Before the end of that time our tent had arrived, and this being placed on a vacant lot furnished ample protection for that season of the year.
Bulawayo, being of such recent growth and being surrounded by pagan tribes, would have afforded abundant opportunity for missionary work.
Daily these raw natives would come to our tent door to sell wood or other articles; and we longed to tell them something of a Savior's love, had we been able to speak to them. One morning thirteen native women, each with a great load of wood on her head, arranged themselves, smiling and expectant, before the door of our tent. We could only smile in return, that one touch of nature's language which is akin the world over. We were thankful that we could do so much, but back of the smile was a heavy heart that we could do so little.
During the two months we remained at Bulawayo efforts were made to secure a suitable location among the Matopo Hills. Mr. Rhodes' letter had been delivered to the government officials, and they generously undertook to assist in locating the work. The first place to which they took Brother Engle--the one recommended by Mr. Rhodes--was found to have been surveyed by a private individual. They then made another selection, about thirty miles southeast of Bulawayo, the place now known as Matopo Mission, and they agreed to give us here a Mission Reservation of 3,000 acres. The officials, as well as other Europeans in Bulawayo, rendered us much assistance. In addition to these the Seventh Day Adventist missionaries also greatly helped us on the way. These had a mission station about thirty miles west of Bulawayo, and about fifty miles from the place selected for us; and while we were waiting in Bulawayo, they kindly took out, at different times, Brother and Sister Engle and Sister Heise, for a visit to their station.
The time came for us to move out to our location among the hills, and the question of how we should get ourselves and our goods to the place was becoming a serious one. Transportation, like everything else in the interior of Africa, was exceedingly expensive. In this emergency Mr.
Anderson, of the Seventh Day Adventist Mission, offered to come that long way with his donkey wagon and move us for half the sum required by a regular transport driver.
It is difficult for the reader to form any conception of what these various expressions of kindness along the way, coming so unexpectedly from entire strangers, meant to that little band of missionaries out in the heart of Africa. Even as I write these things, after a lapse of sixteen years, and live over the events of that time, tears of joy unbidden come and my heart wells up in gratitude as I again recall these evidences of the wonderful "faithfulness of a faithful God."
We had been ignorant of our destination when we left the American shore, and even more ignorant of the cost of living in the interior of Africa; so that, by the time supplies had been purchased to take along to the hills, the money on hand was about exhausted. We knew not how long a time would elapse before a fresh supply could reach us. Knowing, too, that the Church had very little experience in foreign missionary work, one could not fail at times to be a little anxious. Thanks, however, to the wisdom, ability, and promptness displayed by the old fathers who formed the Mission Board, and to their support, backed up by the Church; as soon as conditions were understood at home means were forthcoming and we were never allowed to be in want.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Opening of the Work
We must remember that it was not by interceding for the world in glory that Jesus saved it. He gave Himself. Our prayers for the evangelization of the world are but a bitter irony so long as we only give of our superfluity and draw back before the sacrifice of ourselves.--M.
Francois Coillard.
We heartily echo the words of this sainted missionary to the Barotse, but we believe that the thought uppermost in the heart of each of the four waiting ones at Bulawayo was not sacrifice but privilege, on that July morning, so long ago, when the command to go forward was given. We were soon to reach our destination, the place to which we had started from New York over seven months previously. An account of this trip written at the time reads somewhat as follows:
We left Bulawayo on the evening of July 4 and traveled three nights and two days before the mission valley was reached. The nights were cool and a bright moon lighted up the way, so that traveling went better at night than during the heat of the day. The wagon was about eighteen feet long, very strong and heavy, and was drawn by eighteen donkeys. These were led by one native boy, while another with a long whip was doing the driving. The load of about three tons was very heavy--too heavy, in fact, for a part of the way.
Donkeys can travel only two miles an hour on good roads and on poor roads it sometimes requires two hours to go one mile. Occasionally we stopped from two to four hours to let the donkeys rest and graze.
During such times we would build fire on the veldt, and cook and eat our food; or, if it were night, we would wrap our blankets about us, take our pillows, and lie down in the shelter of some friendly bush and sleep. Mother Engle usually preferred the shelter of the tent on the back of the wagon, although the place was too much crowded for her to rest comfortably. Since the load was so heavy we spent a great deal of the time walking. We would walk ahead of the wagon for a distance, then sit down and rest until the wagon reached us. Only two of three settlers' houses were visible, and no native kraals, and we were informed that as soon as the white man makes a road, the natives move away from it.
After twenty miles of travel we came to Fort Usher. At this place there reside an English magistrate and a number of white police. Here we were kindly received and given a native guide for the rest of the journey. We now left the government road and plunged into the hills.
The wagon went along another five miles with very little difficulty.
Then it mired on going through a swampy place, one side sinking nearly to the hubs of the wheels, and further progress was impossible. All put forth every effort to extricate it but to no avail. What was to be done?
