A.D. 1887-1888
A VISIT FROM BISHOP FRENCH
One matter of marked interest in the year 1887 was the retirement of
Bishop French from the Bishopric of Lahore, and his return to the humbler
post of simple Missionary. This step appealed strongly to Miss Tucker’s
sense of admiration. On the 8th of October she wrote to Mrs. Hamilton:--
‘I have already, as you see, written a good deal by this mail,
... but I will not let the post for England go without at least
a few loving lines to my own dearest sister. The dear good
Bishop is resigning. I hear that he feels it sorely; but he has
no intention of leaving work. He resigns the _English_ part
into what he feels to be stronger hands,--but will, I believe,
continue Missionary work amongst Natives. He was _first_ a
Missionary; and--dear man!--it is not improbable that he will
die a Missionary. To lay down a mitre is no degradation!’
A few days later, having heard that the Bishop purposed paying her a
little visit at Batala, she wrote to him direct:--
‘BATALA, _Oct. 20, 1887_.
REVERED BISHOP,--Though I know not whether this will reach you
till after your return from Batala, I cannot forbear thanking
you for your affectionate letter, and intention of gratifying
me by visiting my simple little Missionary home. I received
your letter at Amritsar, having--for a wonder--left Batala to
be present at the wedding of dear old Mr. Newton’s grandson at
Ludhiana. This has occasioned a little delay in my replying.
Mr. Corfield also was absent, having gone to bring his wife
from Dharmsala; but we expect him to-morrow morning, and then
he shall know your wishes. I think that you will find the
Ghurub-i-Aftab very quiet. You will see visitors or not, just
as you please,--only give a hint of your wishes. When the dear
Lord’s Servants honour me with a visit, I say that they gild my
floors.
‘If it be not presumptuous in me to say so, I would express
my feeling that there is something beautiful and elevating in
the idea of one who was a Missionary before he was a Bishop,
becoming a Missionary _after_ leaving his Bishopric; laying
down the crozier and mitre, to take up the simple Evangelist’s
staff. Perhaps, my honoured Friend,--if permitted to call
you so,--your grandest work is yet to come.--Yours with
affectionate respect,
C. M. TUCKER.
‘_P.S._--Please offer my affectionate and grateful remembrances
to dear Mrs. French.’
The Bishop’s visit came about, as hoped for; and it was a great pleasure
to Miss Tucker to receive him. Although they might differ on certain
points, they were one in absolute love and obedience to the same Lord
and Master; and each thoroughly appreciated, thoroughly delighted in,
the whole-hearted and single devotion of the other. In some respects the
two were much alike. There was in both, as Dr. Weitbrecht has said, ‘a
fiery impatience of difficulty or delay which sometimes led to mistakes.’
In both also there was a remarkable _upliftedness_,--if the word is
permissible,--an absorption in things spiritual, which made earthly
matters seem altogether unimportant by comparison.
The one drawback to Miss Tucker’s enjoyment was that she gave up to the
Bishop her own little ‘house,’--and such changes had at her time of life
grown to be somewhat of a trial. But she would not hear of a gentleman
being permitted to sleep in ‘Sonnenschein,’ with the younger ladies,--not
even her beloved and revered Bishop!! She had not perhaps entirely even
yet lost sight of her old favourite idea of a home for Mission Miss
Sahibas, into which a man’s foot might not enter. At all events, she
decided to sleep there herself, and to give up her little Sunset home to
the Bishop. Which she did.
‘It was beautiful to see them together,’ Miss Dixie has said, when
speaking of this visit, which lasted somewhat under a week. The Bishop
and Miss Tucker went about in company, attended church together, and
had many a long talk,--both of them white-haired, fragile in look, worn
out with heavy toil, aged beyond their years. Both would be so utterly
absorbed in the subject under discussion, as to see nothing around, to
hear nothing that went on. There was about each of them a remarkable
_Other-worldliness_, to use a curious term, sometimes employed in this
sense. They were citizens of Heaven, not of Earth; and they realised the
fact to an extent not often equalled.
