TO THE NORTH-WEST COAST 301
Tortoises—Gigantic Tortoises of Aldabra Island—Park-like
Scenery—The Fierce Little Fòsa—Small Carnivora—Beautiful
Woods—“Many Crocodiles” Town—A Curious Pulpit—A Hot
Night—A Voyage in a Dhow—Close Quarters on its Deck—An
Arab Dhow and its Rig—Bèmbatòka Bay—Mojangà—An Arab
and Indian Town—An Ancient Arab Colony—Baobab-trees—Valuable
Timber Trees—The Fishing Eagle—Turtles and Turtle-catching
—Herons—The North-West Coast—A Fishing Fish—Oysters and
Octopus—Nòsibé and Old Volcanoes—Our Last Glimpses of
Madagascar
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Old Village Gateway with Circular Stone _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
On the Coast Lagoons 28
A Forest Road 32
Low-class Girl fetching Water 50
A Sihànaka Woman playing the Vahiha 50
Bétsimisàraka Women 58
Hova Women weaving 58
Family Tomb of the late Prime Minister, Antanànarìvo 66
Royal Tombs, Antanànarìvo 66
Earthenware Pottery 76
Digging up Rice-fields 76
Pounding and winnowing Rice 78
Hova Middle-class Family at a Meal 78
Rocks near Ambàtovòry 92
Typical Hova House in the Ancient Style 96
On the Coast Lagoons 106
Transplanting Rice 112
Hova Tombs 118
Friday Market at Antanànarìvo 120
Ancient Village Gateway 124
A Forest Village 134
Chameleons 136
Anàlamazàotra 146
Memorial Carved Posts and Ox Horns 156
Blacksmith at Work 156
On the Coast Lagoons 166
Some Curious Madagascar Spiders 168
Sihànaka Men 176
Forest Village 176
A Wayside Market 180
Water-carriers 218
Hide-bearers resting by the Roadside 230
Bétsiléo Tombs 230
Memorial Stone 234
Types of Carved Ornamentation in Houses 236
” ” ” 238
Group of Tanàla Girls in Full Dress 242
Tanàla Girls singing and clapping Hands 242
Tanàla Spearmen 248
Coiffures 250
A Forest River 252
Tree Ferns 260
Traveller’s Trees 260
A Malagasy Orchid 272
Malagasy Men dancing 274
Woman of the Antànkàrana Tribe 278
Woman of the Antanòsy Tribe 278
The Fòsa 302
Malagasy Oxen 302
MAPS
Physical Sketch Map of Madagascar 16
Ethnographical Sketch Maps of Madagascar 17
General Map of Madagascar 314
[Illustration: PHYSICAL SKETCH-MAP OF MADAGASCAR
_showing lines of Forest, and limits of high land of Interior
exceeding 2500 feet above Sea-level_]
[Illustration: ETHNOGRAPHICAL _SKETCH-MAP_ OF MADAGASCAR]
A NATURALIST IN MADAGASCAR
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
The great African island of Madagascar has become well known to
Europeans during the last half-century, and especially since the year
1895, when it was made a colony of France. During that fifty years
many books—the majority of these in the French language—have been
written about the island and its people; what was formerly an almost
unknown country has been traversed by Europeans in all directions;
its physical geography is now clearly understood; since the French
occupation it has been scientifically surveyed, and a considerable
part of the interior has been laid down with almost as much detail
as an English ordnance map. But although very much information has
been collected with regard to the country, the people, the geology,
and the animal and vegetable productions of Madagascar, there has
hitherto been no attempt, at least in the English language, to
collect these many scattered notices of the Malagasy fauna and flora,
and to present them to the public in a readable form.
In several volumes of a monumental work that has been in progress for
many years past, written and edited by M. Alfred Grandidier,[1] the
natural history and the botany of the island are being exhaustively
described in scientific fashion; but these great quartos are in the
French language, while their costly character renders them unknown
books to the general reader. It is the object of the following pages
to describe, in as familiar and popular a fashion as may be, many of
the most interesting facts connected with the exceptional animal life
of Madagascar, and with its forestal and other vegetable productions.
During nearly fifty years’ connection with this country the writer
has travelled over it in many directions, and while his chief time
and energies have of course been given to missionary effort, he has
always taken a deep interest in the living creatures which inhabit
the island, as well as in its luxuriant flora, and has always been
collecting information about them. The facts thus obtained are
embodied in the following pages.
[Sidenote: ROADS AND TRAVELLING]
It is probably well known to most readers of this book that a railway
now connects Tamatave, the chief port of the east coast, with
Antanànarìvo, the capital, which is about a third of the way across
the island. So that the journey from the coast to the interior,
which, up to the year 1899, used to take from eight to ten days, can
now be accomplished in one day. Besides this, good roads now traverse
the country in several directions, so that wheeled vehicles can be
used; and on some of these a service of motor cars keeps up regular
communication with many of the chief towns and the capital.
But we shall not, in these pages, have much to do with these modern
innovations, for a railway in Madagascar is very much like a railway
in Europe. Our journeys will mostly be taken by the old-fashioned
native conveyance, the _filanjàna_ or light palanquin, carried by
four stout and trusty native bearers. We shall thus not be whirled
through the most interesting portion of our route, catching only a
momentary glimpse of many a beautiful scene. We can get down and
walk, whenever we like, to observe bird or beast or insect, to
gather flower or fern or lichen or moss, or to take a rock specimen,
things utterly impracticable either by railway or motor car, and not
very easy to do in any wheeled conveyance. Our object will be, not
to get through the journey as fast as possible, but to observe all
that is worth notice during the journey. We shall therefore, in this
style of travel, not stay in modern hotels, but in native houses,
notwithstanding their drawbacks and discomforts; and thus we shall
see the Malagasy as they are, and as their ancestors have been for
generations gone by, almost untouched by European influence, and so
be able to observe their manners and customs, and learn something of
their ideas, their superstitions, their folk-lore, and the many other
ways in which they differ from ourselves.
[Sidenote: EXTENT OF THE ISLAND]
Let us, however, first try to get a clear notion about this great
island, and to realise how large a country it is. Take a fair-sized
map of Madagascar, and we see that it rises like some huge
sea-monster from the waters of the Indian Ocean; or, to use another
comparison, how its outline is very like the sole—the left-hand
one—of a human foot. As we usually look at the island in connection
with a map of Africa, it appears as a mere appendage to the great
“Dark Continent”; and it is difficult to believe that it is really a
thousand miles long, and more than three hundred miles broad, with an
area of two hundred and thirty thousand square miles, thus exceeding
that of France, Belgium and Holland all put together.[2] Before the
year 1871 all maps of Madagascar, as regards its interior, were pure
guesswork. A great backbone of mountains was shown, with branches on
either side, like a huge centipede. But it is now clear that, instead
of these fancy pictures, there is an extensive elevated region
occupying about two-thirds of the island to the east and north,
leaving a wide stretch of low country to the west and south; and as
the watershed is much nearer the east than the west of the island,
almost all the chief rivers flow, not into the Indian Ocean, but into
the Mozambique Channel. When we add that a belt of dense forest runs
all along the east side of Madagascar, and is continued, with many
breaks, along the western side, and that scores of extinct volcanoes
are found in several districts of the interior, we shall have said
all that is necessary at present as to the physical geography. Many
more details of this, as well as of the geology, will come under our
notice as we travel through the country in various directions.
[1] _Histoire Physique, Naturelle et Politique de Madagascar_,
publiée par Alfred Grandidier, Paris, à l’Imprimerie Nationale; in
fifty-two volumes, quarto.
[2] I have often been astonished and amused by the notions some
English people have about Madagascar. One gentleman asked me if it
was not somewhere in Russia!—and a very intelligent lady once said to
me: “I suppose it is about as large as the Isle of Wight!”
CHAPTER II
TAMATAVE AND FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF THE COUNTRY
It was on a bright morning in September, 1863, that I first came in
sight of Madagascar. In those days there was no service of steamers,
either of the “Castle” or the “Messageries Maritimes” lines, touching
at any Madagascar port, and the passage from Mauritius had to be made
in what were termed “bullockers.” These vessels were small brigs or
schooners which had been condemned for ordinary traffic, but were
still considered good enough to convey from two to three hundred oxen
from Tamatave to Port Louis or Réunion. It need hardly be said that
the accommodation on board these ships was of the roughest, and the
food was of the least appetising kind. A diet of cabbage, beans and
pumpkin led one of my friends to describe the menu of the bullocker
as “the green, the brown, and the yellow.” Happily, the voyage to
Madagascar was usually not very long, and in my case we had a quick
and pleasant passage of three days only; but I hardly hoped that
daylight on Wednesday morning would reveal the country on which my
thoughts had been centred for several weeks past; so it was with a
strange feeling of excitement that soon after daybreak I heard the
captain calling to me down the hatchway: “We are in sight of land!”
Not many minutes elapsed before I was on deck and looking with eager
eyes upon the island in which eventually most of my life was to be
spent. We were about five miles from the shore, running under easy
sail to the northward, until the breeze from the sea should set in
and enable us to enter the harbour of Tamatave.
[Sidenote: TAMATAVE AND FIRST IMPRESSIONS]
There was no very striking feature in the scene—no towering volcanic
peaks, as at Mauritius and Aden, yet it was not without beauty. A
long line of blue mountains in the distance, covered with clouds; a
comparatively level plain extending from the hills to the sea, green
and fertile with cotton and sugar and rice plantations; while the
shore was fringed with the tall trunks and feathery crowns of the
cocoanut-palms which rose among the low houses of the village of
Tamatave. These, together with the coral reefs forming the harbour,
over which the great waves thundered and foamed—all formed a picture
thoroughly tropical, reminding me of views of islands in the South
Pacific.
The harbour of Tamatave is protected by a coral reef, which has
openings to the sea both north and south, the latter being the
principal entrance; it is somewhat difficult of access, and the ribs
and framework of wrecked vessels are (or perhaps rather _were_) very
frequently seen on the reef. The captain had told me that sometimes
many hours and even days were spent in attempting to enter, and that
it would probably be noon before we should anchor. I therefore went
below to prepare for landing, but in less than an hour was startled
to hear by the thunder of the waves on the reef and the shouts of the
seamen reducing sail that we were already entering the harbour. The
wind had proved unexpectedly favourable, and in a few more minutes
the cable was rattling through the hawsehole, the anchor was dropped,
and we swung round at our moorings.
There were several vessels in the harbour. Close to us was H.M.’s
steamer _Gorgon_, and, farther away, two or three French men-of-war,
among them the _Hermione_ frigate, bearing the flag of Commodore
Dupré, their naval commandant in the Indian Ocean, as well as
plenipotentiary for the French Government in the disputes then
pending concerning the Lambert Treaty. I was relieved to find that
everything seemed peaceful and quiet at Tamatave, and that the
long white flag bearing the name of Queen Ràsohèrina, in scarlet
letters, still floated from the fort at the southern end of the town.
I had been told at Port Louis that things were very unsettled in
Madagascar, and that I should probably find Tamatave being bombarded
by the French; but it is unnecessary to refer further to what is now
ancient history, or to touch upon political matters, which lie quite
outside the main purpose of this book.
Tamatave, as a village, has not a very inviting appearance from the
sea, and man’s handiwork had certainly not added much to the beauty
of the landscape. Had it not been for the luxuriant vegetation of the
pandanus, palms, and other tropical productions, nothing could have
been less interesting than the native town, which possessed at that
time few European residences and no buildings erected for religious
worship.[3] Canoes, formed out of the trunk of a single tree, soon
came off to our ship, but I was glad to dispense with the services
of these unsafe-looking craft, and to accept a seat in the captain’s
boat. Half-an-hour after anchoring we were rowing towards the beach,
and in a few minutes I leaped upon the sand, with a thankful heart
that I had been permitted to tread the shores of Madagascar.
Proceeding up the main street—a sandy road bordered by enclosures
containing the stores of a few European traders—we came to the house
of the British Vice-Consul. Here I found Mr Samuel Procter, who was
subsequently the head for many years of one of the chief trading
houses in the island, and also Mr F. Plant, a gentleman employed by
the authorities of the British Museum to collect specimens of natural
history in the then almost unknown country. From them I learned that
a missionary party which had preceded me from Mauritius had left only
two days previously for the capital, and that Mr Plant had kindly
undertaken to accompany me on the journey for the greater part of
the distance to Antanànarìvo. At first we thought of setting off on
that same evening, so as to overtake our friends, but finding that
this would involve much fatigue, we finally decided to wait for two
or three days and take more time to prepare for the novel experiences
of a Madagascar journey. In a little while I was domiciled at Mr
Procter’s store, where I was hospitably entertained during my stay in
Tamatave.
The afternoon of my first day on shore was occupied in seeing after
the landing of my baggage. This was no easy or pleasant task; the
long rolling swell from the ocean made the transfer of large wooden
cases from the vessel to the canoes a matter requiring considerable
dexterity. More than once I expected to be swamped, and that through
the rolling of the ship the packages would be deposited at the bottom
of the harbour. It was therefore with great satisfaction that I saw
all my property landed safely on the beach.
