Blackwell's Homecoming (Blackwell's Adventures Book 3)

by V. E. Ulett

  He put his arm protectively over Emma’s dear form in his cot. Alone with her in the second lieutenant’s berth of the Blonde, Aloka felt himself the most happy and fortunate of men. His only wish was this feeling might last.

  “Emma?”

  “Ummm?” She was rosy and languid from his attentions.

  “It might not be so nice for us in Oahu, as it was on Hawaii.”

  “Could we not go back?”

  “I don’t know.” The truth was he didn’t know much of anything when it came to these islands, that were supposed to be his native land. “Would you be terribly unhappy were I to remain as I am, a lieutenant in the Royal Navy.”

  Aloka felt her body, relaxed against his, stiffen just slightly.

  “Return to England? There would be a great deal of pretense. People will remember we were raised together.”

  She turned under his encircling arm to face him. Aloka was aware of her penetrating stare in the gloom of his cabin.

  “I should be very, very sorry to part from Mama. I fear...there may come a time when she shall really need me, as much as ever I needed her, when I was a pup.”

  “Oh,” Aloka said. That could not be argued with.

  She lifted a hand to stroke his face. “But my whole happiness is tied to yours, my dearest love. I am prepared to be one of your followers, and go with you from ship to ship, or island to island. However it might be—″

  His kisses and embraces silenced her for a moment.

  She whispered into his ear. “I’m prepared to do this, at least until I’m not.”

  He chuckled, his heart feeling lighter. If she had faith in him, Aloka believed he could face the future with tolerable fortitude.

  Aloka was not alone in the two English ships in feeling it might not be so pleasant for them in Oahu. Mercedes lay awake in her narrow berth aboard Albion brooding on the life she’d led on Oahu, during the long time James had been captive on Kauai, and the people she’d known there. Kanakoa was alive. Hale and hearty, and still at the head of a few thousand men, was how James put it. She wanted to seek out her usual comfort, in his arms. But it felt unseemly, ungentlemanly, since it was he she’d transgressed against. Mercedes would also have to pass through the great cabin to reach the captain’s quarters. The great cabin was Ka‘ahumanu’s bed place for the passage, and Mercedes didn’t feel equal to it. Cowardice was what it amounted to.

  Next morning the two ships were in the approaches to Honolulu Bay. The Blonde fired a fifteen gun salute, which was immediately returned by the forts on shore. Two forts; one near the beach, and a second placed up the face of an extinct volcano. The forts had not been there at the time of Captain Blackwell’s previous sojourn in the islands. Aboard the Blonde, after she’d been moored, Captain Blackwell contemplated the much changed Waikiki. He stood with two other oldsters, Captain Verson and Kairamoku, staring at the shore from Blonde’s quarterdeck.

  “The near battery mounts 42 guns of different calibers,” Karaimoku said. The guns were probably of various nations as well, Kamehameha never having been nice about where his armament should come from. “The other fort in the crater mounts eight guns.”

  “How it has changed,” Captain Verson said. “So many more dwellings. The church and the mission house, with Miss Mercedes’ little cottage, were the only wooden structures before. Now there must be a dozen very fine houses of two stories, and that handsome one of stone and wood.”

  “That is my house,” said Karaimoku in English. “I beg you and your officers will honor me with a visit, after your presentation to the King and princess tomorrow.”

  Bows were exchanged. Everyone on the frigate’s deck was impressed with the intelligence and circumspection of Karaimoku. He turned to Captain Blackwell. “Is all ready Ali‘i Blackwell?”

  “Indeed, sir.” Captain Blackwell bowed in his turn, and motioned toward the main chains where man ropes had been rigged. The coffins of Liholiho and his queen had already been carried across to Albion, which would take them and the king’s suite into the inner harbor. Li‘liah, Boki, and all the other chiefs had already gone aboard, where they met Ka‘ahumanu, who’d come over in Albion from Hawaii.

  Karaimoku stopped in leaving the quarterdeck in front of Aloka, who was lined up with the other officers. Trained to obedience Aloka stood still and upright, his hand having moved slowly from his sword hilt as soon as the older man faced him. He stood between Mr. Montelongo and young Mr. Verson.

