  The night was gloomy and rain threatened, yet there were many boys and girls on Queen Street in Dundee. They were doing nothing in particular; they did not seem to be on their way anywhere; they were simply hanging about. Opening into Queen Street were courts called "pends" or "closes." These were not streets, for they were very narrow, or thoroughfares, because they led nowhere; they were merely vestibules to tall buildings where human beings lived huddled together like animals. They were paved with rough stones, and in order to reach the spiral staircase on the outside of the old tenements one had to step through masses of filth. Even so, these boys and girls found the pend and the gateway into the street and the street itself a pleasant change from the crowded rooms in which they lived. All day they worked in factories, and in the evening they naturally tried to find entertainment. This evening they were in a good humor, and it was very plain that they were awaiting some "We'll get her!" said a rough voice. "Just wait till she comes to her prayer-meeting!" So it was not for a circus parade they were watching! "She wants to go out to Africa to teach black people!" said another, and there were shrieks of laughter as though this were the strangest desire ever heard of. "Black people!" repeated the largest boy of all. "I'll black her eye." As he spoke he swung a heavy object at the end of a string. It looked like a piece of lead and was a dangerous weapon. At this moment a figure appeared at the corner and advanced toward the group. "She's coming!" shouted a girl. "She's coming!" There was delighted laughter and a sudden stooping to the earth. There were loose stones on Queen Street and there was also mud, both soft, sticky mud and hard, dried mud. "We'll make her let us alone." "I'm a good shot." A foe worthy of these many fierce opponents should have been tall and strong and well-armed, but the approaching figure was that of a girl. Her name was Mary Slessor; she was fourteen years old and short for her age. She had not had a chance to grow to her full height because she got up at five o'clock in the morning, helped her mother until she went to the factory at six, worked until six in the evening, and then helped her mother until a late bedtime. When she had a spare moment she read, even propping her book up on her loom as the great missionary Livingstone had done when he was a factory boy. The shouts of the boys and girls grew louder. "Hi, Mary Slessor!" "Hit her!" "You let us alone, or we'll do for you!" The little figure came straight on. "We're not going to come to your meetings!" shouted a loud voice. "We don't care for your meetings!" yelled another. "You clear right out of here!" howled a third. Still the little figure advanced. In answer to this defiance there was a moment's silence. Then the largest boy stepped out with his weight tied to a cord in his hand. "All right," he said. "Then look out for your head!" His companions moved back out of danger, and he began to swing the lead round and round. "You can't frighten me," said Mary. "I'm going to go to the meetings and I'm going to invite you to the meetings. You can't stop me." She stood perfectly still. The tall boy moved nearer. He lifted his arm and began to swing the piece of lead round and round in the air. It passed within six inches of Mary's face; another swing, and it was within four inches. Now it touched a flying tendril of her hair. Another swing and it might kill her. But the boy dropped his arm and let the cruel weapon fall. For the first time in his unruly life he had been beaten—not by force, but by love. "Let her alone," he said gruffly. "She's game." A little color came into Mary's pale cheeks. Most persons would have been satisfied with this victory, but Mary was not. She boldly repeated "Will you come to my meeting?" she asked. The leader put both hands into his pockets. "Well, this beats me!" he said. His companions expected that now Mary Slessor's hour had come. Instead, he turned on them furiously. "Go on in!" he commanded, and into the meeting filed the whole party. It was not this time that Mary was afraid. In far-off Calabar in Africa in the deep woods there was a stir. Dawn was not yet complete, though there was a grayish light over everything and a pink glow in the eastern sky. The trees were tall, the foliage dark, and here and there were gorgeous flowers. Now and then a parrot or a monkey chattered high up on the branches. Near by flowed a beautiful stream, overshadowed by thick foliage and edged by blooming water-lilies. So far everything was beautiful. But in the deep thickets there were sounds which were not beautiful, the angry shouts of harsh, human voices. Advancing through the bushes were many black men, wearing almost no clothing, but armed to the teeth. They carried knives in their belts and spears and guns in their hands. Suddenly they heard a sound of advancing footsteps and a shrill call. They tightened their grasp on their weapons. Was the enemy at hand? Then up and at him! But it was not an enemy; the voice was not that of a warrior; it was that of a woman. It was not even that of a woman of Okoyong; it was that of a white woman. "Stop!" it called, in the language of the Okoyong. "Stop! Listen to me!" There