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Applied Numerical Methods
with MATLAB® for Engineers and Scientists
Fourth Edition

Steven C. Chapra
Berger Chair in Computing and Engineering
Tufts University
APPLIED NUMERICAL METHODS WITH MATLAB® FOR ENGINEERS AND SCIENTISTS,
FOURTH EDITION

Published by McGraw-Hill Education, 2 Penn Plaza, New York, NY 10121. Copyright © 2018 by McGraw-Hill
Education. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. Previous editions © 2012, 2008, and
2005. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a
database or retrieval system, without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education, including, but not
limited to, in any network or other electronic storage or transmission, or broadcast for distance learning.

Some ancillaries, including electronic and print components, may not be available to customers outside the
United States.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

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ISBN 978-0-07-339796-2
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Chapra, Steven C., author.
Applied numerical methods with MATLAB for engineers and scientists /
Steven C. Chapra, Berger Chair in Computing and Engineering, Tufts University.
Fourth edition. | New York, NY : McGraw-Hill Education, [2018] |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
LCCN 2016038044 | ISBN 9780073397962 (alk. paper) | ISBN 0073397962 (alk. paper)
LCSH: Numerical analysis—Data processing—Textbooks. | Engineering
mathematics—Textbooks. | MATLAB—Textbooks.
LCC QA297 .C4185 2018 | DDC 518—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016038044
The Internet addresses listed in the text were accurate at the time of publication. The inclusion of a website
does not indicate an endorsement by the authors or McGraw-Hill Education, and McGraw-Hill Education does
not guarantee the accuracy of the information presented at these sites.

mheducation.com/highered
To
My brothers,
John and Bob Chapra

and

Fred Berger (1947–2015)

who I miss as a good friend, a good man.
and a comrade in bringing the light of engineering
to some of world’s darker corners.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Steve Chapra teaches in the Civil and Environmental Engineering Department at Tufts
University, where he holds the Louis Berger Chair in Computing and Engineering. His other
books include Numerical Methods for Engineers and Surface Water-Quality Modeling.
Steve received engineering degrees from Manhattan College and the University of
Michigan. Before joining the faculty at Tufts, he worked for the Environmental Protection
Agency and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, and taught at Texas
A&M University and the University of Colorado. His general research interests focus on
surface water-quality modeling and advanced computer applications in environmental
engineering.
He has received a number of awards for his scholarly contributions, including the
Rudolph Hering Medal, the Meriam/Wiley Distinguished Author Award, and the Chandler-
Misener Award. He has also been recognized as the outstanding teacher at Texas A&M
University (1986 Tenneco Award), the University of Colorado (1992 Hutchinson Award),
and Tufts University (2011 Professor of the Year Award).
Steve was originally drawn to environmental engineering and science because of his
love of the outdoors. He is an avid fly fisherman and hiker. An unapologetic nerd, his love
affair with computing began when he was first introduced to Fortran programming as an
undergraduate in 1966. Today, he feels truly blessed to be able to meld his love of math-
ematics, science, and computing with his passion for the natural environment. In addition,
he gets the bonus of sharing it with others through his teaching and writing!
Beyond his professional interests, he enjoys art, music (especially classical music,
jazz, and bluegrass), and reading history. Despite unfounded rumors to the contrary, he
never has, and never will, voluntarily bungee jump or sky dive.
If you would like to contact Steve, or learn more about him, visit his home page at
http://engineering.tufts.edu/cee/people/chapra/ or e-mail him at steven.chapra@tufts.edu.

iv
 CONTENTS

About the Author iv

Preface xiv

Part One Modeling, Computers, and Error Analysis 1

1.1 Motivation 1
1.2 Part Organization 2

CHAPTER 1
Mathematical Modeling, Numerical Methods,
and Problem Solving 4
1.1 A Simple Mathematical Model 5
1.2 Conservation Laws in Engineering and Science 12
1.3 Numerical Methods Covered in This Book 13
1.4 Case Study: It’s a Real Drag 17
Problems 20

CHAPTER 2
MATLAB Fundamentals 27
2.1 The MATLAB Environment 28
2.2 Assignment 29
2.3 Mathematical Operations 36
2.4 Use of Built-In Functions 39
2.5 Graphics 42
2.6 Other Resources 46
2.7 Case Study: Exploratory Data Analysis 46
Problems 49

CHAPTER 3
Programming with MATLAB 53
3.1 M-Files 54
3.2 Input-Output 61
v
vi CONTENTS

3.3 Structured Programming 65

3.4 Nesting and Indentation 79
3.5 Passing Functions to M-Files 81
3.6 Case Study: Bungee Jumper Velocity 87
Problems 91

CHAPTER 4
Roundoff and Truncation Errors 99
4.1 Errors 100
4.2 Roundoff Errors 106
4.3 Truncation Errors 114
4.4 Total Numerical Error 125
4.5 Blunders, Model Errors, and Data Uncertainty 130
Problems 131

Part Two Roots and Optimization 135

2.1 Overview 135
2.2 Part Organization 136

CHAPTER 5
Roots: Bracketing Methods 138
5.1 Roots in Engineering and Science 139
5.2 Graphical Methods 140
5.3 Bracketing Methods and Initial Guesses 141
5.4 Bisection 146
5.5 False Position 152
5.6 Case Study: Greenhouse Gases and Rainwater 156
Problems 159

CHAPTER 6
Roots: Open Methods 164
6.1 Simple Fixed-Point Iteration 165
6.2 Newton-Raphson 169
6.3 Secant Methods 174
6.4 Brent’s Method 176
6.5 MATLAB Function: fzero 181
6.6 Polynomials 183
6.7 Case Study: Pipe Friction 186
Problems 191
 CONTENTS vii

CHAPTER 7
Optimization 198
7.1 Introduction and Background 199
7.2 One-Dimensional Optimization 202
7.3 Multidimensional Optimization 211
7.4 Case Study: Equilibrium and Minimum Potential Energy 213
Problems 215

Part Three Linear Systems 223

3.1 Overview 223
3.2 Part Organization 225

CHAPTER 8
Linear Algebraic Equations and Matrices 227
8.1 Matrix Algebra Overview 229
8.2 Solving Linear Algebraic Equations with MATLAB 238
8.3 Case Study: Currents and Voltages in Circuits 240
Problems 244

CHAPTER 9
Gauss Elimination 248
9.1 Solving Small Numbers of Equations 249
9.2 Naive Gauss Elimination 254
9.3 Pivoting 261
9.4 Tridiagonal Systems 264
9.5 Case Study: Model of a Heated Rod 266
Problems 270

CHAPTER 10
LU Factorization 274
10.1 Overview of LU Factorization 275
10.2 Gauss Elimination as LU Factorization 276
10.3 Cholesky Factorization 283
10.4 MATLAB Left Division 286
Problems 287
viii CONTENTS

CHAPTER 11
Matrix Inverse and Condition 288
11.1 The Matrix Inverse 288
11.2 Error Analysis and System Condition 292
11.3 Case Study: Indoor Air Pollution 297
Problems 300

CHAPTER 12
Iterative Methods 305
12.1 Linear Systems: Gauss-Seidel 305
12.2 Nonlinear Systems 312
12.3 Case Study: Chemical Reactions 320
Problems 323

CHAPTER 13
Eigenvalues 326
13.1 Mathematical Background 328
13.2 Physical Background 331
13.3 The Power Method 333
13.4 MATLAB Function: eig 336
13.5 Case Study: Eigenvalues and Earthquakes 337
Problems 340

Part Four Curve Fitting 343

4.1 Overview 343
4.2 Part Organization 345

CHAPTER 14
Linear Regression 346
14.1 Statistics Review 348
14.2 Random Numbers and Simulation 353
14.3 Linear Least-Squares Regression 358
14.4 Linearization of Nonlinear Relationships 366
14.5 Computer Applications 370
14.6 Case Study: Enzyme Kinetics 373
Problems 378
 CONTENTS ix

CHAPTER 15
General Linear Least-Squares and Nonlinear Regression 385
15.1 Polynomial Regression 385
15.2 Multiple Linear Regression 389
15.3 General Linear Least Squares 391
15.4 QR Factorization and the Backslash Operator 394
15.5 Nonlinear Regression 395
15.6 Case Study: Fitting Experimental Data 397
Problems 399

