The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar

That night the fugitives resumed their journey and travelled till dawn, when they again found safe refuge in the house of a sympathising friend. Thus they proceeded for several days and nights with the utmost caution, for, wherever they went it was found that soldiers had been sent out in pursuit.

One night they approached a village where they knew they would be kindly received, but had scarcely reached it when they learned that a party of soldiers were searching the neighbourhood for some other woman who had recently disappeared. They were compelled, therefore, to return to the place they had left the day before. From this point they changed their intended route, partly to throw the pursuers off the scent, if possible, and partly to seek temporary refuge at the house of an old woman who was an aunt of Sarah.

“She’s a real good Christian,” said Sarah, when advising the visit, “and she fears no one but God. If they ever kill my old aunt she will die singing, or praying for her murderers.”

Sure enough, when they reached the hut of the old woman, they heard her singing hymns at the full pitch of her voice, quite regardless of the fact that she was breaking the law and that persecutors were swarming in the land.

“Shelter you!” exclaimed this old woman, when her niece had mentioned the cause of their visit, “yes, I will shelter you as long as my dear Lord gives me the power to do so.”

The need for friendly aid was great, for, even while the old woman spoke, a little girl came bounding into the hut saying that a party of soldiers were approaching.

“Run! meet them, child. Then turn and run away as if you were afraid of them. Make them chase you if you can. Run!”

The girl was intelligent. She bounded away, and the old woman, with a degree of activity that was wonderful at her age, led her visitors to the back of her house and hid them in a pit. There they had to spend that night while the aunt entertained their pursuers, but next morning, after the latter had left, their old hostess led them to a plantation close at hand, where they remained concealed for several days, not daring to move, for, at various times, they saw men who were in pursuit of them pass quite near to their hiding-place.

Here it was decided that the palanquin, or chair-bearers, should proceed no further, as they only increased the danger of discovery, and that Ravonino, Rafaravavy, and Sarah should proceed alone and on foot through the extensive forest which lay just beyond the place.

The first night all went well. The moon was clear enough to make travelling easy, and no enemies were encountered, but the next evening, a little after sunset, on gaining the crest of a hill, they met almost face to face a small band of soldiers who were travelling in the opposite direction.

To crouch behind some rocks was the work of an instant. There was no thick underwood at the spot to conceal them. As Ravonino glanced quickly round, he saw that the only hope was to turn and run. They evidently had not been perceived, but what probability was there that the two trembling girls beside him could escape by such means?

“We must fly, dear one,” he said, in desperation, putting his arm round Rafaravavy’s waist.

“I cannot run,” she said, while a look of resignation settled on her face. “Go, you may escape, perhaps, if the Lord will, and bring us help. Leave us, we are ready to die.”

“Leave you, Rafaravavy!” exclaimed the man, with a look almost of triumph. “No—not until my God commands. May He help us now!”

While he spoke he observed a patch of rushes growing at the side of the path. As a last resource he ran in among them, leading or rather dragging the two girls. To their joy they found that the rushes grew in a pool of water. It was very shallow, but by lying down and sinking themselves into the mud of the deepest part they managed to cover themselves completely, except their heads, which the rushes effectually concealed.

A few minutes later and the soldiers, reaching the crest of the hill, halted to look round and chat. If it had been broad day at the time the fugitives must undoubtedly have been observed, but it was growing dark. For a few terrible minutes the men conversed—always on the same theme—the capture and death of Rafaravavy! Then they resumed their march and disappeared among the forest trees.

It was a deplorable plight in which the fugitives now found themselves. Soaking wet, covered with mud from their necks downwards, and without the prospect of any shelter for the coming night save that afforded by the open forest. Poor Sarah lost heart entirely for a little time and burst into tears, but Rafaravavy, putting her hand on the maid’s shoulder, said encouragingly, “‘The Lord reigneth. We will not fear what man can do unto us.’ Will you pray for us?” she added, turning to their protector.

Ravonino at once kneeled; the two girls sank down beside him, and in few but earnest, simple words he prayed for help in the all-prevailing name of Jesus.

