[Illustration: WIVES OF ONE OF THE TWO HIGHEST PRINCES IN JAVA.]
TRAVELS
IN THE
EAST INDIAN ARCHIPELAGO.
BY ALBERT S. BICKMORE, M.A.,
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON,
CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE AMERICAN AND LONDON ETHNOLOGICAL SOCIETIES,
NEW YORK LYCEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY, MEMBER OF THE BOSTON SOCIETY
OF NATURAL HISTORY AND AMERICAN ORIENTAL SOCIETY, AND
PROFESSOR OF NATURAL HISTORY IN MADISON
UNIVERSITY, HAMILTON, N. Y.
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1868.
_The right of Translation is reserved._
LONDON: PRINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS, DUKE STREET, STAMFORD STREET,
AND CHARING CROSS.
TO
THE GENEROUS FRIENDS OF SCIENCE
IN
BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE,
THROUGH WHOSE LIBERALITY THE TRAVELS
HEREIN DESCRIBED WERE MADE,
THIS VOLUME
Is Respectfully Dedicated.
[Illustration: GOVERNMENT BUILDINGS AT BATAVIA.
_See page 30._]
PREFACE.
The object of my voyage to Amboina was simply to re-collect the shells
figured in Rumphius’s “Rariteit Kamer,” and the idea of writing a volume
of travels was not seriously entertained until I arrived at Batavia, and,
instead of being forbidden by the Dutch Government to proceed to the
Spice Islands, as some of my warmest friends feared, I was honored by His
Excellency, the Governor-General of “the Netherlands India,” with the
order given on page 40.
Having fully accomplished that object, I availed myself of the unexampled
facilities to travel afforded me in every part of the archipelago, and
all except the first six chapters describe the regions thus visited.
The narrative given has been taken almost entirely from my journal,
which was kept day by day with scrupulous care. Accuracy, even at
any sacrifice of elegance, has been aimed at throughout; and first
impressions are presented as modified by subsequent observation.
My sincerest thanks are herein expressed to the liberal gentlemen to
whom this volume is dedicated; to Baron Sloet van de Beele, formerly
Governor-General of the Netherlands India; to Mr. N. A. T. Arriens,
formerly Governor of the Moluccas; to Mr. J. F. R. S. van den Bosche,
formerly Governor of the West Coast of Sumatra; to the many officers of
the Netherlands Government, and to the Dutch and American merchants who
entertained me with the most cordial hospitality, and aided me in every
possible way throughout the East Indian Archipelago.
CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U. S. A., _Sept. 1, 1868_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE STRAIT OF SUNDA AND BATAVIA.
Object of the Travels described in this volume—Nearing the
coast of Java—Balmy breezes of the Eastern Isles—King Æolus’s
favorite seat—A veil of rain—First view of Malays—Entering
the Java Sea—The Malay language—Early history of Java—Marco
Polo—Hinduism in Java—History of Batavia—The roadstead
of Batavia—The city of Batavia—Houses of Europeans—Mode
of cooking—Characteristics of the Malays—Collecting
butterflies—Visit Rahden Saleh—Attacked with a fever—Receive a
letter from the Governor-General 13-41
CHAPTER II.
SAMARANG AND SURABAYA.
Sail from Batavia for the Moluccas—My companions—Mount
Slamat—The north coast of Java—Mount Prau—Temples
at Boro Bodo and Brambanan—Samarang—Mohammedan
mosque—History of Mohammedanism—Mount Japara—The
Guevo Upas, or Valley of Poison—Gresik—Novel mode of
navigating mud-flats—Surabaya—Government dock-yard and
machine-shops—Zoological gardens—History of Hinduism—The
Klings—Excursion to a sugar plantation—Roads and telegraphic
routes in Java—Malay mode of gathering rice—The kinds of
sugar-cane 42-70
CHAPTER III.
THE FLORA AND FAUNA OF THE TROPICAL EAST.
Leave Surabaya for Macassar—Madura—The Sapi—Manufacture of
salt—The Tenger Mountains—The Sandy Sea—Eruptions of Mount
Papandayang and Mount Galunggong—Java and Cuba compared—The
forests of Java—Fauna of Java—The cocoa-nut palm—The
Pandanus—The banana—Tropical fruits—The mangostin—The
rambutan—mango—duku—durian—bread-fruit—Bali—Javanese
traditions—Limit between the fauna of Asia and that of
Australia—A plateau beneath the sea—Caste and suttee practices
on Bali 71-96
CHAPTER IV.
CELEBES AND TIMUR.
History of Celebes—De Barros—Diogo de Cauto—Head-hunters of
Celebes—The harbor of Macassar—Voyages of the Bugis—Skilful
diving—Fort Rotterdam—The Societeit, or Club—A drive into
the country—The tomb of a native merchant—Tombs of ancient
princes—Sail for Kupang, in Timur—Flying-fish—The Gunong Api in
Sapi Strait—Gillibanta—Sumbawa—Eruption of Mount Tomboro—The
Eye of the Devil—Floris and Sandal-wood Island—Kupang—Fruits
on Timur—Its barrenness and the cause of it—Different
kinds of people seen at Kupang—Human sacrifice—Purchasing
shells—Geology of the vicinity of Kupang—Sail for Dilli—Village
of Dilli—Islands north of Timur—The Bandas—Monsoons in the Java
and China Seas 97-129
CHAPTER V.
AMBOINA.
Description of the island and city of Amboina—Dutch
mode of governing the natives—A pleasant home—A
living nautilus is secured—Excursion to Hitu—Hassar
steering—History of the cocoa-tree—Indian corn—Hunting
in the tropics—Butterflies—Excursion along the shores
of Hitu for shells—Mode of travelling in the Spice
Islands—The pine-apple—Covered bridges—Hitu-lama—Purchasing
specimens—History of the Spice Islands—Enormous
hermit-crabs—An exodus—Assilulu—Babirusa shells from
Buru—Great curiosities—Jewels in the brains of snakes and
wild boars—Description of the clove-tree—History of the
clove-trade—Watched by the rajah’s wives—Lariki and Wakasihu—A
storm in the height of the southeast monsoon—Variety of native
dialects—Dangerous voyage by night—An earthquake—Excursion to
Tulahu 130-176
CHAPTER VI.
THE ULIASSERS AND CERAM.
