A.D. 1892-1893
THE LAST GREAT SORROW
With the coming of autumn, accounts of Mrs. Hamilton’s state grew
steadily worse. In the middle of October Miss Tucker went for a few
days to Rawal Pindi; and the last letter which she received there,
before starting on her return journey, prepared her for the coming blow.
Arriving at Batala station in the early morning, her first question was--
‘Is there a telegram?’
There was a telegram, and it was given to her immediately. Before seeing
a word, Miss Tucker knew what the missive had to tell,--knew that her
dearly loved sister had passed away. She opened it, and burst into a
flood of tears. Reaching home, Miss Dixie led her to her own room, and
there left her for a little while alone.
Probably no sorrow in all her lifetime, except the death of her Father
and the death of Letitia, had touched her so closely as this sorrow; and
even they were not the same, because through them she always had still
her Laura. Now the sense of loneliness pressed upon her heavily. Whatever
she had thought, whatever she had wished, whatever had aroused her
interest or appealed to her sympathies, the immediate impulse had ever
been to tell it to Mrs. Hamilton,--perhaps even more during these long
years in a far-off land, than in her English life. But indeed from very
childhood, from the time when Laura was a little rosy, sweet-tempered,
merry maid of four, and Charlotte was a wild-spirited, impulsive, and
ambitious child of eight, the tie between them had been of a very unusual
nature. They did not love merely as sisters, but as the nearest and
dearest of intimate personal friends. What made the one happy made the
other happy. What grieved the one grieved the other.
And now for a while the tie was seemingly broken; intercourse was at an
end. True, Charlotte Tucker had been for sixteen long years and more
separated by land and ocean from her sister. But the communion of mind
with mind had been incessant throughout. True, the break was for a very
little while. But this she could not possibly know. Old as she was, old
in some respects beyond her years, she yet had a strong constitution,
and a marvellous amount even now of wiry vigour. Weak she might be, in a
sense; nevertheless she could get through a round of work daily which few
women of seventy would dream of attempting. It was well within the bounds
of possibility that her life might be extended through another ten or
twelve years, or even longer.
‘She felt her sister’s death most dreadfully,’ one of her nieces has
said. Yet she did not lie crushed beneath the weight of her grief. Work
had still to be done; and others had to be thought of and comforted.
On the very day that she received the telegram she wrote to Mrs.
Hamilton’s daughter a letter full of sympathy for her niece’s loss,
scarcely mentioning her own.
‘I would take you as it were into my arms, ... and weep with you,
so that I might possibly even remind you of the sympathy of the
precious Mother, whom you have _not_ lost, but parted with for
a little while. O, when you meet in Eternity, what a little
while it will appear!... You have the blessing of holy memories;
you know that you were a great comfort to the precious Invalid;
and you have the joy of hope, the hope of re-union. We are only
pilgrims on the same road; and one arrives before the other.
Both have the same Home.
‘“And who can tell the rapture, when the circle is complete,
And all the Family of God around the Father meet?”
’ ... It will be a solace to you to look after your beloved
Mother’s poor. I am sure that many had cause to bless her.
All her works of love done so quietly and unostentatiously;
but every one marked down in God’s “book of remembrance.”
What a wonderful joy the opening of that book will be! Little
kindnesses, acts of love, words of holy counsel, all marked
down, not one forgotten.... Try to _realise_ your Mother’s
happiness! Has she not looked on the Lord Jesus, heard His
Voice, received His welcome?’
And again on the 27th of October:--
‘Try, dear one, to comfort others; and then you will find
comfort yourself. This is a world of suffering; and the best
Memorial to your precious Mother will be something that will
be a blessing to others. To think of what _she_ would have
approved will be a solace to your mind.’
On the same day she wrote to her nephew, the Rev. W. F. T. Hamilton: ‘I
go on with my daily Mission work; it seems what I have specially to live
for. Is it not possible that your sainted Mother takes an interest in it
still?’
