BURU.
_Sept. 25th._—Steamed down the bay from Amboina, this time not without
a slight feeling of sadness as I recalled the many happy hours I had
passed gathering shells on its shores and rambling over its high hills,
and as I realized that it would probably never be my privilege to enjoy
those pleasures again. Only three months had elapsed since my arrival at
Batavia, but I had passed through so many and such different scenes, that
Amboina appeared to have been my home for a year—and so it seems to this
day.
As we came out of the mouth of the bay, we changed our course to the
west, and kept so near the land, that I had a fine opportunity to
reëxamine the places I had visited during a heavy storm, when the sea was
rolling into white surf and thundering along the shore.
Off the western end of Ceram lie three islands, Bonoa, Kilang, and
Manipa. Bonoa, the most easterly, is a hilly island about twelve miles
long and half as broad. Its population is divided into Christians and
Mohammedans, and each has such a bitter hatred against the other,
that the Christians at last determined to expatriate themselves, and
accordingly, in 1837, migrated to Bachian. The clove-gardens in Bonoa
were thus in danger of being neglected, and the man who was governor of
the Moluccas at that time therefore sent messengers to induce them to
return; but, when this measure proved unavailing, he went himself in a
war-ship, and brought them back.
From Amboina we passed up the strait between Kilang and Manipa, which is
less than a mile wide, and made much narrower by long tongue-shaped reefs
of coral which project from several points. A fresh breeze had sprung
up from the south, and, under a full head of steam and a good press of
canvas, we ploughed through the waves which rolled up against the wind.
In all these straits the tidal currents are very strong, and in many
places so swift that a good boat cannot make headway against them with
oars, and this makes many of these narrow channels very dangerous for the
native boats.
That evening the bright fires built by the fishermen on the shores of
Bonoa were seen on our larboard side, and the next morning we were near
the Seven Brothers, a group of islands on the west side of Sawai Bay.
Here are three dangerous reefs not laid down on the charts, a mile or
more from the shore. As we passed, mountains three or four thousand feet
in height were seen standing by the sea near the head of the bay. At
noon we came to anchor in the little harbor of Wahai, which is formed by
coral reefs that are bare at low tide. Unfortunately, it is too small
for sailing-ships to enter safely, or it would be visited occasionally
by those of our whalers who frequent these seas. The whole village
consists of a small fort, a house for the commandant, who has the rank
of captain, a house for the doctor, and a few native huts on either hand.
The only communication the inhabitants of this isolated post have with
the rest of the world is by means of coolies, who cross over from the
head of Elpaputi Bay to the head of Sawai Bay, and then come along the
shore. All the natives in the interior are entirely independent of the
Dutch Government, and the coast natives, who carry the mail, are liable
to be robbed or killed at any moment while on their journey.
My hunter at once began collecting birds, while I searched the shores for
shells, and bought what the natives chanced to have in their miserable
dwellings. The most common shell here is an _Auricula_. Its peculiar
aperture, as its name implies, is like that of the human ear. It lives
on the soft, muddy flats, where the many-rooted mangrove thrives. The
rarest and most valuable shell found here, and indeed one of the rarest
living in all these seas, is the _Rostellaria rectirostris_. It is so
seldom found that a pair is frequently sold here for ten guilders, four
Mexican dollars. My hunter soon returned with two large white doves, the
_Carpophaga luctuosa_, and a very perfect specimen of that famous bird,
the _Platycercus hypophonius_, G. R. Gray, called by the Malays the
_castori rajah_, or “prince parrot,” from its being the most beautiful of
all that brilliantly-plumaged family. It is a small bird for a parrot.
The head, neck, and under parts are of a bright scarlet; the wings a
dark, rich green, and the back and rump a bright lapis-lazuli blue, that
shades off into a deeper blue in the tail, which is nearly as long as
the body. These birds generally fly in pairs, and as they dart through
the evergreen foliage, and you catch a glimpse of their graceful forms
and brilliant plumage, it seems like the momentary recollection of some
dream of Paradise. Large flocks of red luris, _Eos rubra_, Gml., other
species of parrakeets, and many sorts of doves, frequent the surrounding
woods, and several species of kingfishers and snipes live by the shore.
For three days I enjoyed this rare hunting. We then steamed out of the
little bay of Wahai for the island of Buru. While passing Bonoa we
kept near the shore, and saw a large white monument which was erected
by the Portuguese, and is probably one of the _padroes_, or “pillars
of discovery,” placed there by D’Abreu when he first reached these
long-sought isles. Soon we passed Swangi, “Spirit Island,” a lonely rock
near Manipa, supposed by these superstitious natives to be haunted by
some evil spirit.
Buru, the island to which we were bound, lies a few miles west of Manipa.
Its area is estimated at about twenty-six hundred geographical square
miles, so that it is one-half larger than Bali or Lombok. Its form is
oval, with the greatest axis east and west. Its shores, instead of being
deeply indented, like those of all the larger islands in that region,
are entire, except on the northwest corner, where they recede and form
the great bay of Kayéli. The entrance to this bay is between two high
capes, three or four miles apart, so that on the northeast it is quite
open to the sea. Within these capes the shores become low, forming on
the southwest a large morass; and the bay expands to the east and west
until it is about seven miles long. In the low lands bordering the south
side of this bay is the Dutch “bezitting,” or post, also named Kayéli.
Here is a small, well-built fort, in which are stationed a lieutenant and
doctor, and a company of militia from Java or Madura. A _controleur_ has
charge of the civil department, and the governor had kindly given me a
note to him, and he and his good lady at once received me kindly, and,
as it proved, I made my home with them and the doctor for a long time.
The plan the governor proposed was that we should leave for Ternate and
New Guinea in five days after the steamer landed me at Kayéli. Those
five days passed, but no steamer appeared. Again and again I watched by
the hour, hoping, almost expecting, to be able to discern smoke on the
horizon, and soon see the Telegraph coming into the harbor. Thus a week
passed, then ten days, and by this time all, like myself, had come to the
conviction that some unexpected and unfortunate event must have happened.
But what was it? No one could tell. Fifteen days of such uncertainty and
solicitude passed, when a large prau was seen coming in from the sea. It
brought me a letter from Governor Arriens, stating that just as he was
on the point of coming to take me, as proposed, news came that a great
revolt had broken out in Ceram. Immediately he accompanied the captain
of a large man-of-war, whose duty it was to put down all insurrections.
When they arrived off the village, the captain, contrary to the advice
of all, landed with a small force, hoping to be able to treat with the
rebels, but he had scarcely touched the shore when a party of them in
ambush poured a volley into his boat, wounding him twice severely, but
not fatally. I now found myself really banished, for the yacht was needed
too much to come and take me away. I therefore resigned myself quietly to
my fate, and determined to profit by the opportunity to make a collection
of the beautiful birds of the island. My first excursion was to a cliff
on the southeast side of the bay, near its mouth, which I found was
composed of metamorphic schists, that were very much fissured by joints
and seams, and fell apart in cubical blocks. Another place I frequently
visited was the low morass on the southwest side of the bay, through
which flows out a stream of such size that a large canoe can ascend it
for three days. Along the canals in this morass is a thick forest, the
high branches of which meet above, forming for a considerable distance
grand covered avenues. Here the kingfishers delight to gather, and,
perching on the lower boughs, occasionally dart downward, like falling
arrows, into the quiet water. It was most delightful, during the heat of
the day, to glide along in these cool and shady canals, which wind to
and fro, and in such an endless series of curves and angles, that no one
could weary of the rich, almost oppressive, vegetation that continually
surrounds him. At the mouth of this small river are long shallow banks of
sand, which are bare at low tide, and on these are many large snags and
logs that have come down the streams and grounded while on their way to
the sea. On these wide banks, as the ebbing ceases and the tide begins to
flow, long lines of gulls, sand-pipers, plovers, and curlews, gather,
and, as the water advances, they are forced to approach the shore until
the only resting-places left them are the logs and snags that raise their
crooked limbs and roots above the surface of the water. At such times
these perching-places are one living, fluttering mass of birds. Again and
again I came to this spot, and always returned with as many specimens as
my native hunter could skin on the following day.
