“Yes,” replied Kamehameha, “even Ka‘ahumanu may not eat them, and she may not eat here with us.”
“May I still eat with her?”
“No, Liholiho, you may not. You are among men now, and it is kapu for men to eat with women.”
Liholiho’s lower lip quivered. “But I have always eaten with Ka‘ahumanu,” he cried. “I want to eat with her.”
The chieftains seated near Kamehameha and Liholiho scowled. The older boys within earshot began to laugh among themselves, my brother among them. I felt sorry for my little cousin. I was not so long away from the women’s eating-house that I had forgotten how intimidating it was to leave my mother’s side and join the men. My father cast a stern look at Kekuaokalani, who composed himself.
Kamehameha ignored his son’s crying and paid no attention to his chieftains’ disapproval or the other boys’ muted mockery. “It is kapu for men to eat with women, my son,” he said again, evenly. “It has always been kapu for men to eat with women. As much as I care for Ka‘ahumanu, I may not eat with her. You will be mō‘ī of all Hawaii one day, and it will be your duty to uphold the kapus.”
For many months immediately thereafter, Kamehameha spent time with Liholiho every day, schooling him in the kapus and teaching him about our people’s gods. Most often, he would summon the boy to his hale early in the morning before the press of the day’s business began. Respecting his son’s higher kapu, Kamehameha would recline on his mat, seat Liholiho on his stomach, and speak to him of Kāne, Ku, Lono, and Kanaloa. He would tell him stories of Pele, the goddess of the volcano, of the trickster god, Maui, and other such tales. At other times Kamehameha would take Liholiho to a heiau, where together they would sacrifice a goat or a hog to the temple’s god.
Liholiho’s introduction to the men’s house commenced my companionship with him. It fell to me to intercede for him with the other boys, and especially with my older brother. Kekuaokalani did not much care for Liholiho and made no effort to hide it.
“Kekuaokalani says my mana is weak,” Liholiho complained to me one day. “He says I will never be a great warrior like my father.” Liholiho screwed up his face as he fought back tears.
“Liholiho whines too much,” Kekuaokalani said when I asked him about this. “If a few harsh words can reduce him to tears, how can he become a warrior? He needs toughening.”
“Kekua, Liholiho is still a keiki,” I said, doing my best to defend my little “brother,” as my duty demanded. “Remember how easily I cried when I was his age?” I was thinking of the day not so many years before, when I could not march in Ka‘ahumanu’s procession.
“Yes, but when you came from the women’s house, you did not complain, and you did not run back to your mother’s hale when you were teased,” Kekuaokalani said. “Liholiho is always running off to Ka‘ahumanu at the slightest excuse.”
There was nothing I could say in response to this, for it was true.
My father cautioned Kekuaokalani against teasing or in any other way distressing his royal cousin. “Liholiho is nī‘aupi‘o. He will succeed Kamehameha as your mō‘ī someday, and you must respect him,” he said. Kekuaokalani thereafter refrained from mocking Liholiho, but he treated our young cousin coolly and had as little to do with him as possible.
Other boys gave him a wide berth. “Cousin, why do the other boys avoid me?” Liholiho asked me one day.
“Because you are nī‘aupi‘o and they fear your kapu,” I said. “It is not your fault.” There was some truth to this. Liholiho had the burning kapu and other boys claimed to be fearful that their own houses would be burned down or that they themselves would be put to death if they somehow violated his person or otherwise offended him in the course of their often rough-and-tumble games. This was in fact unlikely within the precincts of the royal court, but still they mostly kept their distance from him. Thus, Liholiho often found himself quite alone amidst the throng of contemporaries at the men’s house, save for my companionship. And when this proved insufficient for him, he would insist that I accompany him to Ka‘ahumanu’s hale, and become agitated if I refused.
“Your father wants you to remain here at the men’s house with me,” I told him one day.
“I will go to see Ka‘ahumanu,” Liholiho said, stamping his foot. “I will go and you cannot stop me! I have the burning kapu.”
“You cannot hold the burning kapu over me, Liholiho,” I rejoined, angry now. “I am your aikāne and hoa hānau ali‘i.”
“You still cannot stop me!” Liholiho shouted. Then he began to cry and ran off, leaving me no choice but to follow him.
