SOMETHING unusual must have happened, or was going to happen, for though it was hardly daybreak, everyone at the little mission station where Mackay had so patiently awaited the arrival of the great African traveler, Henry Stanley, was astir, and everyone was busy. A fine goat had been killed and roasted, fresh bread baked, and everything, indoors and out, put in readiness for the guests who might arrive at any time.
Again and again watchers were sent to a hill at no great distance, from which a good view could be had, and when at last the news came that though still at some distance, the long line was really in sight, Mackay put on a white linen suit, and sun hat, and went off to welcome Stanley, his friends and followers. They were a large party, consisting of Mr. Stanley, Emin Pasha, with his daughter, and about half a dozen other gentlemen, while their following of soldiers, baggage-carriers, drivers and others, numbered nearly eight hundred.
For many days they had forced their way along, sometimes wading knee-deep through swamps, sometimes through forests where the trees grew so closely together that it was dark even at noonday. Food supplies had often run short, and they were all very tired. So for nearly three weeks they rested. To the missionary, who for months together had worked single-handed in the midst of heathen darkness and superstition, the society of Mr. Stanley and his friends was a great pleasure. They had much in common, for the man who had found Livingstone had learned to love and value his Bible.
“How was he led into the light?" some of my readers may ask. I will tell you in as nearly as I can remember his own words. "I was down with fever," he wrote, "and lay in my tent very sick and lonely. I badly wanted something to read, but most of my baggage had been left on the road, and all that could be found was an old English newspaper and a Bible. I tried the newspaper first, but soon grew tired of it; then I took up the Bible. I read it that day as I had never done before; and alone, in the heart of that African forest, I remembered my Creator, and as I read the New Testament peace came to my soul.”
Stanley strongly urged Mackay to leave his work for a time, perhaps a year or so, and return with him to England. He had been so long at his post, had suffered so much from fever, and was looking so ill and worn, that he really ought to have a rest. All this was true, friends in the homeland were writing by every mail pressing his return. But he could not be persuaded to go. The long, dark night of cruelty and persecution in Uganda was, he believed, nearly over; the gospel was winning its way, there were many inquirers; and until some one came out to take his place and carry on his work, he was not at liberty to go.
And so the parting came. Good-byes were said, and Mackay, who had walked for some distance with the caravan, returned to his mission station. Stanley soon after arrived in England and found himself a popular and much-talked-of man. He was received by royalty; honors were heaped upon him. Perhaps Mackay little thought how very soon higher honors and richer rewards were to be his: the home-call and the Master's words, "Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”
Busy days followed. A great deal had to be done to get the mission boat, "The Eleanor," into good working order, for though new boilers and other parts had been sent from England in numbered sections, it had been impossible to get them together before. They had suffered greatly from rust, and some parts were so bent and damaged as to be quite useless; nails and screws had been lost or stolen.
All through the winter of 1889 and the first weeks of 1890 Mackay was toiling from early morning till sunset at his forge, or turning-lathe. His evenings were, with the help of two or three native converts, spent in translating or printing portions of scripture; at noon, while his workmen were at dinner, he had a reading class for boys. "To be always at work was," he said, "the only way to keep well in Africa.”
Nearly all the chiefs or headmen in Uganda were professing Christians, and there was good reason to believe that many were really "children of God by faith in Christ Jesus." They wanted preaching-places and schools opened all over the country, and Mackay wrote to friends at home, asking if there were no godly, devoted young men who were willing to go out as missionaries to Africa, love the people, live among them, for Christ's sake "endure hardness," and so have the joy of leading precious souls to the Savior.
“In Germany, and some other countries of Europe," he wrote, "every man is trained for military service, and expected to be a soldier; and are not all Christians Christ's soldiers? And where can soldiers be more needed than out here, where the fight is so fierce and the soldiers so few?”
At last the gospel appeared to be taking root in Uganda, and on every hand there were cheering tokens that the long time of weeping was about to be followed by a morning of joy, and though Alexander Mackay was very tired, still his home letters were brightly written, and often all aglow with faith and courage. One of his great desires was for the construction of African railways. Good railways would, he felt sure, not only help missionaries who were obliged to take long journeys to reach the places where they were most needed, but also do much toward putting a stop to the slave trade.