The special object of their trip was to look at a location north of the

Kafue River, where a missionary had died not long before. This

missionary had started a work in this unhealthy region, and his life had

paid the penalty. Some friends of his, notably Mrs. Lewis, of Cape Town,

had desired our people to examine the place, and, if thought advisable,

to continue the work, and Brother Doner was willing to do this if they

concluded that the opening was a good one.

They made the journey on foot, accompanied by Matshuba and native

carriers from the vicinity of Macha. They passed through the very heart

of the territory occupied by the wild Baila, and visited the new station

at Kasenga, which had just been opened by Rev. Smith. He and his heroic

wife had started this station in the heart of the Baila country and in

an unhealthful locality, not considering their lives dear unto

themselves, only that they might take the Gospel to these people and

continue the translation of the New Testament, which Mr. Smith had

already begun.

[Illustration: Crossing the Kafue River in a Native Dugout.]

Near this place the brethren crossed the broad Kafue River and proceeded

in a northwesternly direction toward the railroad. They found the

mission station and the place where the missionary had died, and heard

some of the children sing a hymn which the missionary had taught them.

They were not very well satisfied, however, with the location, and

returned to Macha by a different route. They traveled on foot a distance

of perhaps 250 miles, and were absent from Macha a month. They could not

understand the language and had some trying experiences from wild

animals and wilder men, but the Lord graciously preserved them from all

harm. They then returned to Bulawayo to continue their labors.

In the meantime Brother Taylor, with the aid of the native brethren, was

progressing very satisfactorily with the house. It contained four

fair-sized rooms and a pantry, and had a broad veranda on three sides to

protect the walls from deterioration by sun and rain. These walls were

twelve feet high, with a drop-ceiling of muslin two feet below the

eaves, to serve as a protection from the fierce rays of the sun and to

furnish an air chamber. On top of the foundation and underneath the

brick walls were placed strips of zinc, soldered together, to prevent

the white ants from forcing their way through into the walls and thence

onto the timbers of the roof. The floors were of earth, pounded hard and

well tarred to keep out the ants. The large glass windows were quite a

relief from the small holes in the old house. Later the windows and the

greater part of the veranda were screened. The house was in every way

most satisfactory, except that it was not quite proof against the white

ants. Cement floors and steel ceilings would have been preferable, but

the cost was prohibitive.

[Illustration: Batonga Chiefs and Headmen.]

Sister Engle's return gave us an opportunity of continuing the

kraal-visiting, and we made use of it in gaining an entrance into other

homes. At Kabanzi village, about nine miles away, services had been held

more or less regularly ever since the establishment of the mission, and

Sister Engle and I decided to take the tent and spend a week at this

place and hold some Gospel services. Gomo and a number of the boys

accompanied us and built a hut for the use of those coming here to

conduct services. This week spent among the people was a most delightful

one, and beneficial physically, especially to myself, since I was

feeling the effects of my three years' stay in this climate. The people

attended the services well, and seemed greatly interested as they sat

around the campfire and listened to the Message.

In other homes too there was beginning to be a change, for the girls

were coming out of their seclusion and listening to the old, old Story,

and some were even venturing to the mission on Sunday. Some of the older

people also appeared interested, and made a show at least of desiring to

be Christians.

This does not imply that the kraals around us were fast accepting the

Gospel as a result of the three years' labor among them. No, the devil

was plying his trade at our very doors. Almost nightly one could hear

the tomtoms beaten in connection with their worship, or as an

accompaniment in their immoral dances; for none of their worship was

omitted by the older ones, at least in their homes. The missionary work

was just begun, and perhaps none of the present workers would live to

see the day when these things would cease in the villages. The false

religions and customs which have been so deeply imbedded for centuries

would require patient, consecrated labor for years, and even

generations, to uproot. One must be willing to go on, day by day,

although he may see little or no fruit of his labors, knowing that the

Great Husbandman will care for the seed sown.

[Illustration: First Baptismal Scene at Macha. Native Congregation Not

Visible.]

The work thus far, however, had not been without its visible fruits, as

the stability of some of our boys gave ample testimony. The number

staying at the mission had now grown to forty. These were some of the

called-out ones from the various kraals about us. Each had sent its

quota, and although some had come and gone, the great majority stayed on

from year to year. As the Light came to them they came and confessed

their sins, forsook their old life and accepted Christ as their Savior,

showing by their lives that they were His. Some of these were about

grown; others were still quite young, but we hoped to see the day when

some of them would become teachers and evangelists of their people.

[Illustration: Wedding Dinner at Macha.]

Word had been received that Elders J. N. Engle and J. Sheets were to be

sent out by the Mission Board to visit the various stations and report

on the progress of the work. In November, 1909, just after we had moved

into the new house, they, together with Elder Steigerwald, came to pay

us the long-looked-for visit. Their visit was greatly enjoyed and we

believe was a blessing to the work of the Lord. To Brother Sheets the

boys gave the name "Happy," no doubt because he frequently used the word

and also showed it in his manner. Two important events occurred during

their stay, which deserve special mention.

The first was the marriage, on November 4, of Mr. Taylor and Miss Adda

Engle. The natives were invited to this ceremony, and about 350 accepted

the invitation. Several chiefs came with their people and arranged

themselves in groups, eager to see what a Christian wedding was like.

The marriage ceremony was performed by Bishop Engle, who was a son of

the first bishop to Matopo Mission, and also a cousin of the bride.

Bishop Steigerwald delivered an excellent and instructive discourse to

the natives on the importance of the occasion and the tenets of

Christian marriage. This was interpreted into the vernacular by David

and was listened to most attentively by the natives present. It was

their first opportunity of learning this phase of Christianity, and it

was an important event from a missionary standpoint. Christian marriage

and the principles it stands for generally require a long time for

inculcation into the hearts and lives of at least the older natives, but

many of the younger ones very readily accept it, as the many Christian

marriages performed at our older stations testify.

At the close of the ceremony, and after the missionaries and boys had

offered their congratulations, the rest of the natives congratulated in

their own way, which was by the clapping of hands. Some also began

cheering with the mouth, but this demonstration was checked. Brother

Taylor had arranged to give them a feast of beef and porridge, and this

they greatly enjoyed, as it is to some the great aim of life; namely, to

have plenty to eat.

The second important event was the occasion of the first baptism at

Macha, in which ten of our boys were baptized by Brother Steigerwald in

the Macha River, and received into Church fellowship, thus showing to

their heathen neighbors that they had forsaken their old lives. A

beautiful feature of this was that some of the parents and older ones

met them as they came out of the water and seemed to rejoice with them

in their new life. There were others who were eager to take the step,

but it was thought they had not yet sufficiently counted the cost.

We then had the privilege of surrounding the table of the Lord together

with these who had been so lately snatched from heathen darkness. These

were the first fruits of Macha and reminded one of Professor Drummond's

experience in Nyassaland. He says: "I cherish no more sacred memory of

my life than that of a communion service in the little Bandawe Church,

when the sacramental cup was handed to me by the bare black arm of a

native communicant--a communicant whose life, tested afterwards in many

an hour of trial with me on the Tanganyika Plateau, gave him perhaps a

better right to be there than any of us."

The missionary too is often made to feel, as he sees some of these

humble, black followers of the Lord, and thinks how far they have come,

and how steadfast the lives of many of them prove to be, that He Who

sees and tests all hearts may, with Mr. Drummond, conclude that they

have a better right to sit around the table of the Lord than any of us.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Other Missionary Experiences

The experiences of a missionary are so many and so diverse that nothing

should surprise him. To give these experiences, with too distinct a line

of demarcation, would not place the work in its proper setting, for they

often come piling one upon the other and cannot be separated.

I had now been north of the Zambezi nearly three and one-half years, and

was in need of a change, so when the delegation from America left I also

went along to the station. Brother and Sister Taylor accompanied us to

Choma Station on a little wedding trip, and then returned to carry on

the work at Macha, while David took charge of the school. Elders Engle

and Steigerwald went north on an exploring trip as far as Broken Hill.

Brother Sheets went to Bulawayo and I to Natal.

On the way south an accident occurred which was quite unusual, even for

this animal-ridden country. After the train had passed the Zambezi River

and Wankie Coal Fields, in the evening about eight o'clock there was a

lunge in the train and a lady in the same compartment with myself

exclaimed, "There must be an accident of some kind." The train soon came

to a sudden stop, and it was evident that something had happened. People

began running about in the darkness, a large bonfire was soon built

near the front of the train, a bulky form was visible, and word came

back that we had struck an elephant. Great excitement prevailed. Gomo

also was on the train, returning to his home, and he came back to our

compartment and said, "Come and see the elephant. I'll take care of

you."

I went forward with him and found a huge elephant lying beside the

train. Its two hind feet were crushed, as the engine, tender, and

service car had passed over them; otherwise it was unhurt, and at times

made violent efforts to stand upon its front feet. At such times the

crowd of people would suddenly take flight, to be out of harm's way, and

a box-car near by was in danger of being demolished. No one on the train

was supplied with a large rifle, suitable for elephant hunting, but

small ones kept up a lively fire, until perhaps three dozen were emptied

into the huge bulk before it succumbed.

The engine had been derailed by the violence of the shock, and it would

require some time before we could proceed. Judging from the spoor it was

evident that the elephant was one of those large ones that roam the

forests alone, and it had run quite a distance on the track before the

engine struck it. It was an immense animal, and the large ears resembled

a cape lying back over the shoulders.

There were a number of natives on the train, who were going down to work

in the mines about Bulawayo, and they wished to begin at once on the

feast of meat before them, but the authorities thought it best to put

them at working the large jacks used in moving the engine back on the

rails. All night long bright fires of logs were kept burning to light

up the scene and work. The engine finally was in place, and the natives

eagerly hastened to cut out large pieces of elephant meat and to roast

it over the great beds of coal left from the campfires of the night.

Soon, however, the train began to move, just twelve hours from the time

of stopping, and the natives, with their raw or half-cooked meat,

hastened to enter their car, and we moved on, having had a share in one

of the most exciting railroad trips of the season. The tusks of this

elephant finally found their way into the Bulawayo Museum.

[Illustration: The Elephant That Derailed the Train.]

The tusks of the African elephant often are quite large and heavy. I

once saw in a European home three pairs of tusks from elephants lately

killed by a young farmer. Of one pair of tusks each was five feet long,

eighteen inches in diameter; one weighed one hundred pounds and the

other five pounds less. We are informed, however, that some have tusks

still much larger than these.

