JOSEPH
MKASA, who was about twenty five years old, had been the favourite page
of Mtesa, and was the most notable of the Christian converts. Mwanga had
made him his major-domo, and put him in charge of the royal pages, duties
which he fulfilled so well that it was generally expected that he would
be one day be Katikiro. His charity was a byword among the Christians;
he devoted all his savings to the buying of young slaves, whom he instructed
and then set free. He had a wonderful gift for teaching religion, and
would often give the greater part of the night to it, as his duties left
him little time during the day. He was a general favourite, for instead
of using his influence with the king to injure others, as too often happened,
he had a good word for everyone, and several owed their lives either to
his silence or to his intercession. But it soon became evident that, if
he were to retain his influence, he would be obliged to countenance—or
at least to ignore—the horrible vices to which Mwanga was becoming
addicted. Purity was Mkasa's darling virtue; he watched over the pages
under his charge with a father's care, and went so far as to plead with
the king, on his knees, to amend his ways.
The
Arabs and pagan chiefs, who encouraged Mwanga in his vicious practices,
were fully aware of what was going on. The king was no longer king, they
declared, if he could tolerate the reproof of a subject; Mkasa had, undoubtedly
been at the bottom of the plot to poison him."Give him to me,"
cried the Katikiro, seeing that this suggestion was not without its effect,
"and I will undertake to rid you of him."
“Take him,” answered Mwanga, "there shall no longer be two kings in my kingdom."
On Sunday November 5th, Joseph went, as usual, to the mission, where he heard Mass and received Holy Communion. On his way back to the palace, he received a message that he was wanted immediately by the king, and as soon as he appeared, was seized and condemned to death.
"No," he said, as they attempted to bind his hands. "I die for my religion, and I shall not try to escape. A Christian who gives his life for God has no fear of death." He himself led the way to the place of torture.
Above: King Mwanga
The chief executioner, who had the greatest regard for him, would have delayed carrying out the sentence of death, in the hope that the king would pardon him. But the Katikiro, who had foreseen this, sent orders for his immediate execution, and the only service that this compassionate friend could do him was to strike off his head before his body was given to the flames. Mkasa calmly awaited the stroke. "Tell the king," he said, "that though I have been condemned unjustly, I forgive him with all my heart. But he must repent of his sins, or he will have to answer for them before the tribunal of God."
Mwanga now declared his intention of exterminating all the Christians and killing or banishing the missionaries, but the announcement produced a very different effect from that which had been intended. Instead of showing discouragement, the pages, while they mourned their dead comrade, went so far as to envy him his fate. "He is happy," they said, "he died a Christian." Many came to ask for baptism in preparation for death. "In the month of November," writes Father Lourdel, "we baptised a hundred and fifty-five—a hundred and five in a single week."
On the 16th of November the king summoned the pages who had been in the charge of Joseph Mkasa. "Those who do not pray with the white men," he ordered, "stand out!"
Three only advanced. The rest, among them boys of twelve or thirteen, stood firm.
"I will have you all put to death," cried the king, in a terrible voice.
"So be it, Master," came the quiet answer “we will be put to death.”
“May God be praised,” wrote Father Lourdel, "who gives such courage to children.”
For the present, however, Mwanga contented himself with threats and only imprisoned a few of his pages. The fact that many of them were the sons of his chiefs made him afraid to go further. When Father Lourdel went to the court, he was not ill received. For the moment, at least, it seemed that they were safe. "Mwanga knows quite well, really," he wrote, "that our intentions are good, in spite of all efforts that are made to persuade him to the contrary, but for the moment we can only give instruction secretly."
It was only the lull before the storm. On December 3rd, Mwanga sent for the pages once more. "Let those who do not pray, say so," he said; “it would not be right that the punishment destined for the Christians should fall on others."
Four only, who were not catechumens, answered. The king concealed his anger, and on the following day asked the others if they intended to continue going to the Fathers for instruction, or if they would be content to see them when they came to the court. Unfortunately the page who went to the missionaries to ask what would be the best thing to do, was in such a state of distress, that he mistook the answer, and, instead of saying “we will do as you wish," said "do with us as you wish," which was equivalent to a refusal.
