The Light Spreading Northward
Kingdoms wide that sit in darkness,
Grant them, Lord, Thy glorious light;
And from eastern coast to western,
May the morning chase the night.
WILLIAM WILLIAMS.
Up to this stage the narrative of travel has taken us through districts
in which the London Missionary Society has laboured in days gone by.
We shall now visit the stations where it is carrying on work at the
present day.
Until quite recently the South Africa Mission of the L. M. S. might
be described, from the point of view of means of locomotion, as “an
Ox-waggon Mission.” The days of the Ox-waggon are rapidly passing.
This slow cumbersome means of conveyance, which was formerly almost
universal throughout South Africa, is giving place to the Cape cart and
the Railway. The change is symptomatic of the progress in the methods
of work. Greater facilities of communication have revolutionized the
conditions under which Missionary work is carried on. Missionaries are
no longer isolated from their fellows as they were in the days of old.
Until recently they were obliged to spend a considerable portion of
their time in actual travel in the ox-waggon. Now they can get about
rapidly and are able to cover much more ground and visit many more
out-stations in a given period of time. I was enabled to visit the
Society’s stations in Bechuanaland and Matebeleland in one-fifth of the
time which would have been necessary for such a visitation thirty years
ago.
After a few days’ stay at Tiger Kloof, the first place I visited was
Vryburg, where the Rev. A. J. Wookey, the missionary in charge of the
numerous scattered Churches of the Baralong tribe, resides. Vryburg
is not in a true sense a station of the Society, but the headquarters
for an extensive out-station work. After a stay of two days there,
I journeyed with Mr. Wookey in a Cape cart drawn by four horses to
Ganyesa, forty miles to the north-west. The growth of the work in
the lifetime of a single missionary is well illustrated by what has
happened at this place. When Mr. Wookey first visited it, forty-three
years ago, two or three people met with him for worship in a hut there.
A man read the Scriptures, and a woman led in prayer and preached.
Now there is a good stone Church with 120 Church members, and an
Anglo-vernacular school with seventy children. Connected with it are
three branch churches and schools.
A short description of the visit to Ganyesa will serve to illustrate
one’s experience at many a country out-station in Bechuanaland and
Matebeleland. I started from Vryburg at 7.10 and reached Ganyesa at
4.30, after out-spanning twice. We camped for the night on an open
common, in the middle of a large Native Reserve, close to an ox-waggon
which had brought two other missionaries, Mr. Helm and Mr. Haydon
Lewis, to the place. On all sides stretched the illimitable veldt.
There were very few trees, but almost all around the sky-line was
broken by the conical thatched roofs of the Native huts. Close at
hand were to be seen emaciated oxen returning from the almost dry
watering-places in charge of little black herd-boys, who were nearly
naked, their bodies glistening like polished ebony, and having an
appearance which suggested that they had recently been black-leaded,
and presenting a great contrast with the white of their eyes and of
their perfect teeth. After my arrival I was visited by the schoolmaster
and the deacons, and afterwards attended a concert in the Church,
organised to raise funds to help to send a teacher to Tiger Kloof.
The price of a ticket for the concert was 6d. The night was hot, and
the Church was packed. In spite of the almost overpowering heat the
doors and windows were kept closed, in order that the crowd outside
should not enjoy the music for which they had not paid! The atmosphere
within was beyond description. Evening meetings are almost unknown
in Bechuanaland. Some antique lamps had been requisitioned, and the
air was laden with the pungent smell of the lamp oil. The “Bouquet
d’Afrique” was also strongly in evidence. The audience afforded a
picturesque scene in the dim lamp light. Most of the women wore highly
coloured head-dresses, and with their numerous babies sat on the floor,
which was made of a mixture of sand and cow-dung. The rest of their
dress was remarkable for its colour and variety. Many of the boys and
men were in dilapidated European costume. There were 100 items on the
programme, and the concert continued until the small hours of Sunday
morning. I left before midnight, and slept on the ground underneath the
bright penetrating stars. The darkness of the night was illuminated by
flashes of summer lightning on the eastern horizon.
The following day, Sunday, will live in my memory. The service was
announced to begin at eleven o’clock, but at ten o’clock the evangelist
came to say that the chapel was already full, and forthwith the service
commenced. The building was crowded to its utmost capacity, and there
were large numbers of men, women and children sitting in the shade on
the ground outside. I spoke to the people from a side-door in order
that my words might be heard by the crowd inside and out. After the
service I was visited by a large number of deacons and workers from
the Churches for many miles round. Afterwards I went to see an old
woman named Dipepeng in her kraal near by. She is over eighty years
of age, and for a long time has not had the use of her legs. She sat
in the entrance to her hut in the shadow of the over-hanging eaves,
reading her Sechuana Bible. She told me she had been a servant to Dr.
and Mrs. Moffat at Kuruman, and remembered David Livingstone courting
Mary Moffat under the historic almond tree, and was present at their
wedding. She described them, and spoke of an arbour in the garden where
they used to sit. The old woman has been a Christian for sixty years,
and is deeply interested in the Church at Ganyesa.
I visited the only European in the place, he being a store-keeper. In
the afternoon there was a baptismal service, Sunday School, a sermon,
and a crowded Communion Service conducted with great reverence. At
the close the people all rose and sang, “God be with you till we meet
again.” At day-break on the following morning there was a prayer
meeting. This was followed by the wedding of five couples, and a visit
to the school. Later in the morning Mr. Wookey and I started on our
return journey to Vryburg in the Cape cart.
Later in the week I journeyed by rail and cart to Taungs where Mr.
McGee is the resident missionary. The Society has carried on work there
for forty-five years, and although the Church membership in connection
with Taungs and its out-stations is the largest (1,184) connected with
any L. M. S. Church in South Africa, the place was described quite
recently by an experienced missionary as “a back-water of heathenism.”