The arrival of the mail at Amboina—The Uliassers—Chewing
the betel-nut and siri—Haruku—We strike on a reef—Saparua
Island, village, and bay—Nusalaut—Strange reception—An Eastern
banquet—Examining the native schools—Different classes of
natives—Yield of cloves in the Uliassers—Nullahia, Amet,
and Abobo—Breaking of the surf on the coral reefs—Tanjong
O—Travel by night—Ceram—Elpaputi Bay and Amahai—Alfura, or
head-hunters, come down from the mountains and dance before
us—Land on the south coast of Ceram—Fiendish revels of the
natives—Return to Saparua and Amboina 177-212
CHAPTER VII.
BANDA.
Governor Arriens invites me to accompany him to Banda—The
Gunong Api—Road of the Bandas—Banda Neira and its forts—Geology
of Lontar—The Bandas and the crater in the Tenger Mountains
compared—The groves of nutmeg-trees—The canari-tree—Orang
Datang—We ascend the volcano—In imminent peril—The
crater—Perilous descent—Eruptions of Gunong Api—Earthquakes
at Neira—Great extent of the Residency of Banda—The Ki and
Arru Islands—Return to Amboina—Geology of the island of
Amboina—Trade of Amboina—The grave of Rumphius—His history 213-252
CHAPTER VIII.
BURU.
Adieu to Amboina—North coast of
Ceram—Wahai—Buru—Kayéli—Excursions to various parts of
the bay—A home in the forests—Malay cuisine—Tobacco and
maize—Flocks of parrots—Beautiful birds—History of Buru—The
religion and laws of the Alfura—Shaving the head of a young
child—A wedding-feast—Marriage laws in Mohammedan countries—A
Malay marriage—Opium, its effects and its history—Kayu-puti
oil—Gardens beneath the sea—Roban—Skinning birds—Tropical
pests—A deer-hunt—Dinding—A threatening fleet—A page of
romance—A last glance at Buru 253-297
CHAPTER IX.
TERNATE, TIDORE, AND GILOLO.
Seasons in Ceram and Buru—Bachian and Makian—Eruptions
of Ternate—Magellan—Former monopolies—The bloodhounds of
Gilolo—Migrations—A birth-mark—The Molucca Passage—Malay
pirates—They challenge the Dutch 298-322
CHAPTER X.
THE NORTHERN PENINSULA OF CELEBES.
Mount Klabat—Kema—A hunt for babirusa—A camp by the
sea—Enormous snakes—From Kema to Menado—Eruption of Mount
Kemaas—Population of the Minahassa—Thrown from a horse—The
Bantiks—A living death—History of the coffee-tree—In the jaws
of a crocodile—The bay of Menado—Lake Linu—A grove by moonlight 323-355
CHAPTER XI.
THE MINAHASSA.
The waterfall of Tinchep—A mud-well—A boiling pool—The ancient
appearance of our earth—Lake Tondano—One of the finest views
in the world—Palm-wine—Graves of the natives—Christianity and
education—Tanjong Fiasco—Gold-mines in Celebes—The island of
Buton—Macassar—A raving maniac 356-383
CHAPTER XII.
SUMATRA.
Padang—Beautiful drives—Crossing the streams—The
cleft—Crescent-shaped roofs—Distending the lobe of
the ear—Cañons—The great crater of Manindyu—Immense
amphitheatres—Ophir—Gold-mines 384-406
CHAPTER XIII.
TO THE LAND OF THE CANNIBALS.
Valley of Bondyol—Monkeys—The orang-utan—Lubu Siképing—Tigers
and buffaloes—The Valley of Rau—A Batta grave—Riding along the
edge of a precipice—Twilight and evening—Padang Sidempuan—Among
the cannibals—Descent from the Barizan—The suspension bridge of
rattan—Ornaments of gold—The camphor-tree 407-434
CHAPTER XIV.
RETURN TO PADANG.
Bay of Tapanuli—The Devil’s Dwelling—Dangerous fording—Among
the Battas—Missionaries and their brides—The feasts of
the cannibals—The pepper trade—The English appear in the
East—Struck by a heavy squall—Ayar Bangis and Natal—The king’s
birthday—Malay ideas of greatness 435-457
CHAPTER XV.
THE PADANG PLATEAU.
Thunder and lightning in the tropics—Paya Kombo and the Bua
Valley—The Bua cave—Up the valley to Suka Rajah—Ancient
capitals of Menangkabau—The reformers of Korinchi—Malay mode
of making matchlocks—A simple meal—Geological history of the
plateau—The Thirteen Confederate Towns—The flanks of the
Mérapi—Natives of the Pagi Islands—Where the basin of the
Indian Ocean begins 458-485
CHAPTER XVI.
CROSSING SUMATRA.
Bay of Bencoolen—Rat Island—Loss of Governor Raffles’s
collection—A trap for tigers—Blood-suckers—Pits for the
rhinoceros—virgin children—Plateau of the Musi—From Kopaiyong
to Kaban Agong—Natives destroyed by tigers—Sumatra’s wealth—The
Anak gadis—Troops of monkeys—From Tebing Tingi to Bunga Mas—We
come upon an elephant—Among tigers—The Pasuma people—Horseback
travel over—The land of game 486-520
CHAPTER XVII.
PALEMBANG, BANCA, AND SINGAPORE.
Mount Dempo—Rafts of cocoa-nuts—Floating down the
Limatang—Cotton—From Purgatory to Paradise—Palembang—The
Kubus—Banca—Presented with a python—The python escapes—A
struggle for life—Sail for China 521-542
APPENDIX A. Area of the principal islands, according to Baron
van Carnbée 543
” B. Population of the Netherlands India, 1865 543
” C. A table of heights of the principal mountains in
the archipelago 544
” D. Coffee sold by the government at Padang 545
” E. Trade of Java and Madura during 1864 546
” F. A list of the birds collected by the author on
the island of Buru 547
INDEX 549
[Illustration: “SAPIE” OXEN FROM MADURA.
