(MENADO, JUNE TO SEPTEMBER, 1859.)
IT was after my residence at Timor-Coupang that I visited the
northeastern extremity of Celebes, touching Banda, Amboyna, and Ternate
on my way. I reached Menado on the 10th of June, 1859, and was very
kindly received by Mr. Tower, an Englishman, but a very old resident in
Menado, where he carries on a general business. He introduced me to Mr.
L. Duivenboden (whose father had been my friend at Ternate), who had
much taste for natural history; and to Mr. Neys, a native of Menado, but
who was educated at Calcutta, and to whom Dutch, English, and Malay
were equally mother-tongues. All these gentlemen showed me the greatest
kindness, accompanied me in my earliest walks about the country, and
assisted me by every means in their power. I spent a week in the
town very pleasantly, making explorations and inquiries after a good
collecting station, which I had much difficulty in finding, owing to the
wide cultivation of coffee and cacao, which has led to the clearing
away of the forests for many miles around the town, and over extensive
districts far into the interior.
The little town of Menado is one of the prettiest in the East. It has
the appearance of a large garden containing rows of rustic villas with
broad paths between, forming streets generally at right angles with each
other. Good roads branch off in several directions towards the interior,
with a succession of pretty cottages, neat gardens, and thriving
plantations, interspersed with wildernesses of fruit trees. To the west
and south the country is mountainous, with groups of fine volcanic peaks
6,000 or 7,000 feet high, forming grand and picturesque backgrounds to
the landscape.
The inhabitants of Minahasa (as this part of Celebes is called) differ
much from those of all the rest of the island, and in fact from any
other people in the Archipelago. They are of a light-brown or yellow
tint, often approaching the fairness of a European; of a rather short
stature, stout and well-made; of an open and pleasing countenance, more
or less disfigured as age increases by projecting check-bones; and with
the usual long, straight, jet-black hair of the Malayan races. In some
of the inland villages where they may be supposed to be of the purest
race, both men and women are remarkably handsome; while nearer the
coasts where the purity of their blood has been destroyed by the
intermixture of other races, they approach to the ordinary types of the
wild inhabitants of the surrounding countries.
In mental and moral characteristics they are also highly peculiar.
They are remarkably quiet and gentle in disposition, submissive to the
authority of those they consider their superiors, and easily induced
to learn and adopt the habits of civilized people. They are clever
mechanics, and seem capable of acquiring a considerable amount of
intellectual education.
Up to a very recent period these people were thorough savages, and
there are persons now living in Menado who remember a state of things
identical with that described by the writers of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries. The inhabitants of the several villages
were distinct tribes, each under its own chief, speaking languages
unintelligible to each other, and almost always at war. They built their
houses elevated upon lofty posts to defend themselves from the attacks
of their enemies. They were headhunters like the Dyaks of Borneo, and
were said to be sometimes cannibals. When a chief died, his tomb was
adorned with two fresh human heads; and if those of enemies could not
be obtained, slaves were killed for the occasion. Human skulls were the
great ornaments of the chiefs' houses. Strips of bark were their only
dress. The country was a pathless wilderness, with small cultivated
patches of rice and vegetables, or clumps of fruit-trees, diversifying
the otherwise unbroken forest. Their religion was that naturally
engendered in the undeveloped human mind by the contemplation of grand
natural phenomena and the luxuriance of tropical nature. The burning
mountain, the torrent and the lake, were the abode of their deities;
and certain trees and birds were supposed to have special influence
over men's actions and destiny. They held wild and exciting festivals
to propitiate these deities or demons, and believed that men could be
changed by them into animals--either during life or after death.
Here we have a picture of true savage life; of small isolated
communities at war with all around them, subject to the wants and
miseries of such a condition, drawing a precarious existence from the
luxuriant soil, and living on, from generation to generation, with no
desire for physical amelioration, and no prospect of moral advancement.
Such was their condition down to the year 1822, when the coffee-plant
was first introduced, and experiments were made as to its cultivation.
It was found to succeed admirably from fifteen hundred feet, up to four
thousand feet above the sea. The chiefs of villages were induced to
undertake its cultivation. Seed and native instructors were sent
from Java; food was supplied to the labourers engaged in clearing and
planting; a fixed price was established at which all coffee brought to
the government collectors was to be paid for, and the village chiefs who
now received the titles of "Majors" were to receive five percent of the
produce. After a time, roads were made from the port of Menado up to
the plateau, and smaller paths were cleared from village to village;
missionaries settled in the more populous districts and opened schools;
and Chinese traders penetrated to the interior and supplied clothing and
other luxuries in exchange for the money which the sale of the coffee
had produced.
At the same time, the country was divided into districts, and the system
of "Controlleurs," which had worked so well in Java, was introduced. The
"Controlleur" was a European, or a native of European blood, who was the
general superintendent of the cultivation of the district, the
adviser of the chiefs, the protector of the people, and the means of
communication between both and the European Government. His duties
obliged him to visit every village in succession once a month, and to
send in a report on their condition to the Resident. As disputes between
adjacent villages were now settled by appeal to a superior authority,
the old and inconvenient semi-fortified houses were disused, and under
the direction of the "Controlleurs" most of the houses were rebuilt on a
neat and uniform plan. It was this interesting district which I was now
about to visit.
Having decided on my route, I started at 8 A.M. on the 22d of June.
Mr. Tower drove me the first three miles in his chaise, and Mr. Neys
accompanied me on horseback three miles further to the village of
Lotta. Here we met the Controlleur of the district of Tondano, who was
returning home from one of his monthly tours, and who had agreed to act
as my guide and companion on the journey. From Lotta we had an almost
continual ascent for six miles, which brought us on to the plateau of
Tondano at an elevation of about 2,400 feet. We passed through three
villages whose neatness and beauty quite astonished me. The main road,
along which all the coffee is brought down from the interior in carts
drawn by buffaloes, is always turned aside at the entrance of a village,
so as to pass behind it, and thus allow the village street itself to
be kept neat and clean. This is bordered by neat hedges often formed
entirely of rose-trees, which are perpetually in blossom. There is a
broad central path and a border of fine turf, which is kept well swept
and neatly cut. The houses are all of wood, raised about six feet on
substantial posts neatly painted blue, while the walls are whitewashed.
