THE LIGHT EXTENDING
‘All the ends of the world shall remember and turn unto the
Lord: and all the kindreds of the nations shall worship before
Thee.’--PSALM xxii. 27.
I was sent to visit the Bètsilèo Mission, a hundred miles to the south
of Antanànarìvo, during 1885. I was away for seven weeks, and returned
rather exhausted, for I was worked very hard indeed while in the south.
I enjoyed my visit, however, and returned refreshed in spirit and glad
at heart for what I saw being done in Bètsilèo. Like Barnabas of old,
when I came and had seen the grace of God (or rather the fruits of
that grace) I was glad and, like him, I exhorted them all, that with
purpose of heart they would cleave unto the Lord. I was very specially
interested in the work at Ambòhimàndròso. I found young men there
better acquainted with the Bible, biblical geography, and the shorter
catechism than I have found anywhere else. It was refreshing to witness
what Christian zeal can accomplish.
My visit to the Bètsilèo Mission led to the institution of a most
important service in the capital, after our return, namely, a special
service twice a year for women. While we were at Ambòhimàndròso--some
thirty miles south of Fìanàrantsòa, the capital of the Bètsilèo
country--I suggested to the wife of our missionary there that she and
the two ladies from the capital should have a special service for
women only, while her husband and I were having our service for the
men. She was rather shy at first about having such a service, as it
would be quite a new departure; but after consulting with the other
two ladies it was agreed to give the plan a trial. They did so, and it
was a success. On the return of the two ladies to Fìanàrantsòa they
bore testimony to the success of the service, and the ladies there
determined to have one also, and this was even a greater success.
On their return to the capital the two ladies reported their successful
services for women in the south, and at once set to work to arrange
for such services in Antanànarìvo at the time of the ‘Union Meetings,’
while the fathers, husbands, and brothers were at the men’s meeting.
Our A-kànga church was chosen for the service, since it was the only
one which could be kept perfectly private, and the entrance could be
regulated by our front gate, besides being most central. I acted as
gatekeeper for the first few meetings, but the ladies were soon able
to manage all by themselves. These services have been most successful
throughout. The night before the first service I had a hint that some
young men might try to pass in, dressed as women, as there was the
greatest curiosity among some of them to hear what the ladies would say
to the women. If any really ever meant to attempt this they had changed
their minds, as only one appeared of whom I was in any way suspicious,
and as that one did not come forward, after my eye caught her--or
him--there was no trouble, and all passed off well.
As we had very few things to give to the scholars of our village
schools as prizes at the annual examinations for general progress, but
especially for proficiency in Bible knowledge, except books--Bibles,
Testaments, hymn-books, _Good Words_, and story-books--I cast
about in my mind what I could get to give them instead of books as a
change. I only rewarded progress and proficiency. I remembered that
what I was most anxious to secure when I was a boy at school was a
pocket-knife, and so I sent for a few dozen pocket-knives; but they
proved a failure as prizes. Why? Because, although by that time most of
the lads had begun to wear short pants reaching to the knees, they had
no pockets in them, and they felt it a foolish thing to go through the
world carrying a knife in their hand! I was deeply disappointed at this
failure. I determined, however, to have another trial, and this time
with the girls. I sent for six dozen dolls, and made a decided hit. The
girls who gained them as prizes laid them on their arms, and returned
to their seats, seemingly in no way elated; but they could not long
conceal their happiness over this appeal to their affections, and when
they thought no one was observing them they stole fond glances at the
dolls in a manner which was most refreshing to see.
The poor things had never possessed toys of any kind. The amusement of
the little girls had been to catch locusts and tear off their legs, and
to clap their hands in great glee when the insects beat their wings in
agony, quite unconscious of the suffering they were causing to their
victims. The amusements of the elder girls were less innocent; while
the boys, boy-like, indulged in cock-fighting and forms of amusement of
that description. In former times--and even still in the heathen parts
of the island--the men indulged in a kicking game, while the upper
classes, headed by the sovereign, had bull-fighting,
With such early training it was little wonder that the Malagasy grew
up heartless and cruel, and without a particle of sympathy for the
sufferings of man or beast; but religion has given them with the new
heart a measure of humanity, and they turn now to more wholesome
amusements.
