CHAPTER II.FIRST EXPERIENCES OF MADAGASCAR AND ITS PEOPLE.

Theeast coast of Madagascar, the first portion of the island usually seen by English and French travellers, possesses few attractions. It consists of an undulating plain, which is, in general, twenty miles broad. Along its western side the hills rise as a fine background to a very simple picture; first in long, low banks of clay, rounded and worn by streams; then in a mighty wall, covered with forest, which stretches away north and south as far as the eye can reach. Behind these noble hills, with their precipitous passes, lie the central provinces of the island, held by the ruling races, and by the largest portion of the population. These hills, and the ring of empty land which they bear upon their shoulders, are the defence of the interior tribes against foreign aggression. French colonists and adventurers of former generations tried in vain to hold forts upon the coast, and to establish a title to a permanent possession of some of its districts; but the lack of population, the constant fevers, and the consequent drain upon their own resources, rendered that hold feeble: and when at length the interior tribes had grown strong, and, under Radáma and his father, had become united under one authority, it was an easy task for them to march down tothe east coast, and sweep away all opposition to the establishment of a single government, by which all the population should be headed and controlled.

The northern districts of the east coast beyond Tamatave are thinly peopled. Within twenty miles are the towns of Tintingy, Foule Point, and Fenoarivo, all of moderate size. In the fertile bottoms, abundance of rice is grown, and the cattle are numerous around the lower hills. Coal is said to exist near the head of Antongil Bay, though its extent and its quality are not known. Beyond this point the forest comes down to the coast; and north of 17° lat. S. there exist only forests, and a few good harbours. In the forest and beyond it, even on the east coast, all through Vohimáry, the population is Sakaláva, and has been derived from the west side of the island. The line of the east coast, from St. Mary’s southward, is very straight. As a rule, for three miles and more inland, it consists of a bed of sand, thrown up from the sea by the rough surf, and by the strong south-east winds; hence the absence of harbours, the open roadsteads, and the danger and delay which occur in communicating with the shore. On the other hand, the sandy deposit has closed the mouths of the numerous streams running from the hills, has caused the accumulation of water in pleasant lakes and lagoons, and has provided means for a system of inland navigation four hundred miles long, greatly surpassing in convenience and safety the coast transit on the open sea. Some day, the existing barriers to this navigation will be removed, the schemes of Radáma will be revived, and this fine line of inland canals will be rendered complete. The outlay required cannot be very great.

The traveller who would pass from the coast of Madagascar into the interior, in order to visit the capital, should be prepared for one thing,—that the conveniences and comforts of his journey must be provided by himself. He will find on the way no hotels, no furnished rooms for resting, eating, or sleeping; he will find no beds and no chairs, no crockery, no teapot, no knives and forks, no linen, and no spoons; he can buy neither tea, nor coffee, nor milk, neither salt nor sugar, neither butter nor bread; all these things he must provide for himself, and he had better purchase them in London before he starts. My colleague and I knew these facts beforehand; my correspondence with the missionaries had long rendered me familiar with the details and experiences of their many journeys; and to be forewarned was to be forearmed. We took with us, therefore, to Madagascar strong portable beds, with their bedding complete, portable chairs, a canteen, with plates and cups of enamelled iron, and spoons and knives that would not spoil by rough usage. We carried our tea and coffee, cocoa and sugar, our milk (in tins), and butter and bread (from Tamatave). We also had with us two small tents. We lightened our camp by sending forward our heavy baggage, and the stores not needed on the journey, under the charge of separate men. So provided, we enjoyed a very interesting and pleasant journey.

We left Tamatave on Tuesday, August 19, and for two days kept southward along the coast, with the purpose of reaching Andevoranto, where the road to the capital turns off into the interior. Our three palankeens required twenty-two men, and our baggage had twenty-six. I neednot dwell at any length on our journey, for it has often been described by Mr. Ellis, by Mr. Sibree, and several of the missionaries; by Captain Oliver, and other military men. Its features have been carefully detailed, its stopping-stations are well known; and the experiences of one traveller, rough, serious, or amusing, have generally proved to be those of every other.

