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.
On some quiet summer day you may have been wandering through a country
lane when you suddenly felt a whiff of perfume, fresh and sweet, and
wondered where it could have come from. You looked about, but there was
nothing save a tangle of green wood. You searched the hedges, and went
down to the brown stream below the bridge and along its banks. The
fragrance was still scenting the air, now strong, now faint, but you
could not find its source. Then suddenly you came upon it--a sweetbriar
bush, hidden away in a lonely and lowly spot.
Ma Slessor was like this modest briar bush. The influence of her
goodness spread far and near, and the fame of her doings reached peoples
who lived hundreds of miles away. They said to one another, "Let us go
and see this wonderful White Mother"; and they left their villages and
travelled through forests and across wide rivers and creeks, risking
capture and death at the hands of hostile tribes, to seek her advice and
help. Some of these visitors spoke languages Ma did not understand, and
they had to talk to one another in signs. Chiefs in districts she had
never heard of sent her messages: "Oh, Great White Mother, come and
dwell with us, and we will be God-men." Escaped slaves from cannibal
regions, who had been doomed to be eaten, fled to her for refuge. All
received from her a kind welcome and food, and, best of all, had a talk
about the Divine Chief who was to be the real Saviour of Africa.
There were other visitors to Okoyong she liked less, slave-dealers from
beyond the Cross River, who brought women and girls to sell. A slow fire
of rage had long been burning in Ma's heart against this cruel system,
and sometimes it burst into fierce flame. She would hear a sound of
bitter sobbing, and go out to see a string of naked little girls being
driven forwards by a man carrying brass rods on his head--the money
which the natives use. She would be so angry that she would shake her
fist at the trader and storm at him, but he would only grin and ask her
which girl she wanted, and would then describe their good points just as
if they had been so many fowls or goats. Sometimes there would be sick
ones, or ones suffering from ill-treatment, and these the dealers would
leave, and she would nurse them back to health, though she was always
very unwilling to let them go again into the awful whirlpool of
slave-life.
[Illustration]
She knew many of the dealers quite well, and often had long talks with
them about the mysterious country from which they came. Whitemen had not
yet entered into the heart of it, but Ma learnt enough to be sure that
it was a far more wicked place even than Okoyong had been. It was called
Iboland, and one of the tribes, the Aros, were so cunning and clever
that they had become a power over a vast region. It was they who were
the slave-stealers, seeking their victims everywhere, and selling them
in markets to the traders. One of their best hunting-grounds was Ibibio,
the country to the south, where the natives were poor and naked and
miserable, and lived in little settlements deep in the forest, because
of their fear of the slave raiders.
[Illustration: THE WAY INTO THE JUJU GLEN.]
The Aros believed that they had a wonderful _chuku_ or juju--which means
the god of the Aros--in a rocky gorge down which a stream flowed. At one
spot there was a dark ravine and a pool overhung by trees and creepers.
Here, amongst the white lilies, swam ugly cat-fish, with fierce-looking
eyes, that were held to be sacred, and which it was death to catch. On a
little island was a hut, guarded by priests, in which the juju was
supposed to live. The people thought it could aid them in time of
trouble, and came in great numbers to the shrine to ask advice and get
their quarrels made up. Though the priests helped many in this way, they
were cunning and greedy, and often acted very cruelly. They took the
food and money which the visitors brought, and then said the juju
wanted a living offering. So some poor man or woman was taken into the
glen blindfolded, and the friends of the victim knew that the sacrifice
was made by seeing the blood flowing past lower down.
Others who entered never came out again. The priests said they had been
seized by the juju, and the blood-red river seemed to show this, but a
dye had been thrown in to colour the water. These persons were taken far
away in secret, and sold into slavery. Any that were not of much value
were slain and eaten in the cannibal feasts.
Now that Ma's dream of conquering Okoyong had come true, she was
dreaming other dreams, and the most fascinating of these was to go to
this terrible cannibal country and put down the evil doings of the
natives. She told the slave-dealers about it.
