A Lady of England 87
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 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 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. 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 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 dâk-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.
CHAPTER XII
A.D. 1882-1883
THE FIRST STONE OF BATALA CHURCH
About the middle of August Miss Tucker went for change to Allahabad;
and very soon after her arrival she was able to speak of herself as
‘less tired’ than before leaving Batala; despite two nights of severe
travelling, inclusive of sixteen hours straight off in her duli. ‘The
change of air already tells on my bodily frame,’ she wrote; ‘and the
change of scene on my mind and spirits.... I was becoming low in every
way.’ Before the end of September she was back again in Batala; and there
she was soon joined by Mr. Baring, after his most sad absence. For a
while, but only for a while, Batala was still to be his home.
In October for the first time the idea came definitely up of building a
‘Mission Bungalow’ in the place, an idea which afterwards developed into
A. L. O. E.’s last earthly home.
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