ON the Saturday afternoon we reached Ambàhy, a large village not far from the sea, with a ladoàna or custom-house. Here a detachment of military awaited our arrival—viz. four officers and two soldiers, but outside and inside the stockade rather more than the usual amount of tedious ceremony was gone through, which was, however, amusing as well, from the absurd costume of many of the performers.

On the Sunday, as my companion was still unwell, I took the services entirely. The church was in the village on the other side of the water, and in going over to service I had a sail for the first time in a native-made built boat. These boats are here called sàry, and are about thirty feet long by eight feet beam, and easily carry fifty people. I examined with interest the construction of the craft, for the planks, about eight inches broad, were tied, not nailed together, by twisted cord of anìvona palm fibre, one of the toughest known vegetable substances, the holes being plugged with hard wood. The seat boards came right through the sides, so as to stiffen the whole, for there were no ribs or framework. The seams were caulked with strips of bamboo, loops of which also formed the rowlocks for large oars of European shape. The ends of the boat curved upwards considerably, and from its appearance it seemed likely to stand a heavy sea with perfect safety. These boats are made for going out to the shipping, for no dug-out canoe could live in the great waves constantly rolling along these shores.

From Ambàhy northwards there stretches a coral reef at a mile or two’s distance from the beach, a white line of surf constantly breaking over it. Along this part of the coast the vegetation of pandanus is varied by a number of the tall graceful filào-trees (casuarina), so common south of Tamatave. It was dusk before all the baggage and our men were ferried over a small river, and as I was the last I had a most unpleasant hour and a half in the dark, floundering about in rice-fields and water, for our guides lost their way, so that I thought we should have to take shelter under some bush for the night. But at last we reached a good-sized village; two of our men, however, got hopelessly astray and had to lie out all night in the open. In the dark we several times thought we saw a lantern coming to our aid, but it was only the beautiful little fireflies dancing up and down in the bushes, a “will-o’-the-wisp” which deceived us again and again. These flies do not give a continuous light, but one which—like some lighthouses—is quenched every second or two, the interval of darkness being longer than the time when the light is visible.[30]

We were delayed on our journey one day by having to return and search for a man who had been missing for a day or more. Leaving our stopping-place before six in the morning, I took sixteen men, who were divided into three parties to go in different directions. We did not find him, but discovered where he was, and left him in charge of some Hova officers to be sent on after us. I had two voyages over the Màtitànana that day; the morning’s sail was delightful, the water smooth as a mirror, and with a very large canoe and eight or ten paddles we moved rapidly over the glassy surface. My men began and sustained for some time several of their musical and often amusing canoe chants, in which one man keeps up a recitative, usually an improvised strain, often bringing in circumstances recently happening, while the rest chime in with a chorus at regular intervals, a favourite one being, “E, misy và?” (“Oh, is there any?”). This question refers to various good things they hope to get at the end of the day’s journey, such as plenty of rice, beef, sweet potatoes, etc., these articles of food being mentioned one after another by the leader of the song. A little delicate flattery of their employer, the Englishman they are rowing, is often introduced, and praises of his hoped-for generosity in providing these luxuries for them, something in this style:

and so on, ad libitum.

In another song sung by men on this voyage, the chorus was, Mandàny vàtsy, Toamasina malaza é!—i.e. “Consumes provisions for the way, famous Tamatave O!”—while the recitative brought in all the different villages on the journey from Tamatave to the capital, ending with Avàra-dròva, the northern entrance to the palace yard. Our return voyage was a rough one; there was a considerable swell, for the sea breeze had set in very strongly, as is generally the case in the afternoon along the east coast; and had I not had an unusually large and good canoe, I dared not have ventured across the broad expanse of water near the mouth of the river.

