SECOND HALF. JANUARY, 1879—JUNE, 1879.
The first day of the New Year was celebrated in proper Scottish fashion.
Our brethren of Livingstonia, and all the Englishmen within our reach,
had been invited to Blantyre. At an early hour all the gentlemen, lay
and clerical, donned aprons and began to cook. Some prepared a “haggis,”
others a plum-pudding, others had charge of soups and meats. Though
kindly exempted from culinary duties, I thought that the exemption would
prove of small service. Every corner of our little house was filled
with plates, cups, trays, crystal, &c., &c., and so great was the stir
that study was impossible. At last I went to another hut, and sat in
the verandah with a group of natives, who enabled me to add a few more
words to my African vocabulary. I could not help contrasting a tropical
New-Year’s Day with an English. In Africa I did not venture to leave the
shade of the verandah without a thick hat and an umbrella. Coats and
vests were dispensed with, and even the lightest clothing that we had was
burdensome. But amidst our new surroundings it was pleasant to remember
the old customs of our native land, and we sat down in due season to
a New-Year’s Day dinner. The natives had been watching the strange
preparations with breathless interest, utterly at a loss to know what it
all meant; and as dinner proceeded, more than a hundred—men, women, and
children—stood gazing in at the windows and doors, which had been thrown
wide open on account of the heat. We observed all the time-honoured
ceremonies as gravely and formally as if we had been at home. In
connection with the toast of “The Queen” it was remarked that most of
us had been long enough in Africa to appreciate the value of an orderly
government. One gentleman proposed that we should take a note of each
other’s names, and see where we should all be four years later, little
thinking that long ere then he would sleep by the soft-flowing waters of
the Chiri. At the close we joined hands and sung “Auld Lang Syne”. That
day was quite an oasis in our desert, it brought us the long-expected
mail.
Next morning saw the first pic-nic in the history of the school. At
sunrise we started for the top of Michiru. I was the only European that
went, but my valour exceeded my discretion, for at one spot I had to lie
down till two boys ran to a stream for water. Little fellows of 10 years
put me to shame as they ran up the steep sides of the hill like baboons.
A buck was shot, cooked, and nearly all eaten on the spot. It was late in
the afternoon before we returned.
Since our first arrival at Blantyre the School attendance had doubled,
and by this time a good number of girls had come, to whom Mrs.
Macdonald’s sewing class formed an attraction. They were set to make
dresses for themselves, and the first few days all the old men and women
in the neighbourhood came to watch the operation. It was regarded a
privilege for girls to be allowed to take so much cloth in their hands,
not to mention the prospect of wearing it. At first, these pupils were
awkward. They had never attempted to sew before, for it is the men that
sew in this country, nor had they ever seen scissors, or thimbles.
Scissors, or “the little knives” they were specially fond of. But the
thimble they did not half appreciate, as the skin of their fingers would
set ordinary needles at defiance. It was amusing to see our young ladies
fitting on their thimbles. A new comer when told to select the one that
suited her, would respond by putting a thimble on each of her fingers!
The sewing class had to face difficulties that would not occur at home.
When the war at Mazaro disturbed communications, the girls could not be
supplied with enough of cloth. One night robbers entered by our windows
and carried away among other things their half-finished dresses and all
their sewing materials! This was a serious misfortune. Though thimbles
and needles are of little intrinsic value yet we could not manufacture
them, and eight months might elapse before their place could be filled.
The thimbles, however, were all found not far from the station, having
been thrown away as of no value. But the needles would be considered a
splendid prize, and if the thief were at all enterprising he might buy
a wife for them! The natives at first would gladly sell a dozen eggs for
a single needle. Although sewing was a novelty for girls, old men were
to be seen at every village engaged in the art. While plying the needle,
they sit on a mat holding one end of the cloth with their toes. We were
very anxious to teach the natives to knit, but at this time we had no
worsted.
_Housekeeping._—The difficulties of Housekeeping were great, the subject
being quite new to the African girls. Untidy and dirty in their habits,
they considered us very peculiar when we objected to plates and spoons
that they thought clean. Besides teaching them to do indoor work, Mrs.
Macdonald had to see that they dressed their hair, and washed every
morning, and as they wore light clothes their wardrobes required special
supervision. Hence the native girls that came to assist Mrs. Macdonald
did not immediately win her confidence, and at first did little to
lighten her task. When nursing they would even let the child fall, a
mistake that they were liable to by attempting to hold their charge not
in native but in English fashion. So to ensure safety the nurse had to
sit beside her mistress, while the latter amused the baby and did the
household washing at the same time.
