Chapter XXXIV · PELE’S BRIGADE IS SENT TO THE ATTACK OF LOHIAU

Pele broke forth in great rage when her people slunk back, their errand not half accomplished. “Ingrates, I know you. Out of pity for that handsome fellow, you have just made a pretense and thrown a few cinders at his feet. Go back and finish your work. Go!”

Hiiaka, on witnessing the second charge of the fire-brigade, again broke forth in song:

Hulihia Kilauea, po i ka uahi;

Moana Heëia—la kapu i ke Akua!

Haki palala-hiwa ke alo o ka pohaku;

Ai’na makai a’ahu, koe ka oka—

Koe mauka o ka Lae Ohi’a.

Haki’na ka hala, apana ka pohaku;

Kiké ka alá; uwé ka mamane—

Ka leo o ka laau waimaka nui,

O ka wai o ia kino á pohaku,

Kanaka like Kau-huhu ke oko o ke ahi;

Ho’onu’u Puna2 i ka mahu o ka Wahine.

Kahá ka lehua i ka uka o Ka-li’u;

Makua ke ahi i ka nahelehele—

Ke á li’u-la o Apua.

E ha’a mai ana i ku’u maka

Ka ponaha lehua mauka o Ka-ho’i-kú;

Puni’a i ke awa ka uka o Nahunahu:

Kiná Puna, e poá i ke Akua.

Ua kaulu-wela ka uka o Olueä;

Moku kahawai, niho’a ka pali;

Ua umu pa-enaena ke alo o ka pohaku.

Hekili ke’eke’e, ka uila pohaku;

Puoho, lele i-luna, ka alá kani oleolé,

Kani au-moe, kani ku-wá, kani helele’i;

Owé, nakeke i ka lani, nehe i ka honua;

Ku’u pali kuhoho holo walawala i-luna, i-lalo;

Ka iho’na o ka pali uhi’a e ka noe;

Pa’a i ka ohu na kikepa lehua a ka Wahine;

Ho’o-maka’u ka uka—he ahi ko ka Lua.

Ke ho’o-malana a’e la e ua na opua;

Ne’ene’e i kai o Papa-lau-ahi.

Lapalapa ka waha o ke Akua lapu;

E hahai aku ana i-mua, i-hope.

Hopo aku, hopo mai;

Hopo aku au o ka ua liilii noe lehua i ka papa.

Ke’a ka maha lehua i kai o Ka-pili nei:

E pi’i i ka uka, e kui, e lei i ka lei,

Ka lehua o ka ua nahuhu—(nahunahu)

Nahu’a e ke ahi—uli ke a—

Mahole ka papa, manihole i ka ai ia e ke Akua:

Ai kolohe ka Wahine ia Puna,

Ho’o-pohaku i ka Lae Ohi’a.

Ka uahi o ka mahu ha’a-lele’a i uka;

Ka hala, ka lehua, lu ia i kai.

Ha’aha’a Puna, ki’eki’e Kilauea:

Ko Puna kuahiwi mau no ke ahi.

O Puna, aina aloha!

Aloha-ino Puna, e moe’a nei,

Ka aina i ka ulu o ka makani!

The language of this mele is marked by a certain mannerism that can hardly be described as either parallelism or as antithesis, though it approaches now one and now the other. It is as if each picture could not be accomplished save by representing its grouping from more than one point of view.

TRANSLATION

Kilauea breaks forth: smoke blurs the day;

A bitter rain blots out one half the Pit;

Heëia is whelmed by a tidal wave;—

Dread day of the fiery Goddess!

The face of the cliff is splintered away;

The lowlands are littered with fragments;

Her besom spares other land, not the park.

The screw-palms are rent, the rock-plates shattered;

The bowlders grind, the mamanes groan;

I hear the pitiful sob of the trees.

The tree-gods weep at their change into stone.

Man, like the roof-pole, strangles in smoke;

Puna chokes with the steam of the Woman;

How groan the lehuas of Ka-li’u!

A quivering flame enwraps Apua.

