A.D. 1881-1882
CLOUDS AFTER SUNSHINE
The greater part of 1881 passed much as 1880 had passed; Miss Tucker continuing to live in the old palace, busy and happy among her Indian friends, and cheery with the boys, having no second European within easy reach. But in the spring came an unexpected joy. News arrived that her dharm-nephew, the Rev. Francis Baring, was engaged to be married to her dearly-loved friend, Mrs. Elmslie, and that the two might be expected in Batala before the close of the year. Could Charlotte Tucker have had the shaping of events for herself, for her friends, and for Batala, one can well imagine that this is precisely what she would have chosen to take place. In the opening of the year, however, she had no idea of what would soon come.
‘Jan. 5, 1881.—In looking over my records of 1880, I find that in the nine, or rather eight months, of Mera Bhatija’s absence,—as I was away myself for a month,—I have given nearer seven hundred than six hundred teas to boys or young men. The expense is trifling; it seems as if a couple of pounds of tea lasted for ever; but all these little marks in my book represent a good deal of innocent enjoyment, not, I hope, unmixed with profit. All the boys, save two lately come, have again and again sat at my table, chatted or played with me.’
‘Jan. 11.—I was with a poor weeping Bibi yesterday. Her heart was very heavy. She told me that her husband had forsaken her; he has gone away and married another. When I asked her in the presence of her companions who Christ is, she replied, “God’s[345] Son.” “Why did He come from Heaven?” “To save us.” I wish that this forlorn one would throw herself on His love, and come into the Church. I read God’s Word to another Bibi to-day, who is in the same position,—desolate, forsaken, ready to listen. A third case is somewhat similar. You would think it comparatively easy for these forsaken ones to come out; but even to them the difficulties are immense. Where the husband is tolerably kind, the difficulty is next to insuperable; for marriage by Muhammadan law,—and I have lately been shocked to hear, by English law also,—is dissolved by Baptism. This is dead against St. Paul’s directions as to the duty of believing wives towards unbelieving husbands; and you can imagine how it complicates the difficulties of Zenana visitors!... If one would express in one word the Missionary’s worst perplexity, I think that I would put down the word “marriage.”’
‘Feb. 5, 1881.—I went to a wedding yesterday, one of the silly child-marrying affairs, with which the Hindus delight to ruin themselves and run into debt. Poor —— quite agreed with me that it is very foolish; but he and his relatives cannot resist dastur,[95] so both my kahars receive next to nothing for five months, to work out their debt to me. I had to do rather a difficult thing for an old lady, in order to get to the wedding-party, climb a real ladder—not very good—of eight rounds. I am not as agile as I used to be, and had to go up and up, and then down and down, very slowly and cautiously. To parody Byron’s lines—
‘“The feat performed I—boots it well or ill,
Since not to tumble down is something still....”
‘May 10.
‘I thought that my birthday would pass over very quietly and silently, as it fell on a Sunday.... But my Native friends would not let me go without my birthday tamasha, merely delaying it till the Monday. I could not regret it, for certainly it was one of the most gratifying evenings that I have ever enjoyed. We had our feast, given by the Singhas, on the top of their house, with the glorious dark-blue sky as our ceiling, and our lamp the beautiful moon.... I was presented with a Batala scarf or chaddah, for which my dear boys had subscribed. A wonderful chaddah it is, with borders of red and gold. I thought by moonlight that the colour was grey.... In the morning I saw the exceedingly gay green, of which I enclose a thread.... It is precious to me, as a token of affection.
[346]
‘The Native Christians not unfrequently subscribe to give a parting gift to a Missionary whom they love, when starting for England; but I suppose they thought that, in my case, if they waited for that they would never give me anything, and that it was no harm to present me with something for not going away! Mr. K. was rather astonished at the wild bhajans, which he declares are all on one note—but that is a mistake—but he says that they helped to cure his earache; a very curious and novel effect, which I never knew before to belong to a bhajan!...
‘I think, love, that these little particulars will amuse you. I write playfully, but the real undermost feeling in my heart is that of humble gratitude to Him from Whom all blessings flow,—the love of true and God-fearing hearts being one of the most precious of those blessings.’
