Part 1 (2/2)
Sat.u.r.day afternoons and Sundays were her own, but they were usually spent in helping her mother. Her dress was coa.r.s.e and plain, and she wore no pretty ornaments, though she liked them as much as her companions did, for she was learning to put aside all the things she did not really need, and by and by she came not to miss them, and found pleasure instead in making others happy. She would have been quite content if only her father had been different.
But there was no hope now of a better time. The shadow became so black that it was like night when there are no stars in the sky. Mrs. Slessor and Mary had a big burden to bear and a grim battle to fight. In their distress they clung to one another, and prayed to Jesus for help and strength, for they, of themselves, could do little. On Sat.u.r.day nights Mr. Slessor came home late, and treated them unkindly, so that Mary was often forced to go out into the cold streets and wait until he had gone to sleep. As she wandered about she felt very lonely and very miserable, and sometimes sobbed as if her heart would break. When she pa.s.sed the bright windows of the places where drink was sold, she wondered why people were allowed to ruin men and women in such a way, and she clenched her hands and resolved that when she grew up she would war against this terrible thing which destroyed the peace and happiness of homes.
But at last the trouble came to an end. One tragic day Mary stood and looked down with a great awe upon the face of her father lying white and still in death.
What she went through in these days made her often sad and downcast, for she had a loving heart, and suffered sorely when any one was rough to her or ill-treated her. But good came out of it too. She was like a white starry flower which grows on the walls and verandahs of houses in the tropics. The hot suns.h.i.+ne is not able to draw perfume from it, but as soon as darkness falls its fragrance scents the air and comes stealing through the open windows and doors. So it was with Mary. She grew sweeter in the darkness of trouble; it was in the shadows of life that she learned to be patient and brave and unselfish.
We must not think less, but more, of her for coming out of such a home.
It is not always the girls and boys who are highly favoured that grow up to do the best and biggest things in life. Some of the men and women to whom the world owes most had a hard time when they were young. The home life of President Lincoln, who freed millions of slaves in America, was like Mary's, yet his name has become one of the most famous in history.
No girl or boy should despair because they are poor or lonely or crushed down in any way; let them fight on, quietly and patiently, and in the end better things and happier times will come.
Mrs. Slessor now left the factory, and for a time kept a little shop, in which Mary used to help, especially on Sat.u.r.day afternoons and nights, when trade was busiest. The girl was still dreaming dreams about the wonderful days that lay before her, but, unlike many others who do the same, she did her best to make hers come true. She wanted to learn things, and she found that books would tell her, and so she was led into the great world of knowledge. The more she read the more she wanted to know. So eager was she that when she left home for her work, she slipped a book into her pocket and glanced at it in the streets. She did not know then about Dr. Livingstone, the African missionary and traveller, but she did exactly what he had done when he was a boy: she propped a book on a corner of the loom in the factory, and read whenever she had a moment to spare. Her companions tell how they used to see her take out a little note-book, put it on the weaver's beam, and jot down her thoughts--she was always writing, they say; sometimes it was poetry, sometimes an essay, sometimes a letter to a friend. But she never neglected her work.
How different her lot was from that of most girls of to-day! They have leisure for their lessons, and they learn music and do fancy work and keep house and bake--and how many hate it all! Mary had only a few precious minutes, but she made the most of them. The books she read were not stories, but ones like Milton's _Paradise Lost_ and Carlyle's _Sartor Resartus_, and so deep did she become in them at night that sometimes she forgot everything, and read on and on through the quiet hours, and only came to herself with a start when she heard the warning whistle of the factory in the early morning.
She was fond of all good books, but the one she liked most and knew better than any was the Bible. She pored over it so often that she remembered much of it by heart. In the Bible Cla.s.s she was so quick and so ready to answer questions that Mr. Baxter, her minister, used to say, ”Now, Mary Slessor, don't answer any more questions till I bid you.”