Mine eyes are blinded at the sight

Of the forest-circle of Ho’o-kú;

Nahunahu is swallowed up in the rack.

Puna, how scarred! by the Goddess ravaged!

Olueä’s uplands quiver with heat—

What ravage! its rocky strata uptorn;

Deep-gullied the canyons, toothed are the cliffs;

Like an oven glows the face of the rocks.

Now Heaven hurls her forked bolts

And bitter thunder-bombs; rocks burst and fly.

A crash of splintered echoes breaks the night,

Shatters the heavens and rends the earth.

My towering cliff is shook like a reed;

The trail adown the cliff is wreathed in steam;

Mist veils the ragged spurs of lehua—

A reign of terror! flames leap from the Pit;

The storm-clouds spread their wings for rain;

They rush in column over the plain.

The mouth of the demon vomits flame—

A besom-stroke to wooded Kai-mú.

Destruction follows before and behind;

What terror smites a-far and a-near!

A brooding horror wraps my soul

As the fine rain covers the plain.

A spectacle this for the eye of Day!

An offering’s laid—a pig? a man!

Deem’st it a crime to snuggle close in travel?

That we gathered flowers in the woods?

That we strung them and plaited wreaths?

That we hung them about our necks?—

Red blossoms that sting us like fire—

A fire that burns with a devilish flame,

Till the blistered skin hangs in rags:

And this—is the work of the God!

The faithless Woman! Puna sacked!

The Park of Lehua all turned to rock!

The column of rock moves ever on;

Lehuas and palms melt away,

As the fire sweeps down to the sea.

For Puna’s below and Pele above,

And Puna’s mountain is ever aflame.

Oh Puna, land close to my heart!

Land ever fore-front to the storm!

I weep for thy sorrowful plight!

“Cowed, and by a boy!” said Pele as her servants, with shame in their faces, slunk away from their unfinished task. “This is no job for women,” she continued. “These girls can’t stand up before a man—not if he has a smooth face and a shapely leg.”

As she spoke the fire-lake in Hale-ma’u-ma’u took on a ruddier hue, lifted in its cauldron and began to boil furiously, spouting up a score of red fountains.

“Men, gods, take these fires and pour them upon the man,” said Pele, addressing Lono-makua, Ku-pulupulu, Ku-moku-halii, Ku-ala-na-wao, Kupa-ai-ke’e, Ka-poha-kau, Ka-moho-alii, Kane-milo-hai and many others.

The gods well knew on what perilous ground they stood, with whom they had to deal, the fierceness of Pele’s wrath when it was stirred; yet, in their hatred of a great wrong, they moved with one purpose to push back the fires that were threatening Lohiau. With their immortal hands they flung away the embers and masses of flame until the heavens were filled with meteor-fragments.

Pele’s wrath rose to a mighty heat at this act of mutiny and disloyalty and she cursed the whole assembly. “Go,” said she, “back to Huli-nu’u whence you came. Let the land on which you stand remain barren and yield no harvest nor any food for mortal or for immortal.”

Now Pele was one of the chief gods on earth. The land was hers. Did she not make it? Her authority extended also to heaven. Did not her flames mount to the zenith? All the gods, even the great gods Ku, Kane, Kanaloa and Lono, depended on her for certain things. When she voyaged from Kahiki to the new land of Hawaii they were constrained to follow her. Not because of any command she laid upon them did they do this, but because such was their inclination. Where Pele was there was food, wealth, the things they had need of. They followed as a dog tags after its master.

New dispositions having been made and fresh stratagems set on foot, Pele turned loose another deluge of fire, Lono-makua consenting to manage the operation. The fire burst into view at Keaau, from which place it backed up into the region of Ola’a and there divided into two streams, one of which continued on the Hilo side, while the other followed a course farther towards Kau. Lohiau, thus surrounded, would find himself obliged to face Pele’s wrath without the possibility of retreat.

