The Honourable Mr. Ancram’s ideal policy toward the few score million
subjects of the Queen-Empress for whose benefit he helped to legislate,
was a paternalism somewhat highly tempered with the exercise of
discipline. He had already accomplished appreciable things for their
advantage, and he intended to accomplish more. It would be difficult to
describe intelligibly all that he had done; besides, his tasks live in
history. The publications of the Government of India hold them all, and
something very similar may be found in the record which every retired
civilian of distinction cherishes in leather, behind the glass of his
bookcases in Brighton or Bournemouth. It would therefore be unnecessary
as well.
It was Mr. Ancram’s desire to be a conspicuous benefactor—this among
Indian administrators is a matter of business, and must not be smiled at
as a weakness—and in very great part he had succeeded. The fact should
be remembered in connection with his expressed opinion—it has been said
that he was not always discreet—that the relatives in the subordinate
services of troublesome natives should be sent, on provocation, to the
most remote and unpleasant posts in the province. To those who
understand the ramifications of cousinly connection in the humbler
service of the _sircar_, the detestation of exile and the claims of
family affection in Bengal, the efficacy of this idea for promoting
loyalty will appear. It was Mr. Ancram’s idea, but he despaired of
getting it adopted. Therefore he talked about it. Perhaps upon this
charge he was not so very indiscreet after all.
It will be observed that Mr. Ancram’s policy was one of exalted
expediency. This will be even more evident when it is understood that,
in default of the opportunity of coercing the subject Aryan for his
highest welfare, Mr. Ancram conciliated him. The Chief Secretary had
many distinguished native friends. They were always trying to make him
valuable presents. When he returned the presents he did it in such a way
that the bond of their mutual regard was cemented rather than
otherwise—cemented by the tears of impulsive Bengali affection. He had
other native friends who were more influential than distinguished. They
spoke English and wrote it, most of them. They created the thing which
is quoted in Westminster as “Indian Public Opinion.” They were in the
van of progress, and understood all the tricks for moving the wheels.
The Government of India in its acknowledged capacity as brake found
these gentlemen annoying; but Mr. Ancram, since he could not imprison
them, offered them a measure of his sympathy. They quite understood that
it was a small measure, but there is a fascination about the friendship
of a Chief Secretary, and they often came to see him. They did not bring
him presents, however; they knew very much better than that.
Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty was one of these inconspicuously influential
friends. Mohendra was not a maharajah: he was only a baboo, which
stands, like “Mr.” for hardly anything at all. To say that he was a
graduate of the Calcutta University is to acknowledge very little; he
was as clever before he matriculated as he was after he took his degree.
But it should not be forgotten that he was the editor and proprietor of
the _Bengal Free Press_; that was the distinction upon which, for the
moment, he was insisting himself. The _Bengal Free Press_ was a voice of
the people—a particularly aggressive and pertinacious voice. It sold for
two pice in the bazar, and was read by University students at the rate
of twenty-five to each copy. It was regularly translated for the benefit
of the Amir of Afghanistan, the Khan of Kelat, and such other people as
were interested in knowing how insolent sedition could be in Bengal with
safety; and it lay on the desk of every high official in the Province.
Its advertisements were very funny, and its editorial English was more
fluent than veracious: but when it threw mud at the Viceroy, and called
the Lieutenant-Governor a contemptible tyrant, and reminded the people
that their galls were of the yoke of the stranger, there was no
mistaking the direction of its sentiment.
Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty sat in the room the Chief Secretary called
his workshop, looking, in a pause of their conversation, at the Chief
Secretary. No one familiar with that journal would have discovered in
his amiable individuality the incarnation of the _Bengal Free Press_. On
his head he wore a white turban, and on his countenance an expression of
benign intelligence just tinged with uncertainty as to what to say next.
His person was buttoned up to his perspiring neck in a tight black
surtout, which represented his compromise with European fashions, and
across its most pronounced rotundity hung a substantial gold
watch-chain. From the coat downwards he fell away, so to speak, into
Aryanism: the indefinite white draperies of his race were visible, and
his brown hairy legs emerged from them bare. He had made progress,
however, with his feet, on which he wore patent leather shoes, almost
American in their neatness, with three buttons at the sides. He sat
leaning forward a little, with his elbows on his knees, and his plump
hands, their dimpled fingers spread apart, hanging down between them.
Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty’s attitude expressed his very genuine anxiety
to make the most of his visit.
Ancram leaned back in his tilted chair, with his feet on his desk,
sharpening a lead pencil. “And that’s my advice to you,” he said, with
his eyes on the knife.
“Well, I am grateful foritt! I am very much ob_liged_ foritt!” Mohendra
paused to relieve his nerves by an amiable, somewhat inconsequent laugh.
“It iss my wish offcourse to be guided as far as possible by your
opinion.” Mohendra glanced deprecatingly at the matting. “But this is a
_sir_rious grievance. And there are others who are always spikking with
me and pushing me——”
“No grievance was ever mended in a day or a night, or a session, Baboo.
Government moves slowly. Ref—changes are made by inches, not by ells. If
you are wise, you’ll be content with one inch this year and another
next. It’s the only way.”
Mohendra smiled in sad agreement, and nodded two or three times, with
his head rather on one side. It was an attitude so expressive of
submission that the Chief Secretary’s tone seemed unnecessarily
decisive.
“The article on that admirable Waterways Bill off yours I hope you
recivved. I sent isspecial marked copy.”
“Yes,” replied Ancram, in cordial admission: “I noticed it. Very much to
the point. The writer thoroughly grasped my idea. Very grammatical
too—and all that.” Mr. Ancram yawned a little. “But you’d better keep my
name out of your paper, Baboo—unless you want to abuse me. I’m a modest
man, you know. That leader you speak of made me blush, I assure you.”
It required all Mohendra’s agility to arrive at the conclusion that if
the Honourable Mr. Ancram really considered the influence of the _Bengal
Free Press_ of no importance, he would not take the trouble to say so.
He arrived at it safely, though, while apparently he was only shaking
his head and respectfully enjoying Mr. Ancram’s humour, and saying, “Oh,
no, no! If sometimes we blame, we must also often praise. Oh yess,
certainlie. And _efery_ one says it iss a good piece off work.”
Ancram looked at his watch. The afternoon was mellowing. If Mohendra
Lall Chuckerbutty had come for the purpose of discussing His Honour the
Lieutenant-Governor’s intentions towards the University Colleges, he had
better begin. Mr. Ancram was aware that in so far as so joyous and
auspicious an event as a visit to a Chief Secretary could be dominated
by a purpose, Mohendra’s was dominated by this one; and he had been for
some time reflecting upon the extent to which he would allow himself to
be drawn. He was at variance with John Church’s administration—now that
three months had made its direction manifest—at almost every point. He
was at variance with John Church himself—that he admitted to be a matter
of temperament. But Church had involved the Government of Bengal in
blunders from which the advice of his Chief Secretary, if he had taken
it, would have saved him. He had not merely ignored the advice: he had
rejected it somewhat pointedly, being a candid man and no diplomat. If
he had acknowledged his mistakes ever so privately, his Chief Secretary
would have taken a fine ethical pleasure in forgiving them; but the
Lieutenant-Governor appeared to think that where principle was concerned
the consideration of expediency was wholly superfluous, and continued to
defend them instead, even after he could plainly see, in the _Bengal
Free Press_ and elsewhere, that they had begun to make him unpopular.
Ancram’s vanity had never troubled him till now. It had grown with his
growth, and strengthened with his strength, under the happiest
circumstances, and he had been as little aware of it as of his arterial
system. John Church had made him unpleasantly conscious of it, and he
was as deeply resentful as if John Church had invested him with it. The
Honourable Mr. Ancram had never been discounted before, and that this
experience should come to him through an official superior whom he did
not consider his equal in many points of administrative sagacity, was a
circumstance that had its peculiar irritation. Mohendra Lall
Chuckerbutty was very well aware of this; and yet he did not feel
confident in approaching the matter of His Honour and the higher
culture. It was a magnificent grievance. Mohendra had it very much at
heart, the _Free Press_ would have it very much at heart, and nothing
was more important than the private probing of the Chief Secretary’s
sentiment regarding it; yet Mohendra hesitated. He wished very much that
there were some tangible reason why Ancram should take sides against the
Lieutenant-Governor, some reason that could be expressed in rupees: then
he would have had more confidence in hoping for an adverse criticism.
