“Brother John!” Abner exploded. “Please do not offend me with such language. And besides, Brother Abraham had as much …”
“And the Hawaiian girl wasn’t a heathen. She was a fine, Christian girl … his best student … and I know, because I delivered her baby.”
“She had a baby?” Abner asked in a whisper.
“Yes, a fine baby girl. She named her Amanda, after my wife.”
“Was it …”
“I no longer count the months, Abner. They’re married now and they seem very happy, and if there is any system of morality which requires a lonely man like Abraham Hewlett …”
“I hardly comprehend your words any longer, Brother John,” Abner protested.
“I have buried so many people, cut off so many legs … Many of the things we used to worry about at Yale don’t worry me any more, ancient roommate.”
“But surely you would not allow a man like Brother Hewlett to remain in the church? With a heathen wife?”
“I wish you would stop using that word, Abner. She’s not a heathen. If Amanda Whipple were to die tomorrow, I’d marry such a girl any day, and Amanda would want me to. She’d know at least that her children had a good mother.”
“The others will not think as you do, Brother John.”
“Immanuel Quigley does, I’m proud to say. And that’s why I’ve come to Lahaina. We want you on our side. Don’t drive poor Hewlett from his church.”
“The Lord saith, ‘Thou hast gone a whoring after the heathen.’ ” Dully, Abner closed the discussion, but in doing so he began to wonder about John Whipple. What the doctor said next erased the wonder and confirmed the doubt.
“I’ve been doing a great deal of speculation recently, Abner,” he began. “Do you think we’ve done right in bursting into this island kingdom with our new ideas?”
“The word of God,” Abner began, “is not a new idea.”
“I accept that,” Whipple apologized. “But the things that go with it? Did you know that when Captain Cook discovered these islands he estimated their population at four hundred thousand? That was fifty years ago. Today how many Hawaiians are there? Less than a hundred and thirty thousand. What happened to them?”
To Whipple’s surprise, Abner was not particularly shocked by these figures, but asked casually, “Are your facts correct?”
“Captain Cook vouches for the first. I vouch for the second. Abner, have you ever seen measles strike a Hawaiian village? Don’t. Ppppsssshhhh!” He made a sound like fire rushing through the grass walls of a house. “The entire village vanishes. For example, do you make your church members wear New England clothes?”
“I have only nine members,” Abner explained.
“You mean that in this entire …” Dr. Whipple threw a pebble into the blue waters and watched a near-naked Hawaiian riding the surf onto the kapu beach. “On Sundays, for example, do you require a man like that one out there to wear New England clothes?”
“Of course. Doesn’t the Bible specifically state, ‘And thou shalt make them linen breeches to cover their nakedness’?”
“Do you ever listen to the hacking coughs that fill the church?”
“No.”
“I do, and I’m terribly worried.”
“What about?”
“I’m afraid that in another thirty years the Hawaiians will be not a hundred and thirty thousand but more likely thirty thousand. Out of all those who were here when we came, twelve out of thirteen will have been destroyed.”
“Lahaina was never any bigger,” Abner replied prosaically.
“Not the town, perhaps, but how about the valleys?” Whipple, as was his practice in touring the islands, called an old man to the seaside and asked in Hawaiian, “In that valley, did people used to live?”
“More t’ousand was stay before.”
“How many live there now?”
“T’ree. Ikahi, ilua, ikulu. T’ree.”
“In that valley over there, did people used to live?”
“More two t’ousand was stay before.”
“How many live there now?”
“All dis fellow stay before, now make … die,” the old man answered, and Whipple dismissed him.
“It’s that way in all the valleys,” he said gloomily. “I think the only thing that will save Hawaii is some radical move. There has got to be a big industry of some kind. Then we must bring in some strong, virile new people. Say from Java, or perhaps China. And let them marry with the Hawaiians. Maybe …”
“You seem beset with doubts,” Abner marked.
