Produced by Bryan Ness, Rose Mawhorter and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcription notes:
p 170. Period added at the end of the first sentence.
p xi. Period added after 1892 entry.
Both bare-footed and barefooted were in text. This has been retained.
Both bread-winner and breadwinner were in text. This has been retained.
Both egg-shells and eggshell were in text. This has been retained.
Both God-men and god-men were in text. This has been retained.
Subtitution scheme for non-ascii characters:
[:o] was used to indicate o with an umlaut diacritical mark
['E] was used to indicate E with an acute diacritical mark
['e] was used to indicate e with an acute diacritical mark
[~n] was used to indicate n with a tilde diacritical mark
[L] was used to indicated the British pound sign
* * * * *
The Story of Mary Slessor
THE WHITE QUEEN
of
OKOYONG
[Illustration: THE CANOE WAS ATTACKED BY A HUGE HIPPOPOTAMUS]
THE STORY OF MARY SLESSOR
FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
THE WHITE QUEEN
OF OKOYONG
A TRUE STORY OF ADVENTURE
HEROISM AND FAITH
BY
W. P. LIVINGSTONE
AUTHOR OF "MARY SLESSOR OF CALABAR"
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO
ALL GIRLS AND BOYS
WHO ARE
LOOKING FORWARD
AND
DREAMING DREAMS
"She left all and followed Him."
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHIEF DATES IN MISS SLESSOR'S LIFE xi
CHAPTER I
Tells how a little girl lived in a lowly home, and played,
and dreamed dreams, and how a dark shadow came into her
life and made her unhappy; how when she grew older she
went into a factory and learned to weave, and how in her
spare minutes she taught herself many things, and worked
amongst wild boys; and how she was sent to Africa 1
CHAPTER II
How our heroine sailed away to a golden land of sunshine
across the sea; how she found that under all the beauty there
were terrible things which made life a misery to the
dark-skinned natives; how she began to fight their evil ideas
and ways and to rescue little children from death; how,
after losing all her loved ones, she took a little twin-girl
to her heart, and how she grew strong and calm and brave 22
CHAPTER III
Ma's great adventure: how she went up-river by herself in a
canoe and lived in a forest amongst a savage tribe; how
she fought their terrible customs and saved many lives;
how she built a hut for herself and then a church, and how
she took a band of the wild warriors down to the coast
and got them to be friends with the people who had
always been their sworn enemies 45
CHAPTER IV
Stories of how Ma kept an armed mob at bay and saved the
lives of a number of men and women; how in answer to a
secret warning she tramped a long distance in the dark to
stop a war; how she slept by a camp-fire in the heart of
the forest, and how she became a British Consul and
ruled Okoyong like a Queen 69
CHAPTER V
Ma's great love for children; her rescue of outcast twins
from death; the story of little Susie, the pet of the
household; and something about a new kind of birthday that
came oftener than once a year 90
CHAPTER VI
How the Queen of Okoyong brought a high British official to
talk to the people; how she left her nice home and went
to live in a little shed; how she buried a chief at midnight;
how she took four black girls to Scotland, and afterwards
spent three very lonely years in the forest 105
CHAPTER VII
Tells of a country of mystery and a clever tribe who were
slave-hunters and cannibals, and how they were fought
and defeated by Government soldiers; how Ma went
amongst them, sailing through fairyland, and how she
began to bring them to the feet of Jesus 120
CHAPTER VIII
Ma learns to ride a bicycle and goes pioneering; the Government
makes her a Judge again and she rules the people;
stories of the Court, and of her last visit to Scotland with
a black boy as maid-of-all-work; and something about a
beautiful dream which she dreamed when she returned,
and a cow and a yellow cat 140
CHAPTER IX
Ma goes farther up the Creek and settles in a heathen town in
the wilds; she enters into happy friendships with young
people in Scotland; has a holiday in a beautiful island,
where she makes a secret compact with a lame boy; and
is given a Royal Cross for the heroic work she has done 163
CHAPTER X
This chapter tells how Ma became a gypsy again and lived on
a hill-top, and how after a hard fight she won a new region
for Jesus; gives some notes from her diary and letters to
little friends at home, and pictures her amongst her
treasures 183
CHAPTER XI
What happened when the Great War broke out. Ma's last
voyage down the Creek; how her life-long dream came
true 198
INDEX 207
My life, my all, Lord, I entreat,
Take, and use, and make replete
With the love and patience sweet
That made _Thy_ life so complete.
