Though this sight was a novelty for us, Kamehameha had seen its like before and he was unimpressed. Now the undisputed mō‘ī of the Big Island, he stood majestic and proud on the deck of his canoe, surrounded by his chiefly retinue. My father stood directly behind him, bearing the kahili that signified Kameha’s kingly rank. All of the chieftains wore their finest feather cloaks and helmets, but Kameha’s attire was finer than all the rest. “See how the yellow feathers of our Uncle Kamehameha’s cloak and helmet are as bright Kāne’s sun,” Kekuaokalani exclaimed.
“Kamehameha is the greatest warrior of all,” Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku cried.
With a nod to Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, my brother looked down at me from the imposing height of a boy six years my senior and vowed, “When I am grown, I will be a great warrior like my Uncle Kamehameha.” Of course, I believed him.
The Discovery’s crewmen lowered a rope ladder as the canoes drew alongside the ship. Kamehameha and his chieftains scaled the ladder to the ship’s deck first, followed by ‘Olohana and ‘Aikake and then the women. Vancouver stepped forward to greet them. Like Kameha and his chiefs, Vancouver had donned his finest regalia. He wore a blue, gold-trimmed coat over a white vest. Sunlight glinted off the garments’ brass buttons. In contrast to his powdered white wig, Vancouver’s visage was ruddy from prolonged exposure to the elements. He dipped his head and doffed his officer’s cap in the women’s direction and extended his right hand to Kamehameha.
Kamehameha had not encountered Vancouver at the time of Captain Cook’s visit some fourteen years earlier. But my father recognized him from the day at Kealakekua when the chieftain Palea had saved Vancouver and another haole from a severe beating and possible death at the hands of our people. “That one is called Wankuwai,” he said to Kameha, who took Vancouver’s outstretched hand in both of his.
Vancouver was fine boned and not nearly so tall as his late superior, Captain Cook; his hand wholly disappeared in Kamehameha’s large, double grip. “Greetings, Wankuwai,” Kameha said. “I welcome you to Hawai‘i.” At this, Kamehameha took off his feather cloak—an item of great value—and presented it to Vancouver.
Vancouver accepted it and bowed. “Mahalo,” he said. Seeing now that Kamehameha was admiring his own coat with its shiny buttons, Vancouver took it off and offered it to him.
Kamehameha, whose manner had been studiously serious until now, smiled broadly and bowed in turn to Vancouver. “Mahalo,” he replied. Then he tried to put on the coat. It was of course too small for him. Kamehameha grimaced. Vancouver frowned with concern.
Kamehameha looked at Vancouver, then at his chieftains, and then at Vancouver once more. “The haoles have great canoes and big pū kuni ahi,” he said, gesturing at the ship and its guns in turn. “What need have they to wear big cloaks? With such vessels and weapons, any man can be big, even this Kāpena Wankuwai.”
Vancouver had spent sufficient time among our people and our Polynesian cousins in the South Seas to gain some fluency in our related languages and needed no translation to understand that Kamehameha had just made a joke at his expense. “Tamaahamaah, I regret that my coat does not fit you,” he said, smiling. “But rest assured, before the next day is out, my people will make a coat big enough for even a great man such as you to wear.”
Following this exchange, the Hawai‘ians in the third canoe handed up the pigs and produce to the ship’s crewmen amid much squealing by the terrified animals. “Mahalo,” Vancouver said, surveying the bounty of the Big Island now amassed on the Discovery’s deck. “Now, Tamaahamaah, I have something more for you.” He gestured to some others of his crew, who brought forward five animals that the Hawai‘ians found exceedingly strange. They had fearsome horns. The largest of them snorted as the sailors led it on ropes to the center of the deck. The other four were notable for their smaller size and the distended sacks that hung down in front of their hind legs. “These are cattle,” said Vancouver.
“Ka‘ako,” ventured Kamehameha, absorbing this newest haole word.
“Yes,” Vancouver replied. “They can give you much good meat. But first your people must allow them to make more cattle.”
Kamehameha understood. He nodded. “Keiki,” he said. “Keiki ka‘ako.”
“To be sure, little cattle,” Vancouver said. “Find a place where there is much grass for them to eat, and water for them to drink, and do not permit anyone to kill them until they have made many more cattle.”
“We have such a place for them,” replied Kamehameha, “and they will be kapu.” Later, these cattle were transported to the grasslands of Waimea, where they and others subsequently delivered by Vancouver were permitted to roam free and unmolested for many years.
