Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Sixteen.In Prison—Effects of a First Sight of Torture.A new day had begun, cattle were lowing on the distant plain, and birds were chirping their matutinal songs in bush and tree when Mark Breezy, John Hockins, and James Ginger—aliasEbony—awoke from their uneasy rest on the prison floor and sat up with their backs against the wall. Their chains rattled sharply as they did so.“Well now,” said Hockins, gasping forth his morning yawn in spite of circumstances, “I’ve many a time read and heard it of other folk, but I never did think I should live to hear my own chains rattle.”“Right you are, ’Ockins; ob course I’s got de same sentiments zactly,” said the negro, lifting up his strong arm and ruefully surveying the heavy iron links of native manufacture that descended from his wrist.Mark only sighed. It was the first time he had ever been restrained, even by bolt or bar, much less by manacles, and the effect on his young mind was at first overwhelming.Bright though the sun was outside, very little of its light found a passage through the chinks of their all but windowless prison-house, so that they could scarcely see the size or character of the place. But this mattered little. They were too much crushed by their misfortune to care. For some time they sat without speaking, each feeling quite incapable of uttering a word of cheer to his fellows.The silence was suddenly but softly broken by the sound of song. It seemed to come from a very dark corner of the prison in which nothing could be seen. To the startled prisoners it sounded like heavenly music—and indeed such it was, for in that corner sat two Christian captives who were spending the first minutes of the new day in singing praise to God.The three comrades listened with rapt attention, for although the words were unintelligible, with the exception of the name of Jesus, the air was quite familiar, being one of those in which English-speaking Christians are wont to sing praise all the world over.When the hymn ceased one of the voices was raised in a reverent and continuous tone, which was obviously the voice of prayer.Just as the petition was concluded the sun found a loop-hole in the prison, and poured a flood of light into it which partly illumined the dark corner, and revealed two men seated on the ground with their backs against the wall. They were fine-looking men, nearly naked, and joined together by means of a ponderous piece of iron above two feet long, with a heavy ring at either end which encircled their necks. The rings were so thick that their ends must have been forced together with sledge-hammer and anvil after being put round the men’s necks, and then overlapped and riveted. Thus it became impossible to free them from their fetters except by the slow and laborious process of cutting them through with a file. Several old and healed-up sores on the necks and collar-bones of both men indicated that they and their harsh couplings had been acquainted for a long time, and one or two inflamed spots told all too clearly that they had not yet become quite reconciled.See Note 1.“Now isn’t that awful,” said John Hockins in a low voice with a sort of choke in it, “to think that these poor fellows—wi’ that horrible thing that can’t be much under thirty pounds weight on their necks, an’ that must ha’ bin there for months if not for years—are singin’ an’ prayin’ to the Almighty, an’ here am I, John Hockins, with little or nothin’ to complain of as yet, haven’t given so much as a thought to—”The choke got the better of our sailor at this point, and he became suddenly silent.“Das so!” burst in Ebony, with extreme energy. “I’s wid you dere! I tell you what it is, ’Ockins, dem brown niggers is true Kistians, an’ we white folks is nuffin but hipperkrits.”“I hope we’re not quite so bad asthat, Ebony,” said Mark, with a sad smile. “Nevertheless, Hockins is right—we are far behind these poor fellows in submission and gratitude to our Maker.”While he spoke the heavy door of the prison opened, and a jailor entered with two large basins of boiled rice. The largest he put on the ground before our three travellers, the other in front of the coupled men, and then retired without a word.“Well, thank God for this, anyhow,” said Mark, taking up one of the three spoons which lay on the rice and going to work with a will.“Just so,” responded the seaman. “I’m thankful too, and quite ready for grub.”“Curious ting, ’Ockins,” remarked Ebony, “dat your happytite an’ mine seems to be allers in de same state—sharp!”The seaman’s appetite was indeed so sharp that he did not vouchsafe a reply. The prisoners in the dark corner seemed much in the same condition, but their anxiety to begin did not prevent their shutting their eyes for a few seconds and obviously asking a blessing on their meal. Hockins observed the act, and there passed over his soul another wave of self-condemnation, which was indicated by a deprecatory shake of his rugged head.Observing it, Ebony paused a moment and said—“You’s an awrful sinner, ’Ockins!”“True, Ebony.”“Das jist what I is too. Quite as bad as you. P’r’aps wuss!”“I shouldn’t wonder if you are,” rejoined the seaman, recovering his spirits somewhat under the stimulating influence of rice. The recovery was not, however, sufficient to induce further conversation at the time, for they continued after that to eat in silence.They had scarcely finished when the jailor returned to remove the dish, which he did without word or ceremony, and so quickly that Ebony had to make a sudden scoop at the last mouthful; he secured it, filled his mouth with it, and then flung the spoon at the retiring jailor.“That was not wise,” said Mark, smiling in spite of himself at the tremendous pout of indignation on the negro’s face; “the man has us in his power, and may make us very uncomfortable if we insult him.”“Das true, massa,” said Ebony, in sudden penitence, “but if dere’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s havin’ my wittles took away afore I’m done wid ’em.”“You’ll have to larn to stand it, boy,” said Hockins, “else you’ll have your life took away, which’ll be wuss.”The probability of this latter event occurring was so great that it checked the rise of spirits which the rice had caused to set in.“What d’ee think they’ll do to us, sir?” asked the sailor, in a tone which showed that he looked up to the young doctor for counsel in difficulty. The feeling that, in virtue of his education and training, he ought to be in some sort an example and guide to his comrades in misfortune, did much to make Mark shake off his despondency and pluck up heart.“God knows, Hockins, what they will do,” he said. “If they were a more civilised people we might expect to be let off easily for so slight an offence as rescuing a supposed criminal, but you remember that Ravonino once said, when telling us stories round the camp-fire, that interference with what they call the course of justice is considered a very serious offence. Besides, the Queen being in a very bad mood just now, and we being Christians, it is likely we shall be peculiarly offensive to her. I fear that banishment is the least we may count on.”“It’s a hard case to be punished for bein’ Christians, when we hardly deserve the name. I can’t help wonderin’,” said the seaman, “that Lovey should have bolted as he did an’ left us in the lurch. He might at least have taken his risk along with us. Anyhow, he could have spoke up for us, knowin’ both lingos. Of course it was nat’ral that, poor Mamba should look after number one, seem that he was in no way beholden to us; but Lovey was our guide, an’ pledged to stand by us.”“I can’t help thinking,” said Mark, “that you do injustice to Laihova. He is not the man to forsake a comrade in distress.”“That was my own opinion,” returned the sailor, “till I seed him go slap through yon port-hole like a harlequin.”“P’r’aps he tink he kin do us more service w’en free dan as a prisoner,” suggested Ebony.“There’s somethin’ in that,” returned Hockins, lifting his hand to stroke his beard, as was his wont when thoughtful. He lifted it, however, with some difficulty, owing to the heavy chain.They were still engaged in conversation about their prospects when the prison-door again opened, and two men were ushered in. Both wore white lambas over their other garments. One was tall and very dark. The other was comparatively slender, and not so tall as his companion. For a moment the strangers stood contemplating the prisoners, and Mark’s attention was riveted on the smaller man, for he felt that his somewhat light-coloured and pleasant features were not unfamiliar to him, though he could not call to mind where or when he had seen him. Suddenly it flashed across him that this was the very man to whose assistance he had gone, and whose wounds he had bound up, soon after his arrival in the island.With a smile of recognition, Mark rose and extended his hand as far as his chain permitted. The young native stepped forward, grasped the hand, and pressed it warmly. Then he looked round at his tall companion, and spoke to him in his own tongue, whereupon the tall man advanced a step, and said in remarkably bad English—“You save me frind life one taime ago. Ver’ good—him nowyousave.”“Thank him for that promise,” said Mark, greatly relieved to find at least one friend among the natives in his hour of need.“But,” continued the Interpreter, “you muss not nottice me frind nowhar. Unerstand?”“Oh yes, I think I do,” returned Mark, with an intelligent look. “I suppose he does not wish people to think that he is helping or favouring us?”“That’s him! you’s got it!” replied the Interpreter, quite pleased apparently with his success in the use of English.“My!” murmured Ebony to Hockins in an undertone, “if I couldn’t spoke better English dan dat I’d swaller my tongue!”“Well—good-boy,” said the Interpreter, holding out his hand, which Mark grasped and shook smilingly, as he replied, “Thank you, I’m glad you think I’m a good-boy.”“No, no—not that!” exclaimed the Interpreter, “goodday, not goodboy; good-night, good morning! We goes out, me an’ me frind. Him’s name Ravèlo.”Again Ravèlo shook hands with Mark, despite the rattling chain, nodded pleasantly to him, after the English fashion, and took his departure with his tall friend.“Well now, I do think,” remarked Hockins, when the door had closed behind them, “that Rav—Ravè-what’s-his-name might have took notice of me too as an old friend that helped to do him service.”“Hm! he seemed to forgitmealtogidder,” remarked the negro, pathetically. “Dere’s nuffin so bad as ingratitood—’cept lockjaw: das a little wuss.”“What d’ee mean by lockjaw bein’ wuss?” demanded Hockins.“W’y, don’t you see? Ingratitood don’tfeel‘thankee,’ w’ereas lockjaw not on’y don’t feel but don’t evensay‘thankee.’”A sudden tumult outside the prison here interrupted them. Evidently a crowd approached. In a few minutes it halted before the door, which was flung open, and four prisoners were thrust in, followed by several strong guards and the execrations of the crowd. The door was smartly slammed in the faces of the yelling people, and the guards proceeded to chain the prisoners.They were all young men, and Mark Breezy and his friends had no doubt, from their gentle expression and upright bearing, that they were not criminals but condemned Christians.Three of them were quickly chained to the wall, but the third was thrown on his back, and a complex chain was put on his neck and limbs, in such a way that, when drawn tight, it forced his body into a position that must have caused him severe pain. No word or cry escaped him, however, only an irrepressible groan when he was thrust into a corner and left in that state of torture.The horror of Mark and his comrades on seeing this done in cold blood cannot be described. To hear or read of torture is bad enough, but to see it actually applied is immeasurably worse—to note the glance of terror and to hear the slight sound of the wrenched joints and stretched sinews, followed by the deep groan and the upward glare of agony!With a bursting cry of rage, Hockins, forgetting his situation, sprang towards the torturers, was checked by his fetters, and fell with a heavy clang and clatter on the floor. Even the cruel guards started aside in momentary alarm, and then with a contemptuous laugh passed out.Hockins had barely recovered his footing, and managed to restrain his feelings a little, when the door was again opened and the Interpreter re-entered with the jailor.“I come—break chains,” said the former.He pointed to the chains which bound our travellers. They were quickly removed by two under-jailors and their chief.“Now—com vis me.”To the surprise of the Interpreter, Mark Breezy crossed his arms over his breast, and firmly said— “No!” Swiftly understanding his motive, our seaman and Ebony followed suit with an equally emphatic, “No!”The Interpreter looked at them in puzzled surprise.“See,” said Mark, pointing to the tortured man in the corner, “we refuse to move a step till that poor fellow’s chains are eased off.”For a moment the Interpreter’s look of surprise increased; then an indescribable smile lit up his swarthy features as he turned to the jailor and spoke a few words. The man went immediately to the curled-up wretch in the corner and relaxed his chains so that he was enabled to give vent to a great sigh of relief. Hockins and Ebony uttered sighs of sympathy almost as loud, and Mark, turning to the Interpreter, said, with some emotion, “Thank you! God bless you! Now we will follow.”Note 1. The fetters here described may be seen in the Museum of the London Missionary Society in Blomfield Street, London, along with an interesting collection of Malagasy relics.