The signs of heathenism are certainly very apparent. The Native Chief
is a bad specimen of a Bechuana. Some of his headmen make themselves
particularly hideous by a plentiful application of the contents of
the blue-bag to their faces and heads. There are many evidences of
superstition and heathenism, and yet there is another side to the
picture. On the Sunday the spacious Church--which has recently been
built by the tribe, heathen and Christian alike contributing--was
crowded both morning and afternoon. Twenty infants and thirty adults
were baptised. The scene from the platform was extremely picturesque.
About half the congregation consisted of women, most of whom wore
brilliantly coloured head-dresses, vivid yellows and startling pinks
predominating. Many were clad in gaudy shawls. In the afternoon a
solemn Communion Service was held, at which individual communion cups
were used. The service was rendered the more impressive by the fact
that a great thunderstorm broke before it closed. Looking through the
great west doors of the Church at the beginning of the service one
could see the wide-spreading veldt stretching away into the distance
as far as the eye could reach, and looking dry and thirsty in the
pitiless blaze of the afternoon sun. Then a kind of mist appeared
on the horizon. It was a dust-storm approaching. The natives have a
proverb which says that “God sweeps His land before He waters it.”
The clouds of dust came nearer, until at last all the doors had to be
shut. The Church became dark. Then came claps of thunder, which made
speaking difficult, while the dim interior was from time to time lit
up with brilliant flashes of lightning. Then followed a downpour of
heavy rain upon the galvanised iron roof, making a terrific noise. The
storm increased in intensity until there was a perfect artillery of
thunder, while the lightning was continuous and most vivid. In spite
of the storm the service was continued in an orderly fashion, and the
crowded congregation seemed perfectly oblivious to the hurricane raging
outside. The service concluded with thanksgiving for the rain, for
which the people had long been praying.
Taungs is the centre of a widespread district, in which there are
twenty-three outstations regularly visited by the missionary. I
visited one of them, called Manthe, nine miles away. That visit was
impressed upon my memory by one of the appalling contrasts which are
so common in heathen lands. Under an extemporised roof at the back of
the evangelist’s house I saw and talked with a bright Christian boy,
the eldest son of the evangelist, by name Golekynie, who had been for
seven years at Tiger Kloof. He was on the point of passing his third
and final examination as a pupil-teacher, when, a month before, he had
been compelled to return home in an advanced stage of consumption. He
was lying on his bed in the open air. He spoke excellent English and
had a refined face and manner, and was evidently an earnest Christian
youth. He realised that he could not live long, and spoke with high
appreciation of the happiness that had come into his life at Tiger
Kloof. He told me that he was not afraid to die.
An hour afterwards I paid a visit to the Chief of the village, who was
slowly dying of a loathsome disease in a wretched, evil-smelling native
house. He lay on a dirty mattress with a coloured blanket over him. He
was a heathen of a low type. Two of his wives and several children were
on the verandah outside the open window. After Mr. McGee and I had left
he sent to us to ask us to return to pray for him, the first time he
had ever made a request for spiritual help.
From Taungs I proceeded to the historic station of Kuruman,
accomplishing the journey of 143 miles by cart, rail, motor-car and
ox-waggon. The contrast in the modes of travel is illustrated by the
fact that the first seventy-seven miles occupied five hours, and the
remaining sixty-six miles--which were travelled by ox-waggon--occupied
three nights and two days. This journey helped to bring home the
sparseness of the population. On Christmas Eve I travelled from early
morning till late at night in the ox-waggon without seeing a single
human habitation, or a single human being, except those who were
accompanying me, and this not in the recesses of Central Africa but in
British Bechuanaland, which is part of the Cape Province. I travelled
in a new waggon recently made by the boys at Lovedale for the Kuruman
station. It was drawn by fourteen oxen, kindly provided by the Church
at Kuruman, with two supernumeraries in reserve in case of accidents.
As travelling by ox-waggon is rapidly becoming a thing of the past,
it is worth while attempting a short description of the journey. The
waggon in which I travelled, although a new one, had no springs.
The road was of a most primitive description, although the main
thoroughfare between two important centres of population. The jolting
and bumping defy description. The speed is nearly two miles an hour
if all goes well. The discomfort of travelling is somewhat mitigated
by the “cartel”--a wooden frame hung within the waggon by very short
chains of three links. Across the frame are stretched “rims” or strips
of undressed ox-hide about a quarter of an inch broad. When the waggon
is at rest this makes a very comfortable bed, far more so than some
of the beds of my experience in China, such as the boards of a Chinese
chapel vestry, or the planks of a Chinese boat.
[Illustration:
_Photo by_] [_Mrs. Hawkins._
KURUMAN MISSION HOUSE, BUILT BY MOFFAT AND HAMILTON.]
[Illustration:
_Photo by_] [_Neville Jones._
THE NEW KURUMAN WAGGON, WITH MR. AND MRS. J. TOM BROWN.]
The oxen are outspanned about three times a day at places where there
is water, or where they are likely to find some grass. No reins are
used in driving, but the oxen are controlled by a very long whip which
is used with great dexterity either by the driver from the front of the
waggon or by his assistant walking alongside the oxen. These two men
also act as cooks. A Christmas Day spent in these conditions will live
in the memory.
The stay at Kuruman was a delightful experience. This place is a
veritable oasis in the desert with a perennial water supply from the
Kuruman river, which issues from a place called “The Fountain” in the
Kuruman township three miles away from the Mission station. Thence in
summer and winter, in flood and in drought, flows 4,000,000 gallons
of water a day. By means of water-furrows, constructed by the early
missionaries, the dry and thirsty land is converted into a paradise of
green. The trees in the garden are a constant delight.
