At last we were homeward bound, having “done” Europe, Turkey, Egypt, and
seen various objects of interest in Bombay.
It gave me the greatest satisfaction that my wife was delighted with my
home, our home. We had made many purchases, and for several months, as
we were in no hurry to end this great pleasure, we were busy in
unpacking and arranging our treasures. One of our chief delights was in
the large stock of excellent books added to my already quite extensive
library. I had always delighted in books, and those of the best authors
on every variety of subjects. It is a gratification to find so many
different views, even on the same subject, and one can appreciate the
wise saying, “It is one of the special dispensations of an all-wise
Providence that every plank has two sides, and that no man is able to
see both sides at once.”
When in trouble enough to crush life out of me, I resorted to my
library, and when despised and shunned by those around me I found
never-failing friends and companions in my books, and pleasure in my
flowers, so that I could well appreciate the beautiful lines of Lander:
“The flowers my guests, the birds my pensioners,
Books my companions and but few besides.”
I have been an omnivorous devourer of books, and cannot enumerate them.
Sydney Smith, when asked of the books he had read, replied, “I cannot
tell you a thing about them, neither can I catalogue the legs of mutton
I have eaten, and which have made me the man I am.” What now greatly
pleased me was that my wife also was a great reader, not of the
flippant, superficial stuff, but of the more substantial sort, so that
with our mutual tastes and an abundant supply of books, we were a world
to ourselves, and society was not a necessity to us. She knew enough of
India to be aware that those not in the ring or clique of the civil or
military services were tabooed as not in society. This prejudice or
class pride is something I never could comprehend.
This is a queer, mad, man-made world though Providence has provided the
materials.
It is amusing to watch the antics of society. Once, on a train, two
young officers traveling third-class to save money, at a station just
before they reached their journey’s end, slipped into a first-class
compartment to save appearance, and make their friends think they
traveled first-class. This was but an innocent deception compared to
that of an officer in high position who always went second class, yet
signed a declaration on honor, that he traveled first-class, and so got
his first-class allowance.
Society has a horror of anything not first-class in India. It will pinch
and pare in private, that it may spread its tail feathers like a peacock
in public. The Stoics had a belief that the peacock was created solely
for its tail, and these society folk may have the same notion about
themselves. I have known a woman, a lady, cut down the wages of her
half-starved servants, and squabble over the price of some cheap
vegetables, who would put down a large subscription for a testimonial to
some swell whom she had never seen or cared a pin about.
We, that is, my wife and I, had never spoken of my Eurasian descent, yet
I could but feel that she was conscious of its disadvantages. Who could
be in India, among its Christian people, only for a few months, without
seeing the upturned noses of refined, Christian ladies and gentlemen,
when a reference was made to any one who had been touched with the
racial tar brush?
“But why the——do you always bring this up?” some one may ask. I don’t
bring it up, for it is always up with me.
“For that dye is on me,
Which makes my whitest part black.”
I might as well be asked why I carry my nasal organ about with me, or if
people should ever be hitting this facial protuberance of mine, why
should I take offense? Even a worm will turn if trod upon. When we were
on our train in the railway station in Bombay, a lady looked into our
apartment, and remarked to her friend: “There’s an Eurasian in there, we
will find another place.”
At one of the stations where we stopped for breakfast, as soon as I took
my seat at table, a man, I only knew he was a padri by his clothes,
arose and went to the other side. He probably, the next Sunday in his
service, read, “Since God hath made of one blood,” etc., but this was in
his prayer-book, and what he did at table was of a weekday color. In
company, at times when others were introduced with a smile and a shake
of the hand, some were so afflicted with frigid faces and stiffness in
their necks that I scarcely got a smile or a nod.
I would not lisp a word about this if it were not for their passing as
people of culture and refinement, and more, or worse, as Christians.
While away from India, I almost forgot that I was born under a curse,
but I was so forcibly reminded of it on the steamer, returning, and on
reaching Bombay, that my old feelings came back with renewed vigor, more
so on account of my wife. I endeavor to act like a man. I will not say
gentleman,—as that seems to be a special society made article of which I
think God is ashamed and disowns—and with courtesy and kindness, but I
am instantly and always in India, made to feel that I am an intruder, as
I really am. But who was the author of my intrusion and the cause of my
confusion? Therein is the sting and bitterness.
