A.D. 1875-1876
A HOME IN AMRITSAR
In the previous spring, when first Charlotte Tucker decided to go
out, she wrote in one letter a statement of the financial plan to be
followed. ‘I have arranged with the Society,’ she said, ‘to pay 200
rupees a quarter for my board and lodging, exclusive of Munshi[36]
and conveyance.’ For this she had been told to expect a bedroom and a
bathroom; meals being taken with the other Missionaries. She had also
been told that she would require an Ayah and ‘half a tailor.’ ‘I do not
want superfluities,’ she wrote; ‘for mine is a modest income, and I
should not like to spend it all on myself.’
Modest though it might be, she gave away largely, restricting herself
to a limited amount, and practising great economy. After being for a
while in India, she seems to have been strongly impressed with a dread
of needless luxuries, and to have become eager to set an example of
extreme simplicity in the Missionary life. The rigid simplicity which she
cultivated was, no doubt, partly a matter of pure economy, that she might
have the more to give away,--partly a matter of her innate generosity;
but partly also it arose from a deep-rooted desire to remove the
reproach, which has of late been often levelled at the ease and luxury,
real or supposed, of many Missionaries in India or elsewhere.
It is always a difficult question to decide in such cases what does or
does not constitute luxury. For example, the number of servants kept,
which often startles an Englishman, is unavoidable to some extent,
arising from the very low wages given, and the small amount of work
which each servant will undertake. Indian servants sleep often in the
verandah or in outside huts, and provide their own food out of their
small wages; so, keeping several of them is a very different matter from
keeping many English servants. Moreover, an Englishman, still more an
Englishwoman, labouring in such a climate as that of India, _must_ as
a matter of simple safety have many things which in England would be
entirely needless. To walk any distance under the heat of the Indian
sun would for the ordinary European often mean death. To ‘rough it,’ to
brave the climate, to be reckless of hardships, would in the majority of
instances be tantamount to suicide. Yet, on the other hand, it may well
be that under the guise of necessity some things not necessary have here
and there crept in. A story has been told of an officer, himself a hearty
supporter of Missions, who received a very unfavourable impression of
one particular Missionary from observing the large amount of comfortable
furniture which arrived at the said Missionary’s bungalow, for the
latter’s use. The officer felt at once, as he said, that the Missionary
‘was not made of the right stuff.’ He may have judged hastily, and he
may have been mistaken. It is by no means impossible that the Missionary
_may_ have been ‘of the right stuff,’ despite his superabundance of
home-comforts. Nevertheless, such judgments will be passed, and it is
well if Missionaries can live a life that shall render them uncalled for.
The more closely modern Missionaries can approximate to Early Church
Missionaries, the better. One can hardly picture S. Paul as settling
down in a very luxurious bungalow, with a very huge amount of luggage;
and though the conditions of life are greatly changed, and allowance has
to be made for the change, yet the principle and spirit of Missionary
work remain the same. Things harmless may become harmful, if they prove
an actual hindrance to success in the work, if they cause an actual
lessening of influence. The question should be,--not, How much may I
allow myself?--but, How little can I do with? This was the question asked
by Miss Tucker, and she set herself bravely, as the years went on, to
test and to prove how much or how little was truly needed.
On first arriving she had of course to do simply as she was told,--not
always even that, without protest. When the first Sunday came, she was
informed that they would all drive to church. Miss Tucker objected. She
did not like horses to be made to work on Sunday. She was told that it
was a necessity, but she was not convinced. She would put her large thick
shawl over her head, and walk. Nothing could hurt her through that shawl!
Others had to yield to her will; not without fears of consequences;
and Miss Tucker trudged off alone, with the thick shawl well over her
head--heroically half-suffocated. When they all came out of church,
she would not wait to be driven, but again severely marched off alone.
