BEFORE
Father Lourdel reached the mission, he was met by Nantinda, the commander
of the fleet of boats sent to meet Monseigneur Livinhac, with the news
that he had arrived in Uganda. Weary as Father Lourdel was, he was, obliged
to turn back with Nantinda to Munyunyu to apprise the king of the arrival,
and, after a few moments of waiting, they were both admitted to his presence.
Mwanga seemed a little ashamed of himself at first, but soon recovered his self-possession, and ordered Mgr. Livinhac and his companion to be taken to Mtongo, three miles from the mission. This was evidently meant as an attempt to be agreeable. "When Nantinda had gone," says Father Lourdel, "I spoke sorrowfully to Mwanga of the harm he was doing to himself by putting to death the most faithful of his servants.
"I will not have my servants pray,” he answered “and I am master here; I am the king.”
"Refusing to be rebuffed, I began to plead for our poor Christians, assuring him that all he had been told of them was false.
"They shall not all be killed,” he said at last, with a great burst of laughter, “I will spare a few.” I could get no more from him.
“As I went home, I met Lusaka, an old porter, a pagan, but the father of three of our neophytes, and a good friend to us. He was in tears. “My three sons have been arrested,” he said, “What harm have they done the king? He says they pray, but is that a crime?” He wrung my hands in great sorrow, but with such friendliness that I was very much touched. Most of the parents of our Christians had cast looks of rage and anger at me, as if they thought that I was the cause of their troubles. One woman had even cried out that if she had been a man, she would have pierced my heart, for causing the death of her children."
Mkajanga, the chief executioner, had in the meantime, ordered the prisoners to be taken and put to death at Namugongo, a property of his own, but first he ran through the body and then beheaded Ngondwe, another young Christian, who had been condemned with the others. "Do you pray?" he asked him, and when Ngondwe answered "Yes," instantly killed him. Besides Charles Luanga and his pages, there were two young Christian soldiers, and several neophytes of the Protestant missionaries.
As the prisoners were setting out on their last journey, Andrew Kagwa, the most influential of the Christians, was arrested. He had been one of those who had saved the king's life on the occasion of the plot to put him off the throne, and Mwanga, who called him his best friend, had spoken of placing him at the head of his army. He was in command of several hundred soldiers, and the king, who knew his fidelity, kept him always near him.
The death of Joseph Mkasa, his friend, though it had caused Kagwa great sorrow, had made no difference in his service of the king. He felt sure that his own turn would come before long, for everyone knew that he had converted his wife and more than fifty other pagans. His house, moreover, was a meeting place for the Christian pages, who came to him whenever they were ill or in trouble. During the night of the 25th of May he had been to Holy Communion at the mission and was returning to the court when he was pointed out by the Katikiro to the king. "You are putting our children to death," he said, “and you let that man, who has induced them and all our people to revolt, go free."
The cowardly Mwanga, without a word, yielded to the Katikiro's request that Kagwa should be given over to him to be disposed of, and two executioners were sent to seize him and bring him to the minister's tribunal.
"Was it you who taught my children religion?" he asked.
"Yes, it was I"
"You have made your house a house of prayer and have spread religion throughout Uganda," continued the Katikiro. "Take him away," he cried, "and put him to death at once. I will neither eat nor drink till I have seen his severed arm !" The minister was afraid that the king might change his mind, and this was so likely that even the executioner did not dare to carry out the order. He was between two fires. If he killed Kagwa, he might incur the anger of Mwanga, if he did not, that of the Katikiro; he stood hesitating.
"Why do you not obey your orders?" asked Kagwa, "your master is hungry. If he wanted you to kill a kid, you would do it. Do not make him wait, kill me."
"I saw Andrew Kagwa come out from the minister's tribunal," said an eye-witness, "his face was radiant and his step brisk. Eight executioners were with him. They disappeared behind a paling of reeds and I waited—but not for long. In less than ten minutes one of them reappeared holding a bleeding arm, which he carried to the Katikiro." It belonged to the martyr. The chief minister could now dine.
