Moffat Itinerates, and His Wife Goes to the Coast

Moffat had not long been home when he and his wife were again called to separate for a time. Her health, which a few months before had been severely tried, had not been re-established, and it was the advice of Dr. Andrew Smith that she should pay a visit to the coast. This was also needed on account of the children who were at school. Rather than take her husband away from his post she determined again to go without him, he accompanying her as far as the Vaal River, about a hundred miles distant. Mr. Hume, the trader, being on his way to Grahamstown, she was able to avail herself of his escort, which, as it proved afterwards, was of great service to her.

Having seen his wife over the Vaal River, Moffat started on his return to Kuruman on horseback, but made a detour to visit the old chief of the Batlaping, Mothibi, who had settled down at a spot about forty miles higher up the river with a portion of the tribe. The people seem at this time to have been much reduced in circumstances, with scarcely food to eat on account of their extreme poverty, not having recovered from the long period of war during which they had deserted the Kuruman. This, however, would not account for their want of hospitality. The Batlaping had always a character for meanness among Bechwana tribes, for the Bechwana generally give what they have without grudging to strangers. Where there was work to be done for his Master it made no difference to Robert Moffat whether he was well cared for or not, as the following letter will show:

“Kuruman, Thursday, Dec. 2, 1835.” My DEAR Mary, — It is with gratitude that I sit down to record to you the goodness of our Heavenly Father in bringing me back to this place in health and safety. I arrived here about ten o’clock last night with Mosheu. We looked like half-drowned beings, having been exposed to the vehemence of a thunderstorm which lasted from Bok Fontein to near this place. The night was awfully grand, and the rain was heavy on us for more than two hours. Though I suffered a few hardships in my journey I am nevertheless happy indeed that I went, and as a few of the particulars may prove interesting I shall begin where I left you. I did not part with you in that comparatively easy frame of mind in which I left you for the former journey. Poor Jimmy and Johnny were entirely unconscious of the pain we felt. On reaching the opposite bank of the river I felt somewhat relieved. I galloped nearly all the way to Campbell, so that I reached Mr. B.’s house with good daylight. Many a look I gave to your waggons, at least to the dust they occasioned, which I still saw when I had arrived opposite Abram’s house. I felt that evening no inclination to think or speak.

“Next day, the 27th, through the kindness of Cornelius, I proceeded with three horses and a guide to Mothibi. The day was hot and the journey long, upwards of forty miles. I reached the place a little before sunset. I had no sooner alighted in the public yard than the people flocked to see me, as if I had dropped from the clouds. Mahuto seemed greatly delighted. (Mothibi was absent at Taung with Mahura.) Though she has suffered and is not strong, she has still the same appearance she had when you last saw her; indeed her countenance seemed to me more intelligent and interesting, and especially her conversation. Many were her inquiries about you and the children. Thus it continued till moonlight, when she brought a little thick milk. She then with many others begged me to tell them about God and their souls. ‘We are great sinners, we are ignorant,’ were the words which fell from the lips of many alternately. Mahuto ordered the congregation to assemble. I addressed them from ‘How shall ye escape, &c.’ All were attentive; every eye seemed to continue fixed on me. The night was a little cloudy, and the pale moonlight falling on my swarthy audience, which was all silence, rendered the scene impressive and solemn. I think I continued speaking for nearly an hour. After they had dispersed, several spoke to me about their souls. It was with difficulty I could reach the loloapa, about twenty yards distant, where I was to sleep. One robust young fellow interrupted me, and repeated with clearness passages he had heard read in the Gospel of Luke, which had been blessed in turning his attention to the concerns of his soul. ‘Believe me,’ he said, grasping my hand, ‘I prayed earnestly to God this very morning that He might send some one to teach my soul; and God has heard my prayer.’ On entering the loloapa I laid me down on a mat, as you may conceive much tired. Mahuto sat a long time, and talked freely on a variety of subjects, and assured me that if she had her will in the government of the people they would soon be back at the Kuruman. I told her you would weep tears of joy to see what I had seen. I fell asleep at a late hour on a hard and stony bed — which to me, however, was as if it were a mattress.

