Story 4--Chapter IV.
Two months had passed by, the waggon was half loaded with ivory, and Mr Vincent had partly recovered from his fever; but all his oxen were dead, and so were nearly half the men he had brought with him. Many of the natives had also died, and great numbers were suffering. It was evident that the low-lying region now occupied by Kanenge and his tribe, intersected as it was by numerous rivers, with swamps in all directions, was very unhealthy. Martin was thankful when his father proposed moving eastward to a higher region.
Kanenge had supplied oxen, which the trader’s surviving followers had been engaged for some time in breaking in. The chief also, confiding in the firearms with which he and his people were to be furnished, agreed to accompany him.
The waggon and goods were transported across the river, and accompanied by Kanenge, with nearly a hundred men, the trader’s party commenced their journey in the proposed direction. Mr Vincent being too weak to walk, was carried in a sort of palanquin, while the rest of the party marched on foot.
After travelling for upwards of a week, the country greatly improving in appearance, they reached a steep hill, up which the waggon was slowly dragged, till at length they found themselves on a wide extent of elevated ground, high above the plain, which stretched away to the southward. Here the air felt pure and comparatively bracing, and Martin at first hoped that his father would recover his strength.
Still, after some days had passed, observing how weak and ill he remained, he could not help fearing that his days were numbered. Should his father die, he would indeed have been in a forlorn condition had he not learned to trust to One who rules all things for the best. He was, therefore, far more anxious about his father than about himself. Each evening, when they encamped, he sat by his side, and having read a portion of Scripture, he endeavoured to turn his father’s thoughts to a future state of existence.
“What, do you think I am likely to die?” asked Mr Vincent one day. “Why do you talk so much about heaven?”
“We have seen many of our companions die, my dear father, and we know how uncertain life is in this country, as it is indeed in all parts of the world, and at all events we should live prepared to quit this life at any moment. Christ has said that we must enter the kingdom of heaven here, we must become His subjects while we are on earth, we must be reconciled to God now, we must be born again; and therefore it is that I am so anxious you should accept His gracious offers, though at the same time I pray that you may be restored to health and strength.”
At first Mr Vincent turned a deaf ear to what his son said, but by degrees his hard heart softened, he saw how earnest and affectionate that son was, and he could not help being aware of his own increasing weakness.
Although he at first thought himself getting better, the disease had taken too strong a hold of him to be thrown off. Martin at length had the infinite satisfaction of finding that his father now listened with deep attention to God’s Word when he read it.
“My dear boy,” he said one day, “I now know myself to be a rebel to God, and grievously to have sinned against His pure and holy laws; and I earnestly desire to accept the gracious offer of mercy which He holds out through the atoning blood of Christ, according to His plan of salvation, which you have so clearly explained to me. I do not know whether I shall live or die, but I pray for grace that I may ever continue faithful to Him who has redeemed me with His precious blood.”
Martin burst into tears on hearing his father thus express himself—they were tears of joy—and he felt the great load which had hitherto oppressed him removed from his heart.
The natives came in to trade, but Mr Vincent was utterly unable to do anything. Had it not been for Martin, who was assisted by Kibo and Masiko, no trade could have been carried on.
At length most of the tusks in the neighbourhood were bought up, and as Mr Vincent had still some goods remaining, he wished to move further on. He was, however, still so ill that he agreed, at the suggestion of his son, to entrust the goods to Kanenge, who promised faithfully to take care of them till his return. He accordingly determined to set out at once, hoping that the air of the desert would restore him to health, and the preparations for the journey being completed, the waggon, with its valuable load of ivory, descended to the plain. Kanenge, with most of his men, escorted it; while Martin and Kibo remained with Mr Vincent, who, should he feel stronger, was to follow the next day on a litter.
Martin’s spirits now revived, and he began to hope that, the journey being commenced, his father would ultimately recover. His chief sorrow was with regard to Kibo. The Makololo chief positively refused to allow him to return. Martin entreated him to remain true to his faith, instead of falling into the ways of his tribe. “Try and instruct them, my dear Kibo,” he said. “Young as you are you may be the means of spreading the glorious truths of the Gospel among them.”
“You pray for me then,” said Kibo. “I poor boy, I very weak, I do nothing by myself.”
“We are all very weak and helpless in God’s work,” said Martin. “If you seek the aid of the Holy Spirit, you will have strength given you.”
“Ah, yes,” said Kibo; “I no trust to myself, and then I strong and do much.”
This conversation took place at the door of the hut.
Martin thought he heard his father call to him. He ran to the side of his couch. Mr Vincent put forth his hand to take that of his son.
“Bless you, my boy,” he whispered; “the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.”
Martin put his arm under his father’s head. The trader’s eyes fixed to the last on his boy, the film of death stole over them, and ere a few minutes had passed he had ceased to breathe.
Kibo left his friend for a time to indulge his grief alone, while he sent off a message to inform Kanenge of Mr Vincent’s death.
Towards evening the next day, instead of the chief, who was expected, Masiko made his appearance. Martin was thankful to have a Christian at such a time with him.
Martin had chosen a spot under a wide-spreading tree for his father’s grave, and Masiko, who had brought some presents to repay the natives, had it dug.
Here the white trader was buried by his orphan son and his two dark-skinned Christian friends.
Kibo had gone back to the village to order Kanenge’s people to prepare for their departure that night, he having received intelligence that a party of their enemies were on the move and approaching the neighbourhood.
Darkness had set in, yet Martin was unwilling to leave the spot till, assisted by Masiko, he had covered the grave over with a thick roof of branches to prevent its being disturbed by savage animals.
He was thus engaged when loud shrieks and cries from the village reached their ears. His impulse was to hasten towards it to find Kibo, that they might, if the placed was attacked, escape together.
“Don’t go,” exclaimed Masiko, grasping Martin’s hand; “you cannot help him, and will be killed or taken prisoner with the rest.”
At that instant several figures were observed rushing towards them.
“Come,” exclaimed Masiko, dragging Martin forward in the direction the waggon had taken. “The enemy will not dare to attack our party armed with guns, and if we can reach them we shall be safe.”
Martin, though anxious to discover his friend, could not help feeling that it would be unwise to return to the village, probably already in the hands of the enemy. He therefore hastened on with his faithful companion, trusting that they would outstrip the foe. He could only hope that Kibo had made his escape, and that he would rejoin them at the waggon. This it was probably the object of the marauding party to have surprised.
They had many miles of rough country to traverse; but, though weary, Martin was unwilling to stop and rest, as it was important to warn Kanenge of what had occurred, that he might move the waggon to a greater distance, or if his force was sufficient, pursue the enemy.