Twelve months in Madagascar

by Joseph Mullens

It was with difficulty we got our men together the next day, to resume our journey. There was a reason for it in their own minds: but the silly fellows would not tell it out, or offer to us those explanations which they had gained from private talk with the householders around them. In the face of the vexation caused by their dogged resistance we went on to Ambóhitsára, “the beautiful place,” the dirtiest village we had yet visited, a stage lower in the material and social scale than Ambohizánaháry. It stands on the edge of a swampy plain: the soil is spongy; the houses squalid; the chapel was a little reed house, the play-room of the village children: there was mist all round; and rain began to fall. Altogether there was an accumulation of “creditable circumstances,” rare in these Madagascar journeys, sufficient to test one’s good spirits and the power of looking on the bright side of things.

The good people offered us rather a damp welcome: and it was evident that in general intelligence they were somewhat behind the age. The elder who was their spokesman, after inquiring about the health of the Queen, and the officers in the Capital; and gradually localising his interest in the health of the Governor at Ambátondrazáka, and the Lieut.-Governor at Ampárafáravóla, concluded by asking how the gun was, which guards the stockade of the latter town. This gun is a little thing on large wheels, a one-pounder, cast by M. Laborde in former days in the factory at Mantasoa. The Malagasy are still in that early stage of social intelligence, which believes strongly in guns, and rather overlooks the importance of having brave hearts to manage them. In former days, in these formal interviews with strangers or with Government officers, the people frequently inquired after the guns. This was the only occasion, however, on which the inquiry was addressed to ourselves. I am afraid that the general depression seriously interfered with the reply of our friend Mr. Sibree. The dignity and fulness, with which he usually dwelt upon the affairs of the kingdom and the health of the authorities, and the flowery elegance with which he would describe the purpose of our visit, entirely failed him here. His reply was brief and guarded; and the gun he passed over in total silence.

We were anxious to cross the Alaotra lake this afternoon, so as to reach Ambátondrazáka to-morrow evening and hold a service with the people. We inquired therefore eagerly after the canoes which were necessary. There was an evident reluctance about the people, which we could not understand; but with which our bearers sided: all were anxious that we should stay for the night. However we got them together and went down to the water. Not a boat was visible: so we spent an hour on the shore, admiring the loveliness of the view before us. Meanwhile the east wind blew strong over the lake, as it usually does in the afternoon; the lumpy water, in solid waves, came tumbling in at our feet: and the conviction grew that, with shallow, cranky canoes, laden with baggage and more than fifty human lives, the passage across the lake in such a wind and sea, was utterly unsafe. The people knew the fact well: the proper time to cross is the early morning before the wind rises: but why had they not the moral courage to tell us plainly?

The mists had disappeared; the afternoon was bright; and the entire province in all its strangeness lay before us. We took a few observations, which proved to be of unusual value, and quietly settled down for the night in Ambohitsára. The chapel was a poor place to stay in; it was indeed “an airy habitation and a name.” But the tents provided sleeping quarters, and we bore the reeking atmosphere and the cold winds as we best could.

On Wednesday morning at seven we crossed the lake in smooth water. A dozen canoes had been brought for us; of which several were good boats, over thirty feet long and four feet wide, hollowed from a single tree. The morning was bright and the sail across was delightful. We landed at Ambohitsoa, just where an arm of the lake runs in to the eastern hills. And when we stood at the top of the bank, and looked around, the view was simply enchanting. The lake stretched far away to the southward, its waters of a clear, delicate blue; to the north its many arms ran in among the purple hills; the green swamp with its dense forest of tall, shapely reeds, lay to the west: the headlands were dotted with villages, each with its little church: the mountains lay behind us, crowned with dark woods: and over all was the clear azure of an unclouded sky. As we stood silently contemplating this vast and varied picture, we thought we had beheld no fairer scene in all Madagascar than the landscape at our feet.

Three miles away toward the south, and on the road home again, was the village of Márosalázana, a neat, clean place of fifty houses. Our visit had been expected, and made quite a gala day among the kind and simple people of this retired corner of the world. Some four hundred had assembled, dressed in their best. And in the centre of the village, on a raised platform, sat all the scholars ready to be examined. Their dresses and ornaments were quite a study. The Hova girls had the smooth hair and braided bands, common in Imerina. The Sihánaka women and girls had their hair in numerous plaited strands: they wore numerous chains round the neck, with coins and medals; they had also bracelets and armlets: and their dresses were chiefly of blue “Pondicherry cloth.” It was a pleasure to look on their bright, happy faces, and see the keen, inquiring looks with which they scanned our dress and faces, and noted everything we said and did. The elder of the village, a venerable and genial old man, at once came forward with the people and bade us welcome. After the usual inquiries and presents, which included some enormous sugar canes, he spoke of the object of our visit, told us of the wants of the churches and schools; and expressed on the part of all their thanks and their joy in the prospect of having Mr. Pearse to live among them.

