Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii

by Stephen Shender

  Bligh’s assault on Nāpo‘opo‘o continued until King returned to shore and ordered a halt. By then, a score or more of our people—women as well as men—lay dead. King now commanded all of his people to withdraw to the ships.

  The pungent smell of burning human flesh hung in the air at Ka‘awaloa, and with it the question of what to do with the bones of Captain James Cook.

  “The haoles will surely come for them in the morning,” Kamehameha said to his uncle, Kalani‘ōpu‘u.

  Kameha and Kekūhaupi‘o were sitting with Kalani‘ōpu‘u, Holo‘ae, Palea, and my father in the mō‘ī’s hale, discussing the day’s events. Hazy smoke from the kukui-oil lamps collected amid the rafters of the sharply slanted roof. The smoke’s sweet smell could not mask the sharp odor drifting into the hale from the fire that Koa was tending in the darkness beyond Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s courtyard. The old priest had arrived from Nāpo‘opo‘o at dusk, bringing news of the bloodletting there. Koa’s anguish over the slayings at Nāpo‘opo‘o was soon overcome by his even sharper grief over the death of “Lono.” Wailing and shaking, he begged to tend to the rendering of the “god’s” earthly flesh and the recovery of his sacred long bones.

  “In fact,” my father said, “Kuke’s body was already roasting in the pit by the time Koa arrived. Holo‘ae had earlier seen to it.” In his haste to begin this ritual, Holo‘ae had not bothered to properly prepare the imu or Cook’s corpse. Instead, he had directed two kauwa-maoli to toss Cook’s naked body into the pit’s open fire without waiting for the imu’s stones to become hot. Now coals hissed continuously as the fire seared the flesh from Cook’s bones. Holo‘ae, who found Koa tiresome and wished to be rid of him, readily assented to the old priest’s request to tend to Cook. The faint sound of the kahuna’s mournful chanting drifted through the door of Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s hale, while within, a debate about the fate of Cook’s bones proceeded.

  “We should not surrender Kuke’s long bones to the haoles,” declared Palea. “Our people slew him in battle and the bones rightfully belong to our mō‘ī,” he said, with a deferential nod toward Kalani‘ōpu‘u.

  “You would provoke a new conflict with the haoles?” retorted Kekūhaupi‘o. Palea tensed at this, taking it as a reprimand for his theft of the Discovery’s cutter—which it was. Kekūhaupi‘o could see that the young chieftain was growing angry. “That would make no more sense than Kuke having made such a big thing over the small canoe you took,” he added. Palea relaxed.

  “The haoles will come with their mūk‘e. And more will come than before,” Kamehameha said. “We cannot well stand against them in force, and if we attempt it, more of our people will surely die.” Turning to Kalani‘ōpu‘u, he said, “We should give them Kuke’s bones if they want them.”

  For a long moment, Kalani‘ōpu‘u said nothing, considering their arguments. “What need have I for ‘Lono’s’ bones?” he said at last. “It is no matter to me if the haoles desire them. We shall give them over if that is what they want. Now where is my ‘awa?”

  Early the next morning, Burney and King set out in two boats for Ka‘awaloa, intent on recovering the bodies of Cook and the slain marines. They were accompanied by a score of armed men. “Upon seeing the approaching haole canoes,” my father said, our people made a great show of running to the shore and casting aside their spears and clubs.” Holo‘ae had ordered this display. Rather than wait for the haoles to come ashore, Koa plunged into the surf and swam to the boats, bearing a small, white banner that he waved above his head. Even though he was old and infirm on his feet, he was still a strong swimmer and managed this feat with no trouble. “Koa promised the haoles that he would deliver Kuke’s remains to them the next day,” my father said. It was a promise that the kahuna was unable to keep. Cook’s body remained in the imu the following day, the heat of its stones having not yet parted all the flesh from his bones.

  “I promised Ki‘ine—Lono’s son,” Koa pleaded with Holo‘ae. “I must bring him something of his father’s.”

  Koa and Holo‘ae were standing by the steaming imu beyond Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s courtyard. The kahuna nui regarded Koa with barely disguised contempt. Picking up a long stick from a pile of firewood next to the pit, Holo‘ae poked sharply at the body with end of the stick, separating piece of burnt flesh from its pelvic bone. “Here,” Holo‘ae said, spearing the it with the stick and brandishing it at Koa, “Take this to Ki‘ine.”

