Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: 'YOU SHALL NOT KILL MY MISTRESS UNTIL YOU HAVE KILLED
ME!']
[Illustration: Title page]
Noble Deeds of the
World's Heroines
By
HENRY CHARLES MOORE
_WITH COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 Bouverie Street & 65 St. Paul's Churchyard
1903
PREFACE
In these pages I have tried to show how women, old and young, in many
ranks of life, have proved themselves in times of trial to possess as
much courage and daring as men. Some of these 'Brave Women' died for
their Master's sake, whilst others, in His cause, passed through dire
peril and grievous suffering. All of them counted not their lives dear
unto them, so long only as they might do their duty. I have designedly
omitted many familiar heroines in the hope of winning attention for
some whose deeds have been less widely recognised.
H. C. M.
CONTENTS
I. BRAVE DEEDS OF RESCUE BY WOMEN
ALICE AYRES AND THE UNION STREET FIRE
GRACE BUSSELL AND THE WRECK OF THE GEORGETTE
CATHERINE VASSEUR, THE HEROINE OF NOYEN
MARY ROGERS, AND THE WRECK OF THE STELLA
MADELEINE BLANCHET, THE HEROINE OF BUZANCAIS
HANNAH ROSBOTHAM AND THE CHILDREN OF SUTTON SCHOOL
II. BRAVE DEEDS OF WOMEN IN THE MISSION FIELD
JANE CHALMERS; ALONE AMONGST CANNIBALS
ANNA HINDERER, AND THE GOSPEL IN THE YORUBA COUNTRY
ANN JUDSON )
SARAH JUDSON ) PIONEER WOMEN IN BURMA
OLIVIA OGREN, AND AN ESCAPE FROM BOXERS
EDITH NATHAN )
MAY NATHAN ) MARTYRED BY BOXERS
MARY HEAYSMAN )
MARY RIGGS AND THE SIOUX RISING
III. BRAVE DEEDS OF WOMEN IN WAR-TIME
MARY SEACOLE, THE SOLDIERS' FRIEND
LAURA SECORD, A CANADIAN HEROINE
LADY BANKES AND THE SIEGE OF CORFE CASTLE
LADY HARRIET ACLAND, A HEROINE OF THE AMERICAN WAR
AIMEE LADOINSKI AND THE RETREAT
LADY SALE AND AN AFGHAN CAPTIVITY
ETHEL ST. CLAIR GRIMWOOD AND THE ESCAPE FROM MANIPUR
THREE SOLDIERS' WIVES IN SOUTH AFRICA
IV. BRAVE DEEDS OF SELF-SACRIFICE AND DEVOTION
ELIZABETH ZANE, A FRONTIER HEROINE
NELLIE AMOS, A FRIEND IN NEED
ANNA GURNEY, THE FRIEND OF THE SHIPWRECKED
GRIZEL HUME, THE DEVOTED DAUGHTER
LUCY HUTCHINSON, A BRAVE WIFE
LADY BAKER, AN EXPLORER'S COMPANION
I
BRAVE DEEDS OF RESCUE BY WOMEN
ALICE AYRES AND THE UNION STREET FIRE
'FIRE! FIRE!'
It was two o'clock in the morning when this cry was heard in Union
Street, Borough, London, and the people who ran to the spot saw an oil
shop in flames, and at a window above it a servant girl, Alice Ayres,
screaming for help. Some rushed off to summon the fire-brigade, but
those who remained feared that before it could arrive the place would
be gutted.
'Jump! jump!' they shouted, and stretched out their coats to break her
fall. But instead of jumping Alice Ayres disappeared from the window.
There were other people in the house, and she was determined not to
seek safety for herself until she had made an attempt to save their
lives.
Hurrying to the room where her master, mistress, and one child slept,
she battered at the door, and awakening them warned them of their
danger. Then through smoke and flames she sped back to her own room,
where three children slept in her charge. She gave one look out of the
window, but the firemen were not yet on the scene.
'Jump! jump!' the crowd shouted.
But Alice Ayres ignored the entreaties, for she had determined to save
the children or die in the attempt. Her first idea was to tie two
sheets together and lower the children one by one; but, finding that
the sheets would not bear their weight, she dragged a feather bed to
the window and dropped it into the street. Willing hands seized it and
held it out, expecting her to jump; but she disappeared again,
returning, however, a moment or two later, with a little white-robed
child in her arms. Holding her at arms' length out of the window, she
glanced down at the bed, and seeing that it was ready, dropped her. A
tremendous cheer from the crowd told her that the little one was safe.
Then she snatched up the second little girl, but the poor mite was
terrified, and throwing her arms around Alice's neck cried piteously,
'Don't throw me out of window!' So tightly did the child cling to her
that Alice had great difficulty in getting her into a proper position
to drop her on to the bed, but she succeeded at last, and another loud
cheer from the crowd announced that she had saved two lives.
Scarcely five minutes had elapsed since the fire broke out, but the
contents of the shop were such that the flames spread at a fearful
rate, and the onlookers knew that if Alice Ayres did not jump quickly
she would be burned to death.
'Jump! jump!' they shouted excitedly.
But there was a baby lying in the cot, and back Alice Ayres went,
brought it safely through fire and smoke to the window, and dropped it
out. She had saved three lives!
