That Eurasian

by Aleph Bey

One may make allowance for ignorant men who have always lived in an atmosphere of coarseness and vulgarity, for indulging in talk which seems second nature to them, but I never could comprehend how educated men, boasting of their blood and family descent, claiming to be Christians and gentlemen, can indulge in stories and insinuations that are most repulsive to all but those whose minds gloat and fatten upon salacious garbage.

Mr. Percy could become angry, but always with a reason and a purpose, yet at times, under great provocation, he could be as cool as if nothing had happened. He was once making an experiment in trying to grow seedless oranges. There were only half a dozen fruit on the tree, and while they were ripening he never missed seeing them several times a day, and every one about the place knew his interest in them. The malies were ordered to watch them night and day. One morning all were gone. The malies were instantly summoned. They declared that their eyes had been upon the oranges every minute; they would sooner have plucked out their eyes than to have had the fruit disappear. He knew that one or all of them were guilty, as it was impossible for any one else to have taken the fruit without their knowing it. They were all ordered to the veranda, and the bearer was told to bring the galvanic battery, or bijli ka bockus, as they called it. A large mirror was placed in front of the box. They were told to look into the mirror and to take hold of the handles of the battery and the oranges would be seen in the eyes of the thief. They all exclaimed that the idea was an excellent one. Three of them stood the test bravely, receiving the shocks and looking with eyes wide open into the mirror. The fourth, as he took hold, when the current was increased, cried out that he was dying, and tightly closed his eyes, declaring that the light was so bright that he could not open them. “All right,” said Mr. Percy, “if we cannot see the oranges in his eyes we will look into his house,” and every one went to see the search. Sure enough, the oranges were found hidden in the man’s hut. Mr. Percy did not dismiss the man or even utter a word of reproach. His fellow servants, however, did not let the matter rest, as they often asked him what he thought of the bijli ka bockus. There was no more fruit stolen after that. The report got abroad in the bazar, and probably there were but few in the city who did not hear of the Barra Sahib’s wonderful instrument for detecting a thief.

Once he had purchased a number of sheep to add to his flock. A few mornings after, looking them over, he asked the shepherd where he got those strange sheep. “Why,” said the man, “they are the very sheep his honor bought.” Mr. Percy suggested, “They are very much changed,” and examining them closely, exclaimed, “They have been sheared!” “Sheared!” said the man, in utter astonishment, “is his honor’s servant such a dog as that, to let any one shear the sheep while I am the shepherd?” “Very well,” said Mr. Percy, “put the sheep in the yard and feed them.” He then turned to me and said that we would take our morning ride, as my pony and his horse were waiting.

We rode off to one of the villages near which the sheep had been pastured. Calling the zemindar or head man he asked him if there was any wool in the village, as he wanted some immediately. The zemindar replied that the day previous he had seen one of the villagers carrying some wool to his house, so bidding him show us the place we followed. The man was called and told to bring out all the wool he had, which was quite a load for him. Mr. Percy said it was just the kind of wool he wanted, and told the man to bring it with him at once. He asked the zemindar to come also.

We returned at a walk with the men at our heels. Mr. Percy was so quiet and deliberate that no one would have suspected the purport of this wool gathering. On reaching the sheep-fold the shepherd appeared at the gate. With a glance he took in the whole situation, the zemindar, the purchaser and the wool itself. He stood trembling from head to foot. Mr. Percy sat on his horse silently looking at him for some moments, as it seemed to me, then calling the shepherd by name, he said, “You tell that lying dog of a servant who takes care of my sheep that if he has any more wool to sell that I would like to buy it.”

There was not a coarse or improper word used. There was anger, but it was of that slow, intense, deliberate kind that made every word cut with a keen, sarcastic edge, or fall like a blow upon the man until he could stand no longer, but fell crouching before us and begged that the sahib would strike him, kill him, but not say anything more. I thought that I would have rather taken any number of lashings than those reproachful words. Mr. Percy turned without another word to him, after he had thrown himself upon the ground. He inquired of the man how much he had paid for the wool, and calling the bearer told him to pay that amount and a rupee besides, and suggested that he buy no more wool of the shepherds. He also told the bearer to give the zemindar some fruit for his children, and our morning’s adventure was ended.

I asked him if he was going to dismiss the shepherd. “O, no,” said he, “I might get a worse thief, and he will never shear the sheep again.” He never did, and was one of the most faithful servants ever afterward.

I have known many sahibs since then, and doubt if they would have let such a man off so easily. Most of them, in their wrath, would have thrashed him with a horse whip, or others would have sent him to jail. Though Mr. Percy had his riding whip in his hand, he did not even raise it, and he would no more have struck the man than he would have struck me. He abhorred that brutal custom of flogging the natives, or throwing boots, or anything convenient, at their heads, so frequent among the high born sahib log.

He always made allowances for the circumstances of the natives. Once, referring to the ignorance, poverty and low wages of the people, he said: “If I was so hard pressed as they are, I am afraid I might do a little stealing myself.” He was very kind to the poor, and they all knew him as their friend.

Early on each Sunday morning, there would be a crowd of the lame, blind, diseased, old, decrepit women and mothers with sickly, starved children, in our compound. As soon as we had taken our tea, which was very early, he would say: “Now, Charles, let us go to our religious service. We will not say, ‘Let us sing, or let us pray,’ but we will worship God in giving something to His poor.” So we would go out, he, with his bag of rupees, anas and pice, which he had ready, and each of the Lord’s poor would come up to get their share. He never trusted this to the servants. This was his personal service unto God, and he performed it devoutly as if he felt God himself was there seeing it all, and I have no doubt He was.