"And was the plan successful?"

"Not quite, for the white people turned out to be tough. They managed to get away from our island alive, but in a state of health, I believe, that will very likely prevent them from ever wishing to return!"

"I have much love for these men," said Ravonino, after a pause. "You have influence with Rainiharo. Can you not befriend them?"

"I shall have little influence now with my uncle," returned Soa, sadly, "for I am a Christian, and he will soon discover that. But I will help them if I can—for your sake."

"And Rafaravavy," said Ravonino, in a lower voice, "do you think she can be induced to fly? If she were brought to me here, I should have little difficulty in taking her to a place of safety."

"The difficulties in your way are greater than you suppose," said Soa. "The Queen's spies and soldiers are out all over the land. Even now, were it not that I am your friend and brother in Jesus, you would have been caught here as in a trap. Besides, there is the greater difficulty that Rafaravavy is filled with fidelity to her royal mistress, and pities her so much that she will not leave her. You know that she openly confesses Christ in the palace, yet so great is the Queen's regard for her that she will not listen to my uncle, who would gladly see her tossed over the 'rock of hurling.' I had converse with her the other day, and I see that she even hopes to be the instrument of the Queen's conversion to Christianity."

"God bless her!" exclaimed Ravonino, fervently.

"Amen!" returned Soa, "and I doubt not that the blessing will come, though it may not come in the way we hope. It is no easy matter to say 'Thy will be done' when we are suffering."

"Prince Rakota has done much for the Christians in time past," urged poor Ravonino, who felt that all hope of delivering the girl he loved, at the present time, from the dangers that surrounded her was gradually slipping away from him; "surely he can and will protect her."

"I fear he has not the power," answered Soa. "He has interfered in behalf of the Christians so often of late that the Queen is losing patience; and you know that if she once gives way to her cruel rage, the life of Rakota himself is not safe. But, you may trust me, my friend; I will do my best to move him to aid you—and your friends also."

Most of the people had left the cave while these two were conversing, with the understanding that they were not to return, as it was no longer a safe retreat. Another and more distant rendezvous was, however, appointed; the treasured Bible was not restored to its old place of concealment, but carried off by Totosy, the young preacher, to be reburied in a new place of refuge.

"Do you follow them?" asked Soa of Ravonino, when the others had all gone and they were about to part.

"No. My companions will come here expecting to find me if they escape. I must remain, whatever befalls. If the soldiers come, I will see them before they arrive, and give them the slip. If they give chase they will find it troublesome to catch me!"

When Soa returned to the city he went straight to the apartments of the prime minister, whom he found impatiently awaiting him.

"You have been long," said the latter.

"The distance is great," replied the nephew.

"Well?" exclaimed the uncle, inquiringly.

"You ordered me to act as a Christian," returned the young man, with a slight smile, "and you know it takes time to do that."

"True—true. And you have brought me the list?"

"No, uncle."

"What mean you, boy?"

"I mean that I have obeyed your first command; I have been to the Christian meeting as a Christian."

A puzzled, inquiring look overspread the premier's countenance.

"Well, what then?"

"Well, then, of course I acted the part of a Christian to the best of my power. I told them why I had been sent, warned them of the evil intended them, and advised them to escape for their lives; but, as no immediate danger was to be feared, I joined them in their worship."

"And you have brought no list?"

"None."

Rainiharo's visage, while his nephew spoke, was a sight to behold; for the conflicting emotions aroused produced a complexity of expression that is quite indescribable.

"Young man!" he said, sternly, "you have disobeyed my orders. Why have you done this? Your head must fall, for you show that you are a Christian."

With great simplicity and gentleness Soa said:

"Yes, my uncle, I am a Christian; and if you please you may put me to death, for I do pray to Jesus."

Utterly confounded by this straightforward and fearless reply, Rainiharo stood for some moments gazing in silent wonder at the youth who thus calmly stood prepared to abide the consequences of his confession. At first it almost seemed as if, in his anger, he would with his own hand, then and there, inflict the punishment he threatened; but once again, as in the case of Ranavalona, love proved more powerful than anger.

"No, no, boy," he said, turning away with a wave of his hand, as if to dismiss the subject finally, "you shall not die. It is a delusion. You deceive yourself. Go. Leave me!"

Soa obeyed, and went straight to the apartment of Prince Rakota to relate to that fast friend and comrade his recent adventures, and consult with him about the dark cloud that threatened to burst in persecution over the unhappy land.

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Note 1. A Bible of the kind here described may now be seen in the Museum of the British and Foreign Bible Society, 146 Queen Victoria Street, London, just as it was dug up out of the earth, where it had been buried by christian natives who probably perished in the persecutions. The New Testament bears the date of 1830, the Old Testament that of 1835.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

IN PRISON—EFFECTS OF A FIRST SIGHT OF TORTURE.

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 more civilised people we might expect to be let off easily for so slight an offence as rescuing a supposed criminal, but you remember that Ravonino once said, when telling us stories round the camp-fire, that interference with what they call the course of justice is considered a very serious offence. Besides, the Queen being in a very bad mood just now, and we being Christians, it is likely we shall be peculiarly offensive to her. I fear that banishment is the least we may count on."

"It's a hard case to be punished for bein' Christians, when we hardly deserve the name. I can't help wonderin'," said the seaman, "that Lovey should have bolted as he did an' left us in the lurch. He might at least have taken his risk along with us. Anyhow, he could have spoke up for us, knowin' both lingos. Of course it was nat'ral that, poor Mamba should look after number one, seem that he was in no way beholden to us; but Lovey was our guide, an' pledged to stand by us."

"I can't help thinking," said Mark, "that you do injustice to Laihova. He is not the man to forsake a comrade in distress."

"That was my own opinion," returned the sailor, "till I seed him go slap through yon port-hole like a harlequin."

"P'r'aps he tink he kin do us more service w'en free dan as a prisoner," suggested Ebony.

"There's somethin' in that," returned Hockins, lifting his hand to stroke his beard, as was his wont when thoughtful. He lifted it, however, with some difficulty, owing to the heavy chain.

They were still engaged in conversation about their prospects when the prison-door again opened, and two men were ushered in. Both wore white lambas over their other garments. One was tall and very dark. The other was comparatively slender, and not so tall as his companion. For a moment the strangers stood contemplating the prisoners, and Mark's attention was riveted on the smaller man, for he felt that his somewhat light-coloured and pleasant features were not unfamiliar to him, though he could not call to mind where or when he had seen him. Suddenly it flashed across him that this was the very man to whose assistance he had gone, and whose wounds he had bound up, soon after his arrival in the island.

With a smile of recognition, Mark rose and extended his hand as far as his chain permitted. The young native stepped forward, grasped the hand, and pressed it warmly. Then he looked round at his tall companion, and spoke to him in his own tongue, whereupon the tall man advanced a step, and said in remarkably bad English—

"You save me frind life one taime ago. Ver' good—him now you save."

"Thank him for that promise," said Mark, greatly relieved to find at least one friend among the natives in his hour of need.

"But," continued the Interpreter, "you muss not nottice me frind nowhar. Unerstand?"

"Oh yes, I think I do," returned Mark, with an intelligent look. "I suppose he does not wish people to think that he is helping or favouring us?"

"That's him! you's got it!" replied the Interpreter, quite pleased apparently with his success in the use of English.

"My!" murmured Ebony to Hockins in an undertone, "if I couldn't spoke better English dan dat I'd swaller my tongue!"

"Well—good-boy," said the Interpreter, holding out his hand, which Mark grasped and shook smilingly, as he replied, "Thank you, I'm glad you think I'm a good-boy."

"No, no—not that!" exclaimed the Interpreter, "good day, not good boy; good-night, good morning! We goes out, me an' me frind. Him's name Ravelo."

Again Ravelo shook hands with Mark, despite the rattling chain, nodded pleasantly to him, after the English fashion, and took his departure with his tall friend.

"Well now, I do think," remarked Hockins, when the door had closed behind them, "that Rav—Rave-what's-his-name might have took notice of me too as an old friend that helped to do him service."

"Hm! he seemed to forgit me altogidder," remarked the negro, pathetically. "Dere's nuffin so bad as ingratitood—'cept lockjaw: das a little wuss."

"What d'ee mean by lockjaw bein' wuss?" demanded Hockins.

"W'y, don't you see? Ingratitood don't feel 'thankee,' w'ereas lockjaw not on'y don't feel but don't even say 'thankee.'"

A sudden tumult outside the prison here interrupted them. Evidently a crowd approached. In a few minutes it halted before the door, which was flung open, and four prisoners were thrust in, followed by several strong guards and the execrations of the crowd. The door was smartly slammed in the faces of the yelling people, and the guards proceeded to chain the prisoners.

