Seeing Kameha and his people drawing closer, Kamohomoho rallied nearby warriors to his side. “We must stand here and fight so that our mō’ī and our brothers can live!” he cried. “Stand here with me!” While Kalanikūpule and the rest of his men continued their headlong flight up the valley, these brave warriors turned about to face the enemy. But even as the O‘ahu men turned, the Hawai‘ians brought their muskets and cannons into play again, and cut them down. Kamohomoho was one of the first to fall. No doubt, the last sounds he heard were the screams of his men, intermingled with the booming of cannon fire and the crack of the muskets echoing off the walls of the Nu‘uanu Valley. Shouting and waving their spears, clubs, and muskets in the air, Kamehameha’s people now leaped over the bodies of the dead and dying warriors as they pursued their remaining foes toward the precipice.
The Waikiki villagers who had led the Hawai‘ians to Pu‘iwa had earlier told Kamehameha of the footpath to which Kalanikūpule and his men now fled. Now he urged his warriors to run faster. “Cut them off! Cut them off!” he shouted as he ran. “Do not let them escape from this valley!” My father and Kame‘iamoku were just behind him. “Keli‘i!” he called over his shoulder, pointing to the right, “You and Kame‘iamoku take some people over there and stop Kalanikūpule’s people from reaching the footpath!”
“We gathered a few score warriors and ran in the direction Kamehameha had indicated,” said my father. “Kameha continued on with the rest of the army.”
Kamehameha set a torrid pace for his men, who were hard put to keep up with him. The warriors armed with spears and clubs were closest behind him; those with heavier muskets and awkward ammunition boxes slung over their shoulders or around their waists followed. The artillery corps fell farther and farther behind as they struggled to bring their guns along. Finally, they abandoned them and ran to catch up with the rest.
Anumber of enemy warriors were already escaping down the footpath by the time my father and his men reached it. Several of the Hawai‘ians hurled spears at the fleeing men, but the missiles fell short, ricocheting off the hardened footpath and falling away down the mountainside. Just then, one of the O‘ahu warriors turned round, looked up at Kame‘iamoku and my father, and shook his fist. It was Kalanikūpule. Several of the Hawai‘ian warriors, including Kame‘iamoku’s son, Ulumaheihei Hoapili, made to pursue him, but Kame‘iamoku called them back. “Forget about Kalanikūpule,” he said. “We must stand here and prevent the rest of his people from following him.” The Hawai‘ians turned to face the scores of enemy warriors running toward them.
Led by Kamehameha and Ke‘eaumoku and propelled by bloodlust, the warriors of Hawai‘i raced headlong up the Nu‘uanu Valley in pursuit of their fleeing foes. They cut down stragglers without mercy. The broken bodies of wounded and slain warriors littered the ground in their wake.
At last, within a score of yards of the precipice, the O‘ahu warriors turned to face the oncoming main force of the Hawai‘ian army, still some seven thousand strong. “Hold! Hold!” Kamehameha shouted to his people. “Form a line on me! Spears and pū to the front!”
“Hold! Hold! Spears and pū to the front!” The shouts echoed up and down the ranks as Ke‘eaumoku, Kamanawa, and the other chieftains repeated Kamehameha’s commands. The Hawai‘ians’ surging advance ground to an uneven halt just a few pololū spear lengths from the O‘ahu fighters’ defensive line. Some warriors at the front of the Hawai‘ians’ ranks, now many scores of men deep, all crowding upon each other, were armed with spears, others with clubs and knives. The musket warriors, having come up last, were still to the rear.
“Spears and pū to the front!” Kamehameha’s chieftains shouted again. Men in the rear ranks parted to allow the musket bearers to come forward; fighters holding only clubs and knives gave way to comrades armed with spears. An army which only moments earlier had verged on becoming a disorganized mob rearranged itself into an orderly battle formation, its front rank bristling with spears and haole firearms. Now Kamehameha’s people awaited further orders. Opposite them, the exhausted men of O‘ahu also waited, their chests heaving, their eyes wild with fear.
To the rear of the compressed O‘ahu ranks, fighters began slipping away and fleeing toward the footpath. Leaderless now, their only thoughts were for escape. They threatened to overwhelm my father, Kame‘iamoku, Hoapili, and the other men who still blocked the way out of the valley. Kamehameha saw this and called out to Ke‘eaumoku. “Ke‘eau! Quickly!” he shouted, pointing in my father’s direction. “Keli‘i and Kame‘iamoku will need help! Take some men and go to them now!”