They all have a verandah enclosed with a neat balustrade, and are
generally surrounded by orange-trees and flowering shrubs. The
surrounding scenery is verdant and picturesque. Coffee plantations
of extreme luxuriance, noble palms and tree ferns, wooded hills and
volcanic peaks, everywhere meet the eye. I had heard much of the beauty
of this country, but the reality far surpassed my expectations.
About one o'clock we reached Tomohón, the chief place of a district,
having a native chief now called the "Major," at whose house we were to
dine. Here was a fresh surprise for me. The house was large, airy and
very substantially built of hard native timber, squared and put together
in a most workmanlike manner. It was furnished in European style, with
handsome chandelier lamps, and the chairs and tables all well made by
native workmen. As soon as we entered, madeira and bitters were offered
us. Then two handsome boys neatly dressed in white, and with smoothly
brushed jet-black hair, handed us each a basin of water and a clean
napkin on a salver. The dinner was excellent. Fowls cooked in various
ways; wild pig roasted, stewed and fried; a fricassee of bats, potatoes,
rice and other vegetables; all served on good china, with finger glasses
and fine napkins, and abundance of good claret and beer, seemed to
me rather curious at the table of a native chief on the mountains of
Celebes. Our host was dressed in a suit of black with patent-leather
shoes, and really looked comfortable and almost gentlemanly in them. He
sat at the head of the table and did the honours well, though he did
not talk much. Our conversation was entirely in Malay, as that is the
official language here, and in fact the mother-tongue and only language
of the Controlleur, who is a native-born half-breed. The Major's father
who was chief before him, wore, I was informed, a strip of bark as his
sole costume, and lived in a rude but raised home on lofty poles, and
abundantly decorated with human heads. Of course we were expected, and
our dinner was prepared in the best style, but I was assured that the
chiefs all take a pride in adopting European customs, and in being able
to receive their visitors in a handsome manner.
After dinner and coffee, the Controlleur went on to Tondano, and I
strolled about the village waiting for my baggage, which was coming in
a bullock-cart, and did not arrive until after midnight. Supper was very
similar to dinner, and on retiring I found an elegant little room with
a comfortable bed, gauze curtains with blue and red hangings, and every
convenience. Next morning at sunrise the thermometer in the verandah
stood at 69°, which I was told is about the usual lowest temperature at
this place, 2,500 feet above the sea. I had a good breakfast of coffee,
eggs, and fresh bread and butter, which I took in the spacious verandah
amid the odour of roses, jessamine, and other sweet-scented flowers,
which filled the garden in front; and about eight o'clock left Tomohón
with a dozen men carrying my baggage.
Our road lay over a mountain ridge about 4,000 feet above the sea, and
then descended about 500 feet to the little village of Rurúkan, the
highest in the district of Minahasa, and probably in all Celebes. Here I
had determined to stay for some time to see whether this elevation would
produce any change in the zoology. The village had only been formed
about ten years, and was quite as neat as those I had passed through,
and much more picturesque. It is placed on a small level spot, from
which there is an abrupt wooded descent down to the beautiful lake of
Tondano, with volcanic mountains beyond. On one side is a ravine, and
beyond it a fine mountainous and wooded country.
Near the village are the coffee plantations. The trees are planted in
rows, and are kept topped to about seven feet high. This causes the
lateral branches to grow very strong, so that some of the trees become
perfect hemispheres, loaded with fruit from top to bottom, and producing
from ten to twenty pounds each of cleaned coffee annually. These
plantations were all formed by the Government, and are cultivated by the
villagers under the direction of their chief. Certain days are appointed
for weeding or gathering, and the whole working population are summoned
by the sound of a gong. An account is kept of the number of hours' work
done by each family, and at the year's end, the produce of the sale is
divided among them proportionately. The coffee is taken to Government
stores established at central places over the whole country, and is paid
for at a low fixed price. Out of this a certain percentage goes to the
chiefs and majors, and the remainder is divided among the inhabitants.
This system works very well, and I believe is at present far better for
the people than free-trade would be. There are also large rice-fields,
and in this little village of seventy houses, I was informed that a
hundred pounds' worth of rice was sold annually.
I had a small house at the very end of the village, almost hanging over
the precipitous slope down to the stream, and with a splendid view from
the verandah. The thermometer in the morning often stood at 62° and
never rose so high as 80°, so that with the thin clothing used in the
tropical plains we were always cool and sometimes positively cold, while
the spout of water where I went daily for my bath had quite an icy
feel. Although I enjoyed myself very much among these fine mountains
and forests, I was somewhat disappointed as to my collections. There
was hardly any perceptible difference between the animal life in this
temperate region and in the torrid plains below, and what difference
did exist was in most respects disadvantageous to me. There seemed to be
nothing absolutely peculiar to this elevation. Birds and quadrupeds were
less plentiful, but of the same species. In insects there seemed to be
more difference. The curious beetles of the family Cleridae, which are
found chiefly on bark and rotten wood, were finer than I have seen them
elsewhere. The beautiful Longicorns were scarcer than usual, and the few
butterflies were all of tropical species. One of these, Papilio blumei,
of which I obtained a few specimens only, is among the most magnificent
I have ever seen. It is a green and gold swallow-tail, with azure-blue
and spoon-shaped tails, and was often seen flying about the village when
the sun shone, but in a very shattered condition. The great amount
of wet and cloudy weather was a great drawback all the time I was at
Rurúkan.
Even in the vegetation there is very little to indicate elevation.
The trees are more covered with lichens and mosses, and the ferns and
tree-ferns are finer and more luxuriant than I had been accustomed to
seeing on the low grounds, both probably attributable to the almost
perpetual moisture that here prevails. Abundance of a tasteless
raspberry, with blue and yellow compositae, have somewhat of a temperate
aspect; and minute ferns and Orchideae, with dwarf Begonias on the
rocks, make some approach to a sub-alpine vegetation. The forest,
however, is most luxuriant. Noble palms, Pandani, and tree-ferns are
abundant in it, while the forest trees are completely festooned with
Orchideae, Bromeliae, Araceae, Lycopodiums, and mosses. The ordinary
stemless ferns abound; some with gigantic fronds ten or twelve feet
long, others barely an inch high; some with entire and massive leaves,
others elegantly waving their finely-cut foliage, and adding endless
variety and interest to the forest paths. The cocoa-nut palm still
produces fruit abundantly, but is said to be deficient in oil. Oranges
thrive better than below, producing abundance of delicious fruit; but
the shaddock or pumplemous (Citrus decumana) requires the full force of
a tropical sun, for it will not thrive even at Tondano a thousand feet
lower. On the hilly slopes rice is cultivated largely, and ripens well,
although the temperature rarely or never rises to 80°, so that one would
think it might be grown even in England in fine summers, especially if
the young plants were raised under glass.
