Tell them; or, The life story of a medical missionary

Front matter

S.lfMQ,

PRINCETON, N. J.

"Tell them"; or. The ct nr v of a medical

Chapter I. The Polish Lancer

As the bells in many cities chimed the hour of seven, on the evening of November 30, 1830, the people of Poland made the determined attempt to free themselves from the thraldom of Russia, which history has recorded and applauded with her iron pen.

The Grand Duke Constantine, the Russian Governor of Poland, narrowly escaped with his life by jumping from a window in his palace, as his pursuers ascended the stairs; and many of his Imperial Guard were killed in the first blow of the revolution, which was so sudden and severe.

The Poles had selected an hour when the cavalry would be off guard. and attending to their horses for the night, and the military stables were among the first places to be attacked.

As the alarm assembly was sounded the soldiers endeavored to obey, but were shot dotvn as they sought to leave the stables; some few, however, managed to escape, and among them a young Pole of twenty years, who soon decided not to fiedrt against his kith and kin, but to join them. He did so, and was appointed to a regiment of Polish lancers, organized by the patriot insurgents to fight for the deliverance of their country from Russian tyranny. This young soldier, who was made sergeant in the regiment, was my father,

‘‘tell them.”

The Poles, as the world knows, had to contend with great odds, and were largely outnumbered by their foes, in addition to their being poorly equipped generally; but history has told us how brave and heroic was the struggle which they made, while England and America vied with other countries in affording the refugees an hospitable welcome to their shores.

On one occasion, after a severe battle, in which the Poles were greatly outnumbered, a retreat was made by the revolutionists into and through a wood, the Russians encamping on the near side of it and the Poles on the other. Scouts were sent out by the latter to reconnoitre, and, if possible, pick up any wounded Poles who had “fallen by the way.”

A sergeant, who was on this duty with two troopers, found himself unexpectedly at the edge of the wood on the Russian side, and close to a party of cossacks. fifteen in number, who were in the act of carrying off some wounded Poles, one of whom was an officer. Realizing that to attempt escape would mean death, he drew his sword, and, dashing forward, roared the word of command as if a regiment was behind him. This had the desired effect, for the cossacks dropped their prisoners and galloped off, only looking back in time to see three horses enter the wood with two men on each.

Arriving in camp, the commander offered the sergeant (my father) his choice between a captaincy and a “Legion of Honor.” The latter was accepted in preference, with the remark that, “PromcTcm i more easily obtained than honor."

IO

THE POLISH LANCER.

Not long after this, however, he was taken prisoner and was being- driven to trial and death as a deserter in a covered military wagon, in charge of a Russian escort. Having to travel several miles, the latter had provided themselves with some liquor, of which thev partook freely on the iourney, and became drunk. Watching his opportunity, their prisoner mingled some snuff with the liquor, which soon put the escort into a sound stupor.

Providing himself with all that he needed, or thought he could carrv, he struck the driver a blow with the butt end of a rifle, and, as he fell, reined the horses quickly, sprang out and unhitching one horse, galloped away on it into a neighboring forest. Here he remained for some weeks, until the opportunity was afforded him to rejoin his comrades in arms, who warmly welcomed his return to their ranks.

dashed away to die right.’

A HAIRBREADTH ESCAPE.

Chapter II. A Hairbreadth Escape

Soon after this occurred his regiment was engaged in a hand-to-hand combat with some Russian cavalry when a large body of the enemy was observed hastening to strengthen their comrades. The Polish commander caused the retreat to be sounded, but those engaged “in the thick of the fight” failed to hear it, and presently discovered that a mere handful of them remained in the midst of the Russian forces.

With a desperate effort my father succeeded in freeing himself and made a dash for liberty, but alas! a bullet struck his horse to the ground. At the same instant a Russian officer, dashing along, sabre in hand, aimed a blow at him as he stood expecting only to be trampled to death by the oncoming troops.

As the sabre of the officer came whizzing through the air and struck the lancer beneath the chin he parried the blow with his lance, and dexterously thrust his assailant through. At the same instant he grasped the bridle of his assailant’s horse, and, leaping thereon, dashed away to the right and into the forest. Once more liberty was gained, but only with the prospect of a repetition of life in the forest and alone, with the painful accompaniment of two sword wounds.

What the young lancer passed through during the following weeks and months can- J3

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not be written. His horse finally died, and, more dead than alive, his master came to the edge of the wood to watch for a kindly face which he might trust the owner of to deliver him from loneliness and death.