Malagasy parents are generally named after their children, not their
children after them. The Bezànozàno tribe have a kind of rod, the
scrapings of which they give to their children as a medicine. They also
use the same rod for chastising their children. The Chinese call a
beating being made to ‘eat stick,’ but the above practice is being made
to do so in a double sense and literally!
I found I had made a slight mistake, however, even with regard to the
dolls; for I had ordered wax-faced ones. This was a disadvantage, as
the wax faces softened and got out of shape with the heat, and they
could not be washed, which was a most important item, as few things
that do not stand washing are of much use in Madagascar. The huts
have no chimneys, and the smoke has to find its way out by the doors,
windows, and eaves. The result naturally is that the huts become
covered with soot. Festoons of it hang from all parts of the roofs, and
everything is very dirty. Thus every person or thing that does long
service is said to be _maìntimolàly_, black with soot--veterans,
whether military or missionary, get this name.
After two years of labour in the district I found that there was still
the greatest need for the continual reiteration of the most elementary
truths of the Gospel and of the fundamentals of the faith. It was a
difficult task indeed to preach and teach the great doctrines of the
Bible in interesting and intelligible language to a people who were
still only in the first stages of civilization; for however great may
be the force of faith apart from the mere terms of it, yet these must
also be taught. To neglect these is to neglect the foundations or
the pillars which support the arch. It is vain to expect it to stand
without them.
The world at large--the heathen world in particular--is a great
spiritual hospital, full of soul-sick patients; where we see sin in
all its tragic and repulsive hideousness. We find it ‘the most tragic
reality of our mortal life, and the greatest blot on God’s otherwise
fair creation.’ There is no cure for it, no power that can meet and
master it, except the Gospel. A late lieutenant-governor of Bengal has
said: ‘If the evangelical Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ is not true
we must invent it, if we are to do any good among the heathen.’
Of course we all knew very well that, at that time, among our
semi-heathen people there was much mere _lip_ and little of
_heart_ religion. It was simply profession and superficial
acquaintance with a few of the truths of the Bible; but no heart love
or heart reverence. It was our aim, therefore, to try by God’s help
to make them what they never were before, and to teach them the great
principles that would guide them to a new and higher life.
We had the honour at A-kànga of initiating the movement of collections
of money, clothing, and medicines for the soldiers at the front. I
brought the proposal before the congregation of our mother-church, and
they heartily endorsed it, and the other churches soon followed our
example. We did not by any means raise the largest amount, as many of
the churches were larger than ours; but ours were purely voluntary
contributions. On several Sabbaths the collections were made in the
other city congregations in the usual Malagasy way. The names of the
members and adherents being called out in rotation, they were asked
in the presence of the congregation how much they were prepared to
give. If the amount named was thought large enough for the wealth of
the subscriber the announcement was received with acclamation; but if
not it was declined, and the donor was frankly told that it was not
enough, and he had to raise his donation to such a sum as his fellow
worshippers deemed proper. A very large amount of money was thus
raised; yet I doubt if any of it ever reached those for whom it was
intended: for as neither officers nor soldiers of the Malagasy army
received any pay it was little wonder if none of the money ever reached
the rank and file. I think some of the clothing and the medicines sent
_may_ have reached them; but of even that I am sceptical, such was
the corruption that then prevailed. Reports reached us that some of the
clothing was actually sold to the poor soldiers. The queen sent a large
sum of money to the army on the north-west coast to be distributed
among the soldiers; but the Hova officer in command appropriated the
whole, and it was much the same with the quinine and other medicines
sent for their use. Everything was sold to them by their rapacious
heathen or semi-heathen officers.
During that year we had some very trying cases in which the severest
church discipline had to be exercised, and a most unworthy pastor and
an evangelist had to be excommunicated. The pastor had been put into
office in the first instance simply because he was the eldest son of
the chief of the village. An attempt was made to reinstate him, and for
the same reason; but although the jury was packed, and to intimidate
the people the chiefs from the neighbourhood had presented themselves,
I had them and all the false members removed, the church doors locked,
and the vote taken by ballot, and so these evil machinations were
frustrated.
