WE were up early on Monday morning, the doctor to prepare paper for photographs, Mr Pillans and I to survey. He and I walked up a rounded scarped hill, about a mile to the north-east of the town. This was the only place we had seen in the neighbourhood which showed this rude kind of fortress, so common on the hills of Imèrina and the Bétsiléo country. It was a dull cloudy morning, and we could not get any distant points, but took the bearings of a few neighbouring villages. But we were greatly interested to find that the hill had certainly been the centre of volcanic action, was, in fact, an extinct crater, for large masses of lava were scattered all over the hill, from the base to the summit. We afterwards found, as we proceeded on our journey round its north-western slopes, that the crater was on that side, and that from it a stream of molten rock had poured down, spreading over a considerable surface of ground. After bidding our good friends farewell, although they much wished to keep us longer, we left at nine o’clock, still going northward. We crossed over the head of the large bay of the plain formed by the long promontory, passed a little cluster of villages called Mòraràno, and then ascended the ridge of hills, coming out on some very high ground which forms the western boundary or shore of this part of the plain. From it we had an extensive view over the great level surface, and could see the whole length of the Alaotra lake from north to south. There was a fine variety of outline in the eastern line of hills and mountains, and towards the north end of the plain there was a great opening between the hills, showing the valley through which the Màningòry river runs from the lake to the sea. We soon left the high ground and came down to the plain, skirting its edge, generally on low hills, and occasionally crossing great arms of it running westward. Several of these were very boggy and difficult to cross, with the most complicated and impracticable bridges we had yet seen, even in Antsihànaka; some of them were in three stages, one a steepish ascent, the middle span on the level, and another going down again into water, not on to dry land, and none boasting more than a slippery round pole as roadway.

Our journey of six hours and three-quarters to-day was only broken by half-an-hour’s halt on a low hill to take observations; indeed there was no village, nor even a house, where we could have stayed, for we were travelling over a perfectly uninhabited country. After we left Mòraràno, about an hour north of Ampàrafàravòla, we saw not a single human habitation nor trace of cultivation, although there were numerous fertile and spacious valleys, until we arrived at Ambòhijànahàry. The only object we saw that gave any sign of man’s presence was a large herd of fine cattle. I was afterwards told of a curious custom formerly practised by the Sihànaka at the time of the circumcision. They used to choose one of the largest oxen to be found and sharpened his horns to a fine point; after two or three days’ continuous drinking, when they had got perfectly maddened with spirits and were ready for any foolhardy adventure, a party would rush out to attack this ox, but without any weapons. As the animal became infuriated, he of course defended himself by goring his enemies, many of whom he generally seriously hurt, and some occasionally killed outright, while the man who escaped without injury was considered as born under a lucky star, and was resorted to by numbers of people to give them charms to protect them from various kinds of calamity.

Soon after four o’clock we reached Ambòhijànahàry, a large village of about a hundred houses, on rising ground, and approached by a long narrow passage between dense thickets of prickly pear. It is a poor dirty place, and the chapel the smallest one we had yet seen in the district, being only twenty-two feet by sixteen wide. However, it was clean and neatly matted, and after stopping up a door and a window on the windward side we put up the tent as a canopy for sleeping under, as the gables were exceedingly well ventilated. Then came speeches, beef, etc., etc., and replies as usual, my oratorical efforts becoming very brief; my companions remarked that the flowery parts of my speeches in reply were gradually curtailed as we proceeded farther on our journey. To the north of the village is a lofty point, called Ankìtsika; it has a double cone-shaped outline—that is, a small cone upon a large truncated one—and is doubtless of volcanic origin. The word Ankìtsika means “at a cave,” and there is said to be a cave at the top, where, in former times, the people took refuge when their enemies, the Sàkalàva, made a raid upon them.

The village which we had now come to was “our farthest north,” for from here we began to turn our faces homewards; and as we had now seen the largest villages in the province, I may as well say something here about the Sihànaka, and their occupations and means of subsistence.

Their occupations are, chiefly, tending cattle, growing rice, fishing, and making tòaka (rum). Almost every family keeps cattle, save the very poorest, and there is nothing the people like better than to follow their herds and camp out in the pastures with their wives and children. The day of cutting the ears of the young animals (so as to distinguish them from those of the queen) was always kept as a day of rejoicing, killing oxen, and feasting. Yet very few milk their cattle, for they prefer the broth made from fish to milk.