At last a man, whose countenance seemed to indicate a possible friend, came along, and to him he confided his case. As the stranger assured the soldier of his sympathy with him, and of his willingness to take him to a great friend of the Poles, his heart beat with a peculiar joy. Arriving at a large house, the door was opened, and one glance served to show the work of a traitor, and revealed to my father the fact that he was “caught.” As he saw the uniforms of Russian soldiery within, his feelings may be better imagined than described.

Being summoned before the officer in command, he was briefly auestioned as to his name and place of birth. Doubtless other questions would have followed, but, to the astonishment of both the prisoner and his escort, the general bade the soldiers leave the prisoner with him.

The soldiers having departed, the general asked one or two more auestions, and, falling upon the prisoner’s neck, with tears in his eyes, embraced him, exclaiming, “Can it really be that you are the son of my old playmate? I can never betray the son of my dear old friend.”

The prisoner was soon after sent away, passport in hand, money in his pocket, and well clothed, to make his way to France, which country he reached, and, taking up his 14

A HAIRBREADTH ESCAPE.

abode in Paris, remained there nearly two years. At the end of this time he made his way to London, and soon learned to make boots and shoes, in which calling he subsequently excelled.

In 1837 he married my mother, Miss Mary Oldfield, granddaughter of a former Ludgate Hill lapidary and goldsmith. The young couple went to work with a will, and soon established themselves in a comfortable home and business, and at the time the writer was born (April. 1843) they resided in what is now known as Queen’s Road, Bavswater, London.*

* My father died in England, in September, 1893, in his eighty-fourth year.

IS

“tell them.”

Chapter III. Ups and Downs

How many a bold and brave man, who has readily conquered his country’s foe on the field of battle, has been overcome by the insidious moral enemies which have assailed him. It was so with mv father.

For the first few years of his married life he worked early and late to build up, as he succeeded in doing’, a prosperous business, and had among his regular customers several of the nobility of England. But, as sometimes happens, success was only the prelude to failure.

Being in a prosperous condition his company was sought by some gamblers, to whom he became a ready, unsuspecting victim, until finally he lost all that he possessed, and saw himself, wife and four children turned into the street, with nothing in the world belonging to them but the clothing they wore.

To see the various articles which husband and wife had labored so hard to obtain to furnish a “home” (most of which had either been the subject of mutual interest or of individual surprise and loving thoughtfulness of the other) ruthlessly torn away from their possessors is an experience none need desire to pass through, although it may not be fully understood without their doing so.

There was but one door open in such a case, the so-called almshouse, and here the family 16

UPS AND DOWNS.

of six had to take refuge for some weeks ere it was possible for its head to make a fresh start in life, a by no means easy task under such circumstances.

To roll down a hill does not call for much effort or anything else; but to climb one, especially after a fall, requires push, pluck and perseverance; and, even when possessing and exercising all of these, the task is not easily, if ever, fully performed; for, very seldom indeed does a man reach as high a point again as that from which he fell.

It was decided, after some weeks’ residence in the poorhouse, to leave that much-to-be dreaded and avoided institution, and to make a fresh start in life in earnest.

The writer was about eleven years of age at this time and can still remember how he planned to do some wonderful things of which he ventured to tell his beloved mother, to cheer her up in the midst of her grief.

In a single room, with very few articles of furniture, our family took up its abode. One day the writer’s heart was made glad by his being called by the proprietor of a chemist’s shop, or drug store, to go upon some messages or errands. This was increased considerably by his being asked, “Iiow would you like to come to work for me? I’ll give you four shillings ($i) a week to begin with.’’

Visions of what such a large amount, as it then seemed, would accomplish, and the thought of earning it all one’s self, rose up in the boyish mind and soon evoked the reply, “I’ll be pleased to co^". sir: but I’d like to ask mother first.”

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Permission was readily obtained, and the young druggist soon became sufficiently proficient to be able to serve Epsom salts in package, castor oil, etc.

What a big four shilling's the first week’s wages seemed to the bov who had worked for them, and who soon ran home with some degree of pride as well as pleasure to give them to “mother.”

About this time one of mv father’s former lady customers, who had not seen or known of him for some years, accidentally met him, and at once gave him an order for two dozen pairs of boots and shoes for herself, for, she said, “No one can make shoes to fit me but you.”

After some months of struggle we removed to another part of London, and the first employer was parted with, not without considerable regret. The struggle up hill went on for some time; now things would brighten, and again the clouds would gather.

One day, breakfast being finished, with it ended all supplies actual and probable, giving rise to the oft-repeated question, “Where is the next to come from?” A mother’s prayer again ascended for help to Him who never turned a deaf ear to anv earnest seeker for aid, and again the cry “Lord help me” was answered. Tr-ue, the answer seemed long in coming, but it came at last.