For some years there had been but a slight increase in the membership
of the churches, either in the capital or the country; but there had
been far fewer suspensions from fellowship than formerly, while the new
members were of a more intelligent and satisfactory character. Up to
the time of our second furlough in 1890, this may be said to have been
the case; but to have gauged the results of the work, either in the
capital or in the country, by the handful of new members gathered in
yearly, or by their seemingly slow growth in grace, would have been to
make a great mistake. For after all, the true test of mission work is
not so much the statistics of church members or adherents, or even the
size of the congregations and schools; but the kind and character of
the men and women those churches turn out, and how they stand the wear
and tear of life, and face its temptations. Our church members were the
salt that kept the whole mass from utter corruption; the only lights in
a wilderness of darkness. Through them, and by means of them, religious
influences and religious truth were penetrating and permeating all
classes of the community. But just as you cannot diffuse influence
over a whole countryside, and have the same visible results as you
might, had it been confined to one village, or focused on a single
congregation, so our work suffered from its very success, suffered in
intensity and depth from its wide extension.
It also suffered somewhat from an overestimate of the past, and with
the influences supposed to be at work. We are prone to compare the
men of the present to their disadvantage with the men who lived,
and worked, and even died for their faith in times of persecution in
Madagascar and elsewhere. The estimate of the piety of these earlier
times is contrasted with a piety which has not to face death, though
it may have to face the more exacting tests of life and growth. In the
view of these early and heroic witnesses for Christ, more has been
expected of their countrymen than it was reasonable to expect at so
early a stage in their religious history. Principle had to take the
place of sentiment, and sincerity that of mere profession, before they
could be called strong; but the power that makes for righteousness
was at work among them, and had been from the first. Mysterious and
indefinite in its operations, but obvious and mighty in its results.
The Malagasy are passing through their religious childhood, and have
all the virtues and weaknesses of that stage. The Malagasy are a
people who are still, as it were, but in the gristle, and not yet
hardened into the bone of manhood. As a people they cannot originate
anything, but they are great imitators, and they are also much readier
to imitate the bad than the good. There is not much that is original
in them, as a people, except ‘original sin,’ and of that virus they
have a fair share. Overgrown children, they were attracted by what was
sensational--especially in preaching--but not nearly so much by the
tinsel in religion as might have been expected. This may account for
the fact that neither the Roman Catholics nor their Anglican imitators
have ever made great progress among them. They have learnt that ‘all is
not gold that glitters,’ and are not in such danger as might have been
feared of mistaking what Coleridge calls ‘magpiety’ for real piety.
With many of them the good fight of faith has been a terrible reality.
They had to struggle with strong, fierce, animal natures, like men
fighting with wild beasts. The courage and determination with which
some faced the fight was simply heroic. They took their corrupt natures
by the throat, and strangled them with the strength which God supplied.
Others maintained the struggle half-heartedly, and in their own
strength, and it failed them.
One man was suspended from church fellowship by one of the
mother-churches in the capital. After some two years he applied to be
readmitted, and as the pastor, deacons, and members were satisfied
as to the sincerity of his repentance he was received back. As a
thank-offering he gave the amount he calculated he would have given
to the church during the time of his suspension, had he been in
membership. After the church meeting he went up to the pastor and
asked, in seeming astonishment, if that was all. The pastor said it
was, and asked what else he expected. The penitent said, ‘Are you not
going to beat me?’ ‘Beat you?’ said the pastor. ‘No, certainly not;
we would never dream of doing anything of the kind.’ ‘Well, but,’
added the man, ‘I was a very prominent member of the church, and by my
fall I greatly disgraced you all, and I feel that I so richly deserve
a beating that I would be much happier if I got it.’ ‘It is not the
custom of the church to receive penitents back into fellowship by
thrashing them,’ answered the pastor. ‘You have been received back
into membership, your thank-offering has been accepted, and you must
go home feeling thankful and happy.’ ‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘but I would
go home much happier, and with a quieter conscience, if I had had a
good beating; for I feel I so richly deserve it, that the best thing I
could get would be a good thrashing.’ It was all that the pastor could
do (and only after a long talk, and the most positive refusal to touch
him) to get the man to go home without his coveted beating!