While we were in this dilemma, the Chief of the natives in this part of the country, Hluganisa by name, with some natives came to meet us and bid us welcome. They gave us a very friendly reception, and then joined in to assist in extricating the wagon, but without success. Mr.
Anderson, who could speak the native language, explained to the chief who we were and our object in coming, and he promised to meet us at the mission site the next day, as it was now evening.
Mr. Anderson then took our party forward a little distance to a dry spot, where we rested during the night. He and his native boys returned to the wagon, and, removing the greater part of the load, carried it beyond the marshy place. The donkeys were then able to pull out the wagon. It is needless to add that Mr. Anderson and his boys were extremely tired after this laborious task and were glad to snatch a little rest. Even under such circumstances they did not indulge long in the much-needed rest, but at an early hour were again ready for the journey. Those of us who had enjoyed a good night's rest were also aroused, and we started on our last trek into the hills. We reached the valley, which is to be our home, on the morning of July 7.
This valley is surrounded by immense granite hills and boulders, some of which cover hundreds of acres, so that at first sight the rocks seem to constitute the chief part of the country, but a closer inspection showed us to what a beautiful place God had led us for His work. There, spread out before our eyes, was a beautiful rolling valley of rich, dark earth, well supplied with an abundance of fresh water. It was stated that the "sunny fountains" are rare in this part of Africa, and that is true. Here, however, in this beautiful valley, in the heart of Matopo Hills, are sparkling fountains of beautiful water, crystal clear, oozing from under the surface of the rocks, and flowing down the valley. Some contain delicate mosses and pretty water lilies, and surpass the Michigan lakes in transparency.
In the meantime the Chief had sent word to the headmen of the various kraals to meet us. So, in the morning, obedient to the call of their superior, they came and sat in a semi-circle while their chief addressed them (Mr. Anderson interpreting for our benefit):
"These are not like other white people."
The deep-toned voices of the headmen responded in unison, "Yes, my lord."
He continued, "They have come to teach you and your children and to do you good."
Again came the response, "Yes, my lord."
"Now do what you can for them and help them."
And again the same response was repeated.
One may imagine how that impressed us. Here we are, far from other white people, among a class of natives who have never been subdued by the English soldiers. They are kept in subjection only by forts of police stationed among the hills, the nearest being ten miles distant.
Yet these people recognized us at once as their friends and received us with kindness far above what we dared expect. Our hearts overflow with thankfulness to Him who rules the hearts of men.
The Chief and one or two other natives went with us to look up a location on which to pitch the tent and build huts. The tent was finally pitched under the shade of a large umkuni tree, Mr. Anderson returned to his station, and we were left without an interpreter, and with no practical knowledge of mission work. We had, however, a Great Teacher, and we were willing to be taught.
Both Matabele and their subject races, known as Amahole, live in the Matopo Hills. The majority of them are not black, but a chocolate brown, and some have features resembling white people. They are generally large, well-formed, and intelligent-looking. They are more or less rude in manner, uncouth in appearance, and wear little or no clothing except the loin cloth. This in the men usually consists of the skin of small animals, and among the women a short skirt of cloth or skins. Over the upper part of the body is sometimes thrown a larger piece of cloth.
Among those that gathered about us that first day were some who had been quite active in the late rebellion. As we gained their confidence, they often pointed out to us the caves where they stored their grain, and where they themselves hid during that terrible time. A year of famine had followed the war, and some had starved to death. At the time we entered upon the work there was a great deal of destitution all about us; for some had not yet been able to grow grain, and they had no flocks to fall back upon as they usually had in time of grain famine.
Many of the white people in the country and in Bulawayo were continually talking about and expecting another uprising. They looked for it to come from these Matopo Hill natives, and some sought to warn us not to venture into this, the enemy's stronghold. We, however, living among them from day to day, saw no cause for fear.
The natives came to see us in large numbers. Sometimes fifty would appear in one day and crowd around the door of our tent, desiring to have a good view of the newcomers and their belongings. Many of them, especially the women and children, had never seen a white person before, or at most a white woman. Some three or four families had heard a little of Jesus, but the great majority knew absolutely nothing of the Gospel.
Our ignorance, both of the language and the people, led to many blunders, both ludicrous and otherwise. The desire to help them and to show them that we were their friends caused them often to take advantage of our kindness. We soon learned that the African is not so much interested in the things that are for the good of his soul as in that which ministers to his body and appetite. It was so difficult to know just what to do at all times, for they were destitute of nearly everything which we considered necessary for comfort. They were confirmed beggars, and the more they received the more they wanted. The missionary opens his Bible, and reads, "He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat let him do likewise"; he then gets down on his knees and prays that the Lord might help the poor souls about him, but he often feels that his prayers do not ascend very high. What he needs to do is to get up and answer his own prayers.
[Illustration: Hut Built by H. Frances Davidson and Alice Heise at Matopo.]
