Category: London Missionary Society

Mama Meli Update Part 1

I have some significant updates to the story of Mama Meli! When I wrote about her and trying to find her grave, I was doing most of my research on my phone while living in a mud hut and also mostly just trying to find cool locations to add to Atlas Obscura, so please forgive my mistakes in that post. I’ve been digging back into the story for a final project (Hello Professor Lombard!; I assume you will find this), and whoo boy have I found out a whole lot more information.

When I first read about Mama Meli’s story, I was more than a little confused about the timeline. The story to me read like she had gotten captured, her captors quickly tried to hustle her to the border, and they got caught by one of the types of British colonialists in the area. I thought this happened when she was about 10 or 12, over the course of like a month. Then, I assumed, since her parents had been killed in the slave raid, she was sent off to live with the missionaries at Kawimbe Mission. I lobbied some criticism about the fact that when her relatives came to claim her, the missionaries demanded payment of a cow. And then I mostly busied myself with looking at old gravestones.

I have learned so much more! The first big change between then and now is I have access to a library with a copy of Strategies of Slaves & Women: Life-Stories from East/Central Africa by Marcia Wright. In the last blog post I name-checked Women in Peril; that is Marcia Wright’s first book on the subject, which is wholly included in Strategies, but Strategies includes much more information. The second big change is that the library also has access to The Chronicle of the London Missionary Society, which is an absolute treasure-trove of information on the Central Africa mission of the LMS (I link HathiTrust there, but they’re also on Google Books).

From Strategies, I learned I had very much misunderstood Meli’s story. Wright estimates that Meli was captured in probably 1894 or 1895 when she was about 5. Meli’s story is so very much wrapped up in the story of Kawimbe Mission, and so I find it fitting that Meli was likely born very close to the founding of the mission in 1890. Another intriguing bit was that Meli was probably something of a political prisoner. Meli was the youngest daughter of Mumembe, and was born with the name Mwenya (in her oral history, Meli/Mwenya refers to herself as Meli, so I am going to stick with that). Around the time when Meli was born there was Chief Ponde of the Bemba who was launching raids and attacks into Mambwe and Lungu territory. Meli’s older brothers were often called to fight in defense (I think) against these attacks. Chief Ponde was also having some marital troubles with at least one of his wives. This wife ran away at some point during the course of all this fighting, only to be knocked up by Meli’s oldest brother. This made Chief Ponde mad, and he swore that he would get retribution against this brother. Mumembe, fearing for his son’s life, hustled him way up north into Mambweland so Ponde couldn’t get to him.

Fwambo village, from the April 1897 edition of The Chronicle

A few years later, Chief Ponde was (still?) at war with the Mambwe chief Fwambo. Chief Ponde was set to launch an attack against Fwambo, and the brother decided to actually go fight for Ponde, figuring that if he did well in battle he would be forgiven. The fight was somewhat disastrous. Fwambo was well fortified, and apparently it was cold up on the plateau where Fwambo was, but since Fwambo’s men were used to the cold they routed Ponde when they launched a counter-attack while Ponde’s men were still warming themselves. I also found it pretty intriguing that the missionaries from Kawimbe mission sent armed men to help defend Fwambo as well. This was far from the missionaries’ only interaction with Ponde; they had a range of relationships with the Bemba Chief. The missionaries had been harassed by Ponde, received messengers and entered into negotiations to set up missions in Bemba territory, and Mr. A.D. Purves (watch for his wife later in this narrative) bought the only known contemporary war charm from the man.

Anyways, despite Meli’s brother distinguishing himself in battle, Ponde failed to forgive him, and I guess remembering about his wife having gotten knocked up, vowed to attack Mumembe’s village in retribution. It was in this attack that Meli was captured. It is also likely that Meli’s mother was killed in this attack. After being captured, she was taken (along with other captives) to Chief Ponde’s village, and then given to a family. For the next five years or so, she lived the life of a slave. It’s with this first family that Wright identifies Meli as something of a political prisoner here because when she accidentally burns down the hut of the family she was given to, the father is about to kill her when his wife reminds him that Meli is “the family of a Chief” (uncle maybe? I was a bit unclear).

Apparently her worth drops over time, because after a bit she is sold off to Chona Maluti, an Arab (Wright prefers the term “Swahili” for being more accurate) trader/slaver and elephant hunter. Chona would be killed when he was trampled by an elephant, and Meli would be taken to the encampment of other Swahili traders in the area. It was around this time that she heard that her father had died, and I think she wound up with these traders for about a year. Her nose was pierced “in the Muslim fashion,” and she was renamed Naumesyatu. She was sold to another Swahili trader, who fed her better, and then was sold off again to a set of traders who renamed her Mauwa.

As a bit of an aside, for all the different names that Meli gets, she’s actually a bit remarkable for having an independent identity. From my experience with Mambwe culture, I know that as soon as you have a kid, you are typically referred to as “Father of” or “Mother of” your first-born. So in her story, Meli refers to her older sister as “the mother of Mulenga Chisani.” Later on (I swear I am getting to them), Meli will mention she was in the care of Mama Purves and then Mama May. I found both these women in The Chronicle, but they are exclusively referred to as “Mrs. Purves” and “Mrs. May,” immediately becoming subsumed into their husband’s identity as soon as they are married. Interesting little cultural overlap there, if you ask me.

Anyways. These latest traders who had bought Meli were going to finally try to bring her to the coast, likely to be sold at Zanzibar. During the time Meli had been enslaved, however, the British had set up a boma at Fife (roundabouts modern-day Nakonde, though I’m actually unsure how much they overlap) and declared the slave trade outlawed. And now here is a whole thing I didn’t pick up the first time around. The traders have to get past the outpost at Fife. A man comes along and offers to help the traders out. Turns out, the traders had his kid, and I assume he wanted to use the British people at Fife to get his kid back. So the traders take him up on his offer to lead them past the outpost. Except then this guy just goes to the outpost, and tells them all about the traders, and together they lay a trap. He leads the traders right into an ambush, and during the pandemonium Meli runs into the woods with the other children. They come out later that night when they were hungry, and are picked up by some villagers who bring them to the outpost.

After I assume being fed and taken care of, the children who knew where they were from were sent back home. The rest of the children were eventually sent to Kawimbe Mission. This was about 1899, and the children wind up in the care of Mama Purves. Meli was initially actually identified as a boy and briefly named Jim, before she identified herself as a girl and was dubbed with her final name, Mary. “Mary” winds up getting pronounced as “Meli,” which is how it is written in her oral history, and therefore in every subsequent source, including this one.