A few minutes’ walk back of the _controleur’s_ house took me into the
surrounding forest, where I was accustomed to ramble to and fro hour
after hour until I knew all the favorite haunts of most of the birds; yet
nearly every day, till the time I left, I secured specimens of a species
that had not been represented in my collection. Still others were seen,
and one or more specimens of them must be obtained; and thus, the more I
collected, the more interesting became my work. My regular daily routine
was to hunt in the morning till ten or eleven o’clock, return to the
house to avoid the heat, and then go out again about four, and remain
till the setting sun warned me to return or grope my way back as best
I could through the dark woods. Soon after I arrived, a tree, as large
as our oak, became filled with great scarlet flowers, and in the early
morning flocks of red luris (_Eos rubra_, Gml.) and other parrakeets,
with blue heads, red and green breasts, and the feathers on the under
side of the wings of a light red and brilliant yellow (_Trichoglossus
cyanogrammus_, Wagl.), would come to feed on them. It was easy to know
where those birds had begun their morning feast by their loud, unceasing
screeching and chattering; and, after stealthily creeping through dense
shrubbery for hundreds of yards, I would suddenly behold one of these
great trees filled with scores of such brilliantly-plumaged birds, flying
about or climbing out to the ends of the branches, and using their wings
to aid in poising themselves while they made a dainty breakfast on the
rich flowers. These are indeed the birds that Moore describes as—
“Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between
The crimson flowers of the coral-tree
In the warm isles of India’s sunny sea.”
[Illustration: A JUNGLE.]
Soon after sunset huge bats always came out, in pairs, and sailed about
on their leathery wings, searching for those trees that chanced to be
in fruit. The wings of a male that I shot measured four feet and four
inches from tip to tip, and the wings of the female, which accompanied
him, expanded four feet eight inches. They are very properly named by the
Dutch, “flying foxes,” and almost seem to be antediluvian monsters, which
ought to have disappeared from the face of the earth long ago, like the
formidable _Pterodactyles_. During the day they hide away in the thick
foliage, and one afternoon I found one hanging, as they delight to do
when they rest or sleep, with its head downward, from the limb of a tree.
They are very tenacious of life, and will receive charge after charge of
large shot in the head before they will let go of the limbs with their
crooked claws and allow themselves to fall. They are said to be good for
food, but I never saw the natives eat them, and certainly had no desire
myself to try the flavor of such questionable meat. A small path, leading
a mile through the forest, brought me out on to a large open field or
prairie, covered with a coarse grass as high as a man’s shoulders. Beyond
this was another forest, and there I was informed was a settlement of two
or three houses, the farthest place inland inhabited by any of the coast
people or common Malays. Beyond that point there is not the slightest
footpath. All the hills and high mountains, which I could see toward the
interior of the island, are covered with one dense, unbroken forest, and
only on some of the lower hills, bordering the bay, are there open areas
of grass. What a nice thing it would be to live out there for a week in
the midst of that forest! My mind was made up to do it. I returned and
explained my plan to the _controleur_, and the next day we set off to
hire one of the distant huts. The farthest one from Kayéli, and exactly
the one I wanted, chanced to be unoccupied, for the native who owned it
had found the place so lonely that he had deserted it and taken up his
abode in the village. The rent for a week was agreed to without much
parleying. The owner further agreed to send his son to bring water and
keep house while I and my hunter were away, and to be generally useful,
which he interpreted to mean that he would only do what he could not
avoid. Another man was engaged as cook, and my domestic arrangements
were complete, for I purposed not only to live in a native house, but to
conform entirely to the Malay _cuisine_. Our cooking-apparatus consisted
of a couple of shallow kettles and a small frying-pan; and the little
teapot that accompanied me on my Amboina excursions was not left behind.
_October 16th._—This morning we came out to our forest home. Our house
is about eight feet wide, twelve feet long, and perched upon large posts
four feet from the ground. It is divided by a transverse partition into
a front room or parlor, and a back room or kitchen. In one corner of the
latter is a square framework filled with ashes, in which are inserted
three long stones, whose tops slightly incline toward each other. These
are to support the kettles, for no Malay has ever conceived of a machine
for cooking so complicated as a crane. As to a chimney, there is none
whatever, but the smoke is allowed to escape under the eaves or through a
hole in the side of the house that also serves for a window. The frame of
the house is made from small trees. For a flooring, broad sheets of bark
are used. The walls are made of _gaba-gaba_, the dry midribs of large
palm-leaves, and the roof is of _atap_. The front door is in one of the
gable ends, and is reached by a rickety ladder of two rounds. This part
is transformed into a rude piazza by a shed-roof, beneath which we have
made a seat and a kind of table for the hunter to use in skinning birds.
My daily routine here is the same as before—hunting every morning and
evening, with a native to carry my ammunition and to pick up the birds—a
very difficult task whenever we are in the thick jungle or among the
tall grass. Near our house is the stony bed of a torrent, which is now
perfectly dry. It is the only cleared way there is through the dense
forest around us, and I avail myself of it to travel up toward the
mountains and down toward the sea. Indeed, I feel proud of our grand
highway. True, it is not paved with blocks all carefully cut down to one
precise model, and so exactly uniform as to be absolutely painful to the
eye, but Nature herself has paved it in her own inimitable way—notice
how all the stones have been rounded by the boiling torrent which pours
down here from the mountains during the rainy season. Some are almost
perfect ellipsoides or spheres, but most are disk-shaped, for they are
made from thin fragments of slate that had sharp corners when they broke
away from their parent mountain. To prevent a dull uniformity of color,
she has scattered here and there rounded boulders of opaque milk-white
quartz, fragments, undoubtedly, from beds of that rock which, at this
place at least, are interstratified with the slate. Here and there are
deeper places, where the troubled stream was accustomed to rest before
it went on again in a foaming torrent to empty its sparkling waters into
the wide sea, the original source of all streams. By this way I visit my
nearest neighbors and procure chickens, which our cook roasts on sticks
over the fire, after having carefully rubbed them with salt and a liberal
allowance of red pepper, the two universal condiments among the Malays.
For ages all the salt these people have had has been brought from Java.
