Twenty years ago the Chief was a great warrior, and often led his tribe to battle; but the coming of the British Government and of the missionaries has changed all that. For fifteen years not a shot has been fired in anger in his country, and the nearest British soldier or policeman is stationed more than a thousand miles away at Bulawayo. Such is the influence of the Pax Britannica in Northern Rhodesia!
On another day we crossed the picturesque Mbereshi river by the ferry in two dug-out canoes, passing through masses of cream and mauve water-lilies, visiting a considerable number of the Mofwe villages, inspecting the schools and receiving the greetings of the Chiefs and Headmen, with whom we exchanged gifts. The villages consist of one wide street, and are almost continuous. The people live on fish and tapioca. At the farthest point at the north end of the Lagoon was a village, on the site of an older moated village, where Livingstone stayed for some weeks when he first visited the district. We interviewed one or two of the old inhabitants, who well remembered seeing him and were able to describe him to us.
After a stay of ten days at Mbereshi we plunged into the forest again and journeyed to Chiengi on the north-east shore of Lake Mweru, which was discovered by Livingstone in the late sixties. On the way we paid a visit to Kashiba, a proposed site for the new station for the Chiengi district. This visit brought home to us very clearly some of the discomforts of Central African travel. After leaving our camp we had to traverse some half-mile of bad swamp, being carried through several stretches of water on the shoulders of our bearers. I used a bicycle, but before we had gone very far a tremendous storm broke and flooded the path. We sought shelter in a hut in one of the villages. There was a fire inside, the smoke from which filled the hut and only partially escaped through the thatch and the door. Except for the glow of the fire and the flashes of lightning seen through the doorway it was perfectly dark. The village street gradually became a raging torrent. After the storm had ceased we pushed on through the long grass, six to ten feet high and laden with water, arching over the narrow winding path. We passed through a succession of villages, and as we neared the site of the proposed station the people, who knew why we were coming and who are most anxious to have a missionary residing amongst them, gave us an ovation. The site overlooks the rapids of the great Kalungwishi river, and a mile away a column of spray indicated the presence of a great waterfall. Another deluge of rain descended as we turned back. I hastened in front on the bicycle and reached the swamp as it was getting dark. The heavy rain had converted it into a lake. I rode along the path until the water was up to the pedals, then I dismounted and pushed the machine. Soon both wheels were under water. It grew deeper and deeper until finally, when the water became breast high, I was obliged to lift the machine and carry it over my head. Such are the joys of travel in Central Africa!
Next day we entered the sleeping-sickness area and crossed the great Game Reserve to get our first sight of Lake Mweru. The day afterwards we arrived at Chiengi, after experiencing the delights of travelling on a narrow path along which for miles elephants had been walking after the rain. Cycling under such conditions is a somewhat trying experience.
The view of Lake Mweru from the verandah of the Native Commissioner’s house at Chiengi is of surpassing loveliness. To the south the lake stretches away as far as the eye can see, bordered on the left side by the forest and on the right by the mountains of the Belgian Congo 25 miles away. Opposite, a little to the south, is Lunza, the beautiful home of Mr. Dan Crawford, the famous author of “Thinking Black.” At one’s feet the water broke in tiny wavelets on the golden sand. Its music was in our ears throughout our stay. The Central African sunset from Chiengi was a sight to be remembered. The sun went down behind a bar of cloud. A purple light, which rapidly turned to green, lit up the western shores of the lake. After the sun had sunk below the horizon there was a perfect blaze of colour over a large portion of the sky, and purple, green and golden light stretched in broad bands above the surface of the lake.
From Chiengi we journeyed to Mpolokoso, the newest of the stations of the L. M. S. in Central Africa, where Dr. McFarlane has a small hospital consisting of eight native huts. Our stay here was curtailed owing to a very serious outbreak of small-pox, nearly half the inhabitants of the village suffering from this scourge. Most of those who were not isolated in the segregation camp had already had the disease. Mpolokoso himself, the Chief of the village, succumbed to it a few days later. The Government officials were using every effort to stay the spread of the disease; all infected huts were at once destroyed by fire, and no one was allowed to enter or leave the village. The thin columns of smoke ascending from the burning huts into the cloudless sky told a pathetic tale. On arrival our carriers were put into custody to prevent them mixing with the people, and every precaution was taken for the safety of ourselves and our men. One felt great sympathy with Mr. Cullen Gouldsbury, the Native Commissioner, upon whom great responsibility rested. Mr. Gouldsbury is a man of many parts. He is in the service of the British South Africa Company’s Administration, and we had many indications of the sympathetic way in which he carried out his duties in looking after the welfare of the natives. Moreover, he is a poet of no mean order, a constant contributor of verse to the columns of the Bulawayo Chronicle, has written a delightful book of poems, is the joint author of “The Great Plateau of Northern Rhodesia,” the most authoritative work on the country through which we were travelling, and last year published a book entitled “An African Year.” He has always been a friend of the Mission, and it will be of interest to quote his testimony from his latest book, as to one of our missionaries and his wife, which is rendered all the more valuable by the fact that Mr. Gouldsbury is himself a Roman Catholic.
“My views upon missionaries and their work, from the general point of view, stand recorded elsewhere. I have no intention of recapitulating them here. Let me rather dwell upon the personal standpoint, as exemplified in the festive little couple who are our neighbours at —— six miles away.
“Let us call them Saunders—since that is not their name, and quite sufficiently unlike it—Joseph Saunders and Jane his wife.
“All missionaries in this country, whether Baptist, Presbyterian, Church of England, or White Fathers, are hard-working, whatever else they may be. Saunders himself is a man hung upon wires, each of which would seem charged with a full circuit of electricity. He and his wife and the sun rise together—a most energetic trio. Before breakfast he has conducted service, taught for an hour or two in the school, visited the workshops and checked the labourers about the station. During the rest of the day he is occupied with blacksmithery, joinery and the like—laid in slabs between other chunks of teaching. As likely as not in the evening he will go out after a buck, for Joseph Saunders is that rara avis among missionaries, a keen hunter; and after dinner if there are people in the house he will play ping-pong till all is blue. Not the ordinary ping-pong, you may be sure; that does not afford sufficient outlet for his exuberant spirits. Kapembwa ping-pong has mysterious rules of its own, such as that the players must bound upon the table between the strokes, or lie flat on the floor between serving and receiving the return. It is a curious game. I can generally stay out two sets, after that Beryl (the author’s wife) and I sit on the sofa and watch Saunders and his wife play.
“As for Mrs. Saunders, she is one of the nicest little women in Africa. Demure, placid, and the very antithesis of Joseph—an adorable touch of Lancashire in her soft drawling speech, and an utter freedom from affectation or pose of any kind—she is the ideal next-door neighbour in Central Africa.