The Chinese dislike to foreigners settling in their country is so old that one cannot tell when it began. But in 1900 the Boxer rising proved that the anti-foreign feeling is strong as ever, and perhaps more unreasonable, and the whole civilized world was horror-stricken by the news of the massacre of men, women and children, who had been slaughtered, not only because they were Christians, but because they were foreigners.
The list of missionaries who were murdered by the Boxers in 1900 is long and saddening; but it is some consolation to know that to many of the martyrs death came swiftly, and was not preceded by bodily torture. In fact, some of the missionaries who escaped death must have been sorely tempted to envy their martyred colleagues, so terrible were the trials they underwent before reaching a place of safety.
Mrs. Ogren was one of the representatives of the China Inland Mission, who escaped death only to meet perils and privations such as few women have ever survived. She and her husband had worked in China for seven years, and had been stationed for about twelve months in the city of Yung-ning when the Boxer troubles began. Until then the natives had been well disposed towards them, but two emissaries of the Boxers, describing themselves as merchants, spread evil reports concerning them. They declared that the missionaries had poisoned the wells, and when the people went to examine them they found that the water had turned red. The men who accused the missionaries had, before bringing this charge against them, secretly coloured the water. Other false accusations, artfully supported by what appeared to be conclusive evidence, were made against them, and naturally aroused the anger of the people, whose demeanour became unmistakably threatening.
On July 5 the sad news of the murder of two lady missionaries at Hsiao-i reached Mrs. Ogren and her husband, and a mandarin, who had secretly remained friendly towards them, urged them to escape from the city as soon as possible, and for their travelling expenses the secretary of the yamên brought them, in the middle of the night, Tls. 10 (£15). Mr. Ogren gave a receipt for the money, and prepared for their flight, but it was not until July 13 that they were able to start.
Early in the morning, before day-break, a mule-litter was brought to the back door of the mission garden. Quickly and silently Mr. and Mrs. Ogren, with their little nine months' old boy, mounted, and started on their perilous journey to Han-kow.
They arrived uninjured at the Yellow River, where, however, they found a famine-stricken crowd, armed with clubs, eager to kill them. The starving natives had been told, and believed, that the scarcity of food was due to the foreigners' presence in China, and their hostile attitude can scarcely be wondered at. However, the guard which had been sent to protect the missionaries succeeded in keeping off the people, who had to content themselves with yelling and spitting at the fugitives. Hiring a boat, for which they had to pay Tls. 50, the Ogrens and their guard started down river for T'ung-kuan. The current of this river is exceedingly swift, and the missionaries expected every moment that their boat would be wrecked. No mishap occurred, however, and after travelling seventeen miles the party made a halt. It was necessary to do so, as at this place they were to be handed over to a new guard. Here, too, they found it would be impossible to proceed on their journey without more money, and a messenger was despatched to the mandarin at Yung-ning, asking for a further loan. Until the result of this appeal was known there was nothing for the Ogrens to do but wait where they were. It was an anxious time, but on the fourth day they were delighted to see the secretary of the yamên approaching. He had brought with him the money they required.
'Praising God for all His goodness,' Mrs. Ogren writes in her account of their trials,[1] 'we started once more, and though beset by many difficulties, the goodness of God, and the cordial letter of recommendation granted us by our friendly mandarin, enabled us to safely reach a place called Lung-wan-chan, 170 miles from our starting-place, and half way to our destination, T'ung-kuan.'
At Lung-wan-chan they heard of the rapid spread of the Boxer movement, and of the massacre, on July 16, of a party of men and women missionaries. They realised now that the prospect of their escaping the fury of the Boxers was small; but there came a ray of hope, when a Chinaman, eighty years of age and a friend of the Yung-ning mandarin, offered to hide them in his house. It was an offer which was gratefully accepted; but as they were about to start for their hiding-place, which was some twenty-five miles from the river, a party of soldiers arrived. Their orders were, they said, to drive the foreigners out of the province; but the aged Chinaman gave them a feast, and, having got them into a good humour, extracted a promise from them that they would not harm the missionaries. But although they kept their promise to the extent of not doing them any bodily injury, they took from them all the money they possessed.
When the soldiers had departed, the Ogrens started on their twenty-five miles' journey to the friendly old Chinaman's house, thankful at having escaped one danger, and hopeful that they would reach their destination in safety. But their hope was not realised. Before they had gone far, their way lay along a track where it was necessary to proceed in single file. Mrs. Ogren, riding a mule, led the way; a second mule carrying their personal belongings followed, and Mr. Ogren with their baby-boy in his arms came last. On one side of them was the rushing river; on the other, steep, rocky mountains.
Suddenly a number of armed men sprang out from behind the rocks and barred their way. Brandishing their weapons ominously, they demanded Tls. 300. Mrs. Ogren, dismounting from her mule, advanced to a man who appeared to be the leader, and told him that they had no money. She begged him to have pity on them, and to spare her at least her baby's things. Her appeal was not entirely wasted, for while they were helping themselves to their things the leader handed her, on the point of his sword, one of the baby's shirts.
Having taken everything that they fancied, the robbers now looked threateningly at the prisoners. Their leader began whetting his sword, shouting as he did so, 'Kill, kill!' Again Mrs. Ogren pleaded for mercy, and finally they relented, and departed without injuring them.
The fugitives now came to the conclusion that it would be certain death if they remained in the province, and as soon as possible they crossed the river in the ferry. It was a dark, wet night when they reached the other side, and it was only after much entreaty and promises of reward that the ferrymen allowed them to take shelter in the dirty smoky caves where they lived. Mr. Ogren at once despatched a message to their old Chinese friend asking for help, and four days later the man returned with some money, nearly the whole of which the ferrymen claimed, and obtained by means of threats. With little money in their pockets, the Ogrens started off on foot towards the promised place of refuge. It was a trying journey, for the heat was intense, and aroused a thirst which could not be quenched. Once Mrs. Ogren fell exhausted to the ground; but after a rest they continued their tramp, and on the second day reached their destination, there to experience a bitter disappointment. The people whom they expected would be friendly proved hostile. They refused to give them food, and only after much entreaty did they permit them to take shelter in a cave near by. This, however, proved to be a very insecure hiding-place, and twice they were robbed by gangs of men.