The mountains have an unusual quantity of earth and vegetable mould
spread over them. Even on the steepest slopes there is everywhere a
covering of clays and sands, and generally a good thickness of vegetable
soil. It is this which perhaps contributes to the uniform luxuriance
of the forest, and delays the appearance of that sub-alpine vegetation
which depends almost as much on the abundance of rocky and exposed
surfaces as on difference of climate. At a much lower elevation on
Mount Ophir in Malacca, Dacrydiums and Rhododendrons with abundance of
Nepenthes, ferns, and terrestrial orchids suddenly took the place of the
lofty forest; but this was plainly due to the occurrence of an extensive
slope of bare, granitic rock at an elevation of less than 3,000 feet.
The quantity of vegetable soil, and also of loose sands and clays,
resting on steep slopes, hill-tops and the sides of ravines, is a
curious and important phenomenon. It may be due in part to constant,
slight earthquake shocks facilitating the disintegration of rock; but,
would also seem to indicate that the country has been long exposed to
gentle atmospheric action, and that its elevation has been exceedingly
slow and continuous.
During my stay at Rurúkan, my curiosity was satisfied by experiencing a
pretty sharp earthquake-shock. On the evening of June 29th, at a quarter
after eight, as I was sitting reading, the house began shaking with a
very gentle, but rapidly increasing motion. I sat still enjoying the
novel sensation for some seconds; but in less than half a minute it
became strong enough to shake me in my chair, and to make the house
visibly rock about, and creak and crack as if it would fall to pieces.
Then began a cry throughout the village of "Tana goyang! tana goyang!"
(Earthquake! earthquake!) Everybody rushed out of their houses--women
screamed and children cried--and I thought it prudent to go out too.
On getting up, I found my head giddy and my steps unsteady, and could
hardly walk without falling. The shock continued about a minute, during
which time I felt as if I had been turned round and round, and was
almost seasick. Going into the house again, I found a lamp and a bottle
of arrack upset. The tumbler which formed the lamp had been thrown out
of the saucer in which it had stood. The shock appeared to be nearly
vertical, rapid, vibratory, and jerking. It was sufficient, I have no
doubt, to have thrown down brick, chimneys, walls, and church towers;
but as the houses here are all low, and strongly framed of timber, it
is impossible for them to be much injured, except by a shock that would
utterly destroy a European city. The people told me it was ten years
since they had had a stronger shock than this, at which time many houses
were thrown down and some people killed.
At intervals of ten minutes to half an hour, slight shocks and tremors
were felt, sometimes strong enough to send us all out again. There was
a strange mixture of the terrible and the ludicrous in our situation. We
might at any moment have a much stronger shock, which would bring down
the house over us, or--what I feared more--cause a landslip, and send
us down into the deep ravine on the very edge of which the village is
built; yet I could not help laughing each time we ran out at a slight
shock, and then in a few moments ran in again. The sublime and the
ridiculous were here literally but a step apart. On the one hand, the
most terrible and destructive of natural phenomena was in action
around us--the rocks, the mountains, the solid earth were trembling and
convulsed, and we were utterly impotent to guard against the danger that
might at any moment overwhelm us. On the other hand was the spectacle of
a number of men, women, and children running in and out of their houses,
on what each time proved a very unnecessary alarm, as each shock ceased
just as it became strong enough to frighten us. It seemed really very
much like "playing at earthquakes," and made many of the people join me
in a hearty laugh, even while reminding each other that it really might
be no laughing matter.
At length the evening got very cold, and I became very sleepy, and
determined to turn in; leaving orders to my boys, who slept nearer
the door, to wake me in case the house was in danger of falling. But
I miscalculated my apathy, for I could not sleep much. The shocks
continued at intervals of half an hour or an hour all night, just strong
enough to wake me thoroughly each time and keep me on the alert, ready
to jump up in case of danger. I was therefore very glad when morning
came. Most of the inhabitants had not been to bed at all, and some had
stayed out of doors all night. For the next two days and nights shocks
still continued at short intervals, and several times a day for a week,
showing that there was some very extensive disturbance beneath our
portion of the earth's crust. How vast the forces at work really are can
only be properly appreciated when, after feeling their effects, we look
abroad over the wide expanse of hill and valley, plain and mountain, and
thus realize in a slight degree the immense mass of matter heaved
and shaken. The sensation produced by an earthquake is never to be
forgotten. We feel ourselves in the grasp of a power to which the
wildest fury of the winds and waves are as nothing; yet the effect is
more a thrill of awe than the terror which the more boisterous war of
the elements produces. There is a mystery and an uncertainty as to the
amount of danger we incur, which gives greater play to the imagination,
and to the influences of hope and fear. These remarks apply only to a
moderate earthquake. A severe one is the most destructive and the most
horrible catastrophe to which human beings can be exposed.
A few days after the earthquake I took a walk to Tondano, a large
village of about 7,000 inhabitants, situated at the lower end of the
lake of the same name. I dined with the Controlleur, Mr. Bensneider,
who had been my guide to Tomohón. He had a fine large house, in which he
often received visitors; and his garden was the best for flowers which I
had seen in the tropics, although there was no great variety. It was he
who introduced the rose hedges which give such a charming appearance to
the villages; and to him is chiefly due the general neatness and good
order that everywhere prevail. I consulted him about a fresh locality,
as I found Rurúkan too much in the clouds, dreadfully damp and gloomy,
and with a general stagnation of bird and insect life. He recommended me
a village some distance beyond the lake, near which was a large forest,
where he thought I should find plenty of birds. As he was going himself
in a few days, I decided to accompany him.
