CHAPTER V

MOLOKAI, THE LEPER ISLAND

In telling of Molokai, the Leper Island, I might as well confess at the outset that I was never on it. But Jack London was, and everything here set forth was gotten direct from him or from others who had intimate knowledge whereof they spoke. Not many persons, outside the officials of the Board of Health, have ever been allowed to leave the island of Molokai, once they had entered the Settlement. Dr. Pinkham, president of the Board of Health, who has the entire managing of the island, was an ardent admirer of the literary works of Jack London; and he so managed it that both the Londons were allowed to visit Molokai, in order that Mr. London might properly describe the life on this island, and thus correct the Kanaka notion that Molokai is a place of torture. Dr. Pinkham's decision was a wise one. Much has been written in the past of the horrors of the Leper Settlement, but almost without exception these expositions have been wild and lurid--as London put it, the work of sensationalists, most of whom had never laid eyes on a single one of the things they described in such exaggerated and undependable detail. But there are a great many persons among English-speaking peoples who have learned that Jack London always tells the truth as he sees it. Dr. Pinkham knew that if London were to go to the Settlement, his account of it would present conditions as they actually are, not as they are shown to be in the distorted articles of the yellow press. And so, permission was granted.

But when I tried to follow, the doctor, though my very good friend, stopped me. He could not take me to the island of Molokai, because he had no excuse for doing so. I was not a noted writer--I was merely a sightseer; and to take a sightseer to Molokai would have lost him his position. For that matter, the Hawaiian citizens and the Honolulu press did criticise him severely for taking Mr. and Mrs. London to the island.

But while I have never seen the lepers in their Settlement, I have seen hundreds of cases of leprosy all through the South Seas. Furthermore, I have discussed the disease and the managing of Molokai with Dr. Pinkham, than whom surely there could be no better source of information. Leprosy was a constant topic of conversation, morning, noon, and night, with the little crew of voyageurs on the _Snark_; we were all deeply interested; and of this, as of every other island subject, Jack London had almost encyclopædic knowledge. In fact, leprosy was his hobby; he was an untiring defender of segregation. What of my own experiences, and the memory of other men's experiences, and what of all that Jack London told me at this time, there has been bred in me a profound conviction that my own knowledge of leprosy is considerable--certainly greater than that of many who live all their lives within a stone's throw of Molokai. In the very nature of the thing, I was bound to learn, and learn more than could any ordinary tourist, even though my actual observation might not extend quite so far as did the observation of the specialists, the members of the Board of Health, the executives, and those visitors, few in number, who have had the privilege of setting foot within the Leper Settlement.

And so, at the beginning, let me add my testimony to that of Jack London, in saying that the horrors with which Molokai is associated in the average mind, _simply do not exist_. The sensationalists have done their work well. To the four corners of the earth they have disseminated their ghastly fictions, with a persistency truly wonderful; and the people of every nation, hungry for things that are gruesome, have pounced greedily on all that was offered. As a result, their minds are full-fed with every variety of deceit, from mere harmless fables to the most inexcusable lies, and to such an extent that the truth, even when shown to them, may find little room for lodgment. Nevertheless, I am optimistic enough to hope that a pinch of real fact may leaven a mountain of misrepresentation, and that, in time, the people of every civilised country will come to know just what sort of place Molokai is, and just what things take place there.

It is strange that the greatest misapprehension exists among the people of Hawaii. Living next door, as it were, to the segregated unfortunates, many of whom have been recruited from their own ranks, it might be supposed that they would be the very first to disburden their minds of delusion. Not so. In the city of Honolulu, there are many who still credit the idea that Molokai is the place of life-long confinement, inhuman torture, and melancholy death. The word "Molokai" spells for them nothing but the most unmerciful disaster. The very name is enough to send the hot blood rushing to the heart, and to strike laughter from the lips. Truly, to their unhappy conception, Molokai is but the valley of the shadows, wherein shines never a ray of light to brighten the path of him who must tread its sombre way.

Much of this sentiment is due to demagogues, who stir the people constantly with their recital of the lepers' wrongs. Indignation often runs high when some particularly outrageous abuse is instanced. The natives are almost inconceivably credulous, and, unfortunately, they will not take the trouble to test the truth of demagogic assertion. However, a campaign of education has been begun; persons long resident in the Leper Settlement have been shown by the bacteriological test to be free from the imputed disease; and, returned to friends and families, they shatter by direct evidence the absurd fancies theretofore current. More and more the value and necessity of segregation is being impressed upon the Hawaiian natives' minds.

