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.