launching of the great double-canoe. And when it was afloat all
the chiefs were athirst, not being used to such toil; and I was
told to climb the palms beside the canoe-sheds and throw down
drink-coconuts. They drank and were refreshed, but me they refused
to let drink.
“Then they bore Kahekili from his house to the canoe in a haole
coffin, oiled and varnished and new. It had been made by a ship’s
carpenter, who thought he was making a boat that must not leak. It
was very tight, and over where the face of Kahekili lay was nothing
but thin glass. The chiefs had not screwed on the outside plank to
cover the glass. Maybe they did not know the manner of haole
coffins; but at any rate I was to be glad they did not know, as you
shall see.
“‘There is but one moepuu,’ said the priest Eoppo, looking at me
where I sat on the coffin in the bottom of the canoe. Already the
chiefs were paddling out through the reef.
On the Makaloa Mat/Island Tales
36
“‘The other has run into hiding,’ Aimoku answered. ‘This one was
all we could get.’
“And then I knew. I knew everything. I was to be sacrificed.
Anapuni had been planned for the other sacrifice. That was what
Malia had whispered to Anapuni at the drinking. And she had been
dragged away before she could tell me. And in his blackness of
heart he had not told me.
“‘There should be two,’ said Eoppo. ‘It is the law.’
“Aimoku stopped paddling and looked back shoreward as if to return
and get a second sacrifice. But several of the chiefs contended
no, saying that all commoners were fled to the mountains or were
lying taboo in their houses, and that it might take days before
they could catch one. In the end Eoppo gave in, though he grumbled
from time to time that the law required two moepuus.
“We paddled on, past Diamond Head and abreast of Koko Head, till we
were in the midway of the Molokai Channel. There was quite a sea
running, though the trade wind was blowing light. The chiefs
rested from their paddles, save for the steersmen who kept the
canoes bow-on to the wind and swell. And, ere they proceeded
further in the matter, they opened more coconuts and drank.
“‘I do not mind so much being the moepuu,’ I said to Humuhumu; ‘but
I should like to have a drink before I am slain.’ I got no drink.
But I spoke true. I was too sick of the much whisky and rum to be
afraid to die. At least my mouth would stink no more, nor my head
ache, nor the inside of me be as dry-hot sand. Almost worst of
all, I suffered at thought of the harpooner’s tongue, as last I had
seen it lying on the sand and covered with sand. O Kanaka Oolea,
what animals young men are with the drink! Not until they have
grown old, like you and me, do they control their wantonness of
thirst and drink sparingly, like you and me.”
“Because we have to,” Hardman Pool rejoined. “Old stomachs are
worn thin and tender, and we drink sparingly because we dare not
drink more. We are wise, but the wisdom is bitter.”
“The priest Eoppo sang a long mele about Kahekili’s mother and his
mother’s mother, and all their mothers all the way back to the
beginning of time,” Kumuhana resumed. “And it seemed I must die of
my sand-hot dryness ere he was done. And he called upon all the
gods of the under world, the middle world and the over world, to
care for and cherish the dead alii about to be consigned to them,
and to carry out the curses–they were terrible curses–he laid
upon all living men and men to live after who might tamper with the
bones of Kahekili to use them in sport of vermin-slaying.
“Do you know, Kanaka Oolea, the priest talked a language largely
different, and I know it was the priest language, the old language.
Maui he did not name Maui, but Maui-Tiki-Tiki and Maui-Po-Tiki.
On the Makaloa Mat/Island Tales
37
And Hina, the goddess-mother of Maui, he named Ina. And Maui’s
god-father he named sometimes Akalana and sometimes Kanaloa.
Strange how one about to die and very thirsty should remember such
things! And I remember the priest named Hawaii as Vaii, and Lanai
as Ngangai.”
“Those were the Maori names,” Hardman Pool explained, “and the
Samoan and Tongan names, that the priests brought with them in
their first voyages from the south in the long ago when they found
Hawaii and settled to dwell upon it.”
“Great is your wisdom, O Kanaka Oolea,” the old man accorded
solemnly. “Ku, our Supporter of the Heavens, the priest named Tu,
and also Ru; and La, our God of the Sun, he named Ra–”
“And Ra was a sun-god in Egypt in the long ago,” Pool interrupted
with a sparkle of interest. “Truly, you Polynesians have travelled
far in time and space since first you began. A far cry it is from
Old Egypt, when Atlantis was still afloat, to Young Hawaii in the
North Pacific. But proceed, Kumuhana. Do you remember anything
also of what the priest Eoppo sang?”
“At the very end,” came the confirming nod, “though I was near dead
myself, and nearer to die under the priest’s knife, he sang what I
have remembered every word of. Listen! It was thus.”
And in quavering falsetto, with the customary broken-notes, the old
man sang.
“A Maori death-chant unmistakable,” Pool exclaimed, “sung by an
Hawaiian with a tattooed tongue! Repeat it once again, and I shall
say it to you in English.”
And when it had been repeated, he spoke it slowly in English:
“But death is nothing new.
Death is and has been ever since old Maui died.
Then Pata-tai laughed loud
And woke the goblin-god,
Who severed him in two, and shut him in,
So dusk of eve came on.”
“And at the last,” Kumuhana resumed, “I was not slain. Eoppo, the
killing knife in hand and ready to lift for the blow, did not lift.
And I? How did I feel and think? Often, Kanaka Oolea, have I
since laughed at the memory of it. I felt very thirsty. I did not
want to die. I wanted a drink of water. I knew I was going to
die, and I kept remembering the thousand waterfalls falling to
waste down the pans” (precipices) “of the windward Koolau
Mountains. I did not think of Anapuni. I was too thirsty. I did
not think of Malia. I was too thirsty. But continually, inside my
On the Makaloa Mat/Island Tales
38
head, I saw the tongue of the harpooner, covered dry with sand, as
I had last seen it, lying in the sand. My tongue was like that,
too. And in the bottom of the canoe rolled about many drinking
nuts. Yet I did not attempt to drink, for these were chiefs and I
was a common man.
“‘No,’ said Eoppo, commanding the chiefs to throw overboard the
coffin. ‘There are not two moepuus, therefore there shall be
none.’
“‘Slay the one,’ the chiefs cried.
“But Eoppo shook his head, and said: ‘We cannot send Kahekili on
his way with only the tops of the taro.’
“‘Half a fish is better than none,’ Aimoku said the old saying.
“‘Not at the burying of an alii,’ was the priest’s quick reply.
‘It is the law. We cannot be niggard with Kahekili and cut his
allotment of sacrifice in half.’
“So, for the moment, while the coffin went overside, I was not
slain. And it was strange that I was glad immediately that I was
to live. And I began to remember Malia, and to begin to plot a
vengeance on Anapuni. And with the blood of life thus freshening
in me, my thirst multiplied on itself tenfold and my tongue and
mouth and throat seemed as sanded as the tongue of the harpooner.
The coffin being overboard, I was sitting in the bottom of the
canoe. A coconut rolled between my legs and I closed them on it.
But as I picked it up in my hand, Aimoku smote my hand with the
paddle-edge. Behold!”
He held up the hand, showing two fingers crooked from never having
been set.
“I had no time to vex over my pain, for worse things were upon me.
All the chiefs were crying out in horror. The coffin, head-end up,
had not sunk. It bobbed up and down in the sea astern of us. And
the canoe, without way on it, bow-on to sea and wind, was drifted
down by sea and wind upon the coffin. And the glass of it was to
us, so that we could see the face and head of Kahekili through the
glass; and he grinned at us through the glass and seemed alive