Belonging to Heaven, page 12
“And will you return, young George?” Kitty asked.
George looked into her beautiful face, and a sharp point of pain went through his heart. “I do not know. We will leave it in God’s hands.” He turned and went into the house to pack his few belongings in his small valise.
***
Early the next morning, George stood on the same spot he had the day before, but today he was not preaching but leaving. Kitty handed him bananas to put in his satchel and a canteen full of water. Jonathan handed him a letter of introduction to David Malo.
“He is a fine old fellow. I am sure he will like you very much.”
George’s words felt like dry paper in his mouth. “Thank you, Brother Jonathan.”
“You will come back?”
“We will see what the Lord wants.”
Jonathan nodded. “Sometimes I go to Lahaina or Honolulu on court business. I will see you then.”
“Yes, I would like that.” George felt awkward. After all the weeks of conversation, he did not have words to say to them. “Thank you for your kindness to me. I . . . I will try and get back to see you.”
“Yes. We will hike again into the sacred valley.”
George felt the pressure of tears in the back of his throat, so he turned and started for the gate. When he reached it, he turned, and waved.
Jonathan and Kitty waved back.
George walked out the gate and down the road. His mind sought out scripture to bring him peace. “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths.”
Chapter 15
Ukamehame, Maui
April 15, 1851
George walked beside the stately Hawaiian man as he concluded business with the government land surveyor. George listened to the rolling cadence of the language as the meaning came to his mind in English. David Malo was taller and thinner than most Hawaiian men, with a high forehead and a thick shock of hair that he wore combed back. He was in his late fifties, but his carriage was straight and his movements refined. George thought of many a high-ranking man he’d seen on the streets of Liverpool who did not carry themselves half as well as Mr. Malo. His voice was soft and accommodating, putting the surveyor at ease—just as he had George when the two had met and George had handed him the letter of introduction from Brother Napela.
The conference with the surveyor concluded, and Mr. Malo sent the man on his way. He turned to George and smiled. “I apologize, Mr. Cannon. I did not mean to neglect you, but when one has a government worker in hand, one must make use of him.”
George grinned. “Of course, I understand. I was the one who came without a meeting time.” He hoped he used the correct Hawaiian words that would approximate his meaning.
Mr. Malo nodded. “You are welcome anytime. A friend of Napela’s is a friend of mine.” He gave George a smile and turned toward his home. “Shall we return to the house and have something to eat?”
“Thank you. That would be good, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all, Mr. Cannon. My daughter, Aa laioa, who you met when you first arrived, loves to cook for me.” He began walking, and George kept pace beside him. “So, how is my friend, the judge in Wailuku?”
“He is doing well, Mr. Malo, except—” George hesitated, debating how much he should say and anxious to find the words to explain the situation fairly.
“Except?”
“I fear I caused trouble for them.”
“You do not look like someone who would cause much trouble, Mr. Cannon.”
George looked over at the man. “I am a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Mr. Malo. The Protestant missionaries do not take kindly to the doctrine I preach.”
“I know your church, Mr. Cannon.”
“You do?”
“Yes, the Mormons. You see, I read much. There have been writings in the newspapers. Good words and hateful words about your prophet Joseph Smith.” He stopped and evaluated George. “I do not suppose you knew him?”
George felt the Spirit race through his body, causing his eyes to well with tears. “I did, Mr. Malo. I did know him.”
“Well, my, my. I would very much like to speak with you, Mr. Cannon. Very much. I always like to get my information firsthand.” He began walking again. “Let us have our meal and talk the day away.”
George hurried to catch up.
When they reached the house, Mr. Malo made arrangements for Aa laioa to bring the food and drink to a table outside. The spot was shaded by a large banyan tree and overlooked the ocean. She brought roast pork and poi.
“Would you prefer something other than poi?” Mr. Malo asked. “Most haoles do not like it.”
