# On the Coromandel Coast/Chapter 11

CHAPTER XI
EURASIANS
Take care to spend nothing without hope of profit; to undertake nothing without reflection; to begin no quarrel without good cause.— Sloka.
My life in Madras was not made up entirely of social duties and driving round the suburbs to leave cards at the white palaces of the Europeans. A new phase of pastoral work opened before us with our introduction to Eurasia in Sunday-school and the almshouses.
A chaplaincy, which is a Government appointment paid from the revenues, conveys to the mind of the man who accepts it, that his services are to be devoted to the troops and to the civilians of all grades employed by Government; but these do not constitute the whole of his flock. There is another community that comes under his spiritual charge, the domiciled Europeans and Eurasians who have no employment under Government. The very existence of such a class is not realised by the chaplain until he arrives in the country and personally makes their acquaintance.
In the earliest days Eurasians were termed half-castes, which accurately described the children of English and native parents. As time passed the offspring of pure-blooded parents were outnumbered by the children of the half-castes themselves. These resented the appellation and preferred to be known as Indo-Britons. For two or three generations they were content with this as a term ​to denote a person born in the country and in whose veins ran mixed blood. Like the word half-caste it gradually fell into disfavour; and for a short space all people born in the country, no matter what their parentage might be, were classed officially as natives. This title was more offensive than Indo-Briton, and it was not an exact description of a people who claimed by right of their religion and European descent certain privileges not granted to natives, such as appointment to the civil and military services of the Company.
There was a reason for the use of the term 'native,' which in itself was an injustice to the whole community, and very properly resented. It marked (in 1786) a curious attempt on the part of the rulers of British India to ignore the inherited status of the Eurasian. The Venerable H. B. Hyde, when speaking in 1903 at a meeting of the Eurasian and Anglo-Indian Association, stated the case clearly. He related how the Court of Directors prohibited the wards of the Bengal Military Society, whose mothers were natives, from being sent home to be educated. This order marked the rise of a strange state of feeling on the part of the English in India which lasted for twenty or thirty years. The loyalty of the Eurasians was actually doubted; and a distrust of the whole community was engendered amounting almost to alarm. In 1792 the Supreme Government enacted that no one, whose father or mother belonged to a race native to the country, might be employed in the civil, military, or marine services of the Company, nor command one of the Company's ships. This prohibition was not enough apparently. Three years later it was further proclaimed that no man, unless descended from European parents on both sides, might serve in the European battalions except as musicians. Eurasians were also ineligible to serve on juries. For a whole generation the general policy of the ​Company seemed directed towards the obliteration of any distinction between Eurasians and natives, except that the former were actually debarred from certain employments open to the latter.
In 1825 a movement was organised by the community itself to obtain emancipation from these unjust regulations. John William Ricketts (the son of an ensign in the Engineers who fell at Seringapatam), Da Costa, Wordsworth, Martindale, Imlach, Henry De Rozario (the Eurasian poet), and Charles Pote (the painter), together with other leading men of the race, drafted and signed a petition to Parliament praying for the amelioration of their condition. This petition was entrusted to the care of Ricketts. A sum of twelve thousand rupees was subscribed to meet the expense of taking it home and getting it presented.
Just at the time of Ricketts's arrival in England (1830) Parliament was engrossed with the burning question of reform, and there was little thought for anything else. The petition, however, was heard, and there was a debate upon it in both Houses. Ricketts was examined at length before a Select Committee. He was able to explain in detail the disabilities under which the Eurasians laboured. He pointed out that people of mixed British and Asiatic blood were not recognised as British subjects by the Supreme Courts if they happened to be resident outside the Presidency towns. They were subject to Mohammedan law, and were therefore excluded from the benefits of habeas corpus and trial by jury. They were also excluded from all superior covenanted offices; neither were they allowed to act as pleaders in the Courts, nor could they hold commissions in the King's or the Company's services, though they might serve in the irregular forces. The private schools for the education of their children received no assistance from Government. In ​short the man of mixed blood possessed neither the privileges of the European nor the full privileges of the native.
A second petition was sent to Parliament from Bengal to England in 1831. It reiterated in brief terms the contents of the former petition. John Crawford was the agent this time.
