I have been thus minute and particular to show, if possible, how strange
it was to undergo this change of scene and circumstances. I have often
wondered what a pupa must think when it first emerges from its prison of
a cocoon into a butterfly to float in the air in the glorious sunlight!
What shall we feel the moment after we have shuffled off this mortal
coil and fly out somewhere? Whither?
I continued my practice in my new suit, before the great mirror in my
room, until the time for Mr. Percy to come, when I went out on the
veranda to meet him. He seemed surprised at my changed appearance, for,
though clothes do not make a man, or even a boy, yet either looks more
of a man or boy in good clothes, and before that I could scarcely say
that I had any clothes at all. Mr. Percy laughed again and again, but
his laughter was not in making sport of me so much as showing his
pleasure. “Why, Japhet, how well you look!” and he turned me round and
round, and I took a few paces out and back, as I had done before the
mirror. The darzies, the bearers, the khitmutgars, the durwans on the
veranda, and on the ground below, the malies snipping the flowers, the
saises holding the horses, the bhisties, all were fluent in seconding
the sentiments of the sahib. We then went to breakfast. The vases of
flowers were between us as before, so I began to feel a little more at
ease.
After breakfast we went into the drawing room and had a long chat, that
is, Mr. Percy did the talking and I the listening. I have found later in
life that a good listener is as necessary as a good talker in order to
have an interesting conversation.
I do not remember now what was said, but I know that his remarks and
especially his manner, had a charming effect upon me. One thing,
however, I do recall. He said, “It is strange the way you got your name,
Japhet. It is not really pretty and has no meaning but how few names are
pretty and have a meaning? It is better than Hogg or Sheepshanks and may
do as well as any other. It is not the name that makes the man and I
wish you would always remember this. It seems to me you ought to have
another name, as that is the custom nowadays and you do not want to
appear odd, so I think I will call you Charles, Charles Japhet, will do
very nicely.”
My blood flushed hot through me, as I thought of that other name “That
Eurasian,” but I had rather have bit my tongue than told him of this. I
remember also that he spoke of my books and studies, that my body had
grown so fast lately, he wanted my mind to grow as well and to do this
my mind must be fed with knowledge and exercised in remembering and
thinking.
All this I comprehended in a moment. Had I not fed myself like a turkey
for a Christmas dinner and exercised my body like a prize fighter and
made it grow? The next day a teacher came and books were obtained and I
commenced a course of study to continue until my departure for some
school.
I now look back and see with what foresight and kindness Mr. Percy
arranged to keep me in his home until I had become accustomed to my new
mode of life before sending me out to fight my own battles. Scarcely a
day passed but he examined me in my studies and seemed to take great
pleasure in watching my progress. He had a special delight in his large
garden, trimming and training his trees and plants, particularly those
of a new kind, and it appeared to me that I was one of his plants that
he was watching and developing. I needed no urging, as his pleased,
intense interest made me respond with eagerness to his desires.
Clothes were made for me until I hardly knew where to put them, and it
is not improper to say that I enjoyed practicing in them. He enjoyed
making me pleasant surprises. I recall the great delight I experienced
when one morning, dressing, I found in my waistcoat pocket a beautiful
watch with chain and charm attached. I fairly danced for joy and I am
not even now ashamed to say, I cried. I had to wait awhile for I hardly
knew how to meet him. At length I went out with a joyful fear. I saw him
watching me with his paper up before him pretending to read, with a
merry twinkle in his eyes and a quizzical expression on his face waiting
to see what I would do.
“O, Mr. Percy!” I exclaimed, “you are too good, too kind to me!” and I
threw myself sobbing upon the sofa, shedding tears of joy. How could I
do otherwise? “All right, Charles,” he said, “all right, my boy! Time is
everything, improve it. Watch your watch! never be late for anything
good, and always keep your appointments as you would your honor.”
Was I not proud? Where is the boy that is not proud of his first watch?
If he is not, then there is something wrong in the make-up of that boy.
How often during many days that followed, I took that watch from my
pocket, let any boy who has had a watch answer. That watch has been the
companion of my life, and now lies on the table before me. Many a time
as I have looked at it during all these years it has recalled the
expression of the eyes and face of the dearest friend I ever had, as he
looked out at me from behind his paper on that memorable morning.
