THE MARTYR'S CROWN.
THURSDAY, the 23rd July, 1885, was an exceedingly busy day at Rabai. At last, after hard pressure and delay, the caravan was ready to start on its long journey, into a land that was almost absolutely unknown. There were 200 of them in all. Hannington had the greatest difficulty to secure the necessary complement of carriers, as the Masai had inspired all the natives with the utmost terror. Many of them enlisted in the hope of drawing advance pay, and being able to desert before many miles had been covered. A constant watch had to be kept over them until they had advanced far enough to convince the would-be truants that a united advance would be less dangerous than a straggling retreat. As soon as the natives were convinced of this, things went a good deal smoother. But until then, the leader had an anxious, almost sleepless time. His influence over the most abandoned of the company was almost magical. Even such admire nothing more than a strong, fearless man, who could face savage beasts, and even more savage men, without manifesting the least sign of consternation.
Hannington was the very life and soul of that company. He took more than a fair share of work upon his own shoulders, and both by example and precept did all he could to keep up the spirits of those who looked up to him as their guide and their tower of strength. They had to contend against many privations. They often ran woefully short of food, and Hannington frequently had recourse to his gun for the purpose of replenishing their stores.
The party reached Kikumbulin early in August. A pathetic interest is given to this place by reason of the fact that from thence he wrote his last letter to his wife, and also to his friends and co-workers at Frere Town. The former was dated "August 11th. "It is evident from a direct reference therein, that he had very little hope of this communication ever reaching the noble lady who had possessed sufficient courage to give him up to the Lord. But when he met a man who stated that in a short time he intended to make the journey to the coast, he could not deny himself the pleasure of writing a very few lines to the loved ones at home. We may thank God that he was moved to write these letters. They tell of the trustful spirit in which he lived—the trustful spirit that supported him during that last journey, and also during its awful consummation. "The burden of my song must be praise; and the teaching of every lesson has been trust, so comfort your heart during my absence," he wrote to his dear wife. What a precious message from the heart of this dark continent! "I am quite aware that this is the easy part of the journey," he continued, "and that far greater difficulties from hongo-demanding (tribute-demanding) natives are ahead; but if this is God's time for opening up this road, we shall open it up.”
This was the sublime faith in God which has made Hannington's name such a priceless legacy to the world. He would have gone anywhere, or done anything, if by so doing he could have done the will of God.
Then came a long anxious waiting; whilst his friends were anticipating for the details, he had joined the noble army of martyrs, whose deeds sing constant praises unto the God of their salvation. The only details available for the narration of the story to its solemn close is the tiny diary in which Hannington made daily jottings; and also, as before stated, the diary of Mr. Jones. There is an almost entrancing history connected with this small diary. He carried it with him until the conclusion of his self-sacrificing labors. When the last scene closed it fell into the hands of one of his murderers, and afterward it was purchased by a native lad who had found God, as the result of the teaching of Mackay and his companions at Rubaga. From him it found its way to England, in company with Mr. Jones' pencillings. From these two sources the narrative can be carried up to an hour or two of Hannington's tragic death.
On one occasion when they were surrounded by hostile foes and difficulties which seemed almost insurmountable, Mr. Jones blew his whistle and called the caravan men together for worship. Hannington gave them an earnest gospel address, at the conclusion of which these tired, harassed travelers sang together with great heartiness, “Forever with the Lord, Amen, so let it be; Life from the dead is in that word, And immortality.
“Here in the body pent,
Absent from Him I roam,
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day's march nearer home.”
And as they sang, each one of that calm, brave company knew full well that at almost any moment they might reach that Heavenly home of which they so often sang. Some of them, in fact most of them, were destined to pitch their earthly tents for but a few clays longer. Such glimpses as these, revealing as they do so many actions of that pioneer column during the last days of their difficult march, are invaluable. They reveal the spirit which inspired them.
With the Masai tribe the company had very great difficulty. On several occasions large armed bands pressed around the small handful, and threatened to destroy them unless their audacious demands for hongo were instantly complied with. It needed all Hannington's firm courage, as well as his powers of conciliation, to adjust the various complications. Time after time the natives refused to supply them with food, and frequently they were on the verge of starvation.
