The years passed with their vacations. One day at school I received an
urgent telegram, telling me to come at once as Mr. Percy was very ill.
The journey homeward was a sad one. Formerly they were full of joyful
anticipation; this was full of grief and fear. He was very ill. He
received me warmly and I attended him as an affectionate son would a
beloved father. “Charles,” he said, “the end is coming. I am going to
them. They are waiting for me. I shall soon be where there is no more
sorrow, or parting, or dying any more forever. Be true to my teaching. I
tried to do my duty. Pardon my mistakes. Come to me when you have done
your work. God bless you my boy. God bless you”—and he was gone. Could
my wish have been granted I would have gone with him to where there was
no more parting forever more.
The last rites were performed and I was given the place of chief
mourner, for all seemed to know how much esteem and love he had for me.
Then I felt myself alone in the world; the halcyon days of my life were
ended.
He had made his will very carefully, giving the details of his property,
and except a few personal articles, including those precious photographs
that he reserved for me, all was to be sold and the proceeds, with
various stocks, bonds and several bungalows in which he had invested,
were placed in the hands of trustees for me until I had reached the age
of twenty-four years. Until then I was to receive sufficient funds for
my support and I was to finish my school course. So I had money enough,
but of what account is money when the heart is breaking?
On the days when I used to receive those blessed letters sadness
overwhelmed me. No more letters to come. No more letters to write. This
deprivation constantly revived my consciousness of the loss I had
sustained, and during all the rest of my school life I could not
overcome this terrible feeling.
My school days ended and with great regret I bade good-bye to some of my
schoolmates and some of the teachers for they had endeared themselves to
me by their kindness.
I was again alone in the world. I did not know that I had even one
friend to whom I might turn for advice or comfort. I was conscious that
I ought to engage in some profession or employment as other young men
were doing, but which and what was the question. If I chose the Civil
Service in the Government, it was necessary for me to go to England and
pass an examination. I had no friend there, not even an acquaintance, so
had no influence, and I learned that influence was everything even to
get a chance to offer myself for an examination; so that profession was
closed to me.
To become an officer in the army the same difficulties arose. I could
not become a soldier as I learned that Eurasians were not accepted. In
fact I had no liking whatever for the army, even had there been an
opening for me. I always had a repugnance to taking life. I could not
see a chicken killed without a sense of pain and to see a gasping fish
just taken from the water gave me a shock. In my life I have gone out
shooting and the more birds I killed, the greater the burden of sorrow I
carried home, thinking of the number of lives I had destroyed when God
had created them as well as me and that they had as much right as I to
live. I never could realize any pleasure in what is called sport when
life is involved. For a number of men, not to mention women, to chase a
fox until he is worried to death and then let him be torn to pieces by
hounds was always a cruel, fiendish business to me. Suppose some bigger
brutes than these ladies and gentlemen, as they style themselves, should
run them down with horses and hounds as in former times slaves were
hunted, and tear them to pieces, what would they think of the sport?
Anent this subject one of the best English novelists makes one of his
characters say: “The most blood-thirsty nation on the earth, you shed
blood for mere amusement; we only shed it for some deep purpose, such as
revenge, ambition and the like. You English are not happy unless you are
killing something, if it is only a pigeon out of a trap; there is too
much of the Saxon and the Dane about you. Again your chief outdoor
amusement consists of galloping on horseback with a number of dogs, over
hedges and ditches after a poor animal called a fox, and when you see
the wretched, fagged-out creature torn to pieces by your dogs, you ride
home satisfied to your dinner.”
It is bad enough to kill birds and beasts for our food, but to kill men,
who, we are taught, have immortal souls, was and always has been,
horrible to me. Adam Smith, in his “Wealth of Nations,” says, “The trade
of a butcher is a brutal one and an odious business.” If that can be
said of a business which supplies necessary food for the people, what
can be said of a trade for the destruction of human beings, to gratify
the vanity or rapacity of a tyrant or people? To kill his fellowmen is
the soldier’s business, for that he is trained, for that the church
prays for him. The more men killed the greater the glory and the number
of medals. Beautiful trophies for the judgment day—the souls of murdered
men! The uncivilized, unchristian tribes show their valor by the number
of human scalps hanging to their belts, and a “heap big Injun” is the
one who has the greatest number of these tokens of death. Christian “big
Injuns” use honors and medals instead of scalps.
