II.
‘During Mr. Baring’s absence in England in 1881, one cold night Miss Tucker noticed in the Chapel a man shivering with cold. He was one of the non-Christian servants of the school. After Service she called him, and asked him if he had more clothes. The man said “No.” He was shivering, as he had fever. She told him to wait, and ran upstairs. She came back in a minute with a beautiful rug. She told the man she could not give it to him, as it was a present from her sister, but she would lend it to him for the night, and would buy a country blanket for him the next day. I asked her what she was going to do herself. She said she would keep a fire in her bedroom, and that would keep her warm.
‘I saw her many times picking up pieces of broken glass or bottles. She said poor people who walk barefoot get hurt by these. She has known cases in which men suffered for weeks from wounds received from these.
‘She was not kind to men only, but to animals. One summer morning, as she was coming from the city, after doing her work in the Zenanas, she saw a poor donkey with a sore back, troubled by a crow. She came home, took a piece of cloth, went to the place where she saw the donkey, tied the cloth, and came back and took her breakfast....
‘Her example has done a great deal in removing caste feelings among Christians. Batala was a place for feasts. In these feasts all Christians were invited. She generally sat with low-caste Converts, and ate with them....
‘Once for sending a girl to an orphanage she sent for a prospectus of the school. In it two warm dresses were put down in the list of clothes. ‘It is very unreasonable,’ she said, ‘to require two warm dresses.’ She had herself only one, and that she had been using for the last nine years. Her poem, “What a Missionary Miss Sahiba should be,” is an embodiment of what she was.’
One more short sentence from the same source is worthy of particular attention: ‘When ill, Miss Tucker did not like to inform her friends of it, lest her friends should leave their work and come to nurse her. She often expressed a wish that there were Mission Nurses, who could attend to the sick Missionaries. Without these, when one got ill, others were taken from their work to nurse her.’
In an earlier chapter it was suggested that some ladies, wishing to find a vocation, might offer themselves as Honorary helpers to the more regular Missionaries in certain lines, among which Nursing was included. Here it seems that the same thought had distinctly occurred to the mind of Charlotte Tucker. Why should not a little Band of Honorary Nurses for India be organised,—Nurses, trained and capable, holding themselves ready to go wherever their services may be required by any sick Missionary, so that the steady work of other Missionaries should not be unnecessarily interrupted by the illness of one of their number? The idea is at least worth consideration, since apparently it would have met with the approval of A. L. O. E.
CHAPTER XIV
A.D. 1885-1886
ON THE RIVER’S BRINK
Changes again were impending. Mr. and Mrs. Weitbrecht, after two years’ work in Batala, were to quit the place; and in their stead would come Mr. and Mrs. Corfield,—the former as new Principal of the High School. It is singular to note one Missionary after another thus coming and going, while Charlotte Tucker, with resolute perseverance, held to her post.
At last she too began to think of a change. Not of leaving Batala; not of going home, for even the shortest of furloughs! Such an idea perhaps never so much as occurred to her mind. She simply began to think of altering her residence in Batala. At Anarkalli she had lived with Miss Swainson, with Mr. and Mrs. Beutel, with Natives alone, with Mr. Baring, with Mr. Baring and his wife, with Mr. and Mrs. Weitbrecht; and now another ‘upheaval’ had become imminent.
The notion of a move was apparently at first her own, though others soon looked upon it as desirable. Two German ladies, Miss Hoernle and Miss Krapf, dwelt together in the cosy little Mission Bungalow, which they had named ‘Sonnenschein’ or ‘Sunshine.’ No room remained for a third inmate; but Miss Tucker formed a plan of building a small annexe to the west of ‘Sunshine,’ for her own use; and to this tiny annexe she resolved to give the name of ‘Gurub i Aftab,’ or ‘Sunset.’
Mrs. Hamilton, on first hearing of the scheme, was somewhat distressed at the thought of such a change for her ‘Char’; but Miss Tucker wrote to assure her of no move until the new building should be perfectly dry. Also a long letter from Mr. Weitbrecht set before Mrs. Hamilton, with kind clearness, the advantages of the plan. Among other reasons urged was the overcrowded state of the palace, where more room for the School was urgently needed; and also the desirability that Miss Tucker, in advancing years, should not constantly have to climb a steep and awkward staircase, which had of late greatly tried her strength.