[Sidenote: THE BULLOCKER]
Although Tamatave has always been the chief port on the east coast
of Madagascar, there were, for many years after my arrival there, no
facilities for landing or shipping goods. The bullocks, which formed
the staple export, were swum off to the ships, tied by their horns to
the sides of large canoes, and then slung on board by tackles from
the yard-arm. From the shouting and cries of the native drovers, the
struggles of the oxen, and their starting back from the water, it was
often a very exciting scene. A number of these bullockers were always
passing between the eastern ports of Madagascar and the islands of
Mauritius and Réunion, and kept the markets of these places supplied
with beef at moderate rates. The vessels generally ceased running for
about four months in the early part of the year, when hurricanes are
prevalent in the Indian Ocean; and it may easily be supposed that the
passenger accommodation on board these ships was not of the first
order. However, compared with the discomforts and, often, the danger
and long delays endured by some, I had not much to complain of in my
first voyage to Madagascar. It had, at least, the negative merit of
not lasting long, and I had not then the presence of nearly three
hundred oxen as fellow-passengers for about a fortnight, as on my
voyage homewards, when I had also a severe attack of malarial fever.
The native houses of Tamatave, like those of the other coast
villages, were of very slight construction, being formed of a
framework of wood and bamboo, filled in with leaves of the pandanus
and the traveller’s tree. In a few of these some attempts at neatness
were observable, the walls being lined with coarse cloth made of the
fibre of _rofìa_-palm leaves, and the floor covered with well-made
mats of papyrus. But the general aspect of the native quarter of the
town was filthy and repulsive; heaps of putrefying refuse exhaled
odours which warned one to get away as soon as possible. In almost
every other house a large rum-barrel, ready tapped, showed what an
unrestricted trade was doing to demoralise the people.
I could not help noticing the strange articles of food exposed
for sale in the little market of the Bétsimisàraka quarter. Great
heaps of brown locusts seemed anything but inviting, nor were
the numbers of minute fresh-water shrimps much more tempting in
appearance. With these, however, were plentiful supplies of manioc
root, rice of several kinds, potatoes and many other vegetables, the
brilliant scarlet pods of different spices, and many varieties of
fruit—pine-apples, bananas, melons, peaches, citrons and oranges.
Beef was cheap as well as good, and there was a lean kind of mutton,
but it was much like goat-flesh. Great quantities of poultry are
reared in the interior and are brought down to the coast for sale to
the ships trading at the ports.
[Sidenote: NATIVE HOUSES]
The houses of the Malagasy officials and the principal foreign
traders were substantially built of wooden framework, with walls
and floors of planking and thatched with the large leaves of the
traveller’s tree. No stone can be procured near Tamatave, nor can
bricks be made there, as the soil is almost entirely sand; the town
itself is indeed built on a peninsula, a sand-bank thrown up by the
sea, under the shelter of the coral reefs which form the harbour.
The house where I was staying consisted of a single long room, with
the roof open to the ridge; a small sleeping apartment was formed
at one corner by a partition of _rofìa_ cloth. There was no window,
but light and air were admitted by large doors, which were always
open during the day. A few folds of Manchester cottons, to serve as
mattress, and a roll of the same for a pillow, laid on Mr Procter’s
counter, formed a luxurious bed after the discomforts of a bullock
vessel. All around us, in the native houses, singing and rude music,
with drumming and clapping of hands, were kept up far into the night;
and these sounds, as well as the regular beating of the waves all
round the harbour, and the excitement of the new and strange scenes
of the past day, kept me from sleep until the small hours of the
morning.
The following day I went to make a visit to the Governor of Tamatave,
as a new arrival in the country. My host accompanied me, as I was
of course quite unable to talk Malagasy. As this was a visit of
ceremony, it was not considered proper to walk, so we went by the
usual conveyance of the country, the _filanjàna_. This word means
anything by which articles or persons are carried on the shoulder,
and is usually translated “palanquin,” but the _filanjàna_ is a very
different thing from the little portable room which is used in India.
In our case it was a large easy-chair, attached to two poles, and
carried by four stout men, or _màromìta_, as they are called. They
carried us at a quick trot; but this novel experience struck me—I
can hardly now understand why—as irresistibly ludicrous, and I could
not restrain my laughter at the comical figure—as it then seemed to
me—that we presented, especially when I thought of the sensation we
should make in the streets of an English town.
The motion was not unpleasant, as the men keep step together. Every
few minutes they change the poles from one shoulder to the other,
lifting them over their heads without any slackening of speed.
[Sidenote: THE GOVERNOR]
A few minutes brought us to the fort, at the southern end of the
town; this was a circular structure of stone, with walls about twenty
feet high, which were pierced with openings for about a dozen cannon.
We had to wait for a few minutes until the Governor was informed
of our arrival, and thus had time to think of the scene this fort
presented not twenty years before that time, when the heads of many
English and French sailors were fixed on poles around the fort. These
ghastly objects were relics of those who were killed in an attack
made upon Tamatave in 1845, by a combined English and French force,
to redress some grievances of the foreign traders. But we need not be
too hard on the Malagasy when we remember that, not a hundred years
before that time, we in England followed the same delectable custom,
and adorned Temple Bar and other places with the heads of traitors.
Presently we were informed that the Governor was ready to receive us.
Passing through the low covered way cut through the wall, we came
into the open interior space of the fort. The Governor’s house, a
long low wooden structure, was opposite to us; while, on the right,
he was seated under the shade of a large tree, with a number of
his officers and attendants squatting around him. They were mostly
dressed in a mixture of European and native costume—viz. a shirt and
trousers, over which were thrown the folds of the native _làmba_, an
oblong piece of calico or print, wrapped round the body, with one end
thrown over the left shoulder. Neat straw hats of native manufacture
completed their costume. The Governor, whose name was Andrìamandròso,
was dressed in English fashion, with black silk “top hat” and
worked-wool slippers. He had a very European-looking face, dark olive
complexion, and was an _andrìana_—that is, one of a clan or tribe
of the native nobility. He did not speak English, but through Mr
Procter we exchanged a few compliments and inquiries. I assured him
of the interest the people of England took in Madagascar, and their
wish to see the country advancing. Presently wine was brought, and
after drinking to the Governor’s health we took our leave. The Hova
government maintained, until the French conquest, a garrison of from
two to three hundred men at Tamatave. These troops had their quarters
close to the fort, in a number of houses placed in rows and enclosed
in a large square or _ròva_, formed of strong wooden palisades, with
gateways.
[Sidenote: A ROUGH AND READY CANTEEN]
The following day was occupied in making preparations for the
journey, purchasing a few of the most necessary articles of crockery,
etc., and unpacking my canteen. This latter was a handsome teak box,
and fitted up most neatly with plates, dishes, knives and forks, etc.
But Mr Plant said that both the box and most of its contents were
far too good to be exposed to the rough usage they would undergo on
the journey; so I took out some of the things and repacked the box
in its wooden case. Subsequent experience showed the wisdom of this
advice, and that it was a mistake to use too expensive articles for
such travelling as that in Madagascar, or to have to spend much time
in getting out and putting in again everything in its proper corner.
Upon reaching the halting-place after a fatiguing journey of several
hours, it is a great convenience to get at one’s belongings with the
least possible amount of exertion; and when starting before sunrise
in the mornings, it is not less pleasant to be able to dispense with
an elaborate fitting of things into a canteen. By my friend’s advice,
I therefore bought a three-legged iron pot for cooking fowls, some
common plates, and a tin coffee-pot, which also served as a teapot
when divested of its percolator. These things were stowed away in a
mat bag, which proved the most convenient form of canteen possible
for such a journey The contents were quickly put in, and as readily
got out when wanted; and, thus provided, we felt prepared to explore
Madagascar from north to south, quite independent of inns and
innkeepers, chambermaids and waiters, had such members of society
existed in this primitive country.
[3] It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that for some years past
Tamatave has been a very different place from what is described
above. Many handsome buildings—offices, banks, shops, hotels and
government offices—have been erected; the town is lighted at night by
electricity; piers have been constructed; and in the suburbs shady
walks and roads are bordered by comfortable villa residences and
their luxuriant gardens.
CHAPTER III
FROM COAST TO CAPITAL: ALONG THE SEASHORE
Travelling in Madagascar fifty years ago, and indeed for many
years after that date, differed considerably from what we have any
experience of in Europe. It was not until the year 1901 that a
railway was commenced from the east coast to the interior, and it
is only a few months ago that direct communication by rail has been
completed between Tamatave and Antanànarìvo. But until the French
occupation, in 1895, a road, in our sense of the word, did not
exist in the island; and all kinds of merchandise brought from the
coast to the interior, or taken between other places, were carried
for great distances on men’s shoulders. There were but three modes
of conveyance—viz. one’s own legs, the _làkana_ or canoe, and the
_filanjàna_ or palanquin. We intended to make use of all these means
of getting over the ground (and water); but by far the greater part
of the journey of two hundred and twenty miles would be performed in
the _filanjàna_, carried on the sinewy shoulders of our bearers or
_màromìta_. This was _the_ conveyance of the country (and it is still
used a good deal); for during the first thirty years and more of my
residence in Madagascar there was not a single wheeled vehicle of
any kind to be seen in the interior, nor did even a wheelbarrow come
under my observation during that time.
This want of our European means of conveyance arose from the fact
that no wheeled vehicles could have been used owing to the condition
of the tracks then leading from one part of the country to another.
The lightest carriage or the strongest waggon would have been equally
impracticable in parts of the forest where the path was almost lost
in the dense undergrowth, and where the trees barely left room for
a palanquin to pass. Nor could any team take a vehicle up and down
some of the tremendous gorges, by tracks which sometimes wind like
a corkscrew amidst rocks and twisted roots of trees, sometimes
climb broad surfaces of slippery basalt, where a false step would
send bearers and palanquin together into steep ravines far below,
and again are lost in sloughs of adhesive clay, in which the bearers
at times sink to the waist, and when the traveller has to leap
from the back of one man to another to reach firm standing-ground.
Shaky bridges of primitive construction, often consisting of but a
single tree trunk, were frequently the only means of crossing the
streams; while more often they had to be forded, one of the men going
cautiously in advance to test the depth of the water. It occasionally
happened that this pioneer suddenly disappeared, affording us and
his companions a good deal of merriment at his expense. At times I
have had to cross rivers when the water came up to the necks of the
bearers, the shorter men having to jump up to get breath, while they
had to hold the palanquin high up at arm’s-length to keep me out of
the water.
[Sidenote: GENERAL FOREST AND GENERAL FEVER]
It was often asked: Why do not the native government improve the
roads? The neglect to do so was intentional on their part, for it
was evident to everyone who travelled along the route from Tamatave
to the capital that the track might have been very much improved at
a comparatively small expense. The Malagasy shrewdly considered that
the difficulty of the route to the interior would be a formidable
obstacle to an invasion by a European power, and so they deliberately
allowed the path to remain as rugged as it is by nature. The first
Radàma is reported to have said, when told of the military genius of
foreign soldiers, that he had two officers in his service, “General
Hàzo,” and “General Tàzo” (that is, “Forest and Fever”), whom he
would match against any European commander. Subsequent events so
far justified his opinion that the French invasion of the interior
in 1895 did not follow the east forest road, but the far easier
route from the north-west coast. The old road through the double
belt of forests would have presented formidable obstacles to the
passage of disciplined troops, and at many points it might have
been successfully contested by a small body of good marksmen, well
acquainted with the localities.
[Illustration: ON THE COAST LAGOONS
Large dug-out canoes, propelled by paddles on each side, one man to
each paddle]
[Sidenote: PLEASURES AND DISCOMFORTS]
It may be gathered from what has been already said that travelling
in Madagascar in the old times had not a little of adventure
and novelty connected with it. Provided the weather was moderately
fine, there was enough of freshness and often of amusing incident to
render the journey not unenjoyable, especially if travelling in a
party; and even to a solitary traveller there is such a variety of
scenery, and so many and beautiful forms of vegetation, to arrest
the attention, that it was by no means monotonous. Of course there
must be a capacity for “roughing it,” and for turning the very
discomforts into sources of amusement. We must not be too much
disturbed at a superabundance of fleas or mosquitoes in the houses,
nor be frightened out of sleep by the scampering of rats around
and occasionally even upon us. It sometimes happens, too, that a
centipede or a scorpion has to be dislodged from under the mats upon
which we are about to lay our mattresses, but, after all, a moderate
amount of caution will prevent us taking much harm.
It must be confessed, however, that if the weather prove unfavourable
the discomforts are great, and it requires a resolute effort to look
at the bright side of things. To travel for several hours in the
rain, with the bearers slipping about in the stiff adhesive clay—now
sinking to the knees in a slough in the hollows, and then painfully
toiling up the rugged ascents—with a chance of being benighted in the
middle of the forest, were not enjoyable incidents in the journey.
