“The Island of Truth” seems to constitute a popular version of the tale “The Islands of Mind-Readers”, by Edward Bellamy, which the reader will find in our associated websites.
The 1964 story by George P. McCallum was first written to students of English as a second language, and can be read as a metaphor.
The theosophical movement is invited to become an occult, ungeographical Island of Truth and inspire the whole of humanity along the path of truthfulness. Theosophical lodges and other associations of good-willing souls can emerge in due time as an Archipelago of Sincerity that dismantles the clouds of illusion and hypocrisy in human Karma.
There is no religion higher than truth or honesty. The idea of a future humanity that abstains from every deliberate falsehood is also consistent with the theosophical article “A Society for Speaking the Truth”, which we have published in our websites.
In McCallum’s story , the geographical difficulty of access to the Island of Truth is a symbol of the mystery surrounding the higher levels of consciousness. The dangerous road to wisdom requires absolute sincerity of thought, among other factors.
The waterfront café was crowded with sailors waiting for the weather to clear up. At a corner table in the noisy smoke-filled room, three young men looked out the window at the thick fog moving in over the busy San Francisco harbor. Their ship wouldn’t sail until the fog lifted. They prepared themselves for a long wait.
“You’re all going to sea for the first time, aren’t you?” the older man asked as he sat down in the empty chair at the corner table.
“You mean you’ve been a sailor for thirty years?” asked another of the young men.
At that moment, another sailor came by the table. “Well, Billy David! I haven’t seen you for a long time. Still looking for the Island of Truth?” He laughed, then turned and left the café without waiting for an answer.
“You heard what that fool said just now, didn’t you?” asked the older man.
“Listen, young sailor, and I’ll tell you the whole story.” The older sailor began his amazing account.
I spent my childhood near the sea watching the ships, large and small, go in and out of the harbor. At the age of eighteen I left home to take a job on a passenger ship that sailed between San Francisco and Yokohama. I was excited about my new adventure and a little afraid, too.
For over a year, I sailed the Pacific on the Rosa Lee from Seattle to Rangoon, Manila to Sydney, Bangkok to Guayaquil. The brilliant blue waters were beautiful in the sunlight; under stormy skies the angry waters became dark, dangerous, and exciting. I loved the sea in all its glorious beauty - both when it was quiet and when it was violent. From the beginning, I knew it was the life for me.
That second year, during a trip from Melbourne to Honolulu, I had a very strange experience. I’ve never forgotten it. We couldn’t get out of the way in time and were hit by a violent storm. The wind grew stronger and stronger - up to fifty miles an hour, and mountains of water pushed the Rosa Lee over on its side. The ship rolled back only to be attacked again by the next wave. All during the rain-filled night, we worked in a frantic attempt to save the ship, but there was a breakdown in the engine room and the motors stopped. We knew that there was nothing more we could do.
At dawn the Captain gave the order to leave the ship. A few minutes later the Rosa Lee went down beneath the angry sea. All that could be seen were a few lifeboats here and there among the waves.
I shared one of the lifeboats with the chief engineer, Tom Fenton. I don’t remember the exact circumstances, but the storm continued into the second night. In some way, we were able to avoid being thrown into the sea. Then, as quickly as it had come, the storm passed. The wind died down and the stormy sea became quiet; the clouds drifted away, and the stars came out in the clear sky above. We didn’t know where we were or what would happen to us - but it was a marvelous feeling, just being alive.
All night the little boat drifted in the open sea while Tom and I slept soundly. We were both exhausted. The next morning, I was awakened by brilliant sunshine. At first the bright sun made it impossible to see, but as my eyes became accustomed to the light, I was able to look around. There was nothing but the deep blue water of the Pacific in all directions. The other lifeboats were gone.
Now that the danger of the storm was over, I began to worry about our other problems. All our supplies were gone. We had no food, no fresh water, and we were somewhere in the South Pacific, possibly hundreds of miles from land. Perhaps we would drift here in the quiet ocean for weeks. It was a frightening thought.
