FOR a time at least, day after day seemed to bring some fresh trouble to our missionary friends. The much-dreaded plague broke out in the palace, and several of the king's wives died within a few hours. The king and his chiefs left with all possible haste for the hills, and Mackay and his friend, Mr. Pearson, had to endure many hardships and privations. They were often hungry and in want of proper clothing.
Under date March 13th, 1881, Mackay wrote in his notebook: "The hours of daylight are very precious, as we have only one candle left, and we do not know when we may get more. Fat and oil are not to be had, hence every hour of daylight must be filled up with useful work; so after dark we must just sit in the dark, as we have had to do at intervals many times before. I miss a nightlight for reading or writing a little. There is so much to be done, that I always grudge the hours of daylight for these purposes, but now I must do without my evenings. How I thank my dear father for the pains he took to store my mind with useful knowledge. When I cannot read or write, I often enjoy a quiet hour spent in recalling much that I learned when quite a boy.”
Food, too, was scarce and dear; sometimes for days, or even weeks, they were unable to get anything except a few plantains, and to buy these they had to part with all the clothes they could possibly spare.
March 14th: "I had been busy all the forenoon translating, and had just got to work printing our first book of texts. I had my composing-stick in my hand, and was just in the middle of the verse, 'God so loved the world, that he gave—' when I heard a shout outside. It was our boys, who had set it up to welcome the man we had sent down to the coast for letters two months before. Down went my work, and on went my sun hat and white canvas coat, and I was out in a moment, just starving for home news and letters. Pearson was letter sorter. He had fifteen letters, but I had forty. I just hugged them with delight, and, asked for the books and papers my dear ones at home never failed to send me. But none had come, so we began to read our letters. We read while daylight lasted, and as the moon was full and the sky clear, we were able to read by moonlight for some hours longer. Then we lighted our one remaining candle, and finished our piles.
We were too happy and excited for sleep, so talked to a late hour.
“We have nothing to go by here as to when we may expect letters. After about three months, we begin to think that in another three months we may get home letters, but we often have to wait much longer. When we send off our letters, please don't think all that is needed is that they should be stamped and posted. First we have to consider which of our men we can best spare. Perhaps those we fix upon refuse to go, and we have to try others, till a party of four is made up. Each man asks for a gun, powder and caps; also calico to wear, and calico to buy food with. If he has any small debts, we are expected to pay them. We have also to settle with the owners of some canoes about to cross the lake for the passage of our letter-carriers. We are glad when their backs are turned, as we have been writing late the night before, and the packet has to be made up, sealed, sewn into a piece of strong calico or bark-cloth, with a string for hanging round the neck of the carrier.”
The king, who for some time had been suffering from several diseases, was again seriously ill. His mother (the Queen Dowager), who had her own court at some distance, paid him a visit. She was a heathen, and had always been unfriendly to the missionaries; but on this visit her object was to attempt to cure the king of his sickness. All the donkeys were, she said, to be killed, or sent out of the country before the king could recover.
The mission house, or hut, was three miles away from the royal palace, and as the long walk was trying in the great heat, Mackay had for some time been the owner of a donkey, not so much for his own use as that of a fellow-worker. The king did not order it to be given up, but sent two of his pages to "borrow" it. The donkey was never seen again.
Still many pupils, both chiefs and slaves, came to Mackay, all anxious to be taught to read, and amid all his troubles he was often cheered and encouraged. Sometimes they were only allowed to visit him for a short time, and were ordered off to some other part of the country. But as they had all, or nearly all, very good memories, and learned to read quickly, it seldom took more than two months to teach one of the younger boys to read fluently. Their teacher was not discouraged, for he felt sure that they would carry the good news they had heard, also some sheets of texts, into places where he could not go himself.
In one of his home letters Mackay described himself as "engineer, builder, printer, physician, surgeon and general artificer to Mtesa, King of Uganda, and overlord of Unyoro.”
The summer proved a more than usually hot one, and the plague spread rapidly. Many died, and though Mackay felt it would be unwise, as he did not really understand the disease, to attempt to do much for those who were really down with it, he spent a good deal of time in trying to make the king understand how much might be done to prevent the terrible disease from spreading.
The king gave a patient hearing, and said something ought to be done. But though numbers of women and slaves were set to work to sweep and clear the roads, the huts remained as dirty and ill-smelling as they had been before.
A young elephant was captured in the forest, and of course presented to the king, who handed it over to the care of the missionaries, with a request that they would teach it to obey, carry loads, and do other useful things like the tame elephants of which he had heard in India. The time and trouble this would involve was by far too great an addition to their regular work, beside, they could not afford to feed the hungry animal. So Mackay sent it back with a message that if the king would build a suitable house, send two men to attend to it, and send daily food enough for the elephant and its keepers, he was quite willing to look after it. This, he knew, the king would not be likely to do, and no more was heard of the elephant.