Moffat, however, thought it would be a good thing to go, and succeeded in persuading Africaner to go with him. His faith in Moffat was such that he was willing to put his head in the lion’s mouth, as he said himself.
As the two passed together through territory chiefly occupied by Boers, few of the farmers recognized Africaner and they heartily congratulated Moffat on escaping from the savage chief’s clutches. One day they were speaking to a farmer whose uncle Africaner had savagely killed. When he knew about this, Moffat hesitated to introduce Africaner to the man, but at last did so. The Boer was astounded. “Oh, God!” he exclaimed, “what a miracle of Thy gracious power! Thou canst accomplish anything.”
When at last Moffat and Africaner arrived in Cape Town, they went immediately to the Governor, Lord Charles Somerset, who received them with much kindness. This man had sometimes entertained doubts as to the value of missionary work among the natives, but when he saw Africaner, his doubts completely vanished. In fact, taking Africaner to Cape Town and having him meet scores of people was the greatest justification that missionary work had ever had up to that time. Africaner was forgiven, and his humble, intelligent, and manly bearing made a fine impression upon all whom he met.
Robert Moffat devoted more than fifty years of his life to Africa. He will ever be remembered there as one of the first and greatest missionaries of the Cross. It was his joy and delight to see whole tribes emerge from brutality and savagery into the graces of the Christian life. He laid the foundation, and others have builded thereon.
CHAPTER IX.
AMONG THE COPPER ESKIMOS OF THE ARCTIC.
At Last He Sighted His Objective.
ON SUNDAY, October 10, 1916, two men, Herbert Girling and an Eskimo named Paochina, together with their three dogs, Nakalena, Hynke, and Sport, toiled wearily along the ice of the great Northland. Some years before, the explorer Stefansson had reported that there was a tribe of “Blond Eskimos” at Coronation Gulf, on the Arctic Sound, one thousand miles east of Herschel Island, which latter place was itself regarded as “the most northerly inhabited spot in the British Dominions, and perhaps the most inaccessible.”
It was to reach these hitherto unknown people that Girling, a missionary of the Anglican Church, had undertaken the long and perilous trip. A previous attempt had been made, but the expedition, after suffering many hardships, had been compelled to turn back in order to escape starvation.
Eleven weeks had elapsed since Girling and three others, leaving Fort MacPherson, had set out for the “farthest north.” During the first part of the journey they sailed on a tiny baby schooner of ten tons, named the Atkoon. For many weeks the tiny boat fought its way amid ice-floes, ever creeping further north. Sometimes it seemed as if the waves would entirely swamp the little craft, which looked like a speck upon the water. Several times the crew prepared for what seemed certain death, but out of their perils they were delivered, and on September 16th they beached the little vessel at a place named Clifton Point. In the pitch darkness, on an unknown shore, with snow falling heavily and cold breakers drenching them, they unloaded their two-year outfit. Here they erected their winter house.
Two helpers, Mr. Hoare and Mr. Merrett, remained at this camp to complete the hastily erected house, haul wood, and generally prepare for winter, while Mr. Girling and Paochina pushed eastward the remaining one hundred and twenty-five miles to Coronation Gulf. Out of an original team of ten dogs only three remained. Often the two men had to don harness and help the dogs over heavy places. They climbed high cliffs in the teeth of biting blizzards and overcame obstacles which, to the ordinary man, would have seemed impossible barriers. But Girling, who was a young man twenty-six years of age, was eager to make known the gospel of God’s love to these “Other Sheep,” of whose existence no one seems to have known anything until Stefansson discovered them.
Girling refers to that October Sunday in 1916 as “the one great day” of his life. After the long arduous journey, he saw in the distance the tepee-shaped skin tents of the Eskimos. At last the long-sought people were before him. The customary signs of friendly intention in the north, when approaching, are as follows: a hunting knife is held horizontally between the hands, at arm’s length above the head; then the knees are bent forward until a sitting posture is adopted; the crouching and straightening postures are repeated several times.
There was no need upon this occasion, however, for Girling to make these signs, as he reached the tents unobserved. Upon entering, the native greeting, “Il-aganac-tunga,” was used. Immediately the astonished Eskimos gave loud shouts of approval and began to extend to the missionary and his helper their warmest hospitality. They were a very primitive people, dressed completely in skins and using bows and arrows and stone implements. They knew nothing whatever of the great outside world. Girling stayed with them about two months, studying the language, holding what services he could, and making arrangements to establish among them a permanent mission.
For two years Girling and his helpers made their headquarters at “Camp Necessity,” as the house they had built near Clifton Point was called. Then a most unfortunate thing happened. The mission boat, Atkoon, was destroyed by fire. Some gasoline which had overflowed suddenly ignited while a candle was being lit, and the flames spread rapidly. There were two hundred and fifty gallons of oil on board. Though a terrific explosion was expected at any minute, the brave men got out what valuables they could. After Girling had forbidden anyone to go near the vessel, one of the men remembered that the missionary’s language book was in the forward cabin. At great risk he dashed in and secured the book, together with other valuables which were sorely needed.
