“You’re lying, and it will go hard on you when we take you back to Kailua!”
“Liholiho will not permit it; I am his aikāne!” I shouted.
Kalanimoku tried one more time to pry the truth out of me. “Did you know your brother would leave so soon?”
“This is pointless!” Hoapili exclaimed. “What difference does it make now what Nāmākēha knew or did not know? Kekuaokalani’s people are already on the march. What if they do not intend to stop at Keauhou? What if Kekuaokalani means to attack Kailua while we are looking for him and his people at sea? We must get word to Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku that Nāmākēha’s brother marches overland. His people must keep them from reaching Kailua!”
I struggled to conceal my emotions as Hoapili spoke.
Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku and his fighters were at this time just north of Kealakekua at Keawakāheka, waiting in ambush. With their head start, my brother and his people were already no doubt well beyond Keawakāheka in their drive up the coast toward Kailua. Kalanimoku understood the danger at once.
“You are right to be alarmed about Kekuaokalani’s purpose, Hoapili,” he said. Now he looked up at the Pelekane’s foremast, where a small pennant was flapping in a stiff northerly wind. “This wind is unfavorable for us,” he said. “It may already be too late for us to overtake Kekuaokalani in our great canoes. But Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku and his people can still beat them to Keauhou if they start soon. We must get word to them now!
Hoapili, take Keopuolani’s canoe and as many paddlers as it can hold and go at once,” Kalanimoku said. Then he gestured at me and added, “And take this one with you. I want him to be there when we crush his brother.”
As Hoapili grabbed me roughly by my arm and led me away, I heard Kalanimoku mutter, “I would also march on Kailua if I were in his place.”
The unfavorable wind slowed Hoapili’s progress, and we did not reach Keawakāheka until late afternoon. Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku was surprised to see Hoapili. “Cousin, what brings you here now?” he asked, when Hoapili found him on the shore among his men. “Why are you not with Kalanimoku? And what is he doing here?” he demanded, just then noticing me.
“Kekuaokalani and his people have already left Ka‘awaloa and are marching overland to attack Kailua! You must overtake them and stop them, else our mō‘ī’s life may be forfeit. As for this one,” Hoapili said, gesturing at me, “Kalanimoku has sent him along to witness his own brother’s defeat.”
“Then he comes with us,” Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku replied, adding, “and if he is to watch us crush Kekuaokalani, we must go at once.”
With hundreds of men to organize and scores of canoes to launch, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku did not get away from Keawakāheka until early evening. The wind still blew from an unfavorable quarter, and he ordered his people to furl their sails and paddle through the night, resting only in shifts.
My brother had by then gained two days on his foes. I knew it would not be enough.
Kekuaokalani pushed his own people as hard as he could. They marched without rest or complaint throughout the first night of their advance northward along the coastal trail from Ka‘awaloa, taking advantage of the cover of darkness to conceal their movement from their enemies. In this way, they avoided early detection by Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku’s people and were already well north of them by morning. But with dawn came exhaustion and Kekuaokalani was forced to call a halt for several hours before moving on. Several more hours of steady marching in mounting heat under a cloudless sky found his people weary again. They had little to eat and less to drink. Few freshwater streams ran down from the uplands in this area and they perforce relied on scattered pools of brackish water to relieve their thirst. By mid-afternoon of the first day, Kekuaokalani called another halt, resolving to rest his people until nightfall, when cooler temperatures would favor the resumption of their march. The second night, he and his people moved more slowly and made less progress than they had the first night, and the following day they moved even more slowly and rested even more frequently.
In contrast, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku’s canoes never ceased their movement. We did not catch sight of Kekuaokalani’s people during the flotilla’s progress up the Kona Coast, so I cannot say when or where we overtook my brother. All I can say is that we landed at Keauhou before Kekuaokalani could reach it.
Immediately after landing, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku sent some of his men along the coastal trail to discover my brother’s whereabouts. At the same time, he dispatched a canoe southward to find Kalanimoku’s ships and another canoe north to Ka‘ahumanu at Kailua with an urgent request for more men. “Tell my sister that they must come immediately and that they must all bring pū,” he instructed his messenger.
