O. I. Found guilty of brawling in market and taking by force 8 rods

from a woman's basket. One month's hard labour.

P. B. Chasing a girl into the bush with intent to injure. One month's

hard labour.

U. A. (a) Seizing a woman in the market. (b) Chaining her for 14 days

by neck and wrists. Throwing _mbiam_ with intent to kill should she

reveal it to white man. Sentenced to six months' hard labour, and to be

sent back on expiry of sentence to pay costs.

She had the right of inflicting punishment up to six months'

imprisonment, but often, instead of administering the law, she

administered justice by giving the prisoner a blow on the side of the

head!

The oath taken was usually the heathen mbiam. For this were needed a

skull and a vile concoction in a bottle, that was kept outside the

Court House on account of the smell. After a witness had promised to

speak the truth, one of the members of the Court would take some of the

stuff and draw it across his tongue and over his face, and touch his

legs and arms. It was believed that if he spoke falsely he would die.

After Miss Slessor took up her duties, a heathen native, who had

clearly borne false witness, dropped down dead on leaving the Court,

with the result that _mbiam_ was in high repute for a time in the

district.

Although three local chiefs sat by her side on the "bench," and the

jury behind her, she ruled supreme. "I have seen her get up," says a

Government official of that time, "and box the ears of a chief because

he continued to interrupt after being warned to be quiet. The act

caused the greatest amusement to the other chiefs." They often writhed

under her new edicts regarding women, but they always acquiesced in her

judgment. For not providing water for twin-mothers, she fined a town

£3. Miss Amess tells of a poor woman wishing a divorce from her scamp

of a husband. The "Court" evidently thought she had sufficient cause,

and there and then granted the request, and asked her colleague to

witness the act. The woman was triumphant, feeling very important at

having two white people on her side, while the man stood trembling, as

"Ma" expressed her candid opinion of him. In the Government report for

1907 it was stated that a number of summonses had been issued by the

District Commissioner against husbands of twin-bearing women for

desertion and support, and in every case the husbands agreed to take

the women back, the sequel being that other women in the same plight

were also received again into their families. "The result," says the

report, "is a sign of the civilising influence worked through the Court

by that admirable lady, Miss Slessor."

Some of her methods were not of the accepted judicial character. She

would try a batch of men for an offence, lecture them, and then impose

a fine. Finding they had no money she would take them up to the house

and give them work to earn the amount, and feed them well. Needless to

say they went back to their homes her devoted admirers. Her excuse for

such irregular procedure was, that while they were working she could

talk to them, and exercise an influence that might prove abiding in

their lives. This was the motive animating all her actions in the

Court. "When 'Ma' Slessor presided," it was said, "her Master was

beside her, and His spirit guided her."

The Court was popular, for the natives had their tales heard at first

hand, and not through an interpreter. "Ma's" complete mastery of their

tongue, customs, habits, and very nature, gave her, of course, an

exceptional advantage. One District Commissioner spent three days in

trying a single case, hearing innumerable witnesses, without coming

within sight of the truth. In despair he sought her aid, and she

settled the whole dispute to the satisfaction of every one by asking

two simple questions. It was impossible for any native to deceive her.

A Government doctor had occasion to interview a chief through an

interpreter. She was standing by. As the chief spoke she suddenly broke

in, and the man simply crumpled up before her. The doctor afterwards

asked her what the chief had done. "He told a lie, and I reprimanded

him--but I cannot understand how he could possibly expect me not to

know." Again and again she reverted to the matter. "To think he could

have expected to deceive _me_!" Another official tells how a tall,

well-built, muscular chief cowered before her. "Having no knowledge of

the language, I could not tell what it was all about, but plainly the

man looked as if his very soul had been laid bare, and as though he

wished the earth would open and swallow him. She combined most happily

kindliness and severity, and indeed I cannot imagine any native trying

to take advantage of her kindness and of her great-hearted love for the

people. This is the more remarkable to any one with intimate personal

acquaintance with the native, and of his readiness to regard kindness

as weakness or softness, and his endeavour to exploit it to the

utmost."

All this Court business added to her toil, as a constant stream of

people came to her at the Mission House in connection with their cases.

She did not, however, see them all. It became her practice to sit in a

room writing at her desk or reading, and send the girls to obtain the

salient features of the story. They knew how to question, and what

facts to take to her, and she sent them back with directions as to what

should be done. When she was ill and feeble she extended this practice

to other palavers. People still came from great distances to secure her

ruling on some knotty dispute, and having had their statements conveyed

to her, she would either give the reply through the girls, or speak out

of the open window, and the deputation would depart satisfied, and act

on her advice. Her correspondence also increased in volume, and she

received many a curious communication. The natives would sometimes be

puzzled how to address her, and to make absolutely sure they would send

their letters to "Madam, Mr., Miss, Slessor."

XII. A VISITOR'S NOTES

A pleasant glimpse of her at this time is given in some notes by Miss

Amess. On Miss Wright going home--she shortly afterwards married Dr.

Rattray of the Mission staff, both subsequently settling in England--

Miss Amess was not permitted to stay alone in Okoyong, and she asked to

be associated with Miss Slessor at Ikotobong. It was a happy

arrangement for the latter. "What a relief it is," she wrote, "to have

some one to lean on and share the responsibility of the bairns. Miss

Amess is so sane and capable and helpful, and is always on the watch to

do what is to be done--a dear consecrated lassie." Miss Amess says:

When I went to Calabar I heard a great deal about Miss Slessor, and

naturally I wished to see her. She had been so courageous that I

imagined she must be somewhat masculine, with a very commanding

appearance, but I was pleasantly disappointed when I found she was a

true woman, with a heart full of motherly affection. Her welcome was

the heartiest I received. Her originality, brightness, and almost

girlish spirit fascinated me. One could not be long in her company

without enjoying a right hearty laugh. As her semi-native house was

just finished, and she always did with the minimum of furniture and

culinary articles, the Council authorised me to take a filter, dishes,

and cooking utensils from Akpap, and I had also provision cases and

personal luggage. I was not sure of what "Ma" would say about sixteen

loads arriving, because there were no wardrobes or presses, and one had

just to live in one's boxes. When "Ma" saw the filter she said, "Ye

maun a' hae yer filters noo-a-days. Filters werna created; they were an

after-thocht." She quite approved of my having it all the same.

Mail day was always a red-letter day. We only got letters fortnightly

then. She was always interested in my home news and told me hers, so

that we had generally a very happy hour together. Then the papers would

be read and their contents discussed. To be with her was an education.

She had such a complete grasp of all that was going on in the world.

One day after studying Efik for two hours she said to me, "Lassie, you

have had enough of that to-day, go away and read a novel for a short

time."

She was very childlike with her bairns and dearly loved them. One night

I had to share her bed, and during the night felt her clapping me on

the shoulder. I think she had been so used with black babies that this

was the force of habit, for she was amused when I told her of it in the

morning.

There was no routine with "Ma." One never knew what she would be doing.

One hour she might be having a political discussion with a District

Commissioner, the next supervising the building of a house, and later

on judging native palavers. Late one evening I heard a good deal of

talking and also the sound of working. I went in to see what was doing

and there was "Ma" making cement and the bairns spreading it on the

floor with their hands in candle light. The whole scene at so late an

hour was too much for my gravity.

When at prayers with her children she would sometimes play a tambourine

at the singing, and if the bairns were half asleep it struck their

curly heads instead of her elbow.

Her outstanding characteristic was her great sympathy, which enabled

her to get into touch with the highest and the lowest. Once while

cycling together we met the Provincial Commissioner. After salutations

and some conversation with him she finished up by saying, "Good-bye,

and see and be a guid laddie!"

While out walking one Sabbath we came across several booths where the

natives who were making the Government road were living. She began

chatting with them, and then told them the Parable of the Lost Sheep.

She told everything in a graphic way, and with a perfect knowledge of

the vernacular, and they followed her with reverence and intense

interest all through. To most of them, if not to all, that would be the

first time they had heard of a God of Love.

She had really two personalities. In the morning one would hear

evildoers getting hotly lectured for their "fashions," and in the

evening when all was quiet she lifted one up to the very heights

regarding the things of the Kingdom. She always had a wonderful vision

of what the power of the Gospel could make of the most degraded, though

bound by the strongest chains of superstition and heathenism. One might

enter her house feeling pessimistic, but one always left it an

optimist.

XIII. A REST-HOME

A touch of romance seemed to be connected with all her work. The next

idea she sought to develop was a Rest-House or week-end, holiday, or

convalescent home, where the ladies of the Mission, when out of

spirits, or run down in health, could reside and recuperate without the

fear of being a trouble or expense to others. In a tropical country,

where a change and rest is so often essential to white workers, such a

quiet accessible resort would, she thought, prove a blessing. But there

was no money for the purpose. One day, however, she received a cheque

for £20. Years before, in Okoyong, Dr. Dutton of the Tropical School of

Medicine had stayed with her for scientific study. He went on to the

Congo, and there succumbed. On going over his papers, his family found

her letters, and in recognition of her kindness and interest, sent her

a gift of £20. Thinking of a way of spending the money which would have

pleased her friend, she determined to apply it to the building of her

Rest-House.

The site for such a resort required to be near the Creek, and she

discovered one on high land at Use between Ikotobong and Itu, and two

miles from the landing-beach. The road here winds round hills from

which beautiful views are obtained. On this side one sees far into Ibo

beyond Arochuku, on that the vision is of Itu and the country behind

it, while on the west the palm-covered plain rises into the highlands

of Ikot Ekpene. It is one of the fairest of landscapes, but is the

haunt of leopards and other wild beasts, and after rain the roadway is

often covered with the marks of their feet.

The ground was cleared, and building operations begun, the plan worked

out being a small semi-European cottage and native yard. Other cottages

would follow. Before long, however, the feeling grew that Ikotobong

should be taken over by the Women's Foreign Mission Committee, and she

foresaw that Use would require to be her own headquarters.

Towards the end of the year Miss E, M'Kinney, one of the lady agents,

called at Use, and found her living in a single room, and sleeping on a

mattress placed upon a sheet of corrugated iron. As the visitor had to

leave early in the morning, and there were no clocks in the hut, "Ma"

adopted the novel device of tying a rooster to her bed. The plan

succeeded; at first cock-crow the sleepers were aroused from their

slumbers.

It was not so much a rest-house for others that was needed, as a rest

for herself. She was gradually coming to the end of her strength.

Throughout the year 1906 she suffered from diarrhoea, boils, and other

weakening complaints, and the Government doctor at last frankly told

her that if she wished to live and work another day, she must go home

at once. Her answer to his fiat was to rally in a wonderful way. "It

looks," she said, "as if God has forbidden my going. Does this appear

as if He could not do without me? Oh, dear me, poor old lady, how

little you can do! But I can at least keep a door open." It was,

however, only a respite. By the beginning of 1907 she could not walk

half-a-dozen steps, her limbs refused to move, and she needed to be

carried about. It was obvious, even to herself, that she must go home.

Home! the very word brought tears to her eyes. The passion for the old

land and "kent" faces, and the graves of her beloved, grew with her

failing power. A home picture made her heart leap and long. "Oh, the

dear homeland," she cried, "shall I really be there and worship in its

churches again! How I long for a wee look at a winter landscape, to

feel the cold wind, and see the frost in the cart-ruts, to hear the

ring of shoes on the hard frozen ground, to see the glare of the shops,

and the hurrying scurrying crowd, to take a back seat in a church, and

hear without a care of my own the congregation singing, and hear how

they preach and pray and rest their souls in the hush and solemnity."

She arranged to leave in May, and set about putting her household

affairs in order. The safeguarding of the children gave her much

solicitude. For Jean and the older girls she trembled. "They must be

left in charge of the babies, with only God to protect them." Dan, now

six years old, she took with her as a help to fetch and carry. Her

departure and journey were made wonderfully easy by the kindness of

Government officials, who vied with each other in taking care of her

and making her comfortable. One of her friends, Mr. Gray, packed for

her, stored her furniture, conveyed her to Duke Town, and asked his

sister in Edinburgh to meet her. Mr. Middleton, of Lagos, wrote to say

he was going home, and would wait for her in order to "convoy her

safely through all the foreign countries between Lagos and the other

side of the Tweed." "Now there," she wrote to the Wilkies--"Doth Job

serve God for nought?" Very grateful she was for all the attention.

"God must repay these men," she said, "for I cannot. He will not forget

they did it to a child of His, unworthy though she is." After the

voyage she wrote: "Mr. Middleton has faithfully and very tenderly

carried out all his promises. Had I been his mother, he could not have

been more attentive or kind."