Such a man, such a friend, such a benefactor, was he not worthy of all
my love, of my worship even? Is it not well for me now an old man, full
of years and alas! bowed down with too many sorrows, to cherish with
adoration the remembrance of such a friend? The very best of us have so
few real, true friends, that we should make all we can of them.
The days passed and quickly too. I was absorbed in my studies and in
trying to please my benefactor. He was very busy with his duties. In the
mornings he usually went out to some village or to look at some road,
bridge or building. During this time my teacher was with me. Our
breakfast was at eleven when we had a pleasant time. Mr. Percy always
had something new to tell me, made remarks on all kinds of subjects to
give me ideas, and stimulate my intelligence. Then till evening he was
in his court. After a time, when I had become somewhat acclimatized, so
to speak, he took me with him on his evening drives to the club, the
library and other public places. I kept retired as much as possible,
conscious that I would appear awkward, and Mr. Percy showed his
appreciation of my feelings. He was a man of the world enough to know
that manners cannot be taught as from a recipe book. They must come by
nature, from observation, be rubbed in by the friction of association,
so he never gave me any instructions how to act, or placed any restraint
upon me. Thus I was never uncomfortable in his presence since I had no
fear of criticism. I was free to act, and he in all his ways, without
suggesting his purpose, set me an example, in his manner, the tones of
his voice, his words and method of expressing his thoughts. In after
years I have often thought of this method of instruction and have
wondered that so little attention is paid to the deportment, manners and
personal habits of the instructors of youth. One, by observation, can
invariably tell where persons were educated, from noticing in them the
idiosyncrasies of their teachers. Man like a monkey is an imitative
animal, and in early life he follows and becomes like that which most
strikes his fancy.
Mr. Percy was of course my model, and though I have seen many men of all
degrees of culture and schools, I have never met a more worthy example.
Though busy with my studies and taken up with the novelty of my life, I
could not and would not forget the past. So great was the change that it
seemed sometimes that I must be dreaming; but the events were too vivid
in my memory to be anything but real.
I would frequently find myself sitting staring into the beyond. I always
commenced with the clinking of those rupees. The sound is as real to me
even now as when I first heard it. If a report starting miles away
reaches me after some seconds, is it less a reality? It takes years for
light to reach us from some distant planet. Is it less real because it
has been years on the way? So I often saw that sahib as I see him now,
as real to me as when I sat crouched in a corner of that room only a few
feet from him. And the dear mama! How real she has always seemed! I have
never thought of her but tears would come welling up from my heart. How
I wished she could see me in my happiness! She surely would have smiled
again. The little sister, always so cheerful even when she was hungry
and tired! Our new mama, the good old faqir, all the scenes of the past,
the hot dusty road, the separation from that sister, the losing her—what
a queer strange kind of pain came into my whole body, a pain that never
can be described, caused by the loss of those we dearly love; not a
fleshy pain and not wholly in the mind, but of the soul, the heart, all
the whole being, mental and physical; a choking, stifling, benumbing
grief, that seems to stop the current of life and make us only wish for
death.
The time approached for my entering some school. Mr. Percy wrote a
number of letters. Catalogues were received, and it was at length
decided that I should go to the St. George’s School at Dhurm Thal, a
hill station. Preparations then began. The darzies were set to work,
more clothes were made, and what they could not make were ordered from
an English shop. The boxwalas came with brushes for the hair, the teeth,
for the fingers, for the clothes, the boots and the bath. I never knew
there were so many kinds before. Then thread, needles, tape, buttons,
for Mr. Percy said in selecting them, “You must have a ‘Bachelor’ just
like what my mother made for me when I started for school,” and away he
went to his room to bring the Bachelor that his mother had made years
ago, and which he had kept as a treasure. Blessed is the boy who has a
mother to make nice things for him, but alas for me, my mother I had
scarcely known!
He gave the Bachelor to the darzi for a pattern, with a strict
injunction to be careful of it, as it was his mother’s gift. Said he,
“This may come handy sometimes when you need a stitch, or find a button
gone, for you should not be obliged always to depend on others.”
