Chapter IV: Part 4

Far away, on the Island of Oahu, there lived a youth whose name was Ha-le-ma-no. Every night he had a dream in which he met a beautiful maiden who talked to him and whose name in his dream he knew. But when he wakened up he could not remember what name she had told him to call her by, nor what words they had said to each other. He remembered only her beautiful form and face, the dress and the wreaths she wore, and the scent that was in her dress. The youth became so that he could think of nothing else except this maiden, and he wasted away because of this thought that put every other thought out of his mind. Then it came about that he would eat no food, and at last his fasting and his wasting thought brought him near his death.

But Ha-le-ma-no had a sister who had magical powers. Her name was Lae-ni-hi. She was travelling with her other sisters when she saw Ha-le-ma-no’s image in the sky, and she knew by that sign that her brother was near his death. Her sisters wept for Ha-le-ma-no when they saw that sign in the sky, but Lae-ni-hi uttered a magic spell, and through that spell Ha-le-ma-no was brought back to life.

Then she went and she visited her brother, and when she was with him she asked what it was that had brought him so near his death. “It is because of a maiden whom I dream of continually,” he told her, “that I was near my death, and that I may come near my death again.”

His sister asked him what the maiden was like, and he told her. “She is tall and very beautiful, and she seems to be a Princess. She has a wreath of hala on her head and a lei of lehua-blossoms around her neck. Her dress is of scented tapa, and it is dyed red.” “It is in Puna,” said his sister, “that the women wear the lehua lei, and have scented tapa for their dresses.”

Then she asked, “How do your meetings come about?” “When I fall asleep,” said Ha-le-ma-no, “the maiden comes to me. Then she tells me her name. But when I waken up I do not know the name I called her by.”

He slept, and his wise sister watched over him. In his sleep he again met the beautiful maiden. She heard him speak the dream-woman’s name. It was Kama. Soon afterwards Ha-le-ma-no wakened from his sleep.

“She is Kama, and of her I have heard much,” said his sister. “She is very beautiful. But no one is permitted to come into the house where she lives. And in a while, when she has reached the height of her beauty, she will be given in marriage to the King of Puna or the King of Hilo.” “Unless I can take her out of that forbidden house and away from these two Kings,” said Ha-le-ma-no, “I shall surely die.”

Then his sister promised him that she would strive to find some way of bringing him and Kama together. He ate his food because she made that promise, and he became well again. Then, that he might be able to follow her travels, she told him of the signs she would show. “If it rains here,” she said, “you will know that I have got as far as the Island of Mo-lo-kai. If the lightning flashes, you will know that I have reached the Island of Maui. If it thunders, I am at Kohala. And if you see red water flowing, I have reached Puna, where your Princess lives.”

Ha-le-ma-no’s sister started off. Soon it rained; soon the lightning flashed; soon thunder was heard; soon red water flowed. Lae-ni-hi had come to Puna.

When she came there she began to devise ways by which she could come to the Princess in her forbidden house. She caused the wind to blow. It aroused the sea from its repose, and the surf began to roll in on the beach of Kai-mu. That was a place where the people used to go for surf-riding. When they saw the surf coming in in great rollers they began to shout. They got their surf-boards and prepared to ride in on the rolling surf.

When Kama’s brother heard the shouting he came down on the beach. He saw the people riding the surf, and he went back to ask his sister’s permission to ride the surf like the others. She came down to the beach with him. And when she saw the surf coming in in such fine rollers she too became excited, and she longed to go riding it.

She allowed the first roller to come in until it reached the shore; she allowed the second roller to come in; then the third. And when that roller reached the shore she plunged in and swam out with her board to the place where the rollers began to curve up. When she reached that place she took the first roller that came along, and, standing on her surf-board, she rode in on it. The people watching shouted in admiration for her, so beautiful was her figure as she stood upon the board that came racing in with the rolling surf.

She rode the surf three times, and she was becoming more and more delighted with the sport, when the wind ceased to blow and the surf went down. Kama was left in shallow water. She looked down, and she saw a bright fish in the water. And her brother, who was looking towards her, saw the fish at the same time. He called out to her, “O my sister, take up and bring to me the bright fish that is in the shallow water.”

Now the fish was Lae-ni-hi, who had transformed herself. Kama put her hands under her and took her up. She put the fish into a calabash of water and gave her to her brother for a plaything. He carried the fish with him, and in that way Lae-ni-hi came into the house that was forbidden to all except the Princess and her brother.

In the middle of the night she changed back into a woman, and she stood above where the Princess lay. Kama wakened up and saw the strange woman near her. “Where are you from?” the Princess asked. “I am from near here.” “There is no woman who is like you anywhere near. Besides, no one belonging to this place would come into this house, for all know that it is forbidden.” “I have come from beyond the sea.” “Yes, now you are telling me the truth.”

Then Lae-ni-hi asked the Princess if she had ever met a youth in her dream. The Princess would not answer when she asked this. “If you would have me bring one to you, give me a wreath that you have worn, and a dress,” said Ha-le-ma-no’s sister. Kama gave her a wreath that was withered and one of her scented dresses.

