Perjalanan di Kepulauan Hindia Timur/Bab 5

CHAPTER V.

AMBOINA.

June 29th.—We are this morning approaching Amboina, the goal of my long journey, and the most important of the Spice Islands. Amboina is both the name of the island and its chief city. In form the island is nearly elliptical, and a deep, narrow bay, fourteen miles long, almost divides it longitudinally into two unequal parts. That on the west, which forms the main body of the island, is called Hitu; and that on the east Laitimur, which in Malay means “the eastern leaf.” Both are composed of high hills which rise up so abruptly from the sea that, though this bay for one-third of its length is nearly four miles wide, yet it perfectly resembles a frith or broad river. Along the shores are many little bays where praus are seen at anchor, and on the beaches are small groves of the cocoa-nut palm, which furnish food and shade to the natives dwelling in the rude huts beneath them. Higher up the hill-sides, large, open areas are seen covered with a tall, coarse grass; but the richly-cultivated fields on the flanks of the mountains in Java nowhere appear. These grassy hill-sides are the favorite burial-places with the[131] Chinese, for they rarely or never carry back the bones of their friends to the sacred soil of the Celestial Land from these islands as they do from California. Such graves are always horseshoe-shaped, just as in China, and their white walls make very conspicuous objects on the green hill-sides. Above the open areas, in the wooded regions, we notice a few places filled with small trees that have a peculiar bright-green foliage. Those are the gardens of clove-trees which have made this island so famous throughout the world.

It is now the rainy season here, and thick rain-clouds at first completely enshrouded us; but as we passed up the bay they slowly broke away, and revealed on either hand high hills and mountains, which, on the Hitu side, began to assume a most wonderful appearance. The strong easterly wind pushed away the thick, white clouds from the exposed sides of all these elevations, and caused them to trail off to the west like smoke from hundreds of railroad engines, until every separate peak appeared to have become an active volcano that was continually pouring out dense volumes of white, opaque gas; and as these hills rose tier above tier to high, dark mountains which formed the background, the whole scene was most awe-inspiring, especially in this land where eruptions and earthquakes are frequent, and only a comparatively thin crust separates one from the earth’s internal fires.

Near the mouth of the bay the water is very deep, but eight or nine miles within it is sufficiently shallow for an anchorage. Here also the hills on the east or Laitimur side are separated from the beach by[132] a triangular, level area, about a paal[25] long, and on this has been built the city of “Amboina” or “Ambon,” in the native language. Viewed from the anchorage, the city has a pleasing appearance, its streets being broad, straight, and well shaded. About half way from its southern end is Fort Nieuw Victoria. Landing at a quay we passed through this old stronghold out into a pretty lawn, which is surrounded by the Societeit, or Club-House, and the residences of officials and merchants. The total population of the city is about fourteen thousand. Of these, seven hundred are Europeans, three hundred Chinese, and four hundred Arabs. The others are natives. The entire population of the island is about thirty-two thousand. Like all the cities and larger settlements in the Dutch possessions, Amboina is divided into a native kampong or quarter, a Chinese kampong, and a quarter where foreigners reside. The natives are directly under the control of a rajah or prince, and he, in turn, is responsible to a Dutch assistant resident. In a similar manner the Chinese are subject to a “Captain China,” who, in the larger cities, has one or more assistants or “lieutenants.” He, likewise, must report himself to the assistant resident. In this way each separate people is immediately ruled by officers chosen from its own nation, and consequently of the same views and prejudices. Justice is thus more perfectly administered, and the hostile feelings which each of these bigoted Eastern nations always entertains against every other are thus completely avoided.

[133]

On leaving Batavia, Cores de Vries & Co., who then owned all the mail-steamers in the Netherlands India, kindly gave me a letter of credit so that I might draw on their agents from place to place, and wholly avoid the trouble and danger of carrying any considerable sum with me. This letter further recommended me to the kind attention of all their employés, and Mr. Var Marle, their agent at this place, at once said that I must make his house my home while I remained in that part of the archipelago; and this unexpected and very generous invitation was still more acceptable, as both he and his good lady spoke English. A chamber was assigned me, and a large room in an adjoining out-building, where I could store my collections and pack them up for their long transit to America; and thus I was ready to commence my allotted work without the least delay. I then called on His Excellency the Governor of the Spice Islands, who received me in the most cordial manner, and said that boats, coolies, and whatever other assistance I might need, would be immediately ordered whenever I wished.

Amboina has long been famous for its shells, and the Dutch officials have been accustomed for years to purchase very considerable quantities as presents for their friends in Europe. The natives, therefore, are in the habit of gathering them for sale, and a few have become extensive traders in these beautiful objects. It was soon noised abroad that a foreigner had come from a land even farther away than “Ollanda,” as they call Holland, solely for the purpose of purchasing shells; and immediately, to my great delight, basketful[134] after basketful of the species that I had always regarded as the rarest and most valuable began to appear, every native being anxious to dispose of his lot before his fellows, and thus obtain a share of the envied shining coin, which I was careful to display to their gloating eyes before I should say I had bought all I desired. Competition, here as elsewhere, had a wonderfully depressing effect on the price of their commodities, judging from what they asked at first and what they were finally willing to take. The trade, however, became more brisk day after day, and some natives came from long distances partly to sell their shells and partly to see whether “that man” could be sane who had come so far and was spending, according to their ideas, so much money for shells. At first I bought them by the basketful, until all the more common species had been obtained, and then I showed the natives the figures in Rumphius’s “Rariteit Kamer” of those species I still wished to secure, and at the same time offered them an extra price for others not represented in that comprehensive work. One species I was particularly anxious to secure alive. It was the pearly nautilus. The shell has always been common, but the animal has seldom been described. The first was found at this place, and a description and drawing were given by Rumphius. Afterward a dissection and drawing were given by Professor Owen, of the British Museum, and his monograph probably contains the most complete anatomical description that has ever been made of any animal from a single specimen. He worked, as he himself described it to me, with a dissecting-knife in one hand[135] and a pencil in the other. So little escaped his pen and pencil, that very little information has been added by later dissections. I was so anxious to secure one of these rare animals, that I felt that, if I should obtain one and a few more common species, I could feel that my long journey had been far from fruitless. Only the second day after my arrival, to my inexpressible delight, a native brought me one still living. Seeing how highly I prized it, he began by asking ten guilders (four Mexican dollars) for it, but finally concluded to part with it for two guilders (less than one Mexican dollar), though I should certainly have paid him fifty if I could not have obtained it for a less price. It had been taken in this way: the natives throughout the archipelago rarely fish with a hook and line as we do, but, where the water is too deep to build a weir, they use instead a bubu, or barrel of open basket-work of bamboo. Each end of this barrel is an inverted cone, with a small opening at its apex. Pieces of fish and other bait are suspended from within, and the bubu is then sunk on the clear patches of sand on a coral reef, or more commonly out where the water is from twenty to fifty fathoms deep. No line is attached to those on the reefs, but they are taken up with a gaff. Those in deep water are buoyed by a cord and a long bamboo, to one end of which a stick is fastened in a vertical position, and to this is attached a piece of palm-leaf for a flag, to make it more conspicuous. In this case it happened that one of these bubus was washed off into deeper water than usual, and the nautilus chanced to crawl through the opening in one of the[136] cones to get at the bait within. If the opening had not been much larger than usual, it could not possibly have got in. It was at once placed in a can containing strong arrack. I then offered twice as much for a duplicate specimen, and hundreds of natives tried and tried, but in vain, to procure another during the five months I was in those seas. They are so rare even there, that a gentleman, who had made large collections of shells, assured me that I ought not to expect to obtain another if I were to remain at Amboina three years. Rumphius, who usually is remarkably accurate in his descriptions of the habits of the mollusks he figures, says it sometimes swims on the sea; but this statement he probably received from the natives, who made such a mistake because many empty shells are frequently found floating on the ocean. When the animal dies and becomes separated from the shell, the latter rises to the surface of the sea on account of the air or other gas contained in the chambers. It is then swept away by the wind and tide to the shore of a neighboring island. When the natives are questioned as to where these shells come from, they invariably reply, “The sea;” and as to where the animal lives, they merely answer, “Dalam,” “In the deep.” The dead shells are so abundant on these islands, that they can be purchased in any quantity at from four to ten cents apiece.

