‘There was a sweet-looking woman, D., a convert from Hinduism, and her two dear little girls. Her husband, who is not brave enough, or perhaps not sufficiently led towards Christianity, to follow her example, saw her depart for church. “You know that she is going to be baptized,” said Emily. “Yes, yes,” was the reply. “You must be kind to her, and receive her back.” The man made no objection,—even to his two children being baptized; though he had formerly put obstacles in the way. There was a fourth, a convert from Muhammadanism, T., whose baptism was the most interesting of all.... The clergyman subjected the poor girl to the ordeal of a severe examination. She had never probably spoken to an Englishman before; and it would have been no wonder had she flinched or faltered. But she, who has already been beaten at home for Christ’s sake, showed no sign of weakness. Her answers came clear and firm. “Is it because of Miss Wauton’s speaking that you come?” “No, it is because of my heart’s speaking.”
‘The miseries and persecutions that may be coming upon her were almost, I think, too faithfully set before her. “If they were even to kill me, as they did M.’s father, what fear?” said the dauntless girl....
‘I remarked to ——, on my return from the baptism, that I thought that the Indian women were braver than the men. He quite agreed; he knows that he dare not come forward like D. and T. Our noble N. is, we believe, a Christian at heart, and we know other men of whom we think that the same might be said, but they linger and linger, and dare not yet ask for baptism. Here this year in Amritsar we have had five women, and last year two, who, in the face of what we might have considered almost insurmountable obstacles, have bravely confessed Christ in baptism. It must be much harder for them than for the men, but they seem to have more courage, or more faith.’
Several weeks later another reference in home-letters is found to the brave girl, mentioned above: ‘By last accounts dear T. is holding out nobly. We are not allowed to see her; but I hear that one or more Maulvis[85] have been brought to try to argue the young maiden out of her faith. But she tells them that they may read to her all day long, but they never will change her. They say that Christianity is ‘written on her heart,’—what a testimony from Muhammadans!—and that the ladies must have bewitched her. It reminds me of Lady Jane Grey in prison; for dear T. is a prisoner.’
Plans did not fit in as Miss Tucker had intended. Once more she found herself called upon to act escort to a sick Missionary, who had to go to the Hills, and was not well enough to travel alone. Miss Wauton could not just then be spared from Amritsar, and she appealed to the ‘Auntie,’ whose readiness to help in any emergency was by this time well understood. ‘It seems as if by some fatality I must go each year to Dalhousie,’ Charlotte Tucker said in one letter, adding, ‘But I hope to return back in a few days.’ Then, in allusion to a scheme that she should join her nephew at Murree in September, ‘I do not propose staying long. After sixteen weeks of unbroken residence at Batala, behold me rushing up and down hills like a comet.’
TO MISS L.V. TUCKER.
‘Aug. 14, 1878.
‘We are to have a Confirmation here on the 3rd of November. I should be much tempted to come up from Batala to witness it, particularly if any Batala Christians are confirmed. I am afraid that ——‘s wife will shrink from breaking pardah,—that nonsensical pardah, which is a real snare to some baptized bibis.... There is one dear baptized young bride in Batala, whom I have not seen, but hope to search out on my return. The brave girl dared to be baptized in Amritsar, but was then carried off by her husband to Batala, and we know not in what part she is. She is likely to be having a hard time of it, but it is quite right in her to be with her husband....’
Writing home, she described drolly her absence from Batala as—‘this strange episode of my life;—seven weeks acting Superintendent of the Orphanage,—three of those weeks sole Missionary at Amritsar,—and—oh, bathos! ten days an ayah—for I had none other.’ Still her health seemed to keep good. She could stand the plains in hot weather as scarcely another Missionary was able to do. While one and another broke down, and had to be off to the Hills, Miss Tucker kept about, much the same as usual, filling up as far as possible the gaps left by others.
She was full of ardent sympathy at this time for certain converts from Muhammadanism, undergoing severe persecutions, and was much distressed at the difficulty of doing anything for them. She even formed a daring plan for carrying off one brave young girl from her relatives, and taking her to a safe distance; and Miss Tucker was with difficulty dissuaded from a scheme which others of longer experience knew too well might lead to serious complications.
Another, a wife, and also her daughter, were at this time in frequent peril, because they had become Christians in heart, and were earnestly desiring Baptism. The husband, a Muhammadan, would sometimes sit between the two, sharpening a knife, and threatening to stab them. Once he violently seized the daughter by her throat. Life with them must have been one long unhappiness; yet Miss Tucker, after an interview with the poor wife, could describe her as looking ‘worn, but so bright and brave.’