The fruit of the movement so vigorously championed by Ricketts and Crawford in turn was seen in 1833, when clauses were inserted in the Company's revised Charter freeing the Eurasian from the anomalous position he had hitherto occupied in the eye of the law. An Act of Parliament was passed in the same year under which others, besides the covenanted servants of the Company, became eligible for appointment as Justices of the Peace in India. Thus gradually all the old disabilities were removed. In spite of their disadvantages the Eurasians made a position for themselves in private life. They carried on some of the largest mercantile businesses in India and became owners of house property and landed estates. After the recognition of their rights they gave evidence of their worth by distinguishing themselves as civil and military officers and professional men.
When the Eurasian had shaken off the obnoxious term native the title East Indian was adopted. For the greater part of the nineteenth century it was the recognised name of the mixed race. In time it became tinged with contempt and was changed to Eurasian, formed from the words Europe and Asia. Already the same fate is overtaking the term Eurasian, which has grown distasteful to the class; and an effort is being made to adopt the name Anglo-Indian, which has hitherto been applied solely to the English-born resident in India.
By whatever term the community may be known, the name is likely to fall into disfavour through the band of ​ne'er-do-wells hanging on to the skirts of the Eurasian society. To all intents and purposes this band is native in instincts, though it clings pathetically to certain European habits and to English speech. Sometimes they call themselves 'poor whites,' although in complexion they are as dark as the natives. It may be doubted some-times if there is any but the remotest drop of alien blood in their veins. They would do better if they were brought up as native Christians and taught to work like the natives. Many of them, although not actually criminal, are sufficiently degraded to bring disgrace upon the Eurasian proper, and, to use one of their own expressions, to 'spoil the name' of the class to which they claim to belong.
The man of mixed blood, who has as much of the European in him as he has of the native, or in whose veins European blood preponderates, is confronted with many difficulties. The wonder is, not that he falls away, but that he follows so closely in the footsteps of his European forbears. Born in the land of his dark ancestors, and brought up under the enervating influences of the country, he struggles nobly to preserve the traditions of the white man's home. He becomes a useful member of the domiciled Anglo-Indian society, and earns an honest living as clerk in one of the many offices, Government or otherwise, that the country offers. He is also an efficient apothecary, assistant-surgeon, school-master, and railway servant. If fortune favours him with a good education in England, he loses almost all trace of his East-Indian breeding—always excepting racial features and complexion which nothing can eradicate—and he becomes a thorough Englishman. He not infrequently fills some distinguished post, showing his ability to compete with the Englishman. The names of many Eurasian gentlemen will live in history. ​ One fact in the formation of the Eurasian must not be overlooked. A great deal depends upon the classes that unite. There is no doubt that if the best English blood had sought the daughters of the princely houses in India, there would have been born and bred a far more noble race than now exists. Too often the Eurasian has been the result of the union of the worst with the worst. The British soldier of bygone days was a rough, illiterate man, possessing his full share of animalism. He chose his mate from the lowest women, those belonging to the sweeper, the horse-keeper, and the kitchen-woman class. His child at best was no better than himself; too often it favoured its mother, and the result was deplorable. Where Englishmen of higher birth have sought the nobler born of India's daughters the result has been good.
Though the Eurasian has only in recent times made a name and a place for himself in history, he existed long before the English, Dutch and Portuguese went to the East. Timothy, to whom St. Paul wrote, was one, his father being a Greek, and his mother an Asiatic Jewess.
To come nearer home, Thomas a Becket was of Eurasian birth. The love-story of his parents is told in song and verse, and though of the nature of a legend, there is no reason to doubt the truth of the tale. The passionate, emotional nature of the man was enough to testify to its verity; his very faults indicated the Orientalism of his blood.
Gilbert a Becket was a rich London merchant. Fired by the preaching of the Crusaders, he made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, accompanied by a faithful attendant named Richard. Evil times overtook them, and they found themselves the prisoners of a powerful Emir, who made them his slaves. The Emir had a daughter, who fell in love with the fair, handsome young Englishman, ​and, through her good offices, he and his servant Richard made their escape. They fled for their lives to the sea-coast, where they were fortunate enough to secure a passage on a ship sailing to England.
