Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar
Chapter Six.
The Guide becomes Communicative, and tells of Terrible Doings
During the progress of supper, which consisted of cold dried meat and rice, the quartette seated on the ferns in the corner of the cave were unusually silent. Mark Breezy and Ravonino continued to eat for some time without speaking a word. Ebony, although earnestly absorbed in victuals, rolled his eyes about as he looked from time to time at his companions with unwonted solemnity, and John Hockins frowned at his food, and shook his shaggy head with an air of dissatisfied perplexity.
“Ravonino,” at length said the last, looking up, and using his grass pocket-handkerchief, “it seems to me, bein’ a plain straight-for’ard sort o’ seaman, that there’s somethin’ not exactly fair an’ above-board in all them proceedin’s. Of course it’s not for me to say what a independent man should do or say; but don’t you think that w’en a man like you professes to be honest, an’ asks other men to trust him, he should at least explain some o’ the riddles that surround him? I’m a loyal man myself, an’ I’ll stand up for my Queen an’ country, no matter what may be the circumstances in w’ich I’m placed; so that w’en I sees another man admittin’ that he’s a outlaw, an’ finds the soldiers of his Queen a-huntin’ all about the country arter him and his comrades—seems to me there’s a screw loose somewheres.”
“Dat’s my sent’ments zactly,” said the negro, with a decisive nod.
Mark took no notice of this speech, but silently continued his supper. For a few moments the guide did not speak or look up. Then, laying down his knife and clasping his hands over one of his knees, he looked earnestly into the seaman’s face.
“You tell me you are loyal,” he said.
Hockins nodded.
“If your queen,” continued Ravonino, “were to tell you to give up the service of God and worship idols, would you do it?”
“Cer’nly not,” replied the seaman, promptly, “for she has no right to rule over my soul. My duty to the King of Kings stands before my duty to the Queen of England.”
Again the guide was silent for a few minutes. Then he said:—
“Hockins, by God’s blessing you have saved the lives of all our party this day—at least it seemed so, for, another step, and that soldier would have discovered us if your little pipe had not stopped him. You are therefore entitled to expect some gratitude, and, from what I have seen of you and your comrades, I have reason to believe you will not betray us, even if you get the chance.”
“Right you are, friend, I will never betray an honest man; an’ I may speak for my comrades as well as self, for they’re true-blue to the back-bone—”
“Furder nor dat,” interposed Ebony, “troo-bloo to de marrow!”
“Don’t you shove in your oar till you’re ordered, you nigger! Well, as I was a-sayin’, we’ll never betray honest men, but I give you fair warnin’ if you’re not honest, we’ll have nothin’ to do wi’ your secrets, an’ if our duty to God an’ man requires us to go against you, we’ll do it without flinchin’.”
“So be it. I am satisfied,” returned Ravonino, calmly. “I will tell you as much as I think you are entitled to know. It may have reached your ears, perhaps, that there has been terrible persecution in this island for many years.”
Here Mark Breezy took up the conversation.
“No,” said he, with something of a deprecatory air, “we did not know it. For my part I am ashamed to say so; but I will say in excuse that the British empire is widely extended in every quarter of the globe, and her missions are so numerous that average men can scarcely hope to keep up with the details of all of the persecutions that occur. Rumours, indeed, I have heard of doings in Madagascar that vie with the persecutions of the Scottish Covenanters; but more than this I know not, though of course there are men connected with our Missionary Societies—and many people, no doubt, interested in missions—who know all about the persecutions in Madagascar. Is it in connection with this that you have been outlawed?”
“It is. Ranavalona, the blood-stained usurper, our present queen, is filled with such bitter hatred of Christianity that she has for many years persecuted the native Christians who have been taught by white missionaries from your land. Hundreds of men and women have been murdered by her orders because they refused to forsake Christ; others have been banished to regions so unhealthy that they have died, and many have been sold into slavery.”
The eyes of the guide gleamed for a moment, and his stern countenance flushed as he thus referred to the sorrows of his people, but by a strong effort he controlled his feelings, and his countenance resumed its habitual quietude.