But with all her ‘Other-worldliness,’ Miss Tucker never lost the sense of
fun and humour, as connected with the things of this world. One amusing
little incident is told of the Bishop’s visit. He had brought with him
a Muhammadan manservant. Miss Tucker habitually kept in her cupboard a
small bottle of brandy, in case of need,--the brandy being well dosed
with quinine, to render it unattractive. When the Bishop was gone, this
little bottle was found to have vanished also. Miss Tucker, on making the
discovery, went back to her friends, to exclaim, with an indescribable
expression, ‘That greedy Muhammadan has taken the brandy?’--then bursting
into a fit of laughter at the thought of his surprise on tasting the
quinine. She often referred to this afterwards with great amusement.
It was remarkable in A. L. O. E. that she still, in old age, remembered
and carefully followed in small matters her parents’ wishes. Not of
course that her life was shaped by them. Probably old Mr. Tucker would
have disapproved of few things more highly than of a woman undertaking
such work as she undertook; but here she followed the dictates of her own
conscience. In slighter questions, where conscience was not involved,
she loved to do what they had of old desired. Still, as always, she rose
early to work, and went to bed in good time, according to the promise
given long, long before. Still, when she drank afternoon tea, she always
took something to eat with it, because ‘her Mother had liked her to
do so.’ And often, though old and weak, when she caught herself to be
stooping, she still would pull herself sharply upright, and say: ‘I
remembered,--my dear Father always wanted me to sit straight.’
While habitually much interested in engagements and marriages, she was
particular as to modes of speech on such subjects. Once or twice, when
some girl-visitor spoke with what she considered an unbecoming lightness,
upon some matter of love or love-making, Miss Tucker observed, after the
girl’s departure,--‘My dear, what a vulgar person!!’
The same curious diversity of opinion as to particular points of Miss
Tucker’s character which was observable in her English life, is also
observable in her Indian life. Here again are opposite opinions. One
says, ‘She was so peculiarly sympathetic!’ Another, with equally good
opportunities for judging, says, ‘Exceedingly kind, but not sympathetic.’
One says, ‘She was so well able to put herself into the place of another
in trouble!’ Another says, ‘No tact; the kindest intentions, but she did
not always know how to manage.’
The explanation lies, no doubt, at least in part, in her own
many-sidedness, and in the very different manner in which she was
affected by different people. Some appealed to her tenderness; some only
called out her kindliness. She could and did love intensely; but only in
particular cases: and though to a wide outer circle she gave love, it was
of a less ardent nature. Moreover, she _could_ dislike people; and when
she once took a marked dislike, though this was seldom, it would be not
quite easy to make her view with fairness that person’s doings.
She was very impulsive still; the same eager, enthusiastic warm-hearted
being, who had lived in girlhood at No. 3,--modified, but not
intrinsically different. Possibly, in old age, with weakened health,
after living practically much alone, the natural tendency to hasty
judgments may have somewhat increased. But if so, there was also an
increase in the spirit of humility, a far greater readiness than of
old to acknowledge herself mistaken or in the wrong. By nature she was
not gentle and had not self-control; and physical weakness doubtless
often rendered the fight harder,--yet she persevered in the fight with
never-failing resolution.
Sometimes she would hear of a thing done by one of the younger
Missionaries, and would at once condemn it, not waiting to learn all
the circumstances, and speaking with some severity. A few days later
something would turn up, explaining more fully the why and the wherefore
of the action in question; and then she would say frankly, ‘Well, I
think I was wrong, after all! I think you were right to do as you did!’
A smaller and less noble nature would probably have refused to see the
mistake, and would have clung obstinately to its own way of thinking.
Although she would occasionally _speak_ hastily, she did not as a rule
_write_ hastily. If she could not in her letters praise a person, she
would cease to bring forward that person’s name,--at all events in
letters meant for general reading.
It may also be noted here that, as time went on, Charlotte Tucker, in
her extreme desire for Missionary simplicity and economy, had become a
little apt to push matters in that direction to an excess. Few people
are constituted as she was, to toil hard and to live long upon the
smallest possible minimum of food. As some of the weakness of old age
crept over her, she was perhaps not always _quite_ reasonable respecting
Missionary requirements and necessities. She would at times seem to
expect others, for the sake of economy, to do with what she herself found
sufficient, but which to their different constitutions meant something
like semi-starvation. This at least is the impression of one who ought to
be accounted a good judge, and it appears to have been in some degree a
trouble to certain of her companions.
