I fell asleep to dream of the African church of the future in this new fatherland of their race.
Already under the steady pressure of white settlement large numbers of Natives have been driven into this Reserve and month after month there are fresh arrivals. In the old days the L. M. S. was ever to the front as the pioneer Society in the evangelization of South Africa. In these days it is looking forward to establishing a new mission station in this Reserve, unless prevented by the great deficiency and the lukewarmness of the Home Churches.
From Shangani I returned to Inyati, the station where Mr. Bowen Rees has laboured so long and faithfully. He was away on furlough at the time of my visit. During my stay there I was reminded of some of the minor inconveniences—not to say dangers—of a missionary’s life. One evening while we were sitting on the verandah a snake paid us a visit, while the next day a cobra was caught in the woodstack close at hand.
I inspected the school and attended a large gathering in the Church of Christians from Inyati and its outstations. Most of the adults squatted on the floor with their families around them. The naked babies tumbled over each other in their playful frolics, or slept on their mothers’ backs while I was trying to speak to their parents.
From Inyati Mr. Helm drove me to Insiza, formerly a station of the Society. On the following morning I left at 4 a.m. by train for Bulawayo, where I proceeded to Marula Tank Siding en route for the new Arthington station at Tjimali, where our Missionary, Mr. Whiteside, met me. A drive of twenty miles in the mule cart brought us to the Mission House, which is beautifully situated in the midst of granite kopjes which form the western spur of the Matopo Hills. The view is magnificent. The garden terminates in a forbidding precipice some hundreds of feet deep. On one side of the house is a lofty rocky hill which commands a wide stretch of mountainous country in all directions with intervening valleys, and plains and hills. There are, however, drawbacks to Tjimali as a residence. The baboons are very numerous in the immediate neighbourhood and go about in herds of forty or fifty and rob the gardens in the day time. The wild cats steal the chickens at night. The eagles carry off the lambs, and the insect life is super-abundant. Tjimali is the Society’s newest station in Matebeleland and the work is in its early stages. There are ten outstations, at each of which there is a native teacher who conducts school during the week and acts as pastor-evangelist on Sundays, preaching and holding classes for inquirers. The work is bright with promise and is reaching the miners who are settling in the outskirts of the district.
From Tjimali I journeyed by cart to Dombodema, a long day’s drive of fifty-eight miles. My experience that day illustrates one of the disadvantages of the new mode of travel in South Africa. I had been driven to the Marula Siding to catch the train for Plumtree, the station for Dombodema. On arrival there I found that on the previous day the time for the starting of the train had been put forward four hours without any notice whatever to the public or even the station master, and hence there was nothing for it but to drive the whole distance. On the way I was met by Mr. Cullen Reed, the Dombodema missionary, who has been at work there since the foundation of the station in 1895. Mr. Reed has to carry on his work in three languages and has to itinerate a parish of 3,000 square miles inhabited by 15,000 people. On each side of the Mission station are low picturesque kopjes. The day before I arrived Mr. Reed had killed a snake fifteen feet long in the garden.
Preachers, teachers and Christian workers had come in from the outstations for the meeting. Three of them had travelled all the way from Nekati, a distance of 150 miles. At this place Segkome Khama lives. He is the eldest son of Khama, the famous Chief of the Bamangwato tribe. For the Sunday service the Church was crowded, the congregation sitting on the floor, and some scores more finding seats under the shadow of a great fig tree outside the door. The Service was conducted in two languages. In the afternoon an impressive Communion Service was held.
On leaving Dombodema I proceeded south to Serowe, spending two days on the way at the British Residency, Francistown, as the guest of Major Daniel, the Assistant Commissioner for the Northern half of the Bechuanaland Protectorate. My visit to Serowe was one of my most interesting experiences in South Africa. Leaving Phalapye Road railway station at 3.20 a.m. in the faint light of the waning moon I started on the cart ride of thirty-five miles to Serowe. The cart was drawn by eight fine mules kindly put at my disposal by the Government. It was the dustiest ride I have ever experienced, in many places the road being several inches deep in sand and dust. The dust of the Plain of Chihli in North China makes an impression on the memory which it is not easy to forget, but the drive to Serowe was a more trying experience, because eight galloping mules travel much faster than the sorry beasts which draw the Peking carts of North China. About three miles from Serowe we saw a cloud of dust ahead and there emerged from it a company of horsemen whom Khama had sent to escort me. A mile further on the whole veldt seemed to be enveloped in a mighty dust-storm. When it reached us we stopped. Khama had come in person with some hundreds of horsemen. The old Chief sprang from his saddle like a man of 26 rather than a man of 76. He joined me in the cart and we renewed our drive. The horsemen galloped before and behind and on either side. The drivers thrashed their mules with two whips to force them to keep pace with the horsemen. A regular stampede ensued. Fresh detachments of Natives, all mounted on fine steeds, joined the cavalcade every two or three minutes. The Chief thoroughly enjoyed the fun and laughed heartily as the horses of the various members of our escort kept cannonading against one another in the mad rush.
Serowe, the largest Native town in South Africa, contains about 26,000 inhabitants, and is picturesquely situated. Mr. Jennings, the L. M. S. missionary, has carried on work there for upwards of ten years. It is a typical Bechuana town, having no streets but consisting of numerous collections of native huts within fenced kraals. The position of the Mission House is particularly striking, lying as it does between three great piles of rocks.
The town owes much of its importance to the fact that it is Khama’s capital. This old Chief—the Jubilee of whose baptism was celebrated two years ago—is the most distinguished Native of South Africa. He is undoubtedly one of the busiest men in the world. He spends laborious days in the Kgotla—the great open-air meeting place of the tribe—dealing with all sorts of questions affecting his people, and acting as judge. Nothing concerning the life of the tribe is too minute for his careful attention. He knows all that happens and rules his people with a firm hand, exercising a benevolent despotism.