Perjalanan di Kepulauan Hindia Timur/Bab 8

CHAPTER VIII.

BURU.

Sept. 25th.—Steamed down the bay from Amboina, this time not without a slight feeling of sadness as I recalled the many happy hours I had passed gathering shells on its shores and rambling over its high hills, and as I realized that it would probably never be my privilege to enjoy those pleasures again. Only three months had elapsed since my arrival at Batavia, but I had passed through so many and such different scenes, that Amboina appeared to have been my home for a year—and so it seems to this day.

As we came out of the mouth of the bay, we changed our course to the west, and kept so near the land, that I had a fine opportunity to reëxamine the places I had visited during a heavy storm, when the sea was rolling into white surf and thundering along the shore.

Off the western end of Ceram lie three islands, Bonoa, Kilang, and Manipa. Bonoa, the most easterly, is a hilly island about twelve miles long and half as broad. Its population is divided into Christians and Mohammedans, and each has such a bitter hatred against the other, that the Christians at last determined to expatriate themselves, and accordingly,[254] in 1837, migrated to Bachian. The clove-gardens in Bonoa were thus in danger of being neglected, and the man who was governor of the Moluccas at that time therefore sent messengers to induce them to return; but, when this measure proved unavailing, he went himself in a war-ship, and brought them back.

From Amboina we passed up the strait between Kilang and Manipa, which is less than a mile wide, and made much narrower by long tongue-shaped reefs of coral which project from several points. A fresh breeze had sprung up from the south, and, under a full head of steam and a good press of canvas, we ploughed through the waves which rolled up against the wind. In all these straits the tidal currents are very strong, and in many places so swift that a good boat cannot make headway against them with oars, and this makes many of these narrow channels very dangerous for the native boats.

That evening the bright fires built by the fishermen on the shores of Bonoa were seen on our larboard side, and the next morning we were near the Seven Brothers, a group of islands on the west side of Sawai Bay. Here are three dangerous reefs not laid down on the charts, a mile or more from the shore. As we passed, mountains three or four thousand feet in height were seen standing by the sea near the head of the bay. At noon we came to anchor in the little harbor of Wahai, which is formed by coral reefs that are bare at low tide. Unfortunately, it is too small for sailing-ships to enter safely, or it would be visited occasionally by those of our whalers who frequent these seas. The whole village consists of a[255] small fort, a house for the commandant, who has the rank of captain, a house for the doctor, and a few native huts on either hand. The only communication the inhabitants of this isolated post have with the rest of the world is by means of coolies, who cross over from the head of Elpaputi Bay to the head of Sawai Bay, and then come along the shore. All the natives in the interior are entirely independent of the Dutch Government, and the coast natives, who carry the mail, are liable to be robbed or killed at any moment while on their journey.

My hunter at once began collecting birds, while I searched the shores for shells, and bought what the natives chanced to have in their miserable dwellings. The most common shell here is an Auricula. Its peculiar aperture, as its name implies, is like that of the human ear. It lives on the soft, muddy flats, where the many-rooted mangrove thrives. The rarest and most valuable shell found here, and indeed one of the rarest living in all these seas, is the Rostellaria rectirostris. It is so seldom found that a pair is frequently sold here for ten guilders, four Mexican dollars. My hunter soon returned with two large white doves, the Carpophaga luctuosa, and a very perfect specimen of that famous bird, the Platycercus hypophonius, G. R. Gray, called by the Malays the castori rajah, or “prince parrot,” from its being the most beautiful of all that brilliantly-plumaged family. It is a small bird for a parrot. The head, neck, and under parts are of a bright scarlet; the wings a dark, rich green, and the back and rump a bright lapis-lazuli blue, that shades off into a deeper blue in the tail, which[256] is nearly as long as the body. These birds generally fly in pairs, and as they dart through the evergreen foliage, and you catch a glimpse of their graceful forms and brilliant plumage, it seems like the momentary recollection of some dream of Paradise. Large flocks of red luris, Eos rubra, Gml., other species of parrakeets, and many sorts of doves, frequent the surrounding woods, and several species of kingfishers and snipes live by the shore. For three days I enjoyed this rare hunting. We then steamed out of the little bay of Wahai for the island of Buru. While passing Bonoa we kept near the shore, and saw a large white monument which was erected by the Portuguese, and is probably one of the padroes, or “pillars of discovery,” placed there by D’Abreu when he first reached these long-sought isles. Soon we passed Swangi, “Spirit Island,” a lonely rock near Manipa, supposed by these superstitious natives to be haunted by some evil spirit.

Buru, the island to which we were bound, lies a few miles west of Manipa. Its area is estimated at about twenty-six hundred geographical square miles, so that it is one-half larger than Bali or Lombok. Its form is oval, with the greatest axis east and west. Its shores, instead of being deeply indented, like those of all the larger islands in that region, are entire, except on the northwest corner, where they recede and form the great bay of Kayéli. The entrance to this bay is between two high capes, three or four miles apart, so that on the northeast it is quite open to the sea. Within these capes the shores become low, forming on the southwest a large morass; and[257] the bay expands to the east and west until it is about seven miles long. In the low lands bordering the south side of this bay is the Dutch “bezitting,” or post, also named Kayéli. Here is a small, well-built fort, in which are stationed a lieutenant and doctor, and a company of militia from Java or Madura. A controleur has charge of the civil department, and the governor had kindly given me a note to him, and he and his good lady at once received me kindly, and, as it proved, I made my home with them and the doctor for a long time. The plan the governor proposed was that we should leave for Ternate and New Guinea in five days after the steamer landed me at Kayéli. Those five days passed, but no steamer appeared. Again and again I watched by the hour, hoping, almost expecting, to be able to discern smoke on the horizon, and soon see the Telegraph coming into the harbor. Thus a week passed, then ten days, and by this time all, like myself, had come to the conviction that some unexpected and unfortunate event must have happened. But what was it? No one could tell. Fifteen days of such uncertainty and solicitude passed, when a large prau was seen coming in from the sea. It brought me a letter from Governor Arriens, stating that just as he was on the point of coming to take me, as proposed, news came that a great revolt had broken out in Ceram. Immediately he accompanied the captain of a large man-of-war, whose duty it was to put down all insurrections. When they arrived off the village, the captain, contrary to the advice of all, landed with a small force, hoping to be able to treat with the rebels, but he[258] had scarcely touched the shore when a party of them in ambush poured a volley into his boat, wounding him twice severely, but not fatally. I now found myself really banished, for the yacht was needed too much to come and take me away. I therefore resigned myself quietly to my fate, and determined to profit by the opportunity to make a collection of the beautiful birds of the island. My first excursion was to a cliff on the southeast side of the bay, near its mouth, which I found was composed of metamorphic schists, that were very much fissured by joints and seams, and fell apart in cubical blocks. Another place I frequently visited was the low morass on the southwest side of the bay, through which flows out a stream of such size that a large canoe can ascend it for three days. Along the canals in this morass is a thick forest, the high branches of which meet above, forming for a considerable distance grand covered avenues. Here the kingfishers delight to gather, and, perching on the lower boughs, occasionally dart downward, like falling arrows, into the quiet water. It was most delightful, during the heat of the day, to glide along in these cool and shady canals, which wind to and fro, and in such an endless series of curves and angles, that no one could weary of the rich, almost oppressive, vegetation that continually surrounds him. At the mouth of this small river are long shallow banks of sand, which are bare at low tide, and on these are many large snags and logs that have come down the streams and grounded while on their way to the sea. On these wide banks, as the ebbing ceases and the tide begins to flow, long[259] lines of gulls, sand-pipers, plovers, and curlews, gather, and, as the water advances, they are forced to approach the shore until the only resting-places left them are the logs and snags that raise their crooked limbs and roots above the surface of the water. At such times these perching-places are one living, fluttering mass of birds. Again and again I came to this spot, and always returned with as many specimens as my native hunter could skin on the following day.