The red pepper thrives well everywhere without the slightest care, and
it is almost always found growing near every hut. A large bush of it at
one corner of our house is now filled with fruit of all sizes; some small
and green, and some fully grown and showing it is already ripe by its
bright-pink color. In this condition the Malays gather and dry it, and
always carry a good supply wherever they go. Its Malay name is _lombok_,
but the one more generally used is the Javanese name _chabé_. Besides
chickens, we have paddy, that is, rice in the husk. A large elliptical
hole is made in a log for a mortar, a small quantity of paddy is then
poured in and pounded with a stick five or six feet long, and as large
round as a man’s arm. This is raised vertically, and, when the hole is
nearly even full, a native will usually pound off all the husks without
scattering more than a few grains on the ground; but, if a foreigner
attempts it, he will be surprised to see how the rice will fly off in
all directions at every blow. When the husks are pounded off they are
separated from the kernels by being tossed up from a shallow basket and
carried away by the wind, as our farmers used to winnow grain. This is
the only mode of preparing rice practised by the Malays, and the process
is the same in every part of the archipelago. From one corner of our
piazza hangs a large bunch of green bananas to ripen in the sunshine. I
find it very agreeable to pluck off a nice ripe one myself when I come in
weary and thirsty from a long hunt. From the other corner hangs a cluster
of cocoa-nuts filled with clear, cool, refreshing water.
Not far from us is a hut inhabited by two natives, who are engaged in
cultivating tobacco. Their _ladangs_, or gardens, are merely places of
an acre or less, where the thick forest has been partially destroyed
by fire, and the seed is sown in the regular spaces between the stumps.
As soon as the leaves are fully grown they are plucked off, and the
petiole and a part of the midrib are cut away. Each leaf is then cut
transversely into strips about a sixteenth of an inch wide, and these are
dried in the sun until a mass of them looks like a bunch of oakum. It
is then ready for use, and at once carried to market. This cosmopolite,
_Nicotiana tabacum_, is a native of our own country. Las Casas says
that the Spaniards on Columbus’s first voyage saw the natives in Cuba
smoking it in tubes called _tabacos_, hence its name. Mr. Crawford
states that, according to a Javanese chronicle, it was introduced into
Java in the year 1601, ninety years after the conquest of Malacca by
the Portuguese, who were probably the first Europeans that furnished it
to the Javanese, as the Dutch had not yet formed an establishment on
the island. It is now cultivated in every part of the archipelago. The
fact that this narcotic was originally found only in America leads us to
infer, without raising the questions whether our continent received her
aboriginal population from some other part of the globe, or whether they
were created here, that there never has been any extensive migration of
our Indians or red-men to the islands in the Pacific, or to any distant
part of the world; for if they had colonized any area, in that place
at least, its use would undoubtedly continue to exist at the present
day, since it is probable that they would never have thought of going
to a new land without taking with them this plant, which they valued
more even than food, and which they had been accustomed to cultivate.
If, after establishing themselves in their new colony, they had been
overpowered and completely destroyed by some more powerful tribe, their
conquerors would probably have become addicted to the same habit as
readily as the people of every clime and every stage of civilization do
now, and thus the practice would have been perpetuated, though the people
who introduced it perished ages ago, and all the idols, and temples,
and fortifications they might have made, have long since crumbled into
dust. This inference is greatly strengthened, if we consider the past and
present geographical distribution of maize, or Indian corn, which is also
a native of our continent only, and, like tobacco, is now raised in every
part of the archipelago. Unlike rice, this plant thrives on hill-sides
and elevated lands, and can therefore be raised on all the larger islands
in these seas, where there are few level areas that can be readily
inundated for the cultivation of rice. It was also probably introduced by
the Portuguese, for Juan Gaetano, a Spanish pilot, who visited Mindanao
in 1642, twenty-one years after the discovery of the Philippines by
Magellan, states[41] that “in a certain part of that island ruled by
the Moors” (Arabs), “there are some small artillery, and hogs, deer,
buffaloes, and other animals of the chase, with Castilian” (or common)
“fowls, rice, palms, and cocoa-nuts. There is no maize in that island,
but for bread they use rice and a bark which they call sagu, from which
also they extract oil in like manner as they do from palms.”
As maize is not difficult to be transported on account of its bulk or
liability to any injury, and formed the chief article of food among most
of our red-men, it would be the very provision they would take with them
on their migrations; and as the part eaten is the fruit, they would have
plenty of seed, and would know from their previous experience precisely
how to cultivate it.
One part of the surrounding forest is a grove of _jati_, or teak-trees,
_Tectona grandis_, Linn. Those found here are only a foot or fifteen
inches in diameter and forty feet high, a size they attain in Java in
twenty-five or thirty years, where they do not reach their full growth
in less than a century. The native name _jati_ is a word of Javanese
origin, signifying true, or genuine, and was probably applied to these
trees on account of the well-known durability of the wood they yield.
Now, near the end of the dry monsoon, they have lost nearly all their
foliage; for, though it is sometimes asserted that in the tropics the
leaves fall imperceptibly one by one, that is not true, in this region,
where there are well-defined wet and dry seasons. The teak also thrives
in a few places on the continent, and is found in the central and eastern
provinces of Java, in Madura, Bali, and particularly in Sumbawa, where
the wood is considered better than that of Java, but it is said to be
unknown in Sumatra, Borneo, and in the peninsula of Malacca. It exists in
some places in Celebes, but the natives assert that the seed was brought
there from Java by one of the sovereigns of Tanéte. It is therefore
uncertain whether the teak is a native of this island. In the early
morning, and again soon after sunset, flocks of large green parrots,
_Tanygnathus macrorynchus_, Wagl., come to these trees to feed on the
fruit which is now ripe. They are so wary that it is extremely difficult
to get near them, especially as the large dry leaves of this tree cover
the ground and continually crack and rustle beneath one’s feet. To see
these magnificent birds flying back and forth in the highest glee, while
they remain unconscious of danger, is a grand sight, and it seems little
less than absolute wickedness to shoot one, even when it is to be made
the subject, not of idle gazing, but of careful study, and it requires
still greater resolution to put an end to one’s admiration and pull the
fatal trigger. When one of these birds has been wounded, its mate, and
sometimes the whole flock, hearing its cries, at once comes back, as if
hoping to relieve its misery.
In many places in this vicinity the tall canari-tree is seen raising
its high crest, and there flocks of cream-colored doves, _Carpophaga
luctuosa_, gather to feed on its fruit. Their loud, continuous cooing
leads the hunter a long way through the jungle. Among the limbs of the
lower trees are seen the long-tailed doves, _Carpophaga perspiclata_.
On the banks of the dry brook, near our house, are bunches of bamboos,
through which flit fly-catchers, _Muscicapidæ_, and the beautiful
_Monarcha loricata_, a slender bird about as large as a martin, of a
blue above, and a pure, almost silvery white beneath, except on the
throat, which is covered with scale-like feathers, of a rich metallic
blue-black. So far as is known, this beautiful bird is only found on this
island. In the bushes and shrubbery is constantly heard the cheerful
note of a bird, the _Trobidorynchus bouruensis_, somewhat larger than
our robin. By day I enjoyed this Robinson Crusoe life very much, but the
mosquitoes proved such a torment by night that we could scarcely sleep. A
great smouldering fire was made under our hut, but its only effect was to
increase our misery, and make the mosquitoes more bloodthirsty. We were
frequently disturbed also by several yellow dogs, which came to crunch
what chicken-bones the cook had thrown away, and to upset every thing
around the house that was not already in a state of stable equilibrium.
Afterward, when all was still, occasionally a heavy crash sighed through
the deep woods, caused by the falling of some old tree, whose roots had
been slowly consumed by the fires that prevail in the neighborhood during
the dry season.