Added to this, occasionally the bearers of baggage and bedding and
food would be far behind, and sometimes would not turn up at all,
leaving us to go supperless, not to bed, but to do as well as we
could on a dirty mat. But, after all said and done, I can look back
on many journeys with great pleasure; and my wife and I have even
said to each other at the end, “It has been like a prolonged picnic.”
And by travelling at the proper time of the year—for we never used,
if possible, to take long journeys in the rainy season—and with
ordinary care in arranging the different stages, there was often no
more discomfort than that inseparable from the unavoidable fatigue.
Soon after breakfast on the morning of the 3rd October the yard of
Mr Procter’s house was filled with the bearers waiting to take their
packages, and, as more came than were actually required, there was
a good deal of noise and confusion until all the loads had been
apportioned. Most of my _màromìta_ were strong and active young
men, spare and lithe of limb, and proved to possess great powers of
endurance. The loads they carried were not very heavy, but it was
astonishing to see with what steady patience they bore them hour
after hour under a burning sun, and up and down paths in the forest,
where their progress was often but a scrambling from one foothold
to another. Two men would take a load of between eighty and ninety
pounds, slung on a bamboo, between them; and this was the most
economical way of taking goods, for, on account of the difficulty of
the paths, four men found it more fatiguing to carry in one package a
weight which, divided into two, could easily be borne by two sets of
bearers.
[Sidenote: MY PALANQUIN]
Eight of the strongest and most active young men, accustomed to
work together, were selected to carry my palanquin, and took it in
two sets of four each, carrying alternately. Most of the articles
of my baggage were carried by two men; but my two large flat wooden
cases, containing drawing boards, paper and instruments, required
four men each. All baggage was carried by the same men throughout
the journey, without any relay or change, except shifting the pole
from one shoulder to the other; but my palanquin, as already said,
had a double set. The personal bearers, therefore, naturally travel
quicker than those carrying the baggage, and we generally arrived at
the halting-places an hour or more before the others came up. The
hollow of the bamboos to which boxes and cases were slung served
for carrying salt, spoons, and various little properties of the
bearers, and sometimes small articles of European make for selling
at the capital. The men were, and still are, very expert in packing
and securing goods committed to their charge. Prints, calicoes and
similar materials were often covered with pandanus leaves and so made
impervious to the wet; and even sugar and salt were carried in the
same way without damage.
As the conveyance of myself and my baggage required more than thirty
men, and Mr Plant took a dozen in addition, it was some time before
everything was arranged, and there was a good deal of contention as
to getting the lightest and most convenient packages to carry. We had
hoped to start early in the forenoon, but it was after one o’clock
when we sent off the last cases and I stepped into my _filanjàna_
to commence the novel experience of a journey in Madagascar. We
formed quite a large party as we set off from Tamatave and turned
southwards into the open country. The rear was brought up by a bearer
of some intelligence and experience, who only carried a spear, and
was to act as captain over the rest and look out accommodation for
us in the villages, etc. He had also to see after the whole of the
luggage, and take care that everyone had his proper load and came up
to time.
[Sidenote: THE FILANJÀNA]
My _filanjàna_ was a different kind of thing from the chair in which
I had gone to visit the Governor. It was of the same description as
that commonly used by Malagasy ladies—made of an oblong framework
of light wood, filled in with a plaited material formed of strips
of sheepskin, and carried on poles, which were the midrib of the
enormous leaves of the _rofìa_-palm. In this I sat, legs stretched
out at full length, a piece of board fixed as a rest for the back,
and the whole made fairly comfortable by means of cushions and
rugs. There was plenty of space for extra wraps, waterproof coat,
telescope, books, etc. When ladies travel any distance in this
kind of _filanjàna_ a hood of _rofìa_ cloth is fixed so as to draw
over the head and to protect them from the sun and rain. In my
case, a stout umbrella served instead, and a piece of waterproof
cloth protected me fairly well from the little rain that fell on
the journey. (I may add here that this was the first, and the
last, journey I ever took in this kind of _filanjàna_.) The late
Dr Mullens, who also travelled up in a similar way in 1873, said
it reminded him of a picture in _Punch_, of a heavy swell driving
himself in a very small basket carriage, and being remarked on by
a street arab to his companion thus: “Hallo, Bill, here’s a cove
a-driving hisself home from the wash.” My companion’s _filanjàna_ was
a much simpler contrivance than mine, and consisted merely of two
light poles held together by iron bars, and with a piece of untanned
hide nailed to them for a seat. It was much more conveniently
carried in the forest than my larger and more cumbrous conveyance.
It may be added that certainly one was sometimes danced about “like
a pea in a frying-pan” in this rude machine; and it was not long
before a much more comfortable style of _filanjàna_ was adopted,
with leather-covered back and arms, padded as well as the seat, and
with foot-rest, and leather or cloth bags strapped to the side for
carrying books and other small articles.
It was a fine warm day when we set off, the temperature not being
higher than that of ordinary summer weather in England. Our course
lay due south, at no great distance from the sea, the roar of whose
waves we could hear distinctly all through the first stage of the
journey. In proceeding from Tamatave to Antanànarìvo the road did not
(and still does not, by railway) lead immediately into the interior,
but follows the coast for about fifty miles southward. Upon reaching
Andòvorànto, we had to leave the sea and strike westward into the
heart of the island, ascending the river Ihàroka for nearly twenty
miles before climbing the line of mountains which form the edge of
the interior highland, and crossing the great forest.
[Sidenote: VEGETABLE AND ANIMAL LIFE]
We soon left Tamatave behind us and got out into the open country, a
portion of the plain which extends for about thirty miles between the
foothills and the sea. Our men took us this first day’s journey of
nine or ten miles at a quick walk or trot for the whole way, without
any apparent fatigue. The road—which was a mere footpath, or rather
several footpaths, over a grassy undulating plain—was bounded on one
side by trees, and on the other by low bushes and shrubs. Besides
the cocoanut-palms and the broad-leaved bananas, which were not here
very numerous, the most striking trees to a foreigner were the agave,
with long spear-shaped prickly leaves, on a high trunk, and another
very similar in form, but without any stem, both of which might be
counted by thousands. Nearer the sea was an almost unbroken line of
pandanus, which is one of the most characteristic features of the
coast vegetation. I also noticed numbers of orchids on the trees, of
two or three species of _Angræcum_, but just past the flowering; a
smaller orchid, also with pure white flowers, was very abundant.
[Illustration: A FOREST ROAD
Two bearers carrying an empty palanquin, and one with luggage. There
is the usual forest vegetation]
[Sidenote: A NATIVE HOME]
I had enough to engage my attention with these new forms of
vegetation, as well as in noticing the birds, and the many
butterflies and other insects which crossed our path every moment,
until we arrived at Hivòndrona, a large straggling village on
a broad river of the same name, which here unites with other
streams and flows into the sea. Among the many birds to be seen
were flocks of small green and white paroquets, green pigeons,
scarlet cardinal-birds, and occasionally beautiful little sun-birds
(_Nectarinidæ_) with metallic colours of green, brown and yellow.
We had intended to go farther, but finding that, owing to our late
starting, we should not reach another village before dark, we
decided to stay of Hivòndrona for the night. A house at most of the
villages on the road to the capital was provided for travellers,
who took possession at once, without paying anything for its use.
The house here, which was somewhat better than at most of the other
places, consisted, like all the dwellings in this part of the
country, of a framework of poles, thatched with the leaves of the
traveller’s tree, and the walls filled in with a kind of lathing
made of the stalks of the same leaves. The walls and floor were
both covered with matting, made from the fibre of leaves of the
_rofìa_ palm. In one corner was the fireplace, merely a yard and a
half square of sand and earth, with half-a-dozen large stones for
supporting the cooking utensils. As in most native houses, the smoke
made its way out through the thatch.
Our men soon came up with the baggage and proceeded to get out
kitchen apparatus, make a fire, and put on pots and pans; and in a
short time beef, fowls and soup were being prepared. Meanwhile Mr
Plant and I walked down to the seashore and then into the village, to
call upon a creole trader, who was the only European resident in the
place. We brought him back with us, and found dinner all ready on our
return to the house. My largest case of drawing boards formed, when
turned upside down and laid on other boxes, an excellent table; we
sat round on other packages, and found that one of our bearers, who
officiated as cook, was capable of preparing a very fair meal; and
although the surroundings were decidedly primitive, we enjoyed it all
the more from its novelty. After our visitor had left us we prepared
to sleep; three or four boxes, with a rug and my clothes-bag, formed
a comfortable bed for myself, while Mr Plant lay on the floor, but
found certain minute occupants of the house so very active that his
sleep was considerably disturbed.
[Sidenote: GIGANTIC ARUMS]
Next morning we were up long before daybreak, and after a cup of
coffee started a little before six o’clock. We walked down to the
river, which had to be crossed and descended for some distance, and
embarked with our baggage in seven canoes. These canoes, like those
at Tamatave, are somewhat rude contrivances, and are hollowed out of
a single tree. They are of various lengths, from ten to thirty or
forty feet, the largest being about four feet in breadth and depth.
There is no keel, so that they are rather apt to capsize unless
carefully handled and loaded. At each end is a kind of projecting
beak, pierced with a hole for attaching a mooring-rope. From the
smoothness of the sides, and the great length compared with the beam,
they can be propelled at considerable speed with far less exertion
than is required to move a boat of European build. Instead of oars,
paddles shaped like a wooden shovel are employed, and these are dug
into the water, the rower squatting in the canoe and facing the
bows; the paddle is held vertically, a reverse motion being given to
the handle. We went a couple of miles down the stream, which here
unites with others, so that several islands are formed, all the banks
being covered with luxuriant vegetation. Conspicuous amongst this,
and growing in the shallow water close to the banks, were great
numbers of a gigantic arum endemic in Madagascar (_Typhonodorum
lindleyanum_), and growing to the height sometimes of twelve or
fifteen feet, and possessing a large white spathe of more than a foot
in length, enclosing a golden-yellow pistil, or what looks like one.
The leaves are most handsome and are about a yard long. After about
twenty minutes’ paddling we landed, and, when all our little fleet
had arrived, mounted our palanquins, and set off through a narrow
path in the woods. The morning air, even on this tropical coast, was
quite keen, making an overcoat necessary before the sun got up.
Our road for some miles lay along cleared forest, with stumps of
trees and charred trunks, white and black, in every direction. It is
believed that the white ants are responsible for this destruction
of the trees. We saw numbers of a large crow (_Corvus scapulatus_),
not entirely black, like our English species, but with a broad white
ring round the neck and a pure white breast, giving them quite a
clerical air. This bird, called _goàika_ by the Malagasy—evidently
an imitation of his harsh croak—is larger than a magpie, and his
dark plumage is glossy bluish-black. He is very common everywhere
in the island, being often seen in large numbers, especially near
the markets, where he picks up a living from the refuse and the
scattered rice. He is a bold and rather impudent bird, and will often
attack the smaller hawks. There were also numbers of the white egret
(_Ardea bubulcus_) or _vòrom-pòtsy_ (_i.e._ “white bird”), also
called _vòron-tìan-òmby_ (_i.e._ “bird liked by cattle”), from their
following the herds to feed upon the ticks which torment them. One
may often see these egrets perched on the back of the oxen and thus
clearing them from their enemies. Wherever the animals were feeding,
these birds might be seen in numbers proportionate to those of the
cattle. This egret has the purest white plumage, with a pale yellow
plume or crest, and is a most elegant and graceful bird.
The oxen of Madagascar have very long horns, and a large hump between
the shoulders. In other respects their appearance does not differ
from the European kinds, and the quality and flavour of the flesh
is not much inferior to English beef. The hump, which consists of a
marrow-like fat, is considered a great delicacy by the Malagasy, and
when salted and eaten cold is a very acceptable dish. When the animal
is in poor condition the hump is much diminished in size, being, like
that of the camel in similar circumstances, apparently absorbed into
the system. It then droops partly over the shoulders. These Malagasy
oxen have doubtless been brought at a rather remote period from
Africa; their native name, _òmby_, is practically the same as the
Swahili _ngombe_.
[Sidenote: CURIOUS CRABS]
We reached Trànomàro (“many houses”) at half-past nine, and
there breakfasted. My bearers proved to be a set of most merry,
good-tempered, willing fellows. As soon as they got near the
halting-places they would set off at a quick run, and with shouts
and cries carry me into the village in grand style, making quite
a commotion in the place. Leaving again at noon, in a few minutes
we came down to the sea, the path being close to the waves which
were rolling in from the broad expanse of the Indian Ocean. I was
amused by the hundreds of little red crabs, about three inches long,
taking their morning bath or watching at the mouth of their holes,
down which they dived instantaneously at our approach. One or more
species of the Madagascar crabs has one of its pincers enormously
enlarged, so that it is about the same size as the carapace, while
the other claw is quite rudimentary. This great arm the little
creature carries held up in a ludicrous, threatening manner, as if
defying all enemies. I was disappointed in not seeing shells of any
size or beauty on the sands. The only ones I then observed which
differed from those found on our own shores were a small bivalve
of a bluish-purple hue, and an almost transparent whorled shell,
resembling the volute of an Ionic capital, but so fragile that it
was difficult to find a perfect specimen.