  Thus it was that later that day, the haoles aboard the Resolution received from one of Koa’s acolytes a partially charred piece of Cook’s haunch. The priest’s apologies for failing to deliver up more of their late captain’s body notwithstanding, the haoles were horrified.

  Their evident—and false—presumption of cannibalism on our people’s part inflamed them with anger. And the actions of a few young warriors soon transformed their anger into deadly rage. “Holo‘ae had instructed our people to make a great show of their desire for peaceful relations, but had neglected to forbid them from engaging in provocations,” my father told me.

  Thinking to amuse themselves, these young ali‘i set out to mock the haoles. One young warrior, who had somehow acquired Cook’s hat, paddled out to the Resolution from Ka‘awaloa in a small canoe. “He stood up in his own canoe and waved Kuke’s hat at the haoles on the great canoe,” my father said. “And then he turned his back on them and exposed himself.” Other young men taunted the haoles from the shore, waving the dead soldiers’ red coats and likewise exposing themselves.

  This was too much for the men on the Resolution, who responded by firing at the crowd on the shore with the ship’s small cannons. “A number of our people were slain,” said my father, who witnessed these events from a safe distance. “The others fled the shore, screaming as they ran.”

  The haoles wreaked even crueler vengeance upon the people of Nāpo‘opo‘o later that same day, but not without more serious provocation. “The haoles were collecting water from a stream there when the people in the village—enraged over the slaughter of the previous day—assaulted them with slings,” my father said. The haoles responded by assaulting the village again. “They stormed through Nāpo‘opo‘o, slaying anyone they met and cutting off the heads of a number of their victims,” said my father. “Then they put the entire village to the torch.”

  Kamehameha was sickened by these events. But his dismay was directed more at his own people than the haoles. “They acted foolishly,” he told my father. “The haoles only wish to quit our islands. Where is the gain in provoking and attacking them since they are leaving? All that comes of it is pointless bloodshed.”

  At the urgent prompting of Kamehameha and Holo‘ae, Kalani‘ōpu‘u once more imposed a kapu on Kealakekua Bay—on both its waters and shore. No one was permitted to approach the haoles’ great canoes or show themselves to the haoles at the water’s edge. Only one exception was allowed. “Koa was dispatched in a double-hulled canoe with Keōuape‘e‘ale and Keōua Red Cloak to reestablish peaceful relations with the haoles,” my father said. “They traveled under the white banner of Lono, as a sign of their peaceful intent.” Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s sons and Koa stood on the canoe’s deck. As they neared the Resolution, the three began to chant.

  Oh Lono of the sky,

  Oh Lono of the clouds,

  Oh Lono of the wind,

  Oh Lono of the thunder,

  Oh Lono of the rain,

  Oh Lono, hear us, your children,

  Oh Lono, we come in peace,

  Oh Lono, hear us and let live.

  On the Resolution’s deck, the marines had leveled their muskets at the approaching canoe. But upon recognizing Koa and the boys and hearing their chanting, Clerke signaled them to lower their weapons.

  The kahuna and the boys clambered aboard the ship. Koa now delivered a grandiloquent appeal for peace, accompanied by many low bows in the direction of King, who was standing by Clerke’s side, attempting to translate the old priest’s words as best he could. “Koa still believed th
at Ki‘ine was the son of Lono,” my father said. When at last Koa fell silent, Clerke spoke to King, who turned to Koa and said sternly, “He say tell you no peace until you give to us bones of ‘Orono’ and the others.”

  Koa then explained to King and Clerke that it would be impossible to return the bones of the dead marines, as Kalani‘ōpu‘u had already divided them among his chieftains. But ‘Lono’s’ bones, he assured them, would be delivered up the following day.

  “You give us bones of ‘Orono’,” King replied, “and we have peace.”

  Holo‘ae refused to let Koa return Cook’s remains to the haoles the next day. “They are not yet sufficiently purified,” the kahuna nui told the old priest of Lono. “Inform the haoles that they must wait another two days. On the morning of the third day, they will be ready.”

  “Uncle,” Kamehameha urged Kalani‘ōpu‘u that evening, “since Kuke’s bones will not be ready for two more days, let us appease the haoles by permitting them to trade with us as long as they remain here.”

  “Yes, yes,” Kalani‘ōpu‘u replied. “Why not?”

