One of the first lepers to hear of my visits to the asylum was a girl, Kate Reilly, who lived in a crowded quarter of the town, and who sent for me to go and see her. The person who came with the message looked like a respectably-dressed shopkeeper, quoted several texts from Scripture, by way, I suppose, of stimulating me into going to her friend, and wound up by telling me of all that she had done for her. When I saw Kate afterwards, she told me to come again of my own accord, and not oblige her to send Mrs. ——, who always charged her cab hire when she executed any commissions for her. I experienced some difficulty in seeing Kate when I first called. The address given me by the woman who came to my house was in a lane off Chandney Choke, one of the lowest and most thickly populated of the slums of Calcutta. It is here one may see exposed for sale everything that it is possible to imagine, from a hammer and nails or a button hook, to a complete outfit for man or horse. Side by side with legs of thin miserable-looking mutton will be seen a set of harness, gaudy and cheap; saddles that make one feel sorry for the unfortunate horse or pony on whose back they will be placed; hats and bonnets trimmed with bits of satin of the most showy colours procurable; bedsteads, tobacco, sweets, padlocks, old books, and a thousand and one miscellaneous articles repose on the benches of Chandney Choke. Drunken sailors, and soldiers, in Her Majesty’s uniform, earning an honest penny by selling the Salvation Army’s War Cry, half-caste loafers, mulattos and “shady” characters from every quarter of the globe seem to be always prowling about there in search of money or adventure. Knowing that it would be unsafe for a lady to go alone into any of these dens, I asked a gentleman friend to accompany me, and I drove as well as I could through the crowd till we came to the lane where Kate Reilly lived. Here the road was too narrow to drive along, so we alighted from the trap and walked to the house. There was a number on it, but no door, only an archway. On entering it I was conscious of the well-remembered “faint” smell of leprosy; so knew we had arrived at the right address. We passed through the archway into a small yard in which a number of Eurasian children were playing. The yard was enclosed on all sides by houses, which were inhabited by several poor families. Kate Reilly occupied a couple of rooms on the ground floor of one on the right-hand side. As I was preparing to make for this room, the door of which was open, I was met by a native (Mussulman) woman, engaged in cleaning her cooking utensils. Without getting up from the ground where she was squatting, she told me that no such person as the one I mentioned lived there. On hearing my voice, Kate called out from within in English, “Oh, yes; I’m Kate Reilly, I want to see you!” The native woman then said in Hindustanee that the “Miss Baba, had no clothes on.” “I can soon put them on,” called Kate from within. The woman finding herself beaten, made a last effort to prevent my seeing her mistress by running to tell her that a “sahib” (gentleman) was with me! This announcement, happily did not prevent her coming quickly. When Kate presented herself before me at the door of her room, I was horrified on seeing her. Her feet were enveloped in bandages, her legs were almost covered with sores, while an arm that was exposed to view was a mass of decay and corruption. She wore a dark petticoat reaching a little below her knees, a chemise and a red shawl thrown over one half of her shoulders, leaving the bad arm, which was too sore to be put in contact with any clothing, bare as I saw it. She is a young woman of about twenty-four years of age, of Irish parents, and has a sister a nun in a Catholic convent in Calcutta. This sister, she said, is not permitted by her religious Order to visit her, or go into the world; so she is left entirely at the mercy of the native woman, of whom I have written. Kate told me that she has well-connected relatives, but they never go near her. Her uncle pays the rent of her room, but the rest of her wants are supplied by a charitable lady, who allows her the equivalent of 30s. a month, but who is leaving for England at the end of this year, when she fears such money will no longer continue to be paid her. She was greatly troubled about this, and asked me if I thought someone would send money when her allowance was stopped. She also told me that she was very miserable in the hands of the native servant, and had tried hard, but without success, to get a native Christian woman to attend her; for if she were to die she would not like to be alone with a heathen. She said she would willingly go to the Government Leper Asylum, if suitable accommodation was provided. She had been there some years before, but was unable to stay in a room with native lepers. She asked me if things were changed now, and if she could obtain a room to herself, or one in which only white women were, if she went. I had to tell her that she could not, and, except for the fact of being entirely alone and at the mercy of her servant, she was more comfortable in her own little room. On asking if I could bring her anything, she told me she would like a mackintosh sheet, for her sores were so troublesome that she could not sleep in comfort without one. She also asked me to visit her as often as I could, and to bring others who would be her friends when I left India, as I was shortly about to do.