Would not this be better? Say for all who are killed by a regiment let
each soldier wear a blood-red stripe for each man slain. If very
successful in their bloody warfare the stripes would be increased until
their whole garments would be of one uniform, ruddy hue, and they would
be “heap big Injuns” for all the world to look at. Their praises would
be read and known instantly by all observers. Then, instead of
worshiping one whom they style a God of Love, and one whom they call the
“Prince of Peace,” why not be consistent and adopt a god of war, such as
is Kali, the goddess of the murderers of India, and offer unto him the
blood of their victims, as these people do to their goddess? Does it
speak well for civilization, after thousands of years, and after
nineteen hundred years of Christianity, that twenty millions of armed
soldiers, belonging to the most enlightened and so-called Christian
nations of the earth, should be waiting and expecting every morning an
order to attack and destroy each other? And all anxious to flesh their
weapons in the bodies of their fellowmen? If, after all these centuries,
Christianity has culminated in such a condition of murderous intention,
how long will it be before their “Prince of Peace” will come to reign?
Having such feelings about war and soldiering in my later years, I must
have had something of them when I left school, and they prevented me
from thinking seriously of a soldier’s life. I concluded that I would
rather be a hermit in a forest all my life, living on herbs and wild
fruits, and die thus, and go to my Maker without a spot of the blood of
my fellowmen on my soul, than to be the greatest warrior that ever
lived, though he could boast of having slain his thousands.
What of the responsibility of those who instigate war? The great poet
says, “The king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make when all these
legs and arms and heads chopped off in battle shall join together in the
latter day and cry, all, “_We died at such a place_;” some swearing,
some crying for a surgeon, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their
children rawly left. I am afraid that there are few that die well, that
die in battle, for how can they charitably dispose of anything when
blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a
black matter for the king that led them to it.”
Well might the king say, in his remorse, “The lights burn blue, it is
now dead midnight, cold, fearful drops stand trembling on my flesh.
Methought the souls of all that I had caused to be murdered came.”
Another thing influenced me. A surgeon of the army remarked to me that
the best soldier was one with a vigorous, healthy body, and only sense
enough to obey an order and fire a musket.
I was not willing to suppose myself such a thing as that, an idiot,
strong enough to stand up and be shot at, and with only brains enough to
pull a trigger when told to do so to kill somebody. If I was to be such
a soldier, then God, who created me with a mind capable of thinking and
reasoning; Mr. Percy, in giving me an education; and I, in acquiring it,
we all three had sadly muddled the business and made a damnable mistake
somehow. So my warfare ended.
I then thought of the police service, but this was so like a twin
brother to soldiering that I dropped it quickly. I was in no great hurry
to choose a profession, as I was not obliged to work for a living, but
considered it my duty, as well as pleasure, to seek to do what was best,
so I went to the station where my property was situated, and found a
home in one of the houses with an excellent family, one of my tenants.
I had plenty of books, the gifts of Mr. Percy, each of them a true
indication of his style of thought and belief. I ordered others, such as
I considered would interest me. With them I lived. They were my best and
most intimate companions. I have often thought that if I were cast away
on some desert island, and had plenty of books, I could not be alone.
The middle part of each day I spent in reading; mornings and evenings in
adorning the compounds and gardens of my several houses with fruit and
fine trees, flower plants and shrubbery. I soon made a great change in
the places, to the great satisfaction of my tenants. This gave me a
great liking for botany, as I had scarcely heard of such a science in
school, for there we were so much driven to study men’s rules and
theories that we had no time to study what God had created.
This employment finished, I became restless with a desire to enter upon
some profession or business for life. I thought of commercial business,
and from what I knew of it I supposed it would give me a chance to use
my brains; but I had no more idea of what it required than if I was the
son of a lord. I knew nothing of book-keeping, for this was another of
the practical things omitted in our school, and it sometimes puzzled me
to see what I really had learned that was to be of practical use to me.
If it be true, as some one has said, that the greatest knowledge is to
realize how little we know, I concluded that I had reached that happy
condition. It is true that I practiced a little book-keeping as required
by Mr. Percy, but it was single entry, or rather two entries, cash
received and cash paid out, and every pice I handled was in that
account. Since then my acquaintance with even commercial men has led me
to believe that single entry book-keeping is not a slight affair, for
some forget to enter what you have paid them, and remember to enter what
they did not pay you.
