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S WE approached Molokai I found that the slow work of centuries had
nearly covered its lava with verdure. At dawn we were opposite
Kalaupapa. Two little spired churches, looking precisely alike,
caught my eye first, and around them were dotted the white cottages
of the lepers. But the sea was too rough for us to land. The waves
dashed against the rocks, and the spray rose fifty feet into the
We went on to Kalawao, but were again disappointed; it was too
dangerous to disembark. Finally it was decided to put off a boat for
a rocky point about a mile and a half distant from the town.
Climbing down this point we saw about twenty lepers, and "There is
Father Damien!" said our purser; and, slowly moving along the
hillside, I saw a dark figure with a large straw hat. He came rather
painfully down, and sat near the water-side, and we exchanged
friendly signals across the waves while my baggage was being got out
of the hold—a long business, owing to the violence of the sea. At
last all was ready, and we went swinging across the waves, and
finally chose a fit moment for leaping on shore. Father Damien
caught me by the hand, and a hearty welcome shone from his kindly
face as he helped me up the rock. He immediately called me by my
name, "Edward," and said it was "like everything else, a
providence," that he
 had met me at that irregular landing-place, for
he had expected the ship to stop at Kalaupapa.
He was now forty-nine years old—a thick-set, strongly built man,
with black curly hair and short beard, turning gray. His countenance
must have been handsome, with a full, well-curved mouth and a short,
straight nose; but he was now a good deal disfigured by leprosy,
though not so badly as to make it anything but a pleasure to look at
his bright, sensible face. His forehead was swollen and rigid, the
eyebrows gone, the nose somewhat sunk, and the ears greatly
enlarged. His hands and face looked uneven with a sort of incipient
boils, and his body also showed many signs of the disease, but he
assured me that he had felt little or no pain since he had tried Dr.
Goto's system of hot baths and Japanese medicine. The bathrooms that
have been provided by the Government are very nice.
A large wooden box of presents from English friends, had been
unshipped with the gurjun oil. It was, however, so large that Father
Damien said it would be impossible for his lepers either to land it
from the boat or to carry it to Kalawao, and that it must be
returned to the steamer and landed on some voyage when the sea was
quieter. But I could not give up the pleasure of his enjoyment in
its contents, so after some delay it was forced open in the boat,
and the things were handed out one by one across the waves. The
lepers all came round with their poor marred faces, and the presents
were carried home by them and our two selves.
As we ascended the hill on which the village is built Father Damien
showed me on our left the chicken farm. The lepers are justly proud
of it, and before many days I
 had a fine fowl sent me for dinner,
which, after a little natural timidity, I ate with thankfulness.
On arriving at Kalawao we speedily found ourselves inside the
half-finished church which was the darling of his heart. How he enjoyed
planning the places where the pictures which I had just brought him
should be placed! By the side of this church he showed me the
palm-tree under which he lived for some weeks when he first arrived at
the settlement, in 1873. His own little four-roomed house almost
joins the church.
After dinner we went up the little flight of steps which led to
Father Damien's balcony. This was shaded by a honeysuckle in
blossom. Some of my happiest times at Molokai were spent in this
little balcony, sketching him and listening to what he said. The
lepers came up to watch my progress, and it was pleasant to see how
happy and at home they were. Their poor faces were often swelled and
drawn and distorted, with bloodshot goggle eyes.
I offered to give a photograph of the picture to his brother in
Belgium, but he said perhaps it would be better not to do so, as it
might pain him to see how he was disfigured. He looked mournfully at
my work. "What an ugly face!" he said; "I did not know the disease
had made such progress." Looking-glasses are not in great request at
While I sketched him he often read his breviary. At other times we
talked on subjects that interested us both, especially about the
work of the Church Army, and sometimes I sang hymns to him—among
others, "Brief life is here our portion," "Art thou weary, art thou
languid?" and "Safe home in port." At such times the expression of
his face was particularly sweet and tender. One day I
 asked him if
he would like to send a message to Cardinal Manning. He said that it
was not for such as he to send a message to so great a dignitary,
but after a moment's hesitation he added, "I send my humble respects
I need scarcely say that he gave himself no airs of
martyr, saint, or hero—a humbler man I never saw. He smiled
modestly and deprecatingly when I gave him the Bishop of
Peterborough's message—"He won't accept the blessing of a heretic
bishop, but tell him that he has my prayers, and ask him to give me
his." "Does he call himself a heretic bishop?" he asked doubtfully,
and I had to explain that the bishop had probably used the term
One day he told me about his early history. He was born on the 3rd
of January, 1841, near Louvain in Belgium. On his nineteenth
birthday his father took him to see his brother, who was then
preparing for the priesthood, and he left him there to dine, while
he himself went on to the neighbouring town. Young Joseph (this was
his baptismal name) decided that there was the opportunity for
taking the step which he had long been desiring to take, and when
his father came back he told him that he wished to return home no
more, and that it would be better thus to miss the pain of
farewells. His father consented unwillingly, but, as he was obliged
to hurry to the conveyance which was to take him home, there was no
time for demur, and they parted at the station. Afterward, when all
was settled, Joseph revisited his home, and received his mother's
approval and blessing.