Weakened by the heat and the smoke, Alice Ayres now decided to leap
from the window, and the anxious people in the street watched her in
silence as she climbed to the window sill. She jumped, but her body
struck one of the large dummy jars above the front of the shop and
caused her to fall head foremost on the bed, and then topple over on to
the pavement with a sickening thud. Quickly and tenderly she was
lifted on to a shutter and carried into a neighbouring shop, where
medical aid was soon at hand.
In the meanwhile the firemen had arrived. They had come as soon as
they were called, but they arrived too late to save the other three
inmates of the house from perishing in the flames.
But the interest of the crowd was centred in the condition of Alice
Ayres, and as she was being removed to Guy's Hospital there was
scarcely a man or a woman present whose eyes were not filled with
tears. Many followed on to the hospital, in the hope of hearing the
medical opinion of her condition, and before long it became known that
she had fractured and dislocated her spine, and that there was no hope
of her recovery.
Alice Ayres died at Guy's Hospital on Sunday, April 26, 1885, aged 25,
and at the inquest, when her coffin was covered with beautiful flowers
sent from all parts of the land, the coroner declared that he should
not be doing justice to the jury or the public, did he not give
expression to the general feeling of admiration which her noble conduct
had aroused. In the hurry and excitement of a fire there were few who
had the presence of mind to act as she had done, or who would run the
risks she had for the sake of saving others. He deeply regretted that
so valuable a life, offered so generously, had been sacrificed.
In the Postmen's Park, which adjoins the General Post Office, there is
a cloister bearing the inscription, 'In Commemoration of Heroic
Self-Sacrifice.' Within it are tablets to the memory of heroes of
humble life, and one of the most interesting of these is that on which
is inscribed:--'Alice Ayres, daughter of a bricklayer's labourer, who
by intrepid conduct saved three children from a burning house in Union
Street, Borough, at the cost of her own young life. April 24, 1885.'
GRACE BUSSELL AND THE WRECK OF THE GEORGETTE
The steamer Georgette had sprung a leak while on a voyage from
Fremantle to Adelaide, and the captain knew that there was little hope
of saving his ship. But there were forty-eight passengers, including
women and children, and to save these and the crew was the great desire
of the captain. The ship's lifeboat was lowered, but this too was in a
leaky condition, and the eight persons who put off in it were drowned
before the eyes of their friends on the Georgette.
Seeing, soon, that there was absolutely no hope of saving his vessel,
the captain decided to run her ashore, hoping by that means to be able
to save all aboard her. The vessel grounded some 180 miles south of
Fremantle on December 2, 1876; but she was some distance from the
shore, and it seemed to the captain that no boat could pass through the
surf which would have to be crossed to reach land. He swept the coast
through his glass, but not a house or human being could he see, and he
gave up all hope of receiving help from the shore.
A boat was launched, but it had scarcely quitted the steamer's side
when it capsized, and before the crew could right it and bring it back
to the ship an hour had elapsed. Once again it was lowered, but it
capsized again in two and a half fathoms of water, and the women and
children who escaped drowning clung to the overturned boat, and called
to those aboard the steamer to save them. But help did not come from
that quarter.
Grace Bussell, the sixteen years old daughter of an English settler who
lived some twelve miles from the point opposite to which the Georgette
had gone ashore, was riding through the bush, accompanied by a native
stockman, and coming out towards the edge of the cliff saw the steamer
in distress, and witnessed the overturning of the small boat.
Horrified at the position of the poor people on the upturned boat, she
moved her horse forward and descended the steep cliff.
It was a terribly dangerous act, for had the horse slipped both beast
and rider would have fallen to certain death. Behind her, on his own
horse, rode the stockman, which of course made the danger greater.
But Grace Bussell made nothing of the danger she was undergoing, her
sole thought being to reach the drowning people as quickly as possible.
The passengers and crew of the Georgette, watching her with a strange
fascination, expected every minute to see her fall and be killed. To
their astonishment she reached the beach in safety, and rode straight
into the boiling surf. The waves broke over her, and it seemed
impossible that she would ever reach the upturned boat and rescue the
exhausted people clinging to it. Once the horse stumbled, but Grace
was a skilful rider and pulled him up quickly.
As she drew near to the boat, closely followed by the stockman, hope
revived in the hearts of the shivering women and children clinging to
it, and when at last she was alongside every mother besought her to
take her child. Quickly she placed two little ones before her on the
saddle, and grasping hold of a third she started for the shore. The
stockman, with as many children as he could hold, rode close behind her.
The journey outward had been difficult and dangerous, but now that her
horse was carrying an extra load it was infinitely more so. However,
she proceeded slowly, and although on one or two occasions they were
nearly swept away they reached the beach in safety.
Having carefully placed her living load on dry land, she rode again
into the raging sea. Her progress was slower this time, but she
returned to shore with children on her saddle and women clinging to her
skirt on each side.
Drenched to the skin and exhausted by the buffeting of the surf, Grace
Bussell might have pleaded that she had not the strength to make
another journey, but again and again, accompanied by the stockman, she
rode out into the dangerous sea, and not until four hours had passed,
and the last passenger was brought ashore, did she take a rest.