When every one else failed he would turn to her with ”Now, Mary,” and she always had her reply ready. She was never tired of the story of Jesus, especially as it is told in the Gospel of St. John, for there He appeared to her so kind and winsome and lovable. When she thought of all He did, how He came from His own beautiful heaven to save the world from what is sinful and sad, and how He was made to suffer and at last was put to death, and how His teaching has brought peace and safety and suns.h.i.+ne into the lives of millions of women and girls, she felt she must do something for Him to show her love and thankfulness and devotion.
”He says we must do as He did and try to make people better and happier, and so I, too, must do my best and join in the war against all that is evil and unlovely and unrestful in the world.” So she thought to herself.
She did not say, ”I am only a girl, what can I do?” She knew that when a General wanted an army to fight a strong enemy he did not call for officers only, but for soldiers--hosts of them, and especially for those who were young. ”I can be a soldier,” Mary said humbly. ”Dear Lord, I will do what I can--here are my heart and head and hands and feet--use me for anything that I can do.”
The first thing that she did was to take a cla.s.s of little girls in the Sunday School, and thus she began to teach others before she was educated herself, but it is not always those who are best trained who can teach best. The heart of Mary was so full of deep true love for Jesus that it caused her face to s.h.i.+ne and her eyes to smile and her lips to speak kind words, and that is the sort of learning that wins others to Him.
Wishart Church, to which she went, was built over shops, and looked down upon the old Port Gate and upon streets and lanes which were filled at night with big boys and girls who seemed to have no other place to go to, and nothing to do but lounge and swear and fight. Mary felt she would like to do something for them. By and by when a Mission was begun in a little house in Queen Street--there is a bra.s.s inscription upon the wall, now, telling about Mary--she went to the superintendent and said, ”Will you take me as a teacher?” ”Gladly,” he said, but she looked so small and frail that he was afraid the work would be too rough for her.
What a time she had at first! The boys and girls did not want anybody to bother about them: those who came to the meeting were wild and noisy; those who remained outside threw stones and mud and tried to stop the work. Mary faced them, smiling and unafraid, and dared them to touch her. Some grew ashamed of worrying the brave little teacher, and these she won over to her side. But there were others with sullen eyes and clenched fists who would not give in, and they did their best to make her life a misery.
One night a band of the most violent lay in wait for her, and she found herself suddenly in their midst. They hustled and threatened her.
”We'll do for you if you don't leave us alone,” they cried.
She was quaking with fear, but she did not show it. She just breathed a prayer for help, and looked at them with her quiet eyes.
”I will not give up,” she replied. ”You can do what you like.”
”All right,” shouted the leader, a big hulking lad. ”Here goes.”
Out of his pocket he took a lump of lead to which was tied a bit of cord, and began to swing it round her head. The rest of the gang looked on breathless, wondering at the courage of the girl. The lead came nearer and swished past her brow. Pale, calm, unflinching, she stood waiting for the blow that would fell her to the ground. Suddenly the lad jerked away the weapon and let it fall with a crash.
”We can't force her, boys,” he cried, ”she's game.”
And, like beaten foes, they followed her, and went to the meeting and into her cla.s.s, and after that there was no more trouble. The boys fell under her spell, grew fond of her, and in their shy way did all they could to help her. On Sat.u.r.day afternoons she would take them into the country away from the temptations of the streets, and sought to make them gentle and kind and generous. Some of the most wayward amongst them gave their hearts to Jesus, and afterwards grew to be good and useful men.
What was it that gave her such an influence over these rude and unruly boys? They did not know. She was not what is called a pretty girl. She was plain and quiet and simple, and she was poorly clad. But she was somehow different from most teachers. Perhaps it was because she loved them so much, for the love that is real and pure and unselfish is the greatest power in the world.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ONE OF THE ”PENDS” OR ”CLOSES” WHERE MARY VISITED THE BOYS IN HER CLa.s.s.]
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