It is probable that for some little time past there had been a certain failure of power, evidenced by such facts as this, though made very little of by herself, and perhaps little marked by others, because of her determined cheerfulness and persistence in work.
Still, as always, she rose at six in winter, and at half-past four in summer; had her little breakfast of cocoa and sweet biscuits; then read and studied till eight. At 8 A.M., whether in summer or in winter, she seldom failed to take her rapid ‘Devotional walk’ out of doors, up and down, till summoned to Prayers by the Chapel gong. Then came breakfast proper; after which she would still, as always, go out in her duli for three or four hours of Zenana-visiting. Next followed correspondence; lunch; classes of English history and English literature for the elder boys; then afternoon tea; then sometimes more reading of a Native language, and visiting of Native Christians. This was the manner of day that she spent, week in, week out, month after month, often for ten or eleven months at a stretch; varied only by itinerating expeditions into neighbouring villages, or an occasional trip to Amritsar,—the latter seldom, except on business of some kind. And she had been living this life now for at least eight or nine years! Small wonder that a breakdown should come at last. The marvel was that it had not come sooner. A chill and a bad smell were the immediate cause,—they usually are in such cases, acting upon exhausted powers.
Up to Thursday, December 10, things were much as usual. That morning she went on her ordinary city round, and then to a Native wedding, where she was very much tried by a bad smell from a drain, though her innate courtesy would not allow her to hurry away. On reaching home she was in a chilled and shivering condition, with the beginning of a sore throat. In the afternoon fever and drowsiness came on.
For a day or two there seemed to be an improvement. Mrs. Weitbrecht, who was to have left Batala before Sunday, on account of health, deferred her journey until Monday.
Nothing could induce Miss Tucker to remain at home on Saturday. She started as usual for the city; and on her return she told Mrs. Weitbrecht ‘how glad she was to have gone,’ adding, ‘I am always especially glad when I go to the city, feeling it a little effort to do so.’ One is disposed to imagine that it must have been more than a little effort, on that particular day; and the words contain a revelation as to past ‘efforts’ when unfit for the work which she never would neglect. Dr. H. M. Clark had been asked to come over, but she utterly declined to see him, except as a friend, refusing to consider herself ill. On Sunday she was at both the Church Services, ‘kept up,’ as Mr. Bateman said, ‘by her indomitable spirit’; and in the afternoon she had, as always, her Class of boys. On Monday morning she made her appearance early, to see Mrs. Weitbrecht off,—very bright and cheery, wrapping up sandwiches, and determinedly hiding how ill she really felt, for fear Mrs. Weitbrecht’s departure should be again delayed.
Things could not go on thus much longer. Miss Tucker had made a brave fight,—too brave for her own good!—but illness was now fast gaining the upper hand. She did not again attempt city visiting,—a sure sign of her condition; and much time that day was spent in a half-doze. Towards night she became light-headed, and was so weak that they had to carry her to bed. Miss Hoernle decided to sleep at the palace, so as to be within easy call if needed; but in the early morning she found her patient up, writing a letter, and of course avowing herself ‘better.’ The improvement, if it existed, was very brief. Fever again set in, with weakness and delirium; and Dr. H. M. Clark was sent for. On Tuesday Mr. Clark came too, and that evening he sent for Miss Wauton to go over from Amritsar on Wednesday morning. Mr. Rowland Bateman also was speedily on the spot. Somewhat later in the week a telegram summoned A. L. O. E.’s nephew and niece, Major Louis Tucker and Mrs. Tucker.
For three days the greatest possible anxiety was felt; and on the Thursday another medical man was telegraphed for, that a consultation might take place. The result of the consultation was not favourable. Dr. P. on first seeing Miss Tucker thought she might live a week, but when going away he expressed a fear that half that time would see the end.
Both before and after Dr. P.’s coming there was excessive restlessness, and a great deal of delirium, though the latter was never of a painful kind, and she always knew those who were about her. She was at times extremely anxious to get up, and she showed vexation at not being allowed to do so. Once, when thus controlled, she said to Mr. Weitbrecht with respect to her nurses:
‘Couldn’t you take them to see the Church?’
‘But, Auntie dear, we have seen the Church already,’ they assured her.
‘Then take them somewhere else,’ she said,—‘only take them a long way off!’
This evidently remained on her mind; for the next day she began to talk about the Salvation Army, and the doctrine of Perfection in this life, as taught by its devotees.
