The Regulations of The Salvation Army provide for its officers to have,
under ordinary circumstances, from two to three weeks' furlough yearly.
This respite from strain upon body and soul which the work involves is
brief enough; it is due to their work, and it is expected that officers
should make the most of it. To assist them, the authorities have
instituted Homes of Rest at pleasant seaside resorts; at these
institutions, for a very moderate charge, under good conditions and
healthful surroundings, a thorough rest may be enjoyed. But officers are
perfectly free to make their own arrangements if they so desire.
How did Kate Lee take her holidays? What spirit moved her when the
pressure of responsibility for her particular charge was removed; when
professionalism was, for the moment, dropped? 'Tell me about her
holidays?' I asked of an old lieutenant.
She replied: 'I never knew Adjutant Lee take a holiday in the usual sense
of the word. If she furloughed in London, much of her time was spent in
visiting her converts; if at the seaside, her Bible notes accompanied her
thither, to be revised. A few years ago she and I spent a few days
together in the country. For months the Adjutant had been working at very
high pressure; she was too tired to read or write, but not too tired to
meditate upon God and His goodness. Those five days are a precious memory
to me because of the interchange of thought we enjoyed.'
So that officers may take their brief furlough without attracting
attention to themselves, or receiving unlimited calls for service, they
lay aside their uniform. The only 'private' clothing that Kate allowed
herself were two or three white blouses, a panama hat for summer, and a
blue felt for winter. These she wore, with her uniform blue serge skirt
and 'three-quarter' jacket. When on holiday, she often travelled in her
uniform so as to have more opportunities for blessing the people.
'Tell me about Kate's holidays,' I asked, still curious of Commandant
Lucy Lee. Into her eyes stole a faraway look, and after some hesitation,
came vague answers.
'Well,' she began, 'last year we had our holiday together, preparing the
Home of Rest at Ramsgate; the year before, Kate came to me in France. We
had a lovely time visiting the hospitals and camps together; but, of
course, it was not exactly a rest. And the year before that we spent them
fixing up this little home. We did enjoy that. And the year before
that?----'
Something else unsatisfactory to my way of thinking. 'But tell about a
nice restful holiday at the seaside, or in the country where, out in the
open, Kate just unwound and was refreshed for her work.'
'Well'--Lucy half closed her eyes and smiled wistfully--'somehow there
always seemed something to prevent plans like that. So long as we could
be together and have a quiet time, we were perfectly happy.'
Until the end of her life, a certain insularity clung to Kate Lee. She
gloried to fight in a crowd, but she could not rest with a crowd. When
set free from duty, all she longed for was some quiet corner with the
protecting love of her sister--that love which perfectly understands and
makes no demands--filling the days with tenderness. As her sister
suggests, something generally turned up that made arrangements for real
rest and change difficult to arrange. On the face of things, we might
judge that in this particular Kate Lee's usual common sense and good
management failed her; but to one who has seen behind the scenes, into
the hidden life of this remarkable woman, it would appear, rather, that
in the matter of rest, as in other affairs touching her temporal
happiness, God shut her up to Himself and taught her, first for her own
joy, and then through her life taught others the possibility of having
nothing, and yet possessing all things.
During one furlough, Kate determined to feel for herself the conditions
of the very poor. To this end she spent a night amongst the women who
frequent our Women's Shelter in the East End of London.
Dressing in rags, she went to the door, paid her pence for a bed, passed
into the long dormitory and, flattering herself that she was so well got
up that she would not attract attention, sat down beside her bunk. But
soon she discovered that she was the centre of discussion.
'Poor thing, she's not used to this,' mumbled an old woman, steadily
surveying her. Presently another, remarking that she would need some
supper, offered her a mug of tea; another, a piece of bread. She accepted
the bread, but said she was not thirsty, only tired, and would go to bed.
She proceeded to lie down with her clothes on. Now the women were sure
she had never been there before. 'Oo ever 'eard tell of agoing to bed wif
close on?' they remarked in loud whispers. But seeing the poor, tired
thing would not be advised, they pitied her, told her the most
comfortable way to lie, and left her alone.
The details of that long night remained clear in the Adjutant's memory.
The miserable seared days of these women were echoed in their sleep.
