The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar

We might pursue this subject further did time and space permit; but our objection to “skipping” is so great, that we shrink from giving the reader even a shadow of excuse for doing so. Moreover we dread the assault of the hypercritical reader, who will infallibly object that it is not “the consumption of food,” but the resulting mental effect which is the “intellectual treat.” As if we did not know that! “But,” we would retort with scorn, “can any cause be separated from its effect without bringing about, so to speak, the condition of nonentity?”

Passing to the subject which gave rise to these erratic thoughts, we have to relate that the whole party, entertainers and entertained, did ample justice to the rice, beef, chicken and marrow-bones, after which Hockins wafted the natives to the seventh heaven of delight and wonder by means of his flageolet. It was very late that night before they retired to rest. It was later still before they went to sleep.

The native village at which our travellers had arrived was a rude, poor-looking place, inhabited by a brave and war-like tribe, who depended more for defence on their personal prowess and the difficulties presented by their forests, than upon ditches or ramparts. The village was, however, surrounded by a fence of trees growing so close together that it would have been almost impossible to carry the place by assault if resolutely defended from within.

The huts were roughly constructed of bamboos plastered with clay and lined with matting,—also with the large leaves of the “traveller’s tree,” and thatched with rushes.

The chief’s hut, in which the white guests were feasted, was of course larger and somewhat better in construction than the others. Its floor, composed of hard-beaten clay, was covered with matting, clean pieces of which were spread for the visitors to squat upon, for there were no chairs, stools, or tables. In the north-west corner was the hearth—a square of between two and three feet, with a few large stones for supporting the cooking utensils, but without chimney of any kind. Smoke was allowed to find an exit as it best could by crevices in the roof and by a small window or hole in the north gable. A few cooking-pots, earthen jars, rice-baskets, some knives, a wooden chest, and several spears, completed the furniture.

Against the northern roof-post hung a small bottle-shaped basket, which contained the household sampey, or god, or charm. In Madagascar this usually consists of a meaningless stone; sometimes a chip of wood, the leaf of a tree, or a flower, and this is what the natives pray to and profess to trust in!

Our travellers found, after supper was over, that they were not to sleep in the chief’s house, for they were led to that of a head-man of the village, and told they were to rest with him. This man was old, and seemed to have no wife or family, for the only person at home at the time, besides himself, was an old woman, perhaps his sister, who looked after the household. He was a hospitable old man, however, and made them heartily welcome to their beds of matting in the north end of the hut. Unfortunately the south end of it was usually occupied by pigs and poultry. These were expelled for the occasion, but they insisted several times on returning to their own abode, being unable, apparently, to believe that their expulsion was really intended! As there were several openings in the hut, the difficulty of excluding the animals was great, for when expelled at one hole, amid remonstrative shrieks and screams, they quickly re-entered at another with defiant grunts and cacklings.

By stopping up the holes, however, the enemy was finally overcome. Then the old man, having retired to his corner, and the sister having departed, Mark Breezy, John Hockins, James Ginger, and Ravonino drew round the fire, heaped-on fresh logs, lay down at full length on their mats, and prepared to enjoy that sleepy chat which not unfrequently precedes, sometimes even postpones, repose.

“That was a curious speech that Voalavo made to the crocodile, Ravonino,” said Mark. “Do you really think he believed it did any good?”

“Yes, truly, he believed it. This is a land of charms and superstition. Voalavo is of too honest and straightforward a nature to practise what he does not believe in.”

“Does you b’lieve in charms an’ soopistition?” asked Ebony, with expectant eyes.

“What need to ax that, you stoopid nigger?” said Hockins; “don’t you know he’s a Christian?”

“Das true, ’Ockins. I hoed an’ forgot.”

“But tell me, Ravonino, are de crokindiles awrful rampageous when dey’re roused?”