During all those long years of Indian life, amid the variety of people
with whom she was thrown, while there were many whom she could love, and
some whom she could love most warmly, there were also naturally a few
who did not suit her, any more than she suited them. She may have been
somewhat of a trial to them; and undoubtedly they were very much of a
trial to her; yet despite all her natural impetuosity and impatience of
disposition, she bore long and patiently in such cases. As one says, who
was with her in some of those later years, ‘Although sometimes hasty in
judging, she was also capable of much forbearance.’
It is noticeable that one who knew her well speaks of a remarkable
softening and increase of gentleness during the last three years of her
life. Naturally very ‘up and down’ in her moods, she became then far
more uniformly bright. The fruit was growing very ripe, almost ready to
drop from the tree. Miss Wauton, too, tells of the growing loveliness of
expression in her face, as the end drew nearer. But we have not yet quite
arrived at those last three years.
By this time Miss Tucker was a little apt to fall behind in new methods
of work, and to cling to what was old-fashioned. Needful changes in
the High School were at first a trouble to her, even though they might
be real improvements, tending to render the school more efficient. She
liked, for instance, to drop in at odd hours, and to ‘take a class,’
after the manner of an English squire’s daughter dropping into the
village school. As numbers and discipline increased it was found to be
not always a convenient plan, and objections were made. Miss Tucker one
day, in a fit of depression at having to give up this and other things,
is recorded to have said, ‘My work is done! I don’t care how soon I go
now!’
This happily was a mere passing fit of sadness. It was soon after
arranged that a Class of the older youths should go to her for
instruction on Sunday afternoons; and in the class she found very great
interest. She would also ask her ‘dear boys,’ a few at a time, to spend
week-day evenings with her, for games of play, which she enjoyed fully as
much as they did. She was very much beloved by the boys; and they were no
less delighted to come to her than she was to have them. Her influence
over these boys, over Indian Christians generally, and over most of the
Missionaries with whom she came in contact, will never be forgotten.
The springy step of earlier years was not quite lost, even in old age.
Another thing that she kept remarkably long was, as earlier stated, her
voice for singing. It had of course grown thin and weak, and was now a
good deal cracked; still she did not sing out of tune; and her enjoyment
in singing never failed. It was with her the natural expression of her
feelings. When she sang in Church, and when she played the harmonium,
her whole face would light up in a marvellous manner. Indians--not
Christians--would walk long distances, and be present in Church, simply
to look upon the face of the Buzurg Miss Sahiba, as she sang or played.
Such an illumination on the face of a human being was counted well worth
some exertion to see. Another account tells of a Native who would go to
Church for the express purpose of watching her look, when she recited the
_Gloria_. It was all so _real_ to A. L. O. E. Her very smile was a sermon
in itself.
All these years Zenana teaching went steadfastly on. She ever had before
her mind a keen sense that her own call might come before another
morning’s dawn, and that the present might be her last opportunity of
speaking. Sometimes she would be depressed when reading of others who
had had more apparent results to their work; yet through countless
discouragements she never slackened.
The same Native Christian from whom I have quoted earlier as to the
non-success, in his opinion, of her Missionary labours, says also
about Miss Tucker: ‘She was far from being a good judge of the Indian
character. I remember her pointing to a Native Christian, and saying that
the very light of Heaven was being reflected from his countenance, when
in fact he had almost apostatised.’ But this was simply a repetition of
the old tendency to think always the very best of everybody,--the habit
being cultivated to such an excess as materially to interfere with her
powers of perception in particular cases. It does not touch the question
of her general understanding of the Indian character. Penetration, as to
individuals, was hardly one of her gifts; and few would hesitate to agree
to the assertion that she thought a great deal better of many Natives
than, unfortunately, they deserved. Her eyes were opened slowly through
bitter and repeated disappointments. But to the last she would probably
have preferred to be sometimes deceived, rather than to be always
suspecting.
