Ke Ala Moana
O Ka Hoʻi ʻAna Mai

Before the sun’s first rays broke forth the next morning, Haʻinakolo woke up. When she did, she found Kanaloa there with niu hiwa for her to eat, as he'd previously told her. When his tasks were done, he urged Haʻinakolo to grab her son and go with him to the shore. He told her that he’d put Mailelauliʻi into a deep sleep. He also reported that Mailelauliʻi had come in the late night hours to spy on her.

[*Mailelauliʻi knew her sister was planning to leave, but Haʻinakolo did not tell her about the deal she had made with Kanaloa—that anyone who attempted to board their canoe would be punished with death.]

Haʻinakolo got up, grabbed Leimakani, and held him close. Then Kanaloa said, “There’s food on the canoe and everything you need. You alone, Haʻinakolo, shall paddle your canoe.”

Haʻinakolo immediately left the house, carrying Leimakani while he was still asleep. When she got outdoors, something strange came upon her and her thoughts went completely dark; she lost awareness of what she was doing. She had no idea where her feet were taking her. All she knew was that she got onto the canoe with her son.

When the two of them got aboard the canoe, she saw a paddle lying there. She grabbed it and held it firm, placing Leimakani down in the right spot for him in the canoe.

She also saw the pile of food reserves of all sorts: banana, coconut, ʻoʻopu, a whole baked pig, pork laulau, and various other kinds of foods. They did not lack stores of water to drink. They had everything they needed for journeying out into the deep blue sea.

There was nothing more to say, for everything was ready. So, she stuck her paddle into the water, pulled it back, and the waʻa moved out into the ocean. Two or three deep strokes of her paddle and they were already way offshore. Mailelauliʻi was standing on the beach calling out to the two of them, as they moved out into the open ocean. The chant that Mailelauliʻi used to call out to her older sister as she watched her dig her paddle in to move her canoe went like this:

O older sister of mine,
Oh how you do not love me,
Your one younger sibling who’s been with you everywhere,
Faced with you both rain and shine,
The two of us in the cold, wind, and seaspray,
The three of us who came to this foreign land,
And after all that, you are leaving me here,
What about me?
I grieve for my beloved, my sweet child,
Hear me, Haʻinakolo of Waipiʻo’s cliffs,
O Haʻinakolo, grant me a place on your canoe,
Where shall I sit?

Haʻinakolo heard this call of her younger sister, so she turned around and looked back toward the land. She saw her sister standing on the beach, whereupon she chanted in the kau style to her sister who was crying out to her:

It is you, Mailelauliʻi,
My younger sister in the shifting billows of the sea,
I turn to you and you towards me,
Like the cliffs of our birth land,
A large cliff stands between us,
You there, me here with our child,
Here in the sea spray,
Fetch your lei, place him with honor upon you,
As a chiefly adornment for your body,
O Mailelauliʻi,
You must seek us,
The ocean is vast,
A path traveled by many,
I paddle on,
Keōlewa is the destination.

Haʻinakolo’s chant made its way to Mailelauliʻi, who stood on the beach at Kuaihelani. It was then she realized that her sister was bound by some sort of agreement. But she didn’t care about whatever deal her older sister had made. She began calling to their ʻaumākua for a way to get onto the canoe.

In no time, a rainbow began arching from where she stood and stretched out to the canoe on which her older sister was traveling in the deep blue sea. She immediately got onto the rainbow and traveled with great speed, like a person running on an actual road.

Haʻinakolo saw her sister dashing towards her and she began furiously digging her paddle strokes into the water so that her sister would not catch up to her.

27 September 1907

But Mailelauliʻi made it and got onto the canoe, at which point she spoke furiously to her sister, “Your lack of love for me is unbelievable.”

Haʻinakolo responded, “Listen, younger sister, we have nothing else to speak of. It looks like you’ve found a way and gotten onto my canoe without me having any idea about how you got here.

“As you know, we had no control over the canoe that brought us from Hawaiʻi, and this time it’s the same. All I can say to you is that if we end up in the ocean with our precious child and one of us goes under - whether it’s you or us two - then whichever one of us makes it back to land alive shall tell everyone else, ‘So and so has passed away; they were taken by the sea, taken under by the billows, taken by a crazy current. They were eaten by the great fish of the sea.”