CHAPTER X.
ARCHDEACON MICHELL—DISPOSAL OF OUR FUND—THE LEPER CAT—THE IDIOT BOY.
As our stay in Calcutta was drawing to a close, and as I was loth to leave my leper friends without first having succeeded in interesting some influential lady or gentleman in them and their sad state, I wrote to Archdeacon Michell, and gave him a full account of my work, and asked him if he would take over my fund money, and do his best for the lepers after my departure. He sent me a kind letter in reply, promising to comply with my request, and asking me to appoint a day when he would visit with me the Leper Asylum, and also Kate Reilly. On the following Tuesday the Archdeacon and I, accompanied by Mrs. Grant, my husband and Brother John, visited the lepers in the asylum, and Kate Reilly, who were all delighted on seeing so many friendly faces. Kate Reilly thanked us again and again for coming, and gave Mrs. Grant a few small commissions. She also asked for a little underclothing, and endeavoured to impress upon Archdeacon Michell her immediate want of a Christian female attendant. She told me that she had heard of a native Christian woman who was at that time living with a man, who was going away, when she could come as attendant to Kate. On remarking that this did not appear to be quite the sort of person to choose, poor Kate said that there was no such thing as choice in the matter, that only the most degraded outcasts would care to attend to lepers, and that no one would consent to take up such work if they were able to obtain a livelihood in any other way. The Reverend Mr. Michell seemed much impressed by what he had seen, and promised to go and visit Kate Reilly and the other lepers on future occasions. We arranged that he should take over what money I had left in my leper fund, and keep the books, and that Brother John would continue to visit the lepers every week as usual, taking with him anything they might require, and giving to each European and Eurasian leper a rupee, as I had been in the habit of doing. He would hand in the account of all money expended in this way, to Mr. Michell. Before leaving Calcutta I spent about £20 of the fund money in the purchase of cotton chemises, wrappers, nightgowns, and handkerchiefs for the women, and shirts for the men in the Leper Asylum; as it is necessary during the intense heat of Calcutta to change one’s underlinen frequently. When I first saw the lepers, they were complaining bitterly of the want of clean linen, and were delighted when I was able to procure a good stock of it for them. Healthy persons, even among the natives who can afford to do so, change their linen frequently during the hot weather. Those who possess no change of clothing can be seen washing their single suit, while performing their ablutions at one of the numerous tanks or bathing places in the city. If the intense heat makes bathing and a change of clothes so imperative among all persons, rich and poor, my readers will at once recognise the necessity of providing those afflicted with a loathsome evil-smelling disease like leprosy with a liberal quantity of clean linen; at least, during the hottest months of the year. I used to pity poor Daisy and Bella very much in the terrible heat. Bridget had no sores, nor did she seem affected at all like those poor girls; for there was never any bad odour discernible in her little room. I may mention that one of the peculiarities of leprosy is that those suffering from it can bear heat very badly. Hence, lepers, as a rule, like to sit in the shade and to keep out of the direct rays of the sun. I have often heard them complain that their blood seemed to be on fire. The skin of the Jewess had changed to a strange blue colour, possibly by reason of the medicines she had taken, but she was not disfigured with loathsome sores like Daisy and Bella; though she used to complain of a very unpleasant smell from her skin. Everything, even the texts on the walls in the room where Daisy was, seemed to reek of leprosy. Anyone, even with the most blunted feelings, would shudder on coming in contact with this awful smell, and could hardly fail to suggest the necessity of disinfectants for subduing it. Bridget, who was fond of animals, though I do not know how she managed to feed them, had a cat given her by Mrs. Grant. In due course, this pussy became a mother, and greatly to Bridget’s delight, presented her with a fine family of tortoise-shell kittens. Mrs. Puss has, I believe, contracted leprosy; for her face is much disfigured; her eye-sight has almost gone, and water was running down from her eyes, just as I have noticed in the case of certain lepers. Brother John drew my attention to this strange cat, and both of us agreed that we had never seen anything like it before. I read, some months after, that the doctors engaged on the