There is no road, properly so called, along the coast; we just followed a path, more or less broad, over the grassy glades, through patches of wood, or across the bare sand. Cocoanuts, plantains, a few palms, the fir, and the pandanus, were the usual trees,—familiar friends to me of years gone by,—but many trees were quite new. Passing through the village of Hivondro, we crossed the river, which here cuts through the sand-belt, and flows into the sea. Traversing fine, open glades, the bordering banks of which were beautifully curved, we came out upon the beach, and, for a long way, toiled over the dunes, or trode the firm, wet sand, upon which, with ceaseless roar, the long waves poured out their hissing foam. The coast was lined with the filao, a fir-tree closely resembling the casuarina, which grows well in Bengal, where it is known as the Sumatra fir. The filao is, however, native to Madagascar; its feathery hair hangs gracefully over its gnarled and knotted branches, and, with the strong winds, makes pleasant music. Fine clumps of these graceful trees continued all the way. Here and there the ferns appeared with strong fronds, and the leaves and branches of the pandanus were of great length.

A little north of Vavony, rocky hills, covered with wood, come down to the coast, and the inner lagoons are driveninto the sea. We traversed one of these lagoons in a canoe for about three miles, and met with a strange experience. The lagoon was bounded by high hills, and at the bottom the mangrove was very thick. The water was not very deep, but it was full of small water-lilies, the leaves of which, on their under side, were a crimson pink in colour. The flower also was crimson. The water at first had a brilliant red tint, but, ere long, it became deeper, and it seemed to us all as if we were sailing on a river of blood. As the lagoon ended, the colour changed to a rich red gold.

Landing once more, we travelled to the clean village of Vavony, over a piece of country, which had all the appearance of a beautiful park. It contained sloping banks crowned with fir trees. Here stood the tree fern, and there the bamboo palm: here were fine specimens of the india-rubber tree with its glossy leaves; there tall, thick badamiers with their leaves of crimson; and there the path was arched by the pandanus. From some lofty trees hung huge, black, bees’ nests: the trunks of others were adorned with the Angræcum orchids, with their long spray of twelve white flowers; and from the strongest hung enormous creepers. Everywhere, winding in and out among the trees was the open grassy glade, on which a fine herd of red cattle was grazing.

From Vavony we had a canoe, and while the baggage kept the road, for ten miles we traversed a broad, still lagoon. It was bordered with high banks, covered with trees: and with two paddles, worked by strong arms, we had a delightful row to the village of Menarána, where we slept at the end of our second day. Early the followingmorning, we reached the Church Mission Station at Andevoranto, and put up in the empty mission-house. What a treat it was to spend a quiet day! We occupied the hours profitably, in readjusting baggage and stores, on the basis of the experience we had gained during our first two days’ travel. We also had pleasant interviews with members of the two congregations in this place and neighbourhood, and heard much from them respecting their religious wants. They are at present without a missionary. In the evening we had a heavy downpour of rain.

Continuing our journey on Friday morning, we turned our face at once towards the mountains: and for four hours we travelled in canoes up the river Ihároka and one of its tributaries. The river was two hundred yards broad, and the current, in its lower portion, ran about three miles an hour. Near Andevoranto, both sides of the river have great swamps, in which we saw growing many hundreds of the noble arum lily, theAstrapcæa Wallichii, with its thick trunk and broad scolloped leaves. Farther inland we came upon a row of the plants bearing the first flowers of the season: and they were in size and beauty so splendid, that a botanist like Mr. Ellis might well speak of them with enthusiasm. Our men paddled the canoe with spirit, and like boatmen in India, enlivened and regulated their stroke with measured cries and songs. Our water trip was exceedingly pleasant; light showers fell at intervals, producing numerous rainbows; beautiful flowers were growing on the banks, and birds of coloured plumage flew around us.

