AS the contents of former chapters in this book show, I was able on various occasions during the first few years of residence in Madagascar to make journeys in different directions: from the east coast to the interior; from Imèrina to Antsihànaka; from Imèrina again to Bétsiléo and from thence to the south-east, visiting the Tanàla, the Taimòro, and other tribes in that part of the island, not to mention shorter journeys in the central province itself, to Itàsy and other places. But the north-west of the country and the districts occupied by the Sàkalàva people were still unknown to me, so I was glad when in 1877 there came the opportunity of traversing this portion of the great island.

For a long time past Tamatave had been—as it still is—the most frequented port of Madagascar, but the western ports, from their proximity to South Africa, were sure to increase in importance. Not very long before the above-mentioned date, the British India Steam Navigation Company had begun a service of steamers from Aden to Mozambique, touching at Mojangà, on the north-west coast, both on the outward and the return journeys. This appeared to give Europeans living here a good opportunity of reaching England, avoiding the unpleasant experience of the “bullocker” (see Chapter II.), between Tamatave and Port Louis, and taking a mail steamer direct from Madagascar. As we were leaving this country for Europe in September 1877, we determined to take this new route, which, although a little longer than that by Tamatave, was far less difficult, besides being partly by canoes, and the last day or two by a dhow, thus giving a pleasant variety to the journey. Our party consisted of seven, including my wife and self and three children—Willie, aged six; May, aged three, and a baby girl of ten months—Frank Briggs, about the same age as our boy, whom we were taking home (his father joined us a day or two later), and my former fellow-traveller, Mr Louis Street. I ought also to include a Mozambique nurse, one of those African slaves recently set free, in accordance with an agreement made between the English and the Malagasy governments.

We left Antanànarìvo on Thursday afternoon, 13th September, a large number of our missionary friends accompanying us for a distance out of the city, in fact as far as the banks of the Ikòpa, along which our route lay for several miles. Here one could not but be again impressed with the importance of these river banks in preserving the rice-fields from being flooded, and by the good work done by the old kings of Imèrina in embanking the river and thus turning marsh and bog into fruitful fields. Stopping at the L.M.S. mission station of Ambòhidratrìmo for the first night of our journey, we reached the station of Fihàonana in Vònizòngo on the second day, putting up at the manse, although the minister (Rev. T. T. Matthews) and his family were away from home. A short half-day’s ride brought us to a third mission station, that at Fierènana, where we had a Sunday’s rest before setting out on the unknown and principal portion of our journey. We stayed in the house which, a year or two before then, I had marked out for our friends, and recalled how I had taught Mrs Stribling to lay bricks, to bond together the corners of the walls, to manage the chimney breasts, etc., so that she became quite proficient and was able to teach the native workmen bricklaying, which was then to them an unknown art.

On Monday morning we fairly started on our journey away from mission stations and Europeans. Two hours’ ride brought us to a large market where hundreds of people were assembled. We were set down and, before we knew what our men were about, were left almost without a bearer, it being too great a temptation for our fellows not to go into the thick of a market; and it was some little time before we could get hold of them to carry us into the village near the place. All this day’s journey was up a long wide valley enclosed by lines of hills, which gradually approached as we proceeded; and our evening halt was in a village covered with a layer of finely powdered cow-dung, although the village chapel, our usual inn on such journeys, provided a fairly comfortable resting-place for the night.

Outside this village the following morning we passed a shoe—or rather sandal—market, with scores of pairs of rough bullock-hide sandals for sale. I noticed also that everyone we passed carried a pair fastened to his or her burdens. Although we had to go up and, of course, down again, a long ascent, the route was less difficult and fatiguing than are those we often traversed in Imèrina, and far less so than the roads to the eastern coast through the forest. The increasing temperature told us that we were getting to a lower level; indeed all the western side of Madagascar is hotter than the eastern side, as it is deprived of the cool south-east trade-wind from the Indian Ocean. At the village where we stopped for the night, all the dwelling-houses were made of the gigantic bamboo-like grass called bàraràta, although the school church which served us for a lodging was of clay. The place had a double entrance gateway, one of them being a low narrow tunnel; and like most of these villages had a great quantity of cattle brought into it, for security every evening. In consequence, the whole place was covered with a foot or two of manure; and it was here that our friend, Mr Grainge, stopping for the night the previous year, had an experience which I will give in his own words.

