THE NORTHERN PENINSULA OF CELEBES.
On the morning of the 13th of December Mount Klabat, a conical volcanic
mountain attaining an elevation of six thousand five hundred feet,
appeared on the horizon; and soon after, north of Klabat, was seen Mount
Sudara, “The Sisters,” a twin cone whose highest peak is about four
thousand four hundred feet above the sea. North of this again is Batu
angus, two thousand three hundred feet in height. Its name in Malay means
“the hot rock,” but it is really a large volcano, whose top has been
blown off and a great crater thus formed; and this shows the fearful
fate that awaits each of the other two cones, as soon as the gases pent
up beneath their mighty masses have acquired the necessary power. We now
approached Limbi, a high, uninhabited island with abrupt shores extending
in a northwest and southeast direction, and soon after came to anchor
in the road off Kema, the coast here curving inward so as to form a
small bay. This is the port used now in the western monsoon. During the
eastern monsoon, steamers and ships go round the northern end of Celebes
to Menado, in the Strait of Macassar. Kema is a village of two thousand
inhabitants. Its streets are very broad, and cross each other at right
angles. The houses are well built, and placed on piles twelve or eighteen
inches in diameter and six feet high—a remnant of the old custom of
placing their huts on high posts to avoid attacks of enemies, which was
practised by these people previous to the arrival of Europeans. It is
certainly a good custom, not only because all such unwelcome intruders
as the large snakes, which are very numerous here, are thus avoided, but
also to keep the house dry and cool, by allowing a free circulation of
air beneath. Each house has a small plot of ground, and this is separated
from that of its neighbor by hedges, which also border the streets,
and give the whole village a charming air compared to the irregular,
unsightly appearance of those I had been visiting. Most of the streets
are also lined with shade-trees, and in the gardens, behind the hedges,
are rows of orange-trees, some of their branches bearing flowers, some
green fruit, and some drooping under the abundance of their golden-yellow
loads.
The _controleur_ here kindly received me into his house. He was just
going to Limbi, an island five or six miles north of Kema, to try to take
some living _babirusa_ for the governor-general’s garden at Buitenzorg,
back of Batavia. That was exactly such an excursion as suited my fancy,
and I was very willing to accept his invitation to join him before
I began a journey I had been planning over to Menado, and thence up
into the interior. While we were preparing for our excursion, another
gentleman, Mr. K., decided to join us.
_December 20th._—A bright, clear day, and just suitable for starting on
our hunt. We have a ship’s long-boat and a small prau, both containing
about twenty natives, and a large pack of dogs to start up the game. The
_controleur_ is the captain of our boat, and an old, gray Malay, who
has been a seaman and a whaler for most of his days, is the coxswain
of the other, and pilot for both. For ballast we have a full load of
rice, our two boats carrying only half the whole party, the other
portion—twenty-five natives and half as many dogs—went yesterday, under
the charge of the second native chief of the village, who rejoices in the
euphonious title of _Hukom kadua_, but the Dutch call him the “Second
Head.” From Kema up to the strait, between Limbi and Celebes, we had a
light air off the shore. A thin cloud, like a veil of gauze, gathered
on the heads of the twin-peaks known as “The Sisters,” and fell down in
rich graceful folds over their green shoulders. From the crests of all
these peaks, down to the high-water line on the shore, is one dense,
unbroken forest. There dwells the _sapi utung_ or “wild ox,” probably
not indigenous, but descended from the tame sapi introduced from Java
and Madura. The natives describe them as being exceedingly fierce,
both the cows and the bulls. Here that peculiar antelope, the _Anoa
depressicornis_, H. Smith, abounds. In these same dense, undisturbed
forests the babirusa (_Babirusa alfurus_, Less.) is found in large
numbers; and a species of _Sus_, much like the lean hog that lives in the
forests of our Southern States, is very abundant. As soon as we entered
the strait we found a strong current against us, and landed on the south
side in a small bay to take our lunch. Again we rowed and beat until we
came to the narrowest part of the strait, where high, perpendicular walls
of rock rise on either hand. The tide which sets toward the east, that is
before the wind, now changed, and away we shot between the overhanging
crags with the speed of an arrow. Outside of these narrows the shores
open on both sides, so that almost at once we were exposed to the full
strength of the stormy monsoon. The strong tide running against the wind
rolled up a high, irregular sea; in fact, the ocean seemed to boil. “Have
you any idea that we can land on that exposed shore in the midst of
such a surf?” I asked the _controleur_. “Well, it is getting dreadfully
rough,” was his indefinite reply. The old Malay pilot, who had kept his
boat ahead, now stood up, and seeing the combing waves, into which the
strong current was rapidly driving us, shouted out to the _controleur_,
“_Dra bisa Tuan!_” “It is impossible, sir! It is impossible, sir!”
Instantly we tacked and stood over toward the Celebes side, and, under
the guidance of the old whaler, soon entered a small, well-sheltered bay.
