WRITING to his sister in June 1878, Mackay says, "What a forlorn hope our mission to Uganda seems to be! I am almost the only one still living of the missionary band who sailed from Southampton little more than two years ago. Very few could endure the hardships we went through in the early months of this year. The loss of so many valued friends and fellow-laborers is a great grief to me. But God's ways are not our ways. I am now in some thirty miles of desert, and am going (D. V.) to the island of Ukerewe, to see the king who so lately murdered Lieutenant Smith and O'Neill. I have just had a bad turn of sun fever, but am quite well now.”
Elephants, hippos, giraffes and zebras were frequently seen in the desert. After an evening march Mackay and his porters arrived just before nightfall at a deserted village. They were all very tired, but having found water, lighted a fire, cooked some potatoes and nuts, and lay down to sleep. Mosquitoes, however, were very troublesome, and about ten o'clock an alarm was raised. Loud reports as of guns were heard, and flames seen in the direction from which the sounds came only increased the alarm.
The men made up their minds to be off at once. They left their pots, gourds and half-cooked food all lying about, and packing his clothes and other belongings in less time than they had ever required before, by their very terror forced their leader into getting up, though he was at first very unwilling to do so. There was no moon, and the night was dark and cloudy. On they went, tripping, slipping and stumbling at almost every step, till, after a two hours' march, they reached another village, where the people were friendly.
Their next day's march brought them to a third village, where the cattle lived and slept in the same huts as their owners. The men wore no clothes at all, and little girls and young women only a small apron made of beads.
His socks were all worn out, and Mackay suffered greatly from blistered and often bleeding feet, when marching across sandy deserts or through brushwood. A few days later he caught the first glimpse of the lake, and enjoyed the refreshing breeze that cooled his sun burnt cheeks. On the shore of the lake lay the mission boat, "The Daisy," overgrown with grass, and very much the worse for its long rest. The machinery, too, was in a very bad state, and many valuable tools lying about were either broken or so injured by rust as to be useless.
Soon after he had a message from the king, who seemed to be greatly in fear of the white man, and said he had no quarrel with the murdered missionaries, and that the slave-traders were the only persons to blame for their death.
One or two extracts from his notebook at this time are interesting. "I have," he wrote, "sorted and assorted machinery, nails, screws, etc., till quite done up, and much has still to be done. To-morrow is the Lord's day, and I cannot tell you how gladly I shall welcome its rest. May I have grace to use it aright.”
The morrow brought him an early visit from a neighboring chief, who wanted to know why he and his followers rested on that day. Mackay told him the story of the six days of creation, and how God rested on the seventh day. The chief listened well, and seemed to understand what he was told, but the scripture lesson was a good deal disturbed by the cattle, who took to fighting while it was being given. Mackay wrote, "It does seem as if Satan doing his utmost to prevent even a little gospel light entering this dark land.”
The natives advised Mackay not to trust Lkonge, the king, as they were sure he intended to poison him. They told him that after the murder of the missionaries, Smith and O'Neill, he had persuaded their men to lay down their guns, saying that he was their friend, and wished only for peace. They believed him, sat quietly down, and began to cook their food; while they were so engaged, Lkonge's men fell upon them, and many were killed.
Mackay felt his position to be one of danger, but it was a cheer to remember that the God whom he served was able to shut the mouth of the lion, and that it was not for his own pleasure or profit, but in the service of his Lord and Master. So leaving himself and the whole matter in His hands, he went quietly on, alone, for his men were so overcome with fear, that they begged to be allowed to go to their villages.
King Lkonge, who was at that time little more than twenty years of age, seemed more anxious than before that Mackay should believe his account of the murder of the white men. But when, as a proof of his friendship, Mackay asked for the book in which Lieutenant Smith had been seen writing only a few hours before his death, as he wished to send it to his friends in England, he was told it was lost, and could not be found. He was also told that guns and other things that had belonged to him had been carried away by his people, and he did not know where they were.
Mackay replied, "Lkonge says he is a great king. A great king need only tell his people to bring back the articles, and they will soon be here.”
The king said he would look for them. He then asked a great many questions about England, and expressed surprise on hearing that the subjects of Queen Victoria greatly outnumbered his own. Several days, however, passed, but neither the book nor other lost property were forthcoming. Mackay felt that to wait longer would be a mere waste of valuable time, so after presenting the king with a red blanket and a dressing-gown, they wished each other a friendly good-bye, and Mackay returned to where he had left "The Daisy," and at once began putting her under repair. The natives gave him a warm welcome, and came in crowds to watch the progress of the work. All were good as lookers-on, but had no idea of giving any real help, and as all the heavy part of the work had to be done by his own hands under the rays of a burning sun, a sharp attack of fever again laid him up for some days.