A new day had begun, cattle were lowing on the distant plain, and birds were chirping their matutinal songs in bush and tree when Mark Breezy, John Hockins, and James Ginger—aliasEbony—awoke from their uneasy rest on the prison floor and sat up with their backs against the wall. Their chains rattled sharply as they did so.

“Well now,” said Hockins, gasping forth his morning yawn in spite of circumstances, “I’ve many a time read and heard it of other folk, but I never did think I should live to hear my own chains rattle.”

“Right you are, ’Ockins; ob course I’s got de same sentiments zactly,” said the negro, lifting up his strong arm and ruefully surveying the heavy iron links of native manufacture that descended from his wrist.

Mark only sighed. It was the first time he had ever been restrained, even by bolt or bar, much less by manacles, and the effect on his young mind was at first overwhelming.

Bright though the sun was outside, very little of its light found a passage through the chinks of their all but windowless prison-house, so that they could scarcely see the size or character of the place. But this mattered little. They were too much crushed by their misfortune to care. For some time they sat without speaking, each feeling quite incapable of uttering a word of cheer to his fellows.

The silence was suddenly but softly broken by the sound of song. It seemed to come from a very dark corner of the prison in which nothing could be seen. To the startled prisoners it sounded like heavenly music—and indeed such it was, for in that corner sat two Christian captives who were spending the first minutes of the new day in singing praise to God.

The three comrades listened with rapt attention, for although the words were unintelligible, with the exception of the name of Jesus, the air was quite familiar, being one of those in which English-speaking Christians are wont to sing praise all the world over.

When the hymn ceased one of the voices was raised in a reverent and continuous tone, which was obviously the voice of prayer.

Just as the petition was concluded the sun found a loop-hole in the prison, and poured a flood of light into it which partly illumined the dark corner, and revealed two men seated on the ground with their backs against the wall. They were fine-looking men, nearly naked, and joined together by means of a ponderous piece of iron above two feet long, with a heavy ring at either end which encircled their necks. The rings were so thick that their ends must have been forced together with sledge-hammer and anvil after being put round the men’s necks, and then overlapped and riveted. Thus it became impossible to free them from their fetters except by the slow and laborious process of cutting them through with a file. Several old and healed-up sores on the necks and collar-bones of both men indicated that they and their harsh couplings had been acquainted for a long time, and one or two inflamed spots told all too clearly that they had not yet become quite reconciled.See Note 1.

“Now isn’t that awful,” said John Hockins in a low voice with a sort of choke in it, “to think that these poor fellows—wi’ that horrible thing that can’t be much under thirty pounds weight on their necks, an’ that must ha’ bin there for months if not for years—are singin’ an’ prayin’ to the Almighty, an’ here am I, John Hockins, with little or nothin’ to complain of as yet, haven’t given so much as a thought to—”

The choke got the better of our sailor at this point, and he became suddenly silent.

“Das so!” burst in Ebony, with extreme energy. “I’s wid you dere! I tell you what it is, ’Ockins, dem brown niggers is true Kistians, an’ we white folks is nuffin but hipperkrits.”

“I hope we’re not quite so bad asthat, Ebony,” said Mark, with a sad smile. “Nevertheless, Hockins is right—we are far behind these poor fellows in submission and gratitude to our Maker.”

While he spoke the heavy door of the prison opened, and a jailor entered with two large basins of boiled rice. The largest he put on the ground before our three travellers, the other in front of the coupled men, and then retired without a word.

“Well, thank God for this, anyhow,” said Mark, taking up one of the three spoons which lay on the rice and going to work with a will.

“Just so,” responded the seaman. “I’m thankful too, and quite ready for grub.”

“Curious ting, ’Ockins,” remarked Ebony, “dat your happytite an’ mine seems to be allers in de same state—sharp!”

The seaman’s appetite was indeed so sharp that he did not vouchsafe a reply. The prisoners in the dark corner seemed much in the same condition, but their anxiety to begin did not prevent their shutting their eyes for a few seconds and obviously asking a blessing on their meal. Hockins observed the act, and there passed over his soul another wave of self-condemnation, which was indicated by a deprecatory shake of his rugged head.

Observing it, Ebony paused a moment and said—

“You’s an awrful sinner, ’Ockins!”

“True, Ebony.”

“Das jist what I is too. Quite as bad as you. P’r’aps wuss!”

“I shouldn’t wonder if you are,” rejoined the seaman, recovering his spirits somewhat under the stimulating influence of rice. The recovery was not, however, sufficient to induce further conversation at the time, for they continued after that to eat in silence.

They had scarcely finished when the jailor returned to remove the dish, which he did without word or ceremony, and so quickly that Ebony had to make a sudden scoop at the last mouthful; he secured it, filled his mouth with it, and then flung the spoon at the retiring jailor.

“That was not wise,” said Mark, smiling in spite of himself at the tremendous pout of indignation on the negro’s face; “the man has us in his power, and may make us very uncomfortable if we insult him.”

“Das true, massa,” said Ebony, in sudden penitence, “but if dere’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s havin’ my wittles took away afore I’m done wid ’em.”

“You’ll have to larn to stand it, boy,” said Hockins, “else you’ll have your life took away, which’ll be wuss.”

The probability of this latter event occurring was so great that it checked the rise of spirits which the rice had caused to set in.

“What d’ee think they’ll do to us, sir?” asked the sailor, in a tone which showed that he looked up to the young doctor for counsel in difficulty. The feeling that, in virtue of his education and training, he ought to be in some sort an example and guide to his comrades in misfortune, did much to make Mark shake off his despondency and pluck up heart.

“God knows, Hockins, what they will do,” he said. “If they were a more civilised people we might expect to be let off easily for so slight an offence as rescuing a supposed criminal, but you remember that Ravonino once said, when telling us stories round the camp-fire, that interference with what they call the course of justice is considered a very serious offence. Besides, the Queen being in a very bad mood just now, and we being Christians, it is likely we shall be peculiarly offensive to her. I fear that banishment is the least we may count on.”

“It’s a hard case to be punished for bein’ Christians, when we hardly deserve the name. I can’t help wonderin’,” said the seaman, “that Lovey should have bolted as he did an’ left us in the lurch. He might at least have taken his risk along with us. Anyhow, he could have spoke up for us, knowin’ both lingos. Of course it was nat’ral that, poor Mamba should look after number one, seem that he was in no way beholden to us; but Lovey was our guide, an’ pledged to stand by us.”

“I can’t help thinking,” said Mark, “that you do injustice to Laihova. He is not the man to forsake a comrade in distress.”

“That was my own opinion,” returned the sailor, “till I seed him go slap through yon port-hole like a harlequin.”

“P’r’aps he tink he kin do us more service w’en free dan as a prisoner,” suggested Ebony.

“There’s somethin’ in that,” returned Hockins, lifting his hand to stroke his beard, as was his wont when thoughtful. He lifted it, however, with some difficulty, owing to the heavy chain.

They were still engaged in conversation about their prospects when the prison-door again opened, and two men were ushered in. Both wore white lambas over their other garments. One was tall and very dark. The other was comparatively slender, and not so tall as his companion. For a moment the strangers stood contemplating the prisoners, and Mark’s attention was riveted on the smaller man, for he felt that his somewhat light-coloured and pleasant features were not unfamiliar to him, though he could not call to mind where or when he had seen him. Suddenly it flashed across him that this was the very man to whose assistance he had gone, and whose wounds he had bound up, soon after his arrival in the island.

With a smile of recognition, Mark rose and extended his hand as far as his chain permitted. The young native stepped forward, grasped the hand, and pressed it warmly. Then he looked round at his tall companion, and spoke to him in his own tongue, whereupon the tall man advanced a step, and said in remarkably bad English—

“You save me frind life one taime ago. Ver’ good—him nowyousave.”

“Thank him for that promise,” said Mark, greatly relieved to find at least one friend among the natives in his hour of need.

“But,” continued the Interpreter, “you muss not nottice me frind nowhar. Unerstand?”

“Oh yes, I think I do,” returned Mark, with an intelligent look. “I suppose he does not wish people to think that he is helping or favouring us?”

“That’s him! you’s got it!” replied the Interpreter, quite pleased apparently with his success in the use of English.

“My!” murmured Ebony to Hockins in an undertone, “if I couldn’t spoke better English dan dat I’d swaller my tongue!”

“Well—good-boy,” said the Interpreter, holding out his hand, which Mark grasped and shook smilingly, as he replied, “Thank you, I’m glad you think I’m a good-boy.”

“No, no—not that!” exclaimed the Interpreter, “goodday, not goodboy; good-night, good morning! We goes out, me an’ me frind. Him’s name Ravèlo.”

Again Ravèlo shook hands with Mark, despite the rattling chain, nodded pleasantly to him, after the English fashion, and took his departure with his tall friend.

“Well now, I do think,” remarked Hockins, when the door had closed behind them, “that Rav—Ravè-what’s-his-name might have took notice of me too as an old friend that helped to do him service.”

“Hm! he seemed to forgitmealtogidder,” remarked the negro, pathetically. “Dere’s nuffin so bad as ingratitood—’cept lockjaw: das a little wuss.”

“What d’ee mean by lockjaw bein’ wuss?” demanded Hockins.

“W’y, don’t you see? Ingratitood don’tfeel‘thankee,’ w’ereas lockjaw not on’y don’t feel but don’t evensay‘thankee.’”

A sudden tumult outside the prison here interrupted them. Evidently a crowd approached. In a few minutes it halted before the door, which was flung open, and four prisoners were thrust in, followed by several strong guards and the execrations of the crowd. The door was smartly slammed in the faces of the yelling people, and the guards proceeded to chain the prisoners.

They were all young men, and Mark Breezy and his friends had no doubt, from their gentle expression and upright bearing, that they were not criminals but condemned Christians.

Three of them were quickly chained to the wall, but the third was thrown on his back, and a complex chain was put on his neck and limbs, in such a way that, when drawn tight, it forced his body into a position that must have caused him severe pain. No word or cry escaped him, however, only an irrepressible groan when he was thrust into a corner and left in that state of torture.

The horror of Mark and his comrades on seeing this done in cold blood cannot be described. To hear or read of torture is bad enough, but to see it actually applied is immeasurably worse—to note the glance of terror and to hear the slight sound of the wrenched joints and stretched sinews, followed by the deep groan and the upward glare of agony!

With a bursting cry of rage, Hockins, forgetting his situation, sprang towards the torturers, was checked by his fetters, and fell with a heavy clang and clatter on the floor. Even the cruel guards started aside in momentary alarm, and then with a contemptuous laugh passed out.

Hockins had barely recovered his footing, and managed to restrain his feelings a little, when the door was again opened and the Interpreter re-entered with the jailor.

“I come—break chains,” said the former.

He pointed to the chains which bound our travellers. They were quickly removed by two under-jailors and their chief.

“Now—com vis me.”

To the surprise of the Interpreter, Mark Breezy crossed his arms over his breast, and firmly said— “No!” Swiftly understanding his motive, our seaman and Ebony followed suit with an equally emphatic, “No!”

The Interpreter looked at them in puzzled surprise.

