A.D. 1875
FIRST ARRIVAL IN INDIA
In the second week of October 1875, Miss Tucker left English shores, never to return. The voyage was uneventful, differing therein from her trip to Canada. On its very next voyage the good ship Strathclyde, which carried her to the East, went down within sight of Dover. But no threatenings of such a catastrophe disturbed A. L. O. E. on her way out.
A fellow-passenger on board the Strathclyde wrote long afterwards:—
‘My first introduction to A. L. O. E. was when I was lying in all the helplessness of the first days of my first voyage, quite unable to stir from the deck. I became conscious of a grey-haired lady stooping over me, offering some eau de cologne, and with a winning smile asking if she could do anything for me. She was a good sailor, and in those miserable days moved about amongst the sea-sick passengers like an angel of mercy. Even then dear Miss Tucker looked very frail and delicate; and one could scarcely have expected that she would be spared for eighteen years to work in all the heat and discomfort of India. One thing remarkable about her on that voyage was the influence she had over the men on board,—some of them quite indifferent, if not hostile, to religion. No one could withstand her genial, loving ways; and it was a sight to be remembered, to see her gathering the young fellows round the piano, while she led off in some old English ditty.’
Her own letters to Mrs. Hamilton, while on board, are[198] cheery as usual, and speak no word of pain or longing for all that she had left behind; indeed the very first ends merrily: ‘Please give my kindest love to your dearest girl, and tell her that I have already hung up her famous bag. I hope that no ayah will bag it! I could not resist the pun, bad as it is.’
There were five ayahs on board, and she soon struck up an acquaintance with one of them,—a Christian ayah,—reading aloud her Hindustani Bible, and delighted to find that the ayah could understand what was read. ‘I am bribing one to teach me,’ she wrote. ‘The ayahs ought to be glad to help; for they, at least two or three of them, seem to regard me as a kind of supplementary nurse, and if they want to go to work make over the baby to me.’ In the same letter she states: ‘We have a strong Missionary force on board; two Scotchmen, the wife of one of them, and six Missionary ladies. We have not quarrelled at all; but then, most of us have been sea-sick!’—again a little glimmer of fun. ‘We lady Missionaries get on very well together,’ she says in another letter. ‘Very gentle and modest are the Misses A., “your pretty girls,” as Lady I. called them to-day.’
As to amusements on board, she wrote:—
‘Lady I. has started a game which dear Leila and Fred may add to their store at Christmas. She wrote something, missing out all adjectives. A gentleman went round and collected adjectives haphazard from the passengers, inserting them in the places left blank. The piece was then read out. It was a description of the voyage and many of the passengers. Of course nobody could be offended, because the adjectives came haphazard. But how your young folk would have laughed when, amongst other personages described, came—“Miss Tucker, of a grandiloquent disposition, with other bouncing Missionary ladies.”’
About a fortnight later she wrote:—
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‘A contrast to —— is Mr. S., the competition-wallah, probably the most highly educated man in the ship. I look upon him as the Squire of the Mission ladies. In his most quiet, proper fashion, he is ever ready to do our behests; and he never seems to tire of hymn-singing.... He has evidently plenty of moral courage. The very funniest thing was that Mr. S. was actually present at the solemn conclave held by us six M. L.[24] to decide whether we could conscientiously attend a second theatrical amateur performance, Mr. S. having been the principal actor in the first one, which we did attend. It was as if Garrick had been present at a Clapham conference on the subject of whether it were right to go to see him act!!! Mr. S. was very amiable and good: he had taken a great deal of trouble to amuse the passengers, and his part was perfectly unexceptionable; but if we all absent ourselves next time I do not think that he will take any offence. I proposed that we should all sleep over the matter, one of my reasons being that I could not but feel Mr. S.’s presence a little embarrassing. On the following day we met without him, and decided that the question is to be an open one; each M. L. is to judge according to her own conscience. I believe that we shall divide; but this is not, we have agreed, to disturb the harmony between the M. L.’
After a few days spent in ‘bright, beautiful Bombay’—these are her own words—she proceeded by rail with one companion to Allahabad. A pause at Jabalpur had been planned, but this fell through; and they accomplished the whole long journey of 845 miles without a break. Wisely, her friends had insisted on first-class, and she was none the worse for the fatigue. On the very morning of her arrival at Allahabad she could say: ‘I had a nice warm bath, and then a good breakfast, and I feel almost as fresh as if I had not travelled 845 miles at a stretch, but merely taken a little drive. Think how strong I must be!’
