FIFTH HALF YEAR. JULY, 1880—DECEMBER, 1880.
When left alone in a hut on the hill-side, one feels that domestic
comforts are a great help in Mission work. The old monks must have
encountered many difficulties when placed at any time among people that
knew nothing of civilisation. In such circumstances they would have been
obliged to leave their proper calling, and attend to their dinner, and
when one’s time is so divided, neither work can be well done. I leave
the commissariat entirely to the natives, and the order in which my food
is brought is often somewhat peculiar. In the morning there first comes
a small bowlful of milk, and then a piece of roast fowl: after a time
tea appears, then potatoes, and finally a plate of porridge! At dinner
too, after I have begun to flatter myself that I have got to the end of
my task, the boy will appear with a large plate of soup! My cook showed
considerable originality in the matter of dress. A few old cuffs had been
thrown away, and when ambitious to appear in a finer costume than usual,
he put one of them on his wrist, and as he wore neither coat nor shirt,
nor any such thing, the cuff looked very odd upon the bare arm. I was
thankful that instead of showing a similar originality in the matter of
cookery, he confined himself to an old bill of fare, for although cats
were very rare at Blantyre, I knew that they were plentiful at Zomba, and
that the natives did not despise them as an article of food.
While we were at Zomba, a war broke out at our very door. It was between
Malemya our own chief, and one of his headmen called Kumtaja, whose
relations have been explained above (§ 98).
One morning about eight o’clock, as we sat in the verandah studying
the language, we heard the report of guns. In a short time we saw
that Malowa’s village was in flames. Twenty minutes later, Kalimbuka
(or Kalambuka?) and his men arrived at the Mission station in great
excitement, clamouring for powder. The village of their friend had been
attacked, and one of their “brothers” was slain! While expressing much
sympathy with our neighbours, we had to refuse them powder. On this
Kalimbuka protested that we were not his friends, and declared that he
would send none of his children to school. True to his word, he called
away about twenty pupils that came from his village. Our conduct in
refusing powder seemed most dishonourable—we could not expect the natives
to understand it. Had we been attacked Kalimbuka would have at once come
to the rescue with all his forces. We could not have complained if he and
Malemya had proceeded against us as enemies. Yet when we settled in 1879,
we warned them both, that we would have nothing to do with their wars:
but Kalimbuka was not willing to be bound by this. It was not without
emotion that I saw my old friend go away with such a poor opinion of us.
Still he had listened to what we said. We insisted that he should wait
for Malemya’s help, for if he attacked Kumtaja alone he would likely be
beaten. We pointed out that his own village was yet safe, but that if he
was afraid for the lives of his people, he might bring them all up to our
station. This reasoning had little effect on a man burning to avenge the
death of his relative.
Messages were soon sent in all directions. It is surprising how quickly
natives communicate with each other on such occasions. During the day
several detachments passed through the station for Kalimbuka’s village,
which was soon the headquarters of a large army. All night the war drums
were beaten. Next morning we heard of nothing but great preparations, and
as the school was dismissed that evening, the wail of those that were
mourning the slain, came plaintively along the hill side.
Soon the time arrived for our return to Blantyre. When we passed
Kalimbuka, we found him more composed. But he knew that the English had
“something” that would burn any village from a great distance, and he was
anxious to try its effect on Kumtaja! On our way back, I was desirous to
visit Mityoche, the headman that gave some trouble last year. At first
our men had concurred in the proposal, but when the first of them came
to the parting of the ways, they quietly kept to the Blantyre road. On
reaching Blantyre, I wrote to Kalimbuka’s son exhorting him to return to
school as soon as his father would let him. It is a great gain when a
native is once taught to read a letter in his own tongue.
On _July 10th_, two men of Kalimbuka’s came to describe another battle,
in which they reported that four were killed, and four wounded. They took
back a message requesting that the wounded men should be sent over to the
doctor. A similar message we wanted to send to their enemies, but no one
cared to go there in case of being fired on.