In the first letter to Mrs. J. Boswell, after receiving the telegram, she
spoke more openly of her own feelings:--
‘_Oct. 23._-- ... Your letter to Lettie, which I saw at Pindi,
before my own followed me there, quite prepared me for Edith’s
thoughtful telegram. I received that telegram at the Batala
station, after my long dark night’s journey back from Pindi. I
thank and bless God for my precious sister’s bliss; but to me
the blank----! I suppose that the funeral will be to-morrow;
in thought I follow my poor bereaved Leila,--but my mind
dwells less on the grief of those left, than the joy of her
who is with her Saviour. I thanked God for her to-day at Holy
Communion.
‘I hope that there will be no unnecessary gloom to-morrow. It
seems to me so incongruous to throw a heavy black pall over the
dear form, when the spirit is wearing the shining white robe.
I hate black,--the colour of sin and spiritual death! My own
beloved sister had nothing to do with either. My tears fall as
I write; but I dare not, cannot, murmur; though life seems to
me a weary pilgrimage. I am very home-sick, my Bella; but the
Lord will call me when He knows that I am ready. He gives me
some work to do for Him. I must live for that.’
And again, on the 4th of November:--
‘This has been a year of trials. Since I reached seventy, I
feel as if my path had grown steeper, and flowers wither. But
when the summit of the Hill is reached--what joy! I can hardly
help envying my sweet Laura; and, oh, I am thankful that she
was spared acute suffering! Her end--as regards this world--was
indeed peace; her happiness will be never-ending. You see that
I am again at Futteyghur, for about five days, to keep Miss Key
company.... It was no sacrifice to me to come out to the village,
for I was glad to be in a very quiet place just now. Batala is
too full of friends and too cheerful for my present mood. Work
is congenial; not cheerful meetings. Mrs. Corfield gave a sort
of Concert on Wednesday, to which every one was invited; but I,
of course, stayed at home. There is no one but Daisy Key and
myself here.’
From the Journal entries it is evident that Miss Tucker gave herself only
one clear day of rest--and that day a Sunday--for indulgence in any wise
of her sorrow. She had the telegram on a Saturday; and on Monday the
usual round of visiting went on.
‘_Oct. 20._[141]-- ... My precious Laura departed.’
‘_Oct. 22._--Returned to Batala. Telegram.’
This is the brief Diary notice of what occurred.
The next few months were marked by no very especial events; only the
usual ups and downs, anxieties, disappointments, encouragements, of
Missionary work. Missionaries came and went as usual; and partings took
place, some of which tried her much. Miss Eva Warren, who had spent
several weeks with her in 1889, came in November to be a permanent inmate
of ‘Sunshine’; no small pleasure to Miss Tucker. But Miss Warren, like so
many others, broke down under the Panjab climate; and in the spring of
1893 she had to give up her post and return home.
In April 1893 Miss Tucker wrote to her niece, Miss L. V. Tucker:--
‘Though I have written playfully to your father, I am not in
a playful mood. This is such a year of partings for your poor
old Auntie. You know about my Louis and Lettie; then energetic
Minnie Dixie left us; to-day I go to the station for the
last look of the dear, good Corfields ... and their three fine
children, accompanied by Rosa Singha, who has been such a help
and comfort here. On Monday week sweet Eva Warren, one of my
most lovable companions, leaves me.... I do not expect to see her
again on earth. Next month Rowland Bateman, my very tip-top
favourite amongst all Missionaries, is to start for England.
What a blessing it is that there is One Friend Who says, “I
will never leave thee, nor forsake”; “Even to hoar hairs I will
carry you”!’
A few slight recollections of Miss Warren’s may well come in here. They
are of particular interest, being almost entirely of this last year of
Miss Tucker’s life, after the death of Mrs. Hamilton. The two had been
very little together before November 1892, when Miss Warren returned from
eighteen months’ sick-leave, to be again in three months invalided.
‘She was very impulsive,’ Miss Warren says. ‘We used to say of her
sometimes that she needed cool young heads to guide her. Her energy was
very remarkable. During the last cold weather I was with her, I could
see how much she felt the cold, but she would not give in in the least....