Hiiaka, not fearing for herself but seeing the danger in which her lover was placed, bade him pray; and this was the prayer he offered:

Popo’i, haki kaiko’o ka lua;

Haki ku, Haki kakala, ka ino,

Popo’i aku i o’ü o lehua,

I ka uwalu a ke ahi,

Huli ka moku, nakeke ka aina;

Hano ka leo i Pu’uku-alua;16

I kauhale a ke Akua.

Kahá ka leo o ka ohi’a;

Uwé ka leo o ke kai;

Huli ke alo o Papa-lau-ahi.

Kai ho’onaue hala ko Keaäu;

Kai lu lehua ko Pana-ewa;

Ke popo’i a’e la i ke ahu a Lono, e.

E lono ana no anei? He ho’okuli;

He kuli ia nei, he lono ole.

TRANSLATION

A storm and wild surf in the Pit,

The fire-waves dashing and breaking;

Spume splashes the buds of lehua—

The bird-choir—O consumer of trees,

O’erthrowing the fishermen’s altar;

The rocks melt away in thy flame;

Fierce rages the Pu’u-lena;

The island quakes with thy tremor;

A flood of rain on the lowland,

A wintry chill on the highland.

A boom, as of thunder, from this cliff;

A faint distant moaning from that cliff;

A whispered sigh from yonder hill,—

Home of the gods, inviolate,

Shrine of the God Hoalii.

Now groans the soul of the tree a-flame;

Now moans the heart of the restless sea.

Uptorn are the ancient fire-plates.

The Kea-au sea uproots the palms;

Pana-ewa’s sea scatters the bloom;

It beats at the altar of Lono.

Does she lend her heart to my cry?

Deaf—her ears are deaf to my prayer.

Let us picture to ourselves the scene of the story that now has the stage—a waterless, wind-swept, plain of volcanic slag and sand, sparsely clad with a hardy growth whose foliage betrays the influence of an environment that is at times almost Alpine in its austerity. Above the horizon-line swell the broad-based shapes of Mauna-kea, Mauna-loa and Hualalai. In the immediate foreground, overlooking the caldera—where are Pele’s headquarters—we see two figures, standing, crouching, or reclining, the lovers whose stolen bliss has furnished Pele with the pretext for her fiery discipline. Measured by the forces in opposition to them, their human forms shrink into insignificance. Measured by the boldness of their words and actions, one has to admit the power of the human will to meet the hardest shocks of fortune. Listen to the swelling words of Lohiau as Pele’s encircling fires draw nearer:

Hulihia ka mauna, wela i ke ahi;

Wela nopu i ka uka o Kui-hana-lei;

Ke á pohaku; pu’u lele mai i uka o Ke-ka-ko’i—

Ke-ka-ko’i ka ho’okela mai ka Lua.

O ka hinihini kani kua mauna;

O ka mapu leo nui, kani kóhakohá;

O Ku-pulupulu i ka nahele;

O na ’kua mai ka wao kele;

O ka uahi Pohina i uka;

O ka uahi mapu-kea i kai;

O ka uahi noe lehua, e;

O ke awa nui, i ka mauna;

O ke po’o o ke ahi, i ka nahele;

O ka ai’na a Pele ma, i uka;

Ua ku ke oka, aia i kai.

Pau a’e la ka maha laau—

Ka maha ohi’a loloa o Kali’u,

A ka luna i Pohaku-o-kapu.

Kapu mai la Puna, ua kulepe i ke ahi;

Ua puni haiki Kilauea.

Ua ha ka lama i ka luna i Moku-aweoweo;

Ua ha ka uka i Ke-ahi-a-Laka;

Ai’na a’e la o Moe-awakea i Ku-ka-la-ula,

A ka luna, i Pohaku-holo-na’e.

Ku au, kilohi, nana ilaila e maliu mai:

O ku’u ike wale aku ia Maukele,

I ka papa lohi o Apua—

He la lili’u, e nopu, e wela ka wawae.

Pau ke a, kahuli ha’a ka pahoehoe,

A pau na niu o kula i Kapoho.

