Others do not appear to have been so soon alarmed. On November 13, writing to Miss Dixie, Miss Tucker mentioned casually, ‘I have a cold,’ as an excuse for her shaking hand; and said no more. But it was ‘the beginning of the end.’
About this time she kindly took in a friend, Mrs. C——, who seemed poorly and in need of change; and who, after coming to ‘Sonnenschein,’ proved to be seriously ill. Miss Tucker sat much with her, in a hot room; going out from thence, late each evening, into the night air, to reach her own little dwelling. On the 11th, two days before her letter to Miss Dixie, she confessed to pain in the side, telegraphed for a nurse, and went to bed. Next day, Sunday, she was up again, and at Church. Then the Nurse appeared, to be sent off on Monday, in charge of Mrs. C——, to Amritsar; after which again Miss Tucker went down.
Dr. Clark came to see her; and though the fever was not very high, and no especial anxiety was felt, it was decided that she ought to go to Amritsar to be nursed—a Doctor there being on the spot. Miss Tucker was much grieved at the decision. She longed to remain, and to die in her dear Batala; and even then, evidently, she was making up her mind to the likelihood of death. But, however unwillingly, she submitted to the wishes of others, and went.
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The journey did no harm; and on arrival at Amritsar Miss Tucker was most tenderly nursed by her friend, Miss Wauton, and others, with the help soon of a regular nurse. But though the fever yielded to remedies, and the bronchitis improved, both the cough and pain becoming for some days better, she was worn out, and had no rallying power. The weakness was extreme, and the dislike to food could not be overcome. Steadily and slowly she sank, lasting just three weeks from the date of the latest tremulous entry in her Journal.
Dr. Arthur Lankester[142] had written on the 27th of October: ‘Sorry to say Auntie has taken a severe chill at Bahrwal; she looks very frail and weak; only, she is so wonderful that we all hope she will soon be about once more, to cheer us all with her bright, sweet smile.’ He wrote again on Nov. 22: ‘Dear Miss Tucker has been moved to the Mission-house here,[143] and I am thankful to be allowed to be with her. She is very, very ill, but so bright, and longing to go “Home.” I fear she is fast sinking. It is a great privilege to be allowed to help look after her.’ And again, on Nov. 30: ‘Auntie sinking fast; the end can’t be far off. O what joy and glory are waiting for her!—for us a terrible blank that nothing can fill. No one could be quite like her.’
The last dictated letter of Charlotte Tucker was to her niece, Mrs. J. Boswell, on the 21st of November:—
‘My dearest Bella Francis,—You will all like to know how I am getting on. I have come again to House Beautiful in Amritsar, where the four sweet damsels, Faith, etc., glide about to see to my comfort. Yesterday dear Gertrude joined us, and also Miss B. A., so there is a regular bevy. Dr. Clark said yesterday, with a very broad smile, that we were getting on; but I cannot quite see the pith of this. When a worn-out ekka horse tumbles down on the road, and no one can make him get up, one can scarcely say that he is getting on. Getting up must come first. I ought to be very thankful for so much kindness; but you can imagine, darling, that when I hope to soar on eagle’s wings, it is rather a trial to have the doctor tie them down so tightly, that when I hope to fly I cannot even creep.
‘I fancy this has been an attack of bronchitis and influenza. Now this is difficult to me even to dictate. Would you have little bulletins roughly printed on my account, and put them in envelopes, and send them to ——?‘: after which follows a list of relatives and friends in England, together with one or two short messages, and a request that they would ask for her ‘patience and perfect submission.’