Soon afterwards they commenced the building of a schoolhouse, but before it was completed the wet season began. For many days it rained incessantly, and the atmosphere became humid and unhealthy. David Jones and his wife and their young baby were all prostrated with Malagasy fever. For a while their condition was pitiable. They were cut off from all medical aid and surrounded by ignorant natives, many of whom were quite unfriendly; besides, they were constantly watched by suspicious slave-dealers who hated them. First their baby died, and then, on the 29th of December, Mrs. Jones passed away and the missionary was robbed by death of wife and child, so that even those unfriendly to him were moved with pity. To make matters worse, his friend, Thomas Bevan, died on the last day of January and his wife three days later. In both cases poisoning was suspected.
At this time James Bragg, an English trader, became his open enemy. He heaped upon the missionary insult and ridicule. The few belongings of the two families were stolen. Bragg and his friends came and jeered at the helpless invalid, ate his provisions and robbed him, but although he was weak in physical strength, they were unable to conquer his spirit or shake his determination to serve the people. The hostile traders openly rejoiced at what they considered his utter failure, but these jubilant men did not know the spirit and temper of the young Welsh missionary.
He decided to visit King Radama, who lived in the interior at Antananarivo. This was the capital of the island, but was so far inland and inaccessible that few white men ever dared to approach this settlement. He was accompanied by James Hastie, a representative of the British Government, who proved a good friend to David Jones. All the slave-traders were quite certain that King Radama would either refuse to receive the two men or would treat them cruelly. It was amid the scoffs and jeers and laughter of these traders that David Jones and James Hastie set out on their long journey to the interior.
It was a trying and dangerous journey in every way. The two men, accompanied by native helpers, passed many strange places. They were regarded with superstitious awe by many people who had seldom, if ever, seen a white man before. For many days they traveled over roads that were little more than tracks. These were left rough on purpose to make the capital inaccessible to enemies. They passed through great forests covering many miles of high plateau that form the backbone of Madagascar. Often they had to walk in single file and battle for every inch of the way because the climbing and creeping plants were so thick. They saw such luxuriant flowers and magnificent trees that, in spite of their dangers and hardships, they often stood amazed at the beauty of the great island about which the outside world knew practically nothing. They had never seen so many different kinds of animals and insects. There were all species of birds from parrots to cuckoos. Often a startled monkey would gaze at them in amazement and then, jumping up a tree, would move from branch to branch with a wailing cry screaming like some frightened child.
This went on so long that sometimes, at the end of the day, the travelers would be worn out, and yet no friendly village was in sight. Even the strength of the native helpers was almost gone. More than once, in trying to cross a dangerous river, the current would sweep them so far that it seemed little short of a miracle that they got to the other side. Then when they got back to the beaten tracks, they met hordes of slaves coming down from the capital on their way to the coast, where they would be sold into slavery and carried off to some distant land.
“In the course of this morning we were passed by about a thousand slaves, who were proceeding from the Hova country to Tamatave for sale,” wrote the missionary in his journal. “How dreadful to behold such a number of human beings bound in irons and driven from their native country to be sold like sheep in a market; and among them a number of children between six and seven years of age taken away from their parents for ever! My heart ached for them, and tears gushed from my eyes at the inhuman sight.”
At last after many days they received a message from King Radama telling them to come on. This greatly encouraged the two men. Pressing on, they climbed the last steep ascent into the upper plateau and entered Imerina, the country of the Hovas. As they descended again slightly they entered comparatively level country, dotted with large villages and extensive rice plantations. Here David Jones was thrilled by getting his first glimpse of Antananarivo, the city of his dreams. Built on a long and rocky hill, it was a landmark for miles around. The roofs of the distant city held him like a spell. Here was the heathen stronghold, the capital city of Madagascar! Here lived the king who dominated most of the Malagasy chiefs and peoples! Surely if he could unfurl the banner of the Cross over this city, if he could establish the Church of Jesus Christ within its borders, the whole land would eventually be won for his Master!
The two men approached Antananarivo at four o’clock in the afternoon, and a cannon boomed out from the hilltop as a signal that they were to appear at the king’s palace. David Jones was greatly excited, and if he had any fears, he did not show them. He marched up to where the great crowd had assembled around the king’s palace. The courtyard was filled with very important people, drummers, shell blowers, and singing women who were dancing and making a deafening noise in honor of the occasion.
King Radama received them cordially. In fact, for a while he danced around like a little child, then he ushered them into his beautiful palace, which was enormous in size. It was a great moment for David Jones. He had reached the city of his dreams, and his reception had been better than he had dared to hope.
After presents had been given to the king, David Jones and his friend made known their request concerning the abolition of slavery and also their desire to establish missionary work in the island, and the king summoned a great council of the leading people to decide the vexing question. This council lasted for many days, and the two white men sat alone in their house, waiting, praying, and hoping for a favorable decision. At last the king solemnly summoned them to his presence and told them he had decided to sign the treaty on condition that twenty Malagasy young men were to be educated, ten of whom must be sent to England for that purpose.