A few minutes’ walk back of the controleur’s house took me into the surrounding forest, where I was accustomed to ramble to and fro hour after hour until I knew all the favorite haunts of most of the birds; yet nearly every day, till the time I left, I secured specimens of a species that had not been represented in my collection. Still others were seen, and one or more specimens of them must be obtained; and thus, the more I collected, the more interesting became my work. My regular daily routine was to hunt in the morning till ten or eleven o’clock, return to the house to avoid the heat, and then go out again about four, and remain till the setting sun warned me to return or grope my way back as best I could through the dark woods. Soon after I arrived, a tree, as large as our oak, became filled with great scarlet flowers, and in the early morning flocks of red luris (Eos rubra, Gml.) and other parrakeets, with blue heads, red and green breasts, and the feathers on the under side of the wings of a light red and brilliant yellow (Trichoglossus cyanogrammus, Wagl.), would come to feed on them. It was easy to know[260] where those birds had begun their morning feast by their loud, unceasing screeching and chattering; and, after stealthily creeping through dense shrubbery for hundreds of yards, I would suddenly behold one of these great trees filled with scores of such brilliantly-plumaged birds, flying about or climbing out to the ends of the branches, and using their wings to aid in poising themselves while they made a dainty breakfast on the rich flowers. These are indeed the birds that Moore describes as—

“Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between
The crimson flowers of the coral-tree
In the warm isles of India’s sunny sea.”

Soon after sunset huge bats always came out, in pairs, and sailed about on their leathery wings, searching for those trees that chanced to be in fruit. The wings of a male that I shot measured four feet and four inches from tip to tip, and the wings of the female, which accompanied him, expanded four feet eight inches. They are very properly named by the Dutch, “flying foxes,” and almost seem to be antediluvian monsters, which ought to have disappeared from the face of the earth long ago, like the formidable Pterodactyles. During the day they hide away in the thick foliage, and one afternoon I found one hanging, as they delight to do when they rest or sleep, with its head downward, from the limb of a tree. They are very tenacious of life, and will receive charge after charge of large shot in the head before they will let go of the limbs with their crooked claws and allow themselves to fall. They are said to be good for food, but I never saw the natives eat them, and certainly had[261] no desire myself to try the flavor of such questionable meat. A small path, leading a mile through the forest, brought me out on to a large open field or prairie, covered with a coarse grass as high as a man’s shoulders. Beyond this was another forest, and there I was informed was a settlement of two or three houses, the farthest place inland inhabited by any of the coast people or common Malays. Beyond that point there is not the slightest footpath. All the hills and high mountains, which I could see toward the interior of the island, are covered with one dense, unbroken forest, and only on some of the lower hills, bordering the bay, are there open areas of grass. What a nice thing it would be to live out there for a week in the midst of that forest! My mind was made up to do it. I returned and explained my plan to the controleur, and the next day we set off to hire one of the distant huts. The farthest one from Kayéli, and exactly the one I wanted, chanced to be unoccupied, for the native who owned it had found the place so lonely that he had deserted it and taken up his abode in the village. The rent for a week was agreed to without much parleying. The owner further agreed to send his son to bring water and keep house while I and my hunter were away, and to be generally useful, which he interpreted to mean that he would only do what he could not avoid. Another man was engaged as cook, and my domestic arrangements were complete, for I purposed not only to live in a native house, but to conform entirely to the Malay cuisine. Our cooking-apparatus consisted of a couple of shallow kettles[262] and a small frying-pan; and the little teapot that accompanied me on my Amboina excursions was not left behind.

October 16th.—This morning we came out to our forest home. Our house is about eight feet wide, twelve feet long, and perched upon large posts four feet from the ground. It is divided by a transverse partition into a front room or parlor, and a back room or kitchen. In one corner of the latter is a square framework filled with ashes, in which are inserted three long stones, whose tops slightly incline toward each other. These are to support the kettles, for no Malay has ever conceived of a machine for cooking so complicated as a crane. As to a chimney, there is none whatever, but the smoke is allowed to escape under the eaves or through a hole in the side of the house that also serves for a window. The frame of the house is made from small trees. For a flooring, broad sheets of bark are used. The walls are made of gaba-gaba, the dry midribs of large palm-leaves, and the roof is of atap. The front door is in one of the gable ends, and is reached by a rickety ladder of two rounds. This part is transformed into a rude piazza by a shed-roof, beneath which we have made a seat and a kind of table for the hunter to use in skinning birds.

My daily routine here is the same as before—hunting every morning and evening, with a native to carry my ammunition and to pick up the birds—a very difficult task whenever we are in the thick jungle or among the tall grass. Near our house is the stony bed of a torrent, which is now perfectly[263] dry. It is the only cleared way there is through the dense forest around us, and I avail myself of it to travel up toward the mountains and down toward the sea. Indeed, I feel proud of our grand highway. True, it is not paved with blocks all carefully cut down to one precise model, and so exactly uniform as to be absolutely painful to the eye, but Nature herself has paved it in her own inimitable way—notice how all the stones have been rounded by the boiling torrent which pours down here from the mountains during the rainy season. Some are almost perfect ellipsoides or spheres, but most are disk-shaped, for they are made from thin fragments of slate that had sharp corners when they broke away from their parent mountain. To prevent a dull uniformity of color, she has scattered here and there rounded boulders of opaque milk-white quartz, fragments, undoubtedly, from beds of that rock which, at this place at least, are interstratified with the slate. Here and there are deeper places, where the troubled stream was accustomed to rest before it went on again in a foaming torrent to empty its sparkling waters into the wide sea, the original source of all streams. By this way I visit my nearest neighbors and procure chickens, which our cook roasts on sticks over the fire, after having carefully rubbed them with salt and a liberal allowance of red pepper, the two universal condiments among the Malays. For ages all the salt these people have had has been brought from Java. The red pepper thrives well everywhere without the slightest care, and it is almost always found growing near every hut. A large bush[264] of it at one corner of our house is now filled with fruit of all sizes; some small and green, and some fully grown and showing it is already ripe by its bright-pink color. In this condition the Malays gather and dry it, and always carry a good supply wherever they go. Its Malay name is lombok, but the one more generally used is the Javanese name chabé. Besides chickens, we have paddy, that is, rice in the husk. A large elliptical hole is made in a log for a mortar, a small quantity of paddy is then poured in and pounded with a stick five or six feet long, and as large round as a man’s arm. This is raised vertically, and, when the hole is nearly even full, a native will usually pound off all the husks without scattering more than a few grains on the ground; but, if a foreigner attempts it, he will be surprised to see how the rice will fly off in all directions at every blow. When the husks are pounded off they are separated from the kernels by being tossed up from a shallow basket and carried away by the wind, as our farmers used to winnow grain. This is the only mode of preparing rice practised by the Malays, and the process is the same in every part of the archipelago. From one corner of our piazza hangs a large bunch of green bananas to ripen in the sunshine. I find it very agreeable to pluck off a nice ripe one myself when I come in weary and thirsty from a long hunt. From the other corner hangs a cluster of cocoa-nuts filled with clear, cool, refreshing water.

