The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar, R. M. Ballantyne [tohfa e dulha read online .txt] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar, R. M. Ballantyne [tohfa e dulha read online .txt] 📗». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“What have ’ee found there, doctor?” asked the seaman, on observing that his companion was groping behind a mass of herbage at the back part of the niche in which they stood.
“There’s a big hole here, Hockins. Perhaps we may find room to stay where we are, after all, till morning. Come here, Ebony, you’ve got something of the eel about you. Try if you can wriggle in.”
The negro at once thrust his head and shoulders into the hole, but could not advance.
“Bery strange!” he said, drawing out his head, and snorting once or twice like a dog that has half-choked himself in a rabbit-hole. “Seems to me dere’s a big block o’ wood dere stoppin’ de way.”
“Strange indeed, Ebony. A block of wood could not have grown there. Are you sure it is not a big root?”
“Sartin’ sure, massa. I hab studied roots since I was a babby. Hold on, I try again.”
The negro tried again, and with such vigour that he not only displaced the block of wood, but burst in several planks which concealed the entrance to a cavern. They fell on the stone floor with a crash that aroused a multitude of echoes in the dark interior. At the same moment something like a faint shriek or wail was heard within, causing the hearts of the three listeners to beat faster.
“Did you hear that, Hockins?”
“Ay, I heard it sure enough. What is it, think ’ee, lad!” said the seaman to the negro.
Ebony, who was gazing into the dark cavern with glaring eyeballs and distended nostrils, replied—
“My advice to you is, let’s go back de way we come. Dis no place for ’spectable Christians.”
“Do you fear ghosts?” asked Mark, smiling, yet at the same time bringing his gun into a convenient position, with his finger ready on the trigger.
“I fears nuffin,” returned the negro with a proud look, while beads of perspiration stood on his brow.
“Then ye’re a braver man than I am, Ebony, for I fear that climbin’ plant worse than a ghost; so here goes to find out what it is.”
Although the sailor spoke thus boldly, and tried to look cool, it is certain that he also was afflicted with sensations of an unusual description, which, of course, he would have scorned to admit were the result of fear! His power of will, however, was stronger than his fears. Drawing his cutlass, he was about to enter the cavern, when Mark laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Come, Hockins, you have accepted my lead hitherto. It is not fair to take it out of my hands at this critical point.”
So saying he glided past his comrade, and was almost lost to sight immediately in the deep gloom.
“Softly, softly, doctor,” whispered the seaman, as he followed, “there may be holes or pits within—”
“All right; I’m feeling my way carefully. Keep close.”
As he spoke a slight, indescribable sound was heard—almost like a sigh.
“Hist! Did ’ee hear that?” said Hockins in the lowest possible whisper.
“Oh! massa, let’s go back de way we come,” urged Ebony, in the same low but earnest tone.
Mark Breezy did not reply, but the click of his gun as he cocked it showed that he was on the alert.
For nearly a minute the three men stood in absolute silence, listening for a repetition of the mysterious sound, and, though it did not recur, there was an indescribable feeling in the heart of each that they were not alone in that cavern.
“Have you not flint and steel?” asked Mark.
“Yes; but to strike a light would only show our whereabouts if there is any one here.”
The seaman accidentally touched Ebony on the elbow as he spoke, and sent that worthy’s heart, or something like it, into his throat with such violence as nearly to choke him.
“Git along, massa,” he said in a gaspy whisper, when able to articulate, “we’s got to go troo wid it now.”
Acting on this advice the young man continued to advance cautiously, feeling his way step by step and fully expecting every moment to reach the inner wall of the cavern.
Presently the explorers were again brought to a stand by the sudden appearance of a light in the far distance. As, however, it did not move, they continued to advance, and soon were convinced that it was daylight shining through an opening in that direction. Every step convinced them more and more that they were right, and their spirits rose with the hope of escaping, though the light made no appreciable difference as yet in the darkness that surrounded them.
Suddenly a sharp, loud, short cry filled the cavern for an instant, and almost froze their blood! The loudness and abrupt stoppage of the cry left the impression that the creature which uttered it had been suddenly and effectively killed, for it ended in a sharp gasp or gurgle, and then all was still,—but only for a moment, for the shock to Mark’s nerves was such that his finger inadvertently pressed the trigger of his gun, which exploded with a deafening crash, and awoke shrieks and cries that were not to be accounted for by mere echoes.
This was too much for ordinary human beings. Fabled knights of old in armour of proof might have stood it, but the two white men and the black, being ordinary heroes, regardless of pride and honour, went in for a regular stampede, and it is but simple justice to say that Ebony won, for he reached the outlet of the cavern first, and sprang through it into daylight like a black thunderbolt. It is also due to his comrades to add that they were not far behind him.
Their courage, however, was soon restored. Daylight has a celebrated power of restoring courage. On clearing the bushes which concealed the entrance to the cave they simultaneously stopped, turned round, and resolutely faced their foe!
