CHAPTER XII.
MEDICINE—NO WARM BATHS—AN UGLY LOOKING-GLASS—CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE LEPER ASYLUM—THE LEPER BOY—MR. BAILEY.
At the Leper Asylum things were not looking bright. Dr. Unna’s medicine, which had arrived from London, had not been getting a fair trial. The European doctor under whose supervision it was given, having himself no faith in any of the prescribed cures for leprosy, had not placed his patients under a regular course of treatment. He was a doctor in practice in Calcutta, and we cannot blame him for refusing to personally superintend the treatment of lepers. A practitioner who was known to go regularly among lepers would find people chary of consulting him about ordinary ailments, and his practice would suffer in consequence. The lepers had the medicine; he would give instructions as to its application; but whether they took it or not was their own affair. An inmate of the Almshouse, who had been an apothecary, was employed in giving out the drugs used by the lepers, but there was no skilled doctor to superintend or be present when these medicines were administered. Daisy refused to try Dr. Unna’s medicine. When I asked her reason for doing so, after being so anxious for it to arrive, she told me that she would agree to take the pills, but that a greasy kind of ointment had to be rubbed over the body, and that, as there was no warm water procurable in which she could bathe, she would wait till the hot months, when she could take a bath and wash off the grease. This, I may explain, happened during what is known as the cold weather, when the lepers found it impossible to take cold baths; so preferred, in the absence of any warm ones, to do without. The attendant who was paid from our fund should have been told, if there had been any supervision over her, to provide warm baths for her charges; but being a low-class native woman, who preferred to do as little work as possible for her salary, she, of course, did not care to burden herself with the extra trouble of procuring warm water, when not compelled to do so. Besides, it was altogether without precedent that any “medical comfort,” such as a warm bath, should be allowed to any inmate of the Calcutta Leper Asylum. The Jewess, who had been using the medicine, had, she said, derived much benefit from it. I should have liked to have consulted some of the officials about this medicine, as Kate Reilly had asked for some of it to try; but, although nearly a year had elapsed since I first began my visits to the lepers, these gentlemen chose to maintain their hostile attitude towards me. I asked Mr. McGuire whether any of the ointment could be procured for the use of lepers who were living outside of the Asylum, and he said it could not, so I was not able to give any to Kate Reilly. Bridget troubled herself little about the new medicine; for, happily, there were no sores on her body, none of her fingers or toes were distorted, and she did not appear to be suffering from the lassitude that seemed to so much depress the spirits of the other inmates. She was always ready to burden me with orders for the most ridiculous things, all of which she would have me write down on my tablets in her presence. On one occasion she wanted a doll’s house, and was very angry with me because I failed to find and take one of the kind she fancied. Another day she asked for a looking-glass, as she hadn’t seen her face, she said, for twenty years! I took her a little ornamental thing; but when she looked into it and saw her face, she got very angry and said she had never seen such an ugly looking-glass in her life! I peered into it, and said that it seemed to be all right, “Yes” she replied with her rich Irish brogue, “It’s all very well for the young, no matter how ugly they are, youth is always beautiful. It’s the old people, like me, who want nice looking-glasses.” Brother John smiled at the one-sided compliment I had received, and we agreed to take her another glass that would not “make her look ugly.” As we left the asylum, we heard Bridget’s voice calling “Now, Mr. Jack (Brother John), don’t forget to remember the looking-glass!” Bridget had got into a childish way of wanting everything she saw; so when we used to visit her with things for the other inmates in the basket, she would always pry into it and say, “What’s that?” “Who’s going to get that?” “Why don’t you bring me this?” and so on, till we were obliged to adopt the plan of going to her room after we had been the round of the other wards, and when the basket was denuded of all the things but those that we had brought for her. One day when I told her I was going to leave India, she sent Brother John out of the room, and said in her most coaxing manner, “Give me a good character to the new people who come when you go, or they won’t bring me anything. Don’t tell them that I ask for things belonging