George reached to daub some poi from the big bowl into his own calabash cup. “Oh, no thank you, Mr. Malo. I enjoy eating poi.” Aa laioa gave him a curious look. “Really, I do.” She nodded and turned to leave. “Is she not eating with us?”
“She is going to beat the kapa cloth. Soon you will hear the pleasant sound of the wooden club as it beats upon the log. My daughter makes beautiful kapa.”
“Is the kapa cloth used much anymore?” George inquired.
“Some, but use is not the only reason the women beat the kapa.” George looked confused, and Mr. Malo pointed to a black and yellow bird sitting on a branch of the banyan tree. “Do you see that bird, Mr. Cannon? That bird is new to our islands. It was brought here. Many new things have been brought here: new tools, books, and laws—many things, even cloth. Most of the new things are good, but many of the ancient things are good too: our love for the land and the ocean, our strong braided rope, our dance and song, and our beautiful kapa cloth. The making of the kapa is part of my daughter’s memory. It is part of her hands and heart. She will pass the knowledge down to her daughter, and her daughter will again pass it down. Do you understand this?”
George nodded. He did understand. “My father has passed down the love of crafting wood, and my uncle John passed down the love of the written word. These are things I hope to pass down to my sons and daughters.”
Mr. Malo nodded. “As well as your culture and history.”
“Yes.”
“As well as your faith.”
“Especially my faith.”
“So tell me of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.” When George hesitated, Mr. Malo said, “Is something wrong, Mr. Cannon?”
“I just wish I knew the language better, Mr. Malo. My heart has so much truth to tell you, but my tongue gets in the way.”
Mr. Malo chuckled. “I am amazed by you, young Mr. Cannon. You say you have been in the islands for only four months, and yet you know so much of our language already. Do not worry. Tell me your story now, and in a few more months return and tell me more.”
George smiled at him. What a gracious Christian man. George prayed for the Spirit, and then, for the next hour he spoke of the restoration of the gospel as it had been in the time of Christ, of Joseph Smith’s first vision, and of the translation of the Book of Mormon. Mr. Malo asked him many questions and was intrigued by it all. He seemed particularly fascinated by the belief that the Hawaiian people were descendants of the ancient Israelites.
“I think there is some proof to that, Mr. Cannon,” Mr. Malo said. “We have many things in common with the ancient Hebrews: circumcision, the presenting of the first fruits to the gods, confinement of a woman after childbirth, places of sanctuary.”
Now it was George’s turn to be intrigued as he listened to the Hawaiian scholar talk of the similarities between the Hawaiian and Jewish customs. The older gentleman also spoke of the legends of the seafarers of Tahiti crossing the open oceans to the islands, and of the aloha aina—the people’s deep love of the land.
The last ray of sun flashed green on the edge of the ocean, and Mr. Malo paused in his narrative to take in the beauty. He stretched his back. “Ah, the days are getting longer and so are my stories, Mr. Cannon.”
“It is fascinating, Mr. Malo. Thank you.”
“You must stay the night with us, Mr. Cannon. We cannot have you stumbling to Lahaina in the dark.”
“That is very kind.”
Mr. Malo stood. “Well, actually, it is sensible on my part. I fear my friend Judge Napela would have me in court if I allowed anything to happen to you.” George gave him an amused smile. “Now, I am going back to the house to write down some of the things you have told me. You should go to the ocean to swim.”
George brightened. “I think I will.”
Mr. Malo smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. “Would you like me to teach you an ancient Hawaiian prayer to the gods that you can chant before you swim?”
“I would.”
“Now, I know we are Christian men, Mr. Cannon, but we can honor the customs of the past, yes?” George nodded and Mr. Malo continued. “When you enter the water take a piece of limu—you know this word?”
“Yes, the seaweed we eat.”
