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
“Why so sharp?” he asked, as they passed along the corridor.
“Because you have said enough,” returned the Secretary, with a quiet smile. “You may understand your own women, no doubt, but not the Malagasy girls as well as I do. When a man has said enough to a woman he should stop and let it simmer. All the rest that he would say she will say to herself—and say it much better, too! But tell me, when do you think Ravoninohitriniony will meet Rafaravavy?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that a true lover is sure to manage a meeting soon—and somehow.”
He was glad to be able to make this indefinite reply; for although he trusted the Secretary, and would have revealed his own affairs fully to him, he felt that he had no right to reveal the affairs of his friend to any one.
Before they reached the palace-yard a loud report was heard. The palace shook as with an earthquake. Loud cries of soldiery were heard without, and Mark’s heart sank with an undefinable dread.
To account for this report we must go back a little. When Hockins and Ebony were left, as we have seen, to mix their “powders,” the former, being a reckless man, forgot to put his pipe out, and Ebony being a careless man, (as regarded himself), did not observe the omission. The consequence was that the seaman kept on puffing and emitting sage reflections to his admiring friend while they mixed their compounds in concert.
“Hand me the powder, Ebony.”
“Das good—ha! ha! das awrful good,” cried the negro, referring to the latest sage reflection—as he pushed across the powder canister, which was a large one.
At that inauspicious moment a spark fell from the pipe! Next moment the door was burst open, the window blown out, Hockins was laid fiat on his back, while Ebony went head-over-heels upon the floor!
Slowly and with a dazed look the seaman raised himself on one elbow and looked round.
“Any—anything of ye left, boy?” he asked, quietly.
“I—I’s not kite sure, ’Ockins,” replied the negro, slowly passing his hand down one of his legs without rising from the floor. “’Ow does it feel wid you?”
“All right, I think,” replied the seaman, rising and presenting a remarkable exhibition of singed beard and frizzled locks, “no bones broke, anyhow.”
At that instant Mark rushed into the smoke-filled room in consternation, followed by the Secretary and a number of soldiers who formed the guard of the palace, and great was their surprise, as well as their satisfaction, to find that the two men had received no damage worth mentioning.
“Well, I am thankful,” exclaimed Mark, beginning to pick up the débris of plates and furniture.
“So am I,” remarked the sailor, “thankful to think that I’ve got it over at last—so easy too!”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“I means, doctor, that I’ve gone the whole round o’ human possibilities now—leastwise I think so—and am alive to tell it! I’ve bin shot, an’ stabbed, an’ drownded—all but—an’ now I’ve bin blow’d up!”
“So’s I, ’Ockins, so you needn’t boast,” remarked Ebony, as he tenderly felt the place where his wool ought to have been, but where only a few irregularly-shaped patches of scrub remained.
We need scarcely say that Mark Breezy did not allow this little contretemps to interfere with his plans.
“You’ll have to work all night, both of you—that’s your punishment for disobeying orders—and without the solace of a pipe too,” said Mark, when order was somewhat restored and work resumed. “The garden party, you know, is fixed for to-morrow, and it’s as much as our heads are worth to disappoint the Queen of her expected amusements. Time, tide, and Ranavalona the First wait for no man! I’ve got to go out for an hour or so. When I return I’ll show you how to make stars and crackers and red rain, etcetera.”
“But I say, Doctor,” asked Hockins, looking up from his work, “where are the cases to hold all this here stuff?”
“Time enough for that when we want ’em. I’ve got some fellows at work on small ones, and there’s a big one that will open the Madagaskite eyes if there’s virtue in saltpetre. It’s made of—ah! here it comes,” he added, as the door opened and two natives carried in a piece of cast-iron pipe about six feet long and four inches in diameter.
“The pistol-barrel of a giant,” exclaimed the seaman.
“A young cannon!” said Ebony. “W’y, massa, you gwine to make a Roman candle ob dat?”
He turned for an answer, but Mark had hastily quitted the house.
Encountering the Secretary in the court-yard, he took his arm and said, “I want your help.”
“Well, you shall have it. But you are so mys—mys—what is it—sterious about your leetil plans, that I fear my help is not useful.”
“Oh! yes, it is, I want you to get me a paper from—I don’t know who—the proper officer, whoever he is, authorising me to take a gang of convicts—four will do—to work for me.”
“Good, you shall have it,” returned the Secretary, with a laugh. “I see you are going to give us big surprises to-morrow.”
“You are right, I am,” said Mark, as the Secretary left him to execute his mission.
Armed with an order, Mark left the palace and hurried through the steep narrow streets of the town, until he reached a piece of road that was being mended by four slaves in long chains. That morning Mark had observed that his friend the crocodile was one of the four. Passing close enough to attract the attention of the poor fellow, he whispered, without stopping, “Mamba, expect me to-morrow.”
This he had said in the native tongue, having by that time acquired a few sentences, of which he made the best and most frequent use possible.