I stayed in the Mission House built by Robert Moffat and Robert
Hamilton eighty years ago. The whole place is rich with associations.
It was here that David Livingstone courted Mary Moffat. The almond tree
in the garden under which he proposed to her is still flourishing.
Close by is the great Church, built by Moffat, and rich with many a
memory. Next to it is the house where William Ashton lived for many
years, which is now occupied by Mrs. Bevan Wookey, who is in charge
of the excellent Mission School at Kuruman. Behind is the school
and the old printing office. The garden is most fertile; oranges,
lemons, quinces, mulberries, pears, apples, plums, apricots, peaches,
pomegranates, walnuts, melons and richly-laden vines, abounding. For
more than a quarter of a century the Rev. J. Tom Brown has carried on
Missionary work at this station.
The great fact of the growing Christian Church in South Africa was
abundantly emphasised on the Sunday of my stay at Kuruman. From
outstations far and near the Christians came in for the Communion
Service on the last Sunday of the year and for the New Year’s meetings.
In the morning some 1,500 gathered together for public worship, and
three services were carried on simultaneously. Moffat’s long, and
somewhat dark Church, with its great wooden beams, was filled with a
Sechuana-speaking congregation. The dimness of the Church was relieved
by the orange, yellow, pink and blue of the dresses of the women. In
the spacious school there was a crowded service for the Dutch-speaking
natives and coloured people. In the yard of Mrs. Wookey’s house there
was a service, conducted by an evangelist, for the Damaras, a stalwart
tribe of blackest hue. These people are refugees from German South-West
Africa. In the afternoon all the Church members gathered together in
the Church at a solemn Communion Service. A stranger will not soon
forget the impressive quietness and reverence of the service as the
bare-footed deacons moved noiselessly along the serried ranks of the
great black crowd that was present.
The meetings on the following day were further evidence of the
growing Church. A large gathering of Church members was held at
which discussions took place on several subjects quite familiar to
the Home Churches, many Natives joining in with great intelligence
and earnestness. The Native Pastor at Kuruman, the Rev. Maphakela
Lekalaka, an eloquent preacher, a capable minister, and a master of
metaphor--known as the “Joseph Parker of Bechuanaland”--superintended
the work of the station with ability and success during the absence of
the Missionary on furlough.
The journey back to Vryburg was made in an old ox-waggon drawn
by fourteen oxen kindly lent by the Church at one of the Kuruman
outstations. I travelled back _via_ Motito, which has pathetic
associations. In a tiny grave-yard there are buried two or three
missionary children. There is also a grave which recalls a grim
tragedy,--that of Jean Fredoux, a son-in-law of Dr. Moffat, and a
missionary of the Paris Evangelical Missionary Society, which was
formerly at work there. It was in 1865 that he met his death. A
“depraved European” (to quote from the inscription on the gravestone)
attacked his wife in his absence. The Native Christians defended her
and made him prisoner, intending to send him to Kuruman for trial. Next
day they were afraid they might get into trouble for arresting a white
man and they let him go. He escaped in his waggon to the place where
Mr. Fredoux was, and the Natives followed and told the latter what had
happened. Mr. Fredoux went to speak to the man, who retreated inside
his waggon. Then followed an explosion of gunpowder, which blew the
waggon, the “depraved European,” Mr. Fredoux and all the Natives to
pieces.
At the conclusion of the journey from Kuruman I paid a short visit
to Tiger Kloof and then proceeded north to visit the Matebeleland
stations, in what is now known as Southern Rhodesia, taking three days’
holiday to see the wonderful Victoria Falls and places of interest in
Bulawayo and the neighbourhood. Every Britisher naturally associates
Rhodesia with the name and work of Cecil Rhodes. His statue stands in
a commanding position in Bulawayo. His grave in the rocky fastness of
the Matopo Hills is an impressive monument to his memory. All round are
immense blocks of granite piled up in fantastic shapes. Four groups of
these granite boulders almost completely enclose a rocky surface about
30 yards square, in the centre of which there is a large untrimmed
block of granite lying on the ground. On the top of this is a sheet of
bronze about 10 feet by 4 feet and 2 inches thick, on which are deeply
cut these words:--
“HERE LIE THE
REMAINS OF
CECIL JOHN RHODES.”
There is no date. Close by on the slope of the hill there is a white
marble rectangular monument, with bronze panels, commemorating Major
Wilson and thirty-four men who laid down their lives in one of the
Matebeleland wars. The inscription reads:
“TO BRAVE MEN.”
Few people, perhaps, realise what Rhodesia owes to the lives and
labours of L. M. S. Missionaries. When Cecil Rhodes was a youth of
twenty Mr. Helm was establishing the Mission Station at Hope Fountain,
10 miles away from the present town of Bulawayo, which was then
non-existent. Rhodes was always ready to acknowledge the value of
the services rendered by Mr. Helm in his early pioneering days in
the country which afterwards was named Southern Rhodesia. He was a
constant visitor to Hope Fountain, and Mr. Helm often took part in
his negotiations with Lobenguela, the blood-thirsty Matebele king.
John Smith Moffat, the son of Dr. Moffat, at one time an L. M. S.
Missionary, afterwards for many years a Government official, and
always the friend of the Natives, played an important part in the
establishment of British rule in Rhodesia. John Mackenzie, too, did a
great work in this direction, and was ever a stalwart champion of the
rights of the Natives.
