1914 - Hewett, Ellen. Looking back, or, Personal Reminiscences (2nd ed.) - XII. WORK FOR GOD, p 77-89

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XII

WORK FOR GOD

SOME people are sceptical of a mother's intuitive feelings about her children. But whilst living in my cottage at Sydenham, when my daughter was at school at Boulogne, it suddenly shot through my mind that my child was in danger. I instantly went on my knees and said, 'Lord, have mercy upon my child, and save her! Oh, save my daughter!' And for a few moments I was in great fear.

Some days after this, I received a letter from my daughter saying she had had a very narrow escape on that day from drowning. She was bathing with the other school girls rather too near the Boulogne Pier, and her special friend, Clara B-----, had said, 'Put your hand on my shoulder and I will take you for a swim'; but when they turned to go back, they found the current too strong. After battling against it for some time, Clara cried out in terrified tones, 'Let me go; take your hand off my shoulder!' My daughter could not swim, but she knew she must let her friend go, and she tried hard to take her hand away. But the instinct of self-preservation was so strong that her hand would cling on, in spite of all her efforts.

At last, with one heroic attempt, she succeeded in removing her hand. For one moment she saw Clara making for the shore, and then with a piercing cry of despair she sank; but on rising again she heard a voice say, 'Throw your arms back and float; don't be afraid--the boat is coming for you!'

That voice inspired her with courage, and she floated away to sea, but was soon rescued by some men in a boat.

She said the voice from the pier, through God's mercy, saved her, and she owes her life to some kind,

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prompt person whom we have never seen, but to whom we feel grateful.

I know a mother who awoke one night hearing her son cough as though in an attack of croup. He was some miles away at school, at the Blue-coat School, but she instantly prayed for him, and in the morning she at once set off to see him. The matron of his ward said, 'Your son nearly died last night; he bled from his nose and ears in his struggles for breath, during an acute attack of croup.'

Thank God, a valuable life was spared, and he lived to be the best of sons, and also a good colonist.

A ridiculous thing happened soon after my arrival in England. My father-in-law sent me to some old friends of his who had expressed a wish to see me. 'But how,' I asked, 'shall I get my railway ticket?'

My father-in-law looked at me with surprise. I explained that when I left England for New Zealand, I was a little girl, and that I had never taken a ticket or travelled by myself. And in New Zealand I never saw a train, as there were no railways where I lived. 'Oh, well,' said my father-in-law, 'it's time you did these things for yourself,' and he gave me directions, and said, 'You must ask for a first-class ticket to South Kensington.' A great crowd of people were asking for tickets, and I took my place amongst them to await my turn. But when I asked for my ticket, the man looked up sharply and said, 'Single?' I never was so astonished. I said, 'Yes, no--I'm a widow! But what has that to do with my railway ticket?'

Then he was as much astonished as I had been, and there was a burst of laughter from the people who heard us. But a lady said, 'He means do you want a return ticket?' I said, 'Oh, yes, please!' And when I did return, that man was still smiling!

On getting back to my father-in-law, he said, 'Well, how did you get on in your travels?' When I told him, he was much amused, and a few days later he brought into the drawing-room a copy of 'Punch,' and laying it down before me, said, 'Here you are, they have put you in "Punch,"' and there was the whole scene in a little square picture!

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The houses in our road at Sydenham were new, and forty men were at work for some time laying down gas and water pipes, and on Saturday morning--the day they have their half holiday--I took papers and magazines and tracts, which I distributed amongst them.

Only one man refused to take the tract I offered him. I said, in sympathetic tones, 'Have you been ill? You are so thin.'

The man standing next to him said, 'Yes, he has been ill.'

I said, 'Perhaps you have no appetite.'

'No, that is the trouble,' he replied.

'Your body,' I went on, 'will perish without food, and so will your soul without Christ. He is the spiritual Bread of Life, and you have no appetite for that which tells of Him. Well, I am sorry for both your soul and body.'

