At all events, whatever the cause, Ranavalona the First sank rapidly, and, on the 15th of August, 1861, after a reign of thirty-three years, the Tyrant Queen of Madagascar passed away to the tribunal of the King of Kings.
Her son, Prince Rakota, was her successor; but his succession was not to be unopposed. He had a rival claimant to the throne in his own cousin Rambosalàma, an able, wary, and unscrupulous man, who, on perceiving that the end was approaching, had laid his plans secretly and extensively for seizing the reins of government. Prince Rakota, however, was so much beloved that all his cousin’s plans were revealed to him by his friends, but the disposition of the prince was too humane to permit of his adopting the usual savage means to foil his foe.
“All has been told to me,” he said to the Secretary. “My cousin has gained many to his side—especially of those who hate the Christians. He has even hired men to kill me! I know it, because one of the assassins came last night and warned me. At the same time he confessed that he had intended to commit the crime.”
“But have you not taken steps to thwart your cousin!”
“I have. For some time past every allowable measure for our protection has been taken, but the religion of Jesus, as you know, forbids me to resort to poison, the chain, or the spear. My reign shall not begin with bloodshed if I can help it. You know that my good friend the Commander-in-Chief of the troops, Rainiharo’s son, is on our side. Finding that my cousin went about armed, he recently issued an order that no one should be allowed to carry arms in the palace. As I myself bowed to this order, and submitted to be searched, of course Rambosalàma had no excuse for refusing. Then, as a precaution, we have concealed from all except sure friends the orders which, from day to day, have regulated the movements of the troops. I have met daily in council those on whom I can depend, and our course of action is all arranged. Only one point remains unsettled, and it is that which I ask you to undertake—for your will is resolute.”
“Whatever my Prince requires of me shall be done—if it be not against the laws of my God,” said the Secretary.
Rakota looked pleased with the reply. “I want you,” he said, “to stand in the passage here, till Rambosalàma appears. He is sure to pass, being now in the death-chamber, to which I return speedily. His followers will be in force in the palace-yard—I hear the multitudes assembling even now. When he passes this way it will be to give the signal of revolt. You will stop him. If he resists, use force—you are strong! You understand?”
The Secretary looked intelligent, and bowed as the Prince rose and left him. Then he hastily sought for and found his friend Ebony, with whom he had struck up a sort of happy-go-lucky friendship.
Meanwhile the multitudes, who had heard early in the morning that the Queen was dying, had crowded every street that led to the palace. Some had even pressed into the courts in their anxiety to know the truth. Laxity seemed to prevail among the guards, for many people who carried weapons ill-concealed in their lambas, and whose looks as well as movements were suspicious, were allowed to enter. These were the partisans of Rambosalàma. Indeed it is probable that even among the guards themselves there were adherents of the Pretender.
But the faithful Commander-in-Chief was on the alert, and had laid his plans. He stood in the chamber of death where the mourners were weeping. He watched with keen eye the movements of Rambosalàma, and when that Prince left the room for the purpose of giving the signal to his followers, he slipped quietly out and gave his counter-signal, which was the waving of a scarf from a window. Instantly a trumpet sounded, and more than a thousand trusty soldiers who had been in waiting marched into the palace courts.