They were all young men, and Mark Breezy and his friends had no doubt, from their gentle expression and upright bearing, that they were not criminals but condemned Christians.

Three of them were quickly chained to the wall, but the third was thrown on his back, and a complex chain was put on his neck and limbs, in such a way that, when drawn tight, it forced his body into a position that must have caused him severe pain. No word or cry escaped him, however, only an irrepressible groan when he was thrust into a corner and left in that state of torture.

The horror of Mark and his comrades on seeing this done in cold blood cannot be described. To hear or read of torture is bad enough, but to see it actually applied is immeasurably worse—to note the glance of terror and to hear the slight sound of the wrenched joints and stretched sinews, followed by the deep groan and the upward glare of agony!

With a bursting cry of rage, Hockins, forgetting his situation, sprang towards the torturers, was checked by his fetters, and fell with a heavy clang and clatter on the floor. Even the cruel guards started aside in momentary alarm, and then with a contemptuous laugh passed out.

Hockins had barely recovered his footing, and managed to restrain his feelings a little, when the door was again opened and the Interpreter re-entered with the jailor.

"I come—break chains," said the former.

He pointed to the chains which bound our travellers. They were quickly removed by two under-jailors and their chief.

"Now—com vis me."

To the surprise of the Interpreter, Mark Breezy crossed his arms over his breast, and firmly said—"No!" Swiftly understanding his motive, our seaman and Ebony followed suit with an equally emphatic, "No!"

The Interpreter looked at them in puzzled surprise.

"See," said Mark, pointing to the tortured man in the corner, "we refuse to move a step till that poor fellow's chains are eased off."

For a moment the Interpreter's look of surprise increased; then an indescribable smile lit up his swarthy features as he turned to the jailor and spoke a few words. The man went immediately to the curled-up wretch in the corner and relaxed his chains so that he was enabled to give vent to a great sigh of relief. Hockins and Ebony uttered sighs of sympathy almost as loud, and Mark, turning to the Interpreter, said, with some emotion, "Thank you! God bless you! Now we will follow."

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Note 1. The fetters here described may be seen in the Museum of the London Missionary Society in Blomfield Street, London, along with an interesting collection of Malagasy relics.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

MAMBA IS SUCCOURED BY ONE OF THE "ANCIENT SOOT," AND FULFILS HIS MYSTERIOUS MISSION.

When Laihova and Mamba took the reckless "headers" which we have described in a former chapter, they tumbled into a court-yard which was used as a sort of workshop. Fortunately for them the owner of the house was not a man of orderly habits. He was rather addicted to let rubbish lie till stern necessity forced him to clear it away. Hence he left heaps of dust, shavings, and other things to accumulate in heaps. One such heap happened to lie directly under the window, through which the adventurous men plunged, so that, to their immense satisfaction, and even surprise, they came down soft and arose unhurt.

Instantly they slipped into an outhouse, and there held hurried converse in low tones.

"What will you do now?" asked Laihova.

"I will remain where I am till night-fall, for I dare not show myself all bruised like this. When it is dark I will slip out and continue my journey to the coast."

"To Tamatave?" asked Laihova, naming the chief seaport on the eastern side of Madagascar.

"Yes, to Tamatave."

"Do you go there to trade?"

"No. I go on important business."

It was evident that, whatever his business might be, Mamba, for reasons best known to himself, resolved to keep his own counsel. Seeing this, his friend said—

"Well, I go to the eastward also, for Ravoninohitriniony awaits me there; but I fear that our English friends will be thrown into prison."

"Do you think so?" asked Mamba, anxiously. "If you think I can be helpful I will give up my important business and remain with you."

"You cannot help us much, I think. Perhaps your presence may be a danger instead of a help. Besides, I have friends here who have power. And have we not God to direct us in all things? No, brother, as your business is important, go."

Mamba was evidently much relieved by this reply, and his friend saw clearly that he had intended to make a great personal sacrifice when he offered to remain.

"But now I must myself go forth without delay," continued Laihova. "I am not well-known here, and, once clear of this house, can walk openly and without much risk out of the city. Whatever befalls the Englishmen, Ravoninohitriniony and I will help and pray for them."

Another minute and he was gone. Passing the gates without arousing suspicion, he was soon walking rapidly towards the forest in which his friend Ravonino lay concealed.

Meanwhile, Mamba hid himself behind some bags of grain in the outhouse until night-fall, when he sallied boldly forth and made his way to the house of a friend, who, although not a Christian, was too fond of him to refuse him shelter.

This friend was a man of rank and ancient family. The soot hung in long strings from his roof-tree. He was one of "the ancient soot!"

The houses in the city are usually without ceiling—open to the ridge-pole, though there is sometimes an upper chamber occupying part of the space, which is reached by a ladder. There are no chimneys, therefore, and smoke from the wood and grass fires settles upon the rafters in great quantities inside. As it is never cleared away, the soot of course accumulates in course of time and hangs down in long pendants. So far from considering this objectionable, the Malagasy have come to regard it with pride; for, as each man owns his own house, the great accumulations of soot have come to be regarded as evidence of the family having occupied the dwelling from ancient times. Hence the "old families" are sometimes complimented by the sovereign, in proclamations, by being styled "the ancient soot!"

The particular Ancient Soot who accorded hospitality that night to Mamba was much surprised, but very glad, to see him. "Have you arrived?" he asked, with a good deal of ceremonial gesticulation.

"I have arrived," answered Mamba.

"Safely and well, I hope."

"Safely and well," replied Mamba—ceremonially of course, for in reality he had barely arrived with life, and certainly not with a sound skin.

"Come in, then," said the Ancient Soot. "And how are you? I hope it is well with you. Behold, spread a mat for him, there, one of you. And is it well with you?"

"Well indeed," said Mamba once again, falsely but ceremonially.

"May you live to grow old!" resumed Soot. "And you have arrived safely? Come in. Where are you going?"

"I'm going yonder—westward," replied Mamba, with charming conventional vagueness, as he sat down on the mat.

"But it appears to me," said Ancient Soot, passing from the region of compliment into that of fact, and looking somewhat closely at his friend, "it seems to me that you have been hurt."

Mamba now explained the exact state of the case, said that he required a good long rest, after that a hearty meal, then a lamba and a little money, for he had been despoiled of everything he had possessed by the furious crowd that so nearly killed him.

His kind host was quite ready to assist him in every way. In a few minutes he was sound asleep in a little chamber on the rafters, where he could rest without much risk of disturbance or discovery.

All next day he remained in hiding. When it began to grow dusk his host walked with him through the streets and through the gates, thus rendering his passage less likely to be observed—for this particular Ancient Soot was well-known in the town.

"I will turn now. What go you to the coast for?" asked his friend, when about to part.

"You would laugh at me if I told you," said Mamba.

"Then tell me not," returned his friend, with much delicacy of feeling, "for I would be sorry to laugh at my friend."

Thus they parted. Ancient Soot returned to the home of his forefathers, and Mamba walked smartly along the road that leads to the seaport of Tamatave.

He spent that night in the residence of a friend; the next in the hut of a government wood-cutter.

Felling timber, as might be supposed, was, and still is, an important branch of industry in Madagascar. Forests of varied extent abound in different parts of the country, and an immense belt of forest of two or three days' journey in width covers the interior of the island. These forests yield abundance of timber of different colour and texture, and of various degrees of hardness and durability.

The wood-cutter, an old man, was busy splitting a large tree into planks by means of wedges when our traveller came up. This wasteful method of obtaining planks is still practised by some natives of the South Sea Islands. Formerly the Malagasy never thought of obtaining more than two planks out of a single tree, however large the tree might be. They merely split the tree down the middle, and then chopped away the outside of each half until it was reduced to the thickness required. The advent of the English missionaries, however, in the early part of this century, introduced light in regard to the things of time as well as those of eternity-among other things, the pit-saw, which has taught the natives to "gather up the fragments so that nothing be lost." Thick planks are still however sometimes procured in the old fashion.

The wood-cutter belonged to "The Seven Hundred" which constituted the government corps. The members of this corps felled timber for the use of the sovereign. They also dragged it to the capital, for oxen were never employed as beasts of burden or trained to the yoke. The whole population around the capital was liable to be employed on this timber-hauling work—and indeed on any government work—without remuneration and for any length of time! After the usual exhaustive questions and replies as to health, etcetera, the old man conducted his visitor to his hut and set food before him. He was a solitary old fellow, but imbued with that virtue of hospitality which is inculcated so much among the people.

