WE know something of the many ways in which Mackay had made himself useful to the king and people of Uganda, but a new kind of service, neither expected nor wished for, was forced upon him. Early in the spring of 1882 Namasole, the Queen Dowager, died, and in great haste the king sent for Mackay. He wished to know how the kings and queens of England had been buried. Mtesa wished equal, or, if possible, greater honor to be paid to the memory of his mother, who died as she had lived, a heathen. He pressed Mackay to act as undertaker.
Printing, teaching, translating and other work made his life a very busy one, but he did not wish to offend the king, so he consented.
The court presented a strange scene, All the chiefs and nobles were dressed in rags, and as each pretended to be crying, but was really yelling at the top of his voice, it could have been no easy matter to hear his own voice, or find out what the king really wanted.
Court mourning in Uganda lasts thirty days. No letters could be sent away, as no boat was allowed to start. No native must carry a load, and no work of any kind could be done till the royal lady was buried. Mackay, however, was toiling from morning till late at night, for everything had been left to and depended upon him. The king said the funeral was to outdo in every way, both in cost and grandeur, that of any former king or queen, and a tax of two thousand native or bark-cloths was at once laid upon his subjects.
Coffins for the dead were things unknown in Uganda, but on hearing that at the funeral of an English king or queen three coffins, two of wood and one of lead, would be required, the king said it was "good," and asked Mackay if he could make three coffins. Little knowing the task he was undertaking, he said if Mtesa would give him wood, metal and men to help he would try. The king said he had no lead, but would give him copper and bronze trays and bowls, of which he had a great number. These were sent to Mackay, who at once turned the school-house he was building into a workshop, and all the smiths who could be mustered were set to work to hammer them into flat plates. Like most of Mackay's native helpers, they were of little real use, as, though they had no objection to looking on, it was almost impossible to get them to work for any length of time, and, of course, the funeral could not take place till the coffins were ready.
Unforeseen difficulties now arose. The grave, Mackay was told, would be a deep pit, so the coffins must be made very, very large. Mackay told the king that he should require much more wood than had been supplied, so men were sent into the forest to cut down trees; but the planks they brought were so crooked and uneven as to be of little real use. A large tree had been chopped up to make two boards!
He next asked for logs. These, he was told, could not be had. But as he said he must have them, or the work could not go on, the men said they would try. The next evening about two hundred shouting and yelling men appeared, some puffing, others pushing, a thick slice of a tree, dragging it along the rough ground by the climbing stems which still clung about it.
Mackay laughed, and told them he could carry it alone. They looked their wonder, and it was easy to see they only half believed his words, but when he lifted the body of the cart off the wheels, and strapping the log to its axle with leather ropes, with one hand pushed it along, the crowd grew thicker, their yells louder. They danced, clapped their hands, and cried out, "Mackay is truly the lubare!" (the favorite idol of Uganda).
To write the story of all the trouble and worry Mackay had in performing the task of undertaker to the dead queen would make my chapter far too long. Every day, and sometimes several times during the day, pages were sent from the palace to report the progress of the work. With one or two exceptions the native workmen ran away, and Mackay was left almost single-handed to complete the work. From early morning till far into the night, and sometimes all night, saw and hammer were in his hands.
The Arab traders, who had all along disliked and tried to injure him, shewed the same unfriendly spirit. They told the king Mackay was wasting his time, and keeping back the wood that had been sent for the coffins to build his own house. For once, however, the king refused to believe their reports, and remained friendly.
At last all was ready, and the day of the burial fixed. The pit was of great depth; thousands of bark-cloths were neatly spread along the bottom, or fastened on to its sides. Into it the coffins were, with great labor, one by one lowered, the space being then filled up with more cloth, many hundred yards of English calico being added. Mackay said afterward he did not think there could have been so much cloth in the country, and when he and his brother missionary tried to put into writing the actual value of the cloth, beads and other things put into the grave, they found it came to little short of fifteen thousand pounds in English money.
How sad it is to think of all this reckless waste at the burial of one who had turned a deaf ear to the gospel message; who died trusting to idols, and hoping the bundles of charms put into her coffin would secure her happiness after death!
The day after the funeral every man, woman and child had their heads shaved, and laid aside the rags they had worn during the court mourning. Mackay was, we may be sure, glad of a little time to rest his aching limbs and toil-hardened hands. One native workman, the head blacksmith, had stood by him. This man soon after became an inquirer, confessed his faith in Christ, asked for baptism, and proved a bright Christian and a faithful friend to the missionaries.