ON THE BORDERS OF PIGMY LAND
[Illustration: _Yours heartily_
_Ruth B. Fisher_]
ON THE BORDERS
OF PIGMY LAND
BY
RUTH B. FISHER
(_née_ HURDITCH)
NEW YORK, CHICAGO, TORONTO:
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
1905
R. W. SIMPSON AND CO., LTD.,
PRINTERS,
RICHMOND AND LONDON.
PREFACE
To none of her many friends in England and Ireland does the writer
of this book, whether as Miss Ruth Hurditch or Mrs. Fisher, need any
introduction; but I gladly accept the opportunity offered to me of
commending her graphic story of Mission life and work to a still wider
circle, including the American Christian public, among whom we are
assured the work will find ready circulation.
No one can read it and not be impressed by the evidence with which
it abounds that the same Gospel which conquered Europe, civilized or
barbarous, in ages past is as potent to-day to transform the most
degraded and dormant races into peoples of quick intelligence and
spiritual consciousness, and has given them in a marvellously short
time a measure of self-respect, a sense of the dignity of labour, and a
devotion to the welfare of others, not always found in Christian lands
or even Churches of ancient fame. At a time when the jaded faith of
many at home is giving way before the incessant undermining of the old
foundations, and when we are invited to recast the “details” of the
Gospel, it is no small thing that the Bible is seen to be making new
history again, and giving fresh evidences of its divine vitality. The
Mission Field is paying back its debt to the Church at home. Africa,
emerging from the night of ages, is bringing her treasures of grace to
make up the “fulness of the Gentiles.” The pigmies themselves are worthy
of a better lot than to be carried off by a traveller and be made a show
for the sordid curiosity of holiday crowds.
There are other reasons also why we welcome Mrs. Fisher’s journals. She
has drawn with her pen pictures of the country and people as lifelike as
the excellent photographs which adorn the book. She has enabled us to
share her adventures without the discomforts. The tropical storms and
glaring sunshine, the swamps of Semliki, and the snow peaks of Ruwenzori,
the camps and caravans, the dispensary and the school, the good King and
the gentle Queen, the Prime Minister and poor Blasiyo the pigmy are all
as real to us as though we had seen them and known them ourselves.
Mrs. Fisher has shown us how a devoted couple whose hearts are filled
with a longing to win souls for the Saviour can face dangers, and cut
themselves off from the common comforts of home, not only with patience
but with cheerfulness. No one will feel the playfulness and the sense of
humour with which she often describes the most trying situations to be
inconsistent with the more serious purpose of her Missionary life, or to
unfit her for the gracious ministry of comforting the sorrowful, teaching
the ignorant, and healing the sick, in which she has been engaged.
If each reader of these pages will let them raise before the conscience
such questions as these, “What have _I_ done, and what can _I_ do to help
such blessed work” or “Why should _I_ not follow in such steps myself,”
and if such questions be honestly answered as in the presence of the
Lord, I cannot doubt that results still more wonderful than those which
this book describes will find a record in the near future,—that may be
even the Coming of the Lord.
May the Holy Spirit moving in many lives bring this to pass.
H. E. FOX,
_Hon. Sec., C.M.S._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. A JOURNEY ON THE UGANDA RAILROAD FOUR YEARS AGO 1
II. ON LAND AND LAKE 11
III. MENGO, UGANDA 22
IV. TORO, THE LAND OF THE MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON 31
V. THE COUNTRY 41
VI. HOME LIFE 50
VII. ROYAL LIFE 59
VIII. THE WOMEN OF TORO 69
IX. CHILD LIFE 79
X. RELIGION 84
XI. LANGUAGE 92
XII. FESTIVITIES IN TORO 97
XIII. TRAMP I. TO THE ALBERT EDWARD LAKE 106
XIV. TRAMP II. HOLIDAYS 119
XV. TRAMP III. TRAMP THROUGH THE FOUR KINGDOMS OF
THE PROTECTORATE 128
XVI. TRAMP IV. TOWARDS THE PIGMIES 151
XVII. IN DARKEST AFRICA. THE PIGMIES (BATWA) AND
THEIR (BAMBUBA) NEIGHBOURS 161
XVIII. A CLIMB TO THE SNOWS 173
XIX. MISSIONARY WORK 188
XX. MEDICAL WORK 199
XXI. SCHOLASTIC WORK 211
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
A GROUP OF BAGANDA.