“I was waiting outside," says Father Lourdel "but the king who was naturally very angry, refused to see me."
That night Mwanga sent for one of his head pages, a Christian, Charles Luanga. "You pray if you like," he said, "but pray at home do not go to the white men."
"We are prisoners here," wrote Father Lourdel to his brother, "and liable at any moment to get our tickets for Heaven. I thought at one moment that I was really within reach of the martyr’s crown, for the affair of the opium pills was only a pretext of the chiefs to get me disposed of. Pray that we may have the strength and the courage we need; pray also that while hoping fir the joy of martyrdom, I may have the piety necessary to prevent the ruin of the of the work of God in this country."
Two days later Mwanga spoke kindly to Charles Luanga. "It has seemed to me lately," he said “that you are all afraid of me. Do you think that I shall have you killed, like Mkasa? It was not because he prayed, you know, that I had him put to death, but because he insulted me by opposing the execution of the Englishman and because he told the white men everything I said. You have nothing to fear. But pray here, do not go to the white men; they have nothing to give you, and, if you do, I shall begin to think that you are betraying me, like Mkasa."
"You think the white men want your kingdom" said Luanga, "and that we are ready to help them to get it, yet the religion I have learnt from them teaches me to serve you faithfully. Up to now you have treated me as one of your most trusted servants. Believe me, I am still ready to serve you till death."
Mwanga seemed astonished, and said no more, but the next day he gave to another Christian, Honorat Nyonyi Entono, the office which had' belonged to Joseph Mkasa.
December passed without further disturbances, though the continual threats of the king kept the missionaries on the alert. Father Lourdel went as usual to the palace and during the night instructed converts at the mission. Women were beginning to come, and several had already been baptised. There was no Midnight Mass at Christmas—it would have been too dangerous, but all night long the people were coming in little groups to adore the Infant King.
Among the catechumens baptised on the Feast of the Epiphany was a chief who had been converted by one of his slaves during the absence of the Fathers from Uganda. He had burnt all his amulets, instructed his wives—he had twenty —and then sent them all away but one.
The news came that Mgr. Livinhac was on his way to the mission at Bukumbi. "Will he come back to Uganda?" asked Mwanga. "If you want him to come back, you must invite him yourself," said Father Lourdel. Mwanga said he would send to fetch him. He seemed quite friendly.
On the 25th of February a great fire broke out in the capital, and all the treasures which Mtesa had spent years in amassing were burnt. Mwanga, fearing a revolution, fled to Munyunyu, where the news reached him that another fire had broken out in the quarters of the Namasole (queen, mother), that a galley with much of his merchandise had foundered with its crew, and that the commander-in-chief of his army, with a number of troops, had been killed in a fighting expedition.
The Arabs succeeded in persuading Mwanga that all these misfortunes were due to the white men and their intrigues. "I will put an end to these Christians," he cried. "I will have them all massacred."
The efforts of Charles Luanga to prevent the young pages from being corrupted by the evil practices of Mwanga's shameful court had not passed unnoticed, but as the execution of Joseph Mkasa had only served to increase the number of Christians, Luanga was not put to death. A general massacre of the Christian pages in which he would disappear with the rest was considered more advisable, and Mwanga waited, but in April a letter of expostulation at his behaviour from the English consul at Zanzibar aroused a fresh outburst of fury.
Owing to the rumour that the Christians were to be arrested during the Easter celebrations when they would all be gathered together, there were no meetings. "We shall make up for it on Ascension Day" said the Fathers, and only a few catechumens were baptised.
Among them was a daughter of Mtesa, Clara Nalumansi, , the wife of Joseph Kaddu, one of the first converts. She was a guardian of a tomb of one of the former kings of Uganda, and on becoming a Christian, burnt the fetishes which decorated it and drove out the witch-doctors who claimed to be possessed by the spirit of the dead man. Not content with this, and regardless of the indignation of the pagans, she proceeded to destroy a sacred charm which belonged to her as a member of the royal family, and was the object of superstitious worship among the natives. Though in all this she acted on her own responsibility, it was of course laid to the charge of her husband and the missionaries. The pagan gods, it was declared, would avenge themselves by sending some terrible calamity upon the people.
