Perhaps no class of people voluntarily work harder or longer hours than
Salvationists. When the ordinary worker quits toil for recreation, the
Salvationist drops his tools to work at his religion, and for no reward
in this life. But for all that, the Salvationist has his compensations.
The most precious thing about The Army, he will tell you, is its
comradeship.
The uniform of the military means something of fellowship on service,
nothing on leave; but the Salvationist is always on service, and the sign
of cap, bonnet, or even the small Salvation Army brooch or tri-coloured
ribbon, serves as an introduction, which includes a welcome, when
Salvationists meet in any clime or country.
The uniform stands for the acceptance of certain convictions, principles,
and consecration to one purpose in life, which knows no barrier of
nation, colour, nor class. Salvationists are comrades of a single
purpose, the bringing of all men to knowledge of God. Mr. Harold Begbie
describes this bond of comradeship which he found illustrated in a prayer
meeting which he attended amongst Salvationists in India. He writes:--
Those Officers represented many nations. Among them were a Brahmin,
a Singalese, Malayali, a Tamil, a German, a Norwegian, a Swede, an
Australian, an Englishman, and a Scot. All were praying. The voices
of those various nationalities rose into the air as a cry inspired by
love for a sinful world, with a compassion and a longing, uttered for
the need of a common humanity, and all those separate voices and
different words rose in a perfect unity like the prayer of a single
family under a father's roof.
Constitutionally Kate Lee was not dependent; she did not know what it was
to hunger for society; to pine for a 'yarn'; to ache with desire to
discuss with a chum small talk of The Army. The passion of her life swept
her beyond such things and the springs of her refreshment ran deep. Her
business was to seek and to save that which was lost--to shepherd the
sheep--and these she sought with a love that never wavered. Nevertheless,
fellowship with her comrades was one of her chief joys. She delighted in
Officers' Councils where all were bent upon seeking guidance for the
furtherance of the Salvation War. Whenever she was thrown into the
company of her comrades her heart was at once at leisure from itself, and
she sought and found pleasant and profitable point for contact.
She felt herself to be a poor conversationalist, and her success in
fellowship lay in drawing out the interests of others. She was a good
listener, rather than an entertainer. Humility was one of her greatest
charms and she had no hesitation in confessing her limitations. 'I enjoy
the fun, but I can't make it; do help me,' she said to a comrade, when
once she found herself responsible for guiding the conversation of a
party of officers.
Tributes come from comrades of all ranks, from the shy lieutenant, to the
veteran commissioner, telling of the sweetness of her communion in
comradeship.
But so great was the pressure upon her life, that during any period of
respite from her work, she longed, not for change or entertainment, but
rest.
One cannot talk with Kate Lee's people without discovering that they
regarded her as a person apart from all others. She would drink tea in a
hovel with outcasts, or lead a volunteer brigade in scrubbing her halls;
handle hammer and nails as a man; collect produce for the harvest
festival with a donkey-cart, and perform a hundred and one other
'unladylike' offices. But about her was an atmosphere of intrinsic
superiority, that the most untaught felt and appreciated. Amongst the
most rough and ready people she is never mentioned with familiarity; but
one constantly hears references to 'that heavenly woman,' 'an angel if
ever there was one,' and 'that lovely lady'; also mention of 'her private
means!'
Incidentally, a pathetic interest attaches to the illusion of 'her
private means,' for, except for her small Army allowance, Kate Lee had no
private funds. Reserve and independence are characteristics of the Lee
family, and are, despite warm affection, observed within their tiny
family circle. When the mother joined her Officer daughters in their
home, Lucy and Kate realized that if she were aware of the smallness of
their allowance, she would feel that a third person could not share it
without causing strain, and such knowledge would be a continual sorrow to
her. So they never enlightened her, and during the years spent together,
they endeavoured, by touching little self-denials, to keep their table
and wardrobe as in the home days. So the little mother lived in peace,
and died, and never guessed the truth. It was a good training for Kate,
and later in life few women could get more value out of money than she.
Her uniforms were turned, mended, and worn to the last. Her single
indulgence was books, and these were few and well chosen. By dint of the
habit of constant watchfulness over her purse, and the blessing of God,
her little store became like the widow's cruse of oil, and she gave her
tenth and more to the Lord's work. But it was the graciousness with which
she gave that made her gifts appear large in the estimation of those who
received.
While Kate was received and made much of by high and low alike, she made
no pretence of being well born or well educated; nor did she assume airs.
