II
The career of Mr. and Mrs. Bull during the next eight years calls for
but little comment. Partly because Tabitha was delicate at first and
must be within reach of doctors, they lived for the most part at
various coast cities in Africa, where Thomas worked with his usual
fervour and earnestness, acquiring languages which he learned to speak
with considerable perfection, though Dorcas never did, and acquainting
himself thoroughly with the local conditions in so far as they
affected missionary enterprise.
He took no interest in anything else, not even in the history of the
natives, or their peculiar forms of culture, since for the most part
they have a secret culture of their own. All that was done with, he
said, a turned page of the black and barbarous past; it was his
business to write new things upon a new sheet. Perhaps it was for this
reason that Thomas Bull never really came to understand or enter into
the heart of a Zulu, or a Basuto, or a Swahili, or indeed of any dark-
skinned man, woman, or child. To him they were but brands to be
snatched from the burning, desperate and disagreeable sinners who must
be saved, and he set to work to save them with fearful vigour.
His wife, although her vocabulary was still extremely limited and much
eked out with English or Dutch words, got on much better with them.
"You know, Thomas," she would say, "they have all sorts of fine ideas
which we don't understand, and are not so bad in their way, only you
must find out what their way is."
"I have found out," he said grimly; "it is a very evil way, the way of
destruction. I wish you would not make such a friend of that sly black
nurse-girl who tells me a lie once out of every three times she opens
her mouth."
For the rest Dorcas was fairly comfortable, as with their means she
was always able to have a nice house in whatever town they might be
stationed, where she could give tennis parties and even little lunches
and dinners, that is if her husband chanced to be away, as often he
was visiting up-country districts, or taking the duty there for
another missionary who was sick or on leave. Indeed, in these
conditions she came to like Africa fairly well, for she was a chilly
little thing who loved its ample, all-pervading sunshine, and made a
good many friends, especially among young men, to whom her
helplessness and rather forlorn little face appealed.
The women, too, liked her, for she was kindly and always ready to help
in case of poverty or other distresses. Luckily, in a way, she was her
own mistress, since her fortune came to her unfettered by any marriage
settlements; moreover, it was in the hands of trustees, so that the
principal could not be alienated. Therefore she had her own account
and her own cheque-book and used her spare money as she liked. More
than one poor missionary's wife knew this and called her blessed, as
through her bounty they once again looked upon the shores of England
or were able to send a sick child home for treatment. But of these
good deeds Dorcas never talked, least of all to her husband. If he
suspected them, after one encounter upon some such matter, in which
she developed a hidden strength and purpose, he had the sense to
remain silent.
So things went on for years, not unhappily on the whole, for as they
rolled by the child Tabitha grew acclimatised and much stronger. By
this time, although Dorcas loved her husband as all wives should,
obeying him in all, or at any rate in most things, she had come to
recognise that he and she were very differently constituted. Of
course, she knew that he was infinitely her superior, and indeed that
of most people. Like everybody else she admired his uprightness, his
fixity of purpose and his devouring energy and believed him to be
destined to great things. Still, to tell the truth, which she often
confessed with penitence upon her knees, on the whole she felt
happier, or at any rate more comfortable, during his occasional
absences to which allusion has been made, when she could have her
friends to tea and indulge in human gossip without being called
"worldly."
It only remains to add that her little girl Tabitha, a name she
shortened into Tabbie, was her constant joy, especially as she had no
other children. Tabbie was a bright, fair-haired little thing, clever,
too, with resource and a will of her own, an improved edition of
herself, but in every way utterly unlike her father, a fact that
secretly annoyed him. Everybody loved Tabitha, and Tabitha loved
everybody, not excepting the natives, who adored her. Between the
Kaffirs and Tabitha there was some strong natural bond of sympathy.
They understood one another.
At length came the blow.
It happened thus. Not far from the borders of Zululand but in the
country that is vaguely known as Portuguese Territory, was a certain
tribe of mixed Zulu and Basuto blood who were called the Ama-Sisa,
that is, the People of the Sisa. Now "Sisa" in the Zulu tongue has a
peculiar meaning which may be translated as "Sent Away." It is said
that they acquired this name because the Zulu kings when they
exercised dominion over all that district were in the habit of
despatching large herds of the royal cattle to be looked after by
these people, or in their own idiom to be /sisa'd/, i.e. agisted, as
we say in English of stock that are entrusted to another to graze at a
distance from the owner's home.
