A.D. 1877-1878
A BROWN AND WHITE ‘HAPPY FAMILY’
Though Miss Tucker had by no means fallen in love with Dalhousie during her former visit to the Hills, she was again this August to be, as she said, ‘almost trapped’ into going there. Mrs. Elmslie, albeit in need of rest, could not leave a child in the Orphanage who was dangerously ill, perhaps dying; and Miss Wauton, worn out with heavy toil through the very hot weather, imperatively needed change, yet was in no condition to manage the long distance alone. Miss Tucker therefore resolved to go with her; and the two started off in company, Miss Tucker in her duli, Miss Wauton on a pony. They travelled slowly, with frequent rests by the way, so as to extend the usual two days’ hard journeying into six days of easy advance. On August 22, before leaving Amritsar, Miss Tucker wrote:—
‘Man has been described as a “laughing animal,” “a cooking animal,” to distinguish him from the lower creation. I would suggest “a packing animal,” for neither birds nor beasts—except the elephant—have anything to do with filling trunks! What an amount of packing I have had in the last two and a half years! Of course, these thoughts are suggested by my present business of packing for the Hills.
‘One must be prepared for all sorts of weather, for burning heat, bitter cold, or furious rain. One may have all three in the course of a week. Then one must prepare—as for an attack of cavalry—for a[268] dinner-invitation from the Commissioner’s wife. One is pretty certain that one will meet some worldly folk, who are inclined to think Natives “niggers,” Converts hypocrites, and Missionaries half-rogues and half-fools; so that one must not “appear as a scrub.” I do not wonder that the weary Emily wants to keep in the jungle as long as she can. Ah! if we could but keep in the jungle all the time, I need not pack up my “Conference Cream,”[69] nor my faithful moire antique. There would be some fun in meeting with a cheetah or a hyena,—I should not like a bear unless there were a kud[70] between us,—but I shrink from the world and his wife. However, Missionaries, like sailors, are bound for all weathers....
‘If it won’t shock dear ——, I think that I must give you a laugh over a funny little story, which was told me the other day as a true one. A very attractive Scotch clergyman was teased in the same way that the Energetic used to be. At last a—one can’t call her lady, actually wrote to offer him “her purse, her hand, and her heart.” The cream of the story is the clergyman’s reply. He wrote to his silly sheep: “I advise you to give your heart to God, your purse to the poor, and your hand to him who asks for it.” Was it not clever? I hope that the lady profited by the pastoral rebuke, though she can hardly have enjoyed it....
‘Thanks for the paper about the Telephone. But I hope that we may not hear our Queen’s voice by it, if it is to sound like a trombone.’
From Dinaira, a place some twenty-two miles short of Dalhousie, she wrote:—
‘There is something more soothing to the eye in the softly wooded mountains in which we are now cradled, than in the cold, stern white peaks, seen higher up. The great want is water. One sees the rough, almost precipitous, channels of mountain torrents, but there is not a drop trickling in them. The land suffers sorely from drought. The early crops were partly spoilt by furious storms, the second crops are threatened with destruction by the failure of the rains. A peasant saw me yesterday very slowly getting down rather a rough bit, and with kindly courtesy came and offered me the help of his brown hand. He almost immediately afterwards began to speak of the want of rain; it is the uppermost thought amongst the poor, dear people....
‘I feel that I was rather ungrateful last year about Dalhousie.[269] Though I do not like the place much, it is a very great blessing to have it.’
‘Dalhousie, Sept. 3, 1877.—This ought to be a good day for letter-writing; for it is like an exaggerated November day in England: rain more violent; wind more furious.... I amuse our ladies by my indignation at one of our best hands, Miss H. of J——, deserting us for matrimony. Merrily laughed the bonny blue-bell at my proposition that, in addition to the fine of ￡100 imposed on Mission Miss Sahibas who marry within three years of coming out, it should be part of the contract that they should have all their hair shaved off on the day before the wedding. Don’t you approve, dear? In the Strathclyde, beside Miss F. and myself, there were four Mission Miss Sahibas going out for the first time. One of the four has gone home, invalided; two have married; only my noble Miss G. remains in the field! It is a great deal worse when experienced Missionaries marry; we do not know how to supply their places....
