‘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 ofone; 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 takenagain, 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 hersincerity.... 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 hadnotbeen 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.’
‘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 ofone; 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 takenagain, 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 hersincerity.... 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 hadnotbeen 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 afterten, 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!’
‘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 afterten, 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 guessedthat 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 Ihadto 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.’
‘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 guessedthat 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 Ihadto 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 3P.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 delightfulLife 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 onyoursun-hat, and be off.’
‘April 21.—We are soon to go—all in the heat—to share a 3P.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 delightfulLife 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 onyoursun-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 theregular trickhere 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.’
‘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 theregular trickhere 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 4¼P.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.’
‘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 4¼P.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 peoplenotto buy what they do not require.’
‘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 peoplenotto 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-converthad 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.’
‘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-converthad 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 muchmounting, 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.’
‘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 muchmounting, 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 veryhumble, 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 actuallylikedoctoring! I remember saying to my ... kind-hearted ——, now a doctor, that operations must be trying. “Ilikethem,” was his simple, truthful reply. Well—Buckland liked playing with snails and snakes.De gustibus non disputandum!’
‘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 veryhumble, 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 actuallylikedoctoring! I remember saying to my ... kind-hearted ——, now a doctor, that operations must be trying. “Ilikethem,” 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 doingonewrong thing, or sayingonewrong 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.’
‘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 doingonewrong thing, or sayingonewrong 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,aliasdear 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.... Ilikepaying 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 sonhere, 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. 1. 1888.—The first of November, darling Laura, and I am preparing for cold weather. I have taken my chhota janwar[123](little animal,aliasdear 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.... Ilikepaying 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 sonhere, 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.’
‘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.’
‘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,issinning. He is clearly denying the Lord Who bought him; and that for worldly gain. Darling Laura, have youquiterealised 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 formyview 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 iteasyfor him to go, in a far country, as he was? Washenot 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. repentslike that, let us all receive him and comfort him.’
‘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,issinning. He is clearly denying the Lord Who bought him; and that for worldly gain. Darling Laura, have youquiterealised 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 formyview 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 iteasyfor him to go, in a far country, as he was? Washenot 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. repentslike 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.
The year 1888 closed with another sharp attack of illness, not so severe or so prolonged as that of 1885, but sufficient to cause anxiety. On the 16th of December, though ‘far from well,’ Charlotte Tucker went to church as usual; but all her ‘wraps upon wraps could not keep her from catching cold.’ On the 21st, Mr. Bateman, reaching Amritsar, was much disturbed by the arrival of a telegram from Batala, requesting Dr. H. M. Clark to go over immediately, as Miss Tucker was in high fever. There was some hesitation whether to start at once by ekka, or to wait for the early morning train; and the latter plan was decided upon. When Dr. Clark went, Mr. Bateman accompanied him; and he wrote to Mrs. Hamilton on the 23rd:—
‘We reached Batala—“Sonnenschein”—together at 10.30 yesterday. The Auntie was reported sleeping without fever. She woke about 11; and Dr. Clark, after seeing her, telegraphed, “No immediate anxiety,” to Mr. Clark, who on receipt would decide whether to go to Batala, or to come here (Lahore) for the “Quiet Day.” The Auntie was very much pleased at my going over, and would not rest again till I had been into her room. She is in a comfortable, warm room. To my uninitiated eye she seemed to have everything about her which she could desire.... As I passed into the room Dr. Clark passed out, and behind the screen he whispered, “She is all right.” She met me with almost a shout of welcome, andsaid a number of quasi-comic solemnities, squeezing my hands with great energy. She was a little flushed, and owned that she was weak, but as far as appearances went I have often seen her look worse when in full work. I felt very happy about her; but Dr. Clark said that there was a blueness and a twitching about the lips which he did not like, and that she was very weak. His “All right,” he said afterwards, meant only, “You may safely go in.” The fever kept off all day, and only returned about four in the afternoon.... It was 105 on Friday night.... I noticed that she is very much more amenable to discipline than before. She admits that she can’t walk or write decently, and she takes her medicine, including five grains of quinine, every three hours, very carefully and with great docility....’
‘We reached Batala—“Sonnenschein”—together at 10.30 yesterday. The Auntie was reported sleeping without fever. She woke about 11; and Dr. Clark, after seeing her, telegraphed, “No immediate anxiety,” to Mr. Clark, who on receipt would decide whether to go to Batala, or to come here (Lahore) for the “Quiet Day.” The Auntie was very much pleased at my going over, and would not rest again till I had been into her room. She is in a comfortable, warm room. To my uninitiated eye she seemed to have everything about her which she could desire.... As I passed into the room Dr. Clark passed out, and behind the screen he whispered, “She is all right.” She met me with almost a shout of welcome, andsaid a number of quasi-comic solemnities, squeezing my hands with great energy. She was a little flushed, and owned that she was weak, but as far as appearances went I have often seen her look worse when in full work. I felt very happy about her; but Dr. Clark said that there was a blueness and a twitching about the lips which he did not like, and that she was very weak. His “All right,” he said afterwards, meant only, “You may safely go in.” The fever kept off all day, and only returned about four in the afternoon.... It was 105 on Friday night.... I noticed that she is very much more amenable to discipline than before. She admits that she can’t walk or write decently, and she takes her medicine, including five grains of quinine, every three hours, very carefully and with great docility....’
