ABOUT a year after settling at Old Town Miss Slessor began to visit several inland villages, carrying a small stock of simple medicines and doing all she could to help the people, who soon learned to look upon her as a true friend. She spoke the language of the people like one of themselves, and seemed able to get into touch with them and win their love and trust in a way that few were able to do.
Many of her journeys had to be taken by boat; and as the news of her arrival at a village spread quickly, a crowd would sometimes be at the landing-place wanting to have wounds dressed, medicine for themselves or their friends given, cuts bandaged, or other help of some kind. Sometimes so many people wanted her help that she lost the tide, and had to remain on the bank of the river all night, her only shelter being a mud hut and her bed a heap of dirty rags.
But to her these busy days were golden opportunities of telling the sweet story of a Savior's love. The natives felt that she loved and understood them; they told her their troubles, and though she had to listen to many a sad story of cruelty and wrong, she had the joy of being able to tell them of the One who had said, "Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." (John 6:3737All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out. (John 6:37).)
One of her journeys was undertaken at the request of a friendly chief named Okon, who lived about thirty miles from Old Town, and who had often asked her to visit his village. To an African thirty miles seems a long journey, and for days before the time fixed for her to start there was a good deal of excitement in Old Town. Everyone was talking of the proposed journey; some advised her not to go, while others said that if she went so far away they were afraid she would not return to them.
The long-talked-of day came at last. At six o'clock in the evening word was sent that the royal canoe, which had been sent for her, was ready. It had been freshly painted in the brightest of red, blue and orange, and a small awning of mats had been put up to screen her from the great heat. As she made her way to the beach, followed by about half the people of Old Town, women and children were waiting at the entrance of every yard, all eager to embrace her, wish her a safe journey, and charge the rowers to look well after her, and see that no harm came to their "great, white mother.”
Deeply touched by the love shown to her by these simple, untaught people, with a smile and a word of thanks she stepped on board, and found places as best she could for four small children she could not well have left. The African is never in a hurry, and before her paddlers were ready to make a start it was quite dark. Snakes and alligators were, she knew, numerous on the banks of the river, but her heavenly Father was, she felt, watching over her, and all fear was taken away.
At last the command to start was given, and answered by the dip, dip of thirty-three paddles, and the canoe glided out into the middle of the river. The men kept time to the dip of their paddles by songs in her honor. Of one the refrain was, "Ma, our beautiful, beloved mother is on board. He! he! he!”
After ten hours' paddling Okon's village was reached, and she was carried ashore over golden sand into the yard, or compound, of the chief. His room was given up to her and the children, and she was treated with great respect. The weather was lovely, and the days on the whole were pleasant; but even to her, used as she had grown to African life, the nights were more than a little trying.
The chief had many wives, and as each thought it the height of good manners never to allow their guest to be alone for a moment, and to sit and sleep as close to her as they could possibly get, and as each coveted the honor of being "the fattest," the heat and odor sometimes made the nights almost unbearable. Lizards, too, played hide and seek among the mats that formed the roof, and sent down clouds of dust, while large rats practiced hop, skip and jump over the sleepers.
Much good seed was sown during the fortnight spent in Okon's village, and "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy," was a lesson that Mary hoped was not altogether lost upon some of the chiefs and headmen of his and neighboring villages.
The state canoe was again got ready for her return journey, and with the children she went on board. The evening meal of yams and herbs, cooked in palm oil, and carried on board smoking hot, had hardly been eaten, and the crimson and gold of a glorious sunset had hardly faded, when the wind began to rise, a mass of black clouds overcast the sky, and Mary knew that a stormy night was ahead.
The rain fell in torrents, and the river began to rise. The first rush of wind gripped the canoe and swung it round and round. The crew pulled their hardest, but in vain. The thunder pealed, the storm grew wilder, and the men lost heart, and gave way to almost childish fear. They could do nothing with the canoe. Seeing others in danger enabled Mary to forget her own fears, and she took command. In a few minutes order was restored, and the boat was brought close to the bush; and though it dashed up and down the foaming waters like a straw, the men held on to it like monkeys, and did their utmost to keep it from being upset.
The storm died away as suddenly as it had begun; but Mary was shaking with ague, and in a high fever. Before reaching Old Town she was so very ill that the paddlers feared she would die, and pulled their hardest. When the beach was reached she was quite unable to stand, and by her own desire was carried by a path through the bush to the mission house. Ill as she was, her first care was to light a fire, and after giving the children dry clothes and warm food, tuck them up comfortably in bed. Then she tottered to her bed, from which for some days she was not able to rise; and when she got up she was so weak and ill that after a short visit to Duke Town, during which she got worse instead of better, it was decided that she must take her furlough, which was almost due, and go to Scotland for a year. It was a great trial to' her to be laid aside from her loved work, but she saw that it was God's way for her and bowed to it.
When the time for sailing came, she was so weak that she had to be carried on board, and many thought she would not live to reach the land of her birth. With her was a twin child, Jeanie, whose life she had saved; but she dared not leave her, knowing, as she did only too well, that all the care and love she had given her would be wasted if she was allowed to fall into the hands of her relatives.