After a two hours run on a straight course, we came to the roots of the first hills; the river narrowed to a widthof a hundred yards, the stream grew stronger, and became very winding. We passed several small villages, and soon left the main stream to turn into a little river, with a current of four miles an hour against us. There we cut the flowers of theAstrapæa. After a four hours’ pull in the canoe, we landed, and began our climb over the hills. The first hills were low; were beautifully rounded by water; and every hollow and valley was filled with fine specimens of the rofia palm and of the traveller’s tree. We made our first pause at Mánambonináhitra. This little town is the residence of the Lieutenant-Governor of the district, and as his brass band must live, they take the opportunity afforded by an English visitor’s arrival to do a stroke of business. The whole village turned out to welcome us, and the band played effectively and with energy, “See the conquering hero comes: sound the trumpet, beat the drums.” The incident would be remembered with feelings of satisfaction, both by my colleague and myself, if we had not learned that several other “conquering heroes” have passed through the village since our visit. Still surrounded with the rofia palm, having fronds thirty feet long and beautifully tinted with red, we continued our journey to Ránomafána, with its well-known hot springs, which we reached at sunset. Here the church table being in a dilapidated condition, I amused myself by mending it, and was caught in the act by a deputation, which arrived to offer us a welcome, and which watched with grave interest the progress of the repairs.

Around Ránomafána the country has many beauties. There is a fine amphitheatre of hills, from which here and there rise one or two lofty cones. The streams run deepand strong, over beds of quartz pebbles; the traveller’s tree grows in enormous numbers, and large patches of rich black soil appear amid the general masses of red clay.

West of Ambátoerána, and about ten miles from Ránomafána, we ascended a fine hill of bright red clay, which projects like a vast buttress into this amphitheatre of hills, and furnishes the road by which the next ridge is crossed. On reaching the summit of the pass and looking back over the undulating plain, I asked the bearers what the name of the hill was. With deep interest I heard their reply: “It is Tániakova, the weeping place of the Hovas.” I at once asked, “And where is the sea?” Without hesitation they pointed it out on the horizon, and showed us the houses of Andevoranto.

We were standing on the spot, sacred for ever to the sorrows of the Hova captives of former times, who here first caught sight of the sea, over which they were to voyage as slaves. In the wars of last century, and in the petty local contests which took place in various parts of the country, it was a constant practice to sell the prisoners taken in battle or captured in villages to the Arab merchants, who exported them as slaves. In these calamities, members of the highest families were involved as well as of the lowest. Children and young women were stolen from villages in the darkness of evening, and were never seen by their relatives again. The slaves were sold to the Mauritius, to Calcutta and Bombay, and even to the West Indies. The Arab merchants were the chief delinquents, but there were French and English also in the hateful trade. The suffering caused by it must have been overwhelming. The captives were marched from the interior in gangs, fastened to oneanother. Hova, or Betsileo, Tánála or Tankay, it mattered nothing to the cruel men whose property they had become. Their hearts must have broken long before the forest was passed. But tradition tells how the deepest sorrow broke forth afresh, as the gangs stood on this red pass, the outer boundary of the land of their people, and for the first time they beheld the “black waters,” over which they were to be carried never to return. It was Radáma who brought the wicked system to an end, when, at the suggestion of Sir Robert Farquhar, the Governor of Mauritius, he made a treaty with the English Government, by which the export trade in slaves was wholly done away. On the top of the pass there stands a pillar inscribed with the king’s name. The efforts of Sir Robert Farquhar, ably seconded by Mr. Hastie, drew from all classes of the people a warm regard towards the English nation, and gave to them an influence which others had never acquired, and which has been increasing to the present day.

