BY the kind concern of two of the missionary societies working in Madagascar for the comfort and health of their representatives, who live in Imèrina, two sanatoriums have been provided for them away from the capital. One of these is at Ambàtovòry, about fifteen miles distant to the east, and close to a patch of old forest still left among the surrounding somewhat bare country; the other is at Ankèramadìnika, at about double that distance, and is built close to the edge of the upper belt of forest, that long line of woods which, as already mentioned, stretches for several hundred miles along the eastern side of Madagascar. Here, after a year’s strenuous work in college, or school, or church, or in literary labour, or in something of them all, it is a pleasant and healthful change to come for two or three weeks to the quiet and restful influences of the beautiful woods, with their wealth of vegetable life, and with much to interest in the animal life of bird and insect.

I ask my readers to accompany me then in a visit to Ankèramadìnika, and to wander with me in the forest and observe the many curious and interesting things which we shall find in our walks. The forest is here about seven or eight miles across, and from the verandah we can see over the woods to the lower plain of Ankay, and beyond this to the long line of blue mountains covered by the lower and broader forest belt. A wonderful sight this plain presents on a winter morning, when it is filled with a white sea of mist, out of which the forest and the hills rise like islands, and the feathery masses of cloud against their sides have exactly the effect of waves breaking against a shore.

It will be fitting here to say a few words about the flora of Madagascar, and here I may quote what my late friend, the Rev. R. Baron, remarked in a paper read before the Linnæan Society in 1888.[12] He says:

Mr Baron gives the following graphic account of his experiences as a collector of plants:—

Although to anyone merely travelling through it, this upper forest seems, especially in the cold season, to be singularly deficient in animal life, yet to those who will carefully observe, as they ramble through these woods, there are numerous small living creatures well worth careful study. One cannot pass many yards along a forest path without noticing here and there a long white bag hanging on the trees and bushes. These vary in length from about six inches to a foot, or even eighteen inches, and are a long oval in shape; the upper part shines with a silky lustre, and the whole would do so, but for its being filled at the lower part with a mass of dark brown earthy substance, which soils its purity. On cutting open the upper portion of the bag, which is tough and strong, it is found to be filled with a mass of brown caterpillars, about an inch and a half long, all wriggling about when thus disturbed in their comfortable home. The dark substance is evidently the droppings of these caterpillars; and the opening at the lower end, sometimes small holes around it, give exit and entrance, for generally two or three of the insects are seen crawling on the outside. It would appear, therefore, that this silken bag is the nest or home spun by the caterpillars, a common habitation in which they undergo the next change before becoming perfect insects. One always sees that the branches near that on which the bag is suspended are stripped of the leaves, no doubt by its inmates. I noticed that, a day or two after I had cut open one of these bags, a thin film of web had been spun over the opening, so as to close up the entrance I had unceremoniously made into the privacy of the little community.

No one can pass through the upper or lower forests without noticing the much more prominent nests made in the trees by another insect, a small species of black ant. These nests are often as large as a football, and are apparently made of cow-dung, or earthy and vegetable matter, forming a coarse papery substance; they are peopled by large numbers of ants, and are dark brown in colour. If one is procured—not an easy matter, for the little inhabitants rush out and attack the intruder, and dig their jaws into one’s flesh in a way to make one jump—it will be seen, on cutting open the nest vertically, that there is a series of thin floors about half-an-inch apart and supported by pillars. The ants run about frantically, their chief care being to carry the white eggs and pupæ to a place of safety. But it will be observed that in the nest there are to be seen a number of very small but handsome beetles, perhaps in the proportion of one to a hundred of the ants. What purpose do these entirely different insects serve in the economy of ant life? It appears that this is a fact observed in the nests of many other kinds of ants, for the Rev. J. G. Wood, in his charming book, “Homes without Hands,” says that above thirty species of beetle are known as inhabiting ants’ nests. But he can throw no light upon the purpose served by the presence of the beetles. Besides these large and conspicuous nests, containing probably thousands of ants, other nests, of all sizes, from about that of a nut to an orange and upwards, may be seen: the hamlets, villages, and small towns of the ant world, while the large nests are the great cities of their commonwealth. The ants inhabiting these dwellings appear to be all of one species, and about three-sixteenths of an inch in length. What can these little creatures live upon?—for they can hardly descend for it to the ground, from heights of twenty, thirty, and even fifty or sixty, feet.

