The healing of the Hawaiian : a story of the Hawaiian Islands

CHAPTER I. Aloha!

rthur Seaton sat under the giant palm tree, gazing with tired interest on the surf-board

^ ■“* riders at Waikiki. He felt like a lost soul amidst this brilliant scene of life and color. He watched the strong, young Hawaiians race with their canoes—dive from the highest points into the waves, or standing erect on their surf-boards, ride toward the shore, like ships swept homeward by a rapid wind.

He was not strong enough to join in the sport, yet he hated to be considered a semi-invalid. He did not harmonize with men of his age. There was some¬ thing about him that was too powerful to be called “sissy,” but he had never been one with the boys, and no girl attempted to understand him.

Arthur Seaton’s training had been against him. Both his parents, he was constantly reminded, had passed with lung trouble, and the same fatality had been held over him since birth. The maiden aunt who had adopted him with his fortune, had raised him on cod-liver oil and cough drops, kept him indoors over the winter and had his tutor in the home.

Arthur loved books and study. He came of a race of ministers and teachers. He lived in the mental world, and as many mothers were fond of quoting to their negligent sons and daughters, he knew the Bible from cover to cover. He believed as his parents and grandparents had done, swallowed their idea of God, and though his religion gave him little comfort, clung to it with that deep sincerity which comes of a con¬ scientious ancestry.

The sudden passing away of his maiden aunt, roused him from a dream of twenty-five years. It came with a shock, and an intense surprise, because “Aunt Amy” had been to him like a fixture.

She had spoken many times of the other world, but never in connection with herself. It had been her consolation to him when his cough was unusually bad, that God did not let suffering go on forever, but had prepared a place of rest.

He had seen himself in that “oasis,” a thousand times, but never placed Aunt Amy anywhere except amidst her church work, and with her knitting by the fireside.

“What will that delicate nephew do, now poor Miss Seaton has gone?” was the question asked on every side.

Arthur was wondering too. He had acted so lit¬ tle independently that the responsibility of being thrown upon his own resources was appalling.

He talked it over with the lawyer, as they dis¬ cussed Miss Seaton’s affairs.

The old man looked at him shrewdly and spoke as if by sudden inspiration.

“Why not pack up and go to the Hawaiian Is¬ lands? Why should you hang around a climate of this kind? If I had an independent fortune, Hawaii is the place where I would end my days. No, I would begin them—we don’t go there to die—we go to live. Blue skies and sunshine—colors—fruits and flowers; a land where everyone gets well!”

The words went through Arthur like an electric shock.

“A land where everyone gets well—Gets well,” and he had never known what health was.

He carried the thought to bed with him, and lay in the darkness holding it to his heart.

He had only a vague idea of the Islands. He as¬ sociated them mostly with a race of heathen, whom

Aloha!

his aunt had told him it had been her prayer, he would go forth to convert.

He closed his eyes for a moment, overcome by the immensity of taking such a trip alone. Possibly, at that moment he touched in consciousness the shores of that other world. He did not know if he dreamed it. In the afterwards he recalled many times that quick flash out of the nothingness of darkness. The picture of a shore, beaten by shining waves. Skies of a brilliant blue, giant palms and blossoms of gold, through which the smiling face of a flower crowned woman looked, and waved her hands in welcome.

“A land where everyone gets well,” he found him¬ self repeating. “I am going to try it as a last resource

—and maybe, maybe-” He dared not voice the

beautiful hope, but it registered in his subconscious mind. . . .

The voyage is what he had built into it. A voyage of sickness, where he never looked on the water until the last day—when weak, miserable and desperately ill, he stepped on deck, realizing that he had put be¬ tween himself and home a barrier that he would never be able to cross.

The cry that the points of Honolulu were in sight, brought him out of his cabin. He was glad in the great excitement of getting ashore that no one seemed to notice his condition, except the attentive stewards, who were almost wearying in their desire for his hap¬ piness. He tipped them heavily, and pleased to see them out of sight, steadied himself by the hand-rail, to look upon the scene.

“The Matsonia” was gliding over the waters, golden with the morning sunrise, like a happy seagull sailing easily for home. Lights of rose and amber struck her sides like flags of victory to herald her ap¬ proach. Out of the shining blue of the sky, rain, deli¬ cate as dew, was falling, and away over “Diamond

Head,” a rainbow sparkling like jewels wrote her cheerful “Aloha” in the brightest colors.

Everyone was pressing to the vessel's edge. Hand¬ some American girls, and big-eyed, laughing Hawaiians. Tiny Japanese mothers holding up smiling, black¬ haired babies. Men, women and children straining their necks and eyes to see in the distant crowd upon the landing stage someone they loved awaiting them with leis.