Instead of asking why I, or we, cannot let this subject drop, should not
you, high-toned merchants, ladies, gentlemen, teachers, preachers,
Christians, followers of Jesus, all of you, show that your practice has
some relation to your creeds and professions? My experience had taught
me what to expect, and I was prepared for anything that might happen,
even the worst, and this nearly always did occur. A man may rough it and
bear any amount of brunt for himself, but if he has a particle of soul
of manhood in him, as a husband, he cannot bear the thought of a slight
or a snub to his wife without taking offense, especially when he is the
innocent cause of it.
We were a kingdom by ourselves, and supremely happy, yet I knew we must
see people and I was in constant dread. The time soon came.
There were to be some sports, and all the station were expected to be
present. Even society likes a crowd to look on, though the unregenerate
residuum are kept outside the ropes. I thought this a good opportunity
to make our first public appearance, so in our phaeton, drawn by a pair
of the best steppers in the station, we were driven to the parade
ground. I saw that our coming excited considerable curiosity, and to
tell the truth, I was not the least displeased at this. A number of my
acquaintances came up to greet me, for I had some friends, and don’t
wish it to be understood that because there are lots of cads and snobs,
that I think all the better class of people belong to these grades. I
was proud of this recognition. I have always had pride as every one
should have, and mine, myself being the best judge of it, was an honest
kind, based on my good intentions and self respect as a man. I never
forgot the saying of Mr. Percy, “Charles, be a man.” He was a man who
hated any false way, a manly, noble man, pure and clean, true as steel,
and one in whom Jesus, or any other good person, would have been
delighted as a companion, a friend without guile. To be a man, to have
subdued all the baseness that pertains to the flesh, and to have the
honesty, purity, courage and nobility that belongs to real manhood, is
what it seems to me to be Godlike. When one has reached that condition
he has obtained what the religious call “salvation,” and is prepared for
the life to come. There are so many pigmies—no that is not the word—as
they are only pigmies in goodness, but giants in evil—coarse-minded,
foul-worded, sordid and base in everything, deceivers and seducers,
living in the slime and filth of vice. They are the eels and slugs of
humanity, living in the mud, while the pure and good are like the
delicate trout that can live only in the springs at the source of the
streams, but here I am going astray again.
I said that I had pride. I was proud of my wife and the way she received
my friends. There was not a woman present who was her superior in
appearance, manners or dress, and I knew, with her spirit, she could
hold her own with the best of them, and I was not mistaken. As others
came up to our company a white-haired, white-faced, flashily dressed
swell, with an air of self-importance, putting his one-eyed glass to his
eye, bowed to my wife with the remark, “Pardon me, but doncher know, I
think I must have met you before.” This was said with a bold,
patronizing air, with a London cockney tone and accent. My wife not at
all disconcerted, with a laugh in her voice, replied, “Oh, yes, Mr.
Smith, I remember you well. It was years ago, in Roorki, at a croquet
party, when you told me that if I preferred that Eurasian I could do so.
And to show you that I made use of the liberty you gave me, allow me to
introduce you—Mr. Smith, Mr. Japhet, my husband.”
I would rather have lost the value of my best horse than to have missed
that scene. It was so sudden—a flash of Irish wit. Mr. Smith scarcely
nodded, though I made as graceful a bow as I could. His white face
turned scarlet, and he seemed to be stricken dumb with all eyes upon
him. I think he would have blessed his stars if the stand had broken
down at the risk of killing a score of people, if a woman had fainted or
a horse had rushed among us, but nothing happened.