TO MRS. J. BOSWELL.
‘March 17, 1881.
‘The Hindus appear to be particularly silly at this time of the year. They throw about coloured water, so as to make almost all the white dresses of their companions look dirty and disreputable. My poor —— came particularly badly off, for he not only had three times his raiment dirtied, but his hand rather severely hurt. Said I to him, “Do you think such a religion is from God?” “It is devilish,” he frankly assented. “A devilish religion; a devilish deed.” “Why do you not leave it?” The poor fellow was silent. It is not faith in his nonsensical religion that holds him back, but love of social ties and surroundings.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘April 13.
‘Our good pastor Sadiq and I had a long talk together to-day. We two almost, as it were, form a little party by ourselves; we are regular old-fashioned Panjabis, something like Saxons after the Norman Conquest. Sadiq highly approves of this school, because we don’t Anglicise the boys.... But the Anglicising tide runs too fast for Sadiq and me. We get spoilt by Batala, where there are no Europeans or Eurasians.... This is a grand transition time in India; and the Conservatism, which I drank in at old No. 3, remains in me like an instinct now. I would keep everything unchanged that is not wrong or foolish—and there is such a fearful amount of things that are wrong and foolish, that one might think that to get rid of them would give all occupation sufficient. But I know that I am old-fashioned, and live too much in one groove to be able to judge correctly.’
[347]
TO MRS. E——
‘July 29, 1881.
‘You have perhaps heard that I am to have a charming lady to be with me; for my adopted nephew, the Rev. F. H. Baring, is bringing out a lovely bride, one whom I know well, and whom I have been accustomed to call my Queen-Lily, because she is so tall and fair. I expect her to do Mission-work much better than I can; and will not our boys love her! They seem to have made up their minds that she is to be their mother; so she will have a fine large family to look after, thirty-seven boys, or more; some of them really not boys, but men. Rowland Bateman is to perform, or rather, I believe, has performed, the marriage service for his friend. We expect to have grand rejoicings here on the arrival of the happy pair. It was a feast to see the way in which the news of their Principal’s engagement was received by his boys.... There was such clapping and delight, that you might have thought all the boys were going to be married themselves!’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Sept. 4, 1881.
‘I visited to-day a poor mother who has lost a fine little boy. I seated myself amongst the mourners, and talked with the mother. What she said gave me a gleam of hope regarding the child of ten. He had till lately attended our Mission School, so of course had received religious instruction. He had the opportunity also of learning something in the Zenana, and knew Christian Hymns. His illness was very short; and what he said no one could understand; but, as his mother assured me more than once, “he smiled twice.” This seems but a sunbeam to build upon; yet as I have never known or heard of Muhammadans or Heathen smiling when about to die,—the death-smile seems exclusively Christian!—I cannot but hope that the dear little fellow had looked to the Saviour. I told the mother of the hope in my mind, and spoke to the weeping little brother also.’
‘Oct. 3.—It is a real pleasure to look forward to, that of welcoming the Barings back, and placing the reins in younger and stronger hands than my own. Not a giving up of work, please God, but a lightening of responsibility. How often we say or think, “Oh, we’ll leave that till the Padri Sahib comes.” He is to do the thinking and ordering and arrangement in his little bishopric. As for sweet, lovely Margaret, I expect to see her gentle influence bearing on all[348] sides. We are not likely to disagree, unless it be on the subject of who is to sing first, and who is to take the coveted second part.’
‘Peshawar, Oct. 18, 1881.—A large military station like Peshawar is rather a contrast to Batala. But, poor India! Where one sees less of the enemy attacking in one direction, we find him advancing in another. Over the Hindus and Muhammadans he throws the chains of Superstition, Idolatry, Self-righteousness,—he makes them choose a murderer instead of the Prince of Life. For the Europeans he has coldness, deadness, infidelity! I noticed at Church that but one man stayed to Holy Communion.’