While waiting for the canoe that afternoon I was delighted to see the profusion of orchids along the shore. I had, of course, often admired these on the trunks and branches of trees on the coast; but, here, the magnificent Angræcum superbum was growing by hundreds on the ground, on good-sized bushes, which occurred in scores, the large waxy-white flowers all in full bloom. It was worth a fatiguing journey to see such a wealth of floral beauty. Here I may notice that another fine orchid, the Angræcum sesquipedale, is also to be seen in flower in the months of June and July on this eastern coast. It is not so numerous in blooms as the other species, but its large pure white flowers shine out like stars against the dark trunks of the trees on which it grows. As its specific name signifies, its remarkable spur or nectary is nearly a foot and a half long, pointing to an insect with a very long sucking tube in order to reach the honey stored there. There are several other species of Angræcum found in Madagascar, but with smaller flowers than the two just named. As Mr Baron remarks, “Whatever else may escape the notice of the traveller, the A. superbum forms far too striking an ornament to be passed by unheeded.” And I think the same might almost be said of the sesquipedale; of this latter Mr Baron says that it generally chooses trees which overhang the rivers or lagoons as its habitat. I have, however, noticed it at some distance from water.

Farther north along this coast there is a large proportion of trees of considerable size, in addition to the pandanus and more shrubby vegetation seen farther south. The latter also attain a much greater height in the struggle to get up to the light amongst the crowd of other trees. In one spot for some distance there was no undergrowth, but “a pillared shade” of the slender trunks of the pandanus, while high overhead their graceful crowns of long saw-edged leaves made a canopy impervious to the sun. Among the larger trees one called atàfa (Terminalia catappa) is prominent; in these the branches strike directly at right angles from the trunk and then spread away horizontally for a considerable distance. The leaves are spatula-shaped and from eight to ten inches long, and a large proportion of them are always a ruddy brown or scarlet, giving a blaze of colour. The tree is called also the “Indian almond,” and the kernel of the fruit is edible. While waiting for a canoe, we walked two or three hundred yards towards the outlet of a small river, and were startled by a crocodile only a few feet in front of us, rousing himself from his nap in the setting sunshine, and waddling off into the river.

About seventy miles north of the Màtitànana river we came to an extensive lagoon stretching northward for several miles. This appeared to be the first—from the south—of that remarkable series bordering the shore and extending with but few breaks nearly to Tamatave, a distance of two hundred and sixty miles (see Chapter III.). Along the northern side of this lagoon are masses of lava rock, some of it in enormous blocks.

We found here that we had reached another centre of population, an important settlement of the Taimòro tribe; the principal chief, a very fine tall man, came to see us, and was extremely polite and kind. We were amused to see his daughters, two nice little girls, attended by all the other children of the village, who were going through the peculiar monotonous native singing with clapping of hands; while these two girls moved together slowly backwards and forwards, and with a slow movement of their feet, and a graceful movement of the hands, performed a native dance. They were strikingly different from the other children in their dress, having scarlet caps, with a long veil behind of coloured print, jackets of figured stuff and a skirt of scarlet or a broad girdle of the same colour. Afterwards they were mounted on the shoulders of two stout girls, who went through the same performance with their feet, while the little girls moved their hands and arms.

At a village where we stayed it was the custom that no bird or animal could be killed for food except by someone belonging to the family of the native king. This agrees with what is stated by Drury and other early writers on Madagascar as to the customs of many tribes in the south-west of the island.

On 22nd and 23rd July, Saturday and Sunday, we had two long and very fatiguing journeys, the more so as our maps were of the vaguest description, and we could get no accurate information as to distances or villages; rice for our bearers was not at all easy to procure, and when crossing rivers, a single canoe for fifty men and a quantity of baggage often delayed us very seriously. On the Saturday morning we met a wheeled vehicle, the first I had ever seen in Madagascar—viz. a cart drawn by yoked oxen; this excited much wonder among our men. We had to cross rivers or wide lagoons five times that day, so that late in the afternoon we still saw no stopping-place. But as we understood that there was a small village two or three hours farther on, and that the road was along the shore, we thought we could not miss it even if it was late. So we went along the sands; the sun set, and it grew dark, but there was no sign of any village; then the path turned inland among the bush, where we went on feeling our way for some time. But at last we got hopelessly adrift in the dense vegetation and total darkness. There was no help for it but to retrace our steps to the shore, which we did, not without great difficulty. It seemed highly probable that we should have to spend the night under the trees, without food, fire, or light, as our baggage had gone on ahead. Continually we mistook the light of the fireflies for a lantern coming to our assistance; but still going on we saw at last a light ahead, steadier and redder than that of the fireflies. Then we lost it, but going on again we at length came up to the embers of a fire lighted on the sand. Opposite was a path leading up to four little huts, where most of our men had arrived, and where we got better accommodation than the woods would have afforded, although the huts were mere rough sheds of traveller’s tree leaves. It was fortunate for us that we reached them, for heavy rain came directly and continued all night. There was no rice to be bought; so our men had to go supperless to bed, and we had very little to eat ourselves. Some dozen or more of the men slept with us in our hut, as thick as they could lie, and the other places were as full.

