THE
GARDENS OF THE SUN:
OR
A NATURALIST'S JOURNAL
ON THE MOUNTAINS AND IN THE FORESTS AND SWAMPS OF
BORNEO
AND THE
SULU ARCHIPELAGO.
By F. W. BURBIDGE,
TRINITY COLLEGE BOTANICAL GARDENS, DUBLIN, AND
FORMERLY OF THE ROYAL GARDENS, KEW.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1880.
I Dedicate this Work
TO
MY WIFE,
BECAUSE WHILE I WORKED ABROAD SHE WAITED AT HOME.
MOST OF US KNOW HOW EASY IT IS TO LABOUR--
ALL OF US KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO WAIT.
PREFACE.
This record of a time spent among the less well-known portions of
Malaysia may be interesting to those whom the goddess of travel has
wooed in vain, as perchance to some of those "birds of passage" to
whom the islands and continents of the world are as well known as the
church-spires and mile-stones of their own land. In the islands of the
Malay archipelago--the Gardens of the Sun--Nature is ever beautiful,
and man, although often strikingly primitive, is hospitable to the
stranger, and not often vile.
A voyage of a few weeks brings us to these beauty-spots of the Eastern
Seas--to an "always-afternoon" kind of climate--since they are blessed
with the heat and glory of eternal summer--to a place where winter is
unknown--monsoon-swept islands oasis-like basking in a warm and shallow
desert of sea. Warmed by perpetual sunshine, deluged by copious rains,
and thrilled by electricity, they are really enormous conservatories of
beautiful vegetation--great Zoological Gardens inhabited by rare birds
and curious animals. In these sunny garden scenes man is the Adam of a
modern Eden, primitive in habits and numerically insignificant; he has
scarcely begun his battle with things inanimate, or his struggle for
existence as it is known to us. At home we have man as in some sort
the master of Nature, but in the Bornean forests Nature still reigns
supreme. Here with us man wrests his sustenance from her--there she
is lavish in the bestowal of gifts unsought.
The immediate future of an island larger in area than Great Britain
cannot fail to be of interest to political thinkers, especially to
those who belong to the "scientific frontier" school. Malay Government
is weaker now than it was even at the time Sir James Brooke received
Sarawak, and the aid of our own Government is now being sought in
favour of the cession of the whole of Northern Borneo--from Gaya
Bay to Sabuco--to a public company! Unaided by England, Borneo seems
likely to suffer in two ways--either to be annexed by the Government
of Manilla, or else to fall into the hands of the promoters of public
companies. The Sulu Archipelago has already thus lost its independence;
and the question which now suggests itself is, What will England do
with her foster-colony, Borneo the Beautiful?
Borneo offers to the student of nature an ever-interesting field
for research and study. The local government is very peculiar and
interesting. Every village of any pretensions has its "Orang Kaya," or
head man, and his house is at the service of the passing stranger. In
any matter of dispute he may be referred to, and my own experience of
these petty rulers was on the whole very satisfactory. I found them
honest and just in their advice, although at times a little grasping
in their bargains.
The ease with which food is obtained in such a tropical land is of
course inimical to any great exertion or progress on the part of the
natives. That most generous of all food-giving plants, the Banana, is
everywhere naturalised in Borneo up to an altitude of 3000 feet. It
fruits all the year, its produce being to that of wheat as 133:1,
and to that of the potato as 44:1. With rice and a few esculent
roots, all easily grown, it gives a profusion of food at a slight
expenditure of labour--labour for the most part performed by the
women. The Malays of Borneo are morally far inferior to the inland
tribes; and, wherever it is possible to them, live in voluptuous ease.
Borneo is the home of the "Orang-utan," or "wild man of the woods," an
animal which, with its African relative, the "Gorilla," has occupied
the attention of so many of the first thinkers of our time. Here, in
its native forests, this large man-like ape lives in the great natural
orchards, swinging itself from bough to bough with its peculiarly long
arms, building its platform or nest of leafy branches, and eating its
meal of fruit in peace. "Let any naturalist," says a modern observer,
"who is prejudiced against the Darwinian views go to the forests of
Borneo. Let him there watch from day to day this strangely human form
in all its various phases of existence. Let him see it climb, walk,
build its nest, eat, and drink, and fight. Let him see the female
suckle her young and carry it astride her hip precisely as do the
Coolie women of Hindostan. Let him witness the human-like emotions
of affection, satisfaction, pain, and childish rage. Let him see all
this, and then he may feel how much more potent has been this lesson
than all he has read in pages of abstract ratiocination." After all,
the Orang-utan is a poor creature, with but an outer resemblance
to the human species. In intelligence he is not only far below the
lowest savage, but even inferior to the horse or the dog. No amount
of teaching will make the Orang-utan or any other ape practically
useful to man. Do all we can for them in a state of confinement,
they are simply big helpless monkeys to the last!
