A.D. 1885-1886
ON THE RIVER’S BRINK
Changes again were impending. Mr. and Mrs. Weitbrecht, after two years’
work in Batala, were to quit the place; and in their stead would come Mr.
and Mrs. Corfield,--the former as new Principal of the High School. It
is singular to note one Missionary after another thus coming and going,
while Charlotte Tucker, with resolute perseverance, held to her post.
At last she too began to think of a change. Not of leaving Batala; not
of going home, for even the shortest of furloughs! Such an idea perhaps
never so much as occurred to her mind. She simply began to think of
altering her residence in Batala. At Anarkalli she had lived with Miss
Swainson, with Mr. and Mrs. Beutel, with Natives alone, with Mr. Baring,
with Mr. Baring and his wife, with Mr. and Mrs. Weitbrecht; and now
another ‘upheaval’ had become imminent.
The notion of a move was apparently at first her own, though others soon
looked upon it as desirable. Two German ladies, Miss Hoernle and Miss
Krapf, dwelt together in the cosy little Mission Bungalow, which they had
named ‘Sonnenschein’ or ‘Sunshine.’ No room remained for a third inmate;
but Miss Tucker formed a plan of building a small annexe to the west of
‘Sunshine,’ for her own use; and to this tiny annexe she resolved to give
the name of ‘Gurub i Aftab,’ or ‘Sunset.’
Mrs. Hamilton, on first hearing of the scheme, was somewhat distressed
at the thought of such a change for her ‘Char’; but Miss Tucker wrote to
assure her of no move until the new building should be perfectly dry.
Also a long letter from Mr. Weitbrecht set before Mrs. Hamilton, with
kind clearness, the advantages of the plan. Among other reasons urged was
the overcrowded state of the palace, where more room for the School was
urgently needed; and also the desirability that Miss Tucker, in advancing
years, should not constantly have to climb a steep and awkward staircase,
which had of late greatly tried her strength.
It is probable that for some little time past there had been a certain
failure of power, evidenced by such facts as this, though made very
little of by herself, and perhaps little marked by others, because of her
determined cheerfulness and persistence in work.
Still, as always, she rose at six in winter, and at half-past four in
summer; had her little breakfast of cocoa and sweet biscuits; then read
and studied till eight. At 8 A.M., whether in summer or in winter, she
seldom failed to take her rapid ‘Devotional walk’ out of doors, up and
down, till summoned to Prayers by the Chapel gong. Then came breakfast
proper; after which she would still, as always, go out in her duli for
three or four hours of Zenana-visiting. Next followed correspondence;
lunch; classes of English history and English literature for the elder
boys; then afternoon tea; then sometimes more reading of a Native
language, and visiting of Native Christians. This was the manner of day
that she spent, week in, week out, month after month, often for ten or
eleven months at a stretch; varied only by itinerating expeditions into
neighbouring villages, or an occasional trip to Amritsar,--the latter
seldom, except on business of some kind. And she had been living this
life now for at least eight or nine years! Small wonder that a breakdown
should come at last. The marvel was that it had not come sooner. A chill
and a bad smell were the immediate cause,--they usually are in such
cases, acting upon exhausted powers.
Up to Thursday, December 10, things were much as usual. That morning she
went on her ordinary city round, and then to a Native wedding, where
she was very much tried by a bad smell from a drain, though her innate
courtesy would not allow her to hurry away. On reaching home she was in a
chilled and shivering condition, with the beginning of a sore throat. In
the afternoon fever and drowsiness came on.
For a day or two there seemed to be an improvement. Mrs. Weitbrecht, who
was to have left Batala before Sunday, on account of health, deferred her
journey until Monday.
Nothing could induce Miss Tucker to remain at home on Saturday. She
started as usual for the city; and on her return she told Mrs. Weitbrecht
‘how glad she was to have gone,’ adding, ‘I am always especially glad
when I go to the city, feeling it a little effort to do so.’ One is
disposed to imagine that it must have been more than a _little_ effort,
on that particular day; and the words contain a revelation as to past
‘efforts’ when unfit for the work which she never would neglect. Dr. H.
