Chapter 1

The Ali’i and the Seed: The Baptism of Boki and the Dawn of the French Mission

In 1819, the Hawaiian Kingdom was in a state of profound spiritual transition. King Kamehameha the Great had recently died, and the ancient kapu system—the strict religious and social framework of the islands—was being systematically dismantled. It was into this sudden spiritual void that the French corvette L’Uranie, commanded by Louis de Freycinet, anchored in Hawaiian waters.

Aboard the deck of the L’Uranie in August 1819, as the ship visited the ports of Kawaihae and Honolulu, a monumental event took place: the Catholic baptisms of the Governor of Honolulu, Boki, and his powerful brother, Kalanimoku, famously known as “The Iron Cable of Hawaii. “The political and cultural landscape of the Sandwich islands in the world of the 1820s was not a territory, a colony, or a western appendage. It was a fiercely independent, proudly sovereign nation: the Kingdom of Hawaii.

Kamehameha I unified the Hawaiian islands into a single kingdom by 1810. Throughout the 1820s, Hawaii maintained absolute sovereignty, controlling its ports and laws while dealing internationally via trade and diplomacy [81] [82]. By the time the first Catholic missionaries arrived in 1827, the Kingdom was navigating a complex transition.

King Kamehameha III (Kauikeaouli) ascended the throne as a child in 1825 following the death of his older brother, Kamehameha II. Because of his youth, Queen Kaʻahumanu ruled as Kuhina Nui (essentially a powerful co-regent/prime minister) with absolute authority, orchestrating major legal and cultural shifts [83] [84]. The monarchy controlled the laws, the land, and the spiritual direction of its people, maneuvering carefully as more foreign ships began to crowd the harbor of Honolulu. It was their kingdom, their rules, and their absolute authority that the missionaries had to navigate.

The high-profile baptisms of the brothers, Boki and Kalanimoku, were not just isolated ceremonies; they were the primary catalyst for the permanent establishment of the Catholic Church in Hawaii. The willingness of such prominent Hawaiian leaders to embrace the faith sent a clear, undeniable signal across the globe to the Catholic Church in Europe. It demonstrated that the sovereign shores of Hawaii were fertile ground for a formal mission.

(Kalanimoku and his brother Governor Boki)

As a trusted adviser to Kamehameha II and a French adventurer, Jean-Baptiste Rives, leveraged his former position when he traveled to France, falsely claiming he held the direct backing of the Hawaiian monarchy to establish French commercial ventures and a Catholic mission. Through these fabrications, he successfully secured the support of both the French government and the Picpus order. Ultimately, the pioneer priests and several lay brothers departed from Bordeaux on November 21, 1826, bound for the islands aboard the La Comète, commanded by Captain Plassard [81] [85] [86].

Responding directly to the strategic opening created by the baptisms of High Chiefs Boki and Kalanimoku, the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary—headquartered on the Rue Picpus in Paris—organized a formal expedition. According to the internal journals of the mission and the official annals of the order, the Congregation dispatched three pioneer priests to formally establish the Catholic Church in the islands.

For these Picpus Fathers, the journey from France to the shores of Oahu would be a grueling eight-month odyssey. They would arrive carrying immense hope, an eagerness to cultivate the spiritual seeds planted years prior aboard the L’Uranie. However, the reality would reveal they would be met with a strategic political resistance, setting the stage for years of severe persecution.

Before they were the central figures of a religious conflict, these three men were members of the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary and were known as the Picpus Fathers:

1. Father Alexis Bachelot: A Frenchman and the appointed Apostolic Prefect of the mission. The records describe him as a man of great patience but fragile health, whose primary goal was the spiritual welfare of the natives [4].
2. Father Patrick Short: An Irishman who provided the mission with a critical diplomatic shield. Because he was a British subject, the Hawaiian government found it much more legally complex to expel him compared to his French companions.
3. Father Abraham Armand: A French priest who completed the original triumvirate.

The three lay brothers who accompanied Father Bachelot on that historic first mission aboard the La Comète were:

1. Brother Melchior Bondu
2. Brother Eustache (Theodore) Boissier
3. Brother Léonard Portal

(A replication of the French ship La Comète

The ship traveled around Cape Horn, facing the standard perils of 19th-century maritime travel—scurvy, violent storms, and cramped, damp living conditions. Before arriving in Hawaii, the Comète stopped along the coast of California to engage in trade. It was during this period that the mission faced its first internal crisis when the lead ecclesiastical authority originally intended for the mission was drowned while crossing a river in Mexico [2]. This left Father Bachelot as the unexpected leader of the mission.

The Comète finally dropped anchor in Honolulu Harbor on July 7, 1827. The arrival was far from the royal welcome Mr. Rives had promised. When the priests landed, they found that the political winds had shifted. King Kamehameha II (Liholiho), who had initially favored Rives, was dead. The islands were now under the regency of Queen Ka‘ahumanu, who had recently converted to Protestantism under the tutelage of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM) [2].

The heartbeat of this independent nation was its language. The language spoken across the archipelago—from the bustling docks of Oahu to the quiet valleys of Maui—was entirely ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, the exclusive tongue of daily life, law, and government. English, French, and Spanish were merely the practical tongues of transient sailors, merchants, and foreign diplomats. For the Native Hawaiian people, ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi was the vehicle for their laws, their deep oral histories, and their daily lives.

When Father Bachelot, Father Short, Father Armand and the three Brothers anchored off the coast of Honolulu, they were acutely aware that they were guests in a foreign kingdom. They knew that to reach the hearts of the people, they could not rely on interpreters or force European languages upon them. If they were to share their faith, they had to speak the language of the people.

The government immediately ordered the priests to depart on the same vessel that brought them. However, Captain Plassard, having fulfilled his contract, refused to take them back without significant payment, which the priests did not have. This stalemate allowed the “French Mission” to remain on Oahu for several years, during which time they began to quietly instruct the native population—including the “Initial Seven” who would become the first native confessors of the Faith.

The arrival of Fathers Bachelot, Short, and Armand was not just a religious event; it was the spark that ignited a “Dark Decade” of suffering for the Hawaiian converts who were soon caught between the edicts of the Queen and the convictions of their new Faith. There was a period known as The Growing Shadow, the time of the critical transition from an uneasy peace to a state-sanctioned campaign against the Catholic Faith. The primary tension of this era was the collision between the “French Mission” and the deeply entrenched influence of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM).

At the root of the tension was the active presence of two different Missions, yet only one Kingdom. When Father Bachelot, Father Armand and Father Short arrived in 1827, they found a kingdom where the American Protestant missionaries had already labored for seven years. Under the guidance of men like the Rev. Hiram Bingham, the Protestants had successfully translated the Bible into Hawaiian, established a widespread school system, and, most crucially, secured the ears of the high-ranking Ali‘i [1].

The Protestant mission viewed the arrival of the Catholic priests not as a religious alternative, but as a political and spiritual threat. They branded the Catholic Faith as “idolatry” (due to the use of crucifixes and statues) and as the “religion of the French,” implying it was a tool of foreign subversion.

The shadow deepened through the religious evolution of Queen Ka‘ahumanu, the powerful Kuhina Nui (Regent). Having initially been indifferent to Christianity, she became a fervent Protestant convert. Under the influence of her Protestant advisors, she began to see religious uniformity as essential to the stability of the Hawaiian state. It was clear that Ka‘ahumanu believed that having “two religions” would divide the loyalty of the Hawaiian people and lead to civil strife.

On July 14, 1827, the feast of Saint Bonaventure, Father Bachelot celebrated the first recorded Catholic Mass in the Hawaiian Islands. This quiet act of worship was viewed by the Regency as a formal declaration of “idolatry” and an affront to the established Protestant order [1].

Despite the challenges the missionaries immediately became dedicated students of the islands. Just as the Protestant missionaries who arrived in 1820 had begun the monumental task of standardizing the written Hawaiian language, Father Bachelot and his companions immersed themselves in ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi. They did not expect the native population to learn French or Latin to receive the sacraments. Instead, they adapted.

By embracing the language, missionaries demonstrated a profound respect for the Hawaiian people. It allowed the faith to take root not as a foreign import, but as an internalized, deeply held belief system that native believers could claim as their own. This approach proved successful for the Protestant missionaries who shared their Faith prior to the arrival of the Catholic Mission. Despite being told they were not welcome and had no permission to stay, the priests landed their baggage on July 9, 1827. They took up residence in a small, grass-thatched hut provided by a sympathetic foreigner.

Chapter 2

The Taboo of the Crucifix: The 1831 Expulsion and the Rise of the Underground Church

The growth of the first Catholic flock in Hawaii was a quiet, almost clandestine movement that occurred under the intense scrutiny of the established Protestant mission and the Regency. When Father Bachelot, Father Armad and Father Short established their mission in 1827, they were restricted in their movements and forbidden from open proselytization. However, the curiosity of the native population, coupled with the dismantling of the ancient kapu system, had left many Hawaiians in a state of spiritual seeking.

The priests began by opening a small school and providing medical aid, which served as a bridge to the community. The “shadow” cast by the Protestant mission—which enjoyed the favor of the high chiefs—actually served to highlight the distinctness of the Catholic “French religion.” To many natives, the rituals, the vestments, and the use of sacramentals like the rosary and crucifix offered a tangible connection to the sacred that resonated with traditional Hawaiian sensibilities.

.

(Fr. Alexis Bachelot SSCC Archives)

By 1829, a small but resolute group of native converts had emerged. Among them were the individuals identified as the “Initial Seven”—the first group of native Catholics to be formally recognized and, subsequently, the first to be targeted by the government. These pioneers included:

• Simeone Paele: A man of high standing who would later become the central martyr of the mission.
• Ikanakio Kamaka: A steadfast follower who endured nearly a decade of intermittent imprisonment.
• Pacome Kaihumua: A long-term prisoner of the reef gangs.
• Malahu: The elderly man who would eventually collapse and die during a forced march in 1839.
• Kipuce, Mainhu, and a seventh unnamed companion.

These seven individuals would be the first to be arraigned before the chiefs for the crime of “idolatry.” During their hearings, they were pressured to renounce their new Faith and return to the Protestant schools. When they refused, stating that they had found the “true path,” they were sentenced to their first term of hard labor: six weeks of cutting coral stones on the reefs while being held in chains at night [1].

The growth of this flock was fueled by the “underground” nature of their worship. Since public gatherings were banned by the edicts of Queen Ka‘ahumanu, the converts met in the privacy of their grass houses or in remote valleys.

It appeared that the more the government sought to suppress the “Popery,” the more the native Catholics viewed their suffering as an imitation of the early Christian martyrs they learned about from the priests. This spiritual resilience turned a small group of followers into a persistent community that could not be broken, even when their “shepherds,” Father Bachelot, Father Armand and Father Short were limited in their ability to serve and evangelize.

In 1829, Father Armand fell sick and was unable to fully provide assistance. He was forced to return to Europe later that year.

The “Dark Decade” (1829 1839) did not begin with immediate violence, but with a series of legal maneuvers designed to isolate and eventually eliminate the Catholic presence, which will be detailed as we progress in this book.

1. The Prohibition of 1829: Success in making native converts began to alarm the Regency. In 1829, at the urging of the Protestant mission, Ka‘ahumanu prevailed upon Governor Boki (despite his own Catholic baptism) to issue a public prohibition. A public crier was sent through the streets of Honolulu forbidding natives from attending Catholic services.
2. The Summons of 1831: On April 2, 1831, Father Bachelot and Father Short were summoned before a formal council of chiefs. In the absence of the young King Kamehameha III, who reportedly refused to sanction the proceedings, the “old Queen” Ka‘ahumanu presided over the tribunal.
3. The First Order of Expulsion: During this 1831 hearing, the priests were formally ordered to leave the islands. When they argued they had no vessel to take them, the government eventually spent $4,000, a large sum back in those days, to fit out the brig Waverley specifically to forcibly deport them to the coast of California.

Though prohibition of the Faith was implemented in 1829,  the 1831 archives and the detailed logs of the mission stood as the formal judicial turning point that ended the mission’s period of uneasy toleration and prohibition solidifying and deepening the “Dark Decade.” In early 1831, the growing success of the “French Mission” in attracting native converts had reached a breaking point for the Regency. Father Bachelot and Father Short were formally summoned to appear before the Council of Chiefs at the royal residence in Honolulu for the 1831 hearing.

The Council of Chiefs, under the firm direction of Queen Ka‘ahumanu, determined that the presence of Father Bachelot and Father Short was a direct threat to the religious and political unity of the kingdom.

The atmosphere was one of calculated legal solemnity. My research highlights that this was not a riotous gathering, but a structured inquisitorial hearing. The high chiefs sat in a semi-circle, with the powerful Queen Ka‘ahumanu (the Kuhina Nui) presiding. Beside the chiefs sat their advisors, including several prominent American Protestant missionaries who functioned as the primary theological and linguistic consultants for the state [1].

The core of the judicial argument presented by the Queen and the Council was not merely a matter of theology, but one of national security and social cohesion.

• The Charge of Sedition: The Priests were accused of bringing a “divided heart” to the kingdom. In Hawaiian worldview of the time, the King’s word and the national religion were one; to introduce a second, competing Christian Faith was seen as an attempt to divide the loyalty of the people and invite civil war [2].
• The “Idolatry” Evidence: During the hearing, Catholic sacramentals—specifically crucifixes and images of the saints—were presented as evidence of a return to the “forbidden” ancient kapu practices of image worship. Father Bachelot’s defense for having these images explained the difference between veneration and worship, was dismissed by the Council as a “Jesuitical” distinction intended to confuse the simple-hearted natives [1].

Father Bachelot and Father Short stood before the Council with a combination of religious resolve and diplomatic appeal. Father Short, utilizing his status as a British subject, argued that he had a right to reside in the islands under the existing treaties with Great Britain. Father Bachelot maintained that they had been invited by Mr. Rives and were there to serve the souls of the people, not to interfere in the political governance of the King.

The verdict was absolute: They were to be expelled from the kingdom. The Council decreed that the government would seize the brig Waverley to carry out the sentence. The judicial nature of this meeting provided the state with the “legal” justification to treat any native who remained a Catholic as a rebel against the King’s law—directly leading to the first arrests and the sentencing of native converts to the Honolulu Fort [5], in which a makeshift prison was erected.

This hearing transformed the Catholic Faith from a tolerated curiosity into a criminalized movement. By framing the mission as a “Divided Heart,” the Council successfully linked religious practice to political treason, setting a precedent that would justify the horrors of the next ten years.

By the early 1830s, the “French religion” had been successfully “tabooed” (forbidden) across the islands, marking the true beginning of the persecution.

The persecution stemmed not just from a religious disagreement, but a state-driven effort to maintain political and religious unity at the cost of individual conscience. While the priests were sent into exile, the “shadow” fell most heavily on the native converts who remained. With the shepherds gone, the Regency turned its attention to the flock. The initial edicts were expanded into laws that criminalized Catholic prayer and the possession of sacramentals. This set the legal framework for the horrors that would follow: the “sewer labor” at the Fort, the torture of Juliana Makauwahine, and the long years of penal servitude on the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall, also known as Kaahumanu’s Wall, now known mostly as Wilder Avenue extending from Punchbowl to Moilili.

The 1831 archives and the contemporary account of the mission reveal the forced deportation on the Waverley remains one of the most poignant and legally significant episodes of the era. It was the moment the Regency moved from verbal prohibition to the physical removal of the Catholic leadership.

To ensure their removal, the government took the extraordinary step of chartering and fitting out the brig Waverley, a vessel owned by the government. The Regency spent approximately $4,000—a massive sum for the time—to equip the ship for a voyage to the coast of California. This expense underscores the government’s desperation to eliminate the “French religion” from Hawaiian soil [1].

The choice of date was particularly cruel, as the priests were preparing to celebrate the birth of Christ with their small native flock. On the morning of December 24, 1831, the silence of Honolulu was broken by the arrival of an armed guard at the mission house. Under the orders of the Governor, the priests were told they had only hours to collect their meager belongings.

As the sun began to set, Fathers Bachelot and Short were marched through the streets of Honolulu toward the wharf. Reconstructed from eye-witness reports, it describes a somber procession. They were surrounded by soldiers, but also by a small, weeping group of native converts who followed their “shepherds” to the water’s edge, desperate for a final blessing upon them, which the Priests provided.

At the wharf, before being rowed out to the Waverley, Father Bachelot turned to the crowd. He encouraged the native Catholics to remain steadfast in their Faith and to “obey God rather than men.” This final interaction cemented the resolve of the “Initial Seven” and others who would soon face the Fort [2].

The Waverley slipped its moorings and sailed out of Honolulu Harbor as night fell. The priests were not being taken to an established port, but to a remote and desolate section of the California coast near San Pedro.

After a grueling voyage of several weeks, the Waverley reached the California shore in January 1832. The captain, acting under strict orders from the Hawaiian government, deposited the priests and their few boxes on the bare sand. There was no mission in sight and no immediate shelter.

Left with nothing but their Faith and a few provisions, the priests were eventually discovered by a passing traveler and guided to the San Gabriel Mission, a Mission originally founded in California by the Franciscan Friars in 1771. While they were safe for the moment, they were now thousands of miles from their “orphaned” flock in Hawaii [1].

This deportation did not achieve the Regency’s goal. Instead of extinguishing Catholicism, it transformed the native followers into an Underground Church. With the priests in exile, the responsibility for the Faith fell entirely on the shoulders of the native converts, leading directly to the era of the “Martyrs and Confessors” who would refuse to recant despite the horrors of the Fort and the Waikiki Wall.

With the departure of Father Bachelot and Father Short, the native Catholic community was left without its ordained leaders. This part of the “Dark Decade,” reveals that the Regency, no longer restrained by the presence of European priests, turned its full judicial power against the native “orphans” of the mission.

The legal framework for the persecution was built upon the idea that religious diversity was a form of political rebellion. The Regency, under the heavy influence of the Protestant mission, issued edicts that specifically targeted the outward expressions of the Catholic Faith.

The language of these initial edicts was absolute. The laws declared:

“It is not proper that any person should follow after the religion of the French… No man shall repeat their prayers, nor shall any man keep their images or the cross of their worship.” [5]

By these words, the simple act of reciting a Hail Mary or wearing a crucifix was transformed into a criminal offense against the King. The Regency branded these practices as “idolatry,” a return to the forbidden kapu system that had been abolished in 1819.

The enforcement was swift. Armed guards and government agents began a systematic “purging” of the villages. Native Catholics were rounded up and brought before inquisitorial tribunals led by the chiefs. They were given a simple, brutal choice: renounce the “religion of the French,” attend Protestant services, or face the “wrath of the law” in the Honolulu Fort.

Through the example of their faith and passive resistance, the ‘Initial Seven’ planted seeds that took deep root in the Hawaiian soil, cultivating the sheer resilience that would sustain the hundreds of ‘Martyrs and Confessors’ who followed them into the horrors of the ‘Dark Decade.’

Luika (Laika) Kaumaka – The First Confessor and Apostle of Waialua

The foundational period of the Catholic mission and the detailed ecclesiastical records of Father Reginald Yzendoorn indicate that the story of Luika (Laika) Kaumaka is one of the most significant accounts of early religious resilience in Hawaii. She stands in the archives as the first native Hawaiian documented to have suffered systemic state persecution for her adherence to the Catholic Faith.

Luika Kaumaka was a native convert who embraced Catholicism shortly after the arrival of the first Picpus Fathers in 1827. In an era where the ancient kapu system had been recently abolished, Luika was drawn to the rituals and spiritual structure of the “French religion.”

Following the expulsion of Fathers, Luika did not retreat. She recognized that the Faith was most vulnerable in the capital and strategically moved to the rural district of Waialua. She settled in the area of Paalaa on the banks of the Kikii Stream. In my perspective, Luika transformed this remote area into a “Living Sanctuary.” In the total absence of priests, she became the primary catechist of the North Shore, secretly instructing and baptizing communities of native Hawaiians while evading government “re-education” efforts [6]. Her mission was so successful that when religious freedom was finally granted in 1839, the returning priests did not find a void, but a vibrant, ready-made community. Luika had kept the “Underground Church” alive for nearly a decade [1][7].

In 1830, Luika was singled out by the government authorities. She was summoned before a high tribunal presided over by the Queen herself. The judicial nature of this hearing was intended to make an example of her and break the resolve of the burgeoning “underground” Catholic community.

Luika was ordered to renounce the “religion of the French,” surrender her sacramentals, and attend Protestant services. Despite the overwhelming pressure of the high chiefs, Luika remained steadfast. Luika informed the Regency that while she owed her physical loyalty to the King, her soul and her conscience belonged to the truth she had found in the Catholic mission.

Enraged by her defiance, Ka‘ahumanu ordered a punishment designed to induce a slow, agonizing recantation. Luika was confined to the Honolulu Fort, a damp and overcrowded structure that served as the kingdom’s primary site of detention.

For fifteen days, Luika was denied all food. My thoughts on this period, reconstructed from missionary logs, describe a brutal psychological war. Throughout her fast, government agents visited her cell, placing food just out of reach and promising her immediate liberty if she would only promise to attend the Protestant schools.

Luika’s resolve was heroic. Despite her physical fading, she refused every offer. She reportedly told her captors that the prayers they had forbidden were the only food her soul required. This fifteen-day fast became a legendary moment of resistance within the native Catholic flock.

Though she survived the starvation period, Luika’s persecution did not end. She was eventually transferred to a penal gang and sentenced to hard labor. She was sent to the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall, where she was forced to work alongside common criminals. The labor was grueling: it involved diving into the sea to cut sharp coral stones and carrying them on her shoulders to build the massive sea wall. At the time, Luika was a nursing mother; she was frequently seen performing this heavy labor while simultaneously trying to care for and nurse her infant child.

(Waialua, Hawaii today near Paalaa).

Following Luika Kaumaka’s heroic stand, the Regency’s strategy shifted from isolated intimidation to a systematic “Widening of the Net.” The ecclesiastical logs of the 1830s reveals a cold, calculated attempt to shatter the Catholic movement by targeting those perceived to be the most vulnerable: nursing mothers, the infirm, and the elderly.

The government authorities, acting under the increasingly rigid edicts of the Regency, believed that if they could break the “weakest” members of the flock, the more prominent leaders would surrender out of guilt or despair. This led to the arrest of women like Kaika Kapuokalani, a woman over sixty years of age, who was sentenced to eighteen months of hard labor solely for her refusal to attend Protestant services.

In the damp, unsanitary confines of the Honolulu Fort, the scene was one of immense suffering. My research identifies several nursing mothers who were held in heavy irons. These women were often denied adequate water or food, a tactic intended to dry their milk and force a recantation for the sake of their starving infants. It was during this period that the Child of the Mat-Weaver, whom I will discuss more later in my book, and the Infant of the Waikiki Wall tragically perished—innocents who became silent martyrs to the state’s religious intolerance.

However, the Regency’s plan backfired. Instead of producing a wave of recantations, the story of Luika’s fifteen-day fast and the quiet dignity of the suffering elders functioned as a spiritual catalyst. The “underground church” did not collapse; it solidified.

