coming of the king. Trumpet shells responded from the temple and from
the king’s residence. A terrific beating of drums followed, the people
fell upon their faces; even the high chiefs prostrated themselves. Only
the messenger from Nanaulu remained partially upright.
From the king’s house came the royal retinue. King Kii was borne on the
shoulders of a stalwart slave, supported by two other slaves, while
ranks of trusted chiefs walked by his side. Following the king, riding
in the same way upon the shoulders of slaves, was Ulu, the king’s son,
surrounded also by his chosen chiefs.
To the king Taunoa at once presented his tuft of the cocoanut and was
ordered to give his message.
“O King,” he said, “Nanaulu, the high chief, your son, has heard of the
boat of Ulu and your purpose of sending Ulu upon a mysterious mission.
Nanaulu, the elder brother, was the kahu (caretaker) of Ulu in the days
past. He desires to still stand by his brother’s side and care for him
in the place of Kii, the royal father. He has searched the forests of
the sharp-peaked mountain and has fashioned a boat, the Mano-nui (great
shark), and soon expects to come to Papeete with a royal fleet to do
honour to the king, his father.”
The king had turned his eyes for a moment toward Ulu and had caught the
joy flashing from his eyes when he heard of his brother’s speedy
coming, then, looking down upon Taunoa, who had prostrated himself as
soon as his message was delivered, simply said:
“Your message gives joy,” and then was borne into the midst of the
group of high chiefs.
The king’s herald then made proclamation:
“Where are you, O chiefs? Where are you, O nobles of Tahiti? Where are
you, O servant people? For the message is to all, from the highest to
the lowest. Listen, O men of Tahiti, to the will of Kii, your king.
“It is his wish that Ulu, his son, should sail toward the west and
should find the land of our fathers, He will have many companions, but
these will be selected from only the most worthy. His prophets and
priests, his teachers, have already been chosen. But now choice must be
made of chiefs and warriors and common people. Two days will be given
you for rest. On the third day the king and his high chiefs will be
judges of wrestling contests. On the fourth day will be struggles in
the surf; or, if the sea gods are not propitious the chiefs will
contest on the hillsides and in the games of physical strength. On the
fifth day there will be the exercise with the spears and clubs. The
skill and strength of the Tahitians will be manifest during these
days.”
Then followed such a scene of unbridled revelry as could occur only in
a land given up to physical pleasures and passions. Feasting and the
heiva dance and drinking kava occupied the time of the common people.
The chiefs gave themselves up to gambling and rioting until the night
was wearied with their excesses and the new day sent the revellers to
needed rest wherever any tree or grass house afforded even a little
shade.
As the afternoon of the first day began to cast its long shadows, a
large fleet of hundreds of canoes filled the entrance to Papeete Bay.
They were preceded by a very large war canoe with a prow shaped into a
rude resemblance of a shark’s head, with shark’s teeth fastened in the
open jaws. The body of the boat was of polished wood, well oiled. The
multitude of canoes following were painted and stained with as many
brilliant dyes as possible. Not a torn or weather-beaten sail hung by
the masts. Sails of dyed kapa cloth and woven matting, new and
beautifully painted, had been made ready long before, that Nanaulu’s
homecoming might have no blot upon its impressive appearance. As the
large boat came near the shore the oarsmen leaped into the surf; chosen
men from the other canoes joined them. Passing strong cords of cocoanut
fibre under the keel, they lifted the boat, with several chiefs resting
upon a small deck which partially covered the canoe. Then they bore the
great burden up the beach toward the grass house of Kii. Standing by
the mast of the canoe was Nanaulu, a chief of splendid physical
appearance, about thirty years of age, before whom all the people
prostrated themselves as he was carried by.
Midway between the beach and the king’s house a young chief rushed down
to meet Nanaulu. As he came near the canoe he leaped over the heads of
the bearers, landing on the deck by the side of Nanaulu and catching
the mast gracefully, steadied himself for a moment and then, throwing
his arms around Nanaulu, began the loud Polynesian wailing, with which
in sorrow or in joy alike they were accustomed to greet one another.