In September she was at Murree, helping to nurse her niece, and to take care of the tiny baby,—which latter occupation, she wrote, was ‘more formidable to an old maiden Aunt than conversing in Urdu with a learned Maulvi, or doing the agreeable to a Rajah, would be.’
Of the place itself she said: ‘Murree is not a cheering place to a Missionary.... One sees numbers of Natives; but how is one to tell the glad tidings? I feel like a doctor with multitudes of sick around him,—and he cannot get at his medicine-chest. I have brought Urdu religious books; I find no good opportunity of giving even one away.’
October saw her once more in the spot where she loved to be, writing joyously home—
‘Here I am, in my own Station again, and glad to be back. I find that our little Christian flock has been increasing in a very encouraging way during my absence. There was a nice little round of visits to pay to Christian families.[86] Those who had been last baptized I had never seen before to my knowledge. A man of some forty or fifty years of age, employed in the Government ——, who has been thinking on the subject of religion for about nine years. For about two years he has been going to some quiet place, when he had leisure, to weep and pray. He appears now to be a very earnest and bold Christian. At his own desire he was baptized in the middle of the city, in a room set apart in the school.’
Very soon after Miss Tucker’s return came the death of a little Christian Native baby; and the quiet Christian funeral was in marked contrast with the wild wailings usual at Muhammadan funerals,—though some Muhammadan lamentings were heard from one visitor present.
‘We decked the little sleeping form with flowers; a rose was placed in each hand, a fragrant white Cross on the breast.... I attended the funeral; so did a good band of Native Christians, including our schoolboys. The cemetery was a Muhammadan one. We must buy one for ourselves, as we are, thank God, a growing body. I hope that in another month we may number fifty baptized persons in Batala; and I have lately been writing out the heading for a Subscription for a Church at our dear Batala. We have now only schoolrooms turned into Chapels. My list is to lie on our table for visitors to see. Perhaps it will be one or two years before we have collected enough; and by that time, please God, the flock may have doubled or quadrupled.
‘It will be so—and more—if we go on at the rate at which the Church has been growing. The bringing the Boys’ School here has been a grand thing. The dear fellows, on the whole, set such a nice example, and they seem so happy.
‘Nov. 4, 1878.—I have come to Amritsar for a few days, for the Confirmation, and had the pleasure of receiving your dear letter of October 1st yesterday.... How can beloved St. George send me such bad advice? I like his example better than his counsel. What did he do in time of trouble? Stick to his post like a Tucker! Those of our Missionary family, with whom I have spoken on the subject,[87] all agree with me that we should never desert our flocks. What sort of army would that be, in which all the officers ran away at sight of an enemy?... But take no thought about me, dear one. Unless we meet with serious reverses in Afghanistan, I do not see danger of a rising, especially in the Panjab, where, on the whole, I think that we are considered tolerable rulers.
‘And if there were troubles, I suspect that we Missionaries would run a better chance than other Europeans, we have such numbers of friends amongst the heathen.... Just fancy—our Bible-woman and her husband are actually collecting money from Hindus and Muhammadans for our Church! A poor woman gave some barley. If you were to hear all the polite little speeches, and see all the smiles that pass between Missionary and Natives, you would not expect us to be afraid. A Missionary in any case should have nothing to do with fear,—it is dishonouring to the Master.
‘My love, how can you think of sending me another dress for winter? Do you think me so careless and extravagant as to have worn out the graceful Grey already? I never take it into a duli; I keep my faithful Green for such rough work. But if a new winter dress is actually in hand, let me send you even before seeing it a thousand thanks for it.’
FROM AN INDIAN CHRISTIAN, CONVERT FROM MUHAMMADANISM, 1878
‘My dear Miss Tucker,—I received your kind letter, dated 13th instant, and the newspaper yesterday. I am very thankful to you. I read it many times, and it truly made me brave. I like the piece of poetry you quoted very much. Every day I pray to God to lead me in the right way. I think my prayer is heard, for I do not feel so lonely as I did at first; but I get fever nearly every day. I had gone over to Lahore on Friday, and stayed there for Saturday and Sunday.... I remember you in my prayers, and I hope you do the same. Now I will not feel lonely. Please do not be anxious....’
