Читать книгу Hawaii End of the Rainbow - Kazuo Miyamoto - Страница 19

THE TOPOGRAPHY OF THE COUNTRY WAS majestic in spite of the fact that this was an island—just a speck of land on the map of the Pacific. The highest mountain in the world for an island, the snow-capped Mauna Kea towered in the center of the island and sloped gently towards the sea. Numerous lava flows must have occurred in the formative stages of the geological past for the slopes were cut by deep ravines accentuated by the subsequent effects of erosion. Being on the windward side and exposed to the constant northeasterly trade winds, the coast line was very wild. Precipitous cliffs about five hundred feet high rose abruptly above the water's edge making it almost impossible, or at best extremely hazardous, for the fishermen to clamber down the narrow trail.

The sea was always rough. The plantation was situated at the junction between the North Hilo and Hamakua districts and at this part of the island there was no water-bearing stratum in the ground and the crops had to depend on rainwater for moisture. It rained frequently and no matter how clear the day a shower was in the offing at unexpected moments and in order not to be caught unawares a raincoat or an umbrella had to be carried all the time. The saying went, "Even if you forget your lunch box, do not forget your raincoat." All drinking water came from rainwater collected from roofs of houses and stored in underground cisterns or huge tanks.

Usually there was enough rainfall to ensure a good crop of sugar cane and supply the needs of men and beasts. When there was no rain, drought continued for two or three months. It was then that the sugar cane turned yellow, roads became dusty, and the people suffered from lack of drinking water and had to go for weeks without taking a bath.

The Douglas Plantation was a private enterprise run by Mr. Douglas who was a well-to-do man having holdings not only in this sugar plantation but also in a gold mine in California. He was of Scottish descent like most of the Hamakua coast planters and his overseers, called "luna," were mostly from Scotland too. Apparently the plantation was not a very profitable one because the success of the crops depended so much on the uncertain weather, which could be very finicky. Because water was not abundant, the cane did not grow as tall, and compared to the neighboring plantations in the Hilo district, the transportation cost of cane to the mill was high. In the latter region cane was transported to the grinding mill by a flume. Miles and miles of this conduit would extend from the fields to the mill and sugar cane cut to about two foot lengths would flow to its destination.

At Waipunalei this convenient and cheap mode of conveyance could not be utilized and a train had to be used. But here again, because land was not flat like that on the Oahu plantations another method was used. An ingenious device called the "wire rope" was invented to transport cane from the fields to a railway track which coursed the shoreline. For miles the steel wire cable extended up the slope supported at regular intervals by posts and crossbars about twenty to forty feet high, depending on the irregularity of the surface. A revolving wheel with a suspension hook onto which a bundle of cane was hitched would be sent down from the higher fields. Some wheels would turn faster than others and there was a tendency for certain ones to be bunched together in their downward coursing. Therefore, at certain intervals depending on the slope and grade, there were relay stations where a respacing of the downward flow of cane bundles was effected. Also at certain intervals there were signal posts where flags flew to transmit messages from the platform to regulate the flow of cane, for the procedure had to be adjusted according to the available number of empty loading cars.

Torao was sent to this plantation with two members from his native village, Umekichi Okawa and Yusaku Hirano, and seventeen other men. These three were about the same age and they had vowed to stick together in all the privations and tribulations they had to face in the new land. On arrival, they were taken to a camp near the factory which was called the "mill camp."

The accommodations that awaited them were much the same as on other plantations. Because of frequent rains, the barracks were built about eight feet above ground. A rectangular hall thirty by ten feet accommodated eight men. Each was accorded about four feet on the sleeping platform. They hung their work clothes and other apparel on the wall of the walking space.

The stories concerning life and treatment to be accorded them that they heard from men already working there were most disheartening. It happened that the "big luna" or the general overseer of the plantation was a virtual czar of this domain as the manager-owner left the running of the plantation completely in the hands of this brutal Scotsman, Frank MacCracken. He must have had a streak of sadism in his nature for the treatment of laborers was brutal in the extreme. The cruelty must have been unprecedented and unparalleled for there was an unenviable appellation attached to this "devil's plantation." All who came to this place considered it an act of fate."Shikataga nai" (it can't be helped) was muttered under a sigh.

For three years they were bound to this spot by the contract they had signed. In effect, it was slavery pure and simple for they could not leave the farm. Policemen of the Hawaiian kingdom were nothing more than guards whose duty was to track down runaway laborers and bring them back to their employers.

