A Lady of England 7

A Lady of England 7

The play is, of course, historical, and is of considerable length. One

short quotation may be given as a specimen of her girlish powers, taken

from Scene II.

 

‘_Apartment in the Castle of Chateaurouge: a grated window seen in

the background._

 

The Iron Mask.

 

‘The glorious Sun hath reached the farthest west,

And clouds transparent tipt with living fire

Hang o’er his glory, bright’ning to the close.

Now gently-falling dews refresh the earth,

And pensive Silence, hand in hand with Night,

Already claims her reign.

 

Another day

Has past! another weary weary day,

And I am so much nearer to my grave!

Oh that I could, like yon broad setting Sun,

For one day tread the path of Liberty,

For one day shine a blessing to my Country,

Then, like him, set in glory!

Still come they not?--then Chateaurouge deceived me!

He said e’er sunset that they must be here,

And I have watched from the first blush of morn,

Before the lark his cheerful matins sung,

Before the glorious traveller of the skies

Had with one ray of gold illumed the east,

And still they come not!--’Tis in vain to watch,

They will not come to-night!--my sinking heart

For one day more must sicken in suspense.’

 

The writing of the play as a whole is unequal,--what girl of eighteen is

not unequal?--but in these lines,as well as elsewhere, there are tokens

of genuine power, alike poetical and dramatic.

 

Next came, in the year 1840, _The Fatal Vow; a Tragedy in Three Acts_;

on the title-page of which is found a dedication--‘To Jane Tucker; the

Mother who in the bloom of youth and beauty devoted herself to her

children, and whose tender care can never by them be repaid.’ The play

was written in less than two months; its scene being laid in Arabia,

while the characters are of Arabian nationality. It is an ambitious and

spirited effort for a girl under twenty.

 

Two years later she wrote another, _The Pretender; a Farce in Two Acts_;

respectfully dedicated to ‘Fair Isabella, the Flower of the East.’ This

witty and amusing little farce shall be given entire in the next chapter,

as a fair example of what she was able to accomplish at the age of

twenty-one. It also shows conclusively her love of fun, and the manner in

which she delighted in any play upon words.

 

In 1842, the same year which saw her produce _The Pretender_, her brother

St. George went out to India; and two years later a paper of extracts

from different letters, in her handwriting, records the sister’s loving

pride in the warm opinions sent home about that brother. Also the same

paper contains an account of an affair in which he was engaged; but the

said account not being correct in all details, I give it in different

words.

 

In 1844, one year and a quarter after the arrival of Mr. St. George

Tucker in India, he volunteered to assist his joint magistrate, Mr.

Robert Thornhill, to capture the celebrated dacoit,[2] Khansah. Upon

the receipt of further orders from his chief magistrate, Mr. Thornhill

decided not to make the attempt. Mr. Tucker, however, having volunteered,

thought it was his duty to go; and go he did, accompanied by a

Thannadar,[3] four horsemen, and some Burkandahs. On a January morning,

in early dawn, they reached the village in which the dacoit leader,

Khansah, was supposed to be concealed; and after many inquiries they

induced an alarmed little native boy to point out silently which hut

sheltered Khansah.

 

Leaving the horsemen and the Burkandahs outside, Mr. Tucker and the

Thannadar went into the courtyard of the house. In the darkness of the

entry to one of the huts stood Khansah, holding a loaded blunderbuss. At

first he was unperceived; but suddenly the Thannadar exclaimed, ‘There

he is!’ and as Mr. Tucker turned to the right, Khansah fired off the

blunderbuss. The Thannadar dropped dead; and Mr. Tucker’s right arm

fell helpless, from a wound in the shoulder. He climbed quickly over

the low walls of a roofless hut, then turned about, and with his left

hand steadying the right hand on the top of the outer wall, he fired his

pistol at the dacoit,--and missed him. Mr. Tucker then went round the

back of the hut to a tree which stood near the entrance; and shortly

afterward Khansah came out, calling--‘Kill the Sahib!’ A struggle

followed between Khansah and one of the native police, which lasted some

three or four minutes. Then Khansah, having apparently had enough, made

away on the Thannadar’s pony; and Mr. Tucker, regaining his own horse,

rode back to the station, accompanied by the Burkandahs and horsemen, who

had carefully kept in the background when most needed, but whose courage

returned so soon as the peril was over.