Join us next week for the second part of the update! I wrote like 5,000 words about Meli and I am going to milk it!

Niamkolo Church

From Chronicles of the London Missionary Society, January 1902

I’m doing research for a project on Mama Meli, and you better believe you’re gonna get some of that action in the coming weeks, but in the meantime I’m going to post some interesting stuff I have found out about Niamkolo Church. I mentioned the church briefly in my Mplungu post, and this post will consist entirely of me posting in their entirety three articles from The Chronicle of the London Missionary Society, which is turning out to be a trove of information on northern Zambia at the turn of the 20th century. I wish I had the ability to peruse gigantic PDFs back when I lived in a mud hut. I know there’s not a lot of analysis here, but I’m working on finals, and also retyping these articles took me longer than just writing a post probably would have. Also also also, the most intriguing part of all of this are photos/engravings from the church’s heydey. If you Google the church currently, you get modern-day photos, which is cool, but nothing showing the place with a roof. So that should be exciting!

But before we begin, two more things. First, this is the header of one of the issues of the Chronicle, and I just want to say these guys weren’t messing around:

Two, an excellent Instagram is “Sacral Architecture,” which publishes drawings of various religious buildings in Africa, and yes of course they did Niamkolo Church:

Alright! Now we shall begin in earnest:

April 1891 – “Tanganyika Sketches”

[This is before the church was built]

These are sketches of the Niamkolo station, which is situated at the south end of Lake Tanganyika, and were drawn from photographs sent home by Mrs. Swann. In “Our House” we see her with her husband at her side, and Mr. Carson standing a little way off. The little steamer Good News, having met with an accident, had to be docked and thoroughly repaired, which accounts for one of the sketches. Cloth (calico) takes the place of money in Central Africa. Porters and workmen of all kinds have to be paid in cloth. Hence the need for a “Cloth Store” at each station.

February 1896 – “A New Church”

On returning to his station from the Committee meeting at Fwambo, Mr. Jones spent a Sunday at Niamkolo and preached to the largest congregation he had seen in Central Africa. There must have been 700 people present, and it was a cheering sight. On the following Thursday (August 22nd) a memorial stone in the new church was laid by Mrs. Purves. Copies of the new hymn-book, the Society’s CHRONICLE and News from Afar, and the British Central Africa Gazette, together with cloth and beads to represent the currency, were laid in the cavity, the ceremony being witnessed by a large crowd of natives. Mr. Purves had been fortunate enough to discover an excellent quarry near the lake shore, whence huge slabs of grey freestone were dug, which looked as if they had come from the mason’s hand, so regularly did the seams lie. “It is amusing to see the children now busy on the lake shore,” says Mr. Thomas, “building stone houses and churches. The African in that respect is not very much different from the child at home.”

May 1896 – “New Church at Niamkolo”

Dear Mr. Cousins, – At Niamkolo “a notable great frame” has been erected in the form of a stone church, and I should like to tell you something about it. It is as yet but a “frame,” as you will see from the photographs which I enclose, if you can make any use of them.

The sense of wonder is not so easily roused in the African as some people at home imagine. If he has been any time in contact with the white man, he looks upon most of his actions as a matter of course; so that when he can really do something which makes the native open his eyes and mouth, exclaiming “Yanga we!” (“Oh, mother!”) it is a triumph. It is no uncommon thing to see strangers standing in front of this building, bowing their heads, and accompanying the motion with a “He! He! He!” of astonishment, and perhaps enter into a hot discussion as to whether there are any poles hidden away in the walls to hold the stones together. He is only accustomed to wattle-and-daub shanties, and a large stone structure with a tower piercing the heavens beats him. One of the men said that Mr. Purves, who had to do with the building of it, possessed the wisdom of the gods who piles up the mountains. A wattle-and-daub house at best will only stand five years, so that on a station the work of building is never finished, unless one deals with more permanent material. So that it was a great find to come across a quarry on the lake shore near the station, whence huge slabs of freestone have been dug with edges so straight as to make one think they had just left the mason’s chisel. These were brought round to the station in canoes, and the main outdoor work during the last dry season was the rearing of this structure. It roused a great deal of interest among the people, and even the children were busy building stone churches on the lake shore. One day, as I was watching them at it, I saw the little naked brats setting to and eating the mortar which they had made by dipping a dirty loin cloth in the lake and wringing it out over some stones they had ground to powder. I suppose it served for nsima (native porridge). It made me think that, whatever the African has not got, he is the happy owner of a digestion that many a dyspeptic at home would covet.

Tier upon tier the building went up, while scaffold rose above scaffold, until the heavy beams were laid across the walls, and the couples spanned the abyss. These the natives swarmed and laid on the pliant twigs, to which the grass was fastened by means of fresh bark form young trees. This was the offering of the villagers. They brought in all the trees and twigs, and roofed the building without any pay. Finally the more daring spirits working at the tower completed their dizzy task and capped it with a glass [sic, grass?] roof.

A round cap on a square tower does not look artistic, hence the necessity of some friend to open his heart and send out a number of sheets of corrugated iron to replace it. H.C. Marshall, Esq., the representative of the British South Africa Company nearest us, has kindly promised a bell for the tower, so that when it arrives no villager can say that he did not hear the call to service. One cannot boast that this temple was reared without noise, for a good deal of shouting had to be done to keep them up to the level, and at first a good deal of pulling down, but it is something to be thankful for that it was completed without a single accident. It has proved a fine object-lesson for the training of hand and eye, and will act as a beacon to voyagers on the lake, and, above all, a guide to the hearts of children yet unborn to Him in whose name the house has been built.

The spiritual temple is slower in the building than this stone one. During the year seven have been admitted into full membership at Niamkolo. May be, one is over-particular in rejecting the stones until they are trimmed in the accustomed way; while, on the other hand, one shuns the accusation of first making them church members, and then making them Christians.