Many people were now gathering round the Mission at Zomba, judging that
they would there be more free from war and kidnapping. Malowa’s villagers
who had been first attacked soon formed a large settlement close to the
station.
At Blantyre we still had difficulties about rations: grave disputes
would arise as to whether salt was to be supplied free, or charged at 6d
a pound—whether a pot of jam was to cost 9d or a shilling! The sister
Mission at Livingstonia, after experiencing this trouble, made a clear
arrangement. No doubt it looked very ungallant to tell a young lady
that she would get the daily allowance of an able bodied seaman—but its
Directors had to define what they meant, and they did so. After all, new
difficulties were sure to arise. The subject of salaries and rations
was hydra-headed; when one head was cut off, others appeared. On 4th
June, 1880, I wrote, “I am beginning to despair of seeing an ultimate
understanding on this subject, and the game is not worth the candle!”
The game, however, had often threatened to play havoc in the Mission. I
was told that on one occasion in 1877, every artisan was on the point of
leaving for England over this matter. But the difficulty most felt by the
Directors had reference to civil jurisdiction, and a deputation was to be
sent from Scotland to examine the whole subject.
During the last half year I had suffered much from ulcerated limbs.
The complaint was exceedingly common among the natives, and white men
that do not suffer much from fever in this country, pay the penalty in
some other way. After the journey to Zomba, I was worse, and had to
be carried back in a litter. I was then condemned to lie in bed for
several weeks. The Doctor had charge of many natives suffering from the
same complaint, but he found great difficulty in making them keep quiet
till the ulcers healed. A medical man fond of his practice is greatly
discouraged by negro patients. They will eat any quantity of his “little
bullets” as they term pills, but they will pay no attention to his other
instructions. A native girl once knocked down a revolver, which went off,
when a bullet passed through one leg, and lodged in the thigh of the
other. Fortunately Dr. Laws of Livingstonia was on the spot. He dressed
her wounds and told her that she must not move. Most of us were afraid
she was killed. Judge his surprise when on going to her in the evening,
he found her meeting him at the door! We had never yet succeeded in
getting a hospital for native invalids. One difficulty arose from negro
superstition. When a man dies in a house, that dwelling must be pulled
down. Hence if the doctor collected many cases that proved fatal, native
custom would require him to be constantly building new hospitals. The
people were all much astonished when on the death of a white man, the
survivors continued to “enter” his house. They expected some evil would
follow. At the Livingstonia Station a number of Missionaries died in
succession, and the negroes were apt to think that much of this fatality
might arise because Europeans entered the houses of the deceased. At
Blantyre, a poor woman died in the girls’ dormitory, which the African
young ladies consequently refused to occupy again. The next inmate of
that building was a young elephant, which also died. “Did we not tell
you so!” was the reflection of the natives. But notwithstanding the
superstition, they vied with each other in endeavouring to get slices of
the deceased animal for food.
About twelve o’clock one night, a slave raid took place, and two
children were carried off from a Blantyre village. An alarm was raised,
and most of us turned out. Amidst the darkness and the excitement, the
Blantyre party got divided into two sections, which had to signal to
each other by firing revolvers. The deputation that had just arrived
from Scotland, being accustomed to enjoy a night’s rest without all this
disquietude, were naturally alarmed, and they thought there were two
hostile armies firing on each other in deadly combat. However they soon
became acquainted with the facts, and imprisoned one man who was found
lurking about near the scene of the kidnapping. Amidst the darkness a
great number of people could have hid in the jungle near the station,
but during the tumult some one set fire to half-a-score of native huts
which lighted up the landscape most magnificently. The poor man that was
imprisoned could give no information about the slave raid. I left the
various parties in consultation and went back to bed. But a little later
a band of men were supplied with ammunition and sent out for the purpose
of hunting up the robbers. They marched on to a distance of about five
or six miles, but they could find no trace of an enemy. Next day it was
contemplated to send an expedition with the view of recovering these
children, but fortunately this was abandoned. Meanwhile it was discovered
that one Blantyre man had proved a traitor. During the disturbance he
did not appear because as he represented, ‘the enemy had overcome him
by a powerful dose of medicine so that he was unable to awake!’ The
deputation immediately went to deal with him, but they seem to have been
misinterpreted for the fellow went over to the kidnappers and proclaimed
war and every kind of evil unless the children were restored!