On the evening of the 25th of May, the king, on his return from a hunting expedition, called for one of his pages, Mwafu, a boy of fourteen, son of the Katikiro. Mwafu was not there, he was told, he had gone out a short time before with Denis Sebugwayo, his kinsman. An hour passed before he appeared.
"Where were you?" asked the king.
"I was at the Armourer's."
"What were you doing?"
"Sebugwayo was teaching me the catechism."
Mwanga sent for Denis Sebugwayo. "What were you doing with Mwafu?"
“Teaching him religion," was the answer.
"What," cried Mwanga, in a fury"you dare, after I have expressly forbidden it, to pervert even the son of the Katikiro," and, seizing his lance from an attendant, he ran it through the boy's throat. He would have done the same to Mwafu but fearing his father's anger, signed to one of the Arabs to take him and put him to death outside. This was immediately done.
With the lance still in his hand, and his eyes starting from his head with fury, Mwanga strode out of the hall, his pages flying right and left before him. Going to the treasure-house, he attacked and nearly killed the under-treasurer, a Protestant, and went on to the house of Andrew, Kagwa. On the way he met Honorat Nyonyi Entono. "Who is this?" he cried, "another Christian.”
"Master, you know me well," was the answer, "I am your servant Nyonyi Entono, you know I am a Christian." Mwanga's reply was to order him to be taken to the executioner and mutilated.
Kagwa was not in his house, but the king ordered James Buzabalayo, a young soldier whom he found there, to be stripped and bound. By this time the night was falling. A strict guard was set all round the palace, to prevent anyone from leaving it, the war-fires were lit at intervals round the enclosure, by the light of which the witch-doctors danced wildly.
In the hall of reception, of which Charles Luanga had charge, a very different scene was going on. Expecting that this would be their last night on earth, he had summoned the four oldest catechumens, given them a last instruction, and baptised them, after which they spent the night together in prayer. Kizito, the youngest of the pages, had been the special object of Luanga’s care. "Do not be afraid to withstand the king" he said to him, "when the moment comes I will be there, I will hold your hand and we will die together."
Next morning at an early hour, the chiefs met in council with the king. Mwanga accused them of having given him traitors to serve him, for many of the pages were their sons. "When we gave them," cried one, "they were good, if they have become bad, the fault is not ours. Kill the bad ones and we will give you others."
This was just what Mwanga wanted, and Charles Luanga was ordered to assemble the pages, beginning with those under his own charge. As some were in service with the royal princesses, it took some time, and when at last they were got together, and passed through the courtyard leading to the king's hut, they found it full of the king's executioners, standing ready to act at the first signal.
"Let those who do not pray stand beside me" shouted Mwanga, in a voice of thunder, "and those who do, advance to the paling." Charles Luanga was the first to step forward,. The little Kizito took his hand, and followed by the rest, they went to the spot named by the king.
"Is it true that you are all Christians?" demanded Mwanga angrily.
"Yes," was the grave answer, "we are all Christians."
"Do you intend to remain Christians?"
"Always, even to death."
"Take them and kill them," roared the king to the executioners, who at once bound their hands, and flung ropes round their necks. Among the prisoners was the son of the chief executioner, a boy who had been baptised with several others the night before. "Tell him you do not pray," he urged, in a low voice, pretending to be busy with the rope. "No," said the boy, "I cannot say that, for I do pray, and I always shall." "Escape then, and hide in my house" said his father. "No," said Mbaga once more, "I will not, I want to die with my companions."
The captives set off without a word; the pagans were astonished, for such a thing had never been seen in the country.
Father Lourdel, who had heard of what was going on through one of the pages, hastened to Munyunyu, a three league journey from the mission. "On the way,” he says, "I met some Christians who told me that Honorat had been arrested, and that I should be too late. When I reached the king's house everything was quiet—it was a deadly calm. Everyone looked at me as if they could scarce believe their eyes, as that I should dare to present myself on such a day. I went direct to the hut of the Katikiro, whom I saluted as usual, and then passed on, unmolested, to that of the king.
