CHAPTER XIII.

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!