Pele and Hiiaka: A Myth From Hawaii

At the entrance to this land-locked harbor of Kou a pretty sight met their eyes: a moving picture of men and women in the various attitudes of lying, kneeling or standing on boards, riding the waves that chased each other toward the sandy beach. The scene made such an appeal to Hiiaka’s imagination that she opened her heart in song:

When, after this battery of compliment, they came close up to the princess Pele-ula—who, as will be seen, was a power in the land—having exchanged still further compliments, Hiiaka invited her to come aboard. Pele-ula, very naturally, declined this kind offer, but with a fine show of hospitality in her turn begged that they would honor her by being her guests during their stay in the place, assuring them of hospitable entertainment and such pleasures as her court could offer. Under her piloting, accordingly, they made their way by paddle across the beautiful land-locked harbor of Kou and, entering the Nu’uanu stream—in those days much broader, sweeter and deeper than now—turned into its eastern branch and erelong found themselves at the landing from which a path led up to Pele-ula’s residence. Imagine the fairy scene, if you will;—a canoe-load of smiling nereids piloted by a mermaid princess swimming on ahead, with a merry convoy of mermaiden and mermen following in the wake.

A word in regard to this little land, now lying close to the heart of Honolulu itself, which still bears the same name as its old-time mistress, Pele-ula. To the kamaaina the sturdy samang tree, whose vigorous bole parts the traffic of Vineyard Street just before its junction with the highway of Nu’uanu has long been a familiar object. This fine tree has a history of its own and can claim the respectable age of not less than forty years. The land about it has borne the classic name of Pele-ula for a period of centuries that hark back to the antiquity of Hawaiian tradition. The sightseer of to-day who views the region from the macadamized roadway, some ten feet above the level of the surrounding land, must not judge of its former attractiveness and fitness as a place of residence by its present insalubrity—now shut in by embankments, overhung by dank and shadowy trees, its once-pure stream either diverted for economic purposes or cluttered and defiled with the debris of civilization. A study of the region, on the inner—mauka—border of which lies Pele-ula, will easily convince the observer that within a short geologic period the wash of silt and mud from higher levels has filled in and converted what must have been at one time a clear salt-water basin into the swampy flats that not long ago met the eye. Now, of course, this whole alluvial basin has been still further filled in and artificially overlaid with a more-or-less solid crust of earth and rock to meet the demands of Honolulu’s ever expanding growth.

To return to our narrative: to this hamlet of Pele-ula, such as it was in the days of Arcadian sweetness—if not of light—Hiiaka and her select company now enter as the honored guests of a woman distinguished alike for her beauty, her spiritual subtility and insight—she was a makaula—and for her devotion to pleasure. One of her chief diversions, naturally enough, was the hula, especially that form of the dance which was used in connection with that risqué entertainment, the kilu.1

By evening, when the travelers had washed away the encrusting salt, warmed and dried their apparel at an outdoor fire, filled nature’s vacuum at the generous table of their hostess, while they were sitting in the short gloaming of the tropics, enjoying the delicious content that waits on rest after toil, Pele-ula interrupted the silence:

She turns to Lohiau and says, “You had better be going to the hall. When you go in take a seat by your friend.” This advice is puzzling: the friend must have been Wahine-oma’o and it was customary for men and women to sit apart. Then she resumed her song: