The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar, R. M. Ballantyne [tohfa e dulha read online .txt] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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There was that in the voice of Ranavalona which alarmed the girl, and caused her to tremble as she replied, with some hesitation, that she still prayed.
Instead of giving way to another burst of passion the Queen adopted a bantering tone, and said—
“Come, Rafaravavy, tell me what you pray for.”
“I pray for the pardon of my sins.”
“Is that all? Surely you pray for something more than that. Something nice that you want very much.”
“Yes,” continued the girl, becoming somewhat pale, yet praying silently for courage even while she spoke. “Yes, I pray for the pardon of—of your sins, and—”
“Go on! Why do you stop?”
“And that your eyes may be opened that you may ‘see the King in His beauty,’ and be drawn to Him by the cords of love, so that you may cease to persecute the Christians and learn to join with them in praising the name of Jesus who redeemed us from destruction, and is ready and willing to save us from our sins.”
While Rafaravavy was speaking Ranavalona put her hand over her eyes. When the former ceased, she did not remove the hand, but said, in a tone which the poor girl could not quite understand—
“Go! Enough. Leave me!”
As Rafaravavy left the balcony, a prepossessing youth of delicate form and gentle mien emerged upon it by another door.
“Mother,” he said, earnestly, “do, do give me leave to recall your proclamation. I have just heard of it from Rainiharo. Believe me, many of the nobles are not so good—I mean so guilty!—as you think. And the poor Christians—why should they not pray and sing? It is all that you have left to them, for they no longer dare to worship together in the churches.”
“No, Rakota, I will not recall it. Your constant pleading worries me. It is enough to say that the people shall be examined—by the tangena ordeal if necessary—and they shall be punished according to their deserts. Is that all that you come here for, my son?”
It was evident from her tone that Ranavalona relented a little, though her words were firmly spoken.
“I came also to tell you,” said the prince, “that the Europeans whom your spies brought news of some time ago have arrived. They are even now in the market-place. By my orders the guards have let them pass without question.”
“Always interfering, Rakota!” said the Queen, angrily. “Why were they not seized and guarded till I should find time to speak with them?”
“Because, mother, that would scarcely be a civil way of receiving strangers.”
“Strangers! Spies you should have said. Have you forgotten the ungrateful Frenchmen who so lately tried to overturn my government?”
“But these are not Frenchmen. They are English,” said the prince, “and I will answer for them being good and true men.”
“No doubt English are better than French—at least I hate them less; but they are all pale-faced liars and Christians, and none of them shall remain in my land. But how can you tell, boy, that they are good and true men? Have you had speech with them?”
“Not I,” returned the prince. “I have only seen them as they entered the town, but that was enough. One glance satisfied me of their being true men. When the sun rises it needs not much wisdom to know that there is heat and light. An honest face is like the sun. You cannot fail to know it.”
“Go, foolish boy. You are too confident. I will not tolerate Europeans. These men shall be arrested. Hence, and send hither an officer.”
Finding that the Queen was not in a temper to be trifled with, Rakota wisely made no reply, but bowed and went his way. In delivering the message to the officer, however, he whispered such words to him as secured a little delay in the execution of the royal commands.
Returning to his own quarters in the palace, and chafing to find that some one had informed the Queen about his son’s defection, Rainiharo encountered a favourite nephew, named Soa, who had also, unknown to his uncle, given up idolatry, and, like Prince Ramonja, been led to embrace the Gospel through the instrumentality of Prince Rakota.
“Well met, Soa,” said the premier, “I have a proclamation to make which will bring sorrow to the hearts of some of these hated Christians.”
He paused a moment, as if in thought, and Soa, a fine-looking young man of pleasant countenance and agile frame, seemed about to reply, but checked himself.
“Now, my boy,” resumed the old man, “I have a piece of work for you to do. You have heard of the arrival of the Englishmen?”
“Yes, uncle.”
“Well, I have reason to believe that they have been led hither by that son of a thunderbolt, Ravoninohitriniony, and that he is even now in hiding in the neighbourhood. At the gate you will find one of our spies who will conduct you to the cavern in which he lies concealed. Of course I could have him seized at once if I chose, but I have a deeper game to play, and want to make Ravoninohitriniony an unwitting instrument. It seems that more of the people in the palace are Christians than I knew of. It has come to my ears that some of these intend going stealthily to the cave to meet Ravoninohitriniony, for they are fond of this son of a wild-boar, and probably hope to have news by him of their banished kindred.”
Lest it should be supposed that we are putting flippant expressions into the mouth of Rainiharo, we may explain that the Malagasy define an ungrateful man as the “son of a thunderbolt,” and sometimes as the “offspring of a wild-boar,” because—so they say—the young of the wild-boar, when running by the side of its dam, continually gets in advance and turns round to bite her. The ingratitude of which our friend Ravonino was supposed to be guilty, consisted in his having forsaken the idols of the country and renounced the favour of the Queen by becoming a Christian, preferring, like Moses, to suffer affliction with the banished people of God.