“Yes, they are pretty bad,” said the guide, clearing his throat, for he was fond of expatiating on the wonders and beauties of his native land! “And although they look sluggish enough when sprawling on mud-banks, half-asleep in the sun, you would be surprised to see them go after fish, which is their principal food. Their favourite haunts are the deep rugged banks of a river or lake overhung with trees, where they can hide themselves and watch for prey. It is not only in water that they are dangerous. They fasten their teeth, if they get the chance, on any animal that comes to the river to drink. They sometimes get hold of bullocks when drinking, and often do so when the cattle are swimming across. They are unnaturally ferocious, too, for they will devour their own young.”

“Oh! de brutes!” exclaimed Ebony, poking the fire with a bit of stick savagely. “Don’t de mudders fight for de young uns?”

“Not they. The mothers lay their eggs in the sand and leave them to look after themselves. The others are sly, and—”

“Dat’s de fadders, brudders, an’ unkles ob de eggs, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. The old he-crocodiles watch where the eggs are laid, an’ when it’s about time for them to break an’ let the young ones out, these monsters go into the water at the edge and wait. When the baby-crocodiles get out of prison they make straight for the water, where the old villains are ready to receive an’ devour them. Some times the young ones are stupid when they are born, they take the wrong road and escape their relations’ teeth only to get to the rice-grounds and fall into the hands of the natives. Many of the eggs, too, are destroyed, before they are hatched, by vultures and other birds, as well as by serpents. Men also gather them by hundreds, boil them and dry them in the sun to preserve them for use or sale.”

“The miserable young things seem to have a poor chance of life then,” said Mark, sleepily.

“Das so, massa. I’d rader be a nigger dan a crokindile.”

Hockins said nothing, being sound asleep.

“What makes that rattling among the cooking-pots?” asked Mark, looking round lazily.

“Rats,” replied the guide. “Didn’t you see them running along the roof when you came in?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Look up now, then, and you’ll see them on the beams.”

Mark and Ebony both looked up, and beheld a row of rats on the beam overhead—their bead-like eyes glittering as they gazed over one side of the beam, and their long tails just showing on the other.

“Das funny,” said the negro, who was in sympathy with the whole brute creation!

Mark thought it very much the reverse of funny, but held his peace.

“Dar’s a ole grey un, massa, right ober ’Ockins’s head—a tremenjous big ’un. Don’t you see ’im wid a griggy young un beside ’im?”

Whether the griggy young one was also larky we cannot tell, but while the negro was speaking it executed a flourish (whether intentional or otherwise who can say?) which knocked the big grey rat off the beam, and caused it to fall with a heavy flop on Hockins’s face. Three others fell off in their anxiety to observe the result.

Hockins leapt up with an indignant roar, and the rats leaped among the pots and pans with a horrified squeak, while Ebony and the others looked on with excruciating enjoyment.

The scurrying of many little feet among the household implements told that the grey rat’s friends were numerous though unseen, and the angry grunting of pigs proved that other slumbers had been broken. Of course the whole party were thoroughly awakened by this incident, but they took it good-humouredly, and, after replenishing the fire, lay down again, and resolutely shut their eyes and ears.

Slumber was once more stealing over them, when a noise at the door of the hut awakened them. Next moment they started up, for two warriors of the tribe entered with a prisoner between them.

“We caught this man entering our village,” said one of the warriors, fiercely, to the guide; “we would have taken him to our chief, but he says that you are his friend—yet I think he lies.”

“He speaks the truth,” returned Ravonino, calmly. “He is my friend. Doubtless he has good reasons for coming here. Leave him with us, we will guard him till morning.”

The warriors at once released their prisoner and retired, while the man stepping forward into clearer light revealed the handsome countenance of Laihova.

“Sit down, my brother,” said Ravonino to the youth, in tones of unusual tenderness, “and let me know what brings you here so unexpectedly.”

“I come to offer my service,” replied the youth, with a modest air. “You have told me that you go to Antananarivo to rescue Rafaravavy. Your face is known to every one in the town. If you enter it, your death will be certain.”

“But I do not intend to enter it,” said Ravonino; “these my white friends will aid me.”

“The white men may be wise and brave, but they know not how to aid you, I am not so well-known in the town. I will venture into it and will show them where to go and what to do.”

The guide shook his head and was silent for some moments. He seemed uncertain how to act.

“What says Laihova?” asked Mark Breezy at this point, for the conversation having been conducted in the native tongue they as yet understood nothing.