It is unnecessary to give the details of this, our second trip south to

Natal and Johannesburg, and my visit to our mission stations in the

Matopos have already been mentioned. I was absent six months and felt

thoroughly rested and ready for the work again. On my return to

Bulawayo, however, I learned the sad news that the native who had come

south on the train at the same time as myself had, since he was at home,

fallen into sin. We were all deeply grieved over this, and he confessed

and wept over his condition, but appeared discouraged and unable to take

hold of the Lord by faith for pardon and cleansing. There were several

others in his home who had once confessed Christ and had backslidden,

and they no doubt had their influence over him. The Lord is still able

to redeem him, and may he have our prayers. Such are some of the heavy

burdens the missionaries have to bear.

On my return in June, 1910, Misses Mary Heisey and Elizabeth Engle

accompanied me to Macha to pay a visit to that place. Brother Taylor met

us at the station and conveyed us to the mission, where we were greeted

by a crowd of boys and five girls, who had joined the mission family,

with the clapping of hands and the firing of a rifle. We rejoiced that

we could again return to our field of labor.

[Illustration: Macha Mission School, Boarders, 1910.]

In the new house and improved surroundings every one had been well and

the work had been moving forward in all its departments under the

efficient management of Brother and Sister Taylor. Not only had these

girls come to stay at the mission, but David had prevailed upon a number

to attend day-school, at least part of the time. Sister Taylor, in

addition to her many other duties, had formed all these girls into a

sewing-class and was endeavoring to teach them to make garments for

themselves. This was the first opportunity that had been given of

instructing girls in sewing, and she had made remarkable progress also

in instructing them in their work about the house.

Naturally they do not know what cleanliness is, either about their

person or in their homes. They seldom wash, they go half-clad, and smear

their bodies with paint and grease, and often let the dogs lick clean

the few dishes or pots which they possess. If their hands are wet or

dirty, the posts of the veranda, blocks of wood, or floors are used as

towels to wipe on. They see no reason for continually washing a lot of

dishes, sweeping floors, and keeping the house in order; and they open

their eyes in astonishment to see white sheets and tablecloths put into

the water to be washed. The few articles of clothing to be seen in their

homes are generally so thickly coated with grease and dirt as often to

render it impossible to distinguish the color. Many times they do not

have any soap, and even if they do have, they object to washing their

clothing for fear it will wear out. And yet these young girls, reared in

such homes had, in these few months, made rapid progress and were

becoming quite proficient in assisting with some of the work of the

kitchen. Sister Taylor's great patience in teaching them was bearing

fruit.

Brother Taylor had, in connection with his other duties, made a large

galvanized iron tank to hold rain water. This was large enough for 1,700

gallons of water, and was greatly needed, as the river water which we

were obliged to use was very muddy part of the year. He had always

maintained that he was no mechanic, but another missionary, Rev.

Kerswell, who had had experience in mechanical work, said on seeing this

tank, "Mr. Taylor, you say that you are no mechanic; but if you made

this, you are one; for no one but a mechanic could perform such a piece

of work."

[Illustration: Macha Wagon and Oxen Near an Ant Hill.]

While the sisters were with us Brother Taylor and wife arranged to take

them on a trip north, so that they might have an opportunity of seeing

something of the country and the natives. For this purpose the wagon was

again fitted up with the tent and camping outfit and the ten oxen

inspanned. A number of the schoolboys were permitted to accompany them

for a holiday, but the regular driver for the wagon did not go along.

They spent some time at the two large villages of Kabanzi and Simeoba,

holding services and conversing with the natives, and then proceeded

toward a village farther north. The grass was long, the road new, and

darkness was coming on when they approached the village. As frequently

happens near a village, there was a large opening in the ground from

which clay had been taken to plaster the huts. This was partly hidden by

the long grass, and had not been noticed in the gathering darkness.

Brother Taylor had gone in advance to look out a place for camping,

and some of the boys were driving. The wheels of one side of the wagon

went down suddenly into the excavation and the wagon was overturned, the

tent being under the heavy wagon. The accident might have been very

serious for the women, but fortunately there were two large boxes in the

wagon and these prevented the weight of the wagon from resting on them

and they escaped without any serious injury, but the tent was of course

ruined. Brother Taylor said that, as he hastened to the wagon, he heard

a boy on the rear end of the wagon yelling lustily; so he felt satisfied

that that one was not dead, and he turned his first attention to those

who were making no noise.

When the sisters returned to their fields of labor, David again returned

home, this time to be married and bring back a wife from Mapani Station.

The spiritual condition of the pupils continued excellent. There was a

spirit of inquiry among them and a searching after God at times, as the

Spirit was poured out upon them. Some prayed through to victory and a

definite knowledge of sins forgiven. Those who had been with us longer

were instrumental in bringing the newer ones to seek pardon. The spirit

among them was such that any one who did not care to be a Christian

generally did not remain long at the mission. At this time also we were

favored with special donations and enabled to equip the school better

and give more attention toward the training of teachers.

It will be remembered that one of the special needs was a translation of

the Scriptures into the language of the people. The books already in

use, prepared by Rev. Smith, were in the Ila language. This was

sufficiently allied to the Tonga for use at Macha; and it is always an

advantage in the mission field to unify the languages as much as

possible, so as to reduce rather than increase the number of languages.

St. Mark was already in print, and Mr. Smith, together with some of his

colleagues, was putting forth great efforts to translate the entire New

Testament into Ila. At their urgent request I consented to be on the

revision committee, for they desired to make the translation as

intelligible as possible to the Batonga, so that it could be used all

over Northwestern Rhodesia, with the exception of among the Barotse,

where the Suto language was in use. Matthew was soon in print, and the

entire New Testament is at present in the hands of the publishers. The

translators deserve much praise for their laborious task and the

creditable manner in which they have performed the much-needed

translation. The Word cannot be properly disseminated among the people

unless the pupils have it in their own language as they go out among the

villages to teach.

Placing native teachers in their homes seems to be the best method of

reaching the majority of the people, and especially the girls; and some

of the pupils were sufficiently advanced to begin teaching, yet they

were somewhat young to go out into their dark, dark homes and stand

alone for God. Notwithstanding this, before the end of 1910 several

schools were opened in the nearest villages, and the teachers boarded

at the mission and went back and forth to teach.

On Christmas week of this year a sad and unfortunate affair occurred,

which threw a gloom over the community. My readers will remember the

Chief Macha, who sent a goat the first Christmas, and who was the first

to bring his little boy as a pupil in school. To all appearances he was

a friend of the work from the beginning, and he was nearly always to be

found in his place at the services on Sunday. He had even expressed a

desire several times to be a Christian. We knew his life had not

changed, but he had evidently lost faith in some of the old pagan

beliefs, and his influence was worth much. He was a man of importance in

the neighborhood and the owner of a herd of cattle, which was quite

large from a native standpoint.

[Illustration: Simeboa's Village, Viewing the Strangers, Misses E. Engle

and Mary Helsey.]

On the day before Christmas word came that he had gone to the hills and

could not be found; again that he was found dead, killed by a lion. His

son at once went home, and I, together with some of the girls, soon

followed. On the way to the village we met a native woman, who informed

us that he was already buried, and on our arrival at the place we found

that those who buried him had gone to the river to wash. While we were

sitting there several of the people came to speak to us, and we noticed

that some of the men spoke together in a low tone. Their answers to some

of our questions were somewhat vague; but as there was no suspicion of

foul play, we thought no more of the matter and asked no further

questions.

After the people returned from the river, the wailing began by about

thirty or thirty-five men walking back and forth; brandishing their

assegais and guns and crying "_Mawe!_" At the same time the women stood

about the grave, wailing and calling upon the dead. The sight was

somewhat fearful and might have alarmed a stranger, but since the

majority of these were from the adjacent kraals and were acquainted with

us we feared no violence. In the evening Brother Taylor and the boys

went over to show their sympathy, and the next day services were held

there. All this time nothing further was learned except that the chief

was killed by a lion. The English official from Kalomo, who, with his

messengers, happened to be in the neighborhood at the time, received the

same version of the cause of the death as we did. According to native

custom, the brother of the deceased assumed his title and appropriated

his cattle, and the affair, as far as it concerned ourselves, was

dropped.

About three weeks later Lupata, another chief, who lived near, together

with one of his men, and Kaiba, a nephew of the deceased, came to inform

us that Macha had been murdered. They said that he had been murdered

while out on the veldt, and an attempt made to hide the body. A number

of natives went to search for him, Lupata among the number, and when

they discovered the body they saw at once that a murder had been

committed. The brother of the murdered man enjoined the rest to secrecy

and promised to give Lupata some cattle if he would not tell the

missionaries or officials of the crime. Lupata, although very fond of

cattle, of which he had only a few, did not jump at the bribe. He said

that he and Kaiba desired to inform me on the day of the funeral that

the chief had been murdered, but the brother said, "Do not talk about it

to the white people," and they had been silent for fear of offending

him; as natives never like to gain the ill will of their fellows.

We might have heard nothing further about it, at least for a time; but

the brother was afraid the crime might leak out, and he still hoped to

silence the affair by giving the other chief some cattle. To do this he

was not willing to take of his own cattle, which he had taken from the

murdered man, but tried to take those of Kaiba, who was a good,

unassuming native. Kaiba greatly resented this disposition of his

property, and wanted to take the matter to the magistrate at Kalomo. He

and Lupata came to inform us of the murder and wished us to inform the

magistrate by letter. Lupata said, "I do not want his cattle and I think

you should write and tell the _Mwami_ [magistrate] of the murder." Both

refused to state who they thought was the murderer.

Brother Taylor wrote an explanation of the affair and Kaiba carried the

letter to the magistrate, the brother and two other natives

accompanying. This was the first intimation the magistrate had of foul

play, and when he put the question to them they readily acknowledged

that the man had been murdered. The brother, however, who had always

been opposed to everything good, and had a very evil countenance, showed

the cunning of his master; and he and one of the men accompanying put

the blame on the third. This one acknowledged his guilt, saying that he

and the other had killed the chief and the brother had sent them. We

were informed later that the brother sent them three times before they

became willing to perform the deed. Of course all three were put behind

the bars.

It was a case of alleged witchcraft. Several children had died in the

kraal under peculiar circumstances, and the blame had been laid by the

brother, who was a witch doctor, on the chief. We prefer to think, from

what we know of the two, that the brother was the guilty one in each

instance, and was desirous of the chief's property and position.

[Illustration: Sisters Engle Crossing the Tuli River in the Matopo

Hills.]

During this rainy season it was thought advisable for Brother and Sister

Taylor to go to Bulawayo and Matopo Mission for a much-needed rest. She

went in November and he followed in January, 1911. At the same time

David returned with his wife, Mankunku. Mankunku is one of the converts

from Mapani Mission. She is a sincere Christian girl, and has proved a

great help and blessing among the women and girls at Macha ever since

she came. These two, with myself, prosecuted the work at Macha for the

next five months alone.

