THE HOME-GOING
Up to the end of October Miss Tucker had seemed to be on the whole much the same as usual; though more than one watcher had noted1 a gradual failure of strength. The expedition to Bahrwal, for the Dedication2, proved to be too much for her powers; especially as she insisted on returning to Batala the same evening, so as not to break into another day’s work.
At the time she appeared, as Mrs. Wade3 afterwards wrote, ‘though frail4, wonderfully bright, ... full of conversation while talking to the Bishop5 and others.’ When the ‘feast’ took place she sat upon the ground among the Indian Christians6, after her old style, utterly8 refusing a chair. Some who were present left in the middle of the day, so soon as the Dedication was over; but Miss Tucker remained till the evening, so as to be present at the second Service. Notwithstanding her brightness, Mr. Clark was much impressed with the alteration10 in her look; and he has since said that ‘she evidently believed it to be her leave-taking.’
The day ended, Miss Tucker seemed very much exhausted11; and when returning by rail, with Mr. and Mrs. Wade, she lay down on the seat to rest. The result of this expedition was a severe cold, with much hoarseness12; and though her daily work went on as usual, she must[504] have felt very poorly. Mr. Clark speaks of her as, a few days later, passing through Amritsar, and calling to see himself and his wife. So ill did he think her looking, that the expression he makes use of is: ‘Death was even then written on her face.’
Others do not appear to have been so soon alarmed. On November 13, writing to Miss Dixie, Miss Tucker mentioned casually13, ‘I have a cold,’ as an excuse for her shaking hand; and said no more. But it was ‘the beginning of the end.’
About this time she kindly14 took in a friend, Mrs. C——, who seemed poorly and in need of change; and who, after coming to ‘Sonnenschein,’ proved to be seriously ill. Miss Tucker sat much with her, in a hot room; going out from thence, late each evening, into the night air, to reach her own little dwelling15. On the 11th, two days before her letter to Miss Dixie, she confessed to pain in the side, telegraphed for a nurse, and went to bed. Next day, Sunday, she was up again, and at Church. Then the Nurse appeared, to be sent off on Monday, in charge of Mrs. C——, to Amritsar; after which again Miss Tucker went down.
Dr. Clark came to see her; and though the fever was not very high, and no especial anxiety was felt, it was decided16 that she ought to go to Amritsar to be nursed—a Doctor there being on the spot. Miss Tucker was much grieved at the decision. She longed to remain, and to die in her dear Batala; and even then, evidently, she was making up her mind to the likelihood of death. But, however unwillingly17, she submitted to the wishes of others, and went.
THE LAST PAGE OF A. L. O. E.’S DIARY
The journey did no harm; and on arrival at Amritsar Miss Tucker was most tenderly nursed by her friend, Miss Wauton, and others, with the help soon of a regular nurse. But though the fever yielded to remedies, and the[505] bronchitis improved, both the cough and pain becoming for some days better, she was worn out, and had no rallying power. The weakness was extreme, and the dislike to food could not be overcome. Steadily18 and slowly she sank, lasting19 just three weeks from the date of the latest tremulous entry in her Journal.
Dr. Arthur Lankester[142] had written on the 27th of October: ‘Sorry to say Auntie has taken a severe chill at Bahrwal; she looks very frail and weak; only, she is so wonderful that we all hope she will soon be about once more, to cheer us all with her bright, sweet smile.’ He wrote again on Nov. 22: ‘Dear Miss Tucker has been moved to the Mission-house here,[143] and I am thankful to be allowed to be with her. She is very, very ill, but so bright, and longing20 to go “Home.” I fear she is fast sinking. It is a great privilege to be allowed to help look after her.’ And again, on Nov. 30: ‘Auntie sinking fast; the end can’t be far off. O what joy and glory are waiting for her!—for us a terrible blank that nothing can fill. No one could be quite like her.’
