QUILIMANE TO BLANTYRE.
On our journey out we saw little or nothing that calls for remark. Flying
fish and frisking dolphins are great wonders at first, but one soon
gets used to them. Intending travellers sometimes trouble themselves
by speculating about the evils of intense heat and sea-sickness. But
our thoughts went beyond these annoyances, knowing as we did that we
should have to grapple with the malaria of tropical rivers and mangrove
swamps. Still we found it a distressing experience to be shut up in an
underdeck cabin with the port-holes closed. It is a pity that ships have
no apparatus that would shut when the waves come up and open when they
recede: modern mechanics ought to solve this problem. With regard to
sea-sickness, however, we seem with all our science to be no better off
than our fathers. We are told that the motion of the vessel disturbs
“cerebral circulation”. We are thankful for this information, but all the
same we must resolutely keep down our heads on the pillow!
By the 22nd of May, 1878, we passed the mouth of the Zambeze. As we
gazed on the spot where the great river discharges itself into the sea,
well might our thoughts turn back to the time long gone by when the
Portuguese missionaries used to land there. These men had stations all
along the Zambeze before there was any European settlement at Quilimane.
The name Quilimane, or more correctly Quelimane (Kwelimani) is said to
represent two native words which mean “Come and hoe”. This derivation
I heard from the Portuguese, and I have no hesitation in preferring it
to one given by Captain Burton, which would make the name mean “From
the hillock”. “Kwe-limani” might almost mean “Come and hoe” in the
Yao language. The tradition is that an old missionary found out the
place, which was then under a native chieftainess; and on requesting
her permission to settle, he was told that he might “come and hoe”. The
native name for Quilimane is Chuambo, which other dialects make Chuabo
and Chiwambo. The old missionaries worked hard, and in course of time
they had a convent of considerable importance at Quilimane. But many are
the changes that take place amidst the lapse of centuries—the Quilimane
river now flows over this consecrated ground. The church of Luabo at the
mouth of the Zambeze was the victim of a similar fate. Houses “built
on the sand” are peculiarly unstable on the margin of a great tropical
river. Alas! those missionary efforts of the remote past have left no
trace behind them except in a few chants still sung by the boatmen
of Mazaro, who keep time with their paddles to the tune of some old
missionary hymn. One of the greatest favourites begins “Sina mama, sina
baba,” and the burden of it is “I have no father, I have no mother:
thou, O Mary, art our mother”. We were told that the belfry of the church
of Luabo stood out in the middle of the broad Zambeze long after the rest
of the building was submerged. The natives would not allow the old bell
to be taken away—it was to them a kind of patron saint, and might, amidst
all their superstition, carry them back to a time when the Portuguese
tried to reach their hearts by something more sacred than merchandise
or military discipline. All that we had heard of Quilimane led us to
believe that it was one of the most unhealthy and undesirable places in
the world. Livingstone speaks of it as a mangrove swamp, and we knew that
some of his European followers had died there and been buried, although,
as we afterwards discovered, the natives did not allow them to rest long
in the grave. Even the Portuguese have to watch the graves of their
kindred for several weeks—a circumstance which does not prepossess one in
favour of the native population. With regard to the European inhabitants
we learned that Quilimane had been used as a penal settlement, and that
every second person we should meet must either be a convict himself or a
descendant of convicts. Then as to its comforts, one of our countrymen
who had visited the place complained that he had been charged an
exorbitant sum for accommodation not good enough for a cow.
