describes a meek mother and crocodile-son. journey resumed and strange treatment of the king of the waters.
dawn was still struggling to assert itself in the far east and the depths of the forest were still shrouded in almost midnight gloom, when the strange band of outlaws emerged from their cave, and, led by ravonino, went forth to search for a safer dwelling-place in the still more inaccessible fastnesses of the wilderness.
they had not much difficulty in finding a suitable spot, for the particular region to which they had fled from persecution was exceedingly wild and broken in form, and abounded with concealed caverns having outlets in several directions, so that pursuit and discovery were alike difficult.
we may not delay here, however, to tell of their wanderings. like the christians of other lands and, more ancient times, they were hunted like wild beasts, though their only crime was a desire to serve and worship god according to the dictates of their consciences. it is the old familiar story, and comment is needless to those who understand it—
“man’s inhumanity to man
makes countless thousands mourn.”
there is only one other member of the party of whom we will make mention just now, because she appears again somewhat prominently in our tale. this was a little elderly female who seemed utterly destitute of the very common human attribute of self-assertion, and in whose amiable, almost comical, countenance, one expression seemed to overbear and obliterate all others, namely that of gushing good-will to man and beast! those who did not know réni-mamba thought her an amiable imbecile. those who knew her well loved her with peculiar tenderness. her modesty and self-abnegation were not, so far as any one knew, the result of principle. she was too unassertive to lay claim to principle! we are not sure that she understood the meaning of principle.
before christianity in its doctrinal form reached her she had only one source of discomfort in life, and that was, that in everything she failed! failed to do as much as she wanted to do for other people; failed to express herself always as affectionately as she felt; failed to avoid giving slight occasions of offence, although she “never, never meant to do it!” in short she was, strange to say, a victim to self-condemnation. when the gospel of jesus came to her, telling, as it does, that “god is love,” that christ came to sweep away for ever the very sins that troubled her, and that his holy spirit would fight for and in her, so as to make her “more than conqueror,” she caught it to her heart as the very thing she needed.
she did not indeed condemn herself less—nay, she rather condemned herself more than formerly—but the joy of being on the winning side, of knowing that all sin was pardoned for his sake, of feeling assured of progressive victory now and complete victory in the end, thoroughly scattered her old troubles to the winds.
her very name was characteristic. it is a common and curious custom in madagascar for parents sometimes to drop their own names and take the name of their eldest child with the word raini, “father of,” or réni, “mother of,” prefixed. now this amiable little elderly woman had been married young, and it so happened that her husband was away on an expedition to the coast when the first and only son was born. one of the first things that the child did after opening its black eyes on this life was to open its uncommonly large mouth, with the intention, no doubt, of howling. but circumstances apparently induced it to change its mind, for it shut its mouth without howling.
the effect of the gape on the mother was to remind her of one class of inhabitants of her native rivers—the crocodile—and cause her laughingly to style the child her “young crocodile.” the malagasy word for crocodile is mamba, and thus the child came by his name, with the usual prefix, ra-mamba. after a time his mother became so proud of her young crocodile that she dropped her own name entirely—congenially, as it were, obliterated herself—and ever after was known as réni-mamba, “mother of the crocodile.”
at the time we write of, mamba, (we will drop the “ra”), was a stalwart handsome youth of over twenty, with no resemblance whatever to his namesake except a goodly-sized mouth and an amazing strength of appetite.
need we say that his mother’s gushing powers were expended upon him with the force of a norwegian mill-race? it is gratifying to be able to add that the crocodile was keenly responsive!