"All right, Ma," they said, for they liked her, and admired her courage.
"We, who know you, will be glad to welcome you; but we are not sure
about the priests--they may kill you."
"I will risk that," she said; "as soon as I can get away from here you
will see me."
In order to find out more about the tribes, she sometimes went far up
the Cross River in a canoe, stopping wherever she could get shelter. On
one of her journeys, when she had some of the house-children with her,
the canoe was attacked by a huge hippopotamus. It rushed at the canoe,
and tried to overthrow it. The men thrust their paddles down its throat
and beat it, but it kept savagely nosing and gripping the frail vessel.
Great was the excitement. Its jaws were snapping, the water was in a
whirl of foam, the men were shouting and laying about them with their
paddles, the girls were screaming, Ma was sometimes praying and
sometimes giving orders. At last the canoe was swung clear, and paddled
swiftly away.
The story of this adventure is still told in Calabar, and if you ask
Dan, one of Ma's children, about it, he will say, "Once, when Ma was
travelling in a canoe, she was attacked by hippopotamuses, but when they
looked inside the canoe and saw her, they all ran away!"
What Ma saw and heard made her all a-quiver to go into these strange
lands, but she would not leave the Okoyong people until some one came to
take her place. The Mission had no other lady to send, and so she could
only watch and pray and wait.
Matters became worse. The Aros hated the white rule, and would not
submit to it. They tried to prevent the Government opening up their
country to order and justice and peace, and would not allow the
officials to enter it; they blocked the river so that no white vessel,
or native one either, could pass; they went on with their slave-hunting
and cannibalism. At last the Government lost patience. "We must teach
them a lesson," they said. So a warning went to all the missionaries
along the banks of the river to come down to Calabar at once. Ma Slessor
did not like the order. "Everything is peaceful in Okoyong," she said.
"My people won't fight." The Government said they knew that, but her
life was too precious to risk, and they sent a special steamer for her
and the children.
When she came she found several companies of soldiers, with many
quick-firing guns, already moving up the river. They landed in the Aro
country, and marched through swamps and attacked the hosts of natives
who had gathered to bar their way, and defeated them. Still, the bushmen
would not give in, and the soldiers had many a weary time in the
trackless forests. At Arochuku they went down the gorge to the juju
house, at the door of which they found a white goat starving to death.
Many human skulls and cooking-pots lying about told a gruesome tale. The
place continued to be the scene of wicked ceremonies, and was at last
blown up with dynamite.
Ma was sorry she had not gone to Iboland before the soldiers, because
she felt that if she had done so she might have saved all the fighting
and bloodshed. Now that a way had been blazed into the country, she was
more than ever eager and impatient to go.
"The Gospel should have been the first to enter," she said; "but since
the sword and gun are before us, we must follow at once."
[Illustration]
So while carrying on the work at Akpap, she began to explore and look
out for some place that would do for an outpost. One day she left Akpap,
taking with her the slave-girl Mana, who now knew English and her Bible
well, and a bright boy called Esien, and tramped to the Cross River,
where she boarded a canoe and paddled slowly upstream. By and by she
came to another smaller river on the west, which seemed to run far into
the interior between Ibo and Ibibio, and there she landed on a beach at
the foot of a hill. This was Itu, a famous place, for it was here that
one of the greatest slave-markets in West Africa used to be held, and it
was down this side river, the Enyong Creek, that the slaves were brought
in canoes, to be sold and sent over the country, or shipped abroad to
the West Indies or America.
"A good place to begin," Ma said; and she landed and climbed up the
steep bank to the top, where she had a beautiful view over the shining
river and the green land. "Oh, yes," she repeated, "a bonnie place to
begin."
Once more she lived the gipsy life. She opened a school, made Mana and
Esien the teachers, and started to build a church. The people, who had
so long trembled in the shadow of slavery, were so pleased that they did
all they could to help her, and the children of the village tumbled over
one another in their eagerness to "learn book."