CHAPTER 16
Fourier Analysis 404
16.1 Curve Fitting with Sinusoidal Functions 405
16.2 Continuous Fourier Series 411
16.3 Frequency and Time Domains 414
16.4 Fourier Integral and Transform 415
16.5 Discrete Fourier Transform (DFT) 418
16.6 The Power Spectrum 423
16.7 Case Study: Sunspots 425
Problems 426

CHAPTER 17
Polynomial Interpolation 429
17.1 Introduction to Interpolation 430
17.2 Newton Interpolating Polynomial 433
17.3 Lagrange Interpolating Polynomial 441
17.4 Inverse Interpolation 444
17.5 Extrapolation and Oscillations 445
Problems 449

CHAPTER 18
Splines and Piecewise Interpolation 453
18.1 Introduction to Splines 453
18.2 Linear Splines 455
18.3 Quadratic Splines 459
18.4 Cubic Splines 462
18.5 Piecewise Interpolation in MATLAB 468
18.6 Multidimensional Interpolation 473
18.7 Case Study: Heat Transfer 476
Problems 480
x CONTENTS

Part Five Integration and Differentiation 485

5.1 Overview 485
5.2 Part Organization 486

CHAPTER 19
Numerical Integration Formulas 488
19.1 Introduction and Background 489
19.2 Newton-Cotes Formulas 492
19.3 The Trapezoidal Rule 494
19.4 Simpson’s Rules 501
19.5 Higher-Order Newton-Cotes Formulas 507
19.6 Integration with Unequal Segments 508
19.7 Open Methods 512
19.8 Multiple Integrals 512
19.9 Case Study: Computing Work with Numerical Integration 515
Problems 518

CHAPTER 20
Numerical Integration of Functions 524
20.1 Introduction 524
20.2 Romberg Integration 525
20.3 Gauss Quadrature 530
20.4 Adaptive Quadrature 537
20.5 Case Study: Root-Mean-Square Current 540
Problems 544

CHAPTER 21
Numerical Differentiation 548
21.1 Introduction and Background 549
21.2 High-Accuracy Differentiation Formulas 552
21.3 Richardson Extrapolation 555
21.4 Derivatives of Unequally Spaced Data 557
21.5 Derivatives and Integrals for Data with Errors 558
21.6 Partial Derivatives 559
21.7 Numerical Differentiation with MATLAB 560
21.8 Case Study: Visualizing Fields 565
Problems 567
 CONTENTS xi

Part six Ordinary Differential Equations 573

6.1 Overview 573
6.2 Part Organization 577

CHAPTER 22
Initial-Value Problems 579
22.1 Overview 581
22.2 Euler’s Method 581
22.3 Improvements of Euler’s Method 587
22.4 Runge-Kutta Methods 593
22.5 Systems of Equations 598
22.6 Case Study: Predator-Prey Models and Chaos 604
Problems 609

CHAPTER 23
Adaptive Methods and Stiff Systems 615
23.1 Adaptive Runge-Kutta Methods 615
23.2 Multistep Methods 624
23.3 Stiffness 628
23.4 MATLAB Application: Bungee Jumper with Cord 634
23.5 Case Study: Pliny’s Intermittent Fountain 635
Problems 640

CHAPTER 24
Boundary-Value Problems 646
24.1 Introduction and Background 647
24.2 The Shooting Method 651
24.3 Finite-Difference Methods 658
24.4 MATLAB Function: bvp4c 665
Problems 668

APPENDIX A: MATLAB BUILT-IN FUNCTIONS 674

APPENDIX B: MATLAB M-FILE FUNCTIONS 676
APPENDIX C: INTRODUCTION TO SIMULINK 677
BIBLIOGRAPHY 685
INDEX 687
Required=Results
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 PREFACE

This book is designed to support a one-semester course in numerical methods. It has been
written for students who want to learn and apply numerical methods in order to solve prob-
lems in engineering and science. As such, the methods are motivated by problems rather
than by mathematics. That said, sufficient theory is provided so that students come away
with insight into the techniques and their shortcomings.
MATLAB® provides a great environment for such a course. Although other en-
vironments (e.g., Excel/VBA, Mathcad) or languages (e.g., Fortran 90, C++) could
have been chosen, MATLAB presently offers a nice combination of handy program-
ming features with powerful built-in numerical capabilities. On the one hand, its
M-file programming environment allows students to implement moderately compli-
cated algorithms in a structured and coherent fashion. On the other hand, its built-in,
numerical capabilities empower students to solve more difficult problems without try-
ing to “reinvent the wheel.”
The basic content, organization, and pedagogy of the third edition are essentially pre-
served in the fourth edition. In particular, the conversational writing style is intentionally
maintained in order to make the book easier to read. This book tries to speak directly to the
reader and is designed in part to be a tool for self-teaching.
That said, this edition differs from the past edition in three major ways: (1) new
material, (2) new and revised homework problems, and (3) an appendix introducing
Simulink.
1. New Content. I have included new and enhanced sections on a number of topics. The
primary additions include material on some MATLAB functions not included in previ-
ous editions (e.g., fsolve, integrate, bvp4c), some new applications of Monte Carlo
for problems such as integration and optimization, and MATLAB’s new way to pass
parameters to function functions.
2. New Homework Problems. Most of the end-of-chapter problems have been modified,
and a variety of new problems have been added. In particular, an effort has been made
to include several new problems for each chapter that are more challenging and dif-
ficult than the problems in the previous edition.
3. I have developed a short primer on Simulink which I have my students read prior to
covering that topic. Although I recognize that some professors may not choose to
cover Simulink, I included it as a teaching aid for those that do.
xiv
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
movements of shirtsleeves across eyes, the chief and his men had
their old comrade into their quarters and gave him the best they
had, even to a stirrup-cup—an infringement of orders, as alcohol is
the best accomplice of leprosy.
Leaving Kalaupapa, we drove to the elder village, Kalawao, across
the mile of the rolling peninsula, a pathway of beauty from the iron-
bound, surf-fountained sea line, to the grandeurs of the persistent
pali to the south, which is beyond word-painting, unfolding like a
giant panorama even along that scant mile. Such crannied canyons,
crowded with ferns; such shelves for waterfalls that banner out in
the searching wind; such green of tree and purple of shadow.
Midway of the trip, Dr. Hollmann turned to the left up a short, steep
knoll, from the top of which our eyes dropped into a tiny crater—
deep, emerald cup jeweled with red stones, a deeper emerald pool
in the bottom, fringed with clashing sisal swords. We came near
having a more intimate view of the inverted cone, for a sudden
powerful gust of the strong trade that sweeps the peninsula caught
us off guard and obliged us to lean sharply back against the blast.
Descending the outer slopes of the miniature extinct volcano, we
poked around amidst some nameless graves, the old cement
mounds and decorations crumbling to dust. The place was
provocative of much speculation upon human destiny.
In Kalawao we called at the Catholic Home for Boys, presided over
by Father Emmerau and the Brothers, and met up with Brother
Dutton, veteran of the Civil War, Thirteenth Wisconsin, who later
entered the priesthood, and has immolated himself for years among
the leper youth. We found him very entertaining, as he found Jack,
with whose career he proved himself well acquainted.
Across the road in a little churchyard, we stood beside the
tombstone of Father Damien—name revered by every one who
knows how this simple Belgian priest came to no sanitary, law-
abiding, well-ordered community such as to-day adorns this shunned
region. He realized his destination before he leaped from the boat;
and, once ashore, did not shrink nor turn back from the duty he had
imposed upon himself. A life of toil and a fearful lingering death were
the forfeit of this true martyr of modern times. We have seen
photographs of him in the progressing stages of his torment, and
nothing more frightful can be conjured.
Never had we thought to stand beside his grave. Just a little oblong
plot of tended green, inclosed in iron railing, with a white marble
cross and a footstone—that is all; fittingly simple for the simple
worker, as is the Damien Chapel alongside, into which we stepped
with the Bishop, our fellow passenger on the Noeau, and Fathers
Emmerau and Maxime, to see the modest altar. Standing before the
shrine in the subdued light, it seemed as if there could have been no
death for the devoted young priest who came so far to lay down his
life for his friends.

