of the cattle crossed in safety. Even those that
had been nearly drowned escaped and passed over."

"But how was dat?" asked Ebony, with a perplexed air. "If de _ody_ was
nuffin', how could it do suffin'?"

"Simply enough," returned the guide. "The charm consisted merely in
noise. The natives, in canoes and on both sides of the lake, shouted
furiously and beat the water with branches of trees, so that the poor
crocodiles were scared away. See--there is something of the same sort
going to be performed just now."

Previous to this process, however, the chief Voalavo went through a
singular ceremony to propitiate the crocodiles. The Malagasy, like the
ancient Egyptians, regard the crocodile with superstitious veneration.
They esteem him the king of the waters, and to dispute his right to
reign would, they believe, expose them to his vengeance. Hence they
seldom kill crocodiles, and rather avoid whatever is likely to provoke
them. It is their custom, also, sometimes to make solemn speeches and
vows to the crocodiles when about to cross rivers.

Voalavo, who was unusually reckless, free-and-easy, and regardless in
ordinary affairs, was nevertheless remarkably superstitious. Before
giving orders to cross the river, therefore, he advanced to the water's
edge and mumbled incantations or made vows in a low tone for nearly
half-an-hour. Then, elevating his voice, so as to be heard across the
river, he continued, addressing the crocodiles:--

"Now, I pray you, good mamba, to do me no injury, and particularly to
spare my cattle, for you do not know what trouble I have had to get
them. No doubt you know how anxious I and my people are to eat them,
for you have much of the same desire; but I beseech you to exercise
self-denial. You don't know how pleasant that will make you feel!
Remember that I have never done your royal race any injury--never waged
war with you or killed you. On the contrary I have always held you in
the highest veneration. If you do not remember this, but forget it, I
and my whole race and all my relatives will declare war and fight
against you for ever more! So be good and do what I tell you!"

"Now, my men," he cried, turning round, "drive in the cattle, work the
_ody_, and make all the dogs bark!"

In the midst of an indescribable hubbub the herds were then driven into
the river, and the men--some in canoes and some on both banks--enacted
the very scene which Ravonino had described. In a