Chapter V: Part 5

And now he gave the hook Ka-hu-oi to his daughter. She hurried home, and she put the pearl hook into the hands of her husband Ai-ai. He went straight down to the beach and took out the canoe and went fishing in the place where his father used to go. As he went the bird Ka-manu-wai flew down and lighted on the rail of the canoe. It opened wide its eyes to watch him let down the shining hook.

When he came to Mamala the aku began to jump to the hook. They threw themselves up and into the canoe. They filled it up—even that ten-fathom canoe was deep with them, and Ai-ai was hardly strong enough to paddle it back. The bird Ka-manu-wai ate of the fish, and as it ate the gleam came back into its plumage, and it was a wide-eyed, strong-winged bird once more.

It took the pearl fish-hook and flew away with it. But every day it would come back with the hook when Ai-ai took out his canoe. The bird guarded the hook and would never let it go into a stranger’s hands again. Sometimes it would bring Ka-hu-oi to Ku-ula, Ai-ai’s father; for the old man took to going out in his canoe again, and he would fish for aku outside of Mamala.

THE STORY OF KANA, THE YOUTH WHO COULD STRETCH HIMSELF UPWARDS.

Kana and Ni-he-u were brothers. Ni-he-u was such a great warrior that he would fight against a whole army without thinking about the odds, and he was able to carry such a war-club that, by resting one end of it in his canoe and putting the other end against a cliff, he could walk from the canoe on to the land. Certainly an extraordinary man was Ni-he-u.

But if Ni-he-u was extraordinary, Kana was many times more extraordinary. And what an extraordinary life Kana had! When he was born he was in the form of a piece of rope—just a piece of rope! But his grandmother (Uli was her name) took him to her house and reared him. As he began to grow she had to have a special house built for him; it had to be a very long house, a house that had to be lengthened out as Kana kept growing. At last the house that Kana lived in stretched from the mountains to the edge of the sea.

The name of the mother of Ni-he-u and Kana was Hina. She was carried away from her husband, the boys’ father. And the way Hina was carried away was very remarkable.

There was a Chief named Pe-pe’e who wanted to take Hina. He owned a hill that was called Hau-pu. He lived on that hill; it was very strange, but he was able to make that hill move about and do things for him. I have heard that the hill was really a turtle, and that its real name was Ka-honu-nunui ma-eleka. And if that was so, it is easy to see how Pe-pe’e could get it to move about and do things for him.

One of the things that it did for him was to carry off Hina, the mother of Ni-he-u and Kana. The hill came across the sea from Mo-lo-kai to Hilo, carrying Pe-pe’e and his people upon it. Hina saw the hill when it came over to Hilo. It looked so fresh and so green that she thought it would be nice to walk upon it. So she went over and she climbed up Hau-pu. And then, all at once, the hill moved from Hilo and went over to the Island of Mo-lo-kai.

When Ni-he-u heard that his mother had been carried off he went to his father and said: “Neither I nor you can get to her and bring her back. Only Kana, my brother, can do that. You must go to him yourself, my father, and ask him to do it. Don’t be afraid of him and run away if he should turn and look at you. Just keep your eyes away from him, and then you won’t be frightened.” After Ni-he-u had told him this, the Chief, his father, went off to find Kana.

When he came to where his son was living, Kana looked at him, and the sight of Kana was so terrible that his father turned around and would have run away. But Kana called to him and said, “What have you come for?” “I have come to tell you that the mother of you two has been carried off by Pe-pe’e, the Chief of the Hill of Hau-pu, and she is now in Mo-lo-kai, and unless you, Kana, go to bring her back, no one can bring her back.”

When Kana heard this, he said, “Go and call all your people together and order them to hew out a canoe by which we can get to Mo-lo-kai.” The Chief then went back, and he sent out an order to his people: they should gather together and hew out a great double canoe that would be ten fathoms in length. His people did as they were ordered. Then they thought that all was ready for the voyage to Mo-lo-kai.

But when the double canoe was brought down to where Kana was, he just stretched out his hand and laid it upon it, and the canoe sank out of sight. Other canoes of the same length were hewn out. But Kana did the same thing to them; he laid his hand on one after another of them, and one after another they all sank down into the sea. His father and the men of the Island were left without a canoe in which to make the voyage to Mo-lo-kai.

