My leper friends

by Alice M. Hayes

CHAPTER I.
SETTLING IN CALCUTTA—OUR “SPORTING NEWS.”

In the early summer of 1888 my husband and I found ourselves enjoying a well-earned holiday in Japan. He, I may explain, writes books about horses, which have rendered his name widely known among English readers; and having a special talent for making these animals conform to his wishes, he conceived the idea of going on a tour, with the object of teaching all he knew about “breaking” to those interested in the subject. In England, horses, as a rule, are so well “made” that the equine instructor finds much difficulty in illustrating his lessons. But abroad the case is very different. In India he had, during the year he was there, hundreds of buck-jumpers, man-eaters, jibbers, and other refractory creatures, the subjugation of which gained him great credit, as well as a goodly sum of money. Even in China, from which we had just come, there were plenty of examples among the sturdy Mongolian ponies to test his skill and patience. When a horse or pony, which previously would not allow anyone to mount him, was reduced to obedience in an hour or two, a side-saddle was usually put on him, and then I mounted him, took up the reins, put him through his paces, and jumped him over some improvised fences. Although our work “caught on” wherever we went, it proved somewhat monotonous, and I longed for a settled home after this continued round of hotel and steamer life. My husband wanted to go to California, and then on to New York, while I suggested India, where I had spent a pleasant time in the indulgence of my then hobby—theatricals. In those days I looked upon my dear old teachers—Mr. Hermann Vezin, Mr. John MacLean, and Miss Glyn Dallas—as the greatest of man and womankind, and thought more of a favourable notice in some obscure local print of my acting, than of the praise in the Field and Graphic accorded to my riding, when my husband gave a performance at Neasden, near London, in aid of the funds for the “Home of Rest for Horses.” Knowing what a charm novelty had for my husband, and wishing to get back to India, I suggested the advisability of his going to Calcutta and starting there a sporting paper, which, with his name as editor, would be sure to draw! My counsel proved so acceptable that I had only barely time to pack up my boxes and get them on board the French mail, for which my husband had taken tickets. We arrived at Calcutta, started our paper, and, in a short time, settled down to our work as journalists. This came easy to my husband, as he had been connected with the press for many years, and not very difficult to me, as I was deeply interested in the success of our venture, and had been accustomed, during my travels, to write articles for various papers. My rôle on our Sporting News was that of dramatic and musical critic, as well as that of describing events of passing interest, with a certain dash of sporting flavour, from a lady’s point of view. The habit of observation which was forced on me probably sobered down my thoughts a good deal; for I was gradually led to pay more and more attention to the sadder aspects of human life, which were but too common around me. In India, I found death was such an intimate acquaintance that his terrors, in the case of others, were too often regarded with callous indifference; and that the fact of the English residents being but temporary sojourners made them disinclined to support permanent charitable institutions, although they are extremely liberal, at the time, when personally appealed to, in the cause of suffering humanity. With the view of counteracting the apathy displayed by the local public towards its institutions for the good of the poor, and to furnish readable “copy” to our paper, I began a series of articles called “Calcutta Charities.” One day while I was writing, my husband came back from a visit to an old broken-down jockey, who used, many years ago, to ride for him, and who was then living in the Calcutta Almshouse. He told me all he had seen in this institution, and I became so interested in it that I resolved to call and see its female inmates.

CHAPTER II.
BROTHER JOHN—MR. McGUIRE—GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS—THE LEPER ASYLUM—AN IRISH WOMAN—THE JEWESS—DAISY AND BELLA—A DEATH SCENE—EURASIAN LEPERS.

I took with me, on the occasion of my visit to the almshouse, a friend, Brother John, of the Society of St. Paul, who was engaged in the work of the Calcutta Seamen’s Mission, under the direction of his superior, the Reverend Father Hopkins. I became acquainted with Brother John through Father Hopkins, who called and asked me to sing at one of his weekly concerts for sailors in Bentinck Street, arranging to send Brother John to take me to the place in a cab. Father Hopkins said, “You must not be shocked on finding the brother a rough sailor, who drops his ‘h’s’ and is afraid of women, never having been accustomed to ladies’ society. You will find he has a good heart. The sailors all like Brother John.” On the evening appointed, the brother arrived with the cab for me. He was shown into our drawing-room, and was evidently keeping those refractory “h’s” of his well under control, for I could not get him to talk at all, and thought him rather stupid, as he sat nervously clutching his hat. Afterwards, when he knew me better, he told me that he suffered agonies on that evening, and begged Father Hopkins not to depute him to fetch me, but to send, instead, Brother Paul, who knew how to behave to ladies. Poor Brother John little knew me, if he thought that the mere fact of his being insufficiently educated would render me heedless of the many good traits in his fine character! I liked him as soon as he had overcome his nervousness enough to permit of his saying, “I hope you’ll excuse me if I’m not accustomed to ladies’ society. I’m only a rough sailor, and I don’t know how to speak or what to say to ladies. I get along all right with the sailors. I’ve never had any education, and I feel the want of it now badly.” This honest speech of his made me his friend at once, and I often went to the sailors’ concerts after that night. He was one of nature’s gentlemen, who seemed always able to say and do the right thing instinctively, and whose quiet, simple manner would command the respect of his fellows. I used to like going with Brother John every week to visit the sick sailors in the Calcutta hospitals. On such occasions he would provide a good supply of plug tobacco (beloved of Jack) and newspapers. It was while going our weekly round one day that I mentioned my intended visit to the almshouse, and arranged with him to accompany me.