‘You must not fancy that we have always weather like this in the hills. When we first arrived, and for days afterwards, the weather was lovely, July in the middle of the day, October at night. The scenery was glorious. I hope, however, that I may get back next week. I intend to travel rapidly, as I travel alone.’
A few days afterwards saw Miss Tucker back in Amritsar; and later in the same month she went all the long journey to Murree, giving herself only six days of absence, to be present at the wedding of her nephew, Louis Tucker. Thence she again returned to Amritsar. Exciting events had happened at Amritsar during even that absence, in the shape of fresh Baptisms and fresh persecutions. In October she was once more off on a short itinerating tour through villages. A letter written on the first of October refers to the Batala work, of which her heart was full.
‘Mr. Beutel told me with regret that Mr. Baring, on account of low funds, had desired him on Nov. 1st to stop two village-schools near Batala, in which 50 or 60 boys are receiving instruction. I had my Laura’s ￡5—grown to ￡5, 10s.—half of her handsome gift, of which Margaret has the other half. This will keep the village schools going till April; and by that time, please God, others may send help.... People do not seem to care for village schools. Government[270] does not. And the people—our dear Natives—are so anxious to have them. The nicest boys seem the village ones.’
An undated letter belongs, probably, to about this time.
‘I think I mentioned to you that a troop of guests invaded my poor Margaret almost in the middle of the night, 3 A.M. She had too much bustle, too much discomfort. She fell ill, as was almost to be expected; but I left her up again, and going to work. When she was lying on her sick-bed,—lovely she looked, with her soft pink cheeks, and her long golden hair hanging loose,—I went and had a chat with her. She has had too few chats with those whom she loves since going to live at the Orphanage.... Says Margaret, “What caps are you going to take to your nephew’s?” “Oh, killing caps,” said I. Perhaps they would look killing if Margaret wore them! She would not believe me,—her playful banter, her arch smile, so reminded me of my Laura! Margaret went on exactly as you would have done. She was certain that my velvet cap must want a new ruche; would I send over a whole set of caps for her to improve? It would amuse her, she said. The Doctor came in, when I was having one of my playful chats with Margaret; and he highly approved of my giving her a little laugh.... She called me “sparkling champagne.” There is a fine name for a Missionary Miss Sahiba! Fancy my discovering one day that, in her crowded little dwelling, she had so emptied herself of needful comforts, that she had not so much as a basin to wash in. If she wished to wash her hands, she must stoop or kneel to perform the ablution in her bath! Off went I to the city, and procured a toilette-set for our house in Batala, which Margaret has the use of till we go,—when I hope that she will return to the Bungalow.’
The above must have been written before her visit to Murree, already mentioned. By the middle of October she was on the point of again starting for Batala; and she wrote cheerily beforehand, on the 15th:—
‘Many, many thanks to my own sweet Laura for the pretty sketch of what was once to me a very happy home. I am so pleased that your hand has not lost its skill. I am in great hopes that, like myself, you may have renewed vigour as you walk down the incline of life’s hill. My companions here wonder at me. In another month I shall have been two years in India,—only two months, journeys included, spent in the Hills; all the remaining twenty-two in the[271] Plains, with one peculiarly unhealthy season, and another of unusually prolonged heat;—and yet I am just as strong and well as if I had been just sauntering about an English garden all the time....
‘I am considered to have a wonderful constitution; and as my Laura is my own sister, I always hope that she has one also....
‘Take no fears about Batala. Fear is another thing with which Missionaries should have nothing to do. It seems to me that English folk in India rather change in character. I never imagined the effect of being in a land like this, where you belong to a conquering race. I must not just say that no one seems afraid of anything, for that would be an exaggeration; but physical courage seems to come quite naturally. Those who might be timid girls in England fearlessly travel at night, quite alone—save for the company of wild-looking natives,—through lonely mountain-passes, perhaps through lightning and storm, with the possibility of meeting cheetahs, bears, and snakes. I feel no more afraid of being at Batala, with or without Mr. Beutel, than you would of sleeping in a London hotel.’
FROM MRS. ELMSLIE TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Oct. 18, 1877.