One little remark that she made to Mr. Bateman was, ‘Thank God, He has made me quite comfortable’; and again, ‘I don’t find that I can pray to God about myself; for I don’t know what to say.’
‘You are in a strait betwixt two,’ suggested Mr. Bateman.
Miss Tucker did not like this, and she showed that she did not. Her friend adds, ‘I attribute the slight twinge it gave her to her habitual dislike to being thought so well of, as that she might appropriate an Apostolic utterance.’
Another observation was as to the ‘Quiet Day’ in Lahore,—shewas having a ‘Quiet Week’ given to her at Batala instead.
Some slight memoranda of things that dropped from her were jotted down at the time by Miss Dixie. ‘Nil Desperandum’ was often quoted in this and other illnesses; also she would generally try to sing ‘Charlie is my Darling,’—no doubt a reminiscence of her old Stuart enthusiasm.
With reference to a Muhammadan school which had been shut some months before: ‘The Muhammadans have done us a good turn! They have rubbed hard against our shield, and have caused our motto on it to shine bright.’
‘My little musician is playing all day,’ she said once. She was asked, ‘What kind of tunes?’ ‘Now—“The Heavens are Telling.” The harmony is beautiful. I can hear every note!’ She was asked again, ‘Does it play on its own account, or do you express a wish for special tunes?’ ‘It is sometimes wilful,’ Miss Tucker said, ‘and plays, “Charlie is my Darling,” when I would rather it played something else. It plays tunes I have not heard since I was a child,—so correctly,—all in harmony!’ One of her favourite hymns in illness was ‘Peace, perfect peace’;—but she ‘did not like the last verse; it contradicted what went before.’
Happening to speak about different kinds of love, she observed,—‘There is a passion, not a love, which I have known some women to have for another. That is not wholesome; it is a passion, not love.’ Again, on the question of bringing others to Christ,—‘We are only the housemaids! We open the door; but they come in, and go themselves up to the King.’
It was either after this illness, or after another of the same type that she said, ‘I have felt that a beautiful Wing has been spread over me, which is lined with down and stitched with gold; and I am quite safe. Nothing can harm me so long as I remain under it!’ Somebody rather unnecessarily remarked, ‘But it is our own fault if we do not remain under it.’ ‘No,’ Miss Tucker replied, ‘we can’t say that. Satan does give us a pull sometimes.’ She was reminded that God’s ‘favour is always towards us’; but again she asserted the undeniable truth that God does sometimes permit His servants to be thus tried.
A long letter from herself to Mrs. Hamilton is dated December 21st, or two days before that written by Mr. Bateman, and apparently the very day on which Dr. Clark was summoned by telegram to Batala. This musthave been a slip. The handwriting is shaky, but she speaks of her illness as past. With reference to the beginning of the latter, she says:—
‘When in the afternoon (of the 16th) it was evident that I was seriously ill, the effect was magical. Up went my spirits like a balloon,—the curious effect which severe illness seems to have naturally upon me.... To be bright and cheerful in sickness and suffering costs me nothing, for it seems to come naturally; but I dare say that I get credit for a great deal of grace. It is so difficult for others, so difficult forourselves, to distinguish between Nature and Grace.’
‘When in the afternoon (of the 16th) it was evident that I was seriously ill, the effect was magical. Up went my spirits like a balloon,—the curious effect which severe illness seems to have naturally upon me.... To be bright and cheerful in sickness and suffering costs me nothing, for it seems to come naturally; but I dare say that I get credit for a great deal of grace. It is so difficult for others, so difficult forourselves, to distinguish between Nature and Grace.’
One may perhaps add that it is also unnecessary to do so,—unnecessary as regards ourselves, and utterly impossible as regards others. Better to leave such questions in the Hands of Him with Whom alone ‘all things are naked and opened.’ But evidently the subject had been much in Miss Tucker’s mind. The long letter is half full of it.
On January 4 she wrote:—
‘Now I dare say that you will want to hear how I am. Wonderfully well, though, of course, not strong. I went a short distance in my duli to-day. My late illness has quite convinced me that God has given me a capital constitution. I had, apparently, so much against steady recovery. Yet—there is no doubt of it—Iamrecovering. Except rather more weakness of the eyes and slight loss of flesh, no dregs seem left.’
