One Day She Said To
Me, "It Is Such A Relief." "A Relief?" I Said.
"Yes, do you not
see that until it shows there is nothing but forest, forest, forest,
and that still stretch of river?
That bank is the only piece of
clear ground I see in the year, and that only lasts a few weeks
until the wet season comes, and then it goes, and there is nothing
but forest, forest, forest, for another year. It is two years now
since I came to this place; it may be I know not how many more
before we go home again." I grieve to say, for my poor friend's
sake, that her life at Kangwe was nearly at its end. Soon after my
return to England I heard of the death of her husband from malignant
fever. M. Jacot was a fine, powerful, energetic man, in the prime
of life. He was a teetotaler and a vegetarian; and although
constantly travelling to and fro in his district on his evangelising
work, he had no foolish recklessness in him. No one would have
thought that he would have been the first to go of us who used to
sit round his hospitable table. His delicate wife, his two young
children or I would have seemed far more likely. His loss will be a
lasting one to the people he risked his life to (what he regarded)
save. The natives held him in the greatest affection and respect,
and his influence over them was considerable, far more profound than
that of any other missionary I have ever seen.
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