At the end of a week my hunter had preserved the skins of sixty-three
beautiful birds, including specimens of six species that I had not
secured before. We now returned to Kayéli; and though there were only
eight white persons in the whole place, I could nevertheless feel that I
was returning to civilization, and that I could speak some other language
than Malay.
The village of Kayéli is really composed of eleven separate parts, or
_kampongs_, all situated on a low, marshy place, a couple of hundred
yards back from the sand-beach. They are separated from each other by
a little stream, or _kali_, and each has its own rajah, and formerly
had its own little square mosque, for all these eleven tribes are
Mohammedans, and keep separate from each other, because they lived in
different parts of the island when the Dutch arrived. In the centre of
this village is a large, square lawn, formed by the fort, the residence
of a _controleur_, and a few other houses. Back of the lawn is the
Christian kampong; for in every village where there are Mohammedans and
Christians, each has a separate part to itself. Occasionally, instead
of a healthful spirit of rivalry, a more bitter hostility springs up
than existed between the Jews and the Samaritans, and finally the weaker
party is obliged to migrate, as in the case mentioned in regard to the
inhabitants of Bonoa.
From Valentyn we learn that, according to native accounts, as early as
A. D. 1511, ten years before the arrival of the Portuguese, the Sultan
of Ternate sent out expeditions which subjected all the tribes of this
island. In 1652 a treaty was made between the sultan and the Dutch, that
all the clove-trees on the island should be uprooted. The natives opposed
this measure to the best of their ability, but after a resistance which
lasted five years, they were completely subjected, all their clove-trees
were destroyed, and they were obliged to remove to Kayéli Bay, and
live under the range of the Dutch cannon. Since that time (1657), the
clove-tree has never been introduced again. Previous to the expedition of
the Sultan of Ternate in 1511, the shores of the island were occupied
by the Malays, who had already subjected the earliest inhabitants of the
island of which we have any knowledge. During my stay at Kayéli I saw
several of them, though they are always shy about entering the village.
Like the Alfura of Ceram, they resemble the Malays in stature and general
appearance, but are distinguished from them by their darker color, and
by their hair, which is frizzly, not lank like that of the Malays, and
not woolly, like that of the Papuans. As in Ceram, many of them suffer
from that unsightly disease, icthyosis, in which the skin becomes dry and
comes off in scales. Their houses are described as the most miserable
hovels, consisting of little more than a roof of palm-leaves resting on
four poles, with a kind of platform a foot or two above the ground, where
they sit and sleep. They are all free, and slavery is wholly unknown.
Mr. T. J. Miller, who was formerly resident here, took much pains to
gather all the information possible in regard to them. He states that
they have divided the island into _Fennas_ or tribes, each of which has a
chief. Instead of living together in villages, like the Malays, they are
scattered over their whole territory. Several of these chiefs continue
to acknowledge one of the Mohammedan rajahs, or, as they are named by
the Dutch, “regents,” in the village of Kayéli, as their superior.
Formerly, each was obliged to send one young girl to its regent for a
bride every year, but the Dutch have long since relieved them from such
an unwelcome exaction. In former times also they were compelled to pay
their regent a certain part of their rice and sago, and provide men to
row his prau or to carry his chair, if he proceeded by land, but they
have been freed from this onerous service, and the Malays who live in
the village with the rajah are obliged to perform such offices for him.
In regard to marriage, each man buys his wife, her price, according to
their laws, depending on the rank of her father, as in Ceram, but a
man is not, however, required to cut off a human head before he can be
allowed to marry, as is the custom in that island. Instead, therefore,
of being fierce head-hunters, as the Alfura of Ceram, they are mild and
inoffensive. They believe, according to Mr. Miller, in one Supreme Being,
who made every thing, and is the source of all good and all evil. They
believe in evil spirits. Prayer leads to prosperity; the negligence of
this duty to adversity. Through the love that this Supreme Being had for
man, whom He had created, He sent him a teacher, Nabiata, who lived among
the mountains. He gave the will of his Master in seven commandments,
namely: 1. Thou shalt not kill nor wound. 2. Thou shalt not steal. 3.
Thou shalt not commit adultery. 4. Thou shalt not set thyself against
thy _fenna_. 5. A man shall not set himself up against the chief of his
tribe. 6. The chief shall not set himself up against him that is over
his or other tribes. 7. The chief over more than one tribe shall not set
himself up against him who is placed over all the tribes. Nabiata also
taught that, though the body perishes, the soul shall still continue to
exist. They who have kept the foregoing commandments—for all the acts
of men are recorded by this Supreme Being—shall dwell far above the
clouds near the Omniscient One. They who have done wickedly shall never
rise to the abode of the happy nor remain on earth, but continually, in
solitude and sorrow, wander about on the clouds, longing in vain to join
their brothers who are above or beneath them. Nabiata also instituted
circumcision, which was performed on both sexes when they attained the
age of eight or ten years. From the introduction of this rite we may
infer that this Nabiata was a Mohammedan teacher, probably an Arab, who
had found his way to this region on a Javanese or Malay prau, that had
come to purchase cloves. Finally, according to their legend, Nabiata made
men of birth his disciples and teachers, and ascended to the abode of the
good from whence he came.
One day, while at Kayéli, I received a most polite invitation to attend
a feast at one of the rajah’s houses. The occasion was the shaving of
a young child’s head. An Arab priest began the rite by repeating a
prayer in a monotonous nasal chant, five others joining in from time
to time by way of a chorus. After the long prayer was ended, a servant
brought in the child, and another servant followed carrying a large
plate partly filled with water, in which were two parts of the blossom
of a cocoa-nut-palm, a razor, and a pair of shears. The child was first
carried to the chief priest, who dipped his fingers in the water, placed
them on the child’s head, and then cut off a lock of hair with the large
shears. The lock of hair was then carefully thrown into the water along
with a guilder. We all did the same. Tea and small cakes made of rice
were then served, and “the feast” was ended. The child was one year old;
when it becomes eight or nine it will have to submit to that abominable
custom prevailing among both sexes of all ranks of Mohammedans, filing
the teeth. This, I was informed, was done with a flat stone, or a
fragment of slate, and sometimes even with a piece of bamboo. The object
is to make the teeth short, and the front ones concave on the outer side,
so as to hold the black dye. The Christians never file theirs, and the
Mohammedans always ridicule the teeth of such natives by calling them
“dogs’ teeth,” because they are “so white and so long.”
At another time I received an invitation to attend a wedding-feast,
but, when I reached the house, it proved to be a feast that the married
couple give to their friends a few days after the wedding. As on all
such festive occasions, the house and veranda were brilliantly lighted,
and on either side from the house out to the street were a number of
posts made of the large soft trunks of bananas. On their tops large
lumps of gum were burned. Between them were arches made of young leaves
of the cocoa-nut palm, arranged as I had previously seen in Nusalaut.
The bride (who, of course, is to be spoken of first), to our surprise,
did not prove to be a young and blooming lass, but already in middle
life, yet a suitable helpmeet at least for the bridegroom, who was an
Arab, and had married this, his second wife, since he came to Buru, only
four months ago. The former wife he had sent back to her parents, much
against her wishes. When a wife desires to leave her husband, she cannot
do so without his consent, which the husband generally grants, choosing
the less of two evils, and, moreover, it is regarded as very ungallant
to retain an unwilling mate; but, while travelling in Sumatra, I saw
one husband who would not allow his wife another choice, but his was a
very peculiar case. His father was a Chinaman, and therefore, as the
descendants of the Chinese do, he had shaved his head and wore a cue, and
was a Chinaman also; but, becoming desperately enamoured of a Mohammedan
lass, he concluded to yield to her unusual demand, that he too must
become a Mohammedan before he could be accepted. She soon repented of
her proposal, but he replied that he had suffered so much for her sake,
he would not release her from her vows—such are the unlimited privileges
granted the husband by the laws of the false Prophet.