The guide briefly explained, and then turned to the young man.

“But how can you think of leaving your friends in the cave, Laihova? They may require your strong arm; and my sister is—”

“It was my friends who advised me to leave them,” said the youth, quickly, “and Ra-Ruth bade me go. Besides, have we not entered into the Covenant of Blood?”

“Well, you may come with us. After all, Ra-Ruth is right.”

“What does he mean by the Covenant of Blood?” asked Mark when the guide explained what had just been said.

“It means that he and I are united by one of the closest ties that bind the men of this island. No doubt you will think it a strange alliance, nevertheless it is a true and a strong bond of brotherhood. It is meant to unite two people in sacred friendship, so that ever afterwards they feel bound to help and defend each other. When two persons agree to form this bond, a meeting is arranged for the performance of the ceremony and taking the vow. Some gunpowder and a ball are brought, with a little ginger, a spear, and two particular kinds of grass. A fowl is also used. Its head is nearly cut off, and it is left to bleed during the ceremony. Then a long vow of mutual friendship, assistance, and defence is pronounced. After this each man drinks a few drops of the other’s blood. To obtain it they make a small cut in the skin of the centre of the bosom, which they call ‘the mouth of the heart.’”

“And did you go through this ceremony with Laihova?” asked Mark.

“I did, many years ago, when we were little more than boys. He saved my life by jumping into a deep pool in a lake and rescuing me from the crocodiles. I had fallen in off the steep bank. I could not swim, and he could. After that we made the alliance of brotherhood. Laihova was not a Christian at that time. Since then God has made use of me to rescue him from a more awful death than that which threatened me. Laihova is grateful, and, knowing that I run much risk in going near the capital, has come, as you see, to help me.”

“Not a bad style of brotherhood that,” said Hockins, with a tremendous yawn. “Eh, Ebony? What d’ee think of you an’ me goin’ in for the same sort o’ thing?”

“P’r’aps,” answered Ebony, with a responsive yawn which threw that of Hockins quite into the shade, “p’r’aps black blood mightn’t agree wid your stummick. But I say, Massa Breezy, don’ you tink it a’most time we was goin’ to sleep?”

As the night was far spent—or, rather, the morning far advanced—by that time, the whole party willingly assented. Laihova was supplied with a separate mat, the embers of the wood-fire were drawn together, and they all lay down once more to make the most of what remained of the period of repose. But circumstances were against them.

True, being tired and healthy men, they dropped off at once with the facility of infants, and during a quarter of an hour or so, while the fire continued to emit an occasional flicker, all went well; but when the last vestige of flame died away, the rats again came out with bead-like eyes and cautious tread. Gradually they became bolder. Impunity never fails to encourage presumption. In short they soon began to hold a sort of carnival. The pots and pans became, as it were, musical, to the evident distress of the slumbering seaman—especially when the large grey rat fairly overturned a small rice-jar, which in its fall removed several props from other utensils and caused a serious clatter. Still the wearied men slept through it all, until the enemy took to scampering over their bodies. Then the enraged Ebony, being partially awakened, made a fierce grasp at one of the foe, and caught Hockins by the ear. Of course the result was a howl, and a sleepy request from Mark, to “Stop that noise!”

But even that incident failed to arouse them thoroughly, though it filled the rats with temporary horror, and caused them to flee.

The last word reminds us that there were others there that night, besides rats, to disturb the sleepers’ dreams—but we merely make a suggestive hint at that!

Soon the rats returned in greater force and more demonstrative hilarity than ever. They evidently went in for a game of hide-and-seek round and over the slumberers, causing the sleepy growls of John Hockins to resemble the fitful mutterings of distant thunder.

Thus they went on until the grey dawn of morning appeared. Then an extremely large cock, in the south-east corner of the hut, feeling that it had enjoyed a sufficiently good night’s rest, flapped its ungainly wings, stretched out its neck, and gave vent to a clarion-crow which—

“Brute!” exclaimed Hockins, not even giving us time to finish the sentence!

