PS 3507 D17975r DAMON ROMANCE OF REALITY THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES SEP 8 I 19 -? LIBRARY- THE MISSION PLAT ImtoluUt, iatuatt 1920 T THE ROMANCE OF REALITY A Historical Play in Two Acts Act I. The Call Act II. The Answer Written by Ethel Moseley Damon Staged by Punahou Students, Alumni and Friends As a Memorial to the Founders of the Mission Under the Direction of Dora Louise Kirwin In Mission Memorial Hall, Honolulu April 12, 1920 NOTE: With the exception of Miss Patience Dwight and Miss Mehitable Joiner, History alone has supplied the names and personality of the characters in the following play. Incident and scene are likewise historical, and even the words themselves have, in large measure, been discovered in the writings of the very character who utters them or in those of some well-known contemporary. In strict justice, there fore, the text should be enclosed in quotation marks. THE ROMANCE OF REALITY Time: 1809-1820. place: New England and the Sandwich Islands. ACT I: THE CALL SCENE 1. New Haven, Connecticut, an autumn afternoon in 1809. Rev. E. Dwight, a brother of President Dwight of Yale College. Samuel J. Mills, about 26 years old, of Torringford, Conn., a resident graduate at the college, a young man already im bued with the spirit of Missions. Opukahaia, a Sandwich Island youth about 15 years of age. (Rev. Mr. Dwight and young Mills are engaged in study, the one at his desk, the other at a table, in the study of Mr. Dwight on the grounds of the college. Save for the desk, the chairs, a few books on a shelf, and two large engravings of religious subjects on the wall, the study is bare. A door opening at the back on two or three low steps gives a glimpse of the campus shaded by its historic elms.) Mr. Divight: It were* wiser, Samuel, to leave your study of the Greek Testament now, and turn to the treatise on Principles of Con duct. Be as diligent in the latter as in the former, and life cannot fail to yield its due reward. Samuel (very respectfully) : Thank you, sir. (Samuel makes the change in text-books and becomes so absorbed in his study that al though his seat almost faces the open door at the back, he in no wise observes a dark-skinned youth of timid mien, Opukahaia, who is to be seen approaching under the elms; he comes quite close to the steps and looks longingly at the two absorbed workers; clasping his hands fervently, he seems to implore their help, and finally sinks down on the steps with his back to them, his face buried in his arms and his shoulders shaking with sobs.) Mr. Dwight (without looking up) : Samuel, did you not hear some disturbing sound? Samuel (looking directly at his teacher) : No, sir, I was buried in contemplation of the divine command. (Work is instantly resumed. Mr. Dwight (starting up suddenly and going toward the open door) : But surely, Samuel, there must be someone near in sore distress of body or mind. (Samuel rises obediently, but is still preoccupied.) And here indeed is someone, younger than yourself, Samuel, and dark of skin. (Mr. Dwight goes to Opukahaia, raises him up with tender compassion, and leads him into the room. Opukahaia looks in amaze ment at the books and then back at his protector.) Tell me, strange lad, why are you weeping? And whence do you come? Opukahaia (hesitatingly) : Oh, very kind sir, I come long, long way on ship, white people call it Sand-wich Is-land. Mr. Dwight: O my poor lad, and you weep for loneliness? See, Samuel, how sore pressed is his spirit? (Samuel is growing more in terested.) [5] Opukahaia: Oh, no, I cry how you say it? because no man giving me to learn. Mr. Dwight and Samuel (together): To learn? Opukahaia (always very slowly) : Yes, most kind men, books, see, you have many, you make on paper, like this (taking up Mr. Dwight s quill pen reverently and tracing lines on a sheet of paper) Opukahaia (touching his own breast) poor boy, no book, no pen, no learning the great Akua, you say God, of A-me-ri-ca. Mr. Du-ight: But, my lad, we will gladly teach you! Opukahaia (his face shining with joy) : Oh, too kind friend to poor Opukahaia! Mr. Dwight: No, my good lad, only glad to help where need is. But tell us why you wish so much to learn. Opukahaia: Oh, for my people, to go back, teach poor blind people, all worship the wood and stone, and shark, no Bible is there in Sand wich Is-land. Samuel (greatly stirred) : Oh, Mr. Dwight, I have long prayed to God that He might some day send many of us out to dark continents and isles of the sea, to preach the Gospel to every creature. (Opuka haia listens rapt.) May I not be permitted to help teach this strange youth? Mr. Dwight: Indeed, yes, Samuel, this seems to be the very hand of God! You shall help, and at once. Every day at this same hour our new friend, O-boo Opukahaia (smiling, but with his habitual courtesy) : O-pu-ka-ha-i-a. Mr. Dwight (renewing the effort): O-boo-kiah, shall come to us for instruction. I will myself open to him the storehouse of God s sacred word, and by the abridgement of some of your tasks, Samuel, you may have a full hour for instructing him in the English tongue. (Opukahaia makes an involuntary movement to clasp the knees of his benefactor; Mr. Dwight restrains him gently, but firmly, whereupon the boy im petuously seizes his hand and kisses it fervently.) Opukahaia: Kind friend, excuse poor Opukahaia, not knowing plenty English word, thank you, aloha. Mr. Dwight: But tell me, O-boo-kiah, where you live here. Opukahaia: In house of Captain Brintnell, he was before on ship, very kind to poor Hopu, friend to Opukahaia, two boys come on ship from boy s notion, go far away. The captain very kind, Opukahaia stay captain s house, but captain have no books, no Bible. Opukahaia come every day here (indicating the campus), see many boys always carry books. Samuel (eagerly) : Oh, Mr. Dwight, it is indeed our great oppor tunity to bring light to them that sit in darkness. And when I go to my father s house in Torringford, may I take O-boo-kiah with me? Later also to the Theological Seminary at Andover, where I am con fident that, in teaching him, we shall all be stirred to obey the clear call of God to carry His Gospel to the ends of the earth! Mr. Dwight: Even so, in God s providence, it shall be, Samuel. And let us, then, to mark this sacred hour of the revelation of God s will, give to our new friend a Christian name, Henry, which shall later be sanctified to him in holy baptism. . . . Opukahaia (kneeling, with eager joy, his hands clasped): He-ne-ri- Opukahaia! [6] Mr. Divight (placing his hand on the boy s head) : May the blessing of the Lord be upon thee, may He make His face to shine upon thee and give thee peace! CURTAIN ACT I, SCENE 2. The same. Three months later. Rev. Mr. Dwight. Miss Patience Dwight. his niece, the oldest of the ladies. Miss Mehitable Joiner, the youngest, about 14 years old. Four or five other young ladies. Samuel J. Mills. Henry Opukahaia. Thomas Hopu, his friend, and companion of the voyage. (The door at the back is closed, but through a glass pane in it the branches of the elms can be seen to be bearing burdens of flaky snow. Mr. Dwight is standing near his desk. The young ladies, still in their bonnets, but having just laid off their shawls, are decorously seated in a semicircle facing the desk Miss Dwight at the back, Miss Mehitable Joiner nearest the audience.) Mr. Dwight: Having no prescience of today s inclement weather, my dear young ladies, I asked my niece to assemble you in my study at this hour, for a particular reason (much fluttering and rustling among the sisters). Unselfish sympathy, devotion, and prayer have ever been the graces of the enlightened female mind and soul. I now ask you as a group to extend those graces to another nation than your own, through the persons of two of my pupils, Henry Obookiah and his friend, Thomas Hopu; natives of the Sandwich Islands, and earnest seekers after truth. (He steps to a side door and calls) Samuel, come in! (A still more audible flutter is evident among the ladies; at the entrance of Samuel and the two dark youths, Miss Mehitable in voluntarily calls out, "Oh, oh" but is at once severely frowned upon by Miss Patience.) Mr. Dwight: Mr. Samuel Mills you all know from frequent social gatherings in my house. Henry Obookiah and Thomas Hopu I now formally present for your charitable consideration. (All the ladies rise and curtsy deeply.) Miss Patience (modestly approaching the two strangers and shak ing hands with them) : My uncle does us, unlearned females, a signal honor, which we shall yet endeavor to requite by our fervent and fre quent prayers for your welfare and continued advancement in the knowledge and love of our Heavenly Father. Opukahaia (deeply moved): Poor Opukahaia thank all kind peo ple. Out door (pointing to the wintry scene) oh, very cold, but now never more cold here (placing his hand on his heart), all other hearts so warm to poor boys, Hopu and Opukahaia. Friend Samuel, will tell the ladies? Mr. Dwight (having bidden the ladies be re-seated) : Our new friend wishes Samuel to tell you all of his comrade of the voyage, Thomas Hopu. This story we have gathered from Henry s broken narrative and from Captain Brintnell who was in command of the whaling ship that brought them across 18,000 miles of trackless ocean, to our shores. [7] Samuel: Some member of the crew had given Thomas a gorgeous red jacket which he prized above all his most treasured possessions. Shortly afterward, he was, in a sudden storm, hurled from the ship s deck into the sea (a terrified shudder among the ladies), where, al though he swam bravely, the crew several times gave him up for lost before he was rescued after the space of some three hours. There after, it was observed that the red jacket was never worn, nor could the faithful Thomas by any means be prevailed upon to touch or even to look upon his treasure, for in his hour of peril, as he battled with the waves, he had vowed to give the thing he held most dear to his Akua, his heathen god, should that god be willing to preserve his life. Mr. Dwight (fervently): How great an example of fidelity to prin ciple! And now I am asking these female friends to join their prayers to ours, that, in season and out of season, petitions shall ascend to the throne of Divine Grace to intercede for the true conversion of these our Sandwich Island friends. Miss Patience (much stirred): Our prayers shall indeed rise for them continually. I and my sisters in this work of salvation will also form a sewing circle to minister to the material needs of the body. Sister Mercy here is a master-hand at frilled shirts and even our smallest sister, Mehitable, can fell a seam with great neatness and dis patch. But now (all the ladies rise and adjust their shawls), we must take our leave, not omitting to thank our kind pastor, Mr. Dwight, for his charity in estimating as of any value the efforts, the tears, and the prayers of our weaker female sex. (All the ladies. pass out, curtsying deeply to Mr. Dwight, again to the two Sandwich Island youths, and again to Samuel Mills, who holds the door for them to pass. ) CURTAIN ACT I, St KNK 3. Andover Theological Seminary, seven years later, July, 1816. Asa Thurston. a tln-i>lo<ii<-nl xtmlcnt. about 22 I/OII-N old. \\ illi<n (iootlrll. his roommate, about the same age. Samuel J. Mills, already a missionary to the country west of New York State. Opukahaia, earnest as before, and very devout. (The small sitting room of the two students, containing two plain ch.iirs, a black hair-cloth sofa, two small desks or tables, and a num ber of theological books. A door at the right leads into an adjoining bedroom, one at the left opens out on to the campus. Asa Thurston. graduate of Yale and a beginner in his theological studies, is discovered poring over a thick History of the Chosen People, lighted by a small candle.) Asa (looking up): I wonder whether something is preventing Obookiah from coming for his lesson tonight. How marvelously he has learned our language and how inspired he is when speaking in the different churches! (Steps are heard at the left; Asa runs to admit Opukahaia, and, to his surprise, Mr. Samuel J. Mills.) This is indeed a double surprise! For I had almost given you up, Obookiah, and you, Mr. Mills, I did not know to be in this region. Surely you will tarry a moment? My roommate, William Goodell, is here, and I should like him to know you. (He takes the gentlemen s hats and bids them be seated on the sofa; going to the door at the right, he calls), Will- [8] iam! (Returning with William) This is the missionary, Mr. Samuel Mills, William, and Obookiah, our pupil of Yale days. (All shake hands.) Mr. Mills: You, I take it, Mr. Goodell, have never before laid eyes upon a Sandwich Islander! William: Right you are, Mr. Mills, and yet before seeing him I could have described to you with minute precision his deportment, his