Mr. Helm drove me from Bulawayo to Hope Fountain in a cart drawn by
four mules, the two leaders rejoicing in the names of “Bella” and
“Donna.” At Hope Fountain the Society holds for the benefit of the
Natives a farm upon which some 500 people are living. In Southern
Rhodesia, outside the towns, it is very difficult, if not impossible,
to carry on missionary work except on such farms or in Native
Reserves. Throughout the country farms are being rapidly taken up
by white farmers, and the Natives are steadily and inevitably being
driven off the lands which they previously occupied into the great
Native Reserves provided for them by the Government. Hope Fountain
is the centre of some thirteen outstations, most of which are under
the charge of resident evangelists. These men and many of the Native
Christians came into the head-station to meet me. These small Churches
form another example of the growing Native Christian Church of South
Africa. The principles of self-support have been inculcated with such
success that they raise for the support of their own Christian work a
sum considerably in excess of that raised at any other station of the
Society in the sub-continent.
At Hope Fountain, as in so many places in the Mission Field, one is
reminded of the great and good men who have given their lives to the
work in days gone by. In the cemetery there David Carnegie is buried,
and his white stone tomb can be seen from the Mission House across the
valley. His widow and family live at a house on the road between Hope
Fountain and Bulawayo.
The next week of my travel was devoted to exploring one of the great
Native Reserves above referred to. Mr. Helm drove me from Bulawayo to
Inyati, the most northern station of the Society in South Africa, a
journey of forty-five miles. Thence, accompanied by Mr. Cullen Reed and
Mr. R. Lanning, the Native Commissioner, I paid a visit to the Shangani
Reserve, which comprises a large tract of country situated about midway
between Bulawayo and the Zambesi. This Reserve has been set apart by
the authorities for the accommodation of Natives who have been driven
off the land by the gradual settlement of white farmers. The expedition
involved a cart journey over rough country of some 220 miles, some of
it through virgin tropical forest across which the road consisted of
little more than a track. For seven nights I slept on the ground near
the great fires which were necessary to keep off lions and other beasts
of prey. The experience was a delightful one in spite of a too abundant
insect life which often proved troublesome. Mr. Lanning has a unique
knowledge of the country and his experience of travel on the veldt
added greatly to the comfort and the pleasure of the journey. Moreover,
he is a keen hunter and kept the larder well supplied with fresh meat.
The cart was drawn by six mules and we were accompanied by another cart
which conveyed the Native servants, the luggage and the camp equipment.
The interest of the journey was enhanced by meetings with Native chiefs
and headmen at different places. They may be typified in the person of
Tjakalisa, Lobenguela’s third son, a fine specimen of the human race,
standing over six feet high and every inch of him an aristocrat.
Clad in a vest and a short leather apron and some wire bracelets, he
looked like the son of a king. Years ago he was nearly burnt to death
in a tree in which he had taken refuge from a bush fire. David Carnegie
treated him and saved his life. On another occasion he was out hunting
with his father. His cartridges were several sizes too small for his
gun. As fast as he put them in at the breech they fell out at the
muzzle. Lobenguela insisted that he was bewitched, and this opinion was
apparently confirmed when, on his shooting expedition, his horse took
fright and threw him, breaking his leg into splinters. Mr. Helm came to
the rescue and effected a complete cure.
Nowadays Tjakalisa has settled down in the Shangani as a farmer on a
large scale. He has been known to realise as much as £600 at one time
on the sale of his produce. He came to discuss with us the question
of the settlement of a resident missionary. He was accompanied by
a fine old chief, Sivalo, who still wears one of the old Matebele
iron circlets on the top of his head. I shall not soon forget the
long morning spent in the blazing sun--in “the splendour, shadowless
and broad,” of a South African midsummer. Tjakalisa and Sivalo were
attended by a score of headmen. They were eloquent in praise of their
new country, which had not suffered from the terrible drought which has
been afflicting so much of the sub-continent. They realise the benefits
of elementary education and promised to support a school and to build a
house for a teacher. They were filled with enthusiasm for the future of
this promised land.
Later on the same night I was lying on my bed, consisting of leaves and
grass and a rug, under the stars which were soon to be extinguished by
the brilliant light of a South African full moon. A few yards away our
black servants were sitting around the camp-fire. One of these was a
Basuto who had passed some of his life in prison and was now a servant
in the mission. Another was a black, curly-headed herd-boy from one of
our mission stations. With them were some naked Matebele. Before I
slept I heard the strains of a hymn in the native language, sung to a
well-known tune. It was:
Jesus, still lead on,
Till our rest be won;
And, although the way be cheerless,
We will follow, calm and fearless;
Guide us by Thy hand
To our Fatherland.
I fell asleep to dream of the African church of the future in this new
fatherland of their race.
Already under the steady pressure of white settlement large numbers
of Natives have been driven into this Reserve and month after month
there are fresh arrivals. In the old days the L. M. S. was ever to the
front as the pioneer Society in the evangelization of South Africa. In
these days it is looking forward to establishing a new mission station
in this Reserve, unless prevented by the great deficiency and the
lukewarmness of the Home Churches.
From Shangani I returned to Inyati, the station where Mr. Bowen Rees
has laboured so long and faithfully. He was away on furlough at the
time of my visit. During my stay there I was reminded of some of the
minor inconveniences--not to say dangers--of a missionary’s life. One
evening while we were sitting on the verandah a snake paid us a visit,
while the next day a cobra was caught in the woodstack close at hand.
I inspected the school and attended a large gathering in the Church of
Christians from Inyati and its outstations. Most of the adults squatted
on the floor with their families around them. The naked babies tumbled
over each other in their playful frolics, or slept on their mothers’
backs while I was trying to speak to their parents.
