech-mate his shadow.

Futile is speech, with

No answering voice—

Empty words, only a voice.

(The exigencies of the narrative have induced me, in the above song, to couple together two mele which the story-tellers have given us as belonging to two separate incidents in Hiiaka’s fence with Pele.)

“Your request is reasonable,” said Pele; “to travel alone is indeed to converse with one’s shadow. You shall have a companion.”

Pele designated a good-natured waiting woman as her attendant, who had the poetical name of Paú-o-pala’e (or Paú-o-palaá). This faithful creature heartily accepted the trust, that of kahu—a servant with the pseudo responsibility of a guardian—and, having expressed her fealty to her new mistress, she at once took her station. Thus everything seemed arranged for a start on the eventful journey.

The terms and conditions of Hiiaka’s going were not even yet to the satisfaction of her watchful sisters and relatives. One matter of vital importance had been omitted from the outfit: Pele had not bestowed upon Hiiaka the mana, power and authority, to overcome and subdue all the foes that would surely rise up to oppose and defeat her. With wild gestures they signalled to Hiiaka once more to return.

Hiiaka’s answering song, though pointed with blame, gives proof that her own intuitions were not entirely at fault:

A ka luna, i Pu’u-onioni,

Noho ke anaina a ke ’Kua.

Kilohi a’ ku’u maka ilalo,

I ka ulu o Wahine-kapu:

He o’ioina Kilauea,

He noho-ana o Papa-lau-ahi, e.

Ke lau-ahi mai la o Pele ia kai o Puna:

Ua one-á, oke-á, kai o Maláma, e.

E málama i ka iki kanaka,

I ka nu’a kanáka;

O kakou no keia ho-akua—

Akua Mo’o-lau, e!

O Mo’o-lau ke ala, e!

TRANSLATION

From the crest of Tremble[5] Hill

I look on the concourse of gods,

At ease on the gossip-ground,

The seat of Wahine-kapu,

Rest-station to Kilauea,

Its pavement of lava-plate:

Such plates Pele spreads in Puna—

Hot shards, gray sands at Maláma.

Succor and life for small and great!

Be it ours to play the god; our way

Beset by demons four hundred!

The communication between Hiiaka and her sisters had, on their part, been carried on mostly by means of gesture and sign-language. But on this return of Hiiaka the whole family of brothers and sisters were so moved at the thought of the danger to Hiiaka that they spoke out at last and frankly advised Hiiaka to go before Pele and demand of her the gift of spiritual power, mana, that she might be able to meet her enemies on equal terms at least, so that she need not feel powerless in their presence. But nothing came of this move at the time, for at this moment out came Pele from her cave, and, seeing Hiiaka standing with the others, she addressed her sharply and said: “What! You still here? Why are you not on the way to fetch our man?”

Face to face with Pele, Hiiaka’s courage oozed away and she promised to make another start in the morning. When on this new start she had come near the top of the ascent, she turned about and sang:

Punohunohu i ka lani

Ka uahi o ka lua;

He la’i ilalo o Kilauea;

Maniania ’luna o Wahine-kapu.

I kapu, la, i ke aha ka leo, e?

TRANSLATION

The pit-smoke blankets the heavens;

Clear is the air in Kilauea,

Tranquil Wahine-kapu’s plain—

The Woman, why silent her voice?

Hiiaka now made common cause with the group of sisters and relatives who were bent on securing for her justice and fair treatment. Among them, taking council together, sat Ka-moho-alii, Kane-milo-hai, Kapo and Pohakau[6]. By this action Hiiaka took a new attitude: while not coming out in open defiance to her sister, she virtually declared her determination no longer to be domineered over by Pele.

In the council that took place it was determined that Ka-moho-alii, who stood high in Pele’s regards and whose authority was second only to hers, was the proper one to approach Pele in the matter of conferring upon Hiiaka the necessary mana. When, therefore, Pele put to Hiiaka the question why she had returned, why she was not on her journey, Ka-moho-alii spoke up and said, “It is because of fear she has returned. She sees danger by the way. You have not given her the mana to protect her from the dragons and monsters that infest the road. O Mo’o-lau ke ala, e: The way is beset by dragons four hundred.”

“Ah, that is the trouble?” said Pele. Then she called upon the Sun, the Moon, the Stars, Wind, Rain, Thunder, Lightning—all the heavenly powers—to aid and safeguard Hiiaka and she authorized her to exercise the powers of these heavenly beings. The gods, thereupon, ratified this act of Pele; and at last the way was made clear for Hiiaka’s departure.

