At the Gateways of the Day

The Me-ne-hu-ne

Ka-u-ki-u-ki—that was the name of the Me-ne-hu-ne who boasted to the rest of his folk that he could catch the Moon by holding on to her legs; Ka-u-ki-u-ki, the Angry One.

The Me-ne-hu-ne folk worked only at night; and if one could catch and hold on to the legs of the Moon, the night would not go so quickly, and more work could be done by them. They were all very great workers. But when the Angry One made his boast about catching the legs of the Moon, the rest of the Me-ne-hu-ne made mock of him. That made Ka-u-ki-u-ki more angry still. Straightway he went up to the top of the highest hill. He sat down to rest himself after his climb; then, they say, the Owl of Ka-ne came and sat on the stones and stared at him. Ka-u-ki-u-ki might well have been frightened, for the big, round-eyed bird could easily have flown away with him, or flown away with any of the Me-ne-hu-ne folk. For they were all little men, and none of them was higher than the legs of one of us—no, not even their Kings and Chiefs. Little men, broad-shouldered and sturdy and very active—such were the Me-ne-hu-ne in the old days, and such are the Me-ne-hu-ne to-day.

But Ka-u-ki-u-ki was brave: the Me-ne-hu-ne stared back at the Owl, and the Owl of Ka-ne stared back at the little man, and at last the bird flew away. Then it was too late for him to try to lay hold on the legs of the Moon that night.

That was a long time ago, when the Me-ne-hu-ne were very many in our land. They lived then in the Valley of Lani-hula. There they planted taro in plants that still grow there—plants that they brought back with them from Kahiki-mo-e after they had been there. It was they who planted the bread-fruit tree first in that valley.

Our fathers say that when the men-folk of the Me-ne-hu-ne stood together in those days they could form two rows reaching all the way from Maka-weli to Wai-lua. And with their women and children there were so many of them that the only fish of which each of the Me-ne-hu-ne could have one was the shrimp, the littlest and the most plentiful fish in our waters.

For the rest of their food they had hau-pia, a pudding made of arrow-root sweetened with the milk of coco-nut; they had squash and they had sweet potato pudding. They ate fern fronds and the cooked young leaves of the taro. They had carved wooden dishes for their food. For their games they had spinning-tops which they made out of ku-kui nuts, and they played at casting the arrow, a game which they called Kea-pua. They had boxing and wrestling, too, and they had tug-of-war: when one team was about to be beaten all the others jumped in and helped them. They had sled races; they would race their sleds down the steep sides of hills; if the course were not slippery already, they would cover it with rushes so that the sleds could go more easily and more swiftly.

But their great sport was to jump off the cliffs into the sea. They would throw a stone off the cliff and dive after it and touch the bottom as it touched the bottom. Once, when some of them were bathing, a shark nearly caught one of the Me-ne-hu-ne. A-a-ka was his name. Then they all swam ashore, and they made plans for punishing the shark that had treated them so. Their wise men told them what to do. They were to gather the morning-glory vine and make a great basket with it. Then they were to fill the basket with bait and lower it into the sea. Always the Me-ne-hu-ne worked together; they worked together very heartily when they went to punish the shark.

They made the basket; they filled it with bait, and they lowered it into the sea. The shark got into the basket, and the Me-ne-hu-ne caught him. They pulled him within the reef, and they left him there in the shallow water until the birds came and ate him up.

One of them caught a large fish there. The fish tried to escape, but the little man held bravely to him. The fish bit him and lashed him with its tail and drew blood from the Me-ne-hu-ne. The place where his blood poured out is called Ka-a-le-le to this day—for that was the name of the Me-ne-hu-ne who struggled with the fish.

Once they hollowed out a great stone and they gave it to their head fisherman for a house. He would sit in his hollow stone all day and fish for his people.

No cliff was too steep for them to climb; indeed, it was they who planted the wild taro on the cliffs; they planted it in the swamps too, and on cliff and in swamp it grows wild to this day. When they were on the march they would go in divisions. The work of the first division would be to clear the road of logs. The work of the second division would be to lower the hills. The work of the third division would be to sweep the path. Another division had to carry the sleds and the sleeping mats for the King. One division had charge of the food, and another division had charge of the planting of the crop. One division was composed of wizards and soothsayers and astrologers, and another division was made up of story-tellers, fun-makers, and musicians who made entertainment for the King. Some played on the nose-flute, and others blew trumpets that were made by ripping a ti-leaf away from the middle ridge and rolling over the torn piece. Through this they blew, varying the sound by fingering. They played stringed instruments that they held in their mouths, and they twanged the strings with their fingers. Others beat on drums that were hollow logs with shark-skin drawn across them.

It would have been wonderful to look on the Me-ne-hu-ne when they were on the march. That would be on the nights of the full moon. Then they would all come together, and their King would speak to them.

And that reminds me of Ka-u-ki-u-ki, the Angry One. Perhaps he wanted to hold the legs of the Moon so that they might be able to listen a long time to their King, or march far in a night. I told you that he kept staring at the Owl of Ka-ne until the bird flew away in the night. But then it was too late to catch hold of the legs of the Moon. The next night he tried to do it. But although he stood on the top of the highest hill, and although he reached up to his fullest height, he could not lay hold on the legs of the Moon. And because he boasted of doing a thing that he could not do, the rest of the Me-ne-hu-ne punished him; they turned him into a stone. And a stone the Angry One is to this day—a stone on the top of the hill from which he tried to reach up and lay hold upon the legs of the Moon.

Perhaps it was on the very night which Ka-u-ki-u-ki tried to lengthen that their King told the Me-ne-hu-ne that they were to leave these Islands. Some of the Me-ne-hu-ne had married Hawaiian women, and children that were half Me-ne-hu-ne and half Hawaiian were born. The King of the Me-ne-hu-ne folk did not like this: he wanted his people to remain pure Me-ne-hu-ne. So on a bright moonlit night he had them all come together, men, women, and children, and he spoke to them. “All of you,” he said, “who have married wives from amongst the Hawaiian people must leave them, and all of the Me-ne-hu-ne race must go away from these Islands. The food that we planted in the valley is ripe; that food we will leave for the wives and children that we do not take with us—the Hawaiian women and the half-Hawaiian children.”