Later in the same letter, a long and cheery one, bearing no signs of fatigue, she speaks of Mr. George Bowen, an American Missionary, who had ‘laboured without intermission for twenty-eight years’ in the East, and who[200] was known among Natives as ‘the English Faqir,’ on account of his wandering and self-denying life.
‘He will take no salary,’ she wrote, ‘but has earned his own living, I hear, by teaching, supporting himself on the merest trifle. I esteem it a great honour that I sat beside him at breakfast at the Zenana Mission House last Thursday. Mr. Bowen looks quite skin and bone, wondrously thin, but not in the least unhealthy, but as if there were plenty of work in him still. He told me that he does not “believe in age.” He seems to feel as fresh as he did twenty-eight years ago; and yet at the beginning of his career he was so fearfully ill that his life was given up, and he wrote his farewell to his mother. As India has agreed so splendidly with Mr. Bowen, I asked him—as I generally do those who thrive in the climate—whether he drank only water. “Tea,” he replied, smiling. He gave his opinion that to take stimulant here is “the way to have to leave the country.” Almost all the Missionaries whom I have met appear to be water-drinkers. I am particularly delighted with the American Missionaries whom I have seen.... I am ashamed of ever having had a prejudice against Yankees. I am attracted also by Native Christian ladies.’
On her way up-country she came in for the wedding of a Missionary lady, and after her usual fashion she was most active in helping; working hard at the making of wreaths and at the decoration of the Ludhiana Church porch. As the married pair were about to drive off, rice was brought to be thrown; but somebody present objected to the custom for India, as originally heathen, and liable to be misunderstood.’ Then the horses shall have it!’ declared Miss Tucker; and with two hands well filled she went to the horse’s heads, and fed them, amid much laughter, in which she heartily joined. Her own description of the event is overflowing with spirit and enjoyment. It is dated November 30.
‘I have just come in to rest a bit, and wash my soiled hands,—for what do you think that I have been about?—at the express request of the bride, helping to decorate the church for her wedding, which is to come off to-day. This house is jammed full—that is to say, a good deal more full than is comfortable; but the kind folk[201] would not hear of my leaving till after the wedding, so I do not go to my home till to-morrow morning. Indian railways are regardless of convenient hours. I, who was up this morning soon after five, must be up to-morrow morning soon after three. Of course I had to arrive here by starlight; and on the same night there had been another arrival at one A.M. ... There is a grand tamasha[25] about the wedding. Every one seems pleased. It is Missionary wedding Missionary, and—perhaps I had better go and make myself useful....
‘Later. Oh, such a pretty wedding! The little church fresh white-washed within, clean as a wedding-cake. The porch almost like a bower. A border of flowers on either side up the centre made a kind of path. Then the presence of the school-girls in their white chaddahs; the number of Natives in their picturesque costumes,—both Christians and heathen, inside the church and looking in from the outside,—all made a charming scene.
‘But before we went to church, a Begum, a royal lady, granddaughter of Shah-Soojah, came to see the fun. And only fancy, Laura, I was left for perhaps a quarter of an hour to entertain the fine old lady. Would not your Fred and Leila have laughed to have seen me, making gallant efforts to keep up conversation with my dreadfully bad Hindustani. I dashed at it, tried to explain why I wore a black dress when I had lilac and blue ones at Amritsar, told her that I had never been married, answered questions regarding my family, etc. The Begum laughed, and I laughed, for I knew that my Hindustani was very bad; but I did remember always to use the respectful “Ap”[26] to the princess.
‘Presently the dear old Missionary, Mr. Rudolph, appeared. The “pardah”[27] lady, on seeing a man, hid behind an arm-chair. But when I told her that it was “Rudolph Sahib,” the old lady said that he was her father, and that she would make her salaam to him. I hear that the Begum is almost a Christian, and she can read. Wrapped in her chaddah, she walked with me to church, and stayed through the service. I was close behind her. When it was over, I managed to say a little sentence to her in rather better Hindustani, “The Lord Jesus Christ is here; He gives blessing.” The Begum gave a sound of assent.’