Having replied to the wood-cutter's first inquiry that he was "going yonder," Mamba now saw fit to explain that "yonder" meant Tamatave.

"I want to see the great Missionary Ellis before he leaves the country."

The wood-cutter shook his head. "You are too late, I fear. He passed down to the coast some weeks ago. The Queen has ordered him to depart. She is mad against all the praying people."

"Are you one of the praying people?" asked Mamba, with direct simplicity.

"Yes, and I know that you are," answered the wood-cutter with a smile.

"How know you that?"

"Did I not see your lips move and your eyes look up when you approached me on arriving?"

"True, I prayed to Jesus," said Mamba, "that I might be made use of to help you, or you to help me."

"Then your prayer is doubly answered," returned the old man, "for we can each help the other. I can give you food and lodging. You can carry a message to Tamatave for me."

"That is well. I shall be glad to help you. What is your message?"

"It is a message to the missionary, Ellis, if you find him still there; but even if he is gone you will find a praying one who can help me. Long have I prayed to the lord that he would send one of his people here to take my message. Some came who looked like praying people, but I was afraid to ask them, and perhaps they were afraid to speak; for, as you know, the Queen's spies are abroad everywhere now, and if they find one whom they suspect of praying to Jesus they seize him and drag him away to the ordeal of 'tangena'—perhaps to torture and death. But now you have come, and my prayer is answered. 'He is faithful who has promised.' Look here."

The old man went to a corner of the hut, and returned with two soiled pieces of paper in his hand.

Sitting down, he spread them carefully on his knees. Mamba recognised them at once as being two leaves out of a Malagasy Bible. Soiled, worn, and slightly torn they were, from long and frequent use, but still readable. On one of them was the twenty-third Psalm, which the old wood-cutter began to read with slow and intense interest.

"Is it not grand," he said, looking up at his young guest with a flush of joy in his care-worn old face, "to think that after this weary wood-cutting is over we shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever? No more toiling and hauling and splitting; above all, no more sin— nothing but praise and work for Him. And how hard I could work for Him!"

"Strange!" said Mamba, while the old man gazed at the two soiled leaves as if lost in meditation, "strange that you should show this to me. I have come—but tell me," he said, breaking off abruptly, "what do you wish me to do?"

"This," said the old man, pointing to the leaves, as though he had not heard the question, "is all that I possess of the Word of God. Ah! well do I remember the time—many years past now—when I had the whole Bible. It was such a happy time then—when good King Radama reigned, and the missionaries had schools and churches and meetings—when we prayed and sang to our heart's content, and the Bible was printed, by the wonderful machines brought by the white men, in our own language, and we learned to read it. I was young then, and strong; but I don't think my heart was so warm as it is now! Learning to read was hard—hard; but the Lord made me able, and when I got a Bible all to myself I thought there was nothing more to wish for. But the good Radama died, and Ranavalona sits upon his throne. You know she has burned many Bibles. Mine was found and burned, but she did not suspect me. I suppose I am too poor and worthless for her to care about! Perhaps we did not think enough of the happy times when we had them! A brother gave me these two leaves. They are all that I have left now."

Again the old man paused, and the younger forbore to interrupt his thoughts. Presently he looked up, and continued, "When the missionary Ellis was on his way to the coast I met him and asked for a Bible. He had not a spare one to give me. He was very sorry, but said if I could find any one going to Tamatave who would carry a Bible back to me, he would send one. Now you have come. Will you see the great missionary, or, if he is away, find one of the other men of God, and fetch me a Bible?"

There was a trembling earnestness in the old wood-cutter's voice which showed how eager he was about the answer. Mamba readily promised, and then, after singing and praying together, these like-minded men retired to rest.

Next morning Mamba pursued his way eastward with rapid step, for he was anxious—yet with a glad heart, for he was hopeful. Many things of interest were presented to his gaze, but though he observed them well he did not suffer them to turn him aside for a moment from his purpose— which was to reach Tamatave in the shortest possible time, so as to meet and converse with the missionary before he should quit the island.

Mamba was of an inquiring disposition. In ordinary circumstances he would have paused frequently to rest and meditate and pray. He would have turned aside to examine anything peculiar in his track, or even to watch the operations of a spider, or the gambols of a butterfly; but now he had "business" on hand, and set his face like a flint to transact it.

The distance from the capital to Tamatave was nearly two hundred miles. There were dangers in the way. As we have said, the Queen's spies were everywhere. Mamba's wounds and bruises were still sufficiently obvious to attract attention and rouse curiosity, if not suspicion.

At one part of the journey he came upon some criminals in long chains which extended from their necks to their ankles. They were doing work on the roads under a guard. He would fain have conversed with these men, but, fearing to be questioned, turned aside into the shelter of a plantation and passed stealthily by.

At another place he came to a ferry where, when he was about to enter the boat, two men stepped in before him whom he knew to be government officers and suspected to be spies. To have drawn suddenly back without apparent reason would have proclaimed a guilty conscience. To go forward was to lay himself open to question and suspicion, for he had prepared no tissue of falsehoods for the occasion. There was no time for thought, only for prayer. He committed his soul to God as he entered the boat, and then began to converse with the boatman in as easy and natural a tone of voice as he could assume. Having to face the boatman for this purpose enabled him to turn his back upon the government officers. Scarce knowing what he said in the perturbation of his spirit, his first question was rather absurd—

"Did you ever upset in crossing here?" he asked.

"Of course not!" replied the boatman, with a look of offended dignity.

"Ha! then," continued Mamba, who quickly recovered his equanimity, "then you don't know what it is to feel the teeth of a crocodile?"

"No, I don't, and hope I never shall. Did you?"

"Oh yes," returned Mamba, "I have felt them."

This was true; for it happened that when he was a little boy, his mother had taken him down to the side of a river where she had some washing to do, and while she was not looking the urchin waded in, and a crocodile made a snap at him. Fortunately it failed to catch him, but its sharp teeth grazed his thigh, and left a mark which he never afterwards lost.

"Where did that happen?" asked the boatman, when the other had briefly stated the fact—for the passage was too short to permit of a story being told.

"In the Betsilio country."

"That's a long way off."

"Yes, a long way. I left my old mother there. I'm going to Tamatave to buy her a present. Now, my friend," said Mamba, in a bantering tone, as the boat ran into the opposite bank, "take care never to upset your boat, because crocodile teeth are wonderfully sharp!"

Mamba had the satisfaction of hearing the two officers chuckle at his little joke, and the boatman growl indignantly, as he leaped ashore and sedately strode away with a sigh of relief and thankfulness for having made what he deemed a narrow escape.

The road to Tamatave was by no means lonely, for, being the highway from the seaport to the capital, there was constant traffic both of travellers and of merchandise. There were also great droves of cattle making their way to the coast—for a large part of the wealth of the chiefs and nobles of the land consists of cattle, which are exported to the islands of Bourbon and Mauritius, and disposed of to the shipping that come there for supplies.

At last Mamba reached Tamatave, footsore, worn, and weary, and went straight to the house of friend—a native of wealth and importance in the town, and one whom he knew to be a Christian. From him he learned, to his great joy, that Mr Ellis had not yet left the place, and that he hoped to be permitted still to remain there for some time.

It was dark when Mamba arrived, and rather late; but he was too anxious to transact his "business" to wait till morning. Having ascertained where the missionary lived, he went there direct, and was ushered into his sitting-room.

"You wish to converse with me," said Mr Ellis, in a kind voice, and in the native tongue, as he placed a chair for his visitor—who, however, preferred to stand.

"Yes, I come from very far away—from the Betsilio country. My mother dwells there, and she is a praying one—a follower of Jesus. She loves the Word of God. I heard that you had brought the Bible to us from your own land—printed in our language, and so I have come to ask you for a Bible."

"Have you come all that long journey to procure the Word of God?" asked the missionary, much interested.

"Yes—that is my business," replied Mamba.

Although Mr Ellis liked the look of his visitor, and was strongly disposed to believe him, he had too much knowledge of the native character to place immediate confidence in him. Besides, the man being a stranger to him, and possibly one of the government spies, he feared to comply at once with his request, lest he should hasten his own banishment from the island. He replied, therefore, with caution.

"I cannot give you what you want to-night," he said, "but you may call on me again to-morrow, and I will speak with you."

This answer did not at all satisfy the eager heart of the poor fellow who had travelled so far and risked so much. His countenance showed the state of his feelings so strongly that the sympathetic missionary laid his hand kindly on his shoulder, bade him cheer up, and asked for his name as well as the name of some one in Tamatave who knew him.

"Now then, Mamba," he said, as they were about to part, "don't be cast down. Come here to see me to-morrow. Come early."

