by V. E. Ulett
“Sir, I may have been aboard Lord Cochrane’s command, but after the night of April 11, I assure you I hardly knew day from night. I was never on the quarterdeck except in a stretcher, so I was not privy to orders received by Imperieuse’s officers from the flag and when they received them. You shall have to rely on the logs of the ships involved, like all Naval officers in a court martial.”
Captain Blackwell and Admiral Gambier regarded one another with dislike on both sides. It always had been so.
“It would be understandable if you felt I have not been sufficiently grateful for your taking a problem off my hands, all those years ago. We might discuss remedying that situation.”
“You had better stop there, sir,” Captain Blackwell said, real anger in his voice. “I considered no one’s convenience but my own in my choice of Mercedes for wife. Nor have I had one day’s, no not one moment’s regret of my choice.”
“Well, no, I wasn’t suggesting—”
Captain Blackwell stood up. “What I must suggest, sir, is that you call again another time. If there is anything further to be discussed on this subject. Had you inquired after Mercedes’ health I should have told you, she is not at all well. I am past due to sit with her and to consult her doctor.”
Much like Lord Cochrane the day before, Admiral Gambier did appear shamefaced, priding himself as he did on being a Christian. As Captain Blackwell hustled him to the door, the Admiral rushed out many wishes for Mercedes’ speedy recovery of health. Captain Blackwell hardly attended, he shut the street door upon him, and turned immediately to go upstairs. Anyone calling upon them now must expect to meet with scant welcome.
Six
Blackwell did not like the pale look of her, the dark shadows under Mercedes’ eyes, her lips and fingernails were bluish colored; but Mercedes rose every day and dressed. She tired easily, and Blackwell had begun to think of taking her away into a warmer climate. He could not see her enduring another English winter.
They did not make calls or go out though they did receive callers, one had just left them. Blackwell would have liked to take her back to Merton, to the quiet countryside, but for reasons he did not fully grasp Mercedes wished to continue in London. It might have been to remain near her doctor. Emma’s London season had been effectively curtailed. She didn’t seem to regret the balls and routs, and appeared content for Aloka to escort her to London attractions by day and to remain at home in the evenings. In the six weeks since Mercedes’ surgery Lord Cochrane had not called upon them again, Admiral Gambier’s court martial was going forward, and they’d just received news from Missy Bourne. Missy had taken her leave moments before.
“He beat her, you know. That is why she left him.” Mercedes said of Missy, the wife of Blackwell’s naval companion Captain Enoch Bourne.
Blackwell made a face. “I did not know.”
“She has a good heart, and she’s brave. She offered to be with me during the operation.”
“Enoch told me once the old Lord, his governor, used Lady Oxford cruelly. I suppose it is hard for us not to be our father’s sons.”
Mercedes smiled at him quite kindly, a sight that always lifted his heart.
“I cannot regret her news, either,” Blackwell said. “Lord Cochrane is not the sort of man I should wish for Emma.”
Missy Bourne had told them it was generally known to the ton that Lord Cochrane had fixed his interest upon a seventeen year old little nobody, and eloped with her to Scotland. Mercedes gave Blackwell a serious considering look, her hands had left the garment she was working on.
“I believe he has a jealous evil temper,” Blackwell explained, “the sort who will hold a grudge. He and Emma could not have started fairly after what happened. And then this court martial promises to be a deuced awkward affair.”
Many of the officers concerned, particularly those who might side with Lord Cochrane, had been offered foreign commissions. Blackwell had been offered a commodore’s pennant on the North American station, Aloka had received three offers of ships. Why Aloka had turned them all down, Blackwell could not comprehend.
“What kind of man should you like then for Emma?” Mercedes asked.
She leaned forward, the camisole like lacy affair of Emma’s design with one of the breast cups filled with cotton batting forgotten in her lap. Her eagerness to hear him made Blackwell ashamed he’d given so little thought to a mate for Emma.