Being an Honorary Missionary, she was very scrupulous about not taking
any extra privileges in the way of holidays.... My impression is that she
had formerly known the language better than she did latterly. In spite
of her efforts not to forget what she had learned, some had slipped away
from her. She said to me one day: “I speak Hindustani as the Duke of
Wellington used to talk French.” “Oh,” I said, “how was that?” “Bravely!”
she said. She had a very merry way of laughing, when anything amused her.
‘She said to me once: “I think what is wanted out here is--Missionaries’
graves. Not the graves of young Missionaries, who have died here, but the
graves of old Missionaries, who have given their whole lives for these
people!” ... She was very humble about her own work, and used sometimes to
be quite depressed after reading accounts of other people’s successful
work, thinking that she had met with no success.’
Miss Warren relates also how she would not unfrequently say: ‘So-and-so
is one of those people who think me a great deal better than I am.’ Her
conversation was still very bright and full of interest; the active mind
had by no means parted with its vigour. Sometimes she would talk eagerly
about old days, and tell stories of the Duke of Wellington, a subject
which always aroused her. Or again she would plunge into the topic of
Shakespeare’s Plays. Or she would read some of her favourite Spurgeon’s
Sermons. Another pet book of hers was Baxter’s _Saints’ Rest_; and this
she read through with Miss Warren. Occasionally still she would read
aloud one of her own stories in the evening. Happily, she retained her
old love of games; and they must have been a great relaxation after
the hard day’s work. Sometimes, when Miss Warren had been reading or
studying, she would say: ‘Now you must come and frisk a little!’
The old untidiness in dress had never been overcome; and the mixture
of colours was often remarkable. But though the clothes might not be
artistically chosen, or put on with great neatness, they were always
daintily clean,--no matter how many years they might have been in use.
Thin and fragile-looking as Miss Tucker had always been, she was by this
time hardly more than mere skin and bone; and her face was singularly
covered all over with fine wrinkles. This it was, no doubt, which helped
to give her the appearance, spoken of by so many, of being far older
than she really was,--rather like ninety than like seventy. The vigour
and energy which she still retained were, however, certainly not like
ninety,--or even like seventy.
Here are a few more selections from the Journal in the year 1893,--the
closing year of Charlotte Tucker’s Indian life:--
‘_Feb. 21._--Village. B. Saw fourteen girls; only eleven worthy
of being counted. Heard of five more. C. D. Did not see him,
but E., F., and another familiar face. Men and women listened
to story of Knocking, etc. Some man said, did not understand
me. I repeated John iii. 16, and asked E. to repeat it too. He
did so, and no one could pretend not to understand. I asked E.
to instruct them; he said simply that it was difficult for a
Hindu to teach about Christ, and twice said that a Christian
preacher should be sent. Hindu Bibis nice. Seeing the picture
of Knocking, they seemed to understand; and one or two appeared
to _have_ opened the door of the heart....’
* * * * *
‘_Feb. 22._--G. H. Gentle, pleasing. I lent her _Stories for
Women_. J. nicer than I have ever found her. K., a delightful
visit. Her husband, L. M., a fine-looking man, has returned,
and the family are _so_ happy. I saw first one, then another
child, on the father’s knee; the sweet wife’s face is full of
pleasure. L. M. says that he is going to be a Christian.... His
brother, N. O., seems a thoughtful, nice man. He is puzzled
about God’s having a Son, but told me that he did not ask
questions for controversy, but wishing to be instructed....’
* * * * *
‘_March 27._--Village. P. Sirdar’s house. Pretty bibi, not
attentive, and bhatija ill-mannered. Other boys listened,
specially nice R. ... Take more Urdu and Gurmukhi, and a little
Hindi next time. Gave three Gospels and other books. Weather
cold.’
* * * * *
‘_May 19._--S. T. Charming. U. V. sixteen years old. Appears to
be the wife of the uncle of some and _grandfather_ of others,
in the house.... Has Gospel and _Pilgrim’s Progress_. Read and
translated to me some pages of latter, with great emphasis.
Seems a believer. I have sent her Psalms in Hindi....’
* * * * *
‘_June 15._--Adopted Lefroy as Nephew.... Fancy-fair.’
* * * * *
‘_June 17._--With W.’s bibi and Ayahs, Ascension and Pentecost.