The last dictated21 letter of Charlotte Tucker was to her niece, Mrs. J. Boswell, on the 21st of November:—
‘My dearest Bella Francis,—You will all like to know how I am getting on. I have come again to House Beautiful in Amritsar, where the four sweet damsels, Faith, etc., glide23 about to see to my comfort. Yesterday dear Gertrude joined us, and also Miss B. A., so there is a regular bevy24. Dr. Clark said yesterday, with a very broad smile, that we were getting on; but I cannot quite see the pith of this. When a worn-out ekka horse tumbles down on the road, and no one can make him get up, one can scarcely say that he is getting on. Getting up must come first. I ought to be very thankful for so much kindness; but you can imagine, darling, that when I hope to soar on eagle’s wings, it is rather a trial to have the doctor tie them down so tightly, that when I hope to fly I cannot even creep.
‘I fancy this has been an attack of bronchitis and influenza25. Now this is difficult to me even to dictate22. Would you have little[506] bulletins roughly printed on my account, and put them in envelopes, and send them to ——?‘: after which follows a list of relatives and friends in England, together with one or two short messages, and a request that they would ask for her ‘patience and perfect submission26.’
The day succeeding Miss Tucker’s arrival in Amritsar Mrs. Wade came to see her; and during either that call or the next Miss Tucker put the question, ‘Is my face altered?’ Mrs. Wade hesitated, unable to deny that she saw a change. Miss Tucker immediately added: ‘Don’t mind telling me. It is harder to be patient on this pillow than to go inside the Golden Gate.’ And to Miss Jackson she said: ‘To depart and to be with Christ is so very much better!’
Many friends came to ask after her; but on account of her excessive feebleness a very limited number could be admitted; only one or two in the day, and merely for a few minutes each.
One day, on hearing Mr. Clark’s voice outside, she said, ‘Is that Mr. Clark?’ They told her that she must not see any one; she was too weak. ‘But I must see him!’ she replied; and then, ‘I will see him!’—with a flash of the old determination. When he was brought in she said to him: ‘I am dying! I know it. I am very happy,—in perfect peace,—without a doubt or a care,—but I have none of the rapturous feelings of triumph, which I have rather looked forward to!’ Then she added: ‘It is best as it is!’ The next day and the day after, when Mr. Clark was again admitted, she was both times too ill to say anything.
She was indeed this time far too entirely28 worn out and exhausted, both bodily and mentally, for any shout of joy. All was quiet trust, perfect confidence; but eagerness and exultation29 were physically30 out of the question. She could only wait peacefully to be carried through the waters of the River. Rapture31 would come when she reached the Other Side.
[507]
Still, there was the same longing as ever to go. Several times she said: ‘Do not pray that I may stay here.’ And another time: ‘Christ has abolished death! I am longing to go Home!’
On Sunday, November 26th, Mr. Wade came to her room for Holy Communion; Miss Wauton and Miss Jackson being present. Miss Tucker was perfectly32 clear in mind, and able to join audibly in the responses; but the after-exhaustion was great.
Sometimes she would speak lovingly of her friends, and would wish that she could see one and another. ‘It is a pity Rowland Bateman is not here,’ she said. Also she would give directions for presents to be sent to one and another after her death. On the 27th she sent for Babu Singha, and mentioned particulars as to the manner in which she wished her funeral to be conducted. The boys—her dear brown boys, as she had so often called them—were to carry her to the grave, on a native charpai. No coffin33 was to be used; and the expenditure34 might not exceed five rupees. She was of course to be buried in Batala. Nobody was to shed tears; nobody was to put on mourning; and her own funeral hymn35, one which she had written quite lately in Urdu, was to be sung.
One day Miss Jackson repeated the hymn, ‘For ever with the Lord!’—and Miss Tucker said, ‘That is my favourite hymn!’ So it too was afterwards chosen to be sung at the funeral.
On Wednesday, November 29, her temperature fell to 95°; and great difficulty was experienced in restoring it to normal. Two days later it fell again; and this time there was no rally. The cough and other symptoms were exceedingly trying; and all Friday night she suffered greatly from oppression, restlessness, and weariness. Again and again she could be heard to murmur36, ‘Quickly! Quickly!’ Nothing else that she said could be distinguished37.
[508]
Early in the morning of Saturday, December the 2nd, she became more placid38; and when asked if she felt any pain she made a negative sign. Dr. Weitbrecht came to read and pray with her. She seemed to recognise him, and to understand what he said; but she had no power to articulate. Soon after this unconsciousness set in, and lasted to the end, broken only once by a lifting of the eyelids39, and an upward look, as if she saw something which others could not see.