Some, however, gave another reason. In the territory of this tribe was
a certain spot of which we shall hear more later, where these same
Zulu kings were in the habit of causing offenders against their law or
customs to be executed. Such also, like the cattle, were "sent away,"
and from one of these two causes, whichever it may have been, or
perhaps from both, the tribe originally derived its name.
It was not a large tribe, perhaps there were three hundred and fifty
heads of families in it, or say something under two thousand souls in
all, descendants, probably, of a mild, peace-loving, industrious
Basuto stock on to which had been grafted a certain number of the
dominant, warlike Zulus who perhaps had killed out the men and
possessed themselves of the Basuto women and their cattle. The result
was that among this small people there were two strains, one of the
bellicose type, who practically remained Zulus, and the other of the
milder and more progressive Basuto stamp, who were in the majority.
Among these Sisas missionaries had been at work for a number of years,
with results that on the whole were satisfactory. More than half of
them had been baptised and were Christians of a sort; a church had
been built; a more or less modern system of agriculture had been
introduced, and the most of the population wore trousers or skirts,
according to sex. Recently, however, trouble had arisen over the old
question of polygamy. The missionaries would not tolerate more than
one wife, while the Zulu section of the tribe insisted upon the old
prerogative of plural marriage.
The dispute had ended in something like actual fighting, in the course
of which the church and the school were burnt, also the missionary's
house. Because of these troubles this excellent man was forced to camp
out in the wet, for it was the rainy season, and catching a chill,
died suddenly of heart-failure following rheumatic fever just after he
had moved into his new habitation, which consisted of some rather
glorified native huts.
Subsequently to these events there came a petition from the chief of
the tribe, a man called Kosa, whose name probably derived from the
Zulu word Koos, which means chief or captain, addressed to the Church
authorities and asking that a new Teacher might be sent to take the
place of him who had died, also to rebuild the church and the school.
If this were not done, said the messengers, the tribe would relapse
into heathenism, since the Zulu and anti-Christian party headed by an
old witch-doctor, named Menzi, was strong and gaining ground.
This was an appeal that could not be neglected, since hitherto the
Sisa had been a spot of light in a dark place, as most of the
surrounding peoples, who were of the old Zulu stock, remained heathen.
If that light went out the chances were that they would continue to be
so, whereas if it went on burning another result might be hoped, since
from a spark a great fire may come. Therefore earnest search was made
for a suitable person to deal with so difficult and delicate a
situation, with the result that the lot fell upon the Rev. Thomas
Bull.
Once his name was mentioned, it was acclaimed by all. He was the very
man, they said, bold, determined, filled with a Jesuit's fiery zeal
(although it need scarcely be explained that he hated Jesuits as a cat
does mustard), one whom no witch-doctors would daunt, one, moreover,
who being blessed with this world's goods would ask no pay, but on the
contrary would perhaps contribute a handsome sum towards the
re-building of the church. This, it may be explained, as the Mission
itself scarcely possessed a spare penny with which to bless itself,
was a point that could not be overlooked.
So Thomas was sent for and offered the post, after its difficulties
and drawbacks had been fairly but diplomatically explained to him. He
did not hesitate a minute, or at any rate five minutes; he took it at
once, feeling that his call had come; also that it was the very thing
for which he had been seeking. Up in that secluded spot in Portuguese
Territory he would, he reflected, be entirely on his own, a sort of
little bishop with no one to interfere with him, and able to have his
own way about everything, which in more civilised regions he found he
could not do. Here a set of older gentlemen, who were always appealing
to their experience of natives, continually put a spoke into his
wheel, bringing his boldest plans to naught. There it would be
different. He would fashion his own wheel and grind the witch-doctor
with his following to dust beneath its iron rim. He said that he would
go at once, and what is more, he promised a donation of 1,000 pounds
towards the rebuilding of the church and other burnt-out edifices.
"That is very generous of Bull," remarked the Dean when he had left
the room.
"Yes," said another dignitary, "only I think that the undertaking must
be looked upon as conditional. I understand, well, that the money
belongs to Mrs. Bull."
