“Wait, Sestra, let us be sure,” said Hawahee, then he climbed the nearest breadfruit tree.
For a long time he stood up in the leafy heights clinging to the boughs, scanning the isle, and staring out to sea. Then he climbed down, and standing by Sestrina, said: “We are safe, and there is no other land in sight.”
In one sad mental flash Sestrina realised her terrible position to the full. She realised that the greater the solitude of the isle the greater security it afforded the hunted lepers.
Hawahee noticed the despairing look on Sestrina’s face; and swiftly divining her thoughts, said: “Wahine, a ship may pass some day, and then, believe me, ’tis we can hide, my comrades and I. And those who come and rescue you will not know that we are here, savvy, wahine?”
“Yes, I understand what you mean,” murmured Sestrina as she stared out to sea, and let her eyes roam over the vast solitude of waters. Tears dimmed her yearning gaze. She instinctively knew that it might be months, even years before a ship sighted the isle and sent men ashore to search.
Seeing the girl’s grief, Hawahee gazed mournfully upon her and said: “Have no fear, Sestra, I will be a friend to thee.”
Then they both walked back to the sheltered spot which Hawahee had chosen by the shore.
The next day, Hawahee and his comrades, Rohana, Lupo, and Steno, made many journeys over the reefs, and then swam out to the wreck of theBelle Isle.
The sea had calmed down, and only a few waves dashed against the seaward hulk as the swell came in. In a very little while they had fashioned a substantial raft from the wreckage on the shore. And all day long they worked feverishly as they salvaged cases of tin meats, fruits and biscuits, and all the useful commodities that they could get hold of before theBelle Islebroke up. Two or three hours before the tropic sun dropped, Hawahee and his comrades searched the shore for a suitable spot, and then decided to build a dwelling by the caves, not far from the place where they had been washed ashore. And so they at once extemporised a rough dwelling for themselves. And while the stronger lepers were busy, Hawahee walked inland, and chose a shady place, about one hundred yards inland, for Sestrina’s home.
“’Tis a lovely spot, Sestra,” said Hawahee as he put in the first posts, and gazed on the sheltering palms and the sylvan beauty of the valley which ran half way down the centre of the isle. This valley had rugged sides and caves which showed that the isle was of volcanic formation. Between the spot which Hawahee had chosen for Sestrina’s home, and the dwelling place of the lepers was a wide hollow in which grew huge cacti and prickly pear. Hawahee had carefully chosen this spot so that the girl should be quite apart from the lepers. “Is it not a lovely spot, wahine?” said he.
“Yes, it is,” murmured Sestrina as she sighed, yet trying hard to appear enthusiastic over the rich loveliness of the tropical flowers, and palms and breadfruits that surrounded her new home.
In about a week, they were all settled in their rough habitations, and as comfortable as could be under the circumstances, Sestrina’s abode was all which could be desired, for Hawahee had fashioned a soft bed of fern, seaweed and scented moss. He had fashioned a door to her habitation out of the cuddy’s door of theBelle Isle. He had made strong hinges out of the twisted sennet so that the door could swing and be closed just as Sestrina desired. A few yards from the Haytian girl’s homestead stood Hawahee’s dwelling.
“’Tis best, Sestra, that I should dwell near to you,” said he, as Sestrina became quite industrious, and kept arriving by the busy Hawaiian, her arms full of stiff grass and weed that he was thatching his roof with. He had thatched her dwelling very carefully. Hawahee knew that a strong thatch was necessary, for typhoons and heavy rains often swept those sailless seas.
Sestrina would often lie sleepless by night in her primitive chamber and weep. She would listen to the voices of the night, the winds sighing in the palms, and in strange fancies imagine that Royal Clensy’s spirit called to her. Sometimes the rustling of the leaves would bring back memories of the grape-vine that grew below her chamber’s window at Port-au-Prince. The haunting idea that her English lover might think that she had made no attempt to get to Honolulu brought great distress to her.
