A.D. 1885-1886
ON THE RIVER’S BRINK
Changes again were impending. Mr. and Mrs. Weitbrecht, after two years’ work in Batala, were to quit the place; and in their stead would come Mr. and Mrs. Corfield,—the former as new Principal of the High School. It is singular to note one Missionary after another thus coming and going, while Charlotte Tucker, with resolute perseverance, held to her post.
At last she too began to think of a change. Not of leaving Batala; not of going home, for even the shortest of furloughs! Such an idea perhaps never so much as occurred to her mind. She simply began to think of altering her residence in Batala. At Anarkalli she had lived with Miss Swainson, with Mr. and Mrs. Beutel, with Natives alone, with Mr. Baring, with Mr. Baring and his wife, with Mr. and Mrs. Weitbrecht; and now another ‘upheaval’ had become imminent.
The notion of a move was apparently at first her own, though others soon looked upon it as desirable. Two German ladies, Miss Hoernle and Miss Krapf, dwelt together in the cosy little Mission Bungalow, which they had named ‘Sonnenschein’ or ‘Sunshine.’ No room remained for a third inmate; but Miss Tucker formed a plan of building a small annexe to the west of ‘Sunshine,’ for her own use; and to this tiny annexe she resolved to give the name of ‘Gurub i Aftab,’ or ‘Sunset.’
[396]
Mrs. Hamilton, on first hearing of the scheme, was somewhat distressed at the thought of such a change for her ‘Char’; but Miss Tucker wrote to assure her of no move until the new building should be perfectly dry. Also a long letter from Mr. Weitbrecht set before Mrs. Hamilton, with kind clearness, the advantages of the plan. Among other reasons urged was the overcrowded state of the palace, where more room for the School was urgently needed; and also the desirability that Miss Tucker, in advancing years, should not constantly have to climb a steep and awkward staircase, which had of late greatly tried her strength.
It is probable that for some little time past there had been a certain failure of power, evidenced by such facts as this, though made very little of by herself, and perhaps little marked by others, because of her determined cheerfulness and persistence in work.
Still, as always, she rose at six in winter, and at half-past four in summer; had her little breakfast of cocoa and sweet biscuits; then read and studied till eight. At 8 A.M., whether in summer or in winter, she seldom failed to take her rapid ‘Devotional walk’ out of doors, up and down, till summoned to Prayers by the Chapel gong. Then came breakfast proper; after which she would still, as always, go out in her duli for three or four hours of Zenana-visiting. Next followed correspondence; lunch; classes of English history and English literature for the elder boys; then afternoon tea; then sometimes more reading of a Native language, and visiting of Native Christians. This was the manner of day that she spent, week in, week out, month after month, often for ten or eleven months at a stretch; varied only by itinerating expeditions into neighbouring villages, or an occasional trip to Amritsar,—the latter seldom, except on business of some kind. And she had been living this life now for[397] at least eight or nine years! Small wonder that a breakdown should come at last. The marvel was that it had not come sooner. A chill and a bad smell were the immediate cause,—they usually are in such cases, acting upon exhausted powers.
Up to Thursday, December 10, things were much as usual. That morning she went on her ordinary city round, and then to a Native wedding, where she was very much tried by a bad smell from a drain, though her innate courtesy would not allow her to hurry away. On reaching home she was in a chilled and shivering condition, with the beginning of a sore throat. In the afternoon fever and drowsiness came on.
For a day or two there seemed to be an improvement. Mrs. Weitbrecht, who was to have left Batala before Sunday, on account of health, deferred her journey until Monday.