to the others; I say, give me a good character to them!” Poor old Bridget had led such a hard life that I suppose it had become natural to her to think of herself before anyone. She was very peculiar at times, and her mind used to wander. She would then talk in a strange manner about her young days. From what she used to say on those occasions, I learned that she had been a corset maker, and used to sit “stitching away night and day, stitching away.” Sometimes she would repeat these words over and over again, and appear entirely oblivious of our presence; then, after talking disjointedly for a few minutes, she would gaze on some flowers I had brought, and say suddenly: “Faded old roses, why don’t you bring me fresh flowers?” I would endeavour to explain that the long drive in the heat from my house down to the asylum had made them droop, and tell her, that if she put them in water they would revive. But while I was speaking she would be “havering” about something else, and not hearing a word of what I was saying. Sometimes, if she thought we stayed longer with Daisy or any of the others than with her, she would get angry and say some very uncomplimentary things about us all; but we used to take it in good part, for poor old Bridget was not quite right in her head. At times she used to almost frighten me with the weird stories of ghosts and devils whom she said she saw walking about the place. She would call me to her and say, “This place is full of devils; there are devils everywhere, and dead bones all under this room. You don’t know what goes on here at night, and they are all devils; I scream and scream and no one comes, because the place is all full of devils.” We used to tell her that it was all imagination; but she was never tired of talking to us about their depredations. She was a confirmed miser, and used to put away all the different articles of clothing I would bring her from time to time, instead of wearing them. She said she wanted them “to keep.” It amused her to have a gay apron or dressing-gown and fold it and put it in a box, in order that she might take it out and admire it, when she wanted something pretty to look at.
My readers will have doubtless discovered for themselves that, among the female lepers, the one I liked best of all was Daisy. Bella was a dear girl too, but seldom spoke to anyone. The Jewess was kind and nice; but, like Bridget, would show great disappointment if I happened to forget anything she had asked for. Daisy was always the same. Whatever I took to her she received with grateful thanks; but, above all, she liked my regular visits to her. She had a good heart, and was full of gentle, affectionate regard for Bella, whom she used to treat like a younger sister. Everything that Daisy said or did was right in Bella’s eyes. The two were inseparable. Daisy, who used to generally superintend Bridget’s ménage as far as she was able, used often to tell me of the old woman’s vagaries, many of which caused general amusement. The Jewess, who spoke with a strong German accent, would at times mispronounce words in a way that would make Daisy laugh. On seeing this, she would get very angry and sulk for a long time. I may mention that some foreigners, like ourselves, have a great dislike to be laughed at, and often treat what is in reality a harmless joke as a serious insult. However, Daisy could not refrain from laughing merrily at times over some of the peculiar mistakes of the Jewess, thereby making that lady so seriously angry that a lengthened coolness between them would be the result. The Jewess would tell me about these squabbles, and ask me to speak seriously to Daisy; but, when I did so, Daisy said that without wishing to give offence or hurt the other’s feelings in any way, she found it impossible to refrain from laughing when the Jewess said such funny things as she often did. As Christmas was fast approaching, Daisy, seconded of course by Bella, asked me to go and see them on Christmas day. She tried to speak calmly about my departure from India, but broke down and burst into tears. Instead of comforting her, I cried too, and felt very sorry and miserable. On Christmas morning I took with me as many gay and cheery reminders of the season in the way of bonbons and “goodies” as I could think of. The male ward had been all decorated by the little leper boy with coloured written inscriptions. “Glory to God in the Highest” was arranged over the entrance to their cheerless abode, and near it, on a square of pink paper, the words, “God bless Captain Hayes, God bless Mrs. Hayes and Brother John.” This remained up on the entrance to the ward for a long time, till all the decorations were taken down. Daisy and the others had not decorated their ward, but they wished us all a “Merry Christmas,” and thanked us again and again for coming on that day into such a sorrowful abode as the Leper Asylum. I