Descending the ridge on its western side, we came into the valley of the Mahela River, rich with tropical vegetation. The ferns covered the slope of the hill in thousands, and were plants of the finest kind. The fronds of the harts’ tongues were a yard and a half long. The wild raspberry was common, and the men gathered capfuls of the fruit. The Mahela was thirty yards wide and four feet deep. Crossing it we climbed a lofty ridge of red clay, with a Hova guard at the top; and going down and up once and again at length reached the stopping station of Ampasimbé, where we spent a quiet Sunday.

By this time we had grown accustomed to our work, and had adopted a regular plan for our movements. Ourrule was to rise at five o’clock, get an early cup of tea, start off at half-past six, and make one good journey before eleven or twelve in the day. Resting for a couple of hours, our bearers and ourselves secured a good meal; then made another journey between one and five o’clock, and rested for the night. The villages in which we stopped were very dirty, with middens of rotting leaves, with their smoky houses, in which soot is regarded with veneration as a mark of ancestral respectability, with their countless inhabitants, and their general disorder and filth. Twice a-day we had a house assigned for our use; sometimes with the hens and geese sitting, sometimes with the dogs and chickens turned into the street, but anxious constantly to gratify their domestic feelings and return home. The sleeping accommodation was varied. Sometimes the house was clean (for Madagascar); usually it was the opposite; the first and the last of the series were the dirtiest and smokiest of all. Our portable beds were a great comfort, they were so complete and convenient; our enamelled cups and plates proved most useful. But to get up at fiveA.M.daily, and double up all your property, in order to go on pilgrimage to some new place as dirty as the last, is trying to the feelings, even when it is a serious duty.

Though wearisome, the journey proved at this time a continual treat. The ascent of these hills is over three broad terraces. After leaving Ampasimbé, all Monday and Tuesday we were crossing the numerous ridges of the first terrace, which slopes outward from a mighty wall of rock, conspicuous to the west. These ridges were often high; they followed fast upon one another, and in theravines between them were lovely bits of scenery clustering round the running streams. At last, beyond Beforona, we reached the foot of the great wall, covered with forest, the top of which towered above our heads. Turning a little north, the road made over the clay hills for a gap in the ridge, and with many a climb and many a deep descent, we found ourselves at length on the high terrace above it, the second of the series, distinguished by its forest. The scenery in this part of the journey was wonderfully beautiful. Now we passed under the long, arched alley, then came into the open glade; now we were hidden in the dense wood, then found ourselves on the edge of deep ravines. Now we crossed a river full of boulders, stepping from stone to stone, or standing in the roaring water; then took a woodland path, buried in ferns, or descended into rich and shady valleys; or, again mounting some rocky summit, enjoyed a noble prospect over hundreds of square miles. Our last day in the ’Alamazáotra forest was very trying, from its numerous and deep mud holes. We had also to cross a frail structure, meant for a bridge, over a broad and deep stream with a fine cascade. But the forest was very fine: we soon reached a clean and pleasant resting-place, Ampásimfótsy, and crossing a high broad ridge, scored by local rice valleys, early in the afternoon, we descended into the broad plain of Ankay, and reached the town of Moramanga. Here we were welcomed by Mr. Wills, one of the English Missionaries, who had been visiting his country churches. The weekly market was in the height of business; meat and clothing were the chief articles we observed exposed for sale. But the place was indescribablydirty. It had probably never been swept from the day when the market was commenced, through thirty intermediate generations, down to the present day.

The plain of Ankay is a place of peculiar interest; there is nothing like it in the island. It is a vast plain of sedimentary clay, enclosed by bordering chains of hills, which run in a direction from north to south. Ankay proper is at least one hundred and eighty miles long and, here, is about twenty miles broad. The chain along its eastern side is not lofty, it has a height of only 365 feet. It is rather like a lip to the plain below than an overhanging wall; it consists largely too of the same material as the plain itself, with gneiss rocks underlying and intermingled with it. The western chain, on the contrary, is a lofty wall of granite and gneiss, 1620 feet high; it overhangs the plain in its entire length, and passes far beyond it. It is the second of the great ridge walls, by which so much of the contour of the island is regulated. It runs the entire length of the island, as far as known, and is covered all the way with wood, which forms the second and upper line of the primeval forest. Vast buttresses of rock project into the plain from its lofty front, and deep ravines and valleys run in behind them, giving to the scenery a rich variety of outline, and of detail.