When she left for Akpap again the chiefs gave her the gift of a black
goat, and she tied a piece of string to it and led it to the beach,
where the Mission boat picked her up and took her down to the
landing-place for Okoyong. She was bareheaded and barefooted, but in
high spirits at the success of her trip, and she went away gaily into
the forest, leading her goat and singing:
Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow!
Mana did a wonderful work at Itu: she taught the women and girls to read
and sew, held prayers in the chief's yard every night, and preached on
Sunday; and just because she loved Jesus, and tried to be like Ma, she
soon had hundreds falling under the spell of the new way of life. This
humble slave-girl did not fall away like others. She and Esien remained
always true disciples of their Lord.
"If only some one would come and help me at Akpap," Ma prayed, and her
wish was answered, for another brave woman, Miss Wright, one of the
Mission agents in Calabar, offered to go up and stay with her, and after
that everything was easy, for Ma Slessor loved Ma Wright, and Ma Wright
loved Ma Slessor, and both loved the bairns, and the bairns loved both,
so that it was a happy company which lived in this African forest
clearing.
By this time Ma's own special family was complete, and no more members
were added, so we can look in upon them and see who they were and what
they did.
First, of course, came Janie, who was now a big lassie, very kind, and
full of sympathy for everybody. She spoke English fluently, and, like
Ma, was a constant reader of the Bible; few white boys or girls, indeed,
know it so thoroughly as she did. She was Ma's right hand, and could do
almost anything, indoor or outdoor, clean, cook, carry a load, build a
house, or work in the fields. But she liked working outside best, and,
although a twin, had many friends amongst the people.
Mary was another good girl, though not so fond of hard work as Janie.
She waited upon Ma, and did all her little ploys. Alice was a quiet,
solid, plodding little soul, not as bright as Janie or Mary, but
faithful in whatever duty she was given to do, and always willing and
obedient. Annie had no head at all for her lessons, but was very
diligent, and always smiling. Maggie the restless--Ma's name for her was
Flibberty-gibbet--was the one who was fond of the babies, always busying
herself about them, except when she was in the kitchen cooking a tit-bit
for her own little mouth. The baby of the family was Whitie, a twin with
dancing eyes, and giving promise of being clever by and by.
Then there were the two boys, Dan, a lively little fellow, not clever,
but good, who had been brought up by Janie and was a favourite with Ma,
and, as is often the case with a boy amongst a lot of sisters, was a
little spoiled; and toddling Asoqu[:o], who was so very fond of food that
he sometimes stole the cat's milk!
In the house at this time was another boy named Impie. Poor Impie! He
was deformed and could not use his legs, and the natives had some queer
notion about it. He lay all day, so patient, with a smile for everybody;
and when, in the evening, Ma Wright took him on her knee until bedtime,
his face was a picture of perfect content. He died soon afterwards.
All the children were astir before six in the morning. Annie made up the
wood fire and boiled water in the kettle for Ma's tea, and Janie or Mary
prepared it and brought it in. Then they swept up the yard, and went
into the bush to gather firewood or look for herbs to make _efere_ or
native soup. At prayers the children squatted on the verandah. They sang
a hymn in English, and the bigger ones read verse about, Ma explaining
as they went along--for she never hurried through worship no matter how
busy she might be. Then she prayed in Efik, and all repeated the Lord's
Prayer in English.
Prayers were not always at the same time, and sometimes when everybody
was out of doors sweeping up or cutting down bush, Ma summoned them to
the shade of a palm or cotton or orange tree, and had them there just to
teach them that people could worship God anywhere--at their work, as
well as in church.
"Boys and girls," she used to tell her young friends in Scotland,
"should pray at their play or lessons as well as when reading or saying
their prayers night and morning. Make a habit of it by looking up and
saying a word or two in thought at any time. God is interested in our
play and work and everything."
Then came lessons for a couple of hours, Ma doctoring patients or
holding palavers the while. After breakfast the big lads or children
from the village came, and school was held out in the open air under the
verandah. This went on until six o'clock, when the evening meal was
taken.