After dinner, cooked by the pretty Japanese Masa and her husband,
the other household came over to our lanai. And while we talked, in
through the twilight stole vibrations of swept strings, and the sob of
a violin, and voices of the men’s “Glee Club” that wove in perfect
harmonies—voices thrilling as the metal wires but sharpened and
thinned by corroded throats. There we sat in plenitude of health and
circumstance, while at the gate, through which none but the clean
may ever stray, outside the pale of ordinary human association,
these poor pariahs, these shapes that once were men in a world of
men, sang to us, the whole, the fortunate, who possess return
passage for that free world, the Outside—lost world to them.
On and on they sang, the melting Hawaiian airs, charming “Ua Like
No a Like,” and “Dargie Hula,” “Mauna Kea” beloved of Jack, and his
more than favorite, Kalakaua’s “Sweet Lei Lehua,” with tripping,
ripping hula harmonies unnumbered. At the end of an hour
bewitched, to Mr. McVeigh’s low “Good night, boys,” their last
Queen’s “Aloha Oe,” with its fadeless “Love to You,” that has helped
to make Hawaii the Heart-Home of countless lovers the world over,
laid the uttermost touch of eloquence upon the strange occasion.
The sweet-souled musicians, who in their extremity could offer
pleasure of sound if not of sight to us happy ones, melted away in
the blue starlight, the hulaing of their voices that could not cease
abruptly, drifting faint and fainter on the wind.

Kalaupapa, Wednesday, July 3, 1907.

“Quick! First thought! Where are you?” Jack quizzed, as through the
jasmine we peered at a score of vociferous lepers running
impromptu horse races on the rounding face of the green. Remote,
fearsome Molokai, where the wretched victims of an Asiatic blight try
out their own fine animals for the prize events of the Glorious
Fourth! And all forenoon we listened to no less than four separate
and distinct brass bands practicing in regardless fervor for the great
day. Laughing, chattering wahines bustled about the sunny
landscape, carrying rolls of calico and bunting; for they, too, will turn
out in force on the morrow to show how the women of Hawaii once
rode throughout the kingdom, following upon that gift of the first
horse by Captain Cook to Kamehameha, astride in long, flowing
skirts of bright colors—the pa’u riders of familiar illustrations.
Mr. McVeigh, satisfaction limned upon his Gaelic countenance at all
this gay preparation, is much occupied, together with his kokuas
(helpers), in an effort to forestall another brand of conviviality that is
sought by the lepers on their feast days; and, denied all forms of
alcohol, they slyly distil “swipes” from anything and everything that
will ferment—even potatoes.
But the lusty Superintendent was not too busy to plan for us a ride
to the little valleys of the pali. There was an odd assortment of
mounts—every one of which, despite the appearance of two I could
name, was excellent in its way. Jack’s allotment was a stout, small-
footed beastie little larger than a Shetland, and to me fell an
undersized, gentle-seeming white palfrey. To my observant eye, Jack
looked more than courtesy would allow him to express, for his
appearance was highly ridiculous. Although of medium height, his
feet hung absurdly near the ground, and his small Australian saddle
nearly covered the pony.
We ambled along for a short distance, when our host’s huge gray
suddenly bolted, followed by the others, and I as suddenly became
aware that my husband was no longer by my side. The next instant I
was in the thick of a small stampede across country, the meekness
of the milk-white palfrey a patent delusion and snare, while Jack’s
inadequate scrap, leaping like a jackrabbit, had outdistanced the
larger horses. Every one was laughing, and Jack, now enjoying the
practical joke, waved an arm and disappeared down Damien Road in
a cloud of red dust.
Pulling up to a decorous gait through Kalawao, we left the peninsula
and held on around the base of the pali till the spent breakers
washed our trail, where a tremendous wall of volcanic rock rose
abruptly on the right. The trail for the most part was over bowlders
covered with seaweed, and we two came to appreciate these pig-
headed little horses whose faultless bare hoofs carried us unslipping.
Skirting the outleaning black wall, we looked ahead to a coast line of
lordly promontories that rise beachless from out the peacock-blue
ocean, and between which are grand valleys inaccessible except by
boat and then only in calm weather. Two of these valleys, Pelekunu
and Wailau, contain settlements of non-leprous Hawaiians, who are
said to live much as they did before the discovery of the Islands,
although they now sell their produce to the Leper Settlement.
Turning into the broad entrance of a swiftly narrowing cleft called
Waikolu, we rode as far as the horses could go, and some nice
problems were set them on the sliding, crumbling trail. We
overheard the Superintendent’s undertone to Dr. Goodhue: “No
malihini riders with us to-day!” which is encouragement that we may
be permitted to travel the coveted zigzag out of the Settlement.
Then tethering the animals in the kukui shade, we proceeded on
foot up a muddy steep where the vegetation, drenched overnight
with rain, in turn drenched us and cooled our perspiring skins.
Except for the trail—and for all we knew that might have been a
wild-pig run—the valley appeared innocent of man; but presently we
gained to where orderly patches of water taro with its heart-shaped
leaves terraced the steep, like a nursery of lilies, and glimpsed idyllic
pictures of grass-houses clinging to ferny ledges of the mountain
side, shaded by large banana and breadfruit trees, and learned that
in these upland vales live certain of the lepers who, preferring an
agricultural life, furnish the Settlement with vegetables and fruit. And
we tried some “mountain apples,” the ohia ai, as distinguished from
the ohia lehua which furnishes a beautiful dark hardwood. This fruit
is pear-shaped, red and varnished as cherries, and sweet and pulpy
like marshmallows.
Here were also many pandanus trees (pandanus ordoratissimus),
called lauhala or hala by the natives. Lest one fall into the
misconception that the Hawaiian tongue is a simple one, or
depreciate the manifold importance of the pandanus, it is interesting
to note that the tree itself is known more strictly as puuhala; the
flat, pointed knives of leaves, lauhala; the edible nut growing at the
base, ahuihala; the flower from which leis are strung, hinana. Aakala
are the many stilted aerial roots which uphold the tree and even
branch downward from some of the limbs. These gradually lift the
trunk, at the same time anchoring it to the ground in all directions.
They bear a very slight resemblance to the mangrove, but are
straight, while the other writhes into an inextricable tangle. The
pandanus is also familiarly spoken of as the screw-pine, from the
manner in which its sheaves of blades twist in a perfect spiral upon
the hole.
The number of its benefits to mankind is rivaled only by the coconut.
The puuhala, besides furnishing food in the shape of nuts and
esthetic pleasure by its orange leis and its tropical beauty, is the
staple for mat-, hat-, fan-, and cushion-weaving. Of old, strands of
its fiber went to make deadly slings for warfare. The fibrous wood of
the mature trees is hard and takes so high a polish that it is used in
making the handsome turned bowls that have come to be known as
calabashes.
Jack’s imagination went a-roving over the possibilities of the
peninsula: “Why, look here, Mate Woman,” he planned, “we could, if
ever we contracted leprosy, live here according to our means. I
could go on writing and earning money, and we could have a
mountain place, a town house down in the village, a bungalow
anywhere on the seashore that suited us, set up our own dairy with
imported Jerseys, and ride our own horses, as well as sail our own
yacht—within the prescribed radius, of course—and let Dr. Goodhue
experiment on our cure!—Isn’t it all practical enough?” this to the
grinning “Jack” McVeigh, who was regarding him with unconcealed
delight, and who assured us he wished us no harm, but for the
pleasure of our company he could almost hope the plan might come
to pass!
Hours Jack London spends “cramming” on leprosy from every book
the doctors have in their libraries. And literally it is one of the
themes about which what is not known fills many volumes. The only
point upon which all agree is that they are sure of nothing as
regards the means by which the disease is communicated. The
nearest they can hazard is that it is feebly contagious, and that a
person to contract it must have a predisposition. Thus, one might
enter the warm blankets of a leper just risen, and, by hours of
contact with the effluvia therein, “catch” the disease. The same if
one slept long in touch with a victim—and then only if one had the
predisposition. But who is to know if the predisposition be his?
Certain theories as to the mode of contagion were given us as
settled facts by the authorities of the Lazar Hospital in Havana,
where we first became interested in leprosy; but that there is little
dependence to be placed on these opinions is borne out by at least
two known cases on Molokai; one, a native who has remained
“clean” though living with a wife so far gone that she attends to her
yearly babies with her deft feet; and the other, a wahine who has
buried five successive leprous husbands, and has failed to contract
their malady.
We recall that in Havana we were assured that no attendant, no
Caucasian living for years within the confines of the institution, had
ever become afflicted; and the same is held on Molokai—which
reports make us, as visitors, feel secure. On the other hand, several
of the few white men here assert that they are absolutely ignorant
as to the means of their own contagion, not having, to their
knowledge, been exposed. One of these is the village storekeeper, a
hearty soul whom we have seen riding about in smart togs on a
good horse. He possesses but a spot—on one foot—which to date
has neither increased nor diminished. When he discovered the
“damned spot,” promptly he reported himself to the Board of Health;
and here he makes the courageous best of his situation.
No positive cure of leprosy has yet been discovered. But occasionally
some patient is found upon bacteriological examination to have no
leprosy in him—never having had leprosy. Such are discharged from
the Settlement. Nine times out of ten, they do not want to go, and
will practice any innocent fraud to retain residence in the place that
has become a congenial home.
In some ways the inhabitants of this peninsula are the happiest in
the world. Food and shelter are automatic; pocket-money may be
earned. Several private individuals conduct stores. The helpers,
kokuas, are in the main lepers, and earn salaries. The Board of
Health carries on agriculture, dairying, stock-raising, and the
members of the colony are paid for their labor, and themselves own
many heads of cattle and horses which run pasture-free over some
5,000 acres. The men possess their fishing boats and launches, and
sell fish to the Board of Health for Settlement consumption.
Sometimes a catch of 4,000 pounds is made in a night. It is not an
unhappy community—quite the reverse. And their religions are not
interfered with, which is amply shown by the six different churches
that flourish here. Also there is a Young Men’s Christian Association.
Long we rested on the Goodhue lanai to-night, and long the
shadowy leper orchestra serenaded beyond the hibiscus hedges,
while some one recalled a story of Charles Warren Stoddard’s “Joe of
Lahaina,” in which a Hawaiian boy, bright companion of other days,
crept to the gateway in the dusk, and there from the dust called to
his old friend. Forever separated, they talked of old times when they
had walked arm in arm, and arms about shoulders, in Sweet
Lahaina.