Nothing could induce Miss Tucker to remain at home on Saturday. She started as usual for the city; and on her return she told Mrs. Weitbrecht ‘how glad she was to have gone,’ adding, ‘I am always especially glad when I go to the city, feeling it a little effort to do so.’ One is disposed to imagine that it must have been more than a little effort, on that particular day; and the words contain a revelation as to past ‘efforts’ when unfit for the work which she never would neglect. Dr. H. M. Clark had been asked to come over, but she utterly declined to see him, except as a friend, refusing to consider herself ill. On Sunday she was at both the Church Services, ‘kept up,’ as Mr. Bateman said, ‘by her indomitable spirit’; and in the afternoon she had, as always, her Class of boys. On Monday morning she made her appearance early, to see Mrs. Weitbrecht off,—very bright and cheery, wrapping up sandwiches, and determinedly hiding how ill she really felt, for fear Mrs. Weitbrecht’s departure should be again delayed.
Things could not go on thus much longer. Miss Tucker[398] had made a brave fight,—too brave for her own good!—but illness was now fast gaining the upper hand. She did not again attempt city visiting,—a sure sign of her condition; and much time that day was spent in a half-doze. Towards night she became light-headed, and was so weak that they had to carry her to bed. Miss Hoernle decided to sleep at the palace, so as to be within easy call if needed; but in the early morning she found her patient up, writing a letter, and of course avowing herself ‘better.’ The improvement, if it existed, was very brief. Fever again set in, with weakness and delirium; and Dr. H. M. Clark was sent for. On Tuesday Mr. Clark came too, and that evening he sent for Miss Wauton to go over from Amritsar on Wednesday morning. Mr. Rowland Bateman also was speedily on the spot. Somewhat later in the week a telegram summoned A. L. O. E.’s nephew and niece, Major Louis Tucker and Mrs. Tucker.
For three days the greatest possible anxiety was felt; and on the Thursday another medical man was telegraphed for, that a consultation might take place. The result of the consultation was not favourable. Dr. P. on first seeing Miss Tucker thought she might live a week, but when going away he expressed a fear that half that time would see the end.
Both before and after Dr. P.’s coming there was excessive restlessness, and a great deal of delirium, though the latter was never of a painful kind, and she always knew those who were about her. She was at times extremely anxious to get up, and she showed vexation at not being allowed to do so. Once, when thus controlled, she said to Mr. Weitbrecht with respect to her nurses:
‘Couldn’t you take them to see the Church?’
‘But, Auntie dear, we have seen the Church already,’ they assured her.
‘Then take them somewhere else,’ she said,—‘only take them a long way off!’
[399]
This evidently remained on her mind; for the next day she began to talk about the Salvation Army, and the doctrine of Perfection in this life, as taught by its devotees.
‘It is a doctrine of the devil,’ she said emphatically. ‘Tell —— that I had an outbreak of anger and petulance only yesterday. I wanted to go to my own room, and I was quite cross when they would not let me. I think the Lord let that be, that we might see how weak and sinful we are. I am sixty-four years old,—and they who are so much younger than I am would not let me get up! They treated me just as if I were a child; and I could not bear to be made into a little child; and so the Lord put me down. These doctrines are the snare of the devil. They make presumptuous people more presumptuous; and they are calculated to drive conscientious people mad!’ The last words were repeated; and Miss Tucker went on to mention two cases, known to herself, where individuals had become actually insane through ‘perfectionist’ teaching.
She talked in her delirium almost incessantly, showing extreme mental activity, an activity which never failed, even when exhaustion was greatest. She dictated letters; she composed verses and comic parodies; she repeated texts and long sentences in Hindustani; she sang with animation a cricket-song for the boys, and then a hymn in Hindustani or English. Sometimes her drollery was so intense that her nurses, in all their anxiety, shook with laughter to hear the things she said. And all through, from beginning to end, one thing never failed,—her radiant happiness in the thought of going Home.
While recognising those who were really present, she fancied that others were there also, and talked to them. Generally she could reason quietly about these appearances, saying that she knew they were ‘shadows.’ She does not seem to have felt thus about the evil spirits, which she thought she saw. She pointed to where she[400] believed them to be, asking, ‘Do you see them?’ Then addressing the spirits, she continued: ‘I am not afraid of you! You can do nothing to me! I belong to Jesus! Don’t sit there, at the foot of my bed. Go away; you cannot touch me!’
