THE ISLAND OF JAVA.
Most travellers who touch at Singapore sweep round that point like a
race-horse, eager to be on the "home stretch." But in turning north,
they turn away from a beauty of which they do not dream. They know not
what islands, embowered in foliage, lie in those Southern seas--what
visions would reward them if they would but "those realms explore."
The Malayan Peninsula is a connecting link between two great divisions
of the globe; it is a bridge hundreds of miles long--a real Giants'
Causeway, reaching out from the mainland of Asia towards the Island
World beyond--a world with an interest all its own, which, now that we
were so near, attracted us to its shores. Leaving our fellow-travellers
to go on to Siam or to China, we took the steamer of the Netherlands
India Company for Java. It was a little boat of but 250 tons, but it
shot away like an arrow, and was soon flying like a sea-bird among
islands covered with palm groves. On our right was the long coast of
Sumatra. Towards evening we entered the Straits of Rhio, and in the
night crossed the Equator. When as a child I turned over the globe, I
found this line indicated by a brass ring, and rather expected that
the ship would get a thump as she passed over it; but she crossed
without a shock, or even a jar; ocean melted into ocean; the waters of
the China and the Java seas flowed together, and we were in the
Southern hemisphere.
The first thing on board which struck us strangely was that we had
lost our language. The steamer was Dutch, and the officers spoke only
Dutch. But on all these waters will be found passing to and fro
gentlemen of intelligence, holding official positions here, but who
have lived long in Europe, and who speak English or French. At Rhio we
were joined by the Resident, the highest official of that island, and
by the Inspector of Schools from Batavia; and the next day, as we
entered the Straits of Banca, by the Resident of Palembang in
Sumatra--all of whom were very polite to us as strangers. We saw them
again in Java, and when we parted, felt almost that they were not only
acquaintances, but friends. They were of course thoroughly informed
about the new world around us, and were ready to enlighten our
ignorance. We sat on deck at evening, and as they puffed their cigars
with the tranquillity of true Dutchmen, we listened to their discourse
about the islands and people of the Malayan Archipelago.
This part of the world would delight Mr. Darwin by the strange races
it contains, some of which approach the animal tribes. In the island
of Rhio the Resident assured me there were wild men who lived in
trees, and had no language but cries; and in Sumatra the Resident of
Palembang said there were men who lived in the forests, with whom not
only the Europeans, but even the Malays, could have no intercourse. He
himself had never seen one. Yet, strange to say, they have a petty
traffic with the outer world, yet not through the medium of speech.
They live in the woods, and live by the chase. They hunt tigers, not
with the gun, but with a weapon called a sumpitan, which is a long
tube, out of which they blow arrows with such force, and that are so
keen of point, and touched with such deadly poison, that a wound is
almost immediately fatal. These tiger skins or elephant tusks they
bring for barter--not for sale--they never sell anything, for money is
about the most useless thing they could have; they cannot eat it, or
drink it, or wear it. But as they have wants, they exchange; yet they
themselves are never seen. They bring what they have to the edge of
the forest, and leave it there, and the Malays come and place what
_they_ have to dispose of, and retire. If the offer is satisfactory,
when the Malays return they find what they brought gone, and take what
is left and depart. If not, they add a few trifles more to tempt the
eyes of these wild men of the woods, and so at last the exchange is
effected, yet all the while the sellers keep themselves invisible.
This mode of barter argues great honesty on both sides.
This island of Sumatra is a world in itself. The Resident of Palembang
has under him a country as large as the whole of Java. The people of
Palembang are Malays and Chinese, thousands of whom live on rafts. In
the interior of the island there are different races, speaking a dozen
different languages or dialects. But with all its population, the
greater part of the country is still given up to forest and jungle,
the home of wild beasts--of the tiger and the rhinoceros. Wild
elephants range the forests in great numbers. He had often seen them
in herds of two or three hundred. It seemed strange that they were not
tamed, as in India and Burmah. But such is not the habit of the
people, who hunt them for ivory, but never attempt to subdue them, or
use them as beasts of burden. Hence they become a great nuisance, as
they come about the villages and break into the plantations; and it is
only when a grand hunt is organized for their destruction, that a
neighborhood can be for a time rid of the pest.
But if these are uncomfortable neighbors, there are others that are
more so--the reptiles, which abound here as in India. But familiarity
breeds contempt or indifference. The people are not afraid of them,
and hardly notice them, but speak of them in an easy sort of way, as
if they were the most harmless things in nature--poor innocent
creatures, which might almost be pets in the family, and allowed to
run about the house at their will. Soberly, there are certain
domestic snakes which are indulged with these liberties. Said Mr. K.:
"I was once visiting in Sumatra, and spending a night at the house of
a friend. I heard a noise overhead, and asked, 'What is that?' 'Oh,
nothing,' they said; 'it's only the serpent.' 'What! do you keep a
family snake?' 'Yes,' they said; it was a large black snake which
frequented the house, and as it did no mischief, and hunted the rats,
they let it roam about wherever it liked." Thinking this rather a big
story, with which our friend might practise on the credulity of a
stranger, I turned to the Resident of Palembang, who confirmed it. He
said this domestication of serpents was not uncommon. There was a kind
of boa that was very useful as an exterminator of rats, and for this
purpose the good Dutch housekeepers allowed it to crawl about or to
lie coiled up in the pantry. Sometimes this interesting member of the
family was stretched out on the veranda to bask in the sun--a pleasant
object to any stranger who might be invited to accept hospitality. I
think I should have an engagement elsewhere, however pressing the
invitation. I never could "abide" snakes. From the Old Serpent down,
they have been my aversion, and I beg to decline their company, though
they should be as insinuating as the one that tempted Eve. But an
English merchant in Java afterwards assured me that "snakes were the
best gardeners; that they devoured the worms and insects and small
animals; and that for his part, he was rather pleased than otherwise
when he saw a big boa crawling among the vines or in the rice-fields."
I thought that the first instance of a serpent's gardening was in
Paradise, the effect of which was not encouraging, but there is no
disputing about tastes. He said they frequently came around the
houses, but did not often enter them, except that they were very fond
of music (the dear creatures!); and sometimes in the evening, as doors
and windows were left open for coolness, if the music was very fine, a
head might be thrust in of a guest that had not been invited.
But our conversation was not limited to this harrowing topic, but
ranged over many features of Sumatra--its scenery and climate, soil
and vegetation. It is indeed a magnificent island. Over a thousand
miles long, and with more square miles than Great Britain and Ireland
together, it is large enough for a kingdom. In some parts the scenery
is as grand as that of Switzerland. Along the western coast is a range
of mountains like the Alps (some peaks are 15,000 feet high), among
which is set many an Alpine valley, with its glistening lake. That
coast is indented with bays, on one of which is the Dutch capital,
Padang. East of the mountains the island spreads out into vast plains,
watered by noble rivers. The soil is very rich, yielding all the
fruits of the tropics in great abundance. The tobacco especially is of
a much finer quality than that of Java, and brings twice as much in
the market. This fertility will attract population both from Asia and
from Europe, and under a good government this island may yet be the
seat of an empire worthy of its greatness.