[Sidenote: SEA SHELLS]
But although that portion of the shore did not yield much of
conchological interest, there are many parts of the coasts of
Madagascar which produce some of the most beautifully marked species
of the genus _Conus_ (_Conus tessellatus_ and _C. nobilis_, if I am
not mistaken, are Madagascar species), while large handsome species
of the _Triton_ (_T. variegatum_) are also found. These latter are
often employed instead of church bells to call the congregations
together, as well as to summon the people to hear Government orders.
A hole is pierced on the side of the shell, and it requires some
dexterity to blow it; but the sound is deep and sonorous and can
be heard at a considerable distance. The circular tops of the cone
shells are ground down to a thin plate and extensively used by
the Sàkalàva and other tribes as a face ornament, being fixed by
a cord on the forehead or the temples. They are called _félana_.
I have also picked up specimens, farther south, of _Cypræa_ (_C.
madagascariensis_), a well-known handsome shell, as well as of
_Oliva_, _Mitra_, _Cassis_, and others (_C. madagascariensis_). The
finest examples are, however, I believe, only to be got by dredging
near the shore.
After some time we left the shore and proceeded through the woods,
skirting one of those lagoons which run parallel with the coast
nearly all the way from Tamatave to Andòvorànto. A good recent map
of Madagascar will show that on this coast, for about three hundred
miles south of Hivòndrona, there is a nearly continuous line of
lakes and lagoons. They vary in distance from the sea from a hundred
yards to a couple of miles; and in many places they look like a
very straight river or a broad canal, while frequently they extend
inland, spreading out into extensive sheets of water, two or three
miles across. This peculiar formation is probably owing, in part at
least, to slight changes of level in the land, so that the inner
banks of the lagoons were possibly an old shore-line. But this chain
of lagoons and lakes is no doubt chiefly due to east coast rivers
being continually blocked up at their outlets by bars of sand,
driven up by the prevailing south-east trade-wind and the southerly
currents. So that the river waters are forced back into the lagoons
until the pressure is so great that a breach is made, and the fresh
water rushes through into the sea. On account of these sand-bars,
hardly any east coast river can be entered by ships. The rivers, in
fact, flow for the most of the time, not into the sea, but into the
lagoons. These are not perfectly continuous, although out of that
three hundred miles there are only about thirty miles where there are
breaks in their continuity and where canoes have to be hauled for a
few hundred yards, or for a mile or two, on the dry land separating
them.
It will at once occur to anyone travelling along this coast, as we
did, that an uninterrupted waterway might be formed by cutting a few
short canals to connect the separate lagoons, and so bring the coast
towns into communication with Tamatave. That enlightened monarch,
Radàma I. (1810-1828), did see this, and several thousand men were
at one time employed in connecting the lagoons nearest Tamatave;
but this work was interrupted by his death and never resumed by his
successors. But soon after the French conquest the work was again
taken in hand; canals were excavated, connecting all the lakes and
lagoons between Tamatave and Andòvorànto; and for about twelve
years a service of small steamers took passengers and goods between
Hivòndrona and Brickaville, where, until quite recently, the railway
commenced. Since the line of rails has now been completed direct to
Tamatave, this waterway will not be of the same use, at least for
passenger traffic.
[Sidenote: COAST SCENERY]
The scenery of this coast is of a very varied and beautiful nature,
and the combinations of wood and water present a series of pictures
which constantly recalled some of the loveliest landscapes that
English river and lake scenery can present. Our route ran for most of
the way between the lagoons and the sea, among the woods. On the one
hand we had frequent glimpses through the trees of sheets of smooth
water fringed by tropical vegetation, and on the other hand were the
tumbling and foaming waves of the ever-restless sea. In many places
islands studded the surface of the lakes, and I noticed thousands of
a species of pandanus, with large aerial roots, spreading out as if
to anchor it firmly against floods and violent currents. In the woods
were the gum-copal tree and many kinds of palms with slender graceful
stems and crowns of feathery leaves. The climbing plants were
abundant, forming ropes of various thicknesses, crossing from tree to
tree and binding all together in inextricable confusion, creeping on
the ground, mounting to the tree-tops and sometimes hanging in coils
like huge serpents. Great masses of hart’s-tongue fern occurred in
the forks of the branches, and wherever a tree trunk crossed over our
path it was covered with orchids.
[Sidenote: A POISON TREE]
Among other trees I recognised the celebrated tangèna, from which
was obtained the poison used in Madagascar from a remote period as
an ordeal. The tangèna is about the size of an ordinary apple-tree,
and, could it be naturalised in England, would make a beautiful
addition to our ornamental plantations. The leaves are peculiarly
grouped together in clusters and are somewhat like those of the
horse-chestnut. The poison was procured from the kernel of the fruit,
and until the reign of Radàma II. (1861) was used with fatal effect
for the trial of accused persons, and caused the death of thousands
of people, mostly innocent, every year during the reign of the cruel
Rànavàlona I.
We arrived at Andrànokòditra, a small village with a dozen houses,
early in the afternoon. From our house there was a lovely view of the
broad lake with its woods and islands, while the sea was only two
or three hundred yards’ distance in the rear. Wild ducks and geese
of several kinds were here very plentiful, but my friend was not
very successful with his gun, as a canoe was necessary to reach the
islands where they chiefly make their haunts. After our evening meal
Mr Plant slung his hammock to the framework of our hut, and happily
did not come to grief, as occasionally happened. I was somewhat
disturbed by the cockroaches, which persisted in dropping from the
roof upon and around me. There was no remedy, however, except to
forget the annoyance in sleep.
I may here notice that when travelling along this coast a few years
later (in August 1883) the sands were everywhere almost covered with
pieces of pumice, varying from lumps as big as one’s head to pieces
as small as a walnut. They were rounded by the action of the waves,
and on some of the larger pieces oysters, serpulæ and corals had
begun to form. This pumice had no doubt been brought by the ocean
currents, as well as by the winds, both setting to the west, from
the Straits of Sunda, where they were ejected by the tremendous
eruption of Krakatoa, off the west coast of Java, during the previous
May. This fact supplies not only an interesting illustration of
the distances to which volcanic products may be carried by ocean
currents, but also throws light upon the way in which the ancestors
of the Malagasy came across the three thousand miles of sea which
separate Madagascar from Malaysia. It is easy to understand how, in
prehistoric times, single _prahus_, or even a small fleet of them,
were occasionally driven westward by a hurricane, and that the
westerly current aided in this, until at length these vessels were
stranded or gained shelter on the coast of Madagascar, stretching
north and south, as it does, for a thousand miles. From what I have
been told, the pumice was found, if not everywhere on the east coast,
at any rate over a considerable extent of it.
[Sidenote: VARIETY OF FISH]
We were up soon after four o’clock on the following morning, and
started while it was still twilight. After going a short distance
through the woods we came again to the seashore, and proceeded
for some miles close to the waves, which broke repeatedly over
our bearers’ feet as they tramped on the firm wet sand. For a
considerable distance there was only a low bank of sand between
the salt water of the ocean and the fresh water of the lake. In
many places the opposite shore showed good sections of the strata,
apparently a red sandstone, with a good deal of quartz rock. We left
the sea again and went on through the woods, a sharp shower coming on
as we entered them. We did not notice any fish in the lagoons, but
I was afterwards informed by a correspondent, Mr J. G. Connorton,
who lived for several years at Mànanjàra, and paid much attention to
natural history, that there is a great variety of fish, crustaceans
and mulluscs in the lagoons and rivers, as well as in the sea. He
kindly sent me a list of about one hundred and twenty of these,
together with many interesting particulars as to their habits and
appearance, etc. From this account I will give a few extracts:
[Sidenote: ZÒMPONA]
“_Ambàtovàzana_, a sea-fish which comes also into the entrance of
the rivers; it has silvery scales and yellow fins. In both upper
and lower jaws are four rows of teeth very like pebbles; these are
for crushing crabs, its usual food. Its name is derived from its
peculiarly shaped teeth (_vàto_, stone; _vàzana_, molar teeth).
_Botàla_, a small sea and river fish; it is covered all over with
rough prickles. These fish inflate their bodies by filling their
stomachs with air as soon as they are taken out of the water; if
replaced in the water suddenly, out goes the air, and they are
off like a flash. It is probably _Tetrodon fàhaka_. _Hìntana_, a
river-fish, with purple colouring and darker purple stripes from
back to belly. It is generally found among weeds, and has four long
spines, one on the dorsal fin, two just behind the gills, and one
close under the tail. These spines are very poisonous, and anyone
pricked by them suffers great pain for several hours, the parts
near the wound swelling enormously. I have not, however, heard of
the wound ever proving fatal. _Horìta_, a small species of octopus
found clinging to the rocks. The Malagasy esteem them highly, but I
found them gluey and sticky in the mouth, as well as rank in flavour.
_Tòfoka_, a sea and river fish, probably _Mugil borbonicus_. It has a
habit of jumping out of the water, and if chased by a shark it swims
at the surface with great rapidity, making enormous leaps into the
air every now and then and often doubling upon the enemy. Perhaps the
best of the many edible fish is the _Zòmpona_, a kind of mullet, only
feeding on soft substances such as weeds. It is silvery in colour,
with large scales, and is probably the best-known fish on the east
coast. When fresh from the sea, its tail and fins have a yellowish
tinge, and it is then splendid eating; but if this tinging is lost
it shows that the fish has been for some time in fresh water, and
the flesh has a muddy flavour. It varies in size from nine to thirty
inches long. The coast people are very fond of zòmpona; and when a
person is dying and is so far gone that the case is a hopeless one,
some outsider is almost sure to say, ‘He (or she) won’t get zòmpona
again.’”
I can confirm my correspondent’s statements as to the excellence of
the last-named fish, having frequently eaten it when on the coast.
He also mentions several kinds of prawns and shrimps; some of these
are large and make an excellent curry. One species of prawn, called
_Oronkosìa_, is long and slender, with immense antennæ, often a
foot in length. One species of shrimp has one large claw, like the
crab already mentioned, the other being hardly at all developed.
Several species of shark are seen off this coast, among them that
extraordinary-looking fish, the hammer-headed shark (_Zygæna
malleus_), which I have never seen in Madagascar waters, but have
noticed with great interest in South African harbours. “The saw-fish
(_Pristis sp._), called by the natives _Vavàno_, sometimes comes
into the rivers in search of food. One was caught in the river
Mànanjàra which measured fourteen feet from tip of saw to end of
tail; the saw alone was three feet six inches in length, seven inches
broad at base, and four inches at tip. The flesh is coarse eating,
but the liver is very palatable.”
I may remark here that we seldom stopped, either at midday or in
the evening, at any village without a visit from the headman of the
place and his family, who always carried some present. Fowls, rice,
potatoes, eggs and honey were constantly brought to us, preceded by
a speech in which the names and honours of the Queen were recited,
and compliments to us on our visiting their village. The Malagasy are
a most hospitable people, always courteous and polite to strangers;
and my first experience of them on this journey was confirmed in
numberless instances in travelling in other parts of the country.
[Sidenote: DELIGHTFUL SCENERY]
Leaving Vavòny, where we had our morning repast, between eleven and
twelve o’clock, we went on again through the woods along the shores
of the lake, which here spreads out into broad sheets of water, two
or three miles wide. The scenery was delightful, both shores being
thickly wooded, reminding me in some places of the Wye, in others of
the lake at Longleat, and in narrow parts of Studley Park. Our road
for miles resembled a footpath through a nobleman’s park in England:
clumps of trees, shrubberies, and short smooth turf, all united to
complete the resemblance. These all seemed more like the work of some
expert landscape gardener than merely the natural growth. In some
parts, where the more distinctly tropical vegetation—pandanus, cacti
and palms—were not seen, the illusion was complete. In many places we
saw many sago palms (_Cycas thouarsii_), a tree much less in height
than the majority of the palms and not exceeding twelve or fourteen
feet, but with the same long pinnate leaves characteristic of so many
of the Palmaceæ.
