Читать книгу The Collected Letters of Henry Northrup Castle - Henry Northrup Castle - Страница 10

My first distinct recollection of Henry is in connection with a visit to Molokai, where Edward and Mary Hitchcock were living with their young family of growing children. Mother took the three youngest children, Carrie, Henry, and myself. Henry must have been about two years old, perhaps more, but I am uncertain as to dates. In comparing reminiscences with Henry a few years ago, I found he had preserved from the Molokai visit one vivid picture of a vast shining sheet of water, but everything else was blurred and dim. The shining water was no doubt a great fishpond, perhaps a royal preserve; at all events this fishpond played the largest part in our memories of the Island. It was the earliest scene of aquatic sports that I remember, the terrific excitement attendant upon Edward’s efforts to teach us to swim being quite unforgettable. I seem to have no more distinct recollection of Henry in connection with our Molokai visit, although I believe he may have had some dim memories. Carrie and I slept together, in a little room off from the lanai, and when I was not occupied in teasing poor patient Carrie, we were both absolutely absorbed in terror of an old Catholic priest, who, in his long black robes, paced up and down in the grounds of the little Catholic Mission adjoining the Hitchcocks’ place. The explanation of our terror probably lay in the unaccustomed character of his dress, as children appear to have a certain fear of anything out of the usual course. There was a little schoolhouse on a hill, at the back of the Hitchcock home, which was presided over by the sweet spirit of Miss Mary Paris, who was always kind to children, who had beautiful hair, and who long remained my ideal of feminine charm. That small hill was, however, a sort of Golgotha, for it was thickly covered with a detestable little thorn called tutu, which got into our clothes and pricked our little bare legs, so that a journey to the schoolhouse was like some sweet martyrdom.

When Henry was six years old, and I eight, Mother took us again to visit Sister Mary, who, with her family, had then removed to Hawaii, and was living at Papaikou. Never shall I forget our voyage in the schooner Kate Lee. I presume Mother never will either, but for different reasons. The voyage lasted six days, the distance being about two hundred miles. Poor Mother must have suffered tortures from seasickness, and had it not been for the ministrations of Brother Edward, I do not see how she could have survived the miseries of such an experience. We were becalmed; we had to go to the assistance of some smaller schooner which had got itself into an unfortunate situation; we had some bad weather, but Henry’s and my satisfaction suffered no diminution, for as long as we stayed in the ship we might have as much plum-duff and water-melon as our small stomachs could manage. We were rolled up in blankets, and lay on the deck, and perhaps we slept there.

The voyage came to an end finally in Hilo Harbor. We were carried to the shore in boats, or on the backs of natives. The town seemed unspeakably charming to my childish mind, and the odd experiences that fell to us added to the charm. I suppose Henry had to ride “double,” but I was considered sufficiently advanced in age and wisdom to sally forth alone on a pony of modest dimensions, and the wild country roads perfectly covered with luxuriant tropic growths, the great streams which we crossed by means of primitive ferries, made a great impression on me. We stayed on the plantation, ate innumerable Kalo cakes, and rode down the flume. I think the trip in the flume was arranged in honor of Henry’s, Reky’s, and my birthdays, which all took place in the month of August. This was the biggest social event of our career up to this period. All the members of Hilo society, as well as many from the neighboring plantations, were asked to the feast, and came in throngs. When the guests were all assembled, we went up above the manager’s house, and were each carefully deposited on a bunch of ferns in the flume, which was barely wide enough to permit of a sitting posture, with arms closely fixed to our sides, and hands grasping tightly the small bunch of ferns, which served as an upholstered seat. The water in the flume was only a few inches deep, but its descent was so decided that the velocity was terrific, and one’s sensations in flying over deep ravines where one could look down one or two hundred feet into a deep river at the bottom, were indescribable. We were prevented from shooting into the seething ocean by a clever and experienced native, who caught and deposited us on the ground, happy, and very excited and hungry. We proceeded then into the boiling-house, transformed for the day into a bower by means of masses of ferns and flowering plants, and turned our earnest attention to the magnificent luau which had been provided for the great party by Edward and Mary. I find that my memory of this entire visit is a dreamy haze full of agreeable light and no shadow. I do not recollect anything about our return to Honolulu, and assume there must have been a great diminution of “plum-duff.” It must have been about or near this period that we went to Mrs Coleman’s little school, our first experience in any school, and my recollection of it is generally cheerful but indistinct. About this time, or a little later, perhaps, Henry and I began to develop a yearning to know the wickedness of the world. We tried to learn to play cards, but experienced great difficulties, as we had to invent both the cards ‘and the games, and it did not seem very wicked. We investigated a bottle of port wine also, but had to confess that this road to ruin was unattractive too. Then we had read enough books of adventure to feel that a great future lay before us if we could but run far enough away to catch it. Once we provided ourselves with a vast demijohn of drinking water, and tugged it between us with the greatest difficulty to the beach, where there was a canoe-house with thatched roof and open sides. Children’s vagaries are certainly queer. We fully intended to carry on a simple kind of housekeeping; Henry was to provide fish for our sustenance, while I should sew, probably for the native women who lived about in huts. It is pleasant to think what enormous brains we should have developed after a steady diet of fish! I do not know whether we felt any misgivings as to our plan at first or not. The canoe-house was not more than half a mile from home, and it is hardly conceivable that we did not expect to be found out in due course of time; yet I can only recollect perfect sincerity in this plan. We got as far as the canoe-house, and deposited our heavy demijohn with relief, after which we began to reconnoitre. It seemed uncommonly quiet, and I have no doubt our hearts quailed somewhat before our future, but this feeling was first confessed when we came suddenly upon a large and, to us, perfectly unknown animal, which I suppose was a dog, but was for us, without a shadow of doubt, a sea-lion. This was too much for us, and we turned and fled. I can reproduce our sensations to this very day. I was grown up before I admitted that the animal might have been a dog.

