The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar. Robert Michael Ballantyne
and he had the narrowest possible escape from plunging headlong after the rock, which went bounding and crashing into the gulf below.
Instantly the faces of the two men gleamed with intelligence; they nodded with energy, grinned with satisfaction, and pointed to the abyss in front of them with the air of men who had no doubt that their enemies were lying down there in quivering fragments.
Something of this James Ginger did indeed manage to see. Curiosity was so powerfully developed in that sable spirit, that, at the imminent risk of his life, he reached out by means of a branch, and so elongated his black neck that he got one of his brilliant eyes to bear for a moment upon his foes. He appreciated the situation instantly, and drew back to indulge in a smothered laugh which shut up both his eyes and appeared to gash his face from ear to ear.
“What’s wrong with you, Ebony?” whispered Mark Breezy, who was in anything but a laughing mood just then.
“Oh! nuffin’, nuffin’, massa; only dem brown niggers are sitch asses dat dey b’lieve a’most anyting. Black niggers ain’t so easy putt off de scent. Dey tinks we’s tumble ober de precipis an’ busted ourselbes.”
“Lucky for us that they think so,” said Hockins, in a soft tone of satisfaction. “But now, what are we to do? It was bad enough clamberin’ up here in blazin’ excitement to save our lives, but it will be ten times worse gettin’ down again in cold blood when they’re gone.”
“Time enough to consider that when they are gone,” muttered Breezy. “Hush! Listen!”
The sounds that reached their place of concealment told clearly enough that a number of the savages had descended the cliffs, presumably to look at the place over which the white men had fallen. Then there was much eager conversation in an unknown tongue, mingled with occasional bursts of laughter—on hearing which latter the huge mouth of our negro enlarged in silent sympathy. After a while the voices were heard to retire up the narrow track and become fainter until they died away altogether, leaving no sound save the murmur of the rushing river to fill the ears of the anxious listeners who stood like three statues in a niche on the face of that mighty precipice.
“Now, you know,” said Breezy, with a sigh of relief, “this is very satisfactory as far as it goes, and we have reason to be thankful that we are neither speared nor dashed to pieces; nevertheless, we are in an uncomfortable fix here, for night is approaching, and we must retrace our steps somehow or other, unless we make up our minds to sleep standing.”
“That’s so, doctor. There’s not room to lie down here,” assented the sailor, glancing slowly round; “an’, to tell ’ee the plain truth, I feel as funky about trustin’ myself again to that serpent-like creeper as I felt the first time I went up through the lubber-hole the year I went to sea.”
“What you’s ’fraid ob, Mr ’Ockins?” asked Ebony.
“Afraid o’ the nasty thing givin’ way under my weight. If it was a good stout rope, now, I wouldn’t mind, but every crack it gave when I was comin’ aloft made my heart jump a’most out o’ my mouth.”
“What have ’ee found there, doctor?” asked the seaman, on observing that his companion was groping behind a mass of herbage at the back part of the niche in which they stood.
“There’s a big hole here, Hockins. Perhaps we may find room to stay where we are, after all, till morning. Come here, Ebony, you’ve got something of the eel about you. Try if you can wriggle in.”
The negro at once thrust his head and shoulders into the hole, but could not advance.
“Bery strange!” he said, drawing out his head, and snorting once or twice like a dog that has half-choked himself in a rabbit-hole. “Seems to me dere’s a big block o’ wood dere stoppin’ de way.”
“Strange indeed, Ebony. A block of wood could not have grown there. Are you sure it is not a big root?”
“Sartin’ sure, massa. I hab studied roots since I was a babby. Hold on, I try again.”
The negro tried again, and with such vigour that he not only displaced the block of wood, but burst in several planks which concealed the entrance to a cavern. They fell on the stone floor with a crash that aroused a multitude of echoes in the dark interior. At the same moment something like a faint shriek or wail was heard within, causing the hearts of the three listeners to beat faster.
“Did you hear that, Hockins?”
“Ay, I heard it sure enough. What is it, think ’ee, lad!” said the seaman to the negro.
Ebony, who was gazing into the dark cavern with glaring eyeballs and distended nostrils, replied—
“My advice to you is, let’s go back de way we come. Dis no place for ’spectable Christians.”
“Do you fear ghosts?” asked Mark, smiling, yet at the same time bringing his gun into a convenient position, with his finger ready on the trigger.
“I fears nuffin,” returned the negro with a proud look, while beads of perspiration stood on his brow.
“Then ye’re a braver man than I am, Ebony, for I fear that climbin’ plant worse than a ghost; so here goes to find out what it is.”
Although the sailor spoke thus boldly, and tried to look cool, it is certain that he also was afflicted with sensations of an unusual description, which, of course, he would have scorned to admit were the result of fear! His power of will, however, was stronger than his fears. Drawing his cutlass, he was about to enter the cavern, when Mark laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Come, Hockins, you have accepted my lead hitherto. It is not fair to take it out of my hands at this critical point.”
So saying he glided past his comrade, and was almost lost to sight immediately in the deep gloom.
“Softly, softly, doctor,” whispered the seaman, as he followed, “there may be holes or pits within—”
“All right; I’m feeling my way carefully. Keep close.”
As he spoke a slight, indescribable sound was heard—almost like a sigh.
“Hist! Did ’ee hear that?” said Hockins in the lowest possible whisper.
“Oh! massa, let’s go back de way we come,” urged Ebony, in the same low but earnest tone.
Mark Breezy did not reply, but the click of his gun as he cocked it showed that he was on the alert.
For nearly a minute the three men stood in absolute silence, listening for a repetition of the mysterious sound, and, though it did not recur, there was an indescribable feeling in the heart of each that they were not alone in that cavern.
“Have you not flint and steel?” asked Mark.
“Yes; but to strike a light would only show our whereabouts if there is any one here.”
The seaman accidentally touched Ebony on the elbow as he spoke, and sent that worthy’s heart, or something like it, into his throat with such violence as nearly to choke him.
“Git along, massa,” he said in a gaspy whisper, when able to articulate, “we’s got to go troo wid it now.”
Acting on this advice the young man continued to advance cautiously, feeling his way step by step and fully expecting every moment to reach the inner wall of the cavern.
Presently the explorers were again brought to a stand by the sudden appearance of a light in the far distance. As, however, it did not move, they continued to advance, and soon were convinced that it was daylight shining through an opening in that direction. Every step convinced them more and more that they were right, and their spirits rose with the hope of escaping, though the light made no appreciable difference as yet in the darkness that surrounded them.
Suddenly a sharp, loud, short cry filled the cavern for an instant, and almost froze their blood! The loudness and abrupt stoppage of the cry left the impression that the creature which uttered it had been suddenly and effectively killed, for it ended in a sharp gasp or gurgle, and then all was still,—but only for a moment,