A GROUP OF MASAIS.
A GROUP OF PIGMY WOMEN.
A MUBIRA LADY: AN AFTERNOON CALLER.
A NANDI FAMILY.
A NATIVE OF BALEGA: THE FIRST TO BE BAPTISED OF HIS RACE.
A PEEP AT THE SNOWS.
APOLO KIVEBULAYA.
A SCHOOL IN TORO.
A VIADUCT ON THE UGANDA RAILROAD.
BACK FROM THE SNOWS: BAKONJO PORTERS.
BLASIYO: FIRST BAPTISED PIGMY.
CROSSING THE MULUKU RIVER.
KICUCEI CAMP.
KING DANDI KASAGAMA OF TORO AND HIS CHIEFS.
MULUKU GLACIER.
NEW CHURCH, KABAROLE TORO.
OUR HOME IN TORO.
PORT OF MOMBASA.
SNOW PEAKS.
STIFF CLIMBING: A CLIMB TO THE SNOWS.
TABALA, CHIEF OF MBOGA, AND SUITE.
THE ALBERT EDWARD LAKE.
THE BA-AMBAS: NEAREST NEIGHBOURS TO THE PIGMIES.
THE BAHUKU: CANNIBAL RACE.
THE BAKONJO AT HOME.
THE BATORO AT HOME.
THE FOUR PIGMIES AT KABAROLE.
THE KIDONG ESCARPMENT.
THE MARKET PLACE.
THE NEW BOAT ON VICTORIA NYANZA.
THE SEMLIKI RIVER.
CHAPTER I
A Journey on the Uganda Railroad Four Years Ago
It was in the beginning of the year 1900 that a British India steamer
cast anchor and set down on African soil a party of seven missionaries
bound for distant Uganda. Six of that number might be termed “freshers,”
for they were complete strangers to the “dark continent,” and absolutely
uninitiated in the art of African travelling. It is a little difficult
to define the feelings of a new arrival who has before him or her the
prospect of life and work in that country. The memories of magnificent
lives laid down for its people fill the heart with an intensely solemn
sense of responsibility and dignity; records of travel and adventure
kindle a love of daring, and a desire for opportunities of heroism; while
the meagre knowledge that exists on the interior districts breaks the
imagination of the traveller away from its leading strings.
The port of British East Africa—the Island of Mombasa—is a typical
foreign mercantile coast town, with its medley of craft, ships, yachts,
tugs, boats and canoes manned by seamen of various nationalities,
pushing, hustling and screaming in all the tongues of Babel. The
handsome old Arab fortress that stands on its jagged rocky prominence as
a sentinel at the entrance of the harbour, takes one back to the time
before the port was taken over by the British, and when it was used by
those who had carried on the terrible slave traffic in the interior. A
little to the left is to be seen the British Consulate with its Union
Jack fluttering from the mast as the emblem of liberty and justice to all
who come under its jurisdiction.
As we stepped from the ship’s deck on to the landing-stage the sun felt
distinctly African. The dazzling white and somewhat congested streets
seemed to singe our very boot leather. It was a relief to have pointed
out a strip of bright green mainland which lay at the extreme end of a
sheltered bay, as the place where hospitality would be offered me and two
others of our party of seven, while preparations were being made for our
journey up country. A short row brought us to this mission station of
the Church Missionary Society—Freretown—the situation of which is very
pleasing; in front stretches the transparent blue bay, beyond to the
right the white minarets and red tiled roofs of Mombasa, and all around
dense foliage—mango and banana trees, creepers and shrubs and flowers in
tangled confusion. A warm English welcome awaited us from our missionary
friends there who were domiciled in a solid two-storied brick house.
The guest room delegated to me was evidently an afterthought, as it was
constructed of corrugated iron with plaited grass stretched across for a
ceiling. The room opened out on a broad balcony, and as it is the custom
to leave open the doors at night to catch the least suspicion of a breeze
that might blow in across the bay, the bats and rats made free use of
my room until daybreak. The first night I found the rats had shewed
an appreciative appetite for Cadbury’s chocolate, for they completely
finished off my half-pound tin which had been tusselled for at a chess
tournament on board ship.