came into view a little woman who looked, in spite of the passing of many years, like the girl who had defied the boys in Queen Street. She was not much taller and certainly no stouter. Her hair was bobbed like a boy's, and this made her look much as she had long ago. It was undoubtedly Mary Slessor. She advanced rapidly, running over the ground in bare feet. One could not keep one's shoes dry in the damp grass, and it was better to go unshod. A West Coast African Village Living in a native mud hut, eating the same sort of food, and sharing their every-day life, Mary Slessor became the beloved "White Queen of Okoyong." "Ma is coming!" said a dozen angry voices. "She needn't think she can stop us with any of her peace talk!" "Disgrace has been put upon us," said another. "We must have vengeance." The warriors shook their heads impatiently. They would listen, but they would not obey. The little figure came nearer and nearer and stood at last regarding them. Calabar was not only one of the most beautiful places in the world, it was one of the most terrible. Just as into the pends and closes of Dundee had crowded all the poor and wretched beings who could not afford to live elsewhere, so into Calabar had drifted the most ignorant, the most degraded, the most persecuted of the black men on the West Coast. On one side the water prevented them from going farther; not far away from the other side was the desert. From the sea came a terrible enemy, the slave-trader, who seized thousands of victims and carried them away to die in misery in his ships or to serve hard masters in distant lands. The country was under the control of England, but no white men penetrated it to face death from starvation, fever, or the bullet or poisoned arrow or spear-tip of a warrior. Missionaries try to speak as kindly as possible Most fierce and terrible of all the tribes and most dangerous to the white man were the Okoyong whose watchword seemed to be "war." They fought among themselves in their own villages and in various tribes; but most of all they fought the surrounding nations. The life of a warrior from Calabar was not worth an instant's purchase if he appeared on their borders. But into this country Mary Slessor had gone, and here she was at dawn, alone, facing a tribe of angry men—not only facing them, but giving them orders. She had left Scotland and had lived for a while in the mission school at Duke Town near the coast where all was orderly, and there had learned the language. Now she lived in a mud She asked at last to be sent to Okoyong, and here she was alone, so far as white companionship was concerned, but with many black companions. She had even adopted a family, all of them black. One was a little girl, brought to her by a white trader. "I found this tiny baby thing in the bush," he said. "It is a twin, and the other is dead." Mary called the baby Janie for her sister in Scotland. Finally she had seven, who would otherwise have died and whom she nursed and taught and trained. The Okoyong, who would not have endured the presence of a man, tolerated her. She lived at first in the king's hut, where they were able to watch her day and night. They believed that But Mary Slessor was not one to countenance evil, or to step aside from a path which she had set for herself. When she saw prisoners about to be tortured, not as punishment, but merely as a test of their innocence, she protested and argued and scolded until the chief reconsidered. When human sacrifices were to be offered after the death of a young chief, she grew frantic; she mocked and commanded and even slept beside the prisoners so that they should not be murdered, and she helped them escape. She arbitrated quarrels, she proved the witch-doctors to be impostors. Day in and day out she preached of a Kingdom of Love until the natives began to understand what it would be to live at peace with their fellows, to be free from fear and superstition, and to have hope in God. The government sent no consul into the district but appointed Mary Slessor to be consul, and she sat in distant villages and heard disputes and debated with great chiefs about proper punishment for criminals, about trade, and about matters in dispute between the natives Now she was growing old; her little body was racked by ague; she was often so tired that she did not see how she could live, but she saw her work prospering. It was necessary for her to have a rest, and she was about to leave. She was packing her few belongings and the river steamer was almost at hand. But at the last minute there came to her a message. It was a secret; she did not know who brought it. A chief had been injured by a man from another tribe, and his own tribesmen were on their way to avenge him. She did not hesitate for an instant, unless it was to look at a picture which hung on the wall of her little hut. It was the likeness of a young man, the boy who had once defied her in Queen Street in Dundee and had flung his leaden weight round her head. From the moment when he had entered her meeting he had led a better life, and he had sent her his picture and that of his wife and children to show her how prosperous they were. With the recollection of that courageous stand in her mind, she set out on her journey. She might