Hungry, tired, and shivering with cold, she sank to the ground; but she
soon noticed that many of those whom she had saved were more exhausted
than she, and that unless food and warm clothing were given them
quickly they would probably die.
So, rising from the ground, she mounted her dripping horse and galloped
off towards home. The twelve miles were covered quickly, but on
dismounting at her home Grace fainted, and it was some time before her
anxious parents could discover what had caused her to be in such a
drenched and exhausted condition.
When at last she told the story of the shipwreck her sister got
together blankets and food and rode off to the sufferers, whom she
carefully tended throughout the night. At daybreak Mr. Bussell arrived
with his wagon, and conveyed the whole party to his home, where they
remained tenderly nursed by mother and daughters for several days.
Mrs. Bussell, it is sad to say, died from brain fever brought on by her
anxiety concerning the shipwrecked people whom she had taken into her
house.
Grace Bussell's bravery was not allowed to pass unnoticed. The Royal
Humane Society presented her with its medal, and a medal was also
bestowed upon the stockman who had accompanied his mistress down the
steep cliff and on her many journeys to and from the upturned boat.
CATHERINE VASSEUR, THE HEROINE OF NOYEN
A terrible accident had occurred in one of the streets of Noyen. The
men engaged in repairing a sewer had, on finishing their day's work,
neglected to take proper precautions for the safety of the public.
They had placed some thin planks across the opening, but omitted to
erect a barrier or to fix warning lights near the hole, with the result
that four workingmen, homeward bound, stepped on the planks and fell
through into the loathsome sewer.
An excited crowd of French men and women gathered round the hole, but
no one made any effort to rescue the poor fellows. Soon the wives of
the imperilled men, hearing of the accident, ran to the spot, and with
tears in their eyes begged the men who were standing round the opening
to descend and rescue their husbands.
But not a man in the crowd was brave enough to risk his life for his
fellow-men. They would be suffocated and eaten by rats, was their
excuse, and the frantic entreaties of the poor wives failed to stir
them to act like men. Women were crying and fainting, men were
gesticulating and talking volubly, but nothing was being done to rescue
the poor fellows from the poisonous sewer.
But help came from an unexpected quarter. Catherine Vasseur, a
delicate-looking servant girl, seventeen years of age, pushed her way
to the front, and said quietly, 'I'll go down and try to save them.'
It seemed impossible that this slightly built young girl could rescue
the men, but her willingness to make the attempt did not shame any of
the strong fellows standing by into taking her place. All they did was
to lower her into the dark, loathsome hole. On arriving at the bottom
she quickly found the four unconscious men, and tying the ropes round
two of them gave the signal for them to be hauled up.
The few minutes' work on the poisonous atmosphere was already telling
upon her, and finding herself gasping for breath she tied a rope around
her waist, and was drawn to the surface. The women whose husbands she
had saved showered blessings upon her, and the other two implored her
to rescue theirs. She replied that she would do so if possible, and
having regained her breath she again descended.
A third man was rescued, but before she could attend to the fourth she
felt herself becoming dazed. She decided to go to the surface again,
and return for the fourth man when the fresh air had revived her. It
was necessary that she should be drawn up quickly, but the rope which
had been tied around her waist had become unfastened, and it was some
minutes before she found it. When she did find it she was too
exhausted to draw it down to tie around her. For a few moments she
tugged at the heavy rope, but could not draw it lower than her head.
There seemed to be no escape for her, when suddenly a bright idea
occurred to her--she undid her long hair and tied it to the rope. Then
she gave the signal to haul up.
Cries of horror and pity burst from the onlookers when they caught
sight of the brave girl hanging by her hair, and apparently dead.
Quickly untying her, they carried her into the fresh air, where she was
promptly attended to by a doctor, who eventually succeeded in restoring
her to consciousness. She received the praise bestowed upon her with
the modesty of a genuine heroine, and was greatly distressed at having
been unable to save the fourth man. The poor fellow was dead long
before his body was recovered by the sewermen, for none of the men who
had witnessed Catherine Vasseur's heroism had been brave enough to
follow her example.
MARY ROGERS AND THE WRECK OF THE STELLA
It was at 11.25 on the morning of Thursday, March 30, 1899, that the
steamship Stella left Southampton for Guernsey with 140 passengers and
42 crew aboard. Most of the passengers were looking forward to
spending a pleasant Easter holiday at Guernsey or Jersey, but a few
were natives of the Channel Islands returning from a visit to England.
For the first two hours the voyage was uneventful, but at about 1.30
the Stella ran into a dense fog. The ship's speed was not reduced, but
the fog-horn was kept going. There is nothing more depressing at sea
than the dismal hooting of the fog-horn, and it is not surprising that
some of the ladies aboard the Stella became nervous. These Mrs.
Rogers, the stewardess, in a bright, cheery manner endeavoured to
reassure.
Mary Rogers' life had been one of hard work and self-denial. Eighteen
years previous to the Stella making her last trip Mary Rogers' husband
had been drowned at sea, and the young widow was left with a little
girl two years old to support; and a few weeks later a boy was born.
To bring her children up carefully and have them properly educated
became Mrs. Rogers' chief object in life, and to enable her to do this
she obtained her position as stewardess.
