The Shire Having Risen, We Steamed Off On The 10th Of January, 1863,
With The "Lady Nyassa" In Tow.
It was not long before we came upon
the ravages of the notorious Mariano.
The survivors of a small
hamlet, at the foot of Morambala, were in a state of starvation,
having lost their food by one of his marauding parties. The women
were in the fields collecting insects, roots, wild fruits, and
whatever could be eaten, in order to drag on their lives, if
possible, till the next crop should be ripe. Two canoes passed us,
that had been robbed by Mariano's band of everything they had in
them; the owners were gathering palm-nuts for their subsistence.
They wore palm-leaf aprons, as the robbers had stripped them of their
clothing and ornaments. Dead bodies floated past us daily, and in
the mornings the paddles had to be cleared of corpses, caught by the
floats during the night. For scores of miles the entire population
of the valley was swept away by this scourge Mariano, who is again,
as he was before, the great Portuguese slave-agent. It made the
heart ache to see the widespread desolation; the river-banks, once so
populous, all silent; the villages burned down, and an oppressive
stillness reigning where formerly crowds of eager sellers appeared
with the various products of their industry. Here and there might be
seen on the bank a small dreary deserted shed, where had sat, day
after day, a starving fisherman, until the rising waters drove the
fish from their wonted haunts, and left him to die. Tingane had been
defeated; his people had been killed, kidnapped, and forced to flee
from their villages. There were a few wretched survivors in a
village above the Ruo; but the majority of the population was dead.
The sight and smell of dead bodies was everywhere. Many skeletons
lay beside the path, where in their weakness they had fallen and
expired. Ghastly living forms of boys and girls, with dull dead
eyes, were crouching beside some of the huts. A few more miserable
days of their terrible hunger, and they would be with the dead.
Oppressed with the shocking scenes around, we visited the Bishop's
grave; and though it matters little where a good Christian's ashes
rest, yet it was with sadness that we thought over the hopes which
had clustered around him, as he left the classic grounds of
Cambridge, all now buried in this wild place. How it would have torn
his kindly heart to witness the sights we now were forced to see!
In giving vent to the natural feelings of regret, that a man so
eminently endowed and learned, as was Bishop Mackenzie, should have
been so soon cut off, some have expressed an opinion that it was
wrong to use an instrument so valuable MERELY to convert the heathen.
If the attempt is to be made at all, it is "penny wise and pound
foolish" to employ any but the very best men, and those who are
specially educated for the work.
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