‘It is a doctrine of the devil,’ she said emphatically. ‘Tell —— that I had an outbreak of anger and petulance only yesterday. I wanted to go to my own room, and I was quite cross when they would not let me. I think the Lord let that be, that we might see how weak and sinful we are. I am sixty-four years old,—and they who are so much younger than I am would not let me get up! They treated me just as if I were a child; and I could not bear to be made into a little child; and so the Lord put me down. These doctrines are the snare of the devil. They make presumptuous people more presumptuous; and they are calculated to drive conscientious people mad!’ The last words were repeated; and Miss Tucker went on to mention two cases, known to herself, where individuals had become actually insane through ‘perfectionist’ teaching.
She talked in her delirium almost incessantly, showing extreme mental activity, an activity which never failed, even when exhaustion was greatest. She dictated letters; she composed verses and comic parodies; she repeated texts and long sentences in Hindustani; she sang with animation a cricket-song for the boys, and then a hymn in Hindustani or English. Sometimes her drollery was so intense that her nurses, in all their anxiety, shook with laughter to hear the things she said. And all through, from beginning to end, one thing never failed,—her radiant happiness in the thought of going Home.
While recognising those who were really present, she fancied that others were there also, and talked to them. Generally she could reason quietly about these appearances, saying that she knew they were ‘shadows.’ She does not seem to have felt thus about the evil spirits, which she thought she saw. She pointed to where she believed them to be, asking, ‘Do you see them?’ Then addressing the spirits, she continued: ‘I am not afraid of you! You can do nothing to me! I belong to Jesus! Don’t sit there, at the foot of my bed. Go away; you cannot touch me!’
The strong doses of quinine made her very deaf, so that she could hear little of what went on around her bed; but she heard what others could not hear,—sounds of music filling the room.
Sometimes she imagined herself to be in Zenanas, talking to the Bibis, and pleading earnestly with them. Or again she wondered why her kahars did not come to take her thither.
‘What to me was most remarkable,’ wrote Mr. Clark afterwards, ‘was her perfect cheerfulness and happiness; thinking of everything and every one around her, and talking of the most common things, and doing it all in the light of Eternity; standing on the very brink of another world, and yet forgetting nothing, but thinking of almost everything in this.... It was at times even amusing, for there was no sadness in her perpetual sunshine.’
On Friday morning, the day after the consultation, Miss Tucker woke very early, and asked to have her desk, that she might write. This of course could not be allowed. Later in the same day Mr. Weitbrecht went in to see her, just after an interview with Dr. Clark, and she inquired, ‘What does the doctor say?’
Mr. Weitbrecht endeavoured to avoid giving any direct reply, speaking only of one symptom which the Doctor had named as encouraging. Then came the point-blank question:
‘Yes; but does he think I shall die, or recover?’
‘He cannot tell.’
Miss Tucker was not to be so put off. An answer she would have. ‘I am very deaf with the quinine,’ she said. ‘I can’t hear what you say. If he thinks I shall stay, do this!’—holding up her hand;—‘and if sinking, this!’—dropping it.
There was no choice left. Truth compelled Mr. Weitbrecht to lower gently his hand. ‘Whereupon,’ as Mr. Bateman relates, ‘a smile and an almost shout of joy escaped her.’
‘I am so glad!’ she exclaimed. ‘So glad to be dying in harness! And to think that I shall be no trouble to anybody!... It is too good to be true, that I am going Home.... The bowl is broken at the fountain!’ Then she repeated the simple verse beginning,
What Charlotte Tucker experienced, on seeing that lowered hand, may be to some extent realised by reading her ‘Dream’ of the Second Advent, given in an earlier chapter. Heaven to her was ‘Home’; many of her nearest and dearest were already in Paradise; and ‘death,’ so called, would mean re-union with those dear ones. Charlotte Tucker could from her very heart re-echo the poet’s words,—with a most practical belief in them,—‘There is no Death; what seems so is Transition.’ During years past she had longed for this Transition; striving only not to be impatient, but to await cheerfully God’s own time.
And now, it seemed, she was to go! Not only to leave sin and sorrow behind; not only to be young and strong again; not only to see such beauty and glory as our Earth can never show; not only to ‘mount up with wings, as eagles,’ into splendid new spheres of knowledge and thought, of employment and work. All these things, though real, were secondary. The overwhelming delight of going Home, whether by the Coming of Christ, or through the ‘grave and gate of Death,’ was that she would meet her Lord and Master face to face! That was the grand expectation which thrilled her whole being, which drew from her an ‘almost shout’ of joy, even in extreme weakness,—the prospect of seeing Him, ‘Whom, not having seen,’ she loved.