“Ah, if he only knew the truth, I could bear all this,” she moaned as the great tropic starry nights of sleepless memory divided the hot, blue tropic days, and brought intense loneliness to her heart. In her sorrow she reverted to the pure religion of her childhood, and reaped much consolation therefrom. It was quite possible that the Hawaiian, Hawahee, had inspired her to seek comfort in prayer. For Hawahee was a fanatic in his devotion to his heathen gods. For though he had been converted to the Christian faith, he had greater faith in the deities of the olden times. Like many of the native lepers, he had become very devout through the sure knowledge that his days were numbered. He would kneel under the palms and sometimes pray to the sunset, singing weird, sweet melodies as he still remained on his knees. Sestrina would sit by him on these occasions, her hand under her chin, watching him like some wondering, wide-eyed child.
One evening as the sunset swept ineffable hues across the great storied remote window of Hawahee’s vast heathen cathedral—the western sea sky line—Sestrina opened her eyes in unbounded astonishment. “What’s that?” she cried as he put his arm forth, and muttered weird words to an image which he held in his hand.
“’Tis a vassal of the great goddess, Pelé!” replied Hawahee, as he held the image close to Sestrina’s horrified looking eyes—she was staring on the ivory idol which the aged, dying Chinaman on theBelle Islehad worshipped so fervently!
The sight of that heathenish relic, and of Hawahee’s reverent attitude before its wonderfully carved little face, strangely impressed the Haytian girl’s mind. A weird, uncanny kind of atmosphere seemed to fall over her life, filling her mind with superstitious thoughts. The strange, long-necked birds that perched at dawn on the palms by her little homestead, no longer sang cheerful notes, but muttered dismal chants that made her frightened—of she knew not what! But in a day or two she regained the cheerful confidence that had so helped her in her castaway loneliness, and once more sang as she toiled over her primitive domestic duties.
One day, Hawahee suddenly approached Sestrina, and said, “Wahine, do not roam about the isle unless I am near you.” He looked troubled as he placed his hand to his brow, undecided as to how to continue.
Sestrina wondered why he should fear for her since they were castaways on an uninhabited isle. “Is there a sail in sight?” she said, a great hope springing into her heart.
“No, wahine,” murmured Hawahee, still gazing intently at the girl’s face, an expression in his eyes as though his heart wished to say something which his lips dare not express.
Then he said: “My comrades are not as I am; they have forgotten the virtues of the great goddess Pelé, and of Kauhilo, and Atua of Langi, and so, ’tis best that you should keep from their path.”
Sestrina, who had seldom seen the lepers, because the sight of their afflicted forms made her feel miserable, gazed in wonder up at Hawahee’s face. The five lepers were, to her, poor helpless, cursed, pathetic beings, who calmly awaited the second death of their mortal existence. Though they dwelt within five hundred yards of her homestead, she had spoken only twice to them as they sat in the wattled shelter, and as the two blind lepers gazed with pathetic indecision towards her, a great wave of pain and sympathy had come to her heart.
Then Lupo, Rohana, and Steno had fallen on their knees, and, with their hands lifted, had gazed upon her as though she were some goddess. And as they wailed and wailed in their strange but musical tongue she imagined they were thanking her for her timely rescue of them all from theBelle Isle’sstifling hold.
“They look upon me as their benefactress; perhaps in the delirium of their fevered illness, they really think I am some heathen goddess?” she thought as Rohana and Lupo continued to wail, and crawling a little nearer, pointed to her shining tresses, murmured, “Aloah! wahine, makoa, maikai!” Then the lepers had placed their hands to their swollen mouths, making signs as they blew kisses to her, and cried “Maika! maikai!” (thank you). For she had taken a flower from the folds of her hair, and had thrown it towards them. Seeing the flower lying on the silver sands, Lupo, Rohana and Steno had rushed forward, had started struggling in a frantic way to secure the fading blossom. When Lupo placed the blossom to his lips, the others had crowded round him, had sought to place their lips against the faded petals. Such had been Sestrina’s experiences with the lepers during three months of isolation on that Pacific isle. When Hawahee stood before Sestrina and gave her the second warning, she still remained ignorant of the meaning of it all.