The introduction of anything new was always noteworthy. At first
the cook-boy caught his fowls about an hour before breakfast, and
plucked them before they were dead, because the feathers thus came off
more easily. As soon as facts of this kind came under one’s notice
improvements were tried. In order that the fowls might not be plucked
alive, the cook was asked to get them the night before. He was most
carefully instructed in the new part that he had to play, and specially
told to “hang up” the fowls in the kitchen. That night the usual
stillness was considerably broken. I always valued the evening hours
for study: they were so much quieter; but on this particular night it
seemed as if some fowl house had been transported to my study window.
As the unwonted noise continued, a light was got, and efforts were made
to solve the mystery, the kitchen was explored, and several fowls were
found hanging on pegs in the wall with their legs tightly bound together,
while others similarly secured had fallen down and were struggling on the
floor, but all were alive! The boy had faithfully “hung them up,” but he
had seen no necessity for killing them!
The natives that acted as housemaids had similar interesting experiences.
Of course, they had never before seen teapots, cups and saucers,
tumblers, forks, or spoons. Forks they called “thorns!” Consequently they
were ushered into a new world, and found a pleasure in being permitted
to touch the white people’s dishes. They now had at their disposal
spoons of all varieties, and it was perhaps in spoons that they were
most interested. They have a large _ladle_ of their own for transferring
porridge from the clay pot to a wooden platter, but their spoon is an
instrument of much greater antiquity. A good idea of its use may be
gathered from Mr. Anderssen’s description. A repast was provided for him
among the Ovambo. He hesitated as no spoon was to be found. “On seeing
the dilemma we were in, our host quickly plunged his greasy _fingers_
into the middle of the steaming mass and brought out a handful which he
dashed into the milk. Having stirred it quickly with all his might, he
next opened his capacious mouth, and the agreeable mixture vanished as if
by magic. He finally licked his fingers and smacked his lips with evident
satisfaction, looking at us as much as to say, ‘that’s the trick, my
boys’.”
At first one could never be sure of the native servants, except when
standing over them. Their views had to pass through many phases: one
day they would wash knives in mass by putting a whole collection in
a tub and stirring them round, without thinking of dealing with each
separately; next day they would take silver plated articles and rub them
one by one in the sand! The first dishes brought out for the Mission,
were fortunately of enamelled tin, which did not break. But in that
region amid fever and discomfort, the appetite becomes fastidious. Those
accustomed to civilised plates said that their food did not taste the
same when placed on the iron dishes. Accordingly, other plates were
tried, but they were short lived. ‘Accidents will happen’, and at first
they were frequent. When at length glass tumblers ventured to take the
place of the iron jug that held our water, the natives felt that they had
to deal with a serious innovation. Some who had seen glass at Quilimane,
informed the others of its strange qualities. A dark deputation visited
the white people, and represented that these dishes were “all the same
as eggs,” and that the waiters would have serious difficulty in keeping
a tumbler together. Feeling the force of these representations, the
Europeans took the tumblers under special protection for a time. But
as in all such cases, a day of reckoning was sure to come. The natives
carry plates, tumblers, and everything of this kind on the head. To them
this habit is so much a second nature that if asked to fetch a kettle
of boiling water, their first impulse I fancy would be to set it on the
head! Still they thus carry things with a steadiness most surprising. I
was once much struck with the expertness of a little girl who was sent
to a brook for water. She picked up a very narrow bottle about 18 inches
long; although her hands were both empty she set it on her head, walked
off to fill it, and returned carrying it the same way. Such is the usual
custom; and hence though the native can make baskets of every variety
he never puts a handle on one of them. In carrying soup, they balance
the plate on the palm of their hand, which they throw back above the
shoulder. Their method is better suited for jars than for plates.
[Illustration: METHOD OF CARRYING IN THE HAND.]
The missionary party had to be their own bakers, butchers, and what not.
When settled in such a district a man learns for the first time how many
manipulations are required before he can have dinner. The first-comers
made it a rule never to see the cooking. What the natives brought they
got through as well as they could, but they suspected that if they looked
at all the cooking processes their peace would be broken. On one occasion
two of us were at Zomba. I was suffering slightly from over-work, and
enjoyed a change of labour. We were much delighted with a supply of
goat’s milk, which a boy brought each day. After school I used to sit in
the verandah studying the language. I often observed a piece of cloth
lying on the ground at the foot of the wall. It had once been white, but
was now very dingy. It was generally damp, and covered with sand and
mud. Further, it had an attraction for the playful toes of the group of
natives that were always about me. I had a vague idea that it was used
for cleaning the lamps, and regarded the rag with a kind of affection.
But one morning my companion shouted out, “Look here! Just fancy! See the
abominable thing that he puts our milk through!” The boy was carefully
straining the milk which we so much appreciated by means of the dirty
piece of cloth. At once all the enchantment of that rag was gone, and so
was the enjoyment of our nice milk. But the boy’s diligence was quite
commendable: he might fancy that the white people strained milk in order
to effect a “charm,” and so far as he saw, one rag was as good as another.