The vigour of body which flowed from the prayer was no fanciful emotion or miraculous effect. The confidence resulting from faith in God, and the joy of soul and consequent flow of warm blood, were not less natural consequences of prayer than direct answers to it would have been. They rose from their knees refreshed, and walked on with renewed energy for a considerable time; but at last Rafaravavy was fairly overcome with fatigue, and an irresistible desire to sleep. Her maid, being of a more robust physical fibre, was not so much overcome, and declared that she could still go on easily.

Ravonino at last solved the difficulty by taking his lady-love in his strong arms. She submitted with a sleepy protest, and her little head was no sooner on the man’s shoulder than she was fast asleep.

And here again the power of joy to give strength became abundantly evident, for when he fairly had Rafaravavy in his arms, a glow of enthusiasm and thankfulness pervaded his entire being, so that he felt as if he had scarcely walked any distance at all that day! His endurance, however, was not destined to be further tested that night, for he had not gone far when he came unexpectedly on the hut of a wood-cutter, who received him hospitably, though, being taciturn, it was not easy to ascertain what were his views as to the religion for which so many people were then suffering.

Strange to say, during all this trying time, these fugitives found comfort not only from the Word of God, but from the Pilgrim’s Progress of Bunyan! This work had been translated into the Malagasy language by the English missionaries, and many passages in it were found to be singularly appropriate to and comforting in the circumstances in which the persecuted people were placed. Eight copies of the great allegory had been transcribed by the native Christians themselves for their common use. These being lent from one household to another the details of the story soon spread. Naturally those who possessed strong memories learned much of it by heart, and thus it became a book which the afflicted Christians prized next to the Bible.

Chapter Twenty Five.

The Forest Refuge—Voalavo is War-like, Ravonino Peaceful, and False Friends Dangerous

We change the scene, now, to the profoundest recesses of the tangled forest. Here, in the deep shadow cast by the over-arching trees, two native girls wandered out at an early hour one morning to converse about things that interested them deeply—if the varying aspects of their expressive faces were any index to their thoughts. One was tall, dark, majestic in mien and grave of countenance. The other was comparatively fair, of small stature, and evidently of lively yet timid disposition. Need we say that they were Ramatoa, the sister of Laihova, and Ra-Ruth, the sister of Ravonino?

“I fear they will never return to us,” said Ra-Ruth, laying her hand on her friend’s arm.

“Say not so,” replied Ramatoa, “we know not what blessings our God has in store for us. Only this we are sure of, that all things will work together for our good.”

“But the Queen is so cruel!” objected her little friend. “When her anger is roused she will do anything. Besides, has not the messenger told us that the soldiers have been sent in hundreds over the country to search for Christians, and spies are about everywhere. Laihova, too, has been separated from them, he says. Perhaps he has been caught.”

“I like not this messenger,” said the other, with a touch of sternness in her look and tone. “He seems to me like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He does not refer all things to God as ‘Our Father,’ and in his use of the Word he does not seem sincere. I trust that he is not one of the spies.”

As she spoke her companion uttered a quick exclamation. There was a rustling in the bushes, and next moment, Laihova, springing out, clasped Ra-Ruth in his arms.

“Thank God,” he said, in deep earnest tones, as he released her. “I am not too late!”

“Brother,” said Ramatoa, anxiously, laying a hand on the man’s arm, “are you alone?”

“Yes. Have not Ravoninohitriniony and Rafaravavy arrived?”

“No. And—and what of Mamba?” asked Ramatoa.

An expression of profound sadness crossed the features of Laihova. Dropping his eyes on the ground he stood silent. For a few moments his sister did not speak, but her breast heaved with suppressed emotion. At last she asked in a low voice—

“Has he been martyred?”

“No—he is not dead. But—he is condemned to slavery in chains for life.”

Terrible though this fate was, the news of it evidently conveyed a measure of relief to Ramatoa, for it assured her that her lover was at all events not dead. Where there is life there is hope!

“I fear this will kill his mother,” she said. “Poor Reni-Mamba is so full of love and gentleness, and her sorrows have been very heavy. Strange that her husband and son should share the same fate—perpetual slavery! Yet it is not perpetual. Death will set them free. Come to the cave and let us break the sad news.”