MARY SLESSOR.
CHIEF DATES IN MISS SLESSOR'S LIFE
YEAR AGE
1848. Born at Gilcomston, Aberdeen, December 2.
1856. Family went to Dundee. 8
1859. Began work in a factory. 11
1876. Appointed by United Presbyterian Church to Calabar
as missionary teacher, and sailed. 28
1879. Paid her first visit home. 31
1880. In charge at Old Town. 32
1883. Second visit home with Janie. 35
1885. In Creek Town. 37
1886. Death of her mother and sister (Janie). 38
1888. Entered Okoyong alone. 40
1881. Third visit home with Janie. 43
1892. Made Government Agent in Okoyong. 44
1898. Fourth visit home, with Janie, Alice, Maggie, and Mary. 50
1900. Union of United Presbyterian and Free Churches as
United Free Church. 52
1902. Pioneering in Enyong Creek. 54
1903. Started a Mission at Itu. Reached Arochuku. 55
1904. Settled at Itu. 56
1905. Settled at Ikotobong. 57
Appointed Vice-President of Native Court.
1907. Fifth visit home with Dan. 59
Settled at Use.
1908. Began a home for women and girls. 60
1909. Gave up Court work. 61
1910. Began work at Ikpe. 62
1912. Holiday at Grand Canary. 64
1913. Visit to Okoyong. 65
Received Royal Medal.
Began work at Odoro Ikpe.
1914. Last illness, August. 65
1915. Died at Use, January 13. 66
Mary Slessor Memorial Home decided on by Women's
Foreign Mission Committee.
1916. Issue of Appeal for L5000 for upkeep of Memorial
Home and Missionary.
THE WHITE QUEEN OF OKOYONG
[Illustration: WISHART CHURCH, DUNDEE.]
CHAPTER I
Tells how a little girl lived in a lowly home, and played, and
dreamed dreams, and how a dark shadow came into her life and
made her unhappy; how when she grew older she went into a
factory and learned to weave, and how in her spare minutes she
taught herself many things, and worked amongst wild boys; and
how she was sent to Africa.
One cold day in December, in the city of Aberdeen, a baby girl was
carried by her mother into a church to be enrolled in the Kingdom of
Jesus and given a name. As the minister went through the tender and
beautiful ceremony the people in the pews looked at the tiny form in her
robes of white, and thought of the long years that lay before her and
wondered what she would become, because every girl and boy is like a
shut casket full of mystery and promise and hope. No one knows what
gifts may lie hidden within them, and what great and surprising things
they may do when they grow up and go out into the world.
The baby was christened "Mary Slessor," and then she was wrapped up
carefully again and taken home. Surely no one present ever dreamed how
much good little Mary would one day do for Africa.
It was not a very fine house into which Mary had been born, for her
father, who was a shoemaker, did not earn much money; but her mother, a
sweet and gentle woman, worked hard to keep it clean and tidy, and love
makes even the poorest place sunshiny and warm. When Mary was able to
run about she played a great deal with her brother Robert, who was older
than she, but she liked to help her mother too: indeed she seemed to be
fonder of doing things for others than for herself. She did not need
dolls, for more babies came into the home, and she used to nurse them
and dress them and hush them to sleep.
