AN UNEXPECTED RESOLVE
It is not quite easy to say at what precise date the idea first seriously presented itself to the mind of Charlotte Tucker, that she might go out to India as a Missionary2. Some years earlier, after the death of her sister Fanny, she had evidently regretted that she could not do so, looking upon herself as too old. But the question again arose—Was she really too old? That question Charlotte now faced steadily3.
The plan of living in her brother’s house, never looked upon as entirely4 permanent, had lasted several years; but various causes pointed5 to a change before long as probably necessary. In January 1875, Mr. Hamilton, who had long been in failing health, passed away; and Charlotte seems, either in anticipation6 of the event, or directly after, to have had some floating ideas of making a home with her widowed favourite sister. Here also, however, there were certain difficulties in the way of an entirely permanent arrangement; and meanwhile the thought of India was becoming prominent.
Charlotte was now close upon fifty-four years old,—an age at which few women dream of making an absolutely fresh start in life. Some are and some are not elderly at that age; but as a general rule no doubt a woman’s best and most vigorous days are then over, and she is more or[174] less disposed for an easy existence. Many at that period can thoroughly7 enjoy travelling for pleasure. But to make a new home amid new surroundings, to learn a new language, to enter upon a new line of work,—these things after the fiftieth birthday have a somewhat alarming sound.
Not so with A.L.O.E.! For her these fifty years and more of quiet English existence had been years of preparation, of training, of patience. For her parents’ sake she had dutifully held back, during the noontide and early afternoon of her history, from much that she would fain have done; and though the latter part of her ‘afternoon’ had been full and busy, with freedom to do what she willed, yet even this was not enough. At fifty-four she stood practically alone, with no near relative entirely dependent on her kind offices. She was absolutely necessary to none. Had she been, she would not have gone to India. But finding herself thus unfettered, the thought came up,—Why not devote the Evening of her life to Missionary work? Why not set an example to others who, like herself, might with advancing years be left free of ties? Or at least, why not put the matter to the test of actual trial, and prove whether or not elderly women, and not younger ones only, might go forth8 to work among the Heathen?
There was the question of health. Could she stand the trying climate of India? Would she not be a mere9 burden on others?—an additional care instead of a help?
Well, at least she could try. If her health failed to stand the climate, she could but return home. If she succeeded, she might be the Pioneer of many more, who would perhaps venture to tread in her footsteps.
Had it been a question of going out at the expense of the Society’s funds, the Society might rightly have hesitated; but Charlotte Tucker had enough of her own. While[175] placing herself under the authority of the Zenana Society, and obeying orders, she would pay her own way; therefore, no risking of Missionary funds was involved.
No doubt she was peculiarly well adapted for the attempt. Although thin and delicate-looking, she was distinctly wiry, with much underlying10 strength, and an immense amount of vigour11 and vitality12. A woman of fifty, who can lightly dance the gavotte, with springs which a child cannot emulate13, is not quite an ordinary specimen14 of advancing years. The failure of power which had followed upon the death of Letitia, lasting15 more or less during some years, had now pretty well passed off; and there seemed to be good promise of a healthy old age.
She was generally sound, with no especial delicacy16; she did not suffer from any tendency to headache; she was not fussy17, or self-indulgent, or dainty as to her eating, or particular as to personal comforts, or squeamish as to her surroundings, or shy in making new friends, or afraid of toil18 and trouble. All these things were in her favour. She was in fact no timid shrinking Miss Toosey,—dear little old lady that Miss Toosey was!—but a fine spirited specimen of A middle-aged19 Lady of England,—well fitted, it might be, to become even then A Lady of India. Those who think of following the example of A. L. O. E. ought to possess at least some of her qualifications. Had a Miss Toosey, instead of a Miss Tucker, been the Pioneer of elderly ladies in the Mission-field, the attempt would have been a disastrous20 failure.
