The children of Madagascar / by Herbert F. Standing.

  • Herbert Standing
Date:
1887
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: The children of Madagascar / by Herbert F. Standing. Source: Wellcome Collection.

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    laugh if you could understand what they were singing about. Very likely it is about you and the money you are going to give them to buy beef with on getting in this evening. A little before nightfall we reach a native village, and our bearers, having set us down at the door of one of the best houses they can find in the place, hurry off to buy rice and cook their evening meal. And while our cook is preparing our sakafo (the word used for any meal in Malagasy), we will step out of doors in the cool evening air and stroll along to the end of the village. Here our ear is saluted with a chorus of deafening sounds in which we can distinguish the shrill treble of multitudes of cricket-like insects, and the bass accom- paniment of hundreds of frogs who are croaking out their delight in the cool, damp vegetation of the neighbouring swamps; while to and fro among the thick bushwood around us flit myriads of tiny fairy lamps—the fireflies, or «red-mouthed spirits,' as the natives call them ; and far above our heads, in the deep clear blue of the tropical night, gleam those other glorious lamps—the stars, which shine out with a lustre unknown in our hazy English atmosphere. After two days our route turns suddenly inland, and for many miles we pass over bare undulating hills covered with coarse grass. Often in the valleys grow clumps and groves of the graceful rofia-palm, from whose immense fern-like leaves a tough fibre is obtained. This the native women weave into a rough kind of cloth, of which many of the shirts worn by our bearers are made. Here too may be seen the beautiful traveller's tree, from which we may obtain a copious draught of cool, sweet water by piercing it with a spear or knife at the base of its fan-like leaves. At length we reach the summit of a high hill, whence our men tell us we shall get the last glimpse of the sea, now lying a faint streak of blue far away on the horizon. This spot is called ' The weeping- place of the Hovas,' because in former days, when gangs of Hovas were frequently taken down to the coast and sold into captivity, it