facial expression, nay, even his frilled shirt! For years I have known of him through my sister and her friend, Miss Mehitable Joiner, who since she saw him first, now seven years since in New Haven, has taken for him thousands of stitches and with each stitch has sent up a fervent prayer for the continued well-being of his soul. Opukahaia (taking both Goodell s hands) : Oh, then I may thank you, and you will thank your sister s friends for me, kind Mr. Goodell? Those young women are angels, I know it, I feel it here (his hand on his breast). Two years ago I came out of great darkness, I saw the redeeming light of Our Savior, and at that same moment those angels, of heaven, I am sure, but staying a little time here on earth to do good, those angels were praying for poor Opukahaia, for his poor, dark soul. Mr. Mills: Aye, that devoted female band was actually praying for Obookiah s salvation, though he was far distant from them, at the very moment when he saw the .great light. Asa: How marvelous are the works of the Lord! May His name be praised forevermore! Mr. Mills: Amen! And now, friends, I must tell you that Obookiah comes to you tonight in this place for the last time. Asa: For the last time? Mr. Mills: The prayers of Obookiah and his friends have been answered. A school for such foreign youth and for the descendants of the red men on our own continent is already established at Corn wall, Connecticut, and its first principal is none other than our dear preceptor of Yale, Rev. Edwin Dwight. I am leaving for Cornwall with our two friends by the first diligence on the morrow. Asa: That is precious news! But we shall then be able no longer to watch the steady progress of Obookiah in his Christian pilgrimage this is a great loss, truly. Mr. Mills: Unless you choose to visit the new school in your vacations. Asa: A profitable suggestion indeed! And I am confident that both my roommate and another classmate, Hiram Bingham, will eagerly avail themselves of the opportunity. Friend Bingham, I know, has already been approached with a project to train and carry all these youth back to the Sandwich Islands, there to found a Christian mis sion; but he has deemed it wise to pursue his theological studies to their conclusion before putting himself to the great test. Mr. Mills: The school and its inmates will count on your constant prayers, Friend Asa. We must now bid you both a good evening. Opukahaia: Farewell, kind friends, aloha. Asa: Farewell, farewell, and may God s good providence watch over you. (All shake hands; William opens the outer door for them and they are bowed out.) CURTAIN [9] Hiram and Sybil Bingham ACT I, SCENE 4. The same. Three years later, September 24, 1819. Asa Thurston, earnest and devout, 26 years old. William Goodell, equally earnest, but bustling and practical. Hiram Bingham, grave and old for his years. Deacon Abner Goodale, cousin of William. Miss Lucy Goodale, the deacon s daughter, 25 years old. (The room has not changed. William Goodell, deep in thought, is seated on the sofa. Asa Thurston is studying at his desk. William rises, comes over and lays one hand affectionately on Asa s shoulder.) William: Is it settled, Asa? Have you counted the cost? Asa: Aye, dear William, I have set my hand to the plow. Three days ago I offered myself to the Prudential Committee of the Ameri can Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions for the enterprise of spreading the Gospel in the far isles of the Pacific and, thanks be to God, I have been accepted. William: Yes, old comrade, I envy you. I would gladly go with you, the call comes clear and strong, but I am marked for yet an other year of preparation to be able to combat the subtle philosophy and ancient doctrines of Persia. Asa: Whereas I go to the savages of the Pacific! It is the hand of our dear Obookiah that beckons me, William. What a blessed life was his, how blessed, too, his death, now eighteen months ago, without fear, with a heavenly smile on his countenance and glory in his soul! Gladly would he have lived to go with us to point our way, but such was not God s mysterious providence. We shall indeed rejoice in the help of the three youth who are going, Hopu, Honolii and Kanui, but none can ever be the same as our dear Obookiah. See, his little Memoir, which is just from the press, I shall always carry with me as my guide, that I faint not, nor falter. [10] William: But you seem to have forgotten an important condition of your contract, Asa, my friend. If you fail to have a wife in four weeks time, your going may be deferred forever. Asa: True, true, my kind and every ready councillor, but there I am at a total loss. For to take a female companion to so rude, so dark, so vile a part of the world seems forbidding in the extreme. And to say truth, I should not know what friend of the weaker sex I could thus address. William: Let me unfold to you a plan that has suggested itself to me. (A knock at the outer door brings in Hiram Bingham in muffler and overcoat; he divests himself of his wraps, rubbing his hands and adjusting his collar.) Asa: Welcome back, Hiram, after an unexpected absence. A hard journey it must have been this rough weather. But explain the long delay, we expected you last week. Hiram: Brethren, there has been a great shaking in the dry bones of my sinful heart. I went, as you know, to spend the few days va cation at the Foreign Mission School at Cornwall. There I found that before his death our dear Obookiah had applied himself with increased diligence even to the study of Hebrew and that since his death all the inmates have been moved to deeper piety and greater industry. The young islanders, who cannot well endure uninterrupted appli cation to their academic work, can only with difficulty be torn from their books. Asa: The spirit of God has descended upon us all. Hiram (continuing as if inspired) : I, too, was so moved with shame and contrition that I engaged place on the swiftest stage to Boston, and there, just a week since, offered myself freely for the project of a Sandwich Island mission, and for this I was readily accepted. Asa: Dear friend Hiram, we are met on common ground, yoke fellows for the short pilgrimage of this life. I too have answered the call, I too have been highly favored of our gracious Heavenly Father. Hiram: My classmate, too! And others have offered themselves likewise! Our passage even is engaged on the brig Thaddeus to sail from Boston in just