CHAPTER XII
POOR FOLK
Virtue is the best of friends, vice is the worst of enemies, disappointment is the most cruel illness, courage is the support of all.- SLOKA.
It is not among the Kitty Kirkpatricks and Skinners that the chaplain is destined to find a sphere of labour. The Eurasians who come under his spiritual charge in South India, and who most need his care and attention, do not as a rule rise above their low-born and low-caste ancestors. A great many of them bear Portuguese names, and are in complexion almost as dark as the darkest natives. Up to the beginning of the nineteenth century the women wore the Spanish mantilla. And though bonnets were assumed by a few of the more enterprising, the black lace shawl was the favourite head- covering. The French and English shawl succeeded the mantilla, and to this day it is worn by the lowest class. The darkest and poorest of the Eurasian women cling tenaciously to their old-fashioned dress; and generation follows generation without seeing any change from the skirt and jacket the skirt, ungored and voluminous; the jacket, loose and concealing the figure rather than displaying it which were introduced into the East by the Dutch nearly three centuries ago.
At the distribution of some clothes made by the Children's League in Bangalore, a poor East Indian, who showed a little pride in her personal appearance, was asked if she would not like to wear a hat or a bonnet. She smiled, and modestly cast down her eyes as she replied a little wistfully :
'I should like it much, madam. I have often wished to wear a bonnet like a European.'
'Then you shall have one at once.'
Her brow clouded with disappointment as she answered,
'I am afraid I cannot wear it, madam. My neighbours would say I was making myself too glorious.'
And so with a hypersensitiveness to public opinion the coveted bonnet was refused.
Their expressions are often quaint, and their English is spoken with the foreign accent of the native. They have the same rapid enunciation. A debased Portuguese was formerly the lingua franca between Europeans, Eurasians, and Asiatics. It was in common use at all the ports of Ceylon as well as of India, and it served the traders equally well in Bombay and Calcutta as in Colombo and Madras. It has gradually fallen out of use and given place to English. Clive owed his life to his knowledge of it on one occasion, when he accidentally found himself alone and surrounded by sepoys in the service of the French. Hearing the familiar Portuguese, they took him for an officer belonging to their own army, and permitted him to pass on.
The faults of the poor Eurasian are the immediate causes of his poverty : unconquerable laziness, innate untruthfulness, and an inherent dishonesty under temptation. Never was there a class more lacking in principle without actually being criminal. It is these traits that weigh down the pauper Eurasian and render him a standing disgrace to the community. It is a pity that this particular class cannot be known by some other name. 'Poor Eurasian' instead of 'poor white' would not be inappropriate, since he is more worthy of pity than of condemnation.
Our first experience of poor Eurasians was in the almshouses belonging to the cathedral district. Here old people were provided with a room and a dole of money, which they spoke of as their pension, regardless of the true meaning of the word. The women earned a little extra money by doing plain needlework. They were expected, both men and women, to attend the daily services at the cathedral. They were without exception gentle creatures, grateful for any notice, and full of self-pity. Any little gift of clothes or money that came in their way was eagerly accepted. Begging was strictly forbidden. It must often have been a sore trial to refrain from this favourite pastime of the poor Eurasian. Begging seems to be a second nature with them, and it comes as easy as purring to a cat.
There was a certain Mrs. Brewer at Bangalore when I was there, who begged round the officers' quarters regularly. Nothing but death would have stopped her; and for all I know her ample figure may still be familiar to the young men. When the 21st Hussars were stationed at Bangalore, the officers soon became used to the sight of Mrs. Brewer, standing among the ferns and crotons of the front verandah, and to the sound of her plaintive voice. They gave her relief, pitying her condition of widowhood and destitution. In course of time their pity was mingled with ire. The whining voice, pouring forth the same old tale, fell on their ears at inopportune moments, and her visits were often a serious interruption to the occupation of the day.
One of the young men, more practical and energetic than the rest, determined to take the old lady in hand. He questioned her as to how much she needed to support herself in comfort. Mrs. Brewer was taken aback by this sudden interest in her domestic arrangements. She considered the matter for a few moments. In days gone by she and her husband had existed happily on twenty-five rupees a month and had brought up a family upon it. She looked at the handsome cavalry officer as he waited for her answer. Twenty-five rupees a month would be nothing to him, and it was more than she could make by begging. She replied with a world of commiseration in her tone that she thought that she might manage to 'push along' one of the expressions learned from the early settlers on twenty five rupees a month.