The other victims were on their way to Namugonga. The sun was scorching and as they passed a banana plantation which belonged to the brother of one of the pages, he called out: "Bossa, Bossa, we are thirsty, bring us some banana wine." His brother ran to fetch it. "Bossa," said the boy, when he returned with the wine, "they are taking us away to kill us. We are going to Heaven, where we will keep a place for you. A stream that is full of springs cannot dry up. When we are gone, others who pray will replace us and they will be many." When his brother offered him the cup of wine, he refused to drink.
They were driven along, their necks fast in the terrible slave yoke. One of them protested. "We are the king's meat," he cried; "he is hungry; why make him wait, kill me here." The suggestion was well received, for they were passing a pagan shrine. They killed the boy, hacked his body to pieces, and offered it in sacrifice. It was on the very spot where Joseph Mkasa, six months before, had won the martyr's crown.
The next day their necks and feet were so swollen that walking was difficult. One of them, the boy Gonzague, feeling that he could go no further, lay down and stretched out his neck, a gesture which the executioners were quick to understand. They loosened the rope round the boy's neck, and, without further ado, struck off his head.
Namugongo, where they arrived that night, was a fairly large village. The guards, as usual, divided the prisoners among them, with the exception of Mbaga, the son of the head executioner, who was unbound and carried off by the members of his family, to whom the place belonged. "That one is going to be let off," commented the bystanders, but Luanga, seeing the pity and distress on the faces of his companions bade them pray for him that he might have strength to persevere.
It took some time to collect wood for a fire great enough to consume so many victims. The Christians spent it in prayer. Every morning they greeted each other with the words: "Courage ! the moment is near when we shall die for Christ." Even some of the pagans were touched by their patience.
In the meantime Mathias Murumba, another notable Christian, had been arrested with his friend Luke Banabakintu, and brought before the Katikiro. Matthias was a married man of over forty, who exercised the office of magistrate at the court of Mkendo, chief of the province of Kirumba. He was the life and soul of the two hundred catechumens in that district, many of whom he had himself instructed.
"What you! Marumba," said the chief minister, "is it possible that you have begun to pray at your age?”
"Yes, it is I," was the quiet answer.
“Why do you pray?”
"Because I want to pray."
"You have sent away your wives, I hear, pray, who cooks for you?”
"Is it because I am thin, or because I pray, that I have been brought before you?" asked Marumba.
"Ah, you are giving yourself airs, I see," retorted the Katikiro.
"Executioners, take them away and put them to death at once."
The two men went out joyfully, and were driven off to join the rest, but when they reached Kampala, Matthias Marumba sat down quietly. "I am one of Mkwenda's men," he said. "The king does not know me, and no one is likely to interfere in my favour. Why then go further? Why not kill me here?"
The idea appealed to the executioners. First they cut off his two hands, then his arms to the elbows, then his legs, in the same manner, to the knees, while all the time, in a low voice, he murmured: "My God, my God." This roused, their anger and at last they proceeded to tear long strips of flesh from his chest and back, which they roasted before his eyes. Having roughly tied up the veins and arteries, to prevent him from bleeding to death, and so to prolong his agony, they left him and went on with Luke in pursuit of the first band. It was the 26th of May (1886). Three days later, a native, passing the spot, heard a voice begging for water. He approached. but on seeing that bleeding remnant of humanity, turned in terror and fled.
On the 3rd of June, Feast of the Ascension, a hundred executioners began to dance wildly before the door of Mkajanga, their chief, and the Christians, their faces pale and drawn with suffering and hunger, yet radiant with an unearthly joy, were brought out and led to the place of torture. "How good God has been to us," they said to each other as they went, "how he has kept us. “
Suddenly Mbaga ran out of the village and took his place in their ranks. They hailed him with delight, their joy was now complete. "You have conquered the Evil one," they said to him, "Jesus Christ is pleased with you; you are an honour to religion." "Do you hear those fools," said one of the executioners to another, "you would think that they were going to a wedding, and that we were going to serve at the banquet."