Both white men hurried out into the streets. As cannon boomed and the king’s heralds announced the end of the traffic in slaves, scenes of wild joy met their eyes. The British flag, in union with that of Madagascar, was being hoisted in front of Radama’s palace, amid signs of popular enthusiasm. The slave-dealers, who had fought to the last against the treaty, prudently kept out of the way as the people danced for joy—the prospect of being sold into slavery for debt, or of having their children torn away from them to be sent to the coast, had been banished forever.
This did not mean that the slave-owners or the priests of the native superstitious religions ceased their opposition to David Jones and his helpers, but it did open the way for him. Before long he had forty-four children attending school, and some of them made such progress in their studies that they were able to act as teachers to the younger children. Other missionaries came out from Wales, and a fine school was erected. The work of translation soon began, and David Jones and his helpers were able to translate into the Malagasy language most of the Bible and also to make a Malagasy dictionary. In a dozen ways the condition of the native people was improved, and King Radama remained a friend of the missionaries until his death.
Fierce opposition to Christian missions broke out some years afterwards when Radama died, and in 1831 no native was allowed to profess the Christian faith under any circumstances whatever. At that time the Madagascar Christians were treated with great cruelty, and hundreds were put to death when Queen Ranavalona sat on the throne. She was a tyrant and caused a great number of Christians to be put to death, but when she died in 1861, persecution ceased, and a new and better day dawned for the island. It is a strange thing, and shows how futile persecution is that during these years the number of Christians increased until, in 1861, there were more than seven thousand on the island. The history of Christian missions in Madagascar is one of the most encouraging stories in all the
history of missionary work.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE MIRACLE OF AFRICANER’S CONVERSION.
Moffat Told the Chief He Wanted to Live in the Village and Preach to His People.
ROBERT MOFFAT went to do missionary work in Africa in 1817 when he was just twenty-one years of age. He met with a cool reception on the part of the colonial authorities who refused to grant him permission to proceed north to where the Hottentots lived among whom he hoped to labor. After several refusals he at last secured permission to cross the Orange River, although here again he met further opposition from the Dutch Boer farmers who were just beginning to settle the country and were jealous of intruders; but Moffat was determined to reach the Hottentots. He traveled a great distance under trying conditions. Sometimes the black porters who accompanied him would throw down their burdens and desert or, what was still worse, would run away with their loads. Frequently he met hostile tribes, and more than once he nearly lost his life when the wagon, drawn by sixteen or eighteen oxen, broke down. There was nobody who could repair it but himself. Some of the oxen died, others were slaughtered by lions, yet this young man never flinched for a moment.
Some of the Boer farmers were willing to receive him, but they did not like his attitude toward the black men. One night Moffat was received by a wealthy farmer who seemed to be a little more friendly than usual. No doubt the visit of a white man was such a rare event that he was glad to see one and talk with him. After supper the farmer suggested that Moffat should conduct a religious service, and the missionary was very glad to do so.
When the family took their places for worship and the psalm books were handed around, Moffat said, “Where are the servants?”
“What do you mean?” asked the Boer farmer.
“I mean the Hottentots of whom I saw so many when I came here today.”
“Hottentots!” exclaimed the farmer, with indignation. “Do you think I would allow them in this service? Let me go to the mountains and call the baboons if you want a congregation of that sort, or, stop, I think I have it! My sons, call the dogs that lie in front of the door—they will do just as well.” This shows the attitude of the Boer farmers to the natives of Africa at that time.
Moffat was often lonely and more than once terribly discouraged. Here is a brief description of his trials which he wrote himself:
“Becoming dark, the oxen unable to proceed, ourselves exhausted with dreadful thirst and fatigue, we stretched our wearied limbs on the sand still warm from the noontide heat, being the hot season of the year. Thirst aroused us at an early hour; and finding the oxen incapable of moving the wagon one inch, we took a spade and, with the oxen, proceeded to a hollow in a neighbouring mountain. Here we laboured for a long time, digging an immense hole in the sand, whence we obtained a scanty supply, exactly resembling the old bilge water of a ship, but which was drunk with an avidity which no pen can describe. Hours were occupied in incessant labour to obtain a sufficiency for the oxen, which, by the time all had partaken, were ready for a second draught; while some, from the depth of the hole and the loose sand, got scarcely any. We filled the small vessels which we had brought, and returned to the wagon over a plain glowing with a meridian sun; the sand so hot, it was distressingly painful to walk. The oxen ran frantic, till they came to a place indurated with little sand. Here they stood together, to cool their burning hoofs in the shade of their own bodies; those on the outside always trying to get into the centre.”
This is how Robert Moffat crossed the Orange River. His big wagon was taken to pieces and carried across the stream on rafts made of dry willow logs fastened together with strips of mimosa bark. This took several days. At last it was Moffat’s turn to cross, but he did not care to make the voyage on a raft and decided to swim over, although the river was very broad and the current swift. The native Africans were alarmed for his safety and plunged in to overtake him, but he reached the north bank before they did. “Were you born in the great water?” they asked, in astonishment. The wagon was put together again and loaded, and the journey resumed.
