THE LIFE AND LETTERS
OF
CHARLOTTE MARIA TUCKER
BY
AGNES GIBERNE
AUTHOR OF ‘SUN, MOON, AND STARS,’ ‘RADIANT SUNS,’ ETC.
‘Nil desperandum’
Motto of the Tucker Family
The principal mass of materials for this Biography was placed in my hands last summer by the Rev. W. F. Tucker Hamilton, nephew of Charlotte Maria Tucker (A. L. O. E.), and since then many other relatives or friends, both in England and in India, have contributed their share of help, either in the way of written recollections or of correspondence. A paucity of materials exists as to the early part of the life; but in later years the difficulty is of a precisely opposite description, arising from a superabundance of details. Hundreds of letters, more or less interesting in themselves, have had to be put ruthlessly aside, to make room for others of greater interest. From first to last the long series between Charlotte Tucker and her own especial sister-friend, Mrs. Hamilton, takes precedence of all other letters in point of freedom, naturalness, and simplicity. The perfect trust and unshadowed devotion which subsisted between these two form a rare and beautiful picture.
It has seemed to me, and it may seem to others, that the main question in the Life of Miss Tucker is, not so much what she did here or there, in England or in India, as what she was. Many a discussion has taken place, and doubtless will again take place, as to the wisdom of her modes of Missionary work, and as to the degree of success or non-success which attended her labours. I have endeavoured to give fairly certain opposite views upon this question, even while strongly impressed with the conviction that no human being is capable of judging with respect to the worth of work done in his own age and generation. Subtle consequences, working below the surface, are often far more weighty, far more lasting, than the most approved ‘results’ following immediately upon certain efforts,—results which are, not seldom, found after a while to be of the nature of mere froth. Nothing can be more unprofitable, usually, than the task of endeavouring to ‘count conversions.’ It is of infinitely greater importance to note with what absolute self-devotion Miss Tucker entered into the toil, with what resolution she persevered in the face of obstacles, with what eagerness she did the very utmost within her power.
In writing the story of Miss Tucker’s life at Batala, it has been impossible not to write also, in some degree, the story of the Infant Church at Batala. My main object has of course been simply to show what Charlotte Maria Tucker herself was; and Mission work, Mission incidents, Missionaries themselves, come in merely incidentally, as part of the background to her figure. Mention of them is accidental and fragmentary; not systematic. At the same time there is no doubt that nothing would have gratified Miss Tucker more than that any use should have been made of her letters likely to help forward the great work of Missions among the Heathen. Some years before the end, when in severe illness she thought herself to be passing away, she spoke of the possibility that her long correspondence about Batala might be so employed, and earnestly hoped that, if it were so, no one-sided account should be given, but that shadow as well as sunshine, the dark as well as the bright aspect, should be frankly presented. I have endeavoured to carry out her wishes in this particular.
It is to be regretted that at least a few letters from Mrs. Hamilton to Miss Tucker cannot be interspersed among the many from Miss Tucker to Mrs. Hamilton. None, however, have come to hand. Before Miss Tucker went to India she destroyed the bulk of her papers, after a ruthless fashion; and it does not appear that while in India she kept any of the letters that she received.
After some hesitation I have decided to give generally the names in full of those Missionaries, with whom she was most closely associated. I have also decided not to give the names of Indian Christians, with very few exceptions,—as of the Head Master of the Native Boys’ School at Batala, whom she counted a personal friend; also of one or two Ordained Native Clergymen, and one or two contributors of slight material towards this Life. In many instances it would be very difficult to decide wisely at so great a distance, and without a knowledge of the individuals themselves. It is therefore best to be on the safe side. Many of the initials are the true initials; but many are not even that,—especially in the case of those who are still Heathen or Muhammadan.
In the spelling of Indian words and names I have endeavoured to follow mainly the more modern plan, adopted of late years, except in the case of a very few words which are practically Anglicised. Miss Tucker’s own spelling of Indian words and names varies extremely; the word being often given differently when occurring twice in a single page. The spelling has therefore been altered throughout her correspondence. To avoid confusion in the minds of English readers, I have also taken the same liberty with letters from some others who have not adopted the modern mode.
In conclusion, I have only to express my sincere thanks for the most kind trouble taken by many friends of A. L. O. E. in contributing materials for my guidance.
AGNES GIBERNE.
Worton House, Eastbourne.
It would scarcely be fitting that this Volume should go forth to the Public without a few words of Preface from one of A. L. O. E.’s own family.
