Robert Moffat, the missionary hero of Kuruman

by David J. Deane

In June, 1860, Moffat felt that his work at Inyati was done. He had spared neither labour of mind nor body in planting the Mission, and had endured hardships at his advanced age that younger men might well have shrunk from. The hour approached for him to bid a final farewell to Moselekatse, and once more he drew near to the chiefs kraal, with the purpose of speaking to him and his people, for the last time, on the all-important themes of life, death, and eternity. The old chief was in his large courtyard and received his missionary friend kindly. Together they sat, side by side—the Matabele despot, whose name struck terror even then into many native hearts, and the messenger of the Prince of Peace, the warriors ranged themselves in a semi-circle, the women crept as near as they could, and all listened to the last words of "Moshete." It was a solemn service, and closed the long series of efforts which the missionary had made to reach the hearts of Moselekatse and his people. On the morrow he started for home, which he reached in safety, having been absent twelve months.

Meanwhile, terrible trials had befallen the party who had started to found the Makololo Mission. The difficulties attending their journey to Linyanti were such as nothing but the noblest Christian principle would have induced them to encounter, or enabled them to surmount. The chief of these was the great scarcity of water. One of their trials is thus described:—

"From the Zouga we travelled on pretty comfortably, till near the end of November, when we suffered much from want of water.... For more than a week every drop we used had to be walked for about thirty-five miles. Mrs. Helmore's feelings may be imagined, when one afternoon, the thermometer standing at 107 deg. in the shade, she was saving just one spoonful of water for each of the dear children for the next morning, not thinking of taking a drop herself. Mr. Helmore, with the men, was then away searching for water; and when he returned the next morning with the precious fluid, we found that he had walked full forty miles."

At length, after enduring innumerable difficulties and privations for seven months, they arrived at Linyanti, the residence of the chief Sekeletu. He refused to allow them to remove to a more healthy spot, but proposed that they should live with him in the midst of his fever-generating marshes, and as no better plan offered, they were compelled to accept it. In the course of a week all were laid low with fever. Little Henry Helmore and his sister, with the infant babe of Mr. Price, were the first to die; then followed the heart-stricken mother, Mrs. Helmore; six weeks later Mr. Helmore breathed his last; and the missionary band was reduced to Mr. and Mrs. Price and the helpless orphans. As the only means of saving their lives the survivors prepared to depart, but now the chief threw obstacles in the way of their doing so. Their goods were stolen, their waggon taken possession of; and upon Mr. Price telling the chief that "if they did not let him go soon they would have to bury him beside the others," he was simply told "that he might as well die there as anywhere else."

Finally a few things were allowed for the journey, and the sorrowful party started homeward, Mr. Price very ill, and his wife having lost the use of her feet and legs.

With the scantiest possible provision they had to face a journey of upwards of a thousand miles to Kuruman, but they set forward. Just as they were beginning to take hope after their heavy trials, and to think of renewed efforts for the Lord, Mrs. Price was called to her rest. "My dear wife," wrote the sorrowing husband, "had been for a long time utterly helpless, but we all thought she was getting better. In the morning I found her breathing very hard. She went to sleep that night, alas! to wake no more. I spoke to her, and tried to wake her, but it was too late. I watched her all the morning. She became worse and worse, and a little after mid-day her spirit took its flight to God who gave it. I buried her the same evening under a tree—the only tree on the immense plain of Mahabe. This is indeed a heavy stroke, but 'God is my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.'"

Finally the bereaved missionary was met by Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie, who had started to join the Makololo Mission, and, as all turned their steps towards Kuruman, they were rejoiced by meeting Robert Moffat, who, having heard of the disaster, and that Mr. Price, with the remnant of the party, were on the road, had gone out in search of them. All returned sorrowfully to Kuruman, and the ill-fated Makololo Mission collapsed.

Robert Moffat and his wife watched the progress of the Mission at Inyati with the keenest interest. In it they seemed to live their early life at Lattakoo over again. Their hearts were in the work of the missionaries at that distant station; and, over and above the earnest desire they had to see the work of God prosper among those uncivilised natives, was the tie of kinship, their own flesh and blood being present in the person of their son, John Moffat, who, with his wife, formed a portion of the Matabele Mission. Post-bags and supplies were forwarded by every available opportunity, and warm words of cheer and sympathy from the aged pair at Kuruman encouraged the workers in the far distant region to perseverance in their work for the Lord.

Kuruman served indeed as a home station to which all the interior missionaries could look. The fact of being an interior missionary was sufficient to secure the travel-worn stranger, or friend, a warm welcome and good cheer for weeks together, and none entered more heartily or with deeper sympathy into the plans and endeavours of the wayfarer, or offered more earnest prayers on the behalf of himself and his work, than the tried and faithful couple, Robert and Mary Moffat, who had for so many years borne the burden and heat of the day.

In October, 1861, their daughter Bessie, who was born on board ship in Table Bay, as they were leaving for their first visit to England, married Mr. R. Price, whose wife died the previous year, during that terrible journey from Linyanti, when the Makololo Mission had to be abandoned. Thus as one fell from the ranks, another stepped forward to take the vacant place, and carry on the glorious work for the sake of Him who said, "Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature." The Prices went for a time to Shoshong, hoping to join the Matabele Mission, but finally laboured among the Bakwena, under the chief Sechele.