PLEASURES AND DISCOMFORTS
It may be gathered from what has been already said that travelling in Madagascar in the old times had not a little of adventure and novelty connected with it. Provided the weather was moderately fine, there was enough of freshness and often of amusing incident to render the journey not unenjoyable, especially if travelling in a party; and even to a solitary traveller there is such a variety of scenery, and so many and beautiful forms of vegetation, to arrest the attention, that it was by no means monotonous. Of course there must be a capacity for “roughing it,” and for turning the very discomforts into sources of amusement. We must not be too much disturbed at a superabundance of fleas or mosquitoes in the houses, nor be frightened out of sleep by the scampering of rats around and occasionally even upon us. It sometimes happens, too, that a centipede or a scorpion has to be dislodged from under the mats upon which we are about to lay our mattresses, but, after all, a moderate amount of caution will prevent us taking much harm.
It must be confessed, however, that if the weather prove unfavourable the discomforts are great, and it requires a resolute effort to look at the bright side of things. To travel for several hours in the rain, with the bearers slipping about in the stiff adhesive clay—now sinking to the knees in a slough in the hollows, and then painfully toiling up the rugged ascents—with a chance of being benighted in the middle of the forest, were not enjoyable incidents in the journey. Added to this, occasionally the bearers of baggage and bedding and food would be far behind, and sometimes would not turn up at all, leaving us to go supperless, not to bed, but to do as well as we could on a dirty mat. But, after all said and done, I can look back on many journeys with great pleasure; and my wife and I have even said to each other at the end, “It has been like a prolonged picnic.” And by travelling at the proper time of the year—for we never used, if possible, to take long journeys in the rainy season—and with ordinary care in arranging the different stages, there was often no more discomfort than that inseparable from the unavoidable fatigue.
Soon after breakfast on the morning of the 3rd October the yard of Mr Procter’s house was filled with the bearers waiting to take their packages, and, as more came than were actually required, there was a good deal of noise and confusion until all the loads had been apportioned. Most of my màromìta were strong and active young men, spare and lithe of limb, and proved to possess great powers of endurance. The loads they carried were not very heavy, but it was astonishing to see with what steady patience they bore them hour after hour under a burning sun, and up and down paths in the forest, where their progress was often but a scrambling from one foothold to another. Two men would take a load of between eighty and ninety pounds, slung on a bamboo, between them; and this was the most economical way of taking goods, for, on account of the difficulty of the paths, four men found it more fatiguing to carry in one package a weight which, divided into two, could easily be borne by two sets of bearers.
MY PALANQUIN
Eight of the strongest and most active young men, accustomed to work together, were selected to carry my palanquin, and took it in two sets of four each, carrying alternately. Most of the articles of my baggage were carried by two men; but my two large flat wooden cases, containing drawing boards, paper and instruments, required four men each. All baggage was carried by the same men throughout the journey, without any relay or change, except shifting the pole from one shoulder to the other; but my palanquin, as already said, had a double set. The personal bearers, therefore, naturally travel quicker than those carrying the baggage, and we generally arrived at the halting-places an hour or more before the others came up. The hollow of the bamboos to which boxes and cases were slung served for carrying salt, spoons, and various little properties of the bearers, and sometimes small articles of European make for selling at the capital. The men were, and still are, very expert in packing and securing goods committed to their charge. Prints, calicoes and similar materials were often covered with pandanus leaves and so made impervious to the wet; and even sugar and salt were carried in the same way without damage.
As the conveyance of myself and my baggage required more than thirty men, and Mr Plant took a dozen in addition, it was some time before everything was arranged, and there was a good deal of contention as to getting the lightest and most convenient packages to carry. We had hoped to start early in the forenoon, but it was after one o’clock when we sent off the last cases and I stepped into my filanjàna to commence the novel experience of a journey in Madagascar. We formed quite a large party as we set off from Tamatave and turned southwards into the open country. The rear was brought up by a bearer of some intelligence and experience, who only carried a spear, and was to act as captain over the rest and look out accommodation for us in the villages, etc. He had also to see after the whole of the luggage, and take care that everyone had his proper load and came up to time.
THE FILANJÀNA
My filanjàna was a different kind of thing from the chair in which I had gone to visit the Governor. It was of the same description as that commonly used by Malagasy ladies—made of an oblong framework of light wood, filled in with a plaited material formed of strips of sheepskin, and carried on poles, which were the midrib of the enormous leaves of the rofìa-palm. In this I sat, legs stretched out at full length, a piece of board fixed as a rest for the back, and the whole made fairly comfortable by means of cushions and rugs. There was plenty of space for extra wraps, waterproof coat, telescope, books, etc. When ladies travel any distance in this kind of filanjàna a hood of rofìa cloth is fixed so as to draw over the head and to protect them from the sun and rain. In my case, a stout umbrella served instead, and a piece of waterproof cloth protected me fairly well from the little rain that fell on the journey. (I may add here that this was the first, and the last, journey I ever took in this kind of filanjàna.) The late Dr Mullens, who also travelled up in a similar way in 1873, said it reminded him of a picture in Punch, of a heavy swell driving himself in a very small basket carriage, and being remarked on by a street arab to his companion thus: “Hallo, Bill, here’s a cove a-driving hisself home from the wash.” My companion’s filanjàna was a much simpler contrivance than mine, and consisted merely of two light poles held together by iron bars, and with a piece of untanned hide nailed to them for a seat. It was much more conveniently carried in the forest than my larger and more cumbrous conveyance. It may be added that certainly one was sometimes danced about “like a pea in a frying-pan” in this rude machine; and it was not long before a much more comfortable style of filanjàna was adopted, with leather-covered back and arms, padded as well as the seat, and with foot-rest, and leather or cloth bags strapped to the side for carrying books and other small articles.
It was a fine warm day when we set off, the temperature not being higher than that of ordinary summer weather in England. Our course lay due south, at no great distance from the sea, the roar of whose waves we could hear distinctly all through the first stage of the journey. In proceeding from Tamatave to Antanànarìvo the road did not (and still does not, by railway) lead immediately into the interior, but follows the coast for about fifty miles southward. Upon reaching Andòvorànto, we had to leave the sea and strike westward into the heart of the island, ascending the river Ihàroka for nearly twenty miles before climbing the line of mountains which form the edge of the interior highland, and crossing the great forest.