‘Since the French have established themselves in the island, however, these turbulent tribes of the west have been almost entirely subjugated. Numerous small military expeditions, sufficiently large, however, to overcome the resistance of the incoherent tribes of Sàkalàva, have been sent on by the French in all directions—north-west, west, south-west—to occupy the country. These have had many encounters with belligerent bands of insurgents and bushrangers, who, though sometimes vastly greater in numbers, have, in nearly all cases, been obliged to yield to the superior powers of the disciplined troops, and ultimately, if not immediately, to give in their submission. Military posts have been established in a large number of important centres, and, except in a few of the more remote districts, peace and security now reigns.’[33]
CHAPTER XVI
TRIALS, TRIUMPHS, AND TERRORS
‘Surely the wrath of man shall praise Thee.’—Psalm lxxvi. 10.
Naturally the French regarded the rising against their rule as rebellion. It was very foolish of the Malagasy to rise against the French rule under the circumstances, but in the true sense of the term they were no more rebels than were the Scotch at Bannockburn, the French themselves at the siege of Orleans, or the Americans at Bunker’s Hill. They had never, as a people, given in their allegiance to the French, nor accepted their rule. They and their queen had been basely betrayed, and their fatherland sold. As a people they had had no say in the matter.
General Gallieni was sent out as governor-general to put down the rising, which, many people thought, had been purposely allowed to assume the dimensions it did, in order that the régime of M. Laroche might be discredited, and his recall made possible. The right man was chosen for the work the French government wanted done. The rising was put down by drastic means, although it took longer to stamp it out than was at first anticipated. Martial law was proclaimed all over the island. The idea was to strike terror into the hearts of the Malagasy by the severest measures. The policy was not the wisest; for although it cowed and crushed the people, it did not really conquer them; because you cannot conquer any people worth their salt by means of bombs and bullets, shooting and banishment. Such actions only send the iron deeper into their souls. Crushed, cowed, and seemingly subdued they may be, but never really conquered.
So long as you apply martial law, you can prevent the people from rising again, or from hindering you in carrying out your task successfully, and such a result may justify your measures of severity; but below, the fires are smouldering and will burst out afresh, unless other and more merciful measures are taken. A people can only be really and truly conquered, as God conquers human hearts, by love, mercy, justice, and kindly treatment. The iron was made to enter the souls of the Malagasy people, the Hova—‘the haughty Hova’—in particular; and they were a sad example of the truth of the text, ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’ Some of their tenderest and most patriotic feelings, traditions, and associations were trampled on by the expatriation of their queen, and the treatment of the tombs and ashes of their former sovereigns.
Much that was done then was most unwise, even as policy. The wisest and most politic thing to have done was to have tried every means of conciliating the people, and reconciling them to the new régime. The traditional opinion of many people in France in regard to the work of the London Missionary Society in Madagascar was that it was necessarily inimical to French influence in the island, and that its raison d’être was more political than religious in character, or, in the words of M. Le Myre de Vilers: ‘Depuis cinquante ans rien ne lui a coûté pour arriver à ses fins: l’annexion de Madagascar à l’Angleterre.’ To all who really know the Society this was a gross libel; but to many of our French friends, in whose ears it has been so repeatedly dinned, it appeared to be the truth.
General Gallieni, on his arrival in the island, appears to have believed in the truth of this tradition, a belief which was not likely to be diminished by the numerous signs he saw around him of the influence of the Society on the general community; an influence, however, which had only been gained by long years of patient and earnest toil and prayer. Taking for granted that this influence was of necessity antagonistic to the interests of the Republic, he determined to destroy it, if possible; but, in any case, to cripple it. The appropriation of the hospital (in which, though belonging to the Friends, the London Missionary Society was in part financially interested) was the first blow; then came the compulsory sale of the college and the normal school. In regard to the two latter buildings, however, it must be stated in fairness that, by way of compensation, the government promised to give on reasonable terms the freehold of the five memorial churches, as well as that of other property belonging to the Society. The sum of £4,800 was also given for the college buildings, and £1,050 for the normal school.
This attitude of the government towards the London Missionary Society opened the door to all kinds of accusations against the natives connected with our mission. In addition to the time-serving informers among the natives, who sought to ingratiate themselves with the authorities, and to gain a position by sacrificing the good name of men of altogether superior character to themselves, it is not difficult to detect the hand of the Jesuit priest. Our evangelists, pastors, teachers, in fact the whole body of our adherents, and even our school children, were supposed to entertain disloyal sentiments, and also, in many cases, to be instigators and leaders in the rebellion. Even the missionaries themselves were not spared. Absurd charges were brought against some of them of preaching rebellion, and even of supplying powder and guns to the insurgents; but it is needless to say that, in those cases where the accusers and accused could be brought face to face, these charges were seen quickly to vanish into thin air.
General Gallieni was surrounded by some of the worst advisers—both French and Malagasy—that he could possibly have had. It was little wonder, therefore, if at the first he committed serious errors of judgement, and made some most reprehensible mistakes;—for example, the shooting of the Governor of Tàmatàve upon a baseless charge trumped up against him by his malignant enemies to get rid of him.