[Illustration: PORT OF MOMBASA.]
The terrible famine up country had brought many half-starved folk to the
coast. Bishop Peel had sent down some 30 to 40 girls and boys from the
Wanika tribe to be clothed, fed, and cared for at the mission dormitory.
Starvation had played frightful havoc with them. One wee babe of about
two years, all skin and bone, had had her hands held in the fire by her
mother because hunger had driven her to steal a banana. Her tiny fingers
were twisted back and much distorted, some joints having entirely gone.
Other children had no toes, these having been literally eaten away by
the little insects known as jiggers, which are very numerous inland, and
trouble Europeans as well as natives.
On Sunday we went to morning service in the splendid brick native church.
As it was conducted in the Swahili language we could only follow in
silence the order of the liturgy. The church, holding about 500 people,
was almost full. Colours were very pronounced among the women. The girls
were dressed in white gowns with red handkerchiefs round the head;
but the elder women adopted the most remarkable hues: orange-coloured
sashes and violet head gear were the most conspicuous. They attended
very devoutly, and as I knelt at the Communion rails with a native
woman on either side, that text appealed to me with a new power “Other
sheep I have ... and there shall be one fold and one Shepherd.” In the
afternoon I delivered my first message to Africans. I had been asked to
speak through interpretation to a class of women; it was not easy to
stand up before one’s first audience of dusky faces and to try and adapt
the message to their minds—an unexplored land as yet to me—to choose
carefully words which would lend themselves to interpretation and to
recollect the point stopped at between the sentences.
The morning after our arrival we all met in the office of the Church
Missionary Society’s agency. Before us were arrayed a dozen Swahili lads
who were coming up country with us to act as our personal attendants.
Each of us was to be allowed the sole service of one, the half of
another, and a quarter of another; that is, one boy was to act as
housemaid, two of us would share a cook, and four a cook’s mate. Minute
instructions were given us as to travelling arrangements, which resulted
in, for one thing, the re-adjusting of every one of our loads that
weighed anything over 65lbs. It let me in for some days of arduous
labour. If it had not been for my newly acquired “housemaid” Richard,
who had attached himself to me after that morning in the office, the
unpacking and re-packing would have proved an almost hopeless task
in such melting temperature. The last load nailed down contained a
heterogeneous collection of groceries, Monkey Brand soap, photos, a
saucepan, and a few garments, all of which had been taken out of loads
of overweight. Quite unexpectedly we heard that our start up country was
to be made on the fifth day after our arrival at the coast. A breakdown
was hinted at as being likely to occur on the railroad on account of the
heavy rains that had fallen. Apart from this we were told that the train
would accomplish the 364 miles of its journey in one day and night. At
railhead our caravan of porters was awaiting us, as also the two donkeys
and two jinrickshas, which would prove essential in case of sickness on
the road. We speedily fixed our bicycles up on hearing of the immediate
start to be made, which seemed to make us all desperately impatient to be
spinning along the African roads to Uganda.
On February 23rd we left Mombasa. A large party of missionaries met at
Freretown Church at eight o’clock for united Communion. Then we hurried
down to the shore where a boat awaited us to take us across to Port
Mombasa. After getting together all handbags and other small baggage we
were packed away in a ghari—a tiny truck for four persons, with shade,
run on rails along the street. A curious party we looked; three gharis
left the town, boxes, bags and rugs heaped up in a pile, a few natives
scattered about here and there among us, and boys pushing behind.