Only my beloved Mother—the ‘Laura’ of these pages—could have penned the words which should adequately tell all that my dear Aunt was to those who knew her best and loved her most fondly. And she, little as she had expected it, was the first of the two to be called Home.
It has, however, been a great satisfaction to me to intrust the preparation of the Life to Miss Giberne; and I am glad to have this opportunity of expressing my hearty appreciation of the literary skill, the sympathy, and the fidelity to truth with which she has accomplished her task.
Averse as my Aunt ever was to any fuss being made about her, nothing would have reconciled her to the publication of a Biography, save the hope that its story might be used of God to stimulate others to consecrate their lives to the Service of Christ, whether in the Foreign or Home Mission Field. It is in such hope that it is now sent forth, with the earnest prayer that His blessing may rest upon it.
W. F. TUCKER HAMILTON.
Christ Church, Woking.
Note.—Any profits derived by A. L. O. E.’s relatives from the publication of this volume will be apportioned among those Missionary Societies in which she was especially interested.
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PART I |
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CHAPTER I |
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THE STORY OF HER FATHER |
3 |
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CHAPTER II |
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CHILDHOOD AND GIRLHOOD |
13 |
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CHAPTER III |
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EARLY WRITINGS |
27 |
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CHAPTER IV |
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A ‘FARCE’ OF GIRLISH DAYS |
39 |
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CHAPTER V |
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HOME LIFE |
62 |
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CHAPTER VI |
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GRAVITY AND FUN |
71 |
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CHAPTER VII |
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THE FIRST GREAT SORROW, AND THE FIRST BOOK |
83 |
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CHAPTER VIII |
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CRIMEA, AND THE INDIAN MUTINY |
100 |
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CHAPTER IX |
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LIFE’S EARLY AFTERNOON |
112 |
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CHAPTER X |
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A HEAVY SHADOW |
126 |
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CHAPTER XI |
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GIVING COMFORT TO OTHERS |
137 |
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CHAPTER XII |
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THE OLD HOME BROKEN UP |
146 |
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CHAPTER XIII |
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VARIOUS CHARACTERISTICS |
159 |
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CHAPTER XIV |
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AN UNEXPECTED RESOLVE |
173 |
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CHAPTER XV |
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BESIDE NIAGARA |
184 |
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PART II |
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CHAPTER I |
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FIRST ARRIVAL IN INDIA |
197 |
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CHAPTER II |
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A HOME IN AMRITSAR |
209 |
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CHAPTER III |
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CURIOUS WAYS |
224 |
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CHAPTER IV |
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A PALACE FOR A HOME |
239 |
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CHAPTER V |
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DISAPPOINTMENTS AND DELAYS |
253 |
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CHAPTER VI |
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A BROWN AND WHITE ‘HAPPY FAMILY’ |
267 |
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CHAPTER VII |
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PERSECUTIONS |
282 |
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CHAPTER VIII |
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EARLY CHRISTIAN DAYS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY |
299 |
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CHAPTER IX |
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THE CHURCH AT BATALA |
318 |
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CHAPTER X |
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LOYAL AND TRUE |
331 |
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CHAPTER XI |
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CLOUDS AFTER SUNSHINE |
344 |
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CHAPTER XII |
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THE FIRST STONE OF BATALA CHURCH |
359 |
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CHAPTER XIII |
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SOME OF A. L. O. E.’s POSSESSIONS |
374 |
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CHAPTER XIV |
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ON THE RIVER’S BRINK |
395 |
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CHAPTER XV |
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IN HARNESS ONCE MORE |
410 |
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CHAPTER XVI |
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A VISIT FROM BISHOP FRENCH |
427 |
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CHAPTER XVII |
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THE DAILY ROUND |
445 |
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CHAPTER XVIII |
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IN OLD AGE |
461 |
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CHAPTER XIX |
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LIGHT AT EVENTIDE |
475 |
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CHAPTER XX |
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THE LAST GREAT SORROW |
491 |
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CHAPTER XXI |
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THE HOME-GOING |
503 |
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LIST OF PRINCIPAL BOOKS BY A. L. O. E. |
515 |
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LIST OF SOME SMALL BOOKLETS BY A. L. O. E. |
519 |
PART I
LIFE IN ENGLAND
‘Constant discipline in unnoticed ways, and the hidden spirit’s silent unselfishness, becoming the hidden habit of the life, give to it its true saintly beauty, and this is the result of care and lowly love in little things. Perfection is attained most readily by this constancy of religious faithfulness in all minor details of life, in the lines of duty which fill up what remains to complete the likeness to our Lord, consecrating the daily efforts of self-forgetting love.’—T. T. Carter.
