"You see," he said, after some moments of anxious thought, "although I agree with the Queen in her desire to stamp out the Christian religion, I have no desire that my son and my nephew should be stamped out along with it; therefore I wish to have your assistance, doctor, in turning the mind of Ranavalona away from persecution to some extent for in her present mood she is dangerous alike to friend and foe. Indeed I would not give much for your own life if she becomes more violent. How is this to be done, think you?"

The question was indeed a puzzler, for it amounted to this—

"How are we to manage a furious, blood-thirsty woman with the reins loose on her neck and the bit fast in her teeth?"

"I know not," said Mark at last, "but I will think the matter over and talk with you again."

"If I may be allowed to speak," said the Secretary.

"You are allowed," returned the Premier.

"Then I would advise that the Queen should arrange a grand journey—a procession—all over the country, with thousands of her soldiers. This will let her have plenty of fresh air and exercise, change of scene, and excitement, and will give her something to do till her blood cools. At the same time it will show the people her great power and perhaps induce them to be cautious how they resist her will."

"The idea is good," said Mark, with animation, "so good that I would advise its being carried out immediately—even before another week passes."

Rainiharo shook his head. "Impossible. There is to be a great bull-fight this week, and you know Ranavalona will allow nothing to interfere with that. Besides, it takes time to get up such an expedition as you suggest. However, I like the notion well. Go. I will think over it and see you again."

The bull-fighting to which the Premier referred was a favourite amusement with this blood-thirsty woman, and the spectacle usually took place in the royal court-yard. Rainiharo was right when he said the Queen would not forego it, but she was so pleased with the plan of a royal progress through the country that she gave orders to make ready for it at once in an extensive scale.

"You will of course accompany me," she said to Mark, when he was summoned to a subsequent audience, "I may be ill, or my bearers may fall and I may be injured."

"Certainly," he replied, "nothing would afford the Court Physician greater pleasure than to attend upon her Majesty on such an expedition. But I would ask a favour," continued Mark. "May my black servant accompany me? He is very useful in assisting me with my medicines, and—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted the Queen, "let him go with you by all means. He shall have bearers if you choose. And take yon other man also—with his music. I love his little pipe!"

In some excitement Mark went off to tell his comrades the news—which Hockins received with a grunt of satisfaction, and the negro with a burst of joy. Indeed the anxieties and worries they had recently experienced in the city, coupled with the tyranny and bloodshed which they witnessed, had so depressed the three friends that the mere idea of getting once again into the fresh free open plains and forests afforded them pleasure somewhat akin to that of the school-boy when he obtains an unexpected holiday.

Great was the excitement all over the country when the Queen's intention was made known. The idea was not indeed a novelty. Malagasy sovereigns had been in the habit of making such progresses from time to time in former years. The wise King Radama the First frequently went on hunting expeditions with more or less of display. But knowing as they did, only too well, the cruel character of Ranavalona the First, the people feared that the desire to terrify and suppress had more to do with the event than pleasure or health.

At last, everything being complete, the Queen left the capital, and directed her course to the south-westward. Her enormous retinue consisted of the members of the Government, the principal military and civil officers and their wives, six thousand soldiers, and a host of slaves, bearers, and other attendants; the whole numbering about 40,000 souls.

Great preparations had been made for the journey in the way of providing large stores of rice, herds of cattle, and other provisions, but those who knew the difficulties of the proposed route, and the thinly populated character of the country, looked with considerable apprehension on the prospects of the journey. Some there were, no doubt, who regarded these prospects with a lively hope that the Queen might never more return to her capital!

Of course such a multitude travelled very slowly, as may well be believed when it is said that they had about 1500 palanquins in the host, for there was not a wheeled vehicle in Madagascar at that time. The soldiers were formed in five divisions; one carrying the tents, one the cooking apparatus and spears, and one the guns and sleeping-mats. The other two had always to be in readiness for any service required about the Queen. The camp was divided into four parts; the Queen being in the middle, in a blue tent, surrounded, wherever she halted for the night, by high palisades, and near to this was pitched a tent containing the idols of the royal family. The tent of the Prime Minister, with the Malagasy flag, was pitched to the north of that of the Queen. East, west, and south, were occupied by other high officers of State, and among the latter was the tent of our friends, Mark, Hockins, and Ebony.

"Now," said the first of these, as he sat in the door of the tent one evening after supper, watching the rich glow of sunshine that flooded a wide stretch of beautiful country in front of him, "this would be perfect felicity if only we had freedom to move about at our own pleasure and hunt up the treasures in botany, entomology, etcetera, that are scattered around us."

"True, Massa," returned Ebony, "it would be perfik f'licity if we could forgit de poor Christ'ns in chains an' pris'ns."

"Right, Ebony, right. I am selfishly thinking only of myself at the present moment. But let us hope we may manage to do these poor Christians good before we leave the land."

"I don't think, myself, that we'll get much fun out o' this trip," remarked Hockins. "You see the Queen's too fond o' your physickin' and of my tootootlin' to part with us even for a day at a time. If we was like Ebony, now, we might go where we liked an' no one ud care."

"Ob course not," replied the negro, promptly, "peepil's nebber anxious about whar wise men goes to; it's on'y child'in an' stoopid folk dey's got to tink about. But why not ax de Queen, massa, for leabe ob absence to go a-huntin'?"

"Because she'd be sure to refuse," said Mark. "No, I see no way out of this difficulty. We are too useful to be spared!"

But Mark was wrong. That very night he was sent for by the Prime Minister, and as he passed the Secretary's tent he called him out to act as interpreter. On reaching the tent on the north side they found Rainiharo doubled up on his mat and groaning in agony.

"What's wrong?" demanded the doctor.

"Everything!" replied the patient.

"Describe your feelings," said the doctor.

"I've—I've got a red-hot stone," groaned Rainiharo, "somewhere in my inwards! Thorny shrubs are revolving in my stomach! Young crocodiles are masticating my—oh!"

At this point his power of description failed; but that matters little, for, never having met with the disease before, we can neither describe it nor give it a name. The young doctor did not know it, but he knew exactly what to do, and did it. We cannot report what he did, but we can state the result, which was great relief in a few minutes and a perfect cure before morning! Most men are grateful under such circumstances—even the cruel Rainiharo was so.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, affectionately, next day.

A sudden inspiration seized the doctor, "Beg the Queen," he said, "to let me and my two friends wander round the host all day, and every day, for a short time, and I will return to report myself each night."

"For what purpose?" asked the Premier, in some surprise.

"To pluck plants and catch butterflies."

"Is the young doctor anxious to renew his childhood?"

"Something of the sort, no doubt. But there is medicine in the plants, and—and—interest, if nothing else, in the butterflies."

"Medicine in the plants" was a sufficient explanation to the Premier. What he said to the Queen we know not, but he quickly returned with the required permission, and Mark went to his couch that night in a state of what Ebony styled "perfik f'licity."

Behold our trio, then, once more alone in the great forests of Madagascar—at least almost alone, for the Secretary was with them, for the double purpose of gaining instruction and seeing that the strangers did not lose themselves. As they were able to move about twice as fast as the host, they could wander around, here, there, and everywhere, or rest at pleasure without fear of being left behind.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

IN WHICH A HAPPY CHANGE FOR THE BETTER IS DISASTROUSLY INTERRUPTED.