After dinner I asked him for a guide to the celebrated waterfall on the
outlet stream of the lake. It is situated about a mile and half below
the village, where a slight rising ground closes in the basin, and
evidently once formed, the shore of the lake. Here the river enters a
gorge, very narrow and tortuous, along which it rushes furiously for a
short distance and then plunges into a great chasm, forming the head
of a large valley. Just above the fall the channel is not more than ten
feet wide, and here a few planks are thrown across, whence, half hid by
luxuriant vegetation, the mad waters may be seen rushing beneath, and a
few feet farther plunge into the abyss. Both sight and sound are grand
and impressive. It was here that, four years before my visit, the
Governor-General of the Netherland Indies committed suicide, by leaping
into the torrent. This at least is the general opinion, as he suffered
from a painful disease which was supposed to have made him weary of his
life. His body was found next day in the stream below.
Unfortunately, no good view of the fall could now be obtained, owing
to the quantity of wood and high grass that lined the margins of the
precipices. There are two falls, the lower being the most lofty; and it
is possible, by long circuit, to descend into the valley and see them
from below. Were the best points of view searched for and rendered
accessible, these falls would probably be found to be the finest in the
Archipelago. The chasm seems to be of great depth, probably 500 or 600
feet. Unfortunately, I had no time to explore this valley, as I was
anxious to devote every fine day to increasing my hitherto scanty
collections.
Just opposite my abode in Rurúkan was the schoolhouse. The schoolmaster
was a native, educated by the Missionary at Tomohón. School was held
every morning for about three hours, and twice a week in the evening
there was catechising and preaching. There was also a service on Sunday
morning. The children were all taught in Malay, and I often heard them
repeating the multiplication-table, up to twenty times twenty, very
glibly. They always wound up with singing, and it was very pleasing to
hear many of our old psalm-tunes in these remote mountains, sung with
Malay words. Singing is one of the real blessings which Missionaries
introduce among savage nations, whose native chants are almost always
monotonous and melancholy.
On catechising evenings the schoolmaster was a great man, preaching and
teaching for three hours at a stretch much in the style of an English
ranter. This was pretty cold work for his auditors, however warming to
himself; and I am inclined to think that these native teachers, having
acquired facility of speaking and an endless supply of religious
platitudes to talk about, ride their hobby rather hard, without much
consideration for their flock. The Missionaries, however, have much
to be proud of in this country. They have assisted the Government in
changing a savage into a civilized community in a wonderfully short
space of time. Forty years ago the country was a wilderness, the people
naked savages, garnishing their rude houses with human heads. Now it is
a garden, worthy of its sweet native name of "Minahasa." Good roads
and paths traverse it in every direction; some of the finest coffee
plantations in the world surround the villages, interspersed with
extensive rice-fields more than sufficient for the support of the
population.
The people are now the most industrious, peaceable, and civilized in the
whole Archipelago. They are the best clothed, the best housed, the best
fed, and the best educated; and they have made some progress towards
a higher social state. I believe there is no example elsewhere of such
striking results being produced in so short a time--results which are
entirely due to the system of government now adopted by the Dutch in
their Eastern possessions. The system is one which may be called a
"paternal despotism." Now we Englishmen do not like despotism--we hate
the name and the thing, and we would rather see people ignorant,
lazy, and vicious, than use any but moral force to make them wise,
industrious, and good. And we are right when we are dealing with men of
our own race, and of similar ideas and equal capacities with ourselves.
Example and precept, the force of public opinion, and the slow, but sure
spread of education, will do everything in time, without engendering any
of those bitter feelings, or producing any of that servility, hypocrisy,
and dependence, which are the sure results of despotic government. But
what should we think of a man who should advocate these principles
of perfect freedom in a family or a school? We should say that he was
applying a good, general principle to a case in which the conditions
rendered it inapplicable--the case in which the governed are in an
admitted state of mental inferiority to those who govern them, and are
unable to decide what is best for their permanent welfare. Children must
be subjected to some degree of authority, and guidance; and if properly
managed they will cheerfully submit to it, because they know their own
inferiority, and believe their elders are acting solely for their good.
They learn many things the use of which they cannot comprehend, and
which they would never learn without some moral and social, if not
physical, pressure. Habits of order, of industry, of cleanliness, of
respect and obedience, are inculcated by similar means. Children would
never grow up into well-behaved and well-educated men, if the same
absolute freedom of action that is allowed to men were allowed to them.
Under the best aspect of education, children are subjected to a
mild despotism for the good of themselves and of society; and their
confidence in the wisdom and goodness of those who ordain and apply this
despotism, neutralizes the bad passions and degrading feelings, which
under less favourable conditions are its general results.
Now, there is not merely an analogy--there is in many respects an
identity of relation between master and pupil or parent and child on the
one hand, and an uncivilized race and its civilized rulers on the other.
We know (or think we know) that the education and industry, and the
common usages of civilized man, are superior to those of savage life;
and, as he becomes acquainted with them, the savage himself admits this.
He admires the superior acquirements of the civilized man, and it is
with pride that he will adopt such usages as do not interfere too much
with his sloth, his passions, or his prejudices. But as the willful
child or the idle schoolboy, who was never taught obedience, and never
made to do anything which of his own free will he was not inclined to
do, would in most cases obtain neither education nor manners; so it is
much more unlikely that the savage, with all the confirmed habits of
manhood and the traditional prejudices of race, should ever do more than
copy a few of the least beneficial customs of civilization, without some
stronger stimulus than precept, very imperfectly backed by example.
If we are satisfied that we are right in assuming the government over a
savage race, and occupying their country, and if we further consider it
our duty to do what we can to improve our rude subjects and raise them
up towards our own level, we must not be too much afraid of the cry
of "despotism" and "slavery," but must use the authority we possess to
induce them to do work which they may not altogether like, but which
we know to be an indispensable step in their moral and physical
advancement. The Dutch have shown much good policy in the means by which
they have done this. They have in most cases upheld and strengthened the
authority of the native chiefs, to whom the people have been accustomed
to render a voluntary obedience; and by acting on the intelligence and
self-interest of these chiefs, have brought about changes in the manners
and customs of the people, which would have excited ill-feeling and
perhaps revolt, had they been directly enforced by foreigners.
In carrying out such a system, much depends upon the character of the
people; and the system which succeeds admirably in one place could
only be very partially worked out in another. In Minahasa the natural
docility and intelligence of the race have made their progress rapid;
and how important this is, is well illustrated by the fact, that in the
immediate vicinity of the town of Menado are a tribe called Banteks,
of a much less tractable disposition, who have hitherto resisted all
efforts of the Dutch Government to induce them to adopt any systematic
cultivation. These remain in a ruder condition, but engage themselves
willingly as occasional porters and labourers, for which their greater
strength and activity well adapt them.
