WE SET OUT ON OUR VOYAGE.
Our voyage along the north coast was very tedious, for the wind
slackened towards the evening, and we had no other amusement than
watching the doings, as well as we could in the distance, of the
fishing tribes and salt manufacturers who inhabit the shore. As,
however, it is upon these two arts the Javanese depend in a great
degree for their supply of food, and their consequent well-being as a
people, it was interesting and instructive to observe how they pursued
them.
The fishing-boats proceed to sea with the land-breeze at an early hour
of the morning, and return a little after noon, with the sea-breeze.
Their mode of taking the fish is by drag-nets, and by traps or snares,
consisting of enclosures formed, with much skill and labor, by driving
stakes or palisades into the water of several fathoms deep, on banks
much frequented by fish, and to which nets are secured. The river-fish
are taken, sometimes, by spearing, or by first stupefying them, by
throwing into the water a plant called _tuba_, which possesses a strong
narcotic property, by which the fish become intoxicated, and float upon
the surface of the water, apparently dead, when they are easily taken
by the hand.
As for the salt manufacture, it is chiefly carried on in situations on
the flat north coast, where the soil is of a clayey nature, and free
from dark loam--both requisite qualities toward the success of the
process. The salt-water is admitted through a succession of shallow
square compartments, in each of which it receives a certain degree of
concentration, until, arriving at the last, the water is completely
evaporated; and the salt left behind, requiring no further preparation,
is fit for immediate use.
Upon the south coast of the island, however, the shelving nature of
the shore, and the porous quality of the soil, will not admit of the
practice of this cheap method. The natives have recourse, therefore,
to the following very singular process. The sand on the beach being
raked, and smoothed into the appearance of ridges and furrows, as if
intended for cultivation, the manufacturer, having filled a pair of
watering-cans from the surge, runs along the furrows, sprinkling the
contents in a shower upon the ridges. In a few minutes the powerful
effects of the sun’s rays have dried the sand, which is then scraped
together with a kind of hoe, and placed in rude funnels, over which
is thrown a given quantity of salt-water, by which a strong brine is
immediately obtained. The peasants transmit this brine to their hovels,
where it is boiled, in small quantities, over an ordinary fire, and a
salt is obtained, which is necessarily impure, in consequence of the
haste with which the operation is performed; thus the inferior salt
costs fourfold as much as the better product of the north coast.
These industrious tribes of the coast also manufacture saltpeter, by
boiling the soil obtained from caves frequented by bats and birds,
chiefly swallows; the soil itself being the decomposed dung of these
animals, which commonly fills the bottom of the caves to a depth of
from four to six feet. In this process, however, the labor of the poor
fellows is to a great extent wasted, since the supply to be obtained is
so precarious and limited, and the cost of the niter consequently so
high, that saltpeter and gunpowder may always be more cheaply imported
from Bengal.
As I have said, the voyage along the north coast was tedious in the
extreme. As, however, we entered the beautiful Straits of Sunda, when
every mile’s advance showed to us some one or other of the many islands
that embellish that region of perpetual summer, and gave to our view
a mountain range, or volcanic peak, of the island of Java, our hearts
became filled with delight.
A stiff breeze wafted us merrily through the straits, and in a few
days we had rounded that magnificent promontory, at the extreme west
of the province of Bantam, known to mariners as “Java Head;” but a
week’s run, however, along the south coast, and we had become so short
of water, that Prabu ran the prahu into the first inlet or bay for a
fresh supply. But our captain had other matters of business ashore with
the chief of the village, so, leaving his lieutenant, Kati, to see
the casks filled, he landed, inviting my brother and me to accompany
him--an invitation we were not unwilling to accept, if only to stretch
our legs a little while on land.
The village, which was about half a mile from the sea, was a charming
place--a veritable little human paradise. It consisted of some sixty
or seventy bamboo cottages, neat and pretty, but the whole completely
screened from the scorching sun, and so buried in the foliage of a
luxuriant vegetation, that at but a short distance no appearance of
a human dwelling could be detected; and in manners the inhabitants
seemed no less charming than their village, for no sooner had we
passed the belt of trees which led us into the wide verdant space in
the front of the cottages, than several came forth from their houses,
made obeisance, and begged that, being strangers, we would honor
them by partaking of refreshment, and, if need be, a lodging for the
night. Indeed, so many and so pressing were these offers, that, not
knowing whose to accept, and fearing to offend either by a refusal, we
stood in some dread of suffering in our stomachs from an _embarras de
richesse_. Prabu, however, rescued us from the difficulty by picking
out one man, with whom he seemed to have had a former acquaintanceship.