In Hannington's diary there is a unique illustration of the fatigue which followed his intense exertion in Masai land. On going to bed one night, after a hard day, he took a bite at a biscuit and fell asleep with it in his mouth and the remainder in his hand.
Kwa Sunda was reached early in October. After a short rest, Hannington decided to leave Jones in charge of the caravan, and push forward with fifty picked men. He had sketched out his plan for a long period to come. He intended to cross the Lake from Lussala to Uganda; if any members of the mission desired to return to the coast they could do so by the route he opened up, but he would return by the old route, so that he could visit the churches and mission stations which had been founded along that route. "Man proposes but God disposes." This was one of the many hopes that were living in his active brain when he received his call to higher service. There was an element working against him, which he knew nothing of. He never suspected resistance from the king of Uganda, under whose, more or less, insecure protection Mackay and his brethren had been working for a considerable time. The means of communication were slow and inadequate. Hannington knew nothing of the ferment which was being created by the slave owners, and the believers in the old faith; they had gained the weak king's ear, and into it they dropped insidiously their distilled poison.
The Germans had for a considerable period been notoriously active on the north-east coast. Little by little those who had gained the ear of the king, succeeded in convincing him that they were advancing slowly upon his country for the purpose of annexing it. When the advance of a white man from the north-east was reported to him he became alarmed, and ordered out an armed and ruffianly force to capture and detain him.
Mackay was aware of Hannington's advance. Time after time he endeavored to reason the matter fully with Mwanga. At last he heard that an armed force had been despatched to the north-east. Mackay had every reason to be suspicious of the object of this expedition, but before he could render any assistance the grim tragedy had been completed. Hannington's great soul had been released from its house of clay.
There must always remain a degree of uncertainty over Hannington's death. The various versions which reached home are conflicting. What we know is, that after his eyes had once feasted upon the bosom of the Great Lake which has become the center of missionary enterprise, he was on Wednesday, October 21st, attacked with considerable violence by a large body of armed men. Whilst being subjected to brutal treatment, whilst momentarily expecting to be violently put to death, he sang, "Safe in the arms of Jesus" with perfect composure. For eight days he was detained and guarded in a miserable tent. There he suffered much annoyance and many privations. He was greatly comforted and strengthened by his reading of the 28th and other Psalms. What inspiration he received from constantly dwelling upon, "The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in Him, and I am helped. Therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth, and with my song will I praise Him.”
On the last day of his torture he read the 30th Psalm. He died in the confident strength given him by, "I will extol Thee, Lord; for Thou hast lifted me up; and hast not made my foes to rejoice over me. O Lord, my God, I cried unto Thee, and Thou hast healed me.”
At that time fever was fast developing within him; his strength was rapidly declining under the weight of sickness and anxiety; and yet he could rejoice in the promises of his Father.
Then he was led out from his tent. His guards told him word had been received from the King that he should be allowed to proceed on his journey. His heart naturally rejoiced. But after a fatiguing journey he was brought face to face with his comrades. They were stripped, and bound together. In an awful moment the hero was disillusionised. But his unflinching faith made him supreme. With the lofty dignity of a Christian who had lived for his God, and was prepared to die for Him, he spoke a few words—a very few. "Tell the King that I die for Uganda," he said; "I have bought this road with my life.”
Even his executioners, hardened although they were by revels in human blood, shrank from him, and hesitated. In that last moment Hannington knelt down, and in a few words commended his soul to God. Scarcely had he ended his petition before a gun was fired, and spears were plunged into the bodies of the captives. Two men, specially appointed, plunged their weapons into the heart of the devoted James Hannington.
There in the hands of his God, in whom he trusted, and surrounded by a frantic throng, for whom his great heart yearned with pity, we may well leave him. The ordinary terms of eulogium, as applied to Hannington's life and death, are mere commonplaces. The good he did lives after him. The blessings he wrought have gloriously expanded, and are expanding to-day.