But just now the Dutch have a task to bring it into subjection. They
have an enemy in the North harder to subdue than tigers and wild
elephants. These are the terrible Malays, against whom has been kept
up for years the war in Acheen--a war waged with such deadly and
unrelenting hate and fury, that it has taken on a character of
ferocity. Of the right or wrong of this savage contest, I cannot
judge, for I hear only one side of the story. I am told that the
Malays are a race of pirates, with whom it is impossible to live in
good neighborhood, and that there can be no peace till they are
subdued. At the same time, one cannot refuse a degree of sympathy even
to savages who defend their own country, and who fight with such
conspicuous bravery. To this all the Dutch officers bore testimony,
saying that they fought "like devils." The Malays are very much like
our American Indians, both in features and in character--a proud,
high-spirited race, capable of any act of courage or devotion, but
full of that hot blood that resents an insult. "If you have a Malay
servant," I heard often in the East, "you may scold him or send him
away, but _never strike_ him, for that is an indignity which he feels
more than a wound; which he never forgets or forgives; but which, if
he has an opportunity, he will avenge with blood." Such a people, when
they come into battle, sacrifice their lives without a moment's
hesitation. They have a great advantage, as they are in their own
territory, and can choose their own time and place of attack, or keep
out of the way, leaving the enemy to be worn out by the hot climate
and by disease. Of course if the Dutch could once bring them within
range of their guns, or entice them into a pitched battle, European
skill and discipline would be victorious. But the Malays are too wary
and active; they hide in the fastnesses of the hills, and start up
here and there in unexpected quarters, and after a sudden dash, fly to
the mountains. They have a powerful ally in the pestilential climate,
which brings on those deadly fevers that kill more than perish in
battle. Such a war may drag on for years, during which the Dutch
territory will not extend much beyond the places occupied by troops,
or the ports defended by the guns of the fleet. If the Dutch hold on
with their proverbial tenacity, they may conquer in the end, though at
an immense cost in treasure and in life. If the Malays are once
subdued, and by a wise and lenient policy converted to some degree of
loyalty, they may prove, like the Sikhs in India, the brave defenders
of the power against which they fought so well.
With such conversation to lighten the hours, they did not seem long,
as we were running through the Java Sea. On the third day from
Singapore, we came among the Thousand Islands, and in the afternoon
descried on the horizon the mountains of Java, and just at sunset were
in the roads of Batavia. There is no harbor, but an open roadstead;
and here a whole fleet of ships were riding at anchor--ships of war
and merchant ships from all parts of the world. It was two or three
miles from the quay, but as the evening drew on, we could see lights
along the shore; and at eight o'clock, just as the gun was fired from
the flagship of the Dutch Admiral, we put off in a native boat, manned
by a Malay crew. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and we seemed to
be floating in a dream, as our swarthy boatmen bent to their oars, and
we glided silently over a tropical sea to this unknown shore.
At the Custom House a dark-skinned official, whose buttons gave him a
military air, received us with dignity, and demanded if we had
"pistolets," and being satisfied that we were not attempting an armed
invasion of the island, gave but a glance at our trunks, and politely
bowed us to a carriage that was standing outside the gates, and away
we rattled through the streets of Batavia to the Hotel Nederland.
The next morning at an early hour we were riding about to "take our
bearings" and adjust ourselves to the situation. If we had not known
where we were, but only that we were in some distant part of the
world, we could soon guess that we were in a Dutch rather than in an
English colony. Here were the inevitable canals which the Dutch carry
with them to all parts of the earth. The city is intersected by these
watery streets, and the boats in them might be lying at the quays of
Rotterdam or Amsterdam. The city reminds us a good deal of the Hague,
in its broad streets lined with trees, and its houses, which have a
substantial Dutch look, as if they were built for comfort and not for
show. They are low and large, spreading out over a great deal of
surface, but not towering ambitiously upwards. A pretty sight it was
to see these fine old mansions, standing back from the street, with
ample space around them, embowered in trees and shrubbery, with lawns
and gardens kept in perfect order; and with all the doors and windows
wide open, through which we could see the breakfast tables spread, as
if to invite even strangers, such as we were, to enter and share their
hospitality. Before we left Java, we were guests in one of these
mansions, and found that Dutch hospitality was not merely in name.
Among the ornaments of the city are two large and handsome public
squares--the King's Plain and Waterloo Plain. The latter name reminds
us that the Dutch had a part in the battle of Waterloo. With
pardonable pride they are persuaded that the contingent which they
contributed to the army of Wellington had no small part in deciding
the issue of that terrible day, and they thus commemorate _their_
victory. This plain is used as a parade-ground, and the Dutch cavalry
charge over it with ardor, inspired by such heroic memories.
It may surprise some of my readers accustomed to our new American
cities, to learn how old is Batavia. About the time that the Pilgrim
Fathers sailed from Holland, another expedition from the same country
carried the Dutch flag to the other side of the world, and Batavia was
settled the year before the landing on Plymouth Rock. Of course it was
a very small beginning of their power in the East, but slowly the
petty trading settlement grew into a colony, and its territory was
extended by degrees till, more than a hundred years after, it took in
the whole island. In the old palace on Waterloo Plain, now used as a
museum, are the portraits of Dutch governors who have ruled here for
two hundred and fifty years.
But the capital of Java--at least the residence of the
Governor-General--is not at Batavia, but at Buitenzorg, nearly forty
miles in the interior, to which one can go by railroad in two hours.
As we took our seats in the carriage we had the good fortune to meet
Mr. Fraser, an English merchant, who has lived many years in Java, and
is well known and highly respected throughout the island, who gave us
information of the country over which we were passing. The plains
near the sea had at this time an appearance of great beauty. They were
laid out in rice fields which have a more vivid color than fields of
grain, and now shone with an emerald green. It was the time of the
gathering of the harvest, and the fields were filled with reapers, men
and women, young men and maidens. But one hears not the click of the
reaper. I am told that the attempt to introduce a mowing machine or a
patent reaper would make a revolution in the island. All the rice of
Java is cut by hand, and not even with the sickle, which is an
instrument much too coarse for this dainty work, but with a knife
three or four inches long, so that the spears are clipped as with a
pair of scissors. Taking a few blades gently, they cut them off, and
when they have a handful bind it in a tiny sheaf about as large as a
bunch of asparagus. When they have cut and bound up five, one is laid
aside for the landlord and four go to the cultivators.
This slow progress might make a young American farmer very impatient.
Perhaps not, if he knew all the charms of the rice field, which might
make a country swain quite willing to linger. Mr. Fraser explained
that this season was the time, and the rice field the scene, of the
matrimonial engagements made during the year! Ah, now it is all
explained. Who can wonder that the gentle reapers linger over the rice
blades while they are proposing or answering questions on which their
whole life may depend? No doubt in merry England it has often happened
that hay-making and love-making have gone on in the fields together.
And we cannot wonder that such rural arts should be known in a land
warmed by a tropical sun.
But the food of the natives is not found in the rice fields alone; it
is brought down from the top of the cocoanut palm, and drawn up from
the bottom of caves of the earth. "Do you see yonder small mountain?"
said Mr. F. "That is a famous hunting-ground for the edible birds'
nests, which are esteemed such a delicacy by the Chinese. The birds
are swallows and build their nests in caves, into which the hunters
are let down by long bamboo ropes, and drawn up laden with spoil. So
great has been the yield, and so highly prized, that the product of
that hill exported to China in one year returned a profit of L4,000.
Of late this has been much reduced, owing to the diminished
production, or that the Chinese are not ready to pay so much for such
dainty luxuries."
At Buitenzorg the low land of the coast is exchanged for the hills. We
are at the foot of the range of mountains which forms the backbone of
the island. To give an idea of the character of the scenery, let me
sketch a picture from my own door in the Bellevue Hotel. The rooms, as
in all tropical climates, open on a broad veranda. Here, stretched in
one of the easy chairs made of bamboo, we look out upon a scene which
might be in Switzerland, so many features has it which are Alpine in
their character. The hotel stands on a projecting shelf of rock or
spur of a hill, overlooking a deep gorge, through which flows, or
rather rushes, a foaming mountain torrent, whose ceaseless murmurs
come up from below; while in front, only three or four miles distant,
rises the broad breast of a mountain, very much like the lower summits
or foothills of the Alps, which hang over many a sequestered vale in
Switzerland or in the Tyrol.
But here the resemblance ends. For as we descend from the broad
outlines of the landscape to closer details, it changes from the
rugged features of an Alpine pass, and takes its true tropical
character. There are no snow-clad peaks, for we are almost under the
Equator. The scene might be in the Andes rather than in the Alps. The
mountain before us, the Salak, is a volcano, though not now in action.
