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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:19:06 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:19:06 -0700 |
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diff --git a/2416-h/2416-h.htm b/2416-h/2416-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b08769 --- /dev/null +++ b/2416-h/2416-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3702 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The House of Pride</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The House of Pride, by Jack London</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The House of Pride, by Jack London + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The House of Pride + + +Author: Jack London + + + +Release Date: January 11, 2007 [eBook #2416] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF PRIDE*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1919 Mills & Boon edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>THE HOUSE OF PRIDE</h1> +<p>Contents:</p> +<p>The House of Pride<br /> +Koolau the Leper<br /> +Good-bye, Jack<br /> +Aloha Oe<br /> +Chun Ah Chun<br /> +The Sheriff of Kona<br /> +Jack London</p> +<h2>THE HOUSE OF PRIDE</h2> +<p>Percival Ford wondered why he had come. He did not +dance. He did not care much for army people. Yet he +knew them all—gliding and revolving there on the broad +<i>lanai</i> of the Seaside, the officers in their fresh-starched +uniforms of white, the civilians in white and black, and the +women bare of shoulders and arms. After two years in +Honolulu the Twentieth was departing to its new station in +Alaska, and Percival Ford, as one of the big men of the Islands, +could not help knowing the officers and their women.</p> +<p>But between knowing and liking was a vast gulf. The army +women frightened him just a little. They were in ways quite +different from the women he liked best—the elderly women, +the spinsters and the bespectacled maidens, and the very serious +women of all ages whom he met on church and library and +kindergarten committees, who came meekly to him for contributions +and advice. He ruled those women by virtue of his superior +mentality, his great wealth, and the high place he occupied in +the commercial baronage of Hawaii. And he was not afraid of +them in the least. Sex, with them, was not obtrusive. +Yes, that was it. There was in them something else, or +more, than the assertive grossness of life. He was +fastidious; he acknowledged that to himself; and these army +women, with their bare shoulders and naked arms, their +straight-looking eyes, their vitality and challenging femaleness, +jarred upon his sensibilities.</p> +<p>Nor did he get on better with the army men, who took life +lightly, drinking and smoking and swearing their way through life +and asserting the essential grossness of flesh no less +shamelessly than their women. He was always uncomfortable +in the company of the army men. They seemed uncomfortable, +too. And he felt, always, that they were laughing at him up +their sleeves, or pitying him, or tolerating him. Then, +too, they seemed, by mere contiguity, to emphasize a lack in him, +to call attention to that in them which he did not possess and +which he thanked God he did not possess. Faugh! They +were like their women!</p> +<p>In fact, Percival Ford was no more a woman’s man than he +was a man’s man. A glance at him told the +reason. He had a good constitution, never was on intimate +terms with sickness, nor even mild disorders; but he lacked +vitality. His was a negative organism. No blood with +a ferment in it could have nourished and shaped that long and +narrow face, those thin lips, lean cheeks, and the small, sharp +eyes. The thatch of hair, dust-coloured, straight and +sparse, advertised the niggard soil, as did the nose, thin, +delicately modelled, and just hinting the suggestion of a +beak. His meagre blood had denied him much of life, and +permitted him to be an extremist in one thing only, which thing +was righteousness. Over right conduct he pondered and +agonized, and that he should do right was as necessary to his +nature as loving and being loved were necessary to commoner +clay.</p> +<p>He was sitting under the algaroba trees between the +<i>lanai</i> and the beach. His eyes wandered over the +dancers and he turned his head away and gazed seaward across the +mellow-sounding surf to the Southern Cross burning low on the +horizon. He was irritated by the bare shoulders and arms of +the women. If he had a daughter he would never permit it, +never. But his hypothesis was the sheerest +abstraction. The thought process had been accompanied by no +inner vision of that daughter. He did not see a daughter +with arms and shoulders. Instead, he smiled at the remote +contingency of marriage. He was thirty-five, and, having +had no personal experience of love, he looked upon it, not as +mythical, but as bestial. Anybody could marry. The +Japanese and Chinese coolies, toiling on the sugar plantations +and in the rice-fields, married. They invariably married at +the first opportunity. It was because they were so low in +the scale of life. There was nothing else for them to +do. They were like the army men and women. But for +him there were other and higher things. He was different +from them—from all of them. He was proud of how he +happened to be. He had come of no petty love-match. +He had come of lofty conception of duty and of devotion to a +cause. His father had not married for love. Love was +a madness that had never perturbed Isaac Ford. When he +answered the call to go to the heathen with the message of life, +he had had no thought and no desire for marriage. In this +they were alike, his father and he. But the Board of +Missions was economical. With New England thrift it weighed +and measured and decided that married missionaries were less +expensive per capita and more efficacious. So the Board +commanded Isaac Ford to marry. Furthermore, it furnished +him with a wife, another zealous soul with no thought of +marriage, intent only on doing the Lord’s work among the +heathen. They saw each other for the first time in +Boston. The Board brought them together, arranged +everything, and by the end of the week they were married and +started on the long voyage around the Horn.</p> +<p>Percival Ford was proud that he had come of such a +union. He had been born high, and he thought of himself as +a spiritual aristocrat. And he was proud of his +father. It was a passion with him. The erect, austere +figure of Isaac Ford had burned itself upon his pride. On +his desk was a miniature of that soldier of the Lord. In +his bedroom hung the portrait of Isaac Ford, painted at the time +when he had served under the Monarchy as prime minister. +Not that Isaac Ford had coveted place and worldly wealth, but +that, as prime minister, and, later, as banker, he had been of +greater service to the missionary cause. The German crowd, +and the English crowd, and all the rest of the trading crowd, had +sneered at Isaac Ford as a commercial soul-saver; but he, his +son, knew different. When the natives, emerging abruptly +from their feudal system, with no conception of the nature and +significance of property in land, were letting their broad acres +slip through their fingers, it was Isaac Ford who had stepped in +between the trading crowd and its prey and taken possession of +fat, vast holdings. Small wonder the trading crowd did not +like his memory. But he had never looked upon his enormous +wealth as his own. He had considered himself God’s +steward. Out of the revenues he had built schools, and +hospitals, and churches. Nor was it his fault that sugar, +after the slump, had paid forty per cent; that the bank he +founded had prospered into a railroad; and that, among other +things, fifty thousand acres of Oahu pasture land, which he had +bought for a dollar an acre, grew eight tons of sugar to the acre +every eighteen months. No, in all truth, Isaac Ford was an +heroic figure, fit, so Percival Ford thought privately, to stand +beside the statue of Kamehameha I. in front of the Judiciary +Building. Isaac Ford was gone, but he, his son, carried on +the good work at least as inflexibly if not as masterfully.</p> +<p>He turned his eyes back to the <i>lanai</i>. What was +the difference, he asked himself, between the shameless, +grass-girdled <i>hula</i> dances and the decollété +dances of the women of his own race? Was there an essential +difference? or was it a matter of degree?</p> +<p>As he pondered the problem a hand rested on his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Hello, Ford, what are you doing here? Isn’t +this a bit festive?”</p> +<p>“I try to be lenient, Dr. Kennedy, even as I look +on,” Percival Ford answered gravely. +“Won’t you sit down?”</p> +<p>Dr. Kennedy sat down, clapping his palms sharply. A +white-clad Japanese servant answered swiftly.</p> +<p>Scotch and soda was Kennedy’s order; then, turning to +the other, he said:—</p> +<p>“Of course, I don’t ask you.”</p> +<p>“But I will take something,” Ford said +firmly. The doctor’s eyes showed surprise, and the +servant waited. “Boy, a lemonade, please.”</p> +<p>The doctor laughed at it heartily, as a joke on himself, and +glanced at the musicians under the <i>hau</i> tree.</p> +<p>“Why, it’s the Aloha Orchestra,” he +said. “I thought they were with the Hawaiian Hotel on +Tuesday nights. Some rumpus, I guess.”</p> +<p>His eyes paused for a moment, and dwelt upon the one who was +playing a guitar and singing a Hawaiian song to the accompaniment +of all the instruments.</p> +<p>His face became grave as he looked at the singer, and it was +still grave as he turned it to his companion.</p> +<p>“Look here, Ford, isn’t it time you let up on Joe +Garland? I understand you are in opposition to the +Promotion Committee’s sending him to the States on this +surf-board proposition, and I’ve been wanting to speak to +you about it. I should have thought you’d be glad to +get him out of the country. It would be a good way to end +your persecution of him.”</p> +<p>“Persecution?” Percival Ford’s +eyebrows lifted interrogatively.</p> +<p>“Call it by any name you please,” Kennedy went +on. “You’ve hounded that poor devil for +years. It’s not his fault. Even you will admit +that.”</p> +<p>“Not his fault?” Percival Ford’s thin +lips drew tightly together for the moment. “Joe +Garland is dissolute and idle. He has always been a +wastrel, a profligate.”</p> +<p>“But that’s no reason you should keep on after him +the way you do. I’ve watched you from the +beginning. The first thing you did when you returned from +college and found him working on the plantation as outside +<i>luna</i> was to fire him—you with your millions, and he +with his sixty dollars a month.”</p> +<p>“Not the first thing,” Percival Ford said +judicially, in a tone he was accustomed to use in committee +meetings. “I gave him his warning. The +superintendent said he was a capable <i>luna</i>. I had no +objection to him on that ground. It was what he did outside +working hours. He undid my work faster than I could build +it up. Of what use were the Sunday schools, the night +schools, and the sewing classes, when in the evenings there was +Joe Garland with his infernal and eternal tum-tumming of guitar +and <i>ukulele</i>, his strong drink, and his <i>hula</i> +dancing? After I warned him, I came upon him—I shall +never forget it—came upon him, down at the cabins. It +was evening. I could hear the <i>hula</i> songs before I +saw the scene. And when I did see it, there were the girls, +shameless in the moonlight and dancing—the girls upon whom +I had worked to teach clean living and right conduct. And +there were three girls there, I remember, just graduated from the +mission school. Of course I discharged Joe Garland. I +know it was the same at Hilo. People said I went out of my +way when I persuaded Mason and Fitch to discharge him. But +it was the missionaries who requested me to do so. He was +undoing their work by his reprehensible example.”</p> +<p>“Afterwards, when he got on the railroad, your railroad, +he was discharged without cause,” Kennedy challenged.</p> +<p>“Not so,” was the quick answer. “I had +him into my private office and talked with him for half an +hour.”</p> +<p>“You discharged him for inefficiency?”</p> +<p>“For immoral living, if you please.”</p> +<p>Dr. Kennedy laughed with a grating sound. “Who the +devil gave it to you to be judge and jury? Does landlordism +give you control of the immortal souls of those that toil for +you? I have been your physician. Am I to expect +tomorrow your ukase that I give up Scotch and soda or your +patronage? Bah! Ford, you take life too +seriously. Besides, when Joe got into that smuggling scrape +(he wasn’t in your employ, either), and he sent word to +you, asked you to pay his fine, you left him to do his six +months’ hard labour on the reef. Don’t forget, +you left Joe Garland in the lurch that time. You threw him +down, hard; and yet I remember the first day you came to +school—we boarded, you were only a day scholar—you +had to be initiated. Three times under in the swimming +tank—you remember, it was the regular dose every new boy +got. And you held back. You denied that you +<i>could</i> swim. You were frightened, +hysterical—”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know,” Percival Ford said slowly. +“I was frightened. And it was a lie, for I could swim +. . . And I was frightened.”</p> +<p>“And you remember who fought for you? who lied for you +harder than you could lie, and swore he knew you couldn’t +swim? Who jumped into the tank and pulled you out after the +first under and was nearly drowned for it by the other boys, who +had discovered by that time that you <i>could</i> +swim?”</p> +<p>“Of course I know,” the other rejoined +coldly. “But a generous act as a boy does not excuse +a lifetime of wrong living.”</p> +<p>“He has never done wrong to you?—personally and +directly, I mean?”</p> +<p>“No,” was Percival Ford’s answer. +“That is what makes my position impregnable. I have +no personal spite against him. He is bad, that is +all. His life is bad—”</p> +<p>“Which is another way of saying that he does not agree +with you in the way life should be lived,” the doctor +interrupted.</p> +<p>“Have it that way. It is immaterial. He is +an idler—”</p> +<p>“With reason,” was the interruption, +“considering the jobs out of which you have knocked +him.”</p> +<p>“He is immoral—”</p> +<p>“Oh, hold on now, Ford. Don’t go harping on +that. You are pure New England stock. Joe Garland is +half Kanaka. Your blood is thin. His is warm. +Life is one thing to you, another thing to him. He laughs +and sings and dances through life, genial, unselfish, childlike, +everybody’s friend. You go through life like a +perambulating prayer-wheel, a friend of nobody but the righteous, +and the righteous are those who agree with you as to what is +right. And after all, who shall say? You live like an +anchorite. Joe Garland lives like a good fellow. Who +has extracted the most from life? We are paid to live, you +know. When the wages are too meagre we throw up the job, +which is the cause, believe me, of all rational suicide. +Joe Garland would starve to death on the wages you get from +life. You see, he is made differently. So would you +starve on his wages, which are singing, and +love—”</p> +<p>“Lust, if you will pardon me,” was the +interruption.</p> +<p>Dr. Kennedy smiled.</p> +<p>“Love, to you, is a word of four letters and a +definition which you have extracted from the dictionary. +But love, real love, dewy and palpitant and tender, you do not +know. If God made you and me, and men and women, believe me +He made love, too. But to come back. It’s about +time you quit hounding Joe Garland. It is not worthy of +you, and it is cowardly. The thing for you to do is to +reach out and lend him a hand.”</p> +<p>“Why I, any more than you?” the other +demanded. “Why don’t you reach him a +hand?”</p> +<p>“I have. I’m reaching him a hand now. +I’m trying to get you not to down the Promotion +Committee’s proposition of sending him away. I got +him the job at Hilo with Mason and Fitch. I’ve got +him half a dozen jobs, out of every one of which you drove +him. But never mind that. Don’t forget one +thing—and a little frankness won’t hurt you—it +is not fair play to saddle another fault on Joe Garland; and you +know that you, least of all, are the man to do it. Why, +man, it’s not good taste. It’s positively +indecent.”</p> +<p>“Now I don’t follow you,” Percival Ford +answered. “You’re up in the air with some +obscure scientific theory of heredity and personal +irresponsibility. But how any theory can hold Joe Garland +irresponsible for his wrongdoings and at the same time hold me +personally responsible for them—more responsible than any +one else, including Joe Garland—is beyond me.”</p> +<p>“It’s a matter of delicacy, I suppose, or of +taste, that prevents you from following me,” Dr. Kennedy +snapped out. “It’s all very well, for the sake +of society, tacitly to ignore some things, but you do more than +tacitly ignore.”</p> +<p>“What is it, pray, that I tacitly ignore!”</p> +<p>Dr. Kennedy was angry. A deeper red than that of +constitutional Scotch and soda suffused his face, as he +answered:</p> +<p>“Your father’s son.”</p> +<p>“Now just what do you mean?”</p> +<p>“Damn it, man, you can’t ask me to be plainer +spoken than that. But if you will, all right—Isaac +Ford’s son—Joe Garland—your brother.”</p> +<p>Percival Ford sat quietly, an annoyed and shocked expression +on his face. Kennedy looked at him curiously, then, as the +slow minutes dragged by, became embarrassed and frightened.</p> +<p>“My God!” he cried finally, “you don’t +mean to tell me that you didn’t know!”</p> +<p>As in answer, Percival Ford’s cheeks turned slowly +grey.</p> +<p>“It’s a ghastly joke,” he said; “a +ghastly joke.”</p> +<p>The doctor had got himself in hand.</p> +<p>“Everybody knows it,” he said. “I +thought you knew it. And since you don’t know it, +it’s time you did, and I’m glad of the chance of +setting you straight. Joe Garland and you are +brothers—half-brothers.”</p> +<p>“It’s a lie,” Ford cried. “You +don’t mean it. Joe Garland’s mother was Eliza +Kunilio.” (Dr. Kennedy nodded.) “I +remember her well, with her duck pond and <i>taro</i> +patch. His father was Joseph Garland, the +beach-comber.” (Dr. Kennedy shook his head.) +“He died only two or three years ago. He used to get +drunk. There’s where Joe got his dissoluteness. +There’s the heredity for you.”</p> +<p>“And nobody told you,” Kennedy said wonderingly, +after a pause.</p> +<p>“Dr. Kennedy, you have said something terrible, which I +cannot allow to pass. You must either prove or, or . . . +”</p> +<p>“Prove it yourself. Turn around and look at +him. You’ve got him in profile. Look at his +nose. That’s Isaac Ford’s. Yours is a +thin edition of it. That’s right. Look. +The lines are fuller, but they are all there.”</p> +<p>Percival Ford looked at the Kanaka half-breed who played under +the <i>hau</i> tree, and it seemed, as by some illumination, that +he was gazing on a wraith of himself. Feature after feature +flashed up an unmistakable resemblance. Or, rather, it was +he who was the wraith of that other full-muscled and generously +moulded man. And his features, and that other man’s +features, were all reminiscent of Isaac Ford. And nobody +had told him. Every line of Isaac Ford’s face he +knew. Miniatures, portraits, and photographs of his father +were passing in review through his mind, and here and there, over +and again, in the face before him, he caught resemblances and +vague hints of likeness. It was devil’s work that +could reproduce the austere features of Isaac Ford in the loose +and sensuous features before him. Once, the man turned, and +for one flashing instant it seemed to Percival Ford that he saw +his father, dead and gone, peering at him out of the face of Joe +Garland.</p> +<p>“It’s nothing at all,” he could faintly hear +Dr. Kennedy saying, “They were all mixed up in the old +days. You know that. You’ve seen it all your +life. Sailors married queens and begat princesses and all +the rest of it. It was the usual thing in the +Islands.”</p> +<p>“But not with my father,” Percival Ford +interrupted.</p> +<p>“There you are.” Kennedy shrugged his +shoulders. “Cosmic sap and smoke of life. Old +Isaac Ford was straitlaced and all the rest, and I know +there’s no explaining it, least of all to himself. He +understood it no more than you do. Smoke of life, +that’s all. And don’t forget one thing, +Ford. There was a dab of unruly blood in old Isaac Ford, +and Joe Garland inherited it—all of it, smoke of life and +cosmic sap; while you inherited all of old Isaac’s ascetic +blood. And just because your blood is cold, well-ordered, +and well-disciplined, is no reason that you should frown upon Joe +Garland. When Joe Garland undoes the work you do, remember +that it is only old Isaac Ford on both sides, undoing with one +hand what he does with the other. You are Isaac +Ford’s right hand, let us say; Joe Garland is his left +hand.”</p> +<p>Percival Ford made no answer, and in the silence Dr. Kennedy +finished his forgotten Scotch and soda. From across the +grounds an automobile hooted imperatively.</p> +<p>“There’s the machine,” Dr. Kennedy said, +rising. “I’ve got to run. I’m sorry +I’ve shaken you up, and at the same time I’m +glad. And know one thing, Isaac Ford’s dab of unruly +blood was remarkably small, and Joe Garland got it all. And +one other thing. If your father’s left hand offend +you, don’t smite it off. Besides, Joe is all +right. Frankly, if I could choose between you and him to +live with me on a desert isle, I’d choose Joe.”