The burning of the Atkoon was a serious loss, but, as was characteristic of the man, Girling neither lost heart nor did he complain. On the other hand, he even found occasion for gratitude, fervently thanking God that not a life had been lost and that they were privileged to continue to bear witness for God in that lone Arctic region.
The missionary was anxious to translate some portion of the Bible into the language of these “Blond,” or more accurately speaking, “Copper” Eskimos. But this was no easy task. One of the main differences between their language and ours is that where we use a whole sentence to convey our thoughts, they make one word suffice, building it up until it becomes very long. We say, “I am hard up for food.” They say, “lyagianaksilek.” How would you like to have to use such a tongue-twisting word as “kidlagungnaiektitsunguagalloakpagma” when you simply wished to say, “Thou canst make me clean?”
Mr. Girling decided to translate St. Mark’s gospel. In this he found still more serious difficulties. As we all know, many Bible parables have reference to agricultural life, but these poor Eskimos had never seen wheat or vegetables, or indeed any of those foodstuffs so frequently referred to in that gospel. How could the missionary translate the parable of “The Sower” or “The Wicked Husbandman” so that it would be intelligible, when not one of these Eskimos had ever seen a seed or a garden? In translating the word “lamb” he had to use “little seal,” as the people knew nothing of sheep. Good progress, however, was made. In addition to St. Mark’s gospel, several simple hymns were translated. “Jesus Loves Me,” “What Can Wash Away My Sin?” and “I Need Thee Every Hour,” soon proved great favorites. A short catechism was also prepared, and a copy of the Lord’s Prayer.
The task of providing sufficient food and wood was always a heavy one. Hunting may be a very enjoyable experience when it is just for pleasure, but when the hunt has to be taken in search for food urgently needed, it is a very different matter. Often the missionary made long and dangerous excursions, sometimes without any success. Generally he would tramp about five miles inland from the frozen ocean. Then, climbing some high hill, he would make a survey of the surrounding country with his field glasses. Perhaps some few miles away a band of deer would be sighted. Then he would begin a series of maneuvers, carried out with the greatest caution. Creeping down to the deep gullies, that he
might be out of sight, he would hide behind some small hill, toward which the deer were slowly making their way, eating as they came. If the wind changed and the deer scented danger, they would be off like a flash. If, apprehending no danger, the animals came near enough, the hunter would have to make the very most of his opportunity, for with the first gun report, the deer were gone. The meat which was not needed for immediate consumption was cached deep in the snow, so that when warmer weather came it would be in good condition.
The trips for driftwood were almost as bad. These journeys were generally made by night, for during the summer, such as it was, the snow melted a little during the day, making traveling difficult. Starting at midnight, a distance of probably thirty miles would be covered, and the tent pitched. During the daytime the men and the dogs would sleep. The following evening they would set out on the smooth, hard ice and gather all the driftwood they could find. Then, their sleds piled high with wood, which ensured for them warmth during the following winter, they would make for home.
Many long journeys did the brave young missionary make, journeys which were by no means pleasure trips. In five years he traveled by sled no less than 5,249 miles. In March 1917, with five dogs and an Eskimo boy, he set out to visit Fort MacPherson. This journey, which took five weeks, covered a distance of eight hundred miles. As the path was through an uninhabited land, Girling was dependent entirely for direction upon his charts, compass, the sun, and prayer. The Eskimo boy who accompanied him, when he saw as they traveled south, the tall, standing spruce trees, was much excited, for he had never seen trees before. Later, when Fort MacPherson was reached, and he saw a two-storied house, he was amazed at what he called “one house built on top of another.”
For nearly forty years brave, self-sacrificing men and women have given themselves without stint to make the gospel of God’s love known among the Eskimos of the MacKenzie Delta region. The work at Coronation Gulf, with which Girling’s name is specially associated, is the latest development of that work. When the missionaries first went to that Far North, the natives were poor, indolent, and vicious. Thieving, lying, and even murder were of common occurrence. When a whale ship arrived bringing liquor, fearful drunken orgies too horrible for description took place. At that time the remonstrance of the missionary, Mr. Whittaker, nearly cost him his life. A man aimed a blow at him with an ax. He was able, however, quickly to dodge it, and the ax sank deep in the panel of the door.
Some years later Girling visited there and found the whole community so changed that he could scarcely believe that they were the same people. The captain of a vessel testified that the character of the Eskimos had been so changed that “their own mothers would not know them.” Stefansson, the explorer, a keen critic of missionary work, gave a striking testimony to their Christian fidelity when he said that he had tried hard to induce some of the Eskimos to break the Sabbath, but had failed.
In April 1919, Girling left the North to pay a short visit to his home in England, which he had not seen for ten years. He returned to Canada, but his work was done. On Thursday evening, April 12, 1920, the call came and a hero of the Far North entered into the presence of the Master he had served so well.
Shortly after his death the following lines were found in the pages of his dictionary:
Each man is immortal till his work is done,
Therefore be thou busy till the set of sun;
Heed not thou the heartache, or the throb of pain.
God Himself will give thee sunshine after rain.
