Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii

by Stephen Shender

  His comments drew a puzzled look from my brother. Later he said to me, “It is curious that Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku made no mention of Lono or Kāne, whom the kahuna said spoke through our father.”

  Kalanimoku and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku had spoken for themselves and Ka‘ahumanu. Though Ka‘ahumanu kept her silence during this council, she had no confidence in Liholiho’s prowess as a warrior and feared that he would be at risk in a battle. Kalanimoku, likewise, thought Liholiho would fare poorly if Kamehameha decided on war.

  When all had spoken their minds, Kamehameha raised one broad hand and signaled for silence. Turning to Kekuaokalani, he asked, “Kekua, my brother’s last words were to you, yet you have said nothing. Have you no opinion as to their meaning?”

  “What I may think does not matter, Uncle,” Kekuaokalani replied. “Only your opinion matters here.”

  “Then here is what I think,” Kamehameha said to the assembly. “My brother Keli‘imaika‘i was as courageous in battle as any ali‘i. Even so, he preferred peace to war and he was magnanimous toward those he governed, even former foes. Hence his name, The Good Prince. I think that the god Kāne was telling me through my brother’s dying words that it is past time for fighting. Therefore, we will set aside the war god now and serve Lono.”

  Now Kamehameha again turned to my brother. “Kekuaokalani,” he said, “you will go to Kaumuali‘i as my emissary to offer him governance of Kaua‘i, provided he first comes to me here at Waikiki to pledge his fealty. You will be assisted in this by Kalanimoku and your own brother. This is my decision. Kaumuali‘i willing, we will be done at last with war among our own people.”

  K aumuali‘i was willing; eager even, though he camouflaged his eagerness in royal hauteur. We, Kamehameha’s envoys, were careful not to puncture this conceit, representing ourselves as supplicants. This, after arriving at Lihue, close to where Kaumuali‘i now conducted his court, in one of Kamehameha’s newest haole schooners, bristling with cannons.

  During the voyage from Honolulu, Kalanimoku instructed my brother and me on the importance of humbling ourselves before the ruler of Kaua‘i. “Kaumuali‘i is a proud man and he must be allowed to keep his pride before his own people,” he said. “You must never lose sight of this.” Nor did we. Kaumuali‘i had the kneeling kapu and thus when his guards bid us to enter his hale we at once fell to our knees before him and bowed our heads.

  Kaumuali‘i was sitting cross-legged on a mat on a raised platform. Now he rose so that he could look down upon us from his full height, which in fact was not considerable for an ali‘i. He stood with his arms crossed just below his chest.

  “So,” he said, “my royal cousin Kamehameha has sent you here to sue for peace?”

  Kalanimoku and I were kneeling just behind my brother, and I saw his neck and shoulders tense at these words. Kalanimoku leaned forward and whispered to Kekuaokalani. I could not hear what the royal counselor said, but I could see his words’ effect because my brother soon relaxed.

  Now Kekuaokalani looked up from the hale’s floor, still taking care not to meet Kaumuali‘i’s eyes. “Oh Lord,” he began, “the god Kāne spoke to my uncle, Kamehameha, through the dying words of my father, Keli‘imaika‘i. The god said Lord Kamehameha must put aside Kūkā‘ilimoku and serve Lono. Only Lono. The god bid Kamehameha to send us here.”

  “The god Kāne has ordered Kamehameha to send peace emissaries to me?”

  “Yes, Lord,” said my brother.

  “Kāne now favors me, then?”

  “Kāne favors peace over war, Lord,” my brother replied. The cords of his neck muscles tightened again as he spoke. He steadied himself and continued. “The god has told Kamehameha that he must allow you to continue to rule Kaua‘i, Lord.”

  “This is truly what the god Kāne has decreed?”

  “It is, Lord,” my brother said. “And the god has decreed another thing.”

  Now it was Kaumuali‘i who tensed. He frowned, thrust his shoulders forward, and tightened his grip on his own elbows. “And what is that other thing?” he asked.

  “The god bids you to come to Waikiki to accept Kamehameha’s request that you continue to rule Kaua‘i in his stead, Lord.”

  “Kamehameha is asking me to rule Kaua‘i for him?” Kaumuali‘i’s voice grew cold. Out of the corner of my still-lowered eyes I could see Kalanimoku stiffen.

  “Oh no, Lord,” my brother quickly said. “The god asks it of you.”

