CHAPTER XII.

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”.