C. M. T. TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Nov. 8.—If I were not a Mission Miss Sahiba, who should never complain, I might give a groan or a grumble to the mice and rats. They get into my almira, and what is even worse, into my harmonium. I had a tin plate made for the pedal part, expressly to keep creatures out; but they managed to pass it. I have now had a second large one made, and hope that it may prove more effectual. The creatures have bitten almost all the red Persian away; to-day I found lumps of wadding in my harmonium. “How could they have come there?” I asked of my sharp kahar, V. I suspected the rats, but did not know where they could have got the wadding from,—when V. suggested the beautiful padded cover of my harmonium. Sure enough, the rogues had bitten holes in that, and pulled out wadding to stuff into my harmonium, doubtless to make a comfortable nest for a family of young mice or rats. I tried a Batala trap; it was of no use: I have bought an Amritsar one, and Mera Bhatija has bought another; but the rats, I fear, will not be much thinned in numbers. We try to get a weasel, but have not succeeded yet. But things might have been much worse. The rats never try to eat us!’
‘Nov. 14.—I do not think that I told you of two Christian fakirs, to whom I was introduced at Amritsar. They were very badly clothed, fakir-like, but—especially one of them—had pleasing, sensible faces. I suppose that they wander about, and lead a kind of John the Baptist life. How curious such a style of Christian would appear in old England!’
‘Nov. 20.—I have been wanting—wanting—my English letters, expecting them these four days. At last here they are, and such nice dear ones....
‘I shall much like to hear what you think of my sweet Margaret. I doubt whether she will be in good looks, she has been so sorely tried by her dear Mother’s illness, and the struggle in her own mind,—longing to come to our help, yet unable to do so! I feel for her.
‘I think that dear Emily benefited little or not at all by her trip to the Hills. She ought to go home in the spring,—after more than six years’ work,—so ought Miss Fuller; but neither can leave till they fairly break down; for there is no one to take their place....
‘You think, love, that by September 4th “the most dangerous season was over.” Far from it! September is, I think, the most dangerous month in all the year in the Panjab. Very hot, and full of fever. My hardest pull up-hill since I came to India was, I think, in September. You have had the heat then for so long, you have less vigour, and the air is so unwholesome. Sickness all around.
‘How good you are to send me another dress! My graceful Grey still looks very well. I consider it rather a company dress, and have my Green for the Zenanas, which are sometimes so dirty! I am wearing it now, for the weather is becoming very cold. It is rather amusing to see our Panjabis come in for Morning Prayers, about sunrise on a sharp morning. There is P. with a red comforter round head and neck; J. is wrapped in his white blanket. Poor Babu Singha, with a cold of course, is wondering how the big room below is ever to be kept warm. Mera Bhatija and I are going to change our drawing-room. The northern room is far the best in summer; but in winter we escape to the southern, and what was our guest-room becomes our sitting-room. There is actually a fireplace in it!—and the sunbeams stream in....
‘Instead of spending the long winter evenings in solitary grandeur upstairs, I now come down and make one of the cheerful party in the schoolroom. It is much less distracting to be amongst a score of boys than you would suppose. I and some of them have been trying the vitre-manie (?) for our Chapel-window. Yesterday I brought down my chess-board and challenged the boys, and fought P., R., and I. C., one after the other....
‘On Sunday evening we sing hymns for ever so long together, just like one huge family. The boys never seem to quarrel, or say one spiteful word of each other. We have just had two new boys; one is an Afghan; so we shall have the sons of Christian, Muhammadan, Hindu, and Afghan, (by race,) parents all together.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Dec. 13, 1878.
‘This evening as Mera Bhatija has gone to Amritsar, I asked three of our lads to tea.... After tea I taught the lads “Cross Questions and Crooked Answers,” and showed them my splendid bubbles and my chatelaine, which were greatly admired, and my photograph-book, a great treasure to me. But what gave perhaps more amusement than anything was the Beaconsfield handkerchief. I was so glad to get some photos at last.... My visits in the city were interesting. Dear B—n’s troubles have re-opened his mother’s Zenana to me. She even paid me a visit here. I do not see any inclination in her to become a Christian, however; she says that I shall go to Heaven my way, and she hers. I suggested the disagreeableness of 840,000 transmigrations; but she did not seem troubled. Perhaps she hopes that she has passed through a few hundreds of millions already.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Dec. 23, 1878.—“I shall go to rest to-night nestling under my Laura’s love, and I shall rise very early to thank her,” was my thought last night, as I got into my nice comfortable bed, with her soft, light, warm quilt above me. And here I am sitting by my blazing wood fire, long ere dawn, with that same quilt like a shawl round my shoulders,—so comfy! Luxurious Char! But, after all, I have not begun my thanks, and where am I to end them?