Near its middle part the island of Limbi is very narrow, and across that
place had been stretched a series of strong nets made of rope a quarter
of an inch in diameter, the meshes being about six inches square. Our
plan was to commence driving at the northern end of the island and force
the wild babirusas into this trap; but it was already quite dark, and
the place where the _hukom_ had landed was a long way to windward, and
we therefore concluded to camp here to-night. For a tent we cut poles
from the neighboring bunches of bamboo and covered them with the boat’s
sail and an old tarpaulin. Our friend K., who was extremely careful not
to boast of being a good sailor, became exceedingly frightened while we
were in the midst of the combing waves, and asked me, half a dozen times
during the evening, if the tide would not rise so high as to wash us
off this steep shore before morning, but I tried to quiet his nerves by
assuring him that such a thing could not happen unless the earth should
sink, a very possible thing now that I come to think of it, for that very
beach was composed of black volcanic sand, and we were almost beneath a
cone, which rose on the flanks of _Batu angus_, and had been formed so
recently that even the luxuriant vegetation of these tropics had not yet
had time to gain a footing on its dark sides. In order to get a partial
shelter from the heavy showers we expected before morning, we pitched our
camp beneath the sturdy branches of an old tree. There we slept while the
wind, in heavy gusts, sighed through the dense foliage over our heads,
and at our feet rose the heavy, pulsating roar of the ocean-surf.
_December 21st._—After passing a comfortable night, notwithstanding
the fears of our companion that we should awake before morning, and
find ourselves in the midst of the sea, we again attempted to reach
the northern end of Limbi, but, as soon as we got out of the bay, we
struck into such a heavy sea that our men could not take us to windward,
and were therefore obliged to put back once more. This time, to vary
the scenery, we passed through the narrows, and encamped on a charming
little beach on the island side of the strait, between two high,
precipitous crags. Our first care was, of course, to construct a tent,
a work soon finished by our large crew. At 11 A. M. we all felt a heavy
earthquake-shock, which lasted, apparently, thirty seconds; but these are
frequent phenomena in this part of Celebes. On the 25th of last month,
not four weeks ago, there was a very heavy earthquake over the whole
Minahassa. At Kema we could still see great rents in the ground, three
or four inches wide, which could be traced for several rods. The shock
was so severe that nearly every article of glass or earthen-ware in the
_controleur’s_ house was broken into fragments. Indeed, as I look up
now toward the west, I do not wonder the earth heaves beneath us like a
troubled sea; for there rises the old volcano known in olden times as
Mount Tonkoko. It has a great yawning crater, six hundred feet deep, out
of which are rising thick, white clouds of gas. On the northwest side
a deep ravine cuts through its flanks, and opens out into the crater.
Farther down this same side is the new cone, beneath which we pitched
our camp last night. In 1806 a great eruption began in this old volcano,
and ashes, sand, and pumice-stone were thrown out in great quantities.
At Ayar-madidi the ashes were fine and of a gray color, and covered the
ground with a layer an inch thick. For two days the heavens were darkened
by the great quantity of these light materials floating in the air. So
many stones were ejected, that at a distance of nearly three miles a new
cone was formed, from which a long tongue of land stretched itself into
the sea. This point the natives called _Batu angus_, “the Hot Rock,” and
since that time the whole volcano has been known by that name. Some of
the pumice-stones were said to have been as large as the native huts, but
so changed into a kind of foam by the action of heat, that they readily
floated on the sea.
Soon after sunset I went out to fish in a small canoe with the
_controleur_ and his old pilot. The place we chose was under a high,
perpendicular precipice that rose up out of the dark water like an
artificial wall. Here we remained while the rocks grew higher and higher
and more and more overhanging as the daylight faded, and the approaching
night blended the sharp outlines and increased the magnitude of every
object around us. Near by was a deep ravine, and from its farthermost
recesses rolled out the reverberating, moaning cries of monkeys, who all
night long keep up a piteous calling, each answering his fellow in the
same mournful tones.
Our lines were just about as large as a mackerel-line. The hooks each
native makes for himself, from brass wire, and about a fathom of wire
is attached to each hook before the line is fastened to it, in order
to prevent the fish from severing the cord with their sharp teeth. For
bait, small fish are taken. In fishing at anchor, no leads are used,
but, instead of them, a kind of sling of palm-leaf is fastened to each
hook. This sling contains a small stone, so fixed that it will carry
down the line, but drop out as soon as it touches the bottom. After we
had obtained a good supply of fine fish, we slowly passed along the
high, well-sheltered shore, while the heavy wind sighed through the lofty
branches over our heads. Now a gleam of light comes over the dark water,
just beyond that high bluff; we are near the camp, and in a few moments
stand again on the beach. This day is done, and yet the storm continues,
but we hope we may be more favored to-morrow.
_December 22d._—Last night I soon fell asleep after such vigorous use of
the paddle, though the storm wailed, and my couch was any thing but a bed
of down. At midnight a troubled dream disturbed my brain. An indefinite
horror thrilled along my veins as I fancied for a moment that I was
whirling round such a deep yawning maelstrom as Poe has pictured, and
then literally “a change came o’er the spirit of my dream,” but scarcely
a change for the better, for I was fixed in the midst of a water-spout,
and, in my struggles to escape, awoke and found a great stream of water
pouring down on me from the tarpaulin that formed the roof of our tent. A
heavy shower had come on, and the water was all running into a depression
in the sail over me, in which, of course, there was a hole, so that the
whole formed one big tunnel. Of course, both K. and the _controleur_
enjoyed my discomfiture greatly, but I consoled myself with the thought
that long before daylight they would find themselves in the same plight;
and the next morning, apparently, the thing that was farthest from their
thoughts was to inquire of me in regard to the water-spout.