On our first arrival we often had dishes that tempted curiosity; but an
appeal to the senior members of the Mission was always answered with
a suggestive quotation of the maxim “Where ignorance is bliss, &c.”
Seldom, therefore, did the processes of Meg Dods’ art, as practised
by the natives, engage attention. Sometimes a boy was asked, “Do you
call that roast fowl?” He listened to the implied rebuke with a marked
air of penitence; but as soon as he rejoined his companions outside,
he repeated, “Do you call that roastee fowlee? Ha! ha! ha!” and there
followed a burst of loud and prolonged laughter, which greatly amused
the Europeans also. The white man’s mess was tacitly regarded as common
property, but if the cook happened to be on bad terms with the various
“tasters,” the affair might become public. One day I was addressing
a class, everything was calm and still, the pupils sat in respectful
attention, the subject had advanced to the point of greatest interest,
when all at once, a boy dashed into school with a half-eaten potato, and
the cook dashed after him with a ladle. The interruption was a grave
misdemeanour. But the cook called out in great indignation, “I am cooking
for the white men and not for this boy!” The little boy had evidently
regarded the school as a house of refuge, could he only reach it before
his pursuer. But the building had no doors, and many large holes for
windows as well as a large doorway, and before they were aware, they had
both committed themselves, and might expect to be much laughed at. The
natives, however, were usually too prudent to let these things come to
light.
Baking was not without its difficulties. Bread was made at first by means
of the native beer, and was exceedingly sour. Still those that had become
accustomed to it generally took it without a murmur. Occasionally a
native of some originality would bake several loaves with water alone,
only this was apt to cause considerable criticism.
In many articles native taste differs from European. Though few natives
eat eggs (C), those that do, resemble the Hottentots, who are said to
take kindly to eggs that would “alarm a European at six paces’ distance!”
Before the use of spoons was properly understood, our servants attempted
to take the eggs out of boiling water with their fingers, one half
standing to laugh at the experiment, while the other half tried to carry
it out!
In times of health one enjoyed these amateur cooks and their productions,
but when sickness came, the joke was not so well appreciated. After an
attack of malarial fever passes away, the invalid often has strange
cravings of appetite. Forgetting for the moment where he is, he expresses
a wish for “bread and butter”. He can eat nothing else but he fancies he
could take this. He is soon reminded that butter cannot be had, and the
sour bread alone would hardly tempt even a healthy man. But what about
milk? Why not let the poor fellow have a little milk? This is ordered,
and the invalid has his hopes raised. After a long time the milk appears.
But what makes the sick man hesitate so? He looks as if he were going to
ask what the milk was made of. The new-comer may have yet to learn that
there are no milk-strainers in this part of the world! Sometimes he may
be glad if he get water. The water used on the Mission was taken from
the little stream and was very unwholesome. Still it had the advantage
of being quite cool in the morning. At Nyassa on the other hand, when a
person ordered water he would wonder whether it had been taken from the
kettle instead of the Lake, and be tempted to think it must be useful
chiefly as an emetic, but after being placed for some time in an earthen
pot, it becomes cool and agreeable.
There was a certain provision made for sickness but of a very limited
description. Beef-tea was in the store; as was also a little wine, but
the supply was generally so small that it could not be used except in
extremity. At one period there was only a single cork screw on the
settlement, so that when the Doctor ordered a bottle of wine the invalid
had to wait for the man that possessed the screw!
We had two great methods of dealing with the difficulties of
housekeeping—training the natives and ordering appliances from home.
The education of the natives was slow but it was sure, and in time some
of them began to be very useful. Appliances were ordered from home, but
often just when we fancied we were about to be properly supplied we were
informed that our valuable boxes had been stolen on the way.
Regarding the _school-work_ we wrote at this time, “The natives are
beginning to see meaning in our teaching. One of our more advanced boys
put to me the question, ‘What must I do to receive the Holy Spirit?’ He
said he was wicked, and had much need of the Holy Spirit to make him
better. We are glad that the Sabbath-school children of Scotland take
an interest in our pupils. Some of our boys and girls they would like
very much. They might at first shrink from them because they are black,
but after a time they would find them attractive. I could show them some
broad little figures with broad little faces beaming with fun and good
temper. Some of our pupils would run if they were to see white children;
but after the first fright was over they would come near, and soon become
good friends. The other day I was at the back of a hill where children
had never seen a white man before, and they all took to their heels; but
after a short time they gathered round me, and when I spoke to them and
showed them my watch and my boots, they became better acquainted; and
as we shook hands, some of them said they would like to go to Blantyre
to school. If we could send home photographs of our pupils, the school
children would have a better idea of them. They would then wonder a good
deal at the woolly heads and flat noses. Before we came here all the
women and girls had their upper lips bored to hold a large ugly ring,
which made them a terrible fright; but now they are laying aside this
custom. I told all our black pupils that the children in Scotland were
sending them clothes and money, and they were delighted. One said that
he would like to know English, to be able to thank the white children.