‘I have just returned from seeing our darling off to Batala. I know you will be sorry to hear she has gone there again; and Miss Wauton, Mr. Clark, and I have tried hard to prevent it,—in vain! She thinks it her duty to go, and she makes it her pleasure. How we miss her here, I cannot tell you. She is beloved and honoured by rich and poor, young and old. She is our Sunshine. Her bright fancies, her quick perceptions, her wise suggestions, are invaluable to all of us in the Mission.
‘While she frets over her want of power in speaking Urdu and Panjabi, we are rejoicing, not only in her power of writing for the people, but in her wonderful perception of the national character, her insight into the weaknesses and also into the virtues of our Native friends, Christian and heathen. Her loving, unselfish ways are wonderfully soothing and sustaining; and life has seemed to me a different thing since God brought her to us.
‘She has been wonderfully free of fever during the past year; and the excitability which used to make me anxious has quite passed away. I think she has been looking quite lovely of late; the expression of her dear face has been so restful, so sweet, so angel-like. She has been a little less thin too, and has been wearing more[272] becoming caps and bonnets. We find it necessary to look after her in such sublunary things; and many a laugh she has at our anxiety about her appearance. You asked me to tell you of anything she ever needs; and I think you may like to know that she has no intermediate dress for everyday use; nothing between the dark green cashmere and a very pale kind of Chinese silk.
‘A light material of a rather dark grey colour, nicely made up with a tunic bodice and belt, would be very useful to her. But what would she say to me, if she thought I had written this? Another thing is a feather pillow. Such a thing is not to be had in India; and her dear head is, I am sure, often tired. We put our only one into her gari just now, hoping she would not notice it. Off went her coach, and we were so pleased to think it was with her, but she found it out before reaching the end of the Avenue, and sent it back. If you could send one with a coloured cover, it could do either on bed or sofa; and I think it might be well to put her name on it in indelible ink, for she is so very likely to give away such a desirable thing....’
C. M. T. TO MRS. E——.
‘Batala, Nov. 15, 1877.
‘Where do you think the gay Mission Miss Sahiba has been to-day? Never consider mine a monotonous life! Why, I have been to a fair, a mela, as they call it here. I had never thought of a lady’s going to a heathen fair; but two of our Mission ladies are here for ten days, to conduct examinations in the schools. Our valuable Miss Wauton said that she would like to go to the mela. Of course, I would not let her go without a lady companion; so we both accompanied Mr. Beutel in his light covered cart, plunging over ruts in the kachcha road in fine style.
‘It was a pretty sight. The weather was delicious. Numbers of people in their picturesque costumes were threading their way to the village of A——, white being the prevailing colour of the men’s costumes, gay red that of the women’s, with a fair sprinkling of green, a touch of yellow and blue, and here and there a grand display of glittering gold. But we did not go just to look at the folk, or to buy fairings either. Emily and I went armed with books and pictures, to try and sow a little good seed amongst the women, whilst Mr. Beutel and the two Catechists preached to the men.
‘Mr. Beutel found a shady place for us, and Emily and I tried to gather women around us. The men were curious, and wanted to see and hear also. We could not secure an exclusively feminine audience.[273] It was a Hindu mela; and not many Muhammadans seemed to be present, which made matters easier for us.... No one objected to hearing as much about the Blessed Saviour as we could tell them. Emily speaks Punjabi famously; I have only about a thimble-full of it; so I chiefly listened to Emily, and held the umbrella to shield her from the sun.
‘It was interesting to look at the faces, when Emily, with admirable fluency, told the story of the Prodigal Son. At this time her audience seemed to be principally Sikh men. They crouched upon the ground around us, and listened with hearty interest. Nowhere, either from men or women, did we meet with any rudeness; nor did any one seem vexed with our describing what our Lord had done for us....
‘The way in which Batala is opening out is marvellous. I go from Zenana to Zenana, and have not by any means finished paying all my first visits!! Our Bible-woman thinks that about thirty Zenanas are open to her. I doubt that nearly so many are open in the large mother-stations of Amritsar or Lahore. We ought to have two or three clever, active, strong Miss Sahibas here, instead of one elderly lady, who is slow at both learning and teaching.