Kamehameha was not happy when he learned of this. “Nāmākēha, why do you let your cousin go to Ka‘ahumanu’s hale?” he demanded, frowning at me from his great height.
“Uncle, please do not be angry with me,” I pleaded. “Liholiho will not stay here, no matter what I say.” I was close to tears.
Kameha’s face softened. “Calm yourself, nephew,” he said. “It is not your fault. I am expecting too much of you. Liholiho needs more than a companion. He needs a kahu.” That day, Kamehameha named his principal counselor, Kalanimoku, Liholiho’s mentor. He gave me over to Kalanimoku’s tutelage as well.
At this time, Kamehameha was preparing anew to invade and conquer Kaua‘i. He delegated Kalanimoku to organize the invasion force. “Our fleet must be so large and our army so powerful that Kaumuali‘i and his people will shake with fear at our approach,” he told his counselor.
Accompanying Kalanimoku on his daily rounds, Liholiho commenced his training in affairs of state. My foster brother and I attended Kalanimoku’s conferences with chieftains with whom he discussed the number of warriors each would provide for the coming invasion of Kaua‘i. We accompanied him to Kawaihae and Kealakekua, where he consulted with the canoe builders and shipwrights who were building Kamehameha’s new war fleet concerning materials and their workers’ daily needs.
These matters absorbed me, but Liholiho showed little interest in them. “Why must we spend so much time following you as you talk with these canoe builders?” he complained one afternoon. We had accompanied Kalanimoku for several hours while he spoke with the kāhuna who were supervising the construction of the new war canoes. Liholiho was tired and hungry.
“Because you will one day succeed your father as mō‘ī of our islands and you must understand how to manage these and other such matters,” Kalanimoku replied. “It is part of your education.”
“My father does not worry about these things,” Liholiho rejoined. “He goes fishing and enjoys the company of his chiefs while you attend to matters, Kalanimoku. Why should I be concerned with such things when I will have you to manage them?”
“I will not always be here to help you, Lord,” Kalanimoku said.
“Nāmākēha, then,” Liholiho said, gesturing at me. “Nāmākēha is learning from you now; he can do it.”
“You cannot ask someone else to act on your behalf unless you understand the matters at hand yourself,” Kalanimoku said.
“I will always have counselors to advise and help me,” Liholiho insisted. “Just as my father, Kamehameha has. I have seen enough of this canoe building for today. I want to visit Ka‘ahumanu now.”
And so it went.
While we trailed in Kalanimoku’s wake, Kekuaokalani sharpened his already formidable fighting skills. My brother dominated all of his contemporaries in the war games that were staged with increasing frequency as the impending invasion of Kaua‘i drew near. He could throw spears farther and deflect, dodge, and catch them better than other youths his age. He was fleeter afoot, easily besting others in races. He was physically imposing and taller than most his companions, who looked to him as a leader.
Kamehameha took notice. One day, he summoned Kekuaokalani to his hale. “You have surpassed all your comrades in the mock battles, nephew,” he said. “Soon you will have the chance to prove your true worth as a warrior. When we go to Kaua‘i, you will fight under Ulumaheihei Hoapili
and you will lead your own squad of warriors.” Hoapili, who was about ten years older than Kekuaokalani, had risen to become one of Kamehameha’s generals since the battle of Nu‘uanu Valley, seven years earlier. My brother and his friends had heard stories of his bravery during that battle and they much admired him.
To be chosen by Kamehameha for a leadership role—however small—in the coming battle was the apotheosis of Kekuaokalani’s youthful ambitions. “Uncle Kameha has made me a commander,” he told me later that day. “I will have my own people on Kaua‘i. I will always be known as one of the leaders who helped Kamehameha conquer all of the islands.”
I was too young to reflect on this at the time, but in later years I concluded that our uncle saw Kekuaokalani as the son and heir he wished he had. While he left Liholiho almost entirely to my companionship and the supervision and instruction of Kalanimoku, Kamehameha attended closely to Kekuaokalani. He schooled him in lua wrestling. He challenged him to feats of strength, such as lifting the heavy koa logs that were destined to become canoe hulls. He insisted that Kekuaokalani join him in fishing each morning and surf riding on many afternoons. Kamehameha invited my brother to councils of war with his closest advisers. He sent him to ‘Aikake to learn how to handle a musket and fire a cannon, and to ‘Olohana, to understand the ways of the haoles, and to learn English.