My first excursion from the city of Amboina was with a gentleman to a large cocoa-garden, which he had lately planted on the high hills on the Hitu side. A nice boat or orangbai—literally, “a good fellow”—took us over the bay to the little village of Ruma[137] Tiga, or “Three Houses.” The boatmen were gayly dressed in white trousers with red trimmings, and had red handkerchiefs tied round their heads. A small gong and a tifa or drum, made by tightly stretching a piece of the hide of a wild deer over the end of a short, hollow log, gave forth a rude, wild music, and at least served to aid the boatmen in keeping time as they rowed. Occasionally, to break the monotony of their labor, they sang a low, plaintive song. Instead of steering straight for the point which we wished to arrive at on the opposite side of the bay, our helmsman kept the boat so near the shore that we really passed round the head of the bay, twice as far as it would have been in a right line. This mode of hassar steering, or, as the sailors express it in our language, “hugging the shore,” I afterward found was the one universally adopted in all this part of the archipelago. When we landed, I had the pleasure to find, just beneath low-water level, hundreds of black sea-urchins, with needle-like spines nearly a foot long, and so extremely sharp and brittle, that it was very difficult to get the animals out of the little cavities in the rocks where they had anchored themselves fast with their many suckers. Near by, the villagers were busy boiling down the sap of the sagaru-palm for the sugar it contains. According to my taste it is much like maple-sugar. Up to the time that Europeans first came to the East, this was the only kind of sugar known to the natives, and large quantities of it are still consumed among the islands here in the eastern part of the archipelago.

From the beach, a narrow footpath led through[138] a grove of palm-trees into a thick forest, and then zigzagged up a steep hill-side, until it reached a small plateau. Here were the young cocoa-trees, filled with their long, red, cucumber-like fruit. The original forest had been felled and burned, and these trees had been planted in its place. Almost the only difficulty in cultivating the cocoa-tree here is in removing the grass and small shrubs which are continually springing up; yet the natives are all so idle and untrustworthy that a gentleman must frequently inspect his garden himself, if he expects it to yield a fair return. This tree,[26] the Theobroma cacao, Lin., is not a native of the East. It was discovered by the Spaniards in Mexico during the conquest of that country by Cortez. From Mexico they took it to their provinces in South America and the West India Islands. At present it is cultivated in Trinidad, and in Guiana and Brazil. It probably thrives as well here as in Mexico, and is now completely supplanting the less profitable clove-tree.

The chief article of food of the natives working in this garden is our own yellow Indian corn, another exotic, also introduced into the East by Europeans. It is now raised in every part of the archipelago in such quantities as to form one of the chief articles of food for the natives. The Dutch never use it, and generally think it strange that it should[139] be made into bread for the very nicest tables in our land. I never knew the natives to grind it or pound it. They are accustomed to roast it on the ear after the kernels have become quite hard and yellow. Our house in this tropical garden was merely a bamboo hut, with a broad veranda, which afforded us an ample shelter from the pouring rains and scorching sunshine. I had been careful to take along my fowling-piece, and at once I commenced a rambling hunt through the adjoining forest. Large flocks of small birds, much like our blackbird, were hovering about, but they so invariably chose to alight only on the tops of the tallest trees, that I was a long time securing half a dozen specimens, for at every shot they would select another distant tree-top, and give me a long walk over tangled roots and fallen trees in the dense, almost gloomy, jungle. As evening came on, small green parrots uttered their shrill, deafening screams, as they darted to and fro through the thick foliage. A few of these also entered my game-bag.

In these tropical lands, when the sun sets, it is high time for the hunter to forsake his fascinating sport and hurry home. There is no long, fading twilight, but darkness presses closely on the footsteps of retreating day, and at once it is night. On my return, my friend remarked in the coolest manner that I had secured us both a good supper; and before I had recovered from my shock at such a suggestion, the cook had torn out a large handful of rich feathers from the skins, and all were spoiled for my collection; however, I consoled myself with the[140] thought that it did not fall to the good lot of every hunter to live in the midst of such a wondrous vegetation and feast on parrots. In the evening, a full moon shed broad oscillating bands of silver light through the large polished leaves of the bananas around our dwelling, as they slowly waved to and fro in the cool, refreshing breeze. Then the low cooing of doves came up out of the dark forest, and the tree-toads piped out their long, shrill notes. That universal pest, the mosquito, was also there, singing his same bloodthirsty tune in our ears. Our beds were perched on poles, high above the floor of the hut, that we might avoid such unpleasant bedfellows as large snakes, which are very common and most unceremonious visitors. That night we were disturbed but once, and then by a loud rattling of iron pots and a general crashing of crockery; instantly I awoke with an indefinite apprehension that we were experiencing one of the frightful earthquakes which my friend had been vividly picturing before we retired. The natives set up a loud hooting and shouting, and finally the cause of the whole disturbance was found to be a lean, hungry dog that was attempting to satisfy his appetite on what remained of our parrot-stew.

My chief object on this excursion was to collect insects; and among some white-leaved shrubs, near the shore, I found many magnificent specimens of a very large, richly-colored Papilio. The general color of the upper surface of its wings was a blue-black, and beneath were large patches of bright red. Another was a blue-black above, with large spots of[141] bright blue. The wings of these butterflies expand five or six inches, and they seem almost like small birds as they flit by.

It was my desire not only to obtain the same shells that Rumphius figures, but to procure them from the same points and bays, so that there could be no doubt about the identity of my specimens with his drawings. I therefore proposed to travel along all the shores of Amboina and the neighboring islands, and trade with the natives of every village, so as to be sure of the localities myself, and, moreover, get specimens of all the species alive, and thus have ample material for studying their anatomy. I now realized the value of the letter with which His Excellency the Governor-General had honored me at Batavia. I had only to apply to the assistant resident, and he at once kindly ordered a boat and coolies for me at the same rate as if they were employed by the government, which was frequently less than half of what I should have been obliged to pay if I had hired them myself; and besides, many times I could not have obtained boats nor coolies at any price; and when the Resident ordered them to come at a certain hour, I always found them ready.