The avifauna of the island is very rich. Its pheasants rival those
of China in beauty. The great hornbills abound in the fruit groves,
and are giants in comparison with their representatives the toucans
of South America. Here the humming-birds of the new world are amply
represented by the sun-birds. Mound-building megapodia are common,
their earth-works rivalling those of the termites; and the edible
nest-making swallow works in its dark cave dwellings to satisfy the
epicurean tastes of those Eastern aldermen, the mandarins of the
Celestial Empire. One peculiar species of kingfisher always makes
its nest in company with that of a colony of wild bees. Its young may
be fed on the young larvae, or perchance the company of the bees may
be courted for the sake of their protection in the event of the nest
being attacked.
Amongst my own introductions to European gardens is a singular
species of pitcher plant or nepenthes, the urns of which are armed
with two sharp and strong spines (see p. 341). Its pitchers always
contain insects of various kinds, and I am convinced that the spines
are present to prevent birds and insect-hunting animals such as the
tarsier from removing these insects from the urns. The stalk of this
nepenthes is swollen quite near to the pitcher in a singular manner,
and is there punctured by a peculiar species of ant, but I could
never satisfactorily account for their presence, unless it be in
search of water.
Beccari, during his travels in Borneo, discovered a singular
plant--Myrmecodia--parasitic on low jungle trees. Its economy is most
interesting. The young seedlings, when about an inch in height, are
punctured or bitten by an ant, an operation which causes the stem to
become gouty and eventually hollow; in fact, a natural living hive
in which the ants then shelter themselves. This is their own gain,
and they in turn rush out to resent any attack which may be made on
their living nest. A case analogous to this of mutual protection is
recorded of an African species of acacia. The most singular thing in
connection with this co-operative affair is that unless the young
seedling plants are bitten in due course they are said by Beccari
to die. I saw this plant daily for a long period, and often amused
myself by attacking it in order to see how invariably the ants rushed
out in force to repel the intruder. I also noted many young seedlings
both living and dead, but of my own knowledge could scarcely venture
so far as to say that the dead ones had succumbed owing to the ants
having neglected to bite them!
An account of some of the more remarkable of my discoveries and
introductions may be found in the Appendix to this volume, p. 339.
In conclusion, I may be allowed to say that the far interior of
Borneo still remains to be explored. It is emphatically a wild land
without roads or bridges, and a march right across the island from the
north-east to the north-west coast, although a formidable undertaking,
would if accomplished reveal much that is at present unknown.
F. W. B.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
EASTWARD, HO!
PAGE
Gibraltar--Port Said--Suez Canal--Kantara--Aden--Life
Afloat--Floating Homes 1
CHAPTER II.
SINGAPORE.
Hotels--Singapore--An Eastern Port--A Tropical Island--Chinese
Settlers--Chinese Play--Tropical Night--Climate 14
CHAPTER III.
VISIT TO JAHORE--GUNONG PULOI.
On the way--Gambling--River-travel--In the forest--Vegetation--A
resting-place--Tropical fruits--Breed of dogs--On the summit--Wild
animals--Wild men--Sale of women 31
CHAPTER IV.
RIVER AND FOREST TRAVEL.
A Sea-snake--A dreary landing--Native dancing--Orchids at
home--Tropical flowers--The jungle leech--A bad dinner--Rough
paths--The blow-pipe--Head-hunting--A Murut reception 47
CHAPTER V.
KINA BALU, OR CHINESE WIDOW MOUNTAIN.