Ankay should be a level plain. It once was so. But its material is soft and friable, and water speedily washes it away. For countless ages storms, floods, waterspouts and steady rains have made havoc of its surface. It is ploughed and scored into little valleys in all directions; but the scorings all find an outlet, and pass from one to another, till they reach the central drain of all, the valley of theMangoro River. The bottom of this valley is 325 feet below the level of the plain; and the river flows (like the Jordan) in a little valley within the valley. Naturally, this great draining valley with its river runs, like its enclosing walls, a course from north to south. The Mangoro eventually makes its way through the eastern chain, descends the great hills by a series of rapids and cascades, and falls into the sea near Manahoro. It is interesting to observe that under the western hills, where floods and waters are most abundant, the plain is a hundred feet lower than on its eastern side. We shall see more of this plain hereafter, when we traverse its northern end on the way to the Sihánaka province.

The people who have occupied this plain, apparently without interruption, from the time of its first settlement, are called Bezánozáno. Their name of Tankáys only denotes that they live in Ankay. They are apparently a branch of the Betsimisáraka tribes, who have peopled the coast. They probably came from the lower plains up the valley of the Mangoro, and it is certain that they have spread along Ankay from south to north; the upper portion of the plain being to this day empty. They have been almost completely cut off from their neighbours, and have led an isolated life; till, conquered by the Hovas, and subjected to the demands of the Hova service, large numbers of the men were made bearers of Government goods, and travelled to distant parts of the Hova dominions. They have suffered much from their isolation and are still very uncivilised and ignorant. Their women have a brown complexion, with liquid eyes. They are a very simple and also a hospitable people. They were afraid of the firstEnglish Missionary they saw; but when they found he was a friend, they could not do too much for him. At the present time there are several Churches in the valley.

On Thursday morning we left Moramanga and spent the day in reaching Ambódinangávo, a village at the foot of the western chain. In three hours we came to the Mangoro; noticed with interest the depression in which it runs, and crossed it in canoes to the village of Andákana, “canoe-town.” A little to the west of the ferry stands the lofty wooded hill of Ifody. The hill belongs to the western chain, but projects some miles into Ankay, and leaves a long broad valley between that chain and itself. We crossed Ifody, ascending and descending 950 feet; and having rested a while at the village beyond, we pursued our way up the inner valley, along the river Mánambóla. The scene before us in the Angavo valley was truly grand. The valley is almost entirely shut in; the hills on the west and south are very lofty, their vast projecting buttresses are rounded with the most graceful curves, and the brushwood and the forest clothe them with indescribable loveliness. On the south-west stands the massive peak of Angávo, “the lofty,” and the road ascends to the high plains above, over the shoulder of this noble hill. We climbed it early the following day, but we descended and ascended once and again into deep ravines before the solid plain was reached; in one of these ravines, at a most lovely spot, we forded the river Mandráka, with a fine cascade just above the passage. Thence a long climb carried us to the plateau above. The total ascent from the foot of the great chain to this inner edge of the plateau was 1620 feet.

