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

affording her some relief, he gave orders that she should be kept very quiet; that no noise was to be permitted in or near the palace. Then he left her apartments with the Secretary.

As they traversed one of the corridors, the latter told Mark that the order had been given for the execution of Ravonino and Voalavo.

“Was that order given by the Queen?” demanded Mark, flushing with indignation, while a gush of anxiety almost choked him.

“No, it was given by Rainiharo, who takes advantage of his position and the Queen’s illness.”

Just then a step was heard at the further end of the passage, and Hater of Lies advanced towards them with his badge of office, the silver spear, in his hand.

Like a flash of light an idea entered the young Englishman’s head! He had no time to think or plan—only to act. In the same moment, however, he offered up a silent prayer for help.

As the officer was about to pass, Mark snatched the spear from his hand and brought the handle of it down on its owner’s crown with such good-will that the Hater of Lies was laid flat upon the floor!

Thunder-struck, the Secretary gazed at his young companion. “You are ruined now!” he said.

“True, and you must be ruined along with me! Here, take the spear and act the part of the Hater of Lies.”

For a moment the Secretary hesitated—then, as if suddenly making up his mind, he said—

“Come, I am with you heart and soul!”

“Lead to the place of execution—quick,” cried Mark.

“We will take the prison in passing,” said his companion, grasping the spear and hastening onward.

The prison was soon reached. The guards were a little surprised at the change of the bearer, but no one dared to think of opposing the passage of the well-known and awful emblem of office!

“Come, Hockins, Ebony, Laihova, follow us,” cried Mark, springing in.

He did not wait to explain. The Secretary, acting his part well, stalked with grand solemnity down the streets towards the western gate of the city. His four friends followed. Every one made way. Hockins and the negro, not knowing what they might be called on to do, took the first opportunity that presented, each to seize and carry off a garden-stake, as a substitute for cudgel or quarter-staff.

The guards, as before, let them pass without question. Once outside the town they quickened their pace, and finally ran.

“We may be too late!” gasped Mark.

“It may be so—but we have not far to go.” As he spoke they distinguished sounds as of men engaged in a struggle. On turning a point of rock they came in sight of a party of twelve soldiers. They were struggling fiercely with one man, whom they tried to bind. But the man seemed to possess the power of Samson.

“It’s Voalavo,” cried Hockins, and rushed to the rescue.

“Das so,” cried the negro, following suit with blazing eyes.

Snatching the silver spear from the Secretary, Mark sprang forward like a wild-cat, and, sweeping it right and left, brought down two of the men. His comrades overturned two others whose muskets they seized, while Voalavo, with the power of a giant, hurled two others from him as if they had been boys. He did not stop to speak, but to the surprise of his rescuers, ran straight into a neighbouring coppice, and disappeared.

For one moment the remaining soldiers lowered their bayonets as if to charge, but the Secretary, grasping the Hater of Lies, said, in a commanding tone—

“What means this haste? Ye shall answer to the Queen for what you have done! Go! Return to your quarters. You are under arrest. Carry your comrades with you!”

Cowed by this speech, for they all knew the Secretary to be a man of position and power in the palace, the soldiers humbly picked up their fallen comrades and retired. The victors immediately ran into the coppice in search of Voalavo, whom they found on his knees, digging up the earth with both hands as if for very life! Just as they came up he had uncovered the face of Ravonino, who had been buried alive, and was already as pale as if he were dead.

“Have they killed him?” gasped Laihova, as he dropped on his knees with the others, and began to dig.

“No—they do not kill when the sentence is to bury alive,” said the Secretary, “but no doubt he is half-suffocated.”

The grave was very shallow—not more than a foot deep, and a living man might without much difficulty have struggled out of it, but the poor man had been bound to a long pole, which was buried along with him, so that he could not move. They soon got him out, and were about to cast him loose when there arose a cry in the city which quickly increased to a mighty roar.

“They have found out our trick,” said the Secretary. “Nothing can save us now but flight. Come—take him up. This way!”

In a moment Hockins and Ebony had the ends of the pole on their shoulders, and bore their still unconscious friend after the Secretary. The noise and shouting in the town increased, and it soon became evident that they were pursued, being led, no doubt, by the soldiers who had been so roughly handled.

“This way,” cried their guide, turning sharp into a by-path which led them into a small garden, “a friend—a Christian—dwells here.”

The friend turned out to be an old woman who was rather deaf, but she heard enough to understand the situation.

“Here!” she said, tottering into a back-yard, in which was a quantity of straw and rubbish. “Go down there.”

She pointed to a hole. It was the mouth of a rice-hole. Down went the Secretary, without a word, and turned to receive the end of the pole which Hockins passed carefully in. The rest followed. The old woman put on the cover and threw over it some of the rubbish.

