‘“Stay thy hand!”’ Fides exclaimed, in the story by A. L. O. E., as blow after blow fell on the golden staff. ‘“It can bear no more!”’
‘“Yet a little patience,” cried Experience, and struck it again. Then the Will was restored to Fides,—straight, pure, beautiful,—oh, how unlike that staff which had been so deadly in the grasp of Pride!
‘As Fides stood gazing on the fair gift before him, once more, and for the last time, the shining robe and star-wreath of Conscience flashed on his sight. Never before had her smile been so glad, so beaming with the radiance of Heaven.
‘“The work is done,—the fight is over!” she exclaimed. “Thou art summoned to the Presence of thy King! A messenger is even now waiting to conduct thee to the Home which thou so long hast desired! Go, bearing with thee the offering of a conquered Will, the acknowledgment that not even that should be thine own, and the remembrance of foes bravely met and overcome, through the might of Him Who armed thee for the fight.... Go where all is gladness and rejoicing and peace,—where war and danger shall be known no more!”‘[135]
The work was nearly done; the fight was nearly over. But Charlotte Tucker could not yet see the starry form, could not yet hear the gentle accents, which soon would bid her to ‘rise and come away.’ Before many days of 1892 had passed, she was back again in Batala; deep in her usual round of work and interests.
‘Batala, Jan. 10.—Here am I at home again. I did so enjoy and benefit by my visit to Narowal. It was not leaving work but leaving cares. I worked every day, but the work was more encouraging, and the feeling of repose so refreshing. If I live to see another Christmas, I think that I shall run away to some quiet spot, like Narowal, where the railway whistle is never heard....
‘When I was at peaceful Narowal, I happened to read in a printed paper a kind of fable, which has been such a comfort to myself, that I have put the idea into verse, and my Laura shall have a copy.... As we Missionaries have a great many more little annoyances than great afflictions, I am inclined—for myself—to change the last line but one into
‘You know there are on a bird’s pinion, not only the long feathers, but the little tiny ones; but how that fluffy downy sort add to beauty and comfort!...
“WEIGHTS AND WINGS.
‘Feb. 12, 1892.
‘Mine own precious Sister,—Again have you been called to the trial of sickness and suffering.... These trials may seem strange and unaccountable to the children of earth, but how differently they are regarded by the children of light! They make us keep closer to the Father’s side,—cling more to His supporting Hand,—the weights do turn into wings! O how often have I during late days thought of that little parable! And when we reach the Blessed Shore, and “know as we are known,” we shall fully realise why it is good that we should be afflicted....
‘I was reading the Commandments aloud in a village yesterday, when a bright young Hindu Pandit—rather well read—objected to the Second. The poor fellow was probably conscious that he himself was constantly breaking the Second Commandment. It interested me to hear a middle-aged sensible-looking Sikh take the other side, quietly, and with perfect good-temper. Each of the men afterwards accepted a Gospel, one in Gurmukhi, one in Urdu.’
‘Feb. 18.—I am thankful for improved accounts of you.... We have had rather an eventful week for Batala.... On Monday the dear Bishop came in. Herbert asked me to take luncheon with him on Tuesday. It was very nice; just the Bishop, Herbert, and four nice Native Christians. I was the only lady.... At half-past three we had a very interesting Confirmation Service in the Church, to which the Bishop drove me. He gave a very nice address, which Herbert translated beautifully into Panjabi, for the benefit of the simple peasants. On the following morning the Bishop gave in English such a practical heart-searching address to us workers! He looked so earnestly at us ladies, and was evidently anxious to do us real good. His was no idle display of eloquence; rather did his address resemble the admonition of a kind wise father. We did not see him after we left the chapel....
‘We have had a singularly mild and bright cold weather.... How curious it would be to an English farmer to see fields green with corn in February,—the Spring crop,—and, at the same time, other bits of ground being ploughed up for the sowing of another crop! There seems something always growing. There are lovely roses and fruit blossoms, but the weather is now comparatively dark and dull.’