No doubt the system here sketched seems open to serious objection. It
is to a certain extent despotic, and interferes with free trade, free
labour, and free communication. A native cannot leave his village
without a pass, and cannot engage himself to any merchant or captain
without a Government permit. The coffee has all to be sold to
Government, at less than half the price that the local merchant would
give for it, and he consequently cries out loudly against "monopoly"
and "oppression." He forgets, however, that the coffee plantations were
established by the Government at great outlay of capital and skill; that
it gives free education to the people, and that the monopoly is in lieu
of taxation. He forgets that the product he wants to purchase and make
a profit by, is the creation of the Government, without whom the people
would still be savages. He knows very well that free trade would, as its
first result, lead to the importation of whole cargoes of arrack,
which would be carried over the country and exchanged for coffee. That
drunkenness and poverty would spread over the land; that the public
coffee plantations would not be kept up; that the quality and quantity
of the coffee would soon deteriorate; that traders and merchants would
get rich, but that the people would relapse into poverty and barbarism.
That such is invariably the result of free trade with any savage tribes
who possess a valuable product, native or cultivated, is well known to
those who have visited such people; but we might even anticipate from
general principles that evil results would happen.
If there is one thing rather than another to which the grand law of
continuity or development will apply, it is to human progress. There are
certain stages through which society must pass in its onward march from
barbarism to civilization. Now one of these stages has always been
some form or other of despotism, such as feudalism or servitude, or a
despotic paternal government; and we have every reason to believe that
it is not possible for humanity to leap over this transition epoch, and
pass at once from pure savagery to free civilization. The Dutch system
attempts to supply this missing link, and to bring the people on by
gradual steps to that higher civilization, which we (the English) try to
force upon them at once. Our system has always failed. We demoralize and
we extirpate, but we never really civilize. Whether the Dutch system
can permanently succeed is but doubtful, since it may not be possible to
compress the work of ten centuries into one; but at all events it takes
nature as a guide, and is therefore, more deserving of success, and more
likely to succeed, than ours.
There is one point connected with this question which I think the
Missionaries might take up with great physical and moral results. In
this beautiful and healthy country, and with abundance of food and
necessaries, the population does not increase as it ought to do. I can
only impute this to one cause. Infant mortality, produced by neglect
while the mothers are working in the plantations, and by general
ignorance of the conditions of health in infants. Women all work, as
they have always been accustomed to do. It is no hardship to them, but
I believe is often a pleasure and relaxation. They either take their
infants with them, in which case they leave them in some shady spot on
the ground, going at intervals to give them nourishment, or they leave
them at home in the care of other children too young to work. Under
neither of these circumstances can infants be properly attended to, and
great mortality is the result, keeping the increase of population far
below the rate which the general prosperity of the country and the
universality of marriage would lead us to expect. This is a matter in
which the Government is directly interested, since it is by the increase
of the population alone that there can be any large and permanent
increase in the production of coffee. The Missionaries should take up
the question because, by inducing married women to confine themselves to
domestic duties, they will decidedly promote a higher civilization, and
directly increase the health and happiness of the whole community. The
people are so docile and so willing to adopt the manners and customs of
Europeans, that the change might be easily effected by merely showing
them that it was a question of morality and civilization, and an
essential step in their progress towards an equality with their white
rulers.
After a fortnight's stay at Rurúkan, I left that pretty and interesting
village in search of a locality and climate more productive of birds and
insects. I passed the evening with the Controlleur of Tondano, and the
next morning at nine, left in a small boat for the head of the lake, a
distance of about ten miles. The lower end of the lake is bordered by
swamps and marshes of considerable extent, but a little further on, the
hills come down to the water's edge and give it very much the appearance
of a greet river, the width being about two miles. At the upper end is
the village of Kakas, where I dined with the head man in a good house
like those I have already described; and then went on to Langówan, four
miles distant over a level plain. This was the place where I had been
recommended to stay, and I accordingly unpacked my baggage and made
myself comfortable in the large house devoted to visitors. I obtained
a man to shoot for me, and another to accompany me the next day to the
forest, where I was in hopes of finding a good collecting ground.
In the morning after breakfast I started off, but found I had four miles
to walk over a wearisome straight road through coffee plantations before
I could get to the forest, and as soon as I did so, it came on to rain
heavily and did not cease until night. This distance to walk every day
was too far for any profitable work, especially when the weather was so
uncertain. I therefore decided at once that I must go further on, until
I found someplace close to or in a forest country. In the afternoon my
friend Mr. Bensneider arrived, together with the Controlleur of the next
district, called Belang, from whom I learned that six miles further on
there was a village called Panghu, which had been recently formed and
had a good deal of forest close to it; and he promised me the use of a
small house if I liked to go there.
The next morning I went to see the hot-springs and mud volcanoes, for
which this place is celebrated. A picturesque path among plantations
and ravines brought us to a beautiful circular basin about forty feet in
diameter, bordered by a calcareous ledge, so uniform and truly curved,
that it looked like a work of art. It was filled with clear water
very near the boiling point, and emitted clouds of steam with a strong
sulphureous odour. It overflows at one point and forms a little stream
of hot water, which at a hundred yards' distance is still too hot to
hold the hand in. A little further on, in a piece of rough wood, were
two other springs not so regular in outline, but appearing to be much
hotter, as they were in a continual state of active ebullition. At
intervals of a few minutes, a great escape of steam or gas took place,
throwing up a column of water three or four feet high.
We then went to the mud-springs, which are about a mile off, and are
still more curious. On a sloping tract of ground in a slight hollow is
a small lake of liquid mud, with patches of blue, red, or white, and
in many places boiling and bubbling most furiously. All around on the
indurated clay are small wells and craters full of boiling mud. These
seem to be forming continually, a small hole appearing first, which
emits jets of steam and boiling mud, which upon hardening, forms a
little cone with a crater in the middle. The ground for some distance is
very unsafe, as it is evidently liquid at a small depth, and bends with
pressure like thin ice. At one of the smaller, marginal jets which I
managed to approach, I held my hand to see if it was really as hot as it
looked, when a little drop of mud that spurted on to my finger scalded
like boiling water.
