THERE is a tribe in Southern Africa called the Basutos. Their chief, who was named Moshesh, was very kind to the missionaries, though for a long time he did not feel the power of the Word himself. In March, 1870, he became very ill, and it seemed likely that his end was near.
Moshesh had been anxious about his soul for some time, but the advice of one of his sons seemed to hinder the work of the Spirit of God. But grace had, at last, the victory.
One day a Christian named Meretta was, reading to him the 32nd Psalm — “Blessed is the man whose transgressions are forgiven.”
“Stop! read that again,” said the chief; and it was repeated over and over again. “How is it possible that I never heard that before? Why did you hide from me such comforting news? ‘Blessed is the man whose transgressions are forgiven.’”
A few days after, M. Jousse went to see him, and opened the New Testament at the 14th chapter of John. He did not go far. “In my Father’s house are many mansions.”
“What!” cried the chief, enraptured. “Do repeat that again;” and he followed the Missionary’s voice. “Ah! what wonderful news! How is it that I never heard that before? Why did you keep it from me? And yet I was nearly lost! Oh, what a King is Jesus! Such a good, loving King! He has prepared a mansion for me. What astonishing love! How hard for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God! How hard for those who have entrammeled themselves with many wives, and set their hearts on the things of this world!”
From that time light had burst on his dark mind, and all was peace and joy. Many interesting and touching facts are told of these his last days on earth. The people who attended him say his sickroom was so happy that they forgot Moshesh was ill. He never complained, but his heart was so full of joy that he constantly spoke. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he would burst into laughter. At first his attendants thought he was dreaming, but his mind was still pondering on the mansion prepared for him in the Father’s house.
He called all his children together, and had for each some special message. His heart was weeping over his sons, and he entreated them with tears, calling them by name, to come to God. He ordered all his people to attend his baptism and bring provisions for a month, that they might “sit together,” and that he might tell them all the great things the Lord had done. He did not wish to be baptized till all were together, for “they would never believe that I was converted,” he said. “They would think it an invention of the Missionaries, and I must confess my Saviour before them all.” But feeling his end was near, he said, “I must now be baptized. My people and the Missionaries have delayed coming, and I cannot wait; but it is all right. I go to my Father’s house. I leave on Friday. You must not weep for me. My departure will be a time of rejoicing to all.”
During Thursday night, the 11TH of March, after giving his last orders and messages, he slept soundly. On Friday morning, at nine o’clock, he coughed, and suddenly cried out, “Help me that I may fly. Help me that I may fly!” And so he died.
Thousands of people were at the funeral. Molaspo, the eldest son, extolled the heathen Moshesh, and said nothing of the Christian. It was painful to the utmost. On the following Sunday two natives spoke earnestly and tenderly in presence of several hundred people. They related all they knew of their late and well-beloved chiefs’ conversion and death. That was too much for his son; he could not bear it, and left before they had done. Nevertheless, the impression was a deep one on the people. No one but the chief left the meeting, and all were amazed at what they heard.