</p> +<p>Little bare-legged children ran about him, playing, on the +grass; but Percival Ford did not see them. He was gazing +steadily at the singer under the <i>hau</i> tree. He even +changed his position once, to get closer. The clerk of the +Seaside went by, limping with age and dragging his reluctant +feet. He had lived forty years on the Islands. +Percival Ford beckoned to him, and the clerk came respectfully, +and wondering that he should be noticed by Percival Ford.</p> +<p>“John,” Ford said, “I want you to give me +some information. Won’t you sit down?”</p> +<p>The clerk sat down awkwardly, stunned by the unexpected +honour. He blinked at the other and mumbled, “Yes, +sir, thank you.”</p> +<p>“John, who is Joe Garland?”</p> +<p>The clerk stared at him, blinked, cleared his throat, and said +nothing.</p> +<p>“Go on,” Percival Ford commanded.</p> +<p>“Who is he?”</p> +<p>“You’re joking me, sir,” the other managed +to articulate.</p> +<p>“I spoke to you seriously.”</p> +<p>The clerk recoiled from him.</p> +<p>“You don’t mean to say you don’t +know?” he questioned, his question in itself the +answer.</p> +<p>“I want to know.”</p> +<p>“Why, he’s—” John broke off and looked +about him helplessly. “Hadn’t you better ask +somebody else? Everybody thought you knew. We always +thought . . . ”</p> +<p>“Yes, go ahead.”</p> +<p>“We always thought that that was why you had it in for +him.”</p> +<p>Photographs and miniatures of Isaac Ford were trooping through +his son’s brain, and ghosts of Isaac Ford seemed in the air +about hint “I wish you good night, sir,” he could +hear the clerk saying, and he saw him beginning to limp away.</p> +<p>“John,” he called abruptly.</p> +<p>John came back and stood near him, blinking and nervously +moistening his lips.</p> +<p>“You haven’t told me yet, you know.”</p> +<p>“Oh, about Joe Garland?”</p> +<p>“Yes, about Joe Garland. Who is he?”</p> +<p>“He’s your brother, sir, if I say it who +shouldn’t.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, John. Good night.”</p> +<p>“And you didn’t know?” the old man queried, +content to linger, now that the crucial point was past.</p> +<p>“Thank you, John. Good night,” was the +response.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I think it’s +going to rain. Good night, sir.”</p> +<p>Out of the clear sky, filled only with stars and moonlight, +fell a rain so fine and attenuated as to resemble a vapour +spray. Nobody minded it; the children played on, running +bare-legged over the grass and leaping into the sand; and in a +few minutes it was gone. In the south-east, Diamond Head, a +black blot, sharply defined, silhouetted its crater-form against +the stars. At sleepy intervals the surf flung its foam +across the sands to the grass, and far out could be seen the +black specks of swimmers under the moon. The voices of the +singers, singing a waltz, died away; and in the silence, from +somewhere under the trees, arose the laugh of a woman that was a +love-cry. It startled Percival Ford, and it reminded him of +Dr. Kennedy’s phrase. Down by the outrigger canoes, +where they lay hauled out on the sand, he saw men and women, +Kanakas, reclining languorously, like lotus-eaters, the women in +white <i>holokus</i>; and against one such <i>holoku</i> he saw +the dark head of the steersman of the canoe resting upon the +woman’s shoulder. Farther down, where the strip of +sand widened at the entrance to the lagoon, he saw a man and +woman walking side by side. As they drew near the light +<i>lanai</i>, he saw the woman’s hand go down to her waist +and disengage a girdling arm. And as they passed him, +Percival Ford nodded to a captain he knew, and to a major’s +daughter. Smoke of life, that was it, an ample +phrase. And again, from under the dark algaroba tree arose +the laugh of a woman that was a love-cry; and past his chair, on +the way to bed, a bare-legged youngster was led by a chiding +Japanese nurse-maid. The voices of the singers broke softly +and meltingly into an Hawaiian love-song, and officers and women, +with encircling arms, were gliding and whirling on the +<i>lanai</i>; and once again the woman laughed under the algaroba +trees.</p> +<p>And Percival Ford knew only disapproval of it all. He +was irritated by the love-laugh of the woman, by the steersman +with pillowed head on the white <i>holoku</i>, by the couples +that walked on the beach, by the officers and women that danced, +and by the voices of the singers singing of love, and his brother +singing there with them under the <i>hau</i> tree. The +woman that laughed especially irritated him. A curious +train of thought was aroused. He was Isaac Ford’s +son, and what had happened with Isaac Ford might happen with +him. He felt in his cheeks the faint heat of a blush at the +thought, and experienced a poignant sense of shame. He was +appalled by what was in his blood. It was like learning +suddenly that his father had been a leper and that his own blood +might bear the taint of that dread disease. Isaac Ford, the +austere soldier of the Lord—the old hypocrite! What +difference between him and any beach-comber? The house of +pride that Percival Ford had builded was tumbling about his +ears.</p> +<p>The hours passed, the army people laughed and danced, the +native orchestra played on, and Percival Ford wrestled with the +abrupt and overwhelming problem that had been thrust upon +him. He prayed quietly, his elbow on the table, his head +bowed upon his hand, with all the appearance of any tired +onlooker. Between the dances the army men and women and the +civilians fluttered up to him and buzzed conventionally, and when +they went back to the <i>lanai</i> he took up his wrestling where +he had left it off.</p> +<p>He began to patch together his shattered ideal of Isaac Ford, +and for cement he used a cunning and subtle logic. It was +of the sort that is compounded in the brain laboratories of +egotists, and it worked. It was incontrovertible that his +father had been made of finer clay than those about him; but +still, old Isaac had been only in the process of becoming, while +he, Percival Ford, had become. As proof of it, he +rehabilitated his father and at the same time exalted +himself. His lean little ego waxed to colossal +proportions. He was great enough to forgive. He +glowed at the thought of it. Isaac Ford had been great, but +he was greater, for he could forgive Isaac Ford and even restore +him to the holy place in his memory, though the place was not +quite so holy as it had been. Also, he applauded Isaac Ford +for having ignored the outcome of his one step aside. Very +well, he, too, would ignore it.</p> +<p>The dance was breaking up. The orchestra had finished +“Aloha Oe” and was preparing to go home. +Percival Ford clapped his hands for the Japanese servant.</p> +<p>“You tell that man I want to see him,” he said, +pointing out Joe Garland. “Tell him to come here, +now.”</p> +<p>Joe Garland approached and halted respectfully several paces +away, nervously fingering the guitar which he still +carried. The other did not ask him to sit down.</p> +<p>“You are my brother,” he said.</p> +<p>“Why, everybody knows that,” was the reply, in +tones of wonderment.</p> +<p>“Yes, so I understand,” Percival Ford said +dryly. “But I did not know it till this +evening.”</p> +<p>The half-brother waited uncomfortably in the silence that +followed, during which Percival Ford coolly considered his next +utterance.</p> +<p>“You remember that first time I came to school and the +boys ducked me?” he asked. “Why did you take my +part?”</p> +<p>The half-brother smiled bashfully.</p> +<p>“Because you knew?”</p> +<p>“Yes, that was why.”</p> +<p>“But I didn’t know,” Percival Ford said in +the same dry fashion.</p> +<p>“Yes,” the other said.</p> +<p>Another silence fell. Servants were beginning to put out +the lights on the <i>lanai</i>.</p> +<p>“You know . . . now,” the half-brother said +simply.</p> +<p>Percival Ford frowned. Then he looked the other over +with a considering eye.</p> +<p>“How much will you take to leave the Islands and never +come back?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“And never come back?” Joe Garland faltered. +“It is the only land I know. Other lands are +cold. I do not know other lands. I have many friends +here. In other lands there would not be one voice to say, +‘<i>Aloha</i>, Joe, my boy.’”</p> +<p>“I said never to come back,” Percival Ford +reiterated. “The <i>Alameda</i> sails tomorrow for +San Francisco.”</p> +<p>Joe Garland was bewildered.</p> +<p>“But why?” he asked. “You know now +that we are brothers.”</p> +<p>“That is why,” was the retort. “As you +said yourself, everybody knows. I will make it worth your +while.”</p> +<p>All awkwardness and embarrassment disappeared from Joe +Garland. Birth and station were bridged and reversed.</p> +<p>“You want me to go?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“I want you to go and never come back,” Percival +Ford answered.</p> +<p>And in that moment, flashing and fleeting, it was given him to +see his brother tower above him like a mountain, and to feel +himself dwindle and dwarf to microscopic insignificance. +But it is not well for one to see himself truly, nor can one so +see himself for long and live; and only for that flashing moment +did Percival Ford see himself and his brother in true +perspective. The next moment he was mastered by his meagre +and insatiable ego.</p> +<p>“As I said, I will make it worth your while. You +will not suffer. I will pay you well.”</p> +<p>“All right,” Joe Garland said. +“I’ll go.”</p> +<p>He started to turn away.</p> +<p>“Joe,” the other called. “You see my +lawyer tomorrow morning. Five hundred down and two hundred +a month as long as you stay away.”</p> +<p>“You are very kind,” Joe Garland answered +softly. “You are too kind. And anyway, I guess +I don’t want your money. I go tomorrow on the +<i>Alameda</i>.”</p> +<p>He walked away, but did not say good-bye.</p> +<p>Percival Ford clapped his hands.</p> +<p>“Boy,” he said to the Japanese, “a +lemonade.”</p> +<p>And over the lemonade he smiled long and contentedly to +himself.</p> +<h2>KOOLAU THE LEPER</h2> +<p>“Because we are sick they take away our liberty. +We have obeyed the law. We have done no wrong. And +yet they would put us in prison. Molokai is a prison. +That you know. Niuli, there, his sister was sent to Molokai +seven years ago. He has not seen her since. Nor will +he ever see her. She must stay there until she dies. +This is not her will. It is not Niuli’s will. +It is the will of the white men who rule the land. And who +are these white men?</p> +<p>“We know. We have it from our fathers and our +fathers’ fathers. They came like lambs, speaking +softly. Well might they speak softly, for we were many and +strong, and all the islands were ours. As I say, they spoke +softly. They were of two kinds. The one kind asked +our permission, our gracious permission, to preach to us the word +of God. The other kind asked our permission, our gracious +permission, to trade with us. That was the beginning. +Today all the islands are theirs, all the land, all the +cattle—everything is theirs. They that preached the +word of God and they that preached the word of Rum have +fore-gathered and become great chiefs. They live like kings +in houses of many rooms, with multitudes of servants to care for +them. They who had nothing have everything, and if you, or +I, or any Kanaka be hungry, they sneer and say, ‘Well, why +don’t you work? There are the +plantations.’”</p> +<p>Koolau paused. He raised one hand, and with gnarled and +twisted fingers lifted up the blazing wreath of hibiscus that +crowned his black hair. The moonlight bathed the scene in +silver. It was a night of peace, though those who sat about +him and listened had all the seeming of battle-wrecks. +Their faces were leonine. Here a space yawned in a face +where should have been a nose, and there an arm-stump showed +where a hand had rotted off. They were men and women beyond +the pale, the thirty of them, for upon them had been placed the +mark of the beast.</p> +<p>They sat, flower-garlanded, in the perfumed, luminous night, +and their lips made uncouth noises and their throats rasped +approval of Koolau’s speech. They were creatures who +once had been men and women. But they were men and women no +longer. They were monsters—in face and form grotesque +caricatures of everything human. They were hideously maimed +and distorted, and had the seeming of creatures that had been +racked in millenniums of hell. Their hands, when they +possessed them, were like harpy claws. Their faces were the +misfits and slips, crushed and bruised by some mad god at play in +the machinery of life. Here and there were features which +the mad god had smeared half away, and one woman wept scalding +tears from twin pits of horror, where her eyes once had +been. Some were in pain and groaned from their +chests. Others coughed, making sounds like the tearing of +tissue. Two were idiots, more like huge apes marred in the +making, until even an ape were an angel. They mowed and +gibbered in the moonlight, under crowns of drooping, golden +blossoms. One, whose bloated ear-lobe flapped like a fan +upon his shoulder, caught up a gorgeous flower of orange and +scarlet and with it decorated the monstrous ear that flip-flapped +with his every movement.</p> +<p>And over these things Koolau was king. And this was his +kingdom,—a flower-throttled gorge, with beetling cliffs and +crags, from which floated the blattings of wild goats. On +three sides the grim walls rose, festooned in fantastic draperies +of tropic vegetation and pierced by cave-entrances—the +rocky lairs of Koolau’s subjects. On the fourth side +the earth fell away into a tremendous abyss, and, far below, +could be seen the summits of lesser peaks and crags, at whose +bases foamed and rumbled the Pacific surge. In fine weather +a boat could land on the rocky beach that marked the entrance of +Kalalau Valley, but the weather must be very fine. And a +cool-headed mountaineer might climb from the beach to the head of +Kalalau Valley, to this pocket among the peaks where Koolau +ruled; but such a mountaineer must be very cool of head, and he +must know the wild-goat trails as well. The marvel was that +the mass of human wreckage that constituted Koolau’s people +should have been able to drag its helpless misery over the giddy +goat-trails to this inaccessible spot.</p> +<p>“Brothers,” Koolau began.</p> +<p>But one of the mowing, apelike travesties emitted a wild +shriek of madness, and Koolau waited while the shrill cachination +was tossed back and forth among the rocky walls and echoed +distantly through the pulseless night.</p> +<p>“Brothers, is it not strange? Ours was the land, +and behold, the land is not ours. What did these preachers +of the word of God and the word of Rum give us for the +land? Have you received one dollar, as much as one dollar, +any one of you, for the land? Yet it is theirs, and in +return they tell us we can go to work on the land, their land, +and that what we produce by our toil shall be theirs. Yet +in the old days we did not have to work. Also, when we are +sick, they take away our freedom.”</p> +<p>“Who brought the sickness, Koolau?” demanded +Kiloliana, a lean and wiry man with a face so like a laughing +faun’s that one might expect to see the cloven hoofs under +him. They were cloven, it was true, but the cleavages were +great ulcers and livid putrefactions. Yet this was +Kiloliana, the most daring climber of them all, the man who knew +every goat-trail and who had led Koolau and his wretched +followers into the recesses of Kalalau.</p> +<p>“Ay, well questioned,” Koolau answered. +“Because we would not work the miles of sugar-cane where +once our horses pastured, they brought the Chinese slaves from +overseas. And with them came the Chinese +sickness—that which we suffer from and because of which +they would imprison us on Molokai. We were born on +Kauai. We have been to the other islands, some here and +some there, to Oahu, to Maui, to Hawaii, to Honolulu. Yet +always did we come back to Kauai. Why did we come +back? There must be a reason. Because we love +Kauai. We were born here. Here we have lived. +And here shall we die—unless—unless—there be +weak hearts amongst us. Such we do not want. They are +fit for Molokai. And if there be such, let them not +remain. Tomorrow the soldiers land on the shore. Let +the weak hearts go down to them. They will be sent swiftly +to Molokai. As for us, we shall stay and fight. But +know that we will not die. We have rifles. You know +the narrow trails where men must creep, one by one. I, +alone, Koolau, who was once a cowboy on Niihau, can hold the +trail against a thousand men. Here is Kapalei, who was once +a judge over men and a man with honour, but who is now a hunted +rat, like you and me. Hear him. He is +wise.”</p> +<p>Kapalei arose. Once he had been a judge. He had +gone to college at Punahou. He had sat at meat with lords +and chiefs and the high representatives of alien powers who +protected the interests of traders and missionaries. Such +had been Kapalei. But now, as Koolau had said, he was a +hunted rat, a creature outside the law, sunk so deep in the mire +of human horror that he was above the law as well as beneath +it. His face was featureless, save for gaping orifices and +for the lidless eyes that burned under hairless brows.</p> +<p>“Let us not make trouble,” he began. +“We ask to be left alone. But if they do not leave us +alone, then is the trouble theirs and the penalty. My +fingers are gone, as you see.” He held up his stumps +of hands that all might see. “Yet have I the joint of +one thumb left, and it can pull a trigger as firmly as did its +lost neighbour in the old days. We love Kauai. Let us +live here, or die here, but do not let us go to the prison of +Molokai. The sickness is not ours. We have not +sinned. The men who preached the word of God and the word +of Rum brought the sickness with the coolie slaves who work the +stolen land. I have been a judge. I know the law and +the justice, and I say to you it is unjust to steal a man’s +land, to make that man sick with the Chinese sickness, and then +to put that man in prison for life.”</p> +<p>“Life is short, and the days are filled with +pain,” said Koolau. “Let us drink and dance and +be happy as we can.”</p> +<p>From one of the rocky lairs calabashes were produced and +passed round. The calabashes were filled with the fierce +distillation of the root of the <i>ti</i>-plant; and as the +liquid fire coursed through them and mounted to their brains, +they forgot that they had once been men and women, for they were +men and women once more. The woman who wept scalding tears +from open eye-pits was indeed a woman apulse with life as she +plucked the strings of an <i>ukulele</i> and lifted her voice in +a barbaric love-call such as might have come from the dark +forest-depths of the primeval world. The air tingled with +her cry, softly imperious and seductive. Upon a mat, timing +his rhythm to the woman’s song Kiloliana danced. It +was unmistakable. Love danced in all his movements, and, +next, dancing with him on the mat, was a woman whose heavy hips +and generous breast gave the lie to her disease-corroded +face. It was a dance of the living dead, for in their +disintegrating bodies life still loved and longed. Ever the +woman whose sightless eyes ran scalding tears chanted her +love-cry, ever the dancers of love danced in the warm night, and +ever the calabashes went around till in all their brains were +maggots crawling of memory and desire. And with the woman +on the mat danced a slender maid whose face was beautiful and +unmarred, but whose twisted arms that rose and fell marked the +disease’s ravage. And the two idiots, gibbering and +mouthing strange noises, danced apart, grotesque, fantastic, +travestying love as they themselves had been travestied by +life.</p> +<p>But the woman’s love-cry broke midway, the calabashes +were lowered, and the dancers ceased, as all gazed into the abyss +above the sea, where a rocket flared like a wan phantom through +the moonlit air.</p> +<p>“It is the soldiers,” said Koolau. +“Tomorrow there will be fighting. It is well to sleep +and be prepared.”</p> +<p>The lepers obeyed, crawling away to their lairs in the cliff, +until only Koolau remained, sitting motionless in the moonlight, +his rifle across his knees, as he gazed far down to the boats +landing on the beach.</p> +<p>The far head of Kalalau Valley had been well chosen as a +refuge. Except Kiloliana, who knew back-trails up the +precipitous walls, no man could win to the gorge save by +advancing across a knife-edged ridge. This passage was a +hundred yards in length. At best, it was a scant twelve +inches wide. On either side yawned the abyss. A slip, +and to right or left the man would fall to his death. But +once across he would find himself in an earthly paradise. A +sea of vegetation laved the landscape, pouring its green billows +from wall to wall, dripping from the cliff-lips in great +vine-masses, and flinging a spray of ferns and air-plants in to +the multitudinous crevices. During the many months of +Koolau’s rule, he and his followers had fought with this +vegetable sea. The choking jungle, with its riot of +blossoms, had been driven back from the bananas, oranges, and +mangoes that grew wild. In little clearings grew the wild +arrowroot; on stone terraces, filled with soil scrapings, were +the <i>taro</i> patches and the melons; and in every open space +where the sunshine penetrated were <i>papaia</i> trees burdened +with their golden fruit.</p> +<p>Koolau had been driven to this refuge from the lower valley by +the beach. And if he were driven from it in turn, he knew +of gorges among the jumbled peaks of the inner fastnesses where +he could lead his subjects and live. And now he lay with +his rifle beside him, peering down through a tangled screen of +foliage at the soldiers on the beach. He noted that they +had large guns with them, from which the sunshine flashed as from +mirrors. The knife-edged passage lay directly before +him. Crawling upward along the trail that led to it he +could see tiny specks of men. He knew they were not the +soldiers, but the police. When they failed, then the +soldiers would enter the game.