Mary Slessor of Calabar: Pioneer Missionary | Page 6

time. The reaction on her character, however, was
not all evil; suffering in the innocent has its compensations. It deepened
her sympathy and pity for others. It made her the fierce champion of
little children, and the refuge of the weak and oppressed. It prepared
her also for the task of combating the trade in spirits on the West Coast,
and for dealing with the drunken tribes amongst whom she came to
dwell. Her experience then was, indeed, the beginning of her training
for the work she had to accomplish in the future....
The father died, and the strain was removed, and Mary became the
chief support of the home. Those who knew her then state that her life
was one long act of self-denial; all her own inclinations and interests
were surrendered for the sake of the family, and she was content with
bare necessaries so long as they were provided for.

IV. TAMING THE ROUGHS
In her church work she continued to find the little distraction from toil
which gave life its savour. She began to attend the Sabbath Morning
Fellowship and week-night prayer meetings. She also taught a class of
"lovable lassies" in the Sabbath School--"I had the impudence of
ignorance then in special degree surely" was her mature comment on
this--and became a distributor of the Monthly Visitor. Despite the
weary hours in the factory, and a long walk to and from the church, she

was never absent from any of the services or meetings. "We would as
soon have thought of going to the moon as of being absent from a
service," she wrote shortly before she died. "And we throve very well
on it too. How often, when lying awake at night, my time for thinking,
do I go back to those wonderful days!"
She owed much to her association with the Church, but more to her
Bible. Once a girl asked her for something to read, and she handed her
the Book saying, "Take that; it has made me a changed lassie." The
study of it was less a duty than a joy; it was like reading a message
addressed specially to herself, containing news of surpassing personal
interest and import. God was very real to her. To think that behind all
the strain and struggle and show of the world there was a Personality,
not a thought or a dream, not something she could not tell what, in
spaces she knew not where, but One who was actual and close to her,
overflowing with love and compassion, and ready to listen to her, and
to heal and guide and strengthen her--it was marvellous. She wished to
know all He had to tell her, in order that she might rule her conduct
according to His will. Most of all it was the story of Christ that she
pored over and thought about. His Divine majesty, the beauty and grace
of His life, the pathos of His death on the Cross, affected her
inexpressibly. But it was His love, so strong, so tender, so pitiful, that
won her heart and devotion and filled her with a happiness and peace
that suffused her inner life like sunshine. In return she loved Him with
a love so intense that it was often a pain. She felt that she could not do
enough for one who had done so much for her. As the years passed she
surrendered herself more and more to His influence, and was ready for
any duty she was called upon to do for Him, no matter how humble or
exacting it might be. It was this passion of love and gratitude, this
abandonment of self, this longing for service, that carried her into her
life-work.
Wishart Church stood in the midst of slums. Pends, or arched passages,
led from the Cowgate into tall tenements with outside spiral stairs
which opened upon a maze of landings and homes. Out of these sunless
rookeries tides of young life poured by night and day, and spread over
the neighbouring streets in undisciplined freedom. Mary's heart often
ached for these boys and girls, whom she loved in spite of all their
roughness; and when a mission was determined on, and a room was

taken at 6 Queen Street--a small side thoroughfare nearly opposite
Quarry Pend, one of the worst of the alleys--she volunteered as a
teacher. And so began a second period of stem training which was to
serve her well in the years to come. The wilder spirits made sport of the
meetings and endeavoured to wreck them. "That little room," she wrote,
"was full of romantic experiences." There was danger outside when the
staff separated, and she recalled how several of the older men
surrounded the "smaller individuals" when they faced the storm. One of