It was the custom that a prisoner condemned to death should receive a tap on the head from a wand held by one of the executioners. As the Christians defiled slowly before him, it was noticed that three of the youngest pages passed untouched. Then the man laid his hand suddenly on Charles Luanga. "I shall keep you for myself," he said, and Charles bade farewell to his comrades. "In an hour's time we shall all be together in Heaven," he said. "Yes," they answered, "all together with God."
The three pages who had not been touched by the wand were Denis Kamyuka, Simeon Sebuta and Charles Werabe. "The king has pardoned you," said Bruno, the young soldier, "and he will try to force you to give up the Faith. Better it would have been for us all to die together. The three were weeping for fear that they would loose their martyr's crown.
The victims had reached the place of torture. "It is here that we shall see God," cried one.
"Yes," answered the others, "it is here that we shall find Jesus Christ."
They were wrapped in mats made of reeds, as in a shroud, and tightly bound. "You are going to be roasted," said one of the executioners, "and then we shall see if the God in whom you put such trust will come and deliver you." "You may burn our bodies," was the grave answer, “but you cannot touch our souls."
The three boys who had not been touched by the wand were in such despair, that the executioner, to keep them quiet, bound them up with the others, promising that he would burn them too when the others were consumed. The chief executioner had hoped to the last that he would be able to save his son, and made one last attempt before he was wrapped in his shroud of reeds. The bystanders heard nothing of the whispered conversation between them but the last sentence of the boy, who. had been baptised but eight days before: "Has not the king, who is your master, ordered you to kill me? Kill me then, for I want to die for Christ." The despairing father made a sign to one of his assistants, who stabbed Mbaga in the neck before he brought him to the pile. They then set fire to the great heap of faggots on all four sides of it, and waited to hear the victims cry for mercy. No sound came from the furnace but the voice of prayer. Presently the heat grew so great that the executioners were obliged to retire to a little distance.
"We are not putting you to death," they shouted, "it is our gods, who are angry, because you have despised them" When the flames at last died down, they approached once more, collected the charred fragments in a heap with long hooks, and threw on more fuel.
Above : Namugongo, scene of the martyrdom
The three pages who had been set aside now ordered the executioners to fulfil their promise. ‘Why do you not put us to death," they cried, "we will never give up our religion, never !" But the chief executioner took them back to prison. They bore witness later to the martyrdom of their comrades.
The martyrdom of Charles Luanga was longer, for his executioner was an adept at torture, whereas some of the others had been sufficiently touched by pity to try to hasten the death of their victim. He began with the feet, which were entirely charred before the fire had reached the rest of the body. "Pray now to God," he cried, mockingly, "and we will see if He will be able to take you out of the fire." "It might be cold water that you are pouring on my feet,” said Luanga,, “but beware lest he Whom you mock should cast you into a fire which never dies."
Mgr. Livinhac, in the meantime, had reached the mission, in spite of the efforts of Mwanga, who had his own reasons for wishing to prevent him from meeting the other Fathers. "A few days later," writes Mgr. Livinhac, "Father Lourdel, Father Denoit (his travelling companion) and I went to pay our respects to the king, and to pay him—in the shape of a present !—our passage-fee over the lake. I must confess my gorge rose at the idea of both the present and the visit but to omit them would mean complete ruin of our mission.
Mwanga showed some embarrassment at my appearance, but soon recovered himself. How different he is from the guileless, friendly prince who wrung my hand with such sorrow when I left Uganda three years ago. As long as he allowed himself to be guided by the good and intelligent Christians of his court, his government was wise and beneficent, but now that he is under the influence of witch-doctors and pagans, everything he does is to his own hurt.