"Probably she will endorse the bond as she is a liberal little woman,"
said the Dean, "and in any case our brother Bull, if I may be pardoned
a vulgarism, will knock the stuffing out of that pestilent Menzi and
his crowd."
"Do you think so?" asked the other. "I am not so certain. I have met
old Menzi, and he is a tough nut to crack. He may 'knock the stuffing'
out of him. Bull, sound as he is, and splendid as he is in many ways,
does not, it seems to me, quite understand natives, or that it is
easier to lead them than to drive them."
"Perhaps not," said the Dean, "but in the case of these Sisas it is
rather a matter of Hobson's choice, isn't it?"
So this affair was settled, and in due course Thomas received his
letter of appointment as priest-in-charge of the Sisa station.
On his arrival home a few days later, where he was not expected till
the following week, Thomas was so pre-occupied that he scarcely seemed
to notice his wife's affectionate greeting; even the fact that both
she and Tabitha were arrayed in smart and unmissionary-like garments
escaped him. Dorcas also looked pre-occupied, the truth being that she
had asked a few young people, officers and maidens of the place (alas!
as it chanced, among them were no clergy or their wives and
daughters), to play tennis that afternoon and some of them to stop to
supper. Now she was wondering how her austere spouse would take the
news. He might be cross and lecture her; when he was both cross and
lectured the combination was not agreeable.
A few formal enquiries as to health and a certain sick person were
made and answered. Dorcas assured him that they were both quite well,
Tabitha especially, and that she had visited the afflicted woman as
directed.
"And how was she, dear?" he asked.
"I don't know, dear," she answered. "You see, when I got to the house
I met Mrs. Tomley, the Rector's wife, at the door, and she said,
rather pointedly I thought, that she and her husband were looking
after the case, and though grateful for the kind assistance you had
rendered, felt that they need not trouble us any more, as the patient
was a parishioner of theirs."
"Did they?" said Thomas with a frown. "Considering all things--well,
let it be."
Dorcas was quite content to do so, for she was aware that her
husband's good-heartedness was apt to be interpreted as poaching by
some who should have known better, and that in fact the ground was
dangerous.
"I have something to tell you," she began nervously, "about an
arrangement I have made for this afternoon."
Mr. Bull, who was drinking a tumbler of water--he was a teetotaller
and non-smoker, and one of his grievances was that his wife found it
desirable to take a little wine for the Pauline reason--set it down
and said:
"Never mind your afternoon arrangements, my dear; they are generally
of a sort that can be altered, for /I/ have something to tell /you/,
something very important. My call has come."
"Your call, dear. What call? I did not know that you expected anyone--
and, by the way----"
She got no further, for her husband interrupted.
"Do not be ridiculous, Dorcas. I said call--not caller, and I use the
word in its higher sense."
"Oh! I understand, forgive me for being so stupid. Have they made you
a bishop?"
"A bishop----"
"I mean a dean, or an archdeacon, or something!" she went on
confusedly.
"No, Dorcas, they have not. I could scarcely expect promotion as yet,
though it is true that I thought--but never mind, others no doubt have
better claims and longer service. I have, however, been honoured with
a most responsible duty."
"Indeed, dear. What duty?"
"I have been nominated priest-in-charge of the Sisa Station."
"O-oh! and where is that? Is it anywhere near Durban, or perhaps
Maritzburg?"
"I don't exactly know at present, though I understand that it is about
six days' trek from Eshowe in Zululand, but over the border in
Portuguese territory. Indeed, I am not sure that one can trek all the
way, at least when the rivers are in flood. Then it is necessary to
cross one of them in a basket slung upon a rope, or if the river is
not too full, in a punt. At this season the basket is most used."
"Great Heavens, Thomas! do you propose to put me and Tabbie in a
basket, like St. Paul, and did you remember that we have just taken on
this house for another year?"
"Of course I do. The families of missionaries must expect to face
hardships, from which it is true circumstances have relieved you up to
the present. It is therefore only right that they should begin now,
when Tabitha has become as strong as any child of her age that I know.
As for the house, I had forgotten all about it. It must be relet, or
failing that we must bear the loss, which fortunately we can well
afford."