After their departure the Emir's daughter was plunged into grief and despair. Life in the harem seemed no longer endurable, and she determined to go in search of her lover. It was truly the wildest of quests ; but she set forth upon it with an indomitable courage, two words upon her lips, 'London' and 'Gilbert.' Repeating these constantly, she was guided onwards by wayfarer and traveller until she arrived at the port where the ships from the west touched. The sailors heard her plaint, and a kindly sea captain gave her a passage on his vessel to the far distant town. Once again her feet touched the shore, and she stood on the cold misty land of her beloved. Still repeating the talismanic words, she was guided to the great city of merchants. And here chance favoured the courageous lady. She arrived all unknowingly at the house of Becket. Her Oriental garments and strange speech excited the curiosity of the people in the street. They crowded round her, and began to deride and hoot at her helplessness.
Richard the servant, hearing a commotion in the street, went out to see what was the matter. At the sight of him the poor lady flew to his side for protection, recognising in him one of her father's prisoners. He drew her within the strong oak door, which was quickly barred against the clamorous crowd. Gilbert was out at the time ; but when he returned a little later, a great and unspeakable joy filled his heart, as his eyes fell on the beautiful woman, who stood on his hearth and stretched forth her arms towards him with words of love. The merchant, mindful of her honour and his own happiness, consulted no less a person than the Archbishop of ​Canterbury. The lady was baptised by the name of Matilda, and was united to the man of her choice. She bore him a son named Thomas, who became Lord Chancellor and afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. Had he not possessed the strain of hot impetuous Eastern blood–inherited from his mother–which made him reckless of the consequences of opposing his king, England might never have seen the tragedy of his death.
Every whit as romantic as Becket’s are the love stories of the more modern progenitors of the Eurasians. That of Colonel William Linnæus Gardner is very well known; his descendants, who occupy the position of zemindars in an Indian village, being heirs to the barony. Colonel Gardner was a nephew of Alan, first Baron Gardner. He came out in the King’s service, but left it to serve with Holker, for whom he raised a brigade of regular infantry. He married a princess of the house of Cambay, who was only thirteen years old at the time. She lived with him for over forty years and died broken-hearted in 1835, just six months after his death. The story of his marriage as told by himself to Lady Fanny Parkes is as follows:
‘When a young man I was entrusted to negotiate a treaty with one of the native princes of Cambay’ (on behalf of the English). ‘Durbars and consultations were continually held. During one of the former, at which I was present, a curtain near me was gently pulled aside, and I saw, as I thought, the most beautiful black eyes in the world. It was impossible to think of the treaty; those bright and piercing glances, those beautiful dark eyes completely bewildered me.
‘I felt flattered that a creature so lovely as she of those deep, black, loving eyes should venture to gaze upon me. To what danger might not the veiled beauty be exposed should the movement of the purdah be seen by any of those present at the durbar? On quitting the ​assembly I discovered that the bright-eyed beauty was the daughter of the prince. At the next durbar my agitation and anxiety were extreme to again behold the bright eyes that haunted my dreams and my thoughts by day. The curtain was again gently waved and my fate was decided.
'I demanded the princess in marriage. Her relatives were at first indignant and positively refused my proposal. However, on mature deliberation the ambassador was considered too influential a person to have a request denied, and the hand of the young princess was promised. The preparations for the marriage were carried forward.
'Remember,' said I, 'it will be useless to attempt to deceive me. I shall know those eyes again ; nor will I marry any other.
'On the day of the marriage I raised the veil from the countenance of the bride, and in the mirror that was placed before us, in accordance with the Mahommedan wedding ceremony, I beheld the bright eyes that had bewildered me. I smiled. The young Begum smiled too.'
Another soldier of fortune was the son of an English officer and the daughter of a Rajput landowner. James Skinner, after various vicissitudes in the military service of native princes, joined General Lake in 1803. A little later two thousand of the defeated Scindia's Horse came over. When the troopers were asked which officer they would choose to serve under, with one voice they cried out 'Sikander Sahib,' which was their name for him in Scindia's army. He was given the command, and the regiment became the celebrated cavalry corps known as 'Skinner's Horse,' now the 1st Bengal Lancers (Duke of York's). They were given the nickname of 'The Yellow Boys' from their uniform, which was yellow with black facings. They won their laurels during the next quarter ​of a century and made a lasting name for themselves under their Eurasian commander. Compton says that to the end of Skinner’s life an old spoon was placed on his breakfast-table every morning to remind him of his humble origin. In fulfilment of a vow he made on the battlefield of Uniara, to build a church to the God of his father if his life was spared, he erected the edifice of St. James’s at Delhi at a cost of 20,000l.
