All this time, silence had enveloped the luau, so intent were the attendees on the drama unfolding before them. Now, as Liholiho took his place between Ka‘ahumanu and Keopuolani, a great sigh rose from the crowd. Then—pandemonium.
We heard a loud commotion behind us, and I turned around to see men and women eagerly commingling. Kekuaokalani did not need to turn around; he knew what was happening behind us. Instead, he watched in horror as Liholiho offered his own mother forbidden pig meat, and then helped himself to a liberal portion of dog meat.
Jumping to his feet, Kekuaokalani cried, “This place is defiled! We must leave at once!” Whirling around now to face the revelers, and shouting to make himself heard, he called out to them, “All who still honor the gods and the kapus follow me!”
One of the chiefs who had been sitting with Liholiho had not immediately followed him and the others to sit with the women. This was Naihe, son of Kamehameha’s old ally Keaweaheulu, and the only member of Liholiho’s inner council other than my brother who was not related to Ka‘ahumanu. Now Naihe stood, touched Kekuaokalani on his shoulder to gain his attention, and spoke quietly to him. “I had best not leave with you at this time, brother, even as my own ‘aumakua bids me to follow you,” he said. “I hope you will understand.”
“Yes, I understand indeed,” Kekuaokalani replied. Then, with his entourage of priests in tow, he marched down the avenue of open space that had formerly divided the men’s and women’s eating mats. I followed.
Others followed as well. Kekuaokalani’s beloved partner, Manono, who had been sitting with the chiefesses, rose and left them without a word. Here and there throughout the large crowd, scores of men and women, ali‘i all, abandoned their places to join Kekuaokalani and his priests in their protest.
As we were leaving, Naihe joined Liholiho. I noticed that he was careful to avoid sitting next to any of the women who were now feasting with his mō‘ī.
Upon leaving the feast, we withdrew to the high ground immediately above Kailua. The luau revelers had kindled fires atop the still-hot stones in the imu pits, illuminating the field below us. We could make out the shadowy forms of people cavorting in the wavering firelight. Even muffled by distance, we could hear their raucous cries as they rejoiced in the end of kapu eating.
Now we saw a new light flare opposite the luau grounds. As the flames shot upward, Kekuaokalani comprehended to his horror that they were rapidly consuming a thatched structure, and there was only once such structure at that place.
“They are burning down the Ahu’ena Heiau,” Kekuaokalani cried. “There is no longer any place for us here!”
Ka‘awaloa, November 1819
Makahiki time had come around again. At Kailua, Keauhou, Kawaihae, Hilo, and elsewhere on the island of Hawai‘i and throughout the rest of the archipelago, people celebrated with the games and athletic contests customary to the season, even as they abjured its erstwhile religious practices. It was a happy time for the Hawaiian people at large, but for Kekuaokalani and his allies in self-imposed exile at Ka‘awaloa, the season was joyless.
Food was becoming scarce. When Kekuaokalani’s people, who were several hundred in number, first arrived, the farmers and fishermen of the area met their demands for meat, fish, and produce without question, still believing they had no choice but to submit to these ali‘i. It was not long, however, before they learned of events at Kailua and elsewhere, whereupon they balked at further supplying these newcomers without gaining something in exchange. They wanted only haole goods, and save for their muskets and ammunition, my brother’s people had only metal knives, axes, cooking implements, and various other personal items to barter. Kekuaokalani’s lieutenants gathered up all these items and one by one, traded them for food. Now their store of trade goods was exhausted and their food stocks nearly so. Trading their precious haole arms for food was out of the question.
To make matters worse, Kekuaokalani’s people were running short on firewood. They had soon gathered all the dry wood that was easily at hand. When some of their men ventured into the uplands above Kealakekua Bay in search of more, they were sent home empty-handed by villagers armed with spears and clubs. The local people now demanded haole goods in exchange for firewood as well as food.
“This is not right!” Kauiwa and Holo‘ialena protested. “We should go mauka with our pū and show these kānaka what will happen if they refuse to give us wood.”
