Matters had now reached a crisis. Although suffering from illness--
partly brought on, or aggravated, by her unrestrained passions--the
Queen gave orders next day for the host to turn homeward. Travelling
more rapidly than she had yet done, she soon reached the capital.
There the arrival of the captives and the news of what had occurred
prepared them for the worst. And the worst was not long of coming. The
very day following the Queen's return, a great assembly, or Kabary, of
the whole people was called. None were exempted from the meeting. High
and low, rich and poor, sick and healthy, were driven to the great place
of assembly near the palace--literally driven, for officers were sent as
usual to break into the houses of the people, when necessary, and force
them to attend. And there was no way of escape, for at the time of the
summons being sent out every outlet from the city was guarded by
soldiers, and the cannon along the heights thundered a salute by way of
striking terror into the hearts of the rebellious. Well did the poor
people know what all this foreshadowed. One who was an eye-witness of
the scene said, "there was a general howling and wailing, a rushing and
running through the streets, as if the town had been attacked by a
hostile army." At last the great square of the city was crowded, as
full as it could hold, with hundreds of thousands of people, who were
overawed by the presence of a body of troops fifteen thousand strong as
they awaited the announcement of the Queen's pleasure.
Mark Breezy was there, along with his comrades, on an elevated spot near
to the place where the Queen's messenger was to make the proclamation.
"We are utterly helpless here," said Mark in a low voice, as he gazed in
pity on the groaning and swaying multitude. "The Queen's countenance is
changed to me. I feel sure that either we have been betrayed in the
matter of Rafaravavy, or we are suspected. Indeed, if it were not that
she is ill, and needs my aid, she would certainly banish us all from her
dominions."
"I wish I was well out of 'em," growled Hockins. "The country is well
enough, no doubt, but a woman like that makes it a hell-upon-earth!"
"Has you hear, massa, whar dey hab put Ravonino an' our oder friends?"
asked Ebony.
"No, I did not dare to ask. And even if we knew we could do nothing!"
The youth spoke bitterly, for he had become so much attached to their
former guide, and the natives with whom they had sojourned and
travelled, that he would have fought for them to the death if that could
have availed them. Strong and active young men are apt to become bitter
when they find that superabundant energy and physical force are in some
circumstances utterly useless. To be compelled to stand by inactive and
see injustice done--cruelty and death dealt out, while the blood boils,
the nerves quiver, and the violated feelings revolt, is a sore trial to
manhood! And such was the position of our three adventurers at that
time.
Presently the highest civil and military officers came forth, one of
whom, in a loud sonorous voice, delivered the message of his terrible
mistress.
After a number of complimentary and adulatory phrases to the Queen
herself, and many ceremonial bowings towards the palace, as if she
actually heard him, the messenger spoke as follows--
"I announce to you, O people, that I am not a Sovereign that deceives.
I find that, in spite of my commands, many of my people revile the idols
and treat divination as a trifle, and worship the Christians' God, and
pray, and baptize, and sing--which things I abhor. They are unlawful.
I detest them, and they are not to be done, saith Ranavalo-Manjaka. I
will not suffer it. Those who dare to disobey my commands shall die.
Now, I order that all who are guilty shall come in classes according to
their offences, and accuse themselves of being baptized, of being
members of the Church, of having taught slaves to read, and that all
books shall be given up."
As on a previous occasion, many came forward at once and accused
themselves, or gave up their Bibles and Testaments; but, as before,
others concealed their treasures and held their tongue, although it was
evident that on this occasion the Queen uttered no vain threat, but was
terribly in earnest.
The proclamation ended, the people dispersed, and Mark and his friends
were returning to their quarters when they were arrested by a party of
soldiers. As usual, their first impulse was to resist violently, but
wisdom was given them in time, and they went quietly along. Of course
Mark protested vehemently both in English and in broken Malagasy, but no
attention whatever was paid to his words. They were led to a prison
which they had not before seen. As they approached the door the sound
of singing was heard. Another moment and they were thrust into the room
whence the sounds issued, and the door was locked upon them.
At first they could only see dimly, the place was so dark; but in a few
seconds, their eyes becoming accustomed to the gloom, they could see
that a number of other prisoners--both men and women--were seated round
the walls singing a hymn. When the hymn ceased an exclamation from a
familiar voice made them turn round, and there they saw their friend
Ravonino seated on the floor with his back against the wall and chained
to Laihova and to the floor. Beside him were several well-remembered
natives, and on the opposite side of the room, also chained, were the
women of the party, among whom were Ramatoa, Ra-Ruth, Rafaravavy, her
maid Sarah, and the poor mother of Mamba.
"Ravonino!" exclaimed Mark, in tones of profound sorrow, as he sat down
beside his old guide, "I little thought to find you in such a strait."
"Even so, sir," returned the man in a gentle voice, "for so it seems
good in His eyes! But still less did I expect to find you in prison--
for the way they thrust you in shows me that you are no mere visitor. I
fear me, the cruel woman has found out how kind you were in helping me."
"But surely dar some hope for you! Dey nebber kill you all!" said the
negro, waving his hand round as if to indicate the whole party.
"No hope, no hope," returned Ravonino, sadly, "Not even for you, Ebony,
because you are only a black man. But they won't kill _you_, sir, or
Hockins. They know better than to risk the consequences of putting a
British subject to death. For the rest of us--our doom is sealed."
"If the Lord wills it so," remarked Laihova, quietly.
"How do you know that the Lord wills it so?" demanded a voice fiercely,
and a man who had hitherto sat still with his face buried in his hands
looked up. It was the stout chief Voalavo, all whose fun of disposition
seemed to have been turned to fury. "You all speak as if you were
already dead men! Are we not alive? Have we not stout hearts and
strong limbs? While life remains there is hope!"