Comforted a little—more by the missionary's look and tone than by his words,—Mamba took his departure.

Meanwhile Mr Ellis made inquiries, visited the friend to whom he had been referred, and found that not only was Mamba a good and true man, but that many of his family "feared the Lord greatly."

When, therefore, his anxious visitor returned very early the following morning, he was ready for him.

"I am assured that you are a Christian, Mamba," he said, "as well as many of your kindred."

"Yes, I love the Lord, and so do many of my kinsmen. But my family is large and scattered."

"Have any of them got the Scriptures?"

"They have seen and heard them," returned Mamba, "but all that we possess are a few pages of the words of David. These belong to the whole family. We send them from one to another, and each, after keeping them for a time, passes them on, until they have been read by all. They are in my hands just now."

"Have you them with you?" asked the missionary. Mamba did not reply at once. He seemed unwilling to answer, but at last confessed that he had.

"Will you not show them to me? Surely you can trust me, brother!"

Mamba at length made up his mind. Thrusting his hand deep into his bosom, he drew a parcel from the folds of his lamba. This he slowly and carefully opened. One piece of cloth after another being unrolled, there appeared at length a few leaves of the Book of Psalms, which he cautiously handed to Mr Ellis.

Though it was evident that the greatest care had been taken of that much-prized portion of Scripture, the soiled appearance of the leaves, worn edges, and other marks of frequent use—like the two leaves owned by the wood-cutter—showed how much they had been read.

Even Mamba's anxiety was allayed by the tender way in which the missionary handled his treasure, and the interest in it that he displayed.

"Now, my friend," said Mr Ellis, still holding the tattered leaves, which Mamba seemed anxious to get back, "if you will give me these few words of David, I will give you all his words; and I will give you, besides, the words of Jesus, and of John, and Paul and Peter. See—here they are."

Saying which, he handed to his visitor a copy of the New Testament and Psalms, in Malagasy, bound together.

But Mamba did not leap at this gift as might have been expected. Either it seemed to him to be too good news to be true, or he was of a sceptical turn of mind. At all events he was not satisfied until he had sat down with the missionary and assured himself that every verse in his ragged treasure was contained in the presented volume, and a great deal more besides. Then he let the old treasure go, and joyfully accepted the new, which, he said, he was going to carry back to his mother who greatly longed for it.

Before retiring with it, however, he mentioned his friend the wood-cutter, whom Mr Ellis remembered well, and gladly gave another Testament to be taken back to him. Then, uttering expressions of fervent gratitude, Mamba left the house.

In the course of that day the missionary inquired after his visitor, wishing to have further converse with him, but the Christians of Tamatave told him that Mamba had started off, almost immediately after quitting him, on his long return journey to Betsilio-land—doubtless "rejoicing as one that findeth great spoil."

Dust was not allowed to accumulate on the Bibles of Madagascar in those days!



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

UNEXPECTED DELIVERANCE AND SEVERAL SURPRISES.

At the time when Mamba started away on his expedition to Tamatave, Ravonino, as we have said, lay concealed in the forest, anxiously awaiting news from the town. At last the news came—the two white men and the negro had got involved in a row, and were in prison!

So said Laihova on entering the cave and seating himself, weary, worn, and dispirited, on a ledge of rock beside his friend, to whom he related all that had befallen.

"Give not way to despondency," said Ravonino, though he could not smooth the lines of anxiety from his own brow. "Does not the Lord reign? Let the earth rejoice! No evil can befall unless permitted, and then it will surely work for good. Let us now consider what is to be done. But first, we will pray."

In the gloom of the cavern the two men went down on their knees, and, in very brief but earnest sentences, made known their wants to their Creator.

"It is useless to remain here idle," said the guide, as they resumed their seat on the ledge.

"It is useless to go into the town," returned Laihova. "I am known now as one of those who aided Mamba to escape."

"But I am not known—at least not in my present guise," said Ravonino. "Have you seen Rafaravavy?"

"No; I tell you we had not been long in the town when this mischance befell."

"Did not Mamba tell you why he has undertaken so long a journey?"

"He did not, but I can guess," answered Laihova, with a slight smile. "The night before we left our friends in the cave in Betsilio-land I heard his mother urging him to accompany us to the capital and fetch her, if possible, a copy of the Word of God. She was joined in her persuasions by my sister Ramatoa, and you know he loves Ramatoa. I have no doubt that the two overcame his objections."

"Do you know why he objected?" asked Ravonino.

"He said that he was afraid to quit his mother and the others at a time when she might sorely need his protection, but other motives may have influenced him."

"If he said it he meant it," returned the guide, with some decision, "for Mamba is open and true of heart. No doubt he had other motives, but these were secondary. God grant him success and safe deliverance from the hands of his enemies!"

"Amen!" responded Laihova.

For some time the two friends sat there in silence, meditating as to what they should do in the circumstances, for each felt that action of some sort was absolutely necessary.

"My friend," said the guide at last, "it seems to me that the Lord requires me at this time to go with my life in my hand, and give it to Him if need be. I have led these Englishmen into danger. I must do my best to succour them. Rafaravavy also is in great danger of losing her life—for the Queen's fondness for her may not last through the opposition to her will which she is sure to meet with. At all risks I will enter the town and try to meet with Rafaravavy. But you, my friend, have no need to run so great a risk. The Englishmen have no claim upon you. My sister Ra-Ruth, as well as the other banished ones, need your arm to defend them, all the more that Mamba has left for a time. I counsel you to return to the Betsilio country and leave me. There is no fear. I am in the hands of God."

For a few moments Laihova was silent. Then he spoke, slowly. "No. I will not leave you. Are not our friends also in the hands of God? For them, too, there is no fear. At present they are far from danger and in safe hiding, for even the outlaws—the robbers who infest the forests— understand something of their case; they have sympathy and will not molest them. Besides all that, Ravoninohitriniony, is there not the Blood-covenant between you and me? No, I will not leave you! Where you go I will go, and if you die I will not live!"

Seeing that his friend's mind was made up, the guide made no further effort to influence him, and both men prepared themselves to go to the city.

We return now to our friends Mark Breezy, John Hockins, and James Ginger, whom we left in the act of quitting their prison after being the means of obtaining some extension of mercy to an unfortunate sufferer whom they left behind them there.

The Interpreter led them up several steep streets, and finally brought them to a court-yard in which were several small houses. Into one of these he ushered them, having previously pointed out to them that the building occupied a prominent position not far from the great palace of the Queen.

"So—if you out goes—git losted—know how to finds you'self agin!"

"Das so," said Ebony. "You's a clibber man."

"Now you stop," continued the Interpreter, paying no attention to the remark, "for git some—some—vik—vik—vikles—eh?"

"Vikles!" repeated Mark, with a puzzled air.

"Yis—yis—vikles," repeated the Interpreter, nodding his head, smiling, opening his mouth very wide, and pointing to it.

"P'r'aps he means victuals," suggested Hockins.

"Yis—yis—jus' so—vittles," cried the Interpreter, eagerly, "wait for vittles. Now—good-boy—by-by!" he added, with a broad grin at his blunder, as he left the room and shut the door.

The three friends stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds in silence, looked at each other, and smiled dubiously.

"Let's see if we really are free to go and come as we choose," said Mark, suddenly stepping to the door and trying it. Sure enough it was open. They passed out and went a short distance along the street, in which only a few natives were moving about. These, strange to say, instead of gazing at them in idle curiosity, seemed to regard them with some show of respect.

"Hold on, sir," said Hockins, coming to an abrupt halt, "you know that feller told us to wait for victuals, and I am uncommon disposed for them victuals; for, to say truth, the trifle of rice they gave us this mornin' was barely enough to satisfy an average rat. Better come back an' do as we're bid. Obedience, you know, is the first law of natur'."

"Das w'at I says too. Wait for de wittles."

"Agreed," said Mark, turning on his heel.

On reaching the house they found that two slaves had already begun preparations for the hoped-for feast. In a few minutes they had spread on the mat floor several dishes containing rice, mingled with bits of chicken and other meats, the smell of which was exceedingly appetising. There was plain beef also, and fowls, and cooked vegetables, and fruits of various kinds, some of which were familiar to them, but others were quite new.

Slaves being present, our three travellers did not give full and free expression to their feelings; but it was evident from the way that Hockins smacked his lips and Ebony rolled his tongue about, not to mention his eyes, and Mark pursed his mouth, that they were smitten with pleased anticipation, while the eyes of all three indicated considerable surprise!

There were no knives or forks—only horn spoons for the rice; but as each man carried a large clasp-knife in his pocket, the loss was not felt.

