So, once out of sight of the war party, they started upon a terrible journey through the thick bush, avoiding the beaten track, and every moment expecting a fresh attack by one of the scattered bands of the enemy. The heat was overpowering, the party had no food with them, and, to add to their troubles, Mr. Maples sprained his leg so badly as to make progress after sunset impossible. By morning, however, he was able to go forward, and there was another painful day"s journey, still without food, save for a little sour fruit and ca.s.sava root, though water was mercifully plentiful. As they drew nearer to Newala, a terrible question began to weigh upon them all--what would they find?
Was it possible that Matola, the friendly chief, would be there to receive them? Was it not more than likely that the village would be deserted, the inhabitants escaped to the bush, and neither food nor shelter awaiting the worn-out fugitives? Haunted by these fears they lay down for another night of hunger and uncertainty, eleven miles from Newala, and then, on Sunday morning, pressed on once more. Their hearts sank at finding the huts on the outskirts of the village deserted. Then came a joyful sight, a native carrying fowls, the universal food in Central Africa. He was hailed, and the eager question asked, "Is Matola here?"
"Yes," was the ready answer, "he waited for you. He felt sure some of you would come, since Masasi has been destroyed."
A good reply, this, to the accusation that the Central African tribes are incapable of grat.i.tude or devotion. Matola was a heathen chief, used all his life to the sudden flights from a stronger foe which are the custom in this land of raids; but the lives of the white men, who came to Africa without hope or gain for love of their dark brothers, had taught him something of a higher law than that of self-preservation. The best he had was at the service of his exhausted guests, and, with a tact and consideration not always found even among Europeans, he insisted on hearing and sifting all the reports brought in by fugitives before they reached the ears of Mr. Maples, whose sprain kept him for some days unable to move.
After all, only seven of the Masasi people had been killed in the first mad onslaught of the Magw.a.n.gwara. 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 Magw.a.n.gwara, bargaining for the freedom of the prisoners. Some of the poor creatures were already dead, some had escaped, or had pa.s.sed to other owners, but Mr. Porter succeeded in ransoming the rest. He must have gone with his life in his hand, since the Magw.a.n.gwara 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 Magw.a.n.gwara 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.
CReBILLON AND THE RAT.
Claude De Crebillon, 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 Crebillon 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.
The n.o.blest work is often done by the weakest hands--by those whose courage is redoubled by pain and misfortune.
MY GARDEN.
I have a little Garden Where many flowers are seen; Bright lilies bend beside the walks And daisies in the green.
There pansies grow and tulips, And many a lovely flower; They blossom in my Garden, And give me joy each hour.
I have another Garden That I must tend with care, And fill with lovely growing things, Lest weeds should gather there.
May sweetness, kindness, mercy, And joy be in each part; To grace this other Garden, The Garden of my heart.
THE MUSIC OF THE NATIONS.
X.--THE MARIMBAS OF ZULULAND, GUATEMALA, AND COSTA RICA.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
The Zulus, or more correctly the Amazulus, take the front rank amongst the native tribes of the African continent. Their code of laws, military arrangements, and orderly settlements resemble those of civilised nations at many points.
Their dances are a national feature, and a great company of young warriors performing a solemn war dance is a most impressive sight. One of their chief instruments is the "Marimba" or "Tyanbilo," a form of harmonium. The keys are bars of wood called Intyari, of graduated size.
These are suspended by strings from a light wooden frame, either resting on the ground, or hung round the neck of the player. Between every two keys is a wooden bar crossing the centre bar to which the keys are attached. On each key two sh.e.l.ls of the fruit known as the Strychnos McKenzie, or Kaffir Orange, are placed as resonators, one large and one small. The use of resonators is to increase and deepen the sound. The Marimba is played with drum-sticks of rubber, and the tone is good and powerful.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Zulu Marimba.]
Another form of Marimba is popular amongst the natives of Guatemala, in Central America. Its construction is much that of a rough table, the top being formed of twenty-eight wooden bars or keys, from each of which hangs a hollow piece of wood, varying in size; these take the place of the resonating sh.e.l.ls of the Zulu Marimba. The instrument is usually about six and a half feet long, by two and a half wide, and the keys are struck by hammers topped with rubber. Three performers often play together with great skill. This form of Marimba is also met with amongst the natives of Costa Rica.
African instruments are as a rule very noisy, their chief use being to alarm the enemy in war-times. An amusing story is told of Sir Samuel Baker, the explorer. When quartered for a time near the native town of Masinda, where dwelt the King of the Unyori, he was startled one evening, when the air was perfectly still, by the deep tone of a Nogara or native drum. This, ceasing as suddenly as it had begun, was followed by a terrific burst of sound, thousands of human voices yelling like maniacs and endless horns playing their loudest, besides the clashing of everything that could be persuaded to make a noise. Calling for his dragoman, or guide, Sir Samuel inquired what all this meant, and was gravely informed that it was all for his benefit, that he might be thoroughly frightened and quit the neighbourhood. The leader forthwith sent an order to the bandmaster of his regiment to a.s.semble his men and make them play their very loudest, after which the clamour from the town speedily came to an end.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Guatemalan Marimba.]