tVOH/C ON AN EMP TY S TO MA CH. 1 39

“Long before sunrise I was awoke by Mahuto inquirinor when I should teach. She wished me to begin then and there. I begged for tin;e to think a little. I then had an earnest and attentive congregation of three or four hundred. I felt great liberty and great delight in dispensing the word of eternal life. I often thought how your soul would be rejoiced to have looked on these countenances, on which you have so often seen the vacant stare or scornful sneer, turned into the most devout attention to the great truths of Christianity. I reasoned long with them, and after the service I felt the cravings of an empty stomach, but found on inquiry there was no food. The outposts were at a distance from which milk was expected. I then went down to the Vaal River from the top of a high stony hill on which the town stands, I think about four miles distant. I filled my stomach with water, washed, and by the time I had crossed the sandy plain and reached the summit of the hill I was as thirsty as ever. On my return I was assailed by many of the youths to teach them to read, and repeat hymns. Thus I continued till noon, when I was again called upon to preach. The people collected in the largest Bechwana house I ever saw. Many sat outside. I preached till I was nearly exhausted, and made very solemn appeals to the consciences of the aged, they being the only opposers to the people removing to a missionary station. Many applications were made for a missionary, but of this I could not hold out the shadow of a hope; yea, I assured them that the thing was impossible in their present situation. Finding that I could not obtain any food, I resolved in the evening to leave and visit Simeno’s Town, about eighteen miles lower down on the river. They begged and entreated me to remain, but I could not both for myself and horses, for I never saw one blade of grass.

“I reached Simeno’s about sunset. Many were the salutations. Instant application was made for me to preach. I said, ‘I am killed with hunger.’ Simeno replied that he was wont to have always something to give, but he was ashamed to say that at present he had nothing. Motlanka now looking very old, rose and brought me a goat’s shoulder-blade with a morsel of flesh. I shared it with my guide. The people were instantly assembled, more numerous than at Mothibi’s; and although I could not from the darkness see my audience distinctly, I could perceive that they listened to me for at least an hour with the greatest attention. The night was dark and stormy. Simeno and others talked with me a long time about having a missionary. I gave the same reply as at Mothibi’s. I laid me down wearied and hungry, amidst dust and dirt and vermin, and slept soundly. Next morning application was made for me to preach again, but this I refused on the score of want of food. I was asked to stop, and an ox was killed, of which I was promised a steak; but having thirty or more miles to ride to Campbell, and the horses having nothing to eat, I took leave, and reached Campbell in the afternoon, right glad to eat a hearty meal, for I had fasted nearly two days.

“Next day I started for Daniel’s Kail, about fifty miles. At the pan one horse gave up, for the day had been terribly hot. I left the man with the horse to come on slowly, while I went on if possible to reach the place before the frightful storm which was approaching from the north should intercept me. My horse also gave in, which obliged me to walk. When within five miles of the place, on a plain without a single bush, the lightning struck close to me, and the rain and hail instantly fell in torrents. The knocked-up horse turned his tail to the storm, and I had no alternative but to imitate him, and I sat me down in the middle of the road with my head on my knees. In five minutes I was drenched to the skin, and from a state of perspiration and excessive thirst I was, as it were, instantly launched into an ice-cold bath; but still my thirst continued. I at length proceeded, it still raining till I reached Mosheu’s house — a wretched tempora-y place, as you know, but to me it was a palace. Having no other clothes, and there being many other persons in the house, I had no alternative but to throw off my jacket and waistcoat, and try and dry myself with the rest on by the fire. A cup of tea did me good, and I lay down with my underclothes like a dish-clout. I awoke fresh in the morning. The weather was still unsettled, and I did not leave before ten or eleven o’clock — to finish the last fifty-five miles. We reached Konung, when a heavy thunderstorm came on, which detained us nearly three hours; but the worst was in the evening approaching home, as stated in the beginning of the letter. I am, however, happy to say that, through the mercy of our God, I feel none the worse, which to myself seems wonderful, considering the transitions through which I have gone. I am quite well, not even a cold. Though the house seemed a little doleful, it was delightful to get under a roof and get on dry clothes. Had I the journey to undertake again, I should do it with double cheerfulness.

