talk to someone.
The difficulty was - who? When they turned us out next morning, we were taken in charge by a couple of black overseers, who spoke nothing but jabber; they thrust us along a narrow alley, and out into a crowded square in which there was a long platform, railed off to one side, with guards stationed at its corners, to keep the mob back. It looked like a public meeting; there were a couple of black officials on the platform, and two more seated at a small table before it. We were pushed up a flight of steps to the platform, and made to stand in line; I was still blinking from the sunlight, wondering what this might portend, as I looked out over the crowd - blacks in lambas and robes for the most part, a few knots of officers in comic-opera uniforms, plenty of sedans with wealthy Malagassies sitting under striped umbrellas. I scanned the faces of the officers eagerly; those would be the French-speakers, and I was just about to raise a halloo to attract their attention when a face near the front of the crowd caught my eye like a magnet, and my heart leaped with excitement.
He was a tall man, wide-shouldered but lean, wearing a bright embroidered shirt under a blue broadcloth coat, and with a silk scarf tied like a cravat; he and his neighbour, a portly sambo resplendent in sarong and cocked hat, were taking snuff in the local fashion, the lean chap accepting a pinch from the other's box on the palm of his hand and engulfing it with a quick flick of his tongue (it tastes beastly, I can tell you). He grimaced and raised his eyes; they met mine, and stared - they were bright blue eyes, in a face burned brown under a mane of greying hair. But there was no doubt of it - he was a white man.
'You!' I roared. 'You, sir! Monsieur! Parlez-vous francais? anglais? Hindi? Latin? Bloody Greek, even? Listen to me - I must talk to you!'
One of the guards was striding forward to thrust me back, but the lean man was pushing his way through the mob, to my unutterable relief, and at a word from him to the officials he was allowed to approach the platform. He looked up at me, frowning, as I knelt down to be close to him.
'Francais?' says he.
'I'm English - a prisoner, from a boat that came in at Tamitave! In God's name, how can I get out of this? No one listens to me - they've been dragging me all over the bloody country for weeks! I must—'
'Gently, gently,' says he, and at the sound of the English words I could have wept. Then: 'Smile, monsieur. Smile - what is the word - broadly? Laugh, if you can - but converse quietly. It is for your own good. Now, who are you?'
I didn't understand, but I forced a ghastly grin, and told him who I was, what had happened, and my total ignorance of why I'd been brought here. He listened intently, those vivid eyes playing over my face, motioning me to speak softly whenever my voice rose - which, as you can imagine, it tended to do. All the time he was plainly avoiding glancing at my guards or the officials, but he was listening for them. When I had finished he fingered his cravat, nodding, as though I'd been telling him the latest for 'Punch', and smiling pleasantly.
'Eh bien,' says he. 'Now attend, and not interrupt. If my English she is not perfect, I use French, but better not. No? Whatever I say, betray no amaze', do you see? Smile, if you please. Good. I am Jean Laborde, once of the Emperor's cavalry. I have been here thirteen years, I am a citizen. You do not know Madagascar?'
I shook my head, and he put back his head and laughed softly, plainly for the onlookers' benefit.
'They detest all Europe, and English especially. Since you land without permission, they treat you as naufrage - how you call? - shipwreck? Castaway? By their law - please to smile, monsieur, very much - all such persons must be made slaves. This is a slave-market. They make you a slave - forever.'
The smiling brown face with its blue eyes swam in front of me; I had to hold on to the edge of the platform. Laborde was speaking again, quickly, and the smile had vanished.
'Say nothing. Wait. Wait. Do not despair. I will make inquiry. I see you again. Only wait, don't despair. Now, my friend - forgive me.'
On the heels of the last word he suddenly shouted something in what I took to be Malagassy, gesturing angrily. Heads came round, my guard stooped and wrenched at my shoulder, and Laborde struck me full in the face with his open hand.
'Scelerat!' he cried. 'Canaille!' He swung angrily on his heel and pushed his way back into the grinning crowd, while the guard kicked me upright and thrust me back into line. I tried to call to Laborde, but I was choked with horror and my own tears, and then one of the officials mounted a rostrum, shouting an announcement, the chatter of the crowd died away, the first of our coffle was pushed forward, and the bidding began.