However, the result of this was so bad a headache--though in general
she never suffered at all from headache--that she was once and for all
convinced. Evidently she could _not_ do in India precisely as in England;
and from that time she consented, when it was necessary, to be driven
to church like the rest. Of course this question of walking or driving
depends largely on the time of year, as well as upon the hour at which
the Service is held. As will be seen later, Miss Tucker never lost her
habits of good walking until quite late in life; and when the hour of
Service or the time of year rendered walking safe, she always preferred
it to being driven.
Some friends who knew her best in India have been requested to jot
down their recollections, and have most kindly responded. Certain
‘side-lights’ upon what she was will be best thrown by quotations from
two of these papers as to the beginning of her Indian career.
Miss Wauton writes:--
‘I have been asked to put down a few reminiscences of A. L. O.
E. in her Missionary life in India. But how shall I do it? It
seems like being asked to help in painting a rainbow. We can
hardly compare her to anything else; so varied, so harmonious,
so lovely were the rays of light which she reflected. Spirit
and mind were as a clear prism, through which the light of
Heaven fell, irradiating the atmosphere in which she lived, and
which shone out all the more brightly when seen against the
dark clouds of heathendom.
‘The first mention of her intention to come out to India
reached us in May 1875. Well do I remember the evening when
Mr. Clark, coming to our Bungalow, with a letter in his hand,
said, ‘Who do you think is coming to join you here as a
Missionary?--A. L. O. E.!’ The title instantly brought to mind
books such as _The Young Pilgrim_, _The Shepherd of Bethlehem_,
which had delighted us in our childhood’s days. And now we were
to welcome the well-known and gifted authoress into our house!
This _was_ a privilege; and earnestly did we look forward to
the pleasure of receiving her; though at the same time we were
perhaps conscious of a slight shadow of doubt crossing our
minds, as to how far one of Miss Tucker’s age would be able
to accommodate herself to the new surroundings, and bear the
trials incident to life and work in a tropical climate.
‘If such doubts did occur to us, they were soon dispelled
by a closer acquaintance with the object of them. The
letters received during the following months by her future
fellow-Missionaries showed with what whole-heartedness she was
coming forth, prepared from thenceforth to make her _home_ in
the land of her adoption, and to devote all she was and all she
had to the grand work of winning the people of India to Christ....
‘Miss Tucker reached Amritsar on the 1st Nov. 1875. The warm
kiss with which she greeted her sister-Missionaries showed the
affectionate nature; and it was not long before we felt that
we had in her, not only a fellow-worker, but a loving and true
friend. At her own request the formal “Miss” was soon dropped,
and she was always addressed as “Auntie.” The family of adopted
nephews and nieces, beginning with three or four, gradually
widened, till it finally embraced more than twenty members. Nor
was this relationship a mere formality. It represented on her
part a very special share in the sympathetic interest extended
to all fellow-Missionaries, and on their side a reverential
love and esteem, which in many cases could not have been
deeper, had the tie been one of natural kinship.
‘She soon became known amongst the members of the Indian Church
as the “Buzurg,” or “Honourable” Miss Sahib; and the title of
“Firishta” or “angel” was not unseldom heard in connection with
her name. And indeed they might well call her so. Every time
she spent even a few hours under our roof we felt that we had
entertained an angel, though not unawares, so bright were the
memories she left behind in loving words and deeds....
‘She was so considerate for servants, that she would, during
the first hot weather, often stop her pankah-walas at two or
three o’clock in the morning, for fear of tiring them. Her face
and hands covered with mosquito-bites showed what she endured
in practising this self-denial. It took a long time to convince
her that there was no hardship in employing these men in
night-work, seeing they had plenty of time to rest during the
day.
‘A. L. O. E. lost no time in beginning to use her pen in the
service of India. I think it was the very day after her arrival
that she came to us with the MS. in her hand of a little book
she had written on her way up-country. It was called _The
Church built out of One Brick_; its object being to stir up
the Christians of this land to give more liberally, and to
work more heartily, for their own Churches. We were amazed, on
hearing the little story read, at the wonderful knowledge which
Miss Tucker had even then gained, or rather, which she seemed
to have intuitively, of the people amongst whom she had come to
live. She said, “I want to Orientalise my mind”; but she seemed
to have been born with an Oriental mind. Parable, allegory, and
metaphor were the very language in which she thought; and her
thoughts always seemed naturally to clothe themselves in those
figures of speech in which the children of the East are wont to
express themselves.