[Here Niamkolo Church stuff, and all paragraph sensibilities, end]

At our new station called Kambole, on the Ulunga plateau, a large church, built of wattle and daub, was finished by Mr. Nutt, before he had to leave for home after the second attack of haematuric fever. He will be greatly missed, for he was a most enthusiastic African, and full of energy. Mr. Jones is now left there alone, a day and a half’s journey from a white man. However, just lately he has been kept far from being dull. Ponde, the Awemba [Bemba] chief I visited last year, made an attack upon the village of Kitimbwa – the paramount Chief of Ulunga – which is only some four miles distant from the new station. There has been a good deal of raiding carried on between these two parties of late, but the final provocation that led to the attack was the fact that one of Kitimbwa’s sub-chiefs had, a few days before, taken two women belonging to Ponde’s village, and the very day he was presenting these to his head chief, Ponde, together with another small Awemba chief, called Zisampa, appeared near Kitimbwa’s, and found the village – although a large one – an easy prey. Instead of making the attack at deep dawn as is their custom, they besieged it about 10 am, when most of the people were away at their gardens, and the chief was left with a few people in the village. Kitimbwa was killed, and a number of those with him, although it is said the chief lost his life dearly, having shot the son of Kitimkuru, the great Awemba chief, who was among the besiegers. The people in their gardens, instead of running to aid their chief when the weird alarm was sounded on the drum, fled and left him to his fate. Mr. and Mrs. Purves, who were up spending a short holiday with Mr. Jones, heard the war beat, and wounded women with their children soon after fled to them for refuge, and the next two nights they had a very anxious time, for on the first night the Awemba camped at the village of Kitimbwa, close by, and during the night a man, supposed to be a spy, attempted to climb the stockade; having refused to say who he was, or to speak at all, he got a cold reception from one of the men on guard, and disappeared. I sent forty men up from the lake as soon as possible, and they remained there until they knew the Awemba were well on their way home with their spoil of cloth and powder, a large number of women, several heads, and the body of Kitimbwa. This was cut up and burned on the ruins of an old Ulunga village which they sacked years ago, on the boundary of their country. The body of a chief taken in war is burned outside their own territory, lest his spirit should return in some other form and wreak vengeance. Mr. Jones, in a letter to me, said: “Yes, Kitimbwa has gone to his account, the only chief who has actually and openly opposed missionary work in the district. Is not that a significant fact? Better for him if he had done otherwise. Most of his villagers are now in this boma, and all say they want to settle here. Whether they will or not depends upon the measure of safety that will be guaranteed to them.”

Here, to my mind, is strong evidence that the Awemba do not wish to molest the white man. No doubt they have a wholesome fear of the gun; but here was Mr. Jones, with a mere handful of people round him, and a strong temptation offered in the way of cattle, although flushed with their unexpected success, they left him alone. The sight of the village after the attack, with mutilated bodies lying within and without the stockade, haunted one day and night for a long time. Surely the cup of this dominant tribe must be about full, and this extensive upland, and well-watered country, which remains a hunting-ground of the Arab slaver, must come under a better rule. It seems that at last the British Administration has given his quietus to Mlozi, a powerful Arab slaver at the north end of Lake Nyassa, the head and front of the offending in the Karonga war eight years ago, described by Captain Lugard in the first volume of his “Rise of our East African Empire.” There is a rumor that the British South Africa Company, under whose aegis this region has recently come, intent do settle the Awemba problem next year. Then there will be a fine opportunity for a mission to enter, for the country is healthy, and the people are a physically fine race, brave and industrious. Who is to enter in and possess the land? Already the French Fathers have established a station on the edge of it. However much we might wish, we are in no position to move a step in the matter, as things are at present reduced to one man on each station except this one. Since I came out six persons have left for home, and no new man come to take their places. Fever, after two years’ conflict, has driven me from the lake up to the hills, wehre Ihope to share the work in the coming ear with Mr. Carson at Fwambo. A fine, comfortable brick house which he had built, or at least the natives, who, he said, needed but little superintendence, was ready to receive me, with a flourishing fig-tree in the square in front. To my right a road recently constructed stretches away for some distance in the direction of the lake, but one cannot hope to see Mr. and Mrs. Purves coming along, as they cannot leave the station for any length of time. Another long stretch runs in the direction of home, and it is in vain that one strains his sight along this for coming of the much-needed reinforcement. If it was not for the native teachers we should be at a loss what to do. The charge of the outlying schools both here and at the lake depends almost solely upon them. One can but do his best, sitting at times under his fig-tree, though the vine may be absent, and labor and wait for the fulfillment of that fine prophecy: “But in the latter days it shall come to pass that the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established top of the mountains, and it shall be exalted above the hills; and peoples shall flow into it. And many nations shall go and say: Come ye and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, and to the house of the God of Jacob, and He will teach us of His ways, and we will walk in His paths… And He shall judge between many peoples, and shall reprove strong rulers afar off; and they shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” -Yours truly, W. Thomas.

Mama Meli / Mama Mary

Reading this week:

  • Hyperion by Dan Simmons

There are MAJOR new updates to this story, available as of December 13, 2020, here.

Mama Meli is a classic story of trying to find obscure historical stuff in Zambia. I first heard of her because she is mentioned in any Zambian news article about slavery, and rightfully so. She is billed as the only known freed slave buried in Zambia.

The truth, it appears, is slightly more complicated than that. It appears she is famous because she got her oral history recorded in the book Women in Peril. You can read her entire life story, in her own words (and what I assume excerpt from the book), in this linked PDF. I recommend reading it, but as the short version, she lived quite the life. She was born in 1880 (there are different dates stated) in Northern Zambia, near Kawimbe. As a small child, she was captured in what must have been one of the last Arab slave raids in the area. This was a violent capture and the slavers killed her parents. She was transported to near what is now Nakonde, where the slavers tried to sneak past a mission established to combat these slave raids. Due to some trickery, the slavers were discovered and stopped, and their slaves freed. Mama Meli was taken back to Kawimbe where she was taken in by the mission there. In a nasty frying pan/fire situation, in my opinion, her relatives discovered she was at the mission and tried to claim her, but the mission demanded the exorbitant price of a cow for her release because she was such a hard worker. She was eventually married off but lived a rather full life, going through three husbands and working as a midwife all over Northern Zambia. She eventually died at the age of 102. If you just think about the span of her life, she was born at a time when she was at risk of being captured by Arab slave traders and lived a chunk of her life having never even seen shoes, and died in the independent, relatively wealthy Republic of Zambia.

And, according to sources, she is buried at Kawimbe, which happens to be right where my friend Katie lives. So I went up there to try to track down Mama Meli (it’s not her original name, but she was eventually named “Mary” by the missionaries, and in the local patois this gets transformed into “Meli,” and all the written sources refer to her as “Mama Meli”). Katie asked around before I got there, and was told that Mama Meli is buried somewhere on the old Kawimbe Mission grounds (there is a new Kawimbe Mission) in an unmarked grave. Sweet. So after I arrived at her house we set off to find the location of the old mission, and something that could be her grave.

To cut a long story short, we were unsuccessful in finding Mama Meli. No one quite knows the location of the old mission exactly, and as I said we were looking for an unmarked grave. But after we asked a little old lady we found, she did direct us to a pretty cool old mission graveyard.