Groans; curses; snatches of song; angry or weary talk, with heavy
breathing troubled the night. Oh, the sorrows that follow in the wake of
sin; it pressed upon Kate Lee's heart until it felt like breaking.
With the first streak of dawn she rose, and noiselessly stealing out,
escaped into the street. She felt cold and sick. Standing at a corner,
she hailed a bus. The driver gave her a glance and drove on. She hailed
another and another, but none would stop. They did not want to carry such
as she. At last she managed to board a street car, and the passengers
eyed her as she crouched in a corner. She knew, perhaps for the first
time, what it really meant to be poor, and hungry, and despised. From
that morning she believed that the very poor suffer more in spirit than
in body, and she used her experience powerfully to plead their cause.
One of her furloughs was spent in Sunderland. That visit is still the
talk of the corps; it seemed that in those few days she laid a hand of
love upon all. And how full was Kate's heart of grateful joy when she
turned homeward. One of her most wonderful trophies, after fighting a
splendid fight for years, had slipped back into the depths of sin. She
found him desperately ill and wretched; drew him back to the Saviour; saw
him restored and comforted, and held his hands as he waded the river of
death, till his spirit reached the other side. Then she buried his mortal
remains.
Her longer furloughs, those occasioned by illness, found her the same
loving, watchful, ministering spirit, as when in health. After the
operation, which followed her farewell from the field, she spent a few
days in hospital. Suffering much, and unable to sleep, still she noticed
that one of the nurses wore a sad expression. Waiting until she came to
attend to her at midnight, she engaged her in conversation, and,
spiritual specialist that she was, got to the root of the nurse's
trouble. She had lost faith and her life was sadly clouded. At midnight.
while others slept, in that palace of pain, Kate led her nurse to the
Saviour.
Later, at the Officers Nursing Home at Highbury, London, she shared a
room with an officer from India, and delighted in this unexpected way to
come in closer touch with our missionary work. As health returned, the
two officers talked India to their hearts' content. The major from the
East confided her fears, that the little girls of the Industrial Home she
had just left would miss their Christmas this year. 'Do not worry about
it, they shall have their dollies,' replied the Adjutant. As soon as she
was able to write, she sent letters to many friends, begging for dressed
dolls in time to reach India by Christmas. Fifty dollies take some
getting, and the number was still incomplete when the Adjutant arrived at
the Bexhill Home of Rest. An officer who was resting in the Home writes:--
She was just a shadow, sweet, mostly silent, with a cheerful,
heartening smile. The officers saw in her the visible proof that
unrestrained service pays; that God gives good recompense for all
that is done for Him. The Adjutant's quiet enthusiasm roped in
ready assistance, and in good time, the dollies, beautifully dressed
and packed, with additional tiny surprises were ready. She could well
have been excused from such spending of time and effort, but it never
dawned on Kate Lee that she needed to be excused. She gave all the
time without effort, without knowing that she gave; to her it was
just life. To those officer-comrades who assisted her, however, she
was all gratitude. It was so splendid, she said, that they, being
weary, should volunteer to do this sewing for the little Indian
girls. She only saw their work, she never glimpsed her own, so
utterly unselfish was her spirit.
The Adjutant had hoped that her retirement from the battle's front might
only be for a short time; but the nasal trouble was deep-seated, and her
general health was affected. She needed a course of surgical treatment,
and it was arranged for her to rest in London.
Her experience somewhat resembled that of the apostle Philip, when he was
caught up from the joys of a revival and set down in a desert. It was an
experience difficult to understand, for her to retire, sick and wounded,
to the rear, when there was so much to be done at the front of the
battle, so much that she might do. But we have seen how she had fought
the battle out, and she entered 'the desert,' her heart at peace with
God, ready to accept any small opportunities for service that might come
her way.
She was too frail to attend meetings, but she took up her pen, and having
leisure for the first time in her Army career, revelled in the
opportunity of writing for our periodicals. Each paper received helpful
contributions. In a brief article which appeared anonymously in 'The
Young Soldier' we catch a glimpse of her happy spirit at this time:--
Sometimes I go to visit men who are in jail, and try to make them
see that Jesus cares for them though they have done wrong. Then
they talk to me. Some have told me about the mice in their cells.
