A little later, in the letter describing this favourite idea, she adds: ‘Now we come to my yellow girdle, studded with gems. This is composed of dear ones in Old England; my own Laura being the Pearl nearest the heart.’
A more prosaic and less romantic nature can perhaps hardly understand, much less sympathise with, the delight afforded to her curiously symbol-loving mind by this manner of regarding those whom she loved.
In July a letter speaks of ‘seeing more of the lights and shadows of Missionary life’ than before. A certain young Muhammadan, in whom they were greatly interested, after long inquiry and hesitation, at length made up his mind to come boldly forward, and to be baptized. Arrangements were made for his Baptism in the Church by a Native clergyman; the matter being kept as quiet as possible, for avoidance of the opposition which was sure to arise. Miss Tucker was told only on the morning of the day what was about to happen; and great was her delight, as well as her fear that some hindrance might intervene.
‘I had a kind of intuitive feeling,’ she said, ‘that something might come to prevent the Convert from openly confessing his Lord. I knew not how great the danger was.’
One hour remained before the time fixed for the Baptism, when the young man—Babu G. he may be called—came in, troubled and pale. His Mother had somehow divined his intention, and was doing her utmost to prevent its being carried out. She flung a brick at the head of one Christian Native, who had had a hand in influencing the young Muhammadan; she raved and beat her breast; she cursed and tore her hair; she declared to her son that if he became a Christian she would die.
Babu G. believed all this, and was sorely shaken. His Mother was brought to the Mission-house, and a vehement scene followed. The old lady sat upon the ground, pouring out threats and curses, beating her breast and tearing her hair anew,—only, as A. L. O. E. somewhat drily observed afterwards, she very cleverly avoided hurting herself by her blows, and none of her hair seemed to come out with all the apparent ‘tearing.’ But the young man could hardly be expected to see this as a stranger would! He wavered—hesitated—and at last gave way. The Baptism did not take place; and the unhappy young fellow, convinced of the truth of Christianity, willing in heart to be a servant of Christ, had not courage to take his own decision, but remained a Muhammadan. Bitter tears were shed over his defection by gentle Mrs. Elmslie; the first that Miss Tucker had ever seen her shed.
Such stories as this show conclusively that the work which most of all needs to be done in India is to transform the Mothers,—to educate a generation of Christian Mothers. Their sons then will be Christian too. No power in the world surpasses that of a mother over her children, whether she be English or Hindu or Muhammadan.
Charlotte Tucker’s stern side seems to have come out in this stormy interview with the furious old lady. ‘Are you not afraid,’ she demanded, ‘that God’s anger is on you? You have been your son’s enemy. When affliction comes, remember,—remember,—REMEMBER!’
Side by side, however, with this great disappointment, were other more hopeful aspects of the work. Light and shade naturally go together. A few days later she wrote:—
‘The mother still holds her unhappy son in bonds, and forbids him even to breathe the air of our compound.... But even about her we need not despair. I was reading the Gospel to-day with the sweetest-looking elderly woman that I have seen in India. All beauty generally departs with youth, but this woman is really attractive still. She was in bitter grief at the baptism of her eldest son; when the next was baptized she blessed him; and now she is quite ready for baptism herself. Such a sweet expression came over her face yesterday when I reminded her of her former grief and her present joy!’