found it hard to be cheerful and wish them a “Merry Christmas” in return. It seemed such a mockery to suggest mirth to them. The gay crackers, with their tinsel and bright colours, looked out of place there. Christmas, with its joy and gladness, seemed to bring no comfort to their sad hearts. I admired the decorations in the male ward, and accepted a bouquet of roses from my young leper friend, whose face beamed with pleasure as he handed them to me. The flowers had been most carefully arranged by the child, who is a real artist, with a keen eye for the beautiful, and I felt sorry as I threw away his offering afterwards, when out of sight of the Leper Hospital; for I could not take home anything from that infected place. Daisy had commissioned Mrs. Smith, the matron of the Almshouse, to purchase for me a small workbox, while Bella ordered a blotting-pad, both of which Mrs. Smith was to get and present to me in their presence on Christmas morning. I never remember in my life receiving any presents that I was so pleased to get. Mrs. Smith, Daisy, Bella and myself were all in tears during their presentation, so there was no speech-making or eloquence displayed. I could not even utter a word of thanks, but stood like a fool crying silently, and trying to hide my tears by busying myself in taking the things I had brought out of the basket. Brother John, who had been a spectator of the scene, was shedding tears, too, I think; for he had turned his face away, and was using his handkerchief as if he had suddenly contracted a bad cold in his head. I cannot in any way describe this scene in all its sadness. Poor Bella and Daisy were such very bad lepers that they could not have handed the presents to me, even if they had tried, and it seemed inexpressibly kind of them to get for me their thoughtfully-selected and useful gifts. I tried to say a few cheerful things about Christmas, and to interest them in the gay crackers, cards, and various things I took out of the basket; but my words seemed to fall flat, and a great sadness settled on all of us. Daisy and Bella were sitting together in silence while I deposited my things on their little table; so, as I could think of nothing cheerful to say, nor was able to trust myself to speak it, even if I had, I dried my eyes and went to Bridget’s room. She had a great deal to tell me, and rattled along in joyful glee at seeing all the pretty crackers and cards and the bright colours that she loved so well. The Jewess, too, was very pleased with what we took her, and “wondered who would be so kind to her when I had gone.” I found the men sad and depressed. Ramey, who was not feeling so well as usual, seemed to be much troubled in his mind about my departure, and began speculating where we should all be by next Christmas. He had a favour to ask: it was that I would give him a photograph of myself and husband before leaving, and thanked me very much for my kindness to him. Then tears filled his eyes and he broke down utterly. Little Underwood, the boy who gave me the flowers, on seeing Ramey, began to cry too, so instead of having a “merry” Christmas, ours was an extremely sad one. When I went a short time after that to the asylum to bid them good-bye, I had made up my mind to say all sorts of nice things to them; but none of them were really uttered, for we all cried again. Daisy said, “We won’t say good-bye, but——” whatever she was going to say was not said; for she cried and could not go on. I told them that Brother John would continue to visit them as usual. “Yes,” said Ramey, “but you have fought so bravely for us.” They were all glad, however, to receive the news of Brother John’s intended visits, and I promised that they should hear from me from time to time. I also told them that Archdeacon Michell had consented to interest himself in their welfare. Next day, as I was driving out of my gate, I was surprised to see little Underwood, who had walked all the way from the Leper Asylum to bid me good-bye! He blushed and looked in a most sheepish manner at some drooping flowers he held in his hand, as if ashamed to offer them to me. I could see he was pleased when I accepted them and thanked him. The gratitude of these poor lepers to me for the little I had been able to do for them was very real and honest, and will always remain in my mind as a solemn and holy memory.
The doctors engaged on the Leprosy Commission have visited the inmates of the Calcutta Asylum, have had them photographed, and made a number of inquiries into the antecedents of each leper; but up to the present nothing has been done by Government for the proper housing or immediate relief of these sufferers. What I have written has been done in the earnest hope that their cause will be taken up by some kind people, who will act promptly in establishing them where they will receive the kindness and care accorded to sick people.