THE FORD OF THE MANDRÁKA

We were now in the province of Imerina; and the dry,chill air of the morning gave ample proof that we had ascended a considerable height above the sea. We paused for a while at the usual stopping station of Ankera-Madinika, where every traveller either sleeps or takes his midday meal. Then passing on we crossed several valleys and stony ridges; till we reached the broad open basin of Manjákandriana, and for the first time beheld a large cluster of villages, with three or four churches. Still west of them we reached the eastern foot of a noble hill, Angávokély, which towers over Imerina and is a conspicuous landmark for many miles; its height is 5925 feet. Here our barometers indicated the highest point of our route; but it was only for a moment on the crest of the ridge which runs northward from the Angávokély hill. We at once descended on the west, and after winding along the edge of the great moor, we reached the mission station of Ambátovóry, and spent some delightful hours with Mr. and Mrs. Peake. This portion of the country possesses great beauties; noble rocks, rich soft woods, green rice fields, and running streams are so blended together, so contrasted with each other as to delight the eye with richest varieties of form and colour, light and shade. The fertile bottoms, watered from a thousand fountains, yield golden harvests to the industry which tills them. But wherever they bend and turn in graceful outline, they are enfolded by long and lofty ridges, studded with enormous boulders; and they rest in the might and the majesty of the everlasting hills.

Beyond Ambátovóry the valleys began to open more widely; the ridges were lower; the population increased rapidly; and not only were villages seen on all sides, but towns of considerable size. Two of these Ambóhimaláza andAmbohitrómby, occupy a conspicuous position and have most important churches. On Saturday morning, we commenced our last journey of twelve miles. We were glad that the end was near. The bearers, as well as ourselves, were exhausted with the hard life we had led; with the long and frequent climb up hill, with the terrible mud-holes, and the bad roads. But the capital was in sight, conspicuous on its lofty hill. Five miles on this side of it two of our friends met us; then three others. Two miles from the city, on the crest of a fine rocky hill, we found the entire mission, ladies as well as gentlemen, with the members of the Friends’ Mission, gathered to do us honour and give us a warm welcome. A group of native ministers joined them; and the theological students met us a little further on. It was a splendid reception; an earnest of the hospitable treatment and the kind aid which we were to experience from them throughout the period of our stay. We finished the journey in their company. We soon climbed the lofty hill, so familiar in pictures of the city; passed near the walls of the well-known palace; crossed the plain of Andohalo; saw some of the churches, so often named in our public letters; and found a cordial welcome in the homes of two of our brethren.

The following list of the principal places we passed on the way up country, with their barometrical height, will show the manner in which the land gradually rises from the sea-coast to the central plateau.

Antanánarivo.

Looking back upon this first experience of the country and people of Madagascar, I was profoundly impressed with the emptiness of the land. And the more I have thought the matter over, and the more I have seen of the island, the more thoroughly has that first impression been confirmed. There were people, indeed, in the capital and around it; there was nothing to gainsay here, or since we had passed into Imerina. But Ankay, how thinly peopled! While from Moramanga eastward, there are almost no villages at all, except the stopping-stations, till within twenty miles of the sea. The Betsimisāraka province between the hills and the sea we saw to be very narrow in itself, and the large villages to be very few. The story of Radáma’s conquest implies the same thing; the Hova contests have been few and easy; and no places were the scene of conflict but those whose names are well known in our own day. All travellers north and south of Tamatave and Andevoránto say the same. Along the east coast as far south as Mánanzára, there are now fourteen towns, each containing one hundred houses or more. The total number of houses in these towns amount to 2,400; which should contain a population of 12,000 people. The little villages dot the country; but they do not go far inland, and their inhabitants are few. This is but natural in a countrywhere a cluster of a hundred houses is called a town. After careful consideration I doubt whether the entire population of the east coast from Diego Bay to Cape St. Mary’s, exceeds 150,000 people. And the majority of these are scattered in handfuls over the country, so that we can scarcely get at them. Our native friends in Tamatave, when pleading with us for an English missionary, showed us by facts and figures, that in the twenty congregations on the coast connecting themselves with the Christians of Imerina, there were altogether only two thousand people, and of these there are eight hundred in Tamatave.