  Forced to return to the Resolution the next morning empty-handed, Koa threw himself upon the deck before Clerke and King and delivered an apology so abject that they could only shake their heads in weary resignation. They were, however, gratified to learn that Kalani‘ōpu‘u had rescinded the kapu on the bay. The Hawai‘ians returned eagerly to the Resolution’s and the Discovery’s decks to exchange food for iron—always for iron in any form, whether nails, cooking pots, or daggers—and especially daggers. None of our people procured any items from the haoles except in trade. For while rescinding the kapu on commerce, Kalani‘ōpu‘u had imposed another on thievery.

  For the next two days, relations between the haoles and the people of Kealakekua Bay remained peaceful, as if no blood had been shed between them. On the morning of the third day Kalani‘ōpu‘u led a procession of chieftains and priests to the canoe landing at Ka‘awaloa village. Clerke, who had earlier been advised that the hour for the return of Cook’s bones was at hand, was waiting for them a short distance offshore in the Resolution’s pinnace. King was there too, in the ship’s cutter.

  “Kalani‘ōpu‘u carried Kuke’s bones himself, as a mark of respect,” my father told me. The priests had carefully wrapped the late captain’s skull, scalp, lower jaw bone, thigh, and arm bones and his hands—bits of charred flesh still clinging to them—in white kapa cloth. This was covered with a cloak of black and white feathers, a symbol of mourning. “The haoles would not come ashore, such was their lingering distrust of our people,” my father said. “So Kalani‘ōpu‘u, Holo‘ae, Koa, Kamehameha, and some others boarded Kale‘eke’s canoe, which was sufficiently spacious to accommodate them.”

  With words and gestures of grief and remorse whose meaning was plain to the haoles, the mō‘ī of Hawai‘i presented Clerke with the sorrowful bundle. Clerke then bowed to Kalani‘ōpu‘u. “Mahalo,” he said softly. This was one of the few words of our language that the Englishman knew. And then it was done, but not quite—for Koa suddenly grasped Clerke’s hand and spoke to him urgently, wailing all the time. Clerke, who had not understood a word the priest had said, looked to King in the nearby cutter for an explanation. When the lieutenant responded with a rough translation of Koa’s words, Clerke could only shake his head in utter surprise. “Koa asked Kale‘eke when ‘Lono’ would return and if he would be angry with us,” Kamehameha told my father. “What an old fool he is.”

  The Resolution and the Discovery remained at Kealakekua Bay for several days more. On the evening of February 22, the pali once again echoed with the booming of ships’ cannons as the bones of Captain James Cook were consigned to the bay’s deepest waters. On the following morning, people around the bay awoke to discover that the two ships were gone. In addition to Cook’s remains, the departed haoles left behind them much iron, two goats, and intimations of external forces that would in time shake the very foundations of Hawaiian society.

  Kamā‘oa, Ka‘ū District, 1781

  Kiwala‘ō was in the act of offering the pig to the god Kūkā‘ilimoku when his cousin suddenly grasped the body of the slain rebel chieftain by an arm and a leg, lifted the still-bleeding corpse high over his own head, and cried, “Kūkā‘ilimoku, see how I, Kamehameha, your highest servant, consecrate your new temple with the body of this fallen warrior!”

  Kameha’s action astonished the chieftains and kāhuna assembled at the new Pakini Heiau, for all assumed that it was Kiwala‘ō’s right as Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s chosen heir to present this fallen warrior’s body to the god. None was more surprised than Kiwala‘ō, who had glimpsed Kamehameha’s movement out of the corner of his eye. At first, he had assumed that his cousin was offering his own pig to the god, as planned. Now, upon hearing Kameha’s declaration, Kiwala‘ō scowled at him.

  Kamehameha ignored his royal cousin and advanced upon the heiau’s altar in three long strides. As he stepped forward, the dead man’s head lolled and his long dark hair brushed Kamehameha’s own brow. Kameha dropped the body at the base of the altar and backed away, the entire time keeping his eyes fixed upon the fearsome grin of the god’s idol, all teeth and mocking malevolence.

  A disquieted murmur now arose from the onlookers. It might have escalated to a strident protest had not Holo‘ae stepped forward. Without hesitation, the kahuna nui of the Big Island began to pray.

  Lift up O Uli,

  The prayer, torch of life

  Strive onward,

  Lift it toward Ke‘ālohilani,

  Seek the supernatural ones above,

  Who is the ancestor?