‘She always wrote her books in English, as there was never any
difficulty in getting them translated into the vernaculars.
Many thought that, on this account, she would not care to
study the language; but she had no idea of reaching the people
only through her pen. She was determined, as far as it was
possible, to use her own lips in telling out the message of
salvation she had come to bring.
‘Accordingly, she was soon hard at work with primer, grammar,
and dictionary. At the end of a year she passed the Hindustani
Language Examination, and then began Panjabi. She learnt to
express herself intelligibly in both these tongues, though the
acquisition of them cost her many an hour of hard labour.
‘How she did toil over them! I remember, when sharing a room
with her once, waking about four o’clock on a cold winter’s
morning, to see her, already dressed, with a book before
her, in which she had herself written in very large printed
characters, that she might the more easily read them, a
long list of Hindustani and Panjabi words, which she was
busily learning off by heart. By this incessant industry she
acquired a large vocabulary, and was also soon able to read
intelligently many vernacular books, which gave her an insight
into the religious life of the people.’
The Rev. Robert Clark writes:--
‘I remember well her arrival, when she was received by Mrs.
Elmslie and Miss Wauton in the Mission House.... We felt that a
spiritual as well as an intellectual power had come amongst
us.... Like the great Missionary Swartz, she never went home on
furlough; and she never took more than a month’s[37] holiday
in the year, but remained at her post, hot weather and cold
weather, sometimes eleven months, sometimes twelve months in
the year, during her whole service....
‘Her first endeavour on her arrival in India, as she said, was
to seek to “Orientalise her mind.” She noticed everything,
watched everything around her, sought intercourse with the
people, and tried to think with their thoughts and feel
with their feelings, and to realise their position and
circumstances, in order that she might bring God’s Word to bear
on them _as they were_. It was in this way only that she could
hope to do them good....’
During the greater part of 1876 Miss Tucker remained at Amritsar,
cementing her friendship with the ladies there, learning the Hindustani
and Panjabi languages, studying the ways of the people, and writing
little books for translation into the Native tongues. At her age it
was by no means so easy to master a new language as for a younger
person;--indeed, hard as she toiled, she never did absolutely master
any Indian language colloquially, though for a time she became thorough
mistress of the Hindustani grammar and construction. In later years much
that she had conquered, with such hard and persevering toil, slipped from
her again.
Also, it was less easy for her, than for a younger person, to fall in
with _modes_ of work, so entirely unlike aught to which she had been
accustomed. Her very warm-heartedness and impetuosity were now and then
somewhat of a hindrance,--as when, on her first arrival, going into a
Zenana, she pressed forward and eagerly shook hands with a bibi,--an
Indian lady,--forgetting the difference of Indian customs and English
ones. Had it been a Christian bibi, this would not have mattered. As
it was, the mistake was so serious, that it might have resulted, and
very nearly did result, in the closing of that particular Zenana to all
further efforts.
The letters home from this time are so full and so abundant, that the
only difficulty lies in selection. By far the larger number are of course
to her much-loved sister, Mrs. Hamilton. For the saving of space, it may
be understood in the future that letters not especially stated to have
been written to any one else, were written to her.
‘_Jan. 8, 1876._--My expenses have been less than I expected.
I think that Margaret must be a very good manager.... I can now
form a rough idea of my expenses, and I think my sweet Laura
will like to see a rude estimate.[38] As rupees and annas may
puzzle you, I write in English fashion--
Board and Servants (there will be pankahs to pay for),
say-- per annum, £80
Carriage ” 15
Travelling ” 25
Munshi, say ” 10
Postage, say ” 5
Dress, etc., etc. ” 20
----
£155
‘As I allow myself £270 in India, you see that I have a nice
balance to spend; so you may be quite easy, and I quite
thankful, regarding finances. One ought to thank God for
independent means; and I am very grateful to my honoured father
also.’