“You must understand these matters, Kekuaokalani,” Kamehameha told my brother. “You will become a high chief one day and sit at Liholiho’s right hand. He will need your counsel when he rules our islands.”
While Kalanimoku did his best to instruct Liholiho, Kamehameha, preoccupied with the coming invasion of Kaua‘i, spent less time with his heir now. He did keep Liholiho at his side during council meetings, in hopes that his son would absorb some understanding of governance. But Liholiho was still too young to appreciate the matters discussed in these meetings, and more often than not, he would doze off.
Kamehameha sensed weakness in the boy. “I am worried about Liholiho,” he told my father. “It will not be easy to rule these islands after I am gone. Liholiho must be forceful with the chiefs if he is to succeed. I do not see that in him yet. I fear he has spent too much time with women.”
Liholiho took no offense at the attention his father paid to my brother. It was not as if Kamehameha was favoring another boy his own age over him. Kekuaokalani and Liholiho were of the same generation, but because of their age difference they were hardly contemporaries. Liholiho looked up to Kekuaokalani and would no doubt have become close to him if my brother had paid some attention to him. But Kekua continued to ignore him.
Our young cousin did not resent my brother’s closeness to his own father, but he was sensitive to his father’s seeming lack of interest in him at this time. “My father doesn’t care for me,” he said to Kalanimoku.
“Kamehameha loves you and you will inherit his kingdom one day,” Kalanimoku said. “But just now, he has many things on his mind. After he subdues Kaua‘i you will see how much he cares for you.”
“I hope my father conquers Kaua‘i soon,” said Liholiho.
Waikiki, 1804
Kamanawa and Kame‘iamoku were dead and their half-brother Ke‘eaumoku was deathly ill. Keaweaheulu was likewise stricken. One by one, a mysterious pestilence was claiming the lives of Kamehameha’s closest counselors. The sickness rampaged through the ranks of the seven thousand warriors Kameha and his chieftains had gathered at Waikiki. Scores of men were succumbing daily, as were the wives and children who had accompanied them from Hawai‘i, Maui, and Moloka‘i. They died horribly, suffering from terrible stomach pain and amid copious outpourings of noxious fluids from both their mouths and rectums. People called the disease the oku‘u, the squatting sickness.
Kamehameha himself took sick. Hundreds of double-hulled war canoes were drawn up on the beach, waiting for warriors who would never come. The new haole ships that Kamehameha had commissioned for this second invasion attempt lay at anchor in deep water beyond the shallows. The ships had become refuges from the deadly epidemic raging on land. There was no thought among Kamehameha and his remaining advisers of conquering Kaua‘i now.
Kaua‘i’s mō‘ī, Kaumuali‘i, received the news of the epidemic on O‘ahu with grim satisfaction and immediately closed his shores to all refugees from that island, lest his own people become infected.
The disease was a mystery to our kāhuna, who, try as they might, could not subdue it with their traditional methods, including human sacrifice. But ‘Aikake recognized it. “It is an illness of our people, a haole sickness that we call cholera,” he told Kamehameha, who was then on the cusp of the illness himself. “You must send away any of your people who still remain free of it, before they become sick as well.” Liholiho, Kekuaokalani, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, and I were still untouched by the dread disease, so we were dispatched to the ships, along with Ka‘ahumanu and the other chiefesses who had not yet demonstrated any symptoms. Kamehameha ordered Kalanimoku and Hoapili to accompany us. ‘Aikake told us to keep to the open decks at all times, because the fresh air would be good for us and breathing the air of the ships’ close holds could be dangerous. Because space on the decks was limited, only the highest-born ali‘i were accorded asylum on the ships. Even then, there was little room to move about. My father was untouched by the illness and could have come with us, but he insisted on remaining ashore to tend to Kamehameha.