Evening walk, met two respectable-looking men. Had Urdu and
Hindi Gospels in my hand. One man’s glance at Urdu encouraged
me to offer it. Man much pleased. Talked English; in some way
belongs to Viceroy. Wished to give me something for Gospel.
I said that I did not sell, but gave it with pleasure. Other
man readily received Hindi Gospel. A little farther met with a
curious-looking man, with appearance of a devotee. Offered him
Gurmukhi Gospel. Accepted eagerly, and, to my surprise, took
my hand, and said earnestly in English, “Thanks--dear--Madam!”
Lord, bless Thy Word!’
* * * * *
‘_June 27._--Returned from Simla. Happy journey downhill with
dear Lefroy. I have left Batala work for four weeks and four
days.
* * * * *
‘_June 28._--Full of difficulties. Lord, help me! CLOSED
DISPENSARY.’
* * * * *
‘_Aug. 31._-- ... Here closes August, a month of Blessings....’
* * * * *
‘_Oct. 28._--Village. P. started for V. But all V.’s
inhabitants seemed to have turned out for the funeral of a
young man. Probably eighty or a hundred present. I turned to
the left, where about forty women and girls were standing
or seated on the ground. I repeated twice over to them, not
singing, a little hymn which I had made; also the precious
verse, “God so loved.” Had not only good listening, but some
of the women repeated after me the burden of the hymn. I had
chest-cold, so could not have sung without coughing.’
The last page of Miss Tucker’s Diary, which follows immediately after
this entry of October 28, is reproduced in facsimile.
Writing to Miss Minnie Dixie on July 21, 1893, she asked: ‘Have you heard
that I have a new nephew, Mr. Lefroy? He is Irish, of Huguenot descent....
He is a gifted man, and a devoted Missionary.’ Mr. Lefroy, belonging to
the Cambridge Delhi Mission, which is in connection with the S.P.G., has
been mentioned in an earlier letter as arguing for over five successive
hours with Muhammadans in a mosque. This was probably the latest of her
numerous Indian ‘adoptions.’
She was for months in much trouble about the Dispensary, as it seemed
impossible to find any one, European or Indian, capable of undertaking it
and also free to do so. The attendance had been good; often more than a
hundred women in one day coming for help; and Miss Tucker was exceedingly
desirous to keep it open. But so many had broken down, or were absent on
furlough, that for a while the closing proved unavoidable.
That, from time to time, Miss Tucker suffered from depression and
moods of sadness, there can be no question. She never allowed such
moods to interfere with her work; but she was not always in a state
of high spirits and rejoicing. If nothing else showed this, it would
be plain from certain brief passages in her journal, occurring at
intervals,--sometimes at long intervals. Such passages as these speak
plainly:--
‘1888.--I have suffered a good deal from bodily languor and
mental depression.’ ‘1888. Depression has overtaken me. Thank
God, not doubt or despair.’ ‘1891. Felt the weight of years
much; work a struggle.’ ‘1892. I begin my seventy-second year
with a sense of weakness almost amounting to exhaustion.’
But these and others of the same description were exceptional. In a
general way her steadfast courage and cheerfulness were remarkable.
On the 30th of August 1893 she wrote to Mr. Bateman in a strain as cheery
as ever, despite the weight of years and worries:--
‘O MY DEAREST ROWLAND,--So you take to lecturing your ancient
Auntie, because she has come down to the Plains, where even an
old woman is _needed_, instead of being a weak, languishing,
fine lady up at Simla, where she was not needed one bit. Why,
I am ever so much more frisky here, more cheerful and well,
as well as more useful. Barring a few infirmities of age, I
am in as good health, I think, as I ever was in England. I
paid a good visit to-day to a village about four miles off,
and am none the worse. Why, Rowland, I am actually the _only_
Missionary, man or woman, now in Batala; and I have not dear
Babu Singha, for he is at Chamba. Who would there be to escort
our little train of bibis and bachelors to Chapel every
afternoon, if an old dame were not here? I feel like a hen
with chickens; and Herbert said that we look like a school. We
are sometimes the better part of the congregation; for we have
little girls home from school, and expect more here, and two
little boys also from Narowal. Batala without a Miss T. would
be like a teapot without a top.