“Without showing resentment or bitterness, which would only have roused his anger and made things worse than they are, we tried to suggest that his present line of conduct was likely to deprive him of all his best subjects and to prevent foreigners from having any intercourse with his kingdom. We then added that, under the circumstances, it was impossible for us to remain in any number at Rubaga, and asked him to give us boats that we might return to the south of the lake.
He seemed very much astonished, and said that he could not let me go—he looked upon me as his friend, but he would give us no hope of an end to the persecution. Finally he agreed to my departure and gave orders to Nantinda to get the boats.”
The Fathers, in the meantime, heard rumours of what was going on from the Christians who come to them at night, but accounts varied so much that they hoped they were exaggerated. One night, Father Lourdel was suddenly sent for to go to a Christian who was dying of smallpox. It was dangerous to go out, for they were watched, but he threw a cloak round him, and set out. After anointing the sick man, he applied some remedies and got safely back to the mission — to hear the next day that the patient was recovering, and that his sister, a pagan, had been so touched by the kindness of Mapera, that she was singing his praises to everyone. They succeeded in ransoming from the chief who had pillaged the property of Matthias Marumba, his little daughter aged three, as well as the sister of another of the martyred Christians. Mgr. Livinhac took some of the children with him when he returned to Bukumbi; he had confirmed ninety-seven of the Christians during his four weeks stay at Rubaga —mostly during the night.
"They expect," he wrote, "to be put to death at any moment, but are quite untroubled. They face torture and death with the calmness and courage that only a steadfast faith can give. Some of them even asked us if it were not a kind of apostasy to hide themselves, and if it would not be better to announce openly that they are Christians." Matthew Kisule, the king's armourer, was able to come to us in the day-time, for as he is necessary to the king, he lets him alone, though he knows he is a Christian—with an occasional threat from time to time. Matthew is the most charitable of men; he is rich and gives hospitality to all the catechumens who live too far away, to come to be instructed; he lodges and takes care of the Christians when they are sick, takes in those who are driven from their homes by pagan parents, and bribes the gaolers to refrain from torturing their prisoners, to whom he sends food."
The persecution was going on in the surrounding provinces. In August a little band of elephant hunters from a forest distant a three days' journey from the capital, who had been instructed by some of the catechumens of the mission, were arrested by the orders of the Katikiro. Mwanga, however, to whom they were useful, had them set free, and a few days later some of them came to the Fathers to beg that their chief and some of his men might be baptised. Three Christians from Mkwenda’s country came to tell the Fathers that in spite of the death of Matthias and Luke, they were standing firm, and that the brother of the chief had joined their ranks. On the 24th of August, Father Lourdel notes that they had been able to send some help to the three pages who had been spared from the holocaust of the 3rd of June, through a slave who was guarding them, and whom they had begun to instruct.
On
the 29th of October the charred bones of Charles Luanga were brought to
the mission by one of the neophytes. "The condition of things at
present," wrote Father Lourdel to his Superior,"is stormy, but
thanks to God, our little barque is still afloat, and His work goes on
in secret.” He himself was crippled with rheumatism when he wrote,
and no sooner had he recovered than the plague broke out among the orphans,
of whom several, in spite of all his care, succumbed.
The persecution was as savage as ever. Four of Mtesa's old pages, of whom Clara Nalumansi’s husband, Joseph Kaddu, had been one, had especially incurred the hatred of Mwanga. The rest had succeeded in escaping, and in order to catch them, the king pretended to pardon the Christians who had been proscribed.
One of these, Jamari Muzeyi, having ventured into the neighbourhood, was informed that thee pages of Mtesa would be welcome at his son's court, and accordingly, against the advice of his friends, who suspected a snare, presented himself before Mwanga. The king greeted him kindly, and sent him to the Katikiro, who told him that three vacant properties were ready for his three friends if he would bring them to the court. Muzeyi went back twice, alone, to see him, and the third time he never reappeared. There was a muddy pond near the house of the chief minister, and there he found his death. It was not unexpected; before he went to the court he had been to Mass and Holy Communion at the mission, and had spoken gravely to Father Lourdel. "If the king had really meant what he said," he argued, "Would he not have set the Christian prisoners free?"
