FATHER DAMIEN OF MOLOKAI
The Hawaiian Islands—Captain Cook and Father Damien—A brave rescue—Molokai and its lepers—Under the pandanus tree—Doctor, undertaker, and grave-digger—What was Father Damien like? Himself a leper—In life and in death—A statue and a monument.
OF the many archipelagoes scattered over the broad Pacific Ocean none is more intimately associated with names which have gained a lasting and worldwide fame than the Sandwich or, to give them their native name, the Hawaiian Islands. It was on one of this group that Captain Cook, the illustrious navigator, was murdered on February 14th, 1779. It was on another that Father Damien, the humble Belgian priest, "made his great renunciation," as Robert Louis Stevenson called it, "shutting to with his own hand the doors of his own sepulcher" that he might minister to the forsaken lepers of Molokai. No episode of modern missions has thrilled the civilized world more deeply than Father Damien's self-sacrifice. From the Pacific to the Atlantic, by Protestants no less than by Catholics, he has been admiringly crowned as one of the very foremost in the long bead-roll of the martyr-heroes of the Christian faith.
He was born in 1840 of peasant parents at a little village on the River Laak, not far from the ancient city of Louvain, in Belgium. His real name was Joseph de Veuster, Damien being a new name which he adopted, according to the custom of the religious orders, when he was admitted to the congregation of the Picpus Fathers. In 1864 he joined on the shortest notice, as a substitute for his elder brother, who had suddenly fallen ill, a band of missionaries for the Hawaiian Islands, and his life's labors were begun in the very island on which Captain Cook met his tragic end so long before. Here for nine years he toiled unsparingly, endearing himself to the natives, and earning from his bishop the title of "the intrepid," because nothing ever seemed to daunt him. He had many adventures both on the sea and among the volcanic mountains, for like Bishop Hannington, whom he frequently recalls, he was a bold cliff-climber and a strong swimmer. In visiting the people in the remoter parts of the island he thought nothing of scaling precipitous rocks on hands and knees, till his boots were torn to shreds and the blood flowed freely from feet as well as hands. Once when his canoe capsized he had to save his life by a long swim in his clothes. On another occasion, as he was riding along a lonely coast, he observed a ship's boat with several persons in it drifting helplessly towards the rocks. Jumping from his horse, he plunged into the sea, and succeeded in reaching the boat and bringing to land eight shipwrecked sailors—three Americans, four Englishmen, and a Dutchman. Their vessel had taken fire in mid-ocean; for more than a week they had drifted about in the Pacific till their strength was utterly exhausted; and death was already staring them in the eyes when the brave young priest came with deliverance.
But we must pass from deeds of courage and daring in which Damien has been equaled by many others, to speak of that great deed of sacrifice in which he stands alone. The lovely Hawaiian Islands have long suffered from a terrible scourge, the scourge of leprosy. Some years after Father Damien's arrival the Government determined on the use of drastic measures to stamp out the evil. There is in the archipelago an island called Molokai, which along its northern side presents to the sea an awful front of precipice. At one spot, however, in this frowning battlement of rock, and bearing to it, in R. L. Stevenson's vivid comparison, "the same relation as a bracket to a wall," there projects into the ocean a rugged triangular piece of land known as Kalawao, which is thus "cut off between the surf and the precipice."' To this desolate tongue of wind-swept down it was resolved to deport every person, young or old, rich or poor, prince or commoner, in whom the slightest taint of leprosy should be found. The law was carried into effect with the utmost rigor. All over the islands lepers and those suspected of having leprosy were hunted out by the police, dragged away from their homes, and if certified by a doctor as touched by the disease, at once shipped off to the leper settlement as if to a State prison. Children were torn from their parents and parents from their children. Husbands and wives were separated for ever. In no case was any respect of persons shown, and a near relative of the Hawaiian Queen was among the first to be seized and transported.
Awful indeed was the lot of these poor creatures, thus gathered together from all parts of the islands and shot out like rubbish on that dismal wedge of land between cliff and sea. Parted for ever from their friends, outcasts of society, with no man to care for their bodies or their souls, with nothing to hope for but a horrible un-pitied death, they gave themselves up to a life like that of the beasts of the field. And even to this day things might have been no better on the peninsula of Kalawao, had it not been for the coming of Father Damien.