Journey to Kina Balu--Visit to Pangeran Rau--Agricultural
implements--Sea gipsies--Datu of the Badjows--Musa--Fertile
plain--River-side gardens--Women gardeners--Fording the
Tawaran--Bawang--Good scenery--Si Nilau--Kalawat--Rat-traps--A
wet journey--Bungol--Koung village--Native traders--Rice
culture--Kiau--Hiring of guides--Ascent of Kina Balu--A curious
breakfast--Rare plants en route--Mountain flowers--Large
pitcher plants--A cave dwelling--Scarcity of water--Mountain
orchids--Cool climate--Slippery descent--Lost in the forest--Return
to Kiau--Native produce--Journey to Marie Parie Spur--Return to the
coast--Native women of the interior--Hire of native boat--Return
to Labuan 77
CHAPTER VI.
LABUAN ISLAND.
Labuan--Inhabitants--Industries--Coal mines--Revenues and
acreage--Oil spring--Climate--Rare ferns--Tropical flowering
trees--Fruit culture--Birds--Pitcher plants--Snakes--Sun
birds--Large spiders--Ants--Salt making--Pratchan--Old
gardens--Lizards--Mason wasp--A favourite horse--Annual games on
the plain--Church--River travel 114
CHAPTER VII.
BEAUTIFUL BORNEO.
Borneo--Wild animals--The
Malays--Poetry--Romances--Dewa Indra--Native government--Pile
dwellings--Intermarriage--Language--Clothing--Courtship--Marriage
--Inland tribes--Land culture--Native villages--Food products--
Textile fabrics--Bark cloth--Native women--Climate--Native produce
--Kayan weapon--Rivers--Gambling--Opium smoking 139
CHAPTER VIII.
A CITY OF LAKE DWELLINGS.
Brunei the capital--Market Chinese traders--Gun foundry--The
Istana--Weak government--The Sultan Moumein--Native
jewellery--Native smithy--Public executions--Punishment
for robbery--Sago factories--Inter-marriage--Morality--Old
mission church--Boat journey inland--Murut hospitality--Canoe
travel--Forest travel--New aroids--Native insects--Day flying
moths--River travel by moonlight--Sago-washing station 161
CHAPTER IX.
A VOYAGE TO SULU.
Sulu Archipelago--Long drought--Jungle fires--Sandakan--Good
water supply--Insects and birds--How an alligator was
utilised--A boat excursion--Visit to the shore--A Chinese
trader--Chinese hospitality--Slavery--A walk by the river--Manilla
hemp--Native tombs--Frangipane, or the "dead man's flower"--Rough
walking--Interesting birds 183
CHAPTER X.
A ROYAL PIG HUNT.
A royal boar-hunt--The Sultan of the Sulus--Sultana and
ladies of the Court--Sulu costume and arms--Fine breed of
ponies--Rough ground--Pig-sticking--Food for the dogs--A
pleasing sight--Invitation to the Istana--Datu Mahomed--The
Sulu "Prince of Wales"--Curious saddles--Pony racing--Meimbong
stream--Pleasant evening light--Birds--Large bats--Abundance of
butterflies--Fine fish--Good angling--The "Hill of Tears"--Sugh,
the old capital--Market at Meimbong--Tobacco--Native produce--Chain
armour--Chinese settlers 193
CHAPTER XI.
THE SULTAN'S ISTANA AND THE "HILL OF TEARS."
A moonlight ride--A fragrant weed--The Istana--Modern
armament--"Gelah"--Royal hospitality--A social servant--The
Sultan--State sword or "Barong"--A Sulu dinner--A long
audience--Curiosity of the ladies--Departure to the
mountain--A newly-made grave--Orchids at home--A treat for
our cattle--Rough climbing--Ferns and mosses--The summit--Good
views--Old traditions of the mountain--A picnic under cocoanut
palms--"Gelah" v. Hennessy--Return to the Istana--Further
audience of the Sultan--Former civilisation--Carved wood-work--Old
manufactures--Old enemies--Physique of the Sulus--A pearl among
the swine--Market-people--Slavery--Language--Land culture--Native
food products--Domestic animals--Sea fruit 207
CHAPTER XII.
A ROYAL VISIT.