“See,” said Mark, pointing to the tortured man in the corner, “we refuse to move a step till that poor fellow’s chains are eased off.”

For a moment the Interpreter’s look of surprise increased; then an indescribable smile lit up his swarthy features as he turned to the jailor and spoke a few words. The man went immediately to the curled-up wretch in the corner and relaxed his chains so that he was enabled to give vent to a great sigh of relief. Hockins and Ebony uttered sighs of sympathy almost as loud, and Mark, turning to the Interpreter, said, with some emotion, “Thank you! God bless you! Now we will follow.”

Note 1. The fetters here described may be seen in the Museum of the London Missionary Society in Blomfield Street, London, along with an interesting collection of Malagasy relics.

Chapter Seventeen.Mamba is Succoured by one of the “Ancient Soot,” and fulfils his Mysterious Mission.When Laihova and Mamba took the reckless “headers” which we have described in a former chapter, they tumbled into a court-yard which was used as a sort of workshop. Fortunately for them the owner of the house was not a man of orderly habits. He was rather addicted to let rubbish lie till stern necessity forced him to clear it away. Hence he left heaps of dust, shavings, and other things to accumulate in heaps. One such heap happened to lie directly under the window through which the adventurous men plunged, so that, to their immense satisfaction, and even surprise, they came down soft and arose unhurt.Instantly they slipped into an outhouse, and there held hurried converse in low tones.“What will you do now?” asked Laihova.“I will remain where I am till night-fall, for I dare not show myself all bruised like this. When it is dark I will slip out and continue my journey to the coast.”“To Tamatave?” asked Laihova, naming the chief seaport on the eastern side of Madagascar.“Yes, to Tamatave.”“Do you go there to trade?”“No. I go on important business.”It was evident that, whatever his business might be, Mamba, for reasons best known to himself, resolved to keep his own counsel. Seeing this, his friend said—“Well, I go to the eastward also, for Ravoninohitriniony awaits me there; but I fear that our English friends will be thrown into prison.”“Do you think so?” asked Mamba, anxiously. “If you think I can be helpful I will give up my important business and remain with you.”“You cannot help us much, I think. Perhaps your presence may be a danger instead of a help. Besides, I have friends here who have power. And have we not God to direct us in all things? No, brother, as your business is important, go.”Mamba was evidently much relieved by this reply, and his friend saw clearly that he had intended to make a great personal sacrifice when he offered to remain.“But now I must myself go forth without delay,” continued Laihova. “I am not well-known here, and, once clear of this house, can walk openly and without much risk out of the city. Whatever befalls the Englishmen, Ravoninohitriniony and I will help and pray for them.”Another minute and he was gone. Passing the gates without arousing suspicion, he was soon walking rapidly towards the forest in which his friend Ravonino lay concealed.Meanwhile, Mamba hid himself behind some bags of grain in the outhouse until night-fall, when he sallied boldly forth and made his way to the house of a friend, who, although not a Christian, was too fond of him to refuse him shelter.This friend was a man of rank and ancient family. The soot hung in long strings from his roof-tree. He was one of “the ancient soot!”The houses in the city are usually without ceiling—open to the ridge-pole, though there is sometimes an upper chamber occupying part of the space, which is reached by a ladder. There are no chimneys, therefore, and smoke from the wood and grass fires settles upon the rafters in great quantities inside. As it is never cleared away, the soot of course accumulates in course of time and hangs down in long pendants. So far from considering this objectionable, the Malagasy have come to regard it with pride; for, as each man owns his own house, the great accumulations of soot have come to be regarded as evidence of the family having occupied the dwelling from ancient times. Hence the “old families” are sometimes complimented by the sovereign, in proclamations, by being styled “the ancient soot!”The particular Ancient Soot who accorded hospitality that night to Mamba was much surprised, but very glad, to see him. “Have you arrived?” he asked, with a good deal of ceremonial gesticulation.“I have arrived,” answered Mamba.“Safely and well, I hope.”“Safely and well,” replied Mamba—ceremonially of course, for in reality he had barely arrived with life, and certainly not with a sound skin.“Come in, then,” said the Ancient Soot. “And how are you? I hope it is well with you. Behold, spread a mat for him, there, one of you. And is it well with you?”“Well indeed,” said Mamba once again, falsely but ceremonially.“May you live to grow old!” resumed Soot. “And you have arrived safely? Come in. Where are you going?”“I’m going yonder—westward,” replied Mamba, with charming conventional vagueness, as he sat down on the mat.“But it appears to me,” said Ancient Soot, passing from the region of compliment into that of fact, and looking somewhat closely at his friend, “it seems to me that you have been hurt.”Mamba now explained the exact state of the case, said that he required a good long rest, after that a hearty meal, then a lamba and a little money, for he had been despoiled of everything he had possessed by the furious crowd that so nearly killed him.His kind host was quite ready to assist him in every way. In a few minutes he was sound asleep in a little chamber on the rafters, where he could rest without much risk of disturbance or discovery.All next day he remained in hiding. When it began to grow dusk his host walked with him through the streets and through the gates, thus rendering his passage less likely to be observed—for this particular Ancient Soot was well-known in the town.“I will turn now. What go you to the coast for?” asked his friend, when about to part.“You would laugh at me if I told you,” said Mamba.“Then tell me not,” returned his friend, with much delicacy of feeling, “for I would be sorry to laugh at my friend.”Thus they parted. Ancient Soot returned to the home of his forefathers, and Mamba walked smartly along the road that leads to the seaport of Tamatave.He spent that night in the residence of a friend; the next in the hut of a government wood-cutter.Felling timber, as might be supposed, was, and still is, an important branch of industry in Madagascar. Forests of varied extent abound in different parts of the country, and an immense belt of forest of two or three days’ journey in width covers the interior of the island. These forests yield abundance of timber of different colour and texture, and of various degrees of hardness and durability.The wood-cutter, an old man, was busy splitting a large tree into planks by means of wedges when our traveller came up. This wasteful method of obtaining planks is still practised by some natives of the South Sea Islands. Formerly the Malagasy never thought of obtaining more than two planks out of a single tree, however large the tree might be. They merely split the tree down the middle, and then chopped away the outside of each half until it was reduced to the thickness required. The advent of the English missionaries, however, in the early part of this century, introduced light in regard to the things of time as well as those of eternity-among other things, the pit-saw, which has taught the natives to “gather up the fragments so that nothing be lost.” Thick planks are still however sometimes procured in the old fashion.The wood-cutter belonged to “The Seven Hundred” which constituted the government corps. The members of this corps felled timber for the use of the sovereign. They also dragged it to the capital, for oxen were never employed as beasts of burden or trained to the yoke. The whole population around the capital was liable to be employed on this timber-hauling work—and indeed on any government work—without remuneration and for any length of time! After the usual exhaustive questions and replies as to health, etcetera, the old man conducted his visitor to his hut and set food before him. He was a solitary old fellow, but imbued with that virtue of hospitality which is inculcated so much among the people.Having replied to the wood-cutter’s first inquiry that he was “going yonder,” Mamba now saw fit to explain that “yonder” meant Tamatave.“I want to see the great Missionary Ellis before he leaves the country.”The wood-cutter shook his head. “You are too late, I fear. He passed down to the coast some weeks ago. The Queen has ordered him to depart. She is mad against all the praying people.”“Areyouone of the praying people?” asked Mamba, with direct simplicity.“Yes, and I know thatyouare,” answered the wood-cutter with a smile.“How know you that?”“Did I not see your lips move and your eyes look up when you approached me on arriving?”“True, I prayed to Jesus,” said Mamba, “that I might be made use of to help you, or you to help me.”“Then your prayer is doubly answered,” returned the old man, “for we can each help the other. I can give you food and lodging. You can carry a message to Tamatave for me.”“That is well. I shall be glad to help you. What is your message?”“It is a message to the missionary, Ellis, if you find him still there; but even if he is gone you will find a praying one who can help me. Long have I prayed to the lord that he would send one of his people here to take my message. Some came who looked like praying people, but I was afraid to ask them, and perhaps they were afraid to speak; for, as you know, the Queen’s spies are abroad everywhere now, and if they find one whom they suspect of praying to Jesus they seize him and drag him away to the ordeal of ‘tangena’—perhaps to torture and death. But now you have come, and my prayer is answered. ‘He is faithful who has promised.’ Look here.”The old man went to a corner of the hut, and returned with two soiled pieces of paper in his hand.Sitting down, he spread them carefully on his knees. Mamba recognised them at once as being two leaves out of a Malagasy Bible. Soiled, worn, and slightly torn they were, from long and frequent use, but still readable. On one of them was the twenty-third Psalm, which the old wood-cutter began to read with slow and intense interest.“Is it not grand,” he said, looking up at his young guest with a flush of joy in his care-worn old face, “to think that after this weary wood-cutting is over we shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever? No more toiling and hauling and splitting; above all, no more sin—nothing but praise and work for Him. And how hard I could work for Him!”“Strange!” said Mamba, while the old man gazed at the two soiled leaves as if lost in meditation, “strange that you should show this to me. I have come—but tell me,” he said, breaking off abruptly, “what do you wish me to do?”“This,” said the old man, pointing to the leaves, as though he had not heard the question, “is all that I possess of the Word of God. Ah! well do I remember the time—many years past now—when I had the whole Bible. It was such a happy time then—when good King Radama reigned, and the missionaries had schools and churches and meetings—when we prayed and sang to our heart’s content, and the Bible was printed, by the wonderful machines brought by the white men, in our own language, and we learned to read it. I was young then, and strong; but I don’t think my heart was so warm as it is now! Learning to read was hard—hard; but the Lord made me able, and when I got a Bible all to myself I thought there was nothing more to wish for. But the good Radama died, and Ranavalona sits upon his throne. You know she has burned many Bibles. Mine was found and burned, but she did not suspect me. I suppose I am too poor and worthless for her to care about! Perhaps we did not think enough of the happy times when we had them! A brother gave me these two leaves. They are all that I have left now.”Again the old man paused, and the younger forbore to interrupt his thoughts. Presently he looked up, and continued, “When the missionary Ellis was on his way to the coast I met him and asked for a Bible. He had not a spare one to give me. He was very sorry, but said if I could find any one going to Tamatave who would carry a Bible back to me, he would send one. Now you have come. Will you see the great missionary, or, if he is away, find one of the other men of God, and fetch me a Bible?”There was a trembling earnestness in the old wood-cutter’s voice which showed how eager he was about the answer. Mamba readily promised, and then, after singing and praying together, these like-minded men retired to rest.Next morning Mamba pursued his way eastward with rapid step, for he was anxious—yet with a glad heart, for he was hopeful. Many things of interest were presented to his gaze, but though he observed them well he did not suffer them to turn him aside for a moment from his purpose—which was to reach Tamatave in the shortest possible time, so as to meet and converse with the missionary before he should quit the island.Mamba was of an inquiring disposition. In ordinary circumstances he would have paused frequently to rest and meditate and pray. He would have turned aside to examine anything peculiar in his track, or even to watch the operations of a spider, or the gambols of a butterfly; but now he had “business” on hand, and set his face like a flint to transact it.The distance from the capital to Tamatave was nearly two hundred miles. There were dangers in the way. As we have said, the Queen’s spies were everywhere. Mamba’s wounds and bruises were still sufficiently obvious to attract attention and rouse curiosity, if not suspicion.At one part of the journey he came upon some criminals in long chains which extended from their necks to their ankles. They were doing work on the roads under a guard. He would fain have conversed with these men, but, fearing to be questioned, turned aside into the shelter of a plantation and passed stealthily by.At another place he came to a ferry where, when he was about to enter the boat, two men stepped in before him whom he knew to be government officers and suspected to be spies. To have drawn suddenly back without apparent reason would have proclaimed a guilty conscience. To go forward was to lay himself open to question and suspicion, for he had prepared no tissue of falsehoods for the occasion. There was no time for thought, only for prayer. He committed his soul to God as he entered the boat, and then began to converse with the boatman in as easy and natural a tone of voice as he could assume. Having to face the boatman for this purpose enabled him to turn his back upon the government officers. Scarce knowing what he said in the perturbation of his spirit, his first question was rather absurd—“Did you ever upset in crossing here?” he asked.“Of course not!” replied the boatman, with a look of offended dignity.“Ha! then,” continued Mamba, who quickly recovered his equanimity, “then you don’t know what it is to feel the teeth of a crocodile?”“No, I don’t, and hope I never shall. Did you?”“Oh yes,” returned Mamba, “I have felt them.”This was true; for it happened that when he was a little boy, his mother had taken him down to the side of a river where she had some washing to do, and while she was not looking the urchin waded in, and a crocodile made a snap at him. Fortunately it failed to catch him, but its sharp teeth grazed his thigh, and left a mark which he never afterwards lost.“Where did that happen?” asked the boatman, when the other had briefly stated the fact—for the passage was too short to permit of a story being told.“In the Betsilio country.”“That’s a long way off.”“Yes, a long way. I left my old mother there. I’m going to Tamatave to buy her a present. Now, my friend,” said Mamba, in a bantering tone, as the boat ran into the opposite bank, “take care never to upset your boat, because crocodile teeth are wonderfully sharp!”Mamba had the satisfaction of hearing the two officers chuckle at his little joke, and the boatman growl indignantly, as he leaped ashore and sedately strode away with a sigh of relief and thankfulness for having made what he deemed a narrow escape.The road to Tamatave was by no means lonely, for, being the highway from the seaport to the capital, there was constant traffic both of travellers and of merchandise. There were also great droves of cattle making their way to the coast—for a large part of the wealth of the chiefs and nobles of the land consists of cattle, which are exported to the islands of Bourbon and Mauritius, and disposed of to the shipping that come there for supplies.At last Mamba reached Tamatave, footsore, worn, and weary, and went straight to the house of friend—a native of wealth and importance in the town, and one whom he knew to be a Christian. From him he learned, to his great joy, that Mr Ellis had not yet left the place, and that he hoped to be permitted still to remain there for some time.It was dark when Mamba arrived, and rather late; but he was too anxious to transact his “business” to wait till morning. Having ascertained where the missionary lived, he went there direct, and was ushered into his sitting-room.“You wish to converse with me,” said Mr Ellis, in a kind voice, and in the native tongue, as he placed a chair for his visitor—who, however, preferred to stand.“Yes, I come from very far away—from the Betsilio country. My mother dwells there, and she is a praying one—a follower of Jesus. She loves the Word of God. I heard that you had brought the Bible to us from your own land—printed in our language, and so I have come to ask you for a Bible.”“Have you come all that long journey to procure the Word of God?” asked the missionary, much interested.“Yes—that is my business,” replied Mamba.Although Mr Ellis liked the look of his visitor, and was strongly disposed to believe him, he had too much knowledge of the native character to place immediate confidence in him. Besides, the man being a stranger to him, and possibly one of the government spies, he feared to comply at once with his request, lest he should hasten his own banishment from the island. He replied, therefore, with caution.“I cannot give you what you want to-night,” he said, “but you may call on me again to-morrow, and I will speak with you.”This answer did not at all satisfy the eager heart of the poor fellow who had travelled so far and risked so much. His countenance showed the state of his feelings so strongly that the sympathetic missionary laid his hand kindly on his shoulder, bade him cheer up, and asked for his name as well as the name of some one in Tamatave who knew him.“Now then, Mamba,” he said, as they were about to part, “don’t be cast down. Come here to see me to-morrow. Come early.”Comforted a little—more by the missionary’s look and tone than by his words,—Mamba took his departure.Meanwhile Mr Ellis made inquiries, visited the friend to whom he had been referred, and found that not only was Mamba a good and true man, but that many of his family “feared the Lord greatly.”When, therefore, his anxious visitor returned very early the following morning, he was ready for him.“I am assured that you are a Christian, Mamba,” he said, “as well as many of your kindred.”“Yes, I love the Lord, and so do many of my kinsmen. But my family is large and scattered.”“Have any of them got the Scriptures?”“They have seen and heard them,” returned Mamba, “but all that we possess are a few pages of the words of David. These belong to the whole family. We send them from one to another, and each, after keeping them for a time, passes them on, until they have been read by all. They are in my hands just now.”“Have you them with you?” asked the missionary. Mamba did not reply at once. He seemed unwilling to answer, but at last confessed that he had.“Will you not show them to me? Surely you can trust me, brother!”Mamba at length made up his mind. Thrusting his hand deep into his bosom, he drew a parcel from the folds of his lamba. This he slowly and carefully opened. One piece of cloth after another being unrolled, there appeared at length a few leaves of the Book of Psalms, which he cautiously handed to Mr Ellis.Though it was evident that the greatest care had been taken of that much-prized portion of Scripture, the soiled appearance of the leaves, worn edges, and other marks of frequent use—like the two leaves owned by the wood-cutter—showed how much they had been read.Even Mamba’s anxiety was allayed by the tender way in which the missionary handled his treasure, and the interest in it that he displayed.“Now, my friend,” said Mr Ellis, still holding the tattered leaves, which Mamba seemed anxious to get back, “if you will give me these few words of David, I will give youallhis words; and I will give you, besides, the words of Jesus, and of John, and Paul and Peter. See—here they are.”Saying which, he handed to his visitor a copy of the New Testament and Psalms, in Malagasy, bound together.But Mamba did not leap at this gift as might have been expected. Either it seemed to him to be too good news to be true, or he was of a sceptical turn of mind. At all events he was not satisfied until he had sat down with the missionary and assured himself that every verse in his ragged treasure was contained in the presented volume, and a great deal more besides. Then he let the old treasure go, and joyfully accepted the new, which, he said, he was going to carry back to his mother who greatly longed for it.Before retiring with it, however, he mentioned his friend the wood-cutter, whom Mr Ellis remembered well, and gladly gave another Testament to be taken back to him. Then, uttering expressions of fervent gratitude, Mamba left the house.In the course of that day the missionary inquired after his visitor, wishing to have further converse with him, but the Christians of Tamatave told him that Mamba had started off, almost immediately after quitting him, on his long return journey to Betsilio-land—doubtless “rejoicing as one that findeth great spoil.”Dust was not allowed to accumulate on the Bibles of Madagascar in those days!