One very sultry forenoon Mark and his party—while out botanising, entomologising, philosophising, etcetera, not far from but out of sight of the great procession—came to the brow of a hill and sat down to rest.

Their appearance had become somewhat curious and brigand-like by that time, for their original garments having been worn-out were partially replaced by means of the scissors and needle of John Hockins—at least in the trousers department. That worthy seaman having, during his travels, torn his original trousers to shreds from the knee downwards, had procured some stout canvas in the capital and made for himself another pair. He was, like most sailors, expert at tailoring, and the result was so good that Mark and Ebony became envious. The seaman was obliging. He set to work and made a pair of nether garments for both. Mark wore his pair stuffed into the legs of a pair of Wellington boots procured from a trader. Ebony preferred to cut his off short, just below the knee, thus exposing to view those black boots supplied to negroes by Nature, which have the advantage of never wearing out. Hockins himself stuck to his navy shirt, but the others found striped cotton shirts sufficient. A native straw hat on Mark's head and a silk scarf round his waist, with a cavalry pistol in it, enhanced the brigand-like aspect of his costume.

This pistol was their only fire-arm, the gun having been broken beyond repair, but each carried a spear in one hand, a gauze butterfly-net in the other, and a basket, in lieu of a specimen-box, on his shoulder. Even the Secretary, entering into the spirit of the thing; carried a net and pursued the butterflies with the ardour of a boy.

"Oh! massa," exclaimed Ebony, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a bunch of grass, "I do lub science!"

"Indeed, why so?" asked Mark, sitting down on a bank opposite his friend.

"Why, don't you see, massa, it's not comfortabil for a man what's got any feelin's to go troo de land huntin' an' killin' cattle an' oder brutes for noting. You can't eat more nor one hox—p'r'aps not dat. So w'en you've kill 'im an' eaten so much as you can, dar's no more fun, for what fun is dere in slaughterin' hoxes for noting? Den, if you goes arter bees an' butterflies on'y for fun, w'y you git shamed ob yourself. On'y a chile do dat. But science, dat put 'im all right! Away you goes arter de bees and butterflies an' tings like mad—ober de hills an' far away—troo de woods, across de ribbers—sometimes into 'em!—crashin' an' smashin' like de bull in de china-shop, wid de proud feelin' bustin' your buzzum dat you're advancin' de noble cause ob science—dat's what you call 'im, 'noble?'—yes. Well, den you come home done up, so pleasant like, an' sot down an' fix de critters up wid pins an' gum an' sitch-like, and arter dat you show 'em to your larned friends an' call 'em awrful hard names, (sometimes dey seem like bad names!) an'—oh! I do lub science! It's wot I once heard a captin ob a ribber steamer in de States call a safety-balve wot lets off a deal o' 'uman energy. He was a-sottin on his own safety-balve at de time, so he ought to have know'd suffin about it."

"I say, Ebony," asked Hockins, "where did you pick up so much larnin' about science—eh?"

"I pick 'im in Texas—was 'sistant to a German nat'ralist dar for two year. Stuck to 'im like a limpit till he a-most busted hisself by tumblin' into a swamp, smashin' his spectacles, an' ketchin' fever, w'en he found hisself obleeged to go home to recroot—he called it—though what dat was I nebber rightly understood, unless it was drinkin' brandy an' water; for I noticed that w'en he said he needed to recroot, he allers had a good stiff pull at de brandy bottle."

Ebony's discourse was here cut short by the sudden appearance of an enormous butterfly, which the excitable negro dashed after at a breakneck pace in the interests of science. The last glimpse they had of him, as he disappeared among the trees, was in a somewhat peculiar attitude, with his head down and his feet in the air!

"That's a sign he has missed him," remarked Hockins, beginning to fill his pipe—the tobacco, not the musical, one! "I've always observed that when Ebony becomes desperate, and knows he can't git hold of the thing he's arter, he makes a reckless plunge, with a horrible yell, goes right down by the head, and disappears like a harpooned whale."

"True, but have you not also observed," said Mark, "that like the whale he's sure to come to the surface again—sooner or later—and generally with the object of pursuit in possession?"

"I b'lieve you're right, doctor," said the seaman, emitting a prolonged puff of smoke.

"Does he always go mad like that?" asked the Secretary, who was much amused.

"Usually," replied Mark, "but he is generally madder than that. He's in comparatively low spirits to-day. Perhaps it is the heat that affects him. Whew! how hot it is! I think I shall take a bath in the first pool we come to."

"That would only make you hotter, sir," said Hockins. "I've often tried it. At first, no doubt, when you gits into the water it cools you, but arter you come out you git hotter than before. A hot bath is the thing to cool you comfortably."

"But we can't get a hot bath here," returned Mark.

"You are wrong," said the Secretary, "we have many natural hot springs in our land. There is one not far from here."

"How far?" asked Mark with some interest.

"About two rice-cookings off."

To dispel the reader's perplexity, we may explain at once that in Madagascar they measure distances by the time occupied in cooking a pot of rice. As that operation occupies about half-an-hour, the Secretary meant that the hot spring was distant about two half-hours—that is, between three and four miles off.

"Let's go an' git into it at once," suggested Hockins.

"Better wait for Ebony," said Mark. Then—to the Secretary—"Yours is a very interesting and wonderful country!"

"It is, and I wonder not that European nations wish to get possession of it—but that shall never be."

Mark replied, "I hope not," and regarded his friend with some surprise, for he had spoken with emphasis, and evidently strong feeling. "Have you fear that any of the nations wish to have your country?"

"Yes, we have fear," returned the Secretary, with an unwontedly stern look. "They have tried it before; perhaps they will try it again. But they will fail. Has not God given us the land? Has not He moved the hearts of Engleesh men to send to us the Bible? Has not his Holy Spirit inclined our hearts to receive that Word? Yes—it has come. It is planted. It must grow. The European nations cannot hinder it. Ranavalona cannot stamp it out. False friends and open foes cannot crush it. The Word of God will civilise us. We will rise among the nations of the earth when the love of Jesus spreads among us—for that love cures every evil. It inclines as well as teaches us to deny self and do good. It is not possible for man to reach a higher point than that! Deny self! Do good! We are slow to learn, but it is sure to come at last, for is it not written that 'the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover the sea'?"

"I believe you are right," said Mark, much impressed with this outburst and the earnest enthusiasm of his friend's manner. "And," he continued, "you have a noble country to work on—full of earth's riches."

"You say noting but the truth," answered the Secretary in a gratified tone. "Is not our island as big—or more big—as yours—nearly the same as France? And look around! We have thousands of cattle, tame and wild, with which even now we send large supplies to foreign markets, and fowls innumerable, both wild and tame. Our soil is rich and prolific. Are not our vegetables and fruits innumerable and abundant? Do not immense forests traverse our island in all directions, full of trees that are of value to man—trees fit for building his houses and ships and for making his beautiful furniture, as well as those that supply cocoa-nuts, and figs, and fruits, and gums, and dyes? And have we not the silkworm in plenty, and cotton-plants, and sugar-cane, and many spices, and the great food-supply of our people—rice, besides minerals which make nations rich, such as iron and gold? Yes, we have everything that is desirable and good for man. But we have a climate which does not suit the white man. Yet some white men, like yourself, manage to live here. Is not this a voice, from God? He does not speak to us with the tongue of man, but He speaks with a still, small voice, as easy to understand. He has surrounded our island with unhealthy shores. Does not that tell the white man not to come here? Your London Missionary Society sent us the Bible. God bless them for that! They have done well. But they have done enough. We desire not the interference of England or France in our affairs. We do not want your divisions, your sects. We have the Word. God will do the rest. We want no white nations to protect us. We want to be let alone to protect and develop ourselves, with the Bible for our guide and the Holy Spirit as our teacher. You Englishmen were savages once, and the Word of God came and raised you. You only continue to be great because the Bible keeps you still in the right path. What it has done for you it will do for us. All we ask for is to be let alone!"