four weeks time. William: But you too, Hiram, appear to forget an important con dition of that acceptance, namely and to wit, that you must each be furnished with a wife. Another of your yoke-fellows, Samuel Whitney, albeit younger and less learned than yourselves, having just entered upon his Sophomore studies at Yale College, has yet proven himself far more nimble in this matter than either of you! In New Haven the bans have in fact already been published once for himself and Miss Mercy Partridge of pittsfield, a young female friend of Miss Mehitable Joiner. Hiram: Is this indeed so, William? William: Yea, verily, my brethren! And for your further en couragement, I may add that this same Miss Mehitable Joiner has re cently consented to become the partner of my joys and sorrows! As for your part, Hiram, I would counsel haste, for although I have a plan to win over for my good friend Asa a very sweet cousin of mine who teaches a school not far from here, I unfortunately have no other to offer you. [11] Hiram: This is a season to try men s souls, William, and scarce a time for levity. I have indeed bethought me, as the seriousness of the occasion demands, and shall forthwith pay my addresses in proper form to the father of Miss Sybil Moseley, a young female whom I have long known to be eager to take up the martyr s cross. I must be gone at once to dispatch a letter by the first post. Good night, dear friends. Asa and William: Goodnight, brother. (He goes out at right.) Asa: And now, William, disclose your plan without delay. William: It is nothing short of this, Asa: My cousin, Lucy Goodale, a devout and not uncomely young lady, a little younger than yourself, has always evinced a deep interest in the welfare of the heathen in distant lands. Yesterday, during the intermission of her school, I spoke seriously with her upon the subject of the Sandwich Island Mission, having previously addressed a written message to her sole surviving parent, my uncle, Deacon Abner Goodale of Marlboro, begging him bring Lucy with him to meet us here this evening. .Asa: And Miss Goodale listened favorably to your proposal in my behalf, William? William: Nay, so much I cannot claim, Asa. She was of necessity greatly surprised, but fortunately showed no disposition to cry aloud or lose consciousness, as is so often the way of females. Yet it seemed difficult for her to govern the organs of speech. At length, however, she bade me go, promising me that although she slept not one moment of the night, she would engage to come with her father this evening. Asa: Dear William, you are indeed a tower of strength. But do you not hear steps approaching? Pray open for them, while I light more candles. (William admits his uncle and cousin.) William: Uncle Abner, this is my roommate, Asa Thurston, of whom I wrote you. Cousin Lucy, permit me to present to you my dearest friend. (They bow and shake hands). Deacon Goodale: Good evening, friend Thurston. Asa: Good evening, sir. Miss Goodale: Good evening, Mr. Thurston. Asa: Good evening, Miss Goodale (leading her to a seat on the sofa ) . Deacon Goodale: Your face is firmly set toward the work of re demption, friend Thurston, of that I am convinced. Nevertheless, my weak and sin/ul heart is reluctant to learn that in your sublime plan, my own daughter is involved. Asa: With your kind permission only, Deacon Goodale. Without a parent s blessing, no union could prosper. Deacon Goodale: On that point your fears may be at rest. Yet of coercion, even in the clear light of duty, I will have none. Daughter Lucy is free to make her own choice. And to that decision, my nephew and I will now leave you. (He goes out with William by the outer door; Asa looks after them not without a certain wistfulness, but man fully clears his throat and approaches the sofa.) Asa: There is nothing further to explain, Miss Goodale you see me helpless before you. Miss Goodale: Nay (rising), say not so, Mr. Thurston. In your hand I perceive the flaming sword of truth, your feet turning so swiftly to tread a path beset with thorns, seem to me to be shod with [12] the sandals of righteousness, and all about you shines the very glory of God. It is rather I who feel helpless before your steadfast and holy resolve, for can so low a thing as I be singled out to fulfil the great purposes of the Lord? Asa (greatly moved, holding out both hands) : Dear Miss Goodale, will you go with me as my wife? Miss Goodale (laying her hands in his) : I will. (Neither speaks for an appreciable instant. At last, feeling her trembling, he leads her to the sofa again, but continues to stand, saying gravely,) Asa: You give me such happiness as I never in my life have ex perienced. But such great joy it were cowardly to call my own before I am convinced that you have counted all the cost. Miss Goodale: I have counted the cost, Mr. Thurston, and I am confident that the Lord will sustain us throughout our short earthly pilgrimage. But (smiling archly) have you, on your part, counted the weeks? Asa (sinking into a chair beside the sofa) : Ah, my dear new friend (with a wry smile) I see that you are practical indeed. (Then trying to take one of her hands), You will not permit me? Miss Goodale: After a longer acquaintance, perhaps, Mr. Thurston. (Then smiling again), but just now we must make some definite pro gramme as to ways and means. Asa: Ah, to be sure! I had quite forgotten to tell you that the brig Thaddeus on which our passage has been taken, is to sail from Boston in just four weeks. In five days Brother Bingham and I are to be ordained at Goshen, Connecticut. Miss Goodale (taking out a calendar from her reticule and re ferring constantly to it) : September 26th, October 3rd, and October 10th will then furnish three Sabbaths for the publication of the bans. Since Monday is not at all a convenient day, let us then fix upon Tuesday, October 12th, for the wedding. After that event, we go, do we not? to Boston for the blessing and sacred charge of the Com missioners for Foreign Missions, and thence, can it be true, that in an additional space of ten short days we shall set sail for a land whence we may never return? Asa: Can you do it, my friend? Miss Goodale: With God s help, I can and will. Asa: Such is ever the true helper s brave response. (He tries again to possess himself of one of her hands which she withdraws, smiling, as she rises.) Miss Goodale: But we must dally here no longer. Do you realize that we have