When they feel lonely, the prisoners are glad to have the company
of even a little mouse. I am a prisoner just now, although I am
not made to stay in a cell; but when an Army officer is shut away
from all the poor people she loves and wants to help, it seems
very much like being in a prison; but I have some little friends
who come to cheer me. At least, I think they look upon me as
their friend, for they come to my window and peep in at me so
knowingly. Then I open the window very gently and they wait until
I put some scraps from my plate on the sill, and then they have
such a feast.
One of my little sparrow friends is partly blind. He only seems
able to see out of one eye. I guess he has been in some fight and
got the worst of it. It seems very bad for a bird to fight and
have to suffer; but then he did not know any better, and perhaps
he was fighting an enemy bird who tried to hurt his family. One
day, when I was watching my sparrow friends on the sill, to my
surprise I saw a little mouse pop out of the ivy which hangs
round my window. Very quickly he picked up a piece of fat that I
had put there for the sparrows, and then ran off so fast; and,
what do you think? he brought another little mouse with him. Now
they come along about the same time each evening, just when the
birds are having their supper. I know that mice like to sip
milk, and once I dropped just a little milk on the window-sill
for them. Oh, how they enjoyed it! You would have laughed to
see what they did after that; they sat up, and rubbing their
wet hands together, made what looked like a soapy lather, and
washed their faces.
Some small children make a fuss if only their lips are washed
after a meal; they do not seem to care how sticky they are; but
my mice do, they like to be clean and tidy. God's tiny creatures
teach us many lessons, and if you little ones are wise you will
try, as great King Solomon advised, to learn something from them
all.
The daughter of the house in which Kate Lee had taken rooms, attracted
her. Commandant Lucy Lee lent the girl the two volumes of 'Catherine
Booth: the Life of The Army Mother,' which she read with delight. In the
loving, eager spirit of this school girl, Ina, Kate detected something
which reminded her of her own early longings. All her spiritual
mother-love went out to Ina, and she led her into the Kingdom of God,
and then step by step along the way of the Cross and the highway of
holiness.
It was some time before permission was gained for the new convert to
become a Salvationist, but gradually the parents began to recognize the
beauty of a life wholly yielded to God, and became willing for their
daughter to go Kate Lee's way, and all the way. Kate did not make things
easy for this new recruit. When she saw the spiritual light burning
brightly in her soul, and the heavenly vision leading Ina to visit the
saloons, she encouraged her, and frail though she herself was, she
introduced her to the best way of doing this work. An anonymous article
written to 'The Warrior' shows how this corps cadet learned to fight:--
Ina's heart was filled with a great longing. She was tired, yet
not satisfied, at the end of a busy Sunday. Going to and from the
meetings, teaching a company of Juniors, seeking souls in the
prayer meetings, and yet how little she seemed to be doing when
the need was so great.
Then a voice said, 'Go to the saloons, and try and win some poor
drink-slave for Jesus.' How could she obey? She had never
darkened the doors of such places. Brought up in a sheltered
home, she had never seen the sad effects of drink, nor all the
miseries that follow in its train. But the call had come, and
months ago she had promised to follow where Jesus led. Securing
a bundle of 'War Crys,' Ina started off, trembling at the thought
of her venture. As she reached the first drink-shop with its
startling sign, 'The Tiger,' the idea of entering it seemed to
her agitated mind as impossible as to attack such a ferocious
beast. The suggestion of leaving such a task for an older and
more experienced comrade was natural; but no, the call had come;
there must be no retreat. So with a prayer for wisdom and
strength, she stumbled through the darkened entrance, and as the
door swung open, a blaze of light dazzled her eyes. Such a sight
met her fearful gaze! Men drinking, women huddled together
supping the stuff that is cursing the homes and blighting the
lives of little children. The whole atmosphere was repelling.
The tobacco smoke, the sickly smell of beer, and the coarse
jests that fell upon her ears; but her spirit rose to the
attack in the name of the Lord, as the boy David of the Bible
had faced the giant.
There was a sudden hush as the crowd looked at this uniformed
girl in an out-of-the-way district, and the murmur went round,
'Salvation Army.'