As they walked through the forest Ramatoa gave her brother a rapid outline of what had occurred since the day he left.

“They will be deeply grieved,” she said, “that our friends are not with you. We had all hoped that you would arrive together. A messenger who has just come did indeed tell us that you had been separated from them, but all supposed that you would easily overtake them.”

“True, sister, but I over-shot them. That has been the way of it,” returned Laihova, regretfully.

“Still, I feel sure that they will escape,” continued the girl, “Ravoninohitriniony has such a firm trust in God, and he is so strong and brave and wise. Besides, he has the blood of the white man in his veins—he will succeed or die!”

This compliment to her brother, whether deserved or not, had the effect of raising a flush of pleasure on Ra-Ruth’s little face.

“Many things have happened since you left us,” resumed Ramatoa. “Razafil, the poet, has come to stay with us, and Voalavo too.”

“Voalavo!” exclaimed Laihova in surprise, “is he not the chief of a tribe that does not love Jesus? And he was not a Christian when I saw him last.”

“He is a Christian now,” returned the girl, quietly, “if I may judge him by his works. He has been our main stay since you went away. Not long after you left us he came, saying that you had told him about Jesus delivering men from the power of sin, and he wanted to know about Him. You may be sure we were glad to tell him all we knew. He has never said he is a Christian, but he has stayed with us ever since, and hunted for us. He is as active as the youngest men in getting and bringing in wild fruits, and the youths are glad to have his wisdom and advice. He listens to us while we sing, and he prays in secret—I know that he does, for I have overheard him. Moreover, he has brought some of his people over to our side. He seems to be particularly fond of Reni-Mamba, and she is fond of him—for he is funny.”

“Yes; he is very funny,” responded Laihova, with profound gravity.

On reaching the cavern which we have described in a former chapter, they found that most of the men were out, and the women were busy with those culinary labours which tend to rejoice the hearts of hunters when they return home.

The chief, Voalavo, was there, however, deeply engaged in studying—yes, studying—The Pilgrim’s Progress! But he could not make much of it, his education—at the hands of Ra-Ruth—having commenced only a few weeks before. Besides teaching the chief his letters, Ra-Ruth had read to him large portions of the book, which had so fascinated him that he had applied himself to his letters with a will, and, being an able man, had begun to make rapid progress. His desire, also, to be able to read the Bible—when he began to understand what it was, and to perceive the significance of some of its soul-stirring words—stimulated his active mind to greater exertions.

The unfortunate poet, Razafil, also fell in with the wonderful allegory in that cave for the first time, and it helped in no small degree to turn his mind from brooding over the fate of his dear martyred daughter Raniva. His mind was quicker than that of the chief to perceive the grand truths which underlie the story, and he was not a little comforted. Thus these two men, so very differently constituted, sat at the feet of the fair Ra-Ruth, who being, as we have said, timid and rather distrustful of herself, was overjoyed to find that even she could help in advancing the cause of her Lord.

But it rather perplexed the little maiden when these same men, having been gifted with inquiring minds, puzzled themselves over the question why the Prince of the country in The Pilgrim’s Progress did not kill Apollyon at once and have done with him.

“Or make him good,” suggested Voalavo.

“True, that would have been better, perhaps, than killing him,” assented Razafil.

Like millions of the human race before them, the two men got out of their depth here; but unlike too many thousands of the same race, they did not permit such difficulties to interfere with their unshaken confidence in the love and wisdom of that God, who certainly “doeth all things well,” whatever we in our pride and partial ignorance may think of Him.

Voalavo’s studies on the day we write of did not however engross him so much as to prevent his starting up in great excitement when he heard the sound of Laihova’s voice. He hastened to the entrance of the cavern, and received his friend with his wonted effusive heartiness. But he was damped considerably on learning that Laihova came alone, that Mamba was enslaved, and that Ravonino and Rafaravavy were still wandering in the forest, pursued by their enemies.