Her experience of the sea had been slight, and for five years after
becoming stewardess she scarcely ever made a trip without being
sea-sick. Many women would have resigned the appointment in despair,
but Mary Rogers stuck to her post for the sake of her children. Ill
though she might herself be, she always managed to appear happy, and to
attend promptly to the requirements of the lady passengers. When at
last she was able to make a voyage without feeling sea-sick, her
kindness to the ladies in her care became still more noticeable. In
foggy or rough weather her bright, sympathetic manner cheered the
drooping spirits of all who might be ill or nervous. At night she
would go round, uncalled, and if she found any lady too nervous to
sleep she would stay and talk to her for a time.
Only a few months before the Stella's fatal trip, a lady passenger
assured Mrs. Rogers that her bright, cheery sympathy had done much to
make her trip pleasant. 'Well, you see, ma'am,' Mrs. Rogers replied,
'I don't believe in going about with a sad face, and it is such a
pleasure when one can help others.'
At this time Mrs. Rogers' prospects were very bright. Her children,
whom she declared 'any mother might be proud of, they are so good,' had
grown up, and her daughter was to be married in the summer. In three
years her son would finish his apprenticeship to a ship-builder, and it
was settled that then she was to retire from sea-life and live with her
daughter, continuing, as she had done for several years, to support her
aged father. But the days to which she was looking forward with
pleasure she was never to see.
For two hours the Stella ran through the dense fog on this fatal March
30, and at about ten minutes to four the captain was under the
impression that the Casquets lay eight miles to the east. But suddenly
they loomed out of the darkness, and almost immediately the Stella
struck one of the dreaded rocks. Instantly the captain saw that there
was no hope of saving his ship.
'Serve out the life-belts!' 'Out with the boats!' 'Women and children
first!' were the orders he shouted from the bridge.
Mrs. Rogers did not for a moment lose her presence of mind, and by her
activity many women were saved who would in all probability never have
reached the deck. The ladies' saloon was long, but the door was
somewhat narrow, and being round an awkward corner there would have
been a fearful struggle to get through it, had a panic arisen. But
Mrs. Rogers, by her calmness and promptitude, prevented anything
approaching a panic, and got her passengers quickly on deck.
To all who had not provided themselves with them she gave life-belts,
and then assisted them into the boats. The last boat was nearly
full--there was room for only one more--and the sailors in charge of it
called to Mrs. Rogers to come into it.
Before attempting to do so she took a last look round, to see that all
the ladies were gone, and saw that there was one still there, and
without a life-belt. Instantly Mrs. Rogers took off her own, placed it
upon her, led her to the boat, and gave up her last chance of escape.
But the sailors who had witnessed her heroism did not wish to pull away
without her.
'Jump, Mrs. Rogers, jump!' they shouted.
'No, no,' she replied, 'if I get in, the boat will sink. Good-bye,
good-bye.'
Then raising her hands to heaven she cried, 'Lord, have me!' and almost
immediately the ship sank beneath her.
Seventy lives were lost in the wreck of the Stella, and the news of the
terrible calamity cast a gloom over the Easter holidays. An inquiry
was held to determine the cause of the ship getting out of her course,
but the result need not be mentioned here. One thing that soon came to
light was the story of Mary Rogers' heroism, which sent a thrill of
admiration through all who heard it.
Her well-spent life had been crowned with an act of heroism, and her
memory is deserving of more than the tablet which has been placed in
the Postmen's Park.
MADELEINE BLANCHET
THE HEROINE OF BUZANCAIS
The Red Republicans had risen. The factories and private residences of
the wealthy inhabitants of Buzancais were in flames, and owners of
property, irrespective of age and sex, were being dragged from their
hiding-places and murdered.
For some months it had been rumoured that the Red Republicans,
aggrieved at the high price of bread, intended to rise and kill all who
possessed wealth; but the people of Buzancais paid no attention to
these rumours, and were consequently unprepared to defend themselves
when, on January 14, 1853, the rising occurred. Had they banded
themselves together, they could have quelled the riot, but, taken by
the surprise, the majority sought safety in hiding.
Meeting with no resistance, the Red Republicans pushed through the
town, leaving behind them a trail of fire and blood, and came at last
to a big house where lived Madame Chambert and her son.
Madame Chambert was a kind old lady, and generous to the poor; but the
Red Republicans, inflamed by wine which they had stolen from various
houses, forgot her good deeds, and remembered only that she was
wealthy. And because she was wealthy they were determined to kill both
her and her son.
Madame Chambert and her son were in the drawing-room when the
infuriated mob burst into the house. It was useless to attempt to
drive them out, as all the servants, with the exception of Madeleine
Blanchet and a man, had deserted them. At last the armed mob, their
blouses stained with blood and wine, rushed into the drawing-room
hurling insults at the poor old lady, and charging her with crimes
which she had never committed.
Madeleine Blanchet fainted on hearing her mistress so grossly insulted,
but the man-servant rushed at the ringleader and knocked him down. The
half-drunk murderers were eager to kill the Chamberts at once, plunder
the house, set light to it, and pass on; but as they stepped forward to
kill the old lady her son fired his gun and killed one of them.
The whole mob now rushed at Monsieur Chambert, who escaped from the
room, but was caught before he could find a hiding-place, and hacked to
death.