Leaving this place, the Ogrens tramped further into the hills, and found another cave, where they could have remained in safety until the rising was quelled, had they been able to obtain food. Mrs. Ogren and her husband would have endured the agony of long-continued hunger, but they could not see their little baby starve. For some time he was fed on cold water and raw rice, but when their small stock of the latter ran out, they tramped back to make another appeal to the people who had so recently refused to help them. Their reception was even worse than on the previous occasion. One of the men had heard of the Boxers' offer of Tls. 100 for the head of every foreigner brought to them, and was anxious to earn the money. Seizing his sword, he rushed at the fugitives and would have killed them, had not some of his relatives, perhaps moved by pity, intervened. They held him fast while the Ogrens hurried away as quickly as their weakness would permit.
Over the mountains they wended their way, sometimes having to crawl up the steep hillsides. It was their intention to make their way back to Yung-ning, and seek protection from the mandarin who had always been friendly towards them. It must not be forgotten that during the anti-foreign outbreak there were hundreds of Chinamen, besides the Christian converts, who, although well aware that a price was placed on the head of every foreigner, scorned to betray them, and did all in their power to facilitate their escape to a place of safety. On their journey over the mountains, Mrs. Ogren and her husband met with many of these people, who gave them food and sheltered them at night.
Having forded a wide, swiftly-flowing river, the Ogrens came to a village where the natives treated them so kindly that they remained there for two days. But on departing from this place their brief period of comparative happiness came to an end, for, towards night, as they drew near to a village, hoping to experience a repetition of the hospitality they had recently received, they found that they were likely to have a hostile reception.
It was too late to turn back or to attempt to avoid the place, for they had already been discovered, so they trudged on through the village, the people laughing and jeering at them. But just as they were quitting the village, hopeful that they would be permitted to continue their journey unmolested, they were seized and cast into prison. The following morning two men were told off to take them out of the province; but it soon became evident to the prisoners that their escort intended to hand them over to the Boxers. They were a particularly heartless pair, and one of them took from Mrs. Ogren her baby's pillow, which she had managed to retain through all their wanderings, and emptying out the feathers burned them.
The following day they arrived at the Yellow River, and as they crossed in the ferry the prisoners saw that the village to which they were being taken was decorated with red lanterns. This was a sign that the place was held by the Red Lantern Society, one of the divisions of the Boxer army. On landing, the missionaries were at once surrounded by a crowd of jeering natives, and one fellow, with brutal glee, told Mrs. Ogren of the massacre of the lady missionaries at Ta-ning.
After Mr. Ogren had been closely questioned, he was told they would be taken back to Yung-ning, but when they left the village they found that they were being led in quite a different direction. At night they were placed in a cave, and on the following morning were marched off to the Boxer general's headquarters, a temple. Mr. Ogren was at once taken before the general, Mrs. Ogren sitting in the courtyard with her baby on her knee. She was suffering excruciating pain from a swollen eye, caused by the heat and glare, but her mental agony was no doubt greater, for in a few minutes her husband's fate would be decided. She heard him answering the general's questions, heard him pleading for their lives. Soon his voice was drowned in the sound of swords being sharpened, and a few minutes later she heard moans. Her husband was being tortured.
'My feelings were indescribable,' Mrs. Ogren writes. 'I could only pray God to cut short my husband's sufferings, and fill his heart with peace, and give me courage to meet my lot without fear.' Soon the moaning ceased, and she concluded that her husband was dead.
That night Mrs. Ogren was imprisoned in a tomb, and her baby, although he had nothing but water for his supper, slept soundly on the cold ground wrapped up in her gown. On the following morning she was given some rice and porridge, but before she had finished her meal the guard set her free. At once she decided to endeavour to reach Ta-ning, where other missionaries were imprisoned, preferring imprisonment among friends to the wandering life she had led for so long. Hearing that there were some Christians in a village on the other side of the river, she forded the stream—narrowly escaping drowning, but only to find that she had been misinformed. The villagers jeered at her when she told her story, and asked for food for herself and baby. Departing from these inhospitable people, Mrs. Ogren lay down with her baby in the open. Both were hungry and shivering, and probably their trials would have ended that night in death, had not two native Christians found them, and led the way to a cave. Taking Mrs. Ogren to this place of shelter was, however, all that these men could do for her.
The following day, while trudging along towards Ta-ning Mrs. Ogren was again captured by Boxers, and would have been promptly killed, had not the headman of the village protected her, and, in spite of the anger of the mob, appointed an escort to accompany her to Ta-ning. It was a consolation to Mrs. Ogren to feel that she would soon be in the company of fellow missionaries; but to her sorrow she heard, on being placed in the Ta-ning prison, that they had been set free two days previously, and had started for the coast.
The prison in which Mrs. Ogren was now confined was a filthy place, swarming with vermin, but the warders were kind to her, and gave her food for herself and baby. Even the mandarin was moved when he heard of the sufferings she had undergone, but he did not release her. Sleep was impossible that night, but, at daybreak, as Mrs. Ogren lay dozing with her child beside her, she fancied she heard her name called. Jumping up she ran into the courtyard, and looked eagerly around.
'Olivia!' It was her husband's voice, and there at the prison gate stood he whom she had thought dead. 'Praise God! oh, praise God!' she cried, her heart full of thankfulness; but he was too overcome with emotion to speak. Truly Mr. Ogren was in a terrible plight. His clothes hung in rags, and his head was bound with a piece of dirty, blood-stained linen. One of his ears was crushed, and there were ghastly wounds in his neck and shoulders. Even now he was not out of danger for as he stood at the gate Mrs. Ogren saw to her dismay a mob of infuriated Boxers rushing towards him, and it seemed as if he would be killed before her eyes. But the yamên servants protected him, and, later in the day, he was brought to his wife and child. The people had evidently taken pity on the poor missionaries, for they supplied Mrs. Ogren with some water to wash her husband's wounds and a powder that would heal them. Moreover they supplied them with rice and mutton, and the secretary of the yamên's wife sent them a bowl of meat soup.
When Mr. Ogren's wounds had been dressed, and he had eaten the first good meal he had tasted for many days, he related to his wife all that had happened to him since they were separated by the Red Lantern Boxers.
