“Yes, yes, Talani,” Burney cried. “Very good; very good.”
My father now pointed at Burney. “Yu Pu‘unē; ‘Oe Pu‘unē.” he said.
Burney nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes,” he said, and pointed to himself. “Me Burney. A‘u Burney.” He pointed at my father again. “You Talani,” he said. “Yes!”
“Ni‘eh!” said my father. Yes. “Mi Kalani; yu Pu‘unē!”
They laughed together.
And so it went.
The haoles became quite comfortable in their visits to the shore, walking freely among our people and consorting with our women, who continued to welcome their attentions. Our people paid little mind to this, but more and more they grew anxious about their own rapidly depleting food stocks. Kameha and some others now took to greeting the haoles by rubbing their own stomachs and then patting the haoles’ bellies—thereby signifying to them that our people’s capacity to meet their needs was not without limits. Yet, despite the growing concern, the munificence continued.
When the haoles at the observatory expressed an interest in venturing mauka to explore the countryside inland of the coastal villages, Holo‘ae instructed the villagers to supply them with every provision they desired, with no expectation of recompense. He sent runners ahead to instruct the people in the uplands to do likewise.
Now came an event that would have a marked impact on the Hawai‘ians’ perceptions of the haoles. One of them died. This man, whose name was Watman, was popular among Cook’s people and well-liked by Cook himself. Knowing of Cook’s affection for “Wakma‘ana,” Koa invited the haoles to inter the dead man’s body at the Hikiau Heiau. “Koa still believed Kuke to be the god Lono,” my father said. “No doubt, he thought that the burial of one of ‘Lono’s’ people at the temple he administered would further enhance his own status.”
Watman’s bones—still encased in his decomposing flesh, much to the priests’ dismay—were laid to rest at the Hikiau Heiau on February 1, 1779, as the haoles reckoned the day on their calendar. Cook conducted a burial ceremony in the haoles’ queer, twittering speech. Immediately thereafter, Koa led his acolytes in a series of solemn and lengthy chants for the departed seaman. They deposited a dead hog, vegetables, and fruit in his grave to nourish his spirit. Cook’s people erected a post at the gravesite and hung a piece of wood upon it to mark the final resting place of Watman’s bones. On this board they had carved symbols that remained entirely mysterious even to those among our people who could interpret the most obscure of the symbols etched on lava stones throughout the Big Island:
Georgius tertius Rex 1779
Hic jacet Gulielmus Watman
Upon learning of Watman’s death, some chieftains, Palea foremost among them, joined Kamehameha in questioning the haoles’ divinity. “If these beings are gods and not men,” Palea wondered, “how can they die? And if they are men and not gods, why do we still empty our food stores for them?” These questions began to gather over the haoles like the dusky clouds that obscured the upland slopes in the late afternoons.
Still, our people’s generosity toward the haoles was not yet exhausted. For in the waning days of his visit to Kealakekua, Cook made an unusual request of Koa. “There was an old fence around the Hikiau Heiau,” my father told me. “Kuke wanted the railings for firewood. He asked Koa if he could tear them down and take them away in trade for ailon‘e.” The kahuna of Lono granted Cook’s request, but refused to accept any payment for the fence railings. Under King’s direction, and with the help of some of our people, Cook’s men demolished the fence, loaded the rotting wood into their boats, and took it back to their ships. They also removed the temple’s carved images. King reported this theft to Koa, who was not concerned. Said my father, “Koa only asked for the return of an image of Lono that he and Kuke had earlier kissed during the ceremony at the heiau.” Thus, Koa permitted the despoilment of the heiau by Cook’s people. And why not? It was, after all, Lono’s temple, and was not Cook Lono personified? He could hardly refuse him.
Not long after this event, Lieutenant King informed Koa that Cook and his people would shortly take their leave of the Big Island. The priest was distraught. “Koa begged Ki‘ine, whom he believed to be Lono’s son, to remain behind,” said my father. King declined this invitation as politely as he could, but Koa persisted, telling King that he would hide him in the uplands and keep him safe there until his father, Lono, had departed for Kahiki, his paradise. Again, King gently refused. Koa then appealed directly to Cook, who told the priest that he would give his request serious consideration but that he would need more time to deliberate about it. “Kuke had no intention of granting the kahuna’s request, of course,” my father said.