I think it was not her words alone, but the sight of me, “That
Eurasian,” one who had claimed to be the son of Mr. Smith, the
Commissioner. This seemed to give a paralysis to his mentality. For a
few moments, an age it seemed, he stood gazing as if trying to get the
remnants of himself together, he, slightly bowing, turned away with his
blushes thick upon him. I saw at a glance of the company that my wife
had made her first innings with great eclat. There is nothing like
winning at the start. It gives courage to the winner and commands
respect from others. I need not say that I felt intensely pleased with
my wife, not only for the independent, capable spirit she showed, but
for her brave recognition of me, her husband. How else could I feel? I
must also say that I was greatly pleased with the utter discomfiture of
my white-faced brother, Mr. Smith. Some very goody-good people might say
that such a feeling was wicked, but I cannot help that. I confess to
being a little wicked at times, but my wickedness is not of the low,
debased kind. I despise stealing, and yet I would delight in tripping up
a thief who was trying to escape. In the same spirit, I am delighted
when impudence and arrogance takes a tumble. The theory is, that when
you are smitten on one cheek you should turn the other also for a smite,
but when is it ever put in practice? I doubt if it is practicable. I
know that if I had acted in that way, I would not only have had both my
cheeks knocked away, but would have lost my head as well. I have a
theory of my own, which is this, especially in dealing with Christians.
They always teach the turning the other cheek doctrine, though they
never act upon it. Yet, as a man of honor, I am bound to take them at
their word, that they always do as they wish to be done by. So, when any
one of them hits me on the one cheek, I must logically believe that, as
a gentleman and a Christian, he wishes me to do unto him as he did to
me, and I give him as good in return, and, to show my generosity, go him
a little better as interest on his investment. How am I to do
differently?
If, when he states his doctrine, I should doubt his word, he might say I
was no gentleman, so when I take him to mean just what he says, he
certainly should not find fault with what he gets.
I know there is much of preaching that becomes extorted, tired out,
completely exhausted before it reaches practice. It is strange what
different notions there are. Once a prominent Christian defrauded me out
of quite a sum of money that I had loaned to assist him. He was not
poor, or I could have overlooked the debt. After waiting, running and
dunning him until my patience was exhausted, my temper raised to welding
heat, and I was on the verge of using, not the Queen’s English, but
rather that of King George the Fourth, this very religious debtor of
mine said, “Mr. Japhet, I am afraid you are not showing a Christian
spirit.” The cheek of this pious cheat and thief, talking “Christian
spirit” to me! I scarcely need say that I gave him a little of his
personal biography that he probably did not relate to his family or
friends. There is a great deal of what the English call “rot” in all
this pious twaddle among some religious people that is repugnant to my
taste, heathen though I be.
I accept what the noble Lord Tennyson has said, “I am Calvinist enough
to have a willingness to be damned for the glory of God, but I am not
willing to be damned to satisfy the hatred, pride and hypocrisy of men
no better than I am.”
One morning one of the headmen of my villages came to my house in a
great state of excitement. It appeared that an ofiun walla sahib had
come into the district and had sent his police to take away a number of
the cultivators. To understand the matter myself, I went without any
delay, and found that some of the best men had been taken, for what
purpose the people did not know. I went several miles further, where I
found a large tent under a tree. In front, at a table, sat a European
surrounded by a number of policemen. Before him were several hundred
natives seated in rows upon the ground. I sent my card and asked for an
interview, which was granted. I explained who I was, that I was the
owner of some villages, that as some of my ryots had been taken I had
come to make inquiries. He replied that he was the agent of the Opium
Department, and had been ordered by Government to come into the district
and arrange for the cultivation of opium. He said it would be a good
thing for the people, as he would make contracts and give advances on
the crop. I made no objection to his statements, knowing well the
absolute and despotic power of a Government officer, and that any
argument in opposition from me would defeat my purpose; that it was the
best policy for me to be as docile as possible. I wished to get my
people released, and I well knew that if I showed any fight he would
exercise his power and I would inevitably be defeated. The Hindu proverb
is a good one. “Soft words are better than harsh; the sea is attracted
by the cool moon, and not by the hot sun.”
After hearing all his statements, I replied that I was trying some
experiments with new kinds of seeds, in the rotation of crops, deep
ploughing, and in the introduction of imported cattle, and that it would
greatly interfere with my plans if the people were diverted from them.
He at first demurred, because his men had told him that there was very
rich land in the villages best suited for opium; that he would like also
to experiment in his line. This he said with a smile, as if taking me on
my own ground, that a few patches of poppy would not interfere with my
purposes. I then went on my knees, metaphorically speaking, and begged
him as a special favor that he would grant my request. My earnest
pleading as a suppliant must have touched him, for he at once said, “Mr.