‘Your wonderfully packed parcel reached me in perfect safety yesterday. It was something like a nut, for it was rather difficult to get at the kernel. So much careful stitching by dear fingers. At last, however, the beautifully warm skirt and quilt, and most exquisite cards, were fully displayed to view. A thousand, thousand thanks! I have so many things, such goodly gifts, to remember my Laura by!...
‘Our Christmas festivities have already begun. Our house is pretty full with Native friends. Perhaps the most interesting is dear B., the once Muhammadan wife of a Christian Catechist, and mother of Christian children, who was so sturdily bigoted that she held out for thirteen years, before she would give herself to the Saviour. But then she did so in her honest way. B. was never a hypocrite; we respected her when she vexed us. It was something for her to remain with her husband; for, by Muhammadan law, baptism of husband or wife constitutes divorce. Mera Bhatija told me of a curious case, which excited much interest,—to Europeans it would excite much surprise. A Muhammadan, who had, I suppose, read Christian books, was travelling with some other Muhammadans, and was imprudent enough to say that Muhammad wrought no miracles, and expressed doubts as to his being really a prophet. The poor man happened to have a rich wife, who, we may believe, did not care for him. To speak against the Prophet is enough to constitute a divorce! The companions of the man did not let their chance go of half ruining him. The case was brought into Court, and an English judge was obliged to give a verdict against the unfortunate fellow, who had expressed an honest opinion. He lost his wife and her rich dowry....’
‘Amritsar, Dec. 28, 1878.—I am sitting with my sweet Laura’s delicious quilt wrapped closely round my shoulders, for it is warmer than a shawl; and I am up before the fire-lighting period. Not being at home, I do not know how to light the fire myself.
‘Our Christmas at Batala went off beautifully, and has, I think, left a feeling of thankfulness on both Mera Bhatija’s mind and my own. The following day we both came to Amritsar. Yesterday was the grand opening of the Alexandra School. Mr. Clark asked me to write an account of it for his report. I did not like the task; it makes one feel so penny-a-linerish; and one is afraid of writing to please this or that person, etc.; but I could not well refuse, so I have been scribbling something in pencil in the cold, which I mean to submit to dear Emily’s criticism....
‘Oh, I must tell you what a boon your Beaconsfield handkerchief is! It gave much amusement at Batala, both to Europeans and Natives; it is giving much here at Amritsar. I am engaged to dine with the Clarks this evening; so I dare say that the good Bishop, Archdeacon, and all will have a laugh over my puzzle. On Monday I am to go to Lahore, and sleep a night at Government House. I mean to take my handkerchief with me....
‘Batala will present rather a contrast to bustling Amritsar and Lahore. When I return, there will probably be no European but myself there for days, as Mera Bhatija must be absent at the Conference till the 6th.’
So ended the third year of Miss Tucker’s life in India. She had now thoroughly settled down to her own especial work in Batala.
It is clear that Charlotte Tucker was profoundly impressed with the sense of living, as she said, in the First Century, instead of the Nineteenth. In another letter, soon to be quoted, she describes her Batala experience as ‘being carried back to the days of the Apostles.’
For in Batala the complex conditions of modern life, the intricacies of Nineteenth Century Christianity, were absent. Here in England it is more or less the correct thing to be in some measure religious, to be at least nominally a Christian. People are on the whole expected to go to Church,—or, if Dissenters, just as much to go to Chapel,—and though the going to Church, as a matter of course, does not at all indicate the lack of deeper reasons, of purer motives underlying, it does make the going a very easy matter. So, also, a mother takes her little one to Church for Baptism, again almost as a matter of course; often indeed with heartfelt prayer and longing, but with no question of danger involved in the act. It is a perfectly simple thing to do. More attention would in fact be drawn by not doing it than by doing it.
At Batala, as in thousands of other Heathen and Muhammadan cities, things are widely different. Sharp lines of demarcation are drawn between the Christian and the non-Christian,—between the Church and the heathen world around. It was so most markedly when Charlotte Tucker lived in Batala. There, as in Early Christian days, was the great mass of those who neither knew nor cared for the Names of God and Christ; and in their midst was the Infant Church, a tiny body of brave men and women, who had come out from amongst the Heathen and Muhammadans, to be known as the servants of Christ.[88]
And the step which led from the one to the other stood clear and defined, with no possibility of a mistake. The marching-orders which our Lord and Master issued were not only to go forth and teach. Here is the fuller version: ‘Go ye therefore, and teach’ (Rev. Ver. ‘make disciples of’) ‘all nations, baptizing them in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost; teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you.’