lingered here above an hour, keeping my dear father and good. Cousin William in great suspense the while? Asa (crossing the room to open the outer door for her) : Since you wish it, Miss Goodale. Miss Goodale: Nay, then, have your will too, sir, but give me the the last word! (She extends her hand, but scarcely giving him time to .bend reverently over it, drops a swift curtsy and flies past him out of the door almost before he has time to snatch his hat and follow.) OUBTAIN [13] Asa and Lucy Thurston A portrait taken in 1864 which proves that, like many another prince and princess of adventure, "they lived happy ever after." ACT II: THE ANSWER SCENE 1. Boston Harbor, at the sailing of the brig Thaddeus, October 23, 1819. Hiss Mehitable Joiner. Mr. William Ooodell. Deacon Abner Ooodale. Rev. Edwin Dwight. Miss Patience Dwight. (A back drop gives a view of the masts in the harbor and the ocean beyond; the Thaddeus has just passed off the scene, but is still visible to the players at the left. In the foreground is an unoccupied end of the wharf, a pile of old boxes, a stanchion or two, and coils of ship s hawsers. Miss Mehitable Joiner runs on from the right, waving her handkerchief to the brig disappearing at the left; but she is still look ing back to William Goodell, at the right, beckoning him to follow her.) Mehitable: Oh, come, William, come, we can still see Lucy and Cousin Asa from here! William (approaching hastily, but anxiously trying to draw his fiancee back) : Yes, my friend, you have a more advantageous situation here, but it is not quite seemly for us to withdraw from the main group of friends who have gathered to say a last farewell to the Thaddeus and her precious burden. Mehitable: Oh, William, I am sorely tempted to say fiddlesticks to you! It is too exasperating, and your Uncle Abner should be with us here where he could see infinitely better. [14] William: True, quite true, from your point of view! But you will observe that the friends have already begun to sing the parting hymn, the new one by Mr. Tappan, and that we are too late to join with them. (The invisible group at the right sings "Wake, Isles of the South." Mehitable makes a little grimace of disappointment, then folds her hands to listen, still watching in the direction of the ship. At the close of the hymn, she waves her handkerchief again and turns sud denly to William.) 1. Wake, isles of the South! your redemption is near, No longer repose in the borders of gloom; The strength of His chosen in love will appear, And light shall arise on the verge of the tomb: Alleluia to the Lamb, who hath purchased our pardon, We will praise Him again, when we pass over Jordan. 2. The billows that girt ye, the wild waves that roar, the zephyrs that play where the ocean storms cease, Shall bear the rich freight to your desolate shore Shall waft the glad tidings of pardon and peace. 3. On the islands that sit in the regions of night, The lands of despair, to oblivion a prey, The morning will open with healing and light, And the young Star of Bethlehem will brighten the day. Mehitable: That was beautiful, but I d rather be here! Do hurry now and fetch your Uncle Abner, he can see so much better from here. (William turns back, but before he disappears, Mehitable is stirred by another thought and calls to him, holding up her skirts daintily from contact with the dusty pile of rope on which she is standing), and oh, William, do prevail upon Rev. Mr. Dwight and Patience to come too, it is just ever so much better from here, even if it is a bit dirty! under foot! (William returns, escorting his uncle, Deacon Goodale, Rev. Mr. Dwight and Miss Patience Dwight.) Mehitable: Oh, make haste, Deacon Goodale, now take my place, while I scramble up on to this box. (She cedes her place gracefully to the deacon and, with William s assistance, finds an old box near by.) Hold fast to my hand, William! Deacon Goodale: It is true, William, I can still descry Daughter Lucy, standing next to her husband. Mehitable: And there is good Captain Blanchard walking past be hind them. And the Binghams, I can see friend Hiram turning to address a word of comfort to his lovely bride! William: There is Samuel Whitney with his bride, too! Mr. Dwight: How rapidly the little brig slips down the stream! And how dear the freight she carries! Miss Patience: Do you not hear the sound of voices from over the water? (All listen intently.) 4. The altar and idol in dust overthrown, The incense forbade that was hallowed with blood, The Priest of Melchisedec there shall atone, And the shrines of Owhyhee be sacred to God. [15] 5. The heathen will hasten to welcome the time. The day-spring the prophet in vision once saw, When the beams of Messiah will illumine each clime. And the isles of the ocean shall wait for his law. 6. And thou, Obookiah, now sainted above, Wilt rejoice as the heralds their mission disclose. And the prayer will be hoard, that the land thou didst love May blossom as Sharon and bud as the rose. Alleluia to the Lamb, who hath purchased our pardon, We will praise Him again, when we pass over Jordan. Mehitable: Oh, listen, it is the Tappan hymn, they are answering from the brig! (The repetition of the hymn is now clearly heard coming from the distant brig. All watch and listen.) Deacon Goodale (as the strains die away) : How like the song of angels from another world, from a more beautiful world yet to be! Mehitable (all are waving their handkerchiefs) : There, they are almost gone. No, I can still make out Cousin Lucy s blue bonnet and shawl! Oh, it is all blurred now, it is the end, they are gone! (All continue waving; Mehitable .wipes away tears with one hand, and bravely stretches out the other as far as possible to wave a last good-bye. ) Deacon Goodale: Nay, nay, my child, it is the beginning! Although lost to our weak earthly vision, they have set their feet upon the shimmering pathway to a new world! Note. This hymn was written while the Thaddeus was on its way to the Islands, and was sung at the embarkation of the first reinforcement to the mission at Boston in 1822. ACT II, SCKNK 2. The main cabin on board the brig Thaddeus, March 27, 1820. Sisters Thurston, Bingham, Whitney. Chamberlain. Ruggles. Holman and Loomis. Five Chamberlain children: Nancy, not two years old, just learning to walk; Daniel, about five; Mary, eight; Nathan, ten; and Dexter, twelve years old. Hopu and Honolii, two of the Hawaiian helpers. Brothers Thurston and Bingham. (At the right a narrow stairway leading to the deck above. At the back a door into the small sleeping cabin of Brother and Sister Whit ney, which, like the main cabin, is piled almost to the ceiling with desks, tables, chairs lashed to the walls, wash-stands, trunks and bags, boxes and barrels of all descriptions, some labeled soap, books, sugar, flour, beans, pork, ship s biscuit, pots, kettles, etc. A small wooden bench stands near the gangway. A berth can be seen in the small cabin at the back, above it a port-hole in the ship s side, and hanging over the berth various bundles of clothing. In the foreground of the main cabin toward the left is a long narrow table surrounded by stools or chairs. Five of the missionary ladies, all except Sisters Whitney and Chamber lain, are busy preparing tea; Hopu and Honolii help to bring on the dishes, set the chairs and then retire.) 