All contract laborers were to receive twelve and a half dollars a month. Housing and medical attention were to be provided by the employer. Ten percent was subtracted each pay day and this amount filled the coffers of the Emigration Company that had recruited them in Japan. There were two ways to eat. The majority of single men boarded at six dollars a month at some kitchen run by an enterprising couple, or did the cooking themselves. Examples of commodity prices were:

100 lb. sack of rice ....	$3.00
1 lb. of small fish (opelu)......	.12
1 lb. beef ........	.12
1 sack 50 lb. flour ....	.60
1 good-sized chicken....	.20

In order for the cook to be able to prepare breakfast and fill the lunch cans, she had to get up at three o'clock in the morning. Unless her husband supplemented the larder with homegrown vegetables, and raised a pig on the slop that came from the kitchen, there was not much profit to show. A little pig was obtainable at five dollars and after four or five months it was worth twenty-five to thirty dollars which was really clear money.

A single man who denied himself in the extreme by preparing his own meals could not do much better. There was an exception now and then. Mohei Sato was from Fukushima-ken and was more literate than the average immigrant since he came from the snowy north. It was said that in the northeast provinces, the winters were so cold that the children were forced to remain indoors and obtain book learning. Be that as it may, he was above average intelligence, but his conduct was ludicrous. His nickname was "sugar bag." For working clothes, he cut himself a shirt and pants out of gunny sack. It was a strange sight to see him in this coarse brown apparel hobbling along in feet turbaned with the same material. The coarse fabrics must have irritated his skin terribly, but he endured it much like the medieval monks did. He lived on, according to gossip, rice, shoyu, and small dried fish called iriko. He was a wealthy man judging by the yardstick of the workers, although nobody envied him. He was made the butt of jokes by even small children. He showed no outward annoyance and seemed to live in a world all his own. But everyone was ashamed ten years later when he was the biggest contributor to the language school that was built by popular subscription. He was miserly but knew how to spend money when the cause was a worthy one.

Back in the old country there was an authentic story of a returnee from Hawaii who had two hundred and fifty dollars after the completion of three contract years. How one could save this sum in three years, from ten dollars a month before board was subtracted, was almost impossible to conceive, but facts were there and there was no factor of gambling as a possible outside source of income for this man.

The work began the morning following their arrival. Without a raincoat they were ordered out with the other hands to go "hoe hana-ing" —hoeing weeds and grass between the rows of young sugar cane. Luckily, it was a season of comparatively little rain and they hoped the weather would hold until the raincoats would be sewed and oiled by the woman who took the orders to make these for the new arrivals.

They started out at four-forty-five and labored until eleven when they were permitted to have lunch and a thirty minute rest. Then at four o'clock they were released from their toil. They had to walk home from the field which sometimes was three to four miles away. When the days were short it was almost dark when they returned.

There was a "luna" over them who directed their work and saw that nobody loafed. He was a Portuguese and not a bad sort, although in the presence of his superiors he tried to act hard-boiled to curry their favor. His softness and considerateness were only in a comparative and relative sense and the whole setup on the plantation was that of inhuman slave-driving tactics to get the most out of these human creatures.

Little heed was given to the human element, such as inequality in physique and endurance that existed among the different working men. Maximum work was to be exacted from all concerned. To see that each worked hard, a peculiar practice was in vogue. If a man did not soak his shirt with sweat by nine a.m., he might be sent home and the day did not count as a day worked. On wintry days one had to work very hard in order to sweat. Scottish thrift and meanness were extreme in their application.

After several weeks, it began to rain. Every day showers might be expected. It got cold in the winter months when Mauna Kea was capped with snow and the winds that blew from that direction were chilly. It seemed incongruous to be working in a tropical sugar cane field and be in constant view of a long range of mountains clad snowy white. In the early morning, the need of warm clothing was keenly felt.

On these wet days the men were sent out to the fields to do "holy-holy work"--pulling dried cane leaves that kept clinging to the stalk. The moisture made the detachment easy and the fine sticky cilia-like bristles at the edges of the leaves were soft and not damaging to the bare hands. The dried leaves were piled high between the rows of the sugar cane stalks which looked fresh and clean, stripped of their dried leaves.

On these cool mornings the work was brisk. Competitive spirit was keen among the men, and the going was rapid. The only thing that occasionally bothered them was the attack of yellow jackets that had their nests in the dry leaves, but even these were rendered less vicious by the rain. This work got to be very hot and wearisome as soon as the rain ceased and the afternoon sun beat heavily, for among the tall rows of cane there was no cooling relief from any refreshing breeze.

One morning a newcomer who did not appear very robust was taken sick and did not report to work. As was the usual routine, MacCracken made his rounds of the camps at about eight thirty in the morning to see if there were any malingerers. The really sick were to report for sick call at the dispensary, where castor oil and quinine were dispensed. On this rainy morning he found this newcomer in bed and to his casual lay observation, prejudiced by a slave-driver's mental attitude, the man did not look either feverish or sickly. His only conclusion was that the man was a shirker. In his ignorant blind rage, he yanked this poor man from his bed, did not even give him time to dress, kicked him in the posterior, and drove him to work riding just behind him on a horse. Thus at a trot he drove this sick man to the field two miles away in his underwear. It was raining off and on. Ignorant of the English language, the laborer could not explain that he had a stabbing pain in his chest, the recurrence of an old pleurisy. When they got to the working place, MacCracken gave special orders to the Portuguese luna in charge of the gang to see that this man did not loaf. The toadying luna had neither imagination nor the intelligence to smooth out ruffles without causing general alarm. Told to do a certain thing he considered it loyalty to adhere to it literally without questioning its justice, and attempted to carry the order out to the letter.