So intense was the joy that it had a remarkable result. It appeared to take the same effect as a powerful stimulant upon her sinking strength. The very delight which she had in dying brought her back to life; the very rapture with which she desired to go kept her from going.
It is not needful to suppose that this alone saved her life. Skilled physicians and devoted nurses had done and were doing their utmost; and a fresh remedy was being tried, which brought down the very high fever. But the fact remains the same, that, until Charlotte Tucker was told that she would die, hopes of her recovery had been given up, at all events by those best qualified to judge; and that, from the time when she learned the verdict of the doctors, she began to revive. At the least we must allow that the stimulant afforded by this eager rejoicing was a marked assistance to other remedies; and that, without it, in all probability she might have sunk.
Nor need it be imagined that she was immediately out of danger. Improvement was very gradual, and anxiety lasted long. Weeks later she spoke of her own life as having been on Christmas Day still ‘trembling in the balance,’ and this was nearly a week before Christmas. But hope had revived, and every day it grew stronger.
Having once made up her mind that she was to die, it was, we may be sure, no easy matter for Charlotte Tucker to turn her mind earthward again. ‘She dwelt on the thought continually,’ wrote one of her nurses afterwards; and another friend said in a letter home, at the time, ‘She is deaf to any suggestion of possible recovery.’
Full directions were given as to presents which she wished to have sent to relatives and friends after her departure; and many messages also, expressive of intense delight in the prospect which she believed to lie before her. She was very particular as to her funeral. ‘I wish no one to wear black for me,’ she said. ‘My funeral must not cost more than five rupees. No coffin; only a plank to keep the body straight. You must make a recess in the grave, so that the earth may not fall on my face. No one must carry me but my dear Christian boys.’
Then she would believe herself to be in a Zenana once more, and she was giving a farewell address in Hindustani to all her Bibis. In the midst of such a serious exhortation would come in quotations from Shakespeare, or odd little remarks about her food, making it impossible for others not to smile, as the active mind passed rapidly from one subject to another. But still her radiant expectation and rejoicing never faltered.
‘What a happy thing it is to have conquered!’ she said once,—‘and to know that I have a crown of glory awaiting me above! What happiness! But I know I have no righteousness of my own. No one has that! My trust is in the Blood of Christ alone! “The Blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin.”’
Repeatedly she remarked how ‘happy she was, dying in harness,—just as she had wished!’ And again: ‘I want to go. You must not pray for my recovery. The Doctor says I’m worse, doesn’t he?’ And again: ‘If the Ladies of the Committee knew what a wreck I am, they would be glad that I am going now. I cannot do any more work; but tell them that I depart in the full, glad hope of Eternal Life, through Jesus Christ only! His precious Blood only!... “Nothing in my hand I bring; simply to Thy Cross I cling!” ... I am almost surprised at my ever coming out to be a Missionary. I was so very ignorant! A Missionary needs very great humility.’
At another time she asked: ‘How long is it likely to last? My sister will be quite happy about me, now that I have completed my tenth year of Missionary service.’
But near as Charlotte Tucker drew to the Gate of Death, which to her was the Gate of Life, she was only allowed one glimpse inside; and then she had to turn back into the wilderness of Earth once more. It makes one think of the Pandit’s dream beside his dying wife. A ‘voice’ might well have said, with angelic pity, of Charlotte Tucker, ‘She longs so to come! I will take her!’ But if so, it would seem that the Divine Voice softly interposed, ‘WAIT!’ Her hour of Rest was not yet reached. She was not very much more than half-way through her toilsome Indian campaign. Ten years of work lay behind. Eight years of work stretched ahead. This was but the Rehearsal of the real Home-going.
By Saturday morning there was so far a distinct improvement that Mr. Clark felt himself able to return to Amritsar. Miss Tucker still counted herself dying; and her last words to Mr. Clark were, ‘Give to our dear and honoured Bishop my affectionate adieux!’