When we arrived at the place, we were shown into the office of a soldierly-looking man of about sixty years of age, who was evidently a thorough disciplinarian. He was obliging and communicative; and told me he had read with pleasure my articles on “Calcutta Charities” in our paper, and heartily endorsed every word I had written. He said a great deal more, and before I left the office showed me his discharge certificate from the Army, in which he had been a sergeant, and also his Mutiny medal. We went with him over the male ward of the almshouse. I need not describe the occupants; poor things! They all looked becomingly miserable. I think there were some Eurasians among them, but the majority were pure Europeans. Mr. McGuire—for that was the superintendent’s name—asked us to stay and see them fed, as it was their dinner-hour. We saw stew being doled out of a big saucepan into small bowls and put on a table. Each bowl was taken by its owner to a long, bare table, with forms down each side, and the meal, after grace being said, commenced. I felt uneasy while watching the poor things eating as if they were animals, so made a move to the women’s quarters. As we walked up the stairs to the top of the building set apart for females, Mr. McGuire called out, “Mrs. Smith!” and the matron of the place, a woman of about forty, appeared. I spoke to her but little. She showed me the women working at a table, mending or making house linen, and also their rooms. The inmates themselves took small notice of me: they looked bored and sad, evidently remembering that visitors who give them no substantial help, but who beam on them with a patronizing smile, are in these parts as common as they are useless. I felt that I should have liked to have spoken to the poor women, and to have asked them if I could help them in little presents of tea or other things; but Mr. McGuire seemed to have divined my wish, for he told me they live very comfortably, having everything they could reasonably wish for as paupers. The word “pauper” jarred on me, but I said nothing as I gazed sorrowfully on them. One old woman, evidently with bad sight, was trying to hem a quilt. She appeared to be working under such difficulties on account of her eye-sight that I thought a pair of spectacles might be got for her. However, she was a “pauper,” and paupers are not beings to be favoured with such luxuries! I asked if I might read to them once a week, but was referred to the committee of the District Charitable Society for permission, which I applied for, but received no answer to my letter. If I had been given the least encouragement, or even sanction to have done so, I could have provided these poor women with many little comforts; but I was not. Brother John said little, but was as much struck with the defensive attitude of the officials as I was; for he was the first to speak of it on our way home.

I must here explain that Indian institutions, like the one in question, are usually presided over by Government officials, who have little time to spare from their routine work for the exhibition of sympathy and practical kindness. The climate, too, greatly militates against philanthropic efforts in the cause of unpaid duties. Hence, the tendency to shift the onus of superintendence on subordinates, whose actions their superiors have to support, or to burden themselves with a large amount of personal attendance. With such an alternative, the choice generally accepted can easily be guessed. As long as things go outwardly smoothly, the subordinate draws his salary, plays the vicarious part of big man, and no doubt enjoys the well understood perquisites of such offices. If a public exposé takes place, the high official gets worried and questioned about a subject with which he has failed to keep himself in touch; the subordinate sees with dismay the chances of his direct and indirect emoluments being snatched from his grasp. Hence, the entire staff bitterly resent any journalistic comments on their working that are not wholly laudatory. All such officials, therefore, act on the principle of L’état, c’est moi. “If” say they, “you have got anything to find fault with, report it to me; but don’t write to the papers.” If the would-be reformer acts contrary to this dictum, he will make such officials his bitterest enemies. In such an ignoble category, men like Dr. MacLaren, superintendent of the Dehra Dun Asylum, and Mr. Ackworth and Dr. Weir, of Bombay, find no place; for their object is not to gain credit for charitable work they do not perform, but to relieve and comfort those under their kindly charge.

We were about to depart from the almshouse when I espied a number of low red-brick buildings enclosed in a small compound on the opposite side of the road. On inquiring the name of the place, I was told it was the Leper Asylum. “May I go over it?” I asked the superintendent of the almshouse. “Yes, if you are not afraid,” he replied; “I am also superintendent of the Leper Asylum; but I may tell you that I have never taken a lady over the place before.” I looked at Brother John, and asked him if he would prefer to wait for us outside, or go into the abode of leprosy. He said he would like to accompany us; so we all went. I had frequently seen and pitied lepers in the streets; but had never before been brought into communication with them.

The illustration facing this page will give my readers an idea of the leper, as he is to be seen in the Indian public thoroughfares. We throw the poor things a few coppers in passing; but, as there are no lepers in England, the majority of us know little about the horrible disease from which they suffer, and are therefore inclined to regard them as ordinary beggars. I had read “Life and Letters of Father Damien,” and from that little book, which was lent me by the nuns of the Loretto Convent in Calcutta, I learned something of leprosy; just enough perhaps to make me wish to know more and to see for myself what was the condition of the sufferers.

A Leper Beggar.
[p. 12.]