A less elaborate attempt to run away preceded the one recounted above. It consisted in our starting off bare-footed, of course, but also bare-headed (which latter fact inclines me to believe that we could not at that time have intended to separate ourselves permanently from the parent stem), down the road toward Waikiki. This began to be really an adventure, for it was on the high road, and the passers-by looked inquisitively at us, one old gentleman going so far as to ask us, after some slight hesitation; where we were going, and not seeming quite satisfied by our embarrassed responses, asked us to get into his carriage and let him drive us home. As we were going in the opposite direction we recognized that we were found out, but we kept on in determined fashion for some time, when our own carriage, at that time known as the ark, caught up with us. I think we made only one more attempt to leave home permanently, but succeeded in being absent only a few minutes, being frightened by the shades of evening, and also by our neighbor, Mrs Kinney, who asked us where we were going, and told us we must run back home. We were about half-way across the paddock, but running fast to get out of sight as soon as possible. We had provided ourselves this time with a quart of milk and a bottle of “pie-fruit.” This last we recognized as a theft—I believe the milk was ours—and although mother did not learn of our nefarious plan except by our own confession, we were too unhappy about the theft of the fruit to keep our secret, which shows what well-brought-up children we were, although I do not know exactly why we drew the line at stealing, and not at running away.

One of the joys of Carrie’s and my childhood was to hear Henry preach. Mr Henry Parker was his model—whether consciously or not I do not know—a Hawaiian jargon his tongue, his audience the chickens, Carrie and myself, and the native washwomen, scrubbing clothes under a big tree behind the house. He was most eloquent, and kept the natives and ourselves at a very high pitch of excitement and enthusiasm as long as he preached. He may have been seven or eight years old at the time.

My remembrance of Henry’s childhood is filled with pictures of him leaning over a table absorbed in some book, and twisting a little lock of hair—a habit he retained till well into college. He loved history, and I have no doubt it was he who originated the most glorious game of our childhood—the Franco-Prussian War — which occupied our minds night and day. Henry and Willie Kinney were the French, while Minnie Kinney, Carrie, and I represented the Prussians. Our battles were long and furious, and broke out at any moment and at any place, the most potent point being the tamarind tree, though I do not know whether it was supposed to belong to one of the warring elements or not. It may have been a point of dispute, perhaps Alsace-Lorraine, though I must confess to having had no knowledge of these far-off provinces. I think that Henry, who swallowed all he heard on warlike topics with avidity, probably conceived the whole plan of the game, while I, less interested in distant realities than immediate pleasures, readily accepted the part of a Prussian soldier in order to have my amusement.

The tamarind tree played the largest possible role in our childhood. We half lived in its fairy branches, and many is the volume I have read perched high among its leaves. In its old age a worm gnawed at its root, and it was felled midst the moans and wails of a grief-stricken family.

When I was a child I used to indulge in glorious day-dreams, and I remember once looking about for sympathy and lighting on Henry, who confessed to similar weaknesses. But when he related his visions, they proved to be of such magnificent proportions that mine sank into insignificance. He had employed his waking hours in leading vast armies across Russia and Austria, and gave all the details of different sieges, always resulting in victory. Our chief sources of historical information at that time seem to have been various delusively interesting volumes by J. S. C. Abbot, which could not be regarded as sound, but which were certainly successful in inspiring Henry’s mind with an undying interest in History. So absorbing was this interest, however, — so completely did it take possession of him — that he began to lie awake at night, and finally developed a light attack of brain fever, serious enough, however, to frighten the family. Alfred said Henry ought to go to the country and not see a book for a year, and it may have been a result of this illness that he was sent to Hilo, whence his first letter was written.

HELEN CASTLE MEAD.

PARIS, FRANCE,

January 15, 1902.