_See page 68._]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Wives of one of the great Princes of Java (from a Photograph)
_Frontispiece_
Poultry Vender, Batavia ” _Page_ 27
Government Buildings in Batavia ” 4
Sapis, or oxen from Madura ” 11
Javanese and family ” 33
Rahden Saleh ” 37
Rahden Saleh’s Palace ” 37
Watering the streets, Java ” 49
A Tandu ” 49
A Kling 63
A Native of Beloochistan (from a Photograph) 63
Fruit-Market ” 89
The Pinang, or Betel-nut Palm (from a Drawing by Rahden Saleh) 180
After the bath (from a Photograph) 182
Musical Instruments of the Malays (Batavia) 191
Dyak, or Head-hunter of Borneo (from a Photograph) 206
Landing through the Surf on the south coast of Ceram (from a Sketch) 209
The Lontar Palm 220
Ascent of the Volcano of Banda—saved by a fern (from a Sketch) 234
A Jungle 261
A Malay Opium-smoker (from a Photograph) 281
The Gomuti Palm (from a Sketch) 370
The Bamboo 374
Approach to the Cleft near Padang 390
Women of Menangkaban 395
Scene in the interior of Sumatra 404
Driving round a dangerous Bluff 419
Suspension Bridge of rattan 428
Native of Nias 445
Natives of the Pagi Islands 482
Singapore 521
River Scene in Sumatra, on the Limatang 525
Natives of Palembang } 530
Palembang—high water }
Killing a Python 541
Map of Sumatra _To face page_ 384
Tomb of the Sultan—Palembang 546
Map of the Eastern Archipelago _at the end_
TRAVELS IN THE EAST INDIAN ARCHIPELAGO.
CHAPTER I.
THE STRAIT OF SUNDA AND BATAVIA.
On the 19th of April, 1865, I was fifty miles east of Christmas Island,
floating on the good ship “Memnon” toward the Strait of Sunda.
I was going to Batavia, to sail thence to the Spice Islands, which lie
east of Celebes, for the purpose of collecting the beautiful shells of
those seas.
I had chosen that in preference to any other part of the world, because
the first collection of shells from the East that was ever described
and figured with sufficient accuracy to be of any scientific value was
made by Rumphius, a doctor who lived many years at Amboina, the capital
of those islands. His great work, the “Rariteit Kamer,” or Chamber of
Curiosities, was published in 1705, more than sixty years before the
twelfth edition of the “Systema Naturæ” was issued by Linnæus, “the
Father of Natural History,” who referred to the figures in that work to
illustrate a part of his own writings. When Holland became a province
of France, in 1811, and it was designed to make Paris the centre of
science and literature in Europe, it is said that this collection was
taken from Leyden to that city, and afterward returned, and that during
these two transfers a large proportion of the specimens disappeared; and
that, finally, what was left of this valuable collection was scattered
through the great museum at Leyden. It was partly to restore Rumphius’s
specimens, and partly to bring into our own country such a standard
collection, that I was going to search myself for the shells figured in
the “Rariteit Kamer,” on the very points and headlands, and in the very
bays, where Rumphius’s specimens were found.
As we neared the coast of Java, cocoa-nuts and fragments of sea-washed
palms, drifting by, indicated our approach to a land very different at
least from the temperate shores we had left behind; and we could in
some degree experience Columbus’s pleasure, when he first saw the new
branch and its vermilion berries. Strange, indeed, must be this land to
which we are coming, for here we see snakes swimming on the water, and
occasionally fragments of rock drifting over the sea. New birds also
appear, now sailing singly through the sky, and now hovering in flocks
over certain places, hoping to satisfy their hungry maws on the small
fishes that follow the floating driftwood. Here it must be that the
old Dutch sailors fabled could be seen the tree—then unknown—that bore
that strange fruit, the double cocoa-nut. They always represented it as
rising up from a great depth and spreading out its uppermost leaves on
the surface of the sea. It was guarded by a bird, that was not bird but
half beast; and when a ship came near, she was always drawn irresistibly
toward this spot, and not one of her ill-fated crew ever escaped the beak
and formidable talons of this insatiable harpy.
But such wonders unfortunately fade away before the light of advancing
knowledge; and the prince of Ceylon, who is said to have given a whole
vessel laden with spice for a single specimen, could have satisfied
his heart’s fullest desire if he had only known it was not rare on the
Seychelles, north of Mauritius.
The trades soon became light and baffling. Heavy rain-squalls, with
thunder and lightning, were frequent; and three days after, as one of
these cleared away, the high mountain near Java Head appeared full a
quarter of a degree above the horizon, its black shoulders rising out of
a beautiful mantle of the ermine-white, fleecy clouds, called _cumuli_.
Although we were thirty-five miles from the shore, yet large numbers of
dragon-flies came round the ship, and I quickly improvised a net and
captured a goodly number of them.
After sunset, there was a light air off-shore, which carried us to within
a few miles of the land, and at midnight the captain called me on deck to
enjoy “the balmy breezes of the Eastern isles;” and certainly to myself,
as well as to the others, the air seemed to have the rich fragrance of
new-mown clover, but far more spicy. At that hour it was quite clear, but
at sunrise a thick haze rose up from the ocean, and this phenomenon was
repeated each morning that we were trying to enter the Strait of Sunda.
As we had arrived during the changing of the monsoons, calms were so
continuous that for six days we tried in vain to gain fifty miles. When
a breeze would take us up near the mouth of the channel, it would then
die away and let a strong current sweep us away to the east, and one time
we were carried most unpleasantly near the high, threatening crags at
Palembang Point, near Java Head. Those who have passed Sunda at this time
of the year, or Ombay Strait in the beginning of the opposite monsoon,
will readily recall the many weary hours they have passed waiting for
a favorable breeze to take them only a few miles farther on their long
voyage.
During those six days, at noon the sun poured down his hottest rays,
the thermometer ranging from 88° to 90° Fahr. in the shade, and not the
slightest air moving to afford a momentary relief. Although constantly
for a year I was almost under the equator, these six days were the most
tedious and oppressive I ever experienced.
The mountain back of Java Head seemed to be King Eolus’s favorite seat.
Clouds would come from every quarter of the heavens and gather round its
summit, while the sun was reaching the zenith; but soon after he began to
pass down the western sky, lightnings would be seen darting their forked
tongues around the mountain-crest: and then, as if the winds had broken
from the grasp of their king, thick cloud-masses would suddenly roll
down the mountain-sides, lightnings dart hither and thither, and again
and again the thunders would crash and roar enough to shake the very
firmament.
We are not alone. Six or eight vessels are also detained here—for this
Strait of Sunda is the great gate through which pass out most of the
valuable teas and costly silks of China and Japan, and these ships
are carrying cotton goods to those lands to exchange in part for such
luxuries. On the evening of the sixth day a more favorable breeze took us
slowly up the channel past a group of large rocks, where the unceasing
swell of the ocean was breaking, and making them sound in the quiet night
like the howling and snarling of some fierce monster set to guard the way
and unable to prevent his expected prey from escaping.