A few nights after this a rumour arose that Mityoche the headman of a
Cherasulo village, was going to attack the station. The old members of
the Mission heard the news with comparative unconcern, but it took them
all their might to prevent a panic. A plan was set on foot to pack us
all together into one spot. Now ignorant as these savages may be, there
is nothing that they interpret sooner than cowardice, and nothing that
they more despise. They actually laughed at the exhibitions of terror
that were but too manifest among the new comers. They said, “We are all
about you—we will not run away!” On serious occasions it has always done
us good to reflect that the lives of the natives are as precious as our
own. We had all along seen that in the event of an attack on the station,
any attempt at a scamper would be terribly hopeless. The natives, we
believed, would run but we could not. All our prestige would be gone.
We need never go back. Mrs. Macdonald on hearing of the expected attack
hastened home from an evening visit to Kumlomba’s to prevent an alarm in
her household, but the news had spread like wild-fire and she found her
visitors declaring in great excitement that the manse would be set on
fire by the enemy, and that everything valuable ought to be removed! She
thought it would be better to pack a few of the children’s clothes and
send to a safer place. While she was thus engaged some of her servant
boys came and asked what she was doing, and on being told they were much
astonished at the novel proceeding, and exclaimed “You doing that, Ma’am!
you never did that before! People set fire to your house! Not when your
boys are standing round it all night!” Gradually the excitement toned
down and only the strangers left the manse. The nurse however kept our
eldest boy dressed all night, so that she might be in readiness to flee
with him if it were necessary.
From the earliest days of the Mission, the rule had been for each man to
have a supply of powder and shot. I found I had been transgressing this
and went in quest of cartridges. Several of the schoolboys came in, and
we spent the evening in loading these. Our great hope, however, was
placed in two military rockets which were to be discharged into the air.
We thought a native army would be so terrified by such an exhibition,
that it would not wait to see what the white man would do next! The
deputation wished barrels of powder placed round the station, which were
to be exploded when a hostile group drew near! Our house was filled with
a number of women and children. One boy went into a bedroom and locked
himself in. He had evidently been frightened, and would answer no calling
or knocking.
Everyone was now prepared for the enemy; but no enemy appeared!
Some thought was given this half-year to the civil jurisdiction of the
Mission. The feeling of the deputation was that native chiefs should,
in accordance with English views, be called in to punish criminals that
belonged to their own tribe, but that they should be invoked as seldom
as possible, and that a summary method of punishment might be quietly
and judiciously carried out at the Mission itself. But it was distinctly
mentioned that artisans, when not at a distance from the Station,
should refer every grave case to the medical officer. This plan was
important, for while the majority of the artisans were men of humanity,
we occasionally heard of instances where white men had punished almost as
severely as did the natives themselves.
It could not, of course, be expected that a deputation would be able,
after a visit of a few weeks, to tell what plans would be best for
the settlement. All that they could do would be to indicate how much
responsibility the Directors might be willing to incur in succouring the
oppressed or in liberating the slave. So peculiar are the circumstances
of missionary life in districts beyond the range of ordinary
civilisation, that there is a proverb to the effect that “a Missionary
must not expect to do any good the first year, while he may be very glad
if he do no harm!” This applies with tenfold force to the case of agents
that deal with civil matters. Hitherto I had believed that a person
working as a clergyman would always have so much personal influence
that his own work would not suffer although mistakes were made in other
departments, but I now realized for the first time that individuals
entirely unacquainted with the natives might so manage secular matters
as to endanger the life of every European in the country. The deputation
proposed a scheme for the protection of the Mission. The idea was to
give Kapeni a large supply of gunpowder, and ask him to send over a
garrison to the station! We cannot say what protection this garrison
would have been against other natives, but we fancy the Missionaries
would ultimately have found the greatest difficulty in protecting
themselves from their protectors! Probably if it had been known that on
the appearance or even the threat of a single artisan, Kapeni and his
available forces would run to the hills, we might have heard less of this
scheme. After an interview, however, the deputation was content to part
with Kapeni on the following understanding:—“If you don’t give us notice
when Mityoche’s people are to attack the station, we shall kill only a
few of them; but if you give us notice, we shall kill them all”!