He leaped up as he spoke and began to wrench at his chain like a
maddened tiger, until blood spurted from his wrists and the swollen
veins stood out like cords from his neck and forehead. But iron proved
tougher than flesh. He sank down, exhausted, with a deep groan--yet
even in his agony of rage the strong man murmured as he fell, "Lord
forgive me!"
While the men conversed, and Ebony sought to soothe Voalavo, with whom
he had strong sympathy most of the poor women opposite were seated in a
state of quiet resignation. Some there were, however, who could not
bring their minds to contemplate with calmness the horrible fate that
they knew too well awaited them, while others seemed to forget
themselves in their desire to comfort their companions. Among the timid
ones was pretty little Ra-Ruth. Perhaps her vivid imagination enabled
her to realise more powerfully the terrors of martyrdom. It may be that
her delicately-strung nerves shrank more sensitively from the prospect,
but in spite of her utmost efforts to be brave she trembled violently
and was pale as death. Yet she did not murmur, she only laid her head
on the sympathetic bosom of her queen-like friend Ramatoa, who seemed to
her a miracle of strength and resignation.
In a short time the door of the prison opened, and a party of armed men
entered with Silver Spear, or Hater of Lies, at their head. An
involuntary shudder ran through the group of captives as the man
advanced and looked round.
"Which is Razafil?" demanded Hater of Lies.
The poet rose promptly. "Here I am," he said, looking boldly at the
officer. Then, glancing upwards, and in a voice of extreme tenderness,
he said, "Now, my sweet Raniva, I will soon join you!"
"Ramatoa--which is she?" said the officer, as his men removed the
fetters from the poet and fastened his wrists with a cord.
Ramatoa at once rose up. "I am ready," she said, calmly. "Now,
Ra-Ruth, the Master calls me. Fear not what man can do unto thee."
"Oh! no, no! do not go yet," exclaimed Ra-Ruth in an agony of grief, as
she clung to her friend. "The good Lord cannot mean this--oh! take
_me_! take _me_! and let her stay!"
The sentence ended in a low wail, for at the moment two soldiers forced
the girls asunder, and Ra-Ruth sank upon the floor, while Ramatoa was
led away.
Poor Laihova had watched every movement of Ra-Ruth. It was, no doubt,
the fiercest part of the fiery trial he had to undergo; and when the
soldier grasped her arms to tear her from her friend he could restrain
himself no longer. He sprang up and made a wild leap towards her, but
the chain arrested him effectually, and three bayonets were quickly
pointed at his breast. His head fell forward, and he sank down like one
who had been shot.
Meanwhile Hater of Lies selected Ra-Ruth and twelve others from the
group of prisoners, but only the three whom we have mentioned are known
to the reader. They were led into an outer room, where they were
further pinioned. Some of them had their feet and hands tied together,
so that, by thrusting a pole between the legs and arms of each, they
could be suspended and carried by two men. Others were allowed to walk
to the place of execution. The rage of Ranavalona, however, was so
great on finding that the Christians would not submit to her that she
had given orders to the soldiers to torture the martyrs with their
spears as they marched along the road. This was done to all except
Ramatoa and Ra-Ruth, as the blood-stained road bore witness. The
comfort of being together was not allowed to the two ladies. They were
placed in different parts of the procession.
Mats were thrust into the mouths of the suspended victims to prevent
them from speaking, but some of them managed to free their mouths and
prayed aloud, while others sang hymns or addressed the crowd. Thus they
passed along the road that led to the Place of Hurling Down.
This was a tremendous precipice of granite, 150 feet high. Thither the
multitude streamed--some influenced by hatred of the Christians, some by
deep sympathy with them, but the majority, doubtless, prompted by mere
excitement and curiosity. And there they crowded as near as they dared
venture to the edge of the precipice and gazed into the awful gulf.
Slowly the procession moved, as if to prolong the agony of the martyrs.
Suddenly a young man pushed through the crowd, advanced to the side of
Ramatoa, and grasped one of her hands, exclaiming in a loud voice,
"Dearest! I will go with you and stay by you to the end."
For a moment the calm serenity that had settled on the girl's fine
countenance was disturbed.
"Mamba!" she said, "this is not wise. You cannot save me. It is God's
will that I should now glorify the dear name of Jesus by laying down my
life. But you are not yet condemned, and your mother needs your help."
"Full well do I know that," returned the youth, fervently. "Were it not
for my dear mother's love and claim on me, I would now have gone with
you to heaven. As it is, I will stay by you, dear one, to the end."
"Thank you, dear friend," returned the girl, earnestly. "I think it
will not be long till we meet where there are no more sufferings or
tears."
Soon the procession reached the brow of the terrible cliff. Here the
martyrs were ranged in such a way that, while they were cast over one by
one, the rest could see their companions fall.
The first to perish was the poet Razafil. After the Queen's messenger
had pronounced the sentence of each, the poor man was seized and thrown
violently on the ground. A rope was then fastened round his waist, and
he was asked if he would cease to pray in the name of Jesus.
"Cease to pray to Jesus!" he exclaimed, while the fire of enthusiasm
gleamed in his eyes--"to Jesus who saved my Raniva, and who holds out
His blessed hands to me--even me--to take me to Himself? _Never_!"
Razafil was instantly slung over the precipice, and held suspended there
in the hope that the awful nature of his impending fate might cause his
courage to fail, while the executioner knelt, knife in hand, ready to
cut the rope.
"Once more, and for the last time," said the officer in command, "will
you cease to pray?"