“My mother and my sister and I,” he continued, “were sold into slavery. My mother was a native lady, high in station, and a member of the court of King Radama the First, who was very favourable to Missionaries. I was an infant at that time; my little sister was not born. My father was an English trader, skilled in many handicrafts, and a great favourite with the king, who fostered the Christian religion and helped those who came to teach us. Our teachers learned our language; taught us the love of God, and, through the power of the Holy Spirit, brought many of us to the Saviour. But they were persevering and wise as well as good. Having learned our language—in which my father helped them much—they taught us to read; translated many parts of the Word of God into our tongue; sent home for presses and types, and had these printed, as well as the Pilgrim’s Progress and other books.
“Peace, joy, and prosperity were spreading in our land. Idol-worship and cruel customs were being uprooted, and everything was going well when the king died—whether a Christian or not, who can tell? for, although favourable to, he never professed, Christianity. ‘The Lord knoweth them that are His!’ The rightful heir to the throne, according to our customs, was Rakotobe—a good young man who had been taught by the missionaries, and was nephew to the king; but Ranavalona, one of the king’s wives, resolved to seize the opportunity. A bold bad woman, with a powerful will and no principle, she carried her point by reckless bloodshed. There were men at court as bad as herself who agreed to aid her. When she boldly claimed the throne, four loyal nobles asserted the claim of Rakotobe. They were instantly speared in the palace. The rightful heir was not present. Soldiers were sent to his residence to seize and kill him before he should hear of what was going on.
“Not content with shedding blood, the cruel monsters dug the poor youth’s grave before his eyes. When they were thus engaged Rakotobe kneeled down to pray, and while he was in this position they speared him and cast him into his grave. Soon after the father and mother of Rakotobe were murdered—the last being starved to death. The brother of Radama was destroyed in like manner. He lingered eight days in agony before death came to his relief. Then Rakotobe’s grandmother and other relations were slain by Ranavalona’s orders, and thus the murderess waded through blood to the throne of Madagascar!
“Think you,” continued the guide, with a passing gleam of the anger which he strove to restrain, “think you that I owe allegiance to such a queen?”
“Truly ye do not,” answered the seaman, stoutly. “My only wonder is that the people suffer her to reign.”
Scarce heeding the reply the guide continued, with suppressed excitement, “but she did not rest content. It was in the year 1829 that she usurped the throne. Since then she has persecuted the Christians for more than a quarter of a century, and at times blood has flowed like water in our land. Bad as she is, however, she would have been worse but for her love to her son. Ay, the woman whose heart is a stone to most people is soft towards the young prince Rakota, in spite of the fact that this youth is favourable to the Christians and has often stood between them and his mother.
“About nine years after the queen’s coronation my little sister was born, and was secretly baptised—the name of Ruth being given to her. It is our custom to prefix Ra to many names—so she is Ra-Ruth. Look at her!” He pointed to a group not far-off, where the delicate and graceful girl was busily assisting an elderly woman in her packing arrangements. “See you the lady beside her, with the grey hair and the sad worn face? That is my mother. I have said she was high at the Court of Radama the First. She was young then. I was born the year that Radama died. Ranavalona was fond of her, though she loved not her Christianity, so she continued at the palace. The Queen also became very fond of my little sister when she began to grow to womanhood, but Ra-Ruth could not return the affection of one whose hands were stained so deeply with Christian blood. I was an officer in the palace at the time, but would gladly have left, only my doing so might have roused the queen’s wrath against my father and mother.
“At last the missionaries were ordered to quit the capital. In 1849 a great persecution took place. The queen became furious because her people would not cease to love and serve Jesus. She ordered many men and women to be speared and burned and tossed over precipices, but all without avail, because ‘greater is He who is for us than all who can be against us.’
“My father was away on a trading expedition at this time. One day in attempting to cross a lake he was drowned.” The guide’s voice deepened as he went on, “He was a good loving father to me. He taught me nearly all I know, and he was no mean scholar. He also sent me to the missionary schools. After his death the Queen hardened her heart against us; and as we refused to give up praying to God and singing His praise, we were cast out of the palace—my mother and sister and I, with several others, among whom were Laihova and his sister Ramatoa. We were sold into slavery in the public market.