In any other circumstances the singularity and unexpected nature of this good treatment would have stirred up the fun of Ebony and the latent humour of Hockins, but they could not shake off the depression, caused by the memory of what they had seen in the prison—the heavy iron collars and the cruel binding chains. They tried to put the best face possible on it, but after a few faint sallies relapsed into silence. This, however, did not prevent their eating a sufficiently hearty meal.

"There's no sayin' when we may git the chance of another," was Hockins's apologetic remark as he helped himself to another fowl.

"It is very mysterious that we should receive such treatment," said Mark. "I can only account for it by supposing that our friend Ravelo is an officer of some power. If so, it was doubly fortunate that we had the opportunity of doing him a good turn."

"Now, you leave dem two drumsticks for me, 'Ockins," said Ebony, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You'll do yourself a injury if you heat de whole ob 'im."

"Well, I must confess to bein' surprised summat," said the seaman, referring to Mark's observation, not to Ebony's.

They were destined to receive some additional surprises before that day was over. The meal which they had been discussing was barely finished when their friend the Interpreter again entered and bade them follow him.

"Queen Ranavalona wish sees you," he said.

"What! all on us?" exclaimed Hockins, with elevated eyebrows.

"Yis—all."

"Oh! nonsense," he cried, turning to Mark. "It must be you, doctor, she wants to see. What can she want with a or'nary seaman like me?"

"Or a extraor'nary nigger like me?" said Ebony, with a look of extreme contempt.

"You kin stop in house if you choose," remarked the Interpreter, with a quiet grin, "but you heads be splitted if you do."

"Then I think I'll go," said Hockins, quietly.

"Me too," remarked the negro.

Accordingly they all went—with a slight qualm, however, for they felt slightly doubtful whether, under existing circumstances, they might not after all be going to execution.

The royal palaces, to which they were led, occupy a very conspicuous and commanding position on the summit of the hill, and stand at an elevation of more than 500 feet above the surrounding plains. They are conspicuously larger than any of the other houses in the city, are grouped together in a large court-yard, and number about a dozen houses—large and small. The chief palace, named Manjaka-Miadana, is about 100 feet long by 80 broad, and 120 high to the apex of its lofty roof. A wide verandah, in three stories, runs all round it. All is painted white except the balustrade. The building next in size to this is the Silver House. On the eastern side of the court-yard are the palace gardens, and around it stand a number of houses which are the residences of the chief officers of the army, the Secretaries of State, and other members of the Government.

On reaching the palace gate two young officers approached to receive the visitors. They were dressed in splendid European regimentals, much bedecked with gold-lace, tight-fitting trousers, Wellington boots, sash, sword, and cocked hat, all complete! One of these, to their surprise, spoke English remarkably well.

"I learned it from the missionaries when I was leetle boy," he explained to Mark, as he conducted the visitors through the archway and across the spacious court-yard into the palace. In the second storey of the verandah the Queen was seen seated beneath that emblem of royalty the scarlet umbrella, with her Court around her. Before entering the court the visitors had removed their hats. They were now directed to make a profound reverence as they passed, and proceeded along the side of the building to the further end.

A line of native troops was drawn up across the court, but these wore no uniform, only the lamba wound round their waists, and white cross-belts on their naked bodies. They were armed with the old flint-lock muskets and bayonets of the period.

Their conductor, who was an Under-Secretary of State, led them by a dark narrow stair to the balcony where the Queen sat, and in a few moments they found themselves in the presence of the cruel Ranavalona, of whom they had heard so much.

She did not look cruel at that time, however. She was dressed in a rich satin gown, over which she wore the royal scarlet lamba, and jewels of various kinds ornamented her person. She was seated in a chair raised two or three steps above the floor, with her ladies on one side and her gentlemen on the other. The former, among whom were some really good-looking brunettes, had all adopted the English fashion of dress, with parts of native costume retained. Some wore head-dresses of gorgeous colouring, composed of ribbons, flowers, and feathers in great profusion, but as no head-dress, however strongly marked by barbaric splendour, can excel the amazing feminine crests in present use among the civilised, we refrain from attempting description! Most of the men also wore European costume, or portions thereof, some being clad in suits of black broad-cloth.

The amount of ceremony displayed on all hands at Court seemed to have infected our three adventurers, for, when led before the Queen, they approached with several profound bows, to which Hockins added the additional grace of a pull at his forelock. In this he was imitated by Ebony.

For some moments Ranavalona eyed her visitors—perhaps we should say her captives—sternly enough, but there was also a slight touch of softness in her expression, from which Mark drew much comfort; in silence, for as yet the Queen had given no indication, as to whether the new-comers were to be treated as friends or spies, and the recent banishment of the missionaries, and harsh treatment of Europeans by the Queen, left their minds in some doubt on the point.

Turning to the Secretary who had introduced the party, Ranavalona spoke to him a few words. When she had finished, the Secretary turned to Mark, whom he at once recognised as the chief and spokesman of the trio.

"Queen Ranavalona bid me ask where you comes from," he said.

To which Mark replied that they came from England, that they were all English subjects, though one was an African by descent.

"I have heard," continued the Queen, through her interpreter, "that you have been shipwrecked, that one of your number is a Maker of Medicine, and that you helped one of my people—even saved his life—soon after your arrival in my country. Is that so?"

Mark explained that they had not been shipwrecked, but had been left on shore, and obliged to fly from the natives of the coast; that he was indeed a maker of medicine, though his training had not been quite completed when he left England, and that he had rendered a trifling service to an unfortunate man who had slipped in climbing a cliff, but he could hardly be said to have saved the man's life.

While he was speaking, Mark observed that his friend Ravelo stood close to the Queen's chair, in front of a group of officers, from which circumstance he concluded that he must be a man of some note, and that it was he who had procured the deliverance of himself and his friends from prison.

"Tell the young Maker of Medicine," said the Queen, in a loud voice, so that all the Court might hear, "that Europeans have behaved very ill here of late, so ill that they had to be banished from my country; for I, Ranavalona, permit no one, whether his face be black, brown, or white, to meddle with my government. They fancied, I suppose, that because I am a woman I am weak and ignorant, and unable to rule! They have now found their mistake, and Christians shall not again be permitted to dwell in my country. But I am Ranavalona, and I will do what I please. If I choose to make an exception I will do it. If any one thinks to oppose my will he shall die. The man whose life was saved by this young Maker of Medicine is my son Rakota—my beloved son. Is it not so?"

The Queen looked round as she spoke, and the man whom we have hitherto styled Ravelo bent his head and replied, "It is so," whereupon there were murmurs of surprise and approval among the courtiers.

"Now," continued the Queen, "as I am grateful, and as I want a physician at Court just now, I appoint this young Maker of Medicine to that post, and I appoint his black companion to be his servant. Do you all hear that?"

All the courtiers made murmurs of assent.

"Tell them all that, Secretary," said the Queen.

Mark Breezy and his friends had considerable difficulty in concealing their astonishment when "all that" was explained to them, but they had the presence of mind to acknowledge the information with a profound obeisance. At the same time Mark explained, with much modesty, that he was not entitled to aspire to or to accept so high and honourable a position, as he had not yet obtained the standing which entitled him to practise in his own country.

"Tell him," said the Queen, sternly, "that I, Ranavalona, have nothing to do with the customs of England, and have no regard for them. If he does not accept what I offer, instant banishment—perhaps worse—will be his portion!"

"Oh! massa, accep' him at once!" murmured Ebony in an undertone, and in much anxiety.

Mark took his advice, and agreed to become Physician to the Court of the Queen of Madagascar, without stipulating either as to salary or privileges!

"I am also told," said the Queen, with a smile of condescension to her physician, "that your English companion is full of music, and performs on a wonderful little instrument. I have a good band, which was trained by your countrymen, but they have no such little instrument. Let the Man of the Sea perform."

On this being translated Mark looked at the Man of the Sea, and could with difficulty restrain a burst of laughter at the expression of his countenance.

"What!" exclaimed Hockins, "me play my whistle afore this here Court? Unpossible!"

"You'll have to try," said Mark, "unless you wish for instant banishment—or something worse!"

"Oh! 'Ockins, blaze away at once!" murmured Ebony, with renewed anxiety, for the "something worse" was to him suggestive of imprisonment, torture, and death!

Thus pressed, the seaman put his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew forth his cherished flageolet. In a few minutes the Queen and all her courtiers were enthralled by the music. It was not only the novelty and bird-like sweetness of the instrument itself that charmed, but also the fine taste and wonderful touch of the sailor. The warbling notes seemed to trill, rise and fall, and float about on the atmosphere, as it were, like fairy music, filling the air with melody and the soul with delight.