Briefly his story was as follows:—On being taken before the Boxer general he was bound to a block of wood, with his hands tied behind his back, and while in this helpless state the Boxers kicked him and beat him with sticks, cursing the name of Jesus, and shouting, 'Now ask your Jesus to deliver you.' After thus torturing him they untied him from the block, and led him with his hands bound behind his back to the river-side, with the intention of killing him and casting his body into the water. Arriving there, they forced him down on his knees, and at a signal set upon him on all sides with swords and spears; but in their eagerness to slay him their weapons struck one against another, and instead of being killed instantly he received several wounds, which although severe did not disable him.
Suddenly he sprang to his feet, and rushing through the crowd jumped into the river. The Boxers, recovering from their surprise, rushed into the water after him, but remembering that his hands were tied behind his back they broke into jeering laughter, and waited to see him drown. But the brave, persecuted missionary managed to reach the other side in safety, and running inland was soon lost in the darkness. With his hands tied behind his back, and barefooted—his shoes were lost in the river—he tramped some fifteen miles before resting. Then he severed the cords which bound his hands by rubbing them against a rock until they were cut through. In the hills he found a native Christian, who not only supplied him with food, water and a little money, but took him to a hiding-place for the night. On the following morning Mr. Ogren started off again, with the intention of making his way back to Yung-ning, but before he had gone far he caught sight of Boxers scouring the country. Finding a cave he hid in it throughout the day, resuming his journey at night. After many hardships he met some natives, who informed him that his wife was in prison at Ta-ning, and at once he set off for that city, and entered it unnoticed by the Boxers. It was only when he had almost reached the yamên that they heard of his presence and rushed after him. How he escaped their fury has already been told.
Two days after Mr. Ogren had rejoined his wife the authorities sent them with an escort out of the city on two donkeys, the men who accompanied them being instructed to take them from city to city until they arrived at the coast. But on the second day the officials of a city through which they would have to pass warned them that they would not be allowed to enter it, and therefore the much-tried missionaries were taken back to Ta-ning, and placed once more in the loathsome prison. Here Mrs. Ogren endured fresh trials. Her baby, weakened by exposure and semi-starvation, became seriously ill, and for a time it seemed as if he would not recover. When, however, the danger was passed Mrs. Ogren's second eye became terribly inflamed and caused her intense agony, and her husband becoming delirious with fever, had to be tied down to his bed. Nevertheless, she did not lose her faith, and the prisoners, aware of all she had endured, and was enduring, marvelled to see her praying to God. When, in the course of a few days, her husband began to gain strength they sang hymns, prayed, and read the Bible together.
A month later the Ogrens were told that in two days they were to be escorted to the coast, and the comforts which were at once provided for them made it clear that the authorities had received instructions to protect them and treat them well. New clothes were given them, and when they started on their journey, Mr. Ogren, being far too weak to ride, was carried with the baby in a sedan chair. Mrs. Ogren rode a horse. The officer and ten soldiers who comprised their escort treated them kindly, and their example was copied by the inhabitants of the villages through which they passed.
It was a welcome change, but it came too late. Nine days after leaving Ta-ning Mr. Ogren became very weak, and in spite of every attention died on the following morning, October 15, from the effects of the cruelty to which the Boxers had subjected him.
Can anyone imagine a more crushing sorrow for a woman than this which Mrs. Ogren had to bear? To lose her husband just when their long months of persecution were ended, and they were looking forward to happy days of peace, was indeed the hardest blow she had suffered. Her escort, touched to the heart by this sad ending to her troubles, did all that they could to comfort her.
It was not until February 16, that Mrs. Ogren and her two children—a girl baby, healthy in every way, had been born at P'ing-yang-fu on December 6,—arrived at Han-kow, where everyone strove to show kindness to the much-tried widow. Peter Alfred Ogren's name is inscribed on the roll of Christian martyrs, and Olivia Ogren is a name that will ever stand high in the list of Christian heroines.
[1] Last Letters and Further Records of Martyred Missionaries of the China Inland Mission. (Morgan & Scott.)
When, in the year 1900, the anti-foreign feeling in China culminated in the massacre of defenceless men and women, the three missionaries whose names head this chapter were working in the city of Ta-ning. The inhabitants of this little city among the hills had always treated the missionaries with kindness, and it was not until Boxer emissaries arrived and stirred up the people by spreading untruths concerning the reason of the foreigners' presence in China, that a change occurred in the behaviour of some of them.
The news of the Boxer rising was soon carried to the three ladies at Ta-ning; but it was not until July 12 that, at the earnest entreaty of the native pastor, Chang Chi-pen, they left the city to take shelter in one of the villages high up in the mountains. They started at 7.30 in the morning, and, travelling through the heat of the day, arrived at Muh-ien, where they were welcomed by the inhabitants, both native Christians and unconverted, with kindness. The knowledge that two lady missionaries had recently been murdered at Hsiao-i made the inhabitants of this hill-village anxious to show kindness to the three ladies who had come to seek shelter among them. They gave them food, which although not very palatable to Europeans was the best to be had, and provided them with lodging.
The following day was passed peacefully. Native friends came out from Ta-ning, bringing the comforting assurance that there were no signs of the Boxers coming in pursuit of the fugitives. They told the missionaries that eighteen warships belonging to various nations had arrived, but had gone aground near Fuh-Kien. The news of the arrival of these vessels naturally caused satisfaction to the three missionaries, and made them believe that the Boxer rising would soon be quelled.
Sunday, July 15, was a very happy day. Native Christians came in from the neighbouring villages, and the old pastor, Chang Chi-pen, had stolen out from Ta-ning. A service was held, and afterwards the missionaries were overwhelmed with invitations to take up their residence in various villages where they would be, they were assured, perfectly safe from the Boxers. 'It was really worth while being in such a position, to see how loyal the Christians were to us,' May Nathan wrote in her diary.[1] 'We are certainly in a better position than most other foreigners, being amongst such simple, loyal, God-fearing men.'