She was a perfectly natural woman, who, realizing that she was a daughter
of the Heavenly King, sought to rightly represent Him. Nothing rough,
mean, nor trivial would become a member of the heavenly household; but
joy, peace, gentleness, kindness, goodness--the graces of the Spirit
should be seen in her. And they were. The consciousness of her heavenly
relationship also gave her a dignity that held itself graciously in any
company, and with gentle, unafraid eyes, she met the gaze of all. Kate
believed that if we 'walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have
fellowship one with the other,' and from a heart free from selfishness
and guile, she looked out upon her neighbours, asking for nothing but to
understand and bless them, and be blessed. The hearts of all but those
who hate and reject the good, rose to salute her, and called her friend.
Of those who loved her and whom she loved there is no count; but here and
there upon the fields where she fought, there are some to whom her soul
clave in a particular way.
In and out of the homes of the rich she went, bearing sunshine and
gathering gold wherewith to push her campaign; but she had no time to
make friendships there. A certain leisureliness is inseparable from the
life of the well-to-do; time to talk; to be interested in a variety of
subjects; to be amused; time even to eat and rest in correct form. With
Kate, life was terribly real. On every side her eyes saw men, women, and
little children weighed down with sin and sorrow, and her soul joined in
the consecration of the great soul who wrote:--
My every sacred moment spend.
In publishing the sinner's Friend.
Thus, while many rich friends opened their beautiful homes to her, placed
their cars at her disposal, and begged for her company, she passed on her
way with a smile that was wholly free from censoriousness. And there may
have been another reason. In her nature was a deep love for the
beautiful, the harmonious. Maybe she recognized in the good things of
life a temptation which she needed to hold at arm's-length, if all her
spikenard were to be poured out for her Lord.
In any case, it was to Bethany-like households, where, as a rule, the
occupants did their own serving, but were rich in love and in full
sympathy with her spirit and purpose, that she tarried to gain strength
or refreshment.
One of these friends, Mrs. Taylorson, is a bedridden saint, a remarkable
woman in her ninetieth year, of charming countenance, keen, vigorous
intellect, great heart and spiritual vision. In the school of affliction
and discipline she had sought and found the blessing of Full Salvation,
and though a prisoner in her home, her interests are wide, and her
influence, by the ministry of prayer, great.
Hearing of Adjutant Lee's arrival in the town, she sent for her, and from
their first meeting this aged saint rightly estimated the beauty and
greatness of the Adjutant's soul, and felt there was a part she could
play in her campaign. Mrs. Taylorson says:--
I realized that my ministry to her was to look after her bodily
welfare. I took to my bed whilst she was stationed here: and
living quite near to me, she would often slip in for a few
moments. Her sweet face would come round the door like a ray of
sunshine. She would give me a warm kiss, tell me the latest news
--this case or that problem to pray over--then she was off again.
But I saw to it that my maid always had something nourishing on
hand to help that dear, worn body. How my maid loved her! The
Adjutant's influence so led her into touch with Christ, that life
became changed for her.
Oh, how Kate Lee worked! Far beyond her strength. Often, after her
quest for souls, she would pass this house at two o'clock in the
morning. When I would remonstrate with her, she would reply, 'Oh,
but I had such a _case_ last night.' Then she would relate to
me the story. Once, kneeling by my bed, she said, 'Granny, last
night I was afraid for the first time. Oh, this place, this place!
The sin, the sin is terrible!' And she described to me the horrors
of iniquity she had seen in our town.
The transparent hands were tensely clasped; the strong alert features
relaxed into contemplation, and my eyes lifted from the face of the aged
saint to the wall beside her bed where hung a motto, 'Prayer brings
victory.' It was easy to realize how Kate Lee had gathered strength for
the fight in that little sanctuary of faith and hope, and love, with the
practical addition of a strengthening cup, 'always ready, that the
Adjutant might not be hindered.'
Kate met her beloved old friend only once after her term of three years
at Sunderland. When leaving London to spend a week there, she received a
wire from her old lieutenant, then on duty amongst the troops in France,
'Coming on leave; want to spend week-end with you,' to which she replied,
'Going to Granny's. Come.' It was a happy party that gathered in that old
home. The joys of reunion were still fresh, when in the doorway another
figure appeared--Lucy Lee, also home on leave from France. Heaven seemed
to come down to earth for those four women. Three from the rush of the
battle, bubbling over with stories of the Holy War, the fourth--her
faculties fresh as those of the youngest--delighting to linger on the
brink of eternity, that she might hold up the hands of these, her adopted
daughters in battles for God and souls.
