The day after our arrival I rested, as my limbs were aching after the long march. Next day I was able to return to school. The daily meeting for the natives had ceased, but I had no difficulty in resuming it. Kapeni’s children had all left, and on Saturday I went to visit them. I met Kapeni himself on the way to see me, and walked back with him. His boys promised to return to school, but I found afterwards that this was merely the promise of politeness. They asked whether I was to leave them now, and I replied that if I could get down before the rains, I would go, otherwise I should have to wait till the rains were over. ‘And then you would go?’ ‘Yes.’ Malunga was another man whose children I had long desired to have. Just as I was leaving, he regretted my departure, because he ‘was going to send them all’. Now I was come back, here was a test for his sincerity. Still he had his excuse, too. Ever since the Magomero people left them, the natives have been inclined to look upon the ‘English’ as mere birds of passage. Katunga’s boys came up, but although Maseo had promised in like manner, his were not sent.

Kumpama came and took his leave on the Saturday following—a day when I was free to escort him to the boundary of his own territory. As we passed Ndilande I noticed a great change. The people that were living on the plains about a month ago, had gone up the mountain from fear of Chikumbu. We missed the welcomes that used to greet us in this quarter. We passed village after village and found them all deserted. On our way back we climbed the mountain and saw the people in their new abodes. They said that if Chikumbu molested them farther they would all go to Blantyre.

About the beginning of August Chikumbu attacked the carriers of the Trading Company and captured some goods. We saw another instance of the difficulty of sending messengers in such cases. According to Kapeni, any neutral party would at once make himself the enemy of Chikumbu by carrying a message to him regarding the robbery, because Chikumbu would naturally wish to guard against the slightest appearance of treachery.

The slave question began to revive again. For nearly two years it had been practically laid aside, no slaves had been received and no master thought of claiming the persons that had formerly received protection. But many masters had recently come in and stated that when I went home, they would ask their slaves back. I turned the matter off with a joke, but I found that soon after my departure some Magololo had given much trouble about slaves. One lad that had been at school for three years, and was able to act as a teacher, was demanded by Makukani. This poor fellow had been for a long time saving a great part of his wages to give this greedy chief.

The slave trade is by no means defunct, as many poor Africans know to their cost. Human beings are still hunted as legitimate game, and great numbers of slave caravans still leave the interior. Powder is a great assistance in carrying on this terrible traffic. Fortunately the Portuguese restrict its importation at Quilimane, but they allow it to be imported at Chisanga, and many slaves are disposed of at the latter place, from which Mukukani quite recently brought up nine kegs of powder and fifteen new guns.

Mr. Henderson set out towards the coast to see whether communication could be restored. Bismark went to guide him. The latter considered that he would be in danger, and wrote out his will—which was sent back to Mrs. Macdonald. However, he returned safe, although sad at heart, that his young girl refused to go to England with him. She had been quite frightened by the dangers of the way. The hippopotami and the threatened war proved too much for her nerves, and she was afraid to try the journey to England again. Besides we had been now so long delayed, that we should not arrive till winter, and the doctor judged that the cold would be dangerous for Bismark himself.

On the 23rd of August we were enabled to leave Blantyre the second time. Mr. Moir, of the Trading Company, had come up the river with a Mazaro crew, and there was no longer any doubt about getting men for the journey. The Mazaro men were anxious to get home again. Not only so, but Mr. Moir engaged a number of Yao men to go down to assist in work at Mazaro. We were soon on the river once more. The first day’s sail brought us beside the celebrated grove of palm trees. Next day (Thursday 25th), tempting herds of buck were seen, and we had several opportunities of firing upon them. When there is a crowd of hungry natives, it is a great boon to get hold of a buck. One should shoot at these animals with explosive bullets. In the ordinary method severe wounds are inflicted, but the creatures get away to suffer considerably. A large herd of Zebras was also seen—they are swift as the wind.