As we look down from our perch, the eye rests upon a forest such as is
never seen in the Alps. Here are no dark pines, such as clothe the
sides of the vale of Chamouni. In the foreground, on the river bank,
at the foot of the hill, is a cluster of native huts, half hidden by
long feathery bamboos and broad-leaved palms. The forest seems to be
made up of palms of every variety--the cocoanut palm, the sago palm,
and the sugar palm, with which are mingled the bread-fruit tree, and
the nutmeg, and the banana; and not least of all, the _cinchona_,
lately imported from South American forests, which yields the famous
Peruvian bark. The attempt to acclimatize this shrub, so precious in
medicine, has been completely successful, so that the quinine of Java
is said to be even better than that of South America. In the middle
distance are the rice fields, with their intense green, and farther,
on the side of the mountain, are the coffee plantations, for which
Java is so famous.
Buitenzorg has a Botanical Garden, the finest by far to be found out
of Europe, and the richest in the world in the special department of
tropical plants and trees. All that the tropics pour from their
bounteous stores; all those forms of vegetable life created by the
mighty rains and mightier sun of the Equator--gigantic ferns, like
trees, and innumerable orchids (plants that live on air)--are here in
countless profusion. One of the glories of the Garden is an
india-rubber tree of great size, which spreads out its arms like an
English oak, but dropping shoots here and there (for it is a species
of banyan) which take root and spring up again, so that the tree
broadens its shade, and as the leaves are thick and tough as leather,
offers a shield against even the vertical sun. There are hundreds of
varieties of palms--African and South American--some of enormous
height and breadth, which, as we walked under their shade, seemed
almost worthy to stand on the banks of the River of Life.
Such a vast collection offers an attraction like the Garden of Plants
in Paris. I met here the Italian naturalist Beccari, who was spending
some weeks at Buitenzorg to make a study of a garden in which he had
the whole tropics in a space of perhaps a hundred acres. He has spent
the last eight years of his life in the Malayan Archipelago, dividing
his time, except a few months in the Moluccas, between Borneo and New
Guinea. The latter island he considered richer in its fauna and flora
than any other equal spot on the surface of the globe, with many
species of plants and animals unknown elsewhere. He had his own boat,
and sailed along the coast and up the rivers at his will. He
penetrated into the forest and the jungle, living among savages, and
for the time adopting their habits of life, not perhaps dressing in
skins, but sleeping in their huts or on the ground, and living on
their food and such game as he could get with his gun. He laughed at
the dangers. He was not afraid of savages or wild beasts or reptiles.
Indeed he lived in such close companionship with the animal kingdom
that he got to be in very intimate, not to say amicable, relations;
and to hear him talk of his friends of the forest, one would think he
would almost beg pardon of a beast that he was obliged to shoot and
stuff in the interest of science. He complained only that he could not
find enough of them. Snakes he "doted on," and if he espied a monster
coiling round a tree, or hanging from the branches, his heart leaped
up as one who had found great spoil, for he thought how its glistening
scales would shine in his collection. I was much entertained by his
adventures. He left us one morning in company with our host Carlo, who
is a famous hunter, on an expedition after the rhinoceros--a royal
game, which abounds in the woods of Java.
The beauty of this island is not confined to one part of it. As yet we
have seen only Western Java, and but little of that. But there is
Middle Java and Eastern Java. The island is very much like Cuba in
shape--long and narrow, being near seven hundred miles one way, and
less than a hundred the other. Thus it is a great breakwater dividing
the Java Sea from the Indian Ocean. To see its general configuration,
one needs to sail along the coast to get a distant view; and then, to
appreciate the peculiar character of its scenery, he should make
excursions into the interior. The Residents of Rhio and Palembang
called to see us and made out an itineraire; and Mr. Levyssohn Norman,
the Secretary General, to whom I brought a letter from a Dutch officer
whom we met at Naples, gave me letters to the Residents in Middle
Java. Thus furnished we returned to Batavia, and took the steamer for
Samarang--two days' sail to the eastward along the northern shore. As
we put out to sea a few miles, we get the general figure of the
island. The great feature in the view is the mountains, a few miles
from the coast, some of which are ten and twelve thousand feet high,
which make the background of the picture, whose peculiar outline is
derived from their volcanic character. Java lies in what may be called
a volcano belt, which is just under the Equator, and reaches not only
through Java, but through the islands of Bali and Lombok to the
Moluccas. Instead of one long chain of equal elevation in every part,
or a succession of smooth, rounded domes, there is a number of sharp
peaks thrown up by internal fires. Thus the sky line is changing every
league. European travellers are familiar with the cone-like shape of
Vesuvius, overlooking the Bay of Naples. Here is the same form,
repeated nearly forty times, as there are thirty-eight volcanoes in
the island. Around the Bay of Samarang are nine in one view! Some of
them are still active, and from time to time burst out in fearful
eruptions; but just now they are not in an angry mood, but smoking
peacefully, only a faint vapor, like a fleecy cloud, curling up
against the sky. All who have made the ascent of Vesuvius, remember
that its cone is a blackened mass of ashes and scoriae. But a volcano
here is not left to be such a picture of desolation. Nature, as if
weary of ruin, and wishing to hide the rents she has made, has mantled
its sides with the richest tropical vegetation. As we stand on the
deck of our ship, and look landward, the mountains are seen to be
covered near their base with forests of palms; while along their
breasts float belts of light cloud, above which the peaks soar into
the blue heavens.
At the eastern end of the island, near Souraboya, there is a volcano
with the largest crater in the world, except that of Kilaccea in the
Sandwich Islands. It is three miles across, and is filled with a sea
of sand. Descending into this broad space, and wading through the
sand, as if on the desert, one comes to a new crater in the centre, a
thousand feet wide, which is always smoking. This the natives regard
with superstitious dread, as a sign that the powers below are in a
state of anger; and once a year they go in crowds to the mountain,
dragging a bullock, which is thrown alive into the crater, with other
offerings, to appease the wrath of the demon, who is raging and
thundering below.
Wednesday morning brought us to Samarang, the chief port of Middle, as
Batavia is of Western, and Sourabaya of Eastern Java. As we drew up to
the shore, the quay was lined with soldiers, who were going off to the
war in Acheen. The regiments intended for that service are brought
first to Java, to get acclimated before they are exposed to what would
be fatal to fresh European troops. These were now in fine condition,
and made a brave sight, drawn up in rank, with the band playing, and
the people shouting and cheering. This is the glittering side of war.
But, poor fellows! they have hard times before them, of which they do
not dream. It is not the enemy they need to fear, but the hot climate
and the jungle fever, which will be more deadly than the kris of the
Malay. These soldiers are not all Dutch; some are French. On our
return to Batavia, the steamer carried down another detachment, in
which I found a couple of French zouaves (there may have been others),
one of whom told me he had been in the surrender at Sedan, and the
other had taken part in the siege of Paris. After their terms had
expired in the French army, they enlisted in the Dutch service, and
embarked for the other side of the world, to fight in a cause which is
not their own. I fear they will never see France again, but will leave
their bones in the jungles of Sumatra.
But our thoughts are not of war, but of peace, as we ride through the
long Dutch town, so picturesquely situated between the mountains and
the sea, and take the railway for the interior. We soon leave the
lowlands of the coast, and penetrate the forests, and wind among the
hills. Our first stop is at Solo, which is an Imperial residence. It
is a curious relic of the old native governments of Java, that though
the Dutch are complete masters, there are still left in the island an
Emperor and a Sultan, who are allowed to retain their lofty titles,
surrounded with an Imperial etiquette. The Emperor of Solo lives in
his "Kraton," which is what the Seraglio is among the Turks, a large
enclosure in which is the palace. He has a guard of a few hundred men,
who gratify his vanity, and enable him to spend his money in keeping a
number of idle retainers; but there is a Dutch Resident close at hand,
without whose permission he cannot leave the district, and hardly his
own grounds; while in the very centre of the town is a fort, with guns
mounted, pointing towards his palace, which it could soon blow about
his ears. Thus "protected," he is little better than a State prisoner.
