“The Maui warriors fell before our eyes like palm trees before a powerful wind,” my father recalled. “Their blood flowed like mountain streams. It was a truly terrible sight.”
Now the Hawai‘ians advanced, and their panicked opponents fled before them. “Hold fast! Hold fast!” Kalanikūpule and Kamohomoho cried to their warriors. Overcoming their fear of Lopaka, the Maui fighters halted their flight and turned to face the Hawai‘ians once again. But before they could reform their ranks, the Hawai‘ians’ muskets spoke. Scores more Maui warriors fell. Those who had somehow survived this volley unscathed milled about in shock. By now the Hawai‘ians had reloaded Lopaka and the other guns, which bellowed anew, followed by more musket fire. Abruptly, the center of the Maui line collapsed and confusion reigned among its wings.
At this moment, the carefully laid plans of ‘Olohana, ‘Aikake, and Ka‘iana collapsed as well. This day, Kamehameha had ordered his people not to close with their foes. They were to avoid hand-to-hand combat. Cannon fire was to follow musketry, followed again by sling stones, spears, musketry, and cannon in a continuous cycle of death and destruction. In this way, the Hawai‘ians would take best advantage of their superiority in haole weaponry.
“We were not supposed to give chase,” my father said, “but when Kalanikūpule’s people began to run away, too many of our own people forgot about this and ran after them.”
Whooping triumphantly and brandishing their spears and clubs, the warriors at the center of Kamehameha’s lines surged through the breach in the Maui center, leaving the cannons and Ka‘iana’s musket corps behind. At the same time, the Hawai‘ian fighters to each side collapsed on them, as their own commanders struggled to close the gaps between the Hawai‘ian center and its right and left wings.
Seeing what was happening, Kalanikūpule, Kamohomoho, and their commanders shouted orders to their own fighters to attack the Hawai‘ians on their flanks. The battle now descended into traditional close combat with spears, knives, and clubs as men fought each other on both sides and in the middle of the ‘Īao Stream. Amid this struggle, the cannons and the Hawai‘ians’ muskets were rendered useless once more. Now it was the Hawai‘ian commanders’ turn to reform their lines. At last, with Ka‘iana’s help, they succeeded in repulsing the Maui left and right wings and restoring their center. “Ka‘iana was very quick-thinking,” my father said. “He divided his pū fighters into two groups and dispatched one group to support our warriors on the right and the other to support our people on the left.” As Ka‘iana’s people reached their new positions with their weapons primed and ready, the commanders on the Hawai‘ians’ wings exhorted their warriors to disengage and fall back. The musket fighters stepped into the newly opened space between the two sides and opened fire, driving Kalanikūpule’s people back.
Straightening their respective lines once more—Kamehameha’s people by force of will and Kalanikūpule’s in grudging withdrawal—the two armies’ warriors now stood well apart, glaring at each other in silence. Neither the men of Hawai‘i nor the warriors of Maui had any appetite for further fighting. Cautiously retreating from each other, they retired to salve their wounds and prepare for yet another day of combat. On balance, the Hawai‘ians had won the day. They had pushed their enemies through and mauka of Wailuku, and their camp was now hundreds of yards closer to the mouth of the ‘Īao Valley than it had been the night before.
In camp that night, Kamehameha upbraided his commanders once more. “Our people performed better today, but not well enough,” he said. “We lost too many warriors yet again.”
“This kind of fighting is new to all of us,” Ka‘iana soothed. “We have made mistakes, but we are learning from them and we will not repeat them. Our people will do still better tomorrow.”
Kamehameha was not so easily assuaged. He turned to his kahuna nui, Holo‘ae. “What does Kūkā‘ilimoku say?” The priest had just returned from a ridge of low hills where he had taken the god on its standard, there to learn whatever the breezes and the feathers atop the god’s head could foretell.
“The god’s feathers stood up brave and true in the wind,” Holo‘ae said. “You will have great success tomorrow, so long as one leg does not outrun the other.”
In the morning, Kamehameha decreed a kapu: No man was to rush the enemy on his own initiative; all were to wait upon their commanders’ orders to advance. Transgressors would be put to death, unless the enemy happened to slay them first. That day, the Hawai‘ians maintained good order throughout the fight, and steadily drove Kalanikūpule’s people back before relentless cannon fire and musketry, and a steady rain of spears and stones.