“Our purchaser was cruel. He put us to the hardest menial work. We remained for several years with him. The health of my poor mother and sister began to give way. Then he sold me to another man, and we were separated. This was too much, I suppose, for the English blood in me to endure quietly. I made my escape. I went back to my old owner, and, in the night, induced my mother and sister to fly. Many persecuted Christians have fled since then and are now hiding in dens and caves like hunted beasts. We soon found some of these in the depths of the forests, and agreed to band together. They made me their leader, and I brought them here, where we have lived and worshipped God in peace; but, as you have seen, we are liable to be captured at any moment.”
“And if captured,” said Mark, “would the Queen really put you to death?”
“I fear she would; nay, I am certain of it, because one who recently escaped from Antananarivo has just brought the news that the Queen has been visited with a fresh burst of anger against the Christians, has thrown many into prison and sent out troops to scour the country in search of those who have fled.”
“But if that is so,” said Hockins, earnestly, “what’s the use o’ you riskin’ your life by goin’ with us to Ant—Ant—all-alive-O! (I’ll never git that name into my head!) Why not just sketch us out a rough chart o’ the island on a bit o’ bark, give us the bearin’s o’ the capital, an’ let us steer a straight course for it. I’ll be bound that we’ll make our port easy enough.”
“Yes, Hockins speaks wisely,” added Mark. “It is very kind of you to take so much trouble for us, but there is no need to run such great risk on our account.”
“You do not consider,” replied Ravonino, “that it is more difficult for sailors to cross the wild forest than to find their way on the trackless sea, and you forget also that the way is long, that Madagascar is larger than Great Britain and Ireland put together. There are many tribes, too, some of which are not so hospitable as others. You could not avoid the dangers of this wilderness easily without a guide. Besides, I do not mean to enter the capital. I will merely guide you to within sight of it and then leave you. Fortunately you require no assistance from natives, not being encumbered with this world’s goods.”
“Das troo; ha, ha–a!” cried Ebony, opening his portentous mouth and shutting his eyes, “we’ve got no luggidge.”
“Well, we shall only be too glad of your company,” said Mark, with some feeling, “and we thank you most heartily for your disinterested kindness.”
“My conduct is not altogether disinterested,” returned the guide. “The truth is, I had no intention at first of doing more than guiding you to the right pass in the mountains, but since I have been with you my feelings have been modified, and the news which we have just received has—has filled me with anxiety, and raised in my mind the idea that—that I may even make use of you!”
“That’s right,” exclaimed Mark, heartily, “I’m glad if there is the smallest chance of our serving you in any way. In what way can we do so?”
For some moments the guide displayed a degree of hesitancy which his friends had not before noticed in him. Then he spoke, slowly—
“Well, the truth is, that I have a friend in the palace who is, I have been told, in great danger, owing to the wrath of Ranavalona. I thought that somehow, perhaps, you might give warning to this friend, and say that Samuel Ravoninohitriniony is in the neighbouring forest, and—”
Here the guide stopped short, and seemed to be in some perplexity. Mark Breezy, whose young and romantic spirit was deeply stirred by the prospect of adventure which his words had opened up, assured him with enthusiasm that whatever was possible for man to accomplish he might depend upon being at least vigorously attempted. To which assurance John Hockins begged to “putt the word ditto,” and the negro fervently added, “Das so—me too!”
“But how are we to find your friend,” asked Mark, “seeing that we don’t know him, and have never seen him?”
“My friend is not a man, but a—a woman, a young girl,” said Ravonino, with the slightest possible symptom of confusion, which opened the eyes of Mark instantly, and still further stirred his sympathies.
“Ravonino,” he exclaimed, suddenly grasping the guide’s hand, “treat me as a friend and trust me. You love this young girl! Is it not so? Nay, man, don’t be angry with me. I can’t help sympathising. Why, I know something of your—your—a—condition myself. The morning I left England, the very last person I said good-bye to was a fair young girl, with golden hair, and a rosebud mouth, and such lovely blue—”
“Das right, Massa,” burst in Ebony, with a crow of admiration. “It doos my bery heart good to see a man as is proud ob his sweet’art. I’s got one too, bress you! but she ain’t fair! No, she’s black as de kitchen chimbly, wid a bootiful flat nose, a mout’ like a coal-scuttle, an’ such eyes—oh!”