As we went round the outside edge of the plain, we saw a large extent of rice ground under cultivation; but the people do not dig the soil, or transplant the rice, as is the custom in Imèrina, but cultivate their fields in the following way. First of all they make a number of low earthen banks, which are intended to hold the water. That being done, oxen are driven over the ground to be planted, where the water is a few inches deep, and when the soil has been well turned over, then the rice is sown; and there it is left until it is reaped, without transplanting or weeding. When the rice has been reaped, it is heaped together in round stacks, which are of a considerable size. When quite dry, the grain is threshed out with a stick, two men or more striking in regular turn. The rice is not stored in pits, as in Imèrina, but in an enormous kind of basket or round enclosure, made of papyrus plaited together, and about eight feet high and from twenty to thirty feet in diameter. These are in the fields, and are roofed over; and rice being so cheap and plentiful with them, the people do not measure the rice itself, but they reckon it by the number of these vòlovàry, of which the richer Sihànaka have seven or eight or more.

Catching fish in the lake and in the numerous streams and pieces of water is the business of both men and women. The men angle for eels, the women dredge for small fish in the shallow water (using a kind of basket like a large sieve), and the little children fish with bait. All the children have a tiny canoe, in which they go fishing in the early morning from six to nine o’clock, when they return home, for their small canoes would be upset by the wind and waves as the day advances. The women catch, by dredging, small fish called tòho and also shrimps. These they dry in the sun, sew up in baskets, and take for sale to the markets, many people becoming wealthy by their sale. Until a few years ago all sales were done by barter, for little money was employed. And it is the custom for the men not to bring home what they have caught, but to leave it by the waterside for the women to fetch.

There is abundance of tòaka (rum) made in Antsihànaka, and its manufacture is the work of poor old men and women and (formerly) of slaves. In every house it is to be found, for they think it shows a want of respect to visitors if they have not plenty of tòaka to give them. Whatever be the business in hand, whether funerals or rejoicings, nothing can be done without drinking tòaka (see an earlier paragraph).

We left Ambòhijànahàry on Tuesday morning and turned eastward. Our road lay through low swampy ground, often wading through water and floundering through bog. But there was also a large extent of land covered with rice-fields, and we passed several villages. We left the lines of hills, which come down and terminate abruptly at the edge of the plain. Rain fell during the last half of the journey and a thick mist shut out everything from view; there was water above and around, and water and bog below, so it was the most uncomfortable of all our journeys. The only objects to interest were the clouds of birds, which flew over our heads in immense numbers in every direction. Soon after ten o’clock we got to a village of seventy or eighty houses, called very inappropriately, Ambòhitsàra (“good town”), for it was quite in the swamp, raised only a few inches above the level, and surrounded by water, most of it stagnant. Here the people of the village, in their speech to us, spoke of our staying there that night, and crossing the lake the following morning; but as it was still early in the day, and the water was not an hour distant, we felt most unwilling to stop, especially as we feared risk of fever by staying the night in such a low and damp situation. We therefore told them that we must, if possible, get across the lake that day, and requested them to lose no time in getting sufficient canoes to take us over. After tiffin, we determined to go and see for ourselves, and with much difficulty got our men off. The path was better than in the morning, a large extent of land here being fine pasture and covered with cattle.

Three-quarters of an hour brought us to the lake, a beautiful expanse of water, but only one small canoe was visible, and a stiff breeze from the east had raised waves of a size quite formidable to such cranky craft as Malagasy canoes are. The shore opposite to us seemed from three to four miles distant; to the northward the water extended for several miles, with bays running up among the hills, and a large arm turning eastward in the direction of the valley through which the river draining the lake flows into the sea. Many of the villages on the rising ground across the water were seen quite distinctly (for it had turned out a lovely afternoon) and seemed large places. A considerable portion of the population is indeed massed round this north-east corner of the lake, and we regretted being obliged to leave so many large villages unvisited, but our time would not allow us to go round the head of the Alaotra. The picture was a pleasant one from the shore; the expanse of blue water, with the waves dancing and sparkling in the sunlight; the villages on the green hills across the lake; and behind them grand masses of mountain, with a good deal of dark forest capping them. To the north of the Màningòry valley was distinctly visible an extinct volcanic crater, with a large portion of one of its sides broken down and revealing the immense cup-shaped hollow within. The aneroid showed that the surface of the lake was twenty-six hundred feet above the sea, about nineteen hundred feet below the height of the capital.

