CHAPTER XIV
A MISSION OF MERCY
It has long ago been clear to the sympathetic reader that Mrs. Lewis was a woman of exceptional determination and heroic courage. In the late spring of 1904 occurred a series of events in which, according to the judgment of her friends, these qualities were revealed in supreme degree. A cry of distress came from San Salvador, which her loyal and affectionate heart interpreted as imperious, and in one of the wildest rainy seasons, when natives would only take the round under compulsion, she made the journey of something like one hundred miles alone.
In April, 1902, the Rev. Arthur Mayo joined the Mission at Matadi, and a few months later passed on to San Salvador, his destined sphere of service. In May, 1903, he went down to Matadi to meet Miss Sygrave, who had come out from England to be his wife. They were married on May 17th, and shortly afterwards Mr. Mayo resumed his work in San Salvador, happily supported by his wife, who had been specially trained as a teacher. At this time Mr. and Mrs. Graham and Mr. Phillips were also in San Salvador, but the Grahams left for England in September, and Mr. Phillips for Matadi before Christmas. Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Wooding had arrived, and the two missionaries and their wives maintained the service of the station with no more than the usual vicissitudes until, in March, 1904, Mr. Wooding was stricken down by serious fever. The case was obstinate and assumed a very grave aspect. It happened that the Portuguese Resident was ill at the same time, so a messenger was despatched to Matadi requesting advice from the doctor there.
A few days later news arrived that the messenger had been killed by an elephant, and under this final blow Mr. Mayo, overstrained by work and anxiety for his colleague, staggered and went down. When the fatal message was delivered he said, “I am ill, too,” and went to bed. So the two wives were occupied in nursing their sick husbands, for Mr. Wooding’s obstinate fever still burned. For fourteen nights Mrs. Mayo sat up with her husband. Happily Nlekai and Vita were on the spot and rendered good service, Nlekai’s ministry being notably gentle, skilled, and welcome. As Mr. Mayo’s case grew graver, Mr. Wooding, still in fever, dragged himself from his bed to render assistance to his colleague, whose case was heavier than his own. The trouble deepened. Mr. Mayo’s temperature rose to 106°·8, and he fell into delirium. It was obvious that unless relief came there would be general collapse; and in the extremity, not without compunction, for it was one of the worst and deadliest of Congo seasons, Mr. Wooding wrote to Kibokolo begging Mr. and Mrs. Lewis to come over and help.
Now at this time Mr. and Mrs. Bowskill were staying at Kibokolo, and Mrs. Bowskill was in delicate health. It was at once felt impossible that she and her husband, new to the place and people, should be left alone in that wild region. Therefore Mr. or Mrs. Lewis must needs go alone. Of course Mr. Lewis wished to go; but his wife said, “No, this is a woman’s business. Whatever happens to poor Mr. Mayo, Mrs. Mayo will be at the end of her tether. She will want a woman’s comfort and a woman’s nursing. I must go.” And when Mrs. Lewis said “I must,” her friends knew that they were confronted by finality, and she had her way.
Her little caravan was hurriedly loaded, and on Sunday afternoon, just twenty-four hours after receiving the summons, she started on her venturesome journey. Mr. Lewis accompanied her some few miles on her way; and the parting would not be without emotion, as during the seventeen years of her Congo life she had never been separated from her husband for more than the briefest period of time.
By one of those mischances which every biographer has to deplore, the letter in which she wrote a more or less detailed account of her journey has been lost, and I can only supply the brief records of her diary. In following these the reader will remember that it was the season of heavy rains and wild tempests; rivers were in flood; rank grass from twelve to twenty feet high overhung and obstructed the track in many parts; the track stretched to a hundred miles, and in covering it this frail Englishwoman, worn with many years of strenuous African life, but for her rough, dispirited, apprehensive native carriers, was alone.
“Saturday, April 16th.—Just at half-past one, as we were ready for dinner, two men arrived from Congo (San Salvador) with letter from Mr. Wooding begging for help. Mr. Mayo very ill and all knocked up. Decided that I should go. Very busy all afternoon packing.”