[1] Ua, rain. It is suggested this may refer—sarcastically—to the watery secretion in Pele’s eyes, as found in old people. [↑]

[2] Ina, here means consider. [↑]

[3] Loiloi. If a chief was not pleased or satisfied with a gift, loiloi would express his state of mind. [↑]

[4] Elua oiwi, literally, two shapes. Pele had many metamorphoses. [↑]

[5] The wavering of indecision. [↑]

[6] This Pohakau was the friend, previously mentioned, who had brought to Pele the faithful dog that lay fasting and mourning at Lohiau’s grave. Pohakau remained at Pele’s court; the dog Pele hid away in her own secret place. [↑]

CHAPTER VII

HIIAKA STARTS ON HER JOURNEY

The refusal of her sisters to undertake the mission to fetch Lohiau had angered Hiiaka. Her intrepid fealty to Pele, their oldest sister and their alii, laughed to scorn the perils of the journey. She could not and, for a time, would not bring herself to understand their prudential attitude. Pele was their alii, and it was rank disloyalty in them to shirk any danger or to decline any command Pele might think fit to impose. In judging the conduct of her sisters, it did not at first enter the head of Hiiaka that motives of sound worldly prudence justified them in declining for themselves an errand full of danger, or in putting obstacles in the way of her going on the same errand: she saw in it only a failure to rise to the level of her own loyalty.

The situation, then, was heavily charged with estrangement, and when the woman in Hiiaka could not refrain from one more farewell, the color and tone of voice and song had in them the snap of electricity:

Ke ku nei au e hele, a noho oe;

A noho ana na Wahine o Lu-lu’u

E ka pae[1] moku lehua

I uka o Ka-li’u, la.

Li’uli’u wale ka hele ana

O ka huaka’i moe ipo.

Aloha mai ka ipo,

O Lohiau ipo, e-e!

TRANSLATION

Here stand I begirt for travel;

You must tarry at home, and these …

These … women … who sit downcast.

Oh, care for my parks of lehua—

How they bloom in upland Ka-li’u!

Long is the way and many the day

Before you shall come to the bed of love,

But, hark! the call of the lover,

The voice of the lover, Lohiau!

At the utterance of this name Pele brightened and called to Hiiaka, “Yes, that is the name of our man. I purposely kept it back until you should have reached the water-shed (kaupaku[2] o ka hale o kaua, literally the ridgepole) of our house, intending then to reveal it to you; but you have divined the man’s name. Go on your journey. Nothing shall avail to block your road. Yours is the power of woman; the power of man is nothing to that.”

On reaching the plateau of Wahine-kapu Hiiaka received a spiritual message telling her that Lohiau—the object of her errand—was dead. She at once turned towards Pele and commemorated the fact in song:

I Akani-hia,

I Akani-kolea,

I Pu’u-wa’a-hia,

I Pu’u-manawa-le’a,

I Pu’u-aloha, la:

He mea e ke aloha o ke kane, e.

Ke haale iho nei au e hanini, e;

E uwé au, e!

TRANSLATION

Let us sound it aloud—

Far as the plover’s flight;

With full breath shout it,

And with a full heart,

Big with affection.

Ah, wondrous the love for a man!

The feelings that strive,

As these tears, to rush out—

I can not repress them!

Pele did not know this name-song of Lohiau until she heard it recited by Hiiaka. This it was that led Hiiaka to come back within easy hearing distance:

Ke uwá ia mai la e ka ua;

Ke kahe ia mai la e ka wai:

Na lehua i Wai-a’ama, la, lilo,

Lilo a’u opala lehua

I kai o Pi’i-honua, la;

Mai Po’i-honua no a Pi’i-lani.

TRANSLATION

It sobs in the rain;

It moans in the rushing tide.

Gone is my grove of lehuas—

My rubbish grove, that stood

By the pilfering waters—flown,

He has flown, like its smoke, to heaven.

’Tis there I must seek him!

“How absurd of you,” said Pele; “you were not sent on an expedition to heaven, but to bring a man who is here on earth. If you fly up to heaven, you will pass him by and leave him here below.”