‘Now I dare say that you will want to hear how I am. Wonderfully well, though, of course, not strong. I went a short distance in my duli to-day. My late illness has quite convinced me that God has given me a capital constitution. I had, apparently, so much against steady recovery. Yet—there is no doubt of it—Iamrecovering. Except rather more weakness of the eyes and slight loss of flesh, no dregs seem left.’
‘Batala,Jan. 24, 1889.—Many thanks for the printed extract from good Mr. Clifford’s letter about the cure for leprosy.... I dare say that itisa valuable medicine when properly used; but probably the secret of its great success in the Andamans is that it was tried on convicts, who dared not refuse to rub themselves properly. Mr. Clifford writes that the exercise is part of the remedy; but I think that it would be wellnigh impossible to persuadefreelepers to rub themselves for four hours daily. They would greatly prefer leprosy and begging. Do you not know of the Indian mother who, when one of the Mission ladies told her to rub oil over her poor sick child’s body, refused to take such trouble? “I have another!” said she. With dear good Father Damien it would be different.’
‘Batala,Jan. 24, 1889.—Many thanks for the printed extract from good Mr. Clifford’s letter about the cure for leprosy.... I dare say that itisa valuable medicine when properly used; but probably the secret of its great success in the Andamans is that it was tried on convicts, who dared not refuse to rub themselves properly. Mr. Clifford writes that the exercise is part of the remedy; but I think that it would be wellnigh impossible to persuadefreelepers to rub themselves for four hours daily. They would greatly prefer leprosy and begging. Do you not know of the Indian mother who, when one of the Mission ladies told her to rub oil over her poor sick child’s body, refused to take such trouble? “I have another!” said she. With dear good Father Damien it would be different.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.‘Feb. 16.—The wood-pigeons are cooing, the little peach-trees displaying pink blossoms, the fields are green with young corn. Perhaps you will half envy us when you read this; but you would hardly envy us six weeks hence....‘In Mission life so much depends on one’s companions.... One must not expect too much, for all Missionaries are fallible. One should remember one’s own infirmities, and make allowance for those of others. In India we seem to live in glass houses; people are so well known; such a one is quick-tempered, such a one—but you can imagine what it is. There is little privacy even in the dwellings. There is no hall; the upper part of the outer door is glass; people see through, tap, and walk in.... India is a good place for preventing one from growing stiff and precise, and determined not to be put out of one’s way. At Batala especially there is no starch.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Feb. 16.—The wood-pigeons are cooing, the little peach-trees displaying pink blossoms, the fields are green with young corn. Perhaps you will half envy us when you read this; but you would hardly envy us six weeks hence....
‘In Mission life so much depends on one’s companions.... One must not expect too much, for all Missionaries are fallible. One should remember one’s own infirmities, and make allowance for those of others. In India we seem to live in glass houses; people are so well known; such a one is quick-tempered, such a one—but you can imagine what it is. There is little privacy even in the dwellings. There is no hall; the upper part of the outer door is glass; people see through, tap, and walk in.... India is a good place for preventing one from growing stiff and precise, and determined not to be put out of one’s way. At Batala especially there is no starch.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.‘May 2.—I could give you curious anecdotes of the Ramazan, the grand Muhammadan Fast, which has now begun. Minnie tells me of women in an ostentatious way bringing their bottles, as if for medicine, to the Dispensary; and then saying that they cannot take it—it is their fast. Why did they come then? To be admired for piety! Others come, looking rather piteous, though perhaps not really ill, that the Doctor Miss Sahiba mayforbidthem to fast. Minnie asked one woman whether she fasted. “I am poor; what can I do?” was the helpless reply. One not acquainted with the case might interpret this as, “I am helpless—I am only too oftenobligedto fast.” It really means, “I amtoo poorto fast.” You might imagine fasting to be rather economical. Quite the reverse! For instance, the —— whom Minnie employs is laying out a whole month’s salary infood for the fast, to have it extra good. She will have two meat meals every night, to make up for not eating in the day. Does it not remind one of the Pharisees?’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘May 2.—I could give you curious anecdotes of the Ramazan, the grand Muhammadan Fast, which has now begun. Minnie tells me of women in an ostentatious way bringing their bottles, as if for medicine, to the Dispensary; and then saying that they cannot take it—it is their fast. Why did they come then? To be admired for piety! Others come, looking rather piteous, though perhaps not really ill, that the Doctor Miss Sahiba mayforbidthem to fast. Minnie asked one woman whether she fasted. “I am poor; what can I do?” was the helpless reply. One not acquainted with the case might interpret this as, “I am helpless—I am only too oftenobligedto fast.” It really means, “I amtoo poorto fast.” You might imagine fasting to be rather economical. Quite the reverse! For instance, the —— whom Minnie employs is laying out a whole month’s salary infood for the fast, to have it extra good. She will have two meat meals every night, to make up for not eating in the day. Does it not remind one of the Pharisees?’