Going to the guard of these slaves, he presented his paper, and said that he should come personally for them early in the morning. Then he returned to the laboratory and assisted his comrades to load the firework cases with various kinds of “fire,” stars, golden rain, etcetera. The young cannon especially was loaded, with a succession of surprises, to the very muzzle, before midnight.
“Suppose he bust!” suggested Ebony, with a solemn visage. “De Queen ob Madigascur be blow’d into middle ob nixt week—hey?”
“I shall take precautions against that, Ebony. In the first place, I’ll have it buried in the earth up to the muzzle, and, in the second place, I’ll not place it too near her Majesty.”
When all was prepared the wearied triumvirate retired to rest, each to dream of the subjects that lay nearest his heart and imagination at the moment. Hockins dreamed of tobacco-pipes and explosions; Mark dreamed of freed slaves, thunder-struck queens, eloping lovers and terrible consequences; and Ebony dreamed of incomprehensible situations, crashing thunderbolts, and unimaginable coruscations of resplendent fire!
It was a brilliant lovely morning when the guests began to wend their way to the suburban residence of Anosy, where Ranavalona was to hold her garden party.
The people were very gay, somewhat excited, and very chatty, for they were aware that the young English doctor had prepared something new and surprising for the Queen’s special benefit.
Just before the earliest of these guests, however, had set off to the garden, our three heroes had passed down to that part of the road where the four slaves were already at work with pick and shovel and clanking chain.
It was a little after sunrise when Mark went up to the guard to relieve him.
“Take care,” said the guard, when about to leave, “that you keep the slaves well out of the way when the Queen passes. All the others in the neighbourhood have been taken off long ago. I was beginning to be afraid you would not come in time.”
“I understand,” said Mark, who knew enough of the language, (and also of the situation), to follow the drift of his meaning.
The guard thereupon turned, shouldered his musket, and went off, apparently well pleased at the unexpected relief from duty.
While this little incident was occurring three of the slaves were looking on with a slight expression of surprise in their sad faces. The fourth, Mamba, was standing in a dejected attitude before Hockins and Ebony, holding a pick in one hand and his heavy chain in the other.
“Oh! man, I am sorry to see you like this,” said Hockins, extending his brawny hand, “an’ I does wish I could set you free—but you know I’m as helpless as a babby in this matter.”
Mamba dropped the pick and grasped the strong hand, but did not look up. His heart was too full. He did not understand the seaman’s words, but he understood the tone. If he had looked up he would have seen that the tears were hopping over Ebony’s cheeks in spite of the powerful efforts of that sympathetic soul to control them, and that he was unable to speak because of a lump in his throat.
“Das most awrful!” he exclaimed at last. “Oh, Mamby, I’d fight for you like a wild-cat wid the cholera if that would do you any good, but it would be ob no use.”
Just then Mark came forward. “Quick, follow me,” he said, leading the way to a thick clump of bushes behind a wall that bordered the road. Here, quite concealed, yet able to peep through the leafy screen, he ordered his party to sit down on a heap of stones and await orders. He then went to the top of a mound that lay immediately behind them. From this he could see the road winding along for about two or three hundred yards.
Descending to his comrades he sat down beside them.
“You look anxious, doctor,” remarked the seaman.
“I am anxious,” returned Mark, “I am on the point of making a great venture, and the results may be serious. But we are in God’s hands;” then, turning to Mamba, who looked at him with much curiosity and a gleam of hope on his intelligent face, “I have hope of success and have prayed for it.”
Mamba, whose knowledge of English was very slight, shook his head and looked puzzled.
“Have you forgotten, Mamba, the law of your land—that the criminal who looks upon the Queen is from that moment entitled to claim freedom? Ranavalona is to pass along this road in less than half-an-hour.”
Of course Mark said this in remarkably bad Malagasy, but Mamba understood. A gleam of intelligence shot into his swarthy visage, and his chest began to heave with strong emotion as he glared rather than gazed at the speaker. Not less surprised were Hockins and Ebony when Mark explained, for although they had indeed heard about the law in question they had forgotten it. After recovering the first shock, Mamba turned quickly and pointed to his three comrades in suffering.
“Yes, yes—I understand,” said Mark, “I shall set them free at the same time. Why not? The risk will not be increased.”
“A reg’lar jail-delivery!” murmured Hockins, as he drew in a long breath.
“Hush! they come!” cried Mark, crouching so as the more effectually to conceal himself, in which act he was quickly imitated by the others.
According to promise, Ranavalona had set out from her palace that morning without her wonted display and ceremonial, with only a few of her courtiers and a handful of troops around her. She did not, however, omit the scarlet umbrella of state, and it was this brilliant object which had attracted Mark’s attention.
When the procession had approached close to the place of concealment, Mark whispered “Now!” and ran to the top of the mound before referred to. The four slaves followed him. The summit gained they turned, lifted up their arms and chains, looked upon the Queen, and gave vent to the “oo!—oo!—oo!” which stands to the Malagasy in the place of a cheer. Recognising the importance of the event, Hockins and
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