On the 23rd of May, our steamer anchored at the mouth of the Quilimane
river—a distance of twelve miles from the town. We found to our great
disappointment that no one had come from the Mission to meet us. But
we soon got into a small boat manned by Africans and proceeded up the
river. Our black boatmen were hearty fellows, and every few minutes
they struck up a lively song. The noise was something terrific! But we
were delighted with their wild chants, which seemed to afford equal
pleasure to the singers. I saw one man prepare a cigar, and just as he
was proceeding to smoke, another song was begun. I watched with interest
to see whether he would prefer his pipe to the music. At first he seemed
disposed to try both; but soon he decided in favour of the song, and
laid aside his twisted tobacco leaf. After we had rowed for about two
miles, our boat captain shouted “Inglez” (Englishman)—and pointed to an
“Englishman” coming down the river in another boat. There is a proverb
that every Englishman found on this coast is sure to be a Scotchman,
and it proved true on this occasion. We had the pleasure of meeting a
Scotch gentleman—Mr. Fairlie—who had been hunting on the Zambeze, and
who was now hasting down to meet the steamer. From him we learned that
in Quilimane there was only one person that could speak English—hence
we could see that our society would be very select. By the time that we
arrived, it was dark. As the river had a broad border of mud, in which
the natives were sinking over the knees, we could not step on _terra
firma_, but had to be taken out of the boat on the shoulders of two
negroes. A palanquin was brought for the lady. We now met Senhor Nunes,
the British Consul, who received us kindly and conducted us to the hotel.
Here our wants were attended to by half-a-dozen little black boys and one
young girl who acted as housekeeper. At first we were greatly startled
at the scantiness of their dress, but we became accustomed to them, and
found them careful and attentive. The hotel accommodation was much better
than we had been led to expect. No doubt charges must be high, as it is
difficult to bring provisions to this “outlandish” place. There is not
even a butcher in Quilimane, and at dinner here, as in many other African
places, the first course is fowls, the second course fowls, and the
third course fowls. Occasionally, we were treated to delicious shrimps
and prawns with which the river abounds. We were soon informed that the
Mission boats had not come down and that we should have to wait for ten
or fifteen days. Wait in Quilimane for fifteen days! We were stunned by
the very idea of this, believing that it was certain death to spend a
week in this dreadful place. We were full of bright plans in those days.
A messenger must be sent on at once to Blantyre to tell the missionaries
of our arrival, and to request them to come to our aid. Amidst our
anxiety we did not perceive how ridiculous our proposal was. Why, it
was as if a man had been despatched from John o’ Groats to Yorkshire
six hundred years ago. After such a messenger had passed through all
the ‘Grants, Mackenzies, and Mackays’—all the wild Highland clans and
fighting Lowland chiefs, very little of him would have been left; and so
our devoted messenger, after going on for about a week, wisely stopped
short at Mazaro.
Our objection was not to the people or to the hotel and its fare—but to
the place; we wanted to get out of Quilimane. The Portuguese we found
exceedingly kind to us, the only part of their sympathy that we did
not relish was when they remarked that Quilimane might, after all, be a
better place than Blantyre. Consumptive people were able to tell us that
after being sent to Madeira without any benefit, they had recovered at
once on coming to Quilimane. The town, built on the site first chosen
by the missionary on account of the harbour, bids fair to become a
flourishing place. It stands on an island: for besides the Quilimane
river and another twelve miles further north, there is a third river
connecting these two. So level is the country that this river flows
sometimes in one direction and sometimes in the opposite—a phenomenon
which the Portuguese are fond of pointing to as an explanation of the
conflicting statements of travellers in the interior, one of whom states
that a river flows north while another asserts that it flows south. The
Portuguese treat the natives with kindness, although they keep them at
a respectable distance. Their domestics live in whole families at the
back of the houses. When a visitor takes a walk in the country, he is
quite astonished at the multitude of natives that have crowded round
the Portuguese. I marched on for miles before coming to the end of
these villages—a circumstance which shows how much the natives prefer
the government of the white man to the misrule of their own chiefs.
But the Portuguese believe that the native is not capable of much
improvement, and they assert this opinion with the greatest confidence.
As we reflected that they had been face to face with the natives for
generations, we were somewhat discouraged by the conclusions formed by
these acute and practical Europeans.
Language is a great difficulty here. In order to get on at Quilimane one
requires to know both Portuguese and Kafir (or Ichuabo as the natives
call it). We felt as strange as the foreigner, who, being unable to
communicate with any one, was deprived of all human sympathy; at last he
heard a cock crow when he exclaimed, “Ah! poor fowl, you are the only
one that understands me”. It is a considerable trial for one to be in a
country where he understands no human utterance except perhaps the cries
of a child. In every way it is a great change to be transported from the
snows of the North into the heart of tropical scenery and many are the
thoughts called forth by the transition. Here the very birds seemed to
sing in a foreign tongue. We were ready to sympathise with the stanza:—
“The palm-tree waveth high,
And fair the myrtle springs,
And to the Indian Maid
The bulbul sweetly sings.