Jack and Mrs. London were at Molokai a week; they spent the Fourth of July there. I went with them down to the wharf to catch the leper-steamer, which makes weekly trips. It is almost always sure of at least one passenger, from the receiving station at Kalihi, where suspects are put through the bacteriological examination; and of course Superintendent McVeigh is usually on board, to take charge of the lepers and see them safely to the island.

A number of new lepers were to go that day, and the wharf was crowded with friends and relatives, come down to say the good-byes and to see the poor patients off. It was not a happy sight. I shall never forget it. Such stormy scenes of grief are terrible. Men and women and children were there; and on the faces of those who were to stay was great sadness, on the faces of those who were to go sadness and something more: a sick look, a lurking dread in their eyes, a pallor not natural to human flesh. As the time drew near for departure, a sudden stir came over the crowd; grief grew more vociferous. The babel of voices, hitherto somewhat subdued, rose first to a hum and then into a sharp murmur. Somewhere a rich native voice, low-pitched and beautiful, began softly singing the song of farewell. _Aloha oe_--_aloha oe_, was the refrain. Wheresoever the departing lepers might roam, through all their days of enforced segregation from those who loved them and whom they loved, affection and best wishes would be with them.

Then came the bustle of going aboard; last handclasps; tears; voices that shook with emotion; and though the sad hearts could not be seen nor heard, their beat somehow found its way into the scene; misery bound the many hearts into one, and their pulse was united by some mighty bond of sympathy. A harsh cry from the steamer now stirred everyone into action; the lepers broke sorrowfully away from their friends and families, whose grief burst out anew, and hurried aboard. Such was the parting--not a happy thing to see, not a thing one can forget.

At this point I was compelled to go back to the _Snark_, leaving Mr. and Mrs. London to make the trip to Molokai on the leper-boat. Two hours must elapse ere their arrival. Jack carried with him his camera, and took a number of unique and interesting pictures of the island and its inhabitants. Some of these pictures are here reproduced.

As the leper-boat approached the island, he secured some good views of its rocky coast. Owing to the fact that there is no anchorage close up, the leper-steamer must stand on and off a half-mile from shore, and the landing is made by shooting the surf, through a very dangerous passage, to a little wharf that extends about two hundred feet out into the channel. As they came near, a sound of music floated to them over the water. The return of Superintendent McVeigh is always considered an occasion for rejoicing, among the lepers. A number of the leper men and women, gathered on the beach, play stringed instruments and sing happy songs to make the arrival of the new lepers as pleasant as possible.

Jack told me afterward that it was much different from what he had expected. He, too, had fed his mind on the writings of the sensationalists. Once he had read an account which told of Superintendent McVeigh (his host on this occasion) crouching in a grass hut and surrounded by lepers wailing through the night for food, which the cruel superintendent withheld. The funny part of it, Jack explained, was that Superintendent McVeigh's house was not of grass, but of wood, and the lepers, well-fed and comfortable, did no wailing at all, but were remarkably happy and contented folk, following their various chosen pursuits by day, or loafing if they desired, and filling the night with the melodious music of their _ukeleles_, banjos, guitars, violins, and other stringed instruments, to say nothing of beautiful songs sung by the singing societies. And another thing: when we were sailing along the windward side of Molokai on the _Snark_, Jack had pointed to the island, and said it was the pit of hell, the most cursed place on earth. But he never spoke so after his visit. His eyes were opened.

The Leper Settlement is divided into two main villages. These are on a peninsula extending from the north side of the island. To left, right, and front is the water. At the back towers the giant wall of the _pali_, varying from two to four thousand feet in height. Besides the villages, there are a good many seaside and country homes. Many of the lepers are well-to-do, owning horses, fishing-boats, buggies, carts, and other property. One woman is said to have several good houses, which she rents.

In all, I believe there are over eight hundred souls on the island. The population is a mixed one. Dr. Pinkham told me that most of the lepers are Hawaiians, or part-Hawaiians; next in number come the Japanese; and the Chinese are third. (It is thought that the Chinese imported the disease into Hawaii.) There were also three negroes, a few Portuguese, a Norwegian, and about seven Americans. Americans, however, seldom catch the disease, and then almost always by inoculation. Jack met several of the American lepers; he afterward mentioned a Major Lee, once a marine engineer for the Inter Island Steamship Company, and then working in the new steam laundry of Molokai; Mr. Bartlett, formerly in business in Honolulu, now keeper of the Board of Health store; and another, whose name I have forgotten, but who was a veteran of the Civil War--a crack shot--and at that time in his sixty-fifth year. Then there are the non-lepers. Of these are the _kokuas_, or native helpers, and the priests; Protestant ministers and their wives; the resident physicians, Dr. Goodhue and Dr. Hollman; the Franciscan Sisters at Bishop House, and their Jap servants; two principals and four Brothers at Baldwin House, and several domestics. Superintendent McVeigh's assistant, Mr. Waiamau, is a pure Hawaiian, himself stricken with leprosy.