These vehicles simply fly along when going downhill; one box toppled
over in one of these wild escapades, and the whole contents burst out
and were scattered about on the road. Then a derailment of one ghari
necessitated the passengers dismounting, and the cars that followed in
the wake being carried round the obstructing car. The terminus of the
railway is at Kilindini, which lies about two miles outside Mombasa. At
the station a strange scene confronted us. People from various countries
were rushing about in a state of great excitement, all struggling to
crowd into the few compartments allotted to fourth class passengers. They
were so jammed together that one could only expect to see the carriages
burst apart with the pressure from inside. Our compartments were ever so
much better than I had expected; two had been reserved for our party of
seven. Perhaps some of us were a little disappointed that there was no
“roughing it,” but we tried to console each other with the thought that
there might be a breakdown on the line. Our feelings can be imagined
when the train whizzed away and kept up a most respectable speed, in
fact, behaved itself like a civilized being. We had armed ourselves with
plenty of provisions, but found that good meals had been prepared for us
at various long halting stations on the route. Wanting to lighten our
supplies, however, afternoon tea was suggested, and as passengers could
walk from one compartment to another by means of an outside foot-board,
even though the train was running, we invited all the members of our
party in to a social tea. My canteen was produced and efforts were made
to boil the water, but the train was shaking so unreasonably that the
small kettle needed to be constantly replenished during the boiling. We
had to warn our guests to avoid the streams of water that were running
down the carriage from the kettle spout, but the last arrival made a
dreadful mistake by sitting on the top of the teapot just as the tea was
made. This was not discovered until the whole contents were upset and the
offender realized a scalding sensation.
The first day on the Uganda railroad was certainly not the most
enjoyable; the heat was stifling and the dust so obtrusive that in spite
of having the windows closed, in less than an hour everything had assumed
a brownish-red appearance; the carriage cushions, our clothing, hair, and
eyes were full of it, and if one did venture to open the lips to pass a
remark, a mouth-wash was necessary. Mile after mile of country was passed
where the grass was entirely burnt up, and almost all trees and shrubs
dried and bleached. The land was in the grip of famine, whose hand of
death had touched all nature. Some of its last victims dragged their
exhausted limbs to the banks of the railroad as the train passed through
their land of hunger. Poor wee children, their sharp bones standing out
in a most ghastly manner, looked like skeletons moving. We gave them food
which they voraciously seized, but alas, many had got beyond the power of
eating.
Our first halting place was Voi, which we reached at seven p.m., after
a run of eight hours. As the train was not leaving again till eleven
o’clock we were allowed time for a short rest after dining at the station
bungalow. Native couches of woven grass stretched over wooden frames
were given to us, but the need of mosquito nets and blankets drove all
ideas of sleep away. The next morning we found the scenery had entirely
changed; vast stretches of plain and gently undulating country extended
for miles on either side. This district, known as the Athi plain, is
thickly populated with all sorts of wild animals. There were scores of
antelopes, zebras, and ostriches. The tracks of lions were pointed out to
us, but these are the only animals that apparently do not venture near
the trains in broad daylight.
Nairobi, which has been named the “tin-town” on account of all the
buildings being composed of corrugated zinc, is quite an important place.
It is one of the headquarters and workshops of the railway company, and
a large and rapidly increasing European, Indian, and Arab population has
settled here. From this point we had to take up our porters, and this was
not an easy matter. Instead of the 300 or so required, only about 150
were procurable to carry all our loads of food supplies, clothing and
household requisites for the road and our destination, besides various
other boxes and literature for missionaries and mission work in Uganda.
After leaving Nairobi another complete contrast opened out before us.
Dense thickets, forests and jungle covered hill and dale, without a
sign of human life. Truly the world seemed here as in infancy, and the
railway a harsh discord of civilization. It is a rest to the mind and
soul to pass through these world’s natural parks; the deep long silence,
unreached by man’s babble, carries in its air a breeze from Home and
one’s whole inward being rises on the wing to its God. I wondered why
such miles and miles of uninhabited land existed when “He created it
not in vain, He formed it to be inhabited.” Was it that He might give
us “the treasures of darkness and hidden riches of secret places” which
God deposits in regions where, untrammelled by the footprints (not the
results) of sin the Shekinah dwells revealed in such natural splendour?
On Sunday at two p.m., we found ourselves at railhead. The train before
ours had been derailed several times on account of the heavy rains
washing down the new embankments, but as trains only run once a week,
repairs had been temporarily completed, so we finished our journey
without a single mishap.