My first excursion along the shores of the island was on the north coast of Hitu. Two servants accompanied me, to aid in arranging the shells, and carrying bottles of alcohol to contain the animals. From the city of Amboina, a boat took us over the bay to Ruma Tiga, where several coolies were waiting with a “chair” to carry me over the high hills to the opposite shore. This “chair,” or palanquin, is[142] merely a common arm-chair, with a bamboo fastened on each side. A light roof and curtains on the sides keep out the rain or hot sunshine. Usually eight or more coolies are detailed to each chair, so that one-half may relieve the others every few moments. The motion is much like that on horseback, when the horse is urged into a hurried walk, and is neither extremely unpleasant nor so very delightful as some writers who have visited these islands have described it. In China, where only two coolies carry a chair, the motion is far more regular and agreeable. This is the only mode of travelling in all the islands where horses have not been introduced, and where all the so-called roads are mere narrow footpaths, except in the villages.

From the shore we climbed two hills, and on their crests passed through gardens of cocoa-trees.[27] The road then was bordered on either side with rows of pine-apples, Ananassa sativa, a third exotic from tropical America. It thrives so well in every part of the archipelago, without the slightest care, that it is very difficult to realize that it is not an indigenous plant. The native names all point out its origin. The Malays and Javanese call it nanas, which is merely a corruption of the Portuguese ananassa. In Celebes it is sometimes called pandang, a corruption of pandanus, from the marked similarity[143] of the two fruits. In the Philippines it is generally called piña, the Spanish word for pine-cone, which has the same origin as our name pine-apple. Piña is also the name of a cloth of great strength and durability, made by the natives of the Philippines, from the fibres of its leaves. The Malays, on the contrary, seldom or never make any such use of it, though it grows so abundantly in many places that any quantity of its leaves could be obtained for the simple trouble of gathering them. The fruit raised here is generally regarded as inferior to that grown in the West Indies, and the Dutch consider the variety known as “the West Indian ananas,” that is, one that has been recently introduced, as the best. The finest specimens of this fruit are raised in the interior of Sumatra and on the islands about Singapore, and great quantities are exposed for sale in the market at that city.

From the crest of the first range of hills we descended to a deep ravine, and crossed a bridge thrown over a foaming torrent. This bridge, like most the Dutch possessions, was covered with a roof, but left open on the sides. The object of the roof and its projecting eaves is to keep the boards and planks beneath dry, for whenever they are frequently soaked with rain they quickly decay in this tropical climate. The coolies here lunched on smoked fish and sago-cake, their common fare, and quenched their thirst with draughts from the rapid stream. Their ragged clothing and uncombed hair made them appear strangely out of keeping with the luxuriant vegetation surrounding us. Crossing another high range,[144] we caught a view of the blue ocean, and soon descended to the village of Hitu-lama, “Old Hitu.” The rajah received me most kindly into his house, and assigned me a chamber. Large numbers of children quickly gathered, and the rajah explained to them that I had come to buy shells, insects, and every curious thing they might bring. As it was high water, and good shells could only be found at low tide, I asked them to search for lizards, and soon I was surprised to see them coming with a number of real “flying-dragons,” not such impossible monsters as the Chinese delight to place on their temples and vases, but small lizards, Draco volans, each provided with a broad fold in the skin along either side of the body, analogous to that of our flying-squirrel, and for a similar purpose, not really for flying, but to act as a parachute to sustain the animal in the air, while it makes long leaps from branch to branch. Another lizard, of which they brought nearly a dozen specimens in a couple of hours, had a body about six inches long and a tail nearly as much longer. Knowing how impossible it is to capture these agile and wary animals, I tried to ascertain how they succeeded in surprising so many, but they all refused to tell, apparently from superstitious motives, and to this day the mystery is unsolved. When these specimens were brought to me they were always in small joints of bamboo, and when one escaped the natives generally refused to try to catch it in their hands.

As the tide receded, shells began to come in; at first the more common species, and rarer ones as the ebbing ceased. My mode of trading with these people[145] was extremely simple, my stock of Malay being very limited. A small table was placed on the veranda in front of the rajah’s house, and I took a seat behind it. The natives then severally came up and placed their shells in a row on the table, and I placed opposite each shell or each lot of shells whatever I was willing to give for them, and then, pointing first to the money and then to the shells, remarked, Ini atau itu, “This or that,” leaving them to make their own choice. In this way all disputing was avoided, and the purchasing went on rapidly. Whenever one man had a rare shell, and the sum I offered did not meet his expectations, another would be sure to accept it if no more was given; then the first would change his mind, and thus I never failed to obtain both specimens. It was a pleasure that no one but a naturalist can appreciate, to see such rare and beautiful shells coming in alive, spotted cypræas, marbled cones, long Fusi, and Murices, some spiny and some richly ornamented with varices resembling compound leaves. The rarest shell that I secured that day was a living Terebellum, which was picked up on a coral reef before the village, at low-tide level. Afterward I procured another from the same place; but so limited does its distribution appear to be, that I never obtained a live specimen at any other locality.

At sunset I walked out with the rajah along the shore of the bay. Before us lay the great island of Ceram, which the rajah called, in his musical tongue, Ceram tana biza, “The great land of Ceram,” for indeed, to him, it was a land, that is, a continent, and not in any sense a pulo or island. The departing[146] sun was sinking behind the high, jagged peaks of Ceram, and his last golden and purple rays seemed to waver as they shot over the glassy but gently-undulating surface of the bay, and the broad, deeply-fringed leaves of the cocoa-nut palms on the beach took a deeper and richer hue in the glowing sunlight. Then a dull, heavy booming came out of a small Mohammedan mosque, which was picturesquely placed on a little projecting point, almost surrounded by the purple sea. This was the low rolling of a heavy drum, calling all the faithful to assemble and return thanks to their Prophet at the close of the departing day. The rajah then left me to wander along the shore alone, and enjoy the endless variety of the changing tints in the sea and sky while the daylight faded away along the western horizon.

It was in this bay that the Dutch first cast anchor in these seas, and this thought naturally carries us back to the early history of the Moluccas, so famous for their spices, and so coveted by almost every nation of Europe, as soon as enterprise and action began to dispel the dark clouds of ignorance and superstition which had enveloped the whole of the so-called civilized world during the middle ages. Antonio d’Abreu, a Portuguese captain, who came here from Malacca, in 1511, is generally regarded as the discoverer of Amboina and Banda, but Ludovico Barthema (Vartoma), of Bologna, after visiting Malacca and Pedir, in Sumatra, according to his own account, reached this island as early as 1506, yet his description of the Moluccas is so faulty that Valentyn thinks he never came to this region, but obtained his[147] information from the Javanese and Arabs, who, as early at least as 1322, visited these islands to purchase spices.[28] The Dutch first came to the East in the employment of the Portuguese, and in this manner became acquainted with its geography and its wealth. Their earliest expedition sailed from Holland in 1594, under Houtman. His fleet first visited Bantam and the island of Madura. At the latter place the natives seized some of his crew, and obliged him to pay two thousand rix dollars to ransom them. On the 3d of March, 1599, he arrived here off Hitu-lama. A serious and continual warfare then began between the Spanish, the Portuguese, and the Dutch, for the possession of the Moluccas, which lasted until 1610, when the Dutch became masters of these seas, and monopolized the lucrative trade of the nutmeg and the clove. The English also tried to secure this valuable prize, but the Dutch finally compelled them to[148] leave this part of the archipelago, and have continued to hold it, except for a short time in the early part of the present century.

