Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar
Chapter Twelve.
A Narrow Escape and Threatening Clouds
Their progress after leaving the spot described in the last chapter was not so rapid as could have been desired by anxious men, for it was absolutely necessary to proceed with extreme caution.
Not only were the Queen’s troops out in various directions, but many of her spies had been seen prowling about, like the evil one they served, seeking whom they could devour. Of this the travellers were made aware at the first villages they came to; and as Ravonino had formerly been well-known at the capital, it became necessary for him not only to disguise himself, but to keep as much as possible out of sight.
Disguising himself was not very difficult, owing to the fact that when he lived in Antananarivo he had, like his father, worn a bushy beard. This had made him a marked man, for the Malagasy, as a rule, have little beard, and what little they possess is usually pulled out by the roots. Since he became a fugitive the guide had shaved closely. This of itself went a long way to change his appearance; but when, in addition, he had modified the arrangement of his hair, and stained his face of a darker hue, he had made himself almost unrecognisable, even by his best friends. His chief difficulty was with his voice, which had a mellow sweetness in it that resisted modification. However, by keeping silence, or speaking low, he hoped to escape recognition until he should reach the vicinity of the capital, where he had friends who would gladly receive and conceal him, even at the risk of their lives.
As to the great object that lay nearest his heart, he hoped to manage that through his friend Laihova, without himself entering the capital.
Our travellers soon reached the inhabited part of the country, where, being surrounded by men and women going about, as well as journeying towards the Antananarivo market with provisions, etcetera, they ceased to attract much attention. Of course the Englishmen were subjects of curiosity—sometimes of inquiry,—but as Laihova reported that they were men who had been cast on the southern coast of the island and whom he was guiding to the capital, suspicion was not aroused.
Laihova at this point became leader of the party, in order to enable the guide more easily to fall into the background; and he was all the more fitted for the position in that he had acquired a smattering of English from his friend Ravonino, and could both understand much of what was said to him and also make himself pretty well understood by his white friends.
This part of the journey was by no means without adventure, sometimes of a kind that filled them with anxiety.
One evening they approached a small hamlet, or group of cottages, where they learned, among other things, that two of the Queen’s spies were at that moment in the neighbourhood, searching for two ladies of the Court who had fled because Ranavalona had threatened them with imprisonment.
“Are they young?” asked Ravonino, forgetting his caution in his anxiety.
“I know not,” replied the man who had informed them of the fact. “I think some one told me they were not young—but I forget.”
The guide said no more. He regretted having said so much, for the man glanced at him suspiciously.
Affecting an air of unconcern he turned away and bade his comrades follow.
“Come,” he said, when out of ear-shot of the man, “we must pass through this village quickly, for we know not in what house the spies may have taken up their quarters.”
“But, don’ you tink,” suggested Ebony, “dat we five could wallop any oder five men in de univarse, to say not’ing ob two spies?”
A grim smile was all the reply that the guide gave him, as he walked quickly along the path that led out of the hamlet.
“I have a friend,” he said to Mark, “who lives in a solitary cottage half-a-mile further on. He is rich, and, I think, a Christian man—but secretly, for fear of the Queen. We will call at his house in passing.”
As he spoke, they approached a large house by the roadside, the owner of which, a brown old gentleman, was enjoying himself with his wife and family in front of it.
“Is that your friend?” asked Mark.
“No; he lives in the house just beyond. We shall see it on clearing this group of trees.”
The track which they were following led close past the large house above referred to, necessitating compliance with a custom of the country, which greatly surprised, and not a little amused, the Englishmen.
We have spoken of the residence as a house, because it belonged to one owner, but it would be more correct to call it a farm-steading, or a group of buildings. Except among the very poorest people, a Malagasy family has usually two or three houses in its enclosure—frequently more, for young married people often live beside their parents, and some houses are appropriated to slaves, while others are used as kitchens, etcetera, the whole being surrounded by a wall of clay. Where a house is near the public road they have usually a little square platform, called the fijerèna, in an angle of the wall, or at the gate, with steps leading up to it. Here the family sits, when the work of the day is over, to watch—and, doubtless, to criticise—the passers-by; also to do the polite according to Malagasy ideas, for it must be told that these people are very courteous. Even the poorest have a natural dignity and ease of manner about them.
