After all, only seven of the Masasi people had been killed in the first mad onslaught of the Magwangwara. The rest were saved by strict obedience to the order to make no resistance. For twelve days the terrible visitors remained in their camp near the village, while Mr. Maples' colleague, Mr. Porter, exhausted all his bales of cloth, the current coin between Europeans and Africans, in ransoming those of his people who had been seized and carried as slaves to the camp. When at last the war party retreated, they carried with them twenty-nine of the Masasi people. Mr. Porter, having replenished his store of cloth, set off after them, and actually remained a month among the Magwangwara, bargaining for the freedom of the prisoners. Some of the poor creatures were already dead, some had escaped, or had passed to other owners, but Mr. Porter succeeded in ransoming the rest. He must have gone with his life in his hand, since the Magwangwara believed the heart of a white man to be an invaluable charm, and had announced their intention of securing one when starting on their raid. But the quiet tact of the Englishman conquered the savages, and Mr. Porter returned in safety with his ransomed people, bearing the blunted spear of the Magwangwara in token of peace.
Such is the story of the first destruction of Masasi twenty-three years ago. Of the two Englishmen who stood so stoutly by their people through those anxious days, one sleeps in his grave by Lake Nyasa, drowned in the waters of which he wrote with such enthusiastic love. The other, Mr. Porter, was one of the little group of fugitives, who, on a Sunday night in August, 1905, turned their backs, with sore hearts, upon the district, for the agitation was against white men only, and, without them, the natives would be safe from attack.
CRÉBILLON AND THE RAT.
Claude De Crébillon, son of the well-known French poet of that name, and himself a man of letters of some merit, had been sent to the prison of St. Vincent on account of his writings. The first night he spent there he had scarcely fallen asleep when he was roused by feeling something warm and rough in his bed. He took the thing for a kitten, drove it away, and went on sleeping. In the morning he was sorry to have frightened the poor animal, for he was fond of cats, and in the solitude any companion would have been agreeable. He sought in all corners, but could not find anything alive. At noon, he was just beginning to eat his frugal meal, when he perceived an animal sitting on his hind legs and looking steadfastly at him; he thought at first that it was a very small monkey, and rose to have a nearer view of it, for the room was none of the lightest. He held a bit of meat in his hand, and the creature came to meet him; but what was his surprise when he saw that he had to deal with a remarkably large and well-fed rat! Now, rats were detested by him; he could not even bear the sight of them. He would almost have preferred to see a rattlesnake in his room, and he uttered a cry of horror on making the discovery.
The visitor disappeared immediately, but in his place came the jailor, who had been attracted by the exclamation. He laughed at the prisoner, and told him that his predecessor in the cell had tamed the rat when it was young, and that the two fellow-lodgers had become so intimate as to eat continually together. 'I was so interested,' he continued, 'that when the man obtained his liberty, I tried to win the affections of the animal, and you shall see how far I have succeeded.' With these words he seized something on the table and called out, 'Raton! Raton! Come here, my little friend.' Immediately Raton's head was protruded, and as soon as he saw his well-known benefactor, he did not hesitate for a moment to jump upon his hand and to eat what had been offered to him. From this moment Raton was restored to all his former rights and privileges; and Crébillon related afterwards to his friends, that he had tried to obtain the creature from the jailor, and that the latter's refusal had actually cost him tears at his release from prison.
THE SOLDIER OF ANTIGONUS.
A soldier of Antigonus was once ill with a terrible disease, the pain of which robbed him of all joy in life. He had ever been foremost in the fray and the bravest of the brave, for he strove by reckless daring to dull his pain, thinking that he had nothing to fear and nothing to lose.
Antigonus admired this ardour shown in his service, and at last sent for a doctor, whose skill found means to cure the man. But as soon as he was healed, the warrior lived at his ease, and no longer took the lead in the battle, for he desired to live, he said, now that life was no longer a burden, but a joy.