When Christmas Day arrived, though not yet out of danger, she was allowed to see all her Batala friends who could come, including the boys of the School,—no doubt a mere passing glimpse of each. Much warm interest had been shown by the people of the city, as well as by the Christians who so well knew and loved her. Before Christmas Day, however, Miss Tucker seems to have accepted the fact that, so far as could be seen, she had not yet fought out her battle, had not yet to exchange Cross for Crown. So early as the 21st of December Miss Wauton wrote to Mrs. Hamilton:—
‘I don’t think she will ever attempt so much active work again amongst the people; but she said to me this morning, “Though I shall probably not be able to do much amongst them, I can still love them!” Darling Auntie! how every one does love and honour her! This week has shown more than ever how she lives in the hearts of those for whom she is spending her life; and how dear she is to a very, very wide circle of friends, as well as to her relations. The boys have been as quiet as mice all the time she was ill; and the only sounds that reached her room were their voices practising the Christmas hymns, which she was delighted with, and fancied she heard them nearly all through the night, long after they were all in bed.’
On December 28th Charlotte Tucker was able to dictate a letter to Mrs. Hamilton:—
‘My precious Laura,—I have been in deep waters, but I rather think I shall swim. I cannot tell you what I owe to the splendid nursing of —— and ——. You couldn’t have nursed me more devotedly and tenderly yourself. Neither you nor I will ever forget it....
‘I’ve a noise going on for ever in my ears; but my mind has been clear all through. The hard thing was not to be able to pray for what I wished. I should so have liked to depart and be with Jesus; but it didn’t seem God’s Will; and His Will must be best. I tried to ask for patience and resignation. Good-bye, darling....’
Loving messages to many friends are included in this letter; and she also mentions having received on Christmas Day ‘Communion for the Dying,’—though apparently she was then not really counted to be dying. However, unless she misunderstood her doctor, he was not even then hopeful to any great extent. Probably her own recollections were a good deal more confused than she was at all aware of.
It is not a little remarkable that, after all this, she should in letters written somewhat later quietly and decidedly assert that she had not reckoned herself to be dying, but had fully expected to get well! The explanation is, most likely, that her strong desire to pass away was so dominant a feeling as to entirely push into the background a consciousness that she would recover. At the time she doubtless refused to listen to the voice of this consciousness; but afterwards it would naturally recur to memory,—possibly in a somewhat exaggerated form.
As soon as she was sufficiently improved for the move to be practicable, she was taken to Amritsar,—being lifted into her duli, which travelled by train, so that she was spared any further changes. At Amritsar she was within easy reach of her Doctor; also she could be better nursed and cared for there than in such an out-of-the-way place as Batala, where personal comforts were few. Letters early in 1886 naturally contain a good deal about her illness.
‘Batala, Jan. 2.—My darling Laura, the last time the Doctor came, I said to him, “Doctor, you’re winning the game of chess.” He said, “You’ve been as bad as you could be; but, under God, you owe your life to the excellent nursing.” ... My sweet ladies watch me day and night, and seem to think it fun.... I think in England we add to the miseries of sickness by looking so anxious and grave. Then, another thing, love, is this; don’t shut out friends, for fear they should tire the patient. On Christmas Day, when my life was literally trembling in the balance, I must have seen more than a hundred, and they didn’t do me a bit of harm.... Good-bye, darling. Please give all sorts of kind messages to dear Leila and your other dear ones, and every one who loves me....
‘Please pray for patience. That is the lesson I have to learn. “Be still, and know that I am God.” “O rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him.” I mustn’t think even much about Heaven! I mustn’t be like a soldier pining to get home, when he’s told to keep quiet in the trenches.’
It is impossible not to remember Archbishop Trench’s couplet:—
‘Amritsar, Jan. 11, 1886.—I hope that my telegram arrived before the news that would trouble you. The doctor pronounced me “out of danger” last Friday, the 8th; so I almost immediately thought of sending a telegram. Now I’m going to make a little confession of exaggeration. I told you that I saw more than one hundred people on Christmas Day. Babu Singha told me that there were only eighty-four at the feast; so, as babies count at the feast and didn’t come up to me, I probably didn’t see more than seventy. I questioned the doctor a little time ago as to the influx of visitors; and he only told me, that, as he thought I was sure to die, it didn’t matter whom I saw. But I didn’t think I was going to die; and you see I was right....’