As our travellers approached the house they were observed with much interest by the brown old gentleman and his comfortable-looking wife, and his pretty little light-brown daughter, and a very uncomfortable-looking elderly female with her head tied up, who were all squatted on the fijerèna.
When within hearing Laihova stopped, and said in the politest tone and manner possible—
“Will you allow me to pass, sir?”
“Pray proceed, sir,” replied the old gentleman, with a gracious smile.
This interchange of civilities was entirely formal, and stood in the place of the Englishman’s opening remarks on the weather, to which a Malagasy would as soon think of referring, in this connection, as he would to the hatching of crocodiles’ eggs.
Then followed the conventional inquiry, “How are you? How is it with you?” which politenesses, in a number of variations unknown to Western speech, would have been continued, in ordinary circumstances, until the passers-by were beyond the range of hearing; but the appearance of the Englishmen induced the brown old gentleman on this occasion to beg the travellers to stop and accept his hospitality. This they declined to do, with many expressions of regret, on the ground that their business at the capital was urgent.
“It would have gratified me much,” said the old gentleman, “to have entertained you. But you are all well, I hope?”
“Yes, we are very well,” answered Laihova; “and how do you feel?”
“I feel as well as possible. And is it well with you?”
“It is well with us. But it does not seem to be well with the lady,” returned Laihova, glancing at the uncomfortable female with her head tied up.
“No, it is not well with her. She has toothache on the north side of her head. Farewell,” said the brown old gentleman, re-squatting on the fijerèna, as the travellers moved on; “may you live,” he shouted after them, when nearly out of ear-shot, “and reach old age.”
Great was the amusement of our travellers at all this, especially when Ravonino explained about the toothache. “You must know,” he said, “that almost all the houses in the central provinces of the island are built with their length running north and south, or nearly so, and the people use the points of the compass in describing the position of things. Thus, if they tell a slave to look for a thing in the house, they will say, Look in the north, south, east, or west corner, or side; and they apply this rule to the person also. I once heard the member of a mission from England told by his host that some rice was sticking to his moustache. The missionary wiped the wrong side. ‘No,’ said the host, ‘it is on the southern side of your moustache.’”
“Do you know,” said Mark Breezy, “that is not so strange to me as you might suppose; for I was once told by a friend who lived in the Scottish Highlands, that an old woman there actually said to her that she had toothache on the east side of her head!”
Further comment on this point was arrested by their coming suddenly in sight of the house where the guide’s friend dwelt.
“You had better stay here at the edge of this wood, while I go forward alone,” said the guide; “because although the man is kind, and has always professed to be my friend, I am not quite sure of him. It is well to be cautious. If I wave my hand to you, come up to the house, all will be well. If things don’t seem favourable I will return to you—but keep close; don’t show yourselves needlessly. You see, my friend is an officer of the palace. If friendly he can be very useful to us, if unfriendly he can be dangerous.”
“But why run risk by going near him at all?” asked Mark.
“We must run risk when life and death are in the balance,” replied the guide, shortly.
Concealed by the bushes, the travellers watched their companion as he went up to the house. Before he reached it a man opened the door and stepped out. Suddenly this man seemed to burst into a furious passion. He grasped Ravonino by the throat, almost threw him on his back, and, seizing a stick, began to belabour him violently, while two other men appeared at the door of the house, and, from their inordinate laughter, seemed fully to enjoy the scene.
“Hi!” exclaimed Ebony in shrill falsetto, as he jumped up in blazing wrath, intending to rush to the rescue, but Hockins grasped his woolly head and pulled him back.
“Obey orders, you black grampus! D’ee think he’s a babby as can’t take care of himself? Didn’t he tell us to keep close?”
Great as had been the surprise of the watchers at this sudden and unprovoked assault, it was as nothing compared with their astonishment when they saw their guide fairly turn tail and run towards them, closely followed by the furious man, who continued to thrash him all the time.
