in prison—effects of a first sight of torture.
a new day had begun, cattle were lowing on the distant plain, and birds were chirping their matutinal songs in bush and tree when mark breezy, john hockins, and james ginger—alias ebony—awoke from their uneasy rest on the prison floor and sat up with their backs against the wall. their chains rattled sharply as they did so.
“well now,” said hockins, gasping forth his morning yawn in spite of circumstances, “i’ve many a time read and heard it of other folk, but i never did think i should live to hear my own chains rattle.”
“right you are, ’ockins; ob course i’s got de same sentiments zactly,” said the negro, lifting up his strong arm and ruefully surveying the heavy iron links of native manufacture that descended from his wrist.
mark only sighed. it was the first time he had ever been restrained, even by bolt or bar, much less by manacles, and the effect on his young mind was at first overwhelming.
bright though the sun was outside, very little of its light found a passage through the chinks of their all but windowless prison-house, so that they could scarcely see the size or character of the place. but this mattered little. they were too much crushed by their misfortune to care. for some time they sat without speaking, each feeling quite incapable of uttering a word of cheer to his fellows.
the silence was suddenly but softly broken by the sound of song. it seemed to come from a very dark corner of the prison in which nothing could be seen. to the startled prisoners it sounded like heavenly music—and indeed such it was, for in that corner sat two christian captives who were spending the first minutes of the new day in singing praise to god.
the three comrades listened with rapt attention, for although the words were unintelligible, with the exception of the name of jesus, the air was quite familiar, being one of those in which english-speaking christians are wont to sing praise all the world over.
when the hymn ceased one of the voices was raised in a reverent and continuous tone, which was obviously the voice of prayer.
just as the petition was concluded the sun found a loop-hole in the prison, and poured a flood of light into it which partly illumined the dark corner, and revealed two men seated on the ground with their backs against the wall. they were fine-looking men, nearly naked, and joined together by means of a ponderous piece of iron above two feet long, with a heavy ring at either end which encircled their necks. the rings were so thick that their ends must have been forced together with sledge-hammer and anvil after being put round the men’s necks, and then overlapped and riveted. thus it became impossible to free them from their fetters except by the slow and laborious process of cutting them through with a file. several old and healed-up sores on the necks and collar-bones of both men indicated that they and their harsh couplings had been acquainted for a long time, and one or two inflamed spots told all too clearly that they had not yet become quite reconciled. see note 1.
“now isn’t that awful,” said john hockins in a low voice with a sort of choke in it, “to think that these poor fellows—wi’ that horrible thing that can’t be much under thirty pounds weight on their necks, an’ that must ha’ bin there for months if not for years—are singin’ an’ prayin’ to the almighty, an’ here am i, john hockins, with little or nothin’ to complain of as yet, haven’t given so much as a thought to—”
the choke got the better of our sailor at this point, and he became suddenly silent.
“das so!” burst in ebony, with extreme energy. “i’s wid you dere! i tell you what it is, ’ockins, dem brown niggers is true kistians, an’ we white folks is nuffin but hipperkrits.”
“i hope we’re not quite so bad as that, ebony,” said mark, with a sad smile. “nevertheless, hockins is right—we are far behind these poor fellows in submission and gratitude to our maker.”
while he spoke the heavy door of the prison opened, and a jailor entered with two large basins of boiled rice. the largest he put on the ground before our three travellers, the other in front of the coupled men, and then retired without a word.
“well, thank god for this, anyhow,” said mark, taking up one of the three spoons which lay on the rice and going to work with a will.
“just so,” responded the seaman. “i’m thankful too, and quite ready for grub.”
“curious ting, ’ockins,” remarked ebony, “dat your happytite an’ mine seems to be allers in de same state—sharp!”
the seaman’s appetite was indeed so sharp that he did not vouchsafe a reply. the prisoners in the dark corner seemed much in the same condition, but their anxiety to begin did not prevent their shutting their eyes for a few seconds and obviously asking a blessing on their meal. hockins observed the act, and there passed over his soul another wave of self-condemnation, which was indicated by a deprecatory shake of his rugged head.
observing it, ebony paused a moment and said—
“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 ravèlo.”
again ravèlo 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—ravè-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.