One of the most conspicuous trees on this coast, especially as seen
from the sea, is the _Filào_ (_Casuarina equisetifolia_), a tall
larch or fir-like tree, often called, from the colour of its wood,
“the beefwood tree.” Like the firs, its leaves are fine filaments,
and the wind passing through these produces a peculiar gentle sighing
noise. Very plentiful, too, is a much smaller tree bearing a
perfectly globular-shaped fruit as large as a good-sized orange, but
having a hard shell which requires a smart blow to crack. It contains
a greyish pulp, and a number of large black seeds; and although by no
means equal to an orange in taste, its acid flavour was refreshing
enough where one was thirsty and heated with the midday sun. A friend
of mine remarks: “As they are rather more difficult to eat in a
cleanly and dainty fashion than ripe mangoes, we smeared ourselves
pretty considerably in the process.” While the pulp is edible, the
seeds are poisonous, and we need not wonder at that when we find that
the tree is closely allied to the _Strychnos nux-vomica_. Its native
name is _Vòavòntaka_ (_Brehmia spinosa_); _vòa_ is the general word
for “fruit,” and enters into the composition of more than two hundred
Malagasy names of trees, plants and fruits. A species of _Hibiscus_
is widely spread along the coast, and yields a valuable fibre. The
natives say that its flowers are yellow in the morning and red in
the evening. Other noticeable flowering shrubs here are a species
of _Stephanotis_, with lovely large white flowers, and an _Ipomæa_,
which straggles far and wide on the sand of the seashore. Along the
sides of the lagoons and marshes in scattered places may be found
the curious pitcher-plant (_Nepenthes madagascariensis_); this is
a shrub about four feet high, whose jug-shaped pitchers, four to
five inches in length, contain abundant water and numerous insects.
Gum-copal is obtained from a tree (_Trachylobium verrucosa_) growing
on this coast; and india-rubber from several plants (_Landolphia
madagascariensis_ and _L. gummifera_), creepers as well as trees.
[Sidenote: MOSQUITOES]
Notwithstanding the beauty of this part of the country, it is
very unhealthy for foreigners. The rivers, as we have seen, all
communicate with the lagoons, and during the rainy season great
quantities of decaying matter are brought down from the forests. The
large extent of marsh and stagnant water in the lakes breed millions
of mosquitoes, and so give rise to the dreaded malarial fever. The
earlier accounts of the French and Portuguese settlements on the
coast of Madagascar represent this as a frightful scourge, sweeping
off a large proportion of the soldiers and settlers at their forts.
From this, the Isle Ste Marie was called the “Grave of the French,”
and “the Churchyard” and “Dead Island” of the Dutch. But the use of
quinine and modern precautions against mosquito bites have done much
to mitigate the attacks of fever, and since the draining of the
marshes near Tamatave the town is said to be fairly healthy.
The Bétsimisàraka inhabitants of this coast are accustomed to place
their dead in rude coffins hollowed out of the trunk of a tree and
covered with a roof-shaped lid. But these are not buried, but are
placed on the ground in little groups, in a sheltered grove of
trees. In the case of wealthy people, the coffins are put on a kind
of trestle, and sometimes are protected from the rain by having a
shed fixed over them. This custom, it may be imagined, is not, for
the living, a pleasant mode of disposing of the departed, and the
presence of these little cemeteries may often be deduced from the
effluvium, even if they are not seen. During the dry season one
constantly meets with groups of people carrying up the remains of
their relatives, Hova who have died on the coast, in order that they
may be buried in their ancestral tombs. Sometimes we have had our
midday meal, or have stopped for the night, in houses against whose
outer walls these wrapped-up corpses, fastened to long poles for
carriage, have been leaning. At one place where we stayed the people
were making cakes for the funeral feast, and in pounding the rice for
these the women made a special rhythmical beat of their pestles on
the top of the rice mortar, as well as on the meal in the hollow of
the mortar.
[Sidenote: SNAKES]
But to return to our journey. At about two o’clock we had to cross
the lake, but as there was only one small canoe, it took more
than two hours to get all our baggage and men over. We therefore
strolled into the woods, finding plenty to interest us in examining
the orchids, ferns, and other plants, most of them new to me. We
captured a new and splendid spider, new to my companion, who had
made entomology his special study. We were amused by the little
land-crabs, with their curious stalked eyes, folding down into a
case, when not raised to look about them. There were also many
beautifully marked lizards, as well as other interesting living
creatures in these tropical woods. The ferry was close to a village
bearing the name of Andàvaka-mènaràna—that is, “hole of serpents.”
Notwithstanding this ominous appellation, we were not startled from
our path by even a solitary reptile, although a cave not far distant
is said to be a lurking-place for numbers of these creatures. But on
a subsequent journey along this coast I saw a large and handsome
brown serpent on the grass close to the path. I got down, not to kill
it, but to examine its beautiful markings and graceful movements;
but on getting near it, which was not easy to do, as its movements
were so rapid, it turned and faced me in a menacing fashion. Happily,
although there are many species of serpents in Madagascar, not one is
a venomous kind—that is, their bite is not fatal. At the same time
there are some kinds which will bite severely if attacked. Later on,
I saw another much smaller snake, of a bright green colour, on the
trunk of a tree; doubtless its tints were protective. The larger one
I saw is called _Màndotra_, and was from three to four feet long;
another species found on the coast is called _Màntangòra_, and is a
foot or more longer.
[Sidenote: A BOA]
While on the subject of serpents, I will add here some particulars
my friend, Mr Houlder, gives of yet another of these reptiles seen
on this east coast, but farther north. This kind is called _Akòma_
(_Pelophilus madagascariensis_), and appears to be a species of
boa, killing fowls, rats and other creatures first by crushing
them, and then covering them with saliva before swallowing. At a
village he stayed in, my friend found the people much excited about
a large serpent seen in their neighbourhood. Sending out his men
to find it, “at last the creature was seen. Yes, there he was, a
villainous-looking monster, apparently asleep, coiled up among the
bushes with his great flat head in the middle of the circle. The gun
was loaded with several pistol bullets. Luckily it was, perhaps,
for the duck-shot sent into him at the next discharge only just
penetrated his thick scaly skin. Advancing to within a couple of
yards or so, I raised the gun. Bang! Away went the onlookers for
their lives. Peering through the smoke which was slowly moving away,
I could just see the head coming towards me. Enough, I bolted too.
This caused a second stampede. But it was a groundless alarm. I
looked back, and saw that the poor creature was incapable of doing
serious injury. His back was hopelessly broken. No other shot was
necessary.” Mr Houlder did not get the serpent to his house without
difficulty, owing to the terror of the bearers even when it was dead.
“It was a medium-sized specimen, about nine feet long and as thick
round the middle as the calf of a man’s leg. On each side of its body
was a long yellow, black, and reddish chain-like marking on a brown
ground; and near the extremity of its tail were two abortive claws.
Muscular motion did not cease until long after it was dead.”
[Sidenote: LEMURS]
Although we did not see any lemurs in the coast woods, one species
at least is, or, at least, was, sometimes met with—viz. the
white-fronted lemur (_Lemur mongos_, _var. albifrons_). Several
specimens of this kind have been brought to England from time to
time, and have been kept in the Regent’s Park Zoological Gardens from
as long ago as 1830; so that their appearance and habits are as well
known to English people as to the Malagasy themselves. Their habits
are simple enough. They often exhibit great vivacity, and are much
given to leaping from one object to another, in which they are aided
by the pad-like structure of the soles of their four hands. They are
very good-natured and tame and full of fun while still young, but
become cross and vicious when old. We shall, however, see and hear
more of the lemurs when we come into the denser forests.
A little before dusk we arrived at Andòvorànto, a large village
situated at the mouth of the river Ihàroka, and formerly the capital
of the Bétsimisàraka tribe, before they were reduced to subjection
by the Hova. This place would be the natural port of the capital,
but for the bar of sand at the entrance of the river. Were it not
for this obstruction, ships and steamers could come up into the
interior for many miles. The house in which we stayed here was quite
a large one, divided into three rooms, the walls covered with _rofìa_
matting, and actually possessing _windows_ (but, of course, without
glass) and doors. All the places where we had stayed previously had
no windows, and a mat hung over the entrance supplied the place of a
door.
While our dinner was being prepared we walked down to the sea and
along the river banks, hoping to find some natural history specimens.
During our walk Mr Plant related to me his success in obtaining a
specimen of that remarkable creature, the aye-aye, an animal peculiar
to Madagascar, and of which, at that time, only one or two specimens
had reached Europe. The example he secured was sent to England in
spirits, and from it, I believe, Sir Richard Owen prepared his
monograph, giving full details and drawings, life size, showing its
remarkable structure. The animal, although apparently not scarce, is
difficult to obtain, as it comes out from its retreat only at night;
besides which, the forest people have a superstitious fear of it,
so that even a large reward is often insufficient to induce them to
attempt its capture.
[Sidenote: THE AYE-AYE]
The aye-aye is included among the four-handed animals, but it is
very unlike the monkeys, having a smaller brain and much less
intelligence; and from its powerful teeth it was at first thought
to be a link between them and the rodentia, or gnawing animals.
Its structure presents some of the most interesting illustrations
of typical forms, being modified to serve special ends that any
animal organisation can exemplify. The food of the aye-aye consists
of a wood-boring larvæ, which tunnels into the wood of certain
trees. To obtain these, the animal is furnished with most powerful
chisel-shaped incisor teeth, with which it cuts away the outer bark.
As, however, the grub retreats to the end of its hole, one of the
fingers of the aye-aye’s hands is slightly lengthened, but much
diminished in thickness, and is finished with a hook-like claw. Thus
provided, the finger is used as a probe, inserted in the tunnel, and
the dainty morsel drawn forth from its hiding-place. There are also
other modifications, all tending to the more perfect accomplishment
of the purposes of its creation: the eyes being very large to see in
the night, the ears widely expanded to catch the faint sound of the
grub at work, and the thumbs of the feet largely developed so as to
enable the animal to take a firm hold of the tree while using its
teeth.
Since then, living specimens of the aye-aye have been sent to Europe,
and careful observations were made for several months on the habits
of one in the Regent’s Park Gardens; and other information has
been obtained as to the animal as observed in its native forests
by intelligent natives. The creature somewhat resembles a large
cat in size, being about three feet in total length, of which its
large bushy tail forms quite half. Its colour is dark brown, the
throat being yellowish-grey; a somewhat silvery look is given to the
fur in certain lights by many whitish hairs on the back. The probe
finger is used as a scoop when the aye-aye drinks; it is carried
so rapidly from the water to the mouth that the liquid seems to
pass in a continual stream. A remarkable fact has been pointed out
in the structure of the lower jaw—namely, that the two sides are
only joined together by a strong ligament, and do not, as in other
animals, form one connected circle of bone. This accounts for the
prodigious power of gnawing that the aye-aye possesses. It was seen
to cut through a strip of tin-plate nailed to the door of its cage.
The aye-aye constructs true nests, about two and a half feet in
diameter, which are found on trees in the dense parts of the
forest. Near the coast these are composed of rolled-up leaves of
the traveller’s tree, and are lined with twigs and dry leaves. The
opening of the nest is at the side, and a small white insect called
_andaitra_, probably the larva of some beetle, forms the animal’s
chief food. It is said to be very savage, and strikes rapidly with
its hands. The coast people believe it to be an embodiment of their
forefathers, and so will not touch it, much less do it an injury; and
if they attempted to entrap it, they think they would surely die in
consequence; and their superstition extends even to its nest.
The aye-aye is one of the many instances which the animal life of
Madagascar presents of isolation from other forms. It remains the
only species of its genus, and, like many of the peculiar birds of
the island, is one of the many proofs that Madagascar has for long
ages been separated from Africa; so that while allied forms have
become extinct on the continent, here, protected from the competition
of stronger animals, many birds, mammals and insects have been
preserved, and so this island is a kind of museum of ancient and
elsewhere unknown forms of life.
CHAPTER IV
FROM COAST TO CAPITAL: ANDÒVORÀNTO TO MID-FOREST
It rained heavily during the night of Tuesday and nearly until
daybreak, so it was half-past six o’clock before we were able to
leave Andòvorànto. Hitherto we had followed the seashore southwards;
now we were to start westwards into the interior. After an immense
deal of shouting and some quarrelling on the part of our bearers, who
seemed to think it necessary for everyone to give his opinion at the
same moment, we pushed off in six large canoes and paddled away up
the river Ihàroka. For several miles the stream is upwards of a mile
in width. It was a fine calm morning after a stormy night, and as we
glided rapidly over the broad smooth expanse of water, and turned our
canoe’s prow towards the interior mountains, I began really to feel
that I was on my way to the capital.
After half-an-hour we came to a point where the river is a junction
of three streams, the one we took being about half the width of the
main current. We passed many canoes and overtook others; some of
these were filled with rice and other produce, and had but a single
rower; he sat generally at the stern and gave a few strokes with the
paddle on each side of the canoe alternately, so as to keep the craft
in a fairly straight course through the water. Other canoes were
filled with what was evidently a family party, going together to some
market held in one of the neighbouring villages. Our men seemed to
enjoy the exercise of paddling, which was a change from bearing our
palanquins and baggage on their shoulders, and they took us up the
stream at a great speed. More than once, indeed, I wished they had
been less vigorous, for they commenced racing with the other crews,
making me not a little apprehensive of being upset. It would not
have mattered much to them, as they swam fearlessly and had nothing
to lose; but it would have been unpleasant and dangerous for us,
even apart from the risk of crocodiles, which abound in most of the
rivers of Madagascar.