Pau Oma’o-lala i ke ahi:

I hi’a no a á pulupulu i ka lau laau.

Kuni’a ka lani, haule ka ua loku;

Ka’a mai ka pouli, wili ka puahiohio;

Ka ua koko, ke owé la i ka lani.

Eia Pele mai ka Mauna, mai ka luna i Kilauea.

Mai O’olueä, mai Papa-lau-ahi a hiki Maláma.

Mahina ka uka o Ka-li’u;

Enaena Puna i ka ai’na e ke ’Kua wahine.

Pouli, kikaha ke Akua o ka Po;

Liolio i Wawau ke Akua o ka uka;

Niho’a ka pali, kala-lua i uka;

Koeä a mania, kikaha koa’e;

Lele pauma ka hulu maewaewa.

A’ea’e na akua i ka uka;

Noho Pele i ke ahiü;

Kani-ké ilalo o ka Lua.

Kuni’a a’e la Puna, mo’a wela ke one—

Mo’a wela paha Puna, e!

Wela i ke ahi au, a ka Wahine.

TRANSLATION

The Mount is convulsed; the surging fire

Sweeps o’er the height of Kui-hana-lei;

The rocks ablaze; the hillocks explode

Far out by Ax-quarry, aye, and beyond,

Where gleefully chirped the pololei,

And the grasshopper trilled on the mountain

A resonant intermittent cry.

Now comes the tall man of the mount,

Ku-pulupulu, the Lord of the Woods.

In his train swarm the pigmy gods of the wilds,

The knock-kneed monster Kuli-pe’e—

That subterraneous eater of towns—

And watchful Pi’i-kea, the Roach god.

A blinding smoke blurs the hinter-land;

A milk-white cloud obscures the lowland,

Enshrouding the groves of lehua.

The smoke-rack bulks huge in the upland;—

The fire has its head in the Mount,

And thence the Pele gang start on a raid.

The ash of their ravage reaches the sea:

She’s made a fell sweep of forest and grove

Clean down to Pohaku-o-kapu.

Now, tabu is Puna, forbidden to man:

The fire-tongues dart and hedge it about.

A torch buds out from Moku-aweö,

To answer the beacon flung by Laka.

Now she’s eaten her way from sleepy noon

Till when the windy mountain ridge

Buds with the rosy petals of dawn.

Here stand I to wait her relenting:

I see naught but desolate Puna

And the quivering plain of Apua:

All about is flame—the rock-plain rent;

The coco-palms that tufted the plain

Are gone, all gone, clean down to Ka-poho.

On rushes the dragon with flaming mouth,

Eating its way to Oma’o-lala.

For tinder it has the hair of the fern.

A ghastly rain blots out the sky;

The sooty birds of storm whirl through the vault;

Heaven groans, adrip, as with dragon-blood.

Here Pele comes from her fortress, her Mount,

Deserting her resting place, her hearth—

A wild raid down to Malama.

Kali’u’s highlands shine like the moon;

All Puna glows at the Goddess’ coming.

The crater’s upset; the ama flies up;

The God of night plods about in the dark;

The Upland God makes a dash for Vavau.

The pali are notched like teeth, dissevered,

Their front clean shaven, where sailed the bosen,—

White breast of down—on outstretched wings.

The gods ascend to the highlands;

The goddess Pele tears in a frenzy;

She raves and beats about in the Pit:

Its crumbled walls float like boats in the gulf:

An ash-heap is Puna, melted its sand—

Crisp-done by thy fire, Thine, O Woman!

When Hiiaka recognized the desperate strait of her friend and lover she urged him to betake himself again to prayer.

“Prayer may serve in time of health; it’s of no avail in the day of death,” was his answer.