‘Nov. 7.—I am so much stronger after my visit to Peshawar,—quite a different being. It must be a comfort to Babu Singha, who thought me ageing with wonderful rapidity. But at Peshawar I took a backward spring. I was more than six hours to-day on an expedition to the village of Urduhi, going in my duli; and I was very little tired,—quite ready for Henry VIII. and his six wives in the afternoon, and for Agamemnon and Achilles in the evening. It is amusing to go back to the old stories one read in one’s childhood.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Nov. 22, 1881.
‘The visit of the two Bishops,[96] Mr. Clark, and the Chaplain, Mr. Deedes, went off beautifully. Everybody seemed pleased with Batala; and the Bishop of Calcutta wrote such handsome things in the school-book, that I am sure dear Babu Singha was gratified. The Bishop of Calcutta is a striking-looking man; tall, with a simple, unaffected dignity.... He gives one the impression of both physical and intellectual strength, combined with true piety. As the vigorous, energetic practical man, he forms an interesting contrast to the fragile-looking, saintly Bishop of Lahore. Then Mr. Clark has a calm charm of his own,—described by a lad as “looking like an angel, with his beautiful white beard.” ...
‘Of course we had a feast. Then followed brief recitations from Shakespeare, and choruses. To-day the school was examined in Scripture, and pleased the Bishop. We had Divine Service, and an interesting, forcible sermon, well translated, sentence by sentence, by Mr. Clark. The Bishop of Calcutta afterwards went over the place, examining the boys’ beds, etc., struck at Native lads having such clean sheets, and at hearing that they were changed weekly. He kindly visited our poor sick M., who is much better, thank God,[349] though still—after six weeks—confined to bed. I gave my guests plenty to eat; and my bottle of wine held out bravely, two of the gentlemen preferring tea, while the wine-drinkers were very moderate. I had to manage a little to make my furniture suffice for four guests. There was a little borrowing, but not much. I put two of your sweet mother’s lovely tidies, quite fresh, over chair and sofa, to look elegant. I wore the pretty cap, trimmed with blue, and my graceful grey dress, both gifts from No. 31.[97]
‘The Bishop of Calcutta, before leaving, kindly put into my hand a note for 100 rupees. I asked him to what purpose I should apply it; he replied to whatever purpose I liked; so I at once decided on our City Mission School, our Batala Plough, which has almost come to the end of its means, and must on no account be suffered to drop through. I was very glad of the seasonable supply.
‘Now all the boys’ thoughts are turned to the reception of the dear Barings. The Natives take the whole affair into their own hands, I merely helping by paying for the refreshments. I see a wooden arch in course of erection, and hundreds—perhaps a thousand—little earthen lamps cumbering our hall. Perhaps the Bishops wondered what all those funny little concerns could be for. There are to be fireworks too; but I have nothing to do with either illumination or fireworks.’
Before the end of November Mr. and Mrs. Baring arrived, to be received lovingly by Charlotte Tucker, and enthusiastically, not by the boys alone, or even by the Christians alone, but by many of the people of Batala. On the 9th of December a letter went from Mrs. Baring home:—
‘My dear Mrs. Hamilton,—I have but few uninterrupted minutes, but long to send you at least a few lines, to assure you that your beloved sister is well. She gave us a most delightful welcome; and a very great joy it is to be with her. I thought her looking extremely white and thin, although not lacking in her wonted energy, when we first came. Now I think she is looking a little better; and we shall tenderly watch over her, and cherish her, so far as she will allow us; but I assure you it is very hard work to persuade her to reduce her work, or to increase her nourishment. I see that my best plan is quietly to put things in her way that may be strengthening, but not[350] to trouble her by pressing; and to ensure soups, puddings, etc., being all thoroughly nutritious, so that the amount she does take may all do her real good. And as to the work, I hope she will gradually let me have part of it, leaving herself more time for writing.