When Laihova and Mamba took the reckless “headers” which we have described in a former chapter, they tumbled into a court-yard which was used as a sort of workshop. Fortunately for them the owner of the house was not a man of orderly habits. He was rather addicted to let rubbish lie till stern necessity forced him to clear it away. Hence he left heaps of dust, shavings, and other things to accumulate in heaps. One such heap happened to lie directly under the window through which the adventurous men plunged, so that, to their immense satisfaction, and even surprise, they came down soft and arose unhurt.

Instantly they slipped into an outhouse, and there held hurried converse in low tones.

“What will you do now?” asked Laihova.

“I will remain where I am till night-fall, for I dare not show myself all bruised like this. When it is dark I will slip out and continue my journey to the coast.”

“To Tamatave?” asked Laihova, naming the chief seaport on the eastern side of Madagascar.

“Yes, to Tamatave.”

“Do you go there to trade?”

“No. I go on important business.”

It was evident that, whatever his business might be, Mamba, for reasons best known to himself, resolved to keep his own counsel. Seeing this, his friend said—

“Well, I go to the eastward also, for Ravoninohitriniony awaits me there; but I fear that our English friends will be thrown into prison.”

“Do you think so?” asked Mamba, anxiously. “If you think I can be helpful I will give up my important business and remain with you.”

“You cannot help us much, I think. Perhaps your presence may be a danger instead of a help. Besides, I have friends here who have power. And have we not God to direct us in all things? No, brother, as your business is important, go.”

Mamba was evidently much relieved by this reply, and his friend saw clearly that he had intended to make a great personal sacrifice when he offered to remain.

“But now I must myself go forth without delay,” continued Laihova. “I am not well-known here, and, once clear of this house, can walk openly and without much risk out of the city. Whatever befalls the Englishmen, Ravoninohitriniony and I will help and pray for them.”

Another minute and he was gone. Passing the gates without arousing suspicion, he was soon walking rapidly towards the forest in which his friend Ravonino lay concealed.

Meanwhile, Mamba hid himself behind some bags of grain in the outhouse until night-fall, when he sallied boldly forth and made his way to the house of a friend, who, although not a Christian, was too fond of him to refuse him shelter.

This friend was a man of rank and ancient family. The soot hung in long strings from his roof-tree. He was one of “the ancient soot!”

The houses in the city are usually without ceiling—open to the ridge-pole, though there is sometimes an upper chamber occupying part of the space, which is reached by a ladder. There are no chimneys, therefore, and smoke from the wood and grass fires settles upon the rafters in great quantities inside. As it is never cleared away, the soot of course accumulates in course of time and hangs down in long pendants. So far from considering this objectionable, the Malagasy have come to regard it with pride; for, as each man owns his own house, the great accumulations of soot have come to be regarded as evidence of the family having occupied the dwelling from ancient times. Hence the “old families” are sometimes complimented by the sovereign, in proclamations, by being styled “the ancient soot!”

The particular Ancient Soot who accorded hospitality that night to Mamba was much surprised, but very glad, to see him. “Have you arrived?” he asked, with a good deal of ceremonial gesticulation.

“I have arrived,” answered Mamba.

“Safely and well, I hope.”

“Safely and well,” replied Mamba—ceremonially of course, for in reality he had barely arrived with life, and certainly not with a sound skin.

“Come in, then,” said the Ancient Soot. “And how are you? I hope it is well with you. Behold, spread a mat for him, there, one of you. And is it well with you?”

“Well indeed,” said Mamba once again, falsely but ceremonially.

“May you live to grow old!” resumed Soot. “And you have arrived safely? Come in. Where are you going?”

“I’m going yonder—westward,” replied Mamba, with charming conventional vagueness, as he sat down on the mat.

“But it appears to me,” said Ancient Soot, passing from the region of compliment into that of fact, and looking somewhat closely at his friend, “it seems to me that you have been hurt.”

Mamba now explained the exact state of the case, said that he required a good long rest, after that a hearty meal, then a lamba and a little money, for he had been despoiled of everything he had possessed by the furious crowd that so nearly killed him.

His kind host was quite ready to assist him in every way. In a few minutes he was sound asleep in a little chamber on the rafters, where he could rest without much risk of disturbance or discovery.

All next day he remained in hiding. When it began to grow dusk his host walked with him through the streets and through the gates, thus rendering his passage less likely to be observed—for this particular Ancient Soot was well-known in the town.

“I will turn now. What go you to the coast for?” asked his friend, when about to part.

“You would laugh at me if I told you,” said Mamba.

“Then tell me not,” returned his friend, with much delicacy of feeling, “for I would be sorry to laugh at my friend.”