“I am,” Whipple confessed. “I am terribly afraid that what we are doing is not right. I am certain that we are sponsoring the spread of consumption and that these wonderful people are doomed. Unless we change things right away.”
“We are not concerned with change,” Abner said coldly. “Hawaiians are the children of Shem, and God has ordained that they shall perish from the earth. He has promised that their lands shall be occupied by your children and mine, Genesis 9, verse 27: ‘God shall enlarge Japheth, and he shall dwell in the tents of Shem.’ The Hawaiians are doomed, and in a hundred years they will have vanished from the earth.”
Whipple was aghast, and asked, “How can you preach such a doctrine, Abner?”
“It is God’s will. The Hawaiians are a deceitful and licentious people. Even though I have warned them, they continue to smoke, they circumcise their sons and abandon their daughters. They gamble and play games on Sunday, and for these sins God has ordained that they shall be stricken from the face of the earth. When they are gone, our children, as the Bible directs, shall inherit their tents.”
“But if you believe this, Abner, why do you remain among them as missionary?”
“Because I love them. I want to bring them the consolation of the Lord, so that when they do vanish it will be to His love and not to eternal hellfire.”
“I do not like such religion,” Whipple said flatly, “and I do not aspire to their tents. There must be a better way. Abner, when we were students at Yale, the first tenet of our church was that each individual church should be a congregation unto itself. No bishops, no priests, no popes. Our very name bespoke that conviction. The Congregationalists. But what do we find here? A system of bishoprics! A solemn convocation to throw a poor, lonely man out of the ministry. In all these years you’ve allowed nine people to join your church as full members. Somewhere, Abner, we’ve gone wrong.”
“It takes time to convert the heathen to true …”
“No!” Whipple protested. “They are not heathen! One of the most brilliant women I have ever met or read about was Kaahumanu. I understand you have one like her here on Maui, your Alii Nui. Heathen? The word doesn’t mean anything to me any more. For example, have you admitted any of your so-called heathen to the ministry? Of course not.”
Abner, finding the turn of Whipple’s argument most distasteful, rose to go, but his old roommate grasped him by the hand and pleaded: “You have nothing more important to do today than talk with me, Abner. I find my soul wandering from its moorings, and I seek guidance. I had hoped that when you and Jerusha and Captain Janders and I sat down together, something of the spirit that animated us on the Thetis …” His voice trailed off, and after a while he confessed, “I am sick with God.”
“What do you mean?” Abner asked quietly.
“The spirit of God fills my brain, but I am dissatisfied with the way we administer His word.”
“You are speaking against the church, Brother John,” Abner warned.
“I am, and I am glad that you said so, for I was ashamed to.”
“It is the church that has brought us here, Brother John. It is only through the church that we build our accomplishments. Do you think I would dare to speak to the alii as I do if I were plain Abner Hale? But as the instrument of the church I can dare all things.”
“Even wisdom?” Whipple inquired.
“What do you mean?”
“If your mind sudde
nly comprehended a new wisdom … some radical new concept of existence … well, could you as a servant of an all-powerful church dare to accept that new wisdom?”
“There is no new or old, Brother John. There is only the word of God, and it is revealed in the church, through the instrumentality of the Holy Bible. There can be no greater than that.”
“No greater,” Dr. Whipple agreed, “but there can be a different.”
“I do not think so,” Abner replied, and he wished to hear no more of this argument and left. But that night, in the warm fellowship of Captain Janders’ excellent dinner, with good wine, and whiskey for the doctor, the old friends relaxed and Janders said, “Lahaina’s becoming a first-rate city, thanks to Abner Hale’s exertions.”
“Who is that girl who’s bringing in the dishes?” Abner asked, for her face seemed familiar, yet he did not recognize it.
Captain Janders blushed ever so slightly, in a way that Abner missed but which Dr. Whipple had seen often in the islands. “I understand you’re bringing Mrs. Janders and the children out from Boston?” Whipple said by way of rescue.