July 4.
This morning we were shocked from dreams by noises so outlandish
as to make us wonder if we were not struggling in nightmare—
unearthly cackling mirth and guttural shoutings and half-animal cries
that hurried us into kimonos and sandals to join our household at
the gate where they were watching a scene as weird as the ghastly
din. Only a little after five o’clock, the atmosphere was vague, and
overhead we heard the rasping cry of a bosun bird, koae. In the
eery whispering dawn there gamboled a score or so “horribles,” men
and women already horrible enough, God wot, and but thinly
disguised in all manner of extravagant costumings. They wore masks
of home manufacture, in which the makers had unwittingly imitated
the lamentable grotesquerie of the features of their companions—
the lopping mouth, knobby or almost effaced nose, flapping ear;
while, equally correct in similitude, the hue of these false-true
visages was invariably an unpleasant, pestilent yellow. Great heaven!
—do our normal countenances appear abnormal to them?
Some of the actors in this serio-comic performance were astride
cavorting horses, some on foot; and one, an agile clown in dots and
frills, seemed neither afoot nor horseback, in a way of speaking, for
he traveled in company with a trained donkey that lay down
peaceably whenever it was mounted. One motley harlequin, whose
ghostly white mask did not conceal a huge bulbous ear, exhibited
with dramatic gesture and native elocution a dancing bear
personified by a man in a brown shag to represent fur.
And all the while the crowd kept up a running fire of jokes and
mimicry that showed no mean originality and talent.
In the silvering light across the dewy hemisphere a cavalcade of pa’u
riders took shape, coming on larger and larger with a soft thunder of
hoofs, wild draperies straight out behind in the speeding rush, and
drawing up with a flourish, horses on haunches, before the
Superintendent’s house. The vivid hues of the long skirts intensified
in the increasing daylight—some of them scarlet, some blue, or
orange, while one proud equestrienne sued for favor with a flaunting
panoply of Fourth of July red, white, and blue.
Many of the girls were mercifully still comely, even pretty, and rode
superbly, handling their curvetting steeds with reckless grace and
ease.
All forenoon these gala-colored horsewomen trooped singing and
calling over the rises and hollows of the countryside, to incessant
blaring of the bands of both villages combined. The whole was a
picture of old Hawaii not to be composed elsewhere in the Territory,
and certainly nowhere else in the world. For no set reproduction of
the bygone customs could equal this whole-souled exhibition,
costumed from simple materials by older women who remembered
days of the past, carried out in the natural order of life in one of the
most beautiful spots in the Islands, if not on the globe. No
description can depict the sight that was ours the forenoon long.
To our distress, we were appointed to award prizes at the race track.
We feared hurting the contestants by injudicious choices. But Jack
McVeigh pooh-poohed our diffidence, and insisted that we serve on
the committee. Horseback we went to the races, and found the track
like any other, with its grand stand, its judges, its betting and
bickering—the betting running as high as $150—its well-bred horses,
and wild excitement when the jockeys came under the wire.
Jack tied his fractious pony, and I saw him on foot over by the
judges’ stand, waving arms and cowboy hat and yelling himself
hoarse, just as crazy as the crowd of lepers he jostled, who were as
crazy as he. Later, he was conversing soberly with a Norwegian and
his wife, both patients, who told us we had no idea what it meant to
them all for us to come here and mingle among them as friends, and
that people were very happy about it. This was good tidings, for the
lepers are so little forward in manners that invariably we must accost
them first, whereupon they break into the smiling Aloha of their
land.
Between heats, there were footraces, and screaming sack races, and
races to the slowest, in which McVeigh figured on the rump of a
balking donkey, and won; then followed a wahine contest of speed,
and a wahine horse race.
But the most imposing event of the afternoon, as of the morning,
was enacted by the pa’u riders, who paced leisurely in stately
procession once around the course, then circled once in a swinging
canter, and, finally, with mad whoopings, broke into a headlong
stampede that swept twice and a half around before the Amazons
could win control of their excited animals. A truly gorgeous spectacle
it was, the flying horses with their streaming beribboned tails, the
glowing riders, long curling hair outblown, and floating draperies
painting the track with brilliant color—all mortal decay a thing forgot
of actors and onlookers alike, in one grand frolic of bounding vitality
and youth.
The three prizes were for $5, $3, and $2, and it would not be
guessing widely to say that they came out of the private pocket of
the Superintendent, along with numerous other gifts during the day.
He is not the man to go about with his heart’s good intentions
pinned on his sleeve—indeed, a supersensitive character would be
out of place as manager of such an institution; but hand in hand
with iron will and executive ability, he carries a heart as big as the
charge he keeps, and a keen gray eye quick to the needs of his
children, as he calls them.
The three beaming winners galloped abreast once around the track,
and then rode out; but suddenly the buxom wahine, bright and bold
of eye and irresistible of smile, who had taken second, wheeled
about and came to attention before the judges’ stand with the
request, to our surprise, that I ride once around with her. “Oh, do,
do!” Jack under his breath instantly prompted, fearing I might
hesitate. Of course I mounted forthwith, and together we pranced
the circuit, to deafening cheers.
But I was not riding with a leper, for it turned out that this inviting
girl is a kokua, an assistant at the surgery, from whom the bid to
ride with her was in the best Kalaupapa social usage.
The Superintendent’s big dinner was a signal triumph, and he
handled the mixed company with rare tact, several factions being
represented. But even the grave Bishop Liebert and the Fathers
warmed to his kindly and ready humor, and soon all were under the
spell of Kalama’s perfumed garlands and the really sumptuous feast.
Following several merry toasts, Mr. McVeigh rose and raised his glass
to “The Londons—Jack and Charmian, God bless them!” And went
on to confess to a warm regard that affected us deeply. For he has
given us of his confidence during the past day or two in a way that
has mightily pleased us. At the end of the little speech, breaking into
his engaging smile, he announced that he knew all present would
wish us well upon our departure, which was approaching all too
soon etc., etc., and which would be via the pali trail; and that Mrs.
London should ride the best horse on Molokai—his mule Makaha!
By the time we arrived at Beretania Hall for the evening
entertainment, it was crammed to suffocation with a joyful crowd of
lepers, orchestra in place, resting on their violins, banjos, guitars
and ukuleles. After they had opened with Star-Spangled Banner and
several Hawaiian selections, a willowy young woman, graceful as a
nymph but with face as awful as her body was lovely, rendered a
popular lightsome song in tones that had lost all semblance to
music. Half-caste she is, traveled and cultured, once a beauty in
Honolulu, whose native mother’s bank account is in seven figures.
And this girl, in the blossom-time of life, with death overtaking in
long strides, bereft of comeliness, shocking to behold, and having
known the best that life has to bestow, rises superior to life and
dissolution, and, foremost in courage, surpasses the gayest of her
sisters in misfortune. What material for a Victor Hugo!
At the end of an hour, we left the fantastic company dancing as
lustily as it had sung and laughed and ridden the gladsome day
through. No one, listening outside to the unrestrained merrymaking,
could have guessed the band of abbreviated human wrecks, their
distorted shadows monstrous in the flickering lamplight, performing,
unconcernedly for once, their Dance of Death.