In the continuous pressure of her work and trials, Charlotte Tucker was
a woman of prayer. Not that she was given to long and wordy outpourings;
but she lived on the border-land of the Unseen, and she held incessant
intercourse with her Divine Master. Whatever she felt, whatever she
wanted, when she was afraid, when she was depressed, when things went
wrong, when she could not see her way, the first impulse of her heart was
always--prayer! Then she would wait to see His Will.
Systematic as were the entries in her Journal, those last few years
of life, she was apt to be a little forgetful,--which no doubt was the
very reason that she started the Journal. She would come in and say
to Miss Dixie, ‘Such a sweet young Bibi in a Zenana to-day, dear. She
wants to see you.’ When Miss Dixie asked where the young Bibi lived,
her recollections were confused, and she could not say. The name of
Bibi, husband, and house had all escaped. Miss Dixie would then have to
question the bearers as to where they had taken Miss Tucker, and so find
out particulars.
The writing of books and booklets still continued to some extent; indeed,
it could not have been long before this that she achieved a good-sized
volume for young English readers, called--_Pictures of St. Peter in
an English Home_. As its name might imply, it was controversial in
character, being written against the errors of the Roman Church. She
could not, however, work so hard now with her pen as in earlier years.
Dr. Weitbrecht states that ‘her books for publication in England, the
proceeds of which went to support local work, were mostly written during
her brief summer holiday. It was when she felt her powers failing in
this line that she set aside part of her patrimony to endow the “Mission
Plough.”’
The absence of allusions to her own writings in years of correspondence
is remarkable. Once in a way she speaks of what she is doing, but this is
quite the exception. Her natural reserve showed strongly here. She had
also a curious dislike to being questioned--a fact noticed by relatives
in her English life years before; and one of her Missionary companions
tells of it also. If questions were put direct, she would say, ‘I am
not your Mother-Superior; don’t appeal to me!’--when her questioner was
longing to have the benefit of her years of experience. A story is told
of one gentleman, who came from a considerable distance, on purpose to
consult Miss Tucker about some books that he meant to publish. The call
was a failure. Instead of gradually getting into conversation, and
luring her on to tell what she knew, he asked point-blank the things
that he wanted to hear; and the result was _nil_. On his way back to the
station, he inquired whether Miss Tucker had not lost her memory. Not at
all, he was told,--but direct questioning always checked information.
In the November of 1887 the small Star-Dispensary was opened by Dr.
Weitbrecht, for Miss Dixie. She had undergone some training in England;
and though not ‘qualified,’ she had it in her power to do much more for
the women and children of the neighbourhood than their own people could
do for them. Many objections have been made to the idea of a Dispensary
anywhere, without a properly qualified doctor; and no doubt as soon as
possible the latter should in all cases be supplied. But where a doctor
cannot be had, then in default of what is better, a trained nurse can
do a great deal to help, in ordinary cases of sickness or accident. The
reception given to this little Dispensary soon showed how much it was
valued.
In a letter of December 9th are some words of depression under
difficulties, especially the difficulty of finding a new master for the
‘Plough School,’ as the former master was going away.
‘I send you and dear Leila a few words of St. Paul’s which
seem to me so sweet and restful,--a pillow for weary heads.
“Beloved of God, called to be saints.” It is often difficult
to realise that we _are_ beloved of God, because conscience
says we do not deserve to be so. I have often to fight against
discouragements.’
On the 21st of January 1888 is a mention of the ‘Missionary Ladies’
Conference,’ to be held in Amritsar late in February, with a hope that
all would be ‘as friendly and good-tempered’ as on the previous occasion,
five years earlier. Towards the close of February comes her report of
what had occurred:--
‘_Feb. 24, 1888._--I found your letter awaiting me this
evening, when I returned from the four days’ Conference
of Lady Missionaries at Amritsar.... Conferences are rather
tiring. Sittings each day from 10 to 1, and 2 to 4, and always
something besides. We had about sixty ladies, of various
Denominations and Societies and Nationalities too, English,
German, American, Indian. On Thursday, after our Conference
work, we went to Church, and had such a solemn spiritual sermon
from our new Bishop.[121] It was the first time that I ever had
seen him.