At a quarter-past three in the afternoon, calmly and without a struggle, she passed away.
The change which came over her in death was remarkable40. A change is often seen; a return sometimes to greater youth and beauty. Death smooths away wrinkles, refines rugged41 features, sharpens the outlines. But in this case the transformation42 was of a rare type. ‘I never saw a face so altered,’ wrote Dr. Clark, who had attended her. ‘It became a face of massive power; more like that of the Duke of Wellington than anything else; the nose particularly so, and the jaw43. A strong, massive, determined44, powerful face. I suppose the power was always there, but masked by the habitual45 gentleness and tender consideration for all around, which was so beautiful a feature in her beautiful character.’
This allusion46 to the Duke of Wellington naturally recalls her ardent47 admiration48 for him. She would in life have probably counted no compliment greater than to have been called like him. But the description is singular, because her features had never been of the same type as the Duke’s features. She had not a Roman nose; and while many describe hers as a ‘bright face,’ ‘a sparkling face,’ ‘a long, thin face,’ and even in one case ‘a small face’ no one ever uses such words as ‘massive’ or ‘powerful,’ as descriptive of her appearance at any period of her life. The touch of death seems to have torn away[509] a kind of veil, leaving bare the original outlines; perhaps to some extent indicating what the face might have become, if unsoftened by the moulding influences of discipline.
Miss Jackson wrote from Amritsar, on Monday, December 4th: ‘Yesterday the Dead March was played in Church, and all the congregation stood. It was announced that all who wished to take a last look at the dear face could do so at our house at a certain hour; and about sixty availed themselves of this permission.’ And Miss Wauton adds: ‘Miss Jackson will have told you that many friends in Amritsar came on Sunday afternoon, to take their last look at the peaceful sleeper49. The hands were clasped as if in prayer. The face was thin and worn; but this only brought out a clearer chiselling50 of the features; and the calmness of death gave a grandeur51 and nobility to the expression, beyond anything we had seen in the face while living. She looked, as one friend said, “like a Crusader.”’
On December the 4th they bore all that remained on Earth of Charlotte Tucker from Amritsar to Batala. As she had forbidden the use of a coffin, the body was laid upon a small Native bedstead, and, being carefully secured in position, was conveyed thus, not by rail but by road. On reaching Batala, the charpai, with its quiet burden, was placed in the Church of the Epiphany,—known colloquially52 as ‘the large Church,’ to distinguish it from the little School ‘Chapel,’—there to remain till morning. Some of the Baring High School boys took turns in watching beside the loved form all night through.
Next day, Tuesday, was fixed53 upon for the funeral. It had been delayed unusually long, to allow friends from a distance to be present. A great many came from Amritsar, Lahore, and other stations; and a message from the Bishop expressed his regret at being unavoidably kept[510] away by a Confirmation54. The Archdeacon and the Bishop’s Chaplain were both present, as also were Dr. Weitbrecht, Mr. Clark, Mr. Wade, Mr. Mackenzie, Mr. Wright, Mr. Wigram, Mr. Shireff, Mr. Hoare, Mr. Coverdale, and Mr. Grey, all in white surplices. A large congregation filled the whole Church, including Missionaries55, friends, Native Christians, Non-Christians of Batala, and boys of both the High School and the ‘Plough.’ The first part of the Burial Service was read there; and two or three hymns56 were sung. Mr. Clark preached a short sermon from Acts i. 8.
Then began the Procession from the Church to the little Christian7 Cemetery57; the latter being close to ‘Sonnenschein,’ and nearly two miles away from the Church. Happily it was a cool day; and the roads had been well watered beforehand. A Police-guard preceded the Procession.