</p> +<p>He affectionately rubbed a twisted hand along his rifle barrel +and made sure that the sights were clean. He had learned to +shoot as a wild-cattle hunter on Niihau, and on that island his +skill as a marksman was unforgotten. As the toiling specks +of men grew nearer and larger, he estimated the range, judged the +deflection of the wind that swept at right angles across the line +of fire, and calculated the chances of overshooting marks that +were so far below his level. But he did not shoot. +Not until they reached the beginning of the passage did he make +his presence known. He did not disclose himself, but spoke +from the thicket.</p> +<p>“What do you want?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“We want Koolau, the leper,” answered the man who +led the native police, himself a blue-eyed American.</p> +<p>“You must go back,” Koolau said.</p> +<p>He knew the man, a deputy sheriff, for it was by him that he +had been harried out of Niihau, across Kauai, to Kalalau Valley, +and out of the valley to the gorge.</p> +<p>“Who are you?” the sheriff asked.</p> +<p>“I am Koolau, the leper,” was the reply.</p> +<p>“Then come out. We want you. Dead or alive, +there is a thousand dollars on your head. You cannot +escape.”</p> +<p>Koolau laughed aloud in the thicket.</p> +<p>“Come out!” the sheriff commanded, and was +answered by silence.</p> +<p>He conferred with the police, and Koolau saw that they were +preparing to rush him.</p> +<p>“Koolau,” the sheriff called. “Koolau, +I am coming across to get you.”</p> +<p>“Then look first and well about you at the sun and sea +and sky, for it will be the last time you behold them.”</p> +<p>“That’s all right, Koolau,” the sheriff said +soothingly. “I know you’re a dead shot. +But you won’t shoot me. I have never done you any +wrong.”</p> +<p>Koolau grunted in the thicket.</p> +<p>“I say, you know, I’ve never done you any wrong, +have I?” the sheriff persisted.</p> +<p>“You do me wrong when you try to put me in +prison,” was the reply. “And you do me wrong +when you try for the thousand dollars on my head. If you +will live, stay where you are.”</p> +<p>“I’ve got to come across and get you. +I’m sorry. But it is my duty.”</p> +<p>“You will die before you get across.”</p> +<p>The sheriff was no coward. Yet was he undecided. +He gazed into the gulf on either side and ran his eyes along the +knife-edge he must travel. Then he made up his mind.</p> +<p>“Koolau,” he called.</p> +<p>But the thicket remained silent.</p> +<p>“Koolau, don’t shoot. I am +coming.”</p> +<p>The sheriff turned, gave some orders to the police, then +started on his perilous way. He advanced slowly. It +was like walking a tight rope. He had nothing to lean upon +but the air. The lava rock crumbled under his feet, and on +either side the dislodged fragments pitched downward through the +depths. The sun blazed upon him, and his face was wet with +sweat. Still he advanced, until the halfway point was +reached.</p> +<p>“Stop!” Koolau commanded from the thicket. +“One more step and I shoot.”</p> +<p>The sheriff halted, swaying for balance as he stood poised +above the void. His face was pale, but his eyes were +determined. He licked his dry lips before he spoke.</p> +<p>“Koolau, you won’t shoot me. I know you +won’t.”</p> +<p>He started once more. The bullet whirled him half +about. On his face was an expression of querulous surprise +as he reeled to the fall. He tried to save himself by +throwing his body across the knife-edge; but at that moment he +knew death. The next moment the knife-edge was +vacant. Then came the rush, five policemen, in single file, +with superb steadiness, running along the knife-edge. At +the same instant the rest of the posse opened fire on the +thicket. It was madness. Five times Koolau pulled the +trigger, so rapidly that his shots constituted a rattle. +Changing his position and crouching low under the bullets that +were biting and singing through the bushes, he peered out. +Four of the police had followed the sheriff. The fifth lay +across the knife-edge still alive. On the farther side, no +longer firing, were the surviving police. On the naked rock +there was no hope for them. Before they could clamber down +Koolau could have picked off the last man. But he did not +fire, and, after a conference, one of them took off a white +undershirt and waved it as a flag. Followed by another, he +advanced along the knife-edge to their wounded comrade. +Koolau gave no sign, but watched them slowly withdraw and become +specks as they descended into the lower valley.</p> +<p>Two hours later, from another thicket, Koolau watched a body +of police trying to make the ascent from the opposite side of the +valley. He saw the wild goats flee before them as they +climbed higher and higher, until he doubted his judgment and sent +for Kiloliana, who crawled in beside him.</p> +<p>“No, there is no way,” said Kiloliana.</p> +<p>“The goats?” Koolau questioned.</p> +<p>“They come over from the next valley, but they cannot +pass to this. There is no way. Those men are not +wiser than goats. They may fall to their deaths. Let +us watch.”</p> +<p>“They are brave men,” said Koolau. +“Let us watch.”</p> +<p>Side by side they lay among the morning-glories, with the +yellow blossoms of the <i>hau</i> dropping upon them from +overhead, watching the motes of men toil upward, till the thing +happened, and three of them, slipping, rolling, sliding, dashed +over a cliff-lip and fell sheer half a thousand feet.</p> +<p>Kiloliana chuckled.</p> +<p>“We will be bothered no more,” he said.</p> +<p>“They have war guns,” Koolau made answer. +“The soldiers have not yet spoken.”</p> +<p>In the drowsy afternoon, most of the lepers lay in their rock +dens asleep. Koolau, his rifle on his knees, fresh-cleaned +and ready, dozed in the entrance to his own den. The maid +with the twisted arms lay below in the thicket and kept watch on +the knife-edge passage. Suddenly Koolau was startled wide +awake by the sound of an explosion on the beach. The next +instant the atmosphere was incredibly rent asunder. The +terrible sound frightened him. It was as if all the gods +had caught the envelope of the sky in their hands and were +ripping it apart as a woman rips apart a sheet of cotton +cloth. But it was such an immense ripping, growing swiftly +nearer. Koolau glanced up apprehensively, as if expecting +to see the thing. Then high up on the cliff overhead the +shell burst in a fountain of black smoke. The rock was +shattered, the fragments falling to the foot of the cliff.</p> +<p>Koolau passed his hand across his sweaty brow. He was +terribly shaken. He had had no experience with shell-fire, +and this was more dreadful than anything he had imagined.</p> +<p>“One,” said Kapahei, suddenly bethinking himself +to keep count.</p> +<p>A second and a third shell flew screaming over the top of the +wall, bursting beyond view. Kapahei methodically kept the +count. The lepers crowded into the open space before the +caves. At first they were frightened, but as the shells +continued their flight overhead the leper folk became reassured +and began to admire the spectacle.</p> +<p>The two idiots shrieked with delight, prancing wild antics as +each air-tormenting shell went by. Koolau began to recover +his confidence. No damage was being done. Evidently +they could not aim such large missiles at such long range with +the precision of a rifle.</p> +<p>But a change came over the situation. The shells began +to fall short. One burst below in the thicket by the +knife-edge. Koolau remembered the maid who lay there on +watch, and ran down to see. The smoke was still rising from +the bushes when he crawled in. He was astounded. The +branches were splintered and broken. Where the girl had +lain was a hole in the ground. The girl herself was in +shattered fragments. The shell had burst right on her.</p> +<p>First peering out to make sure no soldiers were attempting the +passage, Koolau started back on the run for the caves. All +the time the shells were moaning, whining, screaming by, and the +valley was rumbling and reverberating with the explosions. +As he came in sight of the caves, he saw the two idiots cavorting +about, clutching each other’s hands with their stumps of +fingers. Even as he ran, Koolau saw a spout of black smoke +rise from the ground, near to the idiots. They were flung +apart bodily by the explosion. One lay motionless, but the +other was dragging himself by his hands toward the cave. +His legs trailed out helplessly behind him, while the blood was +pouring from his body. He seemed bathed in blood, and as he +crawled he cried like a little dog. The rest of the lepers, +with the exception of Kapahei, had fled into the caves.</p> +<p>“Seventeen,” said Kapahei. +“Eighteen,” he added.</p> +<p>This last shell had fairly entered into one of the +caves. The explosion caused the caves to empty. But +from the particular cave no one emerged. Koolau crept in +through the pungent, acrid smoke. Four bodies, frightfully +mangled, lay about. One of them was the sightless woman +whose tears till now had never ceased.</p> +<p>Outside, Koolau found his people in a panic and already +beginning to climb the goat-trail that led out of the gorge and +on among the jumbled heights and chasms. The wounded idiot, +whining feebly and dragging himself along on the ground by his +hands, was trying to follow. But at the first pitch of the +wall his helplessness overcame him and he fell back.</p> +<p>“It would be better to kill him,” said Koolau to +Kapahei, who still sat in the same place.</p> +<p>“Twenty-two,” Kapahei answered. “Yes, +it would be a wise thing to kill him. +Twenty-three—twenty-four.”</p> +<p>The idiot whined sharply when he saw the rifle levelled at +him. Koolau hesitated, then lowered the gun.</p> +<p>“It is a hard thing to do,” he said.</p> +<p>“You are a fool, twenty-six, twenty-seven,” said +Kapahei. “Let me show you.”</p> +<p>He arose, and with a heavy fragment of rock in his hand, +approached the wounded thing. As he lifted his arm to +strike, a shell burst full upon him, relieving him of the +necessity of the act and at the same time putting an end to his +count.</p> +<p>Koolau was alone in the gorge. He watched the last of +his people drag their crippled bodies over the brow of the height +and disappear. Then he turned and went down to the thicket +where the maid had keen killed. The shell-fire still +continued, but he remained; for far below he could see the +soldiers climbing up. A shell burst twenty feet away. +Flattening himself into the earth, he heard the rush of the +fragments above his body. A shower of hau blossoms rained +upon him. He lifted his head to peer down the trail, and +sighed. He was very much afraid. Bullets from rifles +would not have worried him, but this shell-fire was +abominable. Each time a shell shrieked by he shivered and +crouched; but each time he lifted his head again to watch the +trail.</p> +<p>At last the shells ceased. This, he reasoned, was +because the soldiers were drawing near. They crept along +the trail in single file, and he tried to count them until he +lost track. At any rate, there were a hundred or so of +them—all come after Koolau the leper. He felt a +fleeting prod of pride. With war guns and rifles, police +and soldiers, they came for him, and he was only one man, a +crippled wreck of a man at that. They offered a thousand +dollars for him, dead or alive. In all his life he had +never possessed that much money. The thought was a bitter +one. Kapahei had been right. He, Koolau, had done no +wrong. Because the <i>haoles</i> wanted labour with which +to work the stolen land, they had brought in the Chinese coolies, +and with them had come the sickness. And now, because he +had caught the sickness, he was worth a thousand +dollars—but not to himself. It was his worthless +carcass, rotten with disease or dead from a bursting shell, that +was worth all that money.</p> +<p>When the soldiers reached the knife-edged passage, he was +prompted to warn them. But his gaze fell upon the body of +the murdered maid, and he kept silent. When six had +ventured on the knife-edge, he opened fire. Nor did he +cease when the knife-edge was bare. He emptied his +magazine, reloaded, and emptied it again. He kept on +shooting. All his wrongs were blazing in his brain, and he +was in a fury of vengeance. All down the goat-trail the +soldiers were firing, and though they lay flat and sought to +shelter themselves in the shallow inequalities of the surface, +they were exposed marks to him. Bullets whistled and +thudded about him, and an occasional ricochet sang sharply +through the air. One bullet ploughed a crease through his +scalp, and a second burned across his shoulder-blade without +breaking the skin.</p> +<p>It was a massacre, in which one man did the killing. The +soldiers began to retreat, helping along their wounded. As +Koolau picked them off he became aware of the smell of burnt +meat. He glanced about him at first, and then discovered +that it was his own hands. The heat of the rifle was doing +it. The leprosy had destroyed most of the nerves in his +hands. Though his flesh burned and he smelled it, there was +no sensation.</p> +<p>He lay in the thicket, smiling, until he remembered the war +guns. Without doubt they would open upon him again, and +this time upon the very thicket from which he had inflicted the +danger. Scarcely had he changed his position to a nook +behind a small shoulder of the wall where he had noted that no +shells fell, than the bombardment recommenced. He counted +the shells. Sixty more were thrown into the gorge before +the war-guns ceased. The tiny area was pitted with their +explosions, until it seemed impossible that any creature could +have survived. So the soldiers thought, for, under the +burning afternoon sun, they climbed the goat-trail again. +And again the knife-edged passage was disputed, and again they +fell back to the beach.</p> +<p>For two days longer Koolau held the passage, though the +soldiers contented themselves with flinging shells into his +retreat. Then Pahau, a leper boy, came to the top of the +wall at the back of the gorge and shouted down to him that +Kiloliana, hunting goats that they might eat, had been killed by +a fall, and that the women were frightened and knew not what to +do. Koolau called the boy down and left him with a spare +gun with which to guard the passage. Koolau found his +people disheartened. The majority of them were too helpless +to forage food for themselves under such forbidding +circumstances, and all were starving. He selected two women +and a man who were not too far gone with the disease, and sent +them back to the gorge to bring up food and mats. The rest +he cheered and consoled until even the weakest took a hand in +building rough shelters for themselves.</p> +<p>But those he had dispatched for food did not return, and he +started back for the gorge. As he came out on the brow of +the wall, half a dozen rifles cracked. A bullet tore +through the fleshy part of his shoulder, and his cheek was cut by +a sliver of rock where a second bullet smashed against the +cliff. In the moment that this happened, and he leaped +back, he saw that the gorge was alive with soldiers. His +own people had betrayed him. The shell-fire had been too +terrible, and they had preferred the prison of Molokai.</p> +<p>Koolau dropped back and unslung one of his heavy +cartridge-belts. Lying among the rocks, he allowed the head +and shoulders of the first soldier to rise clearly into view +before pulling trigger. Twice this happened, and then, +after some delay, in place of a head and shoulders a white flag +was thrust above the edge of the wall.</p> +<p>“What do you want?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“I want you, if you are Koolau the leper,” came +the answer.</p> +<p>Koolau forgot where he was, forgot everything, as he lay and +marvelled at the strange persistence of these <i>haoles</i> who +would have their will though the sky fell in. Aye, they +would have their will over all men and all things, even though +they died in getting it. He could not but admire them, too, +what of that will in them that was stronger than life and that +bent all things to their bidding. He was convinced of the +hopelessness of his struggle. There was no gainsaying that +terrible will of the <i>haoles</i>. Though he killed a +thousand, yet would they rise like the sands of the sea and come +upon him, ever more and more. They never knew when they +were beaten. That was their fault and their virtue. +It was where his own kind lacked. He could see, now, how +the handful of the preachers of God and the preachers of Rum had +conquered the land. It was because—</p> +<p>“Well, what have you got to say? Will you come +with me?”</p> +<p>It was he voice of the invisible man under the white +flag. There he was, like any haole, driving straight toward +the end determined.</p> +<p>“Let us talk,” said Koolau.</p> +<p>The man’s head and shoulders arose, then his whole +body. He was a smooth-faced, blue-eyed youngster of +twenty-five, slender and natty in his captain’s +uniform. He advanced until halted, then seated himself a +dozen feet away.</p> +<p>“You are a brave man,” said Koolau +wonderingly. “I could kill you like a fly.”</p> +<p>“No, you couldn’t,” was the answer.</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Because you are a man, Koolau, though a bad one. +I know your story. You kill fairly.”</p> +<p>Koolau grunted, but was secretly pleased.</p> +<p>“What have you done with my people?” he +demanded. “The boy, the two women, and the +man?”</p> +<p>“They gave themselves up, as I have now come for you to +do.”</p> +<p>Koolau laughed incredulously.</p> +<p>“I am a free man,” he announced. “I +have done no wrong. All I ask is to be left alone. I +have lived free, and I shall die free. I will never give +myself up.”</p> +<p>“Then your people are wiser than you,” answered +the young captain. “Look—they are coming +now.”</p> +<p>Koolau turned and watched the remnant of his band +approach. Groaning and sighing, a ghastly procession, it +dragged its wretchedness past. It was given to Koolau to +taste a deeper bitterness, for they hurled imprecations and +insults at him as they went by; and the panting hag who brought +up the rear halted, and with skinny, harpy-claws extended, +shaking her snarling death’s head from side to side, she +laid a curse upon him. One by one they dropped over the +lip-edge and surrendered to the hiding soldiers.</p> +<p>“You can go now,” said Koolau to the +captain. “I will never give myself up. That is +my last word. Good-bye.”</p> +<p>The captain slipped over the cliff to his soldiers. The +next moment, and without a flag of truce, he hoisted his hat on +his scabbard, and Koolau’s bullet tore through it. +That afternoon they shelled him out from the beach, and as he +retreated into the high inaccessible pockets beyond, the soldiers +followed him.</p> +<p>For six weeks they hunted him from pocket to pocket, over the +volcanic peaks and along the goat-trails. When he hid in +the lantana jungle, they formed lines of beaters, and through +lantana jungle and guava scrub they drove him like a +rabbit. But ever he turned and doubled and eluded. +There was no cornering him. When pressed too closely, his +sure rifle held them back and they carried their wounded down the +goat-trails to the beach. There were times when they did +the shooting as his brown body showed for a moment through the +underbrush. Once, five of them caught him on an exposed +goat-trail between pockets. They emptied their rifles at +him as he limped and climbed along his dizzy way. +Afterwards they found bloodstains and knew that he was +wounded. At the end of six weeks they gave up. The +soldiers and police returned to Honolulu, and Kalalau Valley was +left to him for his own, though head-hunters ventured after him +from time to time and to their own undoing.</p> +<p>Two years later, and for the last time, Koolau crawled into a +thicket and lay down among the <i>ti</i>-leaves and wild ginger +blossoms. Free he had lived, and free he was dying. A +slight drizzle of rain began to fall, and he drew a ragged +blanket about the distorted wreck of his limbs. His body +was covered with an oilskin coat. Across his chest he laid +his Mauser rifle, lingering affectionately for a moment to wipe +the dampness from the barrel. The hand with which he wiped +had no fingers left upon it with which to pull the trigger.</p> +<p>He closed his eyes, for, from the weakness in his body and the +fuzzy turmoil in his brain, he knew that his end was near. +Like a wild animal he had crept into hiding to die. +Half-conscious, aimless and wandering, he lived back in his life +to his early manhood on Niihau. As life faded and the drip +of the rain grew dim in his ears it seemed to him that he was +once more in the thick of the horse-breaking, with raw colts +rearing and bucking under him, his stirrups tied together +beneath, or charging madly about the breaking corral and driving +the helping cowboys over the rails. The next instant, and +with seeming naturalness, he found himself pursuing the wild +bulls of the upland pastures, roping them and leading them down +to the valleys. Again the sweat and dust of the branding +pen stung his eyes and bit his nostrils.</p> +<p>All his lusty, whole-bodied youth was his, until the sharp +pangs of impending dissolution brought him back. He lifted +his monstrous hands and gazed at them in wonder. But +how? Why? Why should the wholeness of that wild youth +of his change to this? Then he remembered, and once again, +and for a moment, he was Koolau, the leper. His eyelids +fluttered wearily down and the drip of the rain ceased in his +ears. A prolonged trembling set up in his body. This, +too, ceased. He half-lifted his head, but it fell +back. Then his eyes opened, and did not close. His +last thought was of his Mauser, and he pressed it against his +chest with his folded, fingerless hands.