In the meanwhile Madeleine Blanchet had recovered consciousness, and
going to her mistress, whom she had served for nine years, she hurried
her from the room to seek a place of safety. But in the hall they came
face to face with the murderers returning from committing their latest
crime. 'Death! death!' they shouted, and attempted to strike the old
lady, but Madeleine Blanchet, with one arm around her waist, received
the blows intended for her.
'Go, go, my poor girl!' Madame Chambert murmured. 'I must die here.
Go away.'
But Madeleine Blanchet refused to leave her, and shouted to the
cowardly ruffians, 'You shall not kill my mistress until you have
killed me!'
Still parrying the blows aimed at her mistress, she implored the men
not to be such cowards as to kill a helpless old lady. This appeal and
her devotion to her mistress touched the hearts of two of the Red
Republicans, who declared that the old lady should not be killed while
they could strike a blow in her defence. Guarded by these two men,
Madeleine Blanchet carried her mistress to a neighbour's house, where a
hiding-place was found for her.
Assured that her mistress was safe from further molestation, Madeleine
Blanchet hurried back to the house, which the rioters were looting, and
saved many treasures from falling into their hands. This dangerous
self-imposed task she performed several times.
The Red Republicans' reign at Buzancais was terrible, but it was short.
Scores of them were arrested, and Madeleine Blanchet was one of the
witnesses for the prosecution. She told of the attack upon her
mistress's house and the murder of her young master, but not a word did
she say concerning her own bravery. The President of the Court had,
however, heard of it, and was determined that her heroism should not be
unknown because of her modesty.
'We have been told,' he said to her, 'that you defended your mistress
with your body from the blows of the murderers, and that you declared
that they should kill you before they killed your mistress. Is that
true?'
Madeleine replied that it was, and the President, after commending her
for her bravery and devotion to her mistress, declared that if there
had been twenty men in Buzancais with the courage she had shown, the
rioters would have been quickly dispersed and the terrible crimes
averted. The story of Madeleine Blanchet's heroism spread rapidly
throughout France, and the Academy made a popular award, when it
presented her with a gold medal and five thousand francs.
HANNAH ROSBOTHAM AND THE CHILDREN OF SUTTON SCHOOL
On October 14, 1881, a gale raged throughout England, and in all parts
of the country there was a terrible destruction of lives and property.
Round our coasts ships were wrecked, and the number of lives lost at
sea on that day was appalling, while on shore many people were killed
by the falling of trees, chimney-pots and tiles.
In Sutton, Lancashire, the gale raged with tremendous fury, and the
children in the local National School, frightened by the roaring and
shrieking of the wind, could pay little attention to their lessons.
Hannah Rosbotham, the assistant mistress, was in charge of the school,
the head mistress being absent through ill-health. She was very
popular among her pupils, and knew them all intimately, having herself
lived all her life in the village, and having been educated at the
school in which she was now a teacher. She calmed the more timid of
her pupils, and endeavoured to carry on the school as if nothing
unusual were happening outside.
While she was teaching the bigger children, the infants (little tots of
three and four) were sitting in the gallery at the further end of the
room in the care of a pupil teacher. Over this gallery was the belfry,
a large stone structure. It had weathered many a storm, but none had
equalled this gale. Suddenly about 11 o'clock Hannah Rosbotham was
startled by a loud rumbling, grinding noise, and almost at the same
moment a portion of the belfry crashed through the roof and fell in
pieces upon the poor little children in the gallery.
Immediately there was a stampede. The pupils and the pupil teachers
rushed terror-stricken into the wind-swept playground, every one
anxious for her own safety. But Hannah Rosbotham did not fly from the
danger; she thought only of the little children in the gallery. The
air was filled with dust, but she groped her way to the gallery
staircase, which was littered with stone, wood and slates. Hurrying up
she found, to her great joy, that many of the little ones had escaped
injury. Some were crying, but others sat silent and terror-stricken,
gazing at the spot where several of their little friends lay buried in
the ruins.
Having hurried out the children who had so wonderfully escaped injury,
she set to work to rescue those who lay injured. And the magnitude of
the task which lay before her may be realised from the fact that
sixteen-hundredweight of belfry-ruins had fallen through into the
gallery. Quickly and unaided Hannah Rosbotham tore away the timber,
stone and slate that were crushing the little sufferers, whose pale
faces and pleading voices filled her heart with anguish, but gave
strength to her arms. As she knelt tearing away with her bare hands
the mass of ruins, fragments of stone and slate fell continuously
around her, and she knew that at any moment she might be struck dead.
The gale was still raging, and as she glanced up through the hole in
the roof she saw the part of the belfry which had not yet given way. A
continuous shower of fragments fell from it, but if the remaining
portion were blown down simultaneously, she and her infant pupils would
be crushed to death.
Working with tremendous energy she set free one by one the terrified
young prisoners. Some were very little hurt, and were able to hurry
away into the playground, but there were others who had been severely
injured, and these she had to carry away.
At last her task was done, and happily without any serious results to
herself. Although she had been throughout her brave work surrounded by
danger she escaped with nothing more serious than a few scratches.
