On January 31, 1835, William Charles Lunalilo was born to High Chiefess Miriam Auhea Kekauluohi and High Chief Charles Kana‘ina. As a grandnephew of King Kamehameha I and a cousin to Kamehameha IV, Kamehameha V, and Kamāmalu, Lunalilo was deeply rooted in royal heritage. He received an education at the Royal School, where he mastered both English and Hawaiian, and was considered a scholar and poet. He was an intelligent man who won the hearts of those around him through courtesy, generosity, and genuine friendliness. But beyond his grace, Lunalilo held a deep respect for family and loyalty.
Since the 1820s, the remains of Hawai‘i’s past monarchs were housed in a Western-style structure on the grounds of ‘Iolani Palace called Pohukaina. Beginning with Kamehameha II and Queen Kamāmalu, Pohukaina became the final resting place for Hawai‘i’s kings, queens, and high-ranking ali‘i. However, after 40 years, the tomb began to fill up.
In 1865, most of the remains of Hawaii’s ali‘i were moved from the burial vault at Pohukaina to the newly completed Royal Mausoleum at Mauna‘ala in Nu‘uanu Valley. Lunalilo took offense that his mother, Kekauluohi, was left behind. In his resentment towards the reigning King Kamehameha V, Lunalilo removed his mother’s remains and deposited them in a secret spot out at sea. Many believe that the treatment of his mother’s remains influenced Lunalilo’s wish to be buried at Kawaiaha‘o rather than Mauna‘ala.
Following the death of Kamehameha V in December 1872, Lunalilo was elected King and took the throne in January 1873. At just 39 years old, Lunalilo’s life was cut short by tuberculosis, and his reign ended on February 3, 1874. He held the title of King for just one year and 25 days. On his deathbed, Lunalilo expressed a wish to be buried among his people rather than among the kings and chiefs.
His initial funeral was marked by a 21-gun salute, and his body was initially laid in state at Mauna‘ala while his gravesite at Kawaiaha‘o Church was under construction. On November 23, 1875, after the completion of Lunalilo’s tomb, his remains were transferred to Kawaiaha‘o for a second funeral. It had been nearly two years since Lunalilo’s death, and King Kalākaua, the new monarch, declined to authorize another 21-gun salute.
But what the king refused, the heavens fulfilled. Reports say that from the time Lunalilo’s body left Mauna‘ala until he was interred at Kawaiaha‘o Church, a dramatic storm passed over Honolulu with exactly 21 thunderclaps occurring during the procession.
A newspaper article noted that on the same day, several large water spouts appeared in the channel between O‘ahu and Kaua‘i. In Hawaiian tradition, such phenomena were considered signs of ‘aumākua, ancestral spirits, escorting their descendants to the afterlife.
For a brief time in the early 2000s, I worked at the school on the grounds of the Kawaiaha‘o Church. During this time, the gates surrounding Lunalilo’s tomb would be left open during the day for visitors, and the groundskeeper would close them at 6:00 p.m. each evening.
One evening, the school was celebrating the Chinese New Year tradition. The staff was asked to find parking on the surrounding streets, to allow the families to park on campus. After the festivities, which included a lion dance, firecrackers, and lots of delicious Chinese food, the staff stayed back to clean up and put the classrooms back in order.
It was after 8 p.m. when I finally walked through the graveyard, headed toward the front gate. I left my car in a metered stall just outside the church grounds on Punchbowl Street. As I walked along the driveway, I noticed that the gates in front of Lunalilo’s tomb were open, and a man was sitting on the steps of the tomb itself. He was a thin, Hawaiian man, and although he was sitting, I could tell he was fairly tall. He wore a black suit and held a cigar to his lips, the tip burning red as he inhaled before letting out a puff of smoke.
I smiled and nodded my head towards the man, waving my hand in acknowledgement of his presence. In return, he raised his cigar slightly and nodded back. I thought how bold this person must be to sit at the steps of the King’s tomb so casually, and I wondered why the gates were open so late. I walked out of the church grounds, but before I got to my car, I turned around, intending to strike up a conversation and find out who the man was. I know it was less than a minute, but the man was already gone. I quickly glanced around the area, but didn’t see anyone. I decided that any questions would have to wait.
The following day, when I saw the groundskeeper on his riding lawn mower in the graveyard, I walked over to let him know what happened.
“I don’t know if it was a homeless person or a church member,” I began, “But this Hawaiian man in a black suit was sitting on the steps to the tomb, smoking a cigar. He disappeared pretty quickly. I didn’t even see where he went.”
The groundskeeper turned his lawnmower off and leaned toward me, “Try say that again?”
After I repeated myself, the man smiled and whispered, “That was probably the King’s spirit you saw. I seen him too. I don’t know why, but for some reason, he doesn’t like it when the gates are closed when he’s having a smoke. Usually, the police or somebody passing by will see the gate open, and then they give me a call.”
We often talk about mana, the spiritual energy that is present in people, nature, and even inanimate objects. I believe that Lunalilo’s mana has impressed itself upon this space and everything in it.
In 2010, for King Lunalilo’s 175th birthday, the kāhili or feather standards that stood over the King’s crypt were replaced. The trustees of Lunalilo Home asked master feather artist Aunty Paulette Kahalepuna to take on the task of creating the kāhili.
Fashioned from feathers attached to long poles and sometimes adorned with ivory, bone, or wood, kāhili were used to symbolize the presence, lineage, and status of ali‘i. I was honored to be part of the small army of novitiates and expert feather workers who helped create the replacements for the King. When the final knot was tied and the work deemed complete, Aunty Paulette instructed everyone to bring the kāhili outside to the courtyard of the QLCC facility, where we were working.
As the kāhili were being raised, the wind suddenly died. The air was still, the birds were quiet. All we could hear was the drone of traffic passing by. Then, the golden feathers on all three kāhili started to flutter. Some of us looked around and noticed that the leaves on the surrounding trees were motionless while the feathers continued to dance. The sight brought chicken skin. My knees buckled and I knelt before the kāhili as tears poured down my cheeks. It almost felt as if the kāhili themselves were the manifestation of his royal highness.
In that moment, I fully understood what kapu meant, even though, to this day, I don’t have the words to describe it. It’s more than ‘taboo,’ more than ‘sacred.’ Much more.
Perhaps meaning can be found in the name, Lunalilo, ‘so high up as to be lost to sight.’