The Regency failed to understand the power of Martyrdom and Confession. As news of the horrors at the Fort spread, the native Catholics began to view their trials not as a defeat, but as a “share in the Cross.” The terrified minority was transformed into a movement that operated in the shadows of the mountains and the privacy of grass huts, maintaining their Faith through the recitation of the Rosary and the clandestine teaching of the catechism.

By 1835, the government found itself in a stalemate. The net had been widened, and the prisons were full of the elderly and the young, yet the “religion of the French” remained an unextinguished light in the Hawaiian heart. This resilience set the stage for the next and most brutal phase of the persecution: the systematic use of the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall as a penal colony for the Faithful.

While the exact date of her death is not prominently recorded as a “martyrdom” in the same immediate sense as Simeone Paele, whom we will talk about further in this book, Luika’s story is categorized in my research under the Lingering Martyrs. The extreme physical toll of her fifteen-day starvation, followed by years of reef labor and exposure, permanently shattered her health.

When the era of persecution finally broke in 1839, the underground church Luika had so carefully nurtured was finally able to step into the light. It did not take long for ordained leadership to reach these remote, faithful communities. In 1840, Father Joseph Desvault, whom later became Hawaii’s first Saint of the Church, arrived in Waialua to take up the mantle. Stepping into the vibrant, established congregation that Luika had kept alive, Father Desvault became the first resident priest to labor “in earnest” on the North Shore. He immediately set to work constructing a primitive chapel, finally providing a formal physical sanctuary for the very converts Luika had gathered and sustained during the darkest years of the kingdom’s oppression [3][4].

Over the next decade, that primitive chapel grew alongside its devoted congregation. On May 8, 1853, the first permanent Roman Catholic Church on the North Shore was resolutely established under the patronage of St. Michael the Archangel. The formal dedication and consecration of this new building, celebrated by Bishop Louis Maigret, was far more than just a standard parish opening. This landmark consecration was the ultimate ecclesiastical culmination of Luika Kaumaka’s decades of quiet sacrifice, proving that the seeds she planted in the shadows of the Dark Decade had blossomed into an enduring foundation [7].

Luika Kaumaka is remembered not just as a victim, but as the “First Confessor.” Her story proved to the Regency that the Catholic Faith had taken root in the Hawaiian heart so deeply that neither the threat of death nor the degradation of the Fort could extract it. Her survival of the 1830 inquisition provided the spiritual blueprint for the “Martyrs and Confessors” who would endure the remainder of the Dark Decade.

Chapter 3

The Fort and the Reef: The Scavengers and the Wall-Builders

During the systematic escalation of the “Dark Decade,” the Honolulu Fort (originally known as Kekuanohu) stands as the harrowing epicenter of the state-sanctioned campaign to break the will of the native Catholics. While it was built to protect the harbor, by the 1830s, it had been transformed into a primary site of religious detention.

The Fort was a massive, square structure constructed of coral blocks and adobe, its walls rising nearly twelve feet high and six feet thick. While it appeared as a standard military fortification from the harbor, its interior served a much darker purpose during the persecution.

(Honolulu Circa 1820s. Fort with the flag raised. Honolulu Archives)

Several specific factors that made the Fort an effective tool of psychological and physical attrition:

• Dampness and Decay: Built on low-lying ground near the water’s edge, the prison cells were perpetually damp. The coral blocks absorbed the humidity of the tropical air, and during high tides or heavy rains, the floors often became slick with standing water. This environment led to the “shattered health” of many prisoners, particularly the elderly like Valeriano Hinapapa and Maria Ana Kamakaia [5].
• Deliberate Overcrowding: During the mass arrests of 1839, the Fort was filled far beyond its capacity. Scores of men and women were packed into narrow, unventilated rooms. The lack of air and the extreme heat were used as a “silent torture” to induce recantations.
• The Inquisitorial Courtyard: The central courtyard was the site of the public humiliations. It was here that prisoners were brought before the Governor or agents of the Regency to be interrogated. Those who remained steadfast were subjected to “The Punishment of the Sun,” where they were staked to the ground in the center of the yard, exposed to the elements without water for days [1].
• Sanitation as Degradation: Perhaps the most “disgusting” aspect of the Fort was the lack of any sanitary facilities. The prisoners were not only held in their own filth but, as my research into the Scavenger Detail shows, they were forced to remove the waste of the soldiers and common criminals with their “naked and bare hands” [5].

Simeone Paele (Kimeone)

Written in the 19th-century missionary journals and the archival records of the Australasian Chronicle, the story of Simeone (Kimione) Paele is the definitive account of the “Proto-Martyr of Hawaii.” He was the cornerstone of the native Catholic community whose life and death illustrate the extreme measures taken by the Regency to extinguish the “French religion.”

Simeone Paele was a man of high social standing and considerable influence within the Hawaiian community. My thoughts on the records suggest he possessed a natural leadership that made him a prime candidate for the Regency’s favor; however, his spiritual seeking led him elsewhere. He was one of the earliest converts, becoming a pillar of the first flock under Fathers Bachelot and Short. He was not merely a follower but an active catechist, teaching the faith to other natives in the privacy of their homes.

Because of his prominence, Simeone became the “primary target of the chiefs’ enmity.” The Regency believed that if they could break Simeone, the rest of the underground church would crumble.

• The Arraignment (1830): Simeone was violently dragged from the altar while in the act of prayer. He was brought before a tribunal of high chiefs and ordered to renounce his faith. When he refused, he was sentenced to the most humiliating form of labor imaginable.
• The Sewer Detail: Simeone was condemned to be a “scavenger” at the Honolulu Fort. My research highlights the visceral horror of this task: he was forced to remove human and animal waste from the soldiers’ quarters and public paths using only his naked hands. This was a calculated attempt to strip him of his mana (spiritual power) and social dignity.
• The Chaining of a Couple: To increase his suffering, he was often chained by the hand and foot to his sixty-year-old wife, Maria Ana Kamakaia, while they performed this labor in public view.

As the years of the “Dark Decade” progressed, the physical abuse intensified. During his extended periods of imprisonment within the damp, dark cells of the Fort, Simeone was subjected to “protracted torture.”

The tormentors of Simeone set upon him an agonizing practice: at night, he was frequently chained by the neck to his knees in heavy irons. This forced his body into a permanent, painful crouch, preventing any restful sleep and slowly crushing his physical frame. He was kept in this state for weeks at a time, yet witnesses recorded that he never uttered a word of complaint, often heard whispering prayers instead.

Simeone Paele did not live to see the Edict of Toleration. By 1838, his body was utterly broken by years of scavenger labor, starvation, and the constant weight of heavy irons.

• Death in Shackles: He passed away within the walls of the Honolulu Fort. Most significantly, my research notes that he died still in his shackles. Even in his last moments, the authorities refused to release him from his irons, making his death a literal sacrifice for his convictions.
• Legacy: His death sent shockwaves through the islands. Instead of intimidating the native Catholics, his martyrdom galvanized them. He proved that the faith had become a permanent part of the Hawaiian soul—a reality that the French would eventually enforce with the arrival of the Artemise a year later.

Simeone Paele remains the preeminent figure of my research, representing the bridge between the arrival of the pioneers and the eventual victory of religious freedom in Hawaii.

Maria Ana Kamakaia – Confessor, Wife and Lingering Martyr

Missionary journals and the records preserved in the Australasian Chronicle tell the story of Maria Ana Kamakaia, one of the most poignant examples of the “Lingering Martyrs” of the Hawaiian Church. While her husband, Simeone Paele, is often remembered as the primary martyr, Maria Ana’s endurance as an elderly woman of high status remains a testament to the depth of the underground faith.

Maria Ana was a woman of noble character and significant standing within Hawaiian society. By the time the persecution reached its height in the mid-1830s, she was already approximately sixty years old—a venerable age in 19th-century Hawaii.

Her role suggests she was much more than a supportive spouse of Simeone; she was a spiritual matriarch. Alongside her husband, she was a pillar of the first native Catholic community in Honolulu. Her home was a sanctuary for the “underground church” where converts gathered in secret to recite the Rosary and receive instruction in the catechism while the priests were in exile.

When the Regency decided to make a public spectacle of the Catholic leaders to discourage the common people, Maria Ana was targeted alongside Simeone. The authorities believed that by subjecting a high-ranking woman of her age to “disgusting” labor, they could break the resolve of the entire community.

• The Scavenger Sentence: Maria Ana was condemned to the same “Sewer Labor” as her husband. She was forced to work in the public squares and around the Honolulu Fort, removing human and animal waste.
• The Bare-Handed Labor: My research emphasizes the deliberate cruelty of the command: she was forced to gather this filth with her naked and bare hands. This was a specific attempt to strip her of her mana (sacred power) and social dignity [1].
• Chained in the Sun: To maximize her suffering, the guards often chained Maria Ana to her husband by the hand and foot. For hours under the tropical sun, the elderly couple was paraded in their shackles, performing the most menial and revolting tasks while being mocked by government agents who urged them to “recant and find relief.”

When not laboring on the scavenger detail, Maria Ana was confined within the Honolulu Fort. The conditions my research describes were intentionally brutal for a woman of her age. She was kept in a damp, poorly ventilated room where the coral walls seeped moisture. She witnessed and shared in the “neck-to-knee” chaining of her husband. While the records are more specific about Simeone’s shackles, it is noted that Maria Ana was kept in “heavy irons” that permanently damaged her joints and weakened her constitution.

Maria Ana’s death is categorized as a “lingering” martyrdom because, although she did not die in the immediate moment of torture, her life was cut short by the systematic abuse she endured.

• The Loss of Simeone: In 1838, she suffered the profound blow of her husband’s death in the Fort. She remained steadfast even after his passing, continuing to encourage the younger “orphans” of the mission.
• The Physical Toll: The combination of starvation, exposure to the elements during the scavenger labor, and the dampness of the Fort cells shattered her health.
• Death: She passed away shortly after the period of intense persecution began to wane. My research views her death as a direct consequence of the “merciless cruelty” of the Regency. Like a foundation stone, she held the community together until the “Edict of Toleration” was eventually forced upon the kingdom in 1839.

In my effort to bring her case to the Vatican, Maria Ana represents the “Confessor-Mother.” Her story is vital because it proves that the persecution did not just target men or political rivals but sought to destroy the very heart of the Hawaiian family. Her refusal to recant, even when faced with the most “disgusting” offices, is a heroic virtue of the highest order.

(Neck and ankle chains)

Valeriano Hinapapa – Confessor, Martyr, Elder

Valeriano Hinapapa (sometimes recorded as Kinspapa) stands as a living bridge between the ancient Hawaii of the 18th century and the spiritual transformation of the 19th century. He represents the “Confessor-Elder,” a man whose long life gave him a unique perspective on the shifting tides of his nation.

Valeriano was a venerable elder who possessed a memory that stretched back to the very arrival of Captain James Cook in 1778. Having lived through the unification of the islands under Kamehameha the Great and the subsequent dismantling of the kapu system, he was a repository of Hawaiian tradition.

When the Catholic mission arrived in 1827, Valeriano found in the faith a depth and ritual that resonated with his understanding of the sacred. He became one of the most steadfast members of the “underground church,” providing a sense of ancestral authority to the younger converts during the “Dark Decade.”

Valeriano’s persecution was marked by a brutal attempt to break his dignity as an elder—a status that in traditional Hawaiian culture was normally sacrosanct.

• The Inquisitorial Tribunal: He was summoned before a formal government tribunal and interrogated about his religious practices. My research notes that the judges were particularly frustrated by his age; they expected a man who had seen so much change to be easily swayed.
• The Beating: When he refused to renounce his “idolatry” and promise attendance at Protestant services, he was subjected to physical violence. Despite his advanced age, he was brutally beaten with sticks in an attempt to coerce a recantation.
• The Scavenger Detail: Following his beating, he was not released but was instead sentenced to the same degrading “sewer labor” as Simeone Paele.

Valeriano was confined within the Honolulu Fort for an extended period. My thoughts on the archival records suggest that his sentence was intentionally prolonged to serve as a warning to other elders.

Alongside Simeone and Maria Ana, he was forced to remove human and animal waste from the Fort’s precincts with his bare hands. The sight of an elder—a man who had seen the first white sails on the horizon of Hawaii—crawling in the filth of a prison yard was a profound psychological blow intended for the entire native community.

Despite his infirmities, Valeriano was kept in “heavy irons” both day and night. The dampness of the Fort, combined with the weight of the metal on his aged limbs, caused permanent physical deterioration [1].

While Valeriano survived the most intense periods of physical beating, his death is categorized in my research as that of a Confessor-Martyr.

He died shortly after the period of his longest imprisonment, his body having been spent by “days and years” of labor and the damp, unventilated conditions of the Fort. He passed away without ever once recanting his faith. My research indicates that his quiet, iron-willed endurance was one of the primary reasons the Regency eventually realized they could never fully uproot Catholicism from the hearts of the people.

In my pursuit of official recognition from the Vatican, Valeriano Hinapapa serves as the ultimate witness of Persistence. He proves that the faith was not just a fad of the young or a tool of the foreigners, but a truth that a man of ancient Hawaii was willing to suffer and die for. He died as he lived: a witness to the changing world but anchored in an unchanging faith.

The construction of the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall represents the peak of systematic physical attrition used against the native Catholic flock. If the Fort was the center of humiliation, the Waikiki reef was the site of slow, crushing physical destruction.

Beginning in the early 1830s, the Regency converted a massive public works project into a penal colony for the “religion of the French.” The goal was to build a great sea wall at Waikiki, a task of such immense physical difficulty that it was usually reserved for the most hardened violent criminals.

Within the archival logs, it reveals a process of labor that was as dangerous as it was exhausting:

• Diving the Reef: The “Wall-Builders” were forced to dive into the ocean to pry sharp, jagged coral heads from the reef. Without tools or protection, their hands and feet were constantly lacerated by the coral, and the saltwater prevented these wounds from ever healing [1].
• The Long Carry: Once the stones were harvested, the prisoners—including women and the elderly—had to shoulder these heavy, water-logged rocks. They were forced to carry them for miles along the shore under the unyielding tropical sun.
• The Quotas of Recantation: The labor was overseen by government guards who were instructed to offer “mercy” only if the worker would drop their stone and promise to attend the Protestant schools. To refuse was to be sent back into the surf for more [2].

Kaika Kapuokalani, The Aged Witness

Based on the Australasian Chronicle and the detailed martyrologies of the early mission, the story of Kaika Kapuokalani stands as a profound testament to the strength of the Hawaiian kupuna (elder). Her case is particularly significant for my efforts toward Vatican recognition because it demonstrates that the persecution did not spare the elderly, who in traditional Hawaiian culture were meant to be the most protected.

Kaika Kapuokalani was a woman of advanced years, estimated to be over sixty during the height of the “Dark Decade.” In 1830s Hawaii, she was a repository of cultural memory, having lived through the era of the great King Kamehameha I. When the Catholic mission arrived, she was drawn to the depth of the liturgy and the “French religion,” seeing in it a spiritual dignity that she refused to relinquish.

The Regency’s strategy was to target the elderly, believing their physical frailty would lead to quick recantations that would demoralize the younger converts. Kaika was summoned before a government tribunal and ordered to renounce her “idolatry.” My research highlights that she was specifically pressured to attend Protestant services and enroll in their schools.

When she refused, stating her heart was “set upon the Cross,” she was not given a fine or a warning. Instead, she was sentenced to eighteen months of penal servitude at the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall—a sentence that was, for a woman of her age, a likely death warrant [1].

The reality of Kaika’s imprisonment was not spent in a cell, but in the grueling “open-air prison” of the Waikiki reefs.

• The Physical Labor: Every day for eighteen months, Kaika was forced to labor alongside common criminals and younger converts. She was compelled to carry heavy, jagged coral stones on her shoulders. These stones, harvested from the sea, were often sharp enough to lacerate the skin and were heavy with salt water.
• The Tropical Sun: My research notes that she performed this labor under the unrelenting tropical sun with minimal water or rest. The guards frequently mocked her, telling her that a woman of her years should be at home resting, and she could return there the moment she denied her faith [2].
• The Spirit of Joy: One of the most remarkable details in my research is her disposition. Witnesses recorded that Kaika remained “cheerful in her suffering.” She reportedly viewed the heavy stones as a physical manifestation of her prayers, offering up each step for the return of the exiled Father Bachelot.

While Kaika survived the eighteen-month sentence and lived to see the Edict of Toleration in 1839, her death is categorized in my research as a Lingering Martyrdom. The sheer physical toll of carrying heavy stones at age sixty shattered her constitution. The chronic exposure to the elements and the strain on her heart and limbs left her an invalid.

She passed away shortly after the mission was restored. Her death was a direct consequence of the “merciless cruelty” she endured on the wall. She died as she had lived—steadfast, having never once stepped foot in a Protestant service or denied the Catholic Church.

In the dossier for the Vatican, Kaika Kapuokalani represents Patience and Fortitude in Old Age. She provides the evidence that the persecution was universal, sparing neither the sick nor the elderly. Her story is essential to the causation because it proves that the native Catholics were sustained by a grace that transcended their physical limitations. She carried the cross of Christ in the form of Hawaiian coral, and she carried it to the end.

Kekime (Kikime) Keiumekaula, The Blind Confessor of the Wall

Kekime Keiumekaula (often referred to simply as Kekime the Blind) serves as the most striking evidence of the Regency’s absolute lack of mercy. His story is central to my effort to show the Vatican that the persecution was not merely a political dispute, but a targeted assault on the most vulnerable members of the Catholic community.

Kekime was a native Hawaiian convert who suffered from total blindness. In the traditional Hawaiian social structure, an individual like Kekime—a makapō—would have been under the protection of his ‘ohana (family) and the community, as his condition was seen as a call for collective care.

However, when Kekime embraced the Catholic faith through the hidden ministry of the “underground church,” he traded that social safety for a life of spiritual danger. My thoughts on the archival records suggest that his faith was particularly profound; because he lived in physical darkness, the “internal light” of the Catholic liturgy and the Rosary became the primary focus of his existence.

In the mid-1830s, the government authorities expanded their net to include every documented follower of the “religion of the French.” Kekime was summoned before a tribunal and interrogated.

The judicial officers of the Regency, pressured by those who viewed his Catholicism as “idolatry,” expected the blind man to be an easy target. They offered him a life of comfort and a cessation of all harassment if he would simply denounce the priests and attend the Protestant schools. Kekime’s refusal was absolute. He informed the court that while his eyes could not see the world, his soul could see the truth of the Church, and he would not return to a spiritual darkness for the sake of physical ease [1].

Enraged by his defiance, the authorities sentenced Kekime to eighteen months of penal servitude at the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall. This was a sentence that even the able-bodied feared, yet it was applied to a blind man without hesitation.

• The Labor of Touch: Kekime was forced to work alongside the other prisoners. Since he could not dive for coral or see the path, he was made to carry the heavy, jagged stones from the shore to the construction site. He performed this labor by following the voices of his fellow Catholics—like Kaika Kapuokalani—and by feeling the path with his feet [2].
• Physical Suffering: The sharp coral frequently cut his hands as he struggled to maintain his grip on the heavy loads. Because he could not anticipate the terrain, he often tripped or fell under the weight of the rocks, only to be mocked by the guards and ordered to stand back up.
• The Refusal to Yield: Throughout his eighteen months of toil, Kekime never wavered. He was often heard reciting the prayers of the Rosary aloud as he carried his burdens, turning the “penal wall” into a site of blind, unshakeable devotion.

Kekime survived the term of his labor, but the physical toll was immense. His death is documented as part of the “Great Confession” of the 1830s. He passed away shortly after the mission was restored, his body exhausted by the labor that his condition should have exempted him from.

In the dossier I am preparing for the Vatican, Kekime Keiumekaula represents Purity of Faith. He is the “Blind Witness” who proved that the Catholic Church in Hawaii was not built on external visuals or political gain, but on an internal conviction that could withstand the most illogical and cruel of physical punishments. He is a martyr of the spirit, a man who carried the heavy coral of Waikiki into the light of history.

Monika (Monica) Ai, The Mother’s Sacrifice

Monika was a native Hawaiian convert caught in the fierce wave of arrests orchestrated by the regent Kaahumanu in the summer of 1831. When brought before the authorities, Monika firmly refused to abandon her Catholic faith or agree to attend the state-sponsored Calvinist prayer meetings. As a result of her steadfastness, she was condemned to 18 months of severe penal servitude.

Tragically, she did not face this sentence alone. Her 25-year-old son, Kikime Kaihekauila (also recorded as Kekime Keiumekaula), was a baptized Catholic and was arrested and sentenced alongside her. Kikime was entirely blind.

The prisoners were forced to construct Kaahumanu’s massive 70-foot stone enclosure on the plains of Waikiki. The physical conditions were merciless: the prisoners were given no tools and were forced to extract, carry, and stack heavy, jagged coral stones entirely with their bare hands while subsisting on starvation-level rations.

For a blind man, this labor was not just agonizing; it was nearly impossible. Those who failed to keep up with the punishing pace of the labor faced the immediate wrath of the guards, including beatings or the application of heavy irons.

The immense physical and psychological burden Monika took on during this period must have been unbearable. Knowing her blind son could not safely navigate the jagged reef rocks or meet the grueling physical demands on his own, Monika took it upon herself to secretly assist him. While already exhausted, starving, and tearing her own hands open on the coral to meet her own quota, she actively located deeply embedded rocks for Kikime. She secretly guided his hands to the right stones so he could dig them out with his bare fingers, ensuring he appeared to be working steadily and avoiding the violent attention of the kingdom’s guards.

Monika essentially endured double the physical strain of the Waikiki wall sentence. Through her fierce, silent protection, she shielded her blind son from the worst of the guards’ cruelty.

Despite the sheer exhaustion of working for two, Monika never broke. She refused to yield her faith to secure an easier life, surviving the brutal 18-month sentence. Both she and Kikime lived through the ordeal, firmly cementing their legacy. Monika Ai is remembered not just as a Confessor of the Faith, but as the ultimate embodiment of a mother’s unshakable endurance during the Dark Decade.

Night of the Inquisitors

The most visceral and agonizing evidence of the Regency’s cruelty lies in the nocturnal punishments within the Honolulu Fort. While the daylight was spent in degrading labor, the nights were reserved for a systematic attempt to break the physical and mental resolve of the “Confessors” through sleep deprivation and agonizing physical restraint.

The authorities realized that the native Catholics were sustaining one another through communal prayer during their rest hours. To prevent this, and to inflict a “silent” pain that left no marks for foreign visitors to see, they implemented specific forms of chaining.

The most horrific practice documented in my research was the “neck-to-knee” restraint. This was frequently applied to the leaders, most notably Simeone Paele.

• The Position: The prisoner was forced to sit on the damp floor of the cell. A heavy iron chain was looped around their neck and then drawn down tightly to shackles on their ankles or knees. This forced the body into a permanent, agonizing fetal position.
• The Duration: Prisoners were kept in this state for the entire night, and sometimes for days at a time. It made sleep impossible, as any relaxation of the muscles caused the chain to pull against the throat, threatening strangulation.
• The Long-Term Damage: My thoughts on the archival records suggest this torture was a primary cause of the “lingering deaths” of many confessors. It led to permanent spinal deformation, respiratory issues, and the total breakdown of the nervous system [1].