Charlotte Maria Tucker, known widely by her nom de plume of A. L. O. E.,—signifying A Lady Of England,—as the successful author of numberless children’s books, deserves to be yet more extensively known as the heroic Pioneer of elderly and Honorary volunteers in the broad Mission-fields of our Church.
Her books, which were much read and appreciated in the youth of the present middle-aged generation, may to some extent have sunk into the background, as the works of successive story-tellers do in the majority of cases retire, each in turn, before newer names and newer styles; but the splendid example set by Charlotte Tucker, at a time of life when most people are intent upon retiring from work, and taking if they may their ease,—an example of then buckling on her armour afresh, and of entering upon the toughest toil of all her busy life, will surely never be forgotten.
She was the sixth child and third daughter of Henry St. George Tucker, a prominent Bengal Civilian, and, later on, Chairman of the East India Company. All her five brothers went to India, and all five were there in the dark days of the Mutiny. Thus by birth she had a close connection with that great eastern branch of the British Empire, to which her last eighteen years were entirely devoted. People in general go out early, and retire to England for rest in old age. Miss Tucker spent fifty-four active years in England, and then yielded her remaining powers to the cause of our fellow-subjects in Hindustan.
It seems desirable that a slight sketch of her father’s earlier life should precede the story of hers.
Henry St. George Tucker came into this world on the 15th of February 1771. He was born in the Bermudas, on the Isle St. George, whence his name, and was the eldest of ten children. An interesting reference to this event is found in a letter of Charlotte Tucker’s, written February 15, 1890: ‘As I went in my duli to villages this morning, I thought, “One hundred and nineteen years ago a precious Baby was born in a distant island”; and I thanked God for our beloved and honoured Father.’
Henry St. George’s father was a man of good descent, of high reputation, and of a leading position in the islands. His mother, a Miss Bruere before marriage,—probably the name was a corruption of Bruyere,—was daughter of the then governor of the Bermudas, a gallant old soldier, possessing fourteen children and also a particularly irascible temper.
The elder Mr. Tucker appears to have been a man of gentle temperament and liberal views; I do not mean ‘Liberal’ in the mere party sense, but liberal as opposed to ‘illiberal.’ Whatever his own opinions may have been, he did not endeavour to force them upon his children; he did not, in fact, petrify the children’s little fancies by opposition into a lasting existence. It is amusing to read of the opposite tendencies among his boys, one taking the loyal side and another the republican side in the dawning struggle between England and her American Colonies. Long after, Henry St. George spoke of himself as having then been ‘a bit of a rebel’; adding, ‘But my republican zeal was very much cooled by the French Revolution; and if a spark of it had remained, our own most contemptible revolution of 1830 would have extinguished it, and have fixed me for life a determined Conservative.’
He had on the whole a strong constitution, though counted delicate as a child; and his early life in the Bermudas was one of abundant fresh air and exercise. Much more time was given to riding and boating than to books; indeed, his education seems hardly to have been begun before the age of ten years, when he was sent to school in England. Whether such a plan would answer with the ordinary run of boys may well be doubted. Henry St. George Tucker was not an ordinary boy; and he showed no signs of loss in after-life through ten years of play at the beginning of it.
One piece of advice given to him by his mother, when he was about to start for England, cannot but cause a smile. She was at pains to assure him that it would be unnecessary to take off his hat to every person whom he might meet in the streets of London. Henry St. George, speaking of this in later years, continues: ‘But habit is strong; and even now, when I repair to the stables for my horse, I interchange bows with the coachman and the ostlers and all the little idle urchins whom I encounter in the mews.’ One would have been sorry indeed to see so graceful a habit altered. It might far better be imitated. Exceeding courtesy was through life characteristic of the man, and it descended in a marked degree upon many of his descendants, notably so upon Charlotte Maria, the A. L. O. E. of literature.
School education, begun at ten, ended at fourteen. The boy worked hard, and rose in his classes quickly; though at an after period he spoke of his own learning in those days as ‘superficial.’ He had been intended by his father for the legal profession, and many years of hard work were supposed to lie before him. These plans were unexpectedly broken through. One of his aunts, who lived in England, acting impulsively and without authority, altered the whole course of his career. She asked him, ‘Would he like to visit India?’ A more unnecessary question could hardly have been put. What schoolboy of fourteen would not ‘like to visit India’? Young Henry seized upon the idea; and the said aunt, under the impression that she was kindly relieving his father of needless school expenses, actually shipped the lad off as middy in a merchant vessel bound for India, not waiting to write and ask his father’s permission. She merely wrote to say that the deed was done.
