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Page 39
At last a favourable change took place, the clouds dispersed, and the
sky became clear. Oxen were sent to take the missionary waggons forward
to Inyati, there to join Moselekatse. All was settled, a spot which
looked well for a station was pointed out, each of the new-comers
pitched his tent under a tree that he had chosen, until a more solid
dwelling should be erected, and the Matabele Mission was fairly
established. This was in December, 1859.
The Mission was established, but work had only begun. The first six
months of the year 1860 were months of incessant toil to the
missionaries at Inyati. Houses had to be built, waggons repaired, and
garden ground made ready for cultivation. Early and late, Moffat was to
be found at work,--in the saw-pit, at the blacksmith's forge, or
exercising his skill at the carpenter's bench; in all ways aiding and
encouraging his younger companions. He also endeavoured to gain
Moselekatse's consent to the opening of regular communication with the
Livingstone expedition on the Zambesi _vi�_ Matabeleland, but the
suspicious nature of the monarch foiled this project. The isolation of
his country in this direction was so great that, although but a
comparatively short distance away, no tidings whatever could be obtained
of the other party who, under Mr. Helmore, had gone to the Makololo
tribe.
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.'"
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