Soon after starting in the afternoon we had an adventure. The other boats had all passed on before us. The last one, with Mrs. Macdonald and the children, was just disappearing at a bend of the river. We were going nicely along, when I saw a hippopotamus coming towards us. I took up a rifle and had him ‘covered,’ but as he seemed peaceful I gave him the benefit of the doubt; and he disappeared again. After we had sailed down a little farther the boat got a blow that seemed to raise it out of the water. We were agreed that ‘Now that fellow must get a lesson,’ and we seized our rifles. But water soon rushed into the boat at such a rate as to direct our attention to another matter. I laid hold of a bucket and began to bale, but I found the task hopeless and urged the boatmen to pull hard. We were in the very middle of the stream, and the situation was most critical. It was really a question of life or death. We had always held a theory that if a hole were knocked in the boat we could stuff it, but theories are often difficult to practice. Before we could have reached the bottom of the boat, through all the bags and boxes, the necessity for stuffing the hole would have passed away. The natives rowed but feebly. They lose their heads in an emergency. It looked as if we were to sink on the spot. Mr. Moir at this crisis seized an oar and rowed with the strength of any four of them. I was told off to the helm; the baling being of no use. The boat rapidly filled with water—it was questionable whether we could reach the bank before it sank. The river here was very deep. One of the canoes saw our position and made towards us. However, we reached the bank just as the boat sunk. All the cargo was under the water and had to be fetched out. After the accident we held a short council. One was to stay with the boat and the other to go and obtain assistance from the rest of the party. Ultimately I went in a small canoe, but notwithstanding hard rowing I could not overtake the others. Sometimes the canoe found itself among herds of hippopotami, whose presence made me somewhat uncomfortable after the last encounter. Santos has the following account of these animals:—“The head of the hippopotamus is three times the size of our ordinary horse, and its body thick in proportion. What is extraordinary in this species of animal is their practice of destroying each other for food, whence it rarely happens that two are found together.” How much I could have wished on the present occasion to be able to confirm the last part of the Reverend Father’s remarks! But I found scores of them, all regarding my frail bark at the same time, so that they must have laid aside this inhuman practice of the 16th century!

The above incident was my third experience of a hippopotamus attack, and I believe that such attacks are made partly through fright. On each occasion a boat or a small canoe had passed immediately before and while the hippopotamus was trying to get away from the first vessel, the second was upon it before it was aware. Driven to desperation, and confiding in its great strength, ‘leviathan’ then charged with all its might.

I found the first party at the Ruo (encamping beside the village where we had to turn back on our former journey) and told Mr. Moir’s carpenter of the necessity for his services. But it would have taken a whole day to row against the current up to the scene of the disaster. Some natives however were sent off. The rest of us stayed for the night. Chiputula the chief was here himself. A sickening smell pervaded the village. An elephant had been killed and long strips of flesh were hanging on the trees. Chiputula has a war canoe capable of containing 40 soldiers which he put at my disposal as I wanted to visit Bishop Mackenzie’s grave.

Next morning Mr. Moir appeared with the boat, which bore sad traces of the prowess of the hippopotamus. The chief gave him a basin of elephant fat which was of great use in effecting a temporary repair.