Hiiaka and her faithful companion—Pau-o-pala’e—had gotten well away from the vast pit of Kilauea, with its fringe of steam-cracks and fumaroles that radiate from it like the stays of a spider-web, and they were nearing the borders of Pana-ewa, when Hiiaka’s quick ear caught the sound of a squealing pig. Her ready intuition furnished the right interpretation to this seemingly insignificant occurrence:

A loko au o Pana-ewa,

Halawai me ka pua’a

A Wahine-oma’o,

Me ku’u maka lehua i uka.

Me ka Malu-ko’i[3] i ka nahele,

E uwé ana i ka laau.

Alalá ka pua’a a ka wahine—

He pua’a kanaenae,

He kanaenae mohai ola—

E ola ia Pele,

I ka Wahine o ka Lua, e-e!

TRANSLATION

In the heart of Pana-ewa—

Lehuas were heavy with bud,

The dim aisles solemn with shadow—

I met with a suckling pig,

The pet of Wahine-oma’o,

A wailing voice in the wilderness:

’Twas the creature wail of the thing,

Foredoomed as an offering, this

Wailing thing was a sacrifice,

An appeal to Pele for life,

To the Woman who dwells in the Pit.

At this moment a young woman of attractive person appeared on the scene and, prostrating herself to the earth, said, “O, Pele, behold my offering, which I bring to thee in fulfillment of the pledge made by my parents, that I should first seek thee, O Pele, before I come to my marriage bed. Accept this suckling which I offer to thee, O Pele.”

“I am not the one you are seeking: I am not Pele,” said Hiiaka. “Pele is over yonder in the Pit.”

The woman was persistent and begged that Hiiaka would not despise her offering. After undeceiving her, Hiiaka carefully instructed her, lest she make some fatal mistake in her approach to the jealous goddess: “When you come to the Pit you must be careful in your approach to Pele. The least departure from the etiquette she demands would be the cause of your death. Do not imagine that the fine large woman sitting at the door is Pele, nor that any one of the women seated within is she. You must pay no attention to these. Look for the figure of a wrinkled old woman lying bundled up on the hearth: that is Pele: make the offering to no one else but to her.”

“Alas for me,” said Wahine-oma’o. “You will be gone a long way from this place by the time I shall return to seek you. I shall not be able to find you.”

“You will find us here,” replied Hiiaka assuringly.

Hiiaka used her power to bring the woman at once to her destination. Following the instructions given her, Wahine-oma’o was quickly transported into the presence of Pele and, having made her offering in due form, was about to retire, when Pele called her back and said, “Did you not meet some women going from here as you came this way?”

“I met some women,” she answered.

“Make haste and come up with them,” said Pele. “The younger woman is very dear to me. Attach yourself to her as a friend.”

“That I will do,” said Wahine-oma’o. Then, moved by an impulse that came to her (the work, it is said, of Hiiaka), she said to Pele, “I had imagined you to be a beautiful woman, Pele. But, lo, you are old and wrinkled; and your eyes are red and watery.” Thus saying, Wahine-oma’o took her departure and almost immediately found herself again with Hiiaka.

“You have made quick time,” Hiiaka said. “How did you get on?”

“I followed your instructions and presented my offering to the woman who was lying on the hearth. She asked me if I had met you, and when I said yes, she told me to look after you as a friend.”

“Is that all?”

“She also told me to watch you, to observe how you behaved towards the man—whether you kissed him or had any dalliance with him.”

“And did you say anything to Pele?”

“U-m, I bantered her about her looks; told her she was a very ill-favored woman, while the women attending her were very handsome.”

Hiiaka laughed at this naive account.

Night shut down upon them at Kuolo, a place just on the border of Pana-ewa. Paú-o-pala’e proposed that they should seek a resting place for the night with the people of the hamlet. Hiiaka would not hear to it: “Travelers should sleep in the open, in the road; in that way they can rise and resume their journey with no delay.” (O ka po’e hele he pono ia lakou e moe i ke alanui, i ala no a hele no.)