But no foe was to be seen! Once again all was still as death. After glaring for a few seconds at the spot whence the expected enemy should have issued, the three fugitives relaxed their frowning brows and turned inquiring eyes on each other.
“Dis beats cockfightin’ a’most,” said Ebony, with a sigh of intense relief.
“Ay, an’ every other sort o’ fightin’ as I ever heard on,” responded Hockins.
“Come, friends,” said their young leader, “whatever it may have been, it behoves us to get as far away from this spot as possible, and that as fast as we can.”
The spot where our adventurers found themselves on issuing from the mysterious cave was a peculiarly rugged one. It formed a sort of hollow or depression in the forest-land in which we introduced the three men as fugitives. From this hollow there descended a narrow track or pathway to the extensive valley which had been seen from the summit of the precipice that barred their flight, and had so nearly proved fatal.
So confused was the nature of the ground here, and so intricate were the tracks—originally formed no doubt by wild animals, though made use of by wandering men—that it became impossible for Mark Breezy to know in what direction he was leading his comrades as he wound in and out among large rocks and fallen trees. In fact it was more by chance than guidance that they ultimately hit upon the path which finally led them to the lower region or plateau of forest-land; and it is certain that they would have found it impossible to find their way back to the cave, even had they desired to do so.
Their chief object, however, was to put as much space as possible between themselves and their late pursuers, and to this end they pushed forward at their best speed, until they reached a small river which appeared to be a tributary to, or a branch of, that which they had seen from the heights earlier in the day.
“‘Come to a ribber—couldn’t git across,
Gib a couple o’ dollars for an’ old blind hoss,’”
murmured Ebony, quoting an ancient ditty.
“We shall have to swim it, I fear,” remarked Breezy, “for there is no horse here, blind or otherwise. Perhaps that fallen tree may prove strong enough to serve as a bridge.”
He pointed to a slender tree which had evidently been placed there, with several others, for the purpose of forming a rough and ready bridge; but its companions had been removed by floods, for they lay tossed on the bank further down among other wreckage.
“It’ll be somethin’ like tight-rope dancin’,” said the sailor. “We’ll have to repair the bridge.”
“Nuffin’ ob de sort! Look here.”
Ebony ran to the tree referred to, and skipped over with admirable agility, though it bent under him not unlike a tight-rope.
“But I can’t do that,” said Hockins, “not bein’ a black monkey, d’ee see?”
With a sudden expression of intense pity the negro exclaimed—
“Oh! I beg pardin’. Didn’t I forgot; you’s on’y a white man. But stop; I come ober agin an’ took you on my back.”
He pretended to be on the point of recrossing, but the sailor had already got upon the bridge, and, with much balancing and waving of his long arms, passed over in safety. Mark was about to follow, when Hockins called out, “Better pitch over the powder-flask in case you fall in.”
“That’s true, for I mayn’t be as good as you or Ebony on the tight-rope. Look out!”
He pulled the powder-flask out of his pocket and threw it towards his comrades. Unfortunately the branch of an overhanging bush had touched his hand. The touch was slight, but it sufficed to divert the flask from its proper course, and sent it into the middle of the stream.
Ebony followed it head first like an otter, but soon reappeared, gasping and unsuccessful. Again and again he dived, but failed to find the flask, without which, of course, their gun was useless, and at last they were obliged to continue their flight without it.
This was a very serious loss, for they had not an ounce of provisions with them, and were in a land the character and resources of which were utterly unknown at least to two of them, while the youth who had become their leader knew very little more than the fact that it was the island of Madagascar, that it lay about 300 miles off the eastern shores of Africa, and that the tribes by whom they were surrounded were little if at all better than savages.
That day they wandered far into the depths of a dark and tangled forest, intentionally seeking its gloomiest recesses in order to avoid the natives, and at night went supperless to rest among the branches of an umbrageous tree, not knowing what danger from man or beast might assail them if they should venture to sleep on the ground.
Although possessed of flint and steel, as well as tinder, they did not use them for fear of attracting attention. As they had nothing to cook, the deprivation was not great. Fortunately the weather at the time was pleasantly warm, so that beyond the discomfort of not being able to stretch out at full length, the occasional poking of awkward knots and branches into their ribs, and the constant necessity of holding on lest they should fall off, their circumstances were not insufferable, and might have been worse.
While they are enjoying their repose, we will tell in a few sentences who they were and how they got there.
When Mark Breezy, in the closing years of his medical-student career, got leave to go on a voyage to China in one of his father’s ships, the Eastern Star, for the benefit of his health and the enlargement of his understanding, he had no more idea that that voyage would culminate in a bed up a tree in the forests of Madagascar than you, reader, have that you will ultimately become an inhabitant of the moon! The same remark may with equal truth be made
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