Chapter III: Part 3

Then the two servants went towards the shore where Au-ke-le was resting. But his Magic told him what was coming and what he should do. “When they come you must call the servants by their names, and they will be so abashed at a stranger’s knowing them that they will not know what to do.”

So when the Queen’s two women-servants came before him Au-ke-le called out, “It is U-po-ho and it is Hua-pua-i-na-nea.” The two servants were so abashed because their names were known to this stranger that they stood there looking at each other.

Then Au-ke-le called them to him, and they came, and they sat near him. He asked them to play the game that is played with black and white stones. He moved the stones, and as he moved them he chanted, and his chant was to let them know who he was.

“This is my turn; your turn now;
Now we pause; the blacks cannot win;
The whites have won:
Nothing can break the boy from Ku-ai-he-lani.”

The servants knew then that he was from Ku-ai-he-lani, the Country that Supports the Heavens. They said to him, “We were sent to kill you, but we are going back to tell the Queen that in no place could we find a creature of flesh and blood.”

They returned, and they told the Queen that neither on the uplands nor on the sea-shore, neither on the tops of the trees nor on the tops of the cliffs, were they able to find a creature of flesh and blood. While they were speaking the Queen’s dog came out and barked again. Her four bird-brothers had rested, and the Queen sent them to search for the creature of flesh and blood that the dog had barked at.

Then the Magic in his calabash spoke again to Au-ke-le. “Four birds are coming towards you. You must greet them and you must call them by their names. They will be so abashed at their names being known to a stranger that they will not know what to do.”

As the four birds came towards him Au-ke-le called aloud: “This is Ka-ne-mo-e, and I give greetings to him. This is Ka-ne-a-pua, and I give greetings to him. This is Le-a-pua, and I give greetings to him. And this is Ka-hau-mana.” The four bird-brothers were amazed to hear their names spoken by a stranger, and they said to each other, “What can we do with this man who knows our names, even?” And another said, “He can take our lives from us.” And they spoke to each other again and said, “We have one thing worthy to give to this man: let us give him our sister, the Queen.”

So the four brothers came to Au-ke-le, and they offered him the Queen to be his wife. Au-ke-le was pleased; he told them that he would go to the Queen’s house.

The four bird-brothers went back to tell the Queen about the man who was coming to her and to whom they had promised her. The Queen said, “If he is such that he can overcome the dangers that are before him, I will marry him, and he will be the ruler with me of the land of Ka-la-ke’e-nui-a-Kane.”

When the brothers had gone his Magic spoke again to Au-ke-le, and it said: “When you go to the Queen, don’t enter the house at once, for that would mean your death. If they offer you food in a calabash, don’t eat it, for that would mean your death. The dog that is called Mo-e-la will be set upon you, and if you overcome him the four brothers will attack you. Eat the melons on the vines outside the house, and they will be meat and drink for you.”

After hearing the words that his Magic had said to him, Au-ke-le went to the house of the Queen. He stood outside the door, and as he stood there the Queen said to her women-servants, “Use your powers now and destroy this creature of flesh and blood.” But when the servants saw the man who knew their names, one changed herself into a rat and ran into a hole, and the other changed herself into a lizard and ran up a tree.

Then Mo-e-la the dog came towards him; he opened his mouth wide and he showed all his teeth. But when he was touched by the skirt that Au-ke-le had been given, the dog was turned into ashes. And then the Queen, on seeing the death of her watchdog, bowed down her head and wept.

She called upon her brothers to kill the stranger. But they were abashed at his knowing their names, and they wanted to hide from him. One turned himself into a rock and lay by the doorway, and another turned himself into a log of wood and lay beside his brother, and the third changed himself into a coral reef, and the fourth became a pool of water.

Food was brought to Au-ke-le, but he would eat none of it. He went to the vine, and he ate the melons that were growing there, and he found that the melons gave food and drink to him. And when the Queen and her brothers saw him eating the melons they said to each other: “How wonderful this man is! He is eating the food that we eat. Who could have told him where to find it?” After that he won the Queen, and she became his wife.

But it was after his adventure with the bird Ha-lu-lu that Au-ke-le knew that the Queen had come to love him and was inclined to be kind to him. One day he was standing by the sea-shore, looking out to the place where the canoe that had had his brothers on board was sunk, when a great shadow came over where he was and covered the light of the sun. He looked up, and he saw above him the outstretched wings of a great bird. Immediately he picked up the calabash that had his Magic in it; then the bird Ha-lu-lu seized him and flew off with him.

The bird flew to a cave that was in the face of a great high cliff. He stowed Au-ke-le there. And Au-ke-le, searching the cave, found two men who had been carried off by Ha-lu-lu, the great bird. “We are two that are to be devoured,” said the men. “What does the bird do when she comes to devour us?” said Au-ke-le. “She stretches her right wing into the cave and draws out a man. She devours him. Then she stretches her left wing into the cave and draws out another man.” “Is the cave deep?” Au-ke-le asked. “It is deep,” said the men. “Go, then,” said Au-ke-le, “and make a fire in the depth of the cave.”