Not far from us is a hut inhabited by two natives, who are engaged in cultivating tobacco. Their ladangs, or gardens, are merely places of an acre or[265] less, where the thick forest has been partially destroyed by fire, and the seed is sown in the regular spaces between the stumps. As soon as the leaves are fully grown they are plucked off, and the petiole and a part of the midrib are cut away. Each leaf is then cut transversely into strips about a sixteenth of an inch wide, and these are dried in the sun until a mass of them looks like a bunch of oakum. It is then ready for use, and at once carried to market. This cosmopolite, Nicotiana tabacum, is a native of our own country. Las Casas says that the Spaniards on Columbus’s first voyage saw the natives in Cuba smoking it in tubes called tabacos, hence its name. Mr. Crawford states that, according to a Javanese chronicle, it was introduced into Java in the year 1601, ninety years after the conquest of Malacca by the Portuguese, who were probably the first Europeans that furnished it to the Javanese, as the Dutch had not yet formed an establishment on the island. It is now cultivated in every part of the archipelago. The fact that this narcotic was originally found only in America leads us to infer, without raising the questions whether our continent received her aboriginal population from some other part of the globe, or whether they were created here, that there never has been any extensive migration of our Indians or red-men to the islands in the Pacific, or to any distant part of the world; for if they had colonized any area, in that place at least, its use would undoubtedly continue to exist at the present day, since it is probable that they would never have thought of going to a new[266] land without taking with them this plant, which they valued more even than food, and which they had been accustomed to cultivate. If, after establishing themselves in their new colony, they had been overpowered and completely destroyed by some more powerful tribe, their conquerors would probably have become addicted to the same habit as readily as the people of every clime and every stage of civilization do now, and thus the practice would have been perpetuated, though the people who introduced it perished ages ago, and all the idols, and temples, and fortifications they might have made, have long since crumbled into dust. This inference is greatly strengthened, if we consider the past and present geographical distribution of maize, or Indian corn, which is also a native of our continent only, and, like tobacco, is now raised in every part of the archipelago. Unlike rice, this plant thrives on hill-sides and elevated lands, and can therefore be raised on all the larger islands in these seas, where there are few level areas that can be readily inundated for the cultivation of rice. It was also probably introduced by the Portuguese, for Juan Gaetano, a Spanish pilot, who visited Mindanao in 1642, twenty-one years after the discovery of the Philippines by Magellan, states[41] that “in a certain part of that island ruled by the Moors” (Arabs), “there are some small artillery, and hogs, deer, buffaloes, and other animals of the chase, with Castilian” (or common) “fowls, rice, palms, and cocoa-nuts. There is no maize in that[267] island, but for bread they use rice and a bark which they call sagu, from which also they extract oil in like manner as they do from palms.”

As maize is not difficult to be transported on account of its bulk or liability to any injury, and formed the chief article of food among most of our red-men, it would be the very provision they would take with them on their migrations; and as the part eaten is the fruit, they would have plenty of seed, and would know from their previous experience precisely how to cultivate it.

One part of the surrounding forest is a grove of jati, or teak-trees, Tectona grandis, Linn. Those found here are only a foot or fifteen inches in diameter and forty feet high, a size they attain in Java in twenty-five or thirty years, where they do not reach their full growth in less than a century. The native name jati is a word of Javanese origin, signifying true, or genuine, and was probably applied to these trees on account of the well-known durability of the wood they yield. Now, near the end of the dry monsoon, they have lost nearly all their foliage; for, though it is sometimes asserted that in the tropics the leaves fall imperceptibly one by one, that is not true, in this region, where there are well-defined wet and dry seasons. The teak also thrives in a few places on the continent, and is found in the central and eastern provinces of Java, in Madura, Bali, and particularly in Sumbawa, where the wood is considered better than that of Java, but it is said to be unknown in Sumatra, Borneo, and in the peninsula of Malacca. It exists in some places in Celebes, but[268] the natives assert that the seed was brought there from Java by one of the sovereigns of Tanéte. It is therefore uncertain whether the teak is a native of this island. In the early morning, and again soon after sunset, flocks of large green parrots, Tanygnathus macrorynchus, Wagl., come to these trees to feed on the fruit which is now ripe. They are so wary that it is extremely difficult to get near them, especially as the large dry leaves of this tree cover the ground and continually crack and rustle beneath one’s feet. To see these magnificent birds flying back and forth in the highest glee, while they remain unconscious of danger, is a grand sight, and it seems little less than absolute wickedness to shoot one, even when it is to be made the subject, not of idle gazing, but of careful study, and it requires still greater resolution to put an end to one’s admiration and pull the fatal trigger. When one of these birds has been wounded, its mate, and sometimes the whole flock, hearing its cries, at once comes back, as if hoping to relieve its misery.

In many places in this vicinity the tall canari-tree is seen raising its high crest, and there flocks of cream-colored doves, Carpophaga luctuosa, gather to feed on its fruit. Their loud, continuous cooing leads the hunter a long way through the jungle. Among the limbs of the lower trees are seen the long-tailed doves, Carpophaga perspiclata. On the banks of the dry brook, near our house, are bunches of bamboos, through which flit fly-catchers, Muscicapidæ, and the beautiful Monarcha loricata, a slender bird about as large as a martin, of a blue[269] above, and a pure, almost silvery white beneath, except on the throat, which is covered with scale-like feathers, of a rich metallic blue-black. So far as is known, this beautiful bird is only found on this island. In the bushes and shrubbery is constantly heard the cheerful note of a bird, the Trobidorynchus bouruensis, somewhat larger than our robin. By day I enjoyed this Robinson Crusoe life very much, but the mosquitoes proved such a torment by night that we could scarcely sleep. A great smouldering fire was made under our hut, but its only effect was to increase our misery, and make the mosquitoes more bloodthirsty. We were frequently disturbed also by several yellow dogs, which came to crunch what chicken-bones the cook had thrown away, and to upset every thing around the house that was not already in a state of stable equilibrium. Afterward, when all was still, occasionally a heavy crash sighed through the deep woods, caused by the falling of some old tree, whose roots had been slowly consumed by the fires that prevail in the neighborhood during the dry season.