She was very good at make-believe, and one of her games was to sit in a
corner and pretend that she was keeping school. If you had listened to
her you would have found that the pupils she was busy teaching and
keeping in order were children with skins as black as coal. The reason
was this: Her mother took a great interest in all she heard on Sundays
about the dark lands beyond the seas where millions of people had never
heard of Jesus. The church to which she belonged, the United
Presbyterian Church, had sent out many brave men and women to various
parts of the world to fight the evils of heathenism, and a new Mission
had just begun amongst a savage race in a wild country called Calabar in
West Africa, and every one in Scotland was talking about it and the
perils and hardships of the missionaries. Mrs. Slessor used to come home
with all the news about the work, and the children would gather about
her knees and listen to stories of the strange cruel customs of the
natives, and how they killed the twin-babies, until their eyes grew big
and round, and their hearts raced with fear, and they snuggled close to
her side.
Mary was very sorry for these helpless bush-children, and often thought
about them, and that was why she made them her play-scholars. She
dreamed, too, of going out some day to that terrible land and saving the
lives of the twinnies, and sometimes she would look up and say:
"Mother, I want to be a missionary and go out and teach the black boys
and girls--real ways."
Then Robert would retort in the tone that boys often use to their
sisters:
"But you're only a girl, and girls can't be missionaries. _I'm_ going to
be one and you can come out with me, and if you're good I may let you up
into my pulpit beside me."
Mrs. Slessor was amused at their talk, and well pleased too, for she
had a longing that her boy should work abroad in the service of Jesus
when he became a man. But that was not to be, for soon afterwards Robert
fell ill and died, so Mary became the eldest.
A dark shadow, darker than death, gathered over the home. Mr. Slessor
learned the habit of taking strong drink and became a slave to it, and
he began to spend a large part of his money in the public-house, and his
wife and children had not the comfort they ought to have had. Matters
became so bad that something had to be done. It was thought that if Mr.
Slessor could be got away from the bad companions who led him astray, he
might do better. So the home was broken up, and the family journeyed to
Dundee, the busy smoky town on the River Tay, where there were many
large mills and factories, and here, for a time, they lived in a little
house with a bit of garden in front. That garden was at first a delight
to Mary, but afterwards she lost her pleasure in it, for her father used
to dig in it on Sunday, and make people think he did not love God's Day.
She was now old enough to look after the younger children, and very well
she did it. Often she took them long walks, climbing the steep streets
to see the green fields, or going down to feel the fresh smell of the
sea. Sometimes her mother gave her a sixpence, and they went and had a
ride on the merry-go-round. It was the custom then for girls and boys
to go bare-footed in the summer, and Mary liked it so much that she
never afterwards cared to wear shoes and stockings.
On Sundays they all trotted away to church, clean and sweet, each with a
peppermint to suck during the sermon, and afterwards they went to Sunday
School. As a rule Mary was good and obedient, though, like most girls,
she sometimes got into trouble. Her hair was reddish then, and her
brothers would tease her and call her "Carrots," and she did not like
that. She loved a prank too, and was sometimes naughty. Once or twice
she played truant from the Sunday School. She was always very vexed
afterwards, for she could not bear to see her mother's face when she
heard of her wrong-doing--it was so white and sad. The quiet little
mother did not punish her: she would draw her instead into a room and
kneel down and pray for her. "Oh, mother!" Mary would say, "I would
rather you whip me!"
But all that soon passed away, for she had been dreaming another dream,
a very sweet one, which always set her heart a-longing and a-thrilling,
and it now came true and changed her life. It was the biggest thing and
the happiest that ever happened to her. She gave her heart to Jesus.
Very shyly one night she crept up to her mother, nestled close to her,
and laid her head on her knee, and then whispered the wonderful news.
"I'll try, mother," she said, "to be a good girl and a comfort to you."
Her mother was filled with joy, and both went about for long afterwards
singing in their hearts. If only the shadow would lift!
[Illustration: THE LITTLE HOUSE-MOTHER.]
But it settled down more darkly than ever. We can change the place where
we stay and wander far, but it is not so easy to change our habits. Mr.