The following day, Sunday, was a disappointing one, for we quite thought in the morning that we were only two or three hours’ journey, at most, from Màsindràno, where we hoped to meet with a good congregation. But we had to travel for hour after hour, delayed in crossing the lagoons in a vain search for food, and in other ways, so that it was sunset before we crossed the Mànanjàra river, and after dark before we at last reached the town. However, here we met with the kindest welcome, had good houses put at our disposal, and there was abundance of food for us all.

On the following day we left the seashore, along which, first going southwards and afterwards northwards, we had travelled for so many days. And here I may remark that dolphins are often seen in the Madagascar seas, especially the small species called Delphinus pas, which is frequently seen leaping, plunging and swimming with astonishing swiftness and in large shoals. These animals love to pursue the flying-fish, and in this chase they display extraordinary dexterity. Two species of whale also frequent the seas round Madagascar, but they are chiefly seen on the western side of the island. The huge form of the cachelot or sperm-whale, with its remarkably square head, looking as if it had been cut off right across, especially when it turns to dive, as I have seen it, seems to have impressed the imagination of the Malagasy, because when an earthquake occurs they say, Mivàdika ny tròzona—i.e. “The whales are turning over.”

After leaving the east coast we sailed up the broad river Mànanjàra, stopping a night at another Hova military post, a large village called Itsìatòsika. Here again we had great kindness shown to us by the most polite and gentlemanly set of Hova officers we had ever met. For the first day and a half our route lay chiefly up the valley of the river, over undulating country; but during the next two and half days we had to travel to the north-west, through the belt of dense forest covering the lines of mountain which are the successive steps into the bare interior highland. Through this rugged country, travelling was very difficult, and the steep ascents very fatiguing. As we got up a thousand feet, there was line after line of hill and mountain, all covered with forest, as far as the eye could reach, to the north and south and west. Besides the ordinary forest trees, there were great numbers of the graceful palm called Anìvona, which, in the struggle for light and heat, here grows to a great height. As we have seen in speaking of the old style of timber houses, this palm was made much use of in their construction. There were magnificent and extensive views from the higher ground; and conspicuous for a whole day’s journey was a lofty perpendicular cliff of bright red rock, rising sheer up many hundreds of feet from the valley below.

A little before reaching the summit of one ridge we heard a good deal of noise and shouting ahead of us, and supposed that the Tanàla were dragging an unusually large piece of timber. On getting nearer, we found fifty or sixty people, men and women, and a number of men carrying something, which, coming closer to them, we found was a child’s coffin, made of a piece of the trunk of a tree hollowed out, and with a rough cover of wood fastened on with bands of a strong creeper. This was being carried with a barbarous kind of chant, but without the slightest sign of mourning on the part of anyone. It was the most heathenish kind of funeral we had ever seen. Among these forest people funerals are called fàndrorìtam-pàty (lit. “stretching out of the corpse”), and it seems that the coffin is pulled about first in one direction and then in another by the different parties of those following it; and it is finally thrown into some hollow in the woods. It was a saddening sight.

We found that we had come again among our old friends, the Tanàla, for in their mats and undressed appearance, and their use of bark cloth, the women in the villages were just like those we had seen from Ivòhitròsa downwards.

Our second day in the forest brought us to a height of fourteen hundred and fifty feet above the sea; and, notwithstanding our fatigue from having to walk continually for several hours, we were charmed again with the luxuriance of the vegetation. The anìvona-palms shot up their slender columns, banded with lines of white on dark green to heights of eighty to a hundred feet, and the traveller’s trees were as lofty, in the fierce competition for life. The tree-ferns spread out their graceful fronds over the streams; and the Vaquois pandanus carried its large clusters of serrated leaves high overhead to get up to the light. In some places the woods were very dense, and there was a green twilight as we passed along the narrow path amongst the crowd of tall trunks. We were struck by the intense silence of the forest; there was no sound of animal life, and no voice of bird, or beast, or insect broke the oppressive stillness. For six hours and a half we hardly saw a house except isolated woodcutters’ huts; and we were glad at last to see the sparkling waters of the Mànanjàra in front of us, and to find a village of twenty houses on its banks.