That was the great order given; that was the command which had to be obeyed, whether at Batala or elsewhere. And however easy a matter Baptism in England may be, it is no easy matter in the Panjab for Converts from Heathenism or from Muhammadanism. It is a step of overwhelming importance. It means leaving the world of idolatry, ignorance, superstition, behind, and entering the Church of Christ. It also means too often leaving all things earthly that have most been loved. It means persecution, beating, cruelty, hard words and harsher deeds. It means wives separated from husbands, mothers separated from children, loss of money, loss of the means of livelihood, danger not seldom to life itself. It is the passing of the Rubicon.
Again, in that Infant Church at Batala,—or, one may equally say, in the Church at Amritsar, and throughout the Panjab,—we find reproduced the various elements which existed in Early Church days. There are strong Christians and weak Christians; there are whole-hearted ones and wavering ones; there are the true and the false. What wonder?—when the very foundation-stones of the Church of Christ included a Judas. Wheat and tares will grow together until the end; and bad fish as well as good will be caught in the net. The Church planted in a new place is seldom long without her Demas, who loves this present heathen world, and goes back to it again.
But for one who is unfaithful, for one who turns his back upon the Light, after seeming to be indeed a Convert, there are many who stand firm, persevering to the end, despite difficulties, discouragements, and bitter oppositions. These brave brown brothers and sisters of ours, who are still in the fires of persecution, from which England has been so long delivered, deserve our warmest sympathy.
In giving the story of Charlotte Tucker, and of the growth of the Church at Batala, with which she was so intimately associated, it is of very real importance to show frankly both sides of the picture,—the dark side, as well as the bright; the cloudy as well as the sunshiny. There were of course disappointments as well as encouragements. There were goings backward as well as pressings forward. Missionary life is no more one of unbroken success, even at its best, than any other kind of hard-working life, with a high aim before it; and to present it as such, by omitting to describe failure side by side with success, would—and often does—produce only a sense of unreality. The story of the Church throughout the ages has always been a chequered tale.
Hard as Miss Tucker toiled, she had not the delight of seeing many individuals won to Christianity through her own efforts. Results of what she did, still more of what she was, were visible enough to others,—but rather in the shape of a general and widespread influence than in the shape of conversions directly due to her labours. The worth of any work can never be truly gauged by the amount of success which may appear to follow within a given time; and to measure the extent or the effects of her loving influence, alike among younger Missionaries and among Indian Christians, especially among the boys in the Baring High School, is utterly impossible.
No less impossible is it to measure the results of her years of toilsome work in Zenanas. Some here are disposed to assert freely that she accomplished very little. One Native Christian, sending a few slight memoranda, goes so far as to say: ‘I feel sorry to have to add that she signally failed as a Missionary, if by that term is meant the preaching of the Gospel to the heathen of India.’ A very great deal more than mere preaching is, of course, meant by the term; but in any case this would be a most rash judgment for any man to venture to pass, were he English or Indian. No man could have entrance into the scores upon scores of Zenanas which she visited, to test for himself the effects of her work; and we all know what hearsay evidence is worth. Even if he could find entrance, he would have no Divine power to see into the hearts of the people there. The fact that she herself saw few results says nothing; for the best results are often slowest in appearing. Judging from apparent results is always a defective and a shallow proceeding.
From beginning to end she never so far conquered the languages of North India as to speak them with ease. Grammar and construction she might and did to a considerable extent master, but colloquial fluency was not in her case attainable. Still, though she never became actually fluent, it is a matter of unquestionable fact that she did both understand and make herself understood, despite occasional verbal mistakes. There are testimonies from all sides which abundantly prove this.
Her mode of working in Zenanas was peculiar to herself; and though she always held to it, she did not put it forward as a model for every one else to imitate. She made no attempt at systematic instruction, probably feeling her knowledge of the languages unequal to the task; and this in itself was a drawback. ‘In point of fact,’ as one says who was associated with her, ‘she never considered herself as a teacher, but rather, like St. John the Baptist, as a “voice crying in the wilderness.” Her visits were almost always short,’—though to this rule there were evidently exceptions,—‘she seems to have gone in, greeted the people, given her message, and taken courteous leave. She always deprecated any attempt to judge of her work by the number of Zenanas on her visiting list; and indeed it would not be fair to do so, as she did not undertake regular teaching in them.’
