On the 25th of April, 1857, I quitted the Mauritius. Thanks to the good offices of Mr. Gonnet, the owners of the “Triton” gave me a free passage to the harbor of Tamatavé, on the coast of Madagascar, distant 480 sea-miles. Our vessel was an old worn-out brig of war, which in her youthful days formed part of the British fleet at the great victory of Trafalgar in 1805. Deeply had she fallen from her former high estate; for now, in her old age, she was used for carrying oxen during the fine season of the year from Madagascar to the Mauritius. Accommodation for passengers there was none, all the space being divided into berths for the oxen; and as to the security of our vessel, the captain gave me the consolatory assurance that she was utterly unfit to do battle with any thing approaching to a storm.
My desire to leave the Mauritius behind me was nevertheless so great that nothing could dissuade me from going. I commended myself to Heaven, embarked with a light heart, and had no reason to repent my boldness. If the ship was bad, her captain, Mr. Benier, was a remarkably good one. Though not of high birth, for he was half Creole in color, he behaved with a courtesy and consideration which would have done honor to the most cultivated man. He at once gave up his cabin to me—the only place in the ship not monopolized by preparations for the four-footed passengers—and did all in his power to make the voyage as agreeable to me as possible. For the first three days our passage was rather a quick one. The wind was in our favor, blowing from the east, as it always does in these seas from April to the end of October. A quick-sailing ship would have made the voyage in three days; but not so our old war-craft, wending painfully on her way. We were still far distant from our goal, and, to our dismay, a strong contrary wind arose in the night between the third and fourth day of our voyage. Notwithstanding the consoling verdict of the captain with regard to the safety of the ship, I sat expectant every minute of some catastrophe. But the night and the following day passed away without accident, though the wind, still contrary, compelled us to cast anchor toward evening off the island of “Prunes.” On the fifth day we came to Tamatavé, but could not run in there; at length, on the sixth day, we came to anchor in the harbor.
Violent falls of rain, frequently of long duration, had contributed their share in rendering the voyage irksome; I had no books with me, and the good captain’s library consisted of a cookery-book and an English and French dictionary. But such minor inconveniences are easily forgotten, particularly when a long-sought goal is in view, as was now the case with me. The land I had ardently wished, during many years, to visit, now lay before my eyes.
I wished to quit the ship at once; but it appears that, in spite of her contempt for civilization and her dislike of European institutions, Queen Ranavola has adopted the two among them most obnoxious to travelers—police and custom-house. Just as though I had been in France or any other European country, I was compelled to wait till the inspecting officers had come on board, and looked very carefully at the ship and at me. As I had the queen’s royal permission to set foot in her kingdom, no farther difficulty was made, and I was free to land. Here certain custom-house employés of Madagascar at once took possession of me, and led me to the custom-house, where all my baggage was opened and searched. How they searched! not the smallest object escaped their eyes, not the tiniest paper packet was overlooked. The officials exhibited the keenness of bloodhounds, and could hold their own beside the sharpest douaniers in France or Germany. Fortunately, nothing was stolen from me; and I looked complacently on a scene that so whimsically reminded me of my own country.
At Tamatavé I was to meet Mr. Lambert, who intended not to return to the Mauritius after his visit to the eastern coast of Africa, which he had undertaken on behalf of the French government, but to proceed to Madagascar at once. Mr. Lambert had not yet arrived, but he had already told me in the Mauritius that, in the event of having to wait, I should put up at Mademoiselle Julie’s, and he would take care to inform her of his arrival.
My lady-readers will probably expect to be introduced, in the person of Mademoiselle Julie, to an unmarried European female, cast by some strange freak of fortune on this distant island. Unfortunately, I must disenchant them: Mademoiselle Julie is a true Malagasey woman, and, moreover, a widow, and the mother of several children. In Madagascar, the strange custom prevails of calling every member of the sex feminine “Mademoiselle,” even though she may have a dozen little olive-branches to show, or may have been married half a dozen times.
Mademoiselle Julie is, nevertheless, no ordinary personage, and decidedly one of the most interesting characters, not only in Tamatavé, but in the whole island. She was left a widow about eight months ago, but continued to carry on her husband’s business, and with a better result, it is rumored, than the deceased himself could attain. She is the possessor of sugar plantations and a rum distillery, and engages in commercial speculations of various kinds. Her penetration and industry would render her a remarkable woman any where; and they are the more surprising in a country like Madagascar, where the women are generally completely ignorant, and have a very low place in the social scale.
Mademoiselle Julie received part of her education in Bourbon. She speaks and writes French perfectly. Unfortunately, she has retained some of the usages, or rather ab-usages, of her native land. Her greatest delight is to lie for hours extended on the ground, resting her head on the lap of a friend or a female slave, who is engaged in clearing mademoiselle’s head of certain little occupants which shall be nameless. This agreeable occupation, by the way, forms a favorite diversion of the women of Madagascar, who pay visits to each other in order to indulge in it con amore. Mademoiselle Julie was also violently addicted to using her fingers at dinner instead of fork and spoon; but she only indulged her inclinations so far when she thought herself unobserved.
Mademoiselle Julie did not receive me in the most cordial way exactly. She surveyed me from top to toe, rose in a leisurely way, and led me to a neighboring little house, worse appointed than even the pavilions of the Mauritius. The one room contained no furniture except an empty bedstead. Mademoiselle Julie gruffly inquired where I had left my bedding. I replied that I had brought none with me, as Mr. Lambert had assured me I should find every thing necessary in her house. “I can give you none,” was her curt rejoinder; and although, as I afterward found, she had a store of bedding sufficient for the need, not of one, but of half a dozen travelers, she would have let me, old as I was, sleep on the bare bedstead. Fortunately, another woman, a Madame Jacquin, was present, who at once offered to supply me with bedding, and gave mademoiselle her opinion of her conduct in some rather strong expressions. Very grateful was I to good Madame Jacquin for her friendly offer, but for which I should have had to make shift as best I could till the arrival of Mr. Lambert with my cloak, and a pillow which I usually carry with me.
All other comforts were, of course, out of the question, and I had to provide every thing I wanted for myself. My stay at Tamatavé lasted for some weeks, for Mr. Lambert arrived much later than he had intended.