the father of little mamba—andrianivo—had returned to the capital soon after his son’s birth. he was a man in good position among the aristocracy of the land, and occupied a post of trust in the queen’s service. at that time the first great persecution of the christians had begun. it was known that andrianivo favoured the christians. on the question being put to him, he frankly admitted that he was one of them. he was therefore despoiled of all he possessed, and banished into perpetual exile and slavery. he was sent in chains to a pestilential part of the island, with the intention that toil and disease should end his life. so secretly and promptly was he spirited away that no one could tell the precise locality to which he had been banished. his heart-broken wife and child were also sold, but were taken to a more healthy region, where the child grew and became a stout boy; his little mother, meanwhile, acting the part of a meek and faithful slave. she would probably have lived and died in this condition had not her stout son, when he grew up, resolved to become free. his mother had taught him what she knew of the christian religion. from ravonino he learned more, and heard of the escaped christians who found a refuge in forests and mountains. finally he persuaded his mother to run away with him, and thus it came about that we find them with the band of which ravonino was leader—laihova being lieutenant of the band.
an occasion for the display of his affectionate nature was afforded to mamba on the morning we write of. active as a kitten, though middle-aged, réni-mamba was skipping from rock to rock in a very rugged part of their route, when, her foot slipping, she fell and sprained her ankle badly.
mamba was close to her.
“mother!” he exclaimed, hurrying forward and raising her carefully, “why jump about like the squirrel? are you hurt?”
“my son, help me to rise.”
gently the youth lifted her, and set her on her feet, whereupon she sank down again with a little shriek, and looked up with an expression of mingled humour and pain.
“my leg, i think, is broken!” said réni. for the sake of brevity we will drop the “mamba.”
“surely not, mother; it has been too tough and strong to break ever since i knew it.”
mamba spoke encouragingly; nevertheless, he examined the limb with anxious care. being ignorant of surgery his examination was not of much use, but, fortunately, just then mark breezy, who had lingered behind to gather some plants, arrived on the scene. he found the injury to be a bad sprain, and did the best he could for the poor woman in the circumstances.
“now, we must carry her,” he said to the guide, “for she won’t be able to walk for many days.”
on this being translated, mamba gathered his mother up as if she had been a bundle of clothes, or a baby, and marched away with her.
“stop, stop!” cried ravonino, “you can’t carry her more than a few miles on such ground as i shall soon lead you over. we must arrange for her a filanzana.”
the guide here referred to the sort of palanquin used by travellers in a country where there were no roads. it consisted of a shallow, oblong basket, with light wooden framework, filled in with plaited strips of sheepskin, and hung between two light poles or bamboos. as several such machines were used by some of the party to carry their few household necessaries, one of them was at once emptied and réni put therein by her affectionate son. four stout young men put the ends of the poles on their shoulders, and the party once more advanced, mamba walking by the side of the filanzana to be ready to assist in cases of difficulty or danger, and to relieve the bearers occasionally.
that afternoon they arrived at their new abode—a large, dry cavern—the entrance to which was not only well concealed on the face of a cliff in the heart of a dense jungle, but so difficult of access that a mere handful of men might easily have maintained it against a host.
here ravonino made no further delay than was necessary to see the party fairly settled. then he left them, but not before receiving many an earnest and affectionate message to friends and kindred of the fugitives still at the capital, but who had, as yet, managed to elude the vigilance and escape the malignity of queen ranavalona and her spies. some of the women even wept as they bade the guide farewell, saying that they felt sure he would at last fall a victim to the relentless fury of the queen, and that they should see his face no more.
with these the guide gently remonstrated.
“think you not,” he said, “that god is as able to protect me in antananarivo as here in the wilderness? i go because i think that duty calls me. i expect no miracle in my behalf. i will take all possible precautions. farewell.”
once more our three travellers found themselves advancing rapidly in single file through the forest, with the guide in advance. before the sinking sun compelled them to encamp under the trees that night they had put many miles between them and the hiding-place of the outlawed christians.
next day, as they were about to resume their journey, ravonino told them that about noon they would come to a large river, on the other side of which there was a village where they could spend the night, for the people and their chief were friendly.
“are they christians?” asked mark.
