Chapter X: A.d. 1880-1881

LOYAL AND TRUE

The series of extracts from letters, through the year 1879, given in the last chapter, will convey a fair general idea of how many succeeding years were passed. To quote with equal fulness from each year would mean--not one comparatively small volume, but two large ones; and, however interesting the subject-matter in itself, readers might be expected to grow weary.

Year after year Charlotte Tucker lived on in the old palace, which had so strangely become her home, surrounded by the brown boys, whom she loved; and by the spring of 1880 they had grown to forty in number. Year after year she wrote little booklets for the Natives of India. Year after year she persisted in her steady round of Zenana visits; not, like the average district-visitor of England, going once a fortnight or once a week into her district,--which was the whole city of Batala,--but day after day giving hours to the work, never daunted because results seemed small, never apparently even tempted to throw up her arduous task in despair. She had to _plough_ for the Master of the harvest; and she was content to leave results with Him.

It must have been a monotonous life, viewed from ordinary standpoints. Charlotte Tucker had had plenty of society in the past; and though she might laugh at stiff dinner-parties or dull morning calls, she had fully enjoyed intercourse with superior and cultivated minds. Some amount of such intercourse she had still in the Panjab; but for months together, as time went on, she was thrown mainly upon her own resources, was left with absolutely no European companions. It is hardly within the bounds of possibility that she should not have suffered from the deprivation, cheerily as she received it.

‘Missionaries in work are usually rather “yoked two and two,”’ she wrote to an Aunt, in the beginning of 1880. Then after a slight allusion to her successive ‘yoke-fellows’ at Batala, she adds brightly: ‘And I look forward for the greater part of 1880 to going side by side with Babu Singha, the converted Hindu Head-master,’--with kind mention also of his wife and children.

Friends might say what they would. Miss Tucker had advanced far beyond the stage when it was possible to convince her that she ‘could not stay alone’ in Batala. Mr. Baring had decided to go to England for eight months; and no one else was free to join her in Anarkalli; but she refused to desert her post. In fact, she would not be ‘alone’ there now, as she would have been two years earlier. She loved and was loved by the little circle of Indian Christians in the place; and the merry boys of the household were very dear to her. None the less, her position was a singularly solitary one.

The frequent arrival of boxes from England afforded her never-failing delight; partly on her own account, and yet more for the additional facilities afforded thereby for giving away. Pages each year might be filled with quotations on this subject alone.

Also month by month fresh indications appeared of the reality of the work going on,--an inquirer here; a convert there; an abusive Muhammadan softened into gentleness; an ignorant Heathen enlightened; a bigot persuaded; and now and again one coming forward, bravely resolute to undergo Baptism, willing to face the almost inevitable persecution following. All these things were of perpetual occurrence, and they lay very near to Charlotte Tucker’s heart.

On the 30th of January 1880 comes a pungent little sentence:--

‘What fearful people the Nihilists are! When one reads of them,
one seems to see Satan let loose! There is some similarity
between India and Russia. Perhaps some years hence a Nihilist
crop may rise from tens of thousands of sharp conceited lads
whom the Government so carefully educate _without God_! They
cannot possibly all get the prizes in life which they look
for; they _won’t_ dig,--so will naturally swell the dangerous
classes. Such dear lads as we have here will be, we trust, as
the salt in the mass. But they may have a difficult work before
them.’

Two letters in February to two nieces must not be passed over. In the first we have a glimpse of the dark as well as of the hopeful side:--

‘_Feb. 2._--That most unhappy lad, ----, seems to be a thorough
hypocrite. Only a day or so after professing himself a true
penitent, and kneeling in seeming prayer at my side, he has, we
hear, been actually preaching in the bazaar here against the
Christians.... The subject is too sad to dwell upon; but it is
better that I should let you know at once, as I sent home so
hopeful a letter.

‘Fancy poor E. Bibi actually paying me a visit here yesterday
evening. The delicate creature longed to come. I told her to
ask her husband’s leave, and suggested that he had better come
with her. She asked me to send my kahar in the morning, and she
would send a message by him as to whether her “Sahib” consented
or not. The answer was favourable; so I made arrangements to
have two dulis at her door after dark, for E., her mother, and
her two little girls. I warned our boys to keep out of the
chapel, into which I first introduced the Bibis. I went to the
harmonium, and sang to it, “Jesus lives,” and two or three
verses of the Advent hymn, etc. While we were in the chapel the
husband joined us, sat down, and quietly listened. He was very
silent, which I think showed good manners.