116] Sister Bingham: Now the feast is spread. Yet I fear that our little celebration may appear somewhat light-minded in the eyes of the brethren who apply themselves to sternly to their studies. Sister Thurston: But surely, Sister Bingham, a short social hour may be permitted to their female companions. In fact, I think after a voyage of six long months, we well deserve a period of slight re laxation. Sister Holman (with some asperity) : Indeed yes, with all the trials to which we have been subjected in this rolling prison, it will be a rare treat to have something beside eternal roast pork and moldy ship s biscuit. Sister Ruggles (remonstrating gently) : But it is the good provi dence of God that hath brought us safely so near the end of our long journey, and it is not ours to repine, but rather to give Him unceasing thanks for the bounteous table that He hath not failed to spread be fore us. Brother and Sister Ruggles Sister Thurston: Shall I not summon Sister Whitney? Sister Cham berlain will join us too, I am confident. Sister Loomis (stepping to the foot of the gangway and calling) : Sister Whitney and Sister Chamberlain, will you not join us in the cabin? (The two sisters descend, little Mary and Nancy accompany ing their mother.) Sister Thurston (to the new-comers) : We are gathered for a social hour, thinking that in a few days time we shall be called upon to separate, perhaps forever, because Captain Blanchard has said that we may sight the peaks of Owhyhee in a day or two, possibly even on the morrow. Sister Chamberlain: A worthy thought indeed, Sister Thurston. And, as you see, I have bidden my two daughters make themselves of the [17] company, promising the three boys that they might each have a square of the cinnamon bread later. Sister Whitney: And for me it comes at a most opportune moment, for Mr. Whitney has been painting the side of the brig for upwards of an hour now, and my poor head feels quite giddy with much gazing down upon him. Sister Bingham: Then let us gather round the board without de lay, dear sisters. (They all seat themselves at the table and begin to take tea.) It is true that we are lacking three spoons and a sufficient quantity of sugar, but none will repine at such trifles. Sister Chamberlain: Nay then, let me supply the want, Sister Bingham. Mary, my child, go find the spoons and sweatmeats which your father left on the berth in packing up this forenoon. (Mary goes out and returns with the desired articles which she places on the table.) Sister Holman: Such a task as this repacking is, with a six months wash to be got in no one knows where a truly animating prospect! Sister Whitney: But only think, Sister Holman, of the quantity that poor Sister Chamberlain must have with her numerous family, so much more to pack up than any of the rest of us! Sister Chamberlain: Truly, if it were not for my good and de voted husband, I should scarce know where to begin! Sister Ruggles: And consider, dear Sister Holman, how uniformly kind the various brethren have been, not only to their wives, but also to the other sisters, as indeed they were enjoined by that dear father of the church. Doctor Worcester, in his parting address in Boston. Do you not recall how he bade the brethren bear in mind that they were themselves but frail earthen vessels, and that the beloved female mem bers of the Mission were in no wise to be forgotten? Sister Thurston: How strange a fate has brought us together! Nay, I should rather say that the hand of God has united as partners for life those who without His special providence might never have known the great happiness that is now our blessed portion. Sister Whitney: And how strange we appeared to each other that memorable day, the 23rd of October, when we all assembled for the first time on the deck of the Thaddeus as she lay at anchor in Boston harbor! Sister Bingham: And yet I feel sure that not even then, with our homes and loved ones within easy reach, did any one of us repent the step she had taken. Sister Chamberlain: Rather did it seem to us all a very crown of glory! (Here the three boys, Dexter, Nathan and Daniel, come tumbling down the gangway, calling,) Dexter, Nathan and Daniel: Mother, mother! Sister Chamberlain (severely) : Approach in a more seemly man ner, my sons, when you join a gathering of ladies. (All three, though evidently excited, instantly restrain themselves.) Dexter: But, mother, father bade us carry up the little bench at once without asking why! Sister Chamberlain: Then obey without delay. (The two older boys tug the little bench up the gangway; little Daniel lingers behind and begs a slice of the cinnamon bread from his mother.) [18] Daniel: May I have my slice of cinnamon bread now, mother? Sister Chamberlain (handing him a slice) : Yes, my son. Daniel: Thank you, mother. Sister Ruggles: I wonder what may be the meaning of such a strange commission to the boys from Brother Chamberlain? (The figure of Brother Thurston is seen descending the gangway; he ap proaches Sister Whitney s chair.) Brother Thurston: Be not alarmed, sisters. Sister Whitney we would particularly enjoin not to give rein to any undue excitation of feeling. Sister Thurston: But, Mr. Thurston, tell us, tell us! Is our Brother Whitney in peril? Brother Thurston: With remarkable intuition, Mrs. Thurston, you have divined the purport of my message. (All tremble and exclaim; Sister Thurston goes to Sister Whitney s aid.) Sister Whitney: Oh, support me, but no, I will summon all my forces hitherto hath the Lord helped us, He will never forsake us. Brother