FOURTH HALF. JAN., 1880—JUNE, 1880.
[Illustration: THE “MANSE,” BLANTYRE.]
During this half year there was a great removal of discomforts. In
particular the minister’s lot was improved. For nearly two years, he and
his family had been cooped up in the small hut already alluded to, which
contained less space than one ordinary room in a civilised land. A fourth
of the hut was filled with boxes, another quarter was a bed-room too
small to be healthy: while the remaining half, though occupied very fully
by an enormous table, had to serve not only for dining-room, but also for
nursery and study. At the beginning of April we bade adieu to our old
home and entered a larger house built of stone. This was an acceptable
change for the purposes of study, as well as for many other reasons. It
had the advantage of being much cooler than the grass huts, its thick
walls apparently warding off the rays of the sun better than the wattle
and daub. Being one of the largest houses the natives had ever seen, it
was an object of great admiration from the outside. But when inside, the
natives did not feel at ease; since they saw none of the posts that they
were accustomed to in their own houses, they feared that the roof would
fall on their heads! Unfortunately we shared their apprehensions, for
the roof had not been well bound together and threatened to push out the
walls.
Cloth windows began to disappear while the introduction of glass gave the
settlement a different appearance. These new windows were a great marvel
to the natives few of whom knew that glass could be broken. Thieves,
especially, were disappointed as they feared they would not be able to
cut the glass as they had done the calico. But soon the natives became
aware that glass was brittle. As it was no breach of etiquette to gaze
into windows, a girl one day pressed her head through, and as there was
no glass to mend the pane, it remained a standing text to convince
all and sundry that windows would not resist every force. So when an
inquisitive chief asked what would happen if he struck a window, we had
simply to point to what had happened, and to warn him against cutting his
hand.
When we reached Blantyre, we had only one very small looking-glass, and
though we made an effort to obtain a larger one we were unsuccessful, the
article like many others being stolen by the Magololo when on its way
up from the coast. But this half year a large mirror arrived safely and
caused a great sensation. The smaller one was now available as a toy,
and was much appreciated by old and young. When a visitor came from a
distance, our little natives suggested that he had not seen the mirror. I
would then ask the man if he wanted to see ‘my friend’. The children knew
what was coming and began to clap their hands, while our guest looked
as if afraid of some magical trick I went and fetched the mirror, and
my visitor soon gazed on the white man’s friend. He shouted out Amao!
(mother) or Ngondo! (war) which are two native interjections of surprise.
Acting on his first impulse, he would look behind the mirror to see if
there was any one there! He was quite overcome, and it was long before
he was composed; as he opened his mouth in exclamation, the white man’s
friend did the same, as he laughed, the figure laughed in his face. He
easily recognised himself, but this mimicry at close quarters was new and
tickled him exceedingly.
By this time we had been able to procure many necessaries from home, our
baking was improved, milk strainers were introduced. At first, jams
were sent out in small quantities, and could scarcely be obtained even
by an invalid, but the medical man after some experience of the climate,
pointed out that these were often not so much a luxury as a necessity,
and now they could be bought from the store. Sometimes the distinction
between luxury and necessity was mooted again, and then one would hear
the pathetic appeal, ‘Tell us where we have a single luxury in this
wilderness!’ When the supply of fowls became deficient, we could fall
back on a small store of tinned meats, but these were so few that we
tried to reserve them for cases of extremity. If ever the Station should
be besieged we could live for a week on our own resources! The expense
of the Mission was great, it could not be otherwise. About this time I
wrote, ‘If the old monks had been so dependent on help from their homes,
Britain would have never seen Christianity’. We were recommended to trust
a good deal to the productions of the country. But the true question
was, not how the Missionaries could be kept alive, but how they could
be kept in such health as would enable them to labour with vigour. The
difficulty was likely to be gradually solved by each man ordering what
he wanted, the only drawback being that out of six boxes sent from home,
only one might arrive. This extra risk fell heavy on the Missionaries,
not to mention the famine caused by the loss and delay. The want of milk
was a great hardship especially for children. Only this discomfort would
not have occurred if we had been in the country avowedly as farmers,
because then we should have been free to direct our attention to all
these little points. Everything brought here was expensive owing to the
carriage upon it. Most things were double the usual price, and a pound of
flour or of oatmeal cost about 8d. Still we had now made a great advance
nearer civilization. Brown boots had been our original outfit for Africa,
now we aspired to have them blackened! At the same time we learned to
look more favourably on negro civilization. At first we had a prejudice
against native cooking, but now we often had the pleasure of ‘dining
out’. When going to a distant place, I would order dinner at a village on
my way, and ask the people to have it ready by my return. The villagers
were very prompt; they went at once to the fowl-house and caught some
hen that happened to be sitting on eggs, and when I came back in about
two hours, I found this fowl cooked, eggs and all! The eggs proved to be
young fowls too, and were consigned to the ‘boys,’ while I felt inclined
to lecture the villagers on the inhumanity of taking ‘the dam’ when
sitting upon eggs. The natives use an endless variety of vegetables.
Being desirous to taste every sort, we asked them to cook samples for us.
When any dish was more unpalatable than usual, the cook explained that he
had tried to prepare it in “the white man’s way”. Often and earnestly had
we to beseech them to “cook all these things in the black man’s way”!
