They ran down to the river and found him.  After much persuading he at last went, and returned next day with the medicine.

The chief, whom the women had believed to be almost dead, gradually recovered consciousness, then sat up and took food.  At last he was quite well.  All the village laughed and sang for joy.  There would be no slaying.  They gathered round Mary Slessor in grateful wonder at her magic powers.  She told them that she had come to them because she worshipped the Great Physician Jesus Christ, the Son of the Father—­God who made all things.  Then she gathered them together in the morning and evening, and led them as with bowed heads they all thanked God for the healing of the chief.

III.  VALIANT IN FIGHT

Years passed by and Mary Slessor’s name was known in all the villages for many miles.  She was, to them, the white Ma who was brave and wise and kind.  She was mad, they thought, because she was always rescuing the twin babies whom the Calabar people throw out to die and the mothers of twins whom they often kill.  But in some strange way they felt that her wisdom, her skill in healing men, and her courage, which was more heroic than that of their bravest warriors, came from the Spirit who made all things.  She would wrench guns from the hands of drunken savage men who were three times as strong as she was.  At last she used to sit with their chief as judge of quarrels, and many times in palavers between villages she stopped the people from going to war.

Through the Forest Perilous

One day a secret message came to her that, in some villages far away, a man of one village had wounded the chief in another village and that all the warriors were arming and holding councils of war.

“I must go and stop it,” said Mary Slessor.

“You cannot,” said her friends at Ekenge, “the steamer is coming to take you home to Britain because you are so ill.  You will miss the boat.  You are too ill to walk.  The wild beasts in the woods will kill you.  The savage warriors are out, and will kill you in the dark—­not knowing who you are.”

“But I must go,” she answered.

The chief insisted that she must have two armed men with lanterns with her, and that she must get the chief of a neighbouring village to send out his drummer with her so that people might know—­as they heard the drum—­that a protected person was travelling who must not be harmed.

It was night, and Mary Slessor with her two companions marched out into the darkness, the lanterns throwing up strange shadows that looked like fierce men in the darkness.  Through the night they walked till at midnight they reached the village where they were to ask for the drum.

The chief was surly.

“You are going to a warlike people,” he said.  “They will not listen to what a woman says.  You had better go back.  I will not protect you.”