The following morning, soon after breakfast and prayers, a boy arrived from Ta-ning with the unpleasant news that 500 soldiers, who were in sympathy with the Boxers, had entered the city. The inhabitants at once urged the ladies to flee to a more distant village, and, taking up their Bibles, the missionaries started off quickly, with a native Christian for their guide. Rain fell heavily, and they arrived at their destination, Tong-men, wet to the skin. Food was given them, and in the afternoon they lay down and slept in a shed full of straw. The natives were determined, however, that they should have a better place in which to pass the night, and prepared a cave for them, spreading clean mats on the brick beds. But, late in the afternoon, a Christian, whom the missionaries had sent to Ta-ning to obtain information concerning the movements of the soldiers, returned with the pleasing news that there were none in the city, nor had any been there. Thankful that the alarm had been a false one, the three missionaries, one feeling somewhat unwell, trudged back to the Muh-ien, and refreshed themselves with tea. Throughout the day, or rather from breakfast until their return after dark, they had drunk nothing, tea, strange to say, being an unknown luxury in the place where they had sought temporary shelter.
On the following day soldiers did enter Ta-ning, but as an official despatch arrived almost at the same time instructing the yamên to protect foreigners, the three ladies decided not to remove from Muh-ien. This proclamation, a copy of which was brought to the missionaries, stated that all foreigners who remained quietly at their stations would be unmolested, and was a great improvement on the previous one, which ordered that foreigners were to be exterminated. The arrival of the allied forces had of course made the Chinese deem it advisable to withdraw the former proclamation.
Nothing occurred during the next two days to make the missionaries think that they were in immediate danger of being massacred. They spent the time in reading, sewing and talking to the sympathetic people who called on them. But on the third day they received the sad information that seven of their missionary friends had been murdered on July 16.
'Oh, it is sad, sad,' May Nathan wrote in her diary, 'such valuable lives; and who will be the next? Perhaps we shall, for why should we be spared when, for my own part, I know that the lives of those who have gone were so much more valuable than mine? I don't want to die, and such a death; but if it comes, well, it will be for a little, and after, no more sorrow—no pain. Day by day we are without knowledge of what news may come! Darling mother, don't be anxious whatever news you may hear of me. It will be useless in the eyes of the world to come out here for a year, to be just getting on with the language and then to be cut off. Many will say, 'Why did she go? Wasted life!' Darling, No. Trust; God does His very best, and never makes mistakes. There are promises in the Word that the Lord will save His servants, and deliver them from the hands of evil men. Dear, it may be the deliverances will come through death, and His hands will receive, not the corruptible, but the incorruptible, glorified spirit.'
Early the following morning, just as they were about to begin breakfast, a friendly Chinaman arrived, with the warning, that a party of Boxers was coming up the mountains and searching everywhere on the way for them. Instant departure was imperative, so, snatching up their Bibles and a few biscuits, they hurried off higher up the mountains, halting only for a few minutes among some native Christians, to deliver three short prayers. Their Christian guide hurried them onward when the last prayer was finished, and soon they were climbing up steep, unfrequented sheep-paths. A ruined temple on the top of a mountain was to be their hiding-place, and when they reached it, tired out, they lay down on the ground with stones for their pillows.
How long they remained hiding in this mountain-top temple is unknown. Nor, as the last entry in May Nathan's letter is dated July 23, do we know the sufferings which they underwent during the next three weeks. All that is certain is that, after wandering about the mountains, they were captured by the Boxers on August 12, and dragged to a temple near Lu-kia-yao, where, hungry and thirsty, they were compelled to spend the night surrounded by a mob of fiends. At day-break they were brought out and killed.
[1] Last Letters and Further Records of Martyred Missionaries of the China Inland Mission. Edited by Marshall Broomhall. (Morgan and Scott.)
Of all the stories that have been written for young people none have been more popular than those describing adventures among the Red Indians of North America. Fenimore Cooper's books have delighted many generations of readers; but on much of the ground where that author's famous characters lived, hunted, fought and died, big towns have sprung up, and the Indians, driven to live in reservations and to become, practically, pensioners of the Government, have been shorn of nearly all their greatness.
When the white man gained the ascendency in North America there came a better opportunity for missionary work, and notable among those who went to labour among the Indians was Mary Riggs, who, with her husband, worked for thirty-two years among the Sioux—the Red Indians of Dakota. She was born on November 10, 1813, at Hawley, Massachusetts, her father being General Thomas Longley, who had fought in the war of 1812. Evidently he was not a wealthy man, for Mary began her education at the common town school, where she had for her schoolfellows the children of some of the poorest inhabitants. Later, she attended better schools, and at the age of sixteen became a teacher in one at Williamstown, Massachusetts. Her salary was only one dollar a week, but she gave her father the whole of her first quarter's earnings, as a slight return for the money he had spent on her education. After a time she obtained a better appointment at a school at Bethlehem, and while there she met Stephen R. Riggs, a young man who was studying for the Presbyterian ministry. They became engaged, and a few months later Stephen Riggs told his future wife that he should like to become a missionary to the Red Indians, among whom work had recently been started. She expressed her willingness to accompany him, and, therefore, he at once offered himself to the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, by whom he was accepted.
The young people were married on February 16, 1837, and about a fortnight later began their long journey to the Far West. Travelling was in those days, of course, very different from what it is now, and the young missionaries had to go by stage viâ New York, Philadelphia, and across the mountains to Pittsburg until they came to the Ohio. Snow, rain and mud made their journey by stage particularly unpleasant, but rest and comfort came on the steamer which bore them down the river.
On June 1, 1837, they arrived at Fort Snelling, near where the Minnesota joins the Mississippi. Here they remained until the beginning of September, living in a log-house, and learning the Dakota language with the help of a missionary who had been in the field for three years. From Fort Snelling they departed on September 5, 1837, for their destination Lac-qui-parle, travelling with two one-ox carts and a double wagon. On September 18 they arrived at the station to which they had been appointed, and received a hearty welcome from the two missionaries who had settled there some time before at the earnest request of a Lac-qui-parle trader. Lac-qui-parle was a small place, a mere collection of buffalo-skin tents, in which lived some 400 Red Indians. Mr. and Mrs. Riggs found a home in a log-house belonging to one of the other missionaries. Only one room could be spared them, and although it was but 10 feet wide and 18 feet long they made themselves comfortable. Mr. Riggs wrote as follows in his account of their work among the Sioux[1]: 'This room we made our home for five winters. There were some hardships about such close quarters, but, all in all, Mary and I never enjoyed five winters better than those spent in that upper room. There our first three children were born. There we worked in acquiring the language. There we received our Dakota visitors. There I wrote, and re-wrote, my ever-growing dictionary. And there, with what help I could obtain, I prepared for the printer the greater portion of the New Testament in the Dakota language. It was a consecrated room.'