Ke‘eaumoku set off at a run, at the head of several dozen warriors. One of them was his nephew, a young man named Kalanimoku, who was about the same age as his cousin Ka‘ahumanu.
“Spears ready! Load pū!” Kamehameha cried now, clasping his long pololū spear tight against his side and pointing it at the enemy. As his commanders repeated his orders up and down the ranks, the Hawai‘ian front line rippled with motion from one end to the other. Hundreds of warriors leveled their spears at the foe as Kamehameha had done. Others hurriedly rammed powder, balls, and wads down their musket barrels, filled the firing pans, pulled back the weapons’ hammers, and took aim. For a brief moment—save for the shifting of bodies, the commanders’ muted encouragement to their men, and the rustle of foliage in the afternoon breeze—silence reigned.
At the head of the footpath, my father, Kame‘iamoku, Hoapili, and their men braced for the onslaught of the fleeing O‘ahu warriors who now ran toward them. More interested in escape than doing battle, these men ran in a ragged line, singly and in pairs, and paid little heed to the Hawai‘ians blocking their way.
“Many of them had thrown away their weapons in their haste to get away,” my father said. “We were more concerned that they would overcome us with their sheer numbers and carry us down the trail with them than we were with any harm they might want to do us.”
The Hawai‘ians tightened their grips on their weapons as the O‘ahu warriors drew closer. Men cocked their arms back, ready to hurl their spears. But before any of them could throw, a piercing cry came from the middle of the onrushing throng, and one of their number staggered and fell to the ground, a pololu spear protruding from his back. The O‘ahu men were thrown into greater confusion, some stopping suddenly to look about while others stumbled into them. Ke‘eaumoku had arrived with his warriors.
Thus reinforced, my father’s group now advanced on the men of O‘ahu. Ke‘eaumoku’s men meanwhile pressed in upon them from the side. To the O‘ahu warriors’ other side was the head of the valley and empty space where the ground fell away. Halting their flight, they crowded together and made ready to fight.
“Now!” Kamehameha shouted. “All pū! Fire!”
In an instant, the whole length of the Hawai‘ian front line erupted with muzzle flashes. The O‘ahu men were packed so tightly together by now that nearly all of the musket balls struck home. Scores of enemy warriors collapsed to the ground.
“Advance!” Kamehameha cried. From his position at the center of the Hawai‘ian line, Kameha stepped forward, his spear still locked against his side. His army moved with him, the men in the front ranks holding their spears level and stepping over their fallen foes, while the warriors following immediately behind plunged their spears and iron daggers into still-writhing bodies. Behind them, the musket soldiers halted briefly to reload. Some O‘ahu warriors threw their spears at the Hawai‘ians, who easily deflected them as they continued to advance. The men of O‘ahu could only retreat.
At the footpath, a desperate struggle raged. “We had no pū, no space to throw spears. We fought hand to hand,” my father said. The O‘ahu warriors were outnumbered by the Hawai‘ians, but only slightly, and their perilous position between their foes and the edge of the pali infused them with strength beyond their numbers. “They fought fiercely and we suffered more than a few dead and wounded,” said my father.
Ke‘eaumoku sent Kalanimoku running f
or additional reinforcements. Within a short time, he returned with scores more of Hawai‘ian warriors, drawn from the rear of Kamehameha’s army. Now the numerical advantage shifted decisively. Swinging their clubs and jabbing with their spears, they relentlessly pressed their foes back upon the ranks of their comrades, who were themselves slowly giving way before the massed Hawai‘ian army.
Disorder took hold among the O‘ahu warriors, the remnants of their army now reduced to a densely packed crowd of men stumbling over each other in confusion. In this moment, Kamehameha and his commanders shouted once again, “Pū warriors! Forward!” Again, the Hawai‘ians made way for their musket soldiers. Their front ranks, which now extended from one side of the pali to the other, bristled with long dark barrels.
“Fire!” shouted Kamehameha and his chieftains. Hundreds of muskets sounded as one, spitting death amid fire and smoke. Scores more of O‘ahu warriors now sagged against their comrades, there being no open ground to receive their suddenly limp bodies. Men looked about in wild despair for any avenue of escape, but there was only the Hawai‘ian army in front of them and behind them, the abyss.
“Warriors of Hawai‘i!” Kamehameha roared. “Kūkā‘ilimoku is with us! Forward!”