Lae-ni-hi went back to her brother. She showed him the wreath and the dress that the Princess had worn. Upon seeing these things Ha-le-ma-no was sure that his sister had been with the dream-maiden, and he rose up to go at once to where she was.

But his sister would not let him go without her. And before she would go back to Puna she had toys and playthings made—toys and playthings that would take the fancy of Kama’s young brother. She had wooden birds made that would float on the waves; she had a toy canoe made and painted red; in it there were men in red to paddle it; she had other figures made that could stand upright; then she fixed up a colored and high-flying kite.

With the toys and playthings in their canoe, Ha-le-ma-no and Lae-ni-hi started off for Puna. And when they drew near the shore Ha-le-ma-no let the kite rise up. As it went up in the air the people on the beach saw it, and they shouted. The Princess’s brother heard the shouts, and he came out to see what was happening.

When he saw the kite he ran down to the beach. He saw a canoe with two persons in it, and one of them held the string of the kite. He called out to them, “Oh, let me have the thing that flies!” Lae-ni-hi then said to her brother, “Let the boy have it,” and he put the string of the kite into the boy’s hand. Then the birds were put into the water, and they floated on the waves. Then the toy canoe with its men in red was let down, and it floated on the water. The boy cried out, “Oh, let me have these things,” and Lae-ni-hi gave them to him.

And then she put along the side of the canoe the standing figures that she had brought. The boy saw them, and them he wanted too. Then Lae-ni-hi said to him, “Are you a favorite with your sister?” “I am,” the boy said; “she will do anything I ask her to do.” “Call her so that she comes near us, and I will give you these figures.” The boy then called her. “Unless you come here, sister,” he said, “I cannot get these playthings.”

Kama came near. Then Ha-le-ma-no saw that she had the very height of the maiden whom he had seen in his dreams. “Are you a favorite with your sister, and would she mind if you asked her to turn her back to us?” Lae-ni-hi said. The boy asked his sister to turn her back, and then Ha-le-ma-no saw how straight her back was. After this Lae-ni-hi said, “Are you a favorite with your sister, and would she mind if you asked her to show her face to us?” After that Kama stood facing the canoe, and Ha-le-ma-no saw that this was indeed the maiden of his dream.

Then they met, Ha-le-ma-no and Kama. The Princess knew him for the youth she had seen in her dreams. She let him take her by the hands and bring her into the canoe. When they were in the canoe Lae-ni-hi paddled it off. The people of Puna and the people of Hilo came in chase of them. But by the power that Lae-ni-hi had, the canoe was made to go so swiftly that those who followed were left far behind.

After this the two Kings said to each other: “Yes, we have sent much of what we owned to her and to her parents with the idea that one or the other of us would get her for his wife. Now she has been carried off from us. Let us make war upon those who have taken her, and punish them for having carried her off.”

And so the two Kings made war upon Ha-le-ma-no’s people. Ha-le-ma-no and Kama had to flee away. And after enduring much suffering and much poverty they came to the Island of Maui. There they lived; but instead of living in state and having plenty, they had to dig the ground and live as a farmer and a farmer’s wife.

Near where they lived there was a beach, and people used to go down to it for surf-riding. One day Kama went down to this beach. She took a board and went surf-riding. And when she was racing in on the surf she remembered how she had once lived as a Princess, and she remembered how Ha-le-ma-no had come and had taken her away, and how she had nothing now but a grass hut and the roots that she and her husband pulled out of the ground. And then she was angry with Ha-le-ma-no, and she longed to be back again in Puna.

When she finished surf-riding and came in on to the shore she saw that there were red canoes there—the canoes of a King. And then she saw Hua-a, the King of Puna. He came to her, and he took her by the hands. She went with him, leaving her husband, who was working in his fields. But in a while she was sorry for what she had done, and she left Hua-a. And after that Kama went wandering through the Islands.

Now when Ha-le-ma-no knew that his wife had left him, he grew so ill that again he was near his death. But again his sister saved him. Then, when he was well, Ha-le-ma-no told his sister that he would learn to be a fisherman, for he thought that if he were something else than a farmer Kama would come back to him.

His sister told him to learn to be a singer and a chanter of verses; she told him that, if he had that art, he would be most likely to win his wife back to him. Ha-le-ma-no made up his mind to learn the art of singing and of chanting verses.

When he was on his way to learn this art he passed by a grove at Ke-a-kui. He went within the grove, and he saw the mai-le vine growing on the ohia trees. Then he began to strip the vine from the trees and make wreaths of it. He was sitting down making the wreaths when he saw the top of the mountain Ha-le-a-ka-la, like a pointed cloud in the evening, with other clouds drifting about it. And when he looked upon that mountain he thought of the places where he and his wife had travelled. And as he was thinking of her, his wife, who had been wandering about that Island, came near where he was. She saw him and she knew him; she came and she stood behind him. And then Ha-le-ma-no, looking upon the mountain, was moved to chant these verses:

“I was once thought a good deal of, O my love!
My companion of the shady trees.
For we two once lived on the food from the long-speared
grass of the wilderness.
Alas, O my love!
My love from the land of the Kau-mu-ku wind,
As it comes gliding over the ocean,
As it covers the waves of Papa-wai,
For it was the canoe that brought us here.
Alas, O my love!
My love of the home where we were friendless,
Our only friend being our love for one another.
It is hooked, and it bites to the very inside of the bones.”