Exploring rides--A state visit--Culinary business--Arrival of
the Sultan and suite--Procession of boats--Armed attendants--A
royal salute--Visit to the ship--Use of dogs aboard--Amusements
ashore--Eastern singing--A royal interpreter--Dress of the
ladies--Influence of the women--An early rising Sultana--Marine
amusements--Departure--Journey to Bu'ut Dahau--Hospitality of
the mountaineers--Ascent--Fine views from the top--Flowers
and insects--A Hadji's tradition--Siassi Island--A horned
steed--Sandakan--Pulo Bahalatolois 223
CHAPTER XIII.
KINA BALU, viâ TAMPASSUK.
Preparations--"Salaamat jelan" or safe voyage--Contrary winds--A
total wreck--A sea bath--Making the best of it--Native
visitors from the Bornean shore--Drying stores--Pigeon
shooting--Foraging--Football--Tent life--A new boat--A marine
visitor--Pulo Tiga--A fish dinner--Shore plants--Big fish--
The Tampassuk--"The fatted calf"--Start for Kina Balu--Bare
hills--Land culture--Bad roads--Ghinambaur village--Textile
fibres--A chance shot--Thrifty natives--Buffalo riding--A
friendly chief--Sineroup--Native wealth--Charms--Crossing
swollen river--New orchids--Kambatuan--Rokos--Butterflies--Koung
Green--Aboriginals from the interior--Pretty weeds--Lemoung's
death--Native ornaments--Native cloth--Bee keeping--How to manage
"guides"--"Kurow"--Start for "Kina Balu"--Sleeping rock--Dusun
cookery!--New plants--More of the "guide" nuisance 239
CHAPTER XIV.
Plant collecting--Large Nepenthes--Sociable birds--Mountain
climbing--Cold nights--Descent--Safe return to Kiau--Old
skulls--Tree ferns--Fine climate--Land culture--Crossing
rivers--"Lapayang's" welcome--Tarippe fruit--"Beuhan"--Pleasant
evening at Kambatuan village--Graceful young girls--Bundoo--Little
gardens en route--Ghinambaur village--A hard day's walking--Return
to the Tampassuk--Short-tailed buffaloes--Two-horned
rhinoceros--Return to Labuan--Smith's illness--Success of the
expedition 278
CHAPTER XV.
TROPICAL FRUITS.
Tropical fruits--Culture of--Natural fruit orchards--The
Durian--A macédoine of fruits--The Mangosteen--"Prada
Prada"--Mango--The Rambutan or "hairy fruit"--Bread
fruit--Jack-fruit, or "Nangka"--"Champada"--Jintawan,
or Manoongan fruits (Willughbeia spp.)--Tampoe fruit--Red
"Bilimbing"--"Mandaroit"--"Rambeneer"--"Mambangan"--"Luing"--
"Langsat" or "Duku"--"Rambi"--"Mangalin"--"Jambosa," or
"Rose-apples"--Melons--Oranges--Pomoloes--Custard
apples--Cocoa-nut--Wild onion fruit--Banana, or "Pisang"
fruit 304
CHAPTER XVI.
NOTES ON TROPICAL TRAVEL.
Hints on travel--Food supplies--Bathing--Medicines--Modes
of travelling--Shelter--Resting-places--Barter--Articles for
exchange--Arms in a wild land--Products of the island--Prospects
of Borneo 323
APPENDIX.
List of Ferns collected in Borneo 345
Report on Burbidge's Ferns of the Sulu Archipelago 350
A Contribution to the Avifauna of the Sulu Islands 352
On Collections of Birds from Kina Balu Mountain in
North-Western Borneo 359
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
MALAY DANCING GIRL Frontispiece
EGYPTIAN WATER COOLER 5
SHE OF THE MARKET 7
ARAB DHOW 10
"KAYU KUTOH" 27
ORANG UTAN OR WILD MEN OF JAHORE (male and female) 44
GREATER MOTH ORCHID (PHALÆNOPSIS) AT HOME 52
PLAN OF A DUSUN COTTAGE, N.W. BORNEO 85
BAMBOO RAT-TRAP 87
PLAN OF LARGE DUSUN HOUSE, AT KIAU, N.W. BORNEO 96
TANYONG KUBONG, OR COAL POINT, LABUAN 114
ELK'S HORN FERN 119
MASON WASP 130
SECTION OF ITS NEST 131
COURTSHIP 147
MARRIAGE 148
KAYAN WAR KNIFE 158
CARVED WOODWORK OVER DOORS AND WINDOWS 216
DAPANG, OR OUTRIGGED BOAT, SULU ISLANDS 225
FORDING TAMPASSUK RIVER ON BUFFALOES 250
DUSUN BORNEANS AT A STREAM 264
RHODODENDRON STENOPHYLLUM 274
KINA BALU FROM GHINAMBAUR (EVENING) 298
ONION FRUIT 321
PINANGA VEITCHII 340
NEPENTHES BICALCARATA 341
THE GARDENS OF THE SUN.