The men did this. Then Au-ke-le opened the calabash that his mo-o grandmother had given him, and he took out the axe that was in it. He waited for the giant bird to stretch her wing within. When she did he cut the wing off with his axe, and the two men took it and threw the wing on the fire. The other wing reached in; Au-ke-le cut off the other wing, too. Then the beak was stuck in, and Au-ke-le cut off head and beak.

After Ha-lu-lu the great bird had been killed, Au-ke-le took the feathers from her head and threw them over the cliff. The feathers flew on until they came to where the Queen was. She saw them, and she knew them for the head feathers of the bird Ha-lu-lu, and she cried when she saw them.

When her brothers came to her she said, “Here are the head-feathers of the bird Ha-lu-lu, and now there is no great bird to guard the Island.” But her brothers said, “It is right that Ha-lu-lu should be killed, for she devoured men.” They waited then to see what their sister would do to Au-ke-le, who was in the cave. She brought the rainbow, the short-ended rainbow that has only three colors, red, yellow, and green, and she set it against the cliff. And by the bridge of the rainbow Au-ke-le was able to get down from the cliff.

When his wife and her brothers saw him come back they welcomed Au-ke-le with joy. The Queen gave him her kingdom and everything else that was at her command. And she sent a message to her uncles, who were in the sky, to tell them that she had given her husband all her possessions—the things that were above and below, that were on the uplands and on the lowlands, the drift iron, the iron that stands in the ground, the whale’s tooth, the turtle-shell, the things that grow on the land, and the cluster of stars. All these things were his now. But with all these things in his possession Au-ke-le was not satisfied, for he thought upon the canoe that was sunken and on his brothers who were all drowned.

He dreamed of his brothers and of his young nephew; and, with the thoughts that he had, he could not enjoy himself on the land that he ruled over. And, seeing her husband so sad, sorrow for him entered the heart of the Queen. He told her that he thought of the men who had come with him and who were now dead. And when he spoke of what was in his mind the Queen said: “If you have great strength and courage, your brothers may come back to life again; but if your strength or your courage fail, they will never be restored to life, and your own life, perhaps, will be lost.” Then Au-ke-le said to the Queen, “What is it that I must do to win them back to life?” And the Queen said: “You must use all your strength and your courage to gain the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne. If you are able to gain it and bring it to them, your brothers and your nephew will live again.” When Au-ke-le heard this from the Queen he ceased to be sorrowful; he ate and he drank, and he had gladness in his possessions. Then he said to the Queen, “What way must I take to gain the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne?” His wife said: “I will show you the way: from the place where we are standing you must go towards the rising sun, never turning from the road that I set you on. And at the end of your journey you will come to the place where you will find the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne.”

When Au-ke-le heard this he put on his skirt of feathers that his mo-o grandmother had given him; he took up the calabash that had his Magic in it; he kissed his wife farewell; and he took the path from his house that went straight towards the rising sun.

After he had been on his way for a month the Queen came to the door of her house, and she looked towards where he had gone. She saw him, and he was still upon his way. At the end of another month she went out again and looked towards where he had gone. He was still upon the path that led to the rising sun. Another month passed, and she went and looked towards where he had gone. No trace of her husband could she see, and she knew that he must have gone off the path she had shown him. She began to weep, and when her four brothers came before her she said, “Your brother-in-law has fallen into space, and he is lost.”

She then sent her brothers to bring all things and creatures together that they might all mourn for Au-ke-le. They went and they brought the night and the day, the sun, the stars, the thunder, the rainbow, the lightning, the waterspout, the mist, the fine rain. And the grandfather of the Queen, Kau-kihi-ka-malama, who is the Man in the Moon, was sent for, too.

But where indeed was Au-ke-le?

He had left the straight line towards the rising sun; he had fallen into space, and now he was growing weaker and weaker as he fell. But he still had the calabash that had his Magic in it. He held it under his arm; and now he spoke and asked where they were. His Magic said to him: “We have gone outside the line that was shown to us, and now I think that we shall never get back. There is nothing in the sky to help us or to show us the way; all that was in the sky has gone down to the earth—the night and the day, the sun and the stars, the thunder, the rainbow, the lightning, the waterspout, the mist, the fine rain. No, I can see no thing and no creature that can help us.” Au-ke-le asked, “Who is it that is still up there?” His Magic replied: “Go straight and lay hold upon him, and we may be saved. That is Kau-kihi-ka-malama, the Man in the Moon.”

The reason that Kau-kihi-ka-malama had not gone down to earth with the others was that he had delayed to prepare food to bring down to the earth, for he thought that there was no food there. He was just starting off when Au-ke-le came up to him and held him tightly. “Whose conceited child are you?” the Man in the Moon asked. “My back has never been climbed, even by my own granddaughter, and now you come here and climb over it. Whose conceited child are you?” “Yours,” said Au-ke-le. “I will take you to earth, and my granddaughter Na-maka will tell me who you are.” And so Kau-kihi-ka-malama brought Au-ke-le back to earth. And when he reached the earth all the people there wept with joy to see him. Then the sun, the day, the night, the lightning, the thunder, the mist, the fine rain, the waterspout, and the Man in the Moon all returned back to the heavens.