The guest-chamber of my host, the rajah, was so open at the eaves that a current of damp air blew over me all night, and I had a strong reminder of the Batavia fever the next day. However, I continued along the shore to Hila, where an assistant resident is stationed, whose district also includes a part of the neighboring coast of Ceram. In the days when the clove-tree was extensively cultivated in Amboina, this was an important place, but now it has become almost deserted. It is chiefly famous for its fine mangoes, the fruit of the Mangifera Indica.

The Resident here had two fine specimens of an enormous hermit crab, the Birgos latro. The habits of this animal are most remarkable. Its food is the cocoa-nut, and, as the ripe nuts fall from the tree, it tears off the dry husks with its powerful claws until the end of the shell where the three black scars are found is laid bare. It then breaks the shell by hammering with one of its heavy claws, and the oily, fattening food within is obtained by means of the pincer-like claws attached to its hinder joints—so perfectly is this animal adapted to its peculiar mode of life. They are esteemed great delicacies after they have been well fed for a time, and these two unfortunates were destined for the table.

A rest of a couple of days stayed the fever, and a boat was ordered to take me to Zyt, the next village, where I reaped another rich harvest of beautiful shells. Here I purchased many Tritons, which the[149] natives had brought over from the neighboring coast of Ceram. They are quite similar to the Tritons of the Mediterranean, which in mythological times were fancied to be the trumpets used by Neptune’s attendants to herald the approach of the grim god, when he came up from the depths of the ocean, and was whirled by foaming steeds over its placid surface. The next village we visited was completely deserted, except by the rajah and his family. The cause of this strange exodus was some misunderstanding between the rajah and his people; and as the Dutch Government claims the right to appoint each native prince, and had refused to remove this rajah, all his people had deserted their homes and moved off to the various neighboring kampongs, a quiet and probably an effective mode of remonstrance. Near all these villages the beaches are lined with cocoa-nut palms, and this is frequently the only indication that you are approaching a kampong, unless, as occasionally happens, a thin column of smoke is observed slowly rising from out the tall tree-tops. When I wished to take water with me in our canoe, I naturally asked the rajah if he could provide us with a bottle, but he only smiled to think I could be so unaccustomed to tropical life, and ordered a servant to climb one of the cocoa-nut palms above us, and cut off some of its clusters of large green fruit. These we could carry anywhere, and open when we pleased, and a few strokes with a heavy cleaver at once furnished us with a sparkling fountain.

At Assilulu, the next village, I found the rajah[150] living in such style as I had always fancied a rich Eastern prince enjoyed. His house was in the centre of a large village, and located on the side of a steep hill. It covered three large terraces, and, when viewed from the landing below, appeared like a temple. At this place, besides many rare shells, I purchased several large cassowary-eggs, which had been brought over from Ceram. They are about as long as ostrich-eggs, but somewhat less in diameter, and of a green color. The bird itself belongs to the ostrich family, its feathers being imperfectly developed and separate from each other, and suitable only to aid it to run. One species has a spine on each wing to enable it to defend itself, but the usual mode of attack is by striking with the beak. In size it is twice as large as a full-grown turkey. It is not found wild on any island west of Ceram, and those reported from Java were all undoubtedly carried there from this part of the archipelago. Here also I bought of the rajah a number of superb skulls of the babirusa, Babirusa alfurus, literally “the hog-deer,” a name well chosen, for its long tusks would at once suggest to these natives the antlers of the deer, the only other wild animal of any considerable size found on these islands. These skulls came from Buru, the eastern limit of this remarkable species of hog.

For some time one of my servants kept alluding to several wonderful and most valuable curiosities which this wealthy rajah was so fortunate as to possess—curiosities indeed, according to his glowing descriptions, compared to the shells I was continually buying. At last I asked him to say to the rajah,[151] that I would be greatly obliged to him if he could show me such rare wonders, being careful not to add, that possibly I should like to purchase one or more; for I had a strong suspicion that the rajah had offered to give him all over a certain sum that I might pay for them, if he could induce me to purchase them. In these Eastern lands, when you send a servant to buy any thing, you have the unpleasant certainty in your mind, that a large part of “the price” will certainly lodge in his pocket; however, if you go to purchase yourself, such exorbitant prices will be demanded, that you will either come away without the article you need, or have the unpleasant reflection afterward that you have been cheated worse than if you had sent your servant and allowed him to levy his blackmail.

As I had anticipated, the rajah was not loath to show me his treasures. They were merely half a dozen glass rings, evidently made by cutting off a piece of a glass rod nine or ten inches long, and half an inch in diameter. This piece, having been heated, was bent into a ring and the two ends united by fusion. Instead of expressing surprise and delight, as all who were looking on seemed to expect, I coolly began explaining to the rajah what they were and how they were made. A look of surprise and incredulity appeared on the faces of all, and the rajah at once, in a most solemn manner, averred that so far from their being the work of man, they had been taken out of the heads of snakes and wild boars! Despite the dignified bearing the occasion was supposed to demand, I could not refrain from a smile as I remarked[152] that I had seen many heads of those animals myself, but never before had I heard that they carried such circular jewels in their brains. “Have you ever seen one of these taken out yourself?” I asked. “Oh, no! They come from Tana Ceram (the land or continent of Ceram).” All who were listening, now fearing that their rajah might be worsted in the discussion, and being ready on every occasion to show that they were loyal subjects, abruptly ended the argument by the unqualified assertion that every thing was exactly as the rajah had said; and, as I was his guest, I changed the conversation to another topic. When I returned to the city of Amboina, I looked at once in the “Rariteit Kamer,” confident that Rumphius would explain this remarkable and, as I afterward found, common belief; for, though the rajah probably did not believe what he said, his credulous subjects doubtless never thought before of calling in question such a generally-accepted notion; such a query would, in their view, have indicated a weak instead of an inquiring mind. This is one of the obstacles in the way of advancement among these people. Rumphius says that many rings were brought by the Portuguese and sold to the natives, who prize them very highly. This accounted for their origin; and afterward, when I came to travel over the empire of China, and noticed how that people value similar rings of jade (nephrite), and remembered that the coast of Ceram, opposite Assilulu, was once frequented by the people of that empire, who came to purchase cloves and nutmegs, it occurred to me that possibly it was from them that the Amboinese had learned to[153] place so high a value on such simple objects, and had obtained their first specimens. Java is perhaps the only island in the archipelago where such ornaments could have been made by the natives, but I do not find that they are especially prized there, or that they have been dug up with other relics of previous ages.