But I dinna see the broom
Wi’ its tassels on the lea;
Nor hear the lintie’s sang
O’ my ain countrie.”
It would not have been correct to add with reference to Quilimane,
“Ah! here no Sabbath bell
Awakes the Sabbath morn,”
for there was one very active bell, whose tones were heard almost every
day. Opposite our abode stood a small Roman Catholic Church, and all
the bodies of the deceased Portuguese were taken here for the funeral
service. The negroes do not receive Christian burial. We asked whether
they had any worship of God, and the answer was, “No, No, the Kafirs are
like brutes, but the missionaries are teaching them in the interior”.
The natives work on Sundays as on other days. They are splendid porters,
they carry everything on their heads,—even weights of 70 pounds; nor do
they dash boxes as is often done at railway stations in Britain. They are
never in haste about anything. They consider sixpence a day very good
wages. As they wear no clothes and get food easily, they have hardly any
motives to work, and when they obtain a few coppers they generally spend
them in rum. There being no carts or horses at Quilimane, many natives
were employed in carrying enormous trees, each of which required about 30
bearers. Every party was accompanied by a man with a whip who seemed to
have as hard work as any of them!
We were detained for nearly four weeks at Quilimane. Often did we stand
and look up the river to see whether the Mission boats were coming,
and even after they did come there was much delay. A journey to the
coast occupied from six to eight weeks and was seldom undertaken by the
Missionaries. Consequently it was always desirable to take up to Blantyre
as much goods as possible. It is at Quilimane that strangers first
realize the nakedness of the land they are going to, and here they have
the last opportunity of buying anything.
The merchants are Banians, and the prices are three times the rate of
goods in England. There is not only great expense but also great risk
in taking goods to such a remote place. Many articles that would not
cost fourpence at home were charged a rupee here. “It only costs 4d. in
England,” says the buyer. “Oh yes, in England! Well you—my brother, I’ll
give it for two shilling!”
We all suffered more or less from our stay at Quilimane. One morning
none of our party was able to be at breakfast but myself, and I was far
from well. As I thought of the terrible journey that lay before us, I
concluded that our lives were not worth much. In this land one is much
impressed with the uncertainty of time. I knew a Missionary that made
no secret of carrying, on every journey, a box containing a will—more I
suppose as a matter of form than because a poor Missionary has anything
to bequeath.
Besides making many friends among the Portuguese gentlemen, we found that
our landlord’s black servants began to take to us very much. They seemed
to wish to go to Blantyre in a body. Of course we endeavoured to dissuade
them from leaving their master, and took pains to explain both to him
and to themselves that we did not want them at all. But one boy Lasertha
whose father lived at a great distance up the Quilimane river, took the
matter in his own hands. He disappeared about a week before we started,
and one day after we had forgotten all about him, he and his father came
to us, and it was arranged that Lasertha should join our party.
_From Quilimane to Mazaro._
It was the afternoon of the 18th of June before we started from
Quilimane. We were taken up the river in small boats, propelled by
paddles. A grass awning was put up to defend us from the rays of the sun.
The sides of the river being lined for many yards with deep layers of
mud, we had to be carried to and from the boats on the shoulders of the
negroes who were liable to fall, and we therefore made the journey as
seldom as possible.
When we came to the place where we were to pass the night, the boats were
pushed towards the side of the river, till grounded on the mud. As we
suffered from thirst, we tried most eagerly to procure drinking water—but
none could be found. At this wretched spot there had once been a village,
but its inhabitants had run away on account of lions, and their well had
dried up. The river was quite salt, but the natives dug a hole with their
hands and feet in the dirty mud at the side and procured some water which
we had to use for cooking. In those days we possessed a big black kettle
which served as a tea pot: it was sometimes my duty to empty this vessel
and I can testify that there was often fully an inch of mud in the bottom
after our tea had been poured off!
This was the first night that we spent beyond the limits of civilization.