“Yes. Take a piece and break it in two. Throw one piece up on the shore, offering it to the land gods, and say, ko uka, no uka no ia—of land for land is this. Then toss the second piece into the water as an offering for the gods of the ocean, and say, ko kai, no kai no ia—of ocean for ocean is this. Do you understand?” George repeated the words with ease, and Mr. Malo gave him a skeptical look. “I think perhaps you are hiding a Hawaiian tutu in your family line, Mr. Cannon.” He chuckled and turned toward his house.
George stood and watched the genial man as he walked away. He heard the sound of the wooden club beating out the bark of the mulberry tree. “Mai pale i ke a ‘o a ka makua.” Do not set aside the teaching of a parent. He turned and walked to the ocean, feeling the air against his skin and the dirt under his feet.
Notes
David Malo was a Hawaiian scholar and the writer of a book on Hawaiian history, Mo‘olelo Hawai‘i (Hawaiian Antiquities). He attended Lahainaluna Seminary at the age of thirty-eight and graduated with Jonathan Hawaii Napela.
Hawaiian rope and cording is made from the strong fibrous bark of the olona tree.
Kapa cloth is made from the beaten bark of the wauke or mamaki plant.
Tutu is an endearing term for an older female family member or aunt.
Chapter 16
Lahaina, Maui
April 17, 1851
Dear Mary,
I have returned to my grass hale in Lahaina. I found my three companions doing well, and I think they were happy to see me. Elder Farrer was out hoeing the garden and saw me coming down the road. He hollered for the others, dropped his hoe, and ran out to meet me. Soon I was surrounded by Elder Bigler, Elder Keeler, Keala, Pau, and Nalimanui. It was a happy reunion. Nalimanui kept patting my cheek and saying, “keiki, kieki.” I think she feared that I had fallen off the pali, or had been eaten by a wild boar.
I have been resting the past few days. The trip around the island was tiring, but filled with adventure and learning. I feel my command of the language is growing, though there is still frustration at not being able to explain things the way I would like. My speech is halting, especially when it comes to preaching the principles of the gospel. I find it impossible to gather my thoughts and come up with the vocabulary to express myself. I will keep working.
If you are not tired of my stories, I will share the last weeks of the trip with you. Please tell the children that I have seen the great volcano mountain of Haleakala. From the plain of central Maui, it raises its head ten thousand feet into the sky. Most of the time a crown of clouds sits on its summit. Brother Napela told me he would take me to the top someday. I hope we will be able to do that.
I met the most amazing Hawaiian man on my trip. His name is Mr. David Malo, and he is a friend of Brother Napela. People told me that he knows more about the ancient Hawaiians and their culture than anyone else in the islands, and now that I have met him, I believe it. We had the best talk about the Bible, the Book of Mormon, Hawaiian history, even Hawaiian plants and animals. The man knows everything. He was very respectful and even asked me to return for another talk. I stayed the night with him and his daughter. The next morning he gave me thirty-seven cents. I tried to give it back, but he refused. He is a true gentleman. His openness and lack of guile remind me a little of Hyrum Smith.
I have cultivated a great love and respect for the Hawaiian people, Mary. They are truly God’s keiki. I so want to teach them the truths of the gospel, and I know things will improve when I can speak to them in their language. I do not know if I will see Brother Napela and his wife again. We did not part under the best of circumstances. Will you and the family please continue to pray for me and for the people of Maui—indeed all the people of the Sandwich Islands?
I pray for you every night. How is the planting going in the valley? Have you planted any of your garden yet? I hope you have a good harvest. Do you ever see Sister Hoagland? I will attempt to write to her. I will also write to President Young and Uncle John and Aunt Leonora. I hope my strength returns soon. I am tired down to my toes.
Ann, Angus, David Henry, and baby Leonora, please mind your older sister and her husband. They have care over you and you must honor them. If I ever get to the top of the mountain Haleakala, I will secure a small lava rock for each of you.
Aloha,
Your loving brother, George
Notes
George Cannon wrote in his journal of his meeting with David Malo, and that the man gave him thirty-seven cents.