Meanwhile, the scouting party found Kekuaokalani and his people below Keauhou at the southern edge of Kuamo‘o Bay.
“Kekuaokalani is coming! He is already close by!” the wounded man shouted as he limped toward us, bleeding profusely from his leg.
A second man staggered behind the first, holding one of his arms, which was also bleeding. “They killed all the others!” he cried. “We only just escaped with our lives.”
We had earlier heard the distant crack of musket fire; now we learned its meaning. Thinking that Kekuaokalani and his people were farther away, the men of the scouting party had made no effort to conceal themselves as they moved south from Keauhou. They had thus blundered into their foes, who were equally surprised to encounter them. Though men on both sides were carrying muskets, none were prepared to fire at that moment, and a frantic contest ensued as the two groups struggled to be the first to load their weapons. My brother’s people won that race, but only just barely. Their musket fire, ragged though it was, cut down a number of Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku’s people and put the others to flight. The two wounded men were the first of the party to reach us at Keauhou. I took some inward satisfaction from this, but no consolation. For though the skirmish had ended in defeat for Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku’s people, the scouting party had accomplished their mission—they had discovered Kekuaokalani’s position.
Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku acted swiftly once he knew my brother’s where abouts. I flinched as I watched his preparations. With reinforcements now arriving by canoe from Kailua, he divided his people into two groups. He put several hundred fighters under Hoapili’s command and charged them to prevent Kekuaokalani from moving up the coast trail toward Keauhou. Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku led a second party, another several hundred strong, to a ridge affording an unobstructed view of the coastal plain at Kuamo‘o. Both parties were armed with muskets and had ample powder and shot. Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku’s force also had several cannons, English three-pounders that his people hauled to the ridgeline on wooden sleds, in teams of five men each. Having no canister or round shot, each team carried a large basket of stones—projectiles for the guns that would soon fire on my brother and his people.
I feared to watch the coming battle and wanted desperately to flee to Kailua, or at the very least remain well behind the lines at Keauhou, but there was never any question of that. “Nāmākēha, you will see the fate of all who rebel against Liholiho’s government, even your own brother,” Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku said. He ordered two of his men to “accompany” me as we marched up the path to the ridge line.
Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku’s men spread out along the length of the ridge, their muskets loaded and primed, their cannons ready. The plain below us was a treacherous jumble of sharp a‘a lava rocks, save for a narrow footpath close to the shore. It was along this trail that my brother led his people in good order toward Keauhou. I now saw the white sails of Kalanimoku’s haole ships making for the bay with their big guns. A double-hulled canoe sailed to meet them from the direction of Kailua. I was too far away to see who was on the canoe’s platform, but I learned later that Ka‘ahumanu and Liholiho had come to join Kalanimoku aboard his ship.
My brother’s people continued toward Keauhou unmolested for a time; I cannot say for sure how long. Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku’
s men, some kneeling, some standing, and all eager to discharge their weapons, watched their enemy’s progress as if they were merely spectators at a performance. Concerned as he must have been about possible foes ahead of him, Kekuaokalani did not look in our direction. He may not have noticed the ships just offshore. He most certainly would not have seen Hoapili’s men directly in front of him, concealed as they were in the heavy foliage at the lava field’s northern edge. I had to do something.
My guards were paying me no attention, intent as they were on following my brother’s progress. Jumping to my feet I shouted, “Kekuaokalani!” I thought I saw my brother turn toward me just as one of the men struck me across my face with his musket. I sank to the ground and sat there, bleeding, dazed, and silenced.