Our cork beds were now spread out for the first time. Though we
afterwards found them convenient, we had hitherto been used to a softer
couch, and might as well have tried to sleep on a section of Caithness
pavement. Soon our rest was disturbed by other causes. When the tide
ebbed, we were left on a mud bank far out of the river. The mosquitoes
scented fresh blood, and attacked us in hundreds. We had already endured
these little pests for four weeks at Quilimane. There every night as
soon as the sun set we became their special prey. At first, they rather
astonished us by showing that they could bite through a thick pair of
trousers, though ultimately we became more familiar with them. But the
mosquitoes of Quilimane were feeble compared with those of the desert.
Moreover, we found it difficult to arrange beds and mosquito-curtains
in the small space that was at our disposal. Consequently we suffered
much from their attack—our faces were so bitten and swollen that we
could hardly recognise each other. After spending three or four hours
in trying to sleep, we passed a unanimous resolution that sleep was
impossible, and as a measure of desperation we spent the remainder of
the night in proposing riddles to each other! Next morning, as soon
as the tide flowed, we resumed our miserable journey. We had to sit
patiently under our curtains till the sun rose and drove the mosquitoes
away. During these imprisonments we sometimes debated why the book of
Exodus says nothing about the trouble that the Israelites must have had
from mosquitoes in the wilderness, only we were inclined to think that
these followers of Moses must have been as impregnable as the natives
around us. Besides our curtains we tried another method of repelling
this troublesome foe. We kept pieces of twisted paper smouldering by
us, and the disagreeable smoke held the mosquitoes at bay. We were now
far beyond the region of daily or even weekly newspapers, and when our
supply of paper was exhausted, we burnt pieces of cloth. This method of
defence was soon brought into discredit; one of the party lighted a cloth
without twisting it sufficiently, and it suddenly flared up and set his
mosquito curtain on fire! During the day as the boats moved wearily along
we lay under our grass awning in a little space where we had scarcely
room to turn. Our nights were extremely uncomfortable. While the angry
mosquitoes were buzzing outside our curtains, the negroes were constantly
talking and beating drums to frighten the wild beasts. As we proceeded up
the river the water became very low, and our crew had to go out and put
their shoulders to the boat in order to force it over sandbanks and along
shallows. This was tedious work; but the richness of tropical life and
scenery unfolded itself around us. Amidst the vast tangle of bushes and
branches there sat birds of bright plumage which gazed on us as tamely
as if man had never before disturbed their solitude. At certain spots,
enormous flocks of wild fowl retreated in terror as we approached. Here
and there a monkey surveyed us for a moment from the branches of some
giant tree, and then hid itself among the dense thickets. When night let
her curtain fall on the scene, the banks of the river were illuminated
with fire-flies, which made every tuft of grass shine and sparkle.
[Illustration: WOMEN OF MAZARO DRAWING WATER.]
Soon the water was so shallow that we had to leave our boats altogether
at Mugurumbe. Here we slept one night in a native hut. Our journey
was continued next day in palanquins: about six natives were told off
to carry each European. Owing to the heat of the climate none of the
Portuguese here ever walk. Even when they are going short distances, they
employ natives to carry them. The road is about two feet wide, and lined
on both sides with African grass (which rises to a height sometimes of
ten feet) and also with many varieties of flowers, shrubs and grasses,
some of which were brought before our notice very forcibly, as the men
rattled along without thinking of their living load. At times we came
to patches of cultivated ground, and then we knew that we were near a
village. The villagers welcomed us by a loud clapping of hands. They
looked much delighted when we responded to their welcome in their own
way. They seemed to feel as if we spoke in their own tongue, and at one
village they repaid our condescension (as they thought it) by sending out
volunteers to help on our palanquins. At Mazaro we got our first look
of the Zambeze, and a magnificent river it is. Though not very deep, at
this spot it is exceedingly broad—the natives take an hour to sail across
it. Here our steel boat awaited us, and a welcome sight it was after
the small boats that we had hitherto had. We had now reached another
important stage, and we expected to complete our journey in three weeks.
The first week we should be among Portuguese subjects, the second in the
country of a Portuguese outlaw, while the third week would find us among
the people we were to christianise.