That portion of the party that had left Kema in advance of us had taken
little rice. The _controleur_, therefore, thought we must make a third
attempt to reach the northern end of the island, notwithstanding K.’s
earnest entreaties to be only taken back to Kema once more. We had not
reached the narrows, however, before we met the hukom with all his men
and dogs. They had found the surf so high that the only way most of
his men had been able to reach their boats, was to run down the steep
rocks and plunge head foremost into the combing waves. We now landed a
few natives to scour the woods, and finally come to the southern end of
the island, while we went round in the boats. In order to make their
way through the dense forest, instead of putting on more clothing as a
protection against the sticks and stones and thorny vines, they stripped
off what little they wore, except a narrow band over the loins. At the
southern end of the island was a small, deep bay, and here we encamped
for the third time. Soon the natives came in, but they had secured only
two wild hogs. I preserved the skull of one, a female, in which the
canine teeth were not as long as those of a male. The hukom declared that
in the babirusa only the males have the long curved teeth, which the
Malays have fancied resemble the antlers of a deer. While waiting for us,
he had been hunting in the vicinity of his camp, and had taken one female
by driving her to the end of a high point. As soon as she saw there was
no chance for her to escape, she leaped down the precipice and was killed
by the fall. Such suicide, he says, is frequently resorted to by that
animal when it finds it can retreat no farther. The wild hogs plunge
into the water to avoid the dogs, and the natives then pursue them in
boats and kill them with spears. As soon as the hunters return to camp,
they cut up the hogs, and smoke the pieces over a smouldering fire. The
dogs now skulk about to seize a piece if possible, and while the natives
are crouching round the fire transforming the lean pork into tough bacon,
you are frequently startled by a sharp yelping as some one finds his
portion disappearing beneath the jaws of one of these hungry brutes, and
a liberal chastisement is at once administered to the thief with the
first stick or club at hand.
_December 23d._—Last night there was another heavy shower. The water
poured down in torrents through our thatching of palm-leaves, for we had
already found that both the boat’s sail and the old tarpaulin afforded
little protection here where the water appears to fall in broad sheets.
Late in the evening the _controleur_ came back from fishing. We could
hear the Malays that were pulling his boat singing in an unusually loud
and merry style, and all gathered on the beach to see what wonderful
monster of the deep they had secured. It proved to be a fish as large
as a horse-mackerel, and weighing fully two hundred pounds, which the
_controleur_ had succeeded in taking with a small line by chancing to
get it alongside the boat and securing it by gaffs. As our stock of
rice was getting low, we decided to return, though I could scarcely
feel satisfied, for I had hoped to get a complete skeleton of the rare
babirusa; however, the _controleur_ more than made up the loss by giving
me half a dozen skulls of the equally rare antelope of this region. We
now crossed over to the Celebes side to a village of four or five huts,
to be sheltered from the heavy rains that have drenched us every night
but one since we left Kema. A few natives have moved here from Kema
because they take many fish off this part of the coast, and there is a
small stream emptying into the sea in the vicinity. They live almost
wholly by fishing, and have cleared only a small place near their houses
for a garden of Indian corn. This evening they have shown me one of the
monsters of these forests. It was an enormous python. Its head has been
taken off, but by careful measurement I find it must have been at least
fifteen feet long. It was killed here the day before yesterday by one of
the natives living in the house where we are now sheltered from the rain.
Missing his dog, he chanced to go to the brook where they get water, and
there he found this monstrous reptile trying to swallow his favorite.
As quietly as possible he stole back to the village and gave the alarm,
and at once all went out and succeeded in cutting off its head before it
could disgorge its prey and attack them. The natives are now taking off
the skin to make rude moccasins, which they frequently use when hunting
in the woods, or more especially when travelling through the tall,
sharp-edged prairie-grass. They all agree that this tough, scaly skin is
much more durable for such a purpose than the best kind of leather. Our
old boatman tells me that he once killed one of those great reptiles on
Limbi, while it was trying to swallow a wild pig. All the natives assert
that this monster sometimes attacks the wild ox, _sapi utung_, though
none of them have ever seen such a dreadful combat. The _controleur_
states to me that when he was stationed at Bachian, near the southern end
of Gilolo, he was once out hunting deer, at a place called Patola, with
a large party of natives. They had succeeded in starting up several, and
he himself saw one of them pass under a tree and at the same instant a
great snake came down from one of the lower limbs and caught the flying
deer with his jaws. Unfolding his tail from the limb, he instantly wound
round his victim, crushing its bones as if they were straw. An alarm was
given, and the natives gathered with their spears and killed the great
reptile on the spot. It was not as large round as this one, but longer.
Many of our men tell me that they once assisted in killing a larger snake
than this at the bathing-place back of Kema. It had seized a hog, whose
squealing soon gave all the inhabitants a warning of what had happened.
They also say (and this remarkable story has since been repeated to me
by several other persons at Kema) that a few years ago a native boy went
out as usual to work in his _ladang_, or garden, some distance from
the village. At night he did not return, and the next morning a native
chanced to pass the garden and saw one of these great monsters trying
to swallow the boy head first, having already crushed the bones of its
victim. He at once returned to the village, and a large party of natives
went out and found the snake and its prey exactly as had been reported,
and immediately killed it with such weapons as they had, and gave the
body of their young friend a decent burial. While they were telling me
these stories I thought of the danger to which I must often have been
unconsciously exposed while wandering mile after mile through the jungles
on Buru, never suspecting that, before I left the archipelago, I myself
should be forced into a dreadful combat with one of these monsters, and
in such a place that one or the other must die on the spot.