As we were walking about just before sunset, they brought us a chameleon, here called taròndro (Dicranosaura bifurca), about nine inches long and as much more in length of tail; it was dark brownish-grey in colour, with a white line along the sides, and the head and back serrated like a saw. The nose of the male has two compressed long horns covered with large scales. As we have already seen, Madagascar contains a considerable number of these reptiles, especially of species with remarkable processes on the head.

After arranging for the night, we congratulated ourselves on our comfortable lodgings, but there was a drawback in the number of openings to the outer air, two doorways and three windows, but all destitute of doors or shutters. Mats, rugs, waterproof sheeting and pillows were, however, fixed up; but soon after the wind rose until it blew quite a gale; it was like being in a ship at sea, and it blew so violently as to tear away the coverings from the nails. For an hour or two paterfamilias’ chief occupation was to go round the place and fix nail after nail, until I think at least a hundred long tin tacks, as well as a number of two-inch nails, had been driven in, besides propping up palanquins against the openings. Often it came in such tremendous gusts that I feared everything would be torn away, and lay for some time apprehensive of what might happen next. However, it moderated towards morning, and, happily, there were no mosquitoes.

We had not got far on our way the following day before making acquaintance with the mòkafòhy, an insect about half the size of a housefly, but with wings less divergent. They have a large proboscis and give a distinct prick, sometimes drawing blood, and with after-irritating effects like mosquito bites. They are more sluggish than mosquitoes and so can be more easily killed, and with a small whisk of leaves it is not very difficult to ward them off. The road was still along a valley with precipitous hills on our left, and perpendicular faces of rock. All along were clumps of adàbo-trees, making the scenery much like an English park. We noticed a large number of earthen mounds, often two and a half feet high; these were the nests of a large ant, which, like those we met on the eastern side of the island, is said to kill a serpent which makes its home in the lower part of the ant-hill. The native travellers often use these mounds as a fireplace for cooking their rice, by knocking off the top, scooping out the centre, and making a hole near the bottom for draught.

The route continued to be very easy travelling, with gentle ascents and one long one, following generally river valleys; and in the afternoon along a river bank for some distance, with pretty scenery of pandanus, adàbo, dracæna and other trees growing in clumps. This last-named tree, called hàsina by the Malagasy, is believed to be a favourite with the Vazìmba, the supposed aboriginal inhabitants of the island, and was consequently planted where their graves are and where their spirits are thought to dwell in order to secure their good will. The leaves, which are sword-shaped, grow in large clusters, so that the tree makes a beautiful variety amongst other foliage.

We stopped on Wednesday night at a large village called Màngasoàvina, and the next morning passed along the eastern base of Andrìba, a lofty and very peculiarly shaped mountain, which had been prominent before us during the preceding day. It appeared to have a large flat top, and in outline resembled the stump of an immense tree left in the earth, its northern face being a stupendous perpendicular mass of rock. (Here I may remark, in parenthesis, that this Andrìba was expected, in the French war of 1895, to have presented the most formidable obstacle to the advance of an invading force and, in the hands of European troops, would certainly have done so.) In the afternoon we entered on the part called in Malagasy, èfitra, or desert, but which simply means an uninhabited region, and seemed to promise to be the most pleasant part of the whole route. A long deep gorge which we entered was beautiful with luxuriant vegetation, and in one of the lateral valleys I soon perceived the traveller’s tree, a sure sign that we were now from two thousand to three thousand feet lower than Imèrina. Every hollow was filled with trees; the hills became lower, and the vegetation more distinctly tropical, with graceful palms and other trees common on the eastern coast; as well as species of ficus, ròtra (Eugenia sp.), hibiscus, tamarind and rofìa palms; and the mango, escaped from cultivation, often attains the dimensions of a very large tree.