Prayers were again held on the verandah, and as the refugees in the yard
and many of the neighbours came and sat below, the native tongue only
was used. There was a hymn, and Ma would tell a simple gospel story, and
all would say: "This night I lay me down to sleep." By that time one or
two of the little ones were already in slumber-land, and were carried
off to bed.
On Sunday nights the hymns that children all over the world know were
sung, sometimes with choruses which Ma made up herself; and instead of
reading, the girls told what they remembered of the sermon. Janie was
best at this. Mary and Alice could, at least, say the text, and when it
came to Annie's turn she always said: "Nkokop nte Jesus edi eyen
Abasi"--"I heard that Jesus is the Son of God."
Market-day was an exciting time for the children. The people came
crowding in from the villages with all sorts of food and things to sell,
such as yams--these are something like large potatoes,--shrimps from the
river, oil from the palm-nut, sugar-cane, ground nuts, Indian corn, and
fowls. Most of them came to see Ma, many simply to "k[:o]m" her, that is,
to give her compliments, others to get advice or medicine. They brought
little gifts for the children, sugar-cane, oranges and bananas and other
fruit, or seed-plants, which they put in their own plots of ground, for
they all liked to grow things.
It was Ma who taught them to love flowers. She knew a great deal about
the wild plants of the forest. One day, when walking with a visitor
along the path, he complained of toothache, and by and by she picked a
flower and told him to chew it. He did so, and the pain vanished. He
plucked another which he thought was the same, and she said, "If you eat
that you will be dead in five minutes."
Ma taught them many other things--indeed all they knew--and needed to be
very patient, for think of the ages of darkness and ignorance that lay
behind them! She tried, above all, to get them to hate lying, which is
so common in Africa. Her one great and constant bit of advice and
warning to them was--"Speak the truth."
These pleasant days in the Mission House were soon to end. Ma was now
ready to go forward, and only waited to be sure that God was leading
her, for she never wanted to go any way but His. One day she trudged the
six miles to the Cross River in the hope of catching the Government
launch for Itu. It passed when she was resting in a hut, and she had to
trudge back the weary miles to Akpap again.
"Oh, Ma," said Miss Wright, "I am sorry you missed it."
Ma was tired, but only smiled and said, "Never mind, lassie, God did
not mean me to go to-day, and He knows best."
A week later the launch saw her and picked her up, and on board she
found the Military Commander.
"Ma," he said, "I'm going as far as Arochuku. Why not come up with me?"
"Oh," she thought, "is this what God meant when He turned me back last
week?" And although she meant only to go to Itu and had no change of
clothing or food, she said, "Yes, I will go."
And so she passed Itu and sailed up the Enyong Creek, one of the
loveliest little waterways in the world. She had seen many beautiful
bits of tropical scenery, but never one so beautiful as this. At first
it is broad and open, and here and there she saw a tiny canoe with a man
fishing for shrimps, and she was told that electric fish, which gave one
a shock, lived in the water. Then it ran through the forest, where it
was as still as a lake in the heart of the hills, and dark and green
because the branches drooped over it. Through the little arches of
foliage she got glimpses of what looked like fairyland beyond. The
surface was covered with lilies of dazzling whiteness. Scarcely a sound
broke the deep and fragrant silence. Sometimes a kingfisher would rise
and fly lazily away, sometimes a troop of monkeys would look down from
the branches overhead and chatter, sometimes grey parrots with red
tails would scream angrily for a moment at being disturbed.
But as Ma lay and enjoyed all the peace and the beauty, she seemed to
see other things--she saw canoe-loads of sad-eyed slaves passing down,
week after week, year after year, century after century--what terrible
misery and despair that lovely creek must have known!
And when she landed and walked through the forest trails, the same
thought was in her mind--how these paths had been beaten hard by endless
files of hopeless slaves--men, women, and little children.
"At last," she said thankfully, "the cruel reign of heathendom is over,
and peace and kindness and happiness are now coming to this dark land!"
She found the villages and towns almost touching one another, and full
of people.