M. Clark had been asked to come over, but she utterly declined to see
him, except as a friend, refusing to consider herself ill. On Sunday she
was at both the Church Services, ‘kept up,’ as Mr. Bateman said, ‘by her
indomitable spirit’; and in the afternoon she had, as always, her Class
of boys. On Monday morning she made her appearance early, to see Mrs.
Weitbrecht off,--very bright and cheery, wrapping up sandwiches, and
determinedly hiding how ill she really felt, for fear Mrs. Weitbrecht’s
departure should be again delayed.
Things could not go on thus much longer. Miss Tucker had made a brave
fight,--too brave for her own good!--but illness was now fast gaining
the upper hand. She did not again attempt city visiting,--a sure sign
of her condition; and much time that day was spent in a half-doze.
Towards night she became light-headed, and was so weak that they had to
carry her to bed. Miss Hoernle decided to sleep at the palace, so as to
be within easy call if needed; but in the early morning she found her
patient up, writing a letter, and of course avowing herself ‘better.’
The improvement, if it existed, was very brief. Fever again set in, with
weakness and delirium; and Dr. H. M. Clark was sent for. On Tuesday Mr.
Clark came too, and that evening he sent for Miss Wauton to go over from
Amritsar on Wednesday morning. Mr. Rowland Bateman also was speedily on
the spot. Somewhat later in the week a telegram summoned A. L. O. E.’s
nephew and niece, Major Louis Tucker and Mrs. Tucker.
For three days the greatest possible anxiety was felt; and on the
Thursday another medical man was telegraphed for, that a consultation
might take place. The result of the consultation was not favourable. Dr.
P. on first seeing Miss Tucker thought she might live a week, but when
going away he expressed a fear that half that time would see the end.
Both before and after Dr. P.’s coming there was excessive restlessness,
and a great deal of delirium, though the latter was never of a painful
kind, and she always knew those who were about her. She was at times
extremely anxious to get up, and she showed vexation at not being allowed
to do so. Once, when thus controlled, she said to Mr. Weitbrecht with
respect to her nurses:
‘Couldn’t you take them to see the Church?’
‘But, Auntie dear, we have seen the Church already,’ they assured her.
‘Then take them somewhere else,’ she said,--‘only take them _a long way
off_!’
This evidently remained on her mind; for the next day she began to talk
about the Salvation Army, and the doctrine of Perfection in this life, as
taught by its devotees.
‘It is a doctrine of the devil,’ she said emphatically. ‘Tell ---- that
I had an outbreak of anger and petulance only yesterday. I wanted to go
to my own room, and I was quite cross when they would not let me. I think
the Lord let that be, that we might see how weak and sinful we are. I am
sixty-four years old,--and they who are so much younger than I am would
not let me get up! They treated me just as if I were a child; and I could
not bear to be made into a little child; and so the Lord put me down.
These doctrines are the snare of the devil. They make presumptuous people
more presumptuous; and they are calculated to drive conscientious people
_mad_!’ The last words were repeated; and Miss Tucker went on to mention
two cases, known to herself, where individuals had become actually insane
through ‘perfectionist’ teaching.
She talked in her delirium almost incessantly, showing extreme mental
activity, an activity which never failed, even when exhaustion was
greatest. She dictated letters; she composed verses and comic parodies;
she repeated texts and long sentences in Hindustani; she sang with
animation a cricket-song for the boys, and then a hymn in Hindustani or
English. Sometimes her drollery was so intense that her nurses, in all
their anxiety, shook with laughter to hear the things she said. And all
through, from beginning to end, one thing never failed,--her radiant
happiness in the thought of going Home.
While recognising those who were really present, she fancied that others
were there also, and talked to them. Generally she could reason quietly
about these appearances, saying that she knew they were ‘shadows.’ She
does not seem to have felt thus about the evil spirits, which she thought
she saw. She pointed to where she believed them to be, asking, ‘Do you
see them?’ Then addressing the spirits, she continued: ‘I am not afraid
of you! You can do nothing to _me_! I belong to Jesus! Don’t sit there,
at the foot of my bed. Go away; you cannot touch me!’
The strong doses of quinine made her very deaf, so that she could hear
little of what went on around her bed; but she heard what others could
not hear,--sounds of music filling the room.