While at Amboina I was surprised one day, just before dinner, to see a
strange servant appear with a large platter containing fifteen or twenty
kinds of fishes, fruit, and the various inimitable mixtures made by the
Chinese, in whose quarter of the city we were residing. The gentleman
with whom I was living, however, explained the mystery. There was to be
a wedding in a house near by, and the father of the bride was one of his
hired men, and those nice preparations were intended as a present, that
is, in form, it being expected that only two or three of them would be
taken—and that was quite all a European palate would desire. This was
repeated for three or four days. Meantime the father of the bride had
hired a house where other friends were received and feasted, and the
father of the bridegroom also received and entertained his friends in
like manner. At length came an invitation to attend the _finale_ of this
long ceremonial. We first walked to the house of the bridegroom. Large
Chinese lanterns brilliantly lighted the veranda and the adjoining narrow
lane, which was thronged with men and boys. We then visited the house
where the bride was waiting to receive her lord. The piazza opened into
a large room, and on one side of it was a smaller one, closed by a red
curtain instead of a door. No one but the lady-guests were allowed to
enter where the bride was sitting. The larger room contained many small
tables loaded with delicacies, mostly of Chinese manufacture. Not to be
unsocial, we sat down and sipped a cup of boiling tea, and observed the
assembled guests while all were waiting for the coming of the bridegroom
as in good Scripture times. In the opposite corner was a table surrounded
with Malay ladies. It also was covered with sweetmeats, but room was
soon made for the more necessary siri-box; a liberal quid of lime,
pepper-leaves, and betel-nut was taken by each one, and, to complete the
disgusting sight, an urn-shaped spittoon, an inseparable companion of
the siri-box, was produced, and handed round from one to another as the
occasion demanded. A shrill piping was now heard down the street, and
every one rushed out on the veranda to see the approaching procession.
First came boys with wax-candles, and near them others carrying the
presents that the bride and the bridegroom had received. Then came
the bridegroom himself, supported by his friends, and surrounded by
candles arranged at different heights on rude triangular frames. He
was dressed in a Malay suit of light red, and wore a gilded chain. I
had been told that, when he should attempt to enter the room where the
bride sat waiting, the women would gather and persistently dispute his
right to proceed, and here, in the distant East, I thought to myself, I
shall see an illustration of the maxim, “None but the brave deserve the
fair.” On the contrary, so far from manifesting any disposition to oppose
him and prolong the ceremony, they only made way for him to enter the
bridal-chamber as quickly as possible. As my friend and I were the only
white persons present, we were allowed the especial favor of entering
also. On one side of the room was a small table covered with a red cloth,
and on this were two gigantic red wax-candles. Behind the table sat the
bride, arrayed in a scarlet dress, with a white opaque veil concealing
her face, and fastened to her hair. As the bridegroom approached, she
slowly rose. Placing his hands with the palms together, he bowed three
times in the same manner as the Chinese address the images in their
temples. She returned the salutation by also bowing three times, but
without raising her hands. Now came the exciting moment. She remained
standing while he stepped forward and commenced pulling out the pins that
held fast the opaque veil which hid her beauty from his longing eyes. Not
being very skilful in this operation, a couple of the maids-in-waiting
assisted him, and, by degrees, was revealed a face that was at least one
shade darker than most of the ladies near her, and I could but think,
if that really was the first time her husband had ever seen her, he
must feel not a little disappointed. However, his countenance remained
unchanged, whether such a saddening reflection crossed his mind or one of
delightful surprise. He then passed round the table to the side of his
bashful bride, and both sat down together and were stupidly gazed at.
In the opposite end of the room was the bridal-bed. The four posts rose
above the bed nearly to the ceiling, and supported a mosquito-curtain
which was bespangled with many little pieces of tinsel and paper flowers.
Both the bride and bridegroom were Mohammedans, and this marriage was
nominally according to the Mohammedan usage, but it should perhaps be
more properly regarded, like most of the Malay customs at the present
day, as combining parts of the rite in China and Arabia with that which
existed among these nations while they observed the Hindu religion,
or continued to remain in heathenism. The boys usually marry for the
first time when about sixteen, and the girls at the age of thirteen or
fourteen, though I was once shown a child of nine years that was already
a wife, and mothers eleven or twelve years old are occasionally seen.
The great obstacle to marriage in all civilized lands—the difficulty of
supporting a family—is unknown here. Children, instead of being a source
of expense, are a source of income. Until four or five years old, the
boys do not usually wear any clothing. Their food costs very little, and
all the education they receive still less, or nothing at all. The average
number of persons in one family in Java, where it is perhaps as large,
if not larger, than elsewhere, is estimated at only four or four and
a half. The fact that children help support their parents secures for
them such attention that they are never entirely neglected. Polygamy is
allowed here as in other Mohammedan lands, but only the wealthier natives
and the princes are guilty of it. The facility with which marriages are
made, and divorces obtained, is one cause why it is not more general. In
regard to the evil effects of polygamy, and the ideas of this people in
respect to the sacred rite of marriage, Sir Stamford Raffles, who was
Governor-General of Java, most truthfully remarks: “Of the causes which
have tended to lower the character of the Asiatics in comparison with
Europeans, none has had a more decided influence than polygamy. To all
those noble and generous feelings, all that delicacy of sentiment, that
romantic and poetical spirit, which virtuous love inspires in the breast
of a European, the Javan is a stranger; and in the communication between
the sexes he seeks only convenience and little more than a gratification
of an appetite. But the evil does not stop here: education is neglected,
and family attachments are weakened. A Javan chief has been known to have
sixty acknowledged children, and it too often happens that in such cases
sons having been neglected in their infancy become dissipated, idle, and
worthless, and spring up like rank grass and overrun the country.”
[Illustration: A MALAY OPIUM SMOKER.]