Another said—‘Tell the children that we are glad to hear they are
good, and can read about God. Mrs. Macdonald and all the white men are
very kind to us, and teach us about God. Before, we knew nothing, but
now we can understand a little, and we thank the children very much.’
The communion of the Lord’s Supper has now been celebrated twice at
Blantyre. Dr. Laws was present on both occasions, and addressed us after
the ordinance. We called in the more advanced boys as witnesses of the
rite. Hitherto we have not baptised any natives. I am not so familiar
with their language as I should like to be before doing so. Meanwhile
our teaching is so carried on that I should not wonder though some soon
ask admission to the ordinance. I pray that we may be directed in these
matters; they will mark a crisis of spiritual life among our pupils.
“I have written out about 40 pages of Scripture matter in the Yao
language, which I shall send down to Lovedale to be printed. Attempts of
this kind will show the natives the use of reading.”
The natives are fond of paying compliments, and by this time Kumlomba
would tell me that I had finished Yao. I proposed therefore that he
should now teach me Chinyasa, but he said, “If you speak Yao for
another year, you will understand Chinyasa without learning it”. I
found afterwards that the native was not far wrong. It is well for the
Missionary not to attempt at first to speak more than one language. Thus
he might expect that after seven or eight years’ persistent training he
could wield the weapon with considerable effect, though I fear he would
fall behind the native orator by an immense distance. We all know what
a mess many a man makes of a foreign language after he thinks he has
acquired it. But though only speaking one tongue, the Missionary might
write as many as he pleases, for the various dialects throw much light on
each other.
In trying to form a native reading book, I had to grapple with all the
difficulties of the native language. Not only so but I required to form
a special vocabulary for Theology. Hence the first three months of this
year was a time of very hard study, but I succeeded in drawing up a small
Reading book, and forming at the same time an extensive vocabulary. From
this period, and during my whole stay in Africa, I used at least twenty
native words for every English word that I employed, and latterly the
English proportion became still smaller. But often in my efforts at
translation I had to pause a while in despair, and devote more time to
writing down native tales. For a long period we had nothing but English
books. This is one great disadvantage that new Missions have to contend
with. Had we possessed Yao books at the outset, the great part of the
school would have been able by this time to read their own language.
As it was, many could read English very fluently—although they did not
understand it. A free-thinker who frankly declared that he did not
believe in Missions, expressed much surprise on hearing English read
by some boys that had not known a single letter a twelvemonth before.
Their drill in English was by no means lost for, when our printed matter
arrived, we had fifty pupils that could read it without hesitation.
During this period there occurred an episode that was invested with
all “the pomp and circumstance of glorious war”. Chelomoni, a Blantyre
headman, was attacked when on a journey by another headman, and had
his wife taken from him. He was himself wounded by an arrow, and came
to the Station bleeding very profusely. The outrage called for some
remonstrance, and Chelomoni’s villagers at once prepared to march upon
the offender, and some of the white men thought it best to accompany. As
the party approached the village, the inhabitants came out to meet them,
and to ask what was to be done in view of the action of their headman.
They explained at the same time that the guilty man had run away. After
some consultation it was agreed to set fire to his huts, and the men
belonging to the village, some of whom had been patients of Dr. Macklin,
shewed which huts were owned by the aggressor, and after the valuables
were all carried out, fire was applied. In such a case Chelomoni being
the injured party was the proper person to punish. But if the Directors
at home assumed that the Mission was a colony with Chelomoni for a
subject then it would become the duty of the Mission to punish, and the
native punishment for such offences is to make war on the offending
village, and obtain damages by capturing slaves. As it was, the presence
of the white men that happened to be there, did much to calm the opposing
parties.
The Directors hoped that the Mission would become self-supporting, but
although the territory that belonged to the settlement was about 600
square miles, this result was far from being attained. They advised
extended cultivation, but it was gradually discovered that this meant
extended loss. Dr. Macklin, however, made an arrangement that promised
to be remunerative. He gave some of the villagers an allowance of powder
with which they went out in search of elephants. When they killed an
elephant, the Mission was presented with one of the tusks and bought
the other at a fixed rate. This plan was afterwards largely adopted by
various traders. But soon the natives began to take advantage of the
white men. They would beg a large supply of powder, representing that
they had seen a herd of elephants, and after hunting for several weeks
and even trading with the powder, they would come back to report that
they had shot an elephant which had no tusks!