The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar by R. M. Ballantyne (the giving tree read aloud .TXT) 📕

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—alias Ebony—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 as that, 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