A very different kind of ants’ nest is seen in the more open and sunny forest paths (and also in the bare interior country). These have the form of a low circular mound, from eighteen inches or more in diameter, and perhaps eight to ten inches high, and have a large opening at the top—a miniature “crater.” This mound consists of the fine grains of earth and sand brought up and thrown out by the little workers in excavating their subterraneous dwelling. These ants are larger insects than the arboreal species; they are about three-eighths of an inch long, and seem to exist in great numbers in their homes, the entrance being like a crowded street, with passengers going to and fro. They may be met with all round their nests, often at a considerable distance from them, frequently tugging along pieces of chewed sugar-cane, or portions of dead insects, enormous in size compared with themselves. The ants are the scavengers of the country; no beetle, or worm, or grub, or animal matter of any kind, can be many minutes on the ground before it is detected by some ant, which communicates the fact forthwith to its fellows, and they immediately fall on the spoil, cut it in pieces and convey it to their stronghold. It is astonishing to see the heavy loads that two or three ants will stagger along with for the common weal. Truly, although they are a small folk, they are “exceeding wise.”

Another species of ant, which does not appear to construct a nest, but inhabits the crevices and under the bark of trees, is rather conspicuous from a large tuft or cushion of pale brown velvet-like hairs on the upper side of the abdomen, and a smaller one on the thorax. Its eggs and pupæ are carefully hidden away under pieces of the bark which have become partly detached.

On the top of the Ambàtovòry rock I found another and smaller species of ant, about an eighth of an inch long. This ant inhabits the dried flower-stalk of the vàhona, a small aloe growing plentifully on the shallow soil close to rocks. On breaking in two one of these stalks, the ants and a number of pupæ fell out, long white cases, in which the dark body of the immature insect could be seen. The little creatures seemed greatly relieved to be able to gather up these precious pupæ, and they soon collected them all, and brought them again into their home. On examining the stalk I could see no entrance except a minute hole, like a pinprick, at the top, just below where the head of flowers had blossomed. It seems probable that the ants find food in the pithy interior of these leaf-stalks.

In passing through the bush or the secondary forest, one frequently sees the leaves of certain bushes withered and folded up together. On opening one of such nests, it proves to be the home of a species of beetle, a very handsome insect, about an inch long, with a long slender thorax, and of a beautiful metallic-purple colour. Enclosed in portions of the leaf are small green caterpillars, and in others are chrysalides. A much smaller beetle is also found in many of these nests. The edges of the leaves appear as if sewn together at different places with fine silk.

Although butterflies are scarce in these woods in the cold season, caterpillars are numerous. Those making a large silken bag have already been noticed; but there are others which appear to be just now (in August) in a state of torpor. Here, for instance, is a cluster of a dozen or so of brown caterpillars, all clinging closely together around one another on the top of a small twig. They seem perfectly motionless. Are they hibernating? Here again is a collection of beautiful little caterpillars, about an inch long, of lovely pale green and bluish-green colour, with markings of orange dots along the sides, and four tufts of yellow hairs on head and tail. These are lying side by side, half-a-dozen together on a leaf, and also appear perfectly torpid, for they do not move for several days together. Here again, on a leaf, are about thirty small caterpillars, about five-eighths of an inch long. These are seen to be striped with dark lines, like black velvet, with delicate markings and spots of bright yellow. These insects, like those just mentioned, are motionless and crowded together, as if for warmth.

Walking slowly along, one notices a peculiar marking on a twig; this on close inspection is seen to be an assemblage of the eggs of some butterfly or moth, about a hundred of them, arranged in four or five regular rows, pretty minute globes, light greyish-brown in colour, with a minute black spot on the top, and hardly one-sixteenth of an inch in diameter. In bushes and small trees, somewhat unsightly little bundles of leaves are sometimes very conspicuous. These are bound together with an irregular mass of web; and cutting one of them open, it is found to be full of the elytra of small beetles and the chitinous portions of other insects, as well as leaves, forming a closely compacted ball. This appears to be the work of a small spider, which is generally found in some portion of the nest.

There are many pleasant walks in different directions through the woods, some of them merely woodcutters’ paths, and others broader, where a palanquin can be taken. One cannot go far, however, without having to go down steep descents and again having a stiff climb; but the variety of leafage, the frequent occurrence of some beautiful flower or bright-coloured berry or fruit, or gay insect makes a walk full of interest; and when we reach a high point there are extensive views over the undulating masses of green foliage of very varied tints around one, and the bare Ankay plain, with the distant lower forest, twenty or thirty miles away, and fading into the distance north and south.