Although the matter was not definitely settled until the spring of 1875, it had plainly been for some time in Charlotte’s mind as something more than a bare possibility; for during many weeks she had been studying Hindustani. She had, however, said not a word about it to any of her relatives, beyond privately21 consulting her elder brother, Mr. Henry Carre Tucker. She thought[176] much, prayed much, and waited to be shown her right path: meanwhile beginning to prepare for what might be her duty.
When at length she gave out her intention, as a matter already decided22, the announcement fell among friends and relatives like the bursting of a bomb. Nobody had dreamt of such a career for ‘Auntie Char1.’
LAURA
About the Year 1871
The following letter contains her first intimation of what was coming to her sister, Mrs. Hamilton:—
‘March 24, 1875.
‘My beloved Laura,—I do not know when I shall send this, for I hardly hope that when you know my plans for the future you will say, as Henry did, a month ago, “Selfishly I should be delighted,”—but I hope that when you have quietly thought and prayed over the subject, you will not let your tender affection make you wish to keep me back from the work for our dear Lord for which I have for some time been preparing myself by hard study.
‘Years ago I said that if I were not too old to learn a new language I should probably—after sweet Fanny had departed—have gone out as a Missionary. This year the question came to my mind, Am I really unable to learn a new language? I find that I can learn, and the only real objection to my going is taken away. Yes, sweet Laura, the only real objection; for I can leave you rich in the devoted23 love of your children. Thank God, you are not lonely; and circumstances might easily arise to make it undesirable24 that I should make a third or fourth lady in—perhaps—a Curate’s dear little home.
‘I have not come to my present decision in a hurried moment. In the second week of February I made my Missionary project a subject of special prayer; on the 24th I had an important interview with Henry, with whom I had corresponded on the subject. He had no fears as to my health standing25 the climate, or as to my being able to learn the language. I began to learn it on the 14th February, and by many hours of diligent26 study have nearly gone through St. Matthew in Hindustani, besides making a vocabulary of more than three hundred words, learning by heart, etc. I have thrown my soul into the work, thankful and happy in the hope that the Lord would open my lips, that my mouth should show forth His praise to the poor Zenana prisoners in India. The enclosed, being the two last letters[177] which I have received from the Secretary of the Zenana Mission, will show you how graciously God has smoothed the way for me, providing an escort all the way to the place which I now think of as my home—Amritsar.
‘But you will say—“Why choose India? Why at your age be not content to work in England?”
‘I will give you a few reasons for my thinking it desirable for me to go to the East:—
‘1. In that corner of the Vineyard the labourers are indeed fearfully few; scarcely one to many, many thousands of perishing heathen.
‘2. Not one Englishwoman in ten is so well suited to bear heat as myself.
‘3. Not one woman in a hundred at least is so free from home-ties as myself.
‘4. There is a terrible want of suitable literature for Indian women. If God enabled me still to use my pen, intimate knowledge of even one Zenana might be an immense help to me in writing for my Indian sisters.
‘Do not grudge27 me, dear one, to the work for which my soul yearns28. You see by the enclosed that my arrangements are made, and that expostulation would but pain me. I would have told you of my plan some time ago, only I feared to distress29 you when you have had so much of trial. But why should you expostulate, or why should you be distressed30? Is not Missionary work of all work the highest? I only fear that I am presumptuous31 in coming forward; but it seems as if my dear Lord were calling me to it; and my heart says,—“Here am I; send me.” I own with shame that much that is unworthy mingles32 with my desire to serve the Lord in India; but the desire itself has, I trust, been put into my mind by Him.
‘Cheer and encourage and pray for me, my Laura, that my Autumn may be better than my Spring and Summer—that the richest harvest come in the latter days. Ask the Lord to give me Indian gems33 in the crown which He has bought for His servants.
‘On the 28th February, at Holy Communion, I devoted myself to the Zenana Mission. But I am bound by no vows34. I go out free, an honorary Agent of the Society.—Your loving
‘C. M. Tucker.’
Writing again on the 7th of May, she said: ‘I have been formally presented to the Committee of my own[178] Society, who were very courteous35.’ The Society was then known under the cumbrous name of ‘The Indian Female Normal School and Instruction Society.’ A few years later it separated into two distinct Societies; one of which, ‘The Church of England Zenana Society,’ Charlotte Tucker joined.