At the end of a week my hunter had preserved the skins of sixty-three beautiful birds, including specimens of six species that I had not secured before. We now returned to Kayéli; and though there were only eight white persons in the whole place, I could nevertheless feel that I was returning to civilization, and that I could speak some other language than Malay.

The village of Kayéli is really composed of eleven separate parts, or kampongs, all situated on a low,[270] marshy place, a couple of hundred yards back from the sand-beach. They are separated from each other by a little stream, or kali, and each has its own rajah, and formerly had its own little square mosque, for all these eleven tribes are Mohammedans, and keep separate from each other, because they lived in different parts of the island when the Dutch arrived. In the centre of this village is a large, square lawn, formed by the fort, the residence of a controleur, and a few other houses. Back of the lawn is the Christian kampong; for in every village where there are Mohammedans and Christians, each has a separate part to itself. Occasionally, instead of a healthful spirit of rivalry, a more bitter hostility springs up than existed between the Jews and the Samaritans, and finally the weaker party is obliged to migrate, as in the case mentioned in regard to the inhabitants of Bonoa.

From Valentyn we learn that, according to native accounts, as early as A. D. 1511, ten years before the arrival of the Portuguese, the Sultan of Ternate sent out expeditions which subjected all the tribes of this island. In 1652 a treaty was made between the sultan and the Dutch, that all the clove-trees on the island should be uprooted. The natives opposed this measure to the best of their ability, but after a resistance which lasted five years, they were completely subjected, all their clove-trees were destroyed, and they were obliged to remove to Kayéli Bay, and live under the range of the Dutch cannon. Since that time (1657), the clove-tree has never been introduced again. Previous to the expedition of the Sultan of[271] Ternate in 1511, the shores of the island were occupied by the Malays, who had already subjected the earliest inhabitants of the island of which we have any knowledge. During my stay at Kayéli I saw several of them, though they are always shy about entering the village. Like the Alfura of Ceram, they resemble the Malays in stature and general appearance, but are distinguished from them by their darker color, and by their hair, which is frizzly, not lank like that of the Malays, and not woolly, like that of the Papuans. As in Ceram, many of them suffer from that unsightly disease, icthyosis, in which the skin becomes dry and comes off in scales. Their houses are described as the most miserable hovels, consisting of little more than a roof of palm-leaves resting on four poles, with a kind of platform a foot or two above the ground, where they sit and sleep. They are all free, and slavery is wholly unknown. Mr. T. J. Miller, who was formerly resident here, took much pains to gather all the information possible in regard to them. He states that they have divided the island into Fennas or tribes, each of which has a chief. Instead of living together in villages, like the Malays, they are scattered over their whole territory. Several of these chiefs continue to acknowledge one of the Mohammedan rajahs, or, as they are named by the Dutch, “regents,” in the village of Kayéli, as their superior. Formerly, each was obliged to send one young girl to its regent for a bride every year, but the Dutch have long since relieved them from such an unwelcome exaction. In former times also they were compelled to pay their regent a[272] certain part of their rice and sago, and provide men to row his prau or to carry his chair, if he proceeded by land, but they have been freed from this onerous service, and the Malays who live in the village with the rajah are obliged to perform such offices for him. In regard to marriage, each man buys his wife, her price, according to their laws, depending on the rank of her father, as in Ceram, but a man is not, however, required to cut off a human head before he can be allowed to marry, as is the custom in that island. Instead, therefore, of being fierce head-hunters, as the Alfura of Ceram, they are mild and inoffensive. They believe, according to Mr. Miller, in one Supreme Being, who made every thing, and is the source of all good and all evil. They believe in evil spirits. Prayer leads to prosperity; the negligence of this duty to adversity. Through the love that this Supreme Being had for man, whom He had created, He sent him a teacher, Nabiata, who lived among the mountains. He gave the will of his Master in seven commandments, namely: 1. Thou shalt not kill nor wound. 2. Thou shalt not steal. 3. Thou shalt not commit adultery. 4. Thou shalt not set thyself against thy fenna. 5. A man shall not set himself up against the chief of his tribe. 6. The chief shall not set himself up against him that is over his or other tribes. 7. The chief over more than one tribe shall not set himself up against him who is placed over all the tribes. Nabiata also taught that, though the body perishes, the soul shall still continue to exist. They who have kept the foregoing commandments—for all the acts of men are recorded by[273] this Supreme Being—shall dwell far above the clouds near the Omniscient One. They who have done wickedly shall never rise to the abode of the happy nor remain on earth, but continually, in solitude and sorrow, wander about on the clouds, longing in vain to join their brothers who are above or beneath them. Nabiata also instituted circumcision, which was performed on both sexes when they attained the age of eight or ten years. From the introduction of this rite we may infer that this Nabiata was a Mohammedan teacher, probably an Arab, who had found his way to this region on a Javanese or Malay prau, that had come to purchase cloves. Finally, according to their legend, Nabiata made men of birth his disciples and teachers, and ascended to the abode of the good from whence he came.

One day, while at Kayéli, I received a most polite invitation to attend a feast at one of the rajah’s houses. The occasion was the shaving of a young child’s head. An Arab priest began the rite by repeating a prayer in a monotonous nasal chant, five others joining in from time to time by way of a chorus. After the long prayer was ended, a servant brought in the child, and another servant followed carrying a large plate partly filled with water, in which were two parts of the blossom of a cocoa-nut-palm, a razor, and a pair of shears. The child was first carried to the chief priest, who dipped his fingers in the water, placed them on the child’s head, and then cut off a lock of hair with the large shears. The lock of hair was then carefully thrown into the water along with a guilder. We all did the same. Tea[274] and small cakes made of rice were then served, and “the feast” was ended. The child was one year old; when it becomes eight or nine it will have to submit to that abominable custom prevailing among both sexes of all ranks of Mohammedans, filing the teeth. This, I was informed, was done with a flat stone, or a fragment of slate, and sometimes even with a piece of bamboo. The object is to make the teeth short, and the front ones concave on the outer side, so as to hold the black dye. The Christians never file theirs, and the Mohammedans always ridicule the teeth of such natives by calling them “dogs’ teeth,” because they are “so white and so long.”

At another time I received an invitation to attend a wedding-feast, but, when I reached the house, it proved to be a feast that the married couple give to their friends a few days after the wedding. As on all such festive occasions, the house and veranda were brilliantly lighted, and on either side from the house out to the street were a number of posts made of the large soft trunks of bananas. On their tops large lumps of gum were burned. Between them were arches made of young leaves of the cocoa-nut palm, arranged as I had previously seen in Nusalaut. The bride (who, of course, is to be spoken of first), to our surprise, did not prove to be a young and blooming lass, but already in middle life, yet a suitable helpmeet at least for the bridegroom, who was an Arab, and had married this, his second wife, since he came to Buru, only four months ago. The former wife he had sent back to her parents, much against her wishes. When a wife desires to leave her husband,[275] she cannot do so without his consent, which the husband generally grants, choosing the less of two evils, and, moreover, it is regarded as very ungallant to retain an unwilling mate; but, while travelling in Sumatra, I saw one husband who would not allow his wife another choice, but his was a very peculiar case. His father was a Chinaman, and therefore, as the descendants of the Chinese do, he had shaved his head and wore a cue, and was a Chinaman also; but, becoming desperately enamoured of a Mohammedan lass, he concluded to yield to her unusual demand, that he too must become a Mohammedan before he could be accepted. She soon repented of her proposal, but he replied that he had suffered so much for her sake, he would not release her from her vows—such are the unlimited privileges granted the husband by the laws of the false Prophet.