A short distance off, there was a flat bare surface of rock as smooth
and hot as an oven floor, which was evidently an old mud-pool, dried
up and hardened. For hundreds of yards around where there were banks of
reddish and white clay used for whitewash, it was still so hot close to
the surface that the hand could hardly bear to be held in cracks a few
inches deep, and from which arose a strong sulphureous vapour. I was
informed that some years back a French gentleman who visited these
springs ventured too near the liquid mud, when the crust gave way and he
was engulfed in the horrible caldron.
This evidence of intense heat so near the surface over a large tract
of country was very impressive, and I could hardly divest myself of the
notion that some terrible catastrophe might at any moment devastate
the country. Yet it is probable that all these apertures are really
safety-valves, and that the inequalities of the resistance of various
parts of the earth's crust will always prevent such an accumulation of
force as would be required to upheave and overwhelm any extensive area.
About seven miles west of this is a volcano which was in eruption about
thirty years before my visit, presenting a magnificent appearance and
covering the surrounding country with showers of ashes. The plains
around the lake formed by the intermingling and decomposition of
volcanic products are of amazing fertility, and with a little management
in the rotation of crops might be kept in continual cultivation. Rice is
now grown on them for three or four years in succession, when they are
left fallow for the same period, after which rice or maize can be again
grown. Good rice produces thirty-fold, and coffee trees continue
bearing abundantly for ten or fifteen years, without any manure and with
scarcely any cultivation.
I was delayed a day by incessant rain, and then proceeded to Panghu,
which I reached just before the daily rain began at 11 A.M. After
leaving the summit level of the lake basin, the road is carried along
the slope of a fine forest ravine. The descent is a long one, so that I
estimated the village to be not more than 1,500 feet above the sea, yet
I found the morning temperature often 69°, the same as at Tondano at
least 600 or 700 feet higher. I was pleased with the appearance of the
place, which had a good deal of forest and wild country around it; and
found prepared for me a little house consisting only of a verandah and a
back room. This was only intended for visitors to rest in, or to pass a
night, but it suited me very well. I was so unfortunate, however, as
to lose both my hunters just at this time. One had been left at Tondano
with fever and diarrhoea, and the other was attacked at Langówan with
inflammation of the chest, and as his case looked rather bad I had
him sent back to Menado. The people here were all so busy with their
rice-harvest, which was important for them to finish owing to the early
rains, that I could get no one to shoot for me.
During the three weeks that I stayed at Panghu it rained nearly every
day, either in the afternoon only, or all day long; but there were
generally a few hours' sunshine in the morning, and I took advantage of
these to explore the roads and paths, the rocks and ravines, in search
of insects. These were not very abundant, yet I saw enough to convince
me that the locality was a good one, had I been there at the beginning
instead of at the end of the dry season. The natives brought me daily a
few insects obtained at the Sagueir palms, including some fine Cetonias
and stag-beetles. Two little boys were very expert with the blowpipe,
and brought me a good many small birds, which they shot with pellets
of clay. Among these was a pretty little flower-pecker of a new species
(Prionochilus aureolimbatus), and several of the loveliest honeysuckers
I had yet seen. My general collection of birds was, however, almost at
a standstill; for though I at length obtained a man to shoot for me, he
was not good for much, and seldom brought me more than one bird a day.
The best thing he shot was the large and rare fruit-pigeon peculiar to
Northern Celebes (Carpophaga forsteni), which I had long been seeking.
I was myself very successful in one beautiful group of insects, the
tiger-beetles, which seem more abundant and varied here than anywhere
else in the Archipelago. I first met with them on a cutting in the road,
where a hard clayey bank was partially overgrown with mosses and small
ferns. Here, I found running about, a small olive-green species which
never took flight; and more rarely, a fine purplish black wingless
insect, which was always found motionless in crevices, and was
therefore, probably nocturnal. It appeared to me to form a new genus.
About the roads in the forest, I found the large and handsome Cicindela
heros, which I had before obtained sparingly at Macassar; but it was in
the mountain torrent of the ravine itself that I got my finest things.
On dead trunks overhanging the water and on the banks and foliage, I
obtained three very pretty species of Cicindela, quite distinct in size,
form, and colour, but having an almost identical pattern of pale spots.
I also found a single specimen of a most curious species with very long
antennae. But my finest discovery here was the Cicindela gloriosa, which
I found on mossy stones just rising above the water. After obtaining
my first specimen of this elegant insect, I used to walk up the stream,
watching carefully every moss-covered rock and stone. It was rather shy,
and would often lead me on a long chase from stone to stone, becoming
invisible every time it settled on the damp moss, owing to its rich
velvety green colour. On some days I could only catch a few glimpses of
it; on others I got a single specimen; and on a few occasions two, but
never without a more or less active pursuit. This and several other
species I never saw but in this one ravine.
Among the people here I saw specimens of several types, which, with the
peculiarities of the languages, gives me some notion of their probable
origin. A striking illustration of the low state of civilization
of these people, until quite recently, is to be found in the great
diversity of their languages. Villages three or four miles apart have
separate dialects, and each group of three or four such villages has a
distinct language quite unintelligible to all the rest; so that, until
the recent introduction of Malay by the Missionaries, there must
have been a bar to all free communication. These languages offer
many peculiarities. They contain a Celebes-Malay element and a Papuan
element, along with some radical peculiarities found also in the
languages of the Siau and Sanguir islands further north, and therefore,
probably derived from the Philippine Islands. Physical characteristics
correspond. There are some of the less civilized tribes which have
semi-Papuan features and hair, while in some villages the true Celebes
or Bugis physiognomy prevails. The plateau of Tondano is chiefly
inhabited by people nearly as white as the Chinese, and with very
pleasing semi-European features. The people of Siau and Sanguir much
resemble these, and I believe them to be perhaps immigrants from some
of the islands of North Polynesia. The Papuan type will represent the
remnant of the aborigines, while those of the Bugis character show the
extension northward of the superior Malay races.
