Mary Moffat Again Journeys to the Coast

It was home, but home without its chief attraction. Moffat found himself quite alone at Kuruman. The Ashtons were away, and his own wife had gone to the Colony to meet one of her daughters returning from school in England. She had been obliged to continue her journey much further than she had originally contemplated, had met with unusual hindrance and difficulty, and had not been able to return in time to meet her husband and to welcome him from his long and interesting expedition.

“Port Elizabeth, October g, 1854.

“I now begin to fear that I shall not be at home to receive you, which grieves me much. Hitherto I have written nothing to you, from a conviction that I should be in time, but it may be otherwise. Livingstone’s destiny being so involved in obscurity, you may turn back before you reach the Zambezi. The extract I now enclose with this to Frddoux was taken from last week’s papers, and gave me great joy to see that he was alive in April last, and that this information, having come through the Portuguese, there was no fear of their doing him any harm. Should you arrive at Motito before this letter, you will have had some items of news, though I have not been able to write much to any one; for what with the fatigue of travelling, unpleasant weather, and having everything to think of, it has been impossible. It is a great tax on my strength to have to talk so much; to tell over and over again all about you and your journey as well as my own, with all the whys and wherefores. With a few more intelligent I have to expatiate on the probable results of your journey, and Livingstone’s reasons for adopting the course he has done. All this fatigues me exceedingly; both head and chest suffer.

“You will see from letters sent to the Frddouxs that I came here to meet Betsy, and have, blessed be God, met her in perfect health and safety....

“She is now full of ardent aspirations after meeting you, but we are detained — waiting for her luggage. This is the twelfth day since they landed, and only this morning is a little of it come, and now there is such a swell that the boats cannot work. I was to leave to-day, vi& Bethelsdorp, to see the Kitchingmans, and am getting oxen from them to take me back to Wilmot’s, where I left Robert’s, because they were sore-footed and could not come on. This was occasioned by heavy rains when I was among the hills.

“I feel unhappy at the thought of not being at home as soon as you, and all is so dark about you; your last date which has come to hand is July 13th. Well 1 patience must have its perfect work. We cornmenced this sort of suffering at Dukinfield Nursery, and it looks as if we should continue much in such feelings to the end of our lives. The last six months have been very trying in this respect — all things dark and obscure; my mind has been like a bow at the full stretch — you and Livingstone at one end, Mary and Betsy at the other. I felt sometimes as if the string was too tight, but was wonderfully sustained. I felt more hopeful than is my habit, much encouragement in prayer; you know I am not very imaginative, at least where you come, but have generally pictured you and poor Livingstone both surrounded by the angels of God (Psalm xxxiv. 7) in your encampments. My heart has been especially drawn out for the extension of the Redeemer’s kingdom as a result of the journeys of you both. God can of the stones raise up seed unto Abraham, and if you are only able to leave the impression on some minds that they are immortal beings and accountable creatures, you will have been instrumental of doing a great work.

“You will have heard that your worthy and beloved mother has done with all sorrow and pain, and got to her rest. Now, my dear Robert, you will think my mind poorly prepared for trial, taking as I do the most cheerful view of things. Well, I have the promise, ‘As thy day, so shall thy strength be.’ Be assured I shall lose no time on the road.”

In his solitude on his arrival at Kuruman the tidings reached him that his mother had passed away at the age of eighty-four. The event was naturally not unexpected. She had been a good mother to him, and he could not forget it. It was a great comfort to him that, though it had not been his privilege to watch over her declining years, she had been well cared for by his brother Richard, who had never left her since his father’s death, and was with her till the last. She died as she had lived, a godly and consistent woman, whose faith found a sure resting-place in the eternal realities.

Mary Moffat to Miss Braithwaite.

“Kuruman, June 8, 1855.” It certainly becomes me to spare a little time to acknowledge all your kindness and that of the dear Kendal friends, but I am too ready

2IO LETTER TO FRIENDS AT KENDAL.

to frame excuses for myself, and have been doing so lately, promising to write after the arrival of the box which you sent off last July. This came to Algoa Bay in the same vessel as our daughter Bessie, whom I had gone thither to meet; but as there is no jetty at that port, and the surf sometimes runs very high for weeks together, we had to leave before it was landed, just leaving orders that it and some other luggage should be sent by carriers to Colesberg. Since then, the Vaal River having been impassable for months, there has been little communication between the Colony and this. The box, however, came to hand about a month ago, having been floated over on a raft, and caught a little water about four or five inches deep; happily, however, the least valuable things were at the bottom....

“I must not pass by the little notes accompanying the various parcels. Truly they do our hearts good, and strengthen our hands in the work in which we are engaged, seeing how many hearts are sympathising with us, and sending up their fervent petitions for a blessing on that work, and sighing for the redemption of the people among whom we live. We sometimes fear that poor degraded Africa is forgotten among the many objects which engross the public mind, but such communications as we have had from you and the Kendal friends show us our mistake and revive our hopes....