‘The two ladies from Amritsar are delighted with Batala. To-day is, I think, the anniversary of my arrival in India; so I have entered upon my third year! My Missionary life has, on the whole, been a very happy one....’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Dec. 13, 1877.—The overland mail was particularly long in arriving this time. I hoped that it would bring me something particularly nice; and what should come to-day but your dear loving letter, and the first halves of your munificent contribution to our schools! How very kind and liberal my Laura is! I had been speaking to Mr. Beutel but yesterday of those two village schools, which would—from the lowness of funds—have been dropped, but for your last handsome gift. I was asking Mr. Beutel how far your Rs.55 would carry them on. He replied—till past the beginning of March. Beyond that there was no provision for them at all.
‘How delighted Mr. Beutel will be, on his return from Amritsar, to hear that a bountiful supply has come in! I think it better to apply your gift to the village schools, than to the girls’ schools in Batala. The latter, I think, excite more interest, and are not so likely to be in want of funds. These poor village schools—since for retrenchment sake they were cast off—are like waifs and strays. Government does not care for village schools; the School Society cannot afford to[274] keep up half the desirable number. Mr. Beutel often receives applications for new village schools, and is so much interested in them that he and our Catechist have one between them....
‘We are to have a grand tamasha here at Christmas-time. Mr. Beutel is going to gather, not only the boys of our Batala Mission School, but boys from village schools. Of course, this is not merely to give enjoyment, though the enjoyment will probably be great, but to bring more forcibly before the lads the tidings of great gladness. We are a little puzzled about the poor little girls; as their cruel and absurd pardah rules prevent the possibility of gathering them all together, even in the Bible-woman’s house.’
The beginning of 1878 found Miss Tucker at Batala; and though once more for a short time her work there was to be broken through, the spring of this same year, as explained earlier, would see an end of the difficulty which had attended her permanent residence in the place. The letter to her sister, written on January 5th, is all through a particularly characteristic one. A large amount will bear quotation.
‘The warm dress which you have so very kindly procured for me has not yet arrived; but I should not wonder if it were here on Monday or Tuesday.... We have been guessing of what colour it will be. Mrs. J. and I both fixed upon grey, Mrs. Beutel purple, and Mr. Beutel brown. Perhaps after all it will turn out to be blue. I hope that I may have it in time to wear at B.’s baptism, which I do hope may take place to-morrow week, if some clergyman will only come from Amritsar. To this baptism I look forward with joyful interest. B.’s white dress is probably ready now. We like converts to wear pure white at baptism. I intend to give J., the Bible-woman, a new skirt to wear on the occasion; and I should like to wear something perfectly fresh too....
‘I was in a Zenana to-day, which it is always a mental effort to visit; but it is very interesting. Instead of talking to the women there, I am certain to have one or two men, descendants of the famous Guru Nanak, who engross the conversation with me almost entirely.
‘The religion of the fine old fellow who is the principal talker is a regular puzzle. He talks Panjabi; so you may imagine how very difficult it is for me to understand him; and he wants to make me understand. I do my best to do so. This is what I gather of his[275] views. S. is not a Muhammadan; he says that he is a Hindu; though by his birth he ought to be a Sikh. He reverences Guru Nanak,[71] very properly, but thinks that Guru Nanak has given religious tenets such as I am certain that he never did. We have no reason to suppose that the excellent Guru had ever heard of our Saviour. But S. propounds doctrines that are amazing from the lips of a Hindu. He believes in the one true God. He believes that a time of great war and trouble will come; and that then Isa Masih (Jesus Christ) will come like a flash of lightning, and become the Ishar (Divine Lord) of all the Earth.
‘I had taken a Gurmukhi Testament with me. Neither of the men seemed disposed to read it. I thought that perhaps neither of them could; so I opened it myself, and chose a pretty easy place. I had never read the Gurmukhi character in a Zenana before. My old Sikh—for I cannot help considering him one—listened very attentively, correcting my pronunciation now and then. I did not venture to read much. Then he took the Testament himself, and began to read it in regular Sikh fashion, in a kind of measured chant, as if it were poetry. It was clear that he could read; so I left the precious Volume as a loan in that house. May God bless it!...’
‘Jan. 9, 1878.—Hurrah! the box has come! It is in process of being opened.