Miss Tucker’s birthday this year was signalised by the Baptism of one of the servants, and his whole family, including a little brown baby. After describing the event to her sister, with great delight, she added,—‘Of course the new Christians were all invited to the simple feast under a moonlit sky, which dear Babu Singha gave in my honour. It certainly was one of the best, if not the very best birthday, kept by your now aged but truly loving Char.’
‘May 30.—These last two mornings I have gone to help Miss Dixie by reading to her patients in the waiting-room of her Dispensary. There should always be some one to read, talk, sing, and keep order. Dear good Rosie Singha is wanted to make up medicines. I do not know what poor Minnie would do without her.... It is strange what difficulty we have in getting Native helpers for her (Miss Dixie).... You will have seen in the papers that noble devoted Father Damien has sunk to rest; his form sleeps in a leper’s grave. What a wonderful life and death was his!’
‘May 30.—These last two mornings I have gone to help Miss Dixie by reading to her patients in the waiting-room of her Dispensary. There should always be some one to read, talk, sing, and keep order. Dear good Rosie Singha is wanted to make up medicines. I do not know what poor Minnie would do without her.... It is strange what difficulty we have in getting Native helpers for her (Miss Dixie).... You will have seen in the papers that noble devoted Father Damien has sunk to rest; his form sleeps in a leper’s grave. What a wonderful life and death was his!’
‘Simla,June 13.—Here is Char in Simla, the queen city of the mountain; but I do not think that I shall see much of it. I have a nice quiet walk near, commanding a noble view; and I go backwards and forwards along it, not troubling myself at all with climbing or sight-seeing. The air is very pure and fine; so I drink it in, and if anything is to give strength it ought to do so.... There seems to be a great deal of etiquette here,—people placed exactly according to rank at the grand parties.... I do not care much for what are really trifles, and am thankful that I have not to go out and be gay. I make the most of my age, which enables me, as it were, to sit quietly in a corner, and not even take the fatigue of rounds of visits. A lady had paid sixteen in one day, she said. Evidently, it is a matter of congratulation to find friends (?) not at home.... We take our meals at a table d’hôte, happily a quiet one. I sit between Louis and Lettie, so hardly speak to any one else, for I am shy of conversing across the table.’
‘Simla,June 13.—Here is Char in Simla, the queen city of the mountain; but I do not think that I shall see much of it. I have a nice quiet walk near, commanding a noble view; and I go backwards and forwards along it, not troubling myself at all with climbing or sight-seeing. The air is very pure and fine; so I drink it in, and if anything is to give strength it ought to do so.... There seems to be a great deal of etiquette here,—people placed exactly according to rank at the grand parties.... I do not care much for what are really trifles, and am thankful that I have not to go out and be gay. I make the most of my age, which enables me, as it were, to sit quietly in a corner, and not even take the fatigue of rounds of visits. A lady had paid sixteen in one day, she said. Evidently, it is a matter of congratulation to find friends (?) not at home.... We take our meals at a table d’hôte, happily a quiet one. I sit between Louis and Lettie, so hardly speak to any one else, for I am shy of conversing across the table.’
‘July 18.—Your “running about,” love, has been on a milder scale than mine. On Friday last, knowing that I was to rise at about 3A.M.(after a dinner-party at the C.’s), I did not entirely undress. Miss Warren and I started on our long journey downhill by the dim light of a clouded moon. Laziness might have made us miss the evening train, for we had nearly a hundred miles’ drive, in a succession of vehicles, to reach it; and we knew not what the state of the road might be.‘Vehicles, did I write? Would you call an elephant a vehicle? We came to a place where there was a good deal of water; the Gogra swollen by the rains. We were requested to quit the heavy gari, and go across on an elephant. The nice docile creature knelt down; and a man actually wished us to clamber up by its tail! He grasped it, so as to form a kind of loop for me to put my foot in! But I objected to this method of mounting, and managed to scramble up by means of a kind of big bag hung across the animal. There was no saddleor howdah; but the beast’s back was broad, its pace gentle, and we held on by ropes fastened across the elephant. The good creature well deserved the two biscuits with which it was rewarded.’
‘July 18.—Your “running about,” love, has been on a milder scale than mine. On Friday last, knowing that I was to rise at about 3A.M.(after a dinner-party at the C.’s), I did not entirely undress. Miss Warren and I started on our long journey downhill by the dim light of a clouded moon. Laziness might have made us miss the evening train, for we had nearly a hundred miles’ drive, in a succession of vehicles, to reach it; and we knew not what the state of the road might be.
‘Vehicles, did I write? Would you call an elephant a vehicle? We came to a place where there was a good deal of water; the Gogra swollen by the rains. We were requested to quit the heavy gari, and go across on an elephant. The nice docile creature knelt down; and a man actually wished us to clamber up by its tail! He grasped it, so as to form a kind of loop for me to put my foot in! But I objected to this method of mounting, and managed to scramble up by means of a kind of big bag hung across the animal. There was no saddleor howdah; but the beast’s back was broad, its pace gentle, and we held on by ropes fastened across the elephant. The good creature well deserved the two biscuits with which it was rewarded.’