Therefore, when this man began working, he followed him and saw to it that he kept up the pace of other healthy men. Not being of a strong constitution to start with and now wracked with fever, lassitude began to assail him. He could not keep up the work without feeling a faintness coming on. He stood up often to take a breath. The luna goaded him on. There came a time that he could not continue and he worked mechanically and listlessly. In blind rage, the luna kicked him across a vital organ as the man stooped over to gather dry leaves. He keeled over and went into shock.

Ignorant of the actual state of injury, the luna tried to get the injured laborer to his feet but was aghast when he saw the color of his face, There was no one present who might have given him first aid. The working men convened around the stricken man. Some slapped his face some shouted into his ears, but he soon turned cyanotic, the color draining from his cheeks. When the terrible fact dawned upon the men that their friend had been kicked to death by this Portuguese, they turned on the horror stricken stooge and beat him relentlessly until he was no longer able to stand and cried for mercy. Luckily in this work of "holy-holy" no implement was used or else the result might have been fatal for him also.

All work ceased. The fighting blood of the men was up. They carried the corpse to the camp and had a grand demonstration of grief, anger, and much talk. There was much jabbering and gesticulating, but without adequate leadership nothing could be accomplished. Torao took charge of the occasion. He told them that the first thing to do was to have some sort of religious service for the dead man and give him a decent burial. On the following day they could have a delegation sent to the manager and remonstrate to their heart's content concerning the wrong done and ensure that such inhuman acts not be repeated ever again on the plantation. All agreed as it was getting dark.

That night there was a very sad vigil in the dead man's room. The talk, over repeated cups of tea, recounted stories and anecdotes experienced in the old country and all tried to avoid the topic of the day's wrong that culminated in this tragedy. Torao volunteered to perform the Buddhist ritual of chanting the sutra which he knew by heart. It had been taught him at the village temple whose priest happened to be his cousin.

The following day the gang that worked with the dead man did not report to work and all went along to the cemetery located in a grove of eucalyptus trees about a mile away, where about two dozen other compatriots who had fallen victim to various traumatic injuries or sickness lay interred; unsung and unmourned in this living hell of a plantation, thousands of miles away from their native country. They bore the casket made of rough pine lumber slung on a long pole which was carried by two men in relays. Each gladly volunteered. It was a last friendly service to an erstwhile fellow-worker. A hole was dug in the ground, and the casket was slowly lowered as the men stood with bowed heads. As each helped throw in handfuls of dirt, there was a glistening in every pair of eyes that was transfixed to the spot where all life's aspiration and hope were being interred under three shallow feet of sod. As the hole was being filled, Torao stood by and again chanted the verses from the sutra that he knew by heart. A wooden marker with the name of the dead, his age, the date of demise, and his home-place in Japan was placed at the head of the mound.

Mr. Yamada worked at the store conducted by the plantation. When they returned from the burial, the entire delegation repaired to the store and asked to see this man to transmit their grievances to the manager. Used to such demonstrations, Mr. Yamada had seen the manager about it and had an answer to the remonstrances of the laborers. According to him, the manager was extremely sorry for what had occurred and had discharged the man responsible for the accident. The plantation was going to see to it that such repetition would not recur.

As to the crux of the question of punishment of the murderer, assurance was very vague. It was an act done in line of duty and according to existing Hawaiian law there was no recourse to the courts. The courts were in the hands of the white planters. The Hawaiian judges and police were mere stooges in the employ of the moneyed faction that had representation in the courts of the native king. In fact, they were advisers to the king. As to the protection of sick men not able to work, here again guarantee of humane consideration was very feeble. After all they were, in fact, indentured contract laborers. Their civil rights had been taken away and for three years they were to be victims of the exploiters of their labor whose voice was law even unto matters concerning life and death.

Yamada was a sincere man and the young laborers did not doubt for a moment that he spoke from a detached third party standpoint with their interest at heart and not behaving as a mere tool of the management. But his counsel for moderation and forbearance was prompted from a desire to settle everything peacefully. He knew full well the futility of resistance but feared that the aroused spirit of the men was not to be easily quelled. To back down at this moment meant giving in to brutality and surrendering everything considered decent in human heritage.