XIV. SCOTLAND: THE LAST FAREWELL

A telegram to Mrs. M'Crindle at Joppa informed her that her friend had

arrived at Liverpool and was on the way to Edinburgh. She met the

train, and saw an old wrinkled lady huddled in a corner of a carriage.

Could that be Miss Slessor? With a pitying hand she helped her out and

conveyed her, with Dan, to the comfort of her home.

But soon letters, postcards, invitations, parcels began flowing in.

"This correspondence," she wrote, "is overwhelming. I cannot keep pace

with it." There was no end to the kindness which people showered upon

her. Gifts of flowers, clothes, and money for herself and her work, and

toys for Dan were her daily portion. "It is a wonderful service this,"

she said, "which makes the heart leap to do His will, and it is all

unknown to the nearest neighbour or the dearest friend, but it keeps

the Kingdom of Heaven coming every day anew on the earth." One £5 was

slipped into her hand for her bairns. "My bairns don't require it," she

replied, "and won't get it either, but it is put aside, till I see the

Board, as the nest-egg of my Home for Girls and Women in Calabar. If I

can get them to give the woman or women, I shall give half of my salary

to help hers, and will give the house and find the servants, and I can

find the passage money from personal friends. Pray that the Board may

dare to go on in faith, and take up this work."

Between spells of colds and fevers she visited friends. At Bowden again

she had the exquisite experience of enjoying utter rest and happiness.

A pleasant stay was at Stanley, with the family of Miss Amess, who was

also at home, and with whom she rose early in the morning and went out

cycling. She cycled also with Miss Logie at Newport, but was very timid

on the road. If she saw a dog in front she would dismount, and remount

after she had passed it. She went over to Dundee and roamed through her

former haunts with an old factory companion, looking wistfully at the

scenes of her girlhood.

"I have been gladdened," she wrote to an English friend, "at finding

many of those I taught in young days walking in the fear and love of

God, and many are heads of families who are a strength and ornament to

the Church of Christ. About thirty-five or thirty-eight years ago three

ladies and myself began to work in a dreadful district-one became a

district nurse, one worked among the fallen women and the prisons of

our cities, and one has been at home working quietly--and we all met in

good health and had such a day together. We went up the old roads and

talked of all God had done for us and for the people, and again

dedicated ourselves to Him. It was probably the last time we shall meet

down here, but we were glad in the hope of eternity."

She had not been in Scotland since the Union of the Churches, and one

of her first duties was to call upon Mr. Stevenson, the Secretary of

the Women's Foreign Mission Committee, and his assistant, Miss

Crawford. She had a high sense of the value of the work going on at

headquarters, and always maintained that the task of organising at home

was much harder than service in the field. But she had a natural

aversion to officialdom, and anticipated the interviews with dread. She

pictured two cold, unsympathetic individuals--a conception afterwards

recalled with amusement. What the reality was may be gathered from a

letter she wrote later to Mr. Stevenson: "I have never felt much at

home with our new conditions, and feared the result of the Union in its

detail, though I most heartily approved of it in theory and fact. No! I

shall not be afraid of you. Both Miss Crawford and yourself have been a

revelation to me, and I am ashamed of my former fancies and fears, and

I shall ever think of, and pray for the secretaries with a very warm

and thankful heart."

There was an element of humour in her meeting with Miss Crawford. The

two women, somewhat nervous, stood on opposite sides of the office

door. She, without, was afraid to enter, shrinking from the task of

facing the unknown personage within--a woman who had been in India and

written a book, and was sure to be masculine and hard! She, within, of

gentle face and soft speech, leant timidly on her desk, nerving herself

for the coming shock, for the famous pioneer missionary was sure to be

"difficult" and aggressive. When Mary entered they glanced at one

another, looked into each other's eyes, and with a sigh of relief

smiled and straightway fell in love. When Mary gave her affection she

gave it with a passionate abandon, and Miss Crawford was taken into the

inmost sanctuary of her heart. "You have been one of God's most

precious gifts to me on this furlough," she said later. In her humility

Miss Crawford spoke about not being worthy to tie her shoe. "Dear

daughter of the King," exclaimed the missionary, "why do you say that?

If you knew me as God does! Never say that kind of thing again!"

The ordeal of meeting the Women's Foreign Mission Committee was also a

disillusionment. Her friend, Dr. Robson, was in the chair, and his

opening prayer was an inspiration, and lifted the proceedings to the

highest level. Nothing could have been kinder than her reception, which

delighted her greatly. "There was such a sympathetic hearing for

Calabar, especially from the old Free Church section, who are as eager

for the Mission as the old United Presbyterians." A conference was held

with her in regard to the position of Ikotobong, and her heart was

gladdened by the decision to take over the station and place two lady

missionaries there, Miss Peacock and Miss Reid. At another conference

with a sub-committee she discussed the matter of the Settlement, gave

an outline of her plans, and intimated that already two ladies had

offered £100 each to start the enterprise, while other sums were also

on hand. The sub-committee was much impressed with the sense of both

the necessity and promise of the scheme, and recommended the Women's

Committee to express general approval of it, and earnest sympathy with

the end in view, and to authorise her to take the necessary steps on

her return for the selection of a suitable site, the preparation of

plans, and estimates of the cost of the ground, buildings, and agents,

in order that the whole scheme might be submitted through the Mission

Council, at the earliest practicable date, for sanction. The general

Committee unanimously and cordially adopted this recommendation.

It was expected that she would address many meetings throughout the

country during her furlough to interest people in her work and

projects, but she astonished every one by intimating that she was

leaving for Calabar in October, although she had only been a few months

at home. In her eyes friends saw a look of sorrow, and said to one

another that the burden of the work was lying upon her heart. But few

knew the secret of her sadness. To some who remonstrated she said, "My

heart yearns for my bairns--they are more to me than myself." The truth

was that a story about Jean had been set afloat by a native and had

reached her in letters, and she could hardly contain herself until she

had found out the meaning of it. At all costs she must get back. Even

her pilgrimage to the graves of her dear ones in Devon must be given

up.

Much against her will and pleading she was tied down to give at least

three addresses in the great towns, but with her whole being unhinged

by the shadow that overhung her, she had little mind for public

speaking. Her old nervousness in the face of an audience returned with

tenfold force. "I am trembling for the meetings," she wrote, "but

surely God will help me. It is His own cause." And again, "I am

suffering tortures of fear, and yet why is it that I cannot rest in

Him? If He sends me work, surely He will help me to deliver His

message, and to do it for His glory. He never failed me before. If He

be glorified that is all, whether I be considered able or not."

She never prepared a set speech, and when she was going up to the

Edinburgh meeting with Mrs. M'Crindle, she turned to her and said,

"What am I to say?" "Just open your lips and let God speak," replied

her friend. She was greatly pleased with the answer, and on that

occasion she never spoke better. Dr. Robson presided, and Mrs. Duncan

M'Laren, in bidding her farewell on behalf of the audience, said,

"There are times when it needs God-given vision to see the guiding

hand. We feel that our friend has this heavenly vision, and that she

has not been disobedient to it. We all feel humbled when we hear what

she and her brave colleagues have done. In God's keeping we may safely

leave her."

At the meeting in Glasgow the feeling was even more tense and

emotional, and a hush came over the audience as the plain little woman

made her appeal, and told them that in all probability she would never

again be back. At the benediction she stood, a pathetic figure, her

head drooping, her whole attitude one of utter weariness.

On the eve of her departure she was staying with friends. At night they

went into her room and found her weeping quietly in bed. They tried to

comfort her, and she said half-whimsically that she had been overcome

by the feeling that she was homeless and without kith and kin la her

own country. "I'm a poor solitary with only memories." "But you have

troops of friends--you have us all--we all love you." "Yes, I ken, and

I am grateful," she replied, "but"--wistfully--"it's just that I've

none of my ain folk to say good-bye to."

She was very tired when she left, "I'm hardly myself in this country,"

she said. "It has too many things, and it is always in such a hurry. I

lose my head." Again kind hands eased her way, and settled her on the

steamer. Dan was inconsolable, and wept to be taken back to Joppa.

The voyage gave her a new lease of life. The quietness and peace and

meditation, the warm sunshine and the breezes, the loveliness of the

sky and sea, rested and healed her. This, despite the conduct of some

wild passengers bound for the gold-mines. One day she rose and left the

table by way of protest, but in the end they bade her a kindly good-

bye, and listened to her advice. At Lagos the Governor sent off his

aide-de-camp with greetings, and a case of milk for the children. Mr.

Grey also appeared and escorted her to Calabar. "Am I not a privileged

and happy woman?" she wrote to his sister.

The same note of gratitude filled a letter which she wrote on board to

Dr. Robson, asking him to put a few lines in the _Record_ thanking

every one for their kindness, as it was impossible to answer all the

letters she had received. The letter itself was inserted, and we give

the concluding paragraph:

To all who have received me into their homes, and given me a share of

what are the most sacred things of earth, I give heartfelt thanks. What

the Bethany house must have been to our Lord, no one can better

appreciate than the missionary coming home to a strange place,

homeless. I thank all those who have rested me, and nursed me back to

health and strength, and who have nerved me for future service by the

sweet ministries and hallowing influences of their home life. To the

members of the Mission Board for their courtesy, their confidence, and

sympathetic helpfulness, I owe much gratitude. And not only for

services which can be tabulated, but for the whole atmosphere of

sympathy which has surrounded me; for the hand-clasps which have spoken

volumes; for the looks of love which have beamed from eyes soft with

feeling; for the prayer which has upheld and guided in days gone by,

and on which I count for strength in days to come; for all I pray that

God may say to each giving, sympathetic heart, "Inasmuch as ye did it

to one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto Me."

She was praying all the while for her bairn. On her arrival, as fast as

boat would take her, she sped up to Use. The chiefs and people came

crowding to welcome her, bringing lavish gifts of food-yams and salt

and fish and fowl. There were even fifty yams, and a goat from the back

of Okoyong. Dan with his English clothes was the centre of admiration,

and grave greybeards sat and listened to the ticking of his watch, and

played with his toy train....

To her unspeakable relief she found the story about Jean to be a native

lie. She was too grateful to be angry.

XV. GROWING WEATHER

The short furlough in Scotland, broken by so much movement and

excitement, had done little permanent good. She was tired when she

began her work, and there came a long series of "up and down" days

which handicapped her activity, yet she continued her duties with a

resolution that was unquenched and unquenchable. "Things are humdrum,"

she wrote, "just like this growing weather of ours, rainy and cloudy,

with a blink here and there. We know the brightness would scorch and

destroy if it were constant; still the bursts of glory that come

between the clouds are a rich provision for our frail and sensitive

lives." Her conception of achievement was a little out of the common.

One day she sat in court for eight hours; other two hours were spent

with the clerk making out warrants; afterwards she had to find tasks to

employ some labour; then she went out at dusk and attended a birth case

all night, returning at dawn. Whole days were occupied with palavers,

many of the people coming such long distances that she had to provide

sleeping accommodation for them. Old chiefs would pay her visits and

stay for hours. "It is a great tax," she remarked, "but it pays even if

it tires." Sundays were her busiest days; she went far afield

preaching, and had usually from six to twelve meetings in villages and

by the wayside. Often on these excursions she came across natives who

had made the journey to Okoyong to consult her in the old days. The

situation was now reversed, for people from Okoyong came to her. One

day after a ten hours' sitting in Court she went home to find about

fifty natives from the hinterland of that district waiting with their

usual tributes of food and a peck of troubles for her to straighten

out. It was after midnight before there was quiet and sleep for her.

Her heart went out to these great-limbed, straight-nosed, sons of the

aboriginal forest, and she determined to cross the river and visit

them. She spent three days fixing up all their domestic and social

affairs, and making a few proclamations, and diligently sowing the

seeds of the Gospel. When she left she had with her four boys and a

girl as wild and undisciplined as mountain goats, who were added to her

household to undergo the process of taming, training, and educating ere

they were sent back.

In what she called her spare time she was engaged in the endless task

of repairing and extending her forlorn little shanties. There was

always something on hand, and she worked as hard as the children,

nailing up corrugated iron, sawing boards, cementing floors, or cutting

bush. Jean, the ever-willing and cheerful, was practically in charge of

the house, keeping the babies, looking after their mothers, and

teaching the little ones in the school. Up to this period she had never

received more than her board, and "Ma" felt it was time to acknowledge

her services, and she therefore began to pay her 1s. per week.