The following letter was with respect to two young Indians, in whom Mrs. Hamilton had been much interested. One might hesitate to quote it, in fear of giving pain to the really true-hearted among Indian Christians; buttheyare not referred to! It seems necessary to show that Miss Tucker, despite her readiness always to think the best of people, was by no means always easily taken in; and that she gained wisdom through sad experience:—
‘Batala,July 31.—I have received the following reply from —— about that Native in whom you have so long taken kindly, I fear little merited, interest. You do not yet, darling, know how little it costs Indians to write or speak in a way to please. They deceive even old experienced Missionaries....‘It seems almost cruel to throw cold water on my Laura’s warm generous feelings, but I confess to an impression that Natives try to deceive one so much more pure-minded and honest than themselves. We get so grievously deceived and disappointed here, where we have much better opportunities of judging. But I hope that your —— may prove one of the real jewels whichare—though not so often as we could wish—to be found amongst Orientals.‘Aug. 1.—Yesterday’s post brought me a loving letter from my Laura.... A man[124]whom my Laura calls “my friend, ——,” ought to turn out a fine fellow at last. Of course I cannot judge if the going to Paris will be good or not. I do not like hiding colours when a man has been baptized. With secret believers some indulgence is sometimes needed; but after Baptism, it seems to me that to pass for a Muhammadan is a sign—of danger at least. But you will talk over the subject with Rowland. Five minutes with him will be better than five long letters from me. O my Laura, I have so learned to mistrust myself, my judgment, my disposition; and I have been particularly tried this year by inconsistency in those of whom I had thought highly.’
‘Batala,July 31.—I have received the following reply from —— about that Native in whom you have so long taken kindly, I fear little merited, interest. You do not yet, darling, know how little it costs Indians to write or speak in a way to please. They deceive even old experienced Missionaries....
‘It seems almost cruel to throw cold water on my Laura’s warm generous feelings, but I confess to an impression that Natives try to deceive one so much more pure-minded and honest than themselves. We get so grievously deceived and disappointed here, where we have much better opportunities of judging. But I hope that your —— may prove one of the real jewels whichare—though not so often as we could wish—to be found amongst Orientals.
‘Aug. 1.—Yesterday’s post brought me a loving letter from my Laura.... A man[124]whom my Laura calls “my friend, ——,” ought to turn out a fine fellow at last. Of course I cannot judge if the going to Paris will be good or not. I do not like hiding colours when a man has been baptized. With secret believers some indulgence is sometimes needed; but after Baptism, it seems to me that to pass for a Muhammadan is a sign—of danger at least. But you will talk over the subject with Rowland. Five minutes with him will be better than five long letters from me. O my Laura, I have so learned to mistrust myself, my judgment, my disposition; and I have been particularly tried this year by inconsistency in those of whom I had thought highly.’
TO MISS MINNIE DIXIE.‘Aug. 17, 1889.‘J. D., exemplary young man, has put all three harmoniums to rights. He says that the largest has 223 tongues, and that 25 weredumb. Perhaps I have not given the numbers quite correctly, but nearly so. A live scorpion was found in our drawing-room instrument. It cleverly managed to get away, but was happily found and killed. There was a regularly-conducted Batala Feast yesterday, given by M. in honour of Baby Baring’s second birthday. As I walked towards the Singhas, I spoke with regret of the nice old-fashioned feasts, which seem to have gone out, when every one sat on the ground. Pleased was I to behold the cloth laid in the verandah, with no tables! We were to have an old-fashioned feast, after all. And a very nice one it was! About forty partook of it. To-day my nephew gives a smaller party in honour of his dear wife’s birthday.’
TO MISS MINNIE DIXIE.
‘Aug. 17, 1889.
‘J. D., exemplary young man, has put all three harmoniums to rights. He says that the largest has 223 tongues, and that 25 weredumb. Perhaps I have not given the numbers quite correctly, but nearly so. A live scorpion was found in our drawing-room instrument. It cleverly managed to get away, but was happily found and killed. There was a regularly-conducted Batala Feast yesterday, given by M. in honour of Baby Baring’s second birthday. As I walked towards the Singhas, I spoke with regret of the nice old-fashioned feasts, which seem to have gone out, when every one sat on the ground. Pleased was I to behold the cloth laid in the verandah, with no tables! We were to have an old-fashioned feast, after all. And a very nice one it was! About forty partook of it. To-day my nephew gives a smaller party in honour of his dear wife’s birthday.’