The Secretary had become quite excited on this theme, and there is no saying how much longer he might have gone on if Ebony had not returned, scratched, bruised, bleeding, panting and perspiring, but jubilant, with an enormous butterfly captive in his net, and the cause of science advanced.

Having secured the specimen, they set off at once to visit the hot springs, after pricking a traveller's tree with a spear and obtaining a refreshing draught of cool clear water therefrom.

Fountains of mineral waters have been found in many, parts of Madagascar, and among them several which are called Rano-mafana, or "warm waters." These vary both in temperature and medicinal properties. The spot when reached was found to be a small cavity in the rocks which was delightfully shaded by the leaves of the wild fig, and by a number of interwoven and overhanging bamboos. The branches of the fig-trees spread directly across the stream.

Hastening to the fountain, Hockins thrust his hand in, but quickly pulled it out again, for the water was only a few degrees below the boiling-point.

"Too hot to bathe in!" he said.

"But not too hot here," remarked Ebony, going to a pool a little further from the fountain-head, where the water had cooled somewhat. There the negro dropped his simple garments, and was soon rolling like a black porpoise in his warm bath. It was only large enough for one, but close to it was another small pool big enough for several men. There Mark and Hockins were soon disporting joyously, while the Secretary looked on and laughed. Evidently he did not in the circumstances deem warm water either a necessity or a luxury.

That evening, after returning to camp, Mark was summoned to lay the result of his labours before the Queen, who was much interested in his collection of plants, and not a little amused with his collection of insects; for she could understand the use of the medicines which her Court Physician assured her could be extracted from the former, but could see no sense whatever in collecting winged and creeping things, merely to be stuck on pins and looked at and saddled with incomprehensible names! She did indeed except the gorgeous butterflies, and similar creatures, because these were pretty; but on the whole she felt disposed to regard her physician as rather childish in that particular taste.

Very different was her opinion of John Hockins. So fond was she of the flageolet of that musical and stalwart tar that she sent for him almost every evening and made him pipe away to her until he almost fell asleep at his duty, so that at last he began to wish that flageolets had never been invented.

"It's nothin' but blow, blow, blow, day arter day," he growled as he returned to his tent one night and flung down the little instrument in disgust. "I wish it had bin blow'd up the time your big Roman candle busted, doctor."

"If it had been, your influence with the Queen would have been gone, John."

"Well, I dun-know, sir. Many a queer gale I've come through in time past, but this blow beats 'em all to sticks an' whistles."

"Nebber mind, 'Ockins," remarked Ebony, who was busy preparing supper at the time, "we's habbin good times ob it just now. Plenty fun an' lots ob science! Come—go at your wittles. We've hard work besides fun before us demorrow."

Ebony was a true prophet in regard to the hard work, but not as to the fun, of the morrow; for it so happened that two events occurred which threw a dark cloud over the expedition, for some, at least, in the royal procession, and induced the Queen to return to the capital sooner than she had intended.

The first of these events was the discovery of a party of sixteen fugitives who were of suspicious character and unable to give account of themselves.

They had been discovered by the Queen's spies hidden in a rice-house. When brought before the officer who examined them, they were at first silent; when pressed, they spoke a little, but nothing of importance could be gathered from them. At last they seemed to make up their minds to acknowledge who they were, for one of them stood forth boldly and said—

"Since you ask us again and again, we will tell you. We are not robbers or murderers. We are praying people. If this makes us guilty in the kingdom of the Queen, then, whatsoever she does, we must submit to suffer. We are ready to die for the name of the Lord Jesus."

"Is this, then," asked the officer, "your final answer, whether for life or death?"

"It is our final answer, whether for life or for death."

When this was reported to the Queen, all her anger was stirred up again. She ordered the captives to be chained and sent off at once to Antananarivo. Two of the band managed to escape that night, but the other fourteen were safely lodged in prison.

The countenance of Ranavalona was now changed. She took no pleasure in Mark's collections, and sent no more for the musical seaman. To make matters worse, there came in, on the following day, a report that some of her soldiers had captured a large band of fugitives in a distant part of the country, and were then marching them in chains to the capital. As this band was at the time approaching, the Queen gave orders to halt on an eminence that overlooked the path along which they had to travel, that she might see them.

It was about noon when they drew near-worn, weary, and footsore. The Queen was so placed among the bushes that she could see the captives without being herself seen. Her chief officers stood near her. Mark and his companions had taken up a position much nearer to the forest path.

First came a band of weary little ones, driven onwards like a flock of sheep, and apparently too much terrified by what they had undergone to make much noise, although most of them were weeping. Next came a group of women. These, like the children, were not bound, but the men, who walked in rear, were chained together—two and two. Soldiers guarded them on every side.

"It is profoundly sad!" said Mark, in a deep sorrowful tone. "God help them!"

"Massa," whispered Ebony, "look dar! Sure I knows some ob—"

He stopped and opened wide his eyes, for at that moment he recognised Rafaravavy and Ramatoa among the women. With something like a groan, Hockins turned a glance on his comrades and pointed to the men. They required no second glance to enlighten them, for there they plainly saw Ravonino heavily ironed by the neck to Laihova, and Razafil, the poet, chained to the chief, Voalavo. Many others whom they did not know were also there. These all trudged along with bowed heads and eyes on the ground, like men who, having gone through terrible mental and physical agony, have either become callous or resigned to their fate.

As the Queen had given orders to her people to keep quiet and out of sight, the poor captives knew nothing of the host that gazed at them. Mark and his friends were so horrified that all power to move or speak failed them for a time. As for Ranavalona, she sat in rigid silence, like a bronze statue, with compressed lips and frowning brows, until they had passed. Then she gave orders to encamp where they stood, and retired in silence to her tent.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

IN WHICH TERRIBLE BUT TRUE MARTYRDOMS ARE DESCRIBED.

Matters had now reached a crisis. Although suffering from illness— partly brought on, or aggravated, by her unrestrained passions—the Queen gave orders next day for the host to turn homeward. Travelling more rapidly than she had yet done, she soon reached the capital.

There the arrival of the captives and the news of what had occurred prepared them for the worst. And the worst was not long of coming. The very day following the Queen's return, a great assembly, or Kabary, of the whole people was called. None were exempted from the meeting. High and low, rich and poor, sick and healthy, were driven to the great place of assembly near the palace—literally driven, for officers were sent as usual to break into the houses of the people, when necessary, and force them to attend. And there was no way of escape, for at the time of the summons being sent out every outlet from the city was guarded by soldiers, and the cannon along the heights thundered a salute by way of striking terror into the hearts of the rebellious. Well did the poor people know what all this foreshadowed. One who was an eye-witness of the scene said, "there was a general howling and wailing, a rushing and running through the streets, as if the town had been attacked by a hostile army." At last the great square of the city was crowded, as full as it could hold, with hundreds of thousands of people, who were overawed by the presence of a body of troops fifteen thousand strong as they awaited the announcement of the Queen's pleasure.

