CHAPTER X.

OUR RETURN HOME.

Domestic Slavery in Madagascar—Ancient Trade PAGES

in Slaves—Radáma’s Treaty with Governor 321-334

Farquhar well observed—Similar clause in

the Treaty of 1865—Slaves imported

nevertheless—Capture of Slaver by the

_Vulture_—Successful efforts against the

Slave Trade—Recent Proclamation of the

Queen of Madagascar—Our return Home—The new

Bishopric in Madagascar—Its aggressive

attitude and spirit—God’s care of His

people

------------------------------------------------------------------------

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

ANTANANARIVO: CHURCH AT Frontispiece

AMPAMARINANA

FORD OF THE MANDRAKA 40

TURTLE-HEAD 54

ROCK—AMBATOMALAZA

TSI-AFAK-AFO FROM THE 58

WEST

TOWN OF FIANARANTSOA 67

MR. PEARSE’S HOUSE 111

MARTYR’S CAVE 119

THE QUEEN’S RESIDENCE 143

STONE GATE AT ARIVONIMAMO 193

FALLS OF THE IKOPA 225

GATEWAY OF 300

POLES—MEVATANANA

MAP OF CENTRAL PROVINCES 335

OF MADAGASCAR

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER I.

WHY AND HOW WE WENT TO MADAGASCAR.

Religious Revolution in Madagascar—The Idols burned—Increased Help sent

from England to the Mission—A Deputation appointed to visit the

Island—Our Journey thither—Marseilles—Naples—Fellow-passengers—The

Suez Canal—Aden—The Indian Ocean—Mauritius—The Bullockers—Passage

across—Tamatave; the Town, Port, and Market—English and Native

Friends—Sunday—The Native Churches and their Worship—Help they

need—Importation of Rum into Madagascar and its evils—The Trade of

Madagascar.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWELVE MONTHS IN MADAGASCAR.

CHAPTER I.

WHY AND HOW WE WENT TO MADAGASCAR.

ON the 8th of September 1869, a religious revolution took place in

Madagascar. The priests and diviners of the idol Kelimaláza came to the

Queen, and urged that, like her predecessors, she should again take the

idol into her palace, and place her whole kingdom under its protection.

The Queen had, from the commencement of her reign, eighteen months

before, taken her stand as a Christian; and in the previous February, in

the presence of her people, had been baptized as a Christian. Her

husband, the Prime Minister, and an influential body of nobles and

officers, had adopted the same faith: and Christianity was making great

strides among her subjects generally. The keepers of the three national

idols had in consequence been deposed from their position as keepers of

the ruler’s conscience, as directors of lucky and unlucky days, and as

instigators of the persecutions, from which the land had suffered great

harm. They had also been deprived of their special privileges. They were

no longer Andríans, entitled to the scarlet umbrella, exempt from the

jurisdiction of the ordinary Courts, and having the power of life and

death over their own clan; they were simply Hovas, and were bound to

render to their sovereign that feudal service, to which all other

members of the tribe were subject. All this was trying enough. Men, who

have long enjoyed exclusive privileges at others’ expense, are usually

dissatisfied when their vested interests are set aside without

compensation. And when, in the month of June, the Queen laid the

foundation of her Chapel Royal, and summoned these priestly families to

do their share in building it, they made a last desperate attempt to

recover their former position. They came to the Queen and urged her to

place the land under the idols once more.

The occasion was felt to be an important one. There was a hurried

consultation. A large number of officers was summoned; and a discussion

commenced among them as to how the difficulty should be met. A happy

suggestion offered by one of them, that the idols should be burned, was

heartily approved by all. Due authority was given by the Queen, and

several officers were at once dispatched on horseback to the village

where the chief idol was kept. Arrived at the idol-house, the leader

went in and brought the idol out, “Whose idol is this?” he asked of the

bystanders. “It belongs to the Queen,” was their reply. “If this idol be

mine,” saith Ránaválo-manjáka, “I need it not: let it be burned.” And

burned it was, with all its trappings, to their consternation and grief.

The other royal idols shared the same fate.

The event produced a profound sensation throughout the country. By the

theory and the practice of Malagasy public life, the Queen had a perfect

right to decide as she had done. But her subjects were not behind their

sovereign. Public opinion had been rapidly ripening on the subject, and

there was no hesitation as to the course that should be followed. The

next day, all over Imérina, the private idols of villages and families

were also brought forth: bundles of clothes and charms, round which the

superstitious fears of many generations had clustered, were committed to

the flames; and soon a little heap of ashes was all that remained of the

outward symbols of a faith that had been held by the Malagasy races

since their first fathers landed on the island. The revolt from the

system was complete. From all quarters came the inquiry, “Whom does the

Queen worship? How is that worship conducted? What are we to do?” From

all quarters was heard the request, “Send us teachers: send us books.”

Chapels were hastily erected all over the province, even in remote

villages. And the resources of the native Churches, of the English

Mission, and of the Mission Press, were taxed to the utmost to supply

the nation’s wants.

Profound as was the sensation produced by the burning of the idols

abroad, it was not less deeply felt at home. The greatness of the event

was discerned: its spiritual significance was instantly appreciated. No

such event had occurred in the history of Christendom before: no such

multitude of willing men and women had ever knocked for admission at the

Church’s door in a single year. It was the fruit of the long and painful

persecution of twenty-eight years. It was the fruit of the faithfulness

of the martyrs, dead and living, upon whose sufferings and fidelity all

Christendom had looked with sympathy. It was the answer to the thousands

of prayers which those sufferings had called forth.

The case was thoroughly appreciated. A few enthusiasts might talk of

Madagascar as christianized, and think it needed Christian help no

longer. But the Committees of Missionary Societies, the men who have

been dealing with the practical life of heathen nations for many years,

and have been studying the many problems involved in their redemption,

were not likely to make that mistake. A new born child is not the

educated, thoughtful, self-denying man, he some day may be. With his

birth and growth the trials and responsibilities of parents begin. Many

a missionary has found that his work in instructing the heathen was as

nothing, compared with the labour, anxiety and trial, which fell to his

lot, when he began to gather converts around him, and by God’s help

endeavoured to train them to holiness and trust, while “the world, the

flesh, and the devil” were drawing them back again to evil. With the

thankfulness and congratulations which this great change inspired in the

friends of the Imerina Mission, it was felt that new duties of a most

serious kind devolved upon them; and the Directors of the London

Missionary Society, who had maintained that mission and had aided the

Malagasy Churches for more than fifty years, determined without delay to

enlarge the mission by all the agencies which the crisis called for.

Large sums of money were contributed almost unasked; and within the five

years that have since elapsed twenty English missionaries have been

added to the staff previously labouring in the island. It was resolved

to commence new stations, and to enlarge and strengthen the Theological

and Normal Schools; to increase and stimulate general education; and to

make the Press more efficient. Other Christian missions, working in

cordial co-operation with the London Missionary Society, were enlarged

at the same time.

Nothing could be more desirable than that these increased agencies

should be carefully applied so as to produce the largest amount of good.

Especially was it felt to be important that every English missionary,

expected to be a fountain of wisdom and of spiritual power to the simple

people around him, should be located in a position that would call forth

all his strength, and give to his abilities and influence the widest

scope. As time went on it seemed increasingly difficult to secure these

important ends. Much as we heard from abroad, and much as we wrote to

Madagascar from London, it grew more plain that no amount of

correspondence would suffice to convey to us and to them all the

information as to details which it was desirable for each side to know;

especially when that correspondence was frequently interrupted and

delayed by its transit through one of the most inefficient mail-services

known to the civilised world, the service between Bourbon and

Madagascar. The conviction grew that nothing would suffice for the

accomplishment of our purpose, nothing would supply all missing links

and make co-operation complete, but that two or three Directors of the

Society should proceed to the island, and that the missionaries and

these Directors, as “friends in council,” should together shape the new

scheme, which the enlarged mission imperatively required. It was felt to

be an additional advantage that, by visiting the island, the members of

such a deputation would have an opportunity of meeting the native

pastors and native churches, and of assuring them both of the warm

affection in which they were still held by their old friends, and of the

gladness with which they would still be aided in their new and pressing

wants. The Rev. JOHN PILLANS of Camberwell, a Director of the Society,

and myself were honoured with the appointment; and after several

impressive services, in which we were affectionately commended to the

divine protection, and the divine blessing was sought on our expedition,

we set out on our journey. Mrs. Pillans also accompanied us.

A pleasant day between Paris and Lyons, followed by a hot and weary

night, brought us to Marseilles, our port of embarkation. Marseilles is

now a great city, with six hundred thousand inhabitants; and its new

streets, in solidity, breadth, and grandeur, compare favourably with

those of Paris. The trade passing through the city is enormous. Its new

quay and harbour are crowded with steamers, which connect it by

commercial ties with all the ports of the Mediterranean and the Black

Sea, and which in recent years have extended their lines to India,

China, and Japan; while, conspicuous to all eyes, on its rocky hill,

stands the church of Notre Dame de la Garde, the shrine at which the

sailors of Marseilles have registered their vows and paid their thanks,

from the day when, two thousand five hundred years ago, the Greek

colonists of Phocæa founded the city of Massilia, and erected their

first temple. Perhaps no shrine in Europe can boast of such a long and

unbroken line of worshippers.

Our steamer was the _Amazone_, of the fleet of the Messageries

Maritimes, a noble vessel of 2000 tons, bound for Shanghai and carrying

the Eastern mails. We found her accommodations excellent; large cabins,

a good table, attentive servants, an obliging captain, efficient

officers, and a most muscular crew. What a mixture of nations we found

among our fellow-passengers! There were Spaniards, French, Portuguese,

English, Italians, and Japanese. Our Japanese companions were members of

the Commission which had been visiting the Vienna Exhibition.