The attitude of the laborers became menacing. The predicament Yamada was in was perceived by his superiors and by order of the men in the office of the Hawaiian policeman, Kaihue, came out with a drawn pistol and ordered them back. Torao was enraged. To settle anything within reason could and ought to be done by persuasion. To be threatened by a pistol was an insult that he could not take lying down and so he stepped forward and yelled out in Japanese to Mr. Yamada, "It is a cowardly act to resort to 'flying weapons.' Why can't things be talked over by representatives in a human way?"

The policeman fired a shot into the air to cower the crowd. Instead, it incited them into a frenzy. They rushed forward to be met by two shots this time. Luckily, no one was seriously hurt. Torao received a grazing wound in his thigh and another got a bullet in his leg. But this deadly demonstration of might was enough to sober them. Sullenly, they retreated to their barracks. They were made to realize more than ever before that they were virtual slaves during the period of their contract. The next day they went to work with sick hearts, but the vigilence of the "lunas" was increased. In the course of time their spiritual hurt was gradually assuaged. Time seemed to be the most efficient healer of the wounds that stabbed deep.

But this unfortunate incident was not easily forgotten. Those that were looked upon as the ringleaders or anyone who took an active part in the protest were black-listed, and a systematic persecution took place. The worst type of work was sent their way; they had to go to the remotest fields so that when they returned to the barracks in the evening, others already had had their bath and supper. To be picked upon in such a discriminating way usually sours anyone. Soon, Torao got fed up with the life at this plantation and plans to escape from this living hell began to take shape in his mind. He conferred with his two buddies from the same village, Okawa and Hirano. They were willing and decided to skip this place for Kohala about sixty miles away. The latter was reputed to be a paradise compared to Waipunalei and was far enough to escape detection once they got there.

One night, therefore, when everybody was sound asleep, they gathered their meager possessions and slipped out of camp. They traveled on the government road during the night and at dawn got as far as the adjoining plantation of Kukaiau. Beyond this point, the terrain was unknown to them. When people began to stir at dawn they crawled into the canefields and slept. The food and water lasted a day. When dusk came, they got out of hiding and followed the road but not on the road itself. Where the cane was young they walked in the canefield.

Their escape was already a known fact and without delay policemen on neighboring plantations were notified. Usually, a cash prize was posted for capture and return of fugitives, and the native policemen were bent on making the capture for obvious reasons. Where the cane was tall, they were forced to step out on the road, but they walked along the edge of the highway so that they could jump into the canefield as soon as they heard approaching hoofbeats. When they came to the village of Paauilo they made a wide detour and proceeded northward. Nothing untoward happened and they got to the middle of the Paauhau Plantation at dawn the next morning.

"This is when we sleep the day again. This will be the last of the rice we brought. Luckily in Hawaii the cane will give us both food and water. So let's chew on this ripe cane," said Torao.

Hirano replied, "We shouldn't complain. Every mile we get away from Waipunalei, I feel freer and better. A few days without food is nothing. We must be between Paauilo and Honokaa. I heard that the Paauhau Plantation camp is not on the highway but we are on the plantation now. The next village we come to will be Honokaa."

Okawa was thoughtful. "Would it be wise to try to get some food when we get to Honokaa? I heard that once you get to Waimea Plateau, there will be no sugar cane to chew. Only cattle grazing ground is found there."

Torao was more optimistic. "This is an adventure and adventure is always attended with some risk. When we get to Honokaa, we'll reconnoiter and then decide what to do. Meanwhile, let's get some sleep."

The dried cane leaves made a nice soft bed. Several rows of cane away from the highway a little snoring would not invite attention. There were very few travelers anyway. Mosquitoes did not bother them.

When it became dark, the three men stepped out of this hiding place and headed north, exercising a cautious single file march and doing most of their walking before the moon came out. Because there were no houses along this stretch, they did not meet anyone on the road.

About midnight of the third night they reached Honokaa. By this time they were so hungry they decided without much arguing to run that certain risk and seek help from friendly compatriots. Wary of barking dogs, they came to a small house on the fringe of the town. By looking at the general layout of the surroundings of the house they concluded it must be the abode of a Japanese, for there was the outdoor cooking place and the more tell-tale wooden bathtub. They knocked repeatedly. A sleepy-eyed man answered the rap on the door and cautiously opened the entrance. He was clad in kimono with a lantern in his hand. Relieved to find that it was indeed a countryman, Hirano said, "We are extremely sorry to disturb you at this hour of the night but we are seeking mercy. We have not eaten for two days."

Suspiciously, the man inquired, "Where are you from and where are you bound for?"

"We are from Waipunalei and are on our way to Niuli, Kohala." Then everything seemed clear to the man and he let them into the hous.