  “Allow me to name my son,” Captain Blackwell said. “Second lieutenant of this ship, Mr. Aloka Blackwell.”

  A long silent considering look, and then Karaimoku extended his hand. Aloka immediately came forward and shook in the native, by the forearm, and then in European fashion. Aloka declared himself honored in Hawaiian.

  “I will look forward to a private meeting tomorrow, lieutenant,” Karaimoku said. “I have your brother George prisoner ashore. He must be dealt with.”

  Karaimoku turned to Captain Blackwell. “He is nothing like George.” He made a haughty gesture, walking away, as though tweaking a high shirt collar. The Hawaiians were known to describe people by both word and gesture.

  Captain Blackwell and Aloka exchanged a brief glance. There was astonishment, even pleading, in the younger man’s face.

  State canoes were sent out to meet Albion once she was in the inner harbor, to bear away the bodies of the sovereigns. Boki, Li‘liah, Ka‘ahumanu, and the king’s remaining suite, even young Kimo, Aloka’s servant, were put into two of the ship’s boats and rowed ashore. A numerous gathering awaited them. The ali‘i, the nobles, were naturally in the front and closest to the breaking surf. Among these were Ka‘ahumanu’s sisters, one of whom was the mother of Liholiho, and the other mother of the present king, his successor. The English were taken aback by the great wailing mele that went up from the people, the chant of grief started by Ka‘ahumanu and the other queens when they were within sight of one another. The fort near the beach fired a minute gun until the caskets were brought on shore.

  McMurtry was one of the boat’s crew helping to hand the brown people out on shore, and as he did so he scanned the gathering at the water’s edge. His ugly mug screwed up in a look of satisfaction when his eye found what it was searching for. A knot of Europeans, white faces on the fringe of the crowd, the deserters and malcontents from all nations that made up the Hawaiian king’s dockyard force.

  On the pull back to Albion, McMurtry said, low voiced to Narhilla, “I smoked ’em, didn’t I? And one blackamoor too.”

  The European faction was no where in attendance next day, there was only a great concourse of native people on the beach. Karaimoku and Boki came out to Albion in the morning. They returned on shore in her gig carrying Captain and Mrs. Blackwell, and accompanied by the Blonde’s barge with nearly all her officers, the surgeons of the two ships, and Emma.

  Captain Blackwell picked Mercedes up out of his gig, in order to set her dry-foot ashore. Emma thought Mercedes looked pained and anxious. Aloka did not offer her such gallantry, merely extending his hand to help her out of the Blonde’s boat, which was just as well. What was a little water up to her ankles, when she’d already gone float-boarding in the deep water and breaking waves.

  On the beach the parties were arranging themselves. Captain Blackwell and Captain Verson went first with Karaimoku, and Kanakoa, the hereditary king of Oahu. Emma had observed her mama and Captain Blackwell greet the king first upon coming ashore. Captain Bowles, Blonde’s first lieutenant, and Mr. Montelongo came next, escorted by Boki. Aloka, who gave an arm each to Mercedes and Emma, walked in this group. Each of the Europeans, down to the Blonde’s reefers, had a native chief for escort on the way to the maneaba. On either side of their path, though kept at some distance from them, Emma looked out upon a sea of native faces.

  She whispered a question to Aloka, who passed it on to Boki. They’d been shipmates a long time, and become friends.

  “The way to the maneaba is tabooed, so they must kee
p back,” Boki said. “We have not given up all the old ways.”

  Many of the native men, the native faces and voices, brought Kuanoa to her mind, and she felt singularly grateful to the old ways. The chiefs who were their escort, on this day, were all dressed in European black suits. Some even wore stockings and shoes.

  The lady chiefs they found, upon entering the maneaba, dressed also in black silk or crepe. Their only ornaments were feather caplets or necklaces, which stood out strikingly against the severe black clothing. The maneaba was a half mile from the beach, located inside a tall enclosing wickerwork fence. It was a native structure with doors opening to the four cardinal points of the compass, and quite large. In length fifty feet and in width twenty-five, with wood pillars thirty feet high holding up the ridge pole of the meeting place. At the opposite end from where Emma and the whole procession entered, sat the king and princess of the Sandwich Islands.