Slessor was now bringing in so little money that his wife was forced to
go and work in one of the mills in order to buy food and clothes for the
children. Mary became the little house-mother, and how busy her hands
and feet were, how early she was up, and how late she tumbled into bed,
and how bravely she met all her troubles! Tears might steal into her
eyes when she felt faint and hungry, but it was always a bright and
smiling face that welcomed the tired mother home at night.
Gloomier grew the shadow. More money was needed to keep the home, and
Mary, a slim girl of eleven, was the next to go out and become a
bread-winner. One morning she went into a big factory and stood in the
midst of machines and wheels and whirling belts, and at first was
bewildered and a little afraid. But she was only allowed to stay for
half a day: the other half she had to go to a school in the works where
the girls were taught to read and write and count. She was fond of the
reading, but did not like doing the sums: the figures on the board
danced before her eyes, and she could not follow the working out of the
problems, and sometimes the teacher punished her by making her stand
until the lesson was finished.
But she was clever with her fingers, and soon knew all about weaving.
How proud she was when she ran home with her first week's earnings! She
laid them in the lap of her mother, who cried over them and wrapped them
up and put them away: she could not, just then, find it in her heart to
spend such precious money.
By the time she was fourteen Mary was working a large machine and being
paid a good wage. But she had to toil very hard for it. She rose at five
o'clock in the morning, when the factory whistle blew, and was in the
works by six, and, except for two hours off for meals, she was busy at
her task until six in the evening. In the warm summer days she did not
go home, but carried her dinner with her and ate it sitting beside the
loom; and sometimes she went away by herself and walked in the park.
Saturday afternoons and Sundays were her own, but they were usually
spent in helping her mother. Her dress was coarse and plain, and she
wore no pretty ornaments, though she liked them as much as her
companions did, for she was learning to put aside all the things she did
not really need, and by and by she came not to miss them, and found
pleasure instead in making others happy. She would have been quite
content if only her father had been different.
But there was no hope now of a better time. The shadow became so black
that it was like night when there are no stars in the sky. Mrs. Slessor
and Mary had a big burden to bear and a grim battle to fight. In their
distress they clung to one another, and prayed to Jesus for help and
strength, for they, of themselves, could do little. On Saturday nights
Mr. Slessor came home late, and treated them unkindly, so that Mary was
often forced to go out into the cold streets and wait until he had gone
to sleep. As she wandered about she felt very lonely and very miserable,
and sometimes sobbed as if her heart would break. When she passed the
bright windows of the places where drink was sold, she wondered why
people were allowed to ruin men and women in such a way, and she
clenched her hands and resolved that when she grew up she would war
against this terrible thing which destroyed the peace and happiness of
homes.
But at last the trouble came to an end. One tragic day Mary stood and
looked down with a great awe upon the face of her father lying white and
still in death.
What she went through in these days made her often sad and downcast, for
she had a loving heart, and suffered sorely when any one was rough to
her or ill-treated her. But good came out of it too. She was like a
white starry flower which grows on the walls and verandahs of houses in
the tropics. The hot sunshine is not able to draw perfume from it, but
as soon as darkness falls its fragrance scents the air and comes
stealing through the open windows and doors. So it was with Mary. She
grew sweeter in the darkness of trouble; it was in the shadows of life
that she learned to be patient and brave and unselfish.
We must not think less, but more, of her for coming out of such a home.
It is not always the girls and boys who are highly favoured that grow up
to do the best and biggest things in life. Some of the men and women to
whom the world owes most had a hard time when they were young. The home
life of President Lincoln, who freed millions of slaves in America, was
like Mary's, yet his name has become one of the most famous in history.
No girl or boy should despair because they are poor or lonely or crushed
down in any way; let them fight on, quietly and patiently, and in the
end better things and happier times will come.
