‘December 2, 1875.
‘It is early morning, before 6 A.M., my first morning in my new home. A cock has been crowing, otherwise everything is profoundly still. I hear a cart in the distance. You will like to hear something of my surroundings.
‘Mrs. Elmslie came to meet me at the station; also Mr. Clark and Mr. Baring. It was slightly bewildering, for, says Mr. Clark, “the Bishop wants to see you; he and Miss Milman are to go off by this train.” Now the thought most in my mind was, “I won’t let poor dear Miss F.[30] think that I desert her for new acquaintances.” She also was going on by the train; but there was a pause at Amritsar station for perhaps a quarter of an hour. So I had to be agreeable to the Bishop, Miss F., and all,—and keep Mrs. Elmslie waiting besides.
‘This is a splendid room of mine ... about twenty-four feet each way, and so lofty. I am surprised at the elegance of these Indian bungalows. Please put from your mind all idea of hardship.[31] I have now lived in four bungalows, and all have elegant rooms, and there is such an air of refinement that I have great doubts whether it would be the correct thing to put out my hand and take a slice of bread off a plate. Mrs. Elmslie is a lovely lady, tall, slight, fair; but however tall, a lady every inch of her; she might be a Countess with her meek dignity....’
‘December 9.
‘I directed via Brindisi my sad letters to the almost broken-hearted mourners, and I thought, “I will write no more by this mail. I should only write on one theme, my precious, noble Henry.” But I have since thought that I was wrong in this determination. My own sweet Laura will be closing a heavy year.... If I can turn the channel of sad thoughts, it is better that I should write, and not only on one theme. She will like to hear of my home and my work, and I ought to write to the darling!...
‘What shall I say of Mrs. Elmslie? She is one of a million. I never met with any woman in my life so like an angel without wings. Tall, fair, elegant, graceful, with a face that Ary Scheffer might have chosen to paint for a seraph,—her soul seems to correspond to her external appearance. Saintly as she is, she is not in the least gloomy; she tries to make all happy, and is business-like and practical. Fitted to grace a drawing-room, she throws her heart into school-work, and seems to manage the house beautifully. It will give you an idea how winning she is, when I tell you that Miss Wauton and Miss Hasell call Mrs. Elmslie “Mother,” “Mother dear,” though the name seems strange from one who looks quite as old as herself. You should see Mrs. Elmslie with a black baby in her arms, looking at it with such loving tenderness and pleasure too, just as its guardian angel might....
‘I must not fill up all my letter with my sweet friend, and it is nearly time that I should take my morning walk. I always take a rapid one in the compound, which is large, with a good many trees and nice flowering shrubs in it. I hope always to keep up the habit, which is so very conducive to health; but of course I shall not walk so fast when the hot weather comes.
‘It may give you a little idea of life here, if I describe yesterday’s occupations.
‘I rose about six, dressed, and wrote a little. My Ayah brought me early breakfast. I went out and took my walk, then returned and prepared for my Munshi.[32] He is a convert, and was baptized last month, with his two little children. The Maulvi, as we call him, is a dear good man, but too indulgent for a teacher. He is not particular enough in correcting my faults. I have an hour with him before breakfast; and after the meal comes family worship—the morning hymn, prayer, and chapter, always in Urdu.
‘After prayers yesterday I returned for a short time to my room and occupations. I was engaged to go to “the city”—within the walls of Amritsar—with Mrs. Elmslie; for it is desirable that I should see work going on. The conveyance is a kind of large box of a carriage, contrived to let in air and keep out sun. Yesterday we went to four native houses; Mrs. Elmslie went to a fifth, but went alone. Such strange narrow lanes one has to go through; sometimes on foot where the gari could not go, mounting up to the first floor of the houses by very steep steps....
‘We returned home after our city visits, and had dinner. Yesterday being Wednesday, after dinner we went to church; we always attend the Native church. As the prayers are a translation of our own Liturgy, I can join in them well enough, but I can yet make very little of the sermon....
‘I find it a good plan to go to Mrs. Elmslie’s Orphanage, and sit and listen to the lessons, and thus learn myself. The girls in their white chaddars[33] look, generally speaking, well and happy. I was to have amused some of the younger ones last Sunday with Bible pictures; but when I had had the sad letters I gave up my intention of helping sweet Mrs. Elmslie in this way. I hope to do so another time.’
‘December 13.
‘I have so much to interest me here, and every one is so kind.... I call this bungalow “House Beautiful,” on account of the dwellers within it. It is also a nice refined place, with an extensive compound, and plenty of trees and flowers. If I were not so busy I should like to send you a sketch of it; but daylight seems too short for what I want to do; and when once my mouth is really opened, I shall feel as if I never could get through all the interesting work that is to be done. The ladies here have a kind of general superintendence of twenty-two schools—not Christian—but where they are allowed to teach the Bible. Fancy what an opening!’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Dec. 13.