Now and again in her letters there came the ominous words, "I'm tired,

tired." On the last night of the year she was sitting up writing. "I'm

tired," she said, "and have a few things to do. My mother went home

eighteen years ago on the passage of the old year, so it is rather

lonely to-night with so many memories. The bairns are all asleep. But

He hath not failed, and He is all-sufficient." She was often so wearied

that she could not sit up straight. She was too exhausted to take off

her clothes and brush her hair until she had obtained what she called

her "first rest." Then she rose and finished her undressing. She would

begin a letter and not be able to finish it. The ladies nearest her,

Miss Peacock and Miss Reid at Ikotobong, redoubled their attentions.

Miss Reid she said was "a bonnie lassie, tenderly kind to me." What

Miss Peacock was to her no one but herself knew. She was a keen judge

of character, though generous, almost extravagant in her appreciation

of those she loved, and Miss Peacock has justified her estimate and her

praise. "Sterling as a Christian, splendid as a woman, whole-hearted as

a missionary, capable as a teacher, she is one after my own heart," she

wrote. "She is very good and kind to me, and a tower of strength. I am

proud of her and the great work she is doing." Miss Peacock began the

habit about this time of cycling down on Saturday afternoons and

spending a few hours with her, and Mary looked forward to these visits

with the greatest zest.

The friends at home were also ceaseless in their kindness. They

scrutinised every letter she sent, and were frequently able to read

between the lines and anticipate and supply her needs,--much to her

surprise. "Have I been grumbling?" she would enquire. "You make me

ashamed. I am better off than thousands who give their money to support

me." A carpet arrived. "And oh," she writes, "what a difference it has

made to our comfort. You have no idea of the transformation! The mud

and cement were transformed at once into something as artistic as the

'boards' of the bungalow, and the coziness was simply beyond belief. It

did not look a bit hot, and it was so soothing to the bare feet, and I

need not say it was a wonder to the natives, who can't understand a

white man stepping on a cloth--and such a cloth!" On another occasion a

bed was sent out to her, and she wrote: "I've been jumping my tired

body up and down on it just to get the beautiful swing, and to feel

that I am lying level. I'm tired and I'm happy and I'm half-ashamed at

my own luxury." And next morning, "What a lovely sleep I've had!"

The Macgregors made their first visit to Use in 1908, and on arrival

found "Ma" sitting with a morsel of infant in her lap. She was dressed

in a print overall with low neck; it was tied at the middle with a

sash, and she was without stockings or shoes. On the Sunday she set out

early on foot on her customary round, carrying two roasted corn-cobs as

her day's rations, whilst Mr. Macgregor took the service at Ikotobong.

He was tired after his one effort, but when he returned in the evening

he discovered her preaching at Use Church-her tenth meeting for the

day, and her tour had not been so extensive as usual. At six o'clock

next morning people had already arrived with palavers. One woman wanted

a husband. "Ma" looked at her with those shrewd eyes that read people

through and through, and then began in Scots, "It's bad eneuch being a

marriage registrar, without being a matrimonial agent forby. _Eke

mi'o!_ Mr. Macgregor, send up any o' your laddies that's wanting

wives." Then she went into Efik that made the woman wince, and pointed

out that she had come to the wrong place.

She watched with interest the progress of the Creek stations, although

they were out of her hands. There were now at Okpo forty members in

full communion, and the contributions for the year amounted to £48: 3:

3. At Akani Obio, where there were forty-five members in full

communion, the total contributions amounted to £98: 11: 4. And at

Asang, where there were one hundred and fifteen members, the

contributions amounted to £146: 68. At those three stations the total

expenses were fully met, and there was a large surplus. Where four

years ago there was no church member and no offering, there were now

two hundred members, and contributions amounting in all to £287.

So the Kingdom of her Lord grew.

XVI. "THE PITY OF IT"

One experience of 1908, when she was down at Duke Town attending the

Council meetings, is worth noting. Though she liked the bush better she

was always interested in watching the movements there. "It is a great

cheer to me," she said, "to meet all the young folks, and to be with

them in their enthusiasm and optimism, and this vast hive of industry,

the Hope Waddell Institution, with its swarm of young men and boys,

gives me the highest hopes for the future of the Church and the nation

now in their infancy. Mr. Macgregor is a perfect Principal, sane, self-

restrained, and tactful, but I would not be in his place for millions."

The town was a very different place from that which she first saw in

1876. It was now a flourishing seaport, with many fine streets and

buildings. The swamp had been drained. There was a fully-equipped

native hospital, and a magnificent church in the centre of the town,

and the Europeans enjoyed most of the conveniences and even the

luxuries of civilisation.

On this occasion an invitation came from the High Commissioner to dine

at Government House, and meet a certain woman writer of books. She

would not hear of it. She had no clothes for such a function, and she

did not wish to be lionised. The Macgregors, with whom she was staying,

advised her to go; they thought it would do her good. She consented at

last, but when she left in a hammock, which had been specially sent for

her, there was the light of battle in her eyes. Mr. Macgregor knew that

look and laughed; there was no doubt she was going to enjoy herself;

she had still the heart of a school-girl, and greatly loved a prank.

When she returned, her face was full of mischief. "Ay," she said, "I

met your lady writer, and I made her greet four times and she gied me

half a sovereign for my bairns!"

Under the title of "But yet the pity of it," the authoress gave an

account of the meeting in the _Morning Post_, in a way which excited

laughter and derision in the Calabar bush. It was in the pathetic

strain:

"I am not given to admiring missionary enterprise," she wrote. "The

enthusiasm which seems to so many magnificent seems to me but a

meddling in other people's business; the money that is poured out, so

much bread and light and air and happiness filched from the smitten

children at home.

"But this missionary conquered me if she did not convert me.

"She was a woman close on sixty, with a heavily-lined face, and a skin

from which the freshness and bloom had long, long ago departed; but

there was fire in her old eyes still, tired though they looked; there

was sweetness and firmness about her lined mouth. Heaven knows who had

dressed her. She wore a skimpy tweed skirt and a cheap nun's veiling

blouse, and on her iron-grey hair was perched rakishly a forlorn broken

picture-hat of faded green, chiffon with a knot of bright red ribbon to

give the bizarre touch of colour she had learned to admire among her

surroundings.

"'Ye'll excuse my hands,' she said, and she held them out.

"They were hardened and roughened by work, work in the past, and they

were just now bleeding from work finished but now; the skin of the

palms was gone, the nails were worn to the quick; that they were

painful there could be no doubt, but she only apologised for their

appearance."

"Ma" is thus made to tell the incident of the witness dying suddenly

after attending the court at Ikotobong:

"'If you put _mbiam_ on a man and he swears falsely he dies. Oh, he

does. I ken it. I've seen it mysel'. There was a man brought up before

me in the court and he was charged wi' stealing some plantains. He said

he had naught to do with them, so I put _mbiam_ on him, an' still he

said he had naught to do wi' them, so I sent him down to Calabar. An'

see now. As he was going he stopped the policeman an' laid himself

down, because he was sick. An' he died. He died there. I put _mbiam_ on

him, an' he knew he had stolen them and died.'

"There was pity in her face for the man she had killed with his own

lie, but only pity, no regret."

So well was she succeeding with her mystification that she went on to

talk of the hard lot of women and "the puir bairns," and then comes the

conclusion:

"'My time's been wasted. The puir bairns. They'd be better dead.'

"Her scarred hands fumbled with her dress, her tired eyes looked out

into the blazing tropical sunshine, her lips quivered as she summed up

her life's work. 'Failed, failed,' she cried. All that she had hoped,

all that she had prayed for, nothing for herself had she ever sought

except the power to help these children, and she felt that she had not

helped them. They would be better dead....

"But the Commissioner did not think she had failed. Is the victory

always to the strong?

"'She has influence and weight,' he said 'she can go where no white man

dare go. She can sway the people when we cannot sway them. Because of

her they are not so hard on the twins and their mothers as they used to

be. No, she has not failed.'"

And so with a reference to Thermopylae, and the Coliseum and

Smithfield, the lady litterateur places her in the ranks of the

immortal martyrs of the world.

XVII. THE SETTLEMENT BEGUN

This was one of the waiting periods in Mary Slessor's life, which tried

her patience and affected her spirits. The mist had fallen upon her

path, and the direction was dim and uncertain. She had received what

she thought was a call from a distant region up-country, but if she

settled far away, what would become of her home for women and girls?

She had no clear leading, and she wished the way to be made so plain

that there could be no possibility of mistake. Friends were sending her

money, and the Government were urging her to start the Settlement, and

promising to take all the products that were grown. "The District

Commissioner was here to-day," she wrote. "He wonders how he can help

me, has had orders from the Governor to assist me in any way, but the

Pillar does not move. I have building material lying here, and have a

£10 note from a friend at home for any material I want, but there is no

leading towards anything yet.... I am longing for an outlet, but I

can't move without guidance." She would not hurry--the matter was not

in her hands. God, she was assured, was "softly, softly," working

towards a natural solution, and as she was only His instrument, she

could afford to wait His time.

One night the mist on the path lifted a little, and next day she walked

over the land at Use, and there and then fixed the site for the

undertaking. There was ample room for all the cultivations that would

be required, and plenty of material for building and fencing, and good

surface water. Already she had three cottages built, including the one

she occupied, and these would make a beginning. She at once set about

obtaining legal possession, and with the permission and help of

Government she secured the land in the name of the girls. The Council

agreed with her that it was most advisable to develop industries which

the people had not yet undertaken, such as basket-making, the weaving

of cocoanut fibre, and cane and bamboo work. When asked if she would

agree to remain at Use for one year to establish the Settlement and put

it in working order with the assistance of one or two agents, she would

not commit herself. She rather shrank from the idea of a large

institution; it ought, in her view, to begin in a simple and natural

way by bringing in a few people, instructing them, and then getting

them to teach others. And there were other regions calling to her. When

reminded that a large sum of money was on hand for the project, she

said it was not all intended for this special purpose; much of it was

for extension; and she pointed to the needs of the region up the Cross

River, stating that she was willing to have the funds used for

providing agents there.

Nothing more definite was decided, and meanwhile she went on quietly

with the beginnings of things. She planted fruit trees sent up by the

Government,--mangoes, guavas, pawpaws, bananas, plantains, avocado

pears, as well as pineapples, and other produce, and began to think of

rubber and cocoa. She also started to accumulate stock, though the

leopards were a constant menace. She had even a cow, which she bought

from a man to prevent him going to prison for debt--and often wished

she had not, for it caused infinite trouble, and the natives went in

terror of it. Although it had a pail attached to it by a rope, it was

often lost, and the whole town were out at nights searching for it. It

would run away with the whole household hanging on, and so little

respect did it pay to dignitaries, that on one occasion it ran off with

the Mother of the Mission and the Principal of the Hope Waddell

Institute, who had been pressed into the humble service of leading it

home. "Ma Slessor's coo" became quite famous in the Mission.

It was characteristic of her that she did not want her name to be put

to anything, and she thought the Settlement should be called after Mrs.

Anderson or Mrs. Goldie, who did so much for women and girls.

XVIII. A SCOTTISH GUEST

During the year 1909 she continued to fight a battle with ill-health.

She was compelled to give up much of her outdoor work, for an

oppressive sense of heart-weakness made her afraid to cross deep

streams and climb the hills. Sometimes she used her cycle, but only

when she could obtain one of the girls or lads to run alongside and

assist her up the ascents. Boils, an old enemy, tortured her again; she

was covered with them from head to foot, and was one mass of pain.

"Only sleeping draughts," she said, "keep me from going off my head."

As the months went on she became feeble almost to fainting point, and

had given up hope of betterment. A note of sadness crept into her

letters. "I cannot write," she told a friend at home, "but there is no

change in the heart's affection, except that it grows stronger and

perhaps a little more wistful as the days go by and life gets more

uncertain." She was anxious to recover sufficiently before March, to do

honour to two deputies who had been appointed by the home Church to

visit the Mission, and who were expected then, and if possible to

return to Scotland with them. But she scarcely anticipated holding out

so long. Jean, unfortunately, was not with her. It had been discovered

that she had long been suffering in silence from an internal complaint,

and the medical men now advised an operation. "Ma" was opposed to this,

and left her for a time at Duke Town for a change and treatment, which

did her much good.

It was sheer will-power that gained her a little strength to face the

ordeal of the official visit. She determined to make no change whatever

in the course of her daily life, and she was afraid the deputies might

not find things to their liking and be disappointed. They were the Rev.

James Adamson, M.A., B.Sc., of Bonnington, Leith, and the Rev. John

Lindsay, M.A., Bathgate, who was accompanied by Mrs. Lindsay. They

entered the Creek one market day, when it was crowded with canoes, and

the landing-beach--one for the missionaries had just been constructed

at Okopedi--was swarming with people, amongst whom the arrival of the

strangers caused the greatest excitement. On bicycles the party

proceeded uphill to Use. Mr. Adamson went on ahead, and at a spot where

a few rough steps were cut in the steep bank he saw a boy standing, He

called out, "Ma Slessor?" The boy signed to Mm to come--it was a short

cut to the house. Clambering up the bank and making his way through the

bush, Mr. Adamson came upon a little native hut. Miss Slessor advanced

to meet him. "Come awa in, laddie, oot o' the heat," was her greeting.