But for a mere dislike, a mere personal antagonism, it would be so
foolish. Thus Mohendra vacillated, stroking his fat cheek with his
fingers, and looking at the matting. Ancram saw that his visitor would
end by abandoning his intention, and became aware that he would prefer
that this should not happen.
“And what do you think,” he said casually, “of our proposal to make you
all pay for your Greek?”
Mohendra beamed. “I think, sir, that it cannot be _your_ proposal.”
“It isn’t,” said Ancram sententiously.
“If it becomes law, it will be the signal for a great disturbance. I
mean, off course,” the Baboo hastened to add, “of a pa_cific_ kind. No
violence, of course! Morally speaking the community is already up in
arms—_morally_ speaking! It is destructive legislation, sir; we _must_
protest.”
“I don’t blame you for that.”
“Then you do not yourself approve off it?”
“I think it’s a mistake. Well-intentioned, but a mistake.”
“Oh, the _intention_, that iss good! But impracticable,” Mohendra
ventured vaguely: “a bubble in the air—that is all; but the question
i—iz,” he went on, “will it become law? Yesterday only I first heard
offitt. Mentally I said, ‘I will go to my noble friend and find out for
myself the rights offitt!’ _Then_ I will act.”
“Oh, His Honour intends to put it through. If you mean to do anything
there’s no time to lose.” Ancram assured himself afterwards that between
his duty as an administrator and his private sentiment toward his chief
there could be no choice.
“We will petition the Viceroy.”
Ancram shook his head. “Time wasted. The Viceroy will stick to Church.”
“Then we can petition the Secretary-off-State.”
“That might be useful, if you get the right names.”
“We will have it fought out in Parliament. Mr. Dadabhai——”
“Yes,” Ancram responded with a smile, “Mr. Dadabhai——”
“There will be mass meetings on the Maidan.”
“Get them photographed and send them to the _Illustrated London News_.”
“And every paper will be agitating it. The _Free Press_, the
_Hindu Patriot_, the _Bengalee_—all offthem will be writing about it——”
“There is one thing you must remember if the business goes to
England—the converts of these colleges from which State aid is to be
withdrawn.”
“Christians?” Mohendra shook his head with a smile of contempt. “There
are none. It iss not to change their religion that the Hindus go to
college.”
“Ah!” returned Ancram. “There are none? That is a pity. Otherwise you
might have got them photographed too, for the illustrated papers.”
“Yes. It iss a pity.”
Mohendra reflected profoundly for a moment. “But I will remember what
you say about the fottograff—if any can be found.”
“Well, let me know how you get on. In my private capacity—in my
_private_ capacity, remember—as the friend and well-wisher of the
people, I shall be interested in what you do. Of course I talk rather
freely to you, Baboo, because we know each other well. I have not
concealed my opinion in this matter at any time, but for all that it
mustn’t be known that I have active sympathies. You understand. This is
entirely confidential.”
“Oh, offcourse! my gracious goodness, yes!”
Mohendra’s eyes were moist—with gratification. He was still trying to
express it when he withdrew, ten minutes later, backing toward the door.
Ancram shut it upon him somewhat brusquely, and sent a servant for a
whisky-and-soda. It could not be said that he was in the least nervous,
but he was depressed. It always depressed him to be compelled to take up
an attitude which did not invite criticism from every point of view. His
present attitude had one aspect in which he was compelled to see himself
driving a nail into the acting Lieutenant-Governor’s political coffin.
Ancram would have much preferred to see all the nails driven in without
the necessity for his personal assistance. His reflections excluded
Judith Church as completely as if the matter were no concern of hers. He
considered her separately. The strengthening of the bond between them
was a pleasure which had detached itself from all the other interests of
his life; he thought of it tenderly, but the tenderness was rather for
his sentimental property in her than for her in any material sense. She
stood, with the dear treasure of her sympathy, apart from the Calcutta
world, and as far apart from John Church as from the rest.
That evening, at dinner, Ancram told Philip Doyle and another man that
he had been drawing Mohendra Lall Chuckerbutty on the University College
question, and he was convinced that feeling was running very high.
“The fellow had the cheek to boast about the row they were going to
make,” said Mr. Ancram.