Holo‘ae, meanwhile, had concluded that Cook was not a god, but merely a high chief of his people like his own lord, Kalani‘ōpu‘u. The death of the haole Watman had greatly influenced his thinking in this regard. Holo‘ae now believed that Cook and his people were refugees from some far-off land where food was in short supply. “That must be why they are so eager for our own provisions,” he said. Regarding Koa’s continued reverence toward Cook, Holo‘ae said to Kamehameha and Kekūhaupi‘o, “Old Koa is acting quite foolishly.” Still, he would not openly refute his priestly colleague in Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s presence. “There is no need for that,” he said. “Kuke will soon depart and all will be as it was.”
Kalani‘ōpu‘u, for his part, remained ambivalent on the question of Cook’s godhead. “You may be correct, nephew,” he told Kameha, who persisted in voicing his objections. “But perhaps it is Koa who is right after all. And if he is right, then we should continue to propitiate ‘Lono.’ And if he is wrong, we will have lost nothing of importance.” And so it was that on the day of Cook’s departure, Kalani‘ōpu‘u and Koa presented Cook and his people with one last gift.
Upon learning that Cook would shortly leave, Kalani‘ōpu‘u ordered the inhabitants of all the nearby villages to deliver up their best produce and fattest hogs and invited Cook and his officers to his own hale at Ka‘awaloa. Cook and his men found a bounteous array of vegetables and fruit and many tethered pigs awaiting them when they reached Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s courtyard. Kalani‘ōpu‘u greeted his guests reclining on a mat. His chiefs and kāhuna sat behind him. Cook, King, and Burney seated themselves opposite the mō‘ī on mats that had been thoughtfully placed there for them.
Koa now commenced a lengthy speech. He heaped many praises upon “Lono” and begged him to grant the people of Hawai‘i future harvests as fruitful as the offerings they had laid before him. Then he once more appealed to Cook to permit his “son,” “Ki‘ine,” to remain behind on the Big Island to “assure our people of everlasting plenty.” Burney translated all this over the loud squeals of the pigs, which were protesting their restraints. “When at last Pū‘une finished,” my father said, “Kuke smiled at Koa and said that he indeed wished our people well, but that he could not spare his own ‘son.’” Thus did Cook continue to uphold the old priest’s belief that he was Lono incarnate. The high priest Holo‘ae observed all this impassively and said nothing.
It was near midday when Cook’s ships sailed away from Kealakekua Bay. The scene accompanying their departure was as tumultuous as the one that marked their arrival. The bay filled with canoes as thousands of people put out from shore to bid “Lono” a final farewell. Many thousands more lined the beaches waving white banners. All joined in loud lamentations over the “god’s” departure. Their clamorous, grief-stricken cries echoed off the pali. Kamehameha, Kekūhaupi‘o, and my father were among the many who embarked in canoes to escort the Resolution and the Discovery as they put to sea. They joined Palea and several other chieftains on the deck of a double-hulled war canoe. Their canoe kept pace with the ships during a leisurely progress up the Kohala Coast under light winds. Drawing alongside the Discovery, they saw Burney waving to them from its quarterdeck. They waved back.
The ships kept close to the coast throughout the afternoon, their gen
tly billowing sails presenting a majestic spectacle to those on shore. At every coastal village, the sight was the same: villagers lamented, chanted, and waved their white banners. “It seemed as if all the people of Hawai‘i had come out to pay homage to ‘Lono’ that day,” my father said.
As the Resolution and Discovery continued north, their escort flotilla steadily diminished in size. By the time the ships reached Keāhole Point in North Kona, only a few canoes remained. “We were among the last to turn back to Kealakekua,” my father said. “I kept my face toward Kuke’s ships and continued to watch them until I could see them no more.” As the two haole ships shrank in the distance and were lost to sight in the hazy light of the late afternoon, my father tried to envision the journey ahead of them. “Pū‘une had told me that Kuke intended to sail first to Maui and then to visit the neighboring islands they still had not seen before returning to their own island of Ī‘īklī,” he said. “He had tried to describe the vastness of water they must cross to reach their home, but I, who had never journeyed farther than Maui, could scarcely comprehend it. Even though many others have come since Kuke, I still cannot grasp it to this day.”