‘Amritsar, Jan. 18.—Thanks were publicly returned in Amritsar Church yesterday for the recovery of your Char. “Bless the Lord, O my soul; forget not all His benefits.” ... I am floating in a sea of delight, and shall certainly look back to this time of terrible illness as one of the happiest periods of my life. I am as happy as a Queen. A great deal happier than the Queen! One of the images that most frequently rises before my mind, in prayerful thought, is that of our own beloved Queen. There is something so grand and pathetic in that image, as our Sovereign Lady sits with her hand on the helm, solitary at her post of duty, with a revolutionary storm howling and shrieking around her. The Lord shield her head; strengthen her hands; give her increasing grace and wisdom; and grant her the victory over all her enemies.
‘I think it would gratify Her Majesty were she to know her personal influence amongst the Women of India. In zenana or mud-village, “Maliká Muazima Kaiser-i-Hind”—I generally give our Sovereign her full title among the Orientals, though I love “our own dear Queen” much better!—is an object of interest.... Of course, we inculcate loyalty among our Native Christians, in our Boarding School at Batala. One of the first things that would strike the eye of a visitor is “God save the Queen,”—hung up in the schoolroom.... It would please Her Majesty, could she hear our Christian boys singing:
The Hindus and Muhammadans might fail us should a storm arise; the Atheists would be our bitter foes. I believe that many of our noble Christians would be Faithful unto Death....
‘I have had two such extraordinary attacks of malarious fever.... For three days and nights, and more, I never slept for a moment. My mind was sometimes carried, at other times goaded, in unnatural activity. I had a torrent of thought, which I could not stop; the first week is to me almost a blank.... Dr. P. knew nothing of me, nor what a comically allegorical mind I have. I remember nothing of our interview, but it must have been inexpressibly funny....’
Letters thus far were only dictated. On January 20 is one in her own handwriting, very feeble and shaky:—
’ ... One does learn such lessons, when lying still for weeks and weeks, with nothing to do but think. For instance, I remember grievous sins of omission, which I have never thought of before.... The duty of Intercessory prayer opens out before me. Of course, I have always prayed for you, love, and a great many more; no danger of forgetting. But I have forgotten numbers.’
In a circular letter to English friends, dated January 25, she again and more emphatically asserts her own non-expectation of death during the late illness: ‘On the worst day I talked Urdu, nothing else, from morning till night, to imaginary bibis. Almost every one thought me dying, except myself!... I asked the dear, kind, skilful doctor of my state; he did not know what to say, for he thought me sinking. I asked dear Mr. Weitbrecht, and he pointed his finger straight downwards. I quite understood, but did not believe myself dying for all that!’ This certainly was not the impression of those around her at the time, nor is it borne out by the things she said. No doubt she was striving to believe what she longed for,—was hoping that the doctors’ opinion, and not her own inner sense, might prove to be right.
Miss Tucker’s ‘horror of alcohol’ is particularly noted by Mr. Clark. When getting better, she one day remarked to him, ‘What a dear, good doctor Dr. Clark is! He has brought me through it all, without giving me any spirits.’ Then, turning to one of her nurses, ‘Isn’t it so, dear?’ A judicious answer was returned: ‘The doctor gave you just the right medicine, and you were very good in taking it.’ A little later, when having another dose of medicine, she said again, ‘Are you sure there is no alcohol in it?’ ‘It is what the doctor has ordered for you, Auntie dear. You must just take it, and ask no questions.’ As letters show, it was not till February that she learned the true state of the case, which was that she had been kept alive by small doses of stimulant every hour. The strongest brandy had tasted to her like water. As soon as Miss Tucker understood how matters had been, she wrote to her sister, to say:—
‘I made a great mistake in my letters home. If from them you have given to others a wrong impression, please kindly correct it when opportunity occurs. I wrote that I had had no stimulant in my illness. I thought that I had not; but I find that I was utterly wrong. I was kept from sinking, not only by quantities of quinine, but brandy also. It was strange that I should not have recognised it; but it was always mixed with something else.’
So steady now was the improvement in her health, that before the middle of February she was able to get out for drives; on the 14th she went to Church; and by the 18th she was back again in ‘dear Batala,’—not at the old palace, but in the Mission Bungalow, ‘Sonnenschein,’ with Miss Hoernle. A crowd of boys welcomed her at the Railway Station, on her arrival; and next day a grand Batala feast was given in her honour.