Mr. McGuire, the superintendent, is a stern disciplinarian and an admirable man to deal with the number of loafers and bad characters who infest the streets of Calcutta; but he is not equally well suited to administer to the requirements of fragile leper women, who need kind and gentle treatment under their load of affliction. Mrs. Smith, the matron of the almshouse, is a subordinate to Mr. McGuire, and possesses little or no power in her position. I found her a good-hearted woman, who tried in many ways to be kind to the lepers; but, as she unfortunately does not have the handling of any money, she cannot order the requisite changes of underlinen for them or administer to their wants as a woman in authority would be able to do. Mr. McGuire has to be applied to for everything they require, an arrangement which, to be satisfactory, I need hardly say should always be entrusted to a woman.
I was able to obtain a small sum of money from a charitable lady for Kate Reilly, and handed it over to Archdeacon Michell, with the request that it might be spent in providing her with anything she may require, rather than to give it over to the care of the native servant to dispose of as she thinks fit. Brother John has promised to visit her often, and Mrs. Grant will also go as frequently as she can to her, as well as to the Leper Asylum. The other leper pensioners will receive their money from Archdeacon Michell as usual, and I shall try my utmost to keep up the fund; for it is a source of much comfort to these poor lepers to be provided with little things that they are otherwise unable to obtain.
I was interested in reading a short account of the Calcutta Leper Asylum, in a book called “A Glimpse at the Indian Mission Fields and Leper Asylums,” written by Mr. Wellesley Bailey, a Scotch missionary, who visited the Calcutta Leper Asylum in 1886, in which, speaking of January 19th, he says:—“Before breakfast spent an hour and a half in the Leper Asylum and had a very interesting interview with Miss J—— [Daisy]. I read and prayed with her, and she seemed very grateful for the visit, poor thing. I took some books with me, which had been given me by a friend in the north of Scotland, and gave them away to those who could speak English. I only wish my friend could have seen the delight which her gifts produced on that dismal abode, and it would have gladdened her own heart.” Later on we read:—“January 21st. After breakfast drove over (a long distance) to Belvidere to see the Lieutenant-Governor, Sir Rivers Thompson, who was kind enough to spare me a few minutes of his very valuable time. His Honour received me most kindly, and listened attentively to what I had to say. My object in calling was to explain to him the over-crowded state of the Leper Asylum, and to ask him if he would use his influence to get something done before his term of office expired, which it is about to do immediately. He said that the only way the thing could be done was to get the District Charitable Society to move in the matter; and that if they make an application to him he would see what could be done. But the time was short and the formalities which would have to be gone through were long, and so nothing could be done.” With these words Mr. Bailey dismisses the Calcutta Leper Asylum from his book, and proceeds to describe his visit to Darjeeling. He does not mention Bridget, Bella, or the Jewess; probably he was unable to visit all the English-speaking lepers, or he would have done so. Anderson and Phillipe, an Englishman and a Frenchman, are lepers who have recently been admitted into the male ward, so Mr. Bailey could not have met them in 1886.
To use the words of a friend, I may say that the thought of “a good time is coming” for those who suffer in this life is, no doubt, full of comfort to the afflicted ones themselves; but surely this same thought is largely responsible for our indifference to the sufferings of others. So long as the slaves of self are sure that God will “make it up in the end,” so long will their selfishness be justified by their belief. Thus the righteousness of God becomes an excuse for the uncharity of men.
CHAPTER XIII.
LEPERS IN BOMBAY—A LECTURE AT THE SOROSIS CLUB—OUR DEPARTURE FROM INDIA.