Then came the boots, the tennis shoes, the balls and bats, some handsome
books, papers, pens, ink, sealing wax, envelopes, etc.
Nothing was omitted that he could think of. A spare room was devoted to
this schoolboy outfit, and the articles were laid here and there over
the room. Day after day he would say, “Now, Charles, let us go and look
the things over,” and in we would go, and after a survey he would say,
“Well, I don’t know what else you need!”
This outfitting was quite a recreation for Mr. Percy, and he acted as if
he had once been a boy himself and had experienced the same preparations
for his going away to school. If one knew in his youth how much
happiness he really enjoyed, and could foresee the struggle and
hardships to come, he might not be so anxious to become a man. The
happiness of youth is mostly due to its unconsciousness of evil. Yet,
even older people are like children in this respect, always wishing,
longing for what is beyond them and to come.
Soon everything was in readiness, the boxes were packed and the morning
of my departure arrived. The last thing was a huge fruitcake and a lot
of sweets, “For,” said Mr. Percy, “this is the thing to make quick
acquaintance with boys at school.”
A bearer was to go with me to take care of me on the way and return. He
took a gari to the station with my luggage, and I went with Mr. Percy in
his carriage. He had never preached to me or moralized, but on the way
he said, “Now, Charles, I want you to be brave, to study hard, and above
all be truthful, honest, upright, and be clean in thought, in word and
act.” This was all, but there was so much in those few words, in his
manner of saying them, and I knew that he spoke from his heart as he
uttered them. Soon we were on the train, and as it moved off he said,
“God bless you, my boy,” with a tenderness in his tone, and as I saw,
with tears in his eyes. I felt it all, pressed his hand saying, “Thank
you, thank you.” I knew that he felt that I was really grateful, yet it
seemed to me that I had not shown my appreciation of his kindness as I
should have done.
The journey was interesting, especially up the hills, as I had never
seen any but level land. The school was reached in the evening, and we
were shown into a large hall where there were about forty cots, but only
a few boys were there. The bearer left me, to come again in the morning.
At the ringing of the bell we boys went into the dining hall. I noticed
its barren appearance at once. There was such a contrast between this
and the dining room and tables at Mr. Percy’s that I felt homesick. I
thought that if the other boys could live through it I could; but it
seemed as though I was in an orphanage again, the only difference being
that this was for white boys, not for natives, and in the hills. After
supper we were ushered into another barren hall, the only ornament being
an organ upon which a teacher played while the rest sang something, and
then followed what they called prayers. I was too weary to pay much
attention. Then to the dormitory to sleep.
I dreamed of Mr. Percy and saw him grasp my hand and heard him say, “God
bless you, my boy!” and then I was carried away through the air up into
some high mountain and left in a barren, desolate place. The fright
awoke me all trembling. I saw that it was morning, the sun shining in
our window. How well I remember that room! and would not four long years
in it make me remember it forever? I recall it as on that first morning.
Four bare walls, a ceiling and floor, with nothing to break the monotony
but forty cots standing in rows as straight as the walls, and the square
windows. I have often wondered, when pictures are so cheap, that they
did not put a few on the walls; when nature outside showed the intention
of God to make the world beautiful, that they did not give us a few
flowers in cheap earthen pots, if nothing better, to relieve the
everlasting squareness and barrenness. Compel a man to live in a hovel
like a stable, he may not turn into a horse, but the chances are that he
will not be near the man he might have been had his surroundings been
such as to develop his sense of beauty. How much more should a boy be
educated by his sight and senses, be taught by his daily surroundings?
There was no privacy whatever. I well remember months afterward when out
walking with one of the boys, a little timid, refined lad, who told me
that before leaving home his mother had made him promise to kneel by his
bed every night and say his prayers. “But,” said he, “how can I do it
with all the boys looking at me?” I knew nothing about praying myself,
but I could feel for a boy who thought he ought to pray and was afraid
to do so. A man might be brave in battle, but I think it would require
more courage to kneel by his bed and say his prayers before a lot of
scoffing men.