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Updated: September 22, 2025
As this was spoken in the native language our Englishmen did not understand it, but they had little difficulty in guessing the drift of it when they saw the officers replace the chains and lead Mamba back to prison, where the last words the jailor heard as he left him were, "Mother, mother! Ramatoa! I shall never more see your dear faces in this life never more!"
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."
"I will turn now. What go you to the coast for?" asked his friend, when about to part. "You would laugh at me if I told you," said Mamba. "Then tell me not," returned his friend, with much delicacy of feeling, "for I would be sorry to laugh at my friend." Thus they parted.
"True, and I would not pry into your secrets," returned Laihova, "but we would help you if we can." "You cannot help me," returned Mamba, in a somewhat sad tone. "I have business in hand which requires haste. I have tried to keep clear of you to prevent delay, and to avoid mixing myself up in your dangers, for you are in danger here.
It was evident that, whatever his business might be, Mamba, for reasons best known to himself, resolved to keep his own counsel. Seeing this, his friend said "Well, I go to the eastward also, for Ravoninohitriniony awaits me there; but I fear that our English friends will be thrown into prison." "Do you think so?" asked Mamba, anxiously.
The poor fellow was first set to work on a piece of road-mending just outside the city gate, with several others martyrs and criminals in similar condemnation. And here Mark and his companions met him unexpectedly before they were aware that the fearful punishment had begun. At the time poor Mamba was toiling with pick and shovel. His heart was almost broken.
But what fellows like me don't understand is the great comfortable, satisfied middle-class world, the folk that live in villas and suburbs. He doesn't know how they look at things, he doesn't understand their conventions, and he is as shy of them as of a black mamba. When a trim parlour-maid opened the door, I could hardly find my voice. I asked for Mr Appleton, and was ushered in.
With terrific force he struck the ledge, and it must have been a lifeless body that was finally shattered on the plain below. As the people immediately began to disperse after this, Mark and his friends hastened sway from the place with an overwhelming sense of horror upon them, but thankful as well as relieved to know that their friend Mamba was not yet among the martyrs.
But now you have come, and my prayer is answered. `He is faithful who has promised. Look here." The old man went to a corner of the hut, and returned with two soiled pieces of paper in his hand. Sitting down, he spread them carefully on his knees. Mamba recognised them at once as being two leaves out of a Malagasy Bible.
They understood him, however, when he cautiously and lovingly drew the Testament from its hiding-place and gave it into Mark's hands. "What am I to do with it, my poor friend?" said Mark. "I know that you have no chance of retaining it, after the decree that has just been passed." "Keep 'im keep for me," said Mamba, anxiously. "I will do so, if I can, but it may not be possible," answered Mark.
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