As was to be expected, her new plan met with some opposition36. Many who dearly loved her were most sincerely grieved at the thought of such a parting; and others were disposed to look upon the scheme at her age as somewhat crazy. Small marvel37 if they did. Such an attempt had not been made before; and the untried always contains unmeasured elements of danger and difficulty. Probably her unusual fitness for the undertaking38 was hardly realised as yet even by many of those who knew her best. She had not, however, the pain of opposition from her best-loved sister, Mrs. Hamilton. ‘It will be a sore pang39 to her to part with me,’ she wrote to her niece, Mrs. Boswell; ‘but her feeling will be that she gives me to God. And to my great comfort she does not attempt to stay me.’
Before going to India, she resolved to take another voyage—a trip to Canada, for a farewell sight of her nephew, ‘Charley’; the youngest of ‘The Robins40.’ She would have his brother, her other nephew, Louis Tucker, for a companion on this preliminary journey. Of its perils41 and pleasures Charlotte Tucker’s own pen can best tell the tale.
TO MRS. J. BOSWELL.
‘May 24.
‘I had more than an hour to wait at Paddington, but ——, who was with me, gave me a little lesson in Hindustani. P. E. did the same yesterday; he let me repeat and read from the Testament42 to him, and then he read a little to me. I generally understood what he was reading when he went slowly. I am so thankful to snatch lessons in[179] pronunciation.... Louis and I are, if all be well, to start in the Nova Scotia on Thursday, at one o’clock.... What a beautiful hymn43 there is in Hymns44 Ancient and Modern, “for those at sea”! Not that I consider drowning a worse way of going Home than any other. As a lady said, “We cannot sink lower than into our Father’s Hand”; for it is written, “He holdeth the deep in the hollow of His Hand.”’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Gresford, May 26, 1875.
‘I am almost packed, ready for my start to-morrow morning; but I have a nice quiet time for a little chat with precious Laura. Loving thanks for your sweet letter....
‘You wished me to see Dr. Griffith. I have seen him to-day, though not in the character of a patient, I am thankful to say.... The dear old man appeared to feel real gratification at hearing of my going to India as a Zenana visitor, inquired with interest about the language,—health did not appear to enter his medical mind,—and really affectionately gave me his blessing45. I am glad to have it. I told him that I am fifty-four, and Dr. Griffith made nothing of it. Dear Aunt is so loving and motherlike; but she sympathises in the cause, which is a comfort to me. It would have been very painful had she disapproved46,—almost as painful as if my favourite sister had disapproved. Dr. G.’s visit really refreshed me.’
TO THE SAME.
‘On board the Nova Scotia,
May 27, 1875.
‘I did not think that I should have had an opportunity of having a letter posted from Derry, but it appears that I shall. I am now quietly scudding47 over the Atlantic. There is not much motion in the vessel48, which seems to me to be a very large one. There are a great many emigrants49, but I doubt whether it will be easy for me to communicate with them.
‘You who are so kindly50 anxious about my comfort will be pleased to know that I have a very fair amount of wraps, and am more likely to suffer from heat than cold, seeing that my cabin port-hole is never opened, and that the only way of ventilating it is by leaving the door open,—a thing not to be thought of at night, as ladies’ and gentlemen’s[180] cabins are not at all in separate parts of the vessel. By-the-by, the latter part of that long sentence will not please you. I should have broken the paragraph into two. I have at present the luxury of having the cabin all to myself, and only hope that when we touch at the Irish port, we will take in no fair passenger to share it.
‘Now I think I will go on deck.... I am perfectly51 well at present. The only thing I fear is using up my oxygen at night. I have had such a nice letter of welcome from Mrs. Elmslie.’[21]
CIRCULAR LETTER TO SEVERAL OF THE FAMILY.
‘June 5, 1875.
‘“Yes, you will see icebergs52, plenty, more than enough,” said the Captain to me on the 3rd. “This is an exceptional year for ice.” He spoke54 so quietly that I did not at the time give full significance to his words.