From Inyati Mr. Helm drove me to Insiza, formerly a station of the
Society. On the following morning I left at 4 a.m. by train for
Bulawayo, where I proceeded to Marula Tank Siding _en route_ for the
new Arthington station at Tjimali, where our Missionary, Mr. Whiteside,
met me. A drive of twenty miles in the mule cart brought us to the
Mission House, which is beautifully situated in the midst of granite
kopjes which form the western spur of the Matopo Hills. The view is
magnificent. The garden terminates in a forbidding precipice some
hundreds of feet deep. On one side of the house is a lofty rocky hill
which commands a wide stretch of mountainous country in all directions
with intervening valleys, and plains and hills. There are, however,
drawbacks to Tjimali as a residence. The baboons are very numerous in
the immediate neighbourhood and go about in herds of forty or fifty
and rob the gardens in the day time. The wild cats steal the chickens
at night. The eagles carry off the lambs, and the insect life is
super-abundant. Tjimali is the Society’s newest station in Matebeleland
and the work is in its early stages. There are ten outstations, at each
of which there is a native teacher who conducts school during the week
and acts as pastor-evangelist on Sundays, preaching and holding classes
for inquirers. The work is bright with promise and is reaching the
miners who are settling in the outskirts of the district.
From Tjimali I journeyed by cart to Dombodema, a long day’s drive
of fifty-eight miles. My experience that day illustrates one of the
disadvantages of the new mode of travel in South Africa. I had been
driven to the Marula Siding to catch the train for Plumtree, the
station for Dombodema. On arrival there I found that on the previous
day the time for the starting of the train had been put forward four
hours without any notice whatever to the public or even the station
master, and hence there was nothing for it but to drive the whole
distance. On the way I was met by Mr. Cullen Reed, the Dombodema
missionary, who has been at work there since the foundation of the
station in 1895. Mr. Reed has to carry on his work in three languages
and has to itinerate a parish of 3,000 square miles inhabited by 15,000
people. On each side of the Mission station are low picturesque kopjes.
The day before I arrived Mr. Reed had killed a snake fifteen feet long
in the garden.
Preachers, teachers and Christian workers had come in from the
outstations for the meeting. Three of them had travelled all the
way from Nekati, a distance of 150 miles. At this place Segkome
Khama lives. He is the eldest son of Khama, the famous Chief of the
Bamangwato tribe. For the Sunday service the Church was crowded, the
congregation sitting on the floor, and some scores more finding seats
under the shadow of a great fig tree outside the door. The Service was
conducted in two languages. In the afternoon an impressive Communion
Service was held.
On leaving Dombodema I proceeded south to Serowe, spending two days
on the way at the British Residency, Francistown, as the guest of
Major Daniel, the Assistant Commissioner for the Northern half of
the Bechuanaland Protectorate. My visit to Serowe was one of my most
interesting experiences in South Africa. Leaving Phalapye Road railway
station at 3.20 a.m. in the faint light of the waning moon I started
on the cart ride of thirty-five miles to Serowe. The cart was drawn
by eight fine mules kindly put at my disposal by the Government. It
was the dustiest ride I have ever experienced, in many places the road
being several inches deep in sand and dust. The dust of the Plain of
Chihli in North China makes an impression on the memory which it is not
easy to forget, but the drive to Serowe was a more trying experience,
because eight galloping mules travel much faster than the sorry beasts
which draw the Peking carts of North China. About three miles from
Serowe we saw a cloud of dust ahead and there emerged from it a company
of horsemen whom Khama had sent to escort me. A mile further on the
whole veldt seemed to be enveloped in a mighty dust-storm. When it
reached us we stopped. Khama had come in person with some hundreds of
horsemen. The old Chief sprang from his saddle like a man of 26 rather
than a man of 76. He joined me in the cart and we renewed our drive.
The horsemen galloped before and behind and on either side. The drivers
thrashed their mules with two whips to force them to keep pace with
the horsemen. A regular stampede ensued. Fresh detachments of Natives,
all mounted on fine steeds, joined the cavalcade every two or three
minutes. The Chief thoroughly enjoyed the fun and laughed heartily
as the horses of the various members of our escort kept cannonading
against one another in the mad rush.
Serowe, the largest Native town in South Africa, contains about 26,000
inhabitants, and is picturesquely situated. Mr. Jennings, the L. M. S.
missionary, has carried on work there for upwards of ten years. It is
a typical Bechuana town, having no streets but consisting of numerous
collections of native huts within fenced kraals. The position of the
Mission House is particularly striking, lying as it does between three
great piles of rocks.
The town owes much of its importance to the fact that it is Khama’s
capital. This old Chief--the Jubilee of whose baptism was celebrated
two years ago--is the most distinguished Native of South Africa.
He is undoubtedly one of the busiest men in the world. He spends
laborious days in the Kgotla--the great open-air meeting place of the
tribe--dealing with all sorts of questions affecting his people, and
acting as judge. Nothing concerning the life of the tribe is too minute
for his careful attention. He knows all that happens and rules his
people with a firm hand, exercising a benevolent despotism.
In a very true sense Khama is head of the Church as well as head of
the State. He is most regular in his attendance at Sunday services and
religious meetings. Under his leadership his people have just built
a magnificent stone Church, on the foundation stone of which are
inscribed these words:--
“THIS CHURCH WAS ERECTED TO THE GLORY OF GOD
BY CHIEF KHAMA AND THE BAMANGWATO TRIBE.”
Two great meetings in the Kgotla will live in my memory. At day-break
on the morning after my arrival I attended a prayer meeting for rain.
These meetings had been held for weeks. About 800 men and women were
present in almost equal proportions. Most of the women sat upon the
ground and the men on low chairs or stools which they brought with
them. Khama sat on a deck chair under the shadow of a tree in the
middle of one of the sides of the oval into which the people had
grouped themselves. His young wife sat on his left hand. There was
singing, reading and prayer. The Chief himself led the meeting in the
final prayer, which lasted about five minutes. I am told he compared
his country to a wilderness where there was no river, and his people to
a lonely dog in the desert crying for water.