 

Eighteen months later an offer was made by Government of ten thousand

rupees to any one who should give up Khansah,--the dacoit being a very

notorious robber and murderer. His own relatives responded promptly

to this appeal, and Khansah speedily found himself in durance vile.

Mr. Tucker failed to identify the man in Court; but other evidence was

forthcoming, and Khansah, being convicted, was hung. Charlotte, when

noting down particulars of the above stirring episode, observes: ‘We

cannot feel too thankful to a merciful God for my precious George’s

preservation.’ The brief account which she copied out from the letter

of a friend in India ends with these words: ‘My husband tells me he

(Mr. Tucker) acted with great spirit, and showed much cool, determined

courage, and deserved great credit; but from being almost a stranger

to the habits of this country, he failed in his attempt to capture the

dacoit.’

 

Another paper of copied extracts has a particular interest, because it

seems to show, even then, a dawning sense in the mind of Charlotte Tucker

of the needs of heathen and semi-heathen lands. The sheet is dated 1844;

and the passages are selected from a book of the day, called _Savage

Life and Scenes_. But probably at that period nothing was further from

her dreams than that she herself would ever go out as a missionary to the

East.

 

The following undated letters belong to the years 1846-7. A little

sentence in the first, as to the solution of Mr. Tucker’s enigma, is very

characteristic of one who through life was always peculiarly ready to

give praise to others.

 

TO MISS D. LAURA TUCKER.

 

‘How sweet, good, and kind you are! I hardly know how to thank

you and dearest Mother for _such_ notes as I have received from

both, but I truly feel your kindness at my heart....

 

‘My eye is exceedingly improved. Such a fuss has been made

about it here by my affectionate Fannies, that one might

suppose that, like your friend Polyphemus, I had but one eye,

and that as rudely treated as was his by Ulysses.

 

‘We think that the solution of my noble Father’s enigma is

“Glass” or “Mirror.” Fanny was the first to imagine this. As

for going to Gresford the 3rd of next month, I do not wish to

be one of the party at all, at all! I calculate that Robin

will then have been on the waves 76 days; and though I do not

expect him till October, the S---- _may_ be a fast sailer, and

fast sailers _have_ accomplished the whole voyage in about that

time, I believe. I drink the port wine which Papa brought down,

which I hope may serve instead of bark.’

 

TO MISS SIBELLA J. TUCKER.

 

‘Having concluded my reading of old Russell, how can I do

better than employ the interval before the arrival of the

Indian letters in sitting down and writing to my fair absent

sister? Colonel Sykes let me know last night that Robin would

not come by _this_ mail, which was, he says, only from Bombay,

so that letters being all we must expect before Saturday

fortnight, you need not hurry home on account of Robin’s return.

 

‘Now doubtless you would like to hear a little how the world in

Portland Place has been going on since your fair countenance

disappeared from our horizon. In the first place _all_ the

three Misses ---- are coming. A comical party we shall have!

There has been no letter from Lord Metcalfe yet, that I know

of. We had a very nice evening yesterday. I wish that yours

may have been equally agreeable. The beginning was by no means

the worst part of it. I dressed early, and while Mamma and

Fanny were upstairs, Charlie and I enjoyed quite a stream of

melody from my dear Father, who sang us more than twenty songs,

most of which I had never heard before. I wonder that he did

not sing his throat quite dry, particularly after a Wednesday’s

work. I must now write Lautie an account of the Ball.’

 

TO MISS D. L. TUCKER.

 

‘Well, dearest Lautie, we had a nice Ball last night. There

were the Vukeels of S----, with their dark intelligent

countenances, Colonel Sykes, your friend, who is really

becoming quite a friend of mine, and honest, handsome Sir Henry

Pottinger, the very look of whom does one good. I chatted with

both the latter amusing gentlemen, and heard from Sir Henry a

circumstantial account of his attack of gout, when, he said:

“I felt as though I could have roared like a bull.” Sir Henry

thinks that ladies should have a glass of champagne after

_every_ dance, quadrille, waltz, or pol