Officious aunts do exist in the world; but surely few so officious as this. The deepest displeasure was felt and shown when Henry’s father learned what had happened. But by the time that his grieved remonstrances reached the boy, Henry was fifteen thousand miles away, ‘hunting wild animals on the plains of Behar.’ In the present day a boy so despatched might be sent back again; but in those days India was separated from England by a vast gulf of distance and of time. Any one writing from India to England could not look for a reply in less than a year; and his father was at Bermuda, not even at home, which made a further complication.
The boy’s condition must at first have been forlorn enough. After a petted and luxurious boyhood, he had to live for months together upon salt junk; and his bed was only a hencoop. But there was ‘stuff’ in him, and hardships of all kinds were most pluckily endured. On landing at Calcutta he found himself in a strange country, among strange faces, without money and without work, though happily not quite without friends. His mother’s brother, Mr. Bruere, was one of the Government Secretaries in Calcutta; and in the house of Mr. Bruere and of Mr. Bruere’s pretty little sylph-like wife the young adventurer found shelter for some months, until an opening could be secured for him.
Fifteen years followed of a hard and continuous struggle. As long after he said of himself, he ‘looked the world in the face’ in those days; and while a mere boy of fifteen or sixteen he set himself resolutely to get on. From the first he grappled with the Native languages, showing a vigour and persistency in the study which, many many years later, were visible again in his daughter Charlotte, when grappling with the very same task. Only he was young; and she, when she followed his example, was well on in middle life.
Towards the end of those fifteen years resolution and untiring energy triumphed; and from the age of about thirty Mr. Tucker’s rise to a good position was steady.
In 1792 he became a member of the Bengal Civil Service. In 1809 he was made Secretary in the Public Department. But he had had heavy work and many troubles, and his health began to fail; so the following year, after a quarter of a century of unbroken exile, he set off for England, carrying with him Government testimonials, couched in the warmest terms. These testimonials spoke of his ‘long and meritorious services,’ of his ‘peculiar abilities,’ of his ‘talents and acquirements of the highest order,’ of his ‘unwearied diligence,’ of his ‘unimpeached integrity.’ All this, of one who, twenty-five years before, had landed on Indian shores an almost penniless adventurer, without so much as a definite plan of what to do with himself and his energies!
That very year he was engaged, and the year after he was married, to Jane Boswell, daughter of a Mr. Robert Boswell of Edinburgh, who was related to the well-known biographer of Dr. Johnson. The Boswell family was known to have first settled in Berwickshire as far back as in the days of William Rufus, and afterwards in Fifeshire and Ayrshire at Balmute and Auchinleck. Mr. Robert Boswell’s grandmother, Lady Elisabeth Bruce, was a daughter of the first Earl of Kincardine. Mr. Boswell was a devotedly good and also an able man; a minister, not in the Scottish Presbyterian Church, but in some smaller religious body; and his death took place in a somewhat tragic manner, before the date of his daughter’s marriage to Mr. Tucker. While preaching, he quoted the text which begins, ‘All flesh is as grass——,’ and as he uttered the words he fell back, dead!
A characteristic anecdote is told of his wife,—A. L. O. E.’s grandmother. She had a large family, and was badly off. One day a poor woman applied to her for help; and Mrs. Boswell called out to her daughter Jane, to know what money they happened to have in hand. ‘Only one seven-shilling piece,’ was the answer. Mrs. Boswell’s voice sounded distinctly,—‘Give it, then; give it to the woman.’ ‘But, dear mamma, there is no more money in the house,’ remonstrated Jane. More decisively still came the response, ‘Give it, then; give it to the woman.’ And given it was. The story almost inevitably recalls that of the Widow’s Mite; even though from certain points of view one is dubious as to the wisdom of the act.
Despite the poverty of the family Mrs. Boswell’s daughters settled well in life. One married Mr. Egerton of the High Court in Calcutta; one married Dr. Roxburgh; one married General Carnegie; one married Mr. Anderson; one only, Veronica by name, remained unmarried; and Jane became the wife of Henry St. George Tucker. She was at that time a gentle and beautiful girl of about twenty-one, while Mr. Tucker was already over forty.
Early in the following year, 1812, they went out to India together; and his delight was great in returning to the country where he had toiled so long, and had made many friends. This time, however, his stay in the east was to be brief.