But nothing would do Au-ke-le but to set out again to find the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne. So he started off from the door of his house, and he went in a straight line towards the rising sun. And in six months from the time he started he stood by the edge of a hole at the bottom of which was the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne.

He climbed over the shoulder of the guard, and the guard said to him: “Eh, there! Whose conceited child are you? My back has never been climbed over before, and now you come here and do it. Whose conceited child are you?” “Your own,” said Au-ke-le. “My own by whom?” “My father is Iku,” said Au-ke-le. “Then you are the grandson of Ka-po-ino and Ka-mo’o-i-na-nea.” “I am.” “My greetings to you, my lord,” said the guardian of the edge of the hole.

Au-ke-le had to go deep down into the hole to get the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne. The guardian of the edge of the hole warned him that he must not strike the bamboo that was growing on one side, because if he did the sound would reach the ears of one who would cover up the water. Au-ke-le went down. He came to a second guardian, and he made himself known to him, claiming relationship with him through Ka-mo’o-i-na-nea, his mo-o grandmother. This guardian told him to go on, but he warned him not to fall into the lama trees that were growing on one side, for if he did the sound would reach the ears of one who would cover up the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne.

He went on, and he came to the third guardian, and he made himself known to him, claiming relationship with him through his mo-o grandmother. This guardian told him to keep on his way, but he warned him, above all things, not to fall into the loula palms, for if he did the sound would reach one who would cover up the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne.

At last he came before the fourth guardian. “Who are you?” he was asked. “The child of Iku.” “What has brought you here?” he was asked. “To gain the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne.” “You shall get it. Go to your grand-aunt who is at the base of the cliff. She is the Old Woman of the Forbidden Sea. She is blind. You will find her roasting bananas. When she reaches out to take one to eat, you take it and eat it. Do this until all the bananas have been taken from her. When she says, ‘What mischievous fellow has come here?’ take up the ashes and sprinkle them on her right side, and then climb into her lap.”

Au-ke-le kept going and ever going until he came to where his grand-aunt sat, roasting bananas—his grand-aunt, the Old Woman by the Forbidden Sea. He took the bananas that she was about to eat; he sprinkled her with ashes on her right side, and he climbed into her lap. “Whose conceited child are you?” said the blind old woman. “Your own,” said Au-ke-le. “My own through whom?” “Your own through Iku.” When his grand-aunt heard him say this she asked him what he had come for. He told her he had come for the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne.

Then the Old Woman by the Forbidden Sea made up a plan by which he might get the water. Ho-a-lii, he who watched above the water, had hands that were all black, and no hands but his were permitted to take up the Water of Ka-ne. His grand-aunt made Au-ke-le’s hands black, and she showed him where to go to come to the water.

Au-ke-le went there. He put down his blackened hands, and the guards gave him a gourd of water. But this, as he had been told by the Old Woman by the Forbidden Sea, was bitter water, and not the Water of Everlasting Life. He threw the water out. He reached his hands down again; and this time the Water of Ka-ne was put into his hands, the Water of Everlasting Life.

He took the gourd into his hands, and he ran back. But he fell into loula palms as he ran on, and the sound came to the ears of Ho-a-lii, who was the guardian of the water. Ho-a-lii listened, but it was two months before another sound came to him. That was when Au-ke-le got entangled in the lama trees that grew on the side of the hole that he had to travel up. Ho-a-lii kept awake and listened. But no sound came to him for two months more. Then he heard the rustling of the bamboo trees that Au-ke-le had fallen into. He came in pursuit. But now Au-ke-le was out of the hole and was flying towards the earth. Ho-a-lii followed; but when he asked the watcher how long it was since one had passed that way, he was told that a year and six months had gone by since one came up through the hole. Ho-a-lii could not catch up with one who by this time had gone so far; and Au-ke-le, with the Water of Everlasting Life, the Water of Ka-ne, came back to the earth.

He came to where his brothers and his nephew were drowned in the sea, and he poured half of the Water of Ka-ne into the sea. Nothing came up from the sea, and Au-ke-le sat there weeping. Then his wife came to him, and she blamed him for pouring so much of the water into the sea. Out of what was left she took water in her hands and poured it over the sea. Then Au-ke-le looked. In a while there stood a canoe with men climbing the masts, and folding the sails, and coiling the ropes. They were his brothers. Au-ke-le greeted them, and his brothers knew him, and they came to the land.

Then Au-ke-le gave his brothers all his possessions. But they were not satisfied to live on that land with him, and after a while they sailed away for other lands.

Then after long years Au-ke-le said to his wife: “My wife, we have lived long together; I would not die in a foreign land, and I beg that you will let me go so that I may see Ku-ai-he-lani, the country of my parents.”