Everything seemed as it always was. Could it be a false alarm, or was I dreaming? No. It meant nothing but that I was to have the sad comfort of seeing our Christians arrested, and bidding them farewell for the last time on earth. The chiefs of each group of pages were assembling their charges near the door of the king's house. Charles Luanga's band was the first to enter, and was received with howls of derision.
Presently they came out and were instantly seized by the executioners, who bound them and proceeded to drag them out of the court. Those from eighteen to twenty-five years of age were in one group, and the children in another. They were so tightly secured that they could hardly walk, and the little Kizito was laughing as if it were a game. He had been beseeching me to baptise him for weeks and I had promised to do so in a month, but his baptism was to be in blood.
"The chiefs who were waiting to see the prisoners pass, greeted them with insults and abuse, which they received in silence. As they passed me, they gave me a glance of greeting, while I prayed to Him Who is the strength of martyrs to give them fortitude to endure to the end. I was not even allowed to speak to them, I could only look at their young faces, full of courage and hope and thank God, with an aching heart for all His graces.
Mwanga refused to see me, and they would not let me pass. Presently James Busabalayo, the young Christian soldier whom he had arrested, was brought before him. He had instructed many of the children of Rubaga and was a fervent Christian.
“You are a Christian chief, it seems” said the king.
“I am a Christian, it is true,” said Buzabalayo, “but not a chief.”
"This young man gives himself airs,” said Mwanga, “you might think him a great person."
Buzabalayo laughed,. “You do me too much, honour,” he said.
"He actually tried to convert me,” said the king. “Take him away and kill him. He shall be the first to die.”
"Goodbye,” said James quietly. “I shall pray for you when I am in Heaven.”
“These Christians must be mad,” said Mwanga, “to speak in such a way.”
"Buzabalayo passed close by me," continues Father Lourdel, "his hands were bound, and a rope round his neck. I lifted my hand to give him a last blessing, and he answered by lifting his—bound as they were—to heaven. He was, smiling as if he were going to a banquet.”
"I waited on, still in hopes of being able to see Mwanga, but in vain. Then, fearing lest our house might be looted during my absence and our orphans killed, I turned homewards. On the chance of hearing something of the king's intentions from the Katikiro, who was also leaving the court, I went with him part of the way. He treated me with exaggerated politeness, but as I left him, fired this parting shot: “You men of God know many things, but you did not know what was going to happen today."There was a biting mockery in his voice.
"I answered nothing and went on my way wearily. The sun was scorching; I was parched with thirst, but no one would have dared to give me a drink. I passed the house of the armourer, Matthew Kisule, the usual meeting-place of our neophytes, but all was deserted and silent with the silence of death."
The
Arabs and pagan chiefs, who encouraged Mwanga in his vicious practices,
were fully aware of what was going on. The king was no longer king, they
declared, if he could tolerate the reproof of a subject; Mkasa had, undoubtedly
been at the bottom of the plot to poison him."Give him to me,"
cried the Katikiro, seeing that this suggestion was not without its effect,
"and I will undertake to rid you of him." “Take him,” answered Mwanga, "there shall no longer be two kings in my kingdom."
On Sunday November 5th, Joseph went, as usual, to the mission, where he heard Mass and received Holy Communion. On his way back to the palace, he received a message that he was wanted immediately by the king, and as soon as he appeared, was seized and condemned to death.
"No," he said, as they attempted to bind his hands. "I die for my religion, and I shall not try to escape. A Christian who gives his life for God has no fear of death." He himself led the way to the place of torture.
Above: King Mwanga
The chief executioner, who had the greatest regard for him, would have delayed carrying out the sentence of death, in the hope that the king would pardon him. But the Katikiro, who had foreseen this, sent orders for his immediate execution, and the only service that this compassionate friend could do him was to strike off his head before his body was given to the flames. Mkasa calmly awaited the stroke. "Tell the king," he said, "that though I have been condemned unjustly, I forgive him with all my heart. But he must repent of his sins, or he will have to answer for them before the tribunal of God."
Mwanga now declared his intention of exterminating all the Christians and killing or banishing the missionaries, but the announcement produced a very different effect from that which had been intended. Instead of showing discouragement, the pages, while they mourned their dead comrade, went so far as to envy him his fate. "He is happy," they said, "he died a Christian." Many came to ask for baptism in preparation for death. "In the month of November," writes Father Lourdel, "we baptised a hundred and fifty-five—a hundred and five in a single week."