But he keeps his title "during good behavior," and once a year turns
out in grand state, to make an official visit to the Resident, who
receives him with great distinction; and having thus "marched up the
hill," he "marches down again." We had a letter to the Resident, and
hoped to pay our respects to his Majesty, but learned that it would
require several days to arrange an audience. It is a part of the Court
dignity which surrounds such a potentate, that he should not be easily
accessible, and we should be sorry to disturb the harmless illusion.
But if we did not see the "lion" of Solo, we saw the tigers, which
were perhaps quite as well worth seeing. The Emperor, amid the
diversions with which he occupies his royal mind, likes to entertain
his military and official visitors with something better than a
Spanish bull-fight, namely, a tiger-fight with a bull or a buffalo, or
with men, for which he has a number of trained native spearmen. For
these combats his hunters trap tigers in the mountains; and in a
building made of heavy timbers fitted close together, with only space
between for light and air, were half a dozen of them in reserve. They
were magnificent beasts; not whelped in a cage and half subdued by
long captivity, like the sleek creatures of our menageries and
zoological gardens; but the real kings of the forest, caught when full
grown (some but a few weeks before), and who roared as in their native
wilds. It was terrific to see the glare of their eyes, and to hear the
mutterings of their rage. One could not look at them, even through
their strong bars, without a shudder. A gentleman of Java told me that
he had once caught in the mountains a couple of tigers in a pit, but
that as he approached it, their roaring was so terrific, as they
bounded against the sides of the pit, that it required all his courage
to master a feeling of indescribable terror.
Adjoining the dominion of Solo is that of Jookja, where, instead of an
Emperor, is a Sultan, not quite so great a potentate as the former,
but who has his chateau and his military guard, and goes through the
same performance of playing the king. The Dutch Resident has a very
handsome palace, with lofty halls, where on state occasions he
receives the Sultan with becoming dignity--a mark of deference made
all the more touching by the guns of the fort, which, from the centre
of the town, keep a friendly watch for the least sign of rebellion.
This part of Middle Java is very rich in sugar plantations. One
manufactory which we visited was said to yield a profit of $400,000 a
year. Nor is this the product of slave labor, like the sugar of Cuba.
Yet it is not altogether free labor. There is a peculiar system in
Java by which the government, which is the owner of the land, in
renting an estate to a planter, rents those who live on it with the
estate. It guarantees him sufficient labor to work his plantation. The
people are obliged to labor. This is exacted partly as a due to the
government, amounting to one or two days in the week. For the rest of
the time they are paid small wages. But they cannot leave their
employer at will. There is no such absolute freedom as that which is
said to have ruined Jamaica, where the negro may throw down his tools
and quit work at the very moment when the planter is saving his crop.
The government compels him to labor, but it also compels his master to
pay him. The system works well in Java. Laborers are kept busy, the
lands are cultivated, and the production is enormous--not only making
the planters rich, but yielding a large revenue to Holland.
At Jookja the railroad ends. Further excursions into the country must
be by a private carriage. Some thirty miles distant is an ancient
ruin, which is in Java what the Great Pyramid is in Egypt, with which
it is often compared. To reach this, we ordered a carriage for the
next morning. Probably the landlord thought he had a Milord Anglais
for his guest, who must make his progress through the island with
royal magnificence; for, when we rose very early for our ride, we
found in front of the door a huge carriage with _six horses_! The
horses of Java are small, but full of spirit, like the Canadian
ponies. On the box was a fat coachman, who outweighed both of us
inside. Behind us stood two fellows of a lighter build, whose high
office it was to urge our gallant steeds by voice and lash to their
utmost speed. They were dressed in striped jackets, like
circus-riders, and were as agile as cats. Whenever the mighty chariot
lagged a little, they leaped to the ground, and running forward with
extraordinary swiftness, shouted and lashed the horses till, with
their goadings and their cries, the beasts, driven to madness, reared
and plunged and raced forward so wildly, that we almost expected to be
dashed in pieces. Such is the price of glory! What grandeur was this!
When we were in Egypt, riding about the streets of Cairo with two
"syces" (servants dressed in white, who run before a carriage to clear
the way), I felt like Joseph riding in Pharaoh's chariot. But now I
felt as if I were Pharaoh himself.
Our route was through long avenues of trees, of palms and bamboos. The
roads, as everywhere in Java, are excellent, smooth as a floor,
solidly built, and well kept. To construct such roads, and keep them
in repair, must be a work of great difficulty, as in the rainy season
the floods come in such force as would sweep away any but those which
are firmly bedded. These roads are said to be owing to a famous Dutch
governor, Marshal Daendels, who ruled here in the early part of this
century. According to tradition he was a man of tremendous will, which
he enforced with arbitrary and despotic authority. He laid out a
system of highways, and assigned to certain native officers each his
portion to build. Knowing that things moved slowly in these Eastern
countries, and that the officers in charge might try to make excuses
for delay, he added a gentle admonition that he should hold each man
responsible; and by way of quickening their sense of duty, he erected
gibbets at convenient intervals along the road, and if an official
failed to "come to time," he simply had him executed. The spectacle of
a few of these native gentry hanging by the roadside had such an
enlivening effect on the Javanese imagination, that the roads were
built as if by magic. Perhaps the system might be applied with
excellent effect to "contractors" in other parts of the world!
But on the best roads this speed could not be kept up for a long time.
The stages were short, the relays being but five miles apart. Every
three-quarters of an hour we changed horses. The stations were built
over the roads, something in the style of an old-fashioned turnpike
gate; so that we drove under the shelter, and the horses, dripping
with foam, were slipped out of the carriage, and left to cool under
the shade of the trees, or rolled over in the dust, delighted to be
free.
As we advanced, our route wound among the hills. On our right was
Merape, one of the great mountains of Java--his top smoking gently,
while rice-fields came up to his foot. This middle part of the island
is called the Garden of Java, and it might be called one of the
gardens of the world. Nowhere in Europe, not even in Lombardy nor in
England, have I seen a richer country. Every foot of ground is in a
high state of cultivation. Not only are the plains and valleys covered
with rice-fields, but the hills are terraced to admit of carrying the
culture far up their sides. Here, as in Western Java, it was the time
of the harvest, and the fields were filled with joyous reapers. To
this perfect tilling of the earth it is due that this island is one of
the most populous portions of the globe. The country literally swarms
with inhabitants, as a hive swarms with bees; but so few are their
wants, that everybody seems to "live and be merry." We passed through
a number of villages which, though the dwellings were of the rudest,
yet had a pretty look, as they were embowered in foliage of palms and
bamboos. As the country grew more hilly, our progress was not so
swift. Sometimes we went down a steep bank to cross a river on a boat,
and then it was not an easy task to draw up the carriage on the
opposite bank, and we had to call on Caesar for help. Almost a whole
village would turn out. At one time I counted eighteen men pushing and
tugging at our wheels, of course with no eye to the small coin that
was scattered among them when the top of the bank was reached. So
great was the load of dignity we bore!