Sometimes she imagined herself to be in Zenanas, talking to the Bibis,
and pleading earnestly with them. Or again she wondered why her kahars
did not come to take her thither.
‘What to me was most remarkable,’ wrote Mr. Clark afterwards, ‘was her
perfect cheerfulness and happiness; thinking of everything and every
one around her, and talking of the most common things, and doing it all
in the light of Eternity; standing on the very brink of another world,
and yet forgetting nothing, but thinking of almost everything in this....
It was at times even amusing, for there was no sadness in her perpetual
sunshine.’
On Friday morning, the day after the consultation, Miss Tucker woke very
early, and asked to have her desk, that she might write. This of course
could not be allowed. Later in the same day Mr. Weitbrecht went in to see
her, just after an interview with Dr. Clark, and she inquired, ‘What does
the doctor say?’
Mr. Weitbrecht endeavoured to avoid giving any direct reply, speaking
only of one symptom which the Doctor had named as encouraging. Then came
the point-blank question:
‘Yes; but does he think I shall die, or recover?’
‘He cannot tell.’
Miss Tucker was not to be so put off. An answer she would have. ‘I am
very deaf with the quinine,’ she said. ‘I can’t hear what you say. If he
thinks I shall stay, do this!’--holding up her hand;--‘and if sinking,
this!’--dropping it.
There was no choice left. Truth compelled Mr. Weitbrecht to lower gently
his hand. ‘Whereupon,’ as Mr. Bateman relates, ‘a smile and an almost
shout of joy escaped her.’
‘I am so glad!’ she exclaimed. ‘So glad to be dying in harness! And to
think that I shall be no trouble to anybody!... It is too good to be true,
that I am going Home.... The bowl is broken at the fountain!’ Then she
repeated the simple verse beginning,
‘“And when I’m to die,
Receive me, I’ll cry,
For Jesus has loved me,
I cannot tell why!”’
What Charlotte Tucker experienced, on seeing that lowered hand, may be to
some extent realised by reading her ‘Dream’ of the Second Advent, given
in an earlier chapter. Heaven to her was ‘Home’; many of her nearest and
dearest were already in Paradise; and ‘death,’ so called, would mean
re-union with those dear ones. Charlotte Tucker could from her very heart
re-echo the poet’s words,--with a most practical belief in them,--‘There
is no Death; what seems so is Transition.’ During years past she had
longed for this Transition; striving only not to be impatient, but to
await cheerfully God’s own time.
And now, it seemed, she was to go! Not only to leave sin and sorrow
behind; not only to be young and strong again; not only to see such
beauty and glory as our Earth can never show; not only to ‘mount up with
wings, as eagles,’ into splendid new spheres of knowledge and thought, of
employment and work. All these things, though real, were secondary. _The_
overwhelming delight of going Home, whether by the Coming of Christ, or
through the ‘grave and gate of Death,’ was that she would meet her Lord
and Master face to face! That was the grand expectation which thrilled
her whole being, which drew from her an ‘almost shout’ of joy, even in
extreme weakness,--the prospect of seeing HIM, ‘Whom, not having seen,’
she loved.
So intense was the joy that it had a remarkable result. It appeared to
take the same effect as a powerful stimulant upon her sinking strength.
The very delight which she had in dying brought her back to life; the
very rapture with which she desired to go kept her from going.
It is not needful to suppose that this alone saved her life. Skilled
physicians and devoted nurses had done and were doing their utmost; and
a fresh remedy was being tried, which brought down the very high fever.
But the fact remains the same, that, until Charlotte Tucker was told that
she would die, hopes of her recovery had been given up, at all events by
those best qualified to judge; and that, from the time when she learned
the verdict of the doctors, she began to revive. At the least we must
allow that the stimulant afforded by this eager rejoicing was a marked
assistance to other remedies; and that, without it, in all probability
she might have sunk.
Nor need it be imagined that she was immediately out of danger.
Improvement was very gradual, and anxiety lasted long. Weeks later she
spoke of her own life as having been on Christmas Day still ‘trembling in
the balance,’ and this was nearly a week before Christmas. But hope had
revived, and every day it grew stronger.