On the 16th of November the king summoned the pages who had been in the charge of Joseph Mkasa. "Those who do not pray with the white men," he ordered, "stand out!"
Three only advanced. The rest, among them boys of twelve or thirteen, stood firm.
"I will have you all put to death," cried the king, in a terrible voice.
"So be it, Master," came the quiet answer “we will be put to death.”
“May God be praised,” wrote Father Lourdel, "who gives such courage to children.”
For the present, however, Mwanga contented himself with threats and only imprisoned a few of his pages. The fact that many of them were the sons of his chiefs made him afraid to go further. When Father Lourdel went to the court, he was not ill received. For the moment, at least, it seemed that they were safe. "Mwanga knows quite well, really," he wrote, "that our intentions are good, in spite of all efforts that are made to persuade him to the contrary, but for the moment we can only give instruction secretly."
It was only the lull before the storm. On December 3rd, Mwanga sent for the pages once more. "Let those who do not pray, say so," he said; “it would not be right that the punishment destined for the Christians should fall on others."
Four only, who were not catechumens, answered. The king concealed his anger, and on the following day asked the others if they intended to continue going to the Fathers for instruction, or if they would be content to see them when they came to the court. Unfortunately the page who went to the missionaries to ask what would be the best thing to do, was in such a state of distress, that he mistook the answer, and, instead of saying “we will do as you wish," said "do with us as you wish," which was equivalent to a refusal.
“I was waiting outside," says Father Lourdel "but the king who was naturally very angry, refused to see me."
That night Mwanga sent for one of his head pages, a Christian, Charles Luanga. "You pray if you like," he said, "but pray at home do not go to the white men."
"We are prisoners here," wrote Father Lourdel to his brother, "and liable at any moment to get our tickets for Heaven. I thought at one moment that I was really within reach of the martyr’s crown, for the affair of the opium pills was only a pretext of the chiefs to get me disposed of. Pray that we may have the strength and the courage we need; pray also that while hoping fir the joy of martyrdom, I may have the piety necessary to prevent the ruin of the of the work of God in this country."
Two days later Mwanga spoke kindly to Charles Luanga. "It has seemed to me lately," he said “that you are all afraid of me. Do you think that I shall have you killed, like Mkasa? It was not because he prayed, you know, that I had him put to death, but because he insulted me by opposing the execution of the Englishman and because he told the white men everything I said. You have nothing to fear. But pray here, do not go to the white men; they have nothing to give you, and, if you do, I shall begin to think that you are betraying me, like Mkasa."
"You think the white men want your kingdom" said Luanga, "and that we are ready to help them to get it, yet the religion I have learnt from them teaches me to serve you faithfully. Up to now you have treated me as one of your most trusted servants. Believe me, I am still ready to serve you till death."
Mwanga seemed astonished, and said no more, but the next day he gave to another Christian, Honorat Nyonyi Entono, the office which had' belonged to Joseph Mkasa.
December passed without further disturbances, though the continual threats of the king kept the missionaries on the alert. Father Lourdel went as usual to the palace and during the night instructed converts at the mission. Women were beginning to come, and several had already been baptised. There was no Midnight Mass at Christmas—it would have been too dangerous, but all night long the people were coming in little groups to adore the Infant King.
Among the catechumens baptised on the Feast of the Epiphany was a chief who had been converted by one of his slaves during the absence of the Fathers from Uganda. He had burnt all his amulets, instructed his wives—he had twenty —and then sent them all away but one.
The news came that Mgr. Livinhac was on his way to the mission at Bukumbi. "Will he come back to Uganda?" asked Mwanga. "If you want him to come back, you must invite him yourself," said Father Lourdel. Mwanga said he would send to fetch him. He seemed quite friendly.
On the 25th of February a great fire broke out in the capital, and all the treasures which Mtesa had spent years in amassing were burnt. Mwanga, fearing a revolution, fled to Munyunyu, where the news reached him that another fire had broken out in the quarters of the Namasole (queen, mother), that a galley with much of his merchandise had foundered with its crew, and that the commander-in-chief of his army, with a number of troops, had been killed in a fighting expedition.
