The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar by R. M. Ballantyne (top books to read txt) 📖

“Why so sharp?” he asked, as they passed along the corridor.

“Because you have said enough,” returned the Secretary, with a quiet smile. “You may understand your own women, no doubt, but not the Malagasy girls as well as I do. When a man has said enough to a woman he should stop and let it simmer. All the rest that he would say she will say to herself—and say it much better, too! But tell me, when do you think Ravoninohitriniony will meet Rafaravavy?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that a true lover is sure to manage a meeting soon—and somehow.”

He was glad to be able to make this indefinite reply; for although he trusted the Secretary, and would have revealed his own affairs fully to him, he felt that he had no right to reveal the affairs of his friend to any one.

Before they reached the palace-yard a loud report was heard. The palace shook as with an earthquake. Loud cries of soldiery were heard without, and Mark’s heart sank with an undefinable dread.

To account for this report we must go back a little. When Hockins and Ebony were left, as we have seen, to mix their “powders,” the former, being a reckless man, forgot to put his pipe out, and Ebony being a careless man, (as regarded himself), did not observe the omission. The consequence was that the seaman kept on puffing and emitting sage reflections to his admiring friend while they mixed their compounds in concert.

“Hand me the powder, Ebony.”

“Das good—ha! ha! das awrful good,” cried the negro, referring to the latest sage reflection—as he pushed across the powder canister, which was a large one.

At that inauspicious moment a spark fell from the pipe! Next moment the door was burst open, the window blown out, Hockins was laid fiat on his back, while Ebony went head-over-heels upon the floor!

Slowly and with a dazed look the seaman raised himself on one elbow and looked round.

“Any—anything of ye left, boy?” he asked, quietly.

“I—I’s not kite sure, ’Ockins,” replied the negro, slowly passing his hand down one of his legs without rising from the floor. “’Ow does it feel wid you?”

“All right, I think,” replied the seaman, rising and presenting a remarkable exhibition of singed beard and frizzled locks, “no bones broke, anyhow.”

At that instant Mark rushed into the smoke-filled room in consternation, followed by the Secretary and a number of soldiers who formed the guard of the palace, and great was their surprise, as well as their satisfaction, to find that the two men had received no damage worth mentioning.

“Well, I am thankful,” exclaimed Mark, beginning to pick up the débris of plates and furniture.

“So am I,” remarked the sailor, “thankful to think that I’ve got it over at last—so easy too!”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“I means, doctor, that I’ve gone the whole round o’ human possibilities now—leastwise I think so—and am alive to tell it! I’ve bin shot, an’ stabbed, an’ drownded—all but—an’ now I’ve bin blow’d up!”

“So’s I, ’Ockins, so you needn’t boast,” remarked Ebony, as he tenderly felt the place where his wool ought to have been, but where only a few irregularly-shaped patches of scrub remained.

We need scarcely say that Mark Breezy did not allow this little contretemps to interfere with his plans.

“You’ll have to work all night, both of you—that’s your punishment for disobeying orders—and without the solace of a pipe too,” said Mark, when order was somewhat restored and work resumed. “The garden party, you know, is fixed for to-morrow, and it’s as much as our heads are worth to disappoint the Queen of her expected amusements. Time, tide, and Ranavalona the First wait for no man! I’ve got to go out for an hour or so. When I return I’ll show you how to make stars and crackers and red rain, etcetera.”

“But I say, Doctor,” asked Hockins, looking up from his work, “where are the cases to hold all this here stuff?”

“Time enough for that when we want ’em. I’ve got some fellows at work on small ones, and there’s a big one that will open the Madagaskite eyes if there’s virtue in saltpetre. It’s made of—ah! here it comes,” he added, as the door opened and two natives carried in a piece of cast-iron pipe about six feet long and four inches in diameter.

“The pistol-barrel of a giant,” exclaimed the seaman.

“A young cannon!” said Ebony. “W’y, massa, you gwine to make a Roman candle ob dat?”

He turned for an answer, but Mark had hastily quitted the house.

Encountering the Secretary in the court-yard, he took his arm and said, “I want your help.”

“Well, you shall have it. But you are so mys—mys—what is it—sterious about your leetil plans, that I fear my help is not useful.”

“Oh! yes, it is, I want you to get me a paper from—I don’t know who—the proper officer, whoever he is, authorising me to take a gang of convicts—four will do—to work for me.”

“Good, you shall have it,” returned the Secretary, with a laugh. “I see you are going to give us big surprises to-morrow.”

“You are right, I am,” said Mark, as the Secretary left him to execute his mission.

Armed with an order, Mark left the palace and hurried through the steep narrow streets of the town, until he reached a piece of road that was being mended by four slaves in long chains. That morning Mark had observed that his friend the crocodile was one of the four. Passing close enough to attract the attention of the poor fellow, he whispered, without stopping, “Mamba, expect me to-morrow.”

This he had said in the native tongue, having by that time acquired a few sentences, of which he made the best and most frequent use possible.

Going to the guard of these slaves, he presented his paper, and said that he should come personally for them early in the morning. Then he returned to the laboratory and assisted his comrades to load the firework cases with various kinds of “fire,” stars, golden rain, etcetera. The young cannon especially was loaded, with a succession of surprises, to the very muzzle, before midnight.

“Suppose he bust!” suggested Ebony, with a solemn visage. “De Queen ob Madigascur be blow’d into middle ob nixt week—hey?”

“I shall take precautions against that, Ebony. In the first place, I’ll have it buried in the earth up to the muzzle, and, in the second place, I’ll not place it too near her Majesty.”

When all was prepared the wearied triumvirate retired to rest, each to dream of the subjects that lay nearest his heart and imagination at the moment. Hockins dreamed of tobacco-pipes and explosions; Mark dreamed of freed slaves, thunder-struck queens, eloping lovers and terrible consequences; and Ebony dreamed of incomprehensible situations, crashing thunderbolts, and unimaginable coruscations of resplendent fire!