This afternoon we reached the territory of the dreaded Matekenya. His poor people had been driven far down by Chiputula, and villages that were flourishing when we came up were now deserted. The natives soon descried our approach, and some shouted at us to stop, but we saw no reason to listen to them. Soon there arose a great stir on the bank, and a rush was made as if to meet us farther down. About five o’clock we were warned that they would kill us, but threats of this kind were nothing new and we pressed on. To shew the least sign of alarm in such circumstances would have been a serious experiment. But the critical moment soon arrived. The natives stood in a mass with a considerable shew of guns and ordered us to come at once to the side. We were now within range of their muskets and some of our party as they afterwards confessed did not feel at all comfortable. Fortunately they did not understand all that was said else they would have been much worse. I stood up in the boat and asked ‘Why do you want us to stop? Have you anything to sell?’ The last remark was received with a grim smile but a smile all the same, and I felt that the danger was past. I then leapt out of the boat and began to talk to them. I explained that ‘I was not Anyasa at all, but Yao’. I was soon recognised as the ‘chief of Bulantaya’ (Blantyre) and they opened their hearts to me over the hardship they had suffered from Chiputula. They said that since we settled at Blantyre, Chiputula had let the Yao alone. ‘Why do the English not come down and stay to protect us also? We would be your children[15]!’ Their great anxiety was to see Mr. Moir who, I told them, had been treating with their enemy. Mr. Moir had been detained by his boat, and was left in close conversation with Chiputula whom he was warning against interfering with Matekenya lest he should bring the Portuguese against himself. The incorrigible chieftain replied that while he was afraid of the English, he did not care for the Portuguese, as he had often fought with their forces near Senna.

When Mr. Moir arrived he made an appointment to meet Matekenya on Sunday at a village a day’s journey farther on. Matekenya rules his subjects with a rod of iron so that with Chiputula’s wars on the one hand, and a fearfully despotic government on the other, they are much to be pitied. We found them interesting people. They had never seen white children before, and the two babies were objects of much wonder. When we reached Morumbala marsh we found innumerable flocks of wild fowl. They fell as fast as we could fire and were very acceptable both to ourselves and to the natives.

By Monday forenoon we reached the confines of civilization once more and met a French trader who shewed us great kindness. We were now under the shadow of misty Morumbala. We passed the night at Shamo, the abode of Ferrao who sometimes kept Dr. Livingstone from starving amidst the various accidents and incidents of his wanderings. According to native custom the house of the deceased gentleman had been taken down (40.) But as we wandered through the village we met an old servant of Ferrao who volunteered to shew us the spirit (Mulungu) of his master for a present of calico. A Portuguese merchant now occupies the place and sells umbrellas, cups, cloth, and rum for the ground nuts of the natives.

On Tuesday morning we went off quite early wishing to reach Mazaro. For the last week Mrs. Macdonald with the nurse and two children had been confined in a corner of an open boat where they had scarcely room to turn. When one remembers the intense heat of these days and nights, he will understand why we wished to press on. Soon we were on the broad Zambeze and within a district where the natives have been in contact with Europeans for nearly 400 years. If the Portuguese had only established schools and taught the natives to read, a great change would have been effected. But since the recall of the Jesuits, the Portuguese have not tried to christianize the natives, many of them believing that the negroes are not susceptible of improvement. Here most of the native huts are two storeys because of the floods in the rainy season. We were anxious to visit Shupanga house, but the boatmen were too afraid of the Zulus. As we were talking with reverence of Mrs. Livingstone, one of our party pointed towards her grave and said “Ah! they know all about it—ask what they say”. I remarked that unless we knew what Livingstone had been called by the natives in this district there was little chance of finding an answer without a long explanation. However my companion shouted to one of them, “Livingstone! Livingstone!” and pointed towards the house. At first the boatman was puzzled, he thought it was an order. But when the word was repeated he was bound to believe that it conveyed some information and he said ‘Yes!’ The great Doctor himself warns against the danger of receiving an African’s statement with confidence. He points out that the native has no conception that the truth or falsehood of his answer can be of the least importance, and just tells a stranger what he thinks will best please him. But another danger is that persons are apt to mistake for information what was never so intended. A learned gentleman sees a lizard and asks its name: the native replies ‘Kaya’ which means ‘I don’t know’. Down goes Kaya in the note-book as ‘the name of a green lizard!’ If an English traveller may ask near the birth-place of the author of Paradise Lost ‘where Milton was born,’ and be told by a countryman that a woman of that name once lived in the district, we need not blame an African for not knowing the name of Livingstone which is unpronounceable by him, and which he likely never heard (46.)