“I am,” Janders replied quickly.
“We need all the Christians we can get,” Abner said heartily.
“Do you intend remaining here?” Whipple asked directly. “In Lahaina, that is?”
“It’s the jewel of the Pacific,” Janders replied. “I’ve seen all the towns, and this is best.”
“You’ll be in trade, I judge?”
“I see great opportunity for ships’ chandlery here, Doctor.”
“Do you suppose there is any way … it would be difficult I grant you … but do you suppose that if a man with good native connections could get some canoes at Hana … well, if he had some fine land there and energy, do you suppose he could grow things and sell them to you … for the whalers, that is?”
“You speaking of Abraham Hewlett?” Janders asked abruptly.
“Yes.”
“If he could grow hogs … beef … I might buy ’em. He ever think of growing sugar? We could use a lot of sugar.”
“I’ll speak to him about sugar,” Whipple said thoughtfully.
“You expect him to be giving up the church at Hana?” Janders inquired.
“Yes. I fear the Honolulu meeting is going to expel him.”
Captain Janders sat very thoughtfully for some moments. He did not want to offend Reverend Hale, with whom he must live in intimacy, and yet he had always liked young John Whipple’s honest approach to life. “Tell you what I’d be willing to do,” he said slowly. “If Hewlett could get his stuff to me in the whaling season … on time and in good shape … well, I judge I could use everything he produces. But I want one thing he may not be willing to give.”
“What’s that?” Whipple asked.
“I hear his wife has claim to a nice piece of land at Hana, more than Abraham could possibly farm. Isn’t he the scrawny fellow with big eyes that slept in your stateroom? He’s the one I had in mind. I want him to enter into a contract with me so that I manage that land. I’ll tell him what to grow and he won’t ever have to worry about where his next meal’s comin’ from,” Janders promised.
When it came time for the Thetis to carry the missionaries to Honolulu, Abner discovered the thrill that ugly memories yield when they have receded with their pain, for he was to bunk in his old stateroom and John Whipple would share it; but his pleasure was considerably dampened when a canoe arrived from the other end of Maui bearing the missionary Abraham Hewlett, his handsome little boy Abner, and his Hawaiian wife, Malia, the native pronunciation of Mary.
“Are they sailing with us?” Abner asked suspiciously.
“Of course. If we don’t have them, we don’t have a trial.”
“Won’t it be embarrassing if Hewlett’s on the same ship with us?”
“Not for me. I’m voting for him.”
“Do you think he’ll be put in our stateroom?”
“He shared it with us once,” Whipple replied.
The two missionaries looked with interest as Mrs. Hewlett, if anyone so dark could be given that name, came aboard the Thetis. She was taller than her husband, very broad-shouldered and grave of manner. She spoke to the little boy in a soft voice, and Abner whispered in disgust, “Is she talking to that child in Hawaiian?”
“Why not?” Dr. Whipple asked.
“My children are not allowed to speak a word of Hawaiian,” Abner replied emphatically. “ ‘Learn not the way of the heathen!’ the Bible directs us. Do your children speak Hawaiian?”
“Of course,” Whipple replied with some impatience.
“That’s very unwise!” Abner warned.
“We live in Hawaii. We work here. Probably my boys will go to school here.”
“Mine won’t,” Abner said firmly.
“Where will you send them?” John asked with some interest, for he often discussed the matter with his wife.
“The Board will send them to New England. Then to Yale. But the important thing is that they never come into contact with Hawaiians.” Dr. Whipple watched the Hewletts cross the deck and go down the hatchway aft, and the manner in which the Hawaiian woman watched over little Abner Hewlett proved that whereas she might have crept into the father’s bed by some trick or other, she certainly loved the child.
“Boy’s lucky,” Whipple said. “He’s got a good mother.”
“She doesn’t look the way I expected,” Abner confessed.
“You expected a painted whore?” Whipple laughed. “Abner, once in a while you ought to look at the reality of life.”