Off this coast lie three islands, the Three Brothers, and on their shores the natives found a number of rare shells. In the streets of the village considerable quantities of cloves that had been gathered on the neighboring hill-sides were exposed to the sun on mats between the frequent showers, but the culture of that spice has been so neglected of late years, that this was the only place where I saw the fruit in all the Moluccas. The clove-tree (Carophyllus aromaticus) belongs to the order of myrtles, which also includes the pomegranate, the guava, and the rose-apple. The trunk of the full-grown tree is from eight to twelve inches in diameter, and occasionally much more. Its topmost branches are usually forty or fifty feet from the ground, though I have seen a tree not larger than a cherry-tree fully loaded with fruit. It was originally confined to the five islands off the west coast of Gilolo, which then comprised the whole group known as “the Moluccas,” a name that has since been extended to Buru, Amboina, and the other islands off the south coast of Ceram, where the clove has been introduced and cultivated within a comparatively late period. On those five islands it begins to bear in its seventh or eighth year, and sometimes continues to yield until it has reached an age of nearly[154] one hundred and fifty years; the trees, therefore, are of very different sizes. Here at Amboina it is not expected to bear fruit before its twelfth or fifteenth year, and to cease yielding when it is seventy-five years old. Its limited distribution has always attracted attention, and Rumphius, who describes it as “the most beautiful, the most elegant, and the most precious of all known trees,” remarks: “Hence it appears that the Great Disposer of things in His wisdom, allotting His gifts to the several regions of the world, placed cloves in the kingdom of the Moluccas, beyond which, by no human industry, can they be propagated or perfectly cultivated.” In the last observation, however, he was mistaken, for since his time it has been successfully introduced into the island of Penang, in the Strait of Malacca, and Sumatra, Bourbon, Zanzibar, and the coast of Guiana and the West India Islands. The clove is the flower-bud, and grows in clusters at the ends of the twigs. The annual yield of a good tree is about four pounds and a half, and the yearly crop on Amboina, Haruku, Saparua, and Nusalaut, the only islands where the tree is now cultivated, is 350,000 Amsterdam pounds.[29] It is, however, extremely variable and uncertain—for example, in 1846 it was 869,727 Amsterdam pounds, but in 1849 it was only 89,923, or little more than one-tenth of what it was three years before. Pigafetta informs us that, when the Spanish first came to the Moluccas, there were no restrictions on the culture or sale of the clove. The annual crop at that[155] time, 1521, according to the same authority, reached the enormous quantity of 6,000 bahars, 3,540,000 pounds of “uncleaned,” and 4,000 bahars, 2,360,000 pounds of “cleaned” cloves, about seventeen times the quantity obtained at the present time. Though this statement at first appears incredible, it is strengthened by the fact that the two ships of Magellan’s fleet that reached Tidore, one of the Spice Islands, were filled with cloves during a stay of only twenty-four days. When the buds are young they are nearly white, afterward they change to a light green, and finally to a bright red, when they must at once be gathered, which is done by picking them by hand, or beating them off with bamboos on to cloths spread beneath the trees. They are then simply dried in the sun, and are ready for the market. In drying, their color is changed from red to black, the condition in which we see them. They are gathered twice a year, at about this time, in June, and again in the last of December. The leaves, bark, and young twigs also have some peculiar aroma, and at Zanzibar the stems of the buds are also gathered and find a ready sale. The favorite locations of this tree are the high hill-sides, and it is said that it does not thrive well on low lands, where the loam is fine and heavy. The soil best adapted to it appears to be a loose, sandy loam. In its original habitat it grows chiefly on volcanic soil, but in Amboina and the other islands, where it is now cultivated, it has been found to flourish well on loams formed by the disintegration of recent sandstone and secondary rocks. The native name for this fruit is chenki, perhaps a corruption[156] of the Chinese tkeng-ki, “odoriferous nails.”[30] The Dutch name for clove is kruid-nagel, “herb-nail,” and for the trees nagelen-boomen, “nail-trees.” Our own name clove comes from the Spanish clavo (Latin clavus), a nail, which has also been given them on account of the similarity of these buds to nails.

Although cloves form a favorite condiment among all nations, the natives of these islands where they grow never eat them in any form, and we have no reason to suppose they ever did. The only purpose for which the Amboinese use them, so far as I am aware, is to prepare neat models of their praus and bamboo huts, by running small wire through the buds before they are dried. The Dutch purchase and send to Europe so many of these models, that almost every ethnological museum contains some specimens of this skilful workmanship. The clove probably came into use originally by accident, and I believe the first people who fancied its rich aroma, and warm, pungent taste, were the Chinese. The[157] similarity of the native name to that of the Chinese, and its marked difference, according to De Cauto, from that of the Brahmins or Hindus, lends probability to this view. When the Portuguese first came to these islands, the Chinese, Arabs, Malays, Javanese, and Macassars, were all found here trading in this article. Of the two former nations, the Chinese were probably the first to reach this region, though the Arabs sailed up the China Sea and carried on a large trade with the Chinese at Canpu, a port in Hangchau Bay, south of the present city of Shanghai, in the thirteenth century, or fully two hundred years before the Portuguese and Spaniards arrived in these seas.

The first notice of cloves in Europe occurs in a law passed during the reign of Aurelian the First, between A. D. 175 and 180, where they are mentioned as forming an article of commerce from India to Alexandria; for the Isthmus of Suez and the Red Sea formed at that time the chief highway of Eastern trade. From these islands the cloves were first taken by the Malays and Javanese to the peninsula of Malacca, where they passed into the hands of the Telingas or Klings, who carried them to Calicut, the old Capital of Malabar. Thence they were transported to the western shores of India and shipped across the Arabian Sea, and up the Gulf of Aden and the Red Sea to Cairo. These frequent transfers so increased the original price, that in England, before the discovery of the Cape of Good Hope, thirty shillings were paid for them per pound, or one hundred and sixty-eight pounds sterling per hundred-weight,[158] which was three hundred and sixty times their original price. It was to make this immense profit that the Portuguese, the Spaniards, the Dutch, and the English, were all so anxious to find a passage to the East by sea, and why, when these islands had been discovered, each strove to monopolize the trade itself, and all carried on such a persistent and piratical warfare for many years. So long as cloves were not cultivated elsewhere, and there was no competition in the European markets, the Dutch Government made a handsome profit by means of its monopoly; but when they were raised in other places, the consumption of such a luxury not increasing with the supply, the previous high price began at once to decline, and for many years the income of the government in these islands has not been equal to its expenses in the same region. Some have supposed that a further reduction in the price would be followed with a corresponding greater demand, until its consumption would become as general and as large as that of pepper; but this view is opposed by the common decision of mankind—that pepper is a necessary article of food, and that the clove is only a luxury. If no attempt had been made to keep up the price of this commodity to such a high figure in the European markets, there would have been a less incentive to other nations to introduce it into their own colonies, and thus the market would not have been overstocked so soon, and the price would not have fallen so low as to make the Spice Islands a source of loss instead of profit, except within a recent date.