FROM MRS. ELMSLIE TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘_Jan. 13._
‘I am sorry to have been unable to write to you sooner, as
I should have wished to tell you how much we love your dear
sister, and how truly she has already become an honoured and
trusted member of our Mission circle. You know her gentle,
loving, winning ways too well to doubt our soon learning
to love and cherish her; but I dare say you also know her
unselfish character so well, that you will often feel anxious
lest she should suffer on that account. She had not been one
hour with us before I found out that it is her delight to be
giving to others the comforts and honours which are due to
herself; and it shall be my endeavour that she shall not lose
one iota of anything that should help her, or of anything that
is truly good for her. Being the housekeeper here, I can manage
this....
‘Her understanding of the language and character of the people
is quite wonderful. I hardly think any one ever read character
so clearly and truly as she does,--or so charitably. She sees
good in all. And when she must acknowledge some blemishes,
she finds some kind excuse for them. “Thinketh no evil” seems
written on her brow. I believe she will do much for India, if
spared; she sees where teaching is needed, and her ready mind
so cleverly weaves the lessons into sweet stories which, when
read by the people, will do wonders in opening their minds.
I hope she will be persuaded to go to the hills in summer,
for this work, which is so peculiarly her own, can be carried
on there as well as here, and at one-thousandth part of the
expense to physical strength.’
C. M. T. TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘_Feb. 1, 1876._
‘I feel as if one of my chief works here must be to try and
keep up the spirits of my poor, anxious, overworked companions.
I cannot possibly take much work off their hands; but my
loving, clinging Margaret seems to feel it such a comfort to
have an _elderly_ friend to lean on.’
Towards the end of February Miss Tucker went, with Mrs. Elmslie and two
Bible-women, on her first itinerating expedition,--not, as she herself
said, to use her lips, but to use her eyes. Writing while away, she
says:--
‘Behold us here, my Queen Lily[39] and I, encamped in the midst
of a Sikh village, and living in a tent, without lock or key,
with as little sensation of danger as I had at Woodlands or
Firlands....
‘It was indeed romantic to travel along that wild path by
starlight.... Do you remember the well-known engraving of Una
with her lion entering a witch’s cave? Now, as I jogged along
in my duli,[40] while Margaret rode on her white pony, she made
me think of that picture of Una. She is so fair, so graceful,
so pure-looking, with her chiselled profile and her sweet
expression; I could not make out, however, anything that would
do for the lion.
‘Dear Leila’s most useful bag is now fastened up in our tent....
Poor Sarah Jones’ night-bag is on my bed; please ask dear Leila
to tell her so, when she sees her, with my kind remembrances.
‘Oh, a Sikh village is a curious place; built of mud, and
pretty thickly populated, it reminds me of an ant-hill. I
wonder how such houses stand the rains. The people are not
very dark, and they seem to be very friendly. It is not from
rudeness that they crowd about one, and examine one’s dress.
‘It would have amused you to have seen Margaret and me
perambulating the village, going through its muddy lanes;
sometimes so narrow that one could have touched the walls on
either hand,--or nearly so. Do not suppose that we walked
alone. We had wished to take a quiet stroll together, but this
was out of the question. We carried a train with us; and when
we had entered a tiny court, inhabited by four families, when
I raised my eyes I saw a set of spectators perched on the
wall above, like so many sparrows, gazing down on the English
ladies. One had not in the least the feeling of being amongst
enemies,--only once or twice I saw a man look sternly at us.
I concluded that these men were Muhammadans, of whom there
are, I believe, a few in this village. The Sikhs seem to be
a good-humoured, friendly set, who have not the slightest
objection to our speaking as much about our religion as we
like. Some of the people here--like the Pandit[41]--know Urdu,
but by no means all of them.
‘But, Laura, you who have an eye for the picturesque, and a
soul for the romantic, you should have had a glimpse of us
yesterday in the Pandit’s house, at evening prayer! The long
mud-built room looked strange enough by day; but at night seen
by the gleam of one lamp, it looked--like the entrance to a
cave or a catacomb.