I concluded to make a trip on commercial life intent. I took me to the
capital city of India with the highest ambition. At once I sought the
papers with an advertisement, “A young man of good abilities and
excellent education, etc.” Some letters were received to which I
replied, and found that there was work enough, and that the salaries
offered, ranged from the magnificent sum of fifteen rupees to forty
rupees a month, and some of the parties expected me to keep a pony
besides, as their’s was outdoor work. Some of these offers were made by
white men!
The advertisement evidently useless, I got a city directory and wrote to
a large number of the best mercantile houses, and as I had a very fair
hand and did my best with the Queen’s English, I received a number of
very polite replies in babu English asking me to call at a particular
time, which I did in my best rig, as I came to know that a well-fitting
suit of good clothes had a great deal to do with a first impression.
Each kuli, and there were a number of them at every door, had to look at
my card, and then several babus wished to know my business, until
finally I reached the grand mogul of the place. Looking me over while I
stated that I had received his letter asking me to call, “Yes, yes,”
said he, “but since your letter came my partner has found a man.” The
same thing happened in a number of places. That partner was always the
one who was putting his fingers in my pie. Several asked me what salary
I wanted. I replied that I wished to learn the business, so I would be
satisfied with a hundred rupees a month to begin with, and they
exclaimed something like this: “Great heavings! we can hire a dozen
babus for that money.”
I kept up this “racket” for a number of days, as I became quite
interested in learning this part of mercantile life. If it had been a
matter of daily bread with me, perhaps I would not have taken the
rebuffs so easily.
One day I ran across two of my schoolmates on the same errand. They were
terribly down in the mouth or down at the heels, for they were
completely discouraged, and their clothes had long since forgotten the
press of the tailor’s goose, and their boots were in the last stages of
decrepitude. They put me in mind of the fellows we read of in our
Scripture lessons at school, who went down to Jericho and fell among
thieves. “Well, boys,” said I, “come over and dine with me, and we’ll
talk over old times.” They did not look into their note-books to see how
many engagements they had, or say, “We’ll think it over,” or “We’ll
see,” in that kind of society style you know, but accepted at once.
After making a short call on one of the merchant firms, I found the boys
in my room. We had a good feed, the best I could get, and they told me
their experience. They had been at so many houses, run the gauntlet of
so many kulies and babus, and had been snubbed so often by the
mercantile gentlemen that they had scarcely courage enough left to look
in at the door of a house again. Through the friendly influence of the
dinner they confided to me that they had trusted “an uncle” with their
watches and most of their clothes, and their money was nearly all gone,
and if they did not get work soon they would have to sleep in the park,
and then have a chance of being accommodated with apartments at the
workhouse.
“Yes,” said one of them, “if we were not Eurasians we could get
situations at once, and one fat white face had the cheek to tell us that
he would not employ Eurasians, as they were not trustworthy. How did he
know that of us? It was a downright insult!”
Again he burst out, and as we had not had any liquor whatever, he was
clear-headed, saying, “Hell and fury! Who made us Eurasians, I’d like to
know?” “That’s it,” said the other, “who made us Eurasians?” and they
brought down their fists so hard onto the table that the bearer rushed
in to see what we wanted. At this I changed the subject to our school
days, and inquired after the boys of our set. Before leaving I told them
if they did not succeed in a day or two, to come to me and I would let
them have money to go home with; for the sake of old times I would not
have them “run in.”
I was such a simple innocent that it never once entered my head that I
had been refused because I was an Eurasian. This reference of the boys
opened my eyes, and I concluded to make some calls to see if what they
said was really true. I was out again the next day. I did not care so
much now for a situation as I did to know the effect of the color of my
face. I had a roll of government notes in my pocket, and could draw for
more when needed, so could face the kulies and babus without having that
utterly forsaken walk and look of a beggar. As I entered one of the
prominent offices I could not help thinking of what Mr. Percy would say,
“Charles, be a man, in your looks and in every step you take,” and so I
uprightly faced the grand panjandrum. I bowed politely, and said, “I am
seeking a situation. I don’t care so much about the wages, as I wish to
learn the business.” Looking me all over, as if I was some specimen from
the zoo, he remarked, “I don’t think you would suit us.” “Will you be so
kind as to tell me the reason?” I inquired, with as much suavity as I
could command. I think my manner fetched him, for he said, “Take a seat,
will you?” the first time a chair had been offered me in all my rounds.