The next time I went round, he came up and said, 'I have been thinking of what you said, and I want one of your books.'

I handed one to him, and I said to those standing round me, 'Your work will soon be finished.'

'Yes,' was the reply; 'on Wednesday about noon.'

'Will you all,' I asked, 'come to tea at five o'clock on that day? And after tea some one will give you a short address.' They said they would come,

I found a large room in an empty house close to my own cottage, which I had permission to use, and, with the help of a lady friend, soon the long tables were nicely arranged with clean white tablecloths and flowers, and a large plate for each man containing two big slices of beef and one large slice of good ham. Meat in those days in England was very dear, and consequently much enjoyed by my guests.

There was, of course, an abundant supply of bread and butter and cake.

I had a small harmonium in the room, and we sang the dear old-fashioned grace:--

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My two sons waited on our guests, whilst my friend and I poured out tea and coffee; and my boys were such good waiters, and said things which amused the men so much, that we were a very happy party. At the end of the meal we sang the closing grace:--

A gentleman helped to arrange the room for the short meeting, and spoke so nicely to them; and afterwards we sang a hymn to close the meeting. The one man who had refused the tract came to me, and with tears rolling down his cheeks said, 'O ma'am, sing this hymn, for it is true of me this night':--

We sang it, and the other men were deeply impressed by seeing this man, who had scoffed at religion, so changed.

Once when going by train a short distance from London, I caught an earlier train than the one I had intended to go by, and it happened to be a workmen's train. As usual, I got into a third-class carriage which had several compartments, all filled with men going to their work, chiefly bricklayers.

I was the only woman in the carriage, and as they looked at my handsome clothes, they said with a sneer, 'Workman's ticket!'

I replied in clear tones, 'No, it was by mistake that I got into this train. I see that you think I could well afford to pay for a first-class ticket. Now,' I said, 'learn a lesson not to judge by appearances. I believe I am the poorest person in this carriage, and by necessity I have to travel in the cheapest way. You think my fine clothes belie what I say, but they were all given to me by kind friends.'

And I told them how in New Zealand I had taken my four children to their father's grave, and had asked

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God to be their Father, and to provide for us according to His own promise; and I said, 'We have proved those promises: His goodness and mercy have never failed.'

Those dear men were so interested, and they said, 'You must excuse us, ma'am,' and they thanked me for talking to them, and then I opened the bag of my sealskin muff and took out a roll of tracts, and every man in all the compartments took one and thanked me.

I was well known to many of the railway porters and officials at Victoria Station--my terminus from Sydenham. On one occasion I had my pocket picked, and my purse taken containing £5 and some silver and my railway ticket. I did not discover my loss until just before taking my place at the turnstile where the ticket collector stands; so I waited until every one had passed through, and then I said, meekly, 'My purse has gone, with all my money and my railway ticket.'

The ticket collector said, 'Did you notice what sort of a person sat next to you?'

I replied, 'A man in an Inverness cape, but he was holding a newspaper in both hands all the time, so it could not have been he.'

The ticket collector said, 'He had a false hand holding the newspaper, and with his own hand he picked your pocket.'

By this time the railway porters had collected round us. I smiled and nodded at those I knew, when to my surprise one of them stepped forward with his hat in his hand, in which he had made a collection of money from the others, and said, 'They hoped I would accept it to get a ticket to return to Sydenham,' adding, 'We have not forgotten the little books you gave us or the nice way you have talked to us for our good.'

It was so kind and chivalrous of them, the tears rushed into my eyes as I thanked them warmly, but I told them I would take a cab to my father-in-law's house, where I should get all I required.