</p> +<h2>GOOD-BYE, JACK</h2> +<p>Hawaii is a queer place. Everything socially is what I +may call topsy-turvy. Not but what things are +correct. They are almost too much so. But still +things are sort of upside down. The most ultra-exclusive +set there is the “Missionary Crowd.” It comes +with rather a shock to learn that in Hawaii the obscure +martyrdom-seeking missionary sits at the head of the table of the +moneyed aristocracy. But it is true. The humble New +Englanders who came out in the third decade of the nineteenth +century, came for the lofty purpose of teaching the kanakas the +true religion, the worship of the one only genuine and undeniable +God. So well did they succeed in this, and also in +civilizing the kanaka, that by the second or third generation he +was practically extinct. This being the fruit of the seed +of the Gospel, the fruit of the seed of the missionaries (the +sons and the grandsons) was the possession of the islands +themselves,—of the land, the ports, the town sites, and the +sugar plantations: The missionary who came to give the +bread of life remained to gobble up the whole heathen feast.</p> +<p>But that is not the Hawaiian queerness I started out to +tell. Only one cannot speak of things Hawaiian without +mentioning the missionaries. There is Jack Kersdale, the +man I wanted to tell about; he came of missionary stock. +That is, on his grandmother’s side. His grandfather +was old Benjamin Kersdale, a Yankee trader, who got his start for +a million in the old days by selling cheap whiskey and +square-face gin. There’s another queer thing. +The old missionaries and old traders were mortal enemies. +You see, their interests conflicted. But their children +made it up by intermarrying and dividing the island between +them.</p> +<p>Life in Hawaii is a song. That’s the way Stoddard +put it in his “Hawaii Noi”:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Thy life is music—Fate the notes +prolong!<br /> +Each isle a stanza, and the whole a song.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And he was right. Flesh is golden there. The +native women are sun-ripe Junos, the native men bronzed +Apollos. They sing, and dance, and all are +flower-bejewelled and flower-crowned. And, outside the +rigid “Missionary Crowd,” the white men yield to the +climate and the sun, and no matter how busy they may be, are +prone to dance and sing and wear flowers behind their ears and in +their hair. Jack Kersdale was one of these fellows. +He was one of the busiest men I ever met. He was a +several-times millionaire. He was a sugar-king, a coffee +planter, a rubber pioneer, a cattle rancher, and a promoter of +three out of every four new enterprises launched in the +islands. He was a society man, a club man, a yachtsman, a +bachelor, and withal as handsome a man as was ever doted upon by +mammas with marriageable daughters. Incidentally, he had +finished his education at Yale, and his head was crammed fuller +with vital statistics and scholarly information concerning Hawaii +Nei than any other islander I ever encountered. He turned +off an immense amount of work, and he sang and danced and put +flowers in his hair as immensely as any of the idlers. He +had grit, and had fought two duels—both, +political—when he was no more than a raw youth essaying his +first adventures in politics. In fact, he played a most +creditable and courageous part in the last revolution, when the +native dynasty was overthrown; and he could not have been over +sixteen at the time. I am pointing out that he was no +coward, in order that you may appreciate what happens later +on. I’ve seen him in the breaking yard at the +Haleakala Ranch, conquering a four-year-old brute that for two +years had defied the pick of Von Tempsky’s cow-boys. +And I must tell of one other thing. It was down in +Kona,—or up, rather, for the Kona people scorn to live at +less than a thousand feet elevation. We were all on the +<i>lanai</i> of Doctor Goodhue’s bungalow. I was +talking with Dottie Fairchild when it happened. A big +centipede—it was seven inches, for we measured it +afterwards—fell from the rafters overhead squarely into her +coiffure. I confess, the hideousness of it paralysed +me. I couldn’t move. My mind refused to +work. There, within two feet of me, the ugly venomous devil +was writhing in her hair. It threatened at any moment to +fall down upon her exposed shoulders—we had just come out +from dinner.</p> +<p>“What is it?” she asked, starting to raise her +hand to her head.</p> +<p>“Don’t!” I cried. +“Don’t!”</p> +<p>“But what is it?” she insisted, growing frightened +by the fright she read in my eyes and on my stammering lips.</p> +<p>My exclamation attracted Kersdale’s attention. He +glanced our way carelessly, but in that glance took in +everything. He came over to us, but without haste.</p> +<p>“Please don’t move, Dottie,” he said +quietly.</p> +<p>He never hesitated, nor did he hurry and make a bungle of +it.</p> +<p>“Allow me,” he said.</p> +<p>And with one hand he caught her scarf and drew it tightly +around her shoulders so that the centipede could not fall inside +her bodice. With the other hand—the right—he +reached into her hair, caught the repulsive abomination as near +as he was able by the nape of the neck, and held it tightly +between thumb and forefinger as he withdrew it from her +hair. It was as horrible and heroic a sight as man could +wish to see. It made my flesh crawl. The centipede, +seven inches of squirming legs, writhed and twisted and dashed +itself about his hand, the body twining around the fingers and +the legs digging into the skin and scratching as the beast +endeavoured to free itself. It bit him twice—I saw +it—though he assured the ladies that he was not harmed as +he dropped it upon the walk and stamped it into the gravel. +But I saw him in the surgery five minutes afterwards, with Doctor +Goodhue scarifying the wounds and injecting permanganate of +potash. The next morning Kersdale’s arm was as big as +a barrel, and it was three weeks before the swelling went +down.</p> +<p>All of which has nothing to do with my story, but which I +could not avoid giving in order to show that Jack Kersdale was +anything but a coward. It was the cleanest exhibition of +grit I have ever seen. He never turned a hair. The +smile never left his lips. And he dived with thumb and +forefinger into Dottie Fairchild’s hair as gaily as if it +had been a box of salted almonds. Yet that was the man I +was destined to see stricken with a fear a thousand times more +hideous even than the fear that was mine when I saw that writhing +abomination in Dottie Fairchild’s hair, dangling over her +eyes and the trap of her bodice.</p> +<p>I was interested in leprosy, and upon that, as upon every +other island subject, Kersdale had encyclopedic knowledge. +In fact, leprosy was one of his hobbies. He was an ardent +defender of the settlement at Molokai, where all the island +lepers were segregated. There was much talk and feeling +among the natives, fanned by the demagogues, concerning the +cruelties of Molokai, where men and women, not alone banished +from friends and family, were compelled to live in perpetual +imprisonment until they died. There were no reprieves, no +commutations of sentences. “Abandon hope” was +written over the portal of Molokai.</p> +<p>“I tell you they are happy there,” Kersdale +insisted. “And they are infinitely better off than +their friends and relatives outside who have nothing the matter +with them. The horrors of Molokai are all poppycock. +I can take you through any hospital or any slum in any of the +great cities of the world and show you a thousand times worse +horrors. The living death! The creatures that once +were men! Bosh! You ought to see those living deaths +racing horses on the Fourth of July. Some of them own +boats. One has a gasoline launch. They have nothing +to do but have a good time. Food, shelter, clothes, medical +attendance, everything, is theirs. They are the wards of +the Territory. They have a much finer climate than +Honolulu, and the scenery is magnificent. I shouldn’t +mind going down there myself for the rest of my days. It is +a lovely spot.”</p> +<p>So Kersdale on the joyous leper. He was not afraid of +leprosy. He said so himself, and that there wasn’t +one chance in a million for him or any other white man to catch +it, though he confessed afterward that one of his school chums, +Alfred Starter, had contracted it, gone to Molokai, and there +died.</p> +<p>“You know, in the old days,” Kersdale explained, +“there was no certain test for leprosy. Anything +unusual or abnormal was sufficient to send a fellow to +Molokai. The result was that dozens were sent there who +were no more lepers than you or I. But they don’t +make that mistake now. The Board of Health tests are +infallible. The funny thing is that when the test was +discovered they immediately went down to Molokai and applied it, +and they found a number who were not lepers. These were +immediately deported. Happy to get away? They wailed +harder at leaving the settlement than when they left Honolulu to +go to it. Some refused to leave, and really had to be +forced out. One of them even married a leper woman in the +last stages and then wrote pathetic letters to the Board of +Health, protesting against his expulsion on the ground that no +one was so well able as he to take care of his poor old +wife.”</p> +<p>“What is this infallible test?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“The bacteriological test. There is no getting +away from it. Doctor Hervey—he’s our expert, +you know—was the first man to apply it here. He is a +wizard. He knows more about leprosy than any living man, +and if a cure is ever discovered, he’ll be that +discoverer. As for the test, it is very simple. They +have succeeded in isolating the <i>bacillus leprae</i> and +studying it. They know it now when they see it. All +they do is to snip a bit of skin from the suspect and subject it +to the bacteriological test. A man without any visible +symptoms may be chock full of the leprosy bacilli.”</p> +<p>“Then you or I, for all we know,” I suggested, +“may be full of it now.”</p> +<p>Kersdale shrugged his shoulders and laughed.</p> +<p>“Who can say? It takes seven years for it to +incubate. If you have any doubts go and see Doctor +Hervey. He’ll just snip out a piece of your skin and +let you know in a jiffy.”</p> +<p>Later on he introduced me to Dr. Hervey, who loaded me down +with Board of Health reports and pamphlets on the subject, and +took me out to Kalihi, the Honolulu receiving station, where +suspects were examined and confirmed lepers were held for +deportation to Molokai. These deportations occurred about +once a month, when, the last good-byes said, the lepers were +marched on board the little steamer, the <i>Noeau</i>, and +carried down to the settlement.</p> +<p>One afternoon, writing letters at the club, Jack Kersdale +dropped in on me.</p> +<p>“Just the man I want to see,” was his +greeting. “I’ll show you the saddest aspect of +the whole situation—the lepers wailing as they depart for +Molokai. The <i>Noeau</i> will be taking them on board in a +few minutes. But let me warn you not to let your feelings +be harrowed. Real as their grief is, they’d wail a +whole sight harder a year hence if the Board of Health tried to +take them away from Molokai. We’ve just time for a +whiskey and soda. I’ve a carriage outside. It +won’t take us five minutes to get down to the +wharf.”</p> +<p>To the wharf we drove. Some forty sad wretches, amid +their mats, blankets, and luggage of various sorts, were +squatting on the stringer piece. The Noeau had just arrived +and was making fast to a lighter that lay between her and the +wharf. A Mr. McVeigh, the superintendent of the settlement, +was overseeing the embarkation, and to him I was introduced, also +to Dr. Georges, one of the Board of Health physicians whom I had +already met at Kalihi. The lepers were a woebegone +lot. The faces of the majority were hideous—too +horrible for me to describe. But here and there I noticed +fairly good-looking persons, with no apparent signs of the fell +disease upon them. One, I noticed, a little white girl, not +more than twelve, with blue eyes and golden hair. One +cheek, however, showed the leprous bloat. On my remarking +on the sadness of her alien situation among the brown-skinned +afflicted ones, Doctor Georges replied:—</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a happy day in +her life. She comes from Kauai. Her father is a +brute. And now that she has developed the disease she is +going to join her mother at the settlement. Her mother was +sent down three years ago—a very bad case.”</p> +<p>“You can’t always tell from appearances,” +Mr. McVeigh explained. “That man there, that big +chap, who looks the pink of condition, with nothing the matter +with him, I happen to know has a perforating ulcer in his foot +and another in his shoulder-blade. Then there are +others—there, see that girl’s hand, the one who is +smoking the cigarette. See her twisted fingers. +That’s the anæsthetic form. It attacks the +nerves. You could cut her fingers off with a dull knife, or +rub them off on a nutmeg-grater, and she would not experience the +slightest sensation.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but that fine-looking woman, there,” I +persisted; “surely, surely, there can’t be anything +the matter with her. She is too glorious and gorgeous +altogether.”</p> +<p>“A sad case,” Mr. McVeigh answered over his +shoulder, already turning away to walk down the wharf with +Kersdale.</p> +<p>She was a beautiful woman, and she was pure Polynesian. +From my meagre knowledge of the race and its types I could not +but conclude that she had descended from old chief stock. +She could not have been more than twenty-three or four. Her +lines and proportions were magnificent, and she was just +beginning to show the amplitude of the women of her race.</p> +<p>“It was a blow to all of us,” Dr. Georges +volunteered. “She gave herself up voluntarily, +too. No one suspected. But somehow she had contracted +the disease. It broke us all up, I assure you. +We’ve kept it out of the papers, though. Nobody but +us and her family knows what has become of her. In fact, if +you were to ask any man in Honolulu, he’d tell you it was +his impression that she was somewhere in Europe. It was at +her request that we’ve been so quiet about it. Poor +girl, she has a lot of pride.”</p> +<p>“But who is she?” I asked. “Certainly, +from the way you talk about her, she must be somebody.”</p> +<p>“Did you ever hear of Lucy Mokunui?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Lucy Mokunui?” I repeated, haunted by some +familiar association. I shook my head. “It +seems to me I’ve heard the name, but I’ve forgotten +it.”</p> +<p>“Never heard of Lucy Mokunui! The Hawaiian +nightingale! I beg your pardon. Of course you are a +<i>malahini</i>, <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1" +class="citation">[1]</a> and could not be expected to know. +Well, Lucy Mokunui was the best beloved of Honolulu—of all +Hawaii, for that matter.”</p> +<p>“You say was,” I interrupted.</p> +<p>“And I mean it. She is finished.” He +shrugged his shoulders pityingly. “A dozen +<i>haoles</i>—I beg your pardon, white men—have lost +their hearts to her at one time or another. And I’m +not counting in the ruck. The dozen I refer to were +<i>haoles</i> of position and prominence.”</p> +<p>“She could have married the son of the Chief Justice if +she’d wanted to. You think she’s beautiful, +eh? But you should hear her sing. Finest native woman +singer in Hawaii Nei. Her throat is pure silver and melted +sunshine. We adored her. She toured America first +with the Royal Hawaiian Band. After that she made two more +trips on her own—concert work.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” I cried. “I remember now. +I heard her two years ago at the Boston Symphony. So that +is she. I recognize her now.”</p> +<p>I was oppressed by a heavy sadness. Life was a futile +thing at best. A short two years and this magnificent +creature, at the summit of her magnificent success, was one of +the leper squad awaiting deportation to Molokai. +Henley’s lines came into my mind:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The poor old tramp explains his poor old +ulcers;<br /> +Life is, I think, a blunder and a shame.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I recoiled from my own future. If this awful fate fell +to Lucy Mokunui, what might my lot not be?—or +anybody’s lot? I was thoroughly aware that in life we +are in the midst of death—but to be in the midst of living +death, to die and not be dead, to be one of that draft of +creatures that once were men, aye, and women, like Lucy Mokunui, +the epitome of all Polynesian charms, an artist as well, and well +beloved of men—. I am afraid I must have betrayed my +perturbation, for Doctor Georges hastened to assure me that they +were very happy down in the settlement.</p> +<p>It was all too inconceivably monstrous. I could not bear +to look at her. A short distance away, behind a stretched +rope guarded by a policeman, were the lepers’ relatives and +friends. They were not allowed to come near. There +were no last embraces, no kisses of farewell. They called +back and forth to one another—last messages, last words of +love, last reiterated instructions. And those behind the +rope looked with terrible intensity. It was the last time +they would behold the faces of their loved ones, for they were +the living dead, being carted away in the funeral ship to the +graveyard of Molokai.</p> +<p>Doctor Georges gave the command, and the unhappy wretches +dragged themselves to their feet and under their burdens of +luggage began to stagger across the lighter and aboard the +steamer. It was the funeral procession. At once the +wailing started from those behind the rope. It was +blood-curdling; it was heart-rending. I never heard such +woe, and I hope never to again. Kersdale and McVeigh were +still at the other end of the wharf, talking +earnestly—politics, of course, for both were +head-over-heels in that particular game. When Lucy Mokunui +passed me, I stole a look at her. She <i>was</i> +beautiful. She was beautiful by our standards, as +well—one of those rare blossoms that occur but once in +generations. And she, of all women, was doomed to +Molokai. She straight on board, and aft on the open deck +where the lepers huddled by the rail, wailing now, to their dear +ones on shore.</p> +<p>The lines were cast off, and the <i>Noeau</i> began to move +away from the wharf. The wailing increased. Such +grief and despair! I was just resolving that never again +would I be a witness to the sailing of the <i>Noeau</i>, when +McVeigh and Kersdale returned. The latter’s eyes were +sparkling, and his lips could not quite hide the smile of delight +that was his. Evidently the politics they had talked had +been satisfactory. The rope had been flung aside, and the +lamenting relatives now crowded the stringer piece on either side +of us.</p> +<p>“That’s her mother,” Doctor Georges +whispered, indicating an old woman next to me, who was rocking +back and forth and gazing at the steamer rail out of tear-blinded +eyes. I noticed that Lucy Mokunui was also wailing. +She stopped abruptly and gazed at Kersdale. Then she +stretched forth her arms in that adorable, sensuous way that Olga +Nethersole has of embracing an audience. And with arms +outspread, she cried:</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Jack! Good-bye!”</p> +<p>He heard the cry, and looked. Never was a man overtaken +by more crushing fear. He reeled on the stringer piece, his +face went white to the roots of his hair, and he seemed to shrink +and wither away inside his clothes. He threw up his hands +and groaned, “My God! My God!” Then he +controlled himself by a great effort.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Lucy! Good-bye!” he called.</p> +<p>And he stood there on the wharf, waving his hands to her till +the <i>Noeau</i> was clear away and the faces lining her +after-rail were vague and indistinct.</p> +<p>“I thought you knew,” said McVeigh, who had been +regarding him curiously. “You, of all men, should +have known. I thought that was why you were +here.”</p> +<p>“I know now,” Kersdale answered with immense +gravity. “Where’s the carriage?”</p> +<p>He walked rapidly—half-ran—to it. I had to +half-run myself to keep up with him.</p> +<p>“Drive to Doctor Hervey’s,” he told the +driver. “Drive as fast as you can.”</p> +<p>He sank down in a seat, panting and gasping. The pallor +of his face had increased. His lips were compressed and the +sweat was standing out on his forehead and upper lip. He +seemed in some horrible agony.</p> +<p>“For God’s sake, Martin, make those horses +go!” he broke out suddenly. “Lay the whip into +them!—do you hear?—lay the whip into them!”</p> +<p>“They’ll break, sir,” the driver +remonstrated.</p> +<p>“Let them break,” Kersdale answered. +“I’ll pay your fine and square you with the +police. Put it to them. That’s right. +Faster! Faster!”</p> +<p>“And I never knew, I never knew,” he muttered, +sinking back in the seat and with trembling hands wiping the +sweat away.</p> +<p>The carriage was bouncing, swaying and lurching around corners +at such a wild pace as to make conversation impossible. +Besides, there was nothing to say. But I could hear him +muttering over and over, “And I never knew. I never +knew.”