The Long Journeys Home. Nick Bellantoni

journey seemed to be travelling as great a distance but remained far more uncertain. He had been exposed to a new cultural dimension, enduring some of the strange customs of these English Americans. Their clothing and food were relatively easy to adopt, yet their beliefs and worldview were alien to his kahuna training and were more difficult to accept. He wanted to please his new companions who treated him so warmly and took such great care of his physical needs. He certainly did not wish to disappoint them in his learning and acceptance of their ways. Rev. Timothy Dwight and Samuel Mills, Jr., seemed to have high expectations for him, making it clear that he had been purposely sent by their God to serve as the foundation for delivering the Gospel to his Hawaiian brethren. But he remained silently apprehensive and doubtful.

      For a long while, ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia did not desire for ministers to approach him and talk about God. He hated to hear it.²¹ He had a deep desire to learn intellectually, not emotionally. He left the islands to remove a stigma, to set his mind with separate thoughts and pursue an education in the haole world. All the same, the pain remained. The cruel and violent deaths of his family, the captivity to the warrior who murdered his parents, the heartbreak and the loneliness even after he was reunited with his uncle, and the murder of his aunt had taken a toll. He recalled his hard days devoted to kahuna teaching and his uncle and grandmother’s disappointment at his sudden desertion. He had had enough of gods needing to be appeased.

      John O’Donnell preceded our arrival at the cemetery the first morning of Henry’s disinterment. He had roped off a large area around the grave to keep anticipated spectators and reporters from getting too close to the edges of the burial excavation. The Cornwall Cemetery Association and the United Church of Christ brought a beautiful, decorative wreath set on an easel at the foot of the monument and placed flowers around its borders out of respect to ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia and his journey home. The American national and the Hawaiian state flags were placed in the ground at the head of the memorial. The tableau was lovely and tranquil.

      Laying our hand-tools on the ground, the first order of business was the careful removal of shrine offerings and the inscribed marble headstone resting on the granite table. Flowers and flags were collected and all the offerings safeguarded. We slid the dry-laid tombstone gently forward off the stone table, securing its borders as if pallbearers, carrying the heavy marble down the hill to the cemetery’s storage vault to await restoration.²²

      The task of disassembling the granite table proved to be the most strenuous and time-consuming phase of the preparation. Dave Cooke had reviewed the monument the day before to determine the necessary field tools for dismantling. He arrived prepared with crowbars, wooden rollers, sledgehammers, four lengths of heavy chains, ropes, and a come-a-long.²³ Careful use of a hammer and chisel by Will Trowbridge, our mason, loosened the mortar that bound the large granite blocks together. Placing the edge of the chisel against a seam, Trowbridge gently tapped the grout, crumbling enough space for a crowbar to be inserted into the crevice, gradually prying the blocks apart. Once released, the stones were carried downslope away from the gravesite although a few were so substantial they required the use of wooden rollers.

      No mechanical equipment was used; every aspect of the work was performed by hand. Prior to removal, each boulder was photographed, sketched, and numbered to facilitate the monument’s stone-by-stone reconstruction. The interior of the table was not hollow but packed with mortar and smaller stones that also had to be carefully removed. The entire morning was taken with finishing this initial task.

      Under the mortared granite table, we found a tier of dry-laid rectangular and rounded foundation stones supporting the aboveground structure. The largest stones were leveled at the lower foot area, providing greater downslope stability. These were measured, drawn, photographed, and removed. Once the stone layer was detached, we were surprised to find a second layer of foundation underneath, consisting of smaller flat stones with the largest supporting the upslope head region of the monument. Assuming we had finally exhausted foundation levels, we were astounded to encounter yet a third tier of stones resting well below the frost line. ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia’s memorial had been solidly constructed with three tiers of foundation providing reinforcement for the structure on its steep embankment, facilitating its survival for 175 years without shifting or pulling apart.

      It was not until the mid-afternoon once all the stones were pulled away from the gravesite that we were able to erect a portable, aluminum-framed canopy to keep direct sunlight from contacting the anticipated skeletal remains. We cleaned up the bottom of the excavated area, leveled the floor and sidewalls, and rid the excavation unit of loose soil and stones that had toppled when the foundations were cleared. After all data, including soil samples, were taken from the exposure, a plastic tarp was laid out on the grass adjacent to the excavation unit. A hardware quarter-inch mesh screen was set up to sift excavated soils in case any funerary objects were missed during the excavation process.

      Prepared for the disinterment, we commenced by slicing the soil thinly with flat, sharp-edged mason trowels to level the excavation and highlight differences in the coloration and compaction of the mottled earth. Soon a distinct outline of a hexagonal coffin appeared, confined at the head, expanding outward to the shoulders and tapering down to the narrow foot. We were at a depth of forty-two inches from the upper ground surface, and the configuration of the coffin was clear in soil coloration contrasts.

      As we continued digging into the late afternoon, ominous dark clouds appeared in the west and were moving rapidly toward the cemetery. Within minutes we were engulfed by dangerous lightning strikes that preceded a violent thunderstorm. The crew hurriedly secured all the equipment into vehicles while I finished up the last level of the day under the canopy.

      Amid lightening flashes, remains of the sideboards of the wooden coffin became exposed, appearing as a linear soil shadow of dark brown, decomposing wood and a pattern of hardware nails that would have held the top board in place. We were now working within the coffin and getting close to determining if Henry’s remains had been preserved. At this point, I didn’t want to stop though my heart pounded as lightening bolts flared overhead and thunderclaps deafened. Dave Cooke and I had made an earlier decision not to expose any skeletal remains this late in the afternoon. John O’Donnell arranged for overnight security, so I reluctantly climbed a short wooden ladder out of the burial unit, watched lightening hop-scotching the bordering hills, and anticipated tomorrow’s rendezvous with Henry ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia.²⁴

      The sweat beaded upon his forehead, seeping into his burning eyes. He swung the steel axe, repeatedly cutting wood for “Mr. F,” a neighbor of Rev. Mills amid the rolling hills of Torringford, stacking the logs between two small trees.²⁵ The morning sun was relentless; the day already seemed long, the work tiring. Yet, ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia maintained his pace methodically, swinging the blade as he mimicked other field workers. Then he stopped. He experienced a rushing sensation overcoming him. His heart beat heavily; he felt weak, and in his rising anxiety a fearful thought occurred, “What if I die today, what would become of my soul? Surely I would be cast off forever.”²⁶ His apprehension was followed by a voice that seemed to encompass him, “Cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground.”²⁷ He gazed around. No one was within sight.

      He dropped his axe and fell to his knees, looking up to the heavens, seeking help from “Almighty Jehovah.”²⁸ Realizing now that he was nothing more than a “hell-deserving sinner” and that God had the right to thrust his wretched soul into eternal damnation;²⁹ he deserved nothing less. He had ignored the Word though presented to him by many gracious and religious friends: Russell Hubbard onboard the Triumph; Edwin and the Rev. Timothy Dwight at Yale College; and now Rev. Samuel Mills and his son in Torringford—all of them had tried to save his soul. He had listened, yet refused to hear. Now he was pitiful.

      ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia lost track of the time spent on his knees in meditative reflection until removed from his revelry by another sound, the earthly voice of a boy beckoning him to lunch. At the Mills’ home, ‘Ōpūkaha‘ia picked at his food and looked forlorn enough for people to question the source of his apparent melancholy. He kept to himself, went to bed early, and laid awake most of the night, sorting out his emotions. He rose promptly the next morning before the others to find a place where