TO THE REV. F. H. BARING.‘Nov. 14, 1889.‘I must give you good news. Another sheaf laid, by God’s grace, on our Mission Plough. A nice gentlemanly young Brahmin from that school, K. K., openly received Baptism in the large Church last Sunday. As notice had been given to his family, there was such a tamasha as I had never seen in Batala before. Crowds gathered behind the extempore barricade to divide off the heathen in the Church—line above line of turbaned heads; and the doors were thronged. Without exaggeration, there must have beenat least200 people, besides us Christians. R. C., K. B., and A. B. (all converts) made very dashing daring extempore policemen to keep the Hindus from swarming in. The font was very near the sort of barricade; so our young candidate had to face the crowd,—amongst them one or two angry members of his family,—at the distance of only about two yards; but he bore himself like a hero, giving all his answers in a clear distinct tone. The most exciting part was getting our lad out of the church and safe off! The Hindus tried to stop and make the horse back; our boys pushed on behind with energy; and at last the tum-tum was off and away. I would not have missed the scene for something.’
TO THE REV. F. H. BARING.
‘Nov. 14, 1889.
‘I must give you good news. Another sheaf laid, by God’s grace, on our Mission Plough. A nice gentlemanly young Brahmin from that school, K. K., openly received Baptism in the large Church last Sunday. As notice had been given to his family, there was such a tamasha as I had never seen in Batala before. Crowds gathered behind the extempore barricade to divide off the heathen in the Church—line above line of turbaned heads; and the doors were thronged. Without exaggeration, there must have beenat least200 people, besides us Christians. R. C., K. B., and A. B. (all converts) made very dashing daring extempore policemen to keep the Hindus from swarming in. The font was very near the sort of barricade; so our young candidate had to face the crowd,—amongst them one or two angry members of his family,—at the distance of only about two yards; but he bore himself like a hero, giving all his answers in a clear distinct tone. The most exciting part was getting our lad out of the church and safe off! The Hindus tried to stop and make the horse back; our boys pushed on behind with energy; and at last the tum-tum was off and away. I would not have missed the scene for something.’
Before entering on the correspondence of 1890, the following verses may be given, written in the course of that year for Batala boys; spirited in style as ever, though Charlotte Tucker was now verging on the age of seventy:—
A GENTLEMAN.‘What is it makes a Gentleman? ’Tis not his high estate,His liveried footmen, or the grooms that on his orders wait,—The horses and the carriages that stand before his gate,The tenants who bow low to him, and think him very great.Chorus—These do not make the Gentleman, whate’er his station be!‘What is it makes a Gentleman? Not colour of his skin,—The Negro, black as ebony, may yet be fair within;The weak, the lowly, and the poor, a glorious race may win,—There’s nothing makes a man so low as cowardice and sin!Chorus—He cannot be a Gentleman, whate’er his station be!‘What is it makes a Gentleman? His dress is not the sign,—Though on each finger of each hand a jewelled ring may shine;His necktie may be elegant—his boots be superfine—Howe’er you dress a monkey, Sir, he is no friend of mine.Chorus—He cannot be a Gentleman, whate’er his station be!‘The real Gentleman is he whose aims are pure and high;Who scorns a base dishonest act, and tramples on a lie;Who treats the woman and the child with gentle courtesy,Who holds the Christian’s faith and hope, so does not fear to die!Chorus—He is the real Gentleman, whate’er his station be!’
A GENTLEMAN.‘What is it makes a Gentleman? ’Tis not his high estate,His liveried footmen, or the grooms that on his orders wait,—The horses and the carriages that stand before his gate,The tenants who bow low to him, and think him very great.Chorus—These do not make the Gentleman, whate’er his station be!‘What is it makes a Gentleman? Not colour of his skin,—The Negro, black as ebony, may yet be fair within;The weak, the lowly, and the poor, a glorious race may win,—There’s nothing makes a man so low as cowardice and sin!Chorus—He cannot be a Gentleman, whate’er his station be!‘What is it makes a Gentleman? His dress is not the sign,—Though on each finger of each hand a jewelled ring may shine;His necktie may be elegant—his boots be superfine—Howe’er you dress a monkey, Sir, he is no friend of mine.Chorus—He cannot be a Gentleman, whate’er his station be!‘The real Gentleman is he whose aims are pure and high;Who scorns a base dishonest act, and tramples on a lie;Who treats the woman and the child with gentle courtesy,Who holds the Christian’s faith and hope, so does not fear to die!Chorus—He is the real Gentleman, whate’er his station be!’
A GENTLEMAN.
‘What is it makes a Gentleman? ’Tis not his high estate,His liveried footmen, or the grooms that on his orders wait,—The horses and the carriages that stand before his gate,The tenants who bow low to him, and think him very great.Chorus—These do not make the Gentleman, whate’er his station be!
‘What is it makes a Gentleman? ’Tis not his high estate,
His liveried footmen, or the grooms that on his orders wait,—
The horses and the carriages that stand before his gate,
The tenants who bow low to him, and think him very great.
Chorus—
These do not make the Gentleman, whate’er his station be!
