The Devil in Paradise--Captain Putnam in Hawaii

by James L. Haley

“Should that not be part of your vocation, when Jesus was a carpenter?”

  “There you have us, Captain!” laughed Bingham. “Such an argument might carry some force!”

  “Well, I will send Fleming, my carpenter, to you. He will know just what to do.”

  “We would be so grateful.”

  Bliven’s lieutenants, chaplain, and surgeon were spied walking up in a group from the shaky wooden pier to join them, giving Clarity a moment to draw Bliven aside. “Dearest, you have no idea the good you have done. Reverend Bingham has not laughed these last two months. It has been a bit of a stressful time.

  “Well! Are we ready?” Clarity inclined her head in the direction of a low hill nearby, surmounted by a large grass house surrounded by natives. “We oughtn’t keep the queen waiting.” She went three steps to lead them there but then stopped when she noticed confused glances among the men. “Oh, my Lord, you don’t know! Gentlemen, listen carefully. The old king Ta-meha-meha died a few weeks before our arrival. The new king is a drunkard and his stepmother, the old king’s widow, runs things. Many in the court are nominal Catholics, owing to the visit of a French frigate last year, and most of them speak at least some English. Most importantly, the old religion of wooden idols and human sacrifice was brought down before we landed, so we have been living here in perfect safety. So, please, do not act superior or as though you are suspicious of their savagery or any such, because it hasn’t been like that.”

  As they neared the structure the well-uniformed officers were greeted with smiles and waves and cries of “Aloha!” at which they raised their hats and nodded.

  “Shout ‘Aloha!’ back to them,” said Clarity softly. The officers complied and saw the response of eager but respectfully distant goodwill.

  “I am glad they haven’t eaten you, but still,” said Bliven, “the queen lives in a hut?”

  Miller appraised it. “Yes, but it is an almighty large hut.”

  Clarity hushed them. “Their architecture is far better suited to the weather than our New England house will be, as Captain Blanchard and others have found amusement in telling us. This is her audience hall; she actually lives in another nearby, but wait till you see the inside.”

  All had to stoop to enter. Light came in this front door and also a rear one for the queen to enter privately from her residence. Located well away from the walls to avoid any possibility of starting a conflagration, stands held torches that lit the interior with a flickering sufficiency. “Good heavens!” whispered Bliven. It was true the walls were of grass, and the light from torches. Otherwise they might have been in an English drawing room, tastefully appointed with mahogany furniture, gilt mirrors, and a large and fine carpet spread upon the ground.

  The assemblage parted for them and they advanced, and as had been the case with the missionaries earlier, it was all Bliven could do not to gasp at the sight of the queen. Seated on her low dais, all five hundred pounds of her, she held the room with easy command. She was flanked by courtiers, and behind her stood two lackeys—Bliven’s impression of them was as Roman lictors—each holding a pole more than ten feet tall and topped with a broad cylinder of feathers like an enormous bottle brush. They held the poles out at an angle, making a high, feathered arch above the queen’s head. Behind all, the wall of the pili was hung with a kind of tapestry of native yellow-gray tapa decorated with geometric stencils in blue and red.

  “Missy La Laelae!” boomed Kahumanu as they entered, her voice at least as deep as Bliven’s own, but with greater sonority. “Come up to me.”

  “Wait here,” whispered Clarity. She advanced with a firm step until she was five paces from the dais, where an ornate stand held a shorter, five-foot pole topped by a gilt ball nearly a foot in diameter. She stepped back and dropped into a deep curtsy. “Ka mea Kamahao, ka moi wahine,” she said. Bliven’s jaw went slack; he had no idea she had acquired such a facility with the language.

  The queen was dressed in a Boston frock of yellow and green cotton print, and held out her right arm. “Come, Missy.” Clarity mounted the dais as the queen extended her right leg, and Clarity sat upon it as the queen embraced her and laid one enormous meaty hand on her back and with the other lightly stroked the swaddled infant. “How is your baby today?”