It was now mid-afternoon. The usual clouds had collected against the flanks of Mauna Kea; over the water, the hazy sky was a luminous white. The sea itself was the color of slate except toward the horizon, where Kāne’s light, breaking through the haze, had turned a patch of water painfully bright. The wind still blew from the north, rippling the sheltered waters of Kuamo‘o Bay and raising whitecaps in the gray sea beyond. From my vantage point on the ridge, I could see the dark outline of the reef that marked the small bay’s perimeter, just beyond which Kalanimoku’s ships now lay at anchor, broadside to the shore. Kekuaokalani’s people continued along the footpath; all was quiet other than the soughing of the wind in some palm trees behind us and the occasional bird call.
Now seeing that my two “companions” had once more forgotten me, I staggered to my feet, waved my arms and shouted, “Kekua! Brother! Look out! It is a trap!” This time, both guards tackled me, pulled me to the ground and pinned me there. The horror of what came next has ever been transfixed in my memory.
White clouds erupted from the ships offshore, followed moments later by the booming of the ships’ cannons, and then by the screams of Kekuaokalani’s people as the heavy cannon balls fell among and around them and sent deadly shards of a‘a lava flying in all directions. Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku’s people opened fire at the same time. The simultaneous crack of the muskets and the roar of the cannons was overwhelming. They continued to reload and fire and reload and fire again, until we were all enveloped in acrid smoke that stung our eyes.
Through a haze of smoke and my own tears, I now saw Kekuaokalani brandish his musket above his head. I knew he was shouting to his people, though I could not hear him over the continuing roar of the ships’ cannons and the musket and cannon fire around me on the ridge. I could see that Kekuaokalani was pointing his musket toward Keauhou and urging people to follow him into the cover of the trees and undergrowth at the lava field’s edge. It was at this moment that Hoapili’s people broke their own cover, formed up in a long line in front of the trees, and leveled their muskets at my brother and his people. Kekuaokalani saw Hoapili at the center of the line and ran at him, waving his musket wildly by the barrel. Knowing what must come next, I shouted at him. “No, Kekuaokalani! Not that way!” Of course, only Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku’s men could hear me now and they laughed at me.
Now Hoapili raised one fist over his head and then slashed it downward, whereupon the men to either side of him—there must have been more than two hundred—leveled their muskets at my brother and his people and fired as one. As before, I saw the smoke well before I heard the shots. And I saw Kekuaokalani crumple to ground, not to move again, before I heard his distant cry and the screams of his dying followers.
Manono ran forward and threw herself upon my brother’s body. She gestured frantically at Hoapili’s men and called out to them. I could not make out her cries. Later, some said that Manono had begged to die with my brother; others claimed she pleaded for her life. A final, ragged volley from Hoapili’s line decided the issue. There was some further scattered musket fire intermixed with the cries of the wounded and the dying. Then, all the birds having fled, there was only the sound of the wind in the trees.
No bodies were sacrificed to the gods after the battle. The dead were buried where they fell, a‘a lava piled over their bodies. I do not know which cairn conceals my brother’s bones.
Ireturned to Kailua with Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku’s people, but I did not remain there long. Liholiho was as affectionate toward me as ever and urged me to reside with him at his court. I could not bear to live in daily contact with my brother’s killers, so I declined his offer and withdrew to Kawaihae to live for a time with ‘Olohana, my older sister, Ka‘ōanā‘eha, and their children.
At Kawaihae, Ka‘ōanā‘eha and I fell into each other’s arms and wailed over our brother’s death. When he could bear no more of this spectacle, ‘Olohana sought to console us, saying, “You can be proud of your brother. He lived as he wished and died for what he believed in. He would not have had it any other way, and you can take some comfort in that.” At the time, ‘Olohana’s words were cold comfort.
As days became weeks and weeks became months, I eventually found comfort in the gentle rhythms of daily life there. Surrounded by my sister and her children John, Jane, Grace, and Fanny, and soothed by the calm presence of ‘Olohana himself, I was able to set aside the horror of Kuamo‘o. And when I looked upon the great, denuded foundation of the Pu‘ukoholā Heiau below us, and the bay beyond, I no longer dwelled on the day Kekuaokalani and I had visited the temple together with our cousin Liholiho, when I still hoped that conflict between them could be avoided. Instead, I would recall another day, some twenty-five years earlier, when my big brother and I capered on the beach below the heiau, so excited to see George Vancouver’s ship anchored offshore. I would remember how Kamehameha stood so regally on that beach awaiting the haole explorer, the yellow feathers of his cloak and helmet shimmering in the morning sun and enveloping him in a nimbus of Kāne’s light.