When we made a contract with them for work, and told them what pay they would receive, they always wanted more than the contract called for when the time came to settle. This is characteristic of the native in dealing with the white man. He sees that the other has clothing and many comforts of which he is deprived, hence concludes that the pockets of the white man are full of money. Socialist that he naturally is, he thinks that the property should be equally distributed. It never occurs to him that his laziness and shiftlessness have much to do with his destitution. In fact, that thought does not generally occur to the missionary when he goes among the heathen for the first time, unless he is with some one who understands the situation.
It is necessary to make the natives understand at times that the kindness of even the missionary has a limit. One day I was in the little straw shed which served as a kitchen, and was endeavoring to bake bread.
As usual a number of people were about the door, and one man, taking advantage of my kindness, came in and sat down by the stove in front of the bake-oven door. He made no effort in the least to move away when I tried to look into the oven door. I bore it for some time, not wishing to be rude to him, and not knowing how to ask him in a polite way to move. Suddenly it dawned upon me that the proper native word was _suka_.
So I made use of the word and told him to _suka_. He looked up in surprise and repeated the word to know if he had correctly understood, but he moved. Afterwards, in looking for the word in my dictionary, I found that it was a word often in the mouth of the white man when addressing a native. It really meant a rough "Get out of this." So the look of mild reproach in the eyes of the native was accounted for. Some of the softness in the missionary, too, soon wears off as he is obliged to deal with the native from day to day. He finds that it is necessary to make the native understand their relation one to another as teacher and pupil.
Living in a tent during the dry and healthy season is not unpleasant in such a climate, except that one suffers from the heat by day and the cold by night.
Matopo Mission is located about 20-1/2 south latitude and 29 east longitude. It is 5,000 feet above sea level, so that, although it is within the tropics, it has a delightful and salubrious climate the entire year. From the middle of November to the middle of April is what is known as the rainy season. The rest of the year rain seldom falls.
One cannot live in a tent all the year, but must provide better shelter for the rainy season. So hut building occupied the first few months. We had no wagon and no oxen, nothing but two little donkeys, which had been brought out with us from Bulawayo, and we did not know how to make the best use of native help. The poles used in the construction of the huts were cut and carried to the place of building by natives.
As the manner of building was quite foreign to an American, Brother Engle took occasion to examine other huts, built by Europeans, so that he was enabled to build very good ones for the mission. He was alone and, to make the work lighter, we women assisted, and used hammer, saw, and trowel, brought stones for building chimneys, raked grass, and assisted in thatching. The huts are built somewhat as follows:
A trench about fifteen inches deep is dug the size and shape of the desired hut. In this are placed, near together, poles from the forest, space being allowed for doors and windows and sometimes for fireplace.
The poles are cut out so as to extend about eight feet above ground.
Large ones are sawed lengthwise for door posts and window frames. Some flexible poles are nailed around the top and about halfway up the side, so that the walls of the hut are firmly fastened together. Longer poles are then used as rafters, these being firmly fastened to the walls and nailed together at the top. Small, flexible ones are also used as lath to fasten the rafters together and upon which to tie the grass in thatching. The grass used for this purpose grows in abundance among these rocks, and sometimes reaches the height of eight feet. The women cut this and bring it in bundles, glad to exchange it for a little salt.
It is first combed by means of spikes driven through a board. It is then divided into small bundles; the lower ends being placed evenly together, and the bundles tied closely together on the lath with tarred rope. The next layer is placed over this like shingles, so as to cover the place of tying. When completed the thickness of grass on the eaves of the roof is from four to ten inches. Then follows the plastering. The mud or plaster is made from earth which had been worked over by white ants.
This, pounded fine and mixed with water, makes an excellent plaster, and when placed on the walls it soon dries and becomes very hard. The native women put this on the outside with their hands, as the walls are too uneven to allow the use of a trowel. Similar earth, mixed with sand, is used as mortar in building with brick and stone. The floors also are of this earth pounded hard and polished.
The windows have either small panes of glass or muslin stretched on a frame, and the doors boast of imported timber brought from Bulawayo.
Each hut is about as large as an average-sized room. It is difficult to make them larger on account of the scarcity of suitable material in this part of the country. The walls are whitewashed on the inside, and some have a white muslin ceiling. Much of the furniture is of our own manufacture and is made of boxes or of native poles draped with calico.
When completed the rooms looked quite cozy and comfortable, so that we felt thankful for such pleasant homes in connection with our work. The first year there were four of such huts built, kitchen, dining-hut, and two sleeping-rooms.
Dealing with the natives while building these was not always easy.
Sometimes difficulties arose through not being able to make the natives understand, so that we could not always place the blame on them. When grass was wanted for the thatching a contract was entered into with one of the headmen to furnish one hundred bundles for five shillings ($1.20). The grass was brought until there was about half the specified amount, then the pay was demanded. This was of course refused. The man brought a little more and then he stoutly affirmed that he had fulfilled his part of the contract. After considerable delay and, being harassed by the headman, we finally paid him. After all, he may have been honest in the affair and a mistake may have been made in the beginning; for the word for _one hundred_ and that for _much_ were similar except in the prefix. He may have understood that he was to bring much grass, and he certainly did that.