Mark Breezy was there, along with his comrades, on an elevated spot near to the place where the Queen's messenger was to make the proclamation.

"We are utterly helpless here," said Mark in a low voice, as he gazed in pity on the groaning and swaying multitude. "The Queen's countenance is changed to me. I feel sure that either we have been betrayed in the matter of Rafaravavy, or we are suspected. Indeed, if it were not that she is ill, and needs my aid, she would certainly banish us all from her dominions."

"I wish I was well out of 'em," growled Hockins. "The country is well enough, no doubt, but a woman like that makes it a hell-upon-earth!"

"Has you hear, massa, whar dey hab put Ravonino an' our oder friends?" asked Ebony.

"No, I did not dare to ask. And even if we knew we could do nothing!"

The youth spoke bitterly, for he had become so much attached to their former guide, and the natives with whom they had sojourned and travelled, that he would have fought for them to the death if that could have availed them. Strong and active young men are apt to become bitter when they find that superabundant energy and physical force are in some circumstances utterly useless. To be compelled to stand by inactive and see injustice done—cruelty and death dealt out, while the blood boils, the nerves quiver, and the violated feelings revolt, is a sore trial to manhood! And such was the position of our three adventurers at that time.

Presently the highest civil and military officers came forth, one of whom, in a loud sonorous voice, delivered the message of his terrible mistress.

After a number of complimentary and adulatory phrases to the Queen herself, and many ceremonial bowings towards the palace, as if she actually heard him, the messenger spoke as follows—

"I announce to you, O people, that I am not a Sovereign that deceives. I find that, in spite of my commands, many of my people revile the idols and treat divination as a trifle, and worship the Christians' God, and pray, and baptize, and sing—which things I abhor. They are unlawful. I detest them, and they are not to be done, saith Ranavalo-Manjaka. I will not suffer it. Those who dare to disobey my commands shall die. Now, I order that all who are guilty shall come in classes according to their offences, and accuse themselves of being baptized, of being members of the Church, of having taught slaves to read, and that all books shall be given up."

As on a previous occasion, many came forward at once and accused themselves, or gave up their Bibles and Testaments; but, as before, others concealed their treasures and held their tongue, although it was evident that on this occasion the Queen uttered no vain threat, but was terribly in earnest.

The proclamation ended, the people dispersed, and Mark and his friends were returning to their quarters when they were arrested by a party of soldiers. As usual, their first impulse was to resist violently, but wisdom was given them in time, and they went quietly along. Of course Mark protested vehemently both in English and in broken Malagasy, but no attention whatever was paid to his words. They were led to a prison which they had not before seen. As they approached the door the sound of singing was heard. Another moment and they were thrust into the room whence the sounds issued, and the door was locked upon them.

At first they could only see dimly, the place was so dark; but in a few seconds, their eyes becoming accustomed to the gloom, they could see that a number of other prisoners—both men and women—were seated round the walls singing a hymn. When the hymn ceased an exclamation from a familiar voice made them turn round, and there they saw their friend Ravonino seated on the floor with his back against the wall and chained to Laihova and to the floor. Beside him were several well-remembered natives, and on the opposite side of the room, also chained, were the women of the party, among whom were Ramatoa, Ra-Ruth, Rafaravavy, her maid Sarah, and the poor mother of Mamba.

"Ravonino!" exclaimed Mark, in tones of profound sorrow, as he sat down beside his old guide, "I little thought to find you in such a strait."

"Even so, sir," returned the man in a gentle voice, "for so it seems good in His eyes! But still less did I expect to find you in prison— for the way they thrust you in shows me that you are no mere visitor. I fear me, the cruel woman has found out how kind you were in helping me."

"But surely dar some hope for you! Dey nebber kill you all!" said the negro, waving his hand round as if to indicate the whole party.

"No hope, no hope," returned Ravonino, sadly, "Not even for you, Ebony, because you are only a black man. But they won't kill you, sir, or Hockins. They know better than to risk the consequences of putting a British subject to death. For the rest of us—our doom is sealed."

"If the Lord wills it so," remarked Laihova, quietly.

"How do you know that the Lord wills it so?" demanded a voice fiercely, and a man who had hitherto sat still with his face buried in his hands looked up. It was the stout chief Voalavo, all whose fun of disposition seemed to have been turned to fury. "You all speak as if you were already dead men! Are we not alive? Have we not stout hearts and strong limbs? While life remains there is hope!"

He leaped up as he spoke and began to wrench at his chain like a maddened tiger, until blood spurted from his wrists and the swollen veins stood out like cords from his neck and forehead. But iron proved tougher than flesh. He sank down, exhausted, with a deep groan—yet even in his agony of rage the strong man murmured as he fell, "Lord forgive me!"

While the men conversed, and Ebony sought to soothe Voalavo, with whom he had strong sympathy most of the poor women opposite were seated in a state of quiet resignation. Some there were, however, who could not bring their minds to contemplate with calmness the horrible fate that they knew too well awaited them, while others seemed to forget themselves in their desire to comfort their companions. Among the timid ones was pretty little Ra-Ruth. Perhaps her vivid imagination enabled her to realise more powerfully the terrors of martyrdom. It may be that her delicately-strung nerves shrank more sensitively from the prospect, but in spite of her utmost efforts to be brave she trembled violently and was pale as death. Yet she did not murmur, she only laid her head on the sympathetic bosom of her queen-like friend Ramatoa, who seemed to her a miracle of strength and resignation.

In a short time the door of the prison opened, and a party of armed men entered with Silver Spear, or Hater of Lies, at their head. An involuntary shudder ran through the group of captives as the man advanced and looked round.

"Which is Razafil?" demanded Hater of Lies.

The poet rose promptly. "Here I am," he said, looking boldly at the officer. Then, glancing upwards, and in a voice of extreme tenderness, he said, "Now, my sweet Raniva, I will soon join you!"

"Ramatoa—which is she?" said the officer, as his men removed the fetters from the poet and fastened his wrists with a cord.

Ramatoa at once rose up. "I am ready," she said, calmly. "Now, Ra-Ruth, the Master calls me. Fear not what man can do unto thee."

"Oh! no, no! do not go yet," exclaimed Ra-Ruth in an agony of grief, as she clung to her friend. "The good Lord cannot mean this—oh! take me! take me! and let her stay!"

The sentence ended in a low wail, for at the moment two soldiers forced the girls asunder, and Ra-Ruth sank upon the floor, while Ramatoa was led away.

Poor Laihova had watched every movement of Ra-Ruth. It was, no doubt, the fiercest part of the fiery trial he had to undergo; and when the soldier grasped her arms to tear her from her friend he could restrain himself no longer. He sprang up and made a wild leap towards her, but the chain arrested him effectually, and three bayonets were quickly pointed at his breast. His head fell forward, and he sank down like one who had been shot.