‘There are some things in Indian life which would strike you as curious. For instance, I have five glass doors to my bedroom. One alone is never opened ... but through all the others people, especially my Ayah, come in; and she never knocks.... Folk can walk in from the outside of the house through two of my glass doors. It is a very public sort of living, but it is Indian fashion. The great thing is to let in abundance of air; and where air comes in other things come in too. I have, however, “chick” blinds to my outer doors; these are made of thin split bamboos; and if I let them down, no one can see in. Of course they would not keep out my dear little Ayah; she can always pop in by lifting the chicks. She is the only one who really laughs at my bad Urdu.... My Munshi laughs a little, but not in the same way. He is gentle and pleasing.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Dec. 21.
‘I have been waiting to write to you till the tardy mail should come in. But why wait any longer, when I have always so much to say to my Laura now?—only I lack time—and light—for this is the shortest day, and the houses are built to keep out light, which comes in underneath a heavy verandah, so that I am sometimes obliged to feel rather than to see....
‘I did not open my picture-box for some time after my arrival, but when it was opened it would have pleased you to have seen the pleasure given by its contents, including your lovely tidies. Mrs. Elmslie was eager as a girl, settling where the different pictures were to be hung, jumping up on chairs, and keeping us up beyond our usual hour for retiring, for she could not bear to leave the picture-question unsettled. We had consultation, trying this place and that place on the walls, trying to balance sides and keep all things straight. For the angel-lady likes to have everything pretty.... It seems to me as if both England and America had sent their cream to India. But then Amritsar is a specially favoured place.... As is natural where the Missionaries are first-rate, there is a great deal of leaven working amongst the heathen.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Dec. 23.
‘Though I posted a letter to your sweet Mother only yesterday, perhaps I had better tell you of my visit to the Zenana of —— whilst it is fresh in my mind. Dear C., Miss H., and myself went to-day to visit this Muhammadan house. It is a handsome one, in the midst of fine park-like grounds; and from the lofty verandah we had a better view of part of our city than I have seen before.
‘The Muhammadan Sahib has three wives. I suppose that they were the three middle-aged or elderly native women who sat on a bed; the other five women present, old or young, may have been servants; but one of them, a handsome girl, with very dashing nose-ring, and eyelids blackened on the edges, native-fashion, shook hands with us as well as served us. There were a fair number of free-and-easy little dark children playing about. The eldest is C.’s pupil; and one of the first things done was to hear her repeat her part in a kind of catechism—Christian, of course.
‘One of the ladies smoked a hookah; had it been even invisible, we should have been made sensible of its presence by an occasional bubble-bubble sound, and then a perfume—to our minds by no means odoriferous. Another lady had her teeth horridly blackened by what she had been chewing; but, generally speaking, the natives’ teeth are very nice and white.... I showed off my beautiful chatelaine, your dear Father’s gift, which I think pleased; and Miss H. showed hers, which is quite different in style. You must not suppose that this was a mere visit of amusement.... No, we had Bible-reading and hymn-singing; and afterwards C. was evidently holding a religious discussion with the elder lady.
‘Dec. 24.—I find that only two of the ladies were wives of the Sahib; the third was somebody’s relation.
‘Mr. Clark[34] approves of my Oriental tale, only he wishes some names altered. He is going to give me a list of names, Muhammadan and Hindu.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Christmas Day 1875.
‘I was awakened in the night by the Indian Waits, children singing in the language of the Sikhs ... one of their native airs. My little Ayah came up to me and shook hands when she entered my room early in the morning,—is not this the great Day, and is not she a Christian?—so she may indeed rejoice and be glad in it. I have prepared little presents for the dear ladies here, except C., to whom I gave a wedding-present yesterday. I will pause now, and go on later in the day, when I may better describe our Indian Christmas. 6½ A.M. Orphans singing hymns at the top of their voices. They are evidently very happy. They are to have a Christmas tree.
‘Later.—I have come home from church, from receiving the Holy Communion. Thank God, the sheaves are being gathered in! What would dear Henry Martyn not have given to have seen what I saw to-day? So many Natives remained to share the holy Feast, men and women, young and old,—in our little church there must have been nearly if not quite fifty communicants. I received the Cup from the hand of a Native. I felt the scene quite affecting. It is a great privilege to be in India, and specially now, when the blades are ripening,—though, oh, how few in number, compared with the Muhammadans and heathen!
‘After church and luncheon I went to the Orphanage Garden, to help sweet Margaret[35] to deck the Christmas Tree. In less than half an hour the little guests are to be summoned to receive their dolls, tops, books, etc. I expect a charming scene.’
CHAPTER II
A.D. 1875-1876
A HOME IN AMRITSAR
In the previous spring, when first Charlotte Tucker decided to go out, she wrote in one letter a statement of the financial plan to be followed. ‘I have arranged with the Society,’ she said, ‘to pay 200 rupees a quarter for my board and lodging, exclusive of Munshi[36] and conveyance.’ For this she had been told to expect a bedroom and a bathroom; meals being taken with the other Missionaries. She had also been told that she would require an Ayah and ‘half a tailor.’ ‘I do not want superfluities,’ she wrote; ‘for mine is a modest income, and I should not like to spend it all on myself.’