[Sidenote: CROCODILES]
These reptiles are so numerous in many parts as to be a great pest;
they often carry off sheep and cattle, and not unfrequently women
and children who incautiously go into or even near the water. The
Malagasy, however, have a superstitious dread of these monsters,
which prevents them from attempting to kill them. They rather try
to propitiate the creature by prayers and offerings thrown into the
water, and by acknowledging its supremacy in its own element. At
Itàsy, a lake fifty miles west of the capital, the people believe
that if a crocodile be killed a human life will, within a very short
time, be exacted by the animal’s brother reptiles, as an atonement
for his death. Two or three French travellers once shot a crocodile
in this lake, and such was the people’s consternation and dread of
the consequences that their visitors found it expedient to quit the
neighbourhood as quickly as possible. The eggs of the crocodile
are collected and sold for food in the markets, and are said to be
perfectly good, but I confess I never brought myself to test their
merits.
We kept near the banks of the river, and so were able to examine
and admire the luxuriant vegetation with which they were covered.
In many places the bamboo is conspicuous, with its long-jointed,
tapering stem, and its whorls of minute leaves, of a light delicate
green; but it is small here compared with what we afterwards saw in
the main forest. Plantations of sugar-cane and manioc were mingled
with banana-trees, palms, pandanus and other trees, many not unlike
English forms. Numbers of great water-lilies with blue flowers were
growing in the shallow water, and convolvuli, as well as numerous
other flowers of new kinds and colours, everywhere met the eye. The
shores were flat at first, but became more hilly, and the scenery
more varied, as we proceeded.
[Sidenote: THE TRAVELLER’S TREE]
As we sailed up the river the traveller’s tree (_Ravenala
madagascariensis_) became very plentiful, and soon gave quite a
peculiar character to the landscape. This remarkable and beautiful
tree belongs to the order which includes the plantains and bananas,
although in some points its structure resembles the palm rather than
the plantain. It is immediately recognised by its graceful crown of
broad green leaves, which grow at the top of its trunk in the form
of an immense fan. The leaves are from twenty to thirty in number,
and are from eight to ten feet long by a foot and a half broad.
They very closely resemble those of the banana, and when unbroken
by the wind have a very striking and beautiful appearance. The name
of “traveller’s tree” is given on account of its affording at all
times a supply of cool pure water upon piercing the base of the
leaf-stalk with a spear or pointed stick. This supply is owing to
the broad surface of the leaves, which condenses the moisture of the
atmosphere, and from which the water trickles down into the hollow,
where the leaf-stalks join the stem. Each of these forms a little
reservoir, in which water may always be found. The leaves, as are
also those of the banana, are used to beat the thatched roofs in case
of fire, on account of the amount of water which they contain.
The name of “builder’s tree” might be given to it with equal or
greater propriety, for it is as useful to the coast people as the
cocoanut-palm is to the South Sea islanders. The leaves are used
for thatching, and the long leaf-stems fastened together form the
filling-in of the framework for the walls and partitions; the bark
is beaten out flat and forms the flooring; while the trunk supplies
timber for the framing. Quantities of the fresh leaves are used every
day and take the place of plates and dishes; and at the New Year’s
festival the _jàka_, or meat eaten at that time, was always served
up, together with rice, upon pieces of the leaves of this tree or of
the banana; and a kind of spoon or ladle was, and is still, formed,
made by twisting up part of a leaf and tying it with the tendrils of
some climbing plant. The tree ranges from the sea-coast to the height
of about fifteen hundred feet, after which it begins rapidly to
disappear. At an elevation of about a thousand feet it is extremely
abundant, much more so, in fact, than any other tree, and is the one
striking and peculiar feature in the vegetation. It is not found so
much in the forests as on the hillsides in the open country; it has
some half-dozen or more different names among the various tribes on
the eastern side of the island.
[Illustration: LOW-CLASS GIRL FETCHING WATER
On her head is the _sìny_, in her hand the _zìnga_]
[Illustration: A SIHÀNAKA WOMAN PLAYING THE VALÌHA
The strings are cut out of the bamboo, with calabash bridges]
Our canoe voyage was nearly twenty miles in length, the last two or
three up a narrow creek not above twenty or thirty feet in width.
In one of the narrowest parts of the stream we were stopped by a
tree which had fallen across the creek, just above the surface of the
water. With some trouble and difficulty the canoes were each hoisted
over the obstruction, the luggage being shifted from one to another.
Some friends who came up about five months afterwards told me that
the tree was still there. Probably it had caused a stoppage hundreds
of times, yet no one dreamed of taking the little extra trouble
necessary to remove it altogether from the passage. It was just the
same in the forest: when a tree fell across the path, there it lay
for months until it rotted away. Palanquins had to be hoisted over
it, or with difficulty pushed beneath it, but it was never removed
until nature helped in the work. It was no one’s business to cut it
up, or to take it out of the way; there were no “turnpike trusts,”
and the native government never gave themselves any concern about the
matter.
[Sidenote: COFFEE AND ORANGES]
We were glad to land at Maròmby at ten o’clock, for rain came on, and
before we were well housed it poured down heavily for some time. Here
we got as dessert, after breakfast, a quantity of wild raspberries,
which, while not equal in flavour to the English kind, are very sweet
and refreshing. Close to the house where we stayed for our meal was
a coffee plantation; the shrubs grow to a height of seven or eight
feet, and have dark glossy leaves, with a handsome white flower. The
small scarlet fruit, in which the seed—what we term the “berry”—is
enclosed, contains a sweetish juice. The coffee plant thrives in
most parts of the island, and its produce probably will become an
important part of its exports.
Near the house were also a number of orange-trees, and here I had
the gratification of seeing an orange grove with the trees laden
with thousands of the golden-hued fruit. We were allowed to take as
many as we liked, and as the day was hot and sultry we were not slow
to avail ourselves of the permission. Perhaps there are few more
beautiful sights than an orange grove when the fruit is ripe on the
trees. The “golden apples” of the Hesperides must surely have been
the produce of an orange plantation.
The rain ceased after a time, but we did not get off until past two
o’clock, for our men became rather obstinate, and evidently wanted
to stay at Maròmby for the rest of the day. This we were not at all
disposed to allow. At last we started, and in a few minutes had
a specimen of the adventures that were in store for us in passing
through the forest. In attempting to ford a stream, one of my men
suddenly sank nearly to his waist in a thick yellow mud. It was by
the barest chance that I was not turned over into the water; however,
after some scrambling from one man’s shoulder to another, I managed
to reach dry land. There was a shaky, rickety bridge a little higher
up the stream, and by this I contrived to get across.
[Sidenote: DIFFICULT TRAVELLING]
We now struck right into the hills, up and down, down and up, for
nearly four hours. The road was a mere footpath, and sometimes not
even that, but the bed of a torrent made by the heavy rains. It
wound sometimes round the hills and sometimes straight up them,
and then down into the valleys at inclinations difficult enough to
get along without anything to carry but oneself, but, with heavy
loads, requiring immense exertion. My palanquin described all
kinds of angles; sometimes I was resting nearly on my head, and
presently almost on my feet. When winding round the hills we were
continually in places where a false step of my bearers might have
sent us tumbling down sixty or seventy, and sometimes a hundred, feet
into the valley below. A dozen times or so we had to cross streams
foaming over rocks and stones, to scramble down to which, and out
again, were feats requiring no ordinary dexterity. Again and again
I expected to be tumbled over into the water or down the rocks, the
path being often steeper than the roof of a house. Several times I
got out and walked up and down the hills in order to relieve the men;
but I afterwards found that I need not have troubled myself, as they
easily carried me up much steeper ascents. Some of these scenes were
exceedingly beautiful and, with the rushing, foaming waters, overhung
with palms, ferns, plantains and bamboos, made scores of scenes in
which a landscape artist would have delighted.
In passing along I was struck with the peculiar outline of the hills;
they are mostly rounded cones or _mamelle_-shaped, not connected
together in chains, but detached, so it appeared that road-making
would be very difficult and would have to be very circuitous. In
almost every sheltered hollow were clumps of the traveller’s tree,
together with palms and bamboos. The hills increased in height as
we advanced, while beyond them all in the far distance we could see
the line of the mountains forming the edge of the central highland,
and covered with dense forest in every part. The scene, but for the
tropical trees, resembled the Lancashire and West Riding scenery,
along the Todmorden valley. As far as I could make out, the hills
appeared to be mostly of bright clay, interspersed with quartz. Great
black masses of gneiss rock crop out on the sides of many of them in
most curious, fantastic shapes.
[Sidenote: HOT STREAMS]
On the east coast and for some way westward there is no distinct
rainy season, as in the interior of Madagascar; it rains more or less
all through the year. The temperature did not exceed that of warm
summer days in England, with cool mornings and evenings. We reached
Rànomafàna as it was getting dusk, my lads bringing me in, as usual,
at a smart trot, after doing fifteen or sixteen miles in less than
four hours. The name of this village means “hot waters,” and is
derived from some hot springs which bubble up in a small stream not
far from the houses. The water close to this spot is too hot to touch
with the hand or foot; but as it mingles with the cold river water it
soon becomes tepid, and I found that in wading in the stream I could
have any degree of heat or cold as I chose. Many people come to bathe
in these hot waters, and find benefit in certain complaints.
At this place I procured specimens of that remarkable vegetable
production, the lace-leaf plant, or water yam (_Ouvirandra
fenestralis_). The existence of this plant had long been known to
botanists, but it was introduced into Europe by the Rev. W. Ellis
after his first visit to Madagascar (1853-1854); and from plants
brought by him to England it was propagated, and specimens were
sent to many of the chief botanical collections, as well as to
Kew, Chiswick and the Crystal Palace. I knew of this plant being
abundant in some of the streams on the east side of the island, and
I therefore described it as well as I could to one of my bearers.
A little time after our arrival at the village he brought me three
or four plants, together with the roots, and in one case with the
flower also attached. The leaves were from six to eight inches long
and an inch and a half wide; but I afterwards found at Mauritius
that they grew to more than double this size in the Royal Gardens at
Pamplemousses.
[Sidenote: THE LACE PLANT]
As the name implies, the leaf is like a piece of lace-work, or,
more strictly speaking, like a skeleton leaf, the spaces between
the veining being open. The veining is something like that of a
lily leaf, the longitudinal fibre running through the whole length,
and crossed at very regular intervals by the transverse veins,
which are of thread-like fineness. The specific name, _fenestralis_
(“windowed”), conveys this idea of a regular arrangement of
structure. The leaf-stalk varies in length with the depth of the
water, always keeping a little below the surface. Each plant has ten
or a dozen leaves branching from the root, which in the specimens
brought to me resembled a small potato. It can be eaten, as its taste
is like the farinaceous yam, common to most tropical countries; and
from this likeness the generic name, _ouvirandra_, is derived—_ouvy_
or _òvy_ being the native word for yam. The plant grows in running
water and thrives best in warm situations. The flower grows on a long
stalk and rises a little above the surface of the water; it is of a
pinkish colour, dividing into two curved hairy tufts. Few objects
can be imagined more beautiful or interesting for cultivating in an
aquarium than this lace-leaf plant, which Sir W. J. Hooker termed
“one of the most curious of nature’s vegetable productions.” It is
an endogenous plant, included in the order _Juncaginaceæ_, to which
the arrow-grasses and the rushes belong; it is found not only in the
eastern region, but occurs in streams near the upper belt of forest
in the interior. It is said to be very tenacious of life, retaining
its vitality even if the stream where it grows is dried up; the
leaves in their various stages of growth pass through a gradation of
colour, from a pale yellow to a dark olive-green. When full grown,
its dark green leaves form the limit of a circle two or three feet in
diameter.
Taking a walk round the village before it was dark, I noticed several
houses raised on posts five or six feet above the ground. At the top
of each post, just under the floor, was a projecting circle of wood a
foot or more in diameter and polished very smooth. I found that these
buildings were granaries, and were raised in this way to protect the
rice from rats, which are a great annoyance in most parts of the
country. The smooth ring of wood effectually prevented them from
getting any farther than the top of the upright posts. The ladder for
getting up to these granaries is a very primitive contrivance; it
consists merely of a round pole with notches cut in the upper side to
prevent the foot from slipping. On a subsequent visit to Madagascar
my wife and I had to use one of these _tràno àmbo_ (“raised houses”),
as they are called, as a bedroom, and very clean and comfortable we
found it, free from all insect plagues; the floor was of plaited
bamboo, springy to walk on, although the getting up to it or down
from it was a somewhat difficult feat.