When she came into the playground with the last of the children she had
rescued, she found that the villagers had arrived on the scene. They
had heard of the accident, and had come to seek their children, and
having found them alive they joined in showering praise and blessings
upon Hannah Rosbotham. Now that all danger was over the brave young
schoolmistress--she was only twenty years of age--broke down and cried
hysterically, but before long she was calm again, and started out to
visit at their homes the little ones whom she had saved.
Such bravery as Hannah Rosbotham had shown could not of course escape
recognition. The Albert Medal was presented to her on January 11,
1882, and later the Managers of the Sutton National School gave her a
gold watch, on which was inscribed their appreciation 'of her
courageous behaviour in rescuing the school-children during the gale of
October 14, 1881, that destroyed the roof of the school, and for which
act of bravery she has been awarded the Albert Medal by Her Majesty.'
II
BRAVE DEEDS OF WOMEN IN THE MISSION FIELD
JANE CHALMERS
ALONE AMONGST CANNIBALS
Alone among cannibals! One can scarcely imagine a more terrifying
experience for a white woman. No matter how friendly people around
might be, the knowledge that they were by long habit cannibals, whose
huts were adorned with human skulls, would be sufficient to strike
terror to the heart of the bravest. One woman is known to have
experienced this trying ordeal, and she was a missionary's wife.
In the life of that noble missionary, James Chalmers,[1] we get
glimpses of a woman who was indeed a heroine, and who had the
unpleasant experience of being left for a time, without any white
companions, in the midst of cannibals. This was Jane Chalmers the
martyr-missionary's first wife.
Jane Hercus was married to Chalmers in October, 1865, and in the
following January they sailed for Australia on their way to the South
Sea Islands. At the very outset of their missionary career danger
assailed them. A gale sprang up in the Channel, and for a time it was
believed that the ship and everyone aboard her would be lost.
Providentially, however, their vessel weathered the storm, although so
much damaged that she had to put into Weymouth, and remain there a
fortnight for repairs. On May 20 they arrived in Adelaide, and in
August sailed from Sydney for the New Hebrides; but while approaching
Aneiteum, to land some passengers, the ship struck an unseen reef, and
could not be got off until some days had elapsed. Temporary repairs
were made, and with men working at the pumps day and night the ship
slowly made her way back to Sydney. After six weeks' enforced stay at
Sydney, Jane Chalmers and her husband made another start for their
destination, which, however, they were not to reach without further
danger.
On January 8 the ship struck on a reef which surrounds Savage Island,
and became a total wreck, but happily, without loss of life, as the
passengers and crew managed to get off in the boats. They reached
shore in safety, but although Jane Chalmers was ill for some time,
neither she nor her husband were discouraged.
Six weeks after the wreck of the ship, Mr. and Mrs. Chalmers left on a
schooner for Samoa, and during the voyage Mrs. Chalmers' health
improved. After a six weeks' stay at Samoa Chalmers and his wife
sailed for Rarotonga, and on May 20, 1867, arrived there. In that
beautiful island Mr. and Mrs. Chalmers settled down at once to work.
'The natives,' Mrs. Chalmers wrote, 'have to be treated in all things
more like children at home than men. They soon get weary and
discouraged in any work, but a few words of praise or encouragement put
fresh spirit within them.' Missionaries had laboured at Rarotonga
before the arrival of the Chalmers, and the work was not exactly the
type which James Chalmers desired. He longed to be a missionary to the
heathen; but it was not until he had spent ten years at Rarotonga that
his desire was gratified by his being appointed to New Guinea, then a
comparatively unknown land, the people of which were savages of the
most degraded type.
At Dunedin, where the Chalmers stayed for a time, Mrs. Chalmers was
frequently urged to remain behind until her husband was settled in his
new home. 'No,' she replied on every occasion 'my place is by my
husband's side.' And so this brave woman, in spite of the
protestations of her friends, went forth with her husband to live among
cannibals. The first native who spoke to Mrs. Chalmers on their
arrival at Suau was wearing a necklace of human bones, and wishing to
be gracious to her, this same cannibal offered her later a portion of a
man's breast ready cooked! Signs of cannibalism were to be found
everywhere, and the chief's house in which the Chalmers took up their
residence until their own was built, was hung with human skulls. Such
sights as Jane Chalmers witnessed were bad enough to appal any woman,
but she bore up bravely, and was soon busy learning the language from a
young warrior, whom, in return, she taught knitting and tatting. Both
she and her husband made friends quickly, and some of their new
friends, intending to please them, invited the missionary and his wife
to a cannibal feast.
Nevertheless, it was not long before the Chalmers were in great danger
of losing their lives. The vessel which had brought them to New Guinea
was still standing off the island, and the natives, in an attempt to
capture it, had one of their number killed. For this they demanded
compensation from Chalmers, who, of course, was in no way responsible
for the man's death. Chalmers promised to give them compensation on
the following day, but the natives demanded that it should be given
immediately, and departed very sulkily when their request was refused.
Later in the day a native warned Chalmers that he, his wife, and his
teachers from Rarotonga had better get away to the ship during the
night, as the natives had decided to murder them early in the following
morning. Chalmers told his wife what the native had said, and added,
'It is for you to decide. Shall we men stay, and you women go, as
there is not room enough for us all on the vessel? or shall we try all
of us to go? or shall we all stay?'
'We have come here to preach the Gospel and do these people good,' Mrs.