David Malo writes of the similarities between the Jewish and Hawaiian cultures in his book, Mo‘olelo Hawai‘i.
Chapter 17
Lahaina, Maui
May 2, 1851
This seems to be a favorite place for settling the problems of the mission,” Brother Bigler said. “I like it.”
As the sun slid behind them into the sea, the four men stood with their feet in the ocean as they looked up at the mountains and discussed the affairs of the mission.
Brother Farrer chuckled. “I could bring my fishing line and catch dinner at the same time.”
Brother Cannon liked the thought of that efficiency. He looked around at his companions and found much to admire. They had all been working hard: providing for their physical needs, studying the doctrine, preaching when possible, and learning the language. Most of the men found this last task a tedious business, especially Brother Bigler. George thought back to his hike into the Iao Valley with Jonathan Napela and the wise suggestion he’d made about establishing some sort of school to train the missionaries in the language. He chuckled to himself as he imagined the scene of his friend Jonathan attempting to mold Brother Bigler’s harsh accent into the soft rolling sounds of Hawaiian. A tinge of sadness normally accompanied thoughts of Wailuku and Napela, but today they confirmed George’s resolve. For several days the prompting had come to return to Wailuku and continue his preaching to his friends there, regardless of what Reverend Conde had to say. The Mormon missionaries had permission from the Hawaiian government to preach, a call from Brigham Young, and, most important, a mandate from the Lord.
As he paused to gather his courage, George watched an agressive ua‘u bird searching for small fish in the shallows. He cleared his throat. “Brethren, I feel directed to make some changes in the mission, and I want to discuss these with you.” He paused for reactions, but the others merely waited. George cleared his throat and began again. “We have talked about Brother Bigler and Brother Farrer traveling to Moloka‘i to preach, but now that Brother Clark and Brother Morris have left Oahu, I feel that that is the field in which you should labor. What do you say?” The two men nodded, and Brother Bigler voiced their feelings.
“If that is your prompting, Brother Cannon, we will follow your edict.”
George nodded. “And I feel prompted to go back to Wailuku and continue my work with Brother Napela and his family and friends.”
“And what of the persecution there?” Brother Bigler asked.
“I believe persecution will find us wherever we preach,” George answered. “We know the adversary does not want this work to go forward on the earth.”
“Amen to that,” Brother Keeler said. He picked up a stone and tossed it out into deeper water. “And what of me, Brother Cannon? Where will I be serving?”
“I feel you should leave Lahaina for a time, Brother Keeler, and travel over to the koolau side of the island, to the towns of Keanae and Hana.”
Brother Keeler’s face brightened. “I have been praying for such a journey. Thank you, Brother Cannon.”
George was aware of the trouble Brother Keeler would have communicating with the Hawaiian people. The man worked diligently at trying to learn the language, but it was difficult for him. He could converse about everyday necessities—food, directions, and tasks of living—but struggled with deeper conversations or preaching the doctrines of the Church. But the word of the Lord had been specific concerning the call, and George knew he dared not question. He was heartened by the courage Brother Keeler exhibited, being not only willing but excited to take a journey alone into unknown territory.
George dug a stone out of the sand and flipped it to him. “You will do well, Brother Keeler. We have all felt that the Lord is aware of his sons and daughters on these islands and that miraculous things can be accomplished.”
“One miraculous thing would be for me to learn the language,” Brother Keeler said.
“Amen!” Brother Bigler responded. “I wish I had been born with a tongue for the twelve letters.”
Brother Farrer agreed. “It’s what we all wish—except for Brother Cannon. When he speaks, he sounds like one of the kahaku maoli.” George burst out laughing, and Brother Farrer turned red. “What? What did I say?”
“You just called me a full-blooded trespasser. Kahaku maoli. I think you meant, kanaka maoli, which means full-blooded Hawaiian.”
Brother Farrer laughed with him. “Full-blooded trespasser! I like that. I will have to remember that if I ever need to use it someday.”