His first child, Henry Carre, was born that same year; and two years later came his eldest daughter, Sibella Jane. Also in 1814 fell the blow of his Mother’s death, over which, strong man that he was, he wept passionately. Then his wife’s health seemed to be seriously failing; and this decided him to leave the land of his adoption, throwing up all prospects in that direction. In 1815, the first year of European peace, at the age of forty-five, he ‘retired from the active service of the Company,’ travelling by long sea with his invalid wife and his two little ones, and spending some time at the Cape by the way. Before they arrived in England another little one, Frances Anne, had been added to their number.
A home was found in Charlotte Square, Edinburgh; and for some years, till 1819 or 1820, he was well content to remain there, living a quiet home-life, with a little family growing around him. Two more boys came, George William and Robert Tudor,—the former dying in babyhood, the latter growing up to be slain in the Indian Mutiny. Losing the infant George was a dire trouble to his parents; and Mrs. Tucker, believing that he had succumbed to the keen cold of Edinburgh, was never at rest in her mind until the northern home had been exchanged for one in the south. Such a change was not to be accomplished in a day, but in the course of time it came about; and meanwhile the remaining children were a constant source of interest and delight. The ‘baby’ at this date was Robert; afterwards a very favourite elder brother of A. L. O. E. His children, known in the family by the name of ‘The Robins,’ became in later years as her own.
Mr. Tucker could not long remain contented without definite work. He was still in the prime of life, still under fifty; and an eager desire took hold of him to enter public life once more, to serve again his own country, as well as the eastern land of his adoption. These purposes he thought might best be carried out by his becoming, if possible, one of the Directors of the East India Company. For the fulfilment of his desire—a desire, not for gain or wealth or position, but for the means of doing good—he had to wait a considerable time. He had indeed to wait until his next little daughter, Charlotte Maria, was five years old. Then, at length, he was appointed Director; one of the Twenty-four who, in those days, practically ruled India. Thereafter his influence was steadfastly exerted in the direction of a wise and righteous government of the dark millions of Hindustan; the land in which he had spent a quarter of a century of his life, and to which afterward not only all his five sons went, but one of his five daughters also, in the advanced years of her life.
While he waited for this long-desired appointment, other changes took place. They left their home in Edinburgh and moved south, first spending some months at Friern Hatch, in Barnet, near Finchley; and there it was that little Charlotte first saw the light of day. In 1822 they went to live in London, settling into No. 3 Upper Portland Place, whence no further move was made until after the death of Mrs. Tucker, more than forty-five years later.
In Portland Place the family was completed. Two years after the birth of Charlotte came her next brother, St. George; two years later still her next sister, Dorothea Laura, her peculiar companion and friend. The three youngest, William, Charlton, and Clara, finished the tale of ten living children.
Mr. Tucker was, as may have been already gathered, a man of unusual force of character and of indomitable will; robust in body and mind; unwearying in work; self-reliant, yet never presumptuous; an absolute gentleman, remarkable for the polished courtesy of his bearing, alike to superiors, equals, and inferiors in social position; open and straightforward as daylight; firm in his own convictions, but well able to look on both sides of a question, and liberal towards those who differed from him; entirely fearless in doing what he held to be right, and entirely free from all thought of self-seeking. He was, as his Biographer Mr. Kaye observes,—‘pre-eminently a man amongst men,’—‘a statesman at eighteen, and a statesman at eighty.’ He was also a man of deep and true religion; a religion not much expressed in words, but apparent in every inch of his career. In a letter written long after his death by his daughter Charlotte, she remarked, when speaking of the biography of some well-known man: ‘There is nothing to indicate that he ever said, as our beloved Father said, “The publican’s prayer is the prayer of us all!”’ Probably religious speech never came easily to him. His life, however, spoke more eloquently than mere words could have done.
One of his main characteristics was an abounding generosity. He was always ready to help those who needed help, up to his power, and beyond his power. In his own home he was charming; full of wit, full of fun, full of gay spirits and laughter; full also of the tenderest affection for his wife and children, an affection which was abundantly returned. He was an intensely loving and lovable man; his wonderful sweetness and evenness of temper, never disturbed by heavy work or pressing cares, endearing him to all with whom he came in contact. While he talked little of his own feelings, he did much for the good of others; and his life was one long stretch of usefulness. The union in him of strength with gentleness, of a masterful intellect with a spirit of yielding courtesy, of nobility with playfulness, of generosity with self-restraint, of real religious conviction and experience with frolicsome gaiety, made a combination not more rare than beautiful.
Many of his characteristics were distinctly inherited from him by his daughter Charlotte; among others, his literary bent. He was fond of writing, and in his well-occupied life he found some time to indulge the play of his fancy. In the year 1835 he published a volume of plays and enigmas, called The Tragedies of Harold and Camoens, dedicated to the Duke of Wellington, for whom he and his family had the deepest esteem and admiration.