"Welcome, Ma! we looked for your coming," shouted her old friends, the
slave-traders, although they knew well that she would try and stop their
evil doings.
She found that some native traders from the coast had been telling the
people about Jesus, and she called the chiefs and held a palaver and set
about starting a school and building a church. It was curious to see not
only children but grave men and women squatting on the ground learning
A B C! And some of the men were old slave-hunters.
"Come back soon, Ma! You are the only one who cares for us," they cried
as she left.
One day, when coming down the Creek, she was idly watching a snake
trying to swim across the quiet water, when bump, bump, her canoe was
run into and nearly overturned by another, which shot out from the side.
"Sorry, Ma," said the man in it. "I have been waiting for you many days.
My master at Akani Obi wants to speak with you."
The canoe was turned, and followed by the other into a creek that was
fairylike in its tender beauty, and came to a beach where stood a
nice-looking, well-dressed native and his wife. They took her into their
home, which was furnished like a European one.
"I am Onoyom," said the man. "When I was a little slave-boy, one of your
white missionaries explored as far as this. All the people fled. I was
not afraid, and I took him to the chief. I was punished afterwards. When
I grew up I went to the cannibal feasts at Arochuku. My master died, and
ten little girls were killed and placed in his grave. I became steward
of the House, and ruled as chief. My house was burned down, and my child
died. I thought some enemy had done it, and I wanted to murder people. I
met a man who had been a teacher, and he said, 'Perhaps God is angry
with you.' I said, 'I want to find this God.' He said, 'Go to the White
Ma and she will help you.' I took a canoe to find you. I missed you. I
left a man to wait, and he has brought you. Now, will you tell me what
to do?"
As she listened Ma's eyes grew bright with joy. She talked with him and
his household, telling them of Jesus and His Gospel, and praying with
them, and promised to come and begin a school and church. Then they made
her a cup of tea, and went with her to the beach.
As her canoe skimmed over the quiet water again, darkness fell, and a
rain-storm came on and Ma was drenched, but she did not care; she sang
aloud in her blitheness of heart, for after ages of darkness and
wickedness the sunlight of God was beginning to shine in the Creek.
After that what a life she led! She was always moving up and down the
Creek, visiting strange places and camping anywhere. Sometimes she had
to sleep in the open air, or in huts on the floor, or in the canoe;
sometimes she was caught in tornadoes and soaked to the skin; sometimes
she was not able to wash for many days; sometimes she ran out of stores
and lived on native plant-food and tea made in old milk tins. She was
often ill, full of aches and pains and burning with fever; but even
when she was suffering she never lost her happy spirit and her bright
laugh. She was like a white spirit fluttering hither and thither, a
symbol of the new life that was stirring in the land. The people were
rising out of the sleep of centuries, everywhere they were eager to
learn, everywhere they cried for teachers and missionaries.
"Oh," cried Ma, "if only I could do more, if only I were young again! If
only the Church at home would send out scores of men and women. If ..."
She did too much, and her frail weak body could not stand it. Sleep
forsook her, and that meant loss of nerve. When she thought of the
immense work opening up before her, with only herself to do it, she
quailed and shrank from the task. In the night she rose and went
wandering over the house, and looked down upon the children slumbering
in perfect trust and peace.
"Surely, surely," she said, "God who takes care of the little ones will
take care of me."
It was time for her holiday to Scotland, but she could not leave because
she was very near death. A long rest revived her, and she rose--to go
home? No. The flame that burned in that worn little body leapt up and
glowed best in the African forest. Instead of going to Scotland she made
up her mind to spend six months wandering about the Creek in her own
canoe, visiting the people and opening new Mission stations.
"Oh, Ma!" said the other missionaries, "are you wise to do this after
all you have gone through? You have worked so hard, and you need a
holiday. Go home and rest, and then you will be better able to do what
you wish."
But no, she would carry out her plan; and so giving up the Court work to
be freer to serve her own Master, she set out joyfully on her quest for
new toils and triumphs.
[Illustration: "MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB!"]
[Illustration: MA'S HOUSE AT USE.]