‘You will be pleased to see how the people love and honour her. The tahsildar[98] came one day to see us; and reverently bowing his head before her, he asked her to lay her hand upon it, and pray for him,—which she did, most earnestly asking that Heavenly light might be poured into his soul. I think she is very wise in her dealings with the Christians, but is apt to over-estimate some of the heathen,—and to cast precious “pearls before swine,” at too great an expense of her own time and strength. However, I am perhaps mistaken about this. We must pray that all her loving efforts may be abundantly blessed, and that she may be allowed the joy of seeing some fruit of her city labours. Among the boys she has been much blessed. I hope to write often, if you will kindly excuse my notes being hurried. Much love to dear Leila. Kindest remembrances to Mr. Hamilton.— Ever yours lovingly,
Margaret.’
One little touch of depression had appeared a few weeks earlier, in a letter written before the visit of the Bishops, wherein Miss Tucker alluded to a slight sketch or account of herself which had been inserted in a Missionary periodical. The tone of sadness was probably due to those long city labours, spoken of by Mrs. Baring, so few results of which could then be detected.
‘Nov. 16, 1881.— ... Last Sunday was my sixth Indian birthday; it fell on a Sunday, like my natural one. In 1880 I felt joyous on my Indian birthday. Somehow or other I had quite a different sensation this year. I felt so dissatisfied with myself,—my work seemed all sowing, and never reaping! Oh, what a false impression the —— gives of me! And Miss —— never published my refutation.... Do you remember the noble lines in “Camoens”—
‘“Praise misapplied
Is to the generous mind not callous grown
A burning cautery.”
‘I do not mean that I am burnt; but I feel like one breathing an unwholesome, sickly odour. Here is the Bishop of Calcutta wanting[351] to see me; he has probably been reading some painted description, and imagines me a highly capable and successful Missionary. O dear! O dear! If Miss —— had only published my honest, blunt letter!’
For once in this little fit of down-heartedness, she seems to have somewhat lost her usual balanced view of the comparative unimportance of seemingly successful ‘results.’ But if in all these years of toil Charlotte Tucker had never known depression, she would have been more than human. Even her brave and dauntless spirit had occasionally to pass under a cloud; more often, as years passed on, and strength decayed. This time it had been a very slight one; and the coming of her two dear friends had brought bright sunshine into her life.
Early in the next year another letter went to Mrs. Hamilton from the bride:—
‘Jan. 21, 1882.
‘Dearest Mrs. Hamilton,—I often want to have a chat with you,—so often! But now how impossible it is to go to the bright, home-like drawing-room at Leinster Square to have it! I must therefore just be content with pen and ink.
‘Your own beloved one writes so regularly that you hear all Batala news; but you do not, I fancy, hear much about her own dear self. She had certainly overdone before we came, and naturally, after six years of such continuous effort, in a climate such as this, she looks aged; but she is really just as full of brightness as ever, and her spirit is unflagging in its loving efforts for all around her. It is indeed a privilege and joy to have her here. Just at present she has a troublesome cold, caught by going out in the foggy morning of last week; but I trust it will soon yield to remedies. She is cosily resting in an arm-chair by the log-fire beside me, and has allowed me to take a little care of her to-day. The Native doctor comes every day to see the boys; so if anything is wrong with her we have him upstairs, to have a chat and prescribe. He is a very superior man, and she has great confidence in him.
‘She will have told you of the possibility of a Mrs. R. coming out to join us as a Medical Bible-woman.... Not only would she be very useful in the Zenanas, and in taking care of the little boys,[352] but also in taking a look-out for our dear one when we are absent.... My husband thinks of adding a room and dressing-room to The Aloes for Mrs. R. if she comes; so she would be quite near us.... Dinner is announced, so I must say farewell. The dear Auntie kindly consents to let a little low table be drawn close to the fire in the drawing-room for her to-day, as the dining-room is very cold in this weather....