‘Was I not a real witch? Did I not guess a grey dress? What an elegant, ladylike, quiet costume! And so warm and comfortable!... When I opened my tempting box, I thought of the dear fingers which had been employed in putting it up! How very, very kind you have been! So many, many thanks! And what loves of cushions! You have remembered my weakness for cushions. Soft, warm, and so pretty!... I am obliged to go to Amritsar, just for a few days, as Mr. Clark and Margaret cannot come here; and we must have a serious, prayerful discussion about what is really very important, and too complicated for letters.... I see my own path clearly. I intend, please God, to stick by Batala. My friends will not hear of my staying alone.... May God guide us! Batala should NOT be abandoned.’
‘Jan. 23.—I have come back from Amritsar, with nothing settled, except that the Beutels are to go to Amritsar about the middle of March. The Batala affairs have been much talked over.... I earnestly hope that I may not have a third time to retreat from Batala, for lack of a companion. We are beating about for one, but[276] it seems a hard thing to find, we are so undermanned. Every one seems to acknowledge the great importance of Batala....
‘As for its being unhealthy, I regard it as more healthy than either Amritsar or Lahore. The tank is a lovely tank, with no bad smell; and when it is very full I can see the current of water flowing in on one side and out at the other. Fishes live and jump about in it; and birds delight in its bright waters. I have a better chance of keeping well through the hot weather here than at the bungalow at Amritsar. This house is far better built, with thick walls, lofty rooms, etc. But none of my Missionary friends at Amritsar will listen to my staying here alone. So I must just wait, and see what is God’s Will. He can send me a companion, if He sees right to do so.’
‘Feb. 7.—Perhaps you will be glad to hear that all our attempts to find a companion for me at Batala have failed. Poor —— must go back to England; it was a mistake ever to have sent out so delicate a lady. Miss —— with whom I was in treaty, is going home too. Mrs. —— has been secured for another station.... Perhaps I have been too ready to say to myself, “There is no place on earth where I can be so useful as at Batala.” I must come down a little, which is wholesome. But I have not any sense of defeat; no, thank God,—every visit to Batala, it seems as if fresh ground had been gained. The waves retreat again and again, while the tide is advancing.... I believe that a far better spirit, a spirit of kindness towards us, a lessening of prejudice, a most encouraging readiness to listen, is now spreading in Batala.[72] Maulvi Z. felt the difference. B—n feels the difference. I believe that there will be real regret at our leaving Batala. Dear B—n!... I had brought for B—n’s children two gay little coverlets.... B—n took them and wrapped them round the plump little girls as chaddahs. I think that he was quite pleased....
‘Oh, did I tell you—I told somebody—about my other Brahmin; the elderly man who prays by the side of our tank? I have repeatedly spoken to him in my indifferent Panjabi; and I spoke to my nephew, R. Bateman, about him, when he was here for two days. So on one of the mornings I see my nephew seated beside my Brahmin close to the tank, with only a handkerchief round his delicate head. His old Auntie soon supplied him with an umbrella. R. Bateman gave me afterwards an account of the Brahmin’s strange view of religion.[277] One can hardly imagine a mind in which the whole visible creation is regarded as God. The Brahmin had no idea of sin; he had never seen it, he said,—as if it were a thing like a stone or a tree!
‘I saw the poor fellow by the tank yesterday morning, and went out and spoke to him. I invited him to come to morning prayers. Rather to my surprise, the dear man really did come. He must be a wondrously meek Brahmin; for he seated himself on the floor amongst the servants, labourers, etc., apparently quite forgetful of the tremendous difference between their castes and his own. Mr. Beutel makes morning family prayers almost like a regular service. He not only reads the Bible, but expounds. I had asked him, for my Brahmin’s sake, to make his address as Punjabish as possible; so he stuck in Punjabi words where he could. My Brahmin looked very attentive. He has a sort of childlike readiness to listen, looking full at you when you speak; and his face quite brightening as if with pleasure when you talk of a Saviour. It must be all so strangely new to him! I wonder if he will come again....
‘To-day I went to two new houses,—I have such a number to go to! When I sang of the Saviour’s invitation, to a Hindu, not only did she seem to listen attentively, but I saw her wiping moist eyes.
