THE BUILDER AUGUST 1929

ELEVEN YEARS A LEPER
By BRO. LEO FISCHER, Philippine Islands

[The following article has been reprinted in various Masonic
publications and THE BUILDER deems it of sufficient importance to
be included in its pages. Its original appearance was in the
Masonic journal, The Cabletow, Philippine Islands. If this story
appeals to the charitable instincts of any of our members we will
he glad to act as forwarding agent for contributions.]

WILLIAM E. FAWCETT was born in New England among people to whom it
comes natural to go down to the sea in ships, so he was still in
his teens when he made his first voyage before the mast. The broad
surges of the open sea and the whistling of a fresh breeze through
the rigging never lost their charm for him. For a time he served in
the American navy, then he returned to his first love, the merchant
marine. Being ambitious, he studied navigation and became more and
more proficient in his chosen career, until he finally obtained a
master's license. In due course of time he married, and, prompted
by a desire to be useful to his fellowmen and occupy himself with
higher things, he applied for and received the degrees of
Freemasonry in Bagumbayan Lodge, No. 4, of Manila, P. I. Early in
1918 he had reached the height of his ambition: he was in command
of a deep-seagoing vessel, had a faithful, devoted wife and
promising children, was a Master Mason in good standing, honored
and respected among the workmen upon the Temple, and enjoyed the
esteem and confidence of the rest of the world. Then the blow fell
which shattered all his hopes of a quiet, happy old age, striking
at that robust health of which he was so proud, tearing him from
the arms of his family and the company of his brothers and fellows,
and making him a prisoner under conditions that person must see for
himself in order to fathom their horror he became a leper!

How he contracted the dreadful disease neither he nor anybody else
has ever been able to find out. He himself believes that a fly,
lighting on an open wound on his face or hand after having settled
on a leprous sore, carried the germ. He was forced to leave his
family and was taken to the San Lazaro Hospital, in Manila, for
observation and treatment. The symptoms of leprosy, the swelling of
the ears and face and the sores appearing here and there on his
body, marked him as a subject for exile to Culion, that isola
dolente of the South China Sea to which society, intent upon its
own salvation, banishes those afflicted with the loathsome disease.
After a few months' stay on the island he was, at his insistent
request, and in view of the fact that the progress of the disease
seemed to be checked, transferred back to the Leper Ward of the San
Lazaro Hospital, in Manila. There, at least, he could have his wife
visit him and felt not so much an outcast from the civilized world.

However, the vermin-infested old Spanish buildings of San Lazaro
and the fare which, while abundant and wholesome, was not what he
was used to, coupled with the lack of privacy and his enforced
association with people who, though he had only kindly feelings for
them, were not his own compatriots, made life burdensome even
there. To make our Brother's sad fate more bearable, his Masonic
Brethren purchased for him a large tent which was pitched under
some acacia trees in the extensive compound of the hospital. A fund
was raised to buy extras for his table; a small ice-box was secured
and he was furnished with reading matter and other comforts. But
tents are very expensive and do not last long in the tropics. The
burning rays of the sun of the 14th degree of latitude and the
typhoons for which the Philippine Islands are noted, played havoc
with several tents in succession and the old mariner finally moved
back into the building, where a small corner, partitioned off with
an improvised screen, was assigned to him, and there he is still
confined now, not knowing when he will be able to walk out of his
prison, a free man once more.

The place looks like a medieval prison more than anything else. The
light comes in through a grated opening in the thick, massive wall.
In the narrow, screened-off space stand two iron bedsteads, one
being the captain's and the other that of Mason, another American
leper, a mulatto. Mason, who has been a leper for a year or two,
must be a godsend to the lonely old man. Cheerful, easy-going, neat
and clean, with the orderliness and efficiency of the ex-service
man, we found him busy preparing some extras for his and the
captain's table when we made our last visit. On two small alcohol
stoves standing on a table, codfish cakes and bacon were sizzling,
and the big man was working silently, with evident gusto,
contributing an occasional chuckle or some casual remark in his
soft speech to our conversation.

Beyond the screen, among the beds of the Filipino lepers, another
alcohol stove or two were in operation. The scene reminded me of a
gipsy camp.

Our Brother, sitting in his canvas easy chair, has generally some
grievance or the other, though he bears his fate with wonderful
resignation. The treatment which he receives is too trying and the
injections according to the official standard would soon kill the
old man. The private physician who used to treat him with a
specific of his own has given up the ease, because of interference
on the part of the government doctors, according to our Brother. Be
that as it may, the disease shows no tendency of giving way, though
it is not making much headway, either.

On the grimy walls of our Brother's prison hang pathetic reminders
of the happy days when he had a neat, snug cabin on a steamer or
sailing vessel and had but to step outside to breathe the salt air
and scan the wide expanse of tumbling waves, familiar to him Since
his early youth. There is his ship's clock, near it hangs his
barometer, and suspended from a nail are his binoculars. His
master's license, neatly framed, and the model of a sail-boat, his
own handiwork, vie with each other in a poor attempt to conceal the
hideous we were going to say leprous walls. Day in and day out,
night after night, when the terrible itching caused by the
injections keeps sleep from his eyes, our Brother beholds those
prison walls and on them those reminders of the days of his
strength and glory.

And yet, whenever we visit him, which is none too often because
those visits are by no means a pleasure, the old captain has a
cheerful smile on his face and cheerful words on his lips and
expresses his longing to sit once more with the Brethren in his
Mother Lodge.

In all probability, Brother Fawcett will not leave the Leper Ward
of San Lazaro for years to come. What he will do when he gets out
is a problem that causes him considerable worry. The lodge has, for
a number of years, been paying a small allowance to his wife, and
our Brother is husbanding the small fund raised for him four or
five years ago through the good offices of The Cabletow with
jealous care, for her and his daughter's sake. His Service in the
U.S. Navy does not entitle him to a pension and he has nothing to
fall back on but the hundred odd dollars left of that fund.

In the meantime he bears his sad fate with a courage and
resignation worthy of the best traditions of American manhood and
trusts to the Great Architect of the Universe to strengthen and
protect him.

The fund of which we have spoken is under the joint custody of the
Grand Secretary and the Managing Editor of The Cabletow. There have
been no accretions to it for several years except the interest. If
any Brother feels like adding his mite to it, his gift will be
gladly received and acknowledged and faithfully managed for the
benefit of a Mason whose fate is one that we would not wish to our
worst enemy.