July 5.
Let none say that great men, capable of noble sacrifice, have ceased
from the earth in this day and age. And Dr. William J. G. Goodhue,
with his exceeding modesty, would be the first to protest any
association of his pleasant name with such holy company. But no
outsider, entering upon the scene of his wonderful and precarious
operations in tissue and bone diseased with the mysterious curse of
the ages, could doubt that he had come face to face with one who
spares himself not from peril of worse than sudden death. Although
the world at large recks as little of him as it does of leprosy, great
surgeons know and acclaim his work, performed bi-weekly at his
clinics, where remedial and plastic operations of incalcuable
importance take place. His tracheotomies in lepral stenosis have
saved many, and have cured or improved conditions of the nose and
throat which no other treatment, so far, has been known to relieve.
(1) The Forbidden Pali Trail, 1907. (2) Landing at Kalaupapa, 1907. (3) Coast of
Molokai—Federal Leprosarium on shore. (4) American-Hawaiian. (5) Father
Damien’s Grave, 1907.
Ungloved, his sole protection vested in caution against abrading his
skin, and an antiseptic washing before and after his work, the man
of empirical science waded elbow-deep into the unclean menace
upon the operating table. He was assisted by two women nurses,
one Hawaiian, one Portuguese, and both with a slight touch of
anæsthic leprosy.
The first subject to-day was a middle-aged wahine, jolly and rolling
fat, who was borne in laughing and borne out laughing again. In
between were but a few self-pitying moans when she raised her
head to watch the doctor. We had every proof that she knew no
pain, nor even discomfort; but the sight of copiously flowing blood
caused her to weep and wail “Auwe!” until one of the nurses said
something that made her laugh in spite of herself. The sole of her
foot had thickened two inches, and she had not stepped upon it for
a couple of years. Into this dulled pad, lengthwise, the cool surgeon
cut clean to the diseased bone, which he painstakingly scraped,
explaining that the blood itself remains pure, only the tissues and
bone being attacked by the bacillus lepræ.
But the second patient, a good-looking lad who came on the Noeau
with us, was victim of the most loathsome and agonizing sort, which
made it necessary to anæsthetize him—Dr. Hollman using the slow
and safe “A. C. E.” (Alcohol, one part; Chloroform, two parts; Ether,
three parts). The only visible spot was a running sore forward of and
below the left shoulder; but what appeared on the surface was
nothing to that which the knife divulged.
Although the details are not pretty, and I shall not harrow with more
of them, I wish I could picture the calm, pale surgeon, with his
intensely dark-blue eyes and the profile of Ralph Waldo Emerson,
whose kinsman he is, working with master strokes that cleansed the
deep cavity of corruption; for it was an illustration of the finest art of
which the human is capable.
And now this boy may possibly be quite healthy for the rest of a
natural life, and die of some other cause or of old age. Again, the
bacillus at any time may resume its destructive inroads elsewhere in
his system. There are myriad unknown quantities about leprosy. All
that Dr. Goodhue, with his pensive smile, can say about it with
finality, is:
“The more I study and learn about leprosy, the less assurance I have
in saying that I know anything about it!”
By this evening all troubadour spirit was quenched, and no
minstrelsy greeted our postprandial lolling on the lanai. No voice
above a night-bird’s disturbed the quiet of tired Kalaupapa. And we
also were weary, for seeing the operations, though not our first,
claimed a certain measure of nervous energy; besides, we had
ridden hard to another rugged valley in the late afternoon, goat-
hunting on the crags, and were ready for early bed. In passing, I
must not forget to relate that we were shown some black-and-white-
striped mosquitoes up-valley, the proper carriers of yellow fever—
though Heaven forbid that these ever have a chance to carry it!
Mr. and Mrs. Myers to-day ascended the baking pali on foot, to
prepare for our coming on the morrow, when we shall have
accomplished the hair-raising exit from Kalaupapa. Now that
permission has been graciously accorded, our witty host enlarges
continually upon the difficulties and dangers of the route.

Waikiki, Sunday, July 7.