We stuck repeatedly on sandbanks, and could not reach Mazaro this night. We slept on the opposite side of the river. On this bank our boatmen do not feel secure: they are not entirely out of the reach of a Zulu tribe which gives great trouble here, and levies blackmail on the Portuguese themselves. We thought of going over the bank and pretending to be Zulus, but when we observed that our natives had their flint locks lying in readiness we did not care to carry out the idea. There are hippopotami here, and one came very close, but they are few in number, as the natives harpoon them. On Wednesday morning we started a little after five, and reached Mazaro early. We had a few days to wait here before we could get ready for the Quilimane part of the journey. All my time since leaving Blantyre had been devoted to the revisal of my vocabularies, but after this point the Yao-speaking natives were left behind. Here we met Mwanasa, a girl who had lived for two years with Mrs. Macdonald. She would have willingly come to England to learn more, but we feared she would be lonely. When at Blantyre she had learned to read and write in her own language.

When we were at Mazaro a letter was read from the Zanzibar consul, which had been addressed to one of the Livingstonia employés. Certain chiefs on Lake Nyassa had been making themselves notorious in connection with the slave trade, and the consul asked the man whether he could not clear out one of these slavers. We believe it must often be felt by those on the coast that they could cope with the evils of slavery much better if they had an agency in the interior.

Saturday evening found us on the Kwagwa. Here our journey was, if possible, more uncomfortable than before. There was only one boat: and Mrs. Macdonald with the nurse and family had just room to stow themselves away under the little grass awning that had been thrown over it. My bed was placed in the steerage! Hitherto, throughout the whole journey on the Chiri and Zambeze, we had been obliged to sleep in the boats and under mosquito curtains. At Mazaro we had occupied a house; but this means that the plague of rats is added to the plague of heat and mosquitoes.

The lad that was our pilot here had been at Blantyre for a few months, and he showed us great attention. We always pressed on during night. One can go down the Kwagwa at a beautiful rate. As soon as the terrible sun was set I made a point of getting hold of a pole, when we had great amusement in endeavouring to race with the light canoes. I thus secured a few hours’ exercise, which is one of the best antidotes to fever in this pestilential district. On Monday the 5th we passed Mugurumbe, and reached a sleeping place about one o’clock next morning. The vegetation is so dense that one cannot land on the bank just where he chooses. There are but few places so clear that we could light a fire, and of these many are found already occupied by numbers of other travellers. But when one party arrives certain of the others will often make a fresh start. Night and day are much the same to the travellers on this river. Our sleeping station of Tuesday morning became a scene of confusion. When our boat reached it a score of natives began to appeal to me on civil matters. I was inclined to smile at the situation. Some people that ought to have known better had taken me for a civil magistrate before, and now I am to be pressed into that service again! All explanations were useless. “Master, here—a boy has been stabbed!” The knife with which the wound had been inflicted is thrust into my hands, while our men pointed out that it had been bent in the rencontre.

I felt as sick of the matter as an English jury when shut in to give a decision. I said I was suffering from want of sleep, but what was want of sleep to them! Native patience is sometimes great, and native eloquence long. The “Governor of Quilimane” was an expression that I tried to conjure with, but without effect, and in the end I had to beseech them to defer the matter, and it was only after I promised to listen to them next day that I obtained this concession. Next morning as soon as I awoke the palaver began, and to my astonishment an old Portuguese came out of one of the sack-beds, and requested my interference. He was the “other party” in the transaction. He had landed here the previous night, and as he slept in a mat on the bank, some natives stole most of his clothing and some of his goods. A little after, he found another native (not the actual thief) prowling about, and put his knife into him. The old man was now determined not to go away until his property was restored. I told him that the thief was not one of my boatmen, neither was the other unfortunate lad, and that I was merely a traveller and could not interfere. It was a strange spectacle, the two white men unable to speak to each other except through the medium of two black interpreters! As I explained my position to my brother European he looked at his own interpreter, and they agreed that my interpreter was against them, and was not translating properly. He knew “that the governor of Quilimane was far away,” but if I could show these natives that I did not support them in stealing, it would help a poor traveller, and do no one any harm! Perhaps the poor fellow thought that I must be some Englishman that had a grudge against the Portuguese. I soon condemned the theft, and succeeded in getting the bent knife returned to him. I think that his antagonists hinted that I was going to carry it off to use as a witness against him in Quilimane! In a short time his goods were also restored. Now he was delivered from anxiety, and I soon saw that he could expound native law to them. “You must pay me for this theft and annoyance.” They replied, “You must pay us for the boy”. His answer was that the boy was of the same fraternity, and had to expect what he got. We left them before they had finished, but from the bold manner of the traveller it is likely that he got damages. Only the matter was hardly worth insisting on unless he had frequent occasion to pass that way.