Then Mailelauliʻi answered, “Well, my royal older sister, if this is a canoe bound by restrictions, that bodes very badly for me. I will likely die because of the restriction on it. Oh well, if we travel on the ocean with this precious child of ours and I fall into the sea, then my spirit will become shade and protection from the sun for you two. If it’s you, older sister, who falls overboard, and I’m left with our child, then we will swim in the sea and find our way to shore. If our child falls overboard, then it would be best that we join him in death. And if it is I who goes, then my directive to you, my older sister, is that when you see the faces of our younger siblings and the faces of our parents and grandparents, cry with them for me, and tell them all that Mailelauliʻi fell overboard into the smashing breakers of the ocean, the towering billows of Kāne’s great sea.”

When Mailelauliʻi finished speaking to her older sister, she said, “Hand me the paddle, and I’ll paddle!”

Her older sister refused, saying, “No. We’ll go wrong. It’s best if I paddle. You look after our boy, and mind the bilge water coming into our canoe. The wind is beginning to pick up and I see the ocean looking choppy. Conditions might get bad.”

When the wind and sea rose up, the billows of the ocean began to break. Waves came up on all sides, swamping them. Mailelauliʻi was working as hard as she could to bail the water coming into the canoe. Leimakani was sitting on a small platform that had been secured with sennit, but the sea spray was flying into his eyes and he called out to his mother, Haʻinakolo,

Haʻi! Haʻi!
I'm wet with sea spray,
My eyes are burning,
What’s happening in the ocean?

Haʻinakolo was paddling with all her might and when she heard her son cry out, tears began tumbling down her cheeks and she answered him:

My son, my sweet child,
I, your mother, am here paddling,
Like the paddler of the fisherman,
Crouch down, my boy,
To avoid the relentless spray of the sea.

31 September 1907

Then, Haʻinakolo addressed her younger sister, Mailelauliʻi, calling out:

Mailelauliʻi,
My younger sister, fragrant in the forest,
Look after our son,
His eyes burn with sea spray.

At that moment, Mailelauliʻi turned and grabbed the boy, wiping away the sea spray that had splashed in his eyes. At the same time, Keaukā and Keaumiki were striking the canoe, as water came on board from all sides; it was like a whirlpool. Keaulawe, however, did his best to keep hold of the canoe of his grandchildren.

This was a great struggle between Keaulawe and the rest: Keaumiki, Keaukā, and Kanaloa. The latter, in his monstrous octopus form, reached out with his tentacles and tried to grab Haʻinakolo’s canoe, but his strength was nothing next to Keaulawe, who moved half of his body to form a current, pushing the sea against Kanaloa’s octopus form and pinning him against the reef at the bottom of the ocean, in the depths of the sea’s belly.

While Haʻinakolo and company were moving through the raging seas, Mailelauliʻi said to her older sister, “Listen here, Haʻiwahine of Waipiʻo!”

Her older sister responded, asking, “What is it, younger sister?”

Mailelauliʻi answered, “I’m going to leave you and our beloved child. I’ll leap into the heavens to form shade for you two. When the sun shines down, I will be there, and under me the two of you will be shaded and protected, your heads will not be burned by the relentless, piercing rays of the sun.”

“I can’t believe you are going to leave us here,” said Haʻinakolo to her younger sister, then continued speaking, “I thought your love for our son was the deep pain that caused you to board our canoe, but it turns out that’s untrue. Whatever. You do as you see fit, sister.”

Mailelauliʻi wept for their boy, Leimakani. When she finished, she said, “My dear child, I’m leaving you and your mother. I’m going to seek protection for you two.”

With that, Mailelauliʻi leapt into the ocean and disappeared into the rough, surging billows of the sea. That’s when Haʻinakolo heard the voice of her sister calling to her from within the sea spray:

Oh, Haʻi! We shall see each other on land,
On the land called Keōlewa,
The Kahaʻea cloud hangs above, placed in the sky,
As shade for the woman, Haʻi,
Land ashore with our beloved child,
You will reach the land,
You will be saved by the limu kala,
Hear the cry of the ʻūlulu bird,
The bird that flies in the sea spray,
Runs on the sand of the land,
Aloha.