Modest though it might be, she gave away largely, restricting herself to a limited amount, and practising great economy. After being for a while in India, she seems to have been strongly impressed with a dread of needless luxuries, and to have become eager to set an example of extreme simplicity in the Missionary life. The rigid simplicity which she cultivated was, no doubt, partly a matter of pure economy, that she might have the more to give away,—partly a matter of her innate generosity; but partly also it arose from a deep-rooted desire to remove the reproach, which has of late been often levelled at the ease and luxury, real or supposed, of many Missionaries in India or elsewhere.
It is always a difficult question to decide in such cases what does or does not constitute luxury. For example, the number of servants kept, which often startles an Englishman, is unavoidable to some extent, arising from the very low wages given, and the small amount of work which each servant will undertake. Indian servants sleep often in the verandah or in outside huts, and provide their own food out of their small wages; so, keeping several of them is a very different matter from keeping many English servants. Moreover, an Englishman, still more an Englishwoman, labouring in such a climate as that of India, must as a matter of simple safety have many things which in England would be entirely needless. To walk any distance under the heat of the Indian sun would for the ordinary European often mean death. To ‘rough it,’ to brave the climate, to be reckless of hardships, would in the majority of instances be tantamount to suicide. Yet, on the other hand, it may well be that under the guise of necessity some things not necessary have here and there crept in. A story has been told of an officer, himself a hearty supporter of Missions, who received a very unfavourable impression of one particular Missionary from observing the large amount of comfortable furniture which arrived at the said Missionary’s bungalow, for the latter’s use. The officer felt at once, as he said, that the Missionary ‘was not made of the right stuff.’ He may have judged hastily, and he may have been mistaken. It is by no means impossible that the Missionary may have been ‘of the right stuff,’ despite his superabundance of home-comforts. Nevertheless, such judgments will be passed, and it is well if Missionaries can live a life that shall render them uncalled for.
The more closely modern Missionaries can approximate to Early Church Missionaries, the better. One can hardly picture S. Paul as settling down in a very luxurious bungalow, with a very huge amount of luggage; and though the conditions of life are greatly changed, and allowance has to be made for the change, yet the principle and spirit of Missionary work remain the same. Things harmless may become harmful, if they prove an actual hindrance to success in the work, if they cause an actual lessening of influence. The question should be,—not, How much may I allow myself?—but, How little can I do with? This was the question asked by Miss Tucker, and she set herself bravely, as the years went on, to test and to prove how much or how little was truly needed.
On first arriving she had of course to do simply as she was told,—not always even that, without protest. When the first Sunday came, she was informed that they would all drive to church. Miss Tucker objected. She did not like horses to be made to work on Sunday. She was told that it was a necessity, but she was not convinced. She would put her large thick shawl over her head, and walk. Nothing could hurt her through that shawl! Others had to yield to her will; not without fears of consequences; and Miss Tucker trudged off alone, with the thick shawl well over her head—heroically half-suffocated. When they all came out of church, she would not wait to be driven, but again severely marched off alone. However, the result of this was so bad a headache—though in general she never suffered at all from headache—that she was once and for all convinced. Evidently she could not do in India precisely as in England; and from that time she consented, when it was necessary, to be driven to church like the rest. Of course this question of walking or driving depends largely on the time of year, as well as upon the hour at which the Service is held. As will be seen later, Miss Tucker never lost her habits of good walking until quite late in life; and when the hour of Service or the time of year rendered walking safe, she always preferred it to being driven.
Some friends who knew her best in India have been requested to jot down their recollections, and have most kindly responded. Certain ‘side-lights’ upon what she was will be best thrown by quotations from two of these papers as to the beginning of her Indian career.
Miss Wauton writes:—
‘I have been asked to put down a few reminiscences of A. L. O. E. in her Missionary life in India. But how shall I do it? It seems like being asked to help in painting a rainbow. We can hardly compare her to anything else; so varied, so harmonious, so lovely were the rays of light which she reflected. Spirit and mind were as a clear prism, through which the light of Heaven fell, irradiating the atmosphere in which she lived, and which shone out all the more brightly when seen against the dark clouds of heathendom.
‘The first mention of her intention to come out to India reached us in May 1875. Well do I remember the evening when Mr. Clark, coming to our Bungalow, with a letter in his hand, said, ‘Who do you think is coming to join you here as a Missionary?—A. L. O. E.!’ The title instantly brought to mind books such as The Young Pilgrim, The Shepherd of Bethlehem, which had delighted us in our childhood’s days. And now we were to welcome the well-known and gifted authoress into our house! This was a privilege; and earnestly did we look forward to the pleasure of receiving her; though at the same time we were perhaps conscious of a slight shadow of doubt crossing our minds, as to how far one of Miss Tucker’s age would be able to accommodate herself to the new surroundings, and bear the trials incident to life and work in a tropical climate.
‘If such doubts did occur to us, they were soon dispelled by a closer acquaintance with the object of them. The letters received during the following months by her future fellow-Missionaries showed with what whole-heartedness she was coming forth, prepared from thenceforth to make her home in the land of her adoption, and to devote all she was and all she had to the grand work of winning the people of India to Christ....
