As she walked along, the poor martyr began again to sing a favourite hymn. When passing the place of worship, at that time closed, she exclaimed, “There have I heard the words of the Saviour.” Hundreds of people accompanied her. Some even ventured to whisper words of comfort to her as she went along, although by doing so they imperilled their own lives, and one young man, utterly regardless of consequences, walked boldly by her side, speaking to her of the Saviour, till the place of execution was reached.
To this spot Mark Breezy and his companions in exile had hastened, for the Secretary had told them that some of the Christians were about to be executed, and a fearful suspicion that their friend Mamba might be among the number impelled them to hasten to the spot with some half-defined intention of interfering in his behalf. For they had gradually, and imperceptibly to themselves, acquired a great liking for the young native, whose earnest, straightforward, yet playful spirit, together with his great kindness to his mother, had deeply impressed them during the brief time they had sojourned together in the forest.
“Will we fight for ’im, massa?” asked Ebony, with anxious looks, as they ran to the place of execution, which was not far-off.
“That would be useless,” answered Mark. “If we were thirty Samsons instead of three ordinary men, we could not overcome the Queen’s army.”
“I’ve half a mind to try,” said Hockins, with something unusually fierce in his expression. “Many a man has run a-muck before now. I’ve got to die once at any rate!”
“And what good would that do to Mamba?” asked Mark. “No, I will try another plan. I have fortunately done service to the Queen in saving the life of her son. If Mamba is to be martyred, I will throw my arms round him and ask the Queen in return to spare the life of my friend.”
They had by that time mingled with the dense crowd that stood on the brow of the precipice of Ambohipotsy to witness the execution. Pushing to the front with breathless anxiety, they were just in time to see Rasalama led forward by two men armed with spears. In front of them was a shallow ditch, and a little further on the brow of the precipice, from which was seen a magnificent prospect of the surrounding country. But no prospect, however sublime, could have attracted the eyes of the three friends just then, for in front of them stood two crosses supporting the bodies of two Christians who had been crucified thereon the day before. Even these, however, lost their horrible power of fascination, when they observed the cheerful holy expression of Rasalama’s countenance as she was led to the edge of the ditch which was to be her grave. The bottom of that grave was already strewn with the bloody remains and the bleaching bones of other martyrs who had preceded her.
The crowd, who had followed the procession with imprecations against the Christians, now ceased to shout.
“Will you allow me a short time to pray?” asked Rasalama of the executioners.
Her request being granted, she kneeled on the rocky ground, clasped her hands, and raised to Heaven a look of calm trustfulness, as she held communion for the last time on earth with her Redeemer.