After a short repose of three or four hours we made an easy start on Tuesday morning. Antani was my philosopher, and pointed out rivers that were said to be associated with the slave trade. He had expected me to be more in favour of the black man this morning, and therefore recounted the hardships of the poor slaves:—

“They are taken down here in slave sticks. If a woman have a child on her back she is put in the slave stick too. One piece of cloth (16 yds., say 4s.) is the price of a man: two pieces is the price of a woman. A woman costs more because she will be the mother of other people. If she have a child in her arms she fetches half a piece more. If the master cannot sell his slave he takes him back again, and cheats him by saying I did not want to sell you. I only took you down to frighten you that you might respect me more.”

He promised to tell me if he saw any with the Yao tatoo. He found none except those that had been bought by the Portuguese long ago: the new ones, he insisted, were kept in distant plantations.

Though told several times this morning to fill every bottle with water, Antani was very remiss in doing so, as he could not see the reason. In the forenoon he sat in the bow of the boat looking at the river, which was gradually becoming broader. We asked him to taste the water now. The other natives, although not in the secret, understood the joke at once, and one handed him a dish. They waited to see if this lad, fresh from the mountains of the interior, could be so green after all! He dipped over the side of the boat, and proceeded to drink the water with as great confidence as he had done throughout our journey. “Ah! salt, salt,” he cried, and began to spit, while his companions enjoyed a boisterous laugh at his expense.

This evening a great wind rose, and our tiny boat had to put back into a sheltered corner. We expected the breeze would allow us to sleep; but it was soon calm and hot. The mosquitoes did not give much trouble, but the sand flies came through our curtains and rendered our position wretched in the extreme. Seldom have we passed a more miserable night. Yet we could not fail to appreciate one beautiful episode. A canoe passed us playing a sansa (I. 272), while certain voices attempted to sing with the instrument. Every note was distinctly heard in the midnight stillness, and the canoe-men made the grand old woods resound with the melody. We listened with great fondness till the strains of their rude music died away in the distance. About twelve o’clock at night we asked the boys whether they could not push off the boat, but after a fruitless endeavour to move it along the sand, we had to make up our minds to endure the situation longer. It was about two A.M. before the tide reached us, and then they promptly released us from our sufferings. As soon as the tide turned the boys all went to sleep again, and we glided smoothly along. But before reaching Quilimane we had to face big waves. We arrived at mid-day. It was fifteen days since we had left Blantyre.

We enjoyed the welcome and cordial hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Nunes. They had nearly been killed by the same journey, and could sympathise with us. Our oldest boy’s face was one large blister owing to mosquito bites, and he and Mrs. Macdonald suffered much from fever. We had to wait a few days for the steamer. Antani often walked with me, and made his own observations on men and manners. We would meet a Portuguese boy going to school with a negro behind him carrying his books and cigars! Antani said that the Portuguese “drove the native children out of school lest they should by and by know as much as white men”. One day a man passed wearing a tall silk hat. When at Blantyre, we had great difficulty in explaining the pictures in the Graphic and London News on account of the dreadful head-dress of the European. Here we were fortunate in finding an actual specimen. Antani gazed with wonder, and promised to report, on his return to the interior that these strange hats were a reality after all!