When their King said this, no word was spoken for a long time from the ranks of the Me-ne-hu-ne. Then one whose name was Mo-hi-ki-a spoke up and said: “Must all of us go, O King, and may none of us stay with the Hawaiian wives that we have married? I have married an Hawaiian woman, and I have a son who is now grown to manhood. May he not go with you while I remain with my wife? He is stronger than I am. I have taught him all the skill that I possessed in the making of canoes. He can use the adze and make a canoe out of a tree trunk more quickly than any other of the Me-ne-hu-ne. And none of the Me-ne-hu-ne is so swift in the race as he is. Take my son in my place, and if it ever happens that the Me-ne-hu-ne need me, my son can run quickly for me and bring me back.”

The King would not have Mo-hi-ki-a stay behind. “We start on our journey to-morrow night,” he said. “All the Me-ne-hu-ne will leave the Islands, and the crop that is now grown will be left for the women and children.”

And so the Me-ne-hu-ne in their great force left our Islands, and where they went there is none of us who know. Perhaps they went back to Kahiki-mo-e, for in Kahiki-mo-e they had been for a time before they came back to Hawaii. But not all of the Me-ne-hu-ne left the Islands. Some stole away from their divisions and hid in hollow logs, and their descendants we have with us to this day. There are still many Me-ne-hu-ne away up in the mountains, living in caves and in hollow logs.

But the great force of them left the Islands then. Before they went they made a monument. Upon the top of the highest hill they built it, carrying up the stones the night after the King had commanded them to leave. The monument was for the King and the Chiefs of the Me-ne-hu-ne—the monument of stones that we see. And for the Me-ne-hu-ne of common birth they made another monument. This they did by hollowing out a great cave in the mountain. The monument of stones on the top of the mountain and the cave in the side of the mountain you can see to this day.

On the next moonlit night the Me-ne-hu-ne in their thousands looked and saw the monuments they had raised. They were ready for the march as they looked, men and women, half-grown men and half-grown women, and little children. They looked and they saw the monument that they had raised on the mountain. Thereupon all the little men raised such a shout that the fish in the pond of No-mi-lu, at the other side of the Island, jumped in fright, and the moi, the wary fish, left the beaches. And then, with trumpets sounding, flutes playing, and drums beating, the Me-ne-hu-ne started off.

O my younger brothers, I wish there were some amongst us, the Hawaiians of to-day, who knew the Me-ne-hu-ne of the mountains and who could go to them. All the work that it takes us so long to do, they could do in a night. Here we go every day to cut sandalwood for our King. We go away from our homes and our villages, leaving our crops unplanted and untended. We are up in the mountains by the first light of the morning, working, working with our axes to cut the sandalwood. And we go back at the fall of night carrying the loads of sandalwood upon our shoulders the whole way down the mountain-side. Ah, if there were any amongst us who knew the Me-ne-hu-ne or who knew how to come to them! In one night the Me-ne-hu-ne would cut all the sandalwood for us! And the night after they would carry it down on their shoulders to the beach, where it would be put on the ships that would take it away to the land of the Pa-ke. But only those who are descendants of the Me-ne-hu-ne can come to them.

A long time ago a King ruled in Kau-ai whose name was Ola. His people were poor, for the river ran into the stony places and left their fields without water. “How can I bring water to my people?” said Ola the King to Pi, his wizard. “I will tell you how you can do it,” Pi said. And then he told the King what to do so as to get the help of the Me-ne-hu-ne.

Pi, the wise man, went into the mountains. He was known to the Me-ne-hu-ne who had remained in the land, and he went before their Chief, and he asked him to have his people make a water-course for Ola’s people: they would have to dam the river with great stones and then make a trench that would carry the water down to the people’s fields—a trench that would have stones fitted into its bed and fitted into its sides.

All the work that takes us days to do can be done by the Me-ne-hu-ne in the space of a night. And what they do not finish in a night is left unfinished. “Ho po hookahi, a ao ua pau,” “In one night and it is finished,” say the Me-ne-hu-ne.

Well, in one night all the stones for the dam and the water-course were made ready: one division went and gathered them, and another cut and shaped them. The stones were all left together, and the Me-ne-hu-ne called them “the Pack of Pi.”

Now King Ola had been told what he was to have done on the night that followed. There was to be no sound and there was to be no stir amongst his people. The dogs were to be muzzled so that they could not bark, and the cocks and the hens were to be put into calabashes so that there should be no crowing from them. Also a feast was to be ready for the Me-ne-hu-ne.

Down from the mountain in the night came the troops of the Me-ne-hu-ne, each carrying a stone in his hand. Their trampling and the hum of their voices were heard by Pi as he stayed by the river; they were heard while they were still a long way off. They came down, and they made a trench with their digging tools of wood. Then they began to lay the stones at the bottom and along the sides of the trench; each stone fitted perfectly into its place. While one division was doing this the other division was building the dam across the river. The dam was built, the water was turned into the course, and Pi, standing there in the moonlight, saw the water come over the stones that the Me-ne-hu-ne had laid down.

Pi, and no one else, saw the Me-ne-hu-ne that night: half the size of our men they were, but broad across the chest and very strong. Pi admired the way they all worked together; they never got into each other’s way, and they never waited for some one else to do something or to help them out. They finished their work just at daybreak; and then Pi gave them their feast. He gave a shrimp to each; they were well satisfied, and while it was still dark they departed. They crossed the water-course that was now bringing water down to the people’s taro patches.

And as they went the hum of their voices was so loud that it was heard in the distant island of Oahu. “Wawa ka Menehune i Puukapele, ma Kauai, puoho ka manu o ka loko o Kawainui ma Koolaupoko, Oahu,” our people said afterwards. “The hum of the voices of the Me-ne-hu-ne at Pu-u-ka-pe-le, Kau-ai, startled the birds of the pond of Ka-wai-nui, at Ko’o-lau-po-ko, Oahu.”