The Arabs succeeded in persuading Mwanga that all these misfortunes were due to the white men and their intrigues. "I will put an end to these Christians," he cried. "I will have them all massacred."
The efforts of Charles Luanga to prevent the young pages from being corrupted by the evil practices of Mwanga's shameful court had not passed unnoticed, but as the execution of Joseph Mkasa had only served to increase the number of Christians, Luanga was not put to death. A general massacre of the Christian pages in which he would disappear with the rest was considered more advisable, and Mwanga waited, but in April a letter of expostulation at his behaviour from the English consul at Zanzibar aroused a fresh outburst of fury.
Owing to the rumour that the Christians were to be arrested during the Easter celebrations when they would all be gathered together, there were no meetings. "We shall make up for it on Ascension Day" said the Fathers, and only a few catechumens were baptised.
Among them was a daughter of Mtesa, Clara Nalumansi, , the wife of Joseph Kaddu, one of the first converts. She was a guardian of a tomb of one of the former kings of Uganda, and on becoming a Christian, burnt the fetishes which decorated it and drove out the witch-doctors who claimed to be possessed by the spirit of the dead man. Not content with this, and regardless of the indignation of the pagans, she proceeded to destroy a sacred charm which belonged to her as a member of the royal family, and was the object of superstitious worship among the natives. Though in all this she acted on her own responsibility, it was of course laid to the charge of her husband and the missionaries. The pagan gods, it was declared, would avenge themselves by sending some terrible calamity upon the people.
On the evening of the 25th of May, the king, on his return from a hunting expedition, called for one of his pages, Mwafu, a boy of fourteen, son of the Katikiro. Mwafu was not there, he was told, he had gone out a short time before with Denis Sebugwayo, his kinsman. An hour passed before he appeared.
"Where were you?" asked the king.
"I was at the Armourer's."
"What were you doing?"
"Sebugwayo was teaching me the catechism."
Mwanga sent for Denis Sebugwayo. "What were you doing with Mwafu?"
“Teaching him religion," was the answer.
"What," cried Mwanga, in a fury"you dare, after I have expressly forbidden it, to pervert even the son of the Katikiro," and, seizing his lance from an attendant, he ran it through the boy's throat. He would have done the same to Mwafu but fearing his father's anger, signed to one of the Arabs to take him and put him to death outside. This was immediately done.
With the lance still in his hand, and his eyes starting from his head with fury, Mwanga strode out of the hall, his pages flying right and left before him. Going to the treasure-house, he attacked and nearly killed the under-treasurer, a Protestant, and went on to the house of Andrew, Kagwa. On the way he met Honorat Nyonyi Entono. "Who is this?" he cried, "another Christian.”
"Master, you know me well," was the answer, "I am your servant Nyonyi Entono, you know I am a Christian." Mwanga's reply was to order him to be taken to the executioner and mutilated.
Kagwa was not in his house, but the king ordered James Buzabalayo, a young soldier whom he found there, to be stripped and bound. By this time the night was falling. A strict guard was set all round the palace, to prevent anyone from leaving it, the war-fires were lit at intervals round the enclosure, by the light of which the witch-doctors danced wildly.
In the hall of reception, of which Charles Luanga had charge, a very different scene was going on. Expecting that this would be their last night on earth, he had summoned the four oldest catechumens, given them a last instruction, and baptised them, after which they spent the night together in prayer. Kizito, the youngest of the pages, had been the special object of Luanga’s care. "Do not be afraid to withstand the king" he said to him, "when the moment comes I will be there, I will hold your hand and we will die together."
Next morning at an early hour, the chiefs met in council with the king. Mwanga accused them of having given him traitors to serve him, for many of the pages were their sons. "When we gave them," cried one, "they were good, if they have become bad, the fault is not ours. Kill the bad ones and we will give you others."
This was just what Mwanga wanted, and Charles Luanga was ordered to assemble the pages, beginning with those under his own charge. As some were in service with the royal princesses, it took some time, and when at last they were got together, and passed through the courtyard leading to the king's hut, they found it full of the king's executioners, standing ready to act at the first signal.