There were at this time forty-six boys and four girls staying at the

mission, and it was necessary, not only to teach them in school, but to

keep them profitably employed during work hours and out on the farm.

Quite a fair amount of land was under cultivation, and Brother Taylor

had planted grain, fruit, and vegetables before he left, the care of

which gave the boys plenty of work to do during the rainy season. As

soon as that was over David made use of them in getting grass and poles

together for building, and as permanent buildings were to be erected

they tried to secure hardwood rafters.

Although there were so many boys together, yet all manifested a nice

Christian spirit. They were not quarrelsome, and they were obedient and

faithful in their work. The chief difficulty with natives is that they

are inclined to keep their eyes fixed on the missionary too constantly

and do not learn to depend on God for their own spiritual needs. The

missionary, as he realizes the responsibility resting upon him, often

feels like exclaiming, "Who is sufficient for these things?" to lead all

in the right way. He may rejoice, however, that he can continually say,

"My sufficiency is of God." He must also by every means in his power get

their eyes off of himself and fix them on God. Otherwise they will do

what is right at the mission and fall when those props are removed.

June 16 I wrote somewhat as follows:

Last Monday the wagon went to the Myeki River (about five miles

distant) to get some thatching grass which the boys had cut there

the week before. I thought it an excellent opportunity to visit

Semani, who has been sick for some time and not likely to recover.

I took along three girls and the two six-year-old boys and

thoroughly dismissed from my mind home cares. We had a delightful

ride over and a nice walk back, but best of all was the visit with

Semani. He had accepted Christ while here at the mission and had

often accompanied David in his kraal-visiting. He became sick,

however, and we seemed unable to help him, so he desired to return

home until he was well. He was always hoping he would recover and

return to us.

He has pleurisy and is continually growing worse, and it is evident

that the end is not far off. He greeted me with a smile as I

entered, and while we were speaking, I inquired "Is Jesus here?"

The reply, with a bright smile was, "Yes, He is here." We continued

to speak of the things of the other world and what the Lord has in

store for His children, and through it all he seemed so ready both

to talk and to listen. His old heathen mother sat there in sort of

a dazed wonder to hear us speaking thus familiarly and without fear

of death and transition. For her sake I then asked him if he were

afraid to die. He quickly replied, "Oh, no, I am not at all afraid

to die; I am ready."

Later, when we bowed in prayer, he prayed, "I thank Thee, God, for

Thy help and blessing. I have come through some hard places, but

Thou hast given me victory. And, Jesus, if my time has come and You

want to take me, it is all right. I'll gladly go with You."

How we could rejoice that here was one who, only two or three years

ago, was a raw heathen boy, now so happy in the Lord, and so ready

to meet Him. If one soul is worth more than the whole world then

our coming to Macha has not been in vain. His people had been

wanting to "throw bones" and "smell out" the one who, according to

their ideas, had bewitched him, but he steadfastly refused, for he

has no faith in those things.

[Illustration: The Bottle Palm.]

Later it was my privilege to again visit him, together with Mankunku. We

had made a trip to a village beyond, where we remained for the night,

and stopped with Semani, both going and returning. He was much weaker at

this time and it was evident the end was near, and his friends had

gathered and were ready for the wailing. We found him, although in great

pain and with great difficulty in breathing, yet rejoicing and happy in

the thought that he was soon going home. He could not lie down, but was

supported in the arms of his mother, who was doing all in her power to

help him bear his suffering. He was, however, able to take a little of

the nourishment which we brought him. On our return the day following,

he was still weaker. In the night his friends thought he was dying, when

he suddenly roused and sang "_Jesu udi tu fwine_" ("Jesus loves me").

These heathen friends in speaking to one another the next day said, "His

heart is white toward God, and that is the reason he can sing when

dying."

Before we departed he requested Christian burial, so we left word for

them to inform us at once of his death. Word came that same evening.

Brother Taylor was at home by this time, and he and David, together with

a number of the schoolboys, went at once to the burial, although it was

night. They found the body prepared for burial and the people digging

the grave. Brother Taylor said everything was carried on most quietly

until services were over and the body had been buried; then the heathen

part of the wailing began in earnest. His brother, while wailing,

continued to cry out, "Semani, where has he gone? He has gone to the

light. Oh! where has he gone?" It was the wail of gross darkness seeing

a faint glimmer of light, but knowing not how to reach it.

The deathbed of our friends, surrounded with all the comforts this life

can afford--soft beds, willing, low-voiced nurses, dainty food, helpful

and spiritual ministrations--is often trying enough; here, however, was

one deprived of all these comforts, with the exception of the occasional

visits of his missionaries, lying or sitting on the hard floor, with

only a mat for a bed, without even the ordinary decencies of life, much

less its comforts, in a village and home wholly pagan; and yet he goes,

rejoicing in his Savior's love, carried out of this dark hovel to behold

things "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the

heart of man the things which God hath prepared," but He had already

revealed them unto him by His Spirit.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Further Improvements and Industrial Work

Industrial work had from the first progressed very favorably at the

mission. The majority of boys, as they came, stayed on from year to year

and exhibited more tenacity of purpose than is generally to be found

among the natives. Some of them had assisted in making brick for the

house and in the building; others had learned to handle the oxen in the

wagon and on the farm in plowing, harrowing, and cultivating, while a

number were engaged in gardening, hoeing, and the general work of the

farm. Even the youngest were not idle, although their labors did not

equal the expense of their keeping. We were, however, growing sufficient

grain and food to supply our large family so that they could be kept

from year to year under Christian training without their proving a heavy

burden on the mission financially.

In June we were pleased to receive Brother and Sister Taylor back from

Bulawayo, and with them a blessing to the mission in the person of a

little baby, Ruth Taylor. I use the term _blessing_ advisedly, for this

dainty little Ruth was indeed such to all connected with the work. These

people had not seen a white child, and this one was an ever-increasing

source of wonder and interest to the black faces around us. They would

stand near her noting every move and commenting on everything they saw.

Her soft white skin and spotless garments soon gave her a name. "U

swezhiwa" ("she is clean or pure") the girls called her, and thus she

undoubtedly looked by contrast. Her presence often attracted to the

services people, especially the women, who otherwise would have remained

at home; for in the eyes of some, all other interests paled besides this

mite of humanity, and it warmed their hearts toward the entire work.

When we went to the village she was again a center of attraction, and

when we went alone the natives would always inquire about U swezhiwa and

her mother. When prayer was offered by the boys for the missionaries,

the child was never forgotten.

After Brother Taylor's return the preparation for building went forward

with accelerated speed. This dry season of 1911 was an unusually busy

one at Macha. A church was greatly needed, for the one which David had

erected four years previously, and which appeared to be so well-built,

was rapidly showing signs of decay. It was still standing, but the ants

had riddled the roof to such an extent that some of the timbers were

falling, piece by piece, sometimes to the danger and great annoyance of

those within. On this account we decided that it was best to vacate it

even before the new one was finished. The boys' huts also were decaying,

and we found it difficult to house the large number of boys staying at

the mission. These thatched roofs are very heavy, and if some part of

the wall becomes weak the huts may become dangerous to life.

One evening the boys of one of the huts came to say that the roof of

their hut was breaking. We told them to take their blankets and clothing

and go into another hut. They did so, and in the morning their own

building was found leveled to the ground. As we viewed the sudden ruin

we breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that no one was hurt. There had

been about fifteen boys sleeping in that hut, and had they been inside

some would have been killed or seriously injured. This enabled us to

realize how dangerous huts were when partly eaten, and the need of

better buildings.

On account of building it was fortunate that there was such a large

number of boys staying at the mission, and that the majority were large

enough to be of service, so that there was no need of employing outside

labor. Brother Taylor was excellent in training boys along industrial

lines, a quality which is especially useful and helpful on the mission

field, both in the interests of the work and of the natives themselves.

Some people are glad to use native helpers when they are trained ready

to order, but they soon become discouraged when time and patience are

required.

The native learns by doing, and often learns by his many mistakes.

Again, he may be careless and consider accuracy unnecessary. He is

nature's child, and everything he does for himself is in curves. His hut

is round, his baskets are round, his paths are meandering, like the

stream, for he, like it, goes in the path of least resistance. Straight

lines and right angles are unintelligible to him, and he does not

readily grasp such things, nor does he easily learn to make them.

Patience, which is always a virtue, is, in industrial work among the

natives, an absolute necessity. One who will not take time and teach

them will accomplish nothing praiseworthy in this respect.

We said the native learns by doing; so he does, but it is generally by

doing not once or twice but repeatedly. One of my first lessons along

this line was when visiting in the home of an official. The lady had

always lived in South Africa and had been accustomed to deal with the

natives all her life. Noticing a basket of snowy-white clothes I

inquired, "Who does your washing?"

She replied, "The boys; I send them to the river to wash."

"But how can you teach them to do their work so well?"

"If they do not do it properly," she replied, "I send them back to

repeat it until it suits me."

This is the keynote of the situation. In addition to showing them how to

perform a task, one must insist on their doing it just as they have been

told. If they become careless or learn with difficulty, one should not

become discouraged and go and finish the work--for this frequently is

easier than to teach the natives--but should insist on their repeating

the task until it is properly done. Some natives with very little

instruction become experts at certain kinds of work. And sometimes even

raw ones readily adapt themselves to housework with very little

training. A lady in Bulawayo, who was a very careful housekeeper, had a

native boy as servant, who was giving excellent satisfaction, yet she

supposed that on her own exertions depended the work of keeping the

rooms in order. Finally he concluded to leave her service, and she said

she did not know until after he left how much work he had really done.

He had been in the habit, early in the morning, before his master and

mistress arose, of going over the house, cleaning and polishing mirrors

and furniture.

[Illustration: Macha Mission Church and Boys' House Built by Mr. Myron

Taylor.]

Another native, whose name has been frequently mentioned in these pages,

was exceedingly cleanly and careful in his personal appearance. His

clothes were always well washed and mended, and he went on the principle

that a stitch in time saves nine. He learned to do things by seeing

others perform them and was able to do them well. Although coming from a

raw heathen home he was called an exceptional native, even by those who

had had long experience with civilized natives.

As a rule those who are careful and painstaking are generally slow, and

many who are quick often do not perform their work properly. Some never

seem to respond to careful teaching, and with others, many both trying

and ludicrous blunders often occur. In the early days of Macha Mission

we had a half-grown boy, by the name of Hamambile, helping in the

kitchen. He was a good boy and seemed to be performing his work

properly. One day several of the boys, who had been working on the farm

and had soiled their hands, came into the kitchen. Hamambile was washing

the dishes, so he generously stepped aside and invited the boys to wash

their hands in the water where the dishes were being washed, and this

they were vigorously doing when Sister Engle stepped in at the door. Nor

did her presence in the least abash the boys, for they saw no

impropriety in the act.