In the two villages there are churches and assembly halls. Yellow writers to the contrary, there is not a grass house in the Settlement. The buildings are of wood and stone, and are very comfortable. There are stores for such as care to engage in business. Some of the lepers fish, others farm; there are splendid grassy pastures for the horses, which roam by hundreds in the mountains. The lepers have their fishing-boats and a steam launch. Again, there are painters and carpenters. Almost every trade is followed--even stock-raising and dairying are carried on. There are artisans of every variety. In such a large gathering of men and women and children, there is of course great diversity of taste and ability. Usually, those who have been actively engaged before coming to Molokai prefer to follow the same pursuits after their arrival.

But let it be emphasised that not one of these people needs work unless he elects to do so. Being wards of the Territory of Hawaii, all things necessary to life and comfort are supplied to them free. If, by their own efforts, they are able to make a few dollars, they are just that much ahead of the game. Lepers who live outside the two villages draw from the government a fixed amount of money as a "clothes ration order," in addition to a weekly allowance in provisions. Of course, many of the lepers have property elsewhere, from which they derive an income; and some of them are looked after by friends.

There are over seven hundred buildings in the Settlement. Among them are the six churches: two Protestant, two Mormon, and two Catholic. The Young Men's Christian Association building is particularly good. The lepers even have an electric plant, and a _poi_ factory, to say nothing of a courthouse and jail.

Social life is brisk on Molokai. An athletic club has been founded; also glee clubs. Weekly band concerts are given in the pavilion. On the afternoon of the Fourth of July, Jack and Mrs. London had the pleasure of seeing a merry parade, and were appointed the judges at a horse-race. On the morning after their arrival, they attended a shoot of the Kaluapapa Rifle Club. On the day the Londons climbed the two-thousand-foot _pali_ and looked their last upon the Settlement, an exciting baseball game, played by the doctors, the lepers and the non-lepers, was in progress, on a very good baseball diamond. There are even visitors' houses, kept clean of disease, where, at certain intervals, the lepers may meet such of their friends, relatives, or business agents, as come to see them. And when one adds to all this the consideration that Molokai enjoys a better climate than even Honolulu, it will be seen that the Leper Settlement cannot be such a very terrible place after all.

After the Londons returned to Honolulu, many persons expressed amazement at their temerity in venturing wilfully among the afflicted of Molokai. They had not even held aloof from the lepers, nor worn long gloves; instead they had shaken hands with scores of them. To such of the staid people of Honolulu as still clung to their chamber-of-horrors notion, the act was the very height of foolhardiness. It was inconceivable. But among the more intelligent Hawaiians, no such horror of leprosy obtains. They realise how feebly contagious it is. In the Settlement, lepers and non-lepers mingle freely; at a shoot of the Kalaupapa Rifle Club, the same guns are used by those afflicted and those free from the disease; in horse-racing, the same horses are ridden by all; and in baseball games, bats, gloves, and masks are freely exchanged. Not easily does the _bacillus leprae_ pass from body to body. Only is there danger when one has open wounds which might come in contact with leprous flesh. The usual precaution, after being with lepers, is the washing with antiseptic soap, and the changing of clothing. And as to the Londons' trip, two very important things were accomplished by it. In the first place, Jack's longing to see the much-talked-of leper retreat was satisfied; and that meant much. And secondly--more important--probably the first detailed and absolutely truthful account of the Settlement was given to the world in the article Jack wrote soon after, entitled "The Lepers of Molokai." That article, now reprinted in his "Cruise of the _Snark_," covers so thoroughly this visit to Molokai that it is needless for me to say much more concerning it. But my own observations as to leprosy in the other islands of the Territory of Hawaii, and the many things told me by the better-informed class of natives, may not be without value.

Segregation is imperative. By its means, leprosy is on the wane in Hawaii. When a person is suspected of the disease, he is summoned to Kalihi, in the outskirts of Honolulu and put through a thorough bacteriological test. If the _bacillus leprae_ is found, after a careful examination by the bacteriologist, the suspect is further examined by a Board of physicians appointed for the purpose; and if he is pronounced a leper, preparations are made for taking him to Molokai. Plenty of time is given him in which to administer his business affairs. Every courtesy is shown. And after being sent to Molokai, he has the privilege of being again examined, at any time, by competent authority, to determine the exact condition of his disease.