While at Amboina I was surprised one day, just before dinner, to see a strange servant appear with a large platter containing fifteen or twenty kinds of fishes, fruit, and the various inimitable mixtures made by the Chinese, in whose quarter of the city we were residing. The gentleman with whom I was living, however, explained the mystery. There was to be a wedding in a house near by, and the father of the bride was one of his hired men, and those nice preparations were intended as a present, that is, in form, it being expected that only two or three of them would be taken—and that was quite all a European palate would desire. This was repeated for three or four days. Meantime the father of the bride had hired a house where other friends were received and[276] feasted, and the father of the bridegroom also received and entertained his friends in like manner. At length came an invitation to attend the finale of this long ceremonial. We first walked to the house of the bridegroom. Large Chinese lanterns brilliantly lighted the veranda and the adjoining narrow lane, which was thronged with men and boys. We then visited the house where the bride was waiting to receive her lord. The piazza opened into a large room, and on one side of it was a smaller one, closed by a red curtain instead of a door. No one but the lady-guests were allowed to enter where the bride was sitting. The larger room contained many small tables loaded with delicacies, mostly of Chinese manufacture. Not to be unsocial, we sat down and sipped a cup of boiling tea, and observed the assembled guests while all were waiting for the coming of the bridegroom as in good Scripture times. In the opposite corner was a table surrounded with Malay ladies. It also was covered with sweetmeats, but room was soon made for the more necessary siri-box; a liberal quid of lime, pepper-leaves, and betel-nut was taken by each one, and, to complete the disgusting sight, an urn-shaped spittoon, an inseparable companion of the siri-box, was produced, and handed round from one to another as the occasion demanded. A shrill piping was now heard down the street, and every one rushed out on the veranda to see the approaching procession. First came boys with wax-candles, and near them others carrying the presents that the bride and the bridegroom had received. Then came the bridegroom himself, supported by his friends, and[277] surrounded by candles arranged at different heights on rude triangular frames. He was dressed in a Malay suit of light red, and wore a gilded chain. I had been told that, when he should attempt to enter the room where the bride sat waiting, the women would gather and persistently dispute his right to proceed, and here, in the distant East, I thought to myself, I shall see an illustration of the maxim, “None but the brave deserve the fair.” On the contrary, so far from manifesting any disposition to oppose him and prolong the ceremony, they only made way for him to enter the bridal-chamber as quickly as possible. As my friend and I were the only white persons present, we were allowed the especial favor of entering also. On one side of the room was a small table covered with a red cloth, and on this were two gigantic red wax-candles. Behind the table sat the bride, arrayed in a scarlet dress, with a white opaque veil concealing her face, and fastened to her hair. As the bridegroom approached, she slowly rose. Placing his hands with the palms together, he bowed three times in the same manner as the Chinese address the images in their temples. She returned the salutation by also bowing three times, but without raising her hands. Now came the exciting moment. She remained standing while he stepped forward and commenced pulling out the pins that held fast the opaque veil which hid her beauty from his longing eyes. Not being very skilful in this operation, a couple of the maids-in-waiting assisted him, and, by degrees, was revealed a face that was at least one shade darker than most of the ladies near her, and I[278] could but think, if that really was the first time her husband had ever seen her, he must feel not a little disappointed. However, his countenance remained unchanged, whether such a saddening reflection crossed his mind or one of delightful surprise. He then passed round the table to the side of his bashful bride, and both sat down together and were stupidly gazed at. In the opposite end of the room was the bridal-bed. The four posts rose above the bed nearly to the ceiling, and supported a mosquito-curtain which was bespangled with many little pieces of tinsel and paper flowers. Both the bride and bridegroom were Mohammedans, and this marriage was nominally according to the Mohammedan usage, but it should perhaps be more properly regarded, like most of the Malay customs at the present day, as combining parts of the rite in China and Arabia with that which existed among these nations while they observed the Hindu religion, or continued to remain in heathenism. The boys usually marry for the first time when about sixteen, and the girls at the age of thirteen or fourteen, though I was once shown a child of nine years that was already a wife, and mothers eleven or twelve years old are occasionally seen. The great obstacle to marriage in all civilized lands—the difficulty of supporting a family—is unknown here. Children, instead of being a source of expense, are a source of income. Until four or five years old, the boys do not usually wear any clothing. Their food costs very little, and all the education they receive still less, or nothing at all. The average number of persons in one family in Java, where it is[279] perhaps as large, if not larger, than elsewhere, is estimated at only four or four and a half. The fact that children help support their parents secures for them such attention that they are never entirely neglected. Polygamy is allowed here as in other Mohammedan lands, but only the wealthier natives and the princes are guilty of it. The facility with which marriages are made, and divorces obtained, is one cause why it is not more general. In regard to the evil effects of polygamy, and the ideas of this people in respect to the sacred rite of marriage, Sir Stamford Raffles, who was Governor-General of Java, most truthfully remarks: “Of the causes which have tended to lower the character of the Asiatics in comparison with Europeans, none has had a more decided influence than polygamy. To all those noble and generous feelings, all that delicacy of sentiment, that romantic and poetical spirit, which virtuous love inspires in the breast of a European, the Javan is a stranger; and in the communication between the sexes he seeks only convenience and little more than a gratification of an appetite. But the evil does not stop here: education is neglected, and family attachments are weakened. A Javan chief has been known to have sixty acknowledged children, and it too often happens that in such cases sons having been neglected in their infancy become dissipated, idle, and worthless, and spring up like rank grass and overrun the country.”