‘There sat the Pandit on his large mat, and at a little
distance his wife on a very small one, the dull lamp throwing
their black shadows on the mud wall behind them. A black
buffalo calf was at one end of the apartment; but the place was
too dark for us to see much of it. The Pandit bending over his
book was a study for an artist, with his white turban and his
extraordinary spectacles. I was asked to choose the chapter;
I chose Romans xii. The Pandit had such difficulty in finding
the place, that it seemed evident that he is not familiar with
the Epistles. But he must have been pleased with the chapter,
when he did find it; for he not only read it, but the one which
followed it. Then came a long Sanscrit prayer.’
* * * * *
‘_March 7._--One of the things most admired has been a prism,
which I have as a letter-weight. The splendid colours which
through it an Indian sun casts on the walls excite much
admiration and pleasure. My little Ayah to-day asked me what
my Zouave had cost. I should hardly call her _my_ Ayah, as,
luckily for me, I have only one-third part of the little woman.
To have a whole Ayah would be too much of a good thing.
‘I took your _Illustrated_ yesterday to show to the
Mother-in-law of the German Missionary.... I tried as I walked to
the house to get up a little German; but, O Laura, the Urdu had
driven it almost all out of my head. If I wished to call up a
German word, up would come an Urdu one! I did indeed remember
“wunderbar,” and “shrecklich,” so that helped me with the
_Illustrated_, but they would not have been very useful in a
lengthy conversation.
‘If I had had time to write yesterday, I might have given
you such an interesting account of the Panjabi Munshi, which
I heard from Mr. H. This Munshi, I forget his name, is the
son of one of the four priests of the Golden Temple, and a
man of character, some talent, and influence. Mr. H., who is
translating some of the Bible into Panjabi, wanted ----‘s
assistance. The Munshi courteously declined, as he feared
that the Bible would be contrary to the “Granth,” the Sikh
Scriptures. These Scriptures, so far as they go, Mr. H. says,
are not bad at all; and true Sikhs detest idolatry. “Well,”
says Mr. H., “both you and I worship the Great God. We will
make a bargain. If in the Bible we meet with anything against
the Great God, we will close the book at once.” The Munshi
instantly closed with the offer; and the result is that at last
he has told Mr. H. that there is no book in the world like the
Bible. When the Munshi’s sister lay dying, he nursed her night
and day, and used to carry to her what he had been reading with
Mr. H.
‘The Munshi’s father, the priest, seemed to have had rather a
natural fear of his son’s imbibing what he would consider wrong
doctrine. He therefore, with two friends, made the Munshi read
over to them what he had been busy about with the Christian
Sahib. After a while the priest observed, “At first I listened
as a critic; now I listen with interest.”
‘What an honest, conscientious man the Munshi is, was shown by
his conduct to a rich tradesman in the city. This rich man paid
the Munshi to come and read the “Granth” to him,--I suppose
for amusement, as he himself is a Hindu and idolater. When
---- came to read, he saw an idol in front of the Hindu, and
the Sikh positively refused to open the “Granth”--his sacred
book--in presence of the idol. “Why,” says the Hindu, “you
worship the picture of your saint, so you need not object to
my image.” But ---- positively denied that he worshipped the
picture. “Bring one here,” he said; “and in the presence of
witnesses, I will tear it in pieces. Will you do the same with
your idol?”’
The following letter to one of her aunts, dated May 8, 1876, refers to
the above expedition:--
‘I see you have an impression that we Missionary ladies dress
oddly, behave strangely, and undergo all kinds of hardships.
You think that I slept on the ground when I went to O----. Not
a bit of it! Margaret and I took beds with us, and a table and
seats and cooking utensils, and a stock of provisions--and
_Common sense_!!! We were never the worse for our adventure.
The Missionaries scold each other more for imprudence about
health than any other thing, and I am the scold of the party,
so that as I preach I must practise.