Having once made up her mind that she was to die, it was, we may be
sure, no easy matter for Charlotte Tucker to turn her mind earthward
again. ‘She dwelt on the thought continually,’ wrote one of her nurses
afterwards; and another friend said in a letter home, at the time, ‘She
is deaf to any suggestion of possible recovery.’
Full directions were given as to presents which she wished to have sent
to relatives and friends after her departure; and many messages also,
expressive of intense delight in the prospect which she believed to lie
before her. She was very particular as to her funeral. ‘I wish no one to
wear black for me,’ she said. ‘My funeral must not cost more than five
rupees. No coffin; only a plank to keep the body straight. You must make
a recess in the grave, so that the earth may not fall on my face. No one
must carry me but my dear Christian boys.’
Then she would believe herself to be in a Zenana once more, and she was
giving a farewell address in Hindustani to all her Bibis. In the midst of
such a serious exhortation would come in quotations from Shakespeare, or
odd little remarks about her food, making it impossible for others not to
smile, as the active mind passed rapidly from one subject to another. But
still her radiant expectation and rejoicing never faltered.
‘What a happy thing it is to have conquered!’ she said once,--‘and to
know that I have a crown of glory awaiting me above! What happiness! But
I know I have no righteousness of my own. No one has that! My trust is in
the Blood of Christ _alone_! “The Blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from
all sin.”’
Repeatedly she remarked how ‘happy she was, dying in harness,--just as
she had wished!’ And again: ‘I want to go. You _must not_ pray for my
recovery. The Doctor _says_ I’m worse, doesn’t he?’ And again: ‘If the
Ladies of the Committee knew what a wreck I am, they would be glad that
I am going now. I cannot do any more work; but tell them that I depart
in the full, glad hope of Eternal Life, through Jesus Christ _only_!
His precious Blood _only_!... “Nothing in my hand I bring; simply to Thy
Cross I cling!” ... I am almost surprised at my ever coming out to be
a Missionary. I was so very ignorant! A Missionary needs very great
humility.’
At another time she asked: ‘How long is it likely to last? My sister
will be quite happy about me, now that I have completed my tenth year of
Missionary service.’
But near as Charlotte Tucker drew to the Gate of Death, which to her was
the Gate of Life, she was only allowed one glimpse inside; and then she
had to turn back into the wilderness of Earth once more. It makes one
think of the Pandit’s dream beside his dying wife. A ‘voice’ might well
have said, with angelic pity, of Charlotte Tucker, ‘She longs so to come!
I will take her!’ But if so, it would seem that the Divine Voice softly
interposed, ‘WAIT!’ Her hour of Rest was not yet reached. She was not
very much more than half-way through her toilsome Indian campaign. Ten
years of work lay behind. Eight years of work stretched ahead. This was
but the Rehearsal of the real Home-going.
By Saturday morning there was so far a distinct improvement that Mr.
Clark felt himself able to return to Amritsar. Miss Tucker still counted
herself dying; and her last words to Mr. Clark were, ‘Give to our dear
and honoured Bishop my affectionate _adieux_!’
When Christmas Day arrived, though not yet out of danger, she was allowed
to see all her Batala friends who could come, including the boys of the
School,--no doubt a mere passing glimpse of each. Much warm interest had
been shown by the people of the city, as well as by the Christians who so
well knew and loved her. Before Christmas Day, however, Miss Tucker seems
to have accepted the fact that, so far as could be seen, she had not yet
fought out her battle, had not yet to exchange Cross for Crown. So early
as the 21st of December Miss Wauton wrote to Mrs. Hamilton:--
‘I don’t think she will ever attempt so much active work again
amongst the people; but she said to me this morning, “Though I
shall probably not be able to do much amongst them, I can still
_love_ them!” Darling Auntie! _how_ every one does love and
honour her! This week has shown more than ever how she lives in
the hearts of those for whom she is spending her life; and how
dear she is to a very, very wide circle of friends, as well as
to her relations. The boys have been as quiet as mice all the
time she was ill; and the only sounds that reached her room
were their voices practising the Christmas hymns, which she was
delighted with, and fancied she heard them nearly all through
the night, long after they were all in bed.’