He answered in a bluff tone. “I should like to see her with an honest, straightforward fellow, who would treat her kindly, and protect her, I suppose. Someone near her own age, for she seemed to object very much to Lord Cochrane on account of his advanced years.”
She looked beautiful to him, quite nearly her old self, when she smiled as she did now.
“A difference in age has not worked out so badly for us,” Mercedes said. “Though I never thought I should be the one failing first.”
“There is no failing in the case, sweetheart. None at all.”
“I’ve given the matter of a match for Emma a great deal of thought. One of the worst things about my condition is that she should have missed the London season.”
“She don’t seem to mind it overmuch. At least not since Aloka’s been home.”
Mercedes gave him a sharp look, and it came into his mind to ask her what Emma could have meant when she cried out she could never be with her choice of sweetheart.
“I should want just the same as you for Emma,” she said. “A man who will treat her kindly. Were she to be as fortunate as I in the way of a husband and a lover, it would be all I could wish for her. Nothing else would matter. It is of the first importance the man one fixes upon should have a good heart and be decently behaved. Only look at poor Missy.”
Mercedes was looking at him fondly, and he felt the kindness and compliment in her words. But he had no time to respond, nor to recall his question, for Doctor Russ was announced and walked in.
Doctor Russ surmised he’d interrupted a tender scene, and he was not yet so gelded by age that he didn’t feel a twinge of jealousy. Few men deserve their women, and for Doctor Russ at least, fewer still could merit such a woman as Mercedes Blackwell. She was his ideal, and had he been a score years younger and a bachelor he would have taken her from Captain Blackwell, great warrior though he might be.
“Forgive the intrusion, and this not my usual day,” he said.
“Not at all, Don Guillermo, do sit down.”
She could not consent to call him William as he’d ask her to do. Still, the more formal address from her lips warmed his heart. He’d long ago determined to do what he could for her and hers.
“Distressing news, I regret to say. King Liholiho has contracted the measles, along with his Queen. The King does not appear in imminent danger, but his lady is very ill indeed. Sir Joseph has sent you this, sir,” he handed Captain Blackwell a letter, “to which King Liholiho has appended his note.”
Captain Blackwell excused himself and moved away to the chimney piece to read his letter. Doctor Russ took Mercedes’ pulse and subjected her to the usual questions.
“We are summoned, Mercedes, by Mr. Canning and by the King, Liholiho that is. But I much doubt you should go.”
“Oh, I shall go, I have had the measles.” Mercedes even rose from the sofa. “I should have called on Queen Kamāmalu before this, I’m very much ashamed not to have done so.”
She wobbled slightly on her feet, and Captain Blackwell instantly had her under the elbows. His expression was a plea to the doctor, but Doctor Russ looked away as he’d often seen junior officers do to avoid their captain’s gaze.
“Just let me fetch a pelisse, and my cloak,” Mercedes said.
She was going out of the room, Captain Blackwell uttering objections, when Miss Blackwell and Lieutenant Blackwell walked in. Their faces were shining, full of youth and high spirits, and Doctor Russ wondered at the blockhead that could miss the affectionate glances between them.
“Mama! What are you about?”
On arrival at the Osborne’s Hotel, Emma was surprised to be shown directly into the Queen’s bedchamber. A great company was crammed into the apartment. The King and Queen’s entire suite were present, and a number of official and professional looking men whom Doctor Russ immediately joined. The King lay in bed holding his poor ailing Queen.
Captain Blackwell left Mercedes’ side with a little warning glance at Emma, which she neither appreciated nor needed to do her duty. Her father and Aloka advanced and prostrated themselves on hands and knees before the Royal couple, according to the custom of the Hawaiian Islands. Led by Foreign Office Secretary Mr. Canning all the Englishmen present shifted uncomfortably, and seemed momentarily unable to decide where to direct their gazes.