“By the time I got some tea and had told my tale to Brother Hamilton, who was right glad to see me, it was late. Mr. Edwards also came over to greet. Stiff and tired I laid me down on my lonely bed, but from the tea or the association of ideas I could not sleep.”

’ December 2.yd.” Two days have been taken up preparing another sheet of the selection for the press; and to-day ii. has been printed off, so that I again take up my pen half-tired and sleepy, for I was in the ofiice by 5 a.m. I must first tell you that your letter from the salt-pan came to hand, and it was not only one drop of comfort but a thousand, for I really felt anxious to hear something about you and our dear children. You cannot think how much the particulars of your letter rejoiced my heart. Your welfare, and your meeting with our trusty friend the doctor, made me weep tears of gratitude to the Father of all our mercies. Blessed be His name! But now I have another anxiety. You said the Orange River was full; and David Bergover has just been here, and he says that you, the expedition, Hume and the Boers, are still on this side of the river. Though I make allowance for David’s tales, I cannot help fearing that it may be in some measure the case, which must prove very trying to you. ‘I wish I could fly ’ often fell from my lips. I will hope the best, and continue to believe that the Lord will keep you and bless you....

•’Our American brethren and sisters grow in our esteem, and I think they will be devoted missionaries. None of the sisters are strong or likely to become so. Messrs. Lindley and Venables have resolved to leave this for Mosega some time next month, in order to get the house put in order. They will likely be absent for at least three months. Dr. Wilson remains here with the ladies. The brethren are now making preparations. They will also print a few lessons in the Setebele language from the words they have collected. Frederick and Baba have engaged to go with them, and others are willing to go. They are all in good spirits. They are often at this side of the village, and of course we see each other many times in a day. We feel happy in aiding them in every way we can. Their undertaking is an arduous one, and they need our sympathy and prayers. They have a glorious Leader and an almighty King. Trials they will have, but the cause will prevail.

“As far as I am able to judge, the work of the Lord is still progressing here. A great work is yet to be done. What has been accomplished is only like a handful of corn. May it shake as Lebanon! I am beginning to think, since I visited Mothibi’s, that we want in zeal. The work of conversion, or endeavours to convert sinners, is not so much the primary object of our souls as it ought to be. If I speak for myself I must say that I do not feel that sympathy for the awful condition of my fellow-men which their state ought to excite in every Christian bosom. When I look at the Man of Sorrows, His toilsome days and midnight prayers, and the burning zeal of the first ministers of the gospel, I feel as if I had not the same mind or spirit. There was no abatement of their zeal till they had finished their course with joy.”

Mary Moffat to her Father.

“Port Elizabeth, A/>ril 14, 1836.” My last was written to you in October, after the arrival of my dear Robert from his journey to Mosilikatse. The expedition arrived in November, having been obliged to return, after getting just within the tropics, from failure of oxen. They got no further than some of our travellers have done before; but I expect Dr. Smith will be able to interest the scientific world. I see from the papers that people at the Cape are enthusiastic about it, not only with regard to the objects of science, but the relations of the native tribes with the Colony. We left the Kuruman on the 19th of November; Robert accompanied us to the Vaal River, over which we walked dry shod, and, finding it so low, we never dreamed of getting the Orange River in flood; but so it was, and I was compelled to lie on the banks of that mighty stream for one round month. I was in company with a Mr. Hume, with whom I had travelled before, preferring to go with him rather than with the expedition. Mr. Hume rendered me every possible assistance, but my health being in such a delicate state I could not but suffer much from the extreme heat and exposed situation, and was severely tried, often hesitating whether to return. Frequently were we tantalized with the prospect of being able to ride through ’ to-raorrow, but as sure as to-morrow came the river rose again, till all hope was gone, and we came at last to the conclusion to cross on a raft, some Boers higher up having commenced so doing. We joined a party of them, and got over very well. There were eighteen waggons altogether, and with hard labour we got everything over that frightful river in less Hian three days without a single accident. How much have we to be thankful for! and it was gratifying to find that for all I had endured I was no worse, but rather better. Perhaps being obliged to take it easily was in my favour, for it was impossible to be active through the day for want of shade, and by the time the sun was down my strength was all gone, so that I could not walk, except to the water’s edge and back.