"Good! let the Man of the Sea be also cared for. Give them quarters in the palace, and see that they all attend upon us in the garden to-morrow."

So saying, the Queen arose, swept into the palace, and left her courtiers to follow.

Immediately Prince Rakota came forward and shook hands with Mark.

"So then, your Highness," said the latter, "we are indebted to you for all this kindness."

"It is only one small ting," returned the Prince in broken English. "Am I not due to you my life? Come, I go show you your house."

On the way, and after entering the house which was appropriated to their use, Mark learned from the Prince that their approach to the capital had been discovered and announced by spies long before their arrival; that it was they who had discovered and revealed to the Queen Hockins's wonderful powers with the "little tube." Also that it was well-known who had guided them through the country, and that Ravoninohitriniony was being diligently sought for in his hiding-places.

This last piece of information filled the three friends with deep concern and anxiety.

"He has been so very kind to us," said Mark, "and I know is one of the most generously disposed and law-respecting subjects of her Majesty."

"That not help for him if he tumbles into the hands of my mother," said the Prince, sadly. "He is a Christian. He has run to the forest, and has made others to fly."

"But you have much power with the Queen," pleaded Mark, "could you not induce her to pardon him?"

"Yes—if he will give up Christianity—if not do that—no!"

"That he will never do," said Mark, firmly. "I know him well. He will rather die than deny Christ."

"He is likely to die then," returned Rakota, "for my mother is fixed to root up the religion of Jesus from the land."

"But surely you don't agree with her," broke in Hockins at this point.

"No, I not agree," said the Prince. "But I can not command the Queen. Some time it very hard to move her even a leetle. My only power with her is love."

"Das de greatest power in de world!" chimed in Ebony.

"It is," returned the Prince, "and you be very sure I use the power much as I can for save your friend."



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A MALAGASY GARDEN PARTY—THE CLOUD GROWS BLACKER.

The garden party is by no means a novelty of the present day. In the early part of this century—if not much earlier—Malagasy sovereigns seem to have been wont to treat their Court and friends to this species of entertainment.

The order which the Queen had given that her European visitors should attend upon her in the garden, was neither more nor less than an invitation to a garden party, or pic-nic, to be held the following day at one of her surburban retreats named Anosy, about half-a-mile from the city. Accordingly, early in the morning—for the Malagasy are early risers—their friend the Interpreter came to conduct them to the spot, with a gift of a striped lamba for each of the white men.

"Why she not send one for me?" demanded Ebony, pouting—and Ebony's pout was something to take note of!

"'Cause you're black and don't need no clothing," said Hockins, awkwardly attempting to put the lamba on his broad shoulders.

"Humph! if she knowed what splendid lobscouse an' plum duff I kin make," returned the negro, "Ranny Valony would hab sent me a silk lamba an' made me her chief cook. Hows'ever, dere's a good time comin'. I s'pose I ain't to go to the party?"

"Yis—you muss go. All of you got to go. Kill-deaded—if you don't go."

"I'm your man, den, for I don't want to be deaded yet a while; moreover, I want to see de fun," returned the negro.

Meanwhile the Interpreter showed them how to put on the lamba—with one end of it thrown over the left shoulder, like the Spaniard's cloak,—and then conducted them to the palace, where they found three palanquins—or chairs supported by two staves—awaiting them. Getting into them they set off, preceded by the Interpreter in a similar conveyance. Ebony and his bearers brought up the rear.

The Queen and her Court had already started some time. Our party soon reached the scene of festivities, at the south-east of the city. It was a charming spot, having large gardens laid out in the European style, with goodly trees overshadowing the pleasure-house of Anosy, and an extensive lake. The house was on an island in the lake, and was reached by a narrow causeway.

At the entrance to the place two enormous letters, "R R," formed in grass borders that surrounded flower-beds, indicated that Radama Rex, the first king of that name, had originated those gardens. And they did him credit; for he had made great exertions to accumulate there specimens of the most useful and remarkable trees and plants in the country—especially those that were of service in materia medica. Some immense camphor-wood trees were among the most conspicuous, and there were several specimens of a graceful fan-palm, as well as clumps of the long-leaved Rofia. The lake was covered in part with a profusion of purple waterlilies, and was well stocked with gold-fish. In the garden and on the upper part of the grounds were luxuriant vines, besides figs, mangoes, pine-apples, and coffee-plants.

Here, to the strains of an excellent band, hundreds of people, in white and striped lambas, and various gay costumes, were walking about enjoying themselves, conversing with animation, or consuming rice, chickens, and beef, on mats beneath the mango and fig-trees. Elsewhere the more youthful and lively among them engaged in various games, such as racing, jumping, etcetera.

"Come," said their friend of the previous day—the Secretary—to Mark and his comrades, breaking in on their contemplation of the animated scene, "the Queen wishes to see you."

Her Majesty, who was dressed in a long robe of muslin, embroidered with gold, sat near the door of the garden-house, surrounded by her ladies, who all wore the simple but graceful native dress. A guard of soldiers stood near at hand.

The Queen merely wished to ask a few ceremonial questions of her visitors. While she was engaged with Hockins and the Secretary, Mark ventured to glance at the ladies of the Court, among whom he observed one who made a deep impression on him. She wore, if possible, a simpler dress than any of her companions, and no ornaments whatever. Her features were well formed, and her rather pensive countenance was very beautiful. When they were retiring from the presence of the Queen, Mark could not resist the temptation to ask the Secretary who she was.

"That," said he, "is our self-willed little Christian, Rafaravavy."

"She does not look very self-willed," returned Mark.

"True, and she is not really so—only in the matter of religion. I fear we shall lose her ere long, for she minds not the Queen, and no one who defies Ranavalona lives long. But come, let us sit down under this mango tree and eat. You must be hungry."

He led them as he spoke to a sequestered spot near a coppice which partially guarded them from public gaze on three sides, and on the fourth side afforded them a charming view of the gardens, the gay assemblage, and the country beyond.

At first both Hockins and Ebony hesitated to sit down to breakfast with so distinguished a person as an Under-Secretary of State.

"We ain't used, you see, doctor," observed the seaman in a low tone, "to feed wi' the quality."

"Das so, massa," chimed in Ebony in the same tone; "wittles nebber taste so pleasant in de cabin as in de fo'c's'l."

"Don't object to anything," replied Mark, quickly, "just do as I do."

"Hall right, massa. Neck or nuffin—I'm your man!"

As for the seaman, he obeyed without reply, and in a few minutes they were busy with the Secretary over drumsticks and rice.

The free-and-easy sociability of that individual would have surprised them less if they had known that he had been specially commissioned by the Queen to look well after them, and gather all the information they might possess about the fugitive Christians who were hiding in the forests.

Fortunately our young student was quick-witted. He soon perceived the drift of the Secretary's talk, and, without appearing to evade his questions, gave him such replies as conveyed to him no information whatever of the kind he desired. At the same time, he took occasion, when the Secretary's attention was attracted by something that was going on, to lay his finger on his lips and bestow a look of solemn warning on his comrades, the effect of which on their intelligent minds was to make the negro intensely stupid and the seaman miraculously ignorant!

Now, while our friends are thus pleasantly engaged, we will return to Rafaravavy, whom we left standing among the Queen's ladies.

Of all the ladies there that little brunette was not only the best-looking, the sweetest, the most innocent, but also, strange to say, the funniest; by which we do not mean to say that she tried to be funny—far from it, but that she had the keenest perception of the ludicrous, and as her perceptions were quick, and little jokes usually struck her, in vulgar parlance, "all of a heap," her little explosions of laughter were instantaneous and violently short-lived. Yet her natural temperament was grave and earnest, and her habitual expression, as we have said, pensive.

Indeed it would have been strange had it been otherwise, considering the times in which she lived, the many friends whom she had seen sacrificed by the violence of her royal mistress, and the terrible uncertainty that hung over her own fate.

After a time the Queen dismissed some of her attendants to ramble about the grounds,—among them Rafaravavy, who sauntered down one of the side-walks by herself.

She had not gone far when, on reaching a turn of the road where a small thicket of shrubs concealed her from the more public part of the garden, she heard her own name pronounced.

Stopping abruptly, she listened with intense anxiety expressed on her countenance.

"Rafaravavy!" repeated the voice again, "fear not!" Next moment the bushes were turned aside, a man stepped on the path, and Ravonino stood before her! He seized her in his arms, and printed a fervent kiss upon her lips.

"Oh! Samuel," she said, using her lover's Christian name, which she naturally preferred, and speaking, of course, in her native tongue, "why did you come here? You know that it is death if you are caught."