The strong doses of quinine made her very deaf, so that she could hear little of what went on around her bed; but she heard what others could not hear,—sounds of music filling the room.
Sometimes she imagined herself to be in Zenanas, talking to the Bibis, and pleading earnestly with them. Or again she wondered why her kahars did not come to take her thither.
‘What to me was most remarkable,’ wrote Mr. Clark afterwards, ‘was her perfect cheerfulness and happiness; thinking of everything and every one around her, and talking of the most common things, and doing it all in the light of Eternity; standing on the very brink of another world, and yet forgetting nothing, but thinking of almost everything in this.... It was at times even amusing, for there was no sadness in her perpetual sunshine.’
On Friday morning, the day after the consultation, Miss Tucker woke very early, and asked to have her desk, that she might write. This of course could not be allowed. Later in the same day Mr. Weitbrecht went in to see her, just after an interview with Dr. Clark, and she inquired, ‘What does the doctor say?’
Mr. Weitbrecht endeavoured to avoid giving any direct reply, speaking only of one symptom which the Doctor had named as encouraging. Then came the point-blank question:
‘Yes; but does he think I shall die, or recover?’
‘He cannot tell.’
Miss Tucker was not to be so put off. An answer she would have. ‘I am very deaf with the quinine,’ she said.[401] ‘I can’t hear what you say. If he thinks I shall stay, do this!’—holding up her hand;—‘and if sinking, this!’—dropping it.
There was no choice left. Truth compelled Mr. Weitbrecht to lower gently his hand. ‘Whereupon,’ as Mr. Bateman relates, ‘a smile and an almost shout of joy escaped her.’
‘I am so glad!’ she exclaimed. ‘So glad to be dying in harness! And to think that I shall be no trouble to anybody!... It is too good to be true, that I am going Home.... The bowl is broken at the fountain!’ Then she repeated the simple verse beginning,
‘“And when I’m to die,
Receive me, I’ll cry,
For Jesus has loved me,
I cannot tell why!”’
What Charlotte Tucker experienced, on seeing that lowered hand, may be to some extent realised by reading her ‘Dream’ of the Second Advent, given in an earlier chapter. Heaven to her was ‘Home’; many of her nearest and dearest were already in Paradise; and ‘death,’ so called, would mean re-union with those dear ones. Charlotte Tucker could from her very heart re-echo the poet’s words,—with a most practical belief in them,—‘There is no Death; what seems so is Transition.’ During years past she had longed for this Transition; striving only not to be impatient, but to await cheerfully God’s own time.
And now, it seemed, she was to go! Not only to leave sin and sorrow behind; not only to be young and strong again; not only to see such beauty and glory as our Earth can never show; not only to ‘mount up with wings, as eagles,’ into splendid new spheres of knowledge and thought, of employment and work. All these things, though real, were secondary. The overwhelming delight of going Home, whether by the Coming of Christ, or through the ‘grave[402] and gate of Death,’ was that she would meet her Lord and Master face to face! That was the grand expectation which thrilled her whole being, which drew from her an ‘almost shout’ of joy, even in extreme weakness,—the prospect of seeing Him, ‘Whom, not having seen,’ she loved.
So intense was the joy that it had a remarkable result. It appeared to take the same effect as a powerful stimulant upon her sinking strength. The very delight which she had in dying brought her back to life; the very rapture with which she desired to go kept her from going.
It is not needful to suppose that this alone saved her life. Skilled physicians and devoted nurses had done and were doing their utmost; and a fresh remedy was being tried, which brought down the very high fever. But the fact remains the same, that, until Charlotte Tucker was told that she would die, hopes of her recovery had been given up, at all events by those best qualified to judge; and that, from the time when she learned the verdict of the doctors, she began to revive. At the least we must allow that the stimulant afforded by this eager rejoicing was a marked assistance to other remedies; and that, without it, in all probability she might have sunk.
Nor need it be imagined that she was immediately out of danger. Improvement was very gradual, and anxiety lasted long. Weeks later she spoke of her own life as having been on Christmas Day still ‘trembling in the balance,’ and this was nearly a week before Christmas. But hope had revived, and every day it grew stronger.