"Let those who do not pray stand beside me" shouted Mwanga, in a voice of thunder, "and those who do, advance to the paling." Charles Luanga was the first to step forward,. The little Kizito took his hand, and followed by the rest, they went to the spot named by the king.
"Is it true that you are all Christians?" demanded Mwanga angrily.
"Yes," was the grave answer, "we are all Christians."
"Do you intend to remain Christians?"
"Always, even to death."
"Take them and kill them," roared the king to the executioners, who at once bound their hands, and flung ropes round their necks. Among the prisoners was the son of the chief executioner, a boy who had been baptised with several others the night before. "Tell him you do not pray," he urged, in a low voice, pretending to be busy with the rope. "No," said the boy, "I cannot say that, for I do pray, and I always shall." "Escape then, and hide in my house" said his father. "No," said Mbaga once more, "I will not, I want to die with my companions."
The captives set off without a word; the pagans were astonished, for such a thing had never been seen in the country.
Father Lourdel, who had heard of what was going on through one of the pages, hastened to Munyunyu, a three league journey from the mission. "On the way,” he says, "I met some Christians who told me that Honorat had been arrested, and that I should be too late. When I reached the king's house everything was quiet—it was a deadly calm. Everyone looked at me as if they could scarce believe their eyes, as that I should dare to present myself on such a day. I went direct to the hut of the Katikiro, whom I saluted as usual, and then passed on, unmolested, to that of the king.
Everything seemed as it always was. Could it be a false alarm, or was I dreaming? No. It meant nothing but that I was to have the sad comfort of seeing our Christians arrested, and bidding them farewell for the last time on earth. The chiefs of each group of pages were assembling their charges near the door of the king's house. Charles Luanga's band was the first to enter, and was received with howls of derision.
Presently they came out and were instantly seized by the executioners, who bound them and proceeded to drag them out of the court. Those from eighteen to twenty-five years of age were in one group, and the children in another. They were so tightly secured that they could hardly walk, and the little Kizito was laughing as if it were a game. He had been beseeching me to baptise him for weeks and I had promised to do so in a month, but his baptism was to be in blood.
"The chiefs who were waiting to see the prisoners pass, greeted them with insults and abuse, which they received in silence. As they passed me, they gave me a glance of greeting, while I prayed to Him Who is the strength of martyrs to give them fortitude to endure to the end. I was not even allowed to speak to them, I could only look at their young faces, full of courage and hope and thank God, with an aching heart for all His graces.
Mwanga refused to see me, and they would not let me pass. Presently James Busabalayo, the young Christian soldier whom he had arrested, was brought before him. He had instructed many of the children of Rubaga and was a fervent Christian.
“You are a Christian chief, it seems” said the king.
“I am a Christian, it is true,” said Buzabalayo, “but not a chief.”
"This young man gives himself airs,” said Mwanga, “you might think him a great person."
Buzabalayo laughed,. “You do me too much, honour,” he said.
"He actually tried to convert me,” said the king. “Take him away and kill him. He shall be the first to die.”
"Goodbye,” said James quietly. “I shall pray for you when I am in Heaven.”
“These Christians must be mad,” said Mwanga, “to speak in such a way.”
"Buzabalayo passed close by me," continues Father Lourdel, "his hands were bound, and a rope round his neck. I lifted my hand to give him a last blessing, and he answered by lifting his—bound as they were—to heaven. He was, smiling as if he were going to a banquet.”
"I waited on, still in hopes of being able to see Mwanga, but in vain. Then, fearing lest our house might be looted during my absence and our orphans killed, I turned homewards. On the chance of hearing something of the king's intentions from the Katikiro, who was also leaving the court, I went with him part of the way. He treated me with exaggerated politeness, but as I left him, fired this parting shot: “You men of God know many things, but you did not know what was going to happen today."There was a biting mockery in his voice.
"I answered nothing and went on my way wearily. The sun was scorching; I was parched with thirst, but no one would have dared to give me a drink. I passed the house of the armourer, Matthew Kisule, the usual meeting-place of our neophytes, but all was deserted and silent with the silence of death."