“no—at least the most of them are not, though there may be a few secret converts among them; for this hot persecution at the capital has scattered the christians far and wide through the land, so that the knowledge of the blessed gospel spreads. thus our god makes the wrath of man to praise him. the remainder of wrath he has promised to restrain. if he wills it otherwise, are we not prepared to die at his bidding? many of our people have died already under the bloody reign of ranavalona the usurper. how many more shall perish, who can tell?”
“but how do it come about,” asked hockins, “that this here chief is friendly?”
“because i had occasion to render him good service at one time, and he is grateful.”
“good! das allers de right way,” remarked ebony, with an approving nod. “w’en a man’s grateful he’s safe—you’s sure ob ’im. is dat de ribber you refur to jes’ now?”
he pointed to an opening among the trees ahead, through which the sheen of water glittering in the sunlight could be seen.
before the guide could reply a loud shout startled them, and next moment they were surrounded by half-naked savages, who brandished their spears threateningly.
quick as lightning, according to a pre-arranged plan in case of sudden attack, mark, hockins, and the negro stood back-to-back, facing in all directions—the first with his gun advanced, the seaman pointing his cutlass at the foe, and ebony levelling a spear with which he had provided himself, little would their courage have availed them, however, if ravonino had not been there, for a flight of spears would have ended their resistance in a moment.
“voalavo, your chief, is my friend,” said the guide, calmly, without putting himself in an attitude of defence, or showing the slightest symptom of alarm. “is voalavo with you?”
“voalavo comes,” they replied, at once lowering their weapons and pointing in the direction of the river, whence proceeded sounds as of the lowing of cattle.
“we have been to visit our enemies,” said one of the party, who, from his tones and bearing, appeared to be a leader. “we have smitten them, and we have brought away their cattle.”
as he spoke another native was seen approaching. he was a large burly jovial-looking man, somewhere about forty years of age, armed with a spear and enveloped in the native lamba, a garment used much in the same way as the scottish plaid, which it resembled in form, though of much lighter material. the ornamentation of this garment proclaimed the wearer a person of distinction, and the evident satisfaction that beamed on his broad jovial countenance when he recognised and greeted ravonino showed that it was voalavo himself—the chief of the village they were approaching.
“i’m sorry to see,” said the guide, after the first few words of salutation, “that my friend still delights in war and robbery.”
“don’t be sorry, friend, don’t be sorry,” returned the chief with a hearty laugh, as he gave the other a slap on the shoulder. “sorrow does no good. it only puts water in the eyes and makes them red. look at me—just returned from ‘war and robbery,’ and as happy as a squirrel. if a man does not delight in war and robbery, what is there in the world to delight in? if i am not sorry why should you be? if you can’t help it—then laugh at it and try to enjoy your sorrow. that’s the way i do. it suits me. i grow fat on it!”
he certainly did grow fat—if not on laughing at sorrow, certainly on something else—and his followers, although respectfully silent, showed by their smiling faces that they sympathised with their chief’s hilarious mood.
“but where did you fall in with the white men?” asked voalavo, turning suddenly towards mark and hockins, who stood listening with interest and curiosity to the rapid flow of his unintelligible talk. “such pale flowers do not grow in our forests!”
in a few words ravonino explained the history of our adventurers as far as he knew it, and the chief, on learning that they were his friend’s friends, bade them welcome, and shook hands heartily in the european fashion—a mode of expressing friendship which had probably been learned from the missionaries, who, after spending many years in madagascar, had, about the time we write of, been all banished from the island.
“come now,” cried the chief, “the rice will soon be ready—that won’t make you sorry, ravonino, will it?—and we have yet to cross the river with the cattle in the face of the hungry crocodiles—which won’t make them sorry! come.”
turning impulsively, in the brusque careless manner which characterised him, voalavo led the way to the banks of the river—a considerable stream—where the cattle were assembled and guarded by a band of over a hundred warriors.
“cattle seem to be plentiful in these parts,” said mark to the guide as they walked along.