At eleven o’clock yesterday, on our diminutive beasts, we bade
farewell under the cluster of kukuis where our friends had
accompanied us on the beginning of the ascent, and proceeded to
wage the sky-questing, arid pathway, for this section of the pali is
almost bare of vegetation. Short stretches as scary we have ridden;
it is the length of this climb that tries—angling upon the stark face of
a 2300-foot barrier.
They told me, when I bestrode the short strong back of the mule
Makaha, to “stay by her until the summit is reached. She never fails.”
Implicitly I obeyed, for the very good reason that I would have been
loath to trust my own feet, let alone my head. Never a stumble did
her tiny twinkling hoofs make, even where loose stony soil crumbled
and fell a thousand feet and more into the sea that wrinkled oilily far
below; and the hardy muscle and lungs of her seemed to put forth
no unusual effort. But Jack and the Hawaiian mail carrier, who led
the way, were obliged several times to dismount where the insecure
vantage was too much for the quivering, dripping ponies, though
they are accustomed to the work. Once, from the repairing above,
some rubble came down, fortunately curving clear. Makaha, who has
a few rudimentary nerves, shied, but instantly recovered, only to shy
again at a bag of tools by the trailside.
Sometimes an angle was so acute that she and the ponies were
forced to swing on hind legs to reach the upper zigzag, where poised
front hoofs must grip into sliding stones or feel for hold among large,
fixed rocks, and the rider lie forward on the horse’s neck. A miss
meant something less than a half mile of catapultic descent through
blue space into the blue ocean. Once Jack glimpsed destruction from
the guide’s horse that slipped and scrambled and almost parted from
the zigzag immediately overhead. There were places where it
seemed incredible that anything less agile than a goat could stick.
“I don’t wonder McVeigh won’t let malihinis go out this way,” Jack
called down, craning his neck to see the base of the sea-washed
rampart, and failing. “It is worse than its reputation!”
The Settlement lay stretched in the noonday sun, like the green map
of a peninsula in a turquoise sea. And we amused ourselves, while
resting the animals, picking out familiar landmarks.
A short distance from the summit we joined the rebuilt portion of the
trail, and passed the time of day with the stolid Japanese laborers.
Six feet wide, some parts railed, to our pinched vision it appeared a
spacious boulevard. Our sensations, now speedily at the top and
looking over, may have been something like those of Jack of
Beanstalk fame when he found a verdant level plain at the end of his
clambering. Here was a rolling green prairie browsed by fat cattle,
and threaded by a red road. A family carriage waited, driven by a
stalwart son of the Myers’.
The restful two-mile drive through rich pasture land dotted with
guava shrub brought us to his home in the midst of a 60,000-acre
ranch. There are no hotel facilities on Molokai, which is forty miles
long by ten in breadth, and the visitor without friends and friends of
friends on the island will see little unless equipped for camping. The
climate at this elevation is mild and cool, the hills and ruggeder
mountains interspersed with meadows, where spotted Japanese
deer have become so numerous that shooting them is a favor to the
ranchers.
High Molokai—and the top of it, Mt. Kamakou, is nearly 5000 feet—
should be a paradise for sportsmen, and it is surprising the Territory
does not get together with the owners and try to develop facilities at
Kaunakakai for housing, and transportation into the back country
which is surpassingly beautiful and interesting. Somewhere on the
coast there is an old battlefield where countless human bones still
whiten; and on the rocky coast to the south can be seen in shallow
water the ruins of miles of ancient fish ponds equaled nowhere in
the group. To the northwest Oahu disturbs the horizon, cloud-
capped and shimmering in the blue; while Haleakala bulks ten
thousand feet in air on Maui to the east.
This ranch home is buried in flowers, and my unbelief in begonias a
dozen feet high underwent rude check. A fairy forest of these
surrounds the guest cottage, casting a rosy shadow on window and
lanai. I should have been content to remain here indefinitely.
On the ten-mile gradual descent mid-island to the port, Kaunakakai,
there was ample chance to observe this aspect of the supposedly
melancholy isle, and noticing dry creeks and the general thirsty
appearance of the lower foothills, we descanted upon its rich future
when irrigation schemes are worked out and applied. As it is now,
only in the rainy season do the streams flow, while the
amphitheatre-shaped valleys on the other side of the island, set as
they are almost directly across the path of the northeast tradewinds,
are drenched with tropical rains. Some day these waters will be
controlled to make fertile these rich but parched lands.
Dashing native cowboys, bound for a wedding luau, passed us on
the road, teeth and eyes flashing, gay neckerchiefs about their
singing brown throats, and hatbrims blown back from vivid faces,
out-Westing the West.
Kaunakakai itself is not especially attractive, and during two hours’
waiting for the Iwalani, we occupied ourselves keeping as
comfortable as possible, for July is hot on the leeward sides of the
“Sandwich Islands.”
Once aboard, and our luggage, taken on at Kalaupapa, safely
located, we watched the loading of freight and live-stock on the little
steamer. Between the deep rolling of the ship and the din and odor
of seasick swine for’ard, there was little rest the night. And the
Steamship Company has a very unceremonious way of dumping its
passengers ashore in Honolulu at heathenish hours. The car lines
had not yet started when we stood yawning and chill beside our
bags and saddles on the wharf, and we were obliged to wake a
hackman to drive us to Waikiki. The city might have been dead but
for an occasional milk-wagon; but after all we did not grudge
ourselves the dawning loveliness of the morning—an unearthly gray-
silver luminance wherein a large lemon-tinted moon melted in a lilac
sky. It was like a miracle, this swift awakening of the growing earth.
Birds stretched into song, the water-taro rustled in a fitful wind,
young ducks stirred and fluffed their night-damp feathers on the
margins of the ponds, where lilies opened to the brightening waves
of light, while the broken slate-blue mountains in the background
shifted their graying curtains of shimmering rain. Diamond Head
developed slowly into the scene, like a photographed mountain in a
dark-room, and took opalescent shades of dove and rose. Creation
might have been like this! I recalled Mascagni’s “Iris,” for all living
things burgeoned visibly on the warm awakening earth.
All through the busy morning hours, and the surf-boarding and
swimming and romping of the afternoon, of all the remarkable
impressions of that astounding week on Molokai, the pali endured.
Again and again I seem to cling to the incredible face of it, creeping
foot by foot, alert, tense, unafraid except for each other...[5]

Waikiki, July 11.

