"You's an awrful sinner, 'Ockins!"
"True, Ebony."
"Das jist what I is too. Quite as bad as you. P'r'aps wuss!"
"I shouldn't wonder if you are," rejoined the seaman, recovering his
spirits somewhat under the stimulating influence of rice. The recovery
was not, however, sufficient to induce further conversation at the time,
for they continued after that to eat in silence.
They had scarcely finished when the jailor returned to remove the dish,
which he did without word or ceremony, and so quickly that Ebony had to
make a sudden scoop at the last mouthful; he secured it, filled his
mouth with it, and then flung the spoon at the retiring jailor.
"That was not wise," said Mark, smiling in spite of himself at the
tremendous pout of indignation on the negro's face; "the man has us in
his power, and may make us very uncomfortable if we insult him."
"Das true, massa," said Ebony, in sudden penitence, "but if dere's one
thing I can't stand, it's havin' my wittles took away afore I'm done wid
'em."
"You'll have to larn to stand it, boy," said Hockins, "else you'll have
your life took away, which'll be wuss."
The probability of this latter event occurring was so great that it
checked the rise of spirits which the rice had caused to set in.
"What d'ee think they'll do to us, sir?" asked the sailor, in a tone
which showed that he looked up to the young doctor for counsel in
difficulty. The feeling that, in virtue of his education and training,
he ought to be in some sort an example and guide to his comrades in
misfortune, did much to make Mark shake off his despondency and pluck up
heart.
"God knows, Hockins, what they will do," he said. "If they were a more
civilised people we might expect to be let off easily for so slight an
offence as rescuing a supposed criminal, but you remember that Ravonino
once said, when telling us stories round the camp-fire, that
interference with what they call the course of justice is considered a
very serious offence. Besides, the Queen being in a very bad mood just
now, and we being Christians, it is likely we shall be peculiarly
offensive to her. I fear that banishment is the least we may count on."
"It's a hard case to be punished for bein' Christians, when we hardly
deserve the name. I can't help wonderin'," said the seaman, "that Lovey
should have bolted as he did an' left us in the lurch. He might at
least have taken his risk along with us. Anyhow, he could have spoke up
for us, knowin' both lingos. Of course it was nat'ral that, poor Mamba
should look after number one, seem that he was in no way beholden to us;
but Lovey was our guide, an' pledged to stand by us."
"I can't help thinking," said Mark, "that you do injustice to Laihova.
He is not the man to forsake a comrade in distress."
"That was my own opinion," returned the sailor, "till I seed him go slap
through yon port-hole like a harlequin."
"P'r'aps he tink he kin do us more service w'en free dan as a prisoner,"
suggested Ebony.
"There's somethin' in that," returned Hockins, lifting his hand to
stroke his beard, as was his wont when thoughtful. He lifted it,
however, with some difficulty, owing to the heavy chain.
They were still engaged in conversation about their prospects when the
prison-door again opened, and two men were ushered in. Both wore white
lambas over their other garments. One was tall and very dark. The
other was comparatively slender, and not so tall as his companion. For
a moment the strangers stood contemplating the prisoners, and Mark's
attention was riveted on the smaller man, for he felt that his somewhat
light-coloured and pleasant features were not unfamiliar to him, though
he could not call to mind where or when he had seen him. Suddenly it
flashed across him that this was the very man to whose assistance he had
gone, and whose wounds he had bound up, soon after his arrival in the
island.
With a smile of recognition, Mark rose and extended his hand as far as
his chain permitted. The young native stepped forward, grasped the
hand, and pressed it warmly. Then he looked round at his tall
companion, and spoke to him in his own tongue, whereupon the tall man
advanced a step, and said in remarkably bad English--
"You save me frind life one taime ago. Ver' good--him now _you_ save."
"Thank him for that promise," said Mark, greatly relieved to find at
least one friend among the natives in his hour of need.
"But," continued the Interpreter, "you muss not nottice me frind nowhar.
Unerstand?"