When Mrs. Riggs and her husband took possession of their one-room home they had much difficulty in making it comfortable, as they had been unable to bring on their furniture and domestic utensils. One person, however, lent them a kettle, another provided them with a pan, and bit by bit they collected the most necessary articles.
In the East missionaries have never experienced a difficulty in obtaining servants, but in Dakota neither male nor female Sioux would enter the Riggs' service. Consequently Mrs. Riggs had to perform all the household duties. They bought a cow, but neither of them knew how to milk her. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rigg tried to perform the task, but not until the cow had experienced considerable discomfort did Mrs. Riggs become acquainted with the art. Washing clothes was a performance which filled the Sioux women with wonder, for they were in the habit of wearing their garments unwashed until they became too old to be worn any longer. Very soon they adopted the white woman's custom, and, becoming fond of standing over the washing-tub, they took to washing Mrs. Riggs' clothes as well as their own. For doing so they were, of course, paid.
The missionaries who had preceded the Riggs at Lac-qui-parle had not been very successful, if success be judged by the number of converts made. The native Church consisted of seven people, but before the Riggs had been there many months nine were added. Most of these were women, and it was they, and not the men, who assisted in the building of the first church at Lac-qui-parle.
When Mr. and Mrs. Riggs had worked for some time with success at Lac-qui-parle they removed to a new station—Traverse des Sioux. But four years later the news reached them that since their departure from Lac-qui-parle there had been a sad falling back into heathenism among the converts, and they hurried back to their old station. Backsliders were reclaimed, and the missionary work carried on with increased energy.
But the missionaries had much to contend with. The Indians were hard pressed for food, and occasionally shot the mission cattle. Grog shops had been opened in the neighbourhood, and many of the Sioux bought drink when they should have purchased provisions. Excited by the fire-water, the Indians were frequently riotous, and, although they never assaulted the missionaries, it was clear that they might massacre them. On one occasion Mrs. Riggs had a very unpleasant experience. While her husband was away, twenty-six Sioux warriors paraded in front of mission house and fired their guns in the air. Mrs. Riggs was naturally somewhat frightened, until she found that they were not bent on murder and scalping. They had been searching for some Chippewas, but, having failed to find them, they fired their guns for practice.
Mr. and Mrs. Riggs continued their work with but few interruptions until 1862, when the Sioux rising occurred. It began in this way. The Sioux had assembled at Yellow Medicine to receive their annual allowance from the Government official. While distributing the allowance the official announced that the Great Father (President Lincoln) was anxious to make them all very happy, and would therefore give them, very shortly, a bonus. The Indians, having recently suffered greatly from want of provisions, were delighted at the prospect of an additional grant, and waited in the vicinity of the agency for its arrival. When it arrived the Sioux found to their dismay that it was a paltry gift of $2.50 a man. Their disgust and anger were increased by the knowledge that during the time they had been waiting for this insignificant present they could have earned from $50 to $100 by hunting. Unintentionally, a Government servant added fuel to the fire, and the Sioux, maddened, began their terrible massacre of the scattered settlers.
The news of the rising was carried quickly to the Riggs by friendly Indians, who urged them to hurry away as quickly as possible to a place of safety. But the missionaries were not disposed to consider the rising serious. The seizure of their horses and cows, and various other unfriendly actions performed by the people among whom they had lived for many years, soon, however, convinced them that it would be wise to depart. So gathering together a few belongings the little band of missionaries, some carrying children, crept away by night to an island in the Minnesota River. But on the following day the friendly Indians sent word to them that they were not safe on the island, and urged further flight.
Acting on this advice, the Christians waded the river and started on a tramp to the Hawk River, and on the way met other settlers, hurrying like themselves, to escape from the infuriated Sioux. Joining forces they proceeded on their journey, the women and children riding in two open carts, and soon met a wounded man, whom they tenderly lifted into one of the wagons. He was the sole survivor of a band of settlers which had been attacked by the Sioux.
Keeping a sharp look-out for the Indians, the fugitives continued their journey across the prairie. On the second night the rain fell heavily, and as the women and children could obtain no shelter in the open carts they crept under them. Wet and shivering, the fugitives found, when daylight came, that they had scarcely any food. Wood was collected, a fire built, and one of the animals killed and roasted.
A day later they were espied by an Indian, who fortunately proved to be friendly. He advised the fugitives to hurry to Fort Ridgely, and assured them that all the whites, with the exception of themselves, who had not taken shelter in the fort had been killed. Acting on his advice, they proceeded in the direction of the fort, but travelled very cautiously, for there were signs that Indians were in the neighbourhood.
One of the fugitives crept into the fort, but the news he brought back to his comrades in distress was not cheering; the fort was already overcrowded with women and children, and there was a very small force of soldiers to defend it. For five days they had been continually attacked by the enemy, and unless reinforcements arrived quickly the fort would probably be captured.
The Riggs and their fellow fugitives decided, therefore, to hurry on to some other place, fully aware of the danger they were running in travelling through a neighbourhood which abounded with the scalp-seeking Indians. One of Mary Riggs' daughters wrote of this period in their flight: 'Every voice was hushed, except to give necessary orders; every eye swept the hills and valleys around; every ear was intensely strained for the faintest sound, expecting momentarily to hear the unearthly war-whoop, and see dusky forms with gleaming tomahawks uplifted.'
Hour after hour the tired and footsore fugitives trudged on without being discovered. Then four of their number, believing the danger was passed, bade adieu to the remainder of the party and proceeded in a different direction; but before they had gone far they were killed by the Indians. The Riggs and their party heard the fatal shots, but the tragedy was hidden from their sight by the bush. Fortunately, the proximity of the larger party of fugitives was not discovered by the Sioux; and at last, after a long, weary journey, the Riggs and their friends arrived at the town of Henderson, where their appearance occasioned considerable surprise, as their names had been included in the list of massacred.
Over a thousand settlers were killed during the rising, and there were many people who escaped death, but never recovered completely from the horrors of that terrible time. Mary Riggs returned with her husband to the work among the Sioux; but her health grew slowly worse, and when, in March, 1869, an ordinary cold developed into pneumonia she had not the strength to battle against it. She died on March 22, 1869, in Beloit, Wisconsin, worn out with her thirty-two years' work in the mission-field.
