White Queen of the Cannibals | Page 5

to cross a field if a cow was in it. She
longed to go to Africa.
"Why don't I become a missionary?" Mary asked herself as she worked
the looms in the factory. "Can I leave my home? Does Mother still need
my help? Susan and Janie are working now. They could get along
without me. But will I be brave enough? There are tropical jungles, and
black men who eat people. There are wild animals, sicknesses, and
death. God can make me brave to face all of these things."
Mary prayed, "O God, if it is Your will, let me go as a missionary to
Calabar. Let me be a teacher to teach these black people the story of
salvation. You have commanded us, Your disciples, to carry the Gospel
to the farthest parts of the earth. Use me, O Lord, to help carry it to
Calabar. Hear me, for the sake of Jesus, my Saviour."

It was 1874. The news flashed around the world: "Livingstone is dead."
The great missionary had died on his knees in Africa. Everywhere
people were talking of this great man who had given his life to tell the
people of Africa about the Saviour. Mary made up her mind! She must
go to Calabar! But what would her mother say? And if her mother
agreed, would her church send her out to that field? Mary went to her
mother.
"I want to offer myself as a missionary," said Mary Slessor to her
mother. "Are you willing?"
"My child, I'll willingly let you go. You'll make a fine missionary, and
I'm sure God will be with you."
"Thank you, Mother," said twenty-six-year-old Mary. "I know God will
be with me and will make me strong and brave to serve Him."
Mother Slessor was very happy. There was going to be a missionary in
the family after all. But there were some people who did not agree with
Mother Slessor. They shook their heads in doubt. Others thought Mary
was very foolish to risk her life in that way.
"You're doing real well at the factory," said one of them. "And you're
doing missionary work right down there at the mission. Why rush away
to those people way off in Africa? Seems to me missionary work ought
to begin at home."
"Yes," said Mary, "it should begin there, but not end there. There are
some who cannot go to Africa. They can do the work at home. If God
lets me, I want to take His Word to those people who have never heard
of Him or His love."
The next year, 1875, Mary offered herself to the Foreign Mission Board
of her church. She asked to be sent to Calabar. Then she waited.
Waiting is hard sometimes. Mary had to wait until the Board had a
meeting. Then when the meeting was over, she had to wait for the
secretary of the Board of Foreign Missions to write her a letter. Early in
1876 the letter came. How excited Mary was! Her hands shook as she

tried to open the letter. Had they accepted her offer or refused it?
"Mary dear," said her mother, "you are so nervous, you had better let
me open that letter."
"I'll manage, Mother," said Mary. She finally got it open, and she read:
Dear Miss Slessor, I take great pleasure in informing you that the
Board of Foreign Missions accepts your offer to serve as a missionary,
and you have been appointed teacher to Calabar. You will continue
your studies for the teaching profession at Dundee. May God richly
bless you in His service.
"Oh, Mother, I'm accepted! They're going to send me to Calabar!"
"Praise God from whom all blessings flow," said Mother Slessor. "That
is wonderful news indeed. To Calabar! Oh, I'm so happy I could shout
for joy!"
In March another letter came. This letter told her that she was to spend
three months at a teachers' college in Edinburgh. All Mary's friends in
Dundee gathered at the train as she got ready to leave for Edinburgh.
"Come, Mary," said Duncan, the tough boy from the slums, who was
now a grown man and a faithful worker at the mission, "give us a
speech."
"I can't make a speech," said Mary, "but I'll just ask you this: Pray for
me."
While Mary was at the school in Edinburgh, some of the other girls she
met there tried to talk her out of being a missionary. They did not want
her to go off to Africa where there were wild animals and man-eating
heathen, and all kinds of terrible sicknesses.
"Don't you know that Calabar is the white man's grave?" asked one of
her school friends.
"Yes," answered Mary. "But it is also a post of honor. Since