Another memorable meeting in the Kgotla was the Sunday morning service.
Between 4,000 and 5,000 people assembled at 7 a.m., most of the men
sitting on the right and the women on the left. The scene was a most
picturesque one. The coloured head-dresses of the women were brilliant
in the morning sunshine. Khama and his wife were present. A deacon
with a fine voice led the singing, which was very hearty, and was
unaccompanied by any instrument.
Many other gatherings were held during my visit to Serowe. I met
deacons, Church members, catechumens, inquirers, Sunday School
teachers, and other Christian workers. In several conversations
with the Chief I found him to be deeply interested in Christian
work in other parts of the world. He has the high spirits of a boy
and told many yarns of hunting experiences. He had some interesting
reminiscences of his meetings with David Livingstone to narrate. He
told me that he remembered Livingstone visiting his father, Segkome, on
three occasions. On the first and second of these visits Livingstone
was riding on a hornless ox. On the third occasion he was travelling
in an ox-waggon and came to Shoshong. “After that,” Khama added, “he
went beyond the Zambesi, and I never saw him again.” Of his own accord
he told me of Livingstone’s encounter with the lion, and described the
damage to the arm and told me he remembered hearing of the incident at
the time.
Khama has two houses, one a spacious and well-built native hut, where
he lives with his wife, Semane, who was trained at the L. M. S. School,
and is a fine specimen of a Native Christian woman. She takes great
interest in the work and often visits the schools and is a regular
attendant at the services in the Kgotla. Khama’s other residence is a
European house, brick-built, with a verandah in front and containing
four rooms. I visited him there, and was received in his sitting-room,
which is about 18 feet square. The floor was covered with linoleum
upon which was a Turkey carpet. There were two tables--one a large
old-fashioned drawing-room table, on which stood a photograph of Earl
Selborne in a silver frame and two other photographs, and the other a
light folding table on which was a richly framed autograph photograph
of Queen Victoria, which she had given to the Chief when he was in
England in 1895. On this table also stood a very large blue enamel
milk-pail full of milk and a bottle of vinegar. In the corner was an
Address from the Serowe Chamber of Commerce on the occasion of the
Jubilee of his baptism. On the walls were portraits of the late King
Edward, Queen Alexandra, King George and other Royalties. He showed
me a gold hunter watch he was wearing, which contained an inscription
recording that it was presented to him by the Duke and Duchess of
Connaught. He was very interested in political matters and was most
anxious about the future of his people, being apprehensive that the
Protectorate might one day be incorporated in the South Africa Union,
and keenly desirous of preventing the occurrence of anything in the
nature of such a catastrophe, as he deems it would be.
Khama is a man of great physical strength. A week or two before I saw
him he had ridden sixty miles to Shoshong on horse-back in a single
day, and after a day or two’s stay had made the return journey in the
same way. He exercises a tremendous influence over the tribe, and in
recent years has put a stop to the manufacture and drinking of Native
beer. The story is told of him that some time ago a man who had tried
to bewitch him died of fright, when Khama reminded him that he was the
son of the greatest of witch doctors, Segkome, and that he could kill
him if he wished to do so.
My week’s intercourse with Khama made two impressions on my mind. The
first is that he is a Christian gentleman, and the second is that he is
one of the most cautious and astute men I have ever met in my life. He
has a remarkable mind, the working of which it is not always easy to
understand, but of his desire to spread the light amongst the people
over whom he rules with a rod of iron there cannot be a shadow of doubt.
Of the growing Church among the Bamangwato there are many manifest
signs. Apart from the salaries of the missionaries and a small
grant to keep the Mission House in repair, the work at Serowe is
self-supporting. Moreover, the Church is a Missionary Church, and is
seeking to pass on the light to others. For many years it has done much
to sustain the work for God at Lake Ngami, which is the Mission field
of the Bamangwato Church. It sends out its own missionaries. For twenty
years Shomolekae has been the devoted and much loved evangelist of the
far-away Lake Ngami district and has bravely held the fort in spite of
loneliness and isolation and repeated attacks of fever. He has now been
joined by Andrew Kgasi, who was trained at Tiger Kloof, and volunteered
for service at the Lake.
From Serowe I travelled to Shoshong, being driven to Phalapye Road
Station by the Acting-Magistrate in the Government mule cart.
Proceeding south by railway to Mahalapye I was there met by Mr. Lloyd,
the Shoshong missionary, with his ox-waggon. We travelled all night
and reached Shoshong at mid-day. This place in the old days was the
capital of the Bamangwato tribe. It was here that Segkome, Khama’s
father, ruled and Khama himself was baptised fifty-two years ago. Here
David Livingstone preached and practised in the early forties, and
later on John Mackenzie, Roger Price and J. D. Hepburn laboured. But
its glory departed when in 1886 Khama moved his capital to Phalapye.
Shoshong is picturesquely situated in a wide plain with mountains on
all sides, but there are few traces of its former greatness. The site
of the old town is covered with bush. The present town consists of
three large kraals under three local chiefs or head-men, one of whom
is Khamane, Khama’s brother, and another Tshwene, Khama’s son-in-law.
At the time of my visit Shoshong was experiencing the terrible effects
of the prolonged drought. The only water supply was two miles away in
the river bed, over one of the roughest paths I have ever traversed.