Kama was going to put out her hand to touch him, but, hearing him chant this, she thought that he was in such sorrow that he would never forgive her. She wept and she went away, leaving the place without speaking to him.

After that Ha-le-ma-no went on his way; he learned the art of singing and of chanting verses. Afterwards, when he was very famous, it happened that he was invited to a place where there were games and singing.

He came to that place; covered over with a mantle, he sat by himself, and he watched those who came in. Many people came in, and amongst them a woman who wanted to be a wife to Ha-le-ma-no—a woman of great riches. But as Ha-le-ma-no looked towards this woman, he saw sitting there, in all her beauty and her grace, his own wife Kama. They asked him to chant to them. Then he remembered how he and she had lived together and had wandered together in different places; and, remembering this, he chanted:

“We once lived in Hilo, in our own home,
For we had suffered in the home that was not ours,
For I had but one friend, myself.
The streams of Hilo are innumerable,
The high cliff was the home where we lived.
Alas, my love of the lehua blossoms of Moku-pa-ne!
The lehua blossoms that were braided with the hala blossoms,
For our love for one another was all that we had.
The rain fell only at Le-le-wi,
As it came creeping over the hala trees at Po-mai-kai,
At the place where I was punished through love.
Alas, O my love!
My love from the leaping cliffs of Pi-i-kea;
From the waters of Wai-lu-ku where the people are carried under,
Which we had to go through to get to the many cliffs of Hilo,
Those solemn cliffs that are bare of people,
Peopled by you and me alone, my love,
You, my own love!”

And when she heard these verses Kama knew who the man was who chanted them. She bowed her head, and she chanted:

“Alas, thou art my bosom companion, my love!
My companion of the cold watery home of Hilo.
I am from Hilo,
From the rain that pelts the leaves of the bread-fruit
of Pi-i-honua;
For we live at the bread-fruit trees of Malama.
Love is shown by the tears,
Love is the friend of my companion,
My companion of the thick forests of Pana-ewa,
Where you and I have trod,
Our only fellow-traveller our love.
Alas, O my companion, my love!
My love of the cold, watery home of Hilo,
The friendless home where you and I lived.”

And when she had chanted this, Kama looked towards Ha-le-ma-no, and she saw that forgiveness was in his eyes. They stood up then, and they joined each other. Then they went away together.

“You will surely see Hai-li,
Hai-li where the blossoming lehua trees
Are haunted by the birds,
The o-o of the forest,
Whose sweet notes can be heard at eventide.”

So they sang to each other as they went away together.

THE ARROW AND THE SWING.

Hi-ku lived on a peak of the mountain, and Ka-we-lu lived in the lowlands. Ka-we-lu was a princess, but at the time when she was in the lowlands she had no state nor greatness; she was alone except for some women who attended her. Hi-ku was a boy; he had a wonderful arrow that was named Pua-ne.

One day Hi-ku took his arrow and he went down towards the lowlands. He met some boys who were casting their arrows, and he offered to cast his against theirs. He cast his arrow; it went over the heads of a bald-headed man and a sightless man; it went over the heads of a lame man and a large-headed man; it went across the fields of many men, and it fell at last before the door of the girl Ka-we-lu.

Her women attendants brought the arrow to her. Ka-we-lu took it and hid it. Then Hi-ku came along. “Have any of you seen my arrow?” he said to the women attendants. “We have not seen it,” they said. “The arrow fell here,” said Hi-ku, “for I watched it fall.” “Would you know your arrow from another arrow?” asked the Princess from her house. “Know it! Why, my arrow would answer if I called it,” answered Hi-ku. “Call it, then,” said the Princess. “Pua-ne, Pua-ne,” Hi-ku called. “Here,” said Pua-ne the arrow. “I knew you had hidden my arrow,” said Hi-ku. “Come and find it,” said the Princess.

He went into her house to search for the arrow, and the Princess closed the door behind him. He found the arrow. He held the arrow in his hand, and he did not go, for when he looked around he saw so many beautiful things that he forgot what he had come for.

He saw beautiful wreaths of flowers and beautiful capes of feathers; he saw mats of many beautiful colors, and he saw shells and beautiful pieces of coral. And he saw one thing that was more beautiful than all these. He saw Ka-we-lu the Princess. In the middle of her dwelling she stood, and her beauty was so bright that it seemed as if many ku-kui were blazing up with all their light. Hi-ku forgot his home on the mountain peak. He looked on the Princess, and he loved her. She had loved him when she saw him coming towards her house; but she loved him more when she saw him standing within it, his magic arrow in his hand.

He stayed in her house for five days. Every day Ka-we-lu would go into one of the houses outside and eat with her attendants. But neither on the first day nor the second day, neither on the third day nor the fourth day, nor yet on the fifth day, did she offer food to Hi-ku, nor did she tell him where he might go to get it.