Mwanga seemed a little ashamed of himself at first, but soon recovered his self-possession, and ordered Mgr. Livinhac and his companion to be taken to Mtongo, three miles from the mission. This was evidently meant as an attempt to be agreeable. "When Nantinda had gone," says Father Lourdel, "I spoke sorrowfully to Mwanga of the harm he was doing to himself by putting to death the most faithful of his servants.
"I will not have my servants pray,” he answered “and I am master here; I am the king.”
"Refusing to be rebuffed, I began to plead for our poor Christians, assuring him that all he had been told of them was false.
"They shall not all be killed,” he said at last, with a great burst of laughter, “I will spare a few.” I could get no more from him.
“As I went home, I met Lusaka, an old porter, a pagan, but the father of three of our neophytes, and a good friend to us. He was in tears. “My three sons have been arrested,” he said, “What harm have they done the king? He says they pray, but is that a crime?” He wrung my hands in great sorrow, but with such friendliness that I was very much touched. Most of the parents of our Christians had cast looks of rage and anger at me, as if they thought that I was the cause of their troubles. One woman had even cried out that if she had been a man, she would have pierced my heart, for causing the death of her children."
Mkajanga, the chief executioner, had in the meantime, ordered the prisoners to be taken and put to death at Namugongo, a property of his own, but first he ran through the body and then beheaded Ngondwe, another young Christian, who had been condemned with the others. "Do you pray?" he asked him, and when Ngondwe answered "Yes," instantly killed him. Besides Charles Luanga and his pages, there were two young Christian soldiers, and several neophytes of the Protestant missionaries.
As the prisoners were setting out on their last journey, Andrew Kagwa, the most influential of the Christians, was arrested. He had been one of those who had saved the king's life on the occasion of the plot to put him off the throne, and Mwanga, who called him his best friend, had spoken of placing him at the head of his army. He was in command of several hundred soldiers, and the king, who knew his fidelity, kept him always near him.
The death of Joseph Mkasa, his friend, though it had caused Kagwa great sorrow, had made no difference in his service of the king. He felt sure that his own turn would come before long, for everyone knew that he had converted his wife and more than fifty other pagans. His house, moreover, was a meeting place for the Christian pages, who came to him whenever they were ill or in trouble. During the night of the 25th of May he had been to Holy Communion at the mission and was returning to the court when he was pointed out by the Katikiro to the king. "You are putting our children to death," he said, “and you let that man, who has induced them and all our people to revolt, go free."
The cowardly Mwanga, without a word, yielded to the Katikiro's request that Kagwa should be given over to him to be disposed of, and two executioners were sent to seize him and bring him to the minister's tribunal.
"Was it you who taught my children religion?" he asked.
"Yes, it was I"
"You have made your house a house of prayer and have spread religion throughout Uganda," continued the Katikiro. "Take him away," he cried, "and put him to death at once. I will neither eat nor drink till I have seen his severed arm !" The minister was afraid that the king might change his mind, and this was so likely that even the executioner did not dare to carry out the order. He was between two fires. If he killed Kagwa, he might incur the anger of Mwanga, if he did not, that of the Katikiro; he stood hesitating.
"Why do you not obey your orders?" asked Kagwa, "your master is hungry. If he wanted you to kill a kid, you would do it. Do not make him wait, kill me."
"I saw Andrew Kagwa come out from the minister's tribunal," said an eye-witness, "his face was radiant and his step brisk. Eight executioners were with him. They disappeared behind a paling of reeds and I waited—but not for long. In less than ten minutes one of them reappeared holding a bleeding arm, which he carried to the Katikiro." It belonged to the martyr. The chief minister could now dine.