His commanders echoed the cry and thousands of Hawai‘ian warriors now advanced as a single being, pressing their foes back upon each other. First singly, then in pairs, then in threes and fours and larger groups, O‘ahu fighters pushed to the very edge of the pali by the crush of bodies in front of them tumbled over the cliff, screaming as they fell. Others who still had a purchase on solid ground fell to their knees mere yards from oblivion and begged for mercy.
“Let none live!” Kamehameha now cried. “Slay them all!”
“Slay them all!” his commanders shouted.
Step by step, the Hawai‘ians forced their enemies’ diminishing ranks to the cliff’s brink and over it, spearing, clubbing, and shooting men who clawed at the earth to avoid tumbling into the void at their backs. The warriors of Hawai‘i continued to advance until they were the only ones standing at the pali’s edge. The battle of Nu‘uanu Valley was won. For a moment, there was silence. Then a raucous cheer swept through the Hawai‘ian ranks as warriors shook their clubs, spears, and muskets above their heads in a joyous salute to their mō‘ī.
Hawai‘i, Maui, Lanai, Moloka‘i, and O‘ahu now all belonged to Kamehameha.
To give thanks to the war god Kūkā‘ilimoku for his victory at Nu‘uanu Valley, Kamehameha ordered a new heiau built in the crater of Le‘ahi. Kalanikūpule and his few surviving followers had meanwhile fled to the coast at Kailua, east of Kaneohe. It was their intention to seek asylum on Kaua‘i, as yet unconquered by Kamehameha. Kaua‘i and Ni‘ihau were now ruled by Kaumuali‘i, the only son of the late Kā‘eokūlani. “Why Kalanikūpule believed that Kaumuali‘i, whose own father he had slain, would give him refuge, I do not know,” my father said.
In any case, the Kailua people, bearing no love for Kalanikūpule, betrayed his presence among them to the warriors whom Kamehameha had dispatched to search for him. Slaying all of his companions, Kalanikūpule’s captors bound him and took him by canoe to Waikiki. There, they force-marched him with whips through a gantlet of jeering Hawai‘ians to the new heiau at Le‘ahi, where Kamehameha waited with Holo‘ae and his chiefs.
Kalanikūpule‘s hands were still tied behind him and he was breathing hard from his rushed ascent to the volcanic mount’s crater when he was brought before Kamehameha. It was midday; the sky was clear, and in the caldera, the heat of the unforgiving sun was intense. Kalanikūpule looked up at the terrible visage of Kūkā‘ilimoku, mocking him from beyond the new heiau’s altar, and then at Kamehameha, who was holding a length of haole rope. Bound but unbowed, he met his conqueror’s eyes. He said nothing, waiting for Kamehameha to speak. But Kamehameha, impassive, merely nodded to a warrior behind Kalanikūpule. The warrior clubbed him and knocked him to his knees. Stepping around Kalanikūpule and leaning over his back, Kamehameha looped the rope around his enemy’s throat, tightened it, hauled Kalanikūpule to his feet, and then lifted him higher still. He betrayed no emotion as Kalanikūpule kicked at empty air and struggled for breath. When it was done, Kamehameha laid Kalanikūpule’s body at the god’s altar, and Holo‘ae chanted thanks to Kūkā‘ilimoku for bringing Kamehameha victory at Nu‘uanu Valley.
“Kūkā‘ilimoku has been served,” Holo‘ae concluded, “and this heiau is sanctified.”
There was much feasting at Waikiki that night.
The sanctification of the Le‘ahi Heiau was Holo‘ae’s last service to Kamehameha. Several days later, the old priest fell ill and died. Though he had reached an age when death had lost its power to surprise, Kamehameha was desolate. “Holo‘ae was like a father to me,” he wailed, “and his counsel was ever wise.”
“Holo‘ae will become your ‘aumakua,” my father consoled him, “and surely, he will always be with you.”
Kamehameha insisted on tending the imu that rendered the kahuna nui’s flesh, and when the fire had purified Holo‘ae’s long bones, he would not permit anyone else to touch them.
“Kamehameha hid Holo‘ae’s bones, as he had Keoua’s,” my father said. “It was the greatest honor he could pay him.”
Kailua, Kona 1796
My brother was excited and I was dejected, for he was to march in Ka‘ahumanu’s procession and I was not. “Your brother is almost a man, but you are too young, Nāmākēha,” our father told me. My brother Kekuaokalani was about eleven, then four years short of the threshold of manhood. I was still a keiki of five. I cried.