Once I took a long solitary walk into the country to see whether I could meet with slaves that had been brought from our district. I saw several Anyasa and Walolo tatoos. After marching till I was tired I sat down at a village to rest. Here I found a lad that could speak Chinyasa. As we talked he stumbled on a characteristic Yao word, and this led to his finding for me two people that had come from the Blantyre district long ago. They were charmed with an opportunity of speaking their mother tongue, which they had not used for many years, but which they said they would never forget. As a group gathered round they took a pride in shewing their Quilimane companions that they could converse with a European in an unknown language. But they were far behind in the history of their country, and were taking for granted the existence of chiefs and headmen that had long been gathered to their fathers. I could not but think of the touching picture that Homer gives of Helen looking from the Trojan wall and trying to see Castor and Pollux, not knowing that the grave “already possessed them in their dear native land”. I could perceive that one especially looked back fondly to olden days, while his breast filled with thoughts of the friends of his youth. ‘Perhaps his mother was yet alive.’ ‘Had his brothers and sisters gone into slavery like himself, or would they still send a thought after him as they lingered about the scenes of bygone days?’ He could not tell. He had formed new ties now, and was quite happy, enjoying under the Portuguese a security that he could not have found beside his own mountains. Still, in spite of the treatment he had received in his native land, there was a poetry about the past that prompted a ‘lingering look behind’. He made an errand to Quilimane in order to accompany me back. His use of his native tongue was considerably ‘generalized’ by some twenty years’ disuse. He would often hesitate for a word and employ general terms where his countrymen would have given the special one. He complained of the sun “killing” the corn: the time was when he would have said “scorching”. We passed a Portuguese churchyard where each tombstone was ornamented with a large cross, but he said he had no idea what was the meaning of the symbol.

Many Portuguese think that the natives are worse off since the abolition of slavery. Formerly, masters were at great pains to give their slaves personal comforts and ornaments, which they do not think of giving now, because “the negro might make off with the gift next day”. Wages is but little motive to work in a land where there is no difficulty in getting the necessaries of life. But under the Portuguese the natives may store up property to an extent that would be dangerous in the interior. There the possession of wealth makes a man’s life worth taking.

Strangers severely criticise the native for want of foresight. A critic says:—“He ought to cultivate a few more feet of ground, as a time of scarcity might come.” But it is the very foresight of the native that prevents him from taking such a step. It is his critic that lacks discrimination and not he. His critic applies to him calculations that may be presumed upon, under a civilised government. The native, on the contrary, is familiar with the real situation. I once asked a schoolboy, “Will you keep a cow when you become a man?” His reply was “As if I had three lives!” Nothing could better express the secret. If a man had food in a time of famine, when all the others had not, his position would not be an enviable one. Unless in the immediate neighbourhood of the Mission, few had goods laid up except chiefs, but if security were guaranteed, native avarice and ambition would take this direction.

Natives see that they could make many improvements, but they count the cost. Bishop Steere says:—“There are no roads in this part of Africa, no carriages and no beasts of burden, only a narrow footpath, so overgrown sometimes that one wonders the men who pass along do not clear it, until one remembers that the very last thing an African wishes, is to have an easy road to his village. If he could persuade himself that the next comer was likely to turn back and think that there was no road, he would sleep much more securely.” We were once walking along a native path with a person just come into the country, and were amused to notice how his taste was offended by small branches that were lying on the path. He carefully laid them aside with his staff, under the belief that he was teaching the natives a lesson, and conferring on them a permanent benefit!