When the Lindsays arrived it was also her chief concern to get them

into the shade. Mr. Adamson was her guest, whilst the Lindsays went on

to Ikotobong. His room--an erection built out from the house--had mud

walls and a mat roof, and was furnished with a camp-bed, a box for

dressing-table and another for a washstand, and for company he had

abundance of spiders and beetles and lizards. He proved a delightful

guest. "He is a dear laddie," wrote Mary; "all the bairns are in love

with him, and so am I!"

While he was with her a woman came to the yard with twins. She had been

driven out of her house and town, and had come several miles to "Ma"

for shelter. Her husband and her father were with her--which denoted

some advance--and the three were crouched on the ground, a picture of

misery. The twins were lying in a basket and had not been touched. Mr.

Adamson helped "Ma" to attend to them, and she felt as proud of him as

of a son when she saw him sitting down beside the weeping mother and

gently trying to comfort her. She gave the parents some food and a hut

to sleep in, and made the man promise to stay until the morning.

Neither would, however, look at the twins, and they were given over to

the girls.

A service was held at which Mr. Lindsay was also present, and about a

hundred people attended. "Take our compliments to the people of your

country," the latter said to the deputies, "and tell them that our need

is great, and that we are in darkness and waiting for the light." What

astonished the natives was to see the white visitors standing up

courteously when spoken to by black men.

From the meeting the party cycled to the little wattle-and-thatch Court

House at Ikotobong, Miss Slessor being pushed by Dan up the hills. She

took her seat at the table in the simplest possible attire. Before her

was a tin of toffee, her only refreshment, with the exception of a cup

of tea, during a long sitting. The jury, composed of the older and more

responsible men in the various villages, occupied a raised platform

behind. In front was a bamboo railing, which formed the dock; at the

side another railing marked the witness-box. Several cases were heard,

the witnesses giving their evidence with volubility and abundant

gesture, and the judge, jury, and clerk retiring to a little shed at

the back to discuss the verdicts. One was that of a man who, under the

influence of trade gin, had hacked his wife with a machete, because she

had insulted his dignity by accidentally stumbling against him. Such a

case always aroused "Ma's" ire, and she wished a severe punishment

awarded. The jury were very unwilling. The headman started by laying

down as a fundamental principle that men had a perfect right to do

whatever they liked with their wives; otherwise they would become

unmanageable. But in deference to the white woman's peculiar views they

would go the length of admitting that perhaps the husband had gone a

little too far in the use of his instrument. He had not done anything

to merit a severe sentence, but in view of the prejudices of the

"Court," they would send him to prison for a short term.

Suddenly the "toot" of the Government motor-car was heard, and in a

moment jury, witnesses, prisoners, and policemen rushed out of the

building to catch a glimpse of the "new steamer" that ran on the road.

Then back they drifted, and the proceedings went on.

Mr. Adamson appreciated the service which Miss Slessor was

accomplishing by her work in the Court. She told him she did not care

for it; "the moral atmosphere of a native court is so bad," she

declared, "that I would never go near one were it not that I want the

people to get justice." But he saw the exceptional opportunity she

possessed of dispensing gospel as well as law. "As a rule," he says,

"her decision is accompanied by some sound words of Christian counsel."

He left Use with a profound admiration both for herself and Miss

Peacock. "Words," he wrote in the _Record_, "cannot describe the value

of the work that is being done by these heroic women."

There was no improvement in her health as the months went on, and

another severe illness caused by blood-poisoning shattered her nerves.

The Wilkies spared no labour or love to heal and strengthen her. "Once

more," she wrote, "I believe I owe my life to them."

She felt that the time had come to relinquish her court work, and

accordingly in November she sent in her resignation. The Commissioner

of the Eastern Province wrote in reply:

DEAR MISS SLESSOR--I have been informed of your decision to resign the

Vice-Presidentship of the Ikotobong Native Court by the District

Commissioner, Ikot Ekpene, which I note with great regret, and take

this opportunity of thanking you for the assistance you have in the

past given the Government, and of expressing my deep appreciation of

the services you have rendered to the country during the period you

have held the office which you have now relinquished.--Believe me,

Yours very sincerely,

W. FOSBERY.

She slipped out of the work very quietly, and was glad to be free of a

tie which hindered her from moving onward on her King's more pressing

business.

XIX. A MOTOR CAR ROMANCE

The Government motor car, which now ran up and down the road into the

interior, was the cause of several changes in the household of Use. In

charge of it at first was a white chauffeur, who, curiously enough, was

a member of Wellington Street Church in Glasgow, which now supported

Miss Slessor, and with him was a native assistant, a young well-

educated Anglican, who came from Lagos. When the car made its

appearance Dan was so fascinated with it that he could scarcely keep

off the road, and he now struck up an acquaintance with the native

driver, which brought him many a rapturous hour. "Ma," who did not then

know the lad, was in terror for the safety of his body and his morals,

and so despatched him as a pupil to the Institute at Duke Town to be

under the care of Mr. Macgregor. But David, the driver, had done more

than capture Dan; he had captured the heart of one of the girls--Mary.

Annie was already happily married, and she and her husband were

preparing to join the Church; but Mary was not disposed to follow her

example, although she had two suitors, one in Okoyong, and one in

Ibibio. "Why can't I stay at home with you?" she said to "Ma." "I don't

want to go anywhere." But the Lagos lad succeeded where others had

failed, and "Ma," giving her consent, they were married, before the

District Commissioner in Court. David went back to his work, and his

wife to the Mission House, for "Ma" would not allow him to take her

home until the Church ceremony had been performed. Mr. Cruickshank

appeared one day before he was expected, and before the wedding-gown

was quite ready, but a note was sent to David, and he cycled down in

his black suit. Miss Annie M'Minn, then at Ikotobong, came and dressed

the bride, the children put on white frocks, and there was a quaint and

picturesque wedding.

There was also, of course, a breakfast. It was given in the verandah of

the hut. David was early on the scene arranging tables and forms, and

Miss Peacock and Miss M'Minn laid and decorated them, a conspicuous

object being a bunch of heather from Scotland. Jean and the bride

cooked the breakfast. By 11 o'clock the company had assembled. At the

head sat an aged Mohammedan in white robes and turban, a friend of

David's family. A number of his co-religionists had come to the

district, and some even attended "Ma's" services. This particular man

greatly admired her. "Only God can make you such a mother and helper to

everybody," he had said at his first interview, and on leaving he had

taken her hand and bent over and kissed it, and with tears in his eyes

invoked a blessing upon her. Few expressions of respect from white men

had touched her more, though she was half-afraid her feeling was

scarcely orthodox. Then came the bride and bridegroom and "Ma's" clerk.

At the next table sat another of David's friends--an interpreter--and a

lad from the bride's house, headman on the road Department; David's

next-door neighbours, a man and his wife; and eight headmen over the

road labourers. Outside were the school children, who were fed by Jean

with Calabar chop, sweets, and biscuits.

After the breakfast the Mohammedan came indoors to Miss Slessor and

made a speech. "I knew David's mother before he was born," he said,

"and I praise God he was led here for a wife." David came forward,

"Mother," he said, "you won't let us go without prayer?" and down he

knelt, and she committed the couple to God, A pie and cake, which the

Ikotobong ladies had baked, were presented, along with a motor cap,

silk handkerchief, ribbon, and scissors. One of "Ma's" presents was a

sewing-machine. Then she walked down to see them off, supported in her

weakness by the Mohammedan, When the pair arrived at their home, the

latter stood on the doorstep praying for them as they entered on their

new life. It was only a bamboo shanty run up by the Government, but it

was a home, and not, like all others, a room in a compound, and family

worship was conducted in it in English. Good news came from it as time

went on. The bride was sometimes seen driving in the motor car. "She

was here this morning," writes the house-mother, "full of importance as

she passed to market. She had biscuits for the children, a new water-

jar and a bunch of fine bananas for me, and the whole house were round

her full of questions and fun, and you would think she had become a

heroine, just because she was married two months ago. She is very happy

and proud of her husband." "Ma" watched over her with jealous care, and

when in due time a baby arrived, she was as delighted as if it had been

of her own blood.

XX. STRUCK DOWN

The hot, dry season was always a trial to Miss Slessor; it shrivelled

her up, and reduced her energy, and she panted for the cooling rains.

This year it affected her more than ever. The harmattan was like an

Edinburgh "haar," though it was not cold except between midnight and

daybreak; the air was thick with fine sand dust, and often she could

not see three yards away. She longed for a "wee blink of home," and a

home Sabbath. "But though the tears are coming at the thought, you are

not to think for one moment that I would take the offer if it were

given me! A thousand times no! I feel too grateful to God for His

wonderful condescension in letting me have the privilege of ministering

to those around me here."

How the interest of the spiritual aspects of her work submerged the

afflictions of her body was seen when the first baptismal service and

communion at Use took place. With her dread of the spectacular she did

not make the event known, but the little native church was crowded, men

and women squatting on the floor, and the mothers with babies on the

verandah. Mr. Cruickshank conducted the service. Mary took a "creepie"

stool--her mother's footstool of old--and sat down by the young

communicants to help them and show them what to do. "David," she wrote,

"had bought a bottle of wine for his wedding, but of course it was

never opened, and he said to me, 'Keep it, Ma, it may be useful yet.'

So it was drawn for our first communion well-watered. The glass sugar-

dish on a teaplate was the baptismal font, but it was all transfigured

and glorified by the Light which never shone on hill or lake or even on

human face, and some of us saw the King in His beauty--and not far off.

Bear with me in my joy; this sounds small in comparison with home

events, but it is only a very short time since this place was dark and

degraded and drunken and besotted."

The glow and exaltation of the service lingered with her for weeks, and

her letters are full of sprightliness and wit. She told of a visit from

Lady Egerton--"a true woman"--and of the Christmas gift from their

Excellencies--a case of milk; and of the present of a new cycle sent

from England from "her old chief" Mr. Partridge, to replace the old one

which he thought must be worn out by this time. The wonders of aviation

were engrossing the world then, and she merrily imagined a descent upon

her some afternoon of her friends from Scotland, and discussed the

capabilities of her tea-caddy.

Well on into the next year she was busy with regular station work,

teaching, training, preaching, building up the congregation, and acting

as Mother to her people and to many more. Then in the midst of her

strenuous activity she was suddenly and swiftly struck down by what she

termed "one of the funniest illnesses" she ever had. The children were

alarmed, and sent word to David. He informed the white officers, and

they rushed in a motor car down to Use and removed her to Itu, where

she was nursed back to life by Mrs. Robertson. "I shall never forget

the kindness and the tenderness and the skill which have encompassed

me, and I shall ever remember Dr. Robertson and his devoted wife, and

ask God to remember them for their goodness. Dr. Robertson brought me

out of the valley of the shadows and when I was convalescent he lifted

me up in his strong arms and took me to see the church and garden and

anywhere I wished, just as he might have done to his own mother." Her

friends in Calabar also did everything they could for her, the Hon. Mr.

Bedwell, the Provincial Commissioner, sending up ice and English

chicken and other delicacies in a special launch.

The little daughter of the missionaries was a source of great delight

to her who loved all children. She was a very winsome girl, and had won

the hearts of the natives, who regarded her with not a little awe. She

was the only white child they had seen, and were not sure whether she

was not a spirit. "Ma" and she had good times together, playing and

make-believing. "Maimie and I," she wrote, "have been having the dolls

out for a drive, and we have just given them their bread and milk and

put them to bed!"

When she was convalescent the Macgregors insisted on her coming down to

Duke Town for a change, and the Government placed the fast and

comfortable _Maple Leaf_ at their disposal. She protested, saying she

could not put herself on a brother and sister whose lives were so

strenuous, but they would take no refusal. They turned their dining-

room into a bedroom for her convenience, and here she talked and read

the newspapers and the latest new books and her Bible, and wrote long

letters to her friends. "I am doing nothing but eating," she told her

children, "and am growing fat and shedding my buttons all over the

place." But underneath all her gaiety and high spirits she felt

profoundly grateful for the wonderful goodness and mercy God had made

to pass before her, and the perfect peace He had given her. "Here I

am," she said, "being spoiled anew in an atmosphere not merely of

tender love, but of literary and cultured Christian grace and

winsomeness, and it has been as perfect a fortnight as ever I spent."