Charlotte Maria Tucker was born on the 8th of May 1821, not within the sound of Bow bells, but, as already stated, at Friern Hatch, in Barnet, no long time before the family settled down in Portland Place.
Details of her very early life are greatly wanting. We should like to know how the childish intellect began to develop; what first turned her thoughts into the ‘writing line’; whether authorship came to her spontaneously or no. But few records have been kept.
It is not indeed difficult to imagine the general character of her childhood. She was clever, quick-witted, full of fun, overflowing with energy, abounding in life and vigour. One of a large and high-spirited family, living in a home of comparative comfort and ease, and surrounded by a wide circle of friends and acquaintances, Charlotte must have had a happy childhood.
Long years after, when old and wellnigh worn out with her Indian campaign, she wrote—
‘It seems curious to look back to the birthday sixty-one years ago, when sweet Mother called me “her ten-years old.” Do you remember my funny little cards of invitation to a feast of liquorice-wine,—with possibly something else,—
‘“This is the eighth of May,
Charlotte’s Happy Birthday.”
‘I would not change this time for that. What a proud ambitious little creature I was! I have a pretty vivid recollection of my own character in youth. I should have liked to climb high and be famous.’
In another letter she alludes to the fact that as a child she had been accused of ‘liking to ride her high horse.’
No doubt in those early days her ambition pointed to higher game than children’s tales written ‘with a purpose.’
In the gay young family party, two daughters and two sons were older than herself. Of the latter the nearest in age was Robert, four years her senior, the future dying hero of the Indian Mutiny. ‘Our noble Robert’ she calls him long after; and there appears to have been an early and close tie between Robert and his ambitious, eager little sister. Of Fanny, too, the next sister above her in age, two years older than Robert, she was particularly fond. But the tie in her life which was most of all to her, perhaps taking precedence of even her passionate love for her Father, was the bond between herself and Laura, the next youngest sister, about four years her junior. From infancy to old age these two were one, loving each other with an absolutely unbroken and unclouded devotion.
The two were counted to some extent alike, though with differences. Laura was the gentler, the more self-distrustful, the more disposed to lean. Charlotte was the more impulsive, the more eager, the more energetic, the more independent, the more self-reliant. In fact, Charlotte never did ‘lean’ upon anybody. Both were equally full of spirits and of frolicsome fun.
In another letter from India to this sister, dated January 18, 1886, when referring to a recent illness, she wrote—
‘My memory is very acute. I thought lately that it was a great shame that I never should go back to dear old No. 3, which really was the happy home of our childhood before our griefs. So what do you think, Laura dear, I did lately? I acted over in my mind Christmas Day, as in the old times, when you and I were girls. I do not think that I left out anything; our jumping on dearest Mother’s bed; the new Silver;[1] the Holly and the Mistletoe; the Christmas Box; the choosing the gowns; the Cake, etc. Then I went to Trinity Church; I heard the glorious old hymn, “High let us swell triumphant notes.” It was such a nice meditation. Then Aunt Anderson and her dear daughters came for dinner. Of course Aunt had her little yellow sugar-plum box!’
It is a pretty and vivid description of the olden days in that dear old home, always spoken of among themselves as ‘Number Three,’ which she loved ardently to the last. Charlotte’s affections for everything connected with her youth were of a very enduring nature.
Another short extract from her later letters may be given here, describing something of what the loved sister Laura was to her in those early days. It is dated December 10, 1892.
‘My Laura loved me so fondly; we were so close to each other. How we used to share each other’s thoughts from youth, as we shared the same room! Our honoured Father loved to hear his Laura’s merry ringing laugh; when we chatted together he would say to her favourite sister,’—meaning herself—‘“She combines so much.” I doubt that he saw any imperfection in a being so bright, so sweet.’
And in yet one more letter to this same Laura, dated November 1, 1884—
‘You underrate your own qualifications as a companion, darling. Don’t I know you of old, how playful and genial you are, as well as loving?... You are choice company for a tête-à-tête.’
The earliest writing of Charlotte’s which comes to hand is indorsed, ‘Charlotte, 1832,’ and is addressed to ‘Miss D. L. Tucker, 3 Upper Portland Place.’ It is a valentine written to her sister; and it shows that at the early age of eleven she had at least begun a little versifying; usually the line first adopted by incipient authors.
‘The snow-drops sweet that grace the plain
Are emblems, love, of you,
With innocence and beauty blest
Pure as the morning dew.