CHAPTER I.
EASTWARD, HO!
Gibraltar--Port Said--Suez Canal--Kantara--Aden--Life
Afloat--Floating Homes.
When our ship had nearly reached the mouth of the Mersey, on her
outward voyage, the boatswain and his men were busily engaged in
lashing everything moveable in its place on deck. "We shall get
it to-night," said that man of the sea; but on the vessel went as
smoothly as ever, and everybody was merry at dinner-time, hours after
the "Bosun's" prophecy. We watched the setting sun, and a gorgeous
after-glow of purple, grey, and gold. Then came the twilight, and
a sense of chilliness. The land on the port-side was lost in a soft
grey mist; then it became colder and darker, and we went below. The
saloon looked bright and cheerful, with its sparkle of glasses in
the swinging racks, and the mellow light of the lamps.
I read for an hour or more, and then "turned in," heartily glad to
think we were having such a smooth and pleasant time, and that the
"Bosun's" prediction had not been verified. I was soon asleep. How long
I slept I do not quite remember, but I dreamed that I was falling
down a well, and the crash made when I reached the bottom awoke
me. I forgot for the moment where I was, but my first impressions
were that, Zazel-like, I had been shot out of a cannon, and that I
was whirling round chain-shot fashion. Instinctively stretching out
my hands, I found myself in my berth, but the ship was plunging and
rolling very much, and everything moveable was knocking about in
all directions. Another crash, similar to the one which awoke me,
told of loose crockery going to destruction in the steward's pantry.
I spent some time in trying to decide whether the ship was playing
at leapfrog, or trying to turn a somersault. A "sea change" put an
end to my deliberations. Sleep was impossible, and I was glad when
morning came, and I held on to the berth with one hand, and dressed
with the other. That man of the sea was right. We had "got" it, and
no mistake; and we continued to "get it" until off Cape St. Vincent,
when we regained smooth water.
Cape St. Vincent is a rocky bluff, crested with a ruined convent
and a lighthouse, the white walls of which gleam out brightly in the
sunshine, although we are fully ten miles away. After we have passed
it, and look back, it forms a much more picturesque object than when
seen directly opposite; and in front of the nearly perpendicular
cliffs is a curious cone-shaped rock, and through the narrow passage
between this and the mainland, tradition says an American skipper ran
his vessel for a wager, and got through safely. The whole coast here
is bold and rocky, but not dangerous. Large craft may ride close in
under the cliffs.
A few miles further along is Cape Sartenius, a rocky headland,
which rises perpendicularly from the sea, and is crowned with a
fort and lighthouse; and from this point the rugged coast-line falls
away towards Trafalgar Bay and Gibraltar, a distance of nearly two
hundred miles. We were fortunate in seeing the red honey-combed rock
at Gibraltar in the morning's sunshine, the pretty little town of
St. Roque lying behind across the neutral ground. To the left the
cork woods and Algesiraz. Exactly opposite "Gib," on the African
side, is Ceuta, with its lighthouse and fort on the hill, and square
flat-topped Moorish houses below; while Apes' Hill stands up clear
and dark against the masses of fleecy white clouds. The straits
here are about six miles wide, and it was near this point that the
Moors used to cross, Pict and Scot fashion, into Spain in the olden
time. Of course, like Mark Twain, we saw the "Queen of Spain's chair"
on the hill behind Gibraltar, and a naturalist friend reminds me
that the rock here is the only place in Europe where monkeys and
scorpions are naturalised. The wag meant "Rock Scorpions" I suppose,
but the monkeys are there all right enough. By the aid of a good
glass, we saw patches of cultivated crops on the low coast hills,
and whitewashed farm-houses were freely dotted amongst them. Now
we were fairly into the blue waters of the Mediterranean, and the
coast lines began to recede on either side. Here and there, however,
over the coast hills we obtained glimpses of the snow-peaked Sierra
Nevada mountains standing out clear and cool against the blue sky.