Our picnic this year was to the top of Ndilande, a mountain about
four miles to the east of Blantyre. It is one of the range that runs
across this district from north to south. The view from the top is most
magnificent. On the south-east lofty Mlanje towers above the clouds,
farther round there lies the massive form of Zomba, while Lake Chirwa
stretches between them like a sheet of polished silver. To the north we
see the hills of the Achipeta which some of our pupils point to as the
land from which they were taken by the slave-dealer, while towards the
west we descry mountains which melt into blue clouds near the banks of
the broad Zambeze.
As we stood on this mountain summit we were reminded that there had
not been such a crowd here since the last inroad of the Mangoni when
the people had all rushed to the mountain to save their lives. Many of
our pupils had been in that terrible scramble. But now the cries of
terror had given place to the melody of old tunes which in the days of
Claverhouse had been often heard on the wild moors and mountains of
Scotland. After descending we had a little rest and refreshment at one of
the villages on the brow of the mountain. The party were not fatigued,
for a walk of four miles and the climbing of a steep hill are nothing to
an African boy! Chants were extemporised and lustily sung all the way
back, the burden of them being that we had climbed Ndilande, and feasted
on fowls, and would eat mutton at Blantyre!
How great was the contrast between this picnic and the one we had
organised last year! There were about as many flags in the company as
there were pupils on the last occasion. The number of scholars had much
increased. We had fully 150 this half-year and it would not have been
difficult to collect over 200, but we could not encourage more children
to come as we had neither sufficient teaching power, nor any prospect of
assistance. In January I wrote, ‘We are not so anxious to increase the
number as to manage well those that we have’.
The majority of the boys lived in the Blantyre villages. Except the
Magololo children, none of our pupils came from a distance, and most of
the Magololo chiefs had built huts for their sons in the neighbourhood.
Still many preferred to stay at the station, and were allowed to do so
on the understanding that they must go home during work hours. The few
boys that regularly boarded were all kept busy for about an hour in the
forenoon, and two hours after school was dismissed in the afternoon.
Their work was of the lightest character, having been instituted mainly
for the purpose of keeping them from harm. But the little fellows
certainly did much to make the station tidy. During the rains the grass
threatens to overtop everything. A man may then “dig” a road or a walk,
and in a few weeks after find it covered with grass so tall that it
reaches up to the shoulders, and makes it impossible to tell where the
track was. Thus the roads made by the Mission entailed much labour, the
grass requiring to be continually hoed down. Hence during the wet season
the boys were constantly occupied in cutting the grass, which if allowed
to grow might have concealed a large native army! In the dry season they
used to carry water for the gardeners, but in the end of 1879, I began to
make them practice the ordinary arts of their native land, encouraging
them to make baskets and hats under a teacher of their own tribe. They
were thus kept occupied for a time, and although sometimes rebelling
against the old men who taught them, they soon made more baskets and hats
than were necessary. The hats they wore, the small round baskets (iselo)
they used for plates. When daubed with a kind of pitch these baskets did
not leak even when filled with soup.
[Illustration: THE BASKET MAKERS.]
Since the custom of the country requires that men should sew, the husband
of many wives has a great demand made upon his skill as a tailor. This
induced us to ask some of the boys to make dresses for themselves.
For a while our verandah was filled with a lively band of stitchers.
After cutting their cloth, Mrs. Macdonald superintended them as far
as her other duties permitted, and one of the Magololo lads, who was
dull at reading, displayed much genius here, and was able both to teach
his juniors and to make the “story” go round. Day pupils, who usually
declined to work, entered into shirt-making so zealously that they
denied themselves the usual hours of play; not only so, but they did
not go home at night. Hence mothers came to the station to see what was
wrong; but they were quite satisfied with the explanation. In this land
there is much to make mothers anxious—a child might easily be kidnapped
on the way to school.
Saturday was a holiday except an hour in the forenoon, which was set
apart for sweeping the dormitories. There were three edifices of this
kind at Blantyre, one was for the women and the girls, the other two for
the boys: and one of the boys’ houses was divided into two sections, one
of which was occupied by advanced pupils, who acted as monitors. The
first time we saw these houses they were quite new, but a “foolish woman
pulleth down her house with her hands,” and foolish boys did the same.
The lads never slept without a fire, and they found the grass of the
walls very useful in making it blaze. Consequently the walls of these
houses gradually disappeared. Then just as our boarders were beginning to
increase, a poor herd-boy was hurt in some quarrel, and died in one of
these dormitories. After this, no native would sleep in that house (40).
It was vain to remonstrate with the little fellows, the superstition
terrified them. It was even questionable whether they would enter a new
dormitory built on the old site. The natives, it will be seen, have
reasons against expensive architecture, besides laziness and incapacity.
At night the sleepers liked to be near each other, and though there
was plenty of room, they lay in half-dozens, packed together like
tinned sardines. They had raised beds after the English method and as
the ordinary natives merely spread mats on the ground this was a great
novelty. But some boys more cautious than the rest, spread their mats
under the bedstead and barricaded themselves, “so that no kidnapper could
see them”! After a time blankets were procured, but there was never a
sufficiency, and those that had them were fond of using them as a dress
all day.
We were often at a loss to find work for the boys. They could not be
handed over to the artisans, who being all very busy, would have found
them a great annoyance. We much needed a master to superintend them while
they were out of school. In industrial missions pupils ought to be sent
to the various artisans in order to learn the special department of work
professed by each tradesman, but we were far from the attainment of this
ideal, and besides a great many of our pupils were too young.