</p> +<h2>ALOHA OE</h2> +<p>Never are there such departures as from the dock at +Honolulu. The great transport lay with steam up, ready to +pull out. A thousand persons were on her decks; five +thousand stood on the wharf. Up and down the long gangway +passed native princes and princesses, sugar kings and the high +officials of the Territory. Beyond, in long lines, kept in +order by the native police, were the carriages and motor-cars of +the Honolulu aristocracy. On the wharf the Royal Hawaiian +Band played “Aloha Oe,” and when it finished, a +stringed orchestra of native musicians on board the transport +took up the same sobbing strains, the native woman singer’s +voice rising birdlike above the instruments and the hubbub of +departure. It was a silver reed, sounding its clear, +unmistakable note in the great diapason of farewell.</p> +<p>Forward, on the lower deck, the rail was lined six deep with +khaki-clad young boys, whose bronzed faces told of three +years’ campaigning under the sun. But the farewell +was not for them. Nor was it for the white-clad captain on +the lofty bridge, remote as the stars, gazing down upon the +tumult beneath him. Nor was the farewell for the young +officers farther aft, returning from the Philippines, nor for the +white-faced, climate-ravaged women by their sides. Just aft +the gangway, on the promenade deck, stood a score of United +States Senators with their wives and daughters—the +Senatorial junketing party that for a month had been dined and +wined, surfeited with statistics and dragged up volcanic hill and +down lava dale to behold the glories and resources of +Hawaii. It was for the junketing party that the transport +had called in at Honolulu, and it was to the junketing party that +Honolulu was saying good-bye.</p> +<p>The Senators were garlanded and bedecked with flowers. +Senator Jeremy Sambrooke’s stout neck and portly bosom were +burdened with a dozen wreaths. Out of this mass of bloom +and blossom projected his head and the greater portion of his +freshly sunburned and perspiring face. He thought the +flowers an abomination, and as he looked out over the multitude +on the wharf it was with a statistical eye that saw none of the +beauty, but that peered into the labour power, the factories, the +railroads, and the plantations that lay back of the multitude and +which the multitude expressed. He saw resources and thought +development, and he was too busy with dreams of material +achievement and empire to notice his daughter at his side, +talking with a young fellow in a natty summer suit and straw hat, +whose eager eyes seemed only for her and never left her +face. Had Senator Jeremy had eyes for his daughter, he +would have seen that, in place of the young girl of fifteen he +had brought to Hawaii a short month before, he was now taking +away with him a woman.</p> +<p>Hawaii has a ripening climate, and Dorothy Sambrooke had been +exposed to it under exceptionally ripening circumstances. +Slender, pale, with blue eyes a trifle tired from poring over the +pages of books and trying to muddle into an understanding of +life—such she had been the month before. But now the +eyes were warm instead of tired, the cheeks were touched with the +sun, and the body gave the first hint and promise of swelling +lines. During that month she had left books alone, for she +had found greater joy in reading from the book of life. She +had ridden horses, climbed volcanoes, and learned surf +swimming. The tropics had entered into her blood, and she +was aglow with the warmth and colour and sunshine. And for +a month she had been in the company of a man—Stephen +Knight, athlete, surf-board rider, a bronzed god of the sea who +bitted the crashing breakers, leaped upon their backs, and rode +them in to shore.</p> +<p>Dorothy Sambrooke was unaware of the change. Her +consciousness was still that of a young girl, and she was +surprised and troubled by Steve’s conduct in this hour of +saying good-bye. She had looked upon him as her playfellow, +and for the month he had been her playfellow; but now he was not +parting like a playfellow. He talked excitedly and +disconnectedly, or was silent, by fits and starts. +Sometimes he did not hear what she was saying, or if he did, +failed to respond in his wonted manner. She was perturbed +by the way he looked at her. She had not known before that +he had such blazing eyes. There was something in his eyes +that was terrifying. She could not face it, and her own +eyes continually drooped before it. Yet there was something +alluring about it, as well, and she continually returned to catch +a glimpse of that blazing, imperious, yearning something that she +had never seen in human eyes before. And she was herself +strangely bewildered and excited.</p> +<p>The transport’s huge whistle blew a deafening blast, and +the flower-crowned multitude surged closer to the side of the +dock. Dorothy Sambrooke’s fingers were pressed to her +ears; and as she made a <i>moue</i> of distaste at the outrage of +sound, she noticed again the imperious, yearning blaze in +Steve’s eyes. He was not looking at her, but at her +ears, delicately pink and transparent in the slanting rays of the +afternoon sun. Curious and fascinated, she gazed at that +strange something in his eyes until he saw that he had been +caught. She saw his cheeks flush darkly and heard him utter +inarticulately. He was embarrassed, and she was aware of +embarrassment herself. Stewards were going about nervously +begging shore-going persons to be gone. Steve put out his +hand. When she felt the grip of the fingers that had +gripped hers a thousand times on surf-boards and lava slopes, she +heard the words of the song with a new understanding as they +sobbed in the Hawaiian woman’s silver throat:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ka halia ko aloha kai hiki mai,<br /> +Ke hone ae nei i ku’u manawa,<br /> +O oe no kan aloha<br /> +A loko e hana nei.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Steve had taught her air and words and meaning—so she +had thought, till this instant; and in this instant of the last +finger clasp and warm contact of palms she divined for the first +time the real meaning of the song. She scarcely saw him go, +nor could she note him on the crowded gangway, for she was deep +in a memory maze, living over the four weeks just past, rereading +events in the light of revelation.</p> +<p>When the Senatorial party had landed, Steve had been one of +the committee of entertainment. It was he who had given +them their first exhibition of surf riding, out at Waikiki Beach, +paddling his narrow board seaward until he became a disappearing +speck, and then, suddenly reappearing, rising like a sea-god from +out of the welter of spume and churning white—rising +swiftly higher and higher, shoulders and chest and loins and +limbs, until he stood poised on the smoking crest of a mighty, +mile-long billow, his feet buried in the flying foam, hurling +beach-ward with the speed of an express train and stepping calmly +ashore at their astounded feet. That had been her first +glimpse of Steve. He had been the youngest man on the +committee, a youth, himself, of twenty. He had not +entertained by speechmaking, nor had he shone decoratively at +receptions. It was in the breakers at Waikiki, in the wild +cattle drive on Manna Kea, and in the breaking yard of the +Haleakala Ranch that he had performed his share of the +entertaining.</p> +<p>She had not cared for the interminable statistics and eternal +speechmaking of the other members of the committee. Neither +had Steve. And it was with Steve that she had stolen away +from the open-air feast at Hamakua, and from Abe Louisson, the +coffee planter, who had talked coffee, coffee, nothing but +coffee, for two mortal hours. It was then, as they rode +among the tree ferns, that Steve had taught her the words of +“Aloha Oe,” the song that had been sung to the +visiting Senators at every village, ranch, and plantation +departure.</p> +<p>Steve and she had been much together from the first. He +had been her playfellow. She had taken possession of him +while her father had been occupied in taking possession of the +statistics of the island territory. She was too gentle to +tyrannize over her playfellow, yet she had ruled him abjectly, +except when in canoe, or on horse or surf-board, at which times +he had taken charge and she had rendered obedience. And +now, with this last singing of the song, as the lines were cast +off and the big transport began backing slowly out from the dock, +she knew that Steve was something more to her than +playfellow.</p> +<p>Five thousand voices were singing “Aloha +Oe,”—“<i>My love be with you till we meet +again</i>,”—and in that first moment of known love +she realized that she and Steve were being torn apart. When +would they ever meet again? He had taught her those words +himself. She remembered listening as he sang them over and +over under the <i>hau</i> tree at Waikiki. Had it been +prophecy? And she had admired his singing, had told him +that he sang with such expression. She laughed aloud, +hysterically, at the recollection. With such +expression!—when he had been pouring his heart out in his +voice. She knew now, and it was too late. Why had he +not spoken? Then she realized that girls of her age did not +marry. But girls of her age did marry—in +Hawaii—was her instant thought. Hawaii had ripened +her—Hawaii, where flesh is golden and where all women are +ripe and sun-kissed.</p> +<p>Vainly she scanned the packed multitude on the dock. +What had become of him? She felt she could pay any price +for one more glimpse of him, and she almost hoped that some +mortal sickness would strike the lonely captain on the bridge and +delay departure. For the first time in her life she looked +at her father with a calculating eye, and as she did she noted +with newborn fear the lines of will and determination. It +would be terrible to oppose him. And what chance would she +have in such a struggle? But why had Steve not +spoken? Now it was too late. Why had he not spoken +under the <i>hau</i> tree at Waikiki?</p> +<p>And then, with a great sinking of the heart, it came to her +that she knew why. What was it she had heard one day? +Oh, yes, it was at Mrs. Stanton’s tea, that afternoon when +the ladies of the “Missionary Crowd” had entertained +the ladies of the Senatorial party. It was Mrs. Hodgkins, +the tall blonde woman, who had asked the question. The +scene came back to her vividly—the broad <i>lanai</i>, the +tropic flowers, the noiseless Asiatic attendants, the hum of the +voices of the many women and the question Mrs. Hodgkins had asked +in the group next to her. Mrs. Hodgkins had been away on +the mainland for years, and was evidently inquiring after old +island friends of her maiden days. “What has become +of Susie Maydwell?” was the question she had asked. +“Oh, we never see her any more; she married Willie +Kupele,” another island woman answered. And Senator +Behrend’s wife laughed and wanted to know why matrimony had +affected Susie Maydwell’s friendships.</p> +<p>“<i>Hapa-haole</i>,” was the answer; “he was +a half-caste, you know, and we of the Islands have to think about +our children.”</p> +<p>Dorothy turned to her father, resolved to put it to the +test.</p> +<p>“Papa, if Steve ever comes to the United States, +mayn’t he come and see us some time?”</p> +<p>“Who? Steve?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Stephen Knight—you know him. You said +good-bye to him not five minutes ago. Mayn’t he, if +he happens to be in the United States some time, come and see +us?”</p> +<p>“Certainly not,” Jeremy Sambrooke answered +shortly. “Stephen Knight is a <i>hapa-haole</i> and +you know what that means.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” Dorothy said faintly, while she felt a numb +despair creep into her heart.</p> +<p>Steve was not a <i>hapa-haole</i>—she knew that; but she +did not know that a quarter-strain of tropic sunshine streamed in +his veins, and she knew that that was sufficient to put him +outside the marriage pale. It was a strange world. +There was the Honourable A. S. Cleghorn, who had married a dusky +princess of the Kamehameha blood, yet men considered it an honour +to know him, and the most exclusive women of the ultra-exclusive +“Missionary Crowd” were to be seen at his afternoon +teas. And there was Steve. No one had disapproved of +his teaching her to ride a surf-board, nor of his leading her by +the hand through the perilous places of the crater of +Kilauea. He could have dinner with her and her father, +dance with her, and be a member of the entertainment committee; +but because there was tropic sunshine in his veins he could not +marry her.</p> +<p>And he didn’t show it. One had to be told to +know. And he was so good-looking. The picture of him +limned itself on her inner vision, and before she was aware she +was pleasuring in the memory of the grace of his magnificent +body, of his splendid shoulders, of the power in him that tossed +her lightly on a horse, bore her safely through the thundering +breakers, or towed her at the end of an alpenstock up the stern +lava crest of the House of the Sun. There was something +subtler and mysterious that she remembered, and that she was even +then just beginning to understand—the aura of the male +creature that is man, all man, masculine man. She came to +herself with a shock of shame at the thoughts she had been +thinking. Her cheeks were dyed with the hot blood which +quickly receded and left them pale at the thought that she would +never see him again. The stem of the transport was already +out in the stream, and the promenade deck was passing abreast of +the end of the dock.</p> +<p>“There’s Steve now,” her father said. +“Wave good-bye to him, Dorothy.”</p> +<p>Steve was looking up at her with eager eyes, and he saw in her +face what he had not seen before. By the rush of gladness +into his own face she knew that he knew. The air was +throbbing with the song—</p> +<blockquote><p>My love to you.<br /> +My love be with you till we meet again.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There was no need for speech to tell their story. About +her, passengers were flinging their garlands to their friends on +the dock. Steve held up his hands and his eyes +pleaded. She slipped her own garland over her head, but it +had become entangled in the string of Oriental pearls that +Mervin, an elderly sugar king, had placed around her neck when he +drove her and her father down to the steamer.</p> +<p>She fought with the pearls that clung to the flowers. +The transport was moving steadily on. Steve was already +beneath her. This was the moment. The next moment and +he would be past. She sobbed, and Jeremy Sambrooke glanced +at her inquiringly.</p> +<p>“Dorothy!” he cried sharply.</p> +<p>She deliberately snapped the string, and, amid a shower of +pearls, the flowers fell to the waiting lover. She gazed at +him until the tears blinded her and she buried her face on the +shoulder of Jeremy Sambrooke, who forgot his beloved statistics +in wonderment at girl babies that insisted on growing up. +The crowd sang on, the song growing fainter in the distance, but +still melting with the sensuous love-languor of Hawaii, the words +biting into her heart like acid because of their untruth.</p> +<blockquote><p>Aloha oe, Aloha oe, e ke onaona no ho ika lipo,<br +/> +A fond embrace, ahoi ae au, until we meet again.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>CHUN AH CHUN</h2> +<p>There was nothing striking in the appearance of Chun Ah +Chun. He was rather undersized, as Chinese go, and the +Chinese narrow shoulders and spareness of flesh were his. +The average tourist, casually glimpsing him on the streets of +Honolulu, would have concluded that he was a good-natured little +Chinese, probably the proprietor of a prosperous laundry or +tailorshop. In so far as good nature and prosperity went, +the judgment would be correct, though beneath the mark; for Ah +Chun was as good-natured as he was prosperous, and of the latter +no man knew a tithe the tale. It was well known that he was +enormously wealthy, but in his case “enormous” was +merely the symbol for the unknown.</p> +<p>Ah Chun had shrewd little eyes, black and beady and so very +little that they were like gimlet-holes. But they were wide +apart, and they sheltered under a forehead that was patently the +forehead of a thinker. For Ah Chun had his problems, and +had had them all his life. Not that he ever worried over +them. He was essentially a philosopher, and whether as +coolie, or multi-millionaire and master of many men, his poise of +soul was the same. He lived always in the high equanimity +of spiritual repose, undeterred by good fortune, unruffled by ill +fortune. All things went well with him, whether they were +blows from the overseer in the cane field or a slump in the price +of sugar when he owned those cane fields himself. Thus, +from the steadfast rock of his sure content he mastered problems +such as are given to few men to consider, much less to a Chinese +peasant.</p> +<p>He was precisely that—a Chinese peasant, born to labour +in the fields all his days like a beast, but fated to escape from +the fields like the prince in a fairy tale. Ah Chun did not +remember his father, a small farmer in a district not far from +Canton; nor did he remember much of his mother, who had died when +he was six. But he did remember his respected uncle, Ah +Kow, for him had he served as a slave from his sixth year to his +twenty-fourth. It was then that he escaped by contracting +himself as a coolie to labour for three years on the sugar +plantations of Hawaii for fifty cents a day.</p> +<p>Ah Chun was observant. He perceived little details that +not one man in a thousand ever noticed. Three years he +worked in the field, at the end of which time he knew more about +cane-growing than the overseers or even the superintendent, while +the superintendent would have been astounded at the knowledge the +weazened little coolie possessed of the reduction processes in +the mill. But Ah Chun did not study only sugar +processes. He studied to find out how men came to be owners +of sugar mills and plantations. One judgment he achieved +early, namely, that men did not become rich from the labour of +their own hands. He knew, for he had laboured for a score +of years himself. The men who grew rich did so from the +labour of the hands of others. That man was richest who had +the greatest number of his fellow creatures toiling for him.</p> +<p>So, when his term of contract was up, Ah Chun invested his +savings in a small importing store, going into partnership with +one, Ah Yung. The firm ultimately became the great one of +“Ah Chun and Ah Yung,” which handled anything from +India silks and ginseng to guano islands and blackbird +brigs. In the meantime, Ah Chun hired out as cook. He +was a good cook, and in three years he was the highest-paid chef +in Honolulu. His career was assured, and he was a fool to +abandon it, as Dantin, his employer, told him; but Ah Chun knew +his own mind best, and for knowing it was called a triple-fool +and given a present of fifty dollars over and above the wages due +him.</p> +<p>The firm of Ah Chun and Ah Yung was prospering. There +was no need for Ah Chun longer to be a cook. There were +boom times in Hawaii. Sugar was being extensively planted, +and labour was needed. Ah Chun saw the chance, and went +into the labour-importing business. He brought thousands of +Cantonese coolies into Hawaii, and his wealth began to +grow. He made investments. His beady black eyes saw +bargains where other men saw bankruptcy. He bought a +fish-pond for a song, which later paid five hundred per cent and +was the opening wedge by which he monopolized the fish market of +Honolulu. He did not talk for publication, nor figure in +politics, nor play at revolutions, but he forecast events more +clearly and farther ahead than did the men who engineered +them. In his mind’s eye he saw Honolulu a modern, +electric-lighted city at a time when it straggled, unkempt and +sand-tormented, over a barren reef of uplifted coral rock. +So he bought land. He bought land from merchants who needed +ready cash, from impecunious natives, from riotous traders’ +sons, from widows and orphans and the lepers deported to Molokai; +and, somehow, as the years went by, the pieces of land he had +bought proved to be needed for warehouses, or coffee buildings, +or hotels. He leased, and rented, sold and bought, and +resold again.</p> +<p>But there were other things as well. He put his +confidence and his money into Parkinson, the renegade captain +whom nobody would trust. And Parkinson sailed away on +mysterious voyages in the little <i>Vega</i>. Parkinson was +taken care of until he died, and years afterward Honolulu was +astonished when the news leaked out that the Drake and Acorn +guano islands had been sold to the British Phosphate Trust for +three-quarters of a million. Then there were the fat, lush +days of King Kalakaua, when Ah Chun paid three hundred thousand +dollars for the opium licence. If he paid a third of a +million for the drug monopoly, the investment was nevertheless a +good one, for the dividends bought him the Kalalau Plantation, +which, in turn, paid him thirty per cent for seventeen years and +was ultimately sold by him for a million and a half.</p> +<p>It was under the Kamehamehas, long before, that he had served +his own country as Chinese Consul—a position that was not +altogether unlucrative; and it was under Kamehameha IV that he +changed his citizenship, becoming an Hawaiian subject in order to +marry Stella Allendale, herself a subject of the brown-skinned +king, though more of Anglo-Saxon blood ran in her veins than of +Polynesian. In fact, the random breeds in her were so +attenuated that they were valued at eighths and sixteenths. +In the latter proportions was the blood of her great-grandmother, +Paahao—the Princess Paahao, for she came of the royal +line. Stella Allendale’s great-grandfather had been a +Captain Blunt, an English adventurer who took service under +Kamehameha I and was made a tabu chief himself. Her +grandfather had been a New Bedford whaling captain, while through +her own father had been introduced a remote blend of Italian and +Portuguese which had been grafted upon his own English +stock. Legally a Hawaiian, Ah Chun’s spouse was more +of any one of three other nationalities.