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MARY SLESSOR

OF CALABAR

PIONEER MISSIONARY

BY

W. P. LIVINGSTONE

PREFATORY NOTE

Life for most people is governed by authority and convention, butbehind these there lies always the mystery of human nature, uncertainand elusive, and apt now and again to go off at a tangent and disturbthe smooth working of organised routine. Some man or woman will appearwho departs from the normal order of procedure, who follows idealsrather than rules, and whose methods are irregular, and often, in theeyes of onlookers, unwise. They may be poor or frail, and in their ownestimation of no account, yet it is often they who are used for theaccomplishment—of important ends. Such a one was Mary Slessor.

Towards the end of her days she was urged to write her autobiography,but was surprised at the proposal, and asked what she had done to meritthe distinction of being put in a book. She was so humble-minded thatshe could not discern any special virtue in her life of self-sacrificeand heroism; and she disliked publicity and was shamed by praise. Whenthe matter was pressed upon her in view of the inspiration which anarrative of her experiences and adventures would be for others, shebegan to consider whether it might not be a duty, she never shrank fromany duty however unpleasant. Her belief was that argument and theoryhad no effect in arousing interest in missionary enterprise; that theonly means of setting the heart on fire the magnetism of personal touchand example; and she indicated that if account of her service wouldhelp to stimulate and strengthen the faith of the supporters of thework, she would be prepared to supply the material. She died before theintention could be carried further, but from many sources, and chieflyfrom her own letters, it has been possible to piece together the mainfacts of her wonderful career.

One, however, has no hope of giving an adequate picture of her complexnature, so full of contrasts and opposites. She was a woman of affairs,with a wide and catholic outlook upon humanity, and yet she was a shysolitary walking alone in puritan simplicity and childlike faith. Fewham possessed such moral and physical courage, or exercised suchimperious power over savage peoples, yet on trivial occasions she wasabjectly timid and afraid, A sufferer from chronic malarial affection,and a martyr to pains her days were filled in with unremitting toil.Overflowing with love and tender feeling, she could be stern andexacting. Shrewd, practical, and matter of fact, she believed thatsentiment was a gift of God, and frankly indulged in it. Living alwaysin the midst of dense spiritual darkness, and often depressed andworried, she maintained unimpaired a sense of humour and laughter.Strong and tenacious of will, she admitted the right of others tooppose her. These are but illustrations of the perpetual play of lightand shade in her character which made her difficult to understand. Manycould not see her greatness for what they called her eccentricities,forgetting, or perhaps being unaware of, what she had passed through,experiences such as no other woman had undergone, which explained muchthat seemed unusual in her conduct. But when her life is viewed as awhole, and in the light of what she achieved, all these angles andoddities fall away, and she stands out, a woman of unique and inspiringpersonality, and one of the most heroic figur