As I have said, leprosy is very feebly contagious. But throughout the world, there is widespread fear of it. Considering the horribleness of the disease--for horrible it is, beyond the power of the most unprincipled inkster to exaggerate--and its absolutely incurable character, one cannot wonder much at the sentiment existing among all peoples in countries where any of its forms are known. To be pronounced a leper seems, to the average person, virtually to be pronounced dead. But not decently dead! Were it so, the added horrors would not be there. No, the leper's death seems many times more dreadful than mere ordinary dissolution, because of its slowness and the awful form it assumes. The average person shrinks from death, but absolutely recoils from the same dark thing when it dons the robe of this, of all diseases the most foul. Furthermore, some deaths are swift--mercifully swift, and not unlovely. Leprosy is usually slow, vile, hideous. One dies by inches. Terrible in contemplation, what must it be when fastened insidiously upon one's flesh!

But no more of this, lest I, too, be adjudged one of the purveyors of things needlessly dreadful. But remember this: when Jack London, or I, or any other man, says that the horrors of the Molokai leper life have been exaggerated, it is not meant that the disease itself has been exaggerated. No one denies that leprosy is an awful thing. But anyone who has ever seen the leper colony of Molokai, or knows anything about it, will most strenuously deny that the conditions under which these people live are bad. Jack said, on his return to the _Snark_, that, given his choice between living out his days in any one of those "cesspools of human misery and degradation," the East End of London, the East Side of New York, or the Stockyards of Chicago, or going to stay in Molokai, he would, without hesitation, with gratitude even, choose Molokai.

For he knows that the people of Molokai are happy. They live at ease, _while they live_. But not so the people of the other places. Theirs is one long, mad struggle for mere existence; life is a turmoil, a riot, a nightmare. On Molokai, food is plenty. No fight is there. The days are peaceful and the nights are happy. All is music and beautiful scenes; fresh breezes are always blowing from over the sea. The men and women of Molokai do not freeze through a bitter-cold winter, nor do they swelter in a raging summer's heat. While they live, they live in Paradise. No wonder Jack London knew, without debate, which place he would choose.

The lepers themselves are satisfied--and what better testimony could be asked? Since the bacteriological test was put into effect, a number of persons once declared lepers and sent to Molokai have been found to be wholly clean of the disease, and been returned to their homes. They have never ceased bewailing their expulsion from Molokai. "Back to Molokai," is the lament of all who have once tasted of the island's delights and then been shut out from them.

One of the most unfortunate things about leprosy in the Territory of Hawaii is the fact that the friends and relatives of lepers so often hide them away when the disease first appears, and keep them hidden until they are in a terrible condition. One day, when I was walking along a little-frequented part of the beach, not far from Pearl City, on the island of Oahu, I saw a small child playing near the water. As I drew near, its mother came rushing toward it, gathered it up in her arms, and ran to her hut, about fifty yards away. At the time I was puzzled, but I was afterward told, in confidence, that the child was a leper, and that the mother was determined to keep it from the attention of the Board of Health.

It is best for the lepers themselves that they be taken to the Settlement, where they can receive proper medical treatment. Outside, they can do nothing but lie and await inevitable death. But in the Settlement, the surgeons can make occasional operations, and hold off the ravages indefinitely. Some lepers, stricken in their youth, have lived happy lives, and died of old age, when thus protected. Leprosy is very intermittent in its action; after once appearing and being treated, it may not show itself again for years. But if not treated, it gallops.

I well remember the case of a leper in the United States a few years ago. The newspapers exploited the case sensationally, but I think there was nevertheless an element of truth in what they printed. The leper was a tramp. How he had contracted the disease, no one knew. But it is said that he lived altogether in a box-car. This car he was never allowed to leave. The railway company was desperate. Time and again they tried to force him out at different stations, but each time the men of the town cried a veto to the scheme. Thousands of miles that leper tramp travelled. In the whole country, there was no spot of earth big enough for him to set his foot on. In the box-car he was, and in the box-car he must remain. Not that he starved. People flung food to him as they fling food to dogs; also, there were occasional donations of clothing, reached out to him on long poles At last the railway company, grown doubly desperate, hit upon an expedient. They unhooked the car one night, and left it standing on a siding, about a mile from a little mining village. But the trick failed. The next freight that pulled up that way was met by several hundred black-looking men, armed with rifles; and when that train pulled out, it carried with it the leper's box-car and the leper. I never heard what became of the car, nor of its occupant. But the story was a gruesome thing, and well illustrates the difference between a leper's fare outside the Settlement, and inside the Settlement.