‘April 8, 1892.—The Muhammadans in Batala seem to be in a much better humour than they may be expected to be during the Ramazan—their grand fast. I have visited a good many Muhammadan Zenanas this week; and in not one, so far as I remember, have I heard a word about the fast, which was apt to make them so bigoted and self-righteous. No one objects when I repeat in Urdu the precious text, “By grace ye are saved, through faith,” etc. Indeed, I believe that a good many Batala folk think that after all our religion is better than their own. I repeat “God so loved ——” more often, I think, than any other text; and I have not lately heard the shocked exclamation, “Tauba! tauba!”[136] Perhaps it will be different to-morrow, when I propose visiting two villages, which were so bigoted and disagreeable, that I at one time struck both out of my visiting-list. Minnie induced me to give them—at least one of them—another trial, as she had given medical aid to the wife of the Maulvi (Muhammadan religious teacher of the place), and had found him very polite. No doubt the Dispensary opens doors. I found the Maulvi bigoted but civil, and ... willing to receive a New Testament.... I enjoy the quiet walk, and then ride in my duli, in the cool fresh morning, when I visit villages. The harvest has commenced. Here I see fields of ripening corn, there the scattered sheaves. But the harvest is not so plentiful as it was last year. We had too dry a cold weather; not nearly so chilly as the former one. I am taking out illuminated texts just now. I have beautiful ones, both in Persian, Urdu, and Gurmukhi. It is interesting to see peasants, somewhat more intelligent than their fellows, spelling out the precious verses from Scripture.’
‘April 12.—Precious darling Laura,—The Mail has to-day brought me in your letter of March 24th; the first clear intimation of the nature of your illness. I will not say that my eyes are dry. I own that the selfish thought arose,—“Would that I had had it instead!” And yet I prefer knowing the plain truth. I have comfort in the thought, “I am old; whichever of us is taken first, the meeting—O what a joyful meeting!—may not be far off!” ...
‘I am thankful that you do not suffer greatly. I fondly hope that this trial may be spared. I do not feel inclined to add more. I need not,—you know so much of your own loving Char.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘April 13, 1892.
‘Though I wrote to your beloved Mother yesterday, and shall only be just in time to catch the post, my heart impels me to send a letter to you, my dear afflicted God-daughter. I know that you try bravely to bear up under your sore trial, so as not to add to that of your precious invalid.... I am glad that I have been told the worst. It has been good for my soul! Only the day before the mail came in, I had been foolishly, sinfully, brooding over trifles, till I even showed outward irritation, instead of reflecting that small annoyances as well as great troubles are God’s loving discipline for us. Alas! that I should have shown temper! The next day the Lord sent a quiet, holy sorrow, and it did me good,—tears were wholesome,—I felt that I had been petty and irritable, and deserved a different kind of trial. I have been more under discipline since I attained the age of seventy than I have perhaps ever been before in India. But should trifles disturb the serenity of a Servant of a Crucified Saviour?... Thinking of your real grief, I hope to be more patient with petty annoyances....
‘Write freely to me, dear Leila. To help you in your trouble will not do me harm but good.’
‘April 17, 1892.—Beloved Laura, “The Lord is Risen indeed!” This is the Easter greeting, and this is Easter morn. I shall soon start for church; but first I would remind my darling sister and myself of words like the clarion of a silver trumpet, followed by the sound of an angel’s harp:—
‘How beautiful are these lines,—how true!...
‘Oh, what Heavenly wisdom Missionaries need!... It seems to me that dear people at home have a very imperfect idea of Missionaries, and, in their prayers, probably ask for comfort in trial for God’s servants, rather than for the wisdom which is from Above,—the gentle influence of the Holy Spirit. Ask this for me, my Laura. I do get impatient sometimes, and I make mistakes.’
‘May 2, 1892.—Books are a great enjoyment when I am alone, or sitting, as I am at present, by the bedside of one who has been ill, though now, thank God, recovering. We have had such a sick house, your Char keeping well, when it seemed as if nobody else would; delicate Miss —— coming next on the roll of health. She has been able to take the housekeeping, and to help in the nursing, so we are getting on, and hope that all will come right soon. Miss Dixie took four children to Clarkabad, and returned April 23rd, quite ill.... Miss Wright is nursing her. Then ... Daisy and Miss Copes came almost suddenly in from Futteyghur; Daisy’s fever had alarmed Miss Copes.... Miss Copes had her turn next, and has suffered severely.... Char has felt some comfort from being of some use here.’
FROM THE REV. R. CLARK.
‘Cheshire, May 3, 1892.
‘My dear Mrs. Hamilton,— ... I saw dear Miss Tucker shortly before I left Amritsar. She is, as you know, not strong; 2 Cor. iii. 13, R.V., always occurs to me when I see her. God is daily using her to be a blessing to us all.’
C. M. T. TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘May 8 (Seventy-first Birthday).
‘I am sure that my precious Laura has been thinking of me to-day, as I have been thinking of her....