She had literally to run away from the kind attentions of the

Government officials and doctors, and a swift Government launch again

conveyed her up-river. Jean, who had long since returned, had bravely

held the fort for the five Sabbaths she had been absent, and David and

his wife had been there to protect her, and the work, therefore, had

been kept going.

After each breakdown she seemed to feel that she must make up for lost

time, and she planned an advance towards Ikot Ekpene, being anxious to

secure that point and the intervening area for her church. On her

bicycle she made a series of pioneer trips into the bush, here and

there selecting sites for schools, interviewing chiefs about twin-

mothers, and generally preparing the way for further operations. About

twelve miles' distant, or half-way to Ikot Ekpene, where there was a

camp, she met some forty chiefs and arranged for ground for a school

and the beginning of the work, and for a hut for herself at the back of

the native prison, where, she thought, she would have some influence

over the warders. As she was never able to establish this station, its

history may be rounded off here. Early in the year 1911 she brought the

matter before the Calabar Council, which agreed to build a house at

Ibiacu out of the extension fund, and later she went in a hammock to

complete the arrangement, accompanied by Miss Welsh, who, as "Ma"

phrased it, "fitted into bush life like a glove," and who occupied and

developed the station. This young missionary lives alone, looks after

the children, has a clever pen and clever hands, and Is following very

much on the lines of the great "Ma." To the chagrin of the latter, Ikot

Ekpene was taken over by the Primitive Methodist Mission before she

could secure it, but she consoled herself with the thought that it did

not matter who did the Master's works so long as it done....

Then her path, which had been so long hidden, cleared, and she saw it

stretching out plain and straight before her.

FIFTH PHASE

l9l0-January 1915. Age 62-66.

ONWARD STILL

"_It is a dark and difficult land, and I am old and weak--but

happy_."

I. IN HEATHEN DEEPS

The new sphere to which Miss Slessor felt she was called, had been

occupying her attention for some time. During one of the minor military

expeditions into the interior, the troops were suddenly attacked by a

tribe who fled at the first experience of disciplined firing. A lad who

had been used by the soldiers was persuaded by some of their number to

conduct them to the great White Mother for her advice and help. When

they appeared at Use, she and they talked long and earnestly, and they

returned consoled and hopeful. Some time afterwards the guide came down

on his own account, bringing a few other lads with him. Her influence

was such that they wished to become God-men, and they returned to begin

the first Christian movement in one of the most degraded regions of

Nigeria.

She knew nothing of the place save that it was away up in the north-

west, on one of the higher reaches of the Enyong Creek, and a two days'

journey for her by water. The lads lived at a town called Ikpe, an old

slave centre, that had been in league with Aro, and the focus of the

trade of a wide and populous area. It was a "closed" market, no Calabar

trader being allowed to enter.

On her return from Scotland the young men again appeared, saying that

there were forty others ready to become Christians, begging her to come

up, and offering to send down a canoe. She disliked all water journeys,

and even on the quiet creek was usually in a state of inward

trepidation. But nothing could separate her from her duty, and she

responded to the call. For eight hours she was paddled along the

beautiful windings of the Creek; then a huge hippopotamus was

encountered, and frightened her into landing for the night on the

Ibibio side, where she put up in a wretched hut reeking with filth and

mosquitoes. Here the Chief was reaching out for the Gospel, holding

prayers in his house, and trying to keep Sabbath, though not a soul

could read, and the people were laughing at him. As the Creek made a

bend she left the canoe and trudged through the bush to Ikpe. She found

the town larger and more prosperous than she had anticipated, with four

different races mingling in the market, but the darkness was terrible,

and the wickedness shameless, even the children being foul-mouthed and

abandoned. The younger and more progressive men gave her a warm

welcome, but the older chiefs were sulky--"Poor old heathen souls," she

remarked, "they have good reason to be, with all they have to hope from

tumbling down about their ears." The would-be Christians had begun to

erect a small church, with two rooms for her at the end. That they were

in earnest was proved by their attitude. She had eager and reverent

audiences, and once, on going unexpectedly into a yard, she found two

lads on their knees praying to the white man's God.

She made a survey of the district, and came to the conclusion that Ikpe

was another strategic point, the key to several different tribes, which

it would be well to secure for the Church, and she made up her mind to

come and live in the two rooms, and work inland and backwards towards

Arochuku. There was the Settlement to consider, but that, she thought,

she could manage to carry on along with the occupation of Ikpe.

Her bright and eager spirit did not reckon with the frailties of the

body. When she returned, she entered on a long period of weakness. Now

and again deputations came down to her. Once a score of young men

appeared, and before stating their business said, "Let us pray." She

made another visit, saw the beginnings of the church at Ikpe, and

another at Nkanga on the Creek bank, three miles below Ikpe, and, what

affected her more, heard rumours of a possible occupation by the Roman

Catholics. "I must come," she said to herself.

On one journey she was accompanied by Miss Peacock, who rose still more

highly in her regard on account of the resolute way in which she braved

the awful smells in the villages. On another, Mr. and Mrs. Macgregor

shared the hardships of the trip with her. When these two arrived at

the landing-beach for Use, a note was put into their hands from "Ma,"

to the effect that she had not been able to obtain a canoe, and they

had better come to the house until she saw what the Lord meant by it.

They remained at Use some days, "Ma" suffering from fever, but refusing

to postpone the trip, saying that if she had faith she would be able to

go. They were to start early one morning, but her guests sought to keep

her in sleep until it was too late. They succeeded until 1 A.M., when

she awoke, gave directions about packing, and rose. "What do you think

of her?" they asked of Jean. "She is often like that, and gets better

on the road," she replied, which was true. As "Ma" herself said, "I

begin every day, almost every journey in pain, and in such tiredness

that I am sure I can't go on, and whenever I begin, the strength comes,

and it increases."

The party left at 3.15 in the moonlight, and soon afterwards were in a

canoe. For hours they paddled, past men with two-pronged fish-spears

fishing, by long stretches of water-lilies of dazzling whiteness, by

farms where the fresh green corn was beginning to sprout, by extensive

reaches of jungle where brilliant birds flitted, and parrots chattered,

and monkeys swung from branch to branch by a bridge of hands. They

stopped for lunch, and Mr. Macgregor was interested in watching her

methods with the people. A chief wished to see the Principal, and said

he was anxious to place two more boys with him in the Institute. She

told Mr. Macgregor to say he would see him after they had eaten. The

business-like Principal thought this a waste of time, but she held that

he must not cheapen himself--if he made food of more importance than

the education of their boys they would think him dignified and respect

him. And she was right.

By and by they came to a tortuous channel as narrow as a mill-dam, and

it was with difficulty that the canoe was punted through. They swept on

under trees, hung with orchids, where dragon-flies flashed in and out

of the sunlight. This was the country of the hippos, and the banks were

scored by their massive feet; it was also, as they found to their cost,

the haunt of ibots, a fly with a poisonous bite. After passing over a

series of shallows they reached Ikpe beach towards dark, and camped in

the unfinished church, "Ma" in the "vestry," and the Macgregors inside

the building.

Mr. Macgregor had seen much of Nigeria, but he had never witnessed such

degradation as he found existing here. The girls went without any

clothing, except a string of beads, and the married women wore only a

narrow strip of cloth. He had again a lesson in native manners. Paying

ceremonial visits to the chiefs, they sat and looked at the ground, and

yawned repeatedly, and after a time left. To him the yawning seemed

rude, but "Ma" said it was the correct thing, and when the chiefs

returned the calls he knew that, as usual, she was right.

One of the questions that the chiefs asked was, "Is this the man you

have brought to stay and teach us?" "Ma" turned to the Principal with a

wry face. "Well," she said in English, "I like that. They'll need to be

content wi' something less than a B.D. for a wee while--till they get

started at any rate." She informed them who Mr. Macgregor was, and the

great work he was doing in Calabar, and that in the goodness of his

heart he had come up to see the position of things in the town.

"Ma"--incredulously--"do you mean that this is not the man who is to

come and lead us out of darkness?"

"No, he is not the man-yet."

"Ma"--reproachfully--"you always say wait. We have waited two years,

and again you come to us and say wait. When are you coming to us?"

There was nothing for it but to put them off once more. But she

improved the occasion by extolling the Institute, with the result that

when they left, two boys were taken to the canoe and consigned to Mr.

Macgregor's care, one decently clad in a singlet and loin-cloth, and

the other with only a single bead hanging at the throat.

Mr. Macgregor went exploring on his own account, and came across a

Government Rest House perched on the brow of a cliff, with a

magnificent view over the plain. Here he noticed that the people were

particularly opposed to white men. One of the villages "Ma" had

labelled "dangerous," and he learnt that when the Court messengers

appeared, they were promptly seized, beaten, and cast out. This, it is

interesting to note, came to be the scene of "Ma's" last exploits. He

rejoined the ladies at Nkanga, where the little native church had been

completed. They held the opening service. The Principal had no jacket;

his shirt was torn, his boots bore traces of the streams and mud

through which he had passed. Miss Slessor wore the lightest of

garments. It was one of the strangest opening ceremonies in the history

of Missions, but they worshipped God from the heart, and "Ma" seemed

lifted out of herself, and to be inspired, as she told the people what

the church there in their midst meant, and the way they should use it

for their highest good.

The Macgregors left her at Arochuku, and she continued down-creek. She

had been upheld by her indomitable spirit throughout the journey, but

now collapsed, and was so ill that she had to spend the night in the

canoe. In the darkness she was awakened by one of the babies crying,

but was so weak that she could not move. The girls were sound asleep,

and could not hear her. Exerting her willpower, she rolled over to the

child, whose head had become wedged between a box and the footboard of

the canoe, and was being slowly killed. In the early dawn the journey

was resumed to Okopedi beach, and thence she crawled over the weary

miles to Use.

II. "REAL LIFE"

"I must go. I am in honour bound to go." It was her constant cry. She

heard that services were being held regularly at Ikpe on Sundays and

week-days, and yet no one knew more than the merest rudiments of

Christian truth; none could read. A teacher had gone from Asang, but he

was himself only at the stage of the first standard in the schools, and

could impart but the crudest instruction. They were groping for the

light, and worshipping what to most of them was still the Unknown God,

and yet were already able to withstand persecution. The pathos of the

situation broke her down. "Why," she cried, "cannot the Church send two

ladies there? Why don't they use the money on hand for the purpose? If

the wherewithal should fail at the end of two years, let them take my

salary, I shall only be too glad to live on native food with my

bairns."

Once more she went up, and once more she stood ashamed before their

reproaches. She could not hold out any longer. "I am coming," she said

decisively. She was not well--she was never well now--she had bad

nights, was always "tired out," "too tired for anything," yet she went

forward to the new life with unshakeable fortitude. In a short time she

was back with fifty sheets of corrugated iron and other material for

the house. "I am committed now," she wrote. "No more idleness for me. I

am entering in the dark as to how and where and when. How I am to

manage I do not know, but my mind is at perfect peace about it, and I

am not afraid. God will carry it through. The Pillar leads."

She did not care much for the situation that had been granted; it was

low-lying, and she was anxious to conserve her health for the work's

sake, but she had faith that she would be taken care of. Palm trees

bordered the site on three sides, and amidst these the monkeys loved to

romp. "These palms," she said, "are my first joy in the morning when

the dawn comes up, pearly grey in the mist and fine rain, fresh and

cool and beautiful." She lived in two rooms at the back of the church,

with a bit of ground fenced off for kitchen, and her furniture

consisted of a camp-bed and a few dishes. But she was chiefly out of

doors, for she had as many as two hundred and fifty people engaged in

cutting bush, levelling, and stumping. Despite the discomfort and worry

incidental to such conditions, she was quite happy. The natives as a

whole were hostile to white people; they wanted neither them nor their

religion; but there was nothing martial or predatory about "Ma," and

her very helplessness protected her. And there was that in her blood

which made her face the conflict with zest; it always braced her to

meet the dark forces of hell, and conquer them with the simple power of

the Gospel.

Her fearlessness was as marked as ever. One Sunday, during service,

there was an uproar in the market. She went out and found a mob

fighting with sticks and swords, a woman bleeding, and her husband

wounded and at bay. She seized the man's wrist and compelled quiet, and

soon settled the matter by palaver. On another occasion the Government

sent native agents with police escort to vaccinate the people, as

small-pox was rife. They resented the white man's "juju," and there was

much excitement. The conduct of the agents enraged the crowd, guns

appeared, and bloodshed was imminent, when an appeal was made to "Ma."