The other victims were on their way to Namugonga. The sun was scorching and as they passed a banana plantation which belonged to the brother of one of the pages, he called out: "Bossa, Bossa, we are thirsty, bring us some banana wine." His brother ran to fetch it. "Bossa," said the boy, when he returned with the wine, "they are taking us away to kill us. We are going to Heaven, where we will keep a place for you. A stream that is full of springs cannot dry up. When we are gone, others who pray will replace us and they will be many." When his brother offered him the cup of wine, he refused to drink.
They were driven along, their necks fast in the terrible slave yoke. One of them protested. "We are the king's meat," he cried; "he is hungry; why make him wait, kill me here." The suggestion was well received, for they were passing a pagan shrine. They killed the boy, hacked his body to pieces, and offered it in sacrifice. It was on the very spot where Joseph Mkasa, six months before, had won the martyr's crown.
The next day their necks and feet were so swollen that walking was difficult. One of them, the boy Gonzague, feeling that he could go no further, lay down and stretched out his neck, a gesture which the executioners were quick to understand. They loosened the rope round the boy's neck, and, without further ado, struck off his head.
Namugongo, where they arrived that night, was a fairly large village. The guards, as usual, divided the prisoners among them, with the exception of Mbaga, the son of the head executioner, who was unbound and carried off by the members of his family, to whom the place belonged. "That one is going to be let off," commented the bystanders, but Luanga, seeing the pity and distress on the faces of his companions bade them pray for him that he might have strength to persevere.
It took some time to collect wood for a fire great enough to consume so many victims. The Christians spent it in prayer. Every morning they greeted each other with the words: "Courage ! the moment is near when we shall die for Christ." Even some of the pagans were touched by their patience.
In the meantime Mathias Murumba, another notable Christian, had been arrested with his friend Luke Banabakintu, and brought before the Katikiro. Matthias was a married man of over forty, who exercised the office of magistrate at the court of Mkendo, chief of the province of Kirumba. He was the life and soul of the two hundred catechumens in that district, many of whom he had himself instructed.
"What you! Marumba," said the chief minister, "is it possible that you have begun to pray at your age?”
"Yes, it is I," was the quiet answer.
“Why do you pray?”
"Because I want to pray."
"You have sent away your wives, I hear, pray, who cooks for you?”
"Is it because I am thin, or because I pray, that I have been brought before you?" asked Marumba.
"Ah, you are giving yourself airs, I see," retorted the Katikiro.
"Executioners, take them away and put them to death at once."
The two men went out joyfully, and were driven off to join the rest, but when they reached Kampala, Matthias Marumba sat down quietly. "I am one of Mkwenda's men," he said. "The king does not know me, and no one is likely to interfere in my favour. Why then go further? Why not kill me here?"
The idea appealed to the executioners. First they cut off his two hands, then his arms to the elbows, then his legs, in the same manner, to the knees, while all the time, in a low voice, he murmured: "My God, my God." This roused, their anger and at last they proceeded to tear long strips of flesh from his chest and back, which they roasted before his eyes. Having roughly tied up the veins and arteries, to prevent him from bleeding to death, and so to prolong his agony, they left him and went on with Luke in pursuit of the first band. It was the 26th of May (1886). Three days later, a native, passing the spot, heard a voice begging for water. He approached. but on seeing that bleeding remnant of humanity, turned in terror and fled.
On the 3rd of June, Feast of the Ascension, a hundred executioners began to dance wildly before the door of Mkajanga, their chief, and the Christians, their faces pale and drawn with suffering and hunger, yet radiant with an unearthly joy, were brought out and led to the place of torture. "How good God has been to us," they said to each other as they went, "how he has kept us. “
Suddenly Mbaga ran out of the village and took his place in their ranks. They hailed him with delight, their joy was now complete. "You have conquered the Evil one," they said to him, "Jesus Christ is pleased with you; you are an honour to religion." "Do you hear those fools," said one of the executioners to another, "you would think that they were going to a wedding, and that we were going to serve at the banquet."