CHAPTER XV
A.D. 1886-1887
IN HARNESS ONCE MORE
So severe an illness could not fail to leave traces; and Charlotte Tucker came out of it more distinctly an old lady than she had ever been before. Ten years of perpetual toil had used up a large amount of even her superabundant vitality; and she could not expect to be again fully what she had been, either as to vigour or powers of endurance.
But although strength did not return quickly, and work had to be very slowly resumed, her interest in all that concerned Batala was as vivid as ever. The letters of 1886 are full of details about various High School boys,—either those who had been or those who still were scholars. Letters to Mrs. Hamilton were as long as ever,—longer indeed than in times of greater work-pressure,—and the shaky hand soon regained its firmness.
Immediately after her return to Batala, she wrote as to work generally:—
‘O, there have been such stirring times in our Panjab Mission field lately! On one side, or rather various sides, the poor, low-caste people are joyfully receiving the Gospel. One hears of them listening, with tears running down their brown cheeks. Dear Miss Hoernle, my chum, is off to Futteyghur, with a new Bible-woman specially for the poor peasants. There, after due examination, Mr. Weitbrecht has baptized whole families,—fifty-six individuals,—and I shall probably hear of many more when Miss Hoernle returns.... All this is comparatively smooth, for people do not flare up at poor people being saved; but there has been desperate fighting over dear lads of good family; prosecution, persecution, pelting, lying, hand-to-hand struggling; even our chivalrous Missionary, Mr. Bateman, always ready to be foremost in the fight, owns that he has never had such a hard case as the last. The dear Convert, not yet baptized, refused an offer of 10,000 rupees down and 40,000 in reversion, rather than give up Christ....’
Many other particulars, too long to quote, follow.
The 4th of March was to be, as she wrote, ‘a very great day here; the greatest Batala has ever known! Our Church is to be consecrated; and Christians will gather from far and near. One of the most interesting features of the occasion will be, I trust, the presence of converts.... I believe that many of them will gladly walk fifteen miles to be present. One said, in regard to their dress, which is, as you may suppose, of a very rough kind, “We will come in clean clothes, if it take us four days to wash them!”’ The last few words were in allusion to very poor village converts.
A letter to a little great-nephew, the day after the Consecration, gave some particulars:—
‘We had a very grand day in Batala yesterday. The Bishop came to open our fine new Church. A great many ladies and gentlemen came also. There were two meat meals for them; we sat down about thirty-four. But one of the most interesting things was that a good many poor men and boys, whom dear Mr. Weitbrecht had baptized in the villages, came too. Now, some people are proud enough to scorn these poor men, because they are of the low Mihtar caste. But, you know, my T——, that there is plenty of room in Heaven for Mihtars; and when they shine in white garments and crowns no one will despise them then. We thought that it would be a good thing to eat a little with the poor men, to show that we do not scorn them.... Mr. Bateman, Mrs. Weitbrecht, and I sat down on the straw, where the poor folk were eating their dinner, and ate some too. I own that I did not eat much,—I had had the two meat meals already!...
‘Our Church looked very nice. We had to lend three mats for it; and other things were lent also.... But three beautiful cushions were not lent. Dear Aunt Mina, her Wilhelmina, and Cousin Laura worked them years ago for our Church. We took great care of them, and they look in fine condition.’
The Church of the Epiphany at Batala, consecrated on March 4, 1886, by the Bishop of Lahore, is described as being ‘of brick, plastered with lime. The style chosen is that of the Mogul period, adapted to the requirements of a Christian Church. The Church at present consists of a nave, with clerestory windows, chancel, and porch. Two side-aisles remain to be added. The present accommodation is 200; when completed it will be about 500. The Church is situated near the chief gate of Batala, on the road leading to the railway.’
Then came the parting with the Weitbrechts; a sorrowful matter, after two years together under the same roof. Miss Tucker, though still far from strong, was sufficiently recovered to travel with them as far as to Delhi, where she paid a short visit to a widowed niece. While there, on March 18, she wrote:—
‘Here am I, in the famous old city of Delhi, long the capital of India; but I go about to see none of its many sights.... The dear Weitbrechts and I lunched with the Cambridge Mission yesterday. A fine set of Missionaries, whom one is glad to have met. I was invited to dine also, I fancy, but I did not care to have my parting at a dinner-party. I returned here; and dear Herbert came at past 9 A.M. just to bid me farewell. It was very kind in him. We were alone in the verandah; and the parting was almost like that between son and mother....