Mercedes, holding Emma by the arm, moved to the Hawaiian ladies, sitting on mats on the Queen’s side of the bed. They seated themselves in back of these women, and Mercedes murmured, “Wahine Mercedes Blackwell, wife of Captain James Blackwell, and my daughter Emma.”
The woman appearing to occupy primary place among them inclined her head. “Li‘liah, wife of Boki, minister to King Liholiho.”
More introductions were made in low voices. Then, on her mother’s expressing distress on the Queen’s condition, Li‘liah cried, “Oh, the poor sweet Queen! And she the sacred wife, and sister of Liholiho.”
Emma’s head came up and she gazed intently at the Royal couple. While he spoke with her father, the King yet encircled his Queen in his arms. His affection, anxiety and concern for her were etched on his features. Emma’s heart was pounding. She could no longer concentrate enough to understand the Hawaiian language spoken around her.
“I shall lose my voice,” the King said to Captain Blackwell. “I shall lose my voice, and so I make my wishes known while I am yet able to speak. We have ever valued our friendship with King George and the British people. My mother and my father’s wife Ka‘ahumanu, who rule in my absence, remember Ali‘i Blackwell with esteem. Mr. Canning is aware it is my desire you should be the first British consul-general appointed to the Kingdom of Hawai‘i.”
“You do me great honor, Your Majesty.” Captain Blackwell bowed, surprised and taken aback. “But I am no diplomat, just a sailor in the King’s Service.”
“You speak our language, you lived among the people. Who better? I have expressed my wish to Mr. Canning, and I shall do so to King George when we meet. I cannot say if your government will consent. All kings fear a divided loyalty.”
How well Captain Blackwell remembered that feeling of being caught between two worlds. He made all proper acknowledgements for the King’s great condescension. King Liholiho addressed a few considerate remarks to Aloka, and then the Queen stirred on his breast. He inclined his head to Kamāmalu, her breath so short and labored only he heard her, afterward asking everyone to leave them.
In the press in the adjoining sitting room Emma found herself standing next to Doctor Russ. Captain Blackwell had placed a chair for Mercedes near the Queen’s ladies and the four medical men in attendance. When there came a lull in the doctors’ conversation about inflammation of the lungs, a constitution unaccustomed to a cold climate, the dangers of falling damps, Emma meant to interrogate Doctor Russ. Edward had said of him, “He is a very learned man, a polyglot. Has sailed the world in the capacity of physician and natural philosopher. What you might call an infinitely knowing cove.”
Emma seized her chance when Doctor Russ turned toward her. “One of the Queen’s lady’s, Madame Li‘liah, told Mama the King and Queen are related. Can this really be, Doctor?”
Doctor Russ gave her that cold dead fish-eye stare of his, but answered in a neutral tone. “Half-brother and sister, born of the same father and his various wives. Kamāmalu was Kamehameha the Great’s favorite daughter, and so he married her to his heir.”
Emma swallowed. “How...different their customs are to those of Europe.”
“And to think Lord Byron was run out of England for his tendre for his half-sister.” Doctor Russ gazed at her shrewdly. “The Polynesians consider a marriage between brother and sister, especially of the noble class, a union beloved of the gods.”
Emma strove not to appear too much agog. Captain Blackwell detached himself from the circle around Mr. Canning and knelt before the Queen’s ladies. They held a grave conference. Emma could not attend to what was said, and then her father rose and it appeared they were to take their leave. Farewells were exchanged. Aloka, deep in conversation with King Liholiho’s men, particularly with his admiral, Kapihe, was requested to remain to finish their discussion.
Aloka walked out of the hotel and waited with them while a carriage was summoned. Of course there was no chance for a private word, and Emma should not have felt dissatisfied. She’d spent the best part of that day with Aloka. He’d taken her to see the pictures at the British Institution. And promised to escort her to those sights one could not see unless under the protection of a man: Vauxhall and Ranelagh Gardens.