Early on Thursday afternoon we came down to a river, called Màrokalòy, where our bearers wished us to encamp, but we feared both mosquitoes and consequent malaria in such a situation, and ascended a low hill about a hundred and fifty feet above the river. Here we pitched our tents, and after arranging for the night sat down to our evening meal round a mat in the bright moonlight. It was a very picturesque scene: the brilliant moon and the four chief planets shining resplendently; our group of men near the tents lighted up by the ruddy glare of the cooking fires; while down below, the greater body of our men had encamped and had a score or two of fires blazing under the dark shade of fine large trees. The night was so warm that there was no inconvenience sitting out of doors, while in the tents it soon grew so hot that we were glad to keep out of them as long as possible. But what surprised us most was the almost entire absence of mosquitoes; for there was no garden in Imèrina where one could sit for five minutes at such an hour without being soon informed of the presence of these tiny pests. It must, however, be added that for an hour or two before sunset, and for a little after it also, the mòkafòhy were extremely numerous and annoying. They persecuted us incessantly while encamping, but happily, unlike their namesakes,[31] they retire at dark. By a merciful dispensation of providence they do not bite at night. After our al fresco meal, Mr Street and I descended to the river and enjoyed a delicious bathe.

The following morning we were up early, but the mòkafòhy were up before us and made it a misery to do anything immediately we emerged from the tent. Getting breakfast was therefore disposed of in a very short space of time, for mouth, nostrils, and eyes got full of these detestable little flies; one could not eat, and we hurried the children into their palanquins and got off as fast as was possible. The name of this pretty valley (Màrokalòy = “Many alòy”) ought to have warned us, as alòy is the proper name of the insect, and this place seems to be their head-quarters. The scenery and the route continued to be as pleasant and as easy as before; every hollow was filled with vegetation of a tropical character, and streams of bright water crossed our path every few hundred yards.

Bird life seems much more abundant on this western side of the island than on the east. Black parrots exist in great numbers and may be heard screeching all the day long. But perhaps the birds which are more numerous still are the small green and white parakeet (Sàrivàzo), which fly about from tree to tree in large flocks, all ceaselessly chirping during their rapid flight. My friend, Mr Baron, says: “A flock of them settling on a bare tree gives it the appearance of being covered with foliage. On one or two occasions what we thought were the leaves of trees suddenly disappeared, leaving the branches entirely bare. The ‘leaves’ turned out to be parakeets.” Guinea-fowl, in flocks of six to a dozen, are also abundant. The handsome long-tailed green Tsìkirìoka (the Madagascar bee-eater) is found here, and builds its nest in holes in sand-banks; some of these run in a horizontal direction for above a yard. A very pretty hoopoe (Tàkodàra) may occasionally be seen, a bird which is extremely active and graceful in its movements. It gives forth five or six very weird notes, as it sits on a tree during the night. A species of sand-grouse, called Gàdragàdraka, a bird of a beautiful fawn-colour, much like a pigeon in general appearance, may often be heard. Like many other native bird names, this name is very expressive of its chuckling. Many of the birds found in the central parts of the island exist also here, while there are also others peculiar to this western region.

Part of our fifth and the whole of our sixth and last day’s land journey was taken at no great distance from the Ikòpa river; and I began to wonder where the western forest-belt was; for, as we have seen, we had passed through no such masses of dense forest as must be crossed anywhere on the eastern side of the island when one comes up to the interior of Madagascar. The fact seems to be that there is no such continuous wooded region on the western side. There is, in many places, a considerable amount of country covered with forest, but these are not connected, and a great deal of the surface has scattered clumps of trees. In the same way also, there are nothing like the difficult ascents and deep gorges to be crossed on this route such as are described in Chapters IV. and V. The descent to the level western plains is gradual; so that a railway to the north-west ports, along the valleys of the Ikòpa and Bétsibòka rivers, would, although longer, present very much less engineering difficulty than that from Tamatave to the capital.

On Saturday morning we came to the bank of the Ikòpa, which river is at some points half-a-mile or more wide, but then at its lowest level, being apparently very shallow, but so interrupted everywhere with shelves of rock that it would be difficult for even a small canoe to make its way far. There were numerous islands, covered with bamboo, bàraràta, rofìa-palms and other vegetation. From a low hill we had a view over an immense expanse of flat country on the western side of the river. Only here and there was the level broken by a line of hills of small elevation. After leaving the Ikòpa we found ourselves in a very different kind of country from any we had yet passed through, a succession of low hills or mamelons of dry sandy gravel, with hardly any vegetation, and looking as if no rain had fallen upon it for years. In the afternoon I noticed that a large number of granite boulders were strewn over the country, and could hardly doubt that these, from their rounded forms, but especially from the absence, as far as I could see, of any such rock in situ, must by some means or other have been transported from the granitic region of the interior far to the eastward. Must this not have been glacier or iceberg action? Although it is difficult to understand such agency in the tropics.