Again, during the last year some new girls had joined the mission family

and were being initiated into the mysteries of housekeeping. They seemed

to learn well and were doing their work properly, but one day Sister

Doner, on looking out of the window, was shocked to see a girl out in

the yard with the dishpan, washing her feet. She too failed to see

anything out of place in her act when she was first spoken to. She said

she was just making use of some of the nice soapsuds on the water, for

she thought it was too nice to throw away. It can easily be seen that

one needs to be continually watchful while teaching some of them. On the

other hand, there is no doubt that the raw native considers the white

man or woman very cranky and extreme when he insists on cleanliness and

order about the work.

On account of the great need it was necessary to build both a church and

boys' house in the one dry season. There was erected a substantial

church, 42 x 21 feet, with a wide veranda in front, which was also

partly walled up, and a boys' house, 55 x 16 feet, of five rooms, with a

veranda all along the front. These were both of burnt brick with

thatched roofs. All the hardwood timber for rafters and plates, and also

the large amount of thatching grass, were procured by the boys the same

season, beginning in March and April. The bricks too were made and both

buildings were under cover by the 1st of December. This was all done

with the aid of the school boys under the supervision of Brother Taylor,

assisted by David. Part of the time the work was in progress during

school hours, the boys who assisted at such times receiving full wages,

as they are all eager to earn a little extra money. During the month of

brickmaking, the boys donated their time as an offering to the Church.

After they had made the bricks, Brother Taylor started on the foundation

of the church, and then trained several of the Batonga boys in

bricklaying. Together with himself and David they laid the walls of the

church, all the larger boys having a share in some part of the work. The

walls of the building are high, are fourteen inches in thickness and

well laid. When this was completed Brother Taylor left David, assisted

by some of the boys, to put on the thatched roof, which too is an

excellent piece of work, while he turned his attention to the boys'

house. Nearly all the brick work of this building was done by the boys

under his supervision, and at the same time he was directing some in

sawing by hand and making door and window frames out of the native

hardwood timber. Later some of the boys were instructed in thatching it.

When this boys' house, fifty-five feet long, was completed in January,

the only thing in its construction that had been bought for the purpose

was the zinc under the walls to exclude the ants. The doors were made of

the boards of packing cases in which a wagon had been sent from America;

the thatching was tied on with strips of animal hides procured from the

natives. The bedsteads were made of poles procured in the forests and

reeds from the river. These were tied with bark string, and over the top

were placed animal hides also bought from the natives. Later the rooms

were whitewashed and they, with the long veranda in front, made an

excellent and clean-looking home for the boys. The church had imported

doors and windows, as well as zinc and thatching twine. Otherwise the

material was almost native.

[Illustration: Ruth Taylor and Her Mother. A White Child in the Midst.]

It was a creditable year's work and Brother Taylor deserved much praise

for the ability with which it was all managed and the boys trained. No

doubt some, on reading these lines, might say, "I could never be a

missionary if I had to build like that!" "Where there is a will there is

a way," is just as applicable on the mission field as elsewhere. It is

surprising what one can accomplish if he is willing to be used. Every

one of the men on the mission field has done excellent work along these

lines, as the well-built brick houses and churches on the six mission

stations at the present day testify. Some at first declared that they

could not build, but, doubtless, today they look with surprise and

satisfaction on the work of their own hands. In addition to this they

have every reason to be thankful for the great amount of missionary work

they were able to accomplish in the building by training and fitting the

boys to a higher plane of living.

After the buildings were under roof, Brother Taylor, who had always

desired to devote more time to evangelistic work among the villages,

felt that his way was opened to attend almost exclusively to that line

of work. Previous to this he had held services at many of the villages,

such as Mapanza, Simeoba, Kabanzi, Kabwe, and at almost all the

important villages near as well as north among the Baila; but during the

year following he went out with his tent and sometimes spent two, three,

and even four weeks at one place, so that he might have an opportunity

of giving the people a fair conception of the Gospel. He spent a month

at Chungu, near a large village, over twenty miles from the mission.

He had visited the place before, but the people were not eager to

listen. At this time he pitched his tent a short distance from the

village and informed the people that he had come to teach them, and that

those desiring to hear should come to the tent at such a time as best

suited them. About 8 A. M. every day a fair-sized congregation gathered

at the tent and heard the Gospel expounded to them. He had some very

good meetings at that place, and the people became interested

sufficiently to request a school.

During the year he found many open doors and gave the Gospel to a large

number of people who had never heard of a Savior, and there were urgent

calls to start new stations in the needy places. How one longs to see

some one step in at the opportune time and plant lights in the midst of

the darkness!

While this work was progressing David devoted his time to finishing the

new buildings and overseeing the boys at work. A dear Christian lady had

sent out money for seats in the new church, and he began to make them,

and accomplished this task well, and the building was furnished with

good, comfortable seats. Some of the boys, in writing to their friends

who were away at work, said, "We have nice seats in the church and we do

not become tired when we sit on them a long time." A good solid floor

was also put in, and this was tarred and sanded.

In November, 1911, we again had the privilege of welcoming Elder

Steigerwald to Macha. He had lately returned from a furlough to America,

and his visit was like getting a glimpse of the outside world. The

Mission Board had sent out with him for Macha a large two-seated spring

wagon with canvas top, something just suited for this country and

climate. It was a most welcome and useful addition to our outfit.

Especially since there are roads all over the country to the principal

villages, this was helpful in evangelistic work and in visiting the

out-schools, which were on the increase. The old days of laborious

tramp were more or less in the past, and a new era seemed ushered in.

Brother Steigerwald put the wagon together and added a long, useful box

in front. Four oxen were then inspanned and we tested it. It is indeed a

most satisfactory and comfortable conveyance and adds much to the

enjoyment of the work.

While the bishop was with us eleven more boys were baptized and received

into church fellowship. The first ten were all standing true, so that

our number had now increased to twenty-one. There were as yet no girls

or women ready for baptism, but some were beginning to accept Christ as

their Savior.

As the new church was nearly completed at the time of his visit, it was

thought advisable to dedicate this also before his return. He gave a

most excellent sermon on the occasion, and we were all strengthened by

his visit among us.

CHAPTER NINE

The Native

The most interesting thing in Africa is the native himself; the more I

see him and study him the more I respect him.--Bishop J. C. Hartzell.

I most heartily voice the sentiment expressed above. The study of the

native is a most interesting one and worthy of the best minds of the

age. The latent power and ability lying back of some of those crude

exteriors is often marvelous, and the transformation often wrought by a

few years of careful, sympathetic training far more than repays for all

the labor expended.

From what has already been given in the preceding pages, some idea of

the native character may be gleaned, and yet it is impossible to give in

such a book an adequate conception of the nature of the natives. In

fact, the only way to know them is to live among them, and then one can

not be sure that he has the correct idea. The subject is so many-sided,

so elusive, and above all so changing that it is doubtful if any one can

tell all there might be given.

This twentieth century has produced three large volumes on the African

native, which, in the estimation of the general public, seem to occupy a

preeminent position among the many books continually written. I refer to

"Thinking Black," by Daniel Crawford; "White and Black in South Africa,"

by M. S. Evans; and "The Essential Kaffir," by Dudley Kidd. The first

is the work of a missionary who has spent twenty-two unbroken years in

the heart of the African Continent. The second is the work of a

politician who has studied the native problem deeply and sympathetically

from a governmental standpoint and has given his opinions and

conclusions in a clear and convincing manner. The third work might be

said to have been written from an independent standpoint, and is by many

Europeans in South Africa considered the best thing written on the

native. One who has lived long in Africa might be inclined to differ

with any one or all of these writers in some points, but they are all

excellent and well worthy of careful study.

I was once speaking with an official who had had long experience in

dealing with native problems, and whose opinions along these lines were

sought after by others. I asked him, "Wherein do you think lies the

chief difficulty in dealing with the native?" He replied somewhat as

follows:

"I think it lies in this: that the native so readily responds to

civilization and improvement, that he comes up to our highest

expectation along some lines; and then we, forgetting the generations of

barbarism back of him, think he should measure up to our expectations

along all lines. When he fails us at some particular point we become

disgusted and do not give him credit for the advancement he has made."

There seems to be much truth in the above statement and it has often

been a help to me in dealing with natives. There is something else also

which must not be lost sight of, and that is that as much as possible

they should be dealt with as individuals. Too often the white man thinks

the natives are all made over the same mould, and that the

characteristics of one are the characteristics of all. He will often not

take the trouble to study their individuality, and perhaps he thinks

they do not have any. This is not surprising. Europeans often visit New

York, remain a short time and then return home, thinking they know

Americans, and can be found prating of how Americans do. If people come

to such superficial conclusions about such a heterogeneous mass of

humanity as exists in the United States of America, it is not surprising

that one or two natives in the eyes of many white people stand as a type

of all Africans.

The writer has had an opportunity of studying the natives of four or

five tribes and has come into contact in various ways with several other

tribes, yet she feels that her knowledge of the native character is in

many respects superficial and unsatisfactory. It has this to recommend

it, however, that it is gleaned at first hand from many years' residence

among the raw and semi-civilized Africans.

We have tried to show that the natives differ greatly in their ability

to learn in school and out of it, in their habits of cleanliness, and in

their readiness to receive the Gospel. As there was a large number of

boys about us day by day, we found that they also greatly differed in

disposition, as much so as white people, and it was necessary to study

the characteristic of each in dealing with them. They soon understand if

the missionary respects and trusts them; and they readily respond to

such treatment and show by their conduct that such confidence is not

misplaced. On the other hand, if they are censured for a fault,

especially if they think the censure is unjust, they soon become

careless and discouraged. On account of their secluded and simple life

they, even the grown ones, are much like children when they first come

into contact with white people, and they fail to understand why two

persons should treat them differently--why two missionaries or two

masters should not have the same way of doing things, the same

generosity and the same dispositions.

Child-life of these dark-skinned Africans is in some respects not so

different from that of their white neighbors, unless it is in its

greater freedom. Until it learns to walk, the child spends much of its

time on its mother's or older sister's back, tied by a skin with its

face toward the mother. In the early days at Matopo, Matshuba once

inquired how our mother carried us when we were children. We said she

carried us on her arms. He nodded his head sagely and exclaimed, "That

explains it. That is why your noses are long and straight and ours are

flat."

[Illustration: Little Nurses. Mianda Village.]