'Yes,' said the corps cadet, 'and I have come to ask you to
buy a "War Cry."'
'We don't want war, Miss; we've had too much already.'
'Yes,' answered the cadet, 'but the outcome of the Salvation War
means an everlasting peace.'
The word peace seemed to change the atmosphere. 'We know you're
all right,' a voice answered. 'You mean well. Here's a penny,
miss.' And then another, and yet other hands were stretched out
for a paper.
Whilst she was handing round the papers, Ina's heart was going
up to the Lord in prayer that each might be the means of
blessing, and even directing some soul into the way of life.
Then with a kindly smile and a hearty 'God bless you,' she
passed out and into another bar. Here sat a military man
drinking with his wife. 'Will you buy a "War Cry"'? she asked.
'No,' came the rough answer. Then turning to the wife, an appeal
was made. In a nervous, confused way the woman bent her head
low, and sought for a penny for the paper. The husband seemed
touched by his wife's action which may have called to mind their
better days. 'Well, miss, I couldn't buy a "War Cry," as I like
my beer, and I don't want to be a hypocrite.' But the cadet
told him he could read a 'War Cry' even if he did like his
beer, but she prayed in her heart that it might be the means of
making him hate his beer.
The man and woman read interest and love in the young face, and
as she left the place, with a 'Good-night, and God bless you,'
the words echoed after her.
Crossing the road with renewed energy, she was soon within the
doors of 'The Little Bear,' which was known as one of the
roughest houses of that quarter. Sitting in the corner was an
old man whom she asked to buy a 'War Cry.'
'Yes,' he answered warmly, 'after what you did after the air
raid last week, I should think I would.' Sitting huddled in
another corner was a poor, wretched 'drunk,' ragged, dirty,
and woe-begone. Seeing the Salvationist, and before she had
opportunity of offering him a 'War Cry,' he held out a penny
saying, 'Here, give us one; I like you people.' Before she
left he was made to feel that The Army loved such as he--and
who knows the result of that word?
'The Lion' had still to be attacked, but Ina had the value of
her experience in 'The Tiger' and 'The Bear,' and no longer
trembled. It was not all smooth sailing. We are not told if
the lions in Daniel's den lay down perfectly still, or whether
some came close to him, sniffing and snarling; but we are told
that they were powerless to hurt God's child. Even in this
vile place the devil could only go 'so far.' His servants
seemed forced to give respect to God's messenger in spite of
themselves.
The saloon-keeper's wife appeared on the scene and bought a
'Young Soldier.' Ina was quick to enrol her as a customer, and
now, week by week, 'The Young Soldier' is handed to her little
daughter with the prayer that her father and mother may be led
to God. As Ina enters the saloon bar there is a respectful
hush and the little missionary is able to sow the seed. A
soldier is accosted who is on leave from the trenches. He
tells of his troubles, of that terrible battle when he felt
his need of God. Before she leaves him a tear is seen, as he
promises to seek God. Many such incidents are happening week
by week as she goes on her round. Only eternity will reveal
the outcome of such efforts.
Is there another corps cadet who should take up this work?
Corps Cadet Ina writes of the influence of her spiritual mother upon her
life:--
After I had become a Salvationist and longed to work as she
had worked, she accompanied me to teach me the art of
successful 'saloon-raiding.' She made several bar frequenters
special cases. Sometimes she got them to give her their names,
and these went on our special prayer list. We had cases in
the saloons as well as the bar. If she could induce them to
give their addresses, she would take me with her to visit
them in their homes, or would keep in touch with them by
writing. We had several conversions.
As we walked from one place to another, she would impress
upon me the importance of keeping in the spirit. 'It is not
merely selling "The War Cry,"' she would say; 'it is the
grand opportunity of dropping words for God.'
As we see this warrior broken in health, undergoing continual treatment
of a very painful nature, yet week by week accompanying the corps cadet
to saloons in a district outlying the ordinary activities of an Army
corps, we realize the truth of The General's words:--
Her appetite grew by what it fed on. She loved sinners from the
beginning, but she went on until she could not live without
them. She was insatiable. Her soul could not be satisfied in
any other way. She was always working for souls, seeking souls,
knocking at the doors of mercy for souls, loving souls.