Zenana-visiting was only one portion of her work; regarded by herself as the more important portion, but not necessarily the more important because she thought so. We ourselves are poor judges of the comparative worth of the different things which we have to do. She was also a warm and true friend to the Indian Christians, entering into their trials and difficulties, throwing herself into their interests, doing her utmost to help them onward, to lift them upward. In this direction she had a remarkable degree of influence; and in her intercourse with them she was absolutely without pride, she was full of kindliness, consideration, and affection.
With the schoolboys, as already seen, she was in her element. The old spirit of fun, the old devotion to games, were invaluable here; neither having faded with increasing age. One of her dharm-nephews, Dr. Weitbrecht, writing about the High School in Batala, says:—
‘From this time for years to come Miss Tucker was a mainstay of the Boys’ Boarding School, teaching the elder boys the English language and history, taking a motherly interest in all their pursuits, writing for them Batala School songs, inviting them in the evenings to little social entertainments, enlivened by parlour games; visiting the sick, comforting the home-sick new boy; mothering the young convert, who had been sent to Batala not less for spiritual shelter than for instruction; and upholding the hands of workers in the School and Mission generally; besides carrying on without fail her regular visits to the town and villages, and her literary work for publication, both in England and India.’
One of the former schoolboys, now a Native surgeon in India, Dr. I. U. Nasir, writes on the same subject:—
‘Her good influence on the young minds cannot be overrated. Her Bible Classes were eagerly looked for and well attended,—it may be, for the sake of lozenges and bits of cake which she distributed at the end, but also for the interest she made everybody feel in the meeting. She would begin by asking the verse and subject of the morning sermon, and the various points of interest worth remembering. This led to the habit of closely attending to the sermon.... Then every one had a choice of a hymn to be practised for the evening services of the week; a short verse of the Bible was repeated; and Sunday enigmas from the Bible were solved.’
And also with reference to social week-day evenings:—
‘She amused us with stories, comic songs, historical anecdotes, making anagrams, giving riddles to be solved, and several amusements of the kind. Many an evening was spent in Miss Tucker’s drawing-room, playing various indoor games, of which chess and word-making and word-taking were her favourites. In the latter game she would consider it a great triumph to have made such long words as “Jerusalem artichoke.” But she took particular delight in showing her old scrap-album to any one who desired to see it. Many an interesting incident was dropped in connection with her relatives, as she turned leaf after leaf with her old slender fingers. She never got tired of this. Then she would select good scenes from Shakespeare, whom she called “The Poet of Conscience,” and give us lessons in recitation and acting.’
Charlotte Tucker had a profound belief in the good moral influence of Shakespeare. She is said to have greatly wished that the Indians could have the benefit of Shakespeare translated into their Native languages.
In addition to the Baring School boys, she had a never-failing interest in the lads of the Mission Plough School, started mainly by herself, and afterwards endowed by her with the sum of £50 a year. She constantly visited there, and taught the scholars, knowing many of the older boys by name, and asking them from time to time to pay her Sunday afternoon visits.
Moreover, outside all these occupations, A. L. O. E. was still an Author. For some years, indeed, after her arrival in India she wrote for India only, and not especially for England. When, however, it became gradually clear that books suitable for Indian readers were not adapted for England, she found time to accomplish separate volumes for home publication. Some would say that her writings for the Native population of Hindustan are by far the most important part of her whole Missionary work. By her pen she could reach thousands, even tens of thousands, where by her voice she could reach at most only dozens. Her tiny Indian booklets, published by the Christian Literature Society at very low prices, are among the most widely selling of the Society’s productions.
It was only by an exceedingly systematic mode of life and endless toil that Miss Tucker could get through what she did. She was always up very early,—at 6 A.M. in winter, at 4½ or 5 A.M. in summer,—and her day was carefully apportioned out. Six weeks’ holiday in the year was permitted by the Society under which she worked, and she would seldom take more than a month of this in the hottest weather, that she might be able to get away for a few days at some other time, without infringing on her full ten months and a half of work. Often part of her so-called holiday was spent in looking after or in acting as companion to somebody else,—or in undertaking work during the absence of other Missionaries from their posts. The marvel is, not that after a few years she should have grown to look older than she was, but that her health could in any degree have stood so great and constant a strain. Few people in the prime of life could have done and endured what she did and endured in the evening of her days.