“Come, my young men!” he shouted, flying into a sudden state of indignation, and clapping his hands together like a pistol-shot, “we will go and rouse our warriors. Arm, and make to the rescue! We will dethrone the Queen—this Ranavalona—usurper! Why should such a woman live on, filling the land with blood and misery!”

“My friend,” said Laihova, in a soothing tone, as he laid his hand on the chief’s shoulder, “the arms of Christians are not the arms of a soldier. We wrestle not against flesh and blood.”

“That is idle talk,” exclaimed the unpacified chief. “Did not Christian use a sword? Did not Greatheart fight Apollyon with a sword?”

“True, but these were spiritual weapons,” said Laihova. “Moreover, if you did rouse your people and march to the capital, what could you do? Your whole tribe would appear but as a handful of dust in the eyes of the Hova army.”

“I would that we were a handful of dust!” snorted the chief, “and we’d dash ourselves into the eyes of the Hova army and kill them while they wept!”

“But there is nothing to prevent us from going forth to meet our friends,” rejoined Laihova, “and we can take our spears. If they stand in need of help we may give it.”

This proposition fell in entirely with the war-like Voalavo’s views, and, a band of the young hunters and fruit-gatherers entering the cave at that moment, he urged them to make haste with their dinner and get ready for the war-path.

Ever-ready—as young blades usually are—for fighting, these youths threw down their loads quickly.

And, truly, judging from the contents of the cavern larder that day, there was no prospect of famine before the persecuted people. In one part of that larder there was abundance of beef and pork, also of game, such as guinea-fowl, pheasants, partridges, peacocks, turkeys, geese, ducks, pigeons, turtle-doves, and snipe. In another place the vegetable and fruit-gatherers had piled up little mounds of bread-fruit, pine-apples, cocoa-nuts, yams, plantains, bananas, manioc-root, melons, etcetera, much of which had been gathered from regions at a considerable distance from their place of abode. Thus they had laid up store for many days, and felt somewhat elated.

But there were two hearts there which found it impossible to rejoice, and very hard to submit to God. Reni and Ramatoa retired to a dark recess in the cave, and mingled their tears and prayers together.

“Oh! it would have been better if he had died!” sobbed Reni, “for then he would have been with Jesus; but now it is awful to think of the life-long slavery; and we shall never more see him on earth.”

“Nay, mother, do not think thus. Whatever God does must be best,” returned Ramatoa in a tremulous voice. “Let us try to say ‘Thy will be—’”

She broke down and finished the sentence with prayer for strength and for a submissive spirit.

Meanwhile the war-like expedition, on which Voalavo and his youths were only too ready to enter was rendered needless by the sudden appearance of Ravonino himself, with Rafaravavy and Sarah! After encountering innumerable hardships and dangers those three had at last arrived at their forest stronghold in safety.

“So then,” remarked Laihova to Ra-Ruth, after the first enthusiastic reception was over, “I have only over-shot them by a few hours after all!”

“We were just going to sally forth to look for you—and fight if need be,” said Voalavo.

“There was no need for that,” returned Ravonino, “the Lord was our protector.”

“Where is Reni-Mamba? Have you heard, mother, about your son?”

Reni and Ramatoa, who had pressed forward, looked surprised, for their friend did not speak like a man who had bad news to tell.

“Laihova has told me, truly,” replied Reni, still whimpering, “that my dear boy is worse than dead.”

“Not so, mother,” said Ravonino, taking the poor woman’s hand, “be of good cheer; Mamba is not dead. I know not indeed where he is at this moment, having been pressed in my own flight, but I know that the Queen has set him free—this much I learned from our white friend, Mark Breezy. More I cannot tell, but is not this cause for joy and gratitude? Come, let us return thanks to our Father.”

Most of those present were glad to give vent to their feelings in prayer and praise, though some there were who, having been led to join the band by the mere force of circumstances, had little heart in the matter. Certainly Voalavo was not among these last, for the enthusiasm which inclined him to fight with violence also induced him to pray with vigour.

When this appropriate act of worship was over, food was prepared for the wearied travellers, and in a short time the whole party was seated round the cooking-fire, illuminated by the torches on the wall, and listening eagerly to Ravonino as he recounted his adventures.