Kamehameha had sworn to Ka‘ahumanu that she was first among his wives. He had ordered this procession to demonstrate to his subjects that Ka‘ahumanu was his wahine nui. A great feast in her honor was to follow the spectacle.
“Stop crying, Nāmākēha,” my father said. He placed a hand on my shoulder and bent toward me, smiling. “Though you will not march in the procession, you will see it all, for you will stand with your uncle and me in the place of honor.”
Thus it was that on the day of this grand pageant, I stood with my father, Kamehameha, and the other chieftains to receive Ka’ahumanu at the ‘Ahu‘ena Heiau. In truth, I stood immediately behind my father and Kamehameha, peering between them at the unfolding spectacle. As a mere boy, of course, I was not permitted to stand with the chiefs.
The procession commenced at the southernmost end of Kailua and progressed through the village to the edge of Kailua Bay opposite the temple. There, Ka‘ahumanu and her party were to board double-hulled canoes to cross the water to the heiau. Kamehameha, his chieftains, and I stood on the temple’s great stone platform awaiting Ka‘ahumanu’s arrival.
I wore a new malo, dyed in a muted red and yellow pattern. It was my first garment of any kind. Heretofore, I had gone everywhere naked, like all children of my age, ali‘i and commoner alike. My father had given the malo to me. “You are not yet a man, but you are no longer a little keiki,” he said. This made me feel very proud.
Kekuaokalani was prouder still. He received a new malo and a feather cloak to wear in Ka‘ahumanu’s procession. It was red and yellow, like the cloaks of Kamehameha’s chiefs. It was a present from Kamehameha himself. “You must wear this in Ka‘ahumanu’s procession because you will be an important chief someday, Kekua,” Kamehameha told him.
“You see, Nāmākēha,” Kekua said to me. “Uncle Kameha has said that I will become a great chief like him.”
Greatness would have to wait. Today, Kekuaokalani marched far behind Ka‘ahumanu at the rear of the procession with a score or more of ali‘i boys about his age, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku among them. Moreover, all the boys were similarly garbed, though Kekuaokalani’s feather cloak was finer than the other boys’ were.
Nāmāhana walked directly behind Ka‘ahumanu, bearing the kahili standard that signified her daughter’s high rank. Kamehameha’s first wife, Pele‘uli, followed them. Beside her walked Keku‘iapoiwa Liliha, half-sis
ter of Kamehameha, widow of Kiwala‘ō, and mother of Kamehameha’s nī‘aupi‘o wife, Keopuolani. Keopuolani herself could not walk in the procession. She had grown into womanhood and now she had the burning kapu and was restricted from walking abroad in the daytime, lest her shadow fall on a commoner or lower-born ali‘i, condemning that person to death. Thus, her mother walked in her place. Behind them came the wives of two score lesser chieftains. These women carried gourd rattles, which they shook as they walked.
“Kapu moe! Kapu moe!” Nāmāhana called out as the procession moved through Kailua. Upon hearing these words, the ali‘i along the footpath knelt and remained in this posture until Ka‘ahumanu had passed. Commoners, who stood well behind the kneeling ali‘i, prostrated themselves, their foreheads to the ground. They did not look up until all of Ka‘ahumanu’s company had moved on.
There was no room on the canoes for Kekuaokalani and the other boys in his group. They were left to sprint around the bay as they tried to keep pace with Ka‘ahumanu’s progress across the water. They spread out as they ran, their cloaks waving behind them. The yellow and red feathers of the boys’ cloaks fluttered and flashed in the bright sunlight like streaming fire. Kekuaokalani and Kahekili Ke’eaumoku soon far outdistanced the rest in what became a footrace to reach the heiau. Kekuaokalani reached it first, if only steps ahead of Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku. In this respect, at least, my brother distinguished himself this day.
Kamehameha descended from the heiau to greet Ka‘ahumanu as she stepped from her canoe. They rubbed noses and hugged. Hewahewa, Kamehameha’s new kahuna nui, commenced a lengthy chant—a paean to Ka‘ahumanu’s many virtues. When the priest was done, the entire assembly followed Kameha and Ka‘ahumanu to an adjacent field where a great feast awaited them. My father and I walked together, hand in hand. Kekuaokalani, breathing heavily, overtook us, followed by his cohort, all of them equally out of breath.
Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii Page 41