In the same spirit of humility before noted he often expressed a desire that when he died he should be interred not within it, but under the threshold, so that all persons entering might trample upon ‘the chief of sinners.’ He was buried at Hansi where he died, but afterwards his body was removed to Delhi. Here all that was mortal of the gallant old adventurer was met by the civilians and military officers of the station and a vast multitude from the city, and so escorted to its final resting-place.
‘No Emperor of Hindustan,’ said the natives, ‘was ever brought into Delhi in such state as Sikander Sahib.’
He was laid by the side of his old friend and comrade William Fraser, beneath the altar of St. James’s Church.
A still more romantic story is that of the Madras officer, James Achilles Kirkpatrick. In his case it was the lady who proposed marriage.
Kirkpatrick’s father came out to India in 1738 as a free merchant. He belonged to a branch of the family of Kirkpatrick of Closeburn, and lived at Keston, near Bromley in Kent, in his later years. In 1762 he married Katherine, the daughter of Andrew Munro, the Surgeon of Fort St. George; she was considerably younger than her husband. There were three sons born to James Kirkpatrick. Two of them, William and James Achilles, entered the military service of the Company. William became Resident at Hyderabad and James Achilles joined him as Assistant Resident. Colonel William was a ​well-known Orientalist, and he was often away from the Residency pursuing his researches, making maps, exploring, and recording valuable facts about the resources of the country. In course of time the Colonel went on leave, and his brother succeeded him as Resident.
While occupying this position, Benjamin Heyne of the Madras Medical Service visited Captain Kirkpatrick ; he has left a description of the Residency. It was situated in a large garden wherein grew cypress trees and grape- vines, besides flowers and ornamental shrubs. The garden was on the banks of the Musy, a river that wound round the outer walls of Hyderabad. The house was thoroughly Oriental in its architecture. Probably it was originally a Mohammedan palace. The centre room was lofty, with a roof supported on pillars. Round this hall, which was used as a living-room by the English officer, were a number of curtained alcoves and screened galleries from which in old days the ladies of the harem could watch the occupants.
Kirkpatrick was a man who appreciated Oriental habits of living; he readily adapted himself to his surroundings, and enjoyed the semi-Oriental life in his beautiful palace by the river. He was besides an excellent Persian scholar.
One evening he was sitting alone in the central hall after supper when an old woman craved an audience. Anticipating a request for promotion in the case of a son or nephew he bade her speak. To his astonishment she poured forth an eloquent story of passionate devotion of which he was the object. At first he listened with incredulity, which was not diminished when she revealed the lady's name. It was none other than the beautiful Khair un Nissa, of whom he had heard but whom he had never seen. She was of the purest Arab descent, claiming relationship with the Prophet himself. She lived ​with her widowed mother under the protection of Akil ud Dowlah, her grandfather, and was the darling of his heart. The old man was as proud a Mohammedan as ever lived ; he occupied the high position of bukshi or paymaster to the English subsidiary force.
'Where has the lady seen me ? ' demanded Kirkpatrick, remembering the jealous guardianship of the harem.
The old woman cast a swift glance round the hall with its screens and curtains.
'Huzoor ! Her eyes they are like the stars of heaven first fell upon you in the house of Akil ud Dowlah, the bukshi, as you sat with him in his durbar hall. The hall is like this, and the ladies of the harem are able to see the guests. You talked for more than an hour, and during that time my mistress watched your every movement, never once taking her eyes from your handsome form.'
Kirkpatrick thought of the rigid old Mussulman with all his family pride and traditions, and pictured the rage which would fill his heart could he but hear the story.
'Why have you come? To ask me to leave the country and save a foolish girl from her folly ? '
'Ah, no, Huzoor ! She, to whom you are the very sun of her existence, would die of grief if you left Hyderabad.'