She succeeded in calming the rising passions, and in reassuring the

people as to the purpose of the inoculation. "This poor frail woman,"

she said, "is the broken reed on which they lean. Isn't it strange? I'm

glad anyhow that I'm of use in protecting the helpless." The people

said if she would perform the operation they would agree, and she sent

to Bende for lymph, and was busy for days. It was a difficult task, the

people were suspicious, and she had to banter and joke and coax when

she herself was at fainting point. Apart from this she doctored men and

women for the worst diseases, nursed the sickly babies, and generally

acted her old part of a "mother in Israel."

"It is a real life I am living now," she wrote, "not all preaching and

holding meetings, but rather a life and an atmosphere which the people

can touch and live in and be made willing to believe in when the higher

truths are brought before them. In many things it is a most prosaic

life, dirt and dust and noise and silliness and sin in every form, but

full, too, of the kindliness and homeliness and dependence of children

who are not averse to be disciplined and taught, and who understand and

love just as we do. The excitements and surprises and novel situations

would not, however, need to be continuous, as they wear and fray the

body, and fret the spirit and rob one of sleep and restfulness of

soul."

Use was still her headquarters, and she often traversed the long

stretch of Creek, though the journey always left her terribly

exhausted. On one occasion, when she had arrived at Use racked with

pain, she was asked how she could ever endure it. "Oh," she said, "I

just had to take as big a dose of laudanum as I dared, and wrap myself

up in a blanket, and lie in the bottom of the canoe all the time, and

managed fine." She often met adventures by the way. Once, after

thirteen hours in the canoe, she arrived at Okopedi beach late in the

evening, along with Maggie and Whitie and a big boy baby. Stowing the

baggage in the beach house they started in the dark for Use, "Ma"

carrying a box with five fowls and some odds and ends, and Maggie, who

was ill, the baby. When they reached the house they found they had no

matches and were afraid of snakes, but she was so tired that she lay

down as she was on a bed piled high with clothes, the others on the

floor, the baby crying itself to sleep. At cock-crow fire was obtained

from the village, and a cup of tea made her herself again, and ready

for the inevitable palavers. Again, she went up to Ikpe with supplies

by night; the water had risen, she had to lie flat to escape the

overhanging branches, and finally the canoe ran into a submerged tree

and three of the paddle boys were pitched into the water. Not long

afterwards she left Ikpe at 6.30 A.M., was in the canoe all night, and

reached the landing-beach at 5.30 on Christmas morning with the usual

motherless baby.

On this occasion she received a message, "Ekereki said I was to tell

you that his mother is asleep"--referring to the death of one of the

first members of the congregation, a gentle and superior woman for whom

she had a great regard. The wording of the message made her realise how

soon the Gospel had the power of changing even the language of a

people. Some time previously Annie's two-year-old boy had died, and the

question of a Christian burial-place had been considered by the

congregation. Heathen adults were buried in the house and the children

under the doorstep. It seemed cruel to leave bodies out in the cold

earth, but of their own volition the members secured a piece of ground

and laid the child there; and now this woman was placed by his side,

the first adult to obtain a Christian burial in that part of Ibibio.

On New Year's eve she was down with fever, and was very weak, but, she

wrote, "My heart is singing all the time to Him Whose love and tender

mercy crown all the days." In the middle of the night she was obliged

to rise. "My 'first-feet' were driver ants, thousands and thousands of

them, pouring in on every side, and dropping from the roof. We had two

hours' hard work to clear them out."

III. THE AUTOCRATIC DOCTOR

Returning from Ikpe on one occasion in 1911, she found that a tornado

had played havoc with the Use house, and immediately set to, and with

her own hands repaired it. The strain was too great for her enfeebled

frame, and symptoms of heart weakness developed. She had nights of high

fever and delirium, and yet so great was her power of will, that she

would rise next day and teach and work, while on Sundays she took the

services, although she was unable to stand. "I had a grand day," she

would say, "notwithstanding intense weakness."

Dr. Robertson of Itu had gone home on furlough, and there came to take

his place, Dr. Hitchcock, a young, eager, clear-headed man, as

masterful in his quiet way as "Ma." He had proposed going to China in

the service of the Church, but agreed meanwhile to put in a year at

Itu. She watched him for a time with growing admiration, and saw the

curiosity of the natives turn rapidly to confidence, then to

appreciation, then to blind devotion and worship. When she looked at

the great crowds flocking day after day to the dispensary and hospital,

she thought of the scene of old when the poor and the halt and the

maimed gathered round Christ. "A rare man," she said, "a rare

Christian, a rare doctor. A physician for soul and body. I am beginning

to love him like a son." And like a son he treated her. Although he had

scarcely a minute to spare from his work, he ran up every second day to

Use to study her. He believed that she was not being nourished. That

there were grounds for his suspicions her own diary records. There was

money for her in Duke Town, she had often cheques lying beside her, but

it was not always easy to obtain ready cash, and sometimes she ran

short. On June 14 she wrote:

_Market Morning_.--Have only 3d. in cash in the house; sent it with 2

Ikpats (the first Efik schoolbook) and New Testament to buy food, and

sold all 3 books for 6d. Got 5 small yams, oil, and shrimps, with

pepper and a few small fresh fish.

It was on the following morning as early as six o'clock that the doctor

called to examine her again. His decision was that she was not to go to

Ikpe, she was not to cycle, she was to lie down as much as possible.

She laughed, and on the Sunday went to church and conducted two

services; but she almost collapsed, and when the doctor came next day

he ordered her to take to her bed, and not go to any more meetings

until she obtained his permission. Mary had at last met her equal in

resolution. "He is very strict," she confessed, "but he is a dear man.

Thank God for him."

A trip to Ikpe which she had planned for the Macgregors had to be

cancelled, and they decided to go to Use instead, and aid and abet the

doctor in his care of her. She got up to receive them, and then wrote,

"The doctor has sent me back to bed under a more stringent rule than

ever. Very stern. I dare not rise." "You must eat meat twice a day,"

the doctor said. "I'm not a meat eater, doctor," she rejoined. His

reply was to send over a fowl from Itu with instructions as to its

cooking. "Why did you send that fowl, doctor?" she asked next day,

"Because it could not come itself," was all the satisfaction she got.

It was not the first fowl that came from Itu--the next came cooked--

while the Macgregors telegraphed to Duke Town for their entire stock.

"What a trouble you dear folk take," she sighed.

"You will have to go to Duke Town for a change," suggested the doctor

one day. "Na, na," she replied; "I've all my plans laid, and I cannot

draw a salary and not do what I can." "You have done so well in the

past," remarked Mr. Macgregor, "that you need not have any qualms about

that." "I've been paid for all I've done," was her retort. But the

doctor insisted, and the very thought of leaving the station and the

household work unattended to, put her in a fever. "Of course," she

said, "to the doctor my health is the only thing, but I can't get rest

for body while my mind is torn about things. He is vexed, and I am

vexed at vexing him."

Not satisfied with the progress she was making, the doctor transferred

her to Use, where she was under his constant observation. "Life is

hardly worth living," she complained, "but I'm doing what I can to help

him to help me, so that I can be fit again for another spell of work."

That was her one desire, to be well enough to go back to the bush. A

messenger from Ikpe came down to find out when she was returning.

"Seven weeks," was the doctor's firm reply. "I may run up sooner than

that," was hers. "I'm quite well, if he would only believe it."

But it was well on towards the end of the year before she was, in her

own words, out of the clutches of the "dearest and cleverest and most

autocratic Mission doctor that ever lived." She literally ran away, and

was up at Ikpe at once, exultant at having the privilege of ministering

again to the needs of the people. There was a throng at the beach to

welcome her. She was soon as busy as she had ever been, though she was

usually carried now to and from church and other meetings. Jean she

placed at Nkanga as teacher and evangelist, the people giving her 1s.

per week and her food, and "Ma" providing her clothes. It was

astonishing to her to see how she had developed. An insatiable reader,

she would place a book open anywhere in order that she might obtain a

glimpse of the words in passing, reminding "Ma" of her own device in

the Dundee weaving-shed. Her knowledge of the Bible was so thorough and

correct that the latter considered her the best Efik teacher she knew.

Soon she gathered about her some two hundred men and women from the

upper Enyong farms, who were greatly pleased with her preaching. She

came over to Ikpe for Christmas, the first the household had spent in

that savage land, and there was a service in the church, which was

decorated with palms and wreaths of ferns. Mary told the story of

Bethlehem, and the scholar lads, of their own accord, marched through

the town singing hymns.... About this time Miss Slessor rendered

important service to the Mission by her testimony before an Imperial

Government Commission, which had been sent out to Investigate the

effects of the import, sale, and consumption of alcoholic liquor in

Southern Nigeria. She provided very convincing evidence of the

demoralisation caused through drink, but with keen intuition she felt

that little would come of the "palaver," and she was right.

IV. GOD'S WONDERFUL PALAVER

Her attitude to money was as unconventional as her attitude to most

things. It had no place in her interests; she never thought of it

except as a means of helping her to carry out her projects. "How I wish

we could do without it!" she often used to say. "I have no head for it,

or for business." Her salary she counted as Church money, and never

spent a penny of it on herself except for bare living, and until the

last years the girls received nothing but food and their clothes, "You

say," she wrote to one giver, "that you would like me to spend the

money on my personal comfort. Dear friend, I need nothing. My every

want is met and supplied without my asking." Her belief was thus

expressed: "What is money to God? The difficult thing is to make men

and women. Money lies all about us in the world, and He can turn it on

to our path as easily as He sends a shower of rain." Her faith was

justified in a marvellous way, for throughout all these years and

onwards to the end she obtained all she needed, and that was not

little. She required funds for extension, for building, for furniture,

for teachers' wages, for medicines, for the schooling of her children,

and many other purposes, and yet she was never in want. Nothing came

from her people, for she would not accept collections at first, not

wishing to give them the impression that the Gospel was in any way

connected with money. It came from friends, known and unknown, at home

and abroad, who were interested in her and in her brave and lonely

struggle. There was scarcely a mail that did not bring her a cheque or

bank-draft or Post-Office order. "It often happens," she said once,

"that when the purse is empty, immediately comes a new instalment. God

is superbly kind in the matter of money. I do not know how to thank

Him. It is just wonderful how we ever fail in our trust for a moment."

On one occasion, when she was a little anxious, she cried, "Shame on

you, Mary Slessor, after all you know of Him!"

Her attitude towards all this giving was one of curious detachment. She

looked upon herself as an instrument carrying out the wishes of the

people at home who supplied the means, and she gave them the honour of

what was accomplished. Their gifts justified her going forward in the

work; each fresh £10 note she took as a sign to advance another stage,

so that, in one sense, she felt her Church was backing up her efforts.

As she regarded herself as being owned by the Church, all the money she

received was devoted exclusively to its service; even donations from

outside sources she would not use for personal needs. One day she

received a letter from the Governor conveying to her, with the "deep

thanks of the Government," a gift of £25 to herself, in recognition of

her work. The letter she valued more than the money, which she would

only accept as a contribution towards her home for women. All the sums

were handed over to Mr. Wilkie or Mr. Macgregor, who banked them at

Duke Town, and they formed a general fund upon which she drew when

necessary. She looked upon this fund as belonging to the Mission

Council, to be used for extension purposes either up the Cross River or

the Enyong Creek, or for the Home for Women and Girls when the scheme

matured, and she never sought to have control of it. Mr. Wilkie was

always afraid that she was not just to herself, and she had sometimes

to restrain him from sending more than she required. It was the same

later when Mr. Hart, C.A., had charge of the accounts. This explains

why, on more than one occasion, she was reduced to borrowing or selling

books in order to obtain food for herself and her household. There was

money in abundance at Duke Town, but she would not ask it for private

necessities. Sometimes also she was so remote from civilisation that

she was unable to cash a cheque or draft in time to meet her wants.

Many a hidden romance lay behind these gifts that came to her--the

romance of love and sacrifice and devotion to Christ. One day there

arrived a sum of £50, accompanied by a charming letter. Long she looked

at both with wonder and tears. Her thoughts went back to the Edinburgh

days, when she was a girl, on the eve of leaving for Calabar. One of

her friends then was a Biblewoman, who was very good to her. Always on

her furloughs she had gone to see her in the humble home in which she

lay an invalid, or as Mary expressed it, "lingering at the gate of the

city." She thought she must now be dependent upon others, for she was

old and frail. And yet here she had sent out £50 to help on her work.

If there was romance in the giving, there was pathos in the spending.