‘Miss Tucker reached Amritsar on the 1st Nov. 1875. The warm kiss with which she greeted her sister-Missionaries showed the affectionate nature; and it was not long before we felt that we had in her, not only a fellow-worker, but a loving and true friend. At her own request the formal “Miss” was soon dropped, and she was always addressed as “Auntie.” The family of adopted nephews and nieces, beginning with three or four, gradually widened, till it finally embraced more than twenty members. Nor was this relationship a mere formality. It represented on her part a very special share in the sympathetic interest extended to all fellow-Missionaries, and on their side a reverential love and esteem, which in many cases could not have been deeper, had the tie been one of natural kinship.
‘She soon became known amongst the members of the Indian Church as the “Buzurg,” or “Honourable” Miss Sahib; and the title of “Firishta” or “angel” was not unseldom heard in connection with her name. And indeed they might well call her so. Every time she spent even a few hours under our roof we felt that we had entertained an angel, though not unawares, so bright were the memories she left behind in loving words and deeds....
‘She was so considerate for servants, that she would, during the first hot weather, often stop her pankah-walas at two or three o’clock in the morning, for fear of tiring them. Her face and hands covered with mosquito-bites showed what she endured in practising this self-denial. It took a long time to convince her that there was no hardship in employing these men in night-work, seeing they had plenty of time to rest during the day.
‘A. L. O. E. lost no time in beginning to use her pen in the service of India. I think it was the very day after her arrival that she came to us with the MS. in her hand of a little book she had written on her way up-country. It was called The Church built out of One Brick; its object being to stir up the Christians of this land to give more liberally, and to work more heartily, for their own Churches. We were amazed, on hearing the little story read, at the wonderful knowledge which Miss Tucker had even then gained, or rather, which she seemed to have intuitively, of the people amongst whom she had come to live. She said, “I want to Orientalise my mind”; but she seemed to have been born with an Oriental mind. Parable, allegory, and metaphor were the very language in which she thought; and her thoughts always seemed naturally to clothe themselves in those figures of speech in which the children of the East are wont to express themselves.
‘She always wrote her books in English, as there was never any difficulty in getting them translated into the vernaculars. Many thought that, on this account, she would not care to study the language; but she had no idea of reaching the people only through her pen. She was determined, as far as it was possible, to use her own lips in telling out the message of salvation she had come to bring.
‘Accordingly, she was soon hard at work with primer, grammar, and dictionary. At the end of a year she passed the Hindustani Language Examination, and then began Panjabi. She learnt to express herself intelligibly in both these tongues, though the acquisition of them cost her many an hour of hard labour.
‘How she did toil over them! I remember, when sharing a room with her once, waking about four o’clock on a cold winter’s morning, to see her, already dressed, with a book before her, in which she had herself written in very large printed characters, that she might the more easily read them, a long list of Hindustani and Panjabi words, which she was busily learning off by heart. By this incessant industry she acquired a large vocabulary, and was also soon able to read intelligently many vernacular books, which gave her an insight into the religious life of the people.’
The Rev. Robert Clark writes:—
‘I remember well her arrival, when she was received by Mrs. Elmslie and Miss Wauton in the Mission House.... We felt that a spiritual as well as an intellectual power had come amongst us.... Like the great Missionary Swartz, she never went home on furlough; and she never took more than a month’s[37] holiday in the year, but remained at her post, hot weather and cold weather, sometimes eleven months, sometimes twelve months in the year, during her whole service....
‘Her first endeavour on her arrival in India, as she said, was to seek to “Orientalise her mind.” She noticed everything, watched everything around her, sought intercourse with the people, and tried to think with their thoughts and feel with their feelings, and to realise their position and circumstances, in order that she might bring God’s Word to bear on them as they were. It was in this way only that she could hope to do them good....’
During the greater part of 1876 Miss Tucker remained at Amritsar, cementing her friendship with the ladies there, learning the Hindustani and Panjabi languages, studying the ways of the people, and writing little books for translation into the Native tongues. At her age it was by no means so easy to master a new language as for a younger person;—indeed, hard as she toiled, she never did absolutely master any Indian language colloquially, though for a time she became thorough mistress of the Hindustani grammar and construction. In later years much that she had conquered, with such hard and persevering toil, slipped from her again.
Also, it was less easy for her, than for a younger person, to fall in with modes of work, so entirely unlike aught to which she had been accustomed. Her very warm-heartedness and impetuosity were now and then somewhat of a hindrance,—as when, on her first arrival, going into a Zenana, she pressed forward and eagerly shook hands with a bibi,—an Indian lady,—forgetting the difference of Indian customs and English ones. Had it been a Christian bibi, this would not have mattered. As it was, the mistake was so serious, that it might have resulted, and very nearly did result, in the closing of that particular Zenana to all further efforts.
The letters home from this time are so full and so abundant, that the only difficulty lies in selection. By far the larger number are of course to her much-loved sister, Mrs. Hamilton. For the saving of space, it may be understood in the future that letters not especially stated to have been written to any one else, were written to her.