In Quilimane where natives enjoy European protection, they make advances in material improvement. But it is the lowest class of native that is found there. When masters in the interior sell slaves, they first dispose of the worst characters. Hence the settler on the coast forms a harsh view of the black man. In short he begins to despair of the native, and the native in his turn may despair of him! A Portuguese gentleman told me the following anecdote, which I mention in illustration. A chief from Mlanje frequently went to Quilimane, and a certain Portuguese lady used to treat this native king with much deference. But one day she had a young lad with her, and as they sat together, Matapwiri came up and squatted beside the young Portuguese gentleman. The latter resented this, and promptly gave Matapwiri a blow. The lady interposed, ‘But this is the great Matapwiri—there will be a quarrel if—’ ‘I don’t care who he is. A native shan’t come and sit down by me that way!’ Nothing could better shew the light in which the European settler often regards the negro. But some natives here show a desire for advancement. One chief left his son as a slave in Quilimane for several years. After the boy had been initiated into civilized life he disappeared at once, no one knew how or where: but he is said now to occupy an important position in his native land. His father had seen the importance of civilization and employed this stratagem to educate his son. There are traits of character to be met with, even among the lowest natives, that remind us of the words:—

Quilimane, like all other places which we might think beyond the reach of history has its incidents too. One day we found the whole population in a state of great consternation owing to a report that Tete had been attacked, and that its Portuguese inhabitants were in danger of being massacred. All these Portuguese stations on the Zambeze are usually well protected by soldiers, but the garrison had been temporarily absent and now news had come that the natives had risen against the townsmen. The keeping of standing armies here is a hard task. Some of the soldiers are half-castes and they as a rule are more troublesome than pure natives. We lodged near the barracks and the commander used to send to the English lady to apologise for having to flog his soldiers near her window.

At Quilimane there was a functionary appointed to dispense floggings, and when a slave or servant offended, the custom was to send him to this man with a slip of paper which stated how much punishment the culprit was to receive!

One point where the Portuguese differ very much from us, is in their estimate of Livingstone, whose life they criticise with the greatest severity, their remarks almost reminding one of the hard things that old Roman Catholic writers used to state regarding Luther. When at Blantyre, we used to get the Magololo headmen to talk about their late master, and they certainly recounted many exploits that were quite new to us, only before being influenced by their statements we had to remember that these men would speak what they thought would please us best, and when they discovered that we looked on Livingstone as a hero, they would mention a great many things that agreed better with their own ideal of a hero than with ours.

When the steamer at length arrived, Antani came on board with us and went over the whole of it, promising to tell his friends, on his return, of the wonders of the ‘large boat,’ and so we parted.

At Zanzibar as I looked down from the side of the steamer on the native boats, I was hailed in the Yao language. I replied in the same, and a spirited conversation began. The young man that accosted me was not a Yao but a Makua, only he had been in the Yao district. He soon collected his friends, and they were in great glee over an Msungu who could speak in the languages of the interior. Natives are here much freer in conversing with the European than in Quilimane, where the Portuguese make them keep a respectful distance. They told their friends in the town about us, and as we passed along the streets we met some that could say ‘achimwene’ and who gave us a cordial greeting. At Zanzibar we saw Dr. Steere’s Mission, which was a very cheering sight. At Blantyre we were often sustained, and much more than sustained, by the thought of what we looked forward to as the infallible result of some ten years’ honest work. Here we saw the result of twenty years’ work and it could not fail to be gratifying to one that considered the subject. Dr. Steere says to those that would estimate Missionary difficulties, ‘You must pause for a while and find yourselves, as we did, standing opposite five boys with scarce any clothing, in dreadful fear of something far worse than slavery or death, and we unable to make them understand one word’. Such is the commencement. By and by he can write, “We have no longer to begin with an English reading card because we have nothing else. We have reduced the Swahili to writing and found out its grammatical rules.”