Our mission district of Anativolo, where we had fourteen preaching
stations, with their small village schools, under the charge of three
untrained evangelists, was utterly ruined during the year 1888 by a
band of brigands from the forests of the north. They came as far south
as within forty miles of the capital! At one village in the Vònizòngo
district four men were killed, and thirty women and children carried
off to be sold to the Sakalava tribe on the west coast. It was five
years before we got these mission stations in Anativolo restored; then
the march of the French expedition from the north-west coast, and after
that the rising against the French rule, ruined the work for another
three years, and the district is now so sparsely populated that I fear
it will never again be what it was.
We left the capital in April, 1888, for the small London Missionary
Society sanatorium on the hills at Ambàtovòry for our annual month’s
holiday. I had seldom looked forward with more longing to our month
of rest, expected more from it or received less. On the night of
Wednesday, May 9 (the night of the large local weekly market for the
neighbourhood), I was sitting reading in our small parlour. About
ten o’clock my attention was attracted by a slight scratching at the
Venetian shutter-door of the French window, which opened on to the
walk. I looked up from my book, and thought that the cat had been
shut out. I turned again to my book. I had hardly done so, however,
when with a crash the Venetian shutter-door was torn open, the French
window burst in, and a band of burglars sprang into the room, and I
saw the gleam of their long Malagasy knives and meat-axes! So utterly
unexpected was the thing that I was stupefied for a few seconds. I
scarcely realized what had happened. As I had been sitting opposite the
open door of the room I sprang through it, closing it behind me, to
which act I may have owed my life, although I hardly think they would
have harmed me, unless I had offered resistance. I rushed upstairs
to the bedroom, where I found my wife in a state of terror; she had
been startled from sleep by the crash. She thought the house had been
struck by lightning. I had taken my small bull-dog revolver with me
for mad dogs, with which we were rather bothered in those days (I had
shot five of them in our own yard during our first term, and one in
our own kitchen), and now I went to get it in case it might be needed.
Unfortunately it had been hanging in the lobby, and passing it in my
hurry, by the time I had discovered my mistake the burglars had secured
it. It would have been of no use to me, however, even if it had been in
the bedroom, as the only three cartridges I had brought with me were
in my courier-bag, which was hanging on the back of the door of the
room into which the burglars burst. As there was no weapon of any kind
in the bedroom, not even a stick, we could do nothing except remain
quiet--a very difficult thing for me to do while the house was being
ransacked--and commend ourselves to the care of God. After recovering
from the shock and fright of my first surprise, I wanted to go out and
attack the burglars with anything I could find; but my wife and our
good old nurse, Rafàra, held me back. The former said if I went out of
the room, and they caught sight of me, they might fling a knife at me,
which might cost me my life.
The band was a notorious one, and had been the terror of that
countryside for years. The leader had been often in prison, and his
character was well known; but he had always escaped being put in chains
or being sent to penal servitude, doubtless by bribing the judges. His
assistant was the son of the so-called superintendent of police for
the district, who informed his father that if he gave any information
that would lead to his capture he would do for him! The majority of the
band were most desperate fellows, on whose breasts had been made seven
times the scars of the blood brotherhood, which pledged them not to
turn queen’s evidence if it cost them their lives. There were two lads
among them from whom much better things might have been expected, and
one of them was reported to have provided the knives for the night’s
work! As treasurer of the missionary fund of the ‘Union’ I had had £100
handed over to me, just before leaving the capital, and it was probable
the burglars had heard of that, and believed I had taken the money
with me. Twenty of the band were caught, and sixteen sent in chains
to the Malagasy Botany Bay; but none of the property stolen was ever
recovered, only its value was refunded by the authorities from the sale
of the property belonging to the burglars.
[Illustration: THE OLD SCHOOL, AMBATONAKANGA.
THE NEW SCHOOL, AMBATONAKANGA.
GROUP OF SCHOLARS, TEACHERS, AND CHRISTIAN WORKERS.]