'Then what is it you want ? ' he queried, wondering if the young Begum's folly went so far as to desire a clandestine meeting, a course of action fraught with the most disastrous consequences to the interests of the English cause, were it to be discovered.
The lady had no intention of descending to any common intrigue ; her desire soared to higher things.
'She entreats you to ask the bukshi for her hand in marriage.'
'Impossible ! ' cried Kirkpatrick, aghast at the wildness of the proposal. ​ Was it probable that a Mohammedan of Akil's birth and position would entertain the idea for a moment ? He dismissed the old woman with a refusal which was at once decisive and curt, afraid to trust himself to listen again to a tale of love that had stirred him to his very soul.
The next day at the same hour the old woman sought the English officer and repeated her story. He resolutely put her aside ; and on a third and fourth attempt forbade her to speak to him again on the subject. One night, having supped and dismissed his servants, he occupied his usual easy chair in the great hall. Perhaps he idly wondered what the fair unknown of the bukshi's harem was like. The romance of the situation must have appealed strongly to a man of his nature for he was no ascetic and he could not have been indifferent to the frequent appeals which had been made.
While he thus rested, a purdah was drawn aside and a veiled figure glided into the room. Kneeling by his side she lifted her veil and revealed the beautiful face of Akil ud Dowlah's granddaughter. Before he could utter a word of remonstrance she poured forth a passionate declaration of her love in soft Persian, a tongue he understood as well as his own language. Even now he did not succumb to the temptation of the moment. Reason sounded a note of warning, and he struggled against the responsive passion that sprang into flame under the thrilling tones of her pleading. Compelled to listen in spite of himself, he felt the soft touch of a trembling hand on his. Then, and only then, was reason thrown to the winds, and he abandoned himself to the witchery of the moment. Taking her in his arms he vowed eternal fidelity, while she, in a heaven of bliss, only asked to be one of the humblest of his handmaids.
It was not as his handmaid, however, that the English ​officer openly sought the granddaughter of Akil ud Dowlah, but as his honoured wife. Whatever might have been the bukshi's real feelings, he was persuaded to allow of a nikah marriage, and Khair un Nissa became a happy bride. Naturally the marriage gave rise to a great deal of criticism. Captain Kirkpatrick came through it with- out reproach or blame, his wife's mother testifying of her own free will to the fact that the marriage was entirely of her daughter's seeking.
A child was born of the union, afterwards well known as Kitty Kirkpatrick. Cariyle has immortalised her as Blumine in his 'Sartor Resartus.' He was acquainted with her when she was a girl, and he describes her as having soft brown eyes and floods of bronzed hair ; she was low-voiced and languid, an interesting picture of the semi-Oriental Englishwoman.
Kitty inherited 50,OOOZ. from her father, and married Captain James Winsloe Phillips of the 7th Hussars. She became the mother of several children, to whom she was devoted, and she died at Torquay in 1836.
Captain Elers of the 12th Regiment went home to England on the same ship with Miss Kitty Kirkpatrick and her brother. He thus describes them in his 'Memoirs' :
'A Mrs. Ure, the wife of a Dr. Ure, of Hyderabad, had two fine children of three and four years old under her charge, the children of Colonel Kirkpatrick, of Hyderabad, by a princess, to whom report said he was married. Her Highness would not part with her children until 10,OOO L. had been settled upon each of them. They were a boy and a girl, and they had a faithful old black man, who was very fond of them, to attend upon them. Mrs. Ure had an infant of only a few months old, nursed by a young native woman, immensely fat, and she had also a young European woman as her maid.' ​ After the usual voyage round the Cape, they arrived in sight of old England. The Custom House at Portsmouth was an ordeal to be passed, and it is interesting to read how it was managed.
Captain Elers offered his services, which were gladly accepted by Mrs. Ure. She was bringing home a good deal of property that was contraband, shawls, jewels, and other valuables, amounting to upwards of two thousand pounds* worth. The articles were liable to be seized by the Custom House officers. Elers succeeded in getting everything passed by means of a handsome bribe, to the great joy of the lady. The party slept at the Blue Posts, and the next morning started in two post-chaises for London. A second night was spent at Guildford, and in the evening of the following day he delivered the two children with their attendant to the care of Colonel Kirkpatrick, of Nottingham Place.