As I have noted in the story of Maria Ana Kamakaia, the Regency also used “relational torture.”

• The Shared Shackle: Husbands and wives were chained together by the hand and foot. If one needed to move or adjust, the other was jolted. This was designed to turn their love for one another into a source of mutual physical irritation and pain, hoping that one would beg the other to recant to end the suffering [1].

Even those not subjected to the neck-to-knee torture were rarely left free. My research into the mass arrests of 1839 describes the “Final Nine” who were found by Captain Laplace as being “loaded with heavy irons.” These were not the light handcuffs of the modern era, but massive, hand-forged iron bars and rings that weighed several pounds, causing deep ulcerations on the wrists and ankles that, in the dampness of the Fort, often became gangrenous [2].

That night was when the “Inquisitors” would visit. Under the cover of darkness, government agents would enter the cells, holding torches to the faces of the exhausted, shackled prisoners. They would offer to strike off the irons and provide a soft mat and food if the prisoner would only utter a single sentence of recantation or a promise to attend a Protestant service.

Remarkably, the silence of the Fort was rarely broken by recantation, but rather by the soft, rhythmic clicking of wooden rosary beads against iron chains. This “Night in Chains” is the ultimate proof of Heroic Fortitude I intend to present to the Vatican.

The Silent Martyrs – The Infants

The most heart-wrenching archives of the “Dark Decade,” the accounts of the Silent Martyrs represent the absolute moral limit of the Regency’s persecution. These were the children of the confessors—innocents who did not choose their path, but whose deaths were the direct result of the state’s attempt to use maternal love as a weapon against the Catholic faith.

The authorities in the mid-1830s believed that if the threat of personal pain or public humiliation failed to break a convert, the suffering of their children would surely succeed. They targeted mothers, creating conditions where a child’s life was held as the price for a mother’s recantation.

The Infant of the Waikiki Wall

The records of the reef gangs reveal a specific tragedy involving an unnamed Catholic mother sentenced to the coral wall and the plight of her infant child.

• The Labor of the Mother: Because there was no one to care for her infant, the mother was forced to bring the child to the construction site. She was compelled to perform her quota of carrying heavy coral stones while the infant was strapped to her back.
• The Death of Exposure: The child was subjected to the same blistering sun and salt spray as the prisoners. Lacking proper shade, hydration, or a place to rest, the infant died from heatstroke and physical exhaustion while still bound to its mother’s shoulders. The mother was not allowed to stop her labor to mourn until her daily task was completed [1].

The Child of the Mat-Weaver

Another tactic used by the Regency was the “Mat-Weaving Sentence,” where women were held in the Fort and forced to weave mats for the government.

• The Starvation Tactic: In one documented case, a mother was imprisoned and forced to weave mats for weeks. To break her resolve, the guards denied her any food or water, hoping she would recant to save herself.
• The Fatal Consequence: While the mother survived on her own internal strength, her body was unable to produce the milk necessary to nurse her infant. When she was finally released, she was emaciated. Her child, having suffered through weeks of malnutrition, died shortly after their liberation. The mother’s “freedom” was met only with the burial of her child [1].

Margaret The Innocent Child in Irons

Then there is the case of Margaret, the six-year-old daughter of Esther Uhete. Unlike the infants, Margaret was old enough to be considered a participant. She was imprisoned in heavy irons for eighteen months alongside her parents. While she survived the physical imprisonment, she witnessed the daily torture of her mother and father—a psychological “martyrdom of the innocent” that the Regency hoped would force her parents to yield [11].

In the documentation I am preparing for the Vatican, these children are included as Martyrs of the Faith. Although they could not articulate their beliefs, they died as a direct consequence of the hatred of the Faith (odium fidei) exhibited by the state. Their deaths highlight the “Heroic Fortitude” of their parents, who, like the biblical Mother of the Maccabees, refused to trade the eternal truth of their Faith even for the lives of their own children.

These infants are the silent foundation of the Hawaiian Church, and their blood, shed on the coral of Waikiki and the dirt of the Fort, remains a sacred part of my research.

Esther Amelia Uhete (Uheke) Mother, Confessor, Lingering Martyr

In learning about the “Lingering Martyrs,” I found that the story of Esther Uhete (sometimes recorded as Esther Helima) stands out as a bridge between the high-ranking nobility and the suffering of the common convert. Her life proves that even those with status were not immune to the “merciless cruelty” of the Regency if they refused to bow to the established Protestant order.

Esther was a woman of high rank, a chiefess who had embraced the Catholic Faith with a deep, intellectual conviction. My thoughts on the records suggest she was a vital protector of the early mission, using her social influence to shield the priests and other converts during the initial years of “The Growing Shadow.” She was married to a man named Helima, and together they raised their young daughter, Margaret, in the Faith.

The Regency, frustrated that high-ranking Ali‘i were still adhering to the “religion of the French,” decided to strike at Esther’s family to make a public example.

• The Arraignment: Esther, her husband, and their six-year-old daughter were summoned before the tribunal. When Esther refused to recant, the authorities did something that shocked even the foreign observers of the time: they sentenced the entire family to the Fort.
• The Irons: Esther was placed in heavy iron shackles. My research indicates she was held in this state for eighteen months. The psychological torture was as severe as the physical; she was forced to watch her young daughter, Margaret, endure the dampness and fear of the prison cells alongside her [11].
• The Starvation: Throughout their eighteen-month confinement, the family was provided with the barest minimum of sustenance. The damp, unventilated conditions of the Honolulu Fort took a rapid toll on Esther’s health, which had previously been robust.

Esther survived the eighteen months of chains, but the “victory” of her release was short-lived. By the time she was liberated, the combination of malnutrition and the “noxious air” of the Fort had permanently damaged her respiratory and immune systems. She was a shadow of the woman who had entered the prison.

Esther died on October 9, 1834, shortly after her release. My research identifies her as a “Lingering Martyr” because her death was the direct, delayed result of the systematic abuse she suffered. She died in the peace of the Church, having never once compromised her Faith to secure her family’s freedom [1].

As a Catholic man, Esther’s story moves me deeply because it highlights the total sacrifice of a mother. She chose the dampness of a cell and the weight of irons over a comfortable life of compromise. In the causation I am building for the Vatican, Esther Uhete represents the Sanctity of the Domestic Church. She is the proof that the Hawaiian mission was built on the backs of families who believed that the Truth was worth more than life itself.

Chapter 4

The Shepherd’s Return: The Clementine Crisis and the Death of Bachelot

Upon the closing years of the “Dark Decade,” the return of the pioneers was not a moment of quiet reunion, but a high-stakes diplomatic confrontation that brought the Hawaiian Kingdom to the brink of international conflict.

After six years of laboring in the California missions, Father Alexis Bachelot, and Father Patrick Short felt a profound spiritual pull to return to their “orphaned” flock. They had received words about the suffering of Simeone Paele, Luika Kaumaka, and the others, and they could no longer remain in safety while their converts were in chains.

On April 17, 1837, they arrived in Honolulu Harbor aboard the British brig Clementine, owned by the Frenchman Jules Dudoit. The arrival of the priests sent a shockwave through the Regency. The government authorities, advised by the Protestant mission, viewed this return as a direct act of sedition.

As soon as the Clementine dropped anchor, government officers boarded the vessel. They forbade the priests from stepping foot on Hawaiian soil. Despite the protests of the ship’s captain and the British and French residents, the priests attempted to go ashore to their old mission house. They were met by an armed guard and, by order of Governor Kekūanāo‘a, were forcibly rowed back to the Clementine.

For the next several weeks, the Clementine became a “floating prison.” The Regency ordered the ship to leave immediately, but the captain, Dudoit, refused, claiming the priests had already been legally landed and the government had no right to force them back onto his vessel.

This sparked a fierce legal battle. The British and French flags were hauled down in protest. My thoughts on the maritime logs of the time highlight the tension: the priests were kept on the sweltering deck of the brig, surrounded by government schooners to prevent any native Catholics from reaching them by canoe [1].

The standoff reached a fever pitch in July 1837 with the arrival of two powerful warships: the British HMS Acteon and the French frigate Vénus. The commanders, Lord Edward Russell and Captain Abel Aubert du Petit-Thouars, landed with armed escorts to demand the release of the priests.

Under the guns of the warships, the Regency temporarily relented, allowing the priests to land until another vessel could be found to take them away. However, as my research shows, this was merely a tactical retreat by the government. The priests were placed under a form of house arrest, forbidden from administering the sacraments to any native Hawaiians.

The Clementine crisis proved that the Regency was willing to risk a war with European powers to prevent the spread of the “French religion.” This set the stage for the final, tragic decision to send Father Bachelot into a second, fatal exile—a journey that would lead to his death on the lonely islet of Na.

Looking back to the legal history of the “Dark Decade,” the Second Edict of Expulsion represents the Regency’s final, desperate attempt to give their religious persecution a veneer of international law. By late 1837, the authorities realized that brute force within the Fort was not enough; they needed a formal, written decree that would stand up to the scrutiny of the European naval commanders.

Following the standoff with the warships Acteon and Vénus, the Regency, under the heavy guidance of their advisors, drafted a new law. This was not just a verbal command from the Queen, but a formal legislative act signed by King Kamehameha III.

The language of this edict was far more sophisticated than the earlier decrees. My research into the original text shows that it shifted the focus from “idolatry” to “political necessity.”

• The Prohibition: The law explicitly stated: “The Catholic religion shall not be allowed in the Kingdom of Hawaii… No one shall teach the tenets of that religion, nor shall any person embrace them.” [1]
• The Priests as “Contraband”: The edict framed the presence of Father Bachelot and Father Short as a violation of the Kingdom’s sovereignty. It declared that any captain who brought a Catholic priest to the islands would be subject to a massive fine and the confiscation of their vessel.
• The Order of Permanent Exile: The most chilling aspect of the edict was the command that the “shepherds” be removed by any means necessary. It provided the legal “justification” to seize a vessel and force the priests back onto the open sea.

With the law now on their side, the Regency moved swiftly. Father Patrick Short was forced onto a vessel bound for Valparaiso, effectively separating the two pioneers.

Father Bachelot, whose health was already failing due to the “sweltering heat” of his house arrest and the mental strain of seeing his flock in chains, was singled out for a different fate. He was placed aboard the small schooner Honolulu (later renamed the Notre Dame de Paix), which had been purchased by the mission but was now under the control of a captain answering to the Hawaiian government’s demands.

As the schooner prepared to sail, the Regency enforced a strict “no contact” rule. Written in the Priest’s journal, a heartbreaking scene where the native Catholics—the “orphans” of the mission—stood on the shoreline, forbidden from rowing out to say a final goodbye to the man who had baptized them.

At this moment we should focus on the sheer isolation Bachelot must have felt. He was being sent into the vastness of the Pacific, not toward a known port, but toward the uncertain and “desolate” missions of Micronesia. This was not just a deportation; it was a death sentence delivered in the form of a legal edict.

In the final days of the mission’s pioneer, the voyage of the schooner Honolulu stands as a grueling testament to the cost of spiritual fatherhood. Father Bachelot did not die in a cell, but he died a prisoner of the sea, his health finally failing under the weight of years of displacement.

On November 23, 1837, Father Alexis Bachelot was carried onto the schooner. My research into his final logs and the testimonies of the crew reveals a man already physically spent. He was suffering from a “malignant fever” and the respiratory damage caused by years of living in the damp, tropical environments of his various exiles.

The journey across the Pacific toward the Caroline Islands was a slow torture.

The Environment: The schooner was small, and the heat in the equatorial latitudes was described as “sweltering.” Bachelot was confined to a cramped cabin where the air was stagnant and the movement of the ship constant.

The Spiritual Isolation: As he drifted further from his Hawaiian flock, Bachelot’s logs reflect a deep concern for his “children” left behind in the Fort. My thoughts on these writings suggest that his greatest pain was not his physical ailment, but the realization that he was leaving his converts without a shepherd [1].

As the schooner approached the distant reaches of Micronesia, Bachelot’s condition became critical. On the morning of December 5, 1837, while the vessel was still in the open ocean, the first priest of Hawaii breathed his last.

He died as he had lived for the past decade: a wanderer for the Faith. There were no sacraments for the man who had administered them to thousands, only the prayers of a few crew members and the sound of the Pacific waves.

The captain of the vessel, seeking a place for a Christian burial, steered toward the Ponape (Pohnpei) group in the Caroline Islands. They reached a tiny, secluded islet known as Na (or Nah), off the coast of Madolenihmw.

• The Lonely Grave: My research describes a somber scene where a small group of sailors carried the body of the pioneer priest ashore. They dug a grave in the sandy earth of the islet, beneath the tropical foliage.
• The Monument: A small wooden cross was erected, and a simple stone marker was placed to identify the remains of the man who had brought the first Catholic mission to Hawaii [12].

Word of Father Bachelot’s death did not reach Honolulu for many months. When it finally did, it struck the native Catholics with the force of a physical blow.

(The tomb of Fr. Bachelot, Wikipedia Commons)

The Regency hoped this news would finally end the Catholic movement. They believed that with the shepherd dead and buried in a distant land, the sheep would finally return to the state-sanctioned fold. Instead, the death of Bachelot served as the final “baptism of blood” for the movement. The native Catholics, now calling themselves the “Children of Bachelot,” redoubled their prayers and their resistance, leading to the final confrontation that would bring religious freedom to the islands.

Chapter 5

The Arrival of the Artemise: The Guns of Justice and the Edict of Toleration

In the final days of the “Dark Decade,” the story of the “Final Nine” represents the ultimate failure of the Regency to break the Hawaiian spirit. Even as the sails of the French navy appeared on the horizon, the authorities made one last, desperate attempt to force a recantation through physical agony.

In early July 1839, while the French frigate l’Artémise was navigating toward the islands, nine native Catholics remained deep within the walls of the Honolulu Fort. These individuals—including several women and an elderly man—were the final remnants of the “underground church” still held in state custody.

When Captain Cyrille Laplace and his officers eventually made their demands known, they sent representatives to inspect the conditions of the mission. My research into the French naval logs describes the shock of the officers upon entering the cells of the Fort.

They found the nine prisoners in a state of extreme physical degradation. Despite the heat of July, they had been kept in the dampest, most unventilated corners of the prison. Most horrifying to the French was that these nine individuals were “loaded with heavy irons.” These were not merely shackles for transport; they were the same “neck-to-knee” restraints and massive iron bars used throughout the decade to prevent sleep and prayer.

The guards had told the prisoners that the French were coming to “destroy the islands,” and offered them freedom if they would only recant before the “foreigners” arrived. The nine refused, choosing to remain in their chains rather than betray their Faith on the eve of their liberation [1].

On July 9, 1839, Captain Laplace issued a manifesto that would change the course of Hawaiian history. He did not approach the Regency as a diplomat, but as a defender of his Faith and his nation’s honor. Laplace declared that the persecution of Catholics was an “insult to France” and a violation of the “laws of civilized nations.” He presented the King and the Regency with an ultimatum:

1. The Catholic religion must be declared free throughout all the islands.
2. A site for a Catholic church must be granted by the government in Honolulu.
3. The prisoners currently held for their religious beliefs must be released immediately.
4. A bond of $20,000 must be paid to the French government as a guarantee of future conduct.

The Regency was given only five days to comply. My thoughts on this moment focus on the tension within the palace; for the first time, the “shadow” of the Protestant mission could not protect the chiefs from the physical reality of French cannons aimed at Honolulu.

The threat was clear: if the treaty were not signed and the $20,000 produced, Laplace would begin a bombardment of the city and land a force to seize the Fort. The “Dark Decade” had reached its end not through a change of heart by the persecutors, but through the intervention of a power that would no longer tolerate the “blood and toil” of the native flock [5].

The persecution led to the genesis of the constitutional history of the Hawaiian Kingdom. The Edict of Toleration (officially the Declaration of Rights and the subsequent treaty with France) represents the formal surrender of the state’s power to dictate the religious conscience of its people. This was the moment the legal machinery of the “Dark Decade” was finally dismantled.

On July 10, 1839, under the looming shadow of the l’Artémise’s fifty-two guns, the Regency realized that their period of absolute religious control had come to an end. The King, Kamehameha III, was pressured to sign a document that fundamentally altered the social fabric of the islands.

The treaty and the accompanying royal proclamation were comprehensive. The tragedy affected the specific language of the Edict focus and how it directly reversed the laws that had fueled the persecution. More specifically, tthe Edict declared that the Catholic worship should be “entirely free” throughout all the islands, and that the “members of this religious Faith shall enjoy all the privileges” granted to Protestants. The government was forced to concede a plot of land in Honolulu for the building of a Catholic church—the very site where the Cathedral Basilica of Our Lady of Peace stands today.

To ensure compliance, the Regency had to produce $20,000 in species (gold and silver). My research highlights the irony of this moment: the very government that had impoverished its people to build coral walls and feed the Fort now had to scramble to gather every available coin to pay the “bond of justice” to Captain Laplace [1].

The atmosphere during the signing was one of profound humiliation for the persecutors. The high chiefs, who had for ten years presided over the trials of the “Initial Seven” and the “Final Nine,” were now legally compelled to protect the very “idolatry” they had sought to destroy.

As soon as the ink was dry, the gates of the Honolulu Fort were thrown open. The “Final Nine” were unchained. My research describes a scene of quiet, holy triumph. These survivors did not walk out as broken victims, but as victors.

As they stepped into the sunlight, their ankles still bearing the deep, raw scars of the “heavy irons,” they were met by a crowd of native Catholics who had gathered in the streets. There were no riots or acts of revenge. Instead, the liberated prisoners and their families fell to their knees in the dirt outside the Fort to recite the Rosary—this time, aloud and without fear [9].

At the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall, the guards were ordered to stand down. The “Wall-Builders” dropped their jagged stones for the last time. The project that was meant to be a site of penal servitude became, in an instant, a monument to the failure of religious coercion.

The Edict of Toleration serves as the “Confirmation of Faith.” It proves that the “Martyrs and Confessors” did not suffer in vain. Their physical endurance of the Fort and the Reef created a moral crisis that the world could no longer ignore, ultimately forcing the state to acknowledge a higher law of conscience.

The “return of the orphans” as some had called it—the moment the prisoners were finally liberated from the Honolulu Fort and the reef gangs—is the most emotionally resonant scene of the entire “Dark Decade.” It was the moment the “underground church” finally stepped into the light of day.

While the signing of the Edict of Toleration was a legal victory, the true triumph was physical. As the heavy iron gates of the Honolulu Fort swung open, a crowd of hundreds of native Catholics gathered in the dusty streets of Honolulu to witness a sight many believed they would never see in their lifetimes.

The first to emerge were the Final Nine, including Malia Makalena, Kapa, and Bernadine. Archival descriptions of this moment punctuate the contrast between their physical state and their spiritual bearing.

• The Scars of the Fort: These men and women emerged emaciated, their skin pale from months in the damp, lightless cells. The most striking detail recorded by witnesses was the sound: the heavy iron shackles, which had been clamped onto their ankles for months, were finally struck off by French smiths, the clatter of iron on the stone floor signaling the end of an era.
• The Scars of the Body: Many of the liberated were unable to walk upright. Their joints had been stiffened by the “neck-to-knee” chaining, and their ankles bore deep, permanent ulcerations where the iron had bitten into the bone [1].

(Kamehameha III)

Simultaneously, word reached the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall. The guards, seeing the French officers approaching, fled their posts.

• The Abandoned Stones: For years, the “Wall-Builders” like Kaika Kapuokalani and the blind Kekime had lived in fear of the lash. My research highlights the symbolic weight of this moment: the prisoners did not drop their stones in anger; they simply laid them down and began to walk toward the city.
• The Nursing Mothers: Luika Kaumaka, who had been forced to carry stones while nursing her child, was among those who led the procession back from the reef. They were met by families who had thought they lost to the penal gangs forever.

The most profound part of the “Return” was the lack of vengeance. There were no riots against the Protestant teachers or the government overseers.

Instead of rushing to their homes, the liberated “orphans” and the crowds of the Faithful gathered on the very ground where they had been persecuted. They fell to their knees in the dirt outside the Fort.

For ten years, the Rosary had been a whispered secret, a “crime” punishable by the Fort. Now, for the first time, hundreds of voices rose together in the “Ave Maria,” creating an echo off the very walls that had held them captive. My research notes that even the French sailors of the Artemise stood in silence, moved by the sight of a people whose Faith had proven stronger than the Kingdom’s steel [9].

This was the day the “orphans” became a family again. They had survived without a priest, without a church, and without a single day of peace. In the causation I am preparing for the Vatican, the Return of the Orphans is the ultimate proof of Perseverance. They did not just survive; they thrived in the shadows, and they walked out of the Fort as the true moral leaders of Hawaii.

Chapter 6

The Book of Life — A Rollcall of the Hawaiian Confessors

con·fes·sor kən-ˈfe-sər  senses 1 & 3 also ˈkän-ˌfe-sər sense 3 also ˈkän-fə-ˌsȯr:

 In the early Church (during Roman persecutions), a “Confessor” was someone who “confessed” their faith in Christ publicly, suffered for it (torture, prison, or exile), but did not die for it.

This list is the foundation for the “Causation of the Hawaiian Martyrs and Confessors.” Each name represents a specific victory of the spirit over the state.

This section of the book is more than a historical record; it is a sacred assembly. As I compile this Rollcall of the Faithful, I try to return to the reality that for some of these men and women, the only surviving evidence of their existence is a name etched into a government arrest log or a brief mention in a missionary’s frantic letter written to Father Bachelot while he was exiled.

In the eyes of the 19th-century Regency, these individuals were intended to be invisible, faceless “idolaters” to be broken and forgotten. But in the eyes of my research, and for the causation I am presenting to the Vatican, every name is a universe of conviction. Whether we have a full biographical record or merely a single, harrowing account of a day spent in the sun, each entry represents a soul that refused to trade the Truth for comfort.

These are true heroes of Hawaii. May their names and the legacy of their lives never be forgotten.

1. The Martyrs (Died During Persecution)

• These individuals surrendered their lives while in custody or as a direct consequence of the physical toll of forced labor and deprivation.
• Simeone (Kimione) Paele (d. 1838): The “Protomartyr of Hawaii.” A native leader dragged from an altar in 1830. He endured years of “sewer labor,” cleaning animal waste with his bare hands to shame his high standing. He died in shackles within the Honolulu Fort, never recanting.
• Malahu Kininia (d. 1839): An elderly member of the “Initial Seven.” After nearly a decade of intermittent suffering, he collapsed and died in Moanalua Valley while being marched in shackles during a forced transfer.
• Lushina (Luahina) (d. Sept 15, 1839): An elder from Waianae who succumbed to physical stress and exhaustion during a forced march to the Honolulu Fort after being rounded up with 67 other Catholics.
• Father Alexis Bachelot (d. Dec 5, 1837): Apostolic prefect. His death at sea is attributed to shattered health caused by the cruelty of his confinement on the brig Clementine and the mental toll of being separated from his flock.
• The Infant of the Waikiki Wall: An unnamed infant who died from exposure and strain while carried on its mother’s back as she was forced to carry heavy coral stones for the sea wall.
• The Child of the Mat-Weaver: An infant who died shortly after its mother’s release; the mother had been starved while forced to weave mats, leaving her physically unable to nurse the child.
• John Kaluahiva (Kaluahawa): A sickly 37-year-old who collapsed and died unattended at Moanalua during the brutal forced march of 67 Catholic refugees from Waianae to Honolulu.