This was Ulu, the younger brother, not over twenty-five years old, and
his warm-hearted greeting of his elder brother, who during his boyhood
had been his steadfast friend and caretaker, showed the deep love which
bound them together. Ulu was of higher chief rank than his elder
brother. Sons of Kii, they were nevertheless sons of different queens
of unequal rank; therefore Nanaulu owed allegiance to his brother.
After the wailing was over the boat was carried to the king’s house,
while the two brothers discussed plans. Nanaulu requested that his own
retainers might be given an opportunity to contest in the games and
athletic exercises of the coming days. To this his brother readily
acceded.
Early in the morning of the next day the contests were opened by the
chiefs of the various districts of Tahiti, who called their best
wrestlers together and chose the champions to contest with other
champions from other districts.
After the king had taken his place the ceremonies of the day were
introduced by the royal ceremonial dance. Over a hundred chiefs,
throwing aside their cloaks and putting on tall helmets making the
average stature about eight feet and, taking slender, thin paddles,
ranged themselves before the king in lines, and then passed through a
series of gymnastic exercises, gracefully moving the paddles in exact
harmony, at the same time changing their positions, passing in and out
between one another, sometimes forming squares, circles and
semi-circles. The music for the rhythmic motion was furnished by rude
drums, upon which musicians beat time. The dance ended by two chiefs
taking war clubs and, while in motion, keeping time with the drums,
twirling the clubs and striking rapidly at each other, circling the
clubs over each other’s heads and yet avoiding all injury to one
another.
One of the chiefs stepped to the centre of the open arena and began to
chant:
“I am the wrestler
From the groves of Papeete,
By the sea waters.
Where are you, Opale,
The great man! the strong man!
Living by the rough waves
Of Makavia?
Come and fight with Makima.”
The champion wrestler from Matavia Bay very slowly walked into the
arena, trying to appear utterly oblivious of his antagonist. He looked
into the sky, glanced along the sand, then shouted:
“Where are you, Makima,
The boastful little man,
The weak in limb and arm?
Where are you, Makima,
Who dares to fight with Opale?”
It was the custom of the Polynesians to throw out a taunt in a
half-shouting, defiant tone. Each combatant approached the other,
trying to make the audience think that he considered his antagonist so
far beneath his notice that he only needed to move his arm and the
match would be over. Thus in lordly dignity they ignored each other
until, standing side by side, each made a sudden movement as if
expecting to find the other off his guard. In a moment there was a
confused mass of squirming limbs and arms and writhing bodies. A cloud
of sand obscured the struggle. For a time there was no motion, and
people saw the champions bending around each other with strained
muscles, neither having any advantage, but each apparently exerting all
his strength to make the other give way in response to brute strength.
Each endeavoured to learn the trick by which his antagonist would
change the order of battle. The least loosening of muscles on the part
of one was interpreted in a moment by the other, and neither one
hastened to carry out a move which might place him at the other’s
mercy. It was a splendid exhibition of statuesque athletics. Doing his
very best to prevent betrayal by any loosened grasp in any direction,
Opale suddenly swept one foot with terrific force against his
antagonist’s leg, at the same time pulling him to one side; but the
half second’s unconscious loosening of the muscles preparatory to
Opale’s action gave Makima notice, and even as Opale’s foot struck him,
he raised the unbalanced chief and whirled him over his head, at the
same time by a whirlwind motion preserving his own equilibrium. Opale
lay for a moment unconscious, while Makima received the applause of the
multitude.
Then followed match after match, sometimes interspersed with boxing. In
the boxing contests severe blows were given until one of the boxers was
stricken senseless to the earth or an arm was broken. Sometimes both
wrestling and boxing contests resulted in the death of a chief. At such
times the chief’s retainers quietly carried away the body, while the
shouts which greeted the victor filled the air. Such deaths were taken
as incidental, and no wailing showed the grief of stricken friends.
In this way the forenoon passed, and at last a few noble chiefs,
exquisite in the beauty of perfect muscular manhood, stood before the
king, chosen to be the special bodyguard of Ulu in the mysterious
journey of the coming days. In the afternoon the followers of Nanaulu
were tested and a like bodyguard selected for this young prince.