One day my daughter and I went to see an exhibition of pictures by the Dutch masters. There was no one in the gallery but ourselves, and one important

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looking man was absorbed in the pictures. My daughter's interest was not very keen, the chief object being to get fun out of what she saw, and she drew my attention to a picture which was rather grotesque. I said, 'Surely those figures are quite out of perspective,' and we both laughed a little, which had the effect of rousing the indignation of the one other visitor, and he put on his pince-nez to look at us. But, to my surprise, he said, after looking at the picture, 'You are right. But now let me point out to you some of the beauties of these other pictures.' And then gradually we got into conversation, and soon I found that I was talking to a man who seemed to be a concentration of all the infidels that ever lived. I told him how, in the bush in New Zealand, God had, without any human aid or voice, shown me my need of a Saviour and the atoning work of Jesus Christ on the cross. He said, 'I have never heard an experience like this before. I hope we may meet again.'

I was in terror lest the clever, witty things he had said should have weakened my daughter's belief; but to my great relief, when we were outside, she exclaimed, 'O mother, aren't you glad you came? I do not think that gentleman will ever forget what he heard.' I afterwards discovered that he was a notable member of Parliament.

One day, on my return from London to our little cottage at Sydenham, I was surprised to see at the window a mass of golden hair, a pretty pink and white profile, and as I entered the room two arms were thrown round me, and in the sweetest tones, 'Darling Mrs. Hewett, I should have recognized you anywhere, although I have never seen you since I was a wee child in New Zealand! Have you quite forgotten Rachel Lockhart?'

'Let me look at you,' I said. 'No, I see the child I used to know in the face I am looking at now; and also the faces of your dear father and mother, who were such kind friends to me in New Zealand.'

As I drew her to the sofa, she said, 'I must tell you why I am here. Mother said, "Go straight to Mrs. Hewett: she will advise you and help you in every

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way, for auld lang syne." Father is not well, and mother cannot leave home with so many dependent on her, and there was no time to arrange anything for my marriage, which is to take place in a week. May I stay with you until then? My intended is coming to call to-morrow. He was chief officer on board the boat we came to England in, and I promised to marry him directly he was made captain. We have been engaged two years, and I have been a governess, but have saved nothing out of my salary; and Alick, my intended, has not saved much either. But he has obtained permission to take me this voyage, so there will be no expense, and we shall have his pay on our return with which to set up our little home. I am to be married from his sister's house a week from now, and after a fortnight in lodgings, we are to set sail for Brazil, or somewhere.'

Of course, I welcomed her; and the fair damsel and myself were hard at work every day collecting what she needed for the completion of her trousseau. I had a very pretty French grey silk, which, with some additions of chiffon and alterations, made a nice evening dress; and her wedding dress was a white silk tussore, no foolish or unnecessary expenditure. I was pleased with her 'Alick.' He was an only son, and had been carefully brought up.

They were married in due course, and the time was drawing near for them to come and see me before starting on their voyage, when I got a telegram: 'Expect me this afternoon.--Rachel.'

Soon she arrived, and, to my surprise, alone, with her boxes; no Alick.

It was of no use asking her to explain. She was sobbing in my arms. At last in trembling tones I said, 'Where is Alick?'

'Gone to New Zealand!' was the tearful reply. 'I have just seen him off; it was dreadful, but it was fortunate,' she quaintly added. 'Alick's ship was thrown into Chancery over some law case, and there was Alick without a ship or home or money! A ship was ready to sail for New Zealand, and as the first mate had a serious accident, and was taken to the hospital, Alick accepted his billet--and he's gone!'

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I comforted Rachel as well as I could, and after a few days she said she would go back to her place as governess, as she was sure they would gladly have her. This proved true, and she felt she ought to be earning something; so, poor child, she went back to her teaching, leaving some of her boxes with me.

But in a short time I received from her a letter, saying she had determined to follow her husband to New Zealand, and would work her way out.

Soon she arrived at my house, and I said, 'We will go at once to the Agent-General's office; but you look far too young and pretty to obtain a billet as matron to a lot of emigrant girls. You must look different. That mass of golden hair must be plaited and coiled tightly against the back of your head, and you must wear one of my bonnets. Your blue serge skirt and jacket, with a plain white silk handkerchief round your neck, and with a pair of my grey cotton gloves and small hand-bag, will do. And soon she looked more business-like.