  “He is very well, I thank Your Majesty.”

  “Tell me now some good new thing today about our Lord Jesus Christ.”

  “Well, one thing that I most love is that He sees every kind thing that we do. Whenever you act with mercy, or give out true justice, he is pleased, and when we each come to our own day of judgment, he will remember all those things in our favor. Our Lord said, ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.’”

  She laughed deeply and shook her head. “So much better than old gods.” She looked up to the far side of the pili. “Who are they?”

  “My husband, ma’am, and the officers of his ship.”

  “Heh!” the queen thundered. “Bring him!” She pushed Clarity off her lap. “Bring him!” She gestured to the courtiers who had been gathered at the side. “Hopu, come here.”

  As Clarity approached Bliven she whispered, “This is formal, so I won’t take your arm. Gentlemen, you are not expected to bow, but salute very smartly.”

  Clarity returned as far as the kapu stick. The religion had been brought down, but the tradition of placing one before the throne to create a sacred space was so ancient that it was continued. “Majesty, may I present my husband, Captain Bliven Putnam, and the officers of the United States sloop of war Rappahannock?” The six marched forward, Berend, Mutterbach, and the three lieutenants cuing their steps to match Bliven’s, their bicornes in the crooks of their arms, and they followed his lead in snapping to attention and saluting.

  “Aloha, Captain Putnam,” said the queen. “You are welcome. It is considerate of you to come in a ship with a name that we can say easily. This is not true of many ships that visit us. Rapahanaki. This we can pronounce.”

  “I thank Your Majesty. It is the name of the river where our first president, George Washington, was born.”

  “Heh! It is good to receive information, even when it is not solicited. Gentlemen, you are welcome. Hopu here can say my English for me if I falter.”

  “Forgive me, ma’am,” said Bliven, “your English seems quite as good as our own.”

  “You are forgiven, but it is not for you to correct me. I will know when I make a crooked job of something.” She laughed, and the gathering then knew they were permitted to laugh as well.

  “I know Hopu,” said Bliven. “We are old friends.” He extended his hand and Hopu took it eagerly.

  “Will you meet also my prime minister, High Chief Karaimoku?”

  Karaimoku stepped from the crowd and shook hands with Bliven, nodding pleasantly to the other officers. “The English often call me Mr. Pitt, for the obvious reason.”

  “Ha! I am certain that such an accolade is well deserved, sir. Would you prefer me to call you Mr. Pitt or Karaimoku?”

  “Mr. Pitt, I think. It is easier for you to say.”

  “What message do you bring us, Captain Putnam?” asked Kahumanu.

  “Your Majesty, my mission to your part of the world is manifold. Many months ago, a trading ship of my country was attacked by pirates near Malaya. These pirates have made that sea-lane dangerous for the ships of all nations. My government has sent me to investigate what happened, to find and if necessary to fight the pirates who committed this crime, and to clear them from that waterway. Being aware that I must pass by your country, my government asked me to pay a call and to express their friendly and respectful interest. My orders to that effect are contained in this letter from our president. Ma’am, it is addressed to your late husband, King Ta-meha-meha, because the sad news of his passing had not yet reached our country.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” She made a graceful gesture. “Ka
raimoku will receive this letter. And what is your first impression of our country? They tell me of your saying that first impressions are lasting.”

  “I think first, ma’am, that it is the most beautiful place I have ever seen.”

  Kahumanu pointed at him suddenly. “Quite a widely held opinion!”

  “Indeed! Second, my wife has already told me of the kind and generous treatment that she and the other missionaries have received since they arrived. I shall report this to my government. They will be very gratified. They have sent to Your Majesty a few tokens of their desire for friendship, if I may present them?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Miller, Jackson, and Rippel laid their parcels in front of where Bliven stood; Clarity suppressed a smile as they reminded her of the Three Wise Men. “First, ma’am, you see a portfolio of drawings showing scenes from around our country, which you may look over at your leisure. Second, they send you a silver desk set, with pens and an inkwell, in the hope that it will open many years of friendly correspondence between our countries. And third, they send you the seeds of various crops that grow in our country, in the hope that you will find them useful and enjoyable.”