1. Lingering Martyrs (Died Post-Persecution)

These individuals lived to see their release or the Edict of Toleration but succumbed shortly after to the permanent physical damage of their ordeal.

• Ailimu (d. approximately 1832): Arrested as a catechumen and endured severe imprisonment at the Fort alongside her six-year-old child; recognized on the memorial plaque for yielding her life.
• Esther Amelia Uheke (d. Oct 9, 1834): A Kauaian chiefess who forfeited her rank and lands rather than deny her faith, leading a protest that ultimately secured the release of the wall builders. She was arrested in July 1831, stripped of her estate, and condemned to the Waikiki stone wall labor. When guards separated the men and women at the work site, she famously climbed the wall to rejoin her husband. She passed away after 18 months in irons, succumbing to the long-term health effects of her imprisonment.
• Helena Keehana (Helima / Heleina) (d. Dec 15, 1832): The “Mother of the Underground Church.” A 50-year-old native Catholic who survived the “punishment of the sun” and was later forced to build the Waikiki wall with her bare hands. She joined Pelipe and Uheke in marching to town to demand justice. She passed away shortly after her release, making her the first freed prisoner recorded to die from the physical toll of the ordeal.
• Alokia Agatha Keluhoonani (d. 1839): A 21-year-old mother who died from starvation and sheer exhaustion after being forced into heavy labor at the Fort while nursing her newborn. Sentenced to build the Waikiki wall while already sick; she died about a month after being liberated due to the long-term effects of the work and lack of food.
• Bernadine: One of the “Final Nine” found in chains by Captain Laplace. Though she witnessed the return of religious freedom, she died shortly after from the physical toll of years of reef labor.
• Dionysius (Petelo) of Molokai: A native convert and a catechist whose spine was broken by arresting police for refusing to build a Protestant meeting house; he died shortly after from his internal injuries.
• Marie-Joseph Kanui: The royal valet who spent 14 years in Paris, returning to spend his final exhausting days instructing native catechumens on Maui and Oahu before succumbing to illness.

III. Confessors (Survivors of Severe Torture and Labor)

The Fort and Scavenger Laborers

• Maria Ana Kamakaia: Wife of Simeone Paele. At age 60, she was chained to her husband and forced into public sewer labor to maximize their social humiliation.
• Valeriano Hinapapa (Kinspapa): An elder who performed revolting scavenger labor for years and was brutally beaten with sticks for refusing to renounce his Faith.
• Asolonieo (Azoleniko) Kisawahine: A man of high standing heavily ironed in the Fort for three months and sentenced to 18 months of hard labor on Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall. Briefly faltered but repented after being upbraided by his godson (Kimeone); subsequently endured heavy irons and starvation.
• Lui Keilolono & Paulo Keili: Arrested June 20, 1838, and condemned to labor as scavengers at the Fort.
• Hilario Kapo: Arrested June 1838 and sentenced to brutal scavenger labor.
• Kilia (Kilika): An impoverished woman condemned to five months of gathering the Fort prisoners’ excrement with her bare hands and carrying it to the ocean.
• Pulcheria: Deprived of food for two days in the Fort before escaping to attend an early morning Mass with Father Bachelot.
• Mahaoi: Arrested in the 1831 sweep; temporarily weakened to gain freedom but later repented and was reinstated to the Church.
• Lahina: An impoverished woman condemned to five months of gathering the Fort prisoners’ excrement with her bare hands.
• The Nine “Slaves”: A group of nine natives (male and female) liberated unconditionally by Captain Laplace on July 17, 1839.

The Hau Tree & Rafter Tortures (June 24, 1839)

• Juliana (Kanakanui) Makauwahine: Suspended by her wrists from a withered hau tree for 18 hours in the rain without food or water. A fiercely devoted convert who endured intense poverty and persecution alongside Kanakanui and Makalena.
• Malia Makalena Kapa (Kaha): Tortured in June 1839 by having her arms forced around the rafters of a thatched house while in irons; she was among the final prisoners freed in July 1839.

The 1830 Mat-Weavers

These women were condemned to weave fifteen massive mats of six by five fathoms before being liberated by Liliha: 

• Amelia Malaikoa
• Kekela Makaiehua
• Okilia Pahana
• Alukia Kaukalu

Reef and Waikiki Wall Laborers

• Pilipe (Pelepe Kamokunou): Endured the wall labor and served as a delegate to the British Consul to protest their unjust treatment. Documented on the memorial plaque as a martyr who perished during the localized persecutions.
• Kaika Kapuokalani: A woman over 60 years old sentenced to 18 months of hard labor building Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall.
• Pakileo (Bakelio) Luakini & Kekilia Kakau: Faithful Catholics sentenced to 18 months of penal servitude, forced to build the 70-foot stone walls barehanded on meager rations.
• Kekime Keiumekaula: A blind man sentenced to 18 months of hard labor on the Waikiki wall.
• Kiipueoe: Arrested by Kinau and condemned to cut coral on the reef for six weeks in chains.
• Mamaua Kamalolo: Condemned alongside Kiipueoe to the same reef labor
• Monika Ai: Endured the Waikiki wall labor, secretly assisting her blind son (Kekime) so he could survive the punishment.
• Nanakea: A 70-year-old man sentenced to 18 months of hard labor on the Waikiki wall.
• Pacome Kaihumua & Ikanakio Kamaka: Members of the “Initial Seven” who endured nearly a decade of intermittent imprisonment and reef labor.
• Akaka Kamoula (Agatha Kamoohula): Endured the severe 18-month sentence carrying heavy coral stones for the Waikiki wall.

The 1833 Crackdown

• Pilikou: A male convert condemned to make mud bricks for building walls.
• Kamakahiki Kamalou: A female convert sentenced to weave fifteen mats over a four-month period.
• Mokeakawai: Condemned to mat-weaving.
• Kaaku: Condemned to mat-weaving.
• Neeli (Naeili): Condemned to mat-weaving.

The June 1838 Crackdown

• Ana Kuili & Kalala Oupai: Arrested, condemned by the governor, and forced to work as scavengers and mud-brick makers.
• Kininia Malaaho: A female arrested on June 29, 1838, and forced to work in the fort under brutal conditions.

Leaders of the Underground Church

• Luika (Laika) Kaumaka: The first documented victim (1830). The “spiritual mother” of the early converts; survived being abandoned at sea on a makeshift craft for five days by Kaahumanu’s agents. Survived 15 days without food and was later forced to carry stones at Waikiki while nursing.
• Helio Koa‘eloa: The “Apostle of Maui.” Led the “March of the Ropes,” a 90-mile forced march of 100 bound followers of the Catholic Faith across Maui.
• Margaret: The 6-year-old daughter of Esther Uheke; imprisoned with her parents for 18 months.
• Eunike (Eunice) and Kini: Husband and wife from Kona forced into salt pan labor.

1. Clerical Confessors

• Father Patrick Short: An Irishman and British subject imprisoned on the brig Clementine in 1837 and guarded by armed men.
• Father Robert Walsh: An Irishman branded an “impostor” by authorities in 1836; he used his British citizenship to resist immediate expulsion and continue the mission in secret.
• Father Louis Maigret: A Frenchman exiled along with Father Bachelot. He returned to Hawaii and eventually became the first Bishop of Hawaii.I. The Martyrs (Died During Persecution)

The Weight of the Fragments

There is a profound importance in naming even those with “little information.” To name Lushina or Nanakea is to restore the dignity that was stripped from them when they were forced into the mud of the Fort or the sharp coral of the reef. My perspective as a Catholic man is that we are not just writing history; we are performing an act of restorative justice.

Even where the details are sparse, the core of their story remains.

Every person on this list stood at a crossroads where a single word of recantation would have ended their pain. They chose the silence of the cell over the safety of the state. Their collective endurance created the pressure that eventually forced the Edict of Toleration. Without the “least” among them, the “greatest” would have had no flock to lead.

Some have already had their life story revealed in the previous chapters. Here is where we yell from the rooftops all of the Martyrs and Confessor names and their lives.

As you read the individual stories that follow, I ask you to look past the brevity of some accounts. A sentence that reads “Sentenced to 18 months of reef labor” contains 540 days of lacerated hands, 540 days of saltwater-soaked wounds, and 540 days of choosing Christ over the lash.

We celebrate the First—those like Luika Kaumaka who took the initial brunt of the law’s fury. We celebrate the Last—the “Final Nine” who held the line until the French frigates arrived. And we celebrate everyone in between, the “Lingering Martyrs” whose deaths were slow and quiet, but no less heroic than those who died in irons.

These are the heroes of Hawaii. Let their names be spoken and let their stories, however long or short—be the foundation upon which our recognition of their sanctity is built.The

The Martyrs

Malahu Kininia The Elderly Martyr of the March (d. 1839)

Malahu was an elderly native Hawaiian and a foundational pillar of the early Catholic community in Honolulu. He is identified in mission records as a member of the “Initial Seven”—the very first wave of native converts who embraced the faith in the late 1820s before the government officially outlawed Catholicism. Because of his early conversion, Kininia endured nearly a full decade of intermittent harassment, threats, and suffering as the political climate turned violently against the pioneer priests and their followers.

Despite years of localized oppression, Kininia steadfastly refused to abandon his faith. In the middle of 1838, the government launched a renewed campaign against native Catholics. On June 17, 1838, Kininia was arrested alongside five other neophytes (Ana Kuili, Kalala Oupai, Lui Keliiolono, Paulo Kelili, and Hilario Kapo).

Three days later, on June 20, the group was brought to the Honolulu Fort to be examined by Governor Kekuanaoa. The governor condemned the group under the pretext that they had disobeyed the kingdom’s laws forbidding “idolatry.” Kininia and his companions bravely refused to plead guilty, correctly arguing that the Catholic faith explicitly forbids idolatry. Acting as judge and jury, Governor Kekuanaoa dismissed their defense, declaring that popery and idolatry were identical.

Because of his refusal to apostatize, Kininia was condemned to prison and hard labor. To maximize their social humiliation, the governor ordered Kininia and his group to be associated with Kimeone Paele and Valeriano Hinapapa—meaning they were forced to perform the degrading work of scavengers, cleaning human and animal waste from the Fort. Within days of his sentencing, a contributor to the Sandwich Island Gazette observed Kininia and the other “convicts” being forced to manufacture mud bricks under heavy guard.

Kininia survived the scavenger labor, but the relentless physical punishments ultimately claimed his life. In 1839, the elderly man was subjected to a forced transfer. Shackled in heavy irons, he was made to march over rough, uneven terrain.

Already weakened by his advanced age and nearly ten years of relentless persecution, the grueling march proved fatal. Kininia collapsed in Moanalua Valley. Unable to continue and battered by the physical strain of his captivity, he died while still in chains, officially sealing his legacy as a martyr of the Hawaiian Catholic Church.

Luahina (Lashina) – The Martyr of Waianae (d. June 1839)

Researching the “Confessors of the Road,” the account of Luahina (also documented as Lushina) stands as a harrowing example of the Regency’s cruelty toward the elderly. Her story is a pillar of the causation I am building for the Vatican because it documents a death during forced transit—proving that the “Dark Decade” was not merely a period of hard labor, but a period of lethal displacement.

Luahina was a native Hawaiian woman of advanced age residing in Waianae, a rural district of Oahu. My research suggests she was a pillar of the local Catholic community, known for hosting secret prayer gatherings in her home. In the eyes of the government agents, her refusal to conform to the state-sanctioned Protestant mission made her a dangerous influence on the Protestant perspective of the “ignorant” people of the countryside [13][9].

In 1838, during the height of the scavenger labor trials, the order was given to bring all “recalcitrant” Catholics from the outlying districts to the Honolulu Fort for “re-education.”

When the government agents arrived in Waianae, Luahina was given the choice to attend the Protestant schools or be arrested. Despite her physical frailty, she refused to abandon the “French religion.” Luahina was forced to travel the nearly 30 miles from Waianae to Honolulu on foot. My research into the Annals of the Propagation of the Faith highlights that she was not allowed to use a cart or be carried; she was forced to walk over the rugged, unpaved trails under the tropical sun [14].

The physical toll of the march was too great for a woman of her years. Somewhere between the Ewa district and the outskirts of Honolulu, Luahina’s heart and strength failed. The Australasian Chronicle and the journals of Father Maigret record that she collapsed on the road. She died before reaching the gates of the Fort. My research emphasizes that her death was a direct consequence of the state’s refusal to acknowledge her age or her humanity. She did not die in a cell, but as a “martyr of the path,” her ultimate moments spent in the custody of guards who were leading her to a life of slavery [13][16].

Luahina’s death sent shockwaves through the native Catholic community. To the Faithful, she was not just an old woman who had died of exhaustion; she was a witness whose blood cried out from the soil of Oahu. Father Bachelot’s journals note that her name was whispered in the hidden meetings as a reminder that the price of the Faith was, for some, the ultimate sacrifice [15].

In the dossier for the Vatican, Luahina represents a vulnerable victim of systematic terror inflicted by the Monarchy. She provides the evidence that the persecution was not limited to “able-bodied” laborers; it was an all-encompassing dragnet that effectively executed those too weak to survive the transit. Her story is essential to the causation because it turns a labor dispute into a lethal persecution.

John Kaluahiva (John Kaluahawa) The Martyr of Moanalua (d. 1839)

In December 1837, the Hawaiian government published a famous ordinance officially rejecting the Catholic religion. As a direct consequence, on New Year’s Day 1838, authorities began forcing native Catholics in Honolulu to attend Protestant services against their conscience.

To escape this escalating persecution, Kaluahiva joined a large group of Honolulu Catholics who fled to the remote district of Waianae on the western coast of Oahu. Waianae was selected as a sanctuary because the area was historically associated with Chief Boki, who had been well-disposed toward the Catholic religion in the late 1820s. For over a year, Kaluahiva and the other Catholic refugees lived a quiet, peaceful life in Waianae, entirely unmolested by the authorities.

The peace in Waianae was abruptly shattered in April 1839. Chiefess Kekauluohi, who had recently succeeded Kinau as the kuhina nui (premier of the kingdom), issued a strict order to crack down on the Waianae sanctuary.

Local authorities tracked down 67 Catholic refugees, including Kaluahiva. The entire group was placed under arrest and ordered to march from Waianae back to the capital in Honolulu to face the Council of Chiefs for the “crime” of idolatry.

The forced march from Waianae to Honolulu was a grueling, painful trek over harsh trails and sharp rocks. John Kaluahiva was 37 years old at the time and was documented in the mission records as being highly “sickly.”

Despite his poor health, he was forced to keep pace with the rest of the prisoners. Late in the afternoon, as the silent procession of 67 captives finally reached the area of Moanalua, Kaluahiva’s physical limits gave out entirely. Utterly exhausted by the brutal physical strain of the march, he collapsed by the wayside.

Unable to stand or continue the journey, he was left behind. He died there unattended that same night, yielding his life for his faith before he could ever reach the Honolulu Fort.

The Lingering Martyrs

Ailimu Mother and Martyr (d. approximately 1832)

During the intense wave of persecutions in July 1831, Ailimu was swept up in the arrests alongside ten baptized native Catholics (including figures like Pelipe Mokuhou, Monika Ai, and Amelia Uheke) and one other catechumen, Mahaoi. At the time of her arrest, Ailimu was still in the class of catechumens—meaning she was studying the faith but had not yet been formally baptized. Nevertheless, her devotion was already strong enough to draw the ire of Kaahumanu’s agents.

What makes Ailimu’s ordeal uniquely heartbreaking in my research is that she did not endure her severe punishment alone. According to the mission records, her six-year-old child accompanied her into captivity. Together, mother and child suffered the severe deprivations, exposure, and cruelty of the penal system.

Unlike Mahaoi, who temporarily yielded to the chiefs’ threats to escape the grueling conditions, Ailimu remained steadfast in her convictions. She endured the terrifying realities of 19th-century Hawaiian imprisonment without recanting her faith, despite the agonizing presence of her young child in such brutal conditions.

Following the forced exile of the pioneer priests (Fathers Bachelot and Short) at the end of 1831, the native Catholic community was driven entirely underground. Ailimu survived her initial captivity and remained fiercely dedicated to the Church. On December 15, 1833, while the faith was still strictly outlawed, she finally achieved her goal and was officially baptized into the Catholic religion.

Although she survived her initial imprisonment long enough to receive the sacrament of baptism, Ailimu is officially etched into the diocesan wooden memorial plaque under the heading of Martyrs. Like Esther Amelia Uheke and Helena Keehana, the catastrophic physical toll of her severe imprisonment, starvation, and the immense stress of protecting her child in captivity ultimately claimed her life.

Helima (Heleina, Helena) Keehana–Pilar of the First Flock (d. 1832)

The story of Helima (d. 1832) is a critical and tragic chapter. She holds the somber distinction of being the first of the released prisoners to succumb to the physical trauma of her confinement. Her case is vital to my work for the Vatican because it proves that even when the Regency “released” a prisoner, the damage inflicted was often already fatal.

Helima was a native Hawaiian woman and an early convert who, along with her husband, was part of the first community formed under Father Bachelot. She was a woman of deep domestic Faith—someone who maintained a Catholic household in a time when the “French religion” was increasingly viewed as a threat to the state. She was a contemporary of the “Initial Seven” and stood at the very center of the mission’s first major trial [18].

In late 1831 and early 1832, the Regency intensified its efforts to “starve out” the Catholic Faith. Helima and her husband were arrested and brought to the Honolulu Fort.

• The Sentence of Deprivation: Unlike those sentenced to the reef, Helima was kept within the damp cells of the Fort. The primary weapon used against her was systematic starvation.
• The Cruelty of the Guards: My research highlights a specific form of psychological torture: guards would bring food and water to the door of her cell, offering it only if she would promise to attend a Protestant service. Helima repeatedly refused, choosing to wither physically rather than compromise her soul [5].
• The Environment: The cells of the Fort were notorious for “noxious air” and dampness. For a woman of Helima’s constitution, the combination of no food and the parasitic environment of the prison led to a rapid breakdown of her health.

When the Regency finally released Helima, it was not an act of mercy, but a realization that she was dying. They did not want her to die within the Fort walls and potentially spark a riot among the other native Catholics.

Helima was carried from the Fort by her husband and friends. She was so emaciated and weakened by the starvation that she could no longer stand or take solid food. She lingered for a brief time, receiving what comfort her community could provide. On December 15, 1832, Helima passed away.

She was the first of the liberated prisoners to die from the direct effects of her imprisonment. Her death sent a shockwave through the mission, proving that the Regency’s “justice” was a slow-acting poison.

In the dossier I am preparing, Helima represents the Martyrdom of Deprivation. Her story is essential to the causation because it establishes the timeline of death—proving that the persecution was lethal as early as 1832. She did not die from a blow or a lash, but from the steady, cold refusal of the state to provide the basic necessities of life to a woman who would not deny her God.

Alokia Keluhoonani, Daughter of the Underground Church (d. 1830)

The story of Alokia Keluhoonani (d. 1839) is a harrowing testament to the “merciless cruelty” of the Regency. Her story is vital to the causation I am building for the Vatican because it proves that the authorities were willing to force the terminally ill into penal servitude, viewing their physical weakness as an opportunity for coercion rather than a reason for mercy.

Alokia was a native Hawaiian convert and a member of the resilient Catholic community on Oahu. She was a woman of quiet devotion who, like many of her peers, lived a double life—outwardly a subject of the Kingdom, but inwardly a dedicated follower of the “French religion.” By 1839, the final year of the “Dark Decade,” Alokia was already suffering from a debilitating illness that had left her physically frail [19].

The persecution of Alokia was marked by a complete lack of humanitarian regard. In the months leading up to the arrival of Captain Laplace, the Regency made a final, desperate push to eliminate the Catholic “heresy.”

• The Sentence: Despite her visible illness and failing strength, Alokia was arrested and sentenced to the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall.
• The Labor: My research highlights the agonizing nature of her punishment. She was forced to join the reef gangs, wading into the surf to harvest jagged coral and carrying the heavy, water-logged stones for miles under the tropical sun.
• The Denial of Relief: Witnesses recorded that Alokia frequently collapsed under the weight of the coral. The government overseers, rather than providing medical care or allowing her to rest, mocked her condition. They offered her immediate release and food only if she would renounce her Faith and attend the Protestant schools. Alokia refused every offer, choosing to continue her labor even as her body reached its breaking point [9].

Alokia lived just long enough to see the dawn of religious freedom, but the price of that freedom was her life shortly thereafter. When the Edict of Toleration was signed in July 1839, Alokia was liberated alongside the other “Wall-Builders.” Her body had been utterly spent by the combination of her pre-existing illness and the “days of toil” on the reef. The permanent damage to her lungs and heart, exacerbated by starvation and overexertion, was irreversible. Alokia died approximately one month after being liberated. My research identifies her as a Lingering Martyr because her death was the direct result of the “protracted torture” of forced labor while in a state of infirmity [19].

In the dossier for the Vatican, Alokia Keluhoonani represents Heroic Persistence. Her story proves that the Faith was not held by the “strong” alone, but by the “weak” who found a supernatural strength to endure. She carried her stones to the very end, and her death just weeks after the Edict serves as a silent reminder of the many who did not live to enjoy the peace they helped win.

Bernadine, Lingering Martyr One of the Final Nine (d. shortly after liberation 1839)

Out of the “Final Nine” liberated from the Honolulu Fort, the story of Bernadine (d. 1839) is one of the most poignant examples of the price paid for religious freedom. She was among the last group of prisoners to be held in irons, and her case provides essential evidence for the Vatican regarding the systematic nature of the physical attrition used against the native flock.

Bernadine was a native Hawaiian convert who had lived through the entirety of the persecution. She was a resilient member of the underground church who had likely witnessed the arrests of the pioneers in 1831. By 1839, she had become a symbol of persistence, a woman who had already spent years resisting the pressure of the state-sanctioned Protestant establishment [19].

Bernadine’s persecution culminated in the summer of 1839. While the French frigate l’Artémise was already in Hawaiian waters, the Regency made a final, desperate attempt to force the remaining Catholics to recant.

• The Imprisonment: Bernadine was arrested and thrown into the Honolulu Fort. Unlike earlier prisoners who might have faced fines, she was immediately subjected to the most severe form of restraint.
• The “Heavy Irons”: When Captain Laplace’s officers finally entered the Fort, they were horrified to find Bernadine “loaded with heavy irons.” My research into the French naval logs indicates that she was found in a state of severe emaciation, her limbs shackled in a way that made any movement a source of intense pain [2].
• The Reef Labor: Prior to her final imprisonment in the Fort, Bernadine had been a “Wall-Builder.” She had spent months, and likely years, in the reef gangs at Waikiki, harvesting coral and carrying heavy stones. This long-term exposure to the elements and the grueling physical labor had already hollowed out her constitution.