Ten years after making the journey, my friend, Mr Baron, in travelling across the island towards the north-west coast, but about a hundred and twenty miles farther north, came across isolated rocks, which were quite different in composition from anything near them. Of these he said: “I could think of no agent to account for their occurrence but that of glacial action. They seemed to me to be perched blocks, as there was no hill near from which they could have fallen, nor any rock of the kind in situ.” I was interested to find that an expert in Madagascar geology like Mr Baron had come to the same conclusion as myself with regard to these granite boulders.

Early in the afternoon we arrived at Mèvatanàna, the most important place in this part of the country, with about a hundred houses; it had, however, been quite recently burnt down, but was in process of rebuilding. The houses seemed rather larger than those in Imèrina, made of round-pole framework, filled in with bàraràta stems, the roofs of rofìa-palm leaf-stalks and thatched with grass. We secured a new house, not quite finished; and as this was very like a large birdcage, besides having no doors in the three doorways, we put up the tent on one side, piled up our heavy luggage against another of the doorways, and hung a rug over the third, so as to make ourselves less of a public spectacle.

We were glad of the Sunday’s rest after our week of continuous travelling, and that we had not “to shift our moving tent” that morning, but could let beds and baggage, boxes and bottles, and pots and pans rest in peace. We had large and attentive congregations in the native church morning and afternoon, Mr Briggs and I taking the services. Our dwelling, although perfect as regards ventilation, was certainly not cool, and we all were suffering somewhat from the mosquito bites on the journey. We were as much stared at by the “natives” as if we had been a kind of wild animal, a wondering, if not admiring, crowd unpleasantly blocking up the one doorway left open—in fact, we formed an apparently popular exhibition, open, Sundays not excepted, for a limited period only.

We were astir very early on the Monday morning, for there was a large amount of work to be got through before we could start on our canoe voyage. We got away from the town before seven, and half-an-hour’s ride brought us down to the river, where we found six large canoes, four of which were being loaded with our luggage. When everything had been arranged, we had to pay all our men, only about ten going through with us to Mojangà; and a few others had to be engaged in addition to row the canoes and help in various ways. About nine o’clock we got away and began our four days’ voyage down the Ikòpa. It was a pleasant change from the jolting of the palanquin to the smooth gliding of the canoe. These vessels were about forty feet long; and the one in which we went was three feet six inches beam, and two feet six inches deep, and had three paddlers, besides one at the stern to steer; as we were going down with the current, more men were not necessary. Two of the palanquins with their hoods were placed in our canoe, for wife, nurse and little girls, while the little boys, in their palanquin, went in another one with Mr Street and Mr Briggs.

The shores of the river are exceedingly pretty, although there was nothing grand or striking. They are flat, but beautifully wooded, the great bàraràta grass, with its light grey feathery head of flowers, giving quite a character to the scenery. Islands are numerous, some being mere sand-banks, but many covered with trees and bush. We soon made acquaintance with the crocodiles, for there was one basking in the sunshine on a sand-bank just opposite our starting-place. We saw a good many of them during the day, although not as many as other travellers have observed, perhaps from twenty to thirty, and some of them quite near enough to be seen very distinctly. Most of them were light grey in colour, but others slaty, and others again spotted with black; they varied in length from seven or eight to fourteen or fifteen feet. The head is small, and the back and tail serrated like a great pit-saw. They were generally lying with the jaws wide open, and sometimes were near enough to be splashed by the paddles as we passed them. The heat on the river was much less than when travelling on the land, or at Mèvatanàna; a delightful breeze blew against us all day, and we enjoyed the change immensely.