George looked into her beautiful face, and a sharp point of pain went through his heart. “I do not know. We will leave it in God’s hands.” He turned and went into the house to pack his few belongings in his small valise.
***
Early the next morning, George stood on the same spot he had the day before, but today he was not preaching but leaving. Kitty handed him bananas to put in his satchel and a canteen full of water. Jonathan handed him a letter of introduction to David Malo.
“He is a fine old fellow. I am sure he will like you very much.”
George’s words felt like dry paper in his mouth. “Thank you, Brother Jonathan.”
“You will come back?”
“We will see what the Lord wants.”
Jonathan nodded. “Sometimes I go to Lahaina or Honolulu on court business. I will see you then.”
“Yes, I would like that.” George felt awkward. After all the weeks of conversation, he did not have words to say to them. “Thank you for your kindness to me. I . . . I will try and get back to see you.”
“Yes. We will hike again into the sacred valley.”
George felt the pressure of tears in the back of his throat, so he turned and started for the gate. When he reached it, he turned, and waved.
Jonathan and Kitty waved back.
George walked out the gate and down the road. His mind sought out scripture to bring him peace. “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths.”
Chapter 15
Ukamehame, Maui
April 15, 1851
George walked beside the stately Hawaiian man as he concluded business with the government land surveyor. George listened to the rolling cadence of the language as the meaning came to his mind in English. David Malo was taller and thinner than most Hawaiian men, with a high forehead and a thick shock of hair that he wore combed back. He was in his late fifties, but his carriage was straight and his movements refined. George thought of many a high-ranking man he’d seen on the streets of Liverpool who did not carry themselves half as well as Mr. Malo. His voice was soft and accommodating, putting the surveyor at ease—just as he had George when the two had met and George had handed him the letter of introduction from Brother Napela.
The conference with the surveyor concluded, and Mr. Malo sent the man on his way. He turned to George and smiled. “I apologize, Mr. Cannon. I did not mean to neglect you, but when one has a government worker in hand, one must make use of him.”
George grinned. “Of course, I understand. I was the one who came without a meeting time.” He hoped he used the correct Hawaiian words that would approximate his meaning.
Mr. Malo nodded. “You are welcome anytime. A friend of Napela’s is a friend of mine.” He gave George a smile and turned toward his home. “Shall we return to the house and have something to eat?”
“Thank you. That would be good, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all, Mr. Cannon. My daughter, Aa laioa, who you met when you first arrived, loves to cook for me.” He began walking, and George kept pace beside him. “So, how is my friend, the judge in Wailuku?”
“He is doing well, Mr. Malo, except—” George hesitated, debating how much he should say and anxious to find the words to explain the situation fairly.
“Except?”
“I fear I caused trouble for them.”
“You do not look like someone who would cause much trouble, Mr. Cannon.”
George looked over at the man. “I am a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Mr. Malo. The Protestant missionaries do not take kindly to the doctrine I preach.”
“I know your church, Mr. Cannon.”
“You do?”
“Yes, the Mormons. You see, I read much. There have been writings in the newspapers. Good words and hateful words about your prophet Joseph Smith.” He stopped and evaluated George. “I do not suppose you knew him?”
George felt the Spirit race through his body, causing his eyes to well with tears. “I did, Mr. Malo. I did know him.”
“Well, my, my. I would very much like to speak with you, Mr. Cannon. Very much. I always like to get my information firsthand.” He began walking again. “Let us have our meal and talk the day away.”
George hurried to catch up.
When they reached the house, Mr. Malo made arrangements for Aa laioa to bring the food and drink to a table outside. The spot was shaded by a large banyan tree and overlooked the ocean. She brought roast pork and poi.
“Would you prefer something other than poi?” Mr. Malo asked. “Most haoles do not like it.”