During that night a heavy wind tossed the sea waves into foam, but as
the morning broke the wind died away, leaving ideal surf waves rolling
in from the far-off coral reef, through the harbour, up to the beach.
A number of chiefs, taking long boards, thinned and smoothed by stone
knives and polished with the rough skin of the shark, swam far out into
the ocean. There where the surf waves began to form as the tide rolled
landward each chief turned his surf board to follow the tidal pathway.
Canoes were stationed at the point from which the older chiefs had
decided that the swimmers must start. Groups of ten or fifteen
contestants were allowed to start together. The rider with the swiftest
and most skilfully managed surf board was chosen from each group.
Hundreds of natives having any kind of claim to chief’s blood had
presented themselves for this contest.
Some of the surf-riders contented themselves by simply lying on the
board, endeavouring by skilful use of hand and foot to hasten their
passage on the crest of the huge surf waves. This was by no means an
easy thing to do. Success consisted in gaining on the surf. Ordinarily
many surf waves passed from beneath the surf-riders before they could
complete the long distance over the sea. To hang to a wave, cling to
its white mane, to have such mastery over it as not to be thrown back
to the next wave, was a trial of strength and judgment, and might
easily bring the sought-for reward. These, of course, were the first to
reach the shore.
Others pushed their boards rapidly through the first waves encountered.
Then, balancing the board on the crest of the largest inrolling waves,
leaped to their feet, and standing upright guided the board by the
swaying of their bodies, adjusting themselves to the changing forces of
the surf. Sometimes a very skilful surf-rider would go through the
motions of fighting a battle—throwing the javelin, pushing with a
spear, striking with a war-club or stabbing with a dagger. This was
seldom attempted without an ignominious overthrow of board and rider as
the undertow from the beach struggled with the incoming surf. Then the
acrobat received the jeers of the people as he and his boat rolled
under the foam. A successful completion of such a ride marked a high
degree of combined courage and training and judgment. During the course
of the entire test of the men of both Ulu and Nanaulu only two men
perfectly performed this difficult task. These were the two young high
chiefs Okela and Taunoa. The highest honours for surf-riding were,
however, given by all to Vai-ta-piha, the inferior chief who had come
to the contest with Taunoa.
Soon after the group of riders in which he was placed started shoreward
a squall broke over them. The surf ceased rolling for a few moments in
continuous waves. The boards and their riders were thrown against and
over one another. Then a large wave swept the confused and struggling
company toward the beach. Vai-ta-piha easily extricated himself, and
balanced upon his surf board was about to dash to land, but he saw in
front of his board the body of an insensible chief roll from between
two boards and begin to sink. In a second he leaped ahead of his board,
caught the chief with one hand and with the other secured the
surf-board floating by. He drew the chief and himself up until he
rested upon the board. Leaping to his feet he held the body in his
hands, balancing himself and guiding his frail craft until the wave was
about to take its final plunge upon the sand, when he dropped off into
the water and carried his burden to the massage or lomilomi women, who
by skilful kneading of the body soon restored the injured chief to his
friends. The unselfish rescue as well as the skill displayed in
bringing the body to land, all in a few moments, won the approval of
the judges.
The fourth day the chiefs rested and the common people gave an
exhibition of their attainments, and a sufficient number of
canoe-makers, house-builders, fishermen and other helpers were easily
secured. These were to be the oarsmen of the expedition.
The fifth day brought a new order of contestants. Around Papeete Bay
are some beautiful hills, with sloping, grassy sides. Here the chiefs
gathered with sleds which were from six to twelve feet long. These were
made by taking finely polished hardwood for runners, usually about
twelve inches apart.
Long sticks were placed lengthwise over these runners and fastened
tightly to cross pieces. Frequently a board was tied between the sticks
and a piece of matting laid upon it for the benefit of the rider. Holes
were bored through these boards with sharp-pointed bones or shells, and
they were strongly tied to the runners.