“How did she become a Christian?” Abner pondered.
“Abraham Hewlett took her into the church,” Whipple explained.
There was a thoughtful pause, and then Abner asked, “But how could they have been married? I mean, if Hewlett was the only minister, who could have married them?”
“For the first year nobody did.”
“You mean, they lived in sin?”
“And then I came along … on one of my regular trips. I was in a Russian ship.”
“And you married a Christian minister to a heathen?” Abner asked, aghast.
“Yes. I’m probably going to be censured, too,” Whipple said dryly. “And I have a suspicion in here,” and he touched his heart, “that I won’t accept the censure. I stand with St. Paul: ‘It is better to marry than to burn.’ Can anyone seriously doubt that Abraham is better off today than he was when you left him in Wailuku?”
The meeting in Honolulu went as expected. At first Abraham Hewlett made a sorry spectacle of himself, confessing that in marrying the Hawaiian girl Malia he had sinned against the decrees of God, thus bringing degradation upon both himself and the church. He begged forgiveness, asking the brethren to remember that he had been left alone with an infant boy; and at the recollection of his misery in those lonely days he wept. Later, when it was suggested that perhaps the sly Hawaiian woman had been responsible for his downfall, he recovered a portion of his dignity by avowing that he loved this gracious, tender girl and that it was he who had insisted upon the marriage, “and if the brethren think they dare imply censure of Malia, they are indeed mistaken.”
The vote was an easily predicted condemnation and expulsion, only Whipple and Quigley speaking in defense. The meeting thought it best that the Hewletts leave the islands: “For your presence here would be a constant humiliation to the church. But it is recognized that it would be equally disgraceful for a Christian minister—an unfrocked one, that is—to return to America with a Hawaiian wife, for there are many in America who are eager to castigate missionaries, and your appearance among them would merely add ammunition to their blasphemies. It is therefore concluded that you and your family ought …”
At this point Abraham’s tears were dried and he interrupted bluntly: “It is not within your province to advise me in these matters. I shall live where I wish.”
“You will receive no sustenance from us,” the meeting reminded him.
“I have entered into a compact to raise pigs and sugar cane for the whaling ships at Lahaina, and beyond this you are required to know nothing. But before I go I must point out that your mission is founded upon an impossible contradiction. You love the Hawaiians as potential Christians, but you despise them as people. I am proud to say that I have come to exactly the opposite conclusion, and it is therefore appropriate that I should be expelled from a mission where love is not.” Dr. Whipple thought that when the scrawny man with the big eyes finally left the judgment room he departed with some dignity.
The meeting then turned to the doctor’s case and condemned him for having married the pair, thus constituting himself, as one minister pointed out, “the agency, if not the cause, whereby our miserable brother from Hana fell into temptation and sin.”
Dr. Whipple retorted, “I should rather have thought that I was the agency whereby he fell out of sin.”
This sally, being both witty and cogent, furthered the case against the doctor, and all the missionaries except Quigley joined in a vote of censure. Whipple was reproved and advised to be more circumspect in the future. To Abner’s surprise, his roommate accepted the condemnation and sat without even a look of resentment as the meeting turned to less weighty matters, including assignments of the mission family to new posts.
But when it came time for the Thetis to return to Lahaina, Abner was surprised to find Dr. Whipple, his wife Amanda, and their two boys ensconced in the stateroom. “I thought you were directed to go to Kauai,” Abner remarked.
“Where I am directed to go and where I go are two vastly different matters,” Whipple said easily, and Abner was relieved to notice that they had no luggage, so apparently they were on a short visit to one of the way islands, Molokai or Lanai. But when these ports were cleared, the Whipple family was still aboard, and at the pier in Lahaina, John grabbed Abner’s hand and said, “Don’t leave. I want you to witness exactly what happens. There’s Jerusha. I’d like to have her come along, too, because I don’t want contradictory reports circulated regarding what I’m about to do.”
Hawaii Page 43
