In November, 1818, letters reached Robert Moffat from England.  One came from Miss Smith, in which that young lady stated that she had most reluctantly renounced hope of ever getting abroad, her father determining never to allow her to do so.  This was a sore trial, but it only led the child closer to his Father, and that Father, who doeth all things well, in His own good time, brought to pass that which now seemed impossible.

Early in 1819, circumstances required Mr. Moffat to visit Cape Town.  Conversing with Africaner on the state and prospects of missions, the idea flashed into Moffat’s mind that it would be well for that chief to accompany him, and he suggested it to his coloured friend.  Africaner was astonished.  “I had thought you loved me,” said he, “and do you advise me to go to the Government to be hung up as a spectacle of public justice?” Then, putting his hand to his head, he said, “Do you not know that I am an outlaw, and that one thousand rix-dollars have been offered for this poor head?” After a little while he replied to the missionary’s arguments by saying, “I shall deliberate and roll (using the words of the Dutch Version of the Bible) my way upon the Lord.  I know He will not leave me.”

[Illustration:  Africaner.]

To get Africaner safely through the territories of the Dutch farmers to the Cape was a hazardous proceeding, as the atrocities he had committed were not forgotten, and hatred against him still rankled in many a breast.  However, attired in one of the only two substantial shirts Moffat had left, a pair of leather trousers, a duffel jacket, much the worse for wear, and an old hat, neither white nor black, the attempt was made, the chief passing as one of the missionary’s attendants.  His master’s costume was scarcely more refined than his own.

As a whole, the Dutch farmers were kind and hospitable to strangers, and as Moffat reached their farms, some of them congratulated him on returning alive, they having been assured that Africaner had long since murdered him.  At one farm a novel and amusing instance occurred of the state of feeling concerning them both.  As they drew near to this place, Moffat directed his men to take his waggon to the valley below while he walked towards the house, which was situated on an eminence.  As he advanced the farmer came forward slowly to meet him.  Stretching forth his hand with the customary salutation, the farmer put his hand behind him, and asked who the stranger was.  The stranger replied that he was Moffat.

“Moffat!” exclaimed the sturdy Boer in a faltering voice, “it is your ghost!”

“I am no ghost,” said the supposed phantom.

“Don’t come near me,” said the farmer, “you have been long since murdered by Africaner.  Everybody says you were murdered, and a man told me he had seen your bones.”

As the farmer feared the presence of the supposed ghost would alarm his wife, both wended their way to the waggon, Africaner being the subject of conversation as they walked along.  Moffat declared his opinion that the chief was then a truly good man.