Twelve months in Madagascar

by Joseph Mullens

Embarking once more in our canoes, we made steady progress down the river. At five o’clock we came to a fine bend in the river, under a wooded ridge; and turning the boats’ noses in shore we disturbed a “happy family” of twelve crocodiles, who had retired to rest for the night; and took possession of the sand-bank from which they were dislodged. Again we pitched our tents upon the upper terrace, made large fires, and slept well.

We had now reached the ridge, the bearings of which we had taken from Mevatanána. It was very broad, and the river wound its way through, having high banks on either side. These banks were covered with dark thick woods. The air was warm; the vegetation luxuriant. Here and there we passed long gardens of plantains, the plantations of the Sakalavas. The palms were full grown and had broad leafy fronds. We saw too abundance of birds. Wild ducks rose in flocks as we passed on: the flamingo, with his pale purple legs, rose over our heads: the heron was disturbed, while fishing in the stream: white storks were numerous: there were a few wild pigeons: and one little humming-bird kept flitting in and out of the jungle, curious yet afraid.

Early to-day we met the tides, some fifty miles from the sea. The marks on the banks did not indicate a high rise of the water, probably from the fact that the land itself has not yet reached the sea level. During the afternoon we pulled steadily along a fine reach of the river for several miles: its direction was nearly north: and some fine hills were in sight, under one of which, with a double head, was the town of Mahabo. At sunset we passed along the east side of a large island; wood and jungle were rich; the mud banks were evidently fertile: the mangrove was thick with its matted roots: and again we saw vast quantities of the Via, the great Arum lily, which we had admired so much on the east coast a year ago. At the north end of this reach we turned eastward into a narrow stream for five miles, and at eight o’clock, were landed in the mud at the important town of Marovoay.

Marovoay contains five thousand people and consists of two towns, the Hova settlement and stockade on the hill, and the trading town on the river bank. The latter is extremely dirty: it is full of hides and offal, sweltering in the burning sun; and is reputed to be extremely unhealthy. How can it be otherwise? A large number of Hindu merchants reside in the town; who responded heartily to salutations in Hindustani, and were greatly surprised and interested to meet an old Calcutta-walla in this out-of-the-way corner of the world. We observed with regret the large number of pure Africans in the town, many of them quite young. The Hova houses within the stockade are large and numerous; the chapel is a spacious building, and near the chapel and the gate of the stockade are two noble tamarind trees.

The governor is a most intelligent man and evidently has the interest of his people thoroughly at heart. He and his wife were extremely thoughtful and kind. In the morning, before we went round the town, he and his officers and their families, came in force, with the earnest request that we would stay over the Sunday at Marovoay and help them. They pleaded eloquently also that they might have an English Missionary for themselves. It was hard to refuse. Their arguments were ingenious: they parried objections most skilfully and turned them against ourselves. But we were pledged to the people of Mojangá. For our own purpose, as well as to keep faith with the native churches, it was necessary that we should spend our last Sabbath in the island with them. And so, though with deep reluctance, we were compelled to go forward. Mr. Jukes promised, that if it were practicable, he would spend a Sunday with them, on his return. Paying off our canoes, we secured two boats, fit to cross Bémbatóka Bay, in which strong winds and high seas are often met with. At three o’clock, the kind governor and all his people escorted us in procession to the river side, with drums beating, fifes playing, banners flying. We embarked in our little vessels, in presence of the entire town: and hoisting sail, and giving the governor three cheers, we started on our way.

Our dhows were no great things for a sea voyage. They were open boats: thirty feet long, eight feet broad and six feet deep. We stowed our larger baggage and several men in one, and placed our personal effects and ourselves, with some ten men, in the other. There was a quarter deck aft, seven feet by eight. Altogether our space was limited. The sails were of the usual Eastern type, the lateen sails of Malta and the Levant. We managed to boil a kettle and get some tea, while going out of our little river and sailing along the still waters of the Betsiboka; but it was an amusing affair. Then it grew dark and we settled down for the night. Mrs. Pillans buried herself in rugs in the hold, on the top of the baggage. Mr. Jukes, my colleague and myself occupied the quarter-deck in parallel lines, which like those of longitude, converged on the helmsman at our feet. A mattress beneath us softened the boards and plenty of plaids and rugs kept us warm: while, like the Egyptians of old and the Samoans of modern days, we made a pillow of the quarter-deck rail, which had but little down in its composition. The night was lovely: the stars shone brightly and clear. Ere long the wind freshened, though it kept very steady; and the boats flew along the water. Our course was for a while north-west: then due west, which we kept for at least five hours. After a time we slept for very weariness: and at the end of ten hours, were run ashore high and dry, under Mr. Laing’s windows at Mojangá, under a brilliant moon, at three o’clock in the morning.