At noon we reached the object of our journey in the famous ruins of
Borobodo. Sir Stamford Raffles says that all the labor expended on the
Pyramids of Egypt sinks into insignificance when compared with that
bestowed on the grand architectural remains of Java; but after seeing
this, the greatest on the island, his estimate seems to me very
extravagant. This is much smaller than the Great Pyramid, in the space
of ground which it covers, and lower in height, and altogether less
imposing. But without making comparisons, it is certainly a wonderful
pile. It is a pyramid in shape, some four hundred feet square, and
nine stories high, being ascended by a series of gigantic steps or
terraces. That it was built for Buddhist worship is evident from the
figures of Buddha which cover its sides. It is the monument not only
of an ancient religion, but of an extinct civilization, of a mighty
empire once throned on this island, which has left remains like those
of ancient Egypt. What a population and what power must have been here
ages ago, to rear such a structure! One can imagine the people
gathered at great festivals in numbers such as now assemble at
pilgrimages in India. Doubtless this hill of stone was often black
with human beings (for as many could stand on its sides as could be
gathered in the Coliseum at Rome), while on the open plain in front,
stretching to a mountain in the background, a nation might have
encamped, like the Israelites before Sinai, to receive the law. But
the temple is in ruins, and there is no gathering of the people for
worship any more. The religion of the island is changed. Buddhism has
passed away, and Islam has taken its place, to pass away in its turn.
It was Good Friday, in 1876, that I stood on the top of this pyramid,
and thought of Him who on this day suffered for mankind, and whose
religion is yet to possess the world. When it has conquered Asia, it
will cross the sea, and take this beautiful island, from which it may
pass on to the mainland of the continent of Australia.
In such musings we lingered for hours, wandering about the ruins and
enjoying the landscape, which is one of the most beautiful we have
seen in all our travels--the wide sweep in the foreground reminding us
of the view from Stirling Castle in Scotland.
But the carriage is waiting, and once more the driver cracks his whip,
his horses prance, and away we fly along the roads, through the
valleys, and over the hills. At evening we reached Magellang, the
centre of one of the districts into which Java is divided, and a town
of some importance. It is a curious geographical fact that it stands
exactly in the centre of the island. One spot is called the Navel of
Java. The Javanese think a certain hill is the head of a great nail,
which is driven into the earth and holds the island firm in its place.
If this be so, it is strange that it does not keep it more quiet. For
if we may use the language of the brokers, we might say with truth
that in Java "real estate is active," since it is well shaken up once
or twice a year with earthquakes, and is all the time smouldering with
volcanoes.
But however agitated underground, the country is very beautiful above
it. Here as in all the places where the Dutch "most do congregate,"
there is a mixture of European civilization with the easy and
luxurious ways of the East. Some of the villages are as pretty as any
in our own New England, and reminded us of those in the Connecticut
valley, being laid out with a broad open square or common in the
centre, which is shaded by magnificent trees, and surrounded by
beautiful residences, whose broad verandas and open doors give a most
inviting picture of domestic comfort and generous hospitality. There
is a club-house for the officers, and music by the military band. The
Residents always live very handsomely. They are the great men in every
district. Each one has a spacious residence, with a military guard,
and a salary of six or eight thousand dollars a year, with extras for
the expense of entertaining or of travelling, and a liberal pension
at the close of twenty years of service.
Magellang is marked with a white stone in our memories of Java, as it
was the scene of a novel experience. When we drove into the town, we
found the hotel full, which obliged us to fall back upon our letter to
the Resident. He was absent, but his secretary at once took us in
hand, and requested the "Regent" (a native prince who holds office
under the Dutch government, and has special oversight of the native
population) to entertain us. He responded in the most courteous
manner, so that, instead of being lodged at a hotel, we were received
as guests in a princely residence. His "palace" was in the Eastern
style, of but one story (as are most of the buildings in Java, on
account of earthquakes), but spread out over a large surface, with
rows of columns supporting its ample roof, presenting in front in its
open colonnade what might be regarded as a spacious hall of audience;
and furnishing in its deep recesses a cool retreat from the heat of
the tropical sun. A native guard pacing before the door indicated the
official character of the occupant. The Regent received us with
dignity, but with great cordiality. He was attired in the rich costume
of the East. His feet were without stockings, but encased in richly
embroidered sandals. He could speak no English, and but a few words of
French--only Malay, Dutch, and Javanese. But he sent for a gentleman
to dine, who was of Spanish descent, and who, though a native of Java,
and had never been out of it, yet spoke both French and English, and
thus we were able to converse.
The Regent had a wife, and after a time she entered the hall, and
welcomed my niece with a cordiality almost like that of two
school-girls meeting. She was simply dressed, in the lightest costume,
with bare feet, but in gold-embroidered slippers. Everything in her
attire was very plain, except that her ears were hung with diamonds
that fairly dazzled us with their brilliancy. She began talking with
great volubility, and seemed not quite to comprehend why it was that
we did not understand Malay or Javanese. However, with the help of our
interpreter, we got along, and were soon in the most confidential
relations. She had very vague ideas of the part of the world we came
from. We tried to make her understand that the world was round, and
that we lived on the other side of the globe. We asked why the Regent
did not go abroad to see the world? But she signified with a peculiar
gesture, as if counting with her fingers, that it took a great deal of
money. She asked "if we were rich," to which we replied modestly that
we had enough for our wants. As she talked of family matters, she
informed us that her lord had another wife. Of this she spoke without
the least reserve. It was quite natural that he should desire this.
She (his first wife) had been married to him over twenty years, and
was getting a little _passee_, and he needed a young face to make the
house bright and gay. Presently the second wife entered, and we were
presented to her. She was very young--I should think not twenty years
of age. Evidently the elder occupied the first place in the household,
and the younger took the second. They seemed to stand in a kind of
sisterly relation to each other, without the slightest feeling of
jealousy between them. Both were very pretty, after the Malayan
type--that is, with mild, soft eyes, and skins, not black, like
Africans, but of a rich brown color. They would have been even
beautiful if they had had also, what the Africans so often have,
dazzling white teeth; but this is prevented by the constant chewing of
the betel-nut and tobacco.
At half-past eight o'clock we went to dinner. C---- had the honor of
sitting between the two wives, and enjoyed the courtesy of both, who
prepared fruit for her, and by many little attentions, such as are
understood in all parts of the world, showed that they belonged to the
true sisterhood of woman. The position of woman in Java is somewhat
peculiar. The people are Mohammedans, and yet the women are not
secluded, nor do they veil their faces; they receive strangers in
their houses and at their tables; thus they have much greater freedom
than their sisters in Turkey or Egypt. The Regent, being a Mussulman,
did not take wine, though he provided it for his guests. After the
dinner, coffee was served, of a rich, delicious flavor--for Java is
the land of coffee--followed by the inevitable cigar. I do not smoke,
but could not allow my refusal to interfere with the habits of those
whose guest I was, and could but admire the ineffable satisfaction
with which the Regent and his friend puffed the fragrant weed. While
they were thus wreathed in clouds, and floating in a perfect Nirvana
of material enjoyment, the gentler sex were not forgotten. The two
wives took their pleasure in their own fashion. A small box, like a
tea-caddy, was brought on the table, full of little silver cups and
cases, containing leaves of the betel-nut, and spices, cassia and
gambier, a little lime, and a cup of the finest tobacco. Out of these
they prepared a delicate morsel for their lips. With her own dainty
fingers, each rolled up a leaf of the betel-nut, enclosing in it
several kinds of spices, and filling it with a good pinch of tobacco,
which, our Spanish friend explained, was not so much for the taste, as
to make the morsel plump and round, large enough to fill the mouth
(or, as a wine-taster would say of his favorite madeira or port, to
give it sufficient _body_); and also, he added, it was to clean the
teeth, and to give an aromatic fragrance to the breath! I repeat, as
exactly as I can recall them, his very words.
Whether the precious compound had all these virtues, certainly these
courtly dames took it with infinite relish, and rolled it as a sweet
morsel under their tongues, and looked on their lord with no jealousy
of his enjoyment of his cigar.
Here was a picture of conjugal felicity. The family was evidently an
affectionate and happy one. The Regent loved both his wives, and they
sat side by side without envy or uncharitableness, happy in the
sunshine of his face, and chewed their betel-nut with a composure, an
aspect of tranquil enjoyment, which many in more civilized countries
may admire, but cannot equal.