_From Mazaro to Makukani’s._—Leaving Mazaro on Tuesday, 25th June,
we committed ourselves to the water once more. The navigation of the
Zambeze is by no means easy. Generally we were sticking upon sandbanks.
Our boatmen were seldom able to use their oars, they had either to push
the boat by long poles, or to drag it along the banks with a rope. Here
and there there is a deep channel, but the current is so strong that it
promises to carry everything down to the sea.
We expected to reach Shupanga on the first night. It is here that Mrs.
Livingstone lies under the large baobab tree. But we did not get so far,
and, as the channel of the river has changed, we passed next morning on
the other side. Mrs. Macdonald was disappointed at this, as she wished
to place a wreath of flowers upon the lonely grave. Neither did we see
Bishop Mackenzie’s last resting-place, as it was late at night when we
passed the spot. The natives perceiving that we felt an interest in these
graves, spoke of them with an air of solemnity. Our boatmen were all from
Mazaro, and ought to have known something of Livingstone while he stayed
at Shupanga. We produced a portrait of him on the lid of a match-box, and
fondly hoped they might recognise it!
On June 28th, we reached Shamo, where Dr. Macklin wished to buy a score
of cows for the Mission. As our big boat was apt to fall behind, he sent
us on before, proposing to overtake us in a few days. Soon we were on
the river Shire (more properly Chiri) which is narrower and deeper than
the Zambeze.[3] Here the boatmen used their oars oftener. On getting
a favourable wind they put up a small sail, but as sails are not a
native contrivance, their method of using them was not very assuring.
Notwithstanding the force of the current we made fair progress, but
we waited longer at every landing place, in order to be overtaken by
the rest of the party. Thus we had a better opportunity of seeing the
country. One night we walked over to see a celebrated hot spring at the
base of Morumbala. Still, we had a salutary dread of making ourselves
too much at home in this malarious region. Three or four of our men in
succession, suffered from fever, and as the Doctor was behind, I had to
try my hand at making pills. The natives receive our medicine with such
implicit faith that the cure is half effected the moment they swallow
it. I took care, above all things, not to give them anything too weak.
We used saline draughts both for ourselves and the natives. In malarial
climes there is a craving for such beverages. One medical man told us
that seidlitz powders required to be labelled ‘poison’ as otherwise they
disappeared like magic.
[Illustration: NATIVES CUTTING UP A HIPPOPOTAMUS FOR FOOD.]
Along the Chiri we saw many hippopotami and crocodiles. The former are
hunted by the natives for their flesh, the latter are killed on account
of their venomous character. When any of these creatures appeared, the
men were very anxious that I should fire on them, and as we never slept
soundly at night, the shooting was an agreeable excitement which revived
us for the day. One hippopotamus came against our boat with all its
might, and gave us a shock which would have certainly upset a smaller
craft. After passing, it looked back as if to see how much damage it had
done. At times we had much conversation with the “boys”. They formed a
singing class, and made rapid progress. There were with us, Bismarck,
Armasao, Lasertha, and Rondao. Bismarck was the philosopher of the party.
The boatmen have a habit of whistling for wind, and he explained it thus,
“When you have a friend far away, you call on him when you wish him to
come”. But notwithstanding their whistling, the wind was often slow in
coming. At midnight on the 5th of July, we were awakened by an awful
screaming. My first impression was that we were drifting down the river,
while the boys were trying to awaken us. I was surprised at this, since
I had taken special pains with the anchor that night. But as the noise
continued, I perceived that it was a terrible cry of distress—at the same
time the dog we had brought from Quilimane (which was known by the name
of Elton), was barking furiously. Before I had time to understand the
situation, little Lasertha shouted out in a voice tremulous with fear, “O
master, master, take my hand”. This he said in Portuguese. Then Bismarck
entered by the stern of the boat. “What is it, Bismarck?” “Lions, lions.”