‘Jan. 8, 1876.—My expenses have been less than I expected. I think that Margaret must be a very good manager.... I can now form a rough idea of my expenses, and I think my sweet Laura will like to see a rude estimate.[38] As rupees and annas may puzzle you, I write in English fashion—
| Board and Servants (there will be pankahs to pay for), say— | per annum, | £80 |
| Carriage | ” | 15 |
| Travelling | ” | 25 |
| Munshi, say | ” | 10 |
| Postage, say | ” | 5 |
| Dress, etc., etc. | ” | 20 |
| £155 |
‘As I allow myself £270 in India, you see that I have a nice balance to spend; so you may be quite easy, and I quite thankful, regarding finances. One ought to thank God for independent means; and I am very grateful to my honoured father also.’
FROM MRS. ELMSLIE TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Jan. 13.
‘I am sorry to have been unable to write to you sooner, as I should have wished to tell you how much we love your dear sister, and how truly she has already become an honoured and trusted member of our Mission circle. You know her gentle, loving, winning ways too well to doubt our soon learning to love and cherish her; but I dare say you also know her unselfish character so well, that you will often feel anxious lest she should suffer on that account. She had not been one hour with us before I found out that it is her delight to be giving to others the comforts and honours which are due to herself; and it shall be my endeavour that she shall not lose one iota of anything that should help her, or of anything that is truly good for her. Being the housekeeper here, I can manage this....
‘Her understanding of the language and character of the people is quite wonderful. I hardly think any one ever read character so clearly and truly as she does,—or so charitably. She sees good in all. And when she must acknowledge some blemishes, she finds some kind excuse for them. “Thinketh no evil” seems written on her brow. I believe she will do much for India, if spared; she sees where teaching is needed, and her ready mind so cleverly weaves the lessons into sweet stories which, when read by the people, will do wonders in opening their minds. I hope she will be persuaded to go to the hills in summer, for this work, which is so peculiarly her own, can be carried on there as well as here, and at one-thousandth part of the expense to physical strength.’
C. M. T. TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Feb. 1, 1876.
‘I feel as if one of my chief works here must be to try and keep up the spirits of my poor, anxious, overworked companions. I cannot possibly take much work off their hands; but my loving, clinging Margaret seems to feel it such a comfort to have an elderly friend to lean on.’
Towards the end of February Miss Tucker went, with Mrs. Elmslie and two Bible-women, on her first itinerating expedition,—not, as she herself said, to use her lips, but to use her eyes. Writing while away, she says:—
‘Behold us here, my Queen Lily[39] and I, encamped in the midst of a Sikh village, and living in a tent, without lock or key, with as little sensation of danger as I had at Woodlands or Firlands....
‘It was indeed romantic to travel along that wild path by starlight.... Do you remember the well-known engraving of Una with her lion entering a witch’s cave? Now, as I jogged along in my duli,[40] while Margaret rode on her white pony, she made me think of that picture of Una. She is so fair, so graceful, so pure-looking, with her chiselled profile and her sweet expression; I could not make out, however, anything that would do for the lion.
‘Dear Leila’s most useful bag is now fastened up in our tent.... Poor Sarah Jones’ night-bag is on my bed; please ask dear Leila to tell her so, when she sees her, with my kind remembrances.
‘Oh, a Sikh village is a curious place; built of mud, and pretty thickly populated, it reminds me of an ant-hill. I wonder how such houses stand the rains. The people are not very dark, and they seem to be very friendly. It is not from rudeness that they crowd about one, and examine one’s dress.
‘It would have amused you to have seen Margaret and me perambulating the village, going through its muddy lanes; sometimes so narrow that one could have touched the walls on either hand,—or nearly so. Do not suppose that we walked alone. We had wished to take a quiet stroll together, but this was out of the question. We carried a train with us; and when we had entered a tiny court, inhabited by four families, when I raised my eyes I saw a set of spectators perched on the wall above, like so many sparrows, gazing down on the English ladies. One had not in the least the feeling of being amongst enemies,—only once or twice I saw a man look sternly at us. I concluded that these men were Muhammadans, of whom there are, I believe, a few in this village. The Sikhs seem to be a good-humoured, friendly set, who have not the slightest objection to our speaking as much about our religion as we like. Some of the people here—like the Pandit[41]—know Urdu, but by no means all of them.
‘But, Laura, you who have an eye for the picturesque, and a soul for the romantic, you should have had a glimpse of us yesterday in the Pandit’s house, at evening prayer! The long mud-built room looked strange enough by day; but at night seen by the gleam of one lamp, it looked—like the entrance to a cave or a catacomb.
‘There sat the Pandit on his large mat, and at a little distance his wife on a very small one, the dull lamp throwing their black shadows on the mud wall behind them. A black buffalo calf was at one end of the apartment; but the place was too dark for us to see much of it. The Pandit bending over his book was a study for an artist, with his white turban and his extraordinary spectacles. I was asked to choose the chapter; I chose Romans xii. The Pandit had such difficulty in finding the place, that it seemed evident that he is not familiar with the Epistles. But he must have been pleased with the chapter, when he did find it; for he not only read it, but the one which followed it. Then came a long Sanscrit prayer.’
