“See, I do not worry, Hawahee,” said Sestrina, as she smiled, and then, taking a comb from her pocket, she began to comb the tangled folds of her damp tresses.
“Ah, wahine, thou art brave and deserve a better fate than this,” murmured Hawahee as, with his chin resting on his hand, he watched the girl. And still Sestrina combed away at her shining tresses, as they fell like a magical glossy tent over her shoulders, while she sang an old Haytian melody.
Neither Hawahee or Sestrina remembered the moment when sleep lulled their exhausted mind and body to rest. They must have slept two or three hours, for when Sestrina opened her eyes the stars had begun to take flight. The terrors of the night had been too cruel to make her think she had awakened from a dream. In a moment she had realised everything. She even gazed calmly upward and tried to see the birds that sang so weirdly sweet in the palms overhead. Dawn was stealing over the ocean. For a moment she stared at the ocean skyline. Out beyond the just visible reefs lay the wreck of the Belle Isle. The hull lay right over, the broken masts and spars pointed or leaning shoreward. In the calm waters that were surrounded by reefs, she saw two floating dark forms. She saw the ghastly death-stricken face of one of the forms as the head bobbed about, the body turning round and round to the slight swell of the water that heaved against the barrier reef beyond.
“Come away, wahine. I will place the dead to rest.”
It was Hawahee who spoke. He had suddenly awakened and found Sestrina standing beside him, staring at the dead bodies of the lepers. They had drifted in during the night.
“Come on, Sestra,” said the man. His voice was full of tenderness. The weeping girl followed him up the beach. In a few minutes they found a comfortable spot under the shades of the thick groves of breadfruit trees. “Here will do, wahine,” said Hawahee, as he looked up at the beautiful trees that spread their wealth of yellowing fruit amongst the rich glossy leaves. It was a beautiful spot. Even the bright-plumaged birds that haunted them seemed to welcome those sad strangers from the seas. “Chir-rip! cheer-up!” they seemed to say, as Hawahee and Sestrina gazed up at the fruit-loaded boughs that hung over them, so green and bright in the infinite loveliness of Dame Nature’s unostentatious hospitality.
“Here is food, wahine, and there is drink,” said Hawahee, as he gazed first on the yellowing breadfruit and then at the tall palms, on which hung tawny clusters of ripening coco-nuts.
“Wait, wahine, till I return,” said the Hawaiian. In a few moments he returned with a great armful of soft seaweed and moss. “Lie there and rest,” he said to Sestrina. Then the Hawaiian went down to the beach and, wading out to the deep water, dragged the bodies of the two dead lepers ashore. In a few moments he had dug a deep hole in the soft sand where the waters rolled up the beach by the promontory. When he had placed the bodies in the hollow he got several large lumps of coral rock and dropped them over the spot, so that when the tides were high the waters would not wash the sands away. Then he bathed himself in the cool sea water. After that he gathered fruits and coco-nut and took them to the lepers, but they took no notice of him, being fast asleep, exhausted. Hawahee was delighted when he found a large slope whereon grew wild feis (bananas). Gathering the luscious fruit, he hastened back to Sestrina, and told her to eat and drink. The shipwrecked girl felt greatly revived when she had eaten the wild feis and had drunk refreshing coco-nut milk. As the sun climbed high in the heaven and blazed over the tropic seas and the innumerable birds of the isle shrieked and sang, Sestrina felt less depressed. It was only when she followed Hawahee across the valley and caught sight of the huddled forms of the poor lepers, that her mind became darkened again. Lupo and Rohana stirred in their slumber, and then suddenly sat up.
“Aloah, wahine,” they murmured, as they caught sight of the girl, and smiled.
Sestrina nodded, and wondered why the stricken men should look so cheerful in such a pass. She could not realise how thankful the lepers felt to their gods in having the freedom of that little island world before them.