Hugh Miller says: ‘There are two periods that are favourable to
observation, an early and a late one. A fresh eye detects external
traits and peculiarities among a people, seen for the first time, which
disappear as they become familiar; but it is not until after repeated
opportunities of study and a prolonged acquaintance that the internal
characteristics of a people begin to be rightly understood.’ This is
especially true with regard to Madagascar and the Malagasy; for while
there was, and is, much about them and the history of Christianity
in the island, as also about their present and future, to deeply
interest and indeed fascinate any one who has a spark of missionary
enthusiasm in him, still it is only to those who have had repeated
opportunities of studying the people, and a prolonged acquaintance with
them, and the work in all its phases, that the internal characteristics
of the people, and real conditions of the work, can be rightly known.
As it was in our Lord’s time, and is at home now, the rich do not crowd
into the Kingdom, and it is left chiefly to the common people to hear
the Gospel gladly, and press into it; so, with few exceptions, it has
been in Madagascar. The higher the social scale the more profuse was
the profession, the less the real practice. From many points of view
both the capital and the country districts might have been compared to
a stagnant pond, on which the green slime of ages had gathered thickly.
When the living waters of the Gospel flowed into the pond a commotion
was caused, bad odours were generated, and much was brought to the
surface that had long been hidden by the slime or embedded in the mud.
The only hope of clearing away the filth was to keep the living waters
streaming into the pool. Purification in such a case could not be the
work of a day; the filth was the accumulation of ages. Twenty years
could not do much.
We found even in our last year, before taking our second furlough,
that the mother-church and congregation of A-kànga was far from being
a pure one. Our first troubles that year began with a controversy with
regard to Christians--especially pastors, preachers, and Sabbath-school
teachers--countenancing theatres, operas, and balls. The poison of
so-called civilization, frivolity, and indecorum had been introduced,
and was affecting certain sections of the community. Those of us who
had the courage of our convictions with regard to such primrose paths
and gilded roads to ruin felt it to be our duty to set our faces like
flint against them, and denounce them both in public and in private.
As a result we had the honour of being for a time the best-abused men
in the capital. We were held up to ridicule as bigots, and charged
in the public press with being enemies to the public weal. We were
hindering Madagascar in her march towards civilization. The line of
demarcation, however, between the precious and the vile, between those
who feared the Lord and those who feared Him not, became more distinct
at this time than it had been since the ‘killing times.’ The sifting
process had, in a measure, begun; not in the way we would have chosen,
but perhaps in the way that most clearly showed who really had in them
the root of the matter, and preferred the house of God to any of the
synagogues of Satan.
The war between France and Madagascar ended with the conclusion of a
treaty of peace in 1886; but the war between real religion and French
civilization was greatly intensified. By the treaty concluded, while
the Hovas had the control of all domestic affairs, France obtained a
privileged position with regard to foreign affairs. A French resident
was established at the capital with a guard of honour of fifty French
soldiers. It need scarcely be said that, in such circumstances,
there was friction from the first between the French and the Hova
governments--perhaps it was intended there should be--and things went
from bad to worse, until what had been wanted all along was obtained,
a pretext for sending an expedition to take over the island. And yet
it will never be worth a tithe of what it has cost, and what it is
likely to cost, in men and money. The French government was grossly
deceived about the policy and work of the London Missionary Society,
and the real state of affairs--perhaps they were not anxious to know
the truth!--by the Jesuits, the colonial party, impecunious Frenchmen,
French-Creoles, and others who had their own ends to serve in urging
the government of the day to take action.
The Malagasy, once you really know them, are most likeable; but you
have to know them thoroughly. The Hovas have in them the making of
a fine people, and in proper hands much might be made of them; but
nothing will be made of them if they are simply regarded as _dirty
niggers_ or ‘_imitative monkeys whose market value is nil_.’
They are a most extraordinary mixture of love of money, simply for
its own sake, and wondrous generosity; of suspicious cunning, and
unqualified trust in those whom they respect and love; of childlike
and docile simplicity, and the most mulish and unreasoning obstinacy.
I believe it was this last trait in their character sanctified which
enabled them to endure martyrdom so calmly and courageously. If once
you win their respect and love--and they are not difficult to win--you
may do almost anything you like with them, and they in turn will do
anything for you. Doubtless some of the above-named features are common
to most heathen people; others are peculiar to the Malagasy.