Mr. Sibree then examined the scholars; and they seemed proud to exhibit their attainments and the efforts they had made to get on. They read from their school books and the New Testament: answered readily questions from the Catechism and sang to us several hymns. Their teacher had been diligent and faithful; and it was a pleasure specially to recognise the earnestness with which, unknown to men, he had been doing his appointed work. This was one of the most pleasant opportunities and interviews we had enjoyed with the Sihánaka people: and it proved to be the last. The impressions which it left can never be effaced.

All over the Sihánaka country we had noticed the singular manner in which the people erect memorials of the dead. They take the thin poles of the vintána tree, fix them firmly in the ground, and under the high fork of the tree they fasten a number of cattle-skulls and one or more tin boxes, baskets or mats. The latter articles were the property of the deceased: the skulls belonged to the cattle slaughtered at his decease. The relics are placed there, doubtless, according to the usual custom of the Malay tribes, best known to Englishmen from the North American Indians, under the idea that they will be useful to the deceased in the world to which he has gone. In the tombs of the nobles throughout Imerina, and especially in those of the royal family, the amount of property laid up in former days was very great. Forty years ago, on the death of one of our scholars, a young noble, his books, slate, pencils and copy books were placed with him in his tomb. Christianity, the great teacher of common sense, will soon change all that. Outside Márosalázana we found a larger group of these memorial poles than we had found anywhere else. There were twenty-four in all in six rows of four each: and we thought that the village had been named from them.

Close to Márosalázana and at the end of the ridge on which it is built, stands the old fortress and town of Ambóhitrandriana, “Prince’s town.” It occupies the end of the bluff, and overhangs the waters of the lake which guard it on three sides. Deep fosses have been cut around the top, especially on the land side, with a view to render it impregnable. Only five of the Sihánaka hills have been fortified in this way. A recognition of all the circumstances of the province and the manners of the people produced the conviction that the Sihánaka province has been colonised from the east coast, and that its inhabitants are an offshoot of the Betsimisáraka tribe. Their houses are Betsimisáraka; their dress, their ornaments, the plaits of their hair, the necklaces of their women, are all from the same quarter. As a people they stand almost entirely alone. On the south lies the province of Ankay, the only district easily accessible: but all the northern part of Ankay is uninhabited; its population are Tanála and Bezanozano, working from the south: and their villages have not yet reached the large district without inhabitants through which we ourselves had passed. Access to the province on the west, east and north is barred off by the great mountains. In the north-east is the valley of the Maningory river, the outlet of the Lake Waters. It is evident that some pioneers, ascending this valley from the sea-coast near Fenoarivo, discovered the great plain, saw the rich soil, appreciated its capabilities, and invited their friends. The largest number of villages is still in this north-eastern corner, around the head of the lake. From this point they spread southward along the level shores on its east side: they founded the town of Ambatondrazáka: and still pressing on have rounded the south end of the swamps and turned northward again along the western shore. Other colonists have passed along the northern end of the waters and the two streams have not yet met, completed the circle, and filled the land. If this view be a sound one, no better place can have been chosen for their first town, and a safe dwelling for their chief, than the lofty bluff of Ambóhitrandrian. To this day they hold constant intercourse with the coast by the valley of the Maningory. But if they be Betsimisárakas, how came they to change their name? They did so for a simple but sufficient reason, derived from their new position. The word hánaka is an old Malagasy word for “lake:” sihánaka denotes many lakes and pools of water. The colonists appropriately gave this name to their new home; and for themselves they became Antsihánaka, “Lakers,” “the Betsimisárakas of the Lakes.”

Here they remained for many generations, an isolated people; independent indeed, but ignorant, superstitious, given to charms and magic and witchcraft, and greatly addicted to drink. A hundred years ago, the great ruler of Imerina, Impoin, the man with the ambitious mind and the strong hand, cast his eyes on the territory. What he planned and partly secured, in 1823, his son Radáma completed: and though the Sihánaka resisted, he conquered the land and made it his own. The last stand of the people was made on the island of Anosizánaka under the northern hills. It was not taken without hard fighting. To get at the island, Radáma placed his cannon and people on rafts. The rain fell in torrents: the muskets and guns, were useless; and the first attack failed. Some of the soldiers fled and, according to the prevailing custom, the leader in the flight was burned. A second effort proved successful. Like other tribes, notably the Bezanozano, the Sihánaka have paid a heavy price to the conqueror. Until recent years, when they felt the power of the gospel, the Hovas were hard taskmasters. And no one is more truly conscious of the great wrongs they have done to various parts of the country, or more truly anxious to repair the injustice now, than the able Minister who is the head of the nation in the present day.