We spent eleven days in the capital before travelling further, and found a multitude of things to interest us. I may not stop to describe them. I cannot dwell upon our first service in the Memorial Church at Ambátonakánga; on the prayer meetings held in the houses of the missionaries; on the numerous visitors, English and native, who called to see us; on our visits to various parts of the city,—the churches, the palace, the market, the places where the martyrs fell; the places where the earliest labours of the mission were carried on; or on our first sight of the schools maintained at the present time. We had often read of these things; it was now most pleasant to see them. I had often endeavoured to picture them to my mind, but I now found misapprehensions to correct, and a multitude of details to fill in. In most things the city came up to my expectations; in certain respects it fell short of them.

One thing was quite unexpected by us both. We found that the city was empty, and that the activity and stir we looked for in the capital of the country had disappeared.Two military expeditions had left the capital in June for the Sakaláva districts, below the hills on the south-west, in order to punish a series of cattle robberies which had been for some time perpetrated by the tribes in that quarter. They were headed by two of the chief officers of the government, the chief Secretary of State and his son; some four thousand five hundred soldiers had accompanied them, drawn from all parts of the country, as also a numerous body of aides-de-camp and personal followers usually resident in the city. Besides sending these expeditions against her enemies, the Queen had gone with a larger body of her people on a friendly visit to the Betsileo Province. She was accompanied by several thousand soldiers, and by a large number of the principal members of the Government, who had taken with them their children and the family servants and slaves. There were at least sixteen thousand people in the camp; some thought that there were more. The result was that the city seemed empty; the churches were empty; half the preachers were drawn off from the congregations in the province; the schoolmasters had left their schools; the best children were absent with their parents. Society was greatly disorganised. Ordinary pursuits were interrupted; artisans, workmen, labourers had disappeared; thousands of bearers were following the camp; and Imérina generally was taking holiday.

In its usual conditionAntananarivois a large place. There is no place like it in the island. Dr. Davidson, who has carefully looked into the matter, thinks that it contains a population of seventy or eighty thousand persons. My experience of Indian cities longsince led me to reckon that a compact native town, a mile square, contains about eighty thousand inhabitants. Now the dwellings of Antananarivo, carefully examined, will be found to cover that amount of space, and I think with Dr. Davidson that that is the number of the population. The city is built upon a high and prominent hill, having three elevated points. The hill is nearly two miles long, but it does not stand perfectly alone. Its eastern side is a curved line, but on the west it has two projecting hills, firmly attached by connecting ridges. Between these projections is the plain of Imáhamásina, “the place of consecration,” where at times the sovereigns of Imerina have been crowned. On the northern projection is the great suburb of Isotry, and the Zoma market-place. The northern continuation of the city-hill proper is the suburb of Faravohitra; and between these two, in the valley below, are the plain and village of Análakely. At the point where the two sides of the valley meet, and the suburban hill joins the main hill, is Ambátonakánga. Sloping upwards to the main hill is a rocky road, Ambátovináky, on the side of which is the Norwegian Church, and at the top of which is Imarivolanitra, “the town in the sky.” Passing this, the traveller comes to the open plain of Andohalo, a piece of level ground on the crest of the hill, where the laws are usually promulgated. Farther still, he reaches the highest point of the city, on which, in a most commanding position, and visible to the whole country, stands the rova or palace. At the southern end of the hill is Ambohipotsy, “white town,” so named from the white cliffs with which the suburb terminates. Viewed from the east, the whole side of this lofty hill is seen tobe studded with houses on a series of platforms or terraces cut into the hill-side. In the centre and at the south end, they are packed closely together; toward the north, on the slope of Faravohitra they are less numerous and regular. On its west side Ambohipotsy is very crowded, and the hill is not only very steep, but is covered with enormous boulders. On the slope at Andohalo the houses are also closely set; and between these two places are the steep cliffs of Ampamarínana, a hundred and fifty feet high, over which the martyrs were thrown. To me the most regular and picturesque portion of the city is the west face of the Faravohitra hill, which overhangs the valley and plain of Análakely. It is well planted with trees, amongst which the Cape lilacs are numerous. Conspicuous on the crest of the hill is the Memorial Church, while farther south is a line of neat dwelling-houses, belonging to the Friends’ Mission.