It does not follow nowadays that when any great man in either the
political or religious world changes his views, or his creed, all his
followers or dependants change with him. Each one claims the right now
to judge for him-or herself; but, as we all know, it was not always
so. There was a time in the history of our own and other lands when
clans and even countries did not dare to differ from their chiefs or
sovereigns. If the sovereign or chief professed conversion, it almost
always followed that the whole kingdom or clan did the same. History
repeated itself in this respect in Madagascar. When the Hova queen
made profession of Christianity the vast majority of her subjects
in the central provinces imitated the royal example. The natural
result followed. These wholesale conversions were found to be of a
very superficial character, as we find in the early history of the
church nearer home. Districts once nominally Christian relapsed into
heathenism, and had to be reconverted; so it was in some cases in
Madagascar. There was not so much danger of the Malagasy relapsing into
absolute heathenism; but there was a great danger of their resting in a
form of godliness, while denying its power.
It was difficult to get two truths burned into their minds: _the
heinousness of sin_--whether found out or not--and _the holiness
of God_. If they did not quite believe that ‘’tis only daylight
that makes sin,’ they certainly did believe that ‘a sin concealed is
half-forgiven.’ It is only fair to remember in view of this the dense
ignorance of the vast majority, and the fact that they had so lately
emerged from heathenism. They were strange blendings of good and evil;
of vices and virtues; of lofty aspirations and gross pagan practices;
of Christian ideals and heathen traditions. Still, notwithstanding
these grave drawbacks, there was much to be profoundly thankful for,
and especially the help we received from our converts. We had a noble
band of native fellow-labourers--pastors, local preachers, teachers,
evangelists, and latterly Sabbath-school teachers. What was most
needed was more evangelical fervour, moral earnestness, and missionary
enthusiasm. ‘No kind of mission work,’ some one has said, ‘is safe that
is not enthusiastic.’ We are still, I fear, far from being safe in this
respect, either at home or abroad.
Emerson speaks of liberty and snow always being associated; but in
religious affairs cold and corruption, torpor and formality generally
go together. We are told that fevers never spread except in hot
weather; cold always kills the infection. That may be quite true
with regard to fevers and infection; but we know as a fact that real
religion seldom spreads except in an atmosphere of fervour. Frigid
religion will never help to kindle the fires of a new devotion in
hearts dead in trespasses and sins; it can only help to foster
formality. Cold may prevent the spread of infection in the natural
world; but it is almost always the cause of disease, death, and
corruption in the spiritual. Frosty friendships are but sorry affairs;
but frozen religion is one of the abominations that make desolate. I
know that fire _may_ be got by using a piece of _ice_ as a
burning-glass; but ice is not generally used for that purpose!
By the death at this time of Ràsamoèly (a young dentist, and one of
our local preachers at Lazaina) in the out-district, we lost one of
the best and most warm-hearted of our young men, and that too under
most painful circumstances. There had been a number of very daring
burglaries in the capital and suburbs during the previous few months.
A few nights before Christmas, 1889, Ràsamoèly dreamt that his house
had been broken into by burglars, and starting up in his fright and
half-asleep he jumped out at the window. He fell on his back, and died
a fortnight after from spinal injury.
Strange to say, although the accident had happened in the capital, I
had not heard of it until the morning of his death, when he sent for
me. I went to him at once, and found him lying on a small truckle-bed,
very earnestly engaged in prayer. He was praying with his eyes open,
and saw me enter the room and take a seat at his bedside; but went
on praying fervently and beautifully for some time after I entered.
When he had finished we shook hands, and he thanked me for coming so
promptly to see him. He then began to tell me very quietly and calmly
that he was dying, that the doctors had told him there was no hope;
but he added: ‘I am not afraid to die; for I am trusting in Jesus
Christ for salvation.’ His mother was sitting by his bedside, quite
broken-hearted, weeping and sobbing in a most passionate way. He talked
to her so gently, telling her that she ought not to grieve so sadly
because he was dying. ‘If,’ he said, ‘I were in chains, or in prison as
a burglar, or were dying from the effects of bad living, then you might
weep, but not because I am going home to my Father’s house on high. I
am very sorry to be separated from you so soon, but we shall soon meet
again to part no more.’ He also talked most solemnly and earnestly to
his brother and sister, and made them promise that they would give
their hearts to God and live for Him.