“The raft was a much better conveyance than I had supposed. It was made of four or five willow trees tied together with bark of the river thorn, and again two or three trees tied across underneath. To this they fastened a strong rope of bullock’s hide on either side, and then able-bodied men drew it at their pleasure back and forwards from one bank to the other. They chose a narrow place between rocks which were convenient for landing. It was eighty yards across; but where we had lain so long, hoping to ride through, it was five hundred yards across. Each waggon was brought over piecemeal in two trips, and the contents afterwards. It was a time of great anxiety to me, the river being tremendously deep, but the Lord my God graciously heard and answered my prayers, and exceeded all my expectations. We recommenced our journey on the 4th of January, and arrived in Grahamstown the latter end of the month; but finding myself extremely weak, it was judged proper for me to get to the sea coast as soon as possible. I got my children from Salem, and went down in company with Mr. and Mrs. Monro to a place called the Kowie, on the borders of Kafirland. I was obliged to return before I had been there three weeks, but found my strength much recruited.

“My oxen have suffered so much that I could not get away from Grahamstown again till the beginning of the last month, and even then I was obliged to leave one waggon, which necessitates my returning that way. And now I am detained here for want of a suitable conveyance for the children to the Cape, all the vessels which have left hitherto being destitute of female passengers who could take charge of them. I am, however, congratulated by all my friends here for the necessity that is laid upon me to stop, as my health is daily improving.”

Mary Moffat had come to the resolution to send the three elder children to school at the Cape. It was, as things went in those days, a great venture, but her faith was also great.

“Port Ei.izaprth, May 2, 1836.

“My dear Ror.ERT, — No doubt you are perfectly amazed to see

the date of this, but be assured it has not been my fault that I am not

now at least at Cradock; but for your consolation I now inform you

that if my Heavenly Father does not again see fit to cross my plans,

I hope to be at the Kuruman about the end of June, but not one day sooner; it is impossible. I wrote to you just four weeks ago, since which my patience has had a severe trial in detention against my will. Three weeks ago I took a passage for the children, when they were to sail in a few days, and only last Friday was the final day. The Monday before I was getting terribly impatient, but suddenly got a check. Mary was taken very ill on Monday evening; her symptoms were so violent that she was twice bled, and had to take much medicine. You may in some degree conceive of my anxiety expecting every hour to be called on board. During the whole of Tuesday I was harassed with messages that the ship was to sail. On Wednesday I was kept in the same state of agitation, besides grief on Mary’s account, want of sleep, and excessive fatigue. The captain having assured me the day before that I should have timely warning I tried to keep myself easy, though some of my friends urged me to be off; but knowing the anxiety of the passengers, I viewed it all as report, foolishly trusting to the captain’s promise, which he forgot. All the passengers were on board, when good old Mr. Kemp came and assured me that the vessel was to sail before morning. The moon had now risen. It was just time to put the little ones to bed. Mary was altogether unfit to go, and I had no alternative but to pack up and get the others away without her. Mrs. Atkinson and Mrs. Chalmers, who were here, agreed to stop with Mary, and Mrs. Robson and I went on board accompanied by the good old gentleman. I make no attempt to describe my feelings. The very evening, fine, still, clear, and a full moon beaming on the water: it was enough to produce a sentimental feeling, but I had little time for this. Deep perplexity and consideration of the mystery of this providence absorbed much of my thoughts. I left the two dear children in comfortable circumstances and in good company, among them Mr. Thomson, of Grahamstown, who assured me of paying them ever>’ attention as the father of a family. When we left the vessel they were speaking of drawing up the anchor, and just as the evening gun went off the captain passed us in the last boat. “Two or three times in the night I arose to try if I could see the Briton, but the light was not suicient. In the morning, however, I saw a vessel had made out and was opposite Cape Receife, and supposed it was she. About ten o’clock, however, Mr. Robson came, out of breath, to tell me the Briton was still in the bay, and the wind contrary. This was good news to me, as there was still a chance of getting Mary away should she be detained another night. Thursday evening I went down to Mr. Kemp and begged of him to order a boat to be in readiness to-morrow morning should there be any signs of the Briton sailing. As Mary continued to recover, I now began to hope; and, after committing the matter to the Father of mercies, laid me down quite composed, concluding that if the vessel were away before daylight it was for some gracious reason, and if not, I should certainly get her on board. As soon as day dawned I went to the window to see, but all was still. I lay down again, but was soon roused, hearing that Mr. Chick wanted me. He told me the vessel would soon be off. I sent for Mrs. Robson, and we soon got Marv up and a chair prepared for her. She walked part of the way, and was carried through the sand. The ship was now under weigh, and we followed her about four or five miles. Mary bore it well. My mind was greatly relieved by finding Ann and Robert perfectly happy. The ship was out of sight early in the afternoon. It is now stormy, and I think much of Cape Lagulhas, but am enabled to hope m that mercy which has always attended us.”

