Atolls of the Sun

by Frederick O'Brien

Hannah lifted herself from the mat on the floor, and brought from the house a large gold watch, very heavy and ornate, of the sort successful men bought fifty years ago. It was inscribed to James Kekela from Abraham Lincoln in token of his bravery and kindness in saving the life of an American seaman, and the date was 1864.

“That watch,” she said, “was given to Kekela by the big chief of America. When he died he gave it to his son, Tamueli. Tell the prophet why Aberahama Linoconi gave it to your grandfather, Iami!”

Jimmy, the former chauffeur, tried to persuade his uncle, Samuel, a missionary on another island, to tell the story, but finally himself narrated it in English.

“Grandfather Kekela was at Puamau, across this island, when he got this watch. He had been at Puamau some years and teachin’ people stop fightin’ an’ go church, when a whale-ship come in from Peru, an’ shot up the town. The Peru men killed a lot of Marquesans, and stole plenty of them to work in the mines like slave. They had guns an’ the poor Puamau native only spear and club, so that got away with it good an’ strong. Well, nex’ year come American whale-ship, an’ the mate come up the valley to ketch girl. He saw girl he love an’ chase her up the valley. The Puamau people let him go, an’ ask him go further. Then they tie him up and beat him like the Peru people beat them, and then they got the oven ready to cook him. The chief of Puamau come tell my grandfather what they goin’ do, an’ he was some sore. He put on his Sunday clothes he bring from Hawaii, an’ high collar an’ white necktie, an’ he go start something. He was young and not afraid of all hell. The mate was tied in a straw house, an’ everybody ‘roun’ was getting paralyzed with namu enata—you know that cocoanut booze that is rougher than sandpaper gin in Hawaii.

“They were scarin’ the mate almost to death when grandfather come along. The mate could see the umu heatin’ up, and the stones bein’ turned over on which he was goin’ to be cooked. Grandfather went in the hut. The mate was lyin’ on his back with his hands an’ feet tied with a purau rope, an’ his face was as white as a shirt. I remember grandfather used to say how white his face was. Kekela knelt down an’ prayed for the mate, an’ he prayed that the chief would give him his life. He prayed an’ prayed, and the chief listen an’ say nothin’. ‘Long toward mornin’ the chief couldn’t hold out no longer, an’ said if grandfather would give him the whale-boat he brought from Hawaii, his gun, an’ his black coat, he would let him go. Grandfather handed them all over, an’ took the mate to our house, and cured his wounds, and finally got him on a boat an’ away. It was no cinch, for the American ship had sailed away, and he had to keep the mate till another ship came. Many time the young men of Puamau tried to get the mate, to eat him, an’ when another ship arrived, an’ Kekela put the mate on board, they followed in their canoes to grab him. They pretty near were killin’ grandfather for what he did.

“The mate must have told the Pres’ent of United States about his trouble here, for grandfather got a bag of money, this watch, a new whaleboat, an’ a fine black coat brought him by an American ship with a letter from Mr. Lincoln. Father wrote back to Pres’ent Lincoln in Hawaiian, an’ thank him proper.”

“He must have lived to be a very old man,” I said, “because I was in Kawaiahao Church in Honolulu when he preached. He was asking for money for this church, and he took out the watch Lincoln gave him, and banged it on the pulpit so that we thought he would break it. He was greatly excited. I wrote a piece about his sermon in the Honolulu paper and it was printed in the Nupepa Kukoa, the Hawaiian edition of the Honolulu Advertiser.”

Samuel Kekela leaped to his feet and rushed into the house, from which he came with a yellowed copy of the Nupepa Kukoa, containing the article, with Kekela’s picture. To my own astonishment I read that the fourteen Hawaiians of the Kekela families who had accompanied the aged pioneer to Honolulu had journeyed in a schooner captained by my own shipmate, Lying Bill. I had seen the schooner in Honolulu Harbor.

Here was a remarkable group, a separate and alien sept, which, though living since before Lincoln’s Presidency in this wild archipelago, had preserved their Hawaiian inheritances and customs almost intact. This had been due to the initial impetus given them by their ancestor, and it had now ceased to animate them, so that they were declining into commonplace and dull copra makers, with but a tiny spark of the flame of piety that had lighted the soul of their progenitor.

“I am not the man my father was,” said John, the father of Jimmy. “I am an American because I am a Hawaiian citizen. My father had us all sent to Hawaii to be educated and to marry.”