C. M. T. TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Jan. 23, 1882.
‘It was rather naughty in Margaret to tell you that I had a cold; I did not know that she would be such a blab! However, she is not an easy person to be angry with. I think that dear kind Doctor, B. D., is quite pleased with me. He thinks that I have done more in the way of getting well in twenty-four hours than I should have done in a week had I been a Zenana lady, because I should not have obeyed him. The Natives are so very lazy about anything in illness which involves any trouble.... Dear Margaret and Francis take great care of me,—coddle me!’ (Then comes a pleased reference to the thought of the Medical Bible-woman for the next cold weather.) ‘It was such an utterly unexpected thing.... It is so nice to meet with a servant of a true Missionary spirit. Of course she will need taking care of herself. I told Francis that he should calculate on her pankah costing ￡5 a year. I do not need as much fanning as some Europeans do; but I count my pankah as that expense; and it would be folly to grudge it. You see, in the Panjab, if you wish to sleep at night, you must have a pankah in the hot weather even at midnight, unless you can sleep in the open air,—which I find impracticable in a boys’ school; and I do not see how good Mrs. R. could manage it....
‘Aunt L.’s book is very amusing, even to a grown-up person; there is such vigour in the attitudes, and the colouring is just suited for Orientals. I think of taking it with me when I pay my long-promised visit to Clarkabad. I hope to invade the heathen there and not confine myself—please God—to the Christian village. I feel a special interest in Clarkabad, on account of my dear Rowland. The lovely little gem of a church, partly the work of his own hands, gives a charm to the spot. Now the presence of the excellent Beutels will add to it.
‘I expect to find some of the flock very troublesome folk; but that is what Missionaries must expect. These big brown families have[353] their prodigals and sloths and backsliders. What is to be expected from those who have had so little light for generation after generation? We should hail every symptom of improvement. The European idea of a Missionary standing under a tree, preaching,—and numbers listening, understanding, and welcoming the Word of Life,—is often a fancy picture, or gives a most imperfect view of the truth. The seeking to win souls is but one part of the real work.
‘Only think what a regular workshop of thought has been going on in the heads of such men as —— and ——. A. is weak; how is he to be shielded from temptation? B. is a stupid, lazy fellow; how is he to be made to work? What is to be done about C.‘s heathen wife? Are not D.‘s children growing up like weeds? Can we manage to find employment for E. or a Christian wife for F.? It is this “care of the Churches” which was a burden to St. Paul, and I suppose has been a burden to most of his most earnest successors. It is not a thing to tell in a Report, or to draw out enthusiasm in a Missionary meeting. But we know, darling, that if a farmer went over a huge field, simply scattering grain, perhaps on ground even unploughed, and then went home, quite sure that all would go right, that he had only to go on for ever sowing and a harvest would certainly rise, he would hardly be likely to garner a crop.... One such matured, ripened Convert as —— is worth a hundred of those whose conduct shows that they hardly deserve the name of Christians.’
In the course of this January she wrote lovingly to her sister: ‘It touched my heart that you should have had “grief” in your dreams about parting again with your Char! The wrench of saying “Farewell” is what one cannot help shrinking from.’
But despite the pain of long separation from those whom she most loved, and despite many cares and anxieties this year in her work, Miss Tucker still kept her health. Mrs. Baring, writing early in February, could say: ‘I am so very glad to be able to assure you that your precious sister is much better, really looking well; though perhaps not quite so strong as in the days when she could easily outstrip me in a walk, or work from 4 A.M. to 10 P.M. without feeling very tired.’ Few women at their strongest could emulate such a day’s work, and not[354] feel ‘very tired’ at the end. It is hardly surprising that at the age of sixty she should not continue ‘quite so strong.’
Money for the proposed Church had been flowing in; yet still it was not begun. ‘We have been, I think,’ Miss Tucker wrote, ‘for nearly two and a half years trying to buy a good site, but the Natives will not sell one to us. We cannot build on air. We have the money—and the will to buy—but we must wait God’s time.’ A little hospital also was planned, but the same difficulties presented themselves as to a suitable site, and delays were unavoidable.