True, when we did enter the house, we found nothing but rice, fruits,
and spiced-water; but, then, the warm-heartedness with which they were
offered rendered them more welcome than would have been a banquet at
another time, at some other hands.
When we had partaken of our host’s hospitality--for it would have been
a breach of Javanese etiquette to have done so before--Prabu desired
to be conducted to the chief of the village.
“The ‘Head-man’ is absent, hunting the buffalo,” was the reply; “but
the noble captain will honor his servant by taking up this lodging in
this house for the night, and in the morning the chief will return to
the village, for it is a festival.”
“My brother is good, and his hospitality to strangers will never be
forgotten,” replied Prabu; “but the hands are useless without the head;
the captain must not leave his ship;” and so, to the chagrin of the
worthy man, we returned to the prahu. The next morning, however, we
again visited the village, and found it all bustle and excitement. It
was a festival in honor of the second marriage of one of the leading
inhabitants. The people were all out; the bride and bridegroom, with
their friends, for the greater part on horseback, were parading the
village, decorated in their gayest attire, decked with jewels, and
attended by a band of music.
As the procession passed us, one of the bridegroom’s friends or
relations, recognizing in Prabu an old acquaintance, fell out and
invited him to the wedding-feast, to which they were then proceeding.
“Won’t it be jolly?” said Martin; “we shall get a look at the bride,
for I could not see her just now through the curtains of her litter.”
“There will not be much to interest us, I should think; however, as it
would be uncivil to refuse, we will go,” said I.
Arriving at the house about an hour afterwards, we were shown by one of
the family into a large chamber, around which were ranged five tables,
covered with dishes of curry, rice, and fish, with numerous plates of
sugar-cakes. Beyond this apartment was another, very gaudily decorated,
in which were sitting, or rather squatting, around bowls of smoking
rice, some twenty venerable personages, probably the seniors of the
village. Seeing us approach, they good-humoredly bade us be seated at
their board. We complied, not so much for the pleasure of partaking of
the mess before us, but with a natural curiosity to get a glimpse of
the happy couple. Martin, being the most curious, was the first to espy
them.
“See,” he said, “there they are; what a couple of guys!”--and he
bent his head in the direction of a deep recess on one side of the
apartment, where the couple were sitting in silent, solemn state, like
a pair of stuffed images, it being the etiquette that they should
appear unmoved by whatever was passing. As we quitted the house, Prabu
told us a comical story he had heard, touching that demure-looking,
mummy-like lady, during the feast.
In that part of Java, when a man marries a second time, it is the
custom, at one part of the ceremony, for the bridegroom to advance
towards the wife with an ignited brand in his hand, which it is
the duty of the bride to extinguish by pouring water over it. Now,
this ceremony had been performed in the morning; but the bride--a
widow--finding a great difficulty in quenching the flame, became so
impatient that she suddenly dashed the contents of the pitcher into her
lord’s face.
“And what did _he_ do?” asked Martin, as angrily as if he himself had
been the damped husband.
“What _could_ he do?--nothing,” replied Prabu.
“Couldn’t he, though! I tell you what, if it had been me, I would have
sent her packing--” but at this moment his thoughts were turned in a
very different direction. “Hilloa! what is going on?”
The sight that called forth this remark was a great number of men,
women and children, seated in a ring upon a grass-plot, watching the
grimaces and gesticulations of two men, each of whom, with a bundle of
rattan canes under his arm, was haranguing the audience, at the same
time that a band of music was playing.
“Come, Martin, there is nothing worth looking at here,” said I, turning
to walk away.
“Isn’t there, though! Why, these two fellows are going to play
singlestick,” he replied; and as he spoke, two boys--naked, with the
exception of a blue cloth around their waists--stepped into the ring.