"If I am not mistaken, you three are running away from the 'devil's plantation?' You have not been the first to come this way from Waipunalei. You must be hungry. Let me fix you something to eat." There was some leftover cold rice and he hurriedly boiled some water and prepared tea. With some pickled radish the three men devoured several bowls of rice and felt alive again. As the men were eating, the host prepared some two dozen pancakes.

"You had better take these along in case you run out of food again. But remember, the Waimea Plateau you will have to cross is practically uninhabited up to where the cowboys live and that is a village called Kamuela. Perhaps you had better give the Kanakas a wide berth, for they are apt to turn you over for the cash prize that hangs around your neck. Only eat these pancakes when there is absolutely no other food in sight. Now you had better get started again and reach the forest lands that start on that hill about two miles away. It is never safe in the village. Hope you have luck in your venture." He divided the pancakes into three packages. "Let each carry his own. You may become parted. Nobody can foretell what will happen."

"May we ask your name and home address in Japan? There may be a chance for us to return your hospitality in kind," said Torao.

"Oh, forget about it! Between us men from the same country everyone is like a brother as far as I am concerned. You would have done the same for me had I been in your shoes. Just watch the roads carefully. The first part of the forest road seems to be the most dangerous. In the cattle ranches beware of the bulls and play possum at night when they come to sniff at you."

They thanked this kindly man from the bottom of their hearts and took to the road again, climbing uphill towards the Waimea Plateau. In the dead of the night there was no one stirring, so the men followed the road and made good progress. Up and up they climbed. There was no conversation for everyone was intent on getting out of the danger zone. The fine dust of the road was like flour and impeded their progress. Recently, wagons heavily laden with harvested cane had used this road extensively and ground the dirt road to this pulverized state, for there had been no rain for the past three weeks. Had there been rain the road would have been well nigh impassable.

The moon came out at about two o'clock and the going was made relatively easy as the countryside came plainly into view. The lofty peak of Mauna Kea seemed to tower immediately in front of them. The cane fields, bathed in the soft glow of the silvery moon, shimmered like the surface of the sea and extended in undulating waves to the ocean miles away. They came to the end of the plantation and the scenery changed to the typical wild wooded sections of the subtropics. Large ohia trees abounded and in the underbrush giant tree ferns flourished to form an almost impassable barrier. They sighed with relief but their feeling of safety was destined to be short-lived.

The policeman at Honokaa had been notified of the three fugitives. Traces of their hiding place in the cane field at Kukaiau Plantation had been discovered by working men in the fields and the police further on had been duly notified. The native policeman at Honokaa needed the cash prize of ten dollars per head for his growing family. He figured the runaway Japanese would head through Honokaa that night and so he kept vigil at the junction of the plantation and the forest lands. The hilly terrain there would make the capture easier.

He lay recumbent on the ground and was patiently awaiting his prey to appear. As the night wore on and he became sleepy, his horse began pricking his ears and restlessly pulled on the rein which wound around the policeman's wrist. He became alert and on looking down the road he espied three forms in the moonlight. There was no mistake. To get them all was his ambition. He tightened the girth of the saddle and mounted. He used to work as a cowboy on the Parker Ranch at Waimea in his youth and lassoing was a specialty of his. He untied the cowhide rope and carefully made a big ring of it with his right hand.

When the approaching fugitives hove into sight within fifty feet, he applied spurs to his mount and made a dash for the unsuspecting men. Completely taken by surprise, they dispersed and took to the little mound on the roadside. They intended to separate but instinctively two got bunched together while the other went by himself. The lasso flew to its mark and the two men were ensnared in one attempt. Brought violently together, they suddenly realized that they were captured and their cause lost. Having heard that the Hawaiian cowboys made a practice of dragging their victims when there was resistance, the two men stopped running and felt the cowhide rope tighten around their waists. Holding the rope taut, the policeman approached them with a drawn revolver and handcuffed them together. In the meantime the third member, Okawa, had made good his escape.

Torao and Hirano were handcuffed together. The policeman held the rope that was tied to the metal handcuffs and commanded the fugitives to head downhill. He followed behind on his horse and locked them in a cell at the county jail.

"Oh, what a disgrace! I would rather die than be taken back to Waipunalei," wailed Hirano.

"Yes, I feel the same way. But not enough to commit suicide. Maybe there'll be another chance. Maybe we'll get a beating at the hands of the Jackass head luna. I can't stand that: to be kicked about by the giant. It hurts to be kicked but the indignity of being booted will make me feel so small spiritually that I surely will lose my self-respect as a human being. Why did I ever come to Hawaii!"

Fitfully, they snatched two hours of sleep and were then given a cup of coffee and two pieces of hardtack. At seven o'clock the fat khaki-clad policeman appeared. He displayed a star on his coat, wore a broad-rimmed hat with another star in front, and spurs jingled from his knee-high boots. "I think you run away from Waipunalei. I take you back to the plantation now," and he led the two prisoners out of the cell.