  “That is very kind, Captain. We have a Spanish farmer here, Mr. Marín, who has introduced to us many foods that we had not known before. We will entrust your seeds to him. If they can be made to grow here, he will spy out the way to do it.”

  “Really? I have been a farmer myself, ma’am. I should be very pleased to meet Mr. Marín and learn his methods.”

  “Heh! We will see if that can be arranged.” Without warning the queen stood, and at once a broad aisle opened before her to the entrance. “And now, gentlemen, while we have been talking, food has been laid out for us, and entertainment for you.” She swept before them with her ladies, and then Karaimoku, who guided Putnam by the arm, with Clarity, followed by the officers, and they arrived at a grassy lawn near the shore.

  When Bliven thought of a beach he necessarily thought first upon Cape Cod, two miles wide on average and stretching for thirty miles or more; here the beaches were beautiful but intimate, no wider than the common town lot and lying in arcs of fifty to a hundred yards between small headlands.

  Thirty feet from where the grass gave way to the sand, they saw mats of native cloth spread on the ground, laden with bowls and baskets and platters of the most sumptuous-looking foods. Bliven was stricken with the terror of not knowing the etiquette, when the queen tapped him on the shoulder. “Captain Putnam, do you know of the luau?”

  “No, ma’am, I fear that I do not.”

  “Be at ease; there is no ceremony. Gentlemen, find a plate; take and eat what you will. Be seated. Some of our young warriors have competitions for you to enjoy.”

  The officers loaded their plates with the likeliest-looking foods. Clarity took her seat next to Bliven. “If you think this is informal,” she said, “at your average luau everyone eats with their fingers. This is a royal event, so you see the silver serving pieces and forks.”

  Karaimoku sat at Bliven’s other side. “Tell me, Captain, do you not find that sitting upon the ground is a great leveler of rank and pretense?”

  “My heavens, I do think it must be!”

  “Servers will come with rum or water. I will sit by you and inform you of what you shall see.”

  Bliven had already noticed strapping young men in grass skirts and anklets of dark green leaves depositing perfectly round boulders upon the ground to their left.

  “This is a contest,” said Karaimoku. “The young men balance themselves on these round rocks of lava, and roll them with their feet as they race across the course. This trains them for coordination in warfare.”

  “My word!” Bliven was astonished at their agility, and joined in the laughter and applause when one would lose his balance and be sent flying. They watched several heats until one was hailed as the champion.

  He then saw two warriors face each other about seventy feet apart at the edge of the beach, flexing and shaking themselves. One took hold of a spear that must have been ten feet long and tipped with a blade of obsidian so sharp that its edges were translucent. He found just the right balance and, taking careful aim, hurled it at the other.

  Bliven gasped, his hands flying to his mouth as the intended victim coolly measured its approach and at the last instant dodged aside and snatched the spear in mid-flight out of the air. Taking equally careful aim, he hurled it back at the other, who similarly evaded and caught it out of the air. The process repeated until one man failed to catch the spear but only knocked it aside, at which there was laughter and applause among the court, and good sportsmanship between victor and vanquished.

  “My God!” cried Bliven.

  “No fear, they practice with blunt spears,” said Karaimoku.

  “Those are not blunt spears. Is this not terribly dangerous?”

  Karaimoku shrugged. “Once in a while, one is a little slow. Obviously, he does not win.”

  “Wait a minute. You are a chief; you have led men.” Bliven pointed, his finger tracing the flight of a spear back and forth. “I gather that you yourself have mastered these arts?”

  Karaimoku grinned. “I am quite good, actually, but as chief I no longer compete.”