Having once made up her mind that she was to die, it was, we may be sure, no easy matter for Charlotte Tucker to turn her mind earthward again. ‘She dwelt on the thought continually,’ wrote one of her nurses afterwards; and another friend said in a letter home, at the time, ‘She is deaf to any suggestion of possible recovery.’
Full directions were given as to presents which she[403] wished to have sent to relatives and friends after her departure; and many messages also, expressive of intense delight in the prospect which she believed to lie before her. She was very particular as to her funeral. ‘I wish no one to wear black for me,’ she said. ‘My funeral must not cost more than five rupees. No coffin; only a plank to keep the body straight. You must make a recess in the grave, so that the earth may not fall on my face. No one must carry me but my dear Christian boys.’
Then she would believe herself to be in a Zenana once more, and she was giving a farewell address in Hindustani to all her Bibis. In the midst of such a serious exhortation would come in quotations from Shakespeare, or odd little remarks about her food, making it impossible for others not to smile, as the active mind passed rapidly from one subject to another. But still her radiant expectation and rejoicing never faltered.
‘What a happy thing it is to have conquered!’ she said once,—‘and to know that I have a crown of glory awaiting me above! What happiness! But I know I have no righteousness of my own. No one has that! My trust is in the Blood of Christ alone! “The Blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin.”’
Repeatedly she remarked how ‘happy she was, dying in harness,—just as she had wished!’ And again: ‘I want to go. You must not pray for my recovery. The Doctor says I’m worse, doesn’t he?’ And again: ‘If the Ladies of the Committee knew what a wreck I am, they would be glad that I am going now. I cannot do any more work; but tell them that I depart in the full, glad hope of Eternal Life, through Jesus Christ only! His precious Blood only!... “Nothing in my hand I bring; simply to Thy Cross I cling!” ... I am almost surprised at my ever coming out to be a Missionary. I was so very ignorant! A Missionary needs very great humility.’
[404]
At another time she asked: ‘How long is it likely to last? My sister will be quite happy about me, now that I have completed my tenth year of Missionary service.’
But near as Charlotte Tucker drew to the Gate of Death, which to her was the Gate of Life, she was only allowed one glimpse inside; and then she had to turn back into the wilderness of Earth once more. It makes one think of the Pandit’s dream beside his dying wife. A ‘voice’ might well have said, with angelic pity, of Charlotte Tucker, ‘She longs so to come! I will take her!’ But if so, it would seem that the Divine Voice softly interposed, ‘WAIT!’ Her hour of Rest was not yet reached. She was not very much more than half-way through her toilsome Indian campaign. Ten years of work lay behind. Eight years of work stretched ahead. This was but the Rehearsal of the real Home-going.
By Saturday morning there was so far a distinct improvement that Mr. Clark felt himself able to return to Amritsar. Miss Tucker still counted herself dying; and her last words to Mr. Clark were, ‘Give to our dear and honoured Bishop my affectionate adieux!’
When Christmas Day arrived, though not yet out of danger, she was allowed to see all her Batala friends who could come, including the boys of the School,—no doubt a mere passing glimpse of each. Much warm interest had been shown by the people of the city, as well as by the Christians who so well knew and loved her. Before Christmas Day, however, Miss Tucker seems to have accepted the fact that, so far as could be seen, she had not yet fought out her battle, had not yet to exchange Cross for Crown. So early as the 21st of December Miss Wauton wrote to Mrs. Hamilton:—
‘I don’t think she will ever attempt so much active work again amongst the people; but she said to me this morning, “Though I shall probably not be able to do much amongst them, I can still love[405] them!” Darling Auntie! how every one does love and honour her! This week has shown more than ever how she lives in the hearts of those for whom she is spending her life; and how dear she is to a very, very wide circle of friends, as well as to her relations. The boys have been as quiet as mice all the time she was ill; and the only sounds that reached her room were their voices practising the Christmas hymns, which she was delighted with, and fancied she heard them nearly all through the night, long after they were all in bed.’