We waited and waited on the shore, sweeping the opposite banks with our telescopes for signs of approaching canoes, but looked in vain; nothing like a canoe was to be seen, and the waves got higher and higher; evidently it would not have been safe to cross so late in the day, when the sea breeze, as is the case also on the coast lagoons, makes a considerable swell, and crossing is practicable only for the largest canoes. And while we are waiting, we may remark that this Lake Alaotra is the largest one in Madagascar, and is about twenty-five miles long, by four or five in average breadth. But as the level marshy land to the west and south is only a few inches above its surface, the lake is of much greater extent in the wet season. It receives the drainage of the northern portion of the Ankay plain, so that a considerable body of water must issue from its north-eastern arm and flow towards the sea. According to the Rev. L. Dahle, the name “Alaotra” is probably the Arabic Al-lutat, “the dashing of the waves,” the sea. The Arabs of the Comoro Islands and East Africa are known among the Malagasy as the “Taloatra”—i.e. “those from beyond the ocean.”[18]

The afternoon wore on; the doctor took photographs of the opposite shore; Mr Pillans and I took bearings for the map, and collected shells; and at last, after waiting two hours, we reluctantly came to the conclusion that we must go back to the village in the swamp, which we accordingly did. However, we were not so uncomfortable as we had feared, nor did we take any harm from the damp conditions. The head people came to present beef, etc., but I fear I answered them rather curtly, for we saw plainly it was never intended to let us get over the lake until the following day; but, with the usual native unwillingness to speak out plainly, they would not say so to begin with. In the book which Dr Mullens wrote on his return to England he says of this afternoon’s experiences: “I am afraid that the general depression seriously interfered with the reply of our friend, Mr Sibree. The dignity and fulness with which he usually dwelt upon the affairs of the kingdom and the health of the authorities, and the flowery eloquence with which he would describe the purpose of our visit, entirely failed him here. His reply was brief and guarded, and the two-pounder gun he passed over in total silence.”

On Wednesday morning we left Ambòhitsàra at half-past six, so as to cross the lake as soon after sunrise as possible, as this is always the calmest time of the day in Madagascar waters. We found about a dozen large canoes waiting for us; several of these were from thirty to forty feet long, and three to four feet beam, hollowed out of a single tree. We all embarked and got off soon after half-past seven, but the wind had already risen somewhat, and there was quite a swell on the water. But the sail across was most delightful. As we proceeded, the northern shores opened up, showing two deep bays stretching far away between the hills, and an island, where the Sihànaka made their last stand in resisting Hova domination. From that time it has not been allowed to be inhabited, but is only used for planting vegetables. We had only two paddlers, one at the head, and the other at the stern of the canoe, and so were an hour and ten minutes in crossing. We made an attempt to ascertain the depth of the lake with an old knife as a sinker, and a piece of string as a line, while the doctor, in true scientific fashion, “hove the lead.” I regret to say that no accurate information was obtained, for the sounding line was again and again thrown with the report, “no bottom.” But our short line was no doubt the reason of our ill-success. The lake is probably deep at its northern end, and it is certainly shallow at its southern extremity, gradually changing into marsh. Some of my missionary friends, who subsequently lived in Antsihànaka, have described voyages across the southern end of the Alaotra, where, amongst the dense growth of papyrus, rush, and tall grasses, the only practicable paths for a canoe are dark passages, almost tunnel-like, among the rank vegetation; and where a stranger might easily be lost in the watery and reedy wastes around him.

There can be no doubt that the present lake is but a small remnant of a much larger one; for, at a not very distant period, the water must have covered the whole plain of Antsihànaka, thus forming a lake five or six times the size of the present Alaotra. But at a yet earlier period still, this lake extended for a hundred miles farther south, down the Ankay plain, and for at least two hundred miles farther north, forming an immense extent of water, not much unlike the Tànganyika in Central Africa in size and outline, and of considerable depth; for Mr Baron found numerous indications of old shore-lines at elevations of eleven to twelve hundred feet above the present level. Doubtless, the gradual lowering of the valleys of the Mangòro to the south, and of the Màningòry to the north-east, drained off this great lake, leaving only the present comparatively small sheet of water as its representative.