First came the surpliced Clergy58; then the bier, which was covered with a white chaddah; while many beautiful white Crosses and wreaths sent by friends were laid upon it. Some of the older schoolboys carried the bier, taking turns. Next came the ladies and other Missionaries; also the general congregation, and the rest of the boys. Crowds of leading Batala men were present. A letter from Miss Wauton, written at the time, describes the scene graphically:—
‘After the Easter hymn, “Lo, in the grave He lay,” the congregation then formed into Procession; the Clergy first, then the Bier.... The long line of followers59 stretched out, till we could scarcely see the end of it. The distance being about two miles, the walk occupied more than an hour. Hymns were sung the whole way; and the groups of people, Hindus and Muhammadans, who lined the road and crowded the tops of the houses, as we passed the city, seemed much interested in looking on. Many of them, I think, came as far as the Cemetery.
‘As we passed through the gates, copies of a hymn were distributed,[511] which the dear Auntie had composed about three weeks before she was taken ill. On sending it to me at the time, she added in her letter: “Perhaps you will like to see my little funeral hymn. Perhaps it may be sung when I go to sleep.”
‘We also had the hymn, “Jesus lives”; and closed with her favourite, “For ever with the Lord.” Deep feeling was shown; and many of the boys could scarcely restrain their tears. We all felt we had lost a friend, such as we should never see again. The Mission is bereaved,—not only Batala, but the whole of the Panjab; and we all mourn our loss together....
‘Dr. Weitbrecht had arranged everything for yesterday most beautifully. The whole Service was, I think, in perfect accordance with her wishes; simple, sweet, and solemn, yet with an element of joy and hope about it, which was suitable to her bright, joyous60 nature. We could indeed give thanks for the fight she had fought, the course she had finished, the crown she had won; and so we laid her down,—till the Day break and the shadows flee away. “Till He come!”’
Another eye-witness, Mrs. Wade, wrote:—
‘We were very thankful that it was possible to delay the meeting at Batala till Tuesday, as it gave opportunity for friends from some distance to be present. We all met in the Church for the first part of the Service and sermon by Mr. Clark,—the dear familiar face no longer among the worshippers, but in the King’s Presence.... The walk from the Church to the little Cemetery, quite near her own home, is long, and occupied an hour; during which time many hymns of faith and love were softly sung, and at the grave her own hymn, one she had composed not six weeks ago for her own funeral.... Dr. Weitbrecht then completed the Service.... The silence of the onlookers61, as one went towards the grave, was very noticeable. Many of them felt that they had indeed lost a friend. A large number of the Native gentlemen of the City were present in the Church and during the Service, with reverent62 demeanour; and when we had left, I was told, many of the poor women came to weep at her grave.
‘We thank God for all she was during the long life, and especially in the eighteen years in India.... Batala will never be the same. Many of the elder boys, who carried her, were weeping.’
And from the pen of Dr. Weitbrecht we have the following:—
[512]
‘After the Burial was over, I spoke64 a few words about her to the many people who had assembled from outside, trying to impress on them the motive65 power of her life: “The love of Christ constraineth us.” After most of the Clergy and visitors had left the Cemetery, a number of women from the city came to take a last look, and to wail66 at the grave. Times without number, gentlemen of Batala and men of lower standing9 come to tell me how she went to their houses, and sympathised with their wives and daughters in joy and sorrow. Not a few will miss her open-handed charity; and, far more, her bright, ever-ready sympathy.’
The Urdu hymn, written by Miss Tucker for her own funeral, has been roughly translated as follows:—
‘The beloved Jesus sleeps in the grave;
Morn breaks, and He Who came to save
Has risen, glorious King of Kings,
Victorious67 o’er all evil things.
It is Christ’s power, Christ’s glorious Crown;
His rule shall spread with much renown68;
Christ has risen, ne’er to die;
Hallelujah! Victory!’
One fact may be mentioned, as a slight token of the loving esteem69 in which she was held. When Miss Wauton took the hymn to be printed, the Manager of the Press,—not himself a Christian, but one who had known Miss Tucker,—said immediately, ‘Oh, are those lines Miss Tucker’s? Then I will do them for nothing.’ He printed off some hundreds at his own expense.
Out of the innumerable letters written to friends, after the passing away of Charlotte Tucker, three short extracts alone must be given.
FROM THE BISHOP OF LAHORE.
‘For the simple yet always aspiring70 spirit the change will be a blessed one indeed! Her endurance unto the end, and her constant rejoicing in the Lord, have been a great example, which many of us need to follow.... It was a beautiful and consistent life; and she will still speak, though out of sight.’