“A little before this time last year circumstances seemed to indicate that my husband ought to seek relaxation in a journey, and the reiterated entreaties of that savage king Mosilikatse that he would once more visit him seemed to us both like a call in Providence to direct his steps thither in preference to visiting the civilized world, as then he would have numerous opportunities of scattering the precious seed among the various tribes through which he would have to pass, besides the possible good which might result from his visit to the Matebele. Again, as we could hear nothing of Livingstone, and were assured that his supplies must be exhausted, it would afford an opportunity of ascertaining where he was, and at the same time of forwarding to Linyanti such things as he required. Just when the matter hung in doubtful scale two very respectable young traders arrived in the hope that Mr. Moffat would go, that they might thus have an introduction through him to the Matebele. As regards my own opinion, I no longer doubted of the propriety of his going, as my only objection had been to his going alone, for fear of the fever so prevalent in the tropics; and his own inclination being decidedly in favour of the measure, it was soon decided, and he left this in May.

“Feeling that I too required a change of air, it was decided before he left that I should go as far as Colesberg as soon as I heard from him from the Backwena. Waiting for this I did not leave till the 15th of July, which was providential, for had I got away sooner, I should have returned before the (to me) important intelligence reached me that, though Mrs. Livingstone was not coming, my younger daughter Bessie was. Just when all was ready for my journey home I heard this, and at once started for Port Elizabeth, where we arrived within three days of each other. Now, fearing that my husband might come home to an empty house, I made my journey as rapidly as swollen rivers would allow me. We were detained three weeks at the Orange River and one month at the Vaal, and thus after all my haste he was at home first, and had to come and help us over the river. Then, indeed, we had a season of great joy as a family, on havmg reached the northern bank of that mighty stream. Our dear child had been brought in safety over the stormy ocean after nearly seven years’ absence. My dear husband had travelled seven hundred miles north-east of this, through savage beasts and savage men, and had been brought back again in perfect safety and improved health, after being permitted to make known the word of eternal life to perishing thousands who had never heard before of a Saviour or of a Supreme Being at all. My journey too had been attended with difficulties and dangers, out of all of which the Lord had delivered us. Added to these mercies during our stay at the river, a paper came to hand announcing the arrival of our poor Livingstone at Loanda just when I had been indulging fears. You will be able to conceive of our feelings at such a season, what abundant cause of thankfulness we had, yea, and still have, for we seem to wonder more and more on the retrospect.

“As my husband had sent home copious extracts from his journal, the most interesting parts of which will likely be published by the Directors, it would be superfluous for me to give anything here except to remark that after so much providential leading and guidance in both our journeys, we think there is much to indicate the Divine approbation, and we fondly hope the results will be such as shall eventually redound to the glory of God. There is something very remarkable in the uncommonly strong attachment of the poor savage Mosilikatse to my husband — an attachment which has lasted for twenty-three years — and we cannot help thinking that this circumstance is to be overruled for some great object.”

Robert Moffat to Dr. Bruce, of Newcastle.

June 9, 1855.

It is long since I wrote to you, it being now more than a twelvemonth since I left for my interior journey, which occupied seven months....

“I have resumed the translation of the second volume of the Old Testament — a work at which I never tire, and only regret that I have so many interruptions. I have just laid the MS. aside with the resolution to write to you by an unexpected opportunity to the Colony. We heard through John some time since that you had visited Rome. How much I should like to sit in Percy Street and hear you talk for a couple of hours about what you saw in that strange city! In reading about it, there are so many things which arise in the mind, about which one would like to ask questions. According to some students of prophecy it is one day to be destroyed or swallowed up by a fiery deluge. If so, one must feel thankful that you have got out of it agaia What an awful conflagration has been witnessed in your town! A stray number of the Illustrated News came, with drawings of the terrible scenes which, though on paper, appeared quite frightlul enough

How uncertain are all human prospects, and how ignorant we are as to where danger really exists!...

“You have my hearty thanks for your ‘Roman Wall,’ which came safe at last, after having been long on the road. How it rivets one’s thoughts to the interesting incidents of the past 1 How nobly the Romans acted in their warlike expeditions, if such may be called noble. They carried their civilization, their arts, and their devotion to their gods with them; they left marks of improvement wherever they planted their eagles. You must have had much labour, but the completeness of the work must yield no little sati’^faction....

“I found all the tribes in the interior at peace; at least there was no active warfare. That the Transvaal Boers and the aborigines will live in peace, is what we have long since ceased to expect; nor will the former ever rest till they have driven the latter beyond their reach, or reduced them to abject vassalage. The condition of these is still more hopeless, since the abandonment of the sovereignty, since which the inhabitants unite with the Transvallians in helping on the work of extermination”

Robert Moffat to one of his Children.

