But with the spirit of a soldier, Robert Tucker, the intrepid Judge of Futteypore, remained at his post, the only European among countless Natives, bent still on doing his duty.
The night preceding the tenth of June he passed at his Cutcherry or Office; and in the early morning news was brought that his own house had been set on fire. He then tried to collect some of the landholders, to protect the Natives in the town, and their houses; but not all his efforts could prevent the burning of the latter. His next step was to ride off to the Jail, in the hope of securing the prisoners; but he was too late, the prisoners having been already set at liberty. Mr. Tucker fearlessly reprimanded the Jail-Guard; whereupon the Guard, belonging to a bad Cawnpore regiment, opened fire. Though every shot missed, Mr. Tucker must then have seen that all was up. Everything was in confusion; the Native officers would not support him; and he stood absolutely alone.
He rode to the Cutcherry, no man daring to intercept him, and took up his position on the top; and for hours he remained, fearless and calm, awaiting his death. The day was intensely hot, causing him to suffer terribly from thirst; and one of his horsekeepers at length brought him some milk,—a deed of mercy, which shows that one man at least was not devoid of gratitude.
‘There he remained during that fearful day,’ wrote Charlotte Tucker. ‘There, as evening was closing in, he made his last lion-like stand, when the fanatic Musselmans, bearing a green flag, the emblem of their faith, came in a fierce crowd to attack him.’ How many he shot as they advanced is not certain; some say twenty, or even thirty; but at length one of his assailants shot him in the head, and the moment he fell, they took courage to rush up the stairs and to finish their work.
For Robert Tucker himself, cut off though he was in the very prime of life, there could be no regrets, except on the score of all that he might have done, had he lived. No man could be more ready than he was to go. But the blow fell heavily on those who loved him; and though for nine years he had not seen his children, whereby the sorrow to them was softened, yet the loss to their future could not but be great.
‘So he fell,’ wrote one who had escaped; ‘and in his fall the constant and fervent prayer of his latter days was answered, for he fell at the post of duty. All who knew him well mourn in him the loss of a true and noble friend, generous even to prodigality, highly talented, a thorough gentleman, and an upright judge.’
Mention of this event was made at the time in the Journal Letter of Viscountess Canning,[6] worth quoting in addition to the above.
’ ... The story of Futteypore is a strange one. The whole country round was gone, and there was a large Sepoy guard in the treasury, and every reason to believe they would rise, so all the Europeans took to boats, and went away to safe stations down the river, and I think to Banda. Only Mr. Tucker, the magistrate, would not stir, and remained with fifty Sepoys and the treasury. He was son to the late Director, Sir George Tucker,[7] and was one of the four brothers whose names we hear constantly, and he was as brave as a lion. He had a deputy-magistrate—a Mohammedan—in a high position, treated as a gentleman, and in as high a place as a native could occupy, next to himself. To this man had been given a body of mounted police, and he undertook to keep the country clear between the great trunk road and the river for some distance. He did it admirably, and took delight in it, and sent in detailed reports up to the last. But when he heard of some more places being gone, he suddenly returned to the treasury, to which his position gave him access, dismissed the fifty Sepoys with a thousand rupees apiece, and then attacked Mr. Tucker with all his police force. Mr. Tucker was killed, after defending himself till he had killed with his own hand, some say sixteen, some twenty men. I suppose he had a whole battery of revolvers, and so kept his assailants at bay.’
Though Robert was gone, other brothers of Charlotte Tucker were still in hourly danger; and the pressure of anxiety went on for months, as shown by letters of the time.
TO MISS B. F. TUCKER.