First off, we never would have found this thing without the nice lady. The above picture is of the graveyard from the path. It isn’t until you’re in it and on top of it that you find anything, and man what you find is cool.

Hidden throughout the grass are a whole variety of graves of missionaries that died in the area. The earliest grave we found was from 1898 and the latest from 1925. This brings me to the point of this article, which is a long lament for Zambia’s efforts at tourism.

Later in the day we went to go greet Katie’s counterpart and discovered that he was hosting at that moment the local chief, Chief Fwambo. I took the moment to try to impress upon him my thoughts on getting more tourists to Zambia, and Mama Meli is a great case. She has a great story and would be super popular with any tourists in the area with even a faint interest in slavery or its effects on the area. But to find out about her you have to follow closely Zambian newspapers, and then have some idea where Kawimbe is. And once you’re there, there is noting to guide you to the right spot to look. No one that we talked to is even quite sure where her grave is, though apparently her grandchildren live in the area and I think they would know. It would be so cheap and easy to put up a sign with some background on Mama Meli, marking her gravesite or at least the old Kawimbe Mission site. Put another sign or two along the road (again this is cheap; a piece of wood and some paint) and man the tourists would come like flies. Then, just stick with me for a minute here, what if, and just what if, the say, nearby Moto Moto Museum, in conjunction with the Mbala Town Council, assembled a scenic byway map or something. They could list all the important historic sites in the region (having put signs in those spots, as well), and put that information on a map/brochure that tied together the history of the region, from prehistoric times to the Bantu migration to Arab slavery to missionaries and colonialism to the freedom struggle (Mbala even has Zambian Freedom Struggle sites!) to the modern republic and just made it easy to find all these sites and to literally put Mbala and the environs on the map! Not to mention the natural beauty and crap! And man, like, if some local enterprising entrepreneur trained up a taxi driver or two in some of the historic significance, and came up with a set price for the tour so you could just call up Steve or whatever and pay him K500 to have him drive you to all these sites in a morning or afternoon and explain something of the history and I’m telling ya like overnight Mbala would be the tourist destination it dreams of being. I swear this wouldn’t be expensive and there are already like a dozen people that work at the Moto Moto Museum that could put this together, easy.

So yeah. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

The Stevenson Road

Crudely Cropped Map

A crudely cropped (sorry Lake Rukwa) map of the Nyasa-Tanganyika Plateau and the Stevenson Road (in black); better version available here.

The Stevenson Road is a neat little piece of history that is pretty intimate with the overall history of Mbala. The Stevenson Road was a road that ran from the north end of Lake Malawi (then Lake Nyasa) to the southern end of Lake Tanganyika. It went through Mbala (then Abercorn), helping to make Mbala the major center in the north of British southern Africa.

The intrigue behind the construction of the Stevenson Road is detailed in the paper “Commerce, Christianity, and the Creation of the Stevenson Road,” and the history of the road is intimately tied with the London Missionary Society and of course my favorite ship from the area, the SS Good News. The road was the brainchild of James Stevenson and James Stewart. Stevenson was a Glasgow manufacturer and a donor for church activities in Africa. Stewart was a civil engineer working in Africa at the time. At the time, the main route to get to Lake Tanganyika was to travel overland from Dar Es Salaam on the coast to Ujiji, a town towards the north end of the lake. This route was controlled by the Arab traders (in this area, really Muslims of African descent). One of the major tasks of the London Missionary Society was to combat the slave trade controlled by these traders, though this was also the major route for ivory in this area. The major impetus for Stevenson and Stewart, however, was to create a route free from Arab control with which they could steal away the ivory trade.

Stewart and Stevenson approached the London Missionary Society in order to secure early customers for their road until they could take over the ivory trade from the Arab traders to the north. Stevenson offered the Society a large donation in exchange for help building the road and an exclusive contract to carry Society goods to their missions in the Lake Tanganyika area. The London Missionary Society was reluctant to agree to give up the Dar-Ujiji route because they had a successful mission along that route. However, another potential donor, Robert Arthington, had offered a donation contingent on the Society launching a steamship on Lake Tanganyika. The Society was a bit fed up with all these donations that came with conditions, they saw a solution to both their problems by agreeing to launch a steamship, and telling Stevenson that they would transport the ship via the new Nyasa-Tanganyika road. This ship was, of course, the SS Good News. With an early cargo guaranteed over the road, Stewart and Stevenson began construction.

The Stevenson road route, besides drawing business away from the Arab traders, had some other advantages. From the mouth of the Shire river on the Indian Ocean to the top of Lake Tanganyika, it was possible to traverse 1400 miles into Africa with only 275 miles of it overland via the Stevenson Road. This route was plied by the Livingstonia Trading Company of Central Africa (who’s first chairman was James Stevenson), which changed its name to the African Lakes Company when construction of the road commenced.

Dove

The Dove, a ship of the African Lakes Company that plied Lake Nyasa and the Shire River; picture from Rhodesiana Vol 33.

The route, as far as overland central Africa travel went in those days, was pretty okay. As described in “The Nyasa-Tanganyika Plateau,” the plateau is covered with a thin scrub jungle, with grass 4 or 5 feet high growing between trees 12 to 15 feet high. It is not sufficiently thick to prevent walking in any direction” (this is still pretty true). The plateau was usually billed as having less disease than more low-lying areas, and the reviews on this are mixed, with that same article noting more sickness than usual when the author went through (1899), but also noted that several Europeans had lived there for many years without suffering too much for it. The big advantage of the plateau was the lack of tsetse fly. On the Dar-Ujiji route, the presence of tsetse fly prevented the use of draft animals, therefore requiring the use of porters.

Stevenson Road 1899.jpg

Stevenson Road near Saisi, from “The Nyasa-Tanganyika Plateau.”

IMG_6586

Modern-day look at one of the better preserved stretches of the road near Mbala.

The history of the Stevenson Road seems pretty short. The Good News was the first major cargo over the road, transported in 1884. Ten years later, in 1894 it was still (as detailed in “Commerce”) in large chunks hypothetical, but had helped determine the northern border of Rhodesia, which paralleled the road to the north. Around that same time the British South Africa company was laying a telegraph line across the entire length of the African continent, following the Stevenson Road for part of its route (Rhodesiana Vol 33). There’s no solid timeline for its disappearance, though it seems it fell out of use when the British South Africa company managed to connect its holdings to the south to the holdings in this area.