‘I think that it was some time before 5 A.M. that Mr. Corfield and his boys came to greet me with a hymn. I was in my dressing-gown, but hastily popped on my bonnet and went out to shake hands with everybody. As it is well known that I do not wish gifts, and prefer simple trifles that are useful, my presents were judiciously chosen, and are, to my mind, curiously symbolical.
‘The Corfields gave me a box of soap,—fragrant, and typical of cleansing. Miss Wright, a pretty little box of vaseline. This pleased me particularly. I have said, and I think written, that every Missionary should have a box of ointment, symbol of peace-keeping and peace-making! Now I have one myself. Minnie gave pens. May I make a good use of them!... Dear Babu Singha has given me a hand-pankah (fan), which I waved gratefully in church this morning. This is an emblem of refreshment in oppressive heat....
‘Dear Mr. Baring’s admirable building for the Mission Plough is to be opened to-morrow by the Deputy Commissioner; and I suppose that Muhammadan and Hindu big or little wigs will be present. I am glad that my birthday falls on Sunday; so that the tamasha is postponed till the next day. There is something solemn about the Anniversary, when one has travelled so far on the Homeward road. You will feel this, darling, on the 20th.[137] ... Dear Herbert’s sermon to-day was on “Seekest thou great things for thyself? Seek them not!” We should never have known Baruch’s failing but for that warning word. I have been very much tamed down, dearest.’
TO THE REV. F. H. BARING.
‘May 9, 1892.
‘I must tell you of the grand opening of your beautiful School building to-day, while the scene is fresh in my mind, and before the coming in of the home mail.... The thermometer has been nearly 92° in my room this morning.
‘The fine building was well filled; the part nearest the table with Europeans and Baring boys; the Plough boys, very numerous, had the larger space; and in front, on chairs, in stiff dignity, sat the city magnates.... We sang a hymn; Mr. Wright ... read a Psalm; and, we Christians standing, Herbert led the prayer. Then my Nephew[138] made a short speech, followed by a nice one from dear Babu Singha, and a kind of brief, satisfactory report from Nobin Chanda.
‘And then up rose the Deputy Commissioner, and, to my great surprise and great amusement, gave, in rough Urdu, such a whipping to Batala and her magnates, as I never heard in a speech in my life. First,—Batala, poor Batala, was not like any other city; it was so quarrelsome! Clearly, the Deputy Commissioner (like Mr. ——, who told me nearly sixteen years ago that Batala was the most troublesome and litigious city in the district) has no fancy for the place. Then the whip came down on the shoulders of the poor rais;[139] and it was mercilessly plied. The magnates had to bear the indignation of the Englishman for doing their best—or worst—to prevent our getting ground for the school or the proposed Mission Hospital. For whose benefit was the latter? asked the irate Deputy Commissioner. Not for our own, but that of the women and children of Batala! In short, the Englishman whipped the poor magnates, till he made them bleed—in their purses. He told them that money was wanted for school-benches, etc., and let them know that their aid would be desirable. Paper was on the table.... Some put down rupees; some wrote down promises. About 701 were thus collected.... The whole thing was so funny that I could not help being greatly amused. I wonder what the scolded Muhammadans said, when they went back to their Zenanas....
‘Herbert said in his speech that your fine building will also be used as Library, Reading-room, and Lecture-room. I think there will be a Sunday-school also.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘May 15, 1892.—My precious Laura, you wish me to ask for you more faith and love. I ask more, even for floods of joy. Why not, darling? “Ask, and ye shall receive!” ... My trial, as regards this matter, is different from yours. I have to learn patience to restrain yearning to depart and be with Christ. I have twice, as it were, in dangerous illness,—what men call “dangerous,”—caught a glimpse of the River; and it seems glittering with sunbeams! I long to cross it; but I feel that it would be wrong to pray to go. The Master only knows when we are ready to go Home; but how my spirits rise, if I see any likelihood of the time being near! I do not feel this at present, for I have such a good constitution. Three out of four of my Mission ladies here have been seriously ill; with the fourth I can see that it is a weary struggle to get on; and I, an aged woman, am not ill at all! I do not suppose that any of the four really wish to quit the field—or the school. The one who does may be kept long at her post. None can tell! I fall back on “The Lord knows best.”’
‘May 20.—This is my own beloved Laura’s Birthday,—a day which Char is not likely to forget. Sweet peace and joy be yours, darling. You have added to the happiness of many. You have, as it were, washed the disciples’ feet, and you are sitting at the Lord’s Feet. That is what dear, saintly Fanny described as “the position of a Christian.” Is it not a wondrous thought that you and I may be welcomed by such as Fanny? She was not beautiful on earth; but how fair she will be, raised “in His likeness”! The Saviour will be “admired in His saints,”—a very remarkable expression, and a sweet subject for thought. There is so much in us now not to be admired; but when He comes to make up His jewels, all will be bright and fair....