‘We then all proceeded up our long staircase.... I offered tea,
but no one drank it; the children ate some pudding, and I
presented each of them with one of the dolls which your dear
Mother sent out, which I have had dressed.... I think the party
were pleased. I wonder what thoughts were passing in the mind
of that silent husband. He knows perfectly well what I visit
his wife for; for in Batala we do not hide our colours at
all. I sometimes think that dear M.[94] dashes right at the
enemy almost too boldly; but as she is a supposed descendant
of Muhammad, I dare say that her dauntless intrepidity has a
good effect. I do not find the women made angry even by what
must startle them. Of course one’s manner must be gentle and
conciliating, even when meeting the question, “Do you think
that Muhammad told lies?” with a simple straightforward, “Yes.”

‘I think that not a few Batala women do now believe that our
religion is the right one, and that our Blessed Lord is the
Saviour of sinners. But this belief may exist for years before
there is any desire for Baptism.’

* * * * *

‘_Feb. 6._--One visit which I paid in the former place
(Amritsar) would have warmed your heart. In a cottage in
the Mission compound, occupied by one of the Bible-women, I
found three who doubtless will inherit the blessing promised
to all who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake. There
was dear faithful Begum J., and her daughter, K. (now a
Bible-woman). These are the two who, as you may remember, were
threatened with a razor by Begum J.’s husband, and fled, and
were afterwards baptized. They had come to see another brave
Convert, who had been baptized on the previous day.

‘A fierce crowd had attacked her, tore the jewels from her
ears, beat her on the head, threatened to cut off her nose!
How she escaped she cannot tell; she was bewildered. Perhaps
some unseen Angel took her by the hand. She reached _somehow_ a
duli, which was in waiting for her, and was baptized the same
day.’

The school was so growing, that by March 1880 a good many of the boys had to sleep on the floor which formerly had been reserved entirely for Europeans. This Miss Tucker did not mind.

Before the end of March she had to bid good-bye to her dharm-nephew, who was starting for England. It must have given her a strange feeling, thus to see one and another leave for the dear old country, which she so loved, and yet which she had resolved never of her own free will to see again.

The previous day a feast was given in Mr. Baring’s honour, the boys ‘subscribing to buy the little dainties’; and ‘speeches of love and gratitude’ being made. Then, in the early morning, long before dawn, Miss Tucker felt her way down the dark staircase, to see the traveller off. ‘The babies,’ as she called some of the tinier brown boys, were there also; one small orphan looking ‘sad and thoughtful’ over the farewell. Bigger boys also came down, and they waited in the Chapel till the Principal appeared. Shakings of hands were followed by cheers, as Mr. Baring drove away in the dâk-gari,--‘probably with mingled feelings,’ writes Miss Tucker. One is disposed to wonder what _her_ feelings were, as she turned back into the palace; alone among her companions; the only European in that Eastern city! Yet no signs of heart-quailing can be seen in the letter to her sister, written on the same day.

In this spring of 1880 came another event of importance,--the ‘Disruption’ of the older Zenana Society, under which Charlotte Tucker had worked as an Honorary Member.

There is no necessity to enter fully here into the causes which led to that disruption. To some of us it may seem to have been, sooner or later, almost inevitable. Until that date the attempt had been made to work on what are sometimes called ‘un-denominational lines,’--which meant that the Missionaries might be either Churchwomen or Dissenters, each teaching according to her own convictions. A difficult programme to carry out, one is disposed to imagine! After a while friction arose in the Governing Body at home. Since by far the larger majority of workers in the field belonged to the Anglican Church, it was rightly considered that the Governing Body ought to consist of an equally large majority of Church people; and on this point the split took place. The Society broke into two parts. The one part remained more or less Dissenting; the other part became distinctly and exclusively Church of England. Each Missionary had to make her own decision as to which she would join; and Charlotte Tucker at least had no hesitation in the matter. On the 12th of May she wrote:--

‘Here I am at home again, after my strange little visit to
Amritsar; short, but by no means unimportant. All our five
ladies have crossed the Rubicon; they have sent in their
resignations, with the usual six months’ notice. It remains
to be seen whether the new “Church of England Zenana Society”
will or _can_ take them all on! We know not what the state of
their funds will be, as they begin on nothing. Our ladies, with
Mr. Weitbrecht the Secretary, seemed to have no hesitation as
to what course to pursue,--that of resignation.... I am very
desirous to know what dear Margaret Elmslie and Emily will do....
How the complicated machinery of the Mission will work during
the strange interregnum I know not.... One expects a sort of
little--not exactly chaos, but--struggling along in a fog, for
the next six months; and then we shall probably see our way
clearly.’