On December 28th Charlotte Tucker was able to dictate a letter to Mrs.
Hamilton:--
‘MY PRECIOUS LAURA,--I have been in deep waters, but I rather
think I shall swim. I cannot tell you what I owe to the
splendid nursing of ---- and ----. You couldn’t have nursed me
more devotedly and tenderly yourself. Neither you nor I will
ever forget it....
‘I’ve a noise going on for ever in my ears; but my mind has
been clear all through. The hard thing was not to be able to
pray for what I wished. I should so have liked to depart and be
with Jesus; but it didn’t seem God’s Will; and His Will must be
best. I tried to ask for patience and resignation. Good-bye,
darling....’
Loving messages to many friends are included in this letter; and she
also mentions having received on Christmas Day ‘Communion for the
Dying,’--though apparently she was then not really counted to be dying.
However, unless she misunderstood her doctor, he was not even then
hopeful to any great extent. Probably her own recollections were a good
deal more confused than she was at all aware of.
It is not a little remarkable that, after all this, she should in
letters written somewhat later quietly and decidedly assert that she
had _not_ reckoned herself to be dying, but had fully expected to get
well! The explanation is, most likely, that her strong desire to pass
away was so dominant a feeling as to entirely push into the background a
consciousness that she would recover. At the time she doubtless refused
to listen to the voice of this consciousness; but afterwards it would
naturally recur to memory,--possibly in a somewhat exaggerated form.
As soon as she was sufficiently improved for the move to be practicable,
she was taken to Amritsar,--being lifted into her duli, which travelled
by train, so that she was spared any further changes. At Amritsar she
was within easy reach of her Doctor; also she could be better nursed and
cared for there than in such an out-of-the-way place as Batala, where
personal comforts were few. Letters early in 1886 naturally contain a
good deal about her illness.
‘BATALA, _Jan. 2_.--My darling Laura, the last time the Doctor
came, I said to him, “Doctor, you’re winning the game of
chess.” He said, “You’ve been as bad as you could be; but,
under God, you owe your life to the excellent nursing.” ... My
sweet ladies watch me day and night, and seem to think it
fun.... I think in England we add to the miseries of sickness by
looking so anxious and grave. Then, another thing, love, is
this; don’t shut out friends, for fear they should tire the
patient. On Christmas Day, when my life was literally trembling
in the balance, I must have seen more than a hundred, and they
didn’t do me a bit of harm.... Good-bye, darling. Please give all
sorts of kind messages to dear Leila and your other dear ones,
and every one who loves me....
‘Please pray for patience. That is the lesson I have to learn.
“Be still, and know that I am God.” “O rest in the Lord, and
wait patiently for Him.” I mustn’t think even much about
Heaven! I mustn’t be like a soldier pining to get home, when
he’s told to keep quiet in the trenches.’
It is impossible not to remember Archbishop Trench’s couplet:--
‘Some are resigned to go; might we such grace attain,
That we should need our resignation to remain!’
‘AMRITSAR, _Jan. 11, 1886_.--I hope that my telegram arrived
before the news that would trouble you. The doctor pronounced
me “out of danger” last Friday, the 8th; so I almost
immediately thought of sending a telegram. Now I’m going to
make a little confession of exaggeration. I told you that I saw
more than one hundred people on Christmas Day. Babu Singha told
me that there were only eighty-four at the feast; so, as babies
count at the feast and didn’t come up to me, I probably didn’t
see more than seventy. I questioned the doctor a little time
ago as to the influx of visitors; and he only told me, that, as
he thought I was sure to die, it didn’t matter whom I saw. But
_I_ didn’t think I was going to die; and you see I was right....’
* * * * *
‘AMRITSAR, _Jan. 18_.--Thanks were publicly returned in
Amritsar Church yesterday for the recovery of your Char. “Bless
the Lord, O my soul; forget not all His benefits.” ... I am
floating in a sea of delight, and shall certainly look back to
this time of terrible illness as one of the happiest periods of
my life. I am as happy as a Queen. A great deal happier than
the Queen! One of the images that most frequently rises before
my mind, in prayerful thought, is that of our own beloved
Queen. There is something so grand and pathetic in that image,
as our Sovereign Lady sits with her hand on the helm, solitary
at her post of duty, with a revolutionary storm howling and
shrieking around her. The Lord shield her head; strengthen her
hands; give her increasing grace and wisdom; and grant her the
victory over all her enemies.