The next day we returned to Kema, and I began my journey over the
peninsula to Menado, and thence up to the plateau in the interior.
_December 26th._—At 9 A. M. started on horseback, the only mode of
travelling in the Minahassa, for Menado, the largest village in this
peninsula of Celebes, and the place where the Resident of this region
is located. I went there first, in order to see the Resident and obtain
letters to the officials of the interior. The distance from Kema to
Menado is about twenty miles. The road is made only for carts, but nearly
all the way it is lined with shade-trees, and in several places, for
long distances, they meet overhead so as to form a continuous covered
way, thus affording to those who travel to and fro an admirable shelter
from the hot sunshine and heavy showers. Among these trees were many
crows, _Corvus enka_, not shy as they always are in our country, but so
tame that I frequently rode within ten yards of where they were sitting
without causing them to move. Numbers of a bright-yellow bird, about
as large as our robin, were seen among the branches, and on the ground
another somewhat larger than a blackbird, _Dicrurus_, with a long,
lyre-shaped tail, and a plumage of shining blue-black. These birds
rarely or never hear the report of a gun, and therefore have not learned
to look on man as a universal destroyer, and the tameness they manifest
is perfectly charming. Even the black crow, with its hoarse caw, becomes
an attractive bird when you find he no longer tries to shun your company,
but makes all the overtures he can to be social.
The road runs along the southern flanks of Mount Klabat, and is slowly
ascending from Kema to Ayar-madidi, which is about half-way across, and
then slowly descends again to the western shore of the peninsula. On my
right hand was a deep valley, and fine scenery was occasionally revealed
through the foliage of the trees that covered the way. On the opposite
side of the valley were many small projecting ridges that have been
formed by denuding torrents, and extend down to the level of the stream
that flows out from the lake of Tondano to the ocean at Kema.
By noon I came to the village of Ayar-madidi, “Hot Water,” a name it
receives from a neighboring spring, which in former times was hot. As
it comes out of Mount Klabat, it was probably heated by the volcanic
action that raised that great mountain, which is only an extinct volcano.
As the volcanic action decreased, the heat passed off, until now, the
water is as cool as that of any other stream in the vicinity. Even as
late as the 12th of November, 1848, this water was described as “cooking
hot.” According to Valentyn, in the year 1683, a great eruption took
place in a mountain near Menado, which he calls “Kemaas,” and all the
surrounding country was laid waste. “Kemaas” Dr. Junghuhn has supposed
to be Klabat, but he never visited this region, and the conical summit
of Klabat shows its destruction by heavy eruptions has not yet begun. It
is far more probable that Kemaas was the mountain now known as Sudara,
whose two peaks are only the fragments of the upper part of the cone that
were left standing when the eruptive force blew off the other parts, or
so weakened their foundations, that they have long since fallen, and
the materials of which they were composed have been brought down, and
spread out by the rains over the flanks of the mountain. Natives, who
have been to the top of Klabat, inform me that there is a small lake
on the northwest side. Its basin is, no doubt, that part of the old
crater which has not yet been filled so as to make the whole elevation
a perfect cone. If this, lake was of any considerable size, then, as
occurred on Mount Papandayang, in Java, mud and hot water will certainly
pour down the sides of this mountain, if it is again convulsed by the
mighty forces that are now slumbering beneath it. Ayar-madidi is a large
_kampong_, or _négri_, as the Malays sometimes call their villages. It
is beautifully situated on the southern flanks of Mount Klabat. Its
streets all cross each other at right angles, and are well shaded. So
far as we are aware, the Malays and Javanese had no word for village
previous to the arrival of the Telingas, and it has been conjectured,
from this fact, that they were scattered everywhere over their particular
territories exactly as we have seen is the custom of the aborigines of
Buru, the Alfura, who have been beyond the influence of both Hindus and
Arabs, and even of those natives who have adopted any foreign religion or
custom. Ayar-madidi is a prettier village than Kema. Indeed, the more I
travelled in the Minahassa, the more I admired the kampongs, they are so
incomparably superior to those of every other part of the archipelago in
the regularity of their streets and the beautiful hedges with which they
are lined, and, above all, in the neatness and evidence of thrift that
everywhere appear.
The chief native of this village is also the chief of the district, which
contains several villages. His title in the native language is _Hukom
Biza_, or “Great Chief,” though he prefers to be addressed by the Dutch
title of major. The native official next in rank is the chief of one of
the smaller villages, as at Kema. His title is _Hukom Kadua_. At smaller
villages than Kema the chief is called _Hukom Tua_, or “Old Hukom,” and
beneath him is the _Hukom Kachil_, or Little Hukom. These officers are
nominally elected by the natives, but the choice is generally confined to
the sons of the deceased.
The Majors and Second Heads receive a percentage on all the coffee raised
and delivered to the government. This amounts to about twenty thousand
guilders per year for the seventeen districts in the whole Minahassa.
Besides this income, the Major receives one guilder, and the Second
Head half a guilder from each family in their respective districts and
sub-districts, and the _Hukom Tua_ five days’ labor from each able-bodied
man yearly.