He said no other word, but seizing a piece of wood, sent it forth with such true and effective aim, that he cleared not only the cock, but all his wives off their perch, and sent them in cackling consternation out of the hut by the nearest hole in the wall.

After that the much-tried party slumbered in peace until the sun was high.

Chapter Nine.

A Jovial Chief, and New Experiences of Various Kinds

The friendly hospitality of the chief of this village was found to be likely to cause delay, for he would not hear of his visitors departing until they had been feasted and entertained with games and hunting.

As they were completely in his power there was nothing for it but to submit with the best grace possible, although Ravonino was naturally anxious to push on.

“You see it won’t do to look as if we were indifferent to his hospitality,” said the guide. “He would be greatly offended, for you must know that the Malagasy pride themselves on their hospitality. Come, we will go and have a look at the neighbouring woods while they are preparing breakfast for us, and I will tell you a story about the late King Radama.”

“Was that the good king you told us about who did so much for the missionaries, though he wasn’t a Christian himself?” asked Hockins, as they all passed through the enclosure of the village and entered the woods.

“Yes, the same,” replied the guide, “though whether he was a Christian or not I cannot tell. I judge no man. He made no profession of Christianity, but he was kind to the missionaries—very different from Ranavalona.”

“Das de oosurper, what you call ’er?” said Ebony.

“Just so,” returned the guide. “Well, as I was saying, our people are very hospitable. Everywhere, almost, throughout the country, when a traveller enters a village, a present is usually brought to him of rice, poultry, or fruit, or whatever they have on hand. You’ll find out that for yourselves as you go along—”

“A bery proper state ob tings,” remarked Ebony.

“And whatever house you come to,” continued Ravonino, “the owner will invite you politely to enter, and make you welcome. Of course there are greedy and surly people here and there, but these are an exception to the rule. Well, on one occasion King Radama heard of some people of that sort. You must know that our chiefs have always required that they should be entertained on the best the people could provide. It is an old custom. Well, Radama made a law that all the provisions and other kinds of property should belong to the people, but all the houses in the country should belong to the sovereign; and he ordered the inhabitants to furnish lodgings to his servants and soldiers wherever they went. In order to make sure that his orders were obeyed the King soon after went in disguise to a village some distance off, and towards evening entered a peasant’s house and asked to be taken in for the night.

“The heads of the family did not refuse, but rendered their hospitality in such a way as showed that he was not welcome. Next day he went to another house. There he was kindly welcomed, civilly treated, and the best they had in the house was set before him. In the morning when taking leave he made himself known, no less to the surprise than consternation of the family, and he left, assuring them that their hospitality should not be forgotten. The King kept his word, for he afterwards sent his officers to the village with a stern reproof to his first entertainer and a handsome present to the other.”

Just as the guide finished his anecdote a resplendent butterfly of enormous size rose from the bushes, and Mark, to whom it was quite a new specimen, bounded after it, but failed to effect a capture.

“Neber mind, massa,” said the sympathetic Ebony, “you’ll hab better luck nex’ time—p’r’aps!”

“Besides,” added the guide, “there are plenty more where that came from, for we have got into a good region for insects.”

“Seems to me,” said Hockins, “it’s a good region for everything. Look at that now,”—he pointed to an object in front of him. “I would say that was a spider if it warn’t as big as a bird, and hadn’t set up a fishin’-net for a web!”

Although not strictly correct, the seaman’s description had a foundation in truth, for some of the spiders of Madagascar are enormous, and their webs so thick that it requires a considerable effort to break them. Moreover they are said to be poisonous, and the bite of some even deadly.

The contemplation of those creatures, however, had to be cut short at that time, as they did not dare to risk keeping Voalavo waiting breakfast for them.

“We are going to stick pigs and hunt wild cattle,” said the jovial chief, with his mouth full of chicken and rice, when they arrived. “We will show the white men some fun.”

On this being translated Ebony hoped that the black man was included in the white, and Mark asked if the hunting-ground was far-off.

“A long way,” said the chief, “we shan’t reach it till night. But that’s no matter, for night is our time to hunt.”

He said this with a twinkle in his eye, for he saw well enough that his guests were impatient to be gone.

