him on a horse. Thus at a trot he drove this sick man to the field two miles away in his underwear. It was raining off and on. Ignorant of the English language, the laborer could not explain that he had a stabbing pain in his chest, the recurrence of an old pleurisy. When they got to the working place, MacCracken gave special orders to the Portuguese luna in charge of the gang to see that this man did not loaf. The toadying luna had neither imagination nor the intelligence to smooth out ruffles without causing general alarm. Told to do a certain thing he considered it loyalty to adhere to it literally without questioning its justice, and attempted to carry the order out to the letter.
Therefore, when this man began working, he followed him and saw to it that he kept up the pace of other healthy men. Not being of a strong constitution to start with and now wracked with fever, lassitude began to assail him. He could not keep up the work without feeling a faintness coming on. He stood up often to take a breath. The luna goaded him on. There came a time that he could not continue and he worked mechanically and listlessly. In blind rage, the luna kicked him across a vital organ as the man stooped over to gather dry leaves. He keeled over and went into shock.
Ignorant of the actual state of injury, the luna tried to get the injured laborer to his feet but was aghast when he saw the color of his face, There was no one present who might have given him first aid. The working men convened around the stricken man. Some slapped his face some shouted into his ears, but he soon turned cyanotic, the color draining from his cheeks. When the terrible fact dawned upon the men that their friend had been kicked to death by this Portuguese, they turned on the horror stricken stooge and beat him relentlessly until he was no longer able to stand and cried for mercy. Luckily in this work of "holy-holy" no implement was used or else the result might have been fatal for him also.
All work ceased. The fighting blood of the men was up. They carried the corpse to the camp and had a grand demonstration of grief, anger, and much talk. There was much jabbering and gesticulating, but without adequate leadership nothing could be accomplished. Torao took charge of the occasion. He told them that the first thing to do was to have some sort of religious service for the dead man and give him a decent burial. On the following day they could have a delegation sent to the manager and remonstrate to their heart's content concerning the wrong done and ensure that such inhuman acts not be repeated ever again on the plantation. All agreed as it was getting dark.
That night there was a very sad vigil in the dead man's room. The talk, over repeated cups of tea, recounted stories and anecdotes experienced in the old country and all tried to avoid the topic of the day's wrong that culminated in this tragedy. Torao volunteered to perform the Buddhist ritual of chanting the sutra which he knew by heart. It had been taught him at the village temple whose priest happened to be his cousin.
The following day the gang that worked with the dead man did not report to work and all went along to the cemetery located in a grove of eucalyptus trees about a mile away, where about two dozen other compatriots who had fallen victim to various traumatic injuries or sickness lay interred; unsung and unmourned in this living hell of a plantation, thousands of miles away from their native country. They bore the casket made of rough pine lumber slung on a long pole which was carried by two men in relays. Each gladly volunteered. It was a last friendly service to an erstwhile fellow-worker. A hole was dug in the ground, and the casket was slowly lowered as the men stood with bowed heads. As each helped throw in handfuls of dirt, there was a glistening in every pair of eyes that was transfixed to the spot where all life's aspiration and hope were being interred under three shallow feet of sod. As the hole was being filled, Torao stood by and again chanted the verses from the sutra that he knew by heart. A wooden marker with the name of the dead, his age, the date of demise, and his home-place in Japan was placed at the head of the mound.
Mr. Yamada worked at the store conducted by the plantation. When they returned from the burial, the entire delegation repaired to the store and asked to see this man to transmit their grievances to the manager. Used to such demonstrations, Mr. Yamada had seen the manager about it and had an answer to the remonstrances of the laborers. According to him, the manager was extremely sorry for what had occurred and had discharged the man responsible for the accident. The plantation was going to see to it that such repetition would not recur.
As to the crux of the question of punishment of the murderer, assurance was very vague. It was an act done in line of duty and according to existing Hawaiian law there was no recourse to the courts. The courts were in the hands of the white planters. The Hawaiian judges and police were mere stooges in the employ of the moneyed faction that had representation in the courts of the native king. In fact, they were advisers to the king. As to the protection of sick men not able to work, here again guarantee of humane consideration was very feeble. After all they were, in fact, indentured contract laborers. Their civil rights had been taken away and for three years they were to be victims of the exploiters of their labor whose voice was law even unto matters concerning life and death.
Yamada was a sincere man and the young laborers did not doubt for a moment that he spoke from a detached third party standpoint with their interest at heart and not behaving as a mere tool of the management. But his counsel for moderation and forbearance was prompted from a desire to settle everything peacefully. He knew full well the futility of resistance but feared that the aroused spirit of the men was not to be easily quelled. To back down at this moment meant giving in to brutality and surrendering everything considered decent in human heritage.
The attitude of the laborers became menacing. The predicament Yamada was in was perceived by his superiors and by order of the men in the office of the Hawaiian policeman, Kaihue, came out with a drawn pistol and ordered them back. Torao was enraged. To settle anything within reason could and ought to be done by persuasion. To be threatened by a pistol was an insult that he could not take lying down and so he stepped forward and yelled out in Japanese to Mr. Yamada, "It is a cowardly act to resort to 'flying weapons.' Why can't things be talked over by representatives in a human way?"
The policeman fired a shot into the air to cower the crowd. Instead, it incited them into a frenzy. They rushed forward to be met by two shots this time. Luckily, no one was seriously hurt. Torao received a grazing wound in his thigh and another got a bullet in his leg. But this deadly demonstration of might was enough to sober them. Sullenly, they retreated to their barracks. They were made to realize more than ever before that they were virtual slaves during the period of their contract. The next day they went to work with sick hearts, but the vigilence of the "lunas" was increased. In the course of time their spiritual hurt was gradually assuaged. Time seemed to be the most efficient healer of the wounds that stabbed deep.
But this unfortunate incident was not easily forgotten. Those that were looked upon as the ringleaders or anyone who took an active part in the protest were black-listed, and a systematic persecution took place. The worst type of work was sent their way; they had to go to the remotest fields so that when they returned to the barracks in the evening, others already had had their bath and supper. To be picked upon in such a discriminating way usually sours anyone. Soon, Torao got fed up with the life at this plantation and plans to escape from this living hell began to take shape in his mind. He conferred with his two buddies from the same village, Okawa and Hirano. They were willing and decided to skip this place for Kohala about sixty miles away. The latter was reputed to be a paradise compared to Waipunalei and was far enough to escape detection once they got there.
One night, therefore, when everybody was sound asleep, they gathered their meager possessions and slipped out of camp. They traveled on the government road during the night and at dawn got as far as the adjoining plantation of Kukaiau. Beyond this point, the terrain was unknown to them. When people began to stir at dawn they crawled into the canefields and slept. The food and water lasted a day. When dusk came, they got out of hiding and followed the road but not on the road itself. Where the cane was young they walked in the canefield.
Their escape was already a known fact and without delay policemen on neighboring plantations were notified. Usually, a cash prize was posted for capture and return of fugitives, and the native