The two captives were taken back, retracing the twenty miles of weary hike to the plantation which they had vowed they would never lay eyes on again. It was a dusty and weary hike because the gait and pace of the policeman's horse was uniform and steady. Onlookers at the roadside had expressions of mingled emotion or plain apathy when they saw the trio. Pity, contempt, or sympathy depended on each one of the crowd, but only resignation and shame were the feelings left for the prisoners. How were the onlookers to know that they were not criminals or murderers and only men who had sought liberty? The fate of a loser was a shameful one.

"Oh, why did you have to get caught?" were the first words uttered by the interpreter Yamada, who was genuinely sorry when the policeman brought the prisoners back at night. There was no Caucasian overseer around then and he could blurt out his true feelings.

"We tried to escape but fate was against us. Coming back, we had ample time to think. We are young and can take whatever is dished out to us. We will stick it out to the end of the contract."

"Just as well. It may be harder now that you are marked men and you will be segregated in a different camp as punishment but it will be for three months only. You can then rejoin your old friends."

They were thrown in the calaboose and fed only bread and water for two days as punishment, and then they were sent to a special camp where incorrigibles were quartered and those who were used for the most detestable work. Torao was very unhappy about his capture. But by this experience he evolved a new philosophy of life. He had tried escape and failed. It was perhaps inevitable that he should try to explain and console himself regarding this recent escapade and its accompanying failure.

That Okawa did finally succeed in getting to Kohala was evident by a letter received by a man in camp from an assumed name prearranged before their departure. Torao felt that there was some sort of fate linking him to this odious plantation. Perhaps he was predestined to stick to this place and it was not meant that he, a mortal, should say anything about any arrangement that was surely beyond his ken and ability to alter. Therefore he became reconciled to his fate and thereafter acted like a good obedient laborer no matter what the nature of his work turned out to be.

The work assigned to this disciplinary group was the dirtiest and the hardest on the plantation. After three months of this convict camp he was paroled back to his original gang. It is a universal truth that any act, either good or bad, significant enough to be noticed by others, will be remembered by the superiors.

He was soon promoted to be a mule-driver. He was assigned to a mule, holding the handles of a single cultivator with the long rein around his shoulders, and walked between rows of young cane. This was a promotion from the ranks of "hoe-hanamen" as the hoe-wielding laborers were derisively called. His wages remained the same during the term of the contract, but as soon as the period of indenture should end his pay was going to be boosted ten cents a day above that of the hoeing men.

After he had decided to endure whatever befell him his lot became much easier and he was able to have some fun even in this desolate place away from civilization and its comforts. It was during this time that the sad news announcing the death of his only sister, Osada, arrived in a letter that took three months in transit. He kept this news to himself for there was no respite from work for the men and no church to go to. All by himself he repaired to some unfrequented corner near the camp said prayers for the departed soul of his only sister. Without the understanding comfort of their mother, Osada's lot as the only woman in the house besides her step-mother had not been easy and to have died without marrying seemed very unfortunate and pitiful in Torao's conception.

Three years elapsed in due course of time. It was a long three years: yet when it expired it did not seem to have been too long. At last he was a free man to do with his life as he pleased. The death of Osada seemed to have given him the opportunity to take stock of his future—the opportunities back home in Japan in contrast to what this new land of Hawaii seemed to offer. His father seemed to be making good under the capable management of his second wife. The other brother was too young to remember his real mother and seemed to be happy with his half brothers and sisters. The pioneering sturdy blood that enabled his father to do well in the peasant army during the last days of the feudal system was coursing strongly in his young veins. The mental aspiration crushed during the three years of servitude was still there; the energy of the free man was welling up inside his powerful body of twenty-five years.

The third member of this party, Okawa, on that fatal night at Honokaa, ran as fast as his legs would carry him and plunged into the cane field. As he lay flat on the ground feeling his heart pounding wildly against his shirt and the rise and fall of his breath that shook his entire body, he had time to figure things out and the fate of his comrades became his next concern. The ominous quiet and the cessation of the pounding hoofbeats meant either the stalking maneuver of the policeman or his withdrawal empty-handed. In that event he wanted to find out what became of his two companions. Carefully he peered out between the cane stalks from his hiding place and interpreted the plain story in the three figures delineated clearly in the moonlight. The agreement among the trio had been that in case of a happening such as this the surviving one was to make the trip by himself to the destination and establish contact with the ones left behind. Therefore, although tremendously shaken by this sudden turn of events he decided to proceed alone.

When the policeman and his two friends disappeared down the hill he came out of hiding and directed his course in the opposite direction. The road became narrower. In fact, except for the ruts of passing wagons, grass covered the roadbed. The trees were so tall they obstructed the moonlight and dismal darkness lay in his path. There were no wild animals to fear but many cats roamed about the countryside and their bright eyes sent a chill up and down his spine until he discovered what they were. He took five days to cross the plateau. He avoided the highway and in doing this he had to take to the cattle range where the untamed beef cattle of the Parker Estate roamed over the vast rolling grassland by the hundreds.