One of the last days that I had charge of them, they came to me, after
lessons were finished, and asked for work; by this time they had gone the
round of several occupations and wanted something new: but I could think
of nothing, and was of opinion that they deserved a holiday. At last I
asked if they would like to catch rats for a week. This proposal amused
them intensely, and a premium of a week’s wages was offered for every
six rats. This was a high reward, for after the tail was taken off, the
rat-catcher might cook his animal for himself or sell it to some of the
workmen! The African schoolboy is as fond of rat catching as a Scotch
lad is of fishing for trout. Only the Blantyre rats began to fall under
the suspicion of strangers. We often had great poisonings, and on such
occasions we proclaimed the danger of eating rats caught on the premises.
After doses of arsenic, or phosphorus paste, had been distributed, many
rats were found dead, while others could run but slowly, and were easily
caught: and great was our fear that some poor native might make a meal of
these. The boys, however, caught but few. Under the idea that the ‘white
man would send them home to show what the African rats were like,’ some
hunted the fields for various specimens; one day I was offered about a
score of little field-mice (mapuku), but I had to decline them as the
reward was for rats (makoswe). The boy felt this no hardship, as his
‘take’ was of great intrinsic value—the mapuku being a ‘relish’ of prime
quality!
Much is said against the African on account of his laziness. At Quilimane
I was told that it was common for natives to choose starvation rather
than work. Cases were pointed to, where negroes had died of hunger, while
work and food had been offered them. I was pleased, therefore, to find
the boys coming to tell me that they wanted work. Still much of this was
due to the Mission discipline. The boarders had been put under a native
teacher, who sent boys that did no work, away from the table. My first
acquaintance with the subject was when this young lad came to me and
said, “Master, this is not right at all, boys that do no work come and
take away the boarder’s food!” Hence there was established for a long
time a tacit understanding, that he that “would not work, should not
eat,” and it was only when the usual organisation was disturbed, that the
whole of the school boys would make an onslaught on the boarders’ food.
At first few boys cared to engage in the little tasks assigned for the
boarders. Their parents advised them against working; they reasoned, “If
our children go to Blantyre and do work, there will be no work left for
ourselves, and we shall get no calico”. They would also say, “When our
children do work for the English, and get food and clothes from them,
this is the same as being slaves to the English, and one day the English
will take our children from us”.
Sometimes, on the other hand, it was made an objection against the
Mission that the pupils did too little. I was once told that children
sent to school would become lazy. This criticism from a native, who gets
credit for being the laziest dog in existence, rather astonished me, but
it brought the hard lot of the African female clearly before my notice.
Frequently little girls were absent from school, and my plan was never to
let an absence pass without explanation, and I generally found that they
had been helping their mothers to pound the corn. But as prizes depended
on regular attendance, the girls were anxious to be present every day,
and consequently they became less useful at home, while the parents
naturally regarded reading and sewing (by females) as mere pastimes.
It might have been better if we could have professed to teach girls to
pound corn! Few will say that laziness is a sin of the African female.
The pounding of corn is as hard work as any woman need try. On this
department of toil I have often looked with sadness, while I wished that
I had known some simple mechanical device for lightening the task. Such a
device would greatly improve the lot of the African woman, and were her
labour thus lightened, it would be easier to persuade the men to assist
her. I once suggested to a young lad that he ought to aid his mother in
pounding the grain; but although he was fond of his mother, he felt that
this method of assisting her would appear ridiculous. A man pounding corn
would be as strange a spectacle to a native of Central Africa as a woman
driving a railway train would be to an Englishman.
As to food, the boarders were supplied with what was usual in the
country. The staple was “porridge,” and one woman was hired to cook it.
This functionary in times of scarcity held a delicate position. The
boys accused her of not making enough of porridge, and she accused the
storekeeper of not giving her enough of flour! The porridge was made
without salt, and eaten along with vegetables. Salt was a great luxury
here; while many people hardly used it at all, others obtained it by
burning plants. From Lake Chirwa, whose waters are salt, we could always
obtain a good supply for the children after we had a Mission at Zomba,
but at first it could rarely be got.
Some say that the last point in which we should change a native’s habit
is in food—as he soon becomes fastidious, and looks down on the simpler
fare of his countrymen. But these boys did much mental work, which was
a new thing for a native. Hence several proposals were formed for
improving their diet. For a time all the extra soup and fowls left
at European meals went to the school table. But this required the
co-operation of all the white men, and many gave these things to the boys
that washed their own plates and brought their dinner. We expected some
help from the dairy, but even if there had been no native superstition
against milk, there was never a supply sufficient for the few Europeans.
Even when well supplied with meat, the natives that lived in our own
house seldom used it in any quantity, eating it only in small portions
along with their porridge.
In the season of scarcity there was difficulty in getting native flour,
and it became necessary to store some for the month or two that preceded
the rains. At that time the women gathered the leaves of shrubs, while
the boys and girls of the native villages were sent out to forage for
themselves and might often be seen breakfasting on beetles!
It was much easier to maintain order among a large number of native lads
than it would have been among a corresponding number of English boys.
The native children were most obedient and docile. So long as they all
belonged to the same tribe there was seldom any strife among them. When
they stole from each other, they did not, as a rule, complain to the
schoolmaster. Some of them appealed to the sorcerer at once.