Look now! The others from our village are going down the mountain-side, with the loads of sandalwood upon their backs. It is time we put our loads upon our shoulders and went likewise. As we go I will tell you the only other story I know about the Me-ne-hu-ne.

There was once a boy of your age, O my younger brother, and his name was Laka. As he grew up he was petted very much by his father and his mother. And while he was still a young boy his father took a canoe and went across the sea to get a toy for him. Never afterwards did Laka see his father.

He grew up, and he would often ask about his father. His mother could tell him nothing except that his father had gone across the sea in a canoe and that it was told afterwards that he had been killed in a cave by a bad man. The more he grew up the more he asked about his father. He told his mother he would go across the sea in search of him. But the boy could not go until he had a canoe. “How am I to get a canoe?” he said to his mother one day.

“You must go to your grandmother,” said she, “and she will tell you what to do to get a canoe.”

So to his grandmother Laka went. He lived in her house for a while, and then he asked her how he might get a canoe.

“Go to the mountains and look for a tree that has leaves shaped like the new moon,” said his grandmother. “Take your axe with you. When you find such a tree, cut it down, for it is the tree to make a canoe out of.”

So Laka went to the mountains. He brought his axe with him. All day he searched in the woods, and at last he found a tree that had leaves shaped like the new moon. He commenced to cut through its trunk with his little axe of stone. At nightfall the trunk was cut through, and the tree fell down on the ground.

Then, well content with his day’s work, Laka went back to his grandmother’s. The next day he would cut off the branches and drag the trunk down to the beach and begin to make his canoe. He went back to the mountains. He searched and searched through all the woods, but he could find no trace of the tree that he had cut down with so much labor.

He went to the mountains again the day after. He found another tree growing with leaves shaped like the new moon. With his little stone axe he cut through the trunk, and the tree fell down. Then he went back to his grandmother’s, thinking that he would go the next day and cut off the branches and bring the trunk down to the beach.

But the next day when he went to the mountains there was no trace of the tree that he had cut down with so much labor. He searched for it all day, but could not find it. The next day he had to begin his labor all over again: he had to search for a tree that had leaves like the new moon, he had to cut through the trunk and let it lie on the ground. After he had cut down the third tree he spoke to his grandmother about the trees that he had cut and had lost sight of. His wise grandmother told him that, if the third tree disappeared, he was to dig a trench beside where the next tree would fall. And when that tree came down he was to hide in the trench beside it and watch what would happen.

When Laka went up to the mountain the next day he found that the tree he had cut was lost to his sight like the others. He found another tree with leaves shaped like the new moon. He began to cut this one down. Near where it would fall he dug a trench.

It was very late in the evening when he cut through this tree. The trunk fell, and it covered the trench he had made. Then Laka went under and hid himself. He waited while the night came on.

Then, while he was waiting, he heard the hum of voices, and he knew that a band of people were drawing near. They were singing as they came on. Laka heard what they sang.

“O the four thousand gods,
O the forty thousand gods,
O the four hundred thousand gods,
O the file of gods,
O the assembly of gods!
O gods of these woods,
Of the mountain, the knoll,
Of the dam of the water-course, O descend!”

Then there was more noise, and Laka, looking up from the trench, saw that the clearing around him was all filled with a crowd of little men. They came where the tree lay, and they tried to move it. Then Laka jumped out of the trench, and he laid hands upon one of the little people. He threatened to kill him for having moved away the trees he had cut.

As he jumped up all the little people disappeared. Laka was left with the one he held.

“Do not kill me,” said the little man. “I am of the Me-ne-hu-ne, and we intend no harm to you. I will say this to you: if you kill me, there will be no one to make the canoe for you, no one to drag it down to the beach, making it ready for you to sail in. If you do not kill me, my friends will make the canoe for you. And if you build a shed for it, we will bring the canoe finished to you and place it in the shed.”

Then Laka said he would gladly spare the little man if he and his friends would make the canoe for him and bring it down to the shed that he would make. He let the little man go then. The next day he built a shed for the canoe.

When he told his grandmother about the crowd of little men he had seen and about the little man he had caught, she told him that they were the Me-ne-hu-ne, who lived in hollow logs and in caves in the mountains. No one knew how many of them there were.

He went back, and he found that where the trunk of the tree had lain there was now a canoe perfectly finished; all was there that should be there, even to the light, well-shaped paddle, and all had been finished in the night. He went back, and that night he waited beside the shed which he had built out on the beach. At the dead of the night he heard the hum of voices. That was when the canoe was being lifted up. Then he heard a second hum of voices. That was when the canoe was being carried on the hands of the Me-ne-hu-ne—for they did not drag the canoe, they carried it. He heard a trampling of feet. Then he heard a third hum of voices; that was when the canoe was being left down in the shed he had built.

Laka’s grandmother, knowing who they were, had left a feast for the Me-ne-hu-ne—a shrimp for each, and some cooked taro leaves. They ate, and before it was daylight they returned to the mountain where their caves were. The boy Laka saw the Me-ne-hu-ne as they went up the side of the mountain—hundreds of little men tramping away in the waning darkness.

His canoe was ready, paddle and all. He took it down to the sea, and he went across in search of his father. When he landed on the other side he found a wise man who was able to tell him about his father, and that he was dead indeed, having been killed by a very wicked man on his landing. The boy never went back to his grandmother’s. He stayed, and with the canoe that the Me-ne-hu-ne had made for him he became a famous fisherman. From him have come my fathers and your fathers, too, O my younger brothers.

And you who are the youngest and littlest of all—gather you the ku-kui nuts as we go down; to-night we will make strings of them and burn them, lighting the house. And if we have many ku-kui nuts and a light that is long-lasting, it may be that I will tell more stories.

The Story of Mo-e Mo-e: Also a Story about Po-o and about Kau-hu-hu the Shark-God, and about Mo-e Mo-e’s Son, the Man Who Was Bold in His Wish.