Our little trip was a truly pleasant one, though we were exceedingly fatigued all the next day. We could not but feel grateful and happy that we had suffered no delay from contrary winds or a rough sea. We were able too, in God’s good providence, to fulfil our purpose of spending a Sunday with our Christian friends and to enjoy that intercourse with them which would make us acquainted with their condition and wants. Our arrival gave them great satisfaction, and they showed every kindness both to ourselves and our men. Pleasant quarters were kindly offered to us in the house of Messrs. Porter, Muir and Laing; by Mr. Angravink, the gentleman in charge of their agency. Our men however were not particularly gratified with the airy houses of the Sákalávas.

The town of Mojangá stands on a long tongue of land, on the north and east side of a vast inlet, called Bembatóka Bay. It is in lat. 15° 42′ 54″ S. and long. 44° 20′ E. The bay is from seventeen to twenty miles deep. It is eight miles across from north to south: and the entrance from the sea is three and a half miles wide. The river Betsiboka enters the bay by two channels on its south-east and east sides, a large island coming in between: and so great is the force with which it has scored out the bay, that near the western entrance, the water is sixty-three fathoms deep. In the centre of the bay a long promontory projects from the northern shore. On this were once situated the town of Bembatoka and the village of Ambátolámpy. Ruins of these places may still be seen: otherwise they have disappeared, and at the present day they are represented by Mojangá, which lies much nearer to the sea, on the north shore of the outer bay. The entrance of this outer bay is guarded by two promontories; that on the south is named Katsépa: that on the north is Amorombáto. These points of land are parts of a long limestone ridge, which here forms the sea-coast of the island. This ridge is capped with the usual red clay: on the Katsepa point it showed itself as two white bands beneath the clay, each about ten feet thick. It runs half a day’s journey, about twelve miles, inland toward the north-east. The district south of the Bay is termed Ambongo: that to the north, in which Mojangá is situated, is called Ibóina. The latter includes all the Hova towns as far as Mevatanána, and the district to the foot of the Namakia ridge. Like other important places of trade Mojangá consists in reality of two separate towns, and has done so for many generations. This fact, so simple and patent to a visitor on the spot, has introduced a curious confusion into descriptions of its history; its one name appearing under two perfectly different forms of spelling. The upper town is on the ridge, and is the stockaded residence of the Hova garrison. The lower town is the trading town, built on the inner side of the promontory and on the north shore of the outer bay. The two places are joined by a broad road running straight up the slope of the hill.

The upper town is laid out with great regularity. It includes the house of the Governor, now old, with thick walls and in need of considerable repair. It has numerous houses of large size for the garrison: and in it are the garrison church and the house in which the Sákalávas have deposited relics of some former king, whom they greatly honour. The palisade of the Hova town is surrounded by a ditch and a platform, and is defended by a number of old English navy guns, 12- and 9-pounders. Below and around the Hova town, the hill is covered richly with wood. Indeed there is quite a forest of tamarind, mango, palm and cocoanut trees, many of which are noble specimens of their class. The talipot-palms also were strong and massive. And there were ten or twelve specimens of the baobab, called in Malagasy, the Botona. Of the great baobab I obtained a good photograph: the tree is over sixty feet high: and the trunk near the ground is forty feet in girth.

The lower town extends half a mile along the shore: in the central parts it is five rows of houses deep: at the east end these are thinner. These houses are very light and frail: they have a wooden frame: but the panels are filled in with palmetto leaves, which form a pretty pattern: they are thatched with larger leaves of the cocoanut and palm. They are of course very inflammable and one does not wonder to hear that the town is burnt down nearly once a year. At the west end of the town on a spit of sand in the market, with a vast collection of bullocks’ skulls, bones and remnants: the smell of which was dreadful.