With the morning came a fine breeze, and, as we sailed up the strait,
several small showers passed over the mountains, parallel to the shore,
on the Java side; and once a long cloud rested its ends on two mountains,
and unfolded from its dark mass a thin veil of sparkling rain, through
which we could see quite distinctly all the outlines and the bright-green
foliage of the valley behind it. The highly-cultivated lands near the
water, and on the lower declivities of the mountains, whose tops were one
dense mass of perennial green, made the whole view most enchanting to me;
but our captain (who was a Cape Cod man) declared that the sand-hills
on the outer side of Cape Cod were vastly more charming to him. On the
shallows, near the shore, the clear sea-water took a beautiful tint of
emerald green in the bright sunlight, and here we passed long lines of
cuttle-fish bones and parts of mysterious fruits where the tides met,
that were setting in different directions.
Nearly all the islands in the strait are steep, volcanic cones, with
their bases beneath the sea; the bright-green foliage on their sides
forming an agreeable contrast with the blue ocean at their feet when the
waves roll away before a strong breeze; but when it is calm, and the
water reflects the light, as from a polished mirror, they appear like
gigantic emeralds set in a sea of silver.
As we approached Angir, where ships bound to and from China frequently
stop for fresh provisions, we saw, to our great alarm, a steamship! Was
it the pirate Shenandoah, and was our ship to be taken and burnt there,
almost at the end of our long voyage? I must confess that was what we all
feared till we came near enough to see the “Stars and Stripes” of the
loyal flag of our native land.
Here many Malays paddled off in their canoes to sell us fruit. We watch
the approach of the first boat with a peculiar, indescribable interest.
It contains two young men, who row. They are dressed in trousers and
jackets of calico, with cotton handkerchiefs tied round their heads.
This is the usual dress throughout the archipelago, except that, instead
of the trousers or over them, is worn the _sarong_, which is a piece of
cotton cloth, two yards long by a yard wide, with the two shorter sides
sewn together, so as to make a bag open at the top and bottom. The men
draw this on over the body, and gather it on the right hip; the loose
part is then twisted, and tucked under the part passing around the body,
so as to form a rude knot. There is a man in the stern, sitting with
his feet under him, steering the canoe, and at the same time helping it
onward with his paddle. He is dressed in a close-fitting red shirt? No!
He is not encumbered with any clothing except what Nature has provided
for him, save a narrow cloth about his loins, the usual working-costume
of the coolies, or poorer classes. He brings several kinds of bananas,
green cocoa-nuts, and the “pompelmus,” which is a gigantic orange, from
six to eight inches in diameter. He seems perfectly happy, and talks with
the most surprising rapidity. From an occasional word that may be half
English, we suppose, like traders in the Western world, he is speaking in
no moderate manner of the value of what he has to sell.
Mount Karang, back of Angir, now comes into view, raising its crest of
green foliage to a height of five thousand feet; a light breeze takes us
round Cape St. Nicholas, the northwest extremity of Java. It is a high
land, with sharp ridges coming down to the water, thus forming a series
of little rocky headlands, separated by small sandy bays. These, as we
sail along, come up, and open to our view with a most charming panoramic
effect. Near the shore a few Malays are seen on their _praus_, or large
boats, while others appear in groups on the beaches, around their canoes,
and only now and then do we catch glimpses of their rude houses under the
feathery leaves of the cocoa-nut palm.
We are in the Java Sea. It seems very strange after being pitched and
tossed about constantly for more than a hundred days, thus to feel our
ship glide along so steadily; and after scanning the horizon by the hour,
day after day, hoping to be able to discern one vessel, and so feel
that we had at least one companion on “the wide waste of waters,” now
to see land on every side, and small boats scattered in all directions
over the quiet sea. That night we anchored near Babi Island, on a bottom
of very soft, sticky clay, largely composed of fragments of shells and
coral. A boat came off from the shore, and, as the coxswain could speak a
little English, I took my first lesson in Malay, the common language, or
_lingua franca_, of the whole archipelago. As it was necessary, at least,
that I should be able to talk with these natives if I would live among
them, and purchase shells of them, it was my first and most imperative
task, on reaching the East, to acquire this language. The Malay spoken
at Batavia, and at all the Dutch ports and posts in the islands to
the east, differs very much from the high or pure Malay spoken in the
Menangkabau country, in the interior of Sumatra, north of Padang, whence
the Malays originally came: after passing from island to island, they
have spread over all Malaysia, that is, the great archipelago between
Asia, Australia, and New Guinea. Perhaps of all languages in the world,
the low or common Malay is the one most readily acquired. It contains no
harsh gutturals or other consonants that are difficult to pronounce. It
is soft and musical, and somewhat resembles the Italian in its liquid
sounds; and one who has learned it can never fail to be charmed by the
nice blending of vowels and consonants whenever a word is pronounced in
his presence. The only difficult thing in this language is, that words
of widely different meaning sometimes are so similar that, at first, one
may be mistaken for another. Every European in all the Netherlands India
speaks Malay. It is the only language used in addressing servants; and
all the European children born on these islands learn it from their Malay
nurses long before they are able to speak the language of their parents.
Such children generally find it difficult to make the harsh, guttural
sounds of the Dutch language, and the Malays themselves are never able to
speak it well; and, for the same reason, Dutchmen seldom speak Malay as
correctly as Englishmen and Frenchmen.
We are now off the ancient city of Bantam, and we naturally here review
the voyages of the earliest European navigators in these seas, and the
principal events in the ancient history of this rich island of Java.
The word Java, or, more correctly, “Jawa,” is the name of the people who
originally lived only in the eastern part of the island, but, in more
modern times, they have spread over the whole island, and given it their
name. The Chinese claim to have known it in ancient times, and call it
Chi-po or Cha-po, which is as near Jawa as their pronunciation of most
foreign names at the present day.
It was first made known to the Western world by that great traveller,
Marco Polo, in his description of the lands he saw or passed while on
his voyage from China to the Persian Gulf, in the latter part of the
thirteenth century. He did not see it himself, but only gathered accounts
in regard to it from others. He calls it Giaua, and says it produces
cloves and nutmegs, though we know now that they were all brought to Java
from the Spice Islands, farther to the east. In regard to gold, he says
it yielded a quantity “exceeding all calculation and belief.” This was
also probably brought from other islands, chiefly from Sumatra, Borneo,
and Celebes.