During the Mityoche scare, a strong watch was put on. Our cook boy was
one night making a circuit round our house when he met a foeman who is
a great terror to watchmen here—viz., a leopard. The lad acted with
admirable presence of mind. He felt that if he tried to get inside the
house, the leopard would have him before the door could be opened; so he
ran with all his might to his own abode which was about 100 yards off.
His wife and family were sleeping in our house, but he did not resume his
watching that night! Such wild animals were still about us. One night a
lion and a hyæna had a tough fight beside the Station, and the hyæna was
found dead next morning. Sometimes a leopard would enter a fowl-house
and kill scores of fowls, although he could devour only a few of them.
Leopards seem to kill for the purpose of gratifying their blood-thirsty
propensity. They do not come back to eat their victims; at least when
a strong trap was set in expectation of their return, it was never
disturbed.
Near the Mission seldom was any wild animal seen during the day; but
on the way to Zomba lions were occasionally observed. As a rule, these
animals are cowardly, and run off at a tremendous speed. On one occasion,
however, a traveller came upon a lioness with cubs. It must have been
a moment of terrible suspense. A few days before, we had been talking
on the subject, and discussing what would be the best plan in such an
emergency. We had agreed that the tones of the human voice might act as a
talisman! The gentleman accordingly, as he retreated with his eyes fixed
on the lioness, began to talk to an imaginary Johnnie—the name which
he gave to one of his native lads. (Johnnie, it is unnecessary to say,
was several hundred yards off and had gone up a tree.) When he reached a
bend of the path where he got out of the animal’s sight, he turned round
and ran as fast as Johnnie had done! One day an elephant gave chase to a
party of Missionaries who were on the way to Blantyre. Fortunately they
threw down an umbrella in their hurry, and when the great animal came
upon this, his fancy was so taken by it that he did not pursue its owners
any farther.
In finding suitable amusements for our pupils we had at first
considerable difficulty. Owing to the heat of the climate, the native
children are not so fond of active games as English children are. So long
as we took part in a game they played heartily but almost as soon as we
ceased, they also gave it up. Each Friday afternoon we had races and gave
small prizes. After a time they began to enjoy swings and football, but
the favourite game was “cricket”. We were glad that they showed a special
fondness for this game, as it proved a pleasant means of conveying
instruction. The calculation of the “runs” gave them exercise in
arithmetic (as we threw aside the Yao notation in favour of the English),
and when any one was appointed umpire, he learned to form an opinion
for himself and abide by it. Some sturdy bowler would often be heard
calling out “Pray sir!” He meant “Play sir!” but as the batsman with his
bare legs and arms was sometimes in greater danger than his wicket, the
formula was allowed to pass, with an occasional laugh from any that could
speak better. The native technical terms used in this game were amusing.
A ball rolled along the ground was termed a “rat,” while a ball that was
overpitched was called a “bird” (chijuni). Soon they learned the value
of pitching their balls properly, and a little piece of paper placed to
show the spot was called a cricket “charm”. Again, the umpire, instead
of saying that the batsman was out, declared that he was “dead!” Owing
to the great heat, the game was confined to the evening, and I found it
a simple means of securing that amount of physical exercise which is
indispensable for preventing a European from becoming a continual martyr
to fever.
The remainder of this half year I may describe by a few notes from my
Journal.