</p> +<p>And into this conglomerate of the races, Ah Chun introduced +the Mongolian mixture. Thus, his children by Mrs. Ah Chun +were one thirty-second Polynesian, one-sixteenth Italian, one +sixteenth Portuguese, one-half Chinese, and eleven thirty-seconds +English and American. It might well be that Ah Chun would +have refrained from matrimony could he have foreseen the +wonderful family that was to spring from this union. It was +wonderful in many ways. First, there was its size. +There were fifteen sons and daughters, mostly daughters. +The sons had come first, three of them, and then had followed, in +unswerving sequence, a round dozen of girls. The blend of +the race was excellent. Not alone fruitful did it prove, +for the progeny, without exception, was healthy and without +blemish. But the most amazing thing about the family was +its beauty. All the girls were beautiful—delicately, +ethereally beautiful. Mamma Ah Chun’s rotund lines +seemed to modify papa Ah Chun’s lean angles, so that the +daughters were willowy without being lathy, round-muscled without +being chubby. In every feature of every face were haunting +reminiscences of Asia, all manipulated over and disguised by Old +England, New England, and South of Europe. No observer, +without information, would have guessed, the heavy Chinese strain +in their veins; nor could any observer, after being informed, +fail to note immediately the Chinese traces.</p> +<p>As beauties, the Ah Chun girls were something new. +Nothing like them had been seen before. They resembled +nothing so much as they resembled one another, and yet each girl +was sharply individual. There was no mistaking one for +another. On the other hand, Maud, who was blue-eyed and +yellow-haired, would remind one instantly of Henrietta, an olive +brunette with large, languishing dark eyes and hair that was +blue-black. The hint of resemblance that ran through them +all, reconciling every differentiation, was Ah Chun’s +contribution. He had furnished the groundwork upon which +had been traced the blended patterns of the races. He had +furnished the slim-boned Chinese frame, upon which had been +builded the delicacies and subtleties of Saxon, Latin, and +Polynesian flesh.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ah Chun had ideas of her own to which Ah Chun gave +credence, though never permitting them expression when they +conflicted with his own philosophic calm. She had been used +all her life to living in European fashion. Very +well. Ah Chun gave her a European mansion. Later, as +his sons and daughters grew able to advise, he built a bungalow, +a spacious, rambling affair, as unpretentious as it was +magnificent. Also, as time went by, there arose a mountain +house on Tantalus, to which the family could flee when the +“sick wind” blew from the south. And at Waikiki +he built a beach residence on an extensive site so well chosen +that later on, when the United States government condemned it for +fortification purposes, an immense sum accompanied the +condemnation. In all his houses were billiard and smoking +rooms and guest rooms galore, for Ah Chun’s wonderful +progeny was given to lavish entertainment. The furnishing +was extravagantly simple. Kings’ ransoms were +expended without display—thanks to the educated tastes of +the progeny.</p> +<p>Ah Chun had been liberal in the matter of education. +“Never mind expense,” he had argued in the old days +with Parkinson when that slack mariner could see no reason for +making the <i>Vega</i> seaworthy; “you sail the schooner, I +pay the bills.” And so with his sons and +daughters. It had been for them to get the education and +never mind the expense. Harold, the eldest-born, had gone +to Harvard and Oxford; Albert and Charles had gone through Yale +in the same classes. And the daughters, from the eldest +down, had undergone their preparation at Mills Seminary in +California and passed on to Vassar, Wellesley, or Bryn +Mawr. Several, having so desired, had had the finishing +touches put on in Europe. And from all the world Ah +Chun’s sons and daughters returned to him to suggest and +advise in the garnishment of the chaste magnificence of his +residences. Ah Chun himself preferred the voluptuous +glitter of Oriental display; but he was a philosopher, and he +clearly saw that his children’s tastes were correct +according to Western standards.</p> +<p>Of course, his children were not known as the Ah Chun +children. As he had evolved from a coolie labourer to a +multi-millionaire, so had his name evolved. Mamma Ah Chun +had spelled it A’Chun, but her wiser offspring had elided +the apostrophe and spelled it Achun. Ah Chun did not +object. The spelling of his name interfered no whit with +his comfort nor his philosophic calm. Besides, he was not +proud. But when his children arose to the height of a +starched shirt, a stiff collar, and a frock coat, they did +interfere with his comfort and calm. Ah Chun would have +none of it. He preferred the loose-flowing robes of China, +and neither could they cajole nor bully him into making the +change. They tried both courses, and in the latter one +failed especially disastrously. They had not been to +America for nothing. They had learned the virtues of the +boycott as employed by organized labour, and he, their father, +Chun Ah Chun, they boycotted in his own house, Mamma Achun aiding +and abetting. But Ah Chun himself, while unversed in +Western culture, was thoroughly conversant with Western labour +conditions. An extensive employer of labour himself, he +knew how to cope with its tactics. Promptly he imposed a +lockout on his rebellious progeny and erring spouse. He +discharged his scores of servants, locked up his stables, closed +his houses, and went to live in the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, in +which enterprise he happened to be the heaviest +stockholder. The family fluttered distractedly on visits +about with friends, while Ah Chun calmly managed his many +affairs, smoked his long pipe with the tiny silver bowl, and +pondered the problem of his wonderful progeny.</p> +<p>This problem did not disturb his calm. He knew in his +philosopher’s soul that when it was ripe he would solve +it. In the meantime he enforced the lesson that complacent +as he might be, he was nevertheless the absolute dictator of the +Achun destinies. The family held out for a week, then +returned, along with Ah Chun and the many servants, to occupy the +bungalow once more. And thereafter no question was raised +when Ah Chun elected to enter his brilliant drawing-room in blue +silk robe, wadded slippers, and black silk skull-cap with red +button peak, or when he chose to draw at his slender-stemmed +silver-bowled pipe among the cigarette-and cigar-smoking officers +and civilians on the broad verandas or in the smoking room.</p> +<p>Ah Chun occupied a unique position in Honolulu. Though +he did not appear in society, he was eligible anywhere. +Except among the Chinese merchants of the city, he never went +out; but he received, and he always was the centre of his +household and the head of his table. Himself peasant, born +Chinese, he presided over an atmosphere of culture and refinement +second to none in all the islands. Nor were there any in +all the islands too proud to cross his threshold and enjoy his +hospitality. First of all, the Achun bungalow was of +irreproachable tone. Next, Ah Chun was a power. And +finally, Ah Chun was a moral paragon and an honest business +man. Despite the fact that business morality was higher +than on the mainland, Ah Chun outshone the business men of +Honolulu in the scrupulous rigidity of his honesty. It was +a saying that his word was as good as his bond. His +signature was never needed to bind him. He never broke his +word. Twenty years after Hotchkiss, of Hotchkiss, Morterson +Company, died, they found among mislaid papers a memorandum of a +loan of thirty thousand dollars to Ah Chun. It had been +incurred when Ah Chun was Privy Councillor to Kamehameha +II. In the bustle and confusion of those heyday, +money-making times, the affair had slipped Ah Chun’s +mind. There was no note, no legal claim against him, but he +settled in full with the Hotchkiss’ Estate, voluntarily +paying a compound interest that dwarfed the principal. +Likewise, when he verbally guaranteed the disastrous Kakiku Ditch +Scheme, at a time when the least sanguine did not dream a +guarantee necessary—“Signed his cheque for two +hundred thousand without a quiver, gentlemen, without a +quiver,” was the report of the secretary of the defunct +enterprise, who had been sent on the forlorn hope of finding out +Ah Chun’s intentions. And on top of the many similar +actions that were true of his word, there was scarcely a man of +repute in the islands that at one time or another had not +experienced the helping financial hand of Ah Chun.</p> +<p>So it was that Honolulu watched his wonderful family grow up +into a perplexing problem and secretly sympathized with him, for +it was beyond any of them to imagine what he was going to do with +it. But Ah Chun saw the problem more clearly than +they. No one knew as he knew the extent to which he was an +alien in his family. His own family did not guess it. +He saw that there was no place for him amongst this marvellous +seed of his loins, and he looked forward to his declining years +and knew that he would grow more and more alien. He did not +understand his children. Their conversation was of things +that did not interest him and about which he knew nothing. +The culture of the West had passed him by. He was Asiatic +to the last fibre, which meant that he was heathen. Their +Christianity was to him so much nonsense. But all this he +would have ignored as extraneous and irrelevant, could he have +but understood the young people themselves. When Maud, for +instance, told him that the housekeeping bills for the month were +thirty thousand—that he understood, as he understood +Albert’s request for five thousand with which to buy the +schooner yacht <i>Muriel</i> and become a member of the Hawaiian +Yacht Club. But it was their remoter, complicated desires +and mental processes that obfuscated him. He was not slow +in learning that the mind of each son and daughter was a secret +labyrinth which he could never hope to tread. Always he +came upon the wall that divides East from West. Their souls +were inaccessible to him, and by the same token he knew that his +soul was inaccessible to them.</p> +<p>Besides, as the years came upon him, he found himself harking +back more and more to his own kind. The reeking smells of +the Chinese quarter were spicy to him. He sniffed them with +satisfaction as he passed along the street, for in his mind they +carried him back to the narrow tortuous alleys of Canton swarming +with life and movement. He regretted that he had cut off +his queue to please Stella Allendale in the prenuptial days, and +he seriously considered the advisability of shaving his crown and +growing a new one. The dishes his highly paid chef +concocted for him failed to tickle his reminiscent palate in the +way that the weird messes did in the stuffy restaurant down in +the Chinese quarter. He enjoyed vastly more a +half-hour’s smoke and chat with two or three Chinese chums, +than to preside at the lavish and elegant dinners for which his +bungalow was famed, where the pick of the Americans and Europeans +sat at the long table, men and women on equality, the women with +jewels that blazed in the subdued light against white necks and +arms, the men in evening dress, and all chattering and laughing +over topics and witticisms that, while they were not exactly +Greek to him, did not interest him nor entertain.</p> +<p>But it was not merely his alienness and his growing desire to +return to his Chinese flesh-pots that constituted the +problem. There was also his wealth. He had looked +forward to a placid old age. He had worked hard. His +reward should have been peace and repose. But he knew that +with his immense fortune peace and repose could not possibly be +his. Already there were signs and omens. He had seen +similar troubles before. There was his old employer, +Dantin, whose children had wrested from him, by due process of +law, the management of his property, having the Court appoint +guardians to administer it for him. Ah Chun knew, and knew +thoroughly well, that had Dantin been a poor man, it would have +been found that he could quite rationally manage his own +affairs. And old Dantin had had only three children and +half a million, while he, Chun Ah Chun, had fifteen children and +no one but himself knew how many millions.</p> +<p>“Our daughters are beautiful women,” he said to +his wife, one evening. “There are many young +men. The house is always full of young men. My cigar +bills are very heavy. Why are there no +marriages?”</p> +<p>Mamma Achun shrugged her shoulders and waited.</p> +<p>“Women are women and men are men—it is strange +there are no marriages. Perhaps the young men do not like +our daughters.”</p> +<p>“Ah, they like them well enough,” Mamma Chun +answered; “but you see, they cannot forget that you are +your daughters’ father.”</p> +<p>“Yet you forgot who my father was,” Ah Chun said +gravely. “All you asked was for me to cut off my +queue.”</p> +<p>“The young men are more particular than I was, I +fancy.”</p> +<p>“What is the greatest thing in the world?” Ah Chun +demanded with abrupt irrelevance.</p> +<p>Mamma Achun pondered for a moment, then replied: +“God.”</p> +<p>He nodded. “There are gods and gods. Some +are paper, some are wood, some are bronze. I use a small +one in the office for a paper-weight. In the Bishop Museum +are many gods of coral rock and lava stone.”</p> +<p>“But there is only one God,” she announced +decisively, stiffening her ample frame argumentatively.</p> +<p>Ah Chun noted the danger signal and sheered off.</p> +<p>“What is greater than God, then?” he asked. +“I will tell you. It is money. In my time I +have had dealings with Jews and Christians, Mohammedans and +Buddhists, and with little black men from the Solomons and New +Guinea who carried their god about them, wrapped in oiled +paper. They possessed various gods, these men, but they all +worshipped money. There is that Captain Higginson. He +seems to like Henrietta.”</p> +<p>“He will never marry her,” retorted Mamma +Achun. “He will be an admiral before he +dies—”</p> +<p>“A rear-admiral,” Ah Chun interpolated.</p> +<p>“Yes, I know. That is the way they +retire.”</p> +<p>“His family in the United States is a high one. +They would not like it if he married . . . if he did not marry an +American girl.”</p> +<p>Ah Chun knocked the ashes out of his pipe, thoughtfully +refilling the silver bowl with a tiny pleget of tobacco. He +lighted it and smoked it out before he spoke.</p> +<p>“Henrietta is the oldest girl. The day she marries +I will give her three hundred thousand dollars. That will +fetch that Captain Higginson and his high family along with +him. Let the word go out to him. I leave it to +you.”</p> +<p>And Ah Chun sat and smoked on, and in the curling +smoke-wreaths he saw take shape the face and figure of Toy +Shuey—Toy Shuey, the maid of all work in his uncle’s +house in the Cantonese village, whose work was never done and who +received for a whole year’s work one dollar. And he +saw his youthful self arise in the curling smoke, his youthful +self who had toiled eighteen years in his uncle’s field for +little more. And now he, Ah Chun, the peasant, dowered his +daughter with three hundred thousand years of such toil. +And she was but one daughter of a dozen. He was not elated +at the thought. It struck him that it was a funny, +whimsical world, and he chuckled aloud and startled Mamma Achun +from a revery which he knew lay deep in the hidden crypts of her +being where he had never penetrated.</p> +<p>But Ah Chun’s word went forth, as a whisper, and Captain +Higginson forgot his rear-admiralship and his high family and +took to wife three hundred thousand dollars and a refined and +cultured girl who was one thirty-second Polynesian, one-sixteenth +Italian, one-sixteenth Portuguese, eleven thirty-seconds English +and Yankee, and one-half Chinese.</p> +<p>Ah Chun’s munificence had its effect. His +daughters became suddenly eligible and desirable. Clara was +the next, but when the Secretary of the Territory formally +proposed for her, Ah Chun informed him that he must wait his +turn, that Maud was the oldest and that she must be married +first. It was shrewd policy. The whole family was +made vitally interested in marrying off Maud, which it did in +three months, to Ned Humphreys, the United States immigration +commissioner. Both he and Maud complained, for the dowry +was only two hundred thousand. Ah Chun explained that his +initial generosity had been to break the ice, and that after that +his daughters could not expect otherwise than to go more +cheaply.</p> +<p>Clara followed Maud, and thereafter, for a space of two years; +there was a continuous round of weddings in the bungalow. +In the meantime Ah Chun had not been idle. Investment after +investment was called in. He sold out his interests in a +score of enterprises, and step by step, so as not to cause a +slump in the market, he disposed of his large holdings in real +estate. Toward the last he did precipitate a slump and sold +at sacrifice. What caused this haste were the squalls he +saw already rising above the horizon. By the time Lucille +was married, echoes of bickerings and jealousies were already +rumbling in his ears. The air was thick with schemes and +counter-schemes to gain his favour and to prejudice him against +one or another or all but one of his sons-in-law. All of +which was not conducive to the peace and repose he had planned +for his old age.</p> +<p>He hastened his efforts. For a long time he had been in +correspondence with the chief banks in Shanghai and Macao. +Every steamer for several years had carried away drafts drawn in +favour of one, Chun Ah Chun, for deposit in those Far Eastern +banks. The drafts now became heavier. His two +youngest daughters were not yet married. He did not wait, +but dowered them with a hundred thousand each, which sums lay in +the Bank of Hawaii, drawing interest and awaiting their wedding +day. Albert took over the business of the firm of Ah Chun +and Ah Yung, Harold, the eldest, having elected to take a quarter +of a million and go to England to live. Charles, the +youngest, took a hundred thousand, a legal guardian, and a course +in a Keeley institute. To Mamma Achun was given the +bungalow, the mountain House on Tantalus, and a new seaside +residence in place of the one Ah Chun sold to the +government. Also, to Mamma Achun was given half a million +in money well invested.</p> +<p>Ah Chun was now ready to crack the nut of the problem. +One fine morning when the family was at breakfast—he had +seen to it that all his sons-in-law and their wives were +present—he announced that he was returning to his ancestral +soil. In a neat little homily he explained that he had made +ample provision for his family, and he laid down various maxims +that he was sure, he said, would enable them to dwell together in +peace and harmony. Also, he gave business advice to his +sons-in-law, preached the virtues of temperate living and safe +investments, and gave them the benefit of his encyclopedic +knowledge of industrial and business conditions in Hawaii. +Then he called for his carriage, and, in the company of the +weeping Mamma Achun, was driven down to the Pacific Mail steamer, +leaving behind him a panic in the bungalow. Captain +Higginson clamoured wildly for an injunction. The daughters +shed copious tears. One of their husbands, an ex-Federal +judge, questioned Ah Chun’s sanity, and hastened to the +proper authorities to inquire into it. He returned with the +information that Ah Chun had appeared before the commission the +day before, demanded an examination, and passed with flying +colours. There was nothing to be done, so they went down +and said good-bye to the little old man, who waved farewell from +the promenade deck as the big steamer poked her nose seaward +through the coral reef.</p> +<p>But the little old man was not bound for Canton. He knew +his own country too well, and the squeeze of the Mandarins, to +venture into it with the tidy bulk of wealth that remained to +him. He went to Macao. Now Ah Chun had long exercised +the power of a king and he was as imperious as a king. When +he landed at Macao and went into the office of the biggest +European hotel to register, the clerk closed the book on +him. Chinese were not permitted. Ah Chun called for +the manager and was treated with contumely. He drove away, +but in two hours he was back again. He called the clerk and +manager in, gave them a month’s salary, and discharged +them. He had made himself the owner of the hotel; and in +the finest suite he settled down during the many months the +gorgeous palace in the suburbs was building for him. In the +meantime, with the inevitable ability that was his, he increased +the earnings of his big hotel from three per cent to thirty.</p> +<p>The troubles Ah Chun had flown began early. There were +sons-in-law that made bad investments, others that played ducks +and drakes with the Achun dowries. Ah Chun being out of it, +they looked at Mamma Ah Chun and her half million, and, looking, +engendered not the best of feeling toward one another. +Lawyers waxed fat in the striving to ascertain the construction +of trust deeds. Suits, cross-suits, and counter-suits +cluttered the Hawaiian courts. Nor did the police courts +escape. There were angry encounters in which harsh words +and harsher blows were struck. There were such things as +flower pots being thrown to add emphasis to winged words. +And suits for libel arose that dragged their way through the +courts and kept Honolulu agog with excitement over the +revelations of the witnesses.