He found himself jostled into the midst of the happy throng. Their great vibration of joy and ex¬ pectant love, the warmth of their throbbing hearts, the kisses ready on their lips, their arms vibrating to em¬ brace their loved ones, threw out an energy on every side which warmed his starved body with a warmth no sunshine could have given. It brought a sudden strength and vitality which made him forget his weak¬ ness and straighten his bent frame.

The boat was drifting nearer. Shouts of recogni¬ tion filled the air, mingling their joy with the burst of music which came with sudden and surprising sweet¬ ness from the great Hawaiian band. Music that sung out on its tender notes the welcome of the Islands. A welcome so full of love and beauty that it roused emo¬ tion almost to the joy of tears.

He found himself singing with the happy people —he who had never sung, beyond the humming of a hymn. It seemed impossible to believe as he walked down the gangway and saw the leis around every neck, that there was not someone there to welcome him.

The soulful rapture continued to stir within him, while the taxi went over the ground, through hedges made brilliant by pink and red hibiscus, where the golden shower trees, tossed their flaming colors against the shining blue of the sky. Under the tall shelter of majestic, white-trunked palms, to the modern hotel, so like the surroundings by which he had been associated, that the damp begun to settle once more on his soul,

Aloha !

especially when the clerk looked at his name and said: “Oh, yes, your lawyer wrote to us. You made your reservation just a month ago. It’s Mr. Seaton from Ohio, the invalid, is it not?”

The invalid! In those moments of contagious joy, he had forgotten that he ever was one. Yes, of course he was an invalid. He felt it far more strongly when he went down to the beach at Waikiki. Men and women of all ages sporting with the shining tide —children like rain-drenched flowers, playing their games of catching with the waves—and he alone, a stranger on the beach, unable to take part in any of their fun. He longed as he had never longed for a strong body, to be able to do what other men could do.

A land where everyone gets well! That was not so with him. He watched himself each day grow thin¬ ner. He began to shut off from the beach; he kept his room, and soon they knew in the hotel that the young man from the coast was very sick.

The doctor analyzed his case. He was a wise man, although a doctor. He knew the power of suggestion; he knew the cause was in the mind.

“If it is too hot for you in Honolulu, then I’ll tell you where to go,” he said. “There’s a spot loved by the Hawaiians, a spot where all the old natives dwell. At a certain part of the beach in that little nest of love, it is impossible to be sick. Few people go to ‘Hana,’ and so it is unspoiled. If you want a bit of natural history made up of health and natives, go to that spot on ‘Maui’—go there and you’ll get well. There’s no one to disturb you. The beach will be just like your own.”

But Arthur shook his head. The thought of the waves and the stateroom in which he had spent six days of agony in crossing from the coast, brought the color of seasickness to his face.

“I don’t think anything would help me,” he said, weakty. “My father tried all things—my mother, too

—but they both passed with the same trouble/’

The doctor spoke strongly and emphatically. “Come, man,” he said, “you’re not your father, nor your mother, so you need not blame them for your present condition. We are too fond of blaming our weak spots upon another. Because my great-grand¬ father died in the workhouse is the very reason why I am not going to die there. We learn by the mistakes of others, but if we are going to copy their mistakes, we would make a funny muddle of our lives. You go to Hana, and if you don’t get better when three weeks have passed, I’ll give up my profession.”

“Unfortunately that wouldn’t help me,” said Ar¬ thur. “If I could reach this place by land I would go willingly. But water-”

“Yes, of course you fear the water. I guess they wrapped you up too much in a blanket, instead of throwing you up in one. The trouble with you is, you think of nothing but your precious body.”

f “Oh, no!” cried Arthur, in a voice of an ancestry of ministers. “I think about my soul.”

“Then think about your soul, and get away from your body,” answered the doctor, as he went from the room.

The words struck home. The doctor was right He must think of his soul. He had not dwelt on that lately, and how did he know but what his soul might soon be required of him.

He would go to the next Island and give that little place a chance. In solitude he would have time for prayer and reading his Bible, so that if the end should come, it might be peaceful as his ancestors had been.

Deep in his heart he wanted to live, but he wanted to live and be well. He was tired of dragging around a weak and ailing body. He wanted to be strong as the men who rode the surf-boards. It might come— but now he must think of his soul.