The natives themselves are divided by the Dutch into burgers or “free
citizens,” and inlanders or “natives,” who are obliged to work a certain
number of days in the coffee-gardens belonging to the government. The
total population of the Minahassa in this year (1866), as furnished me
by the Resident from the official documents, is 104,418,[48] and the
marked degree of variation in the population of this country, where the
natives have never been a maritime people, is worth more than a passing
notice, because it shows in some degree the beneficial effect of a stable
government, and how the natives are sometimes swept away by disease. In
1800, according to Valentyn, the population was 24,000, though he gives
the number of able men at only 3,990. In 1825 it was 73,000; in 1842,
93,332; in 1853, 99,588. In 1854 a great mortality appeared, and the
population was diminished to 92,546, no less than 12,821 persons, or
about one-seventh of the population, having died in a single year. In the
district of Amurang the loss was as high as 22½ per cent. The principal
diseases are fevers and dysentery. The population of the Minahassa, as
compared to its area, 14,000 English square miles, is by no means large.
The island of Madura, which is of about the same extent, has more than
five times as large a population; and the residency of Surabaya, also of
about the same extent, contains more than ten times as many people. The
natives directed me to the major’s residence, which I found to be a small
but neat and well-painted house, built in European style. It is situated
in the middle of a large, oblong lawn, that is surrounded with a row of
trees much like our locust-trees, and which are now in full bloom. Near
the gate are a guard-house and long series of stables. Dismounting here,
I walked up to the broad piazza, where the major sat smoking his pipe in
the Dutch style, and discussing in the Dutch language the state of the
weather, the crops, and such things as interested the Dutchmen of those
lands. His manners were polished, and he received me in a most stately
way. His friends were going to Menado, so that I should have companions
the rest of the way. Our dinner was in European style, which seemed the
more remarkable to me because it differed so much from the way I had
been entertained by the rajahs of the Moluccas. In our dining-room was a
fine-series of pictures representing scenes in that most charming tale,
“Paul and Virginia.” We were just at the foot of Mount Klabat, but we
could not see its summit on account of thick rain-clouds that covered
its sides, and now and then rolled down and poured out heavy showers
over the village. As one of these floated away to the east, the sun came
out brightly and changed the falling drops into a remarkably broad and
brilliant rainbow, which seemed suspended from the cloud, and floated
along with it in a most magical manner.
Here I saw for the first time the plant from which “manilla hemp” is
manufactured. It is a species of banana, _Musa textilis_, and grows to
a height of twelve or fifteen feet. It appears to be indigenous, and
can be raised here from the seed. The fibres are taken from the large,
succulent leaves. Though it resembles the banana so closely that at
first most people would mistake it for that plant, its fruit is small,
disagreeable to the taste, and not edible. Several residents have made
strenuous efforts to extend its cultivation, but the result has shown
that the natives can be more profitably employed in raising coffee.
The rain-clouds having cleared away, we all started for Menado. The
horse that had been kindly furnished me by an officer was not fast nor
sure-footed; and, finally, as we were going down a gentle declivity at a
quick canter, he fell headlong. As I am, at least, a much better sailor
than horseman, I went off over his head with a most surprising momentum,
my feet, unfortunately, passing so far into the stirrups that I could not
extricate either of them. This so frightened the horse that he reared and
plunged fearfully, but I had no idea of being dragged off like Mazeppa,
and held on to the reins until my feet were once more clear, when, with
one leap, I was again in the saddle, and ready for further experience
in this mode of travelling. Though I was aware my position was somewhat
dangerous, I could not help feeling amused at the alarm manifested by my
companions. They all seemed delighted to know that I had escaped with
only such inconvenience as one clad in a summer suit of white would
necessarily experience in coming down in such an unceremonious manner
into the midst of a muddy stream. Late in the evening we came to the
Resident’s house, where a cordial welcome awaited me, and I had the
pleasure to find myself once more in the midst of a pleasant family
after so long and lonely an exile.
The next morning I walked through the village. Its total population is
only about 2,500, of which 300 are Europeans and mestizoes; about 600
Chinamen, and 1,200 natives, half of whom are Christians and the other
half Mohammedans. The Resident’s house is surrounded by large grounds,
abounding in the choicest of tropical plants. Not far from it is the
market, a house without walls, the roof resting on pillars of wood and
masonry. This is the universal style of the markets in all parts of the
archipelago. Here various kinds of fruits, gambier, betel-nuts, and
siri are sold by the natives, and salt, cotton fabrics, and cutlery, by
Chinese. The salt used here is not imported from Java, as that used on
the other islands I have visited, but is made by the natives themselves
in the following manner: Littoral-plants are gathered and burned. The
ashes are then placed in a bamboo, which is filled with water. After this
has remained for some time, the water is strained off and evaporated.