"I would risk more than death, if that were possible, to see you, Rafaravavy. But I come to ask you to fly with me. Our dear Lord's counsel is that when we are persecuted we should flee to a place of safety."

"Impossible!" said the girl, in a tone of decision that made her lover's heart sink. "Besides, I am not persecuted. The Queen is fond of me, and bears much."

"Fond of you she may well be, my loved one, she cannot help that; but she is fonder of herself, and the moment you go beyond a certain point she will order you out to execution. Has she not done the same sort of thing before? She is capable of doing it again. She will surely do it again. Come, dearest! let us fly now—this moment. I have a lamba here which will conceal most of your dress. Arrangements are made with some of our friends in the Lord to aid us. Bearers are ready. I will guide you to the caverns in the forest where my sister Ra-Ruth is longing to receive you, where many of your old friends are dwelling in security, where we worship God, and pray to Jesus, and sing the sweet old hymns in peace. Come, dear one! will you not come?"

It was evident that the intense earnestness of the lover was exerting powerful influence over the affectionate maiden, for she began to waver.

"Oh! do not persuade me thus!" she said. "I know not what God would have me do. But the Queen has been very kind to me in spite of my religion, and sometimes I have thought that she listens to my pleading. Perhaps God may use me as the means of bringing her to Jesus. Think what that would be—not only to her own soul but to the multitudes who are now suffering in—"

At that moment footsteps were heard on the gravel walk. They were evidently approaching the spot where the lovers stood. Before Ravonino could make up his mind to drag her into the thicket by main force, Rafaravavy had disengaged herself and bounded away. At the same moment Ravonino glided into the shrubbery and disappeared.

A few seconds later and Mark Breezy stood on the spot they had quitted. He was alone.

"Strange!" he muttered to himself, "I am almost certain that she took this path, and I fancy that the man's voice sounded like that of Ravonino. Nothing more natural than that he should ferret her out. Yet it seems to have been imagination."

"It was not imagination," said a rather stern voice at Mark's elbow. He turned quickly.

"I was sure of it!" he exclaimed.

"If you were so sure of it," said the guide, with a touch of bitterness, "why did you interrupt us and scare the maiden away?"

"You do me wrong in your thoughts," replied the student, flushing. "One of the Queen's secretaries is even at this moment coming along this track in company with Hockins and Ebony. While seated at breakfast I saw Rafaravavy walk in this direction, and somehow I took it into my head that you would surely meet her here—I know not why I thought so, unless it be that in like circumstances I myself would have acted the same part—so I hastened on in advance to warn you. Hush! do you not hear their steps?"

"Forgive me," said Ravonino, extending his hand, and grasping that of his friend. Then, speaking low and hurriedly, "You are in favour at Court. Will you befriend her?"

"I will. You may depend on me!"

There was no time for more. Already it was almost too late, for the guide had barely disappeared in the thicket when his comrades and the Secretary appeared.

"Hallo! doctor," exclaimed Hockins, "was ye arter a pretty girl that you bolted so, all of a sudden?"

"Yes, I was," answered Mark promptly. "I saw one of the Queen's ladies come in this direction and ran after her! I suppose there is no harm in that, Mr Secretary? You don't forbid men to look at your women, do you, like the Arabs?"

"Certainly not," replied the Secretary, with a slight smile and a ceremonial bow.

"Come, then, let us follow the track, we may yet meet her."

So saying, Mark led the way along the path where Rafaravavy had vanished, not for the purpose of overtaking her, but in order to give his friend time and opportunity to get out of the thicket unperceived.

On the evening of that same day, after the garden festivities were over, Queen Ranavalona sat in her palace with a frown on her brow, for, despite her determination and frequent commands, the Christians in the town still persisted in holding secret meetings for worship. Those who knew her moods saw plainly that she was fanning the smouldering fires of anger, and that it needed but a small matter to cause them to burst out into a devouring flame.

While she was in this critical frame of mind an influential courtier appeared before her. He seemed to be greatly excited.

"Madam," he said, "I request that a bright and sharp spear may be brought to me!"

Somewhat surprised at the nature of the request, the Queen asked to know the reason.

"Madam," continued the courtier, "I cannot but see with grief the dishonour that is done, not only to our idols but to the memory of your own predecessors, by the doctrines of these foreigners. Our ancient customs are being destroyed and the new faith is spreading on every hand. All this is but preparatory to the invasion of Madagascar by Europeans; and, as I would rather die than see my Queen and country so disgraced, I ask for a spear to pierce my heart before the evil day arrives."

This speech had a powerful effect on the Queen. She began to regard Christianity as not merely a sacrilege, but a political offence; for were not people learning to despise the idols of their forefathers and to cease praying to the royal ancestors, by whom the kingdom had been established, and under whom the country had become great and powerful? Might they not eventually despise herself and learn to treat their living sovereign with contempt?

For some time Ranavalona remained silent, leaning her forehead on her hand. Suddenly she looked up with a flushed countenance.

"It is true—all true," she said. "When I was carried along in procession to-day did I not hear these Christians singing one of their hated hymns? They will not cease till some of them lose their heads. Have you got with you the formal accusation that was made before my chief judge yesterday?"

"No, madam, I have not."

"Go. Fetch it and read it to me."

The courtier bowed, left the apartment, and speedily returned with a paper containing the accusations referred to. Unfolding it, he read as follows:—

"First. The Christians are accused of despising the idols. Second. They are always praying. Third. They will not swear, but merely affirm. Fourth. Their women are chaste. Fifth. They are of one mind with regard to their religion. Sixth. They observe the Sabbath as a sacred day."

Strange to say, this catalogue of so-called accusations deeply affected the queen with grief and rage.

"I swear," she said, with flashing eyes and clenched hands, "that I will root out this religion of the Europeans if it should cost the life of every Christian in the land! Go. Leave me!"

For a fortnight subsequent to this the palace and Court appeared as if in mourning for some public calamity. No band played; no amusements were allowed, and a dread of impending evil seemed to weigh upon the spirits of all classes. During this time, also, measures were taken to effect the final destruction, as far as possible, of all that had been done in the country by the teaching of the missionaries and their converts.

At last the storm burst. A Kabary, or immense general assembly of the nation, was called by proclamation at the capital. The people were only too well aware of what this signified to doubt that the Queen was thoroughly in earnest and in one of her worst moods. With trembling hearts they hastened to obey the summons.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

A GREAT KABARY IS HELD, FOLLOWED BY DREADFUL MARTYRDOMS.

No rank or age was exempt from attendance at the great assembly. Soldiers were sent about the city and suburbs to drive the people towards the place of assembly near the palace, and the living stream continued to pour onwards until many thousand souls were gathered together at Imahamasina.

Here a body of troops fifteen thousand strong was posted, and in the earlier part of the day the cannon along the heights of the city thundered out a salute to inspire the people with awe and respect for the royal authority. The highest civil and military officers were there in their varied and gay trappings, but Ranavalona herself did not appear in person. Her message was conveyed to the people by one of the chief officers of state. It was interspersed here and there with the various titles of the Queen, and was to the following effect:—

"I announce to you, oh ye people! I am not a sovereign that deceives. I therefore tell to you what I purpose to do, and how I shall govern you. Who, then, is that man who would change the customs of our ancestors and the twelve sovereigns in this country? To whom has the kingdom been left by inheritance, by Impoin, Imerina, and Radama, except to me? If any, then, would change the customs of our ancestors, I abhor that, saith Rabodon-Andrian-Impoin-Imerina."

After a good deal more to much the same effect, the message went on to say:—

"As to baptisms, societies, places of worship distinct from schools, and the observance of the Sabbath, how many rulers are there in the land? Is it not I alone that rule? These things are not to be done; they are unlawful in my country, saith Ranavalo-manjaka, for they are not the customs of our ancestors; and I do not change their customs, excepting as to things alone that improve my country. And then, in your worship, you say 'Believe!' 'Follow the Christian customs!' and thus you change the customs of the ancestors, for you do not invoke all that is sacred in heaven and earth, and all that is sacred in the twelve sovereigns and the idols. And is not this changing the customs of the ancestors? I detest that; and I tell you plainly that such things shall not be done in my country, saith Ranavalo-manjaka.

"Now I decree that all Bibles and books of the new religion shall be delivered up to be destroyed, that all who are guilty shall come in classes, according to the nature of their offences, and accuse themselves of having been baptized, of being members of the church, of having taught slaves to read—all shall come to the officers and confess; but those who conceal their offence and are accused by others shall be subjected to the ordeal of the tangena, and those who resist my commands shall die, saith Ranavalo-manjaka."