Very early after her arrival in India, as stated in a previous chapter, the Natives seemed disposed to credit Miss Tucker with an astonishing number of years; but too much must not be thought of this. It arose from the fact that a grey-haired English lady out there is a complete rara avis—a sight seldom to be seen. Miss Wauton’s first impressions of her, jotted down as follows, do not give the impression of a very old lady, dearly as Charlotte Tucker loved to describe herself in those terms: ‘Tall, slight, with lofty brow, sparkling eye, face constantly beaming with love and intelligence; genius in every look; figure frail and fairy-like, agile and graceful; very brisk movements and light tread.’ Hardly like a hundred years old! After a few years had passed she did no doubt age rapidly.
Mention has several times been made of Miss Tucker’s readiness to give; and when one recalls the abounding generosity of her father, not to speak of the story of her grandmother on the Boswell side giving away to a beggar the last coin in the house, one can hardly be surprised at the generous tendencies of Charlotte Tucker’s character. She had the gift of liberality by inheritance; and she cultivated her gift as a matter of principle. Giving was at all times a real delight to her. A quotation on this subject from Mr. Beutel may well come in here:—
‘Miss Tucker was always very liberal. Wheresoever there was need or distress that she heard of, she gave substantial help immediately. I well remember, for instance, after I had taken over charge of the Boys’ Orphanage, one time there were between thirty and forty boys to be fed and clothed, and no money left in hand. As soon as Miss Tucker heard of it, she immediately sent me £10; and I must confess such a blessing rested on that money, that I never came into similar straits during the twelve years that I had charge of the Boys’ Orphanage.
‘And again, before we settled at Clarkabad, there was a great scarcity of grain, in consequence of the failure of crops among the Zamindars. They had very little to eat, and no seed-corn to sow. All wanted some help, and I had no money in hand.... When Miss Tucker heard of it, immediately she sent us Rs.300; and our greatest need was at an end.
‘Again, in 1889, when a dear friend of mine, Pastor and Teacher in the United States of North America, with whom I had come out to India in 1869, had decided to return to India as a Missionary, in order to join and to help me in the multifarious work at Clarkabad, and he found that the money in hand was insufficient to pay for his and his family’s voyage from Germany, and Miss Tucker heard of it, she immediately sent me £100, with the direction to forward that sum to him, on condition that he had not left Germany again for America. This, however, had already taken place in the meantime, and the money was returned to her.
‘Again, in 1892, after we had returned to Kotgur, where there was a great scarcity in the district, and many poor people had hardly one meal a day to eat, and Miss Tucker heard that I gave relief work to some forty or fifty people, she sent me another Rs.100.’
These are merely a few among innumerable instances which might be quoted; though generally the gifts were so quietly bestowed that few or none except the recipient knew about the matter. It was not, however, only in money that she was generous. The very necessaries sent for her own use, the very clothes sent for her own wear, would be given freely away to the first person who seemed in need of them. Mrs. Hamilton, learning something of this, at one time tried in despair calling her gifts ‘loans,’ in the hope that they might be thus secured for Charlotte Tucker’s own benefit. In later years, when a parcel arrived from England, Miss Tucker would sometimes not allow her Missionary companions to see what it contained, that she might feel more free to give away as she felt disposed.
The Rev. Robert Clark speaks of Miss Tucker as ‘an English Christian Faqir,’—a curious use of the term, which he applies also to one or two other Missionaries. The original idea of ‘Christian Faqirs,’ sometimes referred to in Miss Tucker’s own letters, was of Native Faqirs, who, on becoming Christians, kept still to their old mode of life, going about as before, teaching Christianity instead of false religions, and not begging any longer, but receiving a small sum for their support from Englishmen. Mr. Clark, in speaking of A. L. O. E., doubtless uses the word in reference to her peculiar mode of entering into Indian ways, Indian customs, Indian thoughts,—as, for instance, sitting on the floor among them, instead of on a chair, travelling in an ekka like them, and so far as she was able living their life,—as well as to the rigid simplicity and self-denial which she cultivated.
After alluding to the manner of her earlier English life, and contrasting it with the manner of her existence at Batala, where ‘two chairs were placed on two sides of a table in a large and almost unfurnished room,’ Mr. Clark continues: ‘Miss Tucker ate very little. She always told us to tell her beforehand if we were going to see her, in order that she might have something to place before us. There was then no railway; and everything had to be brought from Amritsar once or twice a week. The bread often became very hard. She sometimes said, “Do try this piece; it seems a little softer.” Her guests were thinking all the time of her tender gums, and of her teeth which were no longer young.’