[1] Mary and I; Forty Years with the Sioux. By Stephen R. Riggs. Philadelphia, 1887.
Florence Nightingales's noble work among the sick and wounded in the Crimean War is known to everyone; but very few people are aware that there was another woman, working apart from Miss Nightingale, who performed deeds of bravery and humanity in the same campaign which entitle her to a high place in any list of brave and good women. Sir William Russell, the famous war correspondent of the Times, wrote, in 1858, of Mary Seacole: 'I have witnessed her devotion and her courage; I have already borne testimony to her services to all who needed them. She is the first who has redeemed the name of 'sutler' from the suspicion of worthlessness, mercenary business and plunder; and I trust that England will not forget one who nursed her sick, who sought out her wounded to aid and succour them, and who performed the last offices for some other illustrious dead.' England seems to have forgotten her, but it is hoped that this account of her life may help to remove the reproach.
Mary Seacole was born at Kingston, Jamaica, her father being a Scotchman and her mother a native. The latter kept a boarding-house which was patronised chiefly by naval and military officers stationed at Kingston, but she was also widely known in the West Indies as a "doctoress." Officers, their wives and children were her chief patients, and she is reputed to have healed many troublesome complaints with medicines made from the plants which she herself gathered. Mary inherited her mother's tastes, and when quite a child decided to become a "doctoress." She bandaged her dolls in the way she had seen her mother bandage patients, and on growing older she doctored any stray dogs and cats who could be prevailed upon to swallow the medicine she had made. After a time she became anxious to try her skill upon human beings, but as no one would consent to take her medicine, she drank it herself, happily without any serious effects.
When Mary Seacole (as she afterwards became) was about twelve years of age her mother began to allow her to assist in waiting upon the invalid officers staying at the boarding-house, and whilst thus engaged she was able to obtain a knowledge of nursing which was of the greatest value in after years. While still a girl she paid a visit to England, and remained there, with some relatives, for some months. She visited England again a few years later, and saw that there was a good opening in London for West Indian commodities. Therefore, on her return, she exported guava jelly, pickles and various preserves, and being anxious to add to the variety of her wares, she visited the Bahamas, Hayti and Cuba, to inspect the productions of those places.
On returning from her travels among the islands she settled down again to nurse her mother's invalid boarders, and before long married one of them, a Mr. Seacole. Her married life was, however, short for Mr. Seacole died a few months after the wedding. A little later her mother passed away, and Mary Seacole was left without relatives in Jamaica. She continued to manage the boarding-house; but her generosity to the poor was so unlimited that when she had a bad season she was without money to support herself. However, she struggled on until her boarding-house was once more filled with well-paying invalids. But in 1843 she had a very serious loss; her house was burnt in a fire which destroyed a large portion of Kingston. The boarding-house was, however, rebuilt, and prosperity returned. Many a white man asked her to become his wife, but she refused every offer, and devoted all her spare time to the task of adding to her store of medical knowledge. Several naval and military surgeons, surprised to find that her knowledge of medical matters was, for a woman, great, assisted her with her studies.
In 1850 cholera broke out in Jamaica, and raged for a greater portion of the year, and a doctor who was living at Mary Seacole's house gave her many valuable hints concerning the treatment of cholera cases. Before long the knowledge thus obtained proved to be the means of saving many lives.
Shortly after the cholera had ceased to rage in Jamaica Mary Seacole proceeded on a visit to her brother, who owned a large, prosperous store at Cruces in California. On arriving there, she found the place crowded with a mixed mob of gold-diggers and speculators, some proceeding to the gold-fields, others returning. The men returning were drinking, gambling and "treating" those who were bound for the gold-fields. It was a degrading sight, and Mary Seacole wished that she had not left Jamaica. There was nowhere for her to sleep, wash or change her travel-stained clothes, for every room in her brother's house was engaged by the homeward-bound gold-diggers. Until they departed she had to manage to exist without a bed.
These parties of miners arrived at Cruces weekly, and the scenes of dissipation were the same on each occasion.
Quarrels which ended in the death of one of the combatants were frequent and little noticed, but the very sudden death of a Spaniard who resided at Cruces caused great excitement. He had dined with Mary Seacole's brother, and on returning home was taken ill and suddenly died. Suspicion fell upon Mary Seacole's brother, and it was said openly that he had poisoned the man. Mary Seacole, indignant at the accusation brought against her brother, went to see the body, and knew at once that the man had died from cholera. No one believed her, but the following morning a friend of the dead man was taken ill with the same disorder, and the people who had scoffed at her became terror-stricken.
There was no doctor at Cruces, and Mary Seacole set herself to battle single-handed with the plague. Fortunately, she never travelled without her medicine-chest, and taking from it the remedies which had been used in Jamaica with great success she hurried to the sick man's bedside, and by her promptitude was able, under God, to save his life. Two more men were stricken down and successfully treated, and Mary Seacole was beginning to hope that the plague would not spread, when a score of cases broke out in one day. The people were now helpless from terror, and Mary Seacole was the only person who did not lose her presence of mind. Day and night she was attending patients, and for days she never had more than a hour's rest at a time. Whenever a person was stricken, the demand was for 'the yellow woman from Jamaica,' and it was never made in vain.
When the cholera had been raging for some days, Mary Seacole despatched a messenger to bring a medical man to the place; but the Spaniard who arrived in response to the summons was horror-stricken at the terrible scenes, and incapable of rendering any assistance. Mary Seacole was compelled, therefore, to continue her noble work unaided.
One evening she had just settled down to a brief rest when a mule-owner came and implored her to come at once to his kraal, as several of his men had been attacked with cholera. Now Mary Seacole had been visiting patients throughout the day and the previous night, but without the slightest hesitation she went out into the rain and made her way to the sick muleteers, whom she found in a veritable plague-spot. Men and mules were all in one room, and the stench was so great that a feeling of sickness came over her as she stood at the door. But with an effort she overcame the feeling, and entering flung open the windows, doors and shutters. Then, as the much-needed fresh air poured in, she looked around.
Two men she saw at once were dying, but there were others whom she thought there was a possibility of saving, and these she attended to at once. For many hours she remained in this strangely crowded room, and when she did quit it she only went away for an hour's sleep. On her return to the plague-spot she found fresh patients awaiting her, one, a little baby, who in spite of her efforts died. Everything was against Mary Seacole in this pestilential stable, but nevertheless she was the means of saving some lives.