Meanwhile Hater of Lies selected Ra-Ruth and twelve others from the group of prisoners, but only the three whom we have mentioned are known to the reader. They were led into an outer room, where they were further pinioned. Some of them had their feet and hands tied together, so that, by thrusting a pole between the legs and arms of each, they could be suspended and carried by two men. Others were allowed to walk to the place of execution. The rage of Ranavalona, however, was so great on finding that the Christians would not submit to her that she had given orders to the soldiers to torture the martyrs with their spears as they marched along the road. This was done to all except Ramatoa and Ra-Ruth, as the blood-stained road bore witness. The comfort of being together was not allowed to the two ladies. They were placed in different parts of the procession.

Mats were thrust into the mouths of the suspended victims to prevent them from speaking, but some of them managed to free their mouths and prayed aloud, while others sang hymns or addressed the crowd. Thus they passed along the road that led to the Place of Hurling Down.

This was a tremendous precipice of granite, 150 feet high. Thither the multitude streamed—some influenced by hatred of the Christians, some by deep sympathy with them, but the majority, doubtless, prompted by mere excitement and curiosity. And there they crowded as near as they dared venture to the edge of the precipice and gazed into the awful gulf.

Slowly the procession moved, as if to prolong the agony of the martyrs. Suddenly a young man pushed through the crowd, advanced to the side of Ramatoa, and grasped one of her hands, exclaiming in a loud voice, "Dearest! I will go with you and stay by you to the end."

For a moment the calm serenity that had settled on the girl's fine countenance was disturbed.

"Mamba!" she said, "this is not wise. You cannot save me. It is God's will that I should now glorify the dear name of Jesus by laying down my life. But you are not yet condemned, and your mother needs your help."

"Full well do I know that," returned the youth, fervently. "Were it not for my dear mother's love and claim on me, I would now have gone with you to heaven. As it is, I will stay by you, dear one, to the end."

"Thank you, dear friend," returned the girl, earnestly. "I think it will not be long till we meet where there are no more sufferings or tears."

Soon the procession reached the brow of the terrible cliff. Here the martyrs were ranged in such a way that, while they were cast over one by one, the rest could see their companions fall.

The first to perish was the poet Razafil. After the Queen's messenger had pronounced the sentence of each, the poor man was seized and thrown violently on the ground. A rope was then fastened round his waist, and he was asked if he would cease to pray in the name of Jesus.

"Cease to pray to Jesus!" he exclaimed, while the fire of enthusiasm gleamed in his eyes—"to Jesus who saved my Raniva, and who holds out His blessed hands to me—even me—to take me to Himself? Never!"

Razafil was instantly slung over the precipice, and held suspended there in the hope that the awful nature of his impending fate might cause his courage to fail, while the executioner knelt, knife in hand, ready to cut the rope.

"Once more, and for the last time," said the officer in command, "will you cease to pray?"

The answer was an emphatic "No!"

Next moment Razafil went shooting down headlong into the abyss. There was a projecting ledge of rock about fifty feet down the precipice. On this the body of the martyr struck, and, bounding off into space, reached the bottom with incredible violence, a shattered and mangled heap.

With trembling hearts and straining gaze the other victims watched the descent. It seemed to be more than human nature could endure to voluntarily face such a fate when a word would deliver them. So thought many of the spectators, and they were right; mere human nature could not have endured it, but these Christians were strengthened in a way that the ungodly will neither believe nor understand. One by one they were led to the edge of the cliff, suspended over the edge, and had the testing-question put to them, and, one by one, the answer was a decisive "No!"

But where was the tyrant Queen while this scene of butchery was being enacted? In her chamber in the palace—comparatively, yet not altogether, regardless of the matter.

Her son Rakota stood beside her. Our friend the Secretary stood at the door.

"Mother," said the Prince, quietly, "they are being hurled down now—and little Ra-Ruth is among them."

The Queen looked up, startled. "No, no!" she said, hesitatingly. "Ra-Ruth must not—but—but—I must not seem to my people to be weak— yet I would save her."

Rakota gave a gentle nod to the Secretary, who instantly vanished. He reached the place of execution only just in time. The rope was already round the girl's slender waist, and the testing-question had been put— but her timidity had flown, and was replaced by a calm, almost angelic, expression, as she gazed up to Heaven, clasped her hands, and, with a flush of enthusiasm, exclaimed—

"No—Jesus—no, I will never cease to worship Thee!"

A murmur of mingled surprise and pity broke from the crowd. At that moment the Secretary came forward.

"The Queen," he said, "has sent me to ask you, Ra-Ruth, whether you will not worship our gods and save your life."

"No," answered the girl, firmly. "I have been weak—a coward—but now God has sent me strength by His own Holy Spirit, and my fixed determination is to go this day with my dear brothers and sisters to Heaven."

"You are a fool! You are mad!" exclaimed an officer standing by, as he struck her on the head.

"Yes, she is mad," said the Secretary to the officer in command. "Send a messenger to tell the Queen that Ra-Ruth has lost her reason. Meanwhile, let her be taken away and guarded well till the Queen's pleasure regarding her is known."

But although this poor girl was thus snatched from death at the last moment, no mercy was extended to the others. All were thrown over the cliff and dashed to pieces at that time except Ramatoa. When the question was put to her, last of all, she, as might have been expected, was not less firm in her reply than her companions; but, instead of being thrown over, she was informed that as it was not allowable to shed the blood of one of noble birth she was to be burnt alive!

At this dreadful announcement she turned paler than before, but did not flinch. At the same moment poor Mamba lost control of himself. He sprang to her side, put an arm round her waist, and shouted—

"This shall not be! I, too, am a praying man. Ye shall not touch her!"

He glared fiercely round, and, for a moment, the soldiers did not dare to approach him, although he was totally unarmed. But they sprang on him from behind, and he was quickly overpowered by numbers. At the command of their officer, they tore him from Ramatoa, carried him to the cliff, and hurled him over. His head struck the ledge, and his brains were dashed out there. Next moment he lay dead among the rocks at the bottom.

This awful sight Ramatoa was spared, for, at the same instant, they had dragged her away to the spot where a pile of wood had been prepared for herself. Four stakes were fixed in the midst of the pile, as three other Christian nobles were to be burnt along with her, one of whom was a lady. While Ramatoa watched the preparations for her death, her fellow-sufferers arrived—singing, as they walked, a hymn which begins with, "When our hearts are troubled," and ends with, "Then remember us." Ramatoa raised her voice and joined them. There was no wavering or shrinking from the fiery ordeal. When all was ready the martyrs quietly suffered themselves to be bound to the stakes, and, strange to say, when the flames roared around them, the song of praise still went on, and the voices of praise and prayer did not cease until they had culminated in glad shouts of praise and victory before the throne of God!

We write facts just now, reader, not fiction! Men talk of the cruelty of devils! Assuredly there is not a devil in or out of hell who can sink to lower depths of cruelty than fallen man will sink to when left to the unrestrained influence of that hateful thing—sin—from which Jesus Christ came to deliver us, blessed be His name!

It is said that while these four martyrs were being fastened to the stakes, an immense triple-arched rainbow stretched across the heavens, one end of which appeared to rest upon them, and that rain fell in torrents. This so terrified many of the spectators, that they fled in consternation from the scene.

But the cup of iniquity was not yet filled up. While the martyrs were still in the fire, and praying, "O Lord, receive our spirits, and lay not this sin to their charge," a shouting yelling band arrived, dragging after them the corpses of the men and women who had perished at the Place of Hurling Down. These were tossed upon the pile to serve as fuel to the fire. The poor unrecognisable remains of Mamba were among them; and thus, even in their death, he and Ramatoa were not divided!