Not a whole lot of the road still remains today. The general route is still in use from Lake Malawi to Lake Tanganyika, so portions of modern-day roads probably go over or parallel portions of the original road. According to the director of the Moto Moto Museum in Mbala, the best-preserved stretch of the road near Mbala is a portion that leads to the Mutabilike Cemetary just north of the town (this stretch pictured above). Mpulungu has taken over from Kituta Bay (the bays are next to each other) as the major port on the south end of Lake Tanganika. The upswing of that is although there is a modern, paved road leading into Mpulungu, the road into Kituta Bay is still, I suspect, the same dirt road that was the end of the Stevenson Road back in 1884. Since Kituta Bay is the modern-day resting place of the Good News, I think it all ties together quite nicely.

IMG_6104

End of the Stevenson Road at Kituta Bay, Lake Tanganyika.

 

Pics of the SS Good News

Just wanted to post some sweet photos of the SS Good News recently posted on the Mbala / Abercorn Facebook Page!

“This photo was taken by the Federal Information Dept in the late 1950s early 60s.” Link
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“The Good News in drydock with the Morning Star moored offshore. This appears to be on the east coast of Kumbula Island just opposite was is now the port of Mpulungu.” Link
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“Here is the Good News being examined after being shelled by the German naval forces in 1914. While the earlier smaller missionary vessel the Morning Star was refloated by the African Lakes Company, the Good News was abandoned.” Link

Previous posts about the SS Good News:

Mpulungu

Building the SS Good News

Building the SS Good News, Part 2

I Found the SS Good News!

I Found the SS Good News!

Me, with a section of the SS Good News.

Reading this week:

  • Churchill’s History of the English Speaking Peoples, arranged for one volume by Henry Steele Commager

Today my efforts to find the SS Good News finally met with success. I set off on my expedition at about 0600. I overpacked; I brought enough food along with camping equipment to spend a night out in the bush, but I wound up making the whole trip in one day. From my hut I followed some bush paths and then a rather nice dirt road to Kituta Bay, where a guidebook to Zambian National Monuments said I would find the Good News.

Kituta Bay is gorgeous. It’s the next bay over to the east of Mpulungu harbor, and the valley opens up into this (today anyways) sun-dappled valley surrounded by mountains. I started wandering the valley, looking for what I assumed would be a fairly obvious, 50 ft long metal hull sitting out in the open. This wasn’t a terrible assumption, based on this picture from a 1991 guidebook to Zambia’s National Monuments:

Sorry it’s a terrible picture.

As I was wandering around a dude asked me where I was going and I said I was looking for the Good News. He pointed me to a clump of trees and I head that way, thinking the ship had been overgrown in the intervening years. I dragged my bike towards the shore until my feet were submerged and put it up against a tree, and continued wandering around looking for the ship. Eventually, to my surprise, some kid called my name. Turns out he’s the brother of one of my neighbors, and knew about me. I tried to ask him about the boat, but he didn’t know, so I continued tramping through a marsh, supported at times just by floating mats of grass. Eventually the kid brought a slightly older guy around, and I showed him the picture I had (the same one above) of the boat. He asked me if it was the Good News and when I was like hell yeah and that I would follow him. He lead me over to a clump of tall grass and as I looked around for a hull he started digging.

A chunk of the SS Good News.

Turns out in the 30 or so years since the picture was taken for that guidebook, the ship has apparently fallen over and been buried. We dug up several portions of the boat. As far as I can tell, it is indeed the ship and not a 50-gallon drum or anything. I assume there’s not a whole lot of metal ships laying around anyways, and the whole area seemed big enough to match the ship and the parts looked like riveted ship hull sections. I was very happy to have finally sighted the ship but a little disappointed there wasn’t more to look at. But I can say for sure that, despite what you read on other websites, the SS Good News is buried at the very center of the bay, but you’ll have to ask around to find it.

Loading up the boat.

At this point, I asked the dude showing me around if it was possible for him to take me to Mpulungu. I didn’t want to bike the 2500m of vertical elevation change back up to my site, and was hoping to catch a minibus out of Mpulungu. He offered to take me for K100 which I thought was a pretty good deal. So we found a boat, loaded up my bike, and started paddling across the bay.

I had imagined paddling all the way around to Mpulungu, but after paddling across the bay the dudes taking me concluded it would be easier to walk over the hill separating Kituta Bay and Mpulungu. I am glad we did. We walked through a gorgeous village (named Kipata, I think) which had massive trees, a really nice bridge over a small river, and a waterfall. I am glad I got to see that. Once we got to the hill, the dudes split the load and one dude shouldered my bike and we hiked over the hill like that. At this point I realized I had accidentally hired porters, colonial-style, and I didn’t know how to feel about that. But it was pretty cool.

After hiking over the hill, the guys deposited me on the road to Mpulungu and I biked the rest of the way in. Despite it being Sunday I found an open bar and rewarded myself with a beer. After my beers I caught a minibus to Mbala and biked home. It was a great adventure and I was super excited to have laid eyes on the hulk of the SS Good News. Hopefully the next person looking for the boat has an easier time than I did!

Building the SS Good News, Part 2

Kavala Bay, looking toward the mainland with the SS Good News steaming in the background, from Hore’s book.

Reading this week;

  • Tropic of Capricorn by Henry Miller

Continuing our story from last week, we pick up with Swann’s description of building the SS Good News:

Major Dates:

  • Launched: December 1884
  • First Voyage: 5 May 1885
  • First Steam: 7 September 1885

Whilst I was lying on my back beneath the steamer, hammering up keel rivets, an inquisitive native edged up to me and asked:
“Is this vessel not all iron?”
“Yes,” I answered, “Why do you ask?”
Picking up a washer, he beckoned me to the river, and dropping it in, said: “Do you see that?”
“No! I don’t,” I replied. “How can I?—it’s out of sight.”
“Yes, it is; but what I meant was, do you see, it sinks”
“Of course it sank; it’s iron.”
“Well!” he exclaimed, pointing to the steamer. “If such a little piece of iron sinks, how do you expect that big lump will swim?”
He thought he had cornered me. “Look here, old chap,” I said, “just you wait until this moon dies, then come here and help us put her in the river, and you will see her swim; at present you must take my words and believe them, for they are true.”
He looked at me and whispered, “You are right. She will not sink, because if the whole tribe tried they could never carry her into the water; she’s too heavy! No, she will neither sink nor swim!”