In the morning, when the family came together, I remarked that the
first wife, who then apparently saw her husband for the first time,
came forward, and bending low, kissed his jewelled hand; and soon
after the second wife entered, and kissed the first wife's hand, thus
observing that natural order of precedence which is so beautiful in
every well-regulated family.
I observed also with curious interest the relations of master and
servant in this Oriental household. The divisions are very marked. The
Regent, for example, is regarded by his retainers with an awe as if he
were a sacred person. No one approaches him standing. The theory is,
that no inferior must ever be in a position or attitude where his head
is higher than his master's. If the Regent but looks at a man, he
drops as if shot with a bullet. If a servant wishes to communicate
with his master, he falls, not on his knees, but on his haunches, and
in this posture shuffles forward till he comes behind his chair, and
meekly whispers a word into his ear. He receives his orders, and then
shuffles back again. In one way, the division of ranks in Java is more
marked even than that of castes in India. The Javanese language, which
is a branch of the Malay, has three separate forms of speech--one,
that used by a superior addressing an inferior; second, that of an
inferior addressing a superior; and a third, that used between equals.
Such divisions would seem to cut off all relations between those of
different rank. And yet, with all this stooping and bowing, abject as
it seems to us, the relation of the master to his dependants is rather
patriarchal; and to these same servants the Regent will speak, not
only kindly, but familiarly, all the more so as the lines are so
drawn that there is no danger that they should ever presume on undue
familiarity.
In the morning the Regent took me out for a ramble. We strolled along
under the trees, admiring the beauty of the country. After half an
hour's walk, suddenly, like an apparition, an open phaeton stood
beside us, with two beautiful ponies, into which the Regent invited me
to step, and taking his seat by my side, drove me about the town. We
returned for breakfast, and then he sent for his musicians to give us
a performance, who, beating on drums and other native instruments,
executed a plaintive kind of music. With such attentions did this
Javanese prince and his wives (none of whom we had ever seen till a
few hours before, and on whom we had no claim whatever) win our hearts
by their kindness, so that, when the carriage came round to the door,
we were sorry to depart. The Regent pressed us to stay a month, or as
long as we would. We could not accept a longer hospitality; but we
shall remember that which we had. We keep his photograph, with others
which we like to look upon; and if these words can reach the other
side of the world, they will tell him that his American friends have
not forgotten, and will not forget, the kind manner in which they were
entertained in the island of Java by the Regent of Magellang.
The drive of to-day was hardly less interesting than that of
yesterday, although our pride had a fall. It was a great come-down,
after riding with six horses to be reduced to four! But the
mortification was relieved by adding now and then, at the steep
places, a pair of buffaloes. As we were still in the hill country, we
were all day among the coffee plantations, which thrive best at a
considerable elevation above the sea. Other products of the island
flourished around us in rich abundance: the spices--aloes and cassia,
and nutmeg and pepper. And there was our old friend, the peanut. They
were gathering perhaps the very nuts that were yet to ornament the
stands of the apple-women of New York, and to be a temptation to
bootblacks and newsboys. Amid such fields and forests, over mountain
roads, and listening to the roar of mountain streams, we came down to
Ambarrawa, a place of note in Java, as containing the strongest
fortress in the island. It is planted here right in the heart of
Middle Java, where, half a century ago, was a formidable insurrection,
which was quelled only after an obstinate contest, lasting five
years--from 1825 to 1830. Ambarrawa is connected by railroad with
Samarang. It is easy to see that both the railroads which start from
that point, and which have thus a base on the sea (the one leading to
Solo and Jookja, the residences of the Emperor and the Sultan, who
might make trouble, and the other to the great fortress of Ambarrawa),
have been constructed with a military as well as a commercial purpose.
So the Dutch have had their wars in Java, as the English have had in
India; but having conquered, it must be said that on the whole they
have ruled wisely and well. The best proof of this is the perfect
tranquillity that reigns everywhere, and that with no great display of
armed force. What a contrast in this respect between the two most
important islands in the East and West Indies--Java and Cuba! They are
about equal in the number of square miles. Both have been settled by
Europeans for nearly three centuries, and yet to-day Cuba has less
than two millions of inhabitants, and is in a chronic state of
insurrection; while Java has over fifteen millions (or eight times as
many), and is as quiet as Holland itself. The whole story is told in
one word--the one is Dutch rule, and the other is Spanish rule.
We spent our Easter in Samarang--a day which is not forgotten in this
part of the world, although Sunday is not observed after the manner of
Scotland or New England, but rather of Continental Europe, with bands
playing on the public square, and all the European world abroad
keeping holiday. From Samarang, another two days' sail along the same
northern coast, with the grand outline of mountains on the horizon,
brought us back to Batavia.
Batavia was not the same to us on the second visit as on the first; or
rather it was a great deal more, for now we knew the place, the
streets were familiar, and we felt at home--the more so as a Scotch
gentleman, to whom we brought a letter from Singapore, Mr. James Greig
(of the old house of Syme, Pitcairn & Co., so well known in the East),
took us in charge, and carried us off to one of those large mansions
which we had so much admired on our former visit, set far back from
the street, and surrounded with trees; and constructed especially for
this climate, with spacious rooms, wide hall, high ceilings, and broad
veranda, and all the devices for mitigating the heat of the tropics.
More than all, this hospitable mansion was lighted up by the sweetest
feminine presence in one who, though of an old Dutch family well known
in Java, had been educated in Paris, and spoke English and French, as
well as Dutch and Malay, and who gave us such a welcome as made us
feel that we were not strangers. Not only did these friends open their
house to us, but devoted themselves till our departure in going about
with us, and making our visit pleasant. I do not know whether to call
this Scotch or Dutch hospitality, but it was certainly of the most
delightful kind.
As we had three or four days before the sailing of the French steamer
for Singapore, our friends planned an excursion into the mountains of
Western Java, for which we returned to Buitenzorg, and engaged a
couple of _cahars_, carriages as light as if made of wicker-work, with
the small Javanese ponies, and thus mounted, began to climb the hills.
Our route was over the great post-road, which runs through the island
to Souraboya--a road which must have been constructed with immense
labor, as it passes over high mountains, but which is as solidly built
and as well kept as Napoleon's great road over the Simplon Pass of the
Alps. Indeed it is very much the same, having a rocky bed for its
foundation, with a macadamized surface, over which the carriage rolls
smoothly. But it does not climb so steadily upward as the Simplon or
the Mont Cenis. The ascent is not one long pull, like the ascent of
the Alps, but by a succession of hills, one beyond another, with many
a deep valley between, so that we go alternately up hill and down
dale. The hills are very steep, so that the post-carriage, which is as
heavy and lumbering as a French diligence, has to be drawn up by
buffaloes. Thus it climbs slowly height after height, and when it has
reached the summit, goes thundering down the mountain, and rolls
majestically along the road. But our light carriages suited us much
better than these ponderous vehicles; and as our little ponies trotted
swiftly along, we were in a very gay mood, making the woods ring with
our merry talk and glee. Sometimes we got out to stretch our limbs
with a good walk up the hills, turning as we reached the top to take
in the landscape behind us, which spread out broader and broader, as
we rose higher and higher. At every stage the view increased in extent
and in majesty, till the whole island,
"From the centre all round to the sea,"
was piled with mountains, which here, as in Middle Java, showed their
volcanic origin by their forms, now rising in solitary cones, and now
lying on the horizon in successive ridges, like mighty billows tossed
up on a sea of fire, that in cooling had cracked in all fantastic
shapes, which, after being worn down by the storms of thousands of
years, were mantled thick with the verdure of forests. As in England
the ivy creeps over old walls, covering ruined castles and towers with
its perpetual green, so here the luxuriance of the tropics has
overspread the ruin wrought by destroying elements. The effect is a
mingled wildness and beauty in these mountain landscapes, which often
reminded us of Switzerland and the Tyrol.