On the mother's back the child sleeps and coos and observes what goes on

about it. Here it bobs up and down as the mother handles the hoe, stamps

or grinds the meal, or goes about her cooking. Here it takes rides as

the mother goes after wood or water, or on long journeys to visit her

friends. Occasionally she removes it from her back, straightens out its

cramped limbs, feeds it, and then places it on the ground to play. It

has no garments to impede its progress, and so it soon learns to help

itself, crawls about and picks up earth or whatever comes in its way and

eats it, no one objecting.

As it becomes older the freedom is still greater, especially if it is a

boy. There is no school to confine him, no hard lessons, no table

manners, no daily washings, oftentimes. He runs, he hunts, he fishes, he

plays often the long day through, together with the other little ones of

the village. He has no clock to tell him the time of the day, except the

great orb above him, and this he learns to read with surprising

accuracy. As it sinks in the west, he comes with his assegais and

faithful dogs, and with a rabbit or some birds, carried on a stick

across his shoulders, proudly displaying his prowess in hunting. He

makes bows and arrows, popguns, plays hockey and other games, makes clay

animals, wagons, and many other things. In fact, some native boys are

genuine artists, and it is a pleasure to watch them deftly mould animals

of various kinds.

His sister will have her doll, made from a stick of wood, a corncob, or

the like, and tie it on her back, like her mamma does. She plays at

housekeeping, grinding, cooking, and imitating her elders, the same as

her white sisters do. She is also expected to help take care of the baby

and younger members of the family, as her brother is often expected to

herd the cattle or sheep, for there are no fences to confine them. All

of these children, however, often suffer from hunger, cold, and

nakedness, and worst of all they generally indulge in many evils which

cling to them and greatly retard their progress when light comes to

them. They also become quite cruel and unfeeling about giving pain to

animals and birds. Every accessible bird's nest is robbed and the young

birds, partly plucked, are thrown, often while still alive, on the live

coals to roast and furnish them a dainty morsel. When a bird is secured

there is not the least compunction about plucking off all the feathers

without killing the bird. Once, when I was lying sick in bed, the four

girls staying at the mission came in laughing and carrying the fledgling

of a secretary bird. It was about the size of a half-grown chicken, and

had all the feathers plucked from it while it was alive, and in this

condition it was still blinking with its big, solemn-looking eyes. The

brother of one had brought it in this condition, and to them it was a

good joke to see it thus.

As one enters the raw African's village and sees the native in the midst

of his filthy and uncouth surroundings, lacking seemingly the very

necessities of life, he readily concludes that the African is lazy,

shiftless, lacking in resources, and exceedingly dull or he would have

advanced further in civilization even before the advent of the white

man. To a certain extent this is true, for even the native, after he is

somewhat civilized and looks back to where he came from, has been heard

to exclaim, "We must be the dullest people on earth. Others could read

and write and knew something of civilization, but we Africans knew

nothing." We need, however, but to look back to our own Celtic and

Teutonic ancestry to see barbarism and illiteracy.

The African pagan cannot be said to be lacking in resources, however.

He wishes fire and he goes and selects two suitable twigs of wood. Into

one he cuts a notch and the other he points. Placing the first on the

ground, he inserts the point of the other into the notch and twirls it

rapidly between his hands until it strikes fire. At the same time he has

on hand some inflammable substance upon which he places the fire and

soon has a blaze. He can thus roast his fish or meat. He wishes cooking

vessels; and the woman goes to the river and procures the proper kind of

clay, which she mixes with water and works until it is the required

consistency. She then takes a piece, and with deft fingers moulds it

into a circle, and places it on a stone or piece of broken crockery. She

adds more and more clay, carefully shaping it with her hands as she

proceeds upward until the top is finished. Then she puts it aside for a

while until the clay sets and becomes slightly dried, after which she

carefully removes and turns it and moulds the bottom, and when dried she

burns it. In this way she makes earthen pots of many kinds and sizes,

from the dainty small ones, which are often nicely glazed and

artistically marked, to the large, heavy beer pots, holding ten or

twelve gallons.

Weapons for war, hunting, and domestic purposes are needed. The man goes

to the hills and digs until he finds the iron ore. He smelts it and with

the iron thus obtained makes axes, assegais, hoes, and other useful

implements. He burns wood and makes charcoal for his forge. His bellows

are made from the skins of animals and the pipes are clay tile; and the

anvil and hammers are also pieces of the iron he has obtained. He

moulds, welds, shapes, and performs all the work of the ordinary

blacksmith. If his hoe wears out he will take the iron that is left and

shape it into an assegai bristling with points. With three or four of

these and a shield made of hide, he will go out to fight his neighbor,

or perhaps he will have bow and steel-tipped arrows, which he dips in a

poisonous substance to ensure their deadly work.

Or, if it is in time of peace, he makes use of his assegais and his

faithful dog and supplies his household with meat. If he has been

fortunate enough to secure an old blunderbuss of a gun, he tinkers at it

till it works. He may not be able by law to buy any ammunition from the

white man, or even lead to make bullets; but he will manage in some way

to obtain some ammunition. Perhaps the chance possession of a nail, or

solder melted from a tin can, will, by a laborious process, be turned

into bullets, for time is no object to him when working for himself. In

the same way he will secure some gunpowder or the ingredients for it,

either by barter with his neighbors, who have been to town, or

elsewhere.

He wishes fish, and he will spear or catch them with hooks, or his wife

will, with willowlike twigs and bark strings, make a long troughlike

net, and as the water subsides she will supply her household with fish.

Both fish and meat are dried and preserved for future consumption.

[Illustration: Batonga Fisher Women.]

The native wishes a hut to live in. He goes to the forest and with the

axe cuts down poles and carries them home, and with his hoe digs a

trench into which he places them. With some forked sticks he makes a

neat doorframe. Thin, willowy poles are also brought and split through

the center, and one piece is placed on the outside and one inside of the

poles of the hut, and with bark strings he firmly ties these together

and thus secures the poles in their places. They are also fastened at

the top in a similar manner, so that the walls of the hut are firmly

fastened together, for of course his hut is round. With his method of

building he is wise in making it round, as it is more easily done and

stronger when completed. The slender, straight poles for the roof are

fastened together in the same way. These are often extended beyond the

walls so as to form a veranda, which may or may not be enclosed. The

wife takes her hoe or assegai and cuts grass to thatch the hut. She also

takes some of the beautiful long grass, and with bark string makes a

large mat to form a partition to separate the bed-room from the

living-room. They need a bed and the man will procure forked sticks and

fasten them firmly in the ground as bedposts, and on this with poles,

reeds, bark string, and animal hides he makes a bed. Skins may also be

used for blankets, and if they should be lacking in these they build a

fire or place a pan of coals underneath or near the bed. Some Africans

weave blankets and some make them out of the inner bark of the trees;

others purchase from traders.

The native needs a chair, so he goes to the forest and, selecting a

certain kind of tree, he cuts a suitable block of wood. With his little

axe he hews and cuts until from a solid block of wood he makes a very

respectable-looking chair, or stool, varying in height from six to

fourteen inches. In the same way he makes spoons, stamping blocks,

dishes, and other household articles. These he carefully oils to prevent

cracking, and often colors and ornaments them. The natives along the

large rivers make their own dugout canoes. A large gourd or earthen jar

answers for a water bucket, one with a long handle for a dipper, a very

large one with woven top is used for a churn, a long one as a butter

receptacle, and a very small one for a snuffbox. A small piece of iron,

nicely shaped and beaten thin, is snuff spoon and handkerchief.

A large flat stone, built in a clay receptacle with an earthen jar at

the end, is the mill, and on this another stone is used to grind. The

wife needs baskets. She procures palm leaves, bark string, reeds, and

willows and makes baskets of various kinds: a flat one for a sieve,

dainty little ones for plates for their stiff porridge, larger ones for

grain, and still larger ones for reaping. She also makes mats of various

kinds. Skins of animals do for clothing. They are so confident that this

is the native invention, that one of the boys, in reading of the

garments of our first parents, declared they must have been black

because they wore skins. The girls' loincloth is made of bark string.

Their clay pipes are often quite artistically made, and so hard that it

is difficult to distinguish them from metal.

In all of these things just mentioned the native is in no way dependent

upon the European; they are of his own invention and manufacture, except

the rifle. It is not to be supposed that any one native makes all the

various articles. There are blacksmiths, potters, basketmakers, and

workers in wood, and the rest barter for or buy the things they need.

Given various colored beads, some fine and some heavy wire, a few

buttons, shells, and ivory rings, and they are adept at adorning the

body, at least according to the native's idea of beauty. In some

respects the barbarous African's idea of ornamentation does not differ

materially from that of her white sisters, the difference being one of

degree rather than of kind. The American beauty thinks one or two

strings of beads around her neck are quite the proper thing, and add to

her charm. The African beauty will tell you that if one or two are nice,

four or five are nicer. It is the same with the bracelets; the American

belle is pleased with one or two on her wrists. The African is likewise,

but she is better pleased with a dozen, only she adds utility to beauty

and thinks that a lot of heavy rings around her wrists or ankles add to

their strength and give her corresponding value in the eyes of the

opposite sex. Then too she will tell you that her god told her to adorn

herself thus, which is doubtless true.

What has been said of inventive ability applies more or less to all

pagan Africans, although in different sections of the country they

differ somewhat in their work. The Batonga, by whom we are surrounded,

do not at present remove the iron from the ore, but there are many

blacksmiths among them, and according to some of the old natives they

were accustomed to smelt the ore. There are certainly evidences of iron

workings in this part of the country. Brother Taylor made inquiry of an

old native in reference to these workings. He said that many years ago

the Batonga used to work them and thus obtain their own iron. Then their

Barotse conquerors came and killed all the iron workers and told them to

come to the Barotse and purchase their iron. No doubt this was done to

weaken them in battle. (See 1 Samuel 13: 19-22.) In this instance the

smiths remained, but they go to the Barotse to purchase hoes and pig

iron. Since the old ones were killed, the younger generation were afraid

to smelt the ore.

All the Africans brew their own beer. They also grow tobacco, which they

both smoke and snuff, and they grow a kind of hemp which they smoke. Of

course they raise their own food, and before the arrival of the white

man some even procured their own salt.

As to the general character of the raw natives--for it is of them we are

writing--we hesitate sometimes to tell what we do know. But the

missionary, however much he may think of the Africans and enjoy his work

among them, cannot, dare not, be blind to their faults. It has been said

of them that they are naturally liars, thieves, and harlots; a hard

saying, truly, but there is a measure of truth in it. As a people there

is little or no reliance to be placed on their word, especially when

they desire to shield themselves, their relatives, or even their tribes.