CHAPTER II. Sailing Into the Island of Health

H e did not feel the roughness of the passage to Maui. He was lying alone in his room. The waves hit hard on the vessel, and more than once thundered the deck. He was surprised when the steward brought him his supper to hear that some of the people were sick. He was conscious of a certain victory gained, when he stepped out on deck and looked at the heaving water. The joy one feels of having do¬ minion.

The wind blew strong and cold; they were passing the twinkling lights of an island. “That’s Molokai,” said one of the men who sat beside him. “If you’re a stranger you may not know the points of interest. There’s where the lepers are, poor souls,” and he shud¬ dered at the thought. ‘1

Arthur listened attentively. Leprosy had not the horror for him that it has for those who have come face to face with the dreaded disease.

“I visited the island once,” the stranger continued, “There’s a beautiful case of love and devotion there which was to me the brightest spot in its history. It was the case of a man with very small symptoms of the disease. He was cured by the oil treatments they are giving, but before he was cured he had fallen in love with one of the women. Strange for a man to fall in love with a leper—but such was the case.”

“Sympathy,” suggested Arthur, with his eyes still fixed on the lights of the Island, now fading away like stars in the mist.

“Sympathy? No. One looks for that in a woman, but it is a mighty rare jewel to find in a man. It was a case of real love, but not at first sight. He was one of the most prosperous men of his day, the pet of so¬ ciety, a man of the world. He was just on the verge of marrying a beautiful woman, but suddenly where fortune's wheel had worked in his favor, she swung in the other direction, and all was gone in a night. Then his so-called friends began to walk on the other side of the street. The girl he was to have married, told him in a few violet-scented words that it would now be impossible for her to consider it; and on the top of all this he was found to have symptoms of the disease. He was brought to the Islands and it was there he met this lonely, sad-hearted woman. Her experience had been something like his own, but she seemed to forget it in cheering him. She was not a clever woman, and I do not suppose she was very good looking, but she gave him a love such as he had never known, and of course she grew slowly into his heart."

Arthur smiled somewhat sadly. “It's very ro¬ mantic," he said, “but you say it is true."

“Romance only comes through the eyes of ro¬ mance," responded the man. “It’s strange, too, what tricks fortune can play us. I never worry over her games any more than I worry when the sun goes back of a cloud, for I know that the moment she has dashed our ship on the rocks, she is just as likely to bring one in full sail round the corner, a far better ship then the one we have lost. It was just such a game she played with this man. After taking all out of his hands, she flung back her golden ball in his lap. All things came raining down in a moment. He was cured, as I say, by the oil treatment, and freedom’s gate opened before him: and just on that very morning with the sudden rush in of good planets, he heard he had fallen sole heir to his uncle’s estate. He was the owner of millions. No one rejoiced more than his lit-

Sailing Into the Island of Health tie companion. She told him she had prayed all the time for his freedom. Women tell us they pray for some strange things, and it's hard for us selfish men to believe it, but I do honestly think that good, little woman wished him the best, even if it meant sorrow for her.

“Of course, after the news of his riches were cir¬ culated, letters of congratulation came on all sides; letters from those who had long since forgotten him. The girl he was to have married, wrote to own her mis¬ take, and confess that her love had gone to no other. Do you think he went back to them? He made the woman who was a leper believe he was going, just to test her love to the limit, but she stood it out to the end. Without a tear, but a mighty big lump in her throat, she bid him good-bye. She would not go down to the boat and she didn’t need to, because he never intended to go. He waited until night time, and then slipped around to her cottage. She was kneeling at prayer. She was praying for him. Not for him to come back, but that he might find his own, and be happy.”

The man stopped a moment. Arthur was some¬ what surprised to see he was wiping his eyes. The world is more quick to sympathize than we believe.

“And then?” he asked slowly.

“Why, then they married,” he continued, growing suddenly practical. “Married, and lived on the Island. Do you think he would leave a woman like that? No, he had found love at last, and he would rather live with love in a leper settlement than in a world of society without it.”

“That was a very unusual case,” Arthur said.

“Yes, pretty unusual, because people are seeking for fortunes in our days and not seeking love.”

Arthur smiled wearily. “I cannot give an opinion on that,” he replied, “I never sought either.”

“That’s maybe your trouble,” the stranger sug¬ gested. “Don’t call it a virtue not to have loved, for unless we have love in our lives we had better be dead —or we are dead, would be truer, for nothing can live without love. It would pine away like an unwanted plant in the celler. Love, man, even if it breaks your heart. Love even if your ideals are smashed in the loving; love, and if your life is only transformed by that love but a moment, you will have touched the robes of a glory such as not all the cold dollars of the world could buy.”

“I was never very interested in women,” Arthur coolly responded.

