Richardson and I usually travelled native third-class. We were always able to get an empty compartment, which we would monopolise to the exclusion of the natives. We ordered the poor chaps away as though they had no right in their own country. Conductors do not stay on the trains but remain at the stations where they take up the tickets as the trains arrive. They proved to be a negligent lot and frequently failed to collect our tickets. Richardson saved his uncollected fares and found that they totalled two thousand miles. We were in India two and a half months, travelled over five thousand miles and our railroad fares were only $24.40 each.
We rented bicycles in Trichinopoly. These vehicles were the most decrepit and ancient pieces of machinery in active service on this earth. Richardson's wheel had lost its back pedal feature. In other words, it was impossible to put on the brakes. He could not stop himself unless he fell off or came to a hill. We rode through the crowded streets of Trichinopoly. Rich was a reckless rider. I thought he was trying to kill a native child. With his uncontrollable bicycle it is a mystery to me how he avoided running down several of the thousands of naked little babies who played in the dust of the street. Every moment one of them would dash in front of him. I expected that we should land in jail charged with manslaughter.
Neither Trichinopoly or Tanjore has European hotels and the caste system excludes the unclean foreigner from the native inns. For twelve annas (twenty-four cents) we obtained a clean room on the second floor of the station. It contained a large bed, an electric fan and a private bath. We ate our meals in the station restaurant. Such prices and arrangements are hard to beat.
Life seems to be a battle for coin. I could write a volume on the number of street lights I have seen in different parts of the world over the matter of a few cents. A Japanese coolie will wrangle for an hour over a sen. I have seen a score of Chinese grapple for a cash piece. It is hard to tell what a Filipino wouldn't do for a centavo. However, I think a native of India can kick up more fuss over a two-cent piece than any man alive.
Richardson and I had returned from the Roman Catholic Cathedral in Madras where Saint Thomas is said to be buried. We had made the trip in a double-seated rickshaw drawn by one man. By arrangement in advance the coolie had agreed to make the journey for ten annas. This, we were told, was a generous amount for the distance. I felt that he had had a hard time pulling two heavy men so I gave him a rupee, over-paying him six annas. He wasn't satisfied and bellowed for more. Richardson and I ignored him and went to our room on the third floor of the Y.M.C.A. building. The coolie followed us up the three flights of stairs. He had worked himself into a genuine state of anger. At first it was a pretence. We locked him out in the hall, where he remained at our door for twenty minutes pleading and begging for more money. I made up my mind that he could pursue me to America or haunt me the rest of my life, but I would not pay him any more. I could be stubborn myself. He realised that I had made a mistake in over-paying him in the first place and he now thought that I was a tenderfoot and that I should sooner or later yield. The Y.M.C.A. authorities finally put him out of the building.
The incident did not end here. It became the main topic for discussion among the coolies of Madras. Each time we ventured on the streets a dozen of them would molest us and trail after us jeering and shouting a lot of jargon which we did not understand. They became regular pests and life in Madras grew almost unbearable. We stood firm and resolved not to give an anna more even if we had to fight every coolie in Southern India.
In a few days we left for Calcutta. We rode from the Y.M.C.A. to the railroad station in a bus. As we alighted at the entrance of the station, we were sighted by a group of coolies who made a mad rush at us from across the court. Others dropped their rickshaws and came plunging towards us from all directions like a huge flying wedge. We scrambled into the station, forced our way through the ticket gates, climbed aboard the first car and in two minutes were speeding towards Calcutta. That angry mob would have annihilated us in about five seconds.