In 1493, one year after the discovery of America by Columbus, Bartholomew
Dias, a Portuguese, discovered the southern extremity of Africa, which
he called the Cape of Storms, but which his king said should be named
the Cape of Good Hope, because it gave a _good hope_ that, at last, they
had discovered a way to India by sea. Accordingly, the next year, this
king[1] sent Pedro da Covilham and Alfonso de Payva directly to the east
to settle this important question. From Genoa they came to Alexandria
in the guise of travelling merchants, thence to Cairo, and down the Red
Sea to Aden. Here they separated—Payva to search for “Prester John,” a
Christian prince, said to be reigning in Abyssinia over a people of high
cultivation; and Covilham to visit the Indies, it having been arranged
that they should meet again at Cairo or Memphis. Payva died before
reaching the principal city of Abyssinia, but Covilham had a prosperous
journey to India, where he made drawings of the cities and harbors,
especially of Goa and Calicut (Calcutta), and marked their positions on
a map given him by King John of Portugal. Thence he returned along the
coast of Persia to Cape Guardafui, and continued south to Mozambique and
“Zofala,” where he ascertained that that land joined the Cape of Good
Hope, and thus was the first man who _knew_ that it was possible to sail
from Europe to India. From Zofala he returned to Abyssinia, and sent his
diary, charts, and drawings to Genoa by some Portuguese merchants who
were trading at Memphis.
On receiving this news, King Emanuel, who had succeeded King John, sent
out, during the following year, 1495, four ships under Vasco di Gama, who
visited Natal and Mozambique; in 1498 he was at Calcutta, and in 1499
back at Lisbon.
In 1509 the Portuguese, under Sequiera, first came into the archipelago.
During the next year Alfonso Albuquerque visited Sumatra, and in 1511
took the Malay city Malacca, and established a military post from which
he sent out Antonio d’Abreu to search for the Spice Islands. On his way
eastward, D’Abreu touched at Agasai (Gresik) on Java.
In 1511 the Portuguese visited Bantam, and two years later Alvrin was
sent from Malacca with four vessels to bring away a cargo of spices from
a ship wrecked on the Java coast while on her way back from the Spice
Islands.
Ludovico Barthema was the first European who described Java from personal
observation. He remained on it fourteen days, but his descriptions
are questionable in part, for he represents parents as selling their
children, to be eaten by their purchasers, and himself as quitting the
island in haste for fear of being made a meal of.
In 1596 the Dutch, under Houtman, first arrived off Bantam, and, finding
the native king at war with the Portuguese, readily furnished him with
assistance against their rivals, on his offering to give them a place
where they could establish themselves and commence purchasing pepper,
which at that time was almost the only export.
The English, following the example of the Portuguese and the Dutch, sent
out a fleet in 1602, during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. These ships
touched at Achin, on the western end of Sumatra, and thence sailed to
Bantam.
In 1610 the Dutch built a fort at a native village called Jacatra, “the
work of victory,” but which they named Batavia. This was destroyed in
1619, and the first Dutch governor-general, Bolt, decided to rebuild
it and remove his settlement from Bantam to that place, which was
done on the 4th of March of that year. This was the foundation of the
present city of Batavia. The English, who had meantime maintained an
establishment at Bantam, withdrew in 1683.
In 1811, when Holland became subject to France, the French flag was
hoisted at Batavia, but that same year it was captured by the English. On
the 19th of August, 1816, they restored it to the Dutch, who have held it
uninterruptedly down to the present time.
In glancing at the internal history of Java, we find that, for many
centuries previous to A. D. 1250, Hinduism, that is, a mixture of
Buddhism and Brahminism, had been the prevailing religion. At that time
an attempt was made to convert the reigning prince to Mohammedanism. This
proved unsuccessful; but so soon afterward did this new religion gain a
foothold, and so rapidly did it spread, that in 1475, at the overthrow
of the great empire of Majapahit, who ruled over the whole of Java and
the eastern parts of Sumatra, a Mohammedan prince took the throne. Up to
this time the people in the western part of Java, as far east as Cheribon
(about Long. 109°), spoke a language called Sundanese, and only the
people in the remaining eastern part of the island spoke Javanese; but in
1811 nine-tenths of the whole population of Java spoke Javanese, and the
Sundanese was already confined to the mountainous parts of the south and
west, and to a small colony near Bantam.
Soon after founding Batavia, the Dutch made an alliance offensive and
defensive with the chief prince, who resided near Surakarta. Various
chiefs rebelled from time to time against his authority, and the Dutch,
in return for the assistance they rendered him, obtained the site of the
present city of Samarang; and in this way they continued to increase
their area until 1749, when the prince then reigning signed an official
deed “to abdicate for himself and for his heirs the sovereignty of
the country, conferring the same on the Dutch East India Company, and
leaving them to dispose of it, in future, to any person they might think
competent to govern it for the benefit of the company and of Java.”
Seven years before this time the empire had been nominally divided, the
hereditary prince being styled Susunan, or “object of adoration,” whose
descendants now reside at Surakarta, near Solo; and a second prince,
who was styled Sultan, and whose descendants reside at Jokyokarta. Each
receives a large annuity from the Dutch Government, and keeps a great
number of servants. Their wives are chosen from all the native beauties
in the land, and the engraving we give from a photograph represents those
of one of the highest dignitaries in full costume, but barefoot, just as
they dress themselves on festive occasions to dance before their lord and
his assembled guests.
The next day when the sea-breeze came, about one o’clock, we sailed up
through the many islands of this part of the coast of Java. They are
all very low and flat, and covered with a short, dense shrubbery, out
of which rise the tall cocoa-nut palm and the waringin or Indian fig.
This green foliage is only separated from the sea by a narrow beach of
ivory-white coral sand, which reflects the bright light of the noonday
sun until it becomes positively dazzling. Where the banks are muddy,
mangrove-trees are seen below high-water level, holding on to the soft
earth with hundreds of branching rootlets, as if trying to claim as land
what really is the dominion of the sea.
[Illustration: POULTRY VENDER.]
