A kahuna prophecy claimed a god would arrive during Makahiki, the time we celebrate the harvest. In our village, kalo is pulled from the loʻi and pounded into poi. Weke and pāpio from the nearshore reef are captured in a hukilau net. Hogs bake in the imu.
Makaʻāinana wonder at what floats offshore. It sits high in the water and has white wings. The wings disappear to reveal wood beams rising. Some say a giant tree has fallen into our bay. Many believe Lono has arrived to fulfill the prophecy.
I know this is no sacred visit. This is a schooner from overseas, one flying a red flag. A man chants, “O Kahiki, moku kai a loa.” I know this chant. It is a story of fog dwelling people living far east of Hawaiʻi Nei. They were a race of small people living where the sun fell outside a land as wide as the ocean dividing us. Their skin was white. They suffered from a cold northern wind, thick fog, and freezing rain.
Villagers paddle out in outriggers. My warriors join me, and we launch a war canoe. The schooner shrinks the man in me because of its size. I hear outrigger people calling up to Blue Coats gazing down from above. Wāhine sing mele.
The schooner’s belly wood glistens like koa. The deck is five-men tall above the sea. Cord ropes stretch from deck to mast. What keeps it from tipping over? A cloud moves over the sun. The sea cliffs darken. I smell sweet fern from the valley.
We reach a dangling ladder. I grip the cord and pull myself up and out of the canoe. Kekūhaupiʻo, my guardian, follows. I climb above the cannons, swing, and land on the top deck. The wood beneath me creaks.
The cornered heads of Blue Coats surround me. Eyes flash. Their foreheads are as white as the tender haohao meat of young coconuts. Narrow shoulders. Little muscle over bones. Short. Tongues snap leo pāhaʻohaʻo, a strange language. Kekūhaupiʻo says they are women. They seem more wāhine than kāne – except for the tattooed cook standing in the galley doorway. My warriors tour the schooner, one brushing a hand over the gleaming surface of a cannon.
Blue Coats with spears surround a white hair in a yellow uniform. He is “Cook.” I bow when our eyes lock. A pū waikaua (conch) blows on deck. The spears of the Blue Coats shimmer. A Tahitian among us says these are not spears, they are “muskets” with the power to spit death. Big shiny mouths gleam from pukas cut in the schooner’s sides. The Tahitian says these mouths hurl black balls harder than stone that can kill at great distances.
An aliʻi tells me Cook dropped anchor at Kauaʻi and slept with Lelemahoalani, daughter of High Chiefess Kamakahelei. The women and girls lay with Blue Coats for nails, metal buttons, and scraps of iron. Cook is no god. He wants fresh water, meat, fish, taro, and poi.
Cook beckons forward High Chief Kalaniʻōpuʻu. Blue Coats part to let our king through. Cook will not be the last. More fog dwellers will come.
E nā Kānaka e noho aku ka ʻāina – we must claim our land. I see greed in haole eyes, a craving only satisfied by the taking of everything. Haoles will take our land, our food, and our wāhine. They can only be stopped when the aliʻi on all islands unite against them.
But the kings are too busy making war among themselves to see the danger.
For now, it is best to give. Taking makes Cook feel powerful. Steam more hogs. Bring kālua meat and gourds of water. Fill the canoes with bananas, ʻulu, weke, kalo, sweet potatoes, sugar cane and poi. Gift capes and helmets. Give and give more.
If Cook wants one wahine give him two. Let him believe there is no end to our giving. Give until Cook is drunk with the power of taking. This haole fills the makaʻāinana with wonder. The conch blows. Nā wāhine sing mele.
Know this to be true: Cook has no mana. I will take his weapons of smoke, fire, and death. I will strip him of his uniform. Cook will crawl the sand on feeble legs, begging like a beached crab.
Postscript: Captain James Cook first arrived in Hawaiʻi on Jan. 18, 1778, sighting Oʻahu and landing two days later at Waimea, Kauaʻi. After continuing on to North America, Cook returned to Hawaiʻi in late November, spending two months sailing around the pae ʻāina and stopping at Hawaiʻi Island in January 1779. Cook and his crew overstayed their welcome resulting in increasingly tense relations, quarrels, and acts of petty theft. This escalated when Cook attempted to recover a stolen cutter (boat) by kidnapping and ransoming King Kalaniʻōpuʻu. On Feb. 14, 1779, fierce fighting broke out and 17 ʻŌiwi were killed, as was Cook and four of his crewmen.