“Hold your tongue, Ebony! Now, am I not right, Ravonino?”
“You are right,” answered the guide, gravely, yet without displeasure. “My Rafaravavy is in danger, and I must save her from this murderess at all hazards. It is right, however, to tell you that if you attempt to aid me you will encounter both difficulty and danger.”
“Don’t mention that, friend. No true man would shrink from either in a good cause,” said Mark. “But when must we set out on this expedition?”
“By day-break to-morrow. Our new hiding-place is on our way, so the change will not delay us; and from what the fugitives have told us, I hope—indeed I feel sure—that the Queen will do no further mischief for some weeks to come. But now, comrades,” said the guide, rising, “we must rest if we would work to-morrow. Follow me.”
He led them into one of the side caves, when the whole of the people followed, as if by preconcerted arrangement. Here a much-soiled book in a leathern cover was produced. It was a portion of the Bible in the Malagasy language. A few verses were reverently read by the guide; a brief earnest prayer was offered by a very old man; a hymn was sung, and then the people dispersed to their several sections of the cave. Finally the lights were extinguished, and the place was left in silence and darkness profound.
Chapter Seven.
Describes a Meek Mother and Crocodile-Son. Journey Resumed and Strange Treatment of the King of the Waters
Dawn was still struggling to assert itself in the far east and the depths of the forest were still shrouded in almost midnight gloom, when the strange band of outlaws emerged from their cave, and, led by Ravonino, went forth to search for a safer dwelling-place in the still more inaccessible fastnesses of the wilderness.
They had not much difficulty in finding a suitable spot, for the particular region to which they had fled from persecution was exceedingly wild and broken in form, and abounded with concealed caverns having outlets in several directions, so that pursuit and discovery were alike difficult.
We may not delay here, however, to tell of their wanderings. Like the Christians of other lands and, more ancient times, they were hunted like wild beasts, though their only crime was a desire to serve and worship God according to the dictates of their consciences. It is the old familiar story, and comment is needless to those who understand it—
“Man’s inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn.”
There is only one other member of the party of whom we will make mention just now, because she appears again somewhat prominently in our tale. This was a little elderly female who seemed utterly destitute of the very common human attribute of self-assertion, and in whose amiable, almost comical, countenance, one expression seemed to overbear and obliterate all others, namely that of gushing good-will to man and beast! Those who did not know Réni-Mamba thought her an amiable imbecile. Those who knew her well loved her with peculiar tenderness. Her modesty and self-abnegation were not, so far as any one knew, the result of principle. She was too unassertive to lay claim to principle! We are not sure that she understood the meaning of principle.
Before Christianity in its doctrinal form reached her she had only one source of discomfort in life, and that was, that in everything she failed! Failed to do as much as she wanted to do for other people; failed to express herself always as affectionately as she felt; failed to avoid giving slight occasions of offence, although she “never, never meant to do it!” In short she was, strange to say, a victim to self-condemnation. When the Gospel of Jesus came to her, telling, as it does, that “God is Love,” that Christ came to sweep away for ever the very sins that troubled her, and that His Holy Spirit would fight for and in her, so as to make her “more than conqueror,” she caught it to her heart as the very thing she needed.
She did not indeed condemn herself less—nay, she rather condemned herself more than formerly—but the joy of being on the winning side, of knowing that all sin was pardoned for His sake, of feeling assured of progressive victory now and complete victory in the end, thoroughly scattered her old troubles to the winds.
Her very name was characteristic. It is a common and curious custom in Madagascar for parents sometimes to drop their own names and take the name of their eldest child with the word raini, “father of,” or réni, “mother of,” prefixed. Now this amiable little elderly woman had been married young, and it so happened that her husband was away on an expedition to the coast when the first and only son was born. One of the first things that the child did after opening its black eyes on this life was to open its uncommonly large mouth, with the intention, no doubt, of howling. But circumstances apparently induced it to change its mind, for it shut its mouth without howling.
The effect of the gape on the mother was to remind her of one class of inhabitants of her native rivers—the crocodile—and cause her laughingly to style the child her “young crocodile.” The Malagasy word for crocodile is mamba, and thus the child came by his name, with the usual prefix, Ra-Mamba. After a time his mother became so proud of her young crocodile that she dropped her own name entirely—congenially, as it were, obliterated herself—and ever after was known as Réni-Mamba, “mother of the crocodile.”