Here comes a melancholy little touch of the sad side of Missionary work—that side which must inevitably exist in everything belonging to this world:—
‘Perhaps you sometimes wonder at my so often making the special request for prayer for wisdom. But oh, love, if you knew the puzzling cases which meet us! I observe that experienced and sensible Natives are taken in; so can we wonder at being so? I will just give you a specimen case where we have not been taken in, because warned in time. I have not even seen the woman in question; I suppose that the parties found out that we have had notice.... A woman professes, I hear, to be an inquirer. She wishes baptism. Why? A Muhammadan man is at the bottom of her inclination towards Christianity. The woman is of low caste, so that the man would be degraded by marrying her, as he desires to do. Let her become a Christian,—that will be a kind of white-washing for her,—she will be received amongst us, be able to eat with us, etc. Then the Muhammadan is to pervert her to the faith of Islam, and gain credit for converting a Christian, instead of disgrace for marrying a Mitrani.[99] ... We hope for more than twenty baptisms in C——, but Francis is in no hurry to baptize, nor I to write to Miss —— about our hopes. I think that I have gained more experience in this my seventh year than any other; and dear Francis has also greatly added to his. One of the parts of this experience is the finding out our need of wisdom from above. Only God knows the heart! Do not suppose me dismayed, or that I cease to value the[355] dear Natives; but it is almost sad to me to see that self-confidence which often arises from lack of experience.’
Miss Tucker might well have said ‘very’ instead of ‘almost’ sad. Certain words in a letter of Mrs. Baring’s to Mrs. Hamilton, soon after, are something of an echo to the above:—
‘The blessing she (Miss Tucker) is among those Christian boys is incalculable. Perhaps Eternity will show even more fruit from her bright, loving, holy influence over them, than over the people in the city. They are more able to appreciate her character and teaching than the poor degraded heathen, to whom she is much more like an angel afar off and above them, than a sister-woman whom they may seek to follow and grow like.
‘She does love the boys, and is in her element among them; and they have one and all a chivalrous admiration for her. These years in India have taught her some things, I can see. Formerly her purse was open to every one; now she has the same generous spirit, guided by caution and experience. This winter’s painful lessons in the fallibility of our best Native Christians have been to her a very sore discipline, and to us too; but it is really safer for us all to know exactly how far we dare trust, than to be thinking those saints who are very far from it.’
A touching little episode about this time is related in letters from both A. L. O. E. and Mrs. Baring. The latter had been much grieved by quarrelling in one of the Muhammadan schools; and she told her Pandit or teacher about it. He was a Sikh, who knew much of Christianity, though not yet a Convert. The kind words which came in answer were certainly not what might have been expected from a heathen. ‘But do not be sad in heart,’ urged the Pandit. Satan is strong, but God is stronger. He will hear your prayers.’ The speaker could surely have been heathen only in name.
In the end of May it became needful for Mr. and Mrs. Baring to go to a cooler spot, leaving Miss Tucker in charge at Batala,—once more to be the only European in that city. It seemed no great matter to her, and she[356] wrote as usual very cheerily about it beforehand. Little dreamt she that this was to be a final parting; that she and her beloved ‘Queen Lily’—her ‘Angel-friend’—would never meet again in this life!
‘May 20, 1882.—The day after to-morrow my dear friends are to leave me for the Hills. You must not be sad about it, for I am quite happy; indeed, it will be rather a comfort to me for them to go, sweet as is their society, and valuable as is their affection. Francis stands heat so very badly.... Margaret too loses her pretty pink roses, and gets so tired when she goes to the city. On the other hand, I am far fitter for work than in winter.... It is a mistake in kind friends to pity me, or think about sacrifices on my part, for the lines have fallen to me in a fair ground. Of course, we have things to trouble us; but the blessings far, far outweigh the trials.’
‘May 23.—Dear Francis and Margaret started last night, the young May moon and the stars shining beautifully. It was a picturesque scene. The carriage had a lamp within it, as well as one or two outside; the light gleamed on our crowd of boys and men, mostly in white garments. Loud was the cheer when our dear ones drove off....
‘Well, love, I and our boys returned to Anarkalli. I did not feel lonely. I went to bed under the swinging pankah; and was ere long wrapped in repose. O what a startling waking at about 3 A.M. What an uproar!—what a fierce sound of struggle breaks on the silence of night,—the call for help—the whack of blows,—it reaches Babu Singha’s ears at the Banyans, and brings him in haste from his bed,—but not till the conflict is over. I start up, and am at the window in a minute; but the moon has gone down; there is only starlight; nothing can I see, though much can I hear. I recognise the loud, manly voice of G., our Christian bihisti.[100] I think that he is catching a thief, and that the thief has the worst of it. Of course, boys and men come running. I hear a call for rope,—yes, certainly a thief must have been caught.
