among large lava boulders, dive, and swim strongly into the tide; his grandfather taught the cultural ways of Hawaiian traditions through storytelling, especially the family’s complex genealogy which defined their place in society. He developed into a resilient, intelligent boy with a sense of humor that was often entertaining, especially when he mimicked personal characteristics of family and village members. Great Aloha existed within this tightly bonded family, but dreadfully “Great Aloha” was broken by the warrior’s sword, which yielded death and captivity.
In preparation for ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia’s archaeological disinterment, I made arrangements to meet with Cornwall Cemetery sexton John O’Donnell to consider the logistics of the undertaking. John was a burly, muscular, no-nonsense caretaker who wanted this exhumation to be conducted properly. Meeting at the cemetery entrance, we drove to a prominent hill in the southeastern section where the earliest graves were located. I walked out ahead of John, ascending a relatively steep slope of manicured lawn, studying late 18th and early 19th century tombstones delineating long-standing, prominent Anglo-Saxon names in the community. A small, damaged tombstone, having toppled over and lying on the ground, caught my eye. It was dedicated to Thomas Hammatah Patoo, a native of the Marquesas Islands who studied at the Foreign Mission School and died in Cornwall five years after ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia.40 I continued my search for a similarly deteriorated vertical or horizontal headstone engraved with the name “Obookiah” but could find none. At last, John joined me and silently motioned to follow him further up the hill.
‘Ōpūkaha‘ia’s burial monument, Cornwall Center Cemetery, Cornwall, CT. (Courtesy of Bill Keegan).
As we ascended the steep slope, John was advancing straight toward a rectangular stone table. The platform, composed of granite boulders, some the size of basketballs, was positioned on the incline of the hill so that the top of the table at the upper (head) end toward the west was less than a foot off the ground, but almost two feet at the downslope eastern (foot) end, leveled to balance the precipitous embankment. Lying face-up on the table was a beautifully carved, white marble tombstone with shell beads, pineapple, coins, candy, and other trinkets placed on top. Though the stone’s engraving was darkened by years of acid rain, the epitaph was still legible. The sizeable lettering at the head of the stone read:
In Memory ofHENRY OBOOKIAHA Native ofOWHYEE
When I queried John concerning the beads, food, and money, he acknowledged that visiting Hawaiians often made pilgrimage to Cornwall specifically to pay their respects to ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia, their countryman who never came home. In tribute they frequently placed offerings on his memorial. I was dumbstruck. Expecting a timeworn vertical fieldstone marking the grave, I was unprepared to find a raised-stone pedestal usually reserved in historic New England cemeteries for the most elite members of the community, mainly ministers, and totally unheard of for a man of color. I certainly did not anticipate a place of pilgrimage, a shrine.
‘Ōpūkaha‘ia, now a prisoner of war, was compelled to serve and reside with the warrior who murdered his parents and brother.41 He was taken to his captor’s home at Kohala,42 birthplace of Kamehameha and the northern point of the Island of Hawai‘i, the geographic opposite from ‘Opukaha‘ia’s home village at the southern extent. At the onset of his altered life, he suffered the constant anguish of survivor’s guilt. If only the pāhoa that impaled his infant brother had penetrated deeper, he would have died with them. What had he done wrong? Should he have stayed and fought to the death over the bodies of Keau and Kamoho‘ula? Would his brother be alive if he had not fled? Was he a coward? His remaining years on Hawai‘i, and even later in New England, would be characterized by a tormented mind, subsumed in the abyss of the dark hours, sustaining periods of self-remorse and despondency, searching to find answers to questions that gave no answers, no resolution.43
The wife of his captor treated him kindly and even the man that killed his parents did not abuse or overwork him. Nonetheless, the face of the warrior that had tortured him and violently executed his family was a constant reminder of the horror he withstood. ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia existed solely with feelings of profound culpability. He suffered many nights where he cried himself to sleep while living with his captors for almost two years.44
In time—and quite unexpectedly—‘Ōpūkaha‘ia reunited with his mother’s brother. This uncle, Pahua, was the praying priest (kahuna pule) at the Heiau Hikiau in Nāpo‘opo‘o and had arrived in Kohala while traveling around the island to collect tribute to cover the costs of the Makahiki festivals.45 At these times, chiefs would confine people to their huts by virtue of kapu, while the kahunas, bearing the figure of the god Lono, would liberate them through the collection of tributes (i.e., pigs, dogs, tapa, etc.) paid to the ali‘i in support of the Makahiki, which was initiated in honor of Lono’s wife, Kaikilani.46 Pahua had trained under the tutorage of Hewakewa, the high priest (kahuna nui) of Kamehameha, and may well have been present at Kealakekua Bay when Capt. Cook was slain.47
At first, Pahua did not recognize his nephew. The last time he had laid eyes on the boy ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia was a mere child, and he had now grown into a young teenager. Uncertain, Pahua inquired about his parents and when he heard the name of his sister, Kamoho‘ula, the priest broke down in tears. He had thought ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia dead. Trembling, Pahua could hardly believe his fortune. His nephew was alive, saved by the gods and reunited with him.
The kahuna resolved that the boy should not return to the home of his captive, insisting that he must dwell with him and his maternal grandmother, Hina, in Nāpo‘opo‘o. Reconciled with his true family, Pahua planned to take ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia under his wing, tutoring the boy to follow in his footsteps and enter the priesthood, devoting his life to the gods who had saved him. Determined, Pahua instructed the young boy to return to his captor and petition for his release.48
The warrior who retained ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia did not take the request calmly. Angered at the thought of releasing the boy, the countenance and menacing voice of the man put renewed fear into ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia, who would never be allowed to leave until his slaver died, or the boy died first, which the warrior threatened. ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia wanted so desperately to go with his uncle—to be rid of the face that reminded him continually of his parents’ merciless deaths. Yet he was powerless. The confrontation reopened deep emotional wounds.
After his encounter with the warrior, ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia sought out his uncle and told him of his captor’s ire at the mere idea of yielding his freedom. Pahua fashioned an attitude, instructing ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia not to return to this vile man, but remain by his side. Let the warrior, his sister’s murderer, come to discuss this with the priest. Pahua would handle the situation personally; as a kahuna, he had the power and influence to do so.
A few days later, the warrior approached Pahua to collect his property. Pahua spoke eloquently of ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia as his own child, making it clear that he would not let the boy leave him under any circumstance. If the warrior insisted, he must take both ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia and Pahua back with him as captives because the priest would never let the youth leave his house alone.49
In the end, there would be no confrontation, no frightening outcry. Pahua was a man who served the gods. His mana was far more powerful than that of the abductor. Whether out of respect or fear of the kahuna, who was capable of praying someone to death,50 the warrior acquiesced and agreed to give ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia his freedom. He gave the uncle one curious stipulation: “You must treat him well and take care of him in a proper way, just as I have done.” Pahua agreed that it would be satisfied.51 Had this enslaver of