When the Chief told this to his son Ni-he-u, Ni-he-u said, “Then the only thing to do is to go to Uli, my grandmother and Kana’s grandmother, and ask her what we are to do about it.” The Chief went to her. And when he came before Uli, she said, “What have you come for?” “I have come for a canoe for Kana, in which he will be able to make the voyage to Mo-lo-kai and fight Pe-pe’e, who lives on the hill Hau-pu, and bring back Hina, my wife, to me.”

And when he had told her that, Uli said: “There is only one canoe that Kana can travel in; it is in Pali-uli, and it is buried there. Go, get all your people together and send them off to get that canoe.” And Uli chanted:

“Go, get it,
Go, get it,
Go, get the canoe:
The canoe that is covered with the cloak of the old woman;
The canoe that jumps playfully in the calm;
The canoe that rises and eats the cords that bind it:
Go, get it,
Go, get it,
Go, get the canoe.”

She told the Chief where to dig and how to dig for the canoe that would bring Kana to Mo-lo-kai.

So he took his men to Pali-uli, and there they all began to dig. The men all thought that their labor would be in vain, for they never expected that they would come by a canoe by digging for it. They worked in the rain and under the thunder and lightning. And when they had dug for the whole length of a day they came, first on the sticks at the bow and stern of the canoe, and then the body of it. It was a great double canoe. With much labor it was dragged down to the sea.

Then Ni-he-u and Kana made ready to go aboard it with their father and his people and sail over to the Island of Mo-lo-kai. And that night Pe-pe’e’s wizard—Moi was his name—had a dream; he went to Pe-pe’e about it. He told the Chief what he had dreamt, and it was this:

“A long man, a short man,
A stunted youth, a god-man.
The eyes touched the heaven,
The earth was o’ershadowed:
Such was my dream.”

And when Pe-pe’e asked him what the dream meant, he said: “It means that the borders of Hau-pu will be broken and that the hill will fall to pieces in the sea. Therefore, depart from this place now while your death is still at a distance.”

Pe-pe’e was very angry when his wizard told him this. “You are the one that death is close to, you deceiving wizard. And if my hill is not conquered in the coming fight, look out, for I shall kill you.”

Then Pe-pe’e made preparations against the people who were coming against him. He sent the plover, Ko-lea, and the wandering tattler, Uli-li, to fly around and look out for Kana and Ni-he-u. And he told them to go also to his warrior, the one who had charge of. the ocean, Ke-au-lei-na-kahi the Sword-fish, and command him to pierce the canoe that was coming and slay Ni-he-u and Kana.

So Ko-lea the Plover, and Uli-li the Tattler, flew around until they came to the place where Kana was lying. Said Ko-lea to Uli-li, “Let us fly so high that we shall be out of reach of his long arms, and then let us call out to him and tell him that he is going to be killed.” So the plover and the wandering tattler, flying high, called out to Kana. He lifted his hands to catch the birds; if he had not been lying down he would have caught them, so high did his hands stretch up. The birds went higher. But the wind that was made with the sweep of his arms sent them far over the sea. There they hovered above Ke-au-lei-na-kahi the Swordfish. “You are commanded to pierce the double canoe that is coming over the ocean, and to kill Ni-he-u and Kana,” they said.

Kana and Ni-he-u boarded the canoe. Kana folded himself into many folds, but for all his folding he took up the full length of the canoe. When they were halfway across they were met by Ke-au-lei-na-kahi the Sword-fish. He smote the canoe with the sword that was in his snout. He thought he could pierce it and then slay Ni-he-u and Kana. But Ni-he-u stood up, and with his great war-club he struck at the Sword-fish. He killed Ke-au-lei-na-kahi there and then, and after that there was no one to guard the seas before them.

So they came before where the hill Hau-pu was standing. Hau-pu rolled a great rock towards the canoe. Kana was lying on the platform of the canoe, and the people shouted that the rock was coming. “We shall be killed, we shall all be killed,” they shouted. Then Kana stretched himself out. He put out his hand, and he stopped the rock. He held the rock with his right hand, and with his left hand he picked up a small stone from the beach and placed it under the rock; that stopped it from rolling any farther. It was stopped halfway down a steep cliff, and there that rock is to be seen to this day.

The canoe was saved and the people were saved from destruction. Then Ni-he-u started off. He wanted to go by himself to the top of Hau-pu and rescue his mother all alone. He did not know what I have already told you, that the hill was really a turtle; it was, and it had flippers on its sides; when it closed these flippers the hill would rise up; it could keep on rising until it touched the sky.