The name of the city is said by Mr. Ellis to mean “the thousand towns,” and to indicate the sense of importance attached by patriotic Malagasy to the size and beauty of their capital. But this is a mistake. Native gentlemen explain its meaning thus: When the founder of the city in its present form took possession of the hill, with a view to erect upon it the capital of his new and wider kingdom, he brought from Alasora, his previous residence, a large body of selected soldiers and colonists, whom he settled on the west side of the hill; and he called his capital “the town of the thousand.” This practice of artificially building up cities by a transferred population has been common in the East, and the Malagasy word arívo, “thousand,” is connected with it. Thus the principal town or capital ofImámo is called Arívonimámo. The capital of tha district south of the Ankárat mountains is called Arívo, though known generally by the name of Betafo. The chief town of one of the Ibára tribes is Benarivo. At the outset the town of Antananarivo was of moderate size. But as the kingdom grew, and under Impoinimerina and his son Radáma attained strength and importance, the number of officers increased, their immediate dependants multiplied, the army became more numerous, and all the trades connected with an active population naturally extended with them. Large portions of the hill, however, remained unoccupied; and it is during the last twelve years, with the new life which has been infused into the kingdom, that the open spaces have rapidly been filled. Ten years ago, Faravohitra was a bare and empty suburb; it is now being rapidly covered with houses; and large villages a mile beyond it, like Ankádifótsy and Manjákaráy, have grown populous likewise.

I need not pause here to describe the houses of the Malagasy or their habits and condition generally. We saw little of these things during the few days of our first visit; while they became familiar to us at a later period when the city was once more full, and we spent several months among its people. We now took a general view of things, and especially visited those places and buildings which are peculiarly identified with the religious history and progress of the people. Living in the midst of the English community, it was a great pleasure to make close acquaintance with our missionary brethren, in their homes as well as in their work; to hear of their plans, to join in worship with their congregations, and visit their schools.

Our intercourse with the native brethren also was very pleasant. Many of the principal pastors were absent: but others who remained manifested a sincere interest in our visit, and expressed in warm terms their affection to the Society, from whose early labours in the island they had obtained their first knowledge of Christian truth. Malagasy affection always takes a practical and hospitable form. Both at Tamatave and at the stopping-stations on our way up-country, the churches and the authorities had offered us little presents of fowls, turkeys, eggs, and rice, suitable for travellers on a journey. Here also they did the same, and in token of their union the churches joined together and made their gift substantial. The missionaries were of opinion, from the manner in which our visit was being regarded by our converts, that it would be productive of benefits of many kinds. Before we left the island, that opinion was amply justified. It was plain that great good had been done by it. In a quiet, unostentatious way it was seen that the affection of the Malagasy churches for their English friends “over the sea,” and their confidence in their help, had grown very strong; and that they were resolved to maintain an unwavering attachment to those who, in the dark days had faithfully stood by them.

CHAPTER III.VISIT TO THE BETSILEO PROVINCE.

CHAPTER III.

VISIT TO THE BETSILEO PROVINCE.

The Betsileo Province, its importance and position—The Mission recent—Journey thither—The Ankárat Mountains, their breadth and height—Encamp at the foot—The Vava Vato—Betáfo and Sírabé—The River Mania—Ambositra—Nándíhizana—Ambohinamboárina—Ikála—The Matsiatra River—Fianarantsoa—Visit of the Queen to the Province—Worship in the Camp—Examination of the Schools—The Tanála—Our Visit to Ambohimandroso and Imahazony—The Southern Terrace and hills—The Ibára Tribes—Ambóndrombé—The Iárindrano—Fianarantsoa again—Ifanjakana—Latitudes and Heights—General Conclusions concerning the Betsileo Province: its Population and Resources—Religious condition—New arrangements of the Mission for its Instruction—Return to the Capital.

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