ON the Friday morning we left Béfòrona soon after five o’clock and for nearly four hours were passing through the forest, here known as that of Alamazaotra, over the highest hills and the most difficult paths we had yet seen. Certainly this day’s journey was the most fatiguing of any on the whole route, so that when we reached our halting-place I was thoroughly exhausted and glad to throw myself on the floor and sleep for an hour or more. At one part of the road there is a long slope of clay, known as “Fitomanìanòmby,” or “weeping-place of the bullocks,” so called from the labour and difficulty with which the poor animals mount the steep ascent on their way down to the coast. In coming down this and similar places the utmost care was necessary on the part of the bearers; but they were very surefooted and patient and took every precaution to carry their burden safely. In ascending we often required the help of all eight men to drag the palanquin up to the top. The villages in the heart of these vast woods are few and far between. Our halting-place for breakfast consisted merely of three or four woodcutters’ huts in a few square yards of cleared ground.

Our afternoon’s work was much the same as that of the morning. In many places the rain had made a perfect slough of thick mud, and our men had hard work to get through. I could not cease to wonder how my heavy luggage was brought along. For a considerable distance our way lay along a most romantic-looking stream, whose course was broken by great masses and shelves of rock, reminding me of Welsh river scenery. Often in the higher parts of the road, where the rivers down in the gorges were hidden by the dense masses of wood, we could hear the roar of waters in the otherwise profound stillness of the forest. At the chief pass in this chain of hills we passed a tremendous cliff of rock, which rises sheer out of the valley to a height (so it has been ascertained) of nearly two thousand feet, certainly one of the grandest natural objects I had ever seen. This stupendous mass is called Andrìambàvibé, “Great Princess”; the large trees on the summit looked like mere bushes seen from below.

Notwithstanding the fatigue of the journey, it was impossible not to be struck with admiration and delight at the grandeur of the vegetation. The profusion and luxuriance of vegetable life were very extraordinary. There appeared to be few trees of great girth of trunk, but their height was considerable, especially in the valleys. High over all the other trees shot up the tall trunks of many varieties of palms, with their graceful crowns of feathery leaves. A dense undergrowth of shrubs, tree-ferns, and dwarf palms made in many places quite a green twilight; while overhead the branches were interlaced and bound together by countless creeping and climbing plants, whose rope-like tendrils crossed in all directions and made a labyrinth which it was impossible to pass through. Occasionally we came across large trees in flower, giving a glorious mass of colour. With these exceptions, however, flowers were comparatively few; and during subsequent journeys I have found that it is true in Madagascar what Dr Alfred R. Wallace has pointed out as characteristic of all tropical countries—viz. that in the tropics are not to be found great masses of floral colour. For these one must go to the temperate zones; foliage, overpowering in its luxuriance and endless variety, is indeed to be found in the tropics, but not the large extent of colour given by heather, buttercups, primroses, or a field of poppies in England.

The orchids, however, were very abundant. Wherever a fallen tree hung across the path, there they found a lodging-place, and beautified the decaying trunks with their exquisite waxy flowers of pink and white. Although what has just been said of wild flowers is true on the whole, there were a considerable number to be seen, if carefully looked for. My bearers soon perceived how interested I was in observing their novel and curious forms, and brought to me all the different varieties they could find, so that in the evening my palanquin contained a collection of flowers and plants gathered during the day. I managed to dry a few, but the greater part had to be thrown away, as I had no means of preserving them to take up to the capital.

In some parts of the woods the different species of bamboo give quite a distinct character to the vistas. Some of them shoot up in one long slender jointed stem, with fringes of delicate leaves, and hang over the paths like enormous whips. Another kind, a climbing species, with stems no thicker than a quill, clothes the lower trees with a dense mantle of pale green drapery. As we got into the higher and cooler parts of the forest, numbers of the trees had long pendent masses of feathery grey lichen, a species of Usnea, giving them quite a venerable appearance, and reminding me of the opening lines of Longfellow’s “Evangeline”:

Although the vegetation was most luxuriant, I was surprised and somewhat disappointed by the stillness of the forest, and the few signs of animal life and the rarity of the song of birds. It is true that at certain seasons the notes of many songsters may be heard, and that in certain places the cries of different species of lemur resound through the woods. Still, on the whole, I had imagined that a tropical forest would be much more visibly full of life. Subsequent experience and research showed me that there is a considerable variety and number of living creatures in these forests, but they have to be looked for, and when found they are full of interest, as we shall see. It may be noticed, too, that both bird and insect life are more evident in the outskirts of the woods and in the occasional openings among the trees than in the densest forest, all living things delighting in sunlight.