‘But on the next day, the 4th, we beheld55 icebergs indeed,—I believe more than a hundred, and some, O how glorious! Our eyes were satiated with beauty. Now a bold iceberg53 rose before us, reminding me of pictures of Gibraltar; but this berg was all of snow,[22] and, as well as we could guess, about 150 feet high. Then another, most graceful56 in shape, appeared, like a sculptured piece of alabaster57, wearing a huge jewel of pale greenish blue; this, from its pure beauty, Louis called “The Maiden58.” We turned from its softer loveliness, to gaze on that which I thought the finest iceberg of all, the ruins of some huge amphitheatre.
‘As we gazed, some of the bergs changed greatly in shape. The “Maiden” split quite in two. Fancy these glorious wanderers from Greenland or Labrador, with the sea-spray dashing against their sides, showing that they were aground; for, as you are aware, the mass of ice below water is far greater than that which is visible above it. One could not but think, “What a mercy it is that we did not pass those large icebergs in the night!” Had our great emigrant-ship, freighted with 2000 tons of iron, dashed up against one of them, we should have gone to the bottom like lead. Nothing more would have been heard of the Nova Scotia, and the more than 600 mortals on board.
[181]
‘But the day was clear, and it was easy to give the bergs a wide berth59. Every one’s spirits rose. There was nothing but enjoyment60 of the beautiful scene, admiration61 at the strange sights before us. The sun at length sank; but a few icebergs loomed62 in the distance, and I had an idea that we had almost come to the end of the ice-tract. We had delightful63 music in the saloon, and all appeared cheerfulness and peace. Even when my attention was directed to strange dark objects on the ocean, which I could see through the round saloon window, no thought of danger came into my mind.
‘At the invitation of another lady I went on deck, where I was able better to watch the strange scene before me. Out of the ice-tract, indeed! Why, we were in the very midst of thousands upon thousands of masses of floating ice, through which the vessel very, very cautiously as it were felt her way, sometimes stopping altogether. Strange to say, even when I heard the keel grate over ice, it was very, very slowly that I received the impression of danger. The night was exquisitely64 lovely, the stars shining gloriously. I could hardly have supposed that any star would have cast such a reflection on the smoothest water as Mars threw on the still ocean.
‘The brightness of the starlight, the quietness of the water, greatly added to our chance of safety. One felt that a watchful66 and skilful67 captain was cautiously piloting us, avoiding the larger masses of ice, though our vessel passed right over some of the little ones. I watched the tiny globes of phosphoric light which sometimes gleamed on the water, and the dark objects which I knew to be pieces of floating ice. There was pleasure in watching them; for though reason at last convinced one that danger there must be under the circumstances, a touch of fear, or rather sense of danger, rather enhances enjoyment.
‘I was tired, but lingered on deck, till a lady came up to me, and suggested that we had better go below, as she believed that lights were put out at eleven, and if we did not go we might have to retire to bed in the dark. Down I descended68 to my cabin in the lower part of the vessel. Some of the passengers on deck had been considering the possibility, on so fair a night, and with Newfoundland near,—for we had sighted the light on shore,—of our being saved by the boats, even should the vessel be lost. But we remembered that there were more than 600 persons on board. The Captain would do well, if he could manage to place half the number in the boats. It was clear that all could not expect to be saved.
‘When I went to my cabin, I was not disposed at once to go to[182] rest. I knelt on my sofa, so as to be able to look out from my port-hole on the ocean and its numerous floating fragments of ice, seen in the starlight. Not only was the sense of sight exercised, but that of hearing. Nine times I thought that I heard the keel grate against the ice. I may possibly be mistaken in the number of times; but the noise was distinct, and its nature not to be mistaken. At a short distance—it did not look a hundred yards—the clear, smooth sea appeared to be skirted by a tall hedge. It was not land, for occasionally I saw a light gleam through it. I asked a seaman69 afterwards what it was,—it was, as I suspected, a bank of fog between us and the coast of Newfoundland.