The residuum is a dark, impure salt, but the natives prefer it to any
that can be imported. This custom seems to have been introduced lately,
for in 1841 the government sold three hundred and twelve thousand pounds
of imported salt, but in 1853 only two thousand. From the village
of Menado I walked northward parallel to the bay, and, crossing the
little stream Menado, came to the village of the Bantiks, a peculiar
people, numbering about two thousand five hundred, who refuse to become
Mohammedans or Christians, and continue to retain the heathen belief
of their forefathers. Many of them are taller than the other people I
saw in the Minahassa. Their houses are not placed on higher posts than
those of other natives, but they are frequently long, and occupied by
several families—a custom which appears to have been general throughout
the archipelago in ancient times, and is still practised at Dorey, on
the north coast of New Guinea, and again by the people of the Tenger
Mountains in Java, who pride themselves on retaining the customs of their
ancestors. The view has been advanced that the Bantiks are descendants
of Chinamen, who established themselves here when they first came to
the Moluccas to purchase spices. This may have been the case, but their
features, though somewhat different from the other natives, did not
appear to me to be so unlike them as to necessitate such a theory. As
they have kept themselves more away from the influence of all foreigners
than most Malays, they give us a good idea of what the aborigines of this
region were before the arrival of the Portuguese.
About three miles round the northern side bay, we came to Temumpa, where
all the lepers of this residency are obliged to live, banished forever
from all communication with other natives, except such of their friends
as come to see them. The little village consists of twelve small houses,
regularly arranged on either side of a street. They were all neatly
whitewashed, and each has a small plot of ground, where its unfortunate
occupants can busy themselves, and forget their incurable sufferings
and their banishment. A native who lives near by has charge of them,
and my opinion was very decided that they were well cared for by the
government. As we passed from house to house, the officer called them
out, and I gave each a small piece of silver, for which they appeared
very grateful. There are now nineteen here afflicted with this loathsome
malady. The part that appears to be the first attacked is the nose, the
next is the hands, and the last the feet, though in some it only appears
in one of these organs. In one case the nose had wholly disappeared—even
the partition between the nostrils—so that I could look directly into
the chamber over the mouth. At the same time the muscles on one side of
the face were so contracted that the features presented a most sickening
sight. In another case, the nose and all the upper lip were gone, and
even the outer part of the upper jaw, so that the front teeth only stuck
fast on one side, and were completely exposed to view throughout their
entire length. These, however, were the older cases, in which the disease
had made greater progress. Many had lost their fingers and toes. One
little girl had her ankles and feet so swollen that her ankle-bones could
not be seen, and yet I could not but notice how cheerful she appeared.
Two men had the disease in their feet, which had swollen until they
were three times their proper size, and all broken open and fissured in
the most shocking manner. No one who has not seen such lepers as these
can have any idea of what forms human flesh can assume, and life yet
remain in the body. Suffering from such an incurable, loathsome malady
is literally a living death. I found it so sickening, even to look at
them, that I was glad when I came to the last house. Here I was shown a
young child, a few weeks old. No marks of the disease could be detected,
unless it might be that it was very much lighter colored than either of
its parents. The father was one of the worst cases I saw, but the disease
had not appeared in the mother, except as a great swelling in the ankles.
This child must certainly die a leper, and probably will never leave
the village where it was born. For this reason, if for no other, the
government certainly acts wisely in compelling all who have this disease
to come and live here together, where, at all events, it cannot be widely
spread. When it does not appear in a very malignant form in the parents,
it has been known to fail to appear in the children, but to appear again
in the grandchildren. Governor Arriens told me of such a case in Java. It
was evident that the man was a leper, though only a considerable swelling
could be detected on one ear, yet he was able to prove that neither of
his parents was a leper, but, on further inquiry, the governor found that
the man’s grandfather was a leper. This disease is regarded here as an
endemic, that is, chiefly confined to the Minahassa and the Moluccas.
Much discussion has arisen whether leprosy is contagious. The doctor with
whom I resided while at Buru had been previously stationed at Amboina,
and while there a soldier who was born in Holland was taken, and died
with this disease. In that case it was evident that the disease was not
hereditary, and, after the most careful inquiry, the doctor was not
able to learn that he had ever been near a leper, or that he might have
taken the disease from any one; for all afflicted with this loathsome
malady in Amboina and the neighboring islands are banished to Molano, a
small island southwest of Saparua. This is the only case that I heard of,
during my travels among these islands, where a foreigner had suffered
from this disease. It may be remarked that this is not the leprosy spoken
of in the sacred Scriptures, where the sufferers are described as being
“white as snow.”
From the shore near Temumpa we had a delightful view over the bay of
Menado. The sea was as smooth as glass, and scarcely a ripple broke on
the sandy beach, which was shaded by graceful, overhanging palms. Before
me to the south rose the high mountains which form the great buttresses
to the plateau they enclose, and on my right was the sharp volcanic peak
called Old Menado because foreigners first established themselves on that
island, and then moved over to Celebes.
In the evening the Resident showed me the large wooden store-houses where
the coffee is received from the interior, and kept for exportation. As we
entered the building, I was surprised at the rich aromatic fragrance that
filled the air. It differed much more from the fragrance given out by the
coffee seen in our land than any one will readily believe. Here it is
stored in bags, just as it comes in from the plantations. In order that I
might see what superior coffee the Minahassa produces, the Resident had
several bags opened. I found the kernels, instead of being opaque, and
having, as when we usually see them, a tinge of bronze, were translucent,
and of a greenish-blue color. The best are those which have these
characters, and at the same time are very hard. This coffee commands a
much higher price than that of Java, and is superior to any raised in the
archipelago, unless it may be some that comes from the highlands in the
interior of Sumatra.
The coffee crop is subject to some variation, but the Resident informs
me that the average yield of the government gardens during the last few
years has been no less than 37,000 piculs (5,000,000 pounds). The whole
number of trees belonging to the government is 5,949,616, but a large
proportion of these are young, and therefore bear little or no fruit.