Mrs. Slessor now left the factory, and for a time kept a little shop, in
which Mary used to help, especially on Saturday afternoons and nights,
when trade was busiest. The girl was still dreaming dreams about the
wonderful days that lay before her, but, unlike many others who do the
same, she did her best to make hers come true. She wanted to learn
things, and she found that books would tell her, and so she was led into
the great world of knowledge. The more she read the more she wanted to
know. So eager was she that when she left home for her work, she slipped
a book into her pocket and glanced at it in the streets. She did not
know then about Dr. Livingstone, the African missionary and traveller,
but she did exactly what he had done when he was a boy: she propped a
book on a corner of the loom in the factory, and read whenever she had a
moment to spare. Her companions tell how they used to see her take out a
little note-book, put it on the weaver's beam, and jot down her
thoughts--she was always writing, they say; sometimes it was poetry,
sometimes an essay, sometimes a letter to a friend. But she never
neglected her work.
How different her lot was from that of most girls of to-day! They have
leisure for their lessons, and they learn music and do fancy work and
keep house and bake--and how many hate it all! Mary had only a few
precious minutes, but she made the most of them. The books she read
were not stories, but ones like Milton's _Paradise Lost_ and Carlyle's
_Sartor Resartus_, and so deep did she become in them at night that
sometimes she forgot everything, and read on and on through the quiet
hours, and only came to herself with a start when she heard the warning
whistle of the factory in the early morning.
She was fond of all good books, but the one she liked most and knew
better than any was the Bible. She pored over it so often that she
remembered much of it by heart. In the Bible Class she was so quick and
so ready to answer questions that Mr. Baxter, her minister, used to say,
"Now, Mary Slessor, don't answer any more questions till I bid you."
When every one else failed he would turn to her with "Now, Mary," and
she always had her reply ready. She was never tired of the story of
Jesus, especially as it is told in the Gospel of St. John, for there He
appeared to her so kind and winsome and lovable. When she thought of all
He did, how He came from His own beautiful heaven to save the world from
what is sinful and sad, and how He was made to suffer and at last was
put to death, and how His teaching has brought peace and safety and
sunshine into the lives of millions of women and girls, she felt she
must do something for Him to show her love and thankfulness and
devotion.
"He says we must do as He did and try to make people better and
happier, and so I, too, must do my best and join in the war against all
that is evil and unlovely and unrestful in the world." So she thought to
herself.
She did not say, "I am only a girl, what can I do?" She knew that when a
General wanted an army to fight a strong enemy he did not call for
officers only, but for soldiers--hosts of them, and especially for those
who were young. "I can be a soldier," Mary said humbly. "Dear Lord, I
will do what I can--here are my heart and head and hands and feet--use
me for anything that I can do."
The first thing that she did was to take a class of little girls in the
Sunday School, and thus she began to teach others before she was
educated herself, but it is not always those who are best trained who
can teach best. The heart of Mary was so full of deep true love for
Jesus that it caused her face to shine and her eyes to smile and her
lips to speak kind words, and that is the sort of learning that wins
others to Him.
Wishart Church, to which she went, was built over shops, and looked down
upon the old Port Gate and upon streets and lanes which were filled at
night with big boys and girls who seemed to have no other place to go
to, and nothing to do but lounge and swear and fight. Mary felt she
would like to do something for them. By and by when a Mission was begun
in a little house in Queen Street--there is a brass inscription upon
the wall, now, telling about Mary--she went to the superintendent and
said, "Will you take me as a teacher?" "Gladly," he said, but she looked
so small and frail that he was afraid the work would be too rough for
her.
What a time she had at first! The boys and girls did not want anybody to
bother about them: those who came to the meeting were wild and noisy;
those who remained outside threw stones and mud and tried to stop the
work. Mary faced them, smiling and unafraid, and dared them to touch
her. Some grew ashamed of worrying the brave little teacher, and these
she won over to her side. But there were others with sullen eyes and
clenched fists who would not give in, and they did their best to make
her life a misery.
One night a band of the most violent lay in wait for her, and she found
herself suddenly in their midst. They hustled and threatened her.
"We'll do for you if you don't leave us alone," they cried.
She was quaking with fear, but she did not show it. She just breathed a
prayer for help, and looked at them with her quiet eyes.
"I will not give up," she replied. "You can do what you like."