I wish you could have seen our plight as we arrived. To begin with, even
in the finest weather the country would always appear somewhat dreary;
nature has not behaved very liberally. The train drew up abruptly, not
because of its having reached a station, but there was no more line
on which to run. The only buildings were a few tents and iron sheds,
the property of the six Europeans and score of Indians employed on the
construction of the railway. The whole country was under water, and the
rains were sweeping down in a deluge. Out of the waters appeared our
two jinrickshas and a few boxes, and these indicated the spot where we
were to camp. Our first inclination was to remain in the train, but as
that had to return at once, we waded out and about, and did not quite
know what to do next. Here the Europeans came nobly to our assistance
and offered the ladies shelter in a tent called the post-office. It
is remarkable what a lot it takes to make you depressed in Africa. In
England I believe most of us would have felt rather despondent, but none
of us confessed to those feelings. After a cup of tea, with condensed
milk, had warmed us up, we gave a right good British cheer as a tapping
at the telegraph wires in our tea room told us of a splendid British
victory at the seat of war.
Towards evening the rain ceased and as the ground was well digged round
with trenches the water quickly drained off, so our tents were unpacked
and erected. The railway officials kindly supplied us with a number of
solid planks, which formed a firm flooring over the mud.
The tents looked so warm and bright in the midst of such grey
surroundings. Camping out was quite a new experience to most of us and we
immensely enjoyed moving in to our new quarters. When we had got straight
the whole party came together in our tent, squeezed round the tiny table,
and we had a thanksgiving service. Through the goodness of God, things
had marvellously adjusted themselves, considering the short time and the
swamped condition of the country. We all sang the _Te Deum_ till our
little tent rang with voices.
[Illustration: THE KIDONG ESCARPMENT.
_Photo by W. D. Young, Mombasa._]
As we joined in the general thanksgiving and prayers I can truly say
that no more heartfelt praise ascended into the courts of Heaven from
any temple that Sunday evening, than from our little tabernacle in the
wilderness.
Outside, darkness reigned, except for the porters’ fires, burning in
every direction, with the black figures squatting round, which gave the
whole scene a weird and fantastic appearance.
The next morning all our loads were hauled out for inspection, and owing
to the lack of porters we were obliged to choose out such as would be
required for more immediate use; the remaining boxes had to be stacked
in a rather too well ventilated shed to await reinforcements of porters.
This particular district was in rather a disturbed condition. The day
before we had arrived some natives fired upon a European and killed
him; in consequence a small detachment of soldiers had been sent out to
see into matters and had shot two natives. We were warned at night to
have our camp carefully guarded by askaris,[1] as thieves were about
in addition to any unfriendly folk who might be prowling round. So a
fire was lit just outside our tents, and sentries stationed at close
distances. They accosted every passer-by in angry tones, and those who
did not use the password “friend” stood a very poor chance of getting off.
As we stood round the log-fire at evening, the thunder and lightning
roared and flashed; and then down came the rain and pelted hard all
night. One of the tents was quite flooded; the bed and furniture were
rescued and the occupant moved into another’s tent pitched on slightly
higher ground. We had arrived in the rainy season, and were told that
we must not be surprised if we got a daily soaking. It rather damped
one’s enthusiasm for camping out and cycling. This district is called
the Kidong Escarpment, and is a ledge of land that suddenly drops some
500 feet. The railway takes a circuitous route to avoid this drop,
but at that time a most elaborate temporary line had been laid down
the precipitous bank, the cars being worked by cables. One had here
an example of the almost insurmountable difficulties that faced the
engineers of the Uganda railway, difficulties emphasised by the fact
that all material required had to be imported from India or England.
Viaducts, some of which are of gigantic height, frequently connect rock
to rock, and along these the train has cautiously to pass. At other times
the brave little locomotive pants and gasps as it toils along with its
burden; now and again it stops to gain breath, then it goes on again,
climbing, ever climbing, till it has reached an altitude of 7,000 feet.
After the burning heat of the dusty plains, along which the train rushes
with hysterical speed, filling the traveller with misgivings and treating
him to plenty of rough shakings, how welcome is the cold frosty air of
these African Highlands, which have proved no barrier to the Uganda
railroad.
[Illustration: A VIADUCT ON THE UGANDA RAILROAD.
_Photo by W. D. Young, Mombasa._]