On the following day she sent in her own resignation. Little more appears about the subject in later letters. As an Honorary Worker her own position was not affected, nor was her income placed in jeopardy; and soon the new ‘Church of England Zenana Society,’ being warmly taken up, was in full working order. Amongst those who joined it were her friends, Mrs. Elmslie and Miss Wauton.

At this time she was becoming very anxious for the return of Mrs. Elmslie, who had been detained in England far longer than was at first intended, by family claims. Sometimes a fear was expressed that Mrs. Elmslie might never return; and no one else could fill her place. Charlotte Tucker did not dream of the happy consummation ahead. Two or three references to her earlier days occur in June and July, as if some cause had sent her thoughts backward.

‘_June 4, 1880._--I think, love, that one gets into a kind
of social fetters. When we were young we had the worry of
a footboy at our heels,--it was thought suitable for our
position. (Do you remember dear Fanny’s lovely definition of
that word?) When I was in Edinburgh, dear ---- was surprised,
and I think a little shocked, at “my father’s daughter” going
in omnibuses. As if it were any disgrace to my father’s
middle-aged daughter to do what her precious princely Sire had
done a hundred times! O Laura, when one throws aside these
trammels of social position, one feels like a horse taken out
of harness, and set free in a nice green meadow. Our honoured
Father! what true dignity was his,--but how he shook off the
trammels!

‘To be mean and miserly is quite another thing. That dishonours
our profession. One should be ready to entertain hospitably,
and to pay for work done handsomely; there is a free hand and a
generous spirit quite consistent with economy.’

* * * * *

‘_July 13._--Yes, love, we did intensely enjoy those concerts
in H. Square. I want you to enjoy more concerts. It is curious
how useful I have found my little music in the evening of my
days. I sometimes think of dear Mother’s words to me,--“Do not
give up your music.”’

In July, when Miss Tucker was congratulating herself that half the time of Mr. Baring’s absence was over, a letter arrived speaking of lengthened furlough. She was much distressed, fearing harm to the school, and for a while was assailed by fears that perhaps he and also Mrs. Elmslie might never return. Happily these fears were groundless; but plans were afloat for some temporary arrangement while the Principal remained away. Miss Wauton too was at this time taking her well-earned furlough in England, and workers were sorely needed in the Panjab; while new untrained Missionaries on first going out could do little. ‘We want Margaret,’ was the burden of her cry; to which was now added, ‘We want Mr. Baring.’

For herself she had no thought of a furlough. Friends thought of it for her; and she put the idea resolutely aside. Writing to Mrs. Hamilton on September 6, she said: ‘And now for a more important subject, broached in your sweet letter. I do not feel that it would be either wise as regards myself, or right as regards my work, to go home next year. The great fatigue of two journeys, the excitement of meeting loved ones, and the wrench of parting again,--I doubt how my health could stand it. As regards the work--I need not expatiate. It would look as if I thought much of the little that I could do; but little is better than nothing. It seems to me that one of the most useful things about me is that--hitherto--I have stuck pretty close to my Station. If I were a Native Christian, I think that I should be tempted to hate the very word “going home,” and to regard Europe as a trap for my Missionaries. Let them, if possible, have a _restful_ feeling in regard to at least one old woman, whom they are ready to love.’

And a few days later to Miss Hamilton, on September 14:--

‘Your sweet Mother threw out a suggestion about my going home
next year; but it seems to me, love, that if I did so,--unless
circumstances change,--I should deserve to be shot as a
deserter. Even if I were to become blind or paralytic, I
believe that it would be well to stick to Batala. I am the only
apology for a European Missionary here; and, curiously enough,
my very _age_ is an advantage. What might be a great hindrance
elsewhere is rather a help here.’

In a letter of September 14 occurs a passage about apparent success or non-success in work. She had perhaps comforted herself from time to time with such thoughts as follow.