The man laughed heartily. “Oh! love does not necessarily mean a woman,” he answered, “though that’s the love we generally crave. But love something, and however small may be the object of your love, it will light a spark in your world which will save you from utter desolation.”

“I love my God,” said Arthur, with an effort.

His companion grew suddenly silent. He had lifted his eyes to the blackness of the sky, made bril¬ liant by millions of glittering stars. Then he looked down to the man by his side and fixed his gaze earnestly on him. The light from the window of one of the staterooms, fell over his face, white, miserable and drawn by years of sickness. Was he the expression in body or in mind of one who loved even the smallest things in nature, the tiniest microbe, of the Great Cause of All? Where was the vibrant atmosphere, the radiant life, the luminance and power? Without connecting with its object, love would be an impossi¬ bility. If this man truly loved his God he must have made divine connection, yet what had that connection brought him?

“I am not what the world would call religious,” he said slowly. “I know creation has a cause and that cause manifests in everything. I can see it as much in

Sailing Into the Island of Health those big, dashing waves, as I can in that crescent moon, but I haven't got the understanding of that Cause, and to love a thing we have to understand it. If you have got that understanding strong enough to love it, then you're a lucky man, for love connected with the cause of all, should bring you all things.”

A lucky man! Trying to hold thoughts of salva¬ tion for his soul, he sat out shivering on the deck. Where was his luck? he questioned.

A troop of happy, laughing girls and boys, glory¬ ing in wind and waves and starlit skies, came rushing past him.

“Their seasickness didn’t bother them much,” he said, as he watched them race the deck. “You can't keep life and health like that tied down.”

“It must be wonderful to have such energy,” said Arthur. “I never had it even as a boy.”

“Yet you are connected with the Cause that built the worlds,” his new friend quietly responded. “You say you love that Cause—surely your love must gain response in the eternal energy of Love.”

A faint flush crept to Arthur’s cheeks. “You don't believe the way I do,” he said, “and I don't often talk on religion.”

“Nor I,” replied the man. “I don't, because I don’t know much about it. I have no use for Churches— never had—but I have my own ideas of things, and I guess I have the license to express them. I said I knew there was a Cause for this creation, the Cause that you call God, but which of us have found Him? We get glimpses of His glory on a night like this. We have moments of it on the mountain heights, moments of great emotional rapture, which make the world look very cold when we step out of them—but if the Force of all of our love were concentrated on His power— love being the greatest magnet that there is, we should become like gods ourselves. How could man fail con¬ nected with that mighty dynamo ? How could he draw into his life the sorrows of the world, since sorrow has no part in that divine connection? How could he be weak and sick when the architecture has no flaw? How could he die since eternal Energy is deathless? His life would become like a strong river, drawing al¬ ways from a never ending source.”

He walked away as he spoke, and Arthur was glad to see him go. Somehow this conversation made him nervous. He leaned back in his deck-chair, watching the dancing lights upon the water, and longing that the trip might end.

Chapter III

W hen Arthur had been three days in Hana he found himself gradually gaining strength. He had taken a little cottage in sight of the water and employed a Chinaman for cook and housekeeper.

Yee Kui was a man past middle life, given to suck¬ ing a pipe rather than smoking, and thinking more than he expressed. It was this last virtue which pleased Arthur, who was worn out by the constant babel of tongues which clashed over nothing in the lobby of the hotel.

Yee Kui was kind and thoughtful for his master, ministering to his smallest needs, but asking no ques¬ tion, understanding his wants, more by instinct than by words.

He began to enjoy his life of freedom, spending his time out of doors and finding his meals ready at whatever hour he returned. Sometimes he questioned how the silent footed little Chinaman could provide such unexpected delicacies which had the relish he had always craved. It amused him that he should really feel hungry, and yet Yee Kui never provided too much nor too little, but smiled at the empty plates, with a smile so quaint and kindly that it made one forget that his mouth was toothless.

The lights went out early all over the Island, but Yee Kui always had candles provided. As he placed Them by the bedside, he would make his friendly bow with the word spoken slowly, “You will sleep well.”

Arthur was glad he said it without the hope. He liked the strength of the affirmation, “you will sleep well.”

And he did sleep. He slept better than he had ever done in his life. He had never really slept with comfort. As a child he was disturbed by nervous fears, nightmares and dreams, and had more than once walked in his sleep. He remembered how his aunt, fearing that he might walk out of doors on some of these somnambulistic rambles, had had him tied in bed. How he had screamed in vain for his release and finally broken one of his teeth in trying to bite through the rope. But he was suddenly knowing what it was to sleep, and sleep easily.