Thurston: Our dear Brother Whitney, as you are all aware, was occupied in painting the side of the brig. Suddenly, the rope which suspended him gave way, although it had been securely fastened. We all heard his shout as he fell, but our good Captain Blanchard could not at once be found. While the brig was being hove to, Brother Chamberlain had the admirable presence of mind to throw overboard the small wooden bench. To this our dear brother is now clinging, and although evidently exhausted- with swimming, he has just waved his hat to us from afar. A boat was being lowered as I prepared to descend and interrupt your festive gathering. Sister Bingham: Oh call it not so, Brother Thurston, let us think of nothing but the peril of our dear Brother Whitney, let us pray for his welfare, one and all, silently, fervently. Brother Chamberlain [19] Sister Whitney: Oh, let me go to him! No, (reverently) not my will, but Thine be done! Brother Bingham (descending rapidly and calling out) : The Lord hath heard our common supplication! Our brother is saved! Although he had drifted well-nigh out of sight on his improvised life-boat, stout hands have reached him at last and are even now rowing him nearer to the brig. All: The Lord s name be praised! (Sister Whitney falls forward on to the table; Sister Thurston supports her tenderly.) Sister Thurston: Fail us not now, dear sister. Sister Whitney (rising with great difficulty, one hand in that of Sister Thurston, the other leaning heavily on the table, her face alight with great joy; she speaks with subdued excitement, gazing the while intently at the little gangway.) You are right, dear Sister Thurston. In the greater strength of our dear Heavenly Father, who made us man and wife and who hath not willed that he should be torn from me, I will be strong to meet my beloved husband! OUBTAIN ACT II, SCENE 3. The same. A fortnight later. The brig having anchored in Kailua Bay, Hawaii. Sisters Chamberlain. Thurston. Bingham. and Whitney, or all the sisters, if space allow. The five, Chamberlain children. Hopu and Honolii. The Queens Kaahumanu and Kalakua. Two kahili-bearers. Another attendant for Queen Kalakua. Brother Bingham. Brother Thurston (calls down from the deck). (Sisters Chamberlain, Thurston and Bingham are employed in cut ting out and stitching a quantity of white muslin on the dining table. Sister Whitney is seen through the door of the small cabin at the back; she is reclining on the berth. Little Mary is sewing a long seam with the help of a seamstress dove attached to the table; Daniel and Nancy are playing quietly; Dexter and Nathan sit quietly on the little bench which has been restored to its place.) Sister Chamberlain: It seems incredible that we can see snow capped peaks and verdant shores, that our long journey is at an end! Sister Bingham ; Almost at an end, dear sister, for we have not yet heard the decision of the chiefs with regard to our landing. Mary: But we shall hear tonight, shall we not, mother? Sister Chamberlain: Tonight or on the morrow, my child, these heathen are not hasty in anything they do. (Mr. Thurston calls down the gangway from the deck,) [20] Brother Thurston: Sister Chamberlain, will you not permit Dexter and Nathan to come on deck for a few moments under my guidance? Sister Chamberlain: For a few moments only, Mr. Thurston. (She nods to the two boys who bound up and out in eager delight.) The natives are so eager to fondle the children that I cannot leave them for a moment without supervision. Mary, fetch a dish of broth for Mrs. Whitney. (Mary goes to a door at the left and returns with the broth.) Sister Bingham: Dear Sister Whitney seems stronger today, but the shock of Brother Whitney s accident has sapped her frail strength be yond belief. Sister Thurston: Shall I not take the broth to her? (She takes the bowl from Mary and proceeds to Mrs. Whitney s cabin where she seats herself on a trunk at the side of the berth and converses with the invalid in low tones.) Sister Bingham (taking up the queen s gown and holding it up against her own to measure the length) : The dress which our heathen queen, Kalakua, commanded us to make is well-nigh completed, is it not, Sister Chamberlain? Sister Chamberlain: That it is. And now our great concern, dear sisters, will be to know whether the gown can be adjusted to suit the somewhat too robust frame of our stalwart queen. We may even be obliged to confine her none too delicate waist (this last in a guarded whisper) with a pair of very stout stays! (Sister Thurston has helped the invalid out of her berth and is leading her tenderly to join the sewing circle. Sister Bingham rises to meet them.) Brother and Sister Whitney Sister Bingham: Welcome indeed, dear Sister Whitney, is your re turn to our midst. (As they all help her to get comfortably seated, Mary twitches her mother s gown.) Sister Chamberlain: Why have you left your sewing, my daughter? Mary: It is quite finished, mother, and please may I not go and look out of the porthole over Mrs. Whitney s berth? Sister Whitney: Yes, Sister Chamberlain, do permit the dear child to go, she has plied her needle so diligently this hour and more. Sister Chamberlain: Then go, my child, but not for long. (Mary runs eagerly to the open porthole and thrusts her head out. Shouts of natives outside can be heard to greet her appearance,) Natives: Kaikamahine keokeo! (Little white girl!) Mary (repeating): Mahine keokeo? Natives (answering): Maikai! Mary: Mahine maikai? Natives: Ae, maikai loa! (Mary thrusts out her hand and draws in a banana which she proudly presents to her mother.) Nancy (pointing to the port-hole): Nancy go too, Mudder? Sister Chamberlain: No, Nancy stays with mother. Mary, take these ship s biscuit from the table and give them to the natives who have welcomed you so kindly. (Mary joyfully runs back to the port hole and throws out the biscuit, eliciting renewed shouts.) Natives: Maikai, maikai loa! (Mary answers by waving her hand, then drawing her head in for a moment, she calls excitedly,) Mary: They are all so brown, mother, and they are all swimming around without any bathing garments on, mother! Sister Chamberlain: Yes, my child, we must now accustom our eyes to the aspect of ignorant heathen who have been brought up en tirely in a state of nature. Sister Thurston: What a privilege is ours to bring light to them that sit in darkness! And how marvelous that in God s good provi dence their worship