One day his supposed father, angry at his conduct, was about to punish him:  “Strike him not,” exclaimed Akahikameainoa, “he is your lord and chief!  Do not imagine that he is the son of us two:  he is the child of Liloa, your king.”  Umi was then about fifteen or sixteen years old.

His mother, after this declaration, startling as a thunder-bolt, went and uncovered the tokens Liloa had left as proof, and placed them before her husband, who was motionless with fear at the thought of the high treason he had been on the point of committing.

In the mean time, Liloa had grown old, and Akahikameainoa, deeming the moment had arrived, invested Umi with the royal malo, the niho palaoa, and the lei, emblems of power, which high chiefs alone had the right to wear.  “Go,” said she to him then; “go, my son, present yourself at Waipio to King Liloa, your father.  Tell him you are his child, and show him, in proof of your words, these tokens which he left with me.”

Umi, proud enough of the revelation of his mother, at once departs, accompanied by Koi and Omakamau.

The palace of Liloa was surrounded by guards, priests, diviners, and sorcerers.  The kapu extended to the edge of the outer inclosure, and no one might pass on penalty of death.  Umi advanced boldly and crossed the threshold.  Exclamations and cries of death sounded in his ears from all sides.  Without troubling himself, he passed on and entered the end door.  Liloa was asleep, wrapped in his royal mantle of red and yellow feathers.  Umi stooped, and, without ceremony, uncovered his head.  Liloa, awakening, said, “Owai la keia?—­Who is this?” “It is I,” replied the youth; “it is I, Umi, your son.”  So saying, he displays his malo at the king’s feet.  At this token Liloa, while rubbing his eyes, recognized Umi, and had him proclaimed his son.  Behold, then, Umi admitted to the rank of high chief, if not the equal of Hakau, his eldest son, at least his prime minister by birth—­his lieutenant.

The two brothers lived at court on an equal footing.  They took part in the same amusements, wrestling, drawing the bow, plunged with eagerness into all the noble exercises of the country and the time.  The people of Umi’s suite matched themselves with those of Hakau in the combat with the long lance (pololu), and the party of Umi was always victorious, compelling Hakau to retire in confusion.

Liloa, perceiving that his last hour was drawing near, called his two children to him, and said to them, “You, Hakau, will be chief, and you, Umi, will be his man.”  This last expression is equivalent to viceroy or prime minister.  The two brothers bowed, in token of assent, and the old chief continued:  “Do you, Hakau, respect your man; and do you, Umi, respect your sovereign.  If you, Hakau, have no consideration for your man, if you quarrel with him, I am not disturbed at the results of your conduct.  In the same way, Umi, unless you render your sovereign the homage you owe him, if you rebel against him, it will be for you two to decide your lot.”  Soon after, having made known his last wishes, Liloa gave up the ghost.