It was the custom that a prisoner condemned to death should receive a tap on the head from a wand held by one of the executioners. As the Christians defiled slowly before him, it was noticed that three of the youngest pages passed untouched. Then the man laid his hand suddenly on Charles Luanga. "I shall keep you for myself," he said, and Charles bade farewell to his comrades. "In an hour's time we shall all be together in Heaven," he said. "Yes," they answered, "all together with God."
The three pages who had not been touched by the wand were Denis Kamyuka, Simeon Sebuta and Charles Werabe. "The king has pardoned you," said Bruno, the young soldier, "and he will try to force you to give up the Faith. Better it would have been for us all to die together. The three were weeping for fear that they would loose their martyr's crown.
The victims had reached the place of torture. "It is here that we shall see God," cried one.
"Yes," answered the others, "it is here that we shall find Jesus Christ."
They were wrapped in mats made of reeds, as in a shroud, and tightly bound. "You are going to be roasted," said one of the executioners, "and then we shall see if the God in whom you put such trust will come and deliver you." "You may burn our bodies," was the grave answer, “but you cannot touch our souls."
The three boys who had not been touched by the wand were in such despair, that the executioner, to keep them quiet, bound them up with the others, promising that he would burn them too when the others were consumed. The chief executioner had hoped to the last that he would be able to save his son, and made one last attempt before he was wrapped in his shroud of reeds. The bystanders heard nothing of the whispered conversation between them but the last sentence of the boy, who. had been baptised but eight days before: "Has not the king, who is your master, ordered you to kill me? Kill me then, for I want to die for Christ." The despairing father made a sign to one of his assistants, who stabbed Mbaga in the neck before he brought him to the pile. They then set fire to the great heap of faggots on all four sides of it, and waited to hear the victims cry for mercy. No sound came from the furnace but the voice of prayer. Presently the heat grew so great that the executioners were obliged to retire to a little distance.
"We are not putting you to death," they shouted, "it is our gods, who are angry, because you have despised them" When the flames at last died down, they approached once more, collected the charred fragments in a heap with long hooks, and threw on more fuel.
Above : Namugongo, scene of the martyrdom
The three pages who had been set aside now ordered the executioners to fulfil their promise. ‘Why do you not put us to death," they cried, "we will never give up our religion, never !" But the chief executioner took them back to prison. They bore witness later to the martyrdom of their comrades.
The martyrdom of Charles Luanga was longer, for his executioner was an adept at torture, whereas some of the others had been sufficiently touched by pity to try to hasten the death of their victim. He began with the feet, which were entirely charred before the fire had reached the rest of the body. "Pray now to God," he cried, mockingly, "and we will see if He will be able to take you out of the fire." "It might be cold water that you are pouring on my feet,” said Luanga,, “but beware lest he Whom you mock should cast you into a fire which never dies."
Mgr. Livinhac, in the meantime, had reached the mission, in spite of the efforts of Mwanga, who had his own reasons for wishing to prevent him from meeting the other Fathers. "A few days later," writes Mgr. Livinhac, "Father Lourdel, Father Denoit (his travelling companion) and I went to pay our respects to the king, and to pay him—in the shape of a present !—our passage-fee over the lake. I must confess my gorge rose at the idea of both the present and the visit but to omit them would mean complete ruin of our mission.
Mwanga showed some embarrassment at my appearance, but soon recovered himself. How different he is from the guileless, friendly prince who wrung my hand with such sorrow when I left Uganda three years ago. As long as he allowed himself to be guided by the good and intelligent Christians of his court, his government was wise and beneficent, but now that he is under the influence of witch-doctors and pagans, everything he does is to his own hurt.
“Without showing resentment or bitterness, which would only have roused his anger and made things worse than they are, we tried to suggest that his present line of conduct was likely to deprive him of all his best subjects and to prevent foreigners from having any intercourse with his kingdom. We then added that, under the circumstances, it was impossible for us to remain in any number at Rubaga, and asked him to give us boats that we might return to the south of the lake.