Chalmers replied. 'God, whom we serve, will take care of us. We will
stay. If we die, we die; if we live, we live.'
Then the teachers' wives were asked if they would like to go aboard the
ship, but their answer was that whatever Mrs. Chalmers did they would
do. Therefore it was decided that they should all stay.
During the night the little band of Christians could hear the war-horn
calling the natives together, and the shouts of the cannibals as they
came in from all parts.
In the meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Chalmers had made up in parcels the
compensation which they intended to offer the people; but when, at four
o'clock in the morning, the chief arrived to make a last demand he
declared that they were not sufficient.
'If you will wait till the steamer comes I may be able to give you
more,' Chalmers said, 'but at present I cannot.'
'I must have more now,' the chief declared, and departed.
The attack was now expected every minute, but hour after hour passed
and the natives did not re-appear. At three o'clock in the morning
Chalmers turned in, but he had not long been asleep when his wife
discovered the cannibals approaching. Chalmers, aroused by his wife,
ran to the door and faced the savages.
'What do you want?' he asked.
'Give us more compensation,' the leader replied, 'or we will kill you
and burn the house.'
'Kill you may, but no more compensation do I give,' Chalmers answered.
'Remember that if we die, we shall die fighting.'
Then Chalmers took down his musket and loaded it in sight of the
cannibals, who, having seen the missionary shoot birds, feared his
skill. They withdrew and discussed what to do. For about an hour and
a half the band of Christians waited for the attack to be made. Many
of them were, naturally enough, much distressed at the thought of being
killed and eaten, but throughout this trying time Jane Chalmers
remained calm, assured that whatever might happen would be in
accordance with God's will.
But the Chalmers' life-work was not yet ended. The chief of the
village decided that they should not be killed. 'Before this white man
came here with his friends I was nobody,' he said to the men who had
assembled from other parts of New Guinea. 'They have brought me
tomahawks, hoop-iron, red beads and cloth. You have no white man, and
if you try to kill him, you kill him over my body.'
It would have been only natural if Jane Chalmers, after the experiences
she had undergone, had decided that she could no longer live at Suau;
but no such thought ever entered her head. Some months later she did
as not one woman in a million would have done--remained for six weeks
among cannibals with not another white person in the place.
Her husband sailed away to visit the native preachers at other
villages, but she remained behind because she did not think it right
that they should both leave their Rarotongan teachers so soon after the
disturbances already described. The natives promised Chalmers, before
he departed, that they would treat her kindly; and although the
temptation to kill and eat her must often have been great, they kept
their promise. But nevertheless she knew that her life might be ended
at any moment, and it is easy to imagine her feelings when, one night
as she was preparing for bed, she heard a commotion outside the house,
men and women shouting and screaming loudly. One of the teachers went
out to discover the meaning of the uproar, and returned with the
comforting news that there was an eclipse of the moon, and that the
natives were alarmed because they believed it would cause many of them
to die.
The cannibals were very proud of having taken care of Mrs. Chalmers,
and received with a conviction that they had well earned them, the
presents and thanks which her husband, on his return, bestowed upon
them. At the same time Mrs. Chalmers' pluck in remaining among them
made a great impression on the cannibals, and caused them to have more
confidence than ever in the missionaries.
But although Jane Chalmers was as full of courage and faith as when she
arrived at Suau the trials and excitement of the life she had led there
began to impair her health. Nevertheless, she did not complain, and
when the mission at Suau was established on a sound footing she
accompanied her husband on a voyage along the coast to visit places
where a white man had never yet been seen; but eventually it became
plain to herself and her husband that she needed rest and nursing.
Accordingly she sailed for Sydney, to wait there until her husband
could follow and take her to England. But they never met again. The
doctors at Sydney pronounced her to be suffering from consumption, and
held out little hope of her recovery. She, however, was very hopeful,
and believed that before long she might be able to return to her
husband at New Guinea. But this was not to be, and this heroic woman
passed away before her husband's arrival.
[1] _James Chalmers, his Autobiography and Letters_, by Richard Lovett,
M.A. (Religious Tract Society.)
ANNA HINDERER, AND THE GOSPEL IN THE YORUBA COUNTRY
'The White Man's Grave' and 'No White Man's Land' are the ominous names
that have been bestowed on several unhealthy countries where Europeans
have been compelled to reside; but there were none, fifty years ago,
more deserving of being so described than Ashantee, Dahomey, and the
Yoruba country. Nothing but the prospect of growing rich rapidly would
persuade a white man, unless he were a missionary, to live in any of
those countries, and a European woman was almost unknown there.
One of the first white women to risk the dangers of the Yoruba climate
was Anna Hinderer, to whom belongs the honour of being the first of her
colour to visit Ibadan. It was not, however, a mere visit that she
paid to this unhealthy West African town; for seventeen years she lived
there with her husband, devoting herself almost entirely to educating
the native children.
Her mother died when she was five years old, and it was probably owing
to her own childhood being sad and lonely that Anna Martin, afterwards
Mrs. Hinderer, early in life began to take an interest in the welfare
of poor and neglected children. In 1839, when only twelve years of
age, she went to live with her grandfather at Lowestoft, and soon made
two lifelong friends. They were the Rev. Francis Cunningham, Vicar of
Lowestoft, and his wife, who was sister of that noble Quakeress,
Elizabeth Fry. The friendship began by Anna Martin asking Mrs.