‘March 7.—One of the things most admired has been a prism, which I have as a letter-weight. The splendid colours which through it an Indian sun casts on the walls excite much admiration and pleasure. My little Ayah to-day asked me what my Zouave had cost. I should hardly call her my Ayah, as, luckily for me, I have only one-third part of the little woman. To have a whole Ayah would be too much of a good thing.
‘I took your Illustrated yesterday to show to the Mother-in-law of the German Missionary.... I tried as I walked to the house to get up a little German; but, O Laura, the Urdu had driven it almost all out of my head. If I wished to call up a German word, up would come an Urdu one! I did indeed remember “wunderbar,” and “shrecklich,” so that helped me with the Illustrated, but they would not have been very useful in a lengthy conversation.
‘If I had had time to write yesterday, I might have given you such an interesting account of the Panjabi Munshi, which I heard from Mr. H. This Munshi, I forget his name, is the son of one of the four priests of the Golden Temple, and a man of character, some talent, and influence. Mr. H., who is translating some of the Bible into Panjabi, wanted ——‘s assistance. The Munshi courteously declined, as he feared that the Bible would be contrary to the “Granth,” the Sikh Scriptures. These Scriptures, so far as they go, Mr. H. says, are not bad at all; and true Sikhs detest idolatry. “Well,” says Mr. H., “both you and I worship the Great God. We will make a bargain. If in the Bible we meet with anything against the Great God, we will close the book at once.” The Munshi instantly closed with the offer; and the result is that at last he has told Mr. H. that there is no book in the world like the Bible. When the Munshi’s sister lay dying, he nursed her night and day, and used to carry to her what he had been reading with Mr. H.
‘The Munshi’s father, the priest, seemed to have had rather a natural fear of his son’s imbibing what he would consider wrong doctrine. He therefore, with two friends, made the Munshi read over to them what he had been busy about with the Christian Sahib. After a while the priest observed, “At first I listened as a critic; now I listen with interest.”
‘What an honest, conscientious man the Munshi is, was shown by his conduct to a rich tradesman in the city. This rich man paid the Munshi to come and read the “Granth” to him,—I suppose for amusement, as he himself is a Hindu and idolater. When —— came to read, he saw an idol in front of the Hindu, and the Sikh positively refused to open the “Granth”—his sacred book—in presence of the idol. “Why,” says the Hindu, “you worship the picture of your saint, so you need not object to my image.” But —— positively denied that he worshipped the picture. “Bring one here,” he said; “and in the presence of witnesses, I will tear it in pieces. Will you do the same with your idol?”’
The following letter to one of her aunts, dated May 8, 1876, refers to the above expedition:—
‘I see you have an impression that we Missionary ladies dress oddly, behave strangely, and undergo all kinds of hardships. You think that I slept on the ground when I went to O——. Not a bit of it! Margaret and I took beds with us, and a table and seats and cooking utensils, and a stock of provisions—and Common sense!!! We were never the worse for our adventure. The Missionaries scold each other more for imprudence about health than any other thing, and I am the scold of the party, so that as I preach I must practise.
‘2ndly. As regards dress, I consider that we dress rather prettily than otherwise. Of course in England it would look funny to see a lady of my age all in white, with a topi and pugri and white parasol; but it does not look funny in India. Why, the very soldiers look like figures in plaster of Paris. As for the natives thinking us “Chinese,” there is no fear of their doing that. I believe that we Missionaries are much respected; we are treated with courtesy; and one of us may walk alone through crowds of hundreds of natives, and never have a disrespectful word....
‘Then you so kindly take a little anxiety about my health; but I do not know that I was ever better in my life. I fancy that I am even a trifle fatter. Thank God, I have not had a touch of fever or headache yet; and though my pankah has been up for days, I have not cared to have it worked. Of course the greatest heat is to come; ... but heat, except of course exposure to the sun, does not seem to injure me; and I am more afraid of December cold than of July heat.’
In April she went to Lahore for a visit, as companion to a Missionary, left alone. Writing from there, she observes: ‘Visits to Missionary stations are a part of my education; and one which Dr. Murdoch strongly recommended for me. He would have me running about the country; but really I am too old to be a comet like my nephew.’[42] And again, speaking of a walk through the narrow streets of Lahore: ‘Presently we met a cart drawn by buffaloes, which filled up the greater part of the width of the road,—of course one does not expect pavements for foot-passengers. Miss H. was a bit frightened, and seemed to think that the big ugly creatures would leave us no room to pass; but I could see that there was plenty of room, if we went single file. And as for being afraid of a stolid buffalo, that looks as if it never would dream of goring any one, even if its horns were not so set on that it could not do such a thing, there would be small excuse for that. Why, Margaret one day, when she was in Cashmere, saw a big black bear only a few yards from her, with just a little icy stream between, and she was not terrified. One bear would be equal to a hundred black buffaloes. I am rather struck by the amount of dash amongst Missionaries! Miss —— is perhaps an exception, but then hers is merely school-work. I think that Margaret is a gallant lady, and that Emily[43] would be true as steel. As for some of the gentlemen, I feel sure that there is plenty of real heroism in them.’ In almost her next letter she says of one of these Missionaries: ‘I do hope that your cheque may make my nephew take a little more care of his health. He is so careful of Mission money, that he almost provokes us by travelling in ways likely to make him ill. I believe that he has seriously injured himself by economising in his own comforts. He ought not to be knocked about, for he is very fragile indeed.’
