Many years ago a young Englishman by the name of Walter Perry was traveling through the forests of Africa. He had spent some time in that wonderful land, and was returning with his treasures to his own country. With a team of oxen and a wagon, he was slowly making his way along the river bank, when he heard sounds of wild yells and of running feet.
In a few moments, a poor black slave broke through the trees from the far side of the river, and with a dive and a splash he was swimming for his life. He just climbed up the bank at the feet of Mr. Perry, when his pursuers also appeared on the other side, and three of the most powerful of them also dived in and swam across. Howling with rage, they rushed up the bank to seize the trembling slave. But the Englishman stepped in front of him and demanded to know what was wrong. The chief and his two followers knew Mr. Perry well, for he had lived some time at their village, and this is the story they told him.
The chief’s little son had just died, and he blamed this slave for having bewitched his little boy, and caused his death. Of course the poor slave was as innocent as the father himself. But the chief’s rage wascruel and he would not hear. Vainly did Mr. Perry plead for the poor slave’s life, even offering a share of his treasures in exchange for the life which was hanging in the balence. But all was refused. The chief must have blood for revenge, not money.
He turned at once to one of his men and ordered him to shoot the slave right then and there. Quickly an arrow was fixed and flew toward the heart of the poor victim. But it never reached his heart. Mr. Perry’s arm was out in a flash, and there the arrow found its mark. It pierced deeply into his arm and hung there quivering while the blood began to flow.
The chief’s rage changed to fear. It was no light thing to shed the blood of an Englishman, and he knew it. Very gladly he listened as Mr. Perry again pleaded for the life of the slave, saying, “Now you have had your revenge. You have shed blood. See it flow from my arm. Now go, and leave this man to me!”
In a moment the three men were gone, and Mr. Perry was left with the astonished slave. Quietly the wound was bound up, and then the poor overcome African knelt at his feet in tears and thanked him again and again for saving his life.
I, too, dear young reader, was once a slave. And a cruel master was mine also. But a very dear Friend shed His blood—His life blood—to save me. I was a slave to sin and to Satan, and I was doomed to die and to spend eternity in hell. But the Lord Jesus, in wondrous love, bore my sins and shed His precious blood on the cross of Calvary to rescue me. He is now risen and seated at God’s right hand in heaven. Can you say that He died to save you too?
ML 06/27/1954