This dense vegetation is one of the great characteristics of these
tropical islands; and the constantly varied grouping of the palms,
mangroves, and other trees, and the irregular contour and relief of the
shores, afford an endless series of exquisite views. As we passed one of
the outer islands, its trees were quite covered with kites, gulls, and
other sea-birds.
The next evening we came to the Batavia road, a shallow bay where ships
lie at anchor partially sheltered from the sea by the many islands
scattered about its entrance. The shores of this bay form a low, muddy
morass, but high mountains appear in the distance. Through this morass
a canal has been cut. Its sides are well walled in, and extend out some
distance toward the shipping, on account of the shallowness of the water
along the shore. At the end of one of these moles, or walls, stands a
small white light-house, indicating the way of approaching the city,
which cannot be fully seen from the anchorage.
When a ship arrives from a foreign port, no one can leave her before she
is boarded by an officer from the guardship, a list of her passengers and
crew obtained, and it is ascertained that there is no sickness on board.
Having observed this regulation, we rowed up the canal to the “boom” or
tree, where an officer of the customs looks into every boat that passes.
This word “boom” came into use, as an officer informed me, when it was
the custom to let a _tree_ fall across the canal at night, in order to
prevent any boat from landing or going out to the shipping.
Here were crowds of Malay boatmen, engaged in gambling, by pitching
coins. This seemed also the headquarters of poultry-venders, who were
carrying round living fowls, ducks, and geese, whose feet had been tied
together and fastened to a stick, so that they had to hang with their
heads downward—the very ideal of cruelty.
Before we could land, we were asked several times in Dutch, French, and
English, to take a carriage, for cabmen seem to have the same persistent
habits in every corner of the earth. Meanwhile the Malay drivers kept
shouting out, “Crétur tuan! crétur tuan!” So we took a “crétur,” that is,
a low, covered, four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two miniature ponies. The
driver sits up on a seat in front, in a neat _baju_ or jacket of red or
scarlet calico, and an enormous hemispherical hat, so gilded or bronzed
as to dazzle your eyes when the sun shines.
Though these ponies are small, they go at a quick canter, and we were
rapidly whirled along between a row of shade-trees to the city gate,
almost the only part of the old walls of the city that is now standing.
The other parts were torn down by Marshal Daendals, to allow a freer
circulation of air. Then we passed through another row of shade-trees,
and over a bridge, to the office of the American consul, a graduate of
Harvard; and, as Cambridge had been my home for four years, we at once
considered ourselves as old friends.
Before I left America, Senator Sumner, as chairman of our Committee
on Foreign Relations, kindly gave me a note of warm commendation to
the representatives of foreign powers; and Mr. J. G. S. van Breda, the
secretary of the Society of Sciences in Holland, with whom I had been in
correspondence while at the Museum of Comparative Zoology in Cambridge,
gave me a kind note to Baron Sloet van de Beele, the governor-general of
the Netherlands India. I immediately addressed a note to His Excellency,
enclosing these credentials, and explaining my plan to visit the Spice
Islands for the purpose of collecting the shells figured in Rumphius’s
“Rariteit Kamer,” and expressing the hope that he would do what he could
to aid me in my humble attempts to develop more fully the natural history
of that interesting region. These papers our consul kindly forwarded,
adding a note endorsing them himself.
As the governor-general administers both the civil and military
departments of all the Dutch possessions in the East, I could not expect
an immediate reply. I therefore found a quiet place in a Dutch family,
with two other boarders who spoke English and could assist me in learning
their difficult language, and, bidding Captain Freeman and the other good
officers of the Memnon farewell, took up my abode on shore.
Batavia at present is more properly the name of a district or
“residency,” than of a city. Formerly it was compact and enclosed by
walls, but these were destroyed by Marshal Daendals, in 1811. The
foreigners then moved out and built their residences at various places in
the vicinity, and these localities still retain their old Malay names. In
this part of the city there are several fine hotels, a large opera-house,
and a club-house. There are two scientific societies, which publish many
valuable papers on the natural history, antiquities, geography, and
geology, of all parts of the Netherlands India. These societies have
valuable collections in Batavia, and at Buitenzorg there is a large
collection of minerals and geological specimens. The “King’s Plain” is
a very large open square, surrounded by rows of shade-trees and the
residences of the wealthier merchants. Near this is the “Waterloo Plain.”
On one of its sides is the largest building in Batavia, containing the
offices of the various government bureaus, and the “throne-room,” where
the governor-general receives, in the name of the king, congratulations
from the higher officials in that vicinity.
The governor-general has a palace near by, but he resides most of the
time at Buitenzorg, forty miles in the interior, where the land rises to
about a thousand feet above the level of the sea, and the climate is much
more temperate.
A river, that rises in the mountains to the south, flows through the city
and canal, and empties into the bay. Many bridges are thrown over this
river and its branches, and beautiful shade-trees are planted along its
banks.
All the houses in these Eastern lands are low, rarely more than one
story, for fear of earthquakes, which, however, occur in this part of the
island at long intervals. The walls are of bricks, or fragments of coral
rock covered with layers of plaster. The roof is of tiles, or _atap_, a
kind of thatching of palm-leaves. A common plan is, a house part parallel
to the street, and behind this and at right angles to it an L or porch,
the whole building being nearly in the form of a cross.
In front is a broad veranda, where the inmates sit in the cool evening
and receive the calls of their friends. This opens into a front parlor,
which, with a few sleeping-rooms, occupies the whole house part. The
L, when there is one, usually has only a low wall around it, and a roof
resting on pillars. It is therefore open on three sides to the air,
unless shutters are placed between the pillars. This is usually the
dining-room. Back of the house is a square, open area, enclosed on the
remaining three sides by a row of low, shed-roofed houses. Here are extra
bedrooms, servants’ quarters, cook-rooms, bath-rooms, and stables. Within
this area is usually a well, surrounded with shade-trees. The water from
this well is poured into a thick urn-shaped vessel of coral rock, and
slowly filters through into an earthen pot beneath; it is then cooled
with ice from our own New-England ponds. Thus the cold of our temperate
zone is made to allay the heat of the tropics. Several shiploads of ice
come from Boston to this port every year. At Surabaya and Singapore large
quantities are manufactured, but it is as soft as ice in ice-cream. When
one is accustomed to drinking ice-water, there is no danger of any ill
effect; but, on returning from the eastern part of the archipelago where
they never have ice, to Surabaya, I suffered severely for a time, and,
as I believe, from no other cause. In the frequent cases of fever in the
East it is a luxury, and indeed a medicine, which can only be appreciated
by one who has himself endured that indescribable burning.