From what has been already said it will be seen that the flora of Madagascar presents many new and striking forms of vegetable life; but its fauna is still more noteworthy, for it presents one of the strangest anomalies in the geographical distribution of animals. This zoological peculiarity consists as much, or more, in what is wanting, as in what is present. Separated from Africa by a channel not three hundred miles broad at one point, we should have supposed that Madagascar would partake to a great extent of the same characteristics, as regards animal life, as the neighbouring continent. But it is really remarkably different. There is a strange absence of the larger species of mammalia, and this statement applies not only to the forests but to all parts of the island, the bare highlands of the interior and the extensive lower plains of the west and the south.

First of all, the large carnivora are all wanting; there are no lions, leopards, tigers, panthers, or hyenas. The large thick-skinned animals, so plentiful in the rivers and forests of Africa, have no representatives in Madagascar; no elephant browses in the woods, no rhinoceros or hippopotamus lazily gambols in the streams, although there was a small species of the last-named pachyderm which was living during the latest quaternary epoch. The numerous species of fleet-footed animals—antelope, gazelle, deer, and giraffe, zebra and quagga—which scour the African plains are entirely absent; and the ox, the sheep, the goat, the horse and the ass have all been introduced, the three former from Africa and the others from Europe. The order of mammalia most developed here is the quadrumana, but this, again, is represented by but a single division, the lemurs and their allies, which are the most characteristic animals of the island. There are no true monkeys, baboons, or apes, nor do the gorilla or chimpanzee put in an appearance. The lemurs are very distinct from all these and are pretty creatures, bearing little resemblance to the half-human, grotesque appearance of many of the quadrumanous animals, or to the savage character of the larger apes and baboons. They vary in size from that of a large monkey to species not larger than a rat. They are mostly gentle in disposition, and some kinds are tame enough to be kept about the house as pets.

It is probable that the mammalia of Madagascar are now fairly well known, although a few of the smallest species may still await discovery; and the following summary may be here given of their divisions and numbers—excluding the bats, of which there are seventeen species, ninety species of terrestrial mammals have been classified and described, and of the following orders:—Lemuroida, thirty-nine species; Carnivora, almost all being civets and quite small animals, ten species; Insectivora, including shrews and small creatures resembling hedgehogs, twenty-four species; Rodentia, rats and mice, sixteen species; and Ungulata, one or two species of river-hog. It will be seen that about two-fifths of the mammalian fauna belong to the lemurs, and that with very few exceptions, all the others are small and inconspicuous animals; many, however, are of exceptional interest, as we shall see. From a consideration of the facts regarding the mammals, as well as those of the other forms of animal life found here—birds, reptiles and insects—the following conclusions may be drawn: First, Madagascar was anciently joined to Africa, receiving its fauna from the continent, whose animal life was then much like that of Madagascar at the present time; but it had also certain connections at an early geological epoch with Asia and even with South America, as there are undoubted affinities between its fauna and those of these distant regions. Secondly, this African connection of Madagascar existed before the abundant animal life of the continent entered it from the north, and when Africa was a great continental island—that is, its central and southern portions, and separated from Europe and Asia by a shallow sea, now the Sahara Desert. The upheaval of that sea-bottom was probably to some extent contemporaneous with the subsidence of the land which is now the Mozambique Channel. Thirdly, Madagascar must have remained for a long period separated from every other part of the globe; and while the western and southern portions have been repeatedly submerged, the highland interior, of palæozoic rocks, is very ancient land, and much of its fauna is also antique in its character.

But to leave this zoological dissertation and return to our journey. I have not mentioned that more than once we saw small companies of lemurs high over our heads, leaping with wonderful agility from branch to branch, and uttering their peculiar cry. These cries could often be heard when the animals were not seen, and sounded almost like the cry of children; and to myself there was always something pleasant in it, as that of living creatures rejoicing in their freedom in these boundless forests.