[1] One critic says it should be po’e. [↑]

[2] Kaupaku o ka hale o kaua. A hidden reference to sexual intercourse. [↑]

[3] Malu-ko’i, dark and gloomy. [↑]

CHAPTER VIII

THE GIRL PA-PULEHU—THE FEAST

In the morning while it was still dark, they roused and started afresh. Their way led through lehua groves of the most luxuriant growth, the bloom of which crimsons the landscape to this day, exuding a honey that is most attractive to the birds of heaven. The cool still air wafted to their ears the hum of voices which was soon explained when they came upon a bevy of girls who were busily plucking the bright flowers to string into wreaths and garlands, in anticipation of some entertainment. This rural scene made an appeal to the poet in Hiiaka which she could not resist:

A Wai-akea, i ka Hilo-hana-kahi,

Ala i ka wa po iki,

I ka lehua lei o Hilo, o Hi-lo;

E pauku ana no ka hala me ka lehua.

Maikai Hilo, o Hilo-hana-kahi!

TRANSLATION

At Wai-akea, in Hilo—

The Hilo of Hana-kahi—

They rise in the early morning

To weave fresh wreaths of lehua,

Inbeading its bloom with hala—

Gay Hilo of Hana-kahi!

At sight of Hiiaka’s party, the lively flower-girls made a rush, as if to capture and appropriate their friendly acquaintance for individual possession. The most vivacious and forward of the whole party was Pa-pulehu, their leader, a buxom young woman, of good family, who at once took possession of Hiiaka for herself, crowned and bedecked her with wreaths and garlands, with many expressions of enthusiastic admiration: “This is my friend!—What a beauty!—How the scarlet lehua becomes her!—Just look, girls!—And now you are to come and be my guest.—The feast is set for this very day.—But you are all welcome.”

The unrestrained gush of the young woman’s rattling talk was quite in contrast to the selected words of Hiiaka.

Now Pa-pulehu was of a large and important family, embracing numerous friends and relations, and, having ample means, her hospitalities were unstinted. The report spread quickly, “Pa-pulehu has a distinguished guest come to visit her. There is to be a feast this afternoon. All are invited.”

The tables were spread with a great variety of fish, meats, fruits and vegetables. The parents and guardians of the girl, nevertheless, came to her and inquired, “What is there that this young woman, your friend, would specially like to eat?” Paú-o-pala’e took it upon her to answer, that the one thing that would be most acceptable to Hiiaka would be a dish of luau. Thereupon a large quantity of young and delicate taro leaves were prepared for the table.

When they were gathered at the tables, Hiiaka sitting in the place of honor, Paú-o-pala’e, at her request, bade all the people incline their heads and close their eyes. Then Hiiaka called upon her allies, the Sun, the Moon, the Stars, the elements and all the gods to come to the feast and partake; and when the prayer was ended and they opened their eyes—lo, the tables spread for Hiiaka were empty! Hiiaka had not been seen to take into her hands any of the food that was spread before her. It had vanished away as a drop of water evaporates in the heat of the sun.

The feast being concluded, Hiiaka rose, bade good bye to the people and resumed her journey, taking with her Pa-pulehu.

This girl Pa-pulehu was of genuine flesh and blood, with no blend of divine ichor in her veins, such as enriched the blood of Hiiaka; nor had she, like Wahine-oma’o and Paú-o-pala’e, been strengthened and made more resistant to spiritual and physical foes—a privilege granted to those who had enjoyed a close approach to Pele as attendants and worshippers. This weakness in her nature had its influence in determining the fate to which her history now quickly leads.

Their journey still lay through Puna. They were at Kalalau, not far from Haena (at the place where, centuries afterwards, Kamehameha was struck with that well-nigh fatal blow by an outraged fisherman). Some fishermen were hauling in their nets full of fish. The sight was too much for Pa-pulehu. “I hunger for fish,” she exclaimed. “These fish belong to my father. Oh, if I only were at home! how I would eat until I was satisfied!”

Hiiaka thought it best to indulge the appetite of this novice in her service. From a little knoll overlooking the ocean, she descried the canoe of a fisherman named Pahulu floating in the offing, but already well stocked with fish. Hiiaka used her power and drove away the school of fish that would have come to his net. The man himself was so intent on his work that he had no eyes for what was passing on shore; but his assistant exclaimed, “Look at the beautiful woman standing on the shore and watching us!”

“I must keep my eyes on my nets,” the fisherman replied.

Thereupon Hiiaka attracted his attention with a song:

Nani ku a ka Hilo pali-ku!

O ka au-hula ana o Ka-lalau,

O ka au alana loa i kai, e!

Ho mai he i’a, na ka pehu o uka, ea.

TRANSLATION

A standing wonder, Hilo cliffs!

How daring this Ka-lalau swimming,

Far out to sea on a floating plank!