His brother was bent on going to the South Seas for mission work,
and all was arranged accordingly; but at the last he was laid low
with fever, and, to his bitter
disap-  pointment, forbidden to go. The
impetuous Joseph asked if it would be a consolation to his brother
if he were to go instead, and, receiving an affirmative answer, he
wrote surreptitiously, offering himself, and begging that he might
be sent, though his education was not yet finished. The students
were not allowed to send out letters till they had been submitted to
the Superior, but Joseph ventured to disobey.
One day, as he sat at his studies, the Superior came in, and said,
with a tender reproach, "Oh, you impatient boy! you have written
this letter, and you are to go."
Joseph jumped up, and ran out, and leaped about like a young colt.
"Is he crazy?" said the other students.
He worked for some years on other islands in the Pacific, but it
happened that he was one day in 1873 present at the dedication of a
chapel in the island of Maui, when the bishop was lamenting that it
was impossible for him to send a missioner to the lepers at Molokai
and still less to provide them with a pastor. He had only been able
to send them occasional and temporary help. Some young priests had
just arrived in Hawaii for mission work, and Father Damien instantly
"Monseigneur," said he, "here are your new missioners; one of them
could take my district, and if you will be kind enough to allow it,
I will go to Molokai and labour for the poor lepers whose wretched
state of bodily and spiritual misfortune has often made my heart
bleed within me."
His offer was accepted, and that very day, without any farewells, he
embarked on a boat that was taking some cattle to the leper
settlement. When he first put his foot on the island he said to
himself, "Now Joseph, my boy, this is your life-work."
 I did not find one person in the Sandwich Islands who had the least
doubt as to leprosy being contagious, though it is possible to be
exposed to the disease for years without contracting it. Father
Damien told me that he had always expected that he should sooner or
later become a leper, though exactly how he caught it he does not
know. But it was not likely that he would escape, as he was
constantly living in a polluted atmosphere, dressing the sufferers'
sores, washing their bodies, visiting their death-beds, and even
digging their graves. In his own words is a report of the state of
things at Molokai sixteen years ago, and I think a portion will be
"By special providence of our Divine Lord, who during His public
life showed a particular sympathy for the lepers, my way was traced
toward Kalawao in May, 1873. I was then thirty-three years of age,
enjoying a robust good health.
"About eighty of the lepers were in the hospital; the others, with a
very few Kokuas (helpers), had taken their abode farther up toward
the valley. They had cut down the old pandanus groves to build their
houses, though a great many had nothing but branches of castor-oil
trees with which to construct their small shelters. These frail
frames were covered with ki leaves or with sugar-cane leaves, the
best ones with pili grass. I, myself, was sheltered during several
weeks under the single pandanus-tree which is preserved up to the
present in the churchyard. Under such primitive roofs were living
without distinction of age or sex, old or new cases, all more or
less strangers one to another, those unfortunate outcasts of
society. They passed their time with playing cards, hula (native
dances), drinking fermented ki-root beer, home-made alcohol, and
with the sequels of
 all this. Their clothes were far from being
clean and decent, on account of the scarcity of water, which had to
be brought at that time from a great distance. Many a time in
fulfilling my priestly duty at their domiciles I have been compelled
to run outside to breathe fresh air. To counteract the bad smell I
made myself accustomed to the use of tobacco, whereupon the smell of
the pipe preserved me somewhat from carrying in my clothes the
noxious odour of the lepers. At that time the progress of the
disease was fearful, and the rate of mortality very high. The
miserable condition of the settlement gave it the name of a living
graveyard, which name, I am happy to state, is to-day no longer
applicable to our place."