The cook-room, as already noticed, is some distance from the dining-room,
but this inconvenience is of little importance in those hot lands. The
Malays are the only cooks, and I do not think that cooking as an art is
carried to the highest perfection in that part of the world, though I
must add, that I soon became quite partial to many of their dishes, which
are especially adapted for that climate. The kitchen is not provided with
stoves or cooking-ranges, as in the Western world, but on one side of the
room there is a raised platform, and on this is a series of small arches,
which answer the same purpose. Fires are made in these arches with small
pieces of wood, and the food is therefore more commonly fried or boiled,
than baked. There is no chimney, and the smoke, after filling the room,
finally escapes through a place in the roof which is slightly raised
above the parts around it.
As I am often questioned about the mode of living in the East, I may
add that always once a day, and generally for dinner, rice and curry
appear, and to these are added, for dinner, potatoes, fried and boiled;
steak, fried and broiled; fried bananas (the choicest of all delicacies),
various kinds of greens, and many sorts of pickles and _sambal_, or
vegetables mixed with red peppers. The next course is salad, and then
are brought on bananas of three or four kinds, at all seasons; and, at
certain times, oranges, pompelmuses, mangoes, mangostins, and rambutans;
and as this is but such a bill of fare as every man of moderate means
expects to provide, the people of the West can see that their friends
in the East, as well as themselves, believe in the motto, “Carpe diem.”
A cigar, or pipe, and a small glass of gin, are generally regarded as
indispensable things to perfect happiness by my good Dutch friends,
and they all seemed to wonder that I could be a traveller and never
touch either. It is generally supposed, in Europe and America, that
housekeepers here, in the East, have little care or vexation, where every
family employs so many servants; but, on the contrary, their troubles
seem to multiply in direct ratio to the number of servants employed. No
servant there will do more than one thing. If engaged as a nurse, it is
only to care for one child; if as a groom, it is only to care for one
horse, or, at most, one span of horses; and as all these Malays are bent
on doing every thing in the easiest way, it is almost as much trouble to
watch them as to do their work.
[Illustration: JAVANESE AND FAMILY.]
The total population of the Residency of Batavia is 517,762. Of these,
5,576 are Europeans; 47,570 Chinese; 463,591 native; 684 Arabs; and 341
of other Eastern nations.
All the natives are remarkably short in stature, the male sex averaging
not more than five feet three inches in height, or four inches less than
that of Europeans. The face is somewhat lozenge-shaped, the cheekbones
high and prominent, the mouth wide, and the nose short—not flat as in
the negroes, or prominent as in Europeans. They are generally of a mild
disposition, except the wild tribes in the mountainous parts of Sumatra,
Borneo, Celebes, Timor, Ceram, and a few other large islands. The coast
people are invariably hospitable and trustworthy. They are usually quiet,
and extremely indolent. They all have an insatiable passion for gambling,
which no restrictive or prohibitory laws can eradicate.
They are nominally Mohammedans, but have none of the fanaticism of that
sect in Arabia. They still retain many of their previous Hindu notions,
and their belief may be properly defined as a mixture of Hinduism and
Mohammedanism. A few are “Christians,” that is, they attend the service
of the Dutch Church, and do not shave their heads or file their teeth.
They are cleanly in their habits, and scores of all ages may be seen
in the rivers and canals of every city and village, especially in the
morning and evening. The _sarong_, their universal dress, is peculiarly
fitted for this habit. When they have finished their baths, a dry one is
drawn on over the head, and the wet one is slipped off beneath without
exposing the person in the least. The females wear the _sarong_ long,
and generally twist it tightly round the body, just under the arms.
Occasionally it is made with sleeves, like a loose gown. A close-fitting
jacket or _baju_ is worn with it.
The men have but a few straggling hairs for beards, and these they
generally pull out with a pair of iron tweezers. The hair of the head in
both sexes is lank, coarse, and worn long. Each sex, therefore, resembles
the other so closely that nearly every foreigner will, at first, find
himself puzzled in many cases to know whether he is looking at a man or a
woman. This want of differentiation in the sexes possibly indicates their
low rank in the human family, if the law may be applied here that obtains
among most other animals.
Every day I went out to collect the peculiar birds and beautiful
butterflies of that region, my favorite place for this pleasure being
in an old Chinese cemetery just outside the city, where, as the land
was level, the earth had been thrown up into mounds to keep the bones of
their inmates from “the wet unfortunate places,” just as in China, when
far from any mountain or hill. A Malay servant followed, carrying my
ammunition and collecting-boxes. At first I supposed he would have many
superstitious objections to wandering to and fro with me over the relics
of the Celestials, but, to my surprise, I found his people cultivating
the spaces between the graves, as if they, at least, did not consider it
sacred soil; yet, several times, when we came to the graves of his own
ancestors, he was careful to approach with every manifestation of awe and
respect.
A small piece of land, a bamboo hut, and a buffalo, comprise all the
worldly possessions of most coolies, and yet with these they always seem
most enviably contented.
They generally use but a single buffalo in their ploughs and carts. A
string passing through his nostrils is tied to his horns, and to this is
attached another for a rein, by which he is guided or urged to hasten on
his slow motions. This useful animal is distributed over all the large
islands of the archipelago, including the Philippines, over India and
Ceylon; and during the middle ages was introduced into Egypt, Greece, and
Italy. It thrives well only in warm climates. From its peculiar habit of
wallowing in pools and mires, and burying itself until only its nose and
eyes can be seen, it has been named the “water-ox.” This appears to be
its mode of resting, as well as escaping the scorching rays of the sun,
and the swarms of annoying flies; and in the higher lands the natives
make artificial ponds by the roadside, where these animals may stop when
on a journey. They are generally of a dark slate-color, and occasionally
of a light flesh-color, but rarely or never white. They are so sparsely
covered with hair as to be nearly naked. They are larger than our oxen,
but less capable of continued labor. They are usually so docile that
even the Malay children can drive them, but they dislike the appearance
of a European, and have a peculiar mode of manifesting this aversion by
breathing heavily through the nose. At such times they become restive and
unmanageable, and their owners have frequently requested me to walk away,
for fear I should be attacked. When the females are suckling their young,
they are specially dangerous. A large male has been found to be more than
a match for a full-grown royal tiger.