_October 22._—Some children asked me to go with them to the top of a
hill behind Blantyre. The ascent was very fatiguing. I saw and admired a
fine instance of native endurance. One girl of about eight years of age
carried a child to the top. I helped her at intervals, but she seemed
able to carry her charge for longer distances than I could. But alas! my
admiration was soon dispelled for in a short time she quarrelled with a
companion and bit her! This mode of fighting is common here, bare arms
and legs presenting a temptation to it. A boy found a hare in a trap and
wanted to make off with it all, but we called the owner of the trap and
had native law on the subject. The owner of course claimed the hare, and
allowed the finder one leg. He consented, however, to sell the rest of
the animal, and the children of the party had a feast. When natives have
meat they always eat bones and all, and they are not fastidious: I have
seen a man drive a dog from a bone and begin chewing it himself.
A few days ago a man came to Blantyre with his wife who was suffering
from a large tumor on her neck. The Doctor explained that the operation
was a dangerous one; and so it proved, for the woman died soon after
it was performed. Such a result is always awkward in a land like this.
Notwithstanding that the man saw how attentive the Doctor was to the poor
woman, he charged the English with murder, and made a great disturbance.
He came back some time after with the intention as he said, of mourning
for his wife. Although none of our pupils were quite at ease during his
stay, it was not till his departure that we clearly understood the object
of his visit. Taking advantage of the Mission hospitality to lay some
plans for kidnapping, he was able by the night of his departure to carry
off a number of children from a village beside us.[8] To-day I have been
visited by the parents of these children, who have as tender hearts as
Christian parents.
_October 29._—A slave of Chikumbu’s had come and lurked about the
Blantyre villages without permission. He was now sent back, but it was
suspected that his conductors allowed him to run off on the way and seek
an asylum elsewhere.
_November 9._—Mrs. Macdonald taking the nurse and the children and also
some native girls with her, went over to Zomba. The Doctor and I went
too—all the workers much needed a change, and Mr. Buchanan had consented
to take Blantyre for a while.
_November 11._—We reached Zomba. A white lady had never been here before,
and the inhabitants of the district were much excited over the matter.
I addressed the natives each day as usual. When Anyasa people were
present I used a native interpreter. I spoke in Yao, which the majority
of the people understood, while my friend translated into the speech
of the Anyasa. A speaker is safe in using an interpreter when he can
understand what he says. Often I had to give my man the exact Chinyasa
word. Sometimes he would make a careless inference, while at other
times he evidently thought that I did not do justice to the subject! I
mentioned one day that bad people would go away after death to “a bad
place”. He enlarged considerably upon this item. One of my reasons for
using an interpreter was to show the natives what interpretation really
meant, for when an Englishman had to speak through an interpreter the
majority of the natives did not realise that there was any connection
between the speech of the white man and that of his interpreter.
_Sunday 14._—After preaching at the station and one of the villages, we
had a pleasant evening among the children. They overcame their shyness,
and recited the parables to us. For the rest of the week we gave them a
parable each day, and asked them to recite it to us in the evening.
_Sat., Nov. 20_, was a school holiday, and we went to the top of Zomba.
Mrs. Macdonald intended to make tea, but when the boy produced the
match-box to light a fire, it was found to be filled with Mr. Buchanan’s
pens. As we descended we heard the “horn” blowing. On arriving we saw
that there had been a great disturbance. Just before we started I had
spoken to three natives, who said that they were going to drink beer.
I found them very agreeable men, and they stayed with me for some time
talking and laughing about the derivation of their names. In our absence
they came back quite drunk, and began to interfere with Bismark, who was
buying some goods for the Mission. After some altercation they threatened
to shoot him. Taking up his position in front of the Mission house the
poor lad was comparatively resigned to his fate. He said, “Well! you may
shoot me. I have just my mother in Quilimane and that is all!” But it
occurred to them that they might shoot the European nurse, who was with
the children, for then they might expect to carry off some plunder. But
various natives quietly interposed, and managed the drunk men. At length
they made off with the tablecloth! As soon as they were gone Bismark ran
to inform Kalimbuka, and his people pursued them. The pursuit was very
hot, for although the offenders might have gained miles before Bismark
could give the alarm, one of them was caught. He had been brought back to
the station just as we returned, and hundreds of natives had collected.