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A boy’s first prayer.

Chapter IV. A Boy’s First Prayer

The boy of twelve years left home that morning fully determined to bring' back something before night. All that day he wandered up and down the streets of that great city, his clothes being too shabby, as he felt, to make it worth his while to apply for a “place” in some of the large and stylish shops.

It was nearly dark, when, hungry and footsore, and ready to despair of securing anything, his ears caught the sound of a horse’s hoofs close to him, causing him to turn around, as the voice of the rider accosted him: “Here, boy, will you hold my horse?” “Yes, sir,” was the ready response, as the bridle was grasped.

As the writer stood there on Regent street, holding that horse, he believes the first real prayer for help arose to God from his heart, and it was answered.

Among the many things projected in his boyish mind wras that of starting in the news business; not in any large way, of course, at first. He had often noticed the boys at Charing Cross, and elsewhere, selling the daily papers, and after thinking the matter over had concluded that, although it would be very hard for him to become a “newsboy,” and humbling as it might be to run the risk of meeting some of the friends of “better days,” still it was better to do that than nothing, and

“ The first real prayer for help arose to God.”

A boy’s first prayer.

so earn an honest living; and his prayer took shape accordingly. If he could but get sixpence, he would “start business” next dav, and this was what he needed and sought.

An hour passed before the owner of the horse came out again. As he sprang into the saddle, he dropped something into the hand of the boy hostler, saying, “Here you are, my boy; sorry to have kept you so long,” and galloped off.

It had become too dark to see what kind of coin lie had given, but it seemed too large tor a sixpence and too small for a halfpenny. Taking it to a shop window the light revealed

A SILVER SHILLING.

How much larger a coin appears when set in the frame of poverty and need!

The question as to how to dispose of this important sum was quickly settled and acted upon. Entering a shop near by, the shilling was exchanged for two sixpences, one of which was invested in a loaf of bread, a small amount of tea and sugar, and a candle; and the other was carefully “pocketed” to “commence business” with next day. What joy that shilling caused! A supper for six with light to eat it by, and enough left to start in business. Truly if necessity is the mother of invention, poverty must be the father.

Nothing was said about the plans for the next day, except an intimation, or assurance, that as God had provided for that day, Pie would for the next.

“tell them.”

Chapter V. A Start in Business

On the following’ morning the young news agent crept out of his bed on the floor, from the side of the other children, and stole out of the house unobserved, just after the church clock struck four.

He had spent a considerable portion cf the night practising, at least mentally, and at times half aloud, the various titles of the papers he hoped to sell. Arriving near Temple Bar, in the Strand, the sixpence was quickly exchanged for eight penny papers, which were soon sold and others bought. At this time ihere was a great demand for news, as the Crimean war was raging.

By ten o’clock home was reached, and the consternation, anxiety and hunger of the family relieved by the production of two shillings, into which sum the sixpence had grown in six hours. General rejoicing followed the announcement, made by the “business man” of twelve summers, that “Want shall be no more.”

The following morning the writer was standing near Charing Cross trying to sell his papers, when a gentleman asked him how long he had been in that business, and accompanied his question by a statement which seemed to be a reflection upon his manner of conducting it, viz.: “I don’t think you’ve been at it long.”

A START IN BUSINESS.

After further inquiry regarding my home and parents he handed me his card, on which was inscribed, “Captain J. A. Sykes, H. M.’s 94th Regt.” Having written his address on the card, he said, “Call there at nine o’clock to-morrow morning, my boy, and I think I can give you some clothing which your mother may aiter for you.”

When the recipient of the card called there the following morning he was astounded at the heap of things the captain gave him. Ic was almost impossible for him to carry them away. He succeeded, however, and, after several rests by the way, finally reached home, very tired, and had to obtain the help of his father to carry the huge bundle up stairs.

When it was opened there appeared all sorts of clothing, the value of which was not less than fifty dollars. A mother’s fears led to close but kindly questioning, mingled with expressions of astonishment as to what could make an entire stranger so act towards a poor boy. The only explanation was found in one word — GOD.

There was one member of the family whose joy Knew no bounds, as she saw the pile of garments heaped on the floor, and nodded her head by way of assent to the explanation given; it was my only sister Mary.

She was four years my senior, but never once in her whole life, which lasted twenty-four years, did she know what it was to stand upon her feet and walk; never once was she able to raise her hand to give herself a mouthful of food; never once able to speak her own name, or that of “mother.” When yet an in- 23

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fant a careless nurse allowed her to fall in such a manner as to induce complete paralysis. Blessed, however, with clear intelligence and a most patient and lovable disposition, she was a blessing, while yet a great burden, to her devoted mother and to us all.