With this parting shot he left me. He was soon to learn that necessary lesson which must be taught all primitive people—that a white man speaks the truth. Grease for the launching ways had to be procured from hippopotami, some of which will yield several bucketful’s of fat when in good condition. Many a day’s exciting sport was enjoyed hunting these valuable creatures, especially when the pursuit was followed in canoes, for you can never be certain their great carcasses won’t come up suddenly under the canoe, disturbing its equilibrium; and there was always the danger of crocodiles joining in the hunt… We were extremely glad to hammer up the last rivet and launch the Good News into Tanganyika.

I did not forget the old sceptic, who stood amongst the crowd of natives watching the iron vessel swimming. Making my way up to him and touching him on the shoulder, I asked, “What about the lump of iron swimming now?”
He was not to be cornered quite so easily as I imagined. Looking straight into my eyes, and scornfully pointing to the vessel, he answered: “You put medicine [magic] into it!”
The reply was extremely disappointing. I had hoped to impress on him, and others, the fact that our word could be relied upon. We wanted to win their confidence. “Look here, old man,” I said. “Never you mind whether there is medicine in it or not. I told you it would float. Does it?”
“Yes, it does,” he answered; “and I’ll believe anything you tell me after this!”

Edward Hore:

All the [Africa Lakes] Company’s stations, from Karonga’s to Quilimane, were choked with our Good News material and with necessaries for the F.C.S.M. stations. The missionaries on those stations were kept very short of supplies already, in consequence of our Good News business requiring all the Company’s transport capacity.

[In December 1884] the hull of the Good News was so far completed as to be ready for the launch.
At the shipbuilding yard in the Lofu River the combined technical skill and organising tact and determination of our brethren there had surmounted every difficulty, and made a brilliant success of the launch of the Good News on the 3rd March. On the 13th Mr. Swann arrived in the Morning Star [to the Missionary Station] to give us the details of that interesting and most important achievement, the floating of our vessel, the subsequent completion of which has enabled us literally to “take possession” in the Lord’s name of this beautiful inland sea, Tanganyika.

Now that the hull of the vessel was afloat, enabling her to be completed anywhere… this meant, of course, we might just as well be in the place selected as the permanent locality of our department, where we could at once complete the Good News, serve the stations, and secure proper shelter and comfort for ourselves. The place long before selected for that purpose was Kavala Island, where I had deposited my wife and child, and where, when the hull of our vessel was afloat, it was decided to remove her for completion and the establishment of a permanent station…

Kavala is one of a group of islands off Uguha, and about six miles from Mtowa in that country. It is about three miles long, and from half a mile to a mile across, with a fine deep bay on the landward side forming a harbour. In form it is a long irregular hill rising out of the lake, with deep water all round, and nearly a mile distant from the adjacent coast of Uguha. Its position in the length of the lake may be clearly seen on the map. Its form, and the nature of the soil, make it healthy, and it is well ventilated by the lake winds; being, in fact, at sea, whilst, being an island, it is free from the effects of warlike disturbances or attacks of wild beasts. Half an hour or an hour in a native canoe takes one to the mainland, where, in a richer but less healthy soil, the natives of the island have their larger plantations.

On the 18th April 1885, I sailed for the Lofu River, where I had the great joy of seeing our vessel afloat. Mr. Roxburgh, although really very ill, was in wonderful spirits at the successful issue of his work. Mr. Swann had packed all our property and prepared the Good News for her first trip. The vessel herself being the mere shell, without deck, fittings, or rigging, was now entirely under jury rig, consisting of two rough poles for masts secured by temporary framework: the big lateen sail forward, and another one aft. I also had sixteen long sweeps to work on poles temporarily fixed along the vessel’s sides, and stability was secured by a good load of the heavy stores and shipbuilding materials. Although temporary platforms were rigged over the vessel, she was still practically an open boat. I had confidence, however, in my knowledge of the lake, the nearly certain occurrence of strong fair winds to make a passage, and the paddles to put her into port, and was therefore, notwithstanding some anxiety, able with intense gratification to feel my beautiful vessel for the first time rise and fall upon the bosom of the lake, and “turning about whithersoever I listed.”

Bidding farewell to Messrs. Harris and Brooks, we sailed out of the Lofu River on the 5th May. Mr. Roxburgh was with me in the Good News, and Mr. Swann sailed the Morning Star as tender and escort. First giving us a tow out into deep water, he sailed away to make a call for mails at Karema, and then to proceed to Kavala, and there cruise about to give assistance or tow us into harbour. A strong fair breeze, however, gave us a quick and safe passage. At 5.30 P.M. on the 7th we were close to Kavala, and after a vigorous pull up with the paddles, anchored in our own harbour at 6. The arrival of the great white hull of the Good News was a great astonishment to the Kavala people; she was indeed “a big ship ” to them, and every one crowded to the shore to gaze… Mr. Roxburgh, however, was quite worn out with his rough life and continuous hard work; he had in no way spared himself, and now, the excitement over, he was suffering.

During the voyage he still kept up, but as soon as we reached Kavala he seemed much worse with decided dysentery. Rest, better accommodation and food, and all the assistance we could render, served only to prolong his life for a few more days, and on the 18th he died. We had at least the satisfaction of feeling that we had been able to make his last days a little more comfortable; all of us who knew him bore testimony to his faithful work, and felt assured that he had so lived that for him to die was gain. To his patient toil and superior skill the solid workmanship of the sides and frame of our good vessel is due, besides other good work about our boats and houses, wherever his skill could be applied. Over his grave we erected a fitting memorial made of one of the steel plates similar to those of which the Good News is built.

Swann:

A few more days sufficed to rig up jury-masts on the Good News, as we had to sail her up north to home depot. Hore had now returned, and he took command, whilst I piloted the Morning Star. It was a grand race up the lake with the monsoon. In the darkness we parted company, and dropping mails at the French station of Karema, we bowled along, shaping a course for home. We were making a record passage, but on rounding the cape we saw the Good News had outrun us, having arrived some hours previously. James Roxburgh, our engineer, who before he came to Africa had turned the mighty shaft in Glasgow for the ocean liner Orient had completed his last task. Bravely he battled against fever month after month. The excitement of his work kept him going, but shortly after the Good News dropped her anchor in port for the first time, he “crossed the bar,” dysentery completing the mischief of malaria.

Hore:

Two more voyages, having received the last lot of material from the African Lakes Company on 26th September, were made in bringing away our property; the Calabash, on the 17th November, being the last boat to arrive. Some of her crew had the smallpox, and we were obliged to put her in quarantine, in a little bay a mile off, until the men had recovered. The Calabash, no longer seaworthy, was beached; the last of her timbers coming apart as the Good News was ready for service.