My brother would not hear of this. “Remember the law of the broken paddle,” he told them. “‘Do not molest the common people by the roadside.’ We must honor Lord Kamehameha’s law; we will not make war on these commoners.” Truth be known, Kekuaokalani had little choice in this regard. The people of the surrounding area outnumbered his own and if matters descended into violence, his people would pay with their lives, haole muskets or no. “We will keep peace with the people here and keep the kapus,” Kekuaokalani continued. “When they see how we respect them as well as we respect the ways of our forebears, perhaps these maka‘āinana will be more generous with us.”
That did not happen.
Idid not follow Kekuaokalani to Ka‘awaloa. Torn between my loyalty to my brother and my doubts about the kapus’ rightfulness, I was apprehensive about what was to come and reluctant to follow him. Thus, I was secretly relieved when Kekuaokalani asked me to remain behind. “You have always stood with me, brother,” he said. “But now you can be of more help by staying close to Liholiho.”
“But Kekua—” I began to protest, though my heart was not in it.
Kekuaokalani waved me to be silent and his next words chilled me. Pulling me close and wrapping his arms tightly around my shoulders, my brother said, “I have just enough pū sufficient for the fighters who are already with me. One more fighter will not make a difference, and you were never a warrior, Nāmākēha.”
We were at the beach at Oneo Bay, south of Kailua proper. My brother had led us there under cover of darkness as the Ahu’ena Heiau burned. Distracted as they were by the nightlong celebration that followed the ending of kapu eating, Liholiho’s people took no notice of our departure. Kekuaokalani made for Oneo because there was a shed there that housed a score of canoes, and on the beach were many more, all with sails—enough canoes, my brother judged, to transport all of his people down the coast to Ka‘awaloa. Now, with the first faint light of day, they were ready to depart.
Kekuaokalani and I hugged and wailed our farewells. Manono had been standing at my brother’s side, and as he and I released each other, she hugged me as well, and whispered, “Take care, brother. Whatever may happen, make sure our story is told.” Then, quite unexpectedly, Manono gently rubbed the tip of her nose against mine. I saw tears in her eyes as she stepped away.
I stood on the beach gazing out to sea for a long time after the canoes had slipped from sight. Kāne’s sun was beating down and the morning was growing warm when I finally turned away and trudged back toward Kailua, where the charred ruins of the Ahu‘ena Heiau were still smoking.
It was the kahuna nui Hewahewa who had set the Ahu‘ena Heiau on fire. Later he would claim proudly that he meant to do it—but in truth, he had stumbled against the heiau while holding a burning torch. Naihe told me what had happened when I returned to Kailua.
“Old Hewahewa joined Liholiho in drinking rum after you left the luau,” he began. Being unaccustomed to the strong haole liquor, Hewahewa soon became intoxicated, Naihe said. “Then, at Ka‘ahumanu’s suggestion, Liholiho asked the priest to lead us all to the Ahu‘ena Heiau to pay his respects to Kamehameha. Hewahewa’s own legs could barely support him by now, but Liholiho paid no mind to this because he was drunk as well.”
Liholiho and the royal party set off with much fanfare. “Liholiho encouraged all at the luau to follow him,” said Naihe. “He shouted, ‘Come everyone! Our kahuna nui leads us to the heiau to honor the spirit of my father, the great Kamehameha!’”
Hewahewa was unable to walk to the heiau without support. “I held one of his arms a
nd Hoapili held the other,” Naihe said, “and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku carried a torch to light the way. When we reached the heiau, Hoapili and I helped Hewahewa mount the platform, and then we stepped down. Liholiho and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku took our places.” Neither Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, who still held the burning torch, nor Liholiho offered their assistance to Hewahewa.
The old priest managed to keep his feet under him, but with no one to support him he wobbled and swayed. He was about to chant a prayer of some sort when Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku abruptly turned to him and pressed the flaming torch into his hands. “I heard him say, ‘Here old man, take this so everyone can see you better.’ The torch was heavy,” said Naihe. “Hewahewa was not expecting it and he fell backward against the side of the heiau.” The Ahu‘ena Heiau’s dry thatching caught fire at once.