miss the boat and not get home, but that made no difference. How could she rest if she knew that behind her all her work was being undone? "They will kill you." "They are mad, they will shoot wildly. If you are not assassinated, you will be shot by accident." "They will insult you in their drunken rage." But Mary shook her head and started, a man going before her beating a drum to show that a free protected person was coming. She marched straight to the village and there the warriors deceived her. They were going to start out in the morning, but they said they would call her and she might go with them. In the morning they called her as they had promised, but not until they were ready to start. By the time she had quickly sprung up from the earth where she was sleeping, the warriors were off. They showed great stupidity, however, when they believed that they could get rid of Mary Slessor in this fashion. A hundred yards away she caught up to them and now she stood calling to them like the sign-post which warns of the danger of the rushing train, "Stop! Listen!" This danger was worse than that threatened by any rushing train. They began to howl and yell. Mary looked at them scornfully. She knew how to talk to them. To their amazement, she walked straight through their ranks and on to the village where the enemy was drawn up in battle array. "I salute you," she said. The enemy were too much astonished and enraged to answer. "Where are your manners?" she said chidingly. She began to smile and joke. At once an old man stepped out and knelt down at her feet. Here was one person at least with manners. "Once when I was sick you came to see me and healed me. This is a foolish quarrel. We beg you to make peace for us." If Mary had been presented with a million dollars, she wouldn't have been so happy. "You bring three men," she commanded, "and three men will come from the other side, and we will have a palaver." For hours she listened to their story; she coaxed them and commanded them and pleaded with them and laughed at them. In the end she conquered, and they made peace. Then she said a few simple words about her Saviour and went back over the dark, lonely forest path. The boat had gone, but messengers were waiting to take her down the river in a canoe. The afternoon was pleasant and at Duke Town, along the coast of Calabar, there was a stir which betokened some unusual event. The chief missionary, Mr. MacGregor, was moving about busily, now in the missionary buildings, now in his own house. The Governor General and the Commissioner sat on their porches looking out as though they were watching for something or somebody, or waiting for something to begin. When Europeans met, they stopped and said a joking word to one another. It was more than thirty years since Mary Slessor had landed in Duke Town, and there were many changes. The government buildings were larger and finer, the mission buildings had increased in number and size, and there were many other improvements. England had begun to busy herself with the affairs of her colony, and the Church at home was listening to the desperate call from Calabar. Presently a long line of boys appeared from the Boys' School and filed into the hall of the mission buildings. Then there came an equally long file from the Girls' School. At once the chief missionary and the other missionaries and the Governor General and the Commissioner They took their assigned places on the platform and the benches and sat waiting. They watched the door even as the naughty boys and girls had looked up the street in Dundee, and as the Okoyong chiefs had looked out from between the branches. "She's coming!" said a whisper. The whisper passed all along the benches. "She's coming! She's coming!" A little figure advanced to the platform, hesitated, and moved on, assisted by firm and tender hands, and urged by laughing voices. "Now, come along, Ma! Are you afraid, Ma?" It must be confessed that now at last Mary Slessor was afraid; afraid of all these eyes, though she was accustomed to facing thousands of eyes set in black faces; afraid of all these smiles, though she was accustomed to friendliness. Most of all, she was afraid of what was being said. Almost before she was seated, the Commissioner began to speak. "Miss Slessor, I have in my hand a box which contains a silver badge of the Order of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem in England, of which the King is the sovereign head. This badge is conferred only on persons professing Mary not only was afraid, but she looked afraid. Her head bent lower and lower, her hands were lifted to hide her face. But at last she had to rise and have the medal pinned on her shoulder. She stood for a moment, trembling; then she looked down at the pleased, attentive faces. She saw herself a little girl in Scotland and then a woman in Africa, and once again she grew calm and brave and even a little ashamed of her embarrassment. The credit for what she had done was not hers, she would tell where it belonged; then she would feel comfortable. "If I have done anything in my life," she said, "it has been easy, because the Master has gone before." Then she sat down neither proud nor afraid, but content. |
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