The riders of shorter sleds would grasp the sticks along the edges,
using them as handles, raise the sled and run along the brow of the
hill, giving the sled a hard push down the declivity as they threw
themselves flat on the narrow board. Sometimes this resulted in a
mortifying overthrow of the rider at the first leap of the sled
downward. The rider with the longer sled was content to push his sled
rapidly a few feet and then dash down the hillside. The slides or paths
for the sleds were so well worn that little ridges formed along the
sides, sometimes keeping the sled in the path, and just as often
catching a runner and causing an overthrow of the rider.
The slides were frequently well covered with cut grass or leaves. Often
the chiefs preferred the carefully kept, grass-covered, smooth hillside
where but few marks of sleds appeared.
This was an exciting and sometimes dangerous sport. Fearful velocities
were sometimes attained. Sleds swerved against slight unevennesses
almost imperceptible until struck by a runner on one side or the other.
The sudden shock swept the sled out of its course against the sled or
in the pathway of an opponent, and in a moment a confused mass of
broken sleds and stunned riders would be dashed down the hillside. Many
times a sled thus turned spilt its runner on one side. It was
considered evidence of great skill when a rider instantaneously
adjusted himself to a broken sled, kept it in its course and finally
landed safely in the smooth plain below.
Where the slopes were sufficiently gradual some of the chiefs chose the
slower ride, but took it in a standing position, when the dangers would
be intensified, a broken sled being accompanied by broken limbs or a
broken neck.
During the day messengers of the chiefs competed for a place in the
expedition. The contest required the men to go around the mountain
which formed the larger part of the Island of Tahiti, usually a two
days’ journey, with allowance for a few hours’ rest along the way. The
first and second runners to win in this race were to go as the
messengers of Ulu and Nanaulu.
The contests among the chiefs had resulted in the selection of a much
larger number of chiefs than could possibly go with the two young
princes. New trials of skill were instituted to sift out the least
skilful or the most unlucky.
The first test applied was that of javelin throwing. The high chiefs
had prepared for their own sport a long, smooth path, beaten down until
it was hard as a rock. Here they were accustomed to throw heavy
hardwood darts, which, sliding along the path, would either pass
between two marks at a given distance from the thrower or sometimes
strike a small stick set upright at the end of a straight line drawn
along the centre of the path. This was called the Pakee or the play
with the darts or javelins.
A second test was made along the same beaten track in the game called
Ulu-maika. In this contest were used circular stones, flat-sided, of
different sizes, according to the pleasure of the contestants. The
smaller stones were about an inch thick and about six inches in
circumference. The larger maika-stones were frequently two inches thick
and a foot and a half in circumference. The ordinary stone used by most
of the chiefs was an inch thick and about ten inches in circumference.
These stones were smoothed and polished to a very high degree.
Those who had stood the test of javelin-throwing were formed in line
that each one might, without delay, step to the head of the track and
roll his disc, pass on and permit another to take his place.
This trial was, by virtue of a suggestion of Nanaulu, made a triple
test. The stone was to be rolled more than the ordinary distance, made
to pass between two upright sticks, then between two more posts, and
then some distance beyond strike a mark set up in the centre of the
track. Those accomplishing the entire feat would not be required to
stand further trial in order to secure the coveted membership in the
expedition. Those passing the posts should be entitled to another
trial. It was not very difficult to roll the stone between the posts,
but very few were able to keep the disc in the centre of the track and
strike the far-distant mark.
The spear-catching contest was instituted as one of the final
struggles. A difficult condition was attached to this spear-catching.
Six spears were to be hurled at once by six chiefs not over sixty feet
distant from the catcher. He was required to catch or stop at least
four of these spears, not permitting more than two to pass by him.
Thus the contests ended, and thus by a skilful use of Polynesian games
companions were selected for the sons of Kii in their long journey to
Hawaii.
The wives of the young princes and some of the chiefs and warriors and
boatmen were given places by the side of their husbands.
So from Tahiti, in the long ago, a voyage of many days to many lands,
through many strange experiences, was undertaken by brave men and women
in a small fleet of the larger kind of Polynesian boats. So the sons of
Kii sailed away toward the west to find the home from which their
ancestors had come to found the dynasty of Tahitian kings which held
rule over Tahiti until the white man controlled the beautiful islands
of the Pacific. Instead of the original home of the Polynesians on the
coast of Asia, the sons of Kii probably made their way to the new
Hawaii and there founded two races of kings. The descendants of Ulu
ruled the larger southern islands until overthrown in the eleventh
century by Paao on the Island of Hawaii. The descendants of Nanaulu
ruled the northern islands until a few years after Captain Cook
discovered the Hawaiian group and called it “The Sandwich Islands.”