Mailelauliʻi faded into the darkness of the ocean. We shall no longer see her, reader, in human form. Instead let us extend our gaze upward to the dark cloud in the heavens, and there we see the Kahaʻea cloud suspended above, and we know that this is the cloud form of Mailelauliʻi, expanding in the sky, shading the upper heavens to provide protection for her older sister and their beloved child, the boy, Leimakani. Alas!

Haʻinakolo heard the voice of her younger sister from within the sea spray and that is when she let go of her paddle and it was taken into the wild rising billows of the sea. She wailed out of love for her younger sibling:

My sister!
My companion in the spray of the sea,
With whom I huddled in the cold and damp,
My friend on days of sun and rain,
You have left me and our child,
The close one gone, the one who supported me,
Perhaps I shall see them alone,
And not with you, the faces of our parents,
Our parents in Hāmākua,
Land where the ʻūlili birds soar on the cliffs,
Treacherous is the descending path, and the ladder of the land
That beloved land of ours,
I alone wear the lei,
The lei of ours,
It shall be me, it shall be you all, my sisters,
Our eyes hidden from one another,
I am alone in the ocean with our child,
The child that belongs to us all,
Alas,
What a pity,
Here I am,
Rescue me,
I am cold and numb on the water.

While Haʻinakolo and Leimakani were continuing to move along the surface of the surging sea, they were swamped again by a massive wave that broke onto their canoe and they went under.

Haʻinakolo and the boy, Leimakani, were pushed under by the ocean as Haʻinakolo tried with all her might to hold onto her child in her arms.

In an instant, the thrashing of the ocean ceased and they were floating fine on the surface. Their canoe was lost in the sea spray that moved like a whirlwind.

Haʻinakolo tried her hardest to place her son on her back, then told him, “Hold on to me tight and I will keep us afloat as I do my best to swim. If we swim and I lose my strength, then we will be in big trouble. We will perish, my child, in this vast ocean in which we are adrift."

As Haʻinakolo spoke to the boy, tears streamed down her cheeks.

However, their swimming was made easy by the fact that the current was pushing them forward with great force, and Haʻinakolo was not tired out by paddling with her arms.

As they went along on the surface of the sea, the sun burst forth brightly. Then the Kaheʻea cloud moved in front of it and floated there. The speed at which they moved was due to the strong current that went faster than the steamships that we see in modern times.

Because the sun shone so brightly on the surface of the water, they were kept warm as they were moved along by their patient and persistent grandfather current, Keaulawe.

That’s when Haʻinakolo realized she was floating atop a mass of limu lipoa that was entangled with limu kala.

When the day became night and the early morning of the next day arrived, Haʻinakolo heard the sound of a clear and somber voice. She made out the the following words being chanted:

It is you, Haʻi wahine, Haʻinakolo,
Ocean-going woman out in the blue-black depths,
You swim in the ocean,
Swim with your beloved,
You companion in the cold,
And the chill,
The ocean takes her, takes the woman,
Waipiʻo’s woman of sacred skin,
Grant me your affection,
Aloha—ē—ā.

When Haʻinakolo heard this chant, she understood that it was the words of her younger sister, Mailelauliʻi. Then she answered:

It is I, Haʻinakolo,
Carrying our beloved child on my back,
Wearing, alone, the lei of our love,
I love my siblings,
Who are kept from view, who I cannot see,
Here we are in the vast ocean,
The surging sea of Kanaloa in Kahiki,
A storm comes,
We huddle in the cold,
I am cold, so very cold.

When Haʻinakolo finished chanting, the aku and ʻōpelu fish started rushing all around them and the sea began to warm up. The current continued to move them forward. They drifted in the sea for several days and nights, and early the next morning, Leimakani cried out to his mother, “Haʻi! Haʻi!”

The mother answered her son, “What is it, my boy? My lei of wind in the sea spray?”

The boy could see something white showing itself way off in the distance, like a bird poised on the surface of the ocean. Seeing this white object made him think it was a bird, which is why he cried out to his mother. When his mother asked him what he saw, the boy responded thus:

8 January 1908

Haʻi! Haʻi!
A bird,
Flying toward us,
I want the bird, Haʻi.