At length, when the plague was dying out, the brave woman who had so nobly fought the disease was herself stricken with it, but happily for the British army she recovered.
Throughout the plague Mary Seacole had treated rich and poor alike. The centless man and the down-trodden muleteer received as much attention from her as the wealthy diggers returning home with their bags of gold dust. The latter paid her liberally for having tended them, but the majority of her patients had nothing but thanks to give her. Possibly she appreciated the latter most, for some of her rich patients seemed to think that having rewarded her they had wiped out the debt of gratitude.
On June 4 some of her wealthy patients gave a dinner party, and invited Mary Seacole to be present. One speaker proposed her health, and after referring to her having saved their lives continued in the following strain: 'Well, gentlemen, I expect there are only two things we are vexed for. The first is that she ain't one of us—a citizen of the great United States; and the other thing is, gentlemen, that Providence made her a yellow woman. I calculate, gentlemen, that you're all as vexed as I am that she's not wholly white, but I do reckon on your rejoicing with me that she's so many shades removed from being entirely black; and I guess if we could bleach her by any means we would, and thus make her as acceptable in any company as she deserves to be. Gentlemen, I give you Aunty Seacole.'
Mary Seacole's reply to this ill-mannered speech was as follows: 'Gentlemen, I return you my best thanks for your kindness in drinking my health. As for what I have done in Cruces, Providence evidently made me to be useful, and I can't help it. But I must say that I don't appreciate your friend's kind wishes with respect to my complexion. If it had been as dark as any nigger's, I should have been just as happy and as useful, and as much respected by those whose respect I value; and as to the offer of bleaching me, I should, even if it were practicable, decline it without any thanks. As to the society which the process might gain me admission into, all I can say is, that, judging from the specimens I have met here and elsewhere, I don't think that I shall lose much by being excluded from it. So, gentlemen, I drink to you, and the general reformation of American manners.'
In 1853 Mary Seacole returned to Jamaica, and before she had been there many weeks yellow fever broke out. It was the worst outbreak that had occurred for many years, and soon Mary Seacole's boarding-house was full of patients, chiefly officers, their wives and children. In nursing her boarders, and procuring proper food for them, Mary Seacole had more work than most women would care to undertake; but when the military authorities asked her to organise a start of nurses to attend to the men in Up-Park Camp, Kingston, she set to work on this additional task, and, carrying it out with her customary thoroughness, rendered a great service to the army.
After the yellow fever had subsided Mary Seacole sold her boarding-house, and opened a store in New Granada, where she speedily obtained popularity because of her medical skill. On war being declared against Russia, she determined to go to the Crimea to nurse the sick and wounded, and started for London as quickly as possible, arriving there soon after the news of the battle of Alma had been received. She had anticipated no difficulty in getting sent to the front, as there were many officers who could testify to her nursing abilities; but she found on arriving in London that every regiment to whom she was known had been sent to the Crimea. However, as the news of the sufferings of our men at the front had reached London, and the necessity of nurses being sent out was recognised, she imagined that her services would be promptly accepted.
Soon she found, greatly to her sorrow, that the colour of her skin was considered, in official circles, a barrier to her employment. She applied in turn at the War Office, the Quartermaster General's Department, the Medical Department, and the Crimea Fund, but at each place some polite excuse was made for declining her services. It was indeed a foolish act on the part of the officials. Nurses were sorely needed, and here was Mary Seacole, who had far greater experience of nursing British soldiers than any woman living, refused employment. She declared in her little book of adventures,[1] published soon after the war ended, that at her last rebuff she cried as she walked along the street.
But Mary Seacole's determination to proceed to the Crimea was not shaken by her inability to prevail upon the authorities to accept her services, and after consideration she decided to go to the front at her own expense. She had sufficient money to pay her passage to Balaclava, and to support her for some months after her arrival, but not enough to enable her also to supply herself with the medical outfit necessary for work at the seat of war. The only way in which she could hope to be in a position to help the sick and wounded was by earning money in the Crimea, and therefore she decided to start an hotel at Balaclava for invalid officers. By the next mail she sent out to the officers who had known her at Jamaica a notice that she would shortly arrive at Balaclava, and establish an hotel with comfortable quarters for sick and convalescent officers.
While Mary Seacole was making preparations for her departure she met a shipper named Day, who, hearing of her plans, offered to enter into partnership with her in the proposed hotel. This offer she accepted, as with a partner she would be able to devote more time to the wounded.
At Malta Mary Seacole found herself once more among people who knew and appreciated her. Some medical officers who had been stationed at Kingston were among those who welcomed her, and believing that Florence Nightingale would be glad of her help, gave her a letter of introduction to that noble Englishwoman. Having made arrangements for her work in the Crimea, Mary Seacole had now no desire to become attached to any nursing staff, but she accepted the letter of introduction, as she was anxious to make the acquaintance of Florence Nightingale, who was then at the barracks at Scutari, a suburb of Constantinople, which were being used as a hospital for British troops.
When Mary Seacole arrived at Scutari, Florence Nightingale was too busy to grant her an interview immediately, so she spent the period of waiting in inspecting the wards. As she passed along, many of the invalid soldiers recognised her and called to her. Some of them she had nursed in Jamaica, and the sight of her kindly brown face filled them with recollections of happy days in the West Indies. To every man who recognised her she said a few cheering words, and in several cases rearranged bandages which had slipped. While thus engaged, an officer entered the ward, and was about to reprimand her, when he saw, much to his surprise, that she was as skilful as any doctor or nurse in the hospital. When she had finished her self-imposed task, he thanked her for her thoughtful kindness.
At last Mary Seacole saw Florence Nightingale, whom she describes in these words: 'A slight figure, in the nurse's dress, with a pale, gentle, and withal firm face, resting lightly on the palm of one white hand, while the other supports the elbow—a position which gives to her countenance a keen, enquiring expression which is very marked. Standing thus in repose, and yet keenly observant, was Florence Nightingale—that Englishwoman whose name shall never die, but sound like music on the lips of British men until the hour of doom.'
Naturally Florence Nightingale was interested in the woman who came to her warmly recommended by British medical officers, and made many enquiries concerning her intentions. On the following morning Mary Seacole resumed her journey, but these two good women met several times before the war was ended.