Pray grant us, O man, of your fish—

Fish for the herb-swollen rustic.

This brought the two fishermen ashore who thereupon willingly parted with some of their fish to Hiiaka, coupling the gift, however, with a proposition insulting to the honor of the two women. The fishermen, imagining they had the two women under their power, were soon after seen lying in the open embracing two figures of stone which they, in their insane infatuation, fancied were the two women, thus exposing themselves to the jeers and derision of their fellows.

Pa-pulehu cooked and ate the fish, but her manner of eating was lacking in due punctilio, in that she did not dispose properly of the unconsumed parts—the tails, fins, bones and scales—of the fish. She should have burned or buried them; instead she left them lying about in a slovenly way. This neglect was highly offensive to Pele and caused her to withdraw from Pa-pulehu the protection she otherwise would have given her.

CHAPTER IX

HIIAKA CHOOSES THE ROUTE THROUGH PANA-EWA

Two routes offered themselves for Hiiaka’s choice, a makai road, circuitous but safe, the one ordinarily pursued by travelers; the other direct but bristling with danger, because it traversed the territory of the redoubtable witch-mo’o, Pana-ewa. Hiiaka had deigned to appeal to the girl Pa-pulehu, she being a kamaaina[1], as if for information. When Hiiaka announced her determination to take the short road, the one of danger that struck through the heart of Pana-ewa, Pa-pulehu drew back in dismay and expostulated: “That is not a fit road for us, or for any but a band of warriors. If we go that way we shall be killed.” She broke forth with lamentations, bewailing her coming fate and the desolation that was about to visit her family.

As they advanced Wahine-oma’o descried a gray scare-crow object motionless in the road ahead of them. She thought it to be the blasted stump of a kukui tree. Hiiaka recognized its true character, the witch-form taken as a disguise by a mo’o. It was a scout sent out by Pana-ewa; in real character a hag, but slimed with a gray excrement to give it closer resemblance to a mouldering tree-stump. The deceiving art of magic did not avail against Hiiaka. She rushed forward to give the death stroke to the foul thing, which at once groveled in the dirt in its true form.

Night overtook them in a dense forest. While the others lay and slept, Hiiaka reconnoitered the situation. The repose of the wilderness was unbroken save for the restless flitting of a solitary bird that peered at Hiiaka obtrusively. It was a spy in the employ of Pana-ewa and its actions roused the lively suspicions of Hiiaka, eliciting from her an appropriate incantation:

Ka wai mukiki ale lehua a ka manu,

Ka awa ili lena i ka uka o Ka-li’u,

Ka manu aha’i lau awa o Puna:

Aia i ka laau ka awa o Puna.

Mapu mai kona aloha ia’u—

Hoolaau mai ana ia’u e moe.

E moe no au, e-e!

TRANSLATION

O honey-dew sipped by the bird,

Distilled from the fragrant lehua;

O yellow-barked awa that twines

In the upper lands of Ka-li’u;

O bird that brews from this leafage

Puna’s bitter-sweet awa draught;—

Puna’s potentest awa grows

Aloft in the crotch of the trees.

It wafts the seduction to sleep,

That I lock my senses in sleep!

It was a subtle temptation that suggested the awa cup as a relief for her troubles. Hiiaka had need that all her faculties should give her their best service. For her to have slept at this time would have been fatal. Her song well expressed it:

E nihi ka hele i ka uka o Puna;

Mai ako i ka pua,

O lilo i ke ala o ka hewahewa.

Ua huná ia ke kino i ka pohaku,

O ka pua na’e ke ahu nei i ke alanui—

Alanui hele o ka unu kupukupu, e-e;—

Ka ulí-a!

A kaunu no anei oe o ke aloha la?

Hele a’e a komo i ka hale o Pele;

Ua huahua’i i Kahiki; lapa uila,

Pele e, hua’i’na ho’i!

TRANSLATION

Heed well your way in upland Puna;

Pluck never a single flower;

Lest you stray from the path.

The shape lies hid neath a stone,

The path is one carpet of flowers,

The blocks of stumbling overgrown.

Quick follows the downfall!

Is there a compact between us of love?

Fly, voice, assail the ear of Pele!

Erupt, Kahiki, with lightning flash!

Now, Pele, burst forth in thy might!