‘In the evening there was rather a large meeting of Christians,
both white and brown, to meet the Bishop. I was introduced to
him; and we had--in the midst of the room--a quiet talk, which
I do not think that I shall ever forget. It was almost as if we
could at once meet heart to heart.... I think that he takes up
his high office more as a burden and a Cross than a dignity. I
felt greatly drawn towards him, and thank the Lord for sending
us a holy and humble man.’
* * * * *
‘_Feb. 28._--I must tell my loved Laura a little about the
Conference, and the characteristic way in which M., the real,
took me down a peg this evening. The first day nice Mrs.
Perkins, presided; on the second another nice lady; I was
particularly requested to sit in the chair on the third and the
first half of the fourth days.
‘Now on the second there had been rather a hot discussion.
There had been a show of hands; but numbers were so closely
divided that we had to go by ballot. Even then there was only
a majority of _one_; and some of the members were absent, and
some imperfectly informed. In short, when Char succeeded to
office, the question was brought up again by a strong lady on
the one side,--and then a paper was read by a strong lady on
the other,--and I proposed that votes should be taken _again_,
which resulted in a majority of four, I being one of the four.
A lady of the minority called out, “It does not matter what
is voted; we will all do just the same as before,”--which was
more true than polite. Then there was another lady, who got up
time after time, to make impracticable propositions; and she
got snubbed and sat down and cried.... Oh dear, it does not do to
be so thin-skinned! So you see, dear, all did not go on quite
smoothly while I sat in the chair, with the bonnet on my head
which you wore at dear Fred’s wedding!
‘This evening ... Herbert asked M. about the Conference. “I
thought the first day nice, when Mrs. Perkins presided,” said
she. I laughed a little again, and, I think, complimented her
on her sincerity.... It was clear that M. did not admire my way
of presiding. Now, I had been voted thanks at the meeting; but
dear M.’s honesty made me feel more than I had done before that
I had _not_ been very efficient. It is a good thing to know the
truth.
‘Is not this a funny little glimpse of life?... I doubt myself
that there is much use in Conferences, except that it is nice
that some dear workers should meet and know each other. We had
many very choice ones.’
More than a year later Miss Tucker referred again to this Conference,
when writing to Mrs. Hamilton upon the subject of whether or not secular
teaching in schools should be undertaken by Missionary ladies:--
‘I cannot explain to you all the difficulties that surround the
question. We had a kind of wordy battle on the matter at the
Ladies’ Conference; and it was no good! When a lady proposed
another Conference after another five years, I suggested
after _ten_, but no one seconded poor Char! I am not calm and
phlegmatic enough for these discussions, and, I am afraid, do
not always see both sides of a question. I more and more now
mistrust my own judgment, and sometimes feel rather disgusted
with--myself!’
There are thousands of people who lack the power of looking on both sides
of a question; but among them all few are humble enough to acknowledge
the fact!--still more, to distrust their own judgment.
When the Conference was over, Miss Tucker remarked to one of her
companions, ‘I proposed ten years, because I thought that then I should
not be here.’ She was ‘here’ five years later, but was within a few
months of her call Home.
‘_March 17, 1888._--I will tell you of a curious surprise I
had a few days ago. I was in my duli in one of the streets
of Batala, when I met one of my most highly respected Native
friends, the dear old Pandit, now the Rev. K. S.... A crowded
street is not the place for a talk. The Pandit asked me to go
to his village, O----, and had evidently some particular reason
for his request. As the next day was one of my village days, I
promised to go then.... If I thought much about the cause of a
visit being desired, I guessed that it either concerned some
Mission work, or the health of the good Bibi. But I was utterly
wide of the mark, and so I think will my Laura and Leila be, if
they take to guessing.
‘The dear couple had set their hearts on presenting me with a
beautiful, richly embroidered white Cashmere shawl, which the
Bibi, I know not how long ago, had bought ... from some one in
distress. In vain I expostulated, in vain said that the lovely
shawl was fit for the Queen, and that it was not suitable for
me to wear anything so handsome; that it might be sold for the
Mission. Both the smiling husband and wife were determined to
have it round my shoulders; and I _had_ to go away wearing it,
though I took it off in the duli, and took care of it, as if
it had been a child. Now, the Pandit and his wife want nothing
from me; this was no case of giving in hopes of receiving. The
whole thing took me by surprise.’