[Sidenote: OUR BEARERS]
We were astir early on the Wednesday morning and left our quarters at
six o’clock. It was a beautiful morning as we commenced our journey
and began to mount hills and descend valleys and cross streams
as before—with this difference, that the hills became higher and
steeper, and the paths more difficult. How our men managed to carry
themselves up and down, to say nothing of the heavy loads on their
shoulders, puzzled me, but they did their work apparently without
much fatigue. I noticed that many of those who carried heavy loads
had the flesh and muscles on the shoulders thickened into a sort of
pad, caused, I suppose, from the constant weight and friction of
their burdens. When carrying they wore but little clothing, merely
the _salàka_ or loin-cloth, and sometimes a sleeveless jacket of
hempen cloth or other coarse material. In the cool mornings they
generally wore over the shoulders the _làmba_[4] of _rofìa_, or of
hemp cloth; but during the rest of the day this was bound tightly
round the waist, or thrown upon the palanquin. The two sets of four
bearers used to take the work in “spells” of a quarter of an hour
or twenty minutes at a time; when the others relieved them they did
not stop, but those taking the poles of the palanquin would stoop
under and take it on their shoulders with hardly any jerk, even when
running at full speed. Occasionally one set would take the duty for
an hour or more, while if going fast, or on very difficult ground,
they relieved each other very frequently. Every three or four minutes
they changed the load from one shoulder to another, the leaders
lifting the pole over their heads.
In proceeding on our journey we met great numbers of men bringing
poultry, manioc, potatoes, rice, and other produce from the interior
to the coast. These articles are mostly brought to Tamatave and
other ports, so that the ships trading to these places are supplied
with abundance of provisions at a very moderate rate. The poultry
were enclosed in large open panniers or baskets made of strips of
bamboo plaited together and slung at each end of a bamboo or a pole
of light wood. We also overtook many men taking European goods up to
the capital—quantities of cheap and gaudily painted crockery, iron
cooking-pots, and a variety of other articles. Many also carried
salt, and others the same open wicker baskets in which fowls are
brought down, but now containing quantities of the fibre of the
_rofìa_ palm. This is taken up into the interior to be manufactured
into cloth. Sometimes these men were met singly, or two or three
together, but more often they travelled in companies of ten, twenty
or thirty. Occasionally we met a Hova officer in a palanquin borne by
his slaves, and often with his wife and other members of his family,
also in palanquins, with female slaves attending them and running at
a good pace to keep up with the men.
In one day we often saw a great variety of face and colour, and met
representatives of several of the different tribes which people
the island; and these differ considerably in colour and features.
Among the faces we saw, although there were few that could be called
handsome, judging by a European standard, there was yet a large
proportion of good heads, with high, well-formed foreheads, and a
general look of quickness and intelligence. The impression given
was certainly not that of a race low in mental organisation or
capabilities.
[Sidenote: NATIVE MUSIC]
At Ambàtoharànana, where we breakfasted, we were favoured with a
little native music while our meal was being prepared. The instrument
consisted of a piece of bamboo about four feet long, with parts
of the strong outer fibre detached and strained over small pieces
of pumpkin shell like the bridge of a violin. With this simple
contrivance the performer produced a soft plaintive kind of music,
not unlike the tones of a guitar. This instrument is called a
_valìha_, and is played by the fingers. A simpler and ruder musical
effect is obtained by a kind of bow of wood, with two or three
strings, and to which, at one end, the half of a large gourd is fixed
to give resonance; this is called _lokàngam-bòatàvo_ (_vòatàvo_,
pumpkin), but its sound is poor and monotonous.
Although the paths we traversed were most difficult, the scenery
was singularly delightful. There are few more beautiful forms
in tropical vegetation than the bamboo, which unites the most
perfect symmetry and bright colour, and in some places a particular
species[5] gave quite a special character to the scenery. The long
elastic stems, thirty or forty feet in length, three inches or more
in diameter at the base, and tapering to a fine point, were curving
over the path in every direction, and with their feathery whorls of
leaves, yellowish-green in colour, growing from every joint, were a
constant delight to the eye. Sometimes a whole valley seemed filled
with bamboos; while in others the _rofìa_ palm and the tree-ferns
were the prevailing forms.
[Sidenote: RICHES OF THE COUNTRY]
Our midday journey this day was a continual ascent, until we were
evidently at a considerable elevation above the sea. From one ridge
we had a most extensive prospect and could see the Indian Ocean fifty
or sixty miles behind us, while before us was a yet higher chain of
hills, dark with dense woods of the main line of forest. As we rode
along, I could not but observe the capabilities of the country and
its vast powers of production, were it brought extensively under
cultivation. The country is rich also in mineral wealth—iron, gold,
copper, and other metals, as well as graphite and probably also
petroleum.
We came this day into a belt of tree-ferns, some of large size,
with their great graceful fronds arranged horizontally in a circle
round the top of the trunk. There were also numbers of pine-apples
growing wild, with the magnificent scarlet flowers just developing
into fruit. We descended to, crossed, and for some time went along a
beautiful river, resembling in many parts the Dove at Dovedale, and
in others the Wharfe at Bolton. The view from the top of an immense
hill of the river winding far below was most charming. The paths by
which we ascended and descended would have astonished us in England,
but by this time a moderately level and smooth path had become an
object of surprise. In some places there was only a narrow passage
between rocks overhung with vegetation, most picturesque, but most
difficult to travel by.
[Sidenote: WEAVING]
We got in early in the afternoon to Ampàsimbé, a rather large
village. While waiting for dinner we watched the women at the
opposite house preparing the material from which they make the
_rofìa_ cloths, called _rabannas_ in Mauritius. It is the inner fibre
of the long glass-like leaves of the _rofìa_-palm.[6] The cuticle
on each side is peeled off, leaving a thin straw-coloured fibrous
substance, which is divided by a sort of comb into different widths,
according to the fineness or otherwise of the material to be made.
The fibre is very strong and is the common substitute for string in
Madagascar. In other villages we saw the women weaving the cloth with
most rude and primitive looms, consisting merely of four pieces of
wood fixed in the mud floor of the house, and a framework of two or
three pieces of bamboo. The material they make, however, is a good,
strong-looking article, with stripes of various colours and patterns
woven into the stuff, and is extensively used by the poorer classes.
With the same simple loom the Hova women make many kinds of woven
stuffs; of hemp, cotton, _rofìa_ fibre, and of this last, mingled
with silk or cotton, very pretty and useful cloth of a straw colour,
being made in this way. Of the strong native silk they also weave
very handsome _làmbas_ of bright and varied colours and patterns,
such as used to be worn on all festive occasions by the higher
classes, as well as the more sombre dark red _làmbas_ which are used
by all classes for wrapping the dead.
[Illustration: BÉTSIMISÀRAKA WOMEN
They are standing on a native mat outside a wooden house]
[Illustration: HOVA WOMAN WEAVING
The article is a silk làmba on a native loom]
We had now reached a part of the country where the _rofìa_ palm
was the most prominent object in the vegetation, not on the hills,
however, like the traveller’s tree, but chiefly in the valleys, where
there is plenty of moisture. This palm grows very abundantly and
can easily be distinguished from the other trees of its order. The
trunk has a rough and rugged surface, and this reaches the height of
twenty to thirty feet; but the leaves are its most striking feature;
they are magnificent plumes, of enormous length, quite as long as
the trunk itself. The midrib of these leaves has a very strong but
light structure, some four to five inches wide at the base, and on
this account it is largely used for ladders, for palanquin poles,
for roofing, and indeed for anything needing lightness as well as
strength. On these midribs are set a great number of grass-like
pinnate fronds, from which, as already noticed, string and fibre are
prepared for weaving. Great clusters of seeds (or fruits?), which are
enclosed in a shiny brown skin, hang down from the top of the trunk.
These are used for boxes to enclose small articles, as jewellery,
etc. At one part of our journey the only road was through an
extensive sheet of water, through which rose hundreds of _rofìas_,
like the interior of some great temple, a most peculiar and beautiful
sight, the great fronds above us quite shutting out the sunshine and
making a green twilight below them.
[Sidenote: A PLAGUE OF RATS]
If we had been disposed to copy the titles of some popular evening
entertainments, the nights preceding this Wednesday’s one might
have been termed: “A Night with the Fleas,” and “A Night with the
Mosquitoes,” but this was emphatically “A Night with the Rats.” We
saw and heard them racing round the eaves of the house before we lay
down, but as soon as the light was put out they descended and began
to rattle about our pots and pans in search of food. We got up and
fired a pistol among them, and this appeared for a time to scare them
away; but later on their attentions became so personal that we were
obliged to light a candle and keep it burning on the floor all night.
After this we had comparative quiet, but before lighting the candle
they had been scampering over my companion in his hammock and over
myself as I lay on the floor.
Thursday’s journey, although shorter than that of most days, was
perhaps the most difficult of all, especially the morning division of
it—hills steeper than ever, and, if possible, rougher footpaths, so
that we were often obliged to get down and walk, making the journey
very fatiguing. For nearly three hours we were passing through dense
forest, and in some places the path was really frightful. I do not
wonder that a small company of soldiers brought up in the early years
of the century by Captain Le Sage laid themselves down in despair at
the difficulties of the roads they had to traverse. I found along the
roadside several varieties of those beautiful-leaved plants, veined
with scarlet and buff, which were so much cultivated in England about
that time. Ferns of all kinds were very abundant, from the minutest
species to the great tree-fern.
Our afternoon’s journey took us for some distance along a beautiful
river which foamed and roared over the rocks in its course, and
which we forded repeatedly. The path was most picturesque, but very
fatiguing; in many places the track could hardly be distinguished at
all from the dense rank growth of plants and long grass. We arrived
at Béfòrona at one o’clock and fully intended to have proceeded
another stage, as it was so early in the afternoon, but we found our
men so exhausted that we were obliged to stay there for the rest of
the day.
[Sidenote: FOREST REGIONS]
Here it may be noted that we had now entered some way into the
lower and wider of the two belts of dense forest which extend for
several hundred miles along the eastern side of Madagascar, and
cover the mountains which form the great ramparts of the highland of
the interior. There is continuous forest from nearly the north of
the island to almost the southern extremity; its greatest width is
about fifty miles, north of Antongil Bay; but to the south of the
Antsihànaka province it divides into two. Of these two belts, the
upper one, which clothes the edge of the highland, is the narrowest,
being not much above ten or twelve miles across, but the lower belt
is from twice to three times that breadth. On the western side of
Madagascar there is no such continuous line of forest; there are,
it is true, many extensive portions covered with wood, but in many
places the vegetation consists more of scattered clumps of trees;
while in the south-west, which is the driest part of the island,
the prevailing trees and shrubs are euphorbia, and are spiny in
character. Mr Baron reckoned that an area of nearly thirty thousand
square miles of the whole surface is forest-covered country. We
shall have other opportunities of examining these extensive forest
regions, so all we need say further at present about them is, that
no one with any eye for the beautiful and wonderful can pass through
them without astonishment and delight. The variety and luxuriance of
the foliage, the great height of many of the trees, the countless
creeping and climbing plants that cover their trunks and branches,
the multitude of lianas that bind everything together in a maze of
cordage and ropes, the flowers which sometimes cover whole trees with
a mass of colour, crimson, or golden, or purple—all these make a
journey through these Madagascar forests a new pleasure and lead one
to exclaim: “O Lord, how manifold are Thy works!”
We were now also ascending towards the central highland of the
interior, which lies at an elevation of from five to six thousand
feet above the sea-level. Above this general elevation, which,
however, is broken up by lesser hills and mountains in all
directions, so that there is no level country except what have been
the beds of ancient lakes, now dried up, the highest mountains do not
rise to great altitudes. The _massif_ of Ankàratra, which forms the
south-western boundary of Imèrina, the home of the Hova tribe, does
not quite reach nine thousand feet in height above the sea. Until
quite recently the summits of Ankàratra were always supposed to be
the highest points of the island, but it has lately been discovered
that there is a mountain called Ambòro, about eighty miles from
the northernmost point, which is still higher, being nine thousand
four hundred feet above sea-level. On my return to the coast in
1867 I found how much less difficult the journey from Antanànarìvo
to Andòvorànto was than that in the opposite direction, owing, of
course, to our descending nearly five thousand feet instead of
ascending the same.
[Sidenote: BÉFÒRONA]
Béfòrona is situated in an almost circular valley, with a river
running through it and surrounded by forest-covered hills. The
village, like most in this part of the country, has the houses
arranged in a square. Their floors are generally raised a foot or
two above the surface of the ground, and are formed of bark, beaten
out flat and laid on bamboos. The framing and roof are made of poles
or bamboo, filled in with the stalks of the traveller’s tree, and
thatched with leaves of the same tree. In the centre of these village
squares was a flagstaff, and in others a pole with the skulls and
horns of bullocks fixed to it. These are mostly memorials of the
festivities connected with the last observance of the circumcision
ceremonies, which are very important events with all the Malagasy
tribes. We had a visit from the wife of the chief of the village, who
brought us a present of fowls and rice.