The banks of the river, which was from half to three-quarters of a mile wide, were only a few feet above the water, and from them flew numbers of birds. Among these were many with which we were familiar in the interior—the pure white lesser egret, varieties of heron, purple kingfishers, wild ducks and wild geese, and many others. The Railòvy or fork-tailed shrike is one of the most widely distributed birds of the island, and is very active and an excellent singer. Perched on a dead branch, it keeps up a constant noise, its strong voice giving forth several notes, which very much resemble that of an organ. In the spots frequented by a large number of these shrikes, each one reserves to itself a hunting-ground, in which according to M. Pollen, he tolerates the presence of no other birds, even of his own kind, not excepting those stronger than himself. It is dark bluish-green in colour, with a long tail, forked at the extremity. These western woods are fairly full of singing birds, especially in the hot season, which was coming on at the time of our journey. Among these are three species of fly-catcher, one of which is called the “changeable,” from the remarkable changes of colour it undergoes according to its age and sex. The female bird is entirely of reddish-brown, except the cap and nape, which are dark green. The young male has during the first month the same livery as the female, but its plumage soon changes to a beautiful maroon red; then very soon the two middle tail feathers become greatly lengthened, the quills being black with a white fringe; the wing coverts become partly black and partly white; and the feathers of the head change to dark green, with brilliant metallic reflections. At the breeding-time the back and throat take the same tints as the head, and the belly and breast become white.

We stopped for lunch at a low rising ground, a few feet above the water, at a grove of Madìro or tamarind-trees, and under one of these we spread our meal. It was a magnificent tree, shapely and rounded in outline like a great oak or chestnut, the branches spreading over a circle of a hundred feet in diameter and touching the ground. The foliage was then rather thin, the leaves being minute, like those of a mimosa, and the ground was strewed with them, as well as with the pods of the fruit. Most of these were dry and worthless, but we got many fresh enough to eat, and their acid dark red pulp was very refreshing. Mr Baron believes the tamarind-tree to be truly indigenous to Madagascar, but only in the western region, which he thinks forms its original home. The seeds were, and probably still are, employed in the sikìdy, or divination; and a decoction from the leaves as a medicine.

About an hour after leaving our stopping-place we came to the junction with the Bétsibòka, the latter being strongly coloured with red clay from North Imèrina. What impressed us most this afternoon was the total absence of population on the banks of this large river, and it appeared strange that immense tracts of such apparently fertile country should be uninhabited; it was different from the crowded villages along the Màtitànana and Mànanàra and other rivers in South-east Madagascar. In the afternoon the beautiful fan-palm became very plentiful, growing in extensive groves and mingled with the other trees. Stopping for the night by a sand-bank, we made the canoe fast to a stake and proceeded to put up the tents. Although dry and pleasant for a floor, the sand had the disadvantage of giving bad holding-ground for the tent-pegs, and, had not the fresh breeze died away at sunset, a very slight gust would have brought down the whole concern over our heads.

We might congratulate ourselves in not coming across, in short rambles among the trees, a tree which caused no small discomfort to some of our missionary friends in this very locality. Mr Montgomery thus describes his experiences. He says:

Mr Baron says that the agy is Mucuna axillaris; it is not, however, “a tree,” but a climbing plant, and had grown over the tree under which Mr Montgomery happened to pass. He had himself a similar experience on his way to Mojangà, and the sensation “reminded him of the sting of a nettle, but was ten times more virulent.”

Our second day’s canoe voyage brought us into a part of the river, with many windings among park-like glades of trees. Then the lovely fan-palms became very numerous; at times we passed closer to the banks, a tangled mass of bàraràta bending down into the river, and the tall grey columns of the palms standing up sometimes from the very edge of the water, with their graceful crown of green fans sharply defined against the blue of the sky. Everything seemed to be steeped in light and heat. Surely of all the millions of beautiful things in this beautiful world, palms are among the most lovely, and the fan-palm not least among this glorious family of trees. It was a perpetual delight to the eye to watch them as we swept rapidly by the banks with the strong current, as one by one they passed by as in a panorama. But for mosquitoes, certainly parts of the tropics are earthly Edens. These palms are called Sàtranabé, and are much used by the western peoples in building their huts. A smaller species, called Sàtramira, is also employed in manufacturing mats and baskets. Both are species of Hyphæne.