He was hungry on the second day, and he became hungrier and hungrier and hungrier. He was angry on the third day, and he became angrier and angrier. And why did the Princess not offer him any food? I do not know. Some say that it was because her attendants made little of him, saying that the food they had was all for people of high rank, and that it might not be given to Hi-ku, whose rank, they said, was a low one. Perhaps her attendants prevented her giving food to him, saying such things about him.

On the fifth day, when Ka-we-lu was eating with her attendants in a house outside, Hi-ku took up his arrow and went angrily out of the house. He went towards the mountain. Then Ka-we-lu, coming out of the house where her attendants were, saw him going. She ran up the side of the mountain after him. But he went angrily on, and he never looked backward towards the Princess or towards the lowlands that she lived in.

She went swiftly after him, calling to him as the plover calls, flying here and there. She called to him, for she deeply loved him, and she looked upon him as her husband. But he, knowing that she was gaining on him, made an incantation to hold her back. He called upon the mai-le vines and the i-e vines; he called upon the ohia trees and the other branching trees to close up the path against her. But still Ka-we-lu went on, struggling against the tangle that grew across her path. Her garments were torn, and her body became covered with tears and scratches. Still she went on. But now Hi-ku was going farther and farther from her. Then she sang to him aloud, so that he could not but hear:

“My flowers are fallen from me,
And Hi-ku goes on and on:
The flowers that we twined for my wreath.
If Hi-ku would fling back to me
A flower, since all mine are gone!”

He did not throw back a flower, nor did he call out a word to her as she followed him up the mountain ways. The vines and the branches held her, and she was not able to get through them. Then she raised her voice, and she sang to him again:

“Do you hear, my companion, my friend!
Ka-we-lu will live there below:
My flowers are lost to me now:
Down, down, far down, I will go.”

Hi-ku heard what she sang. But he did not look back or make any answer. He kept on his way up the mountain-side. Ka-we-lu was left behind, entangled in the vines and the branches. Afterwards he was lost to her sight, and her voice could not reach him.

He went up to the peak of the mountain, and he entered his parents’ house. And still he was angry. But after a night his anger went from him. And then he thought of the young Princess of Kona, with her deep eyes and her youth that was like the gush of a spring. More and more her image came before him, and he looked upon it with love.

Now one day, when he was again making his way up the mountain-side, a song about himself and Ka-we-lu came into his mind. It was a song that was for Lo-lu-pe, the god who brings together friends who have been lost to each other.

“Hi-ku is climbing the mountain-ridge,
Climbing the mountain-ridge.
The branch hangs straggling down;
Its blossoms, flung off by Lo-lu-pe, lie on the ground.
Give me, too, a flower, O Lo-lu-pe,
That I may restore my wreath!”

And singing this song he went up to his parents’ house.

Strangers were in the house. “Who are they, and what have they come for?” Hi-ku asked. “Ka-we-lu, the young Princess of Kona, is dead,” his parents told him, “and these people have come for timbers to build a house around her dead body.”

When Hi-ku heard this, he wept for his great loss. And then he left his parents and went seeking the god Lo-lu-pe, for whom he had made a song on his way up the mountain.

Now Lo-lu-pe was in the form of a kite, because he went through the air searching for things that people needed and prayed to him to find for them. And outside a wizard’s house Hi-ku saw the image of Lo-lu-pe, a kite that was like a fish, and with tail and wings. Hi-ku went and said his prayer to Lo-lu-pe, and then he let the kite go in the winds.

That night Lo-lu-pe came to him in his dream, and showed him where Ka-we-lu was; she had gone down into the world that Mi-lu rules over—the world of the dead that is below the ocean. And Lo-lu-pe, in his dream, told him how he might come to her, and how he might bring Ka-we-lu’s spirit back to the world of the living.

He was to take the morning-glory vines, and he was to make out of them the longest ropes that had ever been made. And to each of the long ropes he was to fix the cross-piece of a swing. Then he was to let two swings go down into the ocean’s depths, and he was to lower himself by one of them. And what he was to do after that was twice told to him by Lo-lu-pe.

Hi-ku went where the morning-glory vines grew; he got the longest of the vines and, with the friends who went with him, made the longest of ropes. Then, with his friends, he went out over the ocean; he lowered the two longest ropes that were ever made, each with the cross-piece of a swing fixed to it. Down by one of the ropes Hi-ku went. And so he came to the place of the spirits, to the place at the bottom of the sea that Mi-lu rules over.

And when he came down to that place he began to swing himself on one of the swings. The spirits all saw him, and they all wanted to swing. But Hi-ku kept the swing to himself; he swung himself, and as he swung, he sang:

“I have a swing, a swing,
And the rest of you children have none:
Whom will I let on my swing?
Not one of this crowd, not one.”

The spirit of Ka-we-lu was standing there beside Mi-lu, the King. Hi-ku saw her amongst the crowd of spirits. But Ka-we-lu did not know Hi-ku.