He and I had a long talk together, after which I prayed with him. My
wife and I called in the afternoon to see him. We found him still
conscious; he recognized us both, shook hands with us, and then asked
me to pray again with him. Death was now rapidly approaching, and just
after I had finished praying, he complained of the cold creeping up
his body, and asked for more blankets. His attention then seemed to
be suddenly arrested by something he saw in the roof of the room. He
gazed with seemingly rapturous astonishment, while a look of ecstasy
passed over his face. Had he a vision, and of whom, or of what? Did he
see his father, the good old deacon, or did he see the Saviour Himself
waiting to welcome him? He looked several times intently at us, as if
he would have said: ‘Don’t you also see this?’ but he seemed no longer
able to articulate, and in a short time all was over. He was safe home,
and with the Saviour Who had loved him and given Himself for him, and
on Whom I had heard him so fervently call that morning for help and
strength. His was the most triumphant death I had ever seen.
We were frequently cheered by hearing of instances of the truth taught
being translated by our people into rules of life and conduct. A
teacher of one of our village schools, on his way home from the capital
one day, found a large sum of money lying on the grassy pathway by the
roadside, rolled up in a small piece of dirty calico. He knew at once
that some one had lost the money, but as there was no one within sight,
he had no idea to whom it belonged. He went on his way for a few miles,
when he came upon two men excitedly talking about something.
As he drew near them, and caught something of their conversation, he
asked them if they had lost anything; and they answered that they had
lost a large sum of money, but where they could not tell. They were
returning from a local market, where they had sold an ox, and it was
the price of the ox they had lost. One of them had rolled the money in
a piece of calico, after the usual Malagasy fashion, and stuck it in
his girdle, from which probably it had slipped out when he was sitting
on the grass by the roadside resting. The teacher handed them the money
he had found, and asked them if that was their money. On seeing and
counting it they said it was, and asked him where he had found it,
and how he knew it was theirs. He told them how he had found it, and
that he had gathered from what he had heard of their conversation that
they were the owners of it. They asked him if any one saw him find
the money, to which he answered, ‘No.’ How did he know then that it
was theirs? they asked. He answered he did not know; how could he? he
only suspected they were the owners from what he had overheard of their
discussion. Then they asked how it was that he came to give up the
money, seeing that no one saw him find it, and neither they nor any one
else would ever have known he had it. The teacher said: ‘You are quite
wrong there; for, in the first place, it would have been dishonest of
me to have kept the money, and in the second place, God saw me find it.
He would have known.’ One of the men asked him: ‘Are you a “prayer”?’
To which he answered: ‘Yes.’ ‘Then,’ he said, ‘let me shake hands with
you, and ask your forgiveness. Ever since the “praying” was introduced
into the island, I have been an enemy to it, and done everything in my
power to oppose it, for I thought it wrong to forsake the religion of
our forefathers and take up with the white man’s; but I shall do so no
more. I shall do all I can for the future to help the “prayers,” and I
will learn to pray myself. A religion that can lead a young man like
you to return such a large sum of money, when you might have safely
kept it, and neither we nor any one else would have ever known--that
religion must be the true one, and a good thing for the country and the
people.’
On August 5, 1890, the British government concluded a treaty with
France in which, very unjustly as most people think--because he was
giving away what did not belong to England, and granting what he had
no right to grant--Lord Salisbury recognized a French protectorate
over Madagascar. The French government consented to the following
clause, which most of us knew was hardly worth the paper it was written
on:--‘In Madagascar the missionaries of both countries shall enjoy
complete protection. Religious toleration and liberty for all forms of
worship shall be guaranteed.’ Immediately on the seizure of the island,
that clause practically became a dead letter, as the Jesuits were
let loose and allowed to work their own will for a time, until they
overreached themselves, and had to be first checked and then repudiated.
During 1891 there was a slight religious movement in the capital. There
were not ‘showers of blessing,’ but the dew of the Spirit descended,
and the churches were quickened and refreshed. Perhaps more was made
of it than should have been; but this was not much to be wondered
at, seeing it was the first experience of the kind in the capital.
