by Anthology
In those very ancient days which are past and gone into obscurity, when the Prince Kekuaokalani was born on the island of Hawaii, his bringing-up was taken in charge by Kahonu, the priest spoken of above, and his royal consort, both of whom were close relatives, iwikuamoo, of the prince.
On the third anahulu (one month) after the prince had first inhaled the cool airs of this earthly life, the council of chiefs sat in session in accordance with the wishes of the royal guardians of the young prince, to segregate their royal charge to some other island of the group. The council of chiefs, the priests, the omen readers, the statesmen and counselors of the royal court consented to approve this request of Kahonu. And in his capacity as priest, with jealous care and with great regard, Kahonu sought to maintain the dignity and sacredness of his royal charge, for he was of the highest kapu rank, kapu moe, the prostration kapu, by which the breath of the common people mingled with the dust, days now long past, when a man was sure to be killed if his shadow even fell upon the king’s house.
When the council of chiefs allowed the petition, Kahonu and his wife made immediate preparation, together with his people, the order of priesthood, his omen-readers, statesmen and court attendants for their voyage by canoes for the island of Oahu, and Punaluu was the destination in accordance with the orders of Kahonu to his canoe paddlers.
When the fleet arrived off the breakers at Punaluu, it was evident to the people on the shore that Punaluu was the goal, Kahonu being well acquainted with his birthplace, from which he had gone to reside in Hawaii. The canoes entered the harbor of Mamalu, where vessels nowadays are loaded with pineapples from Punaluu. Makaiwa was the landing place of the canoes, where now there is a wharf with warehouses for the convenience of the shipping public.
When the voyagers arrived in Punaluu, Kahonu and his wife took their young charge to the densest part of the forest in the deep solitude of the uplands of the mountains, a place called the Water of Kane and Water of Kanaloa, where the prince was nurtured. The place is still in existence. The priests, courtiers, and traveling companions of the young prince were made by Kahonu to remain at Maliko, to erect a house for his royal charge and to repair some deficiencies in the temple of Kaumakaulaula herein spoken of.
The house of the chief was so very sacred that the shadow of a man must not cross it, and for he who disobeyed and did not observe this law of the sacredness of the chief, death was his sure penalty, and the body of the unfortunate was placed on the altar of the temple, together with prisoners of war.
The fame of the temple of Kaumakaulaula became known through wonderful things of a mysterious nature, known only to this temple, which was this: In early times the people dwelt on the lands under the chiefs and division overseers. They raised animals such as hogs, dogs, and chickens in those days of darkness, yet full of ingenuity; days in which they asserted that the deity lived with the people and would be kindly disposed to their supplications when accompanied by a cup of awa and the snout of a pig—ihuokapuaa.
On the approach of the sacred nights of the temple these omens of wonder and mystery would be observed: the eyes of all the pigs which were near the boundaries of this temple would turn red, and this has been known to happen even down to the present time. That is how the name of Kaumakaulaula became applicable and has continued famous to this day. It is spoken of as hidden, “he heiau huna ia,” a most sacred temple. Wonderful and mysterious things pertaining to it lay hidden in the earth. Sounds of the drum, the nose flute, the whistling gourd, and the voices of the priests in prayer could be heard by our own ears to our wonder and astonishment during the nights of Kane and of the Kaloas, every six months, and this has continued from its founding even to the present day.
One would be in doubt of this to witness the present desolate condition of this temple site, because it is now but a level field lying in desolation but recently put under cultivation. The temple had but one body but divided for its services into two sections. There was a separate division where the priests performed their ritual services, this was just seaward of the house-lot adjoining on the north side of the stream of Maipuna, and above the bridge and government road. The altar of sacrifice was also a separate place where the bodies of men and other sacrifices were offered up in solemn service. Its site is a kahua—a hollow place—now occupied by a lime kiln, seaward of Ben Kaoao’s residence, above the road. My familiarity with the boundaries of this temple site is from long residence here, and its lines having been pointed out by my parents, who were old residents of Punaluu. In length it is about six chains along the government road, commencing at the bridge of the Maipuna stream on the south and running northward. It was two chains in width on the south adjoining the stream, and one chain on the north end. The altar and temple services were at the south end, while the house of the priest was at the narrower north end.