Mi-lu came to where Hi-ku was swinging. He wanted to go on the swing. Hi-ku gave him the seat. Then the spirits began to swing him, and Mi-lu was so delighted with the swinging that he had all the spirits pull on the ropes to swing him—the ropes that were on the cross-piece and that were for pulling.

Then Hi-ku went to Ka-we-lu. “Here is our swing,” he said, and he brought her where the second vine-rope was hanging. He put her on the seat, and he began to swing her. And as he swung her he chanted as they chant in the upper world, the world of the living, when one is being swung:

“Wounded is Wai-mea by the piercing wind;
The bud of the purple ohai is drooping;
Jealous and grieved is the flower of the ko-aie;
Pained is the wood of Wai-ka;
O Love! Wai-ka loves me as a lover;
Like unto a lover is the flower of Koo-lau;
It is the flower in the woods of Ma-he-le.
The wood is a place for journeying,
The wild pili grass has its place in the forests,
Life is but a simple round at Ka-hua.
O Love! Love it was which came to me;
Whither has it vanished?
O Love! Farewell.”

He chanted this, thinking that Ka-we-lu would remember her days in the upper world when she heard what was chanted at the swinging-games. But Ka-we-lu did not remember.

Then Hi-ku went on the swing. “Come and swing with me,” he said, when he got on the seat. “Sit upon my knees,” he said, “and I will cover myself with my mantle.”

Ka-we-lu jumped up, and she sat upon Hi-ku’s knees. They began to swing backward and forward, backward and forward, while Mi-lu, the King of the Dead, was being swung by the spirits. Then Hi-ku pulled on the morning-glory vine. This was a signal; his friends did as he had told them to do; they began to pull up the swing. Up, up, came Hi-ku, and up came Ka-we-lu, held in Hi-ku’s arms.

But Ka-we-lu shrank and shrank as she came up near the sunlight; she shrank until she was smaller than a girl, smaller than a child; until she was smaller than a bird, even. Hi-ku and she came to the surface of the ocean. Then he, holding her, went back in his canoe and came to where, the timbers built around it, her body was laid. He brought the spirit to the body, the spirit that had shrunken, and he held the spirit to the soles of the body’s feet. The spirit went in at the soles of the feet; it passed up; it came to the breast; it came to the throat. Having reached the throat, the spirit stayed in the body. Then the body was taken up by Hi-ku; it was warmed, and afterwards Ka-we-lu was as she had been before. Then these two, Ka-we-lu and Hi-ku, lived long together in a place between the mountain and the lowlands, and they wove many wreaths for each other, and they sang many songs to each other, and they left offerings for Lo-lu-pe often—for Lo-lu-pe, who brings to the people knowledge of where their lost things are.

THE DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF KU-AI-HE-LANI.

The Country that Supports the Heavens, Ku-ai-he-lani, was where Maki-i lived and ruled as King. He came to one of our Islands, and there he took a wife. After a while he had to go back to Ku-ai-he-lani, and before he went he said this to the woman he had married: “I know that a daughter will be born to us. I would have you name the girl Lau-kia-manu. If, when you have brought her up, she has a desire to come to live with me, let her make the journey to Ku-ai-he-lani. But she must come in a red canoe with red sails and red cords, with red bailing-cups, and with men in red to have charge of it. And she must be accompanied by a large canoe and a small canoe, by big men and by little men. And give her these; they will be tokens by which I shall know her for my daughter—this necklace of whales’ teeth, this bracelet, and this bright feather cloak.” Maki-i then gave the tokens to his wife, and he departed for the land of Ku-ai-he-lani.

A child was born to the wife whom he had left behind, and she named the child Lau-kia-manu. Meanwhile Maki-i in his own land had planted a garden and had filled it with lovely flowers, and another garden and had filled it with pleasant fruits, and had made a bathing pool; he made the gardens and the pool forbidden places to every one except the daughter who might come to him in Ku-ai-he-lani. And he had instructed the guards about the tokens by which they would know Lau-kia-manu, his daughter.

The girl grew up under her mother’s care. As she grew older she began to ask about her father—who was he and where had he gone to? And once when she asked about him, her mother said to her: “Go to the cliff yonder; that is your father.” The child went to the cliff and asked: “Are you my father?” The cliff denied it and said, “I am not your father.” The child came back and craved of her mother, again, to tell her who her father was. “Go to the bamboo bush yonder,” said her mother; “that is your father.” The child went to the bamboo bush and said, “Are you my father?” “I am not,” said the bamboo bush. “Maki-i is your father.” “And where is he?” said the child. “He has gone back to Ku-ai-he-lani.”

She went back and said to her mother, “Maki-i is my father, and he is in the land of Ku-ai-he-lani, and you have hidden this from me.” Her mother said: “I have hidden it because if you went to visit him terrible things would befall you. For he told me that you should go to him in a red canoe with red sails and red cords, with red bailing-cups, and with men in red to have charge of it. And he said that you should be accompanied by a large canoe and a small canoe, by big men and little men. He gave me tokens for you to bring also, but there is no use in giving you these, for you cannot go except in the canoes he spoke of, and there is no way by which you can come by possessions that denote such royal state.”

