The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar. Robert Michael BallantyneЧитать онлайн книгу.
now, sir,” remarked the sailor, “d’ee know that same thought has puzzled me now an’ again; for although my purfession is the sea, I’ve travelled a good bit on the land—specially in South America—and I’ve seen miles on miles o’ splendid country, that made me think of Adam an’ Eve in paradise, with never a soul, as you say, to make use of or enjoy it. I’ve often wondered what it was all made for!”
“Don’t you tink,” said Ebony, with his head a little on one side, and his earnest eyes betraying the sincerity of his nature, “don’t you tink dat p’r’aps de ducks an’ geese, an’ sitch-like, makes use ob an’ enjoys it? to say nuffin’ oh de beasts, hinsects, an’ fishes.”
“You may be right, Ebony,” returned Hockins, with an approving nod; “we human being’s is apt to think too much of ourselves. Moreover, it has come into my mind that Great Britain was a solitood once—or much about it—an’ it’s anything but that now; so mayhap them lands will be swarmin’ wi’ towns an’ villages some day or other. What d’ee think, Doctor?”
But the young doctor said nothing, for while his companions were thus indulging in speculations, he was anxiously considering what course they should pursue.
“You see, comrades,” he said, turning to them abruptly, “if we go to the right and traverse this fine country we may very likely fall in with villages, but the villagers may be savages, like those we met on the coast. On the other hand, if we go to the left, we shall have to traverse the somewhat dark and difficult forests, but then we shall be making for the mountains and table-lands of the interior; and as the capital, Ant— Ant—”
“Anty-all-alive-O!” suggested Hockins.
“No, ’s not dat. It ends wid ‘arrive O!’ w’ich is just what we wants.”
“Well, whatever may be its name, I know that it is in the centre of the island somewhere, and the centre of any land always means the mountains; so I think we had better decide to go to the left, and—”
“Hallo! look yonder, sir,” said Hockins, pointing towards a low cliff which rose in front of them not a quarter of a mile from the spot where they stood.
Turning in the direction indicated, they observed a man running swiftly, as if in pursuit of something. They could see that he was clothed, and that he carried several spears, from which they judged that he was a hunter. Coming to the foot of the cliff before mentioned, the man ascended the face of it with wonderful agility, and had almost gained the top, when a treacherous root or stone gave way, causing him to lose his hold and roll violently to the bottom.
“Poor fellow, he’s killed!” cried Mark, running towards the fallen hunter, who lay on the ground motionless.
He was not killed, however, though stunned and bleeding profusely from a deep wound in the arm, caused by one of his own spears while in the act of falling. When the three strangers suddenly appeared the hunter grasped one of the spears and made a vigorous attempt to rise, evidently under the impression that he was about to be attacked; but the fall and the loss of blood were too much for him. He sank back with a groan, yet there was a look of quiet dignity about him which showed that he gave way to no craven spirit.
Our young doctor, kneeling down beside him, proceeded at once to staunch the wound and bind up the arm with his pocket-handkerchief. While he was thus engaged, Hockins brought some water from a neighbouring stream in a cup which he had extemporised out of a piece of bark, and applied it to the man’s lips. Ebony stood by, with a look of profound pity on his face, ready for whatever might be required of him.
The hunter showed by the expression of his handsome brown features that he was grateful for these attentions. Yet, at the same time, there seemed to be something of perplexity, if not surprise, in his looks as he gazed on the white men’s faces. But he did not utter a word. When the dressing of the arm was completed—of course in a most businesslike manner—he again attempted to rise, but was so weak from loss of blood that he fell back fainting in the Doctor’s arms.
“This is a most awkward business,” said Mark, as he laid the man carefully on the ground, and put a bundle of grass under his head for a pillow. “It behoves us to push on our journey without delay, yet it will never do to leave him here alone, and we can’t very well take him on with us. What is to be done!”
Both Hockins and the negro looked their incapacity to answer that question. Just then the answer came in the form they least expected, for a sound of many voices in clamorous talk suddenly broke on their ears. The speakers, whoever they might be, were still distant, and the formation of the ground prevented our travellers being seen by them.
“Savages!” exclaimed Mark and Hockins in the same breath.
“Hide!” cried Ebony, with a roll of his huge eyes, as he suited the action to the word, and leaped into the bushes. The others followed his example, and running about a hundred yards back into the woods, climbed into the branches of a lofty tree, from which outlook, well screened by leaves, they saw a band composed of some hundreds of natives walking smartly over the open plain. From the manner of their approach it was evident that they searched for some one, and as they made straight for the cliff where the wounded man lay, it seemed probable that they were following up his trail.
“We’re done for,” said Mark, in a tone of despair, as he noted this.
“Why d’ee think so, Doctor?” asked Hockins, who did not by any means seem to take such a gloomy view of their case.
“Don’t you see? Savages can follow up people’s trails almost as well as dogs. They’ll easily trace us to the foot of this tree by our footprints, and then they’ve only to look up!”
“That’s true. I had forgotten that.”
“Dere’s time to drop down yit, massa, and squatilate,” suggested the negro, excitedly.
Mark shook his head.
“Might as well try to run from tigers as from savages,” he returned, “unless you’ve got a good start.”
“But they ain’t all savages, sir,” whispered Hockins, as the band drew nearer. “Some o’ the naked black fellows look savage enough, no doubt, but there’s a lot of ’em lightish brown in the skin, an’ clothed in fine though queer garments. They carry themselves, too, like gentlemen. P’r’aps we’d better go for’ard an’ trust them.”
“Trust to ’em, ’Ockins!” said Ebony with a decided shake of the head, “trust men wid brown faces? Nebber!”
The whispered conversation ceased at this point for a loud shout of surprise mingled with alarm was raised as the band came to the foot of the cliff and found what appeared to be the dead body of the wounded man. Evidently they were friends, for while some of them kneeled down beside the injured hunter to examine him, others gave way to gestures and exclamations of grief.
Presently the watchers observed that one of those who kneeled beside the body looked up with a smile and a nod of satisfaction as he pointed to his chest.
“They’ve discovered that he’s not dead,” said Mark.
“Yes, massa, an’ dey’ve diskivered de bandaged arm.”
“Ay, an’ it seems to puzzle ’em,” added the seaman.
It did more than puzzle them. They had not observed it at first, because, just before running into the woods, Mark had covered it with a loose shawl—a sort of linen plaid—which the man had worn round his shoulders. When they removed this and saw the bandage which was wound round the limb in the most careful and perfect manner, they looked at each other in great surprise; then they looked solemn and spoke in low tones, glancing round now and then with saucer-like eyes, as if they expected to see something frightful.
“I do believe, Doctor,” whispered the seaman, “that they think your work has been done by a goblin of some sort!”
It would indeed seem as if some such idea had entered the minds of the band, for instead of examining the ground for footprints and following them up—as was natural to have done—they silently constructed a litter of