once, when pele was living in the pit of kilauea, she roused up from her couch on the rough hearth-plate and said to her sisters, “let us make an excursion to the ocean and enjoy ourselves, open the opihi shells and sea-urchins, hunt for small squid and gather sea-moss.”
to this all joyfully assented, saying, “yes, let us go.”
the sisters formed quite a procession as they tramped the narrow downhill path until they came to the hill pu’u-pahoehoe—a place in the lower lands of puna. pele herself did not visibly accompany them on this journey; that was not according to her custom: she had other ways and means of travel than to plod along a dusty road. when, however, the party arrived at the rendezvous, there, sure enough, they found pele awaiting them, ready for the business in hand.
in the midst of their pleasurings pele caught sight of hopoe and haena as they were indulging in an al fresco dance and having a good time by the puna sea. she was greatly pleased and, turning to her sisters, said, “come, haven’t you also got some dance that you can show off in return for this entertainment by hopoe and her companion?”
they all hung their heads and said, “we have no hula.”
hiiaka, the youngest, had stayed behind to gather lehua flowers, and when she came along laden with wreaths, pele said to her, jestingly, “i’ve just been proposing to your sisters here to dance a hula in response to that of hopoe and her fellow, but they decline, saying they have not the art. i suppose it’s of no use to ask you, you are so small; but, perhaps, you’ve got a bit of a song.”
“yes, i have a song,” hiiaka answered, to the surprise of all.
“let us have it, then; go on!” said pele.
then the little girl, having first decorated all of her sisters with the wreaths, beginning with pele, sang as follows:
ke ha’a la puna i ka makani;
ha’a ka ulu hala i keaau;
ha’a haena me hopoe;
ha’a ka wahine,
ami i kai o nana-huki, la—
hula le’a wale,
i kai o nana-huki, e-e!
[2]
translation
puna’s a-dance in the breeze,
the hala groves of keaau shaken:
haena and hopoe are swaying;
the thighs of the dancing nymph
quiver and sway, down at nana-huki—
a dance most sightly and pleasing,
down by the sea nana-huki.
pele was delighted. “is that all you have?” she asked.
“i have something more,” said the girl.
“let us hear it then.”
hiiaka put even more spirit into the song as she complied:
o puna kai kuwá i ka hala;
pae ka leo o ke kai;
ke lu, la, i na pua lehua.
nana i kai o hopoe,
ka wahine ami i kai
o nana-huki, la;
hula le’a wale,
i kai o nana-huki, e-e.
translation
the voice of puna’s sea resounds
through the echoing hala groves;
the lehua trees cast their bloom.
look at the dancing girl hopoe;
her graceful hips swing to and fro,
a-dance on the beach nana-huki:
a dance that is full of delight,
down by the sea nana-huki.
at the conclusion of this innocent performance—the earliest mention of the hula that has reached us—hiiaka went to stay with her friend hopoe, a person whose charm of character had fascinated the imagination of the susceptible girl and who had already become her dearest intimate, her inspiring mentor in those sister arts, song, poesy and the dance.
pele herself remained with her sister hiiaka-i-ka-pua-enaena (hiiaka-of-the-fire-bloom), and presently she lay down to sleep [3]in a cave on a smooth plate of pahoehoe. before she slept she gave her sister this command: “listen to me. i am lying down to sleep; when the others return from fishing, eat of the fish, but don’t dare to wake me. let me sleep on until i wake of myself. if one of you wakes me it will be the death of you all. if you must needs wake me, however, call my little sister and let her be the one to rouse me; or, if not her, let it be my brother ke-o-wahi-maka-o-ka-ua—one of these two.”
when ke-o-wahi-maka-o-ka-ua, who was so closely related to pele that she called him brother, had received this command and had seen her lapse into profound sleep he went and reported the matter to hiiaka, retailing all that pele had said. “strange that this havoc-producer should sleep in this way, and no bed-fellow!” said hiiaka to herself. “here are all the other hiiakas, all of equal rank and merit! perhaps it was because my dancing pleased her that she wishes me to be the one to rouse her.”
the cavern in the hill pahoehoe in which pele lay and slept, wrapped in her robe (kapa-ahu), remains to this day.
in her sleep pele heard the far-off beating of hula drums, and her spirit-body pursued the sound. at first it seemed to come from some point far out to sea; but as she followed, it shifted, moving to the north, till it seemed to be off the beach of waiakea, in hilo; thence it moved till it was opposite lau-pahoehoe. still evading her pursuit, the sound retreated till it came from the boisterous ocean that beats against the shaggy cliffs of hamakua. still going north, it seemed presently to have reached the mid channel of ale-nui-haha that tosses between hawaii and maui.
“if you are from my far-off home-land kahiki, i will follow you thither, but i will come up with you,” said pele.
to her detective ear, as she flitted across the heaving waters of ale-nui-haha, the pulsing of the drums now located itself at the famous hill kauwiki, in hana; but, on reaching that place, the music had passed on to the west and sounded from the cliffs of ka-haku-loa.
the fugitive music led her next across another channel, until in her flight she had traversed the length of moloka’i and had come to the western point of that island, lae-o-ka-laau. thence she flew to cape maka-pu’u, on oahu, and so on, until, after crossing that island, she reached cape kaena, whose finger-point reaches out towards kaua’i. in that desolate spot dwelt an aged creature of myth, pohaku-o-kaua’i by name, the personal representative of that rock whose body-form the hero mawi [4]had jerked from its ocean bed ages before, in his futile attempt to draw together the two islands kaua’i and oahu and unite them into one mass.
pele, arguing from her exasperation, said, “it must be my old grandfather pohaku-o-kaua’i who is playing this trick with the music. if it’s he that’s leading me this chase, i’ll kill him.”
the old fellow saw her approach and, hailing her from a distance, greeted her most heartily. her answer was in a surly mood: “come here! i’m going to kill you to-day. so it’s you that’s been fooling me with deceitful music, leading me a wearisome chase.”
“not i, i’ve not done this. there they are, out to sea; you can hear for yourself.” and, sure enough, on listening, one could hear the throbbing of the music in the offing.
pele acknowledged her mistake and continued her pursuit, with the parting assurance to the old soul that if he had been the guilty one, it would have been his last day of life.
the real authors of this illusive musical performance were two little creatures named kani-ka-wí and kani-ka-wá, the former a sprite that was embodied in the nose-flute, the latter in the hokeo, a kind of whistle, both of them used as accompaniments to the hula. their sly purpose was to lure pele to a place where the hula was being performed.
pele now plunged into the water—from this point at least she swam—and, guided by the call of the music, directed her course to the little village of haena that perched like a gull on the cape of the same name, at the northernmost point of the island of kaua’i. it was but a few steps to the hall of the hula—the halau—where throbbed the hula drums and where was a concourse of people gathered from the whole island.