Next day, the first of December, Charlotte Tucker reached Amritsar,—the spot which she fully expected to[202] be her home for many a year to come. But Amritsar was only a stage on the road to Batala, where her Indian work really lay.
All who know aught of India know the name of ‘The Panjab’;[28] that province to the far north, a land of five great rivers, where in Mutiny days so much was done for the preservation of our Indian Empire. Amritsar[29] is one of the larger cities of the Panjab, containing a population of about 135,000 inhabitants,—Hindus, Muhammadans, and Sikhs. It is the Holy City of the Sikhs, and has their ‘golden temple,’ wherein they worship, and wherein also is kept their sacred book, the ‘Granth.’
Missionary work has been mainly carried on in the Panjab by the Church Missionary Society; just as, in many parts of Bengal, Missionary work has been mainly carried on by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel. Where the one great Church Society has obtained a footing, the other great Church Society does not interfere in either case, but goes elsewhere in the Mission field. It is greatly to be wished that this spirit of courtesy were more widely seen in the working of Missions generally among the heathen. During late years the ladies of the Church Zenana Society have come in as an additional help to the Societies above-named,—as true ‘handmaids,’ alike in the Panjab and in other parts of India.
The Mission premises are about half-a-mile distant from the City of Amritsar. A. L. O. E.’s first Indian home was here; in a bungalow, surrounded by a large compound or garden which was part of the Mission premises. When she arrived, in the beginning of December, roses were in full bloom, as well as abundantly-flowering shrubs and creepers. The great banyan-tree, which grew and still grows in front of the bungalow, was soon named by Miss Tucker ‘The Mission Tree.’
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A warm welcome was given to her by the Missionary ladies living there:—Miss Emily Wauton, who still labours on in the same spot, though nearly twenty years have passed since that day; Mrs. Elmslie, widow of Dr. Elmslie, the Pioneer of Missionary work in Cashmere; Miss Florence Swainson; and Miss Ada Smith;—not to speak of the C.M.S. Missionary gentleman living close by.
After her wont, Miss Tucker was very eager, very bright, very anxious to become immediately one of the little circle. That first evening, as they sat round the table, she said: ‘I don’t want to be “Miss Tucker” here. Can’t you all call me “Charlotte Maria”?’ The ladies naturally demurred. ‘We could not possibly,’ they said. Miss Tucker’s face fell a little; then came a happy thought, and she brightened up. ‘Call me “Auntie,”’ she said. ‘So many call me “Auntie.” All of you must do so.’
‘But we cannot directly. We don’t know you yet,’ objected the others again.
She was very much delighted when Mr. Rowland Bateman, one of the Missionaries, began the same evening, without hesitation, to speak to her as ‘Auntie.’
Soon after, news came of the death of her brother, Mr. Henry Carre Tucker. It was needful to arrange for her mourning; and pending the arrival of other things, one of the younger ladies offered to alter for her an old black silk dress which she had. Going to her room, the young lady knocked and said, ‘Miss Tucker, may I have the dress now?’ No answer. Another attempt;—and ‘No Miss Tucker here!’ was the result. ‘Unless you call me “Auntie,” you will not have it.’ ‘But how can I so soon? I don’t know you yet,’ was once more the unavailing plea. Miss Tucker had her way, however; and thenceforward she became ‘Auntie’ to an ever-increasing circle of nephews and nieces in India.
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Some extracts from her own letters, written to Mrs. Hamilton in the December of 1875, will give, far better than words of mine can do, the impressions received in her new position.
‘December 2, 1875.
‘It is early morning, before 6 A.M., my first morning in my new home. A cock has been crowing, otherwise everything is profoundly still. I hear a cart in the distance. You will like to hear something of my surroundings.
‘Mrs. Elmslie came to meet me at the station; also Mr. Clark and Mr. Baring. It was slightly bewildering, for, says Mr. Clark, “the Bishop wants to see you; he and Miss Milman are to go off by this train.” Now the thought most in my mind was, “I won’t let poor dear Miss F.[30] think that I desert her for new acquaintances.” She also was going on by the train; but there was a pause at Amritsar station for perhaps a quarter of an hour. So I had to be agreeable to the Bishop, Miss F., and all,—and keep Mrs. Elmslie waiting besides.