In the little village of Kayéli there were only three Chinamen, but
one of them was an opium-seller. He was agent for another Chinaman at
Amboina, who had bought the privilege of selling it from the Dutch
Government, who “farm out” or grant this privilege in every district to
the highest bidder. From this article alone, the government obtains in
this way an income of four or five million dollars. Opium, as is well
known, is the inspissated juice obtained from the capsule of the white
poppy, _Papaver somniferum_. Its Malay name is _apyun_, which, coming
from the Arabic _afyun_, shows at once by whom it was introduced into
the archipelago; the same people, as Mr. Crawfurd remarks, who made
them acquainted with ardent spirits, and at the same time gave them a
religion forbidding both. It is imported from India, and the poppy is
not cultivated in any part of the archipelago. Barbosa mentions it in a
list of articles brought from Arabia to Calicut in Malabar, and in his
time its price was about one-third what it is now. The man who sells it
is obliged to keep a daily account of the quantity he disposes of, and
this account is open to the inspection of the government officers at all
times. So large is the sum demanded by the government for this farming
privilege, and so great are the profits obtained by the Chinese, who are
the people that carry on most of this nefarious traffic, that the price
the Malays are obliged to pay for this luxury limits its consumption
very considerably. When imported, it is usually in balls five or six
inches in diameter. It is then soft and of a reddish-brown color, but
becomes blacker and harder the longer it is kept. It is slightly elastic,
and has a waxy lustre, a strong, unpleasant odor, and to the taste is
bitter, nauseous, and persistent. To prepare it for smoking, it is boiled
down to the consistency of thick tar. While it is boiling, tobacco and
siri are sometimes added. A lamp is then lighted, and a small quantity
is taken up on a piece of wire as large as a knitting-needle. This is
held in the flame of the lamp until it melts and swells up as a piece
of spruce-gum would do under similar circumstances. During this process
it is frequently taken out of the flame and rolled between the thumb
and forefinger. It is then placed in a small hole in the large bowl of
the pipe, and the wire being withdrawn, a hole is left for inhaling the
air. The bowl of the pipe is now placed against the lamp and the smoke
inhaled with two or three long breaths, which carry the fumes down deep
into the lungs. By this time the small quantity of opium in the bowl of
the pipe is consumed. It is then filled as before, and this process is
repeated until the eyelids become heavy and an irresistible desire to
sleep possesses the whole body. Its immediate effect is to produce a
passive, dreamy state. This is followed by a loss of appetite, severe
constipation, and kindred ills. When a man has once contracted the habit
of using it, it is impossible to reform. Greater and greater doses are
required to produce the desired lethargic effect. The evil results of
this vice are well shown in the accompanying photograph of a Malay, where
the victim, although only in middle life, has already become so emaciated
that he is little more than a living skeleton. The rude platform of
planks covered with a straw mat, on which he is sitting, is his bed,
while stupified with his favorite drug. A pipe, of the customary form,
is seen in his right hand. Being too poor to own a lamp, he has instead
a small fire of charcoal raised on the top of an urn-shaped vessel of
earthen-ware. By his side are seen vessels for making tea, and by copious
draughts of that stimulant he will try to revive his dead limbs by and
by, when he awakes from his contemplated debauch, and finds his whole
energy gone, and, as it were, his very life on the point of leaving the
body.
My next excursion, after a week in the woods, was with the commandant
of the fort to a high bluff on the eastern side of the entrance of the
bay of Kayéli. The fires which rage here year after year destroy much
of the thick forest, and a tall, coarse grass takes its place. In these
prairies grow many _kayu-puti_, or whitewood-trees, so called from their
bark, which makes them resemble our white birches. Their branches are
very scattering, and bear long, narrow leaves, somewhat like those of
our willow, which are gathered about this time of year, for the sake
of their “oil.” It is obtained in the following manner: the leaves are
plucked off by hand and placed in baskets which are carried to sheds,
where they are emptied into large kettles, that are partly filled with
water, and carefully closed. From the centre of the cover of the kettle
rises a wooden tube, to which is joined another of cloth, that is coiled
up in a barrel containing cold water. A fire being made beneath the
kettle, the volatile “oil” is carried over and condensed in the tube.
About eight thousand bottles of this article are manufactured here every
year. Indeed, it forms almost the only export from this large island.
The price here is about a guilder per bottle. It is sent to Java and
other parts of the archipelago, and is used as a sudorific. The tree,
_Melaleuca cajeputi_, is also found in Amboina, Ceram, Celebes, and
Sumatra, but the best oil comes from this island.
After we had wandered over a number of hills, we came down into a basin,
in the bottom of which was a little lake, where we found a flock of
brown ducks. The borders of the lake, however, were so marshy that I
could get no fair shot at this rare game. In a small lake near by I
had the privilege of seeing a pair of those beautiful birds, the _Anas
rajah_, or “prince duck.” Around the borders of the lake was a broad band
of dead trees. My hunter spied a nice flock of the brown ducks on the
opposite side, and for nearly a mile we carefully crept along through
the sharp-edged grass, until we were just opposite the flock. If we went
down to the margin of the pond they would be completely shielded from
our shot by the trees. I therefore ordered my hunter, whose gun was
loaded with a ball for deer, to lie down, while I sprang upon my feet and
tried the effect of one barrel of my fowling-piece, which, by-the-by,
was loaded with small shot for doves. Shy as they were, we had evidently
taken them by surprise. There was a click, a report, and four out of the
eight remained where they were. The next thing was to get them. We had
no dog nor boat, and I proposed to my hunter, as he was a good swimmer,
that he swim for them, but he only shrugged his shoulders and declared
the whole pool was so full of crocodiles that a man could not get out
where the birds were before he would be devoured. It evidently was just
such a place as those monsters delight to frequent, but I determined to
go after them myself; and as I proceeded to carry out my resolution, my
hunter, ashamed to remain on the banks, joined me, and after an ugly
scramble through the bushes and sticks, and much wallowing in the soft
mud, we got into the water and out to the flock, and as soon as possible
were back again on the bank. The commandant now came up, and I recounted
to him what we had been doing. He was horrified! That a man could go into
that pond and escape the crocodiles for ten minutes he regarded as next
to a miracle. A number of natives, who had frequently visited the place,
assured me that nothing could have induced them to run such a risk of
losing their lives. Our whole party then continued on over the grassy
hills, and came down to Roban, a place of two native huts, and one of
those was empty. Here, I thought to myself, will be another good locality
to find new species, and I determined to return and occupy the vacant
house for a few days.
It was already late in the afternoon before we thought of returning, and
pushed off from the shore in a boat that had come round the cape at the
mouth of the bay to take us home. Soon the wind sprang up ahead, our
little sail was taken in, and our men used their oars; but the sun set
and the moon arose, and yet we were slowly toiling on, and occasionally
our boat grated on the top of a coral head that rose higher than those
around it. At last we passed the cape, and reached the smooth water of
the bay, yet the helmsman kept near the shore, and took us between
two little islands on the east side of the bay, called by the natives
Crocodile Islands. As we passed the low point of one of them, within a
boat’s length from the shore, an enormous crocodile crawled out of the
jungle and clumsily hurried down the narrow bank into the water, as if he
had come out expecting to make a meal of us. The thought of the danger
I had incurred that very day of being devoured by such monsters made me
shudder and seize an oar, but the amphibious beast was already out of my
reach.
Along the eastern side of Kayéli Bay there is an extensive coral reef,
and farther out around the cape is another, a quarter of a mile wide,
that is bare at low tide. Along the outer edges of this I floated the
next day, while on my way back to Roban. The water was still, and as
clear as crystal, and we could see distinctly far down into the deep,
deep sea. Now, as we come near the reef, its outer wall suddenly rises
up, apparently from the unfathomable abyss of the ocean. Among the first
forms we notice are the hemispherical _Meandrinas_, or “brain corals,”
named, because, when the soft polyps are removed, small fissure-like
depressions are found winding to and fro over its surface, making the
raised parts between them closely resemble the convolutions of the
brain. Near by are some sending out many branches, like a thick bush,
and others with only a few, resembling deer-antlers of abnormal growth.
Some, which do not attach themselves to their neighbors, are circular, as
we see them from above. Their under surfaces are horizontal and their
upper sides slightly convex. When the soft parts are removed, a number
of radiating partitions are seen, so that the whole resembles a gigantic
mushroom turned upside down; and this family of polyps is hence called
_Fungidæ_. Scattered among the stone corals are many _Gorgonias_. Some
are much like broad sheets of foliage and similar to those known to us as
“sea-fans,” which generally come from the tropical waters among our West
Indies. Others resemble bundles of rattans; and, when the soft polyps are
taken off, a black horn-like axis stick is left. Others, when taken out
of the sea and dried, look like limbs cut from a small spruce-tree after
it has been dried, and lost hundreds of its small needle-like leaves.