On first going to Batala Charlotte Tucker had had the idea in her mind of inaugurating there a sort of ‘Zenana’ of maiden Missionary ladies,—a close retreat, from which the foot of Man should be utterly and always excluded. Probably this was part of her desire to imitate the ways of Natives. Some judicious combating was needed to break her loose from it; though when once a gentleman-Missionary had actually arrived, theories went down before the spirit of hospitality.
Once again it should be noted, that when in her letters she writes home enthusiastically about all her comforts and luxuries, these descriptions must be taken cum grano salis. She had not the slightest intention of misleading anybody; but she was very anxious to put a brave face on the matter; moreover, she was a Missionary Miss Sahiba, and she might not grumble. Everything was for her right just as it was. But another side to the question did exist.
In the year 1879 Mrs. Elmslie, being at home, paid a visit to Mrs. Hamilton; and one day she could not help remarking, ‘When I see how comfortable you are here, and think of your sister, it makes me sad.’ Her tone was almost reproachful; for she was mentally comparing A. L. O. E.’s barely furnished rooms with the abundance of comforts in this home. Evidently she thought Miss Tucker badly off, and wondered why her friends did not assist her more. Explanations naturally followed; and when she learnt the true state of the case, when she heard the amount of Charlotte Tucker’s comfortable little income, she was astonished. The manner of life steadily followed out was, in fact, no matter of necessity, but purely a matter of principle. Miss Tucker counted a life of rigid simplicity worthier her vocation as a Missionary than one of greater ease could have been. She therefore kept to a certain sum of money yearly for her own expenses, while giving much away in addition; she made her clothes last as long as it was possible for them to hold together; she had hardly any furniture in her rooms; and she refused all luxuries, including some things which in India are commonly reckoned not luxuries, but absolute necessaries.
The following particulars have been kindly supplied to me by Miss Wauton and others.
Her style of living, at all times extremely simple, was particularly so at the time that she shared a home with Mr. Baring. She scarcely, indeed, allowed herself even the most ordinary comforts. Her bedroom furniture consisted of a native bedstead, a small table, a wardrobe and two chairs, with a piece of thin matting on the floor, and one or two thin ‘durries.’[89] Always an early riser, Miss Tucker never liked her Ayah to find her still in bed. When she first got up, she used to heat a cup of cocoa with her little etna, for her ‘chhoti hazari.’[90] Miss Tucker always disliked very much being waited on, and preferred to do things for herself. She treated the servants very courteously, always addressing the Ayah as ‘Bibi ji’; and any little thing offered to her at table was accepted with a ‘Thank you,’ or declined with a ‘No, thank you,’ spoken in English, as there is in Hindustani no equivalent for the expression of gratitude.
Together with her marvellous activity of mind and of body was seen a wonderful amount of patience under suffering or discomfort. In the very hot weather she would say to her companions, ‘Let me be the first to complain of the heat’;—and of course she never did complain. She used to ascribe her good health in Batala to the absence there of three things, generally counted indispensable by Europeans in India. She had, first, no doctor; she had, second, no gari; she had, third, no ice. The want of the latter must have been a serious deprivation. The lack of a gari, or carriage, was supplied by her duli, by the native ekka, and by her own walking-powers. As for doctors,—she had, when ill, to go to them, like other people, and to be grateful for their help. Doctors were not, however, favourites with A. L. O. E. She was perhaps a little hard upon them; since, on the one hand, she professed not to trust their skill; and on the other hand, she looked upon them as rather cruel than kind, in trying to keep her longer upon Earth, away from the Home where she wished to be.
Miss Wauton says:—
‘All she had was put at the disposal of others. Every book sent out was lent round to the different Mission circles, or in any place where it might give pleasure or profit. She always had some interesting book on hand, and kept her mind richly stored with knowledge, being specially fond of history. She allowed me once to be present when giving an English History lesson to a class of Baring High School boys. I could have wished myself one of them, to have had such teaching constantly! She was very independent of intercourse with other minds, yet thoroughly enjoyed social pleasures. I never saw any one so carry out the precept—“Rejoice with them that do rejoice.” Nowhere did she seem so much at home as at the wedding-feast; and no wedding-party seemed complete without her.’
But though she could be the life and soul of a wedding feast—perhaps especially of a Native wedding feast,—Miss Tucker was not in all cases an advocate of marriage. The Rev. Robert Clark speaks of her as—‘jealous of the marriage of any of our Lady Missionaries, especially to those gentlemen who were, as she said, “outside of the family.”’ He adds: ‘In her verses on the duties and qualifications of ladies for Missionary work in India, the last couplet was, I think, as follows:—