‘There is an interesting young Missionary here, Mr. Maitland of the S.P.G. He has been almost at death’s door, and now appears much in the same state as I was in Amritsar six or seven weeks ago, coddled and taken care of. He wanted me to come and take a cup of tea with him, which I did most willingly; and we had a good chat together. Invalids like visitors, I think. I know that I did....
‘22nd.—O, my Laura, have you actually been sending more money, to meet the expenses of my illness? I do not know what to say or how to thank you. You must indeed stop overwhelming your Char!’
A very troublesome horse, who broke his harness and refused to be controlled, was named by her ‘Buzdil,’ or ‘Coward.’ ‘I never attempted to drive,’ she observed in an April letter, ‘but exhorted him, when I was beside Maria; but he never minded what I said.’ Then came some ‘rough lines,’ adapted to an old Scotch air, ‘He’s a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod!’
Miss Tucker planned starting ‘a very sober, safe kind of vehicle’ to carry to Church those who could not or might not walk so far, even in cold weather. It was to be a cart, with a cover to ward off the heat of the sun, and was to be drawn by bullocks,—a humble conveyance, which fact was no trouble at all to the mind of Charlotte Tucker. The more humble, the better fitted in her estimation for a Mission Miss Sahiba!
In June she went for a complete change to Murree, and was soon able, while there, to speak of herself as being decidedly stronger, ‘able without injury to walk twice to Church and back,’ despite a tough hill on the way.
One friend, Mrs. Rowland Bateman, meeting her at this time, wrote afterwards:—
‘It was so very delightful to see her dear face again, and so nice to get her warm and loving welcome. You know what “pretty” things she says; so on this occasion she said, “I came (to the station) for silver, and I found gold!” Very pretty, was it not? And now let me tell how I thought her looking. It is five years since I saw her; so of course I saw a good deal of change. She is looking very much older; but she is as bright as ever, cracking jokes, and making us all laugh. Then of course, since her illness, she is very thin, and that makes her face look older than she would do, were she a little stouter. And she eats more than she used to do. Five years ago she hardly ate enough to keep a sparrow alive.... Another thing I was very glad of, and that was that she does not attempt to do so much. She gives herself time to rest.’
In July Miss Tucker welcomed with eager pleasure a present from her sister of an ‘excellent likeness’ of the Queen. Charlotte Tucker’s love for Her Majesty went far beyond ordinary loyalty. It was more of the nature of a personal romantic passion.
By the middle of August she was at work again. Mr. Weitbrecht was now gone, and Mr. Corfield had been seriously ill; so once more the School was for some time without a Principal on the spot. Many of the boys did not return to their homes for the holidays; indeed, some young converts literally had no homes to go to. A. L. O. E. therefore exercised her powers to find interests and amusements for them. About this time also she started Shakespeare readings in Batala, of which she says:—
‘Aug. 11.—Perhaps I told you that I had begun Shakespeare readings. I had five readings of Henry VIII., with fair success; so I thought that I would begin Macbeth, which I think the most striking of all Shakespeare’s dramas. But it was a dead failure here! The Natives could not understand it; and those who came to the first reading were non inventus at the—what would have been the second reading. So I have changed my book, and intend to-day to begin to read aloud my Laura’s capital present, the particularly amusing Life of Buckland. Fish instead of furies!—salmon instead of slaughter!’
From many letters it may be seen that she was soon in a steady swing again, both with Zenana and with Village visiting; but the amount attempted seems to have been more moderate than formerly. Few quotations must suffice:—
‘Oct. 15, 1886.—Now I will tell you about a visit which I paid yesterday to a Zenana, where the Bibi used to be very bigoted. Yesterday I came on her husband, a grave, middle-aged man. So he heard what I had to say. Then he asked me to give him a picture of Christ. Very strict Muhammadans object to pictures; but he wanted one of the Saviour. I, as a rule, never give pictures, though I show them; but I happened to have three small pictures, cut out from periodicals,—not coloured,—and I felt impelled to grant the grave man’s request. I let him choose. He took the copy of the famous picture—is it not Leonardo da Vinci’s?—of the Blessed One, crowned with thorns, and put it carefully by in a paper. Will that suffering, pathetic Face speak to the Muhammadan’s heart? N. is no unlearned man. He told me that he had been our K. B.’s teacher. “Were you angry with K. B.?” I asked,—meaning for becoming a Christian! The grave man quietly replied in the negative.’