George reached to daub some poi from the big bowl into his own calabash cup. “Oh, no thank you, Mr. Malo. I enjoy eating poi.” Aa laioa gave him a curious look. “Really, I do.” She nodded and turned to leave. “Is she not eating with us?”
“She is going to beat the kapa cloth. Soon you will hear the pleasant sound of the wooden club as it beats upon the log. My daughter makes beautiful kapa.”
“Is the kapa cloth used much anymore?” George inquired.
“Some, but use is not the only reason the women beat the kapa.” George looked confused, and Mr. Malo pointed to a black and yellow bird sitting on a branch of the banyan tree. “Do you see that bird, Mr. Cannon? That bird is new to our islands. It was brought here. Many new things have been brought here: new tools, books, and laws—many things, even cloth. Most of the new things are good, but many of the ancient things are good too: our love for the land and the ocean, our strong braided rope, our dance and song, and our beautiful kapa cloth. The making of the kapa is part of my daughter’s memory. It is part of her hands and heart. She will pass the knowledge down to her daughter, and her daughter will again pass it down. Do you understand this?”
George nodded. He did understand. “My father has passed down the love of crafting wood, and my uncle John passed down the love of the written word. These are things I hope to pass down to my sons and daughters.”
Mr. Malo nodded. “As well as your culture and history.”
“Yes.”
“As well as your faith.”
“Especially my faith.”
“So tell me of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.” When George hesitated, Mr. Malo said, “Is something wrong, Mr. Cannon?”
“I just wish I knew the language better, Mr. Malo. My heart has so much truth to tell you, but my tongue gets in the way.”
Mr. Malo chuckled. “I am amazed by you, young Mr. Cannon. You say you have been in the islands for only four months, and yet you know so much of our language already. Do not worry. Tell me your story now, and in a few more months return and tell me more.”
George smiled at him. What a gracious Christian man. George prayed for the Spirit, and then, for the next hour he spoke of the restoration of the gospel as it had been in the time of Christ, of Joseph Smith’s first vision, and of the translation of the Book of Mormon. Mr. Malo asked him many questions and was intrigued by it all. He seemed particularly fascinated by the belief that the Hawaiian people were descendants of the ancient Israelites.
“I think there is some proof to that, Mr. Cannon,” Mr. Malo said. “We have many things in common with the ancient Hebrews: circumcision, the presenting of the first fruits to the gods, confinement of a woman after childbirth, places of sanctuary.”
Now it was George’s turn to be intrigued as he listened to the Hawaiian scholar talk of the similarities between the Hawaiian and Jewish customs. The older gentleman also spoke of the legends of the seafarers of Tahiti crossing the open oceans to the islands, and of the aloha aina—the people’s deep love of the land.
The last ray of sun flashed green on the edge of the ocean, and Mr. Malo paused in his narrative to take in the beauty. He stretched his back. “Ah, the days are getting longer and so are my stories, Mr. Cannon.”
“It is fascinating, Mr. Malo. Thank you.”
“You must stay the night with us, Mr. Cannon. We cannot have you stumbling to Lahaina in the dark.”
“That is very kind.”
Mr. Malo stood. “Well, actually, it is sensible on my part. I fear my friend Judge Napela would have me in court if I allowed anything to happen to you.” George gave him an amused smile. “Now, I am going back to the house to write down some of the things you have told me. You should go to the ocean to swim.”
George brightened. “I think I will.”
Mr. Malo smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. “Would you like me to teach you an ancient Hawaiian prayer to the gods that you can chant before you swim?”
“I would.”
“Now, I know we are Christian men, Mr. Cannon, but we can honor the customs of the past, yes?” George nodded and Mr. Malo continued. “When you enter the water take a piece of limu—you know this word?”
“Yes, the seaweed we eat.”