The several divisions of the temple premises, known from the time of our ancestors, were as follows:
1. Heiau.—A place to offer sacrifices and other things prepared for the deity, with prayer.
2. Loko.—A place where captives are confined; where the vanquished die.
3. Upena.—A place where fish (victims?) are caught, or ensnared; a sign of death.
In this connection I recall certain prayers repeated by some old people who have long ago passed to the other side, wherein the word net (upena) is used. It is as follows: “The man-fishing net of Lono,
The braided net of Kamehaikane,
The double net in which the luhia is caught,
The niuhi, the lalakea, the mano,
The moelawa, the favorite shark dish of the chief.”
Mary Pukui and Martha Beckwith
The Marchers
of the Night
The Hawaiians have an oral literature that is particularly rich in tales of ghosts and other night spirits. They are reticent, however, about telling these stories to others, who might scoff, so that not many of them have found their way into printed English. The following authentic Hawaiian ghost story was given in 1930 to Martha Beckwith, an authority to Hawaiian folklore, by Mrs. Mary Pukui, who as a child had heard it told by her Hawaiian mother and older relatives in Ka’u and Puna on the island of Hawaii.
EVERY Hawaiian has heard of the “Marchers of the Night,” Ka huaka’i okaPo. A few have seen the procession. It is said that such sight is fatal unless one had a relative among the dead to intercede for him. If a man is found stricken by the roadside, a white doctor will pronounce the cause as heart failure, but a Hawaiian will think at once of the fatal night march.
The time for the march is between half after seven when the sun has actually set and about two in the morning before the dawn breaks. It may occur on one of the four nights of the gods, on Ku, Akua, Lono, Kane, or on the nights of Kaloa. Those who took part in the march were the chiefs and warriors who had died, the aumakrn, and the gods, each of whom had their own march.
That of the chiefs was conducted according to the tastes of the chief for whom the march was made. If he had enjoyed silence in this life his march would be silent save for the creaking of the food calabashes suspended from the carrying-sticks, or of the litter, called manele, if he had not been fond of walking. If a chief had been fond of music, the sound of the drum, nose flute and other instruments was heard as they marched. Sometimes there were no lights borne, at other times there were torches but not so bright as for the gods and demigods. A chief whose face had been sacred, called an alo kapu, so that no man, beast, or bird could pass before him without being killed, must lead the march; even his own warriors might not precede him. If on the contrary his back had been sacred, akua kapu, he must follow in the rear of the procession. A chief who had been well protected in life and who had no rigid tabu upon face or back would march between his warriors.
On the marches of the chief a few aumakua would march with them in order to protect their living progeny who might chance to meet them on the road. Sometimes the parade came when a chief lay dying or just dead. It pa
used before the door for a brief time and then passed on. The family might not notice it, but a neighbor might see it pass and know that the chief had gone with his ancestors who had come for him.
In the march of the aumakua of each district there was music and chanting. The marchers carried candlenut torches which burned brightly even on a rainy night. They might be seen even in broad daylight and were followed by whirlwinds such as come one after another in columns. They cried “Kapu o moe!” as a warning to stragglers to get out of the way or to prostrate themselves with closed eyes until the marchers passed. Like the chiefs, they too sometimes came to a dying descendant and took him away with them.
The march of the gods was much longer, more brilliantly lighted and more sacred than that of the chiefs or of the demigods. The torches were brighter and shone red. At the head, at three points within the line and at the rear were carried bigger torches, five being the complete number among Hawaiians, the ku a lima. The gods with the torches walked six abreast, three males and three females. One of the three at the end of the line was Hi’iaka-i-ka-poli-o-Pele, youngest sister of the volcano goddess. The first torch could be seen burning up at Kahuku when the last of the five torches was at Nonuapo. The only music to be heard on the marches of the gods was the chanting of their names and mighty deeds. The sign that accompanied them was a heavy downpour of rain, with mist, thunder and lightning, or heavy seas. Their route the next day would be strewn with broken boughs or leaves, for the heads of the gods were sacred and nothing should be suspended above them.