I entreated Kalimbuka to take the captive away as “we did not want drunk
men”. The man’s gun was also captured, and was found to be loaded with
two iron bullets and an enormous charge of powder. A “medicine” bag
was attached which contained small fragments of bones, which were so
pulverised that one could not tell what they had originally been. The
natives said they were human bones, but the doctor was doubtful.
The Zomba pupils were very diligent. Their supply of slates was
deficient, but they interchanged with each other, and groups of boys
were to be seen writing in the verandah after school. The other side of
the house was occupied by a crowd of girls who were getting their first
lessons in sewing.
_Saturday, November 27._—Mr. Buchanan came back, and there was a great
meeting over the drunk men of last Saturday. Malemya’s judge had cited
all parties—not excepting the man who had supplied the beer. Indeed it
was the beer that came under the gravest suspicion. It might have been
bewitched! If beer were held as responsible for crime in England, we
should soon have nothing but temperance hotels! The witnesses,[9] as we
should call them, recited what they knew of the case, and at the end the
learned judge gave an excellent and very impartial summary of each man’s
speech. He stayed with us all night, and we had an exhibition of the
magic lantern.
Mr. Buchanan brought over cattle from Blantyre, which were a novelty to
the people here. Few had seen cows before. Yet in many respects Zomba was
not so primitive. One day a party visited us on their way from Quilimane
to Makanjira’s on Lake Nyassa. They wanted to see whether we had a key
that would open their box! Here also we met a man that had seen us a
little above Quilimane after our arrival in the country.
_Sunday, November 28._—The attendance at the morning service was over 300.
_Monday, November 29._—We left Zomba, and as we slept at the end of our
first day’s journey, a heavy shower fell. The rain came through our tents
and we were obliged to put waterproofs over our beds. A shower here is a
perfect waterspout, and when it rains during day the more lively natives
avail themselves of the splendid bath. But on the present occasion our
dark companions were as much annoyed as ourselves. As each flash of
lightning made their figures visible, we could see them huddling together
in the corner of a tent. Near our halting place we found the remains of a
buffalo which had been killed by a lion.
Our school work at Blantyre was much enlivened by competition for
prizes, which took the form of blankets. The highest class had written
examinations every fortnight. All the little creatures kept working as
heartily as English children do in similar circumstances.
Various efforts were made to catch elephants with a view to training them
as carriers. Several young ones were secured but they all died.
On Christmas we had a school trip to Mpingwi. We passed the village that
had been concerned in the recent slave raid at Blantyre.[10] On seeing
the great band of children in full dress, the villagers all ran away
carrying their baskets and mortars with them. The scholars understood the
matter and cheered the fugitives. We go in single file, and I was among
the last. I had to hurry up in order to check these martial exhibitions,
and on our return we found the villagers quite reconciled and coming to
offer us food.
_Monday, 27th December._—We had two of the strangest refugees I had yet
seen. They were little brothers, the oldest could not have been over six
years of age, and his brother was quite a baby. They had run away from
their home, and come to the “English”. They had walked about four miles,
and appeared tired and hungry at Blantyre. As they were too small to be
left among other children, I went in search of a native woman to take
charge of them at night. While the poor creatures sat weary and footsore
in the Blantyre manse, I could not but wonder what reason they had for
leaving a home to cast themselves upon strangers. They had heard that the
English were “kind” to people, and the oldest said something about his
“mother”. Some poor slave woman she had been. But she was all the good
that they had seen in the world. Now she was taken away from them. Her
dying wish may have been to see them safe with the English, and now they
had come. We knew the man whose village they had left, for the children
told most truthfully every particular that older slaves knew so well to
conceal. Soon their master appeared to claim them; they, poor things,
could tell no reason why they should not go back with him, and their tiny
feet had to retrace the weary journey. They did not weep as older slaves
always do in such circumstances; they did not even speak, but their looks
meant a great deal. Hard falls the discipline of life on the poor African!