Speaking about a certain American religious book, which had been lent to her by one who greatly admired it, and about Mr. Bateman’s opinion of the same volume, she observes: ‘What Rowland most objected to was the American affirming that if you take certain means to effect conversions, the result is as sure as harvest following breaking up the ground. As Rowland says, we cannot even break up the ground without God.... Are we to conclude that ---- and ---- are truer workers than dear ---- spending his strength in breaking stones at K., while the sheaves almost drop into the reapers’ arms at D.? Did our Blessed Lord Himself, Who was always sowing golden seed, reap a very large harvest during His Ministry? St. Peter’s first sermon drew in a far greater number than all the disciples of the Blessed Lord before His Resurrection put together.’

It was evident that, although she must have felt her lonely position, she was gradually becoming used to it; even so far as not at all to wish for a strange young lady as a companion. Mrs. Hamilton had made strong representations to the Society at home of the need of a helper at Batala; and the letters given next seem to have been written partly in consequence of this.

As early as the spring of 1880 Miss Tucker could say: ‘I used to think it rather tiresome when business took both my English companions for a few days away; now I am quite serene if I do not see a white face for months.’ And in November of the same year: ‘As to earthly blessings, they abound; the Natives are my real friends. The Lord gives abundant grace, and cheers me with His Presence; and I have such joy in the companionship of my Bible, that I do not miss the society I should otherwise value. Do not send a helper to me, when many other parts of India need it so much more.’

Again, on September 27:--

‘It is very loving in you to be so anxious for me to have a
lady-companion. But, unless a Missionary’s wife, one might far
from add either to my comfort or usefulness. To put aside the
possibility of her being eloquent,--a late sitter-up,--of a
melancholy or nervous temperament, or often ailing,--I really
have no spare space for a lady companion. She must share my
bath-room, if not my bedroom; and in India this would be very
uncomfortable.

‘But why, you may say, should there be more room for a married
pair than for one maiden lady? The answer is simple enough. If
a _gentleman_ were here, the large family of the Singhas would
give up their rooms and move to the Banyans. We _must_ have a
gentleman Superintendent.’

Later in the same letter comes a reference to one of the Heroes of her enthusiastic girlhood. Lady Outram and her gallant husband had been intimate friends of the Tucker family; and many a loving message in these later years was sent home by Charlotte Tucker to the former.

‘I have been reading much of the noble Outram’s Memoir to-day.
As far as I have gone, I think that the Biographer has done
his work well. The Outram of the book is just the Outram who
was the admiration of our girlhood,--generous, chivalrous,
noble! One feels how much pain that fine spirit would have been
saved, had he realised how little it really matters whether
good service be appreciated or not by man, if the great Leader
accept it,--if all be done as to Him Who never overlooks or
misunderstands! To our own Master we stand or fall; let earthly
superiors say what they will.’

* * * * *

‘_Oct. 16._--Dear, excellent ---- thinks that my not having a
“Revival” in Batala is because I do not study his favourite
author. You can hardly have a _Revival_ unless there has
been some life before.... Our work is more like clearing in
backwoods,--there are huge trees and boulders cumbering the
ground; not just weeds overspreading a garden that once was
a little cultivated. Then here women cannot read, and do not
choose to learn.... I like Miss Havergal’s _Kept for the Master’s
Use_ so much. It is beautiful. But I do not feel with her that
it is possible on Earth to have our _will_ exactly _one_ with
God’s. Even the Blessed Saviour made a distinction between “My
Will” and “Thy Will.” Dear C. T. T., for instance, submitted
sweetly to her heavy trials; but it could not be her _will_, it
was her _cross_, to lose all her nearest and dearest, and see
her father ill for so many years.’

* * * * *

‘_Dec. 15, 1880._--Dear Mr. Clark’s return has caused so much
joy. The Native Christians have had a loving address to him
printed in letters of gold. I fancy that a general feeling
is, “Now there is a hand on the reins.” ... Mr. Clark is an
experienced and skilful driver. True, he is very weak, but he
brings _brains_, and a power of organisation. If he were a
prisoner to his room he might be very valuable still.... He was
sadly missed....’

* * * * *

‘_Dec. 17._--_Please_, love, make no plans for bringing ladies
to Batala. It is so awkward to me to have to explain to nice
enthusiastic ladies that they cannot come. This is not a place
except for elderly or married ladies. If Mera Bhatija would
bring out a nice wife, it would give much pleasure; at present
plans and propositions only--I must not say burden me--but they
do not help me. I do very well as I am; I have had, through
God’s goodness, a happy year; and if I were to be ill, I would
_rather_ be doctored by our Sikh, and nursed by our Natives. As
for visitors, we have hardly any except in the cooler weather;
and a little packing then does no harm.’