* * * * *
‘_April 21._--We are soon to go--all in the heat--to share a 3
P.M. dinner at the Corfields, and meet the Bishop, Mr. Clark,
and dear Herbert,--such a galaxy of good men, that we won’t
mind the heat, especially as my plump wadded umbrella is a real
protection.
‘I am reading--slowly--like a child enjoying a cake, that
delightful _Life of Bishop Gobat_. I mean to buy a copy for
myself; it would be so good for lending or extracting from. It
is such a humbling book too. I feel like a barn-door chicken
looking up at an eagle, and chirping, “I’m a bird too!” A
pretty difference between them! Now to put on _your_ sun-hat,
and be off.’
* * * * *
‘_April 26._--You are quite right if you think your unnamed
convert’s idea of his baptism killing his mother a false one.
It seems the _regular trick_ here to draw back converts from
Christ by telling them of a mother’s illness. We feel in such
cases the force of our Lord’s words, “Let the dead bury their
dead!” It seems hard at first; but experience shows us how
needful is the caution.’
* * * * *
‘_May 1._--Neither has April gone out smiling, nor did “May
come laughing o’er the plain.” The one has gone out, the other
came in,--in such a passion. It was so dark yesterday that I
was reminded of a London fog. Minnie required a lamp to read
by; a lamp, at 4¼ P.M. on a summer-day, shed its light on our
dinner-table. This is my day for villages when I have extra
kahars. I had ordered them not to come, should the day be as
bad as yesterday; but come they did. Evidently these hardy
fellows do not mind a dust-storm. They rather seem to enjoy it,
... and laughed merrily enough as we went along.’
* * * * *
‘_June 1, 1888._--I have to thank my sweet Laura for helping
to provide me with a nice tussore dress for my visit to
Murree. I cannot wear white there as I do in Batala, where
it does not look odd, as almost every man, woman, and child
appears in white. There is nothing like it for such hot
weather. But in Murree, where there are many European ladies, I
must dress more suitably, and also be prepared for any kind of
weather, heat, cold, and torrents of rain. For my cold-weather
apparel I have the very elegant grey dress, which dear W. and
M. gave me a few years ago. When the weather is warmer my new
tussore will be just the thing. I do not like writing so much
about dress; but I wished to thank you for your kindness....
‘Excuse a short letter, love. I have so much writing in the way
of thanking for gifts to the Mission. Friends are so very kind.
I have asked a kind Station-lady, Mrs. G., whether she will
help me to sell at Murree beautiful things sent from England
for the Mission. I am a bad saleswoman myself. I sometimes feel
inclined to tell people _not_ to buy what they do not require.’
* * * * *
‘_June 19, 1888._--I was so much interested to-day by our young
Goorkha J.’s account of his own conversion and adventures, that
I will try to write out the gist of it for you and dear Leila....
‘Born of a Brahmin family in Nepaul, our Goorkha thought of
himself as a kind of god. He would motion to beings of lower
dignity to sit at a little distance from him; he was not to be
polluted by their touch. The child, however, attended a Mission
School at D----, and came a good deal under the influence of
a Christian Convert, a Pandit (learned man). At the age of
about twelve the boy resolved to leave father, mother, all, for
Christ. He was too young to be baptized without his parents’
permission, and was advised to go a long way off. To be able to
do so, the boy sold his valuable gold earrings and bracelets,
and, having thus a good stock of rupees, he made his start, not
by any direct route, but through wild, uninhabited jungle.
‘He was accompanied and helped by an older Hindu, a sad rogue,
who had his own object, it appears, in assisting the flight of
the wealthy young Brahmin. The country was rocky and infested
by wild beasts. For two nights the fugitives slept in the
trees, for protection against leopards, bears, and tigers. But
this extreme discomfort could not be endured a third night; so
they slept on the ground, after lighting fires to prevent any
attack from fierce animals roaming about. The boy awoke,--I am
not sure whether it was on that or a succeeding morning,--to
find that the false Hindu had decamped with his money, clothes,
etc. Happily, the boy-convert had secreted on his own person
fifteen or twenty rupees; and with these, in the torn dirty
clothes left to him still, the Brahmin went on, and found his
way to where some Hindus dwelt. These were kind, but tried
to dissuade him from changing his religion. The Goorkha was,
however, evidently a boy of strong character. He made his way
to a train, the first which he had ever entered, and reached
Calcutta at last.