Between the boulders over the stones and across the rocks the narrow
serpentine track had been worn quite smooth by the long procession of
women walking up and down day by day to fetch water from holes dug in
the bed of the river. One of the vivid impressions of travel in these
parts is that of a string of women carrying very heavy clay pots of
water balanced on their heads, climbing over rocks and making their way
through thorn bushes, and never spilling a drop of the water. These
great pots are 18 inches across in the broadest part and one foot high,
and when filled are very heavy. I tried to lift one on to my head
but entirely failed. The women help each other to hoist them and they
do this very cleverly and quickly. A man attempted to help a woman to
replace on her head the pot I had tried to lift. The woman said “No!
you are no good, you are only a man! You cannot do it.” An old woman of
sixty came to the rescue and between them they succeeded in replacing
the pot upon the head of its bearer.
Shoshong is the centre of a large district comprising thirty-nine
outstations, some of which, however, are little more than preaching
stations. The missionary visits them from time to time. There are only
seven schools in the district.
On my return journey to the railway I had an experience of travel which
was much more common formerly, when the ox-waggon was the only means of
conveyance, than to-day, when its place has been largely taken by carts
and trains. We left Shoshong in the waggon at 10 p.m. The herd-boy had
been unable to find two of the best oxen, and we started with a span of
twelve, at least two of which were very poor specimens. In the first
two miles we had to stop a score of times. Finally, one of the oxen
laid down and refused to move. We left this creature and its fellow
behind, and proceeded with ten oxen only. The heavy thunderstorm of the
previous day had left water behind it on the road and our progress was
slow. Between five and six on the following morning I was wakened by a
tremendous banging and found one of the drivers standing on the front
seat of the waggon chopping off a branch of a tree which barred our
way. Fifty yards further on, owing to careless driving and tired oxen,
the wheels on one side of the waggon got lodged in a deep rut full of
water and mud. I got up to find the waggon at an angle of forty-five
degrees and in imminent danger of overturning. Dressing hurriedly and
getting out of the waggon I found the boys had unyoked the oxen and
fastened them on to the back in the vain hope that they might thus pull
it out of the rut backwards. A futile effort was then made to dig out
the two wheels, but it was impossible to move the waggon. The boy went
off post-haste to Bonwapitse, two miles away, to borrow oxen and men
from the Chief to extricate us. In two hours twenty men, including the
Chief’s son, and ten of the most powerful oxen I have ever seen, came
to our rescue. A chain was fastened round the back axle and in less
time than it takes to describe the incident the waggon was dragged
out of the rut. The new oxen, however, were not content with their
performance, but rushed off, dragging the waggon backwards, and soon
two considerable trees were levelled to the ground in the stampede.
Fortunately, the oxen took a semi-circular course, and the great trees
and dense bush checked them in their mad career, but not before some
damage had been done and the interior of the waggon half-filled with
broken branches of trees.
It was Sunday morning. On reaching Bonwapitse we held a Service under
the trees, which was attended by the Chief and his wife and about 100
people. This was one of the many open-air services which will live in
the memory. The trees afforded little shade. The almost vertical rays
of the South Africa summer sun beat down with merciless severity upon
the people gathered together as they joined in singing their hymns and
listened with great attention to the words spoken to them, and took
part with great devoutness in the prayers which were offered.
I proceeded by railway to Gaberones, arriving there between two and
three in the morning. Alighting from the train I waited in the darkness
until two men appeared with a lantern to conduct me to the Government
waggon which Mr. Ellenberger had kindly sent. We in-spanned early
in the morning and I was taken to the Residency three miles away,
where a warm welcome awaited me. Mr. Ellenberger is the Assistant
Commissioner for the Southern portion of the Protectorate. He is the
son of a missionary of the Paris Missionary Society who laboured in
Basutoland, and his wife is the daughter of the well-known Dr. Casalis
of the same Society. I experienced from them the same kindness which
was always extended to me by the Government officials, and my two days’
stay at the Residency was altogether delightful. They kindly drove me
in the Government cart to Khumakwane, where we found the waggon which
had conveyed my luggage on the previous day, awaiting us. Mr. Haydon
Lewis, the missionary from Molepolole, met us there with his waggon.
Afterwards another open-air service was held under a great tree, in the
course of which Mr. Ellenberger spoke to the people in Sechuana, and
a business interview followed with the neighbouring Chief, at whose
village the Mission Chapel had been burnt some time before at the
instigation of a “false prophet.”
Mr. Ellenberger drove us to Kolobeng, where we saw the ruins of the
house which Livingstone had built seventy years before, and which was
destroyed during his absence by the Boers. The outline of the house
was quite distinct, and on one side the walls are still standing about
7 feet high. The bricks were of the roughest description, and the
marvel is that they have stood the storms of seventy years without
disappearing altogether. In Livingstone’s day there was a large town
here, but now not a hut is to be seen owing to tribal migration. The
Kolobeng river itself has almost disappeared, but its course is clearly
marked by a great line of reeds and rushes.
I met two old men who remembered Livingstone, and gave me some details
of his personal appearance. One of them as a boy was doctored by him,
the other still cultivates Livingstone’s garden--a small patch near
the ruins, where mealies are grown. Close by are the remains of an old
Dispensary, and a little further off are two nameless graves. It was
a scene of desolation, nature having completely re-asserted herself,
and obliterated all traces of the former town. But from the site there
was a fine view of undulating veldt and valley and mountain, and one
thought with gratitude of the great man who had “passed like light
across the darkened land”--
“To lift the sombre fringes of the Night
To open lands long darkened to the Light,
To heal grim wounds, to give the blind new sight,
Right mightily wrought he.”
Next day I left for Molepolole with Mr. Haydon Lewis. This town, where
missionary work has been carried on since 1866, is the capital of
the Bakwena tribe. In the afternoon there was a great gathering of
school children for their annual sports. Just after I had distributed
the prizes a youth galloped up on a bare-backed horse, scattering
the children in all directions. He was the Chief’s son and has the
reputation of being a graceless young rascal, constantly under the
influence of drink and a veritable vagabond in the tribe. He rejoices
in the name of Ralph Wardlaw Thompson Sebele, having been born about
the time when Dr. Thompson was last in Molepolole, and receiving at
baptism the honoured name to which he is anything but a credit.