We continued till July of 1886. The entire lining and internal fittings, the deck, upper works, and rigging, the boiler and machinery of the Good News still remained to be put together and attached to the hull; the masts were yet growing somewhere on the forest slopes of the lake shore. Some fittings (lost on the Nyassa route) were only now coming to us from Zanzibar. The last stores by Nyassa had only just arrived. Month after month Mr. Swann worked in the shed at the ironwork, while I worked on board, superintending, meantime, the erection of workshops, boat-sheds, and houses, and the making of roads; dropping our tools at intervals for a voyage to Ujiji with and for the mails, generally taking it in turns. Then the dry dock was built; trees were cut on the opposite shore for the masts and laid down to season, and gradually the Good News grew in beautiful detail.

On 7th June, the dry dock being completed, the vessel was placed in it and a good job made of cleaning her bottom and repainting; thus thoroughly testing also the efficiency of the dock. On the 28th the mainmast was put in, then the mizzen-mast, and by the end of the month the rigging was set up and the vessel practically complete as a sailing vessel. The cabin fittings and other things for comfort and appearance still left some months of work, thus short-handed and busy with many affairs. Mr. Swann had gone to Niumkolo in the Morning Star to fetch Mr. Carson, who came out by the Nyassa route. They arrived at Kavala on 4th July, and right glad we were to see and welcome our new colleague in such good condition as he arrived. A house was ready for him, and this was the case for each missionary who arrived at Kavala. Five days after, the riveting of the boiler commenced, Messrs. Carson and Swann working together for nearly two months at this, the heaviest of the work, made heavier and more difficult in that the dome part, originally riveted at home, had been separated at Nyassa for easy transport.

The Good News was afloat, decked, masted, and rigged; an ample engineer’s workshop erected, with shears and other arrangements all standing ready for manipulating the boiler, the plates and rivets of which were ready, but for which the technical skill of an engineer was so desirable in order to make a superior finish, when Mr. Carson arrived to us, who so ably and well completed this part of our vessel’s equipment.
Mr. Carson had finished refitting the engine, and now we had the very interesting if somewhat difficult work of putting the boiler into the vessel. Shears were made with trees we had cut on the mainland, and rigged up by help of the chain cable and anchor ; and by rendering the boiler buoyant with tight air space and other parts plugged with pithwood, it was floated to its place under the shears and safely hoisted on board. On the 7th September steam was got up, and with all our party on board we made a short trial-trip out into the straits. It was a time of great and thankful rejoicing with us as after many days we found ourselves steaming out on the waters of Tanganyika at last in our beautiful vessel, now practically complete in all essentials. Every plate and plank of her has a history, and every rivet a story of months and years of labour only known to a few. The complete and beautiful vessel herself has before her, we trust, a long and eventful life of useful service to the glory of God and the extension of His kingdom.With the completion of the work of my own special department—the building, equipment, and establishment of the Good News as our perfected means on the lake of support, transport, mails, and of intercommunication—I began to feel the effects in my own person of these years of work and anxiety.

On the 12th September we sailed in the Good News on her first voyage to Kigoma (a spacious harbour on the east side of Ujiji), where we met our caravan from the coast and loaded up. Visitors, both Arab and native, flocked to Kigoma to inspect this new wonder, and on this voyage I felt that the crowning event of ten years’ work was achieved; nor would I grudge one of those days of hardship or difficulty that might in any way have been instrumental to this end.

Another voyage to the south, taking back Mrs. Jones and the remainder of goods, and a voyage to Ujiji, completed in this year (1887) nineteen voyages made by our boats: altogether over 4500 miles, of which 1100 were done under steam.

Building the SS Good News

The Good News in Lake Tanganyika, from Hore’s book.

Reading this Week:

  • The Log from the Sea of Cortez by John Steinbeck and E.F. Ricketts
  • Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut

Important Dates:

  • Keel Laid – 21st October 1883

As I alluded to in last week’s post, my latest obsession is researching the SS Good News. To that end, I downloaded two books from the Internet Archive: Tanganyika: Eleven Years in Central Africa by Edward C. Hore (1892), and Fighting the Slave Hunters in Central Africa by Alfred J. Swann (1910). These two men describe the construction and launch of the SS Good News. Edward Hore was the master mariner in charge, having been employed by the London Missionary Society in Africa for some time. Swann was hired to help with the Good News along with the Morning Star, a sail lifeboat they transported overland from Zanzibar to Ujiji (meanwhile the parts of the Good News were shipped via the Shire river and Lake Nyasa [Malawi] with the African Lakes Company). Hore provides the best description of the Good News:

The design for our missionary vessel was on a liberal scale. The ample funds provided, and the liberal donation by Mr. G. S. Goodwin of Liverpool of his services as marine architect in the design and building, secured to us a first-class vessel of best material and form, and specially suited to the service. The Habari Ngevia (Good News), built of the best mild steel, with deck and all woodwork of Indian teak, is an auxiliary screw steam yacht 54 feet long by 12 feet beam, strongly built and fitted as for sea service. Two masts, with rigging and sails ketch rigged, make her a complete sailing vessel, and the internal fittings secure safety and comfort. The whole material, fittings, machinery, and outfit, in small pieces suitable for overland transport, and marked and numbered for re-erection,—a mass of material weighing altogether about fourteen tons,—was delivered to the care of the African Lakes Company for dispatch to the south end of Tanganyika by their Quilimane and Nyassa route.

Hore and Swann had to locate a suitable place to build the steam ship. In their original choice of location, raids from neighboring tribes and Arab slave traders had caused all the local Lungu people to flee. This sent Hore and Swann to the Lofu (or Lofubu) river in search of a place suitable for construction a boat, including people they could hire to assist. From Hore’s account:

In sixteen days we reached the south end. In vain I looked for the many well-to-do villages of my old acquaintances, the prosperous and lively Walungu; of some of them all vestige was gone, the sites overgrown with jungle, of others nothing remained but the blackened ruins. Of the people we saw nothing, until, coming upon a solitary fisherman in his little canoe, we heard something of the sad story. The neighbourhood we thus examined was that of Niamkolo and the surrounding district. Niamkolo was the place we intended to settle at to build the Good News, and was in every way a desirable locality. But the disturbed condition of the country made it unsuitable at that time for our purpose; for, for some months at least, we must concentrate on the building of the Good News at some place where food and native labour were to be had. Sailing on round the south end, we found the same signs of destruction everywhere, until we made the Lofu River, where I judged, if anywhere, the remnant of the tribe would be collected.