He went, with his wife’s four brothers. And they went by a course that brought them there in two days and two nights. Upon their arrival Au-ke-le looked over the land; but he saw no people, and the sound of birds singing or of cocks crowing did not come to him, and then he saw that the land of Ku-ai-he-lani was all grown over with weeds.

He came to the mouth of the cave where his mo-o grandmother used to be. He shouted down to her, but no sound came back from her to him. He went down. The coral of the floor of the sea had grown over her, and she was not able to answer the call of her grandson Au-ke-le.

He broke away the pieces of coral that were around her. He saw the body of his mo-o grandmother, and it was reduced to a thread, almost. He called her name, “Ka-mo’o-i-na-nea.”

Ka-mo’o-i-na-nea said “Yes,” and she looked up and saw her grandson. She greeted him and asked him what had brought him to her. “I came to see you,” he said, “and to ask you where are Iku and the others.”

“Iku fought with Ma-ku-o-ae,” his grandmother told him. When she said that, Au-ke-le knew that Death and his father had met.

PI-KO-I: THE BOY WHO WAS GOOD AT SHOOTING ARROWS.

“What is the cause of all that shouting down there?” said Pi-ko-i to his father, Ala-la the Raven. “They are playing olohu,” said Ala-la, his father. “And how is that game played?” said Pi-ko-i. “It is played in this way,” said his father. “There are two in the game; they roll a disk of stone, and the crowd shouts for the one who rolls it farthest. That is the reason of the noise down there.” “I will go down and look at the games they are playing,” said Pi-ko-i. “You cannot go,” said his father, “until after to-day.”

Later on there was more shouting. “What are they shouting for now?” said Pi-ko-i to Ala-la the Raven. “They are playing a game called pahee now,” said Ala-la. “They slide a stick down a grassy slope, and when the stick thrown by one slides farther than the stick thrown by another the people all shout.” “I will go and watch this game,” said Pi-ko-i. “You cannot go until after to-day,” said his father.

The next day there was shouting again at the same place. “What is this fresh shouting for?” said Pi-ko-i to Ala-la, his father. “They are playing a game now called ko-ie-ie.” “How is that game played?” said Pi-ko-i. “It is played in this way,” said his father. “A board is smoothed and thrown into the river at a place near the rapids. It has to float steadily in one place without going down the rapids. The one whose board floats the steadiest without being carried over the rapids wins. That is the game of ko-ie-ie.” “May I go down to watch that game?” said Pi-ko-i. “You may go down and join in the game,” said his father.

Then Ala-la smoothed a board so that it would float steadily on the water, and he gave it to his son Pi-ko-i. Pi-ko-i then went where the crowd was; and this was the first time he had ever been with a crowd.

He had a sharp face, and he had little bones, and he had hair that was like a rat’s hair. When the crowd saw him they cried out, “A rat, a rat! What is a rat doing amongst us?” Pi-ko-i did not mind what they said; he went to where they were casting their boards on the current, and he cast on it the board that his father had smoothed for him.

It floated the steadiest of all the boards. It floated in one place without being carried down the rapids. The crowd shouted for Pi-ko-i. Then the other boys got jealous of him; they took his board, and they flung it over the rapids. Pi-ko-i jumped after his board. He was carried over the rapids and down to the sea. “A good riddance,” said the boys to each other. “What business has a rat coming amongst us?”

Pi-ko-i was carried out to sea. For two days and two nights he floated on the currents of the ocean, and then he was washed up on the beach of another Island.

Now it happened that where he was washed up was near where his older sisters, I-ol-e and O-pea-pea, lived with their husbands. A man came down to the beach and found Pi-ko-i, and this man was Kaua, the good servant of I-ol-e and O-pea-pea. “Where have you come from?” said Kaua to Pi-ko-i when he found him on the beach, all wearied out, and weak from hunger and the buffeting of the ocean. “From the sea,” said Pi-ko-i. “Come with me,” said the good servant, and he brought the boy to his sisters’ house.

The servant spoke to the sisters and he said, “I found him lying on the sand, and all he says is that he has come from the sea.” “Where are you from? Where were you born, and who are your parents?” said the sisters to him. Pi-ko-i answered: “I am from Wai-lua on the Island of Kau-ai; Ala-la is my father, and Kou-kou is my mother.”

When he told them this, the women of the house knew that the boy was their brother. They sprang upon him, and they cried over him, and they told him that they were his sisters.

And then their husbands came home, and a great feast was prepared for Pi-ko-i. A pig was killed, yams were made ready, and pig and yams were put into the underground oven to cook. But while the cooking was being done, Pi-ko-i left the house and wandered off to where there was a crowd and where games were being played.

The King and the Queen were at these games. It was a game of shooting that was on; a man was shooting arrows at rats, and the King and the Queen were making wagers on his shooting.