The enjoyment of this ride was increased by the character of the day,
which was not all sunshine, but one of perpetual change. Clouds swept
over the sky, casting shadows on the sides of the mountains and into
the deep valleys. Sometimes the higher summits were wrapped so as to
be hidden from sight, and the rain fell heavily; then as the storm
drifted away, and the sun burst through the parted clouds, the
glorious heights shone in the sudden light like the Delectable
Mountains.
The object of our journey was a mountain retreat four thousand feet
above the level of the sea--as high as the Righi Kulm, but in no other
respect like that mountain-top, which from its height overlooks so
many Swiss lakes and cantons. It is rather like an Alpine valley,
surrounded by mountains. This is a favorite resort of the Dutch from
Batavia. Here the Governor-General has a little box, to which he
retires, from his grander residence at Buitenzorg, and here many sick
and wounded officers find a cool retreat and recover strength for
fresh campaigns. The place bears the musical name of Sindanglaya,
which one would think might have been given with some reference to the
music of murmuring winds and waters which fill the air. The valley is
full of streams, of brooks and springs, that run among the hills.
Water, water everywhere! The rain pattering on the roof all night long
carried me back to the days of my childhood, when I slept in a little
cot under the eaves, and that sound was music to my ear. The Scotch
mist that envelopes the mountains might make the traveller fancy
himself in the Highlands; and so he might, as he seeks out the little
"tarns" that have settled in the craters of extinct volcanoes, where
not only wild deer break through the tangled wood of the leafy
solitudes, but the tiger and the rhinoceros come to drink. Streams run
down the mountain-sides, and springs ooze from mossy banks by the
roadside, and temper the air with their dripping coolness. What a
place to rest! How this perfect quiet must bring repose to the brave
fellows from Acheen, and how sweet must sound this music of mountain
streams to ears accustomed to the rude alarms of war!
That we were in a new quarter of the world--far away, not only from
America and Europe, but even from Asia--we were reminded by the line
of telegraph which kept us company over the mountains, and which here
crosses the island on its way to Australia! It goes down the coast to
Bangaewangi, where it dives into the sea only to come up on the
mainland of the great Southern Continent. Indeed we were strongly
advised to extend our journey around the world to Australia, which we
could have reached in much less time than it had taken to come from
Calcutta to Singapore. But we were more interested to visit old
countries and old nations than to set foot on a virgin continent, and
to see colonies and cities, which, with all their growth, could only
be a smaller edition of what we have so abundantly in the new States
of America.
We were now within a few miles of the Southern Ocean, the greatest of
all the oceans that wrap their watery mantle around the globe. From
the top of the Gede, a mountain which rose above us, one may look off
upon an ocean broader than the Pacific--a sea without a shore--whose
waters roll in an unbroken sweep to the Antarctic Pole.
From all these seas and shores, and woods and waters, we now turned
away, and with renewed delight in the varied landscapes, rode back
over the mountains to Buitenzorg, and came down by rail to Batavia.
Before I depart from this pleasant land of Java, I must say a word
about the Dutch and their position in South-eastern Asia. The Dutch
have had possession of Java over 250 years--since 1623--without
interruption, except from 1811 to 1816, when Napoleon had taken
Holland; and as England was using all her forces on land and sea to
cripple the French empire in different parts of the world, she sent a
fleet against Java. It yielded almost without opposition; indeed many
of the Dutch regarded the surrender as simply placing the island under
British protection, which saved it from the French. For five years it
had an English Governor, Sir Stamford Raffles, who has written a large
work on Java. After the fall of Napoleon, England restored Java to the
Dutch, but kept Ceylon, Malacca, and the Cape of Good Hope. Thus the
Dutch have lost some of their possessions in the East, and yet Holland
is to-day the second colonial power in the world, being inferior only
to England. The Dutch flag in the East waves not only over Java, but
over almost the whole of the Malayan Archipelago, which, with the
intervening waters, covers a portion of the earth's surface larger
than all Europe.
There are some peculiar physical features in this part of the world.
The Malayan Archipelago lies midway between Asia and Australia,
belonging to neither, and yet belonging to both. It is a very curious
fact, brought out by Wallace, whose great work on "The Malayan
Archipelago" is altogether the best on the subject, that this group of
islands is in itself divided by a very narrow space between the two
continents, which it at once separates and unites. Each has its own
distinct fauna and flora. The narrow Strait of Bali, only fifteen
miles wide, which separates the two small islands of Bali and Lombok,
separates two distinct animal and vegetable kingdoms, which are as
unlike as are those of the United States and Brazil. One group belongs
to Asia, the other to Australia. Sumatra is full of tigers; in Borneo
there is not one. Australia has no carnivora--no beasts that prey on
flesh--but chiefly marsupials, such as kangaroos.
There are a good many residents in the East who think Holland, in the
management of her dependencies, has shown a better political economy
than England has shown in India. An English writer (a Mr. Money), in a
volume entitled "How to Govern a Colony," has brought some features
of the Dutch policy to the notice of his countrymen. I will mention
but one as an illustration. Half a century ago Java was very much run
down. A native rebellion which lasted five years had paralyzed the
industry of the country. To reanimate it, a couple of years after the
rebellion had been subdued, in 1832, the home government began a very
liberal system of stimulating production by making advances to
planters, and guaranteeing them labor to cultivate their estates. The
effect was marvellous. By that wise system of helping those who had
not means to help themselves, a new life was at once infused into all
parts of the island. Out of that has grown the enormous production of
coffee, sugar, and tobacco. Now Java not only pays all the expenses of
her own government, (which India does not do, at least without
contracting very heavy loans,) but builds her own railroads, and other
roads and bridges, and supplies the drain of the Acheen war, and
remits every year millions to the Hague to build railroads in Holland.
Is it too much to believe that there is a great future in store for
South Eastern Asia? We talk about the future of America. But ours is
not the only continent that offers vast unoccupied wastes to the
habitation of man. Besides Australia, there are these great islands
nearer to Asia, which, from the overflow of India and China, may yet
have a population that shall cultivate their waste places. I found in
Burmah a great number of Bengalees and Madrasees, who had crossed the
Bay of Bengal to seek a home in Farther India; while the Chinese, who
form the population of Singapore, had crept up the coast. They are
here in Java, in every seaport and in every large town in the
interior, and there is every reason to suppose that there will be a
yet greater overflow of population in this direction. Sumatra and
Borneo are not yet inhabited and cultivated like Java, but in their
great extent they offer a magnificent seat for future kingdoms or
empires, which, Asiatic in population, may be governed by European
laws, and moulded by European civilization.
One thing more before we cross the Equator--a word about nature and
life in the tropics. I came to Java partly to see the tropical
vegetation, of which we saw but little in India, as we were there in
winter, which is at once the cold and the dry season, when vegetation
withers, and the vast plains are desolate and dreary. Nature then
holds herself in reserve, waiting till the rains come, when the earth
will bloom again. But as I could not wait for the change of seasons, I
must needs pass on to a land where the change had already come. We
marked the transition as we came down the Bay of Bengal. There were
signs of changing seasons and a changing nature. We were getting into
the rainy belt. In the Straits of Malacca the air was hot and
thunderous, and we had frequent storms; the heavens were full of rain,
and the earth was fresh with the joy of a newly-opened spring. But
still we kept on till we crossed the Equator. Here in Java the rainy
season was just over. It ends with the last of March, and we arrived
at the beginning of April. For months the windows of heaven had been
opened, the rains descended, and the floods came; and lo! the land was
like the garden of the Lord. Here we had at last the tropical
vegetation in its fullest glory. Nothing can exceed the prodigality
and luxuriance of nature when a vertical sun beats down on fields and
forests and jungles that have been drenched for months in rain.