Acknowledging sums she was bidden expend upon herself, she would go

into detail as to her purchases--a new Efik Bible to replace her old

tattered copy, the hire of three boys to carry her over the streams,

seed coco yams for the girls' plots, a basin and ewer for her guest-

room--"I can't," she said, "ask visitors to wash in a pail,"--a lamp,

and so on. She sought to explain and extenuate the spending of every

penny. "Is that extravagant?" "Is that too selfish?" she anxiously

asked. After enumerating a number of things which she intended to buy

for Ikpe house, she said, "Does that seem too prosaic? But it will

clarify your views of Mission work, and make them more practical and

real, for, you see, the missionary cannot go about like Adam and Eve,

and the natives must be taught cleanliness and order, and be civilised

as well as Christianised."

Her own small financial affairs had been in the hands of her old friend

Mr. Logic, Dundee, whose death in 1910 sent her into silence and

darkness for weeks. He had been like a father to her; to him, indeed,

she chiefly owed the realisation of her dream to be a missionary. She

did not know for a time how she stood, and as her purse was nearly

empty, she was growing anxious, when a small amount arrived from a

friend, to whom she wrote: "I have been praying for a fortnight for

money to come from somewhere, as I have been living on 7s. given to the

children by a merchant here who is a great friend of our household. So

your gift is a direct answer to prayer. '_Before they call I will

answer_.'" She applied to Mr. Slight, another tried friend, who had

been Treasurer of the United Presbyterian Church, and took a warm

personal interest in all the missionaries, and after the Union was the

accountant of the United Free Church. He made matters simple and clear

to her understanding and set her fears at rest--she had no debts of any

kind save debts of gratitude. Mr. Slight's death in 1912 again made her

feel orphaned. "I had no idea how much I leant on him till he was

removed, and it seems now that my last link with the old Church has

snapped. What he has done for me through a score of years I can never

acknowledge warmly enough." In later years her affairs at home were

managed by Miss Adam.

Congregations continued to send her boxes of goods, whilst her own

friends were unceasing in their thought for her. "I should never

mention a want," she told them, "because you just take it up and bear

the burden yourselves, and it makes me ashamed. Here are all my needs

in clothing for the children and myself anticipated, and here are

luxuries of food and good things, and all steeped and folded in the

most delicate and tender sympathy and love. Surely no one has so many

mercies as I have." She saw few pretty things, and had never the

opportunity of looking into a shop window, so that the arrival of these

boxes was an occasion of much pleasurable excitement to her and to the

girls. Her only trouble was that she could not hand on some of the food

to others; "When you have a good thing, or read a good thing, or see a

humorous thing, and can't share it, it is worse than having to bear a

trial alone." She was particularly grateful for a box of Christmas

goods that came in 1911. She had been much upset by the local food, and

she ate nothing but shortbread and bun for a week, and that made her

better!

The people about her, too, were kind. Women would bring her presents of

produce; one, for instance, gave her fifteen large yams and a half-

crown bag of rice, and a large quantity of shrimps. "You are a stranger

in these markets," she said, "and the children may be hungry."

V. WEAK BUT STRONG

She met with a severe disappointment early in 1912. The Calabar Council

was willing to send two ladies to Ikpe, but thought it right to obtain

a medical report on the site which had been given for the house. This

was unfavourable; the Creek overflowed its banks for four hundred paces

on one side and thirty on the other, and the surroundings of the house

would be muddy and damp. She would not, however, acquiesce in the

judgment thus passed, and remained on, and prosecuted the work as

usual. The Council was very anxious for her to take a furlough, and her

friends, personal and official, in Scotland were also urging her to

come for a rest. She had now never an hour of real health or strength,

and was growing deaf, and felt like "a spluttering candle," and she

began to think it would be the wisest thing to do. As the idea took

definite shape in her mind, she looked forward with zest to the renewal

of old friendships. "We shall have our fill of talk and the silences

which are the music of friendship." The East Coast of Scotland was now

barred to her by medical opinion, but she had visions of the lonely

hills of the south, and of Yarrow, and all that Border country where

she had spent so many happy days, and would go there, away from the

crowds and the rush.

Discerning a note of pity in the letters from Scotland, she bade her

friends not to waste their sympathy upon her. "I am just surrounded

with love," she wrote. It was to the children she referred. "I wake up

in the early dusk of the dawn and call them, and before I can see to

take my Bible, the hot cup of tea is there, and a kiddie to kiss me

'Good-morning' and ask, 'Ma, did you sleep?'" It was not wonderful that

she loved those black girls. They had been with her from their birth.

She had nursed them and brought them up and taught them all they knew,

and they had been faithful to her with the faithfulness which is one of

the most remarkable traits in the African nature. Mary could never

abide the superior folk who referred slightingly to them because of

their black skin, and she was too proud to justify her feelings towards

them. Alice, the "princess," had now grown into a fine womanly girl,

quiet and steady and thoughtful. One night in the dark she crept to

"Ma's" side and shyly told her that some months before she had given

her heart to Christ. It was a moment of rare joy. As neither Alice nor

Maggie was betrothed-though often sought after-and they had no legal

protector against insult, she decided to send them for training to the

Edgerley Memorial School, where they would be under the influence and

care of Miss Young, another capable agent whom she had led to become a

missionary and with whom she had a very close and tender friendship.

She regarded her as an ideal worker, for she had been thoroughly

trained in domestic science. "I would have liked that sort of training

better than the Normal training I got at Moray House," she said.

Meanwhile, as she was forbidden to cycle, her thoughts harked back to

her old plan of a "box on wheels." She had never been reconciled to a

hammock. "I feel a brute in it, it seems so selfish to be lying there,

while four boys sweat like beasts of burden. To push a little carriage

is like skilled labour and no degradation." She, therefore, wrote to

Miss Adam, whom she called the "joint-pastor" of her people, to send

out a catalogue of "these things." Miss Adam was, however, unwell, and

the ladles of Wellington Street Church, Glasgow, hearing of the

request, promptly despatched what was called a Cape cart, a kind of

basket-chair, capable of being wheeled by two boys or girls. The gift

sent her whole being thrilling with gratitude, as well as with shame

for being so unworthy of so much kindness, but her comfort was that it

was for God's work, and she took it as from Him.

The vehicle proved a success, but the success proved the undoing of her

furlough. "Instead of going home as I had planned, in order to get

strength for a wider range of work, I shall stay on and enjoy the

privilege of going over ground impossible for my poor limbs." On one of

the first drives she had, she went in search of a site for a new and

larger church which she had determined to build., and was gathering

material for, at Use, and then she planned to go to Ikpe via Ikot

Ekpene by the new Government road, opening up out-stations wherever she

could get a village to listen to the message. Her aim, indeed, was

nothing less than to plant the whole Ibibio territory with a network of

schools and churches. She seemed to grow more wonderful the older and

frailer she became.

The spurt lasted for a time, but again the terrible weakness troubled

her, and she had to conduct household affairs from a couch. School work

was carried through on the verandah, and when she spoke in the church

she was borne there and back. She came to see that only a real change

would do her permanent good, and that it would be true economy to take

a trip home, even for the sake of the voyage, which, much as she feared

the sea, always invigorated her. What made her hesitate now was the

depleted condition of the Mission. "We were never so short-handed

before," she said, "and I can do what others cannot do, what, indeed,

medical opinion would not allow them to try. No one meddles with me,

and I can slip along and do my work with less expenditure of strength

than any," Had there been some one to fill her place she would have

gone, but she was very reluctant to shut the doors of the stations for

so long a period. How she regarded the idea may be gathered from a

letter to a friend who had given her some domestic news:--

These little glimpses, like pictures, of home and the old country, of

family ties and love, make me long for just one long summer day in the

midst, if only as an onlooker, and for the touch of loving hands and a

bit of family worship in our own tongue, and maybe a Sabbath service

thrown in with a psalm and an old-fashioned tune, and then I should

feel ready for a long spell of work. But I should fret if it were to

take me from this, my own real life and home and bairns. This life is

full, the other lies at the back quiescent, and is a precious

possession to muse on during the night or in the long evening hours

when I'm too tired to sleep and the light is not good enough to read or

sew, or mostly when I'm not well and the doldrums come very near. But I

should choose this life if I had to begin again; only I should try to

live it to better purpose.

Another respite or two carried her into the middle of the year, when

her opportunity of a furlough was lost. She said she would have to hold

on now for another winter--or go up higher. In September she completed

thirty-six years as a missionary, and took humorous stock of herself:

"I'm lame and feeble and foolish; the wrinkles are wonderful-no

concertina is so wonderfully folded and convulated. I'm a wee, wee

wifie, verra little buikit--but I grip on well, none the less." "Ay,"

said an old doctor friend to her, "you are a strong woman, 'Ma.' You

ought to have been dead by ordinary rule long ago--any one else would."

VI. HER FIRST HOLIDAY

Anxiety as to her health deepened both in Calabar and Scotland, and

pressure was brought upon her to take a rest. One of her lady friends

on the Women's Foreign Mission Committee, Miss Cook, appreciated her

fear of the home winter, and wrote asking her to take a holiday to the

Canary Islands, and begged the kindness at her hands of being allowed

to pay the expense. "I believe," she said, "in taking care of the

Lord's servant. I am afraid you do not fully realise how valuable you

are to us all, the Church at home, and the Church In Nigeria." The

offer, so delicately put, brought tears to Mary's eyes, and it made her

wonder whether after all she was safeguarding her health enough in the

interests of the Church. As soon as the matter became a duty, she gave

it careful consideration, resolving to abstain from going up to Ikpe,

and to go down to Duke Town instead, where she would consult the

Wilkies and the Macgregors. But she would not dream of the cost of any

change being borne by Miss Cook, and she asked Miss Adam to find out if

her funds would allow of her taking a trip. There was no difficulty

regarding clothing. Among the Mission boxes she had received was one

full of warm material, and she surmised that God was on the side of a

holiday.

Her friends at Calabar did not hesitate a moment; they wanted her off

at once. She went to consult her old friend, Dr. Adam, the senior

medical officer, that "burning and shining light," as she called him,

who first showed her through the Hospital, where she spoke with loving

entreaty to every patient she passed, and left many in tears. After a

thorough examination, he earnestly besought her to take the next boat

to Grand Canary. Still she shrank from the prospect. It was a selfish

thing to do; there were others more in need of a holiday than she, it

was a piece of extravagance, it would involve closing up the stations.

And yet might it not be meant? Might it not be of the nature of a good

investment? Might she not be able for better work? Might it not do away

with the necessity for a furlough in the following year? She decided to

go.

It was arranged that Jean should accompany her, and that she should put

up at the Hotel Santa Catalina, Las Palmas. Letters from Government

officials were sent to smooth the way there for her. Miss Young and

others prepared her outfit, and made her, as she said, "wise-like and

decent,"--she, the while, holding daily receptions, for she was now

regarded as one of the West African sights, and every one came to call

upon her. Mr. Wilkie managed the financial side, and gave the cash-box

to the Captain. When she transhipped at Forcados. it was handed to the

other Captain, and he on arrival at the Islands passed it on to the

manager of the hotel. On board she was carried up and down to meals,

and received the utmost kindness from officers and passengers alike.

The Captain said he was prouder to have shaken hands with her than if

she had been King George. The season at Grand Canary had not begun,

and there were very few visitors at the hotel. Those who were there saw

a frail nervous old lady, followed by a black girl who was too shy to

raise her eyes. "We were certainly a frightened pair," Mary afterwards

confessed. But the management attended to her as if she were a

princess. "What love is wrapped round me!" she wrote. "All are kind,--

the manager's family, the doctor's family, and the visitors. It is

simply wonderful. I can't say anything else."

The first days were spent in the grounds, drinking in the pure air,

watching the changing sea and sky, and admiring the brilliant

vegetation. The English flowers, roses and geraniums and Michaelmas

daisies and mignonette, were a continual joy, whilst the crimson clouds

piled above the sapphire sea often made her think of the "city of pure

gold." Later, she was able to ascend the hill at the back, and "there"

she says, "I sat and knitted and crocheted and sewed and worked through

the Bible all the day long, fanned by the sea-breeze and warmed by the

sun, and the good housekeeper sent up lunch and tea to save my walking,

and in the silence and beauty and peace I communed with God. He is so

near and so dear. Oh, if I only get another day in which to work! I

hope it will be more full of earnestness and blessing than the past."

It was her first real holiday, but she felt it had been worth waiting a

lifetime for. There was something infinitely pathetic in her ecstasy of

enjoyment and the gratitude for the simple pleasures that came to her.

Only one thread of anxiety ran through her days, the thought of the

appalling expense she was incurring, for she had made up her mind that

the cost was to be paid out of her own slender funds.