All the rajahs I met were strict Mohammedans,[159] and, improving the privileges of their sect, had more than one wife. Soon after arriving at each rajah’s house, I was invariably asked whether or not I was married, and for a long time I could not imagine why I was so closely quizzed, until the proverbial jealousy of these people occurred to me. Each wished to know how strict a watch he was to keep over his fascinating harem; and as I was obliged to answer all such queries in the negative, I never even saw one of their wives. At meals only the rajah and myself sat at the table; and as I had two servants, and each of these princes nearly a score, we were always well served, considering our fare. Two articles never failed to appear—chickens and rice—and to these fish was usually added; and for luncheon and dessert always the richest bananas. One kind, the pisang Ambon, or “Amboina banana,” is very common in that region, but the one I soon learned to prefer, and the one that my servants were always ordered to procure if possible, wherever we chanced to halt, was the pisang mas, or “golden banana,” a small variety, with a peculiarly rich, honey-like flavor, and a bright golden skin when it is fully ripe. This rajah, I noticed, was particular to seat me at the table so that I could only look out at the front door. The first query he proposed at dinner was, how we are accustomed to eat in our land, adding that, after all, no style suited him so well as dispensing with knives and forks altogether, and adopting the simpler and more natural mode of using one’s fingers—a style so common, that each rajah usually keeps a supply of finger-bowls, and frequently these[160] are worth more than all the crockery and other glassware on the table beside. While I was most zealously explaining in reply the superiority of our custom, there arose a suppressed giggle behind me; the secret was out—the rajah’s wives had been allowed to leave their close prison and look at me, while I was so placed that I could not, without the greatest rudeness, turn round so as to steal a glance at them. But as this noise was evidently not a part of the proposed programme, I repressed my curiosity, and continued my description. One topic especially they never seemed weary of hearing about, and that was my experience as a soldier. There was something strangely fascinating to their rude imaginations in the scenes of blood through which I have had to pass. At first I had some difficulty in translating my stories into good Malay, but one of my servants fortunately spoke a little Dutch, and supplied me with a word or sentence, as the case demanded.

From Assilulu I set off, during a heavy rain-storm, over a neighboring mountain for the southwest shore, and after a long walk over the rocks, sand, and shingle, we reached Lariki, where there was once a fort with a garrison, but now the ruins of the fort, and a few old, rusty guns are all that remain; and the only official stationed there is an opziener or “overseer.” In two days, at that place, I so increased my collection, that I had to hire eight coolies to transport it, each carrying two baskets—one on either end of a pole about four feet long. The baskets are made of an open framework of bamboo, covered inside with palm-leaves, and are[161] therefore very light and durable. The most common shell there is the little cypræa caput-serpentis, or “serpent’s-head cowry,” which has a close resemblance, both in form and color, to the head of a snake.

From Lariki the opziener accompanied me to the neighboring kampong of Wakasihu. Our narrow footpath wound along the side of a rugged, projecting crag, and the view from the outer point was very imposing. The stormy monsoon was at its height. The heavy swell rolling in from the open ocean broke and flung its white spray and clotted foam far and wide over the black rocks left bare by the ebbing tide. Thick clouds, heavily freighted with rain, were driven by the strong wind against the rugged coast and adjoining mountains. The cocoa-nut palms that grew just above high-water level, and leaned over toward the sea, twisted and shook their plumy crests in a continual strife with the angry storm, and above them the branches of great evergreens moaned and piped as they lashed to and fro in the fitful gusts of the tempests.

At Wakasihu the old white-bearded rajah, hearing of our approach, came out to welcome us. The opziener explained to him the object of my coming, and immediately he ordered a large tifa, that hung under an adjoining shed, to be beaten, as a warning to his people that their rajah required them all to assemble at once before his house. The news quickly spread that a foreigner had come to purchase shells, and the old men, young men, women, and children all came with the treasures that had been accumulating[162] for months, and even years, in their miserable dwellings. Here many perfect specimens of the richly-colored Cassis flammea appeared, and also that strangely-marked shell, the Cypræa mappa, or “map cowry,” so named from the irregular light-colored line over its back where the two edges of the mantle meet when the animal is fully expanded. They had crawled into the bubus that had been sunk for fish at a depth of several fathoms.

The trading was carried on only in Malay, but when I offered a price, which was higher or lower than they had expected, they frequently consulted with each other in their own peculiar dialect or bahasa. This the opziener, who was a native of the city of Amboina, was as totally unable to understand as I. He also assured me that even the natives at Lariki, from which we had walked in half an hour, could only understand an occasional word of the bahasa of this village, and that the people of neither village could understand a word of the bahasa of Assilulu, two or three hours’ walk beyond Lariki. In fact, as a rule, every community that is under one rajah, and this is generally but one village, has its own peculiar dialect, which is so different from the dialects of every adjoining village, that all are obliged to learn Malay in order to carry on any trade or hold any communication with their nearest neighbors. The bahasa is never a written language, and appears to be constantly changing, for, at the city of Amboina, the natives have completely lost their dialect since the foreigners settled among them, and now can only speak with each other in Malay. The great diversity[163] in the native dialects, and the general adoption of Malay, existed at least as early as when the Spaniards first navigated these waters, for De Barros says: “Two facts give reason to believe that the inhabitants of these islands consist of various and diverse nations. The first is the inconstancy, hatred, and suspicion with which they watch each other; and the second, the great variety of their languages; for it is not the same with them and the Bisayans (the inhabitants of Bisaya, one of the Philippines), where one language prevails with all. The variety, on the contrary, is so great that no two places understand each other’s tongue. Even the pronunciation differs widely, for some form their words in the throat, others at the point of the tongue, others between the teeth, and others in the palate. If there be any tongue through which they can understand each other, it is the Malay of Malacca, to which the nobles” (rajahs and capalas) “have lately addicted themselves since the Moors” (Arabs) “have resorted to them for the clove.” The Malays and Javanese probably visited these regions long before the Arabs; and they, and not the Arabs, were the people who first taught these natives the Malay language.

From Wakasihu I continued during a violent rain-storm along the south coast to Laha at the mouth of the bay of Amboina, determined to cross the bay and reach home that night, if possible. There were a number of villages along the route, and at each I had to procure a new relay of coolies. This caused much delay, but a foreigner soon learns that he must have an inexhaustible stock of patience to draw on at[164] any unexpected moment if he is going to deal with these people. At one village they all agreed that a neighboring stream, which we could not avoid crossing, had become so swollen by the heavy rains, that it was absolutely impassable; but I simply ordered them to quietly follow me, and where I could not lead the way they might turn back. However, when we came to its banks, we found before us a deep, foaming torrent, far more uninviting and dangerous than I had anticipated, yet by following up its course for half a mile, I came to a place where I made my way to the opposite bank; but here I found myself hemmed in by a precipitous cliff, and there could be nothing done except to beat an inglorious retreat. The natives meantime had been trying the stream farther down, and had found a ford where the strong current was only waist-deep, and here we safely gained the opposite bank. After this came another stream even more difficult to cross, and after that, still a third. Each time I almost expected that the coolies, who were carrying over my shells, would be swept away, but they were all so lightly clad that they succeeded in maintaining their footing, even where the current was perfectly boiling. The streams are changed into rapid torrents in a few hours in these islands, where the water seems to come down from the sky in broad sheets whenever it rains. There are few bridges, and the difficulty of crossing the small rivers is one of the chief obstacles in travelling here during the rainy season. However, as a compensation, there is no sultry, scorching sun. Near the beaches where the streams flow out to the[165] sea, they all widen into deep, oblong pools, which are made very narrow at high-water level by the quantities of sand thrown up by the surf. Near the low-water level they again become broad and shallow, and during ebb-tide the best place to cross them is on the ocean shore as far down as one can go and avoid the danger of being swept away by the heavy surf.

