When she reached the sick man's village and looked into the grim
expectant faces of the armed crowd, she felt as if she were walking
into a den of wild beasts. At any moment the signal might be given, and
the slaughter of the retinue for the spirit-land begin. The women,
silent and fear-stricken, carried off her wet clothes to dry. She was
cold and feverish, but went straight to the patient and tended him as
well as she could. Then she turned to the pile of odds and ends of
garments which had been collected for her, and looked at them with a
shudder. But there was no alternative, and, arraying herself in the
rags, she went forth to meet the critical gaze of the crowd.

The medicine she had brought had proved insufficient, and more must be
obtained; many lives, she knew, depended upon it. To go back to Ekenge
was out of the question. Was there, she asked the people about her, a
way to Ikorofiong? The Rev. Alexander Cruickshank was stationed there,
and he would supply what was needed. They confessed that there was a
road to the river and a canoe could be got to cross, but they dared not
go there, they would never come back, they would be seized and killed.
Some one told her that a Calabar man, whose mother was an Okoyong woman
and who came to trade, was living in his canoe not far off. "Seek him,"
said she. He was found, but would not land until assured that it was a
white woman who wanted him. Mary prevailed upon him to undertake the
journey; and he returned with all she required and more. With the
thoughtfulness and kindliness of pioneer missionaries Mr. and Mrs.
Cruickshank sent over tea and sugar and other comforts and, what she
valued not less, a letter of cheer and sympathy. Hot with fever, racked
with headache, she brewed the tea in a basin, and it seemed to her a
royal feast. The world of friends had drawn nearer, she felt less
lonely, her spirits revived.