So her mother said, but Lau-kia-manu still had thoughts of going to Ku-ai-he-lani, where her father was King. She grew to be a girl, and then one day she said to her mother, “I have no way by which I can come into possession of canoes that would denote my royal state, but for all that I will make a journey to Ku-ai-he-lani; I will not remain here.” Her mother said, “Go if you will, but terrible things will befall you.” And then her mother said: “Go on and on until you come to where two old women are roasting bananas by the wayside. They are your grandmother and your grand-aunt. Reach down and take away the bananas they are roasting. Let them search for them until they ask who has taken them. Tell them then who you are. When they ask ‘What brings you this way?’ say, ‘I have come because I must have a roadway.’ When you say this to them, your grandmother and your grand-aunt will give you a roadway to Ku-ai-he-lani.”

Lau-kia-manu left her mother and went upon her way. She came where the two old women were by the wayside, and she did as her mother had told her. “Whose offspring are you?” asked the old women. “Your own,” said Lau-kia-manu, and she told them the name of her mother. “What brings you, lady, to us here?” asked the old women. And the girl answered, “I have come to you because I want a roadway.”

Thereupon one of the old women said: “Here is a roadway; it is this bamboo stalk. Climb to the top of it, and when it leans over it will reach into Ku-ai-he-lani.” Lau-kia-manu went to the top of the bamboo stalk and sat there. It began to shoot up. When it reached a great height it leaned over; the end of it reached Ku-ai-he-lani, the Country that Supports the Heavens.

Lau-kia-manu then went along until she came to a garden that was filled with lovely flowers. She went into it. There grew the ilima and the me-le ku-le and the mai-le vine. She gathered the vines and the flowers, and she twined them into wreaths for herself. And she went from that garden into another garden. There all kinds of pleasant fruits were growing. She plucked and she ate of them. She saw beyond that garden the clear, cool surface of a pool. She went there; she undressed herself, and she bathed in that pool. And when she was in the water there, a turtle came and rubbed her back.

She dressed, and she sat on the edge of the pool. And then the guards who had been placed over the flower garden and the fruit garden and the bathing pool came to where she was. “You are indeed a strange girl,” they said to her, “for you have plucked the flowers and the fruit in the gardens that are forbidden to all except the King’s daughter, and you have bathed in the pool that is for her alone. You will certainly die for doing these things,”

The guards went to Maki-i: they told him about the strange girl and what she had done. The King ordered that they should tie her hands and stand guard over her all night, and that when the dawn came they should take her to the sea-shore and slay her there.

The guards took Lau-kia-manu; they tied her hands, they flung her into a pig-pen, and they remained on watch over her all night. At midnight an owl came and perched over where the girl lay. Then the owl called out to her:

“Say, Lau-kia-manu,
Daughter of Maki-i!
Do you know what will befall you?
Die you will, die you must!”

To that the girl made answer:

“Wicked owl, wicked owl!
You are bad indeed,
Thus to reveal me:
Lau-kia-manu, Lau-kia-manu,
Daughter of Maki-i.”

The call of the owl and the answer of the girl came twice before the guards heard them. Then they stood up and they listened. They heard the call again, and they heard the answer of the girl within the pig-pen. Then one of the guards said, “This must be Lau-kia-manu, the King’s own daughter; we must tell him about it all.” But the other guard said: “No. Lau-kia-manu, the King’s daughter, was to come in a red canoe, having red sails, red cords, and red bailing-cups, with men in red in charge, and with a large canoe, a small canoe, big men, and little men accompanying it. This is a low-class girl; she has come with none of these things.” The owl spoke again, and the girl made answer, and when they heard what was said the guards agreed that they should go to the King and tell him all that they had heard.

The King went back with the two guards. The owl was still above the pig-pen, and the girl still within it. The owl called out:

“Say, Lau-kia-manu,
Daughter of Maki-i!
Do you know what will befall you?
Die you will, die you must!”

And to that the girl made answer:

“Wicked owl, wicked owl!
You are bad indeed,
Thus to reveal me:
Lau-kia-manu, Lau-kia-manu,
Daughter of Maki-i.”

When the King heard this he went into the pig-pen.

Now, after the guards had gone to inform the King of what they had heard the owl flew down upon Lau-kia-manu; it clapped its wings over the girl; it placed the necklace of whales’ teeth around her neck, it placed the bracelet upon her arm, it put the cloak of bright feathers around her. For this owl was really her grand-aunt, and it was to her that Lau-kia-manu’s mother had given the tokens by which the girl was to be recognized when she came into Maki-i’s kingdom.

When her father broke into the pig-pen he saw her standing there with the necklace of whales’ teeth around her neck, with the bracelet upon her wrist, and with the cloak of bright feathers around her. He took her up and he wept over her; he gave her the garden of flowers and the garden of fruits and the bathing pool with the clear cool water. Then, in a while, he brought Ula to her.