On Saturday morning I wished Mr Plant good-bye and set off, leaving him at the village, which he was to make his head-quarters for some time while collecting natural history specimens in the forest. The road was not nearly so difficult as on the previous day, so that I had no need to alight from the palanquin all the way to Ampàsimpòtsy, where I stayed to breakfast. The hills were much more moderate in height, with a good deal of open clearing, although the forest still continued on either hand, but not in those dense masses of wood through which we had passed the last three or four days. Leaving our halting-place at noon, we gradually got clear of the woods, and early in the afternoon ascended a very high hill, from which we could see a great distance both westward and eastward. Behind us were the hills and valleys covered with forest through which we had travelled, while in front stretched a great undulating plain, bare and almost without a tree, except in a few places, where there were large circular patches of wood. This was the plain of Ankay, which separates the two belts of forest, and is the home of the Bezànozàno tribe. Beyond this again, ten or twelve miles away, was the upper forest, clothing the slopes and summits of the edge of the interior highland. Careful examination of this region has shown that it was formerly the bed of a great lake, from two to three hundred miles long, extending from the present Lake Alaotra, farther north, and is its gradually diminishing remnant. Subsequent action of water has, however, so cut up its former level that it now presents a very uneven surface.

It was dull travelling alone after the pleasant companionship of a fellow-traveller; and in making arrangements for meals, etc., I felt how perfectly helpless a man is when he cannot speak so as to be understood. I was a barbarian to my men, and they were barbarians to me; for my stock of Malagasy words was very limited, and probably almost unintelligible as to pronunciation, so that I was at a complete standstill for nearly everything I wanted to say. We reached Mòramànga, a rather large village, at the commencement of the plain, soon after three in the afternoon and there halted for the rest of the day. This place was a military post of the Hova government, and on passing through passports were examined by the officer in charge.

Next morning we were stirring early and left Mòramànga while it was yet dusk. There was a thick mist, and my men were shivering with the cold, for we were now two thousand nine hundred feet above the sea, and their scanty clothing was but a poor protection. For an hour or two we saw little except for a few yards around us; but as the sun rose the fog rolled up like a vast curtain, revealing the line of the Ifòdy and Angàvo hills straight before us; the slopes were partly covered with trees, but a good deal of their surface was brown and bare. In the deepest of the many valleys which cut the surface of the Ankay plain runs a beautiful and rapid river, the Mangòro, about one hundred and fifty feet wide where we crossed it in canoes. This is the longest river of the east coast, and would make a fine means of access to the interior, were its course not interrupted by rapids and cataracts at many points.

Soon after crossing the river we commenced the ascent of Ifòdy, a very steep and difficult path, for an hour or more; but as we mounted higher and higher a glorious prospect gradually revealed itself. Looking back after we had reached the summit, there was the Mòramànga plain, bounded by the distant forest stretching away north and south, until lost in the dim distance, while below us the Mangòro could be seen in a wavy blue line in the Ankay plain. Before us, to the left, was a lovely valley, fertile and green with rice-fields, watered by the Valàla river and shut in by the Angàvo range of mountains, while on the right was a confused mass of hills, looking like a mighty sea which had suddenly been hardened and fixed in its tossings.

There was much more evidence of cultivation as we proceeded, the valleys being occupied by rice-fields, which were kept covered with a few inches of water by careful irrigation. Among the bird population of Madagascar there are some eighteen species of herons and storks which are seen in the marshes and rice-fields. One of the most noticeable of these is the Tàkatra or tufted umber, a long-legged stork with a large plume or crest. It builds an extraordinarily large nest, which is visible at a considerable distance and might be taken at first sight for half-a-load of hay. It is usually placed on the fork of a large tree, and is composed of sticks and grass, plastered inside with a thick lining of mud. It is from four and a half to six feet in diameter, dome-shaped, with a lateral entrance, and is divided into three chambers, in one of which its two large eggs are laid. The entrance is by a narrow tunnel and is always placed so as to be difficult of access, though the nest itself may be quite easy to approach. From this conspicuous nest, and the sedate way in which the tàkatra marches about seeking for its food, many native superstitions have gathered about the bird, one of which is that those who destroy its nest will become lepers. If the sovereign’s path was crossed by a tàkatra, it was considered unlucky to proceed, and the royal procession had to retrace its steps. Many native proverbs also refer to this bird. There are also two other species of stork, one of which is always found together with other shore birds; it lives in companies of from six to twelve individuals at river-mouths, feeding on crustacea and mulluscs, from which habit comes its name of Famàkiakòra or “shell-breaker.”

