It is difficult to understand the expression of a missionary who visited Matopo some time after the work was started, and who in his own field of labor seemed to have been used of the Lord. He said one day: "I cannot say that I love these people. I do not love that child," pointing to a little girl at some distance in front of him, "but I realize that Christ loves them and desires them to be saved, hence my work among them." This seemingly cold sense of duty may answer. If, however, the pagan African once realizes that disinterested love prompts our treatment of him, he is generally most pliable and teachable. Without something of the Divine love work among them must be hard indeed, for there are so many trying things to be met with day by day.
After a time it was discovered that the donkeys might be made use of in kraal visiting. I well remember our first experience at this mode of travel. We had no saddles, so we placed blankets on the backs of the donkeys and fastened them with surcingles of our own manufacture. Sister Heise was an expert rider, while I was quite the reverse. Our first trip was to a kraal about five miles distant, the home of the chief, Hluganisa. Two boys, Matshuba and Sihlaba, accompanied us as guides. All went well on the trip over. We were very kindly received by the people and afforded an opportunity to give them the Gospel. The village was up among the rocks, and as donkeys are expert climbers they had no difficulty in making the ascent, or descent, either, but on the return journey I could not keep my place, and was sent over the donkey's head on to the ground. My companion, when she saw that no harm was done, rather considered the accident as a good joke, and I joined in the laugh at my own expense. The boys failed to see any fun in it, and seemed greatly to resent the laughter.
Some time after this we made another journey of about the same distance in the opposite direction. The reason for this second visit was as follows: Among our pupils was a nice, modest-looking girl about twelve years of age. She belonged to Mapita's family, and seemed to be an affectionate and well-behaved child. She was absent from school for a few days, and on inquiring we learned that she had gone to the home of her intended husband. Greatly shocked, we made further inquiry, and were told that Mapita had sold her to a man who had already one wife, and that he lived about five miles away. It was our first experience with heathen marriage, and we determined to hunt her up and if possible release her. We looked upon this child as a slave or prisoner.
Taking the donkeys and our two boys, we again started out one morning. The path was not familiar, even to our guides. It wound around among the rocks and we were in great danger of being lost. Immense boulders were piled up in all sorts of fantastic shapes, and a white person could easily be lost among the hills and perhaps never find his way out, but the native will always find his way. Once we found ourselves on the top of a nearly perpendicular rock, and dismounting reached the bottom only with great difficulty. The boys inquired the way of a native in his garden, but he regarded us with suspicion and remained silent. Since the close of the rebellion, when the natives hid themselves among these rocks, they have been very suspicious of white people, for fear some one may desire to capture them. It was only after repeated assurances by the boys that we were missionaries, and their friends, that he consented to direct us.
Finally we reached the home of Buka, the man who had taken little Lomanzwana. His kraal was situated up among the rocks in one of nature's fortresses. Here, in this desolate place, in the midst of densest heathendom, was the girl. Her husband was a cripple and very pagan looking. But what could we do amid such rock-bound customs as held these people? Nothing. With hearts lifted to the Lord in prayer we tried to point them to the Lamb of God. The man regarded us with wild-looking eyes, and listened with seemingly dull, uncomprehending ears to our stammering tongues. When he was asked a question, he looked at those about him and wanted to know what sort of an answer the missionary desired; then he would answer accordingly. In another hut was a very old woman, the mother of Buka, who was an imbecile and was fed like an animal. We retraced our steps with heavy hearts, but for many a day the memory of that visit haunted us.
As for the girl, the man did not pay sufficiently promptly to satisfy Mapita, so he finally took her home. Later she was sold to a man who paid a large sum. Here they quarreled and the girl returned home, and the pay had to be given back. It is needless to say that the girl was thoroughly demoralized by this time. She was finally disposed of to another man.
In February, 1899, Matshuba came to stay at the mission and attend school. Ever since the mission had opened he had been a great help to us in acquiring the language, and as he could understand us more readily, he often explained our meaning to others. He knew too just how many Zulu words were in our vocabulary, and in speaking to us he adapted himself to our limited understanding. He also gradually acquired the English. He made rapid progress in school; and as the Light came to him he accepted it. He did not do this all at one bound, but, as it were, according to his capacity to understand the meaning of the Atonement and kindred themes. The day came when he saw himself a great sinner, and he repented in truth. He was the only boy staying at the mission for a time, so that many and various duties fell to his lot. These he performed faithfully, except that he was somewhat careless in herding the donkeys, and lost them.
One evening he came to the door of our hut in great perplexity and said that he would like to have a talk. He came and sat down on the hearthstone, then said, "I prayed this morning, but the donkeys were lost at any rate." By his language he evidently thought that if he prayed the Lord would do the watching. This gave us an opportunity of telling of David, the faithful shepherd boy, and of the "Great Shepherd," who told us to both "watch and pray." The boy then told something of his early life. Among other things he said:
"Father used to tell me to go and watch the gardens so that the animals would not come and take our food. I did not watch well and the animals destroyed the crops and father was grieved."
"Are you sorry now that you did not obey?"