Of the following extracts to Mrs. E----, only two of which are fully dated, all probably belong to about this period:--

‘_July 23._--I saw to-day a sight which perhaps never met your
eyes in India, and which I never wish to see again; though
it was not without something of melancholy beauty. On Sunday
towards dusk I was with some of the boys, and they called
out “Locusts!” I looked up into the sky, and saw what my old
eyes would have considered harmless clouds high above me; but
the young eyes must have detected the motion of countless
wings. To-day there was no possibility of mistake. I was in
a Zenana, in the full light of day, gazing up at myriads
and myriads,--dark against white clouds, light against the
blue sky,--passing over Batala. They looked to me like God’s
terrible army; so strong; so vigorous; not one amongst the
millions appeared to be weary; not one did I see drop down
as if faint from long flight. They flew as if they had a
purpose; our fair green fields did not appear to tempt the
destroyers,--only I saw a comparatively small number in
one,--but they were clearly intent on going somewhere else.
Alas for the land where they alight! A Native told me that they
would probably come back again. How helpless is man against
such a foe! We can only ask for mercy, as Pharaoh did.’

* * * * *

‘KANGRA, _Aug. 21_.--I paid a visit to Kangra fort yesterday;
a grand picturesque place, holding a commanding position. The
officer in command had prepared tea and cake for me, and
the dear kind soldiers lemonade, so I was treated with much
hospitality. They do not often see a lady up there. I have
often thought of your dear M.’s words about the soldiers, and
her wondering at my feeling shy with them. They are some of the
pleasantest people in the world to have to do with.... While I
was taking tea with the Commander, the soldiers were concocting
a letter to say that they had collected _ten rupees_ to pay my
expenses, and hoped that I would soon come again. I certainly
do not want their money, poor dear fellows; and I mean to go
again on Monday. Soldiers’ money seems to jump out of their
purses of its own accord. In this the Natives are far behind
them. Four soldiers--I think in Afghanistan--are uniting to
support a little girl at the Amritsar Orphanage. They are
charmed with the idea. I had nothing to do with it, except
giving the Superintendent’s address. I have over and over again
received help for the Mission from English soldiers, and I
never ask them for it. Fine fellows!--and to think what they
have to suffer!’

* * * * *

‘BATALA, _Oct. 1, 1880_.--I was amused to-day at what my kahar
called out. I am quite accustomed, as I am borne along in my
little duli, to hear my bearers shout, “Posh! posh!” (Hide!
hide!), which is absurd enough, as if all must flee from my
approach. But to-day was too absurd. I was, according to
custom, walking to the city, with my kahars carrying my duli
behind. There was a rider in front, mounted on a horse inclined
to back. My attentive kahar, careful that the animal should not
hurt me, cried out, “Save the horse!”--as if, instead of its
kicking _me_, the danger was that a mild old lady approaching
on foot should demolish the unfortunate animal!’

* * * * *

‘BATALA, _Jan. 31, 1881_.--As I was engaged yesterday with a
party of our boys, I was interrupted by hearing that my poor
dear Ayah had been stung--bitten, as the people incorrectly
say--by a scorpion. I thought what could be done. I had
happily by me some ipecacuanha, sent to me in 1879 by my dear
kind sister, Laura, in case of such an emergency, and also
pain-killer, which she forwarded to me more recently. Armed
with these and a bit of tape, probably her present also, I
hastened to the compound, and found my Ayah crying with the
violent pain. She had already sucked the poor finger. I tied
my tape round it, anointed it with a mixture of ipecacuanha
and pain-killer, and gave some of the latter also internally.
My Hannah appeared to derive some relief, but had much pain
in the night. To-day, however, she is much better. I have
never seen either scorpion or centipede in Batala; but then my
long staircase would present a formidable difficulty to such
reptiles.’

About this time, hearing the boys one day singing _The Vicar of Bray_, Miss Tucker wrote fresh words to suit the old tune, and taught them to her young companions. The second verse was curiously characteristic of herself.

‘The rushing torrent bears along
The straw on its surface thrown, Sir;
But the rock in its midst stands firm and strong,
Although it stand alone, Sir.
Oh, may our steadfast courage so
In danger’s hour be seen, Sir;
And let the tide flow,
And let the world go,
We ‘ll be true to our Faith and our Queen, Sir!’