‘Margaret and E. Clay intend coming here the day after to-morrow for two days.... I must not dwell on parting with Margaret.[73] I rejoice in the happiness which I hope she will enjoy. She has worked long and very hard.... No doubt there are some wise and merciful reasons for sending me away from Batala.’
‘Batala, Feb. 14.—Another curious phase in my strange, strange life! I told you or dear Leila of the idea of the Boys’ Orphanage being brought here. That idea was knocked on the head; but another is taking such shape that it is likely enough that I shall find myself, not exactly planted in, but on the top of—and underneath also—another boys’ school! The Rev. F. Baring, the Bishop of Durham’s son, has fallen in love with Batala, and has set his heart on buying this house from Government, for a Boarding-school for Christian Native Boys.
‘We have no wish, however, to lose our hold of our beautiful palace as a station for the Zenana Mission; so it is likely that, if Mr. Baring succeed in buying Anarkalli, he will allow our Mission to rent from him, on easy terms, that part of the house which we now occupy (by we I mean myself), with the addition of the drawing-room and part at least of the grand dining-room. Dear, good Babu Singha and his[278] wife and family will probably live in another part of the palace, he being Under-Superintendent of the School!!
‘Here’s a brown and white Happy Family for you! Natives and Europeans can hardly chum together; yet it would be absurd to have three cooks for us. The present idea is for Mr. Baring and me to chum, till I am joined by any young lady. Mr. Baring ... is quite happy with me, because of my venerable age, which I have found such an advantage in India. He asked me to-day to have him as a nephew! How rich I am in these dharm-nephews,—to say nothing of the real ones! Now I have five; one of them being my Afghan, and the others four of the most valuable clergymen in the Panjab Mission.[74] Henry, my Afghan boy,[75] you must know. He is the youngest of all my dharm-nephews.
‘Now, what does my sweet Laura say to my plans—and my family? I like you to know all my nephews.... I have more nieces even than nephews; but you have had enough of my dharm-family for the present. Mr. Clark wanted me to take him in too. If he had asked to be a brother, I should have welcomed him; but I really could not have as a nephew one to whom we look up as a head-pastor, a kind of bishop! I don’t think that my nephews should be more than forty years old.’
‘Amritsar, Feb. 23, 1878.—Here I am again in dear old Amritsar.... I know that you will be curious to hear how the Batala school plan progresses. Well, we are waiting to hear what our saintly new Bishop says to it. In a matter of such importance it is right to wait for the advice of such an Apostolic man.... I wait passively. There is plenty of work for me at Amritsar, more than I can do at all properly....
‘You see, Laura darling, there are quantities of Aunts in England; but an old Auntie is a rare bird in India, and therefore in request. I am like a hen with such a large brood!
‘Dearest Margaret will be much missed. Many, many, both English and Natives, love her.... The Native Christians have quietly subscribed for a shawl for her Mother, as a token of their grateful love. I think the Natives very affectionate. People talk of their being ungrateful; but those who talk so have perhaps never earned their gratitude. If you love them, they love you! They are very sensitive, both to kindness and to unkindness....’
[279]
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘March 4, 1878.
’ ... Missionary work can be just as truly done in England as in India; but only a few of the dear workers can—without forsaking other duties—come out so far as the Panjab. Those who come here should be strong also, physically as well as mentally suited for the peculiar work and trying climate....
‘There are plenty of poor in Amritsar, as well as Batala. I went to Mrs. Clark’s yesterday, at the large Mission House. In her garden were quantities of poor folk; between three and four hundred, counting children. A Catechist preached to them first; and then a great number of chapatties, a kind of thick flat cake, of very simple make, with a small quantity of dal,[76] was handed round and distributed. Adults had two chapatties each; children one. Mr. Clark had had a Brahmin to cook, for Hindu beggars would not otherwise have liked the food, and Muhammadans do not object to a Brahmin’s cooking. Station-people subscribe to help in the distribution of this food....
‘Mr. Clark and my new nephew, Mr. Baring, have gone to Lahore to see our new Bishop.[77] He is known to be such a saint, that thanksgivings have been offered again and again for his appointment.’
TO MRS. J. BOSWELL.
‘March 4, 1878.