“August 20, 1856.” In taking up the pen to write to you, according to promise, I shall endeavour to give you an account of my present labours, that you may form a tolerably correct idea of the difficulty I find in obtaining time to write letters. Doubtless you are by this time pretty well acquamted with the difficulties attendant on the translation of the sacred oracles into a language but lately reduced to writing; but these difficulties also increase or diminish according to the circumstances of the translator. Of course it is a work which demands all the time and pains which can possibly be bestowed upon it, and after all may not come up to what may be desired. Here I am, and have been among a people whose wants are endless, and whose demands on my time are incessant and uncertain as the course of the wind. Many, many are the times I have sat down and got my thoughts somewhat in order, with pen in hand to write a verse, the correct rendei-ing of which I had just arrived at, after wading through other translations and lexicons, when one enters my study with some complaint he has to make, or counsel to ask, or medical advice, and medicine to boot, a tooth to be extracted, a subscription to the auxiliary to be measured or counted; or one calls (as at the present moment) to say he is going towards the Colony, and wishes something like a passport; anon strangers from other towns, and visitors from the interior arrive, who all seem to claim a right to my attentions. Here we cannot so easily ring the bell and bow visitors to the front door. More generally they expect entertainment of a tangible character. Repairs want doing or superintending; the general concerns of the station devolve upon myself. I have to correspond with native teachers, and to see their wants supplied — all these, and twenty other things of a similar kind, leave very little time indeed at my command or that of your mother. Public services and visits to out-stations of course demand their share. The worst is that all or most of these interruptions dart on one with the uncertainty of a shooting star, and render the appropriation of time as devious as tha flight of the bat. When I take up a newspaper, it is only to glance at it with a feeling like that of committing sacrilege. I have sometimes been arrested with something interesting, and have read it with ten or more strokes in the minute added to my pulse, from the anxiety caused by the conviction that I am spending precious time apart from its paramount object while I feel perfectly composed over anything which I am satisfied has a direct bearing on the true object of the missionary. As I have a small mechanical bump in some corner of my head. I feel a rehef occasionally in mending an article, or it may be a gun-lock for some needy body; but I cannot imitate the musical souter, whose picture I have seen, holding his chin in one hand, while he is whistling a tune to a new-made shoe he is holding up with the other, with the violin and flute at his side to vary the exercises of the last. Every time I make a halt from such causes in the course of my duties I feel as if I must endeavour to make up in some way for the loss. The moment I have finished any little job I throw down my tools and am back to my work, so that my little workshop would beat any Irishman’s garret you ever saw; but it does not incommode me any more than confusion in my study. Your mother has some difficulty at times to get permission to brush out my study, for it is visited by all sorts of people, some of whom are neither brushed nor buttoned, independently of the dusty character of the country....

“With regard to the Bechwana Mission our present prospects are anything but bright. This arises principally from the pressure of foreign influence. It is the time of ebb with us, and has been for some time past. Few have been added to our churches, notwithstanding the increase of means in the way of books and, I might add, good congregations and attentive hearers. There is a general deadness over which we mourn. We feel we need the kindling influences of the Holy Spirit. The public mind has been greatly soured by the policy of our Government towards the native tribes on the northern border, who have never given the shadow of a reason for being so dealt with. The odious powder ordinance, put into force to meet the wishes of the inhabitants of the Free State and of the Transvaal Republiq precludes the natives from procuring a single ounce of ammunition, either to defend themselves or to kill their own game. This is tantamount to depriving them of their arms that they may become an easy prey to their enemies. The members of our churches of course know that this is no fault of ours, though we are sadly ashamed of it, and can no more open our mouth to say a single word in favour of our nation, once so respected and honoured by the aborigines.

“The conclusions drawn by the heathen are very natural: viz., that the English connive at their extermination. This has an indirect but powerful influence in prejudicing them against everything emanating from that quarter; but we know that this, like other things which the gospel has had to contend with, is destined to fall at the Divine mandate. Though compared to the teeming millions of the Eastern world the tribes are small, yet there is a large population speaking the language in which the whole of the oracles of God will shortly be printed. The gospel has already been made the power of God to the salvation of many of them, and while we know that Jehovah’s hand is not shortened, nor His ear heavy, we continue to hope that the mental desert will yet rejoice and blossom as the rose.

“Hitherto the progress of the gospel has been, as it has always been, among the poor and middling sort of folks. Our chiefs are sordid and sottish. Yantye of Lekatlong is one who has influence, but he has not much energy. However, he has around him a Christian community, under the ministrations of our worthy brother, Helmore. Though there may be a solitary village whose chief might refuse a native instructor, there is no chief in the whole country, from here to the Zambezi River, that would refuse the services of a missionary. Pity that Sechele is so beset with difficulties from the Transvaal Boers, for he is the most intelligent and energetic of all the chiefs, and he is resolved not to retrograde, as he is now building a chapel or school-house on his mountain, which is surrounded by many thousands of Bakwena and other tribes who have fled from the iron rod of the Boers. Surely all these souls cannot be left to perish!”