  This spear-snatching contest also proceeded through several rounds until one reigned supreme. Quickly Bliven learned to ration his breathlessness or else faint dead away. As night fell torches were lit, and Bingham led the missionaries in paying their respects to the queen and praying around her, which she seemed to appreciate. They waved and called good night to Clarity and the officers.

  “Are they not retiring quite early?” Bliven asked her as he waved.

  “Ah, therein lies a tale, dearest. The dancing is about to start. They do not venture yet to criticize it, at least not vociferously; they register their disapproval by retiring from the scene so they do not have to watch it.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Um, you will see.”

  As the missionaries moved away, more of what Bliven took to be the common people began to emerge from the surrounding shadows, keeping a respectful distance from the chiefs and the feast. It began with a call, a kind of guttural, bawling, cadenced chant, with a thunder of drums that Bliven found hair-raising. The men and women performed their choreography in unison, like a Greek chorus, the women’s chests as bare as the men’s above their grass skirts and anklets of leaves, by turns graceful and expressive, or violent, or thrusting and lewd. In its changes of mood it was as nuanced as ballet, and it was soon no mystery why it must have overwhelmed the New England sensibilities of Bingham and his followers.

  “It is called hula, Captain,” said Karaimoku. “Your missionaries do not like it, because they think it is done to entertain, and to stare at the bodies, but they are wrong. Every step of the hula, every line of the chant, tells the story of our people. You read your molelo, your history, in books. We have hula. Your people of God do not see this. It pleases me to see you paying such close attention to me!”

  “Well, then, that part of the dance where they seem to be, well, mating with each other—what is the purpose of that?”

  “Some hula is history, some hula praises our land, some hula praises the king and the chiefs. That part was to honor the king’s cock, which is very large.”

  Bliven’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my God!” When he recovered himself he added, “It is all so new and strange.”

  “But look now, you have not seen your wife for a year, and it is time for your little one to go to sleep. No one will be offended if you wish to steal away.”

  “Yes, it is time to go.” They stood and shook hands. What a heady brew it was to feel himself bonding with a tattooed island chieftain, half again larger than himself, with an enormous fall of plaited black hair, with his button-small eyes and pug nose, who spoke perfect English and could exerci
se great influence over the direction his government would take. “Will you come visit my ship tomorrow?”

  “Yes, most happily, but not early. In the afternoon?”

  “That is perfect. Gentlemen,” he said to the officers, “take your ease, enjoy yourselves. I am remaining ashore tonight. Send my gig to the pier after breakfast and we will prepare for the prime minister’s visit.”

  They stood as well. “Good night, Captain,” said Miller. “When you return to the ship in the morning, we can arrange shore leave for the men?”

  “Certainly. We need also to set Mr. Yeakel to the rerigging and get Mr. Erb with the American agent to see about victualing. Work will resume.”

  “Come, I will show you the way.” Clarity took his arm, leading him east, past the compound where the missionaries lay sleeping. “You know, dearest, I do believe that the queen took more enjoyment out of watching you and your officers than she did in the athletics.”

  “Ha!”

  “This was a very successful evening. You fellows made a fine impression.”

  “We are heading away from the town. You do not live in that compound with the others?”

  “No. I did for a while, but when the queen learned that my husband was coming, she provided me a separate house where we can have some privacy and be a family. It is a little west of here and near the beach. It is a pleasant walk.” She took his arm, and he let her lead the way. “Mrs. Albright has been living with me, but she will be staying at the compound while you are in residence.” The moonlight on the white sand made the path easy to follow.

  “Forgive my saying so, but that was a very great deal of sweaty flesh for you to have to see. Were you not offended at such a display?”

  Clarity burst into the huskiest laugh he had heard in years. “Oh, my gracious, Bliv! We have been here for over half a year. If we became disjointed at every unchristian thing we see, we would never get anything done. One can only get thrown off a high horse so many times before staying on the ground. But make no mistake, these are good people.”