Although in the cold season, which was the time of our journey, the woods were very silent, they are not so at all times of the year, and among the sounds of the forest we must not omit one which, once heard, can never be forgotten—viz. the extremely shrill piercing note of the Jorèry, a cicada, which makes the woods ring again with its stridulous reverberations. If it should happen that two or three of these little creatures are giving out their sound together, the jarring, ringing noise becomes almost painful to the ear; and it is difficult to believe that such a loud noise can be produced from the friction of the wing-cases of such a comparatively small insect, for it does not exceed an inch and a half in length.

On rainy nights a stridulous sound, but far less loud than that produced by the jorèry, is heard in and near the forest, and is produced by a large species of earthworm called Kànkandoròka. It somewhat resembles the noise of a rattle, and is far from unpleasant to the ear.

Yet it would be a mistake to suppose that these comparatively silent woods are destitute of animal life, and the stillness is largely attributable to the peculiar character of the Madagascar fauna. Many of the lemurs are nocturnal animals and are therefore not seen or heard in the daytime. Then again, the twenty-four species of centetidæ are burrowing animals, and so do not often appear in the open. And it is much the same with the sixteen species of rats and mice, which live in the woods and on their borders. In confirmation of the above remarks as to the animal life of the forest, it may be stated that in the latter part of the year 1894, and the beginning of 1895, Dr Forsyth Major, the eminent naturalist and palæontologist, lived for several months collecting in the woods not very far from the route we followed about eighteen years previously; and his specimens of recent mammals amounted to no fewer than sixteen hundred specimens, which added twenty species to those previously known. These were chiefly in the tenrecs and the rats, but also included a new species of lemur. Some of these forms were exceptionally interesting, one being aquatic and web-footed; and others showed transitions from a hairy to a spiny condition in closely allied animals, suggesting that the prickly state had been gradually attained for purposes of defence. Several of the centetidæ, of the genus Oryzorictes, feed largely on rice, as their generic name denotes, and do much damage to the crops. This is equally true of the indigenous rats and mice. We have seen how the forest and coast Malagasy protect their rice stores by elevated houses, with special precautions against these little marauders.

It should be added that Dr Major’s unprecedentedly large collections would probably have been larger still but for the disturbed state of the country at that time. It was during the early months of the French invasion and subsequent conquest of Madagascar, when the feeling against all Europeans was very strong; so that again and again Dr Major was in considerable danger of his life. Besides adding so largely to our knowledge of the living fauna of the island, he made large collections of the sub-fossil fauna, in collections of the remains of the extinct æpyornis, hippopotami, tortoises, crocodiles, and other animals, finding bones of several of the smaller mammals which he afterwards discovered to be still living.

With regard to the silence of the wood just spoken of, and the apparent dearth of animal life, it must be remembered that, in addition to the character of the mammalian fauna above-mentioned, our journey was made in the cold season, when all life is much less in evidence. As we have seen in the chapters VIII. and IX., speaking of the forest, it is by no means destitute of bird life during the warm months of the year. And yet I have never been able satisfactorily to account for the comparative fewness of birds in Madagascar, notwithstanding the number of species. It can hardly be from want of appropriate food, for the great variety of trees and shrubs must surely supply sufficient in the way of fruits and berries and seeds, to say nothing of caterpillars, and insects in various stages of development. My friend, Mr Cory, an enthusiastic naturalist and sportsman, wrote to me: “I think the want of bird life in Madagascar is very marked when compared with England, and I was much struck with this on my first arrival. I have been in the forest at all times of the year; and although there are a good many birds in summer, yet if you try bird’s-nesting here, you will soon find out how few and far between the nests are.” I have sometimes thought that these facts may be partly explained by the rather large proportion of rapacious birds in Madagascar to the general air-fauna—twenty-two, as compared with two hundred and ten species known to inhabit the island; for, leaving out the twenty-eight species of oceanic birds, we have nearly a seventh of the birds belonging to rapacious kinds, a proportion which would be still greater if we reckon, as we might well do, several of the eight species of shrikes as rapacious. As we shall see in the next chapter, there appear to be a far larger number of birds on the western side of the island than are found in the eastern forests.