Unable to advance, Kalanikūpule’s people tried to stand their ground, but their ranks diminished steadily. At last the Hawai‘ian commanders ordered their warriors to charge, the enemy lines broke, and the Maui warriors, with nowhere else to turn, fled into the ‘Īao Valley. The women, children, and old men of Wailuku fled with them. Now the Hawai‘ians brought Lopaka forward and fired round after round of canister shot and cannon balls into the valley.
The ‘Īao Valley is narrow and its walls are steep. Since time immemorial, the valley had served as an unconquerable bastion against attackers armed with slings, spears, clubs, and daggers. Holding high ground from the outset, defenders enjoyed the tactical advantage of the valley’s steadily rising, terraced floor, even in retreat. Moreover, as invaders advanced deeper into the valley, its narrowing walls would force them into ever-closer confines, making them vulnerable to sling stones and spears thrown from the terraces above and from perches still higher on the valley’s walls. Furthermore, laying siege to the valley was fruitless, because its defenders could neither be starved out nor denied water. Intensively farmed in times of peace, the ‘Īao Valley was abundant with taro, yams, and sweet potatoes. And no enemy could dam the ‘Īao Stream, which flowed from the valley’s nearly inaccessible heights.
But this day, with no easy way out and no cover from the Hawai‘ians’ haole weaponry, the once-impregnable ‘Īao Valley became a trap for Kalanikūpule’s warriors and the people of Wailuku. And on Kamehameha’s orders, they were mercilessly slain.
As they ascended the terraces, the Hawai‘ians hauled Lopaka, the swivel guns, and their munitions with them and cut down their retreating foes with more rounds of cannon balls and canister shot. Sling stones and spears also took a fearsome toll. With increasingly accurate musket fire, the Hawai‘ians slew foes who tried to escape by climbing the valley’s walls.
At last, the surviving warriors and the villagers whom they had tried to defend were forced into the valley’s deepest reaches, where they became crowded together within a space no more than a few score yards wide. With ‘Olohana and ‘Aikake supervising, the Hawai‘ians drew Lopaka into its final firing position and rammed powder, wadding, and the last round of canister shot down its barrel. Ka‘iana formed up his musket warriors in a line abreast of the cannon. The musket bearers loaded and primed their weapons. Kamehameha gave the signal to fire. Lopaka roared one last time amid the crackle of musket fire and the shrill screams of the dying and mortally wounded people of Wailuku. When at last the gunfire’s echoes faded, there was only silence. Then, as the haze of powder smoke lifted, the Hawai‘ian warriors beheld a vision so terrible that even the most hard-bitten among them blanched to see it.
Shaking his head at the terrible memory, my father told me, “So many people had fallen and so thickly that the ‘Īao Stream was choked with bodies. The water ran red for days.” Today, this battle is known among our people as kaua i Kepaniwai o ‘Īao—The Battle at the Dammed Waters of ‘Īao. The outcome of the battle convinced Kamehameha of the value of haole weapons. Surveying the killing ground, he turned to my father and Ka‘iana and said, “We must have more pū po‘ohiwi and more pū kuni ahi.”
Despite the widespread carnage, a few Maui people managed to escape. Kalanikūpule and his chieftains, my own father’s vanquisher, Kamohomoho, among them, fled still deeper into the ‘�
�ao Valley ahead of their own retreating warriors. Ascending into the mountains along paths that followed steep, narrow gullies mostly unknown in those days, they crossed over to Lahaina and sailed to O‘ahu.
Moloka‘i, 1790
Having won a great victory on Maui, Kamehameha was eager to move on to O‘ahu, where Kahekili had moved his court. But first, he needed to secure the neutrality of the Moloka‘i chiefs, who had sworn allegiance to Kahekili. He also wanted to secure from Kalola guardianship of his sister, Keku‘iapoiwa Liliha, and her daughter, Keopuolani.
Accompanied by my father and his other chieftains, he sailed to Moloka‘i, landing at Kaunakakai. “When we arrived there,” said my father, “we learned that Kalola was dying.”
Kalola, her daughter, and granddaughter were staying mauka of the coast at Kalama‘ula. The Moloka‘i chiefs had gathered there. Kamehameha sent a messenger to them requesting their permission to visit the dying chiefess. “The chiefs must understand that I come here in peace and in grief, and not as the vanquisher of Kalola’s nephew, Kalanikūpule,” he said.