Each of them being presented with a cane, the men whom we had heard
haranguing the audience, and who now acted as seconds, placed the lads
face to face, at a yard’s distance from each other, and ordered them to
“begin.”
They did begin, as gracefully as fencing-masters, first with a salute,
which consisted in touching the ground with the rods, and waving them
to the spectators. Next they approached nearer and each one, placing
his left hand on the other’s right shoulder, raised his elbow till
it nearly met that of his antagonist overhead. In this attitude they
frequently continued for several minutes, eyeing one another with the
keenest attention, holding their canes extended in the right hand, and
watching for a favorable moment to strike.
“Bother!” exclaimed Martin, growing impatient; “why don’t they begin?
They look as if one is afraid, and the other dares not.” But not so
thought the spectators. To them it was a moment of great excitement,
and as, to give effect to the scene, the music lowered its tones so as
only just to be heard, and the two seconds withdrew to a distance of
several paces, to leave the ground clear for the combatants, they gazed
with the most eager and breathless anxiety.
For a time they continued to grapple each other, at the same time
performing a sort of waving or bending motion with their bodies, while
their feet described circles on the grass; one or the other, seeing his
opportunity, gave his antagonist a violent blow, either on the left
side, or more generally on the calf of his left leg, accompanying the
stroke with a loud yell. The instant the blow fell, its dealer sprang
quickly backwards, in order to escape retaliation from the other, who
was not slow to return the compliment, which he, in like manner, if
successful, graced with a scream.
“That’s plucky!” Martin would exclaim, as each blow fell, and its
receiver accepted it without a cry or the movement of a muscle. As for
the spectators, at every well-dealt blow, or dextrous avoidance of a
blow, they raised a savage yell of delight or admiration that made my
blood run cold. Now, I do not care for such unnecessary exhibitions,
any more than I do for the brutal “noble science of self-defense,” as
it is called, and so I said, “Come, Martin, I have had enough of this.”
“Bother!” again cried my brother, for he used the expression whenever
he was vexed; “if they were doing each other any great harm, they would
cry out. They are only in play.”
He believed, however, that it was something more than _play_, when,
going into the ring after the contest, we saw that in every instance
where the blows had taken effect, a gash, or, rather, a livid ridge of
some inches in length, had been left in the flesh.
The boys’ contest was followed by others between men, but by both
youngsters and oldsters the combats were carried on with wonderful good
temper, considering their sufferings and their naturally hot blood. But
proverbially ferocious as are all the races akin to the Malay, during
these _games_ they are not permitted to wear dagger or creese, or,
indeed, to show “temper.” If ever a real quarrel arises out of these
jousts, the spectators rush into the circle, seize the squabblers, and
expel them in disgrace from the games.
But now I have to relate a most extraordinary incident--one that was
within an ace of abruptly terminating the adventurous career of one of
us two brothers.
The games had finished, and the warlike players gone to their homes.
The band, however, struck up another tune, for the simple-minded
villagers had congregated round a conjuror just about to exhibit his
tricks, when Martin, impulsive at all times, began to push his way
through the throng, saying,--
“Come, Claud, let us get a good sight of this fellow.”
It would have been as well as if he had failed in the attempt; for, no
sooner did his eyes light upon the conjuror, than, with a shriek more
like that of some wild animal than a human being, he darted towards
him, and, as the people came between them, he cried,--“Let me get at
the rogue!”
“The boy is possessed with an evil demon,” cried the conjuror. This
was sufficient for the superstitious villagers, who scampered in all
directions.
Taking advantage of the break in the crowd, the conjuror ran at the
top of his speed through the village, and toward the forest which it
skirted. But Martin was at his heels.
“Great Heaven, Prabu,” I cried, “my brother must be mad;” and without
another word we rushed after him.
“Run, for thy brother’s life,” cried Prabu; “that fellow is entrapping
him into the wood, where he may slay him!”
I wanted no such exhortation; but it seemed, indeed, as if a
supernatural speed had been lent both to pursuer and pursued, for at
every step they distanced us.
