Antongona is a noble hill of gneiss, running nearly east and west. Its name seems to recognise its resemblance to the human foot. It consist of two sections, and in the centre of the western part is a lofty mass of rocks, round which a number of houses are clustered. We climbed to the summit (570 feet above the plain); obtained important observations: and had a striking view of the country, which lay clear beneath us on every side.
On the second day we rested at Arivonimámo, the former capital of the Imamo district. It is a small decayed place, with seventy houses. It is surrounded by a deep fosse, and has on its north side a fine specimen of the Malagasy town-gate, with its round stone. In the centre of the little town are some royal tombs, shaded by five noble amóntana trees. All the principal families, once settled here, have removed to the capital and its neighbourhood: and the population is kept up by their dependents and a few aged people past work. The town stands in an open, undulating plain: but it has little population around it.
STONE GATE AT ARIVONIMAMO.
From Antongona westward the country has many beauties. The hills are bold, lofty and of fine form. The ravines are narrow; and the hills are soft and rich with groves of the tapia tree on which the silkworm lives. Ambóhitrámbo, which from the capital seems merely a noble conical hill, we found to have a long ridge behind it, like the body of the Sphinx. Ambóhimpanómpo, full of ravines and cascades on its northern face, curves round to the south and south-east, in a great ridge covered with boulders. South of Arivonimámo is a low hill, the basaltic stones of which are heavy with iron. Close to its foot, come down some of the long lava tongues that have flowed out from the lofty peaks of Ankáratra, Ambohitsámpan and Tsi-áfak-áfo, twenty miles to the south. Still westward, Iváhanámbo and Tsitákondáza, twin hills of great height, tower above the country. Beyond them is the noble mass of Vódivóhitra: and between it and Nánza lies one of the prettiest pieces of rural scenery in western Imerina. Journeying onward we began to approach the edge of the Imerina plateau, and were involved in ridges, that rapidly succeeded one another, with deep ravines and gullies between. Throughout the journey we crossed several small rivers, draining the north side of Ankárat, the Ombifotsy, and the Anonibe, which join the Ikopa; and others which fall into Lake Itasy and thence flow down into the western plains. All these results of our observation are carefully embodied in the Map of the district which is one product of our journey.
On the evening of Friday, the fourth day after leaving the capital, we reached the village of Miádanamanjáka. It was on a hill and well raised above the swamps. But it was a dirty place, of sixty-two houses; full of pigs and cattle; and muddy from the heavy rain which fell just before our arrival. The chapel, in which alone we could find accommodation, was very damp and had a great hole in the roof. We put up the tent however inside, spread our waterproof tent carpets, and made ourselves comfortable. Here we spent three days, looking into a variety of matters connected both with the place and with the people.
Saturday we devoted to Lake Itasy; and spent a most delightful day examining it. The ridge, upon the end of which the village stands, runs north, and at its highest point overhangs the lake, being 1630 feet above it. From the crest of this ridge we had a fine view of the entire country: and as usual we took a series of observations and photographed the lake, now lying in all its length before us. Lake Itasy is scarcely known in the geographical world except by name. Its eastern end has been visited on three or four occasions by the English Missionaries; and also by M. Grandidier. The lake possesses many points of interest. One of its most striking features is the noble mountain of Ambóhimíangára, which overhangs its north-east corner. This is one of the grandest among the many grand hills of Imerina. It is twelve miles in length; and its base is over two miles wide: it has three peaks: each of which is fifteen hundred feet above the general level of the plain. It is said to contain a great deal of iron, and has for many generations been resorted to by the people of the neighbourhood for their local implements. Other lofty hills border the lake on the west. Indeed, except on its south bank it is surrounded by hills; and on that side, the swampy level indicated that in former days and when the waters were deeper, the lake extended to a hilly mass now more than two miles from the shore. The lake is not a deep ravine with one end dammed up by rocks (like Nynee Tál), and so filled by the waters accumulated from above. It is a submerged level. At its western end it looks shallow: and the fishing showed it to be shallow: but toward the east, where strong winds produce a current, the lake is deep. Many streams flow into it from the south and east: and it has but one outlet on the north side: the stream from which goes to the west and south-west and falls into the Kitsamby. The lake is eight miles long and two miles and a half broad. It contains six small peninsulas, jutting into the water; on one of which, called Ambóniházo, “wooded hill,” is a little village, with a pretty church, embowered among the trees. The country around it is very bright and green: and under the clear sky, the lake of pale blue was a most pleasant sight. In the afternoon we descended the hill and went down to its western shore. We found there a plain a mile broad, with rice, maize and fruit growing in the fields: with the little village of Moratsiázo and a chapel. Standing on the margin of the lake, we counted nineteen boats or canoes, dotting the water near, each with a separate man, catching with rod and line the fish for which the lake is celebrated. The water is sweet, but it was very dirty. The people of the village received us hospitably: they gave us some excellent guavas; we had a most acceptable tiffin in the chapel; and we left one of our men, who proves to be a good preacher, to conduct service for them on the morrow.
