A Lady of England 24

A Lady of England 24

For Robert Tucker himself, cut off though he was in the very prime of

life, there could be no regrets, except on the score of all that he

might have done, had he lived. No man could be more ready than he was

to go. But the blow fell heavily on those who loved him; and though for

nine years he had not seen his children, whereby the sorrow to them was

softened, yet the loss to their future could not but be great.

 

‘So he fell,’ wrote one who had escaped; ‘and in his fall the constant

and fervent prayer of his latter days was answered, for he fell at the

post of duty. All who knew him well mourn in him the loss of a true and

noble friend, generous even to prodigality, highly talented, a thorough

gentleman, and an upright judge.’

 

Mention of this event was made at the time in the Journal Letter of

Viscountess Canning,[6] worth quoting in addition to the above.

 

’ ... The story of Futteypore is a strange one. The whole country

round was gone, and there was a large Sepoy guard in the

treasury, and every reason to believe they would rise, so all

the Europeans took to boats, and went away to safe stations

down the river, and I think to Banda. Only Mr. Tucker, the

magistrate, would not stir, and remained with fifty Sepoys

and the treasury. He was son to the late Director, Sir George

Tucker,[7] and was one of the four brothers whose names we

hear constantly, and he was as brave as a lion. He had a

deputy-magistrate--a Mohammedan--in a high position, treated as

a gentleman, and in as high a place as a native could occupy,

next to himself. To this man had been given a body of mounted

police, and he undertook to keep the country clear between

the great trunk road and the river for some distance. He did

it admirably, and took delight in it, and sent in detailed

reports up to the last. But when he heard of some more places

being gone, he suddenly returned to the treasury, to which

his position gave him access, dismissed the fifty Sepoys with

a thousand rupees apiece, and then attacked Mr. Tucker with

all his police force. Mr. Tucker was killed, after defending

himself till he had killed with his own hand, some say sixteen,

some twenty men. I suppose he had a whole battery of revolvers,

and so kept his assailants at bay.’

 

Though Robert was gone, other brothers of Charlotte Tucker were still in

hourly danger; and the pressure of anxiety went on for months, as shown

by letters of the time.

 

TO MISS B. F. TUCKER.

 

‘_Sept. 9, 1857._

 

‘I need not say how I long for tidings from India. Most

especially do I desire news of Havelock’s precious little army.

Upon its success, humanly speaking, may hang the safety of all

our beloved ones in India.’

 

TO MRS. HAMILTON.

 

‘_Sept. 19, 1857._

 

‘We are longing for our letters, but I do not think we shall

get them till Tuesday. Dearest Mother tries not to think more

of India than she can help, and has, I am glad to say, given

up reading the papers, so we only give her the good part of

the news verbally. I could not endure to be kept in the dark

myself. I go every day to fetch the papers. I half live on

them, and would far rather go without a meal than not see

them.... We heard from poor dear Mrs. Thornhill to-day. She hopes

that Henry and his wife are in Lucknow. Such a hope is not

worth much, one would think.’

 

TO MISS B. F. TUCKER.

 

‘_Sept. 21, 1857._

 

‘God be with our brave and beloved ones! My heart feels very

low--worse than before the letters arrived. We hide from dear

Grandmamma that Mirzapore is threatened. She only knows that

the troops are there; not why they have been sent. N---- W----

has sent his dear wife and children to Calcutta. He feels so

desolate without them, but takes the separation as a lesson

from his Merciful Father to set his affections more on things

above.... Does not your heart sicken for Lucknow?’

 

All through England hearts were ‘sickening for Lucknow,’ at this time.

But the Cawnpore-like catastrophe, dreaded for Lucknow, did not come. The

rescuing party mercifully arrived in time. As months went by, the Mutiny

was stamped out from end to end of India; and no second Tucker was added

to the roll of England’s martyrs there.

 

Just before the outbreak Mr. Henry Carre Tucker seems to have requested

that some copies of his sister’s books might be sent out to him for

distribution: and an interesting letter was written by her on the subject

to Messrs. Gall and Inglis.

 

‘_July 17, 1857._

 

‘SIR,--I am glad to hear that the box is likely soon to be

on its way to my dear brother. We have been in great anxiety

on account of him and his family, as Benares, the station of

which he is the head, with a population of 180,000, is one of

the most wicked places in India, a “holy city,” a stronghold

of fanaticism. My brother has taken a bolder part in upholding

Missions, and spreading religious literature, than almost any

one else in the country; therefore, if Benares had followed

the example of Delhi, the terrible event might have been

attributed to his excess of zeal.

 

‘The Almighty, to whom my brother attributes the glory, has

hitherto watched over Benares in so marked a manner, that it

remained quiet in the midst of disturbances; and my young niece

has bravely ridden through it by her father’s side, giving

confidence to the timid by her fearlessness.... But a few lines

in the telegraph, read aloud in Parliament, informs us that the

troops in Benares had risen at last, and been driven out of

the city with great loss. I await the next mail with intense

anxiety. I have five brothers in India.’

 

It is interesting to know that Mr. Henry Carre Tucker devoted himself

a year later to the task of helping forward in every possible way

Missionary work in India, as a species of ‘Christian revenge’ for the

death of Robert and the sufferings of his countrymen. He took a leading

part in starting the ‘Christian Literature Society for India,’ and was

for a while himself its Honorary Secretary.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IX

 

A.D. 1857-1865

 

LIFE’S EARLY AFTERNOON

 

 

One-half of the life of Charlotte Tucker was now over; a quiet and

uneventful life thus far. If we like, we may mentally divide her story

into four quarters, each about eighteen years in length, corresponding

to Early Morning, Noontide, Afternoon, and Evening. The first eighteen

years of her Early Morning had been, perhaps, as bright and cloudless

as the existence of any girl could well be. In the succeeding Noontide

hours she had known still much of brightness, though they included her

first great sorrow, and ended with her second. Also, in the course of

that Noontide she had entered upon her career of authorship, with all its

hopes and aims, its hard work and its delights. Probably none who have

not experienced it for themselves can quite understand the fascinations

of authorship.

 

Now she had passed her Noontide, and was entering on the hours of early

Afternoon. Eighteen years of that Afternoon still lay between the dark

days of the Indian Mutiny and her own going out to India, for the Evening

of her Life,--the fourth and last eighteen years, which were to be the

fullest and the busiest of all her busy days.

 

We have first to do with the earlier portion of the Third Period; a

period including much work, many interests, and some deep griefs.

Between 1857 and 1866, however, lay a quiet stretch of everyday life,

distinguished by no rocks or rapids. The river flowed on peacefully for a

while.

 

Life at No. 3 continued much as it had been in years past. Many friends

were in and out, and were always cordially welcomed. Mrs. Tucker, since

her husband’s death, had made one difference, in that she no longer gave

dinner-parties; but luncheons were in full swing, to any extent; and

Charlotte’s powers of entertaining were still in abundant requisition.

 

No better place can well be found than this for part of a letter to A.

L. O. E.’s nephew,--the Rev. W. F. T. Hamilton, son of her favourite

sister,--from Sir Francis Outram, son of General Sir James Outram, of

celebrated memory.

 

‘_June 25, 1894._

 

‘My recollections of No. 3 Portland Place and of its typically

kind inmates carry me back just half a century. But they are

very clear, though, I regret to add, only of a general and

intangible character.

 

‘Mr. Tucker I recall with grave respect, unmingled with awe,

as evidently one of the wisest and most influential of my

Parents’ proved friends. Mrs. Tucker retains an honoured place