On most of the islands where the tame buffalo is seen, wild ones are
also found among the mountains; but naturalists generally suppose the
original home of the species was on the continent, and that the wild ones
are merely the descendants of those that have escaped to the forests.
The Spaniards found them on the Philippines when they first visited that
archipelago.
[Illustration: RAHDEN SALEH.]
[Illustration: RAHDEN SALEH’S PALACE.]
The plough generally used has both sides alike, and a single handle,
which the coolie holds in his right hand while he guides the buffalo with
the left. The lower part of the share is of iron, the other parts of
wood. It only scratches the ground to the depth of six or eight inches—a
strange contrast to our deep subsoil ploughing. In these shallow furrows
are dropped kernels of our own Indian maize and seeds of the sugar-cane.
Sometimes the fields are planted with cocoa-nut palms about twenty yards
apart, more for their shade, it appears, than for their fruit, which is
now hanging in great green and yellow clusters, and will be ripe in a
month. Beneath these trees are blighted nuts, and in many places large
heaps of them are seen, gathered by the natives for the sake of the husk,
from which they make a coarse rope.
Among these trees I was surprised to hear the noise, or more properly
words, “Tokay! tokay!” and my servant at once explained that that was the
way a kind of lizard “talked” in his land. So snugly do these animals
hide away among the green leaves that it was several days before I could
satisfy myself that I had secured a specimen of this speaking quadruped.
During my hunting I enjoyed some charming views of the high, dark-blue
mountains to the south. One excursion is worthy of especial mention.
It was to the palace of Rahden Saleh, a native prince. This palace
consisted of a central part and two wings, with broad verandas on all
sides. On entering the main building we found ourselves in a spacious
hall, with a gallery above. In the centre of the floor rose a sort
of table, and around the sides of the room were chairs of an antique
pattern. Side-doors opened out of this hall into smaller rooms, each
of which was furnished with a straw carpet, and in the centre a small,
square Brussels carpet, on which was a table ornamented with carved-work,
and surrounded with a row of richly-cushioned chairs. Along the sides
were similar chairs and small, gilded tables. On the walls hung large
steel engravings, among which I noticed two frequently seen in our
own land: “The Mohammedan’s Paradise,” and one of two female figures
personifying the past and the future. In front of the palace the grounds
were tastefully laid out as small lawns and flower-plats, bordered with
a shrub filled with red leaves. An accurate idea of the harmonious
proportions of this beautiful palace is given in the accompanying cut.
It is the richest residence owned by any native prince in the whole East
Indian Archipelago.
The Rahden at the time was in the adjoining grounds, which he is now
forming into large zoological gardens for the government at Batavia.
When a youth, he was sent to Holland, and educated at the expense of
the Dutch Government. While there, he acquired a good command of the
German and French languages, was received as a distinguished guest
at all the courts, and associated with the leading literati. In this
manner he became acquainted with Eugene Sue, who was then at work on
his “Wandering Jew,” and—as is generally believed—at once chose the
Rahden as a model for his “Eastern prince,” one of the most prominent
characters in that book. But it is chiefly as a landscape-painter that
the Rahden is most famous. A few years ago there was a great flood here
at Batavia, which proved a fit subject for his pencil; and the painting
was so greatly admired, that he presented it to the King of Holland. When
I was introduced to him, he at once, with all a courtier’s art, inquired
whether I was from the North or the South; and on hearing that I was not
only from the North, but had served for a time in the Union army, he
insisted on shaking hands again, remarking that he trusted that it would
not be long before all the slaves in our land would be free.
I had not been out many times collecting before I found myself seized one
night with a severe pain in the back of the neck and small of the back—a
sure sign of an approaching fever. The next day found me worse, then I
became somewhat better, and then worse again. The sensation was as if
some one were repeatedly thrusting a handful of red-hot knitting-needles
into the top of my head, which, as they passed in, diverged till they
touched the base of the brain. Then came chills, and then again those
indescribable darting pains. It seemed as if I could not long retain
the command of my mind under such severe torture. At last, after seven
days of this suffering, I decided to go to the military hospital, which
is open to citizens of all nations on their paying the same price per
day as in the best hotels. The hospital consisted of a series of long,
low, one-story buildings placed at right angles to each other, and on
both sides facing open squares and wide walks or gardens, which were
all bordered with large trees and contained some fine flowers. In each
of the buildings were two rows of rooms or chambers of convenient size,
which opened out on to a wide piazza, where the sick could enjoy all the
breezes and yet be sheltered from the sun. Every morning the chief doctor
came round to each room with assistants and servants, who carefully noted
his directions and prescriptions. He was a German, and appeared very
kindly in his manner; but when the time arrived to take medicine, I found
he had not only assigned for me huge doses of that most bitter of all
bitter things—quinine—but also copious draughts of some fluid villanously
sour. The ultimate result of these allopathic doses was, however,
decidedly beneficial; and after keeping perfectly quiet for a week, I was
well enough to return to my boarding-house, but yet was so weak for some
time that I could scarcely walk.
Our consul, who had been kindly visiting me all the while, now came
with a letter from His Excellency the governor-general that was
amply sufficient to make me wholly forget my unfavorable initiation
into tropical life. It was addressed to the “Heads of the Provincial
Governments in and out of Java,” and read thus: “I have the honor to ask
Your Excellency to render to the bearer, Mr. Albert S. Bickmore, who may
come into the district under your command in the interest of science,
all the assistance in your power, without causing a charge to the public
funds or a burden to the native people.”
Besides honoring me with this kind letter, His Excellency generously
wrote the consul that he would be happy to offer me “post-horses _free_
over all Java,” if I should like to travel in the interior. But it was
with the hope of reaching the Spice Islands that I had come to the East,
and, after thanking the governor-general for such great consideration and
kindness, I began making preparations for a voyage through the eastern
part of the archipelago. I had brought with me a good supply of large
copper cans with screw covers. These were filled with arrack, a kind of
rum made of molasses and rice. Dip-nets, hooks, lines, and all such other
paraphernalia, I had fully provided myself with before I left America.
Yet one paper, besides a ticket, was needed before I could go on board
the mail-boat, and that was a “permission to travel in the Netherlands
India.” This paper ought to have been renewed, according to law, once
every month; but the governor-general’s letter was such an ample
passport, that I never troubled myself about the matter again during the
year I was journeying in the Dutch possessions.