TO MISS L.V. TUCKER.
‘Aug. 14, 1878.
‘We are to have a Confirmation here on the 3rd of November. I should be much tempted to come up from Batala to witness it, particularly if any Batala Christians are confirmed. I am afraid that ——‘s wife will shrink from breaking pardah,—that nonsensical pardah, which is a real snare to some baptized bibis.... There is one dear baptized young bride in Batala, whom I have not seen, but hope to search out on my return. The brave girl dared to be baptized in Amritsar, but was then carried off by her husband to Batala, and we know not in what part she is. She is likely to be having a hard time of it, but it is quite right in her to be with her husband....’
Writing home, she described drolly her absence from Batala as—‘this strange episode of my life;—seven weeks acting Superintendent of the Orphanage,—three of those weeks sole Missionary at Amritsar,—and—oh, bathos! ten days an ayah—for I had none other.’ Still her health seemed to keep good. She could stand the plains in hot weather as scarcely another Missionary was able to do. While one and another broke down, and had to be off to the Hills, Miss Tucker kept about, much the same as usual, filling up as far as possible the gaps left by others.
She was full of ardent sympathy at this time for certain converts from Muhammadanism, undergoing severe persecutions, and was much distressed at the difficulty of doing anything for them. She even formed a daring plan for carrying off one brave young girl from her relatives, and taking her to a safe distance; and Miss Tucker was with difficulty dissuaded from a scheme which others of longer experience knew too well might lead to serious complications.
Another, a wife, and also her daughter, were at this time in frequent peril, because they had become Christians in heart, and were earnestly desiring Baptism. The husband, a Muhammadan, would sometimes sit between the two, sharpening a knife, and threatening to stab them. Once he violently seized the daughter by her throat. Life with them must have been one long unhappiness; yet Miss Tucker, after an interview with the poor wife, could describe her as looking ‘worn, but so bright and brave.’
In September she was at Murree, helping to nurse her niece, and to take care of the tiny baby,—which latter occupation, she wrote, was ‘more formidable to an old maiden Aunt than conversing in Urdu with a learned Maulvi, or doing the agreeable to a Rajah, would be.’
Of the place itself she said: ‘Murree is not a cheering place to a Missionary.... One sees numbers of Natives; but how is one to tell the glad tidings? I feel like a doctor with multitudes of sick around him,—and he cannot get at his medicine-chest. I have brought Urdu religious books; I find no good opportunity of giving even one away.’
October saw her once more in the spot where she loved to be, writing joyously home—