The presentation of gifts now completed, Vancouver, who had not yet remarked on the surprising presence of two Englishmen among Kamehameha’s entourage, asked Kamehameha, “Tamaahamaah, who are these two men with you?”
“This is ‘Olohana and this is ‘Aikake,” Kameha replied, pointing in turn to each of the haoles. “They are my counselors.”
Vancouver looked inquisitively at the two men, who nodded and smiled. “Well, well,” said Vancouver. Turning to Kamehameha, he said, “Tamaahamaah, I invite you and your people to eat with me now.”
“We will be happy to join you,” Kameha replied. “Mahalo.”
As Vancouver led the way to his quarters at the ship’s stern, Kamehameha, his chieftains, ‘Olohana, and ‘Aikake fell in behind him. But the women hesitated. Seeing that they were hanging back, Vancouver beckoned to them. “Come,” he said. “Everyone is invited—everyone.”
Vancouver’s intent was clear to all, but still the women remained where they were while Kameha and his chieftains conferred agitatedly among themselves. “This is not to be permitted,” exclaimed Ke‘eaumoku.
“It is kapu,” said Kame‘iamoku.
“We should decline, politely, and leave now,” declared Keaweaheulu.
Vancouver stood to one side as this exchange took place, his arms folded across his chest and his head cocked toward the chieftains. He seemed genuinely puzzled.
Kamehameha looked at Vancouver, and then at the women. A panoply of bewilderment played across their faces, and they lowered their heads to avoid Kameha’s eyes. All were unsure of what to do—all, save for Ka‘ahumanu. She fixed her partner with an unwavering stare.
“We cannot decline,” Kamehameha told his chieftains. “We are Kāpena Wankuwai’s guests here, and it would be rude. Moreover, I would not have us insult this haole, for I hope to trade with him—for more pū po‘ohiwi and pū kuni ahi especially.”
“But the kapu,” Ke‘eaumoku protested anew.
Kamehameha looked again at Ka‘ahumanu, whose gaze was still fixed on him. She said nothing, but defiance flashed in her eyes.
“The kapu is ours; it is not Wankuwai’s. When he feasts with us at our mua, the women will not eat. But here, this day, we will all eat together.” Kameha gestured to the women that they should enter Vancouver’s cabin after the men. Directing the chiefs to precede him, he crossed the threshold just ahead of Ka‘ahumanu, who led the women. “Do not make too much of this,” he cautioned her.
Vancouver’s crew had set up two tables in the captain’s cabin to accommodate the large number of guests and once inside, Kamehameha directed the women to sit separately from the men. “Thus, although we were in close proximity to each other, we did not truly eat together,” my father explained. The Hawai‘ians had observed the kapu in spirit, at least.
As Kamehameha and his people took their leave that evening, Vancouver pulled ‘Olohana and ‘Aikake aside and spoke quietly to them. Kamehameha later asked ‘Olohana what they had spoken about. “Captain Vancouver is a chieftain of King George, our people’s mō‘ī,” ‘Olohana said. “We asked for his permission to remain here with you and he granted it.”
Kamehameha was well satisfied with this explanation. “This Wankuwai is a true friend of ours,” he said.
Friend though he ma
y have been, Vancouver was not agreeable with Kamehameha’s subsequent request for weapons and munitions. “I cannot trade our weapons for your goods, Tamaahamaah, for I would not be the cause of worsened strife among your peoples,” said Vancouver, who was aware of our penchant for bloody warfare. “I have already refused such a request from the mō‘ī of Woahoo.”
Indeed, Kamehameha had earlier heard that when he stopped at Waikiki the previous year, Vancouver had declined Kalanikūpule’s offer to trade local goods for haole weapons. But whereas Kalanikūpule had been angered by Vancouver’s rebuff, Kamehameha accepted it with equanimity. “Kāpena Wankuwai is even-handed,” he told his chiefs. “I believe he wishes our people well.”
During a feast at Kealakekua soon thereafter, the British captain proffered himself to Kamehameha as a peace emissary. “Tamaahamaah,” he said, “it grieves me to see how much blood your own people have shed in fighting with your enemies. Please permit me to help negotiate a lasting peace between you and your adversaries.”
Vancouver had ferried Kamehameha and his court to Kealakekua from Kawaihae aboard his own ship after Kameha expressed a desire to return there. This evening, Vancouver and his officers dined with the chiefs only; Ka‘ahumanu and the other women of the court had been excluded.