VII
PAAO FROM SAMOA
Ka-meha-meha is the chief name around which Hawaiian history gathers.
It is the nimbus of a cloud of stories, legends and chants. Hawaiians
never reckoned history by dates, but by genealogies—as did the Hebrews.
They measured time not by the years but by the lives of men; not by the
days passed, but by the deeds done. These genealogies formed the most
essential part of Hawaiian literature. They proved the royal descent of
the high chiefs.
When Ka-meha-meha became king of “The Rainbow Islands,” his royal chant
took the supreme place. Other genealogies lost their importance except
as they blended in that of the great king. He traced his royal blood to
Pili, “from a foreign land,” and through Pili back to Wa-kea, a
Polynesian chief of perhaps the second century; and thence back through
a series of hero-gods to Kumu-Honua, “the first created.” It is a
remarkable genealogy and worthy of study.
In November, 1736, he was born in North Kohala, Hawaii. Pili had
settled in North Kohala about thirty generations preceding. A quarter
of a century is accepted as the average life of a generation. Pili,
therefore, landed in Hawaii in the early part of the eleventh century.
The story of Pili depends upon another story which must be told first.
In fact the Hawaiian traditions tell a great deal more about Paao, the
founder of the high-priest family of Hawaii, than about Pili, the
ancestor of kings.
Not far from the year 1100 A.D., two priest brothers were living on
Upolu, one of the Samoan Islands. Lonopele, the elder, lived in one of
the luxurious valleys opening upon the seacoast. Paao, the younger, was
a seaman as well as a priest. He lived near the beach, where he kept a
small fleet of canoes.
In some way bitter feeling arose between the two households, making
them jealous and suspicious of each other. One day Lonopele came to the
temple where his brother was making ready to sacrifice a sacred black
hog.
“Where are you, O Paao,” he cried, “that you prepare a sacrifice for
the favour of the gods, when you do not watch your oldest boy?”
“What is your thought?” asked Paao.
“Some of my choice fruits, brought from Tahiti, are beginning to ripen;
and each night Kaino, your son, creeps under the low branches, and
gathers whatever is good.”
“It is false!” angrily replied the father.
Theft was considered the greatest of crimes among the Polynesians.
“No! It is true. He is coming even now from his feast. If he touches my
fruit again he shall die. It is tabu” (sacred).
“E! Kaino!” called the father.
The boy came near, evidently having just been eating.
“Have you taken fruit from Lonopele in the night?”
“No. I have fruit at home, but better are the baked dog and fish. I
would not eat his fruit.”
Lonopele became angry, and cried out: “May the god, Kanaloa, curse you
and break your body into fragments, for your falsehood.”
“Cut open my stomach, O my uncle, and I shall be proved innocent.”
The ancient days had little of the modern care for children. Fathers
and mothers readily gave away their babes, or slew them with their own
hands. Paao determined to substitute his son for the sacrifice he was
preparing, and thus prove his guilt or innocence. No trace of fruit was
found in the body.
Lonopele bowed his head in shame and hastened away. When the flush of
indignant anger had passed, Paao grieved over the body which lay
decomposing upon the altar. The Hawaiian traditions say that after this
act he determined to leave Upolu. He called together a few of his
trusted friends and told them his purpose. They agreed to prepare their
large canoes, and go with him, seeking the “Burning-Java,” or Hawaii,
somewhere toward the north.
The sides of the boats were to be built two or three feet higher. This
was done by hewing boards with stone axes, and sewing them to each
other through holes, drilled by bones, using cords of cocoanut fibre
for thread. Thus canoes were prepared capable of carrying thirty to
sixty persons.
Dried bananas, pigs, fish, and pounded taro were made ready.
One day Paao saw his brother’s son coming near the boats.
In a fit of anger he rushed upon the boy and slew him.
Lonopele soon discovered the murder, and made war upon Paao.