At the time we write of, Mamba, (we will drop the “Ra”), was a stalwart handsome youth of over twenty, with no resemblance whatever to his namesake except a goodly-sized mouth and an amazing strength of appetite.
Need we say that his mother’s gushing powers were expended upon him with the force of a Norwegian mill-race? It is gratifying to be able to add that the crocodile was keenly responsive!
The father of little Mamba—Andrianivo—had returned to the capital soon after his son’s birth. He was a man in good position among the aristocracy of the land, and occupied a post of trust in the Queen’s service. At that time the first great persecution of the Christians had begun. It was known that Andrianivo favoured the Christians. On the question being put to him, he frankly admitted that he was one of them. He was therefore despoiled of all he possessed, and banished into perpetual exile and slavery. He was sent in chains to a pestilential part of the island, with the intention that toil and disease should end his life. So secretly and promptly was he spirited away that no one could tell the precise locality to which he had been banished. His heart-broken wife and child were also sold, but were taken to a more healthy region, where the child grew and became a stout boy; his little mother, meanwhile, acting the part of a meek and faithful slave. She would probably have lived and died in this condition had not her stout son, when he grew up, resolved to become free. His mother had taught him what she knew of the Christian religion. From Ravonino he learned more, and heard of the escaped Christians who found a refuge in forests and mountains. Finally he persuaded his mother to run away with him, and thus it came about that we find them with the band of which Ravonino was leader—Laihova being lieutenant of the band.
An occasion for the display of his affectionate nature was afforded to Mamba on the morning we write of. Active as a kitten, though middle-aged, Réni-Mamba was skipping from rock to rock in a very rugged part of their route, when, her foot slipping, she fell and sprained her ankle badly.
Mamba was close to her.
“Mother!” he exclaimed, hurrying forward and raising her carefully, “why jump about like the squirrel? Are you hurt?”
“My son, help me to rise.”
Gently the youth lifted her, and set her on her feet, whereupon she sank down again with a little shriek, and looked up with an expression of mingled humour and pain.
“My leg, I think, is broken!” said Réni. For the sake of brevity we will drop the “Mamba.”
“Surely not, mother; it has been too tough and strong to break ever since I knew it.”
Mamba spoke encouragingly; nevertheless, he examined the limb with anxious care. Being ignorant of surgery his examination was not of much use, but, fortunately, just then Mark Breezy, who had lingered behind to gather some plants, arrived on the scene. He found the injury to be a bad sprain, and did the best he could for the poor woman in the circumstances.
“Now, we must carry her,” he said to the guide, “for she won’t be able to walk for many days.”
On this being translated, Mamba gathered his mother up as if she had been a bundle of clothes, or a baby, and marched away with her.
“Stop, stop!” cried Ravonino, “you can’t carry her more than a few miles on such ground as I shall soon lead you over. We must arrange for her a filanzana.”
The guide here referred to the sort of palanquin used by travellers in a country where there were no roads. It consisted of a shallow, oblong basket, with light wooden framework, filled in with plaited strips of sheepskin, and hung between two light poles or bamboos. As several such machines were used by some of the party to carry their few household necessaries, one of them was at once emptied and Réni put therein by her affectionate son. Four stout young men put the ends of the poles on their shoulders, and the party once more advanced, Mamba walking by the side of the filanzana to be ready to assist in cases of difficulty or danger, and to relieve the bearers occasionally.
That afternoon they arrived at their new abode—a large, dry cavern—the entrance to which was not only well concealed on the face of a cliff in the heart of a dense jungle, but so difficult of access that a mere handful of men might easily have maintained it against a host.
Here Ravonino made no further delay than was necessary to see the party fairly settled. Then he left them, but not before receiving many an earnest and affectionate message to friends and kindred of the fugitives still at the capital, but who had, as yet, managed to elude the vigilance and escape the malignity of Queen Ranavalona and her spies. Some of the women even wept as they bade the guide farewell, saying that they felt sure he would at last fall a victim to the relentless fury of the Queen, and that they should see his face no more.
With these the guide gently remonstrated.