Leprosy Commission in Simla had inoculated some rabbits with the bacillus of leprosy, and that on being killed a short time afterwards leprous tubercles or nodules had been found in their bodies. After reading that rabbits can become inoculated with leprosy, I have no doubt that Bridget’s cat is afflicted with the disease, and, probably, her kittens also. In India it is not safe to stroke cats or dogs, or to allow them to sleep in beds with children; for it is possible for them to transmit disease from place to place. Sorry as I would be to deprive poor Bridget of any small pleasure, I must say that I do not think a cat should be kept in a leper Asylum; for it is almost impossible to keep one shut up or control her movements at all times, and there is nothing to prevent her, after having been stroked by lepers, and licking their sores, from going to a healthy person and being kissed and fondled by young children.
I drew the attention of the public, through the medium of our paper, to a native idiot boy, who, though not a leper, had been an inmate of the Calcutta Leper Asylum for a long time. It appears, from what Mr. McGuire told me, that some years ago, a native child who was deformed in such a manner as to render walking or standing impossible, and who used to move along the ground in a sitting position, was found outside the leper Asylum. The lepers had fed him and he, although not a leper, had been allowed to live with them in the Asylum. When I remarked on the danger of allowing him to live entirely with lepers, and to eat and sleep with them, and suggested his removal, Mr. McGuire informed me that there was no place where he, a deformed harmless lunatic, could be put, and that he had lived with the lepers for many years, being doubtless perfectly happy. This boy is in the Calcutta Leper Asylum at the time of writing, and, so far, has not developed any indications of having contracted the disease. Another native, a very bad leper, was turned out of the Asylum into the streets for misbehaviour. Here we have a leper covered with sores expelled from the Asylum by Mr. McGuire, and with, I presume, full sanction of the Commissioner of police, for refusing to maintain order within its walls. In the Bombay Asylum there are cells for refractory subjects; but in Calcutta they are sent out with their disease and misery into the streets to mix with healthy persons, and to prove a source of danger to all those with whom they come in contact. They are not again entitled to even the wretched shelter and protection afforded at the Calcutta Leper Asylum. It is high time that such scandals as these were made known, and that prompt action be taken by Government for the segregation of very bad lepers like the man of whom I speak; for when he called on me at my house to tell his story, his running sores were without bandages, and my little boy was playing quite close to where he was squatting. Besides, in the crowded Bazaars of Calcutta, he would come into close contact with a number of healthy native children, who go about quite naked, and who might become inoculated with this disease.
CHAPTER XI.
THE NUNS OF LORETTO CONVENT.
I am very glad to say that I received much kind sympathy and help in my work from the Nuns of the Loretto Convent. Although a member of the Church of England, I found the Reverend Mother Provincial, Mother Mechtilda, Mother Antonia, and the sisters at Loretto House, took the deepest interest in my labours among the lepers, and used, by their kindly advice and monetary assistance, to encourage and aid me in every possible way. I first became acquainted with them through sending my little boy to school at their convent in the hills. During the hot weather, it is found necessary to send as many children as their parents can afford to pay for, away out of the heat of Calcutta, to the cooler climate of Darjeeling or any adjacent hill station, where the little ones remain till the temperature becomes sufficiently cool for them to return to their studies in the plains. I sent my boy one season to Darjeeling with the nuns, and it was when arranging for his trip that I first met my kind friends. I used to like going to them; for all was very peaceful at Loretto. It was no uncommon sight to see a beggar seated at the convent gate eating a meal that the nuns had brought him; it being their custom never to send a hungry person away without giving him any food there might be in the convent. Poor persons, knowing this, used often to get a meal from the nuns. When I rang the bell I was always certain of a warm-hearted reception; for one or more of my friends were sure to be at home, and, being all Irishwomen, my welcome was cordial and sincere. Their pretty drawing-room was in no way richly or grandly furnished; but comfort rather than effect was studied within the convent.
