I could not help noticing the strange articles of food exposed for sale in the little market of the Bétsimisàraka quarter. Great heaps of brown locusts seemed anything but inviting, nor were the numbers of minute fresh-water shrimps much more tempting in appearance. With these, however, were plentiful supplies of manioc root, rice of several kinds, potatoes and many other vegetables, the brilliant scarlet pods of different spices, and many varieties of fruit—pine-apples, bananas, melons, peaches, citrons and oranges. Beef was cheap as well as good, and there was a lean kind of mutton, but it was much like goat-flesh. Great quantities of poultry are reared in the interior and are brought down to the coast for sale to the ships trading at the ports.
NATIVE HOUSES
The houses of the Malagasy officials and the principal foreign traders were substantially built of wooden framework, with walls and floors of planking and thatched with the large leaves of the traveller’s tree. No stone can be procured near Tamatave, nor can bricks be made there, as the soil is almost entirely sand; the town itself is indeed built on a peninsula, a sand-bank thrown up by the sea, under the shelter of the coral reefs which form the harbour. The house where I was staying consisted of a single long room, with the roof open to the ridge; a small sleeping apartment was formed at one corner by a partition of rofìa cloth. There was no window, but light and air were admitted by large doors, which were always open during the day. A few folds of Manchester cottons, to serve as mattress, and a roll of the same for a pillow, laid on Mr Procter’s counter, formed a luxurious bed after the discomforts of a bullock vessel. All around us, in the native houses, singing and rude music, with drumming and clapping of hands, were kept up far into the night; and these sounds, as well as the regular beating of the waves all round the harbour, and the excitement of the new and strange scenes of the past day, kept me from sleep until the small hours of the morning.
The following day I went to make a visit to the Governor of Tamatave, as a new arrival in the country. My host accompanied me, as I was of course quite unable to talk Malagasy. As this was a visit of ceremony, it was not considered proper to walk, so we went by the usual conveyance of the country, the filanjàna. This word means anything by which articles or persons are carried on the shoulder, and is usually translated “palanquin,” but the filanjàna is a very different thing from the little portable room which is used in India. In our case it was a large easy-chair, attached to two poles, and carried by four stout men, or màromìta, as they are called. They carried us at a quick trot; but this novel experience struck me—I can hardly now understand why—as irresistibly ludicrous, and I could not restrain my laughter at the comical figure—as it then seemed to me—that we presented, especially when I thought of the sensation we should make in the streets of an English town.
The motion was not unpleasant, as the men keep step together. Every few minutes they change the poles from one shoulder to the other, lifting them over their heads without any slackening of speed.
THE GOVERNOR
A few minutes brought us to the fort, at the southern end of the town; this was a circular structure of stone, with walls about twenty feet high, which were pierced with openings for about a dozen cannon. We had to wait for a few minutes until the Governor was informed of our arrival, and thus had time to think of the scene this fort presented not twenty years before that time, when the heads of many English and French sailors were fixed on poles around the fort. These ghastly objects were relics of those who were killed in an attack made upon Tamatave in 1845, by a combined English and French force, to redress some grievances of the foreign traders. But we need not be too hard on the Malagasy when we remember that, not a hundred years before that time, we in England followed the same delectable custom, and adorned Temple Bar and other places with the heads of traitors.
Presently we were informed that the Governor was ready to receive us. Passing through the low covered way cut through the wall, we came into the open interior space of the fort. The Governor’s house, a long low wooden structure, was opposite to us; while, on the right, he was seated under the shade of a large tree, with a number of his officers and attendants squatting around him. They were mostly dressed in a mixture of European and native costume—viz. a shirt and trousers, over which were thrown the folds of the native làmba, an oblong piece of calico or print, wrapped round the body, with one end thrown over the left shoulder. Neat straw hats of native manufacture completed their costume. The Governor, whose name was Andrìamandròso, was dressed in English fashion, with black silk “top hat” and worked-wool slippers. He had a very European-looking face, dark olive complexion, and was an andrìana—that is, one of a clan or tribe of the native nobility. He did not speak English, but through Mr Procter we exchanged a few compliments and inquiries. I assured him of the interest the people of England took in Madagascar, and their wish to see the country advancing. Presently wine was brought, and after drinking to the Governor’s health we took our leave. The Hova government maintained, until the French conquest, a garrison of from two to three hundred men at Tamatave. These troops had their quarters close to the fort, in a number of houses placed in rows and enclosed in a large square or ròva, formed of strong wooden palisades, with gateways.
A ROUGH AND READY CANTEEN