The following extracts from letters sent home at the time will throw
light on other details:—
_Saturday Visits in the Neighbourhood._
“On _February 14th_, I went to Ndilande in company with John MacRae.
First, we reached the home of one of our Blantyre pupils, called Mpakata,
a dear little fellow. I went there to dress his mother’s shoulder, which
had been severely burned. The natives keep a big log smouldering in
the hut all night: and often come into contact with it while asleep.
Accidents by burning are frequent, especially among children, and it is
chiefly at night that they take place.
“In another village we met with a musical instrument of quite a novel
kind. It was formed in this way. Two sticks were laid parallel to each
other, and about a foot apart. Above them was placed a layer of grass,
on the top of which lay the keys of the instrument. These keys were made
of wood and kept in their places by upright pegs. The keys were about
the thickness of one’s arm, and differed in length so as to produce
a succession of notes. I had seen the same instrument often, and had
conceived that it might be a shelter for chickens. Great was my surprise
when I found that there, in the village green, I stood beside a splendid
piano! The instrument was quite complete. It was even provided with a
neat drumstick for striking the keys! Before any one came to us we were
rude enough to take the drumstick and begin to play. This brought a
number of the village ladies to the spot; and I had a feeling that we
ought to apologise for making free with the instrument. John had told me
that it was called ‘ngolongondo’; and it would have covered our retreat
very well to take this name on our lips; but what if they should hear
only the last syllables? Ngondo (war) is the word that speaks to the
Africans of famine, slavery, and death; it is a word too, that they
are always straining their ears to hear. No wonder that I shrank for a
moment from calling that piano by its name, and that when I did speak of
it, I put special emphasis on the first syllables. Soon we had a crowd
of happy villagers around us. All of them, old and young, were fond of
sweets. They showed us other curiosities. One of these was a rat-trap,
which reminded me of English mole-traps, only it was made of a single
piece of wood. In the thick end the rat is provided with accommodation,
the other end tapers to a point. The thin end is tied down with threads
of bark, and when the rat eats these, it recoils with great force, and a
big belt of bark comes up and imprisons the victim, which is cooked for
the next meal. As these villagers had traps by the dozen I thought of
buying some, but John told me that I need not, as his father could make
them. It is a great step to gain the confidence of the people by mixing
with them freely, like one of themselves. An Englishman is not quite at
ease with a number of strange natives in a place entirely strange, and it
is too much to expect that all at once they will feel at home with him.
Further on, we received a hearty welcome in a large village at the back
of Ndilande. About forty men were there, and a proportionate number of
women and children. As a heavy shower came on, we had to stay even longer
than we wished. After talking of the native chiefs, the work going on
at Blantyre, and the chances in favour of a given man or woman getting
enrolled as a worker on Monday, I gave them an address, to which they
were very attentive.
“The conversation turned specially on Kumpama of Cherasulo, and I
expressed a desire to see him at Blantyre. They sympathised with this,
and one man volunteered to take a message to this important Chief. I
gave him a piece of paper (with Kumpama’s name on it)—to indicate that
the messenger was from us. On our way home this man escorted us some
distance. By this time the grass, which is in many places about eight
feet high, was quite wet, and as the paths are narrow I had the pleasure
of a cold bath for a great part of the way. This, if not so healthy, is
more agreeable than intense heat. Our guide by and by discovered that
his paper was wet. I suggested that it might dry. Next he asked whether
the Chief would not like a bigger piece of paper! Also, he naturally
wondered how much pay he would get for going to Cherasulo! Such are some
of the everyday difficulties of these simple but attractive people.
Having already made many efforts to see Kumpama, I was not full of hope
on this occasion; but, strange to say, on Wednesday night all eyes were
turned towards the Matope road to observe a long procession entering
Blantyre. First, there came a man, carrying a letter; next a few bearers
with a goat and several fowls; behind these came a large body of men
armed, some with guns, others with bows, in the front of whom we could
descry one young man holding aloft an Arab parasol. The man with the
letter was rather disappointing—he had nothing but the little bit of
paper of Saturday—though it was in a wonderful state of preservation;
but the young man with the Arab parasol was the veritable Kumpama of
Cherasulo, whose ancestor had fought against Bishop Mackenzie. According
to the custom in such cases, we received the chief’s present, and gave
him accommodation. He was at tea in the evening, and we found him most
agreeable. He was fond, as most natives are, of the Cape gooseberry,
and we took care that he should have plenty of plants. This berry grows
everywhere luxuriantly, it is becoming a weed with ourselves, but the
natives plant it in their fields. The chief wished to return on Thursday
but was persuaded to stay till Friday. He visited the school, in which he
took much interest, for in the evening he could point out the boys that
could read well. He was present in the evening when Mrs Macdonald’s adult
pupils came in, and I have no doubt that he would learn to read himself
if he were with us. He is only about 21 years of age. On his departure,
the gardener gave him orange plants, English potatoes, and other young
trees, and vegetables.
On Saturday the 21st of February, John and I started for Mpingwi. We
set out at 7 A.M. The roads are wet in the morning, owing to a heavy
dew that falls during this season. I did my best to keep dry, but the
second stream was much swollen, and an unsuccessful jump landed me in
the middle. After this, care became unnecessary. On reaching Mpingwi,
however, I sat down on a rock and tried to wring my stockings. Here we
had a fine view of Ngludi. So attractive was the appearance of the whole
country, that I proposed to John that we should go on to this hill.