He replied, “Well, really, you know, I don’t like to say; for myself I
think you would suit us, but, now, ahem! I hope you will take no
offense, but the fact is, I am really sorry to say it, but my partners
are opposed to having any Eurasians.”
“What reason have they?” I calmly inquired, that is, outwardly calm, but
inwardly very uncalm. Said he, “Really, I don’t know, and can’t say; you
will have to ask them, and I think they are both very busy, as it is
mail day.”
What a lot of lies mail day is responsible for! He then began to fumble
his papers, as if to say that my time was up, so I bowed and left,
feeling in my soul that he was a liar, and at the entrance door I
inquired of a babu about the partners, and he said that they had not
come to the office that day.
But why prolong the story? I made out a list of the firms on whom I had
called. There were all sorts of excuses, but the majority objected to
employing Eurasians. One thing astonished me, that so many of them had
wicked partners. Perhaps they were only imaginary dummies or office
devils, to whom they could attribute all their sins. And most of these
men were Christians in their way.
One morning I found an article in one of the daily papers that fitted so
well with what the boys had said and with what I felt, that I cut out
this paragraph. I was rather glad that they had not seen the paper, as I
had furnished them with tickets-of-leave; or they might have been
tempted to curse their fathers, which is bad business when it can be
avoided.
“There is a prejudice against the Eurasians, both among the Europeans
and natives. It is not surprising that the heathen natives, with all
their old feelings about caste, should prefer to have their own people
about them, but not at all creditable that Europeans, all probably
calling themselves Christians, should despise and degrade a people who
are a part of themselves and begotten by them. It is said that a person
always hates the one he has injured. As a Saxon, I have often thought of
what I would have felt, if my father had made me an Eurasian. For some
months, every morning, there passed my house, a fine well built man,
clad in native clothes, going to his work at five rupees a month. I
frequently conversed with him and found him quite intelligent. It
appears that his father a Scotchman, years ago, on coming to India took
up a native woman by whom he had several children. When his time for
furlough came he gave the woman a few rupees and said, “Salaam.” He
married a beautiful Scotch lassie, she no doubt believing him to be a
chaste Christian gentleman—and returned to India. Other children were
born, were well educated, and these young Scotch Macdonalds are in the
service receiving one thousand to two thousand rupees a month, while the
other poor devil of a Macdonald has to be content with his five rupees.
I often thought as I saw the man, that if my father had played such a
scurvy trick on me, I would have cursed him by daylight and by candle
light, month by month, and year by year, up hill and down dale to my
latest breath and before high heaven I think I would have been right in
doing so.”
Thus ended my mercantile life. It was all confined to single entry, as I
never had a chance of making a double entry to any of the houses. I
visited the libraries but it was not worth while; being managed wholly
by natives, what could be expected? the botanical garden and saw the
great tree spreading out, as if it would protect and shelter everybody
like the Indian Government, but very poor protection and shelter I found
it, for during a storm that came on I had been better under a beggar’s
thatch; then the Zoo with its monkeys, about as full of tricks as some
of the mercantile men I had met, and the tigers not more merciful than
many human animals; then to the Museum and to the Art School, where
several hundred natives were being taught, but not an Eurasian! Poor
devils! Why should the Government care for their education?
As I had failed in my main purpose, I endeavored to get all I could to
pay for my trip. I got considerable mercantile experience, or rather
experience of the mercantile character that has lasted me for life. I
proved it to be true that experience is what a man gets after making a
fool of himself a number of times, and as experience is about all we get
in life, or take out of it, I tried to be satisfied.
One evening after returning from one of my trips and trying to analyze
this antipathy, prejudice or hatred of the Europeans for the Eurasians I
recalled this saying, “It is said that a person always hates the one he
has injured.” I thought there may be a great deal of truth in this and
further, the Europeans may look upon us as connected with themselves. We
are constant, perpetual reminders of the lustful sins of themselves or
their class. Even Lord Palmerston got to hating Punch for its continued
pictures of himself with a straw in his mouth, and I have read that in a
political campaign, caricatures have more power than argument. It may be
the Eurasian pictures of themselves that the Europeans do not like. Who
knows? What puzzled me then, and what my poor brain has never been able
to comprehend is, that as nearly or quite all the Europeans I met were
what are called Christians, how they could reconcile the hatred and
oppression of a poor unfortunate class with their religious professions.
I leave this to some head, wiser than mine to solve.