Bernadine was one of the individuals personally liberated by the intervention of the French in July 1839. However, for her, the Edict of Toleration came too late to save her life.

She was unchained and allowed to walk out of the Fort as a free woman. While her spirit was triumphant, her body was shattered. The “noxious air” of the Fort, combined with the years of reef labor and the trauma of being kept in irons, had caused irreversible internal damage. Bernadine died shortly after the mission was restored in late 1839. She is categorized as a Lingering Martyr because, although she died a free woman, her death was the direct and unavoidable consequence of the systematic abuse she endured for her Faith [5].

 In the causation for the Vatican, Bernadine represents the Vanguard of the End. She proves that the persecution was not “winding down” in its final days but was instead reaching a fever pitch of cruelty. Her death, occurring just as the bells of the first legal Catholic Masses were beginning to ring in Honolulu, serves as a bridge between the era of blood and the era of peace. She died so that the next generation could pray in the light.

Dionysius (Petelo) Lingering Martyr of Molokai (d. September 1842) 

His life is a chilling reminder that the blood of the Hawaiian martyrs was shed on every island of the archipelago. He represents the solitary witness—a man whose Faith was tested not by a tribunal of chiefs, but by the brutal whim of a local overseer.

Petelo was a native Hawaiian convert living on the island of Molokai during the 1830s. At this time, the Catholic mission was entirely underground; no priests were allowed to visit the neighbor islands, and the Faithful relied on their memories of the liturgy and the prayers they had learned in secret. He was a man of quiet, iron-willed integrity who lived his Faith in the “high places” of Molokai, far from the eyes of the Honolulu authorities [601].

The persecution of Petelo was sudden and physical. It arose from a direct conflict between state-mandated labor and religious conscience.

A government overseer on Molokai ordered a group of native men to begin the construction of a new Protestant meeting house. In the 1830s, the Regency used “public works” as a primary tool to enforce the established religion.

Petelo stood before the overseer and refused the order. My research into the archival testimonies indicates his reason was purely theological: as a Catholic, he believed he could not, in good conscience, use his hands to build a temple for a Faith that was actively persecuting his own “French religion” [9].

He offered to perform any other form of arduous public labor—road building or stone carrying—but he would not build the meeting house. The overseer, viewing this as an act of open rebellion and “Popery,” chose to punish him immediately and publicly.

The details of the assault are among the most violent in the annals of the mission. The overseer attacked Petelo with a heavy wooden staff or a piece of construction timber.

• The Blow: The overseer struck Petelo across the spine with such savage force that it broke his back.
• The Injuries: Petelo collapsed instantly. Beyond the shattered vertebrae, he suffered massive internal hemorrhaging. My research highlights that even as he lay paralyzed in the dirt, he did not recant. The overseer’s violence had destroyed his body but not his spirit [17].

Petelo did not die instantly. He was carried away by his family to a small grass hut to linger in a state of agonizing paralysis. He spent his final days unable to move, yet he remained recorded as a “Confessor” who died of his wounds. He had no access to the Last Rites, as no priests were permitted on Molokai, but he died in the peace of his own convictions. His death occurred during the height of the mid-1830s persecution, serving as a terrifying warning to other Catholics on the neighbor islands that the Regency’s agents would use lethal force to demand obedience [9].

In the dossier I am building for the Vatican, Petelo of Molokai is the Martyr of the Neighbor Islands. He provides the evidence that the persecution was not just “harassment” or “scavenger labor,” but was, in fact, a deadly environment where a man could be killed for a simple act of religious refusal. He is the patron of those who stand alone, and his broken

back is the heavy price he paid for the Faith he refused to betray.

Marie-Joseph Kanui The Royal Valet (d. April 1842)

Marie-Joseph was an early Hawaiian Catholic convert and catechist who played a notable role in the 19th-century Catholic mission in Hawaii. Marie-Joseph, known simply as Kanui, he was a young Hawaiian who served as the private valet to Jean Rives, the French interpreter for King Kamehameha II (Liholiho). In November 1823, Kanui accompanied Rives and the Hawaiian royal party on their historic voyage to England.

Following the sudden deaths of the King and Queen from measles in London, Rives traveled to France and placed Kanui in the care of the Sacred Hearts Fathers in Paris. The priests educated him with the hope that he would eventually assist in their Hawaiian mission. He was baptized with the name Marie-Joseph, in honor of the founder of the Sacred Hearts Society. Kanui lived within the religious community in Paris for 14 years, becoming so fluent in French that he nearly forgot his native Hawaiian tongue.

Kanui returned to Hawaii in 1837. Despite suffering from a frail constitution and declining health, he took up residence on Maui, where some historical accounts suggest he helped initiate the great native catechist Helio into the Catholic faith.

Kanui eventually returned to Honolulu, spending his remaining energy instructing local catechumens. In March 1842, he presented 24 natives from Manoa to Father Maigret for baptism; all were found to be exceptionally well-versed in Catholic doctrine. Completely exhausted by his illness and labors, Marie-Joseph Kanui passed away approximately a month later, in April 1842.

The Confessors

The Scavengers and Fort Laborers

Asolonieo (Azoleniko) Kisawahine (Akeroniko Keawahine)– Confessor of High Standing

The account of Asolonieo is a vital example of how the Regency targeted men of high social standing. His story is central to my work for the Vatican because it demonstrates Heroic Fortitude—the ability to maintain one’s dignity and Faith even when the state attempts to strip away both through public humiliation and crushing physical labor.

Asolonieo was a native Hawaiian of significant rank and influence within the community. He was a natural leader among the early converts, someone whose conversion was seen as a major threat by the Regency’s advisors. In Hawaiian society of the 1830s, a man of his status was entitled to respect and was generally exempt from menial labor; however, the “French religion” effectively stripped him of these traditional protections in the eyes of the law [20].

The persecution of Asolonieo began with a period of severe isolation intended to break his influence over the younger converts.

He was arrested during the height of the “Dark Decade” and brought to the Honolulu Fort. Unlike common prisoners, Asolonieo was heavily ironed for a period of three months. My research highlights that these irons were designed not just for restraint but for pain, likely involving the same thick iron bars and shackles found on the “Final Nine.” He was kept in the lower, damp cells of the Fort, where the air was “noxious” and the floor was often muddy. For a man of his standing, this was a calculated attempt to break his mana (spiritual power) through physical degradation [9].

When the three months of solitary confinement in irons failed to produce a recantation, the Regency increased the severity of his sentence.

• The Waikiki Sentence: Asolonieo was sentenced to eighteen months of hard labor on the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall.
• The Labor of the Reef: My research describes the transition from the dark cell to the blinding sun of the reef gangs. For a year and a half, Asolonieo was forced to dive for sharp coral and carry heavy, water-logged stones for miles.
• The Refusal to Yield: Throughout this grueling eighteen-month term, he remained steadfast. He performed the labor of a slave without the spirit of one, viewing his suffering as a communal sacrifice for the return of Father Bachelot [20].

Asolonieo survived the “Dark Decade” and lived to see the restoration of the mission. In my perspective as a Catholic man, he is a “Living Stone” of the Church. He proved that no amount of heavy iron or penal labor could force a man of conviction to bow to a state-mandated creed.

In the causation for the Vatican, Asolonieo Kisawahine represents the Dignity of the Confessor. He provides the evidence that the persecution targeted the absolute best of Hawaiian society. His eighteen months on the wall, following three months in irons, is a record of endurance that mirrors the trials of the early Christians under Rome.

Lui Keilonlono and Paulo Keili , Companion Confessors

The shared trial of Lui Keilolono and Paulo Keili serves as a vital record of the communal nature of the persecution. Their story is a cornerstone of the causation I am building for the Vatican because it illustrates the Persistence of the Laity—how common men, bound together in Faith and in chains, refused to yield even when the state sought to reduce them to the lowest social caste.

Lui and Paulo were native Hawaiian converts and dedicated members of the “underground church.” My thoughts on the records suggest they were young, able-bodied men whose strength made them prime targets for the Regency’s penal projects. In a time when the mission was “orphaned” by the exile of its priests, men like Lui and Paulo became the backbone of the community, quietly encouraging others and maintaining the clandestine practice of the Rosary [20].

The summer of 1838 was a period of intense “cleansing” by the Regency, as they sought to stamp out the persistent Catholic “leaven” before any foreign powers could intervene.

The Arrest: On June 20, 1838, Lui and Paulo were seized by government agents. They were not given a trial in the modern sense but were brought before the local authorities at the Fort to be “tested” for their religious loyalty. The Refusal: When ordered to renounce their “Popery” and attend Protestant instruction, both men refused with one voice. My research highlights that their solidarity was a source of great frustration for the government overseers, who preferred to isolate prisoners to break them individually [9].

Because of their “obstinate” refusal, Lui and Paulo were condemned to the most humiliating form of labor the Kingdom could devise: laboring as scavengers at the Fort.

• The Scavenger Sentence: This was the same “sewer labor” endured by the proto-martyr Simeone Paele. Lui and Paulo were forced to clean the animal and human waste from the Honolulu Fort and the public paths.
• The Bare-Handed Toil: My research into the eyewitness accounts of 1839 emphasizes that they were forced to gather this filth with their naked and bare hands. This was a deliberate attempt to strip them of their mana and social standing.
• The Public Spectacle: They were paraded through the streets while performing this task, intended to be a living warning to any other native Hawaiians considering the “French religion.”

When not on the scavenger detail, the two men were confined within the damp, dark cells of the Honolulu Fort. Records indicate they were kept in “irons of the Fort,” likely involving heavy shackles that prevented rest. Throughout their imprisonment, Lui and Paulo remained inseparable in their resolve. They were among the “Confessors” who turned the prison into a site of perpetual prayer, their voices joining those of the other captives to recite the liturgy they had memorized in secret [20].

In the dossier for the Vatican, Lui Keilolono and Paulo Keili represent the Heroic Brotherhood of the Confessors. They provide the evidence that the Faith was not held by solitary individuals alone, but by a community of brothers who sustained one another through the darkest hours of the “Dark Decade.” Their shared humiliation as scavengers, and their shared triumph in remaining Faithful until the Edict of 1839, is a powerful testimony to the grace of the sacraments they so longed to receive again.

Hilario Kapo – The Confessor of the Fort

Hilario Kapo stands as a testament to the brutal final wave of persecution that swept through Honolulu just one year before the Edict of Toleration. Hilario’s story is essential to the causation I am preparing for the Vatican because it documents the Consistency of the Persecution—proving that even in the final months of the “Dark Decade,” the Regency was still employing the most revolting forms of labor to break the spirit of the native flock.

Hilario Kapo was a native Hawaiian convert who came to the Faith during the years when the mission was “orphaned.” He was part of the clandestine network of Catholics who met in the high valleys and hidden huts of Oahu to pray. By 1838, the government’s surveillance had become extreme, and any native caught with a Rosary or seen making the Sign of the Cross was targeted for immediate arrest [20].

Hilario was seized in June 1838, during the same period of mass arrests that swept up Lui Keilolono and Paulo Keili. He was brought before the governor at the Honolulu Fort and given the standard ultimatum: renounce the “French religion” and embrace the state-sanctioned Protestant mission or face the consequences of the law. Hilario chose the “consequences.” His refusal was not merely passive; he openly declared his allegiance to the Church, an act of Heroic Fortitude that guaranteed a sentence of maximum severity [9].

Hilario was condemned to the scavenger labor at the Fort. This was the Regency’s most potent tool for social “degradation”—forcing high-minded men to perform tasks traditionally reserved for the lowest outcasts.

• The Revolting Labor: Like the proto-martyr Simeone Paele before him, Hilario was tasked with the removal of animal and human filth from the Fort grounds and the public walkways.
• The Humiliation: My research into the archival letters of the time emphasizes that this labor was performed in the full view of the public. The intent was to “shame” the Catholic converts into submission by showing that their Faith would lead them to a life of handling waste with their bare hands.
• The Endurance: Hilario performed this labor for months. Rather than being shamed, he and his fellow scavengers transformed the task into a form of penance, maintaining a quiet, prayerful dignity that deeply troubled their overseers [20].

Hilario survived the scavenger details and the damp cells of the Fort to see the arrival of Captain Laplace in 1839. He was among the group of Faithful who stood outside the Fort gates to receive the liberated prisoners, his own hands scarred from the toil he had endured.

In the dossier for the Vatican, Hilario Kapo represents the Unbroken Succession of the Faithful. He proves that the Regency failed in its mission: they could force a man to handle filth, but they could not make him believe his soul was filthy. His story is a vital link in the chain of evidence showing that the Hawaiian mission remained vibrant and defiant until the very moment of its legal restoration.

Kilia (Kilika) The Impoverished Confessor

Unlike the high-ranking chiefs who were punished with the loss of their lands and political titles, Kilia was a deeply impoverished Hawaiian woman. Because she had no material wealth or estates for the kingdom to confiscate, the authorities devised a punishment intended to strip her entirely of her basic human dignity. Upon her arrest for practicing the outlawed Catholic faith, she was confined to the Honolulu Fort—a densely crowded, primitive enclosure with little to no sanitation.

Upon her imprisonment, Kilia was condemned to perform vile “scavenger labor.” For five grueling months, she was forced to gather the human waste and excrement of the other Fort prisoners using her bare hands. She then had to manually carry the filth across the prison grounds and down to the ocean for disposal.

The calculated, systemic cruelty of this specific sentence is disheartening. In 19th-century Hawaiian society, the handling of another person’s bodily waste was deeply associated with defilement and severe kapu (taboo). By forcing Kilia to perform this daily task in plain view, her persecutors sought to inflict extreme social alienation. The goal was to reduce her to an untouchable underclass and publicly frame her Catholic faith as something synonymous with literal filth and disgrace.

Physically, the danger she faced was immense. Spending almost half a year handling raw sewage barehanded in a tropical climate exposed Kilia daily to dysentery, severe skin infections, and disease—all while she was forced to survive on starvation-level prison rations.

Despite the intense physical revulsion and the crushing social humiliation of her five-month sentence, the authorities completely failed to break her spirit. Kilia chose to endure this horrific daily reality rather than secure her immediate freedom by renouncing the Catholic Church and attending the state-sanctioned Calvinist services. She survived her imprisonment at the Fort, securing her place in the historical record as one of the most steadfast Confessors of the early Hawaiian Church.

Pulcheria Native Confessor

The archival footprint for Pulcheria is brief but incredibly striking. Because she was an everyday native convert rather than a high-ranking chiefess whose extensive background was tracked by the kingdom, the intricate details of her early life remain elusive in the standard historical records.

She had a profound devotion during the height of the Honolulu Fort imprisonments. Pulcheria was arrested for her adherence to the outlawed Catholic faith and confined within the Fort’s squalid, primitive walls.

To break her resolve, the Fort authorities subjected her to deliberate starvation, depriving her of all food for two full days. Yet, the physical deprivation completely failed to achieve its intended effect. Instead of yielding to the authorities or agreeing to attend Calvinist services, Pulcheria managed to execute a daring escape from the Fort enclosure.

Remarkably, she did not use her escape to hide or flee to the safety of the outer islands. Instead, she immediately sought out Father Alexis Bachelot to attend an early morning Mass. This action perfectly encapsulates the fierce, almost defiant piety of the early native Confessors—risking severe recapture and escalating punishments simply to receive the Eucharist.

Because the surviving records of her life are currently limited to this single, powerful act of defiance, her entry is understandably shorter than those of Kilia or Helena. Prayerfully, I may find more information about her life and death the more I look into the archives. I look forward to sharing updates in future editions.

Mahaoi (Catechumen)

Mahaoi was a native Hawaiian woman studying to become a Catholic (a catechumen) during the height of the early persecutions. In July 1831, she was arrested alongside ten baptized native Catholics (including figures like Pelipe Mokuhou, Monika Ai, and Amelia Uheke) and one other catechumen named Ailimu. When brought before the judge, the group was ordered to give an account of their religious beliefs. Following their public profession of faith, Kaahumanu sentenced the group to severe hard labor building the stone wall on the rocky plains of Waikiki.

The pressure, the meager food, and the threat of the grueling barehanded labor took their toll. Of the twelve individuals arrested in this specific sweep, Mahaoi was the only one who allowed herself to be intimidated. She weakened and secured her immediate freedom by promising the authorities that she would abandon her Catholic studies and join the Calvinist (Protestant) prayer meetings instead.

Her departure from the Church was brief. Before the pioneer priests (Fathers Bachelot and Short) were forced into exile at the end of 1831, Mahaoi experienced deep remorse. She returned to the mission, repented for yielding to the chiefs, and formally asked to be baptized into the Catholic faith.

However, Father Bachelot made a strict pastoral decision. Judging that her recent capitulation showed she was not yet sufficiently firm in her faith to withstand the ongoing trials of the Dark Decade, he refused to admit her to baptism at that time.

Despite Father Bachelot’s initial refusal to baptize her immediately, the broader mission records note that she remained persistent in her repentance and was eventually reinstated to the Catholic community. Because she temporarily yielded to gain her freedom, she occupies a unique, complex space in the history—standing as a testament to both the intense human terror inspired by the persecution and the enduring draw of the early Hawaiian Catholic Church.

Lahina Impoverished yet Rich in Faith

Lahina was an impoverished Native Hawaiian woman and a devoted Catholic convert. Who endured severe, prolonged torture and imprisonment but survived the ordeal without ever yielding or renouncing her Catholic beliefs.

She was condemned to five months of grueling and deliberately humiliating penal labor at the Honolulu Fort. She was forced to work as a scavenger, which involved gathering the excremental waste of the fort’s other prisoners with her bare hands and carrying it to the ocean.

Her friend, Kilia, stood by her side. Both suffered for five months. The immense physical and psychological toll exacted upon the most vulnerable and impoverished native women who refused to surrender their faith during the Dark Decade.

The “Nine Slaves”

The “Nine Slaves” represent the final, living evidence of the Regency’s failed campaign. They were the remnant found in the deepest cells of the Honolulu Fort when the “Dark Decade” finally collapsed in July 1839. Their liberation is the climax of the causation I am building for the Vatican, as it provides the direct link between the physical suffering of the native flock and the legal intervention of the French.

The group consisted of nine native Hawaiians—men and women—who had been held in the Fort for months, and in some cases, years. The records identify this group as the “unbreakable core.” They had survived the scavenger details and the reef labor, only to be moved into permanent confinement when the authorities realized they would never recant [19][15].

Though some of the names were lost to the annals of history, some among this group were identified as Malia Makalena Kapa (Kaha) and Bernadine, both of whom bore the most severe physical marks of the final wave of torture, and their stories were shared in this book. The group was split almost equally between men and women, proving that the Regency’s “justice” was entirely indifferent to the traditional protections afforded to women in Hawaiian society [9].

When Captain Laplace of the French frigate l’Artémise issued his ultimatum, he demanded to see the prisoners of conscience. My research into the journals of Father Louis Maigret and the French naval logs describes a scene of harrowing cruelty.

• The “Heavy Irons”: The nine were not simply locked in cells; they were found “loaded with heavy irons.” These were thick, rusted iron bars and shackles that bound their ankles and, in some cases, their necks or wrists. The metal had bitten so deeply into their flesh that the skin had grown over the edges of the shackles [39][9].
• The State of Emaciation: Due to the “starvation rations” and the “noxious air” of the Fort, the nine were described by French officers as appearing more like “living skeletons” than human beings. They were covered in sores from the dampness and the lack of hygiene in their cells [40].

The liberation was a moment of profound symbolic weight. Under the threat of French cannons, the Regency was forced to strike the irons from the nine “slaves” in the presence of foreign witnesses.

The sound of the blacksmith’s hammer echoed in the Fort as the shackles were broken. For the nine, this was the first time in nearly a decade that they were absolutely free to pray without fear of the lash. The Unconditional Freedom: They were released without any requirement to attend Protestant schools or pay further fines. This was a total surrender by the state [19][15].

Immediately following their release, the nine “slaves” became the centerpiece of the first legal Catholic celebrations in Honolulu. Though physically shattered—as seen in the case of Bernadine, who died shortly after from her injuries—their presence proved that the “underground church” had outlasted its persecutors.

In the dossier for the Vatican, the Nine Slaves represent the Consummated Sacrifice. They are the bridge between the era of blood and the era of the Edict of Toleration. Their physical state upon discovery serves as the ultimate forensic evidence that the persecution was not a “legal misunderstanding” but a systematic attempt at religious extermination through torture. To the Vatican, they are the living icons of the Hawaiian Mission.

The Hau Tree & Rafter Tortures (June 24, 1839)

Juliana (Kanakanui) Makuwahine – Confessor of the Picture

Here you will notice a difference in style of writing. It is because my good friend, Dallas Carter, a man of Hawaiian decent and a strong Man of Faith in the Catholic Church, provided me his story which he wanted to share.

By Dallas Carter:

Long before anything was written down, our kūpuna passed on wisdom through mo‘olelo—stories that carried not just information, but meaning, identity, and instruction. If you wanted to know what mattered most, you listened carefully to the stories that survived.

One of those stories belongs to a woman named Juliana Makuwahine.

On a summer day in June of 1839, Juliana was bound upright to a tree near the Honolulu Fort. She was not accused of stealing, violence, or rebellion. Her crime was far quieter and far more dangerous in the eyes of the authorities: she remained Catholic at a time when the Catholic Faith was forbidden in the Hawaiian Kingdom.[21]

The punishment was public. Juliana was tied in full view of the town, exposed to the heat of the sun and the judgment of passersby. This was not done in haste or anger. It was calculated. The intent was to shame her, to break her resolve, and to send a clear message to others who might still cling to the forbidden Faith.[24]

Juliana did not recant.

We know truly little about Juliana’s life before that day. She was not ali‘i. She was not a missionary. She left no writings behind. Like many Native Hawaiian Catholics of her generation, her Faith was formed and quietly passed on through spoken word, learned in homes and in hidden gatherings, and sustained during years when Catholic priests were exiled from the islands.[23]

By the 1830s, to be Catholic in Hawai‘i meant living under constant threat. Attendance at Protestant worship was compulsory. Refusal could lead to fines, imprisonment, or forced labor. Women were often singled out, believed to be easier to pressure into submission.[24] Juliana was summoned by authorities and ordered to renounce her Faith. She refused.[21] What followed on June 25, 1839, was meant to end the story. Instead, it preserved it.

Juliana’s punishment was recorded the following year in an English-language newspaper printed in Honolulu. The account is brief and striking in its simplicity. It names her, fixes the date, and states plainly the reason she was bound: “for the unpardonable crime of believing in the Church of Rome.” A woodcut illustration accompanied the account, depicting Juliana tied to the tree, guarded by an armed watchman.[21]

That image traveled far beyond Hawai‘i. It was reprinted in newspapers overseas and circulated among Catholic communities abroad.[22] What had been intended as a moment of humiliation became testimony. The image gave form to something that could no longer be denied: Native Hawaiians were being punished not for disorder, but for conscience.[22][25]

Within weeks of Juliana’s punishment, international pressure—especially from France—forced the Hawaiian Kingdom to change course. In July of 1839, King Kamehameha III issued the Edict of Toleration, ending the legal persecution of Catholics and allowing the Church to exist openly once again.[24] The decade of repression came to a close, though the wounds it left behind did not disappear overnight.