As I was wasting valuable time at Panghu, owing to the bad weather and
the illness of my hunters, I returned to Menado after a stay of three
weeks. Here I had a little touch of fever, and what with drying and
packing all of my collections and getting fresh servants, it was a
fortnight before I was again ready to start. I now went eastward over
an undulating country skirting the great volcano of Klabat, to a village
called Lempias, situated close to the extensive forest that covers the
lower slopes of that mountain. My baggage was carried from village to
village by relays of men; and as each change involved some delay, I did
not reach my destination (a distance of eighteen miles) until sunset. I
was wet through, and had to wait for an hour in an uncomfortable
state until the first installment of my baggage arrived, which luckily
contained my clothes, while the rest did not come in until midnight.
This being the district inhabited by that singular annual the Babirusa
(Hog-deer), I inquired about skulls and soon obtained several in
tolerable condition, as well as a fine one of the rare and curious
"Sapi-utan" (Anoa depressicornis). Of this animal I had seen two living
specimens at Menado, and was surprised at their great resemblance to
small cattle, or still more to the Eland of South Africa. Their Malay
name signifies "forest ox," and they differ from very small highbred
oxen principally by the low-hanging dewlap, and straight, pointed horns
which slope back over the neck. I did not find the forest here so rich
in insects as I had expected, and my hunters got me very few birds, but
what they did obtain were very interesting. Among these were the rare
forest Kingfisher (Cittura cyanotis), a small new species of Megapodius,
and one specimen of the large and interesting Maleo (Megacephalon
rubripes), to obtain which was one of my chief reasons for visiting this
district. Getting no more, however, after ten days' search, I removed
to Licoupang, at the extremity of the peninsula, a place celebrated for
these birds, as well as for the Babirusa and Sapi-utan. I found here
Mr. Goldmann, the eldest son of the Governor of the Moluccas, who was
superintending the establishment of some Government salt-works. This was
a better locality, and I obtained some fine butterflies and very
good birds, among which was one more specimen of the rare ground dove
(Phlegaenas tristigmata), which I had first obtained near the Maros
waterfall in South Celebes.
Hearing what I was particularly in search of, Mr. Goldmann kindly
offered to make a hunting-party to the place where the "Maleos" are most
abundant, a remote and uninhabited sea-beach about twenty miles distant.
The climate here was quite different from that on the mountains; not a
drop of rain having fallen for four months; so I made arrangements to
stay on the beach a week, in order to secure a good number of specimens.
We went partly by boat and partly through the forest, accompanied by the
Major or head-man of Licoupang, with a dozen natives and about twenty
dogs. On the way they caught a young Sapi-utan and five wild pigs. Of
the former I preserved the head. This animal is entirely confined to the
remote mountain forests of Celebes and one or two adjacent islands which
form part of the same group. In the adults the head is black, with a
white mark over each eye, one on each cheek and another on the throat.
The horns are very smooth and sharp when young, but become thicker and
ridged at the bottom with age. Most naturalists consider this curious
animal to be a small ox, but from the character of the horns, the fine
coat of hair and the descending dewlap, it seemed closely to approach
the antelopes.
Arrived at our destination, we built a but and prepared for a stay of
some days--I to shoot and skin "Maleos", and Mr. Goldmann and the Major
to hunt wild pigs, Babirusa, and Sapi-utan. The place is situated in the
large bay between the islands of Limbe and Banca, and consists of
steep beach more than a mile in length, of deep loose and coarse black
volcanic sand (or rather gravel), very fatiguing to walk over. It is
bounded at each extremity by a small river with hilly ground beyond,
while the forest behind the beach itself is tolerably level and its
growth stunted. We probably have here an ancient lava stream from the
Klabat volcano, which has flowed down a valley into the sea, and the
decomposition of which has formed the loose black sand. In confirmation
of this view, it may be mentioned that the beaches beyond the small
rivers in both directions are of white sand.
It is in this loose, hot, black sand that those singular birds, the
"Maleos" deposit their eggs. In the months of August and September, when
there is little or no rain, they come down in pairs from the interior to
this or to one or two other favourite spots, and scratch holes three or
four feet deep, just above high-water mark, where the female deposits a
single large egg, which she covers over with about a foot of sand--and
then returns to the forest. At the end of ten or twelve days she comes
again to the same spot to lay another egg, and each female bird is
supposed to lay six or eight eggs during the season. The male assists
the female in making the hole, coming down and returning with her. The
appearance of the bird when walking on the beach is very handsome.
The glossy black and rosy white of the plumage, the helmeted head and
elevated tail, like that of the common fowl, give a striking character,
which their stately and somewhat sedate walk renders still more
remarkable. There is hardly any difference between the sexes, except
that the casque or bonnet at the back of the head and the tubercles at
the nostrils are a little larger, and the beautiful rosy salmon colour a
little deeper in the male bird; but the difference is so slight that it
is not always possible to tell a male from a female without dissection.
They run quickly, but when shot at or suddenly disturbed, take wing with
a heavy noisy flight to some neighbouring tree, where they settle on a
low branch; and, they probably roost at night in a similar situation.
Many birds lay in the same hole, for a dozen eggs are often found
together; and these are so large that it is not possible for the body of
the bird to contain more than one fully-developed egg at the same time.
In all the female birds which I shot, none of the eggs besides the one
large one exceeded the size of peas, and there were only eight or nine
of these, which is probably the extreme number a bird can lay in one
season.
Every year the natives come for fifty miles round to obtain these eggs,
which are esteemed as a great delicacy, and when quite fresh, are indeed
delicious. They are richer than hens' eggs and of a finer favour, and
each one completely fills an ordinary teacup, and forms with bread or
rice a very good meal. The colour of the shell is a pale brick red, or
very rarely pure white. They are elongate and very slightly smaller at
one end, from four to four and a half inches long by two and a quarter
or two and a half wide.
After the eggs are deposited in the sand, they are no further cared for
by the mother. The young birds, upon breaking the shell, work their way
up through the sand and run off at once to the forest; and I was assured
by Mr. Duivenboden of Ternate, that they can fly the very day they are
hatched. He had taken some eggs on board his schooner which hatched
during the night, and in the morning the little birds flew readily
across the cabin. Considering the great distances the birds come to
deposit the eggs in a proper situation (often ten or fifteen miles) it
seems extraordinary that they should take no further care of them. It
is, however, quite certain that they neither do nor can watch them. The
eggs being deposited by a number of hens in succession in the same hole,
would render it impossible for each to distinguish its own; and the food
necessary for such large birds (consisting entirely of fallen fruits)
can only be obtained by roaming over an extensive district, so that
if the numbers of birds which come down to this single beach in the
breeding season, amounting to many hundreds, were obliged to remain in
the vicinity, many would perish of hunger.