  A boy of ten and a girl of eight sat upon a cane sofa on a raised platform at the far end of the room, flanked on either side by Ka‘ahumanu and the other queens, her sisters. Draped over the sofa the sovereigns were seated upon was a magnificent garment covered in feathers of brilliant yellow, red, and black. Their escort, saving Karaimoku, dropped away and took up places in two lines of ali‘i, men and women, that stretched from the raised platform to the southern entrance of the maneaba.

  There was a great ceremony of presentation, where every one of the Europeans was named to the king and princess, and then all of the ali‘i, starting with the most important—the queens—and ending at the bottom of the meeting house. Once this long introduction was got through, the Europeans were led to seats of honor next to Karaimoku’s chair, and across from the queens. Emma’s head spun with the names of the people she’d met, the great majority beginning with ‘K’ and containing a multitude of vowel sounds. She much doubted she could remember a one correctly.

  Captain Blackwell could have named them all; it was a particular genius he possessed, that might have saved his life on more than one occasion. The introductions and handshakes concluded, Captain Blackwell stepped forward to deliver the message of his sovereign to the Sandwich Island nation. He spoke in Hawaiian to say he would address them first in English, and then translate for them in Hawaiian. As he said this, Captain Blackwell gave the American missionary on Oahu, who would normally have translated his English, a quelling look.

  “His Britannic Majesty commands me to salute the regents of the Sandwich Islands in his name, and to make known to the reigning king, and the principal chiefs, the sorrow he felt at the death of their late king and queen, whilst on a visit in his dominions. His Majesty King George of England could not further testify his regret at the death of the sovereigns than by giving an early audience to the surviving suite. The manner of their reception, and the treatment they met with in England, could be best detailed by Boki and those to whom God has granted a safe return to their native land.”

  There was a stir and murmurs of approbation from the chiefs who’d been in England, when Captain Blackwell reached this point.

  “The King of England has moreover caused the expenses of the Sandwich Island chiefs, while in England, to be paid by the Government; and has appointed Captain James Blackwell of the Royal Navy to wait upon them, and to attend to their wishes in the capacity of Britain’s official consul to the Sandwich Islands. His Britannic Majesty has sent one of his royal frigates to convey the remains of the late king and queen, with their surviving suite, to their native land; and to assure the actual government of the Islands of his sincere wishes for their welfare and happiness, and his hopes that, with the blessing of Providence, they might continue to prosper, under a peaceful and well-ordered administration.”

  Karaimoku stood and made his acknowledgements, adding that the regents and chiefs were well pleased with the message and the messenger sent by the King of England. The old chief looked gratified too. Captain Blackwell was remembered in those islands and spoke their language like one of them. He and Karaimoku turned to Captain Verson, for the distribution of the presents.

  The Hawaiian chiefs received their tokens of King George’s esteem with pleasure and a good grace, but there was absolute joy on the part of the young King Kiaukiauli with his present. Two midshipmen came forward at Captain Verson’s signal and presented the young king a Windsor dress uniform, complete with a scaled down but very beautiful sword, and a hat with a long plume. The joy on the youngster’s face made everyone saving the austere Protestant missionary smile. He leapt up and instantly threw off his black mourning clothes, donned the British uniform, and proceeded to prance about. This put a period to the solemn and formal proceeding. Refreshments were brought in; and the gathering broke up into informal groups.

  Not everyone was pleased. Ka‘ahumanu nearly knocked the wind out of one of her attendants when she clapped him in the stomach with the silver teapot she’d received. The queen’s gaze was fixed upon the little capering king, and his sister. The princess sat demurely upon the sofa still, her eyes turned to the missionary to discover if her modest behavior should be noticed and approved.

  “She would not wear the pa‘ū that cost more than a year to make,” Ka‘ahumanu said, to no one in particular, though Emma and Captain Blackwell were just at hand. “She deigns to sit upon it, but must wear a gown of black silk.”