“they are numerous everywhere in madagascar. in truth a large part of our exports to the mauritius and elsewhere consists of cattle.—look! the chief was right when he said the crocodiles would not be sorry to see the cattle crossing.”
he pointed to a ripple on the water caused by the ugly snout of one of the creatures referred to. it seemed by the activity of its movements to be already anticipating a feast.
“crocodiles,” continued the guide, “are numerous in many of our lakes and rivers, and dangerous too, though they are naturally timid, and can be easily frightened away. i remember a curious instance of this kind happening on the east coast, where a european trader was cleverly imposed on—deceived, or, what you call—”
“humbugged,” suggested hockins.
“well, yes—humbugged! he was a big ignorant fellow, this trader; strong and energetic enough, but full of conceit—thought he knew almost everything, but in reality knew next to nothing, yet self-willed and obstinate enough to—to— you know the sort of man?”
“yes, yes; a stoopid cockscomb,” said hockins. “i know the breed well—lots of ’em everywhere.”
“jus’ so—a born idjit; go on, massa,” said ebony, who was always charmed at the prospect of a story or anecdote.
“well, this trader,” continued the guide, “was on his way from antananarivo to the coast with cattle for exportation, and one day they came to a place where they had to cross a narrow part of a lake. the natives of that place advised him not to venture without trying the effect of their ody, or charms, on the crocodiles. these they said, and believed, would protect the cattle in crossing. but the trader scouted the idea, and, laughing at their superstitions, gave orders to drive the bullocks into the water. he quickly repented his obstinacy, for no sooner were they in than the crocodiles seized nine of them and dragged them down. ‘oh! bring the ody—work the ody—quick!’ cried the anxious man, fearing lest all the cattle should be seized. the ody was worked instantly, and to his astonishment, as well as the triumph of the natives, the rest of the cattle crossed in safety. even those that had been nearly drowned escaped and passed over.”
“but how was dat?” asked ebony, with a perplexed air. “if de ody was nuffin’, how could it do suffin’?”
“simply enough,” returned the guide. “the charm consisted merely in noise. the natives, in canoes and on both sides of the lake, shouted furiously and beat the water with branches of trees, so that the poor crocodiles were scared away. see—there is something of the same sort going to be performed just now.”
previous to this process, however, the chief voalavo went through a singular ceremony to propitiate the crocodiles. the malagasy, like the ancient egyptians, regard the crocodile with superstitious veneration. they esteem him the king of the waters, and to dispute his right to reign would, they believe, expose them to his vengeance. hence they seldom kill crocodiles, and rather avoid whatever is likely to provoke them. it is their custom, also, sometimes to make solemn speeches and vows to the crocodiles when about to cross rivers.
voalavo, who was unusually reckless, free-and-easy, and regardless in ordinary affairs, was nevertheless remarkably superstitious. before giving orders to cross the river, therefore, he advanced to the water’s edge and mumbled incantations or made vows in a low tone for nearly half-an-hour. then, elevating his voice, so as to be heard across the river, he continued, addressing the crocodiles:—
“now, i pray you, good mamba, to do me no injury, and particularly to spare my cattle, for you do not know what trouble i have had to get them. no doubt you know how anxious i and my people are to eat them, for you have much of the same desire; but i beseech you to exercise self-denial. you don’t know how pleasant that will make you feel! remember that i have never done your royal race any injury—never waged war with you or killed you. on the contrary i have always held you in the highest veneration. if you do not remember this, but forget it, i and my whole race and all my relatives will declare war and fight against you for ever more! so be good and do what i tell you!”
“now, my men,” he cried, turning round, “drive in the cattle, work the ody, and make all the dogs bark!”
in the midst of an indescribable hubbub the herds were then driven into the river, and the men—some in canoes and some on both banks—enacted the very scene which ravonino had described. in a few minutes the whole herd was got over in safety.
half-an-hour later and our travellers were seated in the chief’s house regaling themselves with beef-steaks and marrow-bones, chickens and rice.