On the third morning he did not awaken until nearly daybreak. The bright light of the stars was softening with the coming dawn. He did not know that he had even seen a sunrise. A feeling of interest awoke in his heart, an interest which gave him a sud¬ den grip of life. He would go out and watch for the sun to rise; how surprised Yee Kui would be if he got up ahead of him, and was out of doors before he had time to prepare his breakfast. A touch of fun al¬ most akin to a school boy’s made him enjoy the an¬ ticipation of the picture. It cost him a little effort to dress without assistance, but he forgot everything in his eagerness to steal this march on Yee Kui.

But those who got ahead of the Chinaman would have to stay up all night. Yee Kui’s little watchman, of whom nobody knew but himself, because he lived in the finest crevice of his ear, was there at all hours with his bell, and had given him the morning call be¬ fore Arthur was out of bed. The tray with the hot coffee and toast met him at the door, and asking no question, Yee Kui placed it on the table and shuffled away, a smile on his face broadening at his master’s amazement.

“Upon my word, Yee Kui, if you aren’t the limit,” said Arthur. ‘T was going to have the surprise on you, but you got it on me.”

He drank the coffee and went on his way rejoicing in the freedom of not being asked where nor why, or even the hour when he would return.

Nature came forward to meet him in all the gran¬ deur of her morning glory. The air was damp with the heavy moisture of the night and the salty spray of the sea. A soft primrose light, deepening into gold around the throne of the rising sun, reflected on the glittering sand. A sea bird shining white against the green of Pali-Ulis heights dropped suddenly down¬ wards and joined her companions in their morning sail across the glittering waves.

Arthur walked slowly under the cocoanut trees and down to where the pink flowered vine trailed over the stones to meet the sea.

A dark-skinned, smiling native with a lei of red hibiscus twisted about his straw hat called out a cheerful “Aloha” as he pulled his bright canoe from among the others and pushing it into the billows, paddied aw r ay from the shore.

Arthur liked this spirit of greeting, though he had yet to learn the beautiful meaning of the beautiful word. He felt glad to be treated like a rational being and not always looked upon as an invalid.

The beach was very still and restful; the calm, clear air, so full of scents carried from hidden shrubs and mountain flowers, scarcely disturbed the gentle movement of the waves. A peace like he had never known stole over him. It seemed as though a cool and sympathetic hand had suddenly been laid upon his heart; as if a calm and gentle voice demanded every nerve to be at rest. He relaxed in its security like a child long frightened by shadows would relax in the protection of its mother’s arms.

He did not want to break this beautiful charm; he stayed out all the morning, basking in it, feeling happy in the knowledge that Yee Kui would not seek for him, nor even question if he did not return at any stated hour. It was very convenient to live with someone who did riot follow him with an anxious mind, nor wonder where he was. Better, far better, than a hundred tele¬ phones was the magic understanding of this silent lit¬ tle Chinaman.

He ventured to stay the afternoon as well; he did not feel hungry, and he knew his lack of hunger did not come from illness. He was getting a royal feast in the glory of the beautiful scene on which he looked.

No one to bother him. The strong fishermen threw in their nets, but their energy did not tire him like the energy of the bathers at Waikiki.

Night was approaching. Where the great queen of day had sunk to rest, the stars were scattered like jewels fallen from her crown of gold. Over her crim¬ son path of light the heavy blinds of darkness were being drawn.

Arthur was surprised to find he was almost drowsy; drowsy without using all the sense-numbing, suggestion-brewed remedies of the drug store and the doctor. He rolled his steamer rug into a ball, rested his head upon it, and gave way to this new sensation of sleep without drugs and thumping a pillow.

How long he slept he did not know, but he was jerked suddenly into consciousness by the sound of a rock or stone rolling from heights above and falling at a little distance. He strained his eyes in the dark¬ ness with difficulty recalling his whereabouts. By the light of a thousand stars he could dimly discern the giant outline of the cliff behind him. In front the waves of an invisible tide came washing inwards. He drew like a frightened child into the shelter of the pro¬ tecting heights, as he felt the salt spray splash upon his face and hair. Stiff and cold, with aching limbs, he tried to find his way along the sand. He had con¬ gratulated himself on freedom; that no one interfered with his movements; but how much he longed now for a human voice, for some one’s guiding hand. He was almost angry with Yee Kui for leaving him in such a plight. Each step he took seemed to bring him into denser darkness. He had no idea of his whereabouts except he knew he was close to the sea, sandwiched be¬ tween the mighty waves and the giant cliffs.