Now as to leprosy itself. No one knows what it is. It is classified according to its manifestations. Delve we never so far into the remoteness of antiquity, we will find records of leprosy. Fifteen hundred years before Christ, it was widely known in the delta and valley of the Nile. It flourished throughout the Middle Ages. To-day it is common in Asia, Africa, South America, the West Indies, and certain isolated localities of Europe. Little was known of it in the ancient days; but little is known of it now. It is parasitic--that much is certain. Dr. Armauer Hansen discovered the _bacillus leprae_ in 1871, but no one has gotten much further than that. Its only alleviation is surgery, but this is sometimes without avail. Leprosy is of three well-defined kinds: There is Running Leprosy, the most horrible of the three. It shows itself mainly as shiny ulcers, which throw off a highly offensive perspiration. In this kind, the fingers, ears, nose, and eyes are often eaten away, leaving a hideous bundle of flesh that but faintly resembles a human being. Dry Leprosy, the second variety, does not take such an offensive form. It resembles a very bad case of eczema, affecting the feet and the hands more than any other part of the body. The skin becomes thick and reddened, while the fleshy part rapidly disappears, leaving the fingers crooked and hard, like claws. The third kind is known as Nervous or Anæsthetic Leprosy. The nerves of the body cease to do their work and become so deadened that a finger could be scraped to the bone with a nutmeg-grater without the least pain. This kind of leprosy makes its victim appear gnarled and twisted as with rheumatism.

The period of incubation is not definitely known. Probably it is some years. Now and then, however, there is a case in which the disease develops with great rapidity, and is steady in its ravages. Various internal remedies have been tried, among them chaulmoogra oil, arsenic, salicylate of soda, salol, and chlorate of potash. While these prove of efficacy in some cases, there has never been a well-authenticated case of cure. Years may pass before the proper remedial agent shall have been discovered.

One of the most interesting spots in the island is the grave of Father Damien, the name in religion of Joseph de Veuster. In the days when segregation on Molokai was first being tried out, many of the lepers sent to the island were in an advanced stage of the disease and were consequently helpless. Being unable to take care of themselves, they lived in misery for years. Some of the deported unfortunates were too feeble to build themselves grass houses, and lived like wild beasts, anywhere they could find shelter. At this time, the young Belgian missionary, Father Damien, undertook to assume spiritual charge over the lepers. He worked for several years in the Settlement, and with his own hands built huts for those unable to build their own. He nursed the advanced cases, and with the help of the stronger lepers dug drainage canals, and took off the malarial water which had been a curse up to this time. He asked small donations from the government, which were reluctantly given, and he persuaded several other priests and two nuns to help him, and gradually built up the present sanitary Settlement, which has more perfect conditions for sick people than any sanitarium, hospital, or detention camp in the world.

After about ten years of the most noble work any missionary ever attempted, Father Damien contracted leprosy, and for the next twelve years was not allowed to leave the island. But he carried out the work he started, and during the last months of his life, when he was one mass of gnarled, decaying flesh, he lay in his bed directing that his work go on as it had when he was well to oversee it. And on the day that he died, he asked to be brought out in the open air, that he might see the fruit of his labours--the thing for which he had given up his life. To-day, none can deny this man honour. He was a hero. By his sacrifice, he has been and will be for years to come the means of saving the lives of others. The United States government gladly took up the work that he laid down unfinished, and Molokai is now better managed than Father Damien, in his most optimistic dreams, might have hoped. It is good to know that when, not long after, a calumniator took up his pen to make light of the work of the dead priest, and to vilify him personally, Robert Louis Stevenson, himself a great writer and a great man, was there with all his energy in the defense.

Leprosy is often accompanied by elephantiasis; in fact, some medical authorities use the terms synonymously for the same disease. All through the South Seas, where lepers and elephantiasis victims mingle with the other natives in their villages, the ones afflicted with elephantiasis are looked upon with more horror than the ones with leprosy, as the natives say elephantiasis is more catching, and that it develops more rapidly. At one island I was on, in the Society Group, it is estimated that one-tenth of the population has elephantiasis, or _fey-fey_, as they call it. Leprosy is not painful until it reaches an acute stage, but elephantiasis is accompanied by considerable pain from the first forming of the tumor, which tumor sometimes weighs one hundred pounds.

It will be noticed that I have not attempted a full description of leprosy. The symptoms once set forth, I fear certain of my impressionable readers might begin to experience them, just as hypochondriacs, after reading a patent-medicine almanac, appropriate to themselves all the diseases therein described. The doctors have enough to do; far be it from me to add to their troubles a swarm of pseudo-leprosy cases. Besides, such an enumeration could do no good. These things are depressing. Let us forget them, or, at least, the worst of them.