Light it now. One ku-kui nut and then another will burn along the string as I tell my stories. It is well that you have brought so many nuts, my younger brother.

At Ke-kaa lived Ma-ui and Mo-e Mo-e; they were friends, but no two men could be more different: the great desire of one was to go travelling, doing mighty deeds, and the great desire of the other was to sleep. While Ma-ui would be travelling, Mo-e Mo-e would be sleeping. He was called O-pe-le at first, but afterwards he was called Mo-e Mo-e because no one before or since ever slept so much as he: he could keep asleep from the first day of the month to the last day of the month; if a thunder-storm happened, it would wake him up; if no thunder-storm happened, he might go on sleeping for a whole year.

Once he went off travelling. He had not gone far when he lay down by the roadway and slept. While he was sleeping a freshet of water flowed down and covered him with pebbles and brambles and grasses—covered all of him except his nostrils. Then a ku-kui nut rested in his nostril and began to grow. It grew tall; it began to tickle his nostril; and then Mo-e Mo-e wakened up. “Here am I,” he said, “at my favorite pastime, sleeping, and yet I am wakened up by this cursed ku-kui tree.” He started off then to find his friend Ma-ui.

He did not find Ma-ui. He found, however, a woman whom he liked, and he married her and settled down in her part of the country. His wife had much land, and Mo-e Mo-e went out and worked on it. He needed no more sleep for a while, and he worked night and day until all the lands that his wife owned were cleared and planted. Then one day he told her that he would have to return to his own country. “And if something should happen to prevent my coming back to you,” said he to his wife, “and if a child should be born to us, name the child, if it should be a girl, for yourself; but if it should be a boy, name him Ka-le-lea.” His wife said she would remember what he told her, and Mo-e Mo-e started off on his journey.

On his way he felt sleepy, and he lay down by the roadside. He fell into one of his long slumbers. He had been sleeping for ten days, or perhaps for two less than ten days, when two men came along, and, seeing him lying there, took him up and carried him on their backs to where their canoe was moored.

Now these were two men who had been sent out to find a man who might be sacrificed to one of the gods in the temple. They were highly pleased when they came upon one who could give them such little trouble. They put Mo-e Mo-e in their canoe and brought him to the Island of Kau-ai. He didn’t waken all the time they were at sea. They carried him to the temple, and still he did not waken. Then they made ready to sacrifice him to the god who was there.

While they were waiting for the hour of the sacrifice, a thunder-storm came. That made Mo-e Mo-e waken up. He saw where he was: and the pig that was to be sacrificed, and the bananas, the fish, and the awa, were beside him. He saw the two men who had taken him, squatting down with a spear between them, and he heard what they were saying. They, like us here, were telling a story. “And so,” said one, “Ka-ma-lo went on his way.” Mo-e Mo-e listened, and he heard part of the story.

Ka-ma-lo, a squealing pig upon his shoulder (said the second man), went hurrying on his way.

No man going into danger ever went so quickly as Ka-ma-lo did. And he was going into great danger, for he was on his way to the cavern where the Shark-God Kau-hu-hu had his abode. And you know, my comrade, that if a man had ever ventured into that cavern before, he never came out of it alive.

He came to it. Before the cavern was the great sea. Inside of it were Mo-o and Waka, the Shark-God’s watchmen.

When they saw a man hurrying up to the cavern with a squealing pig upon his shoulders, Waka and Mo-o shouted to him to go back. But Ka-ma-lo came right up to them. “Our lord is away,” they said, “and it is lucky for you, O man, that he is away. Fly for your life, for he will soon return.” Ka-ma-lo would not go. He put down on the ground the pig which he had brought.

Waka and Mo-o ran here and there, beseeching Ka-ma-lo to go away. The man would not go. “I have brought this pig as an offering to the Shark-God,” he said, “and I will speak to him even if afterwards he destroy me.” “It is now too late for you to get away,” said Waka, “for, lo, our lord returns.” “Hide yourself in the cavern; tie up your pig, and perhaps when our lord sleeps you will be able to get away,” said Mo-o. They tied the pig, and they covered it up with seaweed; Ka-ma-lo went into the cavern and hid behind one of the rocks.

A great rolling wave came to the cavern; another came, and then another. With the eighth roller the Shark-God came out of the ocean. Ka-ma-lo looked out and saw him. And when he looked upon him he trembled and drew himself farther into the depths of the cavern.

The Shark-God transformed himself. He was now in the shape of a man, but he was taller and broader than any two men that Ka-ma-lo had ever seen. He came within the cavern, and Ka-ma-lo saw that he had still one mark of the shark upon him: on his back and between his great shoulders there were, as if made with tattoo, the lines of a shark’s opened mouth.

When he came within, Kau-hu-hu began to sniff. “I smell a man, a man,” he said. Ka-ma-lo quaked with terror: the Shark-God, with his great height and breadth, seemed fearful to the man.

And still he moved about the cavern, and Mo-o and Waka, his watchmen, ran this way and that way, striving to get him to give up his search. There was a squealing outside. Kau-hu-hu stopped and ordered his watchmen to bring to him the thing that squealed. They went outside and came back with Ka-ma-lo’s pig.

“A pig!” sniffed the Shark-God. “Then there must be a man about. Where is he?”

Then, in their terror, the two watchmen pointed to where Ka-ma-lo had hidden himself. The Shark-God put down his two big hands and drew the man up.

“Man, I will eat you,” said the Shark-God.

“I have brought this pig as an offering to you,” said Ka-ma-lo. “Do not eat me.”

Then Kau-hu-hu wondered at a man’s being so bold as to come within his cavern with an offering for him. “Man, why have you come?” he said.

Then said Ka-ma-lo: “Kau-hu-hu, you are a shark, but you are also a god. I have come to ask you to avenge me upon a cruel King and a wicked people. No one else is able to exact the vengeance that my soul craves, and so I have come where no man ever ventured before—into your cavern and into your presence.”