Pana-ewa entrusted the work of reconnaissance and scouting for information to two of his creatures named Ke-anini and Ihi-kalo, while he lay down and slept. Having done their work, the two scouts waked the drowsy monster in the middle of the night with the information that four human beings, women, had entered his domain and were coming towards him. “Where are they?” he asked.

“Out in this direction (pointing), and they are moving this way.”

“Well, this day of fasting has gone by. What a pity, however, that the poi in my calabash has turned sour, but the taro is sweet. Eye-balls! what juicy, delicious morsels! The day of privation turns out to be a day of feasting.” Thus muttered the cannibal monster, gloating like Polyphemus in his cave at the prospect of a feast.

Hiiaka kept her own courage at the fine point of seeming indifference, she also inspired her companions with the same feeling by the calm confidence displayed in her singing:

Pau ke aho i ke kahawai lau o Hilo:

He lau ka pu’u, he mano ka iho’na;

He mano na kahawai o Kula’i-po;

He wai Honoli’i, he pali o Kama-e’e,

He pali no Koolau ka Hilo-pali-ku;

He pali Wailuku, he one ke hele ia;

He one e ke’ehia la i Wai-olama.

He aka ka wi a ka wai i Pana-ewa—

O Pana-ewa nui, moku-lehua,

Ohi’a kupu hao’eo’e i ka ua,

Lehua ula i ka wi’ ia e ka manu.

A ua po, e, po Puna, po Hilo

I ka uahi o ku’u aina.

By Pana-ewa.—

“Ola ia kini! ke a mai la ke ahi, e-e!”

TRANSLATION

One’s strength is exhausted, climbing, climbing

The countless valleys and ridges of Hilo,—

The streams without number of Ku-la’i-po,

The mighty water of Hono-li’i,

The precipice walls of Kama-e’e,

And the pali of Ko’olau:

Such a land is Hilo-pali-ku.

The banks of Wailuku are walls;

The road to its crossing but sand;

Sandy the way at Wai-o-lama.

How cheery the purl of these waters!—

Great Pana-ewa—her parks of lehua,

Scraggy in growth yet scarlet a-top,

Its nectar wrung out by the birds!

Black night covers Puna and Hilo,

A pall from the smoke of my home land!

(By Pana-ewa).

“Here’s food for me and mine!

Behold the blaze of the ovens!”

(The last two lines are said to be the utterance of Pana-ewa who feigned to regard the fires as those of his own people, who, in anticipation of an easy victory, had made ready their ovens to receive the bodies of Hiiaka and her party.)

Hiiaka bravely answered Pana-ewa:

O Pana-ewa, ohi’a loloa,

Ohi’a uliuli i ka uä,

I moku pewa ia

E ka laau o kepakepa,

A ka uka i Haili la.

Ilihia, ilihia i ka leo—

He leo wale no, e!

TRANSLATION

Pana-ewa, a tall ohi’a,

The fruit red-ripe in the rain,

Is vilely slashed with the stick

Of the mountaineer.

It stands in upland Haili:

Terrific—the voice is terrific;

Yet it’s merely a voice!

“The voice was threatening only because my servants reported that some people were trespassing. That set my tongue agoing about poi - - - and - taro. - - - After all it’s a question of strength. Your valor it is that must win for you a passage through this land of mine.”

This was Pana-ewa’s ultimatum.

Hiiaka accepted the defiance of Pana-ewa by chanting a solemn kahoahoa, which was at once a confident prediction of victory and an appeal to the gods:

Kua loloa Keäau i ka nahele hala;

Kua huluhulu Pana-ewa i ka laau;

Inoino ka maha, ka ohi’a o La’a, e;

Ku kepakepa ka maha o ka laau,

U-á po’ohina i ka wela a ke Akua;

U-a-uahi Puna o ka oloka’a pohaku ia,

I ka huná pa’a ia e ka Wahine.

Nanahu ahi ka ka papa o Olueä;

Momoku ahi Puna, hala i Apua;

Ulu-á ka nahele me ka laau;

Ka ke kahiko ia o Papa-lau-ahi.

Ele-i[2] kahiko, e Ku-lili-kaua;

Ka ia,[3] hea[4] hala o Ka-li’u;

E ne[5] ka La, ka malama;

Onakaka ka piko[6] o Hilo i ke one,

I hu-lá[7] ia aku la e, hulihia i kai.

Ua wawahia, ua nahahá,

Ua he-helelei ka papa i Pua-le’i, e!