Possibly a native may tell an untruth for the mere pleasure of it. This

habit is so inbred that it is difficult to overcome it; and yet by

careful religious training, and the power of the Holy Spirit, one is

frequently surprised at the progress they make in speaking the truth

under very trying conditions--that is, when they are led to see the

evil of the opposite course.

Thieving is probably not so prominent, but it exists, not only, as some

affirm, among the half-civilized, but also among the raw heathen. Every

missionary, who has seen heathen accepting the Light and confessing

their past, can testify to the truthfulness of this statement. Many

instances of stealing among them can be cited. I was told by a farmer,

who was living in the midst of pagan Africans, untouched by civilization

or the Gospel, that one year he employed about 100 women to gather his

corn. He suspected them of stealing, but said nothing until one evening,

just as they were starting for home, he suddenly rode in among them and

frightened them. The corn which they had carefully concealed about them

was scattered in all directions.

Stealing, however, is not as common as lying; for while there does not

seem to be a strong public sentiment against the latter, there is

against the former, for the protection of their property. Those who

flagrantly disregard this are branded as thieves and are sometimes

punished. I know one native who was required by his heathen neighbors to

pay ten hoes for visiting their grain bins. Generally, however, grain,

either in the gardens or in the granaries, is not disturbed by others,

and one may allow property to remain exposed year after year and it not

be disturbed. The white man's law against thieving greatly assists the

native in the enforcement of his law. We have found some very

trustworthy natives, and none who have been with us any length of time

have proven dishonest, and they are frequently sent to carry sums of

money without in any way tampering with it.

As to other forms of vice what shall one say? One European has been

heard to exclaim that "their morals are as black as their faces." That

they are dark no one can deny, for from childhood up vice in many forms

is common. It could scarcely be otherwise when one considers the filth

and degradation of their surroundings, where a number are crowded like

so many animals into a filthy hut, overrun with vermin and parasites of

all kinds. Some will tell you that there are none pure. It is true that

the lives they lead give little opportunity for anything elevating. Then

too their lives are open to the general gaze; nothing is hid.

But take the modern city; dig it up from the foundation; open all its

cesspools of infamy, crime, and debauchery, and such a stench will

ascend to heaven that everyone beholding will cry out, "Babylon, the

mother of harlots and abominations of the earth!" And yet this is the

boasted twentieth-century civilization. Shall we, then, say that there

are no Christians in that city, or that there are none living good moral

lives who do not profess Christ? God forbid! All honor to the noble band

of men and women in our cities who, in the midst of fearful odds, are

living upright lives and helping their fellow-men.

I believe I can safely say, from what I have seen and learned of the

inner life of the native, that in dark, heathen Africa, even before the

light of the Gospel penetrates, there are those who are moral and pure,

although the number is small. Then take the Christian natives; the life

of many a one is a living rebuke to some who decry mission work, and it

is too often because they are a living rebuke, that they are so fiercely

hated by some Europeans. People usually find what they are looking for,

and in Africa is no exception.

CHAPTER TEN

The Native--Continued

Beggars the Africans naturally are, and when the white man comes among

them they are always eager to obtain all they can for nothing. They beg

of one another; then why should they not beg of the white man, whose

pockets are supposed to be full of money? Then too some of them think

the white man does not need money to buy food, clothing, and other goods

from the store. They will say, "You do not need money to buy things. You

just write something on a piece of paper and send it to Bulawayo and the

goods come." Experience has taught us that the greatest good one can do

the native is to make him work or pay for everything he receives, unless

it should be during a case of sickness or helplessness.

It is a common expression that the African is lazy; and yet even this

must be accepted with a reserve and an understanding of his

surroundings. Aside from the effect of the climate, much of their

indolence and indifference is due to their smoking of hemp, a narcotic

drug, similar to the _hashish_ of eastern countries. This they grow, and

it is a common practice for the older, and for even young boys, to smoke

it. It seems to sap their very life and take away all the ambition to

better their condition. Yet the native can and does work even in his

home, when occasion demands. During the digging and growing season they

are found out in their gardens, which are generally at a distance from

the villages, from early morning until late at night, hoeing and

watching their crops to protect them from the ravages of the animals and

birds. During the hottest part of the day they generally stop for a time

to rest and cook. It is useless to attempt much evangelistic work during

this season of the year, except at night, for the villages are about

deserted during the day.

They may, during the dry season, work for Europeans, but with some a

short time of such work suffices, as their wants are few. As one fellow

expressed it: "I have now sufficient money to pay my taxes. I only want

to work long enough to earn money to buy a blanket and then my needs are

all supplied." If they have food on hand, that is the extent of the

ambition of some natives. They feel that then, during the dry season, or

winter, they are entitled to rest, hunt, smoke, drink beer and palaver.

Frequently, however, they must build in the dry season, for one of their

huts in this ant-ridden country lasts only a short time--perhaps two or

three years--and then another must be built. This is no small task, but

it is usually postponed until near the rainy season. In order to build,

the native is obliged to make frequent trips to the forest to procure

suitable poles and bark strings, all of which he must carry on his

shoulders. His wife too is inclined to postpone cutting the thatch grass

until it is nearly all burnt, and then it requires much more labor to

find enough thatch than if she had done the work at the proper time.

The rain usually is threatening, or even the first has fallen before the

man begins the actual building, and then he and his neighbors hurry and

put up the huts after a fashion. When asked why he does not build

earlier in the season he naively exclaims, "Oh! I leave it until the

rains come, so I must hurry and build it." In other words, he puts it

off until he is forced to do it, willy-nilly.

As a rule the native is never in a hurry; he always performs his work

deliberately. That is characteristic of the country, or climate, rather

than of the individual, because no one in Africa seems to be in a hurry.

We had our first lesson in this on the threshold of the continent. Just

after we had reached Cape Town and had rented rooms, some groceries were

bought and ordered to be sent to the house. They were very slow in

coming, and we mentioned the fact to an American lady who had resided at

Cape Town five years. She replied, "We are all slow in Africa, and in a

few years you will become slow too." I cannot say that this has become

true of all our missionaries, but this is the general effect of the

country. The atmosphere, the heat, and the diseases, all have much

influence on a person. To hurry and violently exert the body in order to

complete a piece of work often brings on an attack of fever. Horses,

mules, oxen, and donkeys are not as hardy as in temperate climates, and

it requires several times the number to do the same amount of work, so

that it need not surprise one that the natives, who, as far back as they

know, have lived amid such surroundings, should be slow and indolent.

There are three natives in our nearest village, all able-bodied men of

about 40 or 45 years of age. Two of them have four wives and one has

three. Since the hut tax is ten shillings a hut, that means that one

must pay thirty shillings (nearly $7.50) tax per year, and the other two

forty shillings (nearly $10). They are all intelligent-looking natives.

Two of them have been government messengers and know something of

European life. Now they are at home year after year, for they seldom go

away to work, because they are too lazy. How they secure their hut tax

is often a query, and about the only solution that seems possible is

that they beg some here and some there of natives who go away to work,

and they may occasionally have a little grain to sell. Often they are

short of food for themselves and their families. One of them at least

has had his family out on the veldt, living on fruit and roots and what

game he could procure, for two months at a time. These are extreme

cases, and one must feel sorry for the women and children when crops

fail, for they at least cannot go among the Europeans for work.

The natives differ greatly among themselves in diligence and training as

well as in character and morality. While there are always some

improvident ones, who live on the charity of their neighbors, yet some

are exceedingly industrious the entire year. After their grain has been

cared for they go to the towns to work and earn money, buy cattle and

sheep, and in general enrich themselves. Workers in wood are always busy

making articles to sell to their neighbors, and other artizans do

likewise. The women also show the same difference of character. Some

are always busy and forehanded with their gardens, their grass cutting,

and cutting and carrying firewood to stow it away before the rains come.

The same difference is to be found in the training of families.

In some of the homes the children are well trained along industrial

lines, according to the native idea of training. The parents require

them to work and bear a certain amount of responsibility in providing

for the family and in caring for the herds. For instance, a number of

our best boys came from a village called Mianda. They proved very

helpful and skillful in work and became some of our best builders and

teachers. Their parents were generally considerate when we had dealings

with them. Sometimes we had as many as ten boys at once from that one

small village, and the father of some would even help to see about his

herds so that his children might attend school. If a boy was needed at

home to help build or herd, the father would tell for just how long he

was needed, and we might be sure that he would send the boy back at the

expiration of that time. The children of this village were required to

be obedient and work while at home, otherwise they were denied food.

There were other similar homes. In the villages, even before

Christianity enters, the natives look upon some of the customs of their

tribes in various ways. Where there are large villages and many people,

dances and carousals are frequent occurrences and much immorality

results. Some of the parents forbid their children frequenting these

places of amusement on account of the immorality.

Again, from some villages boys would come to the mission, stay only a

few days and then leave, because they were obliged to perform a certain

amount of work daily. We did not try to coax them to remain, for we

preferred to keep only those who were willing to work--the others seldom

amount to anything. Go into the houses of some such boys, and one would

see them lying about, not willing to herd, much less dig. Perhaps the

father will say, "Go and see about those sheep." The boy pays no

attention to the command. The mother comes and scolds him and seeks to

make him work, but with no better result; yet when food is prepared he

is the first one to be around the pot and no one forbids him. From these

instances it can be readily seen that African family training does not

differ materially from European or American.

In many of the villages there are always some who desire to improve

themselves and better their conditions. They have their gardens, but,

work as they may with their primitive little hoes, they cannot make much

headway; or there may be a drought and famine is the result. They go

away and work for a time, and come home with a supply of clothing and

some money. They come to their dirty homes and filthy surroundings, and

their friends and relatives try to get as much of their clothing and

money as possible. They gradually become more and more sordid in

appearance, their clothing disappears, and we become disgusted with them

for so soon leaving behind the outward marks of civilization. But how

many months could we live their home life and be presentable in

appearance?

Let us take Charlie as an example. He, with a number of other boys, went

to Southern Rhodesia to work on a farm. He remained a year and received

fifteen shillings ($3.60) per month, and he had to pay his way down and

back on the train. He came home at the end of the year with a nice

supply of new clothing and some money, and he looked as clean and

well-dressed as a European when he came to Church on Sunday. He is a

Christian boy and is trying to do what is right. Soon after his return

home, his father, who is one of the three lazy men I mentioned, and

extremely filthy in appearance, began wearing Charlie's clothes. First

it was a shirt and a piece of calico; then another garment; then his

nice grey coat. Charlie gave his little naked brother one of his shirts.

He wished to marry, and this took all of his money. In a few months he

presented quite a different appearance from what he did on his return

home from Bulawayo, and we began to blame him, at least in our minds,

and say that he should not allow himself to degenerate in this way. But

most of his clothing is gone and his money is gone; he does not even

have sufficient with which to purchase soap, so that he may wash the

remaining clothing.