Mary Moffat to her Father.

“KURUMAN, yufy l8, 1836.

I wrote to you some time in April at Port Elizabeth while waiting for the sailing of the vessel which was to convey our children to the Cape. On the 8th of May I, with my three little ones, left that place for Grahamstown, where we arrived on the 13th. I remained there until the following post day to have the satisfaction of hearing of the children, which, through the kindness of our Heavenly Father, I did. They had rather a dangerous passage of eleven days, but were well and in good spirits. On the evening of the same day I left Grahamstown for home, and had a pretty comfortable journey, having been favoured with very fine weather for the season, never having suffered from the cold. Having before I left Port Elizabeth written to my dear Robert to tell him about what time I expected to be at the Orange River, he providentially received the letter, and left home on horseback to meet me there. I arrived at the last farmhouse close to the river on the 15th of June about two o’clock in the afternoon, and about five he arrived 1 This circumstance was rather surprising, as such an occurrence is very rare in this country where travellers meet with such a variety of incidents to cross their plans. I had been particularly anxious that I might meet him there, though I considered there were many probabilities against me, and could not but consider it a special providence towards us. The formidable river was again to be crossed, though then fordable with waggons; but the water was pretty high, having never run off entirely since I was floated over. I had had to buy sheep and cows from the farmers, and all these would have been an increase to my cares in crossing, which I did not need; therefore Robert’s arrival was most seasonable to me in every light of the subject. And thus to meet again in circumstances of health and comfort was certainly enough to overwhelm us with gratitude to our gracious Benefactor; and we came on our way rejoicing in that goodness which so graciously led us and protected us in our separation.

“We found all well here. Two of the American brethren with their wives had gone to their station at Mosega, the spot where the French brethren commenced, and where Mosilikatse now lives — at least occasionally. Mr. Lindley left to follow them on the 14th, so that we consider that mission now fairly commenced. Mr. Lemue is prospering at Motito. Patience and perseverance are two essential qualities in a missionary in this country, without which no one will succeed.

“We are now experiencing some heavy trials. Some of our church members have grievously departed from the path of rectitude, and this produces in our mind great jealousy over others who are making a profession, and makes us slow about encouraging them, lest they also should wound the cause. There are many candidates of long standing, but in general they do not give the satisfaction they ought. Their natural apathy is a great barrier to their improvement. The school is not flourishing as it was, and we can scarcely account for it, except that some few families have left the place on account of the discipline which it has been necessary to exercise.

“The translating and printing are going on. The Scripture lessons which were in hand are finished, a volume of 443 pages. The Assembly’s Catechism is also in print and in use; readers are increasing in every direction. A man was here last week to fetch away his daughter to go and teach the people at Mothibi’s to read. She is a clever girl, and has lived all her life on the station, and we doubt not will instruct them well.”