of idols has been abandoned ere we arrive! The field is surely whitening for the harvest. Sister Whitney: Do you not recall, sisters, that the brethren have almost foreseen this great event? Once in the Atlantic Ocean while our sails flapped idly without wind, and later, when, after passing the Cape, we dallied again upon a painted ocean? Sister Bingham: Aye, well do I remember, Sister Whitney, and twas not the brethren only, for the words penned in my own journal are indelibly imprinted upon my mind: "Nov. 17th, still watching for favorable winds; have been in latitude 37 to 38 degrees for more than 10 days; but even the winds and the sea obey Him; and of this we may rest assured, that if our Heavenly Father, according to His eternal purposes, land us at length on the shores of Owhyhee, it will be at the very moment his sovereign pleasure deems it best." Sister Thurston: Strange indeed, and past finding out are the ways of God to man. (Here Thomas Hopu and John Honolii descend the gangway. Mary runs to her mother.) Hopu: Mr. Bingham bids Hopu say that two Sandwich Island queens, Kaahumanu and Kalakua, wives of the late King Kamehameha, are pleased to pay a visit to the sick white lady. (The two queens are seen majestically descending the stairway, each attended by a young kahili-bearer. Both queens are attired in beautiful kiheis over the shoulder and tapas wound so thick about the body as to hold the arms out at a stiff angle. They remain at the foot of the gangway, allowing the missionary ladies to come to them. Kalakua shakes hands and rubs noses; Kaahumanu, more formal and distant, permits them to shake only two fingers of her hand. The white ladies then bring chairs for their guests who seat themselves, but appear somewhat un comfortable; both rise and with a word in Hawaiian to Hopu, take [22] seats more naturally on the floor near the foot of the gangway toward the front of the stage, their kahili-bearers behind them.) Hopu: Their majesties thank the white ladies for the high seats, but prefer the ground to which they are accustomed. Sister Thurston (bowing and smiling) : We trust that their majes ties are comfortable. But, Honolii, can you tell us whether their majesties are always so scantily clad? Honolii: Oh no, madame, their majesties have put on full dress for a great occasion. (Kalakua speaks in Hawaiian to Hopu.) Hopu: Her Majesty Kalakua wishes to know whether her white gown is yet finished? Sister Bingham (approaching with the gown in her hand, and speaking directly to the queen with many gestures) : Yes, your majesty, pau (Kalakua nods understandingly) and would you not like to try to put it on? Kalakua: Ae, ae! (then calling up the gangway to another atten dant) He, mai, mai! (The attendant descends. The queen lies down and unrolls out of her state clothes which the kahu, or attendant, proceeds to roll up and carry for her. Arrayed in a thin white tapa about the body, the queen rises with undiminished majesty of deport ment and allows the white ladies to clothe her in civilized splendor. The gown proves to be much too small for the stalwart figure of the heathen queen, but the deficiency is speedily remedied by a broad sash with voluminous bow and ends. At a whispered word from her mother, Mary runs to Mrs. Whitney s room and brings to Kalakua a small hand mirror which she presents with a deep curtsy; the queen is delighted. Sister Thurston brings out a small box from which all the ladies present to each queen a lace bonnet and fichu. Kalakua is charmed with hers and tries them on; Kaahumanu glances at them, nods her thanks, and allows Queen Kalakua s kahu to take them for her.) , Sister Bingham: These are gifts from all the ladies of the Mission. (Brother Bingham descends the gangway hastily, hat in hand. He bows to both groups, and says reverently:) Brother Bingham: The spirit of the Lord hath moved upon the waters! After twelve days parley, the king has graciously given per mission to our little band to reside in these islands for the space of one year. The Lord hath prepared the way. It now rests with us to prove that we have come to aid and instruct this benighted people. (Great joy is evident among the ladies.) Sister Bingham: Open Thou our lips and our mouth shall show forth Thy praise! Brother Bingham: Such a song is, in fact, about to be, raised, dear sisters. When I descended here with the momentous news, Brother Thurston was already half-way up the mast where I must speedily join him. That blessed hymn, the Head of the Church Triumphant, our beloved Melton Mowbray, sung eight months since at our ordination, we shall now repeat the first Christian hymn ever heard by the Sand wich Island king and his waiting people. (He mounts the stairs rap idly. All stand listening intently, the ladies with hands clasped before them, and all gazing up through the aperture to the deck; even Sister Whitney rises, supporting herself against the table, her face shining [23] with joy. Kaahumanu sits as before; Kalakua is still standing, gazing at her finery and at herself in the little mirror. The strains of the hymn are now distinctly heard; as they proceed, Kalakua, ceasing to attend to her dress, begins to listen. Kaahumanu, nodding her head to the rhythm, exclaims, once or twice before the hymn comes to a close,) Kaahumanu: Maikai, maikai! J. Head of the Church triumphant, We joyfully adore Thee: Till Thou appear, Thy members here. Shall sing like those in glory: We lift our hearts and voices, In blest anticipation, And cry aloud, And give to God The praise of our salvation. 2. "While in affliction s furnace, And passing through the fire, Thy love we praise, That knows our days. And ever brings us nigher: We clasp our hands, exulting In Thine almighty favor; The love divine. That made us thine Shall keep us Thine forever. 3. Thou dost conduct Thy people, Through torrents of temptation; Nor will we fear, While Thou art near, The fire of tribulation: The world with sin and Satan, In vain our march opposes; By Thee we shall Break through them all, And sing "the song of Moses." 4. By faith we see the glory To which Thou shalt restore us; The cross despise. For that high prize. Which Thou hast set before us: And if Thou count us worthy We each, as dying Stephen, Shall see Thee stand At God s right hand. To take us up to Heaven. CURTAIN [24] UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 47584 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 000919290 7