‘I watched till my cabin-light went out, and I was left in darkness, save that my port-hole looked like a pale moon in the dark cabin. I turned into my berth, but not at once to sleep. I lay thinking, reflecting on the possibility of feeling the vessel going down, down,—and reflecting on what an easy death drowning would be. Still, I did not really expect to be drowned.
‘The vessel stopped dead still,—I listened for the sound of pumping, or of preparing boats. I heard one—to me—strange noise, I can hardly describe it, between a blast and a bellow70. I thought that it must be a signal, and I was not wrong; for I hear this morning that it was the fog-whistle from the shore. It seemed to me that it was useless for me to rise; if there were any use in my returning to the deck, dear Louis would call me. He would be sure to think of my life before his own.
‘After a while I went fast asleep, and did not awake till the bright, clear morning, when there could no longer be the shadow of danger. I rose, dressed, and went on deck. The sea was beautifully smooth, blue, and clear from ice, except a few bergs in the distance. I had a happy, thankful heart.
‘One lady had remained on deck till past three. She told me of a field of ice, and great masses of ice, through and beside which we had passed; and she had seen the Northern Lights, which I am sorry to have missed. The Captain never slept till the drift-ice was passed. He was at breakfast, however, this morning, and I doubt not felt very thankful. I believe that he has had three anxious, wakeful nights; but the change in the weather must have been a very great help to him. We had had such miserable71 dull weather, and such heavy rolling seas. Last night all was so clear; and I saw the stars, I think, for the first time since our starting. Please pass this letter on; for I cannot write over the same thing to all dear ones.’
[183]
TO MRS. J. BOSWELL.
‘On board a huge River Steamer,
June 9, 1875.
‘Here we are steaming up the St. Lawrence to Montreal.... Quebec is a wondrously72 fair city.... We went this morning to see the Montmorency Fall, a cascade73 where a great volume of water churned into foam74 dashes down a precipice75 300 feet high....
‘June 10.
‘I finish this off in Montreal, a very handsome, thriving-looking city, with far grander buildings than Quebec: but it wants the dreamlike, exquisite65 beauty of its sister. More kindness meets us here.... Have you seen the account of the loss of the Vicksburg in the ice, just three days before we encountered the ice off the same coast? Only five sailors saved; not one passenger! We should have gone down faster than the poor Vicksburg, because of our heavier cargo76. I should not have had a chance; and my gallant77 Louis would probably have lost his (life), because he would never have deserted78 me.’
Although Charlotte Tucker’s Indian life lay still in the future, this seems to be the right place for quoting a few words from her pen, written after years of toil in the East. Her mind was plainly reverting79 to the voyage above described:—
‘It seems strange that the idea of an ice-bound vessel should suggest itself to a Missionary, working in the “glowing East”; yet it is so. We, in Batala, seem for years to have been labouring to cut a passage through hard, cold ice, with the chilly80 bergs of Muhammadanism and Hinduism towering on either hand. But though channels which had been laboriously81 opened may be closed, the crew are by no means disheartened. The worst of the winter is now, we hope, over. We see on various sides cracks in the ice. A Brahmin convert, brave and true, has been like a bright fragment broken from the berg, helping82 somewhat to throw it off its balance. The way is becoming more open, and there are tokens of melting below the surface of the ice. We know that one day of God’s bright sunshine can do more to make a clear way than our little picks can accomplish.’
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missionary
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steadily
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entirely
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pointed
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anticipation
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thoroughly
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vigour
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vitality
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specimen
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lasting
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delicacy
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middle-aged
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privately
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distressed
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
scudding
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| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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emigrants
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| n.（从本国移往他国的）移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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52
icebergs
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| n.冰山，流冰( iceberg的名词复数 ) | |
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iceberg
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| n.冰山，流冰，冷冰冰的人 | |
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54
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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alabaster
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| adj.雪白的；n.雪花石膏；条纹大理石 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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65
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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68
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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wondrously
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| adv.惊奇地，非常，极其 | |
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73
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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80
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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