John, who was in excellent spirits, agreed to proceed. It was now about
9·30. We passed through a fine wooded plain, in which we crossed four
brooks, though these would not be all full in the dry season. Looking
behind us we obtain a fine view of Mpingwi and Bangwe, which now appear
much higher than when seen from the Blantyre side. About twelve o’clock
we are among the Ngludi villages. One beautiful stream flows not far from
the foot of the hill. As we stop to drink we are much impressed with the
romantic beauty that surrounds us. The picture is so lovely, that we
would not change the place of a stone, the form of a branch, or the size
of a leaf.
The people were glad to see us, but wondered much why we had come alone.
The last visit they had from the Mission was when Dr. Macklin passed with
a great caravan on his way to Mlanje. We went round the corner of the
hill till we reached Matache’s, where John has a cousin—a boy about the
same age as himself. Matache seems to have considerable influence. We
were close to his principal village, and about 100 of his people came to
see us. Before leaving I recited to them the parable of “the talents”.
John’s little cousin was determined to go back with us, and he came on
for some distance, till his mother followed, asking him to stay with her.
He seemed disposed to rebel, but I told him that it would not be right
to leave his mother. He went back with tears in his eyes; and his mother
promised to send him to school again. He had spent a few months at school
last year.
We had now to return, if possible, before dark. Ngludi is set down as
being 17 miles from Blantyre; and after marching 17 miles, one would
like to decline the return journey. Though we had many a hospitable
invitation to stay for the night, we pushed on. We were quite fatigued as
we ascended Mpingwi again, but here a heavy shower came on, which had a
refreshing effect.
_Slavery._—Every English trader or hunter that made a long stay in this
land figured as an enemy of the slave trade, began to receive refugees,
and after a time found himself surrounded by a small colony in which he
had to act as governor. He felt it absurd to apply to the neighbouring
chief for assistance in civil matters. His relation to the native chief
cannot be better explained than by an incident like the following:—“One
morning the hunter wishes to set out on a journey, and requires a large
number of men. He sends a messenger to request the native chief to send
him some of his people. The chief sends back word that he ‘can send no
men to-day as he has a beer-drinking’. On receiving this intelligence
the European says to the messenger, ‘Go back and tell the chief that if
he does not send me men at once I will come up and flog him!’ In a very
short time the messenger returns with more men than are required, while
the chief sends, at the same time, a very humble apology!” Such being the
character of a native chief each European was a “great king,” and was
expected to be ready to defend all the subjects that he received, by his
power, or in other words, by the usual wars. Now, although a position of
this kind might be taken by Industrial Agents or Traders, it was clearly
a false position for a Missionary, who, being sent with a message for
“every creature,” must stand forth as equally friendly to all classes
of the community. As I mingled more with our neighbours, I saw that our
reception of runaway slaves had alienated many excellent men who might
have been our best friends, and who were better able to rule slaves than
we. If the colonial work disappeared the purely Missionary work would be
more successful, and the colonial work might gradually be suffered to
disappear if slave refugees were denied an asylum.
Slaves were still coming to the station in great numbers, but I did
all that I could to discourage their arrival. We had now learned that
they were by no means paragons of virtue. After they settled, it was
difficult to keep them in order. They quarrelled both with the freemen
about us, and with each other. Most of them resided in the village of
Kumlomba, a Blantyre headman, and he was expected to govern them, but he
had the greatest difficulty in doing so. More refugees could not safely
be received unless the Mission Directors appointed some layman to take
charge of them. Such government might have been a blessing to the poor
slaves, but as matters stood, the Mission ran the risk of collecting
around it a number of people each of whom would do “what was right in
his own eyes”. The reception of slaves no doubt had certain advantages.
Already nearly 400 had gathered about the station, and a great number
of these had sought an asylum in order to escape death. The Mission
had thus saved a great many lives, but at a terrible risk. Its course
of action had made enemies of all the slave-owners in the district, and
even tended to increase the slave-trade, for when a master saw that his
slaves might run to the English, he resolved to sell them off as soon as
possible. Again, the reception of persons who had fled to escape death
or any of the other hard consequences of slavery, soon led anyone that
fancied he had a grievance, to desert his master and seek refuge at the
Mission, while the kindly treatment he experienced made him desirous of
having his friends or relatives with him to share his advantages. Thus
the settlement was in danger of becoming a large state, composed of
all the discontented people of the country. Livingstone attributes the
failure of the old Portuguese Missions, to the fact that they made little
or no resistance to slavery, and the difficulty is greater than might
at first sight appear. When a missionary stands by and sees the evils
of slavery without actively interfering, the sympathy that he expresses
for the slave, or the protests that he utters, are regarded as insincere
by the natives: while the moment that he goes beyond moral methods, he
steps out of his proper sphere. It must ever be a dangerous experiment to
set hundreds of slaves free, and leave them to live without any of the
terrible restraints that their owners find necessary.
Already Kumlomba and his brethren were loudly declaring that some of
the refugees were very bad men, and could not live in peace. One grave
offender they escorted back to his master. I watched this experiment
with much interest, and Kumlomba’s men were able to tell me the effect.
As they went along with the slave they rested in many villages and talked
the matter over, and the villagers made the remark that the slave’s
master was “very fortunate”. Arrived at their destination, the Blantyre
headman said, “Here is your man, he will not stay peaceably with us,” and
the slave’s master thought that he had found “rare luck!”