It was about the middle of June, and very hot during the day time,
but chilly at night. The sea is of the most emphatic blue when you
look down into it, but has a purplish glow towards the horizon. The
sunsets are occasionally very beautiful, with their tints of crimson,
salmon, grey, vermilion, and gold. It is pleasant at sunrise, after
a bracing salt-water bath under the hose-pipe, to watch the silvery
dolphin as they follow each other in line and play around the bows
of the ship, at times leaping clear out of the water. The velocity of
these creatures is wonderful; they gambol around a ship, and keep up
alongside without any apparent effort. A few black and white sea-gulls
are the only aërial visitors, except that now and then flying fish
are seen skimming the surface of the blue water with their glistening
wings. In some places they may be seen by the hundred, rising in flocks
from the water, to escape their enemies below. They fly for a distance
of two or three hundred yards, rising and falling in a sinuous manner;
and occasionally they dip into the crest of a wave for a moment, to
moisten their wings, which enables them to prolong their flight. Many
were washed or flew on board during the night, and were very delicate
in flavour. The sailors say they fly at the lights, and thus fall on
deck, which may be the fact, as it was only after dark that any were
caught in this manner. Some specimens were sixteen inches in length,
but about half that size appeared to be the average.
We caught a passing glimpse of Galita and Malta on our way. Both
were once little more than barren rocks; indeed, Galita is so
still; but Malta has been improved by cultivation, and now yields
much of the early vegetable produce brought to the Paris and London
markets. Tradition hath it that formerly vessels trading to Malta were
obliged to bring a certain quantity of earth with them, so anxious
were the Maltese to improve their tiny farms.
Port Said was our first stopping place; and, after a fortnight
afloat, we were glad to see the lighthouse, like a yellow speck on
the horizon. We went ashore, and saw the town, which stands close to
the sea-beach, and by the entrance to the canal, with which it is
contemporaneous. Behind, as far as one can see, stretches the arid
desert itself. The old Arab town of square, flat-topped houses,
is nearly a mile away to the right. The new town consists mainly
of shops and hotels, with the exception of the consular residences,
the hospital, and post-office.
I visited the hospital, with the young Irish ship's doctor as a
companion, and among the inmates saw an American suffering from fever
and chronic rheumatism. In one of the cells, guarded by a couple of
Arab sentries, we found a young, fair-haired, blue-eyed Greek sailor,
who had murdered an Arab girl through jealousy the night before. I
was struck by the gentle, inoffensive expression on his face; but I
suppose he did not deserve the pity I felt for him. A public square,
planted with trees, shrubs, and flowers, forms an oasis in the midst of
the desert of dusty streets, and white-washed or stucco houses. Most of
the houses are two-storied, and furnished with cool, shady verandahs;
and in some cases they are covered with the green drapery of a large
convolvulus, which adds much to the picturesque effect of walls and
fences throughout the place. In the gardens, bananas, date-palms,
bamboo, and other vegetation common to hothouses at home, here grow in
the open air, with no other protection than that afforded by a belt
of tall reeds. Nothing is produced here, even the necessary fruits
and culinary vegetables being brought from Malta, or the Mediterranean
ports. Soil and fresh water for the little gardens has to be procured
from Ismalia, fifty miles away.
In the markets we found plenty of ripe grapes, fine pomegranates,
water-melons, and great pithy-skinned oranges. Vegetables consisted of
lettuce, onions, beet, the Egyptian turnip-rooted kind, peas, okre,
and gourds. Most of the stands were attended by lazy Arab women,
of various ages, who sat cross-legged among their goods, and kept
off the flies with switches of horse-hair. A tight-fitting cap,
ornamented with little gold coins, covered their heads, and their
figures were enshrouded in great black cloaks, reaching to their heels.
We saw some old Arabs watering the hot and dusty streets with
sea-water, which they carried in large skin "bottles," slung behind
them, so that the march of modern progress has not yet obliterated all
the old customs and utensils of these singularly primitive people. We
took about a hundred tons of coal on board here. This was brought to
the side of the vessel in lighters, and carried up sloping planks by
some fifty or sixty swarthy fellows, who kept up a droning chant the
whole time. They each carried up about a hundred weight at once in a
basket; and the whole gang reminded one of a colony of black ants,
as they swarmed up one plank in quick succession, and trotted down
another, after disposing of their dirty load. Perhaps the Pyramids,
and other gigantic architectural erections, were reared by myriads
of ant-like workers, similar to these we now saw.