In passing through Bombay, just before our departure from India, I called on Mr. Ackworth, the Municipal Commissioner, who has the interests of lepers at heart, and who by dint of much earnest endeavour succeeded in raising Rs. 75,000 for the erection of a Leper Home at Matoonga, near Bombay. In this institution, which is admirably conducted in every way, I saw 210 native male and female lepers. There were no Europeans. Mr. Ackworth informed me that if European lepers presented themselves for admittance at the Home, separate buildings would be erected for them, and their comfort studied as far as possible. I found all the wards well ventilated, and, although there were 210 lepers in the buildings, no unpleasant odours were discernible above the smell of the disinfectants employed. The native women lepers have two female nurses to attend on them, and there is also a competent staff of men to dress and assist the inmates of the male ward. A regular staff of doctors, under the supervision of Doctor Weir, attend the lepers, and a resident surgeon is always on the spot. The Matoonga Asylum is about five miles out of Bombay, and is hidden from the high road by trees and foliage. Mr. Ackworth is having flowers planted in the gardens, with a view of interesting his patients in gardening as a pastime. The lepers in this institution are not allowed to return to their old occupation of begging in the streets. They are told, on entering, that they will never be allowed to go out. Mr. Ackworth possesses no legal power of detention over these lepers, but in order to make them believe otherwise, has discovered an old municipal law which is sufficiently elastic to enable him to use it in clearing the streets and crowded slums of Bombay of lepers and persons suffering from an infectious or contagious disease. On the occasion of my visit, Dr. Weir and Dr. Charles accompanied Mr. Ackworth and myself, and we made the tour of inspection together. I noticed several Catholic rosaries hanging up near the beds of the lepers and found, on inquiry, that these sufferers were regularly visited by their priest. I asked Mr. Ackworth if any of our Protestant clergymen had visited the lepers, and he told me that although one had clamoured to have his name put on the Committee of the Institution, and had got this done; he had never visited its inmates or seemed to trouble himself any further about them! While we were talking, a native leper was led out of one of the male wards by an attendant. He sunk down near the building in a state of great exhaustion, and called out, in his own language, some words which Dr. Weir told me were to the effect that he was dying, and that he begged us to save him. Poor man! he knew that these gentlemen had been kind to him in giving him a home, in binding up his sores, and in relieving his sufferings by all that medical skill could accomplish; so I suppose he thought that men so mighty as these sahibs were; could stay the hand of death, if they so willed. He had accordingly persuaded one of the ward boys to lead him into the presence of his benefactors in order that they might see his misery. He was lifted with difficulty back again into the ward and placed on his bed; for he had craved what no mortal man could possibly give him—life. The rays of the setting sun fell on his face, which showed a piteous expression of misery and despair. I turned away and gazed around at the glorious light of the sun on the sea in the distance—a beautiful blue sea on which numbers of boats with their white sails unfurled were gliding peacefully to and fro—and then on the white tombstones by the hillside denoting the resting place of a few stragglers who have gone before; when Mr. Ackworth reminded me that the shadows were lengthening, and that we should have to start on our drive back. After inspecting the kitchen, surgery and store-rooms, all of which are models in their way, we waved adieu to the many lepers who had congregated to give us their parting salaams and drove away to Bombay. I thought of poor Daisy, Bridget, Bella, the Jewess, and of the male lepers huddled together in that pestilent Calcutta Asylum, and wished I could have transferred them to the kindly charge of Mr. Ackworth and Dr. Weir. As we drove along, Dr. Charles told me that he was about to sail for London on the following day, adding that we ought to try and help Mr. Ackworth in obtaining funds for carrying on his institution. Government allows Rs. 1,000, I think, monthly towards defraying expenses, but Mr. Ackworth wished to enlarge the buildings, as many more lepers were asking for admittance, and funds are needed. Dr. Charles entered heartily into my scheme of providing comforts for the European and Eurasian lepers, and gave it as his opinion that our own people are terribly neglected in India, where almost everything that is done by public charity is for the sole and exclusive benefit of Natives. He promised to do his utmost to help me and my cause if he met me in England, as he considered that it was the duty of every Englishman and woman to assist the sick and suffering of their own country wherever and whenever they could do so.