  The queen looked at Emma, up and down, scrutinizing her high waisted figured muslin gown. Emma refused to be put out of countenance. She studied the beautiful feather garment the little princess sat upon.

  “I should wear it,” she said, “I don’t think I have ever seen a finer, or more beautiful garment.”

  “Emma!” her father said in a low voice, as though she’d uttered some gaucherie.

  Ka‘ahumanu smiled, a sudden brilliant flash in an otherwise forbidding face. “And deservedly so.” Nodding to them both, she told Captain Blackwell she should see him at the serious conference at Karaimoku’s house.

  “I know it is a royal pa‘ū, sir, so you need not cry out about it,” Emma said to forestall him.

  Captain Blackwell looked as though he were restraining an oath. It saddened Emma that the sympathy that had grown between them in Chile had apparently not been of a lasting nature.

  “Be so good as to accompany your Mama back to Albion. The Blonde’s reefers and boats’ crews will attend you. This meeting at Karaimoku’s is for senior officers only.”

  Emma considered answering, “Aye, aye, sir.” But she had never yet dared take certain liberties with her father, and had no notion of beginning in a room full of people. Emma nodded, and turning round she found Mercedes standing there. Her mama wore that unhappy look that was always there when Emma and Captain Blackwell disagreed.

  On the half mile walk to the landing place Emma was silent, considering. It had been a discouraging shore visit thus far. She was used to a certain degree of admiration and regard; she made no doubt that the eyes of the midshipmen walking in back of her were fixed upon her figure; yet she should have to get over being the Queen of the May. Emma must have been much stupider than she was not to have noticed it was not she receiving the keen attention of the Hawaiians.

  Aloka was the object of an almost panting interest among the lady chiefs, if Emma did not mistake, in his lieutenant’s uniform. The Hawaiians loved finery and show in dress, and he’d received a great deal of scrutiny from the men as well. In the short time she’d spent at the reception in the maneaba, she’d heard low voiced comparisons between Aloka and his half-brother, George, who was apparently given to appear in European clothes. She understood the attraction and interest Aloka excited; a native son returned with his perfect English manners and address, his mariner’s profession. This was to say nothing of the fact he was a fine figure of a man. They could eat him up.

  Emma felt down-hearted, even a little sorry for herself. She knew Aloka looked just as well out of his uniform as in it. They were nearing the landing place and the boats. Emma decided to tell Merced
es of her unease, but her mother pulled her arm loose from her grasp. Mercedes skipped forward and fell into the arms of a black person standing beside Albion’s boat.

  Saunders had not changed overmuch, the coiled braids that sprang up all over her head were shot through with grey, but she was dressed, as accustomed, in seaman’s duck trousers and loose fitting tunic. She and Mercedes grinned into one another’s faces, holding hands still. Mercedes remarked more lines on Saunders’ face when she smiled, and knew the same was true of her own.

  “Will you come aboard Albion for a visit, Saunders? She is a yacht, not a man-of-war.”

  “She is a fine ship, Missus, for so she must be called with a post-captain commanding her. How keeps the Captain? I saw him from a distance yesterday.”

  “He’s prime, Saunders, I thank you.”

  Here they paused. It was not right to play question and answer in front of the Blonde’s officers and the boats’ crews. Mercedes smiled and inclined her head in the direction of Albion with a questioning look at Saunders.

  “I shall be honored, Missus, with a visit to Albion.”

  “Right you are, there, mate,” McMurtry said to Saunders, as she settled in the bow of Albion’s boat. She knew her place so far as not to sit in the stern with the Captain’s wife and daughter.

  Once aboard Albion Mercedes desired Mr. Parsons to show Saunders over the ship.

  “We were shipmates in L’Unite,” she told Mr. Parsons, “the Captain’s command last time we were in these islands. Please bring Saunders to the great cabin at the conclusion of the inspection.”

  Mercedes was gratified to see, when Mr. Parsons escorted Saunders in to the cabin, that they had struck up an easy rapport. She’d hoped it would be so. Saunders was a thorough going seaman, and Mr. Parsons man enough to respect that in whoever he should meet. The same could not be said for McMurtry, who brought in the refreshments and banged them down on the table.