In 1874 a "cona" (south) wind blew down most of the lepers'
wretched, rotten abodes, and the poor sufferers lay shivering in the
wind and rain, with clothes and blankets wet through. In a few days
the grass beneath their sleeping-mats began to emit a "very
unpleasant vapour." "I at once," says Father Damien, "called the
attention of our sympathising agent to the fact, and very soon there
arrived several schooner-loads of scantling to build solid frames
with, and all lepers in distress received, on application, the
necessary material for the erection of decent houses." Friends sent
them rough boards and shingles and flooring. Some of the lepers had
a little money, and hired carpenters. For those without means the
priest, with his leper boys, did the work of erecting a good many
"I remember well that when I arrived here," again says Father
Damien, "the poor people were without any medicines, with the
exception of a few physics and their own native remedies. It was a
common sight to see people going round with fearful ulcers, which,
 the want of a few rags or a piece of lint and a little salve,
were left exposed. Not only were their sores neglected but any one
getting a fever, or any of the numerous ailments that lepers are
heir to, was carried off for want of some simple medicine.
"Previous to my arrival here it was acknowledged and spoken of in
the public papers as well as in private letters that the greatest
want at Kalawao was a spiritual leader. It was owing in a great
measure to this want that vice as a general rule existed instead of
virtue, and degradation of the lowest type went ahead as a leader of
the community. . . . When once the disease prostrated them women and
children were often cast out, and had to find some other shelter.
Sometimes they were laid behind a stone wall, and left there to die,
and at other times a hired hand would carry them to the hospital.
"As there were so many dying people, my priestly duty toward them
often gave me the opportunity to visit them at their domiciles, and
although my exhortations were especially addressed to the prostrated
often they would fall upon the ears of public sinners, who little by
little became conscious of the consequences of their wicked lives,
and began to reform, and thus, with the hope in a merciful Saviour,
gave up their bad habits.
"Kindness to all, charity to the needy, a sympathising hand to the
sufferers and the dying, in conjunction with a solid religious
instruction to my listeners, have been my constant means to
introduce moral habits among the lepers. I am happy to say that,
assisted by the local administration, my labours here, which seemed
to be almost in vain at the beginning, have, thanks to a kind
Providence, been greatly crowned with success."
The water supply of Molokai was a pleasant subject
 with Father
Damien. When he first arrived the lepers could only obtain water by
carrying it from the gulch on their poor shoulders; they had also to
take their clothes to some distance when they required washing, and
it was no wonder that they lived in a very dirty state. He was much
exercised about the matter, and one day, to his great joy, he was
told that at the end of a valley called Waihanau there was a natural
reservoir. He set out with two white men and some of his boys, and
travelled up the valley till he came with delight to a nearly
circular basin of most delicious ice-cold water. Its diameter was
seventy-two feet by fifty-five, and not far from the bank they
found, on sounding, that it was eighteen feet deep. There it lay at
the foot of a high cliff, and he was informed by the natives that
there had never been a drought in which this basin had dried up. He
did not rest till a supply of waterpipes had been sent them, which
he and all the able lepers went to work and laid. Henceforth clear
sweet water has been available for all who desire to drink, to wash,
or to bathe.
It was after living at the leper settlement for about ten years that
Father Damien began to suspect that he was a leper. The doctors
assured him that this was not the case. But he once scalded himself
in his foot, and to his horror he felt no pain. Anæsthesia had
begun, and soon other fatal signs appeared. One day he asked Dr.
Arning, the great German doctor who was then resident in Molokai, to
examine him carefully.
"I cannot bear to tell you," said Dr. Arning, "but what you say is
"It is no shock to me," said Damien, "for I have felt sure of it."
I may mention here that there are three kinds of
 leprosy. Father
Damien suffered (as is often the case) both from the anæsthetic and
the tubercular forms of the disease. "Whenever I preach to my
people," he said, "I do not say 'my brethren,' as you do, but 'we
lepers.' People pity me and think me unfortunate, but I think myself
the happiest of missionaries."