The hat was sent round. Not only was the sum promised, but additional rupees were subscribed to purchase an outfit and a few bits of furniture for the old lady. A small but comfortable house was taken at six rupees a month, and the chaplain was asked to disburse the odd nineteen on behalf of the officers of the 21st. One condition was attached to the charity : Mrs. Brewer was to promise faithfully to abstain from all begging.
The plan answered admirably for six months. At the commencement of the seventh Mrs. Brewer arrived at the chaplain's quarters, and he tendered her the usual nineteen rupees. No eager hand was extended to receive the money. On the contrary, she shook her head in a dispirited manner and whined in mournful tones :
'Sir, I cannot take it.'
'Can't take it? What do you mean?' cried the astounded chaplain. Never in the course of his experience in India had he known a Eurasian of her class to refuse money.
'I cannot take it ; it is too dull for me.'
'Too dull ? ' he repeated, more bewildered than ever.
'Yes, sir ; if I take this money I cannot beg. When I go out walking I have nothing to do and nowhere to go. I have no other amusement, and my life without it is so dull that it is affecting my health. Therefore, sir, I shall be much obliged if you will thank those very kind officer gentlemen and return their money to them. Tomorrow I will begin my rounds again, first selling these clothes which are too good to beg in.'
So Mrs. Brewer's spirits revived and her health was restored as she once more perambulated the station in suitable costume, taking her exercise regularly and earning her livelihood like other honest folk, if begging can be termed earning.
In India, where the weather is warm and congenial to the country-born, there is no hardship in sauntering through the cantonment, calling at the houses of the Europeans. The excitement of uncertainty, and the triumph of success when the rupee is bestowed—more often to get rid of the importunate beggar than to relieve visible distress—are sufficient to render the tramp round the station interesting, if not actually exciting.
Frequently the begging is done by letter, which is carried by one of the children of the family, who thus receives its first lessons in the art. The following epistle was brought by a smiling chubby little one, who pattered up to the verandah of the chaplain's sitting-room with bare feet over the warm dry sand. She handed the missive to the padre, as the chaplain is known among them, with a confident smile that seemed to anticipate a welcome rather than a rebuke.
'Reverend Sir,—Pardon me troubling you with these lines. I humbly beg to state that I and my four children are perishing with hunger and can't no longer keep up. I hope you will be ever kind to help me to cool the burning stomachs of my children, for which act of charity I shall feel thankful. I remain, Reverend Sir,
- 'Your obedient
The 'perishing' little one, who acted as messenger, was offered some tea by way of cooling the burning without delay. She ate the bread and jam and drank the tea with no sign of voraciousness or starvation.
One more out of a large number of similar epistles may be given. There is a family likeness in them all, variety occurring more through eccentricities of spelling and grammar than in the matter. This came by the hand of a small boy whose appearance did not support his mother's statements.
'Reverend Sir,—I take the liberty of addressing your venerable honour with following pitiful lines, and hope my unfortunate condition will move your charitable com- passions. I have received from your reverence one rupee four months ago. And my poor young children are dying for food these two blessed days. I therefore beg to throw myself and four children before your pious footsteps for aid. In doing me this act of charity shall ever pray. I beg to remain, Reverend Sir, your Reverend's obedient servant
The small boy on being questioned about his midday meal spoke of a salt-fish curry. Any chutney with it? No, mother had no money to buy chutney; the children had to eat it without.
The term 'starved' is not understood by the writers of such letters. With them starvation means to go with- out something to which they have been accustomed, the obligation of breakfasting off rice-cakes and water instead of bread and coffee, and of eating dhall curry when the more expensive curry of meat and vegetables would be preferred. In times of famine the Eurasian must of course feel the pinch of real privation; but in ordinary seasons the pangs of hunger can be assuaged for a very small sum. For a yet smaller sum a man may drink himself blind. It is some consolation in reading espistles of this kind to know that the 'starving' and 'famishing' little ones are more likely to be crying for cheap native sweetmeats than for food.