Permission granted, Kameha hastened to Kalola’s hale, where he found her lying on a sedge mat. A healer was administering to her. Keku‘iapoiwa Liliha and Keopuolani sat nearby, crying. There was no mistaking Kalola’s condition, even in the hale’s shadows. Disease had laid waste to her body and her once-full face had collapsed. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was fast and shallow. Kamehameha knelt at her side and bent his head toward her. “I have come, Kalola, I have come,” he whispered.
Kalola’s eyes fluttered open. She turned her head toward Kamehameha. “You slew my son, and now you have come to watch me die?” she said.
“I have come out of love for you and full of grief to find you like this,” said Kameha.
“It cannot be helped,” Kalola said.
“Do not worry about my sister Lili and her daughter,” said Kamehameha. “I will take them under my protection.”
“They shall be yours to protect once I am dead,” said Kalola. She turned her head away. These were her last words to Kamehameha, whom she had mothered when he was a little boy and later initiated into manhood so many years earlier.
Kamehameha’s broad face was streaked with tears when he emerged from Kalola’s hale. He clasped my father and wailed. The sight of this big, fearsome warrior weeping moved the Moloka’i chiefs gathered in the courtyard. “They saw that though Pai‘ea’s shell was hard, his heart was not,” said my father. “This aroused their sympathy for him.”
The Hawai‘ians and the chiefs of Moloka‘i kept vigil outside Kalola’s hale for the next two days. During this time, Kamehameha told the Moloka‘i chiefs that war between him and Kahekili was inevitable. “I have no quarrel you, and I wish you no harm,” he said. “But if war comes here, all the people of Moloka‘i will suffer. I would not have this, and I make you this pledge: Take no part in this coming fight, and I will not send my people here. And be assured that Kahekili’s people will not come here either, for I will keep them well occupied on O‘ahu.”
“The Moloka‘i chiefs believed Kameha was sincere,” my father said. “They had chafed under Kahekili’s rule in the past, and wished to be rid of him. They promised Kamehameha that they would take no sides in this fight between him and Kahekili.”
When the keening of the women inside the hale signaled Kalola’s passing, Kamehameha joined their wailing, picked up a lava stone, and struck one of his front teeth from his mouth. Now he fell into my father’s arms again and the two cried together. Blood oozed from Kamehameha’s mouth and ran down my father’s arm. Many of the Moloka‘i chiefs and some members of Kamehameha’s party followed his example, knocking out their own front teeth. In those days, our people sometimes gave public expression to their profound inner grief over the death of a beloved chief or chiefess by injuring themselves in this or some other way. As I explained to my Esther, who was horrified when I first told her of this practice, “Inflicting such pain on oneself was the greatest homage the living could pay to the dead, and it was done only rarely.”
“But still…” Esther sighed. Barely two generations removed from that time, Esther and her contemporaries find many of its aspects unfathomable.
Kamehameha and his people remained on Moloka‘i for the next ten days, while Kalola’s bones were purified in the imu.
While still on Moloka‘i, Kamehameha sent two emissaries on simultaneous missions to O‘ahu: one to ask a famous prophet what he must do to conquer all the islands; and the other to offer a peace of sorts to Kahekili.
The prophet was an old wise man from Kaua‘i named Kapoukahi. “Tell your lord that he must build a great new heiau for his god,” Kapoukahi told Kamehameha’s emissary. “Its dimensions must be greater than any other temple he has previously built, greater than any other temple in our islands.”
“Where should Kamehameha build this great heiau?” the emissary asked him.
“He must build it on the hill at Kawaihae,” Kapoukahi replied. “Tell your lord that when he completes this heiau and consecrates it to his god, he shall gain all the islands without risk to his own person.”
At Kahekili’s court, Kamehameha’s other emissary told the O‘ahu ruler, “My mō‘ī, Kamehameha, mover of the Naha Stone, has conquered Maui. He will come here next. But first, he wishes to know whether he should come in peace or in war.” Then Kamehameha’s emissary laid two stones, one white and one black, at Kahekili’s feet. The white stone signified life-affirming pursuits: fishing, farming, and child-rearing. The black stone symbolized war and bloodletting. “My mō‘ī asks which stone you would choose, Lord,” the emissary said.
“I choose neither,” Kahekili replied. “Tell my son Kamehameha that this is not the time to cast stones. Tell him that when the kapa cloth covers Kahekili and the black pig rests at his nose—that will be the time to choose between war and peace. Tell him to come to O‘ahu and cast his stones then.”
