“Yes, yes—I understand,” said Mark, “I shall set them free at the same time. Why not? The risk will not be increased.”
“A reg’lar jail-delivery!” murmured Hockins, as he drew in a long breath.
“Hush! they come!” cried Mark, crouching so as the more effectually to conceal himself, in which act he was quickly imitated by the others.
According to promise, Ranavalona had set out from her palace that morning without her wonted display and ceremonial, with only a few of her courtiers and a handful of troops around her. She did not, however, omit the scarlet umbrella of state, and it was this brilliant object which had attracted Mark’s attention.
When the procession had approached close to the place of concealment, Mark whispered “Now!” and ran to the top of the mound before referred to. The four slaves followed him. The summit gained they turned, lifted up their arms and chains, looked upon the Queen, and gave vent to the “oo!—oo!—oo!” which stands to the Malagasy in the place of a cheer. Recognising the importance of the event, Hockins and Ebony, unable to restrain themselves, gave vent to a hearty British hurrah!
At this interruption, the bearers of the royal palanquin or chair halted, the soldiers brought their muskets to the “ready,” and a dark frown overspread the features of the Queen.
Before the storm could burst, however, Mark descended the mound, went to the side of the chair, knelt on one knee, and exclaimed—
“Forgive, madam—forgive me!”
“This, then, is your doing,” replied the Queen, sternly, through the Secretary, who was at her side.
“It is, madam. I am guilty. If punishment must descend, I alone should bear it.”