Ula was a prince from Kahiki-ku, and he was as handsome as she was lovely. What a sight it was to see them together, Lau-kia-manu and Ula, the prince from Kahiki-ku! “What light is that in yonder house?” he had said to her father on the night that he came to Ku-ai-he-lani, “That is not a light,” said Maki-i; “it is the radiance of the woman who is within.” He brought Ula into the house, and Ula and Lau-kia-manu met.

For fifty days they were together. Then Ula had to return to his own land, to Kahiki-ku. “You cannot go there unless you take me with you,” said Lau-kia-manu. “You cannot come with me,” said Ula. “If you came you would meet with terrible suffering at the hands of the Queen of Kahiki-ku.”

He went back to his own land. Lau-kia-manu remained in Ku-ai-he-lani, but she was so overcome by her love for Ula that, every morning when she saw the clouds in the sky drifting towards Kahiki-ku, she would chant this poem:

“The sun is up, it is up:
My love is ever up before me:
Love is a burthen when one is in love,
And falling tears are its due.”

She would weep then. And when she found out that she could not put her love away from her, either by night or by day, she went down to the sea-shore and she wept there. Then, when her weeping was at an end, she called out, “O turtle with the shiny back, O my grandmother of the sea, come to me.”

The turtle with the shiny back appeared. She opened her shell at her back. Lau-kia-manu went within the shell. Then the turtle went under the water. She swam under the sea, and she swam on and on until she came with Lau-kia-manu to the land of Kahiki-ku. The girl stepped on the sea-shore, and the turtle dived into the ocean and disappeared. Lau-kia-manu went along by the sea-shore. She came to where there was a fish pond that belonged to the Queen of Kahiki-ku. She stayed beside the fish pond while she uttered a charm, saying:

“Ye forty thousand gods,
Ye four hundred thousand gods,
Ye rows of gods,
Ye assemblies of gods,
Ye older brothers of the gods,
Ye four-fold gods,
Ye five-fold gods,
Take away from me my beauty, make it hidden:
Give me the form of a crone, bowed and blear-eyed.”

And when she had said that, her beauty was taken away from her, and she appeared as an old woman, bent and wandering, with a stick in her hand, gathering sea-eggs.

In the fish pond there were many kinds of silver fish. Lau-kia-manu uttered a spell, and caused them all to disappear a minute after she had seen them swimming about. Still she stayed near, dragging herself here and there about the sea-shore. And while she was there, messengers came to bring from the Queen’s pond silver fish for the Queen.

There was not a single fish in the pond. When the messengers saw this, they accused the old woman who was near by of having taken the fish out of the pond. She made no reply to them. Then nothing would do the messengers but to take her before the Queen and charge her with having stolen the silver fish out of her pond.

So they brought her before the Queen. “There is not a single fish in your pond,” they said, “and we found this old woman near it, going up and down.” The Queen said, “Nothing will happen to you, old woman, if you will take as your name the name of my sickness.” The old woman said that she would do that. Then the Queen named her Li-pe-wa-le, the name of the Queen’s sickness; she let her stay in the house, and she gave her food.

So Lau-kia-manu became known as Li-pe-wa-le. In the Queen’s house she did menial tasks. And into the house came the Prince who was to wed the Queen. He was Ula. Once when she was lying on her mat asleep, Ula came and kissed Lau-kia-manu. She wakened up and cried out, “Who is kissing me?” The Queen heard her voice and said, “What is it, Li-pe-wa-le?” Lau-kia-manu made no answer. We can see by what Ula did that he knew his sweetheart of Ku-ai-he-lani in spite of her being transformed into an old woman.

One day the Queen went down to the sea-shore to bathe. She bade Li-pe-wa-le stay within the house and decorate a dress that she was to wear. Li-pe-wa-le did as she was ordered. But she worked so quickly on the dress that she had it all done very soon, and she was able to follow the Queen and her attendants down to the sea-shore. And on her way she caused herself to be transformed back into her own shape, with her own beauty. She passed the others by; she bathed near where the Queen bathed, and the Queen and all her attendants were able to look upon her. Then she dressed herself and hurried away.

They all hurried after her; the Queen was angry that one who was more beautiful than she was should be in her country. Lau-kia-manu went more quickly than they did, and when they came to the Queen’s house she had already transformed herself, and the only one they saw there was Li-pe-wa-le, the old and withered woman.

That night the Queen and her attendants and Ula the Prince went to dance in a house that the Queen had built. She put on her beautiful wreaths with the dress that Li-pe-wa-le had decorated for her. But she ordered Li-pe-wa-le to stay within the house and decorate another dress.

There she stayed, and the sounds of the music and the dancing came to her. And then the girl went without. She looked over to the house where the dance was going on, and she uttered this charm:

“Ye forty thousand gods,
Ye four hundred thousand gods,
Ye rows of gods,
Ye assemblies of gods,
Ye older brothers of the gods,
Ye gods that whisper,
Ye gods that watch by night,
Ye gods that show your gleaming eyes by night,
Come down, awake, make a move, stir yourselves!
There is the house, the house.”