Cook’s ships took their leave of Kealakekua Bay on February 4, 1779. Several days later, a fierce storm struck the Big Island and continued to lash its normally sheltered dry side for several days more. Koa said this unusual storm had come to carry Lono back to Kahiki. Lono’s Makahiki season of peace had drawn to a close and the time of Kūkā‘ilimoku, and war, had come round again.
Little did the priest, the people, or their mō‘ī imagine that “Lono” would soon return.
Kealakekua Bay, February, 1779
“Father, father! Lono is back!” Keōua Red Cloak and Keōuape‘e‘ale burst in upon Kalani‘ōpu‘u in his hale while he was yet barely awake and still rubbing his eyes, which were bleary from the previous night’s ‘awa drinking. He blinked at them in the morning light streaming through the hale’s open door.
“Lono? He has returned from Kahiki?” Kalani‘ōpu‘u exclaimed. “What more can he want of us?”
Indeed, just the night before, Kalani‘ōpu‘u had feasted with his favorite chieftains in celebration of both “Lono’s” departure and the return of clement weather. The intense storm that followed the sailing of the Resolution and the Discovery had driven all of the bay’s inhabitants inside and prevented the kindling and tending of fires to heat the stones of their imus. Without the hot stones, pigs and vegetables could not be baked and no feasts were possible. But the weather had turned at last and Kalani‘ōpu‘u had ordered the imu fires lit and a general feast prepared, despite the scarcity of provisions. “Though we have sacrificed much for ‘Lono,’ we have surely met all his desires and he has returned to Kahiki well satisfied with us,” he had declared. “‘Lono’ will certainly shower his favors upon us, and with his blessings, we will prosper for many seasons to come. So let us celebrate.”
“In truth, Kalani‘ōpu‘u did not much believe this,” my father told me many years later, “but after several days of heavy rain and no cooking fires, he hungered for pig meat and roasted bananas and yearned for a big banquet.”
And so new imu pits were dug, stones were laid, and fires were lit. Precious hogs were slaughtered; scarce vegetables were wrapped in ti leaves and placed with the pigs in the heated pits. An aromatic haze gathered above Ka‘awaloa and the other villages around the bay, causing people to rub their bellies and lick their lips in anticipation. With the onset of dusk, the pigs were unearthed from the smoldering holes, their roasted flesh falling away from their bones. The steaming vegetables were unwrapped. The poi, pounded from taro roots earlier in the day, was portioned out. Men chewed pepper-plant roots, spat the juice into gourd cups, and mixed it with water to make ‘awa. The feasting commenced and continued deep into the night in the light of kukui-oil lamps. And afterwards, men with full stomachs staggered back to their own hales and their sleeping mats, certain that even if their food stores were now scarce, they would soon be replenished many times over by the grace of Lono’s bounty. The god had returned to his paradise, Kahiki, and from there all blessings would flow to them. But now, unaccountably, Lono was back.
Kalani‘ōpu‘u struggled to his feet and reeled out into brightening morning, supported by his sons. He called for runners to summon his high priest Holo‘ae and those of his chieftains who still remained at court to his hale. Kamehameha came, as did Palea and several other chiefs. When those who could be found were assembled, the mō‘ī of the Big Island slowly made his way to the beach with his retinue in tow. My father trailed after them, as did a growing throng of minor ali‘i, including some women folk. The common people kept to their hales.
Cook’s ships were at the same anchorages they had previously occupied, as if they had never left. The date was the twelfth of February.
The Resolution and Discovery entered the bay under the cover of early morning darkness. Red Cloak and his brother had taken their sleeping mats to the beach the night before. They awakened to the startling sight of the two “great canoes” sitting in the bay like floating islands once more. Now Kalani‘ōpu‘u surveyed the two vessels and scowled. “We are short of food,” he said. “We cannot afford more trade with the haoles, not for any amount of ailon‘e. The bay is kapu, on pain of death.” It did not pass unnoticed that Kalani‘ōpu‘u had referred to Cook and his people as haoles, rather than gods.
Word of the kapu spread swiftly from one side of the bay to the other. No canoes came out from the beaches. For the rest of that day and into the next, the two ships remained majestically isolated. For much of the first day, there was a flurry of activity aboard the Resolution. From shore, people watched the haoles remove all the spars and rigging from the ship’s foremast and slowly lower it to the deck. Early in the morning of the second day, some of the haoles were seen making for the former site of King’s observatory, near the Hikiau Heiau, in two small boats. The Resolution’s foremast was lashed to one of the boats. This, the haoles hauled up on the beach, where they set about working on it.