Says one, "He should keep at work and not come and sit down in his

home." The work takes him away from home, and his wages are low, so that

he must keep at it continually in order to maintain appearances. May he

not have any home life at all? It is a perplexing problem, and were we

forced to take his place we would no doubt conclude that the boy does

remarkably well under the circumstances. While at home he works in his

gardens and does what he can find to do for the white men near his home;

then, as his needs increase, he again goes to Bulawayo to begin again.

This is an actual occurrence and typical of many others. He may conclude

to have no home life, but keep up the semblance of civilization, hang

about the towns, and imitate many evils surrounding him, and in the end

prove a greater menace to society and to the country than if he would,

at least part of the time, live in his own home in a more primitive

manner. Again, if he depends too much on the stores of the traders, he

ceases to manufacture articles for himself, so that if he does finally

settle down for himself, tired of the struggle, he is often more

helpless than at first, because he cannot make the articles which his

father made.

Is the native provident? or does he live from hand to mouth? Yes and no.

I heard a man who traded with the natives say that in one year he bought

about 1,000 bags of grain from them, giving in exchange goods from his

store. Before the next crop was harvested, he had sold about all the

grain back to them, at of course quite an advance in price. I have seen,

near our own doors, natives sell to European traders grain, either for

money or goods, from $1.25 to $2.50 for a two-hundred-pound bag and buy

it back later in the same season for from $6 to $7 per bag. But these

are extreme cases. In the latter instance a year of plenty was followed

by a year of drought, and the natives were far from markets and at the

mercy of local traders. Many of the natives had put in their granaries

what would have tided them over an ordinary season, but the prolonged

drought led them to want. Others had a comparatively poor crop the

previous year and this caused a scarcity. Some did not need to buy at

all, as they always look in advance for such emergencies and do not sell

their surplus until certain of a new crop. Such natives, when they do

sell, often sell to their native neighbors or exchange their grain for

cattle. Such are generally very thrifty, while there are always some who

are in want. In this too it may be seen that they are not unlike other

people.

In fact, the Batonga taught their missionaries some lessons in caring

for grain. We found that they store their corn in the grain bins without

removing all the husks, and they shell it as they need it or near the

end of the season. With the Kafir corn they do the same way, cutting off

the heads and putting it away without threshing it. This was so

different from the thrifty Matabele, who carefully shelled and threshed

their grain, that the first time we visited one of the villages and saw

their method we thought, "How lazy! We must teach them how to do their

work properly." We soon discovered that in this hot climate the shelled

corn was soon weevil-eaten, and that the shelled Kafir corn was almost

ground to meal before the year ended. Now we are inclined to imitate the

natives in this respect rather than they us. It shows too that the

native adapts himself to the country and climatic conditions.

The African is a genuine lover of nature. He enjoys being out in the

open air; he loves the bright rays of the sun. Everything around him is

pregnant with meaning. Nature is his school, and he knows the habits of

every beast, bird, or insect. In a measure he appreciates and loves the

beautiful, even though at first he may smile at the white man's love for

flowers. One day I inquired of an old heathen woman, who never came to

Church, why they moved their kraal from the rock-bound place in which it

had been, to the open plain. Her withered face brightened up, as with a

sweep of her arm she took in the magnificent scene before her and

exclaimed, "Is not that beautiful?" The native too shows good taste in

the selection of clothing after he has become accustomed to civilized

ways. We are inclined to think of them as being especially partial to

bright colors. A few are, but my experience is that the majority are

not. Many of the boys especially soon discard the native stores, where

cheap apparel is sold, and frequent the stores for Europeans.

They love music and have several crude musical instruments. Their songs

are generally of war, love, marriage, and the chase. They also have some

songs suitable to their work. They of course have good voices for

singing, and can be easily trained to sing well. They have their

legends, their poetry, proverbs, and animal stories.

Natives, although very generous among themselves, are not inclined to be

so to white people; perhaps because white people have not as a rule

treated them so generously. If the native wishes to sell anything and is

greatly in need of the money or clothing, he will often consent to sell

for almost any price. It is the same with work; he will work very

cheaply if he is eager to work.

On the other hand, if the need is on the part of the buyer, he will ask

a very high price for grain or other articles and absolutely refuse to

give for less, especially if the buyer is an European. With work it is

the same. Even boys, after they have received a certain amount of

education and religious training, are very slow to accept the idea that

they should do anything for the white man from a sense of duty. There

are doubtless some very good reasons for this. They, however, respect a

master who is kind but firm, and it is best not to coax them. If they

find that we are not dependent upon them, and can get along without

them, they are more likely to conclude that they cannot get along

without us.

The native is said to be lacking in gratitude to his benefactor, and

there is some truth in this. One often spends much time and labor to

train him along certain lines, with the hope that he will be of genuine

service in the future. Perhaps about the time he is able to take the

place for which he is fitted, he will often turn and, rejecting his

benefactor, give the benefit of his training to some one who can

remunerate him better. Naturally the missionary, or master, whichever it

may be, feels grieved at this lack of gratitude. Too often, perhaps, the

fault is on both sides, and we do not give him credit for the help he

has been to us. Then too it is difficult to put ourselves in his place

and see matters from his point of view. He has no idea of the value of

our time or training and we sometimes spoil him in the beginning. Would

not the best and safest way for the good of the native be to require

him to earn his way as he goes? Let him always work sufficiently, if

possible, to pay for the trouble it takes to teach him, whether in

school or in industrial work, or in work pay him small wages at first

and increase as he becomes more and more proficient. It may require a

little of his time, but it has not spoiled him, and if he should

conclude to go at any time, he has altogether or nearly paid his way in

kind and one is none the loser.

The native, however, can, and many of them do, improve greatly along

this line after they have become Christians. While naturally they are

not inclined to be disinterested and generous to the white people, yet

many of them become so and display a remarkable spirit of self-sacrifice

in the Lord's service. Many teach year after year at a far lower salary

than they could obtain elsewhere; and, not only in teaching but in other

lines of labor requiring skill, they will work for the Lord for a much

lower wage than they could procure elsewhere, as all of our missionaries

can testify. Then too many of them often give largely of their penury

for the advancement of the cause of Christ.

I was one day touched by the spirit manifested by a big fellow. He had

come to the missionaries destitute of clothing, but anxious for an

education. He was a hard-headed chap, both in school and out, and ran up

against many hard places before he became pliable. He received, like the

rest, a little money at the end of each term, but since he was in school

three and one-half hours each day, his time for work was limited and his

pay necessarily small. He, however, stayed at the mission and gradually

obtained some clothing and money to pay his taxes. He also began to

accept Christ as his Savior and from being a proud, obstinate fellow, he

became more and more docile. At one time the amount coming to him was

ten shillings ($2.40). His wardrobe was still scanty, but he took out

for himself one shilling of the money received and brought the remaining

nine shillings and said, "Here, I want to give this to the Lord."

Giving the Gospel to the natives in their villages, while it is

generally a pleasure to the missionary, is not always an easy task. They

soon learn to be very quiet and respectful in the church, enter quietly,

take their places and go through all the outward forms of service, and

also leave without being noisy or talking, perhaps because they are

requested to do so. But when one goes out into their villages, even to

the best of them, there are many side issues. The chief, if he is

present and worthy the name, will aid in keeping order, and even if he

is not present, the majority may sit quietly and seem to be listening;

but perhaps the cattle get at the granaries and must be driven away, or

the chickens go into the huts and eat the meal and must be watched;

perhaps new ones are continually coming and must be noticed and greeted,

if they are allowed to do so. Then the babies are so interesting to

their mothers or those near them, or perhaps there is a mother with an

older child at her side, and she does not wish to lose any time; so,

during her enforced leisure, she is sedulously examining the child's

head or ornaments for parasites. Perhaps over there, outside the hut

door, is a man who has not had time to make his morning toilet, so he

concludes to spend the time in dressing the long locks of hair around

the top of his head.

One does not like to stop and reprove them, because the rest seem

attentive and perhaps those are also listening, for the work they are

engaged in is such a common one! Again, all may seem attentive and the

missionary rejoices that the seed is falling into well-prepared soil,

and he continues eager to drive the truth home to their hearts. He

pauses to let it sink in--when lo! some one will make a remark wholly

irrelevant to the subject he seeks to impress upon their minds; it may

be in reference to some article of clothing he is wearing, or some of

their own needs. His enthusiasm cools, for he perceives that some, and

perhaps many, have paid little attention to the message.

Again, one may be speaking, and the chief or headman repeats what has

been said, or he may ask a pertinent question, the answer to which

brings out other questions, which serve to elucidate the subject. The

other natives are led to listen; and while the discourse turns to be

almost a conversation between the speaker and this one, yet the

missionary goes away feeling that they have at least understood and

perhaps have received some light. Sometimes, again, one may have only a

few listeners and go away thinking nothing has been accomplished, but

God has taken care of the seed sown.

I remember being out once with one of the Christian boys. We came to a

garden where a woman and her daughter were working, and we sat and

talked with them about Christ our Savior. This was the first time they

had had an opportunity to hear. Years passed and the incident was about

forgotten by both the Christian native and myself. That girl later, out

of much tribulation found her way into the Kingdom. Her father was a

hardened old heathen, and had sold her to an old man. He was going to

force her to marry the old man, but she escaped and fled to Matopo

Mission where, with Elder Steigerwald's help, she was set free. She

returned home, and later an European offered oxen and wagon to her

father for her. She steadfastly refused and kept herself pure. Today she

is the wife of a native evangelist and one of our most valued helpers.

She says her first knowledge of Christ was at that little meeting in the

garden, where she and her mother were working, and her present husband

and I stopped to speak with them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Some of Their Religious Ideas

Nevertheless He left not Himself without witness, in that He did good,

and gave us rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts

with food and gladness.--Acts 14: 17.

The above quotation may apply to the African's idea of God in general,

but it seems especially applicable to the Batonga and kindred tribes.

Among these the word for God and rain are one and the same, _Leza_. This

does not necessarily imply that they have no conception of God apart

from the Rainmaker, but that conception is closely allied to rain and

kindred elements in nature. They understand the name _Mubumbi_ (Moulder

or Creator) and _Chilenga_ (Originator of Customs), but when speaking of

the earth and vegetation, they will say, "Leza [God] made these things,

because when leza [rain] comes, grass and vegetation spring up and grow,

so Leza made them."