Numbers of sponges are also seen, mostly of a spherical form, with many
ramifying ducts or tubes. But the most accurate description possible
must fail to convey any proper idea of the beauty and richness of these
gardens beneath the sea, because, in reading or hearing a description,
the various forms that are distinctly seen at a single glance have to be
mentioned one after another, and thus they pass along in a series or line
before our mental vision, instead of being grouped into circular areas,
where the charm consists not so much in the wonderful perfection of a
few separate parts, as in the harmonious relations, or, as architects
say, the effect of the whole. The pleasure of viewing coral reefs never
becomes wearisome, because the grouping is always new. No two places are
just alike beneath all the wide sea, and no one can fail to be thrilled
with pleasure, when, after a few strong strokes of the oars, his canoe
is left to glide on by her own momentum, and the coral gardens pass in
review below with a magical effect like a panorama.
At Roban I remained with my men three days, and, as we were nearer the
shore, the mosquitoes did not torment us as badly as previously at our
hut near the mountains. This proved to be a favorite locality of the
_castori rajah_, or “prince parrot,” which I had already seen in Ceram,
and I secured two or three pairs of them here, but I was specially
anxious to get a specimen of the _malayu_, as the Malays strangely name a
bird, the _Megapodius Forsteni_, which is allied to the hen. The common
name for these birds is “mound-builders,” from their peculiar habit of
scratching together great heaps of sand and sticks, which are frequently
twenty or twenty-five feet in diameter, and five feet high. These great
hillocks are their nests, and here they deposit their eggs. There is also
another species here, the _M. Wallacei_, which burrows deeply in the
sand. The natives brought me one specimen, which they caught while she
was crawling up from her hidden nest. I kept her alive for some time,
but, after laying an egg more than one-third as large as her whole body,
she died. Two eggs of the same dimensions were found at the bottom of
the tunnel she had made in the loose sand. This bird usually comes down
from the hills in the early part of the evening to deposit its eggs, and
then its wailing cry is occasionally heard, but it is so extremely shy,
that it is one of the most difficult of all the birds on the island to
procure.
I usually shot the birds, and my hunter always skinned them, noting the
locality of each, its sex, and as nearly as possible the color of its
eyes. The greatest annoyance that troubles the collector of birds in the
tropics is caused by the swarms of small ants that fill every conceivable
place. If a bird is shot and laid down on the ground for half an hour,
it will almost surely be injured so much by these insects that it will
not be worth skinning. There is no certain means of keeping them away
altogether, except by completely isolating a place with water, which
is usually done by putting small basins under each leg of a table, but
before one is aware of it, something is sure to be placed so as to touch
the table, and thus form a bridge for these omnivorous pests to cross
over and continue their work of destruction. As soon as the birds are
brought in they are hung up by a thread or piece of small twine. After
the skins are taken off, they are thoroughly poisoned with arsenic and
camphor, mixed with water to the consistency of cream. Each is then
filled with the cotton from the cotton-wood tree, until it has exactly
the size of the bird. They are then spread in the sun on a bamboo frame,
which is suspended by twines fastened at its corners. After they have
become thoroughly dried, they are kept in a tight tin box with large
pieces of gum-camphor, and even then they must be looked after every
day or two, for they are still liable to be injured by the ants, which
are particularly fond of gnawing at the base of the bill and around
the eyes. During the rainy season it is extremely difficult to dry the
skins properly, there is so little sunshine. No one who has not lived
in the tropics can have any idea what a source of constant vexation
the ants are. Bread, sugar, and every thing eatable, they are sure to
devour, unless it is kept in glass-stoppered bottles; and this is the
greater annoyance, because, when a quantity of provisions is lost, as
is constantly happening, it is so difficult to procure another supply
in every part of the archipelago, except in the immediate vicinity of
the few chief cities. They are sure, in some way or other, to find their
way into every little nook or corner; and though a table be set with the
greatest care, in nine cases out of ten some will be seen running on the
white cloth before dinner is over. The floors of the houses occupied
by Europeans are usually made of large, square pieces of earthen-ware,
and through the cracks that chance to occur in the cement between them
ants are sure to appear. It is this, probably, that has given rise to
the saying, that “the ants will eat through a brick in a single night.”
In all parts of the archipelago it is an established custom either to
whitewash the walls inside and outside, or else paint them white, except
a narrow strip along the floor, which is covered with a black paint
chiefly composed of tar, the only common substance to which these pests
show any aversion. All these troubles are caused by the “black ants,”
but their ravages do not compare with those caused by the “white ants,”
which actually eat up solid wood. The frames of many of the smaller
buildings and out-houses in the East are not mortised, but are fastened
together with pieces of _coir_ rope, and, of course, when they are eaten
off, the whole structure comes to the ground. A large L attached to the
_controleur’s_ house, which we have been using for a dining-room, fell
down from this cause the other day. Afterward, when I came to Macassar, a
fine war-steamer of eight hundred or one thousand tons was pointed out to
me, which the white ants had succeeded in establishing themselves in, and
several gentlemen, who ought to have known, said that she was so badly
eaten by them that she was almost unseaworthy.
On another occasion the commandant and I went to the west end of the bay
to hunt deer. We started early, and at eight o’clock were already at the
mouth of a small stream, which we ascended for a short distance, and a
guide then led us through a strip of woods that lined the banks. Our
party in all consisted of more than twenty, half of whom were soldiers,
armed with rifles; the others came to start up the game. When we passed
out into a level, open prairie, all that had guns were posted about
twenty yards apart, in a line parallel to the woods. The others made
a long circuit round, and finally entered the forest before us. Then
forming into a line, they began to drive toward us, shouting with all
their might, and making a din horrid enough to frighten other animals
less timid than deer. Packs of dogs, that the natives had brought, were
meantime yelping and howling. Soon there was a cracking in the bushes
near me, and at the next instant came a female and her fawn, with high,
flying leaps through the tall grass. I carried a heavy government
rifle, for, unfortunately, my light breech-loading Spencer was not on
the island. I aimed at the foremost and fired; she fell, and I ran,
shouting out to the others that I had one, when, to my surprise, at the
next instant she sprang up again and with one leap disappeared into the
dense jungle. That was the only good shot I had that day. Again and again
we drove, but when we stood in the tall grass, which was as high as our
heads, we could not see our game, and when we perched on stumps, or
climbed into the trees, we could not turn round quickly enough to fire
suddenly in an unexpected quarter with any certain aim. However, when
the horn was sounded for all to assemble, one fine deer and one large
wild hog were brought in. Once a large male came out about five hundred
yards from where I was standing. At the crack of the rifle he only raised
his head high and darted away, almost with the speed of a bullet. His
antlers were very large and branching, and the gracefulness and speed
with which he flew over the plain made the sight one of the finest I
ever enjoyed. The natives are accustomed now, during the dry monsoon, to
burn the prairie-lands, partly in order that new, sweet grass may spring
up, and that when the deer come out of the forests to eat it they will
be fully exposed to the rifles, and partly, as they say, to induce them
to come out in order to lick up the ashes. The usual method, besides
driving, is to lie in wait near a newly-burnt place by night, when there
is moonlight enough to enable the hunters to see every thing within a
rifle-shot plainly. After the deer is secured its flesh is cut up into
thin slices and smoked, and now, in many places on the hills around the
bay of Kayéli, columns of smoke are seen rising every day, where the
natives are busy changing venison into _dinding_, the only kind of meat
they have except that of wild boars, which are very abundant on this
island, though seldom taken. They are accustomed to come out into the
prairie-lands in great droves, and frequently an area of a quarter of an
acre is so completely rooted up by them that it looks as if it had been
ploughed. They even come by night to the gardens, or cultivated places,
at a little distance from the village, and in a short time destroy almost
every thing growing in them. One time, seeing a rare bird perched high
on the top of a lone tree that stood in the tall grass, I cautiously
approached within range and fired, when suddenly there was a rattling of
hoofs on the dry ground, caused by the stampede of a large herd within
pistol-shot of where we were, but entirely hidden from our view by the
thick grass. The natives are usually afraid of them, and the one who was
crawling along behind me to pick up the bird fled at the top of his speed
when he heard the thundering tread of more than a hundred hoofs, while
I stood wondering what sort of beasts had so suddenly sprung out of the
earth, and half querying whether my shot, as they fell on the ground,
had not been changed into quadrupeds in the same miraculous way that the
dragon teeth, sown by Cadmus, were transformed into men. The hog-deer, or
_babirusa_, is also found among these mountains. While I was at Kayéli a
young one was caught by some of the natives. During this day’s hunt I
came to a wide field of recently elevated coral, about one hundred feet
above the sea. The natives, who were surprised that I should stop to look
at such common rocks, asserted that the same kind of _batu puti_, “white
stone,” was found among the hills, and I have no doubt that recent coral
reefs will be found in the mountainous parts of all the adjacent islands
as high up as Governor Arriens has already traced them on Amboina.