It was a Prince who was shooting arrows at the rats—Prince Mai-ne-le—and all thought that his aim was most wonderful. The King was winning all her property from the Queen, for he was laying wagers all the time on Mai-ne-le’s shooting.

Pi-ko-i stood and watched the game for a while. After the Prince had shot several arrows he said: “How simple all this is! Why, any one could shoot as this man shoots.” When the Queen heard the stranger boy say this, she said, “Could you shoot as well as the Prince?” “Yes, ma’am,” said Pi-ko-i. “Then I will wager my property on your shooting,” said the Queen.

The King kept on staking his property on the Prince’s shooting, while the Queen now staked hers on Pi-ko-i’s. Whoever should strike ten rats with one arrow would win, and whoever should strike less than ten would lose the match. Prince Mai-ne-le shot first. His arrow went through ten rats, and all the people shouted, “Mai-ne-le has won, Mai-ne-le has won! The stranger boy cannot do better than that!” But Pi-ko-i only said, “How left-handed that man must be! I thought that he was going to shoot the rats through their whiskers!”

Prince Mai-ne-le heard what Pi-ko-i said, and he answered angrily: “You are a deceiving boy. From the first day I began shooting rats until this day, I have never seen a man who could shoot rats through their whiskers.” “You will see one now,” said Pi-ko-i.

Then bets were made as to whether one could shoot through rats’ whiskers. These were new bets, and when they were all made, Pi-ko-i made ready to shoot. But now the rats were all gone; not one was in sight. Thereupon Pi-ko-i said a charm to bring the rats near:

“I, Pi-ko-i,
The offspring of Ala-la the Raven,
The offspring of Kou-kou:
Where are you, my brothers?
Where are you, O Rats?
There they are,
There they are!
The rats are in the pili grass:
They sleep, the rats are asleep:
Let them awaken;
Let them return!”

And when he said this charm the rats all came back. Pi-ko-i then let his arrow fly. It struck ten rats, and the point of it held a bat. The rats were all made fast by their whiskers.

When Mai-ne-le saw this he said: “It is a draw. The boy shot ten rats, and I shot ten rats.” The people all agreed with Mai-ne-le—it was a draw, they said. But Pi-ko-i would not have it so. “The bat must count as a rat,” he said. “I have killed, not ten, but eleven rats.” The crowd would not agree. Pi-ko-i kept saying, “It counts as a rat according to the old words:

“‘The bat is in the stormless season—
He is your younger brother, O Rat:
Squeak to him.’”

And when he said that, every one had to agree that the bat counted as a rat and that Pi-ko-i had killed eleven rats with his single arrow. And so he won the match against Prince Mai-ne-le.

While the wagers were being handed over, Pi-ko-i slipped away. He went back to his sisters’ house; he was there as the food was being taken out of the oven. He sat down to the food; he would not let any one speak to him while he ate. He ate nearly the whole oven-full. And when he had finished that meal he was a changed boy: he was no longer sharp-faced and small-boned; he still had hair like rat’s hair, but for all that he was now a fine-looking youth.

Shortly after this the King and Queen wanted to have a canoe built in which they could sail far out on the ocean. The King went with his canoe-builders into the forest, so that they might mark for cutting-down a large koa tree. They came to a great tree. But before they could put the axe to it two birds flew up to the very top of the tree and then cried out in a loud voice, “Say, Ke-awe, you cannot make a canoe out of this tree; it is hollow.” And then they cried out, “A worthless canoe, a hollow canoe, a canoe that will never sail the ocean.”

When the King heard this he turned from the tree, and he and his canoe-builders sought out another. They found another fine-looking tree, but before they put an axe to it, the same two birds flew up to the very top of it and cried out, “A worthless canoe, a hollow canoe, a canoe that will never sail the ocean.” And to the top of every tree that the King and his canoe-builders thought was a good-timbered tree, the birds flew and made their unlucky cry, “A worthless canoe, a hollow canoe, a canoe that will never sail the ocean.”

Day after day the King and his canoe-makers went into the forest, and day after day the birds flew to the top of every tree that they would cut down. At last the King saw that he could get no canoe-making tree out of the forest until he had killed the birds that made the unlucky cry.

So he sent for Prince Mai-ne-le to have him kill the birds while they were crying on the tree-top. And he promised him, or any one else who would kill the birds, his daughter in marriage and a part of the land of his kingdom.

Now when Kaua, the good servant, heard of the King’s offer he made up his mind that the boy whom he had found on the sand should win the King’s daughter and a portion of the land of the Island. So he went to where Pi-ko-i was, and he told him all that he had heard. “And if you are able to shoot birds as you are able to shoot rats,” he said, “you will become son-in-law to the King and one of the great men of the Island. But Prince Mai-ne-le is going to let fly his arrow at the birds, and perhaps you will not want to match yourself with him,” said he.