As Ravonino drew near, the angry man seemed to have exhausted himself, for he fell behind, and finally stopped. The guide ran on at full speed until he reached the wood, but did not even then slacken his speed. As he ran past his friends, however, he exclaimed in a sharp, stern voice—
“Follow me!”
Laihova obeyed with the unquestioning readiness of a faithful hound. The others followed suit with the open eyes of perplexity and amazement!
Reaching a sequestered dell in a few minutes, Ravonino suddenly stopped and turned round with a calm air of satisfaction.
“Well, dis am de most awrful supprise I’se had since my mudder give me my fust wollopin’.”
The expression on the negro’s face rendered the remark needless.
“It was well done,” said the guide, seating himself on the trunk of a fallen tree.
“A’most too well done!” returned Hockins, with a touch of sarcasm.
“Do you know,” continued the guide gravely, “I’ve had a narrow escape? The two men you saw laughing at the door are the very men we have been trying to avoid,—the Queen’s spies,—whom I have long known, and who would certainly have discovered me in spite of my shaved and stained face if we had come to talk to each other in the same room. Luckily my friend is smart as well as true. He knew my voice at once. To have talked with me, or warned me, or let me enter his house, would have been fatal. His only resource lay in thrashing me off his premises—as you have seen. How he will explain matters to the spies I know not, but I can trust him for that.”
“Das most awrful clebber!” exclaimed Ebony, his every feature broadening with delight at the success of the ruse.
“But what are we to do now?” asked Mark.
“Wait till he comes here. He told me to wait.”
“What! Told you?”
“Ay—you don’t suppose he let his tongue lie idle while he was using his stick. Of course I was myself taken aback at first when he seized me by the throat, but two or three muttered words in the midst of his anger opened my eyes, and I ran at once. All the way as he ran after and belaboured me he was giving me important information in furious tones! The spies are only staying with him for a short rest. When they are gone he will come and find us here.”
“He’s a born actor,” said Hockins.
“True—and he acted some of his blows heavier than I could have wished, in his anxiety to impress his information on me!” said the guide.
“What is his name?” asked Mark.
“Fisatra. He is named after a great chief who lived in this district not long ago.—But here he comes to speak for himself.”
At that moment a tall, fine-looking man, of very dark complexion, and clad in the ample folds of a beautiful lamba, approached them. His whole countenance was wrinkled with the lines of fun, and his brilliant teeth glistened as he smilingly held out his hand to the Englishmen, and asked them to accept his hospitality.
As they passed into the house they saw two slave-girls pounding rice in a large wooden mortar, with two enormous wooden pestles, while the savoury steam that arose from some invisible kitchen served to put a finer edge on their already sharpened appetites.
When the mats were spread, and the feast was being enjoyed, Ravonino asked the host how he had got rid of the spies, and how he managed to explain his conduct without raising their suspicions.
“Nothing easier,” said Fisatra, while his broad shoulders heaved with an inward chuckle. “You know that I used to be feared in the palace in days gone bye because of my violent nature, and the way in which I used to knock about the furniture and make the household slaves—sometimes the household troops—scurry when I was in a rage. Yet I’m sure you know very well, (he looked sheepishly innocent here), that I never was an angry man—at least not a cruel one. But that’s all changed. I am one of your set now, though no one suspects it. Since I met Mr Ellis—”
“Is Mr Ellis here just now?” interrupted Ravonino, anxiously.
“Not now,” answered Fisatra; “he departed some weeks ago, but I believe has not yet left the coast. And now there is no check on the Queen’s violence. Well, as I was about to say, I took to the old habit in pretence, as you have seen, and when I returned from thrashing you I went storming through the house, kicking about the pots and pans, and foaming at the mouth in such a way that I not only stopped the spies laughing, but put them in fear of their lives.”
Again the fun-wrinkles corrugated the visage of Fisatra, and his mighty shoulders heaved with internal explosions.