‘Sweet rosebud, free from every storm
Of life, may peace incline
To hover ever round thy bed,
My dearest Valentine.’
Another early effort, undated, but possibly a year or two later, is addressed, ‘To Dolly, the sweet little bud of the morn,’—no doubt to the same favourite sister, Dorothea Laura.
‘Sweet bud of the morning, what poet can speak
The glories that beam in thy eye?
The rosebuds that bloom on thy fat little cheek,—
And thy round head so stuffed full of Latin and Greek,
Arithmetic and Geology.
‘I send you a character-teller, my love,
’Tis little and poor, but it may
My kindness, affection, etcetera, prove,
And show you, my dear little Dolly, I strove
To make mine a happy birthday.’
What the ‘character-teller’ may have been it is difficult even to conjecture. Since Laura was four years her junior, the Latin, Greek and Geology were of course meant in the symbolical sense, standing for learning in general.
One more apparently early effort remains; not this time versification, but a birthday letter to Laura, inscribed, ‘To my dear Lady Emma, from her affectionate Tosti.’ Why Lady Emma?—and why Tosti? In these three effusions the handwritings are curiously unlike one another, though all are childish. One is large and unformed; another is small and cramped; the third is neat and of a copperplate description. It may be that her writing was long before it crystallized into any definite shape; often the case with many-sided people. But for the juvenile handwriting, it would be almost impossible to believe that the following middle-aged production was not written in later years. Children were, however, in those days taught to express themselves like grown people; and no doubt she counted that she had accomplished her task well.
‘Many joyful returns of this day to you, dearest Laura, and may each find you better and happier than the last. I send you a little piece of velvet, which you may find useful, for I do not think you will value a present only for the money it costs; and I dare say you will agree with me that a trifle from an affectionate friend is often more valuable than great gifts from those who love you not.
‘I hope, dearest Lautie, you may enjoy a very particularly happy birthday, and that you may have as few sorrows in the year you are just entering as in that you have just passed.—Accept my kindest love, and believe me to be
‘Your affectionate friend and sister,
‘C. M. T.’
This letter may have been some years later than the two copies of verses; but that hardly does away with the difficulty. The style is almost as pedantic for the age of sixteen or seventeen as for the age of ten or twelve.
Side by side with the intense devotion for her sister Laura, there was a considerable degree of reticence in Charlotte’s nature. It may have developed more fully as time went on; yet it must surely have been a part of herself even in childhood. It was not with her a superficial reserve, an acted reticence, such as may sometimes be seen in essentially shallow women. On the surface she was free, frank, chatty, quick in response, ready to converse, full of liveliness, fun, and repartee. But underlying the freedom and brightness there was a habit of silence about her own affairs—that is to say, about affairs which concerned only and exclusively herself—which to some extent was a life-long characteristic.
Neither Charlotte nor any of her sisters ever went to school. Their father had a very pronounced objection to schools for girls; indeed, he had himself made an early resolution never to marry any girl who had been educated at school, and he kept that resolution. The same idea was followed out with his own daughters. A daily governess came in to superintend their studies; and occasional masters were provided. In reference to the latter Charlotte wrote, many years afterward, to a niece: ‘No one can do as much for us in the way of education as we can do for ourselves. A willing mind is like a steam-engine, and carries one on famously. When I was young my beloved parents did not feel able to give us many masters. We knew that, and it made us more anxious to profit by what we had.’
Twenty-five years of hard toil in India had not made a rich man of Mr. Tucker; nor did his position as a Director bring him wealth. It was his daughter’s pride in after-life to know that he had died comparatively poor, because of his inviolable sense of honour. Not that more money would not have been acceptable! Ten children, including five sons, to be launched in life, are a serious pull upon any purse of ordinary capacity; and Mr. Tucker was of an essentially generous nature. He had many relatives, many friends, and the demands upon his purse were numerous. On a certain occasion he gave away about one-quarter of his whole capital, a sum amounting to several thousands of pounds, to help a relative in a great emergency. One who met him immediately afterwards spoke of his appearing to have suddenly grown into an old man.
In Charlotte’s earlier years anxiety as to money matters was often experienced; and recurring Christmastides saw a repeated difficulty in making both ends meet. This state of things continued up till about the year 1837, when an unlooked-for legacy was left to Mr. Tucker, as a token of great esteem, by a friend, Mr. Brough. Besides the main legacy to Mr. and Mrs. Tucker, the sum of two hundred pounds came to each of the children, and was treated as a ‘nest-egg’ for each. From this date serious pressure ceased, and Mr. Tucker became able to meet the various calls upon him; not indeed without care and economy, but without a perpetual weight of uneasiness. Some few years later another friend, Mr. Maclew, left another legacy in the same kind and unexpected manner.