When the servant said that, Pi-ko-i rose up from where he was sitting, and he said: “I am going to shoot at the birds that make the unlucky cry, and you must do this for me.” Thereupon he told Kaua that he should make a large basket, and that he should tell every one that this basket was for the safe-keeping of his idol. Into this basket he, Pi-ko-i, would go and remain hidden there. And Kaua was to go with Prince Mai-ne-le’s party, and he was to bring the basket with him, being careful, though, to let no one find out that there was a man in the basket. Kaua made the basket out of i-e vines, and Pi-ko-i went and hid in it. Then Kaua took the great basket, and went and joined Mai-ne-le’s party.

The canoes made swift passage, for the evening breeze behind them sent them flying, and by the dawn of the next morning they were able to make out the waterfalls on the steep cliffs of the land where the forest was that the King walked in. They landed. Kaua was able to get men to carry the basket that had, as all supposed, his idol in it. They entered the forest, and they came to where the King and his canoe-makers were.

They were under a great koa tree. To mark it the men raised their axes. As they did so the birds flew to the top of it and cried out their unlucky cry: “Say, Ke-awe, you cannot make a canoe out of this tree. A worthless canoe, a hollow canoe, a canoe that will never sail the ocean!”

As soon as the cry was heard Prince Mai-ne-le shot at them. His arrow did not go anywhere near the birds, so high was the tree-top, so far above were they. Then the King’s men built a platform that was half the height of the tree. From the platform Mai-ne-le shot at the birds again, and again his arrow failed to reach them. Then Pi-ko-i from the basket whispered to Kaua. “Ask Mai-ne-le and ask the King why the birds still cry out and why they have not been hit. Is it because Mai-ne-le is not really shooting at them?” Kaua said all this to the King. Prince Mai-ne-le, when he heard what was said, replied, “Why do you not shoot at the birds yourself?” And then he said: “There are the birds, and here is the weapon. Now see if you can hit them.” “Well,” said Kaua, “I will ask my idol.” He opened the basket then, and Pi-ko-i appeared. He had changed so much since he had eaten the feast in his sisters’ house that no one there knew him for the stranger boy who had beaten Mai-ne-le in the shooting-match before.

And what he said made all of them amazed. He asked the King to have a basin of water brought to the tree. It was brought. Pi-ko-i then stood looking into the water. He saw the reflection of the birds that were on the tree-top far, far above. He held his arms above his head; his arrow was aimed at the birds whose reflection he saw in the water. He brought the arrow into line with them; he let it fly. It struck both of them; they fell; they came tumbling down. Into the basin of water they fell, and the people, on seeing the great skill shown by Pi-ko-i, raised a great shout.

Then the canoe-makers got to work, and after many days’ labor they hewed down the great tree. The canoe was built for the King and the Queen, and they went in it and sailed on the ocean. Pi-ko-i was with them when they made the voyage. But before that, they had given him their daughter in marriage, and together with the girl they had given him a portion of the land of Hawaii. Out of the portion that was given him Pi-ko-i gave land to Kaua, and the good servant became a rich man. And as for Mai-ne-le, he was made so ashamed by his second defeat by young Pi-ko-i that he went straight back to his own land and never afterwards did he shoot an arrow.

PAKA: THE BOY WHO WAS REARED IN THE LAND THAT THE GODS HAVE SINCE HIDDEN.

Paka was reared in Pali-uli, the land that the gods have since hidden from men. That land he did not leave until he went forth to wed the fair woman whom one of his foster-fathers had found for him—the Princess Mako-lea.

But first I have to tell you about Pali-uli and the two men who found it in the old days and brought the child Paka there.

These two men were the brothers of Paka’s mother; they were both named Ki-i, and one was called Ki-i the Stayer and the other was called Ki-i the Goer. One night Ki-i the Stayer had a dream: in that dream a spirit told him: “You must go to Pali-uli and live there, you and your brother; it is a land in which you can live without labor and without discontent.” He dreamed this dream for three nights, and, each morning after, he told his dream to Ki-i the Goer. But Ki-i the Goer paid no attention to the dream that was told him. And then the dream came to Ki-i the Goer, and the same words were said to him by the spirit in the dream: “You must go to Pali-uli and live there, you and your brother, Ki-i the Stayer; it is a land in which you can live without labor and without discontent.”

Then Ki-i the Goer was all for going to the land of Pali-uli. Soon the two brothers made preparations for going there. One night they went to bed early; they woke up at the second crowing of the cock; then, in the early dawn while it was still dark, they started off to seek Pali-uli, the restful land.

Guided by a spirit, they found Pali-uli. (No one will ever find it again; it has since been hidden from men by the gods.) It was a level land; it was filled with all things that men might desire: the mountain apple there grew to be as large as the bread-fruit; the sugar-cane grew until it doubled over, and then it shot up again; the bananas fell scattering on the ground, ripe always; the pigs grew until their tusks were as long as a pig is with us; the chickens grew until their spurs were as big as eggs; the dogs grew until their backs could be made into seats and cushions; there were fish ponds there, and they were stocked with all the fish of the ocean except whales and sharks. Such was Pali-uli when Ki-i the Stayer and Ki-i the Goer came into it.