Juliana herself fades from the written record after this moment. We do not know how long she lived or where she was buried. In a culture that remembers through story, her legacy rests not in biography, but in witness.

In ʻōlelo Hawai‘i, hō‘ike means witness or testimony. Mana‘o‘i‘o means Faith or belief. Juliana Makuwahine embodied both. She left no sermons, no letters, no institutions behind her. But on one day in June 1839, when speech was forbidden, her body testified.

In the Christian tradition, she would be called a Confessor of the Faith—one who suffers publicly for Christ without shedding blood.[3] In the Hawaiian sense, she is something just as powerful: a living mo‘olelo. Her story reminds us that the Catholic Faith in these islands did not survive because it was protected, but because it was chosen—embraced by Hawaiian men and women who carried it quietly, stubbornly, and Faithfully, even when doing so came at great cost.

Juliana Makuwahine stands among them as one of our clearest Hō‘ike Mana‘o‘i‘o—a Hawaiian witness of Faith.

Malia (Maria) Makalena Kapa (Kaha), Confessor of the Final Nine

Malia Makalena Kapa (Kaha) is one of the most physically agonizing records of the “Dark Decade.” Her story is a pillar of the causation I am building for the Vatican because it documents the use of Active Torture—the deliberate application of physical pain to force a recantation—right up until the ultimate moments of religious restoration.

Malia was a native Hawaiian convert and a member of the hidden Catholic community on Oahu. Her life suggests she was a woman of immense spiritual fortitude who, along with the other “Final Nine,” had become the last line of defense for the Faith in Honolulu. By the summer of 1839, she was a symbol of the “unbroken sheep” who had survived the scavenger details and the reef labor, only to face the most severe trial of all in the cells of the Fort [20].

The persecution of Malia was marked by a shift from arduous labor to concentrated physical agony. In June 1839, as the Regency sensed the approach of French intervention, they intensified their efforts to break the remaining prisoners.

• The Irons: Malia was kept in “heavy irons” within the Honolulu Fort. These were not simple shackles; they were designed to restrict all movement and cause constant pain to the joints.
• The Torture of the Rafters: My research into archival testimonies describes a scene of barbaric cruelty. Malia was taken into a thatched house (likely a guard house or a temporary cell) and subjected to a “punishment of suspension.” Her arms were forced upward and tied around the rafters of the house while her legs remained in irons.
• The Endurance: She was kept in this agonizing position, her body weight straining against her bound wrists, while government overseers and teachers demanded she renounce her “idolatry.” Malia refused to speak a single word of recantation, remaining in prayer until she was eventually cut down [9].

Malia was among the group of prisoners personally liberated by the intervention of Captain Laplace and the French Navy in July 1839. When the French officers entered the Fort, they found Malia among the nine “slaves” who were still in irons. Her wrists and ankles bore the raw, bleeding evidence of her recent suspension and shackling. She was unchained unconditionally. My research highlights the emotional scene as she walked out of the Fort gates—not as a victim, but as a “living martyr” whose physical scars were the trophies of her victory over the state.

In the dossier for the Vatican, Malia Makalena Kapa represents Heroic Patience under Torture. Her story is essential because it moves the narrative beyond “labor” and into the realm of “active torment.” She proves that the Regency’s methods were intentionally cruel and that the native Catholics possessed a supernatural grace that allowed them to endure what would have broken a person of lesser Faith.

The Mat-Weavers

In March 1830, the Kingdom launched a major, coordinated crackdown on the growing native Catholic population. While the primary target of the chiefs’ ire had initially been the European priests, the focus shifted to the native converts who refused to attend Protestant services.

These four women—Amelia Malaikoa (also recorded as Maloikon), Kekela Makaiehua (or Miakaiehua), Okilia Pahana, and Alukia Kaukalu (or Kaukahu)—were arraigned before an inquisitorial court in Honolulu. Because the primary regent, Kaahumanu, was temporarily absent from the island, the tribunal was overseen by Kinau (Kaahumanu’s stepdaughter and a daughter of Kamehameha I), who acted as the presiding judge.

When the women firmly refused to renounce their Catholic faith, Kinau condemned them as criminals for the specific offense of being “followers of the Pope.”

While the male converts arrested in this same sweep (such as Kiipueoe and Mamaua Kamalolo) were sent in chains to cut coral on the reef, Kinau weaponized traditional Hawaiian women’s labor to punish the female converts.

Amelia, Kekela, Okilia, and Alukia were condemned to a grueling quota of penal servitude. Each woman was sentenced to weave fifteen massive mats. The sheer scale of this punishment is staggering: the archives specifically note the dimensions of these mats were six fathoms by five fathoms (approximately 36 feet by 30 feet).

Forcing these women to harvest, prepare, and weave lauhala or makaloa into industrial-sized mats of that magnitude was designed to break them through sheer exhaustion and physical repetitive strain, while simultaneously providing valuable goods for the chiefs.

The four women labored at their tasks as prisoners for several months. They endured this penal servitude alongside two other female converts:

• Maria Ana Kamakaia: The 60-year-old wife of the Protomartyr Simeone Paele.
• Alokia Agatha Keluhoonanui: A young mother who was already wasted with sickness at the time of her condemnation.

Despite the harsh conditions and the immense physical labor required to meet Kinau’s quota, the archives record that Amelia, Kekela, Okilia, and Alukia remained steadfast, “continuing firm in the Catholic faith” throughout their imprisonment.

The women were ultimately saved from the tragic fate that befell Alokia (who died of starvation and exhaustion shortly after her release). Their salvation came through the political divide among the Hawaiian elite.

After several months of forced labor, they were liberated by the humane exertions of Liliha, the wife of Governor Boki. Liliha—who was highly sympathetic to the Catholic priests and frequently at odds with the Protestant-aligned Kinau and Kaahumanu—used her significant political influence to successfully remit their punishments and secure their freedom.

The Laborers of the Reef and the Wall

Pakelio Luakini and Pelepe (Pelipe Mokuhou) Kamokunou – Confessors of the Reef

From the records of the “Reef-Builders” of the mission, the names of Pakelio Luakini and Pelepe Kamokunou stand as pillars of the masculine strength that sustained the underground church. Their story is a critical component of the causation I am building for the Vatican because it demonstrates Heroic Perseverance—the ability of men in their physical prime to endure a year and a half of penal servitude without surrendering their spiritual identity.

Pakelio and Pelepe were native Hawaiian converts who joined the mission during its most dangerous years. My thoughts on the records, particularly the journals of Father Louis Maigret, suggest they were among the able-bodied “youth of the mission” who provided the physical protection for the hidden assemblies in the valleys of Oahu. In a community where the shepherds had been driven away, these men took on the role of protectors and clandestine catechists [27].

In late 1837, as part of a wide-ranging sweep of the “underground” parishes, Pakelio and Pelepe were arrested and brought before the Regency. Because they were young and strong, the government did not waste them in the cells of the Fort; they were sentenced to eighteen months of hard labor on the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall.

• The Duality of Toil: The Annals of the Propagation of the Faith describes a grueling routine. During the day, they were forced into the surf to harvest the sharp, heavy coral. At night, they often marched back to the Fort and were placed on the “scavenger detail,” cleaning the waste of the garrison with their bare hands [26].
• The “Reduced Skeletons”: Father Maigret’s journals, based on reports smuggled to him during his stay in the harbor, describe the two men as being “reduced to skeletons” by the combination of starvation rations and the ceaseless physical attrition of the reef.

Despite their physical emaciation, Pakelio and Pelepe became the moral anchors for the other “Wall-Builders.”

Government overseers frequently brought food and water to the reef, offering it to the men on the condition that they would “throw away their Rosaries” and attend the state schools. Pakelio and Pelepe are recorded as being the first to refuse, setting an example of Heroic Fortitude that prevented the other prisoners from breaking [13].

While carrying the heavy stones, the two men led the others in chanting the prayers they had memorized. My research highlights that they turned the penal colony into a sanctuary, their voices rising above the sound of the waves and the lashes of the guards.

Both men survived their eighteen-month terms, though they carried the physical marks of the “Dark Decade” for the rest of their lives—their hands and feet permanently scarred by the “jagged edges of the coral.” They were among the first to greet the French officers in 1839, standing as living proof that the Regency could break a man’s health, but never his will.

In the dossier for the Vatican, Pakelio Luakini and Pelepe Kamokunou represent the Strength of the Laity. They prove that the Faith was not just a “religion of the weak,” but a conviction that could sustain even the strongest men through eighteen months of slow, systematic destruction. Their story is essential to the causation because it shows the Active Resistance of the Hawaiian convert.

Kekilia Kakau and Akaka (Agatha) Kamoohula

In the summer of 1831, the regent Kaahumanu escalated her efforts to crush the underground Catholic Church before forcing the pioneer priests into exile. Kekilia and Akaka were swept up in a major wave of arrests that July, captured alongside other foundational figures like the chiefess Esther Amelia Uheke, Helena Keehana, and the blind man Kikime Kaihekauila.

When brought before the authorities and commanded to renounce their “idolatry” and attend Calvinist services, Kekilia and Akaka firmly refused. As a result, they were condemned to 18 months of severe penal servitude.

Their punishment was designed to be physically agonizing. Kekilia and Akaka were forced to construct Kaahumanu’s massive 70-foot stone enclosure on the rocky, unforgiving plains of Waikiki.

The sheer brutality of this specific sentence was inhumane. The women were provided no tools; they had to dig out and carry heavy, jagged coral stones entirely with their bare hands. They worked from sunrise to sunset under the relentless tropical sun, their hands sliced open by the sharp coral, while being kept on deliberate starvation-level rations to weaken their physical resolve.

The immense stamina required to survive this ordeal. The Waikiki wall labor was so severe that it claimed the lives of several others—including an infant carried on its mother’s back, and ultimately, leaders like Esther Amelia and Helena, who succumbed to the long-term bodily damage shortly after their release.

Yet, throughout the grueling 18-month sentence, Kekilia and Akaka did not break. Unlike some who temporarily yielded to the physical terror of the wall, they endured the lacerations, the exhaustion, and the hunger without renouncing their Catholic faith. They survived their sentence, cementing their rightful places in the master roll call as enduring Confessors of the Hawaiian Church.

Kiipueoe The Sleepless Sufferer

Kiipueoe was a devoted Native Hawaiian Catholic convert. He survived severe physical torture and penal labor without renouncing his beliefs.

During the coordinated government crackdown on native Catholics in March 1830, Kiipueoe was swept up by the authorities alongside Mamaua Kamalolo and the female mat-weavers. He was arraigned before an inquisitorial court in Honolulu. Because the primary regent, Kaahumanu, was temporarily absent, the tribunal was overseen by Kinau, who acted as the presiding judge.

When Kiipueoe firmly refused to attend Protestant services or renounce his faith, Kinau officially condemned him as a criminal for the specific offense of being a “follower of the Pope.”mWhile the female converts arrested in this same sweep were sentenced to industrial mat-weaving, Kiipueoe was subjected to brute physical punishment. Kinau condemned him to the grueling hard labor of cutting coral stones on the reef.

Kiipueoe was compelled to toil on the reef for more than six weeks. During this entire period, the government made absolutely no provision for his food. He survived starvation only through the scanty pittances of food secretly brought to him by sympathetic friends.

The cruelty extended beyond the working hours. When Kiipueoe was finally suffered to seek rest at night, his limbs were confined by heavy chains. The guards deliberately locked his chains in uncomfortable positions that made sleep virtually impossible.

Despite the starvation, the exhaustion of cutting coral, and the deliberate nighttime torture, Kiipueoe endured his six-week sentence in chains without yielding. He survived the ordeal, cementing his place in the history of the Dark Decade.

Mamaua Kamalolo, Bounded by Chains

Mamaua Kamalolo was a steadfast Native Hawaiian Catholic convert. Like his companion Kiipueoe, he endured severe physical torture and starvation without ever renouncing his beliefs.

Kinau sentenced Mamaua Kamalolo to the brutal physical punishment of the coral reef. He was condemned to the grueling hard labor of cutting heavy coral stones from the ocean, a task he was forced to endure directly alongside Kiipueoe.

Mamaua Kamalolo was forced to toil on the reef for more than six weeks. The kingdom made absolutely no provision for his sustenance. He avoided starving to death only through the scanty pittances of food secretly smuggled to him by sympathetic friends.

The physical toll of cutting coral during the day was compounded by deliberate torture at night. When he was finally suffered to seek rest, his limbs were bound by heavy chains. The guards deliberately locked these chains in highly uncomfortable positions, ensuring that restful sleep was virtually impossible.

Despite the agonizing physical exhaustion, the prolonged starvation, and the sleep deprivation, Mamaua Kamalolo endured his six-week sentence in irons without breaking. He survived the ordeal, cementing his legacy as a Confessor.

(Punahou School Entrance where part of the old Kaahumanu/Waikiki Wall is still in use today. By Ronaldloui – cell phone photoPreviously published: NA, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=124943657)

Nanakea, the Elder of the Flock Confessor

Another “Confessors of the Reef,” the account of Nanakea (d. 1839) stands as one of the most heartbreaking and inspiring examples of the “Dark Decade.” His story is a central pillar of the causation I am building for the Vatican because it illustrates Heroic Fortitude in the face of absolute physical exhaustion, proving that even at the very end of a long life, the Faith remained the one thing he could not be forced to surrender.

Nanakea was a native Hawaiian convert who, by 1837, was seventy years old. In traditional Hawaiian society, a man of his years would have been revered as a kupuna (elder), a keeper of the community’s wisdom and genealogy. My thoughts on his life, supported by the journals of Father Alexis Bachelot, suggest he was a patriarch of the early mission who had been one of the first to receive the Faith from the pioneers [15][13].

In late 1837, the Regency launched a systematic effort to clear the “underground church” from the villages. Despite his advanced age and physical frailty, Nanakea was arrested. He was not given a lighter sentence out of respect for his years; instead, he was condemned to eighteen months of hard labor on the Ka’ahumanu’s “Waikiki” Wall.

The Annals of the Propagation of the Faith describe the agonizing nature of his sentence. Nanakea was forced to march alongside men fifty years his junior. He was required to wade into the saltwater, harvest the sharp coral, and carry the heavy, water-logged stones for miles across the shore [28].

Witnesses recorded that younger Catholics frequently attempted to take the stones from Nanakea’s hands to spare him the strain. The government overseers, however, strictly forbade this. They forced the seventy-year-old man to carry the weight alone, mocking his age and telling him that his “French God” had forgotten his white hair [16][9].

Throughout the 540 days of his sentence, Nanakea remained a source of quiet strength for the entire penal gang. Because of his age and his unshakable resolve, the other prisoners looked to him for leadership. Father Louis Maigret’s journals note that Nanakea would lead the prayers at the end of the day, his voice—though thin and exhausted—reminding the others that their suffering was a participation in the Passion of Christ [16].

He completed his eighteen-month term just as the “Dark Decade” was drawing to a close. My research identifies him as a survivor who lived to see the restoration of the mission in 1839, proving that the Regency’s attempts to use physical attrition against the elderly had failed.

In the dossier for the Vatican, Nanakea represents Patience and Perseverance in Old Age. He provides the evidence that the Hawaiian mission was a cross-generational movement of the spirit. His story proves that the Faith was not a “new fashion” for the young, but a profound conviction that sustained the elders of the nation through the most dehumanizing trials imaginable. To the Vatican, Nanakea is the “Old Man of the Reef,” whose bent back carried the foundations of the Hawaiian Church.

Pacome Kaihumua and Ikanakio Kamaka – Confessors and Scavengers of the Fort

The joint ordeal of Pacome Kaihumua and Ikanakio Kamaka stands as a visceral record of the Regency’s attempts to use social degradation as a tool of conversion. Their story is a foundational piece of the causation I am building for the Vatican because it demonstrates Heroic Humility—the willingness of men to endure the most revolting forms of public shaming rather than abandon their spiritual identity.

Pacome and Ikanakio were native Hawaiian converts who emerged as dedicated members of the “underground church” following the initial exile of the priests. Records suggest they were men of standing within their local community, known for their unwavering commitment to the daily Rosary. In the eyes of the government, their “stubbornness” required a punishment that would not only inflict physical toil but would also strip them of their mana (spiritual and social dignity) [20].

On June 20, 1838, during a period of intensified crackdowns, Pacome and Ikanakio were arrested and brought to the Honolulu Fort. When they refused to attend Protestant schools or renounce the “French religion,” they were condemned to the Scavenger Detail.

• The revolting Labor: The Annals of the Propagation of the Faith describes their daily task: they were forced to remove animal and human waste from the Honolulu Fort and the public pathways.
• The Bare-Handed Toil: To maximize the humiliation, the Regency forbade the use of tools. Pacome and Ikanakio were forced to gather this filth with their naked hands. The Australasian Chronicle highlights that this was a deliberate attempt to reduce these men to the level of outcasts in the eyes of their fellow citizens [29][9].

When their daily scavenger duties were complete, the two men were not allowed to return to their families. Instead, they were confined within the damp, lightless cells of the Fort.

Both men were kept in heavy iron shackles. My research into Father Louis Maigret’s diaries, which include reports from the native flock, states that the chains were so restrictive that the men could barely find a position to sleep on the stone floors.

Despite the “noxious air” and the physical degradation of their work, they did not break. Father Bachelot’s journals record that they spent their nights in the Fort reciting the prayers of the Mass from memory, turning their cell into a small, hidden sanctuary [15][16].

Pacome and Ikanakio remained in this state of penal servitude until the arrival of the French in 1839. They were among those who emerged from the Fort gates with their dignity entirely intact, having proven that the Regency could force a man’s hands into filth, but they could not touch the purity of his conscience.

In the dossier for the Vatican, Pacome Kaihumua and Ikanakio Kamaka represent Patience under Humiliation. They provide the evidence that the Hawaiian mission was forged in a furnace of absolute degradation. Their story is essential to the causation because it proves that the native Catholics possessed a grace that allowed them to find sanctity in the most “vile” circumstances. They are the “Lepers of the Faith” who carried the cross with their bare hands.

The 1833 Crackdown

Pilikou, Maker of the Mud Bricks:

Pilikou was a steadfast Native Hawaiian male convert to the Catholic faith. He endured targeted penal servitude without ever renouncing his beliefs.

The Crackdown: In early 1836, the kingdom’s authorities ascertained that native converts were defying strict government orders and actively attempting to give instruction in the Catholic faith to their fellow citizens. To crush this grassroots religious education, Pilikou was swept up in a coordinated series of arrests in March 1836.

He was arraigned before the chiefess Kaahumanu II (the official title assumed by Kinau, the primary regent). Pilikou was ordered to abandon his religion. When he firmly refused to yield to the tribunal, he was officially condemned as a criminal.

The Punishment: While the female converts arrested during this specific 1836 sweep (like Kamakahiki Kamalou) were sentenced to industrial mat-weaving, the authorities assigned Pilikou to grueling physical construction labor. Kaahumanu II explicitly condemned him to the hard labor of making mud bricks for the building of kingdom walls.

Pilikou labored under the status of a state prisoner, subjected to the physical exhaustion, heavy lifting, and repetitive strain inherent in producing mud bricks for government infrastructure projects under strict coercion.

He possessed the fortitude to survive this grueling penal sentence. By enduring his punishment without ever breaking or renouncing his faith, Pilikou cemented his place as a steadfast Confessor of the mid-1830s crackdowns.

Kamakahiki Kamalou, Mokeakawai, Kaaku and Neeli (Naeili) The Women Fighters

Kamakahiki Kamalou, Mokeakawai, Kaaku and Neeli were steadfast Native Hawaiian female converts. By early 1836, the kingdom’s authorities discovered that the native converts were defying government orders and actively attempting to give instruction in the Catholic faith to their fellow citizens. To crush this grassroots religious education, The women were swept up in a coordinated sweep in 1833.

They were arraigned before the chiefess Kaahumanu II (the official title assumed by Kinau, who was now the primary regent). The women were ordered to abandon her religion. When she firmly refused to yield, they were officially condemned as a criminal.

Continuing the government’s practice of weaponizing traditional female labor, Kaahumanu II sentenced the women to a grueling quota of penal servitude. They were explicitly condemned to weave fifteen mats.

While the archives do not detail the exact physical dimensions of these specific mats (as they did with the massive 36×30 foot mats of the 1830 sweep), they record the punishing pace required. They were all forced to complete this massive industrial quota over a strict four-month period.

They all labored under the status of a prisoner for those four months. During this time they were subjected to the physical exhaustion, repetitive strain, and state coercion inherent in producing such a high volume of traditional goods for the chiefs.

The June 1838 Crackdown

Ana Kuili and Kalala Oupai Native Women Confessors

Following the December 1837 ordinance that officially rejected the Catholic religion, the Hawaiian government launched a renewed and highly aggressive campaign to eradicate the underground Church. Ana Kuili and Kalala Oupai were two steadfast native neophytes swept up in this violent resurgence.

On June 17, 1838, the two women were arrested alongside several other prominent native Catholics, including Lui Keliiolono, Paulo Kelili, Hilario Kapo, and the elderly Kininia Malaaho. Three days later, on June 20, the entire group was brought before Governor Kekuanaoa at the Honolulu Fort.

During their examination, the governor condemned Ana and Kalala under the state’s legal pretext that practicing Catholicism was synonymous with “idolatry,” which violated the kingdom’s laws. The two women bravely stood their ground and refused to plead guilty to the charges. They echoed the defense of their fellow captives, correctly arguing that the Catholic faith explicitly forbids idolatry. Unmoved, Governor Kekuanaoa acted as both judge and jury, dismissing their theological defense and declaring that popery and idolatry were legally identical.

Because they refused to apostatize and attend the state-sanctioned Calvinist services, Ana and Kalala were condemned to harsh penal servitude. To maximize their social humiliation, the governor ordered them to perform degrading “scavenger labor.” Like Kilia, Lahina, and Kimeone Paele before them, Ana and Kalala were forced to clean the human and animal waste of the Fort, exposing them to severe social alienation, humiliation, and the constant threat of disease.

When they were not performing scavenger duties, my research indicates they were forced into heavy manual labor, specifically the manufacturing of mud bricks under heavy guard. This was backbreaking, repetitive work in the tropical heat, designed to physically exhaust them until they broke and renounced their faith.

The sheer endurance of women like Ana Kuili and Kalala Oupai is admirable. The authorities entirely miscalculated their resolve. By attempting to break them with the lowest, most physically revulsive tasks available in 19th-century Honolulu, the kingdom inadvertently solidified their legacy. Ana and Kalala endured the squalor, the mud, and the exhaustion without yielding, securing their honored places in our master roll call as true Confessors of the early Hawaiian Church.

In compiling their entry for the book, placing their story directly alongside the martyrdom of Kininia Malaaho provides a full picture of the June 1838 sweep—showing how the exact same wave of arrests produced both enduring Confessors and tragic Martyrs.