Of course their conception of Him, like that of all Africans, is very

remote. He is their Creator, but to approach unto Him is like reaching

out in the dark, in a vague sort of way, after something more powerful

than themselves, something or some one they know not what. In times of

great trouble, as in famine, fear, or when there is an earthquake or an

eclipse, they will worship God, not necessarily by word of mouth, but by

clapping their hands in reverence. They generally, however, like the

Matabele, feel that they cannot approach God. He is too great and

terrible, so they approach Him through mediators, such as departed

spirits, prophets, and prophetesses.

Mr. Eddy, in "India Awakening," says: "Joined with these is the worship

of dead parents, where spirits are dependent on their survivors for

comforts, and who will avenge neglect or any deviation from custom. This

belief is (1) a religion of fear, since most spirits are malicious; (2)

a religion divorced from ethics, since spirits have no regard for moral

ideas; (3) a religion of custom, since the worship rests on tradition

and the spirits are apt to punish all departure from custom." This

statement in reference to India can be as truthfully said of the pagan

African.

The Batonga, many of them, build roofs or small huts over the graves of

their dead. In them they will place skulls of animals and some of the

property of the deceased. Their descendants come to this place, bringing

beer and even water, and pour it out upon the grave in worship. If one

has been considered powerful while alive, has been a great rainmaker,

many people will gather around his grave in time of drought and pray for

rain.

They have also their living prophetesses and prophets, to whom they turn

in times of need. These claim that the soul of some powerful deceased

one has entered them and bequeathed to them its power. In times of

drought these prophetesses--for they are generally women--multiply

rapidly. In a village of about thirty-five huts, near us, there were

said to be ten prophetesses during the drought two years ago. The

prophetic term of some of them is often very short, much depending on

their seeming success as rainmakers. Sometimes the prophetess will make

no claim for herself, but her friends will make it for her. The

prophetesses are very often immoral characters.

Day after day people will come to the prophetess, as the time for

planting draws near, bringing their presents of grain or money and their

seed, that she may bless it and insure good crops. They come, sit down,

reverentially clapping their hands and beseeching her aid. The hunter

brings his gun, to receive medicine which will insure him prowess in

hunting; a man comes asking for medicine for his sick wife, who is

bewitched, and this medicine is to ward off the witchery. There comes

from afar an old woman, who claims to have the power of making their

grain last a long time by putting a certain medicine into it when

cooking. She is believed and the medicine is bought and put into the

food, and she rejoices in her pay. These heathens are always very

gullible and readily purchase anything which appears conducive to their

own interests.

One day I saw a number of natives going to a village to worship a

rainmaker, so I concluded to go also and see what they did, for it was a

village near the mission where the Gospel had often been proclaimed. As

I reached the place the prophetess was in her hut, but a number of women

and girls were outside, clapping their hands in worship. Their faces

were familiar to me, and I could not avoid feeling sad to see how little

influence the Gospel had thus far had on their lives. Finally the

prophetess came out of her hut and was received with more clapping of

the hands. She was a large, powerful-looking woman and gave orders like

a queen, nor was she unqueenly in appearance. The worshipers were seated

around a large hole or excavation in the earth, and had several dishes

of grain which they had brought. They were told to sort the grain,

selecting only the best and whitest; and I am informed that some of the

grain, together with incantations, is dropped into the opening in the

earth, but this I did not see. She came and greeted me and spoke a few

words and then entered her hut. A man came to her for medicine for his

sick wife, who was bewitched, and others went to consult with her.

Finally I went to the door of her hut and spoke with her, inquiring why

these people were worshiping. She said:

"They want rain. The spirit of a rainmaker who died a long, long time

ago entered into me and they come for me to make it rain."

Knowing them so well, and being jealous for Him Whose ambassador I was,

I asked, "Do you really mean to say that you can cause rain?"

Regarding me quite earnestly for a time she finally said, "No, I cannot

cause rain."

"Why then are you deceiving the people and pretending that you can? God

only can produce rain."

"Yes," she replied, "He alone can make it rain."

"Then come and tell the people that He only can cause it to rain and

that they should worship Him."

She willingly complied, and coming out of her hut, she spoke to them

very earnestly, telling them to worship God, as He alone could cause

rain. As she claimed to be only an intercessor, and no doubt did this to

please me, it did not necessarily interfere with her role as rainmaker.

Even the most pagan among them acknowledge Leza (God) as the Rainmaker,

and these only as His messengers. Since the people so readily transfer

their worship from one to another, they also freely come to the

missionaries to have them pray for rain. They have done this at Macha,

and the Lord has graciously answered the prayers of His servants. This,

however, does not seem to bring the native any nearer to repentance and

God, and one feels loath to heed their request, except in the case of

Christian natives.

With the Batonga, wailing for the dead seems to be essentially a

religious requirement, and it is most religiously observed, so we

venture to include it as a part of their religion. When the news of a

death reaches a village, the people begin to wail at once, especially if

they be relatives, and continue to do so while they are moving about,

putting away their grain, baskets, and the few utensils they own, for a

stay of several days. They may be heard wailing as they pass on their

way out of their village to go to that of the dead. In a short time

perhaps the entire village is deserted. We were once camping near a

village of fifty huts, and news came that a relative had died at a mine

near Bulawayo. In a few minutes nearly all the inhabitants were on their

way to the house of mourning; for, although the body was buried about

four hundred miles distant, they firmly believed that his spirit

returned to his home and took cognizance of all they did. If a native is

traveling along a path, and word comes to him of the death of a

relative, he will begin wailing at once, and turning around proceed to

the place of mourning.

Perhaps the reader will more fully understand what an African funeral is

if he in mind accompanies us to one. Apuleni's father had been working

in a mine in Southern Rhodesia. He became quite sick there and was

brought home to die. We visited his home, and found that they had taken

him to a temporary hut at some distance from the village. It is a very

common practice for them to do this, especially if one is near death's

door. His wife and daughters are near him, doing all they can to relieve

his sufferings. His lungs are diseased and it is likely to prove fatal.

One evening word comes to the boy that his father has died. He

immediately goes home, while Sister Engle and I conclude to go and see

him buried. We have seen the wailings, but not the interment. It is

already dark when the word comes, so we take the lantern and together

with several schoolboys start for the village. We all go single file

along the path for nearly three-fourths of a mile, down the hill, across

the river, which is dry at this season. The night is quite dark and only

lighted up by the flame of the lantern. Up the hill we go, on the

opposite side, for over a fourth of a mile to the village. All along the

path the sound of wailing comes to our ears. Sometimes it subsides and

then becomes more violent than ever. Before death the deceased has been

brought back to his hut, and as we enter the village the men are sitting

around in groups outside and are quiet. We proceed to the hut of

mourning, which is crowded with women and is dark, save for the light of

the fire in the center, the flickering flames of which ever and anon

light up the weird scene.

We stoop down and enter the low door. It is so crowded and hot that

farther progress seems impossible, and yet we manage to work our way

among the crowd, seated or standing and keeping up their doleful wail.

Our object is twofold: We wish to see, and also to show our sympathy for

the boy who has been with us so long and is a Christian, and we desire

to see the sorrowing wife and daughters, for we know them well and

believe that they will appreciate our presence and words of condolence.

We finally reach the partition which extends over halfway across the

hut. Near this lies a bundle about four or five feet long. It is a

somewhat shapeless mass, wrapped with a number of layers of blankets and

carefully tied. In the fitful light one might easily mistake it for a

bundle of clothes, but we know without asking that this is the body of

the deceased; for around it are seated the wife and daughters weeping

bitterly, and lovingly patting the wrapping of the body. The rest of the

women are mingling their tears with those of the relatives. We stoop and

speak a few words of comfort to the wife, but it is little we can give;

he had frequently heard of Christ, but refused to accept Him. As the

fire flames up we can see Apuleni standing in the shadow, and he too is

weeping bitterly, but more quietly. The boys who came with us make their

way through the throng and going to him mingle their tears with his, and

our own eyes overflow at the sight.

But this crowded hut, without windows or means of ventilation and with a

hot fire, is unbearable, so we go outside, the boys following. Everyone

on the outside is quiet or speaking in low tones. Sister Engle and I are

given blocks of wood for chairs. From one of the groups of men the

chief, Lupata, rises and takes his little hoe, and after he has made

some measurements, he marks off the grave a few feet from the door of

the hut of mourning. In the meantime wood and logs have been brought and

several fires kindled, as night is nearly always cool. Around these

fires the men sit in groups, but the fires do not make sufficient light,

and some grass is brought from the roof of the hut and burnt near the

grave for light, so the chief may see to do his work in digging out the

first part of the grave. He then hands the hoe to another, who continues

the work. The ground is very hard and the work proceeds slowly, and

since they have difficulty in seeing, we place our lantern on a stamping

block near them. This is gratefully acknowledged by the little group,

and the digging continues.

It is an uncanny scene: The steady, dull thud of the hoe as it digs into

the hard earth; the various campfires lighting up the dusky, grave faces

of the men in their heathen garb; the steady wail of mourning in the hut

near by--all leave an impression not soon obliterated. Thus perhaps an

hour passes and several men have taken part in digging, the loose earth

being removed by means of a basket; but the picking of the hoe has taken

on a metallic ring, for the earth is stony. The chief asks for kafir

corn, and a daughter comes and shells some and places a pan of it near

the open grave. Frequently some of this grain is dropped into the

opening, "to soften and appease the earth," they say, and the digging

continues, though but little progress is made. Then the chief calls to

the mourners, "Be quiet and do not make so much noise. Don't you know

that the ground is hard and stony?" The noise subsides and the digging

goes on. Soon the friends again begin their loud wailing, and since the

ground is still hard and stony, the chief finally goes to the door of

the hut and berates them soundly. "Be quiet! Do you not know that you

are making our work difficult by your lamentations? The earth refuses to

receive the dead" (because you are loath to give it). They become quiet

and the work continues. They think the very elements are arrayed against

them, and the friends must propitiate the earth by a willing surrender

of their loved one to its cold embrace.

It is now midnight, and from the progress made we conclude that it will

take all night to finish the stony grave. We speak to the chief and he

says, "Yes, the interment will not likely be before early dawn." We

conclude to return home and have some rest. At an early hour we are

awakened and reach the village just at dawn. The grave has been dug so

that those inside can stand to their armpits. Then near the bottom a

further excavation is made in the side of the grave, sufficiently large

to receive the body. Two men remain standing in the grave while the body

is carried out amid the lamentations of the mourners. It is gently

lowered into the open grave and placed in the excavation in the side.

Earth is handed down in baskets, and this is carefully packed around the

body. Then comes the filling of the main part of the opening. As the

ground is lowered the two men stamp it down with their feet, for of

course they are not standing on the body. When it is nearly full, the

men emerge and several with sticks carefully pound the earth as it is

put in until the grave is full.