‘What is it makes a Gentleman? Not colour of his skin,—The Negro, black as ebony, may yet be fair within;The weak, the lowly, and the poor, a glorious race may win,—There’s nothing makes a man so low as cowardice and sin!Chorus—He cannot be a Gentleman, whate’er his station be!
‘What is it makes a Gentleman? Not colour of his skin,—
The Negro, black as ebony, may yet be fair within;
The weak, the lowly, and the poor, a glorious race may win,—
There’s nothing makes a man so low as cowardice and sin!
Chorus—
He cannot be a Gentleman, whate’er his station be!
‘What is it makes a Gentleman? His dress is not the sign,—Though on each finger of each hand a jewelled ring may shine;His necktie may be elegant—his boots be superfine—Howe’er you dress a monkey, Sir, he is no friend of mine.Chorus—He cannot be a Gentleman, whate’er his station be!
‘What is it makes a Gentleman? His dress is not the sign,—
Though on each finger of each hand a jewelled ring may shine;
His necktie may be elegant—his boots be superfine—
Howe’er you dress a monkey, Sir, he is no friend of mine.
Chorus—
He cannot be a Gentleman, whate’er his station be!
‘The real Gentleman is he whose aims are pure and high;Who scorns a base dishonest act, and tramples on a lie;Who treats the woman and the child with gentle courtesy,Who holds the Christian’s faith and hope, so does not fear to die!Chorus—He is the real Gentleman, whate’er his station be!’
‘The real Gentleman is he whose aims are pure and high;
Who scorns a base dishonest act, and tramples on a lie;
Who treats the woman and the child with gentle courtesy,
Who holds the Christian’s faith and hope, so does not fear to die!
Chorus—
He is the real Gentleman, whate’er his station be!’
All these years, off and on, Charlotte Tucker’s pen had been at work; and probably nothing that she ever wrote was of greater importance than the many tiny little booklets for translation into the various languages of India. After being composed by her in English they were rendered by competent persons into Urdu, Panjabi, Hindi, Bengali, Tamil, and were published at exceedingly low prices, to be sold by hundreds of thousands among the Natives of the country. Many were brought out by the Christian Literature Society for India, many more by the Punjab Religious Book Society. A small report of the latter Society, so early as about 1877-78, speaks of thirty-seven of A. L. O. E.’s tiny booklets as already published, and of fresh editions being in some cases already called for. A letter to her English Publishers, Messrs. Nelson& Sons, early in 1890, gives interesting information on the subject:—
‘Batala,Jan. 18, 1890.‘I am much pleased to hear thatBeyond the Black Watersis out at last, and return you many thanks for the copies for presentation, kindly sent for me.‘The subject of “cheap editions” of works published long ago is of great interest to me. I am living in an immense country, swarming with Muhammadans, Hindus, and Infidels, where Government is educating tens of thousands of lads, without giving them any religious instruction.... An evident breakwater for the waves of impiety and sedition is religious literature. But it must be very cheap, or hardly any Natives will buy it. I saw long ago in a Report of the Christian Vernacular Society, that foronebook costing, if I remember rightly, about threepence,fortyare sold costing a pie, less than a farthing.[125]I resolved to write one-pie stories; did so; and thousands and tens of thousands have been sold.‘A lady here has told me thatThe Young Pilgrimis out of print; she has vainly attempted to buy it. A cheap edition of that might, by God’s blessing, be useful in India. Good paper is not needed; but clear type and a bright cover,—not pink, as that soon fades in India.‘As I went along in my duli, a kind of square box carried by men, to-day, to visit villages, I thought that theGiant-Killer—only the parable part, which would make a very moderate-sized book—might have a large circulation here. Natives like parables; and though the English portion of the volume, describing the Roby family, might not be suited to Oriental readers, Giant Sloth, Selfishness, etc., are quite as troublesome in India as in England. Would you like to make an experiment with this small publication? If so, I should gladly myself purchase for poor India £10 of cheap copies,—not more than sixpence each,—to be sent as from me to the Christian Vernacular Society’s House, Madras. As soon as I heard of the parcel being shipped, I would send the cheque.’
‘Batala,Jan. 18, 1890.
‘I am much pleased to hear thatBeyond the Black Watersis out at last, and return you many thanks for the copies for presentation, kindly sent for me.
‘The subject of “cheap editions” of works published long ago is of great interest to me. I am living in an immense country, swarming with Muhammadans, Hindus, and Infidels, where Government is educating tens of thousands of lads, without giving them any religious instruction.... An evident breakwater for the waves of impiety and sedition is religious literature. But it must be very cheap, or hardly any Natives will buy it. I saw long ago in a Report of the Christian Vernacular Society, that foronebook costing, if I remember rightly, about threepence,fortyare sold costing a pie, less than a farthing.[125]I resolved to write one-pie stories; did so; and thousands and tens of thousands have been sold.