Often slaves left a master for slight reasons. Many a woman ran away
because her husband had bought more wives, or because he would not sew
her clothes! Perhaps the poor creature inferred from such indications of
neglect that she was destined to be the prey of the first slave-dealer.
All that we could do for these refugees was to try that their application
to the Mission should not compromise them when they returned to their
home. On one occasion we asked some Blantyre people to accompany two
run-aways with the view of interceding for them with their chief. On
the way, however, the slaves dashed off from their guides and were not
heard of again! Sadder cases occurred where slaves tried to escape
immolation—they were going to be buried with their master, and craved the
Mission’s protection. We saw some painful cases where the slave and his
master were both present and both appealing to us. Once a young man and
his mother came and begged most earnestly to be allowed to stay at the
Mission. The woman represented that her husband had just been murdered
by a headman who wanted to take her for a wife. She said that the murder
had been committed for the very purpose of carrying out this marriage,
and protested that she would not go to the harem of the man who had
slain her husband. The Chief Kapeni was the uncle of this unscrupulous
headman, and came over, claiming the young lad and his mother too, and
asserting his right to dispose of them both. The party begging protection
were in a state of frantic excitement. As we explained our position,
they cried, “Oh Father, cut our throats here, we will die here, do not
send us back with Kapeni”. I said to Kapeni, “Would it be right in us to
protect you if you were running from a man that sought to kill you?” He
replied, “It would be right,” adding, “I do not want to kill the lad,
and if you come over to my village you will find him alive”. The first
time I visited Kapeni after this event, I saw the young man, but on no
subsequent visit could I find a trace of him! Another case struck me as
being unspeakably sad. It arose in the following manner:—As two boys
were playing at Kapeni’s, the son of Mtambo was killed by his companion,
a lad of 13 years. All admitted that the death was purely accidental.
The lad’s mother was a widow with six children; one of her daughters was
immediately taken from her and slain in order “to go along with” Mtambo’s
deceased son (32). But Mtambo not content with this, demanded the woman
and all her other children for slaves. The parties lived close by Kapeni
who granted Mtambo’s demand. The woman fled to Blantyre with all her
children. As she brought them in, we were struck with their appearance,
they looked most interesting children. The youngest was quite a baby,
the others, mostly girls, stood each about a handbreadth taller than
the next younger, the eldest being the poor lad that had occasioned the
misfortune. The elder sister had been already slain. How our hearts bled
for these poor children! The widow believed that Mtambo would kill more
of them. I wrote to the directors at the time, “Putting a remorseless
logic in the place of mercy, we think the Mission has nothing to do with
this case of Kapeni’s at all”.
Sometimes we tried whether unfortunate people might not be redeemed
from these hardships, but such redemption was uniformly refused. Two
relatives of Antani, our cook-boy, ran away from their master and came
to Blantyre, but had to be surrendered on demand. Antani was exceedingly
sorry, although he saw quite clearly that if he retained these people,
he was on ground that according to native views, made war against us
perfectly justifiable. We hinted that if he redeemed them he might then
keep them in his own village. He entered gladly into this idea, but the
owner replied, after Antani had sent his brother and negotiated for about
a week, “You, English, say it is not right to sell people, and therefore
I will not do it!”
One of the last cases we saw was that of a man who had escaped from
Cherasulo. Kumpama’s people came to ask for him and although quite
confident that he would be restored (for by this time the poor slaves
had always to go away), they thought it necessary to bring most damaging
evidence against him. Accordingly they produced a piece of calico stained
with blood, to show that this man had committed murder before he took to
flight. The people about Blantyre asserted that Kumpama’s party had shot
a guinea-fowl whose blood would account for the stained cloth! The slave
himself insisted that he had run away owing to bad treatment and pleaded
to be allowed to stay, otherwise his master would kill him. But he had to
be given up, Mr. Buchanan saying to his master, “Remember now, I am going
to pass Cherasulo and I will not believe you, unless you can shew him
alive when I come”.
The Mission Directors had been for a long time debating whether the
Mission could really exercise civil or criminal jurisdiction at all.
At first they had claimed such jurisdiction, but grave doubts arose
on the execution for the murder (page 109) and we did not yet know
which way they were likely to decide. They had taken about a year to
consider the subject, and no decision had yet reached us. Though well
aware that the Law of the Church prevented a Clergyman from being a
Magistrate, I thought it was competent for the Directors to carry out
their plans by means of Laymen, but it might be argued that the civil
Law of Scotland was against the exercise of any jurisdiction, as the
Directors had taken no steps to legalise their colony. If this proved
correct, then it was clear that even should the Directors insist on
Civil Jurisdiction, any magistrate appointed by them was liable in the
circumstances to all the consequences of breaking British Law. It was a
question in principle like what Scotch Churchmen were familiar with in
the Disruption Controversy. Should the Directors decide that the exercise
of Jurisdiction was necessary for propagating the Gospel in these parts,
and that jurisdiction was to go on as before, the decision was quite
intelligible so far as the Church was concerned, but it would not do
for any British subject to act on the view. The matter had an important
bearing on the question of fugitive slaves. Some of the Directors had
at one time admitted, to my great comfort, that it was not _expedient_
to receive refugees. But letters of a subsequent date were strongly in
favour of continuing the old practice, and Dr. Macklin who was now at
home, refused, we understand, to return to Africa, if slaves were denied
protection: so great is the proverbial detestation of slavery in the true
Briton. In official letters that arrived at this time, we were urged to
adopt a spirited Foreign Policy towards certain troublesome chiefs. The
directors indicated a plan of punishing some of these offenders, but
as the layman that they had sent out to act as a Christian magistrate,
declined to take such a delicate task, I was much puzzled to know who was
to be responsible for carrying out the scheme, and on April 5th, I wrote
to the Directors with reference to this plan:—“But take into account that
we are only poor dominies and tradesmen. The dominies have the Saturday
holiday at their disposal, but no other day without doing injustice to
school-work.”