Then his mother responded, chanting:

My sweet one,
My lei of wind,
That is not a bird,
My dear son! My beloved!
That is Keōlwea, the land,
It is land, my boy,
We shall reach its shores,
Release the burden of the sea,
On the traveling path of the sea-dwelling ʻūlili bird,
My sweet boy shall have his bird,
The ʻūlili bird of the shores,
And we shall land on the sand,
Saved by the limu kala,
We shall be freed,
From the duplicity of the merciless ones.

When Haʻinakolo finished this chant, it was as though her eyes were struck by something and then her hands were groping the sand of a beach. She heard the rustle and rumble of the ocean where it breaks on the shore. When she opened her eyes, she saw land.

She flailed, trying hard to get all the way up on shore, when suddenly the ocean took hold of them again and they were pulled back out to sea.

Yes, it was Keaulawe who had landed them ashore, but Keaumiki and Keaukā seized them, taking them back into the ocean. And they were taken way back out into the deep.

Haʻinakolo once again had to persevere, swimming with Leimakani on her back. The boy again saw the clouds of the land aloft, like a bird flying proudly above the surface of the sea. He then called to his mother,

“Haʻi! Haʻi!”
His mother responded again, “What is it, my dear child, my son?”

Leimakani said to her:

A bird!
A bird is approaching!
I can see it clearly on the surface of the sea,
It floats above on the crest of the swell,
I want the bird, Haʻi!

Haʻinakolo then said to the boy:

That’s not a bird, my boy,
That’s the land called Keōlewa,
We shall land ashore there,
Lay down on the sand the burden of the ocean,
That stirs the limu kala,
Hear the cry of the ʻūlili bird,
We shall land ashore.

Once more, it was as though her eyes were struck and when she opened them, she was resting face down on the sand with her legs still in the ocean. And as she crouched, gathering herself to get her whole body onto the beach, suddenly she heard the boom of the surf and the two of them were pulled back into the water, out into the deep.

Keaumiki and Keaukā had grabbed them again and took them into the open ocean. But Keaulawe was trying his hardest to return their grandchildren to the land.

Reader, please allow your author to provide a small explanation here on the land, Keōlewa, that Haʻinakolo was telling the boy about.

Some people think that this land called Keōlewa is the island of Niʻihau, others think it is Lehua, while still others think it is Kaʻula. However, in one of the chants in the story of Hiʻiaka, it can be observed that this place Haʻinakolo called Keōlewa is the island also known as Kamawaelualani, which is now referred to as Kauaʻi. And the chant goes like this
[Translation by Nogelmeier et al., 2007]:

Hāʻupu, majestic mountain,
Drawn up, held fast in the heavens,
Bearing a child on the back,
Keaolewa offers its embrace,
Niʻihau justs out in the sea,
My lehua are consumed by the birds,
Gone,
My lehua blossoms, oh!

The important and deeper meaning of that chant by Hiʻiaka is her recalling how Haʻinakolo and Leimakani came ashore at Nāwiliwili, Kauaʻi, during this time when they were cast adrift at sea, as shown earlier. In other words, Haʻinakolo carried Leimakani, the little boy, on her back and her breasts are what he held onto on the front of her body, as shown prior in Hiʻiaka’s chant.

9 January 1908

That mele clearly shows that the story of Haʻinakolo precedes that of Hiʻiaka. Furthermore, those who know the famous point called Kahuku will most certainly remember the place called Ūolwea on the point named Kahipa. This shows us something similar to what was mentioned just prior about the breasts on the front of Haʻinakolo’s body; it’s also Keōlewa, the place in front of Haʻi into whose embrace she went.

Just like the first two landings, so went this third time when Haʻinakolo and the boy came ashore in Nāwiliwili. They came right up onto the sand. But on this landing, Haʻinakolo lost consciousness—she could no longer see or hear and passed out on the beach. The boy, Leimakani, was numb with cold and huddled at his mother’s breast.

It is said that it was the early morning before dawn that the two of them were put ashore by their elder, Keaulawe.

At the time they came ashore, the waves were breaking furiously all over Kauaʻi. Coral was being tossed way up on the beach. The sea spray reached as far as Hāʻupu hill. The blowholes on every little point bellowed from the huge amount of water coming through them and it was a moment that struck fear in people’s hearts.

Because the ocean was coming so far up the cliffs and the beaches, they were easily moved way up onshore into the land. Their survival was really due to Keaulawe persevering amidst the perilous onslaught of his cousins...

ʻAʻole i pau.