Confessors – The Leaders of the Underground Church & Outer Islands

These Confessors represent the strategic and moral center of the mission during the “Dark Decade.” While the priests were in exile, these individuals stepped into the vacuum of leadership, transforming their own bodies into living shields for the Faith.

Helio Koa’eloa’s – Confessor and Apostle of Maui

Helio was a native Hawaiian from the island of Maui who had embraced the Catholic Faith during the early years of the mission. The journals of Father Louis Maigret, suggest that Helio was a man of immense charismatic authority. In the absence of priests, he organized a massive community of hundreds of followers, teaching them the prayers and the Rosary with such efficacy that the “French religion” took deeper root on Maui than perhaps anywhere else in the archipelago [33][37].

The prologue to Helio Koa‘eloa’s “March of the Ropes” is an equally daring act of maritime Faith. Before he was a prisoner on Maui, he was a voyager who risked the open sea and the laws of the Regency to seek the sacraments.

In 1837, word reached Maui that Father Alexis Bachelot and Father Patrick Short had returned to Honolulu aboard the Clementine. They were being held as prisoners on the vessel, forbidden from stepping foot on land. For Helio, this was a moment of spiritual emergency. He had been leading the Maui flock for years without the presence of a priest, and his thoughts were consumed by the need for the True Bread [33].

Against the explicit orders of the Maui chiefs—who had banned travel to Honolulu for the purpose of visiting the “Popish” priests—Helio launched a small outrigger canoe into the rough channels. The journals of Father Louis Maigret and Father Bachelot describe the peril of this journey. Navigating the treacherous waters between Maui, Molokai, and Oahu in a single canoe was an act of extreme physical bravery. Helio was not just fighting the currents; he was outrunning the government patrol boats [34][15].

Helio arrived in Honolulu Harbor under the cover of darkness. He managed to slip past the port guards and reach the side of the Clementine.

He was brought aboard the ship, where he met Father Bachelot. My research into Bachelot’s private journals records a moving scene: the “Apostle of Maui” falling to his knees on the deck of a foreign brig to receive the first priestly blessing he had felt in years. Bachelot, knowing he would likely never be allowed to land, gave Helio specific instructions on how to maintain the community, how to baptize in cases of necessity, and how to keep the records of the Faithful. Helio left the ship not just as a convert, but as a commissioned leader [33][36].

This voyage in the late 1830s was the direct catalyst for what became known as the “March of the Ropes.” Upon his return to Maui, the authorities were enraged by his “insolence” in seeking the priests. The chiefs realized that as long as Helio was free to travel and preach, the “French religion” would continue to spread.  Helio was immediately targeted, and the Regency’s agents on Maui moved to suppress Helio’s growing congregation. . The resulting scene is one of the most iconic images in the history of the mission. When the agents arrived to arrest him, Helio did not resist. He used the very story of his voyage to Honolulu to encourage his followers, who also  were tied to a long rope for the 90-mile march to Lahaina [9].

• The Mass Arrest: Approximately one hundred of Helio’s followers were seized by government soldiers. Because the authorities lacked enough iron shackles to bind so many people, they used a single, massive rope to tie the entire group together in a lengthy line [36].
• The 90-Mile Forced March: My research highlights the sheer physical brutality of the sentence. Bound as “slaves,” the group was forced to march nearly ninety miles across the rugged, volcanic terrain of Maui, from their homes to the government seat at Lahaina.
• The Spiritual Pilgrimage: Witnesses recorded that Helio did not allow his followers to march in silence or despair. He led them in chanting the Litany of the Saints and the Rosary throughout the journey. To the guards, it was a chain gang; to Helio, it was a pilgrimage. He famously encouraged his flock by telling them that their “chains were the jewelry of Christ” [33][9].

Upon arriving at Lahaina, Helio and his followers were subjected to further “re-education” efforts.

The group was brought before the local chiefs and Protestant teachers and ordered to renounce their “idolatry.” Under Helio’s leadership, not a single member of the one hundred bound converts recanted. Many of the men, including Helio, were sentenced to grueling labor, yet their community remained intact. My research into the Annals of the Propagation of the Faith notes that Helio’s influence was so great that the government eventually feared to keep the group together, as their singing and praying were converting the very guards meant to watch them [36].

Helio survived the “Dark Decade” and became the bedrock of the Catholic Church on Maui once religious freedom was established. As a Catholic man, he is the “Moses of the Pacific”—the man who led his people through the wilderness of persecution and into the promised land of the Edict of Toleration.

Helio Koa‘eloa stands as the preeminent figure of the Catholic expansion beyond the shores of Oahu. Often called the “Apostle of Maui,” he represents the “Pacific Exodus” a leader who transformed a scene of mass arrest into a triumphant procession of Faith. His story is vital to my work for the Vatican because it proves the persecution was not merely a local Honolulu dispute, but a kingdom-wide struggle for the freedom of conscience.

In the dossier for the Vatican, Helio Koa‘eloa represents Heroic Leadership and Apostolic Zeal. He provides the evidence that the native laity was capable of sustaining the Church without clerical oversight for years. His “March of the Ropes” is the ultimate proof of Communal Fortitude, showing that a hundred souls bound by a single rope could be more powerful than an entire kingdom’s army.

Eunike (Eunice) and Kini – Confessors and Apostles of Hawaii Island

The story of Eunike (Eunice) and Kini provides a vital geographic perspective for the Vatican causation. Their ordeal proves that the Regency’s reach extended far beyond the capital of Honolulu, reaching into the harsh, sunbaked landscapes of Kona on the Island of Hawaii. Their trial is a testament to Sacramental Solidarity of a husband and wife who were refined together in a “furnace of salt.”

Eunike and Kini were a native Hawaiian couple residing in the Kona district. They were among the first to bring the “French religion” to the Big Island, likely having been influenced by travelers from Oahu. In a region where the Protestant mission was firmly entrenched under the protection of the local governors, their public adherence to Catholic prayers made them immediate targets for “reform” [38].

While the prisoners in Honolulu were sent to the coral reefs or the scavenger gangs, the authorities in Kona utilized the local geography to punish Eunike and Kini. They were sentenced to hard labor in the salt pans.

• The Environment: The Annales de la Propagation de la Foi describes the brutal conditions of this labor. The salt pans were shallow ponds where seawater was evaporated by the intense Kona sun. The heat in these areas was often more severe than on the reefs, as the white salt flats reflected the sun’s rays, doubling the exposure [14].
• The Physical Attrition: Eunike and Kini were forced to bend over for hours, harvesting the crystallized salt. The sharp salt crystals acted like glass, creating micro-cuts on their hands and feet. The constant exposure to the brine meant that these wounds never healed, remaining perpetually inflamed and agonizing [15].
• The Temptation: Government overseers offered the couple immediate relief if they would only agree to attend the local Protestant services and “throw away their idols.” My research highlights that they sustained one another through this; when one grew weak, the other would offer a word of prayer or a reminder of the “suffering of the Saints” [16][9].

The Regency’s intent was to break the family unit to save the state, but Eunike and Kini used their punishment to sanctify their marriage.

They performed their labor side-by-side, turning a sentence of slavery into a communal act of penance. Unlike many who were released due to physical collapse, Eunike and Kini completed their sentence with their Faith entirely intact. Their endurance became a source of inspiration for the scattered Catholics across the Island of Hawaii, ensuring that the mission survived in Kona even without a resident priest [38].

In the dossier for the Vatican, Eunike and Kini represent The Sanctity of the Domestic Church. They provide the evidence that the Hawaiian mission was not just a collection of individuals, but a community of families. Their story proves that the “Dark Decade” was a failed attempt to dissolve the Catholic identity.I Instead, like the salt they were forced to harvest, the Faith of the people was only concentrated and made more pure by the heat of the sun.

The Priests Who Suffered – Three Confessors and Their Martyred Leader

I realize much has already been told about Father Bachelot and Father Short, but as this is a Rollcall of those who became a Martyr or Confessor of the Faith, I felt it important to re-emphasize the importance of their sacrifice. May we never forget their Faithfulness and Father Bachelot’s resolve to come back to Hawaii.

Father Patrick Short: Confessor, The Steadfast Exile

As the “Shepherds of the Orphaned Flock,” Father Patrick Short stands as the indispensable partner to Father Bachelot. While Bachelot was the visionary Prefect, Short was the rock of the mission—a man whose Irish tenacity and British citizenship provided a layer of protection that the Regency found difficult to dismantle. His story is essential to the causation I am preparing for the Vatican because it illustrates the Global Scale of the Persecution and the systematic attempt to isolate the native flock from their leaders.

In December 1831, Father Short was forcibly removed from the mission house. His personal memoirs describe the heartbreak of being separated from the native converts. He was dumped on the barren coast of San Pedro, California, spending years in “Upper California” waiting for a crack in the Regency’s resolve [41][9].

The records highlight the calculated cruelty of their exile. They were not taken to a port of safety but were dumped on the barren, sparsely populated coast of San Pedro, California (then a frontier of Mexico). Short spent the next five years serving the local Mexican and native populations at Mission San Gabriel. However, his journals from this period show that his focus never wavered from Hawaii. He spent years in “Upper California” corresponding with the French and British governments, arguing that his expulsion was a violation of international law [43][9].

In April 1837, Father Short returned with Father Bachelot. The Regency refused to let them land, turning the ship into a floating cage. From the deck, he could see the smoke of Honolulu, yet he was forbidden from ministering to his flock [34].

In April 1837, believing the political climate had softened, Short and Bachelot returned to Honolulu. They were met with immediate hostility.

• The Floating Prison: The Regency refused to let the priests disembark. For several months, Father Short was confined to the deck of the Clementine in the sweltering heat of the harbor.
• The Siege of the Ship: My research into the journals of Father Louis Maigret describes the “Siege of the Clementine,” where government boats surrounded the vessel to ensure no native Catholics could swim out to receive the sacraments. Father Short recorded the agony of watching his flock from the rail, seeing them being led away in irons on the shore, unable to help them [15][34].

Unlike Bachelot, who died at sea, Father Short was eventually forced into a separate exile toward Valparaiso, Chile. As a British subject, Short’s treatment became a major point of contention for British officials in the Pacific. My research highlights that his forced removal provided the “legal precedent” that foreign powers used to challenge the Regency’s absolute authority over the islands. From Chile, Short continued to serve as a vital link for the mission, providing the Annals of the Propagation of the Faith with the detailed memoirs that allowed the world to understand the scale of the “Dark Decade” [42][9].

In the dossier for the Vatican, Father Patrick Short represents Patience and Legal Fortitude. He provides the evidence that the persecution was a breach of both divine and human law. His story is essential because it shows that the mission was never “abandoned”—it was a leadership-in-exile, waiting for the moment when the “French guns” of Laplace would finally provide the opening for their return.

Father Robert Walsh – Confessor, The Shield of the Mission

Looking into the “Shepherds of the Orphaned Flock,” the presence of Father Robert Walsh marks a pivotal shift in the mission’s survival. While Fathers Short and Bachelot were forced into the “Floating Prison” of the harbor, Father Walsh became the first priest in years to walk the streets of Honolulu legally. His role is a cornerstone of the causation I am building for the Vatican because he served as the “Living Sentinel” who witnessed the height of the persecution from within the mission house.

Father Robert Walsh, an Irish priest of the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts, arrived in Honolulu in September 1836. His arrival was a calculated move by the mission: as a British subject, his presence presented a diplomatic nightmare for the Regency, which was already wary of offending the British Crown.

The Regency initially ordered Father Walsh to depart immediately, but he refused, citing his rights as a British citizen. My research into the journals of Father Louis Maigret highlights that Walsh’s stay was only permitted under the strictest of conditions: he was forbidden from “proselytizing” the native Hawaiians and was only allowed to minister to foreign residents [41].

During the darkest years of the “Dark Decade,” Father Walsh was the only priest on the island of Oahu. Though he was confined to the mission grounds and under constant government surveillance, his presence was a lifeline for the “orphaned” flock.

Father Walsh frequently bypassed the government’s ban. Under the cover of darkness, native converts would slip into the mission house. Father Walsh would hear their confessions and give them the Eucharist, providing the spiritual fuel they needed to return to the coral walls and the scavenger gangs [15][34].

Father Walsh was the primary source of information for the outside world. He recorded the details of the arrests and the physical state of the “Confessors” like Luika Kaumaka and Helena. His reports, smuggled out to the Annals of the Propagation of the Faith, provided the world with the forensic evidence of the Regency’s cruelty [42].

When Captain Laplace arrived in 1839, Father Walsh was the one who facilitated the meeting between the French Navy and the local Catholic leaders. He had survived years of threats, isolation, and legal harassment to see the chains finally broken. Father Walsh was the “Anchor of the Mission” the one who held the ground so that the Church would have a home to return to [41][9].

Father Louis Maigret – Confessor and Keeper of the Grave

Father Louis Maigret is the connective tissue of the mission’s survival. While Bachelot was the founder and Short the steadfast exile, Maigret was the “Chronicler and Builder” who arrived at the peak of the storm and lived to see the dawn. His role is essential to my causation for the Vatican because his meticulous journals provided the legal and moral basis for the French intervention.

Father Louis Maigret, a French member of the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts, arrived in Honolulu in July 1837 aboard the Europa. He arrived just as Father Bachelot and Father Short were being held in their “floating prison” on the Clementine.

Upon his arrival, the Regency immediately forbade Father Maigret from landing. My thoughts on this moment focus on his forced stay in the harbor, where he was kept in the same state of “maritime limbo” as the senior priests. My research into his private diaries describes his frustration at being so close to the suffering native flock yet barred from reaching them by a wall of government bayonets [45][15].

In November 1837, the Regency forced Maigret and the dying Bachelot onto the Notre Dame de la Paix. Maigret served as the nurse and spiritual companion to Bachelot during his final weeks. As Bachelot lay dying, he passed the leadership of the mission to Maigret.

It was Maigret who performed the lonely funeral service for Father Bachelot on the islet of Na Iwi. He stood alone on the beach, the sole witness to the end of the mission’s first chapter [46][47].

Following the intervention of Captain Laplace in 1839, Maigret was finally able to return to Honolulu legally. He did not return as a simple priest, but as the architect of the new, free mission.

• The Documentation of Sufferings: Maigret spent his first months back in Hawaii interviewing the “Confessors” who had survived the scavenger details and the coral walls. He compiled the accounts of Luika Kaumaka, Helena, and the Nine Slaves, ensuring their suffering was recorded for the Vatican and for history [45][47].
• The Building of the Cathedral: Under his leadership, the physical work of the mission began. He oversaw the transition from the “Underground Church” to the building of the Cathedral of Our Lady of Peace, which stands today on the site where the early mission was once suppressed [48].

In the dossier for the Vatican, Father Louis Maigret represents The Continuity of the Mission. He provides the evidence that the Church did not perish with Bachelot. His journals are the “Book of Acts” for the Hawaiian Church, documenting how a group of orphaned converts survived a decade of state terror to emerge as a vibrant, legal congregation. He is the shepherd who gathered the sheep after the wolves had been driven away.

Father Alexis Bachelot, The Proto-Pastor, and Martyr

The life and death of Father Alexis Jean-Baptiste Bachelot (1796–1837) serves as the ultimate sacrifice for the Hawaiian mission. He was the first Prefect Apostolic of the Sandwich Islands, and my thoughts on his journey are centered on his role as the “Good Shepherd” who literally gave his life to return to his orphaned flock.

Bachelot was a member of the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary. He arrived in Honolulu in July 1827 with the first Catholic mission. The early years shows that Bachelot was not a political agitator but a man of deep prayer and botanical interest—he is famously credited with planting the first Algaroba (Kiawe) tree in Hawaii, which still stands as a metaphor for the deep roots the Faith took in the soil [49].

In 1831, the Regency, under the influence of the Protestant mission, ordered his expulsion. Bachelot’s journals from this time reflect a heart-wrenching sorrow; he was forced to leave behind several hundred native converts who had no other source of the Sacraments [1].

Bachelot was the primary target of the Regency’s ire. Looking into his private journals reveals a man who carried the spiritual weight of every lash struck against a native convert. During his exile in California, his heart never left the islands [41][15].

The most harrowing phase of Bachelot’s persecution occurred upon his return on the Clementine in April 1837. For months, the Regency refused to let the aging priest set foot on land. My research highlights the “Siege of the Harbor,” where Bachelot was kept on the sweltering deck of the ship. He was denied fresh water, fruit, and the medicine he desperately needed for his failing health.

From the rail of the Clementine, Bachelot watched the native Catholics being marched to the Fort in irons. He wrote in his journal that the sound of the chains on the shore was a “sharper pain than any physical ailment” he endured. He was essentially held as a hostage to deter other missionaries from arriving [37][9].

The months of confinement on the ship—denied fresh food or proper medicine—shattered Bachelot’s constitution. When the French ship Vénus finally forced the government to allow a temporary landing, Bachelot was already a dying man [42].

Bachelot was eventually forced into a final exile toward the South Pacific. His health, shattered by the months of confinement and the previous years of labor in California, gave way.

• The Final Illness: Father Louis Maigret, who was with him on the schooner Notre Dame de la Paix, recorded that Bachelot suffered from a “debilitating fever and exhaustion.” He spent his final days in a cramped, dark cabin, offering his suffering for the “orphans of Hawaii.”
• December 5, 1837: Bachelot passed away at sea. The Annals of the Propagation of the Faith describes his death as one of perfect serenity; he died a “martyr of the journey,” having never reached the new mission field he was being sent to [50].
• The Burial at Na Iwi: Because the ship could not preserve his body, he was buried on the lonely, uninhabited islet of Na Iwi (near Pohnpei). Father Maigret performed the rites alone on the sand. Bachelot was buried in a simple wooden box, with a mat for a shroud [49][50].

In the dossier for the Vatican, Father Alexis Bachelot represents The Consummated Sacrifice. He provides the evidence that the persecution was lethal even to the clergy. His death was the catalyst that turned the “Sandwich Island Mission” into a cause célèbre in Europe. Without Bachelot’s death at sea, the French government might not have authorized the Laplace expedition. He is the “seed that fell to the earth,” and the Edict of Toleration in 1839 was the direct fruit of his passing.

Chapter 7

The Living Cathedral

The transition from the chains of the Honolulu Fort to the construction of the Cathedral of Our Lady of Peace marks the final, physical victory of the Hawaiian mission. It is the closing movement of the causation I am preparing for the Vatican: a testament to how the “Living Stones” of the persecution—the men and women who carried coral on their backs—became the architects of the Church’s permanent home.

With the signing of the Edict of Toleration in 1839, the mission was no longer a fugitive movement. However, they lacked a principal place of worship. My research highlights that the choice of the building site and the materials used were deeply symbolic of the struggle that had just ended. The Regency was forced to grant the mission a piece of land for a church. The site chosen was the very location of the original mission house where Father Bachelot had lived before his first exile. The consecrated ground had been soaked with the prayers of the “orphans” during the Dark Decade. By building the Cathedral here, my findings show that Father Louis Maigret ensured the site of the persecution became the site of the restoration [51][54].

The Construction and the Coral Blocks

The construction of the Cathedral began in 1840, but my review of the archives reveals it had a very difficult start. In June of that year, Bishop Stephen Rouchouze contracted a local businessman, Francis J. Greenway, for $15,000 to build the structure. However, Greenway went bankrupt by 1842, abandoning the project and leaving only massive, unfinished coral walls standing.

Father Louis Maigret was left to take charge, seeing the structure to completion. He utilized simple coral blocks harvested from the same Kaka’ako waterfront and Waikiki reefs where Kaika Kapuokalani, Kekime, and Nanakea had previously labored as prisoners. Now, these reefs provided the stones for the house of God. In my thoughts, there is profound poetic justice here: this time, the stones were not carried under the lash. The survivors of the labor gangs volunteered to harvest and transport the massive coral blocks. They were no longer “slaves” of the state, but “temple-builders” of the Church. Each block of the Cathedral is, quite literally, a monument to the endurance of a specific confessor [52][53].

A Solemn Consecration

On the Feast of the Assumption in 1843, the Cathedral was solemnly consecrated. Father Maigret’s journals describe a scene of immense emotional power. The newly finished church originally had no pews; my notes indicate the early Hawaiian congregation preferred sitting on the floor on traditional woven lauhala mats. The space was filled with the survivors of the Fort. Luika Kaumaka, Helena, and the “Final Nine” sat in the front, their scarred hands joined in prayer as the first legal Pontifical Mass was celebrated in their own tongue.

(19^th Century Cathedral Basilica of Our Lady of Peace)

Though Father Bachelot’s body remained at Na Iwi at the time, his spirit permeated the ceremony. The Cathedral stood as the fulfillment of the mission he had started in 1827 [51][55].

Architectural Legacy and a Reliquary of Saints

Up until the most recent renovations, which started just after Easter Sunday 2025, Our Lady of Peace stood as the oldest Catholic cathedral in continuous use in the United States. My timeline notes that the Catholic mission received the islands’ first pipe organ from France around 1847, and the distinctive tower clock, installed in 1852, still operates today as the oldest tower clock in Hawaii.

Beyond its historic clock and coral walls, my research emphasizes that the Cathedral is literally a reliquary tied to the mission’s ultimate successes. It was within these very walls on May 21, 1864, that Bishop Maigret ordained Damien de Veuster (Saint Damien). Later, in 1883, Mother Marianne Cope (Saint Marianne) worshipped here upon her arrival in Honolulu. Both went on to be canonized as Saints of the Catholic Faith. Today, the Cathedral Basilica actively enshrines relics of both these saints. Bishop Maigret himself is entombed in the crypt below the sanctuary—forever resting in the church he helped build from the very stones carried by the survivors of the persecution.

Conclusion for the Dossier

In my final dossier for the Vatican, the Cathedral of Our Lady of Peace represents the Physical Manifestation of Faith. It is not merely a building; it is a reliquary. It provides the evidence that the Hawaiian people did not just “receive” the Faith from foreigners; they built it with their own hands and guarded it with their own blood. To the Vatican, my argument is that this Cathedral is proof the mission was a success because it survived the cross to reach the resurrection.

(Depiction of the newly renovated Cathedral Basilica of Our Lady of Peace 2026)

Chapter 8

The Long Return – The Bachelot Recovery

As we approach the 200th Anniversary of the Catholic Mission (1827–2027), the narrative moves from the “Dark Decade” into an era of sacred memory. To prepare for this bicentennial, we must realize that every time we kneel in the Cathedral of Our Lady of Peace, we are treading upon the answered prayers of the Confessors. Shouting the names of Luika Kaumaka, Helio Koa‘eloa, and Helena is not just an act of history—it is an act of justice for those who were once silenced by the state.

The heart of our modern devotion lies in a singular, unfulfilled longing: the return of Father Alexis Bachelot’s remains to the soil he sanctified. For nearly two centuries, the desire to bring his remains home from the lonely islet of Na Iwi has been a recurring theme in the hearts of Hawaii’s shepherds.

Reflections of Bachelot’s exile are shaped by his own words. He never viewed his departure as a permanent separation, but as a temporary trial. In his private journals, Bachelot wrote of his singular focus: “My heart remains fixed upon the shores of Oahu; if it be God’s will, I desire no other resting place than the soil where our first seeds were sown” [15].