Think not of tomorrow as a source of care;
When tomorrow cometh God will still be there.
Thou art His possession, therefore He will be
All that thou art needing, everything to thee.
CHAPTER X.
THE FOUNDING OF THE UGANDA MISSION.
The Bishop Drew Himself Up To HIs Full Height.
WHEN the steamship Quetta sailed from London bound for Zanzibar on May 17, 1882, she carried among her passengers a young missionary named James Hannington, whose great ambition was to be a missionary of the gospel in what was then an almost unknown part of Africa, called Uganda. After reaching Aden, Hannington and a number of others were transported into a filthy old vessel called the Mecca, a wretched boat very much overcrowded and swarming with cockroaches, black ants, and bugs. The food was so bad as to be almost worse than none at all. After a very stormy voyage the passengers at last sighted Zanzibar on June 19th. Here is James Hannington’s own description of that place as he found it:
“You will be glad to hear that I have completed the voyage through the Red Sea most satisfactorily, and have duly arrived at Zanzibar. The journey out I shall not attempt to describe, since there was nothing very extraordinary about it, nor must we delay for any length of time discoursing upon Zanzibar, for it is well-trodden ground, and we have far wilder scenes before us. The streets, like those of all Oriental towns, are very narrow and tortuous, and have such a cut-throat appearance that at first one seemed afraid to venture far, but experience soon showed that there was nothing to harm beyond that occasional fragrance which one is wont to come across in every foreign town.
As we peep into the shops we perceive that for the most part the traders are not Negroes, but Hindus, and that they are subjects not of the Sultan of Zanzibar, but of her Majesty the Empress of India. Their wares are not very inviting, being chiefly cheap Manchester and Birmingham goods. Even the strange-looking cakes and sweetmeats that are occasionally to be seen would scarce tempt Miss Hettie to delay, although I expect I should have had a different tale to have told had she been there.
When we got a little farther on we reached the African quarter and saw piles of bananas, oranges, mangoes, and other kinds of fruit strewing the ground. We glance through a half-open door, and notice some camels solemnly turning a mill. They are extracting the oil from ground nuts, which will probably be sold for the best Sorrento olive oil.”
Hannington was determined and courageous; he needed to be, for his first experiences were very discouraging. He had long and dangerous journeys where his strength was over-taxed and his patience sorely tested by the fickleness and treachery of the natives. Frequently he came in contact with wild beasts and had to face war-like tribes. More than once he nearly lost his life. At last fever laid him aside so completely that it was feared he would die. He was carried by some friendly natives to the coast and compelled to return to England.
Just one year later when the Church Missionary Society decided to appoint a bishop over Equatorial Africa, James Hannington was offered the appointment and eagerly accepted it. He returned to Africa in 1884 and entered upon his work with an enthusiasm which has seldom been equaled. His energy was only equaled by his courage. Nobody knew what he was going to do next. On one occasion he traveled five hundred miles through the dense forest, accompanied by only a few natives. It seemed a miracle that their lives were not taken by the savage tribes with whom they constantly came in contact.
All the while he was thinking of his main object—to find a new route to Uganda and establish a mission there. The chief obstacle seemed to be that he would have to pass through the country of the savage and lawless Masai tribe. He was determined to take no other white man with him on the perilous journey. He wrote to his wife: “My feeling is that I would rather be alone, as my anxiety is always increased rather than otherwise by the presence of another man, no matter how good he may be. I feel that the presence of another white man could not add anything to my safety.”
The bishop set out upon the journey on July 23, 1885, at the head of a caravan with two hundred natives. There had been great difficulty in hiring these men because of the dread which was entertained of the Masai warriors whose reputation as blood shedders and cattle stealers had spread far and wide. However, Hannington had always been so successful in his dealings with unfriendly people that he had inspired confidence in himself as a leader.
He was constantly afraid that the food supply would give out and
his native helpers would immediately rebel and desert him. Fortunately, his disposition was cheerful, and just the sight of his happy face and the sound of his merry laugh dispelled the fears of the black men. When things went wrong he did not worry about it. His watch failed, the candles and lamp oil were forgotten, his donkey died and so he was compelled to walk every step of the way, yet he wrote: “I have no watch now therefore I do not have to get up in the middle of the night to see what time it is. Having no candle, I do not read at night, which never did suit me. My donkey is dead, therefore I can better judge distance which, I suppose, is a blessing in disguise.”
A serious mishap befell the expedition within three weeks of its starting. One day the boy who bore the medicine chest was nowhere to be found. The bishop would not believe that the boy had run away, nor did it seem probable that he would do so in a region remote from the coast. In the early days of an expedition the danger of desertions is very great, because many of the porters enlist merely for the sake of the advance wages which they get before the start, intending to give the caravan the slip at the first favourable opportunity. When they have got some distance into the interior, it is more difficult to retreat than to advance, and accordingly they then go on peaceably enough. However, the medicine boy was gone, and it was hardly safe to go on without the chest he had been carrying. The bishop offered a handsome reward for the finding of the boy, and detached ten men to search for him. It was all in vain. Yet on they went into the perilous unknown.
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