Reptiles are not very conspicuous in these woods; one seldom sees a snake, although probably the dense undergrowth affords them sufficient concealment. In the outskirts of the forest, however, and indeed all over Imèrina, a pretty snake, from eighteen inches to two feet long, is frequently seen, dark brown in colour, with fine white lines along its slender length. The under side is white. Notwithstanding the innocuous character of these little snakes, it is amusing to see the dread the people have of them; our bearers, for instance, will leap away from them as if they were treading on the sharpest thorns. Some superstitious notions may partly account for this fear, as one of the former chief idols of the Hova, called Ramàhavàly (“the Avenger”), was supposed to be the patron and lord of serpents. One sometimes sees a water-snake swimming over the surface of a pond in a most graceful fashion.

Lizards are now and then seen; one is a large unpleasant-looking creature, nearly two feet long, of which the tail is about one foot. But a much smaller and prettier one is not uncommon, with delicate markings. Other species, in the south-west region, vary in length from six to nine inches. And here, on the fleshy leaves of an aloe, we may see, basking in the hot sunshine, a beautiful little bright green lizard, or darting over the surface with such a rapid movement that it is difficult to observe it closely. Its colour is so exactly like its habitat that it is doubtless a “protective resemblance.” While staying at the sanatorium in November 1899 a very curious arboreal lizard was brought to us by some boys. This creature was clinging to a stick, and at first sight, and until closely examined, I could not distinguish it from the branch to which it clung. It was about six inches long, the body was somewhat flattened, as well as the head, and the eyes were large and bright. The feet were somewhat webbed, the toes ending in small disks like those of the geckoes. The tail was broad and flat, lying close to the branch, and shaped something like that of a beaver. But the most interesting point about this lizard was the wonderful resemblance of its colouring to that of the bark of a tree. The minute scales of the skin were mottled with brown, grey, green and white, so as exactly to resemble tree bark, with the usual clothing of lichens precisely the same in colour, together with small irregularities of surface; so that until examined minutely, one could hardly believe that the small patches of colour on the animal’s skin were not also due to vegetable growths. It was difficult at a few inches’ distance to see where the lizard began and the wood ended; and in the forest it would be impossible to distinguish it from the branch to which it clings. It proved, on being sent to England, to form a new genus.

Chameleons are very frequently met with, not only in the woods but also in the open country of Imèrina; and in our gardens at the capital we often see them on the bushes or the paths, from the little baby one of an inch long to the full-grown one of six to eight inches. In the paths near the sanatorium one may see them digging holes and depositing their eggs, which are about the size of a small bean. Their colouring is often very beautiful, with its shades of green and yellow and black, brown and red markings, and there are certainly very rapid changes of colour according to the different surroundings. The bright tints they exhibit in sunshine and on leaves become dull dark brown in the shade, or on dark coloured resting-places. Sometimes they lose all colour, for I one day saw, on the path near the woods, a chameleon in the coils of a small snake, which had wound itself three times round the body and was apparently preparing to swallow it, beginning at the head, although it seemed almost impossible that the bulky body of the chameleon could pass through so small an opening. And this was a curious fact: the chameleon was perfectly white. From a sentimental pity for the little creature, I unwound the snake from it and placed it on a bush. It was apparently uninjured and soon began to resume its ordinary colouring, of which its terror had temporarily deprived it.

It is a noteworthy fact that Madagascar is one of the head-quarters of the Chameleonidæ, for out of fifty known species twenty-one at least are found in this island; and of the twenty-five kinds which have been enumerated as having horns and other remarkable processes on the head, no less than seventeen are peculiar to this country. One species has a nose dilated and toothed on each side; another has the top of the head conically produced; while four species have two flat diverging nasal prominences covered with large scutes; and in yet another species, the single long conical appendage to the nose is flexible. The largest Madagascar chameleon known is about a foot long and is called Ramìlahèloka, which may perhaps be (freely) translated, “Naughty old boy,” probably from its uncanny appearance and earthy colour; it is apparently always found on the ground. Of this creature the natives assert that anyone stepping on it, accidentally or otherwise, or seizing it, becomes ill. From the slow, deliberate pace of the chameleon, the Malagasy proverb advises foresight and retrospect: “Ataovy toy ny dìan-tàna: jerèo ny alòha, todìho ny aorìana”—i.e. “Act like the stepping of a chameleon: look where you are going, look back the way you have come.” Naughty little native boys are fond of making the male chameleons fight together, and it is curious to see how widely the red mouth is opened at such times.