[Sidenote: A BLOW-GUN]
After resting a while we strolled along one of the streams with our
guns, to try to obtain specimens of some of the birds peculiar to
the neighbourhood. On our way back we observed some boys using an
instrument called _tsìrika_, with which they were able to kill small
birds. It consists of a long and straight palm stem, taken from a
small and beautiful palm with a stem resembling a bamboo. A small
arrow, tipped with an iron point, is inserted and is discharged by
blowing at the larger end. About three inches of the end has wool
to fill up the aperture and prevent any windage. They use this
blow-gun with great precision and can strike a mark at a considerable
distance. A very similar weapon, but with poisoned arrows, is used
by the Indians of South America in the countries bordering the Amazon
and its tributaries.
[4] _Làmba_ is the Malagasy word for cloth generally, but it has also
a specific use as applied to the chief article of native dress.
[5] _Raphia ruffia._
[6] This _rofìa_ fibre has of late years been largely used in England
for tying up plants; but dealers in it persist in calling it “_rofìa_
grass,” which is certainly not a correct name.
[Illustration: Lace Plant]
CHAPTER V
FROM COAST TO CAPITAL: ALAMAZAOTRA TO ANTANÀNARÌVO
On the Friday morning we left Béfòrona soon after five o’clock and
for nearly four hours were passing through the forest, here known as
that of Alamazaotra, over the highest hills and the most difficult
paths we had yet seen. Certainly this day’s journey was the most
fatiguing of any on the whole route, so that when we reached our
halting-place I was thoroughly exhausted and glad to throw myself
on the floor and sleep for an hour or more. At one part of the
road there is a long slope of clay, known as “Fitomanìanòmby,” or
“weeping-place of the bullocks,” so called from the labour and
difficulty with which the poor animals mount the steep ascent on
their way down to the coast. In coming down this and similar places
the utmost care was necessary on the part of the bearers; but they
were very surefooted and patient and took every precaution to carry
their burden safely. In ascending we often required the help of all
eight men to drag the palanquin up to the top. The villages in the
heart of these vast woods are few and far between. Our halting-place
for breakfast consisted merely of three or four woodcutters’ huts in
a few square yards of cleared ground.
Our afternoon’s work was much the same as that of the morning. In
many places the rain had made a perfect slough of thick mud, and our
men had hard work to get through. I could not cease to wonder how my
heavy luggage was brought along. For a considerable distance our way
lay along a most romantic-looking stream, whose course was broken
by great masses and shelves of rock, reminding me of Welsh river
scenery. Often in the higher parts of the road, where the rivers down
in the gorges were hidden by the dense masses of wood, we could hear
the roar of waters in the otherwise profound stillness of the forest.
At the chief pass in this chain of hills we passed a tremendous cliff
of rock, which rises sheer out of the valley to a height (so it has
been ascertained) of nearly two thousand feet, certainly one of the
grandest natural objects I had ever seen. This stupendous mass is
called Andrìambàvibé, “Great Princess”; the large trees on the summit
looked like mere bushes seen from below.
[Sidenote: LUXURIANT FOLIAGE]
Notwithstanding the fatigue of the journey, it was impossible not
to be struck with admiration and delight at the grandeur of the
vegetation. The profusion and luxuriance of vegetable life were very
extraordinary. There appeared to be few trees of great girth of
trunk, but their height was considerable, especially in the valleys.
High over all the other trees shot up the tall trunks of many
varieties of palms, with their graceful crowns of feathery leaves.
A dense undergrowth of shrubs, tree-ferns, and dwarf palms made in
many places quite a green twilight; while overhead the branches were
interlaced and bound together by countless creeping and climbing
plants, whose rope-like tendrils crossed in all directions and made
a labyrinth which it was impossible to pass through. Occasionally we
came across large trees in flower, giving a glorious mass of colour.
With these exceptions, however, flowers were comparatively few; and
during subsequent journeys I have found that it is true in Madagascar
what Dr Alfred R. Wallace has pointed out as characteristic of all
tropical countries—viz. that in the tropics are not to be found great
masses of floral colour. For these one must go to the temperate
zones; foliage, overpowering in its luxuriance and endless variety,
is indeed to be found in the tropics, but not the large extent of
colour given by heather, buttercups, primroses, or a field of poppies
in England.
The orchids, however, were very abundant. Wherever a fallen tree hung
across the path, there they found a lodging-place, and beautified
the decaying trunks with their exquisite waxy flowers of pink and
white. Although what has just been said of wild flowers is true
on the whole, there were a considerable number to be seen, if
carefully looked for. My bearers soon perceived how interested I
was in observing their novel and curious forms, and brought to me
all the different varieties they could find, so that in the evening
my palanquin contained a collection of flowers and plants gathered
during the day. I managed to dry a few, but the greater part had to
be thrown away, as I had no means of preserving them to take up to
the capital.
In some parts of the woods the different species of bamboo give quite
a distinct character to the vistas. Some of them shoot up in one long
slender jointed stem, with fringes of delicate leaves, and hang over
the paths like enormous whips. Another kind, a climbing species, with
stems no thicker than a quill, clothes the lower trees with a dense
mantle of pale green drapery. As we got into the higher and cooler
parts of the forest, numbers of the trees had long pendent masses
of feathery grey lichen, a species of _Usnea_, giving them quite
a venerable appearance, and reminding me of the opening lines of
Longfellow’s “Evangeline”:
“This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.”
[Sidenote: ANIMAL LIFE IN THE FOREST]
Although the vegetation was most luxuriant, I was surprised and
somewhat disappointed by the stillness of the forest, and the few
signs of animal life and the rarity of the song of birds. It is true
that at certain seasons the notes of many songsters may be heard,
and that in certain places the cries of different species of lemur
resound through the woods. Still, on the whole, I had imagined that a
tropical forest would be much more visibly full of life. Subsequent
experience and research showed me that there _is_ a considerable
variety and number of living creatures in these forests, but they
have to be looked for, and when found they are full of interest, as
we shall see. It may be noticed, too, that both bird and insect life
are more evident in the outskirts of the woods and in the occasional
openings among the trees than in the densest forest, all living
things delighting in sunlight.
From what has been already said it will be seen that the flora
of Madagascar presents many new and striking forms of vegetable
life; but its fauna is still more noteworthy, for it presents one
of the strangest anomalies in the geographical distribution of
animals. This zoological peculiarity consists as much, or more, in
what is wanting, as in what is present. Separated from Africa by a
channel not three hundred miles broad at one point, we should have
supposed that Madagascar would partake to a great extent of the
same characteristics, as regards animal life, as the neighbouring
continent. But it is really remarkably different. There is a strange
absence of the larger species of mammalia, and this statement applies
not only to the forests but to all parts of the island, the bare
highlands of the interior and the extensive lower plains of the west
and the south.
[Sidenote: ABSENCE OF LARGE ANIMALS]
First of all, the large carnivora are all wanting; there are no
lions, leopards, tigers, panthers, or hyenas. The large thick-skinned
animals, so plentiful in the rivers and forests of Africa, have no
representatives in Madagascar; no elephant browses in the woods, no
rhinoceros or hippopotamus lazily gambols in the streams, although
there was a small species of the last-named pachyderm which was
living during the latest quaternary epoch. The numerous species of
fleet-footed animals—antelope, gazelle, deer, and giraffe, zebra
and quagga—which scour the African plains are entirely absent; and
the ox, the sheep, the goat, the horse and the ass have all been
introduced, the three former from Africa and the others from Europe.
The order of mammalia most developed here is the quadrumana, but
this, again, is represented by but a single division, the lemurs
and their allies, which are the most characteristic animals of the
island. There are no true monkeys, baboons, or apes, nor do the
gorilla or chimpanzee put in an appearance. The lemurs are very
distinct from all these and are pretty creatures, bearing little
resemblance to the half-human, grotesque appearance of many of the
quadrumanous animals, or to the savage character of the larger apes
and baboons. They vary in size from that of a large monkey to species
not larger than a rat. They are mostly gentle in disposition, and
some kinds are tame enough to be kept about the house as pets.
[Illustration: FAMILY TOMB OF THE LATE PRIME MINISTER, ANTANÀNARÌVO
The tomb is under the upper open arcade]
[Illustration: ROYAL TOMBS IN THE COURTYARD OF THE PALACE,
ANTANÀNARÌVO
On the right is that of Radàma I, on the left that of Ràsohèriva]
[Sidenote: MADAGASCAR AND AFRICA]
It is probable that the mammalia of Madagascar are now fairly well
known, although a few of the smallest species may still await
discovery; and the following summary may be here given of their
divisions and numbers—excluding the bats, of which there are
seventeen species, ninety species of terrestrial mammals have been
classified and described, and of the following orders:—Lemuroida,
thirty-nine species; Carnivora, almost all being civets and quite
small animals, ten species; Insectivora, including shrews and small
creatures resembling hedgehogs, twenty-four species; Rodentia, rats
and mice, sixteen species; and Ungulata, one or two species of
river-hog. It will be seen that about two-fifths of the mammalian
fauna belong to the lemurs, and that with very few exceptions, all
the others are small and inconspicuous animals; many, however, are
of exceptional interest, as we shall see. From a consideration of
the facts regarding the mammals, as well as those of the other forms
of animal life found here—birds, reptiles and insects—the following
conclusions may be drawn: First, Madagascar was anciently joined to
Africa, receiving its fauna from the continent, whose animal life was
then much like that of Madagascar at the present time; but it had
also certain connections at an early geological epoch with Asia and
even with South America, as there are undoubted affinities between
its fauna and those of these distant regions. Secondly, this African
connection of Madagascar existed before the abundant animal life
of the continent entered it from the north, and when Africa was a
great continental island—that is, its central and southern portions,
and separated from Europe and Asia by a shallow sea, now the Sahara
Desert. The upheaval of that sea-bottom was probably to some extent
contemporaneous with the subsidence of the land which is now the
Mozambique Channel. Thirdly, Madagascar must have remained for a long
period separated from every other part of the globe; and while the
western and southern portions have been repeatedly submerged, the
highland interior, of palæozoic rocks, is very ancient land, and much
of its fauna is also antique in its character.
But to leave this zoological dissertation and return to our journey.
I have not mentioned that more than once we saw small companies of
lemurs high over our heads, leaping with wonderful agility from
branch to branch, and uttering their peculiar cry. These cries could
often be heard when the animals were not seen, and sounded almost
like the cry of children; and to myself there was always something
pleasant in it, as that of living creatures rejoicing in their
freedom in these boundless forests.
[Sidenote: THE BED OF A GREAT LAKE]
On Saturday morning I wished Mr Plant good-bye and set off, leaving
him at the village, which he was to make his head-quarters for some
time while collecting natural history specimens in the forest. The
road was not nearly so difficult as on the previous day, so that I
had no need to alight from the palanquin all the way to Ampàsimpòtsy,
where I stayed to breakfast. The hills were much more moderate in
height, with a good deal of open clearing, although the forest still
continued on either hand, but not in those dense masses of wood
through which we had passed the last three or four days. Leaving our
halting-place at noon, we gradually got clear of the woods, and early
in the afternoon ascended a very high hill, from which we could see a
great distance both westward and eastward. Behind us were the hills
and valleys covered with forest through which we had travelled, while
in front stretched a great undulating plain, bare and almost without
a tree, except in a few places, where there were large circular
patches of wood. This was the plain of Ankay, which separates the
two belts of forest, and is the home of the Bezànozàno tribe. Beyond
this again, ten or twelve miles away, was the upper forest, clothing
the slopes and summits of the edge of the interior highland. Careful
examination of this region has shown that it was formerly the bed
of a great lake, from two to three hundred miles long, extending
from the present Lake Alaotra, farther north, and is its gradually
diminishing remnant. Subsequent action of water has, however, so cut
up its former level that it now presents a very uneven surface.
It was dull travelling alone after the pleasant companionship of a
fellow-traveller; and in making arrangements for meals, etc., I felt
how perfectly helpless a man is when he cannot speak so as to be
understood. I was a barbarian to my men, and they were barbarians to
me; for my stock of Malagasy words was very limited, and probably
almost unintelligible as to pronunciation, so that I was at a
complete standstill for nearly everything I wanted to say. We reached
Mòramànga, a rather large village, at the commencement of the plain,
soon after three in the afternoon and there halted for the rest of
the day. This place was a military post of the Hova government, and
on passing through passports were examined by the officer in charge.
Next morning we were stirring early and left Mòramànga while it was
yet dusk. There was a thick mist, and my men were shivering with the
cold, for we were now two thousand nine hundred feet above the sea,
and their scanty clothing was but a poor protection. For an hour or
two we saw little except for a few yards around us; but as the sun
rose the fog rolled up like a vast curtain, revealing the line of the
Ifòdy and Angàvo hills straight before us; the slopes were partly
covered with trees, but a good deal of their surface was brown and
bare. In the deepest of the many valleys which cut the surface of the
Ankay plain runs a beautiful and rapid river, the Mangòro, about one
hundred and fifty feet wide where we crossed it in canoes. This is
the longest river of the east coast, and would make a fine means of
access to the interior, were its course not interrupted by rapids and
cataracts at many points.