Perched on the crest of a hill overlooking a seashore town, is a tiny
cottage--two rooms up and two down. There are flowers in the windows and
garden, and within, simplicity and sweet homeliness. The dwellers there
are an old pensioner and his daughter. The daughter, a semi-invalid,
keeps house. Her face is calm as a lake resting in the sunshine; her eyes
blue as the sky on a spring day, and her voice musical and soothing as
rippling water. Almost twenty years ago, Kate Lee conducted a battle for
souls in the little town nestling below the hill. The suffering woman
listened to her call to arms, at first from a distance. By degrees the
full meaning of the officer's life dawned upon her; she knew she could
never be a leader; but she could, perhaps, be an armour-bearer; so she
came nearer, and nearer, till she took a place at Captain Kate's side,
ready to perform any service possible.
A sufferer who triumphed had a peculiar charm for Kate Lee. This woman,
caught in the furnace of affliction, had yielded herself to the fire, and
found the Son of God keep company with her there, and she grew like Him.
When nerves were tingling, and body and soul were weary with sins and
sorrows of the world, to no place did Kate turn her steps more readily
than to the tiny house on the hill.
'Why can you love to come here? I have so little to offer you. Rich
people would love to have you, and give you what I cannot,' said her
friend.
'And you can and do give me what no money in the world could buy:
understanding, and love, and rest.'
On a sunny day, Kate would take a rug and a cushion, a book or some
sewing, and her friend would accompany her to a little knoll, a stone's
throw from the house, which commanded a sea view for many miles. And
there, mostly in silence, she would sit, and sun and rest for a day or
two, and then hie back to the fight.
A mother with a child in an invalid chair, followed The Army march many a
Sunday night during one summer. The band charmed the child, the sweet
face of the officer soothed and strengthened the mother. One night,
mother and child ventured into the meeting. At the conclusion of the
first service, Adjutant Lee was shaking hands with the people as they
left the hall, and urging them to return, and she beamed on the mother
and child, and later, visited their home. A typical home of millions of
working people, but true love reigned there, and made it a more pleasant
place than many a mansion. The mother had spinal disease and her child
seemed to have been born only to die. Doctor and friends had striven in
vain to unlock the bands of mother love, and let the little suffering
life escape, but the mother refused. If love and ceaseless care could
make a child live, he should live. Mother and child nestled under the
protection of a great, loving husband and father. The coming of the
Adjutant to that home was like the visit of an angel; but she gathered as
she gave, for the soothing atmosphere of those tiny rooms fell upon her
spirit like dew. As well as love there was music. The father sat at the
organ, and as he played and sang, his strong, tender spirit seemed to
ring through the hymns. 'Just one verse!' the Adjutant would say, as she
dropped in to give five minutes' cheer.
The Adjutant lay ill in her quarters. Bronchitis had, as usual, laid her
low during a foggy week. She had sent her lieutenant out on a round of
work, and, feverish and weak, gave herself up to rest. There was a
movement on the stairs and a face appeared at the bedroom door. It was
little invalid mother. 'How _did_ you get here?' the Adjutant asked.
'Through a window, and you'll not talk. Just eat this bit of steamed
fish.' Every day, until the Adjutant was able to be about her Master's
business again, the little woman ministered to her with tender, joyful
love.
'Would you mind letting me look at your back?' she asked the little
mother, when she had come to be regarded as the dearest friend of the
small family. She looked, and her eyes filled with tears. For a woman
with such a back, to work, as this mother worked, to watch and wait and
refuse to give up hope for love of her child, this was love indeed. Kate
Lee would love sin-sick souls in this way. 'Thank you,' she said simply,
'you have inspired me.' During her stay the little boy, then six years of
age, definitely yielded his heart and life to the Saviour. When he was
fourteen he begged to be allowed to join The Army Young People's Band.
'Impossible,' said the doctor. 'But, doctor, you know how he has lived in
spite of many contrary opinions, and we wish him to devote his life to
The Army,' pleaded the mother. A tall lad with purposeful face, playing
in an Army band, is a joy to his Salvationist parents who carry in their
hearts the faith of Kate Lee, that one day their son shall be an Army
Officer.
Such were a very few of the friends of Kate Lee. Many, because of their
great love for her, and conscious of her love for them, will, perhaps,
feel a touch of disappointment that they are not included in the number,
but the pages of our book will not stretch. As I think of them all, as I
have seen them in their homes, and know of the many I have not been able
to meet--I am reminded of strangely similar company, fishermen, clerks,
and a company of humble, holy women who ministered to Kate Lee's Lord and
Master in the days of His flesh.