To an ordinary observer the Alaotra lake presents a good deal of bird life, as well as the large reptiles which bask in the sun on its shores. But to those who will examine more closely and will use a good microscope, there are minute forms of life, both animal and vegetable, which are wonderful for their beauty and their variety. Among the latter are the Algæ, of which my late friend, Mr Baron, made a collection, mostly from the neighbourhood of Alaotra, including a hundred and eighty species, of which seventy proved to be new to science. In a quarto pamphlet of fifty pages, with plates of two hundred different figures, these fresh-water algæ were minutely described, as belonging to thirteen different orders and thirty-one genera.[19] Many new and interesting species were thus revealed, and considerable additional knowledge of the distribution of known forms attained. Without actual inspection of the plates it is difficult to give any clear notion of the various remarkable, often strange, and frequently beautiful forms of these lowly organised plants as revealed by the microscope. The bi-lobed outlines of the Cosmaria are especially noticeable, and hardly less so are the stellate, triangular and multangular forms of other species. It is difficult to believe that some of these remarkable organisms are plants at all; in many cases they are more like some beautiful shell, delicately and elaborately sculptured; while in others they take the form of a simple cell—round, oval or triangular—often as if about to increase by fissure; while others again have curious processes, more like those of some grotesque polyp than anything belonging to the vegetable kingdom. These plants are additional illustrations of the wonders that lie hidden from ordinary observation in the mud of almost every pond and in the slime that gathers round almost every water-plant.

It is a rather interesting fact that the crocodile found in the Alaotra is a different species to that inhabiting all the rivers of Madagascar; but it is identical with the crocodile found fossil, together with the remains of the extinct hippopotamus and the gigantic birds and lemurs which inhabited the island probably until the appearance of man upon the scene. These reptiles are very numerous in the lake, for in the afternoons, on the small rocky islets which rise only a little above the water, the crocodiles are seen snapping at each other to get space to bask in the sun. In the small streams flowing into Alaotra they are numerous at all times of the day, so that if there are only a few canoes, people dare not cross for fear of being upset. Tortoises are also plentiful on the shores and islets of the lake. Two species of water-lily are found in the water, one being identical with the lotus of the Nile; besides these there are numerous other water-plants, one being a twining plant, called Tsihìtafòtotra (“the root not seen”), which twines about other plants in all possible directions, clinging to them by numerous little disks; and there are also two species of convolvulus (Ipomæa), with large red flowers. Besides the masses of papyrus (zozòro) and hèrana sedge, growing in the marshes and shallow parts of the lake, a gigantic and handsome grass, called Bàraràta, growing from twelve to fifteen feet high, is very abundant. It would be taken by ordinary people for a species of bamboo, for its size and the thickness of its jointed stem; its sharp prickly leaf sheaths near the root make it very unpleasant for the unshod feet of the natives. In and about the marshes occur the Jaboàdy, a species of wild cat, and also a kind of muskrat, both of strong scent.

There are certain mythical creatures firmly believed by the Sihànaka to exist in Lake Alaotra. One of these is a monster having seven heads and known as Fanànim-pìto-lòha. It is said to be a sort of serpent, and when it lifts itself out of the water, as it does occasionally, its head touches the sky! There are also Andrìambàviràno (lit. “water-princesses”). These creatures, though residing beneath the water, never get wet, as they live in water-tight palaces. They are said to have hair reaching down to the waist. Veritable water-nymphs these!