Vegetation of every kind springs up, as in the temperate zone it
appears only when forced in heated conservatories (as in the Duke of
Devonshire's gardens at Chatsworth), and the land waves with these
luxuriant growths. In the forest creeping plants wind round the tall
trunks, and vines hang in festoons from tree to tree.
But while the tropical forest presents such a wild luxuriance of
growth, I find no single trees of such stature as I have seen in
other parts of the world. Except an occasional broad-spreading banyan,
I have seen nothing which, standing alone, equals in its solitary
majesty the English oak or the American elm. Perhaps there is a
difference in this respect between countries in the same latitude in
the Eastern and Western hemispheres. An English gentleman whom we
found here in charge of a great sugar plantation, who had spent some
years in Rio Janeiro, told me that the trees of Java did not compare
in majesty with those of Brazil. Nor is this superiority confined to
South America. Probably no trees now standing on the earth equal the
Big Trees of California. And besides these there are millions of lofty
pines on the sides of the Sierra Nevada, which I have seen nowhere
equalled unless it be in the mighty cedars which line the great
Tokaido of Japan. On the whole, I am a little inclined to boast that
trees attain their greatest height and majesty in our Western
hemisphere.
But the glory of the tropics is in the universal life of nature,
spreading through all her realms, stirring even under ground, and
causing to spring forth new forms of vegetation, which coming up, as
it were, out of the darkness of the grave, seek the sun and air,
whereby all things live.
Of course one cannot but consider what effect this marvellous
production must have upon man. Too often it overpowers him, and makes
him its slave, since he cannot be its master. This is the terror of
the Tropics, as of the Polar regions, that nature is too strong for
man to subdue her. What can he do--poor, puny creature--against its
terrible forces; against the heat of a vertical sun, that while it
quickens the earth, often blasts the strength of man, subduing his
energy, if not destroying his life? What can man do in the Arctic
circle against the cold that locks up whole continents in ice? Much as
he boasts of his strength and of his all-conquering will, he is but a
child in the lap of nature, tossed about by material forces as a leaf
is blown by the wind. The best region for human development and
energy is the temperate zone, where nature stimulates, but does not
overpower, the energies of man, where the winter's cold does not
benumb him and make him sink into torpor, but only pricks him to
exertion and makes him quicken his steps.
The effect of this fervid climate shows itself not only upon natives,
but upon Europeans. It induces a languor and indisposition to effort.
It has two of the hardest and toughest races in the world to work
upon, in the English in India and the Dutch in Java, and yet it has
its effect even upon them, and would have a still greater were it not
that this foreign element is constantly changing, coming and going,
whereby there is all the time a fresh infusion of European life. Here
in Java the Dutch have been longer settled than the English in India;
they more often remain in the island, and the effect of course is more
marked from generation to generation. The Dutchman is a placid,
easy-going creature, even in his native Holland, except when roused by
some great crisis, like a Spanish invasion, and then he fights with a
courage which has given him a proud name in history. But ordinarily he
is of a calm and even temper, and likes to sit quietly and survey his
broad acres, and smoke his pipe in blissful content with himself and
all the world beside. When he removes from Holland to the other side
of the world, he has not changed his nature; he is a Dutchman still,
only with his natural love of ease increased by life in the tropics.
It is amusing to see how readily his Dutch nature falls in with the
easy ways of this Eastern world.
If I were to analyze existence, or material enjoyment in this part of
the world, I should say that the two great elements in one's life, or
at least in his comfort, are sleep and smoke. They smoke in Holland,
and they have a better right to smoke in Java; for here they but
follow the course of nature. Why should not man smoke, when even the
earth itself respires through smoke and flame? The mountains smoke,
and why not the Dutch? Only there is this difference: the volcanoes
sometimes have a period of rest, but the Dutch never. Morning, noon,
and night, before breakfast and after dinner, smoke, smoke, smoke! It
seems to be a Dutchman's ideal of happiness. I have been told of some
who dropped to sleep with the cigar in their lips, and of one who
required his servants to put his pipe between his teeth while he was
yet sleeping, that he might wake up with the right taste in his mouth.
It seemed to me that this must work injury to their health, but they
think not. Perhaps there is something in the phlegmatic Dutch
temperament that can stand this better than the more mercurial and
excitable English or American.
And then how they do sleep! Sleep is an institution in Java, and
indeed everywhere in the tropics. The deep stillness of the tropical
noon seems to prescribe rest, for then nature itself sinks into
repose. Scarcely a leaf moves in the forest--the birds cease their
musical notes, and seek for rest under the shade of motionless palms.
The sleep of the Dutch is like this stillness of nature. It is
profound and absolute repose. For certain hours of the day no man is
visible. I had a letter to the Resident of Solo, and went to call on
him at two o'clock. He lived in a grand Government House, or palace;
but an air of somnolence pervaded the place, as if it were the Castle
of Indolence. The very servant was asleep on the marble pavement,
where it was his duty to keep watch; and when I sent in my letter, he
came back making a very significant gesture, leaning over his head to
signify that his master was asleep. At five o'clock I was more
fortunate, but even then he was dressed with a lightness of costume
more suitable for one who was about to enter his bath than to give
audience.
There is a still graver question for the moralist to consider--the
effect of these same physical influences upon human character. No
observer of men in different parts of the world can fail to see that
different races have been modified by climate, not only in color and
features, but in temperament, in disposition, and in character. A hot
climate makes hot blood. Burning passions do but reflect the torrid
sun. What the Spaniard is in Europe, the Malay is in Asia. There is a
deep philosophy in the question of Byron:
"Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?"
But I must not wander into deep philosophy. I only say that great as
is the charm of life in the tropics, it is not without alloy. In
landing in Java it seemed as if we had touched the shores of some
enchanted island, as if we had found the Garden of Paradise lying far
off in these Southern seas. We had come to the land of perpetual
spring and perpetual summer, where nature is always in bloom, and
frost and snow and hail have fled away to the bleak and wintry North.
But as we are obliged to go back to that North, we wish to be
reconciled to it. We find that one may have too much even of Paradise.
There is a monotony in perpetual summer. The only change of seasons
here is from the dry season to the rainy season; and the only
difference between these, so far as we can see, is that in the dry
season it rains, and in the rainy season it pours. We have been here
in the dry season, and yet we have had frequent showers, with
occasional thunderstorms. If we should stay here a year, we should
weary of this unrelieved monotony of sun and rain. We should long for
some more marked change of seasons, for the autumn leaves and the
winter winds, and the gradual coming on of spring, and all those
insensible gradations of nature which make the glory of the full round
year.
And what a loss should we find in the absence of twilight. Java, being
almost under the Equator, the days and nights are almost equal
throughout the year; there are no short days and no long days. Day and
night come on suddenly--not instantly, but in a few minutes the night
breaks into the full glare of day, and the day as quickly darkens into
night. How we should miss the long summer twilight, which in our
Northern latitudes lingers so softly and tenderly over the quiet
earth.
Remembering these things, we are reconciled to our lot in living in
the temperate zone, and turn away even from the soft and easy life of
the tropics, to find a keener delight in our rugged clime, and to
welcome even the snow-drifts and the short winter days, since they
bring the long winter evenings, and the roaring winter fires!
We leave Java, therefore, not so much with regret that we can no
longer sit under the palm groves, and indulge in the soft and easy
life of the tropics, as that we part from friends. Our last night in
Batavia they took us to a representation given by amateurs at the
English Club, where it was very pleasant to see so many English faces
in this distant part of the world, and to hear our own mother tongue.
The next morning they rode down with us to the quay, and came off to
the steamer, and did not leave us till it was ready to move; and it
was with a real sadness that we saw them over the ship's side, and
watched their fluttering signals as they sailed back to the shore.
These partings are the sore pain of travel. But the friendships
remain, and are delightful in memory. A pleasure past is a pleasure
still. Even now it gives us a warm feeling at the heart to think of
those kind friends on the other side of the globe.