Kate Lee's last five years were as the life of a bird with a broken
wing. She struggled hard to do as she had ever done, but again and again
had to admit that her strength had failed. Following the operation which
closed her work on the field, she spent a year under drastic and painful
surgical treatment. When sufficient strength was recovered to enable her
to undertake an appointment under the eye of her doctor, she was promoted
to the rank of Staff-Captain and saw two brief periods of service at the
International Training Garrison in London, and a few months in the
Candidates' Department at Headquarters. Then another breakdown, and
another year's furlough.
Her health again improving, to her great delight the Staff-Captain was
re-appointed to the Training Garrison, this time as Secretary of Field
Training. Twelve months of golden service followed. She revelled in her
work amongst the women cadets, who, under her holy, gracious influence,
were trained in the arts of service on the field. She had a remarkable
influence upon the cadets. They knew her record, and accepted her because
of that; but coming close up to her they rejoiced in her as a teacher and
a leader because of what they found her to be. The cadets delighted in
her classes. She made the field work appear to be the most glorious
calling on earth. She inspired the weakest girl with hope that she might
rise and excel if she would be at pains to grip herself and make the most
of the talents and opportunities God had given her. She held herself up
as an example of what God can do with a timid girl who was so entirely
yielded to Him as never to say 'I can't.'
The air raids on London were very severe during that twelve months. One
Saturday night, Leyton suffered terribly, and on Sunday morning,
Staff-Captain Lee with a detachment of cadets arrived to minister to the
needs of the terrified, and in many cases, homeless people. The police at
once gave them right-of-way in the distressed area.
There were lodgings to arrange for people whose homes were in ruins,
letters and messages to send to anxious relatives, terrified little
children and the elder people to comfort and provide food for. The
Staff-Captain was in her glory. Her cheerful face, ringing voice, and
capable management had a remarkably soothing and steadying effect upon
the distressed people, while the cadets revelled in the service she set
them to perform.
To be included in a campaign led by Staff-Captain Lee was a great delight
to the cadets chosen for this privilege. This the twelve sergeants
[Footnote: Probation Officers selected to assist in the work of
Training.] enjoyed in the recess between the sessions. Southend, during
holiday season, was the place chosen for the attack. House-to-house
visitation, open-air 'bombardments' among the holiday crowds, and great
meetings in the citadel were included in the attack. The first to lead
the way of eighty seekers for pardon or purity was a little child,
unaccustomed to Salvation Army meetings. Dressed in white, with wistful,
earnest face, the little one had listened to the Staff-Captain's message,
and when the invitation was given she came forward, looking up to the
platform with inquiring, wondering eyes. Then at the penitent-form the
Staff-Captain pointed the little one to Jesus. She loved to rescue the
drunkard and criminal from the pit of sin, but to lead a little child to
the Saviour was the dearest joy of all to Kate Lee. The following day she
visited the child in her home; her parents both sought the Lord and
became Salvation soldiers.
The Staff-Captain's example amongst the cadets was more powerful than her
word. One tells of a week-end visit to Shepherd's Bush with a brigade,
and one of her local officers asking if she couldn't spare half a day to
visit his home, to which she replied, 'You know me better than to think
that is in my line.' She was away with her cadets by eight-thirty next
morning.
Many are the loving, tender memories of the cadets she trained. Those
who, by reason of long distance or for other reasons, could not go home
for Christmas, reckoned they were privileged to remain at the garrison
because of the tender love Staff-Captain Lee expended on them, whom she
feared might feel lonely and deprived at the Christmas season.
After recess came a transfer for a few months to The Army's Holiday Home
at Ramsgate, where it was hoped that the good air and freedom from heavy
responsibility would re-establish her health. The officers to whose
comfort she ministered during the holiday months, recall sweet memories
of her influence. One says:--
She was wonderfully gentle in spirit. But about her was a strength
and authority that made one feel all the while the presence of a
superior soul; that one must be at his best in her company. In
guiding the conversation at the table she showed a winsome
discretion; pleasant, bright topics were the order; she enjoyed
wholesome fun and encouraged it, but unkind criticism and sarcasm
could not live under her eyes.
Another writes of her sweetness to the little children who stayed in the
Home; how they remembered the stories she told them, and her quaint
little grace before meals, which they adopted for home use.
Receiving word to return to London and prepare for a foreign appointment,
she came on wings of joy. Her doctor gave her a reassuring report, and to
her friends she sent notes of pure happiness, telling that at last after
six years of hoping against hope, her doctor had given her a clean 'bill
of health' and she was well enough for service in any part of the world.
She had not the strength of former days for field work, but somewhere in
America, Australia, or Canada, she was to be appointed to training work.
How she would love the girls committed to her charge. How she would pray
over them, travail in spirit for them, until she saw the passion of
Christ born in them, and they go out to do the work that had been her
delight.
Her face glowed with joy; her eyes sparkled; her feet skipped; her hand
gripped as she told her comrades, 'I'm good for ten years yet.' She went
to her dressmaker with the palpitating joy of a bride-elect. She sorted
her papers; tore from their mounts and rolled the photos of her field
associations; chose a few of her favourite pictures and packed them. All
was ready, and waiting orders she spent the days at her desk, or visiting
her spiritual children. She appeared to be so well. Then, bronchitis,
which foggy weather always induced, laid her up for some days.
