As he continued his way along the course of the Gombe, feasting his vision upon the beautiful scenes before him, he came suddenly upon a scene which he says “delighted the innermost recesses” of his soul. Just before him were “ten zebras switching their beautiful striped bodies, and biting one another.” Of these he succeeded in killing one, and then, content with the result of the hunt, he retired to camp. Before doing so, however, he thought he would take a bath in the placid waters of the river. He says: “I sought out the most shady spot under a wide-spreading mimosa, from which the ground sloped, smooth as a lawn, to the still, clear water. I ventured to undress, and had already stepped to my ankles in the water and had brought my hands together for a glorious dive, when my attention was attracted by an enormously long body which shot into view, occupying the spot beneath the surface which I was about to explore by a ‘header.’ Great heavens! it was a crocodile! I sprang back instinctively, and this proved my salvation, for the monster turned away with a disappointed look, and I was left to congratulate myself upon my narrow escape from his jaws, and to register a vow never to be tempted again by the treacherous calm of an African river.”
LEOPARD ATTACKING A SPRINGBOCK.
CHRISTIAN HEROES IN AFRICA.
“My subject is not so much Africa, its people, its customs and its misfortunes, as the Christian pioneers and their work. The United Moravian brethren at Herrnhut in Germany, more than a
century and a half ago, were stirred up to send out a missionary to the poor Hottentots, who were treated as dogs by the Dutch colonists. George Schmidt at once offered himself to go out, and suffered hardship with a persecuted race, and, having been blessed by the conversion of a few, was forbidden to baptize them, and summarily sent back to Europe by men who called themselves Protestants, and who were jealous of their own liberty. Fifty years later (1792), the United Brethren sent out three more missionaries, who founded the illustrious mission of Genádendál, or Vale of Grace, on the very walls of the ruined house of George Schmidt, seven years after the great patriarch of African missions had been called to his reward, dying, like Livingstone and Krapf, on his knees.
“The London and Wesleyan societies, the Established Church of England, the Free Church of Scotland, and the American Board of Foreign Missions, took up a share in the blessed work amidst other races of South Africa, and out of their ranks by faith Moffat undertook to translate the Bible into the language of the Be-Chuána, Wilder into the language of the Zulu, and Boyce, Appleyard, and others, into the language of the Ama-Xosa, or Káfir—languages deemed at the time to be incapable of expressing simple ideas, but which, deftly handled, proved to be apt exponents of every variety of human thought, with an unlimited vocabulary, and an unsurpassed symmetry of structure.
“Moffat’s son-in-law, Livingstone, abandoned his home, his chapel, and his school, and started off on his great missionary progress, which was destined to illuminate all Africa south of the Equator. By faith he bore up under the perils, the fatigues, the opposition and the bereavement of his dear wife, who sleeps on the shore of the Zambesi. He worked his way to Benguéla, on the west coast, Kilimáni on the east, and Nyangwé on the River Congo to the north, discovering new rivers, new lakes, new tribes, and new languages. From the drops of sweat which fell from his limbs in those great travels have sprung up, like flowers, Christian missions, founded by men of different denominations and different views of church government, but united in the fear of God, love of Africa, and veneration for Livingstone. To the impulse, given by this great apostle, must be attributed the missions of the Established
Church of Scotland at Blantyre, the Free Church of Scotland at Livingstonia, the London Society on Lake Tangányika, and the Universities Mission at Zanzibar. But to this servant of God it was not conceded to see one single fruit of his labors. He saw no mission spring up; like Moses, he only beheld the promised land from Pisgah; he died without knowing of the secret of the source of the Nile and the Congo.
“Krapf and Rebman sat year after year at the watch-tower of Mombása, waiting till the day should dawn, calling to each other: ‘Watchman, what of the night?’ writing home descriptions of vast lakes, and snow-capped mountains on the Equator, causing themselves to be derided, both as missionaries and geographers; yet they lived to be honored in both capacities, they lived to see the day dawn at last, to hear of Frere-Town being established as a station for released slaves at Mombása, to hear of those internal seas being navigated, and that snow-capped mountain being visited. In his old age Krapf in tearful gratitude read Henry Stanley’s challenge, which rang with trumpet-sound from the capital of Uganda, and was gallantly answered by the Church Missionary Society, and he lived to hear of the great Apostle’s Street, which by faith he had suggested, being carried out from Zanzibar to the Great Lakes, to be extended westward down the Congo, until hands are shaken with the Baptist missionaries working up that river from the west.