In the little village of Kayéli there were only three Chinamen, but one of them was an opium-seller. He was agent for another Chinaman at Amboina, who had bought the privilege of selling it from[280] the Dutch Government, who “farm out” or grant this privilege in every district to the highest bidder. From this article alone, the government obtains in this way an income of four or five million dollars. Opium, as is well known, is the inspissated juice obtained from the capsule of the white poppy, Papaver somniferum. Its Malay name is apyun, which, coming from the Arabic afyun, shows at once by whom it was introduced into the archipelago; the same people, as Mr. Crawfurd remarks, who made them acquainted with ardent spirits, and at the same time gave them a religion forbidding both. It is imported from India, and the poppy is not cultivated in any part of the archipelago. Barbosa mentions it in a list of articles brought from Arabia to Calicut in Malabar, and in his time its price was about one-third what it is now. The man who sells it is obliged to keep a daily account of the quantity he disposes of, and this account is open to the inspection of the government officers at all times. So large is the sum demanded by the government for this farming privilege, and so great are the profits obtained by the Chinese, who are the people that carry on most of this nefarious traffic, that the price the Malays are obliged to pay for this luxury limits its consumption very considerably. When imported, it is usually in balls five or six inches in diameter. It is then soft and of a reddish-brown color, but becomes blacker and harder the longer it is kept. It is slightly elastic, and has a waxy lustre, a strong, unpleasant odor, and to the taste is bitter, nauseous, and persistent. To prepare it for smoking, it is boiled down to the[281] consistency of thick tar. While it is boiling, tobacco and siri are sometimes added. A lamp is then lighted, and a small quantity is taken up on a piece of wire as large as a knitting-needle. This is held in the flame of the lamp until it melts and swells up as a piece of spruce-gum would do under similar circumstances. During this process it is frequently taken out of the flame and rolled between the thumb and forefinger. It is then placed in a small hole in the large bowl of the pipe, and the wire being withdrawn, a hole is left for inhaling the air. The bowl of the pipe is now placed against the lamp and the smoke inhaled with two or three long breaths, which carry the fumes down deep into the lungs. By this time the small quantity of opium in the bowl of the pipe is consumed. It is then filled as before, and this process is repeated until the eyelids become heavy and an irresistible desire to sleep possesses the whole body. Its immediate effect is to produce a passive, dreamy state. This is followed by a loss of appetite, severe constipation, and kindred ills. When a man has once contracted the habit of using it, it is impossible to reform. Greater and greater doses are required to produce the desired lethargic effect. The evil results of this vice are well shown in the accompanying photograph of a Malay, where the victim, although only in middle life, has already become so emaciated that he is little more than a living skeleton. The rude platform of planks covered with a straw mat, on which he is sitting, is his bed, while stupified with his favorite drug. A pipe, of the customary form, is seen in his right hand. Being too[282] poor to own a lamp, he has instead a small fire of charcoal raised on the top of an urn-shaped vessel of earthen-ware. By his side are seen vessels for making tea, and by copious draughts of that stimulant he will try to revive his dead limbs by and by, when he awakes from his contemplated debauch, and finds his whole energy gone, and, as it were, his very life on the point of leaving the body.

My next excursion, after a week in the woods, was with the commandant of the fort to a high bluff on the eastern side of the entrance of the bay of Kayéli. The fires which rage here year after year destroy much of the thick forest, and a tall, coarse grass takes its place. In these prairies grow many kayu-puti, or whitewood-trees, so called from their bark, which makes them resemble our white birches. Their branches are very scattering, and bear long, narrow leaves, somewhat like those of our willow, which are gathered about this time of year, for the sake of their “oil.” It is obtained in the following manner: the leaves are plucked off by hand and placed in baskets which are carried to sheds, where they are emptied into large kettles, that are partly filled with water, and carefully closed. From the centre of the cover of the kettle rises a wooden tube, to which is joined another of cloth, that is coiled up in a barrel containing cold water. A fire being made beneath the kettle, the volatile “oil” is carried over and condensed in the tube. About eight thousand bottles of this article are manufactured here every year. Indeed, it forms almost the only export from this large island. The price[283] here is about a guilder per bottle. It is sent to Java and other parts of the archipelago, and is used as a sudorific. The tree, Melaleuca cajeputi, is also found in Amboina, Ceram, Celebes, and Sumatra, but the best oil comes from this island.

After we had wandered over a number of hills, we came down into a basin, in the bottom of which was a little lake, where we found a flock of brown ducks. The borders of the lake, however, were so marshy that I could get no fair shot at this rare game. In a small lake near by I had the privilege of seeing a pair of those beautiful birds, the Anas rajah, or “prince duck.” Around the borders of the lake was a broad band of dead trees. My hunter spied a nice flock of the brown ducks on the opposite side, and for nearly a mile we carefully crept along through the sharp-edged grass, until we were just opposite the flock. If we went down to the margin of the pond they would be completely shielded from our shot by the trees. I therefore ordered my hunter, whose gun was loaded with a ball for deer, to lie down, while I sprang upon my feet and tried the effect of one barrel of my fowling-piece, which, by-the-by, was loaded with small shot for doves. Shy as they were, we had evidently taken them by surprise. There was a click, a report, and four out of the eight remained where they were. The next thing was to get them. We had no dog nor boat, and I proposed to my hunter, as he was a good swimmer, that he swim for them, but he only shrugged his shoulders and declared the whole pool was so full of crocodiles that a man could not get[284] out where the birds were before he would be devoured. It evidently was just such a place as those monsters delight to frequent, but I determined to go after them myself; and as I proceeded to carry out my resolution, my hunter, ashamed to remain on the banks, joined me, and after an ugly scramble through the bushes and sticks, and much wallowing in the soft mud, we got into the water and out to the flock, and as soon as possible were back again on the bank. The commandant now came up, and I recounted to him what we had been doing. He was horrified! That a man could go into that pond and escape the crocodiles for ten minutes he regarded as next to a miracle. A number of natives, who had frequently visited the place, assured me that nothing could have induced them to run such a risk of losing their lives. Our whole party then continued on over the grassy hills, and came down to Roban, a place of two native huts, and one of those was empty. Here, I thought to myself, will be another good locality to find new species, and I determined to return and occupy the vacant house for a few days.

It was already late in the afternoon before we thought of returning, and pushed off from the shore in a boat that had come round the cape at the mouth of the bay to take us home. Soon the wind sprang up ahead, our little sail was taken in, and our men used their oars; but the sun set and the moon arose, and yet we were slowly toiling on, and occasionally our boat grated on the top of a coral head that rose higher than those around it. At last we passed the cape, and reached the smooth water of the bay, yet[285] the helmsman kept near the shore, and took us between two little islands on the east side of the bay, called by the natives Crocodile Islands. As we passed the low point of one of them, within a boat’s length from the shore, an enormous crocodile crawled out of the jungle and clumsily hurried down the narrow bank into the water, as if he had come out expecting to make a meal of us. The thought of the danger I had incurred that very day of being devoured by such monsters made me shudder and seize an oar, but the amphibious beast was already out of my reach.

Along the eastern side of Kayéli Bay there is an extensive coral reef, and farther out around the cape is another, a quarter of a mile wide, that is bare at low tide. Along the outer edges of this I floated the next day, while on my way back to Roban. The water was still, and as clear as crystal, and we could see distinctly far down into the deep, deep sea. Now, as we come near the reef, its outer wall suddenly rises up, apparently from the unfathomable abyss of the ocean. Among the first forms we notice are the hemispherical Meandrinas, or “brain corals,” named, because, when the soft polyps are removed, small fissure-like depressions are found winding to and fro over its surface, making the raised parts between them closely resemble the convolutions of the brain. Near by are some sending out many branches, like a thick bush, and others with only a few, resembling deer-antlers of abnormal growth. Some, which do not attach themselves to their neighbors, are circular, as we see them from above. Their under[286] surfaces are horizontal and their upper sides slightly convex. When the soft parts are removed, a number of radiating partitions are seen, so that the whole resembles a gigantic mushroom turned upside down; and this family of polyps is hence called Fungidæ. Scattered among the stone corals are many Gorgonias. Some are much like broad sheets of foliage and similar to those known to us as “sea-fans,” which generally come from the tropical waters among our West Indies. Others resemble bundles of rattans; and, when the soft polyps are taken off, a black horn-like axis stick is left. Others, when taken out of the sea and dried, look like limbs cut from a small spruce-tree after it has been dried, and lost hundreds of its small needle-like leaves. Numbers of sponges are also seen, mostly of a spherical form, with many ramifying ducts or tubes. But the most accurate description possible must fail to convey any proper idea of the beauty and richness of these gardens beneath the sea, because, in reading or hearing a description, the various forms that are distinctly seen at a single glance have to be mentioned one after another, and thus they pass along in a series or line before our mental vision, instead of being grouped into circular areas, where the charm consists not so much in the wonderful perfection of a few separate parts, as in the harmonious relations, or, as architects say, the effect of the whole. The pleasure of viewing coral reefs never becomes wearisome, because the grouping is always new. No two places are just alike beneath all the wide sea, and no one can fail to be thrilled with pleasure, when, after a[287] few strong strokes of the oars, his canoe is left to glide on by her own momentum, and the coral gardens pass in review below with a magical effect like a panorama.