  Who is the daring one above?

  ‘Io of the dark heavens,

  ‘Io of the mist,

  ‘Io without markings,

  Kū of the long cloud,

  Kū of the short cloud,

  Kū of the red glowing cloud of the heavens

  Long man of the mountain,

  Kū of the forest underbrush,

  The gods from the wet upland forest,

  Kulipe‘enuiahiahua, Kīkekalana, and Kauhinoelehua,

  Kahuna of the raging fire.

  As Holo‘ae continued to chant, his sacred words hushed the gathering, and forced all the chiefs to turn their thoughts to the god. But Kiwala‘ō’s anger against his cousin continued to smolder in his heart after the kahuna’s words faded. In due time, it would erupt.

  Kalani’ōpu’u had unwittingly set Kamehameha’s presumptuous act at the Pakini Heiau in motion the previous year. Knowing that his remaining time was short, Kalani’ōpu’u wished to ensure that his eldest son and his eldest nephew would not quarrel after his death. He had thus summoned Kiwala‘ō from Maui to join him and Kameha in Waipi‘o Valley, where he had moved his court, and where—in the presence of his chieftains—he had invested Kiwala‘ō as his successor as mō‘ī and Kamehameha as the keeper of the war god, Kūkā‘ilimoku.

  “All hear and bear witness,” Kalani’ōpu’u had declared. “When I am gone, my beloved son Kiwala‘ō shall rule over all the chiefs and the land. It shall be his sacred duty, and his alone, to divide the land among his subjects—all the land save for that of Kohala. Those lands I entrust to my beloved nephew Kamehameha, whose ancestral lands they are. And to him I also entrust the care of the god, Kūkā‘ilimoku, and the god’s sacred kapu. Only he shall have the right to consecrate the heiaus of the god.”

  “Kalani’ōpu’u hoped that by affirming Kameha’s suzerainty over Kohala and by bestowing a high religious station upon him, he could slake his ambition, which he already knew to be great,” my father said. “For what, after all, could bring greater honor to a warrior such as Kamehameha than the keeping of the war god?”

  Kalani’ōpu’u was mistaken in this presumption. For Kamehameha’s ambition would prove to encompass much more than a single district, or the god and his temples. Though Kameha understood it was only natural for Kalani’ōpu’u to name his own son Kiwala‘ō to succeed
him as ruler of all Hawai‘i, he had accepted it only grudgingly.

  Kameha gave voice to his discontent at the Pakini Heiau when he asserted his own primacy in the temple of “his” god—this, despite the fact that he was not yet the god’s keeper while Kalani’ōpu’u still lived. And this, even though Kalani’ōpu’u had chosen Kiwala‘ō to consecrate the heiau, and it was thus Kiwala‘ō’s right to offer the slain rebel warrior’s body to Kūkā‘ilimoku.

  The dead man’s name was ‘Īmakakoloa. He was an important chieftain of the Puna District who had risen in revolt against Kalani’ōpu’u. According to my father, the mō‘ī had brought this rebellion upon himself. After Cook’s people departed for the final time, Kalani’ōpu’u gave himself over entirely to feasting and ‘awa drinking. My father said that his revelry eventually became a great burden upon his own people—and too burdensome for ‘Īmakakoloa.

  “Kalani’ōpu’u remained for some time at Ka‘awaloa after the haoles left. He was done with fighting and cared only for pleasure,” said my father. Kalani’ōpu’u and the chieftains at his court feasted every night. They indulged themselves at the expense of the maka‘āinana throughout the Kona District, who were called upon day after day to deliver up hogs, fish, taro, bananas, sweet potatoes, yams, and whatever other produce they had at hand, until finally they had nothing more to give, and were themselves on the verge of famine. Kalani’ōpu’u then moved his court to Kapa‘au in Kohala and continued his dissipation there until the resources of the area’s commoners were likewise exhausted.

  “Our uncle should not behave in this fashion,” Kamehameha said to my father one night at Kapa‘au. Kalani’ōpu’u had feasted lavishly, and, intoxicated from much ‘awa drinking, had joined his chiefs and chiefesses in a vigorous hula. Now he was reeling about his courtyard and colliding with other dancers, who pretended not to notice. “He will only incur the ill will of his own people,” Kamehameha said.