CHAPTER IX.

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!