‘Here he wandered from place to place, to find a school.
Providence at last put the boy under the kind, almost paternal,
care of the Rev. ---- B., who nursed him through illness,
and fed him himself. The Brahmin at first chose only to
drink milk; evidently he still clung to caste. However, his
prejudices wore away. Mr. B. took the lad on an itinerating
tour, and afterwards placed him at school, first at C----,
afterwards at R----. At R---- our boy, after receiving
more religious instruction,--for he says that he knew very
little,--was baptized by the name of J. After a while he was
sent to Batala.... I hope that after a while he will study at
a Theological College, and become a Catechist and Missionary
to his own people. J. has written two or three times to his
parents, but his letters have been returned....
‘I am writing very early this week, as I propose starting for
Murree to-morrow.’
* * * * *
‘MURREE, _July 11_.--On Friday week I propose beginning my
homeward flight to Batala. It will be a different sort of life
at the Gurub-i-Aftab. Here there are morning callers, and
afternoon visitors, and luncheons, and tea-parties, and many
a box-wala[122] or kapra-wala brings his wares, to tempt us,
spreading out a variety of pretty things.... One of my pleasures
is to see the lovely fair blue-eyed children going about with
their ayahs. I am so much accustomed to see brown babies, that
some of the English ones look to me almost like cherubs. The
church-going is a great gratification; it is so nice to have
prayers and sermon in English, and I greatly enjoy the hymns....
I enjoy my quiet morning walks in the lovely wooded paths on
the hills. This house is very conveniently situated near the
church; so one does not require much _mounting_, which is
tiring. I do not attempt long walks, but stroll about. My dear
Rowland and Helen have had much anxiety about their little
Robin.’
* * * * *
‘BATALA, _Aug. 9, 1888_.--As our Dr. Miss Sahiba, Minnie, is
away, I have now and then to try my ‘prentice hand a little,
but in a very humble, cautious way. I have nothing to do with
making pills, but have invested in big bottles of castor-oil
and turpentine. I have quinine, of course, and ammonia in case
of bites or stings. I don’t revel in physic, like Minnie; and
dimness of sight and want of steadiness of hand do not serve
to make me more fit to add Doctor to my name. What a blessing
it is that some people actually _like_ doctoring! I remember
saying to my ... kind-hearted ----, now a doctor, that operations
must be trying. “I _like_ them,” was his simple, truthful
reply. Well--Buckland liked playing with snails and snakes. _De
gustibus non disputandum!_’
On September the 10th, speaking of a planned trip to Lahore, to see her
nephew and niece, she continues:--
‘I propose after parting with the dear ones to sleep at the
Mission House at Amritsar, and to-morrow go to the hospital,
to see my dear ayah, Hannah, whom we sent there, not knowing
that--as we fear--a deadly illness is on her. Dear, gentle,
loving Hannah! she has served me faithfully for about seven
years; and in all that time I cannot remember her doing _one_
wrong thing, or saying _one_ wrong word. A humble, gentle
Christian, good wife, good mother,--ah! she is a sad loss to
her family of seven, ... and also to your loving Char.’
* * * * *
‘_Nov. 1. 1888._--The first of November, darling Laura, and
I am preparing for cold weather. I have taken my chhota
janwar[123] (little animal, _alias_ dear Fred’s splendid
foot-muff) out of its bag, to keep my feet warm in the morning,
before my bath is ready. Eiderdown petticoat, etc., etc. O
luxurious Char! It was a pleasure to me to-day to pay F.,
my new ayah, her first month’s wages; there was a pleasant,
half-grateful look in her eyes.... I _like_ paying wages.