  Kaumuali‘i relaxed again. “The god asks it?” he said.

  “Yes, Lord. The god desires this.”

  “Well we must certainly appease the god Kāne in this regard,” said Kaumuali‘i. “Tell me,” he continued, “how shall I come to Waikiki? Has the god also decreed that I must come in your haole vessel?” Now an edge crept into his voice again.

  Kekuaokalani responded without hesitation. “No, Lord,” he said. “The god wishes you to come with your war fleet and as many of your fighting men as you choose.”

  “And the god said all this in your father’s voice as he lay dying?” Kaumuali‘i asked.

  “The god did not need so many words to make his wishes known to the kāhuna, Lord,” my brother replied.

  Kaumuali‘i stared intently at my brother, who now returned his gaze just as steadily. No more was spoken in that hale for what seemed to me the longest time as Kaua‘i’s mō‘ī weighed the sincerity of my brother’s words and our uncle’s offer of peace.

  “No,” Kaumuali‘i said, at last. “Of course not. Tell your Uncle Kamehameha that I will meet him at Waikiki to secure peace between us, as the god wishes. Now come with me to the Heiau o Lono to offer a sacrifice to the god of peace. Then we will feast together.”

  It is said that when Kaumuali‘i’s great fleet of double-hulled war canoes rounded Keana Point, the rhythmic chanting of his thousands of warriors could be heard the length of O‘ahu’s west coast to the beach at Waikiki. The spectacle drew thousands of villagers to the shore. By bringing so many warriors to O‘ahu with him, Kaumuali‘i meant to demonstrate that he was Kamehameha’s equal as a sovereign ruler. And yet, Kaumuali‘i’s pageantry proved no match for the martial display that awaited him at Waikiki.

  My brother and I stood at the water’s verge with Kamehameha, Liholiho, Kalanimoku, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, and the rest of Kameha’s council, wearing our finest feather cloaks and helmets. All but Kamehameha carried spears. Ka‘ahumanu stood apart at the head of the chiefesses. They wore fine feather robes like the men’s, and elaborate flower leis.

  Thousands of spear-carrying warriors stood behind us in ranks that extended the full length of Waikiki from Ala Wai to Le‘ahi. Their feather cloaks and helmets were new, though none were as fine and bright as ours. And among our company, the yellow feathers of Kamehameha’s ceremonial cloak and helmet shone brightest under a clear, blue sky. Standing at the center of this host and towering over everyone else, our uncle Kamehameha seemed like Kāne’s sun come to earth. At least, that is how I saw him, and I could only imagine how he and the rest of our assemblage must have appeared to Kaumuali’i and his people as their canoes came into view.

  Kaumuali‘i would doubtless have expected nothing less from Kamehameha. No doubt, he would have been impressed but unsurprised by the one hundred double-hulled canoes drawn up in two lines stretching from the beach to the edge of the shallow waters of Waikiki. Between them they defined a broad, watery avenue for Kaumuali‘i’s fleet.

  A dozen haole schooners with Hawai‘ian crews also awaited Kaumuali‘i in the deeper waters off Waikiki. Like the canoes, these ships were anchored in two lines. They were each fitted out with small cannons, three-pounders and six-pounders. The Hawai‘ians had loaded the guns with powder charges and wadding only, and at ‘Aikake’s command, they fired a salute in unison as the Kaua‘i fleet drew near.

  On shore, we saw the guns’ flames and smoke well before we heard their report. But we saw the cannons’ effect on Kaumuali‘i’s people at once, as here and there startled men threw awa
y their paddles and dove into the water. Kaumuali‘i did not flinch, however. He stood without moving at the center of his double-hulled canoe’s platform, seemingly unperturbed, with his arms folded across his chest. Then, as the thunderclap of the ships’ cannons reached the beach and echoed off the hills behind us, clouds of white smoke settled over the water and Kaumuali‘i’s great fleet momentarily disappeared from view.

  Kamehameha and Kaumuali‘i had never met before, but now they called each other “brother.” At the elaborate feasts that Kamehameha held in Kaumuali‘i’s honor during the several days the two men spent together, they shared a mat, served each other food, and chewed pepper root for each other’s ‘awa. They spent many hours huddled together in quiet conversation, most often in the courtyard of a hale especially constructed for the occasion. They continued their discussions during leisurely strolls along the beach, and each night after the feasting ended, the two men retired to the same hale to speak further.