Kekuaokalani despaired at the sight of the empty war canoes on the distant beach, lying now under a pall of smoke from the imus—too many to count—where the flesh melted away from the sacred bones of the dead. “We will not go to Kaua’i now,” he exclaimed to Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku and me one day. “When will we ever have the chance to prove ourselves in battle?”
I thought to offer my brother some comforting words, but Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku spoke first. “Is it really so important, Kekua?” he asked. “I think there must be more to life than fighting.”
For months beforehand, as the pace of war preparations at Kailua had quickened, my brother’s days were devoted to training with spear, dagger, sling, the pīkoi tripping weapon, and, of course, the musket. “A good warrior must be adept in every manner of fighting,” he said.
Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, who was to serve under Kekuaokalani’s command in the coming invasion, trained alongside my brother. Ka‘ahumanu’s younger brother was a competent-enough fighter, but he did not share Kekuaokalani’s enthusiasm for combat. One day he voiced his reservations to me. “Your brother thinks only of the coming battle, Nāmākēha,” he said. “But what will he do after Kamehameha subdues Kaua‘i?”
Every day while we were at Kailua, Liholiho and I would accompany Kalanimoku as he made the rounds of the war-canoe builders and weapons makers and conferred with Kamehameha’s generals. And every evening, Kekuaokalani would ask me what I knew of Kamehameha’s growing armada. “How goes the fleet? Did you see many more war canoes today?” he would demand.
“Yes, brother, many more,” I would always respond.
The fleet’s size was expanding by the day, and not only at Kailua. Hundreds of laborers were denuding whole hillsides of koa trees on the Big Island, Maui, and O‘ahu, and hauling the trunks down to the coasts. Kamehameha had ordered every canoe builder on the three islands to work from sunrise to sunset turning them into hulls for his war canoes. These new double-hulled canoes, called peleleu, had commodious central platforms and sails rigged with booms, in the haole fashion. They could carry at least ten men in each of their hulls and another twenty or more on their decks.
At Kailua, a dozen haoles and scores of Hawai‘ian craftsmen labored to build eight more schooners like the Fair American and the Pelekane. ‘Aikake supervised their work. Many more haoles had settled in our islands by then, seafaring adventurers drawn here from America and Europe by the pleasant weather, the promise of an easier life, and the encouragement of Kamehameha, who was ever eager to exploit their knowledge and skills to his advantage. And the promise of a warm welcome by ou
r women was just as alluring as the embrace of our king.
As his new war fleet grew, Kamehameha continued to accumulate haole weapons and munitions—cutlasses, swords, muskets, small cannons, powder, musket balls, cannon balls, and canister shot—from the American and European ships that visited the Big Island with increasing frequency. In the two decades since Cook “discovered” our islands, the Americans in particular had come to rely on our people for provisions, trade goods, and their own renewal in the midst of the long sea voyage to faraway China. Determined to control all commerce with the haoles, Kamehameha had of late barred foreign ships from trading at any island other than where he happened to reside—for the present on the Big Island, either at Kailua or at Kealakekua. “They must all come to me,” he said.
‘Olohana and Kalanimoku were Kamehameha’s agents in transactions with the haole sea captains. Acting in his behalf, they drove hard bargains for haole goods in exchange for provisions like livestock, fruit, vegetables, and wood, and even for watering rights, which the haole merchantmen sorely needed. The visiting captains complained bitterly about the latter, accustomed as they had become over the years to freely collecting as much fresh water as they wished from our streams. “Lono sent this water to us,” Kamehameha admonished them, “and it is not yours to take.” Left no choice, the haole captains paid for the water.
Kamehameha’s invasion commenced in May of 1803. The fleet’s first stop was Maui. Liholiho, Kekuaokalani, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, and I sailed with Kamehameha, my father, and the rest of Kameha’s most trusted counselors on the Fair American. ‘Olohana was not among them—as governor of the Big Island, he remained at his home in Kawaihae.
Our passage across the Alenuihāhā Channel was swift and especially rough. The same strong winds that filled the ship’s sails and sped our passage roiled the sea and whipped up high swells. From Upolu Point to Hana, our first port of call on Maui, the Fair American’s prow rose and fell, rose and fell without relief. Kekuaokalani reveled in the channel’s turbulent rhythm. I endured. Liholiho became deathly ill.
Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii Page 43