It was not now a band of women with firebrands, but a phalanx of fire that closed in upon Lohiau. The whole land seemed to him to be a-flame. The pictures that flit through his disturbed mind are hinted at in the song he utters. The pangs of dissolution seem to have stirred his deeper nature and to have given him a thoughtfulness and power of expression that were lacking in the heyday of his lifetime. Hiiaka called on him for prayer and this was his response:

Pau Puna, ua koele ka papa;

Ua noe ke kuahiwi, ka mauna o ka Lua;

Ua awa mai ka luna o Uwé-kahuna—

Ka ohu kolo mai i uka,

Ka ohu kolo mai i kai.

O na wahine i ke anaina,

I ka piha a ka naoa o mua nei.

Oia ho’i ke kukulu awa;

O kai awa i ka haki pali,

O kai a Pele i popo’i i Kahiki—

Popo’i i ke alo o Kilauea;

Ku’uku’u kai a ka pohaku,

Kiná Puna i ka ai’na e ke Akua, e.

Ke kuhi la iaia he kanáka—

He akua ke hoa, e!

TRANSLATION

Puna is ravaged, its levels fire-baked;

Fog blots out the forest-heights of the Pit;

Uwé-kahuna’s plain is bitter cold—

A mist that creeps up from the sea,

A mist that creeps down from the mount;

Puna’s dim distant hills are burning—

A glancing of torches—rainbow colors—

The whole assembly of women.

In pity and love they stand before us;

They form the first line of battle

And they make up the second line.

The raging waves engulf the steep coast—

The sea Pele turmoiled at Kahiki,

That surged at the base of Kilauea—

The bird-killing flood Ka-hulu-manu.

Makali’i’s waves were like folds in a mat;

A smiting of rock against rock

Is the awful surge of the Pele folk.

The wind-blast enflames their dry tinder.

The face of the Sun is hot in Puna.

I companioned, it seems, with a god;

I had thought her to be very woman.

Lo and behold, she’s a devil!

Apropos of the meaning of na’ena’e I will quote the words of a Hawaiian song by way of illustration:

Luli ke po’o, éha i ka La o Maka-lii,

Hoiloli lua i na ulu hua i ka hapapa.

TRANSLATION

Wondrous small looks the Sun o’er Waihoa,

How lonesome above Hoaka-lei!

Birds crown the hill to escape from the Kiü;

Men turn the head from the Sun’s winter heat

And scorn the loaves of the bread-fruit tree.

In answer to these words of Lohiau Pele muttered gruffly, “God! Did you take me to be a human being? That’s what is the matter with you, and your clatter is merely a wail at the prospect of death.”

Under the torture of the encircling fires Lohiau again babbles forth an utterance in which the hallucinations of delirium seem to be floating before him:

Wela ka hoku, ka Maláma:

Kai ehu ka moku, papápa ka aina;

Ha ka moana; popo’i Kilauea.

Ale noho ana Papa-lau-ahi;

O mai Pele i ona kino—

Hekikili ka ua mai ka lani;

Nei ke ola’i; ha ka pohakahi a ka Ikuwá;

Ku mai Puna ki’eki’e;

Ha’aha’a ka ulu a ka opua,

Pua ehu mai la uka o Ke-ahi-a-Laka;

Iki’ki i ka uwahi lehua;

Paku’i ka uwahi Kanáka.

Pua’i hanu, eä ole i ke po’i a ke ahi.

E Hiiaka e, i wai maka e uwé mai!

TRANSLATION

The stars are on fire, and the moon;

Cold winter is turned to hot summer;

The island is girdled with storm;

The land is scoured and swept barren;

The heavens sag low—high surf in the Pit—

There’s toss of a stormy ocean,

Wild surging in Kilauea;

Fire-billows cover the rocky plain,

For Pele erupts her very self.

A flood of rain follows lightning-bolt;

Earth quakes with groaning and tossing,

Answered with shouts from the Echo god.

Once Puna was lifted to heaven;

Now the cloud of dark omen hangs low.

White bellies the cloud over Laka’s hearth;

Wai-wela-wela supplies a warm skirt.

I choke in this smoke of lehua—

How pungent the smell of burnt man!

I strangle, my breath is cut off—

Ugh! what a stifling blanket of fire!

Your tears, Hiiaka, your tears!

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