As a strong boy full of life and spirits, how she almost envied me and wished she could go out and work too, and help mother. But "God could help," and He had done so, and in this she rejoiced. Although unable to speak a single word distinctly, she was able to make certain peculiar sounds which were to her mother a language she alone understood.

How much more bitter was the cup of affliction and trial we had passed through, and were still experiencing, with this dear sufferer among us, the reader may imagine, and yet, possibly she was the greatest helper of the family after all, and not her strong boy brother. Often when passing in front of the house in which we lived, in company with other boys, would I look up to the window to which she had been wheeled in her chair, when, turning to her mother, she would look upward and sav in language mother and the God of love understood, “I, too, will be able to run about up there.”

Many years since have both Marys, mother and daughter, walked together the streets of Paradise.

How gieat a blessing such an afflicted one often is to a family. What sympathy and loving tenderness is thus called forth in presence of the patience of the suffering one. Such an experience often gives moral and spiritual tone 24

A START IN BUSINESS.

to a whole family and makes all its members better men and women in the world, and produces practical sympathy towards others as perhaps nothing- else can.

If it must needs be that the Saviour of men be made “acquainted with grief,” and be called “a man of sorrows,” how much more do ordinary men and women need the softening influence of suffering in themselves, or in those dear to them, to fit them to sympathize with and be “ready to help” those in need?

In this, too, I feel I am much a debtor to the dear one referred to.

“tell them.”

Chapter VI. A Great Loss

About a year after the occurrences narrated in the previous chapter Captain Sykes called at the home of the boy he had befrien fled; he did not see him, but talked to his mother in a very friendly manner.

Scarce six weeks passed away, however, after the Captain’s visit when the writer left his home one morning (October 15, 1856) and said “good-bye” as he kissed the dearest and best of mothers, and went to work where he was then employed. Upon his return home at five o’clock he found to his great sorrow that his best friend on earth had been “called home.” Her last breath was spent in commending her children to her heavenly Father's care, and she died with the name of her eldest boy upon her lips. Was it in vain? No, indeed.

Every boy ought to be ablt to feci and say that his mother is, or was, the best of mothers, but, sad to say, not all can do so. The writer, however, cannot but speak forth the praises of her who gave him birth, and who first taught him to lift his young heart to God in prayer so beautifully expressed by Cowper:

“ Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try.”

Who can fully estimate the great blessing of a loving mother; and who describe the loss 26

A GREAT LOSS.

when such a one is taken away from her child or children? Truly the loss is irreparably great.

The circumstances which have surrounded the relationships of mother and child may add largely to the keen pang of parting. It was so in the writer’s experience. The severe trials through which his family had been called to pass, the chief burden of which fell upon his mother, had led him, although but a boy, to mark with increasing anxiety the failing health of her whom he loved, till at last the crisis was reached and the tired and weary spirit went to its rest.

Looking back over the forty years that have since passed, the writer is constrained to feel and say that, humanly speaking, whatever of good he has known or done, he owes to his loving mother, who ever sought to lead him into that truth which is calculated to produce a righteous life here, and to lead to eternal life beyond.

The funeral was conducted by the parish authorities. . No provision was made for the mourners to be taken to the “last resting place” in Potter’s field, five miles away. But the driver of the parish hearse (which contained more than one poor, tired body) was a kind-hearted man, and allowed the writer and his father to share his seat “up in front.”

The story of poor Lazarus, and especially the Saviour’s words that “the angels carried him,” afforded consolation to the mourners. It does seem to be quite impossible for one to be placed in any position in the struggle of life without discovering that Jesus has been ,27

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so situated Himself, for, did not even He occupy a borrowed sepulchre? He had nowhere to lay His head, and nowhere did He have where His beloved disciples could lay His dead body.

The great temperance orator, John B. Gough, saw his dear mother die in a garret in New York, and her body was taken to the Potter’s field. Ah, it matters little as to the poor body; it will turn, sooner or later, to its native dust; but the soul, the ego, the actual being, where has that gone? That is the question.

On the same day on which the remains of my dear mother were placed to rest a friendly hand and heart were extended towards a motherless and really homeless boy, for, what indeed is home without a mother?

A fellow countryman of my father’s, a practising physician, residing in Islington, London, opened the door of his home and bade me welcome and treated me as his own son for nearly a year. Foolishly, like many another boy, I did not appreciate my advantages and thought I could do better, and wanted a change — “to see the world,” etc. Hence I left my friend’s hospitable roof in 1857, and the subsequent forty years have indeed been full of struggle.

ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR.

Chapter VII. On Board a Man-of-War

On the 5th of May, 1859, the writer, after varied experiences, entered the Royal Navy as an ordinary seaman, and was soon sent on board H. M. Ship “Crocodile,” then lying in the Thames. She was an old frigate, long since broken up and disappeared. I had never even seen, much less been on board of a mano’-war before, and knew about as much of a ship as a ship knew of me. Being a big boy for my age, and not, I regret to say, having a strict regard for speaking the truth at this time, I said that I was twenty years old, when only in my seventeenth year. This I did to escape being classed as a boy, and to secure a man’s wages and position.

From the “Crocodile” I was sent to Sheerness and joined the “Queen Charlotte,” a large “three-decker.” The sights and sounds of a man-o’-war were all new to the young “landsman,” and soon caused him to wish himself away again; but that was impossible, so he had to settle down to “make the best of it.” A few weeks later I was drafted to H. M. S. “Emerald,” a fifty-gun frigate with six hundred officers and men.

During the following two years and a half many and varied experiences were met with, and several very narrow escapes from death passed through. Some of these deliverances

‘Coming down from the rigging, my teet slipped, my hands gave way, and I was ‘gone.’ ”

ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR.

are in keeping with the following lines of John Newton, the profligate sailor lad who became a great poet and preacher:

1 ‘ Determined to save,

He watched o'er my path,

When, Satan’s blind slave,

I sported with death.”

On one occasion I was aloft on the “lookout,” the weather being so intensely cold that the men were on duty only half time on exposed positions. The man was fifteen minutes late in “relieving” me, and by the time he arrived I was quite benumbed with the cold. The ship was rolling very heavily, and as I was coming down the rigging my feet slipped and my hands gave way, and I was “gone,” when, as by miracle, a heavy sea striking the vessel on the opposite side, caused her to lurch back again, and enabled me to clutch the rigging and “hang on” for life. Saved, as Job says, “by the skin of my teeth.” Had I gone overboard there was not the slightest chance of my being saved physically, and I fear not spiritually. It would have been a “lost body” and a “lost soul.”

On another occasion one of the guns “took charge,” as the ship was rolling heavily, and, whizzing by me, struck the side of the ship, making a terrible indent, into which I afterwards laid my hand. Had the gun caugiit me it would simply have cut me in halves.

On October 5, 1861, the “Emerald” set sail from Spithead with a number of “Armstrong” guns on board, bound for Halifax, Nova Scotia, but she never reached her destination. On the 5th of November she arrived in the bar-

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bor of Plymouth — a wreck. What we passed through during that month cannot well be told. For sixteen days and nights we fought with gales and hurricanes, scarcely removing any clothing, or having either proper rest or food. Sails were blown to atoms, boats washed away like bits of stick, masts and yards “carried away,” pumps choked, engines disabled, and rudder “sprung.” In this condition, at daylight one morning, we sighted a large vessel coming toward us.

Nearer and nearer we came to each other, as either vessel rose to the top of a sea mountain, until at last but a single one of these mountains separated us. At the supreme moment of suspense no man on board could move his tongue. We stood silently awaiting death. Another instant and the two vessels met on the top of the huge sea, and, just gliding by each other, escaped. If anything was calculated to produce fear of death, and the necessary seeking to prepare for it, such an experience was; but it did not do so; and those who had passed through such trying times soon forgot them after getting into port. “Oh, that men would praise the Lord for His goodness.”

Doubtless many did cry unto the Lord in their distress, and among them the writer; but, shame to say it, they forgot the Deliveier after they had been delivered from a watery grave, which seemed inevitable.

How truly has Satan blinded the eyes or minds of men, so that they choose evil rather than good; darkness rather than light; Satan than God; hell than heaven; and this after

ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR.

“God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son.” Truly it is not sufficient that a Saviour is provided and man told of his need; something more is required to open his eyes to his danger, and lead him to escape, even the Holy Spirit of God.

One day in March, i860, I was thrown violently on the deck by the ship making an unexpected and unusual plunge. Being forcibly thrown against one of the ship's guns, the recoil dashed me to the deck in such a manner that some of my shipmates ran forward expecting to find me dead. They picked me up and helped me down to the ship’s hospital; but fourteen weeks passed before I could resume my duties. One day during this time the three surgeons on board held a consultation as to amputation above or below the knee joint. I was given twenty-four hours’ respite, and my limb so improved that I did not suffer that loss.