Around the house that was on the top of the hill there was a fence of thick and wide leaves—they were thick enough and wide enough to keep the wind from the Chief’s house. When Ni-he-u came up to this fence he began to beat the leaves down with his great war-club. Then the wind that was around the hill-top blew upon the house that was called Ha-le-hu-ki. “What has caused the wind to blow on my house?” said Pe-pe’e. “There is a boy outside with a club, and he has beaten down your fence,” said his watchmen. “It is Ni-he-u, my brave son. He is without fear,” said Hina.

Then Ni-he-u came in. He took hold of Hina and started to carry her off and down the hill. And as they were going Hina said, very foolishly: “What great strength you have, my brave son! And who would have known that all that strength is in the strands of your hair?” Ko-lea and Uli-li heard what she said. They flew after them; they flew down, and they held Ni-he-u by the hair.

Then Ni-he-u had to put Hina down while he took up his club and fought with the birds. They were drawing his strength away as they pulled out of his head the strands of his hair. He struck at Ko-lea and Uli-li. But while he was striking at them, Hina, frightened, ran back to the Chief’s house.

When Ni-he-u came down to the canoe he was questioned by Kana. “Where is our mother?” “I had taken her; we were on our way when I was attacked by two birds. I had to lay her down; then she was frightened, and she ran back, and I could not go back to fetch her again, or all my strength would have been drawn from me by the birds.” “Now you stay and watch in the canoe while I go to rescue our mother,” said Kana.

With that he stood up in the canoe and peeped over the hill Hau-pu. Then Kana rose above the hill. He stretched himself until he was up in the blue of the sky. The hill rose up too. Kana had to stretch himself and stretch himself. And as he stretched himself he became thinner and thinner. When he stood up in the blue of the sky his body was as thin as the thread of a spider’s web.

Now all that Ni-he-u could see of his brother was his legs, and he saw them grow thinner and thinner as the days passed and Kana had no food. Ni-he-u knew that Kana was starving. He shouted up to him, “Lie over towards Kona, towards the house of Uli, our grandmother, and she will give you something to eat.”

It took three days for the words that Ni-he-u shouted to reach Kana. At last he heard the words, and he stooped over the sea and over the mountain He-le-a-ka-la. (It was then that he made the groove in the mountain that is there to this day.) And so he reached to Kona, and he put his head down at his grandmother’s door.

There he stayed until Uli rose up in the morning. She went outside, and there she saw Kana, her grandson. She began to feed him. She fed him, and she fed him, and she fed him. He got fat in his body, and then the fatness of his body began to reach down into his legs. Ni-he-u saw the fatness coming on the legs that were in the canoe where he watched and waited.

Ni-he-u watched the legs getting fatter and fatter. But still he had to wait, for his brother was doing nothing. Then he became angry, and he made a cut in one of Kana’s legs.

It was three days before the numbness of this cut reached up to Kana’s head. At last it came to him, and then he spoke to his grandmother about it. “It is because your brother Ni-he-u is angry with you because you have not remembered him or your mother, but stay here all the time feeding yourself, and he has made a cut in your leg.” Then his grandmother said, “The hill keeps towering up, but if you rise up above it, and then stoop over and break off the flipper on the right side (for the hill is really a turtle, as I have told you), and then stoop over and break off the flipper on the left side, it will not be able to rise up any more, and you will then be able to conquer it.”

When he heard that said, Kana arose once more. He extended himself up. He towered over Hau-pu. Then he stooped over, and he reached down, and he broke off the flipper that was on the right side. Again he stooped over, and he broke off the flipper that was on the left side. And when these two flippers were broken off the power went out of Hau-pu. It rose no more. Then Kana stepped on the hill, and it broke to pieces. The pieces fell into the sea. They were left there in the forms of rocks and little hills. There they are to this day, and that is all that is left of the hill that carried off Hina.

The Chief Pe-pe’e was conquered, for he had no power after his hill was destroyed. Kana and Ni-he-u took back their mother in the canoe, and she lived ever afterwards with her own husband in her own house. But Kana did not live there. He went to stretch himself in the long house that went from the mountains to the edge of the sea. And this ends the story of Kana’s victory over the hill Hau-pu.

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.