“Martin! Martin! for Heaven’s sake stop; follow not that man into the
wood,” I shouted, and likewise shouted Prabu; but it was useless. They
reached the forest, and we lost sight of them; still onwards, through
bush, underwood, and foliage, till we came to an open space; then again
we could see them, but, breathless, we were compelled to rest for an
instant. The fugitive had also come to a halt, and leaned against a
tree, as if no longer able to continue his flight, at which my brother
gave a joyful shout, and then almost leaped forward; but the other,
permitting him to approach within a yard, pulled forth from the fold
around his waist a cane about six feet in length, and, putting this
to his lips, the next instant a small dart or arrow struck my brother
in the arm; then, giving a hideous laugh, the hunchback--for it was
he--turned and continued his flight with renewed vigor, still followed
by my brother.
“The poor boy will be slain!” exclaimed Prabu. “Quick, for his life!
Stop! in Allah’s name, stop!” he shouted to Martin; “that arrow was
poisoned!” But there was no necessity now for shouting; for suddenly,
as if his strength had become exhausted, he stood stock-still, and then
fell heavily to the ground.
The instant we reached him, Prabu tore off his jacket, and bared his
arm. I could see nothing but a small puncture, with a single drop of
blood resting in the wound; but Prabu, knowing the fatal consequences
of that trifling wound, if remedies were not immediately applied, knelt
down, and for several minutes sucked at it like a leech. Having done
this, he bade him get up.
“No,” said Martin, “let me alone. I wish to sleep;” and, indeed, his
eyes were closed. “I will go no further; I will remain here.”
“If he sleeps within the next hour, he will never wake more,” said
Prabu.
This was enough for me. I helped to force him to his legs.
“Martin! dear Martin! walk, run, make an effort! it is for your life!”
I cried; and sensible, but hardly so, he did try; and so, getting him
between us, and each taking hold of an arm, we ran him back towards the
village. Fortunately, we soon fell in with two native men, and Prabu,
crying to them, “The upas! the upas is in his veins!” they relieved
us, and, being in full strength, ran forward with him. We followed,
and Prabu went into the first cottage, and obtaining a cup of strong
rice-spirit, poured it down his throat. The effect of this stimulant
was very great, it revived him, and made him sensible that his life
depended upon violent exercise, and, under Providence, his life was
saved; for, after having run him to and fro for about an hour, he had
shaken off that lethargy which, had it continued, must inevitably have
destroyed him; and then, and not till then, we permitted him to enjoy a
natural sleep, from which, after several hours, he awoke refreshed, and
as well as ever.
“You have had a narrow escape,” said I, when he awoke.
“Yes, thanks to you, old fellow, and Prabu; but I wouldn’t mind going
through it all again--I mean the terrible agony of being compelled to
keep awake, walk, and run, when I felt as if I could willingly have
given ten years of my life for a good sleep--if I could only have
secured that rascal, who killed our father.”
“But it would be useless, Martin; for, you know, it is only a surmise;
we have no proof,” said I, fearing that he had some inclination to go
hunchback-hunting again.
“Aye, but we have proof that he robbed Ebberfeld’s home--that he stole
Marie!”
“Well, well, we shall come across him again some day, and then we will
force him to confess the whole truth,” I replied; not that I did not
feel as strongly in the matter as my brother, but that I _knew_ a word
from me would have induced him to go in search of the snake-charmer.
Fortunately, at that moment Prabu, who had been to have an audience of
the chief, returned, and we all three at once made the best of our way
to the prahu.
But a few words with my readers respecting this “upas-tree,” the juice
of which nearly deprived me of a brother. It is, in a great degree,
deserving of its bad reputation, no doubt; nevertheless, it is not by
any means so black as it has been painted, notwithstanding all the
nonsense that Monsieur Foerst, a French surgeon, invented, and Dr.
Darwin promulgated in England, about it; for instance, that a particle
of its juice, being inserted into the human body, caused instantaneous
death, and that the atmosphere for a vast radius around the tree is
fatal to animal life.
In the first place, the word “upas,” as applied only to _one_ tree,
is a misnomer; for in the Javanese and some other languages of the
Western Archipelago, the word is not a specific term, but the common
name for poison of any description whatever. Then, of the plants of
the Indian islands, two at least afford a most subtle poison, either
taken into the stomach or circulation--the _anchar_ and the _chetik_.