Robert Moffat had heard of an outlawed and savage native chief named Africaner. This man, and his brother Titus, had been brutally treated by a burgher named Piet Pienaar. In a savage fit this man had knocked Africaner down, and then someone, either Africaner or his brother Titus, shot the burgher. From then on Africaner was an outlaw with a price on his head, all of which tended to make him a reckless plunderer.
He became a terror throughout the entire colony and also to the tribes far north of the Orange River. His name was known for hundreds of miles, and through the lonely villages in the bush and everywhere it carried dismay. The natives compared him to the savage lion which roared at night, for he was likely to swoop down, with his men, upon any village, plunder it, and carry off to the mountains or the wilderness such cattle as he desired. Although the Cape Government offered a thousand dollars for anyone who could capture or kill Africaner, none dared to approach his territory. If anyone offended him, his punishment was swift and savage. He would sometimes burn down a whole village in order to destroy one man who was an enemy.
When Robert Moffat announced his intention of visiting Africaner, his friends were alarmed and tried to persuade him not to go near the savage chief. The Boer farmers sneered and said they did not believe he intended to go near Africaner. One man told Moffat that the chief would set him up as a mark for his boys to shoot at, another that Africaner would strip off his skin and make a drumhead of it. A sympathetic woman said, with tears in her eyes as she bade him farewell, “If you were an old man, it would not matter so much, for you would soon have to die, anyway, but you are so young I hate to see you become a prey for that cruel monster.”
After many days of difficult traveling through the bush, Moffat approached the kraal where Africaner lived. He knew it was one of the big moments of his life and by far the most difficult situation he had ever been in. As Moffat approached, Africaner was evidently puzzled at the courage of the young missionary. His brother Titus looked on in anger. Moffat told the chief he wanted to live in the village and preach to his people. Africaner ordered a number of women to bring bundles of native mats and long sticks like fishing rods. Pointing to a spot of ground, he said to them, “There you must build a house for the missionary.” Immediately they set to work, and in less than one hour Moffat’s hut was built and there he lived for over six months. It was not very comfortable, but it served his purpose, and Africaner became more friendly every day.
Moffat lived on the poorest fare and sometimes went hungry. The country was barren, chiefly through the lack of water, and until he could make a little garden of his own and grow corn and other vegetables, he had to live chiefly on milk and meat. Frequently he had nothing but a drink of milk in the morning, another at noon, and a third in the evening. Here is what he wrote of those days:
“I had frequently pretty long fasts, and have had recourse to the ‘fasting girdle,’ as it is called; on more than one occasion after the morning service, I have shouldered my gun, and gone to the plain or the mountain brow in search of something to eat, and, when unsuccessful, have returned, laid down my piece, taken the Word of Life and addressed my congregation. I never liked begging, and have frequently been hard put to; but many a time has an unknown friend placed in my hut a portion of food, on which I have looked with feelings better conceived than described. I shall never forget the kindness of Titus Africaner, who, when he visited the station, would come and ask what he could do for me, and on receiving a few shots, would go to the field, and almost always bring me home something, for he was an extraordinary marksman.”
The natives, while they had their own language, spoke and understood Dutch, which Moffat had learned, so he was able to teach them. He opened a school and had more than one hundred pupils, and he conducted religious services regularly morning and night. He could play the violin, which was a source of delight to the natives and helped him in his lonely hours. In a letter he wrote to his pare
nts at that time he said:
“I must attend to everything, which often confuses me, and, indeed, hinders me in my work, for I could wish to have almost nothing to do but to instruct the heathen, both spiritually and temporally. Daily I do a little in the garden, daily I am doing something for the people in mending guns. I am carpenter, smith, cooper, tailor, shoemaker, miller, baker, and housekeeper—the last is the most burdensome of any.
Indeed, none is burdensome but it. An old Namaqua woman milks my cows, makes a fire, and washes. All other things I do myself, though I seldom prepare anything till impelled by hunger. I drink plenty of milk, and often eat a piece of dry flesh. Lately I reaped nearly two bolls of wheat from two hatfuls which I sowed. This is of great help to me. I shall soon have plenty of Indian corn, cabbage, melons, and potatoes. Water is scarce. I have sown wheat a second time on trial. I live chiefly now on bread and milk.”
Then something happened which seemed almost like a miracle. It was the way that the heart of Africaner was softened and made him a changed man. He attended all the religious services, learned to read the Bible, and supported Moffat in every effort the missionary made to have the people clean in their habits of life and willing to follow the teaching of Jesus Christ. The conversion of Africaner created consternation among the natives and greatly encouraged the missionary in his work. Naturally the natives were influenced by their chief, and Moffat’s work succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.
Then one day Moffat made what seemed a strange suggestion to Africaner. He proposed that the two go together to Cape Town. There was still a price of a thousand dollars on Africaner’s head, and thousands of men would have been glad to earn it. It is not surprising that he looked at Moffat and said, “I thought you loved me and now you advise me to go to the Government to be hung up as a spectacle of public justice. You know that I am an outlaw and that a thousand dollars have been offered for this poor head.”
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