Upon receiving Kahekili’s reply, Kamehameha consulted with his advisers. “Should we wait until after Kahekili is dead to attack O‘ahu, or should we attack now?” he asked. Kamehameha and his chiefs had not yet resolved this question when word reached them that Keōua Kū‘ahu‘ula had attacked Hilo, slaying Keawema‘uhili and his son Keaweokahikona, and was even then ravaging Kamehameha’s own Kohala lands.
His hand forced by his fractious cousin, Kamehameha rushed back to the Big Island with his army, leaving a small garrison behind on Maui. When Kahekili learned of this, he appointed Kalanikūpule his regent on O‘ahu and led an expedition to retake Maui, relocating his court to Wailuku. Put to flight, the Hawai‘ians took refuge at Kauwiki once again.
“Our cousin Red Cloak has dishonored all the blood our people spilled to gain Maui,” Kamehameha told his chiefs when word of this setback reached him. “We will make him bleed for this, and when we are done with him, we will finally settle with Kalanikūpule and Kahekili.”
After taking Hilo, Keōua Kū‘ahu‘ula attacked Kamehameha’s people first at Waipi‘o and then in northern Kohala. At Waipi‘o, Red Cloak and his people destroyed fish ponds, uprooted taro plants, and destroyed the taro patch embankments. Next, they raided and sacked coastal villages from Waipi‘o to Niuli‘i. Then they marched inland, attacking Hālawa, Hala‘ula, Kapa‘au, and Hāwī. From Hāwī, they turned south, advancing under the spine of Mount Kohala to Waimea. There, they wreaked still more havoc.
“Red Cloak’s warriors beat old men, women, and children, burned the people’s hales, cut their fishing lines and nets, and robbed everyone they encountered, ali‘i and maka‘āinana alike,” said my father. Red Cloak was in the forefront of all these activities. Observed my father: “He learned well from our uncle Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s behavior on Maui.”
Kamehameha landed at Kawaihae and led his warriors mauka to Waimea, where he intended to confront and defeat Keōua Kū‘ahu‘ula. “We will have the advantage of our pū, just as we did on Maui,” he told his chiefs. But forewarned of Kamehameha’s a
dvance, Red Cloak and his forces retreated to the Hāmākua district, where they continued their rampage. Kamehameha overtook his cousin and rival at last at the village of Pa‘auhau.
“Red Cloak’s people have captured Lopaka! They have seized our pū po‘ohiwi!”
The panicked warrior brought the news to Kamehameha behind Pa‘auhau, where he had remained with a few guards at the outset of the battle, at ‘Olohana’s insistence. “You are king,” ‘Olohana had said in his rudimentary Hawai‘ian. “What if you killed? Who lead people then?”
Kamehameha, whose trust in Young had grown after the stunning victory at ‘Īao Valley, had readily complied. “What of ‘Olohana?” he demanded of the young warrior who was now on his knees, head bowed, before him. “What of ‘Aikake?”
“They are unharmed, Lord,” the warrior replied. “They fight with our people even now. Ali‘i ‘ai moku Ke‘eaumoku sent me to you.”
“What? They have no pū po‘ohiwi? No pū kuni ahi? With what do they fight? Spears, clubs, and daggers? Come, Keli‘i! We must go to them at once!” Kamehameha and my father, who had stayed behind with him, ran toward the fighting on the other side of the village, closely followed by the young warrior and Kameha’s guards.
“When we got there, our people and Red Cloak’s were mixed in with each other, fighting hand to hand,” my father said. “Ka‘iana, Ke‘eaumoku, Kame‘iamoku, Kamanawa, and the other chieftains were doing their best to rally our warriors. ‘Olohana and ‘Aikake were also in the thick of the fighting.”
Young and Davis fought back-to-back, swinging muskets by the barrels, like long battle clubs. A dozen or more warriors had gone to their aid and were fighting alongside them, endeavoring to keep foes armed with spears away from the two haoles. Followed by my father and the others, Kamehameha waded into the battle, slashing about to devastating effect with his shark-tooth club. Now an enemy warrior rushed at Kameha, wielding a long pololū spear like a pike, thinking to impale him with it. The young warrior stepped in front of Kamehameha to parry the blow and took the enemy’s spear in his chest. As he screamed and collapsed, Kameha reached out with his lei o manō and flayed open the opposing fighter’s throat. The man dropped his spear and fell on top of Kamehameha’s mortally wounded defender.
Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii Page 35