‘April 20.—The weather is gradually getting warmer. The thermometer in my verandah to-day, where it had been in the shade all the day, was about 107°, that is more than twenty degrees hotter than I have ever seen it in the most sultry day in England. But do not suppose that I mind the heat, or that it has hitherto done me the slightest harm. Thank God, I am in perfect health, not in the slightest degree feverish. I charmed Margaret at dinner to-day. “You are better in the hot weather than the cold,” she cried. “I never knew you ask for a second help in the cold weather.” And the two poor dear girls opposite me sat with plates sadly clean; neither of them would touch a bit of meat.... Of course we shall have the weather a good deal hotter presently, but then pankahs will be up.’
‘May 8.—There is a little romance going on here. A little native maiden was betrothed to a native lad. Before the marriage came off, the destined bridegroom and his parents became Christians. The girl’s parents wanted to break off the match, and unite the girl to a heathen. But her heart was set on her young bridegroom. The case came before court,—Emily thinks about a year ago. It was adjudged that the maiden was too young to fix her own fate. But she is old enough now, and she has kept true to her lover. The final decision must be made in twenty-one days. The young girl—she looks such a child—wants, I hear, to become a Christian. Emily fain would ascertain whether she does so from love of religion, or only from love for her boy. I hope to be at her baptism,—and her wedding too, if all be well.’
‘May 29.—I have done so few lessons to-day, I had better set to them bravely. I have written out, large and black, so that I may easily read in dim light, more than 1300 words, to go over regularly every fortnight, masculine separated from feminine nouns. I know others that I have not written down. But, Laura dear, all these words—rather a tax on an old lady’s memory—take one on but a small way in speaking this difficult language.’
Early in June she yielded very reluctantly to Mrs. Elmslie’s pressure, and consented to go for a short time to Dalhousie; and the letter following was written at an inn on the way:—
‘Dâk Bungalow, June 13, 1876.
‘I have been giving dear Leila an account of the first part of my journey; now I will go on with you. I slept a good deal in the gari. I dreamed that I was talking with you about Margaret....
‘Well, I reached the dâk bungalow (kind of inn) early in the morning, took early breakfast, and started in my duli (kind of palanquin) at about 6.15. I wanted to start earlier, knowing that I had a nineteen miles stage before me, and that the day would probably be hot. I had nine men to carry me and my luggage. They made little of it, but went at the rate of nearly four miles an hour, including brief stoppages. Three times the poor fellows asked for leave to stop and drink water. This of course I granted. Twice I was asked for bakhshish; but I declined giving any until I should arrive, and then if they carried me nicely I promised them something.
‘They did carry me very nicely. When they had gone about ten miles, and might be supposed to have grown pretty tired, then they began to be lively, laughing and chatting together, I suppose to beguile the way. It would be well if we took life’s journey as patiently and cheerfully as these poor half-clad mountaineers. Note inserted. Oh, doubtless it was a relay!...
‘The thunder has been grumbling. Perhaps I may take a little walk before I start on my long night expedition. This seems to be a lovely place, but of course I shall not walk in the heat of the day....
‘It is indeed a miracle how a mere handful of Englishmen rule such a country as this. Since I left Amritsar I have seen but one English face, and that was the face of some one lying full length in a duli which I passed. He was very likely ill. Yet one feels oneself under a very strong wing of the law,—far more so than one does in England. There have I been travelling with a band of natives to whom threepence is a good present ... my language, my religion, are strange, and yet I neither receive nor fear the slightest disrespect. Is not this like a miracle?
‘Thunder again! If I have a storm to-night in the mountains, how sublime it will look!’
But though she enjoyed her time in the mountains, she was eager to return to work; and even from Dalhousie her letters contain chiefly details of what was being done, there or at Amritsar, in her absence. On the 18th of July she was on the road; and again she wrote from an inn:—
‘I have bidden farewell to Dalhousie. The skies were weeping violently when I started; so was not I!... Dalhousie is grandly beautiful; but I have been asking myself why I have not been in raptures with its beauties. I think that two things are wanting to its perfection;—first, the soft blue haze which one connects with distant mountains. High and hard, some snow-crowned peak cuts the sky. You are told that it is a hundred miles off. You don’t believe it! It is as clear and sharp as if only two. Then water is a very great want, at least to me. Certainly, there is the Ravi, one of the five famous rivers of the Panjab; but at Dalhousie it looks, at least in June, first cousin to a swamp. One wants waterfalls. One-hundredth part—one-thousandth part—of Niagara, glorious Niagara, would be a boon at Dalhousie....