"All right," shouted the leader, a big hulking lad. "Here goes."
Out of his pocket he took a lump of lead to which was tied a bit of
cord, and began to swing it round her head. The rest of the gang looked
on breathless, wondering at the courage of the girl. The lead came
nearer and swished past her brow. Pale, calm, unflinching, she stood
waiting for the blow that would fell her to the ground. Suddenly the lad
jerked away the weapon and let it fall with a crash.
"We can't force her, boys," he cried, "she's game."
And, like beaten foes, they followed her, and went to the meeting and
into her class, and after that there was no more trouble. The boys fell
under her spell, grew fond of her, and in their shy way did all they
could to help her. On Saturday afternoons she would take them into the
country away from the temptations of the streets, and sought to make
them gentle and kind and generous. Some of the most wayward amongst them
gave their hearts to Jesus, and afterwards grew to be good and useful
men.
What was it that gave her such an influence over these rude and unruly
boys? They did not know. She was not what is called a pretty girl. She
was plain and quiet and simple, and she was poorly clad. But she was
somehow different from most teachers. Perhaps it was because she loved
them so much, for the love that is real and pure and unselfish is the
greatest power in the world.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE "PENDS" OR "CLOSES" WHERE MARY VISITED THE
BOYS IN HER CLASS.]
Through the hearts of the boys Mary found her way to their homes in the
slums, and paid visits to their mothers and sisters, and saw that life
to them was often very hard and wretched. The other Mission workers used
to go two and two, but she often went alone. Once she was a long time
away, and when she came back she said laughingly:
"I've been dining with the Macdonalds in Quarry Pend."
"Indeed," said some one, "and did you get a clean plate and spoon?"
"Oh, never mind that," replied Mary. "I've got into their house and been
asked to come back, and that's all I care about."
She always went in the same spirit in which Jesus would have gone.
Sometimes she would sit by the fire with the baby on her knees;
sometimes she would take tea with the family, drinking out of a broken
cup; sometimes she would help the mother to finish a bit of work. And
always she cheered up tired and anxious hearts, and left sunshine and
peace where there had been only the blackness of despair.
No one could be long in her company without feeling better, and not a
few of her friends came, through her, to know and love and work for
Jesus. "Three weeks after I knew her," says one of her old factory
mates, "I became a different girl." How eager and earnest she was! "Oh!"
she said to a companion, "I wonder what we would do or dare for Jesus?
Would we be burned at the stake? Would we give our lives for His sake?"
"She _did_ work hard," says another, "and whatever she did, she did with
heart and soul."
When the Mission was removed to the rooms under the church, the
superintendent said: "We shall need a charwoman to give the place a
thorough cleaning."
"Nonsense," said Mary; "we will clean it ourselves."
"You ladies clean such a dirty hall!"
"Ladies!" cried Mary; "we are no ladies, we are just ordinary working
folk."
Next night Mary and another teacher were found, with sleeves turned up
and aprons on, busy with pails of water and brushes scrubbing out the
rooms. Like other young people, she had her troubles, big and little,
and these she met bravely. Evil-minded persons, jealous of her goodness,
sometimes said unkind things about her, but she never paid any heed to
them. She always did what she thought was right, and went her own way.
On Saturdays she used to put her hair in curlpapers, and her companions
teased her a lot about it, and tried to laugh her out of the habit, but
she just laughed back. When she and two or three friends met during the
meal hour and held a little prayer meeting opposite the factory, the
other girls would come and peep in, and one of her companions would be
vexed and scold them. "Dinna bother, Janet," she would say quietly, "we
needna mind what they do."
She was not always serious, but could enjoy fun and frolic with the
wildest. Once while walking in the country with a girl she knocked
playfully at some cottage doors and ran away. "Oh, Mary," said her
friend, "I'm shocked at you!"
Mary only laughed, and said, "A little nonsense now and then is relished
by the wisest men."
From one old friend we get a picture of her at this time. "Her face was
always shining and happy. With her fresh skin, her short ringlets, and
her firm mouth she somehow always made me think of a farmer's daughter
coming to market with butter and eggs!"