Henceforth he came under the law of segregation, and journeys to the
other parts of the islands were forbidden. But he worked on with the
same sturdy, cheerful fortitude, accepting the will of God with
gladness, undaunted by the continual reminders of his coming fate,
which met him in the poor creatures around him.
"I would not be cured," he said to me, "if the price of my cure was
that I must leave the island and give up my work."
A lady wrote to him, "You have given up all earthly things to serve
God here and to help others, and I believe you must have now joy
that nothing can take from you and a great reward hereafter."
"Tell her," he said, with a quiet smile, "that it is true. I do have
that joy now."
He seldom talked of himself except in answer to questions, and he
had always about him the simplicity of a great man—"clothed with
My last letter from him is dated:
"KALAWAO, 28th February, 1889.
DEAR EDWARD CLIFFORD—Your
sympathising letter of 24th gives me
some relief in my rather distressed condition. I try my best to
carry, without much complaining and in a practical way, for my poor
soul's sanctification, the long-foreseen miseries of the disease,
which, after all, is a providential agent to detach the heart from
 all earthly affection, and prompts much the desire of a Christian
soul to be united—the sooner the better—with Him who is her only
"During your long travelling road homeward please do not forget the
narrow road. We both have to walk carefully, so as to meet together
at the home of our common and eternal Father. My kind regards and
prayers and good wishes for all sympathising friends. Bon voyage,
mon cher ami, et au revoir au ceil—Votus tuus,
About three weeks after writing this letter he felt sure that his
end was near, and on the 28th March he took to his bed.
"You see my hands," he said. "All the wounds are healing and the
crust is becoming black. You know that is a sign of death. Look at
my eyes too. I have seen so many lepers die that I cannot be
mistaken. Death is not far off. I should have liked to see the
Bishop again, but le bon Dieu is calling me to keep Easter with
Himself. God be blessed!
"How good He is to have preserved me long enough to have two priests
by my side at my last moments, and also to have the good Sisters of
Charity at the Léproserie. That has been my
Nunc Dimittis. The work
of the lepers is assured, and I am no longer necessary, and so will
go up yonder."
Father Wendolen said, "When you are up above, father, you will not
forget those you leave orphans behind you?"
"Oh no! If I have any credit with God, I will intercede for all in
"And will you, like Elijah, leave me your mantle, my father, in
order that I may have your great heart?"
 "Why, what would you do with it?" said the dying martyr, "it is full
He rallied for a little while after this, and his watchers even had
a little hope that his days might be lengthened. Father Conradi,
Father Wendolen, and Brother Joseph were much in his company.
Brother James was his constant nurse. The Sisters from Kalaupapa
visited him often, and it is good to think that the sweet placid
face and gentle voice of the Mother were near him in his last days.
Everybody admired his wonderful patience. He who had been so ardent,
so strong, and so playful, was now powerless on his couch. He lay on
the ground on a wretched mattress like the poorest leper. They had
the greatest difficulty in getting him to accept a bed. "And how
poorly off he was; he who had spent so much money to relieve the
lepers had so forgotten himself that he had none of the comforts and
scarcely the necessaries of life." Sometimes he suffered intensely;
sometimes he was partly unconscious. He said that he was continually
conscious of two persons being present with him. One was at the head
of his bed and one at his feet. But who they were he did not say.
The terrible disease had concentrated itself in his mouth and
throat. As he lay there in his tiny domicile, with the roar of the
sea getting fainter to his poor diseased ears, and the kind face of
Brother James becoming gradually indistinct before his failing eyes,
did the thought come to him that after all his work was poor, and
his life half a failure? Many whom he had hoped much of had
disappointed him. Not much praise had reached him. The tide of
affection and sympathy from England had cheered him, but England was
so far off that it seemed almost like sympathy and affection from a
star. Churches were built,
 schools and hospitals were in working
order, but there was still much to be done. He was only forty-nine,
and he was dying.
"Well! God's will be done. He knows best. My work, with all its
faults and failures, is in His hands, and before Easter I shall see
The breathing grew more laboured, the leprous eyes were clouded, the
once stalwart frame was fast becoming rigid. The sound of the
passing bell was heard, and the wail of the wretched lepers pierced
the air. . . . The last flickering breath was breathed, and the soul
of Joseph Damien de Veuster arose like a lark to God.