“After I had calmed down a bit,” he continued, “the spies ventured to ask timidly if that was a great enemy that I had beaten. This set me into, a worse passion than ever. ‘Enemy?’ I shouted ‘no—no—not an enemy—he—he’s a—a—’ but I got no further than that, for I didn’t know what to say, and I wouldn’t lie, so I took to foaming and stamping again! At last I said, ‘Don’t speak to me about him—excuse me, my friends; I can’t stand it—and—and the rice is nearly ready. You must be hungry!’ I said this with a look and tone as if another fit was coming on. They excused themselves. ‘No,’ they said, ‘we are not hungry, and we have yet far to go this day before the sun descends. The Queen’s orders will not wait.’ And off they went, glad to get out of my way. Truly, if it is sinful to get in a rage, it is useful sometimes to act it! So now, my friends, eat—eat—while you have the chance, and fear not the return of the spies!”
“Tell me,” said the guide, anxiously, “are you sure that Rafaravavy is still safe?”
“She is still safe—but no one knows how long that may be, for she is fearless, and utters the forbidden prayers even in the presence of the Queen. If it had not been for the love that Ranavalona bears her, she would have been tossed from the ‘rock of hurling’ long ago.”
“Faithful, even unto death,” said the guide, with a look and tone in which pathos and triumph were strangely blended.
“She has not yet been tried to that extent, but if she is, God will enable her to stand firm,” said Fisatra, whose grave child-like sincerity, when talking of religious subjects, was not less impulsively honest and natural than were the outbursts of his fun when another humour stirred his feelings.
The “rock” to which he alluded was a frightful precipice at one side of the city from which criminals were usually hurled—a spot which is hallowed by the blood of many Christian martyrs who perished there during the long reign of that tyrant queen Ranavalona.
“Has then the queen forbidden the Christians to pray?” asked Ravonino.
“Have you not heard?—but of course you have not, being an outlaw and having only just returned. Recently a very bad fit has come over the Queen. You know that for some years past there have been a few French people living in Antananarivo, who by their knowledge and skill in mechanics and mercantile matters have made themselves useful to our government. These men lately tried to dethrone the Queen, on pretence of delivering the country from her cruelties, and establishing a ‘French Protectorate.’ They gained over some of our chief men, collected in one of their houses a large quantity of weapons and ammunition, and had even fixed the night when the palace was to be invaded, the Queen seized, and the Protectorate set up. Fortunately the plot came to my knowledge. I say fortunately, because a bad queen is better than a French Protectorate, for the first will die, but the latter might never end! Well, I at once informed the Queen, who had the conspirators seized and banished from the country for ever. Among them were a Roman Catholic lady and two Jesuits. The anger of the Queen was of course very great, and she has had, as I have said, a very bad fit against the Christians; for, as these unprincipled conspirators have the name though none of the reality of Christians, she naturally mixed us all up together—and I know not what the end will be, but I have much fear, because the Queen is very angry.”
“Has she done nothing yet?” asked Ravonino.
“Nothing—except threaten and fume. But when the black cloud is overhead, and muttering thunder is heard, one knows too well what to expect—especially when one has been exposed to the storm in former years.”
“The sun is shining behind the black cloud and it will break through when the Master wills,” said Laihova, joining in the conversation for the first time that evening, and looking earnestly at his friend Ravonino, as if the words were meant for his ear alone—as indeed they were.
“Thanks, thanks, my friend, for the comforting words,” said Ravonino, “and I take shame to myself that my faith is so weak.”
“You will spend the night with me?” said their host to the guide.
“No, Fisatra, I dare not delay. Even now I may be too late. I will journey all night.”
Ravonino rose quickly and prepared to go. The others followed his example, and soon the party was proceeding rapidly along the high-road towards the capital, under a cloudless sky and a galaxy of twinkling stars.
Chapter Thirteen.
Arrival at the Capital—Queen Ranavalona’s Troubles and Perplexities
Towards sunrise on the following morning our travellers, on passing out of a rather dense piece of plantation which crowned the brow of a low hill, came in sight of the capital—Antananarivo. It was still in the far distance, with many a rice-field and garden between, but distinctly visible, for it occupies the summit and slopes of a considerable hill.
“Here, then, through the goodness of God, we have reached the end of our journey,” said Ravonino, halting, “and I must remain behind, while you, my friends, push on to the city. Fain would I go with you, but that would ruin all, for I am a known and marked man. Laihova will now guide you, and tell you what to do. I have just one word for you at parting. Be peaceful, do not take offence. Interfere not with our customs. Use not the fist, and commit your way to God.”