Fenton jumped up, wide-awake. Years of experience as a sailor had taught him to sleep soundly under any circumstances, but to wake up immediately at the sound of his name.
A gusty breeze helped us guide the little boat in the right direction. The island grew larger and larger as we moved quickly through the water. In a few hours, we could see a dark green mountain against the sky ahead of us. By noon we could see the tall palm trees along the white beach and hear the noise of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks in the waters around the island.
Fenton realized the danger immediately. “We’re in trouble”, he said to me. “It’s impossible to avoid that reef.” The little boat was pulled in and out by the ocean waves which grew higher and more violent as it got closer to the gray-green rocks.
The boat was breaking into pieces as it hit the rocks, drifted back, and then crashed again. But finally a large wave lifted us high out of the water and threw us over the reef into the quiet waters of the lagoon on the other side. The danger was over! Once inside the lagoon, Fenton and I had no difficulty getting to the shore of the island. We jumped out of the broken lifeboat and ran across the beach to a shady place beneath a group of palm trees. It had been a terrible experience, but we were safe. Too exhausted to talk, we both fell asleep.
Just a few minutes later I awakened with the peculiar feeling that I was being watched. I was almost afraid to open my eyes.
“Visitors!” repeated Fenton, wide-awake at once. He sat up and looked around. A short distance away, a group of natives stood quietly watching us. One of them began walking toward us. We both jumped to our feet not knowing what to expect.
I was too astonished to say a word. But not Fenton, So many strange things had happened to him during his travels around the world that nothing surprised him.
I was still a little nervous, but Fenton didn’t hesitate for a moment. He didn’t seem worried about our situation, and since he was older and more experienced, I decided not to worry, either.
We followed the natives through the trees to their village, a group of small grass huts. The roofs were made of the large green leaves from the palm trees which grew all around the island. We could see little vegetable gardens behind the huts.
The village was crowded with curious natives waiting to see the two shipwrecked strangers which the ocean had deposited on their beach. One of the grass huts was larger than the others and the young man who had guided us to the village went inside. He came out again with an older man at his side.
“Welcome, friends, to the Island of Oiaio”, the old man said to us. “My name is Pao. I am Chief of these people”, he said, introducing himself.
“We are very happy to be here”, Fenton said.
“And to find you friendly”, I added, finally able to join the conversation.
Fenton and I went with the old man into his house. The interior looked clean and comfortable, but there were very few pieces of furniture. A small table in the middle of the room was filled with food. We sat down on the grass carpet which covered the floor and were given a delicious meal. We had fish baked in coconut milk, sweet potatoes, native vegetables served in coconut shells, and a variety of fresh fruit: oranges, bananas, pineapples, and the white fruit of the coconut.
“That was the best meal I ever ate”, Tom Fenton said an hour later.
A look of surprise crossed the Chief’s face as he spoke.
“Yes, I think so”, I answered.
At that moment the young native returned to the house and our conversation was interrupted.
The elderly Chief stood up. “But I’m sure you have had enough talk by now. This is my son, Tamu”, he said, introducing us to the young man who had found us on the beach.
We followed the young native to a hut which was almost as large as that of Chief Pao. Inside on the grass carpet were two beds made of leaves. We were amazed at how comfortable they were. Too tired to talk about our strange experiences, we fell asleep immediately.
It was dawn when I woke up. In the other bed, Fenton continued to sleep. We had slept since mid-afternoon the day before! I couldn’t remember when I had slept such a long time. But then I couldn’t remember ever experiencing anything like these last two days. This would certainly be something to tell the other sailors when I returned to a ship.
I looked over at Fenton. Telling the exact truth would not be easy for him. He had traveled around the world for so many years, and had experienced all kinds of adventures. He enjoyed telling stories about the sea and the many places he had visited, but like so many sailors he made the stories of his adventures more exciting than they had actually been. If, while in the Mediterranean, he was attacked by a shark, Fenton made it two sharks and a whale, not letting it bother him that there are no whales in the Mediterranean Sea. Yes, it was going to be difficult for him here on the Island of Truth!