‘My last dear ayah is not forgotten. I have given orders for
a modest little monument of brick and mortar, to mark where
Hannah sleeps. We have no stones here. I went to the cemetery
with the mason, ... to give directions, and was struck by finding
a tiny but touching memorial already on the spot. A very little
wooden Cross, covered with paper, to facilitate the writing of
an inscription. There was the date, of course in Urdu, and “Not
dead, but sleepeth”; and “The Lord gave; the Lord hath taken
away; blessed be the Name of the Lord.” This tribute of love
had been placed over his dear Mother’s grave by J., the eldest
son here, a lad of about fourteen. I mean to keep to his
inscription, when the humble monument is placed over Hannah’s
dust. Dear woman! she was of the meek and quiet spirits who are
precious to the Lord.’
* * * * *
‘_Nov. 23._--The last mail brought me letters both from my
loved Laura and dear Leila; to both many thanks. My sunstroke
was nothing to tell you about; for though I was sickening two
days, the illness only lasted about six hours, and left, thank
God, no dregs behind. I awoke quite serene from the state which
had so alarmed my good friends, was able that very day to hold
a little Bible-meeting, and to go to my city-work next day.’
About this time Mrs. Herbert Weitbrecht, who was then in England, wrote
to Mrs. Hamilton, upon the question of Miss Tucker being advised to go
home. As will be seen from the following little extract, her view was
strongly adverse to this step.
‘For one thing, the cold, in which Mrs. ---- revels, would try
the Auntie very severely. But there is more than this. You
know she used to speak very freely to me; and I have a strong
impression that she did not let you and her other friends at
home know how much she suffered from the parting, how great a
wrench it was to her. She used to say that she ... dreaded above
everything the thought of having to go through such partings
again.’
Probably no persuasions would have induced Miss Tucker to return. She
had steadily made up her mind that in India she would live and die.
Unless, indeed, she should be called elsewhere! At this very time she was
deeply interested in the Andaman Islands, over which her nephew, Major
Louis Tucker, had been appointed Chief Commissioner. On learning that a
Mission among the Convicts was sorely needed there, she is said to have
offered herself for the purpose,--if she could do good by going. Probably
she thought of it as merely a temporary thing; as inaugurating, not as
carrying on permanently, the work. But at her age, and in her feeble
health, the very suggestion shows marvellous courage and energy.
The next letter is about a difficult case in England: a young Indian,
with whom Mrs. Hamilton was acquainted:--
‘_Dec. 1._--I have not answered your letter about poor Q. in
haste. I received it the day before yesterday. Perhaps you
will not like my thoughts; but you had better know them, sweet
sister....
‘It is a characteristic of the Native character to have little
sense of sin. A conscience seems a thing to be created. Q. does
not seem to see how grievously he has sinned, _is_ sinning.
He is clearly denying the Lord Who bought him; and that for
worldly gain. Darling Laura, have you _quite_ realised the
greatness of the sin? To my view it was a mistake to ask Q. to
dinner. “With such an one, no, not so much as to eat.” Until Q.
deeply repents, he is not fit to sit at your table....
‘You may cite the Parable of the Prodigal Son. That is exactly
what I would cite for _my_ view of the subject. Poor Q., if a
son, is the Prodigal Son, beginning to be in want, and hiring
himself out,--feeding swine. If, when he was longing for even
husks, he had been coaxed and asked out to dinner, would he
ever have “come to himself,” would he ever have cried, “I will
arise, and go to my Father?” Was it _easy_ for him to go, in
a far country, as he was? Was _he_ not ready to sacrifice his
pride, and go amongst his Father’s servants as a beggar? If
Q. would have the Prodigal’s reception, he must do what the
Prodigal did.
‘Perhaps my Laura will remind me of St. Paul’s injunction to
the Corinthians to take back and “comfort” a gross sinner.
But, remember, that man had first had some mysterious terrible
punishment,--“delivered over to Satan for the destruction of
the flesh,”--and he was so deeply penitent, that there was
danger of his being “swallowed up with overmuch sorrow.” When
Q. repents _like that_, let us all receive him and comfort him.’
Some may count this letter stern, viewed in the light of modern lax and
easy notions. But Charlotte Tucker knew what she was about. She was
living, at Batala, in the First Century of Christianity. Things would
often be very differently viewed by us in England, if we could see them
from the standpoint of the First instead of the Nineteenth Century.