‘This is a splendid room of mine ... about twenty-four feet each way, and so lofty. I am surprised at the elegance of these Indian bungalows. Please put from your mind all idea of hardship.[31] I have now lived in four bungalows, and all have elegant rooms, and there is such an air of refinement that I have great doubts whether it would be the correct thing to put out my hand and take a slice of bread off a plate. Mrs. Elmslie is a lovely lady, tall, slight, fair; but however tall, a lady every inch of her; she might be a Countess with her meek dignity....’
‘December 9.
‘I directed via Brindisi my sad letters to the almost broken-hearted mourners, and I thought, “I will write no more by this mail. I should only write on one theme, my precious, noble Henry.” But I have since thought that I was wrong in this determination. My own sweet Laura will be closing a heavy year.... If I can turn the channel of sad thoughts, it is better that I should write, and not only on one theme. She will like to hear of my home and my work, and I ought to write to the darling!...
‘What shall I say of Mrs. Elmslie? She is one of a million. I[205] never met with any woman in my life so like an angel without wings. Tall, fair, elegant, graceful, with a face that Ary Scheffer might have chosen to paint for a seraph,—her soul seems to correspond to her external appearance. Saintly as she is, she is not in the least gloomy; she tries to make all happy, and is business-like and practical. Fitted to grace a drawing-room, she throws her heart into school-work, and seems to manage the house beautifully. It will give you an idea how winning she is, when I tell you that Miss Wauton and Miss Hasell call Mrs. Elmslie “Mother,” “Mother dear,” though the name seems strange from one who looks quite as old as herself. You should see Mrs. Elmslie with a black baby in her arms, looking at it with such loving tenderness and pleasure too, just as its guardian angel might....
‘I must not fill up all my letter with my sweet friend, and it is nearly time that I should take my morning walk. I always take a rapid one in the compound, which is large, with a good many trees and nice flowering shrubs in it. I hope always to keep up the habit, which is so very conducive to health; but of course I shall not walk so fast when the hot weather comes.
‘It may give you a little idea of life here, if I describe yesterday’s occupations.
‘I rose about six, dressed, and wrote a little. My Ayah brought me early breakfast. I went out and took my walk, then returned and prepared for my Munshi.[32] He is a convert, and was baptized last month, with his two little children. The Maulvi, as we call him, is a dear good man, but too indulgent for a teacher. He is not particular enough in correcting my faults. I have an hour with him before breakfast; and after the meal comes family worship—the morning hymn, prayer, and chapter, always in Urdu.
‘After prayers yesterday I returned for a short time to my room and occupations. I was engaged to go to “the city”—within the walls of Amritsar—with Mrs. Elmslie; for it is desirable that I should see work going on. The conveyance is a kind of large box of a carriage, contrived to let in air and keep out sun. Yesterday we went to four native houses; Mrs. Elmslie went to a fifth, but went alone. Such strange narrow lanes one has to go through; sometimes on foot where the gari could not go, mounting up to the first floor of the houses by very steep steps....
‘We returned home after our city visits, and had dinner. Yesterday being Wednesday, after dinner we went to church; we always[206] attend the Native church. As the prayers are a translation of our own Liturgy, I can join in them well enough, but I can yet make very little of the sermon....
‘I find it a good plan to go to Mrs. Elmslie’s Orphanage, and sit and listen to the lessons, and thus learn myself. The girls in their white chaddars[33] look, generally speaking, well and happy. I was to have amused some of the younger ones last Sunday with Bible pictures; but when I had had the sad letters I gave up my intention of helping sweet Mrs. Elmslie in this way. I hope to do so another time.’
‘December 13.
‘I have so much to interest me here, and every one is so kind.... I call this bungalow “House Beautiful,” on account of the dwellers within it. It is also a nice refined place, with an extensive compound, and plenty of trees and flowers. If I were not so busy I should like to send you a sketch of it; but daylight seems too short for what I want to do; and when once my mouth is really opened, I shall feel as if I never could get through all the interesting work that is to be done. The ladies here have a kind of general superintendence of twenty-two schools—not Christian—but where they are allowed to teach the Bible. Fancy what an opening!’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Dec. 13.