During my visit I inspected the schools and met the Church members
and congregation, and was present at a crowded lantern service in the
Church. In spite of great difficulties the evangelistic work is being
carried on with success by means of twenty-eight native preachers
trained on the station. This tribe has set an example to the other
Bechuanaland tribes by levying a school tax of 2/-per annum upon all
tax-payers, thus providing ample funds for educational purposes.
Except for the salary of the missionaries and an annual grant for
itineration the work at this station is self-supporting, and the Church
is realising the duties of providing for its own work, of governing
itself and of spreading the Gospel in the outlying parts. Its Mission
field is the North central part of the Khalahari Desert which adjoins
the territory of the tribe on the west. At Molepolole, as well as at
other stations, the missionary is also the doctor. A considerable
portion of each morning, when he is at home, is spent in examining
patients and dispensing medicines. He is ably seconded by his wife, who
was a trained nurse. Thus the light is spread not only by the preaching
of the Gospel and the teaching in the schools, but also by the healing
of the sick. So our missionaries are found following in the footsteps
of the Great Physician.
From Molepolole I travelled south in the ox-waggon to Mahatelo on my
way to Kanye. Early next morning I was met at Gamoshupa by a cart
and four mules, kindly sent for me by Seapapico, the Chief of the
Bangwaketsi tribe. After a drive through beautiful scenery I reached
Kanye, a town of 10,000 inhabitants, and the capital of the tribe, in
the afternoon. I spent the greater part of a week at this station,
where missionary work has been carried on under the superintendence
of a resident missionary for forty years, and where Mr. and Mrs.
Howard Williams were labouring. While this book is passing through
the press a cablegram has been received, conveying the sad news that
Mr. Williams has been called to the higher service, after a devoted
missionary life of well-nigh thirty years. The increasing activities
of a growing Church of nearly 700 members were apparent in the town
itself and in the numerous outstations in the district. On the Sunday
the spacious Church, which was provided by the tribe and cost £3,000
apart from the bricks, and contains a fine organ, the gift of the late
Chief Bathoen, was packed to its utmost capacity, many having come in
from the outstations. The women’s head-dresses, which were of all the
colours of the rainbow, were in striking contrast to the black heads
of the men. After the service thirty-four adults were baptised, and
in the afternoon a Communion Service was held, at which 550 Church
members gathered round the table of our Lord. On the following days I
attended meetings of Church members and Christian workers and of women,
inspected the schools, and had interviews with some of the leading men.
The present Chief, Seapapico, is a young man of twenty-six, and the son
of Bathoen, who accompanied Khama to England in 1895. The young man was
educated at Lovedale, and speaks English well, and was a great support
to the missionary, Mr. Howard Williams. His mother, Bathoen’s widow, is
a fine Christian woman and gives great assistance to Mrs. Williams in
her work amongst the women of the tribe. She was the favourite daughter
of Sechele, the old Chief of the Bakwena tribe. When she was a girl she
had a quarrel with a friend and destroyed her eyesight with a thorn.
Sechele had one of his daughter’s eyes put out, on the principle of “an
eye for an eye,” and she bears the mark of this parental correction to
this day.
From Kanye I was driven in the Chief’s cart to the railway at Lobatsi,
whence on the following day I was escorted by the native ordained
minister, Roger K. Mokadi, to his station at Maanwane, over the
Transvaal border. After a service in the Church and a visit to Roger’s
kraal, a hot tramp under a fierce sun brought us at Mabotsa to the
ruins of the old Mission house built by Livingstone and Edwards. Some
of the walls were standing seven or eight feet high, but the interior
was overgrown with bush. Close by is the hill where Livingstone had
his famous encounter with the lion, and near at hand an old native
Christian lives who was with Livingstone at the time. A drive through
Linokani, where the German Lutherans are carrying on a fine piece of
missionary work, brought me to Zeerust and next day by means of the
train I reached Johannesburg. It does not fall within the scope of
this book to describe this wonderful city, the creation of the last
twenty-five years. It is by far the largest business town in South
Africa and is the centre of the greatest gold producing mines in the
world. Here I experienced the utmost kindness from members of the
Congregational Church and met my colleague, Mr. Houghton, with whom
I was to travel for the next nine months. Nor must I stay to refer
to a deeply interesting visit to Pretoria. At these great centres
the evidence of the appalling racial conflict, which constitutes the
greatest problem confronting the Christian Church in South Africa
to-day, was abundantly apparent.
A few days later I travelled to Mafeking, for ever immortalised for
its heroic defence during the Boer war, to see Colonel Panzera, the
Resident Commissioner for the Bechuanaland Protectorate, and thence
proceeded to Tiger Kloof to meet all the Society’s South African
missionaries for consultation upon the work and its problems.
Throughout my journeys amongst the Churches in Bechuanaland and
Matebeleland there were many signs of the growing power and promise of
the Native South African Church. That Church, planted first by Moffat
and his colleagues at Kuruman, and carried north by Livingstone and
his successors until it has well-nigh reached the Zambesi, has had a
chequered career, but its progress has been unmistakably onward and
upward. It has been tried and purified by the struggles of the past,
and to-day its “far-flung battle line” is making a steady advance
against the forces of superstition and heathenism with which it is
confronted.
“Climbing through darkness up to God,” the members of that Church
are bravely carrying “the wonder and the glory of the light” into
“the darkness and the sorrow of the night” in which so many of their
fellow-countrymen are still enshrouded. Through the open doors “the
true Light, which lighteth every man coming into the world,” is pouring
its ever-brightening rays.