‘This has been a particularly hot season.... You would think 91° warm in a bedroom at night. Miss —— and Daisy sleep out on the roof: but I think myself too old for the chance of a midnight scramble in my night-clothes, carrying my bedding down an outside stair, should a dust-storm or thunder-storm come on. I keep on the prudent side, which is inside.... A Sunday-school has been opened in Mr. Baring’s beautiful new School-house. Attendance is of course voluntary; and Mr. and Miss Wright, who have started the Sunday-school, and who only expected to find about twenty boys, were pleased to find about sixty pupils; not only the “Plough” boys, but their teachers. Was not this grand?... I hope that dear Francis’ new building will be one of the best means of bringing hard-hearted Batala to the knowledge of the Saviour. The laddies are often not hard at all, but pleased and eager to hear about the Christian Faith. The next generation may be very different from the present one.’
‘May 29.—Do not regret having told me about your state of health. I like to know the truth, and at my advanced age may well face it. Whether my darling Laura or myself be taken first, the remaining one will have comfort. It is but a “little while”—
Early in June Miss Tucker took the long journey to Simla, accompanied part of the way by Dr. Weitbrecht, and afterwards by Dr. Lankester. Through the thoughtful kindness of various friends, the journey was made as little fatiguing to her as possible. On her arrival she was so worn out as to sleep thirteen hours, with only one break, but was afterwards none the worse. Writing of the kind Cousins with whom she had gone to stay, she says: ‘The boys are charming, so clever, bright, and loving. They make of me as much as if I were a pet Grandmother. I bought a little toy for them; and they were so much delighted with it, that I must have had between the three boys nearly a dozen kisses for it. I wonder that they are so fond of kissing a wrinkled old face.’
On June 17 she wrote from Simla:—
‘I am treated here with great kindness and consideration. I am not pressed to exert myself; but of course I take my part when friends come to dinner. To-day we are to have four Calcutta Missionary ladies for dinner and games. To-morrow an old friend of mine, Carry H., and her husband, and Lord Radstock. One of the most lovable guests that we have had is our own Bishop of Lahore. I am to go to his lecture on Isaiah this evening....
‘There is an excellent piano here, and dear Mackworth Young plays exquisitely.... How you would have enjoyed Beethoven’s Hallelujah Chorus, which he has played to me twice from memory! “Worlds unborn shall sing His glory—the exalted Son of God!” Do not those words recall the dear old Ancient Concerts? Yesterday I was tempted, when alone, to open the piano myself; and what do you think was one of the things which I sang and played? My Laura’s “The Lord He is my Strength and Stay!” That too reminds of old times. O what will Heaven’s music be!’
The following letter, written from Simla to Miss Raikes, was on the subject of a translation into Bengali of her little book, The Story of Dr. Duff:—
‘June 20, 1892.—If I have neglected thanking you for a copy of your translation, pray forgive an aged and half worn-out Missionary;—I am seventy-one, and in weak health. In our Panjab I have no intercourse with Bengalis, except such as know English more or less; and I am not acquainted with a word of the Bengali language, Urdu and Panjabi being what is spoken, so that I could not myself judge of your translation. At Simla, however, where I am on a visit, I hear that there are Bengalis, and I might find some to whom I could present the book, which has been your labour of love. I cannot but hope that you have not published 2000 copies at your own expense. I never do; but a Society prints, and takes the risk. If the Bengalis be like the Panjabis, it will be difficult to sell so many copies at 8 annas each. If I remember rightly, my little Life of Duff only costs 2 annas; and our people think that a good deal! But Bengal may be more liberal.’
The next letter—like one or two on the same topic, already quoted—is of peculiar interest, because, some three years earlier, Miss Tucker had been a good deal exercised in spirit about the fact of Bishop French’s successor being a decided High Churchman, and had more than once written in strong and melancholy terms to her sister on the subject. The tone in which she now wrote, in 1892, is remarkable, as being by no means in accord with her former prejudices. But Charlotte Tucker, as I have had occasion to remark before, was not one of those small-natured people, who always stick fast to what they have said, because they have said it. She was ever ready for fresh light upon any matter. It appears to me that we see here in her some measure of that widening of spiritual outlook, which ought to become visible with advancing years and with a closer knowledge of the Spirit of Christ. Probably she was not herself definitely conscious of any difference.