At this time of terrible suffering and trial—as in the previous persecutions during the reign of this tyrant queen—hundreds of Christians willingly submitted to the loss of position, wealth, and liberty for the sake of Jesus, besides those who witnessed a good confession, and sealed their testimony with their blood. Thirty-seven native preachers, with their wives and families, were consigned to a life of slavery. More than a hundred men and women were flogged and sentenced to work in chains during their lives. Some were heavily fined, and many among the "great and noble" were stripped of honours and titles, reduced to the ranks, and forced to labour at the hardest and most menial occupation.

Among these last was Prince Ramonja, who had been the means of sheltering, secreting, and saving many Christians. Fortunately Prince Rakota retained his influence over his mother, and his power to do good—a circumstance for which our three adventurers had ultimately reason to thank God, though, for a considerable time after that, they remained in prison, in company with their friends Ravonino, Voalavo, Laihova, and others.

These last were not delivered from their chains, but lived in hourly expectation of being led out to execution. After Ra-Ruth's removal, Laihova was at first overwhelmed with despair, but when a friendly jailor informed him of her having been spared under the supposition that she was insane, hope revived a little, though he could not help seeing that the prospect ahead was still very black.

Another prisoner who was inconsolable was poor Reni-Mamba. From the time that she was told of her son's fate she seemed to sink into a state of quiet imbecility, from which no efforts of her friends could rouse her. She did not murmur or complain. She simply sat silent and callous to everything around her. She, Rafaravavy, Sarah, and the other females, were removed to another prison, and for a long time their male friends could learn nothing as to their fate.

"It is this prolonged uncertainty that's so hard to bear," remarked Ravonino to Mark one day, lifting his hands high above his head, and letting them fall, with the clanking chains, into his lap.

"True, true," replied the youth, shortly—for confinement was beginning to tell unfavourably on himself.

"Das w'ere it is," remarked Ebony, endeavouring to brighten up a little, but with only moderate success, "it's sottin still an' doin' nuffin dat kills. What you tink, 'Ockins?"

"Ay, ay," assented the seaman; and as for a long time nothing more than "ay, ay," had been got out of Hockins, Ebony relapsed into silence.

Things had reached this lugubrious pass when an event occurred which materially affected the condition of the prisoners, and considerably altered the history of Madagascar.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THREATENED DEATH AVERTED—BURIED ALIVE—END OF THE TYRANT QUEEN—REVOLT CRUSHED AND RADAMA THE SECOND CROWNED.

One morning, shortly after sunrise, Mark was awakened by the entrance of their jailor. By that time he had grown so accustomed to clanking chains, shooting bolts, and such-like sounds, that he looked up sleepily and without much interest, but a thrill or qualm passed through him when he observed that the jailor was followed by Hater of Lies with his silver spear.

Still more were he and his awakened comrades horrified when the names of Ravoninohitriniony and Voalavo were sternly called out. Both men promptly stood up.

"At last!" said the former, quietly, and without a trace of excitement. "Well, I am glad, for it is the Lord's will. Farewell, my friends," he added, looking back as he was led away, "we shall all meet again in great joy—farewell!"

Evidently Voalavo did not take things so quietly. His lips were firmly compressed, his face was deeply flushed, and his brows were sternly contracted, as they led him out. But for his chains the chief would certainly have given his jailors some trouble.

The whole thing passed so quickly that it seemed to those left behind like a dream when they found themselves alone. Ebony sat down, put his face on his knees, and fairly burst into tears.

"Oh! Lord," he sobbed, "send 'em quick for me, an' let's hab it ober!"

It seemed as if the poor fellow's prayer was about to be answered, for again the door opened, and the Secretary entered.

"Be not afraid," he said, observing their alarm, "I come not to summon you to death, but to ask you, doctor, to come and see the Queen—she is ill."

"Oh! massa, pison her! Do, massa! Nobody would call it murder," said the negro, with fervent entreaty.

Paying no attention to this advice, Mark followed the Secretary, and the bolts were again drawn on his friends.

He found Ranavalona suffering severely. Indeed, for some time previous to that her health had been failing, and she would gladly have had the advice of her Court Physician, but seemed to be ashamed to send for him after the way she had caused him to be treated. There is this to be said for her, that she would probably have liberated him long ago, but for the advice of her minister, Rainiharo, who was jealous of the young Englishman's growing popularity as well as a hater of his religion.

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

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

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

"No, it was given by Rainiharo, who takes advantage of his position and the Queen's illness."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come, I am with you heart and soul!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We may be too late!" gasped Mark.

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

"It's Voalavo," cried Hockins, and rushed to the rescue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not while we have arms," growled Voalavo.

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

"Is we a-goin' to fight, massa?" asked the negro, hopefully.

"Of coorse we are," said Hockins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Safe? free?" repeated the Secretary, in surprise.

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

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

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

At all events, whatever the cause, Ranavalona the First sank rapidly, and, on the 15th of August, 1861, after a reign of thirty-three years, the Tyrant Queen of Madagascar passed away to the tribunal of the King of Kings.

Her son, Prince Rakota, was her successor; but his succession was not to be unopposed. He had a rival claimant to the throne in his own cousin Rambosalama, an able, wary, and unscrupulous man, who, on perceiving that the end was approaching, had laid his plans secretly and extensively for seizing the reins of government. Prince Rakota, however, was so much beloved that all his cousin's plans were revealed to him by his friends, but the disposition of the prince was too humane to permit of his adopting the usual savage means to foil his foe.

"All has been told to me," he said to the Secretary. "My cousin has gained many to his side—especially of those who hate the Christians. He has even hired men to kill me! I know it, because one of the assassins came last night and warned me. At the same time he confessed that he had intended to commit the crime."

"But have you not taken steps to thwart your cousin!"

"I have. For some time past every allowable measure for our protection has been taken, but the religion of Jesus, as you know, forbids me to resort to poison, the chain, or the spear. My reign shall not begin with bloodshed if I can help it. You know that my good friend the Commander-in-Chief of the troops, Rainiharo's son, is on our side. Finding that my cousin went about armed, he recently issued an order that no one should be allowed to carry arms in the palace. As I myself bowed to this order, and submitted to be searched, of course Rambosalama had no excuse for refusing. Then, as a precaution, we have concealed from all except sure friends the orders which, from day to day, have regulated the movements of the troops. I have met daily in council those on whom I can depend, and our course of action is all arranged. Only one point remains unsettled, and it is that which I ask you to undertake—for your will is resolute."

"Whatever my Prince requires of me shall be done—if it be not against the laws of my God," said the Secretary.

Rakota looked pleased with the reply. "I want you," he said, "to stand in the passage here, till Rambosalama appears. He is sure to pass, being now in the death-chamber, to which I return speedily. His followers will be in force in the palace-yard—I hear the multitudes assembling even now. When he passes this way it will be to give the signal of revolt. You will stop him. If he resists, use force—you are strong! You understand?"

The Secretary looked intelligent, and bowed as the Prince rose and left him. Then he hastily sought for and found his friend Ebony, with whom he had struck up a sort of happy-go-lucky friendship.