With regard to the paucity of insect life in the forest, I think it has been clearly shown by eminent naturalists like Dr Wallace and the late Mr Bates, that dense wood is not favourable to such life; but that in open spaces in the forest, where sunshine can penetrate, and where there is also water, there is where you may hope to find butterflies, moths, and various handsome flies, bees and wasps; while patches of cleared forest and felled trees are the most favourable hunting-grounds for the numerous species of beetle and also of ants. In travelling from the east coast to Imèrina seventeen years later than this journey, on a route about eighty miles north of that described in this chapter, we found numerous butterflies, a dozen species at least, in some localities; and the voice of birds was heard all along the road, the noisy call of the Kankàfotra cuckoo, kow-kow, kow-kow, constantly repeated; the mellow flute-like call of another cuckoo, the Tolòho, whose notes we heard all the way from Màhanòro; the chirp and whistle of the Railòvy, or king-crow, as well as the incessant twitter of many smaller birds. Then came frequently the wailing notes of the lemurs high up among the trees. This, however, was in November, when the hot season was advancing.

In our walks in the forest from the Ankèramadìnika Sanatorium (Chapters VIII. and IX.), we saw, it will be remembered, many cases of protective colouring. As we are again in the eastern forests, the following instances may also be noted. There is found in these woods a curious walking-stick mantis, about eight inches long and a quarter of an inch thick. It is exactly the colour of a dried branchlet or twig, with joints distinctly articulated like the nodes of many plants. The tail (if the end of the creature may be thus called) is rather more than an inch long, and is a hollow, canoe-shaped trough, somewhat resembling part of the bark torn off a twig. The legs are alate and spiny. At about two inches from the head are the wings and wing-sheaths, the latter being somewhat like obovate stipules about half-an-inch long, and the former marked with black and yellow and about an inch and a half long. When the wings are closed, it would take a very keen eye to discover the creature, as the part of the wing when closed is of the same colour as the rest of the body. The legs can be brought together lengthwise in front, and so appear to form a continuous part of the twig, especially as the femurs are hollowed out to form a socket for the head.

Another singular creature, a kind of springtail, known as Tsikòndry, is found on the branches of certain trees. The tail, which is about half-an-inch long—a little longer than the body of the insect—is a remarkable and curious appendage. This tail consists of a tuft of white threads, somewhat divided and fluffy at the tip, and which, at the pleasure of the insect, can be raised or lowered or spread out, the threads radiating in a circle from the root. This tail is so exactly like a lichen in appearance as thoroughly to deceive the eye. Unless a branch on which a number of these tsikòndry are seated is accidentally shaken, causing them to spring off, they would be passed by as lichens. The leap or spring is effected by a jerk of the tail.

I have already pointed out somewhere in this book that Madagascar is a kind of museum of several forms of animal life found nowhere else in the world; for among mammals there are some of the lemuridæ, especially the aye-aye; also some of the centetidæ; among the insects, the uranid butterfly; while there are several birds, which are isolated, having no near relation, so that new genera, and even new families, have had to be formed for their classification. Among these latter, and inhabiting the eastern forests, is Prevost’s broadbill (Euryceros prevosti). The zoological affinities of this remarkable bird were for long a puzzle to ornithologists; but it is so different from the wood-swallows, starlings and shrikes, which groups are nearest to it, that the French naturalists have formed a special family (Eurycerotidæ) for this solitary genus and species. This bird is remarkable for a beak formed like a very capacious helmet, strongly compressed and swelled towards the base, which advances to just as far as the eyes; and its very convex edge is terminated by a sharp hook. This extraordinary form of the beak is seen best in the skeleton, in which the beak is seen to be considerably larger than the skull. The bird is as large as a starling, velvety black in colour, with a saddle-shaped patch of light brown on the back. The large beak is steely-blue in colour, and pearly, like the inside of an oyster shell. Such specialised birds—as well as the other peculiar forms of life—speak of high antiquity and of the long isolation of their habitat from continental influences.