Emma was obliged to maintain a composed silence, but she wished for nothing more than to blurt out the question uppermost in her mind. Did both Aloka and her father know of this custom of marriage between siblings? Her father was too much taken up in Mercedes’ comfort and well being to notice her agitation. And, if she did not imagine it, Aloka was avoiding her gaze.
Two days later Queen Kamāmalu died after exposure to measles, followed by an inflammation of the lungs. Measles was a disease for which the Hawaiians had no resistance. Her brother and husband held her to the last, as she took her final labored breaths. Liholiho could not at first consent to her being taken from him. He held her until he felt her spirit must have gone over the rainbow, and then he relented.
Following this the king agreed to everything proposed by the British in accordance with their customs concerning the dead, after the Queen’s body had been first arranged by Li‘liah in the Hawaiian manner. Unclothed to the waist, with ankles and feet bare, her hair dressed and adorned with flowers. King Liholiho’s firmness of decision at first encouraged his doctors to believe in his swift recovery from the measles. But from the day of the Queen’s death his spirits failed. His cough became much worse, and Liholiho even declared he could not long survive.
Captain Blackwell was sent for. Liholiho had not yet had his presentation to King George, and no official appointment had been made of a British consul to Hawaii. But King Liholiho felt King George would not ignore the wishes of a fellow sovereign. It did not occur to Liholiho to consider Captain Blackwell’s feelings. The king knew only his desire to do right for his island nation. He also wished to have an Englishman who understood Hawaiian like a native by him, while he made his last will known to his own subjects and those of King George.
“I am dying,” Liholiho said to the little assemblage comprised, besides his countrymen, of Captain Blackwell and Mr. Canning, and four medical doctors. “I am dying, and I will follow the English manner of making a Will. Kuanoa has written it for me, and Boki, Kuanoa, and Mr. Canning shall witness it. I am following Kamāmalu in placing my feet on the rainbow. I leave my property here in England to Boki, for use by you ali‘i that you may live and return to our homeland. I desire my body and that of my Queen be conveyed to our native Islands. This is the Will of King Kamehameha II.”
King Liholiho was lifted up and he, who wrote the best hand among them, was too weak to do more than make a mark on the paper to signify his signature. After he’d done this, Li‘liah was instantly at his side, easing him back on his pillows with gr
eat kindness and tenderness. The witnesses and most of the men left the bedchamber. Captain Blackwell was asked to remain.
“I entrust to you, Captain James Blackwell, presents to the ali‘i that I desire be made in my name. These shall be delivered to you, to be conveyed on the vessel that will take my body home. Here are written instructions, of the most confidential nature. To be given to the Regents who rule in my stead, my mother and Ka‘ahumanu.”
Captain Blackwell took the envelope with a bow. “I am honored, Your Majesty, and if I am not selected for the commission, I shall put this into the hands of Britain's appointed consul with every caution as to confidentiality.”
The King gave him a concentrated, though fevered stare. “I should be happier if you said you would take it to Hawai‘i in any case, like a proper king’s kanaka.”
Captain Blackwell stood mum, his hands behind his back. He was the older man. Liholiho was but eight and twenty, and he was not this King’s man to command.
“Very well, Captain James Blackwell, I entrust my letter to you. May you return to my Islands, and may you prosper there. You and your children. But hear this and beware. The descendants of the Papua Guinea men, your Ata Gege, are not to be trusted.”
For some time Captain Blackwell sat with King Liholiho after this, with his face turned toward him and his eyes fixed on him, as was the custom of the Polynesians before Royalty. When he was replaced by Boki in this vigil, Captain Blackwell went away with mixed feelings. He resented Liholiho’s reference to Ata Gege, for Aloka was his direct descendent. And he doubted he had the headpiece for a diplomatic role. He might forget he was not aboard ship, and start flinging out orders and curses. Yet he had wanted to take Mercedes away to a warmer climate, her comfort and convenience were ever present to his mind, and he needed the means to provide for her. His sympathy for King Liholiho in his grief was sincere. Had it been Mercedes who had died, he might be the one following her out of heartache and loss.