For some time Damien had felt the dreadful lot of those unfortunates pressing heavily upon his heart, all the more as several of his own flock had been carried away to the settlement. In a letter written about this time he says that when he saw his own beloved people dragged away, he felt a presentiment that he should see them again. Such a presentiment could only point to one thing. From Molokai no leper was ever permitted to return. Above the beach of Kalawao, as above the arched portal of Dante's Inferno, the awful words might have stood, "Abandon hope all ye who enter here." If Father Damien was to see his poor smitten children again, it must be by going to them, for nevermore should they return to him.
One day there was a gathering of the Roman Catholic clergy at the dedication of a church on the island of Maui, which lies not far from Molokai. After the ceremony was over, the bishop was holding a familiar conversation with his missionaries, and in the course of it he spoke of the distress he felt for the poor lepers of Molokai-stricken sheep without a shepherd. At once Damien spoke out. "My lord," he said, "on the day when I was admitted to the order of the Picpus Fathers I was placed under the pall, that I might learn that voluntary death is the beginning of a new life. And I wish to declare now that I am ready to bury myself alive among the lepers of Molokai, some of whom are well known to me.”
It shows the stuff of which those Roman Catholic missionaries were made that the bishop accepted Damien's proposal as simply and readily as it was uttered. "I could not have imposed this task upon any one," he said; "but I gladly accept the offer you have made." At once Damien was ready to start, for, like General Gordon when he started for Khartoum, he required no time for preparations. A few days afterwards, on May 11th, 1873, he was landed on the beach of Kalawao along with a batch of fifty miserable lepers, whom the authorities had just collected from various parts of Hawaii.
The sights that met the eye of the devoted missionary must have been revolting beyond expression, though Damien himself says little about them, for it was not his habit to dwell on these details. Stevenson visited Molokai after Damien was dead, and after the place had been "purged, bettered, beautified" by his influence and example; but he describes the experience as "grinding" and "harrowing." The Princess-Regent of Hawaii once paid a State visit to the settlement while Damien was there, and after his presence had wrought a marvelous transformation. The lepers were dressed in their best. Triumphal arches adorned the beach. Flowers were strewn in profusion along the path that led to the place of reception. But when the royal lady looked around her on that awful crowd, the tears rolled down her cheeks, and though it had been arranged that she should speak to the people, her lips trembled so helplessly that she was unable to utter a single word. Damien came to Kalawao when the settlement was at its worst. He saw it too, not as a passing visitor, but as one who knew that henceforth this was to be his only home on earth. He confesses that for a moment, as he stepped ashore, his heart sank within him. But he said to himself, "Now, Joseph, my boy, this is your life-work!" And never during the sixteen years that followed did he go back upon his resolve.
For several weeks, until he found time to build himself a hut, he had no shelter but a large pandanus tree. This pandanus tree he called his house, and under its branches he lay down on the ground to sleep at night. Meanwhile, from the very first, he spent his days in trying to teach and help and comfort his leper flock. In a letter to his brother, Father Pamphile, in substitution for whom, as mentioned already, he had become a Hawaiian missionary, he admits that at first he almost grew sick in the presence of so much physical corruption. On Sundays especially, when the people crowded closely round him in the little building which served as a chapel, he often felt as if he must rush out of the loathsome atmosphere into the open air. But he deliberately crushed these sensations down. He sought to make himself as one of the lepers, and carried this so far that in his preaching he did not use the conventional "My brethren," but employed the expression "We lepers” instead. And by and by the spirit of sympathy grew so strong that even in the presence of what was most disgusting all feeling of repugnance passed entirely away.
It was not only the souls of the lepers for which Father Damien cared. At that time there was no doctor in the settlement, so he set himself to soothe their bodily sufferings as best he could, cleansing their open wounds and binding up their stumps and sores. Death was constantly busy-indeed, some one died almost everyday; and whether at noon or at midnight, the good father was there to perform the last offices of his Church. And as he sought to comfort the lepers in dying, his care for them continued after they were dead. Before his arrival no one had thought of burying a dead leper with any sort of decency. No coffin was provided; the corpse at best was shoveled hastily into a shallow hole. But Father Damien's reverence for a human being forbade him to acquiesce in such arrangements. As there was no one else to make coffins he made them himself, and it is estimated that during his years on Molokai he made not less than 1500 with his own hands. More than this. When no other could be got to dig a proper grave, Damien did not hesitate to seize his spade and act the part of the grave-digger. To most people such toils as pastor and preacher, doctor and undertaker, would seem more than enough even for the strongest of men. But they were far from summing up the labors of Damien. He induced the people to build themselves houses, and as few of them knew how to begin, he became head-mason and carpenter-in-chief to the whole settlement. He next got them to give him their assistance in erecting suitable chapels at different points of the peninsula. He built two orphanages, one for boys and one for girls, into which he gathered all the fatherless and motherless children; and to the instruction of these young people he gave special attention. Above all, he sought by constant cheerfulness and unflagging energy to infuse a new spirit into that forlorn collection of doomed men and women. By teaching them to work he brought a fresh and healthy interest into their lives. By creating a Christian public opinion he lifted them out of the condition of filth and sottishness into which they had sunk. But, above all, he wiped off from their souls "the soiling of despair" by the assurance he gave them of human sympathy and Divine love.