Thus they parted. Ancient Soot returned to the home of his forefathers, and Mamba walked smartly along the road that leads to the seaport of Tamatave.

He spent that night in the residence of a friend; the next in the hut of a government wood-cutter.

Felling timber, as might be supposed, was, and still is, an important branch of industry in Madagascar. Forests of varied extent abound in different parts of the country, and an immense belt of forest of two or three days’ journey in width covers the interior of the island. These forests yield abundance of timber of different colour and texture, and of various degrees of hardness and durability.

The wood-cutter, an old man, was busy splitting a large tree into planks by means of wedges when our traveller came up. This wasteful method of obtaining planks is still practised by some natives of the South Sea Islands. Formerly the Malagasy never thought of obtaining more than two planks out of a single tree, however large the tree might be. They merely split the tree down the middle, and then chopped away the outside of each half until it was reduced to the thickness required. The advent of the English missionaries, however, in the early part of this century, introduced light in regard to the things of time as well as those of eternity-among other things, the pit-saw, which has taught the natives to “gather up the fragments so that nothing be lost.” Thick planks are still however sometimes procured in the old fashion.

The wood-cutter belonged to “The Seven Hundred” which constituted the government corps. The members of this corps felled timber for the use of the sovereign. They also dragged it to the capital, for oxen were never employed as beasts of burden or trained to the yoke. The whole population around the capital was liable to be employed on this timber-hauling work—and indeed on any government work—without remuneration and for any length of time! After the usual exhaustive questions and replies as to health, etcetera, the old man conducted his visitor to his hut and set food before him. He was a solitary old fellow, but imbued with that virtue of hospitality which is inculcated so much among the people.

Having replied to the wood-cutter’s first inquiry that he was “going yonder,” Mamba now saw fit to explain that “yonder” meant Tamatave.

“I want to see the great Missionary Ellis before he leaves the country.”

The wood-cutter shook his head. “You are too late, I fear. He passed down to the coast some weeks ago. The Queen has ordered him to depart. She is mad against all the praying people.”

“Areyouone of the praying people?” asked Mamba, with direct simplicity.

“Yes, and I know thatyouare,” answered the wood-cutter with a smile.

“How know you that?”

“Did I not see your lips move and your eyes look up when you approached me on arriving?”

“True, I prayed to Jesus,” said Mamba, “that I might be made use of to help you, or you to help me.”

“Then your prayer is doubly answered,” returned the old man, “for we can each help the other. I can give you food and lodging. You can carry a message to Tamatave for me.”

“That is well. I shall be glad to help you. What is your message?”

“It is a message to the missionary, Ellis, if you find him still there; but even if he is gone you will find a praying one who can help me. Long have I prayed to the lord that he would send one of his people here to take my message. Some came who looked like praying people, but I was afraid to ask them, and perhaps they were afraid to speak; for, as you know, the Queen’s spies are abroad everywhere now, and if they find one whom they suspect of praying to Jesus they seize him and drag him away to the ordeal of ‘tangena’—perhaps to torture and death. But now you have come, and my prayer is answered. ‘He is faithful who has promised.’ Look here.”

The old man went to a corner of the hut, and returned with two soiled pieces of paper in his hand.

Sitting down, he spread them carefully on his knees. Mamba recognised them at once as being two leaves out of a Malagasy Bible. Soiled, worn, and slightly torn they were, from long and frequent use, but still readable. On one of them was the twenty-third Psalm, which the old wood-cutter began to read with slow and intense interest.

“Is it not grand,” he said, looking up at his young guest with a flush of joy in his care-worn old face, “to think that after this weary wood-cutting is over we shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever? No more toiling and hauling and splitting; above all, no more sin—nothing but praise and work for Him. And how hard I could work for Him!”

“Strange!” said Mamba, while the old man gazed at the two soiled leaves as if lost in meditation, “strange that you should show this to me. I have come—but tell me,” he said, breaking off abruptly, “what do you wish me to do?”

“This,” said the old man, pointing to the leaves, as though he had not heard the question, “is all that I possess of the Word of God. Ah! well do I remember the time—many years past now—when I had the whole Bible. It was such a happy time then—when good King Radama reigned, and the missionaries had schools and churches and meetings—when we prayed and sang to our heart’s content, and the Bible was printed, by the wonderful machines brought by the white men, in our own language, and we learned to read it. I was young then, and strong; but I don’t think my heart was so warm as it is now! Learning to read was hard—hard; but the Lord made me able, and when I got a Bible all to myself I thought there was nothing more to wish for. But the good Radama died, and Ranavalona sits upon his throne. You know she has burned many Bibles. Mine was found and burned, but she did not suspect me. I suppose I am too poor and worthless for her to care about! Perhaps we did not think enough of the happy times when we had them! A brother gave me these two leaves. They are all that I have left now.”

Again the old man paused, and the younger forbore to interrupt his thoughts. Presently he looked up, and continued, “When the missionary Ellis was on his way to the coast I met him and asked for a Bible. He had not a spare one to give me. He was very sorry, but said if I could find any one going to Tamatave who would carry a Bible back to me, he would send one. Now you have come. Will you see the great missionary, or, if he is away, find one of the other men of God, and fetch me a Bible?”

There was a trembling earnestness in the old wood-cutter’s voice which showed how eager he was about the answer. Mamba readily promised, and then, after singing and praying together, these like-minded men retired to rest.

Next morning Mamba pursued his way eastward with rapid step, for he was anxious—yet with a glad heart, for he was hopeful. Many things of interest were presented to his gaze, but though he observed them well he did not suffer them to turn him aside for a moment from his purpose—which was to reach Tamatave in the shortest possible time, so as to meet and converse with the missionary before he should quit the island.

Mamba was of an inquiring disposition. In ordinary circumstances he would have paused frequently to rest and meditate and pray. He would have turned aside to examine anything peculiar in his track, or even to watch the operations of a spider, or the gambols of a butterfly; but now he had “business” on hand, and set his face like a flint to transact it.

The distance from the capital to Tamatave was nearly two hundred miles. There were dangers in the way. As we have said, the Queen’s spies were everywhere. Mamba’s wounds and bruises were still sufficiently obvious to attract attention and rouse curiosity, if not suspicion.

At one part of the journey he came upon some criminals in long chains which extended from their necks to their ankles. They were doing work on the roads under a guard. He would fain have conversed with these men, but, fearing to be questioned, turned aside into the shelter of a plantation and passed stealthily by.

At another place he came to a ferry where, when he was about to enter the boat, two men stepped in before him whom he knew to be government officers and suspected to be spies. To have drawn suddenly back without apparent reason would have proclaimed a guilty conscience. To go forward was to lay himself open to question and suspicion, for he had prepared no tissue of falsehoods for the occasion. There was no time for thought, only for prayer. He committed his soul to God as he entered the boat, and then began to converse with the boatman in as easy and natural a tone of voice as he could assume. Having to face the boatman for this purpose enabled him to turn his back upon the government officers. Scarce knowing what he said in the perturbation of his spirit, his first question was rather absurd—

“Did you ever upset in crossing here?” he asked.

“Of course not!” replied the boatman, with a look of offended dignity.

“Ha! then,” continued Mamba, who quickly recovered his equanimity, “then you don’t know what it is to feel the teeth of a crocodile?”

“No, I don’t, and hope I never shall. Did you?”

“Oh yes,” returned Mamba, “I have felt them.”

This was true; for it happened that when he was a little boy, his mother had taken him down to the side of a river where she had some washing to do, and while she was not looking the urchin waded in, and a crocodile made a snap at him. Fortunately it failed to catch him, but its sharp teeth grazed his thigh, and left a mark which he never afterwards lost.

“Where did that happen?” asked the boatman, when the other had briefly stated the fact—for the passage was too short to permit of a story being told.

“In the Betsilio country.”

“That’s a long way off.”

“Yes, a long way. I left my old mother there. I’m going to Tamatave to buy her a present. Now, my friend,” said Mamba, in a bantering tone, as the boat ran into the opposite bank, “take care never to upset your boat, because crocodile teeth are wonderfully sharp!”

Mamba had the satisfaction of hearing the two officers chuckle at his little joke, and the boatman growl indignantly, as he leaped ashore and sedately strode away with a sigh of relief and thankfulness for having made what he deemed a narrow escape.

The road to Tamatave was by no means lonely, for, being the highway from the seaport to the capital, there was constant traffic both of travellers and of merchandise. There were also great droves of cattle making their way to the coast—for a large part of the wealth of the chiefs and nobles of the land consists of cattle, which are exported to the islands of Bourbon and Mauritius, and disposed of to the shipping that come there for supplies.

At last Mamba reached Tamatave, footsore, worn, and weary, and went straight to the house of friend—a native of wealth and importance in the town, and one whom he knew to be a Christian. From him he learned, to his great joy, that Mr Ellis had not yet left the place, and that he hoped to be permitted still to remain there for some time.

It was dark when Mamba arrived, and rather late; but he was too anxious to transact his “business” to wait till morning. Having ascertained where the missionary lived, he went there direct, and was ushered into his sitting-room.

“You wish to converse with me,” said Mr Ellis, in a kind voice, and in the native tongue, as he placed a chair for his visitor—who, however, preferred to stand.

“Yes, I come from very far away—from the Betsilio country. My mother dwells there, and she is a praying one—a follower of Jesus. She loves the Word of God. I heard that you had brought the Bible to us from your own land—printed in our language, and so I have come to ask you for a Bible.”

“Have you come all that long journey to procure the Word of God?” asked the missionary, much interested.

“Yes—that is my business,” replied Mamba.

Although Mr Ellis liked the look of his visitor, and was strongly disposed to believe him, he had too much knowledge of the native character to place immediate confidence in him. Besides, the man being a stranger to him, and possibly one of the government spies, he feared to comply at once with his request, lest he should hasten his own banishment from the island. He replied, therefore, with caution.

“I cannot give you what you want to-night,” he said, “but you may call on me again to-morrow, and I will speak with you.”

This answer did not at all satisfy the eager heart of the poor fellow who had travelled so far and risked so much. His countenance showed the state of his feelings so strongly that the sympathetic missionary laid his hand kindly on his shoulder, bade him cheer up, and asked for his name as well as the name of some one in Tamatave who knew him.

“Now then, Mamba,” he said, as they were about to part, “don’t be cast down. Come here to see me to-morrow. Come early.”

Comforted a little—more by the missionary’s look and tone than by his words,—Mamba took his departure.

Meanwhile Mr Ellis made inquiries, visited the friend to whom he had been referred, and found that not only was Mamba a good and true man, but that many of his family “feared the Lord greatly.”

When, therefore, his anxious visitor returned very early the following morning, he was ready for him.

“I am assured that you are a Christian, Mamba,” he said, “as well as many of your kindred.”

“Yes, I love the Lord, and so do many of my kinsmen. But my family is large and scattered.”

“Have any of them got the Scriptures?”

“They have seen and heard them,” returned Mamba, “but all that we possess are a few pages of the words of David. These belong to the whole family. We send them from one to another, and each, after keeping them for a time, passes them on, until they have been read by all. They are in my hands just now.”

“Have you them with you?” asked the missionary. Mamba did not reply at once. He seemed unwilling to answer, but at last confessed that he had.

“Will you not show them to me? Surely you can trust me, brother!”