In a fine frenzy to give a just presentation of the Leper Settlement,
Jack has lost no time finishing the promised article, “The Lepers of
Molokai.”
In it he pictures himself having a “disgracefully good time,” yelling at
the track-side with the lepers when the horses came under the wire,
and presently branches off into a serious consideration of the
situation, interspersed with bright items of life in the Settlement. The
article is highly approved by Mr. Pinkham, and Mr. Lorrin A. Thurston
avers it is the best and fairest that has ever been written.
Although the President of the Board of Health is entirely satisfied
with himself and with the article, as well as with Jack’s press
interviews regarding the trip, several prominent citizens have
expressed themselves to the official as highly indignant that we
should have been allowed in the Settlement. But the imperturable
Pinkham has told them with asperity that it does not profit them or
Hawaii to imitate ostriches and simulate obliviousness of the fact
that the world knows of leprosy in Hawaii. And why should Hawaii be
supersensitive? Leprosy is not unknown in the large cities even of
America; and Hawaii should be proud to advertise her magnificent
system of segregation, unequaled anywhere in the world, and be
glad to have it exploited by men of conscience and intelligence.
 Wailuku, Maui, Sunday, July 14.
Two evenings gone, in company with Mr. and Mrs. Thurston, we
boarded the Claudine, which though much larger than the Noeau,
pitched violently in the head-sea of Kaiwi Channel, and took more
than spray over the upper deck for’ard where were our staterooms.
A swarm of Japanese sailed steerage and outside on the lower deck,
each bearing a matted bundle exactly like his neighbor’s. The
women carried their possessions wrapped in gorgeously printed
challies in which a stunning orange was most conspicuous among
vivid blues and greens and intermediate purples. Early in the trip all
were laid low in everything but clamor and from our deck we could
see the poor things in every stage of disheartened deshabille, pretty
matron and maiden alike careless of elaborate chignon falling awry,
the men quite chivalrously trying to ease their women’s misery in the
pauses of their own.
Kahului, our destination, on Maui, the “Valley Isle,” is on the
northern shore of the isthmus connecting West Maui with the
greater Haleakala section of this practically double island; but Mr.
Thurston’s sea-going emotions had increased to such intensity that
around midnight he crept to our latticed door and suggested we
disembark at Lahaina, the first port, finish the night at the hotel, and
in the morning drive around the Peninsula of West Maui to Wailuku.
Nothing loath to escape the roughest part of the passage, doubling
the headland, we dressed and gathered our hand-luggage; and at
half past one in the morning dropped over the Claudine’s swaying
side. As we clung in the chubby, chopping boat, manned by natives
with long oars, we could make out towering heights against the star-
bright sky, and on either side heard the near breakers swish and hiss
warningly upon the coral. And all about, near and far, burned the
slanting flares of fishermen, the flames touching the inky tide water
with elongated dancing sparkles. Voices floated after from the
anchored steamer, and ghostly hoof-beats clattered faint but distinct
from the invisible streets of the old, old town. As at Molokai,
shadowy hands helped us upon the wharf—and the tender witchery
of the night fled before the babble of hackmen, stamping of
mosquito-bitten horses, a lost and yelping dachshund pup that
insisted on being trod upon, and the huge red-headed hotel
proprietor of an unornamental wooden hostelry, its uninviting
entrance lighted with smoking kerosene lamps.
“Beautiful Lahaina,” warbles Isabella Bird Bishop, in her charming
book “Hawaii”; “Sleepy Lahaina,” she ecstatically trills—and she is
not the only writer who has sung the praises of this town of royal
preference, once the prosperous capital of the kingdom, and the
oldest white settlement, where touched the whaling ships that
sometimes anchored fifty strong off shore. But this prosperity
entailed disease and death, since the sailors were given free run by
their unscrupulous captains. The village dwindled to less than a
wraith of its former opulence, much of the original site now being
planted to cane.
A short distance above the town, at an altitude of 700 feet, the old
Lahainaluna (“upper Lahaina”) Seminary, founded in 1831 by the
missionaries, still flourishes, maintaining its reputation as an
excellent industrial school. The land on which it stands was a gift
from Hoopili Wahine, wife of Hoopili, governor of Maui. The original
school opened in a temporary lanai shed of kukui poles with grass
roof. Tuition was free; but the scholars did what work was required,
and raised their own food. Among the pupils of The Reverend Lorrin
Andrews were some of the finest young men from the islands, many
of whom were married. During the next year a stone building with
thatched roof was raised by the scholars. In 1833 a very much worn
printing outfit was obtained and placed in charge of Mr. Ruggles,
with the aid of which school books were printed; and the very first
Hawaiian newspaper was published, the Lama Hawaii (“Hawaiian
Luminary”), preceding the Kumu Hawaii, at Honolulu. Mr. Andrews
prepared the first Hawaiian Grammar, and later the Hawaiian
Dictionary.
The reader of Isabella Bird longs for Lahaina above all bournes;
Lahaina, Seat of Kings! He cannot wait to test for himself its spell of
loveliness and repose. But this repose is of the broad day, or else the
gallant lady’s mosquito net was longer than ours, which did cruelly
refuse to make connection with the coverlet. Jack’s priceless
perorations will ever be lost to posterity, for I shall repeat them not.
In the morning, Mrs. Thurston peeped laughingly in and asked if I
knew my husband’s whereabouts; and I, waking solitary, confessed
that I did not, though I seemed to recall his desertion in a blue cloud
of vituperation against all red-headed hotel hosts and stinging pests.
Mrs. Thurston, viewing the blushing morn from the second-story
veranda, had come upon the weary boy fast asleep on the hard
boards, blanket over head and feet exposed, as is the wont of sailors
and tramps, and led me to where he lay. But none more vigorously
famished than he, when we sat in an open-air breakfast room, table
spread with land fruit and sea fruit; for Mr. Thurston had been
abroad early to make sure the repast should be an ideal one after
our hard night—fish from the torchlight anglers, alligator pears dead-
ripe out of the garden, mangoes of Lahaina, the best in the Islands,
and coffee from the Kona Coast.
Mrs. Bishop, in the seventies, spoke of Lahaina as “an oasis in a
dazzling desert.” The dazzling desert has been made to produce the
cane for two great sugar mills whose plantations spread their green
over everything in sight to the feet of sudden mountains, rent by
terrific chasms that rise 6000 feet behind the village. Once this was
a missionary center as well as the regular port of call for the
devastating whale ships. The deserted missionary house, fallen into
decay these long years, is still landmark of a Lahaina that but few
live to remember. But the blood of the missionaries has neglected
not to make hay, or, more properly, sugar, under the ardent sun.
The streets of the drowsy town are thickly shaded by coconuts,
breadfruit with its glossy truncated leaves and green globes,
monkey-pod, kukui, bananas, and avocados; and before we bade
farewell to Lahaina, Mr. Thurston drew up beside an enormous
mango tree, benefactor of his boyhood, where an obliging Hawaiian
policeman, in whose garden it grows, with his pretty wife threw
rocks to bring down a lapful of the ripe fruit—deep yellow, with
crimson cheeks, a variety known as the “chutney” mango.
It is some twenty-three scenic miles from Lahaina to Wailuku, and
the road runs for a distance through tall sugar cane, then begins an
easy ascent to where it is cut into the sides of steep and barren
volcanic hills above the sea. There was a glorious surf running, and
for miles we could gaze almost straight down to the water, in places
catching glimpses of shoals of black fish in the blue brine where
there was no beach and deep ocean washed the feet of the cliffs.
Jack has blue-penciled my description of the capital luncheon
arranged in advance by Mr. Thurston, holding that though I write
best on the subject of food, my readers may become bored. So I
pass on to Iao Valley (E-ah-o—quickly E-ow) where we drove in the
afternoon, following the Wailuku River several miles to the valley
mouth. On the shelving banks of this river, near the town, many
Hawaiians have their homes and live in native style for the most
part.
Iao has been pronounced by travelers quite as wonderful in its way
as Yosemite. I should not think of comparing the two, because of
their wide dissimilarity. The walls of Iao are as high, but appear
higher, since the floor, if floor it can be called, is much narrower.
Most gulches in Hawaii draw together from a wide entrance, but in
Iao this is reversed, for, once the narrow ascending ingress is
passed, the straight walls open like the covers of a book which Dore
might have illustrated, the valley widening into an amphitheater of
surpassing grandeur. On the ferned and mossed walls of the
entrance hang festoons of deep-trumpeted, blue convolvulæ
between slender dracena palms and far-reaching branches of silvery
kukuis, quivering or softly swaying in passing airs.
It is foolish to try to extend any impression of the prodigious
palisades with their springing bastions; the needled peaks;
shimmering tropical growth of tree and vine; bursting, sounding falls
of watercourses rushing headlong over mighty bowlders; the rolling
glory of clouds, casting showers of gold upon joyous green pinnacles
or with deep violet shadow turning these into awful fingers pointing
to the zenith. Nor can one fitly characterize the climate—the zephyrs
warm and the wind-puffs cool that poured over us where we lay on
a table-land, reached by trail through a sylvan jungle of ferns, in
matted grass so deep and dense that we never felt the solid earth.
Long we rested, speaking little, surrounded by impregnable
fastnesses, marveling at this superlatively grand and beautiful cleft,
at its head, lord of all lesser peaks and spires and domes, Puu Kukui
piercing nearly 6000 feet into the torn sky. There are other valleys
back of Puu Kukui, as beautiful as Iao, but more difficult of access. It
is said by the few who have ascended that the view from the top of
Puu Kukui is away and beyond anything they have ever seen.
There is but one way out of Iao, as with most of these monster
gulches of Hawaii, and that is the way in. Old warriors learned this
to their rue, caught by Kamehameha in the sanguinary battle that
completed his conquest of Maui, when their blood stained the waters
of the stream as it flowed seaward, which henceforth bore the name
of Wailuku, “Water of Destruction.”
From our high post, looking seaward, down past the interlacing
bases of beryl-green steeps eroded by falling waters of æons, the
vision included the plains country beneath, rose and yellow and
green with cultivated abundance, bordered at the sea-rim by white
lines of surf inside bays and out around jutting points and
promontories, the sapphire deep beyond; and upon the utmost
indigo horizon pillowy trade clouds lowlying—all the splendor
softened into tremulous, mystic fairyland. “Hawaii herself, in all the
buxom beauty, roving industry ... with all the bravery and grace of
her natural scenery.”
One pursues one’s being in Hawaii within an incessant atmosphere
of wonder and expectation—ah, I have seen Yosemite, the Grand
Canyon, the Alps, the Swiss lakes; but Hawaii is different, partaking
of those and still different, and more elusively wonderful. Even now,
as I write of what my eyes have gloried in, they behold mighty
roofless Haleakala, ancient House of the Sun, its ragged battlements
ranging two miles into the ether, above the cloud-banners of sunset.

Haleakala Ranch, Maui, Monday, July 15.