Meanwhile the multitudes, who had heard early in the morning that the Queen was dying, had crowded every street that led to the palace. Some had even pressed into the courts in their anxiety to know the truth. Laxity seemed to prevail among the guards, for many people who carried weapons ill-concealed in their lambas, and whose looks as well as movements were suspicious, were allowed to enter. These were the partisans of Rambosalama. Indeed it is probable that even among the guards themselves there were adherents of the Pretender.

But the faithful Commander-in-Chief was on the alert, and had laid his plans. He stood in the chamber of death where the mourners were weeping. He watched with keen eye the movements of Rambosalama, and when that Prince left the room for the purpose of giving the signal to his followers, he slipped quietly out and gave his counter-signal, which was the waving of a scarf from a window. Instantly a trumpet sounded, and more than a thousand trusty soldiers who had been in waiting marched into the palace courts.

Hearing the trumpet, the Pretender hastened along the passage that led to the court. At the end of it a door opened, and the Secretary, stepping out, confronted him.

"Well met, Rambosalama," he said, taking his arm in a friendly but firm way, "I have somewhat to say to you."

"Not now, not now!" exclaimed the other, hastily. "I am wanted outside! Another time—"

"No time like the present," interrupted the Secretary, tightening his grasp, "come this way."

Rambosalama taking alarm, tried to wrench himself free, but the Secretary was strong. At the same moment a powerful black hand grasped the nape of his neck.

"Come now, sar, you go 'long quiet an' comf'r'able an' nobody hurt you. Dis way. Das a sweet little chamber for de naughty boys."

With a force that there was no resisting Ebony pushed the prince into a small room with a very small window. The door was shut, the key turned, and the danger was past!

Immediately afterwards the Commander-in-Chief appeared on the balcony of the palace, announced the Queen's death to the multitude, and, amid demonstrations of wildest joy, alike from soldiers and people, proclaimed Rakota King of Madagascar, under the title of Radama the Second.

In the afternoon of the same day the King presented himself to the people, arrayed in royal robes, with a crown on his head, and surrounded by his chief nobles.

So overjoyed were the people at the blessed change from the tyranny of a cruel woman to the sway of a gentle prince, that it was some time before they could be quieted. When silence was obtained, the King, in a few and simple words, assured his subjects that his great desire was, and his aim would be, to devote himself to their welfare, and that of the country over which he had been called to reign.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE LAST.

The vigour with which Prince Rakota put down the attempt at usurpation was followed by characteristic deeds of leniency and kindness. Instead of taking the usual method of savage and semi-civilised rulers to crush rebellion, he merely banished Rambosalama from the capital, and confined him in a residence of his own in the country; but no fetters were put on his limbs, and his wealth was not forfeited, nor was he forbidden to communicate with his friends.

Moreover, before the sun of that day in 1861 had set, the new King caused it to be proclaimed far and wide that all his subjects might depend upon receiving equal protection; that every man was free to worship God according to the dictates of his own conscience; that the prison-doors should be thrown open to those who had been condemned for conscience sake, and their fetters knocked off. He also sent officers to announce to those who had been banished to the pestilential districts that the day of deliverance had come.

To many of these last, of course, the good news came too late for this life. Disease, and hard labour and cruel fetters, had done their work; but the deliverance that came to these was grander and more glorious than the mere removal of earthly chains and pains.

It was a glad day for Madagascar, and the people of the capital were wild with joy, for condemned ones who had long been given up as lost, because enslaved or imprisoned for life, were suddenly restored to family and friends, while others could entertain the hope that those who had been long banished would speedily return to them. Many a house in the city resounded that day with hymns of praise and thanksgiving that the tyrant Queen was dead, and that the gentle Prince was crowned.

But the change did not bring equal joy to all. Some there were whose smitten hearts could not recover from the crushing blows they had sustained when the news of loved ones having perished in exile had been brought to them—though even these felt an impulse of pleasure from Christian sympathy with the joy of their more fortunate friends.

Among these last was poor Reni-Mamba. She, being very meek and submissive, had tried hard to join in the prayer and praise; but her voice was choked when she attempted to speak, and it quavered sadly when she tried to sing.

"Oh! if it had only pleased God to spare thee, Mamba—thou crumb of my life!—my dear, my only son!" She broke out thus one day when the sympathetic Ra-Ruth sought to comfort her. "I was beginning to get over the loss of his father—it was so many years ago that they took him from me! and as my boy grew up, the likeness to my Andrianivo was so strong that I used to try to think it was himself; but—now—both—"

"Are with the Lord, which is far better," said Ra-Ruth, tenderly laying her hand on Reni's arm.

"You are young to give such comfort," returned Reni, with a sad smile.

"It is not I who give it, but the Lord," returned Ra-Ruth. "And you forget, mother, that I am old in experience. When I stood on the edge of the Rock of Hurling, that awful day, and saw the dear ones tossed over one by one, I think that many years passed over my head!"

"True—true," returned the other, "I am a selfish old woman—forgetting others when I think so much of myself. Come—let us go to the meeting. You know that the congregation assembles to-day for the first time after many, many, years—so many!"

"Yes, mother, I know it. Indeed I came here partly to ask you to go with me. And they say that Totosy, the great preacher, is to speak to us."

Many others besides these two wended their way to the meeting-house that day. Among them was a group in which the reader is perhaps interested. It consisted of Mark Breezy, John Hockins, Ebony Ginger, Samuel Ravoninohitriniony, Laihova, and Voalavo.

"Well now, this is the queerest go-to-meetin' that I've had to do with since I was a babby," remarked Hockins, as he looked from side to side upon the varied crowd of men and women, black, brown, and yellow, rich and poor, noble and slave, who were joyfully and noisily thronging to the house of God!

"Das true,—an' look dar!" said Ebony, pointing to a young woman who was standing as if thunder-struck before a worn-out, feeble, white-haired man in tattered garments, with a heavy iron collar on his neck.

Recovering from her surprise, the young woman uttered the word "Father" with a wild shriek, and rushed into the old man's arms.

"Easy to see that he is a banished one returned unexpectedly," observed Mark, as the young woman, after the first wild embrace, seized the old man's arm and hurried him towards the meeting-house, while tears of joy streamed from her eyes.

And this was not the only case they witnessed, for constantly, during the days that followed the accession of Radama the Second, exiles were hastening home,—men and women in rags, worn and wasted with want and suffering—reappearing in the city to the astonishment and joy of friends who had supposed them long since dead. Yes, the long-desired jubilee had come at last, and not only was there great rejoicing over those lost and found ones, but also over many who, through the power of sympathy, were brought at that time to the Saviour and repentance.

Referring to that period, one of those returned exiles writes thus:—

"On Thursday, 29th August 1861, we that were in concealment appeared. Then all the people were astonished when they saw us, that we were alive and not yet buried or eaten by the dogs. And there were a great many people desiring to see us, for they considered us as dead, and this is what astonished them. On the 9th of September, those that were in fetters came to Antananarivo, but they could not walk on account of the weight of the heavy fetters and their weak and feeble bodies."

It was a strange gathering, and there were many surprises in the church that day, and some strange music too, besides that of psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, for, during the service, several exiles who had just arrived, hearing what was going on, had hastened to the scene of reunion without waiting to have their fetters filed off, and entered the house in clanking chains.