TRANSLATION

Long is the reach of Keäau’s palms;

Bristly-backed Pana-ewa’s woodlands;

Spoiled are the restful groves of La’a;

Ragged and patchy the tree-clumps—

Gray their heads from the ravage of fire.

A blanket of smoke covers Puna—

All paved with the dump from Her stone-yard.

The Goddess’ fire bites Olu-eä—

One cinder-heap clean to Apua;

Food for Her oven are wildwood and brush—

The finish that to Lau-ahi’s glory:

Her robe now is changed to jetty black,

At the onset of Ku-lili-kaua,

Ka-liu’s palms plucked root and branch.

The Sun and the Moon are blotted out;

Hilo is shaken to its foundation,

Its lands upheaved, despoiled to the sea,

Shattered, fissured, powdered, reduced;

Its plain is ashes and dust!

The battle that ensued when Pana-ewa sent to the attack his nondescript pack of mo’o, dragonlike anthropoids, the spawn of witchcraft, inflamed with the spite of demons, was hideous and uncanny. Tooth and claw ran amuck. Flesh was torn, limbs rent apart, blood ran like water. If it had been only a battle with enemies in the open Hiiaka would have made short work of the job. Her foes lay ambushed in every wood and brake and assumed every imaginable disguise. A withered bush, a bunch of grass, a moss-grown stone, any, the most innocent object in nature, might prove to be an assailant ready to spit venom or tear with hook and talon. Hiiaka had need of every grain of wit and every spark of courage in her nature. Nothing could withstand her onset and the billows of attack against her person were broken as by a solid rock. Some described her as wielding a flaming battle-ax and hurling missiles of burning sulphur. They might well be deceived. The quickness of her every motion was a counterfeit of the riving blade or blazing fire-ball. Some assert that, in her frenzy, she tore with her teeth and even devoured the reeking flesh until her stomach rose in rebellion. Such a notion seems incompatible with the violence of her disgust for the reptilian blood that besmeared her from sole to crown.

Paú-o-pala’e, using her magical paú as a besom of destruction, was transformed into a veritable Bellona; and Wahine-oma’o displayed the courage of an amazon. These both escaped serious injury. The unhappy fate of Pa-pulehu realized that girl’s premonition. She fell into the hands of the enemy and, as if to fulfill the prediction of Pele, became “food for the gods of Pana-ewa.”

As Hiiaka glanced heavenward, she saw the zenith filled with cloud-forms—Kane, Kanaloa, Ka-moho-alii, Poha-kau and others, encouraging her with their looks. The sight, while it cheered, wrung from her a fervent prayer:

Kela pae opua i ka lani, e,

Ke ka’i a’e la mauka o Poha-kau.

He kaukau, aloha keia ia oe,

Ia oe no, e-e-e!

TRANSLATION

Yon group of god-forms, that float

And sail with the clouds heaven-high,

Mustered and led by Poha-kau;

This prayer is a love-call to you!

“Our sister is in trouble,” said Ka-moho-alii, “let us go to her assistance!” Such was the call of Ka-moho-alii when he saw his little friend and quondam protegé Hiiaka in trouble, and theirs were the god-forms that sailed through the sky to reinforce her.

[1] Kamaaina, a resident, one acquainted with the land. [↑]

[2] Ele-i. One Hawaiian says this rare word means blue-black, shiny black (J. W. P.); another says it means rich, choice, select (T. J. P.) [↑]

[3] Ka, to remove, clean up entirely, as in bailing a canoe. [↑]

[4] Hea, destroyed, flattened out. [↑]

[5] Ne, an elided poetical form of nele, meaning gone, blotted out. [↑]

[6] Piko, the navel. The belly, or piko, of a fish was the choicest part. “I ka piko no oe, lihaliha.” Eat of the belly and you shall be satiated. (Old saying.) [↑]

[7] Hu-la. (Notice the accent to distinguish it from hula.) To dig up, as a stone out of the ground. [↑]

CHAPTER X

HIIAKA’S BATTLE WITH PANA-EWA

The bird-spies sent out by Pana-ewa brought back contradictory reports. The first pair reported that Hiiaka was being worsted. Soon after another pair, garbling the facts, said “Our people are lying down, but they are still alert and keep their eyes open. As for Hiiaka, she has fallen into a deep sleep.”