But beautiful objects were not the only ones prominent in this journey, and the presence of the scaly reptiles we saw every few minutes was not altogether in harmony with the graceful palms. They seemed, indeed, to be somewhat out of place, “survivals,” as indeed they are, of an earlier age of the world when gigantic saurians—creeping, walking, swimming and flying—were the ruling existences, in a world of slime and mud and ooze, and not in accord with these beautiful trees, which seem as if they should rather be associated with bright-coloured birds and insects than with these crawling saw-backed monsters. Beautiful birds were not wanting, however, in the scene, for we came across a flight of lovely little sun-birds, with bright metallic plumage, which glittered in the sunshine.

Birds are not the only flying creatures to be seen in this western region; although I was not so fortunate as to see them, Mr Grainge, in travelling down this river in the preceding year speaks of seeing great numbers of fruit-bats (Pteropus edwardsii). Their flight is slow, and broken at each moment by strokes of the wings; and those he saw flew so straight and steadily that he took them at first, in the doubtful evening light, for benighted crows. He also remarks that they were always flying in a direct line from the setting sun. One that he shot measured more than four feet across the wings. M. Pollen says that they may be seen sometimes in broad daylight, flying from one forest to another, when one might take them for crows. He also remarks: “I have observed these animals fly like swallows over a lake, just skimming the surface of the water with their wings. They choose isolated places, especially the little wooded islands at some distance from the coast.”

Madagascar is the home of one or two other species of fruit-bat, two species of the horseshoe-bats (Rhinolo-phidæ), seven species of the Vespertilionidæ or true bats, and three species of the Emballonuridæ or thick-legged bats; no doubt there are still many species undescribed, and until much more minute investigation is made of the fauna of the island, the crepuscular and nocturnal habits of these animals will always make it difficult to learn much about their peculiarities.

The morning’s voyage brought us in several places along low sections of stratified sandstone rock, looking like ruined walls, some courses being deeply honeycombed by the action of the water, while others, of harder material, were smooth, like newly laid masonry. It was clear that we had left behind us, in the upper highland, the crystalline rocks, the granites and gneisses and the like, and were in a region of Secondary strata, like the oolites of our own country. Subsequent examination by many observers has confirmed this fact, and shown that an extensive series of Jurassic and Cretaceous rocks occupies a great portion of the western low land, from north to south of the island. These plains must have formerly been a portion of a wider Mozambique Channel than now exists to separate Madagascar from Africa.

In certain shales which occur among the Secondary strata of the western plains, Belemnites are so numerous that the Sàkalàva used them as rifle balls; while many species of ammonites are formed, some being a foot in diameter.

As we proceeded, the country became more hilly and with more extensive woods; but as for population, not a soul did we see, except two women at one spot, and again we asked, where are the people? And here a few words may be said about the inhabitants of this part of the country. Along about two-thirds of the western side of Madagascar, the people are loosely called Sàkalàva; but every district has its people with its own tribal name, for “Sàkalàva” was originally the name of one particular tribe, which, through European or Arab admixture and the possession of fire-arms, conquered the other tribes and founded two kingdoms, Ibòina to the north, and Mènabé to the south. These Sàkalàva kingdoms were the dominant ones in the island until the beginning of the nineteenth century, when the Hovas gradually obtained the leadership. Physically, these people are taller and stronger than the Hovas, are darker in colour, less civilised, and have an African strain in them, from their proximity to the continent. Still, they are not of African stock, but are no doubt, Melanesian in origin. Their language presents a good deal of difference from the Hova form of Malagasy, both in vocabulary and in pronunciation, yet the groundwork and the grammar is essentially the same. They are more nomadic in habit than the Hovas, breaking up their villages at the death of any of its inhabitants, and not cultivating rice like most Malagasy tribes, but subsisting largely on manioc root, bananas, fish and vegetables.

We stopped to lunch under a fine adàbo-tree; all along the main branches of this tree, the small fig-like fruits were clustered by hundreds, most of them being ripe and scarlet in colour. During an afternoon’s voyage the river became narrower, but with a deep and strong current. We lost the fan-palms, but passed for some miles along a beautifully wooded portion of country, with fine large trees, like those in an English park, and growing close to the water’s edge. One of these beautiful trees, however, has a very vile odour when cut up for timber, so that although the wood is good for carpentry, when new it is in the highest degree offensive. It is called Komàngo, and the people say that its smell, as a tree, is so strong that birds settling on its branches die immediately. A high price is given for chips or twigs of the tree, to be used as charms, for few are daring enough to cut it down.