“We must go out to the great canoe and learn why the haoles have returned,” Kalani‘ōpu‘u said at last. Arrayed once more in his finest chiefly regalia, Kalani‘ōpu‘u went out to the Resolution in his great double-hulled war canoe, accompanied by Keōuape‘e‘ale and Keōua Red Cloak, Holo‘ae, Kamehameha, and my father. Cook, Lt. King, and Burney came forward to greet the mō‘ī as he gained the deck with his sons’ help.
“Why have you returned?” Kalani‘ōpu‘u asked. His sons, who flanked him, steadied him against the gentle roll of the Resolution’s deck. There was no hint of hospitality in his voice.
Burney, interpreting, spoke softly to Cook, who answered immediately. His response was abrupt, delivered from the summit of his tall frame. “Mast break, and must fix before can go on,” he said, gesturing at the far shore, where his people labored. “We find no good place for this work, except this one. So we come back.”
Frowning now, Kalani‘ōpu‘u said, “Tell me, Kuke, how long you will stay this time, and what is it that you will require of us.”
Cook, who seemed to understand, made to answer, but Burney stopped him, nervously pulling on his coat sleeve and speaking hurriedly to him.
“I could not understand what Pu‘unē said to Kuke,” my father told me, “for he was speaking too rapidly in his own tongue, but I did make out two words: ‘Lono’ and ‘Kuke.’”
Now Cook regarded Kalani‘ōpu‘u again. His demeanor changed. Bowing his head ever so slightly toward Kalani‘ōpu‘u, he spoke rapidly to Burney, who now resumed his role as One-Who-Speaks.
“Kāpena Kuke begs the king to permit him to stay here only as long as necessary to repair our broken mast and make other repairs to our ships,” Burney said. “He also asks for permission to resume trade for food and to collect fresh water for his people’s long ocean journey.”
Kalani‘ōpu‘u said nothing, only fixing Cook with a rheumy stare. An uneasy silence set
tled over the deck of the Resolution.
Finally Cook dipped his brow toward the mō‘ī again and asked, somewhat uneasily, “You allow this?”
Placing one hand on each of his sons’ shoulders, Kalani‘ōpu‘u shakily drew himself up to his full height, and looking directly into Cook’s pale blue eyes, said, “I will allow it.”
Kamehameha was quick to take advantage of Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s lifting of the trading kapu. Stepping forward and removing his cloak of bright red and yellow feathers, he said, “I will trade this for ailon‘e.” Burney motioned to one of the Resolution’s crewmen to approach with the usual bag of nails. “No,” Kamehameha said. “I will not trade this cloak for trifles. Only ailon‘e daggers will do—your longest daggers.”
Bargaining commenced. It was brief. At Burney’s direction, another seaman came forward with ten daggers, all of goodly length, and laid them on the deck at Kamehameha’s feet. “Which one do you want?” Burney asked.
“All of them,” Kamehameha said brusquely. “I want all of them.” Burney seemed startled by his tone. He stiffened and, turning to Cook, spoke rapidly in their twittering tongue, all the while glancing nervously in Kamehameha’s direction. Cook listened intently and then looked directly at Kamehameha. He smiled, without mirth, and nodded.
“It is agreed,” Burney said. “They are yours.” He extended his hands. Kamehameha gave him the cloak. The he scooped up the daggers from the deck, five in each of his big hands, and flourished them at Keōua Red Cloak, who reddened.
“Once again, Red Cloak felt willfully diminished by my brother,” said my father, who also speculated that Cook had agreed to Kamehameha’s terms because he did not want to offend anyone of importance.
But offenses—on both sides—were now unavoidable, and quick to come. My father suffered one of the first. He had stepped away from the group to explore the Resolution’s deck. “I saw a haole ax that had been left on the deck near a railing and picked it up, but only to examine it,” he said. “All at once, I was struck sharply from behind.” The blow, to the side of his head, knocked my father to his knees. Scrambling to his feet and turning about he came face to face with his assailant. “It was Ūli‘iam P‘ulī,” he said—William Bligh.
Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii Page 23