If a living person met these marchers it behooved him to get out of the way as quickly as possible, otherwise he might be killed unless he had an ancestor or an aumakua in the procession to plead for his life. If he met a procession of chiefs and had no time to get out of the way, he might take off his clothes and lie face upward, breathing as little as possible. He would hear them cry “Shame!” as they passed. One would say, “He is dead!” Another would cry, “No, he is alive, but what a shame for him to lie uncovered!” If he had no time to strip he must sit perfectly still, close his eyes and take his chance. He was likely to be killed by the guard at the front or at the rear of the line unless saved by one of his ancestors or by an aumakua. If he met a procession of gods he must take off all his clothes but his loincloth and sit still with his eyes tightly closed, because no man might look on a god although he might listen to their talk. He would hear the command to strike; then, if he was beloved by one of the gods as a favorite child or namesake, he would hear someone say, “No! he is mine!” and he would be spared by the guards.
Many Hawaiians living today have seen or heard the ghostly marchers. Mrs. Wiggin, Mrs. Pukui’s mother, never got in their way but she has watched them pass from the door of her own mother’s house and has heard the Kau people tell of the precautions that must be taken to escape death if one chances to be in their path.
A young man of Kona, Hawaii, tells the following experience. One night just after nightfall, about seven or eight in the evening, he was on his way when of a sudden he saw a long line of marchers in the distance coming toward him. He climbed over a stone wall and sat very still. As they drew near he saw that they walked four abreast and were about seven feet tall, nor did their feet touch the ground. One of the marchers stepped out of the line and ran back and forth on the other side of the wall behind which he crouched as if to protect him from the others. As each file passed he heard voices call out “Strike!” and his protector answered, “No! no! he is mine!” No other sounds were to be heard except the call to strike and the creak of a manele. He was not afraid and watched the marchers closely. There were both men and women in the procession. After a long line of marchers four abreast had passed there came the manele bearers, two before and two behind. On the litter sat a very big man whom he guessed at once to be a chief. Following the litter were other marchers walking four abreast. After all had passed his protector joined his fellows.
A month later the same young man went to call on some friends and was returning home late at night. Not far from the spot where he had met the marchers before was a level flat of ground and drawing near to the spot he heard the sound of an ipu drum and of chanting. He came close enough to sae and recognize many of the men and women whom he had seen on the previous march as he had sat behind the stone wall. He was delighted with the chanting and drumming, with the dancing of the ala’apapa by the women and the mokomoko wrestling and other games of the past by the men. As he sat watching he heard someone say, “There is the grandson of Kekuanoi!” “Never mind! we do not mind him!” said another. This was the name of a grandfather of his who lived on the beach and he knew that he himself was being discussed. For a couple of hours he sat watching before he went home. His grandfather at home had seen it all; he said, “I know that you have been with our people of the night; I saw you sitting by watching the sports.” Then he related to his grandfather what he had seen on the two nights when he met the chiefs and warriors of old.
In old days these marchers were common in Kau district, but folk of today know little about them. They used to march and play games practically on the same ground as in life. Hence each island and each district had its own parade and playground along which the dead would march and at which they would assemble.
Mrs. Emma Akana Olmsted tells me that when she was told as a child about the marchers of the night she was afraid, but now that she is older and can herself actually hear them she is no longer terrified. She hears beautiful loud chanting of voices, the high notes of the flute and drumming so loud that it seems beaten upon the side of the house beside her bed. The voices are so distinct that if she could write music she would be able to set down the notes they sang.
ABOUT THE EDITORS
Dr. A. GROVE DAY, Senior Professor of English, Emeritus, University of Hawaii, has lived in the Pacific region since 1944 and is editor or co-editor of a dozen anthologies of Pacific literature.
Dr. BACIL F. KIRTLEY, Emeritus Professor of English, University of Hawaii, has taught the unique course in “Literature of the Pacific” in Honolulu and at the University of the South Pacific in Suva, Fiji. He is author of A Motif-Index of Traditional Polynesian Narratives.
“We have sought not only stories of sorcery and the supernatural, but also classic narratives of man’s inhumanity and desperate survival by beach and ocean, in jungle or city highrise. Often the true accounts of what has happened in the island world of Oceania rival, in suspense or allure, even the most imaginative of yams in South Seas fiction.”