They lived there in great plenty and in much content for a while. Then one day Ki-i the Goer said, “How strange it is that we have all these things growing, and we have no one to leave them to!” Then Ki-i the Stayer said: “We will take a young child and rear him up here, and let him have some of the things that are growing in such plenty. Let us go back to our sister’s now, and whatever young child she has, we will take him back with us.”

So they went back to their sister’s; they found Paka, the child who was just born, and they took him back with them. Paka had no form at all when he was born; indeed, he was just like an egg. Ki-i the Goer wrapped him in a feather cape as they went travelling back to Pali-uli. After ten days they unwrapped the feather cape, and they saw that the child was becoming formed. When they looked at him again they saw that he had become most beautiful, a child with a straight back and an open face. Then he grew up, and his beauty was such that it lighted Pali-uli day and night.

And so he grew to be a youth. One day when they were looking on him, Ki-i the Goer said to Ki-i the Stayer, “There is one thing wanting now.” “And what is that?” asked Ki-i the Stayer. “A beautiful wife for Paka.” Then Ki-i the Stayer said, “You must go search for a wife for him.”

Ki-i the Goer consented, and he started off to search for a wife who would be beautiful enough to wed with Paka. He found one girl who was very much admired. But when he looked her over he saw that her eyes bulged like the nuts of the ku-kui. He passed her by. And then in the land of Kau he heard of another admired girl. But when he looked her over he saw that her lips were deformed. Her, too, he passed by, and he went on in his search. And then, in the beautiful land of Kona, he found Mako-lea, a Princess who was as faultless as the full moon.

Ki-i the Goer went before the Princess and spoke to her of Paka. “Is he as handsome as so-and-so?” said she to him. “So-and-so,” said he, “is as the skin of Paka’s feet.” “Oh, bring him to me,” said the Princess. “Bring me the youth you want to be my husband, and do not be slow.” Then back to Pali-uli went Ki-i the Goer.

They knew that they would have to leave the beautiful land with the youth whom they had brought up there; Ki-i the Goer and Ki-i the Stayer knew that, and they knew that they could never come back to it. They wailed because of their great love for that land and for everything that was in it. They kissed and they wept over everything in their beautiful house. Then they committed Pali-uli to the charge of the gods who had shown that land to them. And never since that day has Pali-uli been seen by men.

When they were ready for the journey to Kona, Ki-i the Goer stood up; taking Paka by the hand, he left the house. But Ki-i the Stayer did not move. His brother turned to him and said, “How strange of you to want to remain when the youth whom we reared has to leave this place!” Upon hearing his brother say this, Ki-i the Stayer stood up and left the house. Then, with the youth whom they had reared, Ki-i the Goer and Ki-i the Stayer left Pali-uli, the easeful land.

Now the King of Kau-ai had long wanted to steal Mako-lea. He sent his servants Ke-au-miki and Ke-au-ka to carry her off and bring her to him. On the very day that Paka was to reach Kona, Mako-lea and her attendants went down to the beach to join in the surf-riding. Standing on her surf-board the Princess was carried with wonderful speed across the reef and back to the beach. She brought her surf-board out again. But this time Ke-au-miki and Ke-au-ka overturned her surf-board and took her and carried her off to Kau-ai.

When Paka came to Kona and found that Mako-lea had been taken away, he took leave of Ki-i the Stayer and Ki-i the Goer. He asked Mako-lea’s father for a small canoe, and a small canoe was given him. In it he went over the sea until he came to the Island of Kau-ai.

When he reached the Island he broke his canoe into small pieces, and he left the pieces on the shore. Then he went into the land. Now the King who had taken Mako-lea was a great thrower of the spear, a great boxer, and a great man for asking and answering riddles. Paka had heard all about him, and he was prepared to meet him.

Down to the beach came the King with a great spear in his hand. “Who shall have the first chance with the spear?” he cried out when he saw Paka, “the stranger or the son of the soil?” “The son of the soil,” answered Paka.

When that answer was made the King threw his spear in the full belief that it would go through the stranger, for he had never missed his throw. As the spear neared him Paka moved; he moved aside ever so slightly. He made a quick motion of his elbow outward, and he allowed the spear to enter between his arm and his body. He closed his arm on the spear as the wind whistled by, and the point of the spear quivered where he held it. The spear was held for a moment; then Paka let it fall down.

The King was sure he had struck the stranger, and he uttered his triumph in a chant.

“How could he stand against my spear?
It never misses what it is flung at!
Not the blade of grass,
Not the ant, not the flea!
How then could it miss the stranger, a man?”

But when he had uttered all this he saw Paka let the spear drop from under his arm. The King looked on him with amazement, and he chanted this:

“How did my spear miss the mark?
Was it pushed from its course by the southern storm?
Did a wind ward it off from him?”

He waited for the stranger to throw the spear back at him, but Paka did not throw it. Then the King turned and went to his house.