Mamba at length made up his mind. Thrusting his hand deep into his bosom, he drew a parcel from the folds of his lamba. This he slowly and carefully opened. One piece of cloth after another being unrolled, there appeared at length a few leaves of the Book of Psalms, which he cautiously handed to Mr Ellis.

Though it was evident that the greatest care had been taken of that much-prized portion of Scripture, the soiled appearance of the leaves, worn edges, and other marks of frequent use—like the two leaves owned by the wood-cutter—showed how much they had been read.

Even Mamba’s anxiety was allayed by the tender way in which the missionary handled his treasure, and the interest in it that he displayed.

“Now, my friend,” said Mr Ellis, still holding the tattered leaves, which Mamba seemed anxious to get back, “if you will give me these few words of David, I will give youallhis words; and I will give you, besides, the words of Jesus, and of John, and Paul and Peter. See—here they are.”

Saying which, he handed to his visitor a copy of the New Testament and Psalms, in Malagasy, bound together.

But Mamba did not leap at this gift as might have been expected. Either it seemed to him to be too good news to be true, or he was of a sceptical turn of mind. At all events he was not satisfied until he had sat down with the missionary and assured himself that every verse in his ragged treasure was contained in the presented volume, and a great deal more besides. Then he let the old treasure go, and joyfully accepted the new, which, he said, he was going to carry back to his mother who greatly longed for it.

Before retiring with it, however, he mentioned his friend the wood-cutter, whom Mr Ellis remembered well, and gladly gave another Testament to be taken back to him. Then, uttering expressions of fervent gratitude, Mamba left the house.

In the course of that day the missionary inquired after his visitor, wishing to have further converse with him, but the Christians of Tamatave told him that Mamba had started off, almost immediately after quitting him, on his long return journey to Betsilio-land—doubtless “rejoicing as one that findeth great spoil.”

Dust was not allowed to accumulate on the Bibles of Madagascar in those days!

Chapter Eighteen.Unexpected Deliverance and Several Surprises.At the time when Mamba started away on his expedition to Tamatave, Ravonino, as we have said, lay concealed in the forest, anxiously awaiting news from the town. At last the news came—the two white men and the negro had got involved in a row, and were in prison!So said Laihova on entering the cave and seating himself, weary, worn, and dispirited, on a ledge of rock beside his friend, to whom he related all that had befallen.“Give not way to despondency,” said Ravonino, though he could not smooth the lines of anxiety from his own brow. “Does not the Lord reign? Let the earth rejoice! No evil can befall unless permitted, and then it will surely work for good. Let us now consider what is to be done. But first, we will pray.”In the gloom of the cavern the two men went down on their knees, and, in very brief but earnest sentences, made known their wants to their Creator.“It is useless to remain here idle,” said the guide, as they resumed their seat on the ledge.“It is useless to go into the town,” returned Laihova. “I am known now as one of those who aided Mamba to escape.”“But I am not known—at least not in my present guise,” said Ravonino. “Have you seen Rafaravavy?”“No; I tell you we had not been long in the town when this mischance befell.”“Did not Mamba tell you why he has undertaken so long a journey?”“He did not, but I can guess,” answered Laihova, with a slight smile. “The night before we left our friends in the cave in Betsilio-land I heard his mother urging him to accompany us to the capital and fetch her, if possible, a copy of the Word of God. She was joined in her persuasions by my sister Ramatoa, and you know he loves Ramatoa. I have no doubt that the two overcame his objections.”“Do you know why he objected?” asked Ravonino.“Hesaidthat he was afraid to quit his mother and the others at a time when she might sorely need his protection, but other motives may have influenced him.”“If hesaidit hemeantit,” returned the guide, with some decision, “for Mamba is open and true of heart. No doubt he had other motives, but these were secondary. God grant him success and safe deliverance from the hands of his enemies!”“Amen!” responded Laihova.For some time the two friends sat there in silence, meditating as to what they should do in the circumstances, for each felt that action of some sort was absolutely necessary.“My friend,” said the guide at last, “it seems to me that the Lord requires me at this time to go with my life in my hand, and give it to Him if need be. I have led these Englishmen into danger. I must do my best to succour them. Rafaravavy also is in great danger of losing her life—for the Queen’s fondness for her may not last through the opposition to her will which she is sure to meet with. At all risks I will enter the town and try to meet with Rafaravavy. But you, my friend, have no need to run so great a risk. The Englishmen have no claim upon you. My sister Ra-Ruth, as well as the other banished ones, need your arm to defend them, all the more that Mamba has left for a time. I counsel you to return to the Betsilio country and leave me. There is no fear. I am in the hands of God.”For a few moments Laihova was silent. Then he spoke, slowly. “No. I will not leave you. Are not our friends also in the hands of God? For them, too, there is no fear. At present they are far from danger and in safe hiding, for even the outlaws—the robbers who infest the forests—understand something of their case; they have sympathy and will not molest them. Besides all that, Ravoninohitriniony, is there not the Blood-covenant between you and me? No, I willnotleave you! Where you go I will go, and if you die I will not live!”Seeing that his friend’s mind was made up, the guide made no further effort to influence him, and both men prepared themselves to go to the city.We return now to our friends Mark Breezy, John Hockins, and James Ginger, whom we left in the act of quitting their prison after being the means of obtaining some extension of mercy to an unfortunate sufferer whom they left behind them there.The Interpreter led them up several steep streets, and finally brought them to a court-yard in which were several small houses. Into one of these he ushered them, having previously pointed out to them that the building occupied a prominent position not far from the great palace of the Queen.“So—if you out goes—git losted—know how to finds you’self agin!”“Das so,” said Ebony. “You’s a clibber man.”“Now you stop,” continued the Interpreter, paying no attention to the remark, “for git some—some—vik—vik—vikles—eh?”“Vikles!” repeated Mark, with a puzzled air.“Yis—yis—vikles,” repeated the Interpreter, nodding his head, smiling, opening his mouth very wide, and pointing to it.“P’r’aps he means victuals,” suggested Hockins.“Yis—yis—jus’ so—vittles,” cried the Interpreter, eagerly, “wait for vittles. Now—good-boy—by-by!” he added, with a broad grin at his blunder, as he left the room and shut the door.The three friends stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds in silence, looked at each other, and smiled dubiously.“Let’s see if we reallyarefree to go and come as we choose,” said Mark, suddenly stepping to the door and trying it. Sure enough it was open. They passed out and went a short distance along the street, in which only a few natives were moving about. These, strange to say, instead of gazing at them in idle curiosity, seemed to regard them with some show of respect.“Hold on, sir,” said Hockins, coming to an abrupt halt, “you know that feller told us to wait for victuals, and I am uncommon disposed for them victuals; for, to say truth, the trifle of rice they gave us this mornin’ was barely enough to satisfy an average rat. Better come back an’ do as we’re bid. Obedience, you know, is the first law of natur’.”“Das w’at I says too. Wait for de wittles.”“Agreed,” said Mark, turning on his heel.On reaching the house they found that two slaves had already begun preparations for the hoped-for feast. In a few minutes they had spread on the mat floor several dishes containing rice, mingled with bits of chicken and other meats, the smell of which was exceedingly appetising. There was plain beef also, and fowls, and cooked vegetables, and fruits of various kinds, some of which were familiar to them, but others were quite new.Slaves being present, our three travellers did not give full and free expression to their feelings; but it was evident from the way that Hockins smacked his lips and Ebony rolled his tongue about, not to mention his eyes, and Mark pursed his mouth, that they were smitten with pleased anticipation, while the eyes of all three indicated considerable surprise!There were no knives or forks—only horn spoons for the rice; but as each man carried a large clasp-knife in his pocket, the loss was not felt.In any other circumstances the singularity and unexpected nature of this good treatment would have stirred up the fun of Ebony and the latent humour of Hockins, but they could not shake off the depression caused by the memory of what they had seen in the prison—the heavy iron collars and the cruel binding chains. They tried to put the best face possible on it, but after a few faint sallies relapsed into silence. This, however, did not prevent their eating a sufficiently hearty meal.“There’s no sayin’ when we may git the chance of another,” was Hockins’s apologetic remark as he helped himself to another fowl.“It is very mysterious that we should receive such treatment,” said Mark. “I can only account for it by supposing that our friend Ravèlo is an officer of some power. If so, it was doubly fortunate that we had the opportunity of doing him a good turn.”“Now, you leave dem two drumsticks for me, ’Ockins,” said Ebony, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ll do yourself a injury if you heat de whole ob ’im.”“Well, I must confess to bein’ surprised summat,” said the seaman, referring to Mark’s observation, not to Ebony’s.They were destined to receive some additional surprises before that day was over. The meal which they had been discussing was barely finished when their friend the Interpreter again entered and bade them follow him.“Queen Ranavalona wish sees you,” he said.“What! all on us?” exclaimed Hockins, with elevated eyebrows.“Yis—all.”“Oh! nonsense,” he cried, turning to Mark. “It must be you, doctor, she wants to see. What can she want with a or’nary seaman like me?”“Or a extraor’nary nigger like me?” said Ebony, with a look of extreme contempt.“You kin stop in house if you choose,” remarked the Interpreter, with a quiet grin, “but you heads be splitted if you do.”“Then I think I’ll go,” said Hockins, quietly.“Me too,” remarked the negro.Accordingly they all went—with a slight qualm, however, for they felt slightly doubtful whether, under existing circumstances, they might not after all be going to execution.The royal palaces, to which they were led, occupy a very conspicuous and commanding position on the summit of the hill, and stand at an elevation of more than 500 feet above the surrounding plains. They are conspicuously larger than any of the other houses in the city, are grouped together in a large court-yard, and number about a dozen houses—large and small. The chief palace, named Manjàka-Miàdana, is about 100 feet long by 80 broad, and 120 high to the apex of its lofty roof. A wide verandah, in three stories, runs all round it. All is painted white except the balustrade. The building next in size to this is the Silver House. On the eastern side of the court-yard are the palace gardens, and around it stand a number of houses which are the residences of the chief officers of the army, the Secretaries of State, and other members of the Government.On reaching the palace gate two young officers approached to receive the visitors. They were dressed in splendid European regimentals, much bedecked with gold-lace, tight-fitting trousers, Wellington boots, sash, sword, and cocked hat, all complete! One of these, to their surprise, spoke English remarkably well.“I learned it from the missionaries when I was leetle boy,” he explained to Mark, as he conducted the visitors through the archway and across the spacious court-yard into the palace. In the second storey of the verandah the Queen was seen seated beneath that emblem of royalty the scarlet umbrella, with her Court around her. Before entering the court the visitors had removed their hats. They were now directed to make a profound reverence as they passed, and proceeded along the side of the building to the further end.A line of native troops was drawn up across the court, but these wore no uniform, only the lamba wound round their waists, and white cross-belts on their naked bodies. They were armed with the old flint-lock muskets and bayonets of the period.Their conductor, who was an Under-Secretary of State, led them by a dark narrow stair to the balcony where the Queen sat, and in a few moments they found themselves in the presence of the cruel Ranavalona, of whom they had heard so much.She did not look cruel at that time, however. She was dressed in a rich satin gown, over which she wore the royal scarlet lamba, and jewels of various kinds ornamented her person. She was seated in a chair raised two or three steps above the floor, with her ladies on one side and her gentlemen on the other. The former, among whom were some really good-looking brunettes, had all adopted the English fashion of dress, with parts of native costume retained. Some wore head-dresses of gorgeous colouring, composed of ribbons, flowers, and feathers in great profusion, but as no head-dress, however strongly marked by barbaric splendour, can excel the amazing feminine crests in present use among the civilised, we refrain from attempting description! Most of the men also wore European costume, or portions thereof, some being clad in suits of black broad-cloth.The amount of ceremony displayed on all hands at Court seemed to have infected our three adventurers, for, when led before the Queen, they approached with several profound bows, to which Hockins added the additional grace of a pull at his forelock. In this he was imitated by Ebony.For some moments Ranavalona eyed her visitors—perhaps we should say her captives—sternly enough, but there was also a slight touch of softness in her expression, from which Mark drew much comfort; in silence, for as yet the Queen had given no indication as to whether the new-comers were to be treated as friends or spies, and the recent banishment of the missionaries, and harsh treatment of Europeans by the Queen, left their minds in some doubt on the point.Turning to the Secretary who had introduced the party, Ranavalona spoke to him a few words. When she had finished, the Secretary turned to Mark, whom he at once recognised as the chief and spokesman of the trio.“Queen Ranavalona bid me ask where you comes from,” he said.To which Mark replied that they came from England, that they were all English subjects, though one was an African by descent.“I have heard,” continued the Queen, through her interpreter, “that you have been shipwrecked, that one of your number is a Maker of Medicine, and that you helped one of my people—even saved his life—soon after your arrival in my country. Is that so?”Mark explained that they had not been shipwrecked, but had been left on shore, and obliged to fly from the natives of the coast; that he was indeed a maker of medicine, though his training had not been quite completed when he left England, and that he had rendered a trifling service to an unfortunate man who had slipped in climbing a cliff, but he could hardly be said to have saved the man’s life.While he was speaking, Mark observed that his friend Ravèlo stood close to the Queen’s chair, in front of a group of officers, from which circumstance he concluded that he must be a man of some note, and that it was he who had procured the deliverance of himself and his friends from prison.“Tell the young Maker of Medicine,” said the Queen, in a loud voice, so that all the Court might hear, “that Europeans have behaved very ill here of late, so ill that they had to be banished from my country; for I, Ranavalona, permit no one, whether his face be black, brown, or white, to meddle with my government. They fancied, I suppose, that because I am a woman I am weak and ignorant, and unable to rule! They have now found their mistake, and Christians shall not again be permitted to dwell in my country. But I am Ranavalona, and I will do what I please. If I choose to make an exception I will do it. If any one thinks to oppose my will he shall die. The man whose life was saved by this young Maker of Medicine is my son Rakota—my beloved son. Is it not so?”The Queen looked round as she spoke, and the man whom we have hitherto styled Ravèlo bent his head and replied, “It is so,” whereupon there were murmurs of surprise and approval among the courtiers.“Now,” continued the Queen, “as I am grateful, and as I want a physician at Court just now, I appoint this young Maker of Medicine to that post, and I appoint his black companion to be his servant. Do you all hear that?”All the courtiers made murmurs of assent.“Tell them all that, Secretary,” said the Queen.Mark Breezy and his friends had considerable difficulty in concealing their astonishment when “all that” was explained to them, but they had the presence of mind to acknowledge the information with a profound obeisance. At the same time Mark explained, with much modesty, that he was not entitled to aspire to or to accept so high and honourable a position, as he had not yet obtained the standing which entitled him to practise in his own country.“Tell him,” said the Queen, sternly, “that I, Ranavalona, have nothing to do with the customs of England, and have no regard for them. If he does not accept what I offer, instant banishment—perhaps worse—will be his portion!”“Oh! massa, accep’ himat once!” murmured Ebony in an undertone, and in much anxiety.Mark took his advice, and agreed to become Physician to the Court of the Queen of Madagascar, without stipulating either as to salary or privileges!“I am also told,” said the Queen, with a smile of condescension to her physician, “that your English companion is full of music, and performs on a wonderful little instrument. I have a good band, which was trained by your countrymen, but they have no such little instrument. Let the Man of the Sea perform.”On this being translated Mark looked at the Man of the Sea, and could with difficulty restrain a burst of laughter at the expression of his countenance.“What!” exclaimed Hockins, “me play my whistle afore this here Court? Unpossible!”“You’ll have to try,” said Mark, “unless you wish for instant banishment—or something worse!”“Oh! ’Ockins, blaze away atonce!” murmured Ebony, with renewed anxiety, for the “something worse” was to him suggestive of imprisonment, torture, and death!Thus pressed, the seaman put his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew forth his cherished flageolet. In a few minutes the Queen and all her courtiers were enthralled by the music. It was not only the novelty and bird-like sweetness of the instrument itself that charmed, but also the fine taste and wonderful touch of the sailor. The warbling notes seemed to trill, rise and fall, and float about on the atmosphere, as it were, like fairy music, filling the air with melody and the soul with delight.“Good! let the Man of the Sea be also cared for. Give them quarters in the palace, and see that they all attend upon us in the garden to-morrow.”So saying, the Queen arose, swept into the palace, and left her courtiers to follow.Immediately Prince Rakota came forward and shook hands with Mark.“So then, your Highness,” said the latter, “weare indebted to you for all this kindness.”“It is only one small ting,” returned the Prince in broken English. “Am I not due to you my life? Come, I go show you your house.”On the way, and after entering the house which was appropriated to their use, Mark learned from the Prince that their approach to the capital had been discovered and announced by spies long before their arrival; that it was they who had discovered and revealed to the Queen Hockins’s wonderful powers with the “little tube.” Also that it was well-known who had guided them through the country, and that Ravoninohitriniony was being diligently sought for in his hiding-places.This last piece of information filled the three friends with deep concern and anxiety.“He has been soverykind to us,” said Mark, “and I know is one of the most generously disposed and law-respecting subjects of her Majesty.”“That not help for him if he tumbles into the hands of my mother,” said the Prince, sadly. “He is a Christian. He has run to the forest, and has made others to fly.”“But you have much power with the Queen,” pleaded Mark, “could you not induce her to pardon him?”“Yes—if he will give up Christianity—if not do that—no!”“That he will never do,” said Mark, firmly. “I know him well. He will rather die than deny Christ.”“He is likely to die then,” returned Rakota, “for my mother is fixed to root up the religion of Jesus from the land.”“But surelyyoudon’t agree with her,” broke in Hockins at this point.“No, I not agree,” said the Prince. “But I can not command the Queen. Some time it very hard to move her even a leetle. My only power with her is love.”“Das de greatest power in de world!” chimed in Ebony.“It is,” returned the Prince, “and you be very sure I use the power much as I can for save your friend.”