‘Simla, July 3, 1892.—My beloved Laura, I have just come from church, from partaking of Holy Communion. Our Bishop preached. It was a sermon whose gist I do not think that I shall ever forget; for it presented a most familiar text in—to me—quite a new and very striking light: “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” The Bishop said that many persons—I was amongst them—“took the Blessing as meant for the humble”; but he, referring to the parallel passage in St. Luke’s Gospel, showed that this is a limitation of the meaning. The poor in spirit are those who count themselves as actually possessors of nothing; the goods which are called theirs are merely lent of God, to be taken up or laid down simply at His pleasure. In the face of a large congregation, in gay, fashionable, money-seeking Simla, our Bishop with fervent energy preached a sermon on Unworldliness! May God write it in the hearts of the hearers!
‘I thank God for our Bishop. His influence is of untold value; he is so gentle, courteous, considerate, that he does not, I should think, usually give offence. I had the enjoyment yesterday of, I think, more than an hour’s tête-à-tête with him. It interested me much, for Bishop Matthews never puts himself on a pedestal. If his Episcopal position resembles one, he comes down at once, with humility and frankness, and seems like a brother. The Bishop never appears to mind in the least my not calling him “lord,” either in correspondence or in speaking. One has the impression that he does not care a straw about it. I am struck by the pains which he is taking about the case of a young Native Christian.... The Bishop is investigating the matter with father-like interest.... It is a cause of deep thankfulness that European or Native can appeal to a good, wise Bishop.’
Miss Tucker does not, here or elsewhere, state why she objected to calling a Bishop “my lord.”
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘July 3, 1892.
‘We had a Missionary Meeting last week, at which the most striking speech was that of Mr. Lefroy[140] of Delhi. I could not help thinking this, though the Bishop, Mr. Young, and my dear nephew, Dr. Weitbrecht, spoke before him. In simple, manly fashion, as one not thinking of human praise, Mr. Lefroy described what seemed to me like a grand single combat between himself and a Muhammadan Hafiz,—one who knows the whole Koran by heart—of great influence. The Hafiz, a great opposer of Christianity, asked Mr. Lefroy to have a long discussion with him, not saying that he must go, or was tired, etc. Our champion accepted the challenge at once. The Hafiz appointed a mosque as the place of meeting.
‘Mr. Lefroy went at the appointed hour, and, to his surprise, found about 500 Muhammadans waiting for him. They were very attentive listeners; but great, very great, must have been the strain upon the noble and gifted Missionary. Till midnight, for about five hours and a half, in hot Delhi, in the fiery month of June, Mr. Lefroy held up the Christian Banner against the Hafiz and others. At midnight, after one Muhammadan had been arguing against our Faith, the Hafiz said to him: “If you can bring forward no better arguments, I will take the Missionary’s hand, and go out with him!” He did not do so then; he had not sufficient courage to face the storm of opposition; and again he failed on another occasion, to Mr. Lefroy’s great disappointment. But after months, that Hafiz is a Baptized Christian now. God gave His champion the victory at last!’
TO MISS HOERNLE.
‘July 18, 1892.
‘I am still, as you see, at Simla, but expect to start on my long journey downhill on the 21st. We have had a great quantity of rain. I hear that Batala is flooded, so the heat will be much lessened....
‘Yesterday was Sunday, and the dear Bishop and a few others dined with us, and we had nice hymn-singing afterwards. How you would have liked to have occupied my seat at the dinner-table! I was next the Bishop, and Dr. Weitbrecht sat just opposite....
‘I need not tell you that the mountains are very beautiful; especially, to my mind, when a white cloud, which has been, as it were, quite blotting them out, is lifted, and one beholds the glorious peaks and wooded valleys, lovely in the bright sunshine. It reminds one of the American Poet’s striking lines on a yet loftier theme,—
‘Ah, dear Maria, well may we exclaim—
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Batala, Aug. 8, 1892.—Daisy and I are living in a remarkably damp world, as beautifully green as green can be. The rain is pouring furiously. My kahars had to wade through water to take me to the city. I had a good fire in my Gurub-i-Aftab to-day, not for warmth, but to keep away mustiness.... Damp is by no means as trying to me as cold, and it is a comfort to be in no danger of sand-storms. No dust now; only “water, water, everywhere.” Happily I cannot add, “not a drop to drink”!... We have quite a bevy of our Mission ladies up at the Hills. I am very glad that they are there. Hard-working Minnie seems to be enjoying herself so thoroughly. Did I tell you of a Hindu presenting, for her projected Hospital, a piece of ground, worth 700 rupees? Herbert had a meeting of principal Batala folk; and such interest was shown in Minnie’s work, that—including a hundred rupees from the kind Deputy Commissioner—551 rupees have been given or promised for the proposed Hospital.’