“I am a shark, but I am also a god,” said Kau-hu-hu, “and if that King and that people deserve the vengeance that you crave, it shall be wrought upon them. But if they do not deserve that vengeance, I will kill you and devour you for having come into my cavern.”

“I will tell you why I crave vengeance on that King and on that people.” And thereupon Ka-ma-lo told the Shark-God all that he had suffered.

The King of the land I live in (said Ka-ma-lo) is the owner of a drum, and it is a drum that he had brought to him from far Kahiki. He would not let any one strike on this drum but himself. He made a place for the drum, a sacred enclosure that no one might go into. Now the King of my land, Ku-pa, is a cruel King; indeed, so cruel is he that his people have become cruel, for the kind and the gentle have fled away, and those who have remained under his rule have become harder and harder. And at last it has come about that no one will get angry at even the worst thing that the King will do.

I wish that I had fled from the land when others fled. But I had two children, boys, and there was no place that I might have taken them to. They used to play with the King’s children. Yesterday I went into the forest to choose a tree that might be made into a new canoe, for I am the King’s canoe-builder. And while I was away my two boys went towards the King’s house. They came before the enclosure where the drum was kept. The King’s children were not there to play with, and my two boys played with each other for a while.

Now and then they would stand before where the drum was placed, and look at it. They did not know that Ku-pa was watching them—watching to see what the children would do.

At last the boys went into the sacred enclosure, and their going there broke the law that the King had made. They sat down there, my two sons, and they struck upon the drum. They could have struck upon it so that the whole land would hear, or they could have struck so softly that the noise would be only like the fall of rain upon leaves. And that was how they struck the drum; the noise that they made was only a little noise and like the falling of rain upon the leaves in the forest.

But the King heard even that little sound; he came very softly up to the enclosure. The boys looked around. They saw him standing there; his eyes were hard as I have seen them, and his lips were cruel and revengeful. He called for his executioner. The executioner came; he slew my two boys in the enclosure where the King’s drum is kept.

All that happened while I was in the forest. When I came back I went into the enclosure where the King’s canoes are sheltered. I stood there beside the great canoe that was painted red. I put my hands upon it, for then I greatly rejoiced in this work of my hands. I put my hands along the outrigger of the canoe. And then I looked down, and it seemed to me that I saw a hand stretched out from under the canoe.

I stooped down, and I looked under it. I saw two bodies with their hands outstretched. I drew them out, and I saw that they were the bodies of my sons. And when I looked upon them I knew that my sons had been slain by the King’s executioner.

I went away from the King’s house. I met many men, and I spoke to them, telling them of the terrible thing that the King had done to me. But each one I spoke to said: “Yes, such is Ku-pa, our King. He has not dealt with you harder than he has dealt with others.” And when they said this they looked at me; and I saw that their looks were hard, even as the King’s.

I went within my house, and I sat there thinking. To whom could I go for vengeance on the King? Who would be powerful enough to avenge me upon Ku-pa? And then I thought of you, Kau-hu-hu. You would be able to avenge me, and no one else would be able. And so I made up my mind to go to you—even to go into the cavern where no man had ever ventured before,

I took a pig as an offering, and I went hurrying on my way; no man going into danger ever went so swiftly before.

Mo-e Mo-e heard no more of the story then. He stood up. The two who were guarding him were so startled that they did not lay hands on him. He took up the spear that was between them, and he went off.

Back to his wife’s he went, and he left the long spear with its edge of shark’s teeth in the house. “I will have to make another journey,” he said, “and if again anything should happen to me that will prevent my coming back, and if a son is born to us, and if he should want to go in search of me, give him the spear so that I may know him; and give him the name that I told you.”

He went to work in the fields again, and he worked day and night, and his wife’s brother Po-po-lo-au and her servant Po-o were astonished at the work he did. And then, on the very night that his son was born, Mo-e Mo-e fell asleep. He slept for ten days and for another ten days. His wife, her brother, and her servant tried to waken him; all they could do could not waken Mo-e Mo-e, Then his wife shook him; she made noises; she poured water on his eyes, but still he slept. Then she said, “There is no doubt about it: Mo-e Mo-e is dead.”

She called her brother and her servant, and she said to them: “The Chief is dead. Wrap him up and carry him to the beach and cast him into the sea; that is the best that one can do for a dead man.” Her brother and her servant did as she ordered, and a wrap was put around Mo-e Mo-e, and then he was carried down to the beach and cast into the sea. Then Po-po-lo-au went home, and Po-o went home.

His wife’s name was Ka-le-ko’o-ka-lau-ae, and concerning her and her brother Po-po-lo-au and her servant Po-o a strange story is told. After they had left what they thought was the dead body of Mo-e Mo-e in the sea, Po-po-lo-au and Po-o went up the mountains to get timbers for the roofing of a house. They were far from home, and the night came on dark and rainy. Po-o wanted to go back to the house, but Po-po-lo-au would not return through the dark and the rain. Nothing would do him but that they should spend the night in a cave.

So they went into a cave that no one had ever gone into before. And at Po-po-lo-au’s desire they lighted a great fire to keep themselves from the cold. And then, although there were things in the cave that they should have been fearful about, they both went to sleep.

In the middle of the night Po-po-lo-au was startled by something that he thought was happening. He wakened up, and he saw that the fire was burning Po-o. He called him, but the servant would not waken up. He went to him and tried to rouse him, but still he would not awaken. The fire, which had been burning the man’s feet, went farther up his body. Po-po-lo-au lifted him and tried by every way to bring him to wakefulness, but there was no stir from Po-o. Then, when the fire had burned up to his neck, Po-po-lo-au let him lie there and ran out of the cave. He ran towards a hill. When he reached the top of it he heard a voice calling to him, “Wait until I come to you, and we will go home together.” He looked back, and he saw a head with fire streaming out of it coming up the hill after him.

He ran to the valley, and the head rolled down the hill after him. He looked back, and he saw tongues of fire shooting out of the rolling head, and he became more frightened than before. He ran on and on. Through many valleys he raced, and always the head raced behind him. He reached the plain, and then he could hardly go on because of the terror he was in.