Two mail steamers entered the Canal before us, and it is a very
odd sight to see the masts of the first one gliding away to the
left, nothing else being visible but the flat sea of sand as
far as the eye can reach. Pilots are necessary for the Canal, and
notwithstanding their special knowledge and skill, vessels frequently
get aground. Coaling over, we get under way and enter the strip of
salt water which connects the Mediterranean with the Gulf of Suez,
passing through the flat desert, a distance of about eighty-seven
miles. The completion of this undertaking, apart from facilitating
European and Eastern commerce, has also, if local report speaks truly,
benefited the climate of the district as well; a current of cool
air is now attracted along its route, and the precious burden of
the rain-clouds has also been brought to this tract of arid sands,
which previously were almost entirely destitute of showers. Another
benefit to the dwellers on its shores is the fish which travel along
this strip of water-way and so are caught close to the doors of those
who live or who are employed along its banks. At five mile intervals
along the banks are stations for signalling purposes, and as the
strip of seaway is not broad enough for two vessels to pass each
other, the Canal is widened at each "gare," so that one vessel can
make fast while the other passes. The whole thing is regulated by a
simple telegraphic and signalling system. Nearly all these stations
have little gardens, but the prettiest of them all in this way is that
at the old Arab town and ferry station of Kantara, through which many
caravans pass on their way to and from Cairo. Here is a tiny hotel,
and several little whitewashed houses with shady verandahs laden with
climbing plants of various kinds. One of the houses is sheltered
by a row of poplars, and the colour and fragrance of the oleanders
were delightful. The Arabs call this flower the "Rose of the Desert,"
and certainly at this little oasis it might fairly be said that the
desert had been made "to blossom as the rose."
We reached here at sunset, and the air was deliciously cool and
fresh, and a sight of the dark green poplar trees was most cheering
and home-like. Crickets chirped in the sand, and the splashing of the
fish in the Canal was heard very frequently after we had made fast for
the night. The tints on the vegetation and sand-hills by the banks just
before sunset are most lovely, and the sunsets themselves very gorgeous
as seen through the clear dry air. Two of the firemen had to be placed
in irons soon after leaving Port Said, to prevent them from leaping
overboard or injuring themselves. They were literally maddened by some
villanous spirituous drink which had been smuggled on board during the
hurry and bustle of coaling in the morning. Here and there we passed
the bodies of dead camels, on which wolfish-looking dogs or vultures
regale themselves. Flocks of flamingoes were seen in the distance. As
the air becomes clearer after sunrise the distant sand-hills resemble
islands in a broad lake or sea, an effect due to mirage; indeed, the
semblance of a flat expanse of water lying in the full sunshine near
the horizon is so perfect as to deceive all but the experienced. The
hills of loose sand close to the banks of the Canal are swept quite
smooth by the winds in some places, while here and there the surface is
rippled like a snow-ruck, and the foot-prints on these "sands of time"
made by the passing Arab are singularly like those made in frozen snow.
At one of the stations an old Arab offered a basket of very fine fish
for sale which he had caught in the Canal the night before. We got
a view of the Khedive's Palace and M. F. de Lessep's residence at
Ismalia just before running through the "Bitter Lakes," and reached
Suez before sundown. The passage through the Canal takes about two
days, as the rate of progress is necessarily slow to avoid washing
down the banks, and there are frequent stoppages.
Suez is a larger town and much older than Port Said, but its
inhabitants depend almost entirely on the few residents connected with
the Canal and Railway to Alexandria, and the pilgrims who land here
on their way to Mecca and Medina, the birthplace and tomb of their
Prophet. After leaving Suez the climate becomes hotter every day. The
coast-line is backed by barren looking copper-coloured mountains,
and the air smells hot and dry, like that of the greenhouse devoted
to the cactus family at Kew. Two or three steamers with pilgrims on
board for Suez were seen.