TO MISS EDITH TUCKER.
‘Aug. 18, 1892.
‘I will tell you between ourselves, for I would not trouble sweet Aunt Hamilton about anything, that, in my old age, since I have attained seventy, I have had more experience of difficulties and worries than perhaps at any other period of my long Indian career. I need not describe the worries; they are things that rub one, chafe one, make life’s burden heavier. And why are they permitted, darling? I think that they keep us in a more humble, clinging position. We cannot ask sympathy for such little things; we are pitied for some troubles; others we must keep to ourselves,—the latter perhaps try us most. But the dear Saviour knows! He experienced daily trials of patience as well as great afflictions. It is good to remember this. Christ, in addition to cruel persecution from open enemies, had to bear the dulness of perception, the weakness of faith, the ambition, the tendency to quarrel, of His daily companions. If great troubles are like the burdens which expand into wings, it seems to me as if petty worries may turn into the soft, downy little feathers which line the wings. They make our wings softer for those whom we have to shelter beneath them. For as the Lord spreads His great Wing over us, He means us to spread our small ones over others.’
TO MISS L. V. TUCKER.
‘Sept. 21, 1892.
‘You call me “Fairy Frisket,” dear. If I be like a Fairy, it is not pretty little Frisket, but rather the old woman of Nursery stories, with wrinkled face and high cap. Yet here I have frisked to Futteyghur. We have a little Christian congregation of peasant converts here, who assemble twice a day in a large, neat room, which serves for a church. It is well matted, and has a red curtain down the middle, to divide the men from the women. All sit on the ground; only Auntie, on account of her age, is allowed a low seat. It is quite easy to me to sit on the ground; but to get up again,—“there’s the rub.”
‘“What o’clock is Service?” I asked of our excellent Native Pastor. “Half-past five in the morning; afternoon half-past five. Before sunrise, and before sunset.” I thought half-past five A.M. rather early; but of course we accommodate our convenience to that of the peasants, who have to go to their work. Says I to Daisy, “You may trust me to awaken you at five!” This is no hard matter to Auntie!... When I sallied forth I could see Orion in the sky.’
A few more scattered extracts from Miss Tucker’s Journal may end this chapter.
‘Feb. 21, 1892. Sunday.—The best I have had since Narowal. Prayer seemed answered.
‘Feb. 22.—Villages. Little B. H. Gave one Urdu Gospel to a young man. Some listened, but I encountered some rudeness. Almost pushed away. Ladder. Widow of Nain.... Went to house of Maulvi F.... He courteous. Some children rude. Sent him one of Gwynn’s Gospels.
‘May 3.—Blessed rain. Three invalids recovering. Thank God.
‘May 4.—Plough. Subject Passover. K. very nice. Gave Gurmukhi Primer. Saw P. D.... Remembers Maria. Wants to learn Urdu. Had good conversation with S.... Saw pretty bibi and nice brother. He read first part of Acts ii. I lent him Daybreak.
‘May 29.—Too poorly to go to early church.
‘June 1.—Too poorly to go out. Wrote to poor, dear R. C.
‘June 3.—Plough. Short work; very weak. Too weak and poorly for work.
‘June 10.—Left Batala. Dr. Lankester my escort.
‘June 11.—Reached Simla, much wearied. Slept about thirteen hours.
‘Aug. 3.—A. B. Man sent me off at once; but almost immediately recalled me; and I had a very good talk with him.
‘C.’s Bibi. Courteous and pleasant.
‘D. E. Good visit.
‘F. Middling.
‘G. H. She nice; but grumbling zemindar came in.
‘Old J. indifferent as usual.
‘H. did not see her, but sweet J. K.’
With the coming of autumn, accounts of Mrs. Hamilton’s state grew steadily worse. In the middle of October Miss Tucker went for a few days to Rawal Pindi; and the last letter which she received there, before starting on her return journey, prepared her for the coming blow. Arriving at Batala station in the early morning, her first question was—
‘Is there a telegram?’
There was a telegram, and it was given to her immediately. Before seeing a word, Miss Tucker knew what the missive had to tell,—knew that her dearly loved sister had passed away. She opened it, and burst into a flood of tears. Reaching home, Miss Dixie led her to her own room, and there left her for a little while alone.
