They descended and came to the coast at Keaau, where the canoe was making ready for sailing.  At the landing the sisters sat waiting to be called; all had gone aboard the canoe, there was no summons at all, the party began to move off; then rang out the song of Mailekaluhea, as follows: 

  My divine brother,
  My heart’s highest—­turn hither,
  Look upon your little sisters,
  Those who have followed you over the way,
  Over the high way, over the low way,
  In the rain with a pack on its back,
  Like one carrying a child,
  In the rain that roars in the hala trees,
  That roars in the hala trees of Hanalei. 
  How is it with us? 
  Why did you not leave us,
  Leave us at home,
  When you went on the journey? 
  You will look,
  Look into the eyes,
  The eyes of our parents,
  Fare you well!

While Mailekaluhea was singing not once did their brother compassionately look toward them, and the canoe having departed, the sisters sat conferring, then one of them, Kahalaomapuana, the youngest, began to speak.

These were her words:  “It is clear that our brother chief is not pacified by the entreaties of Mailehaiwale and Mailekaluhea.  Let us, better, go by land to their landing place, then it will be Mailelaulii’s turn to sing.  It may be he will show affection for her.”  And they did as she advised.

They left Keaau, came first to Punahoa, to a place called Kanoakapa, and sat down there until Aiwohikupua’s party arrived.

When Aiwohikupua and his companions had almost come to land where the sisters were sitting, Aiwohikupua suddenly called out to the paddlers and the steersmen, “Let us leave this harbor; those women have chased us all this way; we had better look for another landing place.”

As they left the sisters sitting there, Mailelaulii sang a song, as follows: 

  My divine brother,
  My heart’s highest,
  What is our great fault? 
  The eyes of our chief are turned away in displeasure,
  The sound of chanting is forbidden,
  The chant of your little ones
  Of your little sisters. 
  Have compassion upon us,
  Have compassion upon the comrades who have followed you,
  The comrades who climbed the cliffs of Haena,
  Crept over the cliff where the way was rugged,
  The rugged ladder-way up Nualolo
  The rough cliff-way up Makana,
  It is there—­return hither,
  Give a kiss to your sisters,
  And go on your way,
  On the home journey—­heartless. 
  Farewell-to you, you shall look
  Look, in our native land,
  Into the eyes of our parents. 
  Fare you well!

As Aiwohikupua heard the sister’s voice, they let the canoe float gently; then said Kahalaomapuana, “That is good for us; this is the only time they have let the canoe float; now we shall hear them calling to us, and go on board the canoe, then we shall be safe.”