A MISSION OF MERCY
It has long ago been clear to the sympathetic reader that Mrs. Lewis
was a woman of exceptional determination and heroic courage. In the
late spring of 1904 occurred a series of events in which, according to
the judgment of her friends, these qualities were revealed in supreme
degree. A cry of distress came from San Salvador, which her loyal and
affectionate heart interpreted as imperious, and in one of the wildest
rainy seasons, when natives would only take the round under compulsion,
she made the journey of something like one hundred miles _alone_.
In April, 1902, the Rev. Arthur Mayo joined the Mission at Matadi, and
a few months later passed on to San Salvador, his destined sphere of
service. In May, 1903, he went down to Matadi to meet Miss Sygrave, who
had come out from England to be his wife. They were married on May 17th,
and shortly afterwards Mr. Mayo resumed his work in San Salvador, happily
supported by his wife, who had been specially trained as a teacher. At
this time Mr. and Mrs. Graham and Mr. Phillips were also in San Salvador,
but the Grahams left for England in September, and Mr. Phillips for
Matadi before Christmas. Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Wooding had arrived,
and the two missionaries and their wives maintained the service of the
station with no more than the usual vicissitudes until, in March, 1904,
Mr. Wooding was stricken down by serious fever. The case was obstinate
and assumed a very grave aspect. It happened that the Portuguese Resident
was ill at the same time, so a messenger was despatched to Matadi
requesting advice from the doctor there.
A few days later news arrived that the messenger had been killed by
an elephant, and under this final blow Mr. Mayo, overstrained by work
and anxiety for his colleague, staggered and went down. When the fatal
message was delivered he said, “I am ill, too,” and went to bed. So the
two wives were occupied in nursing their sick husbands, for Mr. Wooding’s
obstinate fever still burned. For fourteen nights Mrs. Mayo sat up with
her husband. Happily Nlekai and Vita were on the spot and rendered good
service, Nlekai’s ministry being notably gentle, skilled, and welcome. As
Mr. Mayo’s case grew graver, Mr. Wooding, still in fever, dragged himself
from his bed to render assistance to his colleague, whose case was
heavier than his own. The trouble deepened. Mr. Mayo’s temperature rose
to 106°·8, and he fell into delirium. It was obvious that unless relief
came there would be general collapse; and in the extremity, not without
compunction, for it was one of the worst and deadliest of Congo seasons,
Mr. Wooding wrote to Kibokolo begging Mr. and Mrs. Lewis to come over and
help.
Now at this time Mr. and Mrs. Bowskill were staying at Kibokolo, and Mrs.
Bowskill was in delicate health. It was at once felt impossible that she
and her husband, new to the place and people, should be left alone in
that wild region. Therefore Mr. or Mrs. Lewis must needs go alone. Of
course Mr. Lewis wished to go; but his wife said, “No, this is a woman’s
business. Whatever happens to poor Mr. Mayo, Mrs. Mayo will be at the end
of her tether. She will want a woman’s comfort and a woman’s nursing. I
must go.” And when Mrs. Lewis said “I must,” her friends knew that they
were confronted by finality, and she had her way.
Her little caravan was hurriedly loaded, and on Sunday afternoon, just
twenty-four hours after receiving the summons, she started on her
venturesome journey. Mr. Lewis accompanied her some few miles on her way;
and the parting would not be without emotion, as during the seventeen
years of her Congo life she had never been separated from her husband for
more than the briefest period of time.
By one of those mischances which every biographer has to deplore, the
letter in which she wrote a more or less detailed account of her journey
has been lost, and I can only supply the brief records of her diary. In
following these the reader will remember that it was the season of heavy
rains and wild tempests; rivers were in flood; rank grass from twelve
to twenty feet high overhung and obstructed the track in many parts;
the track stretched to a hundred miles, and in covering it this frail
Englishwoman, worn with many years of strenuous African life, but for
her rough, dispirited, apprehensive native carriers, was alone.
“Saturday, April 16th.—Just at half-past one, as we were ready for
dinner, two men arrived from Congo (San Salvador) with letter from Mr.
Wooding begging for help. Mr. Mayo very ill and all knocked up. Decided
that I should go. Very busy all afternoon packing.”
“Sunday, 17th.—Breakfast very late. All morning arranging things for
road, and for those left behind. Started at 1.45. Tom came to Nzinda.