Three nights after, Sestrina was suddenly awakened by hearing a distant hubbub that sounded as though men were singing rollicking songs. “What can it mean?” she thought as she leaped from her couch. Her heart thumped as she listened and wondered. “’Tis a ship arrived off the isle, and the sailors are ashore, singing!”
“Keep near me,” said a stern voice, as she rushed from her dwelling to ascertain if her surmises were true. It was Hawahee who had spoken.
Sestrina gazed at him, and was alarmed at the expression of his eyes.
“’Tis Lupo, Rohana and the rest, they have been out to the wreck, and found barrels of devil-water (rum); they are demented, wahine.”
“Rum! demented!” replied Sestrina as her heart sank within her. No ship at all, but rum and demented! What did Hawahee mean? The girl did not realise the serious import of the Hawaian’s remarks. She had no familiar knowledge of men, and the demoralising influence of drink on their natures. And so she dreamed not of her danger, she, a lonely woman, on that solitary isle.
During the lepers stay on the isle their health had improved. The abundance of shell fish, the fruit and tinned meats, saved from the wreck, had renovated their wasted frames. Lupo and Rohana had even made flesh, and so their smouldering passions had burst into flame again! Indeed, but a day or two before, Rohana and Lupo had crept round the shore, and spied Sestrina bathing in a lagoon.
They had watched, and then hastened back to their comrades and cried in this wise: “Oh makaia, le sola!” and then the three stronger men had crept back into the jungle on the shore, and had watched. That same night they had talked about what they had seen, till even the blind lepers had listened in ecstasy as their comrades spoke of the girl’s beauty, the glory of her wet tresses as they sparkled in the warm sunlight.
Hawahee, who knew these things, attempted to calm Sestrina’s fears by saying, “Do not be alarmed by the singing of my brothers, I will protect you.”
And then she had gone back into her hut, and had lain sleepless, weeping bitterly, for her hopes had been cruelly dispelled. The next night she was awakened again by hearing a wild song. Again she jumped from her bed, and went outside, but this time she trembled in the thought of some nameless fear. As she stood under the palms by her lonely homestead doorway, she saw a great red glow on the sky over the sea.
“’Tis the wreck on fire,” said Hawahee as he stood beside her. For he was ever wakeful.
“Why have they set the ship on fire?” said Sestrina as she stood watching the sparks and the lurid smoke go skyward.
“They are mad with drink, and care only for themselves while the devil-gods and te rom (rum) revel in their souls,” said Hawahee in a bitter voice. Then he told Sestrina that they had fired the wreck so that no passing vessel could sight it, and wonder if any of its late crew were castaways on the isle.
Next day, Sestrina, thinking that all was well since the lepers had burnt the wreck, and so destroyed the rum, crept down to the lagoon by her homestead, wherein she bathed every morning. This lagoon was far away from that part of the isle where Lupo and the rest dwelt. Letting her hair down, she walked into the cool, shallow depths, and paddled about. She behaved like a child. Lifting her torn skirt, which she had patched up with pieces of the red table-cloth of theBelle Islecuddy, she splashed about in the sparkling water and threw pebbles at the green-winged parrots that perched on the palms that leaned over the lagoon. Suddenly she stood perfectly still; she had observed a movement in the thick jungle fern which grew a little way up the shore. She stared again, and saw two burning eyes staring between the dark green leaves. She gave a startled cry and let her dress drop—it was Lupo who had spied upon her. Seeing her terror he stepped out of the jungle, lifting his hands in an appealing manner.
Sestrina immediately felt ashamed of her fright. Noticing that he had calmed the girl’s evident fear of him, Lupo moved towards her. As he approached her she fancied she saw a terrible look in his eyes. The instinct of womanhood made her realise—she knew not what. In a flash she recalled all that Hawahee had said.