While staying near the forest I occasionally saw and had brought to me specimens of some of the land-shells which are often found in damp places in the woods. Many years ago more than two hundred of these were known, and this number has probably been considerably added to since, and will still be increased as the country becomes more perfectly explored. Of non-operculate species about eighty were then described, of operculate species about fifty, and about fifty forms had been recorded from the lakes and rivers. The largest of these shells is a species of Helix (bicingulata), warm brown in colour, with diaper-like markings, flattish in shape, and three inches in its longest diameter. There are several other smaller helices; also examples of Cyclostoma, the opening of which, as the name implies, is almost a perfect circle; species of Ampullaria, which have a very large opening; Stenogyra, a long oval and spiral shell; dark green Melanatria, a large spiral shell like Turritella, three inches long, which I have gathered in forest streams; while the most delicately marked shells are species of Neritina, with black lines, like fine etchings, on a pale yellow ground. Species of Bultimus, also a beautifully marked shell, and of Limnea, Physa, Phanorbis, and many others are among the fluviatile and terrestrial mollusca of Madagascar.

In walking through the woods one constantly comes across traces of the wild boar, or, more properly, the river-hog (Potamochærus larvatus), although the animal itself is rarely seen. It is a somewhat ugly creature, with high withers, long back and little hair. It has an enormous tubercle, supported by a bony protuberance in the jaw, which renders the face of the animal extremely disagreeable. It must exist in large numbers, for it digs up the ground in search of roots and often does much damage to plantations. The hunting of the wild boar is a favourite sport with the Malagasy of certain districts, and Europeans who have joined in the hunt have found it an exciting sport, with a distinct element of danger, for the beast, when infuriated, is a formidable animal from its long and powerful tusks. Some naturalists are of opinion that there are two distinct species of this river-hog, one found in the upper forest, and the other on the coast and the lower forest region; of these, the latter is the larger animal.

Turning now from boars to birds. Many of the Madagascar birds are by no means deficient in the power of producing sweet sounds of a very pleasing character and in considerable variety of note; and there are some few whose song has even been considered to resemble that of our European nightingale. Although in the cold season there are comparatively few birds seen or heard, yet it is not so in the warmer months, or in the lower forest all through the year. Staying near the upper forest in the month of December 1884, we sat down on the margin of a stream, enjoying greatly the beauty of the woods and especially the singing of the birds. Never before had I heard in a Madagascar forest so many different notes, or so constant a sound of bird life. Besides this, there was the low undertone of water over the rapids some little distance away and the hum of insects. It was a great enjoyment just to sit and listen, and see the birds as they flew around us. Among these were the Sòikèly, a species of sun-bird, a very little fellow, who sat on the topmost point of a bare branch. There are three species of Nectarinidæ found in the island, one of which, the glittering sickle-billed sun-bird (Neodrepanis coruscans) belongs to a genus peculiar to Madagascar. Many of the birds of this family rival, in the Old World, the gem-like and metallic tints of the hummingbirds of the New World, and this is true of those found here. M. Pollen observes of them that they live in flocks, and all day long one sees them darting about the flowering shrubs, sucking with their long tongue the nectar which forms their principal food. Their song is long, very agreeable, but little varied, and they have the habit of suspending themselves by their claws from the small branches. The male bird of one species has metallic tints of purple, green, red and yellow. The other species is black underneath, with green and purple metallic reflections on head, back and wings.

Among the most beautiful birds in Madagascar are several species of the rollers (Coraciadæ), so called from their peculiar habit of flight. The five species found here live mostly on the ground and come out chiefly at dusk. The Vòrondrèo, or Kiròmbo roller, plays a great part in the chants and religious recitations and folk-tales of the Malagasy. These birds live chiefly on grasshoppers, but they also devour chameleons and lizards. When they cry they puff out the throat, so that this portion of the body has the appearance of a pendent bag. The colouring of this species is perhaps the “quietest” of the five, having a good deal of slaty-grey on head and breast. But both it and its companions have shades of “shot” colour, purple and green, or red and green, as looked at in different lights. The others exhibit larger masses of bright colour; the violet roller having, as its name denotes, a good deal of violet or purple tinting. Four of them are rather large birds, but the scaly ground roller is small, with a curious collar of black and white feathers, reminding one of the strange neck and throat appendages of some of the paradise birds.

Other birds we saw and heard that day were the Railòvy, a species of shrike, with long forked tail; the Bolòky, or grey parrot, with a long repeated whistle, as if going up the gamut; the Vòrondrèo, one of the rollers, with its prolonged whistle ending in a sudden drop; the Parètika, one of the warblers, with a creaky little short note, something like a child’s rattle; together with these sounds was the kow-kow of the Kankàfotra cuckoo, the varied mellow notes of the Tolòho cuckoo, the cooing sound of the Fòny, or wood-pigeon, and also the call of one of the hawks.