The situation was far from satisfactory and Pana-ewa despatched another pair of birds to reconnoitre and report. It was not yet morning and the night was dark; and they accordingly took the form of kukui[1] trees, thinking thus to illuminate the scene of operations. The intelligence they brought was confounding: “Our people,” they said, “are all dead, save those who have the form of kukui trees. Hiiaka lies quietly sleeping in the road.”

This account, though strictly in accord with the facts, was so disconcerting to Pana-ewa that he burst forth in a rage, “Slaves, liars! you’re deceiving me. I’ll wring your necks!” and he reached out to execute his threat. The birds eluded him and found safety in flight.

Pana-ewa now saw that it was necessary to take the field in person at the head of his regular forces, composed of the Namú and Nawá. The disguise he chose for himself was that of an ohia-lehua tree. No sooner had he taken that form than he found himself unable to move hand or foot. A parasitic network of i-e-i-e embraced his body and a multitude of aërial roots anchored him to the spot. It was the craft of the sleeping girl that had done this. He had to content himself with the unwarlike guise of the kukui tree.

While Hiiaka slept, her faithful servitor Paú-o-pala’e kept open eye and detective ear to what was going on in the star-lit forest about them. At the first glimmering of dawn her keen sense felt rather than heard a murmurous rustle that broke the stillness and a movement, as if the forest itself were advancing and closing in upon them. This oncoming of the enemy was in such contrast to the onset of the yelping pack on the previous day as to be most impressive. The sound that touched her keen sense was not the joyous twitter and stir of nature preparing to greet a new day; it was rather the distant mutter of the storm, soon to be heard as the growl of the tempest, or the roar and snarl of an enraged menagerie of wild beasts.

The woman felt her responsibility and, with the double intent of summoning to their aid the friendly gods and of waking Hiiaka, she lifted a solemn prayer:

Kuli’a, e Uli,[2] ka pule kala ma ola;

Kuli’a imua, i ke kahuna;[3]

Kuli’a i ke Alohi-lani.[4]

E úi aku ana au

I kupua oluna nei, e?

Owai kupua oluna nei, e?

O Ilio-uli[5] o ka lani;

O Ilio-ehu,[6] o Ilio-mea,[7] o ka lani;

O Ku-ke-ao-iki,[8] o Ku-ke-ao-poko,[9]

O Ku-ke-ao-loa[10] o ka lani;

O Ku-ke-ao-awihiwihi[11] ula o ka lani;

Ua ka ua, kahi wai, a na hoalii;[12]

O nei ka pali ma Ko-wawá;[13]

O Kupina’e,[14] o Ku-wawá;

O Ku-haili-moe;[15]

O Ha’iha’i-lau-ahea;[16]

O Mau-a-ke-alii-hea;[17]

Kánaka[18] loloa o ka mauna—

O Ku-pulupulu[19] i ka nahele,

O na Akua mai ka wao kele;

O Kuli-pe’e-nui[20] ai ahua;

O Kiké-alana;[21]

O Ka-uahi-noe-lehua;

O ke Kahuna i ka puoko[22] o ke ahi;

O I’imi,[23] o Lalama.[24]

Ku’i ke ahi, ka hekili;

Nei ke ola’i;

Olapa ka uila.

Lohe o Kane-hekili;[25]

Ikiiki ka maláma ia Ka-ulua.[26]

Elua wahine i hele i ka hikina a ka La—

O Kumu-kahi,[27] laua o Ha’eha’e:[28]

Ha’eha’e ka moe

O Kapo-ula-kina’u,[29] he alii;

E ho’i, e komo i kou hale,

O Ke-alohi-lani;

E auau i kou ki’owai kapu,

O Ponaha-ke-one;

E inu i kou puawa hiwa,

Awa papa[30] a ke Akua,

I kanaenae no Moe-ha-úna-iki,[31] e;

Hele a’e a komo

I ka hale o Pele.

Ua huahua’i Kahiki, lapa uwila:

Pele e, hua’i’na ho’i!

Hua’i’na a’e ana

Ka mana o ko’u Akua iwaho la, e!

O kukulu ka pahu[32] kapu a ka leo;

Ho’okikí[33] kanawai;

He kua[34] á kanawai;

He kai oki’a[35] kanawai;

He ala muku[36] no Kane me Kanaloa;

He ki[37] ho’iho’i kanawai,

No Pele, no ko’u Akua la, e!

TRANSLATION

Stand in the breach, O Uli;