On December 28th Charlotte Tucker was able to dictate a letter to Mrs. Hamilton:—
‘My precious Laura,—I have been in deep waters, but I rather think I shall swim. I cannot tell you what I owe to the splendid nursing of —— and ——. You couldn’t have nursed me more devotedly and tenderly yourself. Neither you nor I will ever forget it....
‘I’ve a noise going on for ever in my ears; but my mind has been clear all through. The hard thing was not to be able to pray for what I wished. I should so have liked to depart and be with Jesus; but it didn’t seem God’s Will; and His Will must be best. I tried to ask for patience and resignation. Good-bye, darling....’
Loving messages to many friends are included in this letter; and she also mentions having received on Christmas Day ‘Communion for the Dying,’—though apparently she was then not really counted to be dying. However, unless she misunderstood her doctor, he was not even then hopeful to any great extent. Probably her own recollections were a good deal more confused than she was at all aware of.
It is not a little remarkable that, after all this, she should in letters written somewhat later quietly and decidedly assert that she had not reckoned herself to be dying, but had fully expected to get well! The explanation is, most likely, that her strong desire to pass away was so dominant a feeling as to entirely push into the background a consciousness that she would recover. At the time she doubtless refused to listen to the voice of this consciousness; but afterwards it would naturally recur to memory,—possibly in a somewhat exaggerated form.
[406]
As soon as she was sufficiently improved for the move to be practicable, she was taken to Amritsar,—being lifted into her duli, which travelled by train, so that she was spared any further changes. At Amritsar she was within easy reach of her Doctor; also she could be better nursed and cared for there than in such an out-of-the-way place as Batala, where personal comforts were few. Letters early in 1886 naturally contain a good deal about her illness.
‘Batala, Jan. 2.—My darling Laura, the last time the Doctor came, I said to him, “Doctor, you’re winning the game of chess.” He said, “You’ve been as bad as you could be; but, under God, you owe your life to the excellent nursing.” ... My sweet ladies watch me day and night, and seem to think it fun.... I think in England we add to the miseries of sickness by looking so anxious and grave. Then, another thing, love, is this; don’t shut out friends, for fear they should tire the patient. On Christmas Day, when my life was literally trembling in the balance, I must have seen more than a hundred, and they didn’t do me a bit of harm.... Good-bye, darling. Please give all sorts of kind messages to dear Leila and your other dear ones, and every one who loves me....
‘Please pray for patience. That is the lesson I have to learn. “Be still, and know that I am God.” “O rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him.” I mustn’t think even much about Heaven! I mustn’t be like a soldier pining to get home, when he’s told to keep quiet in the trenches.’
It is impossible not to remember Archbishop Trench’s couplet:—
‘Some are resigned to go; might we such grace attain,
That we should need our resignation to remain!’
‘Amritsar, Jan. 11, 1886.—I hope that my telegram arrived before the news that would trouble you. The doctor pronounced me “out of danger” last Friday, the 8th; so I almost immediately thought of sending a telegram. Now I’m going to make a little confession of exaggeration. I told you that I saw more than one hundred people on Christmas Day. Babu Singha told me that there were only eighty-four at the feast; so, as babies count at the feast and didn’t come up to me,[407] I probably didn’t see more than seventy. I questioned the doctor a little time ago as to the influx of visitors; and he only told me, that, as he thought I was sure to die, it didn’t matter whom I saw. But I didn’t think I was going to die; and you see I was right....’
‘Amritsar, Jan. 18.—Thanks were publicly returned in Amritsar Church yesterday for the recovery of your Char. “Bless the Lord, O my soul; forget not all His benefits.” ... I am floating in a sea of delight, and shall certainly look back to this time of terrible illness as one of the happiest periods of my life. I am as happy as a Queen. A great deal happier than the Queen! One of the images that most frequently rises before my mind, in prayerful thought, is that of our own beloved Queen. There is something so grand and pathetic in that image, as our Sovereign Lady sits with her hand on the helm, solitary at her post of duty, with a revolutionary storm howling and shrieking around her. The Lord shield her head; strengthen her hands; give her increasing grace and wisdom; and grant her the victory over all her enemies.