Many in the crowd thought that the kahuna nui had set fire to the temple on purpose. “They cheered,” Naihe said. Then, as Liholiho and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku helped Hewahewa to his feet and hurried him off the temple platform, several other men broke from the crowd, rushed forward, picked up the heavy carved image of Kūkā‘ilimoku, and threw it into the flames. The crowd cheered again, louder than before.
“I saw Ka‘ahumanu laugh and clap her hands,” said Naihe. “I believe she knew what would happen when her brother handed that heavy torch to that drunken old man. She was waiting for it.”
News of the burning of the Ahu‘ena Heiau at Kailua ignited a frenzy of destruction throughout the archipelago. Within the span of a fortnight, heiaus from Waimea Bay on O‘ahu’s northwest coast to Ka Lae at the southernmost extremity of Hawai‘i went up in flames. Effigies of the gods likewise burned. The great Pu‘ukoholā Heiau at Kawaihae, consecrated by my own father, was one of the first temples to go. All that remained of it was its massive stone platform.
Liholiho still bore me affection and treated me kindly after I returned to Kailua. Ka‘ahumanu and her brother would have nothing to do with me. Moreover, they did all they could to keep me from my cousin. Liholiho was reluctant to challenge them and thus, I only rarely saw or spoke with him at this time.
Other than my timorous cousin, Naihe was my only friend at court. He told me he disapproved of free eating, and that the destruction of the temples had profoundly disturbed him. “Who will we be without our kapus and our gods?” he wondered one day. “Nāmākēha, I fear we will become haoles in our own land.”
Still a member of Liholiho’s inner council, Naihe kept such concerns to himself, voicing them only to me. Meanwhile, he kept me informed of the council’s deliberations concerning my brother and his people.
“Ka‘ahumanu, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, and Kalanimoku are angry with your brother for removing his people to Ka‘awaloa,” he told me. “They say your brother and his people must all return to Kailua.”
“But Kekua will never return as long as free eating continues here,” I said.
“I have told them as much,” Naihe said. “I even suggested that they leave Kekuaokalani alone. I said to them, ‘Let Kekuaokalani and his people stay at Ka‘awaloa and keep the kapus. Let them stay there unmolested as long as they keep to themselves.’ But they would not hear of this. Kalanimoku says it is not possible because Kekuaokalani would become like a mō‘ī in his own fiefdom. He says that whenever there has been more than one such ruler on this island, there has always been war. No, they want Kekuaokalani to return here, where they can keep an eye on him.”
“What does Liholiho say?” I asked.
“Liholiho says nothing; he only listens.”
D ays, weeks, and then months passed with no resolution. Deferring to him because he was, after all, their mō‘ī and titular ruler, Ka‘ahumanu, Kahekili Ke’eaumoku, Kalanimoku, and the others awaited the decision of Liholiho, who had taken the name of Kamehameha II, but he said nothing and did nothing. Ka‘ahumanu and Kalanimoku decided to take matters into their own hands.
Makahiki time came again. My cousin invited me join him at a lavish luau celebrating the season. I sat to his right. Free eating being the rule now, Liholiho’s senior wife Kamehamalu sat to his left and Keopuolani sat next to her. Ka‘ahumanu sat opposite Liholiho and me and paid close attention to everything we said to each other. Despite this, I did not hesitate to speak to Liholiho about my brother.
“Cousin,” I began, and then quickly corrected myself. “Lord,” I resumed, “I know that your people want Kekuaokalani to return to Kailua”—here I paused and looked directly at Ka‘ahumanu, who was now glaring at me—“but as you know, Lord, my brother will not come here because he cannot abide free eating.”
“Yes, cousin,” Liholiho replied, “I am aware of this.”
“And yet,” I continued, “if you insist, he must come because you are his mō‘ī.”
“This is so,” said Liholiho, “but I have not yet insisted.”
“No, but you will in time, Lord, I am sure,” I said.
Liholiho said nothing. Now Ka‘ahumanu looked quizzically at me. Keopuolani was also paying close attention.
“Why not invite him to bring his people to Keauhou?” I said. “Let Kekuaokalani and his people and any others who wish to join them honor the kapus there.”
“It would be a place of refuge for those who still observe the kapus?” asked Liholiho. “Like Honaunau?”
