A Lady of England 54

A Lady of England 54

CHAPTER VI

 

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 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. 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

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 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 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.