Several private individuals also own large plantations, that yield as
well in proportion to the number of trees they contain. The trees are
found to thrive best above an elevation of one thousand feet.
The native name of this plant and its fruit is _kopi_, a corruption of
the name in Dutch, the people who introduced it into this archipelago.
The tree, _Coffea Arabica_, is a native of Africa, between the tenth and
fifteenth degrees of north latitude,[49] but it thrives anywhere within
the tropics on the hundreds of high islands in the archipelago, as well
as in the dry lands where it is indigenous. It was as late as 1450,
about half a century before the discovery of our continent, that it was
brought over from Abyssinia to the mountainous parts of Arabia. In this
way it happened that the Arabians were the people who introduced it into
Europe. In 1690, forty years after, the people of Europe had learned to
use it as a beverage. Governor-General Van Hoorne had some of the seeds
brought to him from ports on the Arabian Gulf, by the vessels of the
Dutch East India Company, who then carried on some trade between those
places and Java. The seeds were planted in a garden near Batavia, where
the plants flourished well and bore so much fruit that their culture
was at once begun, and since that time has spread to many parts of the
archipelago, but the chief islands from which coffee is now exported are
Celebes, Bali, Java, and Sumatra. It is also raised to some extent in
the Philippines, and these and the Malay Islands furnish one-fourth or
more of all that is used. One of the first plants raised at Batavia was
sent to Holland, to Nicholas Witsen, the head of the East India Company,
where it arrived safely and bore fruit, and the plants from its seeds
were sent to Surinam, where they flourished, and in 1718 coffee began
to be an article of export from that part. Ten years later, in 1728, it
was introduced from Surinam into the French and English islands of the
West Indies, having previously been successively introduced into Arabia,
Java, and Holland. I am told that it was first brought here from Java by
a native prince, and, the remarkable manner in which it thrived having
attracted the attention of the officials, more trees were introduced. In
1822 only eighty piculs were produced; in 1834, a remarkably favorable
year, 10,000, but in the next year only 4,000 were obtained. In 1853
the crop was 13,000 piculs, and in 1854, 23,000. This indicates how
remarkably this crop varies in the same locality—in that year the total
number of trees was 4,600,000—and that there has been a steady increase
since, both in the number of trees and in the quantity of fruit they have
yielded; but yet not more than one-half the number are planted that might
be if the population was sufficiently great to take proper care of them.
With such an enormous yield a large surplus is left in the hands of the
government after it has paid the natives who cultivate it, the percentage
to the chiefs, and the cost of transportation from the small store-houses
in the interior to the large ones at Menado, from which it is put on
board of vessels either directly for foreign ports or to be taken to
Macassar and thence be reshipped to Europe. Though the government wishes
to give up its monopoly in the cultivation of spices in the Bandas and
Moluccas, I did not hear that it is particularly anxious to do so here
with the profitable cultivation of coffee.
From the store-houses we walked to the hospital, where I was shown a
patient whose case was most remarkable. He was a native of Kema, and
was bathing in one of the streams that flow through the village, when
suddenly he found his head between the teeth of an enormous crocodile.
Fortunately, the great reptile did not close his jaws, nor settle down
with his prey as usual, and another native, hearing the cries of his
friend, caught a large stick, and beat the brute until he let go. The man
was at once brought here to the hospital, and has now nearly recovered.
On his left jaw-bone there was one continuous incision from the ear
to the chin, and on the right side of his face the muscles near the
cheek-bone and on the temple were dreadfully lacerated. That a man should
ever escape alive after his head had once been between a crocodile’s jaws
is certainly the next thing to a miracle. I asked him what he thought
when he found his head in such a vice. “Well,” said he, coolly, “I
thought my time had come, but that I had better sing out while I could,
and that’s what saved me, you see.”
_December 28th._—At 6 A. M. bade the Resident good-by, and started for
the highlands in the interior with an _opas_ or official servant as a
guide and attendant. It was a lovely morning. The cuckoos were pouring
out their early songs, and the gurgling of the brook by the wayside
was almost the only other sound that disturbed the stillness of the
morning. A few cirri were floating high in the sky, and also a number
of cumuli, whose perpendicular sides reflected the bright sunlight like
pearly, opaque crystals. Along the way we met natives of both sexes
carrying tobacco and vegetables to market, the men having their loads
in a sled-shaped frame on their backs, and the women carrying theirs
in shallow baskets on their heads. Our road, which led to the south,
was—like all in the Minahassa—broad and well graded, and where it
ascended an acclivity coarse fibres from the leaves of the _gomuti_ palm
were laid across it from place to place to cause the water to drain off
into the ditches by its sides. When the road came to a village it always
divided, that all the carts may go round the village, and not through
it. This arrangement enables the natives to keep the street through
their village neat and smooth. Such streets usually consist of a narrow
road, bordered on either side by a band of green turf, and outside of
these are sidewalks of naked soil like the road. Six miles out we came
to Lotta, a village of about four hundred souls, and soon after began
to rapidly ascend by a well-built road, that zigzags up the sides of
Mount Empung, which forms one of the northern buttresses of the plateau
situated to the south and east. Nine _paals_ from Menado, when we were
about twelve hundred feet above the sea, I wheeled round my horse and
enjoyed a magnificent view over the bay of Menado and the adjacent shore.
