The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar. Robert Michael Ballantyne
would be like rushing into the very jaws of the lion from which they were fleeing, they soon dismissed the idea as untenable.
“Now then, the question is, sir, Wot are we a-goin’ for to do?” said Hockins.
“Ay, dat’s de question,” added Ebony with much force, and more than Shakespearean brevity.
“Well now, lads,” said Mark, “I’ve been thinking over that, and it seems to me that there’s not much to choose between. Unfortunately, I know uncommonly little about this island—not that my geographical education has been neglected, but the class-books I have used did not give much information about Madagascar. I know, however, that the Mozambique Channel, which divides us from Africa, is a little too wide to swim. I also know that there is a capital somewhere near the middle of the island, the name of which begins with an ‘Ant,’ and ends with a ‘rivo.’ There are some syllables between, I believe, but how many, is more than I can tell. There’s a government in it, however, and a queen, and some Christian missionaries. Now, it strikes me that where there’s a government, a queen, and Christian missionaries, there must be more or less of civilisation and safety, so I would advise that we make straight for the capital.”
“Right you are, sir,” said Hockins. “As I know nothin’ whotsomever about the place, I’ll take my sailin’ orders from you, captain, an’ steer a straight course for Anty—whatever-she-is—arivo, where I hope we’ll arrive O!—‘all alive O!’ in the course o’ time. What say you, Ebony?”
“I’s agreeable; don’t care much for nuffin’ when it don’t trouble me. But I’s gettin’ awful hungry, an’ I don’t see nuffin’ to eat in dis yer forest—not even fruit—dough it’s pritty enough to look at.”
The scenery through which they were passing at the time was indeed more than pretty. It was gorgeous, and would certainly have claimed more attention from the travellers had they been less anxious to advance, and, perhaps, less hungry.
By that time—near mid-day—they had got through the densest part of the woods, and were come to a part where occasional openings in the foliage lighted them up. They had also discovered a narrow track or footpath, which they gladly followed; for although by so doing they ran the risk of coming suddenly upon natives, who might be foes just as well as friends, the comparative ease of travelling was too great to be neglected. This path struck over hill and down dale in a somewhat dogged and straightforward manner, scorning to go round hillocks, save when too precipitous for unwinged animals. At times it wound in and out among trees of great beauty and variety, and of tropical aspect. Elsewhere it plunged into denser stretches of forest, where the profusion of vegetable life was extraordinary—here, a dense undergrowth of shrubs, tree-ferns, and dwarf-palms; there, trees of higher growth, and, shooting high above them all, the slender trunks of many varieties of palms, whose graceful crowns and feathery leaves were pictured vividly on the blue sky. Elsewhere, innumerable creeping plants interlaced the branches, producing a wild and beautiful net-work, their tendrils crossing in all directions, and producing a green twilight in places. The whole was enriched by orchids, the abundant pink and white wax-like flowers of which contrasted well with other wild-flowers innumerable, and with many large and gorgeous flowering trees.
Different species of bamboos gave quite a peculiar aspect to the scenery in some places, and still greater variety was secured by long pendant masses of feathery grey moss and lichens. Some of the trees were of enormous height; one palm, with a straight stem, in particular, being estimated as not less than a hundred feet high to the spot where the leaves sprouted.
“’Tis a perfect paradise!” exclaimed Mark, stopping suddenly and looking around with admiration.
“Yes, massa,” murmured Ebony, with solemn looks, “if dere was on’y a few wegibles—cooked! Flowers is all bery well to look at, but we can’t heat him.”
“Well, if we can’t eat, we can, at all events, sleep,” returned Mark. “I believe it is usually thought wise in tropical countries to cease work and rest about noon, so, as I feel rather tired, I’ll have a snooze. What say you?”
No objection being made, the party again climbed into the branches of a low spreading tree, in order to avoid snakes, scorpions, or any other noxious creatures, though they knew not at the time whether such existed on the island. In less than five minutes they were sound asleep.
Awaking after about two hours’ repose, they descended, wished for something to eat, sighed, put a bold heart on it, tightened their belts to suit diminishing waists, and continued their journey.
Perseverance is sure to be rewarded. If that is not a proverb, it ought to be! At all events the perseverance of our travellers was rewarded at this time by their coming suddenly out of the woods into a wide grassy plain on which was browsing a herd of wild cattle—at least they judged them to be wild from the fact of their being discovered in such a wild place, and resolved to treat them as wild because of the “wolves” inside of them, which clamoured so wildly for food.
“Beef!” exclaimed Hockins in some excitement, as he pointed to the animal nearest to them, which happened to be a black, sleek, fat young bull, with slender limbs and fierce eyes.
“Neber mind the wegibles, massa; shot ’un!” exclaimed Ebony in an excited whisper, as he turned his glaring eyeballs on his leader.
“Hush! don’t speak,” returned Mark, drawing quietly back into cover—for the animal had not observed them. “We must consult what is to be done, because, you know, we have lost our powder-flask, the two charges in my gun are all I have got, and these are only small shot—I have no bullets!”
Grave concern overspread the face of the sturdy seaman—blank dismay that of the sea-cook!
“Might as well blaze at the beast wi’ sand,” said Hockins.
“Or wid nuffin’,” sighed Ebony.
“Nevertheless, I will try,” said Mark, quickly. “We shall be starved to death at this rate. Yonder is a line of bushes that runs close out to the brute. I’ll stalk it. When close I will make a dash at it, get as near as I can, clap the muzzle against its ribs if possible, and—well, we shall see! You two had better stop here and look on.”
“No, massa,” said the negro, firmly, “I go wid you. If you is to die, we die togidder!”
“What are you thinking of, Hockins?” asked the youth, observing that the seaman stood staring at the ground with knitted brows, as if in deep thought.
“I’ll go with you too,” he replied, drawing his cutlass and feeling its point with his finger. “You may need help. Heave ahead, sir.”
Mark could not avoid smiling at the way in which this was said, although he was sufficiently impressed with the hopelessness, it might even be the danger, of the attempt he was about to make.
They found no difficulty in approaching to within about thirty yards of the animal, being well concealed by the line of bushes before mentioned, but beyond that point there was no cover. Here therefore Mark cocked his gun and gathered himself up for a rush, and Hockins drew his cutlass. So agile was our young doctor that he actually reduced the thirty yards to ten before the astonished bull turned to fly. Another moment and the contents of both barrels were lodged in its flank. The effect was to produce a bellow of rage, a toss-up of the hindquarters, and a wild flourish of the tail, as the animal scurried away after the rest of the herd, which was in full flight.
Poor Breezy stopped at once, with a feeling of mingled disgust and despair. Ebony also stopped, and looked with wide sympathetic eyes in his leader’s face, as though to say, “Well, massa, you’s done your best.”
But Hockins ran on with persistent vigour, although the creature was leaving him further behind at every stride.
“Absurd!” murmured Mark, as he gazed at him.
“No use wassomiver,” said Ebony.
It did indeed seem as if the seaman’s exertions would prove abortive, but something in the spirit of the wounded bull suddenly changed the aspect of affairs. Whether it was the stinging pain of the small shot in its flank, or the indignation in its breast