Miss Krapf in her turn had had a serious breakdown; and she did not return to Batala. In her place, towards the end of the year, came Miss Minnie Dixie, who was to be Miss Tucker’s constant companion and fellow-inmate of the Mission Bungalow for seven years or more. By the time Miss Dixie arrived, as ‘Sonnenschein’ was made only to take in two ladies, and Miss Hoernle was still there, Miss Tucker had doubtless moved into her own little annexe,—the new west wing of the Bungalow, which she had prettily named ‘Sunset!’
A ground-plan of the Bungalow gives a good idea of this latest earthly home of Charlotte Tucker. One large room was divided by screens into bedroom and sitting-room. In front and behind were verandahs; while one side was joined to ‘Sonnenschein,’ and on the other lay dressing-room and bathroom. Miss Tucker lived in her own tiny ‘Sunset,’ but she took her meals with the other ladies in ‘Sunshine,’ and their evenings were often, if not regularly, spent together. ‘We are a happy little band of Europeans at Batala,’ she wrote in the November of 1886.
The year closed with a characteristic little episode, by which it might be seen that the old energy and impetuosity were by no means snuffed out of existence. A young lady, not of the Batala party, was going to a certain doctor at ——, of whose skill Miss Tucker was more than dubious. She had, as we have seen, no very flattering opinion of the medical faculty in general; always with charming exceptions, where personal intercourse interfered with theories. On the present occasion it was not a man but ‘a dreadful woman doctor’ in the case. On learning that all was arranged, Miss Tucker exclaimed, ‘You shall not go alone, dear. I will go with you.’ And go she did; regardless of age, of weakness, of cold weather, of long journeying.
Nor was this all! On reaching ——, Miss Tucker was so utterly dissatisfied with the apparent state of things, that she flatly refused to give up the patient to the doctor. After what she describes as ‘a fight,—will against will!’ she fairly carried off her charge to the house of a friend in the place; and next day ran away with her, by train, to a distant town. The patient happily fell thereafter into kind and skilful hands; and Charlotte Tucker congratulated herself upon her own prompt and decisive action. Whether or no her fears were well founded, one cannot but admire her self-sacrificing readiness to endure any amount of worry, fatigue, and responsibility on behalf of another. The last thing Charlotte Tucker ever did was ‘to pass by on the other side,’ when a human being was in need of help. She never dreamt of sparing herself.
Many letters this year bear reference to the different pretty and useful articles sent out by friends and working-parties for sale or for gifts. With respect to those for sale, she did indeed exclaim in one letter: ‘I wish dear kind friends would sell the things themselves, and simply give us the money! They do not think of the added difficulty of insects and climate! I fear that a good many things get spoiled.’ This however was not the usual strain in which she acknowledged such parcels. Here are a few specimen sentences, culled from letters of different dates, to Miss Longley:—
‘I received your kind letter to-day, and do not delay thanking you heartily for the account of what the dear Warwickshire children are doing for the Mission cause.... The dolls are capital gifts to send. Our little Fatimas and Barakats, etc., like them so much.’
‘Your very nice box of attractive dolls, those that can open and shut their eyes, and a number of prettily-dressed sisters clustering together like birdies in a nest, safely reached me to-day.... They have come in excellent time, for our annual examination has been delayed.... How pleased our little Panjabi maidens will be with their dolls,—even blind girls would be charmed, I think! The clever dolls that can open and shut their eyes ought to be very special prizes.... Dolls are great favourites with Native children, and I do not wonder at this. The Native toys look very coarse beside the elegantly-dressed little ladies from dear old England.’
‘Dolls are much liked by our dark-eyed little maidens. Not only little girls; but I suspect that many a mother would be pleased to possess one of the quiet, rosy-cheeked babies from England, that never cry nor give any trouble. Your useful work-basket must, I think, be presented to some Native Christian girl who is fond of work.... Native Christians also would, I think, most value the scrap-books so kindly prepared. At Christmas we have a bran-pie, only for Christians, and we have to get ready about eighty gifts, even in this out-of-the-way Batala. I begin my preparations very early. I assure you that our children are not “black.” Some of the Natives are quite pretty, and I think not darker than Spaniards. I every now and then see a child with brown hair, perhaps curly.’
‘We have numbers of young people here. It would amuse some of your workers to hear a few of their names translated. We have amongst girls, Flower, Beloved, Lady of Light, An Offering, etc.,—amongst boys, Valiant, Feet of Christ, Diamond-pearl, Welfare, etc. A nice young convert has the pretty name of “Gift of the Merciful.” A little boy is “The Mercy of God.” His father’s name is “The Power of God.” Fancy a number of dark-eyed men, women, and children, with these curious names, assembled around our bran-pie (it is really a bath), and some of the pretty presents from Warwick popping out to delight them.’
Dolls are spoken of again and again, as if too many could not possibly be sent; but many other things are mentioned also,—such as antimacassars, pretty handkerchiefs, boxes of sugar-plums, a nice inkstand, and so on. An unlimited amount of presents for Indian Christians at Christmas-time was evidently a pressing need. Articles for sale had to be sent to Amritsar or elsewhere, as there was no demand for them in Batala.