He seemed very much astonished, and said that he could not let me go—he looked upon me as his friend, but he would give us no hope of an end to the persecution. Finally he agreed to my departure and gave orders to Nantinda to get the boats.”
The Fathers, in the meantime, heard rumours of what was going on from the Christians who come to them at night, but accounts varied so much that they hoped they were exaggerated. One night, Father Lourdel was suddenly sent for to go to a Christian who was dying of smallpox. It was dangerous to go out, for they were watched, but he threw a cloak round him, and set out. After anointing the sick man, he applied some remedies and got safely back to the mission — to hear the next day that the patient was recovering, and that his sister, a pagan, had been so touched by the kindness of Mapera, that she was singing his praises to everyone. They succeeded in ransoming from the chief who had pillaged the property of Matthias Marumba, his little daughter aged three, as well as the sister of another of the martyred Christians. Mgr. Livinhac took some of the children with him when he returned to Bukumbi; he had confirmed ninety-seven of the Christians during his four weeks stay at Rubaga —mostly during the night.
"They expect," he wrote, "to be put to death at any moment, but are quite untroubled. They face torture and death with the calmness and courage that only a steadfast faith can give. Some of them even asked us if it were not a kind of apostasy to hide themselves, and if it would not be better to announce openly that they are Christians." Matthew Kisule, the king's armourer, was able to come to us in the day-time, for as he is necessary to the king, he lets him alone, though he knows he is a Christian—with an occasional threat from time to time. Matthew is the most charitable of men; he is rich and gives hospitality to all the catechumens who live too far away, to come to be instructed; he lodges and takes care of the Christians when they are sick, takes in those who are driven from their homes by pagan parents, and bribes the gaolers to refrain from torturing their prisoners, to whom he sends food."
The persecution was going on in the surrounding provinces. In August a little band of elephant hunters from a forest distant a three days' journey from the capital, who had been instructed by some of the catechumens of the mission, were arrested by the orders of the Katikiro. Mwanga, however, to whom they were useful, had them set free, and a few days later some of them came to the Fathers to beg that their chief and some of his men might be baptised. Three Christians from Mkwenda’s country came to tell the Fathers that in spite of the death of Matthias and Luke, they were standing firm, and that the brother of the chief had joined their ranks. On the 24th of August, Father Lourdel notes that they had been able to send some help to the three pages who had been spared from the holocaust of the 3rd of June, through a slave who was guarding them, and whom they had begun to instruct.
On
the 29th of October the charred bones of Charles Luanga were brought to
the mission by one of the neophytes. "The condition of things at
present," wrote Father Lourdel to his Superior,"is stormy, but
thanks to God, our little barque is still afloat, and His work goes on
in secret.” He himself was crippled with rheumatism when he wrote,
and no sooner had he recovered than the plague broke out among the orphans,
of whom several, in spite of all his care, succumbed.The persecution was as savage as ever. Four of Mtesa's old pages, of whom Clara Nalumansi’s husband, Joseph Kaddu, had been one, had especially incurred the hatred of Mwanga. The rest had succeeded in escaping, and in order to catch them, the king pretended to pardon the Christians who had been proscribed.
One of these, Jamari Muzeyi, having ventured into the neighbourhood, was informed that thee pages of Mtesa would be welcome at his son's court, and accordingly, against the advice of his friends, who suspected a snare, presented himself before Mwanga. The king greeted him kindly, and sent him to the Katikiro, who told him that three vacant properties were ready for his three friends if he would bring them to the court. Muzeyi went back twice, alone, to see him, and the third time he never reappeared. There was a muddy pond near the house of the chief minister, and there he found his death. It was not unexpected; before he went to the court he had been to Mass and Holy Communion at the mission, and had spoken gravely to Father Lourdel. "If the king had really meant what he said," he argued, "Would he not have set the Christian prisoners free?"