The glare of the sun was shut out, fresh flowers were always on the table; while the gold and silver fish swimming about in a bowl looked cool and refreshing. A number of religious engravings and a quantity of exquisite crewel work, which was done by the pupils and nuns, gave the room a more homely look than one usually finds in drawing-rooms abroad.
The nuns themselves, in their clean white gowns, devoid of drapery or any ornamentation, are so kind and womanly that one’s heart goes out to them at once. Before I had known the dear old Mother Provincial an hour, I found myself telling her of all my woes and troubles, and, encouraged by her kindness, I felt better able, after such visits, to do battle with the world; for there is nothing so comforting as the genuine sympathy of one woman with another. She would give me an encouraging tap on the shoulder, and say, “Go on, dear; continue to do your best for those poor lepers, and we will pray for you; all the nuns will pray for the success of such a work as yours. It is so nice to see the young thoughtfully working for the sorely afflicted.” Mother Provincial not only encouraged me with words, but she got up a subscription among the nuns and sent me a sum of money for my leper fund. She did all this in her quiet, sweet way, knowing that I professed a different creed to that of her own; but she waived all prejudice, because she thought I was doing a good work. I have nothing but the pleasantest and most grateful recollections of the nuns; for I invariably found them the same kind friends, through good and evil report, all the time I was in Calcutta. They must have heard and read enough deprecatory remarks about me to have turned them entirely against me, had not they thoroughly believed in my sincerity; for interested persons, who did not believe that anyone would work in an honest cause when actuated only by motives of justice—we won’t say charity—wrote their views about me in the local papers, in which they tried to hold me up to derision. However, the public, knowing that I personally had nothing to gain, and that I could find no possible pleasure in going into the haunts of disease, other than that of aiding those who could in no way help themselves, gave me their support, and money was sent me from time to time to spend on comforts for the lepers. I think I have to thank the nuns for a great deal of the money that came to me; for these ladies possess unbounded influence among a large number of right-thinking persons, and they used it on behalf of the lepers, so that many rupees were sent to me through them.
One day I caused no little surprise and amusement by asking Mother Mechtilda to come and take afternoon tea with me. It was from her I learnt that they never leave the convent except to go to another, nor do they walk in the public streets. I ventured to say that it was a pity such good women should shut themselves up when they might be doing work in the world among the poor and sick. “We are not,” they replied, “permitted by our Order to go out; we teach the young. There are nuns, sisters of charity, the Little Sisters of the Poor, and many other Orders, whose work takes them into the world. We teach and help to clothe poor children.”
While telling me this, a bell rang, and the Mother, asking me to excuse her, knelt down in the room where we were sitting, and prayed for a few minutes, after which we resumed our conversation. I should have liked to have asked her what bell it was that summoned her to prayer, but did not like to discuss such a solemn subject as this would be to her. They never sent me away without a nice bouquet of fresh flowers, which would be picked from the garden while I waited. This pretty token was generally accompanied by a hearty “God bless you” as I turned to leave the convent. They were not so exclusively devoted to serious subjects as to forget the bodily wants of their visitors. On hot days a refreshing glass of iced lemonade and biscuits were always ready, and one’s requirements often anticipated with kindly forethought before they were made known. I am sorry to say that I was hurried away from Calcutta by telegram before I could pay a farewell visit to my kind friends. I feel sure I have no more sincere well-wishers in this work than the nuns of Loretto Convent, the memory of whose kind words and actions shall always be gratefully treasured up in my heart.