While these days were passing by, we all wondered what the authorities
were doing to put down the great insurrection in Ceram. All the boats
that came brought us only the vaguest tidings, sometimes of entire
success, and sometimes of entire failure. We had good cause to be
solicitous, for at two or three posts on that island there were only
about a dozen Dutch soldiers, and if any numbers of the head-hunting
Alfuras made an attack in concert, all would inevitably be butchered.
While we were in this state of suspense, six large praus were seen coming
in round one of the capes and entering our bay. As the foremost hove to
and waited for the others, that all might reach the anchorage together,
they appeared to be coming with some evil design, and immediately there
was no little bustle in our settlement of nine Europeans, four of whom
were ladies. The commandant summoned all his troops into the fort,
sergeants were posted in the four corners by the four cannon, the men
once more put through the routine of loading, so that if anybody was
killed by the discharge of their pieces, which, by the by, were only
six-pounders, it might be some one outside of the fort. In short,
every thing was made ready to do battle. Meantime the six praus came to
anchor off the beach. One of them had the required pass from the Dutch
authorities at Ceram, allowing his boat to come to Kayéli, but the
others had no such papers, and, according to their own story, had become
frightened at the great guns in Ceram, and had also deserted their homes.
This seemed to me so probable that I went down on the beach, and, if the
authorities had allowed it, I would have taken half a dozen natives in a
canoe and boarded every one of the praus myself, and found out what they
contained. I was importuned to come back from the shore, but as I had
been in battle myself, I did not purpose to get frightened and hide in
the fort until I could see some cause for it. After a long consultation,
it was decided that I should not be permitted to inspect the praus, and a
number of Malays were sent off to carefully examine each of the dangerous
vessels. This was done, and the report brought back that there were only
three or four natives in each, and that as to weapons, not one of them
had even an old flint-lock. Thus ended the alarm, and once more the usual
dull routine set in, but this time to be broken by a circumstance as
romantic as it was peculiar.
In our little community of nine persons there was a young officer. He
was affable, energetic, and withal a good military man for one of his
years, but, unfortunately, his mind had been fed on novels until this
world appeared to him little more than half real. He was engaged to a
young lady, who lived also in our little village. Besides his romantic
notions, another of his faults was that he was exceedingly irritable,
so much so, that he and the lady’s father fell into a serious dispute,
in which he became so enraged that he ordered his servant to saddle his
horse forthwith, while he pulled on his long-spurred riding-boots, and
stuck a large Colt’s revolver (navy size) into his belt. He now declared
his intention to put an end to all his ills with his own hand, and,
disregarding the screams of his affianced, and the prayers and entreaties
of all, he sprang into the saddle, and, dashing by the house where I was
living, disappeared up the road into the forest. The gentleman with whom
I was residing saw him as he passed, and at once surmised his intent, but
I assured my host that it took a brave man to commit suicide, and in due
time we should certainly see our friend safely return. The sequel proved
the correctness of my judgment, for in a couple of hours he came back,
his horse reeking with perspiration, and he himself as crestfallen as
Don Quixote after his most heart-breaking misfortunes. The only one who
suffered from this event was the young lady, who had so much confidence
in her gallant friend as to foolishly believe he would carry out his
desperate resolve to the bitter end.
Instead of remaining only a few days as I had planned, I had now lived
more than three months in exile here at Buru, when one morning it was
announced that the governor’s yacht, the Telegraph, had arrived, to my
great delight, for I had already engaged a prau to call in for me while
on her way from Amboina to Ternate. The Telegraph came from Ceram to
afford me an opportunity of going to Ternate, the very place I was
anxious to reach, and at the same time to leave an order for _sapis_,
which she would take to Ceram on her return. The sapi or Madura cattle
have been introduced into all these islands by the government to be used
as food for the soldiers, but only in cases of emergency. I immediately
prepared to continue my travels to other islands, and that day, September
6th, we steamed out of Kayéli Bay. For two months I had wandered over
hills and mountains, penetrating the densest jungles, and picking my
way through bogs filled with thorny vines. Again and again the natives
entertained me with descriptions of the great pythons with which the
whole island abounds, but whenever I saw a bird that I wanted, I always
followed it as long as I could see it. The result was, that I had
collected eighty-one species,[42] which were represented by over four
hundred specimens, nine-tenths of which I had shot myself.
This bay is a good harbor for our whalers, and, before the war, several
came here every year. It is a free port, and there is a safe anchorage,
plenty of good water and wood, and vegetables can be obtained at cheap
rates.
For the last time I looked back on the mountains rising behind in the
interior of the village. Many and many an hour, as the sun was setting,
I used to stand by the shore of the bay where a large cannon was planted
erect in the sand, and, leaning against its dumb, rusty mouth, watch
the changing of beautiful colors in the clouds that rested on the high
peaks in the south, while the day was fading into twilight, and the
twilight into a pure, starlight night. Near this spot the sand-pipers
came and tripped to and fro on the beach when the tide was full, and many
long-winged night-hawks swooped back and forth, feasting on multitudes of
insects that came out as evening approached. Far back of those mountains,
near the centre of the island, there is a lake, and on its shores,
according to the ancient belief of the natives, grows a plant which
possesses the wondrous power of making every one who holds it in his hand
_young again_, even when his locks have grown white with years, and his
hand is already palsied with old age. This must be the fountain of youth,
which, according to Mohammedan tradition, is situated in some dark region
in the distant East, and which Moore in his “Lalla Rookh” refers to as—
“—— youth’s radiant fountain,
Springing in some desolate mountain.”