We started from the jetty punctually at ten, on the morning of the 6th

of July. With a smooth sea and clear sky we passed rapidly through the

Straits of Bonifacio, and were unexpectedly gratified by a brief visit

to the city and bay of Naples. What painter can do full justice to the

delicate hues of sea and sky at that fair spot? The harbour of Hong Kong

and the bay of New York are, in their finest aspects and under the

purest skies, truly beautiful; but there is a perfection of loveliness

in the sheen of the air, the play of the colours, and the transparent

clearness of the Bay of Naples that nothing can surpass. Leaving Naples

at nine in the morning, at sunset we were close to Stromboli, with its

cindery cone; and at midnight, with six men at the wheel, the _Amazone_

passed steadily through the swirling currents of the Straits of Messina,

under a magnificent moon. The long line of lights in the town of

Messina, the dark rocks of the Italian coast, with Reggio at their feet;

the firing of the gun, the burning of the blue lights, and the brilliant

night made up a charming scene. We saw Candia in its entire length, with

Mount Ida and its line of rugged hills; passed close to Gozo, the little

island of Clauda, where the apostle Paul and his companions fell into

the hurricane; and at sunrise on Saturday, six days from Marseilles,

anchored at Port Said, the entrance to the Suez Canal.

There came on board at Naples a number of gentlemen in whom we felt

considerable interest, and who proved agreeable companions. They were

silk merchants from various cities of Italy, engaged in the endeavour to

restore the Italian silk-trade, which has in recent years been almost

ruined by disease among the worms. They make an annual voyage to Japan,

and bring back with them enormous quantities of the best silkworms’

eggs. These are stowed in a special compartment of the vessel, iced to

keep them cool, and a heavy freight is paid for the accommodation. Our

new passengers were a tall, manly body of men; many of them had the

unmistakeable Roman face and features; and when one saw them at dinner,

enlivening the tedium of the seven courses with the hearty laugh and

witty repartee, one felt that classical life was coming home very

freshly, and could realise it more distinctly than before.

We were charmed with the Suez Canal. It is a great work, simply but

effectually done. We saw the powerful dredgers busily engaged in

maintaining its depth; we passed steadily through it without a hitch; we

saw with interest the little stations; the white town of Ismailia, with

its water-works and railway station; the two bitter lakes, no longer

dry; the cuttings through low hills of limestone and gypsum; and at

length entered the green Bay of Suez at its southern end. Anchored

between the “Fountains of Moses” on the eastern shore, and the “Rock of

Deliverance” on the west, we witnessed one of the most golden sunsets I

have seen in the Eastern world. This easy passage from the Red Sea to

the Mediterranean has revolutionised the carrying trade of the East. The

great fleets of sailing ships which in former years rounded the Cape

with the silk and tea of China, with the indigo and jute, the sugar and

tea, the silk and cotton of India, the _Ariel_ and _Taeping_, the

_Hotspur_, and _Renown_, and _City of Calcutta_, and their companions,

of which the mercantile world was justly proud, have passed away, and

have given place to lines of steamers which swarm in every port of the

Indian seas, and which at small expense bring home their precious

cargoes without hindrance through the simple green lane of the Suez

Canal. There is, however, one drawback to the satisfaction with which

the new arrangement is carried out,—the fee paid for the passage. The

“little bill” presented to the _Amazone_ for its seventeen hours’ work

amounted to £1400!

The Red Sea is proverbially hot in June, July, and August, and we found

it hot indeed. For five days the thermometer ranged between eighty-seven

degrees at night and ninety-eight degrees by day; but the heat was

tempered by pleasant winds; and no one seemed distressed by it, except

those who drank large quantities of claret and water to keep them cool.

Under circumstances peculiarly favourable, our noble steamer pressed

forward with perfect steadiness, and after a run of four days and a half

from Suez, anchored on Friday morning in Aden harbour.

The general verdict of Indian visitors respecting Aden, is that it is a

“horrid hole.” Certainly the scenery is not brilliant, it is deficient

in verdure; and in the middle of the year, with wild west winds, the

thermometer stands nearer one hundred degrees than ninety degrees.

Nevertheless Aden has an interest of its own; and associations of deep

interest cluster around it. The peninsula of Aden, which cuts off from

the sea a wide landlocked harbour is formed by an immense volcano, a

mile wide in the interior and having huge walls and buttresses of

cindery lava all around it. It is a weird-looking place; but it has for

many ages been a helper to the commerce of the world. An outpost of

India, well governed, it has long been the protector of the overland

trade and a good coaling station. Its importance has increased with the

opening of the Canal; and at times several steamers call every day for

water, ice, and coal. Beyond this Aden was, next to Zanzibar, the

principal station of the most ancient commerce of the world. The

Phenicians knew and used it before the days of Hiram. The fleets of

Solomon called there on their way to Cochin and Malabar, whence, after

their three years’ voyage, they bore to Judea “the ivory, ebony, apes,

and peacocks” described by their Indian names in the sacred records. To

Solomon are attributed the cutting and completion of the great water

tanks, which were rediscovered, cleansed, and enlarged by the government

of India only eight years ago. From Aden went forth whole fleets of

Phenician vessels, to the coasts of India and Africa; and in the middle

ages it was one great stay of the eastern trade from which Europe had

been entirely cut off.

After a three days’ delay in Aden, on board the _Dupleix_, the

corresponding steamer to which we had been transferred, we again started

for a fortnight’s voyage down the Indian Ocean to Mauritius. The Gulf of

Aden we found hot but quiet; but the moment we passed the great

limestone promontory of Cape Gardafui, though the thermometer fell

fifteen degrees, we ran into a rough sea, which completely upset us all.

For three days Mr. Pillans and I scarcely appeared on deck. To lie still

and listless was most pleasant; we ate nothing, drank nothing, except

water, and did nothing. But at the end of three days we grew accustomed

to the motion, and life went on quietly as before. Mrs. Pillans suffered

far more than we. The season of the south-west monsoon is well known in

all the eastern seas, for its strong winds and wild waters. It is

singular that the wind blows hardest near the African coast; no vessels

going down that coast can face it with advantage; the steamers therefore

shape their course far out in the direction of Ceylon, and bend round

toward the south, when the wind and sea fall lighter. In this way we

crossed the line, skirted the Calvados reef, made acquaintance with the

south-east trade wind, and in due time anchored at Port St. Denis, in

the Island of Bourbon. Here we received a hundred and forty-five

passengers, who were going over to Mauritius to see the races. We had a

very rough night, and they were all violently ill; the appearance of

many next morning was pitiable, and looking at the results, I doubt not

many would ask whether the “game” was worth the “candle” paid for it.

The next morning we reached Port Louis.

I cannot dwell on our little visit to the Mauritius; the island is well

known and has only recently been well described. We found many friends

and received the kindest hospitality and help at their hands. We

travelled along the railways; saw the charming bits of scenery with

which this volcanic island abounds; and visited the Pamplemousse

Gardens, in which I found many old Indian friends. The fan palm and the

betel-nut, the talipot of Ceylon, the poinsettia, the Ponciana regia,

and the Bouganvillier creeper were represented by fine specimens. More

pleasant still was it to visit the market, full of the Indian grains and

vegetables; to handle once more dàl and rice; to see the huge melons,

the cucumbers and tomatoes, of which the people of India are so fond;

and to talk Hindustani to the coolies and traders, while asking of their

welfare and the whereabouts of their Indian homes. Most pleasant of all

was it, to meet on the Sunday a little congregation of Indians at the

station of the Church Missionary Society, and preach to them in Bengali,

the tongue with which I had been most familiar during the years of my

Indian life. The week passed rapidly away; and as one of the regular

“liners” was about to cross to Madagascar, we prepared to take our

passage in her.

The vessels which regularly run between Port Louis and Tamatave are

termed “bullockers.” They bring from Madagascar the rice, hides, and

india-rubber, which are usual articles of trade: but their principal

freight is live bullocks, intended to supply the meat market of

Mauritius, and the quarter of a million coolies who purchase their

supplies therein. I had often heard of these bullockers, and read about

them. I remembered the story of the amiable captain, who having

quarrelled with Mr. Ellis’s orchids, directed his boy to pour over them

a kettle of boiling water. My colleague and myself visited two of these

vessels, in the harbour of Port Louis, and found them an interesting

study. The absence of all paint, the rusty iron work, the damaged

rigging, the rotten steering-gear, and the filthy cabins, fully

justified the warnings of our friends against accepting a passage in

them, even if accompanied by a handsome remuneration. One of them had

its living freight on board, and we were witnesses to the astonishment

and indignation with which the dumb creatures, after their long

confinement, found themselves suddenly dropped into the water and

compelled to swim ashore for their lives. To style a ship like this “a

horrid hole,” is not really disrespectful. To say that as an abode for

human beings, it is a disgrace to civilisation, is mild and moderate

language compared with the facts. The bullock trade must be the Botany

Bay or the Cayenne of the shipping world; and on the vessels employed in

it no Committee of inquiry need sit long.

In a bullocker we must go: but happily the vessel about to sail was one

of the safest of her class; and the owners and officers endeavoured to

make us comfortable. Had they had time to paint the saloon and cabin,

they would probably have been of some definite colour: at all events the

boy assured us that he had washed them out; but over their condition in

general, and that of the cabin-table in particular, let us draw the veil

of silence. We managed well, as Englishmen can do anywhere. Captain

Gilman was kindness itself; a smart sailor, a genial companion, and a

most attentive nurse to the sick, he did his best to render our passage

safe and pleasant. With a fair wind and moderate sea, the little barque

sped on her way over the six hundred miles of water; and sixty-nine

hours after leaving Port Louis, on Thursday, August 14th, we anchored

behind the reef at Tamatave.

We received a hearty welcome from both English and native friends, who

had heard of our coming, and were soon provided with a comfortable home.

The native officers in charge of the Custom-House were most courteous

and attentive on the subject of our baggage; and early on the following

day it was cleared and under our command. Within twenty-four hours, more

than half of it, not required for our own journey, was on its way to the

capital; and we had leisure to attend to a few matters of importance,

which it was well for us to examine. For this promptitude we were

largely indebted to the agents of the Society, Messrs. Procter & Co.,

who assisted us in every way.

Much has been written about Tamatave, almost the only safe and sheltered

port on the east coast of Madagascar. Every traveller describes it: it

is the place at which he receives his first impressions, and makes his

first acquaintance with the Malagasy people. I will therefore pass over

it briefly, as we saw in it nothing new.

TAMATAVE is built on a long spit of sand, four hundred yards wide, which

joins the main land to a fine coral reef off the coast. The reef is long

and massive; and the wild sea, driven onward by the strong trade winds,

was bursting over it in great creamy waves and clouds of spray. In the

centre of the reef is a somewhat narrow opening, which would render

entrance and exit difficult, were it not that shifts of wind and breezes

from the land, as well as from the sea, give friendly assistance to

those who bring their vessels to the port. Once in, a ship finds a

complete shelter in the curved bay which the reef and the sand combine

to form. The town presents to the eye nothing striking or beautiful.