Out in the bay rose several high islands, among them the volcanic peak of
Menado Tua, its head raised high in the blue sky, and its feet bathed in
the blue sea. Near the shore the land is very low, and abounds in various
species of palms. Farther back it begins to rise, and soon curves up
toward the lofty peak of Klabat.
The beautiful cirri which we had noticed in the early morning now began
to change into rain-clouds, and roll down the mountain, and soon the
beautiful landscape beneath us was entirely hidden from our view. The
road here passes through deep cuts that show well the various kinds
of rocks, which are trachytic sand, pumice-stone, and a conglomerate
of these materials. As we ascended we passed many places on the
mountain-side where the natives were cultivating maize, and from far
above us and beneath us came the echoing and reëchoing songs of the
natives, who were busy cultivating this exotic but most useful plant.
The custom of these people to sing while working in the field is the
more noticeable, because the Javanese and Malays usually toil without
thinking of thus lightening their monotonous labor. Upward and upward we
climbed until we were about three thousand feet above the sea, when we
came to two small villages. Beyond, the road again became level, and soon
we reached Tomohon, where I met the _controleur_ from Tondano, a large
village to the east, who had come at the Resident’s request to accompany
me for the rest of that day’s journey. Another horse was brought and
saddled for me, and we continued on toward the south, our party now
numbering six or eight, for the chief of each village and one or two
servants are obliged by law to accompany the _controleur_ from their own
village to the next one he comes to, in whatever direction he may choose
to travel. We soon after entered the charming village of Saronsong. In
the centre of it and on one side of the street is the chiefs house,
and opposite to it but back from the street is the _ruma négri_, and
the space between the two is a pretty garden abounding in roses. This
reminder of home gave me a thrill of pleasure that I shall remember as
long as I love to look on this, the most beautiful of all flowers. As we
galloped out of this village the thick rain-clouds and fog cleared away,
and only cumuli and cirri were again to be seen in the sky. I now had a
magnificent view, on the left, of the high range along the west side of
lake Tondano, toward the northwest of the sharp volcanic cone of Lohon,
about five thousand feet in height, west of that of Empung, attaining
nearly that height, and in the northeast Gunong Api with its three peaks.
Somewhat farther on we rode down into a little valley, where the road ran
along the side of a small lake, whose muddy water was of a dirty-white
color, and from which strong, almost strangling, fumes of sulphur were
rising—a most unearthly place, and one that would remind the traveller of
Bunyan’s picture of “the Valley of the Shadow of Death,” where the way
was narrow, and on either hand “ever and anon came up flame and smoke in
great abundance with sparks and hideous noises.” In one place a flock of
ducks was swimming in this sulphurous pool, and on its margin I noticed a
few waders running to and fro seeking food. Its banks were mostly covered
with ferns, the leaves of which were of a bright red, reminding one of
the brilliantly-colored leaves of our maples in autumn.
Near the next village, Lahendong, we made a short excursion to the left,
up a high but not a steep hill, to see the remarkable lake Linu. The
hill is the top of an old volcano, and soon, as we descended and turned
a sharp point, we found before us the lake now filling the bottom of the
crater. On our way down to a house near its edge, we passed a place where
much sulphurous gas was escaping. It looked indeed much like the top of a
great half-slaked lime-kiln. The lake is about half a mile in diameter,
and has an outlet on the southwest, through a former split in the old
crater-wall. In most parts the water has a blue color, but in some it
has a whitish tinge from gases that rise up through the bottom of its
basin. On the northeast end there is a large solfatara, like the one
we passed in coming down to the lake, but larger. Here it was that the
Italian count, Carlo de Vidua, who had travelled over a large part of the
globe, met with a misfortune that caused his untimely death. He ventured
too far on the soft, hot clay, and sank in, and before the natives, who
had cautioned him against going there, could take him out, he was burned
so badly that he died in a short time afterward at Amboina, whither he
was taken, that he might be cared for in the best possible manner. He
had travelled over a considerable portion of our own continent, and,
after escaping many imminent dangers, ventured in this spot too far.
Such is the history of many a daring traveller, and no one who comes out
here, where on the sea there are pirates, and on the land earthquakes
and savage beasts, and in some places still more savage men, can know at
what moment he is planning a fatal voyage, or when he is taking the step
that may be his last. Yet some one must take this risk if the limited
boundaries of our knowledge of these remote lands are ever to be extended.
Although the water of this lake is largely impregnated with sulphur
and other substances that rise up through its bottom, yet Dr. Bleeker
found two kinds of fish here, _Ophiocephalus striatus_, Bl., and _Anabas
scandens_, Cuv., and an eel, _Anguilla Elphinstonei_, Syk., which are
also found in the fresh waters of Java and Sumatra, and in India.
Returning to the main road, we continued on to Sonder, and, passing
through a part of the village, came to the _ruma négri_, a public-house
for any officer who chances to come to that place. This house is said to
be far better even than any of the same kind in Java. It stands at the
end of a long, beautifully-shaded avenue. The road is bordered with a
narrow band of grass, neatly clipped, and the sidewalks are of a white
earth, which has been brought from some distance. A fine grove surrounds
the house, and here are many _casuarina_ or cassowary-trees, the long,
needle-like leaves of which closely resemble the downy plumage of that
strange bird. This evening, as the full moon shines through the foliage,
the whole grove is transformed into an enchanted place.