Being pitch dark, the nature of the place could not be distinguished by the fugitives, but they could hear the shouting of the soldiers who searched the house for them. They could also hear the angry queries that were put to the owner of the place, and they could perceive that the old woman had miraculously become dumb as well as stone deaf!

Soon the quietness overhead led them to hope that the soldiers had left. In a short time the cover of the rice-hole was removed, and the old woman, putting her head down, informed them that all was safe, at least in the meantime.

They now unfastened Ravonino from the pole, and found, to their great joy, that he was yet alive, though considerably shaken. A little rice-soup, however, and a night’s rest, put him all right again.

In that hole, carefully tended by the deaf old woman, these six were compelled to secrete themselves for a week, during which time the soldiers were scouring the country in all directions in search of them. They had to keep so close, and to be so careful, that they did not even dare to let the old woman go near the neighbours to inquire what was going on in the town, though naturally they were very anxious on that point.

At the end of that week, while the fugitives were taking a breath of fresh air in the yard, they were surprised by hearing the tramp of approaching soldiers. To dive into their hiding-place and be covered over by the old woman was the work of a few seconds. Anxiously they listened while the renewed search was going on. The sounds sometimes showed that the searchers were retiring from the yard, at other times drawing near to it. At last a step was heard on the rubbish heap above them; then a blow resounded on their covering, as if with the butt-end of a musket. This was followed by a shout, a clamour of voices, and a hasty clearing away of the rubbish.

“All is lost!” exclaimed the Secretary in his native tongue.

“Not while we have arms,” growled Voalavo.

“You need not count on me to help you,” said Ravonino, quietly, in the native tongue; “why should we slaughter men uselessly? If we had a chance of making a dash I would fight. But we can get out of this hole only one by one, and no doubt a hundred men await us!”

“Is we a-goin’ to fight, massa?” asked the negro, hopefully.

“Of coorse we are,” said Hockins.

“No, my friend, we are not,” said the Secretary, “our only hope, now, is in God.”

“It seems to me,” rejoined Ravonino, “that God is our only hope at all times—whether in danger or in safety; but He makes it plain just now that our duty, as well as our wisdom, lies in quiet submission.”

Ebony received this remark with a groan, and Hockins with something like a growl. Just then the covering of their hiding-place was thrown off, and several bayonet-points appeared.

“Come out, one at a time, quietly, else we will shoot you where you stand!” exclaimed a stern voice.

The Secretary translated this. At the same time Ravonino clambered out of the rice-hole, and was instantly seized and bound.

“It’s all over now—may the Lord have mercy on us!” exclaimed Hockins, dropping his weapon and following his friend.

Whatever might have been the various feelings of the unfortunate party, the example thus set was accepted, for each one submitted, and when Mark looked round on the large band of armed men by whom they were surrounded, he perceived the wisdom of Ravonino’s advice, and how hopeless would have been any attempt on the part of himself and his friends to break through and escape.

Silently, and without a word of explanation, the officer in command led his captives into the town. They were too much overwhelmed by their calamitous circumstances to pay much attention to anything, yet they could not help observing that greater crowds of people than usual were hurrying through the streets, and that every one wore, more or less, an air of excitement.

Our friends had expected to be cast into their old prison, but they were led straight to the palace, where they were handed over to the officer on duty. In spite of the depression of his spirits, the Secretary could not resist his feelings of curiosity, and asked what all the stir meant, but he received no answer.

The prisoners were now conducted into a large room, where they found Prince Rakota standing, surrounded by a crowd of people—male and female. Beside the Prince was his cousin, Ramonja. Ravonino and Laihova observed—with a gush of feeling which may be understood but not described—that Rafaravavy and Ra-Ruth were among the ladies. Poor Reni-Mamba was also there, her mild face showing unmistakable traces of the suffering caused by the loss of her only son.

“Welcome, my friends,” said Rakota, hastening forward to receive the prisoners. “You are now safe and free!”

“Safe? free?” repeated the Secretary, in surprise.

“Yes. Have they not told you the news?” he asked, while an expression, as of pain, passed over his face, “my mother—the Queen—is dead! But come,” he added quickly, as if he wished to avoid the subject, “I wish to consult with you, for serious dangers threaten us. Come.”

He left the room quickly, followed by the Secretary, while Ravonino and Laihova were drinking in the news from the respective lips that pleased them best. The facts were soon communicated to all the party.

The Queen, they said, who had been declining in health for a considerable time past, had latterly become much worse. No doubt her failure to stamp out Christianity must have aggravated her complaint, for the effect of her extreme severity was rather to advance than hinder the good cause. The persecutions—the banishments—the murders—of twenty-five years, instead of checking, had spread the Gospel far and wide over the land, for, as in the first days, ‘they that were scattered abroad went everywhere preaching the Word,’ and the amazing constancy, and courage, and tenderness to their enemies, of the noble army of martyrs,