“Yes. Take a piece and break it in two. Throw one piece up on the shore, offering it to the land gods, and say, ko uka, no uka no ia—of land for land is this. Then toss the second piece into the water as an offering for the gods of the ocean, and say, ko kai, no kai no ia—of ocean for ocean is this. Do you understand?” George repeated the words with ease, and Mr. Malo gave him a skeptical look. “I think perhaps you are hiding a Hawaiian tutu in your family line, Mr. Cannon.” He chuckled and turned toward his house.
George stood and watched the genial man as he walked away. He heard the sound of the wooden club beating out the bark of the mulberry tree. “Mai pale i ke a ‘o a ka makua.” Do not set aside the teaching of a parent. He turned and walked to the ocean, feeling the air against his skin and the dirt under his feet.
Notes
David Malo was a Hawaiian scholar and the writer of a book on Hawaiian history, Mo‘olelo Hawai‘i (Hawaiian Antiquities). He attended Lahainaluna Seminary at the age of thirty-eight and graduated with Jonathan Hawaii Napela.
Hawaiian rope and cording is made from the strong fibrous bark of the olona tree.
Kapa cloth is made from the beaten bark of the wauke or mamaki plant.
Tutu is an endearing term for an older female family member or aunt.
Chapter 16
Lahaina, Maui
April 17, 1851
Dear Mary,
I have returned to my grass hale in Lahaina. I found my three companions doing well, and I think they were happy to see me. Elder Farrer was out hoeing the garden and saw me coming down the road. He hollered for the others, dropped his hoe, and ran out to meet me. Soon I was surrounded by Elder Bigler, Elder Keeler, Keala, Pau, and Nalimanui. It was a happy reunion. Nalimanui kept patting my cheek and saying, “keiki, kieki.” I think she feared that I had fallen off the pali, or had been eaten by a wild boar.
I have been resting the past few days. The trip around the island was tiring, but filled with adventure and learning. I feel my command of the language is growing, though there is still frustration at not being able to explain things the way I would like. My speech is halting, especially when it comes to preaching the principles of the gospel. I find it impossible to gather my thoughts and come up with the vocabulary to express myself. I will keep working.
If you are not tired of my stories, I will share the last weeks of the trip with you. Please tell the children that I have seen the great volcano mountain of Haleakala. From the plain of central Maui, it raises its head ten thousand feet into the sky. Most of the time a crown of clouds sits on its summit. Brother Napela told me he would take me to the top someday. I hope we will be able to do that.
I met the most amazing Hawaiian man on my trip. His name is Mr. David Malo, and he is a friend of Brother Napela. People told me that he knows more about the ancient Hawaiians and their culture than anyone else in the islands, and now that I have met him, I believe it. We had the best talk about the Bible, the Book of Mormon, Hawaiian history, even Hawaiian plants and animals. The man knows everything. He was very respectful and even asked me to return for another talk. I stayed the night with him and his daughter. The next morning he gave me thirty-seven cents. I tried to give it back, but he refused. He is a true gentleman. His openness and lack of guile remind me a little of Hyrum Smith.
I have cultivated a great love and respect for the Hawaiian people, Mary. They are truly God’s keiki. I so want to teach them the truths of the gospel, and I know things will improve when I can speak to them in their language. I do not know if I will see Brother Napela and his wife again. We did not part under the best of circumstances. Will you and the family please continue to pray for me and for the people of Maui—indeed all the people of the Sandwich Islands?
I pray for you every night. How is the planting going in the valley? Have you planted any of your garden yet? I hope you have a good harvest. Do you ever see Sister Hoagland? I will attempt to write to her. I will also write to President Young and Uncle John and Aunt Leonora. I hope my strength returns soon. I am tired down to my toes.
Ann, Angus, David Henry, and baby Leonora, please mind your older sister and her husband. They have care over you and you must honor them. If I ever get to the top of the mountain Haleakala, I will secure a small lava rock for each of you.
Aloha,
Your loving brother, George
Notes
George Cannon wrote in his journal of his meeting with David Malo, and that the man gave him thirty-seven cents.