Cunningham to be allowed to take a Sunday School class. She feared
that being only twelve years old her request would not be entertained,
but to her great joy it was granted at once. A little later she went
to live with the Cunninghams, and was never so happy as when assisting
in some good work. When only fourteen years of age she started a class
for ragged and neglected children, and eventually she had as many as
two hundred pupils. Many other schemes for the happiness of children
were suggested by her, and, with the aid of Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham,
successfully carried out.
Anna Martin had long wished to be a missionary when she made the
acquaintance of the Rev. David Hinderer, who had returned to England
after labouring for four years in the Yoruba country, which stretches
inland from the Bight of Benin almost to the Niger Territory, and is
bordered on the west by Dahomey. Anna Martin was deeply interested in
all that Mr. Hinderer told her of his little-known land, where lived
some three million heathen, broken up into many tribes, but speaking
one language. Before long the missionary asked Anna Martin to become
his wife, and on October 14, 1852, they were married at the old parish
church of Lowestoft.
Seven weeks after their marriage Mr. and Mrs. Hinderer started for
Africa, and arrived at Lagos on Christmas Eve. Mrs. Hinderer had
suffered greatly from sea-sickness throughout the voyage, and three
weeks after her arrival at Lagos she had her first attack of African
fever. It was a sharp one, and left her very weak, but as soon as she
was sufficiently strong to travel they started in canoes for Abeokuta.
This was indeed a trying journey for a young woman who had been
accustomed to the comforts of a well-to-do English home; but she had,
of course, made up her mind to bear hardships in her Master's service,
and whether they were sleeping in a village or in a tent pitched by the
river-side, with fires lighted to keep wild beasts at a distance, she
made no complaint. Sometimes she was home-sick, but these natural fits
of depression soon passed away.
On arriving at Abeokuta Anna Hinderer had another severe attack of
fever, which, as she stated in her diary, edited many years later by
Archdeacon Hone, and published with the title _Seventeen Years in the
Yoruba Country_, left her so weak that she could hardly lift her hand
to her head. Her husband was also down with fever; a missionary with
whom they were staying died of it; and, a few weeks later, another
missionary passed suddenly away. A more gloomy beginning to a young
worker's missionary career there could scarcely have been, but Anna
Hinderer was far from being disheartened, and was eager to reach their
destination.
At last they arrived at Ibadan. Mr. Hinderer had made known that he
was bringing her, and when the news, 'the white mother is come,' spread
through the village, men, women and children rushed out to see her.
Very few of them had ever seen a white woman, for, as already stated,
Anna Hinderer was the first to visit Ibadan, and their curiosity was
somewhat embarrassing. They followed her to her new home, and for days
hung about in crowds, anxious to catch a glimpse of her.
The mission-house was not an attractive or comfortable place. It
consisted of one room, 30 feet by 6. Anna Hinderer had to exercise her
ingenuity in making it appear homelike. How she managed to do this we
gather from the following extract from a letter written by Dr. Irving,
R.N., who visited Ibadan shortly after they had settled down:--
'Mr. and Mrs. Hinderer at present live in such a funny little place;
quite a primitive mud dwelling, where no two persons can walk abreast
at one time. And yet there is an air of quiet domestic comfort and
happiness about it that makes it a little palace in my eyes. It is
unfortunate, however, for my temples, for in screwing in at one door
and out at the other, forgetting to stoop at the proper time, my head
gets many a knock. At one end, six feet square, is the bedroom,
separated from the dining-room by a standing bookcase; my bedroom is at
one end of this, formed by a sofa, and my privacy established by a
white sheet, put across for a screen at bedtime.'
In a very short time Anna Hinderer became popular with the women and
children, and set to work to learn the language. The boys being eager
to learn English she would point to a tree, pig, horse, or anything
near by, and the youngsters would tell her the Yoruba name for it. In
return she told them the English name. But long before she had
acquired anything like a useful knowledge of the language she managed
to make the women and children understand that Sunday was a day of
rest, and was delighted to see that many of them followed her example
and gave up their Sunday occupations. The women were indeed deeply
attached to her. If she looked hot they fanned her, and whenever they
saw that she was tired they insisted upon her sitting down. When she
had an attack of fever they were greatly distressed, and constantly
inquiring how she was progressing.
Having at last acquired a fair knowledge of the Yoruba language, Anna
Hinderer started a day school for children, and to nine little boys who
were regular in their attendance she gave a blue shirt each, of which
they were immensely proud. A little later she prevailed upon a chief
to allow his two children to come and live with her. One was a girl
six years of age, and the other her brother, two years younger.
Throughout the day the little ones were very happy, but towards evening
the girl wanted to go home. She was evidently frightened, and was
overheard saying to her brother, "Don't stay. When it gets dark the
white people kill and eat the black." Both, then, ran off home, but
returned the following morning. A few days later the boy, in spite of
his sister's warnings, stayed all night. The girl left him in great
distress, and at daybreak was waiting outside the mission-house,
anxious to see if he were still alive. Her astonishment on finding
that he had been treated as kindly after dark as during daylight was
great.