The preacher's duty was one of unusual difficulty, for, besides these peculiar interruptions and the exclamations of surprised friends, the sympathy of his own heart nearly choked his utterance more than once. But Totosy was equal to the occasion. His heart was on fire, his lips were eloquent, and the occasion was one of a thousand, never to be forgotten. Despite difficulties, he held his audience spell-bound while he discoursed of the "wonderful words of God" and the shower of blessing which had begun to fall.

Suddenly, during a momentary pause in the discourse, the clanking of a very heavy chain was heard, and a man was seen to make his way through the crowd. Like Saul, head and shoulders above his fellows, gaunt, worn, and ragged, he had been standing near the door, not listening, apparently, to the preacher, but intent on scanning the faces of the congregation. Discovering at length what he looked for, he forced his way to the side of Reni-mamba, sank at her feet, and with a profound sigh—almost a groan—laid his head upon her lap!

Mamba, grown to a giant, seemed to have come back to her. But it was not her son. It was Andrianivo, her long-lost husband! For one moment poor Reni seemed terrified and bewildered, then she suddenly grasped the man's prematurely grey head in both hands and covered the face with passionate kisses, uttering every now and then a shriek by way of relieving her feelings.

Great though the preacher's power was in overcoming the difficulties of his position, Reni-Mamba's meek spirit, when thus roused, was too much for him. He was obliged to stop. At the same moment the gaunt giant arose, gathered up Reni in his great arms as if she had been a mere baby, and, without a word, stalked out of the meeting to the music of his clanking chains. A Malagasy cheer burst from the sympathetic people.

"Praise the Lord! Let us sing!" shouted the wise Totosy, and in a few seconds the congregation was letting off its surplus steam in tremendous and jubilant song, to the ineffable joy of Ebony, who must have burst out in some other way had not this safety-valve been provided.

But there were more surprises in store for that singular meeting. After the sermon the preacher announced that two marriages were about to be solemnised by him in the simplest manner possible. "My friends," he said, "one of the bridegrooms is only half a Malagasy, the other half of him is English. He objects to ceremony, and his friend, the other man to be married, objects to everything that he objects to, and agrees to everything that he agrees to, which is a very satisfactory state of mind in a friend; so they are to be married together."

Immediately after this speech Ravonino led forward Rafaravavy, and Laihova advanced with Ra-Ruth, and these two couples were then and there united in matrimony. Radama the Second, and Prince Ramonja, who had been recalled and reinstated with the Secretary, and Soa, and other courtiers, graced the wedding with their presence.

From this time, Radama the Second—or Rakota, as we still prefer to call him—began systematically to undo the mischief which his wicked mother had done. He began to build a college; he re-opened the schools throughout the country which had been closed in the previous reign, and acted on principles of civil and religions liberty and universal free trade, while the London Missionary Society—which had sent out the first Protestant Missionaries in 1818-20—were invited to resume their beneficent labours in the island—an invitation which, of course, they gladly accepted, and at once despatched the veteran Mr Ellis, and other missionaries, to the re-opened field. See Note 1.

But all this, and much more historical matter of great interest, we must leave untouched, in order that we may wind up the record of our heroes' fortunes, or misfortunes; as the reader pleases to consider them.

The events which we have described occurred in such rapid succession that our trio—Mark, Hockins, and Ebony—had scarce found breathing-time to consider what they should do, now that they were free to do as they pleased.

"Go home, ob course," said Ebony, when the question was mooted. "Ain't my black darlin' awaitin' ob me dar?"

"I incline to the same course," said Mark, "for my—well, I won't say who, is awaiting me there also."

"Unless she's falled in lub wid some one else, tinkin' you was dead, massa, you know," suggested Ebony.

"Ditto, says I," answered Hockins, when appealed to, "for, to the best o' my belief, my old ooman is awaitin' for me, too, over there—he pointed to England with the stem of his pipe—to say nothin' o' three thumpin' boys an' a gal—also an old gran'-mother an' a maiden aunt, etceterer—all awaitin' with great patience, I have no manner o' doubt."

"But how's we to git dar? Das de question; as Hamblit said to his moder's ghost."

The question was answered sooner than they expected, for while they were yet speaking, a summons came from the King commanding the immediate attendance of the Court Physician. The object was to offer Mark his appointment permanently, but Mark respectfully, yet firmly, declined the honour.

"I feared that," said the King, "for I doubt not that you has friends in your native home which draws you. Well, you wishes to go. I say, 'Go with my good-will.' There is Breetish ship loading at Tamatave now. If you and you's friends mus' go, there be your chance, and I will send you to Tamatave in palanquins. We all very sorry you go, for you was useful to us, and you was be kind—to my mother!"

Of course Mark gladly availed himself of the opportunity, thankfully accepted the king's offer, and went off to inform his comrades and make preparation.

It was a sad occasion when they met in the house of their old guide Ravonino, to spend the last evening with him and Rafaravavy, and Laihova, and Ra-Ruth, Reni-Mamba and her husband, Voalavo, Soa, Totosy, the Secretary, and other friends, but it was also a time of pleasant communing about days that seemed so long past, although so recent. They also communed of days to come, and especially of that great day of reunion in the Better Land. And intensely earnest was the final prayer of the native pastor Totosy, as he commended his friends to the loving care of God.

Next day they set sail for the seaport town of Tamatave.

And here we might appropriately terminate our narrative, for the bright days that had begun to dawn on Madagascar have never since been darkened by persecution—though they have not been altogether cloudless or free from the curse of war; for, with its enormous capacities and important position, the island has long been a morsel, coveted by some of what men style the "Great Powers."

But we may not close our tale without at least touching on one dark spot, the contemplation of which cannot fail to grieve the heart of every sincere Christian. Rakota, the gentle, humane, courageous Prince, who had always favoured, and suffered hardship for, the cause of Christ, who had shielded and saved many of the Christians at the risk of his own life, and seemed to be—indeed was—a very pillar in the infant church, Rakota fell into gross sin and ultimately perished by the assassin's hand.

We have no right to judge him. Only this we know, that "the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin;" and if his life and death throw light upon any passage of Scripture, they seem to bring out in strong relief the words, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall."

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It was a bright breezy morning when our three heroes stood on the deck of a homeward-bound vessel and gazed wistfully over the taffrail at the fast-receding shore. When the island sank like a little cloud into the horizon and disappeared, Mark and Ebony turned their eager eyes in the direction of old England, as if they half expected that celebrated isle of the west to appear! Possibly the one was thinking of a fair one with golden hair and blue eyes and a rosebud mouth. It is not improbable that the other was engaged in mental contemplation of a dark one with "a flat nose, and a coal-scuttle mout', an' such eyes!" As for Hockins, he stood with his sea-legs wide apart, his hands in his breeches pockets, and his eyes frowning severely at the deck. Evidently his thoughts, whether of past, present, or future, were too deep for utterance, for, like his comrades, he maintained unbroken silence.

Leaving them thus in pensive meditation, we regretfully bid them—and our readers—farewell!

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Note 1. Those who wish for fuller information will find it in such works as Madagascar and its People, by James Sibree, Junior; Madagascar, its Missions and its Martyrs; The History of Madagascar, etcetera, by Reverend William Ellis; Madagascar of To-day, (a threepenny volume), by G.A. Shaw, FZS, etcetera.

THE END.