And when she uttered this spell the Queen, who was dancing, fell down on the ground. Fire burst out all around the house. And then Lau-kia-manu, in the light of the fires, in the light of her own beauty, stood in the doorway of the house. Ula the Prince saw her there. “Come to me, oh, come to me, beautiful woman,” he said. But Lau-kia-manu made answer: “I will not go to you now, nor ever again. In your own country you did not cherish me, but you left me to sorrow and affliction. Now I go back to Ku-ai-he-lani.” So she left the burning house, and she went down to the sea-shore. She called upon the turtle with the shiny back, her grandmother of the sea; and the turtle came and opened the shell on her back, and Lau-kia-manu went within it. And she journeyed through the ocean, under the waves, and came back again to the land of Ku-ai-he-lani, and there ever afterwards she stayed.

THE FISH-HOOK OF PEARL.

There are fish-hooks and fish-hooks, but the most wonderful fish-hook that any one ever heard of was the fish-hook owned by Ku-ula. It was a fish-hook of pearl-shell; and every time Ku-ula went fishing he took a canoe, not five fathoms or eight fathoms in length, but ten fathoms, and when he fished with that hook (Ka-hu-oi was the name it had) the canoe would be filled up with the catch.

And it was the finest of fish, the aku fish, that would rise to that hook. He would let it down into the water, and the aku would throw themselves into the canoe. Ku-ula was rich because of all the fine fish he could catch with his pearl hook. It had been given to him by a bird that was called Ka-manu-wai, and this bird would sit on the rail of the canoe that Ku-ula went fishing in and eat some of the fish that Ku-ula caught.

One day when Ku-ula went fishing outside of Mamala the King of that place went fishing there too. The King caught few fish, and none of them were fine ones. He looked, and he saw Ku-ula fishing, and he saw that the aku fish were jumping in hundreds around the hook that the fisherman let down. His attendants told him of the pearl hook that was called Ka-hu-oi, and the King made up his mind to have this hook. He sent for Ku-ula, and he made him give up the hook that the bird Ka-manu-wai had given him.

After that Ku-ula caught no more aku fish; the bird Ka-manu-wai, not getting the food it liked, flew away; its eyes were closed with hunger where it roosted, and the place where that bird roosted is called Kau-maka-pili, “Roosting with Closed Eyes,” to this day. And Ku-ula got poorer and poorer, and he and his family got more and more hungry from that day.

And so it came about that when his child Ai-ai was born they had no food for him. They let him float down the stream, putting him in just above the place where the bird Ka-manu-wai roosted. The child floated down; a rock in the stream held him, and there little Ai-ai stayed in the shallow water. That very day the King’s daughter, who was then a young girl, was bathing in the stream with her attendants. She found little Ai-ai, and she took him to the King’s house; there Ai-ai grew up, and he was tended by the King’s daughter while he was a child.

When he grew up he was a strong and handsome youth. The King’s daughter who had saved him came to love him; she would have him marry her, and at last he and she got married.

It happened that one day after they were married his wife was sick, and she asked Ai-ai to get her some fish. He took a rod, and he went fishing along the shore. He caught a few fish, and he brought them home to her. After a while she was sick again, and she had a longing for fish again. And this time she wanted the aku, the fine fish from the depth of the sea.

He told her then that he could not fish for aku unless he had a canoe and a fish-hook of pearl. When she heard him say that, she remembered that her father had a pearl fish-hook. So she went to the King, her father. When she came before him, he said, “What is it you want, my daughter?” She said, “A canoe for my husband, and a pearl fish-hook.” He told her that her husband might take a canoe out of his canoe-shed, and then he said to her, “I have a pearl fish-hook, and I will give it to you for him.”

So he gave a pearl fish-hook to his daughter, and she hurried home with it. Now Ai-ai, since he had grown up, had known his father and had heard how the King had taken away the hook Ka-hu-oi from him. So when he saw the pearl fish-hook in his wife’s hands he was overjoyed; he took it from her, and he got a canoe in the King’s shed, and he went out to fish in the sea.

A bird came down and watched the shining fish-hook that he held. It rested on the rail of the canoe as he paddled out to sea. It watched him lower the hook. Its eyes were half closed, but now it opened them wide and looked down after the shining hook. This was the bird Ka-manu-wai that had given the hook to his father, Ai-ai knew; now the bird was going to eat plenty of the fine aku.

But no aku came on the hook, and no aku dashed up on the canoe on seeing the shining thing in the water. The bird closed its eyes again. It gave a croak and then flew away.

Ai-ai came back to his wife without any aku for her. Again she was sick, and she begged Ai-ai again to get her the aku fish. “It may be,” he said, “that the King has another pearl hook. Go to him once more and ask him for one. Tell him that in the calabash in which he keeps the fishing utensils that he used long ago there may be another pearl fish-hook.”

So again she went before the King. “I have come for a pearl fish-hook so that my husband may go out and catch me the aku fish that I long for.” “I gave the pearl fish-hook that I had.” “In the calabash in which you keep the fishing utensils that you used long ago there may be another pearl fish-hook.”

The King ordered that this calabash be brought to him. He searched amongst all the utensils that were in it, and at last he found the pearl fish-hook that he had taken. He had left it there and had forgotten it, for he had gone fishing only once after he had taken it from Ku-ula.