Approaching it from the sea, a long line of misty hills is seen in the

background, throwing forward many spurs and lower ridges into the narrow

plain. The shore is fringed with wood and brush, conspicuous in which

are seen a few mangoe trees and some fine specimens of the pandanus;

while along the line the feathery fronds of the cocoanut tree stand

clear against the sky.

The town contains six hundred houses, and about three thousand people.

It is nearly square in shape, with its south end rounded by the beach:

the streets run parallel to the sea. The common houses of the people are

mean and frail, formed from light wood or bamboo; and thatched and

panelled with the stalks, bark, and leaves of the traveller’s tree,

which is abundant in the neighbouring hills. The principal street is

near the shore, and has on both sides, but especially on the east, the

houses of English and French residents, including the handsome new house

of Mr. Pakenham, the English Consul. The gardens (or “compounds,” as

they are termed in India) of these houses are large; and several of them

extend to the sea. At the north end of the town, beyond a sandy plain

covered with pandanus trees, is the Battery or native fort. It consists

of a double wall and stockade, with low arched gateways, and encloses

the house of the Governor and dwellings of some kind for the officers

and garrison around him. The place is in a most dilapidated condition;

and should the garrison ever be besieged, it is to be hoped they will

fire no guns in their defence, since the firing will bring down the

entire place about their ears. The native town has no shops. Indeed,

shops are an institution unknown in Madagascar. In Tamatave as

elsewhere, an open market is held, which contains a number of stalls or

benches made of clay. On these are laid the various articles exposed for

sale. The food sold in the market includes rice of several kinds, manioc

root (a coarse tapioca, very nourishing, and a favourite food with every

one); potatoes; and pieces of beef. The fruits were coarse but

plentiful, including cocoa-nuts, pine-apples, plantains and bananas,

melons and oranges. The cattle are a frisky race, and as a rule, appear

to enjoy the excitement of a market-day as much as the population.

Sanitation is unknown in Madagascar; and mud-pools, heaps of decaying

leaves, and refuse generally, rotting in the heated air, have much to do

with the fevers and other diseases which are so abundant among the

people of the coast districts.

We spent four pleasant days in Tamatave. We paid our respects to the

Governor, Rainifiringa, and received a hearty welcome from him and his

officers. He speaks English tolerably well, and talked to us much about

his visit to England in 1864, when he was sent as envoy to explain the

views of his Government respecting the English and French treaties. He

invited us to dine with him on the following day, when we met several

members of his family, and spent a most agreeable afternoon. We visited

also the English Consul, Mr. Pakenham, and had much interesting

conversation with him on matters connected with the progress of the

island. On every hand, we met with courtesy and kindness. The French

Vice-Consul kindly provided us with a house for ourselves and our

numerous packages. And the twenty Hindu and Parsi traders, who have

found their way from India, were glad to welcome one who could talk to

them in their own tongue about the home and land which they long to see

again. Special presents were sent to us both from the Churches of

Tamatave, and from the Governor, of geese and turkeys, fowls and eggs,

as provisions for our stay.

Our most pleasant day in Tamatave was the Sunday, when, for the first

time, we worshipped with the native Churches, of which we had heard so

much, and to which Christian people in England are bound by so many

ties. At eight o’clock we all went to the large church inside the

battery, called Ambátomásina. It was a simple building of posts,

panelled and roofed with leaves and stalks of the traveller’s tree; the

roof was open, and the walls were lined with fine mats. We joined the

Governor and the pastor, Andriantian, outside the church, and were

invited to sit at the upper end. We found some five hundred people

assembled. The women were seated on the floor to the right, and in the

immediate centre; the men were on the left, and in the centre far away.

A raised platform was provided for the preachers, on which stood a

table, covered with a white cloth, and holding the Bible and hymn-book.

There was also a white canopy above.

The form of worship followed by the Malagasy Churches connected with the

London Missionary Society, resembles that which prevails among the

Congregationalists, Presbyterians, and Wesleyans in England and America.

It is based upon free preaching and free prayer. But the form is not

identical with that of any one of these denominations; the singing,

reading, prayer, and preaching are so varied in their order and extent,

as to make it differ from all three. The form is Malagasy; it has become

national and universal, and the people are much attached to it.

The first hour of the service, from eight to nine, was spent chiefly in

singing hymns. In their tunes we recognised many old English friends,

lengthened, shortened, twisted, and interpolated with grace notes, which

rendered their identity somewhat doubtful. “Vesper” was one of these.

And now we heard, for the first time, a hymn which is more popular than

any other among the Christians of Madagascar. It stands No. 46 in the

usual hymn-book. It was the composition of the late Rev. R. G. Hartley,

and dwells in happy terms and in most musical rhythm upon the great

theme of Jesus, the good Shepherd. The measure is anapestic; and when

Mr. Richardson happily married it to a lively English tune, “Hail to the

brightness,” &c., it so perfectly hit the Malagasy ear and Malagasy

taste, that it went through the entire range of the Malagasy Churches in

a few weeks. The people sing with great taste and feeling; their voices

are sweet and clear, and the whole tone of their music is so plaintive

and full of tenderness, that on this, as on many other occasions, it

brought tears into my eyes. Even an English reader can discern the music

of the following lines. The words are pronounced like Italian,—

“Jéso mpamónjy, mpiándry tokóa,

Ampiveréno hanárak ’Anáo.

Ondry mania, manáry ny sóa,

’Aza avéla hiál ’amináo.

“Varivaríana, sálasaláina,

Be ahiáhy, jeréo izaháy;

Ampianáro ny tsy-ari-sáina,

Ampitsaháro ny fánianáy.”

These hymns concluded, one of the officers read the Scriptures, and

offered prayer. After another hymn, I gave them an address, which was

interpreted by the Governor. Mr. Pillans followed in the same way. After

another hymn and prayer, the pastor, Andriantian, delivered an earnest

address, and concluded the service in the usual way. In the afternoon,

we attended the service in the other chapel of Tamatave, and were kindly

assisted by Mr. Samuel Procter.

The two congregations in Tamatave number eight hundred persons, and are

composed, to a large extent, of the Hova families, which have come from

the interior of the island on public duty. They have able pastors and

preachers among them, and they are bound by many ties to the Christian

Churches of Imerina. There are eighteen other congregations (of smaller

size) in the low country, or at the road stations in the forest, and the

whole include more than two thousand persons, young and old. During our

stay in Tamatave, the two Churches, through their pastors, pressed

earnestly upon us and on the Directors of the society, a request that

they might have an English missionary. They need help: the smaller

congregations need it even more than the larger; the station is an

important one. The local population of Betsimasáraka have scarcely been

touched by the gospel, have scarcely sent a child to school.

Nevertheless, mere outposts cannot be conveniently supplied with English

missionaries until the main positions have been occupied. The Madagascar

Mission must be studied and planted as a whole. If ultimately it be

decided that no English missionary can be spared, the Churches in the

capital ought to give to Tamatave one of the best pastors at their

command.

There is a special reason calling for the exercise of the best moral and

religious influences upon the population of these sea-board towns, the

fearful prevalence of drink. When the trade was made free by the

half-mad king who ruled in Madagascar twelve years ago, and all

custom-house duties were abolished, Mauritius rum was poured into the

low country in large quantities, and the natives acquired a liking for

it. Mr. Ellis describes some terrible scenes which he saw or heard of.

Under Queen Rásohérina, the usual duty of ten per cent. was re-imposed,

and it is continued under the present queen; but, under such a light

duty, the trade flourishes. One English firm in the Mauritius imports

into Madagascar thousands of barrels of the hateful stuff every year,

and their stores are full of them. We saw the rum-barrels lying in

dozens on the beach, and saw them rolled along the chief street of

Tamatave at all hours of the day. In the stores of the petty Creole

traders, and even in the Hindu houses, the barrel stood on tap. As a

consequence, scenes of rioting, degradation, and drunkenness are common;

and all the towns along the coast are infected by the same temptations,

and the same evil example. When will the strong races of England and

America learn that to debauch and ruin these young nations is a crime

against humanity: that to place these strong temptations before

ignorant, uncivilised tribes, with whom it is impossible to comprehend

and forecast their dire consequences, is to ensure for them an immediate

degradation, and to close the door against the future entrance of truth,

and light, and virtue?

The Hova government of Madagascar disapprove the importation, and would

gladly place it under heavy restrictions, if not stop it altogether; but

their hold over the coast tribes is limited, and they fear a collision

with the French on the subject. But one thing they did for several

years, and, I believe, they do it still. As with cloth and Manchester

goods, so with these rum barrels,—the duty is paid in kind. Every tenth

barrel landed is handed over to the Custom-house, but the authorities

will not handle the evil thing; they will not commute it for a money

payment, and so the rum is poured upon the sands. I call that noble.

While the civilised Englishman pours his flood of drink into the

country, the simple, inexperienced native prince stands silently by,

unable to resist, but resolutely refusing to soil his hands with the

unhallowed gain. Ought not Christian Churches and Christian governments

to help them in their difficulties? At the least, they should be

empowered to impose repressive duties. Better would it be if spirits of

all kinds were prohibited altogether. There are classes in the world for

whom a Maine Law is just the right thing. Parents impose a Maine Law

upon their children while under tutelage; why should not the simple

tribes of the earth,—the Indian, the Tahitian, the Malagasy, while they

remain simple,—be protected by the great nations from the dangers into

which the love of drink must surely lead them?

Tamatave is the principal seat of the export trade of Madagascar. That

trade is by no means great, though it is steadily on the increase. The

trade in bullocks has always been considerable, since it was re-opened

in 1854. In recent years it is in hides, bees’-wax, india-rubber, gum,

tallow, and oil seeds that the increase has taken place. Many of these

articles are brought from the interior; and the wages paid to bearers

have, in consequence, greatly risen during the last four years. Large

numbers of natives are employed in the forests collecting these articles

for the English and American traders. A portion of the trade goes to

England and America direct, but the greater part passes through the

Mauritius. And it is because the bullocks form so large an item in the

traffic, and large vessels are available a short distance off, to which

other articles may be transferred, that the export trade clings so

firmly to Tamatave on the east coast, and so many difficulties are found

in re-opening the old line of export on the north-west of Madagascar at

Mojangá. The native produce is paid for in Manchester goods,—“lambas”

made in Lancashire looms, in crockery, pottery, iron vessels, knives,

and tools. A part is paid for in rum. For another portion there is a

large annual import of the French and Belgian five-franc pieces, which

form the current “dollar” of the country. In 1863-4, the entire export

and import trade amounted together to L. 100,000. In 1873 it stood thus—

1. Exports from Mauritius to £145,000

Madagascar

2. Imports into Mauritius from 155,000

do.