Her sister Lucy watched her with a strange misgiving at her heart. Kate
had always been of an independent disposition, had despised breakfast in
bed, but for a week or two she accepted this indulgence without
resistance. The least noise pained her, and the loving, mother-sister
crept about in soft slippers, pondering things in her heart but saying
nothing, until one morning she declared, 'Little dear, I think it's more
than a bottle of bronchitis medicine you need; I'm going to ask the
doctor to call.' Kate was resting somewhat listlessly, but at that word
she rose, the commander in every tone of her voice. 'Indeed, no! I'm not
very grand this morning, but not that. If you're late for the office, of
course you must give a reason, and no idea that I'm not fit must get
around.'
'But----' persisted Lucy.
'Well, you can go to-night if you still feel so,' compromised Kate, and
smiled her sister away.
The following day the doctor called, and gave an opinion that hastened a
specialist to the tiny cottage. He was a kind man and shrank from giving
a verdict that meant a full stop to this precious life. An immediate
operation was the only hope to save life, and this was arranged.
From the first, Kate Lee felt she was going "Home." She wrote to a
special friend, 'I have my appointment; very different from what I
expected; but all's well. I am in His will.' The comrade hastened to her
to learn the news, 'Where are you going?' she asked. 'To another country
altogether--to Heaven,' she replied.
There was a wondrous peacefulness about the little home as those two
gentle women made preparations for the hospital.
Kate's last day at home was spent chatting with her sister, writing
letters settling personal affairs, and resting.
Down to the very brink of the River she wrestled for souls. The last
letter she wrote that day was to Lieut.-Colonel Mary Bennett, of the
Women's Social Work, in London, whose interests she had enlisted in a
woman addicted to drugs. She writes, 'I am feeling concerned about her. I
meant to do my part fully in helping you, and am grieved to fail you in
this way.' Then she mentions her sudden illness and continues on the
subject of self-denial (Self-Denial Week was to begin the following
Saturday),' I was trying to give you a little surprise, and, as I have no
special target this year, felt I would like to do a little for your home.
As this has come it will not be much I am afraid, but I have three pounds
for you which we have both collected. My sister will bring it over.' Her
personal Self-Denial gift had gone to give another corps a lift. She was
full of hope that the corps were having a good Sunday.
The morning of her last day at home, the corps cadet whom she had come to
call 'my little Leff,' was with her. She writes:--
I will never forget that talk; she went over the names of her dear,
saved drunkards, one by one, giving me messages for some I would see.
She urged me to continue praying for them, if the Lord called her
Home. She said it would be a luxury to slip away; then, sitting up in
bed and looking right into my face, she said, 'Little Leff, _those
are the people I want you to live for. You do, and you will love them,
won't you?_' With the tears running down my face, I promised that
I would do so.
A few days under observation at the Mildmay Hospital, to which she was
admitted and cared for with much tenderness not only for Christ's sake,
as is the purpose of that excellent institution towards sufferers, but
for her work's sake, then came the operation. The warrior spirit entered
into fires of suffering that she had not hitherto felt; but while the
flesh shrank, her faith triumphed. Her sister, who had hovered about her
bed during the week, spent the Sunday with her. Even then, those women
held themselves at attention at the call to service, and, at the request
of the Sister of the ward Kate occupied before the operation, Commandant
Lucy left her sister's side and conducted a service with the patients.
Kate felt that she had not much longer to live, and reaching for her
writing pad and pen, she wrote a last message of love for her sister and
brother. Her sister found the letters in her blotter after Kate had 'gone
home.' To her she wrote:--
I am writing this line in case I do not see your dear face again, as
I want you to have a last message of love. It will not be long until
we meet again, and you can think of me watching for you. I do not
want to leave you all alone, but the thought that to-morrow I may
see His face thrills my soul, and it would be easy to slip away. I
am very tired, but I want to finish my course, and am quite willing
to face the struggle again if it is His will.... Now, my own
treasure, I cannot write more, but must say one great big thank you
for all you have done for me, and for all the love you have lavished
upon me.
The next morning when Lucy saw Kate again, she was sure that soon her
precious sister would see the King in His beauty. What the separation
would mean to her no one would fully know; but, as ever, forgetful of
herself, she sat beside her, smiled and said brightly, 'Little love, if
you see mother before I do, tell her I'm coming.' Back came Kate's ready
smile, and she replied, 'Rather!' so naturally that for a moment it
seemed impossible that she was on the borderland of earth.
But soon the brave spirit became troubled. 'What is it, little love?'
asked Lucy.
'Oh, the people, the people! _I haven't the heart to send them
away_.' moaned Kate. Her mind was wandering, and the ruling passion of
her life, in death was strong upon her. She was out amongst the crowds,
seeing their sins and their sorrows, and their needs, and in a dim way
was conscious that she no longer had power to serve them.
'Darling, do not worry any more; you have loved them and sought them all
these years, and now you're going to rest,' said Lucy. The words reached
her ears, but she shook her head, _'I haven't the heart to send them
away,'_ she moaned.
Faithful, brave little follower of The Army's Founder, in life; even to
her deathbed there came an echo from his. In his blindness, William Booth
had mourned to his daughter, 'Oh, the sins, the sins of the people!' He
went into eternity, sighing for the sins and sorrows of the world.
But further back than the human, we can trace this spirit. The Saviour,
looking upon a multitude of needy souls, is saying, _'I have compassion
on the multitude; I cannot send them away.'_ William Booth caught the
spirit of Christ; he lived it; breathed it into thousands of his
followers, of whom there has not fought and triumphed in life and death a
truer saint and soldier than Kate Lee, the Angel Adjutant.
We conclude this sketch of her career with some words of General Bramwell
Booth: 'I pray that many of those who knew her, and of those who did not
know her,' he says, 'may be stirred up by the testimony of her life and
death to walk in the same path, and so glorify God and bless their
fellows.'