Road very bad in parts; slippery and grass trying. Arrived at Mbawa at 5
p.m. After ‘chop’ and prayers, and writing a few lines to Tom and Bessie,
went to bed early.”
“Monday, 18th.—Wanted sleep so badly last night but was kept awake by
a wretched biti (a native musical instrument) till very late. Rain all
night; storm early this morning; rain continuing till 10.30. Headache;
took phenacetin; read ‘Weir of Hermeston’ a little. This afternoon sent
forward to prospect, but Lupunde (river) impassable, so had to stay the
whole day. Awfully tedious. A funeral here. Wrote a little to Tom. After
prayers early to bed.”
“Tuesday, 19th.—Started at 6.50; very bad road; did not get to Nkamba
till 11.50. Started again at 1.40. Made very quick march to Tadi,
arriving at 3.57. Wrote to Tom. At Nkamba, mail-man overtook us. Letters
from Tom; all well.”
“Wednesday, 20th.—Got to Nkanka to lunch—Fwese to sleep, arriving at
about 3.35. All very wet when we got in. Had to change, &c. No harm, but
awkward for to-morrow.”
“Thursday, 21st.—First dried all things. Started at 10.30. Did not reach
Nkwimba (Zeka Town) till 2.45. Hesitated about going on, but big storm of
rain compelled us to stay. Wrote up diary and letters to Tom. Cannot get
a fowl.”
“Friday, 22nd.—Started at 8.5. Found no town at Zamba, so ‘chopped’ by
stream and went on. Caught in big storm; arrived at Mwinga 6.45, awfully
tired. Found Vita with some clothes, and ‘chop,’ and note from Woodings.
Got into bed, after ‘chop,’ as soon as possible.”
“Saturday, 23rd.—Started at 7.40. ‘Chopped’ at Kintina. Weather very
bad. _Had to wade Luanza [river]._ Arrived at San Salvador about 5 p.m.
Very kind welcome. Mrs. Mayo keeping up well. Wrote to Tom. Up very late
talking.”
* * * * *
On the day before her arrival, Mrs. Lewis had learned from Vita at Mwinga
that she was too late to aid in nursing Mr. Mayo. He had passed away on
Wednesday, the 20th, when she was but half-way on her journey of mercy.
Of course she was much exhausted when she reached San Salvador, though
perhaps her exhaustion was most intense on the Friday, when she confesses
herself to be “awfully tired.” The much-abused word “awfully” is perhaps
used legitimately in this case, for she admitted afterwards to Mrs.
Graham that there were moments in that day during which she thought she
would die before she got through. Her carriers too were so utterly spent
that they sank down on the verandah of Mr. Wooding’s house and remained
for hours without moving.
For some days Mrs. Mayo kept up, despite the terrific strain to which
she had been subjected, and Mrs. Lewis was free to throw herself into
the work of the Mission, which she did with keenest interest. Difficult
palavers taxed her patience and her wisdom. Inquirers were seen, medicine
given out, and on the Sunday, eight days after her arrival, the diary
records:—
“I took the women’s meeting; a crowd; and they all seemed pleased to see
me.”
Mrs. Mayo (now Mrs. Kirkland)—to whom I am indebted for many of the
facts embodied in the remainder of this chapter, and for some already
recorded—informs me that this women’s meeting was quite a memorable
gathering. The demonstrations of respect and affection on the part of
the audience were most touching. These black women clung about their
friend and former teacher, and received her words with enthusiasm and
with meekness. And the meekness was as great a tribute as the enthusiasm.
For Mrs. Lewis had heard that some of them were not “walking worthily,”
and though she spoke the truth to them in love, she spoke the truth
unsparingly, giving them a sound and wholesome lecture. On the same day
the thing foreseen happened, and Mrs. Mayo went down with fever. For
several days Mrs. Lewis was occupied in nursing her friend. Then Mrs.
Wooding became ill and there was more nursing.
It was early apparent to Mrs. Lewis that Mrs. Mayo ought to start for
England without delay, and, as other escort was not available, she
determined herself to take her to Matadi. The caravan was loaded, and on
Monday, May 16th, the two ladies started for the coast. On the second day
out they met Diamanama with mails, who said that the Lunda river, which
lay immediately before them, was impassable for carriers.