‘_2ndly._ As regards dress, I consider that we dress rather
prettily than otherwise. Of course in England it would look
funny to see a lady of my age all in white, with a topi and
pugri and white parasol; but it does not look funny in India.
Why, the very soldiers look like figures in plaster of Paris.
As for the natives thinking us “Chinese,” there is no fear
of their doing that. I believe that we Missionaries are much
respected; we are treated with courtesy; and one of us may walk
alone through crowds of hundreds of natives, and never have a
disrespectful word....
‘Then you so kindly take a little anxiety about my health; but
I do not know that I was ever better in my life. I fancy that
I am even a trifle fatter. Thank God, I have not had a touch
of fever or headache yet; and though my pankah has been up
for days, I have not cared to have it worked. Of course the
greatest heat is to come; ... but heat, except of course exposure
to the sun, does not seem to injure me; and I am more afraid of
December cold than of July heat.’
In April she went to Lahore for a visit, as companion to a Missionary,
left alone. Writing from there, she observes: ‘Visits to Missionary
stations are a part of my education; and one which Dr. Murdoch strongly
recommended for me. He would have me running about the country; but
really I am too old to be a comet like my nephew.’[42] And again,
speaking of a walk through the narrow streets of Lahore: ‘Presently
we met a cart drawn by buffaloes, which filled up the greater part of
the width of the road,--of course one does not expect pavements for
foot-passengers. Miss H. was a bit frightened, and seemed to think that
the big ugly creatures would leave us no room to pass; but I could see
that there was plenty of room, if we went single file. And as for being
afraid of a stolid buffalo, that looks as if it never would dream of
goring any one, even if its horns were not so set on that it _could_ not
do such a thing, there would be small excuse for that. Why, Margaret
one day, when she was in Cashmere, saw a big black bear only a few
yards from her, with just a little icy stream between, and she was not
terrified. One bear would be equal to a hundred black buffaloes. I am
rather struck by the amount of _dash_ amongst Missionaries! Miss ----
is perhaps an exception, but then hers is merely school-work. I think
that Margaret is a gallant lady, and that Emily[43] would be true as
steel. As for some of the gentlemen, I feel sure that there is plenty
of real heroism in them.’ In almost her next letter she says of one of
these Missionaries: ‘I do hope that your cheque may make my nephew take
a _little_ more care of his health. He is so careful of Mission money,
that he almost provokes us by travelling in ways likely to make him ill.
I believe that he has seriously injured himself by economising in his
own comforts. He ought not to be knocked about, for he is very fragile
indeed.’
‘_April 20._--The weather is gradually getting warmer. The
thermometer in my verandah to-day, where it had been in the
shade all the day, was about 107°, that is more than twenty
degrees hotter than I have ever seen it in the most sultry day
in England. But do not suppose that I mind the heat, or that
it has hitherto done me the slightest harm. Thank God, I am in
perfect health, not in the slightest degree feverish. I charmed
Margaret at dinner to-day. “You are better in the hot weather
than the cold,” she cried. “I never knew you ask for a second
help in the cold weather.” And the two poor dear girls opposite
me sat with plates sadly clean; neither of them would touch a
bit of meat.... Of course we shall have the weather a good deal
hotter presently, but then pankahs will be up.’
* * * * *
‘_May 8._--There is a little romance going on here. A little
native maiden was betrothed to a native lad. Before the
marriage came off, the destined bridegroom and his parents
became Christians. The girl’s parents wanted to break off the
match, and unite the girl to a heathen. But _her_ heart was set
on her young bridegroom. The case came before court,--Emily
thinks about a year ago. It was adjudged that the maiden was
too young to fix her own fate. But she is old enough now,
and she has kept true to her lover. The final decision must
be made in twenty-one days. The young girl--she looks such a
child--wants, I hear, to become a Christian. Emily fain would
ascertain whether she does so from love of religion, or only
from love for her boy. I hope to be at her baptism,--and her
wedding too, if all be well.’