I would smile at the memory of my big brother gleefully proclaiming that one day, he too would be a great warrior like our uncle. My brother, Kekuaokalani, the last kahuna nui of the war god Kūkā‘ilimoku, became a great warrior at the end—even though his and the god’s cause was already lost.
Kailua-Kona, 1859
Ha‘ina ‘ia mai ana ka puana. The story is told.
Esther and I are sitting on the lanai. It is late afternoon. The weather has been hot and muggy of late, and we are making the most of the slight breeze that stirs as the day wanes. Ezra and Gideon are repairing the roof thatching of their quarters among our fruit trees across the lawn. Ezra looks up and waves to us. I wave back.
Ezra is a conscientious young man, I say. He wants to make something of himself. He must learn English first, and I would like to help him. I would like to make amends for the way my people treated his people from time immemorial, I think to myself. For the way I treated his people, for that matter.
Perhaps you can arrange a scholarship for him to attend the school at Punahou, Esther suggests. They are teaching Hawaiians there, are they not? Esther has never learned English herself, but then she has little need of it. She is speaking of the school the missionaries started eighteen years ago for their own children on land my uncle, Kamehameha, originally wrested from Kalanikūpule in 1795. These days, it is known as O‘ahu College. Some ali‘i now attend as well as haoles, and I see no reason why a thoughtful, young maka‘āinana like Ezra should not be welcome among them. He would do well there.
I may have some influence in that quarter, I say. I will speak to Beckwith about Ezra. Griffin Beckwith, whom I have met at palace affairs, is the school’s second principal.
For a while, there is a comfortable silence between us. Then, taking Esther’s hand, I ask, Will you go to Hawai‘i with me? We shall invite Kalākaua and Lili to come with us. What do you say?
Oh yes, replies Esther. But first, I must obtain Emma’s leave to go.
Of that, there is little doubt. The king and queen are in seclusion. The royal couple’s sojourn on Maui last year ended tragically when the king, thinking his queen had taken up with his own personal secretary, shot the poor man and gr
ievously wounded him. Now the king is tormented by guilt and distraught with grief for his secretary—an American who is a close friend and who has served him honorably. When he is not at his friend’s sickbed, the king keeps to his residence and Emma remains there with him, keeping their little son, Albert, close to them. She has no need of Esther’s assistance with the boy for now.
And so it is that several weeks later the four of us take passage on the Frances Palmer, a three-masted clipper bark out of San Francisco. The Frances Palmer carries passengers, cargo, and mail between San Francisco and Honolulu on a regular schedule. She is normally prohibited from plying inter-island trade because she is of foreign registry, but the authorities have made an exception in this instance at the urging of a haole attorney with urgent business on Maui. We were fortunate to obtain passage on the Frances Palmer, as she is much preferable to our Hawaiian-registry ships, crowded as they are with maka‘āinana and their pigs, chickens, and goats.
We have booked passage on this ship from Honolulu to Kailua. The Frances Palmer will stop briefly at Molokai then sail to Maui, stopping at Kahului, and then, at our request, continue to Kailua on the Big Island. We are among the ship’s complement of fourteen passengers, the other ten of whom are haoles. As luck would have it, Griffin Beckwith, the principal of O‘ahu College, is among them. He is also going to Maui.
Settling into our small cabins, Esther and I in one and Kalākaua and his sister Lili in another, we hear the clamor of sailors shouting to one another and the sounds of heavy ropes groaning as sails are hauled aloft and trimmed. Stepping outside again, we watch Honolulu fall away behind us as the sails overhead snap in the wind and our bodies sway to the gentle rolling of the Frances Palmer’s deck.
Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii Page 54