“Yes, exactly,” I said. “But if Kekuaokalani comes there at your invitation, he implicitly acknowledges your authority and accepts free eating here, even if he never says so.”
Liholiho brightened at this. “What do you think?” he asked Ka‘ahumanu.
“I think that is a wonderful idea, Lord,” Ka‘ahumanu said, smiling now. “Thank you, Nāmākēha. I believe you have just solved all our problems.”
Ka‘ahumanu decided that Keopuolani should go to Ka‘awaloa to speak with Kekuaokalani and that Hoapili and I should go with her. Naihe, whom Ka‘ahumanu also decided to send with us, explained her reasoning to me. “Ka‘ahumanu said neither she nor her brother should approach Kekuaokalani on this matter because of the present enmity between them,” he said, and went on to explain that Kalanimoku would not go either—as Liholiho’s new military commander, his presence would likely be seen as a threat. “Ka‘ahumanu said Kekuaokalani would receive Keopuolani more kindly than the others because he has had so little to do with her in the past,” Naihe continued. “She is sending me to represent the council because I have never quarreled with your brother. Keopuolani is to present the council’s terms and you are to convince your brother to accept them. Hoapili is coming to keep an eye on me and to make sure you succeed.”
“I will indeed succeed, and gladly,” I said. Again, I was hopeful that a clash between my brother and Liholiho over the kapus could be avoided. Unfortunately, my hopes were dashed by the time we departed for Ka‘awaloa two days later.
Just before we were to sail, Naihe came to me with alarming news.
“Ka‘ahumanu and Kalanimoku have no intention of allowing Kekuaokalani and his people to settle at Keauhou and keep the kapus there,” he said. “They will not even allow them to reach Keauhou. They are setting a trap for them.” Naihe said he had learned that at Ka‘ahumanu’s instruction, Keopuolani was to ask Kekuaokalani to return the canoes he and his people had previously taken from Oneo Bay, “as a personal favor” to Liholiho.
“Ka‘ahumanu and Kalanimoku do not care about the canoes,” Naihe said. “They only want to lure your brother to sea, and once he and his people are at sea, Kalanimoku will attack them.”
“We must warn my brother!” I said.
“You must warn him, Nāmākēha. I cannot because Hoapili will surely be watching me closely. Tell Kekuaokalani to go overland to Keauhou, if he goes at all.”
“Does Liholiho know about this?” I asked.
“No, of course not,” replied Naihe, “nor does Keopuolani. But I believe Hoapili does.”
Naihe told me that if Kekuaokalani and his people put to sea, they would be attacked on two sides—by Kalanimoku with haole
schooners armed with cannons and musket-bearing warriors on one side, and by Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku with many war canoes, carrying swivel guns and more men armed with muskets on the other. “Whether your brother fights or flees will make no difference,” Naihe said. “Either way, he will be trapped. It will be a slaughter.”
We entered the bay at Kealakekua at sunset. The high cliff face was dull red in the day’s fading light. No one had preceded us to herald our coming, and we were not expected. Thus, the beach at Ka‘awaloa, the very same beach where James Cook had died some forty years earlier, was deserted. Naihe blew on a conch shell to signal our arrival. Echoing off the cliff face, the shell’s deep call soon drew people to the shore.
Keopuolani stood at the center of the canoe’s platform. She wore a gown of white linen that fell from her bosom to her ankles and over this a yellow and red feather cloak. On her head she wore a lei of white flowers, tinged pink by the setting sun. I stood behind Keopuolani, holding a kahili with white feathers.
As we neared the beach, the people gathering there began to point at Keopuolani and talk among themselves. When she stepped lightly from the canoe to the land, some of the people fled while others knelt in the sand and still others removed articles of clothing. Kekuaokalani’s people still observed the kapus, but since the recent events at Kailua, many of these ali‘i were now unsure how to behave in her presence.
Keopuolani promptly relieved them of their uncertainty. Approaching the closest kneeling figure, she stood over the man and said gently, “Please rise. You need not demean yourself before me in this way anymore.”
Curious now, people gathered around this once-remote royal personage. Now Kekuaokalani pushed his way through the crowd and confronted Keopuolani. My brother made no show of respect for her high-born lineage.
Once There Was Fire Page 52