“Are all the men in the boat?” “No.” For the first time in my life, there
flashed across my mind the depth of meaning expressed by the simile
of “the roaring-lion, seeking whom he may devour”. My rifle which lay
loaded beside me, I at once discharged, not with the idea of shooting
the lions, which could not be well seen in the darkness, but in order to
scare them. Most of the men were in the boat in a moment. They acted with
great presence of mind. I often wondered why in the excitement they had
not tried to pull the boat ashore before raising the anchor! All swam to
the boat with the exception of Armasao, who waited till it was pulled
nearer. He seemed more afraid of the crocodiles in the water, than of
the lions on the bank. Of course, beds and cooking gear were left behind
in the terrible race for life. After all were safe, the lions set up a
hideous roaring, which continued for hours. I asked whether Elton was in
the boat, and understood he was. But when we put back in the morning,
Bismarck called out in a piteous voice, “Elton die!” and held up the dead
creature before me. He had not been devoured by the lion, and the body
had no mark except in the region of the heart. This noble dog had been
the means of saving the life of at least one of our men. He began to bark
as the lions were coming through the long grass, and as soon as the first
one presented itself he ran to attack. By this time the men were entirely
at the lion’s mercy, but for the diversion caused by the dog. As it was,
the spot where Elton lay dead was just at the side of Bismarck’s bed. In
fact, the dog was lying dead almost at Armasao’s feet before he was safe
himself. If this had been a native dog, he would have been the first to
flee. The little incident sometimes served to illustrate among simple
natives, how one being might die to save others. All our companions had
been much alarmed, but none more so than one of the little boys, who told
us that one evening as he sat with a group at his own home, a lion dashed
into the circle and killed a man.
We had still great trouble from mosquitoes. As soon as it was dusk they
were upon us in full force. We would ask a little boy to light some
grass, and as it kept smouldering beside us, the smoke filled the boat,
and made it easier to take our evening meal. The boatful of smoke, though
not pleasant, was more acceptable than mosquito bites.
Some evenings we encountered great shoals of white moths. They fell upon
the boat as thick as snowflakes. One night I lighted a candle and such
were their numbers that they extinguished it several times before I could
put it into the lantern. Those harmless creatures were very short lived,
and in the morning the boat was literally covered with their dead bodies.
Along the Chiri the scenery is for the most part monotonous, but at times
we see beautiful ranges of mountains, some of which call up memories of
a distant land. We observed sharp-pointed conical hills like the Pap
of Caithness, craggy mountains like Arthur’s Seat, and no end of those
common rounded hills with oval tops.
On the _8th of July_ we descried a large herd of elephants. We had
observed a few on previous days, but here was a herd of about forty.
Such an instinct have the natives for meat (nyama) that they were out of
the boat and standing close beside these huge animals in a few moments.
One lad went up to an elephant and deliberately fired several revolver
shots at his head. The great monster merely shook himself, and moved off
with his companions. The boys pursued for some distance, but returned
complaining that elephants had very thick skins. The natives do not fear
the elephant as they do the lion.
On the 10th we arrived at Makukani’s, where we left our boats. We met
with a most enthusiastic welcome here. About three hundred natives were
on the banks, and Bismarck said, “It is to see the white lady”. By this
time, we were among people who understood _yes_ and _no_, and said “good
morning”. They were quite as fortunate in the use of their salutations as
our friends had been at Quilimane. It was common there for a gentleman
to _introduce_ himself in the evening by holding out his hand and saying
_good night_, instead of good evening, greatly to the amusement of such
of his friends as knew more of English. Intercourse with foreigners calls
attention to the peculiarities of our own idiom. When we say to a native,
“Now, look out,” he is very likely to look _out_, and thus expose himself
to the very danger that he is warned against. If he had warned himself,
he would have said ‘look _in_.’ One morning Ropa burnt my hand through my
telling him to ‘hold on,’ when I wanted him to let go. He did ‘hold on’
most faithfully. At this place people came great distances to meet us.
They had heard that Englishmen were come, and the new arrivals had been
announced in such a way as to convey the impression that the Rev. Horace
Waller had come back. Accordingly we had a visit from an old woman,
accompanied by a man and woman much younger, who had all been members
of the Magomero Mission. The old woman looked round to see if she could
recognise “Atate anga, atate anga” (My father, my father,—meaning Mr.