At the time when Mamba started away on his expedition to Tamatave, Ravonino, as we have said, lay concealed in the forest, anxiously awaiting news from the town. At last the news came—the two white men and the negro had got involved in a row, and were in prison!

So said Laihova on entering the cave and seating himself, weary, worn, and dispirited, on a ledge of rock beside his friend, to whom he related all that had befallen.

“Give not way to despondency,” said Ravonino, though he could not smooth the lines of anxiety from his own brow. “Does not the Lord reign? Let the earth rejoice! No evil can befall unless permitted, and then it will surely work for good. Let us now consider what is to be done. But first, we will pray.”

In the gloom of the cavern the two men went down on their knees, and, in very brief but earnest sentences, made known their wants to their Creator.

“It is useless to remain here idle,” said the guide, as they resumed their seat on the ledge.

“It is useless to go into the town,” returned Laihova. “I am known now as one of those who aided Mamba to escape.”

“But I am not known—at least not in my present guise,” said Ravonino. “Have you seen Rafaravavy?”

“No; I tell you we had not been long in the town when this mischance befell.”

“Did not Mamba tell you why he has undertaken so long a journey?”

“He did not, but I can guess,” answered Laihova, with a slight smile. “The night before we left our friends in the cave in Betsilio-land I heard his mother urging him to accompany us to the capital and fetch her, if possible, a copy of the Word of God. She was joined in her persuasions by my sister Ramatoa, and you know he loves Ramatoa. I have no doubt that the two overcame his objections.”

“Do you know why he objected?” asked Ravonino.

“Hesaidthat he was afraid to quit his mother and the others at a time when she might sorely need his protection, but other motives may have influenced him.”

“If hesaidit hemeantit,” returned the guide, with some decision, “for Mamba is open and true of heart. No doubt he had other motives, but these were secondary. God grant him success and safe deliverance from the hands of his enemies!”

“Amen!” responded Laihova.

For some time the two friends sat there in silence, meditating as to what they should do in the circumstances, for each felt that action of some sort was absolutely necessary.

“My friend,” said the guide at last, “it seems to me that the Lord requires me at this time to go with my life in my hand, and give it to Him if need be. I have led these Englishmen into danger. I must do my best to succour them. Rafaravavy also is in great danger of losing her life—for the Queen’s fondness for her may not last through the opposition to her will which she is sure to meet with. At all risks I will enter the town and try to meet with Rafaravavy. But you, my friend, have no need to run so great a risk. The Englishmen have no claim upon you. My sister Ra-Ruth, as well as the other banished ones, need your arm to defend them, all the more that Mamba has left for a time. I counsel you to return to the Betsilio country and leave me. There is no fear. I am in the hands of God.”

For a few moments Laihova was silent. Then he spoke, slowly. “No. I will not leave you. Are not our friends also in the hands of God? For them, too, there is no fear. At present they are far from danger and in safe hiding, for even the outlaws—the robbers who infest the forests—understand something of their case; they have sympathy and will not molest them. Besides all that, Ravoninohitriniony, is there not the Blood-covenant between you and me? No, I willnotleave you! Where you go I will go, and if you die I will not live!”

Seeing that his friend’s mind was made up, the guide made no further effort to influence him, and both men prepared themselves to go to the city.

We return now to our friends Mark Breezy, John Hockins, and James Ginger, whom we left in the act of quitting their prison after being the means of obtaining some extension of mercy to an unfortunate sufferer whom they left behind them there.

The Interpreter led them up several steep streets, and finally brought them to a court-yard in which were several small houses. Into one of these he ushered them, having previously pointed out to them that the building occupied a prominent position not far from the great palace of the Queen.

“So—if you out goes—git losted—know how to finds you’self agin!”

“Das so,” said Ebony. “You’s a clibber man.”

“Now you stop,” continued the Interpreter, paying no attention to the remark, “for git some—some—vik—vik—vikles—eh?”

“Vikles!” repeated Mark, with a puzzled air.

“Yis—yis—vikles,” repeated the Interpreter, nodding his head, smiling, opening his mouth very wide, and pointing to it.

“P’r’aps he means victuals,” suggested Hockins.

“Yis—yis—jus’ so—vittles,” cried the Interpreter, eagerly, “wait for vittles. Now—good-boy—by-by!” he added, with a broad grin at his blunder, as he left the room and shut the door.

The three friends stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds in silence, looked at each other, and smiled dubiously.

“Let’s see if we reallyarefree to go and come as we choose,” said Mark, suddenly stepping to the door and trying it. Sure enough it was open. They passed out and went a short distance along the street, in which only a few natives were moving about. These, strange to say, instead of gazing at them in idle curiosity, seemed to regard them with some show of respect.

“Hold on, sir,” said Hockins, coming to an abrupt halt, “you know that feller told us to wait for victuals, and I am uncommon disposed for them victuals; for, to say truth, the trifle of rice they gave us this mornin’ was barely enough to satisfy an average rat. Better come back an’ do as we’re bid. Obedience, you know, is the first law of natur’.”