3. Both trades, to Bourbon, 100,000

America, and England direct

────

Total in 1873 £400,000

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER II.

FIRST EXPERIENCES OF MADAGASCAR AND ITS PEOPLE.

East Coast of Madagascar, its Character and Population—Supplies needed

by a Traveller to the Capital—Our Journey—Inland Lagoons—Park-like

Scenery—Andevoranto—Ascend the Iharoka—“See the conquering Hero

comes”—The Pass of Tániakóva—The Sorrows of the old

Slave-system—System of our Journey—The great Ridge west of

Befórona—Scenery of the Forest—The Plain of Ankay—The great Ridge of

Angavo and its Forest—The Eastern Valleys of Imerina—Our Arrival and

Reception—Population of the East Coast scanty—First Visits—The City

empty—Why—Description of Antananarivo—Origin, Name, and Growth of

the City—Interest of the Native Churches in our Visit.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER II.

FIRST EXPERIENCES OF MADAGASCAR AND ITS PEOPLE.

THE east coast of Madagascar, the first portion of the island usually

seen by English and French travellers, possesses few attractions. It

consists of an undulating plain, which is, in general, twenty miles

broad. Along its western side the hills rise as a fine background to a

very simple picture; first in long, low banks of clay, rounded and worn

by streams; then in a mighty wall, covered with forest, which stretches

away north and south as far as the eye can reach. Behind these noble

hills, with their precipitous passes, lie the central provinces of the

island, held by the ruling races, and by the largest portion of the

population. These hills, and the ring of empty land which they bear upon

their shoulders, are the defence of the interior tribes against foreign

aggression. French colonists and adventurers of former generations tried

in vain to hold forts upon the coast, and to establish a title to a

permanent possession of some of its districts; but the lack of

population, the constant fevers, and the consequent drain upon their own

resources, rendered that hold feeble: and when at length the interior

tribes had grown strong, and, under Radáma and his father, had become

united under one authority, it was an easy task for them to march down

to the east coast, and sweep away all opposition to the establishment of

a single government, by which all the population should be headed and

controlled.

The northern districts of the east coast beyond Tamatave are thinly

peopled. Within twenty miles are the towns of Tintingy, Foule Point, and

Fenoarivo, all of moderate size. In the fertile bottoms, abundance of

rice is grown, and the cattle are numerous around the lower hills. Coal

is said to exist near the head of Antongil Bay, though its extent and

its quality are not known. Beyond this point the forest comes down to

the coast; and north of 17° lat. S. there exist only forests, and a few

good harbours. In the forest and beyond it, even on the east coast, all

through Vohimáry, the population is Sakaláva, and has been derived from

the west side of the island. The line of the east coast, from St. Mary’s

southward, is very straight. As a rule, for three miles and more inland,

it consists of a bed of sand, thrown up from the sea by the rough surf,

and by the strong south-east winds; hence the absence of harbours, the

open roadsteads, and the danger and delay which occur in communicating

with the shore. On the other hand, the sandy deposit has closed the

mouths of the numerous streams running from the hills, has caused the

accumulation of water in pleasant lakes and lagoons, and has provided

means for a system of inland navigation four hundred miles long, greatly

surpassing in convenience and safety the coast transit on the open sea.

Some day, the existing barriers to this navigation will be removed, the

schemes of Radáma will be revived, and this fine line of inland canals

will be rendered complete. The outlay required cannot be very great.

The traveller who would pass from the coast of Madagascar into the

interior, in order to visit the capital, should be prepared for one

thing,—that the conveniences and comforts of his journey must be

provided by himself. He will find on the way no hotels, no furnished

rooms for resting, eating, or sleeping; he will find no beds and no

chairs, no crockery, no teapot, no knives and forks, no linen, and no

spoons; he can buy neither tea, nor coffee, nor milk, neither salt nor

sugar, neither butter nor bread; all these things he must provide for

himself, and he had better purchase them in London before he starts. My

colleague and I knew these facts beforehand; my correspondence with the

missionaries had long rendered me familiar with the details and

experiences of their many journeys; and to be forewarned was to be

forearmed. We took with us, therefore, to Madagascar strong portable

beds, with their bedding complete, portable chairs, a canteen, with

plates and cups of enamelled iron, and spoons and knives that would not

spoil by rough usage. We carried our tea and coffee, cocoa and sugar,

our milk (in tins), and butter and bread (from Tamatave). We also had

with us two small tents. We lightened our camp by sending forward our

heavy baggage, and the stores not needed on the journey, under the

charge of separate men. So provided, we enjoyed a very interesting and

pleasant journey.

We left Tamatave on Tuesday, August 19, and for two days kept southward

along the coast, with the purpose of reaching Andevoranto, where the

road to the capital turns off into the interior. Our three palankeens

required twenty-two men, and our baggage had twenty-six. I need not

dwell at any length on our journey, for it has often been described by

Mr. Ellis, by Mr. Sibree, and several of the missionaries; by Captain

Oliver, and other military men. Its features have been carefully

detailed, its stopping-stations are well known; and the experiences of

one traveller, rough, serious, or amusing, have generally proved to be

those of every other.

There is no road, properly so called, along the coast; we just followed

a path, more or less broad, over the grassy glades, through patches of

wood, or across the bare sand. Cocoanuts, plantains, a few palms, the

fir, and the pandanus, were the usual trees,—familiar friends to me of

years gone by,—but many trees were quite new. Passing through the

village of Hivondro, we crossed the river, which here cuts through the

sand-belt, and flows into the sea. Traversing fine, open glades, the

bordering banks of which were beautifully curved, we came out upon the

beach, and, for a long way, toiled over the dunes, or trode the firm,

wet sand, upon which, with ceaseless roar, the long waves poured out

their hissing foam. The coast was lined with the filao, a fir-tree

closely resembling the casuarina, which grows well in Bengal, where it

is known as the Sumatra fir. The filao is, however, native to

Madagascar; its feathery hair hangs gracefully over its gnarled and

knotted branches, and, with the strong winds, makes pleasant music. Fine

clumps of these graceful trees continued all the way. Here and there the

ferns appeared with strong fronds, and the leaves and branches of the

pandanus were of great length.

A little north of Vavony, rocky hills, covered with wood, come down to

the coast, and the inner lagoons are driven into the sea. We traversed

one of these lagoons in a canoe for about three miles, and met with a

strange experience. The lagoon was bounded by high hills, and at the

bottom the mangrove was very thick. The water was not very deep, but it

was full of small water-lilies, the leaves of which, on their under

side, were a crimson pink in colour. The flower also was crimson. The

water at first had a brilliant red tint, but, ere long, it became

deeper, and it seemed to us all as if we were sailing on a river of

blood. As the lagoon ended, the colour changed to a rich red gold.

Landing once more, we travelled to the clean village of Vavony, over a

piece of country, which had all the appearance of a beautiful park. It

contained sloping banks crowned with fir trees. Here stood the tree

fern, and there the bamboo palm: here were fine specimens of the

india-rubber tree with its glossy leaves; there tall, thick badamiers

with their leaves of crimson; and there the path was arched by the

pandanus. From some lofty trees hung huge, black, bees’ nests: the

trunks of others were adorned with the Angræcum orchids, with their long

spray of twelve white flowers; and from the strongest hung enormous

creepers. Everywhere, winding in and out among the trees was the open

grassy glade, on which a fine herd of red cattle was grazing.

From Vavony we had a canoe, and while the baggage kept the road, for ten

miles we traversed a broad, still lagoon. It was bordered with high

banks, covered with trees: and with two paddles, worked by strong arms,

we had a delightful row to the village of Menarána, where we slept at

the end of our second day. Early the following morning, we reached the

Church Mission Station at Andevoranto, and put up in the empty

mission-house. What a treat it was to spend a quiet day! We occupied the

hours profitably, in readjusting baggage and stores, on the basis of the

experience we had gained during our first two days’ travel. We also had

pleasant interviews with members of the two congregations in this place

and neighbourhood, and heard much from them respecting their religious

wants. They are at present without a missionary. In the evening we had a

heavy downpour of rain.

Continuing our journey on Friday morning, we turned our face at once

towards the mountains: and for four hours we travelled in canoes up the

river Ihároka and one of its tributaries. The river was two hundred

yards broad, and the current, in its lower portion, ran about three

miles an hour. Near Andevoranto, both sides of the river have great

swamps, in which we saw growing many hundreds of the noble arum lily,

the _Astrapcæa Wallichii_, with its thick trunk and broad scolloped

leaves. Farther inland we came upon a row of the plants bearing the

first flowers of the season: and they were in size and beauty so

splendid, that a botanist like Mr. Ellis might well speak of them with

enthusiasm. Our men paddled the canoe with spirit, and like boatmen in

India, enlivened and regulated their stroke with measured cries and

songs. Our water trip was exceedingly pleasant; light showers fell at

intervals, producing numerous rainbows; beautiful flowers were growing

on the banks, and birds of coloured plumage flew around us.

After a two hours run on a straight course, we came to the roots of the

first hills; the river narrowed to a width of a hundred yards, the

stream grew stronger, and became very winding. We passed several small

villages, and soon left the main stream to turn into a little river,

with a current of four miles an hour against us. There we cut the

flowers of the _Astrapæa_. After a four hours’ pull in the canoe, we

landed, and began our climb over the hills. The first hills were low;

were beautifully rounded by water; and every hollow and valley was

filled with fine specimens of the rofia palm and of the traveller’s

tree. We made our first pause at Mánambonináhitra. This little town is

the residence of the Lieutenant-Governor of the district, and as his

brass band must live, they take the opportunity afforded by an English

visitor’s arrival to do a stroke of business. The whole village turned

out to welcome us, and the band played effectively and with energy, “See

the conquering hero comes: sound the trumpet, beat the drums.” The

incident would be remembered with feelings of satisfaction, both by my

colleague and myself, if we had not learned that several other

“conquering heroes” have passed through the village since our visit.