We were now nearing the country of the Hovas, and could see an evident difference in the appearance of the inhabitants. They were lighter in colour and had longer and straighter hair than the coast tribes. But owing to the fashion, at that time, of both sexes wearing their hair done up in a number of knots, and from the apparent absence of whisker or beard, I was sometimes puzzled to know at first sight whether the people we passed were men or women; and there was little difference in dress, the làmba being worn by both. Not only were the people different in appearance to those we had mostly seen, but the dwellings also had a much more civilised look. Several of the houses at Ambòdinangàvo were of the true Hova type, with high-pitched roofs, made of strong timber framing and filled in, for the walls, with thick upright planking, instead of the slight bamboos and leaves of the coast and forest houses. Some had boarded floors and had a room in the roof; and the crossed rafters at the gables were carried up for two or three feet above the ridge. The house in which I stayed had a much more comfortable appearance than any I had been in before, having two rooms on the ground floor, the walls covered with matting, and there were actually chairs! a luxury I had not experienced since leaving Tamatave. I felt that I was getting near civilisation again.

While dinner was preparing I strolled out into a ravine near the house and was struck with the beauty and variety of the insects, as indeed I had been in many parts of the journey. There were butterflies of gorgeous hues, dragonflies, crimson, blue and dull gold in colour, grasshoppers with scarlet wings, and the very spiders with gold and silver markings. Some species of these latter were of great size; we saw hundreds of them in their large geometric webs stretching over the paths as we came along.

On Monday morning, 12th October, we left the village before sunrise and immediately began the ascent of Angàvo, which rises from fifteen hundred to sixteen hundred feet above the valley. It is an enormous mass of granite, capped with clay, the summit being scarped and fortified with earthworks; it is, however, not a detached mountain rising from a plain on every side, but rather a vast natural bastion or outwork of a higher level of country. There was a gorgeous sunrise, which covered the greater part of the sky with a crimson light, unlike anything I had ever seen before. Then for another hour or two we were passing through the upper belt of forest, here very narrow, being only ten or twelve miles across, but as dense and as beautiful as the lower and wider belt. And it was just as difficult to travel through as the other forest, descending into the gorge of the Mandràka river and then scaling the steep ascents. One place especially, where we crossed the stream, was a perfect combination of beauty—rushing waters, luxuriant foliage of fern and palm and bamboo—and hundreds of large blue and black papilio butterflies hovering over the river.

At eight o’clock we reached Ankèramadìnika, a village close to the last ascent of the forest, and waited for a few minutes while my bearers bought manioc root at the little market. The people crowded round me, bringing various articles of food for sale—sweet potatoes, honeycomb, and wild raspberries. We had now left behind us the forest region and were on the bare open uplands of Imèrina, the air being clear and keen. The hills were less steep and more rounded, reminding me of some parts of the English chalk downs, and there was hardly a tree to be seen. In several places the granite or gneiss takes a dome-like form; and in others the same rock formed the highest points. For many miles I could see them rising high over every other hill; one of these, on the southern side of a huge mountain called Angàvokèly, was like a titanic castle; another, which is divided into three and called Tèlomiràhavàvy (“Three Sisters”), was like a vast church.

There were signs of approaching the capital in the number of villages which came in sight. The country also was much more cultivated, chiefly, however, in the valleys, where the bright green patches of the newly sown rice gave a refreshing contrast to the bare and brown appearance of the hills and downs, now parched and dry after five or six months without rain. In many places great black patches showed where the dry grass had been set on fire. This is done shortly before the rains come on, and the rank hay-like grass is succeeded by a crop of fine short herbage suitable for pasture. About noon we caught sight of the large village of Ambàtomànga, then two or three miles distant. This place had an important and picturesque appearance, being considerably larger than any town on the road. Over a number of smaller dwellings one large house rose conspicuous, with its lofty high-pitched roof and double verandah. Close to the village is a lofty mass of blue gneiss rock, about a couple of hundred feet in height, and crowned by a stone tomb and other buildings, giving it the air of a fortification. Passing through a large weekly market, where hundreds of people were buying and selling, we at length entered the last station on the road to Antanànarìvo.