‘It is a curious thing, dear Laura, that kind of instinct which one acquires in India! I have often and often thought on the subject. One feels as if one belonged to such a lordly race. It is that odd kind of impression upon one that, though one may personally be weak as water, one forms a part of a mysterious power. There is a kind of instinctive persuasion that neither man nor beast would dare to attack one,—except perhaps a vicious horse. One travels by night, without the slightest protection, surrounded by half-clad, ignorant semi-savages; one never dreams of fearing them. One takes one’s early walk in a lonely place, where the cheetah or snake may lurk, without the smallest alarm. They would not surely attack one of the English!...’
CHAPTER III
A.D. 1876
CURIOUS WAYS
More than half of Charlotte Tucker’s first year in India was now over; and still no thought of work for herself in Batala had arisen. She knew about Batala, and was interested in the place, no doubt, as in all other outlying parts where Missionary work had been even fitfully attempted. But Amritsar was thus far her home; and there she expected to remain. She continued to study hard and perseveringly, in preparation for fuller work, often lamenting her own slowness in learning to speak; and already she was making herself known and beloved by a few Indians,—either Christian, or disposed towards Christianity.
After her return from Dalhousie she wrote in joyous strains: ‘Here I am at dear Amritsar again, which I much prefer to the abode amongst the clouds.’ There was some idea that she might have to go all the way back to Dalhousie, to nurse a sick Missionary there; and she was perfectly willing to do so, without hesitation on the score of fatigue, without a thought of the long, troublesome journey. No one else could be so well spared at that period from Amritsar as herself; and this she fully realised. ‘If however dear Florrie rallies nicely,’ she wrote, ‘I have not the slightest intention of going to cloudland again. Pankah-land suits my taste better.’ Happily, it was not necessary for her to go.
It was in the spring or summer of this year that she began to name her various new friends after certain jewels, according to her estimate of their respective gifts and characters. She possessed, in imagination, a jewelled bracelet, representing the different Missionary gentlemen of her acquaintance,—Diamond, Opal, Amethyst, etc. A companion bracelet was supposed to represent the Missionary ladies,—consisting of Diamond, Sardonix, Onyx, etc. Also she had in mind ‘an extraordinary necklace, Oriental pattern, formed of Native friends,’—those Indian Christians, whom she had begun to know and to love, many of whom repaid her love, and did not disappoint her trust in the coming years.
A little later, in the letter describing this favourite idea, she adds: ‘Now we come to my yellow girdle, studded with gems. This is composed of dear ones in Old England; my own Laura being the Pearl nearest the heart.’
A more prosaic and less romantic nature can perhaps hardly understand, much less sympathise with, the delight afforded to her curiously symbol-loving mind by this manner of regarding those whom she loved.
In July a letter speaks of ‘seeing more of the lights and shadows of Missionary life’ than before. A certain young Muhammadan, in whom they were greatly interested, after long inquiry and hesitation, at length made up his mind to come boldly forward, and to be baptized. Arrangements were made for his Baptism in the Church by a Native clergyman; the matter being kept as quiet as possible, for avoidance of the opposition which was sure to arise. Miss Tucker was told only on the morning of the day what was about to happen; and great was her delight, as well as her fear that some hindrance might intervene.
‘I had a kind of intuitive feeling,’ she said, ‘that something might come to prevent the Convert from openly confessing his Lord. I knew not how great the danger was.’
One hour remained before the time fixed for the Baptism, when the young man—Babu G. he may be called—came in, troubled and pale. His Mother had somehow divined his intention, and was doing her utmost to prevent its being carried out. She flung a brick at the head of one Christian Native, who had had a hand in influencing the young Muhammadan; she raved and beat her breast; she cursed and tore her hair; she declared to her son that if he became a Christian she would die.
Babu G. believed all this, and was sorely shaken. His Mother was brought to the Mission-house, and a vehement scene followed. The old lady sat upon the ground, pouring out threats and curses, beating her breast and tearing her hair anew,—only, as A. L. O. E. somewhat drily observed afterwards, she very cleverly avoided hurting herself by her blows, and none of her hair seemed to come out with all the apparent ‘tearing.’ But the young man could hardly be expected to see this as a stranger would! He wavered—hesitated—and at last gave way. The Baptism did not take place; and the unhappy young fellow, convinced of the truth of Christianity, willing in heart to be a servant of Christ, had not courage to take his own decision, but remained a Muhammadan. Bitter tears were shed over his defection by gentle Mrs. Elmslie; the first that Miss Tucker had ever seen her shed.
Such stories as this show conclusively that the work which most of all needs to be done in India is to transform the Mothers,—to educate a generation of Christian Mothers. Their sons then will be Christian too. No power in the world surpasses that of a mother over her children, whether she be English or Hindu or Muhammadan.
Charlotte Tucker’s stern side seems to have come out in this stormy interview with the furious old lady. ‘Are you not afraid,’ she demanded, ‘that God’s anger is on you? You have been your son’s enemy. When affliction comes, remember,—remember,—REMEMBER!’
Side by side, however, with this great disappointment, were other more hopeful aspects of the work. Light and shade naturally go together. A few days later she wrote:—