“Think you not,” he said, “that God is as able to protect me in Antananarivo as here in the wilderness? I go because I think that duty calls me. I expect no miracle in my behalf. I will take all possible precautions. Farewell.”
Once more our three travellers found themselves advancing rapidly in single file through the forest, with the guide in advance. Before the sinking sun compelled them to encamp under the trees that night they had put many miles between them and the hiding-place of the outlawed Christians.
Next day, as they were about to resume their journey, Ravonino told them that about noon they would come to a large river, on the other side of which there was a village where they could spend the night, for the people and their chief were friendly.
“Are they Christians?” asked Mark.
“No—at least the most of them are not, though there may be a few secret converts among them; for this hot persecution at the capital has scattered the Christians far and wide through the land, so that the knowledge of the blessed Gospel spreads. Thus our God makes the wrath of man to praise Him. The remainder of wrath He has promised to restrain. If He wills it otherwise, are we not prepared to die at His bidding? Many of our people have died already under the bloody reign of Ranavalona the usurper. How many more shall perish, who can tell?”
“But how do it come about,” asked Hockins, “that this here chief is friendly?”
“Because I had occasion to render him good service at one time, and he is grateful.”
“Good! Das allers de right way,” remarked Ebony, with an approving nod. “W’en a man’s grateful he’s safe—you’s sure ob ’im. Is dat de ribber you refur to jes’ now?”
He pointed to an opening among the trees ahead, through which the sheen of water glittering in the sunlight could be seen.
Before the guide could reply a loud shout startled them, and next moment they were surrounded by half-naked savages, who brandished their spears threateningly.
Quick as lightning, according to a pre-arranged plan in case of sudden attack, Mark, Hockins, and the negro stood back-to-back, facing in all directions—the first with his gun advanced, the seaman pointing his cutlass at the foe, and Ebony levelling a spear with which he had provided himself, little would their courage have availed them, however, if Ravonino had not been there, for a flight of spears would have ended their resistance in a moment.
“Voalavo, your chief, is my friend,” said the guide, calmly, without putting himself in an attitude of defence, or showing the slightest symptom of alarm. “Is Voalavo with you?”
“Voalavo comes,” they replied, at once lowering their weapons and pointing in the direction of the river, whence proceeded sounds as of the lowing of cattle.
“We have been to visit our enemies,” said one of the party, who, from his tones and bearing, appeared to be a leader. “We have smitten them, and we have brought away their cattle.”
As he spoke another native was seen approaching. He was a large burly jovial-looking man, somewhere about forty years of age, armed with a spear and enveloped in the native lamba, a garment used much in the same way as the Scottish plaid, which it resembled in form, though of much lighter material. The ornamentation of this garment proclaimed the wearer a person of distinction, and the evident satisfaction that beamed on his broad jovial countenance when he recognised and greeted Ravonino showed that it was Voalavo himself—the chief of the village they were approaching.
“I’m sorry to see,” said the guide, after the first few words of salutation, “that my friend still delights in war and robbery.”
“Don’t be sorry, friend, don’t be sorry,” returned the chief with a hearty laugh, as he gave the other a slap on the shoulder. “Sorrow does no good. It only puts water in the eyes and makes them red. Look at me—just returned from ‘war and robbery,’ and as happy as a squirrel. If a man does not delight in war and robbery, what is there in the world to delight in? If I am not sorry why should you be? If you can’t help it—then laugh at it and try to enjoy your sorrow. That’s the way I do. It suits me. I grow fat on it!”
He certainly did grow fat—if not on laughing at sorrow, certainly on something else—and his followers, although respectfully silent, showed by their smiling faces that they sympathised with their chief’s hilarious mood.
“But where did you fall in with the white men?” asked Voalavo, turning suddenly towards Mark and Hockins, who stood listening with interest and curiosity to the rapid flow of his unintelligible talk. “Such pale flowers do not grow in our forests!”
In a few words Ravonino explained the history of our adventurers as far as he knew it, and the chief, on learning that they were his friend’s friends, bade them welcome, and shook hands heartily in the European fashion—a mode of expressing friendship which had probably been learned from the missionaries, who, after spending many years in Madagascar, had, about the time we write of, been all banished from the island.