Except one be deaf, dumb, and blind, there is no boredom in these
Islands. Indeed, one must avoid bewilderment among the attractions
that fill the days. Little opportunity was ours to become acquainted
with the old town of Wailuku, with its picturesque population of
natives and immigrants, for yesterday’s program included a private-
car trip over the Hawaiian Commercial and Kihei Sugar Companies’
vast plantations. We were the guests of the superintendent of the
Kahului Railroad Company, who entertained us at Kahului, where we
went aboard the car. There was a bustling air of activity and
newness about the port—track-laying, boat-loading, house-building;
and in the harbor swung at anchor a big freighter of the American-
Hawaiian Line, unloading on lighters and receiving sugar by the
same means.
Waving fields of cane occupy practically all the broad neck between
the two sections of Maui, spreading into the slopes of Haleakala’s
foothills and extending well around to the “windward” side of the
island. Our trip included one of the mills and a descent three
hundred feet into the shaft of Kihei’s pumping station, where we
were conducted by a young football giant from Chicago.
At the village of Paia, with its alluring Japanese shops, we
transferred to carriages for an eight-mile drive to this stock ranch
2000 feet up Haleakala. From afar, the mountain appears simple in
conformation, smooth and gradual in rise. The rise is gradual, to be
sure, but varied by ravines that are valleys, and level pastures, and
broken by ancient blowholes and hillocks that are miniature
mountains as symmetrical as Fujiyama. It is almost disappointing—
one has a right to expect more spectacular perpendicularity of a
10,000-foot mountain. Even now, from where we sit on a shelf of
lawn, under a tree with a playhouse in its boughs, it is impossible to
realize that the amethyst summit, free for once of cloud, is still 8000
feet above, so lazily does it lean back. And looking downward, never
have I taken in so much of the world from any single point.
Louis von Tempsky, English-Polish, son of the last British officer killed
in the Maori War, handsome, wiry, military of bearing and discipline,
is manager of this ranch of sixty thousand-odd acres, owned by
Lorrin A. Thurston, James B. Castle, and H. P. Baldwin. He came to
Hawaii years ago on a vacation from his New Zealand bank
cashiership, and he never went back—“Shanghaied,” says Jack. One
cannot blame the man. Here he is able to live to the full the life he
loves, with those he loves—the big free life of saddle and boundless
miles, with his own fireside (and one needs a fireside up here of an
evening) at the end of the day. His wife, Amy, was born in Queen
Emma’s house in Honolulu, of English parentage. Her father, Major J.
H. Wodehouse, was appointed English Minister to Hawaii about three
years before annexation to the United States took place, and now,
home in England, is retired upon a pension.
The climate is much like California’s in the mountains, and refreshing
after the sea-level midsummer heat. This bracing air makes one feel
younger by years. Life here is ideal—a rambling old house, with a
drawing-room that is half lanai, furnished with a good library and
piano, and fine-matted couches deep in cushions; a cozy dining-
room where one comes dressed for dinner, and a commodious
guest-wing where Jack and I have two rooms and bath, and he can
work in comfort.
The lawn is in a two-sided, sheltered court, intersected with red-
brick walks, and lilies grow everywhere. From our books on the lawn
beside a little fountain under tall trees where birds sing and twitter,
we rise and step past the lilies to the edge of the garden where the
rich red earth, grass mantled, slopes to the ocean. Standing as if in
a green pavilion, we seem detached from the universe while viewing
it. Terrace upon terrace of hills we trace, champaigns of green
speckled with little rosy craters like buds turned up to sun and
shower; and off in the blue vault of sea and sky, other islands
mirror-blue and palpitating like mirages. One hears that Maui, the
second largest island, contains 728 square miles and that it is 10,000
feet high; but what are calculated confines when apparently the
whole world of land and sea is spread before one’s eyes on every
hand! Hand in hand, we look, and look, and strive to grasp the far-
flung vision, feeling very small in its midst. “Beautiful’s no name for
it,” breathes Jack; and through my mind runs a verse of Mrs.
Browning’s, a favorite of my childhood:
“We walk hand in hand in the pure golden ether,
And the lilies look large as the trees;
And as loud as the birds sing the bloom-loving bees—
And the birds sing like angels, so mystical-fine,
While the cedars are brushing the Archangel’s feet.
And Life is eternity, Love is divine,
And the world is complete.”
This morning early we were out looking over our mounts and seeing
that our saddles were in good shape. “I love the old gear!” Jack said,
caressing the leather, well worn on many a journey. A cattle-drive
and branding, with colt-breaking to follow, were the business of the
day. At ten we cantered away from the corrals, and Jack and I went
right into the work with Mr. Von Tempsky and his girls, Armine and
Gwendolen, and the native cowboys, to round up the steers. Oddly
enough, although born and raised in the West, we two have sailed
over two thousand miles to take part in our first rodeo.
To my secret chagrin, I was doomed to be tried out upon an
ambitionless mare, albeit Louisa is well-gaited and goodly to the eye.
But I dislike to spur another person’s animal, so took occasion to
look very rueful when my host, coming alongside, inquired: “Are you
having a good time?” He could see that I was not, and sensed why;
so he advised me not to spare the spur, adding: “There isn’t a better
cattle pony, when she knows you mean business!”
And oh, these “kanaka” horses, with their sure feet! And oh, the wild
rushes across grassland that has no pit-falls—gophers and ground-
squirrels are unknown—thudding over the dustless, cushioned turf,
hurdling the taller growth, whirling “on a cowskin” to cut off stray or
willful stock, and making headlong runs after the racing herd. All the
while taking commands from General Daddy, and sitting tight our
eager horses, streaking the landscape in ordered flight to head off
the runaways, the young girls with hair flying, sombreros down
backs, cheeks glowing, eyes sparkling, utterly devoted to the work in
hand.
Miles we covered, doubling back and forth, searching out the
bellowing kine; up and down steep canyons we harried them, along
narrow soft-sliding trails on stiff inclines, turning to pathless footing
to keep them going in the right direction. And the farther afield we
rode, the farther beckoned the reaches of that deceptive mountain.
At last the droves were converged toward a large gate not far from
the outlying corrals, and after a lively tussle we rounded up all but
one recalcitrant—a quarter-grown, black-and-white calf that outran a
dozen of us for half an hour before we got him.
Promptly followed the segregation of those to be marked; the
throwing of calves in the dusty corral, and their wild blatting when
the cowboys trapped them neck and thigh, with the lasso; the
restless circling of the penned victims waiting their turns; the trained
horses standing braced against lariats thrown from their backs into
the seething mass; the rising, pungent smoke of burning hair and
hide as the branding irons bit; then frantic scrambling of the
released ones to lose themselves in the herd.
We sat fence-high on a little platform overlooking the strenuous
scene, and when the branding was finished, the colt-breaking began,
in which the Von Tempsky children took intense interest, as did we.
Their father superintended his efficient force of native trainers in the
work of handling three-year-old colts that had never known human
restraint, which made a Buffalo Bill show seem tame indeed. For
breathless hours we watched the making of docile saddlers, all being
finally subdued but one, which threatened to prove an “outlaw.”
After the “buck” has been taken out of the young things, they are
tied up all night to the corral fence, and in the morning are expected
to be tractable, with all tendency to pull back knocked out of them
forever.
“And some are sulky, while some will plunge,
(So ho! Steady! Stand still, you!)
Some you must gentle, and some you must lunge,
(There! There! Who wants to kill you!)
Some—there are losses in every trade—
Will break their hearts ere bitted and made;
Will fight like fiends as the rope cuts hard,
And die dumb-mad in the breaking-yard.”

Ukulele, on Haleakala, July 16.

Thirteen strong, we rode out from the ranch house this morning,
beginning a week’s trip in the crater and on around through the
Nahiku “Ditch” country. Besides the cowboys, gladsome brown
fellows, overjoyed to go along, there were seven in the party, with a
goodly string of pack animals trailing out behind. And bless my soul!
if there wasn’t Louisa, meekly plodding under a burden of tent-poles
and other gear. For Mr. Von Tempsky had now allotted me his own
Welshman, “the best horse on the mountain.”
Fifty-four hundred feet above sea level, we stopped here at Ukulele,
the dairy headquarters of the ranch. Why Ukulele, we are at loss to
know, for nothing about the place suggests that minute medium of
harmony. However, there is a less romantic connotation, for the
definition of ukulele is literally “jumping louse,” which name was
given by the natives to the first fleas imported. Let us hope the place
was called after the instrument!
The ascent was steeper than below the ranch house, but it worked
no hardship on horse or rider. We were in good season to “rustle”
supper, and went berrying for dessert. Of course, there had to be a
berry-fight between Jack and the two husky girls, who soon became
weird and sanguinary objects, plastered from crown to heel with the
large juicy akalas, which resemble our loganberries. Jack asserts
that they are larger than hens’ eggs; but lacking convenient eggs,
there is no proving him in error. Nothing does him more good than a
whole-hearted romp with young people, and these were a match
that commanded his wary respect.
After supper, we reclined upon a breezy point during a lingering
sunset over the wide, receding earth, lifted high above the little
affairs of men, and, still high above, the equally receding summit.
We felt light, inconsequential, as if we had no place, no
ponderability, no reality—motes poised on a sliver of rock between
two tremendous realities.
Louis Von Tempsky recounted old legends concerning the House of
the Sun, and the naming thereof, and the fierce warfare that is ever
going on about its walls, between the legions of Ukiukiu and Naulu,
the Northeast Trade and the Leeward Wind; and until we were
driven indoors by the chill, we lay observing the breezy struggle
beneath among opposing masses of driven clouds.
There is a continual temptation to digress and dwell upon the rich
folk-lore. I am glad to note that Thomas G. Thrum, of Honolulu, has
compiled a book entitled Hawaiian Folk Tales.
It will fascinate many an older person than a child in years to learn,
whatever we know or do not know about fairies, that in truth there
is a foundation, in the lore of Hawaii, for the belief in Brownies.
Tradition says that they were the original people of these Islands—
an adventurous and nomadic tribe known as Menehunes, sprightly,
cunning, and so industrious that it was their rule that any work
undertaken must be entirely accomplished in one night. If it were
not, it would never be finished, since they would not put their hand
twice on one task. An ancient uncompleted wall of a fish-pond, on
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