It was, perhaps, fortunate that the arrangement for the civil management
of the Mission was in a state of chaos at this time. So far as the
Directors of a Foreign Mission are personally concerned, it is a
comparatively safe thing for them to send abroad instructions of the
above kind, for if complications should arise, they will be the judges
of their own conduct, and will, in any case, escape all the suffering
that may ultimately be caused. While, at the same time, they are
conscious that they are doing their very best to establish order in a
lawless land. Most certainly they are actuated by the purest motives.
But by such commands they would place a zealous lay superintendent in
great difficulty. He knows that he can easily raise the country against
an offending chief, and he reasons, “These are the instructions of
my superiors. I am aware that they cannot be carried out without the
loss perhaps of thirty lives. But the Mission Directors are honourable
men, they will stand by me.” Suppose then that the man goes forth and
fulfils his instructions with the loss say of only twenty lives. He may
now think that he deserves the praise of his superiors for carrying
out their orders at a smaller cost than he could have anticipated! But
when he sends home his report, he finds that scarcely has he received
the congratulations of the Convener, when other members of the Mission
Committee protest that they “had not attended the meetings, and did not
know that the Mission was a colony at all!” The lay superintendent may
then see a piece of chess-playing more like what he might have expected
among the heathen than among the church leaders whom he has honoured and
trusted; while the weapon of misrepresentation would be wielded with
great success. If the victorious army of the colony really killed twenty,
it would get credit for having slain its “tens of thousands”.
Had we been desirous to figure as civil magistrates or as African
chiefs we might have soon gained an influence like what was once wielded
by Papal Rome. Even persons that lived at great distances insisted on
coming to tell us of their grievances, and to ask for advice, while our
own neighbours were constantly appealing to us. In Scotland there was a
time when it was considered a reproach to allow a funeral to pass without
drunkenness: here it seems to be a reproach to have a beer-drinking
without a fight. In the more serious cases the combatants fire at each
other (usually missing), and then endeavour to strike their companions
with the butt-end of their muskets. If their skulls were not very
strong, there would be many fatalities. In such cases, however, although
requested to interfere, we were content with merely supplying the
sticking-plaster!
A printing press had been set out, which enabled us to supply wall-cards
for the Junior Classes. We printed also a few hymns and passages
of scripture, but our work at this was very slow. It would be most
economical for such presses to be accompanied by a good printer. As a
rule the Missionary is much more serviceable at his own calling, and
feels that while setting type he is precluded from work that he is better
fitted for. The English characters are well adapted for all sounds in
the Yao language, but not so adequate for Chinyasa. We found that the
usual naming of the English alphabet might be simplified with advantage
to our pupils. We call the letter _b_, _be_, while we call, _m_, _em_:
why not be consistent and call them either _be_, _me_, or _eb_, _em_?
Again as _w_, is always a consonant in this language, we named it _we_,
and not _double-u_. It is a pity that our system of English spelling is
so intricate, it makes our language very difficult to acquire. We felt
inclined to order for the school the “Fonetik Nuz!”
All this time I was intensely busy. A great part of my time was occupied
in teaching and preaching, and in the short intervals at my disposal for
my special work of translating, I could seldom sit down without being
liable to interruption. Many sick people looked upon me as a physician.
For a long time we had been in the centre of Africa without any medical
man. Natives came with all manner of diseases. One day we had a man that
was said to be mad. In some of his fits he had wounded a neighbour with
an arrow. Whether he was mad or not, he was evidently far from well, and
I gave him a large dose of Eno’s Fruit Salt. The poor fellow came back
next morning to tell us that he was better. His breath was no longer
offensive, and he looked cheerful. We were sorry when our supply of Fruit
Salt went done, it was a favourite both with natives and Europeans, and
is much used along the malarious coasts. Once I offered a sick girl a
dose of ordinary salts, but when she tasted it, she regarded me with an
injured look and the tears came to her eyes. Reflecting that I would not
have liked to take the stuff myself, I did not insist that she should.
But as a general rule, the natives, especially when there is little wrong
with them, will swallow the most nauseous medicines with great composure.
A chief sometimes came with a number of men and women, and three times
as many children, declaring that they were all sick, and demanding
medicine. In such cases the doctor had given Bismark the keg with castor
oil, and told him to go round and administer a spoonful to each. Although
there might be a wail from some disgusted infant, most of the party
considered the medicine a treat, and after the ceremony there would be a
great smacking of lips!