Not accustomed to cattle either wild or domestic, he had the usual fear of men for the horned beasts. The presence of bulls among them made his adventure more precarious. One night in particular as he lay under an eucalyptus tree and was fast asleep, he felt on his face the breath of a beast nudging against his body. He opened his eyes to discover an inquisitive cow hovering over him. He pretended to be dead and remained motionless and breathless. He had once heard that northerners would act dead when they accidently met a bear in the woods. Wild animals if not carnivorous were not supposed to attack unless they themselves were afraid. A dead man would not be considered dangerous even by the most stupid animal.

Luckily, in the woods there were thimble berries and passion fruit to fill his stomach and he was fortunate to stumble across a banana tree with ripe fruit on it. Once out of the wooded region and onto the grassy land, ripe guava trees dotted the plain but drinking water was a problem. This he solved by scooping up water found in cattle hoof-prints. Cowboys were not in attendance on these cattle as the Parker Estate comprised hundreds of thousands of acres and was one of the largest cattle ranches of the world. There were no fences for miles and miles.

Okawa was very careful in conserving the precious pancakes he had been given at Honokaa and decided to keep them until no fruit was obtainable. When he saw the village of Kamuela in the distance among the groves of eucalyptus trees he made a wide detour and skirted the base of the hill to the east. Then he found himself in the drier section of the plateau and headed for Kohala which he figured would be toward the sea to his right. The terrain took on a sudden change in appearance and there was no longer the abundance of moisture and luxuriance of vegetation. Grass was sparse and cacti and lantana dotted the landscape. He had to be careful about discovery as natural obstacles behind which he might hide became scarce. He sheered away from the highway and travelled in the heart of the cattle ranch heading downward toward the seashore. He became accustomed to the glassy stare of cattle and had learned that they were harmless unless he had aggressive intentions against them.

Finally, he came to a gulch and followed it toward the sea. Then he came to cultivated cane fields. On looking down further, he espied the red corrugated iron roofs of a laborers' camp amidst the green fields in the distance and approached this site carefully. He hid himself for about half an hour until he saw a woman come out of the house and he was certain that his countrymen dwelled here. It was near noon and men were out to work. He came out of hiding after making sure that no one was approaching the camp. He knocked at the door of the kitchen where the woman was working. She was taken aback at his strange appearance, but on finding out the story she hurriedly prepared for him an impromptu meal of canned salmon and cold rice. It was then that Okawa pulled out his bundle of precious pancakes. They were as hard as rocks and he tried to eat one of them but try as he might, he could not swallow it.

So, of the three fugitives, one got safely to Niuli Kohala and was given work on the plantation without any questions being asked. Perhaps because of the distance and the fact that they belonged to altogether different political districts there was no close cooperation between the Hamakua and Kohala plantations. He wrote to his friends at Waipunalei about what he found at this new place where the laborer's lot was much easier but the latter had already resigned themselves to their fate and did not relish going through the same grueling experience again. Okawa worked here for about a year and then went out to Honolulu.

At the expiration of the labor contract, a certificate of such fulfillment was given the laborers. These graduates were called "non shipped men" in contrast to "shipped men" for contract laborers. Everybody looked forward to the day when he would be graduated from the lowly status.

In later days when his son grew up, acquired a college education, and sent him a photograph of himself in cap and gown and holding a real sheepskin diploma, Torao wept and in some of his rare moments of sentimental exposé related that there had been only two really happy moments in his life. The first was the time when he received this certificate releasing him from bondage and the second was when his son received a degree from a reputable institution of learning. The first was an emergence of his sunken self to that of a normal free being; the second was the advancement of his son, who was in a sense a continuation and fulfillment of his ideals and frustrated hopes in life into the group of the elite.

Because his attempt to escape made him a marked man, he had to watch his step very closely. His industry was genuine. He not only worked as best as he could, he was thrifty. He did not smoke and for the duration of his contract he cut out his drinking altogether. Therefore at the end of the three years he was in possession of about one hundred and fifty dollars. As soon as he became "non shipped man" his wages became eighteen dollars per month, and he continued to work with the animals, which were mostly imported Oregon mules.

The treatment of free men was not as harsh as in contract days and so he no longer wanted to move away although he was at liberty to do so if he so desired. The thing he had most in mind then was to find a mate. Therefore he wrote to his father that he wished to marry and asked him to find a suitable bride, preferably from among the belles of the village he had known, if they were still available. In three years' time, naturally, many had settled down to raise families, but there were a few still in circulation. His father sent him a list of such young women plus a few from neighboring towns and villages. Among these he came across the name of Chizu Omura and he lingered long over the image and reminiscences resurrected by her name.