“I would welcome peace, Wankuwai,” Kameha replied. “And I would be content with Hawai‘i alone if my enemies would promise to content themselves with their own domains. Go tell them this for me.”
Vancouver conveyed Kamehameha’s message to Kahekili, Kalanikūpule, and Kā‘eokūlani, the reigning king of Kaua‘i. They responded favorably despite their reservations about Kameha’s sincerity and pressed Vancouver to remain in the islands until all parties could agree on an enduring peace treaty. But Vancouver would not be stayed from his mission to further explore the northwest coast of the vast continent to the east. He sailed for America soon after obtaining the assent of Kahekili and Kā‘eokūlani, and unfortunately, without his continued mediation, his efforts to promote lasting peace in our islands came to nothing.
Late that same year, word reached Kamehameha that Kahekili had died. His son, Kalanikūpule, now held sway over O‘ahu, Moloka‘i, Lanai, and Maui. Recalling Kahekili’s admonishment to wait until after his death to move on O‘ahu, Kamehameha asked his kahuna nui, Holo‘ae, if the time was right to attack.
“It is not yet time,” the old priest had responded. “You must wait for a clear sign from Kūkā‘ilimoku.”
“How will I know this sign?” asked Kameha.
“You will know it. It will be unmistakable,” Holo‘ae replied.
Mindful of his priest’s counsel, Kamehameha resolved to wait.
Kawaihae, 1794
Ka‘ahumanu was unhappy with Kamehameha, and he with her. This much I understood, even as a small boy scarcely three years old. I could not fail to notice that they hardly spoke to each other and never smiled when they were together, which was seldom at that time. “Why are Uncle Kameha and Aunt Ka‘ahumanu upset with each other?” I asked my older brother, whom I looked upon as wise and all-knowing.
“Uncle Kameha is angry because Aunt Ka‘ahumanu has not given him a keiki,” Kekuaokalani said. “And Aunt Ka‘ahumanu is angry with our uncle because she has been trying very hard to find one and cannot. She has even asked Uncle Ka‘iana to help her find one. She thinks Uncle Kameha blames her unfairly.” This intelligence Kekuaokalani had gleaned from overhearing snatches of our parents’ conversations.
Kamehameha was no doubt disappointed that he had not yet gotten a child with Ka‘ahumanu. But most immediately, he was distressed by her continued flirtation with “Uncle” Ka‘iana, and suspected that their relationship encompassed more than flirtation. This suspicion aroused the otherwise phlegmatic Kamehameha to anger. “You continue to spend entirely too much time with Ka‘iana,” he snapped.
“Ka‘iana seeks me out,” Ka‘ahumanu retorted. “He is your ally. Should I be rude to him? Tell him to keep his distance from me if you will; I do not care.” Even as she said this, Ka‘ahumanu knew it was unlikely that Kamehameha would speak to Ka‘iana, because he still depended on him to train his warriors in the use of haole weaponry. For his part, Ka‘iana mistook his usefulness to Kamehameha for indispensability, and mistook Kameha’s silence on the question of Ka‘ahumanu for tolerance.
Though Kamehameha still required Ka‘iana’s services, his importance to Hawai‘i’s mō‘ī was in decline. The warriors whom Ka‘iana had trained were now sufficiently proficient in loading and firing their muskets to teach these skills to others. Kameha now turned first to ‘Olohana and ‘Aikake, rather than Ka‘iana, for advice regarding haole weapons and tactics. This alone should have alerted Ka‘iana to his diminished standing in Kameha’s eyes. Characteristically, he failed to notice, and his dalliances with Ka‘ahumanu continued.
Once again, my father cautioned Ka‘iana. “You would do well to turn your eyes away from Ka‘ahumanu to other wāhine,” he told him one day.
Once again, Ka‘iana dismissed his warning. “I cannot help it if she will not turn her eyes from me,” he scoffed.
My father could only shake his head at Ka‘iana’s foolhardiness.
As Ka‘ahumanu and Ka‘iana continued their flirtation—and perhaps more; my father could never be sure—relations between Ka‘ahumanu and Kamehameha continued to worsen. In a final fit of pique, Ka‘ahumanu refused to continue living with Kameha and removed herself to the compound of her father, Ke‘eaumoku. When Vancouver returned to Kawaihae in the haole year 1794, he found Kamehameha despondent.