This message was no idle threat. The people were well aware of that, and the city was filled with weeping and consternation.

It was while things were in this state that Mamba arrived at Antananarivo with his precious New Testament and Psalms in the folds of his lamba. Although well aware of what had taken place, he recklessly visited his friends in the city. From them he learned more particulars, and saw, when too late, that it would be impossible for him now to pass out of the gates with the Testament on his person, as the guards had been cautioned to search every one whom they had the slightest reason to suspect.

Hearing of the sudden exaltation of his English friends, he formed the wise resolution to place his treasure in their hands.

Boldness is often successful where timidity would fail. Without hesitation, or even consultation with his friends, Mamba went straight to the palace and demanded permission to visit the Maker of Medicine. He was allowed to pass and conducted by an official to the quarters of Mark Breezy, who was seated with Hockins and Ebony at the time.

Great was their surprise at seeing their friend.

"Why, Mamba! I thought you had gone to Tamatave?" said Mark, shaking hands heartily with him.

"Yis—yis—I hoed," said Mamba, and then endeavoured to tell something of his doings in English; but his knowledge of that language was so very imperfect that they could make nothing of it. They understood him, however, when he cautiously and lovingly drew the Testament from its hiding-place and gave it into Mark's hands.

"What am I to do with it, my poor friend?" said Mark. "I know that you have no chance of retaining it, after the decree that has just been passed."

"Keep 'im—keep—for me," said Mamba, anxiously.

"I will do so, if I can, but it may not be possible," answered Mark.

"Yis, keep—safe. Got 'im for me mudder."

"You're a brick," cried Ebony, enthusiastically grasping the man's hand, for he had a great love for his own mother, and experienced a gush of sympathy.

At that moment there was a loud knocking at the door, and Mark had barely time to slip the Testament into his coat pocket when Hater-of-lies entered with his silver spear and attendants. Seizing hold of poor Mamba, without uttering a word they led him away.

Hockins instantly followed, and Ebony was about to do the same when Mark laid his hand on his shoulder and checked him.

"What would you do, Ebony?"

"Look arter 'Ockins, massa."

"Hockins is well able to look after himself. No doubt he has gone to see where they take Mamba to. One pair of eyes is enough for that. Your company would only trouble him."

A few minutes later the seaman returned with the information that the unfortunate man had been cast into the prison, from which they had been so recently released.

At this time the Christians in the island possessed numerous entire copies of the Scriptures, besides a large number of Testaments and Psalms, and books of a religious character, which, having been secreted, had escaped the destruction of previous persecutions. Some of these were now given up and destroyed. Many of the more timid among the natives came forward, as commanded, and accused themselves, thus escaping punishment; but there were others who would neither give up their Bibles nor accuse themselves. Some of these were accused by their slaves, others by their so-called friends and kindred—in some cases falsely.

Next day the Prime Minister came to the Queen and reported that one lady, named Rasalama, who had not accused herself, had been accused by some of her slaves of attending religious meetings.

"Is it possible," exclaimed the Queen, "that there is one so daring as to defy me? Go, let her be put to death at once!"

The intercession of friends of the accused produced no effect on the Queen, and even the pleading of Prince Rakota failed, in this instance, to do more than delay the execution for a few days.

Meanwhile Rasalama was cast into prison and loaded with chains.

"Is it not strange," she said to her jailors, "that I should be put in chains, and some of my friends should be sent to perpetual slavery and some killed, though we have done no evil? We have neither excited rebellion, nor stolen the property of any, nor spoken ill of any—yet we are treated thus, and our property is confiscated. It will be wise if the persecutors think what they do, lest they bring on themselves the wrath of God. But I do not fear. When Hater-of-lies came to my house I rejoiced that I was counted worthy to suffer affliction for believing in Jesus."

When this speech was reported to the judges, Rasalama was ordered to be put into heavier irons and severely beaten. This cruel order was carried out; and after her tender limbs had been additionally weighted, her delicate skin was lacerated with terrible stripes. Yet her fortitude never forsook her. Nay more—through the grace bestowed on her she actually sang hymns in the midst of her torment! Sometimes, indeed, her physical strength failed for a brief space. At other times the song of triumph blended with a wail of agony, but she always recovered to renew the hymn of praise.

Her tormentors were confounded. This was something quite beyond their understanding, and their only solution of the mystery was that she must be under the influence of some powerful charm. Others there were, however, who listened to her triumphant songs, and beheld her calm steadfast countenance with widely different thoughts and feelings.

But the sufferings of this poor creature had not yet terminated. The rage of her persecutors was not yet appeased. Next day the ordinary chains she wore were exchanged for others, consisting of rings and bars fastened around her wrists, knees, ankles, and neck, and these, when drawn together, forced her whole body into a position that caused intense agony—something like that which we have described as having been seen by Mark and his comrades in the same prison-house. In this posture it was impossible to use the voice in song, but, doubtless, she was not even then prevented from making melody in her heart to the Lord, for whose name she suffered so much. All night long was this terrific trial endured, but with the dawn of day came relief, for then the chains were relaxed; and so great was the change that poor Rasalama looked forward to the fate which she knew awaited her with feelings of joy.

That fate was not long delayed. Soon they led her out of the prison, and took the road which conducted towards the southern extremity of the hill, on which the city stood, where was the tremendous precipice down which many a criminal and many a Christian martyr had already in Ranavalona's evil reign been hurled out of Time into Eternity. Yet this was not the gate through which Rasalama was to pass into Paradise. See Note 1.

As she walked along, the poor martyr began again to sing a favourite hymn. When passing the place of worship, at that time closed, she exclaimed, "There have I heard the words of the Saviour." Hundreds of people accompanied her. Some even ventured to whisper words of comfort to her as she went along, although by doing so they imperilled their own lives, and one young man, utterly regardless of consequences, walked boldly by her side, speaking to her of the Saviour, till the place of execution was reached.

To this spot Mark Breezy and his companions in exile had hastened, for the Secretary had told them that some of the Christians were about to be executed, and a fearful suspicion that their friend Mamba might be among the number impelled them to hasten to the spot with some half-defined intention of interfering in his behalf. For they had gradually, and imperceptibly to themselves, acquired a great liking for the young native, whose earnest, straightforward, yet playful spirit, together with his great kindness to his mother, had deeply impressed them during the brief time they had sojourned together in the forest.

"Will we fight for 'im, massa?" asked Ebony, with anxious looks, as they ran to the place of execution, which was not far-off.

"That would be useless," answered Mark. "If we were thirty Samsons instead of three ordinary men, we could not overcome the Queen's army."

"I've half a mind to try," said Hockins, with something unusually fierce in his expression. "Many a man has run a-muck before now. I've got to die once at any rate!"

"And what good would that do to Mamba?" asked Mark. "No, I will try another plan. I have fortunately done service to the Queen in saving the life of her son. If Mamba is to be martyred, I will throw my arms round him and ask the Queen in return to spare the life of my friend."

They had by that time mingled with the dense crowd that stood on the brow of the precipice of Ambohipotsy to witness the execution. Pushing to the front with breathless anxiety, they were just in time to see Rasalama led forward by two men armed with spears. In front of them was a shallow ditch, and a little further on the brow of the precipice, from which was seen a magnificent prospect of the surrounding country. But no prospect, however sublime, could have attracted the eyes of the three friends just then, for in front of them stood two crosses supporting the bodies of two Christians who had been crucified thereon the day before. Even these, however, lost their horrible power of fascination, when they observed the cheerful holy expression of Rasalama's countenance as she was led to the edge of the ditch which was to be her grave. The bottom of that grave was already strewn with the bloody remains and the bleaching bones of other martyrs who had preceded her.

The crowd, who had followed the procession with imprecations against the Christians, now ceased to shout.

"Will you allow me a short time to pray?" asked Rasalama of the executioners.

Her request being granted, she kneeled on the rocky ground, clasped her hands, and raised to Heaven a look of calm trustfulness, as she held communion for the last time on earth with her Redeemer.

"Where is the God she prays to that he does not save her now?" whispered some. Others held their peace, but laid these things to heart.

While the poor creature was thus engaged, the two executioners, without warning, thrust their spears deep into her body. It was the custom of these men to plunge the spears into the loins of their victims on each side of the back-bone in such a position that they did not produce immediate death, but allowed the martyrs to tumble into the ditch and writhe there in agony for some time with the spears still sticking in them. Happily, in the case of Rasalama, the thrusts were—either intentionally or accidentally—more effective than usual. After a very brief struggle, her happy soul was set free to be "for ever with the Lord."