“No doubt,” continued the premier, “they will be praying and psalm-singing. Now, knowing your detestation of these Christians, I have resolved to send you to their meeting as a Christian. You are wise enough to know how to act when among them. Take note of the men and women you see there, whether high or low; make out a list of them, and bring it to me. Death and chains shall be their portion, for I am fully more determined than the Queen is to stamp out this religion. Go, and do as I bid ye as quickly as you can.”
For a few seconds the youth stood perplexed and irresolute. Then he said, suddenly, “Yes, uncle, I will go, according to your bidding, as a Christian!” and hastily left the room.
Meanwhile Mark Breezy and his companions, led by Laihova, followed the throng of country-folk to the market-place. They had passed the guard at the gate by means of that potent talisman, silver, before which few gates are permanently closed. If the party had sought to pass with any pomp or circumstance, or if they had carried merchandise along with them, they could not have passed so easily; but Laihova had only to bestow some bits of silver on the guard and the way was at once clear. They might have passed without it, however, had they known of Rakota’s interference in their favour.
We speak of “bits” of silver advisedly, for the Malagasy take the simplest and most literal way of making small change; they clip their dollars into little pieces of various sizes, and therewith transact the business that in other lands is settled with pence. As these clippings are not very accurate, however, they weigh the pieces, and for this purpose every one carries about with him a tiny pair of scales in his waist-cloth. These dollars were all foreign coins, for the Malagasy at that time had, (and we believe still have), no native coinage. All silver that comes to their net is considered good fish. The standard coin is the Spanish dollar, but one will find every variety of European and American money in circulation among them. The method of clipping and weighing the small change might be thought somewhat cumbrous in European markets, for the dollar is cut up into eight sikàjy, (each about sixpence); the sikàjy into nine èranambàtra, and each èranambàtra into ten vàry-venty, each of which last is about the weight of a plump grain of rice. Four weights, marked with a government stamp, are used in weighing the money. These weights are equal, respectively, to about a half-a-dollar, a quarter-dollar, sixpence, and fourpence. Other amounts are obtained by varying these in the opposite scales and adding grains of rice. But all this forms no difficulty in Madagascar. Like most Easterns the natives there dearly love to haggle and prolong a bargain—as our travellers found to their amusement that day; for not only were the principals vociferous in their disputatious, but the bystanders entered into the spirit of the thing and volunteered their opinions!
Profound was the interest of the white men in this market, and deep was the absorption of Ebony, for that amiable negro had a faculty of totally forgetting himself and absolutely projecting himself into the shoes of other people, thus identifying himself with their interests—a faculty which cost him many anxious, indignant, pathetic, and hilarious moments.
“Das a most ’straor’nary sight,” he said, looking round with glistening eyes and expanded lips at the crowds of people who pressed along the road leading to Zomà, the great market-place.
“By the way they stare at you, Ebony,” said Hockins, “they evidently think you something ’straor’nary!”
“Not at all, ’Ockins. You’s wrong, as usual,” retorted the negro. “Dey quite used to black mans, but I tink dis de fust time dat some ob dem hab saw a man wid a face like putty.”
There was indeed some ground for the negro’s remark, for the people crowded round our heroes and gazed at them with undisguised interest.
The market-place was well suited to give some idea of the various types of countenance among the different tribes from distant parts of the island, also for making acquaintance with the products of the country and the manufactures of the people. It was a sort of museum and centre of commerce combined, with all the varied incidents, comical, semi-tragic, and otherwise, for which markets in general are more or less famed.
Here were to be seen great heaps of earthenware of red clay—pans for cooking rice, water-jars, bottles, and dishes of all sorts, as well as English crockery, especially that with the old willow-pattern design! There were great varieties of straw hats, beautifully made of rice and other straw. Elsewhere might be seen iron-work of native manufacture, some of it displaying considerable taste and skilful workmanship. There were also beds, with well-turned posts, made of a wood like mahogany, and the mattresses for these were stuffed with down from a certain flower, which made soft and comfortable couches. Lambas of many kinds were also to be seen, from those of coarse ròfia cloth to those of finer and more ornamental material—though the finest silk lambas and the more expensive European goods were not often exposed for sale there, but were to be had at the houses of the traders and manufacturers. One part of the market was devoted to wood for the rafters and framework of houses, another to the sale of vegetables and fruits—among which were sweet potatoes, manioc, beans, maize, peaches, bananas, mangoes, pine-apples, oranges, lemons, pumpkins, melons, grapes, Cape gooseberries, mulberries, guavas, pomegranates, and many others, besides bread-fruit and rice—which last is the staple food of the people.
“Oh!
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