Waller), and when she failed she looked disappointed, and said in a kind
of despairing inquiry, “There is no coming back for my father again?” She
had no pelele, and on asking the reason we were told that Mr. Waller had
taken it out. We soon discovered that the natives were great beggars.
At the beginning of our river journey we were beset with people who
requested rum (kachaso), here the cry was chiefly for cloth: it was only
the men at the top of the social scale that begged for rum! The chief
Makukani was a stout man, somewhat bent, and blind of an eye. He could be
easily distinguished from his men, as his dress was even scantier than
theirs. He expressed an earnest desire that the English would bring out
a white wife for him. He has an enormous harem in which we saw one or
two men armed with knob-sticks, whose duty, we were told, was to keep
order among his wives. He promised to send his sons and daughters to
school, but this was only the promise of politeness. His sons had been
already at Livingstonia, where they had proved rather troublesome, and
two years elapsed before they came to Blantyre. We occupied one of the
chiefs huts all night, and started next afternoon for the Chiri hills.
The carriers were at first likely to leave us at a spot where there was
no roof to sleep under except the canopy of heaven, but on learning that
Mr. Buchanan was at the Kabula we made them push on to reach him. Mrs.
Macdonald arrived first, and by the time I came up she was in possession
of his snug little tent. Next morning he went down to meet Dr. Macklin.
By this time I discovered that I had lost a small pocket diary; and it
is worth saying that though lost among the wildest-looking hills, it was
found by a native and restored with all that it contained. I began at
once to extol the honesty of the negroes! But the circumstance is easily
understood when one considers that a ‘paper’ is of no use to a native. On
Friday the 12th of July, we started from the Kabula at eight o’clock, and
continued our journey through wild and beautiful scenery. Our progress
was much interrupted, and often one of the natives would use his hatchet
to cut down small trees that obstructed the path. The sun was exceedingly
hot and the palanquins had no shade over them. We also found that we
could get no water to quench our burning thirst. When on the Chiri we
had drunk freely of its waters, ignorant of the number of criminals
that are thrown into this Tophet by the Magololo. About mid-day we came
up to a beautiful stream. Mrs. Macdonald had reached it more exhausted
than myself, and I found her fast asleep under a tree. We had started
without much breakfast, but we carried a pocketful of boiled eggs for
lunch, and partook of them by the side of this mountain stream. At four
o’clock we reached Blantyre. Mrs. Macdonald was a few yards in advance,
and received a hearty welcome from a crowd of native men and women who
were in the square expecting our arrival. It was three months since we
had left England. We were exceedingly tired after such a long journey,
and welcomed a night’s rest. All along I had kept a loaded gun by my
side, which I now wished to get rid of. The artisan opened his eyes at my
proposal, and said it had been judged safest to sleep with weapons beside
us. That very night our slumbers were broken by a great commotion during
which we heard the report of a gun. We were prepared to find that some
enemy had come, but it was only a leopard that had carried off a young
pig.
On Sunday we had a short service in English and two native meetings. At
the meetings the schoolroom was quite full. No Englishman in the country
ventures to use the native language, all rely on the interpreters. On
Monday there were over twenty pupils in school, some reading small books
and making letters on slates; others learning the alphabet.
After the heat experienced on the river, we felt Blantyre quite cold
especially in the morning and evening. We were very thankful that we
had enjoyed good health on the whole. We were the first party that had
travelled from Quilimane to Blantyre without suffering from fever by the
way.
It was a few days before we got our baggage, and Makukani had possessed
himself of some valuables that had been sent out for the Mission. We
had come out with a very high opinion of the brave native kings, but
incidents of this kind were fitted to destroy the enchantment. Before
leaving home I had asked very anxiously what we were to do if a native
caught a white man and put him in a dungeon. I was told that the rest
of the staff would know how to manage all that. This was quite correct
for their years of experience in the country gave them the practical
tact necessary in dealing with the strange people about them. On this
occasion they imprisoned several of Makukani’s men and took their guns
from them. In order to get back his guns, the chief sent up all the
missing articles, which would have been entirely lost but for this prompt
measure. The belief at the Mission was that these chiefs would take
everything if they thought that they had more power than the Missionaries.