At Roban I remained with my men three days, and, as we were nearer the shore, the mosquitoes did not torment us as badly as previously at our hut near the mountains. This proved to be a favorite locality of the castori rajah, or “prince parrot,” which I had already seen in Ceram, and I secured two or three pairs of them here, but I was specially anxious to get a specimen of the malayu, as the Malays strangely name a bird, the Megapodius Forsteni, which is allied to the hen. The common name for these birds is “mound-builders,” from their peculiar habit of scratching together great heaps of sand and sticks, which are frequently twenty or twenty-five feet in diameter, and five feet high. These great hillocks are their nests, and here they deposit their eggs. There is also another species here, the M. Wallacei, which burrows deeply in the sand. The natives brought me one specimen, which they caught while she was crawling up from her hidden nest. I kept her alive for some time, but, after laying an egg more than one-third as large as her whole body, she died. Two eggs of the same dimensions were found at the bottom of the tunnel she had made in the loose sand. This bird usually comes down from the hills in the early part of the evening to deposit its eggs, and then its wailing cry is occasionally heard, but it is so extremely shy, that it is one of the most difficult of all the birds on the island to procure.

I usually shot the birds, and my hunter always skinned them, noting the locality of each, its sex, and as nearly as possible the color of its eyes. The greatest annoyance that troubles the collector of birds in the tropics is caused by the swarms of small ants that fill every conceivable place. If a bird is shot and laid down on the ground for half an hour, it will almost surely be injured so much by these insects that it will not be worth skinning. There is no certain means of keeping them away altogether, except by completely isolating a place with water, which is usually done by putting small basins under each leg of a table, but before one is aware of it, something is sure to be placed so as to touch the table, and thus form a bridge for these omnivorous pests to cross over and continue their work of destruction. As soon as the birds are brought in they are hung up by a thread or piece of small twine. After the skins are taken off, they are thoroughly poisoned with arsenic and camphor, mixed with water to the consistency of cream. Each is then filled with the cotton from the cotton-wood tree, until it has exactly the size of the bird. They are then spread in the sun on a bamboo frame, which is suspended by twines fastened at its corners. After they have become thoroughly dried, they are kept in a tight tin box with large pieces of gum-camphor, and even then they must be looked after every day or two, for they are still liable to be injured by the ants, which are particularly fond of gnawing at the base of the bill and around the eyes. During the rainy season it is extremely difficult to dry the skins properly, there is[289] so little sunshine. No one who has not lived in the tropics can have any idea what a source of constant vexation the ants are. Bread, sugar, and every thing eatable, they are sure to devour, unless it is kept in glass-stoppered bottles; and this is the greater annoyance, because, when a quantity of provisions is lost, as is constantly happening, it is so difficult to procure another supply in every part of the archipelago, except in the immediate vicinity of the few chief cities. They are sure, in some way or other, to find their way into every little nook or corner; and though a table be set with the greatest care, in nine cases out of ten some will be seen running on the white cloth before dinner is over. The floors of the houses occupied by Europeans are usually made of large, square pieces of earthen-ware, and through the cracks that chance to occur in the cement between them ants are sure to appear. It is this, probably, that has given rise to the saying, that “the ants will eat through a brick in a single night.” In all parts of the archipelago it is an established custom either to whitewash the walls inside and outside, or else paint them white, except a narrow strip along the floor, which is covered with a black paint chiefly composed of tar, the only common substance to which these pests show any aversion. All these troubles are caused by the “black ants,” but their ravages do not compare with those caused by the “white ants,” which actually eat up solid wood. The frames of many of the smaller buildings and out-houses in the East are not mortised, but are fastened together with pieces of coir rope, and, of course, when[290] they are eaten off, the whole structure comes to the ground. A large L attached to the controleur’s house, which we have been using for a dining-room, fell down from this cause the other day. Afterward, when I came to Macassar, a fine war-steamer of eight hundred or one thousand tons was pointed out to me, which the white ants had succeeded in establishing themselves in, and several gentlemen, who ought to have known, said that she was so badly eaten by them that she was almost unseaworthy.

On another occasion the commandant and I went to the west end of the bay to hunt deer. We started early, and at eight o’clock were already at the mouth of a small stream, which we ascended for a short distance, and a guide then led us through a strip of woods that lined the banks. Our party in all consisted of more than twenty, half of whom were soldiers, armed with rifles; the others came to start up the game. When we passed out into a level, open prairie, all that had guns were posted about twenty yards apart, in a line parallel to the woods. The others made a long circuit round, and finally entered the forest before us. Then forming into a line, they began to drive toward us, shouting with all their might, and making a din horrid enough to frighten other animals less timid than deer. Packs of dogs, that the natives had brought, were meantime yelping and howling. Soon there was a cracking in the bushes near me, and at the next instant came a female and her fawn, with high, flying leaps through the tall grass. I carried a heavy government[291] rifle, for, unfortunately, my light breech-loading Spencer was not on the island. I aimed at the foremost and fired; she fell, and I ran, shouting out to the others that I had one, when, to my surprise, at the next instant she sprang up again and with one leap disappeared into the dense jungle. That was the only good shot I had that day. Again and again we drove, but when we stood in the tall grass, which was as high as our heads, we could not see our game, and when we perched on stumps, or climbed into the trees, we could not turn round quickly enough to fire suddenly in an unexpected quarter with any certain aim. However, when the horn was sounded for all to assemble, one fine deer and one large wild hog were brought in. Once a large male came out about five hundred yards from where I was standing. At the crack of the rifle he only raised his head high and darted away, almost with the speed of a bullet. His antlers were very large and branching, and the gracefulness and speed with which he flew over the plain made the sight one of the finest I ever enjoyed. The natives are accustomed now, during the dry monsoon, to burn the prairie-lands, partly in order that new, sweet grass may spring up, and that when the deer come out of the forests to eat it they will be fully exposed to the rifles, and partly, as they say, to induce them to come out in order to lick up the ashes. The usual method, besides driving, is to lie in wait near a newly-burnt place by night, when there is moonlight enough to enable the hunters to see every thing within a rifle-shot plainly. After the deer is secured its flesh is[292] cut up into thin slices and smoked, and now, in many places on the hills around the bay of Kayéli, columns of smoke are seen rising every day, where the natives are busy changing venison into dinding, the only kind of meat they have except that of wild boars, which are very abundant on this island, though seldom taken. They are accustomed to come out into the prairie-lands in great droves, and frequently an area of a quarter of an acre is so completely rooted up by them that it looks as if it had been ploughed. They even come by night to the gardens, or cultivated places, at a little distance from the village, and in a short time destroy almost every thing growing in them. One time, seeing a rare bird perched high on the top of a lone tree that stood in the tall grass, I cautiously approached within range and fired, when suddenly there was a rattling of hoofs on the dry ground, caused by the stampede of a large herd within pistol-shot of where we were, but entirely hidden from our view by the thick grass. The natives are usually afraid of them, and the one who was crawling along behind me to pick up the bird fled at the top of his speed when he heard the thundering tread of more than a hundred hoofs, while I stood wondering what sort of beasts had so suddenly sprung out of the earth, and half querying whether my shot, as they fell on the ground, had not been changed into quadrupeds in the same miraculous way that the dragon teeth, sown by Cadmus, were transformed into men. The hog-deer, or babirusa, is also found among these mountains. While I was at Kayéli a young one was caught by some of the natives.[293] During this day’s hunt I came to a wide field of recently elevated coral, about one hundred feet above the sea. The natives, who were surprised that I should stop to look at such common rocks, asserted that the same kind of batu puti, “white stone,” was found among the hills, and I have no doubt that recent coral reefs will be found in the mountainous parts of all the adjacent islands as high up as Governor Arriens has already traced them on Amboina.