That evening their plight was pitiable. Lodged in a hut just big enough
to accommodate their two camp-beds, Mrs. Mayo weak from fever, Mrs. Lewis
aware that her turn was coming, heavy rain blown into their miserable
shelter by a wild wind, a flooded river awaiting them on the morrow, too
dispirited for conversation, they sat down each on her camp-bed, and “had
a good long cry.” Though the pity of God, Who knoweth our frame, was
not withheld from them, the sky gave no hint of it; for with the night
came a fierce tropical thunderstorm. When at last they got to sleep they
were attacked by driver ants, and had to make a hasty midnight flitting.
Another poor shelter was procured, and in the morning they went down to
see the Lunda. In truth they did not see it. The river had overflowed
its banks, and before they had got through the long grass, to its normal
margin, they were in deepening water. A colloquy with the head-carrier
ensued. Mrs. Lewis stoutly said, “We will go across.” The laconic and
conclusive answer was: “But your boxes will not.” Human will is a mystic
and incalculable force, and often achieves miracles; but when its
immediate organ is the frail body of an exhausted woman, it cannot lift
the dead weight of a passively resistant caravan. There was but one thing
to be done. They retraced their steps to San Salvador.
I give the record of Mrs. Lewis’s diary for several days:—
“Thursday, May 19th.—Arrived back at San Salvador this evening awfully
tired.
“Friday, 20th.—Feeling very queer.
“Saturday, 21st.—In bed with fever, bad.
“Sunday, 22nd.—In bed with fever, rather bad. Bessie (Mrs. Mayo) is
nursing me.
“Monday, 23rd.—Sat up to-day. Normal all day.
“Tuesday, 24th.—Loaded and arranged caravan this morning. Feeling a bit
queer, but much better.
“Wednesday, 25th.—Started, went to Kintina.”
A few words of comment upon these entries are perhaps called for. The
reader will wonder why Mrs. Lewis, just up from fever, made so much haste
to depart upon the long, trying journey to Kibokolo. The cause of her
haste was her concern for Mrs. Mayo. She felt that her young friend must
not be allowed to remain a day longer than was absolutely necessary amid
the scenes of her recent suffering and sorrow. Her nerves were perilously
overstrained; she could not sleep, and Mrs. Lewis judged that the journey
to Kibokolo, with its inevitable hardships, would be far preferable to
a prolonged stay in San Salvador. In her own home, too, she would be
naturally able to give, with fuller freedom and competency, the careful,
sympathetic treatment which the case required. So on the day after her
recovery from fever, and while still “feeling a bit queer,” Mrs. Lewis
“loaded and arranged the caravan.” And these words are to be taken
literally. It was a man’s job, but masculine help being unavailable at
the moment, in her determination to get away quickly Mrs. Lewis did it
herself.
From Wednesday, May 25th, to Tuesday, 31st, the diary is blank. The
journey yielded no incidents of special moment. The usual discomforts
were endured, aggravated by the inexperience of the hammock bearers. On
May 31st occurs this entry:—
“Met Tom on the Nyanza. All came in together this afternoon. ‘Chopped’ at
Bowskills.”
Mr. Lewis was returning from a vain journey to Tumba. When Mrs. Lewis was
starting from San Salvador to escort Mrs. Mayo to the coast, she wrote to
her husband, informing him of her project, saying also that in returning
she purposed to take the train from Matadi to Tumba, and asking him to
meet her there and accompany her home. Turned back from the flooded
Lunda, she wrote again, hoping to be able to prevent his setting out. The
second message arrived too late.
The question naturally arises: If Mrs. Lewis could not consent to her
husband’s leaving Kibokolo to accompany her to San Salvador, how was
it she felt able to ask him to meet her at Tumba? One can only surmise
either that less anxious conditions at home made his short absence
feasible, or that she foresaw that her own probable exhaustion would make
his escort necessary, even at some risk.
A fortnight later Mr. John Pinnock arrived at Kibokolo, and took Mrs.
Mayo to the coast, whence she sailed for England. At home her health and
vigour were happily restored. Later, she was married to Mr. Kirkland,
with whom she has since rendered excellent service to the Mission in the
Congo region.
It goes without saying that the woman who did and dared so much for her
in time of trouble, is remembered by Mrs. Kirkland with intense and
reverent affection. But it is important to add that she regards her
lamented and devoted friend as an ideal missionary, whose wisdom and
efficiency were as great as her affectionate devotion. Moreover, Mrs.
Kirkland likes to think that she is not the only woman missionary on the
Congo who endeavours to prosecute her work according to the plans and
methods of one whose life was a model and whose memory is an inspiration.