Still surrounded with the rofia palm, having fronds thirty feet long and

beautifully tinted with red, we continued our journey to Ránomafána,

with its well-known hot springs, which we reached at sunset. Here the

church table being in a dilapidated condition, I amused myself by

mending it, and was caught in the act by a deputation, which arrived to

offer us a welcome, and which watched with grave interest the progress

of the repairs.

Around Ránomafána the country has many beauties. There is a fine

amphitheatre of hills, from which here and there rise one or two lofty

cones. The streams run deep and strong, over beds of quartz pebbles; the

traveller’s tree grows in enormous numbers, and large patches of rich

black soil appear amid the general masses of red clay.

West of Ambátoerána, and about ten miles from Ránomafána, we ascended a

fine hill of bright red clay, which projects like a vast buttress into

this amphitheatre of hills, and furnishes the road by which the next

ridge is crossed. On reaching the summit of the pass and looking back

over the undulating plain, I asked the bearers what the name of the hill

was. With deep interest I heard their reply: “It is Tániakova, the

weeping place of the Hovas.” I at once asked, “And where is the sea?”

Without hesitation they pointed it out on the horizon, and showed us the

houses of Andevoranto.

We were standing on the spot, sacred for ever to the sorrows of the Hova

captives of former times, who here first caught sight of the sea, over

which they were to voyage as slaves. In the wars of last century, and in

the petty local contests which took place in various parts of the

country, it was a constant practice to sell the prisoners taken in

battle or captured in villages to the Arab merchants, who exported them

as slaves. In these calamities, members of the highest families were

involved as well as of the lowest. Children and young women were stolen

from villages in the darkness of evening, and were never seen by their

relatives again. The slaves were sold to the Mauritius, to Calcutta and

Bombay, and even to the West Indies. The Arab merchants were the chief

delinquents, but there were French and English also in the hateful

trade. The suffering caused by it must have been overwhelming. The

captives were marched from the interior in gangs, fastened to one

another. Hova, or Betsileo, Tánála or Tankay, it mattered nothing to the

cruel men whose property they had become. Their hearts must have broken

long before the forest was passed. But tradition tells how the deepest

sorrow broke forth afresh, as the gangs stood on this red pass, the

outer boundary of the land of their people, and for the first time they

beheld the “black waters,” over which they were to be carried never to

return. It was Radáma who brought the wicked system to an end, when, at

the suggestion of Sir Robert Farquhar, the Governor of Mauritius, he

made a treaty with the English Government, by which the export trade in

slaves was wholly done away. On the top of the pass there stands a

pillar inscribed with the king’s name. The efforts of Sir Robert

Farquhar, ably seconded by Mr. Hastie, drew from all classes of the

people a warm regard towards the English nation, and gave to them an

influence which others had never acquired, and which has been increasing

to the present day.

Descending the ridge on its western side, we came into the valley of the

Mahela River, rich with tropical vegetation. The ferns covered the slope

of the hill in thousands, and were plants of the finest kind. The fronds

of the harts’ tongues were a yard and a half long. The wild raspberry

was common, and the men gathered capfuls of the fruit. The Mahela was

thirty yards wide and four feet deep. Crossing it we climbed a lofty

ridge of red clay, with a Hova guard at the top; and going down and up

once and again at length reached the stopping station of Ampasimbé,

where we spent a quiet Sunday.

By this time we had grown accustomed to our work, and had adopted a

regular plan for our movements. Our rule was to rise at five o’clock,

get an early cup of tea, start off at half-past six, and make one good

journey before eleven or twelve in the day. Resting for a couple of

hours, our bearers and ourselves secured a good meal; then made another

journey between one and five o’clock, and rested for the night. The

villages in which we stopped were very dirty, with middens of rotting

leaves, with their smoky houses, in which soot is regarded with

veneration as a mark of ancestral respectability, with their countless

inhabitants, and their general disorder and filth. Twice a-day we had a

house assigned for our use; sometimes with the hens and geese sitting,

sometimes with the dogs and chickens turned into the street, but anxious

constantly to gratify their domestic feelings and return home. The

sleeping accommodation was varied. Sometimes the house was clean (for

Madagascar); usually it was the opposite; the first and the last of the

series were the dirtiest and smokiest of all. Our portable beds were a

great comfort, they were so complete and convenient; our enamelled cups

and plates proved most useful. But to get up at five A.M. daily, and

double up all your property, in order to go on pilgrimage to some new

place as dirty as the last, is trying to the feelings, even when it is a

serious duty.

Though wearisome, the journey proved at this time a continual treat. The

ascent of these hills is over three broad terraces. After leaving

Ampasimbé, all Monday and Tuesday we were crossing the numerous ridges

of the first terrace, which slopes outward from a mighty wall of rock,

conspicuous to the west. These ridges were often high; they followed

fast upon one another, and in the ravines between them were lovely bits

of scenery clustering round the running streams. At last, beyond

Beforona, we reached the foot of the great wall, covered with forest,

the top of which towered above our heads. Turning a little north, the

road made over the clay hills for a gap in the ridge, and with many a

climb and many a deep descent, we found ourselves at length on the high

terrace above it, the second of the series, distinguished by its forest.

The scenery in this part of the journey was wonderfully beautiful. Now

we passed under the long, arched alley, then came into the open glade;

now we were hidden in the dense wood, then found ourselves on the edge

of deep ravines. Now we crossed a river full of boulders, stepping from

stone to stone, or standing in the roaring water; then took a woodland

path, buried in ferns, or descended into rich and shady valleys; or,

again mounting some rocky summit, enjoyed a noble prospect over hundreds

of square miles. Our last day in the ’Alamazáotra forest was very

trying, from its numerous and deep mud holes. We had also to cross a

frail structure, meant for a bridge, over a broad and deep stream with a

fine cascade. But the forest was very fine: we soon reached a clean and

pleasant resting-place, Ampásimfótsy, and crossing a high broad ridge,

scored by local rice valleys, early in the afternoon, we descended into

the broad plain of Ankay, and reached the town of Moramanga. Here we

were welcomed by Mr. Wills, one of the English Missionaries, who had

been visiting his country churches. The weekly market was in the height

of business; meat and clothing were the chief articles we observed

exposed for sale. But the place was indescribably dirty. It had probably

never been swept from the day when the market was commenced, through

thirty intermediate generations, down to the present day.

The plain of Ankay is a place of peculiar interest; there is nothing

like it in the island. It is a vast plain of sedimentary clay, enclosed

by bordering chains of hills, which run in a direction from north to

south. Ankay proper is at least one hundred and eighty miles long and,

here, is about twenty miles broad. The chain along its eastern side is

not lofty, it has a height of only 365 feet. It is rather like a lip to

the plain below than an overhanging wall; it consists largely too of the

same material as the plain itself, with gneiss rocks underlying and

intermingled with it. The western chain, on the contrary, is a lofty

wall of granite and gneiss, 1620 feet high; it overhangs the plain in

its entire length, and passes far beyond it. It is the second of the

great ridge walls, by which so much of the contour of the island is

regulated. It runs the entire length of the island, as far as known, and

is covered all the way with wood, which forms the second and upper line

of the primeval forest. Vast buttresses of rock project into the plain

from its lofty front, and deep ravines and valleys run in behind them,

giving to the scenery a rich variety of outline, and of detail.

Ankay should be a level plain. It once was so. But its material is soft

and friable, and water speedily washes it away. For countless ages

storms, floods, waterspouts and steady rains have made havoc of its

surface. It is ploughed and scored into little valleys in all

directions; but the scorings all find an outlet, and pass from one to

another, till they reach the central drain of all, the valley of the

Mangoro River. The bottom of this valley is 325 feet below the level of

the plain; and the river flows (like the Jordan) in a little valley

within the valley. Naturally, this great draining valley with its river

runs, like its enclosing walls, a course from north to south. The

Mangoro eventually makes its way through the eastern chain, descends the

great hills by a series of rapids and cascades, and falls into the sea

near Manahoro. It is interesting to observe that under the western

hills, where floods and waters are most abundant, the plain is a hundred

feet lower than on its eastern side. We shall see more of this plain

hereafter, when we traverse its northern end on the way to the Sihánaka

province.

The people who have occupied this plain, apparently without

interruption, from the time of its first settlement, are called

Bezánozáno. Their name of Tankáys only denotes that they live in Ankay.

They are apparently a branch of the Betsimisáraka tribes, who have

peopled the coast. They probably came from the lower plains up the

valley of the Mangoro, and it is certain that they have spread along

Ankay from south to north; the upper portion of the plain being to this

day empty. They have been almost completely cut off from their

neighbours, and have led an isolated life; till, conquered by the Hovas,

and subjected to the demands of the Hova service, large numbers of the

men were made bearers of Government goods, and travelled to distant

parts of the Hova dominions. They have suffered much from their

isolation and are still very uncivilised and ignorant. Their women have

a brown complexion, with liquid eyes. They are a very simple and also a

hospitable people. They were afraid of the first English Missionary they

saw; but when they found he was a friend, they could not do too much for

him. At the present time there are several Churches in the valley.

On Thursday morning we left Moramanga and spent the day in reaching

Ambódinangávo, a village at the foot of the western chain. In three

hours we came to the Mangoro; noticed with interest the depression in

which it runs, and crossed it in canoes to the village of Andákana,

“canoe-town.” A little to the west of the ferry stands the lofty wooded

hill of Ifody. The hill belongs to the western chain, but projects some

miles into Ankay, and leaves a long broad valley between that chain and

itself. We crossed Ifody, ascending and descending 950 feet; and having

rested a while at the village beyond, we pursued our way up the inner

valley, along the river Mánambóla. The scene before us in the Angavo

valley was truly grand. The valley is almost entirely shut in; the hills

on the west and south are very lofty, their vast projecting buttresses

are rounded with the most graceful curves, and the brushwood and the

forest clothe them with indescribable loveliness. On the south-west

stands the massive peak of Angávo, “the lofty,” and the road ascends to

the high plains above, over the shoulder of this noble hill. We climbed

it early the following day, but we descended and ascended once and again

into deep ravines before the solid plain was reached; in one of these

ravines, at a most lovely spot, we forded the river Mandráka, with a

fine cascade just above the passage. Thence a long climb carried us to

the plateau above. The total ascent from the foot of the great chain to

this inner edge of the plateau was 1620 feet.