Ambàtomànga had quite the appearance of a fortified town, having walls of clay surrounding it, and deep fosses outside them. I stopped at the large house which I had noticed at first, and found it a well-finished timber structure, with venetian shutters and framed doors, quite a contrast to the mere sheds in which I had slept for ten nights past. It was divided into three rooms on the ground floor, with walls, floor and ceiling all well planed and finished. The owner, a fine-looking man and a native noble, gave me a welcome in a little broken English; but his knowledge of European tongues was apparently confined to half-a-dozen short phrases, for he repeatedly said, “Thank you, sir,” giving me a hearty shake of the hand at the same time, as if he thought that was the proper formula to be observed. A little before dusk I walked out with him to the fort-like tomb on the top of the rock. In the light of the setting sun the red clay hills gave back the warm rays with an intensity of colour that was remarkable. The tomb at the top is a large stone structure, well worked, with an open balustrade and bold mouldings. Walking round the house after dusk, I saw a lurid glare in the sky on all sides, and then found it was produced by the grass burning on the hills and downs, which showed in lines of fire for many miles in all directions.

Early on Tuesday morning, with a glad heart I took my seat in my palanquin, rejoiced to think that this was the last stage in my long journey. About three-quarters of an hour after leaving Ambàtomànga we caught our first sight of the capital, still twelve or fourteen miles distant, and I could not but be struck by its size and fine situation, a much larger city than I had expected, built on the summit and slopes of a lofty rocky hill some two miles long from north to south, which was covered with dark-looking houses. In the centre stood conspicuous the great bulk of the chief palace and its smaller neighbour, their arched verandahs and steep roofs, all painted white, and shining in the morning sun, towering over every other object. It was a memorable moment to me, as I thought of what had happened in Antanànarìvo within the last quarter-century, and that my work was to raise lasting memorials to the brave Malagasy who had suffered and died for their faith.

On we went over the long rolling moor-like hills, losing sight of the city every now and then, and presently coming in view of it again as we mounted the ridges; and every half-hour brought out more of the details of the place and revealed its masses of dark houses, clustered on the slopes of the rocky hill. Several streams we crossed by means of stone arched bridges, and I was struck by the number of villages to be seen in every direction, many of them enclosed in high walls made of red clay, laid with care in regular courses and apparently hard and durable. The houses were all built of the same material, and many of them were enclosed in circular and others in square courtyards with gateways. Many of the villages were surrounded with deep fosses, sometimes two and even three yards deep, now generally filled with bananas, peach and other fruit trees, and some with walls and stone gateways, giving one the impression that there must have formerly been much internal warfare to need such elaborate defences. This indeed was the case before Imèrina was governed by one sovereign, about a hundred years ago.

Within a mile or two of the city we passed for a quarter of an hour through a perfect cloud of locusts, which covered the ground and filled the air. At a distance these insects appeared like a low-lying cloud of dust; and when near to one, and seen in certain directions, the sun shining on their wings gave them almost the appearance of a snow shower. I began to realise one of the plagues of Egypt. Many varieties of locust are common in Madagascar, and occasionally they do great damage to the crops. The Malagasy, however, make use of them for food, and when a cloud of them appears, men, women and children are all out catching them; and for a few days afterwards great brown heaps of them are to be seen at all the little wayside shops. They are said to taste something like shrimps, without any insides; but I must confess I never brought myself to taste them, for they are anything but inviting in appearance.

At length I was carried into a compound near the foot of the city hill, and after some delay was met by one of the L.M.S. missionaries and conducted by a most difficult and breakneck path up into the triangular central space called Andohàlo. At the north-eastern corner of this space was the dispensary and dwelling of our good medical missionary, Dr Davidson, from whom and Mrs Davidson I received a hearty welcome, and in a short time also from the rest of the missionary brethren. With a glad and thankful heart I found myself in the capital of Madagascar, with cheerful anticipations of being able to do something in the service of Him who had protected me thus far, and of helping in various ways the Malagasy people.