* * * * *
‘_May 29._--I have done so few lessons to-day, I had better
set to them bravely. I have written out, large and black, so
that I may easily read in dim light, more than 1300 words, to
go over regularly every fortnight, masculine separated from
feminine nouns. I know others that I have not written down.
But, Laura dear, all these words--rather a tax on an old lady’s
memory--take one on but a small way in speaking this difficult
language.’
Early in June she yielded very reluctantly to Mrs. Elmslie’s pressure,
and consented to go for a short time to Dalhousie; and the letter
following was written at an inn on the way:--
‘DÂK BUNGALOW, _June 13, 1876_.
‘I have been giving dear Leila an account of the first part of
my journey; now I will go on with you. I slept a good deal in
the gari. I dreamed that I was talking with you about Margaret....
‘Well, I reached the dâk bungalow (kind of inn) early in the
morning, took early breakfast, and started in my duli (kind of
palanquin) at about 6.15. I wanted to start earlier, knowing
that I had a nineteen miles stage before me, and that the
day would probably be hot. I had nine men to carry me and my
luggage. They made little of it, but went at the rate of nearly
four miles an hour, including brief stoppages. Three times the
poor fellows asked for leave to stop and drink water. This
of course I granted. Twice I was asked for bakhshish; but I
declined giving any until I should arrive, and then if they
carried me nicely I promised them something.
‘They did carry me very nicely. When they had gone about ten
miles, and might be supposed to have grown pretty tired, then
they began to be lively, laughing and chatting together, I
suppose to beguile the way. It would be well if we took life’s
journey as patiently and cheerfully as these poor half-clad
mountaineers. _Note inserted._ Oh, doubtless it was a relay!...
‘The thunder has been grumbling. Perhaps I may take a little
walk before I start on my long night expedition. This seems to
be a lovely place, but of course I shall not walk in the heat
of the day....
‘It is indeed a miracle how a mere handful of Englishmen rule
such a country as this. Since I left Amritsar I have seen but
one English face, and that was the face of some one lying full
length in a duli which I passed. He was very likely ill. Yet
one feels oneself under a _very strong_ wing of the law,--far
more so than one does in England. There have I been travelling
with a band of natives to whom threepence is a good present
... my language, my religion, are strange, and yet I neither
receive nor fear the slightest disrespect. Is not this like a
miracle?
‘Thunder again! If I have a storm to-night in the mountains,
how sublime it will look!’
But though she enjoyed her time in the mountains, she was eager to return
to work; and even from Dalhousie her letters contain chiefly details of
what was being done, there or at Amritsar, in her absence. On the 18th of
July she was on the road; and again she wrote from an inn:--
‘I have bidden farewell to Dalhousie. The skies were weeping
violently when I started; so was not I!... Dalhousie is grandly
beautiful; but I have been asking myself why I have not been
in raptures with its beauties. I think that two things are
wanting to its perfection;--first, the soft blue haze which
one connects with distant mountains. High and hard, some
snow-crowned peak cuts the sky. You are told that it is a
hundred miles off. You don’t believe it! It is as clear and
sharp as if only two. Then water is a very great want, at
least to me. Certainly, there is the Ravi, one of the five
famous rivers of the Panjab; but at Dalhousie it looks, at
least in June, first cousin to a swamp. One wants waterfalls.
One-hundredth part--one-thousandth part--of Niagara, glorious
Niagara, would be a boon at Dalhousie....
‘It is a curious thing, dear Laura, that kind of _instinct_
which one acquires in India! I have often and often thought
on the subject. One feels as if one belonged to such a lordly
race. It is that odd kind of impression upon one that, though
one may _personally_ be weak as water, one forms a part of a
mysterious power. There is a kind of instinctive persuasion
that neither man nor beast would dare to attack one,--except
perhaps a vicious horse. One travels by night, without the
slightest protection, surrounded by half-clad, ignorant
semi-savages; one never dreams of fearing them. One takes one’s
early walk in a lonely place, where the cheetah or snake may
lurk, without the smallest alarm. They would not surely attack
one of the English!...’