[Illustration:

THE FORD OF THE MANDRÁKA

]

We were now in the province of Imerina; and the dry, chill air of the

morning gave ample proof that we had ascended a considerable height

above the sea. We paused for a while at the usual stopping station of

Ankera-Madinika, where every traveller either sleeps or takes his midday

meal. Then passing on we crossed several valleys and stony ridges; till

we reached the broad open basin of Manjákandriana, and for the first

time beheld a large cluster of villages, with three or four churches.

Still west of them we reached the eastern foot of a noble hill,

Angávokély, which towers over Imerina and is a conspicuous landmark for

many miles; its height is 5925 feet. Here our barometers indicated the

highest point of our route; but it was only for a moment on the crest of

the ridge which runs northward from the Angávokély hill. We at once

descended on the west, and after winding along the edge of the great

moor, we reached the mission station of Ambátovóry, and spent some

delightful hours with Mr. and Mrs. Peake. This portion of the country

possesses great beauties; noble rocks, rich soft woods, green rice

fields, and running streams are so blended together, so contrasted with

each other as to delight the eye with richest varieties of form and

colour, light and shade. The fertile bottoms, watered from a thousand

fountains, yield golden harvests to the industry which tills them. But

wherever they bend and turn in graceful outline, they are enfolded by

long and lofty ridges, studded with enormous boulders; and they rest in

the might and the majesty of the everlasting hills.

Beyond Ambátovóry the valleys began to open more widely; the ridges were

lower; the population increased rapidly; and not only were villages seen

on all sides, but towns of considerable size. Two of these Ambóhimaláza

and Ambohitrómby, occupy a conspicuous position and have most important

churches. On Saturday morning, we commenced our last journey of twelve

miles. We were glad that the end was near. The bearers, as well as

ourselves, were exhausted with the hard life we had led; with the long

and frequent climb up hill, with the terrible mud-holes, and the bad

roads. But the capital was in sight, conspicuous on its lofty hill. Five

miles on this side of it two of our friends met us; then three others.

Two miles from the city, on the crest of a fine rocky hill, we found the

entire mission, ladies as well as gentlemen, with the members of the

Friends’ Mission, gathered to do us honour and give us a warm welcome. A

group of native ministers joined them; and the theological students met

us a little further on. It was a splendid reception; an earnest of the

hospitable treatment and the kind aid which we were to experience from

them throughout the period of our stay. We finished the journey in their

company. We soon climbed the lofty hill, so familiar in pictures of the

city; passed near the walls of the well-known palace; crossed the plain

of Andohalo; saw some of the churches, so often named in our public

letters; and found a cordial welcome in the homes of two of our

brethren.

The following list of the principal places we passed on the way up

country, with their barometrical height, will show the manner in which

the land gradually rises from the sea-coast to the central plateau.

Feet.

Mánambónináhitra 150

Ránomafána 145

Ambátoerána 595

Ampásimbé 1055

Crest of Ridge 2030

Mározévo 1385

Béfórona 1650

Anévo 2920

Top of this Terrace, 3470

Ambóasáry

’Alamazáotra 3130

Ampásimfótsy 2830

Lip of the Ridge, east of 3460

Ankáy

Móramánga, and Plain of 3100

Ankáy

Ambódinangávo 3000

Angávo Pass 4210

Do. Inner Cliff, and 4620

Ankéramadinika

Ambátovóry 4770

Antanánarivo.

Royal Palace 4790

Fáravóhitra 4540

Análakély 4280

Imáhamásina 4200

Plain of Imerina 4000

Looking back upon this first experience of the country and people of

Madagascar, I was profoundly impressed with the emptiness of the land.

And the more I have thought the matter over, and the more I have seen of

the island, the more thoroughly has that first impression been

confirmed. There were people, indeed, in the capital and around it;

there was nothing to gainsay here, or since we had passed into Imerina.

But Ankay, how thinly peopled! While from Moramanga eastward, there are

almost no villages at all, except the stopping-stations, till within

twenty miles of the sea. The Betsimisāraka province between the hills

and the sea we saw to be very narrow in itself, and the large villages

to be very few. The story of Radáma’s conquest implies the same thing;

the Hova contests have been few and easy; and no places were the scene

of conflict but those whose names are well known in our own day. All

travellers north and south of Tamatave and Andevoránto say the same.

Along the east coast as far south as Mánanzára, there are now fourteen

towns, each containing one hundred houses or more. The total number of

houses in these towns amount to 2,400; which should contain a population

of 12,000 people. The little villages dot the country; but they do not

go far inland, and their inhabitants are few. This is but natural in a

country where a cluster of a hundred houses is called a town. After

careful consideration I doubt whether the entire population of the east

coast from Diego Bay to Cape St. Mary’s, exceeds 150,000 people. And the

majority of these are scattered in handfuls over the country, so that we

can scarcely get at them. Our native friends in Tamatave, when pleading

with us for an English missionary, showed us by facts and figures, that

in the twenty congregations on the coast connecting themselves with the

Christians of Imerina, there were altogether only two thousand people,

and of these there are eight hundred in Tamatave.

We spent eleven days in the capital before travelling further, and found

a multitude of things to interest us. I may not stop to describe them. I

cannot dwell upon our first service in the Memorial Church at

Ambátonakánga; on the prayer meetings held in the houses of the

missionaries; on the numerous visitors, English and native, who called

to see us; on our visits to various parts of the city,—the churches, the

palace, the market, the places where the martyrs fell; the places where

the earliest labours of the mission were carried on; or on our first

sight of the schools maintained at the present time. We had often read

of these things; it was now most pleasant to see them. I had often

endeavoured to picture them to my mind, but I now found misapprehensions

to correct, and a multitude of details to fill in. In most things the

city came up to my expectations; in certain respects it fell short of

them.

One thing was quite unexpected by us both. We found that the city was

empty, and that the activity and stir we looked for in the capital of

the country had disappeared. Two military expeditions had left the

capital in June for the Sakaláva districts, below the hills on the

south-west, in order to punish a series of cattle robberies which had

been for some time perpetrated by the tribes in that quarter. They were

headed by two of the chief officers of the government, the chief

Secretary of State and his son; some four thousand five hundred soldiers

had accompanied them, drawn from all parts of the country, as also a

numerous body of aides-de-camp and personal followers usually resident

in the city. Besides sending these expeditions against her enemies, the

Queen had gone with a larger body of her people on a friendly visit to

the Betsileo Province. She was accompanied by several thousand soldiers,

and by a large number of the principal members of the Government, who

had taken with them their children and the family servants and slaves.

There were at least sixteen thousand people in the camp; some thought

that there were more. The result was that the city seemed empty; the

churches were empty; half the preachers were drawn off from the

congregations in the province; the schoolmasters had left their schools;

the best children were absent with their parents. Society was greatly

disorganised. Ordinary pursuits were interrupted; artisans, workmen,

labourers had disappeared; thousands of bearers were following the camp;

and Imérina generally was taking holiday.

In its usual condition ANTANANARIVO is a large place. There is no place

like it in the island. Dr. Davidson, who has carefully looked into the

matter, thinks that it contains a population of seventy or eighty

thousand persons. My experience of Indian cities long since led me to

reckon that a compact native town, a mile square, contains about eighty

thousand inhabitants. Now the dwellings of Antananarivo, carefully

examined, will be found to cover that amount of space, and I think with

Dr. Davidson that that is the number of the population. The city is

built upon a high and prominent hill, having three elevated points. The

hill is nearly two miles long, but it does not stand perfectly alone.

Its eastern side is a curved line, but on the west it has two projecting

hills, firmly attached by connecting ridges. Between these projections

is the plain of Imáhamásina, “the place of consecration,” where at times

the sovereigns of Imerina have been crowned. On the northern projection

is the great suburb of Isotry, and the Zoma market-place. The northern

continuation of the city-hill proper is the suburb of Faravohitra; and

between these two, in the valley below, are the plain and village of

Análakely. At the point where the two sides of the valley meet, and the

suburban hill joins the main hill, is Ambátonakánga. Sloping upwards to

the main hill is a rocky road, Ambátovináky, on the side of which is the

Norwegian Church, and at the top of which is Imarivolanitra, “the town

in the sky.” Passing this, the traveller comes to the open plain of

Andohalo, a piece of level ground on the crest of the hill, where the

laws are usually promulgated. Farther still, he reaches the highest

point of the city, on which, in a most commanding position, and visible

to the whole country, stands the rova or palace. At the southern end of

the hill is Ambohipotsy, “white town,” so named from the white cliffs

with which the suburb terminates. Viewed from the east, the whole side

of this lofty hill is seen to be studded with houses on a series of

platforms or terraces cut into the hill-side. In the centre and at the

south end, they are packed closely together; toward the north, on the

slope of Faravohitra they are less numerous and regular. On its west

side Ambohipotsy is very crowded, and the hill is not only very steep,

but is covered with enormous boulders. On the slope at Andohalo the

houses are also closely set; and between these two places are the steep

cliffs of Ampamarínana, a hundred and fifty feet high, over which the

martyrs were thrown. To me the most regular and picturesque portion of

the city is the west face of the Faravohitra hill, which overhangs the

valley and plain of Análakely. It is well planted with trees, amongst

which the Cape lilacs are numerous. Conspicuous on the crest of the hill

is the Memorial Church, while farther south is a line of neat

dwelling-houses, belonging to the Friends’ Mission.