What was Father Damien like? many will ask. He was tall and strong, indeed of an imposing presence, with a bright and serene countenance and a rich and powerful voice. The very sight of him brought strength and comfort to others. Like the Master Whom he loved and sought to follow, and Who also was the Friend of the leper, he was possessed of a strange magnetism—a kind of vital "virtue"—which, though in Damien's case it could not effect miracles, yet had power to lift up the hearts of those who were bowed down by their infirmities.
So the years passed on, while day after day was filled up with such tasks as we have described. During the first six months the father was sometimes haunted by the thought that he had contracted the insidious disease, but thereafter he banished the idea from his mind, and lived on in Molokai for many years in perfect health and strength. One day, however, as he was washing his feet in unusually hot water, he noticed that they had been blistered with the heat without his being conscious of any pain. At once he knew what this meant. He had not lived so long in the settlement without learning that the absence of feeling in any part of the body is one of the surest symptoms of leprosy; and now he understood that his doom was sealed. But the fact made very little difference in either his thoughts or his ways. So long as he was able he went on with his duties as before, while he exerted himself with special anxiety to secure that after he was gone the work he had been doing in the settlement should be carried on, and carried on still more efficiently than had been possible for one who labored single-handed. And before he died he had the joy of knowing not only that these deeds of love and mercy would be taken up and continued by other fathers of his order, but that a band of Franciscan sisters, inspired by his great example, had volunteered to serve as nurses among the lepers of Molokai, and that an adequate hospital with a thoroughly qualified doctor would seek to assuage the sufferings of those who had reached the last stages of the fatal malady.
In spite of all that Father Damien accomplished when he was alive, we might almost say that he did more for the Hawaiian lepers by his death than by his life. It was not till after he had passed away that men came to a full knowledge of this hero of the nineteenth century. Largely by the help of the burning pen of Robert Louis Stevenson, the story of his willing martyrdom flew round the world and made the name of Molokai illustrious. International sympathy was aroused for the poor sufferers for whom Damien laid down his life. The Press of every Christian country resounded with his fame. Princes and peasants sought to do him honor. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales—now King Edward VII—placed himself at the head of a movement which had for its object to commemorate the life and labors of this brave soldier-saint of Jesus Christ. Money flowed in, by which it became possible to do much more for Damien's leper flock than he had ever been able to do himself. The Damien Institute was formed in England for the training of Roman Catholic youths to the laborious life of missionary priests in the South Seas.
When Father Damien's end was drawing near, he expressed a desire to be buried at the foot of the pandanus tree beneath which he had lived when he first came to Molokai. The two fathers who were now with him thought it right to comply with his wishes; and so under the very spot which once served him for his bed his body lies awaiting the Resurrection, with flowers growing over it and the wide tree spreading above. In one of the streets of Louvain there stands a beautiful statue of Father Damien. His face is uplifted to heaven, his left hand holds a crucifix to his heart, his right arm is thrown in love and protection round the shoulder of a poor leper, who crouches to his side for comfort. It is a fine conception, finely executed; and yet its effect upon the beholder can hardly compare with the feelings of those who, like Stevenson and other pilgrims to the island, have stood by that grave in Molokai beneath the old pandanus tree and seen Father Damien's monument lying all around him in that community of lepers, which has been "purged, bettered, beautified" by his great act of sacrifice.
The author desires to acknowledge his obligation to Father Pamphile de Veuster's translation of Father Damien: Apostle of the Lepers of Molokai, by the Rev. Philibert Tauvel, ss. cc. The book is published for the Picpus Fathers of the Damien Institute, Eccleshall, Staffordshire, by the Art and Book Company, London. R. L. Stevenson's Father Damien is, of course, invaluable as a sidelight to the biography.