Her life during these years was a training for what she had to do in the
future. She must have had an inkling of it, for her dreams now were all
of service in the far lands beyond the seas. Through the gloom of the
smoky streets she was always seeing visions of tropical rivers and
tangled jungle and heathen huts amongst palm trees, and above the noise
of the factory she was hearing the cries of the little bush-children;
and she longed to leave busy Dundee with its churches and Sunday Schools
and go out and help where help was most needed. She did not say
anything, for she knew it was her brother John that her mother was
anxious to make a missionary. He was a big lad, but very delicate, and
there came a time when the doctor said he must leave the cold climate of
Scotland or die. He sailed to New Zealand, but it was too late, and he
passed away there. His mother grieved again over her lost hopes, and
Mary, who was very fond of him, wept bitterly. As she went about her
work she repeated the hymn, "Lead, kindly Light," to herself, finding
comfort in the last two lines:
And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.
And then she came back to her dazzling day-dream. Could she not, after
all, be the missionary? But she was not educated, and she was the chief
breadwinner of the family, and her mother leant upon her so much. How
could she manage it? She thought it all out, and at last said, "I _can_
do it. I _will_ do it." She was one of the cleverest weavers in the
factory, and she began to do extra work, thus earning a bigger wage and
saving more money. She studied very hard. She practised speaking at
meetings until she learned how to put her thoughts into clear and simple
words.
But it was a weary, weary time, for she spent fourteen years within the
walls of the factory. Thousands of other girls, of course, were doing
the same, and sometimes they got very tired, but had just to go bravely
on. In one of her poems Mrs. Browning tells us what it was like: how the
revolving wheels seemed to make everything turn too--the heads and
hearts of the girls, the walls, the sky seen out of the high windows,
even the black flies on the ceiling--
All day, the iron wheels are droning,
And sometimes we could pray,
"O ye wheels," (breaking out in a mad moaning)
"Stop! be silent for to-day!"
But they never did stop, and the girls had only their hopes and dreams
to make them patient and brave.
One day there flashed through the land a telegram which caused much
excitement and sorrow. Africa was then an unknown country, vast and
mysterious, and haunted by all the horrors of slavery and heathenism.
For a long time there had been tramping through it a white man, a
Scotsman, David Livingstone, hero of heroes, who had been gradually
finding out the secrets of its lakes and rivers and peoples. Sometimes
he was lost for years. The telegram which came told of his lonely death
in a hut in the heart of the continent. Every one asked, What is to be
done now? who is to take up the work of the great pioneer and help to
save the natives from misery and death? Amongst those whose hearts leapt
at the call was Mary Slessor. She went to her mother.
"Mother," she said, "I am going to offer myself as a missionary. But do
not fret. I will be able to give you part of my salary, and that, with
the earnings of Susan and Janie, will keep the home in comfort."
"My lassie," was the reply, "I'll willingly let you go. You'll make a
fine missionary, and I'm sure God will be with you."
Some of her friends wondered at her. They knew she was not specially
brave; indeed, was not her timidity a joke amongst them? "Why," they
said, "she is even afraid of dogs. When she sees one coming down the
street she goes into a passage until it is past!" This was true, but
they forgot that love can cast out all fear.
Tremblingly she waited for the answer to her letter to the Mission Board
of the United Presbyterian Church in Edinburgh. When it arrived she
rushed to her mother.
"I'm accepted! I'm going to Calabar as a teacher." And then, strange to
say, she burst into tears.
[Illustration: THE HOUSE IN QUEEN STREET, DUNDEE, WHERE MARY SLESSOR
FIRST TAUGHT AS A MISSION TEACHER.]
So she who had waited so long and so patiently, working within the walls
of a factory, weaving the warp and woof in the loom, was now going to
one of the wildest parts of Africa to weave there the lives of the
people into new and beautiful patterns.
[Illustration: DUKE TOWN, WEST AFRICA.]