Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii

by Stephen Shender

  Kailua was always the first port of call for all haole merchant ships, for their captains were not permitted to visit other ports without Kamehameha’s leave. In exchange for trading and watering rights, Kamehameha would exact goods from them such as iron and copper pots, pewter mugs and metal cooking implements, and, whenever he could, weapons and munitions.

  Kamehameha formalized these trading rights with papers which haole ship captains were required to present in turn to each island’s governor. They were signed by Kamehameha with his own bold “X” and countersigned and dated by ‘Olohana. This was ‘Olohana’s idea. “Your permission costs you nothing, but it means everything to them, Lord,” ‘Olohana had explained. “Why give away something you can sell?”

  Because of the prevalence of American and English merchant ships in our waters, English was the language most commonly used in trade. Though Kamehameha’s command of the haole tongue was by now fluent enough for negotiating with the merchant captains, he preferred to remain mostly silent behind a remote, forbidding countenance during these bargaining sessions, with ‘Olohana at his side to speak for him. I was at ‘Olohana’s side during many of these negotiations.

  One day, Kamehameha admired a haole merchant captain’s pocket watch. “Get that for me, Nāmākēha,” he said.

  “Truly, Uncle?” I asked.

  “You can do it, nephew. Go on; get it,” Kamehameha said.

  The trader, who did not understand a word of our language, looked from one to the other of us.

  “The king hankers to have y’er…” Here I hesitated, seeking the word.

  “Pocket watch,” ‘Olohana whispered to me.

  “‘Y’er watch,” I finished. The haole seemed startled to hear a Hawaiian speak to him with such a pronounced English accent.

  “But ‘tis not for trade, boy,” he protested.

  I translated this for Kamehameha, who had in fact understood the haole perfectly. Maintaining his sternest expression, Kamehameha looked first at the haole and then at me. “Tell him that he smells bad and looks worse,” he said.

  “The king, my uncle, says ‘ta tell ye that he will understand if ye’ll not part with y’er watch,” I told the haole, “an’ that he hopes ye’ll understand if he don’t give you leave to trade with his own people.” Then with a bravado that I truly did not feel, I added, “An’ truth be tol’ sir, I ain’t no boy. I am King Kamehameha’s royal nephew and m’self a grown man. An’ I would thank ye to remember that ye be in these islands by my uncle’s grace.” By the time I had concluded this admonition, both Kamehameha and ‘Olohana were hard put to suppress their smiles.

  There was a moment of silence as the merchant captain considered this. Then, extracting the pocket watch from his jacket and handing it to me, he said, “But a’course, I meant no disrespect to ye, sir. Please ask y’er uncle the king ta accept this gift with m’compliments.”

  “Thank ye, sir,” I said, and gave the watch to Kamehameha.

  After the haole sea captain had left, Kamehameha and ‘Olohana burst into laughter.

  “Here, Nāmākēha,” my uncle said, returning the watch to me. “This is yours now; you most certainly earned it today.” When I left him, Kamehameha was still smiling at the joke he’d played on the haole. I have that haole pocket watch to this day.

  As much as Kamehameha enjoyed bargaining with the haole sea captains, he enjoyed fishing more. Kāne’s morning light would find him at the shore in Kailua, casting and hauling in fishnets. And as the sun rose from behind the mist-shrouded summit of Mauna Kea, an unusual spectacle was revealed: common fishermen laboring alongside the great Kamehameha.

  These same men worked alongside Kamehameha every morning. When he first appeared among them, they were terrified and prostrated themselves in the sand, not daring to look at him. “Rise,” Kamehameha said to them. “It is not kapu to help your mō‘ī cast his fishnets.”

  Of course, this was not true. The kapu forbade commoners from standing in the presence of the king, and required them to immediately lie face down upon his approach. Kamehameha had in fact made an exception for these fishermen, although he was careful not to put it that way. “It is kapu not to help your lord when he comes to the shore to fish,” he told them. “Now, rise!”

  In this way, Kamehameha sought to preserve the prostrating kapu of the king, even as he waived it. Kekuaokalani was horrified when he learned of this. “Uncle, the common folk will come to disrespect all ali‘i and all the kapus when they see these men helping you,” he exclaimed. “And as kahuna nui o Kūkā‘ilimoku, I must counsel against this.”