It happened that at that time a wizard was walking with his friends along that plain. “Do you see the person who is coming towards us?” he said. “If he is not caught until he comes up to us, he will be saved. But if he is caught before that, I do not know what will happen to him.” As he said that, Po-po-lo-au came running up to them; and then the head did not come any nearer.

Po-po-lo-au told the wizard all that had befallen him. Then he went to his sister, the wife of Mo-e Mo-e. She asked about her servant, and he told her of how he had been burned and how his head had chased him.

Then the wizard came into the house. “I have come to you,” he said, “because I fear you may be burned. The head that chased this man will come here. It will want to come within and stay in the house, but do not ask it to come in, or you will come into its power. It will ask you to go outside to it, but do not go out. It will ask you to send your child out to it, but do not send him out.”

And then he said: “When you hear a whistle outside, it will mean that the head is near. Then move into a corner of the house and keep very still. When the outside is all lighted up you will know that it has come, and when the inside is lighted up you will know that it has entered the house.”

The woman stayed within the house, and about the middle of the night she heard a whistle outside; then all outside was lighted up, and the voice of Po-o called to her asking her to come without. “I will not go outside, for it is raining,” she said. “There is no rain,” said the voice of Po-o.

Then the voice spoke again and said to her, “Send out to me your little child.” And the voice went on to say: “I have what your child liked well—ripe bananas. Send him out to me, and I will give them to him.”

“I will not send him out to you,” the woman said, “for the child is now asleep.”

Then the head came within the house, but the woman had hidden herself and was not to be found. The wizard stole in; he drew the woman out of the house, and he closed the door. The head called out: “Do not close the door on me; I wish to come outside.” But those outside blocked up the door and would not let it out, for they knew that what was within the house was the demon of the cave that had gone into the man’s head. Then fire burst out in the house; there were twelve loud sounds; the head was shattered, and after that there was nothing ever seen of it. And that is the strange story about Po-o.

And now we can speak of Mo-e Mo-e, or at least we can speak of Mo-e Mo-e’s son. He grew up with a stepfather, for his mother had married again. Now, the stepfather was not always kind to Mo-e Mo-e’s son, and the boy was often punished by him.

One day he said to his mother: “I will go in search of my real father.” “Your father is dead and in the sea,” said his mother. “Perhaps he is not,” said the boy. “I will go in search of him, and I will bring with me the spear that my father left for me.”

So he started off in search of Mo-e Mo-e, his father. Now when Mo-e Mo-e had been flung into the sea long before, he had gone down to the bottom. He lay there, for his slumber was still deep. The fish bit at him, but they did not awaken him, and the salt of the deep sea went into his skin. Still he lay there asleep. Then a thunder-storm came. He wakened up. He went to the surface of the sea. Then he swam to the shore.

He had been made bald by the salt water that had got into his skin. His skin had been scraped off by the bites of the fishes. He crawled to a pig-pen, and there he lay down. From that place he crawled to another place. There a wizard found him; he gave Mo-e Mo-e medicine that cured him.

Then he went back to his own home, to the place that he had first come from. He went on no more trips after that, and he took to sleeping like an ordinary man.

And now his son, with the great spear of dark-red wood with the ridges of shark’s teeth upon it, went off in search of him. He came to the Island where Mo-e Mo-e had lived when his name was O-pe-le. He went down into the valley where O-pe-le had had his farm.

The boy came to a field where a man was planting taro. He sat down to watch the man, holding the spear in his hands. Two men came along. Seeing the spear that the boy held, they stopped and looked at it. “Is it not like the spear we carried when we took away the man who slept all the way in our canoe and all the time on the black stones of the temple?” one said to the other. “It is the very same spear,” said the other. “You laid it down, and I was looking at it while I was telling you the story of Ka-ma-lo, who went to the cave of the Shark-God.” “I never heard the rest of that story,” said the first man, “and I should like to hear it.”

The two sat together, and then the man who had been telling the story that Mo-e Mo-e had heard, went on.

When Ka-ma-lo had told him all that had happened, the Shark-God said to him: “Go back to Ku-pa’s country and live there with his people. But make ready a great offering for me—an offering of black pigs, white fowl, and red fish—and when the new moon comes take the offering into the temple enclosure, and stay there until you see a cloud coming over the mountains of La-na-i. And when you see that cloud, leave the temple enclosure and get into your canoe and go out to sea.” So Kau-hu-hu said; then he lay down in the cavern and went to sleep. Ka-ma-lo did not stay any longer; he went quickly out of the cavern.

He went back, and he lived for a while under the cruel King who had destroyed his children and amongst the hard people that the King ruled over. He began to put together the offering for Kau-hu-hu the Shark-God; and by the time he had got all the black pigs and all the white fowl and all the red fish, the new moon had come.

He took his offering to the temple enclosure; he left the black pigs and the white fowl and the red fish within, and he stood upon the black stones, and he looked towards the mountains of La-na-i.

He heard the King beating upon his drum: it was to summon all his people to him. He heard the sound of the drum, but he did not go towards the King’s house; he stood upon the black stones that made the temple enclosure, and he watched and he waited, moveless as the stone that he stood on. Louder and louder beat the King’s drum. The people all gathered at his house. Then Ka-ma-lo saw a speck of cloud over the mountains of La-na-i. He watched, and he saw it coming nearer and nearer. He left the place that he had been watching from, and he went to the beach.

As he went he saw the crowd of people that were gathered together by the King’s drum. They called to him, but he went past them. He came to the beach, and he pushed but in his canoe.

When he looked back he saw that the end of the rainbow was now resting on the temple enclosure, and he knew that the Shark-God had set a guard on the offering that he had left there. The cloud was coming nearer, and it was growing bigger and bigger as it came. It made a darkness over all the land.