Probably no sorrow in all her lifetime, except the death of her Father and the death of Letitia, had touched her so closely as this sorrow; and even they were not the same, because through them she always had still her Laura. Now the sense of loneliness pressed upon her heavily. Whatever she had thought, whatever she had wished, whatever had aroused her interest or appealed to her sympathies, the immediate impulse had ever been to tell it to Mrs. Hamilton,—perhaps even more during these long years in a far-off land, than in her English life. But indeed from very childhood, from the time when Laura was a little rosy, sweet-tempered, merry maid of four, and Charlotte was a wild-spirited, impulsive, and ambitious child of eight, the tie between them had been of a very unusual nature. They did not love merely as sisters, but as the nearest and dearest of intimate personal friends. What made the one happy made the other happy. What grieved the one grieved the other.
And now for a while the tie was seemingly broken; intercourse was at an end. True, Charlotte Tucker had been for sixteen long years and more separated by land and ocean from her sister. But the communion of mind with mind had been incessant throughout. True, the break was for a very little while. But this she could not possibly know. Old as she was, old in some respects beyond her years, she yet had a strong constitution, and a marvellous amount even now of wiry vigour. Weak she might be, in a sense; nevertheless she could get through a round of work daily which few women of seventy would dream of attempting. It was well within the bounds of possibility that her life might be extended through another ten or twelve years, or even longer.
‘She felt her sister’s death most dreadfully,’ one of her nieces has said. Yet she did not lie crushed beneath the weight of her grief. Work had still to be done; and others had to be thought of and comforted.
On the very day that she received the telegram she wrote to Mrs. Hamilton’s daughter a letter full of sympathy for her niece’s loss, scarcely mentioning her own.
‘I would take you as it were into my arms, ... and weep with you, so that I might possibly even remind you of the sympathy of the precious Mother, whom you have not lost, but parted with for a little while. O, when you meet in Eternity, what a little while it will appear!... You have the blessing of holy memories; you know that you were a great comfort to the precious Invalid; and you have the joy of hope, the hope of re-union. We are only pilgrims on the same road; and one arrives before the other. Both have the same Home.
’ ... It will be a solace to you to look after your beloved Mother’s poor. I am sure that many had cause to bless her. All her works of love done so quietly and unostentatiously; but every one marked down in God’s “book of remembrance.” What a wonderful joy the opening of that book will be! Little kindnesses, acts of love, words of holy counsel, all marked down, not one forgotten.... Try to realise your Mother’s happiness! Has she not looked on the Lord Jesus, heard His Voice, received His welcome?’
And again on the 27th of October:—
‘Try, dear one, to comfort others; and then you will find comfort yourself. This is a world of suffering; and the best Memorial to your precious Mother will be something that will be a blessing to others. To think of what she would have approved will be a solace to your mind.’
On the same day she wrote to her nephew, the Rev. W. F. T. Hamilton: ‘I go on with my daily Mission work; it seems what I have specially to live for. Is it not possible that your sainted Mother takes an interest in it still?’
In the first letter to Mrs. J. Boswell, after receiving the telegram, she spoke more openly of her own feelings:—
‘Oct. 23.— ... Your letter to Lettie, which I saw at Pindi, before my own followed me there, quite prepared me for Edith’s thoughtful telegram. I received that telegram at the Batala station, after my long dark night’s journey back from Pindi. I thank and bless God for my precious sister’s bliss; but to me the blank——! I suppose that the funeral will be to-morrow; in thought I follow my poor bereaved Leila,—but my mind dwells less on the grief of those left, than the joy of her who is with her Saviour. I thanked God for her to-day at Holy Communion.
‘I hope that there will be no unnecessary gloom to-morrow. It seems to me so incongruous to throw a heavy black pall over the dear form, when the spirit is wearing the shining white robe. I hate black,—the colour of sin and spiritual death! My own beloved sister had nothing to do with either. My tears fall as I write; but I dare not, cannot, murmur; though life seems to me a weary pilgrimage. I am very home-sick, my Bella; but the Lord will call me when He knows that I am ready. He gives me some work to do for Him. I must live for that.’
And again, on the 4th of November:—
‘This has been a year of trials. Since I reached seventy, I feel as if my path had grown steeper, and flowers wither. But when the summit of the Hill is reached—what joy! I can hardly help envying my sweet Laura; and, oh, I am thankful that she was spared acute suffering! Her end—as regards this world—was indeed peace; her happiness will be never-ending. You see that I am again at Futteyghur, for about five days, to keep Miss Key company.... It was no sacrifice to me to come out to the village, for I was glad to be in a very quiet place just now. Batala is too full of friends and too cheerful for my present mood. Work is congenial; not cheerful meetings. Mrs. Corfield gave a sort of Concert on Wednesday, to which every one was invited; but I, of course, stayed at home. There is no one but Daisy Key and myself here.’