When Paka came before it he heard shouts within. “What is going on?” Paka asked. “It is for a game,” said a by-stander. “Our King is engaged in a boxing-match; he is winning, for no one can beat him.” Paka then went within, and he found the place filled with people. The King, seeing him, said, “Will the stranger join in a boxing-match?” “I know something of that game,” said Paka, “but not much. I am willing to try a bout with the son of the soil.”

Thereupon they took up their positions. The King struck, and his blow stunned Paka. Then Paka pulled himself together, and he struck. His blow knocked the King down; he lay on the ground for a time long enough to bake an oven of food. Then he rose up. He said, “That was a good stroke; the stranger makes a real opponent.”

Because Paka had not been defeated in the boxing-bout, he was given a house and food and clothes. Soon afterwards the King sent a crier through the country telling the people that they must all come to the King’s house on the fourth day after to hear the riddles that the King proposed. Now this crier had never been given any food except what dropped from the King’s eating place; he had never been given any clothes, either, and he looked fearful in his naked, unwashed, and wasted form. No one would go near the man, or speak to him, or give him anything. Such was the King’s crier. He had a loud voice, however, and the people all heard what he cried out.

He came along crying: “Every one is commanded to be in the King’s presence on the fourth day from this to hear the riddles that the King will propose. No man, woman, or child may stay at home except those who are not able to walk.”

As the crier came along, Paka looked out and saw him, and he said to those who were with him, “Call that man in and give him something to eat.” Those who were with him said, “No, we cannot do that; he is a disgusting-looking man; no one can bear to be near where he is.” But Paka still said, “Call him to us.” The crier was called over; he came, but he was ashamed to stand before the people who had called him.

Paka had the man wash himself. He gave him new clothes, and he bade him sit down and eat. He ate until he was satisfied. Then said the King’s crier: “I have travelled all around the Island, and no one has ever given me food before. Now at last I have found out that pork and yams and bananas are pleasant to the taste. How can I pay you for this?”

And then the King’s crier said: “I will pay you by telling you the answers to the riddles that the King will propose. He will ask you to join in the game, and if you join and are not able to answer the riddles, he will have you slain. But if you are able to answer them, he will have to give you whatever possession of his you ask for. This is the first riddle that he will ask:

“‘Put it all around from top to bottom,
Leave, and leave a place with nothing around.’

The answer is a house, for the thatch goes around from top to bottom, with a place not thatched for the doorway. And this is the second riddle that he will ask:

“‘The men that stand up,
The men that lie down,
The men that are folded.’

The answer to that, too, is a house, for the timbers stand up, the beams lie down, the thatch is folded. If you have an answer for these two riddles, you may join in the game, and the King cannot have you slain.”

The fourth day after this Paka went with the rest of the people to the King’s house. The King saw him, and he called out, “Let the stranger be seated here.” Paka went and sat near him. And then after a while the King said, “Will the stranger join in the game?”

“I will,” Paka said, “but you must tell me the conditions of the game.” “These are the conditions,” said the King. “I have two riddles to give out: if you enter the game and cannot answer them correctly, you will be slain; if you can answer them correctly, you are free to leave my land and to take with you any possession of mine that you choose.” “I will enter the game,” said Paka.

Then said the King: “This is the first riddle:

“‘Put it all around from top to bottom,
Leave, and leave a place with nothing around.’”

Paka waited. He waited, watching an oven that was being heated. If he did not give the correct answer, he would be flung into that oven. When the oven was all heated, he said:

“It is a house. A house is thatched all around, with a place for the doorway left open.”

“Then answer my second riddle,” said the King, and he gave it out:

“The men that stand up,
The men that lie down,
The men that are folded.”

“The answer to that, too,” said Paka, “is a house. For the timbers of a house stand up, the beams lie down, the thatch is folded.”

“That is the answer, but who has told you?” cried the King.

He was not able to have Paka killed, and he had to give him whatever Paka chose to ask for. And Paka asked for the Princess Mako-lea who had been stolen away from him. He asked for her, and he was brought into another house. And there he beheld the Princess. And when he looked on her he knew that when his foster-father had said that she was faultless as the full moon he had spoken the truth. He took her back to Kona, to the house of her father and her mother, and in Kona they were wed, Paka and Mako-kea. And his two foster-fathers, Ki-i the Goer and Ki-i the Stayer, married Mako-lea’s two attendants; and thereafter the two elders lived so well that they almost came to forget Pali-uli, the easeful land.

THE STORY OF HA-LE-MA-NO AND THE PRINCESS KAMA.

In Puna lived the Princess Kama, and she was so beautiful that two Kings strove to win her—the King of Puna and the King of Hilo. They sent presents to her mother and to her father and to herself. But Kama never saw either of those Kings. She was sent to live in a house that no one was permitted to enter except herself and her brother. “In a while Kama will come to the height of her beauty,” her parents said, “and then we will give her to be Queen to one of these Kings. But until that time comes no one must speak to her.” And so, in a house that was forbidden to every one else, Kama lived with only her young brother for her companion.