The name of the city is said by Mr. Ellis to mean “the thousand towns,”

and to indicate the sense of importance attached by patriotic Malagasy

to the size and beauty of their capital. But this is a mistake. Native

gentlemen explain its meaning thus: When the founder of the city in its

present form took possession of the hill, with a view to erect upon it

the capital of his new and wider kingdom, he brought from Alasora, his

previous residence, a large body of selected soldiers and colonists,

whom he settled on the west side of the hill; and he called his capital

“the town of the thousand.” This practice of artificially building up

cities by a transferred population has been common in the East, and the

Malagasy word arívo, “thousand,” is connected with it. Thus the

principal town or capital of Imámo is called Arívonimámo. The capital of

tha district south of the Ankárat mountains is called Arívo, though

known generally by the name of Betafo. The chief town of one of the

Ibára tribes is Benarivo. At the outset the town of Antananarivo was of

moderate size. But as the kingdom grew, and under Impoinimerina and his

son Radáma attained strength and importance, the number of officers

increased, their immediate dependants multiplied, the army became more

numerous, and all the trades connected with an active population

naturally extended with them. Large portions of the hill, however,

remained unoccupied; and it is during the last twelve years, with the

new life which has been infused into the kingdom, that the open spaces

have rapidly been filled. Ten years ago, Faravohitra was a bare and

empty suburb; it is now being rapidly covered with houses; and large

villages a mile beyond it, like Ankádifótsy and Manjákaráy, have grown

populous likewise.

I need not pause here to describe the houses of the Malagasy or their

habits and condition generally. We saw little of these things during the

few days of our first visit; while they became familiar to us at a later

period when the city was once more full, and we spent several months

among its people. We now took a general view of things, and especially

visited those places and buildings which are peculiarly identified with

the religious history and progress of the people. Living in the midst of

the English community, it was a great pleasure to make close

acquaintance with our missionary brethren, in their homes as well as in

their work; to hear of their plans, to join in worship with their

congregations, and visit their schools.

Our intercourse with the native brethren also was very pleasant. Many of

the principal pastors were absent: but others who remained manifested a

sincere interest in our visit, and expressed in warm terms their

affection to the Society, from whose early labours in the island they

had obtained their first knowledge of Christian truth. Malagasy

affection always takes a practical and hospitable form. Both at Tamatave

and at the stopping-stations on our way up-country, the churches and the

authorities had offered us little presents of fowls, turkeys, eggs, and

rice, suitable for travellers on a journey. Here also they did the same,

and in token of their union the churches joined together and made their

gift substantial. The missionaries were of opinion, from the manner in

which our visit was being regarded by our converts, that it would be

productive of benefits of many kinds. Before we left the island, that

opinion was amply justified. It was plain that great good had been done

by it. In a quiet, unostentatious way it was seen that the affection of

the Malagasy churches for their English friends “over the sea,” and

their confidence in their help, had grown very strong; and that they

were resolved to maintain an unwavering attachment to those who, in the

dark days had faithfully stood by them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER III.

VISIT TO THE BETSILEO PROVINCE.

The Betsileo Province, its importance and position—The Mission

recent—Journey thither—The Ankárat Mountains, their breadth and

height—Encamp at the foot—The Vava Vato—Betáfo and Sírabé—The River

Mania—Ambositra—Nándíhizana—Ambohinamboárina—Ikála—The Matsiatra

River—Fianarantsoa—Visit of the Queen to the Province—Worship in the

Camp—Examination of the Schools—The Tanála—Our Visit to

Ambohimandroso and Imahazony—The Southern Terrace and hills—The

Ibára Tribes—Ambóndrombé—The Iárindrano—Fianarantsoa

again—Ifanjakana—Latitudes and Heights—General Conclusions

concerning the Betsileo Province: its Population and

Resources—Religious condition—New arrangements of the Mission for

its Instruction—Return to the Capital.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER III.

VISIT TO THE BETSILEO PROVINCE.

SOUTH of Imerina lies the BETSILEO province, containing a most important

section of the Malagasy people. The province is long and narrow; and,

like Imerina, it occupies the entire breadth of the upper plateau of the

island. It has for fifty years been under the Hova Government; but to

English people it remained almost unknown till recent days. After the

reopening of the mission in Imerina, difficulties were experienced in

the endeavour to visit the Betsileo people. Even Mr. Ellis could not

make his way thither. We knew nothing of their towns and rivers, except

their names. At length, in 1868, Mr. Toy and Mr. Jukes travelled through

the churches. Members of other missions also paid them visits. Then Mr.

Richardson was sent from England to commence a separate mission in the

province, and settled in its chief town Fianárantsoa. Other missionaries

have since joined him; and now our Directors were anxious to learn to

what extent the people still required their aid.

As the dry season had yet six weeks to run after our arrival, my

colleague and I prepared to employ it in visiting the Betsileo province.

And we set out without delay. We carried with us our two tents, eleven

feet square, with a small one of nine feet; and found our camp equipage

and English stores of even greater service than during our journey from

the coast. Many of the bearers who had brought us from Tamatave, offered

their services for this longer journey. Mr. Cameron, who has been a

member of the mission nearly fifty years, and the Rev. W. E. Cousins,

kindly consented to accompany us; and throughout our rough but pleasant

tour they proved most kind and agreeable companions, and rendered us

great service.

[Illustration:

TURTLE-HEAD ROCK—AMBATOMALAZA.

]

We left the capital on Wednesday, September 10th. Our course was

directed in the first instance to the south and west, that we might pass

through the Ankárat mountains, and pay a visit to some of the Norwegian

Missions in Betáfo and Sírabé. Our road lay across the Ikopa river, and

past the “famous rock” of Ambátomaláza. This rock is conspicuous, not

only from the capital, but from distant parts of Imerina; it is a

portion of a gneiss ridge, and an enormous turtle-head stands out

grandly at the top. The river Sisáony flows at its foot on its way to

the Ikopa. The valley is full of villages; indeed all this southern

corner of Imerina is thickly peopled; and we have a large number of

churches and congregations crowded within a small space. Having crossed

the beautiful basin of the Andromba river, full of villages and

pine-apple fields, we commenced a steady ascent of the long lava fingers

of Ankárat and pitched our camp on the second day, under the sheltered

side of the lofty hill of AMBOHITSAMPAN, seven thousand feet above the

sea.

At this height the south-east winds blow hard and cold. But the three

tents, firmly pinned, afforded thorough shelter; and when our beds and

boxes had been duly arranged, we spent a cosy, comfortable evening. The

men all left us (except our servants) to find shelter in scattered

houses. The night proved cold, and before sunrise the thermometer had

fallen to forty degrees; a thick mist lay on the hills, and there was

slight rain.

When the mist had cleared on the following morning, we climbed to the

summit of our hill, and had a fine view on every side. The other great

peaks of Ankárat lay to the south, still somewhat veiled; on the west

was a sea of hills and long ridges; far in the north-east, among the

hundred hills of Imerina was the Capital. Careful observation showed

that the peak of Ambohitsámpan has a height of eight thousand feet above

the sea. The observations were made both by the boiling-water point and

by Aneroid barometer. Our camp was more than seven thousand feet above

the sea; and the ascent of the peak was eight hundred feet. On other

occasions we had good opportunities of examining the extent and

character of these noble mountains, and I now briefly state the

conclusions to which we came respecting them.

The Ankárat Mountains are the loftiest in Madagascar. They are of

volcanic origin; they have been protruded through the gneiss and granite

of the great central range of the island, and they lie some fifteen

miles west of the watershed of that range. This mountain mass rests on

an enormous base. Taking account of the long fingers or tongues of lava

which have flowed out from the centre in all directions, it will be seen

that it covers a space of six hundred square miles. It appears broad

rather than high. From the Imerina plain, four thousand feet above the

sea, the lava slopes upward from its junction with the clay, till the

ground attains the height of six and seven thousand feet, when we reach

the base of the great central peaks. These occupy a space of fifty-four

square miles. They are five in number, with minor elevations between. M.

Grandidier calls one of them, Ambóhitrakóholáhy, the highest; but here

he is mistaken. We ascended two of these peaks, measured the height of a

third by theodolite; and eventually Mr. Cameron’s native assistant

ascended and measured all five. The heights of the whole are as

follows:—

Tsi-áfa-závona, 8950 feet.

Tsi-áfak-áfo, 8820 feet.

Ambóhimirándrana, 8780 feet.

Ambóhitrakóholáhy, 8200 feet.

Ambóhitsámpan, 8000 feet.

Each of these grand hills presents a striking appearance, Ambóhitsámpan

is conical, and has a double head, whence its name; it is conspicuous

from the Capital, and seems to be the highest of the group.

Ambóhitrakóholáhy is also in two parts, and has a beautiful cone on its

east side. Ambóhimirándrana stands in the centre of the group; and Mr.

Pillans ascended it without difficulty. Tsi-áfak-áfo faces the west; it

is a noble mountain with a lofty peak; and as its precipices slope

rapidly on that side, it forms a grand and conspicuous object on a clear

day, over a vast reach of country. We fixed its position with great

care, and its name often appears in our survey-lists. Tsi-áfa-zavona is

the noblest of all the peaks; it slopes up grandly to a lofty point; and

looked at from the eastern foot of the range it is a striking object

indeed. Vast jagged precipices lie immediately beneath its crown. When

the east wind blows it is “rarely free from mists,” whence its name. It

is seldom ascended; and the villagers of the plain beneath it were

greatly opposed to any effort on our part to climb it. They have a

superstitious dread of the anger of some invisible, intangible power

ruling over these great hills; and to him they sacrifice fowls on the

top of the hills in times of pestilence and peril. We tried to ascend

the great peak on two successive days, but were baffled by the thick

mists. The whole of the peaks and of the mountain mass are covered with

broken lava; the streams of lava flow outward from the centre on every

side, and on the south they are twenty-five miles in length. On the

east, at the foot of Ankárat, are other centres of volcanic outflow, and

the lava hills are of great size. We found many pretty wild flowers at

the top of Ambóhitsámpan; and the small aloe, having dark green leaves

tipped with crimson, and a bright orange flower, grows in abundance all

over these lofty hills.

Striking our little camp, we started to the westward: and after crossing

several deep ravines, we reached a broad grassy ridge, one of the lava

tongues; along which the bearers carried us at a great pace, so that we

speedily reached the pretty valley and town of Menálalóndy.

[Illustration:

TSI-AFAK-AFO FROM THE WEST.

]

The population in these parts is very scanty, and is to a great extent

cut off from intercourse with more civilised districts. The villages are

few and scattered, and are planted along the bottoms of the valleys,

which allow a fair cultivation of rice. Yet they are far more numerous

than they were when Mr. Cameron first travelled this way, forty years

ago. The people are extremely ignorant, especially of Christian truth;

nevertheless every large village has its chapel: the Friends are

striving to meet the wants of this border of their district; volunteer

teachers render what service they can; and the longing of the people for

higher and fuller knowledge of the truth is unmistakeable. Here and

there also individuals of marked piety are like “the salt of the earth”

among their neighbours.