The guide looked so pointedly at Ebony while he spoke that that sable comrade could not help noticing it.
“What you looks so hard at me for, hey?” demanded the negro.
“Because you are somewhat hot-tempered and apt to get people into scrapes,” answered Ravonino, with a slight twinkle in his eye.
“Me ’ot-tempered!” exclaimed Ebony, in surprise, with an appealing glance at his comrades. “I’d knock you down, Ravonino, for sayin’ dat, only it would be like as if what you say’s true! Ob all de niggers on ’art’ I’s de meekest, quietest—jest like a babby; why, my moder always said so, an’ surely she ought to know!”
“No doubt she knew, whatever she said,” observed Hockins, with a laugh.
“We will be careful,” said Mark. “But are your people, then, so particular, that we should require this caution?”
“Well, they are not very different from other people,” replied the guide, “and if things had been as usual I should have had no fear; but when Queen Ranavalona has one of her bad fits, there’s no saying what she may do. Her banishing the Europeans is a bad sign. I would that I had not brought you here, but there is no help for it now. We have been seen by many people. The news will spread to the town, and if you did not soon appear you would be suspected as spies, and the country would be scoured in search of you. No, there is nothing for it now but a bold face and an honest purpose.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Ebony, “you’s a fine feller to talk ’bout bold faces an’ honest purpusses, w’en you’re goin’ to steal a young ooman out ob de pallis, fro’ under de bery nose ob do queen!”
“To help Rafaravavy to escape of her own free will is not theft,” replied the guide, gravely. “When we are persecuted in one city Scripture advises us to flee to another.”
“Das true, Ravonino. No offence meant. Gib us your flipper, old boy!”
Grasping the guide’s hand, the negro shook it warmly, and at the same time vowed that he would be most “awrful careful,” and that he would bring Rafaravavy to his feet, dead or alive, though he should have to fight the whole town single-handed to effect his object.
It was a Thursday evening when they stood thus conversing. They had kept count of the days because of the guide’s quiet but firm determination to rest in camp on the Sabbath—a plan which, although they had no very strong principle on the subject, commended itself to the rest of the party because of the pleasant effect of the day’s rest on both soul and body, for it afforded opportunity to have long and earnest talks with Ravonino about the former days of persecution, as well as quiet strolls, alone or in couples, and—it must be admitted—occasional slumbers in the cool shade of bush or tree!
“I have purposely contrived,” said the guide, “that, by walking all night, you shall arrive early to-morrow—Friday—because it is market-day in the town, and you will be less noticed as well as more amused by what you see than if you were to arrive on any other day. Go, and God go with you! I shall be found in the cave that Laihova knows of. Farewell.”
He turned, with a wave of his hand, as he spoke, and re-entered the bush, while the others, taking the most direct route to Antananarivo, descended into the open country. Soon they were involved in the crowds which were passing along all the roads leading to the city. The people were either taking their goods for sale or going to make purchases—mayhap to meet friends or kindred.
All night Laihova led his friends at a smart pace. Next day, as the first object of our travellers was to get into the town without attracting attention, they kept in the thick of the throng all the way up to the market-place. Of course the people nearest them took special note of the two Englishmen, and some were inquisitive, but, by telling the simple facts regarding their arrival in Madagascar, Laihova removed any unpleasant suspicions that might have arisen regarding them.
The crowds increased as they advanced, and the numbers were still further augmented, as well as diversified, by the Hova army, which they came upon exercising on a plain just below the city. Ascending the sides of the steep hill on which Antananarivo stands, they obtained a magnificent view of the animated scene, which conveyed the impression rather of a grand holiday than an ordinary market-day. This, no doubt, was largely owing to the operations of the soldiers, whose manoeuvres Hockins watched with a critical eye, for his father, having been a soldier, had made him intimately acquainted with the drill as practised in the British army at that period.
“Why, I do believe the fellers are speakin’ English!” he said, in some surprise.
“Not wonder much, for Ingleesh drill’d um,” said Laihova, who, since they parted from Ravonino, had begun to use his broken English to the best of his power. It must be said that that power was not great, even at the best.