It was nearly night when we reached Laha; we were all thoroughly drenched, and had eaten nothing since morning except some half-ripe bananas. The storm was unabated, but the rajah said it was possible to cross the bay against the wind and waves, and three men were detailed to paddle us six miles to the city. Our boat was a common leper-leper, that is, a canoe made from the trunk of a large tree, with pieces of plank placed on the sides to raise them to the proper height. Both ends are sharp, and curve upward. About four feet from the bow a pole is laid across, and another the same distance from the stern. These project outward from the side of the boat six or eight feet, and to them is fastened a bamboo, the whole forming what is known as an “outrigger.” The canoes themselves are so narrow, that without these external supports they would be even more crank than the birch-bark canoes of our red Indians. When we launched our leper-leper, and placed on board our cargo of shells, and got in ourselves, her sides were only about four inches out of water, but I could not procure a larger boat, so we started. It soon became so dark that all we could discern on the neighboring shores were large fires which the natives had made from place to place to lure the fish by[166] night into their weirs. The wind also increased, and the waves rose higher and began to sparkle brightly, and occasionally a strong gust would seem to change the whole surface of the sea into a sheet of fire. For a time my boatmen felt strong, and encouraged each other with a wild shouting like an Indian warwhoop, and in this way we had made more than a mile from the shore, when the wind became much heavier, and occasionally an ugly wave broke over us. My men still continued to paddle on until we found that we were scarcely holding our own against the storm. Then they became discouraged and proposed to go back, but turning round such a long, narrow boat in the midst of a rough sea was by no means an easy matter. The man forward stopped to rest, and just then a heavy flaw struck the front part of the boat, whirled it round in an instant, and away we flew off before the tempest like a race-horse. It had now become so dark and thick that, though the natives knew every foot of the shore, they could not tell where to steer, and it was only by paddling with all their might that we escaped running into a mass of foaming breakers. Finally we once more reached the shore; the rajah had some rice and fish cooked, and at midnight I took my second meal that day. My bedroom was so open that the wind whistled in on every side and so completely chilled me that I expected to find myself burning with fever the next day, but the excitement counteracted the cold, and I arrived again at Amboina safe and well. After such an excursion several days were passed writing labels, one of which I placed in each individual shell, a[167] wearying and almost an endless task, but the thought continually occurred to me that, if I should not be permitted to return to my native land, such authentic labels in my own handwriting would enable any one into whose hands my collection might fall to fully accomplish the object of my long journey.

July 23d.—This morning, at a quarter-past four, I was suddenly awaked by some cause which, for the moment, I could not understand, but immediately there began a low, heavy rumbling down deep in the earth. It was not a roar, but such a rattling or quick succession of reports as is made when a number of heavily-laden coaches are rapidly driven down a steep street paved with round cobble-stones. At the next instant it seemed as if some huge giant had seized my bed, and had pushed it from him and then pulled it toward him with the greatest violence. The gentleman and lady with whom I was residing shouted out to me: “Run out of the house! run for your life! There is a dreadful earthquake!”

Back of the main house was the dining-room, surrounded by a low wall, and covered with a light roof. This was our place of refuge. The gentleman then explained to me that the shock which had just occurred was the second, and a very severe one, and the first, which was light, was what had so suddenly aroused me from a deep sleep. Of course, no one of us knew but another still heavier might come at the next instant and lay all the buildings near us in a mass of ruins, if indeed the earth should not open and swallow us all alive.[168] The time that elapsed between hearing the rumbling noise and feeling the shock itself was about five seconds. At this time of the year, in the middle of a monsoon, the wind blows constantly day and night; but after this earthquake there was not the slightest perceptible motion in the air. The tree-toads stopped their steady piping, and the nocturnal insects all ceased their shrill music. It was so absolutely quiet that it seemed as if all nature was waiting in dread anticipation of some coming catastrophe. Such an unnatural stillness was certainly more painful than the howling of the most violent tempest or the roar of the heaviest thunder. Meantime, lights sprang up here and there in the neighboring houses, and all the doors were thrown open, that at the slightest warning everybody might run into the street. The strange words of the Chinese, Malays, and Arabs, sounded yet stranger in the dark, still night, as each called in a subdued but most earnest tone to his or her relatives. The utter helplessness which every one feels at such a time, where even the solid earth groans and trembles beneath his feet, makes the solicitude most keenly painful. It was half an hour—and that half hour seemed an age—before the wind began to blow as before. Then the nocturnal animals, one after another, slowly resumed their nightly cries, and our alarm gradually subsided as the dawn appeared, and once more gave promise of approaching day. I had long been anxious to witness an earthquake; but since that dreadful night there is something in the very sound of the word that makes me almost shudder.[169] There is usually at least one earthquake—that is, one series of shocks—at Amboina every year, and when eight or ten months have passed without one, a very heavy shock is always expected.

On the 17th of February, 1674, according to Valentyn, Amboina suffered from a heavy earthquake, and Mount Ateti, or Wawanu, on Hitu, west of the village of Zyt, poured out a great quantity of hot mud, which flowed down to the sea. In 1822 Dr. S. Müller visited it and found a considerable quantity of sublimed sulphur, and some sulphurous acid gas rising from it. Again, in 1815, when the volcano of Tomboro, or Sumbawa, was suffering its terrible eruption, an earthquake was felt at several places on this island. Many people described to me a series of shocks of great violence that began on the 1st of November, 1835, and continued three weeks. The whole population of the city were obliged to leave their houses and live for all that time in tents and bamboo huts in the large common back of the forts. Up to that date Amboina had been a remarkably healthy place, but immediately afterward a gastric-bilious fever broke out and continued until March, 1845. On the 20th of July of that year another heavy earthquake was experienced, and this disease at once began again, but had somewhat subsided, when, on the 18th and 20th of March, 1850, another severe shock occurred, and again for the third time it commenced anew. This time both the governor and the assistant resident died. At present Amboina is one of the healthiest islands in these seas. On the 4th and 5th of November, 1699, a[170] series of earthquakes occurred among the mountains where the river that flows through Batavia takes its rise. During these shocks a land-slide occurred, and the water was so filled with mud that the canals and ramifications of the river in the city were silted up, and their currents completely stopped. The immediate consequence was, a large proportion of the population of that city fell victims to a fever engendered by the great quantities of stagnant water. No similar cause could have operated here on the island of Amboina. As the quantity of rain, the strength and direction of the wind, and all other meteorological phenomena, appear to have been the same as in other years, it is evident that the disease was connected in some way with the earthquakes, and the view has been advanced that it was caused by quantities of poisonous gases which are supposed to have risen out of the earth during the violent shocks.