The next second Lupo had fallen on his knees, and with his hands lifted in some appeal, said: “Aloah, wero, kawa, ma Pelé,” as he greedily drank in the beauty of her face and form. He plucked a flower from the bush, and held it towards the girl.
“No! no!” said Sestrina as she shook her head to intimate that neither his gift nor his presence was required. In a moment Lupo’s manner had changed. He glanced hastily around, then rose and staggered towards her. Sestrina, on seeing the wild look in the leper’s eyes, fled.
Returning to her primitive homestead with a flushed face, and the sea-water still sparkling on her tresses, she arrived before Hawahee in a breathless state.
“Wahine, what is the matter?” he said as he stared at her.
“Nothing, only I felt frightened at seeing Lupo come out of the jungle whilst I bathed.”
“Have I not warned thee to keep near to me, and not wander about the isle, wahine?”
“Yes, I know,” gasped Sestrina, her breath still laboured through running so fast.
“Hawahee, what do the lepers want with me?” she said quietly in sudden wonder over all she had experienced.
The tall, handsome Hawaiian gazed steadily into the childlike, wide-open eyes, and seeing that the girl was innocent in heart and soul, made no reply to her query, but said: “Wahine, I shall be angry if you stray from here again. Mind that you keep on this side of the valley, and bathe no more at present.”
“I will do as you wish,” replied Sestrina, who put Hawahee’s fears down to some dread in his mind that she might be contaminated by the terrible scourge.
That same night Hawahee came across the slope and sat by Sestrina’s homestead, telling her many of his own sorrows, and how it was he had become incarcerated down in the hold of theBelle Isle. It was a sad story that Sestrina listened to as the Hawaiian spoke on, telling her many things about the horrors of leprosy on his native isles. Maybe he did not wish Sestrina to think too ill of his comrades, the lepers on the isle, whose sad lot was cast on the unknown waters with his own. And be it known that of all the races of mankind, the Hawaiians are the most sympathetic and lovable towards each other in sorrow or illness, their hearts being endowed with a love passing the love of woman. Indeed, many Hawaiians have been known to risk the contagion of leprosy in their efforts to hide their relatives, wives, children, lovers and comrades, from the relentless hands of the leper-hunters, who were ever on the look-out for the victims of the hideous scourge.
Sestrina’s eyes filled with tears as the sad man sat before her and told her of the terrors of Molokai, the leper isle, the sufferings of the banished victims and of the heroic priest and martyr, Damien, and the few Catholic missionaries who devoted their days and sacrificed their lives for the sake of the stricken lepers.
“And how did you know all these things about the terrible isle where poor lepers are banished to, since you yourself escaped and fled successfully from the leper-hunters?”
Then Hawahee told Sestrina that he had once been a resident on Molokai in the capacity of a missionary at Kalawao, and it was there that he had contracted the complaint, as well as becoming only too familiar with the horror of the dreadful lazaretto. Sitting there smoking by the lonely girl, he continued his story, and told how the Hawaiian officials hired brutal men to hunt and deliver up all men who showed the least sign of the dreaded plague, so that they could be banished to the lazaretto on Molokai.
From all that Hawahee said, it appeared that even the unafflicted were in danger of being captured by the merciless hunters and sent away to the dreaded isle. For leprosy develops slowly, the first symptom being extremely faint, taking months, and even years, before becoming externally evident. Consequently the brutal hunters, who sought to secure the reward offered by the authorities, were only too eager to pronounce the slightest bruise as evidence of incipient leprosy.
“Since your leprosy is hardly to be seen now, how is it that the authorities knew anything about it, Hawahee?” said Sestrina.