‘I think it would gratify Her Majesty were she to know her
_personal_ influence amongst the Women of India. In zenana
or mud-village, “Maliká Muazima Kaiser-i-Hind”--I generally
give our Sovereign her full title among the Orientals, though
I love “our own dear Queen” much better!--is an object of
interest.... Of course, we inculcate loyalty among our Native
Christians, in our Boarding School at Batala. One of the first
things that would strike the eye of a visitor is “God save
the Queen,”--hung up in the schoolroom.... It would please Her
Majesty, could she hear our Christian boys singing:
‘“Let the world know,
Be it friend or foe,
We’ll be true to our Faith and our Queen!”
The Hindus and Muhammadans might fail us should a storm arise;
the Atheists would be our bitter foes. I believe that many of
our noble Christians would be Faithful unto Death....
‘I have had two such extraordinary attacks of malarious fever....
For three days and nights, and more, I never slept for a
moment. My mind was sometimes carried, at other times goaded,
in unnatural activity. I had a torrent of thought, which I
could not stop; the first week is to me almost a blank.... Dr.
P. knew nothing of me, nor what a comically allegorical mind
I have. I remember nothing of our interview, but it must have
been inexpressibly funny....’
Letters thus far were only dictated. On January 20 is one in her own
handwriting, very feeble and shaky:--
’ ... One does learn such lessons, when lying still for weeks and
weeks, with nothing to do but think. For instance, I remember
grievous sins of omission, which I have never thought of
before.... The duty of Intercessory prayer opens out before me.
Of course, I have always prayed for you, love, and a great many
more; no danger of forgetting. But I _have_ forgotten numbers.’
In a circular letter to English friends, dated January 25, she again
and more emphatically asserts her own non-expectation of death during
the late illness: ‘On the worst day I talked Urdu, nothing else, from
morning till night, to imaginary bibis. Almost every one thought me
dying, _except myself_!... I asked the dear, kind, skilful doctor of my
state; he did not know what to say, for he thought me sinking. I asked
dear Mr. Weitbrecht, and he pointed his finger straight downwards. I
quite understood, but did not believe myself dying for all that!’ This
certainly was not the impression of those around her at the time, nor is
it borne out by the things she said. No doubt she was striving to believe
what she longed for,--was hoping that the doctors’ opinion, and not her
own inner sense, might prove to be right.
Miss Tucker’s ‘horror of alcohol’ is particularly noted by Mr. Clark.
When getting better, she one day remarked to him, ‘What a dear, good
doctor Dr. Clark is! He has brought me through it all, without giving me
any spirits.’ Then, turning to one of her nurses, ‘Isn’t it so, dear?’
A judicious answer was returned: ‘The doctor gave you just the right
medicine, and you were very good in taking it.’ A little later, when
having another dose of medicine, she said again, ‘Are you _sure_ there
is no alcohol in it?’ ‘It is what the doctor has ordered for you, Auntie
dear. You must just take it, and ask no questions.’ As letters show, it
was not till February that she learned the true state of the case, which
was that she had been kept alive by small doses of stimulant every hour.
The strongest brandy had tasted to her like water. As soon as Miss Tucker
understood how matters had been, she wrote to her sister, to say:--
‘I made a great mistake in my letters home. If from them you
have given to others a wrong impression, please kindly correct
it when opportunity occurs. I wrote that I had had no stimulant
in my illness. I thought that I had not; but I find that I was
utterly wrong. I was kept from sinking, not only by quantities
of quinine, but brandy also. It was strange that I should not
have recognised it; but it was always mixed with something
else.’
So steady now was the improvement in her health, that before the middle
of February she was able to get out for drives; on the 14th she went to
Church; and by the 18th she was back again in ‘dear Batala,’--not at
the old palace, but in the Mission Bungalow, ‘Sonnenschein,’ with Miss
Hoernle. A crowd of boys welcomed her at the Railway Station, on her
arrival; and next day a grand Batala feast was given in her honour.