Ka-ma-lo paddled beyond the reef, and he went far out to sea. Out of the darkness that covered the land there came a fearful storm: down poured the rain; the trees in the forest cracked and broke; the rivers suddenly filled up; as they rushed into the valley, trees, houses, and men were swept away and out to sea. Ka-ma-lo, in his canoe, saw the red-covered drum of the King go floating by. That was the end of Ku-pa and his people. And if the spear that this young man holds in his hands be the same spear that I had when we were in the temple enclosure the day I told you the beginning of the story, that spear is the only thing that has come out of his kingdom.

Ka-le-lea then spoke up and said: “Yes, this is the spear you carried on that occasion, for my father, Mo-e Mo-e, heard you tell the beginning of that story; he related it to my mother, who told it to me. And now I am seeking him; I am seeking that man, for he is my father.” “If you are seeking the man who slept while we brought him to the temple and slept there while we were making the preparations to sacrifice him, you have not far to go,” said the men. “We have seen him since, and we know where he is.” “And where is he?” asked the boy. “The man planting taro there,” said the man, “is no other than he; he is O-pe-le, who came to be called Mo-e Mo-e.”

Then the boy called out to the man who was planting taro in the field, “Say, your rows of taro are crooked.” The man looked at his rows, and then he began to straighten them. But no matter how he straightened them, the boy would call out the same thing. Then the man said to himself: “How strange this is! Here I have been doing this work night and day, and my rows were never made crooked before. Now it seems that I cannot make them straight.” Thereupon he quit working and went to the edge of the patch where the boy was standing, the great spear in his hands. “Whose offspring are you?” said he, when he looked at the boy and looked at the spear. “Yours,” said the boy, “yours and Ka-li-ko’o-ka-lau-ae’s.” “What name have you?” said the man. “I am Ka-le-lea,” said the boy. “You have found me, my son,” said Mo-e Mo-e.

And thereupon the two went into the house.

The boy who came to Mo-e Mo-e, Ka-le-lea, is also known in our stories; in them he is called “The Mari Who Was Bold in his Wish,” and when you have lighted some more ku-kui nuts I will tell you how he came to get that name.

When he grew up he became a fisherman, and he and another youth had a house together. Ke-ino was the other youth’s name. Now whenever other houses were dark, Ka-le-lea’s and Ke-ino’s would be lighted up. They would have gathered many ku-kui nuts, they would string them together, and they would light them up. And the light that Ka-le-lea and Ke-ino had in their house would be seen by travellers and watchmen and those who looked out of their houses at night. What was being done in the house where there was so much light, people wondered?

Well, when Ka-le-lea and Ke-ino came into their house in the evening, they would, first of all, partake of their evening meal. Then they would light the ku-kui nuts and keep lighting them as they burned out. Then they would lie down on their mats with their pillows under their heads, and they would look up at the roof, Ka-le-lea looking at the gable end, and Ke-ino looking at the end opposite. They would watch the mice running along the ridge-pole of the house. Then one would say to the other: “Here are we, Ka-le-lea and Ke-ino, awake and with lights burning beside us. Let us keep watching the mice running along the ridge-pole of our house, and as we watch them, let each of us tell out his wishes.”

Then Ke-ino would say: “Here is my wish. I wish that we may sleep until the first crowing of the cock, then waken up, and go into the field and pull up a root for fish-bait. Then go down to the beach, pound the root and set it for eel-bait. Then catch an eel after having waited around the beach for a bit, go home with it, and wrap it in banana-leaves for cooking. Put it in the oven after a while. Then, at the second crowing of the cock, open the oven and put the eel one side to cool. Eat, after a while, until we have had enough. Then lie down on our mats, put the pillows under our heads, look up and watch the mice run along the ridge-pole of our house, and tell out our wishes. That is my wish, brother.”

Then Ka-le-lea would say: “It is a wish, but it is not a manly wish. Listen now, and I will tell out my wishes.

“I wish that we may eat King Ka-ku-hi-hewa’s dogs that bite the faces of the people. I wish that we may eat his hogs with the crossing tusks. I wish that we may eat the fat fish of his ponds. And when we have eaten all belonging to him, I wish that the King himself may prepare the drink for us, bring it to us, and put his own cup to our lips. And then, when we have eaten and drunken, I wish that the King may send for his two daughters, have them brought in, and have each of them marry one of us, and then have each couple go to live in a house that he has had built for them. That is my wish, my brother, and I want you to know it.”

But when Ka-le-lea would say this (and he would say it every night) Ke-ino would pull the mat over his face, and he would say: “No, not that wish. Never let it pass your lips again. We will surely get killed on account of that wish.”

Now the King whom Ka-le-lea had spoken of was at that time engaged in a war—the war of King Ka-ku-hi-hewa against King Pueo-nui. He had won nothing so far in the war, and he was becoming disheartened. His watchmen and his soldiers often saw the light in the house of Ka-le-lea and Ke-ino, and one day they told the King about it.

Then the King sent his spy to see or hear what was going on in that house. The spy stole up and lay outside. He heard Ke-ino tell his wish, and then he heard Ka-le-lea tell his. He heard nothing more; before the first cock crew he stole away, leaving his dagger stuck at the entrance of the house to let Ka-le-lea and Ke-ino know that the King’s servant had been there.

When the spy came back to the King’s house, the King was there with his Councillor beside him, and they were talking about what should be done to bring to some sort of end the war against King Pueo-nui. Said the King when the spy came to them: “What is happening in the house that I sent you to?”

Said the spy: “This and this.” Thereupon he told all he had heard. When he spoke about Ka-le-lea’s wish the King became very angry. “Because I am not winning the war,” he said, “these people think they can make mock of me! Eat my dogs and my hogs and my fat fish indeed! Have me prepare the drink for them and put my own cup to their mouths! And then give my daughters in marriage to two such fellows! Tell me, my Councillor, how should I have them slain?”

But the Councillor was not for having Ka-le-lea and Ke-ino put to death in any way. “Rather carry out the wish that the boldest of them spoke out,” he said. “If any one can help you in the war, it is that man. Send for both of them and carry out the bold one’s wish to the very end. You have a wish too: it is to win the whole Island for yourself. That man, believe me, is the one who can help you to have that wish of yours made real.” The King agreed at last to let Ka-le-lea and Ke-ino live, and he even agreed to carry out to its very end the wish that Ka-le-lea had made. He ordered his men to cut timber and build houses for the two fishermen and the wives he was going to give them, and after that he sent an officer with soldiers to bring Ka-le-lea and Ke-ino to him.