‘Presently a wee light is brought. I can see, almost below my window, an object crouching on the ground, surrounded by our people. They have bound him; they are examining his face. There is a great deal of noise and talking for twenty minutes or more; and then the robber is evidently led away, and I retire again to rest.[357] My heart beat no faster, but it certainly would have beaten faster, had I known the extent of dear, brave G.’s danger. When I came down in the morning, there was the robber, in iron fetters, with his face all marked with blood,—with the police around. He was crouching on the ground, a picture of a ruffian, a miserable ruffian.
‘Babu Singha told me that there had been five burglars; but only two had ventured near the house. Our chaukidar[101] ... gave the alarm. G. rushed to the rescue, and he and B. between them, with some help from the dhobi,[102] succeeded in catching the robber; but not without G. receiving hurts from his heavy stick. Babu Singha told me that the robber is a very powerful man. But, oh Laura, what gave me the greatest feeling of the danger G. had been in, was being shown the razor which the robber had had about him. It had been dropped. Thank God, that had not been used; indeed, I do not think that the ruffian had been given time to use it. If he had, he might have killed G....’
Two months of busy work followed; towards the close of which came another adventure,—a robber again, but this time one on four legs instead of two.
‘July 18, 1882.—Our palace was invaded by a wild cat. She caught a poor pigeon in the south room, carried it through the dining-room into my room, and left its half-eaten remains on my floor. Another time she had the impertinence to crouch on sleeping C.[103] A wild cat is not a pleasant visitor; her mode of attack, if incensed, being to spring at the throat. So I set a price, a moderate one, on the wild cat’s head. She came again,—she was sure to do so to a house where boys keep pets, and where she had already captured a pigeon. At night I heard a battle-royal going on over my head. I did not rise; I guessed that there was a furious conflict between the boys and the wild cat. On the following morning I saw the animal lying dead, and paid the reward.’
A few days more, and the bolt fell. News came that Mrs. Baring was ill; and that her husband, away from her at the time, had hastened back, to find her in a high fever. Then a rather better report arrived; and Charlotte Tucker was so far cheered as to write to Mrs. Hamilton in much her usual strain, hoping that it might prove to be ‘only a[358] passing indisposition.’ Before this letter was closed, tidings were received that all was over. Erysipelas had set in, the fair face becoming unrecognisable, and with little warning the gentle saint, so ready to go, had passed away. It was a very heavy blow; and though Miss Tucker, as usual, thought far more of what others felt than of what she felt herself, the letters written afterwards show how much she suffered:—
‘Aug. 9.—I feel as if I did not care to write much save on one theme. The enclosed letters, which you will read, will give you particulars of the sad, sad event, which must have shocked you much.... How little I dreamed, when I saw the two driven off in the dak-gari, while the moonlight fell on the picturesque scene, that one, and that the stronger one, ... would never return to Batala again! But the dear Lord knew that she was ready. He does not call His children to mount up as on eagles’ wings till the wings are fledged.
‘This is the saddest year that I have ever passed in India....’
‘Aug. 11, 1882.—My dearest Leila, I doubt not that both you and your loved Mother have shed tears over sweet, sweet Margaret’s loss,—or rather, our loss,—and that you have tenderly sympathised both with my poor Bhatija and with me. This has been a year of successive trials, not only to us but to others in the Mission field,—a time to make us search our hearts and examine our work. It seems almost as if my two Scripture texts at present are, “Faint, yet pursuing,”—and “Lord, we have toiled all night, and caught nothing, yet at Thy Word we will let down the net.” ...
‘It seems such an age before I can get a reply to any letter addressed to Francis. Time goes so slowly now! It is only a week to-day since I received the startling news.’
The especial trials referred to, apart from the death of Mrs. Baring, were numerous difficulties and disappointments among and with the members of their little flock of Indian Christians. One trouble had followed upon the heels of another.