A lady in the hotel, with whom she formed an intimate and lasting

friendship, and who saw much of her, gives this impression of her

character:

She made many friends, her loving sympathy, her simplicity, her keen

interest in all around her, her sense of humour and love of fun

endearing her to all. The entire negation of self which she evinced was

remarkable, as well as her childlike faith and devotion to her Master

and to His service. A lady was heard to say, "Well, after talking to

Miss Slessor I am converted to foreign missions," Her mind was ever

upon her work and her children, and she used often to say she was

idling, there was so much to be done, and so little time in which to do

it. Of all the people I have met she impressed me the most as the

perfect embodiment of the Christian life,

Jean waited upon her mother-mistress with a patient and thoughtful

devotion which was a wonder to those who saw it. She wore her Calabar

frock and bandana, and had she not been a very sane person, her head

would have been turned, for she was a favourite with every one, and was

given as many ribbons as would serve her all her life. But she was as

shy the day she left as when she arrived.

The departure came in the middle of the night. A general and his aide-

de-camp and a merchant each offered to convoy her to the ship, and

pleaded that they had conveyances, but the manager of the hotel would

not hear of it, saw her himself safely into her cabin, and placed the

cash-box once more into the Captain's hands. It was the same steamer by

which she had travelled to the Islands, so that she felt at home. On

board also was Dr. Hitchcock, on his way out again to take up work at

Uburu, a large market town in the far north amongst a strangely

interesting tribe. How she envied him, young and strong and

enthusiastic, entering on such glorious pioneer work! At Accra the

Governor of the Gold Coast, a stranger to her, sent off to the steamer

a bouquet of flowers, with an expression of his homage and best wishes

for a renewal of her health.

When she arrived at Duke Town Dr. Adam again examined her, assisted by

Professor Leiper of the London School of Tropical Medicine, and the

verdict was: "Good for many years-if you only take care."

She was given written directions as to the care of her health, and

these she regarded with a rueful face. "Life will hardly be worth

living now," she said. "But for the work's sake I must obey. God wants

us to be efficient, and we cannot be so except by living decently and

taking care of the wonderful body He has given us."

She turned up her Bible and found the verse she had marked as a

"promise" before leaving: "_But if the Spirit of Him that raised up

Jesus from the dead dwell in you, He that raised up Christ from the

dead shall also quicken your mortal bodies by the spirit that dwelleth

in you_." She saw now that this meant something besides the

Resurrection, for the voyage, the climate, the food, and the rest had

worked in her a miracle, and she realised more than ever what prayer

and faith could do for the body as well as for the spirit. There was a

lesson in it, too, she thought, for the Church. She had had a month at

sea, and a month in the Islands, with the best of care and food, and no

furlough had ever done her more good. She felt that a visit to Scotland

would not have rested her so much. There was the bustle and excitement

and movement and speaking-of all the bugbears of a furlough, she said,

speaking at meetings was the chief. If only the hard deputy work at

home could be eliminated from the missionaries' programme, they would

have a happier and a better time. But here the personal equation

obscured her judgment. For to abandon the system would be to do away

with the intimate touch and association by which interest in the

Mission Field is so largely maintained. To many missionaries, also, the

duty of telling to the congregations up and down the country the story

of their work is one of the chief pleasures of their furlough.

Laden with chemical foods, medicines, and advice, she returned to Use

to find that the entire cost of the trip had been defrayed by Miss

Cook, who wrote: "I am only sorry that I did not beg you to stay longer

in order to reap more benefit. Come home next year; we all want to see

you."

VII. INJURED

But a furlough home was far from her thoughts. She rejoiced in her new

strength, and set herself with grim determination to redeem the time.

She was now doing double work, carrying on all the activities of the

settled station at Use, and establishing her pioneer centre at Ikpe.

During the next two years she travelled between the two points,

sometimes using the canoe, but more often now the Government motor car,

which ran round by Ikot Ekpene and dropped her at the terminus, five

miles from Ikpe. David was the driver, and she had thus always the

opportunity of seeing Mary, his wife, who lived at Ikot Ekpene.

At Use the work had gone on as usual; there had been no backsliding,

and the services and classes had been kept up by the people themselves;

and she proceeded with the building of the new church, which was

erected under her superintendence and without any outside help. When

she was at Ikpe she placed Annie's husband--they were both now members

of the Church--in charge, and he conducted the services, but Miss

Peacock, whom Mary styled her "Bishop," gave general supervision.

On one of her early journeys up to Ikpe she met with a slight accident,

a pellet of mud striking one of her eyes. The people were alarmed at

the result, and would have gone off at once to the District

Commissioner had she not restrained them. Some native workmen passing

his station later mentioned the incident, and within a few minutes the

officer had a mounted messenger speeding along the tract to Ikpe, with

an urgent order to the people to get her conveyed in the Cape cart to

the nearest point on the road, where he would have a motor car waiting.

Next morning, although it was market day, the members of the church

left everything and took her to the spot indicated. Here were the

District Commissioner and a doctor, with eye-shade and medicine and

every comfort, and with the utmost despatch she was taken round the

Government road to Use. The hurt was followed by erysipelas, and she

was blind for a fortnight and suffered acute pain and heavy fever; but

very shame at being ill after so fine a holiday made her get up

although the eye was swollen and "sulky," and she was soon in the midst

of her work at Ikpe as if nothing had happened.

Building, cementing, painting, varnishing, teaching, healing, and

preaching filled in the days. A visitor found her once at 10 A.M.

finishing school in a shed. She continued it in the afternoon. Then she

visited the yards of the people, and they crowded round her and brought

her gifts of food. Later she leant against a fallen tree trunk and

talked to one and another. In the gathering dusk she sat on a small

stool and attended to the sick and dressed their sores. After dinner

some men and lads arrived carrying lamps, and she held her catechumens'

class--a very earnest and prayerful gathering.

The burden of the untouched region around her vexed her mind. Sometimes

she was depressed about it all, and said she would need to fill her

letters with nonsense, for "it would not bear writing." Time and again

she sought to impress her friends with the needs of the situation: "The

last time I was at school I counted eight hundred women and girls

running past in eager competition to secure the best places at the

fishing-grounds where the men had been working all the morning, and

these are but a fraction of our womankind. But what can I do with

supervision of the school and church and dispensary and household?" She

did not pretend that she worked her station properly, and she pointed

out how necessary settled, steady, persevering teaching was. "These

infant churches," she said, "need so much to be instructed. The adults

are illiterate, and the young need systematic teaching of the Bible.

They are an emotional people, and are fain to keep to speaking and

singing and long prayers, and the sterner practical side of

Christianity is set aside. They are children in everything that

matters, and when we have led them to Christ we are apt to forget how

much more they need in order to make a strong, upright, ethical

character on which to build a nation. Then we need a literature, and

this, too, is the work of the Church. What ails it? _Is it not

forgetting that God can't give His best till we have given ours?"_

With all its bustle it was a very lonely and isolated life she led.

There was no mail delivery, and she had to depend mainly on the

kindness of Government officials to forward her correspondence. "I have

been here seven weeks," she wrote on one occasion, "without one scrap

from the outside--letter or paper--nothing to read but the old

advertisement sheets of papers lining the press and the boxes. If you

wish for the names of hotels or boarding-houses In any part of Europe--

send to me. I have them all on my tongue's end." It was a red-letter

day when a stray white visitor entered the district, for there would be

tea and a talk, and a bundle of newspapers would be left--one never

forgets another in this way in the bush. She was amused to receive a

note from Scotland asking her to hand on a message to Dr. Hitchcock at

Uburu. "Do you know?" she replied, "you are nearer him than I am--the

quickest way for me to send it is via Britain!"

Life was not without its menace from wild beasts, the forest being full

of them, and the doors had always to be closed and fastened at night to

keep them out. Snakes were prevalent, and prowled about the building,

and many a fight Jean and the others had with the intruders.

VIII. FRIENDSHIPS WITH OFFICIALS

Throughout these years, as always, "Ma" Slessor's relations with the

Government officials were of the most friendly nature, It was

remarkable that although she was essentially feminine and religious,

and although she was engaged in Mission work, she attracted men of all

types of character. Much of this power was due to her intense sympathy,

which enabled her to get close to minds that would otherwise have been

shut to her. What she wrote of another applies to herself:

What a strange thing is sympathy! Undefinable, untranslatable, and yet

the most real thing and the greatest power in human life! How strangely

our souls leap out to some other soul without our choosing or knowing

the why. The man or woman who has this subtle gift of sympathy and

magnetism of soul possesses the most precious thing on earth. Hence it

is rare. So few could be trusted with such a delicate, sensitive,

Godlike power and hold it unsullied that God seems to be hampered for

want of means for its expression. Is that the reason that He made His

Son a "Man of Sorrows and acquainted with grief"?

Most of these men had no interest in missions, and some did not believe

in them. "The more I see of mission work in West Africa the less I like

it," said one frankly to her. "Give me the genuine bushman, who

respects his ancestral deities and his chief and himself.... But if all

missionaries were like you!" None of these men belonged to her own

Church; three of her favourites were Roman Catholics. Her introductions

to some were of the most informal character. One day a stranger

appeared and found her busy on the roof of the house. "Well," she said,

eyeing him critically, "what do you want?" He stood, hat in hand.

"Please, Ma'am," he replied meekly, "I'm your new District

Commissioner--but I can't help it!" She was delighted, and took him

into the inner circle at once. As frequent changes took place in the

staff, the number whose acquaintance she made gradually increased,

until she became known and talked of in all the colonies on the West

Coast and even in other parts of the world.

The official view of her work and character differed little from any

other. Says one who knew her long and well:

I suppose that a pluckier woman has rarely existed. Her life-work she

carried out with immeasurable courage and capacity. Her strength of

character was extraordinary, and her life was one of absolute

unselfishness. She commanded the respect and confidence of all parties,

and for years I would have personally trusted to her judgment on native

matters in preference to all others. Shrewd, quick-witted, sympathetic,

yet down on any one who presumed, she would with wonderful patience

hear all sides equally. Her judgment was prompt, sometimes severe, but

always just. She would speak much of her work to those who, she knew,

took an interest in it, but very rarely of herself.

Another writes:

My first impression of her was that she was a lady of great strength of

mind and sound common sense. Also that for one who had lived so many

years in the bush wilds she was very well read and up-to-date on all

subjects.

Mr. T. D. Maxwell, who knew her in Okoyong days and to the end, says:

I am sure that her own Church never had a more loyal adherent, but her

outlook on this life--and the next--was never narrow. Her religion was

above religions--certainly above religious differences, I have often

heard her speak of the faiths and rituals of others, but never without

the deepest interest and sympathy. She was young to the end; young in

her enthusiasm, her sympathy, her boundless energy, her never-failing

sense of humour, her gift of repartee, her ability always to strike the

apt--even the corrosive--epithet. A visit to her was, to use one of her

own phrases, "like a breath o' caller air to a weary body"--and in West

Africa that means incomparably more than it can at Home.

It was a peculiarly affectionate relation that existed between her and

many of those men whom she regarded as "the strength and the glory of

Britain." A witty member of the Mission once said they were given over

to "Mariolatry"--an allusion to her first name. They never were near

without visiting her, and often made long journeys for the privilege of

a talk. They were delighted with her sense of humour, and teased her as

well as lionised her. Half the fun of a visit to her was taking her

unawares, and they often threatened to bring their cameras and

"snapshot" her on sight, "Ma," they would write before calling, "get

your shoes on, we are coming to tea!"

They wrote her about their work and ambitions and worries as if she

were a mother or sister, and discussed the political and racial

problems of the country as if she were a colleague, always with a

delicate deference to her experience and knowledge, sometimes veiled in

light banter. "I am at your feet, Ma," said one, "and your wisdom is

that of Solomon." They often twitted her about being able to twist them

round her little finger: "You break our hearts, and get your own way

shockingly." On one occasion she received a grave and formal Government

typewritten communication about land, which ended in this way:

I have the honour to be,

Madam,

_and affectionate_

Your obedient servant.

When they left the Colony they kept up the friendship. Many were bad

correspondents, yet from the remotest parts of the world they wrote

letters, as long as her own, full of kind enquiries about her work and

the bairns, and begging for a reply.

On her part she wrote them racy and informative letters; and she also

got into touch with their mothers, sisters, and wives at home, who

welcomed her news of the absent ones, and were good to her in turn. One

lady she delighted by praising her husband. "Naturally," the lady

replied, "I agree with you, and you are welcome to court and woo him as

much as you like!" A high official brought out his wife, and she wrote

Mary from a desire to make her husband's friends hers also. She ended

in the usual way, but he added, "She sends her kindest regards--_I_

send my love!" The nature of some of the friendships formed at home

through officials may be surmised from an order she gave for a silver

gift, value £5, to be sent to the first-born child of one of her

"chums." It went to the mother, and the inscription was "From one whom

his father has helped."