No one who has not stood on the block can truly understand the horror of slavery. To be thrust up in public, before a crowd of leering niggers, waiting your turn while your fellow-unfortunates are knocked down, one by one to the highest bidder, and you stand like a beast in a pen, all dignity, manhood, even humanity gone. Aye, it's hell. It's even worse when nobody buys you.
I couldn't credit it - not even an opening bid! Imagine it —'here's Flashy, gentlemen, young and in prime fettle, no previous owners, guaranteed of sound wind, no heelbug, highly recommended by superiors and ladies of quality, well set-up when he's shaved, talks like a book, and a bugger to ride! Who'll say a hundred? Fifty? Twenty? Come, come gentlemen, the hair on his head's worth more than that! Do I hear ten? Five, then? Three? For a capital bargain with years of wear in him? Do I hear one? Not for a fellow who dismissed Felix, Pilch, and Mynn in three deliveries? Oh, well, Ikey, put him back on the shelf, and tell the knackers to come and collect him.'
It was downright humiliating, especially with the bid-ding for my black companions as brisk as a morning breeze. Mind you, the thought of being bought by one of those disgusting Malagassies was revolting - still, I couldn't but feel disgruntled when they shoved me back in the ware-house alone, the Selling Plater nobody wanted. It was night before I found out the reason - for night brought Laborde, past bribed officials and guards, with soap, a gourd of water, a razor, and enough bad news CO last a lifetime.
'It is simple,' says he, when he had slipped a coin to the sentry and we were locked in alone. He spoke French now, which he'd been afraid to do in public for fear of eavesdrop-pers. 'I had no time to tell you. The other slaves were being sold for debt, or crime. You, as a castaway, are in effect crown property; your display on the block was a mere formality, for no one would dare to bid. You belong to the Queen - as I did, when I was shipwrecked years ago.'
'But … but you ain't a slave! Can't you get away?'
'No one gets away,' says he, flatly, and it was now I learned a good deal of what I've told you already - of the monstrous tyranny of Queen Ranavalona, her hatred of foreigners which had caused Madagascar to be quite cut off from the world, of the diabolical practice of 'losing'— which is their word for enslaving - all strangers.
'For five years I served that terrible woman,' Laborde concluded. 'I am an engineer - you will have seen my lightning rods on the houses. I am also skilled in the making of armaments, and I cast cannon for her. My reward was freedom'— he laughed shortly —'but not freedom to leave. I shall never escape - nor will you, unless—' He broke off, and then hurried on. 'But refresh yourself, my friend. Wash and shave, at least, while you tell me more of your own misfortune. We have little time.' He glanced towards the door. 'The guards are safe for the moment, but safety lasts a short while in Madagascar.'
So I told him my tale in full, while I washed and shaved by the flickering light of his lantern, and sponged the filth from the shreds in which I was clothed. While I talked I got a good look at him - he was younger than I'd thought, about fifty, and almost as big as I, a handsome, decent-looking cove, fast and active, but plainly as nervous as a cat; he was forever starting at sounds outside, and when he talked it was in an urgent whisper.
'I shall inquire about your wife,' says he when I'd done. 'They will have brought her ashore almost certainly - they lose no chance of enslaving foreigners. This man Solomon I know of - he trades in guns and European goods, in exchange for Malagassy spices, balsam, and gums. He is tolerated, but he will have been powerless to protect your lady. I shall find out where she is, and then - we shall see. It may take time, you understand; it is dangerous. They are so suspicious, these people - I run great risk by coming to see you, even.'
'Then why d'you do it?' says I, for I'm inclined to be leery of gifts brought at peril to the giver; I was nothing to him, after all. He muttered something about befriending a fellow-European, and the comradeship of men-at-arms, but I wasn't fooled. Kindness might be one of his motives, but there were others, too, that he wasn't telling about, or I was much mistaken. However, that could wait.
'What'll they do with me?' I asked, and he looked me up and down, and then glanced away, uneasily.
'If the Queen is pleased with you, she may give you a favoured position - as she did with me.' He hesitated. 'It is for this reason I help you to make yourself presentable - you are very large and … personable. Since you are a soldier, and the army is her great passion, it is possible that you will be employed in its instruction - drilling, manoeuvring, that kind of thing. You have seen her soldiers, so you are aware that they have been trained by