When I passed Zanzibar the Swahili Bible was fast approaching its completion! We ask any one to reflect what great labour this implies. If we lived in times when Church censures took a tangible form, and if any man were ordered to write out the whole of the Bible in his own language before he could be restored to the Church, the sentence would be equivalent to excommunication for life. Most men would be too discouraged to attempt the task amidst other work, and the various interruptions that they might count on. But the Missionary has to write the Bible in a Foreign language amidst much pressure of other work, and many interruptions that no man is subjected to amidst European civilization, and if a single or even a twofold copying of his material be sufficient, the circumstance would say a great deal more for his present peace of mind than for the permanent value of his work. All the time he is translating he is obliged to keep up the closest intercourse with the natives, ever learning from them, and ever teaching them, introducing reading books, founding schools, forming friendships and consecrating these friendships by imparting views of life that go beyond the seen and temporary. Besides having stations on Zanzibar, Bishop Steere[16] has been carrying his work far into the interior of the Dark Continent.

The interior is in some respects the more promising field. There are many highland sites where the European can work with all his might. He can study hard, and personally engage in teaching without suffering in health, whereas the climate is so enervating in stations on the coast and fever is so prevalent that few constitutions can do more than keep this enemy at bay. Again in large places where an artificial civilization shews itself, the Missionary takes his position not merely as a man, but as a civilized man, and this makes a breach between him and his dark friend, which the latter feels very much. I have sometimes been sitting in conversation with an old headman when another European would join us. Then the English language was spoken, and our native friend would say with sadness that he “did not know English,” and he would sit in silence evidently regretting that his white friend was not so near him after all. This is only an illustration of peculiar disadvantages which are greatly done away with in the wilds of the Interior. All this, it may be said, is counterbalanced by the fact that in the interior there are constant wars. Such difficulties however will gradually pass away as the evangelistic work is quietly carried on, and most of them may be met by the simple plan of carefully placing a Mission station in the disturbed district. The one great obstacle in the interior is the difficulty of communication, and the want of all appliances from books downwards.

Beyond Zanzibar, the next place where we see anything of the African is at Aden, where we meet specimens of the Samali in a few active boys with dyed hair, who crowd round the steamer to dive for coins. There happened to be a Samali boy on board our steamer, as also a Makua. Owing to quarantine laws their masters could not land, and a number of pilgrims for Mecca had to be brought on to London. The mention of London had a dispiriting effect upon the Asiatics. They were certain the cold would kill them, and went about weeping—not weeping like a European—the poor fellows actually “lifted up their voice and wept”. Withal their misfortune made them more demonstrative in their devotions. Some of the passengers evinced a strong disposition to laugh at this, others maintained that few Christians would be so exemplary in calling upon their God. We should be able to get some good out of everything, and we have often admired the regularity with which as the moment arrived, they turned their faces towards Mecca and knelt down to pray. One feature in the Christian is that when on a journey, although he meet other Christians, he wishes to worship by himself. Thus he avoids the dreaded charge of hypocrisy, but there is something that should be dreaded on the other side. He may begin to forget that his religion is something that ought not to be selfishly shut up in his own bosom. The forms of Mahommedanism seem to draw its worshippers together. But alas! they appeared to derive but little comfort from their earnest supplications. They always had a sadness about them. After a long residence among natives that kept sorrow no longer than sorrow kept them, this struck me as the manifestation of a new temperament. The only man that could be cheerful was the Makua servant, who was known as the “big grinning nigger”. The grief of the others threatened to make them unmanageable. But the hopefulness of this representative of the Lake Region, might well make us hopeful for his race, and we have no doubt that the time is fast approaching when these African tribes will be “made glad according to the days in which they have seen evil”!

We gazed wistfully as the great continent was within sight for the last time. On one side we had Gibraltar brightly lighted up, and suggesting so much historical interest. But on the other side there was a solitary lighthouse that touched a deeper chord in our hearts as it flashed a farewell from the Dark Continent. There rose before our minds all the hopeful days we had spent in that land of promise, while to our lips came the line which we ventured thus to misquote:—

“Moritur, et moriens dulces reminiscitur Afros.”

End of Vol. II.