Japhet, as a special favor, under the circumstances you have stated, I
will release your men, though it may make discontent among the people of
other villages.” He then gave an order for my ryots to be called, and
they went away greatly relieved, and as they afterwards told me, were
very grateful for what I had done. After thanking the officer for his
kindness, I took my departure.
I have often thought of this incident, and to tell the truth, have been
ashamed of my cringing attitude in order to carry out my purpose. But
what else could I have done? When one, unarmed, meets a brigand who
points a pistol at his breast, even the bravest of men will deem it best
to surrender and deliver the contents of his pockets, expressing thanks
to his assailant for his courtesy in not discharging his weapon. It is
very easy to talk about courage when there is no danger in front of you.
The natives of India are accused of being cringing and truculent, of
being invariable liars and deceivers. How could they be anything else?
They have been subjects of tyranny and deception for a thousand years or
more, when not only their little property, but their lives, were at the
absolute disposal of their rulers and the robber minions of Government,
so they have become inevitably what they are.
As I left the presence of the Sahib and had reached the road, a rather
elderly Hindu of fine appearance threw himself on his knees in front of
me, and putting his arms around my legs, he touched his forehead upon my
boots several times. This was done so quickly that I had not time to
check him. Then lifting up his head and still on his knees, he held up a
paper in one hand and five rupees in the other. He said that the ofiun
walla sahib had made him sign a contract by which he was to cultivate a
certain amount of land for opium, and had given him five rupees as an
advance on the crop. He said that it was contrary to his religion,
against his caste and his dastur or custom to raise opium; that he
wanted to raise food for his bal batchas, children, and begged of me to
intercede with the sahib and get his contract annulled. He pleaded most
piteously. I lifted him up and talked with him. I told him that the
sahib was a Government officer, while I was only a zemindar, and that if
I went to him he might become angry and double the contract. I certainly
was disposed to help him, but I knew that if I interceded for him I
would have hundreds of others at my feet, and there would be no end of a
hullabaloo, and the sahib would have his own way in the end and make it
even worse for the people. “Why awaken sleeping leopards?” “It is no use
to sharpen thorns,” are common Hindu proverbs.
I learned afterwards that numbers went to the Collector of the District,
who was as much of an autocrat and a despot in his way as was the other.
He always resented any one foraging in his pasture. He wrote an
indignant letter to the opium agent, and the latter replied that if the
collector would attend to his own business he might find enough to do.
Such was the commencement of opium growing in that district. There were
about a million people in the district, and I doubt if any one of them
had ever seen a poppy head until it was raised under the forced
contracts of the opium agent. I was well acquainted with the district,
had traveled everywhere in it, and had never seen a sign of opium either
among the people or in the fields; and I question if there ever had been
an ounce of opium used unless in medicine given by the doctors. The
people did not want it in any shape, either for use or cultivation.
Why then was its cultivation forced upon these heathen, as Christians
delight to call them? Simply and solely for revenue, for the money there
was in it. The contracts were of the strictest kind, and the slightest
violation of them would make a man a criminal. The plots of land were
measured and recorded, the methods of preparing the soil, the time of
sowing the seed, the collection of the juice and the saving of the
refuse, were all minutely detailed. Every particle of the plant worth
anything had to be delivered to Government under pain of fine and
imprisonment, and for all his labor and anxiety the ryot got only a
pittance, while the Government received a profit of nine hundred per
cent. No one ever raised opium under these contracts but at a loss
compared with what he could have received from his usual crops.
There was no local market for the opium when produced. Probably not a
pound a year would have been purchased by the inhabitants if left to
themselves. In order to facilitate the use of a drug of which the people
were happily ignorant and did not want, the Government licensed men in
different places to sell it, and even then there were no sales. To begin
the trade these licensees were then ordered to give away samples, and so
by degrees the people were educated in the opium habit. In a few years
quite a number became confirmed opium users, and the evil, like the
virus of a disease inoculated in the blood, spread over the district
with its usual demoralizing effect.