But to return to our journey, we landed at the foot of the hill on which Ambòhitsòa, a village of about eighty houses, is built, and mounted to the top by a steep pathway. Here a most extensive and lovely view presented itself, I think the most beautiful of its kind I had ever seen in Madagascar. The lake lay before us, stretching far away to the southward in a great rounded curve, and with its indented bays and island fastness to the northward. The changing shades of purple and blue of the water; the green of the plain beyond; and the varied outline of hills and mountains in the far background to west and north—all lit up by bright sunshine—made as charming a picture as an artist could desire to transfer to canvas. But we had little time to spare, and so after hastily taking bearings we went to Màrosalàzana, the next village to the south, which we could see on a high hill at three or four miles’ distance. On entering the village, a place with about sixty houses, we found a crowd of about four hundred people waiting to receive us. These were not all inhabitants of the place, for many of them had come from Ambòhitsòa to meet us. After a formal reception by the authorities we found the school-children assembled on an open raised space in the centre of the village, a group of nearly a hundred altogether, dressed in their best. Many of the girls had a peculiar kind of collar to their dress, consisting of seven or eight massive silver chains of different patterns; they also wore armlets of silver. Many of these children and young people had most intelligent and pleasant faces. We heard them read, and then I was delighted to find they knew the smaller catechism well. I talked to them a little about it, and then addressed a few words to the numbers of people crowded round the children, speaking to them of the great love of God in sending His Son. It was an interesting scene, and one we did not soon forget: the bright intelligent group of children in the centre; the crowd of wondering Sihànaka on each side; the little knots of women in their dark blue dresses and silver ornaments; and the lovely scene around us—all made a picture attractive in its outward aspects, but still more interesting when one thought of these people as seemingly prepared to welcome a fuller teaching than they had yet received.

The pleasant scene at this village, as well as what we had witnessed at others, gave a cheering promise of what might be expected were the people more thoroughly instructed. In a short report supplied by Rabé, the native evangelist, he says that when he first went to Antsihànaka, “only a person could be found here and there who washed their clothes, for everyone’s dress was smeared with castor-oil, and they thought it would spoil their clothes to wash them, as they would soon be worn out; so that the clothing of the people was offensive to the last degree. For that reason the dark blue cotton was generally worn, as it was nearly black to begin with. But now there is hardly anyone who does not wash his clothes, and has not white dress. Not long ago, when it was evening, the young men in the villages used to form into two parties, and had violent boxing-matches all through the village, the women also often joining in the fray. But now no one practises this rough sport. Not long ago rum was what the people chiefly delighted in; and if any strangers who visited them were not made thoroughly drunk, the owner of the house was looked upon as inhospitable, although he gave them the best of everything to eat.”

We left Màrosalàzana at one o’clock, and found outside the village something which gives the explanation of its name, “many poles”—viz. a group of more than twenty poles stuck in the ground close together, and holding ox skulls and horns. This was the largest group we had yet seen, and there also were many more lying mouldering on the ground. Besides these, there were several very high poles with forked tops, such as we had already seen at almost all the Sihànaka villages. These lofty poles are called jìro, a word which in Hova Malagasy signifies a “lamp.” We had already seen these on our journey northwards, but here was a larger number than we had hitherto met with. These jìro are only raised in memory of a male Sihànaka; to eulogise a woman, the rush mats and baskets which she made and possessed while living are arranged on poles by the wayside to meet the public gaze. These people spend a large amount of money and property on the funerals of their relatives. Mr Pearse gives the following account of what was expended at that of a man dying at a village called Màngalàza:—Thirty silk làmbas, to wrap up the corpse, value two hundred and sixty-nine dollars; a hundred oxen, value three hundred dollars; drink and food, principally the former, thirty-nine dollars’ worth; showing an expenditure of more than six hundred dollars on this particular funeral. (At that time a dollar was worth as much or more to the Malagasy as a pound would be to us.)

After returning home from Antsihànaka, I heard many other particulars about the people and their habits, and among them the following curious, and cruel, custom with regard to widows; and as this is so utterly different from anything practised by any other Malagasy tribe, as far as I am aware, it is well to put it on record. It is much more like a Hindu custom than a Malagasy one, and is as follows:—When the corpse of the deceased husband is about to be buried, the widow is decorated profusely with all the ornaments she possesses, wearing a scarlet làmba, with beads and silver chains on her neck and wrists and ankles, long ear-rings depending from her ears to her shoulders, and silver ornaments on her head. Then she is placed in the house, so that it may be seen by everyone how her husband adorned her while he was yet living; and when the people go away to the funeral, she remains still in the house, and does not go to the grave. When the relatives and friends have returned home and seen the widow sitting in her grand clothing and ornaments, they rush upon her, tearing her dress and violently pulling off her ornaments, so as to hurt her, and say at the same time: “This is the cause of our losing our relative”; for they believe that the vìntana—i.e. fate or luck of the wife—is stronger than that of her husband and so has caused his death. Then they give her a coarse làmba, a spoon with a broken handle, and a round dish with the stand broken off; her hair is dishevelled, and she is covered up with a coarse mat; and under it she remains all day long, and can only leave it at night; and whoever goes into the house, the widow may not speak to them. She is not allowed to wash her face or her hands, but only the tips of her fingers. She endures all this sometimes for a year, or at least for eight months; and even then, her time of mourning is not ended, but endures for a considerable time afterwards. And she is not allowed to go home to her own relatives until she has been divorced first by the husband’s family.