An effervescing medicine was a novelty to the natives. They thought it
was boiling, and anxiously asked, “Is it hot?” Even where we did not
know what was wrong with a negro, we gave him something. It was prudent
to do so, as he would otherwise go to the sorcerer, who might make him
believe he was bewitched, and ultimately get some one poisoned. Even
when he received English medicine, he was very anxious about shaving
his head, and otherwise conforming to African customs. It was always
difficult to diagnose a native patient, his answers to questions about
his symptoms were not to be relied on. He seemed to think it a religious
duty to declare that he felt pain everywhere. The influence of the native
medicine man was very great. Often a sick native will part with all his
property to procure some amulet. Occasionally the school children were
robbed of new dresses by this greedy practitioner.
At the end of this half year, a new medical man arrived. He brought us
the mail which told us that the Mission was to cease to be a colony. We
were now informed that our position “must be understood as excluding the
power and jurisdiction known as civil government”. All along I had felt
that _my own_ position excluded this jurisdiction. I was aware that the
Directors had “no right to give” me, and that I had “no right to receive”
any powers of this kind. But I was not aware that even in their days
of greatest perplexity, the Directors had desired me to act as their
magistrate, or to be conjoined in such work. The letter continued, “We
cannot make you civil magistrates over any portion of Africa, even though
we may possess property therein”. Well, why had they given commission
to various individuals to act as magistrates? Why had they, from the
beginning of the Mission down to the very last mail, urged the carrying
out of civil jurisdiction? We could only hold up our hands in amazement!
Besides, the real question at issue was of the simplest character.
It was not “whether civil jurisdiction was necessary in the region
occupied by the Mission”; it was not “whether Livingstone and other
travellers and hunters had caned offenders”; it was not “whether the
humblest artisan had not as good a right to protect himself in this way
as Livingstone had”; it was not “whether the laws of Britain were good
or bad,” but simply “what were the laws of Britain on the subject”. Now
the Missionaries received information that certain British statutes were
against the assumption of civil jurisdiction. “Any assumption, therefore,
of jurisdiction by us or by you in Africa, and any act of punishment done
in virtue thereof, would, in the opinion of the Committee, make us or you
liable to the provisions of these statutes.” This information would have
been worth a great deal to the poor Missionaries if it had been given
when they first left their homes.
Along with the Doctor, there arrived a servant to assist Mrs. Macdonald;
this was a great accession. For a long time I had been desirous of going
to Zomba and Cherasulo, but could never get away from school. Mrs.
Macdonald being relieved from an oppressive amount of other duties, now
undertook the teaching during my absence. On June 8th the Doctor and I
started for Cherasulo at 9·30. We reached the mountain itself by two
o’clock, but before we arrived at Kumpama’s the sun was setting. Most of
the natives live on the sides of high hills. This is partly from fear of
war, and partly because they find plenty of water in such situations. In
this land the streams of the mountain are much dried up before they reach
the plains.
_June 9._—Kumpama introduced me to his principal wife. Owing to the
custom of inheriting wives, this lady was a matron who could have been
his grandmother. We found the chief’s people exceedingly friendly. I had
bought a supply of beads from the Mission store, which I distributed
among the children. A present of small beads is valued by a native
child as much as a present of coppers is by a child in civilised lands.
Judged by the standard of these natives, a Missionary is considered
very wealthy. The blankets on the poor man’s bed, if cut up, would
clothe half-a-score of negroes! As I lay in the tent I heard some of our
dark friends discussing a proposal to rob us! One man good-humouredly
represented that it was not right to let us go out of their land with so
much goods! The others laughed, and said that they would like the goods,
only they were afraid of “the little guns!” (revolvers). When we arose
we found a great crowd of natives waiting to give us presents, and as
soon as we had cooked, the chief and some of his principal men came to
breakfast. They afterwards shewed us that the plants that had come from
Blantyre were growing well with them.
We were conducted round the district by Kumpama’s Prime Minister. The
chief himself had to judge some cases; and invited us to hear the
pleadings, but we declined, being anxious to spend the day in looking for
a likely site for a Cherasulo Mission. We saw many good spots, but we
wished Mr. Henderson to make the selection.
_June 10._—We started from Kumpama’s at seven A.M. while the dew was yet
heavy on the long grass, but notwithstanding very hard marching it was
sunset before we reached the Likangala. At this stream we were several
miles from Zomba, but we pressed on in the dark. With the roads that
are here we can understand how it is that one walking in the darkness
“stumbleth”. As we approached the Mission, we saw a great many little
fires at Lake Chirwa, which indicated that people were fishing there.
_June 11._—Zomba has improved greatly within the last ten months. Near
the station, roads have been made, which are much appreciated by the
natives.
_June 13._—Besides the usual meetings here, I had a service in the
village to the east of the station.
_June 14._—Mr. Henderson and the doctor left for Cherasulo to settle
about the new site.
Some of the pupils here can read the native language, although they
have been reading English chiefly hitherto. This time last year, none
of them had seen a book. The girls are not so civilised as the Blantyre
ones. Even in their games they shew this. At the station there are many
soft stones, and they amuse themselves by rubbing or grinding these to
make “flour”. During the process they cover their bodies with dust,
which sticks to them for the rest of the day. But they say that they are
willing to sew, and by and by Mrs. Macdonald will pay them a visit. The
last week or two I have studied Chinyasa. It will be a very easy task
to get acquainted with this language after the previous acquisition of
Chiyao. What a glorious field for energy one sees from this station—right
across Lake Chirwa! The lake is quite full of water now, and may be
useful to us yet. To evangelize the country on its shores, would be the
work of a life time. Bismark looks forward to being stationed on Lake
Chirwa when he “knows more”.