</p> +<p>In his palace, surrounded by all dear delights of the Orient, +Ah Chun smokes his placid pipe and listens to the turmoil +overseas. By each mail steamer, in faultless English, +typewritten on an American machine, a letter goes from Macao to +Honolulu, in which, by admirable texts and precepts, Ah Chun +advises his family to live in unity and harmony. As for +himself, he is out of it all, and well content. He has won +to peace and repose. At times he chuckles and rubs his +hands, and his slant little black eyes twinkle merrily at the +thought of the funny world. For out of all his living and +philosophizing, that remains to him—the conviction that it +is a very funny world.</p> +<h2>THE SHERIFF OF KONA</h2> +<p>“You cannot escape liking the climate,” Cudworth +said, in reply to my panegyric on the Kona coast. “I +was a young fellow, just out of college, when I came here +eighteen years ago. I never went back, except, of course, +to visit. And I warn you, if you have some spot dear to you +on earth, not to linger here too long, else you will find this +dearer.”</p> +<p>We had finished dinner, which had been served on the big +<i>lanai</i>, the one with a northerly <i>exposure</i>, though +exposure is indeed a misnomer in so delectable a climate.</p> +<p>The candles had been put out, and a slim, white-clad Japanese +slipped like a ghost through the silvery moonlight, presented us +with cigars, and faded away into the darkness of the +bungalow. I looked through a screen of banana and lehua +trees, and down across the guava scrub to the quiet sea a +thousand feet beneath. For a week, ever since I had landed +from the tiny coasting-steamer, I had been stopping with +Cudworth, and during that time no wind had ruffled that unvexed +sea. True, there had been breezes, but they were the +gentlest zephyrs that ever blew through summer isles. They +were not winds; they were sighs—long, balmy sighs of a +world at rest.</p> +<p>“A lotus land,” I said.</p> +<p>“Where each day is like every day, and every day is a +paradise of days,” he answered. “Nothing ever +happens. It is not too hot. It is not too cold. +It is always just right. Have you noticed how the land and +the sea breathe turn and turn about?”</p> +<p>Indeed, I had noticed that delicious rhythmic, +breathing. Each morning I had watched the sea-breeze begin +at the shore and slowly extend seaward as it blew the mildest, +softest whiff of ozone to the land. It played over the sea, +just faintly darkening its surface, with here and there and +everywhere long lanes of calm, shifting, changing, drifting, +according to the capricious kisses of the breeze. And each +evening I had watched the sea breath die away to heavenly calm, +and heard the land breath softly make its way through the coffee +trees and monkey-pods.</p> +<p>“It is a land of perpetual calm,” I said. +“Does it ever blow here?—ever really blow? You +know what I mean.”</p> +<p>Cudworth shook his head and pointed eastward.</p> +<p>“How can it blow, with a barrier like that to stop +it?”</p> +<p>Far above towered the huge bulks of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, +seeming to blot out half the starry sky. Two miles and a +half above our heads they reared their own heads, white with snow +that the tropic sun had failed to melt.</p> +<p>“Thirty miles away, right now, I’ll wager, it is +blowing forty miles an hour.”</p> +<p>I smiled incredulously.</p> +<p>Cudworth stepped to the <i>lanai</i> telephone. He +called up, in succession, Waimea, Kohala, and Hamakua. +Snatches of his conversation told me that the wind was +blowing: “Rip-snorting and back-jumping, eh? . . . +How long? . . . Only a week? . . . Hello, Abe, is that you? . . . +Yes, yes . . . You <i>will</i> plant coffee on the Hamakua coast +. . . Hang your wind-breaks! You should see <i>my</i> +trees.”</p> +<p>“Blowing a gale,” he said to me, turning from +hanging up the receiver. “I always have to joke Abe +on his coffee. He has five hundred acres, and he’s +done marvels in wind-breaking, but how he keeps the roots in the +ground is beyond me. Blow? It always blows on the +Hamakua side. Kohala reports a schooner under double reefs +beating up the channel between Hawaii and Maui, and making heavy +weather of it.”</p> +<p>“It is hard to realize,” I said lamely. +“Doesn’t a little whiff of it ever eddy around +somehow, and get down here?”</p> +<p>“Not a whiff. Our land-breeze is absolutely of no +kin, for it begins this side of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. +You see, the land radiates its heat quicker than the sea, and so, +at night, the land breathes over the sea. In the day the +land becomes warmer than the sea, and the sea breathes over the +land . . . Listen! Here comes the land-breath now, the +mountain wind.”</p> +<p>I could hear it coming, rustling softly through the coffee +trees, stirring the monkey-pods, and sighing through the +sugar-cane. On the <i>lanai</i> the hush still +reigned. Then it came, the first feel of the mountain wind, +faintly balmy, fragrant and spicy, and cool, deliciously cool, a +silken coolness, a wine-like coolness—cool as only the +mountain wind of Kona can be cool.</p> +<p>“Do you wonder that I lost my heart to Kona eighteen +years ago?” he demanded. “I could never leave +it now. I think I should die. It would be +terrible. There was another man who loved it, even as +I. I think he loved it more, for he was born here on the +Kona coast. He was a great man, my best friend, my more +than brother. But he left it, and he did not +die.”</p> +<p>“Love?” I queried. “A +woman?”</p> +<p>Cudworth shook his head.</p> +<p>“Nor will he ever come back, though his heart will be +here until he dies.”</p> +<p>He paused and gazed down upon the beachlights of Kailua. +I smoked silently and waited.</p> +<p>“He was already in love . . . with his wife. Also, +he had three children, and he loved them. They are in +Honolulu now. The boy is going to college.”</p> +<p>“Some rash act?” I questioned, after a time, +impatiently.</p> +<p>He shook his head. “Neither guilty of anything +criminal, nor charged with anything criminal. He was the +Sheriff of Kona.”</p> +<p>“You choose to be paradoxical,” I said.</p> +<p>“I suppose it does sound that way,” he admitted, +“and that is the perfect hell of it.”</p> +<p>He looked at me searchingly for a moment, and then abruptly +took up the tale.</p> +<p>“He was a leper. No, he was not born with +it—no one is born with it; it came upon him. This +man—what does it matter? Lyte Gregory was his +name. Every <i>kamaina</i> knows the story. He was +straight American stock, but he was built like the chieftains of +old Hawaii. He stood six feet three. His stripped +weight was two hundred and twenty pounds, not an ounce of which +was not clean muscle or bone. He was the strongest man I +have ever seen. He was an athlete and a giant. He was +a god. He was my friend. And his heart and his soul +were as big and as fine as his body.</p> +<p>“I wonder what you would do if you saw your friend, your +brother, on the slippery lip of a precipice, slipping, slipping, +and you were able to do nothing. That was just it. I +could do nothing. I saw it coming, and I could do +nothing. My God, man, what could I do? There it was, +malignant and incontestable, the mark of the thing on his +brow. No one else saw it. It was because I loved him +so, I do believe, that I alone saw it. I could not credit +the testimony of my senses. It was too incredibly +horrible. Yet there it was, on his brow, on his ears. +I had seen it, the slight puff of the earlobes—oh, so +imperceptibly slight. I watched it for months. Then, +next, hoping against hope, the darkening of the skin above both +eyebrows—oh, so faint, just like the dimmest touch of +sunburn. I should have thought it sunburn but that there +was a shine to it, such an invisible shine, like a little +highlight seen for a moment and gone the next. I tried to +believe it was sunburn, only I could not. I knew +better. No one noticed it but me. No one ever noticed +it except Stephen Kaluna, and I did not know that till +afterward. But I saw it coming, the whole damnable, +unnamable awfulness of it; but I refused to think about the +future. I was afraid. I could not. And of +nights I cried over it.</p> +<p>“He was my friend. We fished sharks on Niihau +together. We hunted wild cattle on Mauna Kea and Mauna +Loa. We broke horses and branded steers on the Carter +Ranch. We hunted goats through Haleakala. He taught +me diving and surfing until I was nearly as clever as he, and he +was cleverer than the average Kanaka. I have seen him dive +in fifteen fathoms, and he could stay down two minutes. He +was an amphibian and a mountaineer. He could climb wherever +a goat dared climb. He was afraid of nothing. He was +on the wrecked <i>Luga</i>, and he swam thirty miles in +thirty-six hours in a heavy sea. He could fight his way out +through breaking combers that would batter you and me to a +jelly. He was a great, glorious man-god. We went +through the Revolution together. We were both romantic +loyalists. He was shot twice and sentenced to death. +But he was too great a man for the republicans to kill. He +laughed at them. Later, they gave him honour and made him +Sheriff of Kona. He was a simple man, a boy that never grew +up. His was no intricate brain pattern. He had no +twists nor quirks in his mental processes. He went straight +to the point, and his points were always simple.</p> +<p>“And he was sanguine. Never have I known so +confident a man, nor a man so satisfied and happy. He did +not ask anything from life. There was nothing left to be +desired. For him life had no arrears. He had been +paid in full, cash down, and in advance. What more could he +possibly desire than that magnificent body, that iron +constitution, that immunity from all ordinary ills, and that +lowly wholesomeness of soul? Physically he was +perfect. He had never been sick in his life. He did +not know what a headache was. When I was so afflicted he +used to look at me in wonder, and make me laugh with his clumsy +attempts at sympathy. He did not understand such a thing as +a headache. He could not understand. Sanguine? +No wonder. How could he be otherwise with that tremendous +vitality and incredible health?</p> +<p>“Just to show you what faith he had in his glorious +star, and, also, what sanction he had for that faith. He +was a youngster at the time—I had just met him—when +he went into a poker game at Wailuku. There was a big +German in it, Schultz his name was, and he played a brutal, +domineering game. He had had a run of luck as well, and he +was quite insufferable, when Lyte Gregory dropped in and took a +hand. The very first hand it was Schultz’s +blind. Lyte came in, as well as the others, and Schultz +raised them out—all except Lyte. He did not like the +German’s tone, and he raised him back. Schultz raised +in turn, and in turn Lyte raised Schultz. So they went, +back and forth. The stakes were big. And do you know +what Lyte held? A pair of kings and three little +clubs. It wasn’t poker. Lyte wasn’t +playing poker. He was playing his optimism. He +didn’t know what Schultz held, but he raised and raised +until he made Schultz squeal, and Schultz held three aces all the +time. Think of it! A man with a pair of kings +compelling three aces to see before the draw!</p> +<p>“Well, Schultz called for two cards. Another +German was dealing, Schultz’s friend at that. Lyte +knew then that he was up against three of a kind. Now what +did he do? What would you have done? Drawn three +cards and held up the kings, of course. Not Lyte. He +was playing optimism. He threw the kings away, held up the +three little clubs, and drew two cards. He never looked at +them. He looked across at Schultz to bet, and Schultz did +bet, big. Since he himself held three aces he knew he had +Lyte, because he played Lyte for threes, and, necessarily, they +would have to be smaller threes. Poor Schultz! He was +perfectly correct under the premises. His mistake was that +he thought Lyte was playing poker. They bet back and forth +for five minutes, until Schultz’s certainty began to ooze +out. And all the time Lyte had never looked at his two +cards, and Schultz knew it. I could see Schultz think, and +revive, and splurge with his bets again. But the strain was +too much for him.”</p> +<p>“‘Hold on, Gregory,’ he said at last. +‘I’ve got you beaten from the start. I +don’t want any of your money. I’ve +got—’”</p> +<p>“‘Never mind what you’ve got,’ Lyte +interrupted. ‘You don’t know what I’ve +got. I guess I’ll take a look.’”</p> +<p>“He looked, and raised the German a hundred +dollars. Then they went at it again, back and forth and +back and forth, until Schultz weakened and called, and laid down +his three aces. Lyte faced his five cards. They were +all black. He had drawn two more clubs. Do you know, +he just about broke Schultz’s nerve as a poker +player. He never played in the same form again. He +lacked confidence after that, and was a bit wobbly.”</p> +<p>“‘But how could you do it?’ I asked Lyte +afterwards. ‘You knew he had you beaten when he drew +two cards. Besides, you never looked at your own +draw.’”</p> +<p>“‘I didn’t have to look,’ was +Lyte’s answer. ‘I knew they were two clubs all +the time. They just had to be two clubs. Do you think +I was going to let that big Dutchman beat me? It was +impossible that he should beat me. It is not my way to be +beaten. I just have to win. Why, I’d have been +the most surprised man in this world if they hadn’t been +all clubs.’”</p> +<p>“That was Lyte’s way, and maybe it will help you +to appreciate his colossal optimism. As he put it he just +had to succeed, to fare well, to prosper. And in that same +incident, as in ten thousand others, he found his sanction. +The thing was that he did succeed, did prosper. That was +why he was afraid of nothing. Nothing could ever happen to +him. He knew it, because nothing had ever happened to +him. That time the <i>Luga</i> was lost and he swam thirty +miles, he was in the water two whole nights and a day. And +during all that terrible stretch of time he never lost hope once, +never once doubted the outcome. He just knew he was going +to make the land. He told me so himself, and I know it was +the truth.</p> +<p>“Well, that is the kind of a man Lyte Gregory was. +He was of a different race from ordinary, ailing mortals. +He was a lordly being, untouched by common ills and +misfortunes. Whatever he wanted he got. He won his +wife—one of the Caruthers, a little beauty—from a +dozen rivals. And she settled down and made him the finest +wife in the world. He wanted a boy. He got it. +He wanted a girl and another boy. He got them. And +they were just right, without spot or blemish, with chests like +little barrels, and with all the inheritance of his own health +and strength.</p> +<p>“And then it happened. The mark of the beast was +laid upon him. I watched it for a year. It broke my +heart. But he did not know it, nor did anybody else guess +it except that cursed <i>hapa-haole</i>, Stephen Kaluna. He +knew it, but I did not know that he did. +And—yes—Doc Strowbridge knew it. He was the +federal physician, and he had developed the leper eye. You +see, part of his business was to examine suspects and order them +to the receiving station at Honolulu. And Stephen Kaluna +had developed the leper eye. The disease ran strong in his +family, and four or five of his relatives were already on +Molokai.</p> +<p>“The trouble arose over Stephen Kaluna’s +sister. When she became suspect, and before Doc Strowbridge +could get hold of her, her brother spirited her away to some +hiding-place. Lyte was Sheriff of Kona, and it was his +business to find her.</p> +<p>“We were all over at Hilo that night, in Ned +Austin’s. Stephen Kaluna was there when we came in, +by himself, in his cups, and quarrelsome. Lyte was laughing +over some joke—that huge, happy laugh of a giant boy. +Kaluna spat contemptuously on the floor. Lyte noticed, so +did everybody; but he ignored the fellow. Kaluna was +looking for trouble. He took it as a personal grudge that +Lyte was trying to apprehend his sister. In half a dozen +ways he advertised his displeasure at Lyte’s presence, but +Lyte ignored him. I imagined Lyte was a bit sorry for him, +for the hardest duty of his office was the apprehension of +lepers. It is not a nice thing to go in to a man’s +house and tear away a father, mother, or child, who has done no +wrong, and to send such a one to perpetual banishment on +Molokai. Of course, it is necessary as a protection to +society, and Lyte, I do believe, would have been the first to +apprehend his own father did he become suspect.</p> +<p>“Finally, Kaluna blurted out: ‘Look here, +Gregory, you think you’re going to find Kalaniweo, but +you’re not.’</p> +<p>“Kalaniweo was his sister. Lyte glanced at him +when his name was called, but he made no answer. Kaluna was +furious. He was working himself up all the time.</p> +<p>“‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ he +shouted. ‘You’ll be on Molokai yourself before +ever you get Kalaniweo there. I’ll tell you what you +are. You’ve no right to be in the company of honest +men. You’ve made a terrible fuss talking about your +duty, haven’t you? You’ve sent many lepers to +Molokai, and knowing all the time you belonged there +yourself.’</p> +<p>“I’d seen Lyte angry more than once, but never +quite so angry as at that moment. Leprosy with us, you +know, is not a thing to jest about. He made one leap across +the floor, dragging Kaluna out of his chair with a clutch on his +neck. He shook him back and forth savagely, till you could +hear the half-caste’s teeth rattling.</p> +<p>“‘What do you mean?’ Lyte was +demanding. ‘Spit it out, man, or I’ll choke it +out of you!’</p> +<p>“You know, in the West there is a certain phrase that a +man must smile while uttering. So with us of the islands, +only our phrase is related to leprosy. No matter what +Kaluna was, he was no coward. As soon as Lyte eased the +grip on his throat he answered:—</p> +<p>“‘I’ll tell you what I mean. You are a +leper yourself.’</p> +<p>“Lyte suddenly flung the half-caste sideways into a +chair, letting him down easily enough. Then Lyte broke out +into honest, hearty laughter. But he laughed alone, and +when he discovered it he looked around at our faces. I had +reached his side and was trying to get him to come away, but he +took no notice of me. He was gazing, fascinated, at Kaluna, +who was brushing at his own throat in a flurried, nervous way, as +if to brush off the contamination of the fingers that had +clutched him. The action was unreasoned, genuine.</p> +<p>“Lyte looked around at us, slowly passing from face to +face.</p> +<p>“‘My God, fellows! My God!’ he +said.</p> +<p>“He did not speak it. It was more a hoarse whisper +of fright and horror. It was fear that fluttered in his +throat, and I don’t think that ever in his life before he +had known fear.</p> +<p>“Then his colossal optimism asserted itself, and he +laughed again.</p> +<p>“‘A good joke—whoever put it up,’ he +said. ‘The drinks are on me. I had a scare for +a moment. But, fellows, don’t do it again, to +anybody. It’s too serious. I tell you I died a +thousand deaths in that moment. I thought of my wife and +the kids, and . . . ’</p> +<p>“His voice broke, and the half-caste, still +throat-brushing, drew his eyes. He was puzzled and +worried.</p> +<p>“‘John,’ he said, turning toward me.</p> +<p>“His jovial, rotund voice rang in my ears. But I +could not answer. I was swallowing hard at that moment, and +besides, I knew my face didn’t look just right.</p> +<p>“‘John,’ he called again, taking a step +nearer.</p> +<p>“He called timidly, and of all nightmares of horrors the +most frightful was to hear timidity in Lyte Gregory’s +voice.</p> +<p>“‘John, John, what does it mean?’ he went +on, still more timidly. ‘It’s a joke, isn’t +it? John, here’s my hand. If I were a leper +would I offer you my hand? Am I a leper, John?’</p> +<p>“He held out his hand, and what in high heaven or hell +did I care? He was my friend. I took his hand, though +it cut me to the heart to see the way his face brightened.</p> +<p>“‘It was only a joke, Lyte,’ I said. +‘We fixed it up on you. But you’re right. +It’s too serious. We won’t do it +again.’</p> +<p>“He did not laugh this time. He smiled, as a man +awakened from a bad dream and still oppressed by the substance of +the dream.</p> +<p>“‘All right, then,’ he said. +‘Don’t do it again, and I’ll stand for the +drinks. But I may as well confess that you fellows had me +going south for a moment. Look at the way I’ve been +sweating.’</p> +<p>“He sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead as he +started to step toward the bar.</p> +<p>“‘It is no joke,’ Kaluna said +abruptly. I looked murder at him, and I felt murder, +too. But I dared not speak or strike. That would have +precipitated the catastrophe which I somehow had a mad hope of +still averting.</p> +<p>“‘It is no joke,’ Kaluna repeated. +‘You are a leper, Lyte Gregory, and you’ve no right +putting your hands on honest men’s flesh—on the clean +flesh of honest men.’</p> +<p>“Then Gregory flared up.</p> +<p>“‘The joke has gone far enough! Quit +it! Quit it, I say, Kaluna, or I’ll give you a +beating!’</p> +<p>“‘You undergo a bacteriological +examination,’ Kaluna answered, ‘and then you can beat +me—to death, if you want to. Why, man, look at +yourself there in the glass. You can see it. Anybody +can see it. You’re developing the lion face. +See where the skin is darkened there over your eyes.</p> +<p>“Lyte peered and peered, and I saw his hands +trembling.