By Ruby M. Williams, Grade 8
“The kingdom is coming,
O tell ye the story,
God’s banner exalted shall be!
The earth shall be full of
His knowledge and glory,
As waters that cover the sea!
--Mary Slade
Clouds of many hues speckled the sky. A gentle breeze from the south made the leaves rustle overhead. The sun was sinking in an ocean of azure. A ship lay at anchor in the harbor which had not been improved in any way. All the surroundings spoke of peace and happiness. Even the birds sang songs of joy.
The natives shrank back in fear for the ship was, to them, a monstrous thing bringing an army to destroy them. Poor, ignorant things! Why could they not read the message of the sky?
The next morning not a native was to be seen. They had fled in terror to the forest and looked down, from lofty perches, on the peaceful scene below. A disturbance was noticed on board the liner. Two boats were being let down its sides. One was filled with luggage and the other with several people, two of whom were women. The army was coming! However, the natives were suspicious until with waving and shouting, the boat sailed away. Then the natives advanced to see who the outsiders were and why they had come.
The new arrivals were different as two could be. One was old and wrinkled. However, she still claimed some of the beauty of youth. Her companion was young. The youth’s face was more than handsome and, as she gave the natives a friendly smile a light spread over her countenance making it seem even more beautiful than before. Her eyes were as brown as the curls which were the supreme glory of her appearance. There was something about the girl which made the Africans glad to welcome their visitors. They gave the Americans one of their shacks.
The new inhabitants, Mrs. Oakly and Miss Adnelam Smeih, quietly became leading attractions of the village. The younger’s mother was French and her father American. After the death of both father and mother she decided to invest her money to help the heathen. Each day she learned more of the language and customs of the dark races. They did not stay here long and soon moved into the interior. Here they built a small, cozy home and a little church, for, as perhaps you have already guessed, they were missionaries. They met with great success as they soon learned the simple language and began to teach those about them the laws of God.
For five years they labored and met with such success that the small church was born down and a large one built in its stead. A school was erected for all were eager to learn. Then a young American visited Miss Smeih leaving her very sorrowful. The natives knew that something awful had happened and vowed vengeance on the one who had caused such a turn of affairs.
Satsae, as the Africans called Miss Smeih, soon lost some of her sorrow but still was not as happy as she had been before the stranger’s visit. Several months sped smoothly by. Still Satsae had not fully recovered from her sorrow.
One morning Mrs. Oakly found that her friend was gone. At first she thought Miss Smeih had gone on a short trip. A lapse of several days made her face facts. At least she was forced to tell the natives the truth. At first they could not believe that Satsae had been killed or kidnapped. Then declaring that the stranger had done it they fled toward the forest.
“Come back! Come back! I think it was the heathen priests. They do not like us because we hurt their work,” declared Mrs. Oakly.
When the natives heard this they returned to her.
“But, mama. Satsae is unhappy since the stranger was here. We know he got her,” said an African.
“Go, one of you, see if the priests are here. If they are it was the American. If they are not—you know—now go,” replied Mrs. Oakly, overcome with emotion.
The natives ran to carry out mama’s order. I say “mama” because it’s what they called her. After being gone for a long time they returned to say that the priests had fled leaving nothing behind them.
“I knew—I knew—they did it. Oh, Satsae!” cried Mrs. Oakly.
The natives calmed her and she went into the house to rest. After this she was closely guarded both day and night by the natives, for they feared she would be taken also.
Mrs. Oakly would not consent for another missionary to take Adnilam’s place. She said the separation was hard enough to bear with making it harder. All she knew was that the stranger’s name was Mr. Olivet C. Winecoff.
“Mama, we know the stranger did it. The priests left because they were about to starve,” said a native one evening as he and several others were conversing with Mrs. Oakly.
“I’ve begun to think he might have done it. Satsae was so sorrowful after he came,” replied the lady.
“Yes, and mama, I know something else. I saw a strange boat in the harbor the day before Satsae was taken,” remarked another native.
“I’ve heard that Adnilam was captured before she retired. The bed was as I left it. She usually sits up late reading. They didn’t make much noise or I’d have been awakened,” returned Mrs. Oakly.
“The priests must have liked her. They have tried to hunt her,” explained a negro.
“Well, I guess she is gone for good. I miss her so. I first thought it was the priests, but now I know it’s Mr. Winecoff,” said Mama in a broken tone.
“We know he did it, too. Satsae was never happy after he came,” replied a small African.
And so the days passed by, each adding more proof to the guilt of Mr. Winecoff and each decreasing the proof against the priests. They tried very hard to help but at last every one gave up hope of seeing their friend again.
It was on the tenth anniversary of the missionaries’ arrival in Africa that Mrs. Oakly began to feel sick. Satsae had been captured four years. Every one thought she was dead. Three days later Mrs. Oakly was very ill. The natives gathered around the bedside expecting their friend would soon pass to that world about which she had told them so much.
“If Satsae was here she would live,” whispered a woman with tears in her eyes.
Upon hearing Satsae’s name mentioned Mrs. Oakly whispered, “Satsae—my Adnilam.”
Then—footsteps were heard outside. A door softly opened and quickly shut. A fleeting, white-clad figure crossed the outer room. Another black-clad figure followed the first. The awe-stricken natives made a path to the bed. With a glad cry of “Mama” the figure fell across the bed. Mrs. Oakly became better at once.
“Satsae! Satsae!” she cried. “I thought you were dead!”
“Mama, this is Mr. Winecoff. He rescued me from the priests—”
“The priests! The priests! Get them quick!” cried the natives, and half of them ran determinedly out. The others remained to welcome their friend.
“We thought the stranger got you,” they said.
“My story is long. I will tell you later. Now, before you all, I want to say that Olivet has been my friend since childhood. He is a missionary also,” explained Miss Smeih.
Several days later Mrs. Oakly sat on the broad porch for she was rapidly regaining her health. Adnilam ran up the walk. She was pursued by Mr. Winecoff. Dropping gracefully on the steps she looked up at mama.
“I promised to tell you, didn’t I? When Olivet was here I received a letter. It said for me to leave. That’s why I was sad. I remember well. I was reading. All at once I felt something on my throat. I was quickly bound and gagged. Then I was carried out of the window and far away. I was kept here four years. Then one day a note was slipped through my window. It said to push a certain panel. I did this and found a secret passage. Closing the panel behind me I followed the passage and came to a place were Olivet was waiting for me. We came here. You know the rest.”
Mrs. Oakly was quiet. Mr. Winecoff had disappeared. Adnilam went into the house.
Later Miss Smeih married her hero and together they worked bringing many to Christ. Mrs. Oakly stayed with her friends a long time. Then she went to join her Savior.
For no matter what happens the prophecy always comes true. “The earth shall be full of his knowledge and glory as the waters that cover the sea.’
Clouds of many hues speckled the sky. A gentle breeze from the south made the leave rustle overhead. The sun was sinking in an ocean of azure. A ship lay at anchor in the large, modern harbor. All the surroundings spoke of peace and happiness. Even the birds sang songs of joy.
From page 7 of the Reidsville Review, Nov. 21, 1923
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