‘There are some things in Indian life which would strike you as curious. For instance, I have five glass doors to my bedroom. One alone is never opened ... but through all the others people, especially my Ayah, come in; and she never knocks.... Folk can walk in from the outside of the house through two of my glass doors. It is a very public sort of living, but it is Indian fashion. The great thing is to let in abundance of air; and where air comes in other things come in too. I have, however, “chick” blinds to my outer doors; these are made of thin split bamboos; and if I let them down, no one can see in. Of course they would not keep out my dear little Ayah; she can always pop in by lifting the chicks. She is the only one who really laughs at my bad Urdu.... My Munshi laughs a little, but not in the same way. He is gentle and pleasing.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Dec. 21.
‘I have been waiting to write to you till the tardy mail should[207] come in. But why wait any longer, when I have always so much to say to my Laura now?—only I lack time—and light—for this is the shortest day, and the houses are built to keep out light, which comes in underneath a heavy verandah, so that I am sometimes obliged to feel rather than to see....
‘I did not open my picture-box for some time after my arrival, but when it was opened it would have pleased you to have seen the pleasure given by its contents, including your lovely tidies. Mrs. Elmslie was eager as a girl, settling where the different pictures were to be hung, jumping up on chairs, and keeping us up beyond our usual hour for retiring, for she could not bear to leave the picture-question unsettled. We had consultation, trying this place and that place on the walls, trying to balance sides and keep all things straight. For the angel-lady likes to have everything pretty.... It seems to me as if both England and America had sent their cream to India. But then Amritsar is a specially favoured place.... As is natural where the Missionaries are first-rate, there is a great deal of leaven working amongst the heathen.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Dec. 23.
‘Though I posted a letter to your sweet Mother only yesterday, perhaps I had better tell you of my visit to the Zenana of —— whilst it is fresh in my mind. Dear C., Miss H., and myself went to-day to visit this Muhammadan house. It is a handsome one, in the midst of fine park-like grounds; and from the lofty verandah we had a better view of part of our city than I have seen before.
‘The Muhammadan Sahib has three wives. I suppose that they were the three middle-aged or elderly native women who sat on a bed; the other five women present, old or young, may have been servants; but one of them, a handsome girl, with very dashing nose-ring, and eyelids blackened on the edges, native-fashion, shook hands with us as well as served us. There were a fair number of free-and-easy little dark children playing about. The eldest is C.’s pupil; and one of the first things done was to hear her repeat her part in a kind of catechism—Christian, of course.
‘One of the ladies smoked a hookah; had it been even invisible, we should have been made sensible of its presence by an occasional bubble-bubble sound, and then a perfume—to our minds by no means odoriferous. Another lady had her teeth horridly blackened by what she had been chewing; but, generally speaking, the natives’ teeth are[208] very nice and white.... I showed off my beautiful chatelaine, your dear Father’s gift, which I think pleased; and Miss H. showed hers, which is quite different in style. You must not suppose that this was a mere visit of amusement.... No, we had Bible-reading and hymn-singing; and afterwards C. was evidently holding a religious discussion with the elder lady.
‘Dec. 24.—I find that only two of the ladies were wives of the Sahib; the third was somebody’s relation.
‘Mr. Clark[34] approves of my Oriental tale, only he wishes some names altered. He is going to give me a list of names, Muhammadan and Hindu.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Christmas Day 1875.
‘I was awakened in the night by the Indian Waits, children singing in the language of the Sikhs ... one of their native airs. My little Ayah came up to me and shook hands when she entered my room early in the morning,—is not this the great Day, and is not she a Christian?—so she may indeed rejoice and be glad in it. I have prepared little presents for the dear ladies here, except C., to whom I gave a wedding-present yesterday. I will pause now, and go on later in the day, when I may better describe our Indian Christmas. 6? A.M. Orphans singing hymns at the top of their voices. They are evidently very happy. They are to have a Christmas tree.
‘Later.—I have come home from church, from receiving the Holy Communion. Thank God, the sheaves are being gathered in! What would dear Henry Martyn not have given to have seen what I saw to-day? So many Natives remained to share the holy Feast, men and women, young and old,—in our little church there must have been nearly if not quite fifty communicants. I received the Cup from the hand of a Native. I felt the scene quite affecting. It is a great privilege to be in India, and specially now, when the blades are ripening,—though, oh, how few in number, compared with the Muhammadans and heathen!
‘After church and luncheon I went to the Orphanage Garden, to help sweet Margaret[35] to deck the Christmas Tree. In less than half an hour the little guests are to be summoned to receive their dolls, tops, books, etc. I expect a charming scene.’