While these days were passing by, we all wondered what the authorities were doing to put down the great insurrection in Ceram. All the boats that came brought us only the vaguest tidings, sometimes of entire success, and sometimes of entire failure. We had good cause to be solicitous, for at two or three posts on that island there were only about a dozen Dutch soldiers, and if any numbers of the head-hunting Alfuras made an attack in concert, all would inevitably be butchered. While we were in this state of suspense, six large praus were seen coming in round one of the capes and entering our bay. As the foremost hove to and waited for the others, that all might reach the anchorage together, they appeared to be coming with some evil design, and immediately there was no little bustle in our settlement of nine Europeans, four of whom were ladies. The commandant summoned all his troops into the fort, sergeants were posted in the four corners by the four cannon, the men once more put through the routine of loading, so that if anybody was killed by the discharge of their pieces, which, by the by, were only six-pounders, it might be some one outside of the fort.[294] In short, every thing was made ready to do battle. Meantime the six praus came to anchor off the beach. One of them had the required pass from the Dutch authorities at Ceram, allowing his boat to come to Kayéli, but the others had no such papers, and, according to their own story, had become frightened at the great guns in Ceram, and had also deserted their homes. This seemed to me so probable that I went down on the beach, and, if the authorities had allowed it, I would have taken half a dozen natives in a canoe and boarded every one of the praus myself, and found out what they contained. I was importuned to come back from the shore, but as I had been in battle myself, I did not purpose to get frightened and hide in the fort until I could see some cause for it. After a long consultation, it was decided that I should not be permitted to inspect the praus, and a number of Malays were sent off to carefully examine each of the dangerous vessels. This was done, and the report brought back that there were only three or four natives in each, and that as to weapons, not one of them had even an old flint-lock. Thus ended the alarm, and once more the usual dull routine set in, but this time to be broken by a circumstance as romantic as it was peculiar.

In our little community of nine persons there was a young officer. He was affable, energetic, and withal a good military man for one of his years, but, unfortunately, his mind had been fed on novels until this world appeared to him little more than half real. He was engaged to a young lady, who lived also in our little village. Besides his romantic notions,[295] another of his faults was that he was exceedingly irritable, so much so, that he and the lady’s father fell into a serious dispute, in which he became so enraged that he ordered his servant to saddle his horse forthwith, while he pulled on his long-spurred riding-boots, and stuck a large Colt’s revolver (navy size) into his belt. He now declared his intention to put an end to all his ills with his own hand, and, disregarding the screams of his affianced, and the prayers and entreaties of all, he sprang into the saddle, and, dashing by the house where I was living, disappeared up the road into the forest. The gentleman with whom I was residing saw him as he passed, and at once surmised his intent, but I assured my host that it took a brave man to commit suicide, and in due time we should certainly see our friend safely return. The sequel proved the correctness of my judgment, for in a couple of hours he came back, his horse reeking with perspiration, and he himself as crestfallen as Don Quixote after his most heart-breaking misfortunes. The only one who suffered from this event was the young lady, who had so much confidence in her gallant friend as to foolishly believe he would carry out his desperate resolve to the bitter end.

Instead of remaining only a few days as I had planned, I had now lived more than three months in exile here at Buru, when one morning it was announced that the governor’s yacht, the Telegraph, had arrived, to my great delight, for I had already engaged a prau to call in for me while on her way from Amboina to Ternate. The Telegraph came from Ceram to afford me an opportunity of going to[296] Ternate, the very place I was anxious to reach, and at the same time to leave an order for sapis, which she would take to Ceram on her return. The sapi or Madura cattle have been introduced into all these islands by the government to be used as food for the soldiers, but only in cases of emergency. I immediately prepared to continue my travels to other islands, and that day, September 6th, we steamed out of Kayéli Bay. For two months I had wandered over hills and mountains, penetrating the densest jungles, and picking my way through bogs filled with thorny vines. Again and again the natives entertained me with descriptions of the great pythons with which the whole island abounds, but whenever I saw a bird that I wanted, I always followed it as long as I could see it. The result was, that I had collected eighty-one species,[42] which were represented by over four hundred specimens, nine-tenths of which I had shot myself.

This bay is a good harbor for our whalers, and, before the war, several came here every year. It is a free port, and there is a safe anchorage, plenty of good water and wood, and vegetables can be obtained at cheap rates.

For the last time I looked back on the mountains rising behind in the interior of the village. Many and many an hour, as the sun was setting, I used to stand by the shore of the bay where a large cannon was planted erect in the sand, and, leaning against its dumb, rusty mouth, watch the changing of beautiful[297] colors in the clouds that rested on the high peaks in the south, while the day was fading into twilight, and the twilight into a pure, starlight night. Near this spot the sand-pipers came and tripped to and fro on the beach when the tide was full, and many long-winged night-hawks swooped back and forth, feasting on multitudes of insects that came out as evening approached. Far back of those mountains, near the centre of the island, there is a lake, and on its shores, according to the ancient belief of the natives, grows a plant which possesses the wondrous power of making every one who holds it in his hand young again, even when his locks have grown white with years, and his hand is already palsied with old age. This must be the fountain of youth, which, according to Mohammedan tradition, is situated in some dark region in the distant East, and which Moore in his “Lalla Rookh” refers to as—

“—— youth’s radiant fountain,
Springing in some desolate mountain.”