“Not if it’s raining”, I argued, and we both laughed.
The Chief introduced his family next. He had six sons, and an 18-year-old daughter, Lita. Her beauty was extraordinary. I couldn’t stop looking at her.
We were served a delicious breakfast of island fruit of all kinds, as well as coconut milk, bread and honey. But I wasn’t interested in the food, and I didn’t listen to the conversation. I just watched Lita. When the meal was over, Lita cleared the table while the men went out of the house to sit beneath the shade of the palm trees in front.
“What happened to the other visitors?” Fenton asked, almost afraid of the answer.
“I don’t know. I am sorry to say they became tired of the quiet life on Oiaio and left for the nearest island, about fifty miles away. They made a sailboat and the last we know of them they were sailing west. I hope they made it. The waters between here and the other island are dangerous.
“It wasn’t just the quiet life, Father”, Tamu said.
“What was that?” Fenton and I asked at the same time.
“The truth”, answered Chief Pao in a quiet voice.
“How could that be a reason for leaving the island?” I asked.
During the next few weeks, Lita and I took long walks around the little island of Oiaio. I was amazed at what I saw. Of course everything was simple, because only those materials found on the island could be used, but there was a school, a church, a hospital, and the huts were clean and comfortable.
I was in no hurry to leave Oiaio. I had fallen in love with Lita, the daughter of Chief Pao. Her father seemed to like me, but he absolutely refused to permit Lita to leave the island with me. “She has known nothing but the simple life of Oiaio”, he said. I don’t think she would be happy in the more complicated outside world.” He insisted that we wait one year before getting married. He wanted me to have plenty of time to think before deciding to spend the rest of my life on Oiaio. But I didn’t need time to consider anything; I had already made up my mind. I wasn’t interested in the sea anymore.
I urged Tom to stay on the island, but he refused. He was having problems with the natives. He was very friendly and enjoyed talking about his adventures at sea, but all his stories were exaggerated. Everyone on the island was kind to him, but when he started to talk, the people would begin to ask questions. Tom would soon become angry and walk away. Before long, the people began to avoid him.
During the next few weeks Tom begged me again and again to leave Oiaio with him.
“I’m sorry, Tom”, I said.
“Lita? But how? What? What’s happened?” I asked, getting out of bed quickly.
We walked quickly through the trees to the beach. Fenton seemed very nervous and excited and kept looking behind him as he hurried along.
“Don’t ask questions. You’ll know everything in a minute”, Fenton said as we came to the open beach.
“But that’s our boat!” I was astonished. The boat had been completely repaired. It had never occurred to me that Fenton had been spending all his time down at the beach fixing the lifeboat.
“That’s right”, was the last thing I heard.
When I woke up I found myself far out at sea. Looking out of the boat I saw that we were already many miles from land.
The lifeboat was in perfect condition. Fenton had repaired all the leaks, and then had scrubbed and painted it. There was even a good supply of food and water in the boat. The sail which Fenton had made was filled with wind and was carrying us quickly through the water.
Fenton interrupted my thoughts. “Look!” he called out. “A storm is coming this way.” I looked up at the black clouds in the darkening sky. The wind was growing stronger. A half hour later the storm hit us. The violent wind broke our sail and the waves poured gallons of water into the little boat. Fortunately, the storm lasted only a few hours. But when it was over, we realized we didn’t know where we were. Afraid to talk about our situation, we drifted along silently in the quiet waters.
“What happened then?” one of the young sailors asked as Billy David hesitated for a moment.
A ship’s bell sounded the hour. Billy looked out the window. “Time to go. The fog is lifting and my ship will sail in a few hours. Good-bye, boys. Good luck to you”, he said as he joined the other sailors leaving the waterfront café.
The three sailors sat silently for a moment, thinking about Billy David’s extraordinary account. Finally, one of them spoke.
“About what?” asked his two companions.
 We reproduce the story from the book “The Island of Truth”, George P. McCallum, Collier-Macmillan International, a Division of The Macmillan Company, Collier-Macmillan Limited, London, 122 pages, 1964, pp. 1-15.