  To all who saw them during those days, Kamehameha and Kaumuali‘i appeared as equals. But from the moment Kaumuali‘i’s proud figure had disappeared amid the haze of Kamehameha’s cannon smoke to the moment of their parting—when Kamehameha enveloped the king of Kaua‘i in a clenching hug—there was no question as to who was the master.

  Some days after Kaumuali‘i’s departure, Kamehameha summoned Liholiho and my brother to the courtyard of his hale. It was midday; Kāne’s sun was high in the sky. Kameha was taking his ease on a mat in the shade of a palm tree. He beckoned his visitors to sit beside him.

  My brother and Liholiho were a study in contrasts at this time. Like many ali‘i both of them were of imposing height, but any similarity ended there. Where Kekuaokalani was broad-shouldered and well-muscled, Liholiho was of slender build and finely featured. Kekuaokalani exuded the confidence of the natural leader he had become. Liholiho, meanwhile, often seemed timid and unsure of himself, a disposition born of the isolation that his own severe kapu had imposed. Nevertheless, it was Liholiho who was destined to rule.

  When Kekuaokalani and Liholiho were comfortably seated, Kameha said, “Fighting amongst us is at last at an end. Now that our islands are united, it is time to think about the future. More haoles are coming here every day. ‘Aikake and ‘Olohana have told me that many more will come in the years ahead, and many more will wish to settle among us. ‘Olohana and ‘Aikake understand our kapus and honor them when they are among us, but they have lived here for many years. We cannot expect haoles newly arrived here to understand and do likewise.” Kamehameha paused while Liholiho and my brother considered this. Then he continued, “Haole ways are easier than our ways, and some of our people may be tempted to follow them. This cannot be allowed. After I am gone, it will fall to you, and you, to see that this does not happen,” said Kamehameha, gesturing at Liholiho and Kekuaokalani in turn. “Liholiho, you are young yet, but you are high-born, a nī‘aupi‘o chief and my chosen successor. You will one day rule all of our islands, and you must begin preparing now. You will make yourself known to all the chiefs and chiefesses of each island, those who would succeed them, and their people. And you must come to know them well in turn. No one must doubt your right to rule after I am gone.”

  At this, Liholiho, who was then fourteen, became agitated. “Will you die soon, father?” he asked. His voice trembled. My brother cast him a disdainful sidelong glance.

  Kamehameha frowned and said nothing for a moment. Then he replied, coolly, “No, Liholiho, I will not die soon, but I will die, as all people do, and you must be ready.”

  Now Kamehameha turned to my brother. “Kekuaokalani, I know that under different circumstances, you would be a great warrior and a great leader of warriors,” he said. “You have prepared all your life for this. But what will you do, now that there are no more battles to fight?”

  Kekuaokalani shrugged. “I am unsure, Uncle,” he said.

  “Have you thought about entering the priesthood?” Kamehameha asked.

  Kekuaokalani frowned at this suggestion. “And become a simple kahuna?” he protested.

  “Oh no, not simple by any means, nephew,” Kamehameha replied. “To you, I will entrust Kūkā‘ilimoku, the same god who has raised up our family to rule over all our islands. You will be the god’s keeper and high priest, just as I have been. I will set you over all of the god’s heiaus, on every island. The task of enforcing our most sacred kapus will fall to you. Can you do this?”

  Without hesitation, Kekuaokalani replied, “Yes, Lord, I can.”

  Now Kamehameha said, “Kekua, as the keeper of our most fearsome god and the enforcer of his kapus, you will be as important to the life of our people as your royal cousin, Liholiho.” And turning to Liholiho, he asked, “Do you understand this, my son?” This was not so much an inquiry as a command.

  “Yes, Father,” Liholiho replied.

  “Good,” said Kamehameha. “It shall be done.”

  As the seasons unfolded, Kekuaokalani assumed the mantle of Kūkā‘ilimoku’s high priest and gained much stature throughout the islands, just as Kamehameha had foreseen. And all of Kamehameha’s chieftains abided by his wish and acknowledged Liholiho as his successor. But Kamehameha was mistaken about one thing: Our peace would prove fragile, for there was yet one more battle to be fought.

  Kawaihae and Kailua, 1810-1817

  His rule over all our islands secured, Kamehameha returned to his beloved Hawai‘i. At this time, he sent me to live with ‘Olohana at Kawaihae, with instructions to improve my facility in the haole language. I was an apt student and I enjoyed it. ‘Olohana also had much to teach me about the haoles and the world beyond our islands, most particularly about England and America and their people. I attended to all of it.