Then I said, 'Rachel, you must look grave and firm, and when you are talking to the man at the agent's office, don't be carried away, and put on all those little airs and graces to be fetching.'

We set off, and were soon in the presence of the Agent-General, who was most kind and courteous. I said, 'We have seen the advertisement for matrons to take charge of emigrant girls, and my friend, Mrs. Menzies, wishes to go to New Zealand in that capacity.'

He looked at us both, and then shook his head slowly and said, 'I don't think the billet would suit either of you.'

I said earnestly, 'Please do not judge by Mrs. Menzies' appearance that she is unfit for the position. It is true that she is young and pretty; but she is sensible, was brought up in New Zealand, and understands housework and cooking, and would see that everything under her charge was scrupulously clean. With all these advantages, and the very important fact that she is never sea-sick, I think you will be unwise to reject her services!'

The Agent-General smiled at my enthusiasm, and

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replied, 'What you have said will be taken into consideration, and I will wire to-morrow our decision.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Rachel, demurely, at which I nearly exploded.

When outside, we gave vent to our excitement, jabbering away to each other like two magpies.

I said, 'Rachel, we will go at once and get a lot of Moody and Sankey hymn-books, and you can teach your girls to sing them' --for she had amongst her many attractions a sweet voice.

When we explained what we wanted the books for, they were presented to us as a gift; and then I bought a number of bound volumes of Dr. Barnardo's beautifully illustrated magazine, 'The Treasury,' which I knew would be very attractive to the girls.

'But,' said Rachel, 'perhaps they won't appoint me as matron.'

'Yes, they will,' I answered: 'you will soon be emigrating with your girls on board some vessel.'

Next day the telegram came: 'You are appointed matron.' In a few days everything was ready, and I went to the docks with her on board the Bebbington, and saw the portion assigned to Rachel and her fifty-four girls.

While she was talking to some of her friends, I put a strip of bright-coloured carpet in her cabin and nailed up some useful pockets on the wall; and then I collected a few of the girls together and told them about their matron: how she was going to join her husband in New Zealand, and how much she would need their help and sympathy.

I had brought with me a number of good and pretty books for distribution, which they seemed glad to get, and they each, as I shook hands at parting, promised me to stand by their young matron in any time of need.

But there were a number of wild, desperate characters amongst the girls, and poor Rachel had a most terrible time with them; indeed, but for the friendship of the few to whom I spoke, she said she believed she would have been killed.

It was nearly a year before I received her first letter from New Zealand. She wrote:--

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'I never expected to be able to write again when on that fated ship Bebbington. Our voyage, from beginning to end, was awful. After leaving Portsmouth we had fearful head-winds, and sea running mountains high. I did not know what rest was, nor did I have a dry stitch on me the whole of that time.

'The girls were all sea-sick for three months. I had to attend them and haul them on deck against their will. Oh, the misery I passed through! The air was so foul and stifling, with fifty-four of us in one small space, and being shut down with great hatches made it worse. Then fever broke out in its worst form; I had every kind in my compartment, but no deaths. From the day we sailed until the day we landed, my hospital doors were never closed.

'The poor men all fell victims to the disease. One after another in the single men's compartment were cut off: twenty funerals at sea. Oh, it was sad! But not one of my girls died. Dr. Russell said he had been in five emigrant vessels, and had never seen such a perfectly clean and orderly compartment as mine. But had I not persevered and slaved, death would have cut us off, for we were so closely packed.

'Before we neared the Cape of Good Hope we ran short of water (as the condenser broke down), coal, and provisions. We were over three months getting to the Cape. On account of so much sickness, medical comforts ran short: £100 worth had to be bought whilst we were in quarantine at the Cape. Putting in these, and re-provisioning, cost over £1,000. We had to get timber and build an additional hospital.