“But,” continued he, on observing that they did not seem cheered by the prospect, “our road to the hunting-plain lies on your way to Antananarivo, so you won’t lose time.”

As he spoke he opened a small box containing a brown sort of dust, of which he put as much as he possibly could between the teeth of his lower jaw and the lip.

“What in all the world is he doin’?” asked Hockins of the guide in a low tone.

“He is taking snuff.”

“I always s’posed,” remarked Ebony, “dat snuff was tooken by de nose!”

“So it is, they tell me, in England; but we have a different fashion here, as you see, and quite as foolish.”

“You don’t mean that it’s tobacco he treats in that way?” exclaimed Mark.

“Not pure tobacco, but tobacco mixed with other things—something like the cheap cigars which you English are said to smoke!” replied Ravonino with something of a humorous twinkle in his eyes. “But we don’t smoke. We only snuff. In making our snuff we first dry the tobacco leaves and grind them to powder. Then to this we add the ashes of the leaves of a sweet-smelling herb, the mixture being twice as much tobacco as ashes; a small quantity of potash or salt is added, and then it is considered fit for use.”

“Don’t your people smoke at all?” asked Hockins.

“Not much, and never tobacco—except those on the coast who have been corrupted by Europeans. Some of us used to smoke rongona, a kind of hemp. It is a powerful stimulant, and used to be taken by warriors before going out to battle, because it drove them nearly mad, and so fitted them for their bloody work. Government has lately forbidden its use—but it is still used in secret.”

“They’ve got baccy, an’ don’t smoke!” murmured Hockins to himself in a kind of meditative surprise, as though he had just been told that the natives possessed food and did not eat.

“But you don’t smoke?” remarked the guide.

“That’s ’cause I hain’t got baccy nor pipe. You give me pipe and baccy an’ I’ll smoke you into fits in no time.”

“Do you feel the want of it much?”

“Not much. At first I did, most awful, but now I’m gettin’ over it.”

The guide was silent. He might have remarked, “Yet now, if you had the chance, you would enslave yourself again!” but, not being of an argumentative turn of mind, he merely shook his head and changed the subject. It was well, for Hockins was one of those people who, “if convinced against their will, remain of the same opinion still.”

After breakfast, while the young men of the tribe armed themselves and made preparation for the expedition, Ravonino took his friends through the village, the inhabitants of which were evidently as deeply interested in seeing the white men as the latter were in seeing the brown; for each were objects of curiosity to the other.

During the stroll our friends saw the weaving of the lamba—the large plaid-like garment of hempen cloth worn extensively in the island. The looms were rude and simple, but the fabrics produced were wonderfully good in appearance and texture, some being made of a kind of coarse silk. Many of them were ornamented, and rendered very heavy with immense quantities of small leaden beads fastened to the garment either in straight or curved rows, the lead having been procured from traders at the coast, and the beads having been manufactured by themselves. These natives wore but little clothing—merely a cloth round the loins, and sometimes a jacket made of coarse material. The lamba is usually worn over the shoulders in the cool of the morning, but at the time we write of most of the men who used the garment, had bound it tightly round their waists.

Our travellers were made acquainted at this time with a game which interested them greatly—especially arousing the enthusiasm of the negro. It was a kicking game, played by some of the more active among the young men, who, having got ready for the field quickly, were waiting for their slower companions. The chief peculiarity of the game consisted in the mode of kicking, namely backwards, in the horse or donkey fashion. The guide explained that the name of the game, when literally translated, was, “striking blue with the sole of the foot!” It is a desperate game, and when played, as it frequently is, by hundreds of active and powerful young men, the results are sometimes sprained ankles, broken legs, etcetera.

“Oh! das de game for me!” cried the enthusiastic Ebony, who could hardly be restrained from joining. “De sole ob my foot’s awrful broad, an’ I could strike black as well as blue. Do let me try, massa!”

Fortunately, perhaps, for our negro, the chief came out of his hut at that moment and gave the signal for the hunters to advance, thus bringing the game and Ebony’s aspirations to an abrupt end. The young men at once fell to the rear, and the whole party sallied forth into the forest.