‘I think it would gratify Her Majesty were she to know her personal influence amongst the Women of India. In zenana or mud-village, “Maliká Muazima Kaiser-i-Hind”—I generally give our Sovereign her full title among the Orientals, though I love “our own dear Queen” much better!—is an object of interest.... Of course, we inculcate loyalty among our Native Christians, in our Boarding School at Batala. One of the first things that would strike the eye of a visitor is “God save the Queen,”—hung up in the schoolroom.... It would please Her Majesty, could she hear our Christian boys singing:
‘“Let the world know,
Be it friend or foe,
We’ll be true to our Faith and our Queen!”
The Hindus and Muhammadans might fail us should a storm arise; the Atheists would be our bitter foes. I believe that many of our noble Christians would be Faithful unto Death....
‘I have had two such extraordinary attacks of malarious fever.... For three days and nights, and more, I never slept for a moment. My mind was sometimes carried, at other times goaded, in unnatural activity. I had a torrent of thought, which I could not stop; the first week is to me almost a blank.... Dr. P. knew nothing of me, nor what a comically allegorical mind I have. I remember nothing of our interview, but it must have been inexpressibly funny....’
[408]
Letters thus far were only dictated. On January 20 is one in her own handwriting, very feeble and shaky:—
’ ... One does learn such lessons, when lying still for weeks and weeks, with nothing to do but think. For instance, I remember grievous sins of omission, which I have never thought of before.... The duty of Intercessory prayer opens out before me. Of course, I have always prayed for you, love, and a great many more; no danger of forgetting. But I have forgotten numbers.’
In a circular letter to English friends, dated January 25, she again and more emphatically asserts her own non-expectation of death during the late illness: ‘On the worst day I talked Urdu, nothing else, from morning till night, to imaginary bibis. Almost every one thought me dying, except myself!... I asked the dear, kind, skilful doctor of my state; he did not know what to say, for he thought me sinking. I asked dear Mr. Weitbrecht, and he pointed his finger straight downwards. I quite understood, but did not believe myself dying for all that!’ This certainly was not the impression of those around her at the time, nor is it borne out by the things she said. No doubt she was striving to believe what she longed for,—was hoping that the doctors’ opinion, and not her own inner sense, might prove to be right.
Miss Tucker’s ‘horror of alcohol’ is particularly noted by Mr. Clark. When getting better, she one day remarked to him, ‘What a dear, good doctor Dr. Clark is! He has brought me through it all, without giving me any spirits.’ Then, turning to one of her nurses, ‘Isn’t it so, dear?’ A judicious answer was returned: ‘The doctor gave you just the right medicine, and you were very good in taking it.’ A little later, when having another dose of medicine, she said again, ‘Are you sure there is no alcohol in it?’ ‘It is what the doctor has ordered for you, Auntie dear. You must just take it, and ask no questions.’ As letters show, it was not till February that she learned[409] the true state of the case, which was that she had been kept alive by small doses of stimulant every hour. The strongest brandy had tasted to her like water. As soon as Miss Tucker understood how matters had been, she wrote to her sister, to say:—
‘I made a great mistake in my letters home. If from them you have given to others a wrong impression, please kindly correct it when opportunity occurs. I wrote that I had had no stimulant in my illness. I thought that I had not; but I find that I was utterly wrong. I was kept from sinking, not only by quantities of quinine, but brandy also. It was strange that I should not have recognised it; but it was always mixed with something else.’
So steady now was the improvement in her health, that before the middle of February she was able to get out for drives; on the 14th she went to Church; and by the 18th she was back again in ‘dear Batala,’—not at the old palace, but in the Mission Bungalow, ‘Sonnenschein,’ with Miss Hoernle. A crowd of boys welcomed her at the Railway Station, on her arrival; and next day a grand Batala feast was given in her honour.