"Oh yes, I think I do," returned Mark, with an intelligent look. "I
suppose he does not wish people to think that he is helping or favouring
us?"
"That's him! you's got it!" replied the Interpreter, quite pleased
apparently with his success in the use of English.
"My!" murmured Ebony to Hockins in an undertone, "if I couldn't spoke
better English dan dat I'd swaller my tongue!"
"Well--good-boy," said the Interpreter, holding out his hand, which Mark
grasped and shook smilingly, as he replied, "Thank you, I'm glad you
think I'm a good-boy."
"No, no--not that!" exclaimed the Interpreter, "good _day_, not good
_boy_; good-night, good morning! We goes out, me an' me frind. Him's
name Ravelo."
Again Ravelo shook hands with Mark, despite the rattling chain, nodded
pleasantly to him, after the English fashion, and took his departure
with his tall friend.
"Well now, I do think," remarked Hockins, when the door had closed
behind them, "that Rav--Rave-what's-his-name might have took notice of
me too as an old friend that helped to do him service."
"Hm! he seemed to forgit _me_ altogidder," remarked the negro,
pathetically. "Dere's nuffin so bad as ingratitood--'cept lockjaw: das
a little wuss."
"What d'ee mean by lockjaw bein' wuss?" demanded Hockins.
"W'y, don't you see? Ingratitood don't _feel_ `thankee,' w'ereas
lockjaw not on'y don't feel but don't even _say_ `thankee.'"
A sudden tumult outside the prison here interrupted them. Evidently a
crowd approached. In a few minutes it halted before the door, which was
flung open, and four prisoners were thrust in, followed by several
strong guards and the execrations of the crowd. The door was smartly
slammed in the faces of the yelling people, and the guards proceeded to
chain the prisoners.
They were all young men, and Mark Breezy and his friends had no doubt,
from their gentle expression and upright bearing, that they were not
criminals but condemned Christians.
Three of them were quickly chained to the wall, but the third was thrown
on his back, and a complex chain was put on his neck and limbs, in such
a way that, when drawn tight, it forced his body into a position that
must have caused him severe pain. No word or cry escaped him, however,
only an irrepressible groan when he was thrust into a corner and left in
that state of torture.
The horror of Mark and his comrades on seeing this done in cold blood
cannot be described. To hear or read of torture is bad enough, but to
see it actually applied is immeasurably worse--to note the glance of
terror and to hear the slight sound of the wrenched joints and stretched
sinews, followed by the deep groan and the upward glare of agony!
With a bursting cry of rage, Hockins, forgetting his situation, sprang
towards the torturers, was checked by his fetters, and fell with a heavy
clang and clatter on the floor. Even the cruel guards started aside in
momentary alarm, and then with a contemptuous laugh passed out.
Hockins had barely recovered his footing, and managed to restrain his
feelings a little, when the door was again opened and the Interpreter
re-entered with the jailor.
"I come--break chains," said the former.
He pointed to the chains which bound our travellers. They were quickly
removed by two under-jailors and their chief.
"Now--com vis me."
To the surprise of the Interpreter, Mark Breezy crossed his arms over
his breast, and firmly said--"No!" Swiftly understanding his motive,
our seaman and Ebony followed suit with an equally emphatic, "No!"
The Interpreter looked at them in puzzled surprise.
"See," said Mark, pointing to the tortured man in the corner, "we refuse
to move a step till that poor fellow's chains are eased off."
For a moment the Interpreter's look of surprise increased; then an
indescribable smile lit up his swarthy features as he turned to the
jailor and spoke a few words. The man went immediately to the curled-up
wretch in the corner and relaxed his chains so that he was enabled to
give vent to a great sigh of relief. Hockins and Ebony uttered sighs of
sympathy almost as loud, and Mark, turning to the Interpreter, said,
with some emotion, "Thank you! God bless you! Now we will follow."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The fetters here described may be seen in the Museum of the
London Missionary Society in Blomfield Street, London, along with an
interesting collection of Malagasy relics.