There was a good deal of blossom, but not much fruit came of it,
only what did come was genuine. Some of the best, most satisfactory,
and most devoted of the younger Christian workers in the capital and
neighbourhood to-day are among those who found their way into the
Kingdom then. One lad was converted through reading a story in English,
in a volume of the _Herald of Mercy_, which I had given to a
friend of his, from whom he borrowed it. He went to the secretary of
the Imèrina district committee, and confessed to having stolen two
shillings from the normal school money, some years before, when I was
in charge of the institution. He was a scholar there then. He pleaded
for forgiveness, and returned the money fourfold! The secretary told
him how glad he was to hear of his conversion, and to see the fruit of
it in his confession and restitution.
Political difficulties began to arise, and a spirit of unrest
spread among the people during 1893. The prime minister, deceived
by those whose interests it served, was led to believe that his son
and son-in-law had conspired against his life. They were tried and
sentenced to death, but the French resident and others remonstrated
so strongly against such a course, that the sentence was reduced to
banishment for life. All these things affected the work, but still the
consolidation of the best of the country churches, and the work in the
village schools, made most satisfactory progress.
From the time of our settlement in the capital, I had felt that
not nearly enough was being done for the girls and young women of
Antanànarìvo, and that there was more than room for another high school
for them in the neighbourhood of A-kànga; I had tried hard to persuade
the Imèrina district committee to take the same view. The majority of
the committee was with me, but such was the opposition from vested
interests that the proposal had to be given up. While at home on
furlough I had received help from friends for our work, and so on my
return I built a small school in the A-kànga churchyard, and began, in
a very humble way, a private high school for girls. We and our friends
found eighty per cent. of the funds for the school for the first five
years. We provided all the material for the sewing-classes there, and
at the centres for the village schools, while our eldest daughter
devoted herself, as a labour of love, for three years as it proved,
to the work of the school. With much covert opposition, condemnation,
and with very faint echoes of praise, or encouragement, in the end she
made it what it became. The following sketch, written some years later,
shows how this work prospered. It was written by Miss Matthews, who for
some years superintended the work:--
‘Almost from the time of my father’s settlement in Antanànarìvo, in
1882, he had the idea that enough was not being done for the girls and
young women of Àntanànarìvo, while so much was being done for the boys
and the young men. He did not think that two high schools--the London
Missionary Society Girls’ Central School and the Friends’ Girls’ High
School--were enough for the girls and young women of a city of nearly a
hundred thousand inhabitants. The London Missionary Society’s Central
School supplied the wants of the centre of the capital, while the
Friends’ supplied the needs of the north end of the capital; but there
was really no proper provision for the needs of the south end of the
capital, or for the west, south-west, and north-west sides of it.
‘When my father was at home on furlough in 1890 some kind friends
gave him money to help him with his work, and with that, and a grant
of fifty pounds which the directors made him for the purpose, on
his return to Madagascar, in 1892, he built a schoolroom in the
Ambàtonakànga yard. He soon saw that it would never be what he wished
it to be without a European lady in charge of it. In 1894, as the time
drew near for my mother’s return to Madagascar, it was arranged that I
should return with her to assist her with her sewing-classes.
‘By the time we arrived at Madagascar father had conceived the idea of
my taking charge of the girls’ school at Ambàtonakànga, and a few days
after we arrived he took me to see it, and said, “There, my dear; there
is a school for you to take charge of, and to work up.”
‘I was rather astonished, and said, “But I am not a teacher; I have had
no training as a teacher.” Father said, “Neither am I; just buckle to
and do your best”; so that is what I did!
‘There were twenty-six pupils when I took charge first, and we had
two hundred and thirty when we left. Shortly after I took charge we
had to leave for the coast owing to the French war, and the march
of the French on the capital; and we were away three months. For
nearly four years I superintended the school as a labour of love,
taking up the work as something providentially laid upon me. I was
splendidly assisted by my staff of Malagasy teachers, but most of all
by E. Rabarijaona, the principal teacher, really the head master of
the school, to whose untiring efforts we owe it, in the main, that
the school has been for so long in such a satisfactory state. After
the visit of the deputation, the foreign secretary and Alderman Evan
Spicer, on their recommendation the Directors recognized my work in the
school.’
[Illustration: THE LAST KABARY.
THE QUEEN’S LAKE, ANTANANARIVO.]