So the ships were brought into the dock and the passengers began to go ashore. But Mr Escombe had sent word to the captain that, as the whites were highly enraged against me and my life was in danger, my family and I should be advised to land at dusk, when the Port Superintendent Mr Tatum would escort us home.
The captain communicated the message to me. and I agreed to act accordingly. But scarcely half an hour after this, Mr Laughton came to the captain. He said: ‘I would like to take Mr Gandhi with me, should he have no objection. As the legal adviser of the Agent Company, I tell you that you are not bound to carry out the message you have received from Mr Escombe.’
After this, he came to me and said somewhat to this effect: ‘If you are not afraid, I suggest that Mrs Gandhi and the children should drive to Mr Rustomji’s house, whilst you and I follow them on foot. I do not at all like the idea of your entering the city like a thief in the night.
I do not think there is any fear of anyone hurting you. Everything is quiet now. The whites have all dispersed. But in any case, I am convinced that you ought not to enter the city stealthily.’ I readily agreed.
My wife and children drove safely to Mr Rustomji’s place. With the captain’s permission, I went ashore with Mr Laughton. Mr Rustomji’s house was about two miles from the dock. As soon as we landed, some youngsters recognized me and shouted ‘Gandhi, Gandhi.’ About half a dozen men rushed to the spot and joined in the shouting.
Mr Laughton feared that the crowd might swell and hailed a rickshaw. I had never liked the idea of being in a rickshaw. This was to be my first experience.
But the youngsters would not let me get into it. They frightened the rickshaw boy out of his life, and he took to his heels. As we went ahead, the crowd continued to swell, until it became impossible to proceed further. They first caught hold of Mr Laughton and separated us. Then they pelted me with stones, brickbats and rotten eggs.
Someone snatched away my turban, whilst others began to batter and kick me. I fainted and caught hold of the front railings of a house and stood there to get my breath. But it was impossible. They came upon me boxing and battering. The wife of the Police Superintendent, who knew me, happened to be passing by.
The brave lady came up, opened her parasol though there was no sun then, and stood between the crowd and me.
This checked the fury of the mob, as it was difficult for them to deliver blows on me without harming Mrs Alexander.
Meanwhile, an Indian youth who witnessed the incident had run to the police station. The Police Superintendent Mr Alexander sent a posse of men to ring me round and escort me safely to my destination.
They arrived in time. The police station lay on our way. As we reached there, the Superintendent asked me to take refuge in the station, but I gratefully declined the offer, ‘They are sure to quiet down when they realize their mistake,’ I said. ‘I have trust in their sense of fairness.’ Escorted by the police, I arrived without further harm at Mr Rustomji’s place.
I had bruises all over, but no abrasions except in one place. Dr Dadibarjor, the ship’s doctor, who was on the spot, rendered the best possible help.
There was quiet inside, but outside the whites surrounded the house. The night was coming on, and the yelling crowd was shouting, ‘We must have Gandhi.’ The quick-sighted Police Superintendent was already there trying to keep the crowds under control, not by threats, but by humouring them.
But he was not entirely free from anxiety.
He sent me a message to this effect: ‘If you would save your friend’s house and property and also your family, you should escape from the house in disguise, as I suggest.’ Thus on the same day, I was faced with two contradictory positions.
When danger to life had been no more than imaginary, Mr Laughton advised me to launch forth openly. I accepted the advice. When the danger was quite real, another friend gave me the contrary advice, and I accepted that too. Who can say whether I did so because I saw that my life was in jeopardy, or because I did not want to put my friend’s life and property or the lives of my wife and children in danger?
Who can say for certain that I was right both when I faced the crowd in the first instance bravely, as it was said, and when I escaped from it in disguise?
It is idle to adjudicate upon the right and wrong of incidents that have already happened. It is useful to understand them and, if possible, to learn a lesson from them for the future. It is difficult to say for certain how a particular man would act in a particular set of circumstances.
We can also see that judging a man from his outward act is no more than a doubtful inference since it is not based on sufficient data. Be that as it may, the preparations for escape made me forget my injuries.
As suggested by the Superintendent, I put on an Indian constable’s uniform and wore on my head a Madrasi scarf, wrapped around a plate to serve as a helmet. Two detectives accompanied me, one of them disguised as an Indian merchant and with his face painted to resemble that of an Indian.
I forget the disguise of the other. We reached a neighbouring shop by a by-lane and, making our way through the gunny bags piled in the godown, escaped by the gate of the shop and threaded our way through the crowd to a carriage that had been kept for me at the end of the street.
In this, we drove off to the same police station where Mr Alexander had offered me refuge a short time before, and I thanked him and the detective officers.
Whilst I had been thus effecting my escape Mr Alexander had kept the crowd amused by singing the tune: ‘Hang old Gandhi On the sour apple tree.’
When he was informed of my safe arrival at the police station, he thus broke the news to the crowd: ‘Well, your victim had made good his escape through a neighbouring shop.
You had better go home now.’ Some of them were angry, others laughed, some refused to believe the story. ‘Well then,’ said the Superintendent, ‘If you do not believe me, you may appoint one or two representatives, whom I am ready to take inside the house,
If they succeed in finding out Gandhi, I will gladly deliver him to you. But if they fail, you must disperse.
I am sure that you have no intention of destroying Mr Rustomji’s house or of harming Mr Gandhi’s wife and children.’
The crowd sent their representatives to search the house. They soon returned with disappointing news, and the crowd broke up, at last, most of them admiring the Superintendent’s tactful handling of the situation, and a few fretting and fuming.
The late Mr Chamberlain, who was then Secretary of State for the Colonies, cabled asking the Natal Government to prosecute my assailants.
Mr Escombe sent for me, expressed his regret for the injuries I had sustained, and said: ‘Believe me, I cannot feel happy over the least little injury done to your person.
You had a right to accept Mr Laughton’s advice and to face the worst, but I am sure that, if you had considered my suggestion favourably, these sad occurrences would not have happened.
If you can identify the assailants, I am prepared to arrest and prosecute them. Mr Chamberlain also desires me to do so.’
To which I gave the following reply: ‘I do not want to prosecute anyone. I may be able to identify one or two of them, but what is the use of getting them punished?
Besides, I do not hold the assailants to blame. They were given to understand that I had made exaggerated statements in India about the whites in Natal and calumniated them.
If they believed these reports, it is no wonder that they were enraged. The leaders and, if you will permit me to say so, you are to blame. You could have guided the people properly, but you also believed Reuter and assumed that I must have indulged in exaggeration. I do not want to bring anyone to book.
I am sure that, when the truth becomes known, they will be sorry for their conduct.’ ‘Would you mind giving me this in writing?’ said Mr Escombe. ‘Because I shall have to cable to Mr Chamberlain to that effect.
I do not want you to make any statement in haste. You may, if you like, consult Mr Laughton and your other friends before you come to a final decision.
I may confess, however, that, if you waive the right of bringing your assailants to book, you will considerable help me in restoring quiet, besides enhancing your reputation.’
‘Thank you,’ said I. ‘I need not consult anyone. I had made my decision in the matter before I came to you.
It is my conviction that I should not prosecute the assailants, and I am prepared this moment to reduce my decision to writing.’ With this, I gave him the necessary statement.
~ THE TEST –