The house in which people die is left by the survivors, and no one occupies it again; they do not pull it down, but let it fall to pieces of itself, but they do not leave the village as do the Sàkalàva in similar circumstances. Such houses are called tràno fòlaka (“broken houses”); but I am informed that this last custom is falling into disuse; and happily, the influence of Christian teaching has caused the treatment of widows to be greatly altered, so that it is now becoming a thing of the past.

After leaving the “village of many poles,” our afternoon journey was southward, first crossing several spurs of the higher hills with their intermediate valleys; and then down a long level tract of country between the lake and a bold wall-like line of hills, which here forms the eastern boundary of the plain. We passed several large villages, and stopped for the night at a place of forty or fifty houses, called Ambòhimànga.

In one of the villages situated in the dense papyrus thickets which cover the marshes to the south of the lake, a place called Ànoròro, lives a strange tribe of people who seem quite isolated, not only in their dwelling-place, but also in their barbarous habits, from the other Sihànaka, and who speak a distinctly different dialect. In the rainy season, when the water rises, it enters into the houses of these people, and they then put together several layers of zozòro to form a kind of raft, so that as the water rises, this raft rises with it. Upon these zozòro they make their hearths and their beds; and there they live, rising and falling with the water, until the rainy season is over and they can live on the ground again. There are some curious stories about the simplicity of these people and their fathers, for they have no intercourse with anyone outside their village except on a certain day, when they go out to sell the fish they have caught. These people appear to have no fewer than eight unlucky days in each month, so that during more than a quarter of their time their superstition prevents them from going about or engaging in any work.

While speaking of unlucky days, it must be here noticed that all over Antsihànaka, Thursday is considered as fàdy (tabooed), and no one will work their rice-fields on that day. To build brick or clay houses is not permitted, death being the supposed penalty in case of transgression. To use hemp also, either in the form of cloth, or for smoking, is also universally tabooed. And besides the fàdy common to all Sihànaka, each family or clan has inherited a set of fàdy of its own, so that in addition to the universal abstinence from work on Thursday, there will be another day of the week on which nothing may be taken out of the house, the mats may not be swept, etc. Various foods and actions, too numerous to particularise, are fàdy to certain villages; while considered quite harmless in some places, they would bring all manner of evil in others.

On Thursday morning we set off again, and after two hours’ journey along the east edge of the plain, left it and made a straight course over the rice-fields for Ambàtondrazàka, leaving the great semicircular bay to the east of the town on our left. We got in at ten o’clock, all very wet with the heavy drizzle, but we were soon comfortably settled in the chapel, and got our things dried in the sun. We were again most kindly received by the officers and the congregation there, but we were obliged to leave soon, so as to get back to Antanànarìvo for some important engagements. On consultation with our bearers, we found that they were willing to make a long journey for a day or two (encouraged also thereto by promises of an extra day’s pay), so that we might get quickly over the uninhabited country, and reach Anjozòrobé by Saturday afternoon. So we left Ambàtondrazàka at midday and arrived at Màngantàny by sunset.

Again were we charmed with the varied scenery of the route, and especially by the grasses, about which I have already spoken in this chapter, and which Dr Mullens graphically describes in a passage which may well conclude this account of our Antsihànaka journey. He says:

The following day we had a long journey over “no man’s land,” taking provisions with us and stopping to dine by a stream half-way, and reached Mandànivàtsy before nightfall. Saturday morning we crossed the high ridge in the forest, entering Imèrina again, and got to Anjozòrobé in good time in the afternoon. After the fatigues of the week we had another pleasant Sabbath, the first of the month, with the good people there. Monday evening brought us to Ambòhitrérana, and a couple of hours’ ride on Tuesday morning took us home to Ambòhimànga in time for breakfast; thus completing in little more than nineteen days our very interesting journey and exploration.