Journeying on to Manjákàndrían, and thence by the lake of Vinánynóny to

Betáfo, we found objects of deepest interest at every step. Shapely

valleys and lofty hills, covered with gneiss boulders, were before and

around us. Below Anzázamadínika a little river runs through a narrow

ravine, and the boulders have so rolled in and filled the ravine that

for a quarter of a mile the river disappears under ground. Mounting the

opposite bank we were confronted by a fine conical hill, Tsi-áfak-alíka,

“that which a dog cannot climb.” West of Manjákàndrían is a lofty hill,

Márovítsika, “many ants;” and beyond it another, in an exposed position,

Bémásoándro, “having plenty of sun.” To the south of the village is the

hill of Bé-vóha, “thoroughly open.” In this part of our journey we were

constantly crossing small streams that take their rise in the roots of

Ankárat; and it was a great pleasure, six months afterwards, when

travelling through Ménabé, to meet them again as large rivers, and to

see in the distance the great hills at whose foot we had encamped. The

lake of Vinánynóny is formed by one of these streams, flowing strong and

clear from under the lava; it is two miles square; and is drained to the

west by the Sahomby river, which becomes a large stream and finally

joins the Kitsamby.

Beyond Vinánynóny we came into the long, closed alleys of the Vava Vato,

a vast collection of serrated ridges of pure felspar granite. We struck

them on the north-east side and passed through their eastern valleys.

Six months later we mounted their central ridges and stood on the

loftiest peak of the whole, the great rock of Iávohaikia. I will speak

of them more particularly at that point. From these alleys we came again

on to the red clay; and descending rapidly, two thousand feet, into the

deep basin of Betáfo, encamped in the grounds of the Norwegian Mission.

I will not dilate here upon the beauties of this noble basin, cut out of

the clay deposits by the upheavings of earthquakes and the action of

powerful streams; or describe its thousands of rice terraces cut in the

hill-sides, from which twenty thousand people, year by year, gather

their golden harvest. I will pass over our visit to the hot springs; the

garden-walls of black lava in the lower villages; the fine cascade of

the Loalambo; the royal tombs of the ancient line of Betáfo kings, and

the hill-fortress on the south, from which they commanded the country.

Nor will I pause to describe the old craters which we found so abundant;

the great lava-field in their midst; and the lime-pits and deposits of

Sirabé. All these we saw to greater advantage at a later time and

learned to understand more fully. Many of the Norwegian brethren were

absent also from their spheres of labour, through sickness or on duty;

but we visited them again and heard more completely about their work.

Only one did we see on our present journey, Mr. Rosaas; and from him and

his good wife at Sirabé we received the heartiest welcome.

From Sirabé to Ambositra we kept the western road, down the valley of

the Mánandóna and found throughout it objects of interest, of which

(like most others above referred to) books contain no notice. West of

the Mánandóna is a noble granite mass, the hills of Ibéty. The Mánandóna

valley is a fine rice plain; and its river has but a narrow outlet

through the granite range. When a heavy flood comes suddenly down from

the long valleys of Ankárat, the valley is submerged; it “gets a bath,”

as the name implies, until the waters can pass off through the ravine to

the Mania. Beyond the point where the river goes west, the valley is

continued southward between high and precipitous hills. Beyond

Ambohimanjáka, again, where we stayed, the valley is covered with huge

boulders of graphite granite; and to the south of Iláka and its broad

rice basin, the ravines are numerous and deep. We never had in

Madagascar a journey so difficult or distressing, as the travel of that

long Saturday morning, when we were carried over the narrow paths, up

and down the steep ravines which immediately open upon the Mania. But we

forgot our troubles and our hunger, when we reached the open valley of

the Mania, and saw the waters tumbling in creamy foam over the huge

boulders with which for three hundred yards the stream is barred. These

boulders form a natural bridge; and we crossed the river, jumping short

distances from one to another, while the river ran boiling and foaming

between and underneath them. All around us were lofty cones, mountain

masses, rugged precipices. The sight was truly grand, and we lingered

over it long.

The men had eaten nothing all day; but we found some quiet villages

higher up the river and the rain compelled us to remain. We had narrow

quarters in a real Betsileo house, surrounded by the live stock of the

proprietor. The family goose was “sitting;” the fowls were active and

hungry; the mice ran busily about us; the ducks quacked at intervals all

night; and the cocks crowed early in the morning. I slept soundly

through it all, as did Mr. Cameron in his little tent outside. Mr.

Pillans however was not so happy. We left early the next day; and after

a rapid run of two hours down a long slope, we arrived in good time for

service at the town of Ambositra. Here we found our colleague Mr.

Cousins, who had come from the Capital by the direct road, and had

brought us English letters; and here we spent two delightful days.

We had now reached the Betsileo Province. AMBOSITRA is the chief town of

its northern division, and is 4320 feet above the sea. It stands on a

low hill, in the centre of a wide, well-watered basin: it contains over

two hundred houses; and numerous villages, and small clumps of houses

termed “válas,” are scattered over the basin, among the fertile fields.

The basin is bounded by lofty hills on the east and west; other valleys

are found behind these hills, though the population which they contain

is thinner. On the east, about fifteen miles away, is the town of Mády,

on the Mády river; it also has several villages in its neighbourhood. To

an English eye, and to the eye of a missionary who knows anything of

India or China, the country appears thinly peopled. Some of the first

missionaries who came and looked at this district, doubted whether it

was of sufficient importance to constitute it a principal station of the

mission. My colleague and I had little hesitation on the subject at our

first visit. Upon our return, after traversing the entire province, we

felt no doubt whatever. On the contrary, in relation to the country

generally we deem Ambositra a place of great importance. Within the

district are some five thousand “hetra” or holdings, representing as

many families, and about thirty thousand people. The town contains a

thousand people; and twenty thousand lie within a half-day’s journey

from it. Eight congregations are connected with the central church, and

five others with the church at Mády. Ambositra lies on the high road

from the Capital: its broad, rich valley, full of people, is a

refreshing resting-place for those who have traversed the granite moors

and valleys, north and west; the forest and its rough ridges are beyond

Mády to the east, with a road into the Tánála district; and on the

south, scarcely a village is seen for a whole day, among the rocky lines

of hill which cross the country.

We were glad to see congregations of more than three hundred people in

the chapel, during both services on the Sunday of our arrival; although

a large number of the residents were at Fianáran with the Queen. We were

heartily thanked for our visit. And a formal deputation of the chief

members and elders of the church, on the following day, warmly pressed a

request on us that we should secure for them the appointment of an

English missionary. Happily we were all of one mind on the subject. At a

later stage of our visit, Mr. Brockway volunteered to remove to the

station; and Mrs. Brockway and he have long since settled at Ambositra,

with excellent prospects of usefulness.

Having spent a quiet Monday in surveying the basin of Ambositra and

given our men a holiday, we proceeded south the following day to the

chief town of the second division of the province, the town of

Zoma-Nándihízana. We passed on the road several isolated valleys, empty

of inhabitants; and rested at midday under the noble rocks of a ridge

5680 feet high, which crossed the country, called Angávo or “the

heights.” We next entered a strip of the “primeval forest,” which here

projects into the open country; and then suddenly descended twelve

hundred feet, down the valley, to our resting-place. The whole Betsileo

country is celebrated for its rice terraces. They are cut on the

hill-side wherever a spring pours its water from the rock. But amongst

all the results of industry and ingenuity which we saw in the province,

we admired none so much as the hundreds of green terraces that were cut

on the face of this amphitheatre in the hills above Nandihizana. Several

streams rise in the neighbouring hills and forest; and they are made to

do ample service before they escape into the rocky ravine at the bottom

of the basin, and find their way into the Sákaláva plains.

The next part of our journey lay along the crest of one of the clay

ridges; having deep valleys on the east and west, with parallel ridges

and valleys, three or four in number, on each side. Far away on the east

were three towering hills in the forest, overhanging the great wall

above the valley of the Tanála. From, this lofty ridge, 4900 feet above

the sea, we had a fine view of the country to a great distance on each

side. It was very regular in its lines of hills; and the valleys between

were green and fair: but the wild south-easter blew hard and cold, and

we did not wonder that when the forest is once cut down, it is almost

impossible to replace it. At noon we rested at a small village a mile

from Ikiangára, near which are several remarkable tombs; and an ancient

fortress on an isolated hill. The fort was defended by six or seven

fosses, cut like rings deep into the slope of the hill; and must have

been very difficult of approach. These fosses abound in all parts of the

country. Their sides are perpendicular: they are from ten to twenty feet

broad, and about sixteen feet deep. They are to be crossed generally at

only one point, where the clay has been left solid; and here will be

found the city gate. Old Ambositra, now deserted, to the south of the

present town, is a good specimen of a fortified town. Except for the

guarding of the cattle, these deep ditches are in these peaceful days a

great inconvenience to every one. They are often planted with plantain

and other tropical trees, which benefit by their warm shelter. After a

short day’s run we reached the town of Ambóhinamboárina.

This town has a larger population than Nándihízana: but it is by no

means a pleasant place. Dirty and full of pigs it stands on the slope of

a hill, under a high ridge; it has deep fosses on the land side, and on

other three sides it is enclosed by the Fanindróna river, recently

strengthened by the waters of the Isáhatóny. The rice valleys are

numerous in the neighbourhood: and there are some thirty small villages

scattered about it. A cleaner and more open place of residence, with

useful labours, would be found in the neighbouring valley of Ikála. This

basin is two miles square, level and full of villages, of which the

largest, Maharivo, has a chapel. On the west side of the basin are two

enormous promontories of gneiss rock, jutting from a mountain mass much

higher than themselves, while great boulders lie at their feet.

In this part of the province the hills and valleys are truly beautiful.

As we passed on we had the rich valley of Ianjánana on our left with the

river Mango; and the town itself on a towering height above us. The

river Matsíatra, holding so important a place in the geography and

social rule of the province, was meeting us in front; then it turned

westward, where the long ridges of Ifánjakána make a lofty background to

the rural picture. We crossed a fine open plain in the centre, on the

east of the river, and passing the site of the Queen’s camp and the

Market of the locality, settled for the night in the damp chapel of

Ivohitromby.