The habit of begging is contracted in earliest infancy, and every incident reasonable or unreasonable is made an occasion for it. An able-bodied man employed as a writer or booking-clerk by a native shopkeeper was expecting a domestic event shortly in the bosom of his family. He appeared with an insinuating smile and pleaded for a rupee to pay the hire of a gharry to take his wife to hospital. He was given four annas and told to send her in a bullock-cart, her usual mode of travelling when unable to walk. He accepted the sum gratefully, pocketed it, and his wife walked to the hospital which was not far from her house. A day or two later he came to announce the birth of the child. He finished with an earnest request for half a rupee to buy some milk for the new arrival. The hospital did all that was necessary for its inmates ; neither mother nor child needed anything. This was pointed out to Lloyd, who was further informed that the baby would not need cows' milk yet awhile. After a lecture on the reprehensible practice of begging he was sent away. A third time his importunate voice was heard in the verandah. This time he begged for a little money, just a little money to buy the baby some clothes.
'When your wife comes out of hospital I will see about it. You are earning a regular salary as a writer, and can afford to buy clothes for it yourself.'
Lloyd departed, and the next day saw him at his old trick again. He was in the verandah as insinuating as ever.
'Now, Lloyd, I can't have this. This is the fourth day within a week that you have come up here to beg.' 'Yes, sir ; please, sir.'
He put on an expression of mingled self-complacency and deprecation that disarmed anger.
'But you mustn't do it ; it is very wrong.'
'No, sir.'
'And I have nothing to give you. Go back to your work, or your employer will dismiss you.'
'He has given me leave for an hour, sir.'
'Well, I can't do anything more for you, and you must go, for I am busy.'
'Please, sir, the baby '
'The baby is all right. I saw your wife and child yesterday. They are doing very well indeed at hospital, and have everything they want.'
'Yes, sir ; but, master, please give '
'I won't give you anything more.'
'Please, one little thing your reverence can give, and I won't ask for anything more.'
'What is it?'
'Will your reverence please to give a little baptism ? '
'Oh, yes, when the time comes. Now go to your work, Lloyd, and don't come bothering up here again.'
'Not till next week, sir? '
'No, nor the week after that.'
They are but big babies themselves these poor Eurasians, and it is impossible to be very severe with them.
In the matter of dress they are favoured. The needs of the climate demand so little that it becomes more a matter of decency than of warmth. Abroad the women of the poorer classes wear the skirt, jacket, and shawl, as has already been mentioned. Their under-garments consist of a long 'camisee,' as they call it, and a petticoat. Boots are optional, and stockings only kept for special occasions. The men wear shirt, trousers, and coat, with a European hat of some sort ; and they are very particular about carrying a walking-stick, which is entirely for show. In the privacy of their homes, where ventilation and punkahs are unknown, they lay aside as many of their garments as decency permits.
After a short experience of surprise visits, which were as much of a surprise to myself as to the people I called upon, a timely notice of the proposed visit was given beforehand. When this was done I found the rooms swept, the fowls expelled, a chair placed in the centre of the room for my use, and the whole family beaming in their Sunday best. The visit was a pleasure to all concerned, and there were no uncomfortable moments on arrival, nor long waiting while a hurried toilette was made. The chaplain, however, was not always able to send notice of his advent. The absence of a child from school or the report of sickness in a family gave no time for heralding his visit.
There was an old European pensioner who had married an East Indian wife and had adopted the country as his home. For half a century she had been his faithful helpmate. The children were all out in the world, and the old couple jogged comfortably along on his pension. They were regular in their attendance at church ; he in spotless white drill, and she in black silk gown, white lace shawl, and flowery bonnet. One Sunday they were missing from their usual seats ; and on the Monday the padre, fearing that one of them might be ill, called at their house to inquire if all was well. He entered the little front-yard and walked quickly to the door of the living-room which opened into the yard. There stood the old lady, her feet apart, her arms akimbo, and in her mouth was a long Trichinopoly cheroot, from which she puffed columns of blue smoke into the morning air. She wore nothing but the one cotton under-garment known as the 'camisee.' It was long and voluminous and reached to her ankles. She was serenely contemplating three leggy fowls that were finishing a matutinal meal of boiled rice. For ten seconds she remained motionless, stupefied by the unexpected appearance of the padre at that unusual hour. Then, gathering her scattered senses, she bolted into some hidden recess at the back of the house and disappeared from view.