Ke-ino was the first to waken up that morning. And when he went to the door he saw the dagger that was stuck at the entrance. Then he knew that the King’s servant had been listening in the night and that he had heard all that had been said. “We are going to be killed,” he said to Ka-le-lea; “your terrible wish has been overheard, and the two of us are going to die for it.”

But Ka-le-lea only stirred on the mat he was lying on; he didn’t even get up to go to the door. And then Ke-ino saw a company of people coming out of the King’s house. They carried axes. “Here are our deaths,” said Ke-ino. But the procession he saw was that of the King’s servants as they went towards the mountain to cut timbers for the two houses that were to be built, according to the Councillor’s advice and the King’s orders, for himself and Ka-le-lea and the wives who were to be given to them—the King’s two daughters.

Later on, another procession came from the King’s house. This one came straight towards their house. The men were armed with spears, and the officers had on their shoulders cloaks of bright feathers, and their war-helmets were on their heads. Ke-ino said: “Our deaths are now close to us.” But all that Ka-le-lea answered was: “Keep your eye on them.”

He did not move until then. Then he rose up from the mat he had been sleeping on, and he took up his club. He went outside, and by this time the armed men had come up. The officer said: “We have come to take you two before the king.” Ka-le-lea said never a word, but with his great club he struck the house a mighty blow, and he scattered its thatch and its timbers in all directions.

Then, very much to their surprise, Ka-le-lea and Ke-ino were put into a litter and carried on the shoulders of the soldiers. They were brought before the King. They were served according to the wish of Ka-le-lea: the dogs and the hogs and the fat fish were given them to eat; the King prepared the drink for them, and in his own cup he brought it to Ka-le-lea and Ke-ino. And when they had drunken, the King’s daughters were brought before them. One was wed to Ka-le-lea, and the other was wed to Ke-ino. And then each couple was given a house to live in, a house that the King had had built for them in a single day.

Ka-le-lea, the one who had uttered the bold wish, was not seen much after that. He stayed in the house that had been given him. Ke-ino was the one who was around all the time. And the King took Ke-ino and made him an officer, and gave him a feather cape for his shoulders and a war-helmet to go on his head. After that, Ke-ino went into the fight with a company of men; every day he won a victory. But, for all that, the war still went on.

Ka-le-lea stayed in the house all day with his wife, the King’s daughter. He had no war-helmet, no feather cape, and he never took a company of men out to battle. Ke-ino was the great man now, and Ka-le-lea was never spoken of.

Still the war went on. But after the first crow of the cock, a man with a great club used to go to Ha-la-wa, where the officers and chiefs of Pueo-nui’s army were, and do battle with them. This the man did every day. He would come upon a company of them, and fight with them, striking right and left with his club. He would slay them all. Then he would gather up their feather capes and their war-helmets, and he would run, run away. The fighting chiefs were all killed by him, and Pueo-nui’s army melted away. There were stories about how the chiefs were killed in the early morning, and of how their feather capes and their war-helmets were taken away. No one knew the warrior who fought with them and overcame them. But the King was sure that Ke-ino was the one who did it all.

When the last of Pueo-nui’s fighting chiefs was killed, an end came to the war, and Pueo-nui gave his lands and his kingdom to King Ka-ku-he-hewa. And that very morning, as the stranger warrior who had done battle with the chiefs was running back, he was seen by a watchman in the light of the early morning. The watchman flung a spear at the running man. It struck him on the arm, just above the wrist. He kept on running. The spear had a hook, and the watchman knew that it would be hard for the warrior to draw it out of the flesh of his arm.

And now the King made, up his mind to give a great reward to Ke-ino, and to get rid of Ka-le-lea, the fellow whom no one had ever seen outside his house. He made a proclamation, declaring his victory in the war, and telling how much of it was due to his son-in-law Ke-ino. And every one was satisfied, for every one was sure that Ke-ino had won the war. Every one, that is, except the King’s Councillor and the watchman who had flung the spear at the running man. The watchman kept on saying that it was not Ke-ino but another man who had slain the fighting chiefs of Pueo-nui’s army and had carried off their feather capes and their war-helmets.

The Councillor advised the King to bring all his people together, men, women, and children. All came to a place near the King’s house—all but those who fell down and who were not able to get up again. “Are all your people here, O King?” asked the Councillor. “All are here,” said the King, “except that fellow Ka-le-lea. He is asleep at home. His father, they say, was a good sleeper, and my son-in-law takes after his father.” “Nevertheless,” said the Councillor, “send for him, and bring him here.”

Then Ka-le-lea was sent for. He came, and he saw all the people gathered before the King’s house. He saw Ke-ino there in great state, with a bright feather cape on his shoulders and a war-helmet on his head. He looked at Ke-ino, and Ke-ino looked at him. The watchman, who had been looking at all who came, saw him, and he made a sign to the Councillor.

Then said the Councillor to the King: “Send to this man’s house, and have a search made in it. And all that your men find hidden in it, have them bring here.” Men were sent to Ka-le-lea’s house. They returned with feather capes and war-helmets enough to make a great pile. And then the watchman pointed to Ka-le-lea’s arm, and showed the hook of a spear in the flesh of it.

And when the watchman told of how he had flung his spear at the warrior who had slain the last of Pueo-nui’s fighting chiefs, it was seen by all that Ka-le-lea, and not Ke-ino, was the man who had won the war. After that he was made the King’s chief officer. But he did nothing against Ke-ino, who came to serve under him.

And this is the story of Mo-e Mo-e’s son, Ka-le-lea. Soon after, Ka-ku-he-hiwa died. Ka-le-lea came to rule in his stead, for all the people clamored to have over them the Man Who Was Bold in His Wish.