David Malo writes of the similarities between the Jewish and Hawaiian cultures in his book, Mo‘olelo Hawai‘i.
Chapter 17
Lahaina, Maui
May 2, 1851
This seems to be a favorite place for settling the problems of the mission,” Brother Bigler said. “I like it.”
As the sun slid behind them into the sea, the four men stood with their feet in the ocean as they looked up at the mountains and discussed the affairs of the mission.
Brother Farrer chuckled. “I could bring my fishing line and catch dinner at the same time.”
Brother Cannon liked the thought of that efficiency. He looked around at his companions and found much to admire. They had all been working hard: providing for their physical needs, studying the doctrine, preaching when possible, and learning the language. Most of the men found this last task a tedious business, especially Brother Bigler. George thought back to his hike into the Iao Valley with Jonathan Napela and the wise suggestion he’d made about establishing some sort of school to train the missionaries in the language. He chuckled to himself as he imagined the scene of his friend Jonathan attempting to mold Brother Bigler’s harsh accent into the soft rolling sounds of Hawaiian. A tinge of sadness normally accompanied thoughts of Wailuku and Napela, but today they confirmed George’s resolve. For several days the prompting had come to return to Wailuku and continue his preaching to his friends there, regardless of what Reverend Conde had to say. The Mormon missionaries had permission from the Hawaiian government to preach, a call from Brigham Young, and, most important, a mandate from the Lord.
As he paused to gather his courage, George watched an agressive ua‘u bird searching for small fish in the shallows. He cleared his throat. “Brethren, I feel directed to make some changes in the mission, and I want to discuss these with you.” He paused for reactions, but the others merely waited. George cleared his throat and began again. “We have talked about Brother Bigler and Brother Farrer traveling to Moloka‘i to preach, but now that Brother Clark and Brother Morris have left Oahu, I feel that that is the field in which you should labor. What do you say?” The two men nodded, and Brother Bigler voiced their feelings.
“If that is your prompting, Brother Cannon, we will follow your edict.”
George nodded. “And I feel prompted to go back to Wailuku and continue my work with Brother Napela and his family and friends.”
“And what of the persecution there?” Brother Bigler asked.
“I believe persecution will find us wherever we preach,” George answered. “We know the adversary does not want this work to go forward on the earth.”
“Amen to that,” Brother Keeler said. He picked up a stone and tossed it out into deeper water. “And what of me, Brother Cannon? Where will I be serving?”
“I feel you should leave Lahaina for a time, Brother Keeler, and travel over to the koolau side of the island, to the towns of Keanae and Hana.”
Brother Keeler’s face brightened. “I have been praying for such a journey. Thank you, Brother Cannon.”
George was aware of the trouble Brother Keeler would have communicating with the Hawaiian people. The man worked diligently at trying to learn the language, but it was difficult for him. He could converse about everyday necessities—food, directions, and tasks of living—but struggled with deeper conversations or preaching the doctrines of the Church. But the word of the Lord had been specific concerning the call, and George knew he dared not question. He was heartened by the courage Brother Keeler exhibited, being not only willing but excited to take a journey alone into unknown territory.
George dug a stone out of the sand and flipped it to him. “You will do well, Brother Keeler. We have all felt that the Lord is aware of his sons and daughters on these islands and that miraculous things can be accomplished.”
“One miraculous thing would be for me to learn the language,” Brother Keeler said.
“Amen!” Brother Bigler responded. “I wish I had been born with a tongue for the twelve letters.”
Brother Farrer agreed. “It’s what we all wish—except for Brother Cannon. When he speaks, he sounds like one of the kahaku maoli.” George burst out laughing, and Brother Farrer turned red. “What? What did I say?”
“You just called me a full-blooded trespasser. Kahaku maoli. I think you meant, kanaka maoli, which means full-blooded Hawaiian.”
Brother Farrer laughed with him. “Full-blooded trespasser! I like that. I will have to remember that if I ever need to use it someday.”