“Das w’at I says too. Wait for de wittles.”

“Agreed,” said Mark, turning on his heel.

On reaching the house they found that two slaves had already begun preparations for the hoped-for feast. In a few minutes they had spread on the mat floor several dishes containing rice, mingled with bits of chicken and other meats, the smell of which was exceedingly appetising. There was plain beef also, and fowls, and cooked vegetables, and fruits of various kinds, some of which were familiar to them, but others were quite new.

Slaves being present, our three travellers did not give full and free expression to their feelings; but it was evident from the way that Hockins smacked his lips and Ebony rolled his tongue about, not to mention his eyes, and Mark pursed his mouth, that they were smitten with pleased anticipation, while the eyes of all three indicated considerable surprise!

There were no knives or forks—only horn spoons for the rice; but as each man carried a large clasp-knife in his pocket, the loss was not felt.

In any other circumstances the singularity and unexpected nature of this good treatment would have stirred up the fun of Ebony and the latent humour of Hockins, but they could not shake off the depression caused by the memory of what they had seen in the prison—the heavy iron collars and the cruel binding chains. They tried to put the best face possible on it, but after a few faint sallies relapsed into silence. This, however, did not prevent their eating a sufficiently hearty meal.

“There’s no sayin’ when we may git the chance of another,” was Hockins’s apologetic remark as he helped himself to another fowl.

“It is very mysterious that we should receive such treatment,” said Mark. “I can only account for it by supposing that our friend Ravèlo is an officer of some power. If so, it was doubly fortunate that we had the opportunity of doing him a good turn.”

“Now, you leave dem two drumsticks for me, ’Ockins,” said Ebony, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ll do yourself a injury if you heat de whole ob ’im.”

“Well, I must confess to bein’ surprised summat,” said the seaman, referring to Mark’s observation, not to Ebony’s.

They were destined to receive some additional surprises before that day was over. The meal which they had been discussing was barely finished when their friend the Interpreter again entered and bade them follow him.

“Queen Ranavalona wish sees you,” he said.

“What! all on us?” exclaimed Hockins, with elevated eyebrows.

“Yis—all.”

“Oh! nonsense,” he cried, turning to Mark. “It must be you, doctor, she wants to see. What can she want with a or’nary seaman like me?”

“Or a extraor’nary nigger like me?” said Ebony, with a look of extreme contempt.

“You kin stop in house if you choose,” remarked the Interpreter, with a quiet grin, “but you heads be splitted if you do.”

“Then I think I’ll go,” said Hockins, quietly.

“Me too,” remarked the negro.

Accordingly they all went—with a slight qualm, however, for they felt slightly doubtful whether, under existing circumstances, they might not after all be going to execution.

The royal palaces, to which they were led, occupy a very conspicuous and commanding position on the summit of the hill, and stand at an elevation of more than 500 feet above the surrounding plains. They are conspicuously larger than any of the other houses in the city, are grouped together in a large court-yard, and number about a dozen houses—large and small. The chief palace, named Manjàka-Miàdana, is about 100 feet long by 80 broad, and 120 high to the apex of its lofty roof. A wide verandah, in three stories, runs all round it. All is painted white except the balustrade. The building next in size to this is the Silver House. On the eastern side of the court-yard are the palace gardens, and around it stand a number of houses which are the residences of the chief officers of the army, the Secretaries of State, and other members of the Government.

On reaching the palace gate two young officers approached to receive the visitors. They were dressed in splendid European regimentals, much bedecked with gold-lace, tight-fitting trousers, Wellington boots, sash, sword, and cocked hat, all complete! One of these, to their surprise, spoke English remarkably well.

“I learned it from the missionaries when I was leetle boy,” he explained to Mark, as he conducted the visitors through the archway and across the spacious court-yard into the palace. In the second storey of the verandah the Queen was seen seated beneath that emblem of royalty the scarlet umbrella, with her Court around her. Before entering the court the visitors had removed their hats. They were now directed to make a profound reverence as they passed, and proceeded along the side of the building to the further end.

A line of native troops was drawn up across the court, but these wore no uniform, only the lamba wound round their waists, and white cross-belts on their naked bodies. They were armed with the old flint-lock muskets and bayonets of the period.

Their conductor, who was an Under-Secretary of State, led them by a dark narrow stair to the balcony where the Queen sat, and in a few moments they found themselves in the presence of the cruel Ranavalona, of whom they had heard so much.

She did not look cruel at that time, however. She was dressed in a rich satin gown, over which she wore the royal scarlet lamba, and jewels of various kinds ornamented her person. She was seated in a chair raised two or three steps above the floor, with her ladies on one side and her gentlemen on the other. The former, among whom were some really good-looking brunettes, had all adopted the English fashion of dress, with parts of native costume retained. Some wore head-dresses of gorgeous colouring, composed of ribbons, flowers, and feathers in great profusion, but as no head-dress, however strongly marked by barbaric splendour, can excel the amazing feminine crests in present use among the civilised, we refrain from attempting description! Most of the men also wore European costume, or portions thereof, some being clad in suits of black broad-cloth.

The amount of ceremony displayed on all hands at Court seemed to have infected our three adventurers, for, when led before the Queen, they approached with several profound bows, to which Hockins added the additional grace of a pull at his forelock. In this he was imitated by Ebony.

For some moments Ranavalona eyed her visitors—perhaps we should say her captives—sternly enough, but there was also a slight touch of softness in her expression, from which Mark drew much comfort; in silence, for as yet the Queen had given no indication as to whether the new-comers were to be treated as friends or spies, and the recent banishment of the missionaries, and harsh treatment of Europeans by the Queen, left their minds in some doubt on the point.

Turning to the Secretary who had introduced the party, Ranavalona spoke to him a few words. When she had finished, the Secretary turned to Mark, whom he at once recognised as the chief and spokesman of the trio.

“Queen Ranavalona bid me ask where you comes from,” he said.

To which Mark replied that they came from England, that they were all English subjects, though one was an African by descent.

“I have heard,” continued the Queen, through her interpreter, “that you have been shipwrecked, that one of your number is a Maker of Medicine, and that you helped one of my people—even saved his life—soon after your arrival in my country. Is that so?”

Mark explained that they had not been shipwrecked, but had been left on shore, and obliged to fly from the natives of the coast; that he was indeed a maker of medicine, though his training had not been quite completed when he left England, and that he had rendered a trifling service to an unfortunate man who had slipped in climbing a cliff, but he could hardly be said to have saved the man’s life.

While he was speaking, Mark observed that his friend Ravèlo stood close to the Queen’s chair, in front of a group of officers, from which circumstance he concluded that he must be a man of some note, and that it was he who had procured the deliverance of himself and his friends from prison.

“Tell the young Maker of Medicine,” said the Queen, in a loud voice, so that all the Court might hear, “that Europeans have behaved very ill here of late, so ill that they had to be banished from my country; for I, Ranavalona, permit no one, whether his face be black, brown, or white, to meddle with my government. They fancied, I suppose, that because I am a woman I am weak and ignorant, and unable to rule! They have now found their mistake, and Christians shall not again be permitted to dwell in my country. But I am Ranavalona, and I will do what I please. If I choose to make an exception I will do it. If any one thinks to oppose my will he shall die. The man whose life was saved by this young Maker of Medicine is my son Rakota—my beloved son. Is it not so?”

The Queen looked round as she spoke, and the man whom we have hitherto styled Ravèlo bent his head and replied, “It is so,” whereupon there were murmurs of surprise and approval among the courtiers.

“Now,” continued the Queen, “as I am grateful, and as I want a physician at Court just now, I appoint this young Maker of Medicine to that post, and I appoint his black companion to be his servant. Do you all hear that?”

All the courtiers made murmurs of assent.

“Tell them all that, Secretary,” said the Queen.

Mark Breezy and his friends had considerable difficulty in concealing their astonishment when “all that” was explained to them, but they had the presence of mind to acknowledge the information with a profound obeisance. At the same time Mark explained, with much modesty, that he was not entitled to aspire to or to accept so high and honourable a position, as he had not yet obtained the standing which entitled him to practise in his own country.

“Tell him,” said the Queen, sternly, “that I, Ranavalona, have nothing to do with the customs of England, and have no regard for them. If he does not accept what I offer, instant banishment—perhaps worse—will be his portion!”

“Oh! massa, accep’ himat once!” murmured Ebony in an undertone, and in much anxiety.

Mark took his advice, and agreed to become Physician to the Court of the Queen of Madagascar, without stipulating either as to salary or privileges!

“I am also told,” said the Queen, with a smile of condescension to her physician, “that your English companion is full of music, and performs on a wonderful little instrument. I have a good band, which was trained by your countrymen, but they have no such little instrument. Let the Man of the Sea perform.”

On this being translated Mark looked at the Man of the Sea, and could with difficulty restrain a burst of laughter at the expression of his countenance.

“What!” exclaimed Hockins, “me play my whistle afore this here Court? Unpossible!”

“You’ll have to try,” said Mark, “unless you wish for instant banishment—or something worse!”

“Oh! ’Ockins, blaze away atonce!” murmured Ebony, with renewed anxiety, for the “something worse” was to him suggestive of imprisonment, torture, and death!

Thus pressed, the seaman put his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew forth his cherished flageolet. In a few minutes the Queen and all her courtiers were enthralled by the music. It was not only the novelty and bird-like sweetness of the instrument itself that charmed, but also the fine taste and wonderful touch of the sailor. The warbling notes seemed to trill, rise and fall, and float about on the atmosphere, as it were, like fairy music, filling the air with melody and the soul with delight.

“Good! let the Man of the Sea be also cared for. Give them quarters in the palace, and see that they all attend upon us in the garden to-morrow.”

So saying, the Queen arose, swept into the palace, and left her courtiers to follow.

Immediately Prince Rakota came forward and shook hands with Mark.

“So then, your Highness,” said the latter, “weare indebted to you for all this kindness.”

“It is only one small ting,” returned the Prince in broken English. “Am I not due to you my life? Come, I go show you your house.”

On the way, and after entering the house which was appropriated to their use, Mark learned from the Prince that their approach to the capital had been discovered and announced by spies long before their arrival; that it was they who had discovered and revealed to the Queen Hockins’s wonderful powers with the “little tube.” Also that it was well-known who had guided them through the country, and that Ravoninohitriniony was being diligently sought for in his hiding-places.

This last piece of information filled the three friends with deep concern and anxiety.

“He has been soverykind to us,” said Mark, “and I know is one of the most generously disposed and law-respecting subjects of her Majesty.”

“That not help for him if he tumbles into the hands of my mother,” said the Prince, sadly. “He is a Christian. He has run to the forest, and has made others to fly.”

“But you have much power with the Queen,” pleaded Mark, “could you not induce her to pardon him?”

“Yes—if he will give up Christianity—if not do that—no!”

“That he will never do,” said Mark, firmly. “I know him well. He will rather die than deny Christ.”

“He is likely to die then,” returned Rakota, “for my mother is fixed to root up the religion of Jesus from the land.”

“But surelyyoudon’t agree with her,” broke in Hockins at this point.

“No, I not agree,” said the Prince. “But I can not command the Queen. Some time it very hard to move her even a leetle. My only power with her is love.”

“Das de greatest power in de world!” chimed in Ebony.

“It is,” returned the Prince, “and you be very sure I use the power much as I can for save your friend.”

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