‘Assault or no assault, my advice remains the same. The large majority of Asiatics ought to give finger-prints. Those who have real conscientious scruples will be exempted by the Government. To ask for more would be to show ourselves as children.
‘The spirit of Satyagraha rightly understood should make the people fear none and nothing but God. No cowardly fear therefore should deter the vast majority of sober-minded Indians from doing their duty. The promise of repeal of the Act against voluntary registration having been given, it is the sacred duty of every good Indian to help the Government and the Colony to the uttermost.’
Mr Chamney returned with the papers and I gave my finger-prints but not without pain. I then saw that tears stood in Mr Chamney’s eyes. I had often to write bitterly against him, but this showed me how man’s heart may be softened by events.
The reader will easily imagine that all this did not take more than a few minutes. Mr Doke and his good wife were anxious that I should be perfectly at rest and peaceful, and were therefore pained to witness my mental activity after the assault. They were afraid that it might react in a manner prejudicial to my health. They, therefore, by making signs and similar devices, removed all persons from near my bed, and asked me not to write or do anything. I made a request in writing, that before and in order that I might lie down quietly, their daughter Olive, who was then only a little girl, should sing for me my favourite English hymn, ‘Lead, kindly light.’ Mr Doke liked this very much and acceded to my request with a sweet smile. He called Olive by signs and asked her to stand at the door and sing the hymn in a low tone. The whole scene passes before my eyes as I dictate this, and the melodious voice of little Olive reverberates in my ears.
I have included in this chapter much that, I think and the reader too will think, is irrelevant to my subject. Yet I cannot close this chapter without adding one