“I fear much,” he said in conclusion, “that another dark season is about to fall on us. It may be like the last—or worse.”

Ravonino here referred, (and with bated breath), to the terrible outbreak of persecution which had occurred several years previously, when, at the lowest estimate, about two thousand men and women were severely punished, and many tortured and slain, because they professed or favoured the religion of Jesus.

As, one after another, various members of the party detailed the sad sufferings or deaths of relatives and friends, the feelings of all became deeply affected with grief, those of some with a considerable dash also of indignation. Among the latter of course was Voalavo.

“Why,” he cried suddenly, giving his hands the accustomed pistol-shot clap that betrayed his inability to contain himself, “why do we suffer all this? Why not assemble the tribes, go up at once to Antananarivo, take it, cut off the Queen’s head, and put Prince Rakota on the throne?”

“Ay, why not?” demanded several of the more fiery young men.

“Because the Lord tells us to overcome evil with good,” answered Ravonino, quietly. Then, wishing to draw attention from the subject, he inquired for the messenger who had brought news of his own escape.

All looked round as if expecting the man to answer for himself, but no one replied.

Search was made, and then it was discovered that the messenger had hastily taken his departure from the place.

Chapter Twenty Six.

Doctor Breezy prescribes for the Queen, and attains to Temporary and “Perfik F’licity.”

While these events were taking place in the forest, Queen Ranavalona was keeping her Court Physician and his comrades in a state of considerable uneasiness, not only with reference to the safety of their own heads, but because of her violent edicts regarding her Christian subjects.

She renewed her commands as to the necessity of every one coming forward, on pain of instant death in the event of disobedience, and accusing themselves, with the reiterated assurance that if they failed to comply and they were afterwards accused by others they should be subjected to the ordeal of the Tangena, and slain or reduced to perpetual slavery if found guilty.

The whole city was in a panic. No one felt safe. Under the influence of fear some accused themselves, expecting, no doubt, that their punishment would be lightened. Others remained quiet, hoping that they might escape detection, while many were accused by false friends as well as by enemies, and fell victims under the poison ordeal. Others, again, stood firm, and boldly proclaimed their faith in the Lord Jesus and their readiness to die if need be for His cause.

After the accusations, trials, and investigations, sentences were read which deprived four hundred officers and nobles of their honours, and levied fines on the remainder to the number of about two thousand. One would have thought that the mere necessity for such widespread punishment would have shown the Queen how deeply the new religion had taken root, and how hopeless it was to attempt its suppression, but she did not see it in that light. On the contrary, she issued a mandate requiring all books to be delivered up to her officers, and threatening death against any who should keep back or hide even a single leaf. She also commanded her subjects never again even to “think of the Christian lessons they had learned, but to blot them from their memories for ever!”

Among those who boldly held to their opinions was the Queen’s own son Rakota, who, however, as we have seen, did not run quite so much risk as others, owing to his mother’s affection for him. The Prime Minister’s son, also, and Prince Ramonja, made no effort to conceal their opinions, though they were wise enough to refrain from exasperating the angry Queen by asserting them openly.

One morning the Prime Minister sent a message to the Court Physician, requiring his immediate attendance at the palace. Mark was seated in his own room at the time, talking with Hockins and Ebony about the gloomy state of affairs. A slight feeling of dismay fluttered the heart of each when the message came, for death-warrants were much in the air at that time.

“Oh, massa, p’r’aps dey’re a-goin’ to kill you!” was the negro’s comforting suggestion.

“More likely they want him to cure the Queen,” said Hockins.

“Couldn’t you, massa,” whispered Ebony, with a terribly solemn countenance, “mix a spoonful—a bery small spoonful—ob prussic acid, or creosote, or suffin ob dat sort, wid ’er physic?”

Mark laughed, and shook his head as he went out.

He found Rainiharo, with a tremendous frown on his face and deep lines of care on his brow, seated in front of our friend the Secretary, who had an open book on his knee. Three other officers of the palace sat beside them. These constituted a court of inquiry into the contents of the suspected books, and the Secretary, being the only literary character among them, was the appointed reader.