These facts serve to explain the paucity of masters when Charlotte was young. But the sisters bravely accepted the condition of things, and worked hard to make up for any disadvantages. One distinct gain in such a home education was that at least they were free to develop each in her own natural lines, instead of being all trimmed as far as possible into one shape.
Charlotte’s ‘lines’ were many in number.
She had a marked talent for drawing, and could take likenesses of her friends; good as regarded the salient features, though apt to grow into more of caricatures than the young artist intended. Musical gifts also were hers, including an almost painfully sensitive ear. Though her voice was never really very good, she sang much; and while well able to take a second at sight, she was in after years equally ready to undertake any other part in a glee, inclusive of the bass, which often fell to her share when a man’s voice happened to be lacking.
A gift for teaching showed itself early; and as a child she would try to impress geographical facts upon her younger brothers and sisters by an original system of her own. In the Park Crescent Gardens, near Portland Place,—their playground; described by one friend in those days as a “jungle,” because of its unkempt condition,—she would name one bed England, another France, another Germany, and so on, and would thus fix in the children’s minds their various positions, though the shapes and sizes of the beds were by no means always what they ought to have been. That the mode of instruction was effective is evident from the fact that her brother, Mr. St. George Tucker, can recall the lessons still, after the lapse of fifty years, and can say, ‘By that means I learnt that England was in the north-west corner of Europe.’
Another direction in which she excelled was that of dancing. Even in walking she possessed a peculiarly springy step, remarked by all who knew her; and this in dancing was a great advantage. She was at home alike in the dignified minuet and in the active gavotte, and she would perform the pas de basque with much spirit. Indeed dancing was an exercise in which she found immense enjoyment through half a century of life.
At home Charlotte was a leader in the games, herself flowing over with fun and frolic. Her fertile imagination left her never at a loss for schemes of amusement. Naturally eager, impulsive, vehement, she had from beginning to end an extraordinary amount of energy, and in childhood her vigour must have been almost untirable.
One can imagine how the house echoed with the gay voices and laughter of the young people, as they pursued their various games, led by the indefatigable Charlotte. Mr. Tucker loved the sound of those merry voices; and when he could join them he was probably the merriest of the whole party. At one period, heavy and long-continued work in ‘clearing up the finances’ of the East India Company kept him much apart from the family circle; and the delight was great when he could leave his big dry books, and be as a boy among the children again.
Bella, the elder girl, was pretty and of gracious manners, with dark eyes, and with a capacity for dressing herself well upon the very moderate allowance which her father was able to bestow. Fanny, the next sister, though not at all handsome, had also soft dark eyes, and a peculiarly sweet disposition; and she too dressed nicely. It was commonly said amongst themselves that Fanny was ‘the gentle sister,’ and that Charlotte was ‘the clever heroic sister.’ But Charlotte was not gifted with the art of dressing well.
In those early days, and for many a year afterwards, it would not appear that gentleness or sweetness were characteristics belonging to Charlotte. They were of far later growth, developing only under long pressure of loss and trial. In her childhood and girlhood, though doubtless she could be both winning and tender to the few whom she intensely loved, yet it was impossible to describe her generally by any such adjectives. She was chiefly remarkable for her spring and energy, her originality and cleverness, her wild spirits, and her lofty determination. With all her liveliness, however, she was in no sense a madcap, being thoroughly a lady.
In appearance Charlotte was never good-looking; and in girlhood she could not have been pretty; though there was always an indescribable charm in the vivid life and the ever-varying expression of her face.
One friend remembers hearing her tell a story of her young days, bearing upon this question of personal appearance. With a mirror and a hand-glass she examined her own face, the profile as well as the full face, and evidently she was not satisfied with the result. A wise resolution followed. Since she ‘could never be pretty,’ she determined that she ‘would try to be good, and to do all the good in the world that she could.’ It was a resolve well carried out.
This sounds like a curious echo of an early experience of her father. When a boy of about ten, he caught smallpox, and ‘came forth,’ as he related of himself long after, ‘most wofully disfigured.... “Well,” observed one of my aunts, “you have now, Henry, lost all your good looks, and you have nothing for it but to make yourself agreeable by your manners and accomplishments.” Here was cold comfort; but the words made an impression upon my mind, and may possibly have had some influence on my future life.’
And much the same thought is reproduced in Charlotte Tucker’s own clever and amusing little book, My Neighbour’s Shoes