  “Nephew,” Kamehameha replied, “if I say that the kapu requires these fishermen to assist me as their mō‘ī, then it must be so. And as my kahuna nui of Kūkā‘ilimoku, you will tell your own people and anyone else who asks that these men help your mō‘ī because he has ordered them to, and that it is kapu to mistake their behavior for anything other than obedience to their king.”

  “Yes, Lord,” Kekuaokalani said. I was present at this exchange, and as Kekuaokalani left Kamehameha’s courtyard, he muttered to me, “No good will come of this. You’ll see, Nāmākēha.”

  “Our cousin, Liholiho, has disappointed our uncle,” Kekuaokalani exclaimed. “He is not applying himself to serious matters, as Kamehameha instructed.”

  To speed Liholiho’s diplomatic voyaging from island to island, Kamehameha had given him the Fair American. But Liholiho, who was as willful as he was irresponsible, had abused our uncle’s trust and now Kekuaokalani was incensed.

  “He does not confer with the high chiefs and chiefesses of the other islands,” Kekuaokalani said, his voice rising in agitation with every word. “Instead he spends all his time feasting with the young nobles and in dissolute carousing with the younger ali‘i, kāne and wāhine alike. And he prefers the haole rum to our own ‘awa.” My brother fairly spat this last, most bitter indictment.

  Kekuaokalani had brought his complaints about Liholiho to ‘Olohana and me at Kawaihae. We were seated on a mat in the central courtyard of ‘Olohana’s hillside compound mauka of the Pu‘ukoholā Heiau, overlooking the bay.

  ‘Olohana had listened impassively to my brother’s outburst. Now he said, “Mind ya tend to y’er own affairs, Kekua. Buttin’ heads with that ‘un’ll do ya no good.” ‘Olohana spoke in English. Though he looked to my brother as he spoke, he directed his words to me, bidding me to translate them for Kekuaokalani.

  ‘Olohana’s counsel did not sit well with my brother. “But what Liholiho does is my concern,” my brother protested, after I’d translated ‘Olohana’s words, “because by ignoring Kamehameha’s instructions, he has transgressed the most basic of kapus—obedience to his ruler. Moreover, he never visits the heiaus, never consults with my priests. Liholiho is nī‘aupi‘o. He should be setting an example for ali‘i and maka‘āinana alike, but he does not. And as the high priest of Kūkā‘ilimoku, that is my affair.”

  Though ‘Olohana understood every word my brother had said in Hawaiian, he waited for me to translate them.

  “Kekuaokalani says that ‘tis so his business how Liholiho conducts himself, because he ain’t observin’ our ways as he should, and he’s settin’ a bad example for others,” I explained.

  ‘Olohana nodded. “Well, tell y’er brother to belay that an’ attend to bein’ the most worthy high priest of Kūkā‘ilimoku he can be. He does that, an’ betimes others will see the difference ‘twixt the right of his own ways an’ how Liholiho has been behavin’ an’ most likely come t’agree with Kekua’s opinion of ‘yer cousin,” he said.

  “‘Olohana counsels you to have patience and let matters rest as they are,” I told my brother. “He says time is on your side.”

  In this, ‘Olohana was wrong.

  D uring these years, my brother recruited many young men to join him in the priestly order of Kūkā‘ilimoku. They were contemporaries who had trained with him for the aborted invasion of Kaua‘i. Had the invasion proceeded, they would have f
ought under his command. With the islands united, and facing the unexpected prospect of peace, they had followed Kekuaokalani into the service of the war god. Several hundred of their friends eventually followed them as well.

  My brother urged Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku to join him, but he politely declined. Though wishing Kekuaokalani well, he said that the priesthood of Kūkā‘ilimoku was not for him. Kekuaokalani was disappointed. He had always liked and respected Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku and wanted him at his side. “He says the time of the war god has passed,” my brother told me.

  Foremost in the circle around Kekuaokalani were his two closest friends and followers, Kauiwa and Holo‘ialena. They and many of the other young men who had trained with them were already skilled in the use of muskets. Kekuaokalani named Kauiwa and Holo‘ialena his principal lieutenants, and lieutenants they became in truth, for the priesthood of Kūkā‘ilimoku subsequently took a decidedly martial turn.