He explained to his friends that Radama the First—that wise king who had been so fond of the English, and had done so much to aid the missionaries, abolish the slave-trade, and civilise his people—had, among other changes, remodelled his army after the British pattern, and had obtained the services of non-commissioned officers from the Mauritius to drill his troops. These organised them into divisions, brigades, regiments, companies, etcetera, and as they found no native words suitable to express military evolutions, they introduced their own English words of command, which have remained in use ever since.
By means of this army of Hova troops, and the flint-lock weapon known familiarly as ‘Brown Bess,’ Radama succeeded in subduing all the native chiefs of Madagascar, with only a few exceptions, and thus became the recognised king of an island considerably larger than Great Britain. Being an enlightened and well-disposed monarch, he made good use of the power thus acquired. It was only after his death in 1828 that a retrograde movement set in, as we have said, under the wicked Queen Ranavalona.
It is one of the misfortunes of our fallen condition that rectitude in any course, however good, cannot long be maintained—at least in reasonable perfection. The army which had enabled Radama to pursue on the whole a beneficent course, ere long began to make its creator know its power. Feeling his dependence on it, Radama adopted the unwise policy of increasing the military influence, and weakening that of the civil officials, the heads of the people, and other functionaries whose position was derived from ancient political arrangements. Public offices of honour and importance were given to military officers rather than to civilians, and this unfair exaltation of the military over the civilian class led, as it always does, to tyranny and injustice.
The system of service was in itself a gross form of injustice to the people, for, although the theory of service does not at first sight appear unjust, the practice of it was very much so. More than the half—perhaps nearly two-thirds—of the whole effective male population of the central province were enrolled either as officers or privates. These received no pay, except an occasional gift of a lamba, and about a week’s rice during the year! The soldiers were indeed freed from money taxes in consideration of their service, but this was small compensation for the hardships that it entailed. Although the drills at ordinary times did not occur more frequently than for a day or two every fortnight, much time was taken up in passing to and from the exercises, especially in the case of those who lived at a distance, and thus found it almost impossible to cultivate their own rice-fields. Frequently, also, the officers would not allow the men to return home without a money bribe. In short, the private soldier was little better than a slave—in some cases worse—while the officers of the highest rank possessed unreasonable power.
Military rank was founded on a system which led to some absurdities. It was reckoned by numbers, commencing with one honour for the private, two honours for the corporal, three for the sergeant, and so on up to thirteen for a field-marshal of the higher rank—a few having sixteen honours! Those thus highly honoured were not numerous; but the number of officers of lower grade was much greater in proportion to privates, than in the British army. Indeed from a third to a fourth of the army was composed of officers, so that “ta Phairshon,” with his excess of pipers over fighting men, would not have appeared very outrageous in the eyes of the Malagasy troops!
These officers had an eye to profitable business when not on service. It is stated by the missionaries that when engaged in building their churches and schools they sometimes found they had a field-marshal for a foreman, a colonel for mason or carpenter, a major for bricklayer, and so on! Above the thirteenth rank the numbers were very few, and of the sixteenth there were not above half-a-dozen.
Good, stout, courageous fellows were the men whom John Hockins and his comrades saw that day manoeuvring below them on the plain of Imahamasina; men who, although by no means comparable to European troops in precision of movement, understood their work nevertheless, and would have proved themselves formidable opponents to deal with in war. Laihova further informed them that the first man who organised the force was a Sergeant Brady, who began his work in the year 1816, carried it on for many years, and rose to the rank of major-general in the service of King Radama. After General Brady’s death, the native officers continued the work on the same lines.
But in costume and appearance these soldiers were what is familiarly known as “a queer lot!” The uniform of the rank and file consisted of a tunic and trousers of white material, with a narrow-brimmed straw hat painted white, cross-belts and cartouche-box—by no means an unbecoming dress. But it was worn only at drills and reviews and state ceremonies. At other times, when on duty, soldiers went about almost naked, and the contrast of their dirty-white cross-belts with their brown breasts was curious, to say the least, while their straw hats and slovenly gait suggested anything but soldierly bearing.