Here we found—some of them on a little floating island just within the river mouth, some on a sandy spit which had formerly been its bar—a number of refugees, mostly women and children, several of whom were evidently dying of starvation. That night we gave a supper of hot porridge to the poor women and children, by cooking what meal we had in the boat. The news spread fast that the wazungit (white men) had come—news of old friends come back—news of work for food supplies—of protection from their enemies—hope of brighter things all round… All this, as giving opportunity for befriending the natives, had great weight with us; and although somewhat away from direct communication with Nyassa, the neighbourhood otherwise suited us, and was soon decided upon. Moving up river to explore on 27th July, we came to at a bend of the river, and by next day we settled on this spot as the site of our “temporary marine depot.” The natives, advised us to go farther up river; but I knew its treacherous nature.

On the 28th the boats were moored alongside the river bank, and we began clearing the ground; native labourers were engaged, and a tariff arranged of prices for poles and other building materials. The next fortnight was indeed a busy time. Two houses of three compartments each quickly grew into shape: at either end a dormitory—in the centre, in one case, a store in the other a general living- room. At the river bank a jetty was run out as a landing-place, and a little village of grass huts at one side accommodated our men.

As soon as the houses were built, the ship-building shed was commenced near the river bank, abreast of the spot chosen for the launch. It was a large building, 60 feet by 20 feet, high enough to give space for work both above and below the vessel as it came into shape; the blocks were laid down the centre, and one side extended as a workshop.

Swann’s account of choosing a location:

At the south end we sailed up the Lofu River, having taken sixteen days from Eavala Island. The river, which drains the great valley, was nearly blocked up by sud. Numerous hippopotami gave us to understand we were interlopers by raising their enormous heads uncomfortably near the boat. Ugly crocodiles, in large numbers, slid off the sandbanks as we drew near. Storks, cranes, ibis, cormorants, and egrets adorned every creek, whilst thousands of wild geese and duck of many kinds stood closely packed together on the mud-flats; never having been shot at, they took no notice of us until we passed within a few yards of where they stood. It was fortunate for us they lived here in such numbers, as eventually they became our food-supply during famine. We were now amongst the Walungu, who owned nearly the whole of the southern end of the lake. Formerly a numerous tribe, at this time they were a scattered people, exposed to the Arab raids on one hand and to the fierce Awemba on the other… Small groups of villages were built on the floating sud, which was banked in mid-stream, forming small islands, thus affording protection from enemies on the mainland. They were naturally suspicious; only one old fisherman ventured to paddle out to sell fish, but of course he was in reality spying on us. He said that the whole country was at war, and that we were not safe from attack anywhere up the river. A mile or two ahead a broad valley opened out, on which could be seen several villages surrounded by stockades. Near this we formed a permanent camp, and prepared ground on which to lay the keel of the S.S. Good News, which was expected to arrive at any time.

We had not long to wait; for whilst sitting at breakfast, a stranger suddenly appeared in our camp, and without form or ceremony introduced himself as “Lieut. Pulley, of her Majesty’s Navy.” He had accompanied Mr. Fred Moir from Lake Nyasa with the first consignment of our vessel. In a few days we were surrounded with steel frames, keel-plates, tools, etc. The cheerful society of these strangers acted as a tonic. They told us of their exciting journey across country, of war on the Shire River, where, unfortunately, brass bearings had been cut out of our cylinders, brass steam-cocks chopped off to make ornaments, angle-irons bent double, and rod-iron stolen to make spears. Chapter after chapter of such misfortunes to our vessel followed in succession, until one wondered which end of the ship to attempt to construct first.

The most amusing of all was to find that the great iron rudder could not be traced. It must be borne in mind into what a multitude of pieces a steam vessel has to be divided in order to permit of its being carried by porters; also that the whole had to pass up the Zambezi and Shire Rivers in barges, then through the Shire Highlands and up Lake Nyasa, and finally across the Plateau to Tanganyika, a journey of nearly 1000 miles. War against the white man was raging at the time, and these thousands of loads of metal presented great temptation to the half-savage tribes through whose country they were transported by the African Lakes Corporation. The departure of Hore for Zanzibar left but three of us to build the vessel. It was slow work. Those thousands of rivets haunted my dreams. Fever was sapping our constitutions, and the task at times seemed too great. Day by day plate was added to plate; but, as the structure neared completion, it was obvious to me that one more of my comrades would not long survive the physical strain of such hard work and fever combined.

Hore again:

News had also come to us (not long indeed before his arrival on the scene) of a very valuable accession to our staff in the shape of an engineer, Mr. Roxburgh, whose services were to be specially devoted to the erection of the Good News. When we arrived at the south end of the lake in July, and were looking for the Walungu, we were also looking for the African Lakes Company; we almost expected, from what we had heard, to find a station erected—at least we expected to see, or hear of, an extensive expedition bringing us the material of the Good News. No sign or news of any such were to be obtained, and at once on settling on our site parties of messengers were despatched Nyassa-wards to inquire after them, but still no news.

On 29th September our settlement was all astir with the cry, “A white man is coming,” and in a few minutes he appeared, in the shape of Lieutenant Pulley, R.N., who had accompanied Mr. F. Moir from Nyassa, and on reaching the lake near Niumkorlo had followed the coast round and thus found us here. Mr. Roxburgh was with them, and the loads they were conveying were coming along by relays. This was on Saturday night… Mr. Roxburgh soon made himself at home with us; he had had a long and trying journey of many shifts and changes, and had already done a lot of work in looking after the goods and vastly accelerating their arrival to us. On 21st October the first two pieces of keel were laid—the Good News was commenced.

And for the next sixteen months, except for the intervals, alas, in which we were waiting for materials, the wild banks of the Lofu River resounded to the noise of the anvil and riveting, as the skeleton, and then the shell, of the vessel slowly rose into shape. Three weeks sufficed for all that could be done with the materials now on hand, and Mr. Roxburgh sailed with me on a voyage to Uguha and Ujiji. And so the whole year was spent in voyages and spells of shipbuilding as materials arrived. And all through the stay in the Lofu River we were gradually laying the foundation of eventual Christian teaching amongst the people by making their acquaintance and making known our errand, while our native sailors and workmen and two or three Uguha boys were serving a sort of apprenticeship to civilisation and industrial work which has resulted in many able helpers on our stations and boats ever since.

The shell of the vessel was now rapidly coming into shape. Everybody took part in the riveting; but Mr. Roxburgh, whose whole time was devoted to it, had the hardest and most continued manual labour, resulting in the best of work upon our vessel, but, sadly to him, in the eventual failure of his health and strength.