“Ah, wahine, it must have been noticed when I was bathing in the lagoons by my home. You must know, wahine, that there are always half-caste men on my isle willing to sacrifice the lives of others for the sake of getting the reward which is paid by the great council chiefs, and so I too was betrayed. And when the leper-hunters did come one night through the forest with masks over their faces, for they do not wish their faces seen since my people would kill such perfidious betrayers were they to recognise them, I did escape into the mountains by Kaulea. For a long, long time I did roam homeless alone, then I met more lepers who were hiding from the hunters in the mountains. We were all near to dying of hunger when we at last sighted a schooner lying just off the shore by the feet of the mountains near Sakaboa. With much stealth we did manage to secure a large canoe so that we could paddle by night out to the ship. It was by the mercy of Atua and Kuahilo that the night was dark and hid our forms as we stole on board and crept down into the ship’s hold. Next day the ship sailed. We were near to death when we did find ourselves anchored off the South American coast, where we were discovered by the crew and recaptured. Then the white papalagis tied our legs and hands in thongs and placed as on a ship’s hulk off the coast, as men unclean. For many weeks we were prisoners, awaiting to be retransported back to Hawaii so that we might be sent to Molokai. Then one night some men did come and place our limbs in chains. And when we were helpless and could not move more than enough for our feet to move slowly one before the other, we were taken round the coast to Acapulco. There we found a boat awaiting our arrival, and we were at once taken out to a schooner, which we knew was to take us back to Hawaii, and to Molokai and death.” Saying the foregoing, the Hawaiian sighed, then, looking sorrowfully into Sestrina’s face, he added: “It was theBelle Isle, wahine, which we were taken to and imprisoned down in the hold; and, to thy great sorrow, thou knowest the rest.” Relighting his cigarette by the embers of the small cooking fire, Hawahee placed his hand meditatively to his chin and continued: “I tell thee, wahine, I would sooner meet the gods in death than risk capture by the merciless papalagi or my own countryman and be banished to the lazaretto. True enough, the ‘kaukas’ (doctors) are good to the stricken, and kind men make coffins by night for the dying, but still, ’tis more than a living death. Still, in my dreams, I do often see the skeletons of the dead lepers walking and crawling by night along the craggy beach and under the dark pandanus and palms by Kalawao.”
As Hawahee spoke on and Sestrina listened, the ocean’s monotone, resounding on the reefs below, seemed to moan in sympathy with all he told her.
“Ah, wahine, thou knowest not the sorrow of my people,” he murmured; then he once more lapsed into pidgin English, which he usually did when speaking under the stress of deep emotion. “Sestra, when I was once a helper of the afflicted on Molokai, I did often see some beautiful wahine with flying hair and starry eyes, running along the beach by moonlight, wringing her hands, as she cried and answered the moaning voice of the winds in the palms that sighed to her dying ears, like to the dead laughter and the memories of lost children, lovers and husband; I know not which. Then she would jump into the sea. And the waves, closing over her head, did bring the peace of Atua, Pelé, and the great White God, whichever may be the most merciful.”
Such were the incidents connected with Hawahee’s history, and which he deigned to tell Sestrina that night and the next night as she sat by the kitchen cooking-fire of her solitary home on their lone isle of the vast Pacific. And often, when Hawahee had crossed the hollow and entered his hut for sleep, the imaginative castaway girl would lie in her own chamber and fancy she could hear the dead laughter of children and the calling voices of the dying lepers, shrieking and calling somewhere out in the wind swept palms, that sighed fitfully on the valley’s ridge by her homestead. In these dreams Sestrina fully realised that, to the lepers at least, her lonely desert isle was a haven of refuge, an oasis in the desert of their life’s misery. For not in all the world was sorrow so heart-rending, so hideous and intense as on Molokai. Yes, notwithstanding that missionaries devoted their days as ministering angels to the stricken exiles, and that the heroic martyr-priest Damien, the lepers’ Christ, and Father Albert the good dwelt in their midst. For who can stay the dead from dreaming in their living tombs, or from leaping from the grave to run along the dark, beetling crags of the moonlit beach, listening to the memories of the wind swept palms and calling to the skies for mercy?