Four or five days of hard travelling brought us to Ambòhimànga, an-àla, so called to distinguish it from the old Hova capital of the same name, north of Antanànarìvo. As on many previous occasions, we had long delays in crossing rivers, from the fewness and smallness of the canoes available. We were detained for three hours crossing the Mànanjàra, which, although so far from the sea, was still a wide river, with a powerful current and full of rapids and rocks. We had time to notice and examine carefully a graceful plant which covered the stones in the water; this looked like a fern—but is not one—from one to two feet long and with very thick and fleshy stem and fronds. On examining one of these, I found it to be the home of a variety of minute animals; some of them caterpillars, which were burrowing into the stalk; others, small green creatures like caddis-worms, but with a transparent shell; others, minute leeches; others like the fresh-water hydra; with several other kinds, all finding house and provision on one frond in the rushing waters.

This “forest Ambòhimànga” was the home of Ihòvana, the Tanàla chieftainess of the tribe of the surrounding district, who, with her husband, was most kind and friendly, and I believe a sincere Christian. She was a remarkably stout old lady, getting grey, and a woman of considerable ability and force of character. On special occasions, when the Malagasy nobles and tributary chiefs were summoned up to the capital, Ihòvana would appear in the public assembly, and with làmba girded round her and spear in hand, would give assurances of loyalty and obedience to Queen Rànavàlona, and say “she was not a woman, but a man,” and would fight, if need be, at the head of her people in defence of their sovereign.

The situation of this place is exceedingly pleasant, on a hill about two hundred feet above the river flowing to the east and north. Around it are hills covered with bamboo, while to the lines of hill, the edges of the upper plateau are dark with forest. Here we and our bearers were glad to rest for a couple of days, including a Sunday, during which we were glad to find that these northern Tanàla, through Christian teaching and Ihòvana’s influence, had made wonderful advances compared with those farther south. There was a congregation of about three hundred, a school of about as many children, and nine village congregations connected with the central church here.

On the Monday morning, on leaving Ambòhimànga, we had to cross the river at the foot of the hill, and this made the thirtieth time we had to be ferried across a river with all our men and property, and glad we were that it was the last. A description of our water conveyances would include bamboo rafts, canoes great and small, especially the latter, canoes with one end rotted away or broken off, and stuffed with clay, and craft so small that they seemed rather fitted for children’s playthings than for business. The forest became thinner as we travelled to the north-west, and this was due to the custom of the Tanàla, who cut down the woods and sow the rice in the ashes of the trees which have been burnt; for the people do not plant much in one place, but remove their village to another spot after getting a crop or two. This morning we lost the traveller’s tree, which does not grow at heights much above two thousand feet above the sea; and in the afternoon we also lost sight of the graceful bamboo.

The following morning brought us to steep ascents of nine hundred and fifty feet, of four hundred and twenty, and then of six hundred feet successively, the last bringing us to Ivòhitràmbo (lofty town), well named, for it has a most elevated situation and higher than a good deal of the interior table-land to the west. I had noticed all the previous afternoon that on the very summit of the highest ground to the north was a lofty cone of rock. Perched upon this like an eagle’s nest was part of the village, the rest of the houses being a hundred and forty feet lower. The summit was forty-seven hundred and fifty feet above the sea; we were now on the high land of the interior and had come up twenty-four hundred and fifty feet since we breakfasted. As may be supposed, the view was most extensive; the plains of North Bétsiléo were not far distant, and soon we came to the long bare rolling downs of the central provinces. Uninteresting as these generally appear after four or five months without rain, they looked home-like, and the keen air seemed bracing and invigorating. We began to see rice-fields again and the scattered round vàla of the Bétsiléo. We had got into the country of a different tribe of people, with different houses, speech and customs. At the village where we stopped for the night was a good timber house, with elaborately carved central pillars, and we began to see again the carved memorial posts, which had so much interested us on our journey south.

We noticed again the peculiar tombs of the Bétsiléo; these, which consist of a large square of stones, are not, as in Imèrina, the real burial-places; for the actual tomb is often twenty feet below the ground, a stone chamber, to which access is gained by a long inclined passage opening out at a distance of eighty or a hundred feet from the tomb.

And now, as we reached the oft-trodden route between Antanànarìvo and Fianàrantsòa, this record may come to a close. We arrived safely at the capital on 5th August, having been away nearly eleven weeks, and having travelled by palanquin, on foot, and in canoes, more than nine hundred miles.