  With Kekuaokalani’s encouragement, mock battles and musket drills became part of the daily regimen of Kūkā‘ilimoku’s priests. Traveling throughout the islands, Kauiwa and Holo‘ialena visited every heiau of the god to supervise the military training of Kekuaokalani’s growing corps of kāhuna. The war god’s time was not past for them.

  I watched this with growing concern, especially after I learned that several members of Kamehameha’s council, Ka‘ahumanu among them, disapproved of this development. “Why do you train your priests to be soldiers?” I asked my brother one day.

  “I train them to fight because they are the war god’s kāhuna, and though we face no threats today, Nāmākēha, no one knows what tomorrow may bring,” he replied. “Our uncle or Liholiho may yet have need of spirited young warriors to defend all that Kamehameha has gained for us. I do it out of love for Kamehameha, our cousin, and all of our people.”

  I still had my doubts about the wisdom of turning the war god’s priests into warriors, but I did not want to argue with Kekuaokalani about it that day, so I let the matter rest.

  Others questioned Kekuaokalani’s actions, however—Ka‘ahumanu and her relatives on Kamehameha’s council. Kalanimoku raised the issue before Kamehameha in council one day.

  “Lord, your nephew Kekuaokalani schools his kāhuna as soldiers,” Kalanimoku complained. “They fight regularly in mock battles and even drill with pū.”

  “I am here, Kalanimoku,” Kekuaokalani interjected, “and since I am, why don’t you speak of this to me?”

  “I serve our lord, Kamehameha, and it is only natural that I speak of you to him, Kekuaokalani,” Kalanimoku replied.

  Kamehameha ignored this exchange. He turned to my brother. “This is the first I have heard of this, nephew,” he said. “Please explain to me why you train these kāhuna to fight.” That our uncle was unaware of this was, I think, due to his interests in fishing and other domestic pursuits, to the exclusion of the daily details of governance, which he was content to leave to Kalanimoku.

  “They are spirited young men, Uncle,” my brother replied. “And as priests of your war god Kūkā‘ilimoku, they should be ready to serve you and the kingdom as soldiers as well,” he said. “It is only natural, after all.” He turned toward Kalanimoku as he said this last; he could not help himself. Kalanimoku frowned, but more worrisome to me was the angry expression that passed across Ka‘ahumanu’s face.

  “Very well, nephew,” Kamehameha said, continuing to ignore the tension between his nephew, his prime minister, and his consort. “I see no harm in this, and, as you say, your priests are young and spirited.” Now he turned to his prime minister and said, “They may continue to train, Kalanimoku. It will do them some good, and perhaps we will again need trained fighters someday.”

  “And what of these priests’ drills with pū po‘ohiwi, Lord?” Kalanimoku asked.

  “Let Kekuaokalani’s priests train with haole arms as well,” Kamehameha said. “Let them keep the pū po‘ohiwi they now have.”

  “Yes, Lord,” Kalanimoku said; his mō‘ī had spoken and that was the end of it.

  Now Kamehameha turned to my brother and said, “Kekuaokalani, it is good that these young priests train in the old way, but these are not the old days, when too many of our people were slain in mock battles, as was my own kahu, Kekūhaupi‘o.” Kamehameha paused before continuing. “You must take care to ensure that this does not happen now.”

  “I will, Uncle,” my brother replied.

  “Good enough,” said Kameha. “I think we have considered enough matters for today. You may all go; I am going fishing now.”

  By 1817, Kamehameha’s days had settled into a comfortable routine. Most afternoons, after he was done fishing with his nets and bargaining with visiting haole merchantmen, Kamehameha would swim or resume fishing from a canoe with a line and bone hook, or, when Kanaloa and Lono stirred up the sea in Kailua bay sufficiently, he would ride the waves. At those times, he was often joined by many other people—women, men, boys, and girls, ali‘i and even maka‘āinana, whom Kamehameha allowed to ride the waves with him in contravention of our traditional kapu against commoners sharing waves with ali‘i.

  My brother complained about this as well, but not directly to Kamehameha. “Nāmākēha, our uncle is becoming too familiar with the kānaka,” he said to me. “Why does he allow them to ride the waves with him now?”

  I put the question to Kamehameha, and though I was diplomatic about it, Kameha still discerned the source of the misgiving.