In the structure of the feet of this bird, we may detect a cause for
its departing from the habits of its nearest allies, the Megapodii and
Talegalli, which heap up earth, leaves, stones, and sticks into a huge
mound, in which they bury their eggs. The feet of the Maleo are not
nearly so large or strong in proportion as in these birds, while its
claws are short and straight instead of being long and much curved. The
toes are, however, strongly webbed at the base, forming a broad powerful
foot, which, with the rather long leg, is well adapted to scratch away
the loose sand (which flies up in a perfect shower when the birds are at
work), but which could not without much labour accumulate the heaps of
miscellaneous rubbish, which the large grasping feet of the Megapodius
bring together with ease.
We may also, I think, see in the peculiar organization of the entire
family of the Megapodidae or Brush Turkeys, a reason why they depart so
widely from the usual habits of the Class of birds. Each egg being so
large as entirely to fill up the abdominal cavity and with difficulty
pass the walls of the pelvis, a considerable interval is required before
the successive eggs can be matured (the natives say about thirteen
days). Each bird lays six or eight eggs or even more each season, so
that between the first and last there may be an interval of two or three
months. Now, if these eggs were hatched in the ordinary way, either the
parents must keep sitting continually for this long period, or if they
only began to sit after the last egg was deposited, the first would
be exposed to injury by the climate, or to destruction by the large
lizards, snakes, or other animals which abound in the district; because
such large birds must roam about a good deal in search of food. Here
then we seem to have a case in which the habits of a bird may be
directly traced to its exceptional organization; for it will hardly be
maintained that this abnormal structure and peculiar food were given
to the Megapodidae in order that they might not exhibit that parental
affection, or possess those domestic instincts so general in the Class
of birds, and which so much excite our admiration.
It has generally been the custom of writers on Natural History to take
the habits and instincts of animals as fixed points, and to consider
their structure and organization, as specially adapted, to be in
accordance with these. This assumption is however an arbitrary one, and
has the bad effect of stifling inquiry into the nature and causes
of "instincts and habits," treating them as directly due to a "first
cause," and therefore, incomprehensible to us. I believe that a careful
consideration of the structure of a species, and of the peculiar
physical and organic conditions by which it is surrounded, or has been
surrounded in past ages, will often, as in this case, throw much light
on the origin of its habits and instincts. These again, combined with
changes in external conditions, react upon structure, and by means of
"variation" and "natural selection", both are kept in harmony.
My friends remained three days, and got plenty of wild pigs and two
Anóas, but the latter were much injured by the dogs, and I could only
preserve the heads. A grand hunt which we attempted on the third day
failed, owing to bad management in driving in the game, and we waited
for five hours perched on platforms in trees without getting a shot,
although we had been assured that pigs, Babirusas, and Anóas would rush
past us in dozens. I myself, with two men, stayed three days longer to
get more specimens of the Maleos, and succeeded in preserving twenty-six
very fine ones--the flesh and eggs of which supplied us with abundance
of good food.
The Major sent a boat, as he had promised, to take home my baggage,
while I walked through the forest with my two boys and a guide, about
fourteen miles. For the first half of the distance there was no path,
and we had often to cut our way through tangled rattans or thickets of
bamboo. In some of our turnings to find the most practicable route,
I expressed my fear that we were losing our way, as the sun being
vertical, I could see no possible clue to the right direction. My
conductors, however, laughed at the idea, which they seemed to
consider quite ludicrous; and sure enough, about half way, we suddenly
encountered a little hut where people from Licoupang came to hunt and
smoke wild pigs. My guide told me he had never before traversed the
forest between these two points; and this is what is considered by some
travellers as one of the savage "instincts," whereas it is merely the
result of wide general knowledge. The man knew the topography of the
whole district; the slope of the land, the direction of the streams, the
belts of bamboo or rattan, and many other indications of locality and
direction; and he was thus enabled to hit straight upon the hut, in
the vicinity of which he had often hunted. In a forest of which he knew
nothing, he would be quite as much at a loss as a European. Thus it is,
I am convinced, with all the wonderful accounts of Indians finding their
way through trackless forests to definite points; they may never have
passed straight between the two particular points before, but they
are well acquainted with the vicinity of both, and have such a general
knowledge of the whole country, its water system, its soil and its
vegetation, that as they approach the point they are to reach, many
easily-recognised indications enable them to hit upon it with certainty.
The chief feature of this forest was the abundance of rattan palms
hanging from the trees, and turning and twisting about on the ground,
often in inextricable confusion. One wonders at first how they can get
into such queer shapes; but it is evidently caused by the decay and fall
of the trees up which they have first climbed, after which they grow
along the ground until they meet with another trunk up which to ascend.
A tangled mass of twisted living rattan, is therefore, a sign that at
some former period a large tree has fallen there, though there may be
not the slightest vestige of it left. The rattan seems to have unlimited
powers of growth, and a single plant may mount up several trees in
succession, and thus reach the enormous length they are said sometimes
to attain. They much improve the appearance of a forest as seen from the
coast; for they vary the otherwise monotonous tree-tops with feathery
crowns of leaves rising clear above them, and each terminated by an
erect leafy spike like a lightning-conductor.
The other most interesting object in the forest was a beautiful palm,
whose perfectly smooth and cylindrical stem rises erect to more than a
hundred feet high, with a thickness of only eight or ten inches; while
the fan-shaped leaves which compose its crown, are almost complete
circles of six or eight feet diameter, borne aloft on long and slender
petioles, and beautifully toothed round the edge by the extremities
of the leaflets, which are separated only for a few inches from the
circumference. It is probably the Livistona rotundifolia of botanists,
and is the most complete and beautiful fan-leaf I have ever seen,
serving admirably for folding into water-buckets and impromptu baskets,
as well as for thatching and other purposes.
A few days afterwards I returned to Menado on horse-back, sending my
baggage around by sea; and had just time to pack up all my collections
to go by the next mail steamer to Amboyna. I will now devote a few pages
to an account of the chief peculiarities of the Zoology of Celebes, and
its relation to that of the surrounding countries.