The district we had reached, on the south-west corner of the lake, is called the Mandridrano, “sluggish waters.” The drainage of the district is certainly imperfect: there are long levels in the valleys, the outlets of which need artificial enlargement: to these sluggish waters (which they drink) the people attribute the fevers which abound. The population is by no means deficient. The weekly market was attended by some three hundred people. There are several flourishing villages, as Andrainarivo, Tsáravinány and Ambonilouka, within two miles: while beyond Moratsiazo, there are Ambohipólo and Ambohidráno, villages of some size with chapels: and to the west there is a large and fertile basin with a large population, to be more particularly described. The people too are by no means poor. They have plenty to eat and drink: cattle are numerous: fruit is abundant, and rice and maize are fabulously cheap. Mr. Parrett specially noticed during his visit (some years ago), that a bushel of maize, weighing 70 lbs., could be bought for threepence. Three bushels of rice cost ninepence. The market was well supplied with beef, grain and fruit. But the people are extremely ignorant; and the great among them are very consequential. They live in a secluded corner of the country: they have rarely received a visit even from intelligent men among their own nobles: and only by rumours does any thing reach them from the great outside world. It was no wonder therefore that our coming created a sensation. Three Englishmen at once and a village-full of travelled fellow-countrymen quite turned their heads. They were full of curiosity, and watched all that we said and did with keenest eyes. Our folding chairs amused them greatly. Our railway rugs and striped blankets, so thick and warm and bright coloured, appeared to them truly gorgeous. Anything so warm and comfortable as our tent they had never seen. How convenient and full of wealth our boxes. How strong our water-cans; and as to our spoons, cups and enamelled plates, our teapot and our boots, they were wonderful indeed. We had a crowd around the place the whole time.
Five years ago there was only one man west of Arívonimámo, who professed to be a Christian: and he proved to be a pretender. The old heathenism of the country was unbroken. The petty idols, the magical charms, lucky and unlucky days, were regarded with a veneration free from doubt. The sovereign of their country was looked up to, as twenty years ago a Russian peasant regarded the Czar, as God present upon earth. Except in a single case, no faithful Christians fled hither, during the days of persecution, as they fled to Vonizongo. There was no silent teaching, no quiet moulding, of public and social life, by the words and the example of martyrs, which other districts and towns enjoyed. Heathenism remained unchecked, unattacked, unconquered. But when the idols were burned all over Imerina, the superstitious regard of the great people for their Queen, naturally led them to say to their dependents and slaves, “We must pray, as the Queen prays:” and an external change was the result. With it neither the missionaries nor the public authorities had anything to do. It was the act of the people themselves. Heathenism had taught them to follow their sovereign in every thing: and external heathenism was ruined as the result. Mr. Sewell informed us that when he first visited these people, and enquired who had taught them, what did they know, and how they worshipped, he could get no replies. He gave them the best help he could find, little as it was: and it has borne good fruit. They do know something of Christianity now. It is difficult to secure good teachers for them. The district is known to be unhealthy: the people are backward in every thing: life is rough; though food is plentiful. And it is only on the missionary principle of self-denying labour for the Lord’s sake, that native preachers and their wives can be induced to settle among them. One such teacher and his wife we saw at Mahábo. And the bright face, the frank manners, and the clean, white dress, showed in a moment how superior they were in the range of their life and thought to the people among whom their lot was cast. One thing however Mr. Sewell said, had sprung from this great lack of instruction; which he observed more clearly every visit that he paid them. Knowing that others have this instruction, the longing of the people for teachers, for books, for Scriptures, has been intensified. We could see the proof of this ourselves. We had seen the same thing in other parts of the country, and were to see it again. Indeed among all the phenomena of religious life in Madagascar that have come under our own eye, this is the most prominent; that the ignorant multitudes of Malagasy are eager to learn about the Christianity, which the nation has chosen for its faith; and that they make the most attentive and docile scholars that any Christian missionary, English or native, can desire to instruct. We spent a pleasant Sunday among these people. The chapel was well filled: and a large number of very respectably dressed men and women were present. The singing was rough: and a style of bass, which faintly resembles a bombardment, seemed very popular. We often heard this bombarding bass in outlying districts. Mr. Sewell of course conducted the service: and preached the gospel simply and to most attentive listeners in connection with the story of the raising of Lazarus. He also gave away many books in answer to earnest requests. I think there are no parts of our visit to Madagascar, from which my colleague and myself learned so much, as these visits to country stations.
It was during our visit to the Mándridráno, that I received the impression, afterwards repeatedly confirmed, that one of the most beautiful things to be found in Madagascar is its grass. This grass covers many thousands of square miles. It is beautiful as it spreads abroad over the open plains, where it is short, compact and juicy; and supplies abundant nourishment to the great herds which the nobles of the land send to fatten upon what costs them nothing. It is beautiful in the sheltered valleys, where the soft, tender blades, enriched by the pearly dew and the gentle rain, are refreshing to the eye, and yield like velvet beneath the foot. It has a few wild flowers self sown among its roots: but has nothing of that profusion of colour and variety of form in its wild companions which render the flowering plants on the broad straths of Switzerland so brilliant to the eye, and such poor food to the cattle which consume them. But the grass of Madagascar is in its glory on the great hills. Burnt year after year by long sweeping fires, it springs up again with a profusion and a fulness which clasp huge rocks within its soft embrace. Here it is short but strong: there it rises in vast tufts, each of which contains many thousand blades and covers many feet of ground: and yet again it spreads over vast patches of country in thick, tall masses, which tower above men’s heads, open their tinted blades to the warm sun, and wave their myriads of golden feathers in the summer winds. And it is when we contemplate this rich but simple provision of the divine bounty, when we watch these masses of slender blades, each tuft a forest in itself, clothing with beauty what man has neglected, laying up store for man and beast, opening their golden hair to the dews by night and the warm winds by day, and joyously revelling in the life given them from above, that then we can, with Mr. Ruskin, appreciate and share the admiration and the praise given by the Psalmist to Him “who maketh the grass to grow upon the mountains.”