</p> +<p>“‘I can see nothing,’ he said finally, then +turned on the <i>hapa-haole</i>. ‘You have a black +heart, Kaluna. And I am not ashamed to say that you have +given me a scare that no man has a right to give another. I +take you at your word. I am going to settle this thing +now. I am going straight to Doc Strowbridge. And when +I come back, watch out.’</p> +<p>“He never looked at us, but started for the door.</p> +<p>“‘You wait here, John,’ he said, waving me +back from accompanying him.</p> +<p>“We stood around like a group of ghosts.</p> +<p>“‘It is the truth,’ Kaluna said. +‘You could see it for yourselves.’</p> +<p>“They looked at me, and I nodded. Harry Burnley +lifted his glass to his lips, but lowered it untasted. He +spilled half of it over the bar. His lips were trembling +like a child that is about to cry. Ned Austin made a +clatter in the ice-chest. He wasn’t looking for +anything. I don’t think he knew what he was +doing. Nobody spoke. Harry Burnley’s lips were +trembling harder than ever. Suddenly, with a most horrible, +malignant expression he drove his fist into Kaluna’s +face. He followed it up. We made no attempt to +separate them. We didn’t care if he killed the +half-caste. It was a terrible beating. We +weren’t interested. I don’t even remember when +Burnley ceased and let the poor devil crawl away. We were +all too dazed.</p> +<p>“Doc Strowbridge told me about it afterward. He +was working late over a report when Lyte came into his +office. Lyte had already recovered his optimism, and came +swinging in, a trifle angry with Kaluna to be sure, but very +certain of himself. ‘What could I do?’ Doc +asked me. ‘I knew he had it. I had seen it +coming on for months. I couldn’t answer him. I +couldn’t say yes. I don’t mind telling you I +broke down and cried. He pleaded for the bacteriological +test. ‘Snip out a piece, Doc,’ he said, over +and over. ‘Snip out a piece of skin and make the +test.’”</p> +<p>“The way Doc Strowbridge cried must have convinced +Lyte. The <i>Claudine</i> was leaving next morning for +Honolulu. We caught him when he was going aboard. You +see, he was headed for Honolulu to give himself up to the Board +of Health. We could do nothing with him. He had sent +too many to Molokai to hang back himself. We argued for +Japan. But he wouldn’t hear of it. +‘I’ve got to take my medicine, fellows,’ was +all he would say, and he said it over and over. He was +obsessed with the idea.</p> +<p>“He wound up all his affairs from the Receiving Station +at Honolulu, and went down to Molokai. He didn’t get +on well there. The resident physician wrote us that he was +a shadow of his old self. You see he was grieving about his +wife and the kids. He knew we were taking care of them, but +it hurt him just the same. After six months or so I went +down to Molokai. I sat on one side a plate-glass window, +and he on the other. We looked at each other through the +glass and talked through what might be called a speaking +tube. But it was hopeless. He had made up his mind to +remain. Four mortal hours I argued. I was exhausted +at the end. My steamer was whistling for me, too.</p> +<p>“But we couldn’t stand for it. Three months +later we chartered the schooner <i>Halcyon</i>. She was an +opium smuggler, and she sailed like a witch. Her master was +a squarehead who would do anything for money, and we made a +charter to China worth his while. He sailed from San +Francisco, and a few days later we took out Landhouse’s +sloop for a cruise. She was only a five-ton yacht, but we +slammed her fifty miles to windward into the north-east +trade. Seasick? I never suffered so in my life. +Out of sight of land we picked up the <i>Halcyon</i>, and Burnley +and I went aboard.</p> +<p>“We ran down to Molokai, arriving about eleven at +night. The schooner hove to and we landed through the surf +in a whale-boat at Kalawao—the place, you know, where +Father Damien died. That squarehead was game. With a +couple of revolvers strapped on him he came right along. +The three of us crossed the peninsula to Kalaupapa, something +like two miles. Just imagine hunting in the dead of night +for a man in a settlement of over a thousand lepers. You +see, if the alarm was given, it was all off with us. It was +strange ground, and pitch dark. The leper’s dogs came +out and bayed at us, and we stumbled around till we got lost.</p> +<p>“The squarehead solved it. He led the way into the +first detached house. We shut the door after us and struck +a light. There were six lepers. We routed them up, +and I talked in native. What I wanted was a +<i>kokua</i>. A <i>kokua</i> is, literally, a helper, a +native who is clean that lives in the settlement and is paid by +the Board of Health to nurse the lepers, dress their sores, and +such things. We stayed in the house to keep track of the +inmates, while the squarehead led one of them off to find a +<i>kokua</i>. He got him, and he brought him along at the +point of his revolver. But the <i>kokua</i> was all +right. While the squarehead guarded the house, Burnley and +I were guided by the <i>kokua</i> to Lyte’s house. He +was all alone.</p> +<p>“‘I thought you fellows would come,’ Lyte +said. ‘Don’t touch me, John. How’s +Ned, and Charley, and all the crowd? Never mind, tell me +afterward. I am ready to go now. I’ve had nine +months of it. Where’s the boat?’</p> +<p>“We started back for the other house to pick up the +squarehead. But the alarm had got out. Lights were +showing in the houses, and doors were slamming. We had +agreed that there was to be no shooting unless absolutely +necessary, and when we were halted we went at it with our fists +and the butts of our revolvers. I found myself tangled up +with a big man. I couldn’t keep him off me, though +twice I smashed him fairly in the face with my fist. He +grappled with me, and we went down, rolling and scrambling and +struggling for grips. He was getting away with me, when +some one came running up with a lantern. Then I saw his +face. How shall I describe the horror of it. It was +not a face—only wasted or wasting features—a living +ravage, noseless, lipless, with one ear swollen and distorted, +hanging down to the shoulder. I was frantic. In a +clinch he hugged me close to him until that ear flapped in my +face. Then I guess I went insane. It was too +terrible. I began striking him with my revolver. How +it happened I don’t know, but just as I was getting clear +he fastened upon me with his teeth. The whole side of my +hand was in that lipless mouth. Then I struck him with the +revolver butt squarely between the eyes, and his teeth +relaxed.”</p> +<p>Cudworth held his hand to me in the moonlight, and I could see +the scars. It looked as if it had been mangled by a +dog.</p> +<p>“Weren’t you afraid?” I asked.</p> +<p>“I was. Seven years I waited. You know, it +takes that long for the disease to incubate. Here in Kona I +waited, and it did not come. But there was never a day of +those seven years, and never a night, that I did not look out on +. . . on all this . . . ” His voice broke as he swept +his eyes from the moon-bathed sea beneath to the snowy summits +above. “I could not bear to think of losing it, of +never again beholding Kona. Seven years! I stayed +clean. But that is why I am single. I was +engaged. I could not dare to marry while I was in +doubt. She did not understand. She went away to the +States and married. I have never seen her since.</p> +<p>“Just at the moment I got clear of the leper policeman +there was a rush and clatter of hoofs like a cavalry +charge. It was the squarehead. He had been afraid of +a rumpus and he had improved his time by making those blessed +lepers he was guarding saddle up four horses. We were ready +for him. Lyte had accounted for three <i>kokuas</i>, and +between us we untangled Burnley from a couple more. The +whole settlement was in an uproar by that time, and as we dashed +away somebody opened upon us with a Winchester. It must +have been Jack McVeigh, the superintendent of Molokai.</p> +<p>“That was a ride! Leper horses, leper saddles, +leper bridles, pitch-black darkness, whistling bullets, and a +road none of the best. And the squarehead’s horse was +a mule, and he didn’t know how to ride, either. But +we made the whaleboat, and as we shoved off through the surf we +could hear the horses coming down the hill from Kalaupapa.</p> +<p>“You’re going to Shanghai. You look Lyte +Gregory up. He is employed in a German firm there. +Take him out to dinner. Open up wine. Give him +everything of the best, but don’t let him pay for +anything. Send the bill to me. His wife and the kids +are in Honolulu, and he needs the money for them. I +know. He sends most of his salary, and lives like an +anchorite. And tell him about Kona. There’s +where his heart is. Tell him all you can about +Kona.”</p> +<h2>JACK LONDON BY HIMSELF</h2> +<p>I was born in San Francisco in 1876. At fifteen I was a +man among men, and if I had a spare nickel I spent it on beer +instead of candy, because I thought it was more manly to buy +beer. Now, when my years are nearly doubled, I am out on a +hunt for the boyhood which I never had, and I am less serious +than at any other time of my life. Guess I’ll find +that boyhood! Almost the first things I realized were +responsibilities. I have no recollection of being taught to +read or write—I could do both at the age of five—but +I know that my first school was in Alameda before I went out on a +ranch with my folks and as a ranch boy worked hard from my eighth +year.</p> +<p>The second school were I tried to pick up a little learning +was an irregular hit or miss affair at San Mateo. Each +class sat in a separate desk, but there were days when we did not +sit at all, for the master used to get drunk very often, and then +one of the elder boys would thrash him. To even things up, +the master would then thrash the younger lads, so you can think +what sort of school it was. There was no one belonging to +me, or associated with me in any way, who had literary tastes or +ideas, the nearest I can make to it is that my great-grandfather +was a circuit writer, a Welshman, known as “Priest” +Jones in the backwoods, where his enthusiasm led him to scatter +the Gospel.</p> +<p>One of my earliest and strongest impressions was of the +ignorance of other people. I had read and absorbed +Washington Irving’s “Alhambra” before I was +nine, but could never understand how it was that the other +ranchers knew nothing about it. Later I concluded that this +ignorance was peculiar to the country, and felt that those who +lived in cities would not be so dense. One day a man from +the city came to the ranch. He wore shiny shoes and a cloth +coat, and I felt that here was a good chance for me to exchange +thoughts with an enlightened mind. From the bricks of an +old fallen chimney I had built an Alhambra of my own; towers, +terraces, and all were complete, and chalk inscriptions marked +the different sections. Here I led the city man and +questioned him about “The Alhambra,” but he was as +ignorant as the man on the ranch, and then I consoled myself with +the thought that there were only two clever people in the +world—Washington Irving and myself.</p> +<p>My other reading-matter at that time consisted mainly of dime +novels, borrowed from the hired men, and newspapers in which the +servants gloated over the adventures of poor but virtuous +shop-girls.</p> +<p>Through reading such stuff my mind was necessarily +ridiculously conventional, but being very lonely I read +everything that came my way, and was greatly impressed by +Ouida’s story “Signa,” which I devoured +regularly for a couple of years. I never knew the finish +until I grew up, for the closing chapters were missing from my +copy, so I kept on dreaming with the hero, and, like him, unable +to see Nemesis, at the end. My work on the ranch at one +time was to watch the bees, and as I sat under a tree from +sunrise till late in the afternoon, waiting for the swarming, I +had plenty of time to read and dream. Livermore Valley was +very flat, and even the hills around were then to me devoid of +interest, and the only incident to break in on my visions was +when I gave the alarm of swarming, and the ranch folks rushed out +with pots, pans, and buckets of water. I think the opening +line of “Signa” was “It was only a little +lad,” yet he had dreams of becoming a great musician, and +having all Europe at his feet. Well, I was only a little +lad, too, but why could not I become what “Signa” +dreamed of being?</p> +<p>Life on a Californian ranch was then to me the dullest +possible existence, and every day I thought of going out beyond +the sky-line to see the world. Even then there were +whispers, promptings; my mind inclined to things beautiful, +although my environment was unbeautiful. The hills and +valleys around were eyesores and aching pits, and I never loved +them till I left them.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Before I was eleven I left the ranch and came to Oakland, +where I spent so much of my time in the Free Public Library, +eagerly reading everything that came to hand, that I developed +the first stages of St. Vitus’ dance from lack of +exercise. Disillusions quickly followed, as I learned more +of the world. At this time I made my living as a newsboy, +selling papers in the streets; and from then on until I was +sixteen I had a thousand and one different occupations—work +and school, school and work—and so it ran.</p> +<p>Then the adventure-lust was strong within me, and I left +home. I didn’t run, I just left—went out in the +bay, and joined the oyster pirates. The days of the oyster +pirates are now past, and if I had got my dues for piracy, I +would have been given five hundred years in prison. Later, +I shipped as a sailor on a schooner, and also took a turn at +salmon fishing. Oddly enough, my next occupation was on a +fish-patrol, where I was entrusted with the arrest of any +violators of the fishing laws. Numbers of lawless Chinese, +Greeks, and Italians were at that time engaged in illegal +fishing, and many a patrolman paid his life for his +interference. My only weapon on duty was a steel +table-fork, but I felt fearless and a man when I climbed over the +side of a boat to arrest some marauder.</p> +<p>Subsequently I shipped before the mast and sailed for the +Japanese coast on a seal-hunting expedition, later going to +Behring Sea. After sealing for seven months I came back to +California and took odd jobs at coal shovelling and longshoring +and also in a jute factory, where I worked from six in the +morning until seven at night. I had planned to join the +same lot for another sealing trip the following year, but somehow +I missed them. They sailed away on the <i>Mary Thomas</i>, +which was lost with all hands.</p> +<p>In my fitful school-days I had written the usual compositions, +which had been praised in the usual way, and while working in the +jute mills I still made an occasional try. The factory +occupied thirteen hours of my day, and being young and husky, I +wanted a little time for myself, so there was little left for +composition. The San Francisco <i>Call</i> offered a prize +for a descriptive article. My mother urged me to try for +it, and I did, taking for my subject “Typhoon off the Coast +of Japan.” Very tired and sleepy, knowing I had to be +up at half-past five, I began the article at midnight and worked +straight on until I had written two thousand words, the limit of +the article, but with my idea only half worked out. The +next night, under the same conditions, I continued, adding +another two thousand words before I finished, and then the third +night I spent in cutting out the excess, so as to bring the +article within the conditions of the contest. The first +prize came to me, and the second and third went to students of +the Stanford and Berkeley Universities.</p> +<p>My success in the San Francisco <i>Call</i> competition +seriously turned my thoughts to writing, but my blood was still +too hot for a settled routine, so I practically deferred +literature, beyond writing a little gush for the <i>Call</i>, +which that journal promptly rejected.</p> +<p>I tramped all through the United States, from California to +Boston, and up and down, returning to the Pacific coast by way of +Canada, where I got into jail and served a term for vagrancy, and +the whole tramping experience made me become a Socialist. +Previously I had been impressed by the dignity of labour, and, +without having read Carlyle or Kipling, I had formulated a gospel +of work which put theirs in the shade. Work was +everything. It was sanctification and salvation. The +pride I took in a hard day’s work well done would be +inconceivable to you. I was as faithful a wage-slave as +ever a capitalist exploited. In short, my joyous +individualism was dominated by the orthodox bourgeois +ethics. I had fought my way from the open west, where men +bucked big and the job hunted the man, to the congested labour +centres of the eastern states, where men were small potatoes and +hunted the job for all they were worth, and I found myself +looking upon life from a new and totally different angle. I +saw the workers in the shambles at the bottom of the Social +Pit. I swore I would never again do a hard day’s work +with my body except where absolutely compelled to, and I have +been busy ever since running away from hard bodily labour.</p> +<p>In my nineteenth year I returned to Oakland and started at the +High School, which ran the usual school magazine. This +publication was a weekly—no, I guess a monthly—one, +and I wrote stories for it, very little imaginary, just recitals +of my sea and tramping experiences. I remained there a +year, doing janitor work as a means of livelihood, and leaving +eventually because the strain was more than I could bear. +At this time my socialistic utterances had attracted considerable +attention, and I was known as the “Boy Socialist,” a +distinction that brought about my arrest for +street-talking. After leaving the High School, in three +months cramming by myself, I took the three years’ work for +that time and entered the University of California. I hated +to give up the hope of a University education and worked in a +laundry and with my pen to help me keep on. This was the +only time I worked because I loved it, but the task was too much, +and when half-way through my Freshman year I had to quit.</p> +<p>I worked away ironing shirts and other things in the laundry, +and wrote in all my spare time. I tried to keep on at both, +but often fell asleep with the pen in my hand. Then I left +the laundry and wrote all the time, and lived and dreamed +again. After three months’ trial I gave up writing, +having decided that I was a failure, and left for the Klondike to +prospect for gold. At the end of the year, owing to the +outbreak of scurvy, I was compelled to come out, and on the +homeward journey of 1,900 miles in an open boat made the only +notes of the trip. It was in the Klondike I found +myself. There nobody talks. Everybody thinks. +You get your true perspective. I got mine.</p> +<p>While I was in the Klondike my father died, and the burden of +the family fell on my shoulders. Times were bad in +California, and I could get no work. While trying for it I +wrote “Down the River,” which was rejected. +During the wait for this rejection I wrote a twenty-thousand word +serial for a news company, which was also rejected. Pending +each rejection I still kept on writing fresh stuff. I did +not know what an editor looked like. I did not know a soul +who had ever published anything. Finally a story was +accepted by a Californian magazine, for which I received five +dollars. Soon afterwards “The Black Cat” +offered me forty dollars for a story.</p> +<p>Then things took a turn, and I shall probably not have to +shovel coal for a living for some time to come, although I have +done it, and could do it again.</p> +<p>My first book was published in 1900. I could have made a +good deal at newspaper work; but I had sufficient sense to refuse +to be a slave to that man-killing machine, for such I held a +newspaper to be to a young man in his forming period. Not +until I was well on my feet as a magazine-writer did I do much +work for newspapers. I am a believer in regular work, and +never wait for an inspiration. Temperamentally I am not +only careless and irregular, but melancholy; still I have fought +both down. The discipline I had as a sailor had full effect +on me. Perhaps my old sea days are also responsible for the +regularity and limitations of my sleep. Five and a half +hours is the precise average I allow myself, and no circumstance +has yet arisen in my life that could keep me awake when the time +comes to “turn in.”</p> +<p>I am very fond of sport, and delight in boxing, fencing, +swimming, riding, yachting, and even kite-flying. Although +primarily of the city, I like to be near it rather than in +it. The country, though, is the best, the only natural +life. In my grown-up years the writers who have influenced +me most are Karl Marx in a particular, and Spencer in a general, +way. In the days of my barren boyhood, if I had had a +chance, I would have gone in for music; now, in what are more +genuinely the days of my youth, if I had a million or two I would +devote myself to writing poetry and pamphlets. I think the +best work I have done is in the “League of the Old +Men,” and parts of “The Kempton-Wace +Letters.” Other people don’t like the +former. They prefer brighter and more cheerful +things. Perhaps I shall feel like that, too, when the days +of my youth are behind me.</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> Malahini—new-comer.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF PRIDE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 2416-h.htm or 2416-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/1/2416 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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