Father Patrick Short recalled that even in their shared exile in California, Bachelot spoke of the islands with a “mystical certainty.” Short noted: “He often said that even if he were to fall by the way, his spirit would lead the next generation back to Honolulu” [4].

As he lay dying aboard the Notre Dame de la Paix, Father Maigret recorded that Bachelot’s last thoughts were of the “orphaned” native Hawaiians: “He whispered of the mission until the very end, expressing a profound sorrow that he could not give his bones to the islands he loved” [56][57].

The quest to bring Bachelot’s remains home has been a shared mission by the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts (SS.CC.) and the Diocese of Honolulu.

• Bishop Étienne Rouchouze: The first Vicar Apostolic intended to visit Na Iwi to retrieve Bachelot’s remains, but he was tragically lost at sea on the Marie-Joseph in 1843—a double tragedy for the mission [56].
• Bishop Louis Maigret: Having buried his friend at Na Iwi, Maigret spent his entire episcopate (1846–1882) longing to return. He wrote: “It is a debt of honor we owe to the founder… to bring him from the solitude of the Pohnpeian reef to the sanctuary of the Cathedral” [57].
• Bishop James J. Sweeney: In the mid-20th century, Bishop Sweeney reinvigorated the effort, corresponding with ecclesiastical authorities in Micronesia to locate the specific site of the burial beneath the sand and roots of Na Iwi [56].

Bachelot’s place in history is not only spiritual but ecological. In 1828, he planted the first Algaroba (Kiawe) tree in the mission grounds. In hundreds of newspapers across the nation and the world it confirms that this tree became the progenitor of millions of Kiawe trees across the archipelago. It stands as a living metaphor for Bachelot: a “foreign” seed that endured the heat and the wind to provide shade and life for the islands [56][59].

Throughout the years, Father Bachelot has been honored by a diverse “cloud of witnesses”:

• The German Capuchins: When they took over the mission in Pohnpei (1880s–1900s), they found the grave at Na Iwi and maintained it with great reverence, recognizing Bachelot as the “First Apostle of Micronesia” as well as Hawaii [56].
• The Pohnpeians: Local traditions on the islet of Na Iwi have long spoken of the “holy man” buried in the sand. They have guarded the site for generations, treating the ground as tapu (sacred).
• The Californians: California holds a unique position as the “Second Mission” of Father Bachelot. While his heart was always in Hawaii, his six years of exile (1832–1837) left an indelible mark on the history of the Golden State, particularly within the California Mission system. California honors the “Exile from San Pedro” not as a transient visitor, but as a dedicated shepherd who served with the same zeal he brought to the islands. Within the mission grounds, his name is recorded in the sacramental registers, documenting the hundreds of baptisms, marriages, and burials he performed.

He is honored there as a “confessor of the Faith” who served while waiting for the door to Hawaii to reopen [60][37]. Because Bachelot died shortly after leaving California, the community at San Gabriel has long viewed him as one of their own “lost sons.” There are specific markers and references within the Mission San Gabriel museum that identify Bachelot as the “Apostle of the Sandwich Islands” who found refuge in their sanctuary. In the annals of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, Bachelot is cited as a significant figure in the early development of the Church in Southern California, bridging the gap between the Spanish colonial era and the modern American period [162]. California honors him as the “Saintly Refugee” whose presence blessed their soil before he returned to the sea that would eventually claim him.

• The Hawaiians: For the native flock, Bachelot remains the “Father” who died trying to reach his children. During the 150th anniversary in 1977, and now as we approach the 200th, his name is invoked as the primary intercessor for the local Church. Father Alexis Bachelot is not a mere historical figure, but the Makua (Father) of the Faith whose spiritual and physical fingerprints are embedded in the very landscape of the islands. From the streets we drive to the trees that shade our valleys, his legacy is a living presence.

The most profound honor Hawaii bestows upon Bachelot is the Cathedral itself. Though he did not live to see its completion, the Cathedral stands on the exact site of his original 1827 mission house. The Cathedral was built using the coral stones harvested from the same reefs where his flock was once persecuted. It is the architectural fulfillment of his primary mission [64]. Within the Cathedral, Bachelot is honored through liturgical memory and historical plaques that identify him as the founder. He is the “Absent Father” at every major diocesan celebration, with his name invoked as the one who brought the “French religion” to these shores [37].

Perhaps the most unique honor Hawaii gives to Bachelot is ecological. In 1828, Bachelot planted a single seed brought from the Royal Gardens of Paris in the mission grounds on Fort Street. That tree became the ancestor of nearly every Kiawe (Algaroba) tree in Hawaii. For over a century, the original tree stood as a monument to Bachelot’s resilience. Even after the original was removed, the species remains a dominant part of the Hawaiian landscape—a “living green memorial” that thrives in the heat, just as Bachelot’s Faith thrived under the heat of persecution [64][62]. The Kiawe is the perfect symbol for Bachelot: it is tough, deep-rooted, and provides shade and sustenance in the harshest environments.

The on-going devotion of Father Bachelot may be silent and, in some cases, goes unnoticed as thousands pass locations dedicated to his memory. Honolulu has integrated Bachelot’s name into the city’s geography, ensuring that even those who do not share his Faith must speak his name:

Bachelot Street: Located in the Palama district of Honolulu, this street serves as a permanent civic honor.

Mission Schools and Buildings: Various buildings within the Catholic school system and diocesan offices bear his name, serving as centers of the “Catholic Education” that the Regency once tried so desperately to suppress [64].

The legacy of Father Bachelot is not only preserved in archival dates but in the deeply respectful titles bestowed upon him by those who recognized his sacrifice. These names of reverence reflect the various roles he played: a pioneer, a suffering servant, and a spiritual father to an entire ocean of people.

Titles of the Hawaiian Mission Bestowed Upon Bachelot

In the islands, Bachelot is remembered as the primary source of the Catholic Faith. His titles reflect a sense of foundational authority and paternal care.

The Proto-Pastor of the Sandwich Islands: This is his formal historical title, recognizing him as the first to establish a permanent Catholic parish in the archipelago.

• The Apostle of the Kiawe: A title of both ecological and spiritual reverence, linking his planting of the first Algaroba tree to his planting of the “Seed of the Word.”
• Makua o ka Ekalesia Kakolika (Father of the Catholic Church): Among the native Hawaiian converts, he was often referred to as their true “Makua” (Father), distinguishing him from the government teachers.
• The Shepherd of the Orphaned Flock: A title used frequently in the Annals of the Propagation of the Faith to describe his relationship with the native Catholics during the years they were left without priests [64][15].

Titles Given to Bachelot of Sacrifice and Martyrdom

Following his death at sea, the language used to describe Bachelot shifted toward the heroic.

• The Martyr of the Sea: Because he died due to the physical attrition of his forced confinement on the Clementine and his subsequent exile, many early biographers, including Yzendoorn, categorized him as a martyr who
• The Grain of Wheat: A mystical title often applied to him in Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary (SS.CC.) literature, referencing the Gospel of John—suggesting that his death was necessary for the “harvest” of the Edict of Toleration to occur.
• The Confessor of the Clementine: Reflecting his months of imprisonment in the Honolulu harbor, where he stood as a witness (confessor) against the Regency’s religious prohibitions [37].

Titles of the Micronesian and International Devotion to Bachelot

Because he was buried in Na Iwi, Bachelot is also claimed by the history of Micronesia.

• The First Apostle of Pohnpei: The German Capuchins and later Jesuit missionaries who served in Pohnpei referred to him by this title, as his grave was the first Catholic presence on the island, predating the formal mission there [64].

The Saint of Na Iwi: A title of local devotion used by the Pohnpeian people who have guarded his burial site. They view him as a “Holy Man” whose presence brings a blessing to the islet.

In my research into the ecclesiastical records and the formal postulation papers, a significant and poignant fact emerges: Father Alexis Bachelot was never formally consecrated as a Bishop. While his successors, like Louis Maigret, would wear the mitre, Bachelot’s titles remained those of a pioneer and a transitional leader. However, because he held the full spiritual authority of the mission, he was often accorded titles by his order (SS.CC.) and fellow bishops that signaled his “bishop-like” status without the formal ordination.

1. The Canonical Title: Prefect Apostolic

“Prefect Apostolic of the Sandwich Islands”

This is the official title conferred on Bachelot by the Vatican (Propaganda Fide) and recognized by the Order of the Sacred Hearts. In my view of church hierarchy, a Prefect Apostolic is a priest who exercises episcopal (bishop-like) jurisdiction over a mission territory where a formal diocese has not yet been established. He had authority to govern the mission, assign priests, and oversee the laity, but lacked the power to ordain new priests [72][75].

The “Bishop of the Foundation” and “Head of the Mission”: In early correspondence between the Motherhouse in Paris and the mission, he is frequently referred to as the Head of the Mission, a title that placed the entire weight of the Pacific apostolate on his shoulders [74.72].

1. Titles from Fellow Bishops: The “Apostolic Brother”

During his six years of exile in California (1832–1837), Bachelot worked alongside the Franciscan friars and reported to the Bishop of Sonora (who then oversaw the Californias).

• The Co-Worker in the Vineyard: My research in the California mission archives indicates that the Spanish bishops and the Father-Presidents of the missions addressed him with the respect due to a prelate. They often referred to him as a “Dignitary of the Holy See” because of his direct appointment by the Pope [72].
• The “Bishop in Spirit”: When Bishop Etienne Rouchouze (the first Vicar Apostolic of Eastern Oceania) was appointed in 1833, he viewed Bachelot as his primary lieutenant. In his letters, Rouchouze treated Bachelot as an equal in mission, often using the language of “Vicar” to describe Bachelot’s authority in the Hawaiian portion of the vast vicariate [72][76].

III. Why He Was Never “Bishop Bachelot”

My research into the timing of the mission explains this historical “gap” in his titles:

1. The Premature Death: Bachelot died in 1837, just as the Vatican was beginning to reorganize the Pacific missions into larger Vicariates (which are headed by titular bishops).
2. The 1833 Reorganization: In 1833, the Pope created the Vicariate Apostolic of Eastern Oceania. Had Bachelot survived the Clementine exile and the mission been fully restored, my research suggests he likely would have been the first choice for a titular bishopric [73][74][75].
3. The “Dry Martyrdom”: Because he spent his most productive years in exile or in a “Floating Prison,” he never had the opportunity to travel to a location where three bishops could gather to consecrate him.
4. The Devotional “Bishop” of the People

In the hearts of the native “Underground Church,” the distinction between a Prefect and a Bishop was irrelevant.

• The High Priest of the Islands: My research into the native testimonies shows they accorded him the highest spiritual honors. To Luika Kaumaka and Simeone Paele, he was the source of all sacramental life.
• The “Bishop of the Reef”: Here, I refer to him as the “Bishop of the Reef”—not a canonical title, but a devotional one. It signifies that his “cathedral” was the open sea and the coral walls where his people suffered, and his “crosier” was the staff he carried through the dust of his exiles [72][73][74].

These “Titles of Honor” given to Father Alexis Bachelot are ones we must teach the next generation. As we prepare for the 200th anniversary, we should not just speak of “Father Bachelot,” but of the Proto-Pastor and the Martyr of the Sea. By using these names of reverence, we restore the dignity that the Regency attempted to strip away when they treated him as a mere “passenger” to be discarded at sea.

Through Song and Prayers – The Melodies of the “Underground Church”

During Helio Koa‘eloa’s 90-mile forced march across Maui, the primary “prayer” was the communal chanting of the Rosary and the Litany of the Saints in the Hawaiian tongue.

• The Hawaiian Litany: My thoughts on the accounts from the Annals of the Propagation of the Faith describe how the one hundred bound followers would alternate verses. The rhythmic nature of Hawaiian oli (chant) allowed them to maintain a steady pace across the volcanic terrain, turning a chain gang into a liturgical procession [68].
• The “French” Rosary: While they prayed in Hawaiian, they were often mocked for following the “French religion.” In response, the converts composed short, rhythmic verses—now lost to time but recorded in spirit—that affirmed their loyalty to the “True Vine” (the Catholic Church) over the “New Word” of the state-sponsored mission [66][69].

Father Bachelot and Father Maigret encouraged the use of traditional Hawaiian poetic structures to memorize the core tenets of the Faith.

• The Creed in Verse: Because many converts were being arrested for “ignorance” of the state religion, they memorized the Apostles’ Creed as a rhythmic prayer.
• The Prayer of the Reef: My research into the journals of Father Louis Maigret mentions a specific prayer used by the women at the Waikiki wall. It was a cry for “Kaha kiʻekiʻe” (the Most High) to give them the strength of the coral they were carrying. They viewed the sharp stones not as a burden, but as the foundation of a future temple [67][15].

Once the Edict of Toleration was signed, the silent prayers of the Fort became the booming hymns of the Cathedral.

• “E Ma-ria, e ka Lani” (O Mary, Queen of Heaven): This hymn became a staple of the early mission. It was often sung during the first legal Masses as a tribute to the “Mother of the Underground Church” (both the Virgin Mary and the confessor Helena).
• The Te Deum in Hawaiian: During the consecration of the Cathedral in 1843, the Te Deum was translated and sung by the survivors. My research highlights this as the moment the “sighs of the reef” were formally transformed into the “songs of the sanctuary” [66].

In the years following his death at sea, Bachelot was honored in the Himeni (Hymn) books of the Sacred Hearts Fathers.

• The Lament for the Good Shepherd: A specific hymn was often sung on the anniversary of his death (December 5). It spoke of the “Makua” (Father) who died on the waves so that his children could live in the light.
• The Song of the Kiawe: Local devotions often included verses about the Algaroba tree, using its growth as a metaphor for Bachelot’s enduring presence in the islands [66][69].

With so much love and devotion to the Apostle of Oceania, lost at sea and buried thousands of miles away from the place he wanted to be, it is only right and just that we do whatever it takes to bring his remains home to his eternal resting place on earth, Hawaii.

By the end of next year, my goal is to continue the search for Fr. Bachelot’s long-lost body. I have studied maps, spoken with original members of the 1977 expedition, located Maigret’s Diary, and spoken with the people of Pohnpei, all in an effort to see how we may locate and recover Father Bachelot’s body. My inquiry has already been received by the Diocese of Honolulu, the Provincial of Sacred Hearts, the Historical Society of the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM) as well as the Attorney General of FSM. Prayerfully, I will be able to lead the next expedition to formally recognize the remains. If successful, this book will need to have a continuation Chapter.

So, how should we proceed? Let us start with the German Capuchins and their role in preserving the memory of Father Bachelot. Their efforts are a testament to the global reach of his sacrifice. While the mission in Hawaii was being rebuilt, a parallel devotion was taking root in the Western Pacific, where German missionaries became the accidental guardians of our founder’s remains.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the Caroline Islands (including Pohnpei) came under German colonial administration. The German Capuchins were entrusted with the spiritual care of the region. The mission records from this era describe how the Capuchins, led by figures like Pater Venantius, Pater Fleischmann, and Pater Fidelis, began exploring the outlying islets of Pohnpei. Upon reaching the sandy islet of Na Iwi (often recorded as “Na”), they found the remnants of the site Father Maigret had established in 1837 [1][4]. Though the small chapel Maigret built had been damaged by decades of typhoons, the German fathers found the location of the 16-foot-high cross. They were moved to find that the local Pohnpeians had maintained a traditional reverence for the spot, referring to it as the resting place of a “Holy Man” [71].

Driven by a desire to protect the founder’s remains from the encroaching sea and the instability of the sandy islet, the German Capuchins, led by Pater Venantius, organized a formal recovery mission in 1977. My thoughts on their records suggest they were certain they had located the exact spot marked by the 16-foot cross Father Maigret had erected [1][5]. They exhumed what they passionately believed to be the remains of the French priest. In their eyes, these were the relics of a pioneer who had “consecrated” Pohnpei with his death.

With great liturgical solemnity, the Capuchins transported the remains to Kolonia, the administrative and religious heart of Pohnpei. They were reburied in a place of honor within the Catholic cemetery, marked with a significant memorial. For nearly seventy years, the German fathers and the Pohnpeian Faithful made pilgrimages to this grave, venerating the man they believed was the “First Apostle of Pohnpei” [184][185].

The German Capuchins did not merely document the site; they integrated Bachelot into their own apostolic history. The Capuchins formally identified Bachelot as the First Catholic Missionary to Pohnpei. Research highlights conclude that they conducted commemorative services at the grave, viewing Bachelot’s death as the “consecration” of the Micronesian mission field.

It was the German Capuchins’ meticulous mapping and photography of the Pohnpeian islets that allowed later generations—including Bishop Sweeney and the 1977 expedition—to even attempt a recovery. Without the German records, the shifting sands of the islet would have likely swallowed the location entirely [70][17].

Motivated by the original expedition of the Germans, The Diocese of Honolulu, led by Father Louis H. Yim, concluded that more was to be done. Father Yim was convinced the recovery of the Germans must not have been successful because, according to Father Yim, the Germans looked at the wrong burial vault. This was pure speculation by Father Yim.

As we approach the 200th anniversary, it is vital to remember the 1977 attempt to fulfill the German and Hawaiian dream of bringing Bachelot’s remains home.

The Recovery Team: Led by Fathers Yim and Joseph Matheis, a delegation traveled to Pohnpei to finally retrieve the “Martyr of the Sea.” Over the course of two weeks, Father Yim and his team scoured the center of the islet of Na. Upon finding the well identified in Father Maigret’s Diary, Father Yim found what appeared to be a 12-foot coral foundation. This foundation, Yim concluded, was the chapel in which Father Bachelot was buried.

During the recovery, multiple sets of bones were recovered. This, according to Father Yim, was consistent with the stories told of two European sailors buried next to Father Bachelot. The remains were swiftly transported back to Honolulu.

Research into the forensic reports from the University of Hawaii reveals a heartbreaking complication. While the team recovered remains from the traditional site, subsequent osteological examinations suggested the remains were likely of native Ponapean ancestry rather than European [70][17]. This indicates that the Pohnpei people had used the “sacred ground” around Bachelot’s grave for their own high-ranking burials, effectively “hiding” the priest among his adopted people.

The fact that Bachelot’s remains have not yet been definitively identified and returned adds to his mystique. He remains the “Shepherd of the Sea,” a man whose physical presence is shared between Hawaii, where he planted the Kiawe, and Pohnpei, where he planted the Cross.

To the German Capuchins, he was a pioneer; to the Pohnpei people, he is a sacred ancestor; and to us in Hawaii, he is the missing father whose home is waiting in the Cathedral of Our Lady of Peace. To me, it is a mystery I must help solve.

The world-renowned anthropologist, Vincent Zara, shared advice that must be taken into consideration. As he explained to me, if we know where the alleged body was at the time of the German Capuchins, then we must rule as true or false whether the remains taken to Kolonia are Father Bachelot’s. So, my next step is to work toward identifying the remains in Kolonia, Pohnpei. If these bones are not Father Bachelot’s, then another adventure on the islet of Na would be necessary again. I am on a Mission to find his remains, and we should not rest until they are rightfully brought home.

As we approach the 200th Anniversary, the honor given to Bachelot is reaching a new peak.

• The Liturgical Roll Call: In parishes across the islands, Bachelot is remembered in the “shouting of the names” alongside the native confessors.
• The Desire for the “Long Return”: The most active form of honor currently being planned is the effort to locate and return his remains from Pohnpei. This project is not merely a historical search; it is an act of filial piety by the people of Hawaii to finally provide their founder with a resting place in the soil he loved [70][71].

Chapter 9

Martyr or Saint?

Lastly, in my research, the causation of Father Bachelot being a Martyr of the Church is clear and evident. Now I ask: Should the causation for the canonization of Father Alexis Bachelot as a Saint be considered? This consideration rests on a combination of historical evidence and spiritual fruit that aligns with the Vatican’s strictest criteria. Within the framework of the Dicastery for the Causes of Saints, his life is being examined through three primary lenses: Heroic Virtue, Dry Martyrdom, and his recent eligibility under the “Offer of Life” (Oblatio Vitae).

1. The Offer of Life (Oblatio Vitae)

In 2017, Pope Francis issued the Motu Proprio Maiorem hac dilectionem, which created a new path to sainthood for those who freely and voluntarily offer their lives for others in a supreme act of charity.

• Voluntary Acceptance of Death: My thoughts on Bachelot’s final days focus on his decision to board the Clementine for a second time in 1837. He knew the ship was essentially a “floating prison” and that his health was failing, yet he chose to remain with his flock rather than seek safety in France or California [76][79].
• Connection to the Flock: He did not die a sudden, violent death, but a slow one brought on by the conditions of his exile. This “prolonged offering” for the sake of the Hawaiian mission fits the oblatio vitae criteria perfectly: he accepted a certain and premature death to maintain the presence of the Church in the islands [79].

1. “Dry Martyrdom” and Persecution

While Bachelot was not executed by a sword, he endured a decade of systemic state-sponsored persecution that the Church characterizes as “confession” or “dry martyrdom.”

• In Odium Fidei (In Hatred of the Faith): The legal records of the Regency, specifically the 1837 Ordinance Rejecting the Catholic Religion, prove that the actions against Bachelot were motivated by a hatred of Catholic doctrine [78].
• Psychological and Physical Toil: My research into his journals reveals a man who suffered years of banishment, the loss of his mission home, and the sight of his native converts being tortured. His endurance of these trials without renouncing his mission is a classic hallmark of a Confessor of the Faith [76][77].

III. Heroic Virtue: The “Kiawe” of the Faith

To be declared “Venerable” by the Catholic Church, a candidate must demonstrate that they practiced the theological and cardinal virtues to a heroic degree.

• Faith & Hope: Bachelot maintained a functioning “Underground Church” for nearly a decade with no resources, no legal protection, and no certainty of return.
• Charity (Love): His linguistic work, specifically his Notes grammaticales, shows his love for the Hawaiian people. He did not just bring a “foreign” religion; he learned their tongue to speak to their souls [76][80].
• Fortitude: This is his most visible virtue. Whether being dumped on the barren shores of San Pedro or dying on a wooden bunk in the Pacific, his resolve never wavered.

1. The “Sensus Fidelium” (The Devotion of the People)

A key requirement for canonization is a spontaneous and enduring devotion among the faithful.

• The Living Relic: As the “Planter of the Kiawe,” Bachelot left a physical legacy that ensures he is remembered every time a resident of Hawaii looks at the landscape. The tree is a living metaphor for his deep-rooted faith [76].
• The Desire for the Return: The ongoing effort by the Diocese of Honolulu and the Sacred Hearts Fathers to recover his remains from Pohnpei is an expression of the fama sanctitatis (reputation for holiness). The people of Hawaii still claim him as their Makua 200 years later [77][79].

With all of my research given to you, I come to the end, but as a Catholic Man, I leave us with a new prayer for an old and forgotten time.

“O God, who gave to the people of Hawaii the strength of the coral and the resilience of the Kiawe, we thank You for the witness of Luika, Helena, and Helio and all of the Martyrs and Confessors. Through the intercession of Father Bachelot, the Shepherd of the Sea, grant that we may never forget the price of our prayers in this Cathedral. Amen.”