The former, the most common source of the vegetable poison in use,
is one of the largest forest trees of the Archipelago, rising to the
height of sixty or eighty feet, straight and large, before it sends
out a single branch. It proves hurtful to no plant around it, and
creepers and parasitical plants are found in abundance about it. The
poison is in the outer bark, from which, when wounded, it flows in the
form of a milk-white sap. In this state it is as deleterious as when,
according to the practice of the natives, it is mixed with the juices
of a quantity of extraneous aromatics and other matters, such as black
pepper, ginger, arum, galanga, etc. When applied to the external skin,
it produces intolerable pain and itching, with a kind of herpetic
eruption. The inner bark resembles coarse cloth, and is frequently worn
as such by the poorer peasantry, and occasionally converted into strong
rope. Great care must, however, be taken in preparing it; for if any
particles of the poisonous juice remain adhering to it when the cloth
becomes moist, the wearer experiences intolerable itching.
The _chetik_ is a large creeping shrub, with a stem occasionally so
big as to approach to the character of a tree. It thrives in black,
rich moulds. It is the bark of _the root_ of this plant which affords
the _upas_ or poison, which is an extract of nearly the consistence
of syrup, obtained by boiling it with water. The _chetik_ is a more
intense poison than the _anchar_, but, as far as we know, it is
confined to Java. The _anchar_, on the contrary, appears to exist in
almost every country of the Archipelago, being found in the Malay
peninsula, in Sumatra, Borneo, Bali, and in Celebes, as well as in
Java. The Malays call this last _ipoh_. Both are found only in the
deepest recesses of the forest.
To produce the fullest effects, the _upas_ poison, of either kind,
must be recent and well-preserved; exposure to the air soon destroys
its potency; its effects depend on the strength of the animal, and the
quantity taken. Three times the quantity taken into the circulation
are necessary to produce the same effects taken into the stomach. The
momentary application of a small quantity to the blood does not prove
fatal. It is necessary that the poison be inserted with a dart; thus
applied, the poison of the _anchar_, in its recent state, kills a
mouse in ten minutes, a cat in fifteen, a dog within an hour, and a
buffalo--one of the largest of quadrupeds--in something more than two
hours. The effects of the poison of the _chetik_ are far more violent
and sudden. Fowls, which long resist the poison of the _anchar_, die
often in less than a minute from that of the _chetik_. It kills a dog
in six or seven minutes.
The train of symptoms induced by the operation of the _anchar_ are
restlessness, quick breathing, increased flow of saliva, vomiting,
alvine discharge, slight twitches, laborious breathing, violent agony,
severe convulsions and death. The _chetik_ acts more directly on the
nervous system and brain, and after a few primary symptoms, destroys
life by one sudden effort.
Referring to the use of poisoned arrows, Mr. Crawford, a long resident
in the island of Java, says: “The most barbarous of the Indian
islanders, in their wars with Europeans and each other, discharge
arrows poisoned with the juice of the _anchar_. These may, indeed,
produce an aggravated wound and much debility; but I doubt whether
the wound of a poisoned arrow has ever proved _immediately_ fatal.”
Rumphius describes the Dutch soldiers as suffering severely from the
effects of this poison in the wars conducted by them, about the middle
of the seventeenth century, at Amboyna and Macassar, until a remedy
was discovered in the emetic qualities of the _Radix toxicaria_ or
_bakung_. The assertion of the discovery of a remedy throws a doubt
upon the whole, for it is surely altogether unreasonable to expect that
clearing the stomach by an emetic should prove an antidote to a subtle
poison taken into the circulation, and acting upon the nervous system!
The Dutch soldiers were probably more frightened than hurt. In the
perfidy of the practice of using poisoned weapons, and the mysterious
and secret operation of a poison, there is something to appal the
stoutest heart, and abundant materials for terror and superstition.
When the soldiers, both Indian and European, proceeded on an expedition
to Bali, in 1814, they expressed serious apprehension for the poisoned
darts of the Balinese. The same fear was entertained by the same people
for the creeses of the Javanese, until we discovered that that people
never poisoned their weapons. Such, unhappily for fiction, is the true
account of the _upas_-tree, the bark of which is used by the natives
of the countries in which it grows as wearing apparel, and beneath the
shade of which the husbandman may repose himself with as much security
as under that of cocoa-palm or bamboo.