From the Journal entries it is evident that Miss Tucker gave herself only one clear day of rest—and that day a Sunday—for indulgence in any wise of her sorrow. She had the telegram on a Saturday; and on Monday the usual round of visiting went on.
‘Oct. 20.[141]— ... My precious Laura departed.’
‘Oct. 22.—Returned to Batala. Telegram.’
This is the brief Diary notice of what occurred.
The next few months were marked by no very especial events; only the usual ups and downs, anxieties, disappointments, encouragements, of Missionary work. Missionaries came and went as usual; and partings took place, some of which tried her much. Miss Eva Warren, who had spent several weeks with her in 1889, came in November to be a permanent inmate of ‘Sunshine’; no small pleasure to Miss Tucker. But Miss Warren, like so many others, broke down under the Panjab climate; and in the spring of 1893 she had to give up her post and return home.
In April 1893 Miss Tucker wrote to her niece, Miss L. V. Tucker:—
‘Though I have written playfully to your father, I am not in a playful mood. This is such a year of partings for your poor old Auntie. You know about my Louis and Lettie; then energetic Minnie Dixie left us; to-day I go to the station for the last look of the dear, good Corfields ... and their three fine children, accompanied by Rosa Singha, who has been such a help and comfort here. On Monday week sweet Eva Warren, one of my most lovable companions, leaves me.... I do not expect to see her again on earth. Next month Rowland Bateman, my very tip-top favourite amongst all Missionaries, is to start for England. What a blessing it is that there is One Friend Who says, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake”; “Even to hoar hairs I will carry you”!’
A few slight recollections of Miss Warren’s may well come in here. They are of particular interest, being almost entirely of this last year of Miss Tucker’s life, after the death of Mrs. Hamilton. The two had been very little together before November 1892, when Miss Warren returned from eighteen months’ sick-leave, to be again in three months invalided.
‘She was very impulsive,’ Miss Warren says. ‘We used to say of her sometimes that she needed cool young heads to guide her. Her energy was very remarkable. During the last cold weather I was with her, I could see how much she felt the cold, but she would not give in in the least.... Being an Honorary Missionary, she was very scrupulous about not taking any extra privileges in the way of holidays.... My impression is that she had formerly known the language better than she did latterly. In spite of her efforts not to forget what she had learned, some had slipped away from her. She said to me one day: “I speak Hindustani as the Duke of Wellington used to talk French.” “Oh,” I said, “how was that?” “Bravely!” she said. She had a very merry way of laughing, when anything amused her.
‘She said to me once: “I think what is wanted out here is—Missionaries’ graves. Not the graves of young Missionaries, who have died here, but the graves of old Missionaries, who have given their whole lives for these people!” ... She was very humble about her own work, and used sometimes to be quite depressed after reading accounts of other people’s successful work, thinking that she had met with no success.’
Miss Warren relates also how she would not unfrequently say: ‘So-and-so is one of those people who think me a great deal better than I am.’ Her conversation was still very bright and full of interest; the active mind had by no means parted with its vigour. Sometimes she would talk eagerly about old days, and tell stories of the Duke of Wellington, a subject which always aroused her. Or again she would plunge into the topic of Shakespeare’s Plays. Or she would read some of her favourite Spurgeon’s Sermons. Another pet book of hers was Baxter’s Saints’ Rest; and this she read through with Miss Warren. Occasionally still she would read aloud one of her own stories in the evening. Happily, she retained her old love of games; and they must have been a great relaxation after the hard day’s work. Sometimes, when Miss Warren had been reading or studying, she would say: ‘Now you must come and frisk a little!’
The old untidiness in dress had never been overcome; and the mixture of colours was often remarkable. But though the clothes might not be artistically chosen, or put on with great neatness, they were always daintily clean,—no matter how many years they might have been in use.
Thin and fragile-looking as Miss Tucker had always been, she was by this time hardly more than mere skin and bone; and her face was singularly covered all over with fine wrinkles. This it was, no doubt, which helped to give her the appearance, spoken of by so many, of being far older than she really was,—rather like ninety than like seventy. The vigour and energy which she still retained were, however, certainly not like ninety,—or even like seventy.
Here are a few more selections from the Journal in the year 1893,—the closing year of Charlotte Tucker’s Indian life:—