A tribe called the Niam Niam make a drum like a wooden horse, which is beaten on all sides at once, and certainly fulfils the condition of noise. Many tribes use a rattle, or "Sanje," which has the merit of simplicity, being merely a gourd filled with pebbles. The negroes of the Soudan play cymbals made of two thin plates of iron, after the plan of saucepan-lids, with handles of leather, whilst the Ashantees have a love for the clanging of bra.s.s pots, either banged together or struck with sticks; and some of the Congo tribes use a rude kind of bagpipes.
It must be remembered that the natives have not only human beings and wild beasts to scare, but believe in and dread a vast army of evil spirits, who they think must be kept at a distance and prevented by terrifying noises from exercising their powers.
CURIOUS GRANARIES.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
When the English farmer has cut his ripe corn, he gathers in the sheaves, and piles them up into neat corn-stacks. After a time he sends for a thrashing machine, with the help of which he is able quickly to separate the corn from the straw. The grain is placed in sacks, and these are put away in a dry barn, until the farmer can sell them to some miller or maltster, who will take the grain away, and make it into flour, horse-corn, or malt. The farmer must take care, however, that his corn does not get wet, for if it does it will turn mouldly and spoil; and he must also see that the rats and mice do not reach it, for if they do he is sure to lose some of his precious harvest.
If the English farmer, who has strong-walled and well-roofed barns, must take watchful care of his corn, the poor savage, who knows no better dwelling than a wooden or mud hut, can scarcely take sufficient care to save his little harvest from destruction almost as soon as it is reaped.
He has far more enemies than the English farmer. In a wild, tropical country, rats, mice, and similar grain-eating animals are much more numerous, ants and weevils are terribly destructive, and enemies of the human kind frequently plunder the grain-stores. The tropical rain is heavy and often almost incessant, and the warm nights help on the growth of mildew, when once it has begun. In the tropical parts of Africa it is almost impossible to keep the grain from the harvest for more than a few months, and the natives save nothing from harvest to harvest, but eat it all up, rather than let it be consumed by the ants or spoiled by the rains. And thus, when the harvest fails, they are quickly reduced to starvation.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A Clay Grain Storehouse.]
It is interesting to see what clever attempts many savages make to save their little stores of corn from their enemies. The Kaffirs dig deep holes in their cattle enclosures, and plaster them very carefully with clay, which sets hard, and forms a good protection against insects. They leave an opening level with the ground, and when they have filled the hole with corn, this opening is covered over, and plastered up like the sides, and thus the grain is secured, as if it were in a sealed jar.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Grain Huts.]
Some tribes of North American Indians used to store their corn, and even their dried meat and pemmican, in similar underground holes, which the French backwoodsmen called _caches_. The holes were shaped liked a jug six or seven feet deep with a narrow mouth at the top, and this mouth was sealed up when the cache was filled. The corn and meat were packed round the side with prairie-gra.s.s, and, when the cache was properly sealed, they were quite safe from the effects of the weather.
It is a very common practice in hot countries to raise the corn-stores high above the ground, out of the way of mice and, to some extent, insects. In many parts of Africa the corn of the harvests is placed in closed baskets or wicker-work frames, and hung from the branches of trees. In some of the hilly districts of India we may see little grain-huts, the shape of bee-hives, which are raised upon posts. The natives of the Madi country, near the head of the Albert Nyanza, in Central Africa, make similar granaries of plastered wicker-work, which are supported upon four posts and have a thatched roof. The same people have also another kind of wicker-work granary, which looks like a huge cigar stuck point-downwards upon the top of a post four feet high. In reality the post is about twenty feet long, and extends through the whole length of the cigar-shaped body. About four feet from the ground a number of long reeds are bound upon the pole, so that they stand out somewhat like the spokes of a wheel. The ends of these reeds are bent upwards towards the pole, as if they were the ribs of a half-closed umbrella turned upside down, and wicker-work is woven in and out of them so as to form a basket. This is filled with corn, and by means of other reeds and wands the basket is extended upwards to within a few feet of the top of the post. When the whole of the basket thus formed is loaded with grain, a little roof or cap of reeds is made round the top of the pole, like the cover of an open umbrella held upright, and this roof is brought down until it meets the basket below, to which it is joined. In this manner the grain is enclosed in a cigar-shaped basket, which is raised a few feet from the ground.
The Nubians make little cylindrical grain-vessels of clay, which they seal up, and place upon the top of tall stones. Many of the tribes of Southern Africa build up clay store-vessels of various shapes, which they raise from the ground by means of posts. One tribe, the Golos, fashions its clay grain-holder in the shape of a drinking-cup. This is poised upon a central post, and kept in its place by means of wooden props. A pointed roof, which may be lifted off like a lid, is placed over it, in order to keep out the rain or any intruder from above.