‘A lady here has told me thatThe Young Pilgrimis out of print; she has vainly attempted to buy it. A cheap edition of that might, by God’s blessing, be useful in India. Good paper is not needed; but clear type and a bright cover,—not pink, as that soon fades in India.
‘As I went along in my duli, a kind of square box carried by men, to-day, to visit villages, I thought that theGiant-Killer—only the parable part, which would make a very moderate-sized book—might have a large circulation here. Natives like parables; and though the English portion of the volume, describing the Roby family, might not be suited to Oriental readers, Giant Sloth, Selfishness, etc., are quite as troublesome in India as in England. Would you like to make an experiment with this small publication? If so, I should gladly myself purchase for poor India £10 of cheap copies,—not more than sixpence each,—to be sent as from me to the Christian Vernacular Society’s House, Madras. As soon as I heard of the parcel being shipped, I would send the cheque.’
When Miss Tucker was first starting for India, her brother, Mr. Henry Carre Tucker, had written to her upon the subject of literature for that land; and a short quotation from his letter may be appropriately given here. ‘The great thing at present,’ he wrote, ‘is to disseminatewidely Christian Vernacular Literature in all the languages, and suitable to the requirements of all classes, men, women, and children; rich and poor; educated and ignorant. Government is rapidly teaching most of the boys to read. We Christians must provide them with a wholesome literature. Few women and girls can be reached personally, but books penetrate everywhere, and may do an untold amount of secret silent good. The preparation and distribution of such Literature ought to be your great object. You might organise Female Colporteurs for the Zenanas and womenkind.’ This last suggestion Miss Tucker does not seem ever to have taken up, or attempted to carry out.
Books for English readers still went on appearing from time to time. In 1885 she publishedPictures of St. Paul; and in 1886Pictures of St. Peterfollowed. In 1887 cameThe Fairy in a Web, andDriven into Exile. The year 1888 also saw two—The Hartley Brothers, andHarold’s Bride, both being continuations of the two Picture volumes, named above. In 1889Beyond the Black Waterswas brought out; in 1890The Blacksmith of Boniface Lane; in 1891The Iron Chain and the Golden; and in 1892The Forlorn Hope. When one considers her age, her failing health, and her ceaseless Zenana toil, one cannot but be astonished at the mental energy shown in getting through such an amount of writing as this.
On the 17th of February Miss Maria Hoernle left Batala, with the purpose of soon proceeding to England; and Miss Tucker wrote next day:—
‘So closes a leaf of my life; for I doubt whether I shall again see on Earth one who nursed me too devotedly in 1885. Maria prefers Bengal to the Panjab; so, if she return, we have hardly a chance of meeting, unless perhaps at some Hill-Station.... I wonder if my dear Bhatija Francis Baring will ever return to India. He was for long my sole European companion.... Think of sixty-five Communicants last Sunday in Batala! We never had so many before....The Bishop was pleased,—though tired by his village tour, seeing the seven little congregations of the Batala district.’
‘So closes a leaf of my life; for I doubt whether I shall again see on Earth one who nursed me too devotedly in 1885. Maria prefers Bengal to the Panjab; so, if she return, we have hardly a chance of meeting, unless perhaps at some Hill-Station.... I wonder if my dear Bhatija Francis Baring will ever return to India. He was for long my sole European companion.... Think of sixty-five Communicants last Sunday in Batala! We never had so many before....The Bishop was pleased,—though tired by his village tour, seeing the seven little congregations of the Batala district.’
‘March 7.—You must not think of converts, love, as the fruits of my labour, but that, by God’s blessing, of others. I have so many Zenanas and villages, with limited strength, that hardly one place gets more thanonevisit from me in a month, some not even that! My employment is trying to pull up weeds that cumber, and tosowgood seed; but I have no time towater,—or very little, so far as Zenanas are concerned.’
‘March 7.—You must not think of converts, love, as the fruits of my labour, but that, by God’s blessing, of others. I have so many Zenanas and villages, with limited strength, that hardly one place gets more thanonevisit from me in a month, some not even that! My employment is trying to pull up weeds that cumber, and tosowgood seed; but I have no time towater,—or very little, so far as Zenanas are concerned.’
The 8th of May, Miss Tucker’s sixty-ninth birthday, passed quietly, without the usual feasting, on account of the death, three days before, of Babu Singha’s wife, who, as Miss Tucker wrote,—‘fell asleep in Jesus,’after some twenty-eight years of happy married life. The letter of May 8 is very full of sympathy with the bereaved husband and the nine children. In the latter half of the same letter, finished next day, comes the mention of ‘another book’ just written. ‘I am making out the fair copy in my seventieth year. I have regardedBeyond the Black Watersas my chrysanthemum, a winter plant, lingering on even till December. But myBlacksmith of Boniface Lanemust be a little sprig of holly. It has its prickles and its red berries. It has a historical—I suppose that I should say—root, not basis.’