On arriving at Balaclava Mary Seacole received hearty welcome from the troops. Men who had been stationed in Jamaica told their comrades of her bravery and kindness, and everyone hailed her as a great friend. Many officers, including a general and that gallant Christian, Captain Hedley Vicars, met her as she landed, and expressed their thanks to her for coming to the Crimea.
Mary Seacole was soon at work among the wounded, assisting the doctors to transfer them from the ambulances to the transports. While engaged in this work, on the day after her arrival, she noticed a wounded man who was evidently in great pain, and saw at once that his bandages were stiff, and hurting him. Having rearranged them she gave the poor fellow some tea, and as she placed it to his lips his hand touched hers. 'Ha!' he exclaimed, too weak even to open his eyes, 'this is surely a woman's hand. God bless you, woman, whoever you are! God bless you!'
A few days later, as she was busy at her usual work of attending to the sick and wounded, the Admiral of the Port placed his hand on her shoulder, and said earnestly, 'I am glad to see you here among these poor fellows.' A day or two before—when she had made some enquiries concerning the landing of her stores—this admiral had declared brusquely that they did not want a parcel of women in the place. When at last Mary Seacole's stores were put ashore, she started business in a rough little hut, made of tarpaulin, on which was displayed the name of the firm—Seacole and Day. The soldiers, however, considered that as Mary Seacole's skin was dark, a better name for the firm was Day and Martin, and as such it was generally known.
Towards the end of the summer, Seacole and Day's British Hotel was opened at Spring Hill. It had cost £800 to build, and was an excellent place for sick officers to rest. Adjoining the hotel, and belonging to the same proprietors, was a store at which could be purchased creature comforts and useful articles. At first the store was opened every day of the week. Mary Seacole had a strong dislike to opening it on Sunday, but the requirements of the soldiers made it almost a necessity. After a time, when the most pressing needs of the men had been met, she gave notice that the store would be closed on Sundays, and this rule she refused to alter, in spite of being constantly urged to do so.
Many officers, instead of going into hospital when ill, became boarders at Mary Seacole's, and among these was a naval lieutenant who was a cousin of Queen Victoria. These officers she doctored and nursed with her customary skill, and for every vacancy in her hotel there were half-a-dozen applicants.
One day it became known in camp, that among the things which Mary Seacole had received from a recently arrived ship was a young pig, which she intended to fatten and kill. Immediately she was overwhelmed with orders for a leg of pork, and if the pig had possessed a hundred legs she could have sold every one of them. An officer to whom she did eventually promise a leg of pork was so anxious that there should be no mistake about the matter, that he made the following memorandum of the transaction:—'That Mrs. Seacole did this day, in the presence of Major A— and Lieutenant W—, promise Captain H—, a leg of the pig.'
Every portion of the pig was sold long before the animal was fit to be killed, and then the purchasers began to fear that it would be stolen. Everybody took an interest in tins pig, and it was considered the correct thing for every soldier who passed the sty to assure himself that the animal was still there. One day two officers, coming off duty, galloped up to the hotel and shouted excitedly, 'Mrs. Seacole! Quick, quick, the pig's gone!' It was not a false alarm; the pig had been stolen. As, however, the nest in the sty was warm, it was evident that the pig had only recently been taken, and a party of officers started in pursuit of the thieves, shouting laughingly as they rode off, 'Stole away! Hark away!' The thieves, two Greeks, were quickly overtaken, and the precious pig was brought back in triumph to Mary Seacole.
It must not be thought that Mary Seacole devoted herself entirely to the officers, for her best work was done among the privates on the battlefield. Sir William Russell bore testimony to her courage and humanity. 'I have seen her,' he wrote, 'go down under fire, with her little store of creature comforts for our wounded men; and a more tender or skilful hand about a wound or broken limb could not be found among our best surgeons. I saw her at the assault on the Redan, at the Tchernaya, at the fall of Sebastopol, laden, not with plunder, good old soul! but with wine, bandages, and food for the wounded or the prisoners.'
The Inspector-General of Hospitals praised her work, and the Adjutant-General of the British Army wrote on July 1, 1856:—'Mrs. Seacole was with the British Army in the Crimea from February, 1855, to this time. This excellent woman has frequently exerted herself in the most praiseworthy manner in attending wounded men, even in positions of great danger, and in assisting sick soldiers by all means in her power.'
From officers who could afford to pay for her medicine or wine she accepted payment, but a man's need, and not his ability to pay, was her first thought. On the battle-field she gave strengthening food to wounded privates which she could easily have sold, at a large profit, to the officers.
Regardless of the danger she was running—she had many narrow escapes from shot and shell—she bandaged the wounded, administered restoratives to the unconscious, and prayed with the dying. Scores of dying men gave her messages for their loved ones at home, and these she despatched as speedily as possible. She saw many an old friend laid to his last rest, and among these was Hedley Vicars, with whom she had been associated in much good work in Jamaica.
Mary Seacole was known to have a very poor opinion of our French ally, but a wounded Frenchman received as much attention from her as an Englishman. The enemy, too, had good cause to bless her, for many a wounded Russian would have died on the battle-field but for her skilful and prompt aid. One Russian officer, whose wounds she bandaged and whom she helped to lift into the ambulance, was greatly distressed at being unable to express his thanks in a language which she understood. Taking a valuable ring from his finger, he placed it in her hand, kissing her hand as he did so, and smiled his thanks.
Mary Seacole continued her noble work until the war ended. But her generosity to the sick and wounded had been a great strain upon her finances, as the whole of her share of the profits in the firm of Seacole and Day, and much of her capital, had been spent on her charitable work. And, to make matters worse, when the British troops had departed from the Crimea, the firm had to dispose of its stock at one-tenth of the cost price. Proceeding to England, Seacole and Day started business at Aldershot, but after a few months the partnership was dissolved, and Mary Seacole found herself almost penniless. But as soon as her unfortunate position became known, friends hastened to assist her. Punch recorded some of her good deeds in verse, and made a humorous appeal on her behalf.
The red-coats did, at Punch's invitation, 'lend a willing hand;' for, although all ranks were sorry to hear of Mary Seacole's misfortune, they were glad to have an opportunity to prove to her that they had not forgotten her noble work in the Crimea. Subscriptions to the fund that was started for her benefit poured in, and a sufficient sum was received to enable her to spend the regaining years of her life in comfort.