'One young man of twenty-five died while we were there, and the captain and four sailors took his body out in a boat and buried him in the sea, three miles from where we were. Oh, it was so sad; and he was such a nice young fellow! We were three months more getting to Auckland from the Cape, altogether a voyage of six months. Near Auckland the Government steamer came alongside with the emigration officer and the health officer, and several others, including my dear Alick! But he was not allowed to come on board our infected vessel.

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'After a melancholy consultation we were ordered into quarantine for five weeks! It was too bad to be shut up there and not see Alick, after going through so much. My heart was like to break.

'I told him to take the first vessel he was offered, as he had been waiting for me at Auckland nearly three months. It was very hard to see the steamer move away with Alick!

'The Government steamer used to visit the Quarantine Island every second day, bringing us fresh provisions. The only person in charge of the buildings was a little old man. I had hard work to keep my girls within bounds. The confinement after the irksome voyage was beginning to tell on them, and each, of course, felt that the risk of infection was small, and wanted to get to her destination. There was no diversion, and they were not permitted near the men's quarters.

'Doubtless the men found it equally wearisome, for one day, in a spirit of mischief, they made a rush at our building with the idea of liberating the girls. I ran to the door of our dormitory, where we were all dressing, but the girls, divining my intention, threw first one, then another of their garments at me to impede my progress. But I was too quick for them, and, mid shrieks of laughter, and some disagreeable mutterings from two or three, I got outside and locked the door.

'Fortunately, I was dressed, all but doing up my hair--it was so thick and long that it nearly covered me--and with a face as pale as death I had to face all those men! Some of them were really rough, and I was not wishful that they should get excited. I stretched out my hands and said, "Brothers! I appeal to you for help" (the girls meanwhile were storming and shouting); "do, like good, kind men, help me to carry out my duty. You know what a hard time we have all had, and you know how I have worked for the good of these girls. We shall soon be liberated. I appeal to you as brothers to help me!"

'There was an instant of silence, a cap was waved, then "Three cheers for the Matron!" and they went

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back to their own quarters, excepting about six, who said, "We will see you safely with the girls again."

'To show them how I trusted them, I gave one of them the key, and he opened the door and pushed the girls back; the other men joined him in speaking to the girls, which they did in no complimentary terms. Of course, it was only the worst of the girls who were difficult to control.

'I found the picture-books and Sankey's hymns so helpful on the journey from the Cape to Auckland. Before that it had been impossible to use them. The books also came in handy on the Quarantine Island.

'After weary waiting, at last the joyful day arrived when the little steamer came and took us off out of quarantine, and after the usual questions had been asked, I was released, and ran to Alick, who was standing a few feet off on the wharf.

'A week after my arrival in Auckland, Alick had the offer of the command of a schooner, the May Queen, and they said I might go with him. So I was no sooner off one voyage than I was on another. But, Oh, how different!'

* * * * *

After sixteen years in England, my children's education being completed, I returned to New Zealand. My children are now well-to-do settlers. They have worked very hard upon their blocks of land in the back country, where I have often stayed with them, and was once guilty of describing the life as 'mud, mutton, and monotony.'

But they have emerged out of most of these difficulties, and have now pretty homes. It is a great delight to me that both my sons are much esteemed in the districts where they live, and are described as 'men whose word is their bond.'

My daughter's home is in Wanganui, not far from where, in the early days, our first house stood, and where she and all my children were born. She is quaintly original, and very popular with her many friends.

All my children are married, and I now have seventeen grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

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Life has been very full for me of work amongst my children and grandchildren, and in works of philanthropy. My three years of Gospel-Temperance work among the Maoris was, I believe, the most successful of all. The Maoris realized that I, as well as themselves, had suffered during the war, and they never failed to appreciate, in the most responsive way, all my efforts on their behalf.

And now in my old age I can truly say with David:--

'Goodness and Mercy have followed me all the days of my life.'

And through that same Goodness and Mercy I hope to dwell in the House of the Lord for ever.