  Kamehameha had granted ‘Olohana extensive property holdings at Kawaihae and the Englishman had begun making a home for himself there in 1793. After Kamehameha subdued O‘ahu in 1795, ‘Olohana took his first Hawaiian wife and brought her to Kawaihae to live with him. She was at that time fifteen years old. ‘Olohana was fifty-one. By 1798, ‘Olohana had expanded his homestead to some seven structures. These buildings were the first on the Big Island constructed with stone walls in the haole style, albeit with thatched roofs. By this time, well accustomed to our ways and respectful of our kapus, ‘Olohana reserved one of these buildings as a residence for his young wife, who bore him two sons before a haole disease carried her away in 1804, at the age of twenty-four. In 1805, when I was about ten years old, ‘Olohana took a new wife, our own older sister, Ka‘ōanā‘eha, who was then eighteen. By the time I went to live with them at Kawaihae in 1812, Ka‘ōanā‘eha had borne ‘Olohana four more children.

  At ‘Olohana’s side, I became fluent in the coarse English of sailors, for that is what he was and that is what he spoke. It was only later, at the missionary school in Kailua, that I learned to speak English as better-educated haoles did, and to read and write it properly as well. Nevertheless, I sometimes lapse unthinkingly into sailors’ argot when conversing with lettered haoles, which invariably surprises and often confuses them.

  The haole presence in our islands grew steadily in the years of peace after 1810, as more foreign sailors and adventurers came to live among us. French explorers and Spanish and American merchant ships, en route to the Philippines and China, stopped regularly at Kailua, Kawaihae, and at Honolulu. It was quite common for a few sailors from each vessel to find our gentle climate and even gentler women so beguiling that they elected to remain among us.

  Inevitably, many of our people found some of their ways enticing as well, despite Kekuaokalani’s best efforts to encourage them to follow all the ways of our ancestors. For example, there was the aforementioned rum. It was a more convenient drink than our traditional ‘awa, and it was more intoxicating besides. Many of our people soon learned how to distill it from the sugarcane that grew in abundance in our islands. Kamehameha frowned on this but did not forbid it. Some people have claimed that he made his own rum and drank it liberally,
but I never observed this.

  Then there was the matter of haole dress. In this regard, it was Kamehameha himself who set a new fashion for our men folk. For years now, he had often taken to wearing the coat Vancouver had given him over his malo, in place of his feathered cloak. Now he oftimes appeared in haole breeches, shirt, vest, and cravat instead of his malo and kapa-cloth robe, though occasionally he would wear his feather cloak over them.

  Among the haoles who arrived on our shores in those days was an American sailor named John Parker. When his vessel put in at Kailua in 1809, Parker “jumped ship,” in the haole parlance. He soon gained the favor of Hawai‘i’s governor, ‘Olohana, who appointed him superintendent of our uncle’s fish ponds. Parker stayed on the Big Island for several years, sailing away again in 1812 and returning in about 1815. When he came back, Parker had a new American musket. He soon found work for it.

  Some twenty-two years had passed since Kamehameha sent George Vancouver’s cattle to the Waimea uplands and declared that no harm must come to them for ten years. And in that time, as Vancouver had predicted, these unmolested creatures had thrived and their numbers had multiplied. Now they seemed to be everywhere, not only in Waimea but farther afield, having found their way into the lowlands of northern Kohala and even down the foot trails that threaded back and forth across the sheer walls of Waipi‘o Valley. The roaming herds of wild cattle devoured every edible thing in sight, including sweet potato and taro plants, the grass thatching of houses, and even kapa-cloth garments left to dry in the sun. These cattle, bulls and cows alike, had long, fearsome horns and people were afraid to approach them because they were known to charge and gore when challenged. The people had come to call this too-prolific haole gift ili o Wankuwai— Vancouver’s curse.

  Pestered with complaints and at a loss for other solutions, Kamehameha gave Parker leave to shoot as many cattle as he could with his new musket. He was the first person ever granted permission to kill the beasts. Parker wasted no time in this, and soon a new trade—preserving and trading the meat of slaughtered cattle to merchant ship captains for haole goods—was born. Parker married one of Kamehameha’s granddaughters and they settled in Waimea.