‘Is poor, dear —— going to remain in the same house, so full to her of sad memories? People feel so differently on this subject. Some cling to the spot where they have loved and sorrowed,—others fly from it. I should never like to cross the threshold of No. 3 again. I am rather pleased that it has another number now. There is no 3 Upper Portland Place now.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘March 8.—I can fancy the request to have my letters directed to Batala has excited a little curiosity. It really seems likely that our comical arrangement will be carried out; and that I and my nephew will find ourselves chumming together in the midst of a Boys’ School!!
‘The Panjab is eager to have a boys’ school for young Christian Native gentlemen. The Bishop approves. Our boys are to pay[280] Rs.5 a month. This may cover food expenses, but of course not the expense of first-class teaching. Batala is to have this, the nucleus of a future Panjabi Eton or Harrow (if it please God to prosper it), the training-place for our clergymen, lawyers, and merchants. I am not to be Matron. I am the sole representative—European—of our Ladies’ Zenana Society; but it would be strange if I lived in the same building with the dear boys, and took no interest in them. It is probable enough that I shall find myself playing at Oxford or Cambridge, or giving a music-lesson to young Panjabis. A comical idea suggests itself. I have a large family of new Nephews and Nieces in India. Am I to have a whole troop of brown Grandnephews in perspective!!! Don’t fancy them ugly savages. Many will probably be winsome enough,—bright, attractive, and courteous.
‘Good Babu Singha and his excellent wife will probably be in the house, but not chum with Europeans....
‘Only imagine my darling Laura dreaming of coming to Egypt to meet me!! But I doubt her being up to such a journey; and mine would be about as formidable a one. But the dream is one of “old,” not “young Love”!’
‘March 15.—Now, darling, to answer your objections to my spending the hot season at Batala.... I doubt that the risk to health from climate will be at all greater at Batala than at damp Amritsar. Always remember, love, that at the former place I am high above the ground, while at the latter I am on it. This makes an immense difference. The large inner room at Batala would be cooler than any room here....
‘I intend to take my large harmonium to Batala. It may be of immense use there. I suppose that I shall have charge of all the music; for I do not believe that either my Bhatija (nephew) or the Singhas know anything about it. It is of immense importance. Mr. R. told me yesterday that the Rev. C., perhaps the most valuable convert in all the Panjab (he is a Bengali), was first brought to Christ by listening to Church music. It carried his soul away! I wish that I were more competent for the charge; but I must hope and pray that God may bless my little attempts to serve Him by music. I am so thankful that age has not affected my voice; at least, it does not seem to me to have done so.’
The latter fact would tell little. People in advancing years are seldom able to judge of their own voices.[281] Others, however, speak of the unusual manner in which Miss Tucker’s voice lasted. It had never been one of much power or sweetness; but she had always had a sensitive ear, and had sung well; and to the end she still sang in tune, even when the voice itself became cracked with age.
One other point in the above may be noted. Miss Tucker was throughout anxious to make the best of her beloved Batala; and undoubtedly this was a case of ‘making the best.’ If Amritsar was damp, so also must Batala have been,—at all events, in the seasons of heavy floods, when it was often impossible to get about, from the state of the roads. There were times when Anarkalli was all but a veritable island, in the midst of a kind of lake. This could hardly be regarded as healthy, while it lasted.
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
March 28, 1878.
‘I am to have my “pen,” about which my dharm-nieces joke a great deal. Mera Bhatija[78] is going to cut a slice off his magnificent dining-room, to make a cool retreat for the Auntie. As a bamboo-screen right across would be very unsightly, if seen in its bareness, I am going to have mine covered on both sides. Fancy a screen, twenty feet long and six feet high! I have been very fortunate in securing a most suitable cloth for the cover. A bedroom chintz would have looked quite out of character, but I have bought a native cloth, with an Oriental pattern, very tapestry-like, old-fashioned conventional flowers and birds on a blue ground. It is such a pattern as one might see in a picture, and will not destroy the effect of the Oriental hall. Every one who saw it at once fixed upon it as the thing....
‘Emily has ordered eight chairs for my rooms,—I had two of my own,—and your beloved Mother knows that I am splendidly supplied with cushions; such dainty cushions! I like my rooms to look rather nice, as young Panjab may get an extra polish, if admitted to an English lady’s drawing-room.’