“What troubles you, Tamaahamaah?” he asked one afternoon as they sought relief from the sultry Kona heat in the shade of a palm grove close to the shore. Kamehameha lounged on his mat, while Vancouver, out of respect, sat cross-legged on his.
“Ka‘ahumanu refuses to live with me. She has moved back to her father’s household,” Kamehameha replied.
“I am truly sorry about this,” said Vancouver. “Please permit me to help heal this breach between you. Bring Tahoomanoo to my ship and we will discuss this together.”
“She will not come,” Kamehameha replied, “not so long as she knows I will be there.”
“Then we need not tell her,” said Vancouver. “I will invite her onboard to dine with me. You will come soon afterward to pay me an ‘unannounced’ visit. I will then extend my invitation to you. Tahoomanoo can hardly refuse me then.”
Kamehameha sighed. “Wankuwei,” he said, “I permitted the violation of our kapu against men and women eating together when last you were here, and you would have me do it again?”
“It is not taboo on my ship, Tamaahamaah, as I know you have already once acknowledged,” Vancouver replied.
“Very well, Wankuwei,” Kamehameha said. “You are welcome to try your scheme. I am more than willing to be reconciled. But do not expect much from her.”
Ka‘ahumanu came aboard Vancouver’s ship the next evening, dressed in her finest kapa cloth, dyed with turmeric and imprinted in a complex black and red cross-hatched pattern with kukui-nut soot and red ochre pigment, and tied demurely over one shoulder. A lei of bright yellow ‘ilima flowers shown like the sun in her dark black hair. She wore a fine whale-tooth pendant around her neck.
Mt. Kohala was catching the last light of the setting sun as Ka‘ahumanu gained the ship’s deck, assisted from below by her own canoe paddlers and from above by the ship’s officers. Vancouver awaited her, resplendent in his gold-braided dress uniform, its brass buttons gleaming. He wore a freshly powdered wig beneath his bi-cornered officer’s hat. Vancouver bowed slightly to Ka‘ahumanu. “My good queen,” he said, “it is my pleasure to welcome you to my ship. Please come this way.” Vancouver led Ka‘ahumanu to his cabin, where a table had been set for them. It was covered with a linen cloth, reserved for special occasions and used only rarely. Two elaborate candelabra provided illumination in the gathering darkness; pewter plates, wine cups, and silver flatware glinted in the candle light. Ka‘a
humanu paused to examine the candles, for she had never seen their like before.
Kamehameha arrived a short time later. Befitting the occasion, he wore a cloak woven of the brilliant, yellow feathers of Hawai‘i’s mamo bird and a matching feathered helmet. Kamehameha entered Vancouver’s cabin without first announcing himself. He feigned surprise at seeing Ka‘ahumanu there. “Wankuwai, I—” he said, breaking off abruptly.
Ka‘ahumanu had just taken her seat. She bristled. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I have merely come to pay my respects to Wankuwei,” said Kamehameha. “I did not know you would be here.”
“Well now,” said Vancouver, who was enjoying this game. “You must join us for dinner, Tamaahamaah.”
“I will gladly stay,” Kamehameha said.
Ka‘ahumanu looked away from Kameha and said nothing. She did not move from her chair. “She would not leave,” Kamehameha told my father later, “determined as she was to enjoy Wankuwai’s hospitality.”
Vancouver called for his orderly to set another place for Kamehameha and indicated to Kameha that he should sit across the table from Ka‘ahumanu. When Kamehameha had taken his seat, the captain rang a small bell and several young midshipmen entered the cabin carrying pewter platters. Kamehameha and Ka‘ahumanu now saw arrayed before them a platter of traditional British Navy fare—salted beef, hard biscuits, and sauerkraut—and a second platter heaped with taro leaves, sweet potatoes, breadfruit, and yams from the Big Island. On a third platter, larger than the first two, was a roasted pig ringed by roasted bananas.
Vancouver’s cook had come ashore earlier that day to roast the pig on a spit over a wood fire. This spectacle drew a crowd of curious onlookers, who had never seen a pig prepared in this fashion. Some of their number had shown the haole cook how to wrap bananas in ti leaves and roast them in the coals. Now, Ka‘ahumanu delicately licked her lips as she eyed the pork and bananas. The aroma of these delicacies, otherwise forbidden to her, made her ache with desire.
Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii Page 38