Dorcas looked at him and said nothing because words failed her, so he
went on hurriedly.
"By the way, love, I have taken a slight liberty with your name. It
appears that the church at Sisa, which I understand was quite a nice
one built with subscriptions obtained in England by one of my
predecessors who chanced to have influence or connections at home, has
been recently burnt down together with the mission-house. Now the
house can wait, since, of course, we can make shift for a year or two
in some native huts, but obviously we must have a church, and as the
Society is overdrawn it cannot help in the matter. Under these
circumstances I ventured to promise a gift of 1,000 pounds, which it
is estimated will cover the re-erection of both church and house."
He paused awaiting a reply, but as Dorcas still said nothing,
continued.
"You will remember that you told me quite recently that you found you
had 1,500 pounds to your credit, therefore I felt quite sure that you
would not grudge 1,000 pounds of it to enable me to fulfil this duty--
this semi-divine duty."
"Oh!" said Dorcas. "As a matter of fact I intended to spend that 1,000
pounds, or much of it, otherwise. There are some people here whom I
wanted to help, but fortunately I had not mentioned this to them, so
they will have to do without the money and their holiday; also the
children cannot be sent to school. And, by the way, how is Tabbie to
be educated in this far-away place?"
"I am sorry, dear, but after all private luxuries, including that of
benevolence, must give way to sacred needs, so I will write to the
Dean that the money will be forthcoming when it is needed. As for
Tabitha's education, of course we will undertake it between us, at any
rate for the next few years."
"Yes, Thomas, since you have passed your word, or rather my word, the
money will be forthcoming. But meanwhile, if you can spare me the odd
500 pounds, I suggest that I should stay here with Tabbie, who could
continue to attend the college as a day-scholar, while you get us some
place ready to live in among these savages, the Sneezers, or whatever
they are called."
"My dear," answered Thomas, "consider what you ask. You are in perfect
health and so is our child. Would it not, then, be a downright scandal
that you should stop here in luxury while your husband went out to
confront grave difficulties among the Sisas--not the Sneezers--for I
may tell you at once that the difficulties are very grave? There is a
noted witch-doctor amongst this people named Menzi, who, I understand,
is suspected of having burned down the mission-house, and probably the
church also, because he said that it was ridiculous that an unmarried
man like the late priest should have so large a dwelling to live
alone. This, of course, was but a cunning excuse for his savage
malevolence, but if another apparent celibate arrives, he might repeat
the argument and its application. Also often these barbarians consider
that a man who is not married /must/ be insane! Therefore it is
absolutely necessary that you and the child should be present with me
from the first."
"Oh! is it?" said Dorcas, turning very pink. "Well, I am sorry to say
that just now it is absolutely necessary that I should be absent from
you, since I have a tennis party this afternoon--the officers of the
garrison are coming and about half a dozen girls--and I must go to
arrange about the tea."
"A tennis party! A tennis party to those godless officers and probably
equally godless girls," exclaimed her husband. "I am ashamed of you,
Dorcas, you should be occupied with higher things."
Then at last the worm turned.
"Do you know, Thomas," she answered, springing up, "that I am inclined
to be ashamed of you too, who I think should be occupied in keeping
your temper. You have accepted some strange mission without consulting
me, you have promised 1,000 pounds of my money without consulting me,
and now you scold me because I have a few young people to play tennis
and stop to supper. It is unchristian, it is uncharitable, it is--too
bad!" and sitting down again she burst into tears.
The Rev. Thomas who by now was in a really regal rage, not knowing
what to say or do, glared about him. By ill-luck his eye fell upon a
box of cigarettes that stood upon the mantelpiece.
"What are those things doing here?" he asked. "I do not smoke, so they
cannot be for me. Is our money--I beg pardon--your money which is so
much needed in other directions to be wasted in providing such
unnecessaries--for officers and--idle girls? Oh--bless it all," and
seizing the offending cigarettes he hurled them through the open
window, a scattered shower of white tubes which some Kaffirs outside
instantly proceeded to collect.
Then he rushed from the house, and Dorcas went to get ready for her
party. But first she sent a servant to buy another box of cigarettes.
It was her first act of rebellion against the iron rule of the Rev.
Thomas Bull.