Many fine shells were now brought me from Tulahu, a kampong on the northeast coast of Hitu, so I determined to go on my next excursion in that direction. Two miles up the bay from the city of Amboina a tongue of land projects out from either shore, until a passage only five hundred yards wide is left between them. Within this passage the sea again expands into a bay about three miles long and a mile and a half wide. The depth of the water in the passage is sufficient for the largest ships, yet inside it is nowhere more than twenty or twenty-five fathoms. A large navy could anchor here, and be perfectly sheltered from all winds and seas; but vessels rarely[171] or never enter it, as the road off the city is so far from the mouth of the bay that it is very seldom any considerable swell rolls in from the ocean, and moreover, the shores of this bay are considered extremely unhealthy on account of fevers, while sickness of that kind is very rare at the outer anchorage. On the eastern or Laitimur side of the bay there are several kampongs upon the low land along the shore. Back from the low land, on the Hitu side, there is a gradual ascent to mountains a mile or two back. One of them, Salhutu, rises twelve hundred metres above the sea, and is the highest peak on the island. In the shallow water around the head of the bay grow many mangrove-trees (Rhizophoræ). A low isthmus of sand and alluvium, only some thirteen hundred yards broad, and but a few feet above high-water level, connects Laitimur with Hitu. Through this a canal was cut in 1827 to the large bay of Baguala, in order that the praus bound from Ceram to Amboina might avoid the long route round the dangerous shores of Laitimur; but in twelve years this passage became so filled up with sand as to be impassable, except for small boats, and now they can only go to and fro during high tide, and thus whatever there is to be transported must be carried on the backs of coolies. It is very painful to see such valuable improvements neglected and becoming useless, for it shows that the whole tendency in this region, instead of being toward progress, is only toward decay. Crossing this isthmus, we continued along the sandy shores on the north side of Baguala Bay, for this is the only highway between the city of Amboina[172] and the populous islands of Haruku, Saparua, and Nusalaut, to the east. Occasionally the path passed over a projecting point, but when it is low water the natives usually prefer to follow along the shore, just as their fathers did for centuries before them, although it is frequently twice as far as by the road. In an hour and a half we came to Suli, a pretty Christian kampong. The road then turned to the north and led us for two or three miles over low hills of coral rock, covered with a thin layer of red soil, to Tulahu, a village on the north coast, which contains a population of about fifteen hundred, and is the largest on the island. Near its centre is a mosque, for the whole community is composed of Mohammedans. As I passed up the main street on my way to the house of the rajah, scores of boys and men kept gathering and following, to learn from my servants who this strange foreigner that headed the procession could be, and what was the object of his coming. The rajah had been notified by the Resident of my proposed visit, and received me with a profound “salaam.” In the village was a ruma négri, or “house belonging to the village.” It had been erected by the villagers, in accordance with orders from the Dutch Government, for the accommodation of all officials and foreigners passing that way. It was built in the usual style of foreign houses in the East, with a broad veranda in front, an admirable place to trade with the people. A comfortable bedroom was fitted up for me, but I dined with the rajah. I was always careful to take a good supply of tea and sugar on such excursions,[173] and my servants purchased chickens, fish, and whatever else was to be procured; in short, I bought all the food, and the rajah helped me eat it, so that I fulfilled to the letter the order of the governor-general that I should prove “no burden to the native people;” but, on the contrary, as I spent many guilders for shells in each village, my visits, in their eyes, were special blessings. Again and again mothers would come with their children and complain most bitterly that they had so little food and clothing, and beg me to take the shells they had brought, and name my own price. The rajah at first could hardly believe I should collect many shells in his village, but I asked him to beat the tifa for his capalas, literally “head men,” but really a higher class of servants, whose duty it is to convey to the people the rajah’s commands, and see them duly enforced. The capalas were ordered to summon all those who probably had shells in their houses, that I might invite them to trade. Meantime supper was prepared. The first object on the table that attracted my attention was an Octopus, or “inkfish,” an animal much like the squid of our own shores, which fishermen sometimes use for bait, and which whalers know is a favorite morsel for blackfish; but I never heard of men feasting on it before. After this questionable dish and a chicken were disposed of, the fried fruit of the Artocarpus incisa, or “bread-fruit tree,” was placed on the table. After supper I walked through all the principal streets of the village, supported on either side by a capala, who persistently drove all the natives out of the street before us, and forced them to[174] take their proper place behind us. To give the trade more éclat, I took a good quantity of small copper coins and distributed them freely among the small children as I passed along. The result of this manœuvre was most magical; everybody was anxious to make my acquaintance and sell me shells. Even the good Mohammedan priest laid aside his feelings of indifference toward the Christian stranger, and invited me under his roof. He also intimated that he could favor me with a few species, but, as his prices were five times as high as those of the common people, I neglected to make a selection from his treasures.

Each evening that I was in this village the rajah insisted on my passing hour after hour on his veranda, describing to him the foreign countries he could name. Like many other natives who would like to be free from all European rule, it afforded him great comfort to hear that Tana Ollanda (Holland) was much smaller in area than France or England. When I came to tell him that Tana America was a still greater country, he listened politely, but a half-incredulous smile revealed his belief that I only spoke of it in such an enthusiastic manner because I was an American; yet when I added, that however much other nations might wish to possess these beautiful islands, America would never have such a desire, his knowledge of geography seemed to have become complete at once, and he explained to all who were listening that Tana America was admitted by all to be the largest and the most powerful of all nations. He also had an almost endless series of questions to ask[175] about the sovereigns of the lands I had described, and, like a good Mohammedan, expressed his confidence that I should speak well of the Sultan of Turkey, whom he appeared to regard as the next in authority to the Prophet himself.

The next day I went westward to Waai, where I obtained many specimens of the great Trochus marmoratus, which lives in abundance a little farther toward the northwestern end of the island, but can only be procured alive during the opposite monsoon. Its beautifully marbled, sea-green surface, and bright, pearly interior have always made it a favorite ornament for the parlor in every land. Many, wishing to improve on Nature, remove the green outer layers either by hydrochloric or nitric acid, so as to give the exterior also a bright nacreous iridescence. Hundreds of the heavy opercula of these animals are found on the neighboring shores, for Nature has provided each with this thick door, which, after it has withdrawn itself into the shell, it can close behind it, and thus be free from all harm.

On my return I found my house besieged with more than two hundred of both sexes and of every age, from infancy to second childhood. Each had a lot of shells to sell, and therefore the prices were very low; but I was careful to pay them more than they could earn in any other way in the same time. The women and children on all these islands are accustomed to gather mollusks at every low tide for food, and whenever any particularly rare or beautiful shell is found, it is always saved; and it was for this reason that I was always confident that I could obtain some valuable[176] specimens in every village. Here I secured one shell, the Strombus latissimus, or “thick-lipped strombus,” that I had long been hoping to see. It lives in the deep water between these shores and the opposite coast of Ceram, and I could not hear that it is found in any other locality. Many species of long “spindle-shells” (Fusi) are found here—some nearly smooth and some richly ornamented with tubercles.

I had now been on the island four weeks, and it was time for the monthly mail to arrive, bringing me letters from home. This exciting thought caused me to forget even my passion for shells, and, promising the natives I would come again and purchase all the specimens they could collect, I returned to the city of Amboina.