[513]
FROM THE REV63. ROBERT CLARK.
‘Miss Tucker ... will not be easily forgotten there (at Batala), nor indeed in India generally, where her name will long continue to be a household word, both for what she was and for what she did. In giving her to India, the Church of Christ gave of her very best.’
FROM THE REV. ROWLAND BATEMAN.
‘There is but one voice from India, whether it comes from Natives or Europeans.... Do you know those lines of Toplady’s, beginning, “Deathless Principle arise”? They are old-fashioned and out of date, i.e. out of the range of the rising generation, but they are peculiarly beautiful, and keep recurring71, as I mentally pass through the ministry72 which Miss Wauton and others were privileged to offer to our beloved Aunt in Amritsar. There is one touch in Dr. Weitbrecht’s p.c. which may not have reached you. He mentions that many women came from the city, to wail at the grave. This is as it should be; for though we know better than to wail or even weep over the grave, in them it is but the expression of love and appreciation73 and real kindred. Nobody—I speak of non-Christians—weeps and wails74 except over relatives. We are sorely wounded, and our spirits suffer a sort of collapse75; but we have only to go over the hallowed, holy memory of her converse76 and example, to feel refreshed and braced77 again.
‘“With joy and gladness has she been brought,
And has entered into the King’s Palace.”’
So ends the story of Charlotte Maria Tucker; for fifty-four years A Lady of England, and for eighteen years A Lady of India. It is the story of a brave and self-sacrificing life, whether in her quiet English home, or in the vicissitudes78 of her Indian career. I have done my best to present her simply and truly as that which she was,—a very unusual and noble character, with of course some of those defects which are found in even the best and noblest of men and women. Charlotte Tucker would herself have been the first to deprecate any attempt to make her out a faultless being. Faultless she was not; but she[514] was singularly true, unselfish, devoted79, single-hearted, earnest-minded, and loving.
The one aim perpetually before her eyes was to carry out the Will of her Father in Heaven, alike in the greatest and in the smallest matters. Whether she were striving to bring the Heathen to a knowledge of the Truth, whether she were discussing difficult questions with a Muhammadan, whether she were writing a book, whether she were entertaining a guest, whether she were trying to cheer a sick friend, whether she were playing a game with little brown boys,—in any case she put the whole of herself into the task which she had in hand, and she did it ‘unto God.’ To the utmost of her ability, all that she undertook was done thoroughly80. There was no half-heartedness, no slurring81 over of one thing or another. Difficulties, oppositions82, failures, discouragements, lack of apparent results, all these, instead of disheartening her, seemed rather to spur her on to renewed efforts.
Beyond the few words above, no eulogistic83 ending to her Biography is needed. If her Life as it was lived does not speak for itself, mere27 words of praise would be thrown away. It is possible that her example, in going out to India after the age of fifty, will lead others to do the same; and if so, one object of her going will have been accomplished84. That may well be the result in England of her eighteen years’ toil85. The results in India lie beyond our puny86 powers of measurement.
The End
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dedication
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wade
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frail
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bishop
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Christians
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Christian
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utterly
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standing
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alteration
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exhausted
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hoarseness
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casually
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kindly
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dwelling
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decided
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unwillingly
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steadily
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lasting
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longing
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dictated
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influenza
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entirely
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exultation
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physically
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perfectly
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coffin
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hymn
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transformation
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determined
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habitual
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allusion
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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49
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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50
chiselling
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| n.錾v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的现在分词 ) | |
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51
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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colloquially
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| adv.用白话，用通俗语 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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54
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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55
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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56
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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57
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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59
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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60
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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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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65
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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66
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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71
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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72
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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73
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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74
wails
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| 痛哭，哭声( wail的名词复数 ) | |
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75
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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79
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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81
slurring
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| 含糊地说出( slur的现在分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
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82
oppositions
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| （强烈的）反对( opposition的名词复数 )； 反对党； （事业、竞赛、游戏等的）对手； 对比 | |
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83
eulogistic
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| adj.颂扬的，颂词的 | |
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84
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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85
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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86
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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