‘But you must not fancy that I am alone. Mr. Clark has
considerately sent me a lovely young German lady, to keep house
for me, which she does very nicely, and I am becoming a little
fatter. I often take her to Zenanas with me; but there she is
rather a hindrance than a help.... People will stare at her,
instead of listening to me. She cannot help being attractive.
She is very happy with me; but of course, as she does not do
Mission work, this arrangement must not continue after Miss
Clarke comes back from the Hills.
‘Now I hope that you are satisfied, dear Rowland, that there
has been no foolish imprudence, or worshipping of her old
broken net, on the part of your ever attached
AUNTIE.
‘Kind love to Helen. Mr. Gray is to come for next Sunday’s
services!’
On the 13th of October, in a letter to Miss Edith Tucker, she observed:
‘I have such a nice Missionary companion, Miss Gertrude Clarke.... Batala
is filling again; it was so empty during the holidays, that, had not Miss
L. been sent to keep me company, I should have had no European within
twenty miles. I was sole Missionary here.’
On the 31st of the same month, October, she wrote to Miss Minnie Dixie:--
‘I made a grand expedition last week,--I have still four days
of my six weeks’ holiday left; but as we enter November
to-morrow, I am not likely to take them. I actually went to
Bahrwal, and saw the Consecration of Mr. and Mrs. Perkins’
choice little church; simple, but in nice taste.... The dear
Bishop was of course there, and held a Confirmation Service
in the afternoon, at which about twelve or fourteen Peasant
converts were received. I saw a good many friends....
‘I send you a little hymn, which you may like to sing. It
is perhaps the last thing which may be composed by your
affectionate aged Auntie,
C. M. TUCKER.’
From these words it would seem as if already some dim sense had come
that her time on Earth was nearly over. She was indeed drawing very
close to the dark River, which to her did not look dark but bright;
and perhaps her eyes had already caught the ‘glitter’ of its waters. A
friend, writing soon after, observed: ‘She had been growing more and more
conscious of weakness, if not actually weaker, and was looking forward
eagerly to release.’ In the month of November came what she was wont to
call ‘her Indian Birthday,’--the day on which she had first landed on
Indian shores, eighteen years before. And, as she soon after said, when
ill, though not yet so ill as to cause anxiety: ‘When the Anniversary of
my arrival in this country came round this year, I felt that my work was
done, and that I should not live to see another.’
To some minds it may appear as if this perpetual longing for death
contained something of a morbid and unhealthy nature. No doubt, as
a general rule, it is perfectly natural to cling to life, to shrink
from death; and where a desire for the latter exists, it often is
romantic and unnatural, or else it arises from impatience of life’s
troubles, and from a wish to escape those troubles. This, however, was
not the case with Charlotte Tucker. Her romance was never unhealthy
romance; she was not cowardly, nor was she in the least morbid. On the
contrary, she was thoroughly healthy, high-spirited, vigorous in body
and mind,--exceptionally vigorous for her years, through the greater
part of middle life and old age, till within a short time before her
death. And although she had certainly numerous trials in the course of
her seventy-two years,--as who has not?--hers was in many respects a
very happy life. She had freedom from money cares; she had plenty of
interests; she had success in her pursuits; she had abundance of loving
and steadfast friends; she had, above all, one most satisfying intimacy;
and, in addition to these things, she had a natural buoyancy, a keen
sense of fun, a ready appreciation of the ridiculous, which in themselves
would brighten life, and which are _not_ characteristics usually found in
morbid and self-centred people.
What was unusual in her was the strong and intense realisation of the
Other World. Spiritual things to her were absolutely real. That which
is unseen was to her as if seen. The love of Christ was more to her
than the love of all earthly friends. Paradise was more to her than
Earth. It was not that she did not love Earth, but that her love for
Heaven was greater. It was not that she could not enter into the bright
things of this world, but that she found the things of the Other World
brighter still. She could never be satisfied with the present life;
because she was always craving for the higher existence, always longing
to rise ‘nearer--nearer’ to God. She was like a caged lark, impatient
for freedom. And at last, after all these years of waiting, the time was
come.