He had met her many times when he used to go to Amizu to his mother's home. Chizu lived on the way thither and as her brother was in his class at school, he spent many an afternoon at her home. Her family had once been prosperous farmers and owned the choicest rice-fields near the spring of water which irrigated the villagers' fields. Naturally, proximity to this source of irrigation water enhanced the value of the land.

Her eldest brother was a good fellow but not extra bright, and even before he became of age was led astray by the dandies of the village and tasted the cheap pleasures of the night life at teahouses and could not forget the caresses of the painted women of these establishments. His friends were playing him for a sucker, catered to his whims, and encouraged his wild spendings. His father had died when he was still a boy and now being of age he was master of his house. His mother was powerless to prevent his squandering.

Finally it came to pass that a general meeting of relatives had to be called to discuss and remedy the situation, but at this stage there was left only a few of the choice lands that had been handed down from the ancestors. Most of the rice patches had been signed off to the moneylenders at ridiculous prices. Their intervention was too late. The damage was already done. They only retained the family residence and half an acre of rice land which was not enough to feed the family of four. The mother was sickly and her vision was failing. The second brother was dependable but was in service with the army as a conscript. For this reason, Chizu had not married and remained at home to look after her disappointed mother. Being the last child and an only girl, she had been babied and used to sleep with her mother until she was fourteen. But in those days of early marriages twenty-two was considered very old for a bride and although she did not mind it, even her mother became concerned and asked friends to be on the lookout for a suitable match for her daughter.

Then out of a clear sky a proposition came to the family. Torao Murayama had asked for her hand. Would the family consider it? The aged mother did not give it a thought. "Hawaii? How can Chizu go to such a far-off corner of the world! When my deathbed comes Chizu must stay nearby to give me the last cup of water. Chizu herself would hardly give it a thought. I am sure of this."

"But, mother, you must not be so hasty. You are not the one who is going to get married. Let us hear what Chizu has to say. The Murayama family is a reputable family and with their connection with Amizu, this match is not one to be just passed off casually."

To their profound surprise, Chizu's answer was in the affirmative and she would even chance the four thousand miles of perilous voyage if it was to go to the side of Torao-san. Enough had been written home by the different emigrants to Hawaii to give the villagers some definite picture of the far-off islands. Besides, there were some men who had returned from overseas with their pockets lined with hard-earned cash. The picture these men painted did not seem wholly gloomy and fearsome. In her make-up there was an adventuresome strain and a hard common horse-sense that was lacking in her elder brother who squandered the family fortune. Neighboring old women used to say, "Chizu has inherited all the brains of the family. It is a pity that she was not born a boy."

Now that such a proposition had come from Torao she recalled all she could remember of him and was surprised to discover that she did have some secret longing for him. It was a dormant sentiment and lay deep, undetected even by herself. Simply, there had been no occasion to make her realize her submerged sentiment. A triggering was necessary for the emergence of this feeling.

There was a day when she was about fifteen when her second brother urged her to go shellfish gathering on the shore off the Sumiyoshi Hill. At the fishing village of Kasaiwa there was a married aunt and they could go there and spend the day on the sandy beach. It was a warm day in late summer or early autumn and she was glad to get away from home. In this party there were Torao and his sister Osada. The entire morning they went wading into shallow pools left by the ebbing tide, where fish swam and crabs darted away. With rakes they went back and forth on the sandy surface of the exposed bay bottom. The boys pulled on the huge heavy rakes and the girls followed in the wake of this receding implement and gathered the shrimps and crabs that were turned up from their buried recesses. Then they dug into the soft sandy loam and obtained many clams that seemed to be abundant in that particular season. At noon they repaired to their aunt's home and had their fun cooking what they had caught. It was a delightful day and she recalled it with fond remembrance.

When the negotiation for the marriage was finally arranged, two hundred yen was forwarded by the Murayama family so that she might arrange and prepare for the coming marriage. This custom of presenting the bride with money was called "sending the yuino kin." With this money presentation, there was usually a small party. There was a return from the bride's family to the groom's, again usually a fraction of the yuino. This amount was only nominal, but this gesture formally concluded the engagement.

Knowing the reduced circumstances of the family, Sadaki told them that she might remain with her mother to perform her share of filial piety as long as she was in Japan and need not come to live with them as the custom decreed for brides. She could stay with her mother until the six months' period elapsed before she could start on her trip to Hawaii.

She was somewhat reticent to leave her aging mother behind, but since the second brother was sensible and now was about to get married, she could entrust her mother's care to her new sister-in-law. She had her own life to live. She knew full well the kind of life a spinster might expect for her future, especially in such reduced circumstances as hers were. So after many nights wherein mother and daughter wept together, the day arrived when she was to start the first lap of her long journey to her husband.