Among the visitors from the coast were great brown locusts, a
humming-bird hawk moth, and one or two small birds. A quail flew on
board, and flitted about the deck for two or three days. Another little
bird, as elegantly shaped as a lark, stayed on board for several days;
it was brown in colour, with almost black wing-tips; it had a band
of white just above the tail, and this gave the bird a characteristic
appearance, especially during its jerky red-cap like flight.
We went into Aden, and I never felt the heat so much anywhere before
or since. It is a huge Dutch oven of sunburnt rocks without a sign of
vegetation as seen from the harbour. It is astonishing how soon one
begins to take a personal interest in a ship on which a long voyage
has to be made. The second mate was the skipper of a China trader,
and tells me of the palmy days before the Canal was opened, and when
freights were £12 a ton. One of the quartermasters was an ex-royal
yachtsman, a civil and obliging old fellow, with a sharp eye for
grog. One of the stewards has been a photographer, and another is
a hairdresser--rather a luxury to have aboard ship. The old Welsh
stewardess was a character, with nightly tendencies towards hot rum
and water and old superstitious stories of the sea. The captain is
a fat, red-whiskered old sea-dog, who knows all about everything,
but evidently never enjoyed an introduction to Mr. Lindley Murray
in his youth. His politics are peculiar, and his motto appears to be
that of the ultra radicals, "Down with everything what's up."
Penang was our next stopping-place, and we got ashore for two days,
and enjoyed a walk around the town and a ride to the "Falls" and the
"Hill." Two days afterwards we stepped on to the Pile wharf at Tanjong
Paggar or the "fenced cape" at Singapore, and our experiences of
the tropics really began. The voyage for two days down the Straits
of Malacca had been very pleasant, and we thoroughly enjoyed the
smooth blue sea and clear sky, flecked now and then by tiny fleets
of junks with their mat sails of a soft golden hue, reminding one
of cornstacks at home. Bukit-Jugra, Cape Rachardo, and Mount Ophir
towering up above the horizon behind the town of Malacca itself,
were distinctly seen ere we reached the numerous islets near the
entrance to the harbour and roads at Singapore.
A long sea voyage has its pleasures as well as its drawbacks; and in
travelling eastward, more especially, it is quite possible, after
crossing "the Bay," to get a smooth voyage all the way. There are
times when the Mediterranean, the Indian Ocean, and the China Sea lie
sleeping in the sunshine, and a steamer runs as smoothly as a canal
boat. Of course a yachtsman of the old sea-dog school is disgusted
with this sort of fine weather sailing; but it is most pleasant to
passengers on board steamships who can lie and read under the cool side
of the awning, drinking in the fresh ozonised sea air, untroubled for
the nonce by the cares of business or the whirl and bustle of the town.
A curious feeling comes over one on viewing the boundless ocean for
the first time on a calm, cloudless day. It makes one feel extremely
small to gaze on what appears to be the eternity of sea around,
with not a speck or a sail to break the view on all sides. Then
when a breeze springs up a sense of freedom animates the breast
as the vessel rushes through the water and shakes the milk-white
foam from her bows, as though also glad to be free. The pleasure
is akin to that of the saddle. The exhilarating motion of the ship
stirs one's blood and sends it coursing through one's veins, as she
"walks the waters like a thing of life," and the strong pure breeze
fans our cheeks and the cool spray comes in our faces like a shower
of dew. Well might Ruskin give our English pastime of yachting the
first place amongst recreations. Nothing can be more refreshing than
to stand on board a tight little vessel when there is, according to
the poetry of youthful memory,
"A wet sheet and a flowing sea, and a wind that follows fast."
In the joy of the moment you do not wonder at the sea-fights, the
brave sailors, and the corsairs of old; the men who love the sea and
can struggle with it through all its moods and phases, will be brave
anywhere. If the sea does not nerve a man to brave actions, nothing
else ever will. Life on the sea is most refreshing to the average
landsman, and on board ship time flies more pleasantly perhaps than
anywhere else, if it be true that "sweet do nothing" is the acme of
enjoyment. What an appetite the sea-breezes give one for breakfast,
which is perhaps of all meals that least enjoyed by inland residents
on shore. Our floating cities are the triumphs of modern civilised
ingenuity; and during propitious weather in a warm climate, life afloat
possesses for the time a freshness and novelty unobtainable elsewhere.