  “It gives me pleasure to ride the waves with my people, Nāmākēha,” he replied. “Thus, I have decreed that when the gods roil the sea, the kapu is freed for all at the water’s edge, and only there. And you can remind your brother that I have decreed that ali‘i and maka‘āinana alike must always respect my line through the waves, as their mō‘ī.”

  Kekuaokalani was not consoled. “If our uncle continues to suspend kapus as it pleases him, what will become of our laws when he is gone? And what will become of our people without our laws?” I had no answer.

  When he was not engaged in fishing or surf riding, Kamehameha would inquire about such matters as the progress of the season’s harvests, the construction and maintenance of fishponds, the manufacture of kapa cloth, and the other industries of our people. Though his hair had turned gray, Kamehameha was still robust in body and his appetite for life was yet unquenched. In 1814, he fathered a second child by his sacred wife Keopuolani—a boy whom they named Kauikeaouli.

  Though Kamehameha had already taken many wives and fathered many children by them, he took two more partners during this time, young chiefesses whom he invited to warm his sleeping mat in his advanced age. One of these wāhine was Kalanimoku’s own sister, Manono. My brother was often in Kamehameha’s company at Kailua, and thus also frequently around Manono. Kekuaokalani and Manono were close in age, and he was soon attracted to her.

  One evening, Manono danced a hula for Kamehameha, several of his advisers, my brother, and me. This hula was very sensual. Even though she was dancing for Kamehameha that night, it seemed to Kekuaokalani that she meant every provocative gesture for him. And as she danced, Kekuaokalani said to me, “She is a beautiful wahine, perhaps the most striking I have ever laid eyes upon.” From that moment, my brother was smitten.

  Manono had already noticed Kekuaokalani, but whenever the two were together in Kamehameha’s presence, she averted her eyes for fear of offending our uncle. Kekuaokalani, however, could not keep his eyes off her and when she felt his gaze upon her, she would respond with a shy smile. Kamehameha was bound to notice.

  One day he called the pair to him and said, “I see how you look at each other. You need not withhold your affections on my account. I will not be offended if you want to lie together. And Kekua, it is past time you had a partner.”

  And so it was that Manono became, as the haoles say, my “sister-in-law.” Unlike his contemporaries, Kekuaokalani never took another partner. “Manono is more than enough wahine for me,” he told me one day when I teased him about this
.

  “And your brother Kekuaokalani is more than enough kāne for me,” said Manono, who overheard our exchange. She swayed her hips seductively and grinned at Kekuaokalani as she spoke. She never sought another partner either.

  Our cousin Liholiho also took the first of four wives around this time. Her name was Kamehamalu, and she was Liholiho’s own half-sister by Ka‘ahumanu’s sister Kalakua Kaheiheimale, one of more than twenty wives Kamehameha had taken by this time. Both Kamehameha and Ka‘ahumanu encouraged this match; Kamehameha because any child of their union would be a high-born nī‘aupi‘o ali‘i, and Ka’ahumanu because marriage to her own niece would bind Liholiho even closer to her.

  The pleasant cadence of Kamehameha’s life in these years stood in marked contrast to the nearly constant strife of the decades that had preceded them. And as he turned his attention more and more to domestic pursuits, Kamehameha remained content to leave the more taxing matters of the islands’ governance to Kalanimoku.

  I questioned Kamehameha about this one day after he, ‘Olohana, and I had completed another bargaining session with a China-bound haole merchant captain at Kailua. “Uncle, does it ever concern you that Kalanimoku has gathered so much authority to himself?” I asked.

  “Nāmākēha, Kalanimoku has only the authority that I have given him,” he said. “And I trust him not to abuse it. But if he ever should, I can just as easily take it back. For now,” he concluded, “I am at ease with him.”

  In truth, I had not put this question to Kamehameha for myself. As I had in